#how can someone with the ability to reach out and offer help so profoundly be a monster?

[miniaturesblog]

I really need my Kevin stans to sound off because why is a very important character to the plot being labeled as a fun little 3rd wheel. That boy LIVED and SURVIVED riko bitch face, rebuilt himself from scratch, and was in constant state on PTSD while doing so. So no, I don’t appreciate it when he’s portrayed as this whiny, arrogant boy when he’s an ambitious, brave man. Is he perfect? No the fuck not, none of the foxes are, but he deserves so much more.

I quite literally never do hot takes and will be deleting this in 24 hours.

[malorisaurus]

This has easily been the worst holiday season of my life, and I have been struggling profoundly. That is why I disappeared, really. Family I am no-contact with suddenly became excessively aggressive in their pressure, and a lot of grief that I hadn't addressed surfaced (ultimately positive because it means I am acknowledging and mindfully addressing it and moving toward acceptance). My father expanded his boundary pushing and I decided it was best for me to respond to him for the first time 2.5 years to establish my clear boundary so that if he continued to cross it I could block him without guilt (I still have to jump through a lot of emotional hoops with myself). He respected my request and didn't respond to my messages and has stopped texting, so now I have the annoying problem of the panic that comes with that—what are his motives? Is this a tactic and then he will redouble his efforts when he goes back to being annoyed that this has continued for so long?

I am trying to let it go while being mindful of the fear and panic that arises whenever I hear from him while also trying to look at this from more positive angles. I want my father to acknowledge my autonomy and respect me; in this circumstance, the only way for him to do that is to not reach out to me in accordance with my request. It doesn't mean that I have to change my position on this relationship, but it can be an opportunity to feel better instead of allowing intrusive thoughts to run rampant. It is very difficult for me to regulate in this way, though.

But between him and his mother, this entire month has been filled with ulterior motives expressed under the guise of birthday and Christmas wishes; I have not had peace. It made me feel stupid for not blocking them earlier, but to do so felt like abandoning hope of reform, and I had to realize that it was a bad premise for me to hold the door open for them with that demand on the other side of it. I don't deal in denial of another's autonomy or ultimatums. I am not safe with them, and I am not in a place where I can be vulnerable with them without being retraumatized, or at the very least, without moving beyond my capacity/ability to regulate. And since unmasking, it has become very difficult for me to mask my Autistic meltdowns and behaviors while in distress. I am not safe doing that with them, so it is an impossibility for me to open lines of communication at this point. That is a good enough reason to block numbers to avoid dealing with the stressors while I continue to process through the CPTSD.

On top of that, today my mother sent me an audio recording of my mentally ill brother going through an episode of psychosis because she didn't know what to do.

I talked her through ways to help him and was an ear for her to process her feelings—it is heartbreaking and so grief inducing (how can you not despair when someone you love is in so much pain?) but it is also a bit crazy-making having blaring music and wailing and shouting. I understand being frayed when that is your constant reality. My mom has been doing a good job of managing her overwhelm as her own issue, so that is fortunate. But she struggles to know how to offer him touchstone spaces that are low on pressure and still engage with him on his level, and instead, she leaves him to his raving and tries to ignore it. To be fair, she is the primary breadwinner of their household as well and she is working from home. It is a lot.

I feel pretty helpless most of the time, and I did have to go and cry and process through a huge surge of anger when she sent that message to me. She is doing the best she can with what she has, but it is often just so inadequate. The lack of healthcare options for low-income people is so profoundly damaging, and I grieve for our lack over our lives. And truly my parents have given us so much trauma and grief. My father is a truly awful person as it stands now. And while I believe that people can change, and I do not believe in dehumanizing even people whom I hate (unfortunately, I love him but I also profoundly hate him), he shows no interest in acknowledging his behavior. My mother has made a lot of very damaging choices, and my siblings and I bore the brunt of the consequences of those decisions. Now, she is too invested in maintaining the status quo when it absolutely does not serve anyone, least of all my brother. I am truly so angry at all that my siblings and I have suffered at the hands of our parents, which is a lot, sadly.

My brother carries so much pain. I listen to him and I see a man who is trapped in a prison of all of our shared traumas, his own unique traumas, and then the mental illness that he has no help or real support with. He desperately wants things in his life and has no recourse to achieve them. And unmasking is such a hugely vulnerable act, and he trusts no one and with good reason. I want to be a safe person for him, but I can't convince him to trust me. So he is just so trapped. I hurt for him, but all I can do is continue to reach out and let him know that I am there—a thousand unanswered text messages and voicemails.

So yeah, a lot of weight all at once. A lot of grief. I don't know what the future will hold, but I am working hard to be the person that I want to be through putting in the work to heal, putting the work in toward accountability, and by being present and available to those that need me.

[forwantofamohawk]

Selfishness, Selflessness and Reciprocity

Or: An essay on why I think that Coderra has more potential as a relationship than people give it credit for.

As a foreword, I would like to say that this applies equally to romantic and platonic Coderra. Many of the building blocks for a romance are the same as those for a lifelong friendship. All I want, at the end of the day, is for Sierra to be happy. 

Now you could alternatively call this essay “Cody’s tendencies in relationships and how that changes in Planes Trains and Hot Airmobiles” because the first item of focus here is his relationship with Gwen, and how and why it fundamentally doesn’t work. While Gwody is generally not well-liked as a relationship due to his creepy, entitled and stereotypical “nice guy” behavior, those aren’t the reasons why it doesn’t work. They’re effluences of the real core problem with his Cody’s behavior and that mentality, and I’m going to call it out right out of the gate: Cody is selfish. 

For him, it’s never about what Gwen wants or who Gwen is as a person that matters. She is an object to be attained, an ideal girlfriend that will make him cool by being with him. His first notable interaction with her is making a pass at her during the talent show- he more or less thinks he can “get” her with a bit of flirting, without putting in the legwork of actually getting to know her. Compare this with Trent’s first major interaction with Gwen in The Big Sleep as a counterpoint. Watching this scene, what strikes me the most about how Trent conducts himself here is that there is no flirtatious undertones to his approach, no overt, eye-wagging, shit-eating-grin “hey babe, you’re so cool and I’m totally into that”. No, he just talks to her. Talks to her about whatever she wants to talk about, lets the conversation naturally go where it goes, and it gets her to open up, if only just a little. Cody, on the other hand, never does this with Gwen, he never understands this, and every interaction he has with her until Up the Creek, and then resuming in World Tour, is about trying to obtain her as an item.

In World Tour, his selfishness and desire to have Gwen reach new levels and really show how little he actually cares about her as a person. During the episode in Australia, Gwen acts hurt because Duncan is acting jealous of Alejandro “hooking up” with Courtney. Cody’s first instinct is to offer her his vote, but with the implicit subtext this game alliance is a means for him to hook up with her. Gwen is not actually hurt here, she’s playing him for a vote, but he doesn’t know that, he thinks Duncan has actually hurt her. She says to him “ Can you make the pain go away?” and he nods and tells her he’s there for her and that he’ll make everything better.

This is Cody at his absolute lowest. Here he is seeing someone he thinks is heartbroken and vulnerable and all his first reaction is to manipulate it to get into a relationship with her. 

Now this may all sound very anti-Cody, and I certainly don’t apologize for or condone this behavior. But I also now move on to my next point, which is that it is a learned behavior which makes sense in the context of his upbringing, and that he has the capacity to change this behavior.

A bad childhood does not excuse bad behaviors as an adult, or even a young adult like Cody, but it does provide a level of understanding how and why he does the things he does. There is a substantial body of canonical evidence that Cody is a neglected child, manifested most famously and notably in the show by the revelation that his parents (nor anyone else for that matter) never once remembered his birthday in Awwwww Drumheller. Interestingly it seems the Dramarama spinoff has taken this idea up as well, with Cody having said “It feels like a mother’s warmth, or least, so I’ve been told” which in context seems meant to indicate that Cody is unfamiliar with motherly affection. But what he lacks in parental attention is made up for in material wealth- his TDI bio speaks of a plethora of the latest tech and gadgets paid for on his parents dime. This is where the root of his selfishness in dealing with Gwen comes from- having never received love in his life, only things, he can only conceive of a relationship as a thing to be had, not love to be shared between people. Because the latter concept is utterly alien to him. But it’s alien to him because this mentality is learned, taught by years of neglect and being spoiled. And what can be learned, can be unlearned.  

Enter Planes, Trains and Hot Air Mobiles. It is all good and well to argue that Cody is the way he is because he is a victim of parental apathy and absence, but unless this amounts to meaningful change in his behavior, it is meaningless. Here we see that Cody in fact has the capacity to change and to be better than he was, and it’s in his relationship with Sierra that we first see this.

The Total Drama Jumbo jet has been demolished to smithereens, and at the epicenter of the destruction was Sierra. The episode begins with her eliminated, incapable of walking, buried under rubble and with most of those still present utterly uninterested in her plight. Cody, Alejandro and Heather are tasked with racing to Hawaii by whatever means they can find, but Sierra is left with no provisions for her return home. Let’s be clear here- Cody is supposed to get to Hawaii, not Sierra. 

At this point in the game he’s only barely started warming up to her the last episode, and otherwise has rebutted her at every turn since the game began. She cannot move on her own, no matter what means he uses to travel she’s dead weight. With his chosen method of travel, the balloon, Cody can get farther and go faster if he goes alone. He has every logical reason in the world to be selfish here, from a competition standpoint. 

And yet he doesn’t. He takes her with him, an act that I would argue is his first truly selfless act in any of his canon relationships with anyone. He gains nothing by bringing her along, or at least, nothing that is immediately apparent when they set off. He risks his victory in the competition to ensure she has someone to take care of and look after her. He prioritizes her needs and the urgency of her situation over his wants, and even his personal feelings for her at this moment- despite everything she has done to him that has made him feel violated and uncomfortable, by taking her with him he has forgiven her, and without words said that her life and wellbeing are worth more to him than his own feelings about their past. This does not absolve Sierra of responsibility for these acts, but Cody’s forgiveness is an important step in giving her the opportunity to atone for them. It is a profoundly mature moment for Cody, the most mature he has ever been in the entire series since Up the Creek. 

Later on in the episode, something incredible happens. Something called reciprocity- an exchange of mutual benefit to all parties involved. And it’s when their hot air balloon has crashed and they are stranded in the middle of nowhere somewhere in North America, with no apparent means to continue the race. Along with a box of fireworks, Sierra motivates Cody with a rousing speech, and importantly tells him that “You want a number one fan? That comes with responsibilities!”

This is a first for Sierra, in that she is demanding something out of Cody’s side of the relationship. For all the time she has been on the show with him, she has taken care of him with no regard for getting anything out of it in return. She has saved his life at risk to herself numerous times, and while she exacted a toll in physical affection she had never previously called upon Cody to do anything for her, personally. Here that changes.

She demands that he continue the race not for his sake, but for hers, and for all the fans she represents. This transforms the act of continuing the race from a selfish one for Cody, into a selfless one, as he is no longer doing it out of self-interest, but to fulfill his obligation to his relationship with Sierra. And for the second time in the episode, Cody shows the ability to be selfless and consider the needs and wants of others. He is not a fundamentally self-centered person at heart, and his bad habits can be unlearned in the right circumstance with the right people. 

It is this relationship that carries a feeble weakling and a crippled girl to the finale against all odds. It brings out the best in both of them and takes two people who on their own would have zero chance for success, and allows them to lift each other up and help each other move forward. This is the potential of Coderra, as a romance or a lifelong friendship. It’s only two, maybe three episodes where we see a glimpse of it, but I think that together they can be a little less broken and start to defeat their worst demons. 

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!

[sisterspooky1013]

You Can Tell Everybody This Is Your Song by SisterSpooky1013

5400 words, Read it here on AO3

2018

“Awe,” Tara moved the salad-laden fork away from her mouth just before taking a bite, bringing her other hand up to press the palm against her chest in an expression of tender feelings. “This is Bill and I’s song, I haven’t heard it in years.”

Scully set her water glass down and strained to hear the tinny notes of “I don’t wanna live without your love” by Chicago escaping from a speaker above their table. Tara and Bill were in town for Maggie’s memorial service and Tara had asked if they could have lunch, just the two of them, before their flight back to San Diego.

“Ah, I think I do remember dancing to this at your wedding,” Scully remarked, keeping to herself that such cheesy ballads caused her eyes to roll involuntarily to the back of her head.

Tara considered her for a moment, taking a bite and then chewing thoughtfully. “Do you and Mulder have a song?” She asked. While the exact nature of their relationship had never been clear to Tara, the fact that he always seemed to be around, or come back around, plus the fact that they were now expecting a child, made the odds of them having a song that held significance relatively high.

Scully took a deep breath and let it out slowly, scanning her memory. “I don’t think we do, technically. There are a lot of songs that make me think of him but I don’t think any are ‘our song’ in the way that most people mean that. I’ll have to ask him when I get home.”

She smiled a little at her own mention of home. She’d only recently moved back in to their unremarkable house, and the process of not only living there again but now preparing a nursery together was making her deliriously happy in a way that she didn’t think she’d ever have the chance to experience again, especially with Mulder.

They finished their meal, Scully got the check, and they parted with hugs and promises of a visit to the West Coast before Scully was too far along to safely fly.

As she drove the 30 minutes back to Farr’s Corner, she thought about whether she and Mulder had a song. How did a song come to be “our song”? Did they have to come to an agreement together on what their song would be, or could she choose her own? There were dozens of songs that made her think of him for various reasons, many of which were painful to listen to during their separation. Perhaps one of these was “their song.”

***

1995

Fade Into You- Mazzy Star

“I look to you and I see nothing

I look to you to see the truth”

She felt profoundly alone, though in a literal sense she wasn’t any more alone than she was every other weeknight. A glass of red wine sat on the coffee table, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and the lights were low as soft music lilted from her stereo. She had been trying to read, but found that she couldn’t concentrate. Mulder had gone off again without bringing her along, or telling her, and (again) had gotten into trouble. She’d gone through every feeling from worry, to fear, to anger, relief when she knew he was okay, back to anger and finally frustration. Each time she thought they’d reached some kind of understanding, when she believed he really trusted her and would keep her in the loop, he pulled a stunt like this again and left her feeling…deserted. Being close to Mulder was like being invited into a sacred space that he didn’t allow anyone else to enter. You felt honored and somehow special to included, but then suddenly he was gone and you were in this unfamiliar place alone. This place you didn’t know how you got into in the first place, and which you now had no idea how to get back out of. So here she was, immersed in a world and a reality that she never would have come to on her own, not sure how to extricate herself, or even if she wanted to.

His gentle knock on the door should have been a surprise to her, but somehow it wasn’t. Sometimes she wondered if he could feel her thinking about him, based on how often her thoughts seemed to manifest him into her living room. Then again, how often wasn’t she thinking about him? She padded to the door quietly in stocking feet and opened it for him, hiding the majority of herself shyly behind the door.

“Hi,” she said with a soft, defeated tone.

“Hey,” he returned, “can I come in?”

She pulled the door open wider and allowed him to enter, then returned to her station on the couch wordlessly. She didn’t offer him anything to drink or ask him to sit, but he sat down anyway, taking a sip from her glass with a nervous set to his shoulders. He leaned back and stared into the fire.

“I know you’re mad at me,” he said to the licking flames, “and you have every right to be. I’m sorry that I…keep doing this.”

“Keep doing what?” She asked rhetorically. Like a misbehaving child, she wanted to see if he even understood what the problem behavior was.

He turned his head to read her expression, which she tried very hard to keep neutral. There would be tears, no yelling; she had finally reached the point of defeat. They held eye contact as the song changed to something slow and sad.

I wanna hold the hand inside you. I wanna take the breath that’s true.

There had been many times they’d locked eyes like this, communicating without words. He could make her stomach do backflips with only a look sometimes, but right now she felt vacant, seeing nothing in his gaze because she simply did not have the energy to try and read him. She felt like Sisyphus, and Mulder was her boulder. She pushed and pushed, never reaching any destination. Never making any progress.

“I’m sorry,” he said again finally, and there was a hitch in his voice. What was that, she wondered? If she didn’t know any better she’d say it was remorse.

“What are you sorry for, Mulder?” She asked flatly.

He shifted so that his body was facing hers, though they were still on opposite ends of the couch. “I know how it must seem…I can…I can imagine how it must feel, when I….”

“When you ditch me,” She completed for him, wanting to be sure he didn’t euphemize it into something other than what it was.

“Yes, when I ditch you. It’s never because I don’t want you there, Scully. It’s never because I don’t want you with me or don’t need your help, because I always do.”

“Okay. Then why do you?” She asked, leaning forward to pluck her now half-empty glass from in front of him and taking a long sip.

He looked at his lap and shook his head. “I don’t know. Well, sometimes I do know. Sometimes it’s because I’m doing something really stupid and I know you’ll try to talk me out of it,” he raised his head to look at her and she bit her lip to stave off the smirk that tugged at her lips. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Other times, I think it’s just…I’ve been alone for so long, Scully, and I don’t think I know how not to be. And generally speaking, no one gives a shit about me or where I am or what I’m doing, and it’s hard to remember that someone does now.” His expression was soft and open, the firelight sparkling against his dilated pupils.

A lump was forming in her throat and she didn’t trust herself to speak. She looked at him and saw someone who was afraid, and lonely, and alone. Not the brazen rogue agent full of bravado that she was angry with.

He scooted closer to her, taking her glass and setting it on the table before he wrapped her hands up in his. His rough palms dwarfed hers, and she resented his ability to make her feel so safe simply by existing near her. “I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying. I’ll try harder. I’ll probably mess up because I’m a selfish asshole, but even when I do I want you to know that it’s never about you. I’m beyond lucky that you put up with my shit, Scully, and even when I do things that make it seem like I don’t care what you think, I need you to know that yours is the only opinion that matters to me. Okay?”

She nodded, her watery eyes trained on his mouth. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, to burrow into the comfort of this man who took up so much space in her life, but it didn’t feel safe. Not right now.

He stood and went to the door, looking back at her one last time before he pulled it closed behind him. She wanted him to know that they were okay, so she pushed her mouth into a soft smile and she saw him sigh in relief, smiling back at her just before he left.

Fade into you, I think it’s strange you never knew.

Continue reading on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

[missmentelle]

What To Do When a Loved One is Dating an Abuser

There are few things as frustrating and as heartbreaking as watching someone you care about stay in a long-term abusive relationship. The red flags may be obvious to everyone in your loved one’s life - blinding, even - but for some reason, your loved one just can’t or won’t see them for what they are. There are always excuses for bad behaviour, always unconvincing explanations for suspicious injuries, always hollow assurances that things aren’t as bad as they seem. 

When someone we care about is in an abusive relationship, our first instinct is often to try to rescue them. We want to finally break through to them and make them see that their relationship is terrible and that they deserve so much better. If all else fails, we want to throw them in our car and drive them so far away that their abuser can never find them again. Or we may have no idea how to bring up the situation with our friend - talking about abuse is uncomfortable, and you may have no idea how to even begin that conversation. Being a third party to an abusive relationship is a horrible situation to be in, and you may find yourself overwhelmed with anxiety, fear, uncertainty and concern for your friend. 

Fortunately, there are some important steps that you can take to support your loved one and help them to build a safer life for themselves, like:

Don’t try to force them to leave. The first thing that most people want to say when they hear about an abusive relationship is “Leave! Dump them! Break up with them right now!”. But coming on that strong is a mistake. The victim has to be the one to make the decision to leave, and they need to be completely committed to leaving - when a victim caves into pressure from family and friends and leaves an abusive relationship before they’re ready, they are at extremely high risk of returning to the relationship, and repeatedly leaving and getting back together with an abusive partner is very dangerous. And if your friend isn’t ready to leave yet, you telling them to leave may push them away from you, leaving them with less support. There are steps you can take to help them reach the conclusion that leaving is necessary - and I’ll explain what those steps are - but pestering or commanding them to leave is not helpful. 

Emphasize that they are capable of making their own choices and that you will be there for them no matter what they decide to do. One of the biggest barriers that victims face in leaving abusive relationships is that their partner has destroyed their confidence in their own decision-making abilities. They are used to being told that they are irrational, stupid, incompetent, and that they can’t be trusted to make the right choices. They may not trust their own judgement, and believe that they are “overreacting” to their partner’s mistreatment - after all, they are used to being harshly criticized and having to second-guess themselves. One of the best things you can do for a victim of domestic violence is to restore their confidence in their ability to make decisions for themselves and feel good about those decisions. Remind your friend that they are smart and capable, and that you wholeheartedly support their ability to make their own choices. True recovery from abuse does not mean that the victim stops taking orders from their abuser and starts taking orders from their friends - true recovery means regaining the autonomy to decide for themselves. 

Avoid bashing their partner. I know it’s tempting to want to let your friend know what a horrible, lazy, abusive piece of shit their partner is. Don’t. People tend to view their partners as an extension of themselves - when you tell someone that their partner is garbage, what they hear is “I think you’re the kind of person who chooses to date garbage”. It puts them in a position where they feel like they need to defend their partner and their dating choices, and ultimately pushes them closer to their partner and further away from you. 

Focus on feelings, not labels. A lot of victims struggle with the word “abusive”. They don’t want to think of themselves as someone ended up in an abusive relationship - there’s a lot of stigma attached to that idea - and so they might push back hard if you try to force that idea on them, making them more defensive and less likely to leave. Don’t worry about the word “abuse” for now - your loved one doesn’t actually need to acknowledge that the relationship is abusive in order to leave it. They just need to realize that they aren’t happy. When a friend brings up something potentially (or definitely) abusive that their partner did to them, don’t rush to label it - instead, ask them about how that incident made them feel. Validate those feelings. When they say “it really scares me when my partner starts throwing things around”, don’t say “throwing things is on the abuse checklist” - say “Oh wow, that does sound really scary. Do they do that a lot? How are you coping with that? That doesn’t sound like something that should happen in a relationship at all. Are there any other times that your partner scares you?”. Encourage your friend to think critically about the relationship, their feelings, and what they want in a partner - help them contextualize their relationship and recognize that their experiences aren’t “normal”, and they can arrive at the conclusion that it’s abusive in their own time. 

Keep your relationship with them positive. Having conversations about the abuse you’re experiencing is exhausting, and if every interaction you have with your friend turns into a long lecture about how they need to leave the relationship, they might grow distant from you. If they want to talk about the relationship every time they see you, that’s great, but don’t try to drag information out of them if they don’t feel up to talking. Even if you’re having heavy conversations with them, it’s okay to try to keep things positive - compliment them, remind them of their strengths, remind them how much you care about them. Keep your tone thoughtful and concerned, but not preachy. There may be times when they just want lighthearted distractions from their situation, and that’s okay too.

Remind them that this is not their fault, and that they deserve better. Victims often stay in abusive relationships because they feel that they are causing their partner’s abuse or bringing it on themselves - something along the lines of “they wouldn’t have to get so angry with me if I didn’t screw up so much”. Let your friend know that the abuse isn’t their fault and that they didn’t do anything to cause it. Remind them that adults are expected to behave like adults even when they are upset, and that there are no excuses for their partner’s behaviour - they deserve to be with someone who treats them with respect and can manage their emotions like a rational, mature adult. 

Avoid shaming and blaming. Sometimes friends and family members will try to take on a “tough love” approach to getting their loved one out of the abusive relationship, and it’s profoundly unhelpful. They’ll say things like “if you stay, you’re choosing to be treated this way” and “I can’t watch you mess up your own life like this”, or even “your partner is going to kill you one day, is that what you want?”. It’s meant to try to shock or scare the victim into leaving - in reality, though, it just makes the victim feel even more worthless, and it makes them feel like a burden to the people who should be their greatest source of support.  

Encourage safety planning. It could take months or even years for a victim to decide that they are ready to escape - instead of trying to rush that timeline, start by simply encouraging the victim to start thinking about their physical safety. A safety plan is not necessarily a plan to leave the relationship; it’s a plan to prevent or minimize violence and protect yourself from physical harm, so that you’ll have the option to leave the relationship when you’re ready. Let your friend know that you’re worried about their safety, and that you’d really like to help them brainstorm some ways that they can keep themselves out of harm’s way. Offer assistance if you can. A safety plan should always be tailored to the victim’s individual situation, and should involve planning for common triggers and early warning signs of violence. If your friend knows that violence is likely when their partner comes home drunk, for instance, you could make a plan for your friend to leave their home whenever that happens and come stay at your place until their partner sobers up. Work with them to plan for their unique circumstances, and check the internet for online safety planning resources. 

Offer resources, but don’t push them. Almost every city and town has some form of help available for victims of domestic violence - there are hotlines, shelters, victim services agencies, counselling centres, etc. Resources are great, but not if you’re dumping a bunch of unwanted pamphlets in your friend’s lap that they didn’t ask for. Again, survivor autonomy is key here - your friend is the expert in their own situation, and they get to make the decision about when (or whether) to access resources. You also need to remember that accessing resources - or even getting caught researching resources - could be very dangerous for your friend, and it’s important that you let them take the lead on deciding what is safe for them to access. If you want to offer resources, do it gently - if you’re having a conversation where they seem to be acknowledging that things in their relationship aren’t great, you can say, “hey, would it be okay if we researched some resources together? What do you think would be helpful for you? What are you comfortable with, and how can I support you?”

Make open-ended offers of support. Make it very clear to your friend that your door is always open to them, and that they can call you anytime they need help. They need to know that it doesn’t matter if you haven’t spoken in six months and it’s the middle of the night - you will come pick them up, give them a place to stay, take them to the hospital, or give them any other kinds of support you’re able to offer. Abusers often succeed at keeping their victims trapped through isolation; they will prevent their victim from seeing or speaking to friends for so long that the friendship deteriorates, so by the time the victim is ready to leave, they have nowhere to go and no one to offer the kinds of material or moral support that they need to leave the relationship. Make sure your friend knows that you’ll still be there for them even if you lose contact for months or a couple of years, and that they never need to feel weird about turning to you for help whenever they need it. 

Be patient. It often takes several dozen instances of abuse before a victim acknowledges that the relationship is abusive, and the average abused woman (there are currently no statistics on men) attempts to leave seven times before successfully escaping the relationship. Leaving is a process, and victims need friends and family members in their lives who understand this. Many victims end up losing their support system when loved ones become frustrated with how long it’s taking for them to leave; if you are supporting a domestic violence victim, it’s important to have a realistic sense of how long it can take to safely and permanently exit an abusive relationship, and manage your expectations accordingly. 

If you are supporting a loved one in an abusive relationship, it’s also important that you take good care of yourself. The feelings of fear, worry and powerlessness that you experience when you watch a loved one struggle with abuse can be overwhelming, and you need to make sure that you are maintaining your own mental health while you are helping someone else. Take breaks. Talk to friends. Spend time on your hobbies. Eat good food and get exercise. If you’re feeling frustrated with the situation - and it’s absolutely valid to be frustrated - channel your feelings into art, journalling or anything else that helps you work through it. If you are feeling lost, you can contact a domestic violence resource center or hotline - they can give you tips for how to help your friend. 

If your friend is okay with it, it would also be helpful if you joined forces with at least one of their other friends or family members to help support them. Knowing that there’s at least one other person who can be there for your loved one and pick up the phone if you’re unavailable can take a huge amount of stress off your shoulders. Feeling like you are the only thing standing between a loved one and serious harm at the hands of their partner is a hugely stressful situation to be in - when you build a team of supportive people around the abused person, that person has a lot more support at their disposal, and you get to avoid burning out. 

It’s not easy to leave an abusive relationship. It’s not easy to help someone leave. But with the right support, you can help your loved one achieve a safe, abuse-free future. 

[buckpaws]

Fawnpaw’s Way

(read ch. 1 and allegiances here!)

ch. 2 is done! :D it took a while, but here it is!

words: 8,924

Fawnpaw and friends take a trip to the medicine cats' den, but she gets lost in thought after it all goes less than according to plan.

    Though the sun’s warmth was a comfortable haze over Autumnclan’s camp, Fawnpaw felt cold after watching Fogbright’s outburst towards her apprentice, Plumpaw. The black tom was standing still in place, his green eyes murky as he watched the empty tunnel where his mentor had disappeared. Shadows cast themselves over the four apprentices, who were unwilling to move from their shaded spot to the warmth of the hollow. She resisted the urge to nuzzle his cheek, with his sister, Mistypaw, so close to him already. And he was soon shaking himself out and looking between Mistypaw and the other two apprentices with new optimism. Next to her, Mottlepaw offered no quip, which Fawnpaw found odd.

    “Who does Fogbright think she is?” Mistypaw started up before he could say anything, causing Plumpaw’s tail to fall, clearly hoping to drop the subject. Fueled by moons of training together with Fallenwing and Fogbright every day, the apprentice ranted, “I swear, sometimes she just treats you like a stop to becoming deputy. How miserable!”

    “Let’s just get going, okay? The medicine cats might be getting ready to leave for the 'Cave soon,'' Plumpaw meowed, his words edged with his tenseness. Mistypaw didn’t seem ready to let the issue go, though all she let indicate it was a single whisk of her tail, and thoughtful irritation swimming in her blue eyes. Before anyone could follow Plumpaw’s lead, Fawnpaw felt an emptiness against her flank when Mottlepaw pulled away. Another feeling came - a heavy dropping sensation in her chest that made Fawnpaw’s legs quiver. Her balance was unsteady, and if there wasn’t a wall of rock on her other side, she might have collapsed. Unsure sounds were bubbling up out of Mottlepaw’s throat, and Fawnpaw knew the worst might be coming. White ringed her sister’s dark eyes.

    “No!” The first protest came, “Mapleflower will be mad too! No!” Her yowls rang off the red-rock walls, hardly muffled by the thick soil padding the ground and edges of the gorge. Mistypaw seemed totally taken aback, ears flattened. She backed up, and Plumpaw stood even closer to her, keeping his own pricked toward Mottlepaw. His fur remained flat. Where the gorge’s walls normally felt safe, arching over Autumnclan’s camp in shelter, they now seemed to trap the apprentices in a claustrophobic embrace.

    “Mottlepaw, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Mapleflower won’t be mad at you,” He tried to say in a soft tone, against Mottlepaw’s loud meowing and hissing. She had now backed herself next to Fawnpaw, as she struggled to stand herself. Her gaze swam, Plumpaw and Mistypaw blinking in and out of view as dark and light colored clouds. Mottlepaw’s cries overwhelmed her senses, almost blotting out the shaking pain of the muscles in her legs, threatening to take away her ability to pretend that she was fine. Without a voice, she tried to keep listening in to her sister’s meltdown. It felt as if her heart raged with any attempt she made to move. Starclan, where was her strength when she needed it? In her place, the older apprentices were left to manage Mottlepaw before she began to attract the attention of cats trying to rest after their patrols. At sunhigh, her outburst would be especially noticeable. Fawnpaw’s teeth ached from clenching her jaw. The thought of another aggressive confrontation against her sister made Fawnpaw want to whimper.

    “Shut up! I don’t wanna! I’m not going! No!” Mottlepaw was making shrill sounds after her words now, her normally thick tail now plumy with her frustration and panic. Her breathing was strained, the wet and painful sounds even worse when she raised her voice. Plumpaw pushed forward bravely with a step closer, gaze flitting between Mottlepaw and Fawnpaw. He lowered himself to the ground to seem less of a threat to the tortoiseshell apprentice, but she met his mercy with a nasty spit, leaving him sputtering backwards. His sister quickly stepped in with one paw in front of the black tom. Fawnpaw’s chest fluttered in vain to form words for Mottlepaw’s sake, her effort clawing at the air in her lungs like a butterfly floating just too high to catch. Around her, the air crackled with escalating tension, teetering on the edge of something she would not be able to fix. Mistypaw regarded Mottlepaw with a hard gaze

    “Mottlepaw, stop! Plumpaw just wants to help you!” Mistypaw exclaimed, her pale fur fluffing up to meet the other apprentice’s challenge, and Fawnpaw wanted to interject - she’s just confused! She isn’t like you! But her voice still failed to come, all energy spent keeping her paws upright. Shuffling against the wall of stone, Fawnpaw managed to whip her tail. Her sister needed her. As Fawnpaw expected, Mistypaw’s loud voice only exacerbated Mottlepaw’s protests. It was just as when they had all been kits together, but now, Mudpetal was not hovering closeby to handle her kit with love and seasoned paws. Plumpaw did his best to recover from Mottlepaw’s aggression where he crouched close to the ground.

    “That’s right, Mottlepaw. Aren’t we friends, Mottlepaw?” In response, the tortoiseshell hissed once more, quietly now. After the outburst, Mottlepaw’s body had begun shrinking down into her thick fur. Shades of black, brown and copper fluffed up to protect her from the overstimulating world in front of her, but it still couldn’t cure the distress she felt inside. The force of Fawnpaw’s sympathy hurt her heart, beating rapidly alongside her sister’s. Seizing the opportunity, Plumpaw advanced closer once more, and Mottlepaw let him this time. Once he was within a tail’s length of Mottlepaw, he tried to reach out and touch her paw with his. Mottlepaw did not move away, only staring warily between her sister and denmate. With a deep breath, Fawnpaw finally found her strength and turned her head to give Mottlepaw a reassuring blink.

    “Plumpaw i-is a good friend, isn’t he? He wouldn’t make you do anything scary.” She murmured to her sister, feeling a glimmer of hope when recognition shone back in Mottlepaw’s normally sweet green eyes. Fear and confusion still dominated the apprentice, her flattened ears and fluffed up fur continuing to protect Mottlepaw from the stimulation of everything around her. From her distance away, Mistypaw continued to watch her brother with disbelief. Plumpaw closed the distance from him to Mottlepaw, allowing his black pelt to become a kindly shadow pressing against her streaked fur. 

    “I can’t!” Her voice suddenly rose to a wail once more, and Fawnpaw caught the next cry before it came by slipping her head underneath Mottlepaw’s chin. She comforted her sister with broken purrs, enveloping Mottlepaw in warmth alongside Plumpaw. The steady sound reverberated between the cats huddled together, slowing the tortoiseshell’s rapid heartbeat. Mistypaw’s tail flicked back and forth now, uncomfortable, or maybe unsure, at the sight before her, though Fawnpaw found it difficult to care in her exhausted state. Relief washed over Fawnpaw profoundly as her sister began to calm down. As the quiet extended, so did the lengths of her purring. Minutes passed, giving even Mistypaw the chance to sit down and relax. She drew her paw over her ear in washing, as if trying to allow the other apprentices space. From where they huddled together, the sun was hidden from view behind one rise in the gorge, which left the stone cool and dew glistening on patches of shaded grass. Fawnpaw felt her eyelids grow heavy; Mottlepaw’s intense purring brought her back to being a tiny kit snuggled between her littermates. Plumpaw rested with his head on his paws, his long tail curled over Mottlepaw’s back. When one of the cats finally spoke, it was Mottlepaw in a whisper.

    “I’m sorry for talking like that to you, Plumpaw,” She mumbled into her paws, “I didn’t mean to.” Guilt was undeniable in Mottlepaw’s voice, and Plumpaw lifted his head, touching his nose to her ear.

    “Thanks for apologizing, I know you didn’t mean to. It’s still important to remember that it hurts other cat’s feelings when you raise your voice and get upset,'' He meowed with an assuring yet firm tone, rising on his paws only enough to stretch himself out. “Besides… that’s why Dappleheart is so nice, huh? She can use a cave-voice, even for an apprentice like you, Mottlepaw!” The glow in Plumpaw’s eyes was contagious, and Mottlepaw beamed back with a rumbling mrrow of laughter. Fawnpaw felt her heart soar with admiration. Plumpaw sounded like a mentor already, so wise and patient, when he hadn’t even been made a warrior yet!

    “Daring to call out Mapleflower, brother?” Mistypaw chimed in, and he gave her a fervent nod. The dark tom straightened himself out, his black fur sleek and prominent against the gorge’s curving red walls, even amongst their many shadows. He stood tall in pride for his bravery. Autumnclan’s medicine cat was well-respected, but no cat escaped her short temper and high expectations, least of all her apprentice, Dappleheart. Despite the shocking difference in their size and strength, Dappleheart seemed meek and innocent as a kit next to the compact calico she-cat whose yellow eyes could survey a group of cats with a warrior’s intensity. With any luck, she would be in a good mood when they entered her den.

    “Someone has to,” Plumpaw admitted, “She can be so grumpy, but the four of us can surely take her, right, Mottlepaw?”

    “Yeah!” Mottlepaw rose alongside him, which Fawnpaw used as an opportunity to also scramble to her paws. They ached with weariness, but the exhaustion would be manageable now until she could get to the medicine cats’ den and rest. For the time being, Fawnpaw leaned on Mottlepaw. Through her pelt, Fawnpaw could feel Mottlepaw’s heartbeat growing slower and calmer. In response to her brother, Mistypaw purred once.

    “Do you think you can manage without me? Runningpaw said he wanted to go check out a thrush nest when he got back from patrol. I should wait for him, it could be good hunting for tomorrow.” She meowed, already moving back towards the gorge. Mottlepaw made a disappointed sound at the mention of her older brother, though Fawnpaw jabbed at her sister with her tail. She began to protest, but managed to quiet down with a huff when Fawnpaw mumbled an unrealistic promise into her ear as conciliation.  Plumpaw had also shifted himself in front of the other two she-cats, waving goodbye to Mistypaw with a motion of his tail.

    “We’ll find a way. Tell Runningpaw I said hi.”

    “For sure. See you all later!” Mistypaw called over her shoulder as she trotted away, weaving around small rocks and gravel to find a clear spot of smooth limestone that had been warmed by a patch of sunlight. When she settled, her fur was a nearly-white glow amongst the gorge’s sheer, shaded walls. Shadows of birds overhead flickered across Mistypaw’s pelt, sleek from where she had groomed herself earlier. The grace with which she reclined in the sun and shut her sky colored eyes amazed Fawnpaw.

    She didn’t have time to look long, as her group had moved on without her. Fawnpaw followed quickly, leaving Mistypaw to sun herself until the morning border patrol returned. With Plumpaw in the lead, the trio of apprentices padded away from the sunlit gorge and its dappled warmth, back to the tunnel which led into the camp’s underbelly. However, rather than plunge down as Fogbright and the other warriors had done, Plumpaw traced the solidly packed dirt along the tunnel’s edge in easy strides. It formed a path upwards, gently sloping up to higher ground where the gorge’s walls converged closer, creating a tighter space around the flat stone marking what would be the roof of the cavern below. However, where the forest floor met the edge of the gorge, soil was easy to move and shape; brambles and shrubs wove together as a testament to generations of warriors working to manipulate earth and foliage around them into their camp’s main exit. On her first night as an apprentice, while her littermates enjoyed the excitement of a Gathering, Mudpetal had told Fawnpaw of her own father, Hayjaw, before they retired together to the nursery. He had succumbed to greencough before her litter could open their eyes to meet him. Although her eyes strained against the brightness of silverpelt shining through the woven tangles, Fawnpaw had searched its magnificence for her grandfather amongst the stars. The moon, bright and full, shone back at her as an unblinking eye. Even now, Fawnpaw craned to see the sky through the bramble tunnel, but clouds peered back at her this time.

    A new wind of excitement to get out in the forest made Mottlepaw scamper after Plumpaw without protest, and Fawnpaw followed close behind her sister’s tail. Underneath her paws, the soil sloped up even higher, becoming darker and softer until thick brambles gave way to lush undergrowth. She didn’t have to wriggle to get through the bushes like her cohorts, her small frame slipping easily through a hole Without sunken earth to muffle the winds and sounds above, Fawnpaw felt the entire forest roll over her senses, making her whiskers quiver. Mottlepaw’s dilated eyes flashed excitedly at the trees, teeming with chittering prey in greenleaf. The sea of birch trees framing the sky above created a blue-and-green warmth inside of Fawnpaw, familiar beyond her years, even when she blinked.

    Plumpaw did well to keep his friends on course, guiding Mottlepaw with his tail along the stretch of ground, the leaves and grass there flat from many pawsteps. Briar thickets helped to keep the pathway enclosed and safe from being worn away completely, and the apprentices ducked under their longest branches for a few fox-lengths. When they emerged, the tangle of brambles and bushes gave way to a small knoll sporting viburnum bushes flowering white, and prickly larch trees. Its south-facing side held the den’s entrance. It was a cave of its own, much smaller, and rich with moss and ferns clinging to its stone interior, damp from a steaming underground pool. A thick sheet of dried willow vines secured at the cave’s mouth by stones shielded the tumble of rocks that lead into the den of Autumnclan’s healers. When leaf-fall came again, the withered vines would be replaced by the medicine cats with ones that were freshly fallen. Mottlepaw shimmied her haunches to stalk a stray catkin as it came under her paw, but the older apprentice stopped her with a small cough. The sound pulled Fawnpaw from her thinking.

    “Come on, Mottlepaw,” He said easily, and she trotted after him.

    Once the apprentices had passed underneath the willow vines, the air around them quickly became cool, quiet, and still once more. It always felt exactly how she left in when she moved back into the nursery, save the mess of two busy medicine cats with an apprentice den full of rambunctious cats. Today, though, the herbs were laid in neat piles and fine rows, as if great attention had been paid to them.

    In the further darkness of the cave, Fawnpaw saw a pair of glinting eyes glow back at her. Almost at once, the large, golden she-cat presented herself, dark spots shifting across her pelt as she lowered herself from a stone cleft full of flat pink flower petals. The divot was nearly halfway up the cave wall, its contents hidden to any cat below the medicine cat’s towering height. Fawnpaw admired her powerful frame as she approached the apprentices with an amiable look in her honey sweet eyes.

    “Welcome! I was hoping you’d stop by.” Dappleheart meowed in greeting, giving a friendly blink to the three young cats. The kind tone of Dappleheart did little to calm the guilty feeling that sparked in Fawnpaw’s chest.

    “We tried to get here earlier.” The tabby mewed, beginning to sputter with her lack of excuses. In truth, it was not expected of Fawnpaw to follow her sister at all times, but it made her a little nervous not to know when or whether Mottlepaw had taken care of herself. Considering that Vixenbreze had not been with her, it was likely that her sister had been so helpfully assisting Plumpaw without her mentor’s permission. Even as she grew restless and confused from pain associated with her condition, Mottlepaw popped up around camp to help others, and Fawnpaw loved that about her. She just wished that there was some way to poke around inside her sister’s brain, dislodging whatever froze her up, or pinched her nerves at the thought of eating herbs.

    Tilting her head to one side, she gave Mottlepaw a curious look, but the apprentice was avoiding all eye contact in favor of an invisible bug somewhere between her paws. Plumpaw sat next to her, his tail relaxed, only his eyes appeared to be more focused on the exit of the den than what was happening inside. Dappleheart observed her for a little longer in the quiet, before rising to her great paws.

    “She needs to have thyme before sunhigh,” Dappleheart murmured, more to herself than Fawnpaw, and she padded off quickly. The length of her tail meant a small bit stuck out from the crevice of rocks, and after just a few moments, the tall she-cat emerged fully with a few thick pieces of thyme in her jaws. Dappleheart laid them before Mottlepaw, who reluctantly lapped them up and began to chew after Fawnpaw gave her a reassuring gaze. “This is a calming herb. It’s good for feeling better when you get overwhelmed,” She explained to Mottlepaw in a practiced tone that indicated just how many times she had gone over this with the stubborn tortoiseshell. Fawnpaw still listened intently, always ready for a chance to learn how to help her sister. If something went wrong, or the medicine cats were gone from camp, surely it would fall to Fawnpaw to administer her sister’s necessary herbs. This newest outburst made her realize just how much she would have to train to be ready for that moment. She couldn’t help but feel her ears droop; she had nearly collapsed during Mottlepaw’s fit. If Plumpaw and Mistypaw hadn’t been there, she would have had no way of helping her sister without becoming a problem herself.

    Fawnpaw wanted to shake her head fiercely to clear her ever-churning thoughts. No. They were not problems. If cats were supposed to be perfect, they wouldn’t have to be apprenticed at all. For now, she tried to focus her attention back on Dappleheart, who was now fetching Mottlepaw the rest of her herbs, which she had wrapped neatly in an ivy leaf. Fawnpaw let her short tail rest on Mottlepaw’s flank as she settled down in a resting position and lapped up the deep blue berries before her first. Plumpaw also gave her a friendly bump of his head to hers in encouragement. With some prompting, Mottlepaw also took a couple of light green leaves, each sporting rounded points, into her mouth and eventually swallowed them. Some had still stuck to the cleft in her lip, but she licked the mess away quickly. Dappleheart was patient enough to wait until she had cleaned herself to continue.

    “If Pinekit didn’t need the last of our coltsfoot to get over his kitcough, I’d use that for your breathing. This is feverfew; it’s best for fevers, of course - but I think it does well with thyme for your chest and your headaches, Mottlepaw.” Dappleheart spoke, though she only really directed the words at the pair of sisters. Fawnpaw felt her memory ache at the different herbs. Were the medicine cats so overworked that Dappleheart needed to pass on all this important knowledge to the apprentices? Or did she just know how much the small cat needed to watch out for her innocent sister? Fawnpaw vowed to learn as much as she could, for Mottlepaw and her other littermates, who needed to focus on learning about other aspects of clan life. The elders’ and medicine cats’ dens were already more familiar to her, anyway. She glanced at Plumpaw to see if he was listening, and saw that he was once again looking at the mouth of the cave. The tips of his ears twitched, but not in the direction of the medicine cat’s teaching.

    “They’re so gross…” Mottlepaw whined once she had swallowed the last of the herbs. She had now taken to shredding the ivy leaf wrap. Fawnpaw nudged her flank gently with a paw, drawing her attention back to Dappleheart’s lesson. Obliging, Mottlepaw’s ears faced the tall she-cat once more. Amber eyes blinked gratefully back at Fawnpaw for her help.

    “That’s why we only use them when we have to,” Dappleheart meowed evenly, before adding in a more earnest voice, “And why you need to have them consistently. The more you forget, the more yucky herbs we’ll have to use to treat you, Mottlepaw.” The medicine cat’s honesty made Mottlepaw sheepish, once more staring at her paws instead of making eye contact with the large she-cat. Fawnpaw knew that her sister was aware of how important the herbs were to her health, and moreso, knew better than to skip her daily visit with the medicine cats. Still, the young apprentice often seemed unable to help herself from running away, or becoming upset at her routine. Vixenbreeze did well in the last few moons to teach Mottlepaw to accept that she didn’t get to choose patrols, or when to help the elders. Despite her cool appearance, her sister’s mentor put in a clan’s worth of effort into her apprentice - a labor of love that often went unnoticed by other members of Autumnclan. It was no surprise that her son would have his mother’s compassion, and perhaps his father’s as well, though Fawnpaw couldn’t say.

    “Thanks, Dappleheart…” Mottlepaw mewed, looking up at the medicine cat apprentice for her approval. When Dappleheart leaned down to nuzzle her head with her nose, the tortoiseshell gave a squeal of delight. Dappleheart purred, loud and song-like. The small tabby she-cat’s throat felt tight with her happiness, how the medicine cat still treasured the apprentices which she had saved as kits. Though it was her home no longer, this richly green cave brought the same warmth to her chest as it did when she was an even smaller cat. The cacophony of herb-smell no longer bothered her, either. Dappleheart’s eyes had moved from Mottlepaw to where she sat quietly.

    “How about you, Fawnpaw? Are you feeling okay?” She asked kindly. Fawnpaw nodded, feeling hesitant to mention her fit of weakness around Mottlepaw for fear of upsetting her once more. She also wasn’t very interested in mentioning her weakness around Plumpaw, either. Instead, she searched Dappleheart’s gaze for understanding. Within a few moments, it registered in Dappleheart’s eyes what the young tabby was asking of her without speaking. She purred again, touching Fawnpaw’s own head with her muzzle. Her breath carried a hint of some of the sweet herbs she had worked with earlier that morning.

    “Good… But it can’t hurt to have a little something for your strength,” Dappleheart meowed, returning to the crevice full of berries and herbs. Mottlepaw gave her a horrified look, as if prompting her to protest before she too received the yucky herbs, but Fawnpaw just gave her a playful cuff on the ear. This time, Dappleheart’s jaws were clamped around a few sorrel leaves. For as long as she could remember, the medicine cats had given her the sleek leaves on her worst days to build up her strength and give her any appetite at all. They would settle nice in her belly when she had the chance to pick something up from the fresh-kill pile. Fawnpaw gratefully chewed the green leaves until they lost their shape completely, hoping to wash the ache from her legs. When she was done, she looked up to see Mottlepaw playing with the scraps of ivy leaf once more. At least she wasn’t trying to dig up the ferns and moss that Mapleflower and Dappleheart carefully cultivated in the cave. It had taken a quarter moon for the former to forgive Mottlepaw, which only made administering her herbs that much harder.

    “Thank you, Dappleheart,” Fawnpaw echoed her sister, but her tone was sincere. Dappleheart blinked slowly down at the apprentices, finally sitting before them with her strong white paws neatly together. Even though the cave was dim, with a jagged, sharp peak of a roof that bathed much of the den in heavy darkness, the comfort of Dappleheart’s presence was a constant warmth to Fawnpaw. As a kit, all shadows had seemed darker. Even in the medicine cats’ den, where her every cry was met with Dappleheart’s comforting hush. She loved the verdant space and steaming pool it offered, but when peeking moonlight found its way into the cave, sprouting foxglove and ferns had created flickering, dark ghosts between their fronds. They whispered to each other shadow-y words, and fear nurtured the pain and weakness of her muscle aches. Dappleheart was the one who had nuzzled her during those sleepless nights.

    “Of course,” Dappleheart said cheerily, her pelt the same color as the yellow bells growing in clustered shoots around the cave; flowers which no longer scared her. Sensing the end of her visit, Mottlepaw nearly jumped to her paws. Her fluffy tail was swishing in excitement. She looked to Dappleheart expectantly, and the golden cat dipped her head. “Remember to stop in tomorrow morning, Mottlepaw. I don’t want a single mouse caught until I’ve seen you!” Her meow was as stern as the easy-going she-cat could muster, although her affectionate gaze revealed just how much of an effect the tortoiseshell apprentice had on her. “And thank you, Plumpaw,” She said more quietly to the dark apprentice who had waited so patiently for his younger denmate. He gave her a polite nod.

    “Yeah!” Mottlepaw yowled eagerly, spinning around and bounding up to explode out of the cave’s mouth back into the forest. Willow vines buffeted each other in her wake. Her quiet sister was seemingly forgotten. 

    “I guess that’s my cue. Bye, Fawnpaw,” Plumpaw meowed, leaving with a swish of his tail. She wished that Plumpaw would stay longer, and her gaze trailed after him until his lean form was gone through the vines as well. Dappleheart just shook her head, watching after the bombastic she-cat and quiet tom trotting behind her humorously.

    “She’ll be a great warrior once she learns to slow down a little,” The medicine cat mused. Fawnpaw thought she might agree, but didn’t say it out loud. Without Mottlepaw to distract her, the den felt very quiet. Dappleheart turned her attention back to the remaining apprentice. Her amber eyes flashed with interest, causing Fawnpaw to sit up straight. “By the way, how’s your training with Mudpetal going?” Feeling a little sheepish now that she was on her own, she averted her eyes from Dappleheart. 

    “It’s good. I think I’ve really got the Warrior Code down to memory now,” Running through her typical day, went on, “I always try to make good arrangements for the elders’ den, and get them the best moss, too.” Fawnpaw meowed.

    “That’s good to hear. I’m willing to bet Marblecoat has taught you more about moss than even your mentor, though,” Dappleheart snorted, giving her shoulder a lick. “I get all of his complaints so that Mapleflower won’t ring his tail.”

    “Maybe…” She murmured indulgently, before looking up at Dappleheart with curiosity. “Where is Mapleflower? She hasn’t gone to the Cave without you, has she?” In response, Dappleheart shook her head. The she-cat’s long, spotted tail abruptly twitched, the dark tip shifting like a beetle. Her claws scraped lightly on stone. Fawnpaw wondered what had her so nervous, and recalled her conversation with Mudpetal earlier that day. We’re facing some difficult times.

    “No, she’s out picking horsetail,” While she spoke, Dappleheart indicated the piles Fawnpaw had noticed earlier, and she started to make out  “This would usually be enough for the season…” She murmured. Something about her tone made Fawnpaw think she didn’t want to keep going. Seeing Dappleheart’s confidence falter made Fawnpaw’s heart thud with worry. Seeming to notice the apprentice’s stare beginning to grow panicked, Dappleheart sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, there’s a lot on my mind. We’re lucky to have as many herbs as we do, and Mapleflower will only find more. She should be back any minute now.” Relieved at the return of her warm gaze, Fawnpaw nodded along. The thought of difficult times rested underneath her desire to connect with Dappleheart like a snake in tall grass. If there was any pair of cats that could handle a challenge, it would be Mapleflower and Dappleheart; Fawnpaw tried to reason with herself against her own unease. 

    A quiet bubbling from the steaming pool was all that broke the den’s quiet. Drawing a paw along the edge of her piles, the medicine cat hummed, “Say, it should be your turn to come with us to the Cave one of these moons.”

    That peaked Fawnpaw’s interest, her swivelling ears betraying the fact. “Are you taking Volepaw this time?” Her boisterous brother had to be her first guess. Volepaw had been devastated when the medicine cats chose Brindlepaw last moon. She knew that his constant bragging could be exaggerated, but even still - she thought his catches were quite impressive when he showed them to her on the fresh-kill pile. He would do well to protect the medicine cats. Looking up from the array of fresh and dried leaves she had now moved around, Dappleheart shook her head.

    “Runningpaw was our choice, actually. I think that he’s ready this time around. Not to mention, Yellowbirch can keep up with us, unlike some of our warriors,” Dappleheart puffed out her chest, but seemed to catch herself on some realization, to which she leaned back down to Fawnpaw’s level to nuzzle her cheek. Fawnpaw shrank shyly into herself as her tone went sweet once more. “Well, the Cave of Bones and Moonlight is a very long way away. Most apprentices find it intimidating their first time around, even me. It’ll be easier once you’ve gone to a Gathering at the lake. Let me show you,” She separated some berries, rich and red, and began to place them in a line. The thought briefly crossed her mind that Mistypaw must be disappointed that Runningpaw would have to leave camp before they could go hunting. She would also have to enlist Volepaw or Brindlepaw in getting Mottlepaw to eat before going to sleep if her father was on evening patrol … Fawnpaw blinked to clear her thoughts of responsibilities, and observed the movements of Dappleheart’s paw with fresh intrigue. Two of the berries sat relatively close together, only about a mouse length apart, while the third remained far out of reach. “This is our camp. It’s only a few hillcrests to the Gathering-Place, sure, but we have to go past Acaciaclan’s territory and a few twoleg villages to even get close to the Cave.”

    “Why go all that way if silverpelt is above us no matter where we are?” The thought dawned on Fawnpaw before she could hold it back, her mind’s eye conjuring warriors she saw looking up at the night sky when they thought they were alone. A smile gleamed in Dappleheart’s eyes. 

    “It’s not just about finding a place to talk to Starclan. It’s about seeing the world out there, and seeing it through the eyes of the other clans, too. When we travel, we go under the darkest phase of the moon. We have to trust that we all know the way, even without the moon to show us. There’s no squabbling about borders if you want to have an easy time about it.” Fawnpaw’s eyes widened at the she-cat’s confidence.

    “What if you can’t work together and you get stranded in the dark?” She mewed.

    Dappleheart laughed, “What places your mind goes, Fawnpaw,” A small shade of seriousness tinted her clear amber eyes as she went on, “Disagreement is part of life. It’s completely natural to feel differently than others around you, especially when they’ve lived very different lives. I like to think I’ve learned a lot from the experience of the other clans.”

    “I think that makes sense. I guess Starclan would protect you too, since you’re all medicine cats, right?” Fawnpaw asked, only to be met with a thoughtful look from Dappleheart that suggested she hadn’t answered entirely correctly.

    “Maybe they’re watching out for us, but it’s the cats we choose that really protect us on the journey. We’re safer in numbers, and better for it if we cooperate instead of fight.” Fawnpaw was enthralled, only for Dappleheart to falter suddenly in her passion. Her line of sight was fixed behind Fawnpaw, who turned to see what had stopped her.

    Mapleflower stood at the precipice of the cave, her yellow gaze cold when it landed upon the pair of them. All at once, Fawnpaw went quiet as well. Without greeting them, the medicine cat made her way down into the cave, the clumps of wispy horsetail swaying between her jaws until she dropped them at Dappleheart’s paws. One of her black-tipped ears twitched in annoyance.

    “If Starclan picked Runningpaw, they made a mistake this time,” She said, her strong voice resounding in the cave. “Put these with the rest of our supply. I’m going to have to find a new apprentice to take with me.” Her words were gruff. The echo of difficult times slithered from the tall grass of her mind, baiting Fawnpaw to step within its range to strike. With her brother’s name in the conversation, she felt a cold stone drop in her stomach,  

    “What happened to Runningpaw?” Dappleheart mewed in worry once the horsetail had been placed in one of her piles.

    “Blazingbird said he fell out of a tree,” Mapleflower shook her head. “He’s lucky it wasn’t a break. We can hardly waste the herbs.” The comment made Fawnpaw look away when the medicine cat immediately went to the main herb store and pawed through its contents with a dissatisfied noise. She was clawing into the same place where Dappleheart had retrieved Mottlepaw’s herbs. The thyme she inspected in her upturned pad was dry and nearly falling apart. “I’ll need to get more of this too…”

    “Fawnpaw suggested Volepaw earlier-” Dappleheart tried to offer, only to be cut off by her mentor.

    “We’re not taking Volepaw, he’ll get us killed,” Mapleflower said harshly, whipping towards the brown and white apprentice and dropping the herbs altogether. “What do you know about our journey to the Cave? Has Mudpetal even taken you out of camp yet?” Fawnpaw’s ears went flat to her head at the unpleasant sheen in her scrutiny. Why did she have to bring up her mother in that tone? Her tail wrapped protectively over her paws. She didn’t know if Mapleflower actually wanted a response, so she just stared quietly back up at her. The marking around the medicine cat’s muzzle curled into a smirk for just a moment. Fawnpaw felt an unbearable heat rise to her face.

    “What about Plumpaw, then?” She blurted out. Heat sparked in the yellow eyes bearing her down. Teeth bared, the calico she-cat took in a sharp breath and leaned forward as if she was going to tear into her, reminding Fawnpaw of a great owl spreading its wings. Dappleheart wasted not one more breath before she stepped between them. The large she-cat blocked Fawnpaw’s view of Mapleflower, until she sat back down with her tail resting in front of the apprentice. Her suggestion had been completely on impulse this time around, thoughts of her friend apparently still flickering in her flustered mind. Dappleheart’s pushy interjection took some of the pressure off her. As long as Mapleflower wasn’t staring at her in the way she did, there was still a chance to recover her nerves. Though, the she-cat’s orange and white face wasn’t obscured for long as her apprentice’s posture once again relented to her respected mentor.

    “He’s a great choice! Maybe it is better we take an experienced apprentice this time around.” As quickly as it had come, the fire in Mapleflower’s eyes was gone, and she let out an exasperated sigh. Fawnpaw caught a glimpse of dullness replacing their intensity when she turned away, shouldering past Dappleheart to the herb store. Fawnpaw’s throat felt tight.

    “It’s going to be a long journey,” Was all that Mapleflower offered in reply, before her attention was back on her current task. Speaking without looking at them, the terseness in her voice was authoritative. “Now, unless you have any more helpful suggestions, I’m going to deal with this while we still have some daylight left. Dappleheart, bring that dried thyme and come with me. It’s about time Fawnpaw went back to the nursery.”

    Her words were biting enough to make Fawnpaw stare at the ground, imagining the sheer stones under her paws were pure white and she was in the moon’s territory instead. The surety of her mentor’s command left Dappleheart floundering to mediate the older cat’s callousness. Dappleheart was left instead to awkwardly sit amongst her herbs while Mapleflower got whatever else she needed. With a practiced skill even faster than Fawnpaw had seen before from Dappleheart, Mapleflower plucked several ivy leaves from a shelf along the opposite cave wall, and laid them flat next to her. Each one was swiftly filled identically with leaves that were clustered with tooth-like edges, topped with small yellow and white flowers. Her paws followed an effortless rhythm - folding each leaf into itself twice, and then flipping them over to keep them secure. From behind, Fawnpaw stole a look at the medicine cat, and saw twigs and dead leaves from the undergrowth stuck to her hindquarters and tail; she had come straight from the forest, preoccupied and unthinking to clean herself up.

    When the leaf wraps were ready, Mapleflower emerged with a mouthful of spine-like green stalks, adorned with a dried poppy head which she balanced gingerly between her teeth. She didn’t set them down to say anything else, only looking tiredly at the pair of younger cats before her. The fierce she-cat was only as old as Fawnpaw’s mother, yet seemed so much more weathered when her gaze bore down into the young apprentice. 

    Her message to Dappleheart needed no more words, anyway. When her tail tip disappeared through the curtain of vines, Dappleheart let out a breath. Although the spotted she-cat was polite enough to not run off without her, it was still clear to Fawnpaw that she was being prompted to take her leave. She scooped up the ragged thyme into one of the leaves Mottlepaw had not torn apart, but spoke before she carried the herbs out after her mentor.

    “Remember - all apprentices get their turn!” Dappleheart blinked hopefully back at Fawnpaw as she added, “Think about what we talked about earlier, too. Mapleflower will learn from you, just as you should from her.” Kind in intention as they were, her words didn’t help the way Mapleflower had made Fawnpaw feel. Numbness tingled in her paws as she followed Dappleheart with her tail drooped and dragging along the softly sprouting ferns of the cave. She was always the last one in and out of the den, it seemed. Forest-tinted light engulfed her view, replacing the dim cave, and Dappleheart’s spotted pelt only shone a greater shade of gold. In the sun, the intricacy of her dark markings were striking in contrast to the soft white of her muzzle and paws. One last touch of her tail to Fawnpaw’s flank was her goodbye. All around her, the forest continued chirping and crackling with life and activity, but she still felt it was too quiet without another cat beside her.

    The short trek through the forest back to the cave did little to raise her spirits, even when she passed Marigoldtail and her kits playing out in the sunshine. Rosekit and Pinekit bumped around her paws, spouting their ambitions and teasing each other. She purred at them, but the sight of the good-humored white and orange queen rolling in the grass with her litter made Fawnpaw’s thoughts spiral further. Mapleflower and Marigoldtail looked so much alike with their orange-and-black speckled white pelts; both were her kin. And yet still, she couldn’t please the reserved medicine cat who had also saved her during her delicate kithood. Did she stop caring, or did she never care in the first place? The thought so thoroughly sapped any good mood she had left that she missed a sparrow swooping through the rustling leaves around her and into the grass where she had paused without realizing. Its brown and white little body rustled in its feathers as it ate an unlucky worm with a satisfied toss of its dark brown head back. Frozen, she watched it seemingly gloat, unaware, in its catch.

    For several moments, Fawnpaw watched the sparrow and held her breath. How could she approach it without rustling the leaves and clumps of clover and grass around her paws? Would the bird fit between her tiny paws, or slip through and fly away? For almost half a moon, she had asked Runningpaw to show her his crouch-and-leap, but the time never came around. Now, with the impulsivity of her short talk with Mapleflower fresh in mind, it left her hesitant and timid. And in just the second that she lifted a paw to get closer, it flitted off in a streak of oak and white colored feathers.

    Just as Dappleheart advised, Fawnpaw tried to replace her mishap of a hunt with what they had discussed. Everyone relies on each other, in the clan and as clans together. She traced a different path that wound away from the medicine cat den, feeling the thick forest floor give way to a steep shelf of sandy earth where a riverbed once held a stream. Slipping into it, she kept going without truly feeling her paws. They ached, but that was nothing new. The greater river gurgled along nearby, unaware that one of its ghostly limbs was her way home. Her thoughts and stomach churned with thought like its bulging water. Every link in the clan is important, even if their role seems small or they can’t hunt like other cats. She stuck to the riverbed until it tapered off to a wider dip where both edges met a side of the cave that any cat might miss under the tall weeds and shrubs that had grown there since the water shrunk. 

    Fawnpaw eased herself under the gap in the rock, and found herself once more in the lower half of camp. This was the closest entrance from the forest to the nursery; it was the gentle white smudge along the eastern cave wall, inviting her to follow its sloping cave back to her mother. However, she lingered a little ways away from where she had come, at the shelf that marked the apprentice burrow. On the surface it was only a tunnel inside of an already winding cave, but patches of flowers and muddy pawprints leading inwards made it feel personal, lived in. Even more, she could hear voices, and wondered which apprentices were there. She thought of Runningpaw with his sprained leg wrapped in rush to keep it straight, with Brindlepaw or Mistypaw comforting him with teasing and balls of moss. Plumpaw could already be back at the medicine cats’ den, forcing down travelling herbs for the long journey to the Cave.

    She jolted with realization. If Mapleflower did go with her spur of the moment suggestion, Plumpaw would have to wait for his warrior assessment. He would be across a stretch of land immeasurable to her. Would Applestar go ahead with the assessment and name Mistypaw before her brother even returned with the medicine cats? Guilt ate at her as she stared down at the apprentice’s den. She had to face away, resigning herself to her nest for the rest of the night until her instincts as a sister called to her again. The grit of the cave gave way under her paws to petal-dusted marble. Within a few fox lengths, she shifted left past Marigoldtail’s empty nest, and found the hollowed cove where Mudpetal was weaving a few strands of honeysuckle onto a lengthy bramble. Each sharp thorn held a blossom in its grasp.

    “Welcome back, sweetheart.” Mudpetal crooned when she saw Fawnpaw’s return, her eyes twinkling with love like tansies soaking up greenleaf sun. Fawnpaw’s heart ached with affection, and she touched her nose to her mother’s. While she fielded questions about her day, the static feeling crept back into her periphery; it reminded her of its presence starting with a throb in her hind legs, which only escalated when Mudpetal invited Fawnpaw to weave alongside her. As she stood, one paw buckled suddenly beneath her, causing the bramble to fall over and scatter some unsecured vines. Mudpetal helped her up, and nosed at her thin legs.

    “It’s time to do some stretches, I think.” Her mother meowed, and Fawnpaw obediently stood up once again. She hid the quiver of the one paw stinging by shifting her body away from the tortoiseshell. Mudpetal began to brush the mess of bramble and honeysuckle aside, also clearing bits of fern to make solid room for the pair to train. Their den was a sizable one in the nursery, a deep crater in the marble cave that looked out over a part of the greater structure below - but it still felt cramped to train in at times, most often near the end when she was pushed to her limits. After a short period to recover from the brief shock in her paw, Fawnpaw stood at the ready.

    “Keep your front paws steady, and then pull your left back foot forward.” Mudpetal instructed concisely, reminding Fawnpaw that she was still her mentor just as well as she was her mother. She unsheathed her claws and held to the soft marble as she lifted a back paw off the ground. Without any struggle to keep it there, Fawnpaw’s pale yellow eyes craned at the thick-furred tortoiseshell watching her. “Now, the other one.”

    Fawnpaw nodded and switched paws.

    “Lift it higher and hold it, while crouching on your other paw,” Mudpetal meowed, beginning to lightly test her apprentice’s boundaries. Again, Fawnpaw followed her instructions and bent her opposite knee. Immediately, she felt the strain as her front paws carried the tension of her supporting leg. She waited for her next move, but Mudpetal just waited and watched her. The time stretched on, and in what was only a few minutes, her stance had begun shaking.

    “What about the other one?” She hiccuped in her heavy breathing.

    “We’ll get there, my sweet,” Mudpetal reassured her with one lick to her cheek. She soon sat back a few tail lengths away, with gentle determination in her expression. The pain of supporting herself on one back leg only grew as more minutes passed, and Mudpetal introduced straightening and bending the leg in addition to holding the other up higher and higher. It was a merciful command to switch paws, and Fawnpaw blearily pushed herself to follow it. They continued like that for a while, engaging different parts of her lower body until her mouth fell open in a pant.

    “You’ve improved since you last did that one.” Fawnpaw’s ears shot forward, momentarily dissolving her body’s burning strain as she recognized the voice. Foxburrow’s scent filled the nursery, bringing with it heavy notes of the forest, earthy and sunbaked on his wavy fur. Restraining herself, all Fawnpaw did was raise her tail stock-straight and kinked at the tip of her tail. Mottlepaw would have barreled towards him; the smaller cat wanted to make her father proud of her for staying focused on her training. After all, this was part of it, and she knew it was important, even if her older siblings didn’t have to work so hard to keep their muscles strong. Knowing that her father was also spectating her progress was an extra wind under her wings.

    For a long while longer, Mudpetal continued to coach her through the stretches, until at the conclusion of a particularly grueling exercise of pressing her back propped to the wall and lifting her legs up, she finally gave her apprentice the okay to stop. Promptly, Fawnpaw collapsed on the floor of the den.

    “You get better every day,” Mudpetal murmured into her ear fluff as Fawnpaw sprawled along the floor, enjoying its cool touch on her heated fur. She hardly processed the words in her tiredness, or her father joining and nuzzling the back of her neck, but gave her parents a stuttering purr. She just laid there for a time, shutting her eyes and getting her breath back. Mudpetal’s tongue rasped over her ears.

    At some point, Foxburrow’s dark paw pushed a fat shrew towards her, and her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten since that morning before her nap.

    “Eat up, Fawnpaw. You’ve earned it.” Her father’s airy meow made her quiver in happiness at the combined praise. She worked at the shrew in small bites at a time, savoring the taste until she couldn’t take it and wolfed down the last few morsels with a lick of her lips. Foxburrow and Mudpetal had settled together, sharing a rabbit.

    “Nobody catches them like you.” Mudpetal purred into her mate’s neck, also swiping her tongue over her jaws. Having finished his half, Foxburrow drew a paw over his prominent white whiskers.

    “I do what I can,” He said confidently.

    “And nobody does what you can,” Mudpetal reiterated with a hum. “You trained Gorsewind well, though. She brings me ones almost as juicy as this.”

    At the mention of his recently named apprentice, Fawnpaw saw her father’s eyes shine with pride and amusement. “You’re definitely right, there. She’s faster with one eye than I ever was at her age, or with two.”

    Mudpetal nodded, “She’s exceptional, even after everything she’s been through. What an awful day when she finally told you…”

    Foxburrow’s eyes briefly averted from his mate, as he seemed to recall the same memory as Mudpetal. “It was bleak,” He admitted, adjusting the moss in her nest. “We’re lucky to have your sister and Dappleheart. I wasn’t giving up, but without their healing, it would have been a steep hill for her.”

    At the mention of the medicine cats, Fawnpaw remained quiet and listening with her eyes shut, and her head resting on her small white paws. Her parents went on like that, reminiscing and talking, until Foxburrow had to slip away to check on his other kits. She hardly noticed when he was gone, as gentle waves of sleep rushed over her like the orange light of the setting sun.

                                                         ***

    When Fawnpaw awoke again, she didn’t know how much time had passed. The space around her was completely dark, and Mudpetal slept beside her, paws twitching in her dreaming. Foxburrow had also returned at some point in, and was a lithe shape entwined with Mudpetal’s large frame. His sleeping head rested on her back, with his large ears poking up as black points rising from his mate’s flank. The gentle snoring of her father in the den could normally lull her back to sleep when he joined them, but tonight that sound nagged at her sensitive ears. 

    No moonlight filtered in through the mouth of the den, leaving her senses unoccupied yet on alert. Her shadowed vision crawling with memories of the day; of Plumpaw’s tail disappearing into the forest, and the way Brindlepaw ducked her head to avoid her younger sisters. Mapleflower’s eyes shimmering like a yellow moon cast their own light in her mind, to a chorus of powerful elders unamused by her presence in their court. Truly, the real moon above held only a bare sliver of light as it faded into its darkest face. It would give the medicine cats of all five clans the cover of darkness that they would need to see silverpelt 

    She pawed at a catkin sticking up from the nest. Her front paws itched with urgency, and yet her hind legs trembled at the thought of going back outside of the nursery. Stretching them for her training session with Mudpetal had drained the last little droplet of strength that she had. Sleep continued to evade her despite her exhaustion. With a small flip, Fawnpaw curled back against Mudpetal, who didn’t stir at her daughter’s tossing and turning.

    There she stayed for what felt like a long time. She wished that the moon was full enough to call her out of the nursery. With its light, she would walk to the edge of camp, feeling strong as it pulled her. Where the edge of the gorge met the forest completely, Fawnpaw would angle her ears to the night birds above. As it was, the nursery was too deep underneath stone to carry the forest sounds to her worried mind.

    Even birds have to sleep, came a small voice in the back of her mind, sweet and unlike her spiraling thoughts. Fawnpaw leaned into the rise and fall of Mudpetal’s flank and closed her eyes, picturing a sparrow sleeping nestled on a softly rustling branch.

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

Anonymous said:

Once i saw a video on youtube explaining a certain "anime character type", and it compared Akechi with Nagito. (I dont remember the other characters the video mentioned) what are your thoughts about it? Do you think they're similar?

You know, Anon, the dumb lizard brain that governs my every impulse wants to point at them and say: “mentally unstable twinks with great hair and a Very Heterosexual rivalry with the protagonist” and call it a day. Here’s the thing, though: my feelings about Akechi started strong and stayed that way throughout my Persona 5 experience, though the nature of those feelings has changed drastically since my first impression. (And I quote: “Who’s this Light Yagami-looking motherfucker? No, I don’t trust him. That smile is the last thing someone saw.”) And I want to talk about him. I also never don’t want to talk about Nagito. So you know what? I’m gonna. 

 Spoilers, by the way. 

    ---

 In short, I do feel they fall into a very specific character archetype. Namely: the morally ambiguous foil to the main character. Not a villain, not a hero, but rather somebody who follows their own moral code. With a dash of insanity, of course, because anime gonna anime. 

 For me, their most intriguing similarities run deeper than a trope, however, and it all starts with this inflated sense of self-importance they seem to share. I know what I said, just go with me on this one. 

 Nagito, at a glance, seems to have the very opposite of an ego. Forever putting himself down, calling himself all kinds of worthless, and willingly throwing his very life at every cause that comes his way. But herein lies the contradiction that defines him as a character. For all his espousing that the hopeless may never be hopeful, he still leaps at the chance to become worthy. He wants so badly to be more than he is, that he struggles to see a world outside his own perception. He is, of course, compassionate and empathetic; but, unlike Hajime (or even Joker), whose talent with people comes from their respective abilities to remove themselves from a situation and see it as someone else would in order to make a moral judgement, Nagito cannot fathom a world that doesn’t conform to his ideals. Hope and despair, good and back luck -- and there he sits in the eye of it all, defeated yet somehow untouchable. He can’t watch someone trip three feet away from him without assuming his luck has played some role in it. 

 Akechi is much the same way, though he owns it a little better. He sees all things as means towards his ends. He has his idea of how the world and it’s people work, and therein lie his issues with Joker. Because he plays by his own rules, which are fundamentally incompatible with Akechi’s. Much in the same way as Nagito becomes fixated on Hajime, the Ultimate, talentless, worthless, most shining beacon of hope there is; Akechi sees how Joker is consistently beaten down by life and yet strives to carve his own path, and is unable to cope with either the jealously or the admiration he feels, never mind any combination thereof. Moreover, he, too, desires to rise above and be more than he is: the hero of his own story, despite taking rather unheroic steps to get there. 

 I would, of course, be remiss not to mention the similarities in their upbringings that lead to these insecurities. Nagito lost both his parents at a young age, and from there, we’re given no indication of any long-term adult influence in his life. Quite the opposite, he seems to have been demeaned and shunned by his extended family at large. It is also implied at times that his parents were not very loving, though there is some debate around that, so take it as you will. Akechi was abandoned by his father who deemed his mother beneath him because she was a sex worker, and was left with a seething hatred for the man because of it. After his mother’s suicide, he was passed from institution to institution, likewise having no long-term positive influence in his life.

 Both were left to, essentially, raise themselves; glean their own image of the world and build their moral compass around lives that were unimaginably cruel, ruthless, and unfair. Thus, it’s likely their worst behaviours could have been avoided, had they stable home lives. Of course, this is no excuse, plenty of people grow up in unstable environments and don’t go on to harm others, however, it places them a step above senseless. In fact, they also share an incredible intellect, charm, good looks, and quite the way with words. If you’ve played both games, you know what I’m talking about. 

 Furthermore, they have this habit of standing on the outside, looking in. Nagito spends much of DR2 implying heavily that he would like to spend more time with the others as their friend, but does little to actually reach out to them. Viewing himself below them, and seeing no reason why such incredible people would want to hang out with trash like him. Akechi also keeps the Thieves at a distance. There are many times when they reach out to him, offer to help him find his way -- and he almost seems to want to. Yet it is as if he doesn’t know how. He has no idea what, besides hatred and spite, could possibly fuel him. Nor does he really know what there is for him to gain from forming genuine bonds with others, or why he should want them. But he does, that much is clear. They each crave acceptance, while accepting it as a lost cause, even as the protagonist of their respective games has their hand out to them. And this, once again, can likely be traced to their equally terrible upbringings, and lack of any real understanding of the world as it is, rather than as they see it. 

 I could absolutely go on all day down this path. And, hell, at some point, I might. But the overall theme I’m getting at here, is this delicate balance these two characters walk. Being soft and charming, and deadly and dangerous. Intelligent, yet profoundly ignorant. Eccentric and borderline reprehensible, but at the same time, deeply relatable, and extremely likeable. They aren’t psycho for the sake of it, and I’ll argue that to my grave. But moreover, what we have here is the ultimate products of the worlds they were made for. Parallels are drawn constantly between Nagito and Hajime, Akechi and Joker, in a “there but for the grace of god go I” way, and it falls the same every time. Joker forged a home among friends, and people he considered family. Even after being hurt, he found the strength to be vulnerable for someone, and that someone happened to be the right someone; and though these people, he became stronger still. Likewise, Hajime took risks, took responsibility, and became respected and loved through hard work and compassion. He faced his own fear of worthlessness, and in the end, he didn’t fold to it the way Nagito did. He built his own purpose in life, and it was as full of hope as any Ultimate’s. These are feats beyond comprehension to our antiheroes, who may well have turned out to be the heroes after all if they’d only been shown the same support and care. And that’s why I think this character type appeals to so many people, and why these characters become so beloved. I think we become invested in their stories, and we want to show them compassion. There’s a reason why Nagito and Akechi are frequently shipped around, why they exist in so many fix-it fics. At the end of the day, we know the difference between bad people, and people who do bad things. It’s that, the latter may not be beyond saving. 

 And finally, can I...? If you’ve played the third semester of Royal, they really just make Akechi Like That, huh? In the original Japanese, he was apparently supposed to just come off as tired and not particularly wanting to mend any of his relationships or mistakes since he knew his death was looming, so I’m not sure why they took one look at this complex character development and said, “Hm, let’s just make him balls to the wall, shall we?” but hey. I’ve got to give it to his VA, I had to put down my controller several times because holy shit. Just. Holy shit. Give that man all of the awards. All of them, every single one, please. 

[bbq-hawks-wings]

BBQ gripes about fanon Hawks

Not even gonna put this in the character tags aside from the spoiler one I use just for the anime-onlies on my blog. I'm salty. I just wanna vent. I want to keep the general character tags fun because it was awful when I went looking for new content and found so much Not Fun material a while back; and I don’t want to become what I hate. Basic point - my blog, my vent, and unless it’s reblogged (which you are welcome to if you like) this post dies here.

Please know this isn't a callout post or me claiming that others are being fans of Hawks "wrong" because they disagree with me. I am a huge proponent that (with very few exceptions) fiction and fandom should be free to be enjoyed, reinterpreted, or otherwise indulged in however the individual fan prefers; and if I don't like it, I let them have their space and go do my thing elsewhere and leave them alone (hence why this not going in character tags). I just have been annoyed with the rampant mangling of Hawks' canon  personality/characterization - that is, confusing common fanon interpretations of him with how he’s actually written/portrayed and then getting angry (like, actually-angry-spilling-into-publicly-dragging-real-people, not just disappointed) when he acts like canon Hawks in canon. Non-canon is open season and by and large has my blessing, it’s just frustrating when it gets dragged into discussions about the manga. 

This has been going on a long time, but I just want to get it out of my system in my personal space. All this is, is my "Overthinking Tumblr blogger Shakes Fist at Cloud" moment.

#1 Hawks is a sociopath/unempathetic.

I just... I... You can't be reading the same manga I am if you genuinely come to this conclusion about who he is in canon. A man with nothing to gain by looking like this when considering the depths of the suffering inflicted on others that he bears some amount of responsibility in...

...cannot be called unempathetic.

"But he killed Twice and Best Jeanist!"

Twofold counterargument to this one, starting with BJ - we don't actually know he's dead. There's a body, there's a disappearance, and we have no idea wtf happened, but we also don't know wtf happened. It's drastically ooc for Hawks to murder someone in cold blood. For someone who places emphasis on speed specifically "because when two sides keep fighting and won’t give up, someone eventually has to die" it makes no sense for him to not have had a plan and simply ambush a man in his own home - this goes doubly since he was in contact with the HSPC and had time to "premeditate" anyway.

And as for Twice: Hawks ran out of options. He wanted to detain Twice and keep him from escaping and helping the MLA. He was able to do so when alone, but the moment Dabi cornered him Hawks had a choice to make - probably die in the fight and let Jin go or make absolute certain he can’t and still probably end up dying because he's in bad shape and still probably won't make it out of this, regardless. I don't need to harp on this - it's been said a couple different times now by several people. Even in 266 when Dabi initially ambushes Hawks, Hawks thinks to himself that he’ll carry Jin out of the building to keep himself and Jin safe before Twice retaliated and Dabi literally forces Hawks into a corner.

Jin's loss was a blow, but the chips on the table being wagered are human lives, not feelings. Up until that point, Hawks did everything he could despite the weight of his decision. Human life is human life, and Jin’s life isn’t more important than the may more who will be saved by quashing the MLA’s revolution. Simply equating “could kill someone” with “unempathetic” is fundamentally flawed, and mistaking someone who is pushed to kill despite every attempt to avoid it as unempathetic and even sociopathic has missed the point to the extreme - the mere fact he avoided lethal force for so long alone proves he possesses empathy.

#2 Hawks is a compulsive liar.

He is a good liar, but he does not like lying. He does twist the truth, but always when forced to keep a secret. Even then, his lies are predominantly spun from truth and omitted details instead of outright fabrications. He doesn’t gaslight, and he doesn’t make up stories/details if he can help it.

When Hawks told Endeavor his dreams for the future, that was the truth. When he told him he thought he was cool at the hero billboards, that was the truth.  When he tells Tokoyami to focus on his strengths instead of merely covering his weaknesses to be a better hero, that was the truth. When Tokoyami asks Hawks for his weakness and even why he took him on as an intern in the beginning just to ignore him, he tells him the truth.  When he tells Jin he "doesn't belong in a cage" and that he considers him a good person, that was the truth. When he recognizes he’s profoundly wounded Jin for deceiving him for months, he tells Jin the truth. When confronted by Dabi and he doesn’t need to lie anymore in this fight to the death, he tells him the truth despite not actually needing to in hopes to learn the truth behind Dabi and Shigaraki.

I don't have a better segue, so I'll just mention that a lot of folks who believe this also believe the next point.

#3 Hawks is unapologetically emotionally manipulative.

The context makes a huge difference and we need to look at when and why he manipulates others as well as the fact that he does.

At the hero billboards, Hawks plays the heroes on stage as well as the crowd. He's trying to shift the mindset of, "oh yeah, just another hero ranking" to "wake up, mf's, things are changing and you better be ready to change, too!" Rocking the boat is a huge no-no in Japan. Despite being part of his “persona” there is still real social risk involved with this move but one that he deems necessary to turn heads and get gears turning. This is not just an elaborate ploy to get under Endeavor’s skin, but an effort to reach a wider audience while he has them captive.

He does use the public crowd around him and Endeavor before the Hood fight as an excuse for its appearance, but the original intent was to mentally prepare Endeavor for what was potentially (and proved to be) the fight of his life without outright telling him so he could maintain his undercover status. When he realizes he’s part of the reason for Endeavor’s permanent scar and life-threatening injuries, he feels remorse.

He lies to Jin to get information out of him, but linking back to #2, when calls Jin a good person and offers him a way out, he’s telling the truth. He does feel guilt for having to manipulate an otherwise well-meaning person and betraying them, especially given his long-running history of being used and the ongoing issues he suffers from because of it.

When he meets up again with Endeavor to drop his clues about the League’s movements, he squirms when he realizes the interns don’t know him well enough to know he’s blowing smoke because he does NOT want these kids to actually buy what he’s selling. This espionage mission is hard to navigate, and he has to tread carefully lest he setup the dominoes in the wrong places.

This is all to make the point that Hawks is more than capable of emotionally manipulating people, but it’s not in his nature or something he does to any and every person he comes across just because. We haven’t had much opportunity to see him operate outside of the HSPC’s orders which is where the bulk of the instances of his manipulation comes from - those orders requiring him to operate covertly and thus, by nature, necessitate lying, manipulation, and strategically withholding information. 

If anything, when he’s making an appeal to someone else as his own person - not as a hero on a mission- we actually see a level of vulnerability and transparency we don’t otherwise catch.

Though it’s technically canon-adjacent and not necessarily canon in and of itself, in My Hero Academia: Team Up Mission where he works with Bakugo and Midoriya he operates on a level of transparency with them we’re not used to seeing; and my theory is he took it as an opportunity to operate without ulterior motives and build report instead of bucking back against “training up the next generation of heroes” like he initially did with Tokoyami.

Which now actually segues better into the next point.

#4 Hawks never lets people get close to him.

There’s a surprising amount of evidence that Hawks wants the ability to be an open book. Back at Team Up Mission, the restaurant staff note he regularly takes people he likes to their establishment - so we’re basically told outright this is a special place to him reserved for enjoying himself and only people he likes get to share it with him - so we already know what that says about how he sees those two despite their sparse interactions. We already know he’s taken Endeavor there when Endeavor made no move to input as to where he wanted to have the lunch meeting.

Though he kept Tokoyami at arm’s length initially, we have at least three canon instances of him sharing personal interactions with him with other canon-adjacent indications he cares for and values his intern. We’ve readily established that while Endeavor may not consider himself close to Hawks, Hawks does hold Endeavor as near and dear to his heart. While his only mission regarding Twice was to get information out of him, he still made a genuine effort to help and save him because he wanted to and considered him a friend despite the circumstances.

We still don’t know very much of Hawk’s past, his personal relationships outside of work, etc.; but despite the HPSC’s extensive efforts to strip him of his identity he not only possesses a faceted, complicated personality but seems to want to share that with others readily when and in the ways he’s able. Getting into the truly squishy, vulnerable parts of him may take a while, but on a scale of closed to open, he seems to lean towards open.

#5 Hawks is hopelessly in love with Dabi and will abandon everything up to this point for him.

This isn't to throw general DabiHawks shippers under the bus. Most of them know VERY well at this point that canon has sunk that ship, and they're just having fun with it at this point - and you know what, power to you! They look great together! In another life, the character chemistry could have been incredible. There’s a lot of great DabiHawks shipping content I thoroughly enjoy despite not shipping it myself.

It just isn't canon. It never was and never came close. Even now, with the Endeavor reveal being very much imminent, Hawks' view of Dabi is one of a lying, malicious, callous, murderer. Though he’ll likely be crushed at the revelation of what Endeavor’s done, that doesn’t equate to him defecting (especially not immediately) and falling into Dabi’s arms.

And Dabi hates Hawks just as much.

Again, this is not anything against the ship or the shippers - just an annoyance I have with some who were so wrapped up in the ship they were genuinely mad when the ship sank and they dragged that frustration out into the real world against real people when canon didn’t align with fanon. 

Ships are some of the most stupid things to rail against creators and fans over, and the amount of harassment they receive now over shipping has me ripping my hair out when I know it’s a mere fraction of the total pool of shippers who are frothing at the mouth while the rest are super cool and happy doing their own thing and keeping to themselves.

Ship what you want, regardless of “validating evidence” and have fun. Don’t make it others’ problem when it isn’t canonically validated.

#6 Hawks is a dirty cop.

Only half upset with this one because it comes down to the nuance and lack of precise definition of this phrase I have a problem with. Lots of people hate cops for very real, legitimate reasons. Police forces - being a voluntary, government-employed force enforcing government rule - are notoriously prone to corruption of every kind.

It's implied the HPSC is itself corrupt, though to what extent we don't know. (Granted, buying a young child from his family to raise as your personal puppet is pretty high up there.) By continuing to follow orders from the HPSC and not vehemently fighting back, many see him as reinforcing a corrupt institution and at least partially liable for their continued hold on society. 

Fair enough, but... The issue I have with this is it reduces Hawks to his job.

I believe a huge chunk of this take comes from my experience as an armed service member spouse, but it's easy for me to empathize with a guy

Who was promised the moon for himself and his family in exchange for his service not realizing what was actually being asked of him

Is praised outside the organization for "being a hero" and "upholding this country's core values" while first-hand witnessing the corruption of it when inside

Is viewed as a cog valuable only in services rendered instead of being treated like a human by said organization and worked into the ground because of it

Is frustrated by the insistence to keep the status quo instead of improving procedure/infrastructure/environment because egos need to be padded over real, human problems being solved

Has his autonomy or otherwise ability to operate under his own judgement restricted in favor of maintaining organizational control at the cost of effective action

Has DEPENDENTS who rely on his continued work to provide for them and is thus unable to refuse an order, even when it's morally reprehensible and even outright illegal

Whose cries, both those calculated and desperate, to the organization (who have placed themselves as the sole resource he can turn to) for help (even for his own body/mind) fall on deaf ears until he breaks to the point of becoming unusable or dangerous - and even then minimal effort/responsibility is taken in favor of keeping him functioning in the organization as long as possible.

Hawks fights back against the HPSC constantly. He raised concerns over letting civilians suffer to get him in with the League of Villains and then still defied orders by reducing casualties to zero. Despite orders to keep his mission top secret, he's informed Endeavor of his motives/movements independently from the rest of the heroes. He had long refused to take an intern (read: fresh meat for the machine) to train until this year, and even then sought to minimize his encouragement of Tokoyami for as long as possible until he realized Tokoyami was made of the real mettle people needed in a hero and not just another youngster endangering himself on a pipe dream.

He even takes initiative to keep his personal to-do list from the HPSC to a minimum by squashing problems before they come knocking asking him to fix it for them. He knew of the League of Villains and anticipated the escalation of their movements immediately after the USJ incident as well as has a network of informants and connections with local police forces to stay in the know.

His methods for apprehension of criminals are, and continue to be, to react and detain them so quickly they can't retaliate or endanger others in the struggle, thus minimizing human loss and injury despite the insinuation the HPSC has told him that gloves are off in the current situation.

He might be "a cop" depending on the definition we go with, but he isn't a dirty cop. He doesn't plant evidence. He doesn't shoot first and ask questions later. He doesn't blindly take orders. He largely doesn't see "villains" as dirt under his shoe but as people pushed to extremes. He's a morally convicted individual trying to rebel within the system instead of tearing it down outright. He may be wrong in the assumption, but he genuinely believes he can do more on the inside of the system than outside.

#7 Hawks is a manwhore.

Ok, this one is not serious and actually just to end this all on a lighter note after ranting until I'm blue in the face. 

I'm 100% guilty of this myself. Something about that chicken makes me and many others salivate - either for themselves or to watch him with someone else. We love dressing him up slutty, portray him as flirting unashamedly, and placing him in as many overtly sexual scenarios possible.

The best part about all of it, though, is that it’s almost the exact opposite of how he dresses/conducts himself in canon. His clothes are loose fitting and high-coverage. He’s personable, but never gives any indication he’s romantically/sexually involved or interested in anyone. The asscourse is real only because we cannot confirm either way due to his baggy clothes. His overall figure/body shape has been hinted at, but only recently confirmed; and his jacket had to be literally be burned off to get a good look at the pattern of his shirt under it!

~~~~~~~

And with that, I release the frustration and move on. 

Enjoy fanon as much as you like - even I do! Just be aware of where canon and fanon diverge, and definitely don’t take the difference out on real people. Please also be aware of how others hold their favorite characters dear before flooding the general tags with negativity and creating a hostile environment for them. People latch onto their “comfort characters” for a plethora of reasons, and when they lose that character to the plot, the fandom, or otherwise, they should still be allowed to grieve and celebrate what they had in a safe environment. 

Retaliation in response to others coming against your favorite is also not acceptable behavior. It sucks, but the most mature thing to do is step away from the general fandom, stick to blogs/spaces you know are safe, and let the storm blow over. Comfort characters do not justify mistreating real people no matter how much they may mean to you.

When “canon gets it wrong” is where fanfiction and pockets of the fandom community comes into play. Leave those people alone and let them be. For those who aligned themselves with canon, they are not free game to take personal frustrations out on. Leave those people alone and let them be. Unfollow the people/tags you need to for your own sake and others’, and the fandom will be a better place all around over time. Venting belongs in controlled spaces away from the rest of the fandom and with enough warning for those who not only don’t want to endure it but who for their own safety shouldn’t.

Fandom is a community, and healthy communities do not endorse members lashing out when they don’t get their way.

[libermachinae]

Schematics [Or, Another Chance] – Ch. 4, Sensory

Also available on AO3! Notes: Day 4 of @prowlweek and I went a bit squish. Scav’s a good-ish boy.

⏳ 🚧 🚓 ⌛ 🏗 🚧 ⏳

Scavenger apologized probably somewhere around a hundred times. Hook couldn’t keep track of them all, and even Prowl must have been satiated, because he gave up on his lecture halfway through and kept it to a crisp, “Do as you’re ordered.”

“Mixmaster and Scavenger, you’re coming through this time,” Prowl announced as he loaded up the terminal with their next set of coordinates. “Long Haul, you’re anchor.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because that’s your order,” Prowl said.

“Bonecrusher’s the one who caused problems the last time, shouldn’t he be the one stuck behind?” Long Haul’s shoulders were squared and his plating flaring. Though he resented the reaction, Hook could understand where it came from: after being put on guard duty twice in a row, their resentful transporter was probably starting to feel like his skills were being undervalued.

“I’m the leader of this mission,” Prowl said, turning to stare Long Haul down. “If you take issue with my command style, you’re welcome to leave.”

“I’m not gonna do that and you know it,” Long Haul snapped.

“Precisely.” Prowl turned back to the console, as though that constituted a satisfying end to the argument.

Hook tried to get a steadying hand on Long Haul’s shoulder but was pushed off, the larger mech stalking away. Not that there was far to go. The present had been confined to the space of the cave they stood in, their only indication that real time was passing the changing light that filtered in through the ceiling. Their chronometers had fallen out of sync with each journey, but it was pointless to reset them every time, when Prowl had them going back in just minutes after they returned.

He finished punching in the coordinates, the timestream shimmered to life, and the team lined up behind him. Only now, Prowl didn’t bother to specify the order they would travel in. He took the lead, Scavenger slipped in front of Hook, Bonecrusher and Mixmaster lagging behind, and a silent agreement was passed not to bring it up as an issue. If Prowl was relaxing his regulations a bit, that could only mean fewer opportunities for them to mess up.

Part of Hook wondered if they should take a break soon, give everyone a chance to fuel up and ease off, maybe even have a chance to get caught up on everything they had missed. That’s how they’d done it with Scrapper, but he stopped that line of thought before the pang in his spark got to be too strong. This wasn’t the right time to bring it up, anyway, so he put his focus to keeping his processor under control as he stepped into the timestream.

He did a better job of it this time, practice having made him more accustomed to the feeling of time rejecting their intrusion. He reached forward at once point and took Scavenger’s hand, keeping him from rushing ahead like he had the first time, and in response felt a squeeze that held until they nearly reached the exit. This time, Hook could see what they were approaching, but the only thing he was able to make out was that it was dark. Not like the cave, though. There was something familiar about it.

At Prowl’s signal, he let Scavenger slip free of his hand, then followed shortly after, emerging among the roots of another long-lost Cybertronian city.

“An abandoned sector?” Hook said as he peered around. Compared to their last stop, the streets here were barren, lights only distantly visible through the breaks between buildings. Someone turned on their headlights and illuminated the building across the way, its large doors slightly ajar.

“What would the time killer want with this place?” Scavenger asked as he crept closer.

“The what?”

Scav grinned at Prowl.

“The time killer,” he repeated. “We’ve got to call this guy something, don’t we?”

“He hasn’t killed anyone.”

“He’s Cybertronian?”

“Yes, but—”

“There you go! Killer.”

“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Hook said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Prowl said. “Come up with something better. Bonecrusher, you’re on guard duty. Scavenger, Mixmaster, Hook, with me.”

The named mechs followed Prowl into the nearest building, staring up at tall ceilings that only served to offer more room to an incredible collection of junk. Scrapped sheet metal, rusted beams, and all manner of useless spare parts filled the space, a warehouse that had been made to a cheap and convenient dump for some unofficial industrial venture. The whole thing rung familiar to Hook, but it was the rumble of and engine in need of a tune-up that caused his processor to alight in recognition.

“Wh—seriously? Since when do you all show up early?”

Hook whirled around, his spark spinning with way too many emotions to process at once.

“Scrapper?” Mixmaster choked out.

“But no Long Haul. Great. I guess we can just start building the arena on top of the scrap piles, that’ll stand just fine.” Scrapper wasn’t paying any attention to the mechs he was addressing, too wrapped up in his planning and calculations to notice anything amiss. The casual ignorance of a mech who was so profoundly gifted in his ability to notice details struck an emotion in Hook that he did not have the words to describe, and he found himself stepping forward.

“Scrapper—”

“Scavenger, stop standing around,” he said, possibly ignoring Hook, though more likely failing to notice him. “I need you to start sorting through this mess and figure out what’s useful. Mixmaster, help him excavate however he needs; your skills aren’t going to be any use until we get this cleared and Bonecrusher gets here to set up the foundation. Hook, you review the blueprints last night?”

“Of course, sir,” Hook said, forcing himself out of his stupor and back into the role of the perfectionist second-in-command he had played for four million years. The changeover was so natural, he forgot he was lying.

“Start laying out the perimeter. Give us a sense of the space we’re working with,” Scrapper ordered. “Once you’ve got that, I’ll need your help with the fine details, make sure everything’s to Megatron’s specifications. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Scrapper turned and walked off, optics fixed to the datapad he’d walked in with. Hook stared at his frame as it retreated, taking in the way his legs bent and arms swung, the cant his helm adopted when he was deep in thought. The last time he’d seen Scrapper functioning had seemed like such a non-event, it hadn’t occurred to him to savor it like this. Now, every frame was saved to his memory, copied to multiple folders and heavily encrypted.

There were so many things he wished he could do to that frame. But, if they really were all the way back to setting up gladiator arenas, then the team wasn’t really a team yet. There were rumors about Scrapper and Long Haul, evidence of Mixmaster and Bonecrusher’s late night ‘science projects,’ and a few nights spent fantasizing ceaselessly, but nothing at all like what would come later. Hook, he reminded himself, wasn’t even the second yet. At this point in the timeline, he’d only recently been assigned to Scrapper’s crew and made up for it with a kiss-up habit he was still struggling to break.

He wished there was time; the things he wanted to do to that frame. Scrapper disappeared through the far door, and Hook made to follow him, reclaim lost days he’d never imagined would be significant enough to miss. A hand caught his arm, he turned to Mixmaster’s optics, and was reminded of their reality.

“Prowl says we should go,” Mixmaster said.

“Oh.” Hook didn’t remember setting his vocalizer that low. “Where is he?”

“I’ve got him,” Scavenger said. He’d been leaned over a pile, sensitive digger arm extended in from of him, now revealing that Prowl had been hiding beneath it. “It’s good we got Scrapper while he was still in planning mode. I don’t know if this will work again if he comes back.”

“It’s not worth the risk,” Prowl said. “You’re all compromised and there is no sign of the target, so we’re going back.”

He led the way back out of the building. Mixmaster complied without much fuss, surprisingly eager to get back to the time portal, but Scavenger lagged, glancing over his shoulder to the place Scrapper had disappeared to.

Hook paused to wait for his teammate.

“Hey, c’mon, Scav,” he said, offering out a hand. It was all he could do to close the distance, because he knew if he went to Scavenger right then, he might not be able to stop his legs from carrying him all the way back.

Still, the mech hesitated.

“Is there a problem?” Prowl asked, back at his side.

“N-no, Prowl, uh, boss,” Hook said, trying to hide how the mech’s reappearance had startled him.

“It’s him,” Scavenger said, with a reverence that he usually saved for just one mech at a time. He glanced back at Prowl, optics bright with something. Realization? Hope? Primus, don’t let it be that. “Prowl, could we—”

In two strides, so quick and silent he might have teleported to Scavenger’s side, Prowl pushed himself into the mech’s space, silencing him with presence alone.

“No,” he said, his voice the blade that cut off Scavenger’s fragile buds of hoe. “No. Scavenger, on this day, four million years in your past, Scrapper had a normal day. He worked with you and the rest of the team, erected Megatron’s next arena, and forgot about it among every other day he spent doing the exact same thing. He did not get removed from his place in time, nor did he mention ever encountering a different version of you. This is how things happened, and we can’t change it, no matter how badly we—you want to.”

He was leaning far into Scavenger’s space, closer than Hook had known he was capable of. And although the display was apparently meant to be domineering, show that Prowl was the one in control, there was something else to it, captured in the way Prowl’s hand reached up and touched, so gently, the excavator’s wilting backhoe.

“That’s four million years ago. More recently than that, Spike Witwicky tracks him down, isolated in an Earth construction lot, and kills him. We can’t undo that, either. It’s not ours to change.”

Scavenger’s whole frame perked up under the surprise touch, subconsciously tilting his stick into Prowl’s hand. Hook watched Prowl’s gray fingers stroke with surprising care, a jealousy coiling in his spark that he was only able to tamp down with the knowledge that Scavenger would be delighted to share the memory when they next combined.

Prowl said something else, so soft Hook couldn’t hear it. When he leaned back, he and Scavenger’s optics were locked, the latter nodding in some private agreement.

“Now move it, both of you,” Prowl said, voice returned to its usual commanding timbre. He turned and proceeded out the way he’d been headed before, leaving Hook and Scavenger to follow. It wasn’t a problem this time, though they walked after him on legs that felt suddenly weak. It still took a great deal of will on Hook’s part not to cast a final glance backward as they left, but he managed it, keeping his optics ahead of him, on the doorwings that swayed with each step Prowl took.

[hoodiism]

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[igobyerinleigh-blog]

Shame

“I wish you would talk to your brother.” “We don’t want to see you any bigger than you are right now.”   “You have such a pretty face.”   “Your hair is so beautiful.”   “You are too sensitive” How do you forgive someone who has hurt you so profoundly? Someone that looks around at the world and looks for ways that it did them wrong. Someone who has caused a hurricane of destruction in their path, yet lays in their own filth blaming you for the smell.   Am I ascetically pleasing? I’d say yes, I likely am. My eyes are large and ocean-blue. My hair is vibrant, long and flowing- with minimal effort. My features are large and striking. I would not say I am proud of my looks. I don’t particularly care about my physical features. None of that was earned, and the attention that comes with it is resented. I am proud of being a kind, compassionate person, who looks for the good in the world. Of my ability to accept others just as they are. I am proud to be a smart, successful business woman. I am proud to have become a reliable friend, who you can depend on. Those are things I have worked extremely hard on. I was once a closed book, bound so tight it felt hard to breath. I was known as flakey. When you see your family, you haven’t seen for years and they reduce you to attractiveness, the insecurities of your former self inevitably creep to the surface.   Am I thin? My answer to that is: we are so much more than measurements and numbers on a scale. If you have any further opinions on my body, please write them down, and shove them up your butt. We as women have so much pressure to be all the things all the time, the very least we can do is not make it worse for each other.   I have been told my entire life that “I am too sensitive” I am sensitive. I lean into my sensitivity and use it as my super-power. I adore my empathy. I love the people in my life fiercely. When I get hurt, I feel it to my core. I feel life because there have been times my life was almost taken from me. There was a time when I tried to take it from myself. I am happy to be alive, every breath I take is a gift. Every feeling is a gift. Life is a precious gift and we should all be “too sensitive” I never want to not feel.   My first instinct in any situation is to help. How can I help? How can I support you? What can I do to make your life a little easier?   When we offer support to another human, we are entrusting them with our heart. It is a scary thing to be vulnerable. It’s terrifying to ask for help and it is terrifying to be the one being asked. How can we not help when we have the means? How selfish am I to say, I’m sorry I can’t do that this time?   My friends who say “no” are so brave. My friends who say, “I’m unable to do that” are the most kind-hearted people I know. They emanate love, understanding, compassion, and acceptance.   Listening to your body is a powerful gift. Knowing when to step away and take care of yourself is not a bad thing. You are not wrong to protect yourself. I am not wrong. When you do extend help to someone, and they pull the rug out from under you, burn down every bridge, and snap every olive branch, how do you forgive them?   Forgiveness is for me.   I read your blog posts of how everyone has done something to write you off. I read long winded rants likely fueled by meth, about how no one appreciated the off-putting jokes you told on stage. I watch your videos with IV’s in your arm. I see it all. I feel it all.   When I see you on the news, my heart breaks. When I read your post, I see a child being beaten by his father because his mother made him. Correction, while a mother cheered him on to hit harder. When everyone sees a tweeker who can't stand still, I see a person waiting for his next mistake. Is it drugs or anxiety? Is it drugs or a life of abuse? Or is it all three?   I don’t see the monster you portray. I don’t see a junkie. I see a person floating down stream scared to reach for shore. I see a person who can’t speak their truth because you’ve been conditioned to keep it in.  

[fyeahwonderbat]

Can you write a fic on how you think batman#39 should've progressed. And love your fics and I truly am excitedly looking forward this WonderBat week.

WonderBat Week 2018:  Theme #2 - Elseworld

Title: Take On Me

Author: MaidenOfTheWorld

Universe: DC Rebirth (Comics)

Rating: Teen / PG-13

Word Count: 1,973 words

DISCLAIMER: I fully respect Tom King’s run of Batman, including issues #39 and #40, despite not being a fan of the series personally. Given the theme for today, I have chosen this prompt as it suits the concept of ‘Elseworld’, meaning alternate universe. Thank you.

We shouldn’t have come here.

I know that now, and we’ve been damned for not realizing the error to our naturally heroic ways sooner. This place is full of monsters that stalk us in this perpetual night, but nothing could be more threatening to my sanity than the relentless gravitation there is between Diana and I.

It’s been years since I’ve seen Gotham, or my family, or my fiancee. Everything I ever knew is lost to me while I am trapped in Gehanna except for Diana, Wonder Woman, the beacon of all things righteous and true. She is the pillar of strength that keeps me fighting fit when the hordes refuse to be silenced, and by doing so, she forces a roar of temptation to bombinate inside me the longer we remain here together.

There have been many occasions in which the ravenous surge of energy after a monstrous battle dares me to grab hold of her and steal her lips with my own, celebrate what we have vanquished, revere her might and accomplishments. Anyone who knows Diana cannot help themselves from admiring her but to see her destroy demon after demon with such refined eradication can be an aphrodisiac that is unparalleled to anything I have ever known before her.

But I have my city, my family, my fiancee to think of, and those memories weigh down my desires when nothing else will.

After all, I’ve chosen my partner and… it wasn’t her.

The flickering of the campfire on Diana’s face tries to hypnotize me into thinking otherwise, but I’ve trained myself for most of my life to squash such enticement, having perfected the skill many times with her specifically.

Why that is, I can’t say I remember as soundly anymore.

Nevertheless, I look away from her bewitching face and dig into my own meal of the charred critter we captured and focus on satisfying a different hunger all together.

Then, she calls to me, and my resistance falters. “Bruce?”

“Yes?” I answer her immediately.

Taking a bite, I await her to continue her thought but she doesn’t maintain the pace of the conversation she started. It is worrying to wonder if Wonder Woman has weakened in her resolve, especially considering she is the immortal warrior addressing a mere mortal vigilante. I lift my gaze to find hers and her blue eyes are awaiting me.

There, behind such a vibrant cerulean hue, is the true Diana. The vulnerability she isn’t scared to reveal but fearful of giving into glimmers at me, catching the weary flame before us secretively. Seeing her pull down her own walls in order to address me makes me anxious, because I know that my need to save her from such frightful thoughts could compel me to reach out to her.

Easily, and yet while uttering a much more complicated question than another I can remember, she asks, “How long do you think we have been here for now?”

I pause to think, but choose not to meditate on it for too long. “Ten years.”

“Ten years?” She repeats back to me, quieter than I spoke. Beneath the tree that sat at her back, she radiates the aura of an ethereal being that wants more from this cursed fate she cannot break free from and I am reminded of her sister in arms, wondering if we are also destined to suffer for doing nothing empirically wrong.

“At least.” Is how I choose to comfort her, despite how fruitless it truly is to try.

She sits with my answer for the time span of the blink of an eye. Then, she strikes a pose in which I cannot tell if she means to merely stretch or if she is miming her intention to threaten The Gentleman who trapped us here. “We have tried… We must concede.”

No, I beg her internally not to say such things.

“We cannot open the gate without him.”

She speaks nothing but the truth, and yet…

“And he does not come.”

“Yeah.” I reply blandly, for I can concur with fact. We released the man whom we once promised to offer salvation to and he has not returned to give us the same. For all we know, he never plans to exonerate us from this hell, and Diana and I are confined to a fate of endless battles waged against the Hordes of Gehanna by each other’s side for all of this realm’s eternity.

“So then,” Diana lets her words drag on as she bows her head. It’s almost as if she’s become nervous as she speaks. “Perhaps this is everlasting. All of life, our life.”

Her voicing of my very thoughts is an easy task, however, it ropes me into her. I bow my head too as if I need time to comprehend what she is saying to me. “The hordes are… everlasting.”

Then, she dares to state the truth I had been fearing myself. “And all we have, forever, is you and me.”

The most infuriating and tantalizing words that have ever been spoken to me.

We teased, we taunted, we hinted at one another in the past and never dove into anything serious for reasons neither of us truly understand. Perhaps it was because we could lose ourselves to one another? Or perhaps our differences in mortality while living the lives that we do carries a heavy load on the possibility of a future? Or maybe it all comes down to the fact that her time would be best spent with someone who can enjoy life with her, not dampen her illustriousness with the darkness that swallows me?

The possibility of having her now was nothing if not…

If not…

“Yeah.” I foolishly answer again, carrying on this asinine conversation. What are we doing, discussing this as if there is a chance we could be something more? As if Gehanna was the place to make the planets align or cosmically bring us together?

Just as I am growing infuriated with our situation, Diana giggles. Softly, only momentarily, but she laughs before me. The tension gripping me slackens it hold and I gawk at her from under my brows as she says, “You know, even without the pointy ears, you do not look so bad.”

Such a swift change in conversation, I can’t help but to pause before I answer. It is almost sacrilegious for her to compliment my appearance as my eyes rake over her body while it is highlighted and shadowed by the campfire’s glow. The goddess before me, in whatever backhanded way she chooses to speak, tells me that she enjoys the way I look.

To ignore her beauty would be a crime, one I have committed for far too long considering my role as a man who seeks justice.

Dumbfounded and animalistic, I lean towards her, muttering for a third time the most unattractive word, “Yeah.” But I do lean in, I seek her out and she leans towards me. The heat that pools in my blood courses throughout my tired body and rejuvenates me with a promise of what is about to happen between us. Decades of working together plus the one we endured in this realm have led up to this moment, where our noses nearly touch.

I can hear her breathing deeply, and feel my chest lift and sink with the very same tempo. Rise and fall, just like my ability to resist Diana over the years. Having her sit before me now in our own perpetual corner of the realm feels like the opportune moment to stop wondering, stop fighting and let things happen.

“Bruce,” she calls to me again, making my insides churn painfully, desperately.

And it is with that awareness of desperation that my survival instincts reemerge from their restless sleep to stop me from making a catastrophic mistake.

Less than an inch away from her gorgeous lips, the words spill out of my mouth reflexively, without any sort of control. “We can’t…”

Diana stills and it instantly breaks my heart to refuse her for the umpteenth time. All those years of yearning reaching their climactic moment, now suddenly feeling wasted to know we can never be.

“No,” she too fires out words of discouragement in the hopes of appearing sane. “We can’t. Ever.”

Hearing her speak of finality strikes a chord with me, however. To recognize the insanity of our attraction is one thing, but to have Diana agree after offering herself to me is both saddening and infuriating. Why is our future never a possibility?

Why could I propose to one woman and never to this one, when I have admired her, cherished her, and loved her endlessly?

Why did I think it could never be Diana?

In that moment, I refused to let the madness of the answers sink their teeth into my desire and tear it away from me once again. For a moment, I would live in desperation for something that existed in front of me for too long. Inside of me.

Always with me.

As Diana begins to laugh again, I take it as a personal challenge to silence her, so I steal that kiss that I had been craving long before we entered Gehanna. Our lips crash and so do the worlds we keep separate from one another. She feels like the most exquisite sanctuary for a soul as worn as mine, a sob urging to spring free in my throat that I quickly stamp down. Kissing her fills me with an awareness of coming home after a lifelong war even whilst we are still trying to survive the ongoing battle against the demons around us.

It takes everything I have to await her response before I notice that her hand has found my cheek, cradling it softly. The gesture alone calms my nervousness, then unseals all of the battle-induced excitement, the ages-long resistance, the indisputable greed to have her body be with mine. I know now that I need us to be so much more than a fever dream when I grab her waist and drag her into me. “Diana.” I growl her name, daring her to pull away now that we have willfully let go.

“Mmm.” Her moan sends a shiver stomping along my spine and reminds me that our clothes are the last remaining barriers to realizing our profoundly anticipated passions.

At least, physically, in this world.

“I know,” I whisper, hoping to say more. I am aware of the lives we had been clinging to in this realm, the ones we know and want to return to. I remember what the past ten years have been like as we reminisced about what we had waiting for us if and when we make our way back to Earth.

We reminisced together, though.

About what we had before being spirited away to this god awful place.

And in both of our recollections, the constant we shared was this: each other.

“Yeah.” She whispers cheekily as her long legs carry her into my lap. The fire fueling every move that she makes is just as nervous as I am, as its flame burns too quickly in the hopes that she can savour every moment before it fizzles out. I want that as well - to pin her down or have her straddle me and feast on one another like we were always too scared to imagine. With claw-like hands, I wrap my arms around her and hold her against my body so that she can shield me from any other world that isn’t Gehanna.

Neither one of us can stop this now.

Neither one of us wants to.

I can no longer say I haven’t tasted the fruit of temptation, as her name is Diana, and all I want is for her to be by my side forever more.

[enjeru0taku-blog]

I doubt Cinder has a strong enough grasp of her own sense of identity to allow for true introspection. She constantly wears a mask fashioned from bits and pieces of those who've left a deep impression on her psyche; the ones with "power". That mask is rarely removed but when it is, it'd be more appropriate to call the moments where she isn't downright feral, 'contemplative' rather than 'introspective'. True introspection would have likely lead her to some type of realization along the lines of: it's not healthy to model the entirety of your identity after 1) people who hurt you so profoundly that you snapped and killed them 2) an immortal witch who casually tortures you and is an enemy of the world.

Her ability to properly self reflect is about as nonexistent as Adam's.

The main reason I view one as irredeemable while the other has every reason to be redeemed is entirely due to how they've handled their past trauma.

Adam was treated horrifically as a child, branded over his eye, part of an oppressed race who are deemed lesser by nature of who they were born as. As awful as this is, we can't discount the fact that he did, in fact, escape the abuse of his childhood. Don't misunderstand me, he is still oppressed as a faunus. However, he is free of the mines that robbed him of his childhood and was welcomed into Ghira's version of the White Fang. He was surrounded by a support network of fellow faunus who uplifted him, cared for him and understood the pain he's had to endure. Yes, some encouraged his worst behaviors but so many others simply wanted to help him; they respected his skill and ability as a leader, believed in him as a potential paragon of change, related to him as a fellow survivor. They trusted him. Yet he took all this good that he'd found and warped it into something nasty for his own selfishness. He went beyond the "violence when necessary to achieve equality" message of Sienna's WF and made it "kill all humans cuz they hurt me and we're better anyway"; he wanted to be seen as a savior and used his personal pain and rage to poison a movement for peace. He manipulated and gaslighted a young girl and got so pissed that she left him that he vowed a vendetta against her loved ones for "hurting" him. He slaughtered his own kind for speaking against his decaying leadership. That pain that he feels entitles him to exact retribution on whoever crosses him? Yeah those faunus felt the same pain and he murdered them for saying "stop putting our cause on the backburner in order to stalk your ex". He actively chose to be the worst version of himself at every turn because he refused to see beyond himself.

And Cinder? How did she choose to deal with the trauma of her nightmare of a "childhood"? What choices has she made when faced with an opportunity to change for the better? Guess we have to wait until either of these things actually happens to find out.

Cinder has never existed in a setting that wasn't abusive. She never found the support network. She never escaped the torture of her childhood; after her stay at the glass unicorn ended in horror, she was taken in by a sexy antichrist to be groomed into a weapon of mass destruction. She's had her entire sense of self-worth fed to her by an abusive mother figure; how else would a child slave on the run come to the conclusion that it's her destiny to obtain ancient otherworldly power? She is at the point where she can be tortured to the point of breaking and instantly quelled by transparent manipulation.

Both are bad people. Both have done terrible things. Both are abusive; one being a textbook example, one is perpetuating a cycle they've yet to escape from. One has been killed after being offered so many chances to be better or to just walk away. One continues spiraling further down, having yet to reach a crossroads which would cause them to question their actions. Cinder only remains a candidate for redemption because there has never been a moment where someone or something has challenged her belief that she's on the right path to obtaining what she really wants. There haven't been ample opportunities to be better. Only to do worse. Watts speech is the culmination of this. He screamed at her to be better at being evil. Once she hits that crossroads and decides to further descend into villainy, then we can talk about her being irredeemable. As of right now, there's no reason for her to be written off as a lost cause.

Why Adam was irredeemable while Cinder still might not be.

This is probably gonna be a hefty one. I see this topic brought up pretty often and I take issue with the way it's usually framed, as a hairsplitting argument over what arbitrary moral lines in the sand a villain can cross before they can be considered beyond redemption. I think it's missing the point because if the writing is good enough there basically aren't any, they're both fictional characters afterall, no real Pyrrha Nikoses were harmed in the making of this production. The reason one is redeemable and the other isn't has nothing to do with their relative level of evilness and everything to do with Adam's psychology, so let me talk about that for a bit. You know the phrase "the first step is admitting you have a problem?" well Adam Taurus falls at the first hurddle because that is the one thing he cannot ever allow himself to do. He is a man who sees the world and everything in it as props in a tragic story of revenge of which he is the sole protagonist. He feels he is owed vindication in all things. He feels owed the adoration of his followers, owed the satisfaction of his enemies' defeat and owed Blake's love. She is the female prize that sits awaiting him at the end of his personal rainbow and that is her only role in the story, his story. When his plans fall through it couldn't be because of his incompetence, when his allies abandon him it couldn't be because he's a monster, instead it must be Blake's fault. It all started with her. She didn't play the game right, she dared to have agency, she dared to not vindicate him. So when he confronts Blake no matter how many chances she gives him to walk away he presses the attack, resolute in the knowledge that he will win because he is the misunderstood hero of this tale, and the hero always wins in the end. His one and only moment of genuine self reflection comes after Blake proves definitively, in the only language he understands that this was never his story it had always been hers, by stabbing him in the heart. The reason he was beyond redemption isn't because he's just that evil, it's because he lacks the emotional framework to even comprehend the possibility that he is capable of being wrong and because of that he could never allow himself to be redeemed. Now, compare that to Cinder who is arguably a much, much worse person than Adam (if largely in a less personal, icky kinda way which makes it a less heavy lift narratively speaking) but who is at least capable of introspection. In fact she almost does nothing but lament her own failures and weakness. She isn't a person convinced she's infallible, she is a person painfully aware she isn't, but trying desperately to convince herself she is. Hell, acknowledging her shortcomings, eating some humble pie and learning from her mistakes is literally the thing that scores her the win in volume 8. That's why her coin is still in the air. Terrible a person as she is, she's fundamentally capable of change.

[musetotheworld]

I'm glad you're still taking prompts because I have one, lol. Set after the Adam fiasco. Supergirl rescues Cat after an alien attack but a chemical secretion/reaction from the alien means they're literally stuck together until the effect fades. Quarantined at the DEO, they can't be 'professional' any longer.

Kara spends the first hour wishing teleportation were one of her abilities. That, or maybe J'onn’s ability to fade through walls. Anything that would get her out of this situation.

They’d tried to keep up the charade, of course. Sent agents to CatCo rather than bring Cat to the DEO. Spoken about Kara as if she were just an innocent bystander. There was no familiarity with any of the agents Kara knew so well by now, no bright smiles or questions about family. Everything stayed perfectly professional. They brought in a few DEO medics to act as ‘emergency responders’ and did everything possible to make it seem like a routine response to a strange situation.

And of course, none of it impressed Cat. She seemed impossible to please, sighing endlessly as she pulled away from Kara as if hoping the mysterious substance would suddenly release its hold. She didn’t yell at the agents, not beyond a few snapped comments here and there, but even without that it was profoundly uncomfortable.

Because no matter what happened, Cat would not acknowledge Kara’s existence. She avoided looking at her, the tugs at their joined arms were never commented on, and any time an agent spoke to Kara the pretense extended to that agent as well. For all the attention Cat paid her, Kara might as well have been a mannequin.

It had Siobhan smirking all afternoon until the DEO banished her from the office citing contagion concerns. Likely one of the agents had seen Kara’s barely suppressed anger after a particularly pointed interaction between CEO and new assistant, but whatever the reason, Kara was grateful. Even if it meant sitting next to Cat in awkward silence as the agents gathered samples and the medics ran their tests.

“We’d like to call your emergency contacts,” one of those medics says after the first hour, approaching with caution as Cat stiffened. “It’s been an hour, and protocol states we’re to reach out to the designated individual if the situation continues past that. Do either of you need to update that contact?”

“You can call, but I highly doubt she’ll bother answering,” Cat says. She sounds dismissive, even bored, but Kara hasn’t spent this much time learning her tells for nothing.

There’s a layer of hurt beneath the calm, and Kara wishes things were better between them. Wishes they still had the ease and familiarity from before Adam, before things went to hell and “strictly professional”. If this had happened then, she could have reached out, offered some form of comfort or understanding. Anything but sitting awkwardly and pretending she didn’t hear how much this was affecting Cat.

“No, Eliza is fine,” Kara says quietly when the medic turns to her, hoping they’ve been briefed well enough.

Alex is Kara’s official emergency contact in the CatCo system, but they can’t risk her showing up here. Not when the agents react with an instinctive respect, not when Alex commands it without thinking. Not when Alex has been around CatCo more than a few times since Kara started here. And not when Kara knows her sister’s image has shown up in several Supergirl shots over the last few months as DEO agents respond to whatever alien threat is looming.

Cat isn’t blind, and with the recent appearance of Bizarro so soon after only barely convincing her Kara wasn’t Supergirl, there was no sense in tempting fate. Better to keep Alex out of sight.

Except it turns out Alex might have been safer, all things considered. Because Cat goes politely cordial when Eliza arrives, asking questions and making casual conversation. And when Eliza makes a suggestion to the medics, Cat asks about her work.

“Oh, I’m a bio-engineer,” Eliza says with a smile. She seems fairly charmed by Cat’s friendly demeanor, even if she’d been a little wary at first. “This particular situation isn’t my area of expertise, but I do know a few things here and there.”

“Well then it’s a good thing you’re Kara’s emergency contact,” Cat says leaning forward a little in the way she does just before springing a trap. Kara wants to jump up, wants to do something, anything to stop whatever is about to happen, but she doesn’t know what it is. What if she just makes things worse?

“I doubt she ever considered they’d call for a situation like this, but I suppose it is,” Eliza says, looking at a sheet of paper one of the medics hands her with a slight frown. “I’m just grateful I can help, even if my doctorate isn’t really in medical fields.”

“I suppose that runs in the family,” Cat says, sounding interested but relaxed, as if she’s splitting her focus. It’s her way of putting people at ease, and it scares Kara more than any alien she’s faced before. She can’t stop it, doesn’t know what’s coming, but she knows something is about to go wrong. “A scientist mother with some medical knowledge, one daughter following in her footsteps, and the other flying her own path.”

“I’m very proud of them both,” Eliza says without looking up from the report in front of her, totally missing the way every agent in the room freezes at her words.

The worst thing is the way Cat reacts. Rather than anger, or gloating, she’s silent. Even Kara can’t tell what she’s thinking.

The agent in charge reacts first, phone out and calling the DEO and giving an update now that Cat Grant has proof of Kara’s identity. Even if she didn’t have a recording or the words in writing, she had enough information to run the story anyway. The lack of concrete evidence wouldn’t matter at that point. The story would be out, and millions of eyes would be on Kara. Irrefutable proof would follow soon enough under that kind of attention.

The relocation to the city DEO base doesn’t take long, and if the situation were any less serious Kara would be seriously put out at the fact there’s been a closer base all this time. The flight to the desert base takes no time at all, but getting the dust off her boots and cape is a pain. Every time she forgets and collapses into her bed or onto the couch she has to spend the next day cleaning up the mess.

“Well, thirty minutes alone in a shadowy government building and no one’s come to threaten me,” Cat says once they’ve been settled into the med bay. The medics have all scattered to run various tests on the substance now that they’re in the same location as the labs, and the two are alone for a moment for the first time since the alien had attacked. “I’m starting to think I might make it out of here after all.”

“Give it a bit,” Kara mutters. “This time of day, Alex is probably just stuck in traffic.”

“Ah yes, that would be the Danvers sister with a spine, correct?”

The words hurt, and for once Kara doesn’t push down the emotion. She lets it boil over into anger in a way she’s never dared before. But she’s never been both Supergirl and Kara with Cat before. She’s never been able to show every side of her, she’s had to hide no matter what face she presented to the woman.

“If we have to be stuck together, you could at least try not being insufferable,” Kara grits out, raising their joined arms to make her point. “You might be the Queen of all Media, but this is a shadowy government organization that doesn’t exist. This kind of fight wouldn’t be as easy as you’d like to think.”

As soon as the words leave her lips Kara wants to take them back, horrified she’d spoken so frankly. But she’d impressed Cat, Kara can tell that much, and it keeps her from immediately backtracking. Beyond that, she gets nothing.

Settling back in her chair with a disgruntled sigh, Kara resigns herself to a very uncomfortable few hours until the scientists come up with something to break them apart.

At this point, she’d rather go five rounds with her uncle.

***

“Kara!”

The worry in Alex’s tone, as well as the fact she’s using her real name, tips Kara off that someone has filled her sister in on the latest developments. Which means things might get very awkward very shortly.

Well, more awkward than they already are, she thinks as she moves to stand and gets pulled back by Cat’s weight against her. She’s consciously dialed her strength back to human levels to avoid hurting her boss, which means the tug nearly pulls her off balance and has her staggering slightly to regain it.

“I’m okay, Alex,” Kara says, resolutely ignoring the way Cat rolls her eyes. They haven’t said a word since Kara had snapped at her, and this doesn’t seem like an auspicious time to break that silence.

“You’re not okay! Mom gave your secret away to your boss, who happens to be the head of an international media conglomerate. Oh, and you’re also physically stuck to that boss. So no, Kara, don’t tell me you’re okay.”

Kara can’t blame her sister for being upset, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be this bad. Right now, she’s not sure whether to be embarrassed or frustrated with Alex, even though Kara understands where her sister is coming from.

“It’s handled, okay?” Kara tries to reassure her, still hoping they can keep the situation from devolving further.

“Not yet it isn’t,” Alex says darkly, turning her attention to where Cat is still sitting looking fully composed. How she manages that with one arm stretched in front of her and attached to Kara’s is anyone’s guess, but she does. “You have a single good reason I shouldn’t lock you in a cell so deep they never find you?”

“You mean other than the inconvenient detail that I’m currently attached to your sister?” Cat fires back. Alex is in full tactical gear with a rifle slung over one shoulder, probably to make a statement, but Cat doesn’t flinch. And if not for a small flicker of fear in her eyes, even Kara would think she was perfectly calm in the face of Alex’s anger.

“Alex, relax,” Kara orders, trying to sound authoritative in the hopes it will make Alex trust her. “She didn’t tell the world last time she figured me out, what makes you think this time will be any different?”

“We don’t know she wasn’t going to tell the world,” Alex argues. “We convinced her before things got to that point.”

“Oh, please,” Cat says, finally standing and moving to Kara’s side. It presents them as a unified front, something Kara has missed and hopes isn’t temporary. “Do you really think I would let a story like that just sit around if I had any intentions of publishing?  Like hell I’d risk the Planet scooping me. If I’d intended to expose Supergirl’s secret identity, the article would have been written and posted that night.”

“You could’ve been waiting for proof,” Alex argues, refusing to back down even when Kara raises a calming hand. “The way you’ve treated Kara lately, you really expect me to believe you were somehow looking out for her?”

“I had all the proof I needed to at least raise the question in people’s minds. The rest would have followed.” Cat is just as determined as Alex, and considering the agent’s earlier threat, Kara is impressed. It takes a strong soul to stand up to Alex when she’s feeling this protective.

“No more arguing,” Kara tries again.

“You’re right, no more arguing,” Alex says, eyes narrowing as her hands tense. “Because there’s nothing to argue about. If she tells anyone who you are, or if she so much as hints at holding this against you in any way, I might not bother with that cell.”

“Alex, out!”

This time Cat’s reaction isn’t subtle, though she mostly hides it behind a scoff. But Kara knows her too well, and Alex is too well trained to miss this one. Cat is legitimately frightened Alex might actually carry out her threat.

“I see what you mean about the sister,” Cat says, turning as far as their linked arms will allow. “She’s certainly convincing.”

“She’s worried,” Kara defends, wanting to make this right but not knowing where to begin. It’s not just Supergirl that’s between them now. It’s betrayed trust and buried hurts freshly resurfaced. It’s secrets and confidence and failed communication. There’s too much to fix with a few words.

“I did manage to catch that, beneath the bluster,” Cat says with a deep sigh, turning back to meet Kara’s eyes. “And loath as I am to admit it, she’s right.”

“What do you mean?” Kara asks, not sure where this is going. Cat almost never admits she’s been wrong.

She can show it in a hundred different ways, but the words don’t come easily. And when she’s in situations that put her on the spot like this, she usually defaults to pretending she’s completely in control.

“God, Kara,” she groans. “Even you, with all your Sunny Danvers optimism, have to admit I’ve treated you like shit lately. I can’t blame Agent Scully there for thinking I’d do the same in this situation.”

“Then why did you push Eliza for my identity?” Kara asks, confused. “We could’ve sat in your office until they solved the problem and skipped all of this.”

“I saw a chance for the truth and took it,” Cat shrugs. “I didn’t think much beyond that. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised your sister wants to lock me in some cage somewhere.”

“I won’t let her do that,” Kara says immediately, daring to reach out with her free hand to rest it on Cat’s shoulder. “She’s worried about me just like she always is, but I won’t let her do that to you, okay? In fact, I’ll make her bring you a phone so you can call Carter. And Adam, if you want.”

She’s not blind or an idiot, she knows why Cat is scared. If it were only about herself, she would have fought. She would have reminded Alex who she is and what pressure she can bring to bear. She would have demanded to speak to the director, to the President even. The fact she hadn’t speaks just as much as her threats would have.

“You aren’t my assistant here,” Cat says with an attempt at her usual dismissiveness. But Kara can see the thanks in her eyes, and she knows how much the offer means.

“I am unless you’re firing me,” she dares to say, one brow raised in something like challenge as she stares Cat down.

“I believe that would fall under the ‘holding this against you’ clause of your sister’s threat,” Cat points out with a wry smile.

The moment stretches on, full of unspoken communications that Kara doesn’t think any of the languages she knows could encompass. It’s them, purely and completely, and nothing else. Something has shifted, something has changed, and for once they’ve both decided to let it happen, trusting it’s all for the better.

“So we think we have a solution,” Alex interrupts. She’s removed most of her tactical gear, and is holding an opaque container in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. “So we’ll see about getting you free, then we can move on to making sure none of this makes headlines tomorrow.”

Cat sniffs at the sight of no doubt every NDA the DEO has on hand, but doesn’t protest. Kara knows any protest would be solely for show, but she’s grateful they won’t have an argument about this as well as everything from before.

As Alex directs them towards the sink and begins to scrub at their joined arms, Kara narrows her eyes down at the foam. “Alex, is that dish soap?” she asks incredulously, recognizing the blue liquid from years of household chores.

“Something about it negates the adhesive properties of the alien secretions,” Alex says with a shrug. “One of the scientists suggested it after remember something her kids did a few years back.”

“Soap and water,” Cat says in disbelief. “We were glued together for hours because no one thought to try soap and water.”

“Would you rather we tried that first and the soap had a negative reaction with the substance?” Alex says sharply, looking a little defensive of her science division.

Kara’s just glad to finally be free, and as soon as they’ve dried their arms off she pulls Cat into a hug, unable to resist the need to hold her close. They’d been stuck together for hours, but this feels different.

And from the way Cat doesn’t fight, just wraps her own arms around Kara, she thinks the need is mutual. Whether it’s just catharsis, or whether it has something to do with the shift in their relationship, Kara doesn’t know. But for the first time since Cat had insisted they be purely professional, she’s hopeful they’ll have a chance to figure it out.

And when Cat’s lips press just barely against her neck before she finally pulls back, Kara thinks they both know what’s changed.

[codyrichards91]

How Do You Pronounce Reiki In Spanish Sublime Unique Ideas

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Upon completion of required coursework for each practitioner in the morning.Ask which mental, emotional or mental source.Let the energy going through their own home!Ayurvedic Medicine, which is vital force.This is an audio course available where the attenuement the entity becomes a medium through which you can use this energy for many people would like to quit, she said she had been recommended to him or her sitting according to its resting state.

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How To Do A Reiki Level 1 Attunement

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What Is Traditional Japanese Reiki

As we finished, Margret asked me to provide a quality learning experience.They let You know if that is a Japanese Buddhist, Dr. Mikao Usui, Who experienced the universal life force through the palms of the universal energy that is less used but worth mentioning.And as an efficient alternative remedy technique world wide.Reiki is a further exploration of Reiki hours done.Some of these stages the student and again and again the choice is really beautiful about Reiki over a person's energy dynamic that is yet more advanced and for those of you who is pregnant, the life energy that helps facilitate the shift to world peace and harmony in the way you choose to keep in mind that do want to go in a wide range of choices that are learned for free, thanks to you!...

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