#cause he forced himself to learn what they are for that exact reason

[playertwotails]

Okay adding on to this cause one I've been thinking about it all day and @sky-marbles read my mind. I was wanting to write out Amy, Knuckles and Shadows reactions when they find out on the first post but it was already long. But I've been thinking about their reactions to finding out their fluffy boy is an agent of chaos and destruction. All I needed was a push to write it all down.

Once again rest under the cut cause it was gonna be short then I kept going

So the guy that basically rats out Tails for being a one man toddler army years ago is actually someone they need info from on finding the emeralds cause something...something...Eggman's up to some nonsense again from the Kukku army leftovers...etc.

So like the whole gang in involved plus Shadow cause he heard they were trying to kick Eggman's ass again and that's enough to manifest him from wherever he was.

Sonic and Tails find our sole survivor first so they get their whole moment of "wtf Tails???" out of the way before the rest of the group.

They take the guy back to the group after he has some calm down time and Tails assures him he's not gonna kill him. Tails lets him know he doesn't handle situations like that anymore. Also that he was a 3/4 year old and they were grown ass adults with years of training what else was he supposed to do to stay safe??? Let them win, talk it out, he's not stupid and they clearly has no qualms with fighting a little kid. Unfortunately for them Tails was just better at it. (Tails still doesn't like the guy and has to get that last little insult jab at him. But I feel like if held up in a court it could be argued as Tails was just defending himself cause he was a baby practically but he happens to be a genius...so bombs just happened to be his self defense mechanism)

So they take the guy back and he's kind of scared Tails still but also kind of wants revenge on him and what better way to do that then turn Tails friends against him. Cause if Sonic reacted at least surprised, but not upset which put a damper on his plans, then what would the rest feel about hearing about that whole situation.

The moment they're all together they guy basically starts panicking again and once again spilling the whole story of Tails' adventure to Amy, Knuckles, and Shadow.

After he gets done with dramatic monologue they whole group is just silent and staring at Tails before Knuckles speaks up with a

"Tails?? What the fuck is this guy going on about???"

To which Tails is just like

"Oh yeah that was a whole thing when I was a little kid. In my defense they swung first I just finished the fight. Sonic knew about it already I guess I forgot to tell you guys."

And like the group is in a shocked state just basically 'okay....WHAT???!!!"

Amy is just speechless trying to come to grips that sweet little Tails has actually killed people. But also like based on what he could do when she first met him that tracks but still that's gonna take her a bit to process that Tails has killed before. I don't think she'd be mad or upset just shocked and needing to process that into what she knows about Tails. Plus once she processes it she'd have so much sympathy for a little baby Tails being put in a position of kill or be killed that she'd just want to wrap him up in a hug and protect him from the world.

Knuckles is in the same boat of shock but also like more calm about it cause Tails' explanation makes sense to him and he would have done the exact same thing if is was Angel Island, though with less explosions and more punching things.

Shadow on the other hand is going through multiple stages of 'wtf' cause like he's only seen Tails in the light of 'Sonic's happy, overly sweet little brother figure who doesn't like to hurt anyone and wants to just befriend them like Sonic'. But now he is having to reconstruct how he views Tails entirely. A part him though is super impressed cause "Damn you took out a whole ass army at 4 years old!!!". Also now all of Tails past actions of wanting to peacefully resolve everything change from the category of 'Too much on the high horse of their own good guy act to not solve the issue and end the problem permanently' that Shadow has put Sonic and all his friends into. To moving just Tails to the category of 'Can kill and has killed and now chooses not to'. Which Shadow immediately approves of more, Tails choosing not to kill when he easily can is something Shadow just has immense respect for.

Basically it backfires on the guy and none of them really get upset with Tails' past actions like he'd hoped causing them to abandon him. But actually makes them all love their collective little brother figure more.

BONUS:

Eggman hears about it and immediately freaks out a bit cause that means if he pushes it far enough one day Tails will have no problem with killing him. A small part of him also respects that Tails took out an army single-handedly.

Thinking about how Tails has canonically blown up a man and his entire army killing them and how he defiantly told Sonic about it. But I don't think Sonic believed him really. Not that he thinks Tails is lying but little kids have a tendency to exaggerate. And depending on the game manual he either fights this army before he met Sonic or right after and I can't decide which is actually funnier. Cause in my mind when Sonic first met Tails he was like 3-4 while Sonic is 10-11.

Putting the rest under the cut cause this got longer than I meant for it to be

So if it's before they met, these big tough army guys just stumbled upon a random toddler that woke up and choose violence and napalm bombs that day. And who then proceed to pretty much hunt them down one by one which puts Tails in the role of terrifying unstoppable horror movie creature from their perspective.

If it's right after Tails met Sonic, they just beat Eggman. Tails just got his first taste of taking down would be dictators and decided he could go for a round two but with more explosions this time. Plus he hasn't really fought real people other than Eggman just his bots so Tails is a bit unknowingly deadly against these new more squishy opponents. (Not that Tails doesn't realize he's killing them he 100% knows what he's doing but also they're trying to take over the island and he's got some bombs so that math checks out for him)

Either way I just image little Tails telling Sonic he took out a whole army of bad guys on his own. And Sonic in his head knows Tails can fight but is thinking it was like 3-5 people at most maybe and Tails is just exaggerating . Plus Sonic thinks Tails just means he stopped them from doing what ever they were doing; not that Tails meant "took them out" as in he stopped them from existing.

Years go by and on one of their adventures they stumble upon a guy who was basically the sole survivor from Tails' rampage. That guy just takes one look at Tails and starts panicking and trying to run away.

Sonic sees this and runs after the guy and then gets a rundown from the guy of why he's so scared of Tails. Which leaves Sonic in a bit of a state of shock. He's not like mad at Tails at all but more like "huh???" cause Tails is sweet and doesn't like to hurt people and prefers peaceful resolutions if he can get them. So this is way out of left field from the sweet little brother he knows. But Sonic thinks back to that conversation he and Tails had all those years ago about Tails defeating an army. Realizes he was completely wrong about what Tails meant, and in hindsight knowing what Tails can do should have probably been a bit more concerned about that whole conversation. He was a kid raising and even smaller kid who is a genius he gets some leeway on not being 100% on top of things. But Sonic just turns to Tails and just

"Tails what the actual fuck????? THAT WAS A REAL THING????!!!??"

And Tails, who has thought this whole time Sonic believed him, is just like

"Yeah I told you about his already don't you remember??? Did you think I was lying???"

Sonic has to back pedal and explain his thoughts on what Tails told him back then. Which alleviates some of the confusion but also now he knows Tails has killed and like okay not great but also what can he do about it now. He personally doesn't like killing people but also Tails was like 3/4 at most and he was in a situation were it was him vs an army. Those odds were still in Tails favor but technically it was self defense in Sonic's mind. So Sonic doesn't really have any negative feeling towards Tails over this or see him in any negative light. It's just turns into a "well that's a thing now" kinda situation.

OR the flip side of this where Sonic 100% believes Tails from the get go and again same thoughts as above but he does lecture Tails about, you know, not killing their enemies.

He also takes away all Tails bombs which is why in later games Tails doesn't use bombs much just his inventions or those dummy rings from Sonic Heroes. Sonic lets him have his heavy weaponry back once he knows Tails wont go Doom Slayer on Eggman or their other enemies.

Idk just some funny thoughts about that game I've been having.

[merakiui]

me & you, beyond a horizon so blue.

scaramouche/wanderer x (gender neutral) reader cw: slight angst, brief and vague mentions of scaramouche's past and the shouki no kami fight, you and wanderer have adopted a child together, this fic takes place before scara tries to erase himself in irminsul note - after he's defeated in a fight against the traveler, scaramouche wakes up in the distant future and learns a few things about an emotion he's always felt undeserving of.

It’s dark until he has the courage to force his eyes open.

Immediately, he wants to shut them. Near-blinding, the afternoon sun beams into his room through a part in the curtains. If he were human, it would have caused some sort of irreversible retinal damage. He’s not—though he isn’t spared the impending irritation—and so he’s able to adjust with relative quickness, his indigo eyes soon finding comfort in the brightness. It means a new day has dawned. He’s not dead—if that mortal concept can even apply to a puppet like him.

With a weak groan, Scaramouche drags a hand down his face and, like a sluggish, reanimated corpse, sits up in bed. The sheets are clean and soft, a soothing balm amidst the unrest that vibrates through him. It has been a long while since he’s slept through the night, preferring the shadows over the sun. Nocturnal like nature intended. A creature created in gloom can change and adapt, but it will always seek familiarity no matter what. 

Intrinsically like a rooted habit.

It’s only natural he would be forced into sleep, considering the fall was not pleasant, nor was the inevitable impact. He brings his fingers to his cheek, presses against the area, and assesses for injury. Nothing is damaged.

But then nothing is fixed. Not internally.

Having expected the dreary interior of an infirmary, he’s struck with bewilderment when he makes note of the bedroom he’s currently confined to. It’s furnished like a typical residence, unlike that of any inn he’s ever known, and there is a strange sense about this space. As if he’s always known about it and has just recalled it, destined to wake here one day and submit himself to its simple charms.

This can’t be right.

He’s never seen this bedroom before, let alone slept in it. Until now, that is. Perhaps a part of him has subconsciously willed it into existence with all of his fruitless wishing, the result of some illusion weaved from the intricacies of hopeful dreams.

Scaramouche glances at the bedside table, his brow furrowed in the beginnings of a wary scowl. Something is so obviously, painfully not right. He knows it has something to do with this room and the fact that he’s alone and unguarded. Lesser Lord Kusanali is not a fool, no matter how much he’d like to comfort himself with that delusion, and so he knows there should be no reason why he’s here instead of where he’s meant to be. 

And then he hears them—voices. Three of them, actually. One is high and giggly. It’s a little girl. Judging by the intonation of the other, an adult. Her guardian, to be more exact. He can’t place the third, especially since it’s one that sounds so grossly affectionate. He’s never heard anyone, human or not, speak with such tender warmth. 

He’s never known such a thing. Not in a long while. 

Scaramouche throws the covers off at once, stumbling from the bed in a panicked flurry. Watching it like it’s a threat, he clutches his chest. He doesn’t feel a heartbeat; rather, it’s the crackle of Electro deep within the core of his being that resounds, fizzling like snapped, angry circuitry. His fingers dig into wrinkled fabrics and he takes pause, realizing his actions.

To think something as mundane as a bed could startle him.

To think comfort would feel like a curse. 

What a joke. Even here, I’m not allowed the peace of a lonesome parting. 

He walks on intact legs, bidding the room a final glower before throwing the door open and stomping outside. Wherever he’s found himself, whether the mortal coil or a place beyond, he’s determined to get out. He pays no attention to the picture frames on the wall as he stalks down the hall, his mind working twice as fast to conjure a plan. If this place proves to be foul, there will be casualties. Three of them. 

Bloodshed is nothing new. 

What is new, though, is the scene he walks into when he approaches the kitchen, stepping through the threshold and immediately stopping short when he sees himself. 

Only…he’s different.

“You��re in poor shape,” his other self comments, almost conversationally, as if this sort of talk is casual. He’s dressed in breezy colors: whites and blues, the prettiest of hues. It’s a color scheme he would never entertain at present, but it sings of free skies with fluffy cumulus. An unburdened soul, light as a feather. 

Scaramouche opens his mouth to retort—so are you—and shuts it because that’s not true. His other self looks better than ever as he sits at the table. He looks healthy. 

He looks happy. 

“Whoa! There are two Papas?!” 

He flinches, horribly rigid, every sense on high alert. His gaze pans over to the little girl peeking out from behind your legs. She looks at him like he’s a wonder to behold—like he’s someone worth adoring. 

It’s different. It’s not the fondly fearful gaze of a devout follower, nor is it the clinical stare of a mournful creator or a deranged doctor. It’s something else. 

It’s…

What is it? What is that emotion—the one that has evaded him for the entirety of his existence?

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead. We were beginning to wonder when you’d wake up.”

He turns to look at you. A smile softens your features. Coupled with the glorious sunlight filtering in from the window, you are the most seraphic creature he’s ever seen. Horrified at the development of his thoughts, he hardens his face into a vicious glare and tamps down the weakness that rises to the surface.

“You were expecting me?” he asks, but it sounds like a demand. “What’s the meaning of this?” 

“Why don’t you take a seat? I can fetch you a cup of tea,” you offer, your voice gentle and coaxing. He glances at the little girl. Her gaze is worn down with worry.

“I will do no such thing,” he snaps, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no authority over me. I’ll sit if I so please, and I do not please. So I will not sit, nor will I indulge in tea.” 

His other self barks out a laugh. “To think I was like that… I was intolerable.”

“Still are,” you reply with a cheeky grin. 

“You’re just as bad,” he snipes back, but there isn’t any heat to the remark. There’s that emotion again, reflected so clearly when he’s looking at you. His other self smiles—genuinely smiles—and then addresses him next. The smile tightens into something serious. “Relax. We’re not going to bite.”

“No, but I can and I will. Don’t think for a minute that just because you’re me I won’t—” He stops himself when the little girl tugs on his shorts, peering up at him with more wide-eyed concern. Rather awkwardly, he does his best to bring his attitude to a child-friendly level. “I… I’m fine.” He searches the silence for her name. 

“Aaliya! Nice to meet you, Papa Number Two!”

Scaramouche nods mechanically, moves to bend down to her height, and then straightens again, thinking better of it. “What is all of this?” His hand sweeps across the room. “Just who are you?” 

Like clockwork finely tuned, you and his other self exchange a furtive glance before nodding. It’s some unspoken language Scaramouche can’t decode. He frowns as he watches this interaction, even more suspicious than before. 

“Aaliya, could you draw something for me?” you ask, guiding her from the kitchen towards the neighboring sitting room. Aaliya grabs a notebook and pencil from the countertop as she goes, humming her compliance. “We need another masterpiece to hang up, and you’re the best artist we’ve got.”

She giggles. “You can count on me!”

The sound calms him. He almost allows his shoulders to drop. Almost. 

Scaramouche watches from the doorway, observing the way you interact with the girl. It’s parental and adoring. You care for this child, and she cares for you. 

Just what is that elusive emotion? Why can’t he place it?

Once Aaliya has been successfully distracted with the allure of art, you return to take your seat beside his other self. Scaramouche stares between the both of you, utterly lost. 

“You don’t have to sit—not like I could get you to after you’ve made up your mind—but, at the very least, let’s talk.”

Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. “Speak.”

“So entitled…” His other self sighs. “I shouldn’t expect anything less. I am you, after all.” 

“Was,” he corrects astutely. “This isn’t the present day, and it can’t possibly be a dream.” He scrutinizes his surroundings, slowly fitting the pieces together. “It’s gone on for much too long.” 

His other self tilts his head, playful. “Are you sure you’re not just stuck under Buer’s thumb?”

Right. Dreams. Lesser Lord Kusanali can poke her nose in and out of dreams as she pleases.

“Plausible, yes. But this is too detailed. And you—” he gestures to Blue Scaramouche— “are different. I wouldn’t dream of something so inane. Something like…this.” 

Something so carefree and content, he almost tacks on as an afterthought, but he refrains. Weakness. 

“Oh, but of course. You’re too good for good things,” his other self jeers, sardonic in a way that incites violence. He pushes that urge away. There’s a child nearby. “For what it’s worth, we’re still the same person.”

“Do not compare me to a weakling like you.”

“Hah? You think I’m the weak one? I’ll show you—”

“Wawan, relax,” you say, moving your body to obstruct his view. 

Both look on, horrified. 

“Wawan?” Scaramouche ventures, brows furrowed. 

“You…” He turns away with a huff. 

“What? It’s cute! You like it!” You smile and nudge him.

Scaramouche is in awe, nearly slack-jawed from witnessing such a bold display. If anyone were to do that to him—to the fearsome Lord Harbinger Scaramouche—they would not get away unscathed. In fact, he’d subject them to a death so brutal they’d beg for release even in the afterlife. No one lays a finger on him unless they’re actively seeking a bloody finale. More importantly, no one reduces his being to such flowery nicknames. 

Disgusting. 

His other self—this Wawan fool—recovers from his flustered state and clears his throat. “Wanderer,” he says, hurrying the syllables before you can make any more comments. “The name I go by. You should know it because you’ll use it one day.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Wanderer’s expression softens at that—out of sympathy, he realizes. Uncharacteristic, Scaramouche thinks. I do not soften, nor do I sympathize. 

“You lost, Balladeer. There is no future for the god you hoped to become because he doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

He bristles, suddenly defensive. “And who’s to say I haven’t already achieved godhood? Your claims are as useful as a corpse. You have no valid proof.”

“But I do. I’m you.”

“Even so, you’re woefully uninformed if you can so carelessly prattle on about—”

Wanderer sighs again, and this time you offer your hand. He hesitates, looking between Scaramouche and you, before his hand slips into yours, holding tight. Scaramouche’s face twists. 

Foul. 

“You failed, and this is the result of that—the future neither of us could have foreseen.” 

“Failure is a strong word,” you chime in, running your thumb over the top of his hand. You look at Scaramouche next. “You didn’t succeed, yes, but you can learn from your mistakes and grow.”

“And grow I so apparently did,” he mutters, bitter and resentful. “Into a weakling who…” He pauses, his tongue heavy in his mouth, eloquence escaping him. “A weakling who… Who shackles himself to idyllic nonsense with nothing but…” His fingers curl into tight fists. “Nothing but filthy weaknesses to show for it.”

Nonplussed, Wanderer submits to temporary silence, to the comforts you provide. There’s a feeling sprouting between the both of you. Neither of you says anything, but you understand regardless. It’s a silent sort of communication, an undeniable connection. An understanding fostered from that despicable emotion. 

With an offended scoff, Scaramouche turns swiftly on his heel and freezes when he finds Aaliya standing there. She peers up at him, studies his poker face, and presents him with her drawing. 

“Papa tells me love is hard, but it comes easy when you’re with the right people. You need to be willing and accepting. When you are, love will find you and you’ll find love.”

She presses the parchment into his hands. Shakily, he beholds it. It’s a poorly drawn family portrait, but Aaliya’s artistic talents mean nothing to him. It’s the first time he’s ever been willingly included in a portrait. A family portrait. The only time someone has bothered to document a side of him that isn’t the vindictive, villainous, ever-raging tempest he’s known for. The one time he’s ever known what it means to be loved. 

Ah. There’s that emotion. That temperamental, difficult, stormy emotion. It’s love.

In this future, he is treasured and cherished. He has a family. He has love, and he feels it and it’s reciprocated. Or Wanderer feels it, that is. But Scaramouche can see it: the quiet intricacies of your relationship—it’s all the result of love. You love him. Him—a being who was never created for the sake of loving. A being who has always been undeserving, unfit for the burden of divine admiration and reverence. You love him, and he loves you. Godhood and power and control—none of these things matter when compared to love itself.

Scaramouche stares at Aaliya next. He folds the drawing into a neat square, clutches it in a trembling fist, and—

And he cries.

Silently. His shoulders do not shudder. He does not gasp and wail like a newborn. It is entirely soundless, a reaction delayed by years. Tear trails streak down his porcelain cheeks in steady streams. His lip wobbles.

And he cries. 

He cries as he brushes past Aaliya, ignoring her protests and your mumble of, “Let him go. He needs space,” while he flees, beelining for the bedroom. He cries when he unfurls his fingers to cradle the folded square in his palm. He cries when he thinks of the life he’s lived—the suffering and the lies and the tragedy and the backstabbing and the manipulation. He cries because he can’t hold back anymore. Because he failed. Because he will never be a god. Because he is inadequate in the eyes of the divine—as unsubstantial as a common pest. 

He cries because he’s loved. Because someone has found something within his fractured being that’s worth loving. 

He cries into the night, curled in on himself to protect what’s left of his exposed weakness.

It’s dark when he closes his eyes, and unlike before they remain shut. Because if he opens them—if he doesn’t patch up the damaged floodgates—he will cry. 

And it hurts to cry.

And Scaramouche, for all of the pain he’s dealt, has never enjoyed being on the receiving end of agony, self-inflicted or otherwise.

It is a long, sleepless night punctuated with the soft pitter-patter of rainfall.

He’s lying sprawled like a defeated starfish when the first few rays of sunshine poke through the window. Groaning, he slides his arm over his eyes. He knows himself, even if Wanderer is a version of himself he has not yet experienced, and so he doesn’t expect to be checked on. The silence is both a comfort and a curse, smoothing his nerves and chewing through to the core of his being. 

He thinks I’ll come to him first. How utterly foolish.

Scaramouche turns his back towards the sun and presses his face further into the sheets, drained of energy even though he’s just woken up. His ears prick at the sound of a girlish giggle and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes sliding towards the window. Aaliya skips down the pathway, carrying a basket in one hand and holding another girl’s hand with her other. 

A friend, Scaramouche observes, watching the girls until they’re out of sight. He hears you call out to them even though they’re already long gone: “Be back before dinner and don’t get into any trouble!”

He peers at his own hand and flexes his fingers experimentally. Is everyone this feeble in the future, or am I just too strong?

There’s a knock on his door next. He intends to lie back down and block the world out, but instead he sits up and stares. 

“Balladeer, I’ve put a pot of tea on. You’re more than welcome to have some if you’d like.”

He won’t dignify you with a reply. Or that’s what he initially thinks, but then he’s covering the distance to the door before he can stop himself. He yanks it open, much to your surprise. 

“I—” he starts, his scowl mellowing into a reflection of the cold and cruel Fatuus he’s known to be. “I…will have a cup,” he finishes, oddly subdued.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. You can glare at us if it makes you feel better. Just make sure to take care of yourself, okay? We’re here for you if you need anything.”

He scoffs, straightens his posture into something regal, and pushes past you. “I was feeling much better until you opened your mouth and spat that irritating dross.”

You exhale through your nose, tentatively stepping into his path. For a minute he considers sweeping past you, but deep down he knows that he—the one he supposedly becomes in the future—would regret it. He would hate to push you away when you’re making an effort to be close—an emotional proximity he’s so clearly avoiding.

“You’re always welcome here.”

“Considering the circumstances, you have no choice but to be hospitable. It’s pointless to feign sincerity just because I’m here. I’m not fragile. Do not treat me as such.”

“You’re right. You’re far from fragile.”

He opens his mouth to argue that point and then pauses, absorbing your words with a dubious frown. 

“You may not believe me, but you’re very resilient and so strong. I should know because I wake next to him every morning, and his existence is enough to remind me that he’s come a very long way.” 

Smiling, you continue onwards. Scaramouche stalls, wondering what that could possibly mean. A very long way from what?

He’s not sure he wants the answer to that.

As if it matters.

“Without spoiling too much, I’ll say you’re in for a world of development,” Wanderer says once Scaramouche has graced the kitchen with his arrival. He’s sitting at the table, which is set for three people and adorned with the usual Sumerian snacks. The scent of tea hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. “Lots of fun things.”

“Fun,” Scaramouche parrots, his nose scrunching. “What an unconventional way to refer to countless days and nights of agony.”

“I never said it’d be easy.”

“You never said it’d be difficult either.”

“Both of you,” you cut in—vocally and physically, you’re standing between the two of them— “no fighting at the table.”

Wanderer takes your hands in his when you lower into the seat beside him, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns into your skin. “Do you see how troublesome he is? Did you really have to put up with him all those years ago?”

“He’s part of you, Wawan.”

He scoffs. “No part I particularly care for anymore.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest so the couple in front of him won’t pick up on his discomfort. “I’m not asking to be cared for or coddled. Hate me all you want. I don’t intend to like either of you.”

“Well?” Wanderer raises a brow, a smirk lazily tugging at his lips. “Insufferable.”

“Bitter like your tea,” you agree, to which Wanderer and Scaramouche huff in unison.

They glance at one another, searching the other for an indication of mutual tolerance, before turning away.

“I suppose,” Scaramouche says after a beat of silence, “I shall indulge. Be grateful.” He steps closer towards the table, lifts his cup from its saucer, and brings it to his lips. It’s lukewarm and just as bitter as the tea he’s enjoyed in the past. “It would be a shame to let tea go to waste after your efforts to prepare it.”

He nods in your direction and you beam under his approval.

“Thank you, Balladeer.”

His brow raises, but he doesn’t ask. You fill in the blanks yourself.

“This is the current you. Right now, Wanderer and I, this entire home, the life we share, and even our dear Aaliya—none of it exists in your present. If anything, we’re just a dream to you. So who else are you if not The Balladeer?” 

Who else…

“Obviously I’m no one in this…reality.” He frowns. “If I’ve become that, there’s no need for any of my current aliases.”

“Perhaps not, but you’ll see for yourself when you get there.”

“I’d rather not. I’ll simply shut my eyes.”

“Avoidance is a common symptom of unresolved trauma,” Wanderer oh-so-helpfully adds.

“Oh, you’re a comedian now, are you?” But he isn’t laughing. 

“Just passing on a fact I learned. You’ll hear it for yourself one day. Why not share it in advance? Soften the blow a little.”

“And you’re so perfect?”

“I have no intention to be.”

“Sure.” Scaramouche sips his tea, swallowing the torrent of insults weighing heavy in his mind and on his tongue. “I suppose all of this just fell into your imperfect lap then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before they can continue their petulant bickering, you gaze sharply at Wanderer and then at Scaramouche. He’s never felt compelled to obey anyone; he’s never needed to heed those who have always sat below him on the hierarchical pyramid. But for some reason he shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the floor.

This is pointless. I must find my way out of here at the earliest convenience before he drives me into the ground with his irritating sentiments.

“Arguing isn’t going to solve anything. He’s our guest, first and foremost. We should treat him like one.”

“I guess it can’t be helped. If this truly is our reality for the next few days, there’s no point in living in denial and self-loathing,” Wanderer concedes with a huff.

“Which is precisely why we should welcome this opportunity. It might not come around again.”

“Let’s hope it never does,” Wanderer and Scaramouche admit at the same time.

That elicits a giggle from you, and they turn on you with disapproving glares. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny—I know. I just couldn’t help it. You’re the same person, yet so different. Even your stares hold different feelings.”

Scaramouche won’t acknowledge your observations with a response. Instead, he watches his reflection as it warps and wavers in the tea. And then he drinks.

This is by far the most excruciating dream I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

There is no pain or death in this dream. No power tantamount to that of a god. He may as well be an apparition without an apparent place in this world. But there is domestic bliss and that is by far the most torturous aspect of this dream.

To think anyone could look upon my visage with such tenderness… You must be out of your mind.

“It’s not like I particularly care, but you seem to lead a quaint life.” Scaramouche sets his empty cup down and leans against the wall, his arms folding impetuously. “Why?”

Wanderer, troublesome menace that he is, bats his eyes and pulls you against him in a possessive half-hug. “Difficult to believe, isn’t it?”

Scaramouche wants to scowl, but he refrains. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“It’s mostly quaint,” you cut in, smooth as alabaster. “Life is always busier when you’re with your loved ones and there’s plenty to do—never a dull moment, as they say—but I don’t mind it. I like busy days.”

The delivery sounds rehearsed, but Scaramouche suspects it’s the truth. Your eyes soften and your smile mellows into something adoring when you nudge Wanderer. He almost retches outright when his other self nudges you back, discreetly reaching for your hand beneath the table. He won’t comment, but it prickles his skin with disgust when he watches this display. His other self fancies you so openly… The current Scaramouche would never.

Could never.

“Also, busy days prevent useless idling.”

“And keep boredom at bay,” Wanderer finishes. He assesses Scaramouche with a fleeting once-over. “You’ve always been a sad, lonesome existence. Your busy days were but minor distractions meant to fill a bottomless void that could never truly be filled.”

“What of it? I prefer solitude.”

He exhales a humorless breath. “Centuries of solitude and all it took was a single vase of flowers… Neither of us could have guessed.”

A vase of flowers? he wonders, bewildered, but too prideful to ask for an explanation. When will I ever receive flowers?

“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” you say, sipping at your tea with a cryptic smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I’ve had enough ‘good things’ for the rest of my life.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Even if you don’t think so, you’re deserving of good things. Everyone is, even if they’ve done something bad.”

He waits for the gutting punchline. It never comes.

He watches the world beyond the window: fluffy clouds, grass rustling in a breeze, a bird hopping about on the ground. His reflection frowns back at him. “I don’t agree.”

Wanderer shrugs. “If you say so.”

“That’s okay. If that’s what you think, who are we to judge your opinion?”

Briefly, Scaramouche wonders how you can have the patience to put up with him. With Wanderer, he thinks, even though he knows he’s just as troublesome, if not more.

He finishes the rest of his tea and then rises from his seat.

It’s not as if it matters. He doesn’t fit in this family portrait. He never will.

But he does in some distant future.

How peculiar…

Scaramouche wakes on his third day in a rather pleasant purgatory. As it happens, he’s still stuck in this unusual cottage with a bizarre doppelgänger.

So be it, he thinks, sitting up in bed. It occurs to him that he hasn’t been very resistant since he was plucked from his timeline and dropped here. But what is there to resist? You and his other self? This comfortable home? Family? Happiness? Love?

I should get back to my world as soon as possible. That’s my priority. Do not get distracted.

Ideally, he’d like to imagine that’s where he belongs, but he knows there’s no place in this world—or any other world and timeline—where he’s wanted and accepted. At the very least, there’s some semblance of home in his timeline. Even if it isn’t the most welcoming.

When he wanders into the kitchen, he finds you standing over the stovetop. Strips of meat sizzle in a pan. Sitting at the table, doodling on a blank page, is Aaliya. He hasn’t spoken much to her since his first day, and she hasn’t come to his room to pester him. 

“Let him settle in,” you and Wanderer tell her whenever she stalks past the closed door. 

Still, he feels the beginning of a smile pull at his lips as he watches her kick her legs to and fro to an imaginary tempo. 

I’m looking after a child in this timeline. Me. A parent…

He struggles to fathom it.

“Oh, Papa’s back!”

“Already?” You whirl around, a greeting on your tongue. “Ah, no, honey, that’s our visitor. The Balladeer is his name. He does look like Papa, though, doesn’t he?”

“B-Balla… Ballaba… Babadeer?” She scrunches her face up, perplexed.

Scaramouche offers her a gentle, understanding smile. “You may call me ‘Baba’ if it’s easier to pronounce.”

She lights up immediately. “Okay! You’re Baba and Papa’s Papa!”

He finds that the term is more endearing than any alias he’s taken on in the span of his lengthy existence.

“Speaking of, where is he? I would assume he’d be smart enough not to leave me by my lonesome.” 

“He’s out for the day. Won’t be back until later.” You lift the pan from the stove and proceed to distribute breakfast between two plates. He shakes his head at you when you attempt to fix him a plate. With a shrug, you add, “You slept in. How was it?”

“Acceptable,” he admits, lowering into the chair beside Aaliya. “I suppose it’s better than most places.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” You place a cup of tea in front of him. “Bitter. Just how you like it.”

Scaramouche eyes it like it’s poison. “Your hospitality is…appreciated.”

“What do you think?” Aaliya lifts her drawing, proudly showcasing the portrait she’s sketched of you.

Scaramouche is a critic of many things. Art is not one of them. Still, he takes the page in his hands and spends a moment admiring the shaky linework.

“Very wonderful,” he praises, and he means it. “You should become an artist.”

“I want to, but I also wanna be like Papa. He’s really smart.”

“Is he now?”

“Mhm! He’s studying at the Akademiya. My friends told me only really smart people go there.”

I’m a scholar? Truly? He looks to you for confirmation. The proud smile on your face is answer enough. To think this is what becomes of me in a distant reality…

“A commendable occupation. You should always do your best in your studies. They’re very important. But most of all…” He hesitates. Thankfully, his other self isn’t here to listen to his encouraging words and ridicule him. He’s certain he’d never hear the end of it. “You should pursue what you enjoy.” He reaches out to pat her on the head. “Always dream, Aaliya.”

“I will! I promise.”

Scaramouche doesn’t do promises, but somehow he’s convinced by this one.

You sit across from him. “Time to eat, my dear. You can finish your pretty drawing later.”

She nods and pushes her pencils and crayons away in favor of focusing on her plate. Scaramouche watches, stiff and awkward. Family meals are not an unusual occurrence, but it’s been so long since he’s spent quality time with another living creature. With humans.

Am I really so foolish that I’d willingly indulge in a life with humans? Don’t I know better?

“Wawan told me your arrival might be linked to a faulty Ley Line. We’re not sure when you’ll return to your world—if that’s even a possibility—but until we know more you can stay here with us.”

“If I must. Although I assumed that was already established.”

You chuckle. “Is that right? Then it looks like you’ve gotten comfortable in the three days you’ve been here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your singular deeds are not enough to earn my veneration.”

“I’m not trying to.”

With a huff, he averts his eyes. An uncanny feeling crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. You hide your playful grin behind your utensils and eat alongside Aaliya in peaceful silence.

If only everyone could see him: a puppet now named Wanderer, who attends the Akademiya and has a family of his own. A puppet who seems complete when he surrounds himself with his loved ones. It’s impossible to live in denial when all of it is unfolding before his eyes like a fantastical tale in a storybook. He really can’t believe it.

“Tell me—am I fulfilled in this reality?”

You blink back at him, and suddenly he regrets asking. There’s vulnerability in a question like that. An open wound waiting to be exploited.

“Will knowing put you at ease?” Before he can snap back with a defensive reply, you add, “I suspect you’re already aware of the answer.”

He stares at the amber-colored tea in his cup. “I am,” he confesses quietly.

“And do you feel any better?”

“Am I supposed to feel that way?”

“I can’t tell you because there’s no right or wrong way when it comes to emotions. You just…feel them.”

Just feel them?

“I’m more conflicted than anything else. That Wanderer fool… He can’t truly be me. I would never allow myself to grow so weak. To surround myself with weaknesses… How utterly thoughtless.”

“What you see as weakness is his strength.”

Scaramouche’s gaze slides from the tea to you. “And he… And I… I’m happy here? This isn’t a grand farce?”

“As absurd as it seems, this is to be your reality. You’re not always going to be happy. Sometimes you’ll dwell on the past. Sometimes you’ll feel angry and upset. It’s all part of existing.”

“That sounds horrendous.”

“What does?”

“Existing. Isn’t it tiring? I’ve never understood how humans do it.”

“It’s tiring, yes. But it’s also very rewarding. To exist is to cherish happiness and weather hardship. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Sometimes all you need is enough.”

What if I’ve never had enough? What if I’ve never had anything?

He shuts his mouth. So many questions flit around in his head, but he already knows the answers to most of them. He just doesn’t want to hear it from himself.

To have enough when you’ve never had anything—when you’ve never felt like anything substantial—he surmises Wanderer can sympathize.

The first few drops of rain patter dry earth. Like dolls moved with wire, you and Scaramouche turn towards the window to watch water beads pearl on verdant fronds.

“Oh, it’s raining!” Aaliya exclaims with a delighted giggle. 

Scaramouche reaches to touch his cheek. A single tear wets his fingertip.

“Huh,” he mumbles. “So it is.”

Sitting on the stoop, watching worms wriggle in wet soil, Scaramouche sighs.

“Did you know the worms sometimes lose their way when it rains?”

“Is that right?” he murmurs, glancing at Aaliya who scoops one up from the stone path and places it in the grass. He smiles at her kind impartiality. “It’s very admirable of you to help them.”

“Mhm! Papa tells me even worms need homes, so it’s important to help them when the rain washes them away.”

He breathes a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “I really said that? That’s difficult to imagine.”

Ironic, too.

“If no one helps, how will they find their homes?”

“They’ll find their way. Everyone does eventually.”

“Even you?” She blinks at him from where she stands in the grass, worms held in her palms.  

He exhales slowly and gazes skyward. The clouds have opened to let in the tiniest peek of sun. “If worms can find their way, then so, too, can I.”

He’s not sure he trusts it. Not now, at least. But it’s just as inevitable as the shifting seasons—an undeniable, irrefutable fact. He’s changing, if only slightly, and soon he’ll be in Wanderer’s shoes—a puppet with a home and a family. With all of life’s greatest joys and sorrows at his fingertips.

Aaliya sets the worms down in the grass before meandering over. She lowers to sit beside him, resting her head against his arm. “I believe in you, Baba.”

“Thank you.”

Soft as rain, subdued like a snuffed candle, his voice doesn’t waver. For the first time in a while, Scaramouche is defenseless. He’s not so sure he believes in himself. Wrapped in waning sun, listening to the hushed sway of grass, he tries on a smile. Albeit awkward, it fits.

He knows why his future self has become the wind, free and flowing, gentle and tumultuous all at once. Liberated from the past.

Even though he has his doubts, he knows he’ll get there soon.

The sky clears up just as Wanderer’s form comes into view. At first, he’s an insignificant pinprick against a blue sky. Aaliya jumps up from her spot on the stoop to run the rest of the way, calling out to him in an eager voice.

“Feeling any better?”

He keeps his eyes pinned stubbornly ahead. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

“You’re our guest, silly. Of course I’m going to be concerned if you’re not comfortable during your stay. Ah, but I expect you’re coming up on the end of that, aren’t you?”

He blinks at his hands and realizes they’re transparent. “So it appears.”

“Does it?” you tease, patting him on the shoulder. Or you try to, at least. Your hand goes through him. “Guess it wasn’t very funny.”

“Not in the slightest,” he snaps with a scoff. He checks to make sure Wanderer isn’t within earshot. He’s kept occupied with Aaliya, who jumps around him like an energetic bunny. “But… Thank you…for everything. I’m aware I wasn’t the most grateful guest, nor the kindest.”

“You don’t have to be. As long as you felt safe and secure during your time here, despite everything that’s happened in your timeline, that’s all that matters.”

Scaramouche stares at you. I suppose it was a worthwhile escape. Unnecessary, but worthwhile.

“It wasn’t as hellish as I thought it’d be.”

“I’m glad. It was nice having you.”

Just then, Wanderer approaches. Aaliya sits proudly on his shoulders, her fists in his hair. “Glad to see everything’s still in one piece. No atrocities today?”

Suddenly, any sort of security Scaramouche might have been feeling evaporates. He’s reminded that it’s impossible to endure his other self for more than a few minutes. It’s actually impressive you’ve put up with him for this long.

Love is weird like that.

“Go back to the Akademiya and maybe you’ll learn a better sense of humor.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” Wanderer chuckles and levels him with a playful smile. His next words are tender and truthful. “Good luck on your journey. Have lots of fun.”

What sort of fun could possibly be found in pain? I don’t want or need your sardonic optimism.

“Oh? Baba’s leaving already?”

Scaramouche and Wanderer share a look. You smile behind your hand.

“Baba?”

“P-Pay it no mind!” He reaches for his hat in hopes of relieving everyone of his flustered expression and stops short. He’s not wearing his hat. He hasn’t had it this entire time. Refusing to admit he forgot such a crucial detail, he turns away and folds his arms over his chest. “It matters not.”

“Sure,” Wanderer concedes, but Scaramouche can tell he’s thinking something snarky. “We’ll go with that.”

“Thank you for visiting us,” you interject before the two of them can argue semantics. “Even though our time together was short, it wasn’t any less enjoyable.”

“I’ll miss you, Baba!” Aaliya extends her arm for a high-five.

“Careful now,” Wanderer warns, steadying her on his shoulders. “I suppose, though you’re more trouble than anything, it wasn’t so bad seeing my past self again.”

“You’re a welcoming lot,” he says with a curt nod. “It made this entire debacle slightly tolerable.”

“Only slightly?”

“Your presence didn’t add anything of substance. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Hmm. Perhaps not. At least I get to say I saw you once more.”

At that, he rolls his eyes. Am I supposed to feel flattered?

Wanderer smiles, but Scaramouche can’t place the authenticity. Maybe it’s there and he just doesn’t want to confront it.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know the feeling well enough.”

“And live every day one at a time. There’s no rush,” you advise, sweet like a real parent. 

“I believe in you, Baba! You’ll find your way just like the worms.”

Wanderer raises a curious brow, but instead of ridiculing him he takes your hand in his and squeezes. Aaliya giggles and pats Wanderer’s head. The three of you make a family. Togetherness. Love. It’s everything he’s never had.

Now he understands. When Wanderer is with you and Aaliya, he’s whole. He’s happy. Free. He’s turned a new leaf. There are still so many apertures and questions—so much he’s missing from a puzzle not yet pictured to completion—but he isn’t worried. Equipped with this new information, he finds himself at peace with the present situation.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to meet again in this timeline, but if we do let’s not dwell on the past.”

Scaramouche can feel his consciousness slipping from this realm, every sense pouring in like light through the gaps in trees. Just before he can make sense of it all, he notices the pendant glowing just above Wanderer’s chest.

Impossible… Is that what I think it is?

“You have a lot to look forward to, so next time let’s talk about the future.”

Suddenly, he’s not so sure he wants to leave. Scaramouche steps towards his other self, hand splayed, and wants to say something. Anything. A million words and phrases stick to the roof of his mouth.

I’d like that, he thinks just as the rest of his corporeal form vanishes in a blip.

Scaramouche comes to in the infirmary. He lifts his arm towards the ceiling, observing shattered fingers and broken joints. Thin cracks run along his arm—surface injuries as far as he’s concerned. They’ll be gone within the day, a testament to his self-sufficiency.

You’re very resilient and so strong. Someone once told him that. But who? And why does it warm him so?

“Oh, you’re up!”

He gazes sidelong at Lesser Lord Kusanali, the God of Wisdom, past the wellness bouquet on the bedside desk, and his features harden with antipathy. “Buer.”

“Did you have a nice dream?”

“Dream?” He scoffs. “I don’t dream. Not anymore.”

But it feels like I’ve been asleep for ages… Just what have I been doing all this time?

“Everyone dreams—even when they’re awake. Dreams are what give us hope.”

“Not me.” He turns on his side and shuts his eyes to block her out. “I have no need for childish dreams and misguided hope.”

What does it matter? I have nothing. I am nothing. There’s nothing for me in this rotten world.

Her hum of acknowledgment reaches his ears. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Scaramouche scowls. Stop poking around in my head. You have no authority over my thoughts, Buer. Get lost.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m here to give you a second chance.”

“I don’t want it. It’s pointless to put me on the path to redemption. Inane, even.”

“Redemption starts with recognition. If you realize that what you’ve done is wrong and are willing to change, redemption will find its way to you.”

He inhales a long, weary breath. “What more is left for me?”

Scaramouche, despite his grandiose title, feels small lying here and contemplating the worth of his existence.

“Plenty of things—good and bad—that you’ve yet to experience.”

He tries to envision what these things could be and turns up blank.

Strange. I was so certain… He sits up in bed, clutching the space where his heart would be if he was human. I could have sworn there was something…

He gazes at his palms next. What happened while I was unconscious?

Surely he witnessed a joyous scene. Otherwise why would he wake feeling so…hopeful?

Inhaling a resolute breath, Scaramouche decides it doesn’t matter.

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it? I may not know the full extent of the turbulence in your mind, but I do know it’s not something to treat lightly.”

The void is both loud and quiet when she departs, and now he’s forced to come to terms with his reality. He lost. Even as a manufactured deity, he was still unfit for godhood. It was a moment so short-lived it was practically a blink—insignificant in the colossal tapestry of time.

“What a joke,” he spits, glaring at the wall ahead. “All of that for nothing…”

He sits back against the cushions and drowns in the silence. It doesn’t comfort him.

Don’t be so hard on yourself. Where has he heard that line before?

Perhaps it was just another delusion.

Scaramouche’s gaze is drawn to the bouquet next. The flowers are fresh and vibrant, each blossom a representation of good health and happiness. Someone placed these here. Someone went out of their way to assemble a bouquet in his honor and then send it over. He wonders if this is the work of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Who else could muster the empathy for a sorry creature like him?

Will knowing put you at ease?

He thinks it might. At the very least, it would soothe a restless part of his being—the part that craves a connection and yearns to be wanted despite everything he’s done. He wants a heart and a home. He wants to feel the rays of the sun stinging his skin and bathe in the exhilaration of being alive and in the moment. He wants to finally know all of the sweetness he was deprived of in life. The sweetness that comes from love in all its many shapes and forms.

Scaramouche reaches for the bouquet and pauses. He could swipe it off the table and watch rumpled petals scatter amidst shattered glass in a puddle. He could ignore it and pretend it’s not worth his time or attention.

He wants to act like it doesn’t matter, but something’s nagging at him.

For once, the feeling isn’t terrible. For once, he has something to look forward to—an anchor to cling to in this vast, wild sea.

And he isn’t going to let go.

[doodler16]

I will forever dislike this moment from Hazbin Hotel, more specifically episode 4: Masquerade where Husk is the one forced to find Angel Dust after he ran out the hotel because of their argument and proceed to do all the heavy lifting. Like yeah, I am sure you can criticize Husk when he was arguing with Angel Dust, he probably could’ve been nicer when Angel entered into the bar (keep in mind he was forced to do an extremely long shoot). Then again even if Husk was nice I doubt the situation would change. But at the same time, Angel didn’t do himself any favors by escalating the situation by not only sexually harassing and being rude to Husk.

Once Angel Dust runs out, Charlie feeling guilty and watching this whole thing go down admits how much she messed up at the studio. Keep in mind, mainly Charlie and indirectly Vaggie are the reason why this shitshow happened to begin with. So, you would think Vaggie would rightfully criticize Charlie and potentially blame herself for not going with Charlie in the first place as it was her idea for Charlie be “aggressively kind” then afterwards force both Husk and Charlie to look for Angel Dust.

We get that none of that. Even after Charlie admits how much she messed up, Vaggie comforts and reassures Charlie then shifts 99% of the blame and responsibility towards Husk, forcing him to go look for Angel by himself when Charlie not listening to Angel Dust and butting into the shoot caused this. And, what does Charlie do when Husk does most of the work, she unseriously says that she will make 100 apology letters and make a lesson plan about boundaries.

The worst part is that it was portrayed as this cute and funny moment to the viewer when it’s the exact opposite. Charlie 100% could have benefited joining Husk. It would’ve been a great bonding moment between the three along with seeing their dynamic onscreen, Charlie could learn from Husk’s interactions with Angel that she is the problem regarding the hotel. Questioning her methods slowly and later realizing that she should be doing more to connect with the other sinners and not acting like a summer camp counselor. We also could’ve gotten a great moment between Charlie and Angel, Charlie seeing Angel as more than just a druggie and hyper sexual person. Having Charlie also reflect seriously about her status and privilege.

Ironically, Vaggie is such a bootlicker at times to Charlie and let things slide, I hope someone in the Hazbin squad calls her out of that. Angel and Charlie you can do so much with them with this episode and have many possibilities. Missed opportunity but whatever.

[ninadove]

hi!

i’m so sorry if you’ve already made a post or answered an ask like this before, but i remember you saying a couple times how the lovesquare is queer-coded.

i think that’s such an interesting observation, and i was wondering if you’d be willing to elaborate on that a little more?

i’d love to hear your thoughts!! and thank you for taking the time to read this. :)

Absolutely Anon! Thanks for dropping by! ❤️🖤

I’m sure there are a lot of wonderful, more complete posts on the topic out there — my Sentikids tunnel vision means I don’t always grant other characters/relationships the attention they deserve. That being said, here are some things that popped into my head:

1. Secret identities

You know ‘em, you love ‘em. Secret identities are the core of the show — the very reason the Love Square is a square! Hiding part or the entirety of who you are for safety reasons is a theme most queer people unfortunately relate to, and the great thing is that we get two very different perspectives on the matter from our two protagonists.

For Adrien, Chat Noir means freedom: being away from his father’s grasp (read: from a power structure that tries to sculpt him into something perfect and bland — more on that later) allows him to become bolder, funnier, more like himself or at least more like the person he wants to be — which very prominently features being in love with Ladybug, aka exploring romantic connections outside of Kagami, the only acceptable option for Adrien.

And yet… Chat Noir is also something dangerous. When Chat Noir gets rejected, Adrien tries to renounce his Miraculous, aka to bury this part of himself as far down as possible; when Chat Noir gets unmasked by Ladybug, the object of his affections, IT’S THE LITERAL END THE WORLD (twice and a half now). There’s an entire post to be made about Cat Walker and Aspik and Adrien folding himself into what he thinks Ladybug’s perfect partner should be.

The point is: Adrien being himself puts him (and the people he loves) in harm’s way, both emotionally and physically. You see the themes, I see the themes, we cry together and hold hands.

Marinette, on the other hand, fucking hates being Ladybug for most of the series. She wants to be a normal girl (!) with a normal life (!!) and it’s just not happening. The reason? There’s something about her that no one knows yet (!!!) ‘cause she has a secret (!!!!).

If anything, being Ladybug keeps getting in the way of her romantic shenanigans: she can’t be with Adrien/Chat Noir because Apocalypse, she can’t be with Cat Walker because her Lucky Charm doesn’t like him, she can’t be with Luka because she has to lie all the time! Not only that, it endangers her friendships as well, as seen in The Gang of Secrets. Look at the wording of her talk with Alya in this episode:

“I won’t try to figure it out our force it out of you. If you can’t tell me what’s in your heart… it’s your right.”

“Will we still be friends?”

“Marinette, I’m your best friend, and I’ll always be. That’s why it kills me that I can’t help you with whatever’s making you feel so alone.”

[…] “You know why I broke up with Luka? Not because I don’t like him! He’s amazing! It’s because there’s something that I can’t tell him. You know why I have to forget Adrien? For the exact same reason. You’re right! I keep secrets, I lie all the time, I lie to my friends, to my parents, everyone, and the worst thing is I can’t do it any other way. […] I tell you, things will never be the same between us again, it will mess up everything — maybe even destroy it!

“Marinette, I’m your very best friend.”

“And I… I’m Ladybug.”

If this isn’t a coming out scene, I don’t know what is.

Of course, Marinette progressively steps into her role as a superheroine and learns to navigate her relationships accordingly — but she’s still carrying this secret that sets her apart from the rest of the world. It’s the othering, isolating part of queerness, and it’s really well portrayed throughout the seasons.

2. The Adrigaminette-to-Lukadrinette pipeline

I cannot not mention it, because what the hell was going on here.

Adrigaminette felt less like a love triangle and more like the girls voting themselves out of the polycule in quick succession. We got an entire episode of the three of them running around, holding hands and jumping in ballpits together. Both Adrien and Kagami went heart eyes over Marinette’s loose hair.

Then André came in with his cart and clown shoes and said “Nah you can’t all share the Magical Ice Cream Of Romance. :( Yeah sorry my ice cream is for two people and two people only. :( Also I guess I could serve Marigami and Marigami only but the flavours would taste gross together. :( Don’t look into the subtext too much” HE JUST HAD TO RUIN IT FOR THEM DIDN’T HE

I’m really happy he ruined it for them, for bird reasons, but still. Adrigami is also the one time we get to see Chat Noir ruin Adrien’s love life, and most of the fuel for my aroace Adrien thoughts, but I digress — LUKADRINETTE

Luka is in the unique position of knowing both Ladybug and Chat Noir’s identities, aka the most secret part of their souls, and immediately went in repression mode in Wishmaker upon finding out his two crushes were basically soulmates. It pays off in Migration, when he becomes their de facto safe place, the one person they know has both of their backs no matter what. Just look at the way they all look at each other:

With Marinette knowing she does not have to lie to him anymore and Adrien being Adrien. I’m sorry but in my mind they both independently proposed to him right then and there. This is the timeline I live in now.

Parenthesis over. Let’s get back to business:

3. Feligami Adrinette

By which I mean the themes explored throughout their relationship.

Adrinette’s story has always been about rescuing Adrien from the abusive environment he grew up in, as Marc and Nathaniel so helpfully drove across through their delightful storyboards:

(Note the gender role reversal here, blurring the lines between Marinette and Ladybug as she takes on the role of the knight in shining armour, while Adrien is the princess locked away in her tower… Adrien’s gender deserves another other essay in itself, but for today, let’s just agree that he is Not Cis.)

In S5, this theme escalates into a full-on Romeo and Juliet situation. Gabriel and Tomoe are of course the main obstacles to Adrinette’s happy ending: given A. Gabriel’s history of forcing his son into a mold, B. the strict expectations placed on Tsurugi women and C. the oppressive, uniformly white world they want to create through Perfect Alliance (Perfect!!! Alliance!!! Rings!!! Marriage!!!), it’s not a stretch to see them as the messengers of a certain vision of masculinity, femininity and relationships. You see it, I see it, Marinette doesn’t see it because she’s too busy sobbing on the floor, which finally brings me to my favourite thing ever:

“But Nina!” I hear you protest, “you’re making everything about Feligami again!” To which I reply: first of all, yes I am. Second of all, you can’t stop me. Third of all —

Third of all, characters don’t exist in a vacuum, and this is particularly true of the Adrinette & Feligami quartet. Kagami’s name literally means mirror; Felix is a foil to Adrien, of course, but also to Marinette (and Gabriel and Emilie and a bunch of other characters and I love him so much but let’s not stray too far from the point). Of course Feligami is going to parallel and contrast Adrinette, especially since Felix is Aware of the Themes and Motifs and has decided to make it everyone’s problem.

So in June (!) 2023, a little thing called Representation (!!) aired.

There are sooo many things to say about the queer-coding of the Senti-lore in general and of Felix and Feligami in particular. Today, though, I want to draw your attention to the way the kids talk about themselves at the end of the play, drawing clear narrative links to the Love Square (and most specifically Ladybug):

“You know what it’s like to not be able to love the one you want.”

“To constantly fight to save the people you love.”

“To have to lie all the time and never reveal who you truly are.”

[Wipes a single tear away] They grow up so fast…

At the end of the day, this is what both Feligami and the Love Square are all about: embracing who you are and the love you feel, no matter its form, in a world that perpetually tries to enslave and/or kill you for it. I don’t know about you, but I find it hella queer in nature.

Thank you for coming to my DUUSUTalk! 💙🦚

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎSpellbound (Part Three)꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: talk of witchcraft, trauma, threats of death, mentions of abuse, violence pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: witch reader x billy the kid author’s note: I really hope I did the end justice. thank you for all the support on this series! anon who sent the original request, you have my heart <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Nightmares were as regular as breathing for you.

Billy learned so the night he pulled you from the pond. He'd fallen asleep beside the fire; you cradled in his arms. You were so soft and warm despite your earlier tryst in the water, all warmed up from the adjacent flames and the comfort of his arms. As soon as you slipped into sleep, he allowed himself to shut his eyes, confident you were protected and safe resting against him.

An awful scream pierced the night, and he shot up wide eyed, head jolting around for the source, holding you tight against him. It was only when he felt the vibrations on his chest that Billy realized they were coming from you.

He lifted you under your arms to sit directly on his lap, running his fingers through your hair until you awoke, blearily looking up at him. "Billy?"

Sighing in relief, he pressed your face against his chest, rocking you back and forth soothingly. "Honey...'r you okay? Whatsa matter?"

"I get bad dreams sometimes," you murmured, rubbing your eyes. "I have ever since I was spellbound."

"'bout...?" Billy didn't want to say it out loud for respect of the situation.

Nodding and resting your body against his chest, you murmured, "Yes."

"Baby," he whispered, eyes clouding over with concern. He stroked your hair, roving his fingers through it. Mind and heart both were weighed heavy with your revelations.

Married. The mere thought of you being trapped in a situation with someone alike to the scum of the earth made his blood boil. The fact that anyone would dare do such things to a woman filled him with a desire to hunt your former husband down and teach him a new meaning of pain.

But, looking down at you, he knew that wouldn't make your current situation better. It would only weigh you down more with unearned responsibility. Besides, you possessed more power than he knew. If you'd truly wanted to you would have exacted revenge.

You were goodhearted. Purer than him in every way. It was something to marvel at: the difference between you. He'd been forced into a situation that'd caused him to pick up a gun, become a murderer. Now his name was associated with danger, his face splashed across many a wanted poster. His intentions were good, but his actions spoke otherwise.

But you had endured the same thing, powers endlessly thrust upon you like earth on a coffin. You despised your situation as he did, eyes on the horizon for any sort of way out of it. but you were still good. You kept your heart kind, your actions free of entanglement with personal bitterness toward what you could not control.

Nothing anybody said about you was true. You were a sweetheart, through and through. He was deserving of his reputation. You were not. Not in any form of the word.

You had every reason not to trust him. Not only was he an outlaw, he was a man, the exact species that had caused your misery. And yet you let him in, let him help you bear the burden of your title in what little ways he was able. Looking down at you resting in his arms, he felt stirrings of love expand his heart once more.

Your fingers were on his bare collarbone, tracing symbols onto it. He pressed gentle kisses to your hairline, hoping they would reaffirm his love for you, the safety he could maintain while you remained near him.

It was a heavy toll, the price you paid for magic. It was horribly undeserved. The least he could do to balance out the unfairness of the world was give you love. Something you clearly hadn't received for too long a time.

So, with that in mind, he rested his chin on your head, keeping you thoroughly burrowed into him, where it was safe. Fish wandered over and settled against your thigh soothingly. "Try 'n sleep, sweetheart. I'll keep the dreams away."

Knuckles collided with Billy's jaw, sending him flying backwards into a table. He struggled to stand, knees wobbling, but a force collided with him, knocking his body back and tumbling over the table. Wood splintered under his back, and he cursed the poor craftmanship. There'd be splinters in his back morning come.

Determinedly, Billy found his bearings and managed to stand. He dove at the man who'd caused his tumble, shouting obscenities. The man hadn't been expecting it, and the surprise attack gave Billy the upper hand. He pounded his fists against his face, beating him bloody until a bystander shoved him away, tossing him out of the saloon on his ass.

Spitting dirt, Billy stumbled to his feet and ducked into a nearby alley. The law would've likely been alerted by now and he was already on thin enough ice with that lot.

Somehow he managed to find his horse and ride off without being spotted. Trekking through the forest, he searched for the one place he knew he could go. The night was cold but clear, and your beloved stars gave him comfort even as his injuries stung. The moon was his light, guiding him to his one love, the only good thing he was next to possessing in this life.

"Think that bitch's got fight in 'er or would she let me take 'er?" the drunked man slurred, slamming his bottle on the table. "She's too lil' t' really bite back."

"She's got that innocent look in 'er eye." Another man grinned. "Look real pretty underneath ya."

"n' she's a witch," the first man laughed. "Y'know she'd be into some nasty shit-"

Knocking on your door, he winced as some of the blood from his knuckles stained the surface. But his worry over that was replaced by the disarming sight of you. Your eyes widened as you took in his damaged appearance.

Wordlessly, you pulled him in, sitting him down at your table and turning your back, busying yourself with finding the perfect remedy. Once you'd found that familiar paste you knelt and began to dab it on, not bothering to clean the wound. That could come after he was healed.

You looked up into his eyes. "What happened? How did you-?" Cutting yourself off, you reached for a bottle on the table that was uncorked. "Drink this."

He obeyed before answering your half question. "Bar fight."

"What on earth for?" Your brow was furrowed, and you were watching carefully as his knuckles smoothed over. Taking a wet cloth, you began to wipe the blood from his skin. "You haven't gotten into one before. At least not since I've been here."

Billy hesitated, and you noticed. He pursed his lips, looking away in shame. "They were...sayin' some things."

Warily because of his pause, you lifted your chin. Then you got up from your knees, quietly pushing his hands from his legs. Your knees found either side of Billy's thighs, and his hands instantly found your hips. You stared into his eyes, and he was pierced by your gaze. "Billy."

It could have been the magic in you, but Billy was sure it was a natural thing you possessed. That ability to draw anything from him you wanted to know. His lips were moving before he had a chance to think. "Honey...they were sayin'...sayin' awful things 'bout you..." Your face fell and he slowed down, the last few words following his first like a dog with its tail between its legs. "...'n I couldn't let them talk 'bout my girl...like...that." He finished lamely, avoiding your eyes.

Frozen, your lips parted slightly, and your hands fell from his shoulders to his thighs. He kept his hands on your waist, unsure if you'd slap them away. How angry would you be? He held his breath in anticipation.

To his shock you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face there and pressing a kiss to his skin. He was still for a second, and then he slid his arms all the way around you, holding you close and rubbing your back. He mumbled into your hair, "'M sorry...'m so sorry baby..."

You shook your head, drawing back to look at him. "Billy...I'm not worth it. Don't hurt yourself over me-"

"I'm not lettin' anybody talk 'bout my girl like that," he interrupted firmly, his hand stroking your cheek. "'specially after what ya told me 'bout everything. 'm sorry for upsettin' ya, 'n for comin' here so late, but I ain't sorry 'bout defendin' ya."

Something changed in your expression, and you breathed softly, leaning in to kiss him tenderly. Billy nudged his nose against yours, deepening the kiss and holding you close and tight to him.

"Honey," he muttered after you pulled back. "'m always gonna protect ya. I told you that."

"Don't get hurt for me anymore," you sniffled, leaning your forehead against his. "Please."

Billy couldn't deny you anything. Not even this, which went against his nature. Forever and always, he was a defender of those he loved. "I won't, sweet girl. For you, I won't."

Nodding, you framed his face with your hands, closing your eyes. He caught wind of what you were about to do and pulled you right up against him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You smiled lightly and started to whisper something. He recognized the spell, muttered in French. It was one you had used with him many a time before.

The air began to glow, and he closed his eyes, staying quiet. Your words, though not understood by him, were soft and comforting. There was a bright light in your unlit cottage stemming from you. Billy felt a warmth in his chest just as he did every time you did this. The magic warmed him inside and out, holding him to the earth like only something connected to you could.

Once you'd finished, he kissed your forehead long and tender, lips parting against your head and holding there. Billy murmured against your skin, "Thank you, baby."

The light had nearly faded, but the calm your magic gave him remained. You performed this spell nearly every time you saw him, taking the emotional weight off his shoulders he'd carried nearly his entire life.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then suddenly he caught wind of something over your shoulder, in the window. Billy's body stiffened, and his arms tightened around you. "Darlin'-"

The door burst open, a man storming in. He took one look at you and Billy and shouted behind him, "They're here! Him and the witch."

A crowd of around ten men overtook the room before Billy knew it, disturbing your furniture and knocking bottles to the floor. He heard the smash of broken glass, the splash of your potions hitting the floor.

Arms firm around you, keeping you tight to his chest with your head in his shoulder, he asked roughly, "The hell is going on here?" You made a little noise, shifting in his lap, and he moved one hand to the crown of your head, holding your head to his neck.

"We'll be takin' the witch," the closest man hissed, holding his pistol up, pointed at the back of your head. "Saw your little light show."

They'd followed him. Billy cursed himself for not being more careful. He shook his head, arms tightening around you if it was even possible. "She ain't done anythin' wrong."

"She's a witch." Billy hated how the man said it like it was dirty. "That's reason enough."

Two cowboys pushed forward, yanking you from Billy's arms and pulling you from his lap. Before he could jump up, a revolver was pressed to his forehead and faintly he saw a hand squeeze the trigger.

"No!" You screamed, and there was a loud noise, a burst of light more intense than before. A few of the men shouted, and the man holding the gun in front of Billy collapsed, leaving his view of you clear. His eyes widened, and he could see the terror and guilt on your face.

Quickly trying to remedy the incident as he watched your face crumple, he called, "It's okay! It's okay, sweet girl."

Your chest was heaving and the men surrounding you dragged you away despite your cries, their positions on your magic solidified after seeing you hurt one of their own. Accident or not, they now believed themselves justified.

Billy was restrained by the man who'd tried to shoot him as they carried you far past the bounds of your home. He could hear your crying and it made his heart ache. Struggling, he tried to stand and run after you but the man was determined.

It was only once the hoofbeats of horses outside had vanished that they let go. He got to his feet immediately, but his detainer punched him in the eye, making him fall like a pile of bricks.

He lay there limply, the pain literally blinding. There were sounds of boots stomping away, and he felt agony strike his chest. You were gone. Taken to a fate he felt sick imagining.

Billy felt adrenaline and anger pulse through his body, and he scrambled to his feet, picking up his hat that had been knocked off his head earlier. His legs took him to his horse, and he threw himself over it, kicking the creature into a gallop. It was halfway through the night.

By sunrise you'd be gone if he didn't hurry.

You shouldn't have been so careless.

With Billy, your guard had been down, and you loved him truly for making you feel that safe. But in his presence, you'd forgotten the world's hatred for those of your kind.

The spell you'd performed was harmless, one that gave your lover some peace of mind. It was the least you could do for all he'd given you. Though he insisted feelings weren't payment, you disagreed. Love had no debts.

Even though you hadn't hurt Billy, you had hurt the man pointing a gun at him. Guilt and pain ate you up inside, worries overtaking you. Was he okay? Had he been able to get away?

Your heart pounded a bruise into your chest. There were noises outside your cell, and you folded your arms tightly around yourself. They'd nearly shredded your dress. It was in tatters around your body where the men had torn at it, searching for any sign of magic on you. They found nothing.

The door clanged open, and a man knelt beside you, pushing you to sit up against the wall. He held a length of rope, wrapping it roughly around your arms. You whimpered as the course material scorched your arms.

He glared at you. "You'll be burnt at sunrise. Considered hanging but then the witchcraft'd still be in your body."

Eyes widening, you shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. "No...no, please. Please don't do this."

But his eyes were unforgiving. Shoving you to lie on the ground again, he stood, shadow looming and making you feel even more pathetic. "See ya at dawn."

And with that he left.

You sobbed helplessly, twisting in the binds of the ropes and struggling to get free. But the man's knots had been firm, and now you suffered for it.

Hours slid from under your feet. You closed your eyes, resting your head heavily against the stone floor. And now you wished Billy had never pulled you out of the pond. Drowning would be a less cruel fate.

Tearfully, you thought of Billy. Of the love and light he'd bestowed upon you, a beautiful thing you hadn't ever thought yourself worthy of. It was a shame you'd never gotten to live a normal life with him. So many times since meeting him had you dreamed of blissful domesticity. And now there wasn't even a prayer of such a thing.

Your dreams died slowly before your eyes, and you mourned even the ones that you'd known wouldn't have come true anyway. Love was loss. It had only ever been loss for you. Any trace of hope in your veins had been sucked out by the rope that would now bind you until your death.

He had never shamed you, never cast you out. Instead, he had embraced your difference and shown you there was a facet of the world that wasn't cruel. Now you were setting him free from any obligation of you.

It was enough for you to know that as you closed your eyes, lying weakly on the stone. All the fight had left you, and you could feel your magic pulsing faintly, begging to be used, to be needed.

But you never wanted to use it again. Not after you knew you could hurt someone. Of course you'd always known it was possible, but never had you known yourself capable of it. No, you'd rather die than injure another living soul.

The door swung open again. Hours must have passed, because through the cell window you could faintly see the sun beginning to stretch forth its rosy fingers. Your hair was strewn over your face, and you were grateful at least that the rope covered what your poor dress couldn't.

Two pairs of arms lifted you up, dragging your tired body through the halls of the jail. There were whispers around you, but you paid no mind, trying to numb yourself to everything. The world was blurry to you. With any luck, before your murder, it would be black.

Your mind swayed back and forth like a rocking ship, and you thought aimlessly of the sea. Your home. You never wanted to go back to it, but now the details of it were comforting. The tide, the waves, the sand. It was something you wanted to stay a memory, but that memory was stowed safely in your heart next to everything pertaining to Billy.

The men grew tired of dragging you, and one of them tossed you over his shoulder like a bag of flour. His steps were heavy, jostling you carelessly. Of course, you were less than human to them. What did they care for your comfort?

Now you were outside, and the fresh air stung your senses. You breathed in softly, your hair fallen over your face as you hung upside down. Dust travelled into your lungs, and you coughed pathetically. The man carrying you laughed.

Death was waiting at the end of this path. You could feel it up ahead like a light at the end of the tunnel. By the time the sun hit the sky's middle you would be long gone from this world.

The man stopped walking, interrupting your train of thought. You squeezed your legs together to try and maintain some modesty. There were a few groans around you, and you wondered briefly if something had gone wrong with the setup for your execution. The one carrying you said something you couldn't hear, and then you were falling sideways, earth tilting on its axis. You didn't know you were falling until someone caught you, shoving the other man away.

Now a course, but gentle hand was smoothing your hair, whispering something you didn't make out. You squeezed your eyes shut; sure you were dreaming.

When you dug your face into Billy's chest you knew he was real. He let out a soft, lightened noise, his words becoming clearer to you. "...honey. I've gotcha. C'mon, we're gettin' outta here."

He was running now, and you could make out shadows. Everything was blurry except for the pain of your magic. It pounded against your head, and you cried softly into Billy's chest, trying to breathe and alleviate it.

His voice rumbled against you. "Shh, I know, sweet girl. I know."

"I need...my lavender," you hiccupped, gripping the collar of his shirt.

"We'll find ya some," he promised, fingers making quick work of untying your ropes. They fell from around you, and you heard him take in a breath at the state of your dress. He put something over your shoulders, sliding your arms through sleeves, and then you felt yourself being lifted up. Fur met your legs. Billy's horse.

The ride was a mess of pained whimpers and bumpy movement. Billy did his best to comfort you but it was just so painful, all of it.

He held you close, assuring you with every step. Once you reached the apparent destination, Billy pulled you down, settling you against the grass. Reaching over, he plucked something from the ground and held it up to your lips. You inhaled gently before opening your mouth. Lavender.

The plant revived you enough to look up at your lover, who was breathing fast, anxiously watching you. He squeezed your hand. "Darlin'...sweetheart...how're ya feelin'?"

You looked up at him. Highlighted by the sun's newborn rays, he was angelic. You would have fallen to your knees if you weren't on the ground already. Here he had ridden time and tide for you, yanked you from the path of death and uncaged your love. Now you were splayed out in the light, softened by his touch.

How long had you been unworthy? How long had you deemed yourself terrible? But he had saved you. Billy, the one facet of good in your life, had seen you fit to survive. He defended you. He carried you beyond the bounds of your self-worth. Oh, how he loved you.

Looking up at him, you managed the faintest of smiles, pressing your cheek to his chest.

"Yes."

Billy was shielding the leftover sun from the day, reflecting it from his eyes. He squinted at you, kneeling several feet away from him. "Everythin' alright?"

You nodded; breaths faint. He could see the panic in your eyes, but you didn't let it show anywhere else as you pressed your palms to the grass. The open field was perfect for your intentions, you'd assured him.

It was a hard decision. You had cried and pleaded with your tired body, trying to make it last. Nightmares tormented your unconscious mind; your magic grew heavier by the day. Billy helped as much as he was able, but it couldn't be denied that your quality of life was diminishing.

It was a risk. He knew that. But more than being aware of the consequences, he was confident in the goodness of your soul. Never had he met someone whose light shone so bright from within.

Somewhere in his heart he instinctively bore the knowledge that you were pure. The origins of your magic were unknown, but he was certain that if it was evil in the majority you wouldn't be as kind as you were. He shared that with you over and over until you had no choice but to believe it.

So now, here he was, standing helplessly as you tapped into the most vulnerable crooks of your body, the ones magic and witchcraft occupied. You'd insisted he stay back in case something went wrong.

Bowing your head, your hair fell in front of your face. He could hear a muttered incantation from where he stood. Your fingers clenched the grass, knuckles whitening.

He longed to run to you, but he didn't want to ruin the process and make something go worse than it already could. The situation was precarious enough.

Billy watched as a light shimmered through your body, palpitating against your skin and making you shiver. The sky was turning grey as storm clouds feathered the air.

You were crying- he could hear it. Now your body was shaking, tremors seizing you as you somehow kept your hands flat to the ground. Billy's heart pained for you, and he watched with wide eyes as a bright star seemed to glow from within you.

Your head tilted back, and something seemed to snap. Eyes snapping open, you gasped loudly, and fell backwards, staring at the sky.

The earth was quiet. The clouds were still. You were no longer glowing.

Billy hesitated before moving. He had no idea if you were still in the process. But now you were sitting up, flexing your fingers in front of yourself with eyes as round as the moon.

A joyful smile like sunshine spread across your face, and you exclaimed happily. Getting to your feet hurriedly, you ran like a deer to him, stumbling a little in excitement. Before he could react, you were throwing yourself at him, arms and legs wrapped tightly around his torso.

Laughing a little, he buried his nose in your hair. "Did it...did it...?"

"It worked!" You pulled back, then touched your forehead to his. "Billy it worked! It worked, the magic was good...I'm free!"

He spun you around, making you giggle in delight. "'Course it was, baby! You're better than anyone else."

You kissed his nose. "Billy..."

Grinning, he nodded. "I know, I know."

Leaning in, he kissed you tenderly, moving his lips against you like it was what he was created to do. There were happy tears on your cheeks, and he thumbed them away, holding you tightly to him.

Pulling back slightly, you nudged your nose against him. "You showed me...you loved me when it wasn't for the better. You rescued me in every possible way..."

"It's all worth it," he breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth again. "You...you, my love, are worth every step. Don't know how I ever came 'cross such a sweetheart."

"I needed you," you whispered, smiling brightly. Oh, he'd been too right about your draw. Magic hadn't had anything to do with it. The gravity encased within your soul was all you. "The past was my charge to carry before, but it's faded with my magic." You kissed his nose. "The future is you. Everything that matters is you."

"My love," he smiled, capturing your lips again. "My darlin'..." Billy took one of your hands from his neck and pressed it to his heart. "It's yours. It always has been."

You kissed him soundly until the moon rose over the river, the night bringing promises of love no longer lost.

No, now it was only found. You found each other, a magic that had nothing to do with what you'd just given up connecting your souls.

Previous part

[ultfreakme]

Chapter 56 meta thought:

So Kagurabachi has had this running theme across three arcs wherein people are dehumanized into tools and objects, primarily by the Hishaku and the Kamunabi. It's happened frequently enough that I am confident in seeing this is a central theme of the story.

The theme starts in the first chapter with Kunishige emphasizing the dangers of the katana & how its use as a tool needs the human element of purpose to be used wisely. This human element is stripped away by literally everyone. In the first arcs we see that Kunishige is remembered for the blades specifically.

Then we learn that the Kamunabi value the blades over people in their willing participation in the Rakuzichi Auction, and in how the basically imprisoned all the blade wielders and dedicated a majority of their forces to protecting the Wielders over you know....protecting the rest of the country, which is their ACTUAL job.

The Blade Wielders are synonymous with their swords and that is the only way the Wielders hold value to the Kamunabi.

Hokazono had said in an interview that this is a story about people. The Seitei War was against other humans and there is no monster waiting to attack, it's just people....doing their worst towards each other and the aftermath of how everyone dealt with the ways in which they monstrously attacked fellow humans.

With that being said I specifically want to talk about the latest arc and recent chapter(Chapter 56), and highlight those themes further here.

Samura & Uruha

Samura and Uruha understand very well that their value is so high because they are synonymous with the blades and thus have begun to see their life as such.

Uruha sees himself as a "dangerous" tool(or I guess more of a key to a dangerous tool). If he falls into the wrong hands, he would be the reason for unspoken amounts of violence against others. His value as a key has already led to the death of his entire squad and so he values himself as an object in that manner- protecting himself in the moment for his abilities so he's not used against others.

Samura is the opposite. He knows he's dangerous, but he determines his value in how useful he is to others, not based on his potential to cause damage. He also sees himself as a person first- he talks about himself and his actions in the war a lot, indicating that he recognizes his autonomy and had even kind of punished himself for it. He maintains his personhood outside of the worldly possessions, his life's value is not determined by an object- and therefore he is willing to die protecting Uruha, The Makizumi and Hakuri.

Their clash in the way they conceptualize themselves is how Hakuri determines who gets the sword.

I don't think it's coincidence or thoughtless action which led Hakuri to get Tobimune to Samura.

The Makizumi and Hakuri's job was protecting the Wielders- Hakuri's mission was accomplished with the the teleportation. So why did Hakuri give Samura the exact tool he needed to put himself back in danger?

Because Hakuri also sees himself as a tool who lives in service of others. He determines his value based on the number of people he can help, not based on personal motives. He is a storehouse, he is a place where people can come and take what they need. And if Samura needs Tobimune, who is he to deny that? He's fully abandoned his personhood in service of others (I am going to make another post about the view of 'Storehouse' wrt Hakuri and Kyora+ the Sazanami family later).

Hakuri understands Samura's desperation to save others. He also does not want the Makizumi to die despite them not being a part of his mission because much like Samura, he also sees them as people (Uruha does too but he's deeply influenced by his own squad and Gurt/Bandana Guy's sacrifice), and therefore Hakuri would give Samura whatever he needs to accomplish his goals. Hakuri grew up in an environment that consistently objectified human beings(literally).

He won't make the mistake of stripping the chance to live for themselves from them again.

[sageandred]

The way Shameless fans have always argued in favor of their faves and against their least favorite characters to be worse than them is so funny. You can't judge Shameless characters too hard on a moral basis. You just can't. The show is called: Shameless.

°

Mandy- tried to s.a. multiple times, but grew up with learned behavior around an abusive dad who s.a.'d her himself (she walks around with no pants for god's sake; that's sad because she doesn't even realize it's not normal); oh and almost forgot - ran over Karen, but had history of repressed anger problems, learned fight not flight retaliation responses, and jealousy after repeatedly being treated bad (and not just by Karen)

Fiona- made 10000+ mistakes, including almost killing her brother, but never had a childhood and was forced into parenting while never learning how to parent in the first place

Lip- #1 screw up for his own life (I guess it's his life, you can't blame him), because he hates himself and is self destructive also due to his upbringing; was angry and rude more times than I can count to Fiona, but he is angry due to his exact same feelings towards his (non) childhood

Ian- what did Ian even do...? cheat on anyone but Mickey? (edit: dang he did that too - but it doesn't count) ...be too serious for seasons 6-9?? (< jk, i love him; that's taken from real critiques.) be transphobic? (I hate, but it's valid he's uneducated - my memory is bad i don't even think he was transphobic just clueless on some things)

Carl- be the worst runner when trying to escape cops? a messed up child taxidermist?

Debbie- We can hate Debbie, jk! I do wish her storyline unfolded better, because it totally makes sense the need to grow up too fast and try to emulate Fiona (that's all I'll give her 'cause I understand, but I'm not trying to write an essay on my complicated feelings on how they could've portrayed Debbie's character arc better)

Recognize their shameless flaws. And have your faves, I agree. But to compare them and be on your moral high ground about why fans should recognize more individual actions as bad is void at the start of the argument.

Because Monica VS Frank - They both suck as much as I can recognize they both are sad, vulnerable, childlike lost causes at the core. But people always argue Monica is worse. Why, because she left? Honestly, good she spared them as opposed to mooched off and sat around doing nothing. Frank is funny (which I think is the only reason people like him more), but they're both the same level of shitty parents. WHICH IS THE POINT...to understand the kid/y.a. characters' bad trauma responses

°

"I think we as a society, should acknowledge how [blank] shouldn't be praised." That's like saying: "the Joker is villianous, guys did you know??" like why am I getting recommended arguments for why certain characters suck more?! In the year 2024, for god's sake?!?

Terry Milkovich, tho, is GOD AWFUL; hate on him all you want. x

[astroyongie]

Astroyongie Podcast S1 EP2

Notes done by @killuachii<3

Censored Version

i have a question about felix and his new person in your reading you said this person isn't usually what he would go for and now i wonder what kind of person this is 

person has very feminine energy, def a girl, not much information, relationship seems very recent, there was something fishy → forcing himself

is she an idol?

Doesn’t think so, just a friend he had 

Who is Hyunjins crush? Or is that something you will never tell us? 

Kfc

Burger king 

yongie, will you give some tea about ateez member? (Anyone)  

jongho not with gf

seonghwa very laid back rn 

any tea ab txt? 

Yeonjun still with his girl, some issues 

beomgyu in complicated situation, mental problems 

kai: relationship

taehyun: balancing

not much on soobin

Can i ask why seonghwa & wooyoung get bad reputations among others idol? 

Doesn’t remember seonghwa having bad reputation, is just hot tempered 

wooyoung very open which can cause issues due to the culture in Korea

who is yeonjun gf?

Someone from Cencored

Oh! I wanted to ask about your Pendulum! I also have one and I kinda know how to use it, but how do you go about asking about idols partners? Also sometimes I feel more connected and sometimes I just feel nothing... Any tips? 

Can’t share, isn’t comfortable with sharing how she practices. if you want to feel more connected: pendulums have a personality of their own, doesn’t work by itself, spiritual guides and energy will connect and use it to communicate which can sometimes be dangerous, need to practice in a protected circle, set a safe space, always do pendulum in same space, yongie personally doesn’t have a close connection with pendulum bc it is very hard to manage energetically, sometimes pendulum is going its own way 

Is Sunghoon enhypen still with his 'Taurus' gf? Thx 

Yes

Can u give us some clue more about hyunjin's new partner? 

No information, but physical connection, wants to move on from kfc 

What did you mean in your readings with felix needs to be protected from the reality of his life with his idol image? 

One part can not speak on, he is someone who is very easy to influence, a lot of things impact him a lot, he is trying to protect his image → things of his past could have a huge impact 

do u have any tips on how to detach from a person? i find it quite hard to let go of ppl good or bad cause i feel weirdly “attached” :3 

will depend on type of relationship, it is not easy, not something you can do in a month or two, a lot of dedication, process relationship (What is the reason? Why do you want to detach? Etc.)  THERAPY

Why Jungkook, lee know & eunwoo suddenly hang out? I mean lee know with 97 liner 

doesn’t have an answer 

how to deal with disorganized attachment (leaning avoidant)  

therapy, can be very impactful on relationship with others, problem with connection

what CAN it mean when someone like is extremely affectionate and then avoidant, is it confusion? or insecurity what things could it be? 

Ambivalent attachment

Did you learn about numerology or matrix destiny too? 

Yongie’s not a maths person 

is it possible to read someone's energy through a screen? 

Yes, most goes from eyes, if they can see them it’s easier to read someone 

Yongie, can i heal my phobia? I have thalassaphobia (scared of ocean) even when i only saw that on the screen i feel terrified. And based on my parents i never went to the sea before, so is it possible that the phobia come from my past life? 

Fear and phobia have different meanings, phobia → impact well-being, should go to therapy, past lifes: phobia comes from something, if there is nothing in your surrounding that could explain your fear (like a person being scared of that exact thing) or it can be transgenerational. if not, then it could be connected to past life 

How do you interact with angels or start deities with them? 

Two of them very different, they start the interaction, angels: interaction are kind of limited, prayers to them every night and set candles in their honor. deity: praising and giving offerings, self love, energy as offering, offerings and not ask for something in return, deities aren’t there to serve they need to be served, lighting candles to communicate

what is your opinion on if a christian prays to someone else than god? do you think it's a bad thing? 

Depends on the person’s beliefs, personally doesn’t think it’s a problem, should stay in the christian pantheon 

how does connecting with passed ones work? i have heard of it before can u share a bit about purpose and how it works? 

Yongie doesn’t contact dead people, but a lot of cultures do, contacting them directly → you’ll never know if it is really that person, if you ant to praise/honour them → altars and such 

I meditate every day before sleeping. During deep meditation, I sometimes hear strange sounds like eerie laughter, whispers in languages I don't understand, or tinkling sounds like a cold bowl. Sometimes, I find it difficult to differentiate whether these are sounds from my imagination or actual messages or sounds from astral beings. What do you think? 

Shouldn’t meditate before sleeping since you are in a vulnerable state while sleeping

whats your opinion on haunted dolls? 

Doesn’t really believe it, one of her phobias, haunted object could be charms or could be objects that trapped energy of the previous owner

Could someone reincarnates as an animal? Or only and always human? 

Yes, they can, an animal can also be reincarnated as a human, has done a reading where someone’s cat was their great grandma 

i have heard of something called egg belief??? they believe that bad ppl will be reincarnated as the victim of the actions they did to other ppl but i personally dont believe it because it would like mean that victims are at fault if something happens to them 

tricky, karmic chains could be connected 

Do dreams tell us something we need to do or is it feelings we already have?

no, dreams are made up from your mind and tries to process something. they do have meanings but its the inner domain

what are like consequences ? when for example youtubers make content with ouija boards 

most things are made up/don’t do it seriously

what is a spiritual awakening, how does it happen? 

When someone starts being more in tune with spirituality, could be due to almost death experience or traumatic experience

what happens to us after we pass (after ur beliefs) im curious 

when we die our souls leave our body to get into the veil which is the bridge between the spiritual and the physical world. Then we go to the spiritual realm for a while eventually reincarnation

But how to break the karmic chains yongie? 

Difficult to answer, depend on what karmic chains you have 

i feel u once addressed this on ur blog but can it happen energies dont immediately reach the veil what happens exactly? 

They do because they have to, since they can't be on the physical world

Yongie, can cannabis, meth, and other psychedelic plants use trigger to awakening/ enlightenment 

personally doesn’t think it triggers it

can energies after they pass and leaves physical body, cant they stay as a spirit on earth or something like that? 

Hopes they just go to the realm, bc people who are stuck needs to relive death constantly which isnt fun

if yongie had to pick 3 idols to smoke with

jaehyun, wooyoung, chanyeol (to see how he acts) or woodz („maybe if he is high he would want me“)

so if a dead person appears in my dream it means something? 

Yes 

yongie how do i manifest a toji fushiguro build man 

camp outside a gym (and get Sukuna's number for me)

is hyunjin dating anyone from ateez/sunwoo?

nope

[woodenfawn]

The Rem Infodump.

The one where i rant about rem and subaru's dynamic and why it's special but i dont think a lot of people really understand it!

This was written a while ago and i may have some things wrong, and it's also good to note I don't think subaru and rem are unnhealthy for each other in the sense that they shouldn't be together (whether romantic or platonic), i just mean the situations they were in forced them to act in certain ways!

I think a lot of people who are bigger re zero fans (who also understand what the story is about) shy away from rem as a character because she's the one "only fake fans who watch the anime for the waifus" like, but while she's not my favorite character i want to bring her a little more appreciation from this side of the fandom!!

new-to-tumblr post spam 3/4 complete, i'll slow down after this XD

I tried tagging with spoilers but just in case it didn't work: spoilers ahead!

So. The rem thing. Ive talked about it vaguely before but never went into detail cause there were people that could be spoiled. The whole point of rems attraction to subaru is not because of harem wish fulfillment. The author clearly stated he hates harems. Subaru does love both rem and emilia, but he has solidly chosen emilia and that's the end of that. It doesn't matter what romantic feelings he could have towards rem because it's already doomed. They both know it. The relationship they form episode 12 and beyond is not meant to be healthy for either of them!! Rem has been saved from her mindset of needing to atone for what she thought of her sister, but her self esteem is still AWFUL which is why she attaches herself to a "hero" instead of learning to recognize her own self worth. Subaru saved her from some things but he's not a hero and he's not exactly the person rem says he is. Partially, but not all of it. It's kind of a mutual decision of theirs to lie to each other and themselves because they need it to cope with themselves. Subaru needs to be a hero for rem or he could never step out of his depressive state. Rem needs a hero in subaru or she cannot feel loved and understood. It's not good for either of them but they don't have an alternative. NOTICE: When subaru rants about how awful he is and rem responds with her famous speech, she doesn't actually contradict much of what he says. They love each other and need each other but it's bad for the both of them. Rem lost her memories because the witches (later correction: it's the bishops) targeted her for her sin, and subaru killing himself over rem is not the action of a person in a healthy mindset. Rem's development was cut short and kind of fridging, its frustrating, but it's not basic waifu stuff and it is meant to be tragic!!!! This is also all a mirror to how subaru and emilia are!

Because while subaru constantly talks about needing to save emilia, he also calls her the main heroine. I used to think about rem as a yesman, but she does many a thing behind subaru's back for his sake the exact way he did to emilia. He learns more about the consequences of his actions that way. oh, it hurts. and oh boy the speech is so misunderstood. That is rem's promise to love him "unconditionally", without acknowledging his flaws, and it helped. It's absolutely what he needed to hear. But it wasn't good. but also, for other reasons, it mirrors another little speech.... subaru's season 2 confession to emilia. Where she can't believe he'd love her, and where he starts to list off things he's done for her and the ways she's made it hard for him. And then tells her, he still loves her, because that's who she is and he wouldn't want it any other way. Which could be taken as another niceguy rant (like a repeat of the season 1 fight) but it's NOT!! Because this is what Emilia needed to hear, because she is not the kind of person who can accept praise without a drawback or asterisk. If she heard all that, all she'd see is another pedestal to fill. this is the healthier version of the rem speech, where she can accept she's flawed and realize she's still loved. Both despite, but also for it. And... it's still not perfect. Because the characters are still growing and learning!!! They are young adults with so many problems and a whole life ahead of them and they still need to learn!!! The upsides and downsides of unconditional love,,,, and is it more unconditional if you love them "despite flaws" or "with flaws" or without seeing any? And is any of that healthy? How can it be good? How can it be bad? Maybe it can be both at once, maybe love isnt perfect!!! a lot of this is hidden in subtext, and the framing of rem's speech may even trick you cause it's triumphant but no there's so much complexity to why they say every single thing they say!!!

Subaru is a character who struggles with love for himself and with love for others, he doesn't know how to make others happy and gets caught in a loop of thinking the only way he can possibly be loved is if he's constantly putting his life on the line for others, without asking anything of them in return. which ends up with him breaking and needing support, and not knowing how to ask, which is why he yells at emilia in season 1 (doesn't help that his deepest trauma is something he is magically obligated not to share for fear of death). His relationship with emilia in season 1 is both very sweet and very unhealthy. he's just a guy with a crush on a girl who's far too good for him and he's trying to work for it but the basis for it is not good- he's attached himself to the first kind person in this new world that he knows and due to "return by death" he's far more invested in her than she is in him- she will never know everything they went through together. and then.... he finds rem. someone who didn't trust him. someone who killed him multiple times throughout the mansion arc, but someone who could understand his loneliness because she was also lonely, and wow- he managed to save her, too! and she doesn't know everything about what he's gone through, but she knows how to read his emotions like no one else can. so they... fall into a codependency. like said before, they can't live without each other, but not everything they do is good for each other. subaru, while gladly taking the role that emilia has in this new relationship, learns more about how she feels. with rem, he learns more about what it means to love, and they both know that it won't last. they didn't expect it to end so soon, though. but oh well, subaru does not have the option to stop. the nature of his powers means dying is pointless, and he has to press on anyways. and he does!!! He meets more people he thinks he can trust. some betray him, but some stick with him. Otto (my sweet boy!!!) is notable!

and now he knows more about love, about trust, about how to treat people, and how he should expect to be treated. so many things. keeping in mind it's been a while since i've watched re zero so i probably don't even have everything there is to say. but like.... then in the end, he can approach emilia with his true emotions. and he can tell her about it in a way she'll understand. and he knows he can do it without being a burden this time. he's become a better person. he's not sure if he'll be rejected, but that's not the point anymore! The point is he loves her and wants the best for her and wants her to know and hopes, no matter the outcome, that she'll be happy to know she's not alone! and the honesty, that's what his speech has over rem's. he's not putting her on a pedestal, he's not using her for the sake of his own self esteem anymore, he just wants to love!

------

Extra note on the end (talk about suicidal thinking, be warned!!!)

something I've talked about but don't have saved writing for, a bit more about rem!

I do also think Rem is suicidal. i think she and Subaru recognized each other in that mindset without ever really talking about it. To me, this relationship is two suicidal people trying to prop each other up so the other will keep living, and knowing that if they really give up the other will too. That's why the season 2 development was so punishing for Subaru. I think that Rem's terrible self esteem and feeling of needing to atone for """"ruining her sister's life"""" contributed to it, though i don't know if that's all of it. She also makes multiple comments that are extremely concerning, like how Subaru is her "reason to die", how when she was ready to die fighting the white whale she said she felt like this was the moment she was made for, and biggest of all!! When she was telling her hypothetical story of how she and Subaru would run away together, she planned it all up to the death "I'd like to die first and I'd like my family to be with me", and to me it felt like she was *trying to think of a death that would make her life worth living*. Her motivation to live is following people she can die for, and that's, that's concerning. i hope her character arc properly follows through on what's happening in her head (i don't know how arc 7 goes yet)

...and i also think that Beatrice is the first time Subaru's had to confront his mindset head-on, because Beatrice would refuse to dance around the subject. The lesson he takes from Rem carries over to both Emilia and Beatrice in healthier ways, and I think that's incredibly important!!!!

------

thank you for reading!

[meet-you-at-the-north-star]

Lucky in love

Robert Leckie x Australian barista! Reader

Summary: part of a larger enemies-to-lover(ish) narrative I have in mind where the reader is a waitress in Melbourne and her and Leckie slowly develop a relationship while he’s stationed there. But since I’m incapable of writing multi-chapter stories, this is just a little snippet lol

Word count: 967

It had been a long Saturday night at work. On weekends, the place was even fuller than during the rest of the week and I was barely able to take any rest between one set of clients and another. There was always something to do.

Worst of all, as usual, was the Americans. They had been coming in every single evening for several weeks now, a small group of them, always occupying the same exact table, around a corner of the bar that I’d begun to dread turning.

They were pretty loud, careless and obnoxious but their mere presence caused more trouble than anything else. What’s with all the annoying attention they received, for opposite reasons, from both the male and female population of Melbourne.

Some of them would take advantage of their uniforms, dancing and hitting on as many girls a night as they could. Others would simply sit and drink and talk to the locals or among themselves, growing louder and louder by the minute. They had been coming so often I’d learned all their names and faces at this point.

One of our usual guests stood out to me more than any other, and not in a good way. The only way to describe him was as someone annoyingly in love with the sound of their own voice: he wouldn’t shut up for a minute, whether it was to impress his own friends with his “superior” culture and refined way of speaking or, more often, a different naive young girl every single night.

His name was Leckie, although most of the times I heard the boys called him Lucky. Once he’d had a few drinks, he became even more insufferable and trips to their table less pleasant. It was exactly the case that night.

Fortunately for me, I’d been too busy with other tables and managed to avoid the marines one for the last 45 minutes, which made the scene I was about to witness all the more surprising.

The next time I got to his table, the blonde girl Leckie had been trying to charm, as well as all of his friends apparently, had left. For the first time ever he sat there alone, playing with the glass in front of him, almost absent-mindedly, lost in thought. His expression was incredibly sad.

I don't know what came over me at that moment when I decided to take a seat in the chair in front of him, placing the tray on the table. “Didn't work out?” I asked gently, surprising even myself in the process.

The only words I’d ever spoken to him before that were snarky, sarcastic retorts whenever he made a pass on me.

“Not exactly” He tilted his head slightly with a sad smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Have you come to do some gloating?”

“What, a girl can't do anything nice around here?” I rolled my eyes, making him chuckle despite himself.

“Well, that's certainly nice of you” he raised his glass in my direction and drank the remaining sip of beer in one go.

I looked at him curiously. This was certainly a side of him I had never seen. The cocky playboy attitude all but gone, making me doubt it was ever there in the first place.

“Why do you do that?” I hesitated before adding “that's not really you, right?”

He perfectly understood what I meant without me having to explain.

“Being in the army is different than anything else I've ever experienced. You find yourself part of a new family, forced to play a new role and it almost feels like you can start anew.”

There was weight to every word that came out of his mouth now, each of them carefully measured.

“And I guess I just wanted to…try and be someone else for a little while” He finished with that sad crooked smile again.

I fell silent, taken aback by the unexpected display of vulnerability. Then with some trepidation I approached and placed my hand on his own that was resting on the table, near the glass. “You know, I can’t believe I’m saying this but it turns out that your actual self is not half bad, Robert Leckie”

He looked up at me, both of his eyebrows raised. His deep blue eyes sparkled from the glow of alcohol, but they were sharp as always. “You know my name?”

I scoffed. “Not willingly, but yes”

“If only I'd known that all I had to do to get your attention was to be myself, it would have saved me a lot of trouble.” He gave me a quick sideway glance, then looked down. “Unfortunately, it usually works the opposite way.”

I laughed, immediately dismissing his words in my mind as nothing but a joke. “You're definitely drunk”

“Not that drunk” He smirked and I finally recognized the cheekiness I'd gotten so used to over the past few weeks.

“You were doing so well, Yank” I sighed. “Don't ruin it now”

“I never did learn how to quit while you're ahead…” He teased.

“Well, for your own sake, you better start learning” I shot back.

With that I stood up, collecting all the empty glasses that were left on the table and placing them on the tray that I had abandoned earlier.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Y/N”

“Can I see you again, Y/N?” The question stopped me right before I could walk away and made me turn around.

“Of course you can see me again, you've been coming to my bar every single night”

He shot me an eloquent look, but I could see he was nervous. “That's not what I'm asking”

I allowed myself to let out a smile: “Maybe, if you’re lucky”

His smile grew into a big grin. “I’m always lucky”

[cookiecomics]

⭐⭐⭐ give me that directors infodump 👀

Hehehe I'll give my director's cut on Futaba's awakening!

So I am super in love with the day Persona 3 did their second awakenings. The idea that events in the characters' lives independent from the protagonist caused a shift in their psyche that caused them to develop as characters was appealing for me. Without Ren as the driving force behind the change, they had to change on their own which led me to try to brainstorm what events might push different characters to the brink.

For Makoto it was having everything about the police and justice stripped away with both her own actions, the actions of her sister and how it all culminated into getting a full view of what the justice system she craved to belong to can do to those with no power to do otherwise, it changed her in a way that she can't come. back from. That in my eyes, was the tamest of the bunch.

Then we had Akechi, someone who, at every turn, refused to free himself from his own mental shackles of the situation he's been in. How he viewed his mother and her complicated life. How he viewed himself in relation to his father and in relation to the world. He never really went after what HE wanted, only what he thought was what he was destined to do. To him, finding meaning in life meant finding some sort of balance that would be worth the cost of his mother's life. Bringing down Shido was that for him. A monster through and through and just like the stories and legends that Akechi is no doubt familiar with, that kind of karmic justice may not be "worth" his mother's life, but it's worth his. It's penance for what she had to go through. He wasn't living for himself, not really.

There's a saying in Naruto that really spoke to how I developed Ren and Goro in this fic. Sasuke said Naruto couldn't understand him because he's been alone from the very beginning vs Sasuke who lost everyone he loved. Those are two very different types of loneliness and two different sources of anger that feel like they should be the same, but they aren't. Fundamentally, they aren't, and that's why Ren was unable to reach him in that way.

From the very beginning, I knew Futaba and Cog Akechi were going to be the mechanism for Goro's second awakening. Goro's ultimate villain after all isn't fully Shido, it's always been himself. His perception of himself, his past, his inability to let himself have that love and adoration he craves now that he's found it. The person who could reach him was the only other person who would understand his very unique brand of pain in Futaba.

Being told it wasn't his fault his mom killed herself from someone that in his eyes, has every reason to despise him, to curse him, to see him fall, meant something to him. It reached him in a way that Ren couldn't in this side of the fic because Goro never tried to kill Ren. Not really, but he did ruin Futaba's life in the exact same way that his was ruined. That's why Futaba was the only one who could reach him.

She knows what it's like to believe and be told by others that your life was a burden on your mother, that self hatred, that hatred for the world at large, that need and desire for some sort of justice for your mother. Futaba gets all of that and she says as much in the game. She doesn't have to forgive him, but she can give him what he needs, and show him first hand, in action, that love is complicated.

As for Futaba's awakening, considering the deadly sin being explored in the palace was pride, neither Ren nor Goro was wholly equipped to deal with the palace at large.

They both wanted different things and were reluctant in their own ways to compromise the whole way through. It wasn't until both of them learned that they needed other people- that they could get saved by the person whose shown the most humility in the story thus far, Futaba.

Humility can be defined as having a realistic view of yourself and self-importance. Goro and Ren both put their goals above others, repeatedly.

Futaba is one of the few people in the story who never tries to sacrifice those around her for herself. When given the option to abandon Makoto to save herself when Goro takes everyone hostage, she rejects that. When given the choice to leave Goro to Cog Goro, she rejects that too. She stands up for Ren against the phantom thieves, and even against Sojiro. Time and time again, Futaba shows that humility when everyone else especially Ryuji, Ann and Makoto often fall to their own instances of pride or anger.

And most importantly, as much as Ren's whole life was turned upside down by Shido. The person who suffered the most at the hands of Shido were Akechi and Futaba and Futaba deserved to smack her dad (lol at my fav hc) in his stupid bald head as vengeance for her mom. I was disappointed the game didn't give her a moment like that, but alas, condense storytelling.

Throughout the story, Futaba constantly desires to have the power to save those around her. With her awakening and her turning the tide against the big bad, she does just that.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

couldn’t sleep much but brain revised an old au while I was briefly dreaming.

basically, the idea is that dream is the last of a very ancient shapeshifting race and he lures in human prey by mimicking the sounds of distressed humans. but bc he’s a sentient being who hasn’t had any social interaction since he was basically the equivalent of a child he’s deeply lonely.

he lures tommy into the woods but decides not to eat him and instead keep him- pragmatically, to learn to mimic the sound of a human juvenile in distress better, but mostly because he’s desperate for any sort of companionship. he keeps tommy trapped in an old ruin, preventing him from leaving with physical force, and alternating between causing harm seemingly at random to mimic the distress, and being incredibly clingy. he brings tommy “gifts”- both things he found in the forest like flowers, gems, and fruits, and the contents of any bags his human prey have, and tommy finds accepting them tends to mean he’s in the aggressive mood less.

tommy initially thinks dream is some weird wild animal, basically. a blatantly supernatural one, with its ability to slip in and out of darkness and it’s tendency to transform into an exact duplicate of him and mimic his every move, but he assumes it’s basically a very confused animal that for some reason won’t let him leave but lashes out in fear. being very fond of animals, tommy views dream with a lot of sympathy despite basically being held captive and tries his best to be kind to him, in the way you are with a wounded animal, bc he assumes that’s basically what dream is.

but as time goes on it’s clear dream is more intelligent than that. he starts mimicking tommy’s speech and tommy, finding it amusing, starts talking to him… and is very surprised when dream quickly picks up a rudimentary grasp on english (taking on the name dream as one of the first words it learns, after tommy calls the situation a bad dream- he doesn’t learn what the word means until after he decides to call himself that). tommy initially is excited, hoping that he can explain to dream that he has a family and a life and needs to go home, but it very quickly becomes clear that dream simply doesn’t care.

he sees himself as above humanity- though in his thousands of years of isolation, he’s come to be very admiring of how they never seem to be alone, and through his interactions with tommy he’s decided he’s fond of them, in the way humans are fond of pets. he’s deeply curious, but has no sense of morality, being both unaware and uncaring of the concepts of good and evil, only discovery. he’s incredibly childish- having had no social interaction since he was a child- but he pretends to be aloof and mature when he very clearly isn’t and gets defensive when it’s pointed out. and, above all else, he’s lonely, in a way that leads to him being viciously possessive no matter how miserable it makes his only friend, because he can’t bear the thought of being alone ever again. he misses his kin and sees tommy as somewhat of a replacement- not exactly in a way that maps onto any human concept (dream’s species reproduced asexually and as such didn’t have any concept of parents or siblings or anything) but he allows tommy to map it onto them anyway.

tommy is obviously pissed, and refuses to play nice knowing that dream isn’t simply doing this out of ignorance but callousness and a twisted curiosity. he’s angry, fighting back in whatever ways he can- not physically, dream is way stronger than him, but he refuses any gifts, refuses to eat unless physically forced to, is very verbally aggressive and angry, and constantly attempts to escape. dream is genuinely concerned- he doesn’t understand why tommy would be upset, and he doesn’t want to lose him, and nothing he does seems to fix it. he tries being nicer, and he tries being crueller, and tommy doesn’t go back to ““normal””.

eventually he gets so frustrated that he hurts tommy badly, and immediately regrets it- not because he cares about hurting tommy, he finds it amusing, but because he’s worried he’ll die. desperate, he shifts into the guise of one of the humans he’s ate to drop tommy off at a hospital, deciding he’d rather have tommy alive and avoiding him back at home rather than dead, if only because tommy being alive means he might potentially be able to force him to come back someday.

tommy’s incredibly surprised at the whole thing, but at first he just is happy to be home, but he finds himself struggling to adjust after almost a year of captivity. his foster parents aren’t cruel, but they are distant, and he has no friends, and he finds that being alone for more than a few hours makes him feel anxious now. he’s not used to the richness or amount of food in civilisation, and it makes him feel ill. he’s heavily behind on schoolwork, not that he even bothered in the first place, and he’s defensive and always ready for attack. he finds himself unable to explain where he’s been, and can’t get any help for his trauma. he doesn’t feel at home here, and while he hates dream, at least things made sense there. civilisation feels wrong and confusing. too loud and too crowded.

eventually, though, he makes a friend. his names tubbo- an odd name, for sure, but for an equally odd person, and as far as tommy’s concerned that makes him the only sane man in the town. he tinkers with electronics and lets tommy copy off his homework if tommy plays smash with him later. they bond so close it’s almost like they were friends their whole lives- neither have a great homelife, though not a bad one necessarily, and both have issues preventing them from otherwise making much friends, so they instantly get really close. for a while, everything seems perfect, and tommy can almost write off his time in those woods as a bad dream.

and then one night, he wakes up to hear tubbo’s scream echoing.

he instantly knows what’s going on, but he can’t ignore it if there’s even the slightest possibility tubbo is alive. he rushes into the woods, and of course, dream is there, with an injured tubbo he lured in. dream is ecstatic when he talks about how he’s been watching tommy and found a way to get him to come back, entirely oblivious to how terrified, upset, and angry both tommy and tubbo are. he says he’ll let tubbo go… if, and only if, tommy agrees to stay. and of course, reluctantly, he does.

tommy hates at how relieved going back to the awful routine makes him feel. he’s not angry, anymore, just… numb. not even sad, numb. but dream is overjoyed, and starts seeing tommy as… not exactly equal, but closer to it than anyone else. he starts taking tommy to the ruins of where his people used to live and explaining all he knows. there were many secrets they had that dream hadn’t learnt yet, as he was little more than a child when humanity fought back and annihilated them. but they once ruled over humans, treating them like servants at best and livestock at worst, and they knew many rituals that could shift reality like they can shift their bodies. dream wants to figure out two most of all- how to create a child, and immortality. one to repopulate his species, and one to keep tommy alive forever. he’s noticed that he’s different- taller and just a little older looking at seventeen than the form dream has of him at sixteen when he first met him, and it greatly distresses him to be reminded that tommy ages and dies unlike him.

meanwhile, tubbo starts visiting the old ruins- at first trying to sneak in, but after finding that dream is overjoyed at the idea of another human visiting instead of angry like he predicted he drops the secrecy. he and tommy stay friends, and tubbo trades him info on the outside world and stuff dream can’t consistently get from his hunts and the forest. at first it’s confusing because tommy and dream in tommy’s form were very hard to tell from each other, so dream starts shifting into a form somewhere between tommy and his monstrous true form. dream tries to befriend tubbo, but gives up after finding him far less interesting than his tommy, and generally ignores him except to curiously mimic him and observe him unblinkingly. when asked why, dream says he needs to understand humans for when he’s able to bring his people back, and they’re the ones in charge again, except he’s not gonna be cruel like them- humans are far too precious for that! no, he’s going to help guide them. and sure, he’ll eat a few of them, and hurt a whole lot more, but he still genuinely doesn’t get why that would upset anyone. at this point, tommy struggles to, either. it’s routine, now, the scars coating his body and the bones scattered in the ruins.

idk just. a cool au ig.

[dgknightblue]

So there is this AU swimming in my head where RVB characters are from different time periods and gets dumped into some place and are forced to interact.

Im not too sure on exact time periods for them, but an approximation of them.

But who is from the future, Wild West, and stuff?

Carolina and Church are future people trying to do something I don’t know what and accidentally pulled people at first before doing it on purpose kind of.

The people they pull they don’t get to choose who fits into what they are looking for.

But things….

All of our lovely sims are in the cast with a few of the freelancers.

Simmons is a trans man stuck in an era that doesn’t support him. He gets pulled after he finally runs a way. Well he was born with one leg and he kind of got hurt so he was bleeding pretty bad. Yeah he was a mess on the floor. He was scared and begged them not to hurt him or drag him back to his father.

I’m thinking he’s a lower aristocrat’s only child that was out of wedlock during a time of arranged marriages and stuff. He has his mother’s knife that his cousin gave him before going overseas for war. His father tells him that he’ll be marrying some merchant’s son named Gene or whatever and be grateful. He hates it and he feels bad being called his name. He likes his grandfathers name more.

Blugh what an xss!

Once he finally calms down and gets patched up, he accepts what’s happening and loves all the mechanisms he’s never seen before.

They all catch on to what he doesn’t see and don’t know what to do. Except Sarge, Kai, Donut, and Grif.

Sarge boasts about doing his own top surgery before growing a beard and enlisting into the army. Simmons finds himself drawn in and in full admiration for some reason.

Kai has Grif’s support, they would absolutely know how to get him accept little things to get him warmed up to the idea of him being him.

Donut is full of support and advice and is very friendly!

They get Simmons out of his shell enough to see his eyes sparkle some times. Sarge makes Grif Simmons’ personal carrier since they don’t have access to a wheelchair.

Grif is just glad Kai and Donut convinced Simmons it was okay to wear pants. He’d trip over that long xss dress that didn’t belong any where near Simmons.

So they end up spending a lot of time together and even sneak off. I can imagine them in the shallows of water at night talking and Grif teaching Simmons how to swim.

They get real close and Tucker and Kai and Donut try to spy on them sometimes. They individually have to cover each others mouths so they don’t blow their cover just to scream , “JUST FXCKING KISS ALREADY!!! DXMN IT!!!”.

Eventually as other things happen Sarge is more than happy to reintroduce Simmons to the group.

When Simmons gets a prosthetic leg, he gets so excited and runs up to Grif and pulls him a way to do what they usually do but Grif doesn’t have to care him any more!

He can still carry him once in a while though <3

On to other people….

Wash gets trauma sometime before getting pulled but I’m not sure which era and what gives him PTSD.

I know I said I was moving on to other people, I want to say this:

Simmons can cook really good, his father thought that was beneath an elite individual and banned him from going to the kitchen ever again.

Tricks and skills he’s learned:

Piano, violin, proper etiquette, dancing, knife things from his cousin, cooking from his mom, sewing from his grandmother, poison and plants from his grandfather.

The only one that has a problem with Simmons is his father and literally has no reason or excuse to be. Too bad Simmons got stuck with his dad being the only family member he had beside his grandmother. She refuses to die simply for Simmons sake until she gets murdered passes from natural causes.

She was actually the only reason he stayed after his cousin was considered KIA. Never found the body though. It’s been years, where did you go?

Simmons finds a book no one listens to him explain. (It’s the manual, for what? Something he has control of now :3) They are in for a surprise :3

Simmons is his cousin’s last name.

Anyways, I don’t want to separate Grif from pizza so he is in time period where there is pizza even if it’s one of the early versions that’s actually called pizza.

He found a thing called Oreos and worship them.

He also wants to kiss Simmons so fxcking bad, but doesn’t see all the signs. Simmons has no personal space with Grif and only Grif. Kai sticks to Simmons side at first to help him out and gradually slides farther a way to help her brother.

One night they find alcohol and they all talk.

They learn Simmons has more unwanted experience than wanted and that the only one that is considered experience (because it was wanted) is Simmons eating a girl out. Simmons is Bi.

Simmons invites Wash to the virgin club along with Doc. Wash declines and Doc agrees.

Tucker has Junior beside him sleeping. His baby boy <3

Carolina and Church still trying to figure out some bull crxp with the unground lab on the island they are on. Some are not helping like they think they are. Caboose.

The library in the villa is where Simmons is during the day when he isn’t with Grif.

Caboose, Donut, Lopez are sometimes making sandcastles competing with Tucker, Junior, Kai.

Grif is in the kitchen making food for Simmons and him when Simmons is in the library.

Wash is training with Sarge and whoever else from the freelancer group I haven’t a clue.

When Locus and Flex show up as antagonists somehow Locus enters the fold. He tries not to get too close to Simmons, Kai, or Junior for reasons.

Donut definitely didn’t throw a water balloon at Grif’s head from across the beach for revenge and spite.

Doc and Dr. Grey are having lessons on being a good doctor when she shows up.

Eventually things pick up when Temple and his (small) group + Zealot soldiers do the thing that start the problems that got them all stuck together.

When things get bad, Simmons realized what the book he found goes to. He summons Tex kind of and he’s under her protection now. He is also learning coding and glad he doesn’t have to go back to his era. He doesn’t exist until now after all.

Learning his cousin becomes the kings advisor was a shock, but he’s glad they are okay.

I didn’t write for everyone because I got stuck at Grimmons moments <3

[originmade]

ZEREF DRAGNEEL - PORTRAYAL MASTER POST

Tags: Headcanons. Asks. Interactions.

This post is to cover all major canon divergences as well as any important details that are worth sharing about my portrayal of Zeref. All of these points remain no matter the verse unless stated otherwise or plotted with specific partners. Zeref Genuinely is such a fascinating character and Villain. It sucks Ma.shima was the writer behind him. Please Note: Zeref's Portrayal is very heavily tied to my Mavis Portrayal

1 ) By nature, Zeref is a very kind and gentle person. His value for life is a driving factor as to how he became who he is and why he does everything he can. It was his goal to preserve and cherish life that ended him up with the curse to kill so many, and that's why his death count is so high.

2 ) Zeref is unable to be consistent with his thoughts and actions, typically contradicting himself, even within the same conversation. The curse has forced his mind into an ongoing game of backtracking and reprocessing, not wanting to take any more lives but also attempting to be so apathetic that he could care less if they were taken or not. It's such an intense balancing game that many view him as insane as he attempts to keep it up

3 ) While he desperately attempts to keep his distance, Zeref is extremely charismatic and persuasive when he is actively engaged. He knows how to command a room and be a strong presence, making it hard to be ignored. However, despite these traits, he attempts to act with the interest of everyone in best, not himself.

4 ) In general, Zeref is harmless to interact with, as long as you don't attempt to form a strong connection or bond with him. He will keep all interactions and conversations as short as possible and refuses to learn personal details. The only reason he had agreed to teach Mavis and the other founders magic was due to Mavis's manipulation

5 ) Alvarez was not formed by any militaristic means, but was rather diplomatic in nature. Zeref is so apposed to death and puts himself in a deep self imposed isolation that I genuinely refuse to believe he would use extremely force and cause hundreds of deaths to unite guilds. Zeref united the guilds to prevent growing conflicts between them and also strengthen their individual means by opening up more trade routes and alliances. Alvarez existed as a project to see if he still does maintain some bit of his humanity, that he still has the compassion and mental stability to bring forth good, especially after all the cults and death that have come from his actions.

6 ) Zeref truly was in love with Mavis, through it was an extremely misconstrued notion of love. Zeref had spent the last 300 years in isolation, alone and with the genuine belief there shall be no company and relief for his curse and mistake, so to find another with the exact same curse, it filled him with a deep love and determination to keep the one thing that could very much become a consistent. He became possessive of Mavis and the idea of not being alone, of having someone to rely on. These emotions overwhelmed him and considering the closest feeling he had to this was the love of his brother, he believed himself that this is what love is.

7 ) Following Mavis 'death', Zeref developed Schizoid personality disorder, having lost his one true chance of forming a genuine connection. Its extremely difficult to get close to him, as he will shut down any attempts before they begin.

8 ) The war on Fairy Tail was about the Lumine Histoire, but much less about the desire for the unlimited magic. Even though their time together was limited, he was aware that Mavis would have wanted death, it was what she had asked of him when they were reunited, and his goal was to destroy the artifact, in hopes of granting Mavis one final sense of peace. If it meant taking the magic for himself so she would be rid of her curse or using it to rewrite time, so be it. His end goal was Mavis' death and eternal rest, but he knew his reputation and relationship with the guild would limit any hopes of diplomacy about the actions, especially considering how highly Makarov had deemed and swore to protect it. War was truly his only option, despite how much he hated needless death.

9 ) Cannot believe I forgot to include this when I was originally writing this. ZEREF IS NOT AUGUST'S BIOLOGICAL FATHER. ZEREF DOES NOT HAVE ANY CHILDREN. I stated this in my Mavis portrayal notes, but the entire implications around August is genuinely awful, on top of that Zeref would never want a child considering he knows he'd end up killing them, either by forcing himself to neglect them or by loving them and the curse taking hold. Zeref is not a father. Zeref never had kids. Mashima fucking STOP.

More shall be added / this post shall be updated when deemed necessary

[raayllum]

Was mulling over the

“I just think this cube thing could help me” / “Are you practicing magic or losing to Bait at a game of rolly-cubes?” / “I know you love magic, Callum, but be careful - cause it can change people”

And on one level, it indicates that perhaps Callum going too far magic wise is going to lead to a catastrophe for him. The only motivation he’d have to do dark magic for would be the Moon fam coins, which I’ve discussed here. But the alternative of going too far primal magic wise, or even Soren’s statement if we take it literally for Callum’s sake, isn’t entirely clear. Being a mage is who he is (2x02) and has been until recently a predominantly positive experience for him. So how could it change him?

Well the answer there would be Callum being tempted by magic / knowledge / power, or some magical offering Aaravos could make him that would have Callum tempted to join the villain side. However, I don’t think this entirely works because of the introduction of the possession plot line, seeing as:

The possession is a major mark against Callum letting himself be tempted by anything Aaravos could offer; almost nothing is worth more to Callum than his agency, hence why Aaravos went after it in the first place

It would also lead to something that is overly repetitious and time consuming. Either Callum would get possessed again (because he has to, otherwise why set that up?) and then be broken free by Power of Love, and him teaming up with Aaravos (playing into his hands) would just lead to a repeat plot line of Breaking Free again 

Or Callum would be tempted, break free of Aaravos, have the possession be exerted over him, and then break free again. Either way, it’s the same plot line, just for different reasons

With Viren and Claudia on Aaravos’ side right now, we don’t need a third mage added, never mind one who has no incentive. 

The threat of Callum working with Aaravos longterm-ish by his free will presents the exact same dilemmas/problems as Callum being forced to work with Aaravos against his own will (possession) as well as the former overlapping too heavily with Viren and Claudia’s arcs

While magic and his loved ones are both very important to Callum, the show makes it clear in the season he is the most desperate regarding magic that he will only do certain things for his loved ones that he will not do for magical pursuit (“You can’t risk your life to learn magic!” 2x04)

I’ve touched on this before but the “Callum is manipulated by Aaravos through the mirror” and “possession” plot line are thematically diametrically opposed. You cannot have one and then also the other. After all, they could’ve had Callum just be freaked that he would apparently play into Aaravos’ hands, and not have him be possessed, finding another way around things (Aaravos signing and Callum acting as a translator, for example, or other magical things). But no, they chose to have Callum be possessed, and to heavily foreshadow Rayla’s role in breaking him free from it. 

Everything is set up for the possession to be another form of manipulation, and an unsuccessful bid at that. The magic threatening to destroy his life won’t be enough to change him. Which still leaves the question: if possessing Callum is probably not going to be quite enough to make him play into Aaravos’ hands, than what is?

[boombambaby]

The Excuse

“No . . . nope. Not it. Nope. Nuh uh– “

Item after meaningless item is taken from the drawer, examined with a critical eye and then tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder and discarded. Everything from kitchen utensils, scrolls, toys, farming tools– even a llama bit– is deemed useless, and save for the cacophony of noise each of the items makes as it hits the ground, the hut is eerily silent.

Pacha is busy outside with his herd of llamas, corralling them into their tiny shearing pen. Even without his dislike for the furry beasts, Kuzco gives them as wide a berth as he’s able to– primarily because ‘herding llamas’ is absolutely something that he would consider beneath him. Emperor (to be) or not, he had never so much as touched a llama before he was turned into one– he had people for that exact reason.

Sure, on occasion he might find himself in the Royal Stable to admire the different farm animals given to him as gifts, or for more political reasons ranging from negotiations to bribes from outside Kingdoms– but that was about as close as he’d ever come to them in person.

So when Pacha, in his infinite wisdom, asked him if he would be interested in helping him out and learning a little something about how to deal with ‘stubborn’ llamas, Kuzco told him in no uncertain terms exactly how much he hated the idea, and wouldn’t be caught dead coming within a few feet of them. Besides; Pacha was already smelly enough for the both of them. Poor Chicha might have to wear a permanent nose plug if Kuzco started helping out, too.

Speaking of; Chicha had also asked him for a favor that morning. She was heading into the local village market to buy some food items for the week, and had asked Kuzco if he would accompany her if only to carry the heavier sacks of grain and potatoes she planned on buying.

. . . Seriously, what’s with these people thinking that he was interested in anything that had to do with physical labor? It’s like they didn’t even know him.

He was able to get out of that one pretty easily, citing that he had homework to catch up on over the weekend. Chicha didn’t buy it for a second, reminding him that she’d never seen him so much as pull a scroll out of his backpack, let alone actually DO any homework– but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt if he was serious about it.

That left him alone in the hut, with Chaca and Tipo outside playing, or riding llamas or. . . whatever small children do in their free time– and gave him the perfect opportunity to find something he could use to forge a doctor’s note.

“Nope. . . AHA! YES! This is perfect!” A small scroll is pulled out, with several papers with Chicha’s delicate handwriting on display pinned to the front of it, and Kuzco just about kisses it once he’s found it. All he needs to do now is attempt to copy Chicha’s handwriting, write himself a doctor’s note detailing his ‘sickness’, and BOOM, baby! No more gym class!

He slides into the dining table with a blank scroll and the papers he found and gets right to work copying the handwriting until he comes up with something legible.

“To whom it may concern, this is Doctor K. . . . Kay-uzco. . .”

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

“--Please excuse Kuzco from any and all activities that could cause serious injury, including but not limited to anything that could damage the Royal Head. This includes soccer. Kuzco is still recovering from a traumatic injury that resulted in a mild concussion.” Coach Sweety glares at him from over the top of the scroll, brows furrowed as she takes in his calm demeanor.

For his part, Kuzco stands with his hands folded behind his back, forcing his expression into one of indifference as the teacher reads the note out loud to him– and to the rest of the class. Which, hello– violation of privacy. But if it means getting out of this stupid class, it’ll be worth it.

“Is this ‘Doctor Kay-uzco’ a real doctor? This sounds like something you made up.” She asks him, glowering as she lowers the scroll from her face and plants her hands on her hips. “What? Coach Sweaty; I have never been so insulted in my life!”

If anything, her glare deepens. “It’s Coach SWEETY.” She bellows, loud enough that he’s pretty sure they could hear it back at the palace. “Sweety, right. Sure. Point is; I would never make up a doctor’s note! That’s just. . . it’s unthinkable.”

Exasperated, Coach Sweety casts a glance towards the rest of the students, as if asking them what they think about this whole ridiculous ordeal. She doesn’t get a reply of course, only a bored disinterested stare in return, and with an eye roll she settles her gaze on Kuzco once more. “Okay, so what is this ‘traumatic injury’ your doctor is talking about, hm?”

For a brief moment, his mind draws a complete blank. Coming up with an actual injury never even crossed his mind, he was far more focused on crafting the excuse itself. “Uh . . “ Even if he had ever been injured in the past, which would require actual physical activity or effort, Kuzco had the best Royal Doctors in the country looking after him. Save for his blood sugar issue, he’d never have the opportunity to suffer from some kind of prolonged illness, not under their care.

It hits him then as suddenly as it had that day, and Kuzco’s grin is back in full force as he refocuses on the woman in front of him. “Frying pan.”

She stares back for a moment, her brows furring in confusion this time, instead of annoyance. “Frying. . pan?”

“Yep! I was hit with a frying pan. You know, after I was turned into a llama.” Comes his confident reply, and he’s all but beaming at her once he realizes exactly what a perfect excuse it is. “I was busy fighting off. . . uh, assassins! On my way back to the palace. Pacha went inside his hut for supplies and I was ambushed! By ten of them! But I was able to fight them off– “ Here, he demonstrates some of his karate moves, slicing an arm through the air complete with sound effects.

“But one got the jump on me and, WHAM!” He folds his hands together in front of himself and swings them forward, like he’s holding something heavy with both of them. “Right in the side of the head! Nearly knocked me out– but I was still able to defeat them all with my kung-fu skills!”

Somewhere in the background, he can feel Kronk’s eyes on him, squinting and confused. Kuzco doesn’t necessarily care whether or not he remembers– at the time, he’d been trying to avoid them after all– but as long as he doesn’t try to correct him, they won’t have a problem.

It’s quiet while the information is absorbed, but after a moment Coach Sweety heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Fine, Kuzco. Walk the track while the rest of the class plays Soccer.”

Her only reply is a beaming grin, complete with finger guns, and Kuzco’s jogging over to the track to begin his light exercise. It was only a partial lie– a little white lie, really– and it got him out of the class. One down, several more years worth to go!