#comments like this are the reason people are scared to seek medical care

[whyitdoesntworkforme]

Clone Wars Fic Tropes that drive me crazy

I want to start this off by saying that if you write/read fics with these tropes this is no disparagement against you. I live very much by the live and let fic/live and let ship philosophy. And most of these tropes I get why they are popular. And fanfiction is a great way to put fantasies and fun scenarios down on paper, whether they make sense or not. Most of these I probably wouldn’t have a problem with if I didn’t see them so often because they are VERY prolific tropes. You know when you watching something or notice something in movies/TV/comics and you don’t really think it’s good but it doesn’t really bother you … then you see it over and over and over again and that’s when it starts to really bug you? Well that’s me with most of these fic tropes. I have my reasons for not liking them but they are not really big problems with the fics (or even the writing) itself sometimes. More that, the more I see it the more my brain thinks about it, the more problems I have with it.

So yeah, I’m really only writing this because it’s Saturday and I can’t go anywhere because I dislocated my toe and writer’s block has struck at just the wrong time. So here we go:

 The Medic Tropes

The Beleaguered/Long suffering Medic: Like I said in my intro there isn’t really any problem with this as character concept but it is just EVER SINGLE MEDIC CHARACTER that has ever been written in every clone wars fic I have ever read. Anyone who knows of a fic that writes medics as anything other than utterly competent doctors who have to deal with people not wanting their care (we’ll get to that), please comment. The medics deserve more depth.

The Medics Outrank Everyone/Disrespect: This unlike the last one is not in every fic with a medic in it but it’s quite prolific and it also ties into another trope I’ll talk about in the next section about protocol. I often see medics not addressing commanding officers with the proper respect. People take the medics outranking their superiors when it comes to the health of the men and kind of use it as an excuse for the medics to speak to said superiors with disrespect like I’ve never seen. This ties into the next point as well about people avoiding medical care. Just because they have final say in this one specific area doesn’t mean that they outrank their officers and that they wouldn’t be court martialed (and rightly so) for speaking to them that way. The worst I saw was a fic where Cody wants to get out of bed, he’s recovering but stable, there is no escalation, no serious danger to life or health and the medic literally shouts at his COMMANDING OFFICER that he will bench him if he hears one word. WTF? Take the scene for the Clone Wars episode ‘The Deserter’, Rex is seriously injured, wants to keep going and look at how medic Kix deals with it, he says, “Sir, as the team medic, when it comes to the health of the men — including you — I outrank everyone. So I respectfully order you, sir, to get some rest.” He speaks calmly, measuredly, respectfully. How does this very simple caveat to the chain of command translate to the medic being in charge of everyone, being able to speak to whomever they want however they want, and everyone being scared of them?

No-one seeks medical attention unless forced to: Again, I get why this is a trope, it is the selfless, pure hearted, yet strong person who ‘doesn’t want to bother anyone’ or ‘take up resources’ or ‘doesn’t have time to be sick’. That works for things like a cold, or a headache but I have read a fics where … specifically Obi-wan Kenobi has a gaping gash in his head and he tries to avoid the medic (this was not a crack fic). At first I found this trope funny, as that Monty Python skit where a knight with no arms says, ‘tis but a flesh wound’ comes into my mind. But when you see in practically every Clone Wars fic where someone gets an injury (and it’s war so naturally it happens a lot), the more stupid it starts to look. These are highly intelligent, practical people most of the time. Especially for the superior officers, not seeking medical attention is actually pretty selfish and self-indulgent in their position. As I said, ignoring a cold or a headache is the sign of someone who wants to power through or someone who is under a lot of pressure. Someone who just came out of a deadly mission with multiple injuries ‘not wanting to bother the medic’ is not strong or selfless, they are a blithering idiot. (Hello Kenobi who comes fresh out of Zyggeria in most fics portraying it with near fresh whip marks on his back and says, “Yeah, no need to bother the medic, let me meditate this away”). The writers know that seeking medical attention is the right thing to do but the denial of it is almost always portrayed as something almost heroic that is supposed to be met by the audience with a fond eye-roll. I certainly eye-roll.

 Clone Relationships/Interactions

The things that come up here didn’t get on my nerves until I started understanding soldiers more. Soldiers have a very, very unique bond that is hard to explain because it’s forged in very unique circumstances. Most of us know we would die for the people we love but we are rarely put in a position where that is a decision we will have to make. Not only that but we will never have to contend with the fact that a person may die in front of us and we (for the moment) will just have to ignore it and keep going. How do you reconcile dying for the people standing beside you while also accepting that you can’t indulge in mourning them when they die for you? This naturally will create a unique yet powerful, if difficult to understand bond with very unique ways of interacting with your peers. This bond is rarely portrayed in fics. It’s kind of sad that these unique relationships aren’t at least attempted in fics, especially since the Clone Wars resonated so much with soldiers and soldiers families in its portrayal of the clone. So most of the following tropes are connected to that feeling.

The Clones are Brothers as in Siblings more than Brothers as in Brothers-in-arms: As I said, the clone wars resonated so well with soldiers and their families and that came from how well the clones and how they interacted with each other were portrayed. In fics they seem to interact the way normal siblings would interact in a familial setting. Without repeating the intro to this section I’ll just say that siblings and brothers/sisters-in-arms do not interact the same. Yes, the clones are genetically made from the same person but the way they were raised and told what their purpose was, the way they were taught that being a soldier was what they were, why they were made, and what their purpose was means the normal sibling bond you or I would know would not be there. The brothers-in-arms bond would. This only bothers me because it feeling (just to me mind you) that the soldier bond that was portrayed so perfectly and resonated so well with people is kind of relegated in favour, we’re all one big family unit that all happen to be soldiers. Rather than soldiers whose family was forged in training and battle. This trope comes in several forms including but not limited to:

·         Talking to superior officers in a manner and at times that fly completely in the face of protocol (which we know the clones take very seriously).

·         Random clones using Cody or Rex’s name without their ranks (personal relationships and exposure to the person coupled with the type of conversation, would warrant dropping a title)

·         Clones sleeping in a pile

·         The use of the word Sibling in place of the word Brother (brother (and sister) have connotations of comradeship in addition to familial whereas a sibling cannot be anything but a family member. And the clones weren’t raised as Siblings they were raised as comrades.)

·         Clones hugging and kissing each other casually, and sometimes extensively (this one is more the familial portrayal of the interaction rather than the action itself).

·         Saying I love you (again more the familial/casual portrayal, even if a part of me doesn’t see many circumstances in which that would have to be said between clones)

·         On visits to Kamino, little clones bounding up to visiting Commanders and Captains like excited, normally raised children. (2)

So yeah, the bond between soldiers may outwardly seem distant to most people especially those of us who grew up with all the hugs and kisses we could ever need. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t deep, or meaningful or can’t be portrayed well without just throwing in overly tactile, sometimes cloying interactions that don’t happen among soldiers, tend not to happen among men in general, and definitely would not be natural for soldiers raised the way the clones were.

And lastly, I think there is a lot of lost beauty in thinking of the clones as this way. Military training is designed to break you down so you can be forged into something else. And it does do that. The clones all being the same on the surface but different deep down is what being a soldier is. Being out in the battlefield you are one unit, you were forged together on that training field and you have a shared fate to step onto a battlefield and maybe die but underneath it all that, a spark of what makes you, ‘you’ is still there. The whole siblings angle kind of dilutes, if not erases all that nuance of what it means to be not only A soldier but SOLDIERS.

 Jedi and Clone Interactions

Fanfiction tends to gloss over a lot of unpleasantries because they are uncomfortable and the relationship between the Jedi and the clone is very, very complex. Most Jedi respect and some even love their men (the main ones do anyway) but not only are they they’re commanding officers but also in a sense, their owners. The republic owns the clones and the Jedi are part of the republic. I see it portrayed like the Jedi are just like the clones, they have no choice but there is a difference between having to serve a system you don’t take part in (much less one who bought you) and being against something a system you take part in does but doing it anyway. The, they were just following orders argument is a historically uncomfortable one so I don’t know why it keeps being used. The Clones are slaves (chipped like chattle), the Jedi are not. So this fandom portrayal is kind of icky. At best it glosses over it, at worst it excuses it or outright denies it.

There are loads of examples but one that made me stop reading a fic I was enjoying was one where Obi-wan goes to Kamino to ask about potentially force sensitive clones has a conversation with Shaak-Ti that includes little clones running to her bedroom, sitting on her lap and confessing nightmares to her about killing Jedi.  

Contradiction or softening of Jedi actions: Let’s take the Shaak-Ti example. This is the woman who when presented with an either physically or mentally ill clone who out of nowhere killed a Jedi for no reason and is told that they should ‘terminate the clone’ her reply is, “I believe this solution is ill-advised” … ill-advised? This sounds exactly like the kind of woman whom baby clones would confess violent nightmares to. And taking into consideration her actions during the Fives arc and her having nothing to say when the discovery of the army’s origin, exactly the kind of woman who would handle it well.

The clones are just there to protect the Jedi: That is what the clones believe that again it disturbs me a bit that, that is what the writers seems to only see them as good for too. A fic example is one where the clones find the chips and free themselves but the first thing they do is ‘free’ the poor enslaved Jedi like they aren’t a powerful religious order that is part of the republic and running this whole war, bought them and used them in the first place. No, forget that these soldier were chipped like animals, forget their whole lives have been one example of inhumanity after another, forget that brother after brother has died for nothing, it’s the Jedi that deserve the saving and the sympathy.

I want to put a comment in here to say that this is not a Jedi hate train (though full disclosure I’m not pro-jedi) but why are THEY the ones who get the head pats and the ‘poor you, you’ve been through so much’ treatment when there are far more worthy candidates like the child soldiers they’ve been commanding? Much less said child soldiers being not much more than a tool to bring relief to their Jedi commanders. That is what they were created to do so it makes sense that they would do that. What doesn’t make sense is why that seems to be what most fic writers see as a happy result for freed clones. Once again, it’s not just that it’s disturbing but it takes a complicated relationship that would be difficult for characters to navigate and makes it simple by hand-waving the bad stuff. So yeah, many writers don’t seem to know what to do with the clones as their own people. This tends to be a thing in fanfiction in general, one side is the hurt and the comforted and the other side is the comforter. This is something I’ll be complaining about in the Codywan section.

The Hand of the Author: The relationships between the clones and the jedi are often very … I don’t know how to put this … easy? And I don’t mean individual clones and individual Jedi like Obi-wan and Cody or Anakin and Rex, I mean THE Clones and THE Jedi. The clones respect the Jedi as warriors and commanders, even admire them but that often translates in fanfic to every clone knowing every Jedi is a good person who whom they should trust. If we go back to the Shaak-Ti example clones were raised in an environment where disobedience or deviation got you a one way ticket to lab table, Shaak-Ti shows up and is polite and nice and now … I instantly trust her and know she’ll have my best interests at heart even though I’m a soldier and therefore know that the needs of the war far outweigh any needs I have and any commander as far as I know would get rid of the weak link to protect the chain. Her just being nice, the Jedi being nice to the clones is not enough to get that level of trust from any reasonable person let alone people who have been incentivized to never trust any but their brothers. And even when it comes to individual clone Jedi interactions, it goes from fear to trust in nothing flat. And trust is not something that comes as a whole. Clones, and people in general are far more like to gradually offer trust with some things then over time more trust is given. I named this one the hand of the author because WE know that Jedi characters are kind people but it’s just like magically all the clones know that. An example of this is the Slick storyline. I see a lot of arguments that ‘Slick could have gone to the Jedi’ as is a sergeant would have any reason at ALL to talk to a general without going up the chain of command let alone a literal slave who, as far as he’s concerned would be going to his owners and saying, ‘hey I’m a slave, could you maybe do something about that?’ Slick doesn’t know Obi-wan or Anakin like Cody or Rex do (and not even Rex confides his growing concerns about his brother’s circumstances that we see and if he did Anakin didn’t do anything) and I’m not so convinced that they would have done anything if Slick had gone to them considering the looks of derision and dismissal they give a man telling them he is their slave. Do they consider it? Nope? So I say hand of the author, maybe more wish of the author. (Fic Rec 2)

 Jedi Relationships

Jedi are family: Believe it or not this is actually in a weird way defending the Jedi a little bit because the reason the Jedi cite for taking kids from their families so they can be raised absent attachments and outside influences is because ‘attachments lead to the dark side’ and family is the first and one of the most powerful attachments anyone can have so have to server that bond in its infancy and teach them to avoid attachment. Portraying the Jedi as family (especially in the fandom way where families look like normal, everyday, earth families) is kinds of worse than portraying the clones as one because at least the clones aren’t damaged by it. It is an uncomfortable prospect that our heros are raising their children without getting attachments or allowing them to form when every healthy adult knows that, that is incredible, sometimes cripplingly damaging (the main reason I’m not pro-jedi). So writers like to portray Jedi lineages as functioning like normal families. But if the Jedi REALLY did raise their children in this healthy way … why did they take the kids away from their families to begin with? This actually makes the Jedi look worse because now they have no reason for removing wanted children from loving homes. I think most people who try to defend this are young and not yet parents because if someone came into my house … I’m not even going to finish that thought. And no, parental consent doesn’t make it okay because they parents aren’t the one you are committing the greatest wrong against, the child is. You’ve not just taken a child from a family, you’ve taken a family from a child.

There are ways to try and soften the Jedi in fics but having padawans with the same master introduce each other as ‘my brother’ is not it. Once again this is not just a pro-jedi vs anti-jedi thing. If that were the case it wouldn’t be on this list, it’s once again throwing away all the nuance surrounding these relationships and how they function. It’s another case of removing the bad to make it sanitized and simple.

Jedi Romances: This is much the same as the other one and it comes down to the argument that ‘you’ve misunderstood, jedi are allowed to love’. Yes, Jedi are allowed to love but they are not allowed to form romantic relationships because romantic relationships are attachments and if you are not attached to your romantic partner (not sexual partner, romantic partner) it’s probably time to consider if it’s not working out. There is also the argument that love is not attachment. So if the Jedi can have romantic, loving relationships then why can’t they get married? The piece of paper is a symbol of that bond rather than the cause of it. Kiadi Mundi is permitted to have many wives because his species has a low male birth count but he loves none of them. These supposed non-attached romantic relationships in fics look identical to the relationships that literally everyone else has. You can’t just write a normal relationship say it’s different and it becomes so. I’ve seen several fics where it’s straight-up portrayed that Anakin just ‘misunderstood’ the code all these years. Yeah, the guy who was raised in this creed since he was nine, being an attached and emotional person probably had it drilled into him multiple times to make sure he really got it, just mistakenly got in into his head that he had to hide his relationship and is flabbergasted when the council is totally cool with Obi-wan dating Cody … Like they totally would be.

Note: You can be Pro-Jedi without jumping through hoops to basically make them just like everybody else with relationships that are just like everybody else, again throwing aside the nuance of this belief set, code of conduct and state of mind. That is where all the interesting, juicy stuff lies.

 Codywan

I know this whole article has just been a case of preference with excessively detailed reasons for said preference, but it goes doubly so here. Live and let ship. And again most of this stuff, like the medic tropes just come from seeing them too many times.

Cody is Obi-wan’s emotional support clone: This is really just a rehash of my complaints about the Jedi being portrayed as if they are the slaves who need rescuing rather than active participants in a republic they serve by their own will. This one just takes on a more person edge. I get it, Obi-wan is everyone favourite whipping boy because he’s just so pretty in pain and big, strong, manly Cody is there to save him from not only the vagabonds but his own selfless nature. It’s a bit full on but basically harmless. I just wish that more writers treated Cody like his own person rather than someone who’s there for Obi-wan. (Fic Rec 5, 6 and 7)

Cody is always the one infatuated: I know, I know, we all love Obi-wan and Cody is not a character much explored in canon so he can serve as the blank slate through which we can smother Obi with love. But I guess I just find Cody really interesting in the sense that … what does it take to be a perfect Marshall Commander, what does it take to be the highest ranked clone in the army. What kind of man would that be? It’s interesting to think about. And I just love to see Obi-wan pine over him. I’m seen a couple of posts on tumblr expressing the same wish for there to be more fics where Cody is the sought after one but they remain frustratingly hard to find. (Fic Rec 3)

The Hardeen Arc is a-okay: The Hardeen arc is glossed over to a frustrating degree. The ‘Obi-wan had to’ arguments don’t cut it because not only is he part of the council that made the decision (FYI fanfic Obi when you are a ruling council and you implement a decision that council makes you don’t get to blame the council, you’re on the bloody council), it is a monumentally stupid decision. Obi-wan is a high general, he has an entire Corps to look after, he one of the poster boys and you big brains think that making the galaxy think he is dead is not going have any repercussions on the war? What was a big subplot of Revenge of the Sith? Oh yeah, it was killing Dooku and General Grevious so that crucial elements of the enemy’s leadership would leave the army floundering. I know most of this comes down to the writers not considering this, but it’s in canon now we have to deal with it. And dealing with it is not just saying, ‘poor obi, you had to make that silly decision and I’m just so happy you’re alive and not in the least bit angry that you not only made me think you were dead but abandoned your men.’ Generals do not participate in covert ops, this was so incredible dumb and dangerous. You think this didn’t embolden the seperatists, and potentially cost the lives of your, no doubt temporarily floundering army? But no, it’s all okay. (Fic Rec 1)

I have a fic rec list after this and I just have to shout out I’ll Orbit Your Flicking Star’ by Sunskippa. It’s the only fic covering the Hardeen arc that includes Cody giving Obi-wan a rank appropriate dressing down and the only one that appears to have even considered what this whole Hardeen debacle must have done to the army. Not only that it actually has Cody as a real person. It’s a perfect fic.

Where are my Omega Cody Fics?: … That’s it. I found 1 (Fic Rec 4)

  Fic recs

(I may not be Pro-Jedi but none of these fics aren’t Jedi bashing as most Jedi bashing is just as absent any nuance and fairness that the ones I’ve complained about are)

1) I’ll orbit your Flickering Star by Sunskippa (See above gushing) https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639628/chapters/59531782

(2) The Edge of Providence by whimsicalimages (never really been a Fan Jango/Obi-wan but the stuff with the clones on Kamino is amazing. You know what I was saying about wariness and trust? The development is perfect here with baby clones acting like how kids like them would act rather than normal kids. Also has an unfinished podfic.) https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253276/chapters/71833074

(3) Traveling at the Speed of Light by Saerus2665 https://archiveofourown.org/works/41343510 (The one fic I could find where Obi-wan is the one infatuated)

(4) Uncompromising by Flowerparish https://archiveofourown.org/series/3261756

(5) Find It On Your Own (But I'll Be Here When You Return) Redminibike1 https://archiveofourown.org/works/32007316/chapters/79280521

(6) Profane by Glimmerglanger https://archiveofourown.org/works/43896583/chapters/110369320 (I put it on here because at least it has a portrayal of Cody that is quite different … more innocent J)

(7) Cody and the Wonky Concept Of the Live Force Ezekiel0205 https://archiveofourown.org/works/31314800/chapters/77425691 (Cody goes back in time, stands up to Jango and pulls rank on the Nulls, what’s not to like?)

 So yeah, rant over. I want to reiterate that fanfiction is great because it allows for scenarios that you will never see and, most of the time, shouldn’t see in canon. If these tropes are things that bring you joy to read or write that’s awesome. I’ll probably regret posting such a rant but I just wanted to get some personal pet peeves off my chest and maybe try to jump start the old creative juices. Plus I spent hours writing it so it’s bloody well going somewhere. I welcome any thoughts, and especially welcome any fic recs.

[boy-gender]

@gaytrashfire​ I wanted to reply to you specifically because of this, in good faith. Yes, this does translate into the real world. I’d like to share a personal experience with it, but tw for CSA and medical abuse.

I have a friend who is a cis woman, who I’ve been friends with since high school. She knew me before I came out as a trans boy, and she’s known me since. We are the best of friends- I go to doctors appointments with her, we go on vacations together, we buy each other food, we babysit each other’s pets, we run errands together. I’m going to be in her wedding party next year, and she’s going to be in mine the year after. We’ve been best friends for nearly 20 years.

A couple years ago, we went on vacation together to a beach, along with both of our fiances. We were driving through a beach town, and a man was walking on the sidewalk next to our car as we were driving. He happened to glance at our car, then kept going on his way- my friend said she was so disgusted that a man had looked at her that she wanted to ram her car into him.

Let me reiterate: a pedestrian, who happened to be a man, glanced at our car that was driving a couple feet from him, and my friend was so disgusted by his mere existence in a public space that she wanted to murder him with a vehicle.

This wasn’t the first time she had said things like this, but it was the most violent of the bunch so far, and it was the moment that crystalized things for me. Every comment she had made dating back about hating men, about fearing them, about being disgusted with their existence. Every time we were in public and she got anxious near a man- who was doing nothing to us- and she subsequently started to lash out at those men and at us, her friends. Every comment about how, being bisexual, she disparaged being attracted to men and thought of it as a curse. Everything came to a head then. Because I was a man in that car- the only man in that car.

My friend has a lot of trauma. She was raped as a child (I don’t know how many times), and continuously abused by doctors- particularly male doctors- about her weight all through her life, from childhood onward. She pathologically avoids doctors even when she’s extremely ill- sometimes I have to go to check ups with her, because she cannot go on her own. She’s been misdiagnosed with high blood pressure because that’s how stressed she gets knowing that a man is going to potentially be around her touching her body, like during a check up. She has an unmedicated anxiety disorder and PTSD, and because she’s scared of doctors, she won’t seek treatment.

The men who hurt my friend deserve to rot. I’d put them there myself if I had the ability.

But that random beachgoer on the sidewalk wasn’t those men. Neither were the men in walmart, or the gas station attendant, or our male professors, or any other random man we encountered ever that she despised. I wasn’t those men.

We had to have a long talk, because her ideology only left room for two possibilities: 1 she hated and feared every man in existence so much so that she must also hate and fear me, or 2 the reason she did not hate me was because she didn’t truly see me as a man. Either I was a monster, or I was misgendered. The way she spoke and thought about men left only those options, as all bioessentialism does. Man evil, women good. People who not evil must somehow be women or women-adjacent: this is how she justified still caring about me, a trans man, and our nonbinary friends of any agab. She never used the wrong name or pronouns with me; never referred to me as a woman. But in her head, that was where she was sorting me. I couldn’t be a good or safe person and be a man; the two were mutually exclusive.

When I told her this, she broke down. It was a rough week of pouring our hearts out. That was a few years ago, and she’s made so much progress as a person since then. I honestly think I may have stopped her heading down the radfem pipeline. My existence forced her to address the failings of her binary worldview, and to come to terms with the nuances not just of transmasculinity but also manhood in general.

It’s hard to acknowledge that there is no one thing that makes terrible people do terrible things. My friend wanted to blame the evil of her abusers on them being men, but evil is not an essential trait. To do evil, to hurt another person, is always a choice, and it’s a choice anyone of any gender is capable of. Evil people are people, and to see them as complete people- like ourselves- is frightening. It’s confusing and complex and reminds us that we too are capable of hurting others, if we choose to. Healing is messy, and it’s been very messy for my friend.

But since that talk she’s never spoken like that again. She still gets anxious around men who get too close to her in public, or loud male voices, and I still go to the doctor with her. But men can exist around her- and she can exist around them- without curling up into a ball of panic and violence. She has a long way to go, but she’s come a long way too. And most importantly she’d learned to lay the blame for what happened to her where it belongs- on the fuckers who hurt her- and to stop using it to bludgeon everyone else around her. The things she said, the venom behind them, those hurt the most marginalized men and masc ppl in her life: me, a trans man, our AMAB nonbinary friend, her butch fiance. We had to hear her vitriol; we had to live with it. My friend was driving that car at the beach- I was at her mercy, in the back seat, wondering if under any other circumstance would it be me she was gunning for. The men who hurt her had power and privilege, which is why they used it to abuse a little girl. Her thoughts and her comments never reached or hurt them. She couldn’t touch them. But she felt she had to hurt somebody, so she hurt us, because we were what was in reach. And as a cis woman, she felt she had some modicum of privilege over us trans and nb and gnc people, so she punched down. And if that sounds familiar to you (terfs, radfems, tradwives) then you are correct. Same line of logic; same bioessentialism, applied and misapplied for maximum damage.

I wish I had a better end to the story, but our story isn’t over yet. She and I have healing to do- her while she navigates her trauma in a patriarchal society, and me while I grow into being a man. But our story is true, and painful, and it’s just one story of hundreds of thousands. My friend was poisoned and made ever more terrified by the encouragement of this kind of online shit, but it didn’t leave her when she logged off. She took it with her and weaponized it in real life, just like hundreds of thousands of others will. You may not experience it, but please believe us when trans men and transmasculine people say we do.

a lot y’all think it’s Peak Ally to be like “i treat trans men the same way i treat cis men uwu” but that isn’t helpful when u treat cis men like garbage bc u believe all men are biologically evil and don’t deserve basic human decency bc then guess what happens. u treat trans men like we’re evil and don’t deserve basic human decency. which, considering there’s currently a genocide being carried out against trans people (including trans men, bc ik some of y’all need to be reminded of that) in at least one country, maybe that’s like. not great!

[theglowstickchronicles]

Radonda knowingly ignored several warning that the medication she was giving wasn’t the one she had. In her own interview she admitted to not pay attention when getting the med, She admitted she had used the drug she was suppose to use before. She said she knew it wasn’t suppose to be a powder. As nurses our job is to pay attention. To read labels. The top of the medication she used warned her what it was. She still ignored. She should be charged with homicidal negligence. To protect good nurses who follow rules, procedures and their medical training. She needs to be charged and held accountable

It is okay to admit that you do not understand the concepts of a fair and just safety culture, or a high reliability organization.

The issue here is not Radonda's actions. She absolutely deserves to be punished, and she was prior to this trial.

Putting her into jail for a few years is not going to do anything for anyone. The purpose of prison is rehabilitation. She does not need to be rehabilitated. She is not a danger to society. She has been stripped of her license and will never practice as an RN again.

But this situation is repeated 250,000 times a year, and could have been the catalyst for changing the healthcare system into something that was safer for its workers and its patients.

Every single one of us has made an error at work that could have been fatal. Every single one of us, from housekeeprs to CNAs to nurses to doctors to CEOs. This was an opportunity for healthcare to blow up its current practices and transform into something that stopped killing a quarter of a million people ANNUALLY, just in the US.

Instead we'll watch Radonda Vaught rot in prison, and the next nurse who doesn't ignore warnings but who still makes a fatal med error will now have precedent to be imprisoned while the hospital system who put them in these situations faces no repercussions from putting its staff in unsafe practices and then covering up its wrong actions.

No one in my post was defending Radonda Vaught. This ask was ignorant and malicious and I hope you and every other "good nurse" takes a good hard look in the mirror because that could have been you. And if that sentence makes you think "no it couldn't have" then that's even more terrifying, because you don't even know the mistakes you have made. I hope when you eventually make a mistake big enough to harm a patient, potentially even kill a patient, that you are given the same amount of empathy and understanding into the situation which you display here.

[remmammie]

Hcs with Sora when he finds out that G/N Reader has SEVERE depression?

*T/W: G/N Reader is also suicidal*

I’m sorry if this is too dark for you… 😬

CW/TW: Themes of (as stated) depression and suicidal thoughts. Please be careful and know your limits.

If you are in need of help regarding this subject, please do seek it.

International Association for Suicide Prevention

I worry about this subject not because I think it is taboo or because it scares me (I've dealt with my fair share of people living with such thoughts,) but because I fear I don't know enough to cover it accurately. I'm no expert and am having to rely on personal experiences and medically researched documentation to best help my writing, but this doesn't mean whatever I write is accurate. Symmie - my love (/p) - and anyone else dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts should access the level of help they feel comfortable with: if I can help with these small writings and offer some sense of stability and comfort with kind, truthful words, then feel free to read and talk. You're safe here, and always will be worthy of everything good in this world. Enjoy, my loves, I wish you all the best!

Sora Helping a Reader with Depression ( + Suicidal Thoughts)

Though not generally very observant, Sora is very in touch with people's emotions, especially that of his closest friends. He might notice you becoming more secluded, quieter, eating less, making self-deprecating jokes or comments. He's naturally a pretty optimistic guy that loves to boost the mood and confidence of his friends, but this increases tenfold when he sees how you act when things become a little too heavy on your heart.

He doesn't need to put a label to how he sees you feel, the label of "depression" is only important to him when it comes to research and understanding medically why you experience life the way you do. In other words, Sora would help you when feel down regardless of why this is the case.

Sometimes, he'll take a break from being all loud and rambunctious, always off on journeys and making new friends, to take you by the hand and sit down and just talk. He might ask about what's on your mind or what's the main reason you're reacting the way you are, but never pushes for any kind of answer if he can see you don't want to talk: he'll be there, though, sat in silence or talking to you without a reply or talking to himself depending on what makes you more comfortable.

Sora doesn't offer any advice unless you ask for it. He knows the feeling of being talked down to because you can't control how you feel, and that you're trying your best but just...physically can't do what someone tells you to. So, he waits for you to ask what you should do before he says anything more.

He really just wants to show that he cares, that you're incredibly valued to him as a friend, that whatever contradicting thoughts you might have about him "just being nice" are completely wrong.

He wants to help with a lot of things and definitely will if you ask him! He'll help cook healthy meals for you if you can't find the motivation to cook (all that experience at the Bistro has to work for something, right?), help clean your room if it gets overwhelmed, help clean the house, help do the shopping when you get anxious to leave the house, help you find the motivation to practice self-care in showering/bathing and treating yourself.

If you seek some kind of medication or therapy, Sora's sure to remind you despite his usual memory issues. He'll make these normally pretty "taboo" subjects fun! He'll be there to see you walk in and out of any talking sessions you might have and he likes to doodle on pill boxes for any antidepressants you might have, little doodles of you and him holding hands and hugging and watching the stars at the beach. If you live near each other or together, I think he'd also like to leave little post-it notes around where he knows you'll see them with Sora-esque motivational quotes, usually in the form of terrible puns and scribbles of cute animals and your mutual friends.

Of course, if you'd rather be left alone for some time, Sora understands and - though it's very hard for him - he'll take the time to step back and let you think things through by yourself. Still, if he can, he'll try his very hardest to keep contact with you, whether that be leaving messages on the Gummiphone for you about how proud he is of you for anything (eating, sleeping, waking up, etc.) or sliding notes and food under the door or through your mailbox just to show he cares no matter the distance between you both.

[shini--chan]

Allies with an s/o with separation anxiety?

Before I start, one thing – separation anxiety is a big burden for those who have it. So, if you’re reading this and have it, I recommend you seek out treatment.

Warning: abuse of a mental condition

Yandere Allies – Discidium

America

Alfred gleaned at your medical certificate on his computer screen. From experience he knew that the medical history of a person could be very telling, and a lot could be deduced from it. Allergies could be used as torture; medication could be withheld until a trade was offered. But the really interesting part was the psychological section of such reports. They weren’t always filled out, since people didn’t always have noteworthy defects or maladies in that directed. Therefore, when they were, they were all the more insightful.

Keenly, he scrolled down to the sought after part – and wasn’t reported. There, clearly visible, stood a very particular remark:

…patient shows signs of separation anxiety…

It was rather recent too, he realized when he traced the digital footprint. And idea began to form in his mind. As he steeped his fingers together and rested his head on them, a most devious plan of action came one step closer to being realised.

Since Alfred would really turn up the charm when it would come to wooing you, you would quickly become attached to him, a fatal mistake on your behalf. For even if he wouldn’t find out about your metal state from a series of documents, he’d quickly derive the truth from your actions or make you spill the beans. He would portray himself as considerate, only concerned for your wellbeing – which would be why you’d promptly move together.

As cruel as it would be, it would be a boon for him. America wouldn’t have to be concerned about you running away. Out of that reason he wouldn’t install any elaborate locks or security measures – your chains would be intangible. However, he might use your anxiety against you as a form of punishment. Alfred would tie you up in a dark room and leave the house for some time, or threaten to do so.

Canada

Matthew didn’t have to sharpen his ears or turn around to know he was being followed. Who ever it was, was being very obnoxious and clumsy, the snow crunching with every other step. At least they were putting some effort in matching their steps with his. Yet that wasn’t enough to throw him off – it never was.

Without any forewarning, he whirled around and caught sight of the flaps of your dark coat as you leapt behind the thick truck of a fir tree. Not fast enough – Matthew had always been something of a hunter, reflexes sharp as well as his intuition. You’d never be able to beat him in a game of hide-and-seek, or successfully run away from him, not without a giant handicap.

So, you had gotten out. But why hadn’t you used the chance to at least attempt an escape and had rather chosen to tail him?

“Why are you following me? I told you to stay in the house.”

You emerged from your cover, a sheepish look on your fine face. Tangling your fingers together, you approached him, lips twisted as you pressed out.

“I simply didn’t want to be alone.”

An understatement, as he was later to find out.

Matthew would probably find out relatively fast that you’d have separation anxiety. Not because he would obsessively stalk you (he would rather gradually get to know you), but through the obvious behaviours. Whether or not you’d attempt to hide it, he would eventually catch on. And he would be delighted and worried in equal measures.

Delighted, because then he wouldn’t have to worry about you running away. Canada wouldn’t be an extrovert, having a rather reclusive nature for a New World country and a small circle of friends – so he would spend most of his time with you.

Worried, because somewhere in the back of his mind he would know that his feelings for you wouldn’t be right and that you don’t lock people away. Your behaviour would only endorse his in a twisted way.

China

Yao had never been a long sleeper. Maybe it was the centuries that he had already lived or the result of all his lifestyle choices. Nevertheless, his sleep was always brief, 3 hours usually being enough rest. That why when you started twisting and turning in a dreamy haze.

He was just starting a new chapter in his current novel when you started groaning in your sleep, uncoordinatedly swinging your arms around with increasing panic. Upon realising what was going on, he quietly laid his book away and dimmed his reading lamp a bit. Then he turned around to you and waited for you to awaken from your nightmare.

It took a few minutes, worry building in his chest in a poisonous knot as time trickled by. This was why you were always meant to be with him. You were one of the finer things in life for him – in no way tawdry, rather with a splendour and depth. A sort of medication to distract him from the atrocities of the past, present and future. He was the same to you, he was sure of that.

So when you eventually shot up, perspiration on your forehead and tears in your eyes, he felt a sick joy. One that was only amplified when you gasped: “Please don’t ever leave me!”

Family is important to him; marriage is important to you. So you having a mental condition that would cause you to have anxiety attacks at the notion of him leaving you wouldn’t be all that unappealing to him. It would just strengthen your bond, and cause you to be more drawn to him, ignoring all the red flags. Yao would just have to play all his cards right in the beginning.

However, there would also be the issue with the other people in your life – your family and friends. While he wouldn’t mind you staying in touch with your family (with certain limits) your friends would have to leave your life. Something that would be all the more difficult in your case. Still, he would set to the gruelling task of cutting people out of your life and dealing with the fall-out.

England

“You know you would be all alone if you use that knife”, he casually commented, not even turning around to regard you. To you, it seemed as if he hadn’t even lifted his eyes from the newspaper he was so avidly reading, creating the illusion of having eyes in the back of his head. Actually, he had seen your reflection in the window pane when you had started to approach him, the steel glinting marvellously in the sun-light.

It surprised you that he took such a treat so nonchalantly, him as well to an extent. Arthur guessed he wasn’t as shocked he had expected himself to be, because he had intrinsically suspected that such a scene would play out.

“Are you sure, I’d either end up in police custody or…”, you tried to reason before trailing off. You had realised that something was amiss here, and it unsettled you.

Coolly, he set away “The Times” and turned to you, watching you as your resolve crumbled and fear welled up. “Do you really think that?”, he asked.

You trembled, your convictions crumbling. Through hard lessons you had come to learn that he was far more powerful and cunning than he seemed at first glance. At the moment, you didn’t know if he was just bluffing or telling the truth. Probably a mixture of both, and that was bad enough.

Arthur would mercilessly use it against you. You being scared of being separated from him would mean he wouldn’t have to regulate his sharp tongue or his more volatile tendencies. You being scared of being separated from him could be used as a threat, actually separation as a punishment. It would be something he would constantly hold over your head as a means of making you behave and as an insurance on his behalf.

On the other hand, it would also immensely frustrate him. England would be very attached to you, possessive of you, but he would also want to have some quality time with himself. That wouldn’t really be accomplishable with you clinging to him.

France

“Please, don’t leave”, you murmured.

At first, Francis thought he had somehow misheard you, but then, when he glanced up from where he was tying his shoelaces, he saw that he hadn’t. Your eyes were glassy, the skin around your cheeks and collar bone blotchy with the beginnings of a rash and your breathing was shallow.

It puzzled him and delighted him simultaneously. He didn’t know what had provoked such a reaction – it was late at night and he was leaving. Customary at this stage in the relationship since you didn’t live together … yet. To see you already be so attached to him delighted him in a sick way. It also concerned him since he didn’t like seeing you in anguish.

“What is wrong, ma cheri?”, he inquired carefully, standing up and gently cupping your cheeks. He watched with piqued interest as you leaned into his touch, the hypertension leaving your body for a few seconds.

“I get anxious just at the thought of you leaving. Please, at least stay the night.”

Besides being delight about you being drawn to him, like all the other on this list, he would also be very concerned. You having anxiety attacks just at the notion of you leaving would immensely worry him. He would encourage you to seek out treatment, even treat you himself, just to erase the worst parts of your condition.

Apart from actually caring a lot about you, his motivation would be partially selfish. Aiding you in such a manner would convince him that he would be a good person, and in a series of complicated mental gymnastics he would overexaggerate it, and thus convince himself that his obsession with you and all the actions that would spring thereof would be good and virtuous.

Russia

A knock sounded on his door, causing him to look up from the paperwork he had been pouring over for the past two hours. Internally, he snarled. He had said he was only to be disturbed in an emergency, something he had explicitly told the guards.

Nevertheless, he sighed and called out: “State your name and business.”

The answer came immediately, dull from the monotony of the man’s voice and muffled from the wood of the door: “There is somebody here that wants to see you. Had a nervous breakdown in the entrance hall and claimed it was urgent.”

Ivan rolled his eyes at the explanation. He really wasn’t in the mood for dealing with people that had nervous breakdowns anywhere on that matter, thank you very much. He’d really have to have a word or two with the personal here.

“Send them away.”

Instead of an answer, he heard some commotion and swears from beyond the door. Frowning, he stood up, half wanting to go to the door and give the group in front of it a piece of his mind. Yet before he could take a single step or even decide what he wanted to do; the door was slammed open. You stormed in and took a running jump at him.

Ivan would be a lot like Arthur in this scenario. You having separation anxiety would be one of the few things that would completely convince him that you would never leave him or betray him. So, there would be no therapy for you – indeed, he would even take steps to worsen it.

Yet he would also want to have his privacy. Russia would have been alone for a long time, so demanding he go from solitude to constant company would be too much. You following him wherever he would go, even to work and other shady places, would make him feel guilty and remorseful.

[kiki-shortsnout]

For intimacy prompts: #17 laying your head on someone’s shoulder for Frostiron! 💚❤️ Thanks!

I'm back!!! Sorry it's taken so long, but I'm back to answer my prompts! Thank you so much for this one! I enjoyed writing this!

***

Loki stumbled as the Bifrost set them both down, too exhausted to shake off Thor’s steadying hand on his elbow, his brother’s own exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. Loki had no strength left in him to make a jest about Thor’s overprotective tendencies, instead looking around the Midgardian cityscape he’d come to think of as a second home, his limbs limp.

Part of his atonement for his war crimes was to take a more active role in defense of the planet he sought to enslave. His mother and brother’s pleas not to imprison him swaying his father from a harsher sentence. He was a…tolerated member of the Avengers, a proverbial thorn in the side for most. He’d formed a tentative, begrudging respect towards the Black Widow, but he was a constant source of irritation for the rest of them.

Well, someone needed to keep the Avengers on their toes.

Loki was still called upon to keep Asgard and the realms it protected safe, and that was where he and Thor had been, subduing marauders on Vanaheim, listening to whispers of an event called a Convergence was impending, a cataclysmic occurrence that had them all on edge.

It felt as though his very bones rattled as he trudged across the roof of the Avengers Tower beside Thor, like his skin was stretched too taut over the excruciating ache of his muscles. As they came into the hanger, they both looked around, used to having at least one member of the Avengers greet them after their excursions off world.

Despite being used to being treated with distrust and trepidation, the bitter sting of their rebuke still penetrated the fatigued miasma clouding Loki’s brain.

He’d managed to convince one Midgardian that he was not the nemesis that all perceived him to be, that it was an illusion he portrayed to hide the crippling weakness he felt. This one Midgardian had seen through Thanos’s manipulations of his mind, had shattered the deception he shrouded himself in. It was Anthony he looked around for now, bewildered as he was met with nothing but silence, not even JARVIS speaking to them.

‘Is Earth under attack?’ Thor questioned, wiping the grime from his eyes as he frowned, moving towards one of the huge windows. Loki reformed his daggers as he took a step forward, ears straining to hear, his body sluggish and unwilling to cooperate.

The door at the far end of the room creaked open, and Loki teleported beside it in an instant, flinging it open and pointing his dagger at their enemy.

‘Pepper?’ Lowering his dagger, he immediately noticed she looked as tired, if not more so than the both of them. Her usually glossy hair was dull and frazzled, wisping around her face in auburn tufts, her eyes encircled with grey smudges.

‘What has happened?’ he asked, his words curt despite how he’d promised Anthony he would respect this mortal. It was an easy promise to keep, treating the two people Anthony treasured above all with care. Loki genuinely liked Pepper, her attitude, her bravery, her fiery temper. He and Rhodes tolerated each other, their mutual like for Anthony the only thing stopping them from attacking each other, settling instead for snide comments.

‘It’s Tony, he…he’s been really sick, Loki,’ Pepper gasped, her lower lip trembling as she swayed into him.

‘Where is he?’ Loki demanded, catching her by her shoulders. It was as though his body had been invigorated with lust for battle, any fatigue he’d felt moments ago burned away. Instead of the adrenaline he usually felt under such circumstances, his body felt cold, terror seeping down the back of his throat, stroking its clammy fingers across his skin.

Why wasn’t I here?

‘He’s in his room now-’

‘Where was he before?’ Thor asked before Loki could even put words to the thoughts scattering in his mind, the guilt webbing in his lungs, tugging at him with every breath.

‘The medical bay downstairs…JARVIS has the most extensive anatomy files because of the arc reactor and-’

‘Thor, look after her for me,’ Loki ordered, teleporting away despite them calling after him.

Anthony was huddled in his bed, the numerous blankets piled on him quivering as he trembled. The sickly scent spiraling in tendrils through the air made Loki recoil. This…was not something he was comfortable with. He’d never cared about another enough to warrant any actions of concern from him, had never been able to see past his own arrogance and selfishness to consider others.

‘An…Tony?’ he called, scared at what he was going to find, at how sick his mortal was. He’d seen Tony sick before, seen him with what they called a cold, all snuffy nosed and demanding and clingy. This silent, still, Anthony frightened him. What ailed him so? What illness had made Pepper look like a shadow of herself? Why had he needed to go down to the medical bay? Loki had seen Anthony after a battle, had seen him spit venom at any who dared suggest he seek medical help when he was injured, only allowing Loki to tend to his wounds hours later when the pain had grown too much to bear. Even then, he’d pretended it was for his own sake, that he was the one who couldn’t bear to see Anthony in pain.

He took a step backwards, wanting to flee, wanting to escape the fear plucking at him. He’d been in countless battles, fought with odds against him, had stood and waited for punishment by his father. This, seeing someone he had grown to care about like this…why was this affecting him so?

Anthony had reached out a hand in friendship despite all the atrocities he had committed in both Midgard and Jotunheim, the countless lives he had taken and lasting repercussions, Anthony Stark had given him a home, a means to make penance for those he had wronged. He hadn’t forgiven him, not straight away, that had taken time and trust to develop between them.

It was that belief in him, an emotion that so few beings were unwilling to extend to him which made Loki fall in love with the Midgardian, a feeling he had not given life with his words yet. It was this unnamed feeling which made him shove all his selfish fears aside.

Anthony needed him.

‘Anthony?’ he called again, peeling back the covers, his breath hitching at the sheer heat radiating from the man.

‘Hey,’ his voice cracked, his lungs rattling as he drew in a breath, hands tightening from where they were wrapped around himself in a pitiful hug.

‘What…what happened, should you even be here?’ Loki asked, dropping to his knees by the side of the bed, his hands hovering over Anthony’s body, uncertain, scared to touch this fragile creature.

Anthony rolled over in bed, and Loki was horrified at the sunken look to his skin, the waxy grey pallor, the red-rimmed eyes.

‘Oh, beloved,’ Loki breathed out, his hand stroking through clumped together hair.

‘Not a pretty sight,’ Anthony wheezed out. ‘You should’ve seen me a few weeks ago.’

Weeks? He’d left him behind in a worse condition than this for weeks?

‘How did your health deteriorate so fast? You weren’t in this condition when I…’ Loki’s eyes narrowed when Anthony’s gaze dropped, one of his tells when he wasn’t telling the entire truth. ‘You were ill when I left.’ Loki didn’t phrase it as a question.

‘Honestly, Lokes, don’t-’ Anthony’s protest was cut off with a wracking cough, the sheer force of it scaring Loki, sweeping aside whatever anger that had been beginning to build a few moments ago.

‘Why did you not tell me? If I had known-’

‘Thor needed you,’ Anthony said weakly, sagging back into his pillow. ‘Besides, this isn’t…this isn’t what we do.’ He closed his eyes as if the mere act of breathing pained him.

He was correct in his assumptions. They laughed, talked, had sex…keeping everything light and frothy and pleasurable, avoiding anything that encompassed feelings, vulnerabilities, neither wanting to be beholden to the other. It was a foolish act on Loki’s behalf, wanting to keep a distance from attachments, fearful of what Anthony could mean to him.

‘Move aside,’ Loki commanded, shrugging off his cape and unfastening his arm bracers.

‘Loki, what?’

‘Unless me joining you is going to impede your recovery in any way?’ Loki hesitated, suppressing his smirk at Anthony’s interested, fatigued gaze on his now naked torso. Lying beside his mortal, Loki gathered him in his arms, arranging them so he was on his back, Anthony half on top of him, his head on his shoulder.

‘Listen to me,’ Loki whispered, the words delicate, but infused with such meaning that it made them hang thickly between them. This was a precipice on which he stood, a moment he had read about in countless epic sagas. The hero baring the depths of their love after a heroic deed, or a noble act of self-sacrifice… not holding a sickly mortal. ‘I am not…not very good at this,’ Loki finished, his voice trailing off pathetically.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ Anthony said instead, wriggling his body closer, enjoying the cooler feel of Loki’s skin. ‘I’m a shitty patient, and I didn’t want you to see me like this.’

That Loki could understand. Only his mother dared to face his wrath when he had been sick, her gentle hands and calming voice the only things he would tolerate. But there was a deeper meaning behind Anthony’s reasoning too, the unwillingness to reveal a weakness, the fear of being abandoned.

‘I am not angry you did not tell me. I am infuriated with myself for not recognizing the signs of your ailment, of leaving you behind for such a long period of time when I know you do not like seeking help.’

‘Then what-’

Loki clutched his mortal closer, resting one hand on his brow to both to measure Anthony’s temperature and to cool him down.

‘I have never felt this way towards another being, mortal or not. I am sorry that you felt as though you could not tell me you were unwell, that I acted as though my intentions towards you were not serious. You plague my waking thoughts, my unconscious dreams, beloved, there is none I would rather be with.’

Rather than receiving a heartfelt confirmation of Anthony’s own feelings, the mortal stiffened in his grip, his rattling breathing halting. Fearful his illness had gotten worse, Loki rose a little from his waist so he could look down, confused at the angry frown Anthony was displaying.

‘Anthony-’

‘This is going to keep happening,’ he interrupted with a snap. ‘My insides are completely wrecked, my lungs, heart… Christ my liver…they’re all damaged and I’m not as young as I once was. I don’t know about you, but this is a wakeup call for why we shouldn’t be fooling around…let alone catching feelings for me.’

‘It is not for you to tell me my feelings are wrong,’ Loki admonished gently.

‘Loki, look at me. I’m a mess. I got a simple cold and it morphed into pneumonia. I might be out of the medical bay, but it’ll take weeks to-’

‘More of a mess than I am? Loki, the God of Mischief who manipulated my brother into going to war with my birth world, who allowed myself to be manipulated by Thanos-’

‘Loki you were tortured…’

‘And I threw you from a window, killed innocent people.’

Anthony didn’t answer that.

‘I know my actions of New York were not wholly my own, that I agreed to invade under duress, that my thoughts were not my own. Anthony, those thoughts were not just placed there by Thanos. I had always regarded Midgard as a lesser race. Those emotions might have been warped and heightened, but they were my own. I tricked my brother into a war against Jotunheim because I was jealous of the attention my father bestowed on him. These are not trivial things to be forgiven. They are sins I will atone for the rest of my life, and still, you found a way to love me.’

Anthony’s breathing hitched, turning into a cough, and Loki ran a comforting hand over his back to calm him.

‘I care not if your body is injured, that you are more susceptible to illness. It does not make you weaker in my mind, it highlights the battles you have endured, the strength it takes for you to continue living,’ Loki told him, lifting a hand to place it over Anthony’s arc reactor, protecting it. Despite his earlier fears earlier, the words he spoke were the truth, and it pained him that he had waited so long to tell him.

Even as he held his sick mortal close, wishing he could create a spell to eradicate any vestiges of this illness, Loki was plotting. He wouldn’t let Anthony be snatched from him by something trivial like time or illness. Technically he needed his father’s permission for his plan, but he knew his mother would see his way of thinking, would be happy he had found another to share his life with.

‘Feels like you’ve been shortchanged here,’ Anthony grumbled, settling his head back down against his shoulder.

‘I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds like you are degrading yourself after I’ve confessed my feelings for you. This is meant to be a momentous occasion and-’

He laughed as Anthony silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

‘Alright, alright, you’re lucky, I’m a peach, I get it.’ Anthony burrowed closer, his sweat-slick hands wrapping around Loki’s middle.

‘Next time, promise me you will tell me if you are feeling unwell.’

‘You had to go- ‘

‘Nothing is more important to me than you. Father and Thor can protect Asgard. We have an army for that reason. I will always fight for Asgard, for its people, but not if you need me.’

Anthony squeezed him close, his legs twitching as he drew closer to sleep.

‘Thank you.’ Loki felt the words formed against his skin rather than hearing them, and he smiled, holding Anthony closer.

‘I love you too,’ he whispered when he was moments from sleep, and Loki didn’t respond, knowing his beloved needed rest, that he would be here to watch over him while he slept.

[reddish-green-personality]

Just to make things clear, the motive of me asking you these is merely to seek your perspective, because I have always been an ardent beleiver that the soul lives on.

And well, I love you answer even if I don't fully agree, I smiled while reading it. If I came off as argumentative, it really wasn't my intention.

..

Conscience leads to redemption, but it doesn't prevent bad things from happening, even if it's something we're all blessed with.

Justice like you said isin’t something supernatural its not an entity of its own, it doesn't exist without its perpetrators.

Its simply the act getting what you deserve, but in this world despite the the extensive and complex legislative systems, not everyone recieves justice. There are many reasons, but probably the most prominent are the countless social power hierarchies that we have created. We have created an imperfect system where those at the receiving end of Injustice cant simply "punch back" there are factors that hold people back, no one will consciously let Injustice happen to them.

If justice was something that happened on its own, or was something that could be handled by imperfect creations (aka us)

rapists, murderers, radicalists would all get what they deserve in this world, but more than often they don't.

So no, people who aren't privileged enough and are at the receiving end of the Injustice cant simply make peace with imperfect systems.

I agree when you say, that once you are kicked out there is no reason to care about this world, because this world will perish, after death you are all alone with the consequences of what you did in this world.

If you tilt the narrative, if the person who committed the crime does beleive if afterlife (irrespective of its existence) he dies with regret and fear, he doesn't know what lies ahead but whatever does he would have to repay, he dies in pain which may or may not compare to the pain that he induced.

However, if the person who was at the receiving end of the Injustice dies with the knowledge that justice will finally be served, and not with a frown but peace that he will finally be freed of the pain that he endured, and this has nothing to do with the one who wronged him, this is between this person and the universe.

These beleives can obviously co-exist, its about what we find comfort in, for someone who spent their entire life collecting riches, will fear death either because all his life's earning will be lost, or because it doesn't matter in the life that lies after. This is why historically rich people are obsessed with the idea of longevity and immortality in this world.

For me, death is not the end of life, but simply a part of it.

Oh absolutely, and ive been loving all the asks regarding this. really challenges my ways of thinking, and thats what i live for. arguments are totally not the intention here, just some friendly banter

..

bad things will happen, and if you believe in ‘prevention is better than cure’, fixing concience of people who do the bad things before the bad things are done, is ideal

This whole ‘banter’ is slowly slipping into the talks about legislative systems, and i cant comment anything on that for i do agree that it is terrible, and improper judgement is regularly passed

i 100% agree with you about the improper judgment given very often, and no reprecussions for those. and i absolutely do not ask anyone to make peace with imperfect justice systems

but i ask only to make peace with the injustice, if there is nothing you can do about it other than praying for a place of Hell

If someone does believe in afterlife, and Hell, then they shouldnt commit the crime in the first place right ?

what i come to realize is that you, would like some one who got away with legal reprecussions, to die with the idea that they may be punished in the after life,

but you cannot impart your ideologies into someone, just for the sake of them dying scared

if you want them punished, punish them. I absolutely cannot agree with the fact that you go to a dying old man’s house, to tell them that the 7 rings of hell are waitng for him to be punished in.

you can pray for it on your own tho

IT IS NOT ONLY THE RICH WHO WANT TO LIVE LONGER. EVERYONE FEARS DYING, EVERYONE WANTS TO LIVE LONGER. THATS WHY MEDICATION EXISTS.

when you say theres an afterlife, do you believe in rebirth, or a place of heaven and hell ?

either ways, i hear your way of thinking, and i respect it. if you want someone to die in fear, feel free to want, but if you seek that out, i think its inhumane

injustice is very bad, but theres a reason why death penalty is the highest offence. dying is bad enough. i wouldnt want anyone to die wiht not only the fear of whats beyond, but also the knowledge that the beyond is hell

[firerwolf]

Tested

The universe was testing Tom, he was sure of it.

Another thing he was sure of was that he was failing that test.

If he were truly honest with himself, he would never be ready for this. The Commander sat alone in his quarters, staring down at the glass of scotch that he’d poured for himself. He’d intended to let the alcohol wash away his worries. Instead it had just brought an aching pain to his chest. The silence in the room was a constant reminder of the day’s events, which Tom wanted desperately to avoid thinking about.

He felt the urge to get up and move; pace around the room to try to relive his stress. But that would be a mistake. If he stood up now he’d be unable to keep himself in his quarters. He’d make his way down to the tram station, and he’d get half way to the infirmary before he’d realize how bad the situation was. Then he would have to decide between a shameful ride back to the officer’s deck or sitting around in the medical bay like a sad puppy and inviting unwanted questions of why he was there.

Tom closed his eyes, trying to block out the world around him, seeking refuge from the emptiness of his room. However this only gave his memories a chance to reassert themselves against his wishes…He hadn’t been in the hangar when she’d been brought aboard. The mission was still active, so his place was on the operations deck. He had been stationed there a little over a year ago when this had first happened. And his reaction wasn’t any better now than it was then. Even after everything that had occurred since Paris.

Tom could still smell the mix of charred metal and blood that came with his recollection. Normally spotless white armor had been a marred by patches of black and smeared red from the efforts of her teammates to keep her alive. Tom could feel the tears collecting in his eyes and he didn’t bother to try to keep them at bay. He knew that she’d be upset with him if she saw him like this, but he wasn’t going to hide away his feelings while he was alone. “Commander Lasky,” a calm female voice spoke up, causing Tom to open his eyes. His vision was blurred from the tears but he still could see the holographic projection of the ship’s AI on a terminal near his door. “You requested that I inform you when Commander Palmer got out of surgery.” “I did,” Tom confirmed, happy to find that at least his voice was fairly steady. “What’s the verdict on her condition.” “Doctor Varin has confirmed that Commander Palmer will make a full recovery. He believes her rehabilitation will be swift enough that a temporary replacement will not be necessary.”   Tom bit back the urge to assert that there was no possible replacement for Plamer, knowing that it would be a pointless to lash out when Annie didn’t mean any offense. “Thank you, Annie. That will be all.” Tom was thankful when the AI’s avatar vanished without another word, leaving him to his thoughts again. Knowing that Sarah would be fine eased the pain in his chest, but he was still facing many days alone until she could be cleared to leave the infirmary. Though even when she would be released, they still had a long conversation ahead of them - which he wasn’t looking forward to. The way he was currently reacting was exactly why he’d been hesitant to get involved with her to begin with. He’d buried enough friends and lovers to have learned as well as any ODST that relationships while in the service of the UNSC guaranteed pain.

When Palmer had been injured badly enough to need a medical evac for the first time, Tom had been just as worried. Of course at that time it was because of how seeing a Spartan - and one of the strongest people he’d ever met - at the mercy of fate the same as any other soldier had shaken him. Now he was upset for a different reason. Now it was because she was the woman he loved. And he’d been faced with the genuine fear that she would die. That he would lose her.

He’d known this would happen, eventually, and he knew he wouldn’t take it well when the time came. What he wasn’t expecting was that, as he sat alone and tried to keep his breathing even so he wasn’t full-on sobbing, he didn’t regret a thing. Well, he regretted that Sarah was injured for certain. But he didn’t regret a single moment of being with her. He loved her, and all the pain and heartache that he knew lay ahead of them couldn’t outweigh all the joy and peace he knew they’d share too.

*~*~*~*~*

Tom sat at the small desk tucked away in the corner of his room, trying to decipher the recent resupply manifest. Sargent Cother was on bed rest with a small flu-bug, which meant that Lance Corporal Kaft was writing up the reports; and the man clearly had no practice at the job. Tom was trying to decipher the man’s shorthand for how many MA4B rifles that had been in the last shipment, when the door to his quarters opened, causing him to jump. Usually Annie would have informed him if someone wanted a meeting with him. So the lack of announcement at a guest’s arrival was a surprise. Sarah sauntered into his room as though she hadn’t been in intensive care only weeks ago. She wore her casual clothing, and was staring down at the screen of her tablet like this wasn’t the first time she’d visited since her injury. He studied her for a moment, looking for any signs that he could read to get a feel for her mood, but there was nothing. She finally looked up from her screen and saw him looking back at her. A smile spread across her face and Tom felt his fears lift off him. Without really thinking through what he was doing, he stood up so fast that he almost knocked over his chair. Tom crossed the room before he could second guess himself and his hands cupped Sarah’s cheeks as he pulled her down into a forceful kiss. He was all the more relieved when she returned the kiss and her arms lightly wrapped around his waist. Against his will his breath became uneven and Tom found himself trying to suppress his sobs so he could continue their exchange of affection. Palmer pulled away, and for a moment he feared that she was cross with him for how upset he was. But to his relief she still kept him close, guiding his face to her shoulder. Tom didn’t protest, just let himself break down as he wrapped his arms around her neck and she held him against her.

“Let it out,” Sarah whispered, one of her hands starting to rub his back. He felt like a fool for needing to be comforted like this when he was over forty. And he felt even worse when Sarah suddenly lifted him bridal style and carried him through the room. This was certainly not a dignified moment for him. Sarah sat down and she let him settle on her lap as she cradled him. “It’s okay,” she muttered to him. He was ashamed that he couldn’t control himself or his emotions, but he couldn’t hold it back and he was just a crying mess in her arms. Tom wasn’t sure how long it was before he finally calmed down. An odd peace had settled in the room and Tom didn’t dare move and risk breaking it.

“I’m getting some real mixed signals here, Tom. If you’re going to break up with me just do it.” “What?” Tom lifted his head, brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to process what she’d said. “Why do you think I want to break up with you?” “Well you didn’t visit me in the med-bay, or S-deck when I was recovering, and you haven’t been messaging me. Sort of all the signs that you’ve been spooked,” Palmer reasoned. Tom set his head back against her shoulder, this time more in shame. “I didn’t,” he admitted. His first instinct was to make excuses, try to rationalize why he’d failed to contact her or visit her…But he stopped himself. “I don’t want to break up.” “You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Palmer commented, hugging him a little tighter for a moment.   “You’re coddling me like a toddler after I cried my eyes out,” Tom pointed out. “I don’t think I’ve handled it very well at all.” “You didn’t run,” Palmer countered. “Though I suppose considering how you reacted now, maybe it wasn’t so bad that you didn’t come visit.” “I should have visited, or at least sent you a message. I just…” Tom struggled to find the words to explain what had kept him from reaching out to her. “You got scared,” Sarah offered, one of her hands starting to rub his back lightly again. If anyone else could see him at that moment Tom was sure he would die of embarrassment, but he wasn’t worried about Sarah. He knew she wouldn’t judge him for his weakness. “What matters is that you aren’t bolting.” “You think I’d bolt?” Tom wasn’t sure if he should be insulted by how easily she thought that he would leave her. “I mean, it would be reasonable considering everything,” Palmer said. Though Tom didn’t feel like that really answered his question. “You were the one that was afraid to get involved because you cared. And I get it. I mean you’ve been losing people you care about to combat since you were a teenager, it’s hard for that not to traumatize someone.” Tom sat up and Sarah loosened her grip to allow him to move. He turned to face her and swallowed his fear of her possible reaction, forcing himself to say what he needed to say. “I’m more sure than ever that this is what I want.” He motioned to the two of them. “I love you, and I want to be with you. I won’t run. Yeah, when you get hurt I’ll be scared. I’ll be sad. But you make me happy more than anything else. So it’s worth it.” “If you didn’t run from this, I believe you,” Sarah told him, smiling as she reached up and gently rubbed a thumb along the edge of his eye. “You look like crap right now, so you know I mean it when I say you are the most beautiful man.” She leaned forward for a quick kiss. Tom couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face as he leaned on her shoulder and they settled in to enjoy each other’s company. “Though next time I hope that you at least send me a message if I’m stuck in an infirmary bed.” “Fair enough,” Tom replied with a small chuckle.

Deviantart Fanfiction.net AO3

[weavingthetapestry]

Plague Projects, 1568: George Bannatyne and His Books

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft agley” seems like a phrase which really sums up this past month, and also says something about my altered plans for this blog this year. After all, with the 700th anniversary of the Declaration of Arbroath coming up, I had hoped that the next time I’d be posting, it would be about nation-defining fourteenth century documents, not sixteenth century cultural treasures. Indeed, I should probably apologise to those of you particularly interested in earlier periods for publishing what I believe is my fourth or fifth lengthy sixteenth century post in a row- and it IS horrendously lengthy. But as many of us will be keeping to our homes for the foreseeable future, it seemed apt instead to consider taking a leaf out of George Bannatyne’s book. 

In autumn and winter 1568, plague once again raged in Edinburgh. Confined to the family home “in tyme of pest, / Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest”, 22-year old George Bannatyne whiled away the hours compiling a massive collection of Old Scots poetry. His book, containing works from such famous names as Chaucer, Dunbar, Henryson, Lindsay and others, is now known as the Bannatyne MS (or, to give it its less snappy title, Adv. MS. 1.1.6). It is widely acknowledged as one of the most significant books in the history of Old Scots literature, preserving some of the very best works of the age for later generations. So, since I have the time and the ink (metaphorically at least), I thought it might be a good opportunity to explore the history of this vital manuscript, the life of its author, and the circumstances in which it was created. 

George Bannatyne was neither the son of a great noble nor some powerful churchman, but he did come from a reasonably well-off family with an important network of acquaintances. Thanks to the survival of a ‘Memoriall Buik’ which he began compiling around 1582, we are able to trace some of his background with more ease than might otherwise be the case. In it, we find that George was the son of James Bannatyne of the Kirktoun of Newtyle (born 1512) and Katherine Taillefeir (or Telfer or any number of variant spellings; she seems to have been born c.1523). James Bannatyne belonged to the legal profession and played a not insignificant role in public life, acting as a Writer to the Signet and Deputy Justice Clerk among other things. He also had mercantile interests and, despite originally hailing from Angus (a region he would maintain links with for the rest of his life), he was admitted as a burgess and guild brother of Edinburgh in 1538. It may have been around the same time that he married Katherine, who appears to have hailed from a prominent Edinburgh merchant family herself, and their first child, Laurence, was born in September 1539. The couple would go onto have twenty-three children between 1539 and 1565, of whom eleven were still alive at the time of their mother’s death in 1570, and eight were still living in their father’s house, “unput to proffeit”.

George was the seventh child, born on 22nd December 1545, and his memorial book notes that his uncles, George Taillefeir and William Fisher* acted as his godfathers, and Mavis Fisher as his godmother. Not much is known about his early life, but he does appear to have attended the University of St Andrews for a time, being incorporated at St Mary’s College in 1558 (aged about twelve) and listed as ‘baccalaurei’ in 1561. Unlike some of his brothers, however, there isn’t much evidence that he followed his father into the legal profession and we can ascertain little about his early career (beyond the basic details) before the age of forty.

(Bannatyne house near Newtyle, Angus. This property was purchased by George’s father James Bannatyne and the house built by Thomas Bannatyne in the late sixteenth century. Despite their Angus roots however, the family’s main business was in Edinburgh. Not my picture.)

The year 1568, when he was 22 years of age, would later serve as a major landmark in the young George Bannatyne’s life. Indeed, it was to be an eventful year for the kingdom of Scotland as a whole. In May, the deposed queen Mary I had escaped from captivity in the Kinross-shire castle of Lochleven, and soon raised an army to challenge the men who governed Scotland in the name of her infant son James VI. Defeated by the forces of her half-brother, the Earl of Moray, at the Battle of Langside, she then fled across the border to England, seeking the help of their cousin Elizabeth I. With the plight of the ex-Queen of Scots now an international incident, the affair would rumble on throughout the autumn and winter of 1568 and the publication of the notorious Casket Letters did nothing to diminish the scandal. Back in Scotland, meanwhile, the events of 1568 precipitated a major civil war between the supporters of the exiled Mary and the ‘King’s Men’ who fought in the name of her son. Even in August, Edinburgh had a scare when it was rumoured that the lords of ”the south and north and west countries” might attack before the next parliament, and as a result the burgh’s defences were reinforced. 

And then, just to make things worse, that same autumn a vicious bout of plague broke out in the merry town. The Diurnal of Occurrents claims that ‘the pest’ was initially brought to Edinburgh by a merchant named James Dalgleish on 8th September 1568. Whether or not this very precise account can be taken at face value, by the end of the month the situation was so concerning that, on 26th September, the Regent Moray wrote to the burgh council from Tantallon, requesting that the election of new magistrates be delayed. This was due to concern for “the publict ordour to be observit anent the plaige”, and in case the new officials, “throw laik of experience may omyt the maist necessar thingis that in sa strait ane tyme ar requisit to be done”. On 13th October the burgh council made further proclamations that nobody was to pass to the Burgh Muir (where the sick were quarantined in huts) without an official escort, and, a couple of days later, officers were appointed to clean the victims’ houses and take charge of burying the dead. Meanwhile it was ordained:

“that how sone any maner of persoun fallis seik within this burgh, in quhatsumeuir kynde of seiknes that ever it be, the awneris of the hous inclose thame selffis and cum nocht furth of thair houssis, nowther suffer ony to resort to thame unto the tyme thai aduertice the baillie of the quarter and ordour be taiken be him, under the pane of deid.”

[“that as soon as any manner of person falls sick within this burgh, whatever kind of sickness it may be, the owners of the house should enclose themselves and not come forth of their houses, nor suffer anyone to resort to them, until such time as they inform the baillie of the quarter and order is taken by him, under pain of death.”]

Plague was hardly unknown in the capital and a particularly serious outbreak had ravaged much of Britain, including Edinburgh, as recently as 1563. The burgh was therefore used to the strict measures which had to be taken (even though this didn’t stop the unfortunate William Smith and his wife Black Meg from breaking the rules, an offence for which they paid dearly). Nevertheless the periodic recurrence of the the disease struck terror into the hearts of the people, and with good reason, since the 1568 outbreak alone is estimated to have decimated a fifth of Edinburgh’s population. There were major economic consequences too, not least because of the stoppage of trade, and the Diurnal of Occurrents claims that, due to the outbreak in the burghs of Edinburgh, Leith, and Canongate, there were severe shortages in the country over the course of the following year. Little wonder then that the earliest known medical treatise to be printed in Scotland- “Ane Breve Descriptioun of the Pest” by the Aberdonian physician Gilbert Skene- rolled off the press in this year. 

[read more under cut]

(Edinburgh in the late 16th and early 17th century, according to the ‘Civitates Orbis Terrarum’. Not my picture.)

This was the wider context in which George Bannatyne compiled his famous manuscript, in the last three months of the year (according to his own explicit). But the entire MS runs to almost 800 pages and shows signs of careful organisation and so some modern commentators have naturally raised doubts about the claim that such a large project was completed in only three months, no matter how much Bannatyne may have been climbing the walls during a time of isolation. We also have to account for the 54 pages which make up the so-called Draft or Duplicate MS- draft pages which do not form part of the main Bannatyne MS but have been tacked onto the front of the surviving copy. This draft MS, currently made up of at least two gatherings, may have been larger at some point, as leaves which seem to have been part of the Draft are to be found slotted in at various points of the Bannatyne MS proper (the two MS use different styles of page number, and it may be possible to identify some of the Draft MS leaves from their Roman foliation). 

Meanwhile it was observed by J.T.T. Brown back in 1903 that one of the dates written into the manuscript as ‘1568′, on folio 290v., had originally been 1565, the last number having been altered at a later stage. Subsequently it was noticed that the year written as ‘1568′ on folio 298r. had initially been 1566, and it has been argued that the altered dates, as well as the obvious effort involved in organising and transcribing such a tome, suggest that the Bannatyne MS was the result of a much longer period of compilation than its author claimed. Not every commentator has been convinced by this- William, A. Ringler, for one, argued in 1980 that it was not impossible for George Bannatyne to have completed the work in three months, pointing out that he would only have had to spend about three hours a day on his project, and characterising the altered dates as mere slips of the pen. However most of the recent writers I’ve consulted seem to acknowledge that the MS was probably compiled in several stage, with the book only taking its final form in December 1568 after some months- possibly years- of intermittent work. The exact process of compilation is a matter of great interest to those attempting to establish a political and social context for the work. For example, Alastair A. MacDonald, asking the pertinent question of why Bannatyne might have wished to conceal an earlier start date (and assuming that the 1565 date was not a mistake), has argued that the Bannatyne MS could be seen as a Marian anthology. He has characterised it as a book which grew out of a collection of love poems associated with the poets of Mary I’s court (especially Alexander Scott), the nature of which had to be discreetly altered when the political winds changed. Whatever the case, the precise dating of the Bannatyne MS. and the manner in which it was compiled raises some fascinating possibilities and will probably continue to stimulate debate in the future.** 

(A reproduction of a page from George Bannatyne’s ‘Memoriall Buik’. Not my picture, digitisation by internet archive)

The Bannatyne manuscript itself is an impressive piece of work and Evelyn S. Newlyn is certainly justified in describing its author as, “neither a mere collector nor a passive scribe”. On top of copying out around 400 poems and other literary works (some of them quite lengthy), it is clear that George Bannatyne put thought into the organisation of the MS and its overarching purpose and literary nature. The results of his endeavours hugely impressed some later readers, not least Sir Walter Scott, but modern scholars have rightly cautioned against viewing the MS as the product solely of one young man’s ‘genius’. Bannatyne’s broad social and family networks were likely crucial to the success of his project. Several other members of his immediate family had literary and scholarly interests- his father James and possibly also his brother Thomas owned (and in the latter case compiled) notable legal collections, while a copy of the “Regiam Majestatam” owned by George’s grandfather John Bannatyne has poems copied into its pages. George’s father James was probably also the figure of that name who was referred to in Robert Sempill’s “Defence of Crissel Sandelandis” in the line, “Auld James Bannatyne wes anis a  man of skill”, and another lawyer Bannatyne, Patrick, appears elsewhere in the poem. On his mother’s side, George seems to have been related to Laurence Taillefeir, treasurer of Dunkeld, and proud owner of printed copies of Pleny and Seneca, who was also godfather to George’s eldest brother Laurence Bannatyne in 1539. Serving as the other godfather on that occasion was Henry Balnaves of Halhill, then a senator of the College of Justice, and perhaps already holding the strong Protestant views which would shape much of his career; he may be the ‘Balnevis’ listed as the author of a poem in the Bannatyne MS (“O Gallandis all, I cry and call”). 

These details regarding the godparents of the numerous Bannatyne siblings may be found in George’s “Memoriall Buik” and among the other family acquaintances listed there we also find John Bellenden of Auchnoule and his father Master Thomas Bellenden. Bellenden of Auchnoule was justice clerk (and James Bannatyne served under him for a time as deputy) but even more interest are their connections as nephew and brother respectively to John Bellenden, archdeacon of Moray. That John Bellenden was a poet at the court of James V and translator of the prose Scots version of Hector Boece’s ‘Historia Gentis Scotorum’, and the close social (and perhaps family) relationship between the Bellendens and Bannatynes may explain the prominent position given to his work in the Bannatyne MS. Meanwhile, if Balnaves of Halhill and others provided the Bannatynes with Protestant connections, there were also members of the Catholic clergy to match them, such as George Clapperton, provost of Trinity Collegiate Church, and a member of the Chapel Royal at the same time as the poet Alexander Scott (who features prominently among the love poets featured in the MS). The court connections of the above men may have proved a major asset to George Bannatyne during the compilation of his MS, although it may be going too far to describe the book, as some writers have, as a direct record of Stewart court culture. The Bannatynes also had connections to Henry Foulis of Colinton and his father James, the notable neo-Latin poet, as well as to the poet William Stewart through the Foulis family (it is also worth noting that George Bannatyne’s daughter would later marry Henry Foulis’ grandson). 

From documentary sources other than the memorial book, scholars have further traced the Bannatynes’ links to notable figures in Edinburgh’s printing trade, including King’s printer Thomas Davidson (who undertook work for the government in James Bannatyne’s company), and one of the city’s first printers Walter Chepman (both Walter and James were public notaries who witnessed some of the same transactions, and it might have been Chepman’s widow who stood godmother to George’s brother Thomas). The Bannatyne family’s connections to these notable individuals- and indeed many others whose histories we unfortunately don’t have space to trace- formed a hugely important social network of prominent lawyers, clergy, lairds, merchants, and courtiers, which must have proved immensely useful to George Bannatyne when he was gathering pieces for his MS.

(The arms of the Bannatynes of Corehouse in the Bannatyne MS, set beneath part of the story of Cokelbie’s Sow. Not my picture, property of N.L.S.)

The manuscript itself reflects this background and, although Bannatyne complained that he had to draw on sources preserved in “copeis awld, mankit, and mutillait”, he also seems to have used printed sources. Equally the high number of poems that Bannatyne was able to pull together does seem to indicate that the situation wasn’t always so dire and, as Sebestian Verweij points out:

“Bannatyne’s access to enormous numbers of manuscript and print exemplars is the best available testament to the extremely rich literary and scribal cultures in the Scottish capital.”

The list of authors whose works appear in the MS is a long one, but the most important should be singled out, if only to further demonstrate the scale of the work. The works of some of Scotland’s greatest writers before Burns are included, including pieces by William Dunbar (including the “The Thistle and Rose”, “The Golden Targe”, “The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedy, “The Lament for the Makars”, and many more); Robert Henryson (especially worth noting are his “Morall Fabillis” and the apposite  “Ane Prayer for the Pest”); Gavin Douglas (including several prologues from his “Eneados”), and Sir David Lindsay (of particular interest is an abbreviated early copy of his play “Ane Satyre of the Thrie Estaitis”). As already mentioned the works of John Bellenden, Alexander Scott and William Stewart are well represented, while other authors include Richard Holland, John Rowll, Robert Sempill, and Richard Maitland of Lethington (who also compiled major literary collections contemporary to the Bannatyne MS). “The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour”, is also named ias the author of eight poems in the MS, though seven of these are inaccurately attributed (the other is the ‘Song of Troilus’ from “Troilus and Criseyde”). George Bannatyne seems to have included several poems of his own composition in his MS, although Theo van Heijnsbergen has suggested that two of the poems attributed to a Bannatyne which appear “more competent” than the others, might have been written by one of George’s family members instead. Numerous anonymous poems feature in the MS (and some have been given authors in annotations made by later hands), including some well-known titles such as “The Friars of Berwick, “Christ’s Kirk on the Green”, “Kynd Kittock”, and “Cokelbie’s Sow”. Bannatyne’s collection thus opens a window onto an impressive body of late mediaeval and sixteenth century Scots literature- and his achievement is all the more impressive in that around half of the 400 poems included in the MS are not known from any other source and would otherwise have been lost to us. 

Bannatyne also put a good deal of thought into the construction of the MS, beyond simply copying out as many poems as he could find. The main part of the book is divided into five parts: firstly, poems about “Godis gloir and ouir saluation” and other Christian religious subjects; secondly, poems with serious moral or philosophical content; thirdly, ‘mirry’ and comic works (some verging on bawdy), including political and social satire; fourth supposedly poems about love, but also including works criticising love and poems against the evils of both men and women (but mostly women); and lastly tales that have some kind of allegorical significance, from Robert Henryson’s animal fables to dream allegories like “The Golden Targe”. This level of editorial awareness has been said to demonstrate Bannatyne’s care and attention in compiling the MS. But some of his editing choices have been less popular with modern scholars, not least his discreet censorship of some the more obviously Catholic aspects of the pre-Reformation poetry, to suit contemporary political circumstances. His decision to include a hefty number of overtly misogynistic poems at a late stage in the compilation of the MS has also been seen as indicative of both the wider political context and also his own personal views. Most interesting though is the evidence that Bannatyne modernised- or perhaps a more exact term would be ‘anglicised- much of the spelling in the poems he transcribed, giving them a more ‘neutral’ language that might have been meant to render the work more accessible to readers of his own day in both Scotland and England. Despite these (sometimes quite major) alterations to the texts of some of the most famous works of Old Scots literature, Bannatyne’s versions of the poems of Dunbar, Henryson, and others have often been used as the basis of modern scholarly editions even sometimes when better alternatives might have been available. Regardless of accuracy, a lot of energy was clearly spent on the organisation and editing of the MS, and many authors have argued that Bannatyne intended that the book should be printed and published. As Alastair A. MacDonald wrote:

“It nonetheless remains that the only credible explanation for the care lavished on the MS and in particular for the concern with the formal appearance of the collection, is that Bannatyne had indeed entertained the hope of seeing the volume in print. It was doubtless with this purpose in mind that he made all the subtle accommodations to Protestant feelings which have been detected in manuscript.”

There is some debate over this however and others have suggested that the work could instead have been intended for circulation in manuscript form among Bannatyne’s social network. Whatever the case the result of George Bannatyne’s labours is a very impressive collection of great significance for the history of Scottish literature- and certainly worth the three months or more he is supposed to have spent working on it.

On 22nd December 1568- George Bannatyne’s 23rd birthday- the burgh council of Edinburgh noted with some relief that it finally seemed as if “God of his mercye and gudnes hes metigait the raige of the pest within this toun”. So the officers who had been appointed to keep the regulations enacted during the time of the plaque were discharged. Unfortunately, their relief was somewhat premature: the disease would return by late spring 1569 and continued to menace the city for much of the year. We have little further indication of how the Bannatyne family coped during this difficult time, but we do know that our protagonist survived and would live to a good age. Strangely though, other than his memorial book (which he began compiling around 1582), we have no evidence of any further literary activity on George Bannatyne’s part. Instead we must follow the rest of his career in his role as a prominent merchant active in family life. 

(The grave of George Foulis of Ravelston and Janet Bannatyne in Greyfriars Kirkyard. Picture from wikimedia commons.)

Until the death of James Bannatyne in 1583, aged 71, George was closely associated with his father’s activities. He was granted his first piece of property- a tenement in Leith- in 1572, and acquired others over the years. He also developed his career as a merchant (though we do not know what he dealt in) and was admitted to the merchants guild of Edinburgh in 1587, being described as a “merchand burgess of Edinburgh” the following year. Some time before this he had married Isobel Mawchan, the widow of an Edinburgh baillie, and the couple would go on to have three children- Janet, who was born on 3rd May 1587 (sharing her birthday with her late grandfather James), James who died aged eight in 1597, and a stillborn daughter. George was also stepfather to two children from his wife’s first marriage, Edward (b.1571) and Isobel Nisbet. George’s only surviving child Janet Bannatyne later married George Foulis, laird of Ravelston near Colinton (both now suburbs of Edinburgh) and later Master of the King’s Mint in Scotland- their gravestone can still be seen in Greyfriars kirkyard. Isobel Mawchan died in 1603, and her husband wrote of her that she “levit ane godly, honorable, and vertewis lyf all hir dayis. Scho wes ane wyis, honest, and trew matrone.” In his twilight years, George Bannatyne appears to have spent some time residing with his daughter and son-in-law at Dreghorn. We do not know the exact date of his death, although it has been determined that he must have died before December 1608. The last entry in his memorial book is for 24th August 1606, when he recorded another visitation of the plague:

“George Foulis, Jonet Bannatyne, his spous, my dochter, and I, George Bannatyne, thair fader, being dwelland in Dreghorne, besyde Colingtoun, the nureise infectit in the pest, being upoun ane Sounday and the secound day of the change of the mone, and Sanct Bartilmo his day; and scho deceissit upoun the Tysday nixt thaireftir, the 26 day of the same moneth. And efter ane clenging na forder truble come to our houshold, blissit be the Almichty God, off his Majesteis miracouluse and mercifull deliuerance.”

[“George Fowlis, Janet Bannatyne, his spouse [and] my daughter, and I, George Bannatyne, their father, being then resident in Dreghorn, beside Colinton, the nurse [was] infected of the plague, being upon a Sunday and the second day of the change of the moon, and St Bartholomew’s Day; and she died upon the Tuesday next thereafter, the 26th day of the same month. And after one cleansing no further trouble came to our household, blessed be the Almighty God, of his Majesty’s miraculous and merciful deliverance.”]

George Bannatyne’s two books survived their author, and both passed into the hands of his Foulis descendants. The Bannatyne MS remained in the hands of that family until 1712 (and several members of the family signed their names on the spare leaves of the book) and was donated to the Advocates Library in 1772. Over the centuries several notable figures have come into contact with the MS, not least Thomas Percy, Bishop of Dromore (author of ‘Reliques of Ancient English Poetry’) and Allan Ramsay (who used some of the contents in his ‘Evergreen’ anthology of 1724). Both men (Ramsay certainly) appear to have left their own marks on the MS, as have several anonymous hands, some of them adding extra poems on spare leaves. By the early nineteenth century, the fame of George Bannatyne’s compilation had secured for its author an eminent place in the eyes of Scotland’s literati, and the Bannatyne Club, which was founded in 1823 by Walter Scott and others to print works of Scottish historical and literary interest, was named for George. Strangely, though, at the time of the Club’s foundation, not much was known about George Bannatyne himself. It wasn’t until a few years later, when his “Memoriall Buik” was rediscovered among the papers of his descendant Sir James Foulis of Woodhall and published under the auspices of the Bannatyne Club in 1829, that historians were able to trace the story of Bannatyne and his manuscripts in any depth. The first printing of the Bannatyne MS in its entirety came quite late, with the Hunterian Club’s edition of 1896, but there have been other printings since, and the MS has lost none of its fascination for historians and literary scholars. For all its idiosyncrasies, the Bannatyne MS remains, along with the contemporary Maitland MSS, one of the most valuable literary compilations in Scotland’s history. Without the efforts of George Bannatyne and his circle of friends and family during those uncertain plague-ridden months in 1568, our knowledge of the state of literature in Britain during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries would be much darker.

“Heir endis this buik, writtin in tyme of pest, 

Quhen we fra labor was compeld to rest

Into the thre last monethis of the year,

Frome oure Redimaris birth, to knaw it heir,

Ane thowsand is, fyve hundreth, threscoir awcht;

Off this purpoiss namair it neiddis be tawcht,

Swa till conclude, God grant ws all gude end,

And eftir deth eternall lyfe ws send.”

National Library of Scotland Digitisation

Hunterian Club Edition (x) (x) (x) (x)

Scottish Texts Society Edition

 ‘Memorials of George Bannatyne’ (includes extracts from the Memorial Book)

Notes and References:

* The actual word used for William Fisher is ‘eme’, in contrast to the word ‘uncle’ which is used for George Taillefeir. I may have to do some more digging to establish the exact relationship, but as ‘eme’ usually (though not always) meant uncle I had to go with that for now.

** Without wanting to bore the reader TOO much (and I am aware of how long the above post is) I also wanted to raise a question of my own about where the MS. might have been written in the hopes that someone might be able to help. This question may be the result of a gap in my reading but try as I might I can find no textual reference to the MS. having been compiled in a ‘country retreat’, as the N.L.S., Evelyn S. Newlyn, and others state. All I can find is William Tod Ritchie’s comment that a ‘local tradition’ in Angus claims that the book was written in the north-eastern turret of Bannatyne House, Newtyle. This property was obtained by George’s father James in 1562, but it’s not clear that the tower in question was actually in existence in 1568. Otherwise I’ve not been able to find a source for the statement that Bannatyne left Edinburgh for the country during the plague of 1568, though certainly this was something which those inhabitants of medieval and early modern towns who had the means did do (as in Boccacio’s ‘Decameron’). This did occur in Edinburgh in 1568/9 as well, as evidenced by a letter which the Bishop of Orkney sent to his brother-in-law Sir Archibald Napier of Merchiston (father of the famous mathematician John Napier) in the same year. In it he recommends that due to Merchiston’s proximity to the Burgh Muir where plague victims were then quarantined, Napier should send his children north or west of the city into the southern Highlands:

“for, be the nummer of seik folk that gais out of the toun, the muir is abill to be ouirspred, and it can not be bot throw the nearness of your place, and the indigence of thame that ar put out, thai sall continewallie repair aboutte your roume, and throu thair conversatioun, infect sum of your servandis, quhairby thai sall precipitat yourself and your children in maist extreme danger; and as I se ye hef foirsene the same for the young folk, quhais bluid is in maist perrell to be infectit first, and therefoir purpois to send thame away to Menteith quhair I wald wiss at God that ye war yourself, without offence of authoritie, or of your band, sua that your housss gat na skaith. Bot yit, Schir, thair is ane midway quhilk ye suld not omit, quhilk is to withdraw you fra that syid of the toun to sum houss upon the north syid of the samin, quairof ye may hef  in borrowing quhen ye sall hef to do, to wit, the Gray-cruik, Innerlethis self, Weirdle, or sic uther placis as ye culd chose within ane myle; quhairinto I wald suppois ye wald be in les danger than in Merchanstoun; and close up your houssis, your grangeis, your barnis and all, and suffer na man cum therin, quhll it plesit God to put ane stay to this grete plage, and in the mean tyme, maid you to live upoun your penny, or on sic thing as comis to you out of the Lennos or Menteith; quhilk, gif ye do not, I se ye will ruine yourself”

In the absence of any evidence of the Bannatynes taking such measures, I would argue that it might still be possible that the MS was written in Edinburgh (in which case one has to wonder if Bannatyne ever witnessed a tenement’s inhabitants singing that popular hit ‘Ane Ballat Maid off the Tyme the Chefe put the Sunne schyne on Leith”). In any case, whether it was written in Angus or Edinburgh or somewhere else entirely, Bannatyne himself testifies that they were unable to go about their business as usual and so he may have found himself stuck in the house with parents, servants, and at least seven siblings- it is unclear whether this was conducive to his work on the manuscript!

Selected References:

- Obviously I consulted all three versions of the MS linked to above, as well as “Memorials of George Bannatyne”, printed by the Bannatyne Club (for the Memorial Book) and also linked above. 

- “Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1528-1557″, edited by J.D. Marwick

- “Memoirs of John Napier of Merchistoun”, by Mark Napier

- “An Urban History of the Plague: Socio-Economic, Political and Medical Impacts in a Scottish Community, 1500-1650″, by Karen Jillings

- “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Sixteenth Century Poetical Miscellany”, J.T.T. Brown, in the Scottish Historical Review (link)

- “The Bannatyne Manuscript: A Marian Anthology”, A.A. MacDonald in the Innes Review

- “The Literary Culture of Early Modern Scotland”, Sebastian Verweij

- “The Interaction Between Literature and History in Queen Mary’s Edinburgh: The Bannatyne Manuscript and its Prosopographical Context”, by Theo van Heijnsbergen in “The Renaissance in Scotland: Studies in Literature, Religion, History, and Culture Offered to John Durkan”, edited by A.A. MacDonald, Michael Lynch, and Ian B. Cowan.

“The Wryttar to the Reidaris: Editing Practices and Politics in the Bannatyne Manuscript”, by Evelyn S. Newlyn

[studiohailstorm]

Unsolicited advice to parents of Disabled kids

I woke up this morning processing a lot of medical trauma and feeling a REALLY strong impulse to share some unsolicited advice for non-disabled parents/caregivers of Disabled kiddos. I actually wrote this for twitter but couldn't figure out how to format it so I thought I'd start by sharing it here.  I have a hunch this post might rub some folks the wrong way and I'm a perfectionist who wants everyone to like me but I'm gonna try and be brave and share anyway. Hopefully this will be useful to at least one person!

You might be like, 'ok haley, but who the heck are you and why should I listen to you abt this' and that's reasonable! I am not a child psychologist. I'm an OI (type V) adult (turned 30 this year!) who's worked with children for 17 years, and I have non-disabled parents. Ok let's start with 10 points in no particular order...

1.Stop praising your Disabled kid (directly or to other people) for being "positive," especially around medical procedures or painful experiences. While it may seem harmless to you, it trains your kid to suppress their extremely valid responses to pain for other people's comfort. Your kid should get to feel however they feel about whatever medical shit they're going through. Validate whatever feelings are coming up for them instead of constantly asking them to stay positive or be brave.

Anecdote: a kiddo I was babysitting cut his finger open when we were doing a project, and he was absolutely freaking out (understandably!). After we handled it and he was feeling better, I said to him "I'm so glad you're feeling better. You were super brave.”He said "because I didn't cry... that much?" (He cried a lot). I said "No! It's still brave if you cry!! You were brave for getting through it, and for sharing how you felt about it. You were brave for crying. It was scary and it makes sense to cry when you're scared."

2. Relatedly, protect your kid from other people relentlessly praising them for their positivity. Look up the late Stella Young's (badass OIer, btw!) talk "I'm not your inspiration, thank you very much." Allow your kid the dignity of being a complex human being with lots of different feelings.

3. I see a lot of social media posts in this realm, where parents post pictures of their Disabled kid in the hospital goin thru shit, with an inspiring caption. I get that this might help *you* process your feelings about that, but ask yourself how would it feel to be in your kid's position. How would it feel if your body was photographed at its most vulnerable, and your trauma was posted on social media for all to comment on?Having a kid going through medical procedures is traumatic for their grown-ups too, and sharing is probably cathartic for you: try sharing with a private text thread of close friends and family, instead of... literally everyone.

4. You, grown-up, are going through the ongoing traumatizing experience of having to fight for your kid in the medical realm and coordinate their care. It's a lot. Your feelings are valid too. AND…I truly believe that it will serve both yours and your kid's well-being for you to process that shit in therapy, if you have access to that. It should be a top priority.

5. Do you have Disabled adults in your life? Do you have Disabled friends? Do you follow Disabled activists and organizers on social media? Do you (and your kids) watch shows and movies with Disabled characters (played by Disabled actors?), read books by Disabled authors? If so (amazing), do the Disabled people in your life span across other intersections of identity -- are you in relationship with BIPOC, queer, poor Disabled folks, for example? Do you recognize that Disability intersects with other facets of identity in complex ways? Do the advocacy (/charity) groups and organizations you follow and participate in have Disabled leadership? If no, ask why not. Also, seek out advocacy groups with Disabled leadership.

6. Some non-disabled grown-ups of Disabled kiddos do their best to seek out a Disabled 'mentor' for their kid. Which is amazing and super well-intentioned. But imho if *you* don't model that *you* cherish and value Disabled adults in *your* life, that mentorship is likely to fall flat once your kid starts to internalize the ableism that the culture is constantly throwing at them.

7. Examine and work to uproot your own Ableism. (We all have it). Google "Disability Justice."

8. Recognize that your kid might be experiencing physical pain even if they aren't naming that. I think a lot of my tantrums and my resistance to bedtime (which are also just normal for all kids) involved the additional layer of physical pain / not wanting to be alone with pain.

9. Fiercely resist body-shaming in *all* forms, and start with yourself. Model what it is like to heal your own body-shame and develop a respectful and loving relationship with your own body. Model that all bodies are different, all bodies have needs, all bodies are worthy.

10. Relatedly, help your kid develop curiosity, joy within, and agency around their own body. Help them name what is happening in their body in positive moments as well as more painful/negative ones. Express to them that their body is THEIRS. Practice consent. When consent is breached (as it almost always is in medical settings with children), honor the trauma of that.

If you read to the end... CONGRATULATIONS! Even just having the courage to read and consider advice from a Disabled adult about your parenting is a big deal, and I don't mean that in a sarcastic or condescending way. I get that parenting is the hardest job in the world, and I know that you love your kid so fiercely.  Sending love!

[frankpanioncube]

Obey Me 60 Questions Part 2

Second part. First is here

Questions come from here

30 • Describe what is inside your MC’s school bag.

- Notebooks and textbooks as required, a change bag for her sports uniform and quite possibly a bag of crisps or a twinkie. Maybe for Beel. Ok - definitely usually for Beel, but she MAY fight you over the twinkie. (And has fought HIM over the twinkie)

31 • Describe their appearance (pic refs are ofc allowed).

- Petite extremely feminine individual . Winter’s definitely waifish in appearance but take a closer look and she has some muscle definition. There’s also the big stupid wings so more or less one’s eye goes immediately to that. She usually dresses in sports clothes - jerseys and track pants, trainers (She has a collection of human world sports jerseys she’s immensely proud of. Beel definitely doesn’t know who Manchester United are but he does think that one’s kinda hot.)

32 • What is your MC’s greatest fear?

- Her fall. She’s okay with the concept and if it means staying in the Devildom and getting to be with Beel, but she also has been made aware of how much it sucks and she wants to be strong enough to survive it. She’s afraid she may not be. 

33 • Is your MC Lilith’s descendant? If yes, how did they react when they learn about it?

- Winter isn’t old enough to remember the celestial war anyway so while she appreciates who Lilith is/was to the brothers, Winter never knew her. She is interested to find out that Lilith is related to MC>

34 • Do they have a pet/animal? (No, the brothers don’t count) (I’m kidding right)

- Winter doesn’t own any critters but she is a literal magnet for Little D’s. They just kinda pile on her if she’s sitting. If you’ve ever seen that scene from Star Trek with Kirk and the Tribbles? Like that. 

35 • What are their grades like? (In Devildom)

-  Winter’s a very decent student. Her class ranking isn’t as high as Satan or Lucifer but she’s more often than not in the top ten. Her impressive keynote memory and language skills help with that.

36 • Do you think they have any other friends in Devildom aside the characters game? Or do they just stay with them?

- Winter still isn’t on GREAT terms with the rest of the Fangol team but Beel’s word is law there and if he says the angel is smart and has good strategies then so be it for them. Plus she buys rounds at game afterparties and can’t say fairer than that.  (And in the Celestial Realm she’s pretty close with the Metatron actually. Like more or less you’re going to come across the voice of God sooner or later and they are pretty chill.)

37 • What is their favourite food? (Beelzebub is asking this)

- Winter would be hard pressed to name a favourite. She’s at least adventurous and Beel has taken her around. She likes a lot of it, she likes the human world stuff she’s tried, she likes what Luke and Siemon make...but perhaps she could say with some certainty that she very much appreciates popcorn with salt and butter. Wouldn’t turn it down almost ever.

38 • Do they have any specific talent? (artistic, random fact, etc)

- Winter can do ballroom dancing as well as ballet, tap and swing. She initially took the classes for agility training but she wound up enjoying it enough to keep going. It shocked the hell out of everyone at parties.

39 • Who is the person they rely on when not feeling well?

- It’s a rare thing, but although Beel is the first person to do everything for her (usually trying to make her eat) Mammon just gets clingy and apart from being a nice presence does nothing (who will then contract the sickness himself) It’s actually Siemon who gets anything worthwhile done as he’s actually aware of Angel physiology and can find the appropriate medications

40 • How did they decorate their bedroom in the House of Lamentations? I mean, the game’s MC bedroom is cool but we all know it need customisation. If your MC does not live with the bros, just describe their bedroom.

- Winter lives at Purgatory Hall. Her bedroom is - well, it was plain as white bread because as an Angel she’s not terribly materialistic but Mammon had a legitimate fit when he first saw it so he started bringing her (non stolen) little trinkets and how she has a very plain bedroom with little shiny things all over the dressers and nightstand. There’s also a picture of herself and Beel in a picture frame on the wall. 

41 • Are they a heavy or light sleeper? How many hours of sleep do they get? Do they have insomnia or do they fall asleep easily? Just describe your MC’s sleep habits.

- Winter is a deep sleeper but has a pretty regular sleep schedule. She will take a nap after a particularly grueling game. More or less she goes to bed and wakes up with an alarm. This would be the reason that she makes Beel sit in HER lap as he gets himself up for snacks and won’t disturb her. 

42 • What is your MC’s Devilgram username?

- WinterOlympics

43 • Does your MC have a part-time job during the exchange? If yes, where in Devildom?

- Winter’s too busy with Fangol to have a parttime job however she has once or twice filled in for Mammon at The Fall. 

44 • How do they deal with the exchange program at first? Do they adapt easily in Devildom? Was it hard for them to be far away from the human world? Were they excited or in panic?

- Winter was nervous of course at first because being a part of the exchange program was supposed to be a ‘scare her straight’ punishment. So it started as nerves but immediately turned to joy and laughing about ‘what was I supposed to be scared of’? Winter’s dead set on staying with Beel and falling in the literal sense.

45 • Do your MC’s relatives/friends know they are in Devildom? How do they deal with their absence? Tbh I’m just wondering what is happening during the exchange program since in the game, MC didn’t really choose to be there.

- Winter feels that Heavenly Father won’t even realize she’s gone once she falls. Siemon laments that he understands her position but also he knows Lucifer and has come to terms with that situation...and is happy to have the exchange program opportunity to see him now. He feels the same way about Winter. Luke cried when he realized Winter isn’t going home with them but given his soft spot for Beel...well....Okay. If it’s Beel. And we can always visit.

46 • How do they feel when they have to leave Devildom for the first time after their first one year exchange?

- She didn’t. She was a part of round 2...and she stayed after that anyway.

47 • Describe your MC’s D.D.D: phone case, wallpaper…

- Just a regular plastic case to protect against dropping. Her wallpaper is of Mammon. Mammon also regularly changes names on her contacts list and takes pictures of himself to set as her wallpaper. Winter doesn’t use her phone nearly enough to care however she IS amused that Solomon consistently comes up as ‘The Avatar of Pacts’.

48 • How do they react to praise? How do they react to criticism?

- Winter is pretty humble (goes along with being an Angel) though she is proud and criticism results in her basically working HARDER. 

Beel once commented offhand she was off her game during practice and it resulted in him being more or less slammed into a wall - not out of rage just she was trying to make up for her ‘slacking’. Winter takes her critique seriously because she feels that if someone needed to give it to her then she was lacking in whatever the criticism was for. 

To that end it’s one of the reasons she’s very defensive of Mammon.

49 • What is their future goal? (it could be their actual goal [dont forget the tw spoiler], their dream job, any other wish they want for the future)

- Winter wants to stay in the Devildom. In fact she wants to fall (though her friends/partner aren’t SUPER enthusiastic about the plan...) However in terms of long term jobs she wants to be a translator and a professional Fangol player. (She’s got a decent shot at both actually.)

50 • Describe their perfume/scent.

- Beel insists she smells like cooking fire - he’s not wrong perhaps, she is underneath the glamour still a flaming wheel with eyes. Mammon says she smells like silver....it’s the name of the perfume he bought her. 

51 • Did they ever commit a crime or have been arrested?

- She helped Mammon run away from some debtors at a Casino once....but she’s still an angel and hasn’t committed any infractions herself.

52 • (A bit TW??) Do they smoke? Do they drink?

- Winter doesn’t smoke or drink per-se. She doesn’t seek it out, at the very least. However she will occasionally partake in a cigarette if it’s offered (she won’t ask) and a cigar that one time (curiosity) and isn’t above having drinks at a party. Rarely does she over indulge but has had the odd time where she’s not paying enough attention and might have one or two more than is strictly necessary. There was only one time she drank to get drunk and that was when Solomon was cooking dinner and she had no way out, So she put enough alcohol in her body to choke down the food.

53 • Do they play a musical instrument?

- It’s a little embarrassing and on the nose for an Angel but she can play a harp.

54 • How do they see themselves? How do they want to be seen by others?

Winter has a fair amount of pride and she very much wants to be seen by others as strong. It affects the way she sees herself; she has a hard time asking others for help or assistance.- any small need to do something she can’t accomplish herself she views as a personal weakness. She also has kind of a white knight syndrome - she very much defends others to the death (see: ;Mammon) and feels a sense of accomplishment and pride when doing so.  It’s both a good and a bad thing  she IS a champion of the downtrodden but she’d do well to accept the help of others from time to time and also to let people fight their own battles.

55 • What was your MC like as a child? Did they have a happy childhood?

- When Winter was a young Angel of Luke’s age, she was pretty happy with her lot in life - but had a lot of questions. A lot of questions about the other two realms. And a lot of questions about Heavenly Father’s love...and some very unfortunate questions about the Devildom...

56 • Would they prefer to live forever in Devildom or come back/live in the human world?

- Winter very VERY much wants to stay in the Devildom. She is desperately in love with Beel and knows what it would mean to stay there. Even if Beel was out of the equation, she’d still want to stay. The exchange program gave her a best friend - something she never had and the options to have a career beyond ‘pull Heavenly Father’s chariot around all the time’ Honestly, if it wasn’t the Devildom, there’d be a pretty good chance she would have found some way to go live in the human realm. She had a bit of a human watching habit before any of this anyway.

57 • Did they ever get the chance to visit Celestial realm? If so, what do they think about it? Did they meet Michael? (Ofc it’s your personal hc since Michael never appeared in the game)

- Well...she does know that it’s a ‘you can never go back’ situation if she does get to stay in the Devildom...but Siemon’s pretty sure he can sneak her back in...possibly maybe. She definitely knows Michael pretty well. He’s the one who suggested the exchange program fixer to Heavenly Father anyway (Winter doesn’t know that)

58 • Do the pact marks appear on their skin? If yes, where are they? What do they look like?

- No pacts - again - Angel, but one time Mammon drew his sigil on her leg with a sharpie if that counts.

59 • What is your MC’s favorite music genre? Do they have any favorite band/singer? Favorite song?

- Winter is a HARD CORE METAL HEAD. In fact, if there’s a special skill, she can do a death metal growl. Beyond that however her preferences are mostly all over the place - she has a playlist that she gears towards her workout and so all of the songs are really varied - you have rap and death metal and some para para idol stuff - but the common denominator is that they have a really strong rhythm and bass line she can time her breathing to. 

60 • Choose 4 pics that fit your MC’s aesthetic.

Have a one I looked up and a few I drew myself.

[yandere-daydreams]

With Katsuki and Deku being so passionate about being heroes...What would happen if their darling was constantly told they couldn't be one? Say for example having a villain type or seemingly useless quirk. What would they do?

I love quirks,,, and OCs,,, and everything about superpowers. Especially if they drive a Yandere crazy.

Izuku will see you differently, compared to most people.

Everything about you was villainous. Your quirk was Reptilian, scales lining every soft spot on your body, from the curve of your spine to the expanse of your chest. This may be excusable on its own, but the awkward, backward-bent knees and flat, clawed feet made it impossible to hide your quirk. Your eyes don’t help, hollow and glossy and slit, constantly darting around despite your best efforts. You might’ve had a promising career in a freak-show, sure, but your chosen path was a little more difficult. People saw you a villain, a mutant. Some doubted that you were even human, and they rarely hesitated to voice their thoughts.

But, Izuku admired you. He thought you’re strong, brave. Every time people called you ‘scary’, every time you were forced to confide in him, every time you let down your guard, he fell a little more in love. And your feelings towards him were only natural, really. Even if constant doubt and harassment had made you cold, Izuku isn’t like everyone else. You trusted him, and… you wanted to be in love with someone so kind. That might’ve been why you’ll find him, that night. When someone finally crosses that poorly drawn line you knew so well.

You’ll be bloody, scales gashed through and hanging loosely. With bruises on the few patches of skin you did have and swelling starting to affect your vision, there was little more you could do than knock on Izuku’s door, mumbling a quick greeting as he pulls you into his dorm. You’ll distantly hear him fussing over you, worrying about bandages and ice, but you won’t bother to fully focus on him until he took your hand.

“What happened?” He’ll ask, Izuku’s eyes staring into yours. His grip will be tight around your fist, not letting you pull away or shrug him off. “It’s too late for anyone to be training… was there an attack?”

“I… I got into a fight.” Your voice will be quiet, unusually so. You’re always withdrawn, defensive, but Izuku’ll know you aren’t the type to get into petty arguments. He won’t even have to ask. You’ll continue, if only to ease the intensity of his gaze. “They said I didn’t deserve to be in UA, that I should just run off and join some villain gang.” You’ll huff, trying to keep the instability out of your voice. “They’re idiots, just some jealous General-Studies kids.”

“You should’ve defended yourself!” Izuku won’t hesitate, and you’ll cringe at how loud he’s getting. You’ll pull him down, forcing him to relax and sit next to you. “I can’t. Who do you think they’ll blame if someone gets hurt? The girl who makes bubbles, or the seven-foot tall lizard with canines that could break through bones?”

It might take a few more rounds of back-and-forth, but eventually, Izuku will relent. He’ll pretend that he can deal with it, even if he makes you promise to tell Aizawa in the morning. He’ll hold you close for the rest of the night, and make sure you’re comfortable and healing before he lets-up on the ‘mother hen’ act.

But, he’ll get you to admit who hurt you. And the moment the name of that bastard leaves your lips, he’ll take care of it. Izuku’ll make sure no one ever does something like that to you again, not without collateral damage. A broken skull for every scratch, and a broken bone for every mocking comment. Of course, you’ll be worried at first, but you must know he’s doing this for you. It’s all for you, every single punch, kick, and secret he has to keep. Every single act of violence was done with love in his heart.

Izuku thinks you’re so, so strong, and he knows you can take care of yourself. But… he gets worried, sometimes. He knows you won’t stand up for yourself just yet, but he doesn’t have as much self-control as you do. And besides, anyone who treats you like some wild beast deserves to see just how feral a person can really be.

Katsuki, on the other hand, can’t seem to think about anything but the risks of your lifestyle.

Despite the… draw-backs of your healing quick, you were so passionate about becoming a Rescue Hero.  When you two first met, you excitedly explained that any organic material you touched would start to heal, with a little help from your own stamina. You didn’t seem to care about the implications, or the constant threat to your own health. You genuinely just wanted to help people, even if it was slowly killing you.

Katsuki thought it was cute. Admirable, even, though he’d never tell you that out loud. He made jokes about you being his side-kick, and you could play along, pretending he ‘could never afford your services’. It was light-hearted, and Katsuki quickly found himself spending more time with you than his other friends. And considering the way you practically jumped on him when he brought up a relationship, you probably felt the same way.

Still, Katsuki wasn’t able to shake… something. He would lie awake at night, watching your breath and desperately trying to convince himself that you’re not that delicate. That you aren’t continually putting your life at risk, that you’re not dumb enough to get caught up in some fatal bullshit. But… he knows you don’t care about your own life, not really. If it meant saving someone, you would’ve gladly put your safety on the line. It was one of those sweet, frustrating sentiments you’re so fond of.

So, he’ll do what it takes. He’ll tell himself he’s doing this to help you as he slips the hand-made grenade into your bag, watching you sleep so peacefully in his bed. You two would be graduating a few months, and you were exhausted from over-using your abilities so often. Just another reason he had to do this quickly. He’ll try not to feel too guilty as he calls into UA’s security office, faking the voice of a nervous, concerned student who’s just worried about their classmate. Katsuki told them you were talking to villains, that you were putting yourself in danger, choosing to remain anonymous when the secretary asked for his name. He’ll try to act surprised when you’re called out of class, insisting on going to see you when the bell rings. When you’re expelled, he’ll even argue with whatever authority figure had to give you the news, not stopping until someone drags him back to his dorm.

Of course, you’ll be a mess, sobbing and asking how this happened. But, Katsuki will be there to comfort you. He’ll let you cry into his shoulder, combing through your hair as gently as he can as he lets you rant and wallow in your helplessness. He’ll try to encourage you, help you seek out a more traditional medical education, but both of you know what this means.

No one’s going to accept someone so dangerous into their facility. You’re a possible threat now, someone who shouldn’t be associated with. No one’s going to hire you, or give you a second chance, or try to defend you.

Well, no one except Katsuki.

You’ll be forced to rely on your loving, caring boyfriend. He’ll let you move in with him after graduation, supporting you while he tries to make his way into the Hero World. Even if Katsuki keeps you on a short leash, you won’t be able to do anything. You depend on Katsuki, and he likes it that way. And, you’ll tell yourself that this is fine. Regardless of how Katsuki stares at you, how many times you catch him screaming at your friends, how scared you get, you won’t find anyone better.

Katsuki loves you… and that has to count for something, right?

[serenagaywaterford]

Thank you so much for answering.. I wish I could give you a hug. The truth is this woman loves me and cares about me, but would never be in love with me, you know? I know you are going to think I am damaged after telling you this, but she was my prof. in high-school and helped me through tough times. She is a good person. My parents hate her cos we used to meet in secret and talk about their divorce. They say she gossiped about it, but she denies that. I have No idea who is telling the truth.

And you know, I tried so hard to get over her these years and I failed. And I am probably wrong, but in my mind, the fact that I still love her like that shows that She is the one, the love of my life. And I am religious too, and that does not help with the guilt at all. I am grateful for your message. Thank you for taking the time to write to me, I feel like you get me and you make this less lonely and painful, so thank you. You are the best and your loved ones are super lucky to have you. xx

—

Oh, bb. I wish I could hug you and sit you down next to me and help you through this cos I hate to say this but all of this raises so many red flags. There is so much to be wary of here, just for your own well-being and happiness. 

She cares and loves you as an adult loves a child, and hopefully that is all. She has no romantic interest and she never will. I am no psychologist but I think what’s happened here is something akin to transference. It happens a lot in therapy, where the client develops misplaced romantic attachment to the therapist because they’ve been open and vulnerable and the therapist is a confidant and cares. It also is common in schools, to the point that teachers are directly taught about it and attachment with children [x]. I don’t think you’re damaged at all, as it is a fairly common occurrence, but I do think you were missing something in your other relationships and you latched onto this woman because she cared, and was kind, and you felt safe. That is not a bad thing to feel cared for and you’re not wrong for seeking it. We all need that.

However, that developed into misplaced romantic love on your part (I’m unclear if it’s also sexual, and it’s not my place to ask. I don’t even know your age so let’s just leave that whole area alone). Children falling in love/infatuation with teachers is nothing new. It doesn’t mean you’re broken, but just something is misfiring somewhere and it hasn’t been addressed. 

I really need you to recognise you were a child when the infatuation began. You may seem and feel like you’re an adult, even at 17, but you’re not. Especially not compared to a teacher – who is not only in a position of authority over you, but also has huge power imbalances in other ways. Student-teacher boundaries are always a debate (like this one), but I think most people generally know where they fall:

“Being too familiar with one’s students can (and often does) lead to the blurring of lines in terms of teacher-student boundaries. According to Joe Jamieson, Professional Affairs Co-ordinator at the Ontario College of Teachers, a teacher is always at risk of developing dual relationships with his/her students. Dual relationships cause confusion in terms of a teacher’s role, not only for the student but for the teacher as well, as it fosters such phenomena as transference and counter-transference. 

Transference: when a teacher allows for an inappropriate relationship to develop with a student because the student perceives the teacher as something other than a teacher.

Jamieson illustrates this occurrence with a succinct and effective example:If a teacher is aware that a student from a one-parent family is struggling to connect with a mother figure, it would be inappropriate for the teacher to begin to take on that role in the student’s life, even though the student may be transferring that role to the teacher.

Counter-transference: If the teacher responds to the transference of the student (for example begins to parent the pupil in question) allowing for inappropriate behaviours and role associations to develop, counter-transference is then in play as the teacher has subscribed to the transference of the student and participates in the transferred role.

If left unchecked, it could develop into the teacher making lunches for the student, scheduling and attending medical appointments or lead to intimate conversations and/or intimate encounters.”

Not to mention the fact she is straight, much older, and married. Even if you’re 25 now, whatever pathways were built back then have just been reinforced over and over until now you think she’s the love of your life.

She’s not. She can’t be. Please, please understand she can’t be.

What is worrisome is that she continues this relationship with you, even years later. Does she know about your feelings? If so, I would really question why an adult woman feels compelled to continue fostering such harmful delusions in somebody she claims to care about. That isn’t love or care. There is something wrong with her if she knows about your feelings and yet continues on as if there is no problem. This is a problem. As an adult, she should be the one encouraging you to find people you own age to bond with, she should be slowly disconnecting herself from you for your sake. If she isn’t, there is something super sketchy with her and it’s definitely not healthy for you.

Now…

Things like “we used to meet in secret” are really disturbing to read. There is literally no reason a teacher meeting with a student, even for personal emotional support should be a secret. I have confided in teachers as well, and never has it felt like “a secret”. I mean, that is essentially precisely what guidance counsellors are for in schools. It is perfectly legal and okay for an adult to offer guidance and support to a student who is struggling, even with home issues. But concepts such as “meeting in secret” mean that some line is being crossed that shouldn’t be. The very reason boundaries exist in student/teacher relationships is precisely to avoid the sort of thing you are currently experiencing. As adults, it is a teacher’s responsibility to maintain a certain distance from students and not allow children to become too attached, especially in such a destructive and unhealthy way as this woman has allowed.

She is a bad teacher. I know you probably don’t want to hear anything negative about her, and anything I say will be met with skepticism and denial. I know. I’ve been there. We never want to hear those things about the people we think we love, and that we believe love us. But, hun, it has happened a million times before and it’ll happen another million times. You’re not broken or stupid or anything bad for feeling this but you do need to disconnect from this woman for your own sake. Even if you are in love with her. Even if she loves you. You must sever those ties, immediately. 

If it is meant to be, a few years down the road maybe something will put you two in each other’s orbits again–AS FRIENDS. But right now you’re incredibly vulnerable and she is a borderline predator.

I will say I am entirely biased because I think it is absolutely impossible for a teacher and student to have a healthy, equal relationship. Ever. Even an ex-student and ex-teacher. It’s romanticised a lot in fiction but it is really damaging and really toxic in reality. There are NO circumstances ever where an adult in a position of authority and respect should be fostering romantic delusions or ignoring the obvious transference in a child–for whatever strange reason they may have. (I can’t comment on why this straight, married woman has taken such an interest in you but I have a few ideas. Some are fairly innocuous for the most part, some are sinister, and the fact is there is literally no way to tell which it is. All I know for certain is that it is not healthy, for either of you.)

Whether or not she did gossip about your parent’s divorce is pretty irrelevant, to be honest. Chances are she did, because adults talk amongst each other, especially married couples. But you will really never know how gossip spreads cos anybody can do it. I would guess your parents are pissed off about that, but there’s more to it. I think that is merely the reason they gave you cos it’s easiest, and they thought it would work to convince you she’s bad. I don’t know your parents but if they even have an inkling about what’s going on between you two, I think they’re scared for you. (But I’d suspect their own issues are preventing them from talking to you about it directly, honestly, calmly, and without judgement against you.)

“the fact that I still love her like that shows that She is the one, the love of my life.“

BB, I mean this in the kindest way possible: you are wrong about this. I think deep down you know this too, and that’s why you have doubts and you’re miserable about it. She is NOT the one. She will not be the love of your life. (IMO, there is no such thing as the ONE. There may only be one but there may be many, all just as important and wonderful, in different ways.) Love requires two people invested in it to be truly real, it’s reciprocal. Because true love is a back-and-forth, it’s sharing of trust and passion and affection and commitment. From the sounds of this, you’re missing 2, probably 3–if not all of these. 

The One for you will love you back, in more than just a “teacher” or even friend sort of way. I know it’s been very difficult all these years because not only did this begin when you were incredibly emotionally vulnerable and immature, but the constant reinforcement over the years has made your brain believe things that just aren’t true. You’ve conditioned yourself to believe this. This was transference, that turned into a schoolgirl crush (we all get them!), that was then unhealthily (intentionally or not) encouraged by an adult.And I don’t know how much of an active role she’s played in this too. It worries me if she does know your feelings and yet continues. It worries me even moreso that this involved “secret meetings” because that is very, very wrong for a teacher to do. In any other context, this would be considered grooming. In fact, I’m not convinced it’s not grooming, of some sort. Even if she’s never done anything sexual and has no sexual interest, this ticks off a lot of the boxes for grooming children. Again, though, without knowing all the details, it’s hard to tell for sure.

In the simplest case, it’s transference of some sort. Worst case, this woman is a predator. Either way, it’s toxic and harmful to you as a person, especially someone who is lonely and unhappy and already living in a way that forces you to hide your true self. You deserve to be happy and this is not the path to it.

I’m just going to paste this here:

“As teachers, our students put us in a position of trust, and sometimes misdirected transference can occur. Sometimes, no matter how hard we try to paint ourselves as ordinary humans, our students may project qualities on us that may or may not be true. Some students may even place us on a pedestal. While this can happen with regular, local teachers, it is even more likely to happen with well-known ones.

There are good reasons that professionals such as doctors, psychiatrists and professors practice within ethical restraints regarding relationships with clients. The relationship between a person in a position of authority and the person over whom they have authority is not an even one. The power differential between teacher and student gives teachers greater influence and persuasive power over students, and can cause students to trust a teacher’s motives and actions implicitly whether or not such trust is deserved.

When a famous, charismatic teacher singles out a student, that student is likely to feel special and perhaps further advanced along the path than her peers. It feels good to be singled out, so in order to maintain this elevated position, a student may feel that she must follow whatever instructions or practices the teacher prescribes. In addition, inherent in practice is the idea that in order to find freedom, one must surrender to the practice and to the teachings—and sometimes, to the teacher. The student may feel—or be made to feel—that setting boundaries will hinder her growth. Therefore, it is incumbent upon the teacher to set healthy boundaries.

On the teacher’s side, admiration and praise feel good. We all want to know that we are inspiring and uplifting our students’ lives in some way. When a community of admiring students reaches worldwide proportions, it becomes easy for the teacher to inflate his/her sense of importance. Fame does not have to distort our understanding of ourselves. There are many world-renowned teachers who have remained humble in the face of fame. But when it does, an inflated sense of importance can make it easier to rationalize unskillful, even harmful, behavior.” [x]

A bit more here.

Yes, this is about yoga but it’s applicable to elsewhere. It is not your fault at all that you’ve been swept up in all this. You were a child, in an emotional and vulnerable time of your life, and whilst she may have thought she was helping at first, she should have known better. She never should have let it get this far. It’s 100% on her, not you. You may not be a child anymore, and it’s been years since this all went down but it’s been reinforced over and over, until it seems like your world has tunnelled down to only her who knows you. The world is so much bigger than her and you deserve to see all of it.

I really don’t like telling people they are victims, so I won’t. I’ll just say that you need to look out for yourself first and that means disconnecting from her to find yourself. Letting go of someone you love can be the hardest thing ever. And it will be awful for a while. But sometimes it’s necessary.

I hope you feel open talking to others, even online, besides her about your feelings. I really feel you need to move away from her and find others who share your experiences, especially of being lesbian in a conservative family/town. You are not alone. There are 100s of women to talk to who aren’t your straight, old, married teacher. So many of us have struggled with similar issues and we are all here for you to speak with.

Please don’t feel that this married teacher is the only person who will ever understand you and the only person you’ll ever feel that deep connection towards. There will be others, I promise you. That new person may just pop out of nowhere, like mine did, when you don’t even expect it at all.

As a note: There is nothing wrong with seeking advice and comfort from older women, by the way. I often have and do. There is nothing wrong with friendships with them either. I also don’t think kids cannot have adult mentors or friends. There’s not a problem with friendships with straight, older, married women. As long as the boundaries are clear. You do need friends and lovers that are your own age, even if they seem hard to find.

I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to take away your only love, or anything. I just don’t think this is ever going to end up anywhere good for you. And in the long run, it’s just going to hurt you far more than whatever comforts you are finding in it right now. It concerns me that you’ve almost built your whole life/idea of romance around this singular woman that will never love you back the way you need and deserve, and who may, possibly, be a predator of some sort. You need friends and support, but not from her. She can be an acquaintance perhaps but you need to connect with people your own age and who aren’t married and are gay/lesbian/bi, especially in conservative communities.

I am always here to vent at, and there are so many other girls and women on this site who are compassionate and patient and kind, who probably have even better insights than I do. I’m sure some of them have experienced similar situations as you have. Just remember, you’re not alone, you’re not unlovable, you deserve better than what you’ve allowed yourself, you can be happy, and you’re not bad or wrong. You’re just struggling right now but eventually you won’t have to anymore and it’ll be the best thing ever when you get there. I know you will. xx

[missilekidding]

⛔️💎

⛔️ - Val Velocity

Ah. My least favourite child. The kinda guy where if I saw him in the street, I’d cross the road. And maybe throw something at him. We don’t stan.

- Val grew up in the Zones. Unlike Vaya and Vamos, Val never lived in the City, and it hardened him. He was raised by his father, but he started running on his own by the time he was thirteen. He ran with various groups but he often clashed with the older members - Val wasn’t known for being one to conform to the laws set out to him within a group. This earned him rejection and a reputation for disloyalty in his early teens, although he would personally argue that it was not his fault.

- Obviously it’s common knowledge that he doesn’t believe in the Witch, but when he says that he doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe she exists. He’s seen her - he’s been in the Zones too long not to have. The first firefight he ever witnessed was when he was eight years old, and he watched Dracs ghost a very young, and scared red haired boy, before a dustier blonde was able to finish off the Dracs, distraught at the loss of his companion. The Witch appeared to them then, glowing coldly against the sand and with a few words, the red-head was moving again, and to Val’s awe the gun wound seemed to be totally healed.

- The second time Val saw the Witch he was fifteen. He’d been in this crew for like four months, and he idolised the leader - the guy was loud and cool and he had blue hair and most importantly he seemed utterly fearless. Things went down though, as they always do, in the middle of the night, and SCARECROW caught up to them. Half the group was ghosted, the other half fleeing in cowardice and Val saw his leader, terrified, as a Drac pulled the trigger on him. Dutifully, he brought their masks to the postbox, but he stuck around - he was back on his own again and really had nowhere to go anyway. When she appeared and took their masks he begged her to bring them back but she refused - they were finished, she explained, and they would be safe with her now. Val was left, alone and grieving, knowing that she could have brought them back but chose not to. Val does not believe in the Witch.

- As he has never lived in the City, Val doesn’t really get the anti-Better Living attitude that the other members of the Ultra V’s have - sure, he hates Draculoids and he’ll fight the rebellion against the City that seeks to destroy him as any other Joy would, but his anger is not as personal as it is for the others - he’s a pretty angry person and can give a good ‘I hate Battery City’ speech, but he doesn’t really care about getting revenge on the Exterminators. That’s why donning the white for so many years never bothered him - no City born Joy ever stays in black and white, but Val never knew what it was like to have the colour taken from him.

- The only time he ever actually spoke to a member of the Fabulous Killjoys was when he was 18. They were pretty infamous by that point, and although Val idolised Poison, he was fiercely jealous and hated the others. That’s why, upon meeting Ghoul in a bar in 3 one night, both of them pretty drunk, they ended up literally fighting each other. Val is not the only Joy who will fight literally anyone, particularly people he already doesn’t like based on what he believes about them and Ghoul has a temper to rival Val’s, so the result of their interaction was black eyes and bruised ribs on both sides, and some pretty harsh comments about haircuts.

💎 - Show Pony

A fave! We love the loudest and shiniest of all the Joys!

- Pony was never a particularly valued citizen in the City. Although they moved to the outer Battery and lived in a few apartments for about a year and a half, they were never really integrated into Better Living society - they worked a low paying part time job but never had any aspirations to move into higher Better Living roles, and so never got put on the heavy medication. They met Cherri going to shows in an underground droid club, and once they met Cherri they met Hot Chimp, and then News. The four of them got on as well as it is possible for a group of people to get on, and that was when Pony, and the rest of them, started to be a problem for Better Living - they seemed to have fun by getting up to pretty illegal things without even trying, and once Better Living’s true nature became apparent they were definitely trying.

- Before they met D, Pony was closest to News. The two of them are very similar - they both have similar head-achingly neon aesthetics, and they are competitively reckless. When they actually have a plan they are a fantastic team - News is a fearless and skilled fighter and Pony is really intelligent and easily the best sweet talker in the zones. This works well, when they have a plan, but their reckless attitudes usually mean they don’t - although Pony is really good spontaneously getting out of bad situations they are the perfect example of intelligence not translating to common sense and how Pony has not died is a goddamn miracle considering how much they seem to get shot.

- Pony only has a couple of tattoos, but all in really obvious places. They have their hands covered, a piece on one forearm and the top of their back, but nowhere else - they just didn’t really catch the tattoo bug that runners like Ghoul and Kobra did,  but really like having an obvious rebellion on their body - hence the solely obvious pieces. They love tattoos on other people, however, their favourite obviously being D’s arms and chest pieces.

- Pony is literally the only reason the zones has any media. No one knows how, but they managed to save their entire collection of music and movies through both the Helium Wars and the purging of all pre-end of the world data that Better living did, which is why Doctor D is even able to play music. Pony puts on movie nights too; they have a good few Disney movies for the kids left in the desert, but their horror movie collection is really impressive. Their insistence that everything they can get their hands on is saved and collected is not at all practical and exhausting, but no joy has ever complained when Pony asks for help moving all their shit when it means that the comfort of a childhood album can guide them home from a firefight.

[ceriseskies]

It’s 5am Let’s Fucking Do This

Dear Transgender Transmedicalists.

You’ve been on my mind recently. I made this very emotionally driven post to get some of my frustration out, and well, the response I got from one of you, was— well, I got roasted.

So. Feeling like I owed a debt or something, I’ve done a little research, I’ve gone through some of your blogs. I have read actual trans people’s takes on you.  And I think I’m going to to bring a new weapon to the ring: empathy. It’s not one I see a lot of use of on Tumblr.

Because there’s one thing you’re absolutely right about: Most, or at least a sizable amount of  “truscum” are transgender.

(For the uninitiated, that means they believe you need gender dysphoria to be trans—non-dysphorics are called “transtrenders” or “tucutes”. Usually, but not always, comes with nb-phobia.)

First of all, I want to say where I think you’re right, because it’s only fair, and I want to show I’m being sincere about this.

For starters, I know Tumblr has this “you’re perfect and valid just the way you are babey!!!! Don’t change a thing!!!! <3<3<3!!!” And I can see why someone who suffers from severe dysphoria and needs medical transition for their mental health is scared off by that. I’m not here to police your positivity. If hearing someone tell you “your hormones are coming, and your transition will be smooth, quick, and soon, and you’ll come out of it a beautiful girl/handsome man” is what keeps you alive, then surround yourself in it. I want you to be healthy and happy.

Also, I believe that no one should have to date a trans person. That’s rapey. HOWEVER, I would question what makes someone uncomfortable about it. The genitalia? Okay, that’s valid. But a lot of other excuses are pretty thinly veiled transphobia, because no matter what kind of man/woman you like, a there’s a transgender person who fits those requirements. And don’t date someone transitioning away from the gender you’re attracted to. That’s sleazy.

And honestly, I think a lot of the “non-dysphoric” trans kids do experience some dysphoria, judging by their accounts. Just not an overwhelming, crippling level like I see most transmeds experience. There’s a lot of misinformation about it, and can see why they might not recognize it. And there’s a lot of dysphoric people would don’t even realize they have it until they become acquainted with their real gender. I would estimate that 90% of trans/nb people will experience some degree of it at some point in their life.

But even if 100% were dysphoric, I’d still be opposed to it being the defining characteristic. Why? Well, it makes being transgender sound like a medical disorder. And the idea of an LGBT (and continued, but that’s for another day, kids) identity being considered a disorder gives me major ick vibes—think conversion therapy, religious exorcisms, homosexuality being in the DSM…

Let’s start by breaking down the philosophy, because I can’t start telling you what you believe is wrong until I assess what you believe.

The belief of your average “truscum” is that gender dysphoria is the core of ThE TRanS eXpErIeNcE, whereas “trenders” believe gender to be a less tangible and more fluid concept.

It’s essentially dysphoria cure-seekers versus the gender truth-seekers, which, are the terms I’m gonna use now, because as a non-trans individual all these words feel dirty in my mouth.

Dysphoria sucks. And a lot of the cure-seekers are very much displeased with their trans identity. To them, being cis is good—they want to be cis.  They encourage those comfortable with their assigned gender to be happy about it! Therefore, they’re completely at odds with the gender-is-a-social-construct, down-with-cis ideology of the gender “truth-seekers” who are encouraging kids to create new genders and just find what feels right. They can’t imagine having fun being trans—it hasn’t been for them.

And because of that, well, I can never be too mad at them. 

There’s also an element of deep insecurity. Pretty much every dysphoria cure-seeker has latched on hard to the idea of brain sex, despite the science being shaky at best. It gives you the explanation you need for your dysphoria. You want a solid scientific ground, not just cheesy platitudes about it being ~how you feel inside~.

Just like every other trans person on Tumblr dot com, you’re seeking validation. That’s normal. Even you worry about being fakes sometimes.

But let’s not get too ahead ourselves here, it’s still mostly about people who aren’t “trans enough”.

The problem here is that in seeking your own validity, you’re stomping on other trans people.

I’ll let Casey, a lovely, 100% bona-fide trans woman, take it from here.

Now, usually when I hear the word “transtrender”, I find it’s not usually used at someone who has professed a lack of dysphoria. It’s usually someone who is being trans “incorrectly”.

For example, Riley J Dennis gets called a trender a lot, despite her talking about her own dysphoria on several occasions.

See, there’s a real fear that all these new gender experimenters are going to make the trans community look like a joke.

There’s a belief that these cool-new-gender-flexible-trans-kids are reinforcing trans about trans being a trend, and thus, blocking “real trans” from getting the help they need.

And you’ll notice that neither of these complaints has anything to with dysphoria. This is whining about people being annoying.

This is… very optics-focused. And hey, I think Tumblr downplays the importance of looking good to the average public. However, actual people matter more than outside impressions.

And also, who is the audience for this? Transphobes?

This tangential comment thread on Innuendo Studios’s “White Fascism” video gets it.

A lot of you simply want to assimilate into society as your real gender. You want to pass, be given the right pronouns, and get the hormones and surgery you deserve. And you want cis people to acknowledge you the correct way.

And so you try your best to be the “ideal trans person” for the cisgendered. You experience dysphoria, you want to pass, you’re actively seeking transition.

Sometimes you even join in the bullying.

There’s a lot of sucking up here. All lot of trying to to prove yourself to someone who wants you to suck them off.

And I refuse to suck the cishets’ metaphorical dicks. However, their real dicks might still be on the table if they treat me right,

Look, there’s quite a few transphobes out there who are unwilling to admit they’re transphobes, are looking for a cop-out. And this rhetoric enables their transphobia, using this guise which even comes with free trans supporters!!!

But eventually, they’ll turn on you. When you start challenging their perceptions, when you start stepping on their toes, when you become too inconvenient to be a shield against accusations of transphobia, they’ll toss you right in the garbage with all the “trenders” and “tucutes” you’ve been stomping on, and something tells me you’re not getting a warm welcome in that “garbage can”.

And they’re going to treat you like shit. And you’re going to be surprised when they teach you like shit. You’re going to have to learn the hard way that a conditional ally is not a real ally, and your beliefs are all about being conditionally accepting.

Transphobes don’t care about you or your struggles. If they did, they wouldn’t be transphobes.

What’s all of this going to get you?

What’s the endgame? Like when you kick out all the transtrenders, what will you have earned?

Will you have taken back your “trans spaces”? Will you have gotten rid of those annoying kids at the expense of actual people who need those places?

Will you have more of the non-finite trans resources?

What will that earn you?

You do realize that if you achieved your goal, you’d probably just start attacking each other, right?

And then we’d be back at square one. Because if there’s one thing all humans, cis, trans, or nonbinary, it’s someone to feel better than, no matter how stupid or toxic the reason is. Look. I don’t know what’s going on in each of your individual heads, and I don’t know any of you personally. I can’t tell you what has personally driven you to transmedicalism, but I hope you leave it behind one day.

All I can say is that I know a lot of you have had your own struggles, and as a (maybe?) good cis ally and fellow LGBT person, I sympathize with you. I’ve done my best to try and dismantle your worldview.

And I want you to know: it gets better. I don’t know who needs to hear this, but I know someone does, especially someone who’s ideology portrays their very being as inherently suffering.

Look, my PMs are open if you want to talk to me about this (or anything else). Please be polite, don’t come at me with callous accusatory questions you don’t actually want me to answer.

With love,

Cerise

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 5

Summary:  After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

For the next day--for the next several, actually, it was so hard to tell time in this lab--Ienzo worked tirelessly. He read through the backlogs of the apprentices’ original research, thousands of pages of it, examining and cross-examining psychological and chemical experiments alike. There had been, in total, some hundred subjects, not counting those who had been deemed outliers or had gotten turned away at the beginning. One hundred people.

He knew better than to eat before he worked. He drank tea with extra honey to keep up his blood sugar and willed himself to feel numb.

The first dozen or so subjects had been volunteers, and unrelated to one another. After that, there were some pairs, a mother and son, friends. The first twenty or so had samples taken, were asked some questions about their life experiences and their relations to one another, and then the results were studied. This was the more-or-less harmless beginning.

There were physiological correlations for the existence of bonds between hearts. Heart rates would nearly synchronize, especially between family members or lovers or anyone who had bonded for many years, rather than just friends or those in strained relationships. Rates of oxytocin and dopamine were generally higher, and people were generally happier and more well-adjusted.

It was around then they started getting cocky. To put it mildly.

If the strength of bonds could make someone happy, what would happen if they were to break?

Or if a person had no bonds--did that make them more unstable?

They started to keep subjects longer, overnight, then for weeks on end, in those awful hollow cells in the lab’s basement. There was fear, panic, and this made it all the easier for the loaded questions to stick. Rather than build people up, this psychology tore them down.

Soon after the first Heartless was born from them. This person had been a young woman, and she’d screamed and screamed for hours before finally succumbing to the darkness within.

Ienzo remembered feeling scared. And to a degree the others had too, but they hadn’t backed down. They interpreted it as another discovery about human nature.

He closed out of the files briefly and rested his head in his hands. This felt like torture. But if he could only find some insight, he might be able to use this pain to help Sora. If only he had samples from Sora and Riku, or Sora and Kairi. If the trace was there, physically, there might be some way to induce a sleep that would allow Riku to connect with Sora, something akin to what had happened during the Mark of Mastery exam. But how? He had no magic to perform such rituals, and to do so medically was dangerous.

He felt like he was back at square one. Ienzo stood, noting the tremor in his knees. Firstly, he needed to eat and take care of his body. He could figure out the rest once he was stable.

He did so, was able to keep down a meal and sleep for a few hours. His circadian rhythm was hopelessly off; it was the middle of the day. For some reason his teeth were chattering, even though he wasn’t cold, and he knew he needed a break from this project before it started to worsen his own psychological state. Yet to do nothing and purely rest would be a bad idea. He needed distraction.

Ienzo went back to the study room and sat on the bench. It was uncomfortable, he noted, not that he was after comfort. He opened the first page of the score. He could only read treble clef, and not very well; he had to mutter a quick mnemonic under his breath to orient himself. The metering was odd, too, with the sixteenth note carrying the beat. He tried to count it out. Did it work rhythmically with his translation? It was really only the written language that evolved, the actual words had remained mostly the same when spoken.

Ienzo could not seem to get it right. Playing the keys felt awkward, though he could remember Dilan once remarking he had pianist’s fingers.

“You going ahead without me?” Demyx’s voice startled him. He smiled slightly.

“Oh, Demyx. No. Not quite. I just… I was trying to figure out the rhythm of a phrase. It changes the meaning of the characters in my translation, which changes the meaning of… just about everything.” He set his head in his palms. “I’d basically have to start over.”

“How long have you been at this?” Demyx asked. “It… seems like you’re pretty tired.”

Ienzo blinked, then looked out the window. The sky was pink. “...Quite some time,” he admitted. “I… tend to lose track.”

Demyx sat next to him on the bench. “Which section do you mean?”

“This little bit here. See?” He touched the measure in question. Ienzo played the phrase, and he saw from Demyx’s grimace that he’d had it completely wrong. “I can’t for the life of me count it out correctly. I… should have waited for you.” In a moment of exhaustion, he considered confessing what he’d been up to. He didn’t want to bear it alone, but why should he burden Demyx? Their relationship was tenuous as it was.

He held out his hand, unbandaged. The scar was red, but it seemed to be healing well. Ienzo was struck with the odd urge to run his finger over it. He hadn’t seen a naturally healed wound in a long time. That had to be why, right?  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m all healed up. Even took out the stitches. Let me see. Oh, right. I remember this.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s the meter. 29/16ths.”

Ienzo did not know what that meant. “Beg pardon?”

Demyx rolled his eyes a little. “I know, right? God, at least make it an even number. 30/16ths would be so much easier to count. And they’re short measures, too, that all bleed into each other. It’s so…”

“Chaotic,” they said at the same time.

Suddenly, Demyx looked shy. “Well, it sounds kind of more like this.” He played through the bridge with more fluidity than Ienzo had. “I’m sure on the actual sectioned instrument it would be completely different. And that would be…” He thumbed through the pages, seeking the same phrase. “...This one. And it’s got a treble clef, which means your options are really, really open. ...What’s this?” He gestured to the rune next to it.

“They’re letters. Let me see.” Ienzo checked the dictionary. “My guess would be either an F or an S. Runes are, for whatever reason, pretty phonetically similar to our language now. If I had to start my studies all over again I think I would focus on linguistics. It’s just so delightfully complicated, and it really reveals a lot about human psychology how words and roots formed--” Goodness, he was rambling. He cut himself off. Linguistics was one of his favorite subjects in private study, but it had never applied to anything he’d done as an apprentice. It left it untainted.

Demyx’s brows furrowed. “An F? But it could mean flute, but that would mean it transposes higher, and that… feels off.” He played the notes in octave. “But if it’s an S… what could it be?”

Ienzo went back to his translation from several days previously. “Dawn. That’s the first character. So, if I’m correct at all, the first phrase is “Dawn town.” Maybe’s more like “Dawn, Town,” with a comma. Maybe it’s more of an action line. But that’s not the correct participle.”

With an unreadable expression, Demyx said, “Daybreak Town.”

“I’m sorry?”

He shook his head. “Not dawn. Daybreak. The rhythm wouldn’t fit.” He played it again. “It fits with “Daybreak”.”

That was absolutely correct, Ienzo realized. With a little jolt, he realized that, here with them working at about the same level of competency, he was having fun with Demyx. It had been a long while since he’d found this sort of eager ease in his research. The pain of the past few days dissipated a little. “You’re right. That’s so apt. Daybreak Town. I wonder what that is. Is it poetic license? A place? I’ve no clue.” He stood up and started poring through geography books. “Perhaps there’s a reference to it in some sort of history…” The sunlight was fully through the window now, warm as it grew weaker.

When Ienzo looked back up, he saw Demyx staring at him with an puzzled look.

“You’ve an odd expression on your face. Is everything okay?”

Demyx jumped a little. “Yeah, uh, fine.” He cleared his throat. “You seem pretty passionate about this kind of stuff.”

“Passionate?” He paused. Yes, that was right. “Yes. I suppose. I’ve never defined it at such, but I… I always feel most myself when I’m in my research. Making connections.”

Demyx nodded and sat forward a little. “I know what you mean. That’s how I feel when I make my music. Like… I’m part of something worth something. Like I have…”

“Purpose,” Ienzo said. “I refuse to believe things are meaningless.”

“I find you easier to talk to than Zexion,” Demyx said. “Why is that?”

The comment made him feel weak. Was it possible Ienzo was wrong? Could he ever leave behind Zexion’s darkness? “He and I are… not the same,” he said. “Every day I’m working harder to be a better person, to make up for all of the terrible choices I’ve made. It is… exhausting.” He looked away. He wondered if he should bring it up, this anxiety they had so in common, but decided against it. “You are different as well. I know it’s still hard to realize this.”

He shook his head. “The others don’t either. I just wonder how much of our Nobody selves were made of bad memories. I mean… I was a complete asshole. The way I treated Roxas--” He trailed off, turning pink. Was it possible he felt regret?

“It’s unfortunate there’s no way to quantify what you mean,” Ienzo said. “There must be purchase in it. If you’ve no conscience, no empathy, it’s easy to make bad decisions. Because none of it matters. I don’t want to live like that any more. Now that I’ve a choice.” It seemed like a revelation to him. Was Zexion psychologically different enough that he was not entirely to blame? But--what about when he was a child?

“Me either,” Demyx said quietly.

This commonality found, Ienzo drummed his fingers on the piano bench. “Hopefully this research will shed some light on the past,” Ienzo said. “Shall we get back  to work?”

The next morning, Demyx was late. Ienzo was disappointed, but not surprised. He tried to push through a few more of the lyrical lines.

With yesterday’s context, the first line became Daybreak Town is a fucking mess. Was it some sort of self-deprecating folk song? But considering how chaotically the song began, Ienzo wondered if it were more of a tone poem.

More fights breaking out. That line was simple enough. Keys and sparks flying everywhere. By “keys”, did they mean Keyblades? What else could they mean?

While Ienzo puzzled this, Demyx came in quietly. He was pale, his face drawn, and he clutched one elbow in self-support. He started rehearsing quietly, his playing not as fluid or as perfect as before. Ienzo bent back over his book. He considered asking if something was wrong, but if it were, what could he say in reassurance?

“Do you ever have nightmares?” Demyx asked so suddenly it startled him.

“Well… I suppose to a degree. Everyone does at some point or another. Why is it you ask?”

“I had a really bad one last night and I can’t get it out of my mind. It just… it felt so real,” he said.

So that was why he was so shaken. Ienzo turned towards him. “What was it about?”

Demyx shuddered. He spoke haltingly, in a low, restrained voice unlike his normal patter. “I was in the Keyblade Graveyard. There were… so many bodies in armor… cut up… bleeding… completely dismembered… The Keyblades were everywhere. There was so much blood in the dirt that it was muddy, and red.”

Ienzo considered this. These dreams were terrible, but unfortunately a price to pay for surviving Xehanort. “Perhaps this is a manifestation of survivor’s guilt, because you weren’t one of the true vessels, and thus, didn’t perish in battle. It’s a natural psychological response. We internalize trauma differently as humans.”

He hugged himself more tightly. “Trauma? Do you think I’m traumatized?”

Surely he didn’t think this behavior was normal for humans? “In all likelihood, yes. I’m not qualified by any means to make that diagnosis, but considering what you’ve been through--and by extension, the rest of us--some sort of post-traumatic stress is not uncalled for.”

“I just want it to not bother me.” His voice dropped to almost nothing.

Ienzo frowned, knowing that sensation all too well. “I’m sure. If there was something I could do to help you, I would. Unfortunately, there’s no easy cure. You just must remind yourself that the pain you feel is illogical, and it will pass. The best key to these things is usually reason.” It wasn’t much help, but it was something he could offer.

“Always one of my strong suits,” he said dryly.

“You just need something to center yourself,” Ienzo said. He was aware of how artificial he sounded, and he hated it. “Something you can hang onto when these moments come.”

Demyx’s eyes met his. “Do you experience the same thing?”

Right. He was sharper than they’d given him credit. There was a reason Demyx had been largely in charge of reconnaissance. “For many years. Even before the Organization.”

Demyx hesitated. “What happened to you?”

Ienzo froze. He didn’t have to tell him, but at the same time, part of him wanted to. “You know I was very young when Ansem the Wise took me in.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Of course.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. “Do you know why that is?”

“I just figured you were that smart.”

It was so much easier not to make eye contact. “You flatter me. ...My parents passed away when I was a child. It was… not natural.” Maybe if he said it quickly, he could get it over with.

Demyx turned towards him more fully, a sad, knowing expression on his face. “Heartless?”

“No. Heartless were not as common then. There was another type of monster, one created from negative emotions. We know now that they come from Ventus’s counterpart, Vanitas. But then… they were everywhere. I was actually coming from here… this very castle… with both of my parents. It was open to the public then. And… well. There was a swarm.”

The memories to him were very vague, cauterized by time and trauma. He remembered more having the story explained to him than experiencing it.

“Both of my parents passed. I only survived because Aeleus was on duty and stepped in. I’ve still got the scars.” It felt odd, but not entirely uncalled for, to show Demyx the scars at the top of his shoulder. They’d stretched and whitened as he’d grown, and often he forgot they were there.

It was then Ienzo became aware of how closely they were sitting; there was little enough space. Demyx lightly brushed his fingers against the scars. Ienzo flinched at the unexpected touch. “I’m sorry,” Demyx said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking. And, um. I’m sorry about your parents, too.”

He fixed his shirt. “I don’t remember much of them, even now. But you see. When you insist I cannot understand… I understand better than you know.”

“Yes,” he said.

For a moment they held eye contact. Ienzo could still feel what it had been like to have these scars touched, the slight calloused scratch. A feeling he could not recognize bloomed within him. Whatever it was scared him. He glanced over at the clock and noted with relief that it was getting late. “It’s about time for me to start making dinner. You’ll join us, right?”

“Right,” he said. Ienzo left. In his pockets, his hands trembled.

Ienzo had always thought he understood emotion, at least from a purely literal perspective. This is sadness. This is fear. This is anger. And so on.

What was it he was feeling?

Whatever it was it was strong, and he could feel it under his skin, all too warm and alive. It was not necessarily unpleasant. The only anxiety he was experiencing came from the unknown.

After dinner, he sat in his bedroom and tried to puzzle it out. It had happened when Demyx touched his old Unversed scars. Ienzo ran his fingers over them experimentally but felt nothing but skin. The last time he’d been touched by anyone else--Ansem, when he was sick--he’d felt an odd revulsion. What was so different about Demyx’s touch? This was, he realized, the second time he’d felt this emotion, not the first; it had been there last week when he’d stitched his hand. And again when he’d watched him play piano.

Ienzo’s breathing hitched. He let himself remember having the scars touched, and felt a soft pulse of the emotion, like light.

He got up and crossed over to his bookshelf. He pulled out the old dictionary and riffled the thin, brittle pages until he found what he was looking for.

Longing, n; a strong desire especially for something unattainable. See also: pining, passion, lust.

Was it even possible?

He put the dictionary away and sat on his bed, shaking all over. The panic made him dizzy. Somehow or another these feelings had grown within him against all awareness, bright and sharp and piercing. Ienzo wanted--

That’s what it was. He wanted the unknown. And he wanted Demyx to be in it with him.

“Oh, fuck,” he said.