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bringthekaos · 2 days ago

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I'm excited for your thoughts on the new season if/when you share them

It has legit taken me 3 days to come to terms with Act 1. Enough to be able to speak about it. Gunna apologize in advance for the wall of text, and I’m hiding it under a break for spoiler reasons. Also prefacing with these are all just my opinions. All are free to disagree with me and RB with discussions/theories etc. just don’t be a dick about it, I’m not engaging in any discourse.

Ok. So. I have mixed feelings, and I’m aware that this is because I don’t have the whole story yet. So this is all contingent on how the rest of the season plays out.

First and foremost, I’m… wildly swinging back and forth between love and disappointment for Viktor’s arc. So first the negative, and I’ll try to keep it brief because a lot of people have already expressed this and I don’t need to be beating that particular dead horse.

Viktor has had his agency, his bodily autonomy, his original ideas and nearly everything that made him Viktor stripped away. Nothing so far has been his choice. And while this could have worked just fine for an original character, he wasn’t. So there is a massive disconnect between what this character was/should have been. In League, it was all his choice (albeit with a healthy dose of mental illness thrown in, but still). AND it was very heavily suggested that many of the augmentations he performed weren’t as extensive as he lead everyone to believe (namely the controlling/dousing of his emotions). But it appears that whatever the Hexcore did to him, it’s real. He is clearly having a difficult time accessing his emotions, and if he can feel anything, it is limited to the point of him being completely stoic. And the thing with stoic characters is that you obliterate any emotional payoff for the audience. It’s very hard to make an audience feel an emotional connection to a character’s story arc when they themselves don’t feel anything (I have a theory about this though, but I’ll address it a little later in this post). And then there is the issue of Blitzcrank. Blitz was Viktor’s whole world, after his exile. How are they going to swing that? Like, I’m not even asking for Blitz to be in Arcane (that would be great, but I really don’t think they have time). But I stg if they take Blitz away from Viktor, make them someone else’s invention (my suspicion is Heimer or he finds the idea in Sky’s journal)… I’m sorry but no. This was Viktor’s idea, Viktor’s genius. I will genuinely be extremely upset if they take that from him too.

Then there is the whole situation with Sky. First, this girl was fridged. She was nothing but a plot device and continues to be just that. It feels hollow and forced, especially now that he’s hallucinating her as some sort of penance for what he did. (I have seen the prevalent theory that it’s the Hexcore using her image and his guilt to manipulate him, given that it “ate” her, and we have seen it “manipulate” him before when it punished him for trying to destroy it). But back to Sky—he barely acknowledged that poor girl. The reason for that can be argued, whether it’s because he’s gay or because he was just so wrapped up in his one-track minded research. But regardless, there just wasn’t enough setup between those two for this whole thing to have as much weight and meaning as I think it’s supposed to. Honestly to me (TO ME) it reeks of comphet. It feels like that random woman they threw at Poe Dameron to No Homo him. I’m not even asking for Jayvik canon. But the creators were well aware of this ship, after all it’s the second most popular ship in this show and it’s been around since 2012 when Jayce was literally created for Viktor. I’m asking for the bare minimum here—that it’s left open-ended as it was in League, open for interpretation.

Last negative I have is the whole Viktor Jesus thing. The first problem is I am pretty violently agnostic, and messiah narratives have never spoken to me. I don’t enjoy them, they feel weak. The whole “ordained by a higher power” thing is just… stale. Especially when this character originally had no higher power, he gave it to himself through his own hard work and ingenuity. Honestly, Viktor’s original arc is about as far from a Jesus allegory as you can possibly get. And I am absolutely terrified that they’re going to end said Jesus arc the way you’d expect—with him dying for it. Which leaves the moral of his story “disabled man should have just accepted that he was going to die despite the fact that it was the oppression and xenophobia of Piltover that left him out to dry, without proper health care, accessibility, equality, or equity that lead to his terminal diagnosis to begin with.” Which is a very oppressor-centric narrative and we do not need another one of those.

Sorry, I know I said I’d keep the negatives brief, and that was… not. My bad. But moving on!

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, I did. I am working to embrace this new Viktor narrative and work it into my brain in a way that doesn’t ruin the ship for me. So without further ado, the positives.

Jayce.

I’d have to go back and time it, but it feels like he got more screen time in this first act than the entirety of the first season combined, and his character shined for it. It humanized him in ways season one never did. He’s caring, he’s devoted, and he loved Viktor! No matter what kind of love you think it is, it proves he loved Viktor without a doubt. He carried Viktor several city blocks to the lab to save him, and then YES, he broke his promise about the Hexcore because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing him!

And he’s funny! (The scene where he picks up the regular sized hammer in the fight against Renni and made that “this is ironic” face?? And then basically the entire interaction with Ekko? The hand me a tome thing, and then when he basically pulled this when Ekko suggested “so this is all your fault cuz you pissed off the Arcane”:

GOD that shit was great. Jayce’s personality just shined, and maybe it’s too much to hope, but maybe this will douse a little of the hate. Because instead of being a subtle hint at all of those things being true about him, it’s now overt. And when people lack media literacy, the hints have to be overt.

And th-the. The h. The HUG SCENE. I don’t think I will ever emotionally recover from that scene. Starting with Viktor who, despite being clearly emotionally—I dunno, vacant I guess—sounded so lost and scared when he said “what am I?” For me, it was whispers of that scene from The Last Unicorn: “what have you done to me?” And my poor sweet Jayce, who clearly hasn’t left this damn lab except to go to Cassandra’s memorial. Sleeping on the desk and bleeding through his bandages because he doesn’t want to spend a moment away from Viktor while he “recovers.” And his euphoric response when he finds Viktor alive, when he realizes he hasn’t lost him. And I OWE HIM AN APOLOGY, goddamn. I said in a post that “Jayce will not understand.” I thought that was how Arcane was gunna start the divorce. But Jayce genuinely did not care, as long as his lover friend was alive. And just… Jayce being so affectionate through this entire scene. The hug obviously, but also blurting things he thought he’d never get to say to Viktor—“I’m resigning from the council, my place was always here in the lab with you.”

And… the hug itself. I know we’re all analyzing it frame by goddamn frame, but I see exactly what everyone else sees—there is a moment where Viktor very subtly smiles. But it’s gone in an instant, and it turns bittersweet. LOOK AT HIM.

There is something there, it’s just buried. Deep beneath the surface. It seems to say “I want this, I have wanted this for so long.” But then he realizes something, something I don’t think we’re meant to understand yet. Maybe that he doesn’t feel anything about it anymore, and he recognizes that this should upset him and it doesn’t. Or perhaps it’s something more along the lines of “it’s too late.” Whatever it is, I think this is the exact moment he knows he has to walk away. Because he knows he’ll cave to the affection, he said it himself. (Which is another thing entirely. His voice changes when he says that. Something in him is reacting to that word. Maybe he’s fighting against it, or maybe he’s fighting to get it back. But something made him almost growl that word.)

Which leads me to my final thought (for this post anyway, cuz it’s turning into a novel); Viktor is still in there. He can still feel things, I just think they’re extremely muted by whatever the Hexcore did/continues to do to him, or he has to fight to express them. Because he also smiled at the hallucination of Sky after he “cured” Huck. And if he feels nothing, he wouldn’t have been “joyous” at the thought of her being proud of him, approving of the good things he’s trying to do in her memory. He wouldn’t crave that validation, that vindication from her. So I’m hopeful that we start to see this shell crack a little, especially if those visions of Sky are the Hexcore manipulating him through guilt. It will start to erode him, no matter how stoic he has become. And literally the only thing I’m clinging to is that Jayce will see this and try to pull him out. “He’s still in there and I have to save him.” And that maybe it’ll start to work.

#arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane season two #arcane s2 spoilers #jayvik #jayce talis #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #asks #ace answers

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ghostieblr · 2 days ago

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he knows

When people ask him what changed his mind, why he's back in Beacon Hills instead of at the fancy FBI job he earned through merit and luck, he just smiles and laughs it up. Insists this is how it just worked out. That the job was good, and being in the field was surprisingly easy for him, but the remote research work landed on his lap once and he realized he'd much rather do that. Working the field was great, but being able to actually spend time with his old man gives him more joy.

The old ladies call him a good man, tell him he's such a good son, and share their own turmoils with him. The old men sneer at his choice until he lets slip just how much he makes, and then they're singing praises, too.

After a couple of weeks, the noise dies down. He is no longer the novelty, the townspeople ready to move on to the next new, shiny thing that catches their attention.

What doesn't die down is whatever is spreading inside him. The burn under his skin is licking up towards his heart, coming out through his pores, charring him to immobility as the sun dips down and comes back up.

After week three, he's unable to move from the bed, and none of their research is bringing about any clues. No one knows why this is happening to him, and they have all accepted this.

That he is going to die. There's no coming back, no cure for this sudden illness that has taken him. None of the books that Deaton provides, that Lydia translates and pours her time into, have a single clue.

It's not as painful, if he's honest. Not now. It was at the beginning, the heat sudden and startling, the pain that comes with it bright and unending. But he's been with it for a while now, gotten used to the constant warmth. A false sense of security.

The only thing left for him is to stop feeling altogether. At the rate his body is shutting down, it's not too far, now. Another day or two, maybe three if he's unlucky.

He's said his goodbyes. Told his father to keep on living, to not only honor the memory of mom, but his, too. There's grief laced in each of their interactions, each word spoken with a weight that brings tears to Stiles' eyes and a tremble that rocks his father's body. It's an ugly sight, and it so happens to be his last. Nearly his last.

His dad's a strong man, he'll survive. He's enlisted the help of Lydia to do so. Asked her to be the child he'll not get to be for him. Through teary eyes she had agreed, and he's watched the two of them get closer in their quest of trying to heal him, and then grieve him. She's like the daughter he never had, and she is good for him. Stops him from drinking alcohol and makes him healthy food, even when he refuses to listen, and Stiles can do nothing but lay on his bed as the voices float up from the kitchen.

Scott and him never did resolve their differences. Scott's been a part of his life enough to warrant him a last goodbye, and despite everything that has happened, Scott promised to him to be there for his dad. He promised many things, but has delivered none, and has only been by to see him on day one — when Stiles had allowed Lydia to bring in the McCall Pack to help him cure himself.

It's as if Stiles being dead was an accepted outcome for him, and Scott has grieved him to the point of utter indifference since. If he's grieving in silence that's another thing, but for now, Stiles isn't dead. People do come in and see him.

Lydia, of course. His dad. Jackson flew from London to come see him, and he hasn't left since, feet set like stone in Beacon Hills, despite the final acceptance of their failure. Isaac came with Jackson, and it's so silly, he thinks, that being on the verge of death can bring together people you would never see in one place by choice.

Kira has stopped by multiple times, as have Malia, Liam, Mason, Jordan, and surprisingly, Hayden. She insisted he's a hero, and cried while hugging him.

Scott hasn't come again. And, honestly, it's not as bothersome to Stiles as someone else not coming in to see him.

Cora has face-timed him, and Peter was there, he knows. The two of them were there, and when he'd asked about Derek, Cora had snapped out, "He's an idiot," while Peter had calmly told Stiles, "He's determined."

Stiles is smart enough to put together the fact that Derek has been pursuing his own leads to find the cure, but he'd hoped that once the finality of his situation reached him, he'd see Derek one last time.

He wouldn't burden Derek with the knowledge of his own feelings. Wouldn't confess like in the fairytales, and hope for a true love's miracle. Stiles is honest to himself these days, and he'd rather go with unconfessed feelings than burden Derek, because somewhere in their interactions, Stiles has developed a pure hatred for anything that could even remotely hurt Derek.

He supposes this is love, and how ironic is it, that this is the most intense feeling he's ever had, and he can't even speak aloud about it?

So he lounges in his bed, waiting for the light to take him. Each time he closes his eyes he knows he's closer to never opening them again, and tonight, as he hears Lydia turn the pages of a book, and Jackson walking outside in the hallway, and his dad sobbing in his own room, and Isaac cooking, he just wishes tonight's the night. He cannot have the people he care about clinging onto false hope.

He closes his eyes, and behind his eyelids, he sees his family. He sees his mom, beckoning him; his parents, smiling, as he runs towards them for a family hug; Lydia, when she told him she loves him in the Jeep, and the night when he came back, declaring that he's not supposed to leave her, ever; Jackson and Isaac laughing at his expense, but not in a mean way, instead enjoying each other's company like the friends they've become these days; Derek, as the last time Stiles saw him, smiling softly at him while he rambled on about the way he convinced the FBI to let him join the mission that saved Derek's ass.

He remembers, with immense clarity, the moment he realized he's in love with Derek. The heartbreak of saying goodbye to him, of watching his brows furrow at the clear lie of, "You should go," and hesitant step forward he'd taken before realizing it.

He'd said, "You should go or Cora will leave," and left the, "I want her to," unsaid.

He sleeps, and wishes to dream about a world where Derek didn't leave and things happened differently. Where somehow, they found their way to each other, and Stiles never got ill like this.

Instead, he dreams about a purple light guiding him to a tunnel that simply looks white, like that is all there is.

He follows.

He doesn't wake up, again.

At least, that's what he thinks — until his eyes open and he's face-to-face with —

"Derek?"

The whole place is white. The only splash of color exists on Stiles himself, his clothes rumpled with sleep, and on Derek, whose jeweled eyes are shimmering with unshed tears and sparkling joy.

"Derek, what the hell did you do?!"

Derek doesn't deem that a question worthy of replying. Instead the werewolf picks him up and hugs him so tight Stiles worries about not being able to breathe, and then realizes, with a startling clarity, that he is not in pain.

Still in embrace, he asks, a little choked up, "Why am I not in pain?"

Derek takes an exaggerated sniff before reluctantly pulling back and fixing him with a look that screams of resplendent joy, but also like he's waiting for a reprimand. He says, "This is Bardo."

Stiles stills. "Bardo," he repeats. He's dived into enough books to hear what Derek is leaving unsaid. Bardo is where spirits go after dying. It's an in-between space for spirits with unfinished business, one that opens only on a land with a Nemeton on it. Beacon Hills fits the criteria for it, and Stiles the criteria for having wishes he didn't get in his life, but he doesn't... He doesn't fit the other criteria. "Derek Nobody Will Tell Me What Your Middle Name Is Hale, that place — which apparently is this place, what the hell — is for supernatural spirits. Me?" He laughs, humorless and frantic. "I am not a supernatural creature. I'm just a human who used to run with a Pack."

Derek's worry melts away into nothing, as if Stiles would miss the fact that for Derek to be here, he has to be dead.

"Don't think I don't understand that you're dead, too! Deliberately!"

There. That is the face of a chastised puppy. "But it worked?" Stiles squints his eyes and motions for Derek to go on, who sighs but complies with the command. "The illness that took you was a Supernatural fever, last recorded with a Spark centuries ago. I tracked down the journal —"

"Wait, hold on, Spark? Where have I heard that word..." The Vet clinic, years ago. The Kanima in the club. The mountain ash line that never should have formed because there was much too less of it to complete the circle. As the realization hits, he closes his eyes and rests his fists against them. He isn't ashamed to let out a scream of rage as well.

When he lets his arms fall back down to his side, Derek takes one of them and starts rubbing comforting circles on the back of his hand. "You are one," he says softly, like he's trying not to spook Stiles with the declaration. Like Stiles' world didn't just shift irrevocably as he put the pieces together. "I don't really understand why your powers never unlocked, because traditionally speaking they should have kicked in your teen years. With the added clusterfuck of those years they definitely should have. They did not."

Again, he laughs humorlessly, and gives Derek a "duh" look. "Our lives have rarely dared to be traditional." He thinks back to all the awful things that have happened over the years to him, but mostly, as Derek put it, in those years. The Nogitsune was definitely the worst thing to happen to him, and holy shit. "Do you think it chose me because of my power? Rather than her?"

Derek doesn't answer for a moment. Then he says, "I think that is why you survived. Because of your Spark."

Oh. That... makes sense. Sort of. But that is the past, and they're in the present, and they're in fucking Bardo of all places. "Derek, I think I really need an explanation. Like right now. Including why you thought killing yourself was the best fucking idea."

Derek winces, but he also looks determined once Stiles' glare eases off of him. And they're still holding hands, which he realizes with a warmth he actually enjoys feeling. "When I got the call, I had an inkling... So I followed my instincts and ended up at probably our oldest vault."

"You knew what I am." He doesn't even feel angry. Somehow, Derek knowing a thing about him that nobody else does (and he is not counting Deaton as a factor here at all, that cryptic asshole), it feels nice.

Derek uses his free hand to tap at his chest, once, twice. "Instincts," he says, with the same effect as saying, "Werewolf," like he once used to, as if that was the answer to everything. "This illness confirmed it for me. I found a journal at the vault that belonged to that Spark, and in it, he detailed how the illness felt, how it spread, and how within weeks he could do nothing but lay on his cot." Derek swallows, his voice turning rough with choked up emotions. "Stiles, just reading it was so awful. I can't imagine..."

Derek Hale doesn't cry. He feels deeply, and he cares even deeper, but he doesn't cry, not in front of people.

But Stiles is not most people, and he is aware enough to know that he is, for some reason, one of the people who is most important to Derek. So as Derek breaks down at the idea of Stiles' suffering, Stiles reaches forward and brings his arms around Derek.

"I'm here," he assures, over and over again, until the words are stronger than Derek's shaking. "I'm right here," he says one last time, and stays close to the man he loves most for an indeterminate amount of time, silently not-breathing together.

Stiles breaks the silence with, "I love you, you know?" He had promised to not say it to Derek. To not burden him. But here they are, in Bardo. Together. A Pack of two who would do all that is possible and all that is not to protect the other. Derek deserves to know he is loved.

The way Derek's arms tighten around him says he doesn't know. And when Derek pulls back, just a little to stare at Stiles like this is unbelievable, Stiles pulls him back in by grabbing his hands and putting one on his chest, the other on his face. He kisses the inner palm of the latter, and smiles brightly. "Never thought I'd say it. Especially once I was on my deathbed. Still hate that you chose to die with me, but I'm hoping you have a plan, and you deserve to know. You're amazing and I love you, Derek Hale."

The smile he gets is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and Derek presses forward until their foreheads are resting against each other's. "Samuel," he says.

"Derek Samuel Hale? Samuel like Sam and Dean's grandpa?"

Derek does a snort-chortle thing, then says in the small space between them, "Shut up, Stiles."

"Shutting up."

The silence stretches, and they stay together, seizing the moment. Who knew Bardo could be peaceful? Except...

"Our escape plan? See, I'd love to explore you biblically anywhere and everywhere, but I would much rather do it on —"

"Stiles."

Derek's look of scandalized horror makes Stiles laugh until he's being hauled off in his strong, muscled arms like a sack of potatoes and starts walking. "I don't know why I love you too."

"This is just sexy. I don't think you know what you're doing to me."

"I can still smell your arousal, Stiles. I know."

"You know loads of things. What else do you know?" He says it in a simpering, sexy voice, and then giggles as Derek stumbles a step before balancing himself.

"I know how to escape. We need a bed, yes? So stop distracting me and let me do my thing."

Stiles is just glad he is already in Derek's arms, because otherwise he would have swooned and fallen into them.

The escape plan is easy and a let down, if he's being completely honest. What they need are:

A Spark's Belief ✅️

An Alpha's Roar ✅️ (When did Derek become an Alpha again?)

An Anchor on The Other Side ✅️ (Peter)

An Incantation That Derek Has Memorized ✅️

To Stand Where The Veil is Thinnest ✅️ (Derek's instincts strike yet again)

All in all, it is very anti-climactic, and very dirty as they end up materializing in a clearing near the Nemeton which is muddy. Peter looks one look at them and says, "Finally."

Stiles isn't sure if he meant it for them coming back or for Stiles and Derek finally confessing to each other. Either way, Peter hands them clean clothes and agrees to drive them back to Stiles' house, where apparently everyone is in a panic because "Stiles dissappeared."

"It's only been like, an hour or something," Stiles says, confused, as he changes into the clean t-shirt while Peter faces the other way and Derek stares, unabashed, much to Peter's verbal disgust.

Peter takes a break from chastising his nephew to say, "It's been 72 hours."

Huh.

"We should get going then," he says, and Peter sighs.

"If only you could ask my dear nephew to rein in his urges."

Stiles throws Derek a glare, who rolls his eyes but obliges. However the glare the turns into an appreciative look over Derek's abs, and Peter throws up his hands.

Acclimating to having magic is easy when he already has an anchor. Derek's presence is both wanted and needed, and despite Scott's insistence that another Alpha cannot stay in town, Derek stays as long as Stiles does.

Two weeks pass before Stiles calls back his boss and lets her know that he's now alright, and then he's promptly being shipped off to another state for a case. Everyone has already congratulated him on both being alive and doing something about his pining, so they throw a simple dinner on his last night in town and Stiles watches, with amusement and fondness, as all the people in his heart mingle with easy conversations and banter.

Peter chooses to stay in town to reconnect with Malia in person, while Cora deems it better to go back to her Pack in South America. Lydia and Jackson leave together for London, but Isaac decides to stay back.

When Stiles asks him why, he says, "Liam needs a good mentor. His control is weak. I can help him, plus, Derek needs a pack."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "Liam is Scott's beta," he says.

"None of them have a pack bond," Isaac fire backs, and oh.

Derek must have heard the conversation, too, because he comes over and claps Isaac on the back, proud and all smiley, and Stiles can't help but lean in to kiss it. To taste the constant joy off of Derek's face, to give him his own in return. The action is met with Derek's soft moan and a ring of disgusted groaning from the others, including his dad's.

Stiles laughs after he pulls back, and looks around at the lot of them. There's tragedy woven into all of their lives, but there's also happiness.

Who knew getting ill would lead to this? To re-founding a family?

Maybe Derek knew, the bastard. Loveable bastard, though.

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fics #teen wolf #sh.writesonmain #*sterek fic recs #my laptop still isn't fixed so for now this is gonna stay on tumblr only #i'll put this on ao3 later

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fuctacles · 2 days ago

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<< 10 | - | 12 >>

Robin finds them sprawled on the grass, resting after their play break. Steve notices her first, his head raising and tail wagging excitedly, though he doesn't move from his spot warming Eddie's thigh.

"Steve?"

That's when his friend realizes what got him so excited and he waves to Robin as she spots them in the middle of the yard. Their eyes meet and he knows she's surprised to see Steve in his other form again, but she doesn't say anything. Their werewolf friend yips happily and stands up, away from Eddie's petting to greet his best friend.

"Hello, Buckley."

"Hello, Munson." She puts her hands on her hips in a perfect mirror of Steve. "I see you two are hard at work?" Robin quickly folds when Steve sits at her feet, his tail moving so fast it is barely visible. She squats down to scratch around his ears. "Hi, dingus."

"Exactly, and we're taking a well-deserved break right now," Eddie says with a smile, sitting up. "The barbeque is out and cleaned up, and we're almost done with the pool and chairs," he sums up their work so far, pointing vaguely to where everything is.

"Damn, it's like you don't need me at all, huh?" she asks mostly towards Steve with a tilt of her head. He nibs at her fingers in retaliation before trotting away. "Hey, I was joking!"

But Steve picks up the ball still lying next to Eddie's leg and brings it back to Robin. She looks at him in confusion, so Eddie quickly swoops in with an explanation.

"We were playing fetch!"

The yellow, damp ball falls away from Steve's mouth like he might have just gotten self-conscious about the thing. But Robin takes it in stride, grabbing the toy and straightening up. Her friend quickly forgets his inhibitions and straightens up, hyperfocused on her raised hand.

"Fair warning, I'm not the best thrower. But I guess I can't be much worse than Munson."

"Hey!"

She proves her words seconds later when the ball barely misses his head and Steve jumps right over his body, making him yelp.

"Jesus H Christ you two!" he yells at them, but is genuinely happy for his friend enjoying his dog form without second guessing himself.

He idly picks at the grass, observing them and dodging Buckley's shitty aim, wondering how he would feel if he could shift to a creature loved by everyone and with simple needs and ways to express himself. It sounds freeing, but he likes too many things his opposable thumbs can do, like playing the guitar, petting a dog, or playing fetch.

Does Steve have things he needs his thumbs for? Is he still playing basketball? Maybe Eddie could teach him the guitar. Or Maybe Steve just needs a healthy balance between human and animal treatment.

Eddie is so preoccupied with his thoughts, that the next ball Buckley throws boinks right off the side of his head.

Steve skids to a stop in front of him, eyeing the skittering ball like prey, but in the end, jumps up to Eddie and starts licking at the sore spot, while Buckley yells her apologies in the background.

"Okay, okay, I'll live! It's just a flesh wound!" he laughs, while Steve's hot tongue is ruining his already questionable fringe. The dog boops his cheek with a cold nose and goes to pick up the ball. Eddie takes it as his clue to stand up and fix himself up a bit.

"It pains me to say it, but I guess it's our sign to get back to work," he sighs, dusting off his knees. Steve shows up next to him, eyes huge and the ball between his teeth. "Nuh-uh, man, we can play more later. We gotta finish the yard today so we only have the food to worry about tomorrow."

Steve huffs, the ball falling from his mouth with a sad thump, but he walks away towards the house, bumping Robin's leg on his way to the back door. While he disappears inside, Eddie jogs up to her.

"Hey," he says again. "I'm trying to help Steve out of his funk."

Robin raises her eyebrows.

"How?" she crosses her arms.

He suddenly feels uneasy, shifting his weight while trying to give his theories and plans shape. There's no one better to talk it out with than Stev's best friend, so he pushes through.

"Well, he likes how we treat the dog-him, so I think we should treat him more like that on a daily basis. You know, scratches, praises, and shit," he looks up at Buckley hoping he doesn't sound completely insane. "So he likes being human a bit more."

She hums, glancing back at the house.

"You're right," Robin says to his surprise. It's not something he hears often. "Though I think it works best with you."

"What do you mean?" he asks with a frown.

But she waves him off, turning to where Steve is emerging through the back door wearing loose sweatpants and with his hairy chest on display.

"Robs!" he greets his friend with a grin, gathering her for a side hug that quickly turns into a friendly chokehold.

Eddie hopes Buckley can sense his menacing glare despite their roughhousing.

Tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

#steddie #shapeshifter steve harrington #werewolf steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #wereshifter au

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ferg0s · 3 days ago

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Barou starting a new relationship with a shy girl and how he would go about it

The literal personification of trying to mix oil with water

He was used to everyone looking at him in times of need on the field - he was the king after all - so he didn’t even notice how you would take a step back whenever it came time to ordering food, or any sort of public speaking and interactions.

He naturally took the lead, and you followed suit. Thanking the lord.

He honestly didn’t even notice how shy you were- he just kinda assumed you like hearing him talk. It wasn’t until he passed by an aisle of cute keychains and decided that he wanted to get you one when he realized… he kinda didn’t know anything about you.

I mean he did. He knew your name, your height…. The colour of your eyes…. And hair… and…

“So what do you do?” He asked bluntly as the two of you walked down a park, ice creams in hand. The one he ordered. “What?” “Hobbies? Sports? What do you do in your spare time?” He asked as he looked at you, determined to get an answer. “You know… the usual stuff-“ you awkwardly chuckle. “I don’t know actually.” He was a little shit about it.

But after literally interrogating you for an entire hour, he managed to squeeze out an answer from you. You were completely cornered by him, and you shyly tell him your hobbies. He looks dumbfounded, because to him those are completely normal and healthy hobbies for someone to have. He was starting to think you’re a grave robber by the way you were acting.

Knitting? He will get you the yarn, and parade a scarf you made for him and show all his teammates. Collecting something? He will always be on the lookout for what you like, even going as far as asking his teammates to be on the lookout as well. Video games? He will learn to play your favourite game with you. Cute farming sim? Silent hill? Niche indie game that only 3 people know about? You best bet he will ask for a 4 hour lore deep dive.

Very supportive.

Lwokey will get annoyed at your shyness at one point.

At first he thinks it’s cute, but he’s not the type of person to fully baby anyone, and will force you to order your own meal. He wants the best for you :(

Will say his order and look at you to say yours, watching you stumble on your words as you try to order some fries and a sprite. And will say he’s proud of you after. But doesn’t do it often because he can see the genuine terror in your eyes - only does it even it’s the two of you in line on a slow day.

Slowly learns to accept that you’re passionate in your own way. He’s loud and proud, whereas you like to keep to yourself. In a way he likes that you’re so open with him, that you let him see the stuff you don’t show other people. Thinks it’s adorable.

Will 100% try to make you more comfortable and less shy. You bought a new dress and don’t want to wear it, he will bluntly tell you it looks good and it would be a waste of money not to wear it.

Encourages your fashion choices. Polly pocket platform heels? He loves them. Bold lipstick? He will buy you earring that match. He quietly realized he liked seeing you happy. And you were happiest being yourself.

He’s not a big fan of grossly obvious PDA. Loves holding your hand or when you grab his bicep when you two walk together. You like it because it doesn’t draw unnecessary attention and he likes it cuz you’re always attached next to him and he doesn’t have to worry about actually loosing you. Plus he likes it when you grab his bicep.

Took forever to convince you to come to one of his games. You were too nervous to get into an arena with so many people - said you could come with a group of his teammates girlfriends - but you hated the idea of being with people you didn’t know.

He got really good at spotting you in the crowd. Didn’t matter where you were sitting, he just trained himself to see you. You were too shy to loudly cheer like everyone else, blending into the crowd due to that. But it didn’t matter.

In a weird way. He likes that hes the only one who gets to see you this happy, because hes the same with you. Slowly learning to take his guard down, be more open.

You’re learning to be confident while he’s learning to be trusting.

#ferg0s #blue lock barou #baro shoei #barou shoei x reader #blue lock oneshots #blue lock imagines #blue lock #blue lock x reader #barou fluff #barou x reader #barou shouei

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shalotttower · 1 day ago

Text

Will-o'-the-wisp

Title: Will-o'-the-wisp

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader (female)

Summary: Reader encouters fae!Chrollo and breaks some rules along the way.

Word count: 1700+

Notes: yandere!Chrollo, fae!Chrollo, abduction, manipulation, AU, modern setting with fae, Chrollo is charming af and a bit creepy as usual, Reader is doomed long before they know it and slightly depressed

You walk home the same way every day, like many people do. There's comfort in routines. Comfort and security which you crave. The familiar routes, the repetitive programs on TV and the books you've read a million times. You like to know what happens next and hate surprises.

The fourteen-year-old you wouldn't approve.

Maybe even express a little pity, because she always thought you two were destined for an adventure, like in fantasy books you used to devour one after another. Every free second was spent reading or dreaming, but life went on and adventures didn't happen. The girl grew older, a lot more careful and a lot less hopeful.

When you finish work, it's usually around six. Your adult self is practical and prefers to save money on the bus, besides, every other time you take it, you end up having to stand, squeezed between people. It's not worth the frustration; a fifteen minute walk isn't that long and the crime rate in the area is low.

There's a small grove nearby that nobody has bothered to turn into a park. The residents made their own paths in time, put a few signs so the joggers wouldn't get lost, but that's it. Once or twice a month you stroll through there, picking up trash left on the side. People make you want to move to the woods altogether sometimes.

That's how the day starts or ends — with crossing a bridge which connects the grove to your neighbourhood.

And this is where you see him for the first time.

The man looks so out of place among the rustic wooden railings and rushing water below. Nobody wears this kind of clothes here. Expensive and elegant, something that blends well in a big city. They don't stare at passersby like he does either. You hate when people do that ─ block already narrow spaces by just stopping midway. Or groups who spread across the entire sidewalk.

"Excuse me," you say politely. Polite is good. Polite can be used as a shield and always makes you look better than you are. "I need to pass."

He smiles, then moves aside. "Of course."

His face is exactly what you imagine when thinking of pleasant: beautiful grey eyes with long lashes, pointed chin and a strange mix of delicate and sharp edges.

"Thank you."

The smile widens. "You're welcome."

---

It's time to accept that you've grown into an average person with a simple desire to live in comfort. Dreaming isn't your strength anymore, the last book you picked up was several years ago. Movies bore you fifteen minutes in, even if everybody else praises them; the idea of a relationship seems exhausting.

You do enjoy gardening.

Growing tomatoes is a far cry from distant fictional lands, but they taste nice with a pinch of salt.

The condo you live in doesn't have enough space and light, so you chose a small patch of ground in the grove to start a garden. A few tomato plants and some herbs like chives and basil. It might be illegal, yet nobody has come to yell at you. Most people don't pay attention to what's happening here, as long as you don't damage the trees or leave trash.

You water and prune, weed, add fertilizer if needed. There're some flowers too; mother told you that marigolds scare pests away from veggies and keep the soil healthy. They're pretty, little orange spots.

---

You find a crystal at you patch. Azure would be too bland to describe its color ─ maybe more like a mix of cerulean and moon stone. It's round in shape, polished so nicely that the outlines of your face are reflected in the surface. Did a magpie bring it? Or a kid? The thought of someone poking around your garden makes you frown. You hope they didn't step on your basil.

The stone is heavy and cool. You turn it around, entranced, before stuffing it into the pocket of your jeans. Maybe you can ask the neighbours' kids about it later.

"Would you look at that," you mutter and bend to inspect a tomato plant. Two green fruit, each no bigger than your knuckle, hang there, sprouted over the weekend. "Hello, my pretties."

---

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. It's past 1 AM, you should sleep; instead, you keep twisting the stone in the moonlight.

You asked kids from around here, but nobody claimed it.

Maybe it's a lucky charm, you've had a wonderful day. Got a call from your cousin in the morning, she has't contacted you in a long while and it was nice to catch up. After lunch, the resource manager praised your work, then an elderly lady from the store complimented your cardigan.

At a certain angle, the stone seems almost glowing. A summer night sky condensed into a tiny orb. Your fingers trace its smooth surface without much thought until eventually it drops onto the pillow by your side.

You don't notice when exactly you fall asleep.

It's the strangest dream you've ever seen.

Gone is the condo building with its stuffy kitchenette and old pipes that constantly rumble. Instead, you feel damp grass underneath your feet. Wind brushes through the hem of your nightdress, carrying the scents of rain and moss. So many shades of black and raven blue swirl together that you barely recognize a signpost nearby. It's the grove, but you've never seen it like this, as dark as it can be only at night.

It's uncomfortable to stand barefoot, with a chill creeping up your legs.

After a while your fingers touch the rough bark of a nearby tree to get a sense of direction, and you start walking, because there isn't anything else to do.

There's the bridge, you think. If you just get to the bridge, the rest will be simple.

You're walking there, or that's what you think when a small ball of light appears right before your nose.

Fireflies don't glow blue. It doesn't falter, doesn't flicker, coming up closer then farther like a pendulum. There's something uncanny and fragile about it. For a second you forget everything and stand mesmerized, until it starts moving.

Through the trees, past the branches, onwards.

It's more instinctual than anything ─ you don't want to be left here alone again, so you follow. Light is good, darkness isn't. The ground becomes more uneven as you go, the grass changes to moss, but you can barely register anything at this point apart from that lonely glow. It halts at times as if making sure you're keeping up.

Is that a clearing ahead? Your eyes hurt from trying to focus.

The blue dot continues to float, never speeding up, never falling behind.

Then it disappears.

No. Not disappears ─ settles on the tip of a pale finger.

There's your tomato patch, your plants, the empty box that you forgot to take back to the condo.

But it's impossible.

Your garden should be not very far from the border, yet it feels like you've walked through half of the grove by now.

Why is he here?

"It took you a while," he says, the stranger from the bridge whose eyes made you pause before you caught yourself. "I was waiting, my dear."

Maybe you shouldn't ask. Maybe the wisest thing would be to turn around and run. You step back and trip on a root which somehow snuck between the moss. He catches your hand before you fall and doesn't let go. Instead his thumb caresses your skin in leisurely strokes.

There's a faint scent of lilies coming from him, and something else. Something heavy, equally sweet that lingers on the edge of cloying and enticing.

Smells aren't supposed to be so strong in dreams.

"I need to go."

"Where?"

This simple question asked in an equally plain tone makes you falter. What does he mean 'where'?

"Home," you say softly and try to free your hand again without success. The man leans in close enough that you can see his face, illuminated by that blue light.

"And where is home?"

"I-" you swallow. "I have to go."

He releases you with surprising ease; you don't waste any time rushing towards the path. The long walk has exhausted you, and the lack of light makes it difficult to tell which turns to take. You stumble multiple times. The hem of your nightdress catches a few twigs. You sprint past the trees, past the low bushes along the familiar trail, and it's there, suddenly in front of you: the wooden bridge.

Out of breath, you grab the railing. And then open your eyes on the same side where you started.

How?

Again and again, you dash across it, yet every time there's a single step left to cross over the stream, the view shifts. Your feet land at the beginning of the bridge. On the ninth time when it's impossible to run any longer, you press your forehead to the railing. Every breath feels short and raspy.

"That's enough, dear."

"What is this?" You grip the planks with trembling hands. "I don't understand. Why can't I-"

A coat falls over your shoulders; you clutch at it mindlessly, because it's warm and you're shaking all over.

"You thanked me. Claimed my land, charmingly audacious of you. Such care and love, right under my nose."

There's no malice in his voice. Gently, finger by finger, he uncurls the tight grip of your hand. The stone is there, cerulean blue like summer sky condensed into a tiny orb.

"Took my gift and kept it close to your heart."

It takes some effort but eventually you manage to speak. "I didn't," you whisper urgently, despite the shiny proof in your palm. "I didn't know! Take it back."

"I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"I didn't know!"

He lifts you in his arms when your knees give out and you sink to the ground, still gripping that damned stone. His coat carries the same distinct scent of lilies and heavy sweetness. The sceneries you dreamed of when younger pop in your head, like old postcards covered with dust, of mystical beings hidden from human eye, fantastical places no one has seen, grand adventures where heroes defy impossible odds and come out victorious.

Those were tales for the brave and imaginative. You're neither.

"It doesn't matter. The land claims you," he says. "And so do I."

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter fanfic #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo lucilfer #yandere chrollo x reader

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feminist-space · 6 hours ago

Text

"Joy Spence, 21, said she visited emergency departments at two hospitals in St. John's over the course of nearly two weeks this May.

What began as weakness and abdominal pain on her right side quickly deteriorated into blacking out from the agony in her torso.

But no matter how dire her symptoms got, doctors kept sending her home.

"They would just tell me, 'Your bloodwork's normal, there's nothing we can do.' They would send me home, then same thing again," she said. "I would go back again. They would get me to do the bloodwork, say everything's normal."

Ultrasound and CT scans apparently turned up nothing, but Spence, in such severe pain, says she had no option but to keep returning to the hospital, where she says she was eventually left screaming in a waiting room, ignored by hospital staff.

"If somebody doesn't help me, I'm going to die," she recalls wailing, watching doctors and nurses pass her by.

At one point, she was dismissed outright by a walk-in clinic nurse, she adds.

"Somebody said to me, 'I don't know what you expect me to do,'" she said. "'You're a healthy 21-year-old young female.'"

One night, she says, her boyfriend had to help her into an ambulance. Spence was in so much pain she couldn't stay conscious and stand on her own.

"I remember the man in the ambulance telling me … how often he sees other young women going into the hospital and seeing them be misdiagnosed and not taken seriously," she said, speaking through tears.

"He said that he would do his best to … get things going for me."

Spence says she went to an ER at the Health Sciences Centre or St. Clare's Mercy Hospital about 10 times over a 12-day period, beginning on May 21. She also visited her family doctor, who could do little except tell her to speak directly to the surgeon at Health Sciences Centre, she said.

Each time she saw a doctor, she says, she was sent home and told to dance around her living room or do yoga to cure what physicians believed was anxiety or sluggish bowels.

"I had so many laxatives," Spence recalls. "I would tell them … nothing's even coming out anymore. It's not just this, I don't think. But no, they were dead set on the constipation and only constipation. Like, it can only be that."

...

Spence says doctors only began to take her seriously once she began vomiting in a Health Sciences Centre hallway. The contents of her stomach were green and black.

An older doctor walking past her happened to notice, stopping in his tracks. Spence says he immediately identified the issue as appendicitis.

At that doctor's urging, Spence was finally wheeled into an operating room, where she says her burst appendix — now gangrenous — was removed.

"I think when I walked into the room and they seen a 21-year-old young girl, they immediately dismissed me and thought that there couldn't be anything wrong with me," Spence said.

"I was not on their minds and not on their radar. And if they didn't have that preconceived idea of me, those thoughts wouldn't have been formed and maybe I would have gotten the proper care that I should have."

...

Spence is still struggling to recover from her ordeal. Physically, she's now fine: her appendix was removed and her stitches have healed.

But she's lost an alarming amount of weight, she says, wakes up gasping in the middle of the night and can't stop herself from crying whenever she remembers the hospital.

"I've been losing a lot of hair," she said. "Mentally, it's just been a struggle."

Spence only received an apology from the health authority after CBC News requested comment and confirmed that Spence had done an interview — a move she says felt hollow and frustrating, since the manager who called her didn't give her an explanation about why she was repeatedly ignored while waiting to be admitted.

The ripple effect from her illness, and how she says she was treated when seeking care, has uprooted her life. She's taken a year off her studies in Memorial University's social work program and has lost her job. She's looking for trauma therapy, but now doesn't have the money to pay for it, she says.

"I think as young women we're always told what we're supposed to do, how we're supposed to think, and not to trust our instincts," she said.

"But most of the time … the gut instinct is right. I knew I was sick. I knew what was happening wasn't right, and I could have died if I didn't keep going back to the hospital.

"If I had listened to those doctors and went back home — what could have really happened?""

#ableism #ableism in medicine #medical malpractice #medicine #medicine dismissing patients #misogyny in medicine #hospital management system

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ohmotherwhereartthou-if · 2 days ago

Note

This may be a bit broad but for the RO who have loving parents, what would they think of MC when

They first meet them

They start dating their kid

They marry them

The way I had to sit and and actually think about who of the RO's actually have a healthy family dynamic lmao! I mean, it's technically just Valeria and Cassandra but because I don't want to give just the Castellions some love; I'll include Aurelio even though his dad passes just before the story technically starts.

They first meet them:

Cassandra: Alejandro dislikes MC upon first meeting because Cass is his world and nobody in his eyes will ever be good enough for his little girl. Would act extra scary on purpose and while Cass knows he is just putting on a show, MC 100% doesn't see it that way.

Insert meme of: 'Get your dog!' 'He don't bite.' 'YES HE DOES!'

Valeria: Her parents are weary of outsiders like everyone else in the town, they have no issues being polite at first meeting but they warn Valeria not to be too trusting of strangers and exercise caution. Would ask her brothers to keep an eye on MC while they are around Valeria, they love their daughter dearly and think her too naive to be left alone with a stranger.

Aurelio: His father would be sickly at this point and likely bedridden but if Aurelio trusts MC enough to introduce them he would trust his son's opinion and welcome MC with open arms. Making jokes and inviting them to stay for dinner so he could get to know them better.

They start dating their kid:

Cassandra: If MC did not make a good enough impression on him yet, then he openly disapproves. Would see MC as unworthy and would try, in private, to talk is daughter out of it. At the end of the day he would respect her decision, but would be passive aggressive with MC until they win him over.

If MC got on his good side he would begrudgingly agree, MC still has to put in some work to win him over completely but Alejandro would actually try to get closer to MC and invite them on hangouts so he can try to get to know them better and see if they are really a good fit for his daughter.

Valeria: If MC passes the vibe check from her brothers and actually comes over to meet them, then they would be open minded. They would prefer Val be with someone in the village but would not be so close minded to absolutely reject someone who might be open to moving into the village one day. Might have some beef if MC talks about taking Val somewhere far away one day.

Aurelio: His father, who's name is also Aurelio, don't know if I've mentioned that before. Current Aurelio is the Jr, his father is Aurelio senior. But to be entirely honest... Aurelio Sr. knows his son and he would smile and congratulate the two but would honestly not take it seriously because he figures it wouldn't last. His son is the perfect copy of himself, he himself never fell in love again after his childhood love and mother of his son passed many years ago. He would spend majority of his son's development years surrounded by many different 'girlfriends' and being married to his work. He expects his son would be the same, if anything he pities MC for taking the relationship seriously.

They marry them:

Cassandra: If he likes MC he's pretty happy, if MC is a guy then he would see him as the son he never had and would ask him often to go and have father son nights with him. He would low key try to steal a good chunk of MC's time and would tell Cass to share him lol. If MC is a woman then he is happy to have another daughter (He would never call it a marriage though sadly, Alejandro is devout and would see the relationship more as a domestic partnership). In Castellio Gay marriages are not a thing, people can file for domestic partnerships and would publicly be seen as "best friends" even though most people know what it really means. He would never be rude to MC or his daughter about it though, he is happy that you both are happy and would just tell himself it's a very close friendship (read: is in denial and is okay with that). He would refer to MC as his other or adopted daughter when people ask who is MC to Cassandra, and would shut down any hate being thrown towards his daughters. He would also invite MC out with him and Cass to go out on fun trips and activities together.

If he hates MC? Rolls his eyes so much they might fall out of his head, highly disapproves of the union but will accept whatever makes his daughter happy. Expect many sarcastic comments 24/7.

Valeria: Very happy that their little girl is getting married and hopes that MC is forever blind to just how crazy this family is, tries to rush the marriage so MC can't change their mind lol. They would welcome MC as one of their own and would expect them to move into their house or build their own in the village. The only huge beef they would have is again, if MC suggests taking Val away to Sanctuario or something. That would bring a huge issue and their would need to be peace talks.

Aurelio: He would not believe it at first, his son? MARRIED? What manner of witchcraft is at work here? He would be convinced his son is either under a spell or is being blackmailed, after confirming his son is being serious he would honestly still be in disbelief for a while. Once it all sinks in, he would cry tears of joy. He never thought his son could find someone who would accept all of him with all his flaws and still want to stick around. He is so happy his son has finally found his person and is so happy he got to be alive long enough to see it... even though in reality that sadly never got to be. 😭

#omwat #ask #ludovica #elio #tomas #aurelio #cassandra #valeria #interactive fiction #if #interact if #if game #interactive game #interactive games #work in progress

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sunnydayaoe · 16 hours ago

Text

{This isn't Normal}

[CCCC FIC] Contains: Platonic Soul and Mind [~6,000 words]

CW // attempt at romance [no actual romance], uncomfortable kissing [they figure out they don't like kissing and talk it out]

As if sensing the fact it was thinking of him, Mind tightened his arms in his sleep. Usually the robot tried not to be so grabby, but in its sleep it seemed to have no such reservations. It was almost cute, like every daydream Harmonia had ever had about a partner. Soft and domestic, downright cozy. {The idea of Mind in that dream made him want to puke.} - Or, Soul VS. Amatonormativity; considerations on what friends should act like

Fic under cut! or on AO3

{This wasn’t Normal}

The sun was freezing cold, leeching any warmth he had like the parasite he’d always claimed they were. Somehow, he couldn’t summon any of the vitriol that would have accompanied that thought mere weeks ago. His Mind, comfortable and healthy and There in his arms. It almost felt like blasphemy to feel the moment could be perfect, if he let it.

As if sensing the fact it was thinking of him, Mind tightened his arms in his sleep. Their legs were already tangled, its hooked around his, and its arms were twined around his waist, but it still tried to worm its way closer.

Usually the robot tried not to be so grabby, but in its sleep it seemed to have no such reservations. It was almost cute, like every daydream Harmonia had ever had about a partner. Soft and domestic, downright cozy.

{The idea of Mind in that dream made him want to puke.}

So why wasn't it perfect? What about this set off so many red flags in his mind? Was it the way it drooled a little, fast asleep as it was and mouth parted in a little smile, utterly relaxed? The way it had decided that, regardless of all that he had done, this was what he deserved?

Or was it the fact that Soul had just noticed how close it was. Did friends sleep so close together, snuggled together in bed?

He shook his head, that was - this was - irrelevant. He just needed to get to sleep. Just had to accept this was supposed to be ideal. He just... had to ignore the nagging voice at the back of his mind. There was nothing to worry about- It's just- {his skin was starting to crawl-}

Mind rolled onto the mattress with a muffled thump, still sound asleep, now on its side. The half marked by their cacophony. Exposed teeth stretched into a rictus grin, a smile carved free from its face, even unconscious. Cute, the way an ugly dog was. It hadn’t noticed Soul sitting up {flinching back}.

{Soul hadn’t noticed a lot of things either. Like a boiling frog, he’d been oblivious to the slow shift in their relationship. When had he started letting it sleep in his bed? Getting so close to him?}

He... why was he freaking out. This wasn't new. {And wasn't that the problem? Why did he let it go so far?} He needed to get over it; what would Mind think, if it woke up tomorrow and Soul... was acting like this. Surely it would be worried. Stress during Concord; he didn't want to be the cause of that.

He needed to get back to... what had become the status quo. He reached out a clawed hand, thumb against its pulse point, testing. Cold, even still, but relaxed; wholly within his control. Safe.

It remained un-tense at his prodding, a lamb before a butcher. Nothing was wrong here, he reminded himself. {He should be gentle, but} His hand tightens, unconscious as the creature beside him. Its throat felt so malleable, under its hands. Delicate, like if he squeezed-

The whir of a fan stopped him. A furrow had found its way onto Mind's brow. Lips and teeth parted slightly as if to breathe more easily, a near silent pant, wheezy, starting up.

Taking in a breath, deeply, slowly {an attempt to get away from that blistering confusion}, he shifted his hand from throat to shoulder. A safer place. It brought his attention back to the present moment.

His Mind leaned in, like he hadn't just been choking it. {And hadn't that been their whole relationship? Him, hurting it, and it crawling back, forgiving him for things it had no right to.} He couldn't bring himself to let go. {He shouldn't be enjoying this, the gentle give of its skin, the cool emanating from it even through its shirt.}

It had always burned, like dry ice. Why not tonight? {Not quite a lie, but not the full truth either; he hadn't felt the skin crawling sensation anytime they'd done... this.} Would it even stop him, if it did? Mind, a purposefully apathetic grin on his face, image ruined by a blue blush dusting its cheeks. No new bruises, skin clean of cuts. Awkwardly, stiltedly, asking for some time together. Would he say no to that, even if it burned? {He knew he would. Selfishly.}

He lied back down, on his side, facing his Mind. Closer to it now. He was reaching out before he'd even considered what he should be doing. Cupping the back of its head with its one free hand, {tangled into its hair, thumb gently --because he needed to remember to be gentle-- pressed to the side of its neck, feeling the cold, sluggish pulse}, he tipped its head back. An almost instinctual action he had from checking bandages, even months after it had fully healed.

Ugly scars marred its throat; stretching from its cheek to its collarbone, blue lined circuits exposed with the scars. It didn't even stir at this, seeming to have, even unconscious, grown used to the motion just as much as Soul had. A level of trust that just couldn't be deserved, earned.

They... shouldn't be doing this, should they.

He shook his head; He couldn't be having these thoughts at 12 AM. He should at least wait until morning before bringing up any of these topics. Waking up Mind now would only only make it grumpy and difficult about it; he should push these issues aside for the future. [He knew he'd probably never bring it up, push it off until it loomed on the horizon like an approaching storm.]

All his shifting had untangled their legs, had dislodged Mind from its comfortable place pressed against his side, his own panic ruining their little slice of harmony. It would definitely notice, if it woke up like this, that Soul had not slept soundly. More and more undue stress inflicted upon it, like he had not done that enough during cacophony.

If it woke up in the same... general closeness it had fallen asleep in, it would probably be fine. The best option, if he wanted not to worry it. {and not, of course, because he wanted to be closer, to have it back in his arms.} He would not be spiraling tonight. It was just a bit of cuddling, just returning to their flawed status quo. Nothing wrong with that. {May Harmonia forgive him.}

He let his eyes drift to its throat, still bared, still trusting. It would be... fine with this, he supposed. Just settling it back into where it had been when it fell asleep. He was sure it wouldn't protest this. {He wondered who it'd blame if he went too far. He knew it wouldn't blame him.}

He inched the smallest bit closer, gently tugging it in turn. His arm sled down its back, feeling the sharp, metal ridges of its spine, the slight rubbery give around it. An action that all the world looked like someone soothing a partner. {He knew he was the only one getting soothed by the action.}

Gentle, cautious, one hand tugged its face to his neck, tucking it flush against him, while the other inched across its back. Something so cold shouldn't be so enjoyable to cuddle, yet Mind felt almost perfect in his arms. He hooked his leg around its, tangling them back together under the covers, the gentle creaking of metallic joints humming at all the movement.

It snuggled closer against his neck, movement in its sleep, exposed teeth pressed against him; gross, but he didn't mind as much as he thinks he should have. Another tally in the mess he had become with Mind. He tightened his arms, he doesn't want to think about it.

Cold and heavy, like a weighted blanket, perfect for a night like this. He thinks that was why he let it sleep in his bed with it, or... what he'd told himself he was letting it do this for. Sitting under the covers with it snugly held in his arms was downright pleasant. He reminded himself he was doing this to reinstate the status quo.

He could hear its breathing, so close to his ear. No dreams, good or bad, seemed to plague his Mind, breathing smooth and uninterrupted; sometimes {and how long did he have to spend sleeping beside this to note?} when it dreamt, it seemed to forget all the damage that had been inflicted onto it. Every breath pulled in a bit stilted, like it couldn't remember how to around the unfamiliar damage. He supposes maybe in its dreams it was unbroken.

He could feel himself relaxing further into it, relaxing in the haziness night brought. Maybe... this could be okay. For the purpose of not stressing Mind out, of course.

Feeling along its back, he felt the mechanical engineering it had reduced itself to. Even through the shirt, the robot had a unique feeling... Digging the slightest bit between each ridge of its back, he felt it shudder in his arms. Curling towards him and arching its back in equal measure. Under the covers its tail was wagging, the slightest bit. Its breathing had gotten a bit snuffly too... was it having a good dream now?

Cute, he thought. He tucked his face right over its shoulder, as if it could see his reddening expression if he hadn't, even fully asleep.

He must have paused, because it squirmed in his arms a little. Soft noises, softer motions, how could he deny it a little more affection? Just to placate it, of course.

He let his claws skin over its back, dipping along the soft ridges of its spin and the relaxed muscles of its back. His other arm curled around its waist, hand splayed across its lower back and rubbing small soothing circles.

It stopped its movements, falling limp once more {he ignored how similar that drop felt to when it passed out from the pain, months before}.

Confidence renewed, and perhaps a bit chastised by its reaction to his stopping, he let himself get a bit more intense with his actions. He dipped his claws into a groove of softer skin along its spine, just below its shoulder blades, feeling the way it let out a little noise at the action; the reaction should have stopped him, even thought it wasn't a negative one.

He continued anyway. His second mistake. {his first was letting it get this close in the first place}

Humming a satisfied note, he held it close, cool against his warm body. Maybe he could get to sleep like this, ignore the wrongness. Of course, that was when it had to wake up.

"Enjoying yourself?" Groggy, but still teasing. It could tell what he was doing, hugging, cuddling it like a doll. He froze, hearing its voice, but only for a moment. He didn't get this far by showing fear, weakness. He spread his hand out, cradling it, before pulling it closer, chest flush against his own. It could fight back now.

"Quite a lot," he hummed, ear twitching in distance when he heard the way his voice cracked; he didn't know why. He wasn't lying, after all. He was enjoying himself, half asleep and enjoying the comfort of his third against him. Now though, he was brought back to reality; it didn't seem angry at him now, but he knew it would be. How couldn't it?

He could tell by the slight narrowing of its eye, even half-mask with drowsiness, it had heard his voice shake too. Idly, {to avoid thinking of other things} he wondered what it must assume that meant. Lying? Exited? Too many things for his precious Mind to ascribe meaning when there wasn't. His body was just being... uncooperative.

He didn't allow it the satisfaction of a glib remark; blunt claws traced along the soft spots by its spine, letting them dip further into the soft plastic between metal he knew could get him a reaction. Mean, he knew.

The choked off whine that turned straight into a growl was his reward, amusing as it was nauseating. At least one of them was enjoying this. Its hands reached out to weakly paw at him before sliding up to his shoulders, blunt nails digging in. It didn't seem to know what to do with all the affection, especially since Soul usually didn't get so handsy. {A sure sign he probably shouldn't be doing this.}

"What are you doing?" it huffed, pulling away from his neck and revealing its face, stained a dark indigo. "You're acting.... odd."

Clearly it didn't like how... affecting this was; Soul would have to note where exactly he'd sunk his claws, for future reference. Of course, there would be no "future" to reference this in. He was already stepping over lines, to continue doing so in the future... a recipe for disaster. "Nothing, my Mind. Can't I be in a cuddly mood? Just for tonight."

"Bullshit."

"I assure you, it's not," he grinned, eyes crinkling and mouth tilted just right to match Harmonia's smile on the left. Perfect, angelic: it must have clashed terribly with how he let his claws dig in, "Plus, you seem to be enjoying it." It shuddered a bit at his actions as it let out another whiny growl. It sounded distinctly like a dog, the way the sound rolled into a deep low rumble by its modulator. It recovered much quicker, this time.

"Fuck off," Mind didn't believe him, pushing off him the moment it could and sitting up till' it loomed above him. It seemed like it wanted to take up all his vision. He guessed it wanted to feel in control. "You're not acting yourself."

He averted his eyes. {Was this what Heart felt like, accused under that sharp, whited out gaze?}

The glass of water on the nightstand was looking rather interesting, half-empty; he thinks Mind drank it. Lights were off too, dark except what the moon, his moon, illuminated through the window. {He didn't want to look back.}

It seemed he wasn't going to be allowed to look away though, his Mind not allowing it. His face was grabbed and his eyes dragged back to Mind. It was breathing through clenched teeth, {He'd fucked up, hadn't he.} Even still, it was hard not to immediately relax into its hands; would that calm it down or stress it out further? Clearly it was disquieted with his strange attitude tonight, and finding its touch anything more than Tolerable would certainly set off some red flags.

At this point though... he doesn't think he can stress it out further. Surly it won't notice. He relaxed into its hands. Sighing and leaning its cheek into the touch. Its fingers curled, tensed; he ignored that.

"Do we have to talk about it?" Quieter than he meant to say it. He closed his eyes, knowing Mind wouldn't let him look away. Still, he could perfectly picture it's expression. Eyes narrowed, mouth pursed, shoulders tense like it was ready for a fight; it always looked so much less relaxed in an emotional confrontation over a physical one.

Blissful silence, for just a moment. "You know I can't just leave it, if there's something wrong with you, we should... endeavor to fix it."

"And if I don't want to think about it?"

"Well... that is my job, I could handle it."

That startled a laugh out of him. The startled satisfaction on its face certainly let it know it was on purpose. He knew the other wouldn't be dropping this anytime soon. Not when he'd acted so... erratically; he had to talk about it. "You know what we have isn't normal."

"What do you mean?"

Soul reached up to drag Mind down with him, face pressed to its sternum. He didn't want to look at it for this, didn't even want it seeing his expression. "What we're doing. What we've Been doing. This.”

It was silent at that, probably unable to think up a rebuttal. Conceding when someone else was right...? Strange of his Mind. Maybe it was going through the same realization Soul had gone through, that this wasn't okay. He tightened his grip, not wanting it to leave even though they both knew they shouldn't be doing this anymore. Selfish, but what had he not been.

He could feel it swallow, eerily human, "Why would you think that?"

"You're the smart one, can't figure it out? What, think this is normal? That "friends" cuddle every other night? sleep in the same bed? dress up and play dog?"

"Soul." It tried to pull his face away from its chest. He refused; he didn't want eye contact again. Couldn't look it in the eyes. He heard it sigh overhead. Resignation, probably: tired of dealing with his shit, definitely. He shouldn't have snapped, if there was any chance of this getting shoved under the rug, it was gone now.

"I shouldn't want this." Curled, tucked against its chest, cuddling it like a stuffed animal, it was obvious what "this" he was talking about.

"And if I want this too?"

He laughed against its chest. A new route his Mind had never taken; genuine manipulation. Normally it at least believed the lies it was saying. "You just want to make me feel better."

It let its head dip down and rest on the crown of his skull, cheeks pressed to his horns. It huffed, though didn't fight him on the point, "I do."

His face burned. Mind was probably tired, he'd just woken it up, after all. Probably from a good dream, definitely something that would leave everything tinted a bit pink. It wouldn't be saying this if it was thinking straight. Emotionally repressed, faking apathy, distanced from the two of them; its Mind could not be the one more emotionally present of the two of them right now.

"Friends can't do this." He repeated, refusing to follow up.

It was impossible to see its face from where he was, but he could almost Feel the eye roll it was doing. None of them could be anything but difficult. He wished it could just accept his words, just once.

"Okay than, how about... we not be friends for this."

"Like... partners?"

"..." It was silent for a moment, and just as he was considering the possibility that he'd fucked up, that he'd over stepped and suggested something strange- "Yeah... like partners."

That... could work. It would fix all the problems he'd found; friends couldn't cuddle every night, couldn't sleep in the same bed, couldn't ... couldn't do all the things he'd done with Mind. {And hadn't he compared this to daydreams his Harmonia would have had? It was perfect.} But this would Fix it all! {His skin was starting to crawl.}

He laughed, relieved. "Yeah? You'd do that for me?"

It froze a little, arms tightening around him, it seems like it didn't know how to react to that.

"...For you, my Soul."

He finally leaned back, allowing it eye contact. Its expression softens at his smile, though its brown remained the smallest bit furrowed.

"That's great! that's... that's great." He laughed again, giggly with the deflating tension. His hands wound right back around to its back, hugging it. It relaxes further, untensing in his hold; perfect, he decided. Really this makes it all finally, *finally*, make sense.

He grinned, he couldn't Stop grinning. Too much energy, he could tell by the way it slowly blinked down at him. The adrenaline drop definitely affecting it.

"So- ah, does this... ah... we're... together?" He didn't want to jump the gun too much, {and maybe a little voice at the back of his head really wanted it to say no.} even though that is what Mind had implied with its decision. Best let his Mind decide, this was its idea after all.

His Mind, his, of course. It would explain its... everything, if he looked at it through that lens. It had always been a bit, well, Odd about him, odd in the way he was odd about it. {It had to. It had to explain it all. Otherwise, he'd have to confront he wanted things he really shouldn't.}

It smiled, awkward. He guessed it had filled it's quota for emotional intelligence for the day, the night. Whatever. It was cute {and he could finally think that without guilt!}. Mind hummed, drooping into the bed, his arms, satisfied with its problem "solved." Soul really had been stressing it out... but that was okay, it was all fixed now. He could make it up to it.

"Sure... sounds good,"

"Now what? Now that we're... more than friends." The phrase left an odd taste in his mouth, but maybe that was because it was new. He'd get used to it.

"Do we have to do anything?" It asked, clearly ready to go right back to sleep. After a searching look, it relented. {Did he really look that bad...?} "Fine. I think... people usually kiss, when they're... Like that."

The words came out awkward, and he giggled at it. It phrased it like it was talking about a particularly odd thing it had seen online, not it's actual life. "Like that?" He repeated, teasing.

It groaned, annoyed, "Like *this.* Whatever. Do you want to?"

"... Maybe."

"That's not really an answer."

"No. Yes. Maybe" he waffled, like he always did. They should make indecision his middle name.

He really didn't know. It was... well it felt like what he was supposed to be doing; they'd already settled that this would fix their little "Normal" vs "Abnormal" equation. So if he wanted to keep everything else, he probably should get used to everything else that came with it.

Mind narrowed it's eye, clearly already over their little late-night emotional breakthrough. That was its thinking face, and he wondered what solution it was going to drop all its eggs into. "How about I do it?"

"The kissing? I think it's a two person activity."

An eye-roll, more a tip of the head than anything else- his Mind didn't really have pupils to roll, after all. Still, it got the idea across.

"Not on the lips, obviously." It gestured vaguely to the rest of its face, "I'll just... try it out elsewhere; perhaps some applicable data could help you decide."

"That is the nerdiest way I've ever heard someone ask for a kiss."

It turned away, embarrassment painting its face a faint blue and highlighting its freckles, "yes or no."

"Fine, yes, give me some new "data," my Mind."

The robot didn't seem to know what to do now that it was given the go-ahead. Did it think he'd say no? {Should he have said no?}

Hands settled back on his shoulders, and it leaned in closer, closer. It paused right before his face, and he couldn't help the amused snort he let out; his Mind always spoke a big game, but had awful follow through.

It growled at him, muttering something he could only hear because of how close it was, "I'm trying to be considerate."

"More like hesitant. I've already said yes."

It huffed, but finally made contact, pressed gently to his cheek.

He doesn't know what he expected. Fireworks? A rush of energy? An orchestral swell of music, perhaps?

All he got was teeth and skin. Getting kissed by someone with half a face, of course, meant teeth. Sharp and cold, like silverware, and slightly damp. Definitely a bit gross. Not unbearably so, though.

Its lips were similarly chilled, but soft against his cheek. Not the ice cube of its teeth, but comfortably cold. Really not as unexpected as he felt it was.

Mind pulled back near instantly, brow furrowed but unspeaking, worried for his reaction, probably.

He hummed, considering, "Not bad... could you try without shoving your teeth into my skin?"

"Not my fault."

"Well, the way you use those things definitely IS."

It narrowed its eye at the jabs, but leaned back in for another gentle kiss, slightly to the right of the first. Less teeth, how kind of it.

It really wasn't all that bad. He liked how gentle it felt, considerate of him in a way he'd started to enjoy in the last couple months. Sweet, if he had to describe it.

He let his eyes fall shut, humming at the sensation. It was nice; not the way he'd expected this to feel, but certainly not Bad. He wondered when it would start to feel the way others described it, though.

Seeming to take his relaxation as approval, it continued. Gently peppering his cheeks in little half kisses, it seemed like it was trying to make up for the fractured lips with twice as many pecks.

{He wondered if his face would end up covered in blue lipstick by the time they went to sleep. He guesses there wasn't anyone to see it.}

It drifted slightly closer to his lips, pressing one final kiss to the very edge of his mouth before pulling back.

"So... that enough data?" It coughed, clearly struggling not to look away. Its face was a bit blue, and he knew his was definitely tinted red, but his Mind seemed determined to look at this as "logically," as it could-a habit it had started to break in concord, but he guesses everyone had their ways of dealing with new situations.

He rubbed his cheek, it felt burning, warm from all the cold kisses. "Yeah..."

"Yeah?"

"Impatient, much?" He teased, trying not to let it show how much he... didn't know if he wanted to go further than that. The kisses were nice, very nice, even, but the idea of going further than innocent pecks...

"I want to go to sleep." it said, "We can stop here, if you want. Figure this shit out tomorrow."

"No, no," sitting around doing nothing, waiting for his problems to be solved rarely got him anywhere, and trust him, he'd Tried. "We can kiss now, if you want."

It hummed, like it hadn't actually considered Soul agreeing and didn't know what to do now that he did. "Yeah... lets."

There was an awkward moment, where both of them waited for the other to make the first move. Mind had done it first, but shouldn't that mean Soul should have his turn as well? or does that mean it should just continue what it had started.

Seeming to care more about the prospect of getting to sleep after the deed was done than it was with the slight tension that had entered the air, Mind went for the kill.

It was, in a word, awful.

Mind went in a little fast, and Soul couldn't say he wasn't to blame either, leaning in when he saw it moving forward. Teeth against skin, lips mushed together in an uncoordinated mess. He thought concord was supposed to make them on the same wavelength, but clearly that was a critical misunderstanding of their newfound harmony. It was bad in a way independent from the physical sensation, like he was doing something against his vary nature. Like a wider example of all the little doubts he'd had about this "solution."

He powered through for only a moment longer, before it became very much unbearable. It burned, and not in any pleasant way: like someone had shoved mercury under his skin, blood lit up in a horrid prickling wrongness.

He pulled away with a shudder, and opening his eyes he could tell Mind didn't seem to have enjoyed it either. Fuck. Really bad.

It was silent between their breathing, neither wanting to admit fault or mistake. Trapped between the urge to suggest a do-over, to try it again, that really it shouldn't have been that bad, and the bone-deep need to pull his skin off, he couldn't say a thing.

Mind never was able to shut up though.

"That was... an experience."

"No shit," He hissed, voice beckoned by Mind's nothing observation.

"I take it that wasn't to your liking either, my Soul?"

"How could you tell?" Snappy, yet again.

It just looked at him. He stared back, for just a moment, before tearing his eyes away. He couldn't deal with this right now. The worst part was that it wasn't just the kiss though, that was just highlighting the problem. His Fix wasn't the golden path he'd decided it needed to be, and now he was left to deal with the problem once more. They weren't normal.

It reached out, gentle as it could be half metal, "Hey, we'll... figure something else out."

"How?" and his voice came out split, like two people were speaking at once. He dragged in a shaky breath, he shouldn't be snapping at Mind, it had indulged him in his wild frenzy for answers tonight, had done nothing wrong so far. Oh Harmonia did he want to get angry at someone though. Another sin to add to his tally.

It brought its hand right back to itself, hesitant to be touching him now that he'd gotten himself into a mood. Probably for the best, he doesn't know how he'd handle more of that cold against him.

"We'll figure something out."

He didn't think they would. It didn't look like it thought they could either; shoulders tense and jaw clenched. Nervous. Lying.

"You don't believe that." He barely kept it from turning into a snarl.

It cringed back, probably unhappy with its lie called out. It took a breath, a rebuttal already coming out, it really couldn't shut up, could it? "Soul-"

He turned around, back to his Mind. He couldn't get mad at it, he reminded himself; it was only trying to help. Ineffective, but he had to forgive it. Harmonia would forgive it. Hands clutched to his ears, knees pulled up to his chest, he could hear it spluttering behind him.

"That is so-" it stopped, but he knew what it wanted to say: childish. Why stop itself? It would be saying the first truthful statement of the night, if it didn't.

He curled up further, not wanting to listen, to care. Freaking it out, earning its ire, having convinced it to go alone with his horrible horrible ideas... he didn't know if he felt more shame or anger. Which was safer? Which one was he supposed to be feeling?

There was a sigh, tired, from his Mind. He tried not to take it personally. A second more of shifting, moving blankets. Was it leaving? That would make the most sense. {He ignored the voice in the back of his head screaming to stop it. He didn't want to be alone.}

Before he could stew too long, a blanket was dropped over his shoulders, a barrier between him and Mind. Considerate of it, though he doesn't know why it would do that, he was entirely capable of tucking himself in when it lef- He startled as it settled against his back.

He couldn't feel the cold through the covers, only the pressure, the knowledge. Arms draped over and chest to his spine.

He couldn't cry right now. That would send the wrong message. It was pushing his buttons, he'd made it very clear he was trying to avoid even looking at it and yet- It wasn't touching him. It was trying. Fuck.

He didn't want to cry right now.

"That may have been a... misguided attempt to fix the problem, but there must be a solution. We just haven't found it."

"Don't think so..." He muttered, barely audible.

"Well I don't care."

That startled a laugh from him, wheezy and a bit choked up. "Wasn't this whole thing supposed to be about making me feel better? You can't say "I don't care""

He could almost feel the smile the laugh gained him, the way it relaxed even through the blanket. He stared intensely at the wall, not wanting it to distract him from the issues at hand.

Its next words were soft, going after the small opening in his defenses, "We figured it wasn't romantic. That can just be... a starting point. We know its not romantic, at the very least."

"Fine... okay, I concede we at least learned a little from that..." He paused, considering his next words carefully, "Most of the kisses were fine, really, just... not on the lips."

There was silence for a moment, and he worried that maybe he'd fucked up, said something he shouldn't. Maybe it hated that part too. Maybe it just hated him.

Shifting behind him, than a crackling voice, "ah... me too. That's good, yeah? More information to work with."

He hummed an agreeing noise, "I guess."

It settled its head on his shoulder, another inch closer to him. He didn't push it away, and it relaxed into him, taking that as permission. He shouldn't be letting this happen, not when they still didn't know what This was.

"We don't want our relationship... romantic." The word came out a bit awkward, like it didn't even want to acknowledge they'd tried to go in that direction at all, "And you've decided it can't just be a friend thing-"

Soul huffed, "what do you mean, "decided?" I thought you agreed. Use your logic, my Mind."

It growled behind him, clearly unamused at being interrupted, "Well the romantic angle definitely didn't pan out, and while I see your misgivings about it being wholly platonic... I am beginning to think they may be unfounded."

"Well, good thing your not the emotional interpersonal relationship third, because I don't see reason to heed those misgivings."

"Heart wouldn't give a shit about whether we were calling it romantic or platonic and you know it."

That stopped Soul in his tracks. The words were definitely only meant as a glib comeback, a way for his Mind to have the last laugh but they struck a cord with him. Heart probably wouldn't care whatever Soul and Mind called their relationship, as long as all three of them could live happily.

Was this... another false construct? He thought he was over this, that he'd excised all the rot from his worldview. He couldn't tell.

It just made Sense for there to be things friends shouldn't do. Logical sense, except his logic was cuddled against him and clearly not against being friends through it all.

Awful. He needed to think. He couldn't just... He didn't want to have to throw away more of how he viewed the world. So much of it he'd come to realize was holding him back; the thought that there was still more he hadn't figured out felt sickening.

"My Soul...?" It had gotten all soft again, the teasing air disappearing as quick as it had appeared. He'd probably been silent too long, destroying the moment.

"Sorry, sorry." He mumbled, suddenly nervous all over again. "I just... can friends really be like this?"

It hummed a considering thought, "A friend is someone who is not an enemy or who is on the same side: a familiar or helpful thing. That definition doesn't exclude a bit of... cuddling and kissing, I think."

"..." He narrowed his eyes, ears twitching, "was that a dictionary definition of "friend?""

Silence.

"Cute. When did you even look that up? You can't have done that tonight."

"Ah... near the start of concord."

He laughed, "Why didn't you pull up that definition sooner?"

It tucked its face into his neck, as if to hide it. Ironic, because Soul couldn't see it's face either way, but now he could definitely feel the way its face was steadily getting colder. Blushing. "I... may not be firing on all cylinders. It's late. You woke me up in the middle of the night."

He couldn't help a laugh, "I thought your logic was absolute, yet you can't handle a nighttime conversation?"

"Well I don't see you handling this much better."

"I'm not the one who suggested the first faulty solution," Haughty, like he wasn't at fault for that same suggestion failing.

An indigent sound from behind, like it didn't know what to do with that, "Well excuse me! I wasn't the one having a little crisis he needed his Mind to try and fix."

That got him to turn around, squirming around the blanket until it had fallen off his shoulders and freed his arms. Using the newly acquired mobility, he gave his Mind a little shove, playful, "shut up, you"

It grinned, victorious, and grabbed his arms before he could pull back and dragged it into a hug. Still, it was gentle, or at least as gentle as the mechanical limbs could be, something he could easily struggle out of. All his squirms were token though, and he let himself be dragged into the embrace.

He huffed, "Was that a ploy, my dear Mind? I thought you over such petty tactics." There was a grin in his voice, one he didn't want to admit was there.

Its smile just widened, "All is fair in love and war, my Soul."

"And so what is this? Love or war?"

Another question he shouldn't have asked, but it answered without hesitation, like it had been planning to it before he'd even finished his question. "Love."

Letting out a laugh, he tucked his face against its chest, "Yeah? That still fit your definition of friend?"

Its arms wrapped around him, steady, safe. "Of course."

"Sure, fine, I'll believe that." He didn't know if he fully did now but... maybe he could. Another day, another week, month, maybe even year but... maybe he could.

"That's all I ask." Sleepy, content. The stress finally leaving it; a cause enough to pretend to believe it, at the very least.

#you can reblog this ver. :]#cccc #cj #chonny jash #chonnys charming chaos compendium #cj mind #cccc mind #cj soul #cccc soul #fanfic #fanfiction #my third fanfic !! yay!#jbird's art #jbird's fiction

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fuji09 · 19 hours ago

Text

Stiles Stilinski isn't as... UNCARING as you think.

Part 1 of my "[character] isn't as..." series.

There are many things Stiles has said that gets used against him. Stiles uses humor and sarcasm as coping mechanisms.

We all know he has severe trauma like:

Losing his mom to an illness that made her not herself anymore and think her own son was trying to hurt her as she slowly wasted away.

Being physically attacked by his mom during a moment where she swore he wasn't her son and was trying to hurt her.

He watched her die in her hospital room while alone with her because his dad had to work.

The constant fear of losing his dad and trying to control anything he can, like what his dad eats to try to keep him healthy and alive for a long time.

The constant fear of losing his dad while he's on the job so he listens in on his dad's police calls, not only to be nosy but to know what his dad is dealing with and if he's in danger.

Living with his dad drinking too much after his mom dies and feeling like everything is his fault.

Seeing a dead body and thinking it was his dad for a minute until the sheriff finally appeared.

The constant fear of losing his only best friend Scott.

The fear in the back of his mind that he might get the illness that killed his mother.

Almost being killed by Scott multiple times when he first turned. (Not bashing Scott, just stating a fact)

Almost having to cut off Derek's arm.

His relationship with his dad slowly deteriorating because he has to lie and keep the secret about the supernatural, not only to protect Scott and Derek, but to try to keep his dad safe.

Finding Lydia bitten by Peter and when he tries to help her, Peter won't allow it and forces Stiles to go with him (abducting Stiles) to use him to find Derek.

Having Chris shove him against the wall and antagonizing him and Stiles mouths off about how the Argents killed Derek's family.

Being paralyzed twice by the Kanima and the first time it happened he was having to see and listen to a guy slowly die by being crushed by a car lift that his jeep is on.

Holding Derek up in the pool for 2 hours when Derek was paralyzed.

Almost drowning with Derek in the pool.

Erica bashing him on the head with a part from his jeep and he wakes up in a dumpster.

Feeling guilty when his dad is forced to stop being sheriff for a while because of all the supernatural shit which made him look incompetent.

Having to punch Derek awake multiple times.

Constantly harassed by Mr. Harris during class.

Abducted by Gerald and taken to the Argents basement where Erica and Boys are being tortured. Gerard beats the shit out of Stiles.

Almost losing his dad to the Darach.

Trying to keep Cora alive while she's dying from mistletoe poisoning.

Having reality slowly slip away from him, not knowing whether he's asleep or not, and having night terrors.

Thinking he got the illness that killed his mom (he literally had to live for a bit thinking he was going to die within a few years!) when it was really the nogitsune.

Being chipped away at and possessed by the nogitsune.

Living with the knowledge of what really happened with Scott's dad leaving and never telling Scott.

Committing himself to Eichen House to try to keep his loved ones safe but putting himself in danger and in a very toxic environment.

Being put into solitary confinement and sedated when he was trying to stay awake to keep the nogitsune from getting full control.

His first time having sex and it's not even really him doing it but the nogitsune, so he didn't really get to truly consent.

Almost having a hole drilled into his head in the Eichen House basement by his roommate.

Having guns and various weapons pointed at him.

Thinking Derek is dead multiple times.

Seeing multiple dead bodies.

Being infected during their SATs with some unknown illness.

Having a gun shoved against his forehead as his teacher counts to 3, saying if he doesn't tell him where his friends are he's going to pull the trigger and kill Stiles. Stiles stands there refusing to give in.

Stiles' teacher was shot right in front of him, blood splattered on his face and he thinks for a moment that he was shot. Then he sees Scott's dad who killed the teacher.

Taken hostage with Lydia by the Eichen House orderly Brunski and tied up in the basement and was almost murdered.

Stiles seeing Derek is dying in Mexico and he wants to stay with him but Derek insists he go save Scott, Stiles is trying to choose which to do but Derek tells him to go so he does, knowing Derek will be dead before he gets back.

Donovan attacking Stiles in the school parking lot and bites his shoulder. Then chases Stiles into the school library, trying to kill him and threatening to kill the sheriff once he's done with Stiles.

Stiles accidentally killing Donovan. It wasn't even self defense, it was an accident. Stiles pulled a clip to release polls to keep Donovan away from him but ended up with Donovan getting impaled.

Feeling guilty and scared about Donovan's death and worried someone will find out.

Theo blacking mailing Stiles.

Feeling like his worst fear of losing Scott was happening during the confrontation when Scott thought Stiles murdered Donovan and Stiles thought Scott saw his self-defense (technically accident) as murder.

Almost losing his dad when he was shot.

Being forgotten by everyone because he was taken by the Ghost Riders. Which was made even worse by him calling Scott and Scott had no idea who Stiles was and then Stiles finds his dad, thinks for a moment his dad remembers him, then his dad asks him who he is.

Being stuck where the Ghost Riders took him, some train station, and he's stuck with Peter.

Being shot in the foot.

I'm sure there's more I'm forgetting, but clearly Stiles has been through way too much in such a short period of time.

Stiles cares, he cares deeply, kinda to the point of too much. He neglects himself, his wants and needs, to take care of his loved ones. The guy would literally die for his dad, Scott, and Derek.

He lets himself hurt to protect his friends, he goes into fights when he is a human who has no powers but he doesn't hesitate to fight with his friends. He never tells Scott about Gerard kidnapping him and hurting him because he refused to be a message to Scott.

Stiles jokes about killing or letting Jackson, Derek, and Peter die. He doesn't actually mean it (except maybe a tiny bit with Peter, which is fair). He doesn't want anyone to die. He doesn't want to actually kill anyone. He jokes and is sarcastic as a coping mechanism.

He also keeps everyone at arm's length. Even his dad and Scott. He's got abandonment issues and he protects himself by not letting anyone in too much. He talks a lot but he doesn't actually say much. Gives the illusion that's he's an open person but he's really not.

Stiles says inconsiderate things, yes that is true. But what better way to keep people from getting too close than being a dick sometimes? Stiles isn't an asshole, but he can and does act like an asshole sometimes.

With his loved ones, he's loyal af too. Even when he doesn't agree with the plan, he stays loyal. Stiles cares a lot about the people he loves. He wants to protect them and keep them safe. He may not care about everywhere, which is fair, but he does his best to protect people. He will even stand in front of werewolves to try to protect them even though he is the squishy human.

Stiles has a lot of feelings that he shows, but he also has a lot of feelings that he doesn't show. He puts everyone's feelings before his own.

Stiles seems to always feel guilty about something. Usually stuff dealing with his mom or dad.

I see people saying how callous Stiles is but he's really not. Yes, he can be cruel if he wants to be, if someone really hurts him, but he isn't an uncaring person. He's a pretty sensitive guy who puts on an uncaring front.

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thewalrusespublicist · 2 days ago

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Re: John and domestic abuse, and your tag: 'John as an abuser is something I don't think the fandom knows what to do with'.

I think my big thing about why and how it's all so difficult to unpack this is that the stories predominantly stem from and around the Dakota years and that is an incredibly murky time, in terms of straight facts and reliable narrative. Most of what leaks out of there comes via blackmail or disgruntled ex employees who are then silenced with gag orders. I think only May Pang's version of events is the most clear cut, level headed. And for what it's worth, I think she describes a mutually abusive relationship between John and Yoko, which I can believe. (I also take from it that she was in an abusive relationship with John, but that’s my take and I’m not going to put words in her mouth). And I know that you link to AKOM's discussion about John's beatings and abuse of Yoko, where they read from Goldman's book, but I think it's worth saying that AKOM wrote a eleven episode series to highlight how important it is not to take Tune In at face value because of Mark Lewisohn's clear bias in favour of John, and against Paul, and how this bias can inform a narrative and therefore objective facts can become subjective statements... and then go and quote *directly* from Goldman, who plainly and nakedly despises John - even three year old John is held in utter contempt! That doesn't mean that I don't believe the stories aren't true; as you point out, John and Yoko themselves have openly discussed John's violence. But just like I can't use Lewisohn as a source, unless it’s for a specific recording date, say… I can’t use Goldman either.

So with regards to fandom, yeah, many people don’t know how or where to put John’s violence and abusive behaviour. But that is true of *all* of the Beatles. It’s an undisputed fact that three quarters of the Beatles have been accused of, or admitted to domestic violence, yet it’s airbrushed from Paul and Ringo’s stories. Ringo will forever be a beloved king and no-one will bring up the fact that he beat his wife so hard that he believed he had killed her. And as for Paul and Heather Mills; while those allegations have a right to be strongly contested, it’s a fact (and I am old enough to remember), that Mill’s was utterly destroyed in the British press (Amber Heard has nothing on the sheer hatred that the media had for Mills), to the point that her testimony was obliterated and has been erased from any narrative to do with Paul. But Paul is a Blorbo, and no one wants to fold any negative character traits into his persona. And as for John - I’m not surprised you got it in the neck for saying that John had mental health issues - but I am surprised that it came from John stans! I got yelled at for trying to discuss John’s very likely mood disorder, but the yelling came from influential Beatle people who saw that as an ‘apology’ or defence of his behaviour (which it wasn’t). I actually think of all the arena’s of fandom, Tumblr has the healthiest approach None of them are held in reverence or as Saint’s, and they aren’t just out and out assholes either.

t/w coercion, abuse, child abuse

Hi anon, thank you for your message and for putting forward your perspective! This is a difficult topic, and I am not an expert in these matters. However, I’m going to try and answer this the best I can and with the amount of sensitivity I think this conversation needs.

Just to start off,I totally agree with you that Tumblr is by far the best place in terms of their approach towards the Beatles and their behaviour. I think in other places like Reddit, some of the fans there are older and grew up with the ‘Saint John’ image put forward by the Lennon estate. If you have that context, the minute it’s revealed that maybe your hero wasn’t perfect, the natural response is to either deny it completely or start to demonise them. It’s not healthy or productive but it’s understandable. I also agree that the fandom does not know how to deal with the allegations of domestic abuse with all the Beatles and that is a widespread problem. In the case of Paul, I think his negative traits are acknowledged and there is good discussion about it, though equally some of these issues are played more for laughs. I’m also not the right person to do a deep dive on the flattening and cinnamon-rolling of Ringo in the fandom but I think one needs to be done. I do however want to put forward an alternative perspective on a couple of points that you mentioned.

Despite my belief that all of the Beatles probably engaged in terrible behaviour towards women (the repeated mentions of Paul’s control issues from multiple sources really concern me), what sets John apart from the others is the consistency and the severity of the allegations. With Paul and Ringo, the allegations or the incidents are, as far as we know, situated in the context of a crisis and not an established pattern. This could be wrong, but we don’t have any further information to dispute it properly (Paul’s long, adoring relationship with his first and third wives and his children suggest not in his case at least). The same can’t be said for John. You raise the point that AKOM cites Goldman and how this could be seen as hypocritical and that a lot of the information comes from the murky Dakota years. I understand where you’re coming from but I don’t think this is is 1000 percent accurate. On the AKOM point, I think this mischaracterises what the ladies were doing as they were citing direct reports from staff in Goldman’s book, not Goldman’s interpretation. As Beatles historian Erin Torkelson Weber states, Goldman was excellent in obtaining information, it’s how he construed the information that raises severe problems for his credibility. As the ladies said as well, whilst they acknowledge Goldman’s problems, the tapes with this information on are available in the archive. Still, he is a dodgy source, so the points need to be cross-referenced with other sources. In this instance, the sources are John and Yoko themselves.

It’s also true that a lot of the allegations for the Dakota years are from the disgruntled employees pack and so are harder to verify, however allegations of violence and abuse both predate this period and are corroborated later on. Whilst John Lennon fanboy of the decade Lewisohn tried to downplay it, John did hurl insults and abuse at one of his early girlfriends to try and force her to sleep with him. John did beat up a random woman in the Bob Wooler incident and barricaded Little Richard in his own dressing room whilst hurling mocking abuse at him. Further, whilst Cynthia said that John rarely hit her, John himself disputes that in Hunter Davies. Post Yoko, we have reports of continued violence from different sources like Nilsson that corroborate stories like John choking May. Mintz, who was/is doggedly loyal to Yoko, was the one to repeat the story of John purposefully humiliating Yoko at the party by loudly sleeping with a stranger. Then you have Sean and Julian’s own recollections of abuse. These aren’t one off incidents, this is a repeated pattern of documented abusive behaviour that exist throughout John’s lifetime as well as the well-worn pattern of victims trying desperately to defend his behaviour in language hauntingly familiar to most abuse victims (‘he didn’t mean it’, ‘he’s sensitive’, ‘he didn’t know what he was doing.’) In this context, it is hard to say why the disgruntled employees narratives should be seen as so outlandish. This is what sets the conversation about John apart from the others as his pattern of abuse is inescapable and entrenched in all his close interpersonal dynamics (yes, including his relationship with Paul but that’s for another time).

I’m not saying all of this to demonise John, all of this has to be understood in the context of a man with a deeply traumatic childhood, who likely had a severe mood disorder as you said, was in what I believe was a mutually abusive relationship as you and May Pang posit, and was trying his best to improve in a time period that could not give him the support he needed. But this is a lot to ask a fandom to deal with and handle carefully so often it gets shoved down or outright ignored when it’s integral to understanding who John was and why we need to take so much care in certain discussions about him.

#Submarine Postbox #anon #john lennon #john and yoko #John and May #the beatles #long post

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