#disabled body and what does a good death mean for someone

[bubblegumgothglados]

This is my RACK focused judgment free primer for heavy impact play. It covers every part of the body from head to toe and at no point does it say you can’t do something just the risks of doing so. I don't normally put warnings on my posts but most of my writing is fantasy, this isn't. I'm going to talk about any number of painful deaths and heaps more ways of becoming disabled.

In this primer "you" means the one doing the hitting, "victim" is the one being hit, and "tool" is the thing you're hitting with which could be a fist, foot, hammer, bat, anything. I'm writing it this way because its fun for me.

This primer also assumes you know the different types of impacts and how they affect the body, if you don't go look at my other writings.

Finally i take no responsibility for anything you do. All this information is what i could put together from medical journals and car crash reports if I've got anything wrong (and you can prove it) please let me know.

Enjoy

Head. With hits to the head, the two major concerns are concussions and neck injuries. A concussion occurs when a person’s brain impacts with the inside of their skull, this happens because the brain is suspended in fluid so if the skull stops or starts moving suddenly the brain will move out of sync with the skull. Symptoms of concussions can include headaches, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, sleepiness, and excessive fatigue. If your victim lost consciousness for any length of time and is having trouble speaking or understanding your words, you need to get them to the ER. There is no cure for a concussion but the best treatment is pain medication and activities that won’t tax the brain to give it time to recover. There are any number of ways to damage a neck, but generally it happens when a person’s neck is moved suddenly and violently or pushed past its limit. Minor injuries should heal by themselves within a few weeks but if unlucky pain and stiffness can last months or even years. For more major injuries, physical therapy or a neck brace might be necessary but only if the pain lasts longer than a few weeks. It’s also possible to hit someone hard enough to break their neck or fracture their skull but that takes a lot of force. All of these injuries can be avoided by supporting your victim’s head and neck by bracing their head against a surface or holding their head with your hand.

Jaw. It takes surprisingly little force to dislocate a jaw, you can do so with a good slap Dislocations are talked about in Note 3 at the bottom of this primer. Heavy bleeding from gums or a tooth that feels loose could indicate a fractured root. This is a fairly minor issue and if you see a dentist quickly they should be able to fix it back in place with no lasting damage. A tooth that has been knocked out completely should survive; get your victim to rinse their mouth out and rinse the tooth off and shove it back into the gap, and then have them see a dentist to make sure it’s properly seated and avoid chewing with it for a while.

Eyes. A fun combination of fragile and complicated. There's no first aid tips I can give you and it'll be real obvious if something is wrong. I will say you don't have to hit someones eye to give them a black eye, it’s bruising around the eye socket that matters. Also check Note 1 about the use of ice when treating injuries.

Nose. It’s more difficult than you think to break a nose. You definitely can with a good punch but you'll have to really commit. A broken nose isn't that serious (I've broken mine twice now) and isn't even ER worthy. If your victim is leaning backwards after breaking their nose the blood will run down the back of their throat potentially making them vomit or very sick. There is a chance a broken nose will heal in a way that restricts breathing in which case your victim may need surgery.

Cheek bone. Below the temple but above the gum line, running from just bellow their ear to their nose. Special mention to this spot because it’s the best place to hit your victim in the head (in my opinion). This piece of bone is very sturdy and not that risky to fracture. Plus, when you hit them here they have to watch it coming.

Neck. The windpipe, jugular, cranial nerves, vagus nerve, carotid arteries, and spine all live here and damage to any of these can cause permanent disability or death. Seek medical attention if your victim has trouble breathing or swallowing, or a lot of pain or swelling. Stingy tools are far less risky here than thuddy tools.

Shoulders. Note 2 on joints. The shoulder blades can either be an ideal impact location or one of the most risky depending on how it’s sitting. If the shoulder blade is jutting out away from the rest of the back, it’s very easy to damage If it’s laying flat against the back, it’s protected by a thick layer of fat and muscle.

Biceps. Top 4 impact location. The main concern is damaging the elbow and shoulder joints, if hitting in a way that will pull on those joints. Much like with the head, bracing the impact area against a surface will minimize the risk. Repeated hits to this area can temporarily disable the arm, which is fun.

Forearm. As above, the main risk is damaging the adjoining joints. There are also several important blood vessels and nerves running through this area and not a lot of fat an muscle to protect them.

Hands. Very little fat or muscle, mostly tendons, nerves, and cartilage. See Note 2 on joints. Special note to the palm, which hurts like hell but is relatively safe because of the extra muscle and fat in that area, great for punishment. Once again, stingy tools are much less risky than thuddy tools.

Breasts/ biceps. Top 4 impact locations. Thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone protect anything vital.

Sternum. That is the bone running down the center of a person’s chest that connects to their ribs. Not in itself very fragile but the cartilage that connects it to the ribs is easily damaged and will take a long time to heal. A fractured sternum will likely cause shortness of breath and pain when taking deep breaths. There's not much to be done about these injuries just rest and avoiding strenuous activity.

Spine. The single most risky impact location. Any damage to the spine risks permanent paralysis of everything below that point. As ever, stingy tools present less risk than thuddy tools.

Rib cage. Designed to protect a person’s most vital organs, the rib cage is very strong. Fractured ribs will cause pain breathing but aren't particularly serious. Snapped ribs can pierce organs If this happens, it'll be immediately obvious and medical intervention is required to prevent painful death. Special note to the 'floating' ribs at the bottom of a persons rib cage which don't connect to the sternum and are therefore much less resilient. Second special note to the spot right above a persons heart. A significantly hard impact at exactly the wrong moment in their cardiac cycle can stop their heart. They will loose consciousness and you will need to give them CPR until they can be defibrillated. This is ridiculously unlikely but better to mention just in case.

Abdomen. If you feel around your victim’s belly, you can figure out the line where their abdominal muscles sit. If you have them tense these muscles, you can hit them fairly hard with relatively little risk because the muscles plus the fat in that area create a thick layer of protection. (Pro tip: "Stay tense or this will might kill you" is not only true but hot and terrifying). Outside of that area or if they don't tense, there's real risk of bruising or even rupturing their intestines, which carries a 50-70% survival rate depending on how quickly you can get them to the ER. Symptoms to look out for are bloating, diarrhea, loss of appetite, and fatigue. Special note to the kidneys, which sit next to the backbone just below the rib cage and are very easily bruised. The primary symptom to look for is blood when peeing. As always, stingy tools carry less risk than thuddy tools.

Gluteus maximus. That's their butt. Hit it as hard as your victim will let you. Enough has been said about this region; I don't feel the need to recover that ground. Note 4 on bruises.

Genitals. I'm not going to get into CBT, that's a separate kink. But the vagina is very durable as it’s pretty much just flesh and fat on the outside Minimal risk, go to town.

Thigh. Top 4 impact location. Outer thigh will hurt more and bruise more. As with the head and arms, the primary risk is damaging the adjoining joints. Note 4 on bruises because this is the primary place for DVT.

Calf. As above. Shins are also a great location for punishment because they hurt like hell.

Feet. Very similar to hands. The soles of a person’s foot are intended to impact with the ground frequently and with some force, so they can take a fair bit of punishment.

Note 1. Ice. It is no longer suggested injury procedure to use ice to reduce swelling. Yes, it is effective at reducing swelling but we now understand swelling is an important part of the healing process and although ice might make it feel and look better in the short term, it actually increases the amount of time the injury will take to heal. You want the blood to be able to flow to the injury to take away dead cells and bring nutrients and energy.

Note 2. Joints. Neck, spine, shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, hips, knees, ankles, and toes. The reason these are almost always labeled "red" or "no go" on impact play body maps is because these are choke points for blood vessels and nerves; they are made of fragile tendons and cartilage, and they have very little padding for protection. They're also important for movement day to day and very difficult to heal properly. If a joint is damaged, you can buy braces for every joint from most pharmacies.

Note 3. Dislocations. If you're lucky, a partial dislocation will relocate by itself if you move the joint around as you normally would, not forcing it or trying to manipulate it with your hand, just moving it with its own muscles. If it does naturally relocate but you still have pain a few weeks later seek a medical professional. If you're unlucky or if it’s a total dislocation, you will have to see a medical professional. DO NOT TRY TO FORCE IT BACK INTO PLACE!

Note 4. Bruises. Normally, bruises are nothing to worry about but there are situations where a deep bruise can be a health concern. If the bruise continues to get worse after a week, there could be a hematoma under the skin, which is like a blood clot, and might need to be removed. The other possible complication is Deep Vein Thrombosis, which is a blood clot and can be lethal, if not treated quickly. With DVT, the symptoms are tenderness, warmth, and a "pulling sensation" which are pretty normal impact play symptoms. But if you're doing impact play at the level that could cause DVT, then you and your victim should know their healing process intimately, so if something feels off or isn't healing right, get them to a medical professional; better safe than dead.

[7-oh-ta1]

This is a horror game post don't freak out lmao

I can't decide which I think is canon: Kohei broke and killed everyone in the apartments BEFORE the landlord killed him, or if I think Kohei (as a spirit) killed everyone AFTER he was killed

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

Why is death feederism ok? It is objectively self harm, as one is doing something that will result in them hurting themselves and eventually dying (as fetishized). I just can’t understand it… I am someone in this space that likes being stuffed and full, and doesn’t mind a little biy of wg… but I just don’t understand why gaining until death is encouraged so much when it’s so extreme and life ruining.

Like if there was a feeder and feedee couple that were into it… what would happen if the feeder had issues and couldn’t help the feedee that is reliant on their feeder? What happens if they break up and the feedee is dependent enough where they need family or something to help?? I mean it’s just… they could literally die if they were so dependent and forced to live on their own.. encouraging people to ruin their lives because it makes their private part excited is encouraging self harm.

This is my opinion and I seriously want to know what you have to say… I brought this up to someone else and their response was to block me and say “I think death feeding women think more critically about the fetish🤔” without response. And just so you know this isn’t fatphobic, i never once said I find fat people gross or anything, I just find the idea of fetishizing self harm gross. It’s fetishizing being disabled and or dead.

TW for death feedism, kink talk, self harm/suicide

so general disclaimer - I am not a death feedist and so I don’t know that I’m a good representative to speak on this topic but I’ll share some brief thoughts.

I think it’s okay to look at extreme fetishes and feel uncomfortable with them, so I’m not going to try and tell you that you can’t feel the way you do. I was very critical of people who practiced this fetish in ways I personally didn’t like and this community helped me realize it’s not my business to do that. There is no moral superiority in kink.

The thing is though - in order to be sex positive and an ally to our fellow feedists (yes, even the ones we disagree with or don’t like how they practice the fetish) we have to respect their bodily autonomy and allow them to make whatever decisions they think is best for them. It’s not our job nor our place to tell folks what they can and can’t do.

I would maybe agree that it’s a slippery slope and in a very extreme case, you could argue that this line of thinking would allow us to excuse a suicide fetish, for example (unsure if that’s a real thing). But there ARE disability fetishes and a fetish isn’t inherently bad as long as there are informed consenting parties and you are practicing RACK.

I don’t know if that line of thinking is even worth arguing because it could only serve to slip the other way up the slope back to overt purity culture. I want to validate your thoughts and questions because its important to critically analyze things and i want to believe you are coming from a place of good faith (and I have it in me to try and discuss this).

Regarding the statement of “death feedists think more critically about the fetish” could be true, as realizing you’re a death feedist DOES require reflection and understanding of yourself and of fatphobia in general. I haven’t had at length discussions with folks about this but the death feedists on my dash that post about fat lib seem to know their shit.

At the end of the day, why death feedists enjoy that aspect of the fetish is not for me to debate with or without them present. It’s not for me to tell them what they can and can’t do with their bodies. That aspect of the fetish isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to tell others what they should get off to. I also think death feedists are a smaller portion of the community and it’s easy to block the tags they use if you don’t want to see their content. I know a few death feedists and I like them (at least their online persona) and they are probably more equipped to discuss this if they want to. So please feel free to add some comments if you’d like, death feedist friends.

My advice is practice radical acceptance. It feels uncomfortable but I think ultimately it makes you a better person when dealing with things you think are weird or gross or bad.

[yinyangcouples]

Mo Dao Zu Shi Top 10 Fanfics - here there be angst

After reading Mo Dao Zu Shi and watching The Untamed, I went down the rabbit hole of fanfic, as one does. People in fan spaces frequently ask for fic recs, so I wanted to make an easy way to share some of my favorites!

To be upfront, my favorite fics follow book canon, not Untamed canon. My favorites are also pretty much all set in the ancient universe with cultivation. I read some modern stuff, etc, but that is definitely not what I gravitate towards. I also love a long fic. So here it is, my top 10.

Birthday Party by Waffles_4_Breakfast - What if Jin Zixun didn't attack Wei Wuxian at Qiongqi Path and waited until the party to attack? I love this fic the most of all that I have read so far. The author does an amazing job of taking the book canon universe and asking "what if?" I felt like the story was incredibly realistic with the canon version of the characters. High on angst. This story is explicit, but has easy to skip scenes.

Love Song In Reverse by timetoboldlygo - When Wei Wuxian wakes up in Mo Xuanu's body, he doesn't know who he is, but he is drawn to a man in white robes. This is, ultimately an amnesia fic, which I have a definite soft spot for. In this fic, there is a very high level of angst, characters processing grief, and quite a lot of my favorite little marshmallow, Lan Sizhui. This one is rated Teen and up.

Memories are easier when shared by marhalf - Sweet and slow fix-it, beginning after WWX death, on the idea that his soul would answer LWJ's call. Getting people together, healing trauma through love, I can't help it! This one brings the angst. Can you tell I have a type? When Lan Wangji plays Inquiry, Wei Wuxian answers. But not in the way that is expected. I love so much about this fic and can't recommend it enough. It is emotional, beautiful, and Wei Wuxian gets to redeem himself to almost all the important people in the cultivation world that matter to him, through shared memories. This one is explicit.

Turn Left by kianspo - Lan Wangji is kidnapped from the Lan Clan when he's still a small child. He retains no memories of his real identity, and only knows himself as a servant at Madam Ji's brothel. When the clients begin to look at him with interest, he finds someone to curse him and take away his true appearance, and with it any chance of ever finding his family. When I say this one is angsty, I do mean it. But it is so, so good. Will Wei Wuxian fall in love with Lan Wangji, when LWJ has a very ugly face? Will LWJ ever find his family, when he is unrecognizable? Mature rating.

Cultivating immortality by KizuKatana - The Lan sect has been putting pressure on Lan Wangji to find a cultivation partner. They don't like the one he chooses. This one is just fun. Ok, so there is canon typical angst. But what a fun ride. I like that there is an absence of homophobia in the world, due to the "cultivation partner universe" that the author has set up. Explicit.

a star called sun by thelastdboy - “Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying had whispered. “Lan Zhan, you will have to protect me. Madam Yu is definitely going to kill me for real this time around,” he had said jokingly, but something about how he said it made Lan Wangji pause. Later, Lan Wangji would regret leaving Wei Ying behind. Another angsty masterpiece. This one features a character working through becoming disabled. Pretty heavy on the grief. There are crows, a Wei clan, and beautiful poetic language. Not Jiang friendly. Uses Untamed canon. Rated Explicit, but IIRC, that is just due to violence and not sexual content. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Concord by Deastar - Lan Wangji hopes, somewhat frivolously, that his betrothed might find him an acceptable companion. Neither he nor Wei Wuxian are able to bear children, so there will be no need to share a marital bed; that should make it easier for the two of them to reach a natural, comfortable equilibrium. Are we surprised that this one is incredibly angsty?? It deals heavily with depression. Canon AU but in an amazing way. It does use Untamed canon (Yin Iron, WWX's "demonic" cultivation harms him, puppets, etc). My biggest complaint though is that I want MORE of it. at 45K words, it's too short. Lol! Rated Teen.

Flowers Blooming by Ilona22 - Wei Ying is orphaned when he is four years old. Unlike in another world, he does not have to wait years to be found by his father’s martial brother. Instead, he is found by a woman looking for a child to love. This one is so incredibly beautiful. At 35K words, it is on the shorter side of what I normally read. But I love seeing what might have been had Wei Ying grown up with love. Not as angsty as my normal fair. Rated Mature.

SanRen by Kyogre - Leaving YunmengJiang in an effort to curb the tensions in the Jiang family, Wei WuXian becomes a rogue cultivator. Another one I really enjoyed. I love the canon divergence of what might happen if Wei Wuxian had struck out on his own before he went to the Cloud Recesses and met Lan Wangji. It has fluff and angst and all the good things. It was written before The Untamed came out and is novel canon! Rated Teen

All will be well when the day is done by abCEE - The one where Yu Ziyuan time traveled but she thought that it was her visions of her alternate life. So I love the absolutely unique take that this one is. Madam Yu is our time traveller and the only thing she "gifts" Wei Ying is not killing him herself when he gets kicked out of the inn after his parents die. Lots of angst and redemption. Not Madam Yu friendly, as you might imagine. Rated teen.

So there you go. That is my top 10 list of favorite Mo Dao Zu Shi fanfics that I've read so far. Writing this makes me want to go back and reread them all, but my to read list is long and ever growing. If you have any favorites in that style, please drop them in the comments!

[aziraphales-library]

Do you have any ineffable husbands human aus where they're angsty with a happy ending?

Here are some angst with a happy ending human aus...

Upon This Rock by Eowyn1846 (M)

Crowley and Aziraphale meet as teenagers participating in a youth curling league. Years after losing touch when Crowley's family moves away, the two former friends are reunited at a major tournament...as competitors on two very cut-throat teams, whose captains seem willing to win at any cost, even to the detriment of the sport.

What the World Gives by Adzeisval (T)

Being a teenager is hard Aziraphale Fell feels out of place among his peers and has difficulties making friends. He is terrified that if his parents realize he is gay they will kick him out. Anthony Crowley is a new student hoping to fit in and hoping his medical issues don't make themselves known. Sometimes the world can be harsh, but sometimes one lucks out and has someone by their side.

Our Lost Time by Izabella95 & UnproblematicMe (E)

Aziraphale Crowley awakes in the hospital after an almost fatal accident. But he is lucky and gets away alive and without permanent injuries. The close call sets things into perspective and he wants to fix his strained marriage. His husband, Anthony Crowley - who simply goes by "Crowley" - takes good care of Aziraphale after the accident, but there seems to be an invisible barrier between the spouses. Can Aziraphale save his relationship? What secrets does Crowley keep?

Heaven (Is a Place on Earth) by soft_october (M)

“I’m just sneaking a break from the festivities, as it were.” Crowley twists his hand in a gesture meant to sum up the circumstances which led him here. “I haven’t taken up residency in the back of a bookshop in the middle of paradise.” “Ah, well, we clearly disagree over what, precisely, paradise might mean.” Aziraphale's eyes are sharp, and through that initial mask of annoyance, a small smile is curling. Crowley came to Lower Tadfield, the UKs version of San Junipero, to have a good time, try out the software, step out of his old and failing body into the magic of a virtual world with no consequences. At least that's what he had planned, until one night he stumbles into a bookshop and meets a buttoned up, blue eyed wonder with pale curls and a perfect smile.

A streetcar named desire by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

Crowley is trying his absolute best - even if that ain't all that grand - to please Morgan & Partners in his role as Chief Architect on their new development. Too bad that this development in particular is on the very same site that the City Council wants to build a light rail network on and, even though Crowley hates everyone involved, can he hate the angelic person who is in charge of the whole project?

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

- Mod D

[never-forget-viva-la-pluto]

HOUSE MD SPOILERS below the cut

I just LOVE the ending. I hate it, but I love it and I want to talk about why it was actually so fucking good.

Tbh I love that Wilson, not House, is the one diagnosed with cancer.

Like it would have been so easy to end on the tempting note of House's actions having consequences and his drug use wrecking his body to the point of precancerous conditions that manfiest into the death he craved and nearly saw several times in the series, but they didn't. They could have given the character who is too disabled to exercise and has a diet of drugs and alcohol the cancer, but they didnt.

They said, no, the one who eats well and exercises regularly gets cancer. The one who blow dries his hair every morning and never does drugs(except the times he was roofied by House) and takes care of himself is diagnosed with terminal cancer and there is nothing to be done.

Because that's how cancer is. You can be in the best physical and mental shape of anyone and still lose to cancer, and fast. Sometimes the guy who eats nothing but fast food and has never checked his bmi will be the one whose organs last longer than his friend who eats balanced meals everyday and never done a thing to harm his body. Because that's how cancer is.

Cancer doesn't spare you because you're supposed to be the Watson to his Sherlock. Cancer doesn't spare you because you're an oncologist. Cancer doesn't spare you because your friend is the one who does drug and youre clean. Cancer doesnt spare you because all your meals were homecooked and made with your body's health in mind.

In this story, Sherlock fakes his death so Watson won't have to die alone. Because even the best detective is rendered useless in the face of his best friend's cancer.

I love that the story stuck to its guns and shot Wilson in the dead center of his clavicle.

Because "Cancer is Boring".

For a show that never stops trying to one up itself every episode to come up with the most insane medical conditions, ending it with the patient being Wilson, and the prognosis being simple, boring cancer was the best choice I think they could have made even if I hated it.

Because I wanted Wilson to live, I wanted House to turn around and find some crazy thing that would mean he is okay and it never happened. Wilson was just going to die, because it's cancer.

Simple and boring, but heavy and painful. I wanted Wilson to live, just like everyone who has lost a loved one to cancer wanted them to live, for a doctor to find something else and make it all better, but that's not what cancer is.

And for it to end on that note, really solidified this show in my brain as one to be remembered. Because, despite everything in the series, all the metaphors to geniuses and God and brilliance and remarkable feats, this show is true to itself to ALWAYS cut House down to a broken man again.

He gets his old flame back, and he still loves her, but it won't take long for that to end bitterly.

He does experimental medication, it fixes his pain and he can do the thing he loves again(running/jogging) and he ends up broken in his bathtub pulling tumors from his leg and ultimately has to call someone to help him.

He gets goes to rehab, gets clean, and wins the love of the main female lead, but he falls off, he gets suicidal, he loses her, and then he goes to jail.

He helps people while in jail, then he gets out of jail, he fixes his relationship with his best friend, he helps people at his old job, his best and only friend is diagnosed with terminal cancer, he lands himself in a burning building while tripping hard and takes that chance to throw everything away for this friend who will only be with him a few more months.

At the beginning, middle, and end of the show it really says "God doesn't limp."

Dr. Gregory House is just a man.

[michellecee0]

KinderRonpa

The first victim. The first blackened.

.

.

(Victim): Monty.

Cause of death: A blow to the back of his head. (what a headshot..)

Additional information: His body was in front of room door, maybe he was just minding his business and rest in his assigned room? Or.. Something else has been going on..

The spy and the detective are currently checking clues on the body.. Lily is feeling his body, to see if any more injuries were there. Checking and finding clues on the murder.. Leaving the blackened feeling snarky and confident, thinking that they'll get away with the murder.

But the Ultimate Spy.. Already knew who the blackened is..

And he's already going to tell his sister about it, and find more strong evidence to call out the blackened..

Billy: Lily.. I know who did this..

In the trial..

Lily: it's clearly obvious on who the blackened is.

Ted: How so, Lily?

Lily: Well, do you all remember who was the last one to talk to Monty?

Ozzy: Wasn't it, Jerome? So it's him then!!

Jerome: What the hell?! Why the fuck would I kill my best friend?!

Ozzy: This is a life or death game we're "supposedly" playing!

Jerome: Well I didn't kill him!

Billy: Guys! Focus! Ozzy, it wasn't Jerome who talked with Monty last.

Jerome: Ha!

Felix: Ok? Then who? The last people I saw talking to Monty is Penny and Carla.

Carla: Hah?? You think it was me or Penny??

Penny: H-huh..? But I would never do such a thing!

Buggs: Shut up! You! You're the detective here, and you know who the blackened is! SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!!

Lily: I was about to, until you all kept interrupting! As I was saying. I know who the blackened is, and so does my brother Billy.

Billy: Yes, since I've been wondering around this place, I overheard someone's conversation.. Monty's conversation. It sounded like Monty wanted to show the person something in his room. Then I heard a loud metal like hit, which I assume was the murder weapon. I decided to take a peek on what happened, the first thing I saw was Monty on the floor bleeding, then I saw the blackened. They were currently cleaning themselves up while saying "Finally".

Lily: Then Billy told me who the blackened was, and I'm honestly not surprised.

Lily: Which means there's obviously one person who pretty much disliked Monty from the start. Isn't that right..

Lily:.. Carla..?

.

.

Carla: H-Huh..? You're joking.. Sure I find his ass annoying! But I wouldn't kill the dude! You and your damn brother are lying! YOU-

Billy: Everyone! Cast your votes now!

(After everyone casted their votes, ignoring Carla's protests. The poll started rolling, landing on Carla, whistles and cheering was hears from the machine)

Monokuma: Ding Ding Ding! You all got it right! The blackened was non other then Carla! Great job Ultimates!

(Carla was speechless)

Carla: No.. No, No!

Monokuma: Yup Yup! Do you all know what that means?? That's right! It's..

PUNISHMENT TIME!!!

Carla: NO! NO!! NOOOOOOO-!

.

(After Carla was pulled by a chain to the neck, she was now in a room with full of explosives.. as she looked around the room, she already knows what to do when she saw a little device in front of her. She only has 5 minutes to disable every single TNT in that room. Carla kept going and going disabling every single bomb in that room, but they were too many explosives for her to disable... obviously she's not going to make it..)

(BOOM)

(she ran out of time.. As all the students looked at the room to see Carla's pieces everywhere..)

.

.

Kid: Oh. This is not good..

That concludes Chapter 1.

... (btw the Lily murder was supposed to be the final chapter and last victim kill. This one's the first kill and chapter)

[itsmalachitenow]

MORE CHUCK HEADCANONS!

You guys seemed to really like my last post, so I'm sharing the other headcanons I've gathered for my personal take on Chuck since then. Get ready for angst!

Chuck did, in fact, hit Gus with the Ghost Train. It was an accident, and to this day he's incredibly broken up about it. Gus, on the other hand, isn't nearly as upset about being dead. He will, however, use his death to guilt Chuck into doing things for him because he knows just how awful Chuck feels about it. Any time Gus wants a new game system or toy, if Chuck isn't too keen on getting it for him, Gus will just bring up that Chuck ran him over and now he's stuck here, and Chuck will look utterly miserable as he climbs into his wheelchair to leave the Ghost Station.

Chuck is very talented at many different types of instruments, including but not limited to: piano, trumpet, saxophone, violin, harp, french horn, clarinet, cello, and oboe.

He can also sing very well. He is a baritone.

Chuck's true full name is Carlo Toscanini. He prefers the Chuck nickname, though, because it sounds like a train noise. He likes train noises!

Because he's been alone for so long, Chuck is incredibly self conscious about needing any kind of help because he's disabled. Especially when he's in his chair. The idea of being helped and not having to do it all himself is completely foreign to him, and he absolutely abhors the idea of needing to rely on someone else to help him do what he sees as 'basic things'. He would rather struggle by himself than swallow his pride and ask a loved one to get involved.

Related: If you touch this man's wheelchair without asking him first, he is going to run you over with it.

Chuck will never finish his 'magnum opus'. He is a perfectionist, and hasn't had what he considers a 'good' piece in decades because he's constantly going back and changing them, never satisfied with the results. Even if he does finish a musical composition or opera, he will always find some fault with them afterwards and not want to dwell on them. Being alone for so long with no real audience for his works other than Gus (who doesn't really understand or care as much because he's a kid) means he's his only critic, and he will always be his worst critic.

Chuck makes his own coffee and is a total snob about drinking anyone else's. It tastes like diesel, but it'll keep you awake for three days straight.

This man does not have a consistent schedule for anything other than 'work'. Food, sleep, self care, all of it comes second to his job and to his music.

He has chronic insomnia, and horrible nightmares whenever he does drift off to sleep, so Chuck prefers to just keep going for as many days as possible until his body physically cannot stay awake anymore.

Because he's lived so long, Chuck can barely remember any of his early life, and that terrifies him. He remembers the name of his hometown, he remembers he had a father who was a conductor, but everything else is a blur. He can't remember his parents' names, their faces, whether he had siblings or not...those memories are gone forever, and Chuck will never get them back.

His biggest regret is not saying goodbye to his family the night he left to join the Train.

Chuck is also terrified of going back to his hometown, because he knows it will be entirely different from what little he remembers. If he never returns, he can always pretend it's still the way he was when he left it, and ignore the gravity of his choice to join the Ghost Train.

Because he's scared he'll forget other things, Chuck is a compulsive journaler. He writes down the day's events, no matter how trivial, and gives a massive amount of detail about every person he interacts with. He only started doing this about a hundred years ago, once he realized he couldn't remember his family anymore.

Chuck has a small apartment in the Ghost Station. It's small and cramped, but it's a place for him to stay when he's not working, and also for any lovers or loved ones to stay if they're 'living' with him. He has a room entirely dedicated to all of his journals, though the manner of sorting them is known only to Chuck.

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard - ch 6

Pero Tovar x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems.  ✨  Inspired and influenced by Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series. ✨ Reader is described as disabled and having hair long enough to cover part of her face.

Rating: Explicit! Word Count: 11.5k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this fic include cursing, food mentions, references to previous sexual assault (multiple characters).** Spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, brief mention of infertility, very brief mention of domestic abuse. So much fluff and planning Summary: As the winter deepens, a visit from Arwena and Briac paves the way for big changes on the horizon. Notes: I will never get enough of this little family 💖✨

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5

It takes Pero a moment to realize where he is when he wakes up. The warmth and weight of a body pressing against him is unusual, though welcomed when he realizes why you are draped over his chest. Your legs are still tangled together and it’s possibly the most peaceful he has ever felt since he had left his father’s home. Your eyes are still closed, lashes brushing your cheeks and he twists his neck so he can watch you, the arm around you pulled tight to keep you close to him.

You wake slowly when the man-shaped cushion you have been laying on shifts, making a disgruntled little noise at first before your eyelids flutter softly and start to open. Being much warmer than usual would be a mystery, except your fingertips are resting in a sparse patch of chest hair and your legs are tangled in his. There is no mystery here – except maybe for how you possibly feel so much for this man so fast. “Mmm…” The pleasant hum rises from your chest. “Sleep well?”

"Better than I ever have." His voice is raspy, sleep heavy even though he had only slept for a few hours. They were more restorative than the week of sleep he had when you had nursed him back to health. "How did you sleep?" He noticed you didn't turn away from him, or cover your face while you slept, something that had made him smile.

“Sweetest dreams I’ve had in ages,” you promise him, placing a kiss over the nearest bit of his skin you can reach.

His chest rumbles happily and his hands start to roam over your skin, possessive and explorative. He will touch you until you tell him to stop and not feel a moment's guilt over it.

“Ready to go again now that you’ve rested?” It draws an almost filthy giggle from you, and you dart your tongue out to flick across his nipple with a grin. You’ve been voluntarily celibate for years – a bit more fooling around sounds perfect.

Pero groans, flinching slightly because he's never had someone touch his nipples before. It's strange but it's not something he would mind you doing again, especially since he spent so much time on your breasts. "What do you have in mind, hermosa?"

“When you thought of me…” The smirk you aim at him is gleeful and teasing. “Last night, I mean. How did you dream of having me?”

He narrows his eyes at you, knowing you are teasing him. His huff would be more impressive if the heat wasn't rising up in his cheeks, flushing his chest a darker color. "We have done a good job of recreating it, woman." He grunts, his hand gripping your ass roughly. "But I want you on your hands and knees."

“One of my favourite ways to be.” He won’t be tender about it and you don’t want him to be, relishing the fact that the universe gave you a soulmate who understands that rough does not mean violence, but need.

His cock is already hard, already bouncing when he clamors to his knees. He can't help but reach out and swat your ass when you are ready for him, the curve of your cheeks beckoning for his hand, and he gives into it.

It earns him a moan from your lips, and you sway your hips a little as you look back at him over your shoulder. “You can do it harder than that, amor. I know you can.”

He growls your name, a quick, wolfish grin on his face. His hand connects with more force, this time the sound makes Binx's head pop up from his basket in the corner near the hearth.

The indignant sound your cat makes shouldn’t be as completely hilarious to you as it is, but you practically snort with laughter as Binx makes annoyed eye contact with you before settling down again. “Don’t look at me like that,” you huff to your familiar. “I like it.”

"Gato." Pero huffs in annoyance before he rubs your skin that he had just smacked. "Do you want another? Or shall I make your pet think I am killing you with my cock as you scream?"

“Can I have both?” Grinning over your shoulder at him, you can’t resist wiggling your hips again. He looks feral and greedy from where you are and you want nothing more than for him to act on it.

His hand strikes your ass again and again. At least four or five harsh slaps against your skin. Until you are whining and rocking your hips forward. "Enough, Sassenach?"

When you nod it’s nearly frantic, moaning without restraint as you angle yourself toward him like an offering. “Fuck— Pero, por favor.” You’ll happily beg for his cock just to satisfy him, but in this moment it’s not for show at all. It’s just how badly you want him.

He spits into his hand, knowing you are wet, but you are not wet enough. Smearing it over his stiff length and rolling back the skin as he shuffles forward. Pressing against your entrance and grabbing your hips to hold you steady while he thrusts forward and fills you.

With no one to hear you - no roommates, no neighbors - you don’t hold back. Pero splits you open in the best way possible, making you feel like he might bend you in half to get the perfect angle for fucking you absolutely brainless.

There is something about your cunt that has him addicted from the start. He growls, hunching over you and pushing your hips down to get the angle that he wants, the one that has you seizing up around him and gripping him like a vice. "Fuck." He spits when he finds it and cunt clenches down around him.

This is it. This is how you're going to spend the winter. Every time he snaps his hips forward and makes you cry out you're all the more certain of it. You'll happily be naked and ready for him anytime and there is no doubt in your mind that he will do the same if you ask. Every thrust is ecstasy, and you rock back to meet him with enthusiasm.

He's never had a woman fuck him with such enthusiasm, such eagerness. He groans and his fingers dig into your hips, leaning down to flatting his chest against your back so he can reach your ear. "Such a tight little cunt for me, Sassenach." He rasps into your ear. "I want to feel it squeeze me tight again. Hear you cry out my name."

"Want you to fill me up this time." With the way your cheek is pressed to the mattress you have to be a little extra loud, but you would scream for the entire village to hear if he wanted you to.

Pero snarls, his cock twitching deep inside you and his hips stutter for a thrust before he starts to fuck into you with a frenzy.

It's inelegant, demanding, sloppy, and ferocious - and it's absolutely glorious. The pace is frantic but if either of you misses a beat the other is there to pick it up again, until you're groaning through gritted teeth on the verge of falling apart at the seams. You'll have bruises from this encounter, and you'll wear them proudly, the imprints of his fingers in your hips will last until he multiplies them with another hard fucking just like this one and you cannot wait.

"I— you need to cum." Pero groans, his eyes closing and he feels himself get desperately close. He peels himself off your back and his hand pushes between you, reaching under your splayed open legs so he can rub your clit.

"Fuck." The hard press of his fingers against your slick, swollen nub sends you reeling, following his demand within seconds. Your legs shake with the effort of staying upright, your body wanting nothing more than to collapse against the mattress but needing him to follow you over the edge before that happens. "Fuck, fuck— Pero!" It's his name on your lips when he strikes inside you at the perfect angle to tear you apart, soaking his cock in a flood of cum.

Pero shouts, following you over the edge the moment that you are soaking his cock. Pushing his cock deep inside you and gasps at how good it feels as he starts to fill you up. Ropes of his seed painting your womb with a heavy flood of pleasure.

"Holy shit." A disbelieving giggle bubbles from your throat as you nearly collapse, body sagging under the hardest fuck you've had in more years than you can remember.

Pero slumps against you, keeping his cock buried inside your warmth while he kisses along the back of your neck. "Fuck." He agrees softly, lips pressing against your skin over and over again. You clench around him again and he hisses softly.

"So fucking good," you hum, enjoying the aftershocks of that last orgasm that he fucked you through as he filled you with the cum that is starting to leak out of your cunt.

He softens and starts to slip out of you, making him shift to the side and flop down beside you and his hand slides over your back. "Now are you satisfied?" he grunts, like he had not been just as desperate for you.

"For now." The grin you flash him is teasing all over again, but you settle into his arms easily when he offers you a place there. "I have a feeling we will be disturbing Binx many more times before this storm has ended."

He chuckles when the cat meows loudly from his bed, as if agreeing that you had disturbed her. "We could always put the gato with the horse and chicken." He huffs teasingly.

"Binx would riot." And probably, you would too. Your familiar is a part of you that you cannot deny, especially here where your magic is so much stronger. "Perhaps I will learn to conjure plugs for her small ears."

"The cat does not bother me." He promises, pulling you close. "We can hang a curtain for privacy if you wish or I can make a screen."

"If we need it, a screen will work." No curtain in the universe has ever contained a determined cat, but right now you don't even care. Binx can stand there and watch and it won't stop you from fucking Pero to your heart's content.

"I do not care." He insists. "I have not been sharing my space with the gato, so I will pay no mind to it seeing me fuck you." He huffs. "As long as it does not take my balls for yarn to bat around."

"Definitely not." Dropping a kiss on his skin, you tip your chin up to look at him and smile. "We will not lack for exertion this winter."

He grunt and smirks at you. "It will be good, I will not worry about getting too fat for my armor doing nothing but laying around and eating."

"You will certainly not." Not if fucking like that is going to be a regular thing. You groan a second later though, and pout with a huff. "I should check on supper. Make sure it does not burn." You should, but you're not exactly sure that your legs will work just yet.

He grunts and his hand slides over your ass as he squeezes again. "Use the chamber pot and I will stir your stew." He offers. He knows you must need to piss and he needs to add wood to the fire anyway.

Grateful for the reprieve, you manage to steal a kiss before he lifts himself off the mattress and you both take care of the business that is required. Binx leaves her basket to sit in the window for a while, watching the snow fall while you tug your chemise back over your head just to keep warm.

Pero follows your lead, pulling on his breeches and shuffling over to the fire to stoke it before he adds more wood. Humming happily at the cherry red coals that instantly catch the dry tinder on fire and immediately adding warmth. Turning his attention to the stew, he stirs it with the wooden spoon, watching the ingredients float around in the slowly simmering broth. "It looks good." He tells you over his shoulder.

"Good." The other thing that looks good is his ass from this angle, but that's just you being a horny bastard. "What shall we do while it finishes?"

“What do you normally do?” He asks. He knows what he wants but he doesn’t want to make you feel like you are some kind of spectacle.

"If you were not here I might sing to Binx or prepare herbs for tinctures that are useful during the winter. I might embroider something very poorly if I am bored enough." You shrug a little, crossing your legs on the mattress and leaning on your knees. "None of it is exciting."

“What about your spells? Your magic?” He asks curiously. “Do you practice it?”

"I do." Tilting your head at him, a small smirk crawls across your face until it becomes a grin. "Would you like to see your bruja at her work?"

The comment Pero wants to make is sarcastic, biting, but he doesn’t know if you would take it as the jest he would mean it as. So instead he nods, putting on his most unimpressed face. “Show me your magic, wench.” He orders playfully.

Sitting in your chemise on the end of your bed, you flash Pero a grin and put out one hand, summoning the crackling ball of flame that he had seen you conjure once before. The sun is starting to go down already and it will be helpful to have the extra light, so that is the very first thing that you do. "You have seen this before, but it is simple and useful."

“Damn useful.” He grunts, stepping closer to you and the ball of fire and reaching out to feel the warmth of it, but there is none. His eyes widen and he looks back at you in astonishment. “It does not burn?”

"No." You shake your head and smile at the wonder in his expression. If you were better at physics maybe you could explain why, but probably not in words that he would understand. "It will give us light without the danger of fire. But the fire is necessary so we do not freeze."

He grunts and looks back at the flames hovering in the air. “Next you will tell me that you heat without fire in your time.”

"We do." And the fact that he's grumpy about it only makes you grin. "We have heat and light without fire in every home, and chamber pots that empty themselves after every use."

“Bruja.” He huffs, but there is no heat behind his comment. He cannot imagine that, but it seems very easy. “It would be nice to not smell piss or shit when the pot is full.”

"What would you like to smell?" It's a weird question, you admit that, but it's a little bit of a chance to show off.

He doesn’t know, never really thought about too many smells. Unless they were rotting and making his stomach churn. “What is your favorite smell?” He asks, wanting to know what you would pick.

"I used to wear perfume." It seems like eons ago that you would make trips to Sephora for make up or perfume or those fancy skin care products that made you feel as glamorous as the women in magazines or on tv. "It smelled like citrus fruits and roses and something woody and warm...but I cannot remember it exactly anymore. I just remember that it made me feel like something divine and luxurious."

“Could you make it smell similar to that in here?” He asks, looking around and wondering if you would need your spices or if you could make it happen like the flame.

"I can try." It would be the most complex scent you've ever attempted, but it's not like you think you're going to be able to replicate the exact smell of Miss Dior inside this tiny cottage. Instead you'll aim for the closest that you can. Closing your eyes and concentrating on the memory of the scent itself, letting it swirl around in your memories until you can almost smell a whiff of lemon and blood orange in the air. Counterintuitively, conjuring scent makes your fingers tingle, and as you concentrate on adding the smell of fresh summer roses to the spray of citrus you can almost feel the vines and thorns pricking at your skin. The smell of the woods is easy, having lived in it for years now, and something itching at the back of your mind reminds you of the vivid pink of the perfume in its elaborate glass bottle and suddenly everything feels brighter and more tangible. It can't be seen, but it's like a soft breeze wafting through the cottage that almost smells like twenty-first century perfume, and that is remarkable in and of itself.

Pero inhales deeply and groans at the delicious scent. “You smelled like this? All the time?” He closes his eyes and just drinks it in. “You would have tired of me pinning you down and fucking you all the time.”

You can't help but laugh, opening your eyes to see him looking nearly drunk on the smell. "It's not quite right," you admit, grinning anyway. "Perhaps one day I will perfect it. But yes. This is close."

“It smells like heaven.” Pero whispers, still savoring the scent with his eyes sliding closed.

"Men's cologne can be even better." Imagining Pero cleaned up and spritzed with cologne like a grumpy, dreamy snack of a man makes you hum. His brow furrows, not quite understanding but he assumes you mean a scent for a man. He hums, wondering if you would like such a thing. “Can I show you?” It won’t be perfect, just like the scent of your perfume wasn’t, but you can at least try.

"Sassenach...." Pero crosses the few steps between you and reaches for your waist, squeezing gently. "You can do whatever you want around me." He hums seriously but he does flash a small grin. "Unless you want to turn me into a toad."

“You know I’ve never actually done that?” The visual in your mind’s eye makes you grin, though, and you take the opportunity of having him close to steal a kiss. “I promise I will not turn you into a toad, amor.”

He snorts, pressing his lips to yours and gives you a lopsided smirk. "I believe you, but I'm sure your gato would love to chase me around and bat at me with its paws as if I were a plaything."

“If you were meant to be batted around by my cat, I would turn you into a mouse,” you tease, grinning at the look of disgruntled horror on his face. “You worry too much, Pero Tovar. I have little skill in transfiguration.”

He blows a raspberry at you, a grumpy look on his face but he nods towards you. "What is this scent you were talking about?" He grunts. "As if I could smell sweeter."

“Sex is a very good smell.” You can agree to that, and you grin to yourself as you close your eyes again to concentrate - seeing if you can recall the scent of your favourite cologne with any clarity. Pine needles and a hint of vanilla and something woodsy…and maybe cedar? It’s a less distinct and less focused conjuration, but the air wafting around you turns from citrus and rose to this distinctly more masculine brew in just seconds and you hum happily at your reasonably successful attempt to duplicate it.

Pero sniffs, not offended by the scent but it's not nearly as enticing as the previous one. It's earthy and smells like the woods, obviously something you would enjoy. He lifts a brow and smirks slightly. "So you like when I come in from gathering wood, Sassenach?"

He's right, of course, but it's like you never quite put the two together before and you end up laughing lightly. "Yes. I suppose that I do."

He grunts, leaning in and dragging his mouth over your neck, the scent still filling the space between you. “Men wear that scent to make a woman think about them? To imagine them between their thighs? Buried in their cunt smelling like that?”

It doesn't matter that he was just buried inside you twenty minutes ago, your whole body reacts to the tingle of his lips on your skin and that soft growl in your ear, flooding your system with instant arousal. "Y-yes."

He can feel your breathing change, his cock twitching in interest but he still needs more time to recover from his last release. “Interesting.” He growls, kissing your pulse and pulling back with a smirk. “Maybe we should try that next time.”

You groan slightly, watching the amusement on his face at your reaction, and just have to laugh at yourself a little. A couple of years without sex has made you absolutely ravenous for it. For him. For your soulmate. "Maybe we should."

“I am not used to much sex.” He admits. “I do not find much privacy for— uh, pleasure with my hand so I ignore it.”

"I do not mean to overwhelm you." Making him uncomfortable is the last thing that you want. You can rein in your horniness for his sake, there's no question about that.

Pero snorts and shakes his head. “Do not pull back.” He orders swiftly, not wanting you to be ashamed of wanting him. “It is very nice to be eagerly wanted.”

"Very eagerly," you huff a little, laughing at yourself. "It is new, and exciting, and I...I am glad that we are here together."

Pero grins. “You mean being snowed into your cottage, cozy and warm with nothing to do but fuck the hours away?” He asks, his hand trailing down to your ass again. “Teaching me how to pleasure you?”

"Snowed into our cottage." The correction may seem small, but you want to make sure he knows that the time of him being a guest here has passed. "It will be an indulgent winter."

“Yes it will.” He agrees. “You can tell me more about your home. Your time.”

"And I want to hear about your adventures. Your travels." Of course it isn't all glamorous. In fact most of it is probably not. But it made him who he is and you want to know him as well as you can.

He grimaces slightly and shuffles in embarrassment. “Even if it is not honorable?” He asks quietly, sure that most of his ‘adventures’ as you called them, are not the noblest.

"Even then." Nodding gently, you reach out to grasp his hand and thread your fingers together. "The things you have done have made you the man you are. And that is the man that is in my heart as well as my bed."

The tension he didn’t know he was holding relaxes, his shoulders settling down and rounding slightly in relief. “Yes.” He breathes out. “I can do that.”

"You never need tell me things that hurt you to remember." As much as you want to get to know him, you don't want to trigger anything that might be traumatic for him in the process.

“My past is my past.” Pero shrugs and wonders why you would say that. “It happened, I moved on.”

"Then I will listen to whatever you want to tell me." You promise him, understanding that he would most likely not tell you anything at all if he did not find it helpful or necessary.

He looks at the bathtub and hums. “So now that you have been naked in front of me, do you want to rewarm the water and soak like you should have?”

"Two baths in one day?" The absolute luxury of it makes you hum, and you flash a grin at him. "I am covered in cum, so it might be a good idea."

He chuckles and nods. “And I will get to stare at you in your bath like I imagined when I was bringing the buckets of snow in.”

"Perhaps we could even see if we fit in together?" If it's too small then it's too small, but you would love the chance to ride Pero in that bath.

“We can try.” Pero is skeptical but he moves over to the tub to bail out a bucket of water to put in the other pot to warm back up.

"If not, I will simply have to ride your cock in bed." You tell him matter-of-factly. "It will still happen."

Now that he knows why you want him in the bathtub with you, there is a bit more urgency to his movements. A haste that hadn’t been there before.

Laughing when you see him start to move faster, you get up from the edge of the bed and move across the cottage, scooping Binx up out of her basket and snuggling her into your chest to plant kisses in her fur. The sleek feline rankles in annoyance at first but settles down as you start to hum a quiet melody, singing to her while Pero warms up the bath.

There is something soothing about the way that you cuddle to your cat and sing to it. It’s homey and it reminds Pero of his mamá singing as she went about her chores. It is a shame you cannot have babies of your own, you would be good with them, but you show your maternal side through your healing and your care for your pet.

"If I had wings like Noah's dove...I'd fly the river to the one I love...Fare thee well, my honey fare thee well..." The soft song is easy to sing and Binx has always seemed to like it, and you sway around the room with her purring happily in your arms.

Pero listens to your sweet voice as he works, wondering how it would be if you had a babe in your arms. He doesn’t often think of things like that, but if anyway deserved it, it would be you.

Binx likes folk music for some reason, but it’s easy to sing and soft, melodic in your untrained voice, and she is calm as an angel when you put her down in her basket again. “I should learn new songs now that someone else is here to hear them,” you joke, noticing Pero has been listening.

“You sing whatever makes you and your gato happy, amor.” He murmurs softly.

The term of endearment makes you smile, and your pace back over to him with a soft expression of affection on your face. If this is what the winter has in store, it will quickly become your favorite season.

******

It had been nearly two weeks of isolation. Everyday Pero shovels out a path to the barn and to the woodpiles. The skins of the animals he has trapped in the snows are frozen, the meat keeping your gato and even the chicken well fed. The cottage is warm and cozy, the bed even more so. The two of you laying curled around each other most days and learning each other’s bodies like no other.

The words of love are second nature now, small touches coming comfortably and the teasing always ending with a kiss. The domesticity of it was swift to set in, and you would not trade it for the world. This morning is the first with warm sun in weeks but it isn’t quite enough to rouse you from your place in Pero’s arms until the clattering of a cart outside joins the song of winter birds.

“Who?” Pero cracks an eye open and groans. “It must be the whelp.” He huffs, only slightly annoyed that he had come. Mainly because he will have to put clothes on. He has gotten used to walking around your cottage naked for you to enjoy the sight.

“We should get dressed.” Joyful as your young friends might be to see you together, you will not be so unkind as to get them in nothing.

“It would teach them to stay away,” Pero grumbles even as he is reaching for his pants. “Put some wine on to warm, they will be cold.”

“You will be very sad to have scared them off when they are the ones who bring you cheese,” you remind him, grinning broadly as you pop out of bed to pull on your chemise and tunic.

“If he brought me more cheese.” He grunts, although he does look a little more cheerful at the prospect of a food delivery.

“I am sure he did.” The knock on the door comes only a moment later and you barely manage to throw your tunic over your head in time. Bedhead be damned, you’ll just tie your hair back with the leather string Pero had handed you weeks ago.

Pero is the one that opens the door and ushers the kids inside. “Come, sit by the fire and warm up.” He orders the kids as he bars the door and moves over to the built the fire up.

"You both look well." Arwena practically throws her arms around you when you stand up from pouring the remainder of a small cask of wine into a pot for the fire. "Our apologies if we have intruded but we brought a few supplies," her smile is even broader than yours, threatening to overtake her face. "And wonderful news."

“News?” Pero’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks over at where Briac is beaming like a proud lad who just popped his cherry. “You fill her belly already?”

"Not yet." In fact, Briac had been extremely careful and followed all of the guidelines about safety that you had set down to Arwena, and Arwena herself had been drinking the contraceptive tea blend that you made for her faithfully each day.

"We're soulmates!" Arwena is bursting with the news, clinging to your hands and looking every ounce as proud as Briac. While she isn't glad of how they realized the fact – the wound from her father’s last beating leaving a scar on her back –  she is ecstatic to find that her love is ordained by God.

“Damn.” Pero shakes his head, a smile pulling at his lips as he walks over to the boy and holds out his hand to him as a man. “Congratulations.”

Briac is glowing at the simple act, and Arwena is nearly vibrating as she hugs you. "We are now even more determined to be married soon," she tells you and Pero both. "Surely my father cannot object when God has chosen my husband for me."

Pero snorts, knowing that from what he has heard, that would not change his mind. He is the type that his word would be more important than God’s. He squeezes Briac’s hand and claps him on the shoulder. “You are still practicing, yes?”

“Every day.” The boy has doubled the amount of hours he puts in, striving to push himself and become stronger and faster. “I think you will find me much improved.”

“We will see.” Pero smirks and then looks between the two. “Something was said about supplies?” He asks, knowing they will have to unload first since it’s so cold outside.

“The cart is outside the door.” Briac nods, springing into action immediately. “Ale, cheese, and some fresh bread from the baker. It went straight out of the oven and into Arwena’s hands.”

“Fresh bread.” Pero groans at the thought and reaches for his cloak. “Come, we will let the women talk.”

“You are glowing, Wena.” As soon as the door shuts behind the men, you usher the girl to the bench by the fire smile warmly. “You have been well? Able to see Briac?”

“Yes.” She bites her lip and sends you a sly look. “I’ve been sneaking away and spending afternoons with him. My mother thinks I am in prayer.”

“Well,” you laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You are certainly speaking to God. Just not the way she thinks.”

Arwena smirks slightly and notices that the mattress Pero had been sleeping on is nowhere to be seen. “And it seems like all is well here.” She comments, also surprised to see that you have your hair pulled back. She heartily approves.

“The storm gave us time to talk.” You smirk, knowing that she now understands how much more than talking you have probably been doing. “To fall in love with one’s soulmate is a wonderful privilege, and I am glad that we have both had it.”

“Love?” Arwena whispers happily, her eyes shining bright for you. “Oh Sassenach, I am so happy for you. You deserve it. Is he— he is kind to you?” She feels like you wouldn’t accept anything less, but she wants to make sure.

“He is.” She looks so overjoyed that you’re proud of her for thinking critically and asking an important question instead of simply accepting what she was told. Her growth and clever mind are not to be overlooked. “We have been very happy these last few weeks.”

“Good. Briac had been eager to come out and see you. He has missed training with your soulmate.” She grins. “His father found him practicing and he approves as well.”

“I am glad to hear of it.” Scooping two cups of warm wine out of the pot of the fire, you hand one to Arwena and sip from the other yourself. “We have missed your company. It is good to see you so happy, Wena.”

“Come spring, we are leaving.” She confides with a hint of mischief. “We would like to start fresh and live where no one knows my father.”

“That is a very brave thing for you to plan, if you are truly ready for it.” Instantly, you wonder if letting them go on their own is really wise – but Arwena isn’t your family, no matter how much you adore her. She isn’t your sister or your daughter or your niece or anything like it. Not even your ward. Only your very dear friend. “Have you chosen where yet?”

“Not yet, but we are thinking across the sea.” She admits, taking a sip of her warmed wine and sighing. “Perhaps you could steer us in a pleasing direction?”

“Come springtime, Pero and I may be traveling north,” you admit, sitting back against your worktable when Binx jumps up to come and sit between you and your guest. Two people to pet her is better than one. “It would be safer to travel in numbers.”

“We could travel with you?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful. “It would give Briac time to learn more from Pero before we part ways.” Secretly, she wishes that all four of you could settle somewhere together, but she is practical.

“We will speak openly, the four of us, when the men come back inside.” Perhaps you won’t tell the teenagers everything, but enough. “You shall have friends to witness your marriage if you desire it.”

“That would be wonderful.” Arwena sighs happily, imagining someone being happy for her as she exchanged vows with Briac.

“There are many places to go where your father cannot reach you, but life will be difficult.” It’s important that Arwena and Briac understand what leaving will mean before they do it, but it is good that it can be you and Pero - people who care for them - to help them understand. “There is time enough between now and spring to be sure of your decision and to learn what you will need to survive. Our lessons will continue in earnest.”

Arwena nods. “I know life will be difficult, but it will be more so here. My father will still want to give me to his friends, and I will not make my soulmate sit by and watch that.”

“You are a very strong young woman.” You have thought so for years, but only in the last few months have you really seen how deeply in runs in her disposition. “And you know that we will continue to help you in any way that we can.”

“Thank you.” Arwena smiles at you and bites her lip before she leans in. “Briac said that Pero told him that he was to honor and cherish me. He does that but I think that it is very telling of your own honorable soulmate.”

“Pero is a good man.” And you will never say otherwise - you wouldn’t have even before you had fallen in love with him. “He greatly admired his father. I believe that advice comes from him.”

“His father must have been a very good man.” She murmurs wistfully. “Like I am hoping Briac to be to our children.”

“When you choose to have them, I am certain you will both be wonderful parents.” The sting it leaves in your heart is small, that you will never have the choice to bear your own children, but it is simply a fact of your life. Choosing not to dwell on it, you offer her a smile and sip your wine. “If you wish, I will teach you things you can do for the health of your babe when the time comes. It will be good to know them ahead of time.”

“That would be wonderful.” Arwena gushes in relief. “I am worried about such things.” She admits, biting her lip but she smiles at you. “Although with it being Briac’s, I would be brave.”

“There is reason to worry,” you won’t lie to her about that. “But there are things you can do to help the babe’s strength as it grows in your womb, and they are meant to help both you and the child survive. Birth will be very painful, Wena. But it will give you a wonderful blessing afterward.”

“I will take everything you teach me very seriously.” She promises. “I have— brought you something.” She whispers before she pulls a package out of her cloak and sets it on the table between you.

“That is so kind of you.” Your eyes drift between the package and Arwena’s face quizzically. “You did not have to bring anything specially, dear girl.”

“I think that you can use it more than my father could. He will not ever use it.” She rolls her eyes and grins as she nudges the cloth wrapped package towards you.

Looking between Arwena and the package does you little good as the girl is currently inscrutable. All you can do is now your head and pull the cloth wrapping back from the heavy package. “Wena…” Your gasp fills the cottage despite your hand going to your mouth. Inside the wrapped cloth is a heavy leather-bound book of - you discover - blank pages. Alongside it, a set of beautifully cut quills and a vial of ink powder have clearly never been used before. Everything is untouched, and looks to be extremely high quality. The kind of thing the magistrate might have been gifted but never know what to do with. “Sweet, sweet girl. They are stunning.”

“I know you would use them, and my father has had them for years.” She reaches out and touches one of the edges of the beautiful quills. “You deserve something to use your knowledge. You told me you can write.”

“I can.” Nodding, you carefully flip through the blank pages of the journal and offer her a smile. “I can write you the recipes of my tinctures and potions, and the things that will keep your future babies healthier in your womb. To take with you when we travel north.” A grimoire, is really what you are offering her, but you still have not revealed the complete nature of your magic to the girl.

“I did not mean for that.” Arwena protests softly. “I felt like you would enjoy being able to write.” She doesn’t want you to feel like you have to use it for her.

"I will enjoy it." It's an assurance, but it is also true. Keeping something for yourself is nice enough, but to be able to ensure Arwena is taken care of? That is far better, in your mind. "I will enjoy creating something that can be shared. Perhaps you will have a daughter to share it with one day, and she will know that her mother had a friend who cared for her very dearly."

Her sigh is soft and she reaches out to touch the back of your hand gently. “You are the greatest friend I could ever hope for.” She whispers softly. “I am eternally grateful that God send you to me.”

"I wished for my whole life to have a younger sister," you tell her honestly, turning your hand over to clasp hers tightly in both of yours. "Sometimes when you visit, or even when you were my pupil, it is a hopeful dream to think that she may have been like you."

“I wish that were true, but you are my sister in my heart.” She promises you with a bright smile. “And that is not something I take lightly.”

"Nor I." Ringing your arms around her, you are sitting and embracing Arwena tightly when the cottage door swings open to let your soulmates inside. Pero is carrying a barrel of ale that he sets along the far wall, and Briac is carrying a large sack full of other goods that he begins to unpack beside the ale. "All is well, gentlemen?" You flash them both a smile, glad to see that they have just been laughing. It is still etched on their faces.

“It is good.” Pero winks at you before he turns to Briac. “Go warm yourself with some wine before I test those skills you are bragging about boy.”

"In a moment." Beckoning for both men to join you, you sit apart a little just to let Binx between you and Arwena. "Arwena and I have something we would like to talk to you both about."

“Hmmm.” Pero moves over to the pot himself and ladles out two cups of wine before he walks over to the table. He takes your cup and gives you the new one before he takes a sip of the cup you had in front of you.

It's useless to argue that he was just outside in the cold so he should have the warmer drink - Pero will only insist on you having the small luxury anyway - so you just smile and sip your drink in peace. "Wena says that they intend to leave Brittony in spring," you tell him. "And I wondered if it might not be wise for the four of us to travel together, since we spoke of journeying to Alba when the weather turned warm again."

His brow lifts and he looks over at the two younger soulmates. He doesn’t miss that the wine cup he had set down in front of Briac is now in Arwena’s hand while the boy has taken her cup. He hums and considers it. “We will need to find more horses.” He tells them. “Six are best. One for each of us and two more to use for supplies.”

You nod in agreement with the number of horses, deferring to his much larger knowledge of long-distance travel. "It would hearten them to have friends present at their marriage, and if they wish to begin their life together away from this place, then we can be their friends as well as their family on that day."

Pero nods seriously. “Then we shall witness their marriage and lift our cups in celebration.” He promises. “It might be mead, in a tavern, with bad food.” He huffs with a small smile on his face, clearly joking.

"It could always be a shared occasion." Arwena pipes up hopefully, studiously avoiding what she is sure is a glare from your direction. "Two marriages brings God twice as much joy."

“That would be cruel of us to steal your day.” Pero shakes his head. “As soulmates, you should be the sole owner of the joy.”

"Then we will travel with you long enough to witness your marriage as you witness ours." Briac is apparently just as enamored of the idea as Arwena is and picks up the thread immediately.

"We have not spoken yet of marriage." You have to cut in. You have to. The younger couple will never let it go if you do not, and you don't want the conversation to escalate in any way.

Pero is quiet, watching you as you quickly speak up. He will follow your lead on this, not going to force his own ideas on you in any way. Instead he just looks at the two younger soulmates.

“But….” Arwena’s expression morph to confusion. “You said you love him.”

“And I meant it entirely.” You insist, feeling like a giant spotlight has been put over you. Pero saying nothing is not helping, and you swallow harshly. “I did not say it was impossible, only that we have not spoken of it yet.”

“Not all soulmates wed.” Pero speaks up after a moment, hating the look on your face. “Sassenach may not believe in marriage or want to be viewed as my property.” He had listened when you had told him about modern day views on love and life. He understand that there are major differences between the two and he doesn’t want you adhering to the customs of day unless you want to. “That does not mean that I would not stand before any sword for her.”

Right now you would kill for this cottage to have a second room - just anywhere else you could go to have a private conversation that isn’t a snow covered tundra like outside is. The kids have completely dropped a bomb on you and you just wish that you could talk it out with him instead of feeling like the center of unwanted attention. Because the truth is that you had spent your whole life not having a soulmate at all - and so just never really thought about marriage as a part of your future.

Briac frowns slightly, obviously not understanding. “You do not wish to wed her? To have children?” He asks Pero, shaking his head and the mere thought.

Pero shakes his head. “I did not say I did not wish to wed.” He reminds the boy. “But - it should be your soulmate’s decision as well. If I force her to wed me, does that make me better than the bastard that sired your soulmate?” He doesn’t mention what you had told him, your barren state is not for him to talk about with others.

“Until we have had a chance to speak of it ourselves, I do not wish to discuss it more.” It’s probably - definitely - harsher than you need to sound, but you feel a little panicked and genuinely aren’t sure what else to say. The only conversations that you’ve had about the future with Pero are about whether or not he will try to walk through the Stones with you — but if he does that, is that not an almost bigger acceptance of a life together than a medieval clasping of hands? Or is it the same in his mind? Do the two decisions even bare any resemblance to each other at all? You simply cannot tell anymore. “My apologies…it is…it is not a simple prospect to consider.”

Briac looks panicked that you are upset at him and quickly nods. “My apologies for speaking out on things that are not my place.” He offers, not wanting you to be cross with him or Wena.

“Enthusiasm is a virtue, Briac. All is well.” Causing the young man to panic with worry would not help anything, and it certainly wouldn’t make their next visit easier.

“I think we have warmed ourselves long enough.” Pero’s hand on his own thigh moves over to yours and he gives it a reassuring squeeze as he drains the last of the wine in the cup. “Let me see these skills of yours.” He flashes Briac a grin.

Watching the two men walk out the door again makes you feel like wanting to crumble, but Binx is at your side instantly, head butting your shoulder and meowing in a low, insistent tone. “Don’t you start with me too,” you tell the opinionated cat, smoothing her first under restless fingers anyway.

“What is wrong?” Wena stands and walks around the table to sit beside you and put her arm around your waist. “You can confide in me.”

“I know I can, dear girl.” The offer of comfort, though, is one you’re grateful for and you put your arm around her in turn. “I simply did not ever consider marriage a part of my future,” you tell her honestly. “For many years of my life I had no marks. No shared wounds at all.”

Wena frowns slightly, tilting her head in confusion. “How can that be? Pero is a mercenary. He must wear many scars from the years?” He must be better than good if he had not marked his body in battle.

“I did not have any marks until I came to this part of the world.” Clarity is everything here, and you shrug your shoulders. The actual explanation as to why would be too much to put on Arwena’s shoulders. “And then they appeared like wildfire. But still I had no expectation of ever meeting my soulmate. So marriage has always been far from my mind.”

“It must be different.” Arwena nods, not exactly grasping the entirety of it, but she squeezes your waist. “I am glad that you have found him. And that your confidence is showing.” She smiles. “Your hair looks very pretty tied back.”

“It is very different.” Though exactly how different should probably remain a mystery to her. “The world changes in mysterious and unexpected ways. Perhaps people come into our lives at the time they so for a reason.” When the most you can do is twist your fingers in your lap and nod again, you end up huffing at yourself. “And thank you. Pero—he— he prefers it this way.”

“He does not like to see you hide yourself.” She hums, very pleased that he is not opposed to your lack of sight in one eye.

“He is kinder than he thinks he is.” That is a commendation you can give easily. “And we do love each other.” As unorthodox as the situation is, it is still a happy one.

“That is good. You deserve it.” Wena doesn’t miss that the bath is still set up to the side of the hearth and she smirks. “I see you have been enjoying your tub. It is very sweet smelling in here.”

The laugh that escapes you is pure amusement. “It masks the smell of sex, then.”

Arwena giggles and gives you a knowing look. “Your advice has been very thoroughly used.” She admits, blushing furiously. “I— his touch is calming. I do not flinch away; I am eager for it.”

“Good. I am glad to hear it.” She had been so worried, so to hear that things are going well is a relief. “I will write the recipe for your tea in the book for you to keep, so that you may make it on your own. Being with child should be a choice, not forced upon you.”

“Briac will be relieved.” She confesses with a smile. “He wants to wait some time before we take the responsibility of children. We need to be able to feed ourselves first.”

“You are both much wiser than your years.” At their age, so many of their peers considered themselves full and capable adults that sometimes it alarmed you - your modern sensibilities still considered them kids, after all.

She beams at you and practically squirms in her seat at your praise before she looks towards your jars of herbs. “What would you like to teach me about today?” She asks eagerly.

“I do not think we will use the herbs today.” Following her eyes to your wall of storage jars, you make a decision there and then, right on the spot. Today will have truth to it, even if it is only a first step in that direction. “Choose a candle from the table and fetch it here. The one that calls to you the most, for any reason. You may like its shape or its colour or anything else about it.”

Arwena hums and looks over at the candles and spies a fat, waxy golden one. It seems like a good choice because she can see bits of herbs in it. She stands up and reaches for it to hand to you.

“Very good.” Exhaling deeply, you take the candle and set it down between you on the table. “I think today is a day for truth between us,” you tell her gently, making sure that she is paying attention and not letting her mind wander as young minds so often do. “If we are to call each other sister?”

“We look vastly different from each other, but yes, you are my sister in my soul.” Arwena proudly tells you.

“Then there is something you should understand.” This is a leap. A leap of faith and a trust that the girl will not run scared from your cottage never to return. But it feels like the right time. “You know why your father branded me a witch, yes?”

“Because he could not bend you to his will.” She was ashamed that she had believed the word of the man who had abused her. Or let him guide her interactions with you for so long.

“Yes.” Putting one hand over hers on the table, you give her fingers a reassuring squeeze and exhale again, steadying yourself for what might possibly be a bad reaction. “However…what he did not know? Is that he was correct.”

“You are not a witch.” Arwena shakes her head. “You are too kind. Too nice to be a witch.” Witches are supposed to be cruel, to steal souls on behalf of Satan.

“It is untrue that all witches are vile creatures.” There are some preconceptions that you’re going to have to break down. You know that. The historically Christian view of witches has been generally unkind for all of its history. “Sometimes they are people who simply wish to help and do it in ways that people find unconventional. And sometimes they are people who live happy lives in communion with what nature provides for them.”

Arwena bites her lip and thinks about what you are saying. “So- like the tonic you gave me, for- to cause the bleeding. Was it a spell?”

“In part.” You nod, glad that she is hearing you and simply denying or running scared. “While I made the tonic, I said a prayerful spell of words to give the medicine magic. To make it more powerful so that it would not fail you.”

“Is that—” she breaks off and bites her lip, almost fearful of asking the question. She swallows and meets your eyes. “Is that something you can teach me? So I can help others. Women like me?”

“I have never tried to teach anyone before.” In fact, you had never told anyone before. There was just something about Arwena that had always stood out to you, and that voice in the back of your mind thought that it might be this. “But I can try, if you are willing to be patient and practice.”

“I will practice. I swear it.” Her eyes are wide, hopeful. She had expected you to turn her down but she feels like this is something that she needs to learn. Like she’s always been drawn to you.

“Then the book I make you will be for your remedies and magic.” There’s a warmth to it that you can’t deny - a tightening in your chest that equals happiness. “A grimoire, they’re called.”

“A grimoire.” Arwena repeats, committing it to memory. “And maybe I can add to it, once we are on our own.” It’s thrilling, this excitement and intrigue to learn something that is forbidden. “I’ve always felt like I needed to be around you. It was why I wanted lessons.”

“Perhaps it is not only soulmates sent to each other by the powers of the world, but soul sisters as well.” A few years younger, Arwena had been eager for stories of the world and lessons on whatever you would teach her. It appears, even with magic, that her enthusiasm for learning has not waned.

“Perhaps.” She grins at you and motions. “Can you show me something? Anything?”

"Why do you think I asked you to fetch a candle?" Grinning a little when Binx jumps from the windowsill to your lap, one of your hands gently strokes her dark fur while you raise the other. With your pointer figure outstretched, you flick it in a curling motion toward the candle wick - letting your smile spread as it instantly flames to life.

“Oh!” Arwena jumps and claps her hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking in absolute shock and delight. She knows it would cause the men to come running and she doesn’t know if you’ve shared this with Pero. “Sassenach!” She gasps after she contains herself. “I-you— you—”

"Am a witch?" You laugh a little, relieved to see her react with delight instead of fear at every step. "Yes. For many years."

“That is astounding.” She leans forward and runs her hand over the top of the flame, practically giggling as it drifts with her hand. “Is that you?”

"It will behave as a perfectly normal flame once the candle is lit." Arwena's eyes are as bright as the candle and it helps you relax even further. "But once you master this, you will never need flint for your fires again."

“That is— most wonderful.” Arwena can’t help but think about how useful a skill like that would be. “This is what the priests are scared of? This is a gift from God.”

"There are always people who will abuse things meant for goodness and light," you remind her. "Your goal should always be balance. Never ask more from the elements than they are willing or able to give you. If you become greedy, there will be consequences." And unfortunately, the greed of man is pervasive everywhere.

“I live with a greedy man.” She nods solemnly. “I understand. It is only fair that things be balanced.”

"Do not be frustrated if it takes time to learn. It took me weeks." Blowing out the flame is easy enough, and you hold up your finger again. "Conjure the image of the flame in your mind, and imagine it being carried by the tip of your finger, then flick it at the candle wick."

“That is it?” She’s almost disappointed that it seems so simple. “That is all you do to make fire with your fingers?”

"It sounds simple." You could almost laugh at how upset she sounds that it isn't an overly complicated process. "But it will not be something you master instantly." Thinking about it for even a moment, though, you shrug. "Or, if you do? You are surely more powerful than I."

“Alright.” She straightens her spine and looks at the wick. “Imagine the flame, imagine it on my fingers and flick—” she thumps her fingers at the candle with no success.

"It would have been remarkable to get it the very first time," you assure her, not wanting Arwena to get discouraged. "Try it again, a little more slowly. Give yourself time to really picture the flame with your inner eye."

“Okay.” Arwena takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a second, conjuring up the mental image of a flame. She lifts her hand and flicks it at the candle as she opens her eyes and a tiny flame sparks but fizzles just as fast.

"Wonderful!" This time it is you gasping, absolutely delighted to see a spark happen so fast. "It took me a week to get that much and you got it on your second try!"

The praise makes her beam, nodding and taking another breath. “I can do this.” She promises you before she closes her eyes again to concentrate. This time, the flame it brighter, lasts longer as it shoots from her fingertip and lights the candle.

"Wena!" She did it. She actually did it. On no less than her third try. "You did it!" To conjure a successful flame so quickly you can only assume that Arwena actually is powerful than you. You weren't lying, after all. It had taken you weeks to learn to light a candle with your powers.

“Oh my god, I did it!” She stares at her finger, wide eyed surprise written on her face. She can’t believe that she actually did it.

“You’re a natural, I think.” There’s all the pride of a teacher in your voice, although you can’t claim any credit for her natural abilities. “There is power in you.”

“I cannot believe that I did that!” She squeals happily. It’s amazing and she feels powerful, ready to take on anything.

"Do you think you could do it again?" Consistency with this spell means that she and Briac will never be without a source of light and heat, which will make their journey that much easier.

“I can try.” She bobbles her head eagerly and stretching out her hand, forgetting that the candle is still lit. “Shit.” She hisses and imagines the flame coming from the candle to her fingertip. Immediately extinguishing the candle. Arwena gasps and looks at you in fright. “I—”

"You are a natural." The awe in your voice is no less delighted, and you reach to grasp her hand tightly in both of yours. "This is a good thing, Wena, I promise you. Magic is a gift."

“I can’t believe I did that!” She laughs, tears in her eyes are a mixture of surprise and happiness. “It is - I cannot explain it.”

"It is a powerful feeling, isn't it?" Laughing with her, the cottage fills with ringing joy in no time. "You will be outdoing me in no time."

"I don't know about that." Arwena flicks her fingers and the candle lights up again. "This is most useful and - I should tell Briac, shouldn't I? Have you- your soulmate, does he-" She breaks off and looks worried. "Does he accept you?"

“He accepts me entirely.” And even finds it a little sexy, if his reactions are anything to go by, but you’ll leave that out for now. “I would encourage you to tell Briac once you feel comfortable, but with the understanding that he may need time to adjust. As you know, dear girl,” you reach out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her excited face. “Witchcraft is a crime punishable by death.”

It is a very serious crime and she nods in acknowledgement of that. “I understand. I will be careful with what you teach me.” She swears, reaching out and clutching your hand. “I will wait for now.”

“Only you can know when your time is right,” you tell her, squeezing her hands back. In a show of feline solidarity you don’t think you’ve ever seen before, Binx sits her outstretched paw on top of your hands and meows warmly, making you chuckle. “I think my familiar may come to visit you on occasion. Just to see how you are faring.”

“Familiar?” She cocks her head curiously, unfamiliar with the term. “What does that mean?” The cat seems as if she is following along with the conversation, like she understands what you are talking about.

"The Church says that familiars are minions of the Devil, but she isn't." Scratching gently behind Binx's ear, you're rewarded with a rolling purr and anyone at all would call her expression a smile. "She is my helper. Sometimes fetching ingredients, sometimes keeping watch for me. She even hunts, bringing us meat before Pero came to find himself at my cottage door."

Arwena smiles at the affection between you and the cat. “She is very loyal to you.” She observes, reaching out and stroking Binx’s back. The cat meows in agreement and her eyes close, still purring as she accepts her pets as her due.

“And she will be to you. Won’t you, Binx?” Eyeing the cat reminds her that it is more than a suggestion and she all but rolls her eyes at you. “Good,” you murmur, amused with the response. “Just making sure.”

Arwena hums, thinking on what you have said and she nods. “I wish to learn all you can teach me. Maybe it will explain these urges that I have to do different things.”

“Urges?” That could be any number of things, especially if one is the urge to slap the shit out of a bunch of idiot villagers.

Arwena gives a bashful smile, ducking her head down slightly. “I - I talk to the flowers. Trees. It seems natural. Like they listen and respond to my voice.”

Considering her - small memories of your moments together years ago come back as you u sit together. The warmth you felt when you first encountered the young teen, like you had reunited with a friend instead of meeting someone new. The time you were ushered into the front room of her home to find her sitting in front of the fire as it flickered and danced for her. The summer she spent with flowers always threaded through her hair like a prototype for Shakespeare’s Ophelia before any of the tragedy hit. “Then you were a witch long before today.” You tell her without hesitation. “We are only expanding your abilities.”

“You believe that?” She asks softly, looking up again into your good eye. She doesn’t flinch from the damage to the other, the cloudiness almost beautiful in a way. You’re still beautiful despite the damage her father had inflicted on you and there’s a layer of guilt that settles in her belly that if she had known she was a witch, if she had practiced, she might have been able to help you save your sight.

“I do.” You nod, reaching for her hand and gratefully not missing so you can give it a squeeze. “And not all witches share the same talents. You may be able to do things that I cannot, and that will be a wonderful thing to discover.”

“I wonder what it might be, my talent.” She muses with a dreamy smile.

“I would say you have a talent with fire, but it sounds as if the elements respond to you very well in general.” Seeing her happy is such a blessing, and it is happening more and more. “Before too long you may be able to grow anything you need.”

“That would be wonderful.” She knows that growing food is necessary, but she’s never been allowed to have more than a small garden in the front of the house to make her father seem more important.

“But you cannot make something out of nothing. If you wish for roots, you must have one already that you can imbue with magic. Flowers and trees from seeds. Fruits from their berries or seeds.” That’s something you learned the hard way - months If trying to conjure items ending in bitter frustration every single time. “Everything in balance.”

“Balance.” She intones seriously, taking that to heart. “I understand.” She nudges the journal towards you and earns and snort of unhappiness from Binx when it takes attention off her. “Maybe you can write these things down.”

“I can do that.” The vial of dry iron gall that was packaged with the book and quills will need water, and you stand from the table to fetch the neglected end of a cup of chamomile tea from last night. The flowers will do nothing to the formula or color, but it is water readily available. “Hand me that empty jar,” you ask, pointing to the shelf in back of Arwena. “It will do for an ink pot.”

During the few minutes it takes to get set up, Arwena amuses herself by flicking the candle on and off, experimenting to see if she can make the flame grow to a flare or diminish to barely a spark. The breadth of options delights her and you end up laughing to yourself as you begin to scratch out the first page of the grimoire that she will take with her when the winter is over and the journey to Scotland sets her on a new path:

Balance is the key.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom    

SatS: @canadianmaebe @badassbaker @od-ends @amneris21 @padbrookcottage @chaoticfestninja @xdaddysprincessxx @mostclevermiss @im-sylien @wherethewildfanlives @ficsbynight @djarinsimp @ellenmunn @jediknight122 @under-the-seas @wellaintthatsumthin @sarahbellesaurus @roxypeanut @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bruxasolta @kaylay2187 @freshlemontea @humanransome-note @virtualanchortimetravel @leoisme @do-not-go-gently-42 @catsandgeekyandnerd @happypalaceroadpie @ghoulpatroul @lizzystorm48 @imoutoid @rainbeaubrightchild @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @dudelorian @thirddeadlysin @piratesangel @jazzieomega @iceclaw101 @strangegirl32 @lights-on-the-ridge @godofbadass8909 @pann-malii @littleone65 @notyouraveragemochii @shawdowolf993 @rebel-fanfare @rav3n-pascal22 @love93sstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @aurelac-heart @we-could-have-been @bilibiche @prettydull180 @dinoflower @my-life-as-a-bird @tuquoquebrute @damnitjaskier @fishingforpike @sherlock221b114679797 @sainteredhood @nekodemon73 @missredherring @middlemichi @moonflower91 @rachelle-on-the-run @miscellaneousfangirling @danamercury @hyacinthsatdawn @i-am-amora-the-enchantress @milkandoil @generalplaidhorseherring @raptorclaw24 @mrsparknuts

My Masterlist!

[girlstacian]

The meaning of Sukuna Unwanted Child Theory

Why is Sukuna an Unwanted Child or Born cursed? and what does it/he mean?

Well...it could mean a looot...anything!

Let me state some theories here as briefly as possible. which may or may not have happened. Or are almost close?

1. His parents fell in love (which was perhaps very rare and never seen before) one parent was human and the other was a human-like curse creature like Mahito etc (Shit happens xD) Then she realized she was pregnant, couldn't believe it because it was supposedly impossible but the baby inside her wasn't growing normally or rather it was not a normal child and was very dangerous. Surrounded with darkness & curses, cuz her body/she didn't feel very well at all. Because it is not a human but not a real curse either. Something new was created! (The Fearsome Womb)

2. His shitty parents cursed their own child or someone cursed their Child? (For their stupid rituals or Whatever the reason might be?) if it was his own parents then no wonder...I mean look at him, he's scary and everyone gets scared to death even his own parents! I don't know if it's a deformity or a disability or not? But they were shocked or not what they expected! And if they were Twins and the Twin Theory is true? then twins weren't wanted, a bad omen, also not on their wishlist! (Maybe they want a child who was beautiful, strong & a noble man who will become a warrior?) For their honor or some shit like that? (Or just a normal kid like everyone else has?)

3. When his parents (regardless of whether they were human or not it doesn't matter now) When he was left alone somewhere or maybe even given away to someone (regardless of his look or a twin). Only one thing comes to mind! The Monks/Cult/Buddhism! Did they find him or did they grow him up? Because monks would take in anyone who was abandoned, no matter what they looked like. Monks and nuns are very wise, helpful and they don't care who is good or bad. It doesn't matter to them! It is said that everyone has to make a decision and find/go their own ways ☯️ or something like that. (Maybe they were even a completely different kind of monk) mysterious, grim, or even evil?

4. But the next Theory could be shocking! His mother could also have become pregnant not through love but r@pe? Creepy human-like curse creature had a crush on a human woman or didn't have a crush on her but stalked her and then r@ped her. That could also be the reason why she didn't want this hideous creature, her child. (But they all talking about Love? Gojo is talking about Love, has something to do with a curse? also Yorozu is talking about Love and so on) 🤷‍♀️ It also could mean differently (the strongest, power) 💪 the love of fighting like Son Goku etc xD

5. Or Kenjaku has something to do with all of this shit. By manipulating everyone or even being personally involved? And once again, as always experimenting also one of his family tree of maniacs had already tried it back then? Or he wanted to imitate and copy this rarity but failed and had to find a woman who is able to do that too without any problems. (The Perfect Womb Hybrid) or something like that?

6. Idk...His parents just dumb/stupid/full of shit with a weird looking child full of maniacs. Lmao clear and simple 😂 that's all

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 7 Minagoroshi pt. 18

Should I refer to these as Watanagashi hijinks, since it’s after midnight and all? Guess that’s the age old question isn’t it, is it actually a new day when twelve midnight rolls around? Or is it only a new day when you go to sleep and wake up?

Considering their plan is literally called Operation Doomsday what really does it matter if the time of death for Miyo Takano doesn’t quite add up? I wonder why the people in charge of the research into Hinamizawa Syndrome decided Tomitake had to die? Was it just a cover so they could pin the suspicion on Irie and the Irie Clinic, or was there some deeper motive to taking him out? Is it really just the rogue element of those in charge of the entire operation, financially and otherwise, just decided they wanted to take out members of the other faction? Such speculation unfortunately will have to remain that way for the foreseeable future, I don’t recall if they ever bring up Tomitake, and the motives behind his death for the remainder of the chapter.

I also don’t know if they really delve into what the eighteen specific classified documents Takano was meant to secure are. I think it’s fair to assume that they’re to do with the research into Hinamizawa Syndrome that she and Irie had compiled in the years they’d been running the institute. But again I’m not sure if they ever really go into specifics in this chapter. I think it’s just the body of research they’d made over the past few years, but I don’t remember specifically at the moment.

Since the Mountain Dogs/Takano are responsible for propagating the myth of Oyashiro I do wonder if this means they are the ones responsible for the disappearance of Satoshi. Also if they’re the ones behind it all, does that mean that they actually killed Tamae Houjou? It stands to reason since Takano at the very least is behind trying to spread the legend of Oyashiro that would explain how Rika’s dad died of a “mysterious disease.” She mentions when she injected Tomitake that there’s a chance at the highest levels of infection with H173 that he could become disabled for life. It doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a terminal infection that shuts down one or more major organs, but there’s a chance that’s what it could do.

My theory now is that Takano, and the Mountain Dogs, are responsible for at least three of the five years worth of Watanagashi killings/disappearances. There’s proof that the first killing was just a drunken argument that escalated far beyond reasonability. The only year I’m not certain on is the second years sacrifices of Satoko and Satoshi’s parents. It makes sense on paper that they’d be responsible there as well, but I’m just unclear on the motive, or when exactly Takano got control of the Mountain Dogs (due to information read in Chapter Eight: Matsuribayashi I estimate it happened around 1981). Why the Houjous had to goujou makes sense, it’s playing on the long-standing idea that the Houjou family were traitors to Hinamizawa. But again, this is just speculation on my part, I don’t believe it actually gets into the details as yet.

I know that it said Takano wanted to dump the bike along with Tomitake. But I like to imagine she dumped him wherever, drove a bit and got into a comically exaggerated fiasco of getting the bike out of her car before just flinging the damn thing away, going “good enough” and meeting up with her military contacts. Not every thought I have regarding this series is a serious well thought out thing, sometimes I like to imagine the characters having to bumble their way through stupid scenes. Or I’ll have a thought about “which character from another franchise would I imagine stuck in the Hinamizawa time loop?” The only one that really came to mind was Alan Wake, and I can’t really justify why. But at the time I just thought it was hilarious thinking of Alan just waking up being forced to deal with all the goings-on within Hinamizawa and just blasting someone away with his revolver. I should probably finish Alan Wake 2…

I do occasionally wonder if some of these confirmations are only there to make sure everyone is more or less caught up to speed? Based on previous interactions when Ooishi has Irie look at Tomitake’s body, did anyone really believe Irie actually knew nothing? Although, based on Irie’s internal monologue here I can’t help but wonder, when did they make H173? Going off of other information it must have been a relatively recent invention, because up until Takano and Irie started their research on it in earnest it was implied that there wasn’t much to go on in terms of Hinamizawa Syndrome. Just the research journals of Hifumi Takano, and precious little else. I believe they mention it towards the end of the chapter that the Clinic got a hold of the ringleader of the first dam murder, and they were able to do some research on the parasite that way, but I don’t recall them mentioning having a way to weaponize it at that point. So it must have been sometime between 1981 and 82, right? Or maybe I’m just pulling dates and times out of thin air, and I’m entirely off-base.

It’s true, in Meakashi/Watanagashi he does show up and interact more with Shion than he did the others. He also talked with Keiichi a bit, but he tried to get information from Shion after the disappearance of Satoshi Houjou.

I can’t help but wonder, in these timelines when Ooishi suspects Rika, does he actually think Rika did the deed? Or does he think she just ordered someone to carry it out for her? Perhaps maybe she had someone from the Sonozaki group carry it out? Because if it’s the former we all know that alternate universe Tomitake and Takano got away alive because Rika is a terrible assassin.

It sure is a wild coincidence though that Ooishi is instantly overcome with doubt about the situation with Takano and Tomitake. Professional skepticism for the fact that “Takano’s” body was in fact someone who died a day before it was found?

[pancake-breakfast]

I'm not usually this awake at this hour, but sometimes one gets a migraine, and even having the massive spoilers I have for this volume, I'm finding others trickling in, so let's get through a bit more of this before I have to attend morning work meetings.

I'm a profeshunal.

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 10, Chapters 4-5 below.

Chapter 4: Death Omen

As if we haven't had enough death omens since... like... volume 2 of the original manga....

Am I gonna get to watch these two move in beautiful tandem for a fight again? Please say yes.

What are you talking about, Vash? This is the perfect time for reminiscing!

You're gonna do what now, Wolfwood? My dude, don't be prideful here. That already almost got you killed once in this volume. Just let Vash help you.

THAT'S RIGHT, YOU TELL HIM VASH!!! Not like Wolfwood could stop Vash from helping, anyway.

Ohhh, shit, we're gonna go there now, are we? *deep breaths*

What a time for Vash to remember this scene. Strange that this is what he thinks of when he thinks about how close they've become. But perhaps that's when he realized how much Wolfwood genuinely cared about him. Also, I love how this memory interjects this sudden quietness in what's a very chaotic scene.

Vash is thinking about all the things Wolfwood has told him about why Wolfwood kills. As tragic as it might be, sometimes there are things one can only protect using extreme measures. One should always seek alternate solutions, if one can, but sometimes that's just not an option.

I'd bet good money that what Vash is specifically debating here is what extremes he's willing to go through to protect Wolfwood.

Yeah. There it is.

Heh, we get that line, and then we have Vash catch Wolfwood in almost an embrace. You can't tell me Nightow didn't know what he was doing here.

Ohhh, he can sense it in Wolfwood's body. His mans is not doing good.

This... this isn't the in-tandem fighting I wanted to see.

They've awoken angry protector Vash.

Man, he almost headshot Razlo. I feel like that might be the closest Raz is gonna get to a warning shot.

Hahahahaha, I was under the impression it was Wolfwood telling Vash to destroy someone in this panel. It just doesn't seem like something Vash would say. But they done really pissed him off.

Wolfwood gets how much he means to Vash here, too. Finally, these idiots understand each other, but... of course, it's a bit late in the game, isn't it.

Heh. Wolfwood's gonna give Raz an appropriate dressing down from his older brother.

Raz doesn't buy it.

The third arm is still stupid, but the layout of this panel is bomb.

That's so many bullets. Raz is getting his ammo from the same nebulous void that generates the unending ammo in Hellsing.

I always love seeing Wolfwood use the Punisher as a shield instead of a gun. There's something about the subversion of its intended purpose that just hits the right spot for me.

Chapter 5: Final Battle

This chapter title sucks. How dare it be the final battle. There are still four volumes to go....

Oof, there go Wolfwood's sunglasses. Matrix rules say he's in for it now.

Shoot, the gun didn't fire. But... does the Punisher even fire that way??

Raz makes Wolfwood look so small...

Did Wolfwood just disable one of Raz's Punishers?

Damn, kicking the empty magazine into Raz's chest is a crazy move.

RIP dumb metal arm. A very good tactical move since it's the one arm Raz can't regenerate.

Vash is just... watching. He knows this is what Wolfwood wants, but he doesn't look the least bit happy with this situation.

I'm not sure if it's Raz or Wolfwood speaking here, but if it's Raz, he sounds like someone who's trying to keep themselves psyched up when they're very clearly losing. If it's Wolfwood, then Wolfwood is just taunting him, since he's clearly already taken the upper hand.

Who knows what's happening in this panel. I assume they're sparring with the Punishers like they're giant swords.

So many bullets....

Heh, Wolfwood's using the ammo belt itself as a weapon.

I appreciate how the Punisher's diminishing stability here reflects Wolfwood's physical state. He's going down, but goshdarn, if he isn't making use of every resource at his disposal, even if it's in very non-traditional ways, to make sure he gets the job done.

Dang, he done fucked Raz up.

LOL, Raz gets it. Bit late, bro.

Seems like the only thing that's incensing Raz more than the thought of dying to Wolfwood is the thought of not dying to Wolfwood. That Wolfwood might show him mercy in the end.

Or maybe he just doesn't want to go out via something as simple as a punch to the face.

That'll do for now. I'll save the rest of the pain for... later....

Archive

Trigun Vol. 1: Covers + 1-3, 4, 5-6, 7-8, 9-10 || Vol. 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Vol. 1: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 2: Covers + 1, 2-4, 5, 6-7 || Vol. 3: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-7 || Vol. 4: Covers + 1-2, 3-5, 6-7 || Vol. 5: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 6: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 7: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 8: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5 + Bonus || Vol. 9: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 10: Covers + 1-3

Extra Credit: Trigun Vol. 1: Nebraska vs. Vash's Motivations, Vash's Loneliness, Vash's Depression (pt 2 of post), Soupy Brains || Vol. 2: Coin Factoids || TriMax Vol. 1: Lina, Vash, and a Haircut || Meryl, Vash, and the Pursuit of Happiness || Vol. 5: Knives, Vash, and Hatred for Humanity || Vol. 6: Coping Series: Wolfwood, Meryl, Vash || Vol. 8: The Uncoordinated Counterattack || Vol. 9: Justice, Punishment, and Mercy, The Tolling of an Iron Bell

[fumikosushi]

Mentions of parental death under cut.

I haven't really talked to that many people about all the things that have gone on surrounding my mom's death. I talked to maybe two people, but not a whole lot. I have a hard time talking to people directly about the things I'm going through (trauma has led me to having difficulty confiding those things in others, but I'm trying to do better). For now, the easiest way for me to do that is just by making a post where I throw things into the void.

Even before my mom passed away, my family was being absolutely horrible. My sister, my mom's sister, her brother, and the man she was staying with were just fucking awful. I would also like to point out that none of these people had anything to do with her until she was dying. My sister visited not once while we lived here for 10+ years until she heard my mom was dying. My brother visited some and with his it's different because his schedule doesn't allow it, but my sister flat out refused to speak to my mom unless she could con my mom into giving her drug money (for crack and heroin). My sister drained my mom's bank account this way, mind you. Took advantage of my mom's desire to help her to try and be a good mom and my sister lied to her for drug money.

When they were here the few days before she passed people treated both her and myself terribly. With me, it was nothing new. My family has already been pretty fucking awful. My only real problem with my brother is his refusal to acknowledge anything that happened being fucked up, but I still might end up opting into going no contact with him too like I have my father and sister.

The entire time I was there, even though I was literally silent and minding my own business, I was just.. bullied the whole fucking time. My sister and my mom's sister would whisper to each other while looking at me and laugh or they would try and say things to provoke or gaslight me into a reaction (I never gave them the reaction they wanted). My mom's brother spent the whole time drunk and fighting with people. Again, I constantly have comments made about me despite the fact I literally never spoke unless spoken to. Even then, I didn't say much.

There was a point where my mom wasn't really responsive. You know, she wasn't really.. there. Like she was alive, but she was literally skin and bones with next to no meat or fat left on her body. She couldn't speak. You could hear her struggling for air. What does my sister do? She calls my dad who horribly abused her for years and lets him just say what he wants in her ear while she's unable to respond and literally fucking dying. Like.. who makes someone listen to someone who help ruined their life as they're dying? That's just.. sick. I genuinely feel as though my mother died feeling completely unloved. I won't lie. I honestly can't believe that she didn't and it fucking sucks because it haunts me. Like, how is she supposed to feel loved when she's suffering so much and everyone around her is just continuing to abuse her? These people couldn't even respect her after she died either.

We still haven't had a service for her. Her brother is in charge and that always means whatever he's in charge of? It's never happening. He's always too busy getting plastered and telling everyone how shit and terrible they are like he's even the slightest bit delightful to deal with himself. Not to mention.. my mom's abuser has her ashes (the guy she was staying with) and he refuses to let me have any of her ashes. I feel like if anyone deserves to have them, it's me - I'm the only one who has ever been here for her. But no, of course, I'm being fucked over and not included in anything. If they have a service, I'm sure I'm not even going to be invited. I am so tired of being hated by these people just for existing as a disabled person (this is literally why they hate me - they're all ableist af and don't believe disabilities exist).

So I go to my boyfriend's to try and deal with all of this and my mom's abuser is whining at me to hurry up and send photos of my mom I took from her house like he has ever given me what he owes me. My mom's ashes. I told the guy I'd do it when I got back to keep the peace, but God, I already know it doesn't matter how civil I am despite hating these people. I will still be excluded. So I've decided to give them diddly fucking squat. I lost a fuck ton of things to do with my mom because I couldn't afford a truck for her things. No one could find it in their heart to just help me move anything (my place is literally 10 minutes away from hers) and we would have paid them back too! But no. No help. So I lost 90% of my mother's belongings because they're all in the fucking dump now because the landlady threw everything away before I could get a truck.

And like.. the day my mom died my siblings were just like "aye we're leaving" not hours later and I'm just like ??? That's so.. crazy. Our mom just died and you're just.. gonna go back to South Carolina?? Like yall aren't gonna make sure I'm okay or nothing? Just "oh yeah, here's the tv mom left" and then you fuck off? These people baffle me.

I'm home now and tbh I'm still not okay at all and God, I don't want anyone to tell me shit like 'it gets better' or whatever because I'm so tired of hearing it. As I said, I just needed to throw my feelings into the void. I'm not wanting some pity party or whatever. This isn't even everything going on right now, but this is the stuff to do with my mom.

[dirtytransmasc]

please, talk more about Tsu'tey's disabilities. How does our brave (and very much alive) warrior cope?

so this is going on the observation that he was only shot in the upper-middle chest, and that he survived the fall due to hitting trees and brush on the way down. spoiler warning, he's so fucked up its not even funny, he means it when he says he wishes Jake just let him die.

first and foremost, he's got fibromyalgia, I don't make the rules (yes I do, and I'm projecting, cause if I have it, he can have it too). fibro is a chronic pain and fatigue caused by traumatic events on the body, mentally or physically, and is often found in soldier/warriors, people who have suffered traumatic injuries or infections, and people with ptsd; tsu'tey is 3 for 3.

this means he has widespread pain from the aching muscle pain to the stabbing of nerve pain, fatigue that makes functioning difficult, brain fog, stiffness, sensitivity (to light, sound, touch/pain, etc.), and mental health issues.

the damage to his lungs from taking multiple chest shots makes him more breathless than the fatigue did. he gets a lot of chest pain and dry coughing fits, and if he really pushes himself he tends to cough up blood (which really scares spider)

because his wounds got infected pretty horribly he has long-term immunocompromisation, and particularly lung sickness (especially due to the above).

the blood loss, tissue death, and muscle loss from the injury and bed rest equals more pain more weakness and more feeling like shit. his entire body was poorly oxygenated do to the blood loss meaning he suffers all sorts of organ issues, including brain damage. it's what makes the day to day so hard. being laid up in the infirmary caused all the muscle he had honed to be a good warrior and chief to die off. he lost so much of himself so quickly and it's something he can never truly gain back.

the fall also fucked him up, breaks and fractures to heal from, more trauma to his already haywire nervous system.

all of the above gives him horrible mobility and mental health issues; horrific, paralyzing depression, paired with insomnia, PTSD, nightmares, panic attacks. main problem is, he tries to push through his issues, trying to 'break past them' further breaking himself. he hates himself and his life, he hates his body and his mind. he hates everything. he doesn't do his physical therapy, he just tries to jump back into life like it was before the accident. he sinks to a depression that knows no match, he cycles through different forms of pushing himself to far, self harming as punishment, over and over again until he's more broken that he began. he doesn't cope, not for the first few years; he becomes a secluded bastard that hates everything.

that is until spider starts taking to him and he's forced to exist, to go slower, to have fun.

he starts wearing his respirator (it purifies air and offers a little bit of support to his lungs) when he needs it, cause the coughing makes the kid worry. he paces himself so the kid can keep up and so that way he has the energy to take care of him, protect him, even love him by a certain point. the kid serves as physical and occupational therapy, bringing tsu'tey out of the pit he dug himself into and lets him actually start healing. he has to train with weapons again, starting at the easy stuff, to train the kid. he has to show him the ropes of the forest slowly, building up in advancement, so the smaller human can keep up. he has to smile and indulge the kids need for play and affection, ultimately opening him back up.

as he attatches to the kid he finds himself worried about him, spider needed a positive role model, especially as spider started to understand his own limitations, disabilities, he didn't want spider to be anything like he had. so he starts letting people help him, if only fractionally, so he can start making himself someone spider can look up to.

when spider befriends the viperwolf tsu'tey ends up forming the "gruff disabled dad who didn't want the dog, but then they end up being friends and the dog helps him move cope with his disability" (I watched that happen between my dog and my grandpa and it's so sweet). he has to take the thing on walks (no he doesn't), needs to go out into the woods when spider doesn't come down from high camp to make sure it's ok (he also doesn't have to do that either), needs to give it company so it doesn't get lonely without spider (even tsu'tey knows he doesn't need to do that, sue him)

by the time spider is 16 and s trained warrior under tsu'tey, the man has healed as much as one can, it had been about 11 years of the two of them stuck together. tsu'tey is still very much disabled, but his minds in a better place about it, he stops trying to be who he was and rather who he can be now. he tries to be who spider needs him to be, because his opinions the only one that really matters anymore (Jake can go to hell [affectionate])

the one thing tsu'tey had truly lost to the war was his ability to love and have kids. he had sylwanin taken from him, his soulmate. he didn't want to be with neytiri but was willing to take her as his mate, but even she was taken from him. with no role in the village he was not mandated to mate, and he really had no interest. he didn't want someone who wasn't sylwanin, so he gave up on that and the prospect of children; even if the one thing he wanted in life was being a father. it killed him to let go of that dream, and he's sure that was part of why the depression got so bad. but now he had spider, his spirit child, and it saved his life.

[thelibrarylesstrektraveled]

Breathe Free (Part Two)

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He’d seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn’t about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he’s not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5873

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well… down sick for 2 ½ weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I’ve not been able to produce anything in months. So this… this is a fucking triumph!! I’m still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I’ll get there… eventually :) I’m hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week… ish.

Thank you all for the continued support! Additional Notes: Still hanging in there, long covid is a bitch, but it does improve. More or less. I am SO happy with myself that I’ve finished a story! Even a little self-indulgent two parter. As always, thank you all! Your kind words and encouragement have really helped me. Love you guys :) Masterlist Breathe Free (Part One)

     Hospitals were noisy places.  Filled with squeaking wheels, scuffling shoes, and code calls.  The ICU was worse with its beeping monitors and hissing ventilators.  The constant stream of nurses and doctors talking in hushed concern about things like hypoxia and bradypnea and other terrifying medical babble.

     This wasn’t the first time Dean sat beside someone he cared about while they lingered between life and death.   He was a hunter; it came with the gig.  Broken bones and bullet holes.  The waiting and the worrying were pure hell, and he would know.  It was the reason he was so quick to put himself in the line of fire.  Not just to save a life, but to spare himself the agony of the wait.  Minutes that ticked by endlessly, ratcheting up the uncertainty.  Underscoring just how powerless he was.

     Never did it cross his mind that illness would snatch you away from him.  That you would simply get sick, like a normal person.  Pneumonia could be dangerous for anyone, but for someone with asthma, it could be deadly.

     You were sedated for three days while the ventilator breathed for you and gave your body a chance to rest and heal.  The doctors assured him that it was standard procedure, but damn was it intense.  Dean had never seen you look so fragile.  So pale.  You looked as if you could slip away at any moment, the only thing keeping you tethered to the Earthly realm were the wires and tubes attached to your body.   

     Dean took your hand.  He wondered about your soul.  Were you here with him?  Watching from somewhere nearby?  Or were you negotiating with a reaper?  Would you bargain for more time, or would you choose heaven?  A soul like yours was guaranteed a ticket to the penthouse. 

     It was in times like this that he cursed his profession.  What good was a lifetime’s worth of supernatural knowledge if he couldn’t use it to save you?  God knows he tried.  He tried every trick in the book, in the end it was Sam who talked sense into him.

     “She doesn’t need you to sell your soul Dean!  She just needs you.  Be there, hold her hand, tell her it’s going to be okay.  Let her know she isn’t alone.”

Sammy was right, as he usually was.  The nurses said you’d shown enough improvement that they were taking you off the ventilator today.  As much as Dean wanted to believe it, he was cautious in his optimism. 

     He was so wrapped up in his own worry that he didn’t notice your fingers shifting against his palm.  Your eyelids fluttered, then went still.  It was so slight, that Dean thought he’d imagined it. 

     He desperately searched your face and held his breath.  God please…

“Y/N?”

     A few seconds later you did it again, this time you gave his hand a proper squeeze and Dean felt like his heart was going to burst. 

     He squeezed back, his other hand coming up to brush your cheek, “Y/N… baby, can you hear me?”

     After several tries, you finally managed to open your eyes fully.  Exhausted, you looked around the room.  When your gaze landed on Dean, he smiled.  You tried to say his name and when you couldn’t, you panicked!  Choking on the tube shoved down your throat, your eyes went wide.

     “Hey!  It’s okay!  You’re in the hospital, Sweetheart.  Just stay calm.  We’ll get that tube out, let me go get the nurse.”

     He stood and your grip became desperate.  And strong.  Incredibly strong.  Tears trickled from the corners of your eyes as you tried to convey your thoughts.  You were wide awake, and you needed him.  Relief washed over him; no reapers would come knocking today. 

     “Okay, okay.  Shh…” he sat beside you and pressed a kiss to your forehead while his free hand hit the call button.  “I’ve got you; I’ve got you.  I’m not going anywhere.”

     Sam was walking down the corridor towards the ICU rooms with two large coffees balanced in one hand.  You were only allowed one visitor at a time, so he and Dean took turns.  Although, Dean always came back early.  And he begged the nurses to let him stay past visiting hours.  Sam got the impression they felt sorry for him, but knowing Dean, he would have found a way around the rules one way or another.

     When Sam saw his brother in the hallway, he quickened his pace.  He was leaning against the wall, bent at the waist with his hands braced on his knees. 

     “Dean?  What happened?  What’s going on?”

     Dean raised his head, sniffling back emotion, “She’s awake.  They’re… ah… they’re taking out that tube.”

     Sam caught the glossy sheen in Dean’s eyes.  He clapped a hand on his shoulder, “That’s fantastic.  Dean, that’s great.”

     Dean nodded and pulled Sam into a brief, tight hug then released him and took a coffee. 

     “Good thing you talked me out of selling my soul, huh?’

     You weren’t really sleeping when Sam and Dean walked into your new room in the regular section of the hospital.  But every muscle in your body was so taxed that even keeping your eyes open was an effort.  There was an oxygen mask covering your nose and mouth, but it was far more comfortable than that damn ventilator tube.  You were cold too, but that was part of being in a hospital.  It was all so familiar and disheartening.

     The squeak of the door prompted you to open your heavy eyes and you smiled.  The Winchesters were there, a welcome contrast of denim and flannel against the sterile hospital décor.  They had arms filled with gifts; balloons, books, a bag of watermelon Jolly Ranchers, and the biggest arrangement of flowers you’d ever seen.  Dozens of roses, hydrangeas, and snapdragons.  

     “Flowers.”

     Your voice was a raspy whisper behind the mask, but it still made Dean beam brightly. 

     “Hell yeah, Sammy and I bought out every white flower they had.”  He set the massive vase down on the table.  “They’re your favorite, right?”

     You nodded, tracing a finger over the edge of one perfect bloom.  You had a late-night debate with him eons ago about how white couldn’t be your favorite color because it wasn’t really a color.  It’s a shade.  Technically, it was a sum of all possible colors.  Hence, the debate.

     Sam pulled out a stuffed a huge, stuffed moose from behind his back.  It was impossibly soft with floppy antlers and was wearing one of his flannel shirts tied in place with a white velvet bow.

     You laughed, “Aww!  A… Win..chester of… my own.”

     Sam’s throat got tight as the halting cadence of your words.  Even with the oxygen, you were out of breath.  He leaned down and hugged you.  Normally, he would squeeze you tight and lift you off your feet just to make you giggle like a kid sister.  Today, he was careful.  Mindful of the electrodes and wires and of how fragile you felt in his arms. 

     “You’ve already got two Winchesters,” he said, kissing the top of your head.  “Add him to your collection.”

     Your eyes were drooping, even after just a few minutes your energy was completely depleted.  You let your head fall back against the pillow with a tired smile, “Thank you… Sammy.”

     “We should get out of here, let you sleep,” he replied, catching his brother’s attention.

     “Yeah,” Dean gave a reluctant nod.  “If you’re lucky, we’ll smuggle in one of those triple thick strawberry-kiwi shakes you like.”

     You grabbed hold of his hand again and tugged.  It was so much effort to talk, you hope he got the message. 

     A wordless look passed between the brothers and Sam took his cue, leaving the two of you alone.  You tried to focus on your breathing and on the warmth of Dean’s hand holding yours.  It took every bit of strength you had to stay awake, but it was so important.  You couldn’t let him leave, not yet.

     Dean wiped away the single tear that slid down your cheek.  “Hey, hey.  What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

  ��  “I… I’m… s… sorry.”

     He soothed back your hair, “Sorry for what?”

     “Should have… gone… to… th… the doctor.”

     “No, hey, don’t worry about any of that.”

     “Scared… you.”

     Dean cupped your face with his large palm, “Listen to me.  I don’t want you to think about any of that stuff, okay?  It doesn’t matter.  The only thing that matters is you getting better.  That’s all I care about.”

     You nodded; your eyes shuttered to half-mast.  “Tired.”

     He let out a chuckle and ran a hand over his five o’clock shadow, “I’ll bet you are.”

     You shook your head and pointed at him.  When he tilted his head in confusion, you patted the mattress beside you.

     He was exhausted.  It was etched in every line on his beautiful face.  His green eyes, the ones you had loved since you first looked into them were bloodshot.  His strong shoulders slumped under the strain of recent events.  Dean had been by your side for days, even after taking care of you back at the bunker.  It was a testament to his impressive stamina and force of will that he was still standing.

     Without a word, he turned down the lights, kicked off his boots and climbed into the narrow bed.  It should have been uncomfortable, given his size, but he gently arranged it so that you were partly settled on his chest.  Your weary body melted into the warmth he provided as his arms wrapped around you.  You were both slipped into a dreamless sleep without any effort at all.

     Three Weeks Later:      You were in the hospital eight days in total, three of them in the ICU.  When they finally released you, it was with a whole list of stipulations and guidelines.  Breathing exercises.  An oxygen tank for times when your levels dipped below a certain level.  Antibiotics the size of horse tranquilizers and updated rescue inhalers.  It was intense, but still preferable to staying one more night in the hospital.

     It was Sam alone who picked you up on your release date.  You were disappointed, but not surprised.  Dean was gone when you woke the morning after the two of you shared your hospital bed.  He texted you every day but only came back to visit you once when he and Sam dropped off some of your clothes. 

     It was okay, it really was. 

     You understood.  You’d scared him big time.  Frankly, you were still so sick that all you did was sleep anyway.  But when you were home and days passed with still no contact, you worried.  God bless Sam, he was right there every step of the way.  He drove you to therapy and helped you come up with a strength building regiment.  He kept you company and offered insight to his missing brother.

     “Give him some time, Y/N.  He’ll come around.  You know how he gets.”

And so, you did.  Sam’s words offered solace, but they didn’t make up for the fact that you missed that salty, pain in the ass.  Somehow, the fact that Dean was just down the hall made you all the more lonely for him.  But you were determined to respect his need for privacy.  After everything that happened, you owed him that at the very least.

     When you were in the kitchen a few days later making one of Sam’s health smoothies, the last thing you expected was to hear Dean’s voice. 

     “Tell me you’re not gonna drink that.”

     You smiled but didn’t turn.  “Of course not.  I haven’t added the spirulina or wheat germ yet.”

     You heard him mutter something about pond scum under his breath while he rummaged through the fridge. 

     “I’ve got enough for two,” you teased.  “Should I get you a glass?”

     “Too bad your stay in the VIP suite didn’t improve your sense of humor, smartass.”

     You turned around and grinned at him.  God, he looked incredible!  Maybe it was not seeing him for a month, but he was a sight!  Dark jeans on bowed legs.  That red and black flannel shirt that somehow made him seem even broader.  Especially when he crossed his arms across his chest.  Like he was doing right now.  And glowering at you!  Ridiculous man!  You’d been busy recuperating from serious illness, and he looked like he wanted to reprimand you for leaving wet towels on the floor.  It might have pissed you off, if you weren’t so pleased to see him. 

     So, you laughed. 

     His expression went from sexy and grumpy to utterly baffled.  “Why are you laughing?”

     You shook your head with a goofy grin and answered honestly, “I’m just happy to see you.”

     He cautiously smiled back, “Yeah?’

     “Yeah.”

     “Huh.  Well in that case, you wanna get out of here?  I was thinking of going for a drive.”

     Your heart felt light, “I’ll get my coat.”

     Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he knew he had to.  Even if it killed him, and it just might.  It wouldn’t be the first time he’d made the hard choice.  Break a heart, save a life.  He may as well get it tattooed on his ass.  At this point it was more of a life motto than saving people, hunting things.  He glanced over at you gazing happily out the window and he tried to burn the image into his memory.  Beautiful.  Hands down the most beautiful girl he’d ever met.  Even after he’d ignored you for weeks and pushed you off on his baby brother, you laughed and forgave him. 

     You looked just like you always had, maybe a bit thinner from your time in the hospital.  But Sammy had been adamant about those smoothies of his.  Nutrient dense.  They tasted like absolute ass, but they certainly seemed to help you get your color back.  Your hair was shiny and bouncy, he loved it when it was bouncy like that.  Cascading over your shoulders and framing your face.  It looked so soft and smelled like peaches when you tossed it back.  Your eyes were bright and glowed with good health.  Looking at you now, it was hard to believe you’d been on a ventilator only a few weeks ago. 

     “Hey, you wanna get out and walk for a bit?”  You asked, pointing out one of your favorite state parks ahead.

     “Sure.  You bring your scarf?”

     “Obviously,” you replied, pulling out the length of soft, white fabric from your bag.

     It was still a bit chilly out, but all the snow had been cleared from the paths and only an inch or so remained around the trees.  Dean kept shooting glances your way, checking for signs of distress as the two of you walked along.

     “I’m not going to keel over, you know.”

     Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his black jacket.  “You need to be careful in the cold air, it’s no good for you.”

     “True, but walking is very good for me.  It helps build stamina.” 

     He didn’t reply to that and the two of you walked along in silence until you really couldn’t take it anymore.

     “It’s ridiculous, you know?  Me, having to rebuild stamina.  I was in the best shape of my life; I could run up ten flights of stairs and still chop the head off a vamp no problem.  Now I have to stop halfway through a beginner’s yoga class.”

     “Almost dying does that.”

     There was venom in his voice, but the fear was too.  Evidently, he hadn’t worked through it as much as you’d hoped. 

     “Is that why you’re kicking me out?  Because I almost died?”

     Dean stopped and turned to you, but he kept his eyes downcast.  “Y/N…”

     “Its really not fair.  You’ve almost died several times and I still keep you around.”  You tried to keep your tone light, but it was difficult with the tears threatening.

     “It’s not funny,” his eyes were getting red as he recalled the terrifying night he carried you into the E.R.  “You stopped breathing.  Your fucking heart stopped!”

     You knew this part.  After Dean closed himself off from you, you asked Sam to give you all the details.  Full cardiac arrest from a severe asthma attack, brought on by complications from pneumonia.  It had taken the doctors a while to stabilize you, but when they did you were so weak, they weren’t sure you were going to pull through.  Sam had a hard time talking about, even though you were sitting there alive and well in front of him.  That night shook them both to the core.

     You brought your hand up to cup Dean’s cheek, “I’m so sorry.”

     He closed his eyes briefly, letting the warmth of your touch comfort him.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  All this time… a fucking two year long pandemic… Covid is a respiratory virus!  What if…”

     You hurt him.  Far more than you’d realized.  And you hated yourself for it. This was going to take much more than a simple reassurance to work through. 

     “Can we sit?”

     He led you to a park bench, “We should head back to the car, it’s too cold for you.”

     “I’m okay, Dean,” you grabbed his hands, “I really, really am.  And I’m sorry.  I didn’t deliberately keep it from you, I just didn’t think about it.  I know it’s hard to fathom, but I’ve lived with it my whole life.  The things I do to minimize my risk are second nature to me now. And I haven’t had an attack in years.”

     “This wasn’t my first trip to the ICU; I spent my childhood in and out of hospitals.  Mom was very protective.  The doctors had her so scared that she didn’t let me do much.  No sports, no sleepovers, no camping trips.  She even moved us to Glenwood Springs because of it.”

     “Like Doc Holliday.”

     You rolled your eyes out of habit.  Every time you mentioned your home, Dean spewed every bit of old west trivia he knew.  Which, you had to admit, was extensive.  Last time you were there he insisted on visiting the Doc Holliday museum, he even had you take his picture with gambler’s gun. 

     Then:      “Nice place,” Dean said, scanning the neatly maintained garden beds and brick walkways.

     “Yeah, it is.  Remember, this is just a quick stop so I can pick up some stuff.  Don’t do what you normally do.”

      “What are you talking about?”

     You ran a nervous hand through your hair and straightened your denim jacket, “That charming rogue routine you do whenever there’s a woman in front of you.”

     His grin turned cocky, “Sweetheart, that’s just me.  Can’t help it if the ladies love it.”

     You brushed a piece of lint off his shoulder with an impatient huff, “Rein it in, cowboy.”

     Before you could ring the bell, the front door swung open and revealed a woman who would have passed for your twin in her youth.  Tanned, with a bright white smile and silver bangles stacked on both arms.

     “Baby girl!”

     “Hi Momma,” you managed to say while she squeezed you tight.

     Your mother drew back and quickly scrutinized your appearance, “You taking care of yourself?  Regular appointments?  Feeling good?”

     “Yes, Ma’am.”

     That radiant smile was back, “Good girl!  And this tall drink of water must be that friend you told me about.”

     “Yes, this is Dean Winchester.  Dean, this is my mom, Beverly.”

     True to form, he turned up the charm to eleven.  “No way I’m gonna believe you are Y/N’s mother, you must be her sister.”

    “And you are the smoothest liar I’ve had on my doorstep,” Bev said, slipped her arm through Dean’s with a wink, “But please, don’t stop.  Why don’t we go out back and have coffee?  Y/N, I made that peach pie you’re so fond of!”

     “I love pie!”  Dean gave you an infuriating grin over your mother’s head as the two of them sailed into the house together.

     Three hours later, you had endured the torture of baby pictures and embarrassing stories from your adolescence.  While Dean supplied plenty of his own anecdotes of you getting lost in the grocery store and getting locked out of the motel room in only your underwear.  Luckily, the pie helped keep your mood from going sour. 

     “Okay, I’m going to head up and grab those boxes.”

     “Lift with your legs, Baby girl.”

     “Yes, Ma’am,” you replied, disappearing through the sliding glass door.

     Bev’s jovial mood turned serious as soon as her daughter was out of earshot.  “Okay, Winchester, shoot me straight.  How is my daughter?”

     Dean blinked in surprise, “I’m sorry?”

     “I may not be hip to everything going on, but I can feel the pair of you dancing around something big.  I’m not going stick my nose in, Y/N isn’t talking about it, and I respect that.  But I’m a mom and that girl is my whole life, so tell me… is she okay?  Do I need to worry about her?  About you?”

     Dean weighed his words carefully, “Y/N is… amazing.  She’s smart and strong.  She has the biggest vocabulary of anyone I’ve ever known, and she loves to show it off.  Even when she shouldn’t.  But she knows how to handle herself.  She kicks ass.”

     The corner of Bev’s mouth quirked, “It runs in the family.”

     “I can see that.”

     She leaned back in her chair and studied him, “You seem like a decent man, the sort who keeps his word.  That being the case, I have a favor to ask.  Keep an eye on my girl for me.”

     “Already done,” was his quick reply.

     Bev shook her head, “It’s not the dangers of the world I’m talking about.  I’m talking about looking after her when she’s not looking after herself.  Y/N… has a lot of life to live and when she gets busy… she just doesn’t see how far gone she is until she falls flat on her face.”

     Dean leaned forward, elbows on knees, “You’ve got my word, Bev.  I’ll never let her fall.”

Now:      “I like your mom,” Dean looked down at his boots.  “She made me promise to look after you.”

     “You never told me that.”

     “I got the impression she didn’t want me to.  Thought maybe she had a mother’s intuition about you getting into the hunting business.  Guess she was talking about something else.”

     You let your gaze drift over to the lake in the distance, half thawed already.  It would be an early spring this year.  A sign of hope for the future.

     “We got in this huge fight when I was nineteen.  I wanted to move out, go to college, see the world.  I missed out on so much as a sick kid, but I survived it.  I worked hard to strengthen my lungs and build up stamina.  I followed every doctor’s order to the letter so that I could actually live my life like a normal person… and it worked, but when the time came, I still didn’t have her support.  I was so pissed!  I packed a bag and left in the middle of the night.”

     “How’d that go over?”

     “I hadn’t yet mastered the art of covering my tracks.  Plus, she was dating the sheriff.  I was back home twenty-four hours later.” 

     Dean snorted, “Amateur.” 

     “Mom and I came to an agreement after that.  I stay local, stay in communication, and keep doing everything my doctors ask and in return, she would stop focusing on my condition like it was a death sentence.”  You shrugged, “Things were better after that.”

    “Your mom is awesome, I’m glad she supports you…. You’re lucky, Y/N.”

     Dean took your hand, surprising you.  His fingers linked with yours, rubbing his thumb over yours.  Then he frowned, his brows drew down over his eyes in worry.  Like a black cloud had settled over his heart. 

     “Y/N…”

     You knew what he wanted to say, you could feel it.  You could see it in his eyes whenever he dared to look at you.  The sorrow.  All you wanted to do was save him from it.  From himself.

     “It’s amazing how much we still don’t know about how the human body works,” you blurted out, making him blink in confusion.

     “What?”

     “Being sedated, for example.  Medical experts still aren’t sure why some people retain a certain level of consciousness and others remember nothing.  When I was seven, I was in the hospital for a month, my mother read The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe to me even though I wasn’t awake.  When I came out of it, I remembered the whole thing.” 

     You could see the realization slowly register in his beautiful eyes.  If you heard your mother, you must have heard him.

     Then:      It was cold in your room.  You hated being cold, it was one of your main complaints about the bunker.  You cranked the thermostat, took boiling hot showers, and frequently stole clothes from both Winchesters.  Although, you seemed to favor Dean’s over his brother’s.  A fact he griped about, but secretly liked.  He liked knowing that you felt at home enough to make yourself comfortable.  If you were comfortable, maybe you would stay. 

     Dean brought your favorite blanket and tucked it around you, careful of the machines and wires.  “There you go, Sweetheart.  Just like home.”

     He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed and studied your peaceful face.  He tried to think of you as an enchanted princess.  Sleeping Beauty, just waiting for the right prince to swing by and break the curse.  Unlikely in his world.  Still… it was easier than the truth.

     He might have been able to fool himself for a while if it weren’t for that breathing tube.

     “Actually, that’s a lie…  this place is nothing like home.  Home has all the amenities, right?  I’ll bet this state-of-the-art medical facility doesn’t even have a firing range.  Or a dungeon!” 

     “Course, it wasn’t always so awesome.  A lot of spiders when we first moved in.  Plus, Sammy and I added our personal touches to make it more comfortable.  That mini fridge in the library, totally my idea.  It really pulled the room together, you know?”

     He chuckled a little at his Big Lebowski reference, disheartened when the only response was the hiss of the ventilator. 

     He reached over and gently combed his fingers through your hair.  Your skin was cool to the touch since your fever broke in the night.  That had to be a good sign, right? 

     “I’ve got a confession, but you gotta promise not to tell Sam, okay?  I never really wanted to live in the bunker full time.  Not at first.  Don’t get me wrong, I liked it!  It was our personal Batcave!  But Batman… he doesn’t live in the Batcave.  The Batcave is for work only.  And that was my plan.  Work in the bunker as a base of operations but live like we always did.  On the road.”

     Dean’s hand moved to yours, toying with your fingers.  You had such elegant hands.  You never wore jewelry, just like you never wore make-up.  You didn’t have a closet full of clothes.  You wore things of nice quality, but you didn’t have lots of them.  Only what you needed.  Same with everything else, you didn’t do fussy or extravagant.  But it wasn’t because you liked to keep things simple, it was because you were focused on living your life, not adorning it.  

     He liked that about you.  You were straightforward and up for anything.  You never hesitated to jump right in.  You were quick on your feet and quick with your wit.  You came up with better cover stories than he or Sam ever did.  Your contributions to the team were welcome and seamless, almost from the start.

     With anyone else, your eagerness might have come across as a need to prove yourself.  But you didn’t seem to be afflicted in that way.  You knew your worth.  You were confident.  And that rubbed off on everyone you came in contact with.  Cops, sheriffs, coroners, witnesses, victims.  All of them responded to you in ways that were remarkable.  Your presence calmed them.  Dean too.

     “The longer we stayed in the bunker, the more obvious it became that life on the road was never gonna be like it was before.  Sammy loved it, and I never could deny that kid anything.  But for me…. I dunno.  It took a while.  I even slept in Baby those first few nights.  Eventually, I picked out a room, got a bed that remembers me, and it was better.”

     “You were our first guest; did you know that?  Well Cas was, but he doesn’t sleep so that doesn’t really count.  You were the first non-Winchester to sleep in the Batcave.  On that old army cot, remember?  Tried to get you to take my bed… stubborn.  You were so stiff the next day you could barely walk, but you stuck it out.  You should have taken me up on it, I was on the couch most nights anyway.  Nightmares.”

     “I’ll never forget the morning I woke up and found you there with me.  All warm and cuddled up against me.  I moved and you shushed me in your sleep, mumbled that everything was okay.  God, I don’t think I’d ever slept that good.  We went to that diner in town for breakfast and I asked you to move in.  Sammy nearly choked on his egg whites,” Dean laughed softly at the memory.  “The bunker was a home then.”

     “If you were awake, you’d probably laugh and tell me what I sap I am.  And you’d be right, but I can’t help it.  It’s you, Y/N.  You have this magic… I don’t know what else to call it.  You don’t even have to say anything, and my heart starts to race.  I think about you, more than I should.  In ways that I shouldn’t, and I can’t stop.  I don’t want to stop.”

     “I love you, Y/N.  In case you don’t know; in case you can hear me in your dreams right now… I love you.  I’ve always loved you and if you stay, if you come back to me… I’m going to show you every day just how much.”

     Now:      He tried to speak, but you moved your fingers to his lips to stop him.  Tears shimmered in your eyes, but you managed a wavering smile. 

     “I love you too.”

     You watched the conflicting emotions flicker across his handsome face.  Joy and torment.  Ecstasy and pain.  He traced the underside of your jaw with his fingers, making your shiver inside and your eyes closed on a sigh.  When his lips connected with yours, it was electric!  The world shifted.  Colors, tastes, sensations, all redefined from that moment.  Soft and warm and connected on a level that could only come from love. 

     It was everything you’d ever dreamt his kiss could be, and it ended far too quickly.

     He rested his forehead against yours, puffs of white, heated breath mingling between you.  After a few minutes, he brushed the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, “Don’t cry, Sweetheart.  It breaks my heart when you cry.”

     “Don’t send me away.  Please don’t send me away.”

     “Baby, that bunker is no place for you.  There are no windows, the ventilation is crap, there’s a mildew problem.  I talked to those doctors about the type of environment an asthmatic should live in… Bomb shelter from the fifties didn’t make the cut.”

     “I’ve been living there for five years without an issue,” you pointed out.

     “Yeah, with a humidifier and inhalers.  But it’s different now, that round of pneumonia damaged your lungs.  You need to be someplace where its easier to breathe, not harder.”

     “You’re right.  Which is why Sam and I have been designing a new HVAC system.”

     That stopped him, “Really?  Why didn’t you guys tell me?”

     “Because you went all emo and hid in your room for a month.”

     “I’m not emo!  What kind of HVAC system?”

     “A kick ass one,” you grinned so that your tongue peeked out between your teeth.  “Any other concerns?”

     “What about hunting?” he challenged.

     “I don’t know,” you answered honestly and there was a pang of longing that went with it.  “I have no idea if I’ll ever get back to the physical condition I was before all of this.  No matter how hard I work for it or wish for it and the truth is… going into the field with that kind of a handicap is not in the cards.”

     Dean nodded grimly and dropped his gaze to his lap.  Admitting the possibility of an early retirement was killing you, and he knew it.  You loved hunting, it was as much a part of you as it was for him.  The uncertainty of not knowing if you could do it again, must be terrifying for you.

     “I’m sorry.”

     “I’m not.”  His head shot up and you shrugged, “Most hunters don’t get sidelined, they get killed.  My life might not look they way I thought it was going to, but I’m still here.  Living it.  I’m going to take that win and run with it.”

     “You’re amazing, you know that?  You’re so damn strong… your life got turned upside down and you just roll with it.”  Those impossibly green eyes looked at you with such awe, like he couldn’t quiet believe that you actually existed. 

     “You deserve the best, and that’s not me.”

     “That’s not for you to say.”

     “Doesn’t matter, it’s my choice.”

     “That’s where you’re wrong,” you lifted your chin in proud defiance, “Team Freewill, right?  I will always have a choice, no matter what hand you try to deal me.  I love you, Dean Winchester!  And I am never going to stop.  And I am never going to disappear from your life.  Even if you tell me to hit the bricks, I’ll still call and text and email and whatever just to make sure you’re still alive and well.  Even if this ends, I will still love you!  You ridiculous man!”

     There was a change in his gaze, subtle but there all the same.  He shook his head with a chuckle.  He knew when he was beat, and he was grateful for it.

     “Your cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink when you get all worked up, you know that?”

     “My cheeks are pink because it’s freezing out here!”

     Dean ripped his coat off and wrapped it over yours, “Damn it, Y/N!  I knew you were cold!”

     “Well, if you were any kind of a boyfriend, you’d take my back to the car and warm me up properly!”

     He was pulling the hood up over your head when he paused, “Boyfriend, huh?”

     “Yeah, the kind that warms his girl up in the backseat,” you grinned and playfully rubbed your nose against his.

     He growled in your ear and stood, sweeping you up in his arms and making you yelp in delight. 

     “Dean!  I can still walk, you know!”

     “Save your energy, Sweetheart, you’re gonna need it.  Tonight, we’re gonna fog up all the windows!”

[tbhimnoteasyonmyself]

In Defence of 4/4 EP.12

(from someone who didn't like it very much)

I've made an entirely different post about people's reactions to the ending so I won't address any of that here, if you want that post. Bang! Here. But this is not what this post is about. This post is about recognizing the good in something I personally would've preferred had gone a different route. So let's get into it.

(long post, guys, Imma spare you, people who wanna scroll past 😉)

1st things 1st: yes. I know. The narrative about growth and adapting and change would've been so great had Day not gotten the transplant. It would've paid off so well for the main couple and all the other characters too. And it would send out such a nice message about how disabled people are whole, despite their disabilities. How happiness is possible for everyone, without restraints, no matter their body or mind. BUT that's not what we got. And that can be upsetting, I know I'm a little upset myself, but, and considering the ongoing fandom discussion, is it all that bad that we got something different? For once, I do not think so.

I think the very first thing that needs to be addressed is what is said by @daymork in this post:

"the hardships, the journey, even all the good that happened during allllll that still matters after recovery"

Or: just because Day gets his sight back, that doesn't mean the story being told is suddenly useless. Because a story about how people are flawed and scarred and they need to grow past certain issues to enjoy life again or they need to gain new perspectives is never useless. Society keeps showing us that assholes who cannot see past their own belly button or that people who are restrained by their traumas are still out there, so how could a narrative about growth ever be pointless?

Futhermore, it is a crucial part of the characters' arcs, even past Day's blindless being involved. Day ties his self-worth to being capable and always doing what he is supposed to. Night is careless and doesn't like abiding by the rules, even when it inconveniences others. Their mom has a bad case of "mama knows best", she's inflexible, what she wants, she gets. Mhok is traumatized by his sister's death and he can't move on, can't let go. (and so on, but I think you get the point) Regardless of the challenges that come with adjusting to Day's disability, all of them were already facing challenges that made their lives harder. Because, sure, we don't see it, but everyone always has a struggle. They sure had too.

And now you say, well, Dante, doesn't that make Day's blindness a plot device used just to make these characters better and then discarded when no longer needed? And sure, yeah, I think that argument can definitely be made and it is solid, I won't deny that. But I also think that the way you read it depends on what you believe this story is about. Because, if you think this story is about Day's struggle with blindness, then sure, yeah. But you can also see it as a story about maturing and overcoming hardships or a love story about two people who, like everyone else, have to adjust to learn how to adjust with each other. Or a story about different types of love and how they connect and overlap or change. Or a story about perspectives and points of view and how every single person is gonna look at the same things with different eyes and what that means for the way people live and how they relate to one another. Or a story about what makes a person and about how, no matter the way people see you, you are still a person and you can make your own choices, despite everything. Or something else, even, Idk. I'm not the owner of opinions and I'm not trying to be. My point is: it's all about individual perception and understanding.

Regardless, even if you do see that particular part as ableist, does it erase all the other stuff the series does? Does it erase the point is makes about not babyfying disabled people? Does it erase the point it makes about seeing disabled people as people who deserve no other feeling but pity? Does it erase the point it makes that Day was living well, even without Mhok or his sight? I don't think so. It might undermine it but it does not erase it.

And I think that leads us to the most important part of this discussion, actually: maybe the point was, all along that, in order for Day to be able to be able to get his transplant (narratively, of course) he needed not to need it. He needed to be able to be okay with not having it. He needed to learn to live without it and be happy. Because, in the end, what problems were actually solved by the transplant, really? None, I would argue.

Day and his mom, Day and Night, Night and their mom, Night and Porjai, Mhok and Rhamon, Mhok and Rung, Mhok and Day... As well as their internal conflicts (Mhok was a successful chef, Rhamon a good mother, Night a good husband, Day a librarian, etc...), all that was solved before that. The transplant truly didn't change anything besides what it changed: that Day now has the physical ability to see again. "No, Dante, it allowed him to go to the mountain again!", I hear you say. And sure, it did, but that wasn't new: he'd been there before when he was 100% blind. And it's not more magical when he can see than when he cannot. In fact, I would argue it is the other way around.

The 2nd time they're there they don't even care that much about the mountain or the sunset. They care about their relationship and what it means to be together again and they care about the journey. That's what they talk about. "Oh, but Mhok talks about how him there at the mountain is no longer the last image Day is gonna see". Yeah. But that, I would say, is more about how that is the case because Mhok is now there to stay (he even says so himself) rather than the fact Day can physically see him.

So, what purpose does it serve in the narrative? Is it just a "and now he can see because, sure, let him have it, it's the end, idc"? Could be, I mean, yeah, I think you can make a strong argument that this is just an ableist way of a "happy ending" but I also want to point out that that might not necessarily be the case (other than what I'm gonna explain next, even so, because, as @e-lisard pointed in this post - among others that I've seen do so but I only remember faer, some disabled people prefer stories where there is a cure for all or some of their disabilities). But also because, if nothing changes for Day (except he can play Badminton again, which, as someone who loves Badminton myself, like yeah, pretty big thing) then maybe that's the point being made: that, in the end, the thing that Day so desperately wanted in the beginning of the story has become almost meaningless now because he already had everything before. And that his happiness, unlike what he and everyone around him had previously thought, was not all dependent on his physical ability to see, but rather on his (and everyone else's) psychological/emotional ability to see. And once they unlocked that, nothing else was really all that relevant.

So, of course, you can have whatever opinion you want and I still stand by the fact that I'd rather not have him recover his sight because I like the implications of that better but, I think, the ending we were given is not all bad and some good things can be taken from it, especially if you see it as a comparison made to highlight the fact that Day's physical ability to see was not at all relevant to his happiness and that the story was really all about the journey.

If you want to add or disagree (politely) or something feel free to use this post. Comment or reblog or whatever. I'll be happy to keep this discussion going just as long as we can all be respectful.

Other than that I hope you enjoyed this and I hope you have a great day!! All the love 💜💜💜

PS: People I tagged, if you'd like not to be tagged pls tell me, I just did so because I didn't want credit for things that I did not think of or state myself. Cheers! <3