#i genuinely believe the show would have been a hit regardless of what was happening in the world in 2020

[nancywheeeler]

the ted lasso reviews that imply people only liked the first season because it dropped in summer 2020 are so boring and off base and reek of "we can't let people know we FEEL"

[signanothername]

From your killer post of him being a lapcat

in the timeline/future of where he leaves nightmare, do you think he’ll keep being a lap at to Color?? Like, Color could just simply be sitting down and reading on the couch and Killer could walk over and lie his head down on his legs, simply say “affection.” Or “pet me” and be like a cat????

The post Anon is referring to

Oooh that’s so adorable to think about

It’s a yes, but not immediately, just eventually

The thing about my lap cat post is that Nightmare’s not one to ask for permission, so he was forced to do such a thing rather than be ok with it

And Killer is also the type to not take affection positively, he’s been conditioned to be used to violent/unsafe environments, and conditioned to take such gentle gestures as simply emotional/ mental manipulation and a type of forcing control upon him, rather than any genuine love and care

Killer in general doesn’t truly understand the idea that he can even say “no” to any physical contact, he thinks people have the right to touch him whenever they like, even when Killer himself is uncomfortable with it or doesn’t want such contact, so even if somebody else other than Nightmare manhandles him, you’d see him let it happen like he’s some sort of rag doll, completely ignoring any sort of discomfort he feels, cause people touching you even when you’re uncomfortable is the norm right?

So he gets extremely fucking confused when Color asks for permission before touching him, and Killer would vocalize his confusion, telling Color, “y’know you don’t have to ask for permission right??”

Only for Color to hit him with the question “are you actually ok with being touched at anytime?” Cause that’s what Color does, he emphasizes and questions Killer about such topics that Killer usually wouldn’t question himself, to help Killer figure out that he has control over his life now, that he can say no to things if he doesn’t want to do something

And Killer, on autopilot would go to the answer “yes” only to stop himself before that word comes out of his mouth

Cause in reality, no, he’s not ok with touch everytime, sometimes he wants his personal space to himself, but Killer doesn’t vocalize that, instead opting to just drop the subject, and Color doesn’t push beyond that

Eventually, he would try and experiment by saying no, fully expecting Color to ignore him and touch him regardless, only to be surprised by Color backing off and actually taking that “no” fully seriously

Not only that, but the gentle touches Color does? Killer genuinely believes it’s just Color manipulating and trying to control him at first, just like how Chara and Nightmare used to do

Then as time goes on, Killer starts realizing that Color actually does those touches as a sort of showing genuine affection and love, and well, Killer would be lying if he said he hated Color’s gentle touches

So it takes time for Killer to let go of such negative associations with touch, before he perceives it in a positive light

So i feel like Killer is going to be hesitant to do such a thing at first, and since Killer won’t take physical affection very positively at first, it’s better for Color to keep his distance, lest Killer’s beliefs just end up even more engraved in his mind

But eventually as time goes on and as Killer gets closer and more used to affection and start actually accepting such affection for what it truly is, he might actually go to Color for affection himself

And yes Killer, would just act almost like a cat himself, putting his head on Color’s legs or leaning into Color’s hand when it’s touching his face

In fact, allow me to say that I love to think Killer would sometimes sleep around Color’s feet in a curled up manner, that’s peak cat behavior if you ask me chchch

Something like this

[firesnap]

i have a genuine question. i promise i am not at all trying to defend him. ive dropped him entirely, literally deleted everything i had of him and unliked his songs.

ive just been wondering like considering that he has been in therapy, and also considering how if he does take a year off and then comes back, why cant it be redeemable? like cant people change? cant we give them second chances? he is 27. is he just doomed to be an abuser forever?

its just scary and im asking as like a younger person who is in my very early 20s. i know ive made mistakes. i know ive not been a good partner or friend sometimes. (and yes i was also abusive to a past partner...im not proud of it and ive learned from it. i have never ever touched anyone in that way after that. it took awhile but my current relationship isnt toxic and i would never hurt anyone or hit them again yknow?) and it scares me that people keep insinuating that he is irredeemable. like cant abusers change and become better? dont they get second chances? if shelby has grown and healed in 10 months wouldn't it be fair to say the same for wilbur?

im just genuinely asking because based on everything i believe you are older than me and im looking for guidance and just...idk im scared. growing up on the internet has made me so scared of making mistakes and doing anything wrong because when it happens to others i look up to, its always treated as something they'll never be able to change or improve. makes me feel like imma just be a horrible person forever because i made mistakes in the past.

This is a really complicated question that multiple answers can validly fit.

I don't think, personally, that anyone is irredeemable. I think everyone is on a journey of forgiveness and some of us may need more grace than others.

This is tw// abuse even more than the current topic, but my mom was incredibly abusive. We lived in a very rural area and she had a lot of undiagnosed problems and trauma of her own that created a pressure pot of issues. After I was born, she suffered through full on post-partum psychosis that nearly ended about as well as that sentence implies it could have. She was incredibly violent, controlling, and cruel for years. My sister went no-contact with her the second she turned 18. A significant event occurred that eventually spurned her into seeking real treatment that lasted for years. It's still ongoing.

My sister is also still no contact and I support her decision 100%. Those are her wounds and what she needed to do to get peace should be respected. I decided I wanted a relationship with the person who came out of all that work and, even then, it's been hard. I don't know if she's redeemed herself, and my god do we still have bumps in the road, but I support her for trying.

With Wilbur, how he responds to this is going to really impact a lot of things. I mean, I know no matter how he responds I won't be going on whatever journey of redemption and healing he has to go through. I'm tired and I feel hurt enough. I would think, if he wanted to show he was sincere, admitting what happened would be a great sense of closure for a lot of people who put time and energy and faith into this guy for years.

Not every person that causes harm is inherently evil, but there has to be some kind of knowledge that you're aware of the harm you've caused. No one is stuck as anything forever, life is constantly moving, and most people aren't saying his life is just over. You can work on yourself. You can change. And I'm saying that specifically to you, anonymous.

(Saying this, actually, there ARE people who would argue once you've done x you're beyond redemption based entirely on their life experiences as a victim, personal histories and many other factors. Kinda like my sister, that's their choice. And you have to accept that sometimes you fuck up so badly that you will permanently lose some people from your life. But your life isn't over.)

But I do think, regardless of what he says or does about this, his time of controlling a large platform is at an end. He can still do a lot of things in his life after he works on himself -- editing, song producing, directing, writing or whatever -- but being in charge of a large impressionable audience that could enable more destructive behaviors is just not it.

[wishful-thinking64]

One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion #01

I think that C.H.E.R.U.B. could work as a good foil to I.M.P. but the show (like everything else) utilized them in the wrong way. I actually liked their debut episode and how it played out although if there's one thing that I'd change about it, it would be not having Cletus, Collin, and Keenie get kicked out of Heaven. I'd do this for four reasons. #01.) The team would still want to get even with I.M.P. whether they got kicked out of Heaven or not. We know this because when they initially attempted to go home, Cletus threatened them by saying, "This isn't over," alluding to the fact that we would've seen them again regardless. #02.) Rather than having C.H.E.R.U.B. appear in random episodes (looking at you Season 2) they could appear as proper competitors to I.M.P. going forward with us not only getting to gradually see more members of C.H.E.R.U.B. but also develop a better understanding with how Heaven works, how they treat their Heaven born citizens, and possibly foreshadow how corrupt Heaven is since that's the angle Hazbin Hotel is going for. #03.) Cherubs are literally Heaven's equivalent to Imps. While they wouldn't fully understand how or why the members of I.M.P. are so messed up on account of not being demons themselves, they could, to an extent, empathize with how the members of I.M.P. are mistreated by higher classes. Like, imagine having an episode where both companies are competing over another human being but unlike their previous encounters, I.M.P. hasn't been landing as many deals lately meaning that both business and money have been tight. Naturally, they'd want to secure as many hits as possible and would be pissed to see that C.H.E.R.U.B. is here AGAIN to interfere with their business. Throughout the episode it'd be a close call, though I'd have C.H.E.R.U.B. win in the end so that I'd have someone like Blitzo say, "Oh, look at you! I bet you guys feel real proud for messing with our incomes, huh?" And one of the Cherub's could say something to the extent of, "Incomes? Wait, you guys don't just do this for fun???" Then have it be revealed that the Cherub's genuinely believed that I.M.P.'s business solely existed for some sick and twisted pleasure when in actuality, it was to preserve their livelihoods in Hell. After conversing about it a bit more, I'd have the members of C.H.E.R.U.B. talk among themselves before deciding that, "Y'know, we've done our part. So we're gonna leave but IF something WERE to happen once we've left then there'd be nothing we could do about it." Effectively, letting I.M.P. secure their hit since C.H.E.R.U.B.'s job is done as well as have plausible deniability if any one of their higher ups ask, "Hey, what the hell happened to this guy that you saved?"

#04.) My final point, is that their organization thematically clashes with what I.M.P. aims to do perfectly. I.M.P. wants to kill humans in the living world whereas C.H.E.R.U.B. wants to save them ensuring they live their human lives to the fullest and bidding farewell when they're ready to go. It's simplistic yet effective. Sorry for the long read, I usually go into depth with my opinions. Also, side note, does anyone actually know what the hell C.H.E.R.U.B.'s acronym stands for??? This has bothered me since their debut episode because I'm pretty sure we've never been told what it means.

[vashsmunch]

Tutoring session

Millions Knives x GN Reader

Synopsis: short university AU fluff where he’s your tutor

Warnings: None

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

One, two, three.

Your finger tapped along to a silent beat as you looked at the clock, counting the seconds until it hit the next hour. Four, five, six. You smiled in anticipation as your gaze shifted toward the door. Seven, eight, nine...

"You have quite the grin on your face for someone who has proven their incompetence at school once again."

Rolling your eyes, you gesture him over to the seat next to you, clearing a space from the scattered papers on the table. "Punctual and stone cold as always, Nai. It wouldn't kill you to show you like spending time with me."

"I find it hard to feel joy when I've been subjected to tutoring someone as infuriating as you." He lets out an unamused attempt at a laugh as he sits. A look of distaste was painted all over his expression as he looked at the stacks of books and journals you had accumulated. 

"See, you say this, but you come back every time."

"Consider it an act of pity." 

You scoffed and picked up your pen again. As much as Nai loved to complain, he certainly wasn't required to keep tutoring you. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks; your professor had strongly suggested that you take up some sessions, trying her best and failing at not sounding condescending. That bitch. But he still chose to stick around even after you'd gotten your grades up. One would think he'd grown fond of you if it weren't for the arrogant smirk on his face every time you groaned in frustration, only tempting you to throw your homework at him. Regardless, you couldn't deny he was brilliant, and no matter how much he made fun of you, he genuinely seemed to believe you had some capacity for intelligence. If only he would stop being a smartass about it. 

The sound of crinkling plastic brought your attention back to Nai as he pulled a small snack out of his bag. He met your gaze and pursed his lips, staring at how you were gnawing on your pen. "If you must chew on something, I would rather it be actual food than the toxic chemicals in your writing utensil." 

You grinned as you took the bag from him, opening it with a flourish. "Snacks in the library? What happened to being an upstanding student?"

He rolled his eyes as he turned back to your assignment, and you swore you could see his expression soften slightly. "If I recall correctly, you have difficulty concentrating on an empty stomach." Your stomach rumbled in defiance as if on cue, urging you to feed it. You felt your spine go hot as you started to eat; you hadn't expected him to remember. The two of you continued studying late into the night and eventually called it quits. As you stepped outside the library, you closed your eyes and yawned, shivering slightly. Damn, it was freezing.

You felt a sudden weight on your shoulders, and you looked up to see Nai in front of you, draping his jacket over you. He gave you an unimpressed look as he fastened it to keep you warm. "It would be extremely inconvenient for everyone if you were to freeze to death."

A sudden laugh escaped your lips as you leaned in closer, your faces inches apart. "And whatever happened to hating spending your evenings tutoring me?" 

He stared at you for a moment, not saying anything, then suddenly leaned in and kissed you. You froze, eyes wide with surprise. As quickly as it started, he pulled back with a microscopic smile. "I said it was difficult to be happy, not impossible. You have your moments." He turned around and walked away, leaving you dumbfounded and your cheeks growing hot. Did that just actually happen?

[botanikos]

Under a cut due to spoilers / discussion of direct scenes. cw for mentions of depression & suicide ideation

I would like to point out that Stolas literally said he does not care what happens — he is going to see Octavia! He walked into that mess with every intention of seeing her regardless of the consequences, which, for all we know, could have been severe. Baited by Andrealphus' comments, he nearly (potentially) died in the process. Stolas knew he was no match for Andrealphus, but he still attacked anyway. He still showed up. The only thing he wanted and was determined to do was see his daughter. She was all he had left, and I believe Stolas already understood that even she was technically gone, that he would — and is — losing her too. At this point, while it may be obvious Blitz cares for him, he obviously has no idea that the love he felt is mutual. So, genuinely, to Stolas, he has lost it all. And this is just what we see in Sinsmas.

This episode showed us two vital pieces of information for Stolas' character:

1. His love for Octavia goes beyond self-preservation. He was determined to see her at any cost. This is a father's love — this is LOVE in its rawest form.

2. Any cost. . . There are multiple instances in which we see a severe lack of regard or value for his own life + self-sabotage/harm. He smacks himself with the phone, hits his head upon the desk multiple times, and especially with the very intense and still comical scene in which Andrealphus has him suspended in the air, and Stolas goads him into hurting him. "Do it. Pussy." Literally with ice daggers angling at him. This only further upholds my headcanon(s) about suicidal ideation.

[felinespooky]

Yet Another Twisted Wonderland Theory

Still about Yuu

I am back on my mad ramblings regarding Twisted Wonderland. This time it’s not gonna be as far fetched as a previous post I did that proved to be nothing more than connecting dots that are never there. I feel like this one actually has some merit though as long as I don’t spiral out of control thought wise. Without further ado, let’s begin.

The theory this time around: The game Yuu is more of a conglomerate of the various manga Yuus.

“But how would that make sense?” I hear you, but before I can answer any of that, we are to hit the necessary bullet point questions:

* What connects the Yuus together?

* Who’s crazy enough to do this?

* What purpose does this serve?

Starting with “What connects the Yuus together,” I would have to say I don’t have all the answers considering that, at the time of writing, one Books 1-3 are out and available. Although, I’m only aware of Books 1 & 2 being in English; I play on EN so everything will be lagging behind all things considered. And to make it easier, I’d advise to have a separate tab that has information about what is canon to Game Yuu (@starsilluminateourgalaxy, @mee-op, and @darkscorpiox are where I find all the information regarding Game Yuu)

**A/N: Now, this is where I’d make a vinn diagram but unfortunately with the busy schedule I have going on, I haven’t been able to sit down properly and go full on MatPat or Theorizer on this section before someone or something demands my brain. I will one day make this list; just one a different post or a future edit.**

Now for “Who’s crazy enough to do this” question. The answer is simple: Crowley, our deadbeat bird dad. It’s been heavily hinted, dare I say proven, that it’s him we heard in the beginning of the game as Spooky Hand TM. Spooky Hand/Crowley does this whole speech right before waking up:

“Ah, my lovely Lord,

The noble and beautiful flower of evil,

You are the most beautiful, number one in this world.

— Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who’s the most…

— For thee, guided by the Mirror of Darkness,

Follow thy heart and take the hand of the one reflected in the mirror.

Flames that turn even stars into ashes,

Ice that imprisons time,

Great tree that swallow even the sky,

Don’t be afraid of the power of darkness,

Come now, show your power,

Mine, theirs, and yours,

There’s only little time left,

Do not let go of that hand, at all cost.”

Now, going by key lines, it seems more like an incantation of sorts. Like, asking Hades to release a soul, and the companion to a flower. As if Yuu/the player is merely a seed that’s in the process of blossoming into whoever you want. Hell the “mine, theirs, and yours” line in particular strikes me as off.

Which brings me to the “what purpose” question. The answer is to merely complete a timeline that doesn’t end in tragedy. I believe there is a “time loop theory” running around in the fandom. Though it doesn’t function like the usual trope like in that one Supernatural episode; it functions more like an Undertale loop. In this case, it’s Crowley being able to do it instead of us. Now, why would this matter? I believe it’s because Crowley feels guilty about what happened the first time, most likely a death to some unknown previous Yuu. He genuinely felt sorry for this kid and decided that until he can figure it out, he’d let them stay. Plus they’re keeping Grim under control… but then they die. Best guess is either the cave he sent us to with Ace and Deuce, though that might’ve been different than the one we know, or Riddle’s Overblot. Regardless, he probably felt guilty about it, so he decided to rewind time. Except, something happened, the kid changed. He’d be confused, but he can’t blow his cover since he’s not supposed to be messing with time. So he takes it by the chin and acts normal. And the timeline does change, this Yuu (Yuuken) survives! But only a little as eventually, this one dies to Leona’s Overblot. However, he’s not letting this piece of Yuu die, he tries again. Except, it’s a different Yuu, Yuuka. The timeline changes just a little, she survives just a bit longer than the other, but she soon succumbs to death. This pattern happens until it’s Game Yuu’s turn. This time, Crowley has decided to create this Yuu, one that’ll survive everything in Twisted Wonderland! One that’ll survive Grim’s Overblot this time around! Maybe for shits and giggles, he forms this one into the image of the very first unknown Yuu. After all, if he just so happens to have something from the previous Yuus, how hard can it be to make life? However, that’s not the only thing that’s changed, he’s changed too. He was probably an actually great dude, but getting too attached to the most unluckiest kid to ever exist has wounded him. So, he tries to keep us busy and away from him. He probably cries seeing our Yuu just living life ignorant of his goal. But sevens forbid he cry, so he acts. All the while he hints at his works, calling himself kind and generous, probably wanting us to remember if possible.

Even if this theory flops like my other hot take, this makes for some hella great Crowley angst. Let the deadbeat crow suffer.

[mari-lair]

Question for you, as I've been reading some of your tbhk analysis posts, notably about teru's treatment of akane and your prediction for akane dying soon! Since teru seems to want to acknowledge the human side of akane, how do you think he'd handle something happening to akane, such as him losing supernatural powers/being weakened, or maybe the opposite in losing his humanity and becoming a supernatural fully instead? Do you think the newest chapter may even imply teru having something to do with such a thing happening to akane or being witness to it?

I think Teru would handle Akane being weakened poorly at the start cause he treats Akane as if he is indestructible: No matter how beaten up Akane is, Teru never hesitates to use him as a stress relief, he is his first target whenever he wants to hit something

He understands Akane is seriously injured here, but he will still attack Akane if he feels like it. Regardless if he did it because he was frustrated by his failure of being too late to save them both, and took his frustrations out on Akane, or because he was jealous his (ambiguous af) crush kissed someone else, Teru still shows no hesitation to beat up the stabbed guy that is only alive because he isn't in a human body.

He did it again when they left the boundary and reached the near shore, where people can die.

He obviously doesn’t want to kill Akane, but it is still a wild choice to kick his ass to show he is in critical condition, is as if Teru believes “if I punch him he’ll be in pain” not “if I punch him I’ll cause damage.” despite the confidence Teru has in his own strength.

I can’t be sure what is going on in his head, but I am inclined to say he understands Akane's strange half supernatural powers and how much resistance it gives him compared to a normal human, which makes me think of two things that might happen if Akane gets weaker or lose his powers completely: Either Teru will know the exact limitations of Akane weakened state, or he’ll miscalculate, and end up doing something that Akane would usually be able to brush off, but will genuinely injury or even make him black out: Which would be one hell of a wake-up call.

Teru would lose his biggest stress relief and have to adapt to that.

Fortunately, I don’t think their banter and overall dynamic would be affected, since Akane would not change his no nonsense approach with Teru just cause he got weaker. They seem far more relaxed near each other now too, and we don't see Akane being tied up after the severance. But if Teru still bullies him off the pages, I can see Teru tripping him and doing the 'lighter' bullying, but still being more stressed in the long run since he needs to hold back (please find a better way to relieve stress teru I beg of you).

That being said... Teru’s trust in his power and his willingness to involve Akane in supernatural situations might lower, or even disappear, without his clock keeper powers.

He might get more protective too, since Akane knows about supernaturals, so he lost what Teru considers a normal human’s best defense against them.

And whenever he feels like Akane is in danger he jumps into protection mode quickly.

If Akane gets so weak he ceases to even see supernaturals  (which considering Aoi’s case I find it unlikely) then I can see a disconnect happening. It will be felt far more by Teru than Akane since Akane ignores the supernatural world as much as possible, while that’s Teru’s whole life.  Still, outside Teru feeling a disconnect at times, I still can’t see it drastically changing things, cause they could work together and talk normally when Akane used his enchanted glasses, their talk mostly about Teru’s siblings and Aoi, and they may have gotten closer because of the severance, but they can absolutely bond with nonsupernatural affairs too.

If the contrary happens and Akane dies, becoming a full supernatural, I answered how I personally feel like Teru (+others) might react: Here.

As for the later chapter, it feels like that was a set up for Teru to have a relevant role in this arc, but we don’t have nearly enough information to know which. It could be related to Akane, or foreshadow him meeting the broadcasting club, who knows? The only thing it says for sure is that Teru knows others are interested in Akane, or more specifically, in the clock keepers power.

Which is something he knew for a while already.

A lot of people must be interested in the clock keeper’s powers for him to know the culprit has a tsueshiro, and not immediately assume Hanako is the one behind it.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Ok, on the topic of Miraculous Mary Sue's I have thoughts, bc both Maribug and Adrichat have been called Mary Sue's, and not for no reason, which I think is kinda fascinating

So, the two big things that make a character a Mary Sue (the way I understand the trope) is 1) hyper-competence in whatever task is thrown at them by the plot, regardless of whether it makes sense for that character to have that skill at that level, and 2) the rules of the universe they're written in seem to work differently for them than everyone else, bending things to always fall in their favor

Maribug and Adrichat both seem to hit one of these factors.

Maribugs creativity and ADHD twelve-steps-ahead-of-everything-including-myself brain and her wide range of craft skills make her seem to hit the first point. She's always able to come up with a creative solution to the problem at hand with whatever the universe throws at her (literally in the case of Lucky Charm).

But this is never Maribug whipping out a new, never before mentioned skill or hobby that fits the situation, like her suddenly being a master computer hacker when they need one in Startrain, she's just using the skills she's already been established to have, as well as the people around her, like Max, to save the day.

Maribug seems to fit into the hyper-competent Mary Sue zone on the surface, but when you take a second to actually think about it, she doesn't, and she certainly doesn't check the second box of having the narrative bend its knee to her.

Adrichat seems to hit the second point thanks to the whole 'Adrien is Perfect, the world needs to change' rule in the shows bible. None of his mistakes or bad choices are portrayed as such, like in Copycat when he lied to Ladybug about how Theo's Akumatization was entirely bc of her missing the ceremony, and not partially bc Adrichat got jealous of Theo's apparent feelings and then lead the artist to believe he and LB were dating. But LB was the only one who apologized, she never learned her partner basically lied about them dating (something she, at the time, was very against) and still believes Theo getting Akumatized was entirely bc of her.

Adrichat blatantly lied to his partner to avoid the consequences of his actions, and the show frames it as a perfectly fine course of action for him to take, with nothing wrong about something that was a blatant violation of trust between two partners.

And Chat Blanc fits this pattern too. Adrichats actions (using the fact he learned his partners secret identity to date her without her knowing she's actually dating her superhero partner) contributed to that whole apocalyptic mess as much as Maribugs, more so I would argue since all Mari did was get distracted and not notice Adrien saw her. A genuine mistake vs a conscious choice to deceive someone.

But who gets blamed for everything? Maribug.

Now, I want to say that the one to truly blame for Chat Blanc and all Akumas is 100% Gabriel, but I'm talking about how the show frames everything. And the show framed everything that happened there, from the set-up of the Akumatization to the apocalypse itself as squarely on Maribugs shoulders for, again, getting distracted and thinking Adrien didn't see her.

Adrichat is always framed as correct, no matter what he's actually done and how his actions affected the people around him and the story as a whole, which makes him seem to fit the second Mary Sue requirement on the surface. But that also falls through when you look deeper at things, bc part of the universe-warping Mary Sue stuff involves making everything fall in the Sues favor, and that is not what happened with Adrichats story.

...kinda

I fully believe the writers think Adrien being kept in the dark his entire life about, y'know, everything from who his parents really were to him being a different species than he thought he was is the best ending for him, despite how actually unfair it is to him as a character.

So the narrative did technically bend everything to give Adrien his 'happily ever after', but what it's calling a good ending is unsatisfying and actually unfair to him, and with how much the writers like damseling the poor kid, he doesn't even have a chance to try and check the hyper-competence box.

So yeah, Maribug and Adrichat both have Mary Sue traits on the surface, and for someone who prefers one character greatly over the other, it's actually pretty easy to see how those surface level details can interact with that bias to create a Mary Sue where there isn't one

Yeah it's.

I mean hello clear bias in talking about Adrien's faults and making shit up about what he did

But also yeah the narrative likes saying that Adrien's perfect and Mari is fucking up when they're both fucking up on shit.

[rachelsshowerthoughts]

Idle musing, would Sabrina be a member of the trauma trios "Parents suck club"? As in, are they aware Roger sucks from early on, or do they only realize it later and not long before her "If I am not being useless I shouldn't exist" Akumatization, followed by him realizing he fucked up and trying to be better?

I'm . . . honestly not sure? Like I can see an argument for both, but on the whole, I lean towards Sabrina not realizing how toxic Roger is, while the Trio do realize, but they get the extent or source wrong.

Cause like. I don’t think Sabrina thinks there's anything wrong until her breakdown. But Chloé and Adrien, they have those breakdowns a little earlier in Aware AU, right? Like, the summer before that school year, when Emilie goes missing, that’s when they both realize things are shit (I think that’s what we're going with?). And at first it might not hit them, or rather, it might not hit Chloé. Chloé's abuse looks very different. But the thing is, ADRIEN'S actually has some similarities. Sabrina is always told to "serve the community". Adrien is always told to "think of the brand". It comes out differently, because Gabriel is neglectful, while Roger isn't, but a lot of the wording could be the same. And once they have that realization, it becomes fairly easy to see Roger through the lens they see their parents through, which would be where the misconception kicks in. Gabriel is neglectful, doling out tiny bits of praise to make Adrien try his best to please him. André tries to alternately buy Chloé's affection, or make his own contractional. Audrey dangles some impossible goal in front of Chloé with the idea that, if she reaches it, she'll finally love her. In fact, I think the thing that would make them realize how toxic the relationship could be, is that a lot of what Roger says sounds like EMILIE.

Emilie wasn’t perfect. And while I headcanon her as better than Gabe, she still kept Adrien lock up. She still kept him away from the world. She was just better at explaining it to Adrien, but the thing is, with some of how Adrien acts? I see Emilie's big thing as guilt trips. Whenever Adrien wanted to go out, or do something, Emilie would make it seem like Adrien wanted to abandon her, or was hurting her feelings, which means Adrien would immediately fall over himself reassuring her. It might not have been wholly on purpose, but I can see that happening. And THAT'S a lot of how Roger reacts to things. Why aren’t you doing this? Why are you acting this way? Don't you want to be a good person?

So, Chloé and Adrien see Roger as a manipulative guilt tripper, while Sabrina thinks they're both losing it. After all, her dad is NOTHING like Gabriel, or André or Audrey, right? But I could see it eventually driving a wedge between Chloé and Sabrina, if Chloé eventually starts insisting that Roger is an awful person, while Sabrina keeps saying he's not. And like, neither are completely wrong, but they don’t have perspective. Especially for the Trauma Trio, they don’t really have experience with "good" parents. Like, they're aware they exist. But their default until proven otherwise is that all parents are manipulative people who only show you affection when they want something from you. And Roger is too close on their own parents on the scale for them to see he's just a guy who learned poor lessons of his own.

Like, again, the big difference between Roger and our other "Parents Who Suck" is that Roger does, genuinely, care for Sabrina. He does love her. It’s just the lessons he's teaching her, which he wholly believes in, that are toxic. Like, serving the community by itself is not a bad lesson, but the extremes Roger takes it to are bad, because they affect him and Sabrina negatively. Someone has taught ROGER these things, and he sees them as normal, but he thinks of them as positive lessons, right? Plus, he's stubborn, so anyone challenging him is seen as an attack, and Roger gets defensive. But regardless of this, Sabrina comes first. It’s why, when Sabrina has her breakdown, Roger would manage to put aside his personal feelings, because "shit, I hurt my kid". Like, what matters to Roger, first and foremost, is Sabrina's happiness and safety. He THOUGHT the whole "service to the community" was making Sabrina happy and keeping her safe. When he realizes it wasn’t, that it was actually making her stressed and miserable, that’s when he starts changing. Like, again, I think he NEEDED to see the negative consequences first hand, because he's a stubborn son of a bitch, but once he does see them, he is open to fixing them.

So . . . I guess I wouldn’t count Sabrina OUT of the Trauma Trio. She definitely has a less than stellar dad, and needs a LOT of therapy. But I also don’t count Roger with the other parents, because even though it’s small, he does have the capacity to change and put Sabrina first. The others don’t have that.

[darklotuspublishing]

Stitched in Shadows: A Love Bound by Obsession Chapter Two

The next morning came too quickly for my taste. I had been up all night despite drinking enough whiskey to kill a horse. My head was pounding but, surprisingly enough, I didn’t have the urge to throw up. Hangovers for me were different than they were for other people. Despite the pounding in my head that would have brought a grown man to his knees, I was still able to function.

My intercom chimed and the security guard’s voice came over the speaker, “Miss Nakamura, there’s a Mister Hayashi here to see you.” He spoke.

I groaned and hit the button, “Send him up.” I responded before flopping back against the couch. I heard “Yes ma’am” over the intercom within a few seconds. What could Ryusei possibly want from me at this hour? He was supposed to be at Hajime’s place, did plans change? Before I could even begin to process what was going on, Ryusei burst through my front door looking like he had just watched his mother die. The look on his face told me that something was wrong.

“What’s the problem Ryusei? Surely, you’re not here to talk.” I said, the tone of my voice giving away that I wasn’t in the mood to be friendly.

“You need to turn on channel eight,” Ryusei responded, his voice breaking as he spoke. My face dropped upon hearing that. Ryusei was normally very level-headed; if he was nearly in tears, I knew I needed to be concerned. Nothing ever really bothered him, so his demeanor was always calm. Whenever something bothered Ryusei, he tried not to show any reaction. I knew this time it was different, he seemed distraught. What happened to make him react this way?

Grabbing the remote, I turned on the TV and switched it to channel eight. The news story that was being reported on got my attention. Sitting up, I stared intently at the screen, waiting for the headline. The crime scene behind the reporter looked familiar but I couldn’t place it until the reporter began to speak and I felt my heart drop. What was going on? This had to be some kind of joke.

“Hajime Nishiyama was found deceased in his Shinjuku apartment this morning by a neighbor who claimed to have heard screaming coming from the unit late last night.” The reporter said while the EMTs brought Hajime’s body out in a black body bag. It was as if everything crashed around me in an instant. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Hajime, my assistant but most importantly, my best friend, was dead? Who would be so heartless and take the life of someone who had never done anything wrong?

“Haji’s dead Sora. My boyfriend is dead and now I’m alone. Who would do something like this? Hajime wouldn’t hurt a fly Sora. Why him? Why not someone who would be better off dead? I don’t get it. I just don’t get it Sora. Hajime didn’t deserve this.” Ryusei said, finally breaking down in tears. Just the sight of him crying like that broke my heart. Ryusei and Hajime had been together since High School and now that all went down the drain. I was the one who introduced Ryusei to Hajime back then. It was a match made in Heaven when they started dating. That was the first time Hajime had genuinely smiled since coming out to me as transgender. Since he was my best friend, I had embraced him with open arms and complete acceptance. Regardless of his identity, Hajime was my best friend and was always going to be my twin flame. Now, that flame has been snuffed out all too soon, leaving me feeling empty inside.

“Did you go see Hajime last night?” I asked, my voice breaking. Ryusei could only shake his head in response. Sobs racked his body, and he was on the verge of collapsing. With every sob that escaped Ryusei’s throat, I felt my heart break even more. Ryusei was beyond heartbroken. He had just lost the love of his life. The poor man probably felt lost without Hajime. It took everything I had in me not to cry. I was never the best at comforting people so all I could do was sit there and let Ryusei cry and scream. Ryusei left shortly after calming down, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Who would target Hajime like this? He never made any enemies out of anyone. Hajime was the sweetest man I knew.

My day was spent at home, racking my brain, and trying not to cry. I made it known to the security guard that any visitors to my penthouse were to be turned away. Every time I tried to think of who would want Hajime dead, I came up empty. Hajime didn’t deserve to die, especially after everything he had been through. My entire world felt like it was crashing down. Nothing would be the same without Hajime.

I remember it like it was yesterday. School had been closed because of a massive snowstorm and I was at home enjoying the warmth of the fireplace. My time alone was interrupted by a knock at the door and when I opened it, Hajime was standing there, eyes red and puffy from crying and his entire body trembling. I had let him into the house and listened as he talked about being kicked out by his parents because he came out as transgender, the other students at school bullying him for the same reason, and his fear of losing me as a friend over it. All I could do at that time was laugh and reassure him that he wouldn’t lose me as a friend. From that day on, we were truly inseparable.

Once the sun went down, I found myself sitting on the balcony, staring off into the distance. While I was out there, the familiar flash of a camera caught my attention. Someone was watching me, and they knew I was alone. My anxiety spiked to an extreme level, and I began to panic. Within seconds I was rushing inside and locking the balcony door. Why was I the one being watched? What was so special about me?

Hastily, I ran to my bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. It felt like I was having a nightmare that I just couldn’t wake up from. Whoever was watching me must have known that I had seen the flash of their camera. Hopefully, that fact was enough to scare them away. I just didn’t have the energy to confront my stalker.

The night was spent hidden in my bedroom, hopefully away from the prying eyes of my stalker. Whoever it was had a sick sense of humor. Throughout the night, I kept hearing someone tapping at my bedroom window. The curtains were closed, and I kept the lights off so that whoever was outside couldn’t see my silhouette through the curtains. This was all some sick game to them and my mental and emotional distress was their reward. My stalker wanted me to know that they were there.

Sleep would be foreign to me tonight. Between the incessant tapping at my window and the silent sobs that finally broke free, I understood I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. I would have to break the news to the rest of my employees in the morning if they hadn’t already heard about Hajime. Tomorrow will be a grim day, and I know that nobody will want to work. Unfortunately, with my upcoming clothing line releases, I’ll have to make everyone work while grieving.

Throughout the night I could hear the tapping grow louder. Sometimes it would come in threes, like how paranormal investigators in those American horror movies would describe demonic activity. Other times, the tapping would have a pattern to it. Tap tap, pause, tap tap tap, the noise just wouldn’t stop. No matter how much I silently prayed and pleaded to have the tapping stop, it wouldn’t.

The morning came slowly with the rise of the sun and the light coming through the curtains. I must have fallen asleep at some point because despite the sunlight being muted but the curtains, I couldn’t help but squint at the brightness. Whoever was at my window last night wasn’t there anymore because the tapping had finally stopped. Work today would be long and tiring, especially considering the news that I would have to deliver to the rest of my employees. I was dreading it already and the day had just barely started. No amount of coffee or nicotine would be able to get me through the day.

I got up from the floor and slowly made my way to the bathroom to assess just how bad I looked after staying awake and crying most of the night. The sight of my reflection in the mirror wasn’t pretty. My eyes were still red and swollen from crying and my face was extremely pale. It was likely because I had been awake most of the night and hadn’t taken care of myself after finding out about Hajime’s death. Turning on the water, I bent over the sink, splashing cold water on my face to try and shock some of the color back into my complexion. After a few moments of splashing water in my face, I looked in the mirror again. The swelling around my eyes had gone down and my skin was back to its normal pale ivory color.

My normal Yves Saint Laurent suit was traded for a simple Chanel dress with a matching blazer and a pair of black Louboutin heels. I didn’t want to put much effort into my appearance today but, I still had to look presentable since I am the head of a fashion design company. My makeup was simple, with just a bit of foundation and concealer to even out my complexion, a quick swipe over my waterline with some eyeliner, mascara, and a nude lip gloss. This was vastly different from the makeup looks I would normally go for on a day-to-day basis.

Time seemed to move even slower today. The minutes were dragging on as I prepared for my walk to work. As I walked out of my bedroom, the doorbell rang and a small stack of what appeared to be papers slid underneath the door. Despite my feelings of despair, my curiosity was piqued. What were those papers? Some kind of letter addressed to me? More photographs from my stalker?

Going over to the front door, I picked up the stack of papers and immediately felt sick to my stomach. These were more photos, but they weren’t of me. The photos were of Hajime in his final moments of life. In each one, Hajime was gagged, bound, and completely naked. Did the sick creep who killed him go as far as raping him first? Tears threatened to spill over the more I looked at the sickening final moments of my best friend's life. The papers at the bottom of the stack caught my attention. What was it? Some kind of letter but written in the form of a poem?

I started reading it, “I did it for you. I did it for us. He was corrupting my sweet cherry blossom. A thorn in my side that needed to be plucked. Hair as dark as the night sky. Eyes crystalline like precious gems. You’re already mine. You just don’t know it yet.” The words echoed in my mind. Was this an admission of guilt to the crime of killing Hajime? Even reading this note made me feel sick to my stomach. I threw the note on the coffee table along with the pictures and rushed out the front door, making my way to the office. The walk felt like it had taken several hours when it had only been five minutes.

Walking into the building, I told the receptionist to call for an emergency staff meeting and went to the conference room. The conference room was large enough that everyone would fit inside of it. My employees filed into the room one by one, their expressions laced with concern and confusion. On a typical day, I would not call a staff meeting unless it was to discuss plans for a new clothing line. It was as if they knew that this time was different.

“Thank you all for coming. I have some news regarding a member of our team. My assistant, Hajime Nishiyama, passed away the other night. He will no longer be with us in person at the international exhibition. Please stop by my office with any questions that you may have. We have deadlines to meet so please get back to work.” I announced, trying to keep my emotions in check. Everyone knew how close Hajime and I were, so it came as a shock when I announced his death. My employees remained silent and simply nodded, filing out of the room one after the other.

The room was silent after everyone left. I was alone and in a matter of seconds, the tears that I had been holding back broke free. Sobs racked my body, causing me to tremble and my makeup to run down my face. Even though I spent most of last night crying over Hajime’s death, I still had more tears to shed. Crying was not something that I did very often but when I did, people knew that I was hurting.

My receptionist came back into the room, “Miss Nakamura, it’s alright if you need to go home for the day. We can always call you if something happens.” She said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. I nodded and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table. Wiping the now-ruined makeup from my face, I left the room. It was obvious that I was in no condition to work today. Making my way out of the building, I glanced over at Hajime’s empty desk, the void in my heart growing even more as I remembered that he wouldn’t be coming back.

Walking out the doors, I headed back towards my apartment complex. This was one perk of living in the city, there were several apartment complexes within walking distance of my office and each one had a penthouse suite that occupied the entire top floor. I was lucky enough to be able to afford the nicest one in the city. As I entered the apartment complex, I was greeted by the security guard. The elevator dinged and I stepped inside, hitting the button for the top floor.

Once I reached the top floor, I stepped out of the elevator only to be met with my front door wide open. I could have sworn that I had closed it on my way out. Did someone break into my penthouse? Was I robbed while I was out of my home? Did building maintenance stop by while I was gone and forget to close the door on the way out?

Slowly, I entered my penthouse, trying to keep my steps silent. Nothing had been stolen or even broken in the penthouse. Quietly, I walked through the hall, checking each room for missing or out-of-place items and a possible hidden intruder. My investigation came up empty and it became evident that I must have forgotten to close the front door when I left. This discovery allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief as I shut the front door and went to my bedroom to change out of my dress and into something more comfortable.

Stripping out of my work clothes, I put on my silk night dress and lay in bed. My eyes were glued to the ceiling as my thoughts drifted back to Hajime. I tried to remember all the good times we had together but my mind always drifted back to those grotesque pictures of his final moments. Just the thought of how Hajime was treated in those final moments made me sick to my stomach. Who would do such a thing? Wasn’t Hajime humiliated enough in his life? The questions continued to be unanswered as I drifted off into a restless sleep. I wanted to know what Hajime felt during those final moments of his life. Was he afraid? Did he beg for his life?

  I could only hope that Ryusei was finding some form of comfort after losing Hajime. His heart was shattered when he found out that Hajime was dead. The way he screamed and cried on my living room floor was heartbreaking. I wanted to comfort him at that time, but I just didn't know how to do it. Those two were soul mates and now Ryusei was alone. Most people were afraid of Ryusei because of his appearance but Hajime found him more attractive than intimidating. Even though Hajime was fully convinced that he didn't want children, there was a part of him that wanted to start a family with Ryusei even though that meant that they would have to adopt. Now, Hajime wouldn't get to fulfill that dream of being a parent.

 My time sleeping was spent tossing and turning. If anyone looked inside, they would see that I was restless all night. Dreams about Hajime and the things that could have been done to him during his final moments plagued my mind. I felt useless while I slept. If only I had just convinced Hajime to stay with me that night, maybe, just maybe, he would still be alive right now. I felt responsible for his death because I didn't try to convince him to spend the night with me instead of going home the night he was killed. I was in and out of sleep, waking up briefly every so often and then immediately going back to sleep every time I realized that I was dreaming. The guilt that I felt was so strong that I would be surprised if I didn't have a complete breakdown tomorrow morning. I didn't want to wake up tomorrow morning, but I knew that I would since I hadn't made any attempts on my own life. 

[linseyswrld]

So who is Linsey?

(Trigger Warning: Suicide, Trauma, Rape, War) (I usually never write TW but I feel I should be more respectful if I am going to be constantly here)

It is a valid question for anyone who has found either this post or my blog in general. Not to be that person, but my background and experience are the keys to the whole The Idea concept. Although it is pretty damn obvious that “writer” equals their “story”.

People write about what they know the most. Even if they can’t even define it. And yes, I am the same, but I will try in this post. My knowledge is what I am. So as my The Idea.

Here are the things I consider myself to know enough about:

My hometown, Kyiv, Ukraine How beautiful it is and how it doesn’t look like any other town in Alberta or BC. How green it is. How blooming it is. How charming it is. How yet mine it is. I can go and on I swear.

My childhood Firstly I wanted to say "only those years before I turned 10" or "before 2014 when Crimea was annexed and the actual war started", but regardless I remember years of growing up in my city. They were ordinary, simpler than the times of my young adulthood.

How hard I worked to get to Canada Unless like a lot of Ukrainians, I chose to go to Canada, not because of the necessity of peace. I came here because it was my dream. Yes, I loved my country and the city, but it was never enough. I wanted to see the world, I wanted to know more. My hometown felt like a cage. And people there somehow reminded me about my past misery. I believe I wanted to escape all of that and learn about the world. Both of those reasons made me work so hard to get out.

How I tried to kill myself two times :) With "working hard" came a lot of doubts and pain. Not only before I moved to Canada, but after too. My first try was at the age of 16 years when I was in my final grade. First love, my inability to achieve desirable grades (specifically in English as I wanted to go to Canada really badly), the amount of pressure I had from my family and school, and yet I couldn't achieve my goal no matter how hard I was trying. The whole world felt like falling apart. But I am proud of myself and how strong I was (look at me now, I am desperate to write a book in English). Then next year COVID hit and I, unlike other people, was genuinely happy to just be at home. The first semester of the 11th grade was hell. Then I got a chance to recover. But the second try was more serious in the meaning of damage and more difficult to understand the reasons. It has been more than a year and a half so far. It happened when I was 19, in Canada, right before my life had become better. Right before everything was fixed and I was blessed with the best thing that ever happened in my life. But about this further in the post. At that point in life, I had lived in Canada for a year and a half. To this day I still can not define a certain reason why. I would say there were reasons, but even naming them can't really explain all my feelings. I was disappointed in my dream, in my family here, in my friends as I was betrayed, in the world as there was a war in my homeland and I could not do anything about it, in my love life as I lost my virginity via pressure from people around me and my partner at that time. Only studying in college helped me and yet the ghosts of the past and the demons of the present were ruining the only good thing for me. I remember how I woke up in the morning after I almost killed myself. I saw the most beautiful sunrise in my life. Like the nature wanted to show me how appreciated I am here. (when I was writing this part of the blog, I started crying)

My boyfriend I know it is weird making a person your savior, but he is. And everything about him feels special. We met a month after I tried to kill myself. And even the way we met was something I would have never imagined. Everything he brought into my life I am forever grateful for. How this foreign place started to feel like home. His character is something worth living for. Maybe there is a better word in English to describe his existence than "character". I know, I know, sounds like I am obsessed with a man, but I am so grateful for understanding what real love means. Calm love. And yes, we are both young. But I am tired of hearing from people "he is still a boy". Well, I am still a girl. And I do not want to rush him or me into turning into being adults. I always wanted to meet the most imperfect or vulnerable version of my partner to be there with him trough time and see him changing and evolving. We have been together for a year and a half and I love every version of him that I have seen so far.

And with that being said, I want to cover most of these points in my story. These are the things I know the most about and I want to tell people what I know. I have my own pov on love, life, going through tough times, loneliness, and how hard it is to be actually different in a place where everything is okay (war-wise).

The whole point of a story is Hope, as I never let it go and was rewarded for that. And you can be too. I promise

[shipsandlattes]

So I know everyone has already dissected this scene to its core, but it’s taken me a good 48 hours to digest this and I just needed to get it out.

I’m an aspiring actor, I’ve been training for a long time, with a lot of amazing teachers. I’ve watched a lot of shows and shipped a lot of couples. Some of them beautiful and canon, others, well, let’s just say waiting 22 years and counting for acknowledgement, closure, anything, it’s a damn challenge. I’ve seen a hell of a lot of will-they-wont-they’s, baiting, purposeful ignorance, deliberate fake outs, zero explanations, storylines that basically caused canon disintegration, the works.

In saying that, Dean and Cas were right up there on the list with the other “impossibles” because honestly, I didn’t think the writers would have the guts to do it, but I am so f*cking proud they did. It’s safe to say I’ve watched the scene a good hundred+ times already. 

I’ve seen a lot of “controversy” around Dean’s reaction/Jensen’s acting choices and whether or not Dean reciprocates Cas’ feelings, and obviously, I needed to add my own views to the mix.

Just work with me for a minute here.

Dean Winchester is an emotionally repressed trainwreck, and ironically enough, the one that is so full of emotion it hurts to watch. When Cas first starts his speech, he’s confused, really confused because why on earth would Cas start off on a rant now? Billie’s waiting to kill them, he just said he knew something that was more powerful than she was, something that could save them. That’s where he thought this speech was going.

The confusion turns to realisation that it’s a goodbye when Cas starts telling him how incredible he is, how his entire essence is love. Go back and watch the scene again, when Cas says “you’re the most caring man on Earth”, you physically see Dean look down, his eyes searching, he’s actively trying to make sense of what’s happening, he knows what’s coming and you can see him coming to terms with the shock of the words being said to him. He then looks directly at Cas. That look, that was pure shock.

Also, notice how he doesn’t stop Cas from talking? He doesn’t interject, make a joke, doesn’t talk about how there is no time for this now, they’ve got to at least try and stop Billie. He. says. nothing. He listens, he listens like I’ve never seen Dean listen before. Because it’s sinking in now.

When Cas really starts crying, when he says “you changed me, Dean”, you can actually see the pain in Dean’s eyes. He’s no longer in control of his emotions, he’s crying too. He’s never seen Cas like this, so raw, and vulnerable and human. This is the hardest, most emotional conversation they’ve both ever had. They are talking about the one thing that everybody knows, but is never addressed. When it wasn’t talked about, they could deny it, live in the lie. Once it’s said aloud, it’s real and they can’t turn back.

This above series of interactions is the part that kills me the most. The moment Cas says “because it is”, that’s the exact moment of realisation. Look at that last GIF, really look. He’s just worked it out, that he is Cas’ true happiness. He knows what’s coming before Cas even says it. Go back and watch the scene again, they pulled that off so well, the way the music swells at this exact moment. Jensen is giving us everything here, you can see what’s happening in his head - he is Cas’ happiness. He is the one thing on Earth Cas wants and thinks he can’t have. He is the reason Cas is about to die. He knows what Cas is about to say and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it, not now, not like this. It’s almost a silent plea not to say it, because he knows. Of course he knows. It’s like he can’t quite believe Cas is really, after all this time, finally going to say it.

And because obviously Jensen decided that that wasn’t enough to break us, the loaded reaction when Cas says “I love you” has me nothing but convinced that it’s reciprocated. Because Dean knows. He’s always known. Those tears, that head tilt, that gulp. He’s so genuinely confused that they’re really having this conversation. It’s like he can’t quite believe that this is the reality before him because he’s been living in that denial, in that self-loathing and unlovable layer he believes to be true. He’s been under the ‘what if... but it could never be’ umbrella for so long. 

What also makes this real is that there isn’t anyone else around this time. When “I love you’s” have been said before, they have always been able to deflect it, with other people or other words. Now it’s just the two of them. No deflecting, no running away. Dean is forced to hear it, to absorb it, to realise it’s for nobody else but him.

Now, I don’t know if you guys felt this, but when Dean says “Don’t do this, Cas”, he wasn’t just referring to Cas sacrificing himself to the Empty, he’s telling Cas that he can’t just say this, not now, knowing he’s going to die, knowing that Dean won’t get a chance to think, to process, to say what he needs too. I keep staring at that GIF above, Dean is breaking down, I’m almost convinced that Jensen was using an “I love you too, please just stop this” inner monologue for this bit. Look at the way he’s looking at Cas before he realises the Empty has started materialising and turns around. That’s a look of pure heartbreak. Trust me when I tell you, it’s really hard to keep those inner thoughts inside if you’re so in the moment - actually, don’t just take my word for it, read any acting book, ask any actor, it’s so hard to keep that in and sometimes you don’t, and sometimes you do - it’s in both the resistance and the letting go that the gold happens. This my friends, is gold. 

Did anyone else hear “Cas, I-”, well, regardless of whether or not it was an “I” or a very sharp breath, the outcome is the same. Dean’s gone into immediate panic mode. The Empty at one end and Billie at the other, and all poor Dean wants to do is gather his thoughts on not what to say but how to say it. I don’t think he comprehended just how little time he had, he was so focused on what was being said that the reality of the situation caught him completely off guard.

Also, I know this post was about dissecting Dean’s reaction, but can we sidebar a minute to talk about Cas as he pushes Dean out of the way? He’s sobbing, he’s fully crying. That hit me really hard, I’ve never seen Cas cry like that, I’ve never seen Misha get to play that level of emotion before and it was the most heartbreaking thing to watch since The Doctor and Rose and Buffy and Spike, to which by the way, I find many parallels between those couples and this scene.

Speaking of crying, that brings me to this: Dean slumped on the floor, ignoring a call from Sam, sobbing his heart out knowing he’s lost everything. Dean-I’m-emotionally-unavailable-Winchester is sobbing. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t recall ever seeing Dean cry like this before either, the sobbing was so evident and piercing in that silence. The look around the room, the burying of his head in his hands, that is a classic writers romantic love trope if I’ve ever seen it, they really pulled out all the stops with this one.

So, to summarise, I think Jensen’s choices and Dean’s reactions were absolutely and utterly perfect. They both did it so well that it didn’t break from character that these two emotionally distant and repressed men are in love and finally voicing it. Jensen barely said two words and still managed to cause mass coronary’s across the fandom. That my friends is what you call a brilliant actor. I bow down to the talents of these two amazing human beings.

Before I leave this novel, I have to say there are now a few things I’m going to need from the powers that be to not screw this up, help me manifest this:

1. Dean gets to reciprocate his feelings to Cas in person. So, I’m gonna need Cas back and a very emotional Dean.

2. Dean to be actively dealing with heartbreak in the next episode (unless they decided to bring Cas back that soon, which I wouldn’t put past them at this point).

3. Sam to confront Dean about his feelings for Cas, because out of everyone, he’d be the one to hit Dean with the truth of his fears. Sam knows. Sam is supportive. Sam sees it all.

4. I’m gonna need some physical affection, cause after 12 years of nonsense, we damn well deserve it. A hug, and not just any old reunion hug, a proper, this is different now hug. A kiss because hello, in love out loud now. Forehead touching, handholding, really gonna need the works here.

5. A happy ending for the two of them, one way or another. We’ve never had one, it’s time.

Okay, have at it now, let’s speak these into existence please.

Note: GIFs are not mine, I did not make them, credit to owners who I’m not sure of, but they’re beautiful, thanks for making them. EDIT: I’ve just been informed that these gorgeous gifs belong to @michaeldean​ and @inacatastrophicmind​! 

[onecanonlife]

Tommy and Wilbur fell apart a long time ago, and there was never any time to mourn the pieces of what they were.

But here's the most important thing: Tommy doesn't give up on the people he cares about.

(Or: on grieving, graves, a past that refuses to let go, and learning to look forward at long last.)

(word count: 5,619)

--------------------

“You know,” Tommy says, “I never really got to—to mourn you. Not properly, anyway.”

He’s not sure what response he’s expecting from Wilbur. He’s not sure why he’s saying anything at all. He’s not sure why he’s here.

That last one is a lie. He scuffs the ground with his shoe, and then pretends that he didn’t.

“I wasn’t expecting you to mourn me,” Wilbur says, in that stupid, even, condescending tone of his, the one that he uses whenever he thinks Tommy has said something incredibly obvious, when he’s got an idea in his head of how things are and what people mean, regardless of the way it all actually is. “In fact, I rather thought you wouldn’t. Shouldn’t, even.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He has no patience left. No patience left for the look in Wilbur’s eyes, no patience left for the way he focuses straight ahead, barely sparing him a glance, no patience left for the way he speaks, measured and calculating, every word he says carefully weighed against the end result, curated for intent and impact. No patience, and he had precious little to begin with. “I’m not even—this isn’t about you.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. It makes him look like a prick. “Oh?” he says.

“Because I would’ve,” he continues, doggedly. Now that he’s started saying it, he’s damn fucking well going to finish it. “But, y’know, you blew it all up, so we had to rebuild, and then I got exiled” —His voice doesn’t waver at all— “and then shit just kept on happening, so I never got to decide. How I felt. I never got to think about it.”

Wilbur laughs, then, and it’s the laugh that he hates, because it’s the laugh that’s not genuine. He knows what Wilbur sounds like when he’s happy, and this isn’t it. Hasn’t been it for a long time.

“Not sure there’s much to think about, there,” Wilbur says, and he scowls.

“Shut up, you prick,” he says. “And yes there was. That’s not something you get to choose. What I feel.”

“I’m not trying to—” Wilbur starts, but he shakes his head, going back to talk over him, because no, he’s not doing this. Not today, and not here.

“You are though, aren’t you?” he says. “You always do this. You go, you go mimimimi, I’m Wilbur, and I understand everything about how people think and I’m always right and you are all wrong, and you, I dunno, man. You just. You just don’t. You don’t know. You think you know things, but you don’t. You’re not always right. And I’m—I don’t fucking know why I’m bothering with this right now, but it’s not so you can tell me that I shouldn’t be. Because that’s not something that’s up to you.”

“Then why are you bothering with this?” Wilbur says, and his voice isn’t unkind, but it’s not kind, either.

“I just said I didn’t know—”

“Because if you’re asking me if you should mourn me, you already know what I’m going to say to that,” Wilbur says. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he says, and tacks on a quick, “Not like that,” but Wilbur’s face has already hardened, and yeah, there’s a million better ways he could have put that, but that’s the thing about talking to Wilbur. His brain is never firing on all cylinders, as it were, because it’s too busy trying to figure out if he should associate him with warm summer days and the haze of potions and a strummed guitar or explosions and drifting smoke and blank eyes and the awful realization that what he thought would make everything right didn’t do anything at all, and that nothing would ever be right again.

And before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater stretches out, vines trawling over the edge, leaves sprouting from between the rocks, sunlight catching on the pool at the bottom, the flag fluttering lightly in the wind. Before the both of them, L’Manberg’s crater has grown over, time pressing itself into the cracks. Before the both of them, L’Manberg is a crater. It wasn’t always.

“You make everything so fucking difficult,” he says.

“It’s what I live for,” Wilbur says.

“It’s what you died for, too,” he says.

Wilbur pauses.

“No,” he says. “It wasn’t.” But for once, he doesn’t elaborate, and Tommy glares at him. Only for a moment, because there’s no point in glaring when someone won’t see. Won’t look. Wilbur has his eyes turned to the crater, and Tommy has his eyes turned to Wilbur, and something about that is how it’s always been. The vines have grown over the earth’s old wounds, but Tommy can’t help but feel like they’ve curled around his ankles, holding him to the spot, the moment, and every moment that came before.

I never got to mourn you, he doesn’t say again. I never got to mourn you, and I feel like I should. But you’re here, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Wilbur won’t hear him. And if he does, he won’t understand.

-----

He collects bits of the past like buttons, or stamps, or memories.

He has his discs. He’s hesitant to play them, even now. Hesitant to take them out of his enderchest. He has his home, still in the same spot, all this time later. His hill, his hole, his garden, their bench. He sat on that bench and heard Wilbur, once, reaching out from beyond the grave, and Wilbur told him he was proud, and something in him ached in the same way that his scars now do when it rains.

He has some of Friend’s wool. Just that, just wool, because he doesn’t know how to knit, and he doesn’t know who would teach him. He can sew a little, but it was something born of necessity, of the need to patch up uniforms and close the tears over freshly dealt wounds, and he can still feel the needle pricking into his fingers, again and again and again. He never could figure out how to hold it so that it wouldn’t. He bled for L’Manberg in more ways than one.

Deep inside a chest, he has two uniforms. Blue and red and white. One is a size too small. The other is several sizes too large, and always will be.

He still goes to pray, sometimes, though not as often as he did. He got the chance to meet god and found no one there, so it’s a little tricky, these days, being faithful. But he’ll go to Church Prime, because no one else really does, so he’ll have the whole building for himself as he strides up to ring the bell, to ask for guidance and favors, to pay his homage at the feet of a higher power that he cannot believe cares. On the best days, he’s tempted to try to conduct a service. But there’s no point when there’s no one to hear it but himself. Even he can’t bring himself to put on a show for empty pews.

He prays, and nobody answers, and sometimes he can’t help but remember the void, the tearing, ripping nothingness, raking him to shreds again and again, where he was not alone and yet nobody came.

He considers visiting Tubbo. But Tubbo has his own life, and a mansion he hasn’t moved into, and a town that Tommy does not belong to, and an allegiance that Tommy does not share. He considers visiting Ranboo, but that’s either the same as visiting Tubbo, or it’s the same as visiting Techno and Phil, or it’s the same as visiting Wilbur.

So he looks at his discs and doesn’t play them, bunches his hands in wool that he has no use for, and calls out to a god he can only now offer false homage. He holds to the past, and wishes he could believe he has a future. Wishes that he didn’t see obsidian and curtaining lava whenever he closes his eyes.

-----

The first time he hears Wilbur play again, he hides in the forest like a fucking coward.

The guitar is strummed hesitantly, haltingly, interspersed with silence every few seconds, as if Wilbur is struggling to find the old positions, struggling to move his fingers just right. He wonders, then, if limbo took away his calluses. He didn’t think to look. Thirteen odd years without playing a guitar is bound to make anyone rusty. Tommy wonders if Wilbur’s fingers will bleed if he presses down on the strings hard enough, and then he banishes the thought from his mind, because something in him revolts at the idea of Wilbur bleeding. Of Wilbur trying and trying to play until he—

There is something to be said, here, about using yourself up in the pursuit of something greater. There is something to be said, here, about holding matches ‘til they burn down to the skin, about stairs without handrails, about things that are never meant to be and yet claw their way into existence anyhow. There is something to be said about pushing too far, too quick, and flying too high.

Wilbur’s not singing. Is just going from chord to chord. And Tommy hides behind a tree, pressing his back against the bark, because it has been so very long. Wilbur didn’t play in Pogtopia. Wilbur barely played in L’Manberg. The last time he heard the twang of this instrument was sitting by a campfire, plans for a van in the works, the night sky starry and welcoming above them, his chest warm in a way that had nothing to do with the flames. And Wilbur smiled at them, smiled at all of them, and his voice was light and sure, his notes soaring.

Wilbur’s not singing. After a moment, he starts humming, softly and meandering, and each turn in the melody hits like a wrench, like he’s dragging the notes out behind them, yanking at the tune whenever it goes somewhere he doesn’t like. It’s a lot of leaps and skips and jumps, a lot of highs to lows and then highs again, and something about it sounds like wailing. There are no words, and there is no happiness.

But he’s playing. He’s playing, and does that count for something? There was no music for such a long time, no music in the darkness and no music even in the light, and now there is music in the grey twilight, and it is not happy music but it is music. Wilbur is playing again, and Tommy’s not going to cry, because what kind of pussy cries about hearing a guitar? So he doesn’t cry, but he doesn’t venture out from this spot, either. He stays there, and listens as Wilbur sends his voice shooting up into falsetto and then back down again.

It’s good that there are no words, maybe. They’d be sad. He can tell.

“That sounds nice,” Ranboo says, all of a sudden, and Tommy jolts at the same time that Wilbur’s hand must jerk, a discordant clash of notes, something that can’t even be called a chord. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t,” Wilbur says, after a pause. Tommy almost creeps out to see his expression, because he can’t picture it. Can’t tell from his voice what his face is doing. “I was just about done anyway.” There is another pause, and a rustle of clothing. Standing. The crunching of leaves underfoot. It’s nearly autumn again, and already the leaves are changing, falling.

It would be wrong of him to resent Ranboo. He’ll never admit it aloud, but he likes him. Rather a lot. Hiding it is probably pointless now, though that doesn’t stop him from trying. But Ranboo is occupying the space that should be his, that once was his. There is a van in a forest, and a guitar song winding its way through the branches and the roots, and everything is different and everything is the same, and the new story is written without him in it. He doesn’t know what he wants, but he thinks it is not this. He thinks it is not to be left behind.

And Ranboo does not know Wilbur well enough to hear the lie in his voice.

They go off together through the trees. Tommy stays. Runs his hand across the tree bark, and tries not to put his emotions into words. Better to let them drift along as is. Better not to give them voice, because whispers turn into shouts all too easily, and there is not enough space here for shouting.

-----

There’s a thing about graves. There’s a thing about graves and who gets one, and who doesn’t.

He didn’t think about it at the time, the fact that Schlatt—Schlatt the tyrant, Schlatt the enemy, Schlatt the man who had Tubbo executed—got a funeral, and a tomb, has one even to this day, and Wilbur got rubble and a room sealed off and untouched. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no burial. Didn’t think about the fact that there was no gravestone to deface or to ornament with flowers or to kick or to scream at or to kneel beside and speak to or to cry or to do any or all of those things. He didn’t think about it at the time, because there was rebuilding, and then there was a house on fire, and then he doesn’t like to think about it.

And there was Ghostbur.

Wilbur hates Ghostbur. It makes him angry, the way that Wilbur hates Ghostbur. Ghostbur was good, and Ghostbur was kind, and Ghostbur tried his best, and Ghostbur did not deserve to die in the way that he did, terrified, with no one there by his side, with only shouted numbers to soothe his terror, and Ghostbur does not deserve to be stuck in a train station for all of eternity. So he makes Ghostbur a memorial, because it’s all he can do, and the first time he’s next to it at the same time as Wilbur, he meets his eyes squarely. A challenge. A dare. And Wilbur looks right back at him, and then to the gravestone, and his lips curl into a sneer.

And he says nothing at all.

He says nothing at all for a long time. Until he does, and it’s all made so much worse.

“Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” Wilbur asks, and it’s all very even and nonchalant, so much so that it might have him fooled if he didn’t know better, hadn’t heard time and time again exactly what Wilbur thinks of the ghost he left behind him.

“The fuck kind of question is that?” he demands.

“An honest one,” Wilbur answers.

“Right,” he says. “Because you don’t lie anymore, or whatever the fuck.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur agrees, and that is a lie. Tommy would be insulted if he weren’t so tired of it. “Really, I’d like an answer.”

“What does it matter?” he snaps. “He’s not here anymore. He’s not here anymore, and you are. No changing that. I’m fucking stuck with you. You’re like, you’re like a leech, you know that? A leech in my brain.”

Wilbur smiles tightly.

“I’d rather be a leech in your brain than dust in the ground,” he says. “Like he is.”

“Shut up,” he grits out. “Don’t—just don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Alright, then,” Wilbur says. “I won’t. If it upsets you that much.”

And he doesn’t. And the grave stays.

And it is not until later that he thinks about the thing about graves again, about who gets one and who does not. There is no grave with Wilbur’s name on it. There was no soil to lay him to rest, only cold, hard stone, a room undisturbed, a monument to destruction. And had there been time, he would have thought about it more. Would have taken it upon himself, perhaps, because the thing is, in the end, that maybe Wilbur deserved better than to be remembered as the man who destroyed his nation. Deserved better than to be remembered solely by the ravine’s dark corridors and the smoke that clung to him like foreshadowing and the way his eyes looked dead, dead, dead for a long time before Tommy watched Phil plunge the sword into his chest.

Because he was not only that. It hurts to think about, how he was not only that. But sometimes, things that hurt to think about ought to be thought about. Because Wilbur was shattered edges that Tommy knows only now that he could not fix, because Wilbur did not want fixing, but Wilbur was also laughter and a gentle hand on his shoulder and the words “I’m proud of you” that lit him up like sunlight, and he was kind and he was kind of a dick and he was brilliant and Prime, maybe Tommy should have known. Should have known that there was going to be a fall. But he looked up to Wilbur like a child to a shooting star, and it’s a long time before children understand that shooting stars aren’t stars at all, and that the wonder of them comes from self-destruction.

But before Wilbur fell, he shone. A beacon in the dark. Hope, freedom. And before he was those things, too, he was Tommy’s brother. Just that, and nothing more, because more was not needed.

And he received no grave.

It’s a question of time again, and a question of mourning, and a question of how he was ever supposed to grieve when there was no time for it at all, and when a ghost shadowed his every footstep and dripped blue from cold fingers and insisted that nothing was ever wrong. But for the first time, he wonders how Wilbur thinks about it. Graves, and ghosts. And who gets a grave, and who does not.

Who is mourned, and who is not.

Who is given up on, and who is not.

The question echoes once again: “Would you rather he was here, instead of me?” And this time, Tommy hears no taunt in it, no mocking, no cruel joke about the ghost who deserved so much better. Only bitterness, and exhaustion, and resignation. Like Wilbur already knew what answer he would be granted.

That’s a realization of some sort, that Wilbur believes he prefers him dead. It’s a realization of some sort, but he doesn’t know what kind.

There’s ghosts and there’s graves, and there’s the living and there’s the dead, and both are left waiting for relief that never comes. It’s thirteen years in a train station and it’s months without knowing what to think, without having space to breathe, without being able to process that his brother was unwell and then that his brother was gone. It’s too much time and too little, too much distance and too little, and Ghostbur did not deserve what he got, but neither, he thinks, did Wilbur.

That thought feels right. And wrong all at once. Bitter, heart-wrenching. That Wilbur deserved better. They all did, that he knows—but Wilbur did too. And that thought is muddled up in all the rest, and he doesn’t know what to do with it, but it’s there. If there’s anything to be done with it at all.

-----

Here is a fact: he kept Dream alive for Wilbur’s sake.

Here is another fact: he doesn’t know if he regrets it.

Because here is the thing: he remembers that day, remembers the pain and the fear and the devastation, and he remembers the moment it all turned around, cowering behind Sapnap and behind Eret until the time came to step forward, to take the axe in hand and deliver the blow, to deliver himself to safety, finally, finally. And he remembers the words bitten out from Dream’s mouth, panicked, desperate, and he remembers what he said. He will never forget.

And the decision, in that moment, was far easier than it had any right to be.

It became harder, later. Because he made the decision thinking, in large part, of the person that Wilbur used to be. Of a quick, charming tongue and flashes of smiles and music and song and leadership and knowing what to do, always, and Prime above but Tommy missed that person. And so maybe he deluded himself. Maybe he thought, in that dark room, with the portal swirling behind him and the entire server at his back, that he could get that person again. That Wilbur would return, and that it could all go back to the way it used to be. Discs spinning in the sunrise, the server at peace, his brother with him.

But death put those thoughts to rest.

Because death proved to him that Wilbur had only gotten worse. Because in death, Wilbur was happy he was there, did nothing but talk to him and make him play competitive solitaire as he was torn apart atom by atom. Because Wilbur—he became so very certain that Wilbur, if released, would bring nothing but harm to the server again, would tear everything down, because there was something in his voice, in his eyes—

But that was then. And now, Dream still lives in prison, rots but lives, and Wilbur has a burger van in a forest with a friend and spends most of his days lounging about or making eyes at Quackity or talking up a storm but doing jack shit, and Tommy doesn’t know what to make of it, and doesn’t know how to admit that maybe his idea of what Wilbur would be like and what Wilbur would do wasn’t entirely accurate.

And he still doesn’t know if it was worth it. Worth the constant fear, worth knowing that one day, Dream will be out, will come to him, will try to finish what he started. He tried to prevent it and only made it worse, only led Ghostbur to his doom by his innocent, trusting hand, and Dream resurrected—

A monster, he would have said, once. He no longer knows if that is fair.

Because here is another fact, one that he is only now beginning to understand: Wilbur is very, painfully human. He’s always known, and yet he hasn’t, because once, he thought Wilbur hung the stars and the moon and all things bright and glowing and good, and he thought that Wilbur could never be so human as to be fallible, and then it turned out that he was wrong. And it was easy, in the aftermath of that, to figure that Wilbur was perhaps some kind of monster instead, and everyone around him said as much.

But that, he thinks, goes too far in the other direction.

His hopes will never be realized. He will never have the old Wilbur back. He clings to a past that clings to him right back, that has him in a chokehold and will not let go, but Wilbur is something else entirely. The rest of the past does not live and breathe, is contained in his overflowing chests, in uniforms that don’t fit him, in the church’s empty hall. The rest of the past is made of things he can hold, but he has never been able to hold Wilbur. Not then, and not now. And there is no hope of making of them what they once were.

There is no going back.

So was it worth it, then? To keep Dream alive, and to receive this, this man who varies between manic energy and calculated calm, who speaks with a whip in his tone at some times and unbearable softness at others, who proclaims Dream his hero and then claims he would have killed him, if he could, for what he did? Was it worth it, and is it worth it, and how is something like that measured at all?

Wilbur is a tightness in his chest when he speaks and a ghost that won’t leave and a ghost that died and a thousand words like a thousand stinging hornets and no picture that could encompass all of them, all of what they are and were. Wilbur is Wilbur, and Wilbur is not safe, not anymore, and perhaps Wilbur is not even good—but there, that, that is wrong, and he won’t make this mistake twice. Wilbur is good, it’s just that he’s forgotten that, and Tommy is so, so very tired of having to be the one to try and remind him. And Wilbur is empty space and Wilbur is a space too full and overflowing around the fractured edges, and Wilbur is too bright and too loud and too quiet and too little and too much, and even now, even still, Tommy does not know where they stand.

Was it worth it, to have this?

He doesn’t know. But sometimes, he imagines what it would be like if Wilbur were still dead, if Wilbur were never, ever coming back in any shape, in any form, and his throat closes up and his eyes sting, no matter how much he has laid out his hatred for the man, his regret at going into the prison that day. He tries to imagine a world without Wilbur in it, in which he has given up on Wilbur, and even now he doesn’t like it, even though maybe he should, and that is, perhaps, answer enough.

-----

“Why do you keep coming here?” Wilbur asks him.

“I dunno,” he says, instead of a hundred other things. “Why don’t you ever fucking leave?”

Wilbur just looks tired. There are bags under his eyes. Tommy thinks he can guess why; he so rarely slept during their exile, but Tommy is thinking about limbo, and train stations, and how whenever he closes his eyes, part of him is convinced that his heart has stopped beating. He wonders if Wilbur, for all his sunrise-obsession and constant movement and moments of utter wonderment at the world around him and the way he doesn’t move whenever a creeper approaches him, feels the same way.

“There was a reason I asked Ranboo to do this with me instead of you,” Wilbur says, suddenly, apropos of nothing. Tommy feels himself still. “I mean—actually, I asked Phil, and Phil was all, oh, Wil, go and make friends, and I was like fuck you I’m not twelve years old anymore but Ranboo’s pretty great so it worked out. But I—I guess what I’m getting at is that I don’t get it. Why you choose to keep coming ‘round here anyway.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “What’s not to get?”

Wilbur shoots him a look, eyebrows going up and mouth slanting all sympathetic-like.

“Tommy,” he says, slowly, as if talking to the child that Tommy has not been in a long, long time, “I’m not what you want.”

Several answers form in his head, and then dissipate just as quickly before he’s able to reply. “‘S that right?” he says, and something boils within him, hot and snapping and popping.

“I can see it when you look at me, man,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t even sound upset. “You’re—and I mean, I don’t blame you for it. I was awful to you, Tommy. I don’t deserve anything less than your scorn. But you and everyone else, you’re all waiting for what I’m going to do next. You’re all waiting with bated breath. Scared of the next disaster I’m going to cause. So you don’t—you don’t have to be here, Tommy. Not if you don’t want to be.”

There are so many things he could say. Your disasters always cause the most damage to yourself, is one of them, and then there’s a simple, you think I don’t know that? Because how many times has he told himself that same thing? That he doesn’t need to be here? That it would be better for him if he wasn’t? And some part of him must listen, because he’s not actually here all that much. He has other things to do. A life outside of this, outside of this forest on the edge of a fake desert and a van that makes pretty shitty burgers and one Wilbur Soot, like a portrait from the past and yet nothing like that at all, because portraits are shadows, still images, permanent and unchanging, with mo mutable future, and Wilbur Soot is none of those things.

He has a life. He has Tubbo, still, even if it’s all changed. He has others. He’s not alone.

Wilbur’s right that he doesn’t have to be here.

“Stop fucking doing that,” he says. “Stop trying to make my decisions for me.”

Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says. “You always are. It’s my fucking choice whether I want to be here or not. And I’m making that choice. Not you. Me. And sure, maybe one day you’ll manage to get rid of me for good, but you’re gonna have to fucking work at it, and I don’t see you trying.”

“I thought you didn’t want me here, Tommy,” Wilbur returns, and the words seem to fall so effortlessly, like easy acceptance, and why, why is it this of all things that Wilbur seems to take in stride? Why is it this and not a thousand other things? Why is it this and not the fact that despite it all, despite every warning sign and every indication that maybe it might be better for him to give up after all, Tommy is still here?

“I didn’t want you gone, either,” he snaps, and Wilbur falls completely silent. So he continues, because who knows when he’ll have a chance to say this again? That’s the thing about chances; they’re difficult to count, impossible to anticipate, and he bollocksed up the first one he got, to try to break through. “I never wanted you gone in the first place. So maybe I don’t—maybe I don’t fucking know what I want. Because I never got to just live with that. There was never a chance to—there wasn’t even a fucking grave for me to visit. I never got to figure anything out, and now you’re back and nothing’s the fucking same, so maybe I don’t know what I fucking want. Maybe I don’t fucking know if I want you here, but I didn’t want you gone. I didn’t want you to be dead. And then you were. You just were, and I couldn’t—did you expect me to be alright with that?”

It’s a question of mourning, and a question of graves, and a question of chances and who deserves them. And Wilbur just looks confused.

Fuck him.

There’s so much more to say, and he can’t say any of it at all, and the past chokes him like a knot of vines or a clump of flowers in his throat, but he’s still breathing. He’s still breathing, breathes again, whatever, and Wilbur is the same. They’re the same in a lot of ways, maybe. On the other side of the final death, trying to hold onto and release the years gone by all at once. Moving forward, but stuck in quicksand, and they’re never going to get out if they don’t let each other.

“You’re my brother,” he says, and that’s all. As if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

Wilbur blinks.

“Ah,” he says.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “Fucking ah.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur says.

“You’d better be,” he says.

And impossibly, the vines uncurl, and the flowers come floating up, and when he takes a step forward, it comes easily.

There is a van in this forest, and it is not the same van. Some distance away, there is a crater in the ground, and nature has draped itself over the ruins of the lives they once had, and the flag still flaps at the bottom, and they are never, ever going to be able to rebuild what they lost. The crater will always be a crater, a scar in the earth. Healing, healed, grown over and stitched shut, but still a scar.

And there is a man standing in front of him who is not the same man that he knew. Not the same man that he claimed for his family, and who claimed him in return.

But he is not the same, either. Perhaps nobody and nothing is. The past clings, and he clings tighter, but perhaps he needs to loosen his grip, because despite everything, there is a future out there, somewhere past the next sunrise. They are going to get older. They are going to live. So he has his discs and his uniforms and his wool and his prayer, and he has this, too, because it is his choice. To take a step forward, and wait to be met in the middle. To dare to turn ahead, to believe that there is something awaiting him. The both of them.

And he thinks he might finally be able to let himself grieve. Grieve, and let go. Grieve the dead, and what they had, and what they might have, and grieve for the fact that there was no grieving, no grave.

And then, let himself hope that they will have better after all.

-----

The next time he hears Wilbur play, he steps out from behind the tree.

And maybe the song is a little less sad.

And maybe nothing will ever be the same as it used to be.

And maybe it will be alright.

[auckie]

Do you have any more autism child stories?

i have so many, most either involve me genuinely believing im about to be killed as a consequence of doing something really batshit autistic or just being a huge bully and asshole in middle school (but like, in an autistic dipshit way). but the first two that comes to mind that's sorta on par with the cars post in terms of like, clusterfuck, is when this kid in my like elementary grade class didnt show up to school one day. turns out his dad passed away in a car accident, and so we were asked to make cards for him. i loooved to draw the stupid paul frank monkey

remember this thing? i would doodle it everwhere. so when it came time to do our cards, i put three of these things on the card, doing the 'see/hear/speak no evil' poses, and on the inside i think it just said like 'sorry your dad died </3' or something completely tone deaf. his best friend, who i had a huge crush on, stopped me and was like. no way in hell youre giving that to my best friend. his dad DIED. i don't remember if i turned it in to the teacher or not, but i do remember that i was really mad about it, and didn't understand what i did wrong, so come the end of the day, when we had to pick up and stack our chairs, i picked mine up and rammed it into him, ripping a hole in the ass of his pants. and for some reason, i didn't get in trouble. i never did despite like physically aggressing kids in front of teachers all the time, because i was smart and shy and i think they must've assumed i was just defending myself? not true at all. anyways, this second part isn't directly related, but they happened within days of each other and so i assumed it was like punishment for my actions: my mom left some country crock lemonade powder out on the kitchen counter one day, and i took a huge scoop and ate it raw right before she walked into the room and said 'oh yeah, don't use that lemonade powder because i poured paint thinner in it.' and then walked out. and i like. yknow i was like. tails gets trolled horrified face! my dad was always joking about paint thinner related deaths, so i KNEW, i knew if i had ingested it i was done for, but i didn't really understand how long it would take, or how i would feel because i was too little to think about these things critically. so i assumed i was going to die, but i was too shy/sad/embarassed to say anything about it, and for the rest of the week i was like writing out my own eulogy, last will and testament, my last rights etc. and i had this little magic 8 ball toy from mcdonalds-- it might not've been a magic 8 ball, bc i remember it being both dexter's lab themed and also lion king themed...but regardless, it was something that answered 'yes/no/maybe/try again later' when shook or spun or whatever. and i kept referring to it like it was Gd's way of speaking to me, trying to figure out when i was going to finally hit the bucket. i was my name is earling everyone too, and they took notice bc i would leave like little chocolates at my parents bedroom door like a cat leaves a dead bird for its owner, and when i they finally beat what was wrong out of me, my mom LAUGHED! at me being so absurd. like i didn't think i was going to fucking die for a solid week as punishment for shoving a chair leg up another kid's ass, for trying to prevent me from mocking his dad's death.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt~ hoping you'll like it ♥️

Things between the Nie brothers are not always nice and happy, they fight, just like any other pair of brothers, and sometimes things are said, sometimes these things are heavy and painful. Sometimes they're said in the wrong moment (maybe at the eve of a battle? Sunshot campaign?) and huaisang doesn't know what to do with the broken look his brother gives him before leaving the unclean realm. Because what if he doesn't return? What if the last thing he said to him was how much he hated the man he became?

Labyrinth - ao3

“But I didn’t mean to wish him away!” Nie Huaisang cried out.

“That’s really too bad,” the goblin king said, looking pleasant and humble and charming the way he always did, even in his cape of glittering gold and high-browed hat. “I wish there was something I could do for you, but the rules are the rules. You wished him away, and I took him.”

“Aren’t you supposed to only take babies?” Nie Huaisang demanded.

“Your brother’s enough of a crybaby to count, it’s close enough.”

“It is not!” Nie Huaisang wrung his hands. “You don’t understand, the last thing I said to him was that I hated him! Meng Yao, please!”

“It’s Jin Guangyao,” the goblin king corrected. His smile looked a bit strained. “Listen, do you think I’m happy about this? He’s my sworn brother! I’m only doing what I have to –”

“Oh, save it for Lan Xichen,” Nie Huaisang growled. “Show me the labyrinth already.”

“You’re going to face the labyrinth,” the goblin king said. His voice was very polite, and yet still expressed significant doubt. “You.”

“Yeah, me!”

“You remember that it goes ‘through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered’, right? Not ‘through a nice teacher and a forgiving grading system’?”

“Yeah, well, your father is a fragging aardvark. Let me at the labyrinth already!”

-

“You know what,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

The life-sized animated puppet blinked at him. “You – don’t want my help?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“You haven’t even gotten into the labyrinth yet!”

“It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t have a chance to get in,” Nie Huaisang said, patting around his sleeve and pulling out a fan. “So I’m just going to walk over and beat at the wall till something happens.”

The puppet followed him, staring blankly. Quite a change from his original apologetic ‘I’m sorry, I’m busy with my own things, I really can’t help you, also it’s too dangerous and you shouldn’t go’ response.

“You were blackmailing me to help you just a moment ago,” the puppet said after a little. “Don’t you need a guide?”

“Listen, I’m bad at memorizing things and I’m a little useless, but I’m not actually dumb,” Nie Huaisang said, fanning himself. “Jin Guangyao is a demon of the mind above all else, and the labyrinth is supposed to be ‘fair’ – which means, more than likely, that the labyrinth is a reflection of the subconscious, specially tailored to each person’s strengths and weaknesses. And that means that you, who sound exactly like Lan Xichen, are almost certainly a set-up sent by Jin Guangyao to ‘reluctantly’ aid me and then betray me.”

“Uh,” Lan Xichen-the-puppet said. “My name’s Hoggle, actually.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, er-ge…A-ha!” Nie Huaisang beamed at the gates that automatically opened. “Perfect!”

-

“Oh, don’t go that way,” the worm said. “Never go that way. And are you sure you don’t want to come in for a cup of tea?”

“No time,” Nie Huaisang said. “Thanks a lot – wait.”

The worm blinked at him.

“You’re a pretty attractive worm, in a slimy sort of way,” Nie Huaisang said, frowning at him.

The worm blinked again. “Why, thanks!”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Is your name Su She, by chance?”

“Definitely not!”

“Mm. Oddly vehement of you. Never mind. Just, quick, could you tell me exactly why do I not want to go that way?”

-

“I don’t suppose straight ahead is an option?”

The hands-faces stared at him.

“I’m just saying, I feel like most of my problems so far have come from the fact that I decided to accept the whole concept of turns. It seems like a mistake.”

“…it’s a labyrinth,” another set of the hands said. “You have to make turns!”

Nie Huaisang shook his head mournfully. “I should’ve brought Baxia or something and just – ZIP. Gone straight through. You know what I mean?”

“I’m dropping you in the oubliette regardless of your decision,” the first set of the hands said. It sounded a bit like Sect Leader Yao. “Just so you know.”

“My life is so hard,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “So hard! Do you know what it’s like to be overlooked by everyone? Do you know how hard I have to work at being this useless?”

“Drop him,” the set of hands that sounded like Sect Leader Ouyang said, and the set of hands that sounded like Sect Leader Yao said, “Yes. Now!”

Down Nie Huaisang went.

-

“I can take you back to the beginning of the labyrinth,” Lan Xichen offered.

“What, and waste all that time? I have a time limit, er-ge!”

“It’s better than being stuck in an oubliette. That’s where they put people to forget about them, you know.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes filled with tears. “You want to forget me, er-ge? You think I’m useless, don’t you? A good-for-nothing, who’ll never amount to anything –”

“Please don’t cry.”

“ER-GE! WHY DON’T YOU LOVE ME!”

“Please stop crying!”

-

“So what’s the point of you?” Nie Huaisang asked the Wise Man with the Talking Hat.

“Not everyone exists to contribute to your storyline,” the Talking Hat snapped at him. “Some of us’ve got our own problems. Now hand over the candy!”

“Don’t be mean,” the Wise Man said. He had a white cloth over his eyes, and was smiling like he found the hat funny.

“Awww, but daozhang…!”

“Different plotline entirely, I guess,” Nie Huaisang decided. “Probably just here as a foil. Shall we keep going, er-ge?”

“I can’t believe you scammed me to get out of the oubliette,” Lan Xichen mumbled. “I can’t believe…”

-

“Oh, leave him alone, he’s just sensitive!” Nie Huaisang snapped.

“Am not!” the upside-down creature snarled, curled up on itself and trying to hide from all those that had been hitting him. Its fur was a vivid sort of purple. “Go away!”

“Don’t you have some sort of special power to help you here,” Nie Huaisang asked him as he tried to get him down before the goblins came back with weapons. “Rocks, maybe?”

“…lightning?”

“Well then get to it, will you?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “Wait. Lightning, constantly being tormented, terrible at communication, and purple? You’re Jiang Cheng, aren’t you?”

“…maybe.”

“Well then get down faster! I need to copy someone’s notes here!”

-

“Leave me aloooooooone!” Nie Huaisang howled, running away from the measuring snake.

-

“Wow,” Lan Xichen said, holding his cheek. “You kissed me.”

“You saved me from the snakes,” Nie Huaisang said. “Can we focus on how we’re in this awful stinking bog?”

“It’s not that bad!” a voice piped up. “I don’t smell anything!”

Nie Huaisang turned to stare, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “I bet the total absence of a sense of smell helps when you eat spicy food, Wei-xiong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with spicy food!”

“You’re short,” Nie Huaisang informed the small goblin-like creature with the big grin and the red ribbon in its hair. It looked vaguely fox-like, or possibly like certain large breeds of rabbit.

“Why you..!” Wei Wuxian crossed his furry little paws over his chest. “Just for that, I’m not going to help you.”

“Uh-huh,” Nie Huaisang said. “Really. That’s awful…oh no! A dog!”

Wei Wuxian jumped high into the air. “A dog?! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! Save me!”

Much to Nie Huaisang’s surprise, a furry dog immediately darted out of nowhere – only Wei Wuxian didn’t seem afraid of it, but rather hid behind it, teeth chattering.

Truly, Nie Huaisang reflected, the eyes of love are blind.

“I think the ‘dog’ is gone now,” he said. “Your brave and noble Lan Wangji must’ve scared him away.”

Wei Wuxian’s head popped out from behind dog-Wangji. “Well, Lan Zhan is really cool…hey. Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“Is it working?”

“No!”

“So you won’t help me?”

“No!”

“Not even if it means you get to figure out a really tricky puzzle?”

“No – wait. A puzzle?”

“I can’t believe this is going to work,” Lan Xichen muttered from behind Nie Huaisang. “I mean, I can. But also…Wangji…I love you, but you could do so much better than this.”

-

“Ugh,” Nie Huaisang said. “I’m so thirsty.”

“Have some Emperor’s Smile,” Lan Xichen said, offering a jar.

“Amazing,” Nie Huaisang said, accepting it and taking a swing. “I had my doubts, you know, but you’re actually good for something after all, er-ge –”

-

The golden bird was Nie Huaisang’s favorite.

He’d worked so hard to bring it back to his aviary – it couldn’t be forced, he knew; it would play along at first but in the end it would turn on you and bite you. It had to be coaxed with gentleness and kindness, approached indirectly so as not to spook it, convince it that you really did mean well – that you were harmless, that it had no reason to fear you. It was arrogant, too, proud of its shining feathers and ashamed of the brown plumage of its chick days, which still remained visible on its tender underbelly. Ironically, that was Nie Huaisang’s favorite part of it, the soft and gentle part; it might not be as pretty as the gold, but it felt more genuine.

Nie Huaisang smiled as he brushed the beautiful feathers, and the golden bird allowed him. He felt cherished, treasured. So what if he had to hide all the sharp parts of himself to get this close?

It was fine. He didn’t like to be sharp.

He wanted to be soft. Soft and gentle, careless and free, relaxed and without effort, good for nothing –

Wait.

No!

-

“It’s all junk,” Nie Huaisang hissed at the pile of burning fans, tears in his eyes. “I want my da-ge!”

-

“You’re all right!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, helping pulled Nie Huaisang up.

“Huaisang-xiong,” Jiang Cheng said, looking relieved. “You’re back.”

“We have to go to the temple beyond the Goblin City,” Nie Huaisang said, teeth gritted together. “We have to. I won’t let that bastard…we’re going to go there and throw all his damned tricks right in his face!”

“Just us?” Wei Wuxian asked. “I mean, I’m awesome, Lan Zhan is fantastic, and of course Jiang Cheng is great, too, but…uh…there’s a lot of goblins in the city.”

“We’ll sneak in,” Nie Huaisang said. “He thinks he’s sidelined me entirely – he thinks I’m useless. He won’t be expecting me to get this far.”

“I can get help,” Jiang Cheng said. “I have friends.”

“…not to be rude, Jiang-xiong,” Nie Huaisang said. “But – really?”

-

“You know what,” Nie Huaisang said, eyeing the pile of rocks following Jiang Cheng around, each one painted with a name. One of the names was yellow. Two were in white, with forehead ribbons. “This is fine. I feel like it says something really rude about my empathy for and interest in our junior generation, or lack thereof, but you know what? I don’t care. It’s fine.”

-

“You saved me,” Nie Huaisang said blankly, looking at Lan Xichen, who shrugged, abashed. The remains of the mechanical temple guard were scattered all over. “Over – him?”

“Huaisang –”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said, holding up his hands. “Don’t. Don’t…I don’t want to hear you talk.”

Lan Xichen’s head dropped down and he looked at the ground. “You knew from the beginning what I was like,” he murmured. “I never tried to hide it –”

“I forgive you for being what you are,” Nie Huaisang told him, and Lan Xichen looked up at him, startled and pleased. “I forgive you for not having the backbone to stand up against Jin Guangyao for me – or for da-ge. For being willfully blind for so long, for needing someone else’s proof of his ill-intentions, for always picking him first, for never trusting me…I forgive you, even if you’d never forgive me for the same.”

He dashed away the angry tears in his eyes.

“I just wish this wasn’t a fucking metaphor.”

-

Nie Huaisang left the fighting to the people who knew what to do – Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng, even the rock-juniors – and went to the temple at the center of the city alone.

Some things, he knew, needed to be done alone, even if it was the type of alone when you were surrounded by other people. Even when those other people stood by his side and made him promise that if he needed them, he would only need to call. Some things…

“I want my da-ge back,” he said to the maze of stairs.

“Then go and find him,” Jin Guangyao replied, looking smug, and Nie Huaisang had to go up and down all those fucking stairs, because Jin Guangyao was nothing if not predictable with his trauma, looking all over, looking for –

Looking for pieces.

“It’s just a metaphor,” he whispered to himself, ignoring how tears were streaming down his face. “It’s just – I need to put him back together, it’s fine. I’m not too late – I’m not too late –”

-

Jin Guangyao held Nie Mingjue’s head in his hands, blinded and gagged and bound with talismans, pulled out of whatever oubliette he'd shoved it into to forget about what he'd done. “Beware, Huaisang,” he said, still smiling. Always smiling. “I’ve been generous up until now, but I can be cruel.”

Nie Huaisang laughed, scoffing. “Generous? What have you done for me that’s generous?”

“Everything! Everything you’ve wanted, I’ve done – I cared for you, I gave you attention, I got you out of work, doing your schoolwork for you and coming up with excuses to get you out of saber training. I gave you presents, fans and pretty clothing, and when that brute of a brother of yours tried to take them from you, I rescued you. And then I even managed your sect for you, answered all of your questions, any time you had – Huaisang, I’m exhausted trying to live up to your expectations of me. Isn’t that generous?”

Nie Huaisang bared his teeth. “Half of those are burdens that only fell on me because of you. Why should it matter to me that cleaning up your own mess and satisfying your own guilt is hard? Why should I pay such a price when all I wanted was to be your friend? When all da-ge wanted was to be your friend? How dare you, Meng Yao!”

“Huaisang…” Jin Guangyao shook his head mournfully. “Huaisang, the last step here is to say the words to break the spell. But you were never good at memorization, were you?”

Nie Huaisang bit his lip until he drew blood.

“Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered,” he said. “I have fought my way here to the temple beyond the goblin city –”

“Huaisang, stop! Look at what you’re risking here. You know how everyone loves me – do you think anyone will forgive you for taking me down, for tricking them all? You’ll be all alone!”

I already am, Nie Huaisang thought.

“My will is as strong as yours,” he said. “And my kingdom is as great…”

His voice trailed off.

“I ask for so little,” Jin Guangyao said beseechingly, convincingly, looking just like he always did, like the man who'd been their friend. “Just let me fool you, and you can have anything you want. No responsibilities, no stress, a life of your own. You can even have Lan Xichen, if that’s what you want…”

What’s the last line, Nie Huaisang thought, hating himself for being such a poor student, for cramming things into his mind without any order, for never being able to retain a single drop of it no matter how hard he tried. What is it? Why can’t I ever remember?

“It’d be so easy,” Jin Guangyao crooned. “Much easier than this. Just fear me, love me, believe me, and I’ll be your slave.”

Sharp teeth in a false smile.

Nie Huaisang shook in terror. He couldn’t – his da-ge needed him – he couldn’t be afraid, couldn’t be a coward, couldn’t be good-for-nothing – couldn’t let Jin Guangyao win – couldn’t let him –

That was it.

Nie Huaisang raised his head until his eyes met his enemy’s.

Sensing something wrong, Jin Guangyao’s eternal smile dimmed, and he began to step forward, reaching out, but it was too late.

“You have no power over me,” Nie Huaisang declared, and the world within a world collapsed.

-

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes.

-

Nie Huaisang sat in his desk in the Unclean Realm, trying to amuse himself by trying to figure out what exactly he’d eaten the night before that had given him such bizarre dreams. It was not successful, on account of him being alone.

Alone, just as he had been every night, and every day as well, since the success of his scheme at the Guanyin Temple.

Just as the dream-Jin Guangyao had threatened.

It wasn’t that Nie Huaisang regretted what he had done – the dream was clear enough about that; he’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he had to. But in the dream he’d been working alongside his former friends, with Lan Xichen betraying but then returning to him, with Wei Wuxian dragging Lan Wangji around, with stone-faced Jiang Cheng and the rather interchangeable junior squad behind him…and in his dream, in the end, they’d let him go to take his revenge, telling him that if he needed them for any reason, he could just call.

Just call, and they’d come back to him. Instead of turning from him in disgust, they’d stand by his side…

“Stupid subconscious,” Nie Huaisang mumbled to himself. “What do you expect? That I'd write to them and say ‘for no real reason at all, I find that I rather need you’?”

Silence answered him.

“Well, I do,” he said with a sigh, putting his chin on his hands. “Does that make you happy? I do need you.”

“You do?” Wei Wuxian’s voice rang out, and Nie Huaisang jumped nearly out of his skin. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Nie Huaisang turned, staring: it was Wei Wuxian at the door, the human version of him, and of course there was Lan Wangji right before him, and Jiang Cheng, and the (still mostly interchangeable) juniors, and – and even Lan Xichen, who Nie Huaisang was sure had gone into seclusion with no intent to leave.

“What are you doing here?” Nie Huaisang squeaked. And why hadn’t any of his sect disciples warned him?

“We just bullied our way though the door before anyone could stop us,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, answering the unspoken question first. “As for the rest – it turns out that I had the strangest dream the other night, really, truly bizarre, and obviously I had to tell Lan Zhan all about it, except it turned out he had a strange dream too.”

Nie Huaisang’s jaw dropped. “But –”

“I felt da-ge’s qi woven into the labyrinth,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “I thought it’d have long ago dissipated or been locked away, but – it was there, in every stone, in every turn. Every obstacle that didn’t really hurt you, every goblin that was more silly than scary…he was there. It was unmistakable.”

Nie Huaisang swallowed. The story of the labyrinth, baby-stealing wish-granting goblin king and all, had been one that Nie Mingjue had told him as a bedtime story, when he'd been a child in need of comfort; he hadn’t thought of it in years before last night. “But…why…?”

“Because Chifeng-zun has a demented sense of humor?” Jiang Cheng suggested, looking irritated.

“Jiujiu means that he hasn’t had that much fun in years, and also that you should throw a party,” Jin Ling said. “You are hosting all three of the sect leaders of all the other Great Sects. Also, why were we rocks?”

“Uh, no idea,” Nie Huaisang said. “Da-ge’s weird sense of humor, no doubt! Anyway, did you say party? I can do a party!”

He rushed out of the room, calling for his servants, calling for them to bring food and wine and tea, and as he did, he looked out of the window – a golden bird was flying away, looking hunted as if something was chasing it, and even as he watched, it crossed the borders of the Unclean Realm and suddenly dissolved into a fizzle of golden dust.

Nie Huaisang put his hand on the stone wall, and felt a familiar echo.

A very familiar echo.

“Oh,” he said, to his servants, feeling somehow simultaneously sheepish and filled with joy. “And while you’re at it, can you bring me my saber? I seem to have – misplaced it…”