#either way you acknowledge that they’ve done/do truly awful things but you love them anyways

[vaultnewt]

Other Self-Shippers: Who are some characters that you self-ship with? Come on, pleeeeeease tell us!

Me:

[imaginaryfriendcomic]

a long, meta PSA

Hello, my good readers! Firstly, I’m very glad to see we’re almost reaching 1k followers, and I’m still very determined to finish the next page - I’m nearly done with the whole layout!

Though what I want to talk about today is something I’ve been thinking for a while. As many of you may know, Imaginary Friend was technically going to be a comic adaptation of the original fanfiction I posted a long time ago. Now, I’m not saying I’m going to change the entire plot, yet there’s something in there that’s actually been bothering me, now that I think of it: and that’s about Gaster being a dad before the Void. Please read the whole post before commenting or sending asks!

*SPOILERS FOR THE ORIGINAL STORY

TRIGGER WARNINGS - MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND NEGLECT

Even from the first 23 pages, you know that Gaster is drowning in his sorrows and regrets. He keeps saying how he failed at being the Royal Scientist, for not being able to free everyone, and at being a father to Sans and Papyrus. If anyone has gotten to the fanfiction already, it’s claimed that Gaster used to overwork himself and did not spend a lot of time with his sons, and that “he pushed them away.” I’ll be including some chapter pieces here to prove my points:

LIKE I SAID, I WAS THE ROYAL SCIENTIST. I MARRIED A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AND HAD TWO CHILDREN. MY WIFE, UNFORTUNATELY, PASSED AWAY... THE ONLY GOOD THINGS I HAD IN MY LIFE THEN WERE SANS AND PAPYRUS. I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING TO GIVE THEM A GOOD LIFE, WHICH MADE ME WORK EVEN HARDER AFTER MY WIFE WAS GONE. BUT THEN  I STARTED BEING SO FOCUSED ON WORK THAT I DIDN'T REALLY GIVE THEM MUCH ATTENTION. I BARELY SPENT TIME WITH THEM. WHEN I WAS IN A BAD MOOD, I USUALLY TOLD THEM TO LEAVE ME ALONE... I WASN'T A GOOD FATHER.

(chapter 2)

He let his wife die; nothing he had done to cure her from her disease worked. He neglected Sans and Papyrus, barely spent time with them and... treated them like they were just a burden in his life, when they really weren't. He had failed at freeing monsters, he had broken everyone's trust. He had disappointed everyone. He had had one job, and he failed.

(chapter 7)

It’s even implied that Sans looked after Papyrus on his own, too, which is further confirmed in the sequel I made, You’re Home Now (which contains Grillby x Gaster, just warning you guys).

He was very proud of them, despite Sans being lazy... His elder child did a great job taking care of Papyrus when he was younger (...).

(chapter 1)

The little Sans was home (in their very, very old house, the one located in New Home), watching television with young Papyrus. It was already late, the babysitter hadn't been able to come over, leaving Sans the responsibility of taking care of himself and his little brother, which wasn't that bad. Despite being a kid, Sans was actually responsible enough for his father to trust him at this task, though Papyrus could give some hard work sometimes.

(You’re Home Now, chapter 2)

Maybe this hasn’t crossed in anyone’s minds - if they’ve already read the fic - and well, I’m unsure if I’m overthinking this since I didn’t get that much depth to the original story, but this is my work, after all. I wrote this more than 3 years ago, so I’m looking back at it with a more critical perspective. Thus, this aspect about Gaster’s parenting has been bothering me recently.

I’m aware that many children have gone through this; being forced to look after themselves, their siblings or even their own parents (the latter isn’t quite the case here but anyway), as the adults fail to do what they’re supposed to - of taking care of their family and providing them love, attention and everything else. The lack of any of these things has been normalized in many households, and most of the time kids don’t realize how harmful it might be to them, because their own feelings aren’t validated. Since they’re forced to take in the role of the responsible parent, the adult, they excuse and justify their parents’ misdeeds.

Surely, in the original Imaginary Friend, Gaster acknowledges he wasn’t the best dad, yet now that I come to read it again, it never feels like he’s truly called out for that. Alright, he’s already being punished by the loneliness and helplessness for decades inside the Void, and he does show genuine remorse for his actions. Regardless, I feel like I’ve made excuses for his failures at being a parent. I feel like I used the “but he didn’t mean to!” excuse that so many people adopt when we’re talking about abusive and neglectful parents. I used Frisk, a character who I headcanon to have been abused by their biological parents, to justify that Gaster wasn’t all that bad:

"Don't say that! I think they would be glad to see you again." Frisk assured him. "I mean, you deeply cared about them and did everything to offer them proper conditions and-"

YES, BUT... I HAVE NOT GIVEN THEM ENOUGH LOVE AND AFFECTION. He sighed sadly.

Frisk sighed too. They had a feeling that Sans and Papyrus didn't hate him. They just knew it, but Gaster didn't believe.

"But... they never gave up on you, right?" They asked.

(...)

"I would've really liked to have a father who would do everything to give me a good life."

Gaster, curious, looked at the child. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

"Toriel is my mom now, and she's the best, but... I've never had a father that cared about me." Frisk admitted. "You know... before I fell into the Underground. My real parents weren't... great. They were very mean to me, specially my father."

(...)

I AM SORRY ABOUT YOUR PARENTS.

"It's okay. At least I found great friends and a fantastic mom." Frisk said, smiling, despite remembering their mean parents. "You are a way better father than my real one. You shouldn't say you're the worst."

Gaster didn't answer.

"You may have not spent much time with them, but I don't think Sans and Papyrus wouldn't be happy to see you." Frisk said.

BUT I MADE THEM FEEL LIKE THEY WERE ANNOYING ME... I SHOULD HAVE NEVER DONE THAT.

"I understand, but, just so you know... I think you already made it clear to them that you cared about them, which is why they were always there for you even if you distanced yourself."

(chapter 2)

Sans and Papyrus don’t hold grudges against their father, either, and yet, now that I realize it, the former presents the same “pushing away” behavior Gaster presumably adopted. In the very least, Sans is called out for it, but I never explicitly connected that to how his father treated them:

"SANS, DID YOU SLEEP WELL?" Papyrus asked.

"i'm okay, pap."

"BUT YOU LOOK AWFUL-"

"papyrus, i'm okay!" Sans interrupted, sounding annoyed.

Papyrus shrunk out of fear. He had never seen Sans in that state before. He knew something was up with him, but for some reason, he was afraid of asking Sans what was wrong. His brother sounded so grumpy, he felt like he would piss him off if he asked that at the time.

(chapter 6)

"DON'T YOU JUST LEAVE THE HOUSE LIKE THAT!" Papyrus said, somehow pissed, but concerned at the same time.

"l-leave me alone." Sans managed to escape, but Papyrus wouldn't let him go.

"I JUST WANT TO TALK TO YOU! PLEASE-"

Sans teleported himself, escaping Papyrus's grip. He groaned loudly.

"SANS, OH MY GOD! STOP RUNNING AWAY FROM ME!" Papyrus yelled.

Turned out that Sans didn't teleport far away. He arrived in the same street, a few meters ahead.

"WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!" Papyrus yelled.

"i don't want to talk, papyrus."

"BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN JUST... TREAT ME LIKE GARBAGE!"

(chapter 9)

That’s NOT to say Gaster is evil. You could say that Gaster believes he was terrible because of his trauma from the Void. The dark dimension causes him to hallucinate things, alter his physical form and twist reality, and so that may be why Sans and Papyrus don’t hold anything against him. But the point is, I don’t feel like I’ve made that clear. And with Sans technically mirroring his past role model, I feel like the narrative swept Gaster’s bad parenting under the carpet.

This topic is very difficult to discuss, I’m very aware of that. I get that some abusers can make it different, they can change. However, that’s not what usually happens. What does happen is society underestimating and devaluating the effects of abuse on people, especially children and teenagers. Nobody tends to focus on the victims, and thus finds ways to justify the abuse. Like that, I feel like I contributed to that, too. That’s why I’m writing this post.

PLEASE NOTE: I’m very proud of having written Imaginary Friend, and I want to continue with the comic. However, I want to truly emphasize that there will be changes in the comic adaptation, and with this theme in mind, I’ll make sure I don’t unintentionally excuse bad parenting again. At the time I wrote the fic, I had no idea it might come off that way (which doesn’t mean I’m condemning myself for not noticing). I think a lot of other people haven’t had the same impression, either; yet now that I do, I want to change what this fic might have defended.

I’m very sorry for everyone who went through this situation in their childhoods, or might still be. It’s not your fault. Your parent(s)/guardian(s) should have been better, and that’ll never be on you. Maybe they “didn’t mean to”, but that doesn’t mean it’s not harmful. I wish you all the happiness and safety in the world. <3

Stay determined!

[thtdamfangirl4]

There are sexual harassers, assaulters, and rapists out there. Far more than will ever be reported. Far more than will ever be convicted. This is not a joke, and it is borne of a society which allows men to skate through life on blades of toxic masculinity over the slippery surface of privilege.

Men hate the phrase toxic masculinity. They think it means we are decrying anything that makes a man manly. This is not the case. We are defending your right to be manly, because you are a man. Even if you cry. Even if you don’t like sex. Even if you defy gender roles. Toxic masculinity is a set of expectations for men that have permeated generations, causing young boys to be raised to believe that that are not responsible for their own actions and that they must always be stoic. Men are brought up to believe that they are entitled to a women because that’s how things go: men are attracted to all attractive women and every woman in her right mind must be attracted to you too, because you are strong and manly and you have earned her respect simply by the virtue of being a man. And if you do not subscribe to these values, you are seen as less than. Under the ideals of toxic masculinity, men are shamed for or restricted from being gay, being trans, not sleeping around, having open and communicative relationships, being “just” friends with a woman, reaching out for help, acknowledging insecurity, expressing emotion, even liking a fucking color or a fruity drink.

It also has permeated generations of women, who have been told to wear longer skirts or a top with sleeves because boys will be distracted in school. It has affected women who have come forward to say that they have been violated, and yet no one will believe them. It affects women who want to be independent. It affects all women who have any form of a relationship with a man, be it familial, friendly, sexual, or romantic. For these women are expected to bear the emotional weight of human connection. It has affected every woman who has ever been told they were too emotional, despite the fact that many men have been brainwashed into emotional constipation that builds up until their feelings explode over the people they care about. It affects everyone.

And we all know about the effects that our society’s views on what it means to be a man has on the truly corrupted men. The ones who take these values and use them as excuses to violate women and men and children. We know about the rapists and the assaulters and the harassers (though many still seem to think it’s okay to turn a blind eye).

But we don’t talk enough about the everyday men. We don’t talk enough about the ones who still think it’s funny to make jokes about “go make me a sandwich” even though they’re overall not too bad. We don’t talk enough about the ones who don’t go ballistic when they’re rejected, they just get all passive aggressive and distance themselves. We don’t talk enough about the ones who won’t buy their wives and daughters pads or tampons. We don’t talk enough about the fathers who feel they have a right to “protect” their daughters from a perfectly healthy sex life. We don’t talk enough about the men who say they can’t watch that movie, it’s just for chicks. We don’t talk enough about the men who don’t know how to respond when a man comes out, or when a woman has a breakdown, or when a male friend wants to have a deep and meaningful conversation. We don’t talk enough about the men who we have deemed “not bad enough” to talk about.

Because they’re not bad. They are a product of circumstance. They haven’t done anything completely awful or illegal, so we brush it off. But therein lies the danger of toxic masculinity and sexism. It is not some mythical dark force of evil threat reaches into the hearts of men and turns them bad. It’s an ingrained belief system that most of the time produces some of these smaller faults in the actions of each of these otherwise good people. However, a stubborn adherence to its values and a culmination of all of the faults in one man leads to sexual assault, extreme violence, and hatred of anything perceived as ��other.”

These normal men, the ones who are being judged by a lower bar, are capable of change. They have not done anything grossly wrong, simply adhered to what has been taught to them and it has made others uncomfortable. And there lies the need for feminism and equality (words which are synonyms, but have recently been perceived as otherwise by the eyes of toxic masculinity).

I have two brothers. They’re wonderful people. They have good hearts. They wouldn’t even do most of the shit I listed above. They’re both in loving relationships in which they treat their girlfriends with respect and care. They both cry on a regular basis. They both consistently have deep, meaningful, emotional conversations with others (including myself). They both wear pink, and care about their hair and clothes at least a little. They both are really sympathetic about my period and have gotten me Midol, tampons, and heating pads when I needed them. They both like rom-coms. They’re literally two of the most genuinely kind, thoughtful, generous, and loving people I’ve ever known.

And yet. They have these little things that have been taught to them. They think “toxic masculinity” means “men are awful.” They’ve definitely made judgmental comments about girls’ appearances before. They’re hesitant to believe that the effects of sexism reach as far as they do. They will stand up for any woman they know, they would never be actively sexist, and they would comfort and protect any woman who told them she had been violated. But they still think harassment is exaggerated. Stephen once proposed extended paternity leave during a discussion about the wage gap, as though it was a nonsensical idea, even though he’s expressed the idea that he might like to stay at home with his kids one day since he wants to be a writer and could do that from home. Nick once said that of course he doesn’t know how to sew up a hole in his pants, he’s a guy, so he asked me to do it. So I showed him how. Stephen and I have discussions about feminism and male privilege all the time, and he has made humongous steps of progress and come around on a lot of things, even if not 100%. Nick has stopped making “light-hearted” jokes he made as a stupid teenager because I told him they were offensive. I haven’t heard either one of them appraise a woman by her looks except to tell me how beautiful they think their girlfriends are in years.

Men are not inherently bad, which seems like a thing so obvious to say, but I just want to say it anyway. And they’re capable of change, and improvement, just as all humans are with all their flaws and all the faults that we have learned from society. This is why we need feminism. We need people to recognize that these are learned behaviors and ideals that can be unlearned. Because I will go to my grave believing that people are good. We make mistakes and we fuck up and we are formed by circumstance and sometimes some people don’t come back from that. But right there at the beginning, there is no inherent evil, throughout life, we do not become destined for corruption. People are good. Men are people, and when raised the right way and forced to confront the culture of sexism, they are good and capable of improvement.

This cancel culture we have subscribed to is ridiculous because it denies that people are good and doesn’t allow for growth. Some people are not to be trusted. I get it. And I get that there are things in this world that perhaps can not be forgiven. And there will always be people we can choose not to be associated with because of their choices. But the little mistakes? The medium mistakes? The behaviors we were raised to exhibit? Why on earth would you want to shun someone for those instead of trying to help them grow? People can learn from their mistakes, apologize, and become more aware and just. Why try to make someone’s life worse and call it justice when you could help someone make up for their actions while making the world a better place for all the people they know? And it would be a ripple effect.

Be a feminist. Change the world, one smaller issue at a time. Correct men. Correct women. Correct anyone of any gender. And let this apply to other corrupt systematic beliefs, like racism, homophobia, class discrimination, islamophobia, transphobia, all of it. Eliminate bigotry not by eliminating the bigots altogether, but by showing them how to unlearn their bias.

[minttoy]

Song and Steel

Summary: “Annette can never how slowly, and then somehow all at once, he became someone to lose.” - Annette and Felix through the war. Missing scenes post time skip

Pairings: Felix/Annette

Click here to read on FF.net.

Click here to read on AO3.

----------

Annette never meant to lose her composure, especially in battle.

It starts when she inflicts the final blow on the Gloucester heir – a quick gale casted for a counter. Had she known it would leave Lorenz at death’s door, she might not have done it. Her professor’s words suddenly throb in her head: Kill or be killed. She finds little comfort in the saying, because Annette doesn’t have Byleth’s mercenary background or ironed mindset. Instead, all she thinks is ‘What have I done?’ and she repeats it to herself like a mantra.

“Annette!” Someone is calling her from behind. She can’t distinguish above the noise.

She starts forward at a run, stumbling over dead bodies and slipping when her foot catches the end of a lance in her path. When she gets to him, she makes quick work to haul Lorenz’s body off his fallen steed and lay him flat on the ground. She doesn’t know when her arms became strong enough to drag a bloodied man almost twice her size out of tangled heap, but she shows no signs of stopping.

She tries to rouse him, checks his pulses, searches for signs of life – anything – but his blood just coats more of her hands.

“Annette, you idiot! Get out of there!”

When she looks up, Felix is too close. In a hurry, he catches her around the waist and starts pulling her backwards. When she pushes against him, he has to hook his arm around her chest to hold her back.

“He’s gone!” he shouts in her ear, because she’s still squirming.

“No! At least let me-”

A demonic beast is nearby. Fire is heaved and belched in their direction, setting the wooden rafters and planks and grounds ablaze. Suddenly the world is ignited in flame. She coughs twice as noxious fumes and smoke penetrate the air around them. Heat blankets her face as a nearby pillar catches fire. It cracks and falls, blocking her path to Lorenz’s body, and she would have been caught in the destruction if not for-

A light-headedness suddenly overcomes her.

She feels her knees buckle, arms fall limp and then she slackens in his arms. Her mind is too shocked to think clear, much less chide herself for recklessness. Felix lets out a heavy sigh from behind. She knows because she feels his chest move and his breath grazes her cheek.

A moment later, she’s pulled to her feet. His touch is considerably gentler, less forceful.

“Come on,” he pipes up, quickly appraising her balance when he lets go.

She has no choice but to listen. When he takes her arm, she lets him lead.

----------

War is a nightmare of itself, but taking down familiar faces is a different horror. After the battle, Annette ruminates the thought as she kneels down by Lorenz’s body, still distinguishable in spite of the burns and charred skin. She offers him a moment of silence because it’s all she can do. She whispers a soft prayer because it makes her feel better.

Felix stands beside her, arms crossed and gaze focused on the ground. Whether he’s here begrudgingly or not, she does not know, but his presence and patience are small comforts.

When she rises to stand, Felix meets her eyes with wary anticipation.

She sighs. “…I guess there’s no turning back.”

He shakes his head.

The image of his corpse is already burned in her mind. A shiver tracks her spine. “Could we ever get over something like this?” she adds, more as an afterthought.

He shrugs. “I doubt it, but maybe ask me again later, when the war is over.”

Having accepted the fact, she holds her hands between them so he can see them too. Like pouring alcohol over a festered wound, she flips over her palms and stares at the blood-soaked gloves. She winces and flashes a pained expression, digesting the awful sight. She knows she’ll carry this guilt for life.

“Are you okay?”

She pulls her gloves by the fingers first before removing them completely. To her horror, the blood is soaked even to the skin of her hands. Damn. A shadow falls on her face and a sigh escapes her lips. She tucks those gloves deep into her pocket, out of sight, but not out of mind.

“I will be,” she says, attempting some level of optimism, even though her voice is weary. It occurs to her that she’s killed before – a multitude of times, too. In theory, this time should be no different. It seems pathetic, in hindsight, how easily she lost herself when she’s casted storms to rain down her enemies before. She laughs at herself a little, hollow as it is. “…I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. When I saw him on the ground, I just wanted to save him so badly...I didn’t mean for you to-”

“Stop.”

She raises him a brow. She forgets the words on her tongue once she sees his softened features, a rare sight to behold.

“What’s done is done. You did what you had to. I don’t want to hear excuses or apologies, especially not for my sake,” he tells her point-blank. He’s never been a man of soft words anyway, not that she expected him to offer any. It’s a tough, sturdy kind of comfort. Sometimes it offers more than soothing words can afford.

“Thank you, then,” she says, mirroring his softened gaze. If he won’t accept her apologies, he might as well accept her thanks.

“Sure,” he scoffs before turning away, which is the most acknowledgement she’ll get out of him.

He stays by her side, and she’s grateful.

----------

“Professor?”

Annette peeks into the Captain’s Quarters. After the battle at the bridge, Byleth has quietly taken to moving all her things to Jeralt’s old room. Annette thinks her Professor can no longer bear the thought of sleeping in the student dormitories anymore, but it’s only speculation. Her professor remains a wild conundrum, even now.

“Come in.”

Byleth’s attention is focused largely on paperwork, brows creasing as her eyes flit across the paper. Annette can only assume the document is highly vexing, but she puts it away in a flash and sets down her feather quill, eyes now trained to her student. Her expression is blank and seemingly cold and there are traces of darkness under her eyes. When Annette asks if she slept last night, Byleth dismisses her concern.

“Professor, I’m looking for advice. In our last battle, I…well, you see, I did something that I’m not sure I can…”

Somehow, her point gets across.

The professor sighs softly. “Annette, I apologize you had to experience that. I understand it’s difficult engaging in battle with former classmates and peers,” she starts, tone neutral, robotic even, in spite of her words. “Awful as it is, you will never forget it. Believe me, I’ve also taken down foes who were once my friends.”

“I know. I just wish it didn’t have to end like that,” she tells honestly.

Byleth’s eyes darken suddenly and for a moment, Annette fears she spoke out of line.

“You regret it now, but a harsh lesson I must teach you is that war does not discriminate between you and your enemies,” Byleth says so evenly, as if she’s giving one of her lectures. Annette doesn’t notice how hard she clenches a fist under the desk. “It will take one after the other, and if you are lucky, you owe it to yourself to live another day.”

Hmm. That’s one way to put it.

Annette knows her Professor isn’t one for soothing words either. It is most apparent when she handles Dimitri’s outbursts and violent tendencies with a certain hardiness. He needs someone like that – someone to set him in place, not coddle and feed his murderous fantasies. People seem to think it’s her job as his teacher. Annette knows it goes beyond that. Her father mentioned once how forgiving someone’s darkness implies a love beyond measure. She thinks Dimitri loves her too, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

When Byleth asks if she has any other questions, Annette shakes her head. The rest of her day is spent kneeling by the church pews, as most people do when they have sins to repent.

----------

It’s almost sunset. Her father is usually here by now.

Lately they’ve been spending dinners with each other. It’s always a quiet affair and food rations from the kitchens are never tasty, but it’s taken a long time to get here. Gustave used to brush her off with a blankness that rivalled even the professor’s mercenary gaze. He is distant and haunted even now, but she refuses to be deterred. Somewhere along the push and pull, they’ve agreed to make things work. At the end of the day, she’s just grateful he no longer denies being her father.

After a few more minutes, Annette gets up and looks for him. She starts with his usual haunts: greenhouse, fishing dock, marketplace. Up next is the knight’s hall. She’s not looking to stay so she slips in quietly.

“Father? Are you- Bah!” Her eyes connect with a sharp navy blue pair and she reacts with alarm. Automatically, she straightens her spine and bows at the waist, as she would to any duke of Faerghus. “I-I’m so sorry for intruding! Lord Rodrigue, I should have knocked before entering. Please forgive me.”

He’d been in the middle of sorting documents and letters when she entered. Truly, he’s baffled by her insistent apology more than anything. When Annette looks back up, his expression molds into one of mild interest. He stands and abandons his work on the table.

“No need for apologies, Miss Dominic. Your presence is quite welcome, in fact.”

Her gaze is tinged with confusion. “…Pardon?”

He suppresses the urge to chuckle at her nervous energy. “You haven’t seen my son, have you?”

Annette fidgets with the ends of her gloves, thinking it’s been a long while since she’s seen Felix at all. “Err, I’m afraid not.”

She finds no disappointment on Rodrigue’s end. Rather, his gaze wanders in quiet contemplation. “He was supposed to meet me here for a spar,” he explains, not with any dismay or setback. “Sometimes, I find it’s the only way I can get him to speak with me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” Her expression is largely wooden, only because she doesn’t know what to make of it. Felix has openly expressed his distaste for his father before, but she figured some of it had to do with his own stubbornness. He had a penchant for petty behaviour back then.

“Well, Felix can be quite fixed in his ways sometimes. I’m sure you know that as his classmate,” he reflects, maintaining a warm tone of voice despite their talk. He nudges his head in Annette’s direction, shifting course. “How are things between you and your father, by the way?”

She lights up. “It’s better, actually. We fight alongside each other and share dinners…Lately we’ve been catching up on the lost years. I’m glad we found each other when we did.”

He shoots her a fond smile of approval. “I hope you continue to remain positive, my dear. Gustave has a troubled past, but he means well. He also loves you more than anything. In fact, he let me know the other day how proud he is to see how strong you’ve become.”

She flushes a little, taking the compliment in stride. It feels nice to hear it from someone else. She understands it will take a while before her father is comfortable enough to say it directly to her.

Annette catches Rodrigue getting a glimpse of the clock, no doubt wondering whether his son has forgotten their meeting altogether. In secret, Annette hopes Felix isn’t that cruel. She knows the weight and burden of a strained relationship herself, but forgiveness is difficult too.

Rodrigue sighs softly. “Perhaps he’s not showing up,” he concedes. This time, the disappointment in his voice is more palpable, as much as he tries to hide it. He tips his head towards her with a raised brow. “…I hope he’s not giving you the same kind of trouble.”

She shakes her head resolutely. “Oh. He’s no trouble at all, actually.”

It’s Rodrigue’s turn to be surprised and his curious expression begs for an explanation.

Unconsciously, her fingers start worrying with the edge of her shawl. She doesn’t know if her cheeks are flushed pink or red, only knows she generally feels hot. “Felix, well…he’s kind to me, for the most part. I owe him a lot. He’s saved my life more times than I can count too. It’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

Rodrigue gazes with keen interest. “Is that true?”

“Of course,” she insists, and not just because she’s talking to his father. “He works so hard, especially with his training. Seeing him on the grounds everyday makes me want to become stronger.”

“How enlightening,” the man comments, quietly musing to himself. “You speak highly of him.”

She looks at him strange, thinking she has no other to speak otherwise. A lot of teasing and playful banter is exchanged between them, but she’s never mistaken any of it for cruelty.

“I suppose it’s fitting…” continues Rodrigue, her confusion going unnoticed. He puts a hand to his chin in contemplation. “You should know he speaks highly of you too.”

Annette did not know it was possible her face could heat up more, but it does. Her colour must be beet red by now. Embarrassed, she looks away to salvage any sort of control. She doesn’t notice Rodrigue chuckling at her unexpected predicament. Oddly enough, Felix teases her the same way just to get that reaction.

She startles with a yelp when the double doors swing wide open, rushing in a breeze of cool air. Felix waltzes in casually despite the awkward atmosphere, raises a brow at the pair and unceremoniously drops his weapons on one side of the room. Annette almost smiles in relief, and observes as he gets to work, quickly dusting his hands with powder before moving to the sword rack.

He shoots a pointed gaze at his father first. “Spilling all my secrets, old man?”

“Why, I would never,” Rodrigue says wryly, feigning an offended expression. “Am I not allowed to have pleasant conversation with one of your peers?”

It earns him an eye roll. “…Right.”

Annette eyes Felix in particular, thinking this kind of banter would have no place if he harboured so much hatred. Soon, he catches her staring, but she doesn’t look away.

“Annette.” He says her name so dryly, as to not suggest anything between them. It goes without saying how aware he is of his dad standing across the room. “I ran into your father in the dining hall. He’s waiting for you.”

She lights up in remembrance. “Ah, that’s right!” Her posture straightens up and she bows, mostly to Rodrigue, before turning to Felix. “I’ll…see you later?”

He nods curtly, masking his desperation to get her out of his father’s prying eyes. Even now, he won’t hear the end of it. Maybe she caught on, or maybe she didn’t, but she scurries out of there not a moment longer. Felix lets out a sigh of relief when she does and doesn’t miss the grin on Rodrigue’s face as he readies for a spar.

“Sweet girl,” he comments, shrugging off his coat and drawing his own blade.

Felix cannot tell if he’s teasing as a father would, or trying to lower his guard. “I would prefer if you keep out of my business.”

“Who says I’m meddling?”

He sighs in annoyance and unsheathes his sword. Felix is short-tempered to begin with, but Rodrigue could grate his nerves with a single look. Every moment like this resembles how they used to be, as if things could work out after all.

----------

Fate won’t have it.

Rodrigue falls in the next battle. He goes down the same way as Glenn and for a short moment, Felix despises the goddess for saddling his family with such an atrocious destiny; sacrificing themselves in the name of their king, or in this case, the boar. He’d be damned if he went out like that, not because he doesn’t care for the prince, but because Dimitri better get his grip on reality soon and start fending for himself. Even now, the man is still spewing insanity and nonsense from his teeth.

Felix doesn’t shed a single tear. All he can do is grit his teeth and bear it, even as the last words from his father is a whispered and choked-up apology.

Some distance away, Annette watches with grief, remembering how they used to bond over these things. Rodrigue and Gustave were hardly present and yet, she came to Garreg Mach in search for him. Felix scoffed at her, questioning how she could house a heart of forgiveness when she’d been intentionally ignored. He couldn’t fully grasp the concept at the time.

But Annette sees it on his face now, the way his eyes crinkle in pain and his hands clench in tight fists, that he understands it better.

----------

A week later, Felix is still unreachable. He spends his days sulking in the training grounds. Dimitri sulks in the church. He tells Sylvain to pass the message that he refuses to be consoled or coddled. As he takes out his frustrations on training dummies, he can’t seem to forget his stupid father, dying with regret and leaving this world with an apology. Felix thinks it would have been easier if he made no effort at all in the past five years.

Fuck.

He’s interrupted sometimes. Those who don’t know him usually scurry away. Sylvain stops by to bring him food from the kitchen, which looks like gruel nowadays. Mercedes stopped by once to heal his wounds. Today, it’s Ingrid who opens the door.

He thinks she’s here to scold him, nag him or drag him out for lunch. She acts so motherly even if she won’t admit it, but she surprises him today. Silently, she takes a lance from the rack and offers to spar.

He knows early in the fight that every strike and attack of hers is touched with anger. The unspoken person in the room is undoubtedly Glenn. Recently, she’s been reconsidering what it means to be a knight, no longer clouded with chivalrous tales and noble attributes. Both Rodrigue and Glenn had died with pain and regrets.

When they’re both bruised and catching their breath, she drops her weapon first.

He tips his head towards her. “Still intent on becoming a knight?”

Ingrid laughs, but it’s flat and empty. “Of course.” Then she withdraws from battle, stepping back and putting her weapon away. Before she turns on her heel, she looks over her shoulder and gives him a quick onceover. He can’t hide from her inspecting gaze.

“Felix, don’t overdo it. Please? I fear you’ll get reckless,” she says after a while.

Ah, there it is.

He scoffs, “I was waiting for you to say something like that.”

She doesn’t smile, not in the mood to joke. “I’m serious. If you die on the battlefield too, I won’t forgive you,” she says, which is her roundabout way of telling him she cares.

----------

Annette attempts to visit him the next day. Sylvain finds her sitting on the bench outside the knight’s hall. She’s leaning back, staring at the sunset hues of the sky, legs straightened out in front of her and a small box sitting precariously on her lap. A blank gaze graces her features.

“Annette?”

She jumps and startles. He’s about to dive for the sliding box until she secures it with her hands. She straightens up in her seat, eyes darting around until they settle on him. She exhales a small breath. “Oh, Sylvain. You frightened me.”

“How long have you been sitting here?” he asks, because the evening chill is starting to set and she looks paler than usual.

“Haha, I don’t know actually…” she answers sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. “I must have gotten carried away.”

Sylvain’s eyes shift from her to the knight’s hall. He might act a bumbling fool most of the time, but he dissects the situation easy enough. “Let me guess, you paid our good friend Felix a visit?”

She nods her head and gestures to her gift. “I went into town today and bought some goodies for him. The kitchen hasn’t been serving anything tasty as of late, so I picked out some meats and grabbed a few rolls of bread. Nothing sweet or covered in chocolate, of course.”

The redhead grins at that. Felix should consider himself lucky, because he hardly deserve her kindness. “That’s awfully kind of you. How come it’s still sitting in your hands?”

“He told me to leave his sight.”

She says it so bluntly Sylvain almost chokes on his saliva. He coughs and clears his throat, and Annette just shoots him an oblivious gaze. “Well, that’s rude of him,” he says when he finally gets his bearings. “I suppose he’s still being a jerk then. If you want, I could give him a piece of my mind?”

She chuckles, and then shakes her head. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary. I don’t think he’s ready yet. Maybe I should have been more patient instead.”

Sylvain resists the urge to roll his eyes. Felix, with his brash and condescending nature, doesn’t deserve this at all. What’s worse is he’s being difficult about it. Pushing away the thought, he molds his gaze to become kinder. “You know, I figured if anyone could reach him, it would be you.”

“Hmm?” Annette tilts her head curiously at him. “Why do you say that?”

Sylvain backpedals a little. “He warms up easier to you. With us, he’s more stubborn.”

“Oh, I see,” she accepts with ease. She gulps in her throat, and he recognizes she’s withholding something at the tip of her tongue. “Hey, you don’t think…he’s not overworking himself, is he?”

“Nah, I think he’ll be fine,” he reassures, not with a measure of doubt. Felix has his self-destructive ways, but he’s never spiralled out of control, not like Dimitri. Funny how some people think Sylvain is the least stable of the three of them. “Trust me. He acted the same way when Glenn died, and he turned around.”

Annette smiles, believing him. “Thank you.”

“You seem to care for him a whole lot.”

“Of course I do,” she says, flushing a light pink. It leaves Sylvain wondering when she became so bold about admitting to such things.

There’s a sound from behind. A heavy wooden door opening, and the clack of boots following. Felix emerges from the knight’s hall, looking dragged and worn. When his gaze cuts to the redhead first, his expression becomes annoyed. “Ugh, I knew it was you running your mouth out here.”

“Nice seeing you coming out of your shell,” Sylvain comments too casually, not interested in treating him with caution at all. Then again, Felix refuses to be talked with any hint of consolation or pity. “You done sulking yet or what?”

The dark-haired male just scoffs and turns to Annette, who’s standing now and clutching her offering between her arms. “You’re still here?”

She pouts, showing him her own stubbornness. “I told you I wasn’t leaving.”

The moment is followed by silence where the two of them just…stare at each other.

Sylvain’s about to interject and tease him again, but he quickly realizes what’s going on. He’s played this game before – the first to look away loses. A strange, but intimate way of arguing. Felix can easily take this one because he’s a petty and stubborn mule, but Sylvain pays special attention to Annette. Her lip quivers and she can’t hold her pout for much longer.

To his surprise, Felix submits first. He sighs and tips his head towards the room. “Get in. You’ll catch a cold sitting out here,” he says without a trace of softness.

She grins at her small victory and scurries inside because she’s shivering. She nods a small thanks to him when he opens the door for her. Before following after, he raises Sylvain a brow, particularly to the lopsided grin tugging the corner of his lips.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Felix is stubborn as always, not that he expects any different.

Sylvain notices he’s still holding the door open.

“You coming in?”

The redhead shakes his head. “And interrupt precious time with your girl? I think I’ll pass. Besides, third-wheeling isn’t really my thing, as you know.”

Felix puts a hand to his face and drags it all the way down. He peeks behind him in search for Annette, relieved she probably didn’t hear any of that. When he looks back at Sylvain, he’s already sauntering away.

“Treat her nice, Felix. She’s taking care of you after all.”

----------

Later, when the muscles in his arm ache from swinging his sword, he joins her at the table by the fireplace. She’s laid out a small feast for them, and sits in deep thought. When he approaches, she snaps out of her reverie. He quietly reminds himself to ask later what weighs heavy on her mind.

“Hungry?” she chirps.

He plops down on the seat in front of her with a grunt. “Starving.”

For some reason, she smiles at that. He reaches for the one of the bread rolls, breaks it in half and takes one in his mouth. It’s less stale than the ones they serve from the kitchen, but then he notices quickly she’s not taking any for herself. He’s about to ask why, but she breaks silence first.

“Felix, I always wondered…” she says, that faraway look in her eyes again. “What was your dad like?”

He squirms in discomfort, but hides it. He lets the silence go on for too long anyway.

“Sorry,” she says, withdrawing her hands from the table and onto her lap. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just…now is not the right time. Once the war is over, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

That evokes a small smile out of her. She gazes at him earnestly because she hopes he’ll remember. “Is that a promise?”

He nods stiffly. “I promise.”

----------

Dimitri finally turns around. No one is probably happier than their professor, even if it doesn’t show on her face. He offers his formal apologies to his peers and friends, and again to his beloved teacher. Felix thinks it was nice hearing it the first time, but irritating the second and third time.

Even when the meeting is over, Dimitri follows him out the door and requests to speak with him. Considering the death of Rodrigue, Dimitri feels Felix is owed an extra apology.

“Felix, I must apologize again for my untoward behaviours. Words are all I have to offer, empty as they may be, but please tell me what I must do to make it up to you because I am, once again, indebted to you and your family.”

He rolls his eyes. Dimitri will follow him around and beg if he has to, so Felix saves him the trouble. It would prove more troublesome if it came down to that.

“To start, it’s annoying to see you reduced to grovelling,” he scoffs, unafraid of being honest. “If this is what the boar prince of Faerghus looks like, then the future is bleak.”

Dimitri actually smiles at the familiarity of it. “Perhaps I could make it up to you with a spar?”

“Hmph. Sure you could beat me? I’ve seen you let your guard down too many times.”

The blonde has a small change of heart, raising a brow at the challenge. “Perhaps it’s unwise to underestimate me? You have better speed, but I’m certain I have strength on my side.”

Felix huffs. He’s referring to his size, of course. Dimitri has always had the physical advantage when they fight. He’s taller than Sylvain now too, towering over most of them like a mountain, or a roof over a house. Even without his shabby cloak, the man appears imposing and enormous.

“I’ve taken down beasts like you before,” he jests, throwing in a casual shrug to tick him off.

Dimitri’s lone eye twitches. He’s surprised by how quickly they’re slipping back to their old ways. Always bickering and challenging one another. Simple conversations turning into pissing contests. Settling things with their weapons instead of their words.

“Besides, strength isn’t everything. If it were that easy, I would have done it myself,” Felix continues, following up with a shake of his head. “Even five years past, you still don’t know a lick of magic.”

Dimitri shrugs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I doubt I would need it to defeat you.”

“Are you willing to test that out?”

“Well, I offered to spar, did I not?” Dimitri only wears a smug expression because he knows it gets under his skin. Rivalry has always been part of their friendship, after all. “We could settle it this evening and determine the results of our training then.”

Felix snorts, and then barely suppresses his laughter. “By ‘training’, do you mean the past few months you spent standing in front of the church rubble?”

Dimitri chortles, but he’s hardly fazed. “To be fair, I have spent the last five years on the battlefield.”

“Yes, and now you wear an eyepatch,” he retorts easily. “Unless it’s for show, I fail to see your point.”

The prince crinkles at the insult, but he’s still smirking underneath. “Oof, that one hurts.”

He shrugs. “It’s only your pride. Just wait till we get on the training grounds.”

They settle it there. Felix turns his heel and starts to leave the room. At the door, he pauses to hurl his parting words. Dimitri is still listening and waiting for him to say it.

“Keep yourself in line, Dimitri. That’s what my father asked of you before he died. Don’t make his sacrifice in vain. Personally, I don’t intend on dying to save your ass, so don’t let it come to that.”

----------

Fhirdiad, the crown jewel and capital city of Faerghus, is finally theirs again. It took a monumental effort on their part, worthy of a celebratory feast. There’s music and dancing. Lively conversation and laughter. Wine and liquor are being passed amongst the soldiers, so it’s bound to end in some sort of disaster.

When the server offers to fill his glass, Felix declines. Sylvain, rowdier than usual and drunker than most, passes him a full glass of whiskey before demanding him to loosen up.

Annette sits beside him and sneaks a glance every now and then. He still wears his perpetual scowl even in celebration, but part of it is irritation for the redhead’s antics on his other side. By the time dessert arrives, Sylvain is halfway done telling his exaggerated tales of bravery on the battlefield when he gets up and asks a vexed Ingrid for a dance. When he’s rejected, he pulls Mercedes instead, who doesn’t have the heart to refuse.

Annette, on the other hand, revels and savours each and every bite of her cake. They hardly serve desserts at the monastery, and nothing ever reaches this level of sugary sweetness. To no one’s surprise, she gobbles it up in minutes. When he notices she’s done, Felix nudges his serving in her direction. The expression of gratitude that flashes across her eyes is delightful. It warms his heart, even if he won’t admit it.

“Say, Felix…” she starts, spooning the frosting off the top of the cake. “Ever think about the future? You know, after the war is finished.”

“Nope,” is his short and curt answer.

She raises him a brow, wondering if he’s being difficult, or he legitimately has not given it any thought. For now, she’ll take his word for it. “I suppose it’s not that complicated,” she muses out loud, mindlessly picking at her plate. Somehow her mind always goes back to this. “When the war is over, Dimitri will ascend the throne. Some of us will have to do the same in our house.”

The two of them included, of course. Sometimes Annette forgets her nobility, much less that she’s heir to the house after her uncle passes. It’s been easy to brush it off because of the war.

“Does it upset you?” he asks pointedly.

She shrugs and pushes away the thought. Felix knows she’ll assume her cheery façade in no time. “No, but it’s just…don’t you have dreams or wishes? Things you wish you could do, but maybe you’re not allowed?”

He raises a brow, but he has an inkling of where she’s going with this. “Is there something you want to do?”

Annette sighs pensively. “Sometimes I think about becoming a teacher,” she admits, staring up at the ceiling. Mercedes has told her it’s far from unrealistic, but the war has dampened her hopes.

“I’ve always loved the school atmosphere,” she continues, remembering her academy days. Some people forget she was enrolled in another school before she joining the monastery. “Sometimes, I imagine what it’s like standing at a desk and explaining the basics of magic and spellcasting. I would have students of my own and I would treat them all equally, even the grumpy ones that don’t want to learn. I wouldn’t mind that for the rest of my life. Does that sound silly?”

When she tilts her head to him, his gaze is surprisingly tender. “Not at all. To be fair, I’m more surprised you don’t dream of becoming a singer or songwriter.”

He fully expects her to pout or nudge him on the shoulder, but she just laughs. He likes the sound of it; merry and bell-like. “I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” she tells honestly. “But I think I prefer to keep the hobby to myself, so don’t go around telling people.”

Annette has grown rather comfortable with the fact that he knows her secret. In quiet moments, she’s even allowed herself to hum a few tunes, scribble down lyrics and sing in his presence.

“A teacher, huh?” He considers the thought only briefly. “…I think you would enjoy it. Maybe one day, you’ll get to do just that.”

When she smiles, it reaches her eyes. Felix has supported every decision she’s made since she’s known him. It’s odd, considering what people say of him.

“Maybe,” she echoes. “At the very least, I’ll want to pass my knowledge onto my own children, if I’m ever lucky.”

He snorts. “Children? You already think that far ahead?”

She shoots him her usual pout this time. “Of course I do. You don’t?”

“Not when the war is still raging.”

She narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. “Is that just your way of saying you don’t want any?”

He chuckles at her expression and then shakes his head. “No. What I’m saying is that you should probably save a question like that for later. There’s no point asking it now.”

Her lips tug to a smirk, because she’s heard this promise before. “Maybe when the war is over?”

Felix knows it too, because he’s smiling as well. She’s adding it to her list as they speak, but a dark thought flashes – maybe there won’t be time after the war. If it came down to the two of them, he’d be damned if he makes it out and not her. All his promises would be empty.

“You better not die before then,” she pipes up, and even though her cheeks are half-stuffed with cake, she means it seriously. “I’ll be upset if you do. You’ll never get to hear the swamp beastie song either.”

He snorts and wonders how she read his mind just now. Of all things, he would hate to miss out on her singing too. “Hmph. That would be a shame. I suppose we’ll both have to make it out then.”

----------

Enbarr is a messy affair.

After a blistering effort, all the Empire soldiers have either fallen or retreated on their own accord. Dimitri enters Edelgard’s throne room to settle the war’s end and Felix takes the chance to clutch at a hastily bandaged cut above his shoulder to stop it from bleeding. He doesn’t bother calling Mercedes. She’s busy with dealing with a graver injury; Ingrid had nothing to cushion her fall when her Pegasus was shot down as she set off. She’s lucky to escape with a few fractures.

Sylvain stands nearby with a worried look. Ashe waits in silence with Dedue. Annette is nowhere in sight, but she’d been paired up with her dad. He reminds himself to find her later and make sure she’s uninjured. Goddess knows she can be more stubborn than he is at times.

When Dimitri emerges from the throne room, he nods to his peers. It’s the only signal they need. The Empire is finished, and just like that, they arrive at the moment they’ve long dreamed and waited, except it doesn’t end with raucous cheering and celebration. The sound of silence reigns above all.

Dimitri appears distraught more than anything. Beside him, Byleth’s expression is unreadable, but more so than usual.

Felix lets his gaze wanders aimlessly across the blood-stained palace, thinking now would be a good time for rest. The last thing he remembers before his vision turns black is the evening sky.

----------

When he finally comes to, his mind latches to the sound of humming. A sweet, lilting tune. He knows that sound from anywhere.

With a groan, he blinks the blur out of his eyes. Despite the steady throb in his head, ribs and legs, he pushes himself up anyway. The humming stops and her hand goes to his back to help him sit. He fixes her a soft gaze, thinking he wouldn’t mind waking up like this every morning and she’s the first thing he sees.

“You idiot,” is the first thing she says, naturally. Her smile is quickly replaced with a more serious expression to match her scolding. He braces himself for her reprimand. “You’re lucky, you know that? You lost a lot of blood out there. Thank goodness we found you when we did, otherwise you would be dead. Why didn’t you say anything?”

He’s hurt her. Just for that, he supposes he deserves it. “I’m sorry.”

Her lips quiver, but her anger doesn’t hold out for much longer. With him, it wasn’t meant to last. Annette can never fathom how slowly, and then somehow all at once, he became someone to lose.

“Don’t do it again,” she says, sounding defeated.

Felix softens his gaze. “I won’t.”

It’s all she needs to hear. She exhales deeply and sits at his side to embrace him. Her arms are shaking, he realizes. She’s desperate to feel him, and hear his heart beating. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her she’s pressing against one of his wounds, so he just rubs her back to soothe her.

When she pulls away, a smile graces her features once again.

“How long do I have to stay here?” he can’t help but ask. It’s nice they pitched a medical tent for him, but as far as his injuries go, he’d rather be out and about than be bound to a makeshift bed.

“Couple of days, probably,” she says. His expression sours, and she pokes him on the cheek. “Hey now, I was the one who healed you. I’m not about to let you waste my efforts.”

He scoffs, “I promise I’ll be careful.”

She’s still shaking her head, unfortunately. “Nope. Nice try, but you’re staying here until you get better. Besides, I know you, Felix. You’re itching to go back to the training grounds as we speak.”

He harrumphs like a petulant child. If he crossed his arms too, he could be mistaken for one. She takes it as a sign that his recovery is well in motion.

Afterwards, she updates him on the war’s end. Who’s alive and who’s not. How their classmates are faring – alive, but not entirely whole. Dimitri in a rough mental shape, but not spiralling as he once was. The Professor seems to be missing, claiming she has matters to investigate about the war’s origins. Even at a time of rest, she does not stop.

When Felix asks about her plans, her tone shifts slightly. She takes his hand and wraps it in hers.

“I’m going home to visit my mom. My father’s coming with me, actually.” She says it with a certain glee. A sense of pride, too. He’s proud of her as well, because she’s been wanting this since their days at the academy.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow.”

He inhales and exhales. By instinct, he squeezes her hand tighter. She chuckles at his reaction.

“We’ll see each other again, dummy,” she says, as if reading his mind. “There’s a lot I have to ask you now that the war is over. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

He smirks at the throwback and they talk until sundown when he’s hit with a wave of exhaustion. He knows when he wakes tomorrow, she’ll be gone like a distant dream, so he doesn’t let her go until she promises to write to him. How odd that he’s never given her a confession, and yet he’s comfortable requesting as such. She jokes that he’s becoming soft, but consents to the idea when he promises to do the same. After that, he memorizes her face and kisses the back of her hand. When he falls asleep, he hopes he dreams of her.

“Finally the world is at peace…” she whispers to herself, when she thinks he’s sleeping.

There’s silence, and then, very softly, she starts to sing.

----------

Dimitri’s coronation is three months later.

It will mark their first reunion since the war’s end. Most of them returned to their homes to resume their positions, help restoration efforts or bury the dead.

When the ceremony is underway, Annette stands with her father and uncle to represent the Dominic household. She spies Mercedes sitting at the front with Ashe and silently gives her a wave. In the front, Dimitri stands with the other dukes, most of them young and newly inducted. Felix and Sylvain are among them. Byleth stands by the throne too. She’s taken the role of the archbishop, but Annette likes to think she’s still their professor at heart.

Annette deliberately stares at new king of Faerghus. It’s obvious he still needs Byleth and that he depends on her – everyone depends on her, she’s the head of the church after all – but for him, it goes deeper than that. It’s as if he relies on her to keep him going, day after day. Like she’s all that holds him together.

It’s endearing to watch. Annette had been right about her suspicions all along.

Later, she wades through the crowd to find one of the people she’s missed the most. When she finds him, she lights up. Seeing him certainly feels like coming home. There’s a small crinkle in his eye when he finds her too. He barely gets out his snarky ‘hello’ when she takes his hand and pulls him outdoors for more privacy.

“Hasty, aren’t you?” he comments, even though he doesn’t resist.

Annette lets him go when there are no prying eyes to intervene. “You can stop me anytime, Duke Fraldarius,” she greets teasingly. She throws in a small curtsy when she pronounces his title.

He scoffs in mild disgust. “Ugh, I’ll have none of that.”

She laughs, warm and familiar. “Did you miss me?”

He wobbles his hand in uncertainty. “Meh. I hardly noticed you were gone,” he teases back.

She hits him on the shoulder, and then he catches her hand in his. “That’s too bad. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“Oh? And how are you planning to do that?”

She hums and muses out loud, “I could offer you a spar?”

“I think I’ve got enough soldiers at home to spar with.”

“What if I sing you a song then?”

He remembers the sound of her voice, all of a sudden. Soft lullabies she sang before he fell asleep. Strange lyrics she penned to distract him from war. Her soft voice offering peace to the screams in his sleep. When he looks at her and studies her face, he’s reminded of the small things she did to sustain him.

Impulsively, Felix leans closer, heart racing furiously in his chest.

She meets him halfway.

The kiss is soft, tentative and clumsy. It takes a moment to orient themselves to each other, but it hardly matters. He smells clean, not like resin or metal. She tastes like the bubbling champagne they served at the hall. Warmth unfurls in her chest and she grips the front of his shirt tighter when she realizes how much she’s missed him.

When they pull away, she smiles and tries to memorize the details of his face.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” she says the first thing in her mind. She’s acutely aware of how offbeat and un-romantic it sounds, but in a post-war period, it seems fitting. In return, he just chuckles.

He doesn’t say anything back, still not much for soft and soothing words. Instead, he pulls her again and kisses her deeper until all her senses and thoughts are filled with him.

Finally, they live in a world that knows peace. She looks forward to telling him stories, singing to him, getting him to laugh or smile, and asking him all the hard questions, but for now, this is enough.

----------

Thanks for reading! I paired these two up in my play through and it was worth it. I loved them so much I put it into writing. If you’ve made it this far, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the work. - Mint

[the-real-anywolf]

Destiel Advent Calendar 2019

Title: Welcome to the Black Parade

Tags: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Destiel, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Rufus Turner, Bobby Singer, Angst, Forgiveness is the Name of the Game, Explicit Sexual Content, Inspired by Song Lyrics, Happy Hanukkah

Summary: Dean Winchester has walked hand-in-hand with death his entire life. When it's time to lay his weary head to rest, will he finally find peace?

Written by: @eyesofatragedy67​ (Eyes_of_a_Tragedy)

Notes: Somewhere in the process of this advent calendar, Frankie said, "Can day 22 be Hanukkah related?" and we all went, "Yeah! That's a great idea!" And then day 22 sat with a note… Hannukah… for what felt like forever. There was a group chat conversation about the fact that none of us are Jewish and really don't know much about the holiday. But I snagged it anyway.

This fic is not a Hanukkah story, and honestly is the merest of nods, but I do think it's important to acknowledge it. For those of you who do follow the beliefs, I wish you the happiest of Hanukkahs! Please don't kill me.

This story is inspired by the lyrics of "Welcome to the Black Parade" by My Chemical Romance. It's a song about death and how it affects those left behind. But it's also full of power and life. It holds strong personal meaning for me, and screams Dean Winchester in my head.

I hope you enjoy!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890575

Day 22: Welcome to the Black Parade

The sky was a bruise of grey and green, and that sickly yellow you only saw on damaged skin. Dean Winchester was parked at Rufus's cabin, crashed out on the hood of his trusty sidekick, legs dangling in front of her grill, waiting for the floodgates to open.

He needed the rain on his face, the water pelting his skin, cleansing him, absolving him of the guilt he carried. He needed the mask of it. To hide his tears.

It had been years since he'd felt this loss, years since he'd grieved the son of a bitch who'd moulded him into the soldier he still was, to this day. But the years had been long, and so much had happened. And if Dean was being completely honest with himself – hell, with anyone – he'd admit that the man who had appeared in the bunker wasn't as much of a monster as he'd made him out to be in his mind.

Fuck knew John Winchester hadn't been a perfect father. And Dean was well aware of the fact that he carried some serious baggage, due to the years of abandonment and neglect, while his dad had kicked around – saving people, hunting things.

The family business created a rift between the Winchesters that leaked like a sieve.

But Dean and Sam had come through okay. They were strong together, had done good in the world. Until Chuck came and fucked it all to hell.

Talk about some A+ parenting.

As the skies rained down on him, Dean let go. He let himself mourn the loss, again, of the man who had shaped his life. Thought back to the times that weren't awful, though some would argue they were few and far between.

He railed against the wind, lungs burning molten rage; then his throat locked up, nothing but stilted exhales escaping.

Eyes still closed, he felt a soothing presence close in. Hands gripped the outsides of his knees, hips moving between them. Dean threw his arm over his face and gulped in a ragged breath.

"Hello, Dean." That rumble of comfort was everything he needed.

Dean pushed himself up and wrapped himself around his angel, burying his face into Cas's neck, where he smelled like honey-sweet lightning.

"You're going to get sick if you stay out here much longer, my love," Cas whispered into the freckles dotting Dean's cheekbone.

Fuck, what had he done to deserve this man? He had no idea why Cas always came back to him, but he was done fighting it. Done getting in the way of what they both wanted. He'd be damned if Cas's name got added to the list of Dean Winchester's Greatest Misses.

He looked into the storm of Cas's eyes. "I love you. I love you with all of the words I've never said, for all of the years you've stood by me, all of the shit you've put up with…" Blue lit up his sky. "Cas, I'm ready."

The honey melted away, leaving ozone and fire in its wake. Cas tugged his hips closer, hauling him off Baby's hood. Dean wrapped his legs tighter around Cas's waist, relinquishing some of the weight, as Cas carried him into the cabin.

They made it as far as the fireplace before Dean tugged Cas down into a desperate kiss, nipping at his lips. Sunshine burst on his tongue, all warmth and fresh green growth after the rain.

Hands tore at his clothing, drenched t-shirt plopping to the ground, soaked denim falling to his feet. And then his angel was kneeling before him, unlacing his sturdy leather boots and peeling off his socks so he could step out of his jeans.

Cas was his savior, divinity defined.

Dean carded his fingers through that thick, dark hair and stroked his thumb over the shell of Cas's ear, looking down at the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Cas…" he whispered, shivers racing down his spine.

And Cas – the beautiful, crazy genius – ran his hands up Dean's exposed skin, over the cotton that was his last barrier, and stripped him bare.

Blade-calloused fingertips caressed his hips, teased over his soft midriff, perfectly chapped lips following their path. A flick of tongue over the tip of his cock almost brought Dean to his knees.

And then it was all wet heat surrounding him, the gentle brush of stubble against sensitive skin, and Dean fumbled to hold on.

One hand tangled in his lover's hair, he reached the other out, grasping for purchase and something to ground him. The heavy thunk of an object hitting the floor only briefly distracted him.

"Oh, Cas," Dean moaned, living in the feel of his angel's mouth on him, full of worship.

Teeth lightly grazed their way up his shaft, and Cas pulled off, leaning back with glazed-over eyes. Dean wiped at the moisture at the corner of his mouth, then brushed his thumb over the angel's lower lip.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Sunshine." And the light that shone behind those stormcloud eyes was more radiant than the stars.

"Dean." Cas looked up at him with wonder, then surged up to plunder his mouth. They kissed with all of the passion they'd repressed for so long.

And Dean groaned as Cas gripped him tight and jacked him like they didn't have until the end of time to finally love each other true.

***

"For cryin' out loud, Bobby. It's not that I'm not happy for the two of them. I mean, it's about damn time that fool of a son of yours got his head out of his… but that's my fireplace they're defiling! And my menorah on the floor! You'd think they could show a little respect."

Bobby pointedly did not glance in the direction of Rufus's living room, did not need to see his boys finally taking that bull-headed last step.

"Let them be, ya’ idjit. They've given everything for this moment. And, yeah, I don't want to see Dean's naked ass, or what the angel's packin' either. But this is their place now, and we're the intruders."

Rufus reached for his bottle of Johnny. "Do you think he knows?"

Pushing an empty glass over to his friend, Bobby nodded. "He knows. He's finally letting himself have the life, the love he's always turned away from. Maybe it's not orthodox, but this is his heaven. And he's finally free."

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, fighting back the grief for the sacrifice his boys made. If they could carry on, grab their peace by the throat and run with it… well, they'd goddamn earned every minute.

Bobby picked up the glass, now two fingers full of amber liquid, and raised it in a toast. "Happy Hanukkah, you damn drama queen."

Rufus clinked his glass to Bobby's and replied, "Merry Christmas, you old coot."

Their grins turned to grimaces as loud thumping started from the other room.

Your memory will carry on...

End Notes: I wanted to play with the idea of fathers. Some of you might not be thrilled with my portrayal of John here, but this is coming from a place of serious contemplation for Dean. And I liked the idea of him shedding the darkness and hurt he's carried for so long, that in his personal heaven, he's free of that burden and can finally fly unafraid.

I love the idea that he's open to love, in all of its myriad forms. Because without John Winchester, who knows if Dean would have had Bobby Singer as his surrogate father, Rufus as his crazy uncle, Cas as his guardian angel?

I wish you all a wonderful holiday season, and truly hope 2020 brings you amazing things!

[chebleedsink]

Narcissus’ Shadow

Do you ever find yourself covering for someone just because you feel bad for them, just quietly keeping to the shadowlands that they create for you? Maybe because they’re not all bad all the time, and in fact they can wonderful when they want to be? Because generally speaking, they treat most everyone (aside from yourself) really well. Maybe because you know their damage and toxic behaviors started in childhood, where they couldn’t choose to walk away from it? Or maybe because you know how alone and awful they feel on the inside all the time? Maybe because you’re empathetic enough that you not only can imagine, but can physically, mentally, or emotionally feel what it’s like to be them?

I know I do. It’s become second nature to me. I tend to side with the villains and “bad guys” in movies often too, for the same reasons. Really horrible people that do really horrible things, usually weren’t born that way, and they often had really horrible things happen to them first. Reminding myself that they are the hero in their own story isn’t a far stretch at all. I am even pretty certain that if I was ever held hostage, there would be a real possibility that I would develop Stolkholm syndrome if I saw the slightest trace of humanity left in my captor. I always think, “if only someone would love them unconditionally and hold some space for them, just give them the opportunity to change, they might not be villains anymore.” I’m sure the odds would be in favor of that being true some of the time, but some people are so caught up in their roles they play, that they can’t even see themselves for their behavior. Some people can see it, but can’t or won’t change it. Many of them just blame outside causes, while refusing to take any kind of responsibility for fixing things. They don’t want to be fixed. It’s not their problem.

I’m painfully aware that conditions like Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, (and less commonly Psychopathy, and Sociopathy), at any point of their wide spectrums, wreak havoc in peoples lives, affecting not just the person suffering with them, but often everyone that comes in contact with them. Alongside generalized anxiety and depressive disorders, these extremely destructive personality disorders like NPD and BPD are taking the spotlight. Dare I say that our society currently supports and encourages the traits, behaviors, characteristics, and tendencies that are indicators of these disorders? Some people have figured out how to put these behaviors to good use, and they use them to unapologetically advocate for animal welfare, or starving children, environmental issues or other human right’s issues. Unfortunately though, that is probably the exception to the rule, and even when directing their attention at these just causes, they are still trampling the people that get in their way underfoot without a second thought.

So many people are either suffering from these disorders directly or indirectly, and so much mental and emotional damage is caused because of them. Someone with several of these traits wouldn’t even have to be considered disordered or even on the spectrum, (and they certainly don’t need to have been clinically diagnosed), in order to hurt the people around them. They are just as toxic in their own way. To know that highly empathetic people have turned into these people due to emotional numbing after feeling too many extreme emotions, as well as knowing people who were previously abused by this same type of person also become these people, is truly heart-breaking. It’s such a cruel cycle to see.

I know all of this, I know mental illness is not the mentally ill’s fault, I know it’s not fair to blame their damage on themselves, but I also know that many of these same people have been given opportunities to better themselves and they often choose not to. Again, with these types of disorders, those who are inflicted with them often can’t or won’t acknowledge that they need help, nor will they acknowledge the damage they cause. They very rarely see therapists for these particular issues, because to them, they aren’t their issues. Some of them can’t even feel bad about the things they do (due to a lack of empathy), even though they may have learned to act like they do. Some of them see reality completely backwards, where they honestly believe that everything they do to others, is actually what’s being done to them. Some of them are so good at fooling even themselves, and they have adapted so well to hiding, that they believe they are the empaths being abused in their various relationships. Empaths feel other peoples’ emotions, whereas narcissists, sociopaths, and psychopaths fake other peoples’ emotions. Sometimes it’s near impossible to tell the difference.

Aside from complete avoidance, how do you even begin to deal with these types of people in a healthy or productive way? Even worse, some of those people are just dipping a toe in and out of the spectrums of those disorders, and you can still see some hope for them. Hope that the switch won’t flip all the way, that they won’t be completely lost to it. Hope that they’ll come back around, or that meds and therapy could help. That hope is miserable. It destroys more people than the disorders themselves ever could. But for some of us, if there’s hope, we’ll still put ourselves in front of the train in the hope that we can help, in the hope that we can all be saved. Too often though, we are just hit by the train, and surviving and recovering from that train-wreck is a long and painful journey. Some of us never recover.

Even after spending the last 5 years cutting these types of people out of my life, there are some I can’t escape. It’s just not an option. So, to maintain the “peace”, I find myself still covering for them. I find myself treading water in the wake of their explosive fits and moods, just concentrating on the damage control to follow and on not drowning. And I am so tired of it, I hate it, I am done with it. It doesn't fix anything, and I'm pretty sure it always just perpetuates more problems than it solves, yet I still do it all the time.

Why? Why continue covering up their bad behavior behind the scenes? Why bite my tongue? Because I don't want to upset anyone, and they're already having a hard time, and if I don't have anything nice to say..., and it wouldn't make a difference anyway (-in fact it just causes more problems), and we have mutual friends, and they monitor my Facebook posts and have actually told me not to air my dirty laundry on social media (even though they do so regularly), besides, they’re not really that bad all the time, the list goes on.

I was so angry and upset the other night and I wanted nothing more than to vent on fb, mostly because writing is how I work through things, and because there are always a few people online to commiserate with who have gone through similar experiences, but once again, I didn't, because of all of the above reasons.

The next morning I thought I'd have calmed down a bit, but I hadn't. My brain was literally screaming at me to stop covering for him. Because it's not fair. And I know that. And I've literally put up with it for a decade. That's a long time to put myself on the quiet chair for someone else's sake. Two days later, and my brain won’t let it go.

I have spent years trying to be a better person, always improving myself, working through my baggage so I don’t have to keep carrying it around, generally just trying to be a decent human being really. My brain is demanding that I break this pattern of sweeping other people’s trash under my rug. And I really want to, but I still feel like I shouldn’t. I’ve been well-trained.

Honestly, I just wish I didn't always feel so bad for them, like I'd be kicking a downed horse if I ever called them out. But what do you do when the horse is always down? And when they’re actually up, between minute moments of calmness, they're extremely reactive and aggressively defensive, they’re kicking and biting you or things around you, they’re shitting everywhere, they’re loud, they’re stomping mud through the house, breaking things, leaving the barn door open, always threatening to run away, and you're afraid that anything you say to them, any way you say it, whether he's calm or otherwise, might set him off or upset him even more causing an even worse tantrum. You’re stuck in close proximity, but could you just avoid the horse? Maybe that way you'd feel less tempted to kick it? Oh, but wait... avoiding the horse just upsets the horse too?

Even worse, what do you do when those people have spent so much time convincing other people that they aren't like that at all? When they've convinced you that you're the only reason they behave like that? When they've actually convinced you that you're the one behaving that way, not them? When they claim to be the emotionally fragile one that you keep attacking?

Gaslighting is no joke, and even if you know it's happening, it's so easy to get sucked back into. It's like quicksand. The harder you fight against it, the more you panic when it's being flung at you, the deeper it pulls you in. I've learned the best reaction is to not react, and to stay calm, but that is not easy to do when your brain is screaming "Oh my gods! He's doing it again!!! Panic!!! Fight or Run!!!!.....Wait, maybe it is me and I am really the abusive crazy one!?!? No!!! Fight Back!!! Explain to him how he's twisting everything around!!!! Maybe it is my fault, I never should have said anything…Did I really do those things?.. But that’s what I was just saying…. Maybe I just don’t remember…" Before you know it, it's sucked you back under, because there's no point in arguing with someone who knows exactly how to gaslight you. You will never win that fight.

Fatigue is setting in. I’m exhausted with this person, with these people. I am tired of watching them say one thing, while they are actually doing the total opposite. I'm so tired of watching them play the victim and the pity me cards on social media, when behind the scenes it's so obvious that even though they are mostly responsible for their own suffering, they have zero self-accountability. I'm tired of double standards, especially the one where they expect to be thanked and appreciated for every single thing they do, every time they do it, even though they don't do the same, and in fact they rarely even notice (and certainly don't acknowledge) even half of the things that someone else does.

I am beyond tired of these people bragging about their greatness, and how much they do for other people, when it's all just for show and personal gain under the guise of philanthropy. I'm tired of them complaining about how hard they have it when they have been given so many handouts in life, especially when they've literally shoved other people out of the way to get where they are. I’m tired of their sense of entitlement that they claim to not have.

I am tired of the type of people who constantly make other people feel like an inconvenience, especially when it's their turn to repay a favor or a debt, or to hold up their end of a bargain or partnership. Especially, when they willingly made a deal or agreed to something (which they most likely never expected to be held accountable for.) I’m tired of people who talk over or belittle other people as an attempt to publicly shame or dominate them. I’m tired of them always stepping into the spotlight when it’s someone else’s turn.

I'm tired of people who try to hold others hostage with power-plays, and by manipulating emotions. I'm tired of damaged people getting away with damaging other people just because they're damaged. I'm tired of inconsiderate people. I'm tired of hypocrites.  I'm tired of constantly volatile, hyper-defensive people who don't take responsibility for anything. I'm tired of people who try to shift the blame from themselves to everyone or anyone else they possibly can.

I'm tired of cleaning up other people's messes, literally and metaphorically, of all types, shapes and sizes. Even more than the actual "cleaning" part, I'm tired of being expected to do the job. I’m just as tired of expecting myself to do the job. I’m tired of people doing a half-assed job because the “job” isn’t their choice of what they want to do, and I’m tired of people putting in the least amount of effort possible. I’m tired of people who have no clue how to be a team-player.

I'm tired of people who give or do things for others as a way to put people in debt to them, or to be able to take credit for their successes later on. I am tired of "those" people who say, "but you don't see things from my side", or "you never listen to me". You know, the ones that when they say that, it's such a pile of crap and it's painfully obvious that they only see their own side of anything. The same people may be able to repeat back exactly what you said, but they didn't "hear" a word of it. I'm tired of talking to and fighting with brick walls.

I'm really, really tired of the people who use "I'm sorry" angrily, as a way to excuse their behavior, shift the blame, to clear their own conscience and to justify them doing the same thing over again for an unlimited amount of times. I'm tired of two-faced people. And I am so tired of people who claim to be the world's victim, when they're really the ones victimizing people. I'm tired of the people who accuse others of doing exactly what they themselves are doing.

I'm tired of keeping it to myself for someone else's sake. I'm tired of not bitching about it. I'm tired of keeping other people's ugly sides hidden, and I'm tired of keeping their images polished for some nonsensical reason.

You want to act high and mighty and tell me not to do something you just did (the 10x's worse, extreme version of) the day before?

Fuck you.

You want to tell me your shitty behavior is my fault?

Fuck you.

You want to act like you're so misunderstood, down-trodden, wounded and abused by me, when I was the one that excused and put up with your toxicity, abuse, and neglect for years.

Fuck you.

You want to try to poke me where it hurts, salt the wounds repeatedly, then try to cover it back up with sugar, just because you can?

Fuck you.

I'm tired. And I'm done. Just because someone does good things too, does not mean that you should put up with their shit. Just because you love someone as a person, doesn’t mean you have to let them hurt you. Just because you still feel some sort of hope for someone’s well-being, doesn’t make it your job to protect or help save them. Being a victim, being under too much stress, being mentally unwell is not a justified reason to pass the abuse. When it comes to physical abuse, these things are much more obvious, but emotional and mental abuse are equally damaging, you just can’t see the marks left on the outside.

I cannot wait until this page in my life turns to a fresh leaf, where I can just breathe again. Where I have space and where I can put some distance between myself and the things that hurt me the most. I know growth is painful, but I’m ready to take my hand off of the remnants of this fire. Although I often hate myself for the decisions that led to my situation, I count my blessings that I was at least able to remove myself from the pits of the original blaze, even if I did I let it burn me for way too long. I was left with so many scars, but I turned those scars into red-flags and memorials for life-lessons learned. I don’t ever want to forget those warning signs.

I currently have an amazing, loving, kind, considerate and self-aware partner in my life, the kind of person that I started thinking didn’t really exist. They’re not perfect, (no one is), but they don’t pretend to be, and they hold themselves accountable, and they do the work. Not only have they set a new standard in my life, but they have given me a whole new type of hope to focus on; the hope that I will continue to rise above my ingrained patterns of constantly choosing toxic people to surround myself with, and that I can make better choices, without feeling guilty about not sacrificing myself to save someone else.

My brain is still grumbling that I’m still covering. That I didn’t even mention who I was talking about or the details of the last argument, or the things he said, or the toxic things he does on a daily basis, or the way he really acts when no one else is around. Perhaps I’ll save that for another post. I feel that the vagueness of this post may just be more useful for anyone reading that may have needed to read this today.

If you’ve read this far, I’m assuming you probably can relate. You’ve probably felt these stingers once, or twice, perhaps more times than you’d like to count. You might be trapped at the moment, without a clear path to escape, but when the time comes, as soon as the opportunity arises, don’t think twice about getting out. Don’t feel bad. Don’t feel guilty. Don’t feel like you’ve failed. Don’t convince yourself that maybe you should just try one more time, because you probably shouldn’t. Don’t cover for them if you don’t have to, or if it’s safe not to. You owe it to yourself.

Don’t believe them when they tell you it’s all your fault, and that if you would just behave differently things would be better. Don’t believe them when they say they’ll change. These types of people rarely change without meds and therapy, and if you already feel tired, or done, or you’ve been covering longer than you’d like to admit, chances are the jokes on you. Don’t believe them when they say it’s all in your head. Don’t believe anything they tell you to try to convince you that there isn’t anything wrong with them, or if they argue there is something wrong with them that you just need to accept because it’s not going to change.  If they repeat your argument back to you as their own response, if you hear your own words or emotions being turned around and parroted back, or being used completely out of context, run my friend, run and don’t look back.

Should we still hold space for these people? Afterall, they are just human beings, right? They are just as deserving of love and acceptance as anyone else, even if they are toxic, even if they can’t love or accept us. I think we should hold space, and we should still love them unconditionally as human beings, however, we should hold their space as far away from ourselves as possible, and we should love them from great distances. My heart still bleeds for them, I can’t imagine what an awful existence many of them live, and I still wish I could help, but I’m so much wiser now. I know better. And every day, I get a little braver. One day, I’ll stop covering.  

[sweetiepie08]

⭐ FOR CONFIDANTE PLEASE!! -blackaquokat popping in from offline

Hi, thanks for the ask. Not choosing a specific topic has left me with a bit too much freedom, though. Rather than chosing a single scene, I’m going to analyze something that runs throughout the whole fic

Clopin & Noelle and their differing views of their own relationship.

What makes writing Clopin & Noelle’s relationship so satisfying for me is that they are very different people who, at their core, are actually very similar. Their differences are easy to spot. Noelle has a very analytical mind and deals better with facts and numbers. (Much better than she does with messy feelings) In a modern au, she’d have spent her school days studying to perfection, making sure she retained her position at the top of the class. Clopin, on the other hand, has a poetic soul. Absolutes bore him. He’d have much more fun sorting through something messy himself and make it beautiful in his own way than he would if he were given a clear, but inflexible, set of instructions. (Naturally, in a modern au, this would make putting together IKEA furniture an infuriating experience for the both of them.)

Clopin & Noelle’s different personalities, upbringing, and station in society shaped the way they view their relationship.

We’ll start with Noelle, who is the one more likely of the two to recognize the obstacles in their relationship, or at least acknowledge them. She a realist. She sees things the way they are and is more likely to work within the perimeters she’s given. That’s not to say she doesn’t recognize when those perimeters are bullshit (racism, classism, sexism, ect.), but she doesn’t usually a way around them. To her, these are things in the world she has to deal with, not things she can change. The fact that she loves Clopin doesn’t change these external things and so, in her mind, they can never truly be together the way they want. The way she feels about that doesn’t change anything either, so she might as well push that useless pain down where neither she, nor anyone else, needs to deal with it.

Another difference is that Noelle harbors a great deal of guilt over their relationship which Clopin does not. Her tendency to push her emotions down steams from her tendency to devalue her own needs. There are times when she won’t get enough sleep or enough to eat because there is work that needs done. If she isn’t producing a tangible result, then she’d wasting time. This also mean she devalues her emotional needs. Her feelings are hers to deal with and she doesn’t need to burden anyone else by talking about them. Emotional support? Comfort? Love? Those are greedy things to ask for, even from someone who would happily give them to her. The thing is, she still wants them and Clopin knows her well enough to know when she’s in need, so she accepts and then feels guilty for accepting. She knows Clopin could be spending his time and energy on people who need it more. Any time he spends on her is time he could be spending on something more important, so it is selfish of her to accept his help, even if he’s the one offering.

The last difference I’m going to touch on is Noelle’s fears about the relationship. One this she and Noelle have in common is a fear of losing each other. However, the nature of this fear is where they differ. Noelle is well aware of the dangerous life Clopin leads. He is a leader, responsible for the lives of so many people, and he often has to put himself in risky situations to protect those people. That is on top of the prejudices he faces every day. Noelle’s biggest fear is that one day, someone will come in to her inn and inform her that Clopin’s been killed. His bright, brilliant light would be snuffed out, and she could do nothing to prevent it. To add to her grief, she would have to go on as if nothing had happened. Their love is a secret, after all, and as far as the majority of the population Paris knows, they’ve never even associated with each other. She couldn’t morn him, at least not openly. Her immediate family is gone. She is close with her cousin, Faye, but Faye has a family and a business of her own to worry about. She deliberately isolated herself to keep the inn’s status as a safehouse a secret. She’d have no one to lean on. Without Clopin, she is alone.

What she truly wants is to keep him safe. When he is out in the world, she is helpless to protect him, so she’ll compensate with the things she can control. The last thing she wants is to see him hurt and she’ll do anything to keep that from happening. If that means keeping him hidden for a night, fine. If that means lying to Frollo’s face without so much as batting an eye, she’ll do it. If that means breaking off their affair to keep anyone from using it as leverage against him, she’ll do that to, because his safety is far more important than her love.

Now, Clopin sees things differently than her. She is a realist, but he is closer to an idealist. That’s not to say he doesn’t know the obstacles that stand in their way, but he is more preoccupied with the fact that they shouldn’t be there at all. The main thing standing in their way is that they’re different races and this is medieval times. If people weren’t so racist, they wouldn’t have a problem with interracial love. And really, why should anyone care what two consenting adults do with their own love lives anyway? If he loves her, and she loves him, and they both want the same thing, they should be together. Why should anyone else get a say? This is his relationship. Not yours! Not yours! Noelle’s, but not yours! You don’t get a say in who he loves! Noelle might, but nobody else!

Where Noelle feels guilt, Clopin feels anger. While he might feel some guilt, thinking about Noelle when he should be focusing on his people, he in mostly angry at the injustice of it all. Things shouldn’t be that way. He shouldn’t have to choose between loving Noelle and loving his people. There’s room in his heart for both...just not hours in a day. But he shouldn’t need to protect them anyway. In a perfect world, he wouldn’t have to choose…But it wasn’t a perfect world. It was, in fact, a deeply flawed world. Noelle was an unmarried woman and she was old enough for this to be strange. People already talked about her. She was already being written off as a shrewish spinster who no man wanted. They were fools, all of them. How could they not notice what an incredible woman lived among them? But that didn’t change the way things were. If anyone found out about them, at the very least it would tarnish her reputation further. So, he respected her boundaries. They kept their love confined to her bedroom and never let on anywhere else. In the end, it’s just another injustice they have to face.

Like Noelle, his greatest fear is losing her. What’s worse, he’s afraid of being the cause of her downfall. He’s aware of how much he asks of her, how much danger she puts herself in for him. He wouldn’t ask if it weren’t necessary, but it is. He tries to repay her however he can. He tries to put a smile on her face, bring joy to her eyes, give her all the love and support she deserves. He’d be happy to share all he has with her, to spend his days with her, to shout his love for her from the rooftops. But he can’t, because he is dangerous for her to be around. If she ever went down, it’d be because of him, and if he’s going to feel guilty about anything, it’ll be about that. However, if anything were to happen to her, he at least has people around him to support him. He’d at least have people who would know why he is grieving and help him through it. He still has his uncle and lots of cousins and friends. If she died, he’d be able to tell them everything and they’d at least understand how much he loved her.

Really all he wants for her to feel happy and loved. He wants to show her she’s not alone. She doesn’t have to face everything alone. She is worth being loved and protected and cared for. Does she know? She knows he loves her at least. He tries to make sure of that, even if she does brush him aside and push him away. If they could just be together without fear, he’d show her endlessly how much he loves her.

So, why do they love each other despite their difficulties? Because at their core, they are very similar and their differences bring out the best in each other. They are both protective of those they love. They both value intelligence and challenging their minds. They are both generous with their time, energy, and resources to those who need & deserve it. Their differences push each other to be their best selves. Noelle pushes Clopin harder when he’s tempted to rest on his laurels. Clopin reminds Noelle it’s okay to relax and take care of herself every once in a while. Noelle encourages him to analyze a situation while he encourages her to think outside the box. In many ways, they fill in each other’s gaps.

This is kind of why I want to write a modern au of these two. For one thing they’d be much happier. They’d have fewer restrictions placed on them which would allow them to be together and pursue passions that are uniquely their own. I want to write about little Clopin & Noelle talking for hours on the phone and getting supremely embarrassed when they realize one of their siblings has been listening in. I want Noelle pushing Clopin to study for exams because “I know your grades are already fine but just think how much better they’d be if you studied!” but in the end having to bribe him with movie dates. I want Clopin to drag her away for a surprise date, because she’s been stressing herself too much and she needs a break. I want Clopin recording his first film analysis video and Noelle watching in awe as he speaks intelligently and eloquently about a subject she doesn’t naturally get. I want Noelle speaking with morbid glee about the absurdity of the Cadaver Synod and Clopin just watching the spark in her eyes and thinking about how much he loves her.

Someday, Noelle and Clopin will be together and happy, but they’ve still got some more hardships to endure before that happens.

[blxssomwrites]

Title: The scars we hide Fandom: Gintama Rating: K Word count: 1767 words

My first jump into this fandom! I’ve recently started watching this series, and Gintoki quickly cemented himself as a top fav. I haven’t went that far in yet, but I really loved the relationship shared between him and Otose so I wanted to write something about them!

This piece is inspired by the headcanons from @gintamajustaway! I’m still learning how to write the characters, so I apologize if the characterization feels off. Regardless, I hope it’ll be an enjoyable read!

They say that with age comes wisdom, at least when it comes to knowing that things aren’t always as they appear.

Otose might be old, facing pain and aches befitting of an aged body but her mind is sharp and her eyes are even sharper. It’s a boon to have when she’s running the bar; knowing when to pour and when to pull back is what allows her to have returning customers. It’s not necessarily good for business if she lets them die of alcohol poisoning, after all.

But Otose thinks that she gets more practice in telling the subtleties of human emotions and behavior from the idiot living upstairs.

Sakata Gintoki is many things, though among those who knew him, the general view seems to split into two. A lazy, good for nothing perm haired manchild that attracts trouble the way a garbage truck attracts flies. A kind yet fierce self sacrificing samurai who’d do anything in his power to protect what’s precious to him.

Otose has come to learn that there’s more to what meets the eye. Gintoki hides what he truly feels behind layers upon layers of masks, especially if it hints at pains suffered from the life or death battles that he finds himself in far too often.

It’s impossible to survive the grievous wounds inflicted on his abused body without complications. Otose knows that there are days where his old scars act up, but for all the whining that Gintoki does on a daily basis, this is the one thing that he’d keep mum on.

She learns quickly that his body language provides more information than words ever will. Gintoki laughs obnoxiously to hide a wince. Slouches when he thinks no one is looking. Clenches his jaw when he frowns. His movements are less sharp, more practiced and controlled, like he’s trying not to tug on anything in fear of ripping the seams wide open.

Otose often leaves him be, for she knows that Gintoki is both stubborn and selfless, who wouldn’t take too well with being fussed over because he made them worry about him. Whenever he comes into her bar by himself, she doesn’t question when she spots bandages peeking out of his kimono, the faint exhausted lines on a too pale face. Instead, she quietly slides him an extra drink to his order, comments that he looks like shit and pretends not to see the vaguely appreciative look he gives her from the reflection of the glass she’s polishing.

But Otose cares more than she lets on, and has enough common sense to know when to step in. If his old scars affect him too much by her standards, she’s not going to let him suffer in silence any longer, nor any more than he should.

When Kagura and Shinpachi entered her bar that morning without Gintoki trailing behind them, Otose pretends to look disinterested when she gives them breakfast, commenting on the lack of their silver haired boss.

“Ah, Gin-san said that he feels tired today,” Shinpachi replies, eating his portion slowly as opposed to the girl that’s shoveling down her second bowl of rice beside him.

“Yeah! Gin-chan told us to mooch breakfast from you cause he doesn’t want to make it,” Kagura says in between bites, then shamelessly asks for more rice.

Otose’s eye twitches even as she scoops out another bowl full, while Shinpachi flashes her an apologetic smile for her tactless remark. That soon slides off into an almost thoughtful frown. “We have a job to do today, but I guess it’s just going to be the two of us.”

“Hmph! He’s leaving us to do all the work today while he sleeps like a lazy bum.” Kagura makes a face. “Shinpachi! We’re not going to give him any of the pay, okay!? If you do I’ll hit you!” And she does smack him over the head.

“Ow! You’re hitting me anyway!” comes the heated reply, and then it degenerates into a nonsensical argument that hides the underlying worry that these two harbor. Otose knows that they sense something amiss with Gintoki, sensitive as they are when his mood genuinely plummets, but they’re unsure on how to tread on the subject. She doesn’t blame them.

When the pair finishes their breakfast and heads out to work, she makes an offhand comment on collecting rent from the lazy bastard later. Otose turns her back as the tension melts off of the children’s shoulders, and plans for her visit upstairs.

Roughly half an hour later, she exits her shop with supplies in hand and slowly makes her way upstairs. Otose doesn’t bother knocking, merely slipping inside with a slight shink.

Her steps are light, and it’s telling on how awful Gintoki feels when he fails to acknowledge her presence upon opening the door. The curtains were still drawn, probably in consideration for this prideful idiot who didn’t want his kids to see him in this state.

The blanket is pulled up that she only sees tufts of his silver hair. Otose sits a considerable distance away, for prior experiences taught her that with Gintoki and his past, it’s best to be out of his reach until she has a good grasp of his mental state.

“Gintoki,” she calls out.

There’s a flinch from under the blanket before it’s pulled down enough for red rimmed eyes to peek through. Otose feels her heart clench slightly at the pain hidden in them, but keeps her composure.

“Old hag.” Those eyes narrow. “If you’re here for rent, I don’t have the money.”

She knows that it’s an act to keep up appearances. He knows why she’s here but still puts up a front, this selfless fool.

“One of these days I’m going to throw your sorry ass out into the streets,” she replies with a faint huff. A beat of silence, then she wears a softer look. “What hurts this time?”

Gintoki closes his eyes, unable to stand the concerned gaze. He hates it, the man had once told her after too many drinks loosened his tongue. He hates making people worry for him, cause he doesn’t feel like he deserves it. Otose chalks it up to a drunkard’s rambling, and treats him a little nicer the next day when he complains of a hangover.

Otose doesn’t push even as the quietude stretches on for minutes. It’s a battle of wills, sprinkled with a dash of futile hope that if he remains still long enough, she’d give up and leave. Gintoki is stubborn but Otose didn’t survive this long by being docile, either.

They’ve done this song and dance before, back when it’s just the two of them. It’s only a matter of time before--

“... my shoulder.” Otose hums in acknowledgement, giving him room to elaborate if he wants. “... been a fucking bother since last night.”

Another hum, then she shuffles closer. Gintoki cracks open an eye at the noise, wariness clashing with her quiet resolution before he sighs. Otose doesn’t help him when he tries to sit up, though her hand hovers close at the small of his back, just in case.

He carefully sheds his pajamas, biting back winces when the simple act aggravates his shoulder. Otose has seen this strong back several times, and it’s never a pleasant sight when she sees new scars mixing with the old.

Her gaze flickers to the cause of his misery. It’s unsurprising that his dominant arm would bear the heaviest burden. It makes sense for his enemies to incapacitate the wooden sword that inflicts damage as if it were steel. Slash his shoulder and that should stop his rampage, right?

Too bad for them that Sakata Gintoki often defies common sense in his single minded desire to protect what’s precious to him. But damage is still damage, and despite being called the shiroyasha, Gintoki is very much human. His body can never fully recover, only repairs itself enough to function.

Otose brings with her a small bowl of warm water and a clean kitchen towel. She dips it in, squeezes out the excess water before she gently dabs his shoulder. Gintoki hisses at the contact, but aside from the initial flinch, he remains tight lipped.

Once it’s sufficiently cleaned, she picks up the small bottle of ointment, and squeezes out the clear gel onto her fingertips. Then it’s carefully applied on the marred skin. Another hiss, an instinctive lean to get away until he rights himself back up again. Otose continues the treatment, her practiced hand being as gentle as it could be.

After a thorough coating, she tells him to stay put prior to her exit, barely catching the grumbled complaint. Her initial action was to pour him a glass of strawberry milk, but after a moment of consideration, she switches it with cool water. A bottle of painkillers was fished out from inside her left sleeve, and with the items in tow, she returns to his room.

Gintoki is now wearing his pajamas properly again, still sitting upright. His eyes flicker to the door upon her entrance.

“At least you know how to follow orders.”

“Shut up.”

Still, he accepts the pills and water with a tiny nod. Otose goes to sit back down by his futon when he gingerly wiggles his way under the blanket again. The treatment might take the edge off, but what he really needs is rest. A difficult task while he waits for the pills to kick in, she’s sure.

Otose may not be able to alleviate his pain, but she can help him relax enough to make it bearable. Thin, wrinkled fingers slowly finds purchase in his hair, and after gauging his reaction, they slowly dig into his curls.

Ever so slowly, the tension oozes out of him. A small, appreciative sigh slips through his lips with each pass that she makes through his soft locks. Otose merely continues the comforting ministrations until his eyes slip shut and his breathing evens out. Her fingers remain for a while longer while she takes in his peaceful expression.

Her own lips curled into a small, maternal smile. Gintoki is stubborn and reckless, lazy and boorish, loyal and kind, and the son that Otose sees him as.

Eventually, she does pull away. Otose picks up her stuff, shuts the door behind her and continues on with her day. Things will return to normal soon enough.

(She doesn’t question when Shinpachi and Kagura gifts her with some red bean buns that evening, nor acknowledges the soft thank you that Gintoki utters when he passes by her the next morning).

[mister-honeynuts]

Prompt: Aliens / Stars Pairing(s): Gwen/David Word Count: 2,388 Summary: Day Two for @gwenvidweek in which Gwen knows a thing or two about constellations and next to nothing about being a parent. Set in the middle of a verse for a bigger story I’m in the process of writing.

David comes home with an armful of paint cans and a look of determination that wavers the second he realizes Gwen is home.

She looks up at him from her magazine on the couch, amused as determination turns to guilt in a flash and beckons him further into the apartment. He complies with far less enthusiasm than he arrived with but doesn’t scramble to offer a defense as she pries open one of the larger cans.

It’s a deep, dark blue that reminds Gwen of the night sky back at camp where the city lights don’t pollute the view.

They don’t have the money for something like this and David’s usually the responsible one with money.

“Max will like it,” she comments casually, looking up from the paint with a small smile she hopes is reassuring.

“Gwen…”

She stands, crossing her arms under her chest. He’s internalizing some sort of guilt that she’d really rather not let fester but she’s not sure how to stop this before it begins.

“You move all the furniture out and I’ll start taping it off,” she says, moving to dig through their kitchen island. Beyond the fact that their kitchen island mysteriously contains a warehouse worth of random shit, she vaguely remembers them having to paint years ago when they first moved in.

Sure enough, she uncovers a mostly unused roll of painters tape under packs of nails and yard sale stickers even though they’ve never had a yard sale.

“Gwen-” David starts again, unmoved from his spot.

She sighs. It’d really have been preferable if this didn’t need to become a discussion but of course, David is a perfect boyfriend and all around good person and communication was his middle fucking name.

“Look. You know we can’t afford all this paint and I know we can’t. But it’s for Max, right? So…we’ll make it work. We just might have to eat a lot of pasta for the next week,” she tells him like it isn’t exactly the same thing that ran through his head when he was buying the damn paint.

David is not irresponsible as much as he is overly considerate of other people. Gwen knows if they really couldn’t safely take the hit, he wouldn’t have done it. It seems like David himself isn’t being as forgiving.

“I just want him to feel at home,” David says and Gwen gets it.

It’s not easy with David still in school and Gwen in whatever low standards job she’s holding down at the moment. They aren’t drowning in spare cash. Haven’t got the means to really make Max feel like this isn’t just him chilling in their spare bedroom until they figure out what to do with him.

“Then you need to start moving the furniture out because I for one am not going to get bitched out by an eleven year old because we got paint on his shitty second-hand bed frame,” she says, waving the roll of tape at him.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment where Gwen thinks she might actually have to sit David down before his face is overtaken by the literal embodiment of sunshine and she is reminded just why she fell for this idealistic boy.

David explains his concept as they pull apart Max’s bed and start lugging it into the main area of the apartment. She folds his sheets and sets them aside to be washed while they paint, overcome by how much of a parent she feels like in this moment despite feeling too much like a child herself.

She’s not Max’s mom. She’s not anyone’s mom; she can’t even keep any of her plants alive but she thinks maybe this isn’t nothing either.

David smiles at her, honest and open like he knows exactly what she’s thinking and she smacks him on the hip with a paintbrush, ducking to hide the blush that she refuses to admit is enveloping her face.

Gwen tapes off the baseboards and around the outlets while David finishes carting out the rug and the desk, taking note of the way he gently places Max’s frumpy bear at the top of the pile to scrutinize them safely from just outside the door.

“He’s supervising,” David says, shooting the most disgustingly fond look at the bear that Gwen recognizes from the times she’s caught him staring at Max when he falls asleep on the couch or in the car. And she’s not sure why but it’s only then that she really recognizes that they’re doing this. Broke, in their twenties, not quite stable themselves in adulthood but they’re taking in this tiny person who relies on them no matter how much he insists otherwise.

But fuck, they’ve practically raised Max anyways. Summer to summer. This is just that but more.

She struggles with the cluster of old magazines they're using as makeshift tarp to protect the floor while David runs to throw Max’s sheets in the laundry room downstairs. He comes back with the paint, pouring it out into a pan and offering her a brush. Their fingers brush with the exchange and she watches David flush now, bright red and too endearing.

“We’ve been dating for a while now,” she mentions as he starts laying out the blue on the ceiling. Physically, her focus is on the edges around the outlet where she’s laying her own paint but she’s hyper aware of the way he jumps slightly at the comment.

“Yeah…” he answers and Gwen can just bet the blush is still there. She smirks. “I’m sorry.”

She freezes. That’s not really what she was expecting and she finally looks up. The blush is definitely still there but the look on his face doesn’t compliment it well.

“Hey, no, what’s up? What’s there to be sorry about?”

“Everything with Max happened so fast and then you had to give up your room and-”

“David!” she cuts him off, in disbelief that he’d been fixating on this without her knowing. David, who had to talk through everything the instant it was an issue. David, who lectured her about bottling up her feelings on the regular. “We were already dating. We talked about this…do you not want to share a bedroom?”

“No!” His lack of hesitation and the urgency with which he says it really does something for her ego. He finally turns to look at her and there’s something so unfamiliar in what she sees. “But you like having your own space.”

She barks out a laugh. It’s an understatement. Gwen’s not like David. She can’t be part of the grand scheme of other people 24/7 without a sign of wearing. But, well, David isn’t the grand scheme and neither is Max. They’re her…boys. Home could be that place just as well.

It’s hard to convey that to David though. Hard to explain that she loves him and she loves Max and these two things are related to each other but they existed on their own too.

“Max needs his own space too,” she says instead but it doesn’t seem to convince him. “Look, couples get to this point. Or they break up beforehand but that’s not the point. It was going to end up like this anyways, David. And I’m glad it did. You know, even though you’re a fucking octopus.”

A total lie. If anything, Gwen’s the one seeking out warmth in the night but like fuck she’d admit that in the midst of what is already an overly drawn out heart to heart.

“You’re too good, Gwen,” David says softly, back to painting the ceiling and as Gwen stares up at him with something like awe, she thinks he really does mean it.

“We did this all in the wrong order,” she mumbles, “You’re suppose to sleep together and then have a kid.”

“Gwen!” he shouts, so apparently scandalized that he fumbles the roller and almost kicks over the bucket of paint between his feet. She smirks, pleased that he had reacted exactly the way she knew he would. There was something truly fantastic about dating your best friend.

It’s hours and two coats later but they somehow manage to get the room back together before Max is home.

Her instinct had been spot on, of course. Leave it to David to paint a nightscape reminiscent of camp for a boy who swore he hated nothing more. But looking at the finished product, a tiny pine tree forest hand painted along the baseboards, it’s subtle enough that even Max wouldn’t be able to find fault in it.

She hopes at least. They know Max best out of most but it feels like in recent days, she doubts more and more what she knows to be true about the little monster. Being wrong feels like such a bigger deal now.

It’s missing something though. She feels it and instantly she remembers. Popping into their room while David collects the leftover paint to drag downstairs later, she digs through the mess that is her bag until she finds the box.

They’re shitty. It was an impulse buy and Gwen knows in a month, they’re not going to glow anymore but after Max had mentioned (offhandedly and with all the attitude of a kid not use to being listened to) his discomfort of being alone in the dark, she’d felt compelled to seek them out.

The stars come in various sizes and adhere with some sort of cheap foam sticker. In reality, they’re probably not going to last long enough to lose their glow but she doesn’t hesitate laying them out along the ceiling and down the corners of the walls anyways.

Admiring her handiwork, she doesn’t even notice David come back until he’s wrapping his arms around her waist.

“When did you get those?” he asks into her shoulder, brushing his lips ever so slightly against the exposed skin he finds there. She rests her hands on top of his and allows herself to just enjoy the sensation of being there together like they haven’t since confessions at the end of camp.

“Impulse buys are my thing, mister. Don’t fucking steal my thunder,” she teases. “If anyone is going to bankrupt us to buy Max shit he doesn’t need, it’s going to be me.”

David hums, though whether it’s agreement or acknowledgement, she’s not quite sure. Either way, it’s nice.

They’re laying on Max’s floor, cooling down from their afternoon of excitement when the apartment door gives the telltale slam of a bitchy preteen with an attitude problem.

“Why is Mr. Honeynuts out here!” Max demands from the main area of the apartment where David had left the stuffed bear on the island while they dragged all the furniture back in and remade the bed. She turns to look at him but if he’s as nervous as she is, he doesn’t show it.

David has no doubts about Max’s reaction. She doesn’t think it comes from naivety either or the misplaced optimism he’s prone to at camp.

David just knows Max. She lets that ground her. Gwen knows Max too.

“Hey, assholes! Go lay on your own flo-” he stops in the doorway, eyes wide as he takes in the walls. His stupid bear is clutched tightly in his arms, protectively even, and Gwen feels her heart melt in a way she’d otherwise find vaguely disgusting.

She pats the ground between them but still finds herself a little surprised when he wordlessly comes to sit, bear clutched in his lap.

“What?” he asks, searching, and she can hear the minute crack in his voice. Gwen feels like there’s more than one question in that one word and it’s heartbreaking to think that a little bit of paint means so much. It reminds her too much of David at Max’s age and that’s not something they’re suppose to think about anymore.

She just can���t grasp the injustice of the universe sometimes.

“Like it?” David asks, pushing himself up to sit and gently coercing the boy to lean against him. He’s only been here for a little over a week so Gwen still isn’t sure at what point that became an acceptable action. Only that is must have happened some time in the months and months that David was keeping her out of the loop.

She’s angry in that moment but they’ve already had that talk. And she knows that the anger comes from a misplaced feeling that she doesn’t belong. In her own house. In her own little makeshift family that she cobbled together with the pieces of David his parents couldn’t destroy.

It’s ridiculous.

“So fucking stupid. You idiots. Didn’t need it,” she hears Max mumble, voice wavering.

Gwen doesn’t like the way forcibly contained tears sound on Max. His carefully crafted, unfazed by anything masquerade that prevented him from being able to say what he meant.

She places a hand gently on his head, threading fingers through the entity of curls that was his hair and pointing out the cluster of stars closest to his bed.

“That’s Canis Major. And the biggest star is Sirius. It’s suppose to be ominous and shit but so are you so…it’ll protect you. Don’t ever say we never got you a dog,” Gwen explains, tracing out the constellation in the air with her free hand.

Max snorts, subtly moving to lean against Gwen and follow her finger’s movement. David thinks he’s sly but Gwen definitely notices as he scoots closer, sandwiching Max ever so gently between them.

“Another useless degree?”

The dig stings more than it should when he means it half as much as he has in the past.

“I found something that made me happy,” she answers, trying hard to keep the defense out of her tone but she feels Max tense anyways. It leaves her feeling terrible. Like she failed. Again.

“Me too,” David interjects and just like that, the tension snaps and the two of them groan in horror. She shoves at David playfully, squishing Max even more in the process. He yelps, complaining about nothing just to complain.

David laughs, genuine and fond and Max does some kind of half laugh under his breath and Gwen doesn’t feel out of the loop.

None of them really know what they’re doing. They’re not knowing together.

[dcrothy]

hello friends !! it’s ya hoe moose (she/her) & i’m 21 and chillin over in the cst. i’m jazzed af to join this lovely group and rp with u all !! my gal dorothy here is a semi-new muse & i’m still working some stuff out with her but.....hopefully u like her anyway lmaooo. i would love love love to plot with u all so feel free to HMU or just LIKE THIS and i’ll come to you !! if you prefer to chat on discord just hmu on there instead, that’s chill with me. also bc i am such a.....pinterest hoe u can catch her board HERE !! more info abt her under the cut of course~

[ kristine froseth, cisfemale, she/her, 20 ] GINGER by THE FRONT BOTTOMS? whenever i hear that song, it reminds me of DOROTHY LINDVIG. maybe because they’re VIVACIOUS but also ALOOF. they’ve been living at mulberry apartments since AUGUST of 2016 in 410 and have 1 ROOMMATE. 

tw: trauma, eating disorder, drug use !!

ok so !!!! first thing’s first, she usually does by the nickname dolly. but she doesn’t care too much abt what u call her u can call her fuckass and she’d just be like what’s up

she’s a town native !!! grew up in a shitty area w a kind of shitty family. parents were never around, always off on benders or just....generally bein shitty parents. dolly & her older brother had to learn how to take care of themselves when they were pretty young and they’ve always done just fine. they didn’t have a lot of money so dolly got pretty good at playing up the cute lil girl role and getting free stuff out of ppl

as much as she claims she relies only on herself, she also relies heavily on the kindness of strangers bc without them she definitely would have gone hungry for real

in order to stay away from her house as much as possible she would hang out at the skating rink as a kid & eventually after stealing a pair of skates from the lost & found she taught herself how to skate & eventually figure skate as well. she’s always wanted to go pro but.....obviously couldn’t afford the training

her brother used to throw pretty big ragers in their place when their parents were gone so......she started drinking & doing drugs at a pretty young age & just generally hanging out with ppl who were much older than her & v bad influences.

trauma tw !! it was at one of these parties that she had a traumatic experience w one of her brother’s friends. she was 13 and she still hasn’t told anyone about what happened. it happened on more than one occasion and her brother is still friends w this boy so she just.....does her best to avoid him & pretend that nothing ever happened bc she refuses to acknowledge her trauma

she was pretty popular in school but never rly felt like she had any true friends ??? none of her relationships were all that deep and she mostly just hung out with people to get free stuff LMAO and like rides places i guess

but she does have her lil group of friends that she truly cares abt and when she actually cares abt u.......she’s around for LIFE u cant get rid of her sorry

she got emancipated when she was 16 and has been living on her own ever since. at first she’d would just stay at friend’s houses and sleep on their couches, but that stopped when she finally got a job at the skating rink teaching kids how to skate & got a new place to live. she’s been chillin working there and living in the apartment building for a couple of years now

despite the fact she has a job, a good portion of her income doesn’t even rly come from that ??? she has......a sugar daddy who finances most of her spending

that is.....a v brief outline of her life up until this point but imma talk a bit abt her personality now

she is.....very magnetic tbH. knows how to draw in a group and keep them interested

knows how to bat her eyelashes and flirt if it means she’ll get something out of it

she’s kind of mean, kind of not ??? she is v moody a lot of the time tbh like it’s either hit or miss with her. sometimes she’ll be in the mood to have a big long chat and in a split second she’ll be telling u to fuck off

likes to know everyone else’s drama but doesn’t like having drama of her own

kind of does her own thing ???? marches to the beat of her own drum. doesn’t rly follow any rules. she’s just out here

does most things out of spite. even if she doesn’t want to do something, if someone tells her she cant do something she’s gna do it no matter what

very animated and lively. the type to dance in the middle of the grocery store if a song she likes is playing

also the type to dance on tables at the club

doesn’t rly care what ppl think about her but.....does at the same time ??? if ur important to her she cares deeply abt ur opinion but if not........she doesn’t give a FUCK

makes homes out of people far too easily & it’s fucked her up!!!!!

she always has to keep herself busy or else she’ll lose her mind :))))

will do.......literally anything to get something for free ??? doesn’t matter what it is or who u are. she can HATE u but.....she will still blow u behind the 7/11 for a free slurpee u know

i wouldn’t say she’s hypersexual but she is highly sexual thx to her trauma !!!

she is friendly yet distant at the same time so like......while she will happily talk to u and hang out with u and whatever she avoids deep conversation topics ig ??? she always finds a way to leave or change the subject when it gets serious or make a joke out of things bc she can’t.........talk abt stuff ajsdfjkgdjgk

a very witty & clever girl. she’s v smart and would have done well in school had she had a slightly better life & didn’t have to worry abt whether or not she would starve

some extra tidbits abt her !!!

p much all of her clothing is vintage/thrifted. she likes to re-purpose old clothes and make them her own. but her aesthetic is v vintage. shoes are her fave & she’s always wearing some funky type of boot or platform shoe

just a real fashion bitch !!!!

catch her online shopping at almost any given moment

mental breakdown haircuts at 2am are her Mood

she loves going to cute lil vintage diners & drinkin a cherry coke. she....actually is lowkey addicted to pop 

can’t keep a relationship to save her life. will date someone and put herself FULLY into the relationship but.......will either get bored or cheat on them or put them up on a pedestal so it’s destined to fail after one lil mistake.

she is a self-sabotager like that bc she doesn’t believe she’s deserving of love or any good things really

smokes cigarettes

drug use tw !! smokes a lot of weed probably. also does a lot of cocaine. has a coke addiction, in fact

her fave colour is red

she has a cat named freddie who she adores more than anything else on the planet

likes to play poker & gamble

will literally try anything once

hates herself & is rotting inside!!!!!!!!!!!!

eating disorder tw !! another symptom from her trauma is the eating disorder she developed as a teen. food is.....one of her few things in life she can fully control so she controls it a Lot. she’ll go days without eating just to feel more in control & then often times after restricting a certain food for a v long time she’ll go on a massive binging and purging and it’s awful :////// 

just wants to have fun and forget abt how disgusting she feels on a daily basis & how much she hates herself :))))))))))

generally just.............a messy bitch

this is......a LOT. i don’t have a full wc page or anything yet but here r some ideas ig ???

friends !! ppl that don’t actually know her all that well but she pretends they do anyway

exes !! ya girl puts her whole entire being into relationships even tho she runs away from them right after bc self sabotage ???? so she prob isn’t on good terms with any of her exes but......she’s my bi queen so this is open to anybody!!!!

a drug dealer

party buddies

fwbs & hookups, that kinda thing

maybe someone she cheated on a partner with ??? for Drama

or like....someone who’s relationship she fucked up idk

maybe someone who has a crush on her or something & she’s like.......pls don’t what r u doing

someone she has a crush on & avoids them like the plague bc feelings are gross

a good influence

idK i want angst & cute fluffy stuff so just.........everything pls thank uuuu

and ofc.............the song connections i’ve sent to the main~

that was a LOT im sorry y’all but..........come plot w me pleaseeee :’)

[hegagergerk]

My reactions to The Last Jedi

I have mixed feelings about The Last Jedi. There are some aspects of it that I loved, but there was a lot that I really didn’t like. I’ve seen it twice, and each time I left the theater thinking, “Well. Huh. I don’t know what I feel.” I felt this uncertain about The Force Awakens, for comparison, but I left Rogue One knowing I liked it.

I also want it known that I am a fan of Rian Johnson and his work. I LOVE Brick, and Looper was pretty great. So I was pretty excited going into this film.

Perhaps, if this had been the first in a trilogy, I might be able to overlook the parts that I don’t like, as I did in The Force Awakens. But this is the second part - the meat of the story. And honestly, the whole thing felt gamey.

SPOILERS (and unpopular opinions) under the cut.

Pros:

It’s a beautifully shot, visually striking film. 

Adam Driver shirtless

Adam Driver, period. Love that boy

I love what they’ve done with Luke (the grumpy old hermit schtick), and I loved what little time we spent on Ach-To. The location was beautiful, I loved the Caretakers and the Porgs, and I loved Luke’s take on the Force and the Jedi.

Rey Random is the best answer to her backstory and the explanation I was hoping for. I loved the mirror cave sequence. It’s an even better touch that not only were they random people, but they were awful and neglectful. Ouch. Didn’t think they’d go that far.

I love that Rey and Kylo want to fuck each other. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

I’m okay with Luke trying to murder Ben and then regretting it, even though I understand why many people are not. I actually really like the exploration of Luke’s character, and the digging into his personality flaws and weaknesses - namely, that he was prideful of his own legacy, which gave him several blind spots with regards to his nephew, and led to his biggest failure as a Jedi. It’s true - it is, initially, out of character, but I think this lapse in judgment was more horrifying to Luke himself for that very reason, and resolves for me, at least, why he would isolate himself like he does. 

I liked Luke’s death. I liked that it’s hinted that he was ready to go, anyway, and he got to go out heroically in the end.

I LOVED Luke and Leia’s reunion. Oh my god. The tears. I just. Can’t get over it. Especially knowing that Carrie Fisher wrote that scene? Fuck me

Cons:

It feels like 3 different films crammed together into 2 ½ hours. One of these films, I very much wanted to watch, but was never given enough of (Rey’s story). Another of these films, I wanted to want to watch, but found myself losing interest as time wore on (Finn’s story). The remaining one - I could have done without entirely, and I ended up resenting completely by the film’s finish (Poe’s story). 

Some of the humor worked, but a lot of it really didn’t - especially the gag about zapping dudes into walls at dramatic/semi-dramatic moments (Hux, Poe, and Finn). Granted, humor is pretty subjective, but for comparison, I either loved or had no issue with the humor in both The Force Awakens and Rogue One.

The preachy bits were REALLY. FUCKING. PREACHY. Like, dude, I agree with the points you’re making, but wow, I’d appreciate if you didn’t insult my intelligence by being so god damned ON THE NOSE about it. I thought this movie was about ~ambiguity~ And yes, I’m talking about the “don’t abuse animals”, “it’s a WAR MACHINE”, and “men don’t respect feminine women” thing. I felt like these moments were 4th-wall-breaking and did nothing to serve the story or the characters, not to mention being out of place in a Star Wars film (Star Wars is cheesy, but not THAT kind of cheesy).

Rey’s part of the story ends about 2/3 of the way in. After her battle with Kylo, she pretty much disappears from the narrative, only making a quick cameo at the end of the film. Seriously. The movie pretty much belongs to the male characters after she confronts Snoke. 

Rey never truly suffers any lasting consequences for her choices, whether emotionally or physically. Compare this to Luke’s defeat by Vader in Empire, which leaves him physically maimed and emotionally broken and betrayed. Rey is sad when she admits the truth of her parentage, yeah, and she’s not happy when Kylo usurps the First Order command, but even if this betrayal devastates her, we don’t get to see her break down under these revelations. It might be hard for Rey to acknowledge her shitty parents, but does verbalizing this hinder Rey in any way? Does it introduce an obstacle that seems impossible to overcome? Is it truly her lowest point? Ask the same questions of Kylo becoming the Supreme Leader, with regard to Rey’s feelings. Is this betrayal on the level of Anakin to Padme? Hell, even on the level of Obi Wan to Luke? Rey wrestles with Kylo over the lightsaber, nopes the fuck out, and then magically appears on the Falcon, hollering jovially about how swashbuckling and fun it is to be gunning down the First Order. In other words, she feels like she’s had an easy time of it. We really needed a scene where she shows some emotional wounds - whether when Kylo is passed out and she’s about to leave him, perhaps looking down at him with longing and sorrow, deliberating on why she should, but can’t, kill him - or whether at the end, sharing pain with Leia. But it’s like her failures don’t touch her or her story.

I’m a huge Reylo stan, but I’ve got to be honest - Kylo and Rey’s dynamic, while easily the most intriguing thing about the movie, ended up being severely underwhelming. Four conversations, and then she’s ready to go-to-bat for him? When they were touching hands in the hut, I literally was like, “Wait. Is that it? Did I blink and miss something?” They chopped Reylo down to the barest minimum of relationship progression, leaving out a lot of story-telling beats that would have bridged the gap between their antagonism and their intimacy. I felt cheated out of their story, and I really wanted to be on board with them, considering their shared loneliness and character comparison/contrast was something I was extremely excited about going into this film. I’ve read one-shot fanfics with more elegant development than this film.

I’m NOT a Snoke stan, nor was I terribly interested in his backstory or in coming up with random ass theories involving his backstory, but damn. Snoke’s abrupt dismissal from the narrative, despite being an awesome scene in isolation, feels cheap retroactively, and I can empathize with the fans who feel let down about his meaningless identity (especially when they were taunted by LF for giving enough of a shit to come up with theories about said character). The truth is that, since the sequel trilogy takes place within an established universe - and Star Wars, at that - we, the audience ARE owed a bare minimum amount of explanation for Snoke’s existence, his power, and his goals. Where was he 30 years ago, when Palpatine was in power? If you can’t at least give me something, my suspension of disbelief is shattered. And no, it’s not my fucking job, as a member of the audience, to fill in the blanks with regards to basic storytelling. At this point, why the hell couldn’t Snoke have been Darth Plageius? Or Palpatine reborn? Or whoever the fuck. If any further context had been given to him, it could only have added some meat to the story - its not like this information would have detracted from Kylo’s killing of him (if anything, it would have made that moment even more awesome). I mean, you had to hold my hand about “evil arms dealers” and “animal rights” and “she wasn’t interested in LOOKING like a hero”, but you can’t give me some damn context for Snoke? And no, I don’t give a fuck that Palpatine had no backstory in the original movies - right, we knew everything we needed to know about him, which was that he was a super powerful Force-wielder who took control of the galaxy. I wasn’t wondering, “Hmm, I wonder where that other super evil bad guy was 30 years ago while he was coming to power!” about Palpatine, because there was no frame of reference for that - and now, with the prequel trilogy, there’s definitely no need. But hey, for Snoke? Yes. Yes, that sort of information is relevant here. Even your most basic bitch casual fan left The Force Awakens wondering, “I wonder what that Snoke guy, who is most certainly older than 30 years of age, was doing three decades ago?”

Finn’s whole story was underwhelming, as much as I liked both he and Rose together. Nothing of consequence came of their story, whether by plot movement or emotional revelations - save that he decided, somewhat sloppily, to die for the Resistance (because he didn’t want to be an apathetic asshole like DJ, or whatever), only to have his choice undermined at the last minute. Nothing about his arc resonated with me. Perhaps because there just wasn’t enough time devoted to him? As much as I hate the whole “Finn is always sidelined uwuwuwu” discourse, I have to agree with them here. Furthermore, I feel like his prior-stormtrooper-ness is totally irrelevant to the portrayal of his character? It was bad enough in The Force Awakens that he didn’t seem affected by having to kill his fellow stormtroopers, and it has continued to be irrelevant in The Last Jedi. I was really hoping for some sort of moment where he and Rose connected over the deaths of Paige and his stormtrooper brethren, people killed while fighting in militaries, whether by choice or by force. This personal soul searching would have been much more poignant than the preachy babble (none with which I disagree, let it be noted) we got. I mean, the revelation that the Resistance and the First Order both get supplied from the same people who vacation on Canto Bight doesn’t really add anything - stakes, revelation, dimension - to the actual story. Like, do I suddenly not care about the Resistance getting blown out of the sky? Should I actually root for the First Order to wipe them out, so that the war will stop? Does this information seriously tempt Finn away from the whole stupid conflict? Does it change ANYTHING for ANYONE? (Hint: It doesn’t). 

I absolutely hate that Poe is being groomed to be Leia’s “good” son. Like, if I could kill something with fire in this movie, it would be this. I absolutely hate that Leia didn’t even spare her son and her brother a backwards glance at the end of the film, when they set off to flee through the caves. Perhaps this wouldn’t sting so much if Carrie were still alive and there was a chance of filming a reunion and reconciliation between mother and son, but that is not to be. 

I hate that Poe, who is NOT a main character, who was a perfectly killable side character in the previous movie, actually has the most dynamic arc in the whole film. Somehow, in a film that is supposed to be about a young woman, and in the midst of several intriguing female characters both old and new, it’s the most boring male character who gets the most agency and screentime. (I love that people were worried that Kylo would usurp Rey, but honesty…it was Poe).

Poe also has a higher kill count than Kylo Ren in terms of people who died because he was a Stupid Male, and yet Kylo Ren is the villain whose redemption is merely teased, as opposed to set into action? I mean, Poe was better at wiping out the whole resistance than the actual Supreme Leader, but nobody thinks he needs a redemption arc? oh, I guess he Learned From His Failures, so its all good.

Anytime someone said “spark”, I died a little inside.

“Hope is like the sun” - kill me now please

Leia spacewalking is an idea that I like on paper, but thought it was awkward in how it played out on screen.

Wow, so, Finn and Rey - two characters I was dying to have reunite - have NO actual dialogue exchanges. But we have enough time for Poe to say Hi to Rey but like Poe is the main character now don’t you know Like, what the fuck.

Okay, venting done.

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 26- Realization (Darejones)

I don’t know where my weekend went, and I am disappointed in myself because I am now three days behind. But I’m trying to finish three prompts today. 🤞🏼🤞🏼🤞🏼 Here’s the first one, at least. This is a companion piece with Day 5- Fallen, and shows Jessica coming to the realization that she is in love with Matt. Mostly just fits with the other stuff I’ve written this month. Per usual, prompt list here list here, and links to previous days at the bottom. Not edited yet (sorry) because I needed to just get it posted, but I’ll edit it eventually. Let me know your thoughts if you’re so inclined. Thank you for reading!

Day 26- Realization

There is nothing remarkable about the day she finally realizes what her subconscious has been trying to tell her for months. In fact, it’s almost unfair how typical it is. There’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, nothing earth-shattering or particularly memorable about any part of the day. And while she’s never been the world’s biggest romantic, part of her wondered if there would be some kind of… something. Maybe not a lightning bolt or divine chorus from the heavens, but a subtle sign of some kind, if you knew what it was you were looking for. But she’s looking, and she still can’t find anything.

And later, even when she replays the day in her mind, scouring her memories for the universe’s acknowledgment of this momentous occasion, she will not find it. Eventually, she will realize that doesn’t actually bother her because it doesn’t work that way. It’s not a big production, it’s all about the quiet realization- the understanding of what was previously unclear. But for now, she is still a bit surprised by how she has ce to be having this argument with herself.

The thing is, the son a bitch snuck up on her. And she didn’t think that could happen. But while she was busy giving him shit and smirking at his ability to laugh at himself, while they bullshitted and joked and snarked and sparred and spent time together, he wormed his way under her skin and into her heart. And it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, now that she thinks about it.

Because if she’s being honest, she has felt something for him for months. It may have even started when they first met in that interrogation room, however long ago. Initially, she felt a baffled kind of fascination, which later turned into an exasperated concern. Then, eventually, it turned into a kind of kinship, with maybe the slightest bit of attraction there, though she allowed herself to think that just in time for him to go off and (almost) die on her.

The sense of loss she felt then had been overwhelming and terrible, as it was mixed with plenty of guilt and raging fury, too. But then the bastard had waltzed back into her life, not too worse for wear, and she hadn’t known what to feel about that. She had been relieved, sure. Grateful too. And even truly happy. But there was something else underlying the happiness - something she didn’t want to name. Something she shied away from. That she flat out denied for as long as she possibly could. But she can’t do that anymore.

Because she sees now what she has been avoiding for so long.

She, Jessica Jones, loves Matt Murdock.

And it all comes to her in the strangest way. Because it’s just a normal morning- he’s cooking breakfast in the kitchen (they both know his skills far outclass hers in this area), and she’s sitting at the table, sipping coffee. And as she takes another sip from her mug, she notices a pleasant, if unfamiliar, feeling - a warmth and a sense of security in her chest. Like she’s settled in a way she has never been. Like she belongs right where she is, more than she has ever belonged anywhere. Like she could spend the rest of her life right here, drinking coffee with him, every day, cliché as that sounds. But somehow it doesn’t bother her. Because she loves him, and she’d rather be a “boring” caricature of domesticity with him than be anything without him. And even though she’s chosen not to name the feeling until this moment, she’s pretty fucking sure that’s what love is.

And she’s baffled by the thought because everything about him, everything about them as a couple, everything about this moment is nothing like she ever would have pictured for herself. She didn’t ever, in a million years, think that this kind of life would ever be her reality. Not even before Kilgrave. She was sure it just wasn’t in the cards for her - because of all the loss and pain and darkness that always followed her around and permeated her life. She just never thought she wasn’t cut out for this kind of simple, ordinary love story, so she used to try to convince herself that she didn’t want it anyway - anything to take the edge off of the bitter resentment she felt every time she had to watch other people experiencing it.

But now she knows that’s all a lie. And sure, maybe she never imagined Matt or the way that their ridiculous lives fit together, but still she knows that it’s perfect - better than anything she ever could have imagined.

She can’t say for how long, exactly, she has felt this way. But, maybe that doesn’t matter, because she does now. And she loves everything about him- his smirky, stubbled face, his wit, his sense of humour, his ability to take what she gives, then turn around and give it right back. She even loves the things about him that so often drive her crazy, including his reckless idealism, his refusal to let her have the last word, and his desire to save the world, his personal safety be damned.

And then, there are the secret, difficult parts of him that he tries so hard to hide from view, but which she can honestly say she loves as much as the easy parts. Because his rage, his self-doubt, and the horde of demons that haunt him remind her that he’s not afraid of her rage and her doubt and her demons - that his rough edges miraculously line up with hers. She doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve that, but she’s grateful all the same. And even if she never would have dreamed of finding someone like him, she’s happier than she knows how to express about the fact that she has.

But she’s not sure he knows how either (because she’s sure he loves her too, now that she’s done denying the signs and clues that have been staring her in the face for months). She wasn’t ready to consider the possibility before, was too afraid that if she let herself acknowledge how they both felt, she would get overwhelmed and run, as fast and as far as she possibly could. But subconsciously she knew he was her chance to be happy because he actually understood her. So she had waited and taken it one day at a time, slowly and unknowingly warming up to the idea until it had time to fully form in her mind. Until today.

She’s so caught up in her own head that she doesn’t notice he has turned to her, is starting at her across the counter, a confused frown on his face.

“You alright over there? You’re awful quiet.”

And isn’t that just another reason to love him? Because her heart rate is up (from nerves about her realization, but he doesn’t know that) and she’s been sitting still and silent for however long she was having her realization. But typically when she’s like this, she’s thinking much less pleasant thoughts.

She shakes her head to clear it of her musings and grips her mug a little tighter. “I’m fine. Just … thinking.” She tries, though not too awfully hard, to keep the wistful note of our voice, but she’s sure he heard a little of it. Just enough to raise an eyebrow at her, sarcasm coloring his tone.

“Well, don’t over do it. You don’t want to hurt yourself.” He smiles at her for good measure, and she pauses- her breath catching and her heart stuttering. Because he’s smiled at her hundreds of times since they’ve known each other, for a multitude of different reasons. But she’s never really seen his smile until today. Until this moment, she’s never read the joy, the devotion, the love in his eyes, has never felt like she was looking at the one thing in all of the world who embodies her home. And if she was confident he loved her before, now she’s certain of it, down to her bones.

For a moment, she’s sad because he can’t see the smile she gives him in return, one that mirrors all of the things she saw reflected in his face. Maybe, though, he can get some of that from his other senses. She hopes so. But even if he can’t, she’s sure there are other ways she can show him. And she knows now she’s finally ready to start.

Day 25 | Day 27

[sapphirestream]

So I’ve been watching Thrilling Intent and I just need to get a rant out or I’m going to stay mad at Gregor forever. I know that’s not a valid solution because he’s a lovable character most of the time and he sticks around and needs to be forgiven if I still want to continue to enjoy watching the show. I don’t really trust the formatting to give the issue space to breath and be properly addressed rather than just falling into the background due to the serialized nature, so I’m going to get out all my feelings here and hopefully get some catharsis doing so.  I WILL acknowledge that I am a bit biased, because Ashe is my favorite character so far, and she’s the one who has the most conflict with Gregor on these issues. I still think I would hold these same opinions if the positions were flipped though. The first big conflict between Ashe and Gregor was, of course, the Charoth issue. At first, I agreed with Gregor’s stance. “Cool motive, still murder” and all that. And sometimes the only option to stop the killing IS to slay the monster even if it is hungry or just being itself.  And if regular slaying would have done anything, I would have agreed that it was the right thing to do, especially since we couldn’t fully gauge Charoth’s mental state at the time and had no way to know of its childlike understanding of the world. 

HOWEVER. However. Killing Charoth would not have done anything productive, and the only way to permanently slay it was to destroy it’s literally immortal soul. Just on an ethical level, that is a step so extreme it SHOULD be a last resort, as Markus stated. Even with all the monsters and even people they have killed before, this is not a step that they had taken. It is striking it beyond all chance of redemption, even after a complete wipe of identity. Other methods should be tried before it, even if they don’t ‘punish’ the creature for its wrongdoings or are risky. Fighting it is risky anyway. You don’t slay a creature because you want to punish them, you slay them to STOP them. Ideally, in the real world you relocate them before they hurt somebody, but even if a bear or something is put down, it's because you can’t control the risk, not because the bear is inherently evil and need to be punished for its sins. The goal is to STOP the monster, not get vengeance for those lost.  It also bothers me on a practical level as well. Gregor did have a point that this could lead to future troubles if something happens to Ashe, but honestly, it was the option that mitigated the consequences the most. Especially after they had already talked him down! Kylil even said she had experience coaxing spirit folk back from their wispy state, and Charoth had an entire island to socialize with now that he wasn’t locked in the temple by a short-sighted father figure. Even before they decided to set up shop in the Nine Shrines bar, Charoth had the beginnings of a loving childhood and a budding support network to help him work through his grief. Also, if you ever wanted justice or remorse for those who died, this would be the only option. Charoth will eventually have to face what he did during these times, but if you kill him he will truly be a new person. Some of the spirit folk will surely still blame him and be scared of him, but as it is now he has the framework to deal with that guilt and would deserve it. He could come to regret what he did during this time and work through that fear and try to earn forgiveness, rather than being unfairly blamed for a previous incarnation. If he has to grow up surrounded by fear for something he no longer is responsible for, that can only breed resentment rather than healing.  Killing him would have only put the danger off into the future, and erased whatever ground they had gained. He MIGHT have been ok, if Kylil had still taken a hand in his raising and the spirit folk had a good handle on separating out previous incarnation’s misdeeds. But you would have erased whatever good work and morals his father had managed to instill in him for twenty years. And he certainly would no longer have any love for humans and would take his cue of humanity from the clearly biased (rightly so! they’ve been burned before and we can be pretty awful) spirit folk. No way would Ashe have wanted to stick around on the island after that (nor would I blame her considering her backstory), so Charoth would have grown up with no human influence at all. Which doesn’t sound too great for humanity later, does it, if later it decides to continue wrecking ships, this time on behalf of the spirit folk? They might not have the temperament to do so, but Charoth would certainly have no qualms about it if they asked him in this scenario. This would not have helped the spirit folks goodwill toward humanity either, ESPECIALLY if Gregor had killed Charoth after a peaceful solution had been reached.  And destroying him utterly? Besides it being the most morally dubious way to go, it would also have potentially the worst consequences! Charoth is a GOD. He is the line between life and death! What happens when you erase that!? Does anyone even know? BEST CASE you just get a new one forming anyway, with an entirely unknown temperament. Alternatively, everyone could be stuck on the island forever, metaphysics fucked from the missing death god. There’s no saying that death itself wouldn’t be royally fucked in the localized area, and we already saw that even just Charoth stoppering it was causing problems. That’s not even mentioning if an unfriendly death god neighbor saw that the Shrouded Isles were undefended and decided to take over! This is only an option if you care about no one and nothing on the island, because this fucks them over hard. This is NOT a good deed, nor does it save anyone but humans. The party would just be one in a long line of people who have screwed over the natives and left them the worse for wear.   Legen’s Eye is actually what prompted this rant, as I had to take a break after watching the conclusion of Wizard Highschool. I have a lot less to say about it because it’s been percolating in my mind for a lot less long, but it was HIGHLY frustrating to watch Gregor shut down all discussion and go straight for destroying it. I’m still not sure whether they should have kept the artifact, but they CERTAINLY should have had a thorough talk about it without Inian and taken more than two seconds to decide. Inian should have been excluded not because she wasn’t part of the group or whatever, but because she was *actively shutting down discussion as well* If she had been willing to sit down and actually talk through everything then I would have been fine with her participating. If they felt that strongly in their convictions, they should have trusted them to shine through and convince the others. The group honestly probably would not have been able to put it to good use, but even if they had shoved it in a corner and let no one know they had it, it would have been a better option. Even setting aside if more magic would be better for equality, you never know if humanity+ is going to face some kind of natural or supernatural disaster down the line where that artifact could make a difference. You can never un-destroy something, and that's a decision that should at least have been talked about rather than decided by one person. They talk about not having the right to make those kinds of decisions, but they made a decision not just against their own party, but humanities(+) entire future, and banked against them EVER figuring out a way to use it wisely, or even the possibility of the necessity of its use.  As an example, I once had a dnd game where the players went into a timestop for hundreds of years and emerged in a world overrun by demons. The gates of hell had busted open and there was a war between the celestial and hellish planes with humanity being the unfortunate battleground.  Do they think such things are impossible? Do they think cataclysmic events will never happen where something like Legen’s Eye could make a difference in the material plane’s survival? No, it might not be the answer to all the world’s social ills, nothing simple will be. There is no magic bullet for our own weakness and greed. But this is the kind of artifact that should have been entrusted to future generations, as an ace in the hole if nothing else.  Overall I am just extremely disappointed in Gregor’s unwillingness to talk things out and his black and white thinking. I know it comes with the territory of a Lawful Good character, and kudos to his player for a doing a good job with him, but damn is it frustrating to watch. This show is so good and so investing that I just want to reach into the screen and argue my own viewpoints with the characters, and I’m glad they cover these hard issues that other shows would skip over entirely. I really appreciate how willing they are to tackle things like this, and we wouldn’t even have had a discussion without varying viewpoints. I know Gregor’s in the hard spot of being devil’s advocate a lot of the time. (ironically it’s not Markus! Isn't he a Demon AND a ‘lawyer’?). Still. Still. I guess the counterpoint to being so invested and tackling hard moral issues is sometimes your viewers are just going to have to go rant on social media to get in their own two cents. God damn do I need a friend who watches this show.