#how you can integrate someone into yourself and BE them and MOURN for them and feel them here but not

[luesmainblog]

my theory is that when it's on accident they're pulling from real life observations and actually thinking about the situation properly, whereas when they actively set out to do it, they rely on stereotypes and have a clinical, cynical view if they do research. most importantly: when they do DID/OSDD/plurality on accident, they are less likely to try and cure it. i cannot tell you how many times i've been willing to put up with some rep's problems only to be slapped in the face with "and now we integrate back into one/everyone else goes dormant and the core is effectively a singlet again" at the end. if i had to pick between killing the Evil Alter trope and killing that, i would use all 6 bullets on that shit. we can deal with stigma. but i will NOT be told that my family is bad for me and needs to be removed. and i am so sick of it being treated as a Temporary Cope you're supposed to Move On From.

why is the best DID representation in media always accidental. the moment they try to do it on purpose its just the evil alter trope again but the moment theyre not trying its like wow. how did you manage to get that accurate accidentally?

[vidalsbeloved]

fly little bird, fly

Warnings: Reader gets injured, (that’s all I can think of lol)

Rio Vidal x Female reader

Words written: 2.2k

Chapter 1 : The Bird Flew Astray

1680

Darting through the woods away from Witch Hunters was the last thing you thought you’d be doing on a day like this, but alas you had to settle for it. You didn’t mean for this to happen, but someone from the village had caught you shapeshifting and reported it.

You had managed to escape your home through the window in your bedroom— but that didn’t last long, being as one of the townspeople had been walking around the outback. It was right there that you bolted, your navy dress rippling in the wind behind you.

You mutated yourself into a deer, your hooves thudding against the earth as you drove deeper and faster. It was an integral choice, better to help you drive further away than to draw back. Gunshots wrung the air around you, your heart pounding in your ears.

Of course, they knew it was you, the only deer out this time and day. There was no going back now, you couldn’t relive the moment, so you drove onward. Hoping that god or satin save your soul. Another gunshot wrung out, this time accompanied by arrows that flung past and overhead— and then, just as you focused your attention back on the path you were taking, a cobblestone wall, could be made out. You took your chance at the last second and before you could do so much as run into it, you shape-shifted into a bird— more specifically, the only bird you could think of at the moment. A swan. And flew upwards, into the sky, your wings working hard and overtime.

You could already feel the drastic change the shifting was taking on your body, the strain in your muscles. The way your wings began to quiver, but you pushed on. Flying higher and higher into the sky, over trees and land.

But still, the hunters pursued you— because you were a witch and they wanted you dead. You had known of the hunters close by, but you had never feared them, not until now. You could hear them from below, shooting up into the sky, calling out ‘Come back here, you devil.’ But you ignored them.

You knew you were a mistake— a mismatch in the very existence. You were never meant to be on earth or anywhere really, but here you were. It had taken you years to understand that, but no less did it ache your heart. Nobody wanted you, because you were everything that wasn’t human and everything that wasn’t human, didn’t want you.

You were not supposed to be here, walking the earth like it owed you when all you did was disguise yourself into something you weren’t. But that’s all you knew, you weren’t made, you were forged. You were a child of the devil, and someone had raised you from the fiery pit of hell.

You swiveled around arrows, dodging bullets and trying everything in your power to survive. One strike and that’s all it took to send you right back to your home away from home, one piercing bullet that would kill you in an instant. You may have been a shapeshifter, but that did not make you immortal. You would die one day just like everyone else, it just may take a little longer than most average human life. Being a shapeshifter meant you outlived your offspring, like you did. You had a sister once, but she had gotten herself killed. She was a witch, not you, but different. The hunters burned her at the stake. You weren’t close to her, so seeing her die didn’t have much of an effect on you.

Though you later mourned her, that was because you realized how utterly alone in the world you were. You got used to the feeling, but still every once in a while you felt an ache. A yearning to be seen, to be wanted. To feel an embrace so warm and welcoming— to understand that being different was okay and not wrong.

A sudden movement from below shooting up at you and piercing your skin grasps your attention. Being all caught up in your head had caused exactly what you feared, and now you were paying the price. Your wings twinged and then you were falling, panic gripped you suddenly and you desperately tried to get a grip and stop yourself from hitting the ground, but your wings wouldn’t budge, the pain shooting a hot shard of white pain down your back.

You heard the sound of cheering a distance away from the hunters and you were met with the sight of trees. The air shifting around you, suddenly to cool and dank. When your body collided with the ground, the pain only seemed to grow and suddenly you heard a tree branch snap and the sound of footprints. You tried to move, but your body hurt all over. You tried again, getting ahold of yourself, still in bird form, and managed to flip up onto your palmates, gripping the ground from falling over and looking around you for a hiding place. A sigh of relief washed over you when your eyes made contact with an underbrush— you bolted for it and tangled yourself with the plants surrounding it— taking advantage of your size to better hide yourself.

The hunters walked down the path and stopped, looking around for you. When they didn’t see any sight of you, they continued walking along. You stayed where you were for a few minutes longer, scared that if you made any noise, they would come back.

You slowly came out but stayed close enough to the underbrush in case the hunters came back. You don’t know how long you stayed there for when you heard a door opening in the distance, you looked up, and a green hooded figure came into view. You scrambled back into the underbrush, but not before her voice boomed out.

“Who’s there?”

Before you could so much as move to hide, the woman rounds a tree and locks eyes with your swan. Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the mysterious green-clothed woman. She asses you, then cocks her head to one side, squinting, and looks to your injured wing.

“I know you’re not a sawn,” she says. “So you can turn back.”

You hesitate— how did she know? She rolls her eyes at you. Then adds, “There not going to see you, there’s a rune around this house that makes you invisible to the human eye.”

You ever so slowly allow yourself to come back to your human form and when you do, you realize that you are naked. You go to cover yourself with your arms, only to remember one of your arms is injured. You look down at your injured arm, you have an arrow between your ulna and radius. You feel sick looking at the sight and swallow, looking away and back to the woman.

She’s looking at you with peculiar interest as if she’s trying to figure you out. You look away again, shivering, your dark messy hair coming out of its bun and spilling over your shoulders.

She breaks the silence with an aggravated huff, “Are you mute?”

You shake your head and whisper, “I….” but nothing comes out.

“You’re an interesting, little thing, aren’t you?” she says quietly, then comes closer.

You tense as she nears. She must sense your uneasiness because she’s whispering next, “I won’t hurt you, I just want to see.”

She looks you in the eyes as she squats down in front of you and asks softly again, “Can I?”

She motions her head to your injured arm, you nod and release a shaky breath when her hands gently come to yours, lifting it to inspect the damage, you whimper in pain.

“You took quite the fall back there baby, I’m honestly surprised you’re still alive,” she says, looking back up to your face.

A hand comes up to brush away the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of your bun, her eyes tracing every curve she can find on your face.

“How did this happen?” she asks.

You swallow and stutter, “S— Someone from my village caught me changing form.”

The woman scowls gently, “You’ve got to be careful, sweetheart. These people could kill you.”

“You think?” You snap, then look away, ashamed of your outburst.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Her lips twitch up into a sly grin, “No need. You’ve been through a lot today, how about I take care of your little…” she ponders on her words. “misfortunate run in.”

Your lips quirk up at that— you nod and she pulls back just enough to remove her cape from her body and pull around your shivering form. When her skin makes contact with yours though, a jolt of energy runs down your back, gripping at the very essence of your life. You lock eyes with her and for a second you see her eyes flicker with something that you don’t understand until she moves to help you stand.

You get up onto your feet and wince as the blood rushes down into your toes, every fiber of your being aching from driving yourself too hard. She grips your shoulder tightly, steadying you as you move to take the first step— you feel yourself falling before your brain manages to catch up, but luckily for you, the woman catches you before you can hit the ground.

“Careful,”

You take in a shaking breath, nodding your head, and move to walk again. This time though one of her hands is holding your waist.

She leads you slowly to her little cobblestone house and opens the door— and you are grateful for the heat that clashes with your shivering cold form. You take in your surroundings as she moves to shut the door after getting you inside.

The space is small, the ceiling overhead, whirling with moss, that seems to grow with the exterior of the cobblestone. You bring your head down to look around your surroundings, between the space of her kitchen is a rocking chair by the fire and a bed settling up against the wall in the corner closest to a fireplace.

She leads you to the bed, settling you down before heading for the kitchen. She grabs a basin filled with water and a rag, turns back to you, and walks the distance to you. She settles down and moves to dig the rag into the water.

She looks back up to you and reaches for your arm. You flinch when the cool water touches your skin, but her grip seems to tighten.

“You’re a rare kind of witch, you know?” she says. “I’ve never seen or met a shapeshifter before.”

You swallow, “There aren’t any others out there.”

She locks eyes with yours, “What’s your story?”

“I don’t have one.”

She snorts. “Everyone’s got a story.”

You hesitate and look away. “There’s nothing much about me.”

Sympathy flashes in the woman’s eyes before she diverts her attention to the wound. “Can I at least get a name?”

“It’s Y\N,”

“Hmmmmm…. makes sense for such a pretty girl.” she winks at you.

You blush and look down at your lap, “What’s yours?”

“I’m Rio,” she says.

“Thank you, Rio,” you say softly. “For helping me. Rarely, I’m ever given such attention.”

For a moment, she pauses her work on your arm and looks back up at you. Her eyes squinted, studying you, but there was also a familiarity within them— an understanding. You feel suddenly drawn to her. You think that it’s because you’ve been alone for so long that now, potentially, you could just be desperate. But you then realize it’s something deeper, something so warm and fuzzy, you wish to know what the feeling is, you try to pinpoint it on every map in your head, only to come back empty.

It’s gone just as fast as it appeared, she looks back down to your arm and shifts it to get a better angle, propping it up with some pillows.

“I have an idea, do you trust me?” she asked.

You squinted, but replied wearily, “Yes.”

She smiled softly and lifted her hands. In a circular motion over the arrow, you see it begin to glow a dark green. Though it was still in your skin, you could almost feel as if it was shifting, but oddly enough, it wasn’t hurting.

“It’s a healing spell,” Rio says before you can ask. “Most witches use them with injuries. It mends skin and fights infection. In your case, it’s dissolving the metal.”

Your eyes widen and you look back up at her, “How is that even possible?”

She smirks at you and replies wittily, “Magic, baby.”

When you look back down, the arrow is gone. You turned your arm over and back in pure shock. You glance back up to Rio and she watches you with curiosity.

“You haven’t practiced much magic, haven’t you?”

You sigh. “I’ve had nobody to teach me, I’ve only ever had myself.”

“I can teach you.”

Your eyes widen, “Ooh no, you don’t have to—“

“I want to.”

You clamp your mouth shut.

“—But,” Rio started up, “it’ll cost you.”

You furrow your brows and ask, “What?”

“I’ll need something from you, something only you can give me.”

You swallow, your breath catching in your throat. “What do I give?”

“Yourself.”

“What?”

“Be mine.”

You contemplated her offer— you had been alone for years, and now here came Rio asking you to be hers. But at what cost? And why? You suppose it didn’t matter, after all, you were desperate.

She wanted you.

She wanted you.

“I give myself to you, Rio.”

She smiles slightly, “Please, call me, Lady Death.”

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Juno Zeta?

You're living the dream, Master Archivist of the Sixth House. The Archaeology department hates you. The secretaries love you. Your son has risen to the very top of the absolutely unproblematic meritocracy of the House to become Master Warden. Sure, you treated him as a colleague when he was 7 too, but this is much more intellectually satisfying and much better for your publication record (suck it, Archeo). You sit on the Oversight Body, making decisions for the 3 million strong House of the Sixth.

Then the Master Warden gets summoned by god to become a Lyctor. (No civilian has seen a Lyctor for thousands of years. But the information you do have speaks of astonishing power. Are you intrigued? Do you regard it as an even more stellar opportunity for the Master Warden? Do Lyctors have access to interesting material for the archives? Does the possibility of your son becoming an immortal finger and gesture of god ever feel strange?)

A few months later, some fragments come back in a box. There's nothing left of Camilla at all. No one will tell you anything. Every House but the Third and the Ninth has lost its head or heir (the poor girl your son loved is dead. You're never going to get another overly-formal letter from the Fifth begging for Lyctoral documents from your archive.)

Then the Master Warden makes contact from beyond the grave to tell you that the saintly founder of your House left a plan in place in case it ever became necessary to betray god. He tells you why god should be betrayed.

Suddenly, the Oversight Body has to make a decision. To take your home and 3 million people away from the Dominicus System (away from its thanergetic soil, no more necromancers will ever be born). To break the contract of tenderness made on the day of the Resurrection. Do you have time to call back your soldiers in the Cohort? Do you have to leave them behind? Has the Oversight Body ever felt unanimously about something before? And how frank can you be with the House? You have visiting scholars from almost every House, and who knows where the Bureau have eyes and ears.

There are calculations to make. How to transport a whole House? How do you work out that it takes five hundred and thirty-two obselisks? That there are deleterious effects past five hundred and sixty? How do you find a stele that would anchor such a big thanergy transition? (Only the Fifth make stele. Do you try to do it yourselves? Who do you trust on the Fifth to help with that? Is that why Kester Cinque left Koniortos?)

The Master Warden, who is dead, lives inside the body of Camilla, who is not. He picks you - in your capacity as Master Archivist - to be one of the negotiators. How do you integrate 3 million people into a completely alien society with whom your people have been at war for millennia? How does negotiating with terrorists feel compared to academic committees?

What happens then? One day you just...lose it? The sun rises too bright and too blue and you are in agony, unconnected from yourself, screaming and writhing. And when the thing in the sky is at its furthest orbit from you, in some exhausted moment of clarity, you nearly kill yourself using necromancy to restore your sanity. You blind yourself. Do you think beyond that moment? As someone who deals in documents and artefacts and forms in triplicate, do you mourn your sight alongside everything else you have lost? Your son, your home, your god, your sanity...

And now you are a hostage. Sixteen of you in the back of a sweltering truck, held at gunpoint, always moving. The only thing keeping you alive is the possibility of selling you back to the empire that you've betrayed. Your captors have signed a 'no torture' clause, and perhaps they do stick to that. You're needed for providing proof of life and are probably better off than most. But it's too hot, there's not enough water, you can't see, and the only way out is either that the Master Warden gives Blood of Eden a Lyctor or being released to the mercies of the Kindly Prince. You sit in the dark and do mental maths with each other to stay sane.

Somehow, the Master Warden has done it. Without a Lyctor, he's turned his own cell commander against her fellows and you have been released. Most of the Oversight Body can't even walk out of the truck without help. But you're free, and the Master Warden - now in the stolen body of a Lyctor's cavalier - has the sort of mad scheme only he could come up with. Those mental maths will come in handy. The cell commander isn't bad either...

You can't see your son die again (the last time he speaks to you, from that borrowed body, he calls you 'mum' instead of 'Master Archivist'). But you can smell Camilla’s flesh burn. Perhaps the Commander, holding your arm, describes it to you. You follow this new person, your child, now something else, back into the truck where you were held captive and watch as they drive it into the River.

The Tomb is open. Your child is part of a being of strange and unimaginable power. The House Formerly Known as Sixth is on the other side of the universe. You are on the Ninth with a dead cavalier in the body of her necromancer, the Emperor’s construct, legions of demons, and a very mysterious dog...

Anyway, I'm very excited to see what havoc Juno gets to cause in ATN. She's there to be snarky, do psychometry, and be a romanceable MILF. Let her yell at god. And for goodness sake, let her get some peace at the end.

[afreakingdork]

Except for a Mouse

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader One-Shot

Tags: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Mistletoe, Gift Fic, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Gender-Neutral Reader

Synopsis: Scurrying around, you help your boyfriend as he tries to rekindle the excitement of the gift giving season.

Also Available on Ao3

A Secret Santa gift for dearest @s-s-ironnie

Didgeridoo you are an endless delight and I'm so happy to have met you! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and enjoy!

The luster of receiving gifts had dulled with age. You tried not to include yourself in that, but it was an unfortunate fact across the board. The whole how to do of the holiday had eclipsed the supposed reason for the season. It was an odd thing; understanding why your elders had been exhausted and spent most of their days lounging while the kids ran around with their new toys. Practicality won out as you got older and with it came a stagnant sense.

“Socks?! Fantastic! Oh, they’re even the boot kind!? That’s great because mine have been wearing on my ankles all season!”

“A new whetstone, this is just what I needed. You even got the right grit. Thanks! I can’t wait to use this with those new tutorial vids I’ve been watching.”

“Can’t have enough floofy soap!”

For Donnie, it was absolute misery. In all the years you had known him, he was a gift giving master. He prided himself on knowing just what to get someone even if it wasn’t something of this world. It was his chance to flex not just his inventions, but seek the validation he so desperately craved. He considered Christmas to be his big sports game and he had enough winning rings to fill a jewelry shop.

Which was why with each consecutive year, as the requests got more mundane and the reactions gentler, he was losing that glint in his eye little by little.

It crushed you.

“A gym membership renewal!?” Donnie pushed his palms into his eye sockets so hard his chair tipped lethally backward. “Nardo wasn’t even joking!”

“Nice to have the expense taken care of…” You mourned beside your partner.

“He has an entire home gym, built by moi, what does he need-!?” Donnie groaned loudly. “The rest are just as bad: ‘that shell wax you make,’ ‘back scratcher,’ ‘gift card to that craft store I like!’” In a swivel, Donnie turned to face you while throttling the arms of his chair. “At least Casey and April chose spirited items! ‘A home defense system to vanquish audacious insects’ and an upgrade to her invisibility cloak. Fine, great, interesting enough, but not inspired! They’ll receive them, but they won’t dazzle! All my intelligence! Wasted!” In another turn that made his seat creak, Donnie threw up dozens of security camera screens filled with footage of his family. “They want not! They came up with objects to appease me!”

“It can be like that…” You dampened now that he was out of sight again.

“What can I do?” He spoke a hopeless rhetorical.

“Spend time with them? Your dad always loves having the kids back home.”

“Something constructive, please.” Donnie griped with a bitterness you knew wasn’t for you.

You finally stood and approached to put a hand on his shoulder.

One of his came up to take it as he continued to glower at the monitors.

“This is what it’s like sometimes.” You leaned in and kissed the side of his head. “The child-like wonder is gone.”

Donnie stayed statuesque and you were about pull away when his grip suddenly seized to a painful degree.

“A-ah!”

“You’re a genius!” In one swift twirl, he was out of his seat and you were up in the air being showered with kisses.

So began operation ‘Help to Make the Season Bright.’ Starting right after October as Halloween was always given its due and with little to do for Thanksgiving as that was Mikey’s territory, Donnie folded you into his plan. You were there to reign him in which you knew to be an integral role.

Never mind the weather, the Hamatos were in for a white Christmas. Donnie had crafted a new-age snow machine after you’d talked him down from one that manipulated the atmosphere. Inspired by a certain famous holiday film, Donnie had acquired gifts from his family's younger days. Having had to talk him down from time travel itself to purchase the items, you then fielded him when it came to decorations. Wanting the lair to take on that magic imbued by children’s eyes, it meant for more decorations than the past.

All counting down to the titular eve, he’d knocked Splinter out with pre-festivity cake and milk and waited for the others to retreat before you were called upon. Together you spent the entire night transforming the space and setting up in a secluded section of the nearby park. Exhausted and without a wink of sleep, you’d roused the group at an agonizing 5am as was past tradition and the day began.

Grouching about the time was quickly overshadowed by wide gleaming eyes. Whispers of how Donnie had done this were brushed past as everyone was whisked outside into a winter wonderland. Donned in coats that exactly replicated ones of their youth, Raph was the first to devolve into water works. The ensuing snowball fight brought out a heat that you hadn’t seen playfully enacted in years and a break with hot chocolate made from a pilfered recipe meant Mikey was the next to weep.  

Worn out bodies were pulled inside, where upon getting their actually requested gifts, Leo stubbornly fought sobbing as he opened a mint version of his first and favorite Jupiter Jim action figure. April fell next with a newly sized version of her Hamato-crested top and Casey turned red in the face after being given validation with a combined plate of cookies and brownies.

Donnie, ever shining in his element, rode the high straight through the day until everyone collectively lost their steam. A turtle pile now with the addition of partners formed and Splinter snored loudly as a fond backdrop. Lingering sentiments meant you couldn’t join in and you had just pulled a pan of green bean casserole out of the oven to cool even though it was debatable whether it’d be eaten warm or at all. Shuffling out of the kitchen, you found Donnie leaning and watching the group and telegraphed your approach with heavier footsteps.

Instead of addressing you, he folded back an arm at the ready.

You tucked yourself into his side and he wrapped you up in the appendage. “You did it.”

“I couldn’t have without you.” He gave his family one last wistful look before bringing glowing adoration down to you.

You smiled where your head was sleepily resting against his plastron.

“One last thing…”

Your lips tugged downward. “The dinner was last…” In a slight shuffle against him, you unearthed your phone along with the list. “Yeah… we marked them all off.” You showed him.

“Oh!” He put on airs as he leaned forward to examine your phone with great feigned interest.

“Donnie…” You pursed your lip.

“Seems there was one missing.” With a tap, your list refreshed and a new item appeared.

☐ First Kiss

“When did you…?” Your head shifted back from the addition. “A kiss? Who’s that for?”

Turning confusion to your partner, you watched as an mechanical arm emerged from his battle shell. Tipping to watch it, there was a bit of green with white dotting tied up in a purple ribbon and just like that you were in your early twenties again.

Shy and at your first Hamato Christmas, you and Donnie had a brand new situationship that had started up at nearly the same time the temperatures had dropped. Nerves had him inviting you along with a flurry of worries over what you were about to be thrust into. Naivety meant you wrongly brushed him off and, it was after unknowingly boarding a rollercoaster, you had snuck away for a breather in the hall. Not second guessing your decision to pursue the purple turtle, but instead having so quickly agreed to meeting his family after what hadn’t even been 30 days, you exhaled and prepared to reenter the foray when he met you.

“There you are.” He caught your visage and softened. “You alright?”

“Yeah… just… you were right.” You gave an awkward laugh.

“I’d usually gloat, but it is a holiday.” He teased.

You chuckled as he came in to grab your hand with what looked like an offer on his lips.

“Boom!” Leo exploded a flurry of limbs into the moment causing the pair of you to back up against the wall. The slider slammed his arm between you both causing you to yelp.

“Nardo!” Donnie growled.

“You’ve been hit by!” Leo dodged a swipe from his brother with a pose.

Donnie leapt at him a second time.

“You’ve been struck by!” Leo avoided the attack a second time with finger to the air.

“Enough!” Donnie squared himself and you knew he was about to go for his weapon.

Leo stopped him with a finger pushed right into the genius’ forehead. “A smooth mistletoe!”

Fleeing with a flurry of giggles, Donnie sat a fuming mass staring after where his brother had gone where you had the wherewithal to turn toward the wall Leo had accosted. There, stuck with far too much duct tape was a sprig of mistletoe, obviously coordinated for this brother based on the color of its ribbon. “Uh… Donnie…” You paled.

“Infuriating! He was just loafing around and now he-!” Donnie spun around, saw the dismay on your face, and then the bit of greenery on the wall. “O-oh…”

“It’s a silly tradition!” You squawked. “Y-You were g-going to say something. I think!?”

“That…” He stepped closer, resuming his earlier position by your side. “… we could sneak away… That I know a good Chinese place…”

“T-that sounds good, we should go!” You went to grab his arm and flee when he steadied you by catching your appendage first.

“One… last thing…?” Donnie flicked his gaze to the mistletoe and back to you, beet red. “If you’re… agreeable?”

You gave a jittery nod, your own face a blushing mess.

He leaned in to close the gap just as he was doing now. You melted against him with a coordination you hadn’t had all those years ago and slipped your arms around his neck to deepen the move further. Parting came with a nuzzle of nose to snout and a little giggle from you.

“Next would be getting that peking duck.”

“What a coincidence, my data indicates the group will be asleep for at least 3 more hours.”

“We should go…” You breathed against him, stealing another kiss.

He nodded with an agreement that neither of you bothered making good on.

💜

I plotted two version of this fic based on Digi's preference! I thought it'd be fun the include the other here: In a similar vein, the other fic was Sweet Ironnie where Donnie and Iris go all out to give the kids the best Christmas. Only problem is that they forgot to treat themselves for the holiday so the kids snare them in a mistletoe trap! Thank you @rheawritesforfun for hearing me out!

Also thank you @thepinkpanther83 for being a beta boss!

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

How To Read Tarot Cards Intuitively & Accurately

Let us start with accuracy.

Each card has a meaning. Please study the cards meanings. Look for decks with original artwork as the artwork gives details to the meaning of said card and can be easier to understand. Here is why meaning is important.

Let us take a look at the meanings of Star card and Temperance card.

Star- Hope, inspiration, creativity, calm, contentment, renewal, serenity, spirituality, healing, positivity.

Temperance- Balance, peace, patience, moderation, inner calm, perspective, tranquility, harmonious relationships, soulmates.

(thetarotguide.com)

I used these cards because they at times can seem similar and hard to differentiate. But they have seperate meanings. The Star cards focuses more on the desire, not so much the actuality. The temperance focuses more on the reality of what is, has, or is going to happen. You may wish for something, but the star says it still is in the stage of wishing and desire. Temperance is more of the actual energy. This is important if someone asks you a question like

How does “ xyz” feel about me?

The Star can symbolize that they think positively of you and desires to experience you more.

The Temperance can symbolize that they feel at peace with you and feel as if you’re their soulmate.

The star focuses more on the future and what you desire. The temperance focuses on the now and what you feel in this moment. That is why it’s important to study the meanings of the cards just as much as you use your intuition.

Now let’s get into intuition.

Intuition is hard to understand, but the best way I can explain using your intuition is to understand the card meanings first and when looking at the cards, figure out what meaning of the card you’re looking at is correct. For example, King of Swords represents structure, routine, intelligent, rational, logical, power, authority, strength, manners, conversation, discerning, detached, cool, honesty, integrity, ethics, morals, clinical, stern, methodical, self-discipline, head over heart, etc. 5 of cups represents sadness, loss, grief, despair, abandonment, guilt, remorse, regret, trauma, bereavement, mourning, heartbreak, unwelcome change, negative emotions etc. If you pull these two cards you can examine them and use your intuition to decide what they mean together depending on the question.

Here is a few examples of questions and answers for this card pull ( King of Swords+ 5 of cups)

How does “xyz” feel about me?

Xyz thinks and talks about you a lot, but xyz is feeling hurt. Xyz feels that if xyz continues to deal with you they will be heartbroken and so they would much rather choose to play it cool and not be emotional with you.

What will happen if I take this job offer?

This job offer may stimulate you mentally and you will communicate and deal with a lot of people. You may find yourself in a higher position where you have to remain tactful and disciplined. Although this position allows you to refine your mental and communication skills you may feel negative about the job sooner or later. You may regret taking the job and may struggle with balancing being rational because you’re clouded by your own emotions. This may make it hard for you to think and see clearly and may cause a struggle to continue working there.

What do I need to work on within myself?

You have a tendency to think yourself into a negative place. You can lose your ability to see clearly because you feel negatively. It can create a pessimistic attitude and can make for heavy conversations between you and others. At times you may try to ignore your negative emotions by being logical, but that may only weaken your ability to think clearly.

Should I go back to xyz?

No. If you go back to xyz the mental connection will not be the same. They are still processing the hurt from the ending of the relationship/situation and aren’t in the place to open up their heart and to be heartfelt. They need time to heal and analyze the relationship before they can consider dealing with you again.

Your intuition lies in discerning which meaning from the cards are being told through the cards. That discernment is intuition. And the more intuitive you are, the easier it will be to read because you can instinctively know why the card has shown up.

Imagery in Tarot

Let’s look at the imagery of one of the tarot cards.

Without knowing the definition we can look at the card and examine meaning. The name �� The Tower”, Tower representing a tall building. The tall building has been struck by lighting ( an uncontrollable force) and has burst into flames. People are being thrown out of the tower ( a high building) which means when they land they will most likely be very hurt or dead. The background is dark symbolizing this happening at night or in the dark. The crown at the top of the tower is titled as if falling down symbolizing that the beautiful tower and all its power it holds is being struck down. Without knowing the meaning of the card I can say the tower represents a very drastic moment that destroys all that has been built and hurts others. Pay attention to the card imagery as it truly gives the meaning.

🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿🧿

[super-rangers]

I love rejanis but I also specifically love your rejanis. I was wondering if you could talk about your approach? What you think is important to their dynamic, and also with what dimensions you built yours out. What you place importance on, what you add (or enhance), and what you ignore (or deemphasize)

This was such a wonderful question that really made me think of my approach to these characters which is aparently not something I think of much since it took me a while to come up with an answer lol

My explanation got long, but hopefully it answered your question!

My initial approach to any ship, but especially rejanis, is trying to understand the characters outside of the ship. What’s their relationship like to other characters, what’s their relationship with themselves? How do they function within the story canon, and how would that change if you took them outside of that? Stuff like that. And sometimes, that’s extrapolating and adding in my own headcanons if things aren’t covered in canon, but I like to think I keep my interpretations pretty close to what’s in canon.

For rejanis, I think one of the most important things to their dynamic is their shared past. That all transforms the way they view each other and interact. Their behaviors come from that understanding/misunderstanding, so it’s an integral part of their relationship to me.

It’s the fact that they know each other. Knew each other. And how that knowing changes over the years as they grow up and grow apart. I like playing with the different ways that past can manifest.

For UIW, I took that prior knowledge and let them keep their understanding of each other. They can still read each other, and they still get each other even before they get close again. On the other hand, there’s Kaleidoscope, where that prior understanding didn’t carry into the present. Regina can’t read Janis as easily; they’re having trouble connecting even as friends before they get together. Both options are fun to write, but the important thing is that both options are anchored in that past relationship. (Sometimes the lack of understanding can be meatier. The urge to understand, the realization that someone you used to know as well as you know yourself has become a stranger. The mourning for what used to be and the desire to get back to that point.)

This might just be bc I’m aro, but I love emphasizing friendship. For UIW, I didn’t want Regina and Janis to get together until they were friends, until they understood each other and had that base. Sure, there was a ton of longing mixed in, but they liked hanging out, they thought each other was funny, and they cared about each other beyond the romantic interest. Even outside the two of them, writing the dynamics of the group as a whole and the individual friendships within that was an important part of my writing process. I just love friendship 😭

Of course, like for Kaleidoscope, sometimes I don’t take the time to delve into that as much, but for longer stories I like building the romance on very homoerotic friendship bc what’s better than that lmao

For Regina specifically, I like to build on the way guilt functions in her – how it affects her relationship to her friends, how it informs her growth, how it affects her attraction to Janis, how it affects her own perspective on that attraction. I like making her want something, too. When I first watched the 2024 movie, my initial reaction to Regina was ‘god this kid is so disgustingly spoiled.’ So it’s fun to make her wait and work for something for once. It’s good for her

For Janis, it’s more about letting herself open up. The person she trusted most in the world betrayed her and ruined her life. That leaves a mark, and I like playing around with how that resulting distrust manifests in her relationships with people and how it can hinder her romance with Regina.

I like to think that in my fics, Janis’ journey is about learning to be vulnerable. Regina’s journey is about vulnerability too, but it’s also about being taken down a peg and learning to be better (and more patient 😂).

I also like to add in banter for them. They don’t interact a ton in the movie, but they’re both very quick and funny people; I think those traits translate well to them being funny together.

As for what I ignore, honestly at times I feel like I let the romance take a backseat sometimes? I love the journey to reach the romance, so most of my focus is on that instead. Sometimes the romance almost functions as a pleasant byproduct of the characters’ growth for me. If I don’t focus on that endgame, I have room to mess around with the characters and make them work together before they fully get together

I’m not sure if that deemphasize bit made sense but I’m sticking with it lol

Anyways I’m done bc I could ramble about these 2 forever

[fudgebuggyy]

✥ The Integral of Us ✥

Pairing: Jayce/ Viktor , Male!OC/Jayce/Viktor

Rating: Mature

Word count: 9k - 2/3 Chapters

Tags: No Hextech AU, Bilgewater lore, married Jayce/Viktor, bearded!Jayce, longhaired!Viktor, Original Character POV, dynamic: married couple adopts little shit

Isak's attention zeroes in on the framed photographs at eye level. One in particular stands out, even in the dark. It’s yellowed with age. Two men grin excitedly, dressed in purple robes and caps as if for a ceremony, faces round with youth, one tall and broad and tawny-skinned, the other slender, elegant, eyes bright as crucibles. 

The ears. The cane. The mole above the right-hand corner of his mouth—

✥ ✥ ✥

When two Piltovian toolmakers open up a workshop in Rat Town (of all places) named Coin & Crank (dreadfully), it gets slopped in fish guts and ransacked within a week. A Piltovian’s stubbornness should’ve come with little surprise, and when they rebuilt, the only reason it wasn’t burnt to the ground was thanks to word getting out that the last ransackers fled the Coin & Crank with permanent brain damage.

(Also, look, they're super fucking hot and all the local twinks are having an existential crisis.)

Isak doesn’t see the man again.

Historically, his reserves for luck last long enough to snatch some smoked meats at the market while the vendor’s not looking, a bed for the night, a bath at a brothel. The rest is chickenshit. Isak’s used to the chickenshit: Lovely day, you say? Watch out for the debt collector who’s been running up and down Rat Town for the past two weeks searching for your scrawny penny-less ass because you tossed all your coin at the wrong razorfin down in the betting dens!

He doesn’t mourn much. 

Selis has barred him from ever working at the Canary again (“If I wanted to run a rowdy whorehouse, I’d be down in Squidrow!”), and while Danni still loves him, she didn’t bother hiding her disappointment (“I love you, Isak. You are a disappointment, Isak.”).

Isak doesn’t see the man again. 

✥ ✥ ✥

Life goes on: an odd job here, an odd job there, followed by wasting all his coin on soggy cigarettes and buckets of terrible ale. He asks Fat Joe for some gold to bet on another razorfin fight. Predictably. He bets on the wrong razorfin. Predictably. 

It turns out Fat Joe’s new arm can give you the kind of concussion that leaves you blind for a day.   

Isak doesn’t see the man again. 

(Predictably.)

✥ ✥ ✥

Not even a month later and Danni has lost interest in her Noxian. She’s swept off her feet by some one-eyed mercenary named Nova (because Danni stores all her luck in her massive tits). She disappears the way she does when she gets sucked into the whirlpool of men or women who promise to take her far away from here, leaving Isak a note at whatever squalid inn he happens to be squatting at. 

They’re the alley cats after all, and if opportunity strikes, offering a warm meal and an even warmer bed for the night, you take it, you fend for yourself. Down here, it’s you against anyone and everyone else; even those you don’t hate that much. 

Isak's only bitter about it because he, on the other hand, is never swept away by any whirlpools of men or women; he gets blue-balled and tossed off laps after five minutes of conversation. 

He tries not to think of the man in the Canary, tries not to think about how he still remembers his name. Tries not to think about the mole above his mouth, or his accent, or his eyes, or his perfectly shaped ears, or his mysterious lover, tries not to imagine they’ve found someone else, some pliable little chumrat who doesn’t know how to suck a man off to save a life. 

It secretly devastates him enough he persuades Fat Joe to lend him some more coin before he stumbles down to the betting deans, high off the delusion that maybe, just maybe, there’s a bored god amongst the sea of them, who thinks, maybe, just maybe, he can let this rascal win. 

He doesn’t. 

He doesn’t so terribly that when the monsoon season arrives at the Serpent Isles, it hits like a battering ram: blackened skies, torrential rains, winds that peel the tin roofs off the shacks in the bay. 

The waters are too treacherous to be ventured into, rendering all serpents around the isles un-slaughtered and all dockworkers scrambling for the few jobs left like dogs snarling over a bone. Trade slows with no merchant vessels able to dock, meaning the city goes uncharacteristically quiet. 

Even though such seasons come around twice a year, Isak never prepares for them properly. 

Like clockwork, he loses his bed and board at another inn after this week’s payment falls short, which isn’t so terrible considering he was sharing a room with some struggling bard who kept trying to touch him in his sleep. 

With Guppy on one arm and an old flour sack with their belongings on the other, he sets out to the only place they’ll be left alone.

Isak likes to think of himself as an opportunist when need be, meaning hunkering down near the outskirts of Bilgewater’s graveyard is a sound decision. 

White Wharf is where the casks woven to grave buoys are left to float, and the people of Bilgewater are a superstitious bunch—you don’t fuck with the dead—so other than the occasional scavenger, the dead are left alone and Isak can enjoy some peace and quiet for once. 

He sets up shelter in one of the abandoned fishing huts near the rock, its roof and floorboards left relatively intact. It’s routine by now; he’s the nomad setting up his tent, making a home in whatever hole he manages to squeeze into. 

The tarp slung over the ground, his mother’s jade charm hung above the ramshackle door to deter unwanted visitors, his little trinkets set up by the crooked window pane like a magpie lining its nest. His current favorite is the opal-crusted tin he stole from a cheating merchant’s wife in the Eyries. He keeps his baby teeth in it. 

Isak gives most of the bread he stole from the temple offerings to Guppy. She burrows into his side, his horned ball of cotton. Yipping contently as he curls around her on the floor. Her heart-shaped belly rises and falls in the dark. Huffing, he pats it, that satisfying pap it makes. He rakes his fingers through her soft fur. She farts. He snorts. “Bless you,” he mumbles, curling around her for warmth, her soft squeals of delight. 

Like this, things don't feel that bad. He’s not that hungry, and he’s not that exhausted, and he’s not that alone, and the rot in the planks doesn’t pinch at his nostrils so much, and he imagines this monsoon season will be over quickly. He can wish it almost like a prayer as he watches his mother’s jade charm swing back and forth above the door. 

Isak doesn’t mourn much—except when he does, when he mourns everything and everyone, and her most of all. 

✥ ✥ ✥

“You want the job or not?” 

“You know, it’s thanks to them you can finger your asshole while you jerk off.” Isak ducks before Fat Joe’s mechanical arm whacks him into oblivion, yet again. 

Arms lifted, Isak tries not to laugh. “I’m just saying! You seriously want to steal from the Tinkers? Don’t you think that’s shitty? Just objectively speaking?”

“Oh, you wanna to talk about objective shittiness? Remind me of how much you owe me? And then while you’re at it, go ahead and remind me of how much you’ve paid back since.”

“I’ve offered you, like...two handies! You can’t tell me I haven’t tried!” Isak lifts his arms, almost slipping on a puddle of ale as he backs up against the bar. 

Because. Yeah. Point taken. 

There really is no code of conduct in this shithole. The sad truth is that Isak owes Fat Joe just as much as Fat Joe owes someone else, and said someone else owes enough to someone who will likely lock them in a fishing crate lined with cannon shards and toss them into the bay. It’s a real depressing loop of the luck-less. And so Isak isn’t even that mad when Fat Joe pulls his usual half-baked threat: “Either you take the job, or I’ll demonstrate what this managed to do to a cantaloupe,” he lets the mechanical arm whirr, “and this time I’ll be using your head.”

Isak bites his tongue in hopes that’ll keep him from saying something supremely stupid, like how maybe Joe should stop saying stuff like that because it sounds an awful lot like he fucked the cantaloupe. Isak decides to stare at the half-eaten plate Joe left on the bar counter instead. 

“Nothing specific, right?” he says to the potatoes. 

“Just go the for shiny-looking shit.” Joe makes a show of pushing a potato to the grimy floor. 

Shrugging, Isak shifts to pick it up. “Easy enough.”

“You brought rocks the last time.” Crushing the potato beneath his boot, Joe leans in close. 

“They were painted gold!”

“Yellow algae powder, you fucking toad.”

“Damn, Joe, so you remember that but you still need to use your fingers to count—”

This time, Isak doesn’t duck fast enough.

✥ ✥ ✥

So Isak is good at being an opportunist; whore one night, drug mule the next, a barback, a scavenger, he’ll dig through serpent’s guts if someone told him it had swallowed a whole pirate’s loot. 

And even though he makes a spectacular harlot, he makes an even better thief. 

Small enough to squeeze through cracked windows and storm drains, a chimney once, and the places he can’t get to, Guppy can. There’s a terrible place in the afterlife reserved for assholes who teach their poros to crawl through pipes to open doors from the inside, to grab shiny little keys and toss bags of gold out open windows. 

It’s quiet near the temple grounds, the artist’s quarter lined with herbalists and chemists, weaving houses and shops that sell jewelry made of bone coral. Every corner here has been blessed by the priestesses. When Danni still considered herself Buhru, she told him everything around the temple grounds has to be in alignment, it’s something to do with energies, patterns finding their balance, all that spiritual blah-blah. Only the chosen are allowed to stay here, and even fewer are allowed into the temple itself.

Ancient Buhru carvings ripple from the cliffside, they’re engraved in the wood of walkways, in window trims and doorframes. Images of waves, of Kraken tails, the sick and injured healed by the spirits. Bilgewater is for the superstitious, full of believers. They don’t mess with the dead and they most certainly don’t mess with the holy—and again, Isak is good at being an opportunist. 

For a moment he settles into an alley across from the Coin & Crank. He scans its weathered timber facade, its mismatched windows, the clean Piltovian script etched into the signage above the door. He’s never seen it before, only pieced it together in his mind during the last talk he had with Fat Joe, who’d pulled some poor street urchin to watch the shop for a week. (“They’ve been closing early because of the weather. They turn off the lamps in the shop and head upstairs, ten o’clock on the dot. You just gotta watch out for the cripple. Sometimes he works at night—”)

Isak watches the rain hammer across the crooked roof before streaming onto a line of potted plants arranged beneath the storefront. A candle flickers behind the porthole on the second floor, big and round, the watchful gaze of a whale. 

Lightning strikes. 

He checks his pocket watch: It’s almost midnight. 

When the thunder rolls into the bay, he moves. Guppy bolts ahead, her stubby legs dribbling through the puddles.  

They make quick work of a back window, fiddling with the trap Joe warned them about. (“Place is booby-trapped as all hell!”—He repeated it often enough Isak’s sure he just enjoys hearing himself say booby.) They've broken into enough places to know their way around typical traps; counterweights and pulley systems, sets of spring-loaded clamps. But Isak quickly realizes the Tinkers are clever assholes. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out they’ve set a decoy, and it takes him an even embarrassingly longer time to cajole Guppy into fiddling with the right mechanisms, trying to goad her with scraps of bread he keeps stuffed in his pockets to get her to listen. His cape is soggy with rain and sweat by the time Guppy has jammed the tip of his pocket knife into a set of hidden gears, stopping the mechanism long enough for Isak to squeeze through the window. 

They stare at each other in silence, waiting for the satisfying click as the gears are jammed fully.  

Easy. 

“Good girl,” Isak mouths, giving Guppy a pat to her flank. She answers with a muted chortle. 

Easy. 

They move quickly. His messenger bag opened, Guppy crawling onto shelves and worktables, tossing trinkets that Isak snatches mid-air. They grab anything, everything, stray coins and brass-like cogs, gold-plated screws, glow stones glimmering apple-green in the dark. A shiny spyglass, a compass shaped like a flower. Guppy throws, Isak catches, they move like the inside of a watch. The two of them inching through the dark as the storm masks each clank inside their filling messenger bag. 

Isak works his way across the wide worktables scattered with papers and prints and scraps and tools, ending at the shelves in the far back of the shop. They look thoughtfully arranged in presentation. Filled with books, their spines painted in swirling silver and gold, framed plaques, trophies flanked by paintings and photographs and a collection of objects that don’t look Piltovian: a silver acorn, a prayer bell with its geometric patterns painfully Targon, scarab amulets and white fur pouches, leftovers of what looks like a dagger hilt painted in Noxian red. 

There’s so much. 

Isak carefully glides his fingers over the treasures—because they are treasures, all of it, special the way only a bounty can be—thinking of the faraway places they must’ve come from. He stops at a comb propped up next to a set of photographs. The comb is made of wood, its dark stain, its swirling clouds and blossom patterns. 

Ionia. 

Isak reaches for it, eager as a child, and he presses it to his nose, unthinking, eyes closed as he inhales. Something huge and terrible wells in his stomach. 

He hears Guppy trot towards the back of the shop. He opens his eyes, his attention zeroing in on the framed photographs at eye level. One in particular stands out, even in the dark. It’s yellowed with age. Two men grin excitedly, dressed in purple robes and caps as if for a ceremony, faces round with youth, one tall and broad and tawny-skinned, the other slender, elegant, eyes bright as crucibles. 

The ears. The cane. The mole above the right-hand corner of his mouth—

Click.

Isak has had enough pistols cocked at his back to recognize the sound. 

The comb clatters to the floor. His hands shoot up. The hood of his cape slips. Somewhere in the back of the shop Guppy squeals. 

“Turn.” A man’s voice, low and liquid. 

Isak does what he’s told. 

He still remembers his name. 

Does he remember his?

In the murky dark, Isak watches as Viktor’s face twists then loosens with something like recognition. His mouth opens. He wants to say something, anything. “I—”

“Vik!” 

Another man’s voice bellows through the shop, coming from somewhere in the back. “I give up! Grab the next screwdriver and shatter my eardrums. I can’t sleep in this weather.” The man sputters a deep laugh. The creaking of wood, pounding of footsteps. 

Isak’s mind clings to Guppy, somewhere, somewhere in the shop and the panic claws through him so quickly he almost doubles over. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—

Viktor’s face smooths out. Isak can’t breathe. 

Two things happen in quick succession: Viktor shuffles back and unlocks the door, shuffles forward, cane knocking across the floor as he stashes the pistol beneath the worktable beside him. 

The lamps turn on, revealing Guppy frozen in the middle of the workshop, cowering low as she stares up at a mountain of a man. "Oh—How’d you get in here?” The man, the man from the picture, huge in the cramped workshop. Isak knows it’s him even with the beard, the longer hair. He hovers in the entrance to a hallway Isak hadn’t spotted in the dark. 

For a second the man softens, staring down at Guppy whose usually twitching tail stands upright in shock. 

And then things change.  

The man stiffens, looks up, sees Viktor. Sees Isak. 

The panic lashes out, zig-zags up his throat to punch him right under the chin. Vision swimming, just for a moment. 

The glare in the man’s eyes is all Isak needs to know that he was the one who made sure the last ransackers never returned.

Get ready, get fucking ready—

Viktor clears his throat. “As I said, we’re closed.” They stare at him, his casualness, his voice steady like he’s picking up a conversation. Like his eyes weren’t blown with panic just moments ago, like Isak isn’t choking on breath. “Our opening hours are written on the sign outside. We can take a look at your hand another time.”

Viktor’s eyes flick to Isak’s fingers, resting on the messenger bag. 

His fingers. 

Did you notice at the Canary? When I was touching you, did you notice?

He can’t help but think of his eyes, what they looked like from up close, the thick fanning of lashes. 

Big Man crosses the small space so fast Isak doesn’t have enough time to react, feels him loom as he stations himself between Isak and Victor. 

Partner, Isak thinks. The Tinkers, like a surname, like a couple. 

The man’s face mars with confusion as he half-turns towards Viktor. “Sorry, I thought I—No, I’m pretty sure I locked the door.”

Viktor shrugs. Isak stares at the worktable where the pistol is stashed. He thinks of all the other weapons hidden around the shop. Holy grounds or not, this is Bilgewater after all. Not that Big Man needs much to bash a head in. 

Viktor shuffles past the guy, tapping his cane against a muscled calf. “Latch didn’t catch. I told you to fix it.”

“I fixed it.” 

“Clearly.”

The man looks confused again, wary maybe, and he jerks back ready to argue. “No. No, I’m sure that I—”

“Again, as I said,” Viktor cuts him off and faces Isak fully, “thank you for your visit, but we are closed.”

Lightning strikes, its light cleaving between them before the thunder hits. 

Guppy lurches into the air, scrambling around the shop and hitting her head on a table leg before she bumbles against Isak. She yips once and loud, and great, now she’s crying, and Isak can’t feel his legs as he drags her up, her stubby paws wheeling in the air as she desperately searches for purchase. She crawls up his chest, digs her wet nose into his neck, whining. 

Isak is good at being an opportunist, except when he isn’t, and really, this is it, this is the chickenshit. And if he's being honest, he's too hungry to think straight, he's so fucking hungry he could sob from it, fold from it, and he’s tired. He’s so unfathomably exhausted he wants to open the messenger bag, flip it upside down, dig his knees into the floorboards and let these beautiful men kick him until his skull splits in two, and he can’t breathe anymore, he can’t breathe, and maybe, just maybe, just for a moment, that bored god amongst the sea of them will see this and think, hey, okay, this little harlot really isn't doing so well, maybe we can give him a break? 

Will anyone out there just give him a fucking break?

Big Man stares at Guppy for so long even Viktor seems mildly confused. 

Then Big Man stares at Isak, then back at Guppy, and then something in his face changes. It’s disorienting seeing someone of this size go from unthreatened to threatened to unthreatened again. Isak’s dizzy from the whiplash. His mouth is dry and his vision goes blurry, and he wants to press the heels of his hands into his eyes, tilt his head back like he’s trying to stop a nosebleed. 

“Well.” Big Man clears his throat. “You must’ve come a long way.”

“Yes, and he can come a long way at a more appropriate time.” Viktor jerks his cane towards the door. 

Big Man rests his hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “He’s not usually this charming. It’s the weather,” he says. “So, you're here because of your hand, is that right?” He looks at Isak’s fingers. Viktor looks at the messenger bag. 

The messenger bag. Right. Shit. 

“Uh, no, it—Yeah. But, you know, that’s—” Isak clears his throat. His voice wobbling and grating and unfamiliar. “That’s alright. I’ll—uh—head out.” Run? Should he just make a run for it? Toss himself from the next cliff perhaps? Best to just kill himself. “This was…” He nods. Guppy’s butt whacks him in the cheek as she tries to dig a hole into his neck. His focus zeroes in on the unlocked door. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll just—” He shuffles forward, tries to wedge himself past them. He’ll run, he’ll run.

“I’ll head out.”

“Good,” Viktor says, the handle of his cane hooking into the strap of the messenger bag, pulling.

“Nonsense.” Big Man grabs Isak by the shoulder, the messenger bag slipping from the handle, and he ushers Isak towards a worktable in one easy swoop. If Isak thought he had whiplash before, being manhandled this smoothly definitely did it. 

Fuck—

“Sit.”

“Jayce.”

“We don’t charge for consultations.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

Isak feels like someone yanked his tongue out of his head. He can’t speak, can’t find the right thing to say, a desire he usually shoves to the bottom of any and all priorities.

Viktor and Big Man—Jayce— have a whole mumbled conversation: What else are we going to do? You’re telling me you’re going to sleep through that? Thunder shattering all around. Might as well do something useful. 

Viktor’s brow cocks at a deadly angle, and what follows is an argument carried out with nothing but scrunched noses and eyebrows, which Jayce seems to win by a margin.

Isak sits, struck like a live wire, Guppy clawing at his neck like she’s trying to find a way inside of him. 

What is happening right now?

What is happening?

“Alright, let me get the template boards.” Heading towards the hallway in the back, Jayce almost sounds...giddy.

“We haven’t had a single customer in days,” Viktor mumbles, more to himself than Isak. His stare feels like a slap to the face. It’s nothing like back at the Canary.

Isak must really be the unluckiest bastard on this floating pile of garbage. 

Viktor nudges the chair so Isak faces him, his cane bullying itself between his legs. He feels for something on the handle, and with a click, the cane shoots up, revealing a blade digging into the floorboards like a splice. As Viktor leans in close the cane, almost sweetly, skims the edge of Isak’s inner thigh. Something hiccups through his throat. Spreads there on the roof of his mouth. Panic, panic and everything else. 

“Did you follow me?”

“No, I—I didn’t know, I swear.”

“Have you been watching me?”

“Look, I promise,” Isak tries to swallow but everything in his throat has congealed, “this was just supposed to be some—”

“—terrible coincidence?”

Isak can’t muster an answer. He doesn’t like how Viktor chose the word terrible. 

He must be easy enough to read because something in Viktor’s shoulders shifts, just a fraction. “I thought you didn’t do house visits.”

Isak can’t hold back a wheezy incredulous laugh. What the fuck?

“This isn’t our first monsoon season. I suppose I don’t blame anyone for trying. And I have to admit,” almost amused, “I’m impressed you got inside.”

“Wasn’t that hard.”

“Is that so?”

“Maybe, maybe next time—I don't know...hide the gearbox better.” 

"It was underneath the floor." Viktor’s faces loses all humor. The cane presses into Isak’s thigh so hard his breath hitches. “You will not steal from us again. Is that understood?”

Viktor kicks the messenger bag underneath the worktable, a pretty Piltovian coin escaping and rolling across the floor before Viktor’s foot slams over it. 

Isak swallows. He nods. 

“Good.” Viktor seems to believe him. He softens again, and for a moment they look at each other.

He doesn't appear as put-together as he did at the brothel. His long wavy hair scraped into a sloppy ponytail, the collar of his shirt peeled open, his collarbone there, the fine swoop of his neck. Was he asleep before this? The both of them? In a bed upstairs? In the room with the round window and the candle? 

Something hot and uncomfortable blooms in his stomach. 

When Viktor finally leans back, Isak slumps back in the chair. He feels like a hand has loosened from his throat. He sits there in a pile of himself, bone atop bone atop muscle atop muscle.

He feels useless as he watches Viktor lock the shop doors, get a fire going in the hearth, useless as he stares at the strangely shaped wooden boards Jayce spreads out on the worktable once he returns.

Will Jayce not ask? Why Isak stumbled in here in the middle of the night assuming they were open? Will he not check the latch in the door? Pat him down? Will he not ask? 

But Jayce settles on a chair opposite from him, calm as a manatee, and he does not ask. 

Mercy doesn’t exist in a place like Bilgewater. It’s so foreign to Isak he can only think of it in the same vein he would miracles or sudden bouts of fortune. Luck so special it can’t possibly be real, even less so for thieves and liars. Luck so extraordinary it’s meant for kings. 

There's this thing his body does sometimes—or maybe it’s his head, or his spirit, something complicated. He feels like he’s floating outside of himself, unlatching, unsticking, and he’s inches away and not fully inside, gazing down at each moment as it passes.  

His hands are so cold they’re tinged gray beneath the worktop lamp, its long neck craned over his palm, his stumps where his fingers used to be. Joints so cold they're cramped together, arthritic, like a clam. 

Viktor and Jayce—the Tinkers—they’re talking but Isak feels like he’s listening from the bottom of a murky tub. 

May I?  Someone asks, and he nods, and his hand is taken, pried apart so carefully, turned, touched, by thick nimble fingers. The dark hairs on those fingers, the scar running along a knuckle. The silver ring there. 

They’re too small for our regular socket fits.

Small enough for a coil spring though. 

Maybe adjust the anchor point here? A cool pale finger runs up the stumps of Isak’s own. 

Long, steadfast, a pianist’s fingers, or a harpist’s, interrupted by knuckles like pods of poppyseed. The silver ring there. 

There’ll be some harnessing necessary. 

A strap that loops around the wrist like this, you see?

Too tight?

Too loose? 

They discuss things like flexion and extension and circumference. There’s twine and there’s chalk, calipers, instruments that look like rulers.  

Has his hand ever been prodded and poked at this much? Looked at this intensely? His ugly three-fingered crab claw. 

He sees nothing but these strangers’ hands like creatures tenderly getting acquainted with his own, moving around each other like gears linking, linking, linking, linking—

We have an arrangement. The memory of Victor’s words from the Canary bubble up inside of him. 

Isak stares at their matching silver rings. Pretty. Charming. 

Have they found someone for their arrangement? Have they been busy arranging?

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, watching. He thinks someone asks him if he’s hungry, but he’s too outside of himself to know. And he doesn’t know if they asked out of politeness or because they were getting themselves something to eat anyways or if his hunger is somehow sitting on top of him, pearling out of his pores like sweat. He guesses he’s always hungry. Maybe he was born hungry, ravenous, gluttonous, terrible.

Then there’s bread and there’s cheese and there’s meat and apple slices.

He eats. Guppy eats. They inhale, shovel as much as they can into their mouths, stomachs like ravines. 

The last time they had a full meal was in the betting dens three weeks ago. Or four?  

He’s so warm all over. He’s so tired. His jaw aches from all the chewing and his mouth falls open, and he knows he’s saying things, and he wants to say everything, because he has no principles or sense of self-preservation or capacity for shame.

He’s speaking through a haze, from the bottom of this murky tub, bobbing in and out of conversation, unsure about who said what and if he even said anything out loud in the first place. 

Freljordian, huh? That's Jayce. His voice is not as low as Viktor’s. It’s affirming and warm, like a shoulder squeeze. He has a voice for stories, for reading aloud, for speeches. 

It makes things inside of Isak hum. He hums with it. 

Part. My mother was from Ionia. Have you been? The comb on the shelf. 

Couple of years back, yes. 

We've been, hmm...three times?

Four. 

You know that time didn't count.  An inside joke. 

We’re nomads of sorts. The acorn, the prayer bell, the scarab amulets, the pouches of white fur. 

I guess I’m a nomad too.

They speak about everything, they speak about nothing in particular.

Viktor tells him they were scholars once, before they left. 

Our old professor had a poro. 

A poro in Piltover?

Well, I certainly didn't expect to see one here, of all places. 

What are they made of, do you think?

Love. They’re made only of love. 

Is that so?

It must be. 

What’s his name?

Her name’s Guppy. She followed me here. 

Followed you from where?

Everyone in Bilgewater was someone else before this, its impenetrable fog banks hiding you from the past, keeping you. 

Sometimes it feels like existing in a vacuum. 

Like the afterlife. 

Yeah, kind of like that. Like the afterlife…

They speak about everything, they speak about nothing in particular. 

From the bottom of his murky tub, Isak blinks and looks up and sees these two strange men at the surface. They're gazing at each other, talking. It’s that look before a kiss.

It's quiet now. The rain must've stopped. 

✥ ✥ ✥

There is an extraordinary kind of luck reserved for kings. Isak decides to name it mercy. 

[dinosaurchurch]

It's been a little while since I've made an update.

It's hard to believe that 2024 is half over. Something that I find as you get older time seems to go faster. It's been a world of difference for me being thirty compared to twenty. I've had people ask me about a lot of things, one namely being how do I stay so calm during times of stress or how do I feel about this decade so far? I feel a lot of things honestly, the world no longer holds that fleeting sense that I'm by myself but rather that I've chosen a path that's been curated for me and there will be others that will intersect with my path on occasion, but it's alright not to be the same person.

I don't write as much of these deep thoughts just because the support system I have - the people I trust have provided sufficient enough ground for me to walk on when things get rough. I think that's one of the beautiful things about when people grow together no matter the type of relationship you share with them. Nobody is perfect and we all have our struggles but it's knowing when you need to reach out and grab someone else's hand for stability that's half the battle. I've had to let down my hair so to speak and just embraced the softer side of myself over the past handful of years. The pandemic really did a number on my mental health along with losing those that were close to me via death or other means but it's something that I reflect on. Something that I like to look back upon as a lesson or turning point - a chapter of my life marked by someone or something as it overlaps another.

As people we're meant to grow and flourish, to stagnate is to die in a sense. Just as time passes so too should our thoughts of self doubt and insecurity; it's amazing getting to see that spark be ignited in someone else to be authentically themselves. That one of life's biggest points: to become the best version of you that you possibly can be and to put yourself first without compromising your integrity even if that makes an enemy out of others. I've been a person for the majority of my life that didn't let people box me in, to simply and frankly not give a fuck is one of the best feelings - that freedom to be yourself is something I think folks these days are almost afraid of. I've watched too many people get hung up on the smallest of details when they don't need to. The biggest folks that are trying to hold you back are those too insecure to face the music and live outside of someone else's shadow - the people who are envious of other people making their own happiness and finding said happiness for themselves.

There's something almost surreal about living life and getting to actually stop and sniff the roses. Over the past four years I think that's what happened to me, I was forced to slow down - almost mourning the high paced intensity that everything had provided but the pandemic ripped everything out from under my feet to the point that I was lost. Who was Vivian? I didn't know and I couldn't tell you because I had put so much stock into superficial things thinking I knew it all when I didn't. Being put in the position where I had to either sink or swim really grounded me and removed me from my rigid thoughts - the thoughts that I'd perish if everything wasn't just so. Having to let go of myself in that moment was terrifying but it had to be done.

If you never face hardship you never grow as a person.

That's something that I learned the hard way. People do a lot of preaching this 'live, laugh, love' shit and other such 'profound' or 'deep' nonsense but a lot don't truly understand what the words they speak mean. To be unapologetically yourself and having to get back on your feet is not always something you can do by yourself, for me it definitely wasn't. There came to a point that I realized that even the people that had caused me hell had been there to teach me something about life and about myself that I wouldn't of learned without them. So when people ask me if I have any regrets my answer is no, everything up to this point - the good and the bad - was worth the end result (present me). I let go of the apprehension of having to admit I needed help during that time too - that I had to reach out because I wasn't capable of being my usual 'one man army' that I was used to. If I could say anything it's I hated to fail (still kinda do) and I wasn't going to lay down and let anything stop me. Certainly not the negativity I had gone through.

My vindictive streak had almost vanished, it wasn't really until this year that I could even really say that I felt like an adult too but it's because I understand the struggle that not only I went through but that of others too. I think it's best to live life trying to make it as easy as possible for yourself and others if you can instead of seeing everything as 'every man for himself' sort of deal. Life is hard enough without trying to add and being selfish never amounts to anything good if I were to say anything.

Even the people that have done me wrong in the past (or will in the future) come from a place of hurt. Whether they've failed themselves or simply have been in a place where they feel the need to lash out I can understand where they're coming from because at one point or another that was me. Every version of you is true, to some people you were terrible and others - fantastic. What you chose to do with that information determines the person you are and ultimately become. The first step in growing and healing is understanding the moments where you were at your worst and not repeating them but building upon them. It takes a lot to admit you were at fault for some of the hardships within your life but to continue, you have to own up for what you've done.

Hard times have humbled me, they've kept my ego in check much better than I might've given them credit for. I still go by the mantra 'be kind, but take no shit'

Life is good. I think it's only been in recent times that I've been able to reflect upon the past without that heavy sense of longing like I was missing something from it. Now I glance back understanding that forward is the only way to go; change isn't a bad thing and we all need a bit - that's just par for the course. It's incredible how much the small things amount into something grand. From day to day I don't feel like I shift much but peering back at myself from the start of the year I would say I'm even a different person from now to then in some aspects. The further back I go, the more different I am. It's that introspection that gives me a sense of accomplishment. I've come a long way, longer than I realize.

I've begun to understand things as they are, why things happen the way they do and accept that. For a long time I didn't want to change, I couldn't stand the thought of having everything slip out of my fingers. I think that was my biggest takeaway from the pandemic years - that nothing is eternal but that's okay. Life was never meant to last forever and that's why we have to cherish what we have now. It's kind of like savouring the flavour of something in the moment and learning to appreciate that moment because you'll never know if it was a 'once in a lifetime' event or not for certain things - same goes for people.

There's been a lot of people that have been an absolute gift and even if I might've grown apart or chosen a different path from them I can appreciate the time we spent. I think that's how I view the years and memories I've shared with people on my journey too, having a very candid viewpoint is nice - sometimes it's good to just live in the moment.

It's good to just live for yourself too.

Everything balances out in the end - the good, the bad, and even everything in between. It feels lovely to not let the little things worry me like they used to, it's really given be a different perspective on life and how to go about my own happiness.

It's nice to be here...

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP memes from Reddit 10/17/2023

“I doubt you can potty train a duck.” “It appeals the male fantasy.” “I never understood why people consider male ballerina effeminate. They are highly athletic, coordinated, and surrounded by women. If anything that makes it more stereotypically masculine.” “Pick an obscure programming language, write lots of important code, and don’t comment or document anything.” “Impostor syndrome nothing, dude, you are the real deal.” “I’m trying to figure out how many is too many.” “Each one of these ladies could crush my head between their legs.” “If you're having trouble learning to like yourself, first learn to tolerate yourself.” "Maybe it's not a caring issue. Maybe it's a boundary issue." “Feel your feelings! Get the chart and get words for how you actually feel and write it down. Ok and tired are not feelings.” “Morbid curiosity keeps me going.” “I’ve always said if zombies exist I’ll kill myself. Like no I’m not gonna get eaten alive or see my family and friends gored to death.” “Seriously, so tired of all of this "I'd be king of the zombie apocalypse" bullshit, no, you wouldn't be king, you'd be delicious.” “I want the first nuke to hit me in the face. I don’t feel like having neighborhood wars over a can of green beans.” “She may be a little crazy but crazy is fucking hot.” “Nothing fuels all night gaming like a half pound of sugar and half gallon of pure military grade red 40.” “Is this the "macrodosing" I've been hearing about?” “This could absolutely destroy someone’s psyche.” “American culture has integrated to our minds now we even use their phrases even if it's not relevant to us, thanks Obama.” “I mean if I can have a friend plop that bitch into a block of epoxy and lock it down in a museum in mongolia or some shit it might be fine.” “That's bought me a little breathing room.” “I am trapped on the one planet in the entire universe where I can actually die, and I have no intention of staying there.” “So that's the way the universe ends. With nothing in it except for infrared heat, one hyperintelligent snail suspended in an inky void, and one human screaming away from it at .99C.” “When did you become immortal?” “I have witnessed the first breath of life in many galaxies and have watched the evolutionary process on planets similar to earth.” “If a planet eventually died, I would mourn them and the potential they had.” “I've searched but there really is no other life.” “I have never found another like me.” “This really was the last inhabitable planet.” “I gave them everything.” “Is it some alien snail as big as a car?” “This guy is definitely building a kill dozer in his warehouse.” “No one should be forced to fight in a war for a country that doesn’t give a shit about them.” “You see that too, right?” “Fight or flight, bro, what’s the move?” “My dogs are legit traumatized.”

[sea-buns]

Pride PSA

I know we're nearing the end of pride month so it's a bit late for this, but I had a 3am reflection on my coming out that I hope can be helpful for the queer youths of tumblr.

If you are not 200% sure that your parent, or guardian, or whoever you live with is gonna be chill with who you are do NOT risk it. Seriously. There is no room for "its probably fine" or "I'm pretty sure". If you can't say for absolute certain that there won't be backlash, then I plead with you to stay closeted until you know for a fact you are safe.

I knowww pride month gets us so excited and we see other people celebrating and we wanna join in. Trust me, I know. Especially if it's an impulse thing. Or you're tired of how suffocating it can feel to have to stifle yourself all the time. Or you're so pissed at the homophobic comments that get thrown around at the dinner table, you just wanna do something to spite it all. I've been there, I am there, I get you.

But having been someone who'd read and heard so many stories of coming outs going terribly, and thought "well that kinda thing will never to happen to me"

...ha ha spoiler alert I was incredibly WRONG

Sometimes your loved ones may seem chill and it gives you a false sense of security. Which really just fuels the impulse decisions.

I was completely isolated from everyone and everything for years. Any trace of me online before then was forcibly erased. I'm stuck mourning the loss of friends I never even knew I'd never speak to again, and the formative teenage experiences that I grew up anticipating but now will never know. This is just the TLDR, you guys. Though I'm an adult, I still live at home for many internal and external reasons, and I've only recently been able to very slowly integrate myself back onto the internet.

I feel grateful that I wasn't thrown out of my house. It may have come to that if I didn't back down claim straight out of fear. Those should never be sentences that anyone, of any age, can relate to. And it is for sure not the standard you should be holding people to. If that's where your bar is RAISE IT. Don't let me catch you with that bullshit.

I'm walking into this post fully expecting for some people to read it, think the same shit I did, and then make the same mistake. Unfortunately, it can be hard to grasp statistics without a physical form to hold in your hands. Even if you're the kinda person who cries at other people's stories, it is so freakishly easy to forget the fear when you see slightest glint that maybe it'll be okay.

It feels wrong to tell you not to hope. But it feels far worse to have the rug pulled out from under you.

I'm not saying to never hope at all. You will find people who love you and accept you. That's a hard fucking truth. It's going to happen. One day, you're gonna meet someone, like you, who lights up your whole world and it's gonna be amazing. Hold out hope for them, I promise you it's worth it.

Bottom line is, I'm hoping this sticks with somebody. I'm hoping I've caught you before the jump, and you've been able to earnestly consider what I've said before taking that leap of faith. There is nothing wrong with staying in the closet. Pride month is not "coming out month".

All I ask is that you prioritize your safety and well-being above all else.

Happy Pride <3

[ventusninja]

Journal of Scientific Inquiries

Chapter 7: Determination and Empty Souls

(Trigger warning for an attempted suicide. Please be mindful of your mental health and tread carefully. I couldn't find a clean split between the trigger warning markers. If you find yourself being triggered at any point, skip to the end of the marker.)

I went to Gerson, an elderly tortoise justice m-h. I inquired about anyone with a determination carapace soul and nothing else. He said he's seen some, mostly from his time on the surface. All of them belonged to humans who were all angry, often picked fights, or blow up at the smallest inconvenience. Some were apathetic to the point that they could trick themselves into being fine. These people were also the type of people to be in terrible situations.

I think I now have a working hypothesis: people with these souls have lost all hope. They have forgotten patience, kindness, justice, integrity, bravery, and even somehow perseverance. All they have left is determination for their set goal and the lingering feelings of bitterness, resentment, and apathy. I think Empty souls is an apt name.

Asr Flowey visited me at my home today, after 6 months after the incident. She was ready to talk. First, she had me admit why I have a black soul. I told her everything I could. She asked if I could see Chara's spirit. I couldn't and stated as much. That was when Flowey unloaded everything they've held close to themself.

TW~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Asriel thought she was in shock. After Chara collapsed in the secret passage and me out of commission as well, Asriel focused on solidifying pur protection. When Chara didn't wake and their soul was encapsulated, Asriel described only feeling empty and numb, despite the plentiful amount of tears that flowed. Even after she was cleared from the hospital, she felt numb. She probably was in shock, for a vast majority of it. But even when she was taken back to the castle, she felt nothing. When both her parents loved on her, mourned for what happened, when they both got so unbelievably angry at what the cult had taken, Asriel felt nothing but empty. Even when they went to bury Chara, Asriel couldn't find it in her to grieve. She felt undeserving of this second chance at life, while Chara was dead. She tried to put her second chance to good use: letting me expirament with her, remind her parents what they still have, entertain the orphans, etc. But each day became more and more of a struggle. Each day, Asriel couldn't find a reason to keep going. Despite everyone around her, she felt alone. It got to the point where she attempted to take her own life. She traveled to an empty section of Underworld and gaze at the Molten Lava bellow. She sat there for hours before detaching her roots and plummeting down the cliff face.

TW~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In those seconds of falling into the magical, molten lava, Flowey felt something pull at her soul. It was, as she described, something not entirely hers but familiar all the same. At that moment, she no longer wanted to die. She wanted to live. She screamed that burning desire that only intensified. Her vision became filled with a blinding, golden light. The next thing she knew, she was at the top of the cliff face staring down at the lava below.

She described feeling confused. She heard a familiar voice screaming something about resets, then she saw Chara, or their spirit at least. They sat there, talking, like nothing ever happened. Then came the topic of what happened: Flowey can reset. Flowey has become more determined than Sol. Flowey figured that she could possibly undo the incident. She brought up the reset button and hit reset, but again, Flowey found herself staring down the cliff. They tried again and again, and again, and again, but no matter how many times she reset, she'd always come back to staring down at the lava below. After about 10 times Flowey gave up. She decided to try and move forward with her life as someone new. So she and Chara came up with the name of Flowey, something friendly and unassuming, and Flowey went around to those close to Asriel and Chara to start anew. Flowey left a final goodbye note to Asgore and Torel. She didn't disclose what she wrote specifically. [I asked if I could experiment with her on the resets. I said we will have to have a full notification for all determination m-hs on the experiment we would be conducting however Flowey would remain anonymous. I also told her that this experiment would be beneficial for the both of us. She agreed after minutes later.]

Update. I requested a machine to be made by the technology science department that can data lock an item so it is not affected by resets. I'm tired of having to rewrite the same thing over and over again. [Plus with this next experiment, I don't know how far back we will reset for.] The new lab has been finished for a while and humans are temporarily banned from joining any of the science divisions. The Technological science department outdid themselves because not only did they create a capsule that can keep any item inside unchanged by resets, but also the machine itself should be unhindered by resets, even if we were to reset to a time before the machine was created.

[Update. I had told Asgore about the experiment and requested that she make an announcement to the whole Underground about reset experimentation occurring during this time, and that Determination m-hs take it easy and seek mental health if things get rough. We are set to start resets tomorrow.]

Update. Flowey Reset back 1 day

Update. Flowey Reset back 1 week

Update. Flowey Reset back 1 month

Update. Flowey tried to reset back a year, but it set us back on the unremarkable day for me, and tragic reminder for Flowey. I have a bit of a working theory on why Flowey can't reset farther right now. That day, at that specific time, for Flowey, was the date Flowey made a very important life altering choice. And the potential consequences were undone, like it never happened. I believe we just figured out a potential weak spot of the 'over powered' reset. Resetting is still powerful, but the person that reset can't go back further than the last major life decision they made. I'm thinking of calling this phenomena 'key events'. We still need to figure out what exactly makes up a key event. I now want to know why Sol's key events stop at the exact point a victim falls into the Underground and not right before. Hopefully answering the former question helps lead to the answer for the second question.

Update. I looked back at my previous notes. I can't believed I didn't comprehend that Flowey could see Chara. Or their spirit at least. Based on what is presented in front of me, Flowey can see Chara due to having a piece of their soul as her own. I won't know for sure unless I do more experiments on this matter.

Chapter 6 <-

Chapter 8 ->

[akaraboonline]

How To Tell What A Guy Wants From You

Men are enigmatic beings, and it can be difficult to know where you stand with them at times. Dating and relationships would be so much simpler if you knew what a guy wanted, but sometimes it seems nearly impossible to interpret the signs. Here are 10 questions to ask yourself to figure out exactly How To Tell What A Guy Wants From You if you're having trouble understanding his actions. Has he introduced you to his family and friends? If he includes you in his circle of friends and family, he probably wants to get to know you. If they don't envision themselves pursuing anything more than a few casual hookups, most guys won't bring the female they're seeing to a family cookout or a friend's poker night. Why would he spend so much time and effort on it? He's only integrating you into his environment to check if you fit in with his group; there's no other purpose. If you do, he might even make things formal between the two of you. When does he call or text you? Does he text you right away after waking up? That indicates that he thinks about you right away. Is this his only time of day to text you? That is evidence that you are only a booty call. Is it always you who sends the first text, or does he occasionally reach out as well? 50/50 should be the rule here. Does he neglect to text or phone you for several days at a time? That suggests that he probably doesn't really like you. Has he repeatedly left you on read? That can imply that he doesn't think highly of you. Are you having sex with him? Is he hooking up with other people in addition to you, or are you the only one with whom he has sex? Other than having sex, what else do you guys enjoy doing? He probably only wants sex from you if you spend all of your time in his bedroom and never go out to the movies or get a bite to eat. Where do you guys spend your time? Are you going on dates with him? Do you spend all of your time on the couch in his apartment, or do you venture out to the movies and try the newest burger spot in town? He might not want to put that much effort into things if you never do things together. Nobody really like watching Netflix while relaxing. How’s the conversation when you’re together? Can you engage in meaningful conversation or is it simply small talk? Is there a lot of sexual talk? Has he disclosed to you information about his family and his aspirations? Do you two chat together or does one of you talk more? When determining what a guy wants from you, you must consider all of these factors and ask yourself the following questions. Has he told you what he wants? Believe him if he says he's just seeking for a hookup or a friendship with benefits. Avoid attempting to negotiate or hoping that he may alter your mind. You'll only be disappointed and perhaps even devastated if he doesn't. Is he in a place in his life to be in a relationship? Consider his current situation in life honestly. He can still be in mourning or harbor sentiments for his ex if he recently ended a long-term relationship. You must keep in mind that he will leave in the fall if he is only here for a summer internship. What he expects from his time with you will depend on all of these variables. Is he involved with someone else? It's very possible that he is either using you or just wants to be your friend if he is seeing someone else. Avoid falling into his trap. Have you told him what you want? Have you told him what you want in a direct and honest manner? Tell him if you're seeking for a relationship. It will be telling to see how he responds to your candor. When is he available? When can you meet with him? He calls you at the last minute, or does he make plans to see you in advance? Does he try to meet you when it's convenient for you or simply when it's convenient for him? You'll be able to tell what he wants from you by observing how much effort he makes to spend time with you. The adage "actions speak louder than words" holds true in this instance for sure.   Read the full article

[hoshinoyozora]

Tale of the Timeless Couple

🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Female! Reader

💛 Word Count: 1,1k+

❤ Warnings: -

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!

Youths were known for their naivety, and just like many others, it was the cause of your downfall too.

Beguiled by the promise of happily ever after, as shown in those romantic movies and books, you’d mindlessly agreed to eternal life with your soon-to-be husband, Malleus Draconia. It was especially enforced by the bitter knowledge that Crowley had never intended for you to return, and that you’d have no means of funding yourself after graduation due to the lack of necessary documents. It was either you marry a rich man and become slightly more ‘recognized’ as the proper citizen of Twisted Wonderland, or doomed to work as a maid in someone else’s house. Malleus, of course, saw no error in your judgment, despite the seeming shallowness of it, and swiftly carried out your transformation.

Due to your relationship with him, you’d always been a part of his little family. But only now did you fully integrate into it, into their lifestyle. The Draconia Family. The Royal Family.

It was blissful in the first few years, as many marriages were, burdened only by the new responsibility of being a ruler to both humans and dark creatures. Malleus and Lilia helped you with the Royal affairs, while Silver and Sebek familiarized you with the Draconia knighthood system. Sometimes, Malleus’s grandmother would visit and chat with you, offering either piece of valuable advice or rumors that would aid you in some way. You weren’t really allowed to go anywhere anymore, and definitely not without tight security. But Malleus permitted you to attend your friends’ weddings, just as how he permitted them to attend yours; a visit that excited nearly the guests in there due to it being a Royal one, and thus, exclusive.

Their occasional letters were probably the highlight of your day, and you thanked Malleus for having the bigger heart not to get jealous and cut off the only connection to your past and humanity. Your heart warmed when you saw pictures of their babies, noting all the resemblances in their features, and mused about what kind of face your child would have.

It was serene.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Perhaps it began when you received Deuce’s letter containing a photo of him and Ace in an overdue reunion at a restaurant. Your eyes, sharper from the transformation, noticed all signs of aging on their faces. Instinctively, you touched yours and felt only the youthful smoothness of the skin. You rushed to the mirror, and your stomach sank once you realized the signs would never appear in you. For some, it might be a blessing. But for you, it only served to remind you of what you lost.

Your humanity, in all its glory. Ugliness and beauty. The smoothness and the wrinkles.

And then, several years went by, until Jack passed away peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his big family. You mourned in your office whilst clutching the letter Ace sent to you, unable to attend the funeral without messing with everyone’s schedules.

Black was the color of the Draconia family, but that day, it took on a special meaning.

Ace followed, still a mischievous man to his old age with a more tamed pride. Deuce remained as a policeman until a particularly nasty magic incident occurred, leaving Epel as your only living friend. No longer fixated on the idea of a ‘manly man’, he confessed to you that he was actually lonely. His wife had long died, and his children had all grown up and moved out of the house. You wished you could’ve visited and comforted him, but once again, duty was your obstacle.

Until you belatedly found out that Epel had suffered a heart attack after helping with his family’s farm.

“What are you thinking about, my love?”

A pair of arms hugged your swollen stomach from behind, but you remained motionless as you gazed through the window. Malleus rested his chin on your shoulder and stared at your profile.

“Well?”

“Nothing much.”

“You know better than to lie to me, my love.” said he, twirling a lock of your hair with his left finger. “If you have a problem, you can talk to me and we shall find a solution together.”

Malleus wouldn’t understand that the problem you had was beyond repair, and you feared his response should you reveal the truth.

“All of my friends died, Malleus. Except Sebek, but he’s just a guard to me now.”

“Humans have always had short lifespans.”

You flinched, and you wondered why you reacted that way when you were basically near immortal now. Perhaps some human instincts hadn’t fully disappeared yet.

“I miss them.”

Malleus fell quiet, and your heartbeat slowly picked up with each second passed in silence.

“It is a normal reaction,” he drawled as though empathy was something unfamiliar to him. “and you’ll get over it in due time.”

You wetted your lips, preparing yourself to ask the question that had been haunting you.

“What would you do… if I were to go home?”

“You don’t think I’d allow you to do it, do you?”

You stiffened in his embrace.

“… What?”

“Crowley had always been very slow when it comes to finding your way home, but he hadn’t completely stopped until I ordered him otherwise.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Luckily, you learned that it was futile to place any hope on him, so I wouldn’t have to inform you anything.”

“Why…?”

“Why? Because we were meant to be together, of course. The moment you agreed to be my lover is the moment you agreed to be mine forever.” Malleus sighed blissfully, tightening his hold on you. “And it doesn’t really matter whether you accepted my proposal or not, although it does make everything a whole lot easier. I don’t wish to hurt you, after all.”

You were mistaken. You were horribly mistaken. There was no happily ever after in marrying him. Financially, yes, but mentally? Literally?

“What about my friends?”

“I told you, they’re humans. They have terribly shorter lifespans than ours. Therefore, I don’t need to worry about them so much. Not when they’ll die sooner or later.” Malleus hummed, swaying your body in an invisible yet haunting tune. “Although, of course, I still have to supervise all of your correspondence.”

It was understandable, and you should’ve expected it. Some letters might contain threats, however unlikely it was, and Malleus was merely ensuring the safety of everyone involved. But the knowledge that he read everything that you wrote to them – intimate things that you were more comfortable sharing with your friends than your husband – unnerved you.

Maybe it was why he spent more time with you when you complained to Deuce about him being busier nowadays.

“Now, don’t overthink about the past. You’ll upset our baby.”

He caressed the bulge in your stomach, where the long-awaited child resided.

A shame that you couldn’t share baby pictures with your friends, not even the news of your pregnancy.

[darklcy]

Hi! If you still take request. Can you do a Ekko x Male or GN where Ekko thought they was gone or de@d a long time ago. But they work as an engineer in a workshop somewhere in The Undercity?

One day, M/Reader got into trouble and injured from Silco's person or someone else your choice! The Firelight was going out for a mission and saw M/Reader being chased by someone, decided to help him and bring M/Reader back the save place?? ( sorry I forgot the name was :')))) )got to met Ekko there.

Can you make it into romance and make it a little longer? I wanna see Ekko x Male/GN but there aren't a lot. And sorry if my grammar is bad. English isn't my first language ;-;.

AH i love this idea so much! don't apologize your english is great! i decided to do a GN reader to be a bit more inclusive. thanks for the request and hope you enjoy :) 

𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞

✥✤✣ arcane masterlist ✣✤✥

↳ pairing: ekko x gn! reader

↳ warnings: some swearing, slight mentions of blood

↳ word count: 2.9k

He couldn’t help but feel envy at their freedom. The fluorescent hues of emerald adjoined to the quick wings that could carry them towards the moon. 

The sporadic little bugs radiated a blanket of safety in Ekko’s eyes. It was part of the reason he named his group after them. The Firelights fought for that freedom he saw in the insects, the sole reason he fights as much as he does. 

If he could harness their potential, their wings, the ability to fly, then his mission was one step closer to the checkered finish line. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t take away any of his pain. 

With battle comes loss, and though young, him, along with his fellow partners, had suffered great mourning already. The wall illustrating the faces of his loved ones towered the sanctuary with integrity, their smiles bright and hopeful. Ekko bid the wall farewell before each mission, and sometimes, with guilt, he wished he wouldn’t be joining them anytime soon. 

Death didn’t scare him. Not as much as it should. It wasn’t that he didn’t anticipate it, he just wasn’t ready yet. He probably never will be. 

Your portrait haunted him the most. The distinguishable bump in your nose and colors of your irises followed his every move like a cursed photo frame, and yet, he hesitated looking away from you the most. Up beside you to your right was Powder and Vi, two others he considered family.

But you weren’t just family, You were more than that. You were his conviction. His pride. His drive in motivation. You were the reason the Firelights existed in the first place. 

His lungs exhaled in a puff through his nostrils. Twilight shadowed the cursed city of Zaun, embellishing the surviving tree in a haze. Everyone else began preparations for bed, but Ekko didn’t find any strength to pull away from the wall just yet. The scrutinizing resemblance of your eyes ceased to amaze him. How did a structure of cement manage to capture your features so well?  

The familiarity baffled his brain. How could he ever think you weren’t here anymore when he was staring right at you? When the precise canvas of your skin mirrored the real thing down to the bone?

Ekko scoffed and shook his head. He can’t keep doing this. It kept him up at night, the hollowness you punched into his heart the night he lost you. With a huff, he finally tore his gaze away from you and headed for his room, bitterly ignoring the sinking pit in his chest. 

--

The damn wheel just wouldn’t turn. 

There goes a plethora of hypotheses knocked down the trash, because the machine still wasn’t activating. 

“Damn it. Fucking work.”

A fizzle of steam squeezed out the gears in response. Pitiful. 

Throwing your arms up, you kicked yourself back onto the chair on wheels, rolling yourself towards the middle of the room. The desktop clutter had intensified within the last two hours, and now your creation refused to work. Lovely. 

Eyes flitting over to the round clock on the wall, you exhaled with a frown. Had the night really flown by that much? Kicking off your boots, you reluctantly peeled yourself off the chair and blew out the candle, twisting the room into darkness. 

Filtering green hues into the shadows of your room, your window greeted you with a view of the streets below your apartment, a sight you both fell asleep and awoke to. Luckily you were a deep sleeper, otherwise the buzz of lingering alcoholics and club music would turn you into an insomniac. Switching your regular outfit to soft fabric, you nestled under the sheets and watched the outside world till your lids grew heavy, a weak sigh flowing out your nose.

Each night ended like this, your heart wallowing in a pit of melancholy. The late, unforgiving thoughts your more awake mind kept out always managed to flood back in at your most vulnerable. The plush skin of your lips frowned.

Seven years later, and that day still lived inside the cells of your brain. Deeply engraved in your essence till its hook withered with time and age. You’d never forget the moment you lost your family, your parental figure, your best friends.

Somehow, you wished they were alright. Maybe that belief helped you rest better, after living your days in denial. You refused to let the brutal reminder sink in. That along with your loved ones, you’d lost him, too.

You awoke the next morning with more dryness to your eye ducts than normal. Even down here, the sun served well, annoyingly so. Joints popping at your twists and stretches, you peeled off the comforter and treaded over to your closet to start the day. 

Another go at that flawed machine, you supposed. Though now that you pondered more about it, you realized you’d ran out of several materials needed to finish the project. Your head tilted back with a groan.

“Fuck.”

Guess you were making the trip to that shop across the city. Not a single nook in town was safe, but the area surrounding that particular store especially wasn’t. No matter, you were used to it. With another aggravated sigh, you closed the closet door and stomped out your room, keys at the ready to lock behind you.

--

Flying was a sensation Ekko never grew accustomed to. His adrenaline and sped up heart beat never failed to surge his body into a frenzy, kicking his senses up to par and his reflexes instant. Much like the animal he bore on his face, he was the predator, and the ones beneath him were his prey. 

In this case, the idiots smuggling their Shimmer dosage inside a trinket store made for engineers and machinery. They were no doubt obliging to Silco’s demands, but their unpredictable movements had Ekko guessing if they were just addictive pawns desperate to spread more of their disease. 

A simple mission: take them out and destroy the Shimmer. 

Swirling down on his board, a trail of light following, Ekko glided through the thick atmosphere towards the building, his fellow Firelights right at his side. Once close enough to the ground, he hopped off his board and attached the wood to his back buckle, his pocket watch flinging into his grasp. 

There were only three of them, and six of the Firelights. It was almost laughable how easy this excursion was. As he grew closer, one of the opponents cocked their head towards Ekko’s mask, eyes uncomfortably twitching. Hurling forward with clumsy footsteps, Ekko dodged his fist and threw a punch to his face, throwing the dude back on his feet. 

It was too quick. Soon as his guy was down, the rest were too, with Ekko nodding to his teammates in approval. The store had been completely wrecked, each valuable strewn across the floor and shattered. The owner was nowhere to be found, along with any customers. 

“What the hell were they doing here?”

Ekko heard from behind his left. “..Mindless addiction. Just how Silco wants it.” 

The leader spun on his heel while reaching for his board. “Let’s head back.”

Another member held out their arm to stop him. “Wait. Do you hear that?”

Ekko immediately froze to listen, slowing his breathing to still. 

His ears barely picked up on the distinct, echoed footfalls and grunts of someone just down the road. He grumbled and stepped out the store. 

“We got another one.”

A whirred vibration hummed as his hoverboard beamed rays of green, his teammates trailing close behind. Building distance between the ground floor and his board, Ekko narrowed his vision towards his target, eyes landing on the hooded figure’s back.

His brows relaxed when he deducted two other perpetrators lingering behind, and he could pick up on their disgruntled yells and hollers. Whoever was up front, doting a ragged hood that concealed their face, wasn’t the enemy. In their hands was a clothed bag containing god knows what, which led Ekko to the belief that they were a customer of the broken down store.

His tongue clicked against his teeth. 

Grabbing hold of his weapon, Ekko shouted as he struck the skull of one of the chasers, knocking them roughly onto the ground. The sound of body against concrete didn’t go unnoticed by their accomplice, as they whirled around to charge the Firelight. 

“Go help them out! I got this.”

Ekko commanded his teammates, who nodded and soared over to the hooded form who was know hunched over their knees, chest heaving erratically. While leaping off their boards, the person jumped at their sudden appearance, stumbling over their footing and landing on the dusty cement. A hiss escaped their lips while they caressed their thigh. One of the Firelights cursed.

“Shit! They’re injured.”

“We don’t have any equipment on us. Unless we wanna take ‘em back to base.”

The other Firelight faltered, glancing back at their leader who’d just finished kicking the shimmer addicts to the ground. Switching their gaze back to the person in front of them, they gasped at the sight of them passed out, body lolling to their side with blood seeping through their pants.

Both members bent down to check their pulse, their shoulders relaxing at the faint heartbeat. 

“What do we do with them?”

Ekko caught their inquiry just as he finished putting away his pocket watch. Trudging up to the two, line of vision going from his pocket to the person of question, his body froze. 

One of his teammates scooped the stranger up in their arms, their upper body dangling over the shoulder carefully. Ekko couldn’t tear his eyes away from their partially revealed face, the familiar dip in their nose and the plump skin of their mouth. There’d be a million reasons why he could easily identify those features, hell, he’d been waking up to them for the past seven years.

“Ekko?”

Blinking out of his daze, shaking his head, Ekko swiftly retrieved his board and turned his back to his teammates. 

“Let’s head back.”

--

A sting of searing pain greeted you first.

These sheets you laid in were definitely not yours, in fact, it felt even better. More softer, warmer. Comforting, like a mother’s touch on your cold, aching form. 

Oh your arms felt so stiff. Just the slightest movement and the tense bones threatened to snap. Finally opening up your eyelids, you took in the unknown surroundings with a bewildered stare. Warm wood on the ceiling, a few posters to your left that served as either a map or lists of plans. The filter of light deriving from the sun created a beacon on the floor, the open door welcoming the light like an embrace.

Where exactly were you right now..? If anything, with this much warmth, you almost believed you’d somehow woken up in Topside. Certainly not though, based on the strewn about furniture and creaks of the wood. Now more awake, you pushed yourself off the mattress to sit up properly, your head moving side to side to take in more of the room you rested in.

On the floor beside the bed laid your shoes and hoodie, neatly cleaned off and folded. Pulling back the covers, your wounded leg had been taken care of as well, a neat, white bandage wrapped around and tied. A faint patch of brown had leaked through the cloth already, but nothing to fret over. As you tried to move it, a jolted shock shot up your body, causing you to wince.

Whoever brought you here definitely exceeded your hospitality expectations, so you expressed great gratitude for whoever your anonymous rescuer was. Switching both legs to dangle the side of the bed, you were also pleasantly surprised to find the bag of supplies you’d purchased for your project at home, stowed safe and unbroken. This was definitely new. They didn’t steal it.

Your lips upturned. Way to start a day, huh? Bending your torso over your knees to reach for your shoes, you were interrupted by the patters of boots against wood.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

Huh?

Quirking a brow, you halted your actions to turn towards the door, directly facing a woman with choppy pink hair and a horizontal scar across her nose bridge. Her torso was clothed in a navy blue hoodie with the sleeves torn off, except for her right arm that bore a dusty brown sleeve. She smiled at you as she gripped onto the door frame with her hand, eyes going up and down your leg.

“How are you feeling?”

You blinked a few times. “..Okay, I guess.. Legs a lil sore.”

“Yeah, you have quite the cut there. But don’t worry, we patched it up nice and tight for you. I’ll go let him know you’re up.”

You couldn’t hide the confusion from your face. “Him?”

Her grin widened. “The one who brought you here.”

She scurried off before you could interrogate any further. Him? Who could possibly know you enough to save you..? 

Resuming your actions from before, you stepped your feet into your shoes one by one and laced up the shoe tongues, tying both into firm knots. Once finished, you leaned your elbows over your knees and bounced your leg, anxiously waiting for him to show up, whoever he was. 

Your mind raced around for possibilities, including the impossible. Surely it wasn’t the him you were thinking of, right? He perished long ago, along with Vi and the others. No, there’s no way. It wasn’t him. No good in giving yourself false hope.

Like before, heavy boots pounding on wood echoed through your ears. Inhaling a lungful of oxygen you turned to the door once more, awaiting a medley of identities to waltz through.

..Only to be greeted by a man with an owl mask, an evergreen jacket with a hood draped over his shoulders. Your spine straightened upon his appearance, foot bouncing a bit quicker now.

“Um...Are you the one who brought me here?”

A dumb question, you already knew the answer. But by god you had to break the silence somehow. The weight of the air was heavy against your skin, and if he wasn’t going to speak soon you might drive yourself crazy. 

All he did in response, was reach up for his mask and hood, carefully removing both at the same time to reveal himself wholly to you in a single movement. When the distinctive white tresses popped out from under the barrier and the symbol he painted over his face time and time again when you were kids came to light, your foot stopped shaking. Your jaw hung open, and the flow in your lungs stopped its circulation. 

You couldn’t stop the hot tears wavering your vision. “..Ekko..?”

Last time you’d seen Ekko was seven years ago, shortly after Benzo had been murdered and before the demise of Vander. The two of you got separated, and with the explosion that killed your second family, you assumed Ekko had gone with them. All this time, you mourned his death, you mourned his presence, his impact on you...yet here he was, safe and in the flesh, right in front of you.

He’d aged pretty well. He’d grown taller, more muscular, and his face tensed up with maturity and composure. But the second his name left your lips, all serenity washed away with the wind. Like a break in time, he dashed forward and scooped you up into his arms, a hand caressing the back of your head to push into him. You wrapped your arms around his middle, hands grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt as a weep escaped you.

“All this time...All this time, you...”

Ekko murmured into your shirt, a tear escaping his right eye. Before you could respond he abruptly pushed you away by the shoulders, his sharp eyes boring into yours. 

“Where the hell have you been this whole time, [First]? Where did you go? I searched everywhere for you, yet you turn up being chased by some of Silco’s henchmen out of the blue?!”

You stared back at him with blown open eyes, tears still raining onto your cheeks. With a few clicks of stillness, you retaliated.

“Me? What about you? I thought you were dead! I thought you died with..”

The muscles in his throat tensed up as he swallowed, the skin of his nose barely scrunching up. Averting his gaze downwards, he loosened his tight grip and brought you back to him, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“It’s...a long story. There’s a lot I need to catch you up on.”

As you embraced him again, your eyes wandered through the doorway and onto what looked like a massive tree embellished with lanterns and structures, ears picking up on laughter while kids flew around on hoverboards. 

“There’s a lot for me, too. I...I never stopped thinking about you.”

His hold strengthened. “...I never gave up on you. You were always on my mind. One day, I believed that I’d find you, and bring you here.”

You beamed as another tear dripped onto his shirt. “I’m glad you found me.”

When he pulled away again, his hand raised to take the side of your neck, his thumb gently brushing the skin of your jawline. He softly shook his head, a yearning gleam in his irises.

“Me too.”

[cyberfeather]

Hi, I saw some of your little dabbles and they looked really good. Might I request:

“you’re  doing  great, okay ??   i mean it .”

With a past reconditioned Dogma and your choice?

Hi, thank you for the ask! 💗 I’m so glad you enjoyed my previous drabbles! I went with Dogma integrating the Coruscant Guard after Umbara here, because that’s a fandom headcanon I enjoy and felt like exploring myself. I hope you’ll like it!

“You’re doing great, okay? I mean it.” - Dogma

When given the choice, Dogma avoids 79’s at all costs. He doesn’t get why his vode fancy the place so much. The music is too loud and the lights, too bright. Just staying inside for a few minutes is enough to give him a headache that will take hours to leave.

But today, he’ll just have to suffer through it. A fight broke out at the bar and the Coruscant Guard was called to put a stop to it. Not that Dogma is complaining. A night where they have nothing more to do than separate a few drunkards is a good night; one that won’t end with having to mourn the loss of a brother. The urge to accomplish his duty is stronger than whatever discomfort he might experience, anyway.

Calming down the inebriated troopers doesn’t take long. Most of them cease all hostilities the moment they notice the red and white armors, and a few words of warning from Commander Fox are enough to deter the recalcitrant ones. They’re almost ready to leave when a vod who’s had one too many drinks loses his balance.

Instinctively, the man starts flailing his arms around so not to fall. In doing so, he accidentally hits Dogma and knocks off his helmet. Without it covering his face, Dogma immediately feels unease rising in his chest.

Ever since he came back from Kamino, he hasn’t felt comfortable taking it off outside of the Guard. A sentiment many of his brothers stationed on Coruscant share, which is a relief. He hates feeling different from them.

Since his reconditioning, he’s been plagued by the fear of disappointing his brothers, of not fitting in, although he has no idea why. The troopers of the Coruscant Guard have been nothing but kind to him since he joined them, there’s no reason why they would reject him, and yet, it terrifies him.

During his first days in the Guard, he even suffered panic attacks from making the slightest mistakes, each time convinced his vode would get mad at him for it and send him back to the Kaminoans. It took all four of his commanders comforting him and promising to never do such a thing to calm him down.

Once the first shock has passed, Dogma scrambles for his helmet. To his relief, it didn’t fall far away and he quickly retrieves it. However, before he can put it back on, he hears a surprised gasp in the crowd.

“Dogma?”

He immediately freezes, because the soldier who called his name looks familiar, even though Dogma has no memory of him. But at the same time, he’s also sure to have already seen the tattoo that takes up most of his face somewhere before. It’s all so confusing.

The vod isn’t wearing any armor, but since he obviously knows him from before, Dogma assumes he must be from the 501st. It’s the battalion that Rex, the captain who sometimes visits to check up on him, belongs to. He is looking at Dogma the same way Rex does, too: waiting for a sign of recognizance, clearly mistaking him for someone else, someone who doesn’t exist anymore.

He has no idea how to answer, because while Dogma is his name, he’s also not the Dogma this trooper fought alongside with. It suddenly stops mattering when his mind fills with flittering flashes, with images and sounds all mixed together. Fog. I hope you can live with yourself. The sound of blasters. Fire. The devastating certainty that it’s all his fault.

It lasts less than a second, but it leaves Dogma overwhelmed and breathless. He still can’t remember the vod’s name, but he’s suddenly positive that the man must hate him. That he has every right and reason to, after what Dogma’s done, even if he doesn’t have the slightest idea what that is. He feels trapped, he wants to escape, to run far away, but he can’t because he’s on duty, he’s Coruscant Guard, he has to play the part and prove worthy of his rank even if he’s screaming on the inside…

“Is something the matter, trooper?”

Without warning, Commander Fox puts himself between Dogma and the soldier, his arms crossed. That tone of voice, colder than ice, is the same one he uses when dealing with the rudest senators. Dogma immediately feels safe behind him, knowing no harm will come to him as long as Fox’s here. It helps him breathe again, even though his body’s still shaking. He takes advantage of the welcome distraction to put his helmet back on.

“I… No, sir. Everything’s fine.” The soldier stutters after hesitating for the slightest second, not daring to defy the commander of the Guard.

“That’s what I thought. Since everything’s back in order, we’ll be heading out.”

Dogma is more than happy to obey this order and turn around, eager to leave the suffocating bar. Behind him, someone calls for a Jesse, but he barely registers it. All he wants is to get out. He sighs in relief once he finally pushes the exit door and the music fades. He’s glad to resume his patrol with his squad, even if he’s still a bit nervous.

They’ve moved down a few blocks and reached one of the less crowded streets of the neighborhood when Fox takes him aside.

“You alright? You looked pretty shaken in there.”

Dogma doesn’t try to pretend nothing’s wrong. Fox has taught him he doesn’t have to hide how he’s feeling, not around other members of the Guard. He’s safe with them.

“I’ve been better, but I’ll manage. I just… wasn’t prepared for this. I’m glad you stepped in.”

His voice trembles more than he’d like it to. Upon sensing his distress, Fox moves a hand towards him and stops midtrack.

“Can I?” He asks, mindful of not overstepping his boundaries when it comes to being touched, for which Dogma is grateful.

A comforting touch sounds like a nice perspective at the moment, so he nods his approval, and Fox puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“I know it’s hard, meeting people who knew you before and failing to remember them, but you’re doing great, okay? I mean it. Not everyone handles things as well as you have.”

Dogma trusts Fox on this. There are many reconditioned troopers in the Coruscant Guard, all of them grateful for how the commander looked after them upon their return from Kamino. He’s not the first vod he’s helped and definitely won’t be the last. Still, Dogma fears Fox doesn’t quite get what’s troubling him.

“I’m not sure you understand. When I saw him, I… I did get a few memories back, but… It all hurt. It… It made me feel awful about myself. So, what if… what if I don’t want to remember?”

Dogma’s eyes are starting to fill with tears, and he has no choice but to briefly remove his helmet to wipe them off. It’s not something easy to confess, not when he has seen reconditioned troopers regaining some of their memories and crying happily while being reunited with their brothers. He can’t even tell if he’d like to have the same happen to him or not, just knows it’s a situation he can’t imagine himself being in, not when he reacts so badly any time he’s reminded of something from his old life.

“Then it’ll be okay. The Guard and I will care for you all the same. You don’t have to force yourself into being the person you were before reconditioning. Only you decide who you are now, not anyone else. Just take things at your own pace. And if one day, you change your mind and want to look into your old life, that will be okay too. No need to pressure yourself.”

Each of Fox’s words feels like balm to Dogma’s fractured soul. It leaves him speechless for a second, struggling to find words that’ll express just how much it means to him.

“I… Thank you… Just, thank you. For listening to me, and… everything else.”

“Any time. It’s my role to be here for you, vod’ika.”

Even if he can’t see Fox’s face, he hears the fond smile in his voice. Maybe Dogma doesn’t remember what went wrong in his old life, but he knows he has reasons to be happy now, as well as brothers he’d give his life to protect; this time around, he’ll do everything not to mess that up.

[ohnominamino]

An Essay on Love in Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time

Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a movie about love in all its forms. From the love of family, friends, and neighbors, to the compassion we feel for people we have never met. The movie reminds us that love is something we continuously gain, lose, and choose, again and again. Which love is greatest? In my opinion, the answer to that question is left up to interpretation. In this essay, I will give my own personal interpretation on certain character interactions and what I believe we are meant to take away from their Rebuild portrayals. 

The character I will start with is one I’ve noticed the most outrage over from people who haven’t seen the movie and read out-of-context spoilers: Kaworu Nagisa. 

Kaworu is a beloved character among many Evangelion fans, especially those who are members of the LGBT+ community. He is a canonical love interest of Shinji Ikari and I want to reassure people that this final movie does not change that fact. However, it does not make the couple blatantly endgame either. This skirting around the couple might make some fans upset, and while their feelings are completely valid, I do not think they fully understand the difficulties faced by LGBT+ people in Japan, nor do they understand the way that romance is typically conveyed in Japanese storytelling. (I recommend watching “Is ‘Yuri On Ice’ Good Gay Representation?” by James Somerton for more about storytelling nuances.) 

What have we been shown about Shinji and Kaworu’s love? The good news is, anything you read into the original TV series and End of Evangelion is completely true for the Rebuilds— because Kaworu is the same Kaworu. This movie proves Evangelion is a single universe set on repeat, and that Kaworu and Shinji meet each other every loop, and in each, Kaworu is trying to make Shinji happy. Within the final movie, Shinji becomes aware of the loops and chooses to break the cycle and free Kaworu from his pain. 

What does the relationship between Shinji and Kaworu teach us? I believe the purpose of their love is to show the audience that first, in the words of Kaji, “love has no gender.” Second, I believe Kaworu’s love in particular is a warning about basing your own happiness solely upon another person. There are parallels drawn between Gendo/Yui and Kaworu/Shinji. Gendo could not exist without Yui, and so he was willing to destroy the world to be reunited with her. For Kaworu, it was not the destruction of humanity, but the destruction of himself that defined his tragedy. What’s important within the final movie, in my opinion, is that Shinji does not reject Kaworu’s love. With the insight he’s gained from remembering past loops, he sees Kaworu’s love and appreciates him, but he also sees his suffering and wants to ease it. He helps Kaworu into a new world where he can seek his own happiness and find balance in his life (something his father did not have). 

While Kaworu and Shinji are not seen as an explicit couple at the end of the movie, it’s significant to note that, when he sets Kaworu free, Shinji holds out his hand to Kaworu as a promise to stay together. Over the course of the movie, Shinji comes to accept his connection to others through accepting touch (in the form of hand holding and hugs from Rei, Misato, and Gendo); however, Kaworu is the only character in the movie who Shinji initiates physical contact with and that speaks to how much Kaworu means to him. This simple gesture, in my opinion, keeps the door open for Kaworu and Shinji to be a couple one day, after Kaworu has found more balance in his life. 

If I were to write an entire essay about Kaworu, it would be titled, “Out of the Coffin: How the Resurrection of Kaworu Nagisa Buries the Tragic Lovers Trope” because this movie truly does just that. 

Another potential love interest for Shinji for many years was Asuka; however, unlike with Kaworu, the nature of this relationship is not left up to interpretation by the end of the movie. Before her big final battle, Asuka tells Shinji, “I think I loved you back then” (regarding their time in middle school) and Shinji, during Instrumentality, tells Asuka, “Thank you for saying you loved me. I loved you too.” It is past tense. 

What does this relationship teach us? It’s a beautiful way of showing that we can love people, and grow and learn, and let go when we no longer fit each other. Letting go is an integral part of life. Whereas other Instrumentality scenes involve touch, Asuka’s, mirroring the ending of End of Evangelion, has a distinct lack of touch. Shinji sits with his arms around his knees and Asuka turns her body away from him. He gives her his thanks and he sends her off to find her peace. Asuka and Shinji teach us that it’s okay to grow out of relationships. You can appreciate what they were to you at the time they happened and move on. 

What about Rei? To be honest with you, this movie is less about Rei’s relationship with Shinji, and more about her relationship with the world. Rei teaches movie viewers about the simple pleasures of living. While Shinji is in mourning for the first quarter of the movie, Rei (as “Sokkuri”) is learning about crop growing and community, the wonder of babies and kittens, the joy of the bath after a long day of fruitful work, and the power of words and picture books. At the end of her life, she only regrets not having more time to spend with the people she loves. In Instrumentality, Shinji accepts her hand when it is offered to him, which I hope signifies he is ready to see life as she had come to during the final movie. 

Rei teaches us that we can love living and to not take our limited time for granted. 

Next, we move on to parent figures: Gendo and Misato. I think they both represent people ill suited to the role, who do the best they can despite it. Gendo, as mentioned for Kaworu above, is a warning about defining yourself by your relationship to another person (Ikari, afterall, is Yui’s name). He is also a lesson in how people mourn and how they can lash out. Misato, like Gendo, felt herself a poor parent, and while mourning the loss of Kaji, she gave up her child to be raised by other people, but, unlike Gendo, went forward to put all her energy into protecting humanity. Both of them reach out to hug Shinji within the movie and he accepts them where they are. 

While I wouldn’t say the movie shows that Shinji forgives Gendo, it does show his making an effort to understand and make peace with what others have done. For Misato, it is fair to say we can still hope for a better future, even when it feels like everything is crumbling around us. Her self-sacrificing love for her son and the whole of humanity is what enables Shinji to then save the people he loves (via the spear of Gaius). 

In the movie, we are also shown friendship. Touji, Hikari, and Kensuke are important members of their community who maintain open communication with those around them and respect others’ boundaries. They are patient and kind and represent the importance of being present. They teach us to meet people where they are and support them how we can, whether it’s giving them a warm meal or giving them space when they need it. 

There are many more characters that could be talked about, but today I am going to end on Mari. Mari’s love is physical. She enjoys being in people’s personal bubbles. She cuddles Asuka and helps trim her hair, she gets into Gendo’s space at college, and at the end of the movie, she reaches out her hand to Shinji to help him stand up from his seat. Upon first glance, some viewers might take Mari and Shinji’s final scene to be romantic, but the reality of it is this: We do not, and cannot, know what kind of love she is meant to represent in his life.

We do not know Mari’s relationship with Shinji because they hardly interact in the movie. She clearly cares about him, but in my opinion, it comes from a place of duty and compassion— Mari was friends with Gendo and Yui. She has been there since he was born. (If we take the manga to be canon, then Mari even had romantic feelings towards his mother. Her hairstyle and glasses are from Yui. At the end of the movie, Mari has changed her hairstyle, which to me implies she has moved on, and “getting” with Shinji would be a thematic break.)

Additionally, their conversation, while flirty, is very much one that implies they haven’t seen each other for a while. Mari is someone who is very physically affectionate. With everyone. If someone ignores that and focuses on the fact she gets into Shinji’s space and claims that’s romantic, they better acknowledge it’s possibly romantic with Asuka, who we see far more intimacy with. When Mari flirts, Shinji flirts back and her initial reaction is surprise, “Wow, you’ve learned to talk back!” Her purpose is clear. She is there to remove the DSS choker from his neck. 

Personally, I love that Mari is the one to close the movie, for the exact reason that we do not know her relationship with Shinji. For Mari to have an assigned role would be to say, “This kind of love is most important,” when the entire movie was spent showing us each love is of equal importance in the balance and building of our lives. (It’s wonderful to see those types of love embodied across the platform from Shinji at the end of the movie: Rei and Kaworu, who, just like in End of Evangelion, could signify the ability to connect with others and be loved.)

If you view Mari as a romantic love interest, then I think it speaks to the value that you as an individual give to romance rather than what the characters themselves are feeling. To me, Mari, the character who was created to “destroy Eva,” is a symbol of all love. When Shinji takes her offered hand and then pulls her to run into the new world, it’s a symbol of balance. The give and take of any kind of relationship. 

We are the product of every relationship we have ever had, from our parents to the people we once loved, from our friendships to any other person we want to stay connected to. Evangelion: 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon a Time is a story about these relationships. It is a story about love.