#i just have a lot of pain and it makes it hard to think

[l0v3r666]

Mc inserts x TWST characters

(basically non-yuu pairings I think about instead of my inbox :p)

Ignyhide vice!Mc x Jamil Viper

Mc is probably twisted from one of the little demon goons, and it makes your contrast with Jamil charmingly obvious. You’re both vices in the basketball club with an outside connection to your wardens (you figured a physical activity’ll ward Idia’s eye away) and you both hate your jobs to a comedic degree. The connection is actually really sweet and subtle!! Atleast until book 6 when Mc is complaining about their ego trippy boss while basically eating out of Jamil’s hand, feeding him information like the layout and hierarchy of styx,, as Idia’s super exclusive assistant it’s only fair to give your guests a full tour!

“geez! And he just gets so flippy-floppy, yknow? He’s got this thing about energy drinks now so I’ve been diluting them, it’s such a pain!”

“It might just be a defect with housewardens. Have you ever heard of the incompetency theory?”

Card soldier!Mc x Malleus Draconia

okay picture this- Mc is comepletely wasted and coming off the high from a holiday party that was totally killer. You wander into the woods past campus and find yourself at a little abandoned cottage, it’s like 100% cozy enough to chill in before stumbling back to the dorms. You continue heading there for pregames/drunken shenanigans, meeting up with some hot guy that hangs around sometimes. You’re fully blindsided when your “little buddy” is kicking heartslabyul ass during a spelldrive tourney..

“Yoooooo, Mally, you must be really fun at parties. Want ta’ go with me?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever been invited to a “rager” before, but it sounds.. enjoyable. I accept.”

Ignyhide freshman!Mc x Deuce Spade

You’re a shaking mess during your first track meet. It’s a graduation requirement to take at least one gym class before the end of freshman year, and you’d rather die than take flight class with all those scary seniors!! Your vice had enough sense to convince you into not dropping out, he’d said that “track is low stress!” And “you’ll enjoy it” >:( you can’t believe he’d lie to your face like that!! (Is this the AI revolution??) You guess it’s not too bad though, you’ve even started strength training with a new friend. He’s a little short tempered, but it could be a lot worse.

“hey, I had no idea ignyhide kids were into track! I thought it’d be too much sun,,”

“We’re not vampires. I wouldn’t clown on you for the tea in your thermos, so lay off.. heh, there’s totally a dormouse in there.”

Scarabia housewarden!Mc x Leona Kingscholar

It’s pretty rare to see Leona of all people in your reserved pool chair, but plenty of weird stuff’s happened during your senior case study. You’re this close to getting your big shiny diploma- and a little rest now and then won’t hurt anybody! Savanaclaw’s housewarden has only had his position since last year, and you’ve held yours through all four. After knowing of each other for so long, it’s only logical that you’d become good friends! (Not that he calls you that)

“So you’re graduating, huh? Hope that brat you chose’ll fill your shoes, you’ve worked pretty hard.”

“awh, you’re such a sap,, I’m sure you’ll like Kalim, he’s no idiot. I promise to visit whenever you decide to graduate, but it’ll be a lot easier if i get that job in the castle!”

Octavinelle sophmore!Mc x Jack Howl

Poor Jack has to deal with everyone else’s business on top of his own education, when does he get a break? That ramshackle prefect’s looking for leads on how to beat those twins in the water, and only one face comes to mind. You’re his coworker at his temp job, and you owe him a favour (atleast from your perspective, he doesn’t hold it over your head) because with your grades Azul’s got it out for you. He’s begging for you to help him out- and who are you to deny those puppy eyes?

“Jack you can’t tell him! The housewarden’ll make me quit, I need this job! :(((“

“woah, it’s not like I’m gonna blackmail you.. what kind of guy do you think I am?”

Savanaclaw freshman!Mc x Epel Felmier

You’re lost, stressed and so confused in your first year :( it feels like everything is going wrong all the time!! It’s probably like 10x worse because you’re very tall and so built, but nobody cares to peer up at the cute giraffe ears on your head! You’ve been challenged by so. many. seniors. (and you win against all of them, you’re no pushover) but you’re tired of the beef. Epel just thinks you’re the coolest person in the room, and is always saying he wants to get freaky fridayed with you. But he doesn’t get the struggle!! Atleast Jack cares enough to tell him you’re just not liking it at school, and it makes Epel kick into action- he’s not letting you drop out, so please wait until he transfers!!

Pomefiore Junior!Mc x Rook Hunt

You’re convinced that Rook c. Hunt is the worst guy in all of twisted wonderland (C for creep)! And it SUCKS because he went from your rebellious savanaclaw boytoy to.. whatever he is. (How’d you miss the warning signs when you were tongueing him??) You can always see his stupid bob in your peripheral- but you’ve rationalized that if you watch him, then he only sees what you want him to see! It’s keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, just until graduation. And it does work, until you realize you’ve given Rook an inch that he’s turned into a mile. You’ll probably never get rid of him now, but what’s the point anymore?

“Ah, mon cher! You always enchant me with your passionate gaze, I’m honoured to be the object of your attention!”

“uh.. sure thing, hon. Whatever you say.”

Diasomnia Senior!Mc x Idia Shroud

You’re a highly educated noble from the mysterious land of Briar Valley. You are poised, weirdly formal, and utterly incompetent with your newest area of study- contemporary technology. You’ve tried to convince yourself that it’s pointless, they don’t even use it at home! But if you want to travel anytime before the collapse of human civilization, it must be done. you’re insatiable with your thirst for knowledge, and completely enamoured with having first hand experience with every era of mortal tech. It also happens to be almost impossible to revive your “Kno-Keya” once it has decided to die. That is where Idia Shroud comes in.

“In exchange for the revival of my electronic mailing device i am willing to offer an extensive dowry befitting of your station and technological necromancy skill. Will it suffice?”

“I literally only charged your phone, uh.. WOAH, A DOWRY?? I don’t have the space for five horses!! I’m totally not prepped for the marriage route, I haven’t seen the wiki yet!”

[myceliacrochet]

URGENT: 4yo Little Girl and Her Family Malnutritioned and Freezing!! (Sham and Moneer al-Anqar -- Skills Series: "Easy Piece First")

Reblog if u answer pls tysm!🩷

There's no shame in that! In this series, I'll be sharing some tips to help us keep going strong, carrying these families throughout this brutal winter of extermination. With each post I'll be highlighting a family in desperate need.

Easy Piece First

Whether we're working at a job, making commissions, working on posts, or doing other tasks, mutual aid for genocide relief can be overwhelming. The stakes are through the roof, and sometimes the people who most want to help are the people least able to. Often I freeze in place, overwhelmed with emotion, unsure of where to start. Depression, anxiety, and AuDHD don't help!

So I hope this skill is of use to you. I call it "Easy Piece First" because that's what helps me remember it, but it's definitely not a new idea.

I started this post with the easiest small step accessible. For me, that was writing down Moneer's current blog tag (@sham-moner) in a new post. This was the easiest for me because it required no decision-making and could be done in a few seconds. Then I filled in the other parts that don't take much thought -- the GoFundMe link, the vetting, and some tags.

For other posts, sometimes I'll be making art that is unrelated and then I'll think of a post to go with it.

Lazy and Heartless, or Focused and Strategic?

Everyone is different, but trying to force yourself to start with the hardest part first (what some people call the "Eat That Frog" approach) can actually make things take longer for some people. Using "Easy Piece First," I was able to get more done with my time, and with less trouble. This makes my efforts more sustainable long-term.

On a related note, I actually take a lot of measures to not walk around with my chest constantly hurting for Palestinians anymore (though there's nothing wrong with doing so). My chest was aching at all times for months until I converted some of my worry into action and some of it into self-care -- so I could actually get more done for Palestinians, who do not need my tears but my labor.

This winter is a marathon, and we gotta see it through to the end.

Take care of yourself so you can get more done and keep helping people long-term.

Do not give yourself a heart condition.

Give Palestinians labor.

That's how I'm keeping myself out of the hospital and maximizing what I can do for people, but we all have our own strategies.

But that's enough about us -- let's talk about these two amazing kids.

Moneer and Sham

Palestinians are just regular people. That's the horrible reality. It's the exact same as if people from your own background, even your own family were getting tortured and killed.

Like, Moneer is a 19yo who had recently started university when the genocide began. Sham is 4, Mohammed is 16, Rana is 21, and Rasha is 22.

What were you going through when you were 4? How would you have felt if you saw people getting blown up at that age? What if your house was blown up and all your toys and friends were lost, and you had to live outside in the winter, scrounging for moldy bread and polluted water?

What if you lived with the smell of rotting bodies when you were 4? Did you know what that smelled like as a little kid? I still don't know what that smells like. I didn't really know what death was at that age. She does.

This small child is in critical need of food and water!!

She is starving!!

Sham will die this winter without more donations!!

This is a call to action for an extremely urgent campaign!!!

It's been 2 days, and it was 2 days before that! This is far too long!!

Moneer is still recovering from major surgery. He is in a lot of pain and is also malnutritioned and in need of clean water and warmth.

Moneer is very close to his family and dearly loves his mom, Amani (39). Amani is in a lot of danger because she has asthma in a dusty massacre zone without treatment. It's killing Moneer to watch his mom go through this.

Drink some water, take a rest, and keep putting one foot in front of the other, using whatever tools work for you.

We are not letting these kids and their family die this winter!! We can do this!!

Vetting: GazaVetters #8

@opencommunion @beserkerjewel @deepspaceboytoy @rhubarbspring @eryuditely @lesbianmaxevans @malcriada @turian @sxpph0 @rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world @neptunerings @dykesbat @halalgirlmeg @userpeggycarter @minosbull @hamstertross @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @definitelynotafox @kaleschmidt @jaylung101 @captainsaltymuyfancy2 @timetravellingkitty @sun-and-moon-side @kahin @greenmossyrock @northgazaupdates2 @irhabiya @theparanoid @steep1253o @victoriawhimsey @dirhwangdaseul @cruzwalters @ladycelebrianofimladris @tamamita @50seagullsinatrenchcoat @deathlonging @nconiku @briarhips @kaislittlecorner @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @sawasawako @feluka @anneemay-blog @ralfocups

P.S.: I have several people waiting on me for posts. I am so sorry -- I will get them finished and published as soon as possible.

@soft-sunbird Thank you dear friend🥰🩷 I love you. You're doing so great

Check out the comments for many ways to help!

[hungy-raka]

Narinder headcanons?

@i-think-thereforee

OK HOLD ON AN ASK OK GIVE ME A MOMENT SO

I love that wet cat, he is a doofus and silly also most certainly a megolomaniac. I mean look at this sinister ass grin, that feller is brewing some fucked up shit

his goals are straight forward, gain back freedom, get revenge, kill everything on his way. He doesnt care about anyone or anything else, he gets the lamb to kill all his siblings, is more than happy to sacrifice followers to reach his goals faster, is very willing to kill the lamb once they outlived their use to him and even gets enraged when they refused, to him their life is owned to him

it hits especially hard when the metal album came out, his song has this moment where he goes "uncaring and calculating, as evident by my willingness to kill my own siblings and the lamb that faithfully served me. I see the lamb and the cultists as nothing more than tool to meet my ends" THAT KITBY IS EVIL, THE KITTY CAT DONT CARE

Now dont get me wrong, i dont actually think thats all he cares about. Actually, i just think thats what he tries to make himself believe is all he cares about

I mean look at the bishops lore, they were a semi functioning family at some point! But when narinder started exploring resurrection and methods of bringing back life, he threatened their livelihood, and they got scared

(i think it wouldnt have been the first time they spilled godly blood for their own safety, but perhaps it was the most painful, being the blood of thwir own brother. Also the claws probably hurt a whole lot but i wouldnt know)

i think he was megolomanic long before the betrayal, and i think he had trust issues with love long before that too, but an event like that would leave a lot of scars. I could maybe too refuse to love, trust, if something like that happened

honestly me thinks he cares a whole lot about those around him, i think he loves baal and aym like his kids, loves the bishops despite hating them too for their betrayal, the lamb too. I just also think he pushes those feelings away, surpresses and joy that doesnt come from having power and strength, nothing nice can be trusted

without the high ground godhood gives him, he has a lot less defences, and kinda has to go along with everything, and one of the few ways he can defend himself from everything nice is bitching cause "i never asked you to bring me flowers, stupid dumb dumb ugly vessel, i dont appreciate these, fuck you"

[genderqueerdykes]

hi um. i’d like to ask you for some advice, since it seems like a lot of people come to you when they need it. i’m a trans girl who’s been taking estrogen for 2.5 years but. i’m just so disappointed and unhappy with what hrt has done for me. i feel like i’ve been completely taken over by doomerism from me constantly comparing myself to other transfems both online and irl, and from spending too much time on trans reddit (i’m sending you this ask instead of writing another vent post on r/mtf). through this i’ve convinced myself that i will never be happy with my body, or that i’ll never have real boobs or a feminine body at all. i really really don’t want to give up hope, but it just seems so far out of reach, and i’m stuck down here in this inky abyss. what do you do in dark times when you need to regain hope, but you can’t do it yourself?

first of all, i wanted to say i'm sorry that you're feeling this way. medical transition is a very finicky thing. there is no way to predict what will happen and when, so it's okay to feel just. completely bummed the hell out when you're not seeing the changes you hoped for yet. i definitely see how it can be crushing, especially when you know your body needs to look a different way for you to be happy. it's important to consider people look a lot different irl than they do in photos and videos. camera lenses can only capture so much. pictures and videos can be edited. it's hard to compare yourself to something like that

& i did want to say that you're definitely not alone! there are a lot of girls in your exact situation. with everyone responding to HRT differently, you'll see girls who get changes right away, and girls where it takes a long time. changes with HRT generally happen very slowly, way slower than the eye can perceive, so it's okay if you feel like nothing is happening. your body just may need more time to adjust

have you ever increased your dose? if not, that is totally an option! you may also want to look into progesterone if you find that you're not happy with your breast growth after some time. it's best to look into progesterone first to make sure it's right for you, as it will affect more than just breast growth, but i wanted to throw it out there as an option! if you're not on an androgen blocker, this could also potentially help you

for both estrogen and testosterone HRT, it can take a minimum of 5 years for people to begin seeing the effects they were desiring. 5 years, minimum! that's a very long time, comparatively, you are very early on in your journey. the effects you want to see may just come along further on down the road. i know it's easy to fall into the trap of comparing yourself to others. it's good to remind yourself that they are not you, they do not share your genetics. they look like them. you look like you. it's okay that you don't look like those people- they're not you.

it doesn't make you any less of a woman just because you haven't seen these changes yet. there are plenty of women who look just like you, cis, intersex, trans, genderqueer, and otherwise. there are many cis and intersex women who don't "pass", and it doesn't make them any less of a woman: the same applies to you, and every trans girl. dysphoria can be a real pain in the ass and make things harder than it needs to be. it's okay to not be content with where you're at now. it's okay to be frustrated that you're not seeing the changes you want to right now. many, many trans people feel just the same way you do.

you may feel awkward and uncomfortable right now because you're literally in a transitional phase. think about when teenagers go through puberty, about how awkward they look and feel. cracking voices, bodies that are "in the middle" and not fully developed. that's what you're going through at the moment, and its okay. it just takes time for things to fully settle in.

what i would suggest is trying to find ways to do some self care that affirm your gender that don't involve your appearance. validating yourself in other ways is extremely important. building yourself up takes time. if you feel insecure about how you look, it's okay. you can start building your confidence in your identity and gender in other areas of yourself, first, then move on to your appearance. try to spend time with people who respect you for who you are, no matter how you look. try to surround yourself with people and things that affirm you

i hope you start seeing those changes you want to see soon. if you need more advice, feel free to ask! if any other trans girls on E have any advice for the asker, or relate to the experience, please feel free to chip in with some feedback on this ask, or by sending an ask! due to being intersex, i was taking estrogen and progesterone despite not wanting to, so i was not cataloguing what was changing or anything like that, so i can't speak from personal experience there despite having been on E HRT in the past.

take care of yourself for now. try to go easy on yourself, you're still in your coocoon. the day where you emerge as a butterfly is on its way, it just takes a little time. please feel free to come back any time. i hope we can get some good insight for you

[possibilistfanfiction]

CaitVi prompt: hospital

[u are all so silly, i got four asks with 'hospital' so here's the first of probably a few more :) also on ao3. there's not any real angst as i've tried to stick to in this little au lol. some more jinx pov, cait being kind. just the little family they all deserve!]

///

immediately there’s, like, a lot of blood. you wrap a towel — greasy, but better than nothing — around your arm and take a deep breath so you can stop yourself from feeling like you want to pass out. after a few perilous seconds, the wave of nausea and lightheadedness passes.

not that things even get easier, though, because you remember quickly that ekko is out of town on some arborist soil sample something something trip, and vi had texted you ten minutes ago that she was going out on a call — she always does, so you know what’s happening and can work through your anxiety without spiraling into a panic attack — and vander is picking up some new stools for the bar two towns over. the voices start immediately, partially because you’re in pain and partially because you’re really starting to panic: your arm is going to be fine, probably, but the cut was deep and messy, a clumsy slip in the lab; you spent a lot of years trying your best not to take care of yourself, but you know that’s not what you should do now.

you’re a burden, you hear, flashes of ugly images following. you close your eyes tight, as tight as you can, and shake your head. you’re still not used to not having your braids, but vi fixed it as much as possible and told you that you look badass; you look like your big sister more now, and she’s the most badass person you know, so it’s fine. it’s okay, you tell yourself, even though you don’t deserve care runs through your mind, so loudly, in a voice that isn’t yours. you know what to do now, though: you breathe into the bottom of your spine, just like you practice with your therapist all the time. you sniffle and blink away some tears and say some affirmations to yourself, ones that vi and vander and ekko and even caitlyn tell you all the time, big and small compliments and reassurances all the same.

it’s hard, though: you’ll only annoy her, you think, the second you remember what vi had told you a few weeks ago — caitlyn wanted to make sure you know that you can text het whenever you need. caitlyn will be mad at you; she’ll break up with vi and then vi will be mad at you, or vi will choose caitlyn over you, and either way she won’t want to live with you anymore, and you’ll be back on the street, and you won’t be able to stay on your medications, not without vi’s help, and ekko won’t want to spend any time with you when you’re like that, and—

‘no,’ you say out loud, ‘that’s not true.’ you take a deep breath. ‘none of that is going to happen.’

it feels like a miracle, even still, every time you’re able to come back to reality without hours of spiraling, and especially when you’re able to do it on your own. you still feel like you’re itching just under your skin, like everything is a little off-kilter, too fast and too bright, but you’re able to take one more deep breath and then find your phone.

your hand shakes as you press on the contact info and then call, and you put it on speaker and place it down on your work table before you put pressure back onto the towel over your cut. after only one and a half rings, caitlyn’s very proper accent comes through with a friendly, ‘hello, jinx.’

‘hi,’ you say, try your best to not sound as stressed and near tears and a little bit crazy as you feel.

when you can’t bring yourself to say anything else, after a few seconds she asks, ‘can i help you with anything?’

‘you’re probably busy,’ you say. ‘you’re at work, and i really shouldn’t be bothering you.’

you can almost see her shaking her head as you hear a little tisk. ‘i’m between meetings,’ she assures, ‘but, even if i wasn’t, if i can do something, i’d like to.’

there’s flashes of intrusive voices and images and thoughts, but you count to five and then nod. ‘okay.’

‘great. what can i help you with, then?’

‘well, i was being safe, i swear, and i would’ve asked vi, but she’s out on a call, and ekko and vander aren’t in town, and —‘

‘— jinx,’ caitlyn says, gentle enough you would cry if you weren’t as tough. ‘i’m happy to help, especially if you’re hurt.’

‘it’s just a cut on my arm.’

‘okay.’ she sounds unfazed, not angry, just concerned. ‘do you think you need stitches?’ i’m not too far; i can come pick you up and bring you to the hospital.’

‘are you —‘

‘yes,’ she says. ‘i am sure. i actually have a meeting there this afternoon anyway.’

‘well, okay. i guess.’

she laughs. ‘keep pressure on the wound, and i’ll see you in fifteen minutes. i can come up if you need.’

‘no, that’s okay.’

‘i’ll text you when i’m here, then.’

‘yeah. okay. and, like, thanks, i guess.’

you hear the fondness in her voice when she says, ’of course.’

/

it’s been eight months and you’re still kind of blown away by how neat caitlyn is: her new car that’s always clean, no matter how dirty you get it on your climbing trips; she irons all of her work clothes, which you only know because vi teased her the pleats in her slacks a few weeks ago; her hair is always perfectly sleek, not a strand out of place. it would be kind of scary if you haven’t also spent the last eight months watching her trip over herself to impress your idiot sister, and wear vi’s hoodies, and make truly shitty coffee when she stays the night at your apartment.

still, you’re a little scared to get blood on the pristine leather seat, but caitlyn gets out of the car when you get out of your building after she texts you and looks at your arm. she frowns — less in concern than, like, compassion or something — before she pulls you into a side-hug, making sure to not jostle your bad arm, and then opens the passenger door and makes sure you get in safely.

she’s in a neat dark turtleneck and slacks, a white coat actually hanging up on the hook in the back, which is comforting; the voices are quiet because your own is so loud wanting to scoff and tease her. but she turns on music she knows you like, and she doesn’t bother with trying to get you to make small talk. caitlyn drives carefully, she always does, and you rest your head against the window, the pain finally catching up to you.

‘i let vi know,’ caitlyn tells you as she pulls into a spot with her own name on it in the parking garage at the hospital.

you thank her quietly, feeling relieved that you don’t have to, even though she’ll definitely make you explain later how, even with all the new safety equipment jayce had given you, this could happen. still, the voices calm more and more as you walk in. caitlyn shrugs on her white coat, and she tells you to sit in a chair in the ER waiting room while she checks how busy it is.

‘dr. kiramman,’ you hear a nurse happily greet her. you lean your head back and close your eyes — the pain finally hitting you fully as your adrenaline has worn off — and grumble, ‘so fancy,’ just for posterity.

soon enough, though, only a few minutes, she gently says your name. ‘we’ll get you settled in the back,’ she explains. ‘it’s a little busy, but there’s a bed, and we can get you some pain medicine while you wait. it’ll be much more comfortable.’

you nod and she helps you up and then wraps a gentle hand around your shoulder, guiding you comfortingly. a nurse comes in and takes your vitals, which are normal enough, and then bustles out to get pain meds and a suture kit.

‘i — i can’t have opioids,’ you tell caitlyn, quietly. vi is always the best at leaving the details of what you’ve gone through up to you to tell people, but you’re still surprised when caitlyn doesn’t know things.

she just nods, though, unfazed. ‘i put in an order for local anesthetic, which should be the most helpful. otherwise, we can have you take tylenol and then see how your pain is; there are stronger options we can explore if you end up needing it.’

you kind of want to cry, but you don’t because you’re big and tough and strong and crying is for babies, obviously. you look around at how nice everything is, how shiny and new, and you take a second to really see her. caitlyn sits calmly in the chair next to your bed, perfect posture and slightly tired eyes; you know how strong she is since you climb together often, and you also know how kind she is.

‘this is a way nicer hospital than the ones i’ve been in before.’

her smile is a little hesitant but pleased all the same. ‘i’ve been working on improving all of them in the region.’

‘even the psych wards?’

her smile grows a little, genuine, and just for you. ‘especially the psych wards.’

it’s impossible not to return it. ‘really?’

‘compassionate and comprehensive mental health care has always been a priority of mine,’ she says, completely serious. ‘it’s part of the reason i went into public health policy, rather than just practicing.’ you’ve tuned out whenever she and vi have talked about caitlyn’s multiple degrees, because usually you’re climbing or someone has just brought you food, both of which are much more interesting than, like, seven million years of fancy school or whatever, but maybe it’s less dull than you thought. ‘i’ve grown to care about it even more in the past year, though.’

it takes you a second, but then you understand. ‘oh. huh.’ it seems impossible, but she’s not joking. ‘because of me?’

‘yes,’ caitlyn says. ‘we don’t have to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable, but i’ve noticed how hard you work, and i know how much vi helps coordinate your care.’

for a second, you want to argue, or yell, or storm out and crash a car or fall into a hole or something, because you are a burden and vi does do so much to help you stay as stable as you can.

‘i’m in awe of you both, really, for navigating it all, even now,’ caitlyn continues, though, and the storm of your bad thoughts fades. ‘however, it should have never required the effort it did to get your care and social supports at first, and it still should be easier to coordinate presently. and,’ she continues; you have to fight a smile because, sometimes, it is fun when she really gets going; caitlyn can be terrifying when she wants to be, ‘if you or anyone else needs inpatient care, you should get to be in fully fundedfacilities that promote healing, grounding, and stability — mentally, but also physically. we know scientifically that aesthetics play a role.’

‘well,’ you say, your voice a little thick, ‘can’t argue with that, can i?’

she laughs, and then the nurse comes back in with a man in a white coat trailing behind her; he has a greying beard but is otherwise tall and stately, with a gentle eyes and a smile that is exactly the same as caitlyn’s. she smiles and hugs him tight, which he returns happily; you don’t wonder where caitlyn got her easy affection from.

‘jinx,’ she says, ‘my dad will be able to give you stitches today. i do have a meeting in about five minutes, but if can push it back if you’d like me to stay.’

‘what’s the meeting for?’ you ask, mostly to be annoying, but also because you’re lowkey curious.

unfortunately, by now caitlyn is unfazed. ‘a plan for the improvement and expansion of our regional gender affirming healthcare program.’

you almost groan; you can’t believe you’re going to have to suffer through your sister — world’s number one Good Person™️, as far as you’re concerned — and caitlyn — another Good Person™️ — for the rest of your life, if things go the way they have been. it’s kind of a big thought, but you find it makes you happy. ‘well, can’t postpone that.’

she smiles. ‘vi texted and should be on her way soon to drive you home when you’re done. i already put in your prescriptions at the pharmacy, so you can just pick those up on your way out. i’ll stop by later with some dinner.’

‘you don’t have to —‘ you catch yourself and take a deep breath — ‘thank you, caitlyn.’

she hums, squeezes your shoulder, and then gives a little wave on her way out, perfectly pressed coat and all.

‘dr. kiramman, the original,’ you say as caitlyn’s dad pulls up a stool and sterile tray next to your bed.

‘tobias, please,’ he says, easy warmth to his voice. ‘caitlyn and vi have both told me so much about you.’

‘terrifying.’

he laughs as he readies a syringe. ‘this is just local numbing agent. you’ll feel a little pinch, but it shouldn’t hurt any significant degree.’

he waits for you to nod before he starts, and it stings but not bad.

‘and only good things,’ he assures you, finishing up. ‘mostly about your school, and how much they both enjoy climbing with you.’

‘oh.’

he nods, and then quickly and clearly explains the process for stitches. again, he waits for your consent before he starts.

‘you and mrs. kiramman like my sister?’

he expertly ties off a suture. ‘i loved vi right away. cassandra is, well —‘ he rolls his eyes, like you for sure know and are in on it, and, like, vi is still kind of scared shitless of caitlyn’s mom, so you can figure it out.

‘intense?’

he laughs. ‘i don’t think anyone caitlyn would’ve grown serious about would’ve impressed her at first, no matter what.’

maybe it’s because you’re in pain, or because the routine of your day has gone to shit, or because everyone is being nice to you and it’s kind of overwhelming, but you feel a little defensive. vi’s, like, the best person in the world though. she knows that, right?’

‘she does.’ tobias is serious and gentle. ‘she’s actually been pestering the girls to have you and your father over for dinner soon.’

‘really?’

‘i think they’re both just working up to having to endure hours of embarrassing childhood stories at their expense, to be honest.’

you perk up; tobias has to remind you to stay still through a fond chuckle. ‘i’ve got some really good ones.’

‘i’m sure you do.’

and the rest is easy: tobias asks thoughtful, genuine questions about your senior thesis project, about your work with jayce and viktor, even about ekko when you mention him. it’s, well, easy, and you know when you share all of this with your therapist they’re going to go on and on about how good this experience will be for your continued work of remapping your thought patterns, helping you through trauma responses the more good things happen, blah blah, even if they’re right and it has helped a lot. he places a bandage gently and explains what you should do the next few days; vi has had more stitches than you can even count, with her younger propensity to fight anyone and her current propensity to run into burning buildings, but you listen closely anyway.

vi comes rushing in, a little out of breath and flushed in a fire department crew neck sweater and her uniform pants and boots, a smudge of soot still on her cheek, one of caitlyn’s nice patagonia tote bags you’re pretty sure vi has stolen at this point slung over her shoulder. when she sees you, intact and fine, and then tobias, she deflates in relief as she skids to a stop.

‘all fixed up,’ tobias says, and gives her a hug that strikes you as familiar; your chest aches a little, but it’s a good ache.

you can tell vi is still resisting the urge to take your face in her hands and check over every inch of you, so you roll your eyes. ‘i’m fine, vi.’

it seems to appease her for now, and she listens so intently when tobias explains everything to her, and then gives her directions to the pharmacy. ‘and bring jinx and vander for dinner soon, please.’ it’s accompanied with an expression that is so caitlyn — generous but demanding; there’s nothing vi can do to argue — you have to laugh.

when tobias leaves, vi hugs you tightly. ‘i’m glad you’re okay.’

you really don’t want to suddenly start crying, so you shove her back after a few seconds. ‘no big deal, sis.’

she looks at you carefully, now that it’s just the two of you, to make sure you’re not putting on a brave face.

‘i will say, it’s pretty sweet to have an in with the head of public health and her dad.’

vi smiles. ‘now you know why i’ve paid attention when she talks about her job.’

‘it’s still boring to hear,’ you insist. you realize, belatedly, as vi gets out one of your comfortable jackets from the tote bag, that you’re just in an old ratty tank that you wear when you tinker around; you let her help you into the jacket, taking comfort in the gesture even if you don’t want to acknowledge it aloud. ‘it’s cool in practice, though, gotta give her that.’

vi hums happily and then pulls a beanie over your head.

you roll your eyes. ‘i can do that on my own. plus, i don’t even need that.’

‘it’s starting to snow outside.’

you humph, just because you can. sometimes it’s grounding to be stubborn.

‘plus, take it from me, your head will be cold now if you don’t wear a hat.’

she has a point, maybe,so, ‘where’s your hat, then?’

she produces another beanie from the tote, a very nice arcteryx one that you’re sure belonged to cait a few months ago.

you roll your eyes and shove off her help when you get up from the bed, and she rolls her eyes. still, she walks close to you as you head out, and she gets your prescriptions for you when you don’t feel like going to the counter and talking, and she drives home safely in the snow. you doze on and off on the couch under your favorite fleece blanket after you change into one of vi’s softest hoodies and shorts and the best fuzzy socks, and you wake up drearily — the disruption of your routine and the adrenaline wearing off catching up to you — when cait lets herself in after it’s gotten dark. she brushes snow from her coat and takes her boots off on the welcome mat and racks them neatly next to vi’s, and then kisses her hello.

‘is that pizza for me?’

she laughs at the way you’ve perked up, your head just peeking over the back of the couch. ‘you’re feeling hungry? that’s a great sign.’

you get up and wave both of them off when they try to help you get a plate; you take a slice straight from the box and go back to your little nest. vi brings you a plate anyway, and, after caitlyn changes into comfortable clothes — hers, left here consistently in a drawer or two in vi’s dresser — they cuddle up on the far end of the couch with their own slices.

‘since i faced a life-threatening medical emergency today,’ you say, ‘i get to pick the movie.’

they both groan in protest, but vi hands you the remote anyway. you take pity on them — and maybe a little bit of gratefulness — and pick something all three of you had wanted to watch anyway, which vi seems especially pleased by. she’d told you on the way home about her shift, how she’d basically worked through the night and then had another call this morning, both pretty intense burns. she has a beer and cait has a glass of wine, and, unsurprisingly, vi falls asleep on cait’s shoulder about halfway through the movie, after she’d put away the leftover pizza in the fridge and done her nightly routine of checking all the locks on the windows and doors, a habit that you don’t think she’ll ever break.

you smile at the two of them, and unfortunately caitlyn catches you out of the corner of her eye. you wrinkle your nose at her and she laughs softly.

‘hey,’ you say, ‘thanks for today.’

‘of course.’

‘and, like, for your work, i guess. or whatever.’

she pats your hand, then squeezes once as you get up.

you wrap yourself in a little blanket cape, hooded over the top of your head, so just your face sticks out. you debate telling her to be sure to be quiet if they have sex tonight, or to please not bother making coffee tomorrow morning, but you’ve learned that there are lots of ways to say that you care about — and even love — a person.

‘sleep well, caitlyn.’

she smiles. ‘goodnight, jinx.’

[silvixenjoyer]

SILCO NSFW ALPHABET (mlm)

MDNI

any CNC present will be in PURPLE so you can skip it quickly (or go to it immediately ;) )

(you can imagine him as trans or cis, i accommodate both here and im mlm so this is super mlm catered)

switch verse silco, should be something for everyone :)

A - Aftercare, what are they like after sex/kink?

it honestly depends. sometimes he’s quiet but physically attentive, offering water, cuddling, soft praises. other times he’s emotionally unavailable and colder. he’ll still let you lay on him for a bit ‘if you must’ but will cut it off to a drip the moment he decides his work is more important. it can go either way depending on your dynamic and his headspace. when it comes to his aftercare needs, he doesn’t know what they are and it frustrates him. but if you can get him to shut up and accept affection, he likes the grounding sensation of head and back scratches.

B - Body part, their favorite body part on them as well as their partner

silco isn’t very in tune to himself so whatever your favorite thing on him is, it becomes his favorite simply because you like it. we all know how self punishing he can be and i think this extends to his self worth. he’s confident in the bedroom, it’s not that, but when it comes to things like admiring himself, he just doesn’t. but on you, he’s partial to your throat, your tummy-torso area, and hands.

C - Cum, anything to do with cum basically

silco could take or leave cumming inside, if you’re begging for it he’ll indulge but if you don’t say anything he prefers to see his cum ON your body. if you’re topping him, again, he’s indifferent to inside but if you have a breeding kink he’ll play along, he’s got a filthy mouth on him.

D - Dirty Secret

when he’s domming hes pretty open about everything, it’s the intimacy and mindfuckery is subspace that makes him more resistant to share. he likes to be controlled on occasion but unfortunately even with that it’s quite hard to get him out of his own head but if you can manage he’s a wreck for everything you do. he’s a sadomasochist who can give a lot but can’t take nearly as much. just because he’s more sensitive to pain doesn’t mean he won’t take it, he likes for his partner to decide his limits FOR him with subspace and masochism which is not all that healthy unless you can coerce him into a real conversation about it. honestly the REAL cnc with silco is forcing him to communicate boundaries, it’s like pulling teeth

E - Experience, how experienced are they?

silco’s had plenty of time to be around

F - Favorite Position

he likes face to face positions regardless of whose topping or bottoming

G - Goofy, are they silly or serious during sex/kink?

silco’s pretty serious and direct but if you have a very intimate giggly moment he’ll usually crack a smile, kiss your forehead, and guide you back to the task at hand

H - Hair, how well are they groomed, does the carpet match the drapes, etc

he keeps well groomed, short hair, lets it grow out a bit more around his inner thighs. i think younger silco would keep a bit of chest hair but doesnt when he’s older

I - Intimacy, how are they during sex/kink with any romantic aspects

honestly he can be EXTREMELY attentive, romantic, and reassuring. key words can be. that all depends on if you play around with his trust or not. do you like ur silco watered and fed like a nice houseplant or do u like to be toxic fuckbuddies with him and leave him worse than before? completely up to what you earn from him.

J - Jack Off, how often/how do they masturbate?

he finds himself too busy a lot of the time but if he’s especially pent up he will. not big on solo penetration, that’s a partnered and rare activity for him. if he’s going to indulge in that he’ll typically edge a good one or two times to make it more worth his while.

K - Kink, one of their kinks

silco doms and subs for cnc. when domming, he gets pretty filthy and blatant with it, throwing around the r word like it’s nothing and reveling in how you can barely say it at all. he won’t penetrate you until he can force a “r4p3 me” out of your mouth. he gets off on knowing you WANT that type of forcefulness from him. i can literally just hear him purring out “that’s it, my salacious little r4p3doll” / and i’m gonna be real here, the ways to do cnc with a subby silco safely, sanely, and consensually are SCARCE. he’s just so emotionally stunted and unaware. but when he does engage, he wants to be brutalized until he’s literally not the same for a few days after, quieter, more sensitive to fear. regardless of his role, he’s heavy on the severe verbal degradation of it all.

L - Location, their favorite place to engage in sex/kink

you. yeah you. i see you. i know ur selfship oc is his assistant. and Yes he does like a good office fuck but i think he’d probably have a lot of nice leather gear in his bedroom and that’s a better place to more mindfully accommodate his chronic pain

M - Motivation, what turns them on/gets them going?

silco’s praise driven even if he doesn’t like to admit it. even if he’s domming heavily, leaving you without an ounce of control, it’s the occasional ‘sir it feels so good’ that keeps him going. he will never ever ask for praise while subbing and he’ll even directly try to avoid reacting to it but it’s so obvious from the way the tension drops from his shoulders and his pupils dilate that a nice ‘that’s a good fucking boy’ keeps him where he needs to be. the thought of overwhelming silco with so much praise as a form of humiliation play until he’s sobbing and nonverbal is…10/10 but i think he’d rather die than allow that. maybe one day.

N - No, something they wouldn’t do/a turn off (mild cnc?? tread lightly)

he likes to be degraded but he doesn’t like to be on the receiving end of a “you’re useless/worthless”, he likes to be told the opposite “it’s so embarrassing watching you fucking preen for it, it’s all you’re made for you. you should be ashamed at how wet/hard you get from this, you’re fucking asking for it”

O - Oral, do they prefer giving or receiving?

silco uses giving head as a control leverage point. if he’s giving you head he’s doing it to disarm you and get you to the point where you’ll be more pliant and willing. if he’s fucking your throat/grinding on your face, he’s doing that to make a mess of you and as an excuse to point out how needy you are to please. it’s more about the mindfuckery than it is the physical aspect. he doesn’t like to recieve head while subbing but won’t protest to his throat being fucked. won’t ASK for it but will allow it.

P - Pace

domtoppping: he will go from slow but hard GRADUALLY to extremely rough. subtopping: needy little thing, hips move like a dog in heat and he gets impatient when you slow him down. dombottoming: absolutely insatiably rough and will ride until you literally can’t get it up/you have bruises from the strap digging into you. subbottoming: his rarest form be grateful for it, he likes it however you want to give it so happy plowing pfffft

Q - Quickie

it’s not infrequent but it’s not what he prefers

R - Risk, are they down to experiment, do they take risks?

risks in the sense of playing fast and loose with his mental health while subbing, yes. knows proper bdsm etiquette and USUALLY uses it with you while domming but to accept it while subbing he has to be completely broken down first. and god help you trying to wrangle him into aftercare. forced aftercare lowkey feels more intrusive than cnc to him but it’s good for him

S - Stamina

olympic levels of edging on that mf that’s how he keeps you for 2+ hour sessions, he only cums at ABSOLUTE MAX three times. so yeah. 10/10 stamina bc he’s pavloved himself into it.

T - Toys

silco has a lot of good leather gear, + stuff for cigar service and bootblacking. all of his toys are sleek and black.

U - Unfair, how much do they like to tease?

silco is an absolutely horrific tease, he’ll literally fuck between your thighs until it’s been forty five minutes and you’re sobbing your throat raw from needing penetration like yesterday. he also thinks he can brat without consequence except the thing is that that silco’s bratting it’s not like norma well adjusted “make me” shit it’s like low level psychological abuse calculated to make you snap on him without consent. this long game can go on for days.

V - Volume, how loud are they/what do they sound like?

pretty much consistently a talker unless hes rlly focused on something like spanking, choking, etc, any prolonged sadistic task. he’s a pretty pathetic moaner once you get him there, it’s usually quiet voice breaks, low noises that ramp up to full back of the throat whines, and things that are Almost words but not quite. his growly, frustrated noises are really hot and are usually punctuated with a hard slap or skin breaking scratch.

X - X-ray, what’s up under their clothes?

we’ve seen that mf’s dick print from the side he’s big. depending on your gender hcs that’s either his actual cock or he packs big and also prefers to use bigger straps, take your pick. his t dick would be thick i think.

Y - Yearning, how high is their sex drive?

not like sex addiction levels but defo higher than a lot of guys around his age

Z - Zzz, how fast do they fall asleep after?

there is NO consistency in this he sleeps terribly and insanely and it’s beyond fixing

[forwhump]

a/n; 😬

tw/cw: rape, noncon, transphobia, misgendering, feminization, humiliation, kidnapping, imprisonment, sexual violence, sex slavery

creepy whumper, intimate whumper

Into sheets damp with tears and saliva, Wren mumbles, worn, “what?” 

Point laughs softly against his shoulder and his breath is too warm against Wren’s prickly, oversensitive skin. “I said,” he murmurs again, “I have a surprise for you, cowgirl.” 

He tries to swallow the lump in his throat but it’s stuck where it is, hard to breathe around. He’s been crying for hours. “No,” he mumbles against the damp sheets. “Please.” 

“It’s a nice surprise,” Point tells his skin, and Wren can’t help that he shudders with cold sweat. He’s thumbing slowly along the back of Wren’s bare thigh with one hand. “You’ll like it.” 

Point surprises Wren a lot; Wren’s never liked it. “No,” he mumbles, thick with crying, hoarse the same. “Why?” 

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” Point murmurs. “You’ve been a good girl.” 

He hadn’t, is the thing. Worse than being imprisoned underground is being imprisoned above it. Sunlight will seep in sometimes through cracks in the boards over the windows and it makes Wren hysterical like nothing else ever has. Point is still inside him, just like Point had woken up inside him, because Point had slept, the last however many days, inside him; Wren’s being punished for biting him. 

Bite is mild. Wren had taken a chunk out of him and he can’t say he doesn’t still feel pretty good about it. He can’t say it was worth it, either. 

He already has his fingers twisted in the damp sheets and he’s so pale his knuckles are already white as he pulls at them a little tighter. The sheets are filthy, always wet in some places, dried and hardened in others. They hadn’t been cleaned or changed once since they got here and a lot of horrible things had been done to Wren in this bed. Burning them is probably the only way to salvage them, at this point. 

Sometimes, Wren is despondent, and he always thinks that that’s it, and he’s finally checked out, he’s finally lost his mind. Most of the time, Wren is still scared. 

It’s exhausting, being scared all the time. He gets mad about it, sometimes, in the rare chunks of time he gets by himself, when Point leaves and Wren gets to take a deep breath, he’s mad at himself about it. How does he possibly still have it in him to be scared? 

But he is. All the time. And he’s always in pain. He’s so pale the skin of his hands is translucent. He’s always crying. 

That’s a wonder, too. How does he still have it in him to cry? There aren't always tears, he’s usually too dehydrated, but he’s always crying in some capacity. He doesn’t remember ever crying this much when he was underground — but there was a reason for that. It was a big reason. 

Stupidly, Wren still finds himself waiting for him. He knows better, he knows better, but he also knows that if Silas could get to him, he would, and that makes him stupid. There’s always a bit of him that’s waiting for Silas to kick the door down and get him the fuck out of here. Silas was big, he was massive, and the district was so far underground it was always a little dark. Wren knows Silas’ silhouette almost as well as he knows his face and he finds himself searching the shadows for it at night, lying awake in the dark, usually crying to himself. He’s always disappointed. He knows better, and he’s still disappointed. 

He sniffles, soft and wet, against the sticky sheets. “Darren,” he tries softly. 

Point kisses his shoulder, too wet. His grip is white knuckled, bruising, but his mouth is unbearably soft. It makes Wren’s skin crawl so hard he nearly shudders again with it. “You’ll like it, baby,” he tells him softly. Sucking gently on Wren’s shoulder, he starts to rock against him, pushing further inside him, digging his fingertips into his skin and Wren makes a miserable noise against the sheets, a noise that makes Point coo. “I promise,” he repeats, softer, slower. 

Wren’s fingers flex in the awful sheets and he chokes out, “please.” 

Point hums softly against his skin and it makes Wren’s fingers twitch. Too gently, too slowly, he mouths up Wren’s bare shoulder, the side of his throat, rocking into him slowly, holding his thighs apart so hard he’d split open the sensitive flesh with his fingernails. Wren’s always crying; he’s always bleeding, too. 

Sometimes, strange things will happen, he’ll faint or hallucinate or something of the like. He’s lightheaded a lot. He can’t stand for very long at a time. He’s either shivering cold or burning with fever, never anything in between. When he bruises, which is often, he bruises too severely. He’s sure it’s the blood loss catching up with him. 

“Relax,” Point murmurs against the side of his throat, against the sensitive skin beneath his ear. “Trust me.”

Wren pushes his face into the sheets, already sticky, and tries to muffle the sound as he sobs, but he can’t control the way his shoulders hitch with it. Point likes when he cries, likes to do everything he can to make him cry, and Wren would love to not give him the satisfaction. Sometimes, most of the time, he just can’t help it. 

Point bites down on the side of his throat and Wren sobs again, shudders with it. He’s pulled closer to Point by the waist as he cries, grinding into him too slowly, too deeply. Too softly, he says, “you feel so good.” 

Wren thinks, I want to watch you choke, but he doesn’t say that. He thinks a lot of things he never says. What he says is, “I’m sorry,” and, “Darren, please.” 

Against his skin, Point laughs, softly and in good humour. “You’ve been so good for me, cowgirl,” he murmurs. “You feel so good for me. I wanted to do something nice for you.” 

“I don’t want it,” Wren pleads with the sheets. 

“You will,” Point murmurs. He skirts his fingers slowly, tauntingly across Wren’s skin as he reaches between his thighs. As Wren jerks away, he pulls him closer, holds him tighter. Wren bruises. Bleeds. “You gotta have more faith in me, sugar,” he says, and Wren can feel too much of his teeth against the sensitive skin beneath his ear. “I’ve been taking good care of you.” 

For a long time, Wren’s been acutely aware that there’s something really, deeply fucked up about Point, but it wasn’t until they got above ground that he’s realizing just how deep it runs. Sometimes it’s like nothing’s changed and they’re still underground; sometimes, he’ll get frenzied and kill the neighbours; sometimes, it’s like living in a dollhouse. When Wren’s allowed to wear clothes, he isn’t allowed to choose the clothes he wears. If he doesn’t braid his hair in the stupid pigtails Point likes, his hands are tied and Point will plait it for him with a boot to the back of his neck. How long does he have to keep living like this? Hasn’t he given enough? 

“Let me take care of you,” Point croons softly. 

Wren has to drop dead at some point. That’s what gets him through. At some point, his body has to give out — it has to. How much can one body take? For how long? 

“Darren,” he begs. 

Point grunts and Wren can feel the reverberations of it against his back, which makes him wretch. Point hushes him, nosing along his hairline, mouthing too gently over his crawling skin. Being raped is never less than miserable, but there’s something especially skin crawling about Point moving slowly, kissing him gently. There’s been times it’s actually made Wren vomit, but that usually doesn’t make Point blink. 

“Relax, cowgirl,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna use you, and then we’re gonna get dressed, and I’m gonna take you outside, baby. We’re gonna get you some fresh air.” 

There was a time, maybe not even all that long ago, that Wren was desperate to get outside again, to get fresh air. Since they got to this place, everything that’s happened to Wren outside of the house is even more horrible than things that happen to him within it. He doesn’t feel safe anywhere, but he feels safer in the house. It’s familiar, now, at least.

“Darren,” he begs again. 

“Be a good girl,” Point tells his skin. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

Wren sobs softly against the mattress. One of his feet is tangled in the sheets, has been for the last day and a half. He hasn’t been allowed to leave the bed since the bite. He really doesn’t want to know what’s waiting for him once he finally does. Sometimes he has it in him to fight — sometimes he bites. Sometimes he’s a wounded deer. 

He clings to the sheets and he cries, pathetic. When Point comes, he bites down hard on the back of Wren’s neck and Wren can feel the way that he groans all the way down his spine and into the small of his back. He chokes out a sob and he can feel it just the same. 

“Good girl,” Point coos softly. He ghosts his fingers slowly up and down Wren’s stomach with one hand, gripping bruises into his bleeding hip with the other. “There’s a good girl.” When he pulls out, he does it with a lingering kiss to Wren’s hairline and a noise that makes his skin crawl, something low, something that Wren can feel too much of against his back. He swats him hard on the ass as he climbs out of bed and Wren doesn’t lift his head to watch him go. 

Face pressed into the sheets, he sniffles miserably to himself and listens to Point’s footsteps creak across the hardwood of the floor. The door to the bathroom opens, closes. Water is turned on. 

Wren waits until he hears it running before he pulls the sheets up, over his head, and covers his face with both hands as he cries. It’s fucked up, right, and he knows it is, because there was a time not even all that long ago that all Wren wanted in the world was to get out of the district, to see the sunlight, to breathe air not even entirely fresh, just not recycled or filtered. New air. Now, all Wren wants in the world is to go back. 

He doesn’t want to die by himself and he doesn’t want to die in this house, not so close to freedom. The district was miserable and there was never any denying that, it was an inhumanly awful way to live, but here it isn’t any better. Here, it’s even more relentless. Here, Wren is by himself. 

Point will leave sometimes, does things he doesn’t tell Wren about and that Wren doesn’t ask him about, but he doesn’t leave often and he doesn’t leave for long. His attention is constant and relentless. He’s always there, and he’s always touching. Often it hurts. Still, Wren is the loneliest he’s ever been. And fuck if he there’s even a waking second that he isn’t thinking about Silas. 

Missing him is constant. Sure, there’s probably an element of being trauma bonded, but Silas had done something to Wren, had changed him intrinsically, and not only will Wren never be the same without him he’s not sure how he's supposed to keep doing this without him at all. It was always Silas — at least he gets to come back to Silas, at least Silas will come to his rescue. Worse than missing a limb is missing Silas. Wren could lose a lot of himself and he’d figure it out, he’d manage; he’s not sure how he’s supposed to live without Silas. He’s not sure how long he can. 

He thinks of Silas pretty constantly when Point is with him but it hurts worse when he’s alone. It hurts deeper when there’s no other hurt to distract him. It’s hard not to feel bad for himself. 

He cries into his hands and he thinks about Silas, because he’s always thinking about Silas. Even if he didn’t save him, he wishes he was here. He wishes he was with him, just to keep him company, maybe to hold his hand. He’s so tired of being sad by himself. 

He’s so busy wallowing he doesn’t hear Point come back. When he does, he rips the sheet away, flashing Wren his teeth as he tosses an armful of clothing at him. A handful of clothing, realistically. Wren can’t begin to guess where the clothes Point gives him came from or come from still; there are things that are obviously his favourites, things he makes Wren wear more often, but it seems like he has an endless amount of costumes at his disposal. And that’s what they are, really, they’re costumes, sometimes the kind literally made for children, sometimes the pornstar or stripper equivalent. They’re all small and humiliating. 

It’s a handful of tulle and gingham he throws at him now, which is unsurprising. It’s Point’s favourite costume; he likes the dress so much that he’s actually cleaned it. It’s short, frilly, humiliating. There’s a little white apron stitched into the waist. 

Point’s wearing denim and plaid because Point’s been wearing a lot of denim and plaid. Before now, Wren had never seen him in civilians clothes — he isn’t sure if Point’s always worn a lot of plaid, maybe, or if he’s in costume too, dressing up to match the little farm girl dresses he makes Wren wear. If he’s maybe playing farmer. If he’s just doing it to make fun of Wren, which is more likely. 

“Get dressed,” he says, and clicks his tongue. He doesn’t look much like a farmer, if that’s what he’s going for. His beard’s been growing out since he’d kidnapped Wren, and the dark hair and the plaid make him look a bit like a lumberjack — like the axe wielding maniac from a slasher movie. 

“I don’t want to,” Wren says, wet. 

He raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t asking. Get dressed.” 

“Darren,” he says softly. 

Impatient, he snaps his fingers. “Let’s go, cowgirl.” 

Sniffling softly, Wren rolls onto back, leaning hard on his hands as he pushes himself up. Point watches him. He doesn’t say anything, but his presence is so imposing that Wren can’t even pretend he’s not there. He pulls on the dress, short and demeaning, barely long enough to actually be a dress. Blood and semen track down the inside of his thighs. 

Almost before he’s pulled the layers of skirts all the way down, Point’s clicking his tongue again. “Come here.” 

Reluctantly, Wren goes. He can’t walk very fast or very long anymore. He always has kind of a limp. It always makes him think of Silas, as most things often do. 

Point leads him through the house with a hand curled around the back of his neck. He doesn’t usually let Wren get far without him, and if he leaves him on his own he ties him down first, some way or another. Wren makes it as far as the back door before he panics and grabs the doorframe. “Darren.” 

Point squeezes the back of his neck, threatening, but he shows Wren his teeth again, something that Wren suspects is supposed to be a smile. “Let’s go.” He cradles Wren’s face with his other hand, thumbing something from the corner of his mouth, blood or old lipstick. “Don’t make me regret doing something nice for you, now.” 

“Please,” Wren says softly, white knuckles against the doorframe. 

Point’s only ever been able to pretend to be patient for so long. There’s always something simmering under the surface of his dead eyes, something impatient and self gratifying and cruel. He pushes Wren back against the doorframe so quickly Wren can’t do anything to stop it, he pushes him so hard the back of Wren’s head collides with the doorframe with a force that makes him nauseous. 

He pins him there with a hand around his throat. Instinctively, Wren curls a hand around his wrist, and Point’s mouth stretches, a grotesque mockery of a grin. He ghosts his other hand slowly up the inside of Wren’s sticky leg, beneath his skirt, stroking slowly along the sensitive flesh between his thighs. When Wren jerks, another instinct, trying to flinch away, Point pins him harder against the doorframe. Pushes his fingers inside him. Doesn’t even let Wren look away. 

He chokes out a sound around Point’s hand, something small and pathetic, something breathless. 

Point grins a little wider. He’s leaned in too close and Wren can feel his breath against his face. It could be psychological, it’s probably psychological, but he would swear his breath always smells like gunmetal. 

He’s big, too. Wren doesn’t ever forget, not really, but he doesn’t always remember quite how much. He’s prone a lot. Point always tells him he does all his best work on his back, and that’s how he spends a lot of his time. It kind of scales the difference between them down to Point’s crushing weight. 

He isn’t big like Silas had been big, not inhumanly, but he’s a big guy all the same. He towers over Wren. He has to lean down to breathe gunmetal into his face. 

Wren chokes out another sound, a plea that doesn’t make it, and pushes his other hand against Point’s wide chest. With a huff like laughter, Point leans even closer, pressing his face to the side of Wren’s head. He’s inescapable like this; he’s everywhere. 

His fingers move inside Wren and when Wren tries to flinch away, he holds his thighs apart with his knee, he traps him against the doorway with his weight. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against his hair, and it makes Wren gag. It always does. “And you’re all mine.” His hand flexes around Wren’s throat. He’s everywhere. Every one of Wren’s senses is Point. “Always so wet for me,” he murmurs, and he murmurs it in this slow, kind of syrupy voice that makes Wren’s skin crawl. “Always make the prettiest noises. It made me want to do something nice for you.” His voice doesn’t change, but his fingers flex around Wren’s throat again, threatening, as he murmurs, “but you’re being awfully ungrateful already, cowgirl. It’s making me want to change my mind.” 

There was a very short chunk of time, fresh out of high school, that Wren not only got to be a human being, but his own person. He’d been an artist for a bit, before he had to move back home, a real one. He had a girlfriend. Julie. 

She was scary. A tattoo artist with a heavy European accent, she smoked imported cigarettes and she had a thing about true crime, sometimes to a degree that was a little worrying. Her background noise of choice was always the same true crime podcast, somebody with a hypnotic sort of voice talking about the worst things human beings have ever done to each other. It was morbid and sad, obviously, but almost in the way that really well done horror movies and morbid and sad — it isn’t real life. Those kinds of things don’t really happen to people. 

Except when they do. He wonders what the true crime podcasters would say about him if they knew. He wonders if anybody will ever know what really happened to him. Realistically, probably not. Realistically, Wren’s probably gonna die in this farmhouse, god knows where, and Point will probably fuck his body before he disposes of it and then he’ll never talk about him again. Wren’s gonna die and nobody but Point will ever know what really happened to him. 

I’m sorry, he tries to say, but Point is strangling him and all he manages is a weak, whimpering sort of noise. 

“Are you going to be good?” Point murmurs against his hair. 

As best he can, Wren nods. 

“Grateful?” He asks softly. 

Wren nods again. 

Point’s hand leaves his throat so suddenly that the rush of air into his lungs makes Wren choke. He tips his head back against the doorframe, trying to steady his breathing and gasping with it. Trying to blink the blur from his vision, he isn’t watching Point but he recognizes the sound of his belt buckle. He’s started wearing big, noisey belt buckles. Part of his flannel costume. The sound makes the hair prickle at the back of Wren’s neck and he tries to lift his head, to lean away. Point is still everywhere. 

“Not again,” Wren begs, hoarse. 

Point leans back just far enough that Wren can see his face, still hovering in his personal space. He raises his eyebrows. Low and dangerous, he murmurs, “what did I just say?” 

Wren hiccups softly. He doesn’t know when he started crying or if he ever really stopped in the first place. He tries to turn his face away but Point slides his fingers out of him to grab his jaw with his slick hand. 

“I want you to keep your eyes on me,” he says. 

Wren sniffles miserably. 

Point shows him his teeth again, a mockery of a smile, as he lifts him up and off his feet, shoving the layers of his skirts up and around his waist. “Say please.” 

Wren doesn’t mean to, but he sobs. 

Lining himself up, he repeats, “say please.” 

“Darren —“ 

“Don’t use my name,” he says, flat. He’s looking too closely at Wren and there’s still nothing human in his eyes at all. “Say please.” 

Wren sniffles again, even more miserable. “Please,” he whispers. 

Without looking away, he pushes inside him again, slow and almost taunting. When Wren’s eyes close, flinching in pain, Point grabs him by the face again, pressing his fingertips too hard into his jaw. 

“Ow,” Wren breathes, and he doesn’t mean to but Point doesn’t like it either way, cracking his head sharply back against the doorframe. 

“If I wanted you to hurt, girl,” he says, “you would. Be good.” 

Wren blinks quickly, kind of dazed, bracing himself belatedly as Point punches a series of choked, breathless noises out of him. There isn’t anything slow or gentle about it this time; it hurts. It hurts in the frantic, sort of manic way it does sometimes, the way it hurts when Point really wants him to hurt, brutal and frenzied. 

A cry is knocked out of somewhere high in his chest. He braces a hand against Point, trying to push him away without really meaning to and Point quickly gathers both his wrists in one hand. “Ungrateful,” he spits. “What did I say?” 

Wren bites his tongue and cries out again, anyway, kind of strangled. 

Through his teeth, Point says, “try harder. Say thank you.” 

Wren makes another pained sound, something wet, something he doesn’t mean. “Thank you,” he tries, but it comes out as a sob and Point lifts his hands up and over his head, pins them to the doorframe, just high enough that the strain of it echoes pain through Wren’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he breathes, trying again. “Thank you.” 

Point coos, squeezing him around the wrists. “There’s a good girl.” He ducks his head, mouthing along the bruises blooming along Wren’s jaw and Wren finally screws his eyes shut, chest hitching as he sobs. Point groans and too much of Wren rumbles with it. “There’s a good girl,” he murmurs again. 

It’s fast and it’s brutal and it’s meant to hurt but that doesn’t mean it’s over quickly. When Point’s finally done with him, when Wren’s finally placed back on his feet, his legs give out. He can’t hold himself up, and he would’ve hit the ground if Point hadn’t caught him quickly around the waist, lifting Wren up and over his shoulder. 

Hurting and dazed, Wren twists a hand into the back of Point’s flannel shirt for balance and tries to stop crying. Can’t. 

He’s carried outside, across a stretch of the land behind the house, to a barn Wren had known was there but had never been allowed to get close enough to see. Holding him up, across his shoulder with one hand, Point unlocks the doors with more effort than Wren would have expected; he punches a series of numbers into a keypad, he swipes a keycard, he presses his thumbprint. He pushes the doors open, and he takes the time to close and secure them behind him before he places Wren on his feet. 

Wren turns, heart in his throat. On the outside, it’s just a barn. On the inside, it’s a bunker. It looks so much like something from the district, armed and steel, that Wren reacts to it viscerally and takes a step back, right into Point’s chest. 

He wraps an arm around Wren quickly, heaving him off his feet again, too easy. 

“Darren,” Wren breathes, frantic. Concrete had been poured to cover the floor and Wren is carried across it, to a length of chain and a collar bolted into the centre of the barn. Wren does everything he can to scramble away but Point is so much bigger than he is. “Darren!” 

“I have some work to do,” Point explains. He drops Wren to the concrete, unceremonious, and pins him there with a foot to his chest as he leans down and pulls the collar around his throat, pulling it just a little too tightly to be comfortable. “I need you to stay out of the way while I get it done.” 

“No,” Wren breathes, and tries to sit up. 

Point boots him onto his back so hard it knocks the wind out of him and without missing a beat says, “I made it look like home. I thought it would make you more comfortable.” Above Wren, his grin is a leer. “I thought you would like it.” Wren makes a weak noise, trying to take a breath in. Point says, “I did it for you. Do you like it?” 

“Don’t leave me here,” Wren breathes. Almost worse than being with Point is waiting for him, so tense that sometimes he could cry with it, sometimes it could make him sick. Concrete and steel, the inside of the barn is already cold, uninsulated. So secure, it’s dark. Quiet. 

Point clicks his tongue at him, unimpressed. “What do I keep telling you about being ungrateful?” He peels his foot slowly off Wren’s chest. There’s a dirty boot print left behind on his dress. “If you’re a good girl while I’m not here,” he says, “I’ll let you back in the house when I’m finished.” 

“Darren —“ 

“If I find out you were a bad girl,” he says, “it will be very painful for you. Y’hear?” 

“Darren —“ 

But he leaves. Wren is shivering, still crying, too dehydrated for tears but still hitching with it, and Point leaves, closing the armoured doors behind him. Not for the first time, he leaves Wren alone in the dark. 

[torturingpeople]

@detective-and-dreamer

this is an interesting idea. could we argue that gant acts like a parasite or a brain worm? obviously it isn't a living thing and it's usually not even visible but if we're going with my pseudopsychobiology (<- what a term) it makes sense that the chewing could be interpreted literally

i feel like this doesn't cause the damage that irrigo or violant do but it just causes pain. because i don't think i'd like to have my nerves chewed on quite frankly considering how sensitive they are and how mind-splittingly painful that would be

i wonder in that case, to negate the effects of gant, could one treat their synapses with violant? surely the casing would be effective against it, and it would work somewhat like a cast over your nerve but have the effect of a painkiller without having to take morphine

i was also thinking about viric and cosmogone (thank you @thegreatyin for bringing it up to me), and i feel like they work more like a chemical transmission than something that clings to the nerve, because they affect you emotionally/chemically (viric making you drowsy, cosmogone making you feel nostalgic) rather than actually impacting your ability to think

i could see people who are well-versed in the neathbow using viric in the same sense as melatonin supplements? however i can also see a very very clear risk of comatose - this could even be a method of permanent death

viric would essentially cause what moonlight does (stimulating the production of melatonin in the brain) to the nth degree: it would stimulate so much melatonin production that you basically fall into a coma state permanently, and if nobody inhibits the melatonin production you basically get softlocked out of your body and i suppose stuck in parabola until you can return to your body

i think cosmogone also has a very strong potential as a recreational drug. it would work in a similar way to prisoner's honey but just trigger a lot of nostalgia and reminiscing, and i can see that becoming addictive for people who are not happy in the present and want to return to what once was... then again i don't know *too* much about cosmogone so someone else might have a better theory/concept on this

i already talked a bit about apocyan in this reblog but i see this as a supplement, as opposed to violant which is more like steroids. it needs to be taken frequently in controlled doses to have a positive effect but basically it strengthens your memories over time and helps you to be able to recall things in a safer way than violant's insta-fix: however overdosing on apocyan i figure isn't hard to reverse but is painful because you need to do it with irrigo and essentially erode your synapses which is going to hurt like hell

i've been thinking about how irrigo and violant work recently. so of course i had to make diagrams about it

i don't think the plaque is like a literal tangible thing like it is on your tooth or in your blood vessels, but it's more of a residue that either snaps the synapses immediately and makes it impossible to reconnect the memory or builds up over time on the synapse and makes it harder to access a memory

"with resistance" in this case refers to someone who uses or has been exposed to irrigo frequently over an extended period of time. it works in the same way as drug/antibiotic resistance does in the sense that your synapses grow more resilient to the effects of the plaque and don't just immediately break. think of it like going from dental floss to rope

i also think violant can provide resistance too - in this way it would more likely cancel out the effects of the plaque and it's like placing a casing over your synapse, but at the same time now you have both a violant casing (with violant being impossible to erase so the casing is there basically forever whether it's effective or not) and irrigo plaque on your synapses so it's not something you can do repeatedly without eventually damaging the synapse and doing something fucked up to your memory

there's also potential for the buildup of irrigo and violant causing toxic shock in the brain in the same way foreign objects do - it's only in a long-term sense and if left unchecked the body will start attacking itself and engaging an immune response to remove the buildup, which will in turn inevitably damage, weaken or break the synapse entirely

the way to treat violant+irrigo buildup is with exposure to apocyan. in essence this has the ability to remove the plaque buildup and the casing, essentially breaking it off your synapses, and can help to heal any damage caused by an immune response or the synapse being freed from the casing and plaque. in this it would return the neuron to its natural, unaffected state, and the pathway would neither have the benefits or drawbacks of using violant or irrigo

[luimagines]

Hello! So i have this idea of a Linksona of mine if you don't mind listening to it.

This Linksona title is The Hero of Freedom, he is actually a complete nobody wannabe bard before the whole adventure happen, so the Chain could also call him 'Bard/Musician'. He belongs in the downfall timeline and his Hyrule is kinda of a mess because Ganondorf is the current Ruler of his lifetime, having killed the royal family of Hyrule way before the spirit of the Hero could have reborn.

This Link of mine actually had a mother who was a priestess of Hylia, his mother still has hope in the Goddess even after years of suffering under Ganondorf rule and his severe punishments to those caught still worshiping the Goddess or having any type of rebellious behavior, Link mother managed to savage a Golden Harp thought to be the original Harp that Hylia used from the ashes of the old church where she prayed, she gave her son the name 'Link' because she wanted him to be as brave as the hero of Legend, Link mother would often play her harp to her son and sing to him and tell him stories about the heroes of the past, she always told him the importance of being kind and brave even in the most severe of circumstances, she wanted him to be able to feel hope even when none existed. Link mother ended up dying, killed by Ganondorf followers when Link was 13, she left him her harp and made him promise not to hate the people of Hyrule for their fear of the Demon King and to not let hate weight in his heart.

Link was pretty much alone after his mother death, he ended picking up his mom musical talent and played his harp and sang regularly, although he was sometimes getting thrown at him, he met Zelda at the age of 14 and his adventure started there.

Zelda is 19 in this timeline and is actually the leader of a rebellion against Ganondorf, she was saved still as a baby and was raised by Impa so she doesn't know about much about royalty life, but she knows to kill a man, so there's that, she is actually pretty no nonsense and is focused on battle tactics and fighting rather than magic, although she has the triforce of wisdom, she actually met Link when she was trying to shrug off one of Ganondorf guards, and he appeared out of nowhere and chucked a glass bottle at the guys face, the guard then attempted to kill Link and Zelda put a dagger to the guy's throat.

Zelda was pretty prepared to give Link the scolding of his life, but the racket they caused ended up catching the attention of more guards, and she ended up picking the kid like a sack of potatoes and fleeing the scene. She was not exactly happy that the 'Chucking a bottle at a guy two times my size is a good idea' kid is the fricking Hero reborn, actually the thought of having to train a 14 old to kill a freaking adult demon man makes her nauseous and start to curse the Goddesses to high heaven, she eventually relents and keeps a Hawkeye on Link in his journey to make sure 'everything goes according to plan' (She is actually worried, but doesn't want anyone to know).

I see Link and Zelda having a very much Big sister and Little brother relationship in this timeline, Link does lookup to Zelda and think she is the coolest person ever and Zelda thinks Link will be the reason she goes white early because the kid never stopped picking fights with things that are a hundred times his size.

That my Linksona, hope you found it interesting!

I really like this au! XD

Link is still Link no matter what and Zelda is ready to kick butt as always!

Would that make Impa the grandma or very tired aunt?

Poor Link though, destined to not have family. :(

[inkskinned]

the thing is that they're so fascinated by sex, they love sex, they can't imagine a world without sex - they need sex to sell things, they need sex to be part of their personality, they need sex to prove their power - but they hate sex. they are disgusted by it.

sex is the only thing that holds their attention, and it is also the thing that can never be discussed directly.

you can't tell a child the normal names for parts of their body, that's sexual in nature, because the body isn't a body, it's a vessel of sex. it doesn't matter that it's been proven in studies (over and over) that kids need to know the names of their genitals; that they internalize sexual shame at a very young age and know it's 'dirty' to have a body; that it overwhelmingly protects children for them to have the correct words to communicate with. what matters is that they're sexual organs. what matters is that it freaks them out to think about kids having body parts - which only exist in the context of sex.

it's gross to talk about a period or how to check for cancer in a testicle or breast. that is nasty, illicit. there will be no pain meds for harsh medical procedures, just because they feature a cervix.

but they will put out an ad of you scantily-clad. you will sell their cars for them, because you have abs, a body. you will drip sex. you will ooze it, like a goo. like you were put on this planet to secrete wealth into their open palms.

they will hit you with that same palm. it will be disgusting that you like leather or leashes, but they will put their movie characters in leather and latex. it will be wrong of you to want sexual freedom, but they will mark their success in the number of people they bed.

they will crow that it's inappropriate for children so there will be no lessons on how to properly apply a condom, even to teens. it's teaching them the wrong things. no lessons on the diversity of sexual organ growth, none on how to obtain consent properly, none on how to recognize when you feel unsafe in your body. if you are a teenager, you have probably already been sexualized at some point in your life. you will have seen someone also-your-age who is splashed across a tv screen or a magazine or married to someone three times your age. you will watch people pull their hair into pigtails so they look like you. so that they can be sexy because of youth. one of the most common pornography searches involves newly-18 young women. girls. the words "barely legal," a hiss of glass sand over your skin.

barely legal. there are bills in place that will not allow people to feel safe in their own bodies. there are people working so hard to punish any person for having sex in a way that isn't god-fearing and submissive. heteronormative. the sex has to be at their feet, on your knees, your eyes wet. when was the first time you saw another person crying in pornography and thought - okay but for real. she looks super unhappy. later, when you are unhappy, you will close your eyes and ignore the feeling and act the role you have been taught to keep playing. they will punish the sex workers, remove the places they can practice their trade safely. they will then make casual jokes about how they sexually harass their nanny.

and they love sex but they hate that you're having sex. you need to have their ornamental, perfunctory, dispassionate sex. so you can't kiss your girlfriend in the bible belt because it is gross to have sex with someone of the same gender. so you can't get your tubes tied in new england because you might change your mind. so you can't admit you were sexually assaulted because real men don't get hurt, you should be grateful. you cannot handle your own body, you cannot handle the risks involved, let other people decide that for you. you aren't ready yet.

but they need you to have sex because you need to have kids. at 15, you are old enough to parent. you are not old enough to hear the word fuck too many times on television.

they are horrified by sex and they never stop talking about it, thinking about it, making everything unnecessarily preverted. the saying - a thief thinks everyone steals. they stand up at their podiums and they look out at the crowd and they sign a bill into place that makes sexwork even more unsafe and they stand up and smile and sign a bill that makes gender-affirming care illegal and they get up and they shrug their shoulders and write don't say gay and they get up, and they make the world about sex, but this horrible, plastic vision of it that they have. this wretched, emotionless thing that holds so much weight it's staggering. they put their whole spine behind it and they push and they say it's normal!

this horrible world they live in. disgusted and also obsessed.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Assisting Acquaintance Acquired.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[arlathmyheart]

Interesting. I reckon both yes and no.

Rook is a people person who helps others much like felassan.

However Rook is still in the leadership role and fighting against the (surviving) evanuris like a young fen harel did. They are unexperienced but smart and willing/forced to act when necessary.

Rook bridges the gap as a kind of conscious fen harel who never loses sight of the cost of sacrifice. They keep their principles intact presumably.

Like felassan ROOK keeps morale high and stands with their cause. For instance they never see themselves as akin to a god.

Like solas they end up having to make hard decisions, some of which they regret.

Notably Rook has millennia less experience of various wars and memories from fighting the evanuris than solas. Thus less regret etc.

Rook mostly differs from solas in their ability to move on from their regrets etc.

What is interesting is how solas uses his regrets. He cherishes some and he values memories. He paints his or wishes to forget some. They work slightly differently for him. This may or may not be due to his spirit nature.

What will they call you when this is over?>

As rooks dialogue after the treviso/minrathous choice shows they go forward by choosing either: confidence, pragmatism or acceptance.

Later in game datv plays into the idea that rook acts as hubris (fen harel) to a solas who is becoming too prideful akin to elgarnan. They ruin his plans. They show him that he could have another path. They show that he could be beaten.

Rook maintains that the veil must remain. The cost is too great. Solas would only sate his conscience and not deliver the world/elves. Very pragmatic.

Solas seems to tell himself that it is for mythal to an extent (and all he has sacrificed). It is hard to tell if this is a overjustification or not. They have so much history. Plus we don’t learn if he was truly bound and enslaved to her will or just loyal to her due to their friendship/kinship? And her benevolence.

We do know for sure that Solas also sacrificed a lot of himself and others lives. He let spirits/people die for him as well as giving up his spirit form and essentially his own principles (his actual nature of being) He was a spirit of wisdom that she weaponised. This twisted him from his purpose to pride.

The main difference seemingly between the two is that rook is not from a spirit (presumably) and that they do not work alone (or else you get a bad ending)

Rook also doesn’t seem to have a mythal figure guiding them except for perhaps the player? Or even Solas himself.

Rook then acts as a young solas who had instead trusted his friends (if he had many/any? This is something that we don’t really learn. The relationships solas had were very strained despite time as he says himself). Thus Rook may be akin to a version of the past fenharel had he talked with felassan and chosen to act on his advice.

Presumably this would have changed the outcome of the past and solas may have then acted differently. This would not change the nature of pre veil mythal however.

The painful irony is that becoming the dreadwolf was presumably solas’ first main action against mythal/the evanuris after years of not being listened to. This was when he finally took a stand and tried to change things for the better. Felassan was the one who helped create the myth of the dreadwolf. He was supposed to keep solas in check.

Oh my god. This unplanned essay has made me think that more accurately: VARRIC is truly the character akin to felassan.

Going by masked empire and celene/briala as parallel to mythal/solas as the two have an odd/abusive relationship where each uses the other while maintaining a somewhat loving relationship.

Solas has his chance to rescind the past somewhat with Varric at the ritual. Varric tried to give him another option. Again Solas refuses this. This is expected given felassans fate in TME.

To listen to Varric/felassan in that moment would be for Solas to forfeit the past and to accept all his wrongdoings ended up just that. That unwittingly down the line he had made exclusively bad decisions despite having best intentions. (He is smart enough to half predict/know this and so he can only really either blame himself or mythal for it is she who is the one that continued forcing his hand and not listing to his reservations) She made him take a body, she maintained that to end a war titans should be sundered. He was the one who went along with it and made the dagger and (made/utilised?) the prison for the titans dreams. He followed her regardless thus being complicit in the events that unfolded.

Therefore Solas is also to blame for not acting against her and letting her continue with her version of events. (that is a lot of guilt) He does not move against her until he becomes fen harel. However in acting as fenharel he also ends up acting alone, thinking it the better option.

However young Solas still wants the best for Mythal (and hopes she will join his rebellion) but he ultimately loses Mythal when she tries to chastise? The evanuris for experimenting with the blight and they murder her.

Ironically in doing this she acts alone and it is her deference and pride of godhood that likely made her think she would be untouchable. If she didn’t care about her title she may have joined solas. Is she acted on solas’ advice solas may also have had more cause to trust in others beyond using them for his rebellion.

However we can’t truly tell if instead Mythal was utilising politics/manipulation for control rather than bringing more war on the elves. (a kindness?) We just don’t know enough about it.

“In desperation” then solas plots his revenge and seals up the blighted gods. This is no mean feat. He also doesn’t tell felassan his plans. The veil was created as a side effect of his powerful spell which thus altered the world and lead to the fall of elvhenan. He is far more ruthless now and yet imprisons the gods rather than killing them. (Presumably they could be freed if they managed to move past their regrets which would require them to self reflect or even feel remorse at all for their past tyranny). They are very powerful and hard to kill.

We don’t find out how exactly the prisons work as another is made. Presumably the first is the black city which also contains the blight. The second is the regret jail that rook is familiar with.

The difference here then must be varric’s effect on Rook. Or possibly more relevantly the inquisitor.

Varric acts as mentor and story teller. His is a slight guiding hand. He maintains actual faith in the inquisitor (no matter what they say) and imparts his kindness onto rook. He tries to change solas’s mind. His written stories will shape others thoughts.

He feels guilty for the lyrium dagger. He has lost Hawke. He by all rights is like felassan in TME.

Now the inquisitor themselves is one of the only living people in thedas that can conceivably understand how SOLAS felt during his rise to infamy as FEN HAREL. They are the closest to god like status in modern thedas and the inquisitor, having killed Corypheus, knows what it is like to raise an army or to fight a false god (or Titan?) on their own.

Inquisitor relied on their advisors and interestingly solas/Varric in their rose to power. They both shape how inquisitor feels about spirits or faith.

If anything then the inquisitor may be closest to a pre veil mythal or evanuris who is trying to keep a status quo of peace in a breaking world. Like solas they acted as a god and saved the world.

Ironically fen harel too has the option to be like the other evanuris. He both is and isn’t part of the pantheon. The question of their godhood lies in their morality and lust for power.

Now to change his mind solas hears from: mythal, rook, and inquisitor.

I think we are righting past wrongs to an extent: THIS MIRRORS THE REGRET DEMON STORY BEAUTIFULLY. TRICK WEEKES YOU!!!

Rook offers Solas another option despite it all (like Varric/Felassan) to give up the past. It is a lot of trust to simply hand him the dagger and yet a spirit will become what it is expected to be.

Rook keeps their faith in solas despite his betrayal. This could be a similar idea to how a young solas still followed mythal. It is a complex relationship depending on the players pov (datv solas = preveil mythal) (rook = preveil solas)

Fix 1- ROOK/YOUNG SOLAS LISTENING TO HIS FRIENDS AND STAYING TRUE TO SELF AGAINST FEN HAREL/MYTHAL. - sate conscience

Mythal (Mythal) concedes her part in using him and twisting him to pride . That they both did awful things that were wrong. He is released from her service.

Fix 2- FORGIVING HIMSELF FOR THEIR PAST BAD DECISIONS - forgive himself/mythal

The inquisitor (post veil Fen harel) tells him that he is free to find a better way. He now can see the way.

Fix 3- CHOOSING A NEW PATH FOR HIMSELF - freed spirit

It is sad and he is alone (unless solavellan) but now freed Solas chooses to seek atonement. He starts to move forward. I think he is so brave and I love him for it.

He is scared of dying alone and yet his life sustains the veil. He is scared to die and yet also scared to be alone. Plz give him Lavellan tho guys he is a good boy at heart.

This was unplanned. It is imperfect and it is late but it is my current musing on the subject. I may revisit this writing in time.

Honestly? Rook is more a foil of Felassan than Solas, Inky is Solas' foil.

[wickmitz]

I decided to start talking about Wick and Rocky's relationship because I like their dynamics too, I like seeing Wick scared of Rocky and Rocky being aggressive with him, which is unusual because Rocky is rarely aggressive with anyone, but of course Wick is an exception to rule

Also my mini opinion about their possible relationship, I think that if Rocky didn't have to fight for his place, then he and Wick could become friends, or at least tolerate each other a little, I also see some superficial similarities, their gentlemanly and romantic natures, and their common love for explosions (remembering the quarrymen chapter), but this is my assumption, I think that I don't understand the characters' personalities well, so I can be wrong in this assumption, something like that. So, what do you think about their relationship?

for starters, i cannot thank you enough for this ask! as i’ve said previously, i have many thoughts on these two, so it’s nice to finally be able to share some of them. although given the extent to which i think about them, i apologize in advance if this is sloppy and sort of everywhere … while i’ll try to structure things the best i can, i cannot promise i’ll succeed! but hopefully this is an enjoyable reply nonetheless.

one of my favorite things about rocky and wick’s relationship is absolutely how aggressive rocky is towards the aristocrat ; he is prone to glares and cruel jokes and borderline hissing whenever the man is within his line of sight, or can be brought to a wailing-fit over the mere mention of his name from miss m’s mouth. there is a childishness to it, but a very prominent threat as well in spite of rocky’s usual incompetence. so he goes out of his way to posture around wick, readily lying and adorning himself with the gangster drapes he so badly wants to wear, in the hopes that it intimidates … will even badmouth wick’s family and make fun of his name and rock related obsession to mitzi, and so on so forth! yet all of this is very reminiscent of schoolyard bullying rather than anything too severe, though we as the audience understand rather quickly that rocky would bash wick’s head in with a tire iron if he could. ( translation : if it wouldn’t earn the tears or hate of a certain beloved mitzi may ) and it’s all very intense despite the absence of actual violence! and i understand why many fans see this as unusual for rocky and believe that it’s only wick who makes him act so aggressively, but i’d argue it isn’t really wick at all that prompts such scary reactions from him … and that rocky is a deeply angry character who’s a.) been boiling quietly for a long, long time and b.) has turned wick into a punching bag of sorts for this inner world of resentment and hurt. basically, when he’s judging the well-to-do or poking fun, his eyes don’t look at wick and actually acknowledge him as sedgewick sable ; instead this is a being, something vague and metaphorical, who threatens to upseat rocky’s permanence in the lackadaisy and steal away his savior, and he’s had a hand in the violinist’s misfortune for a long time.

obviously, rocky doesn’t think wick robbed him of his family twice over and made him homeless, but he is channeling the fear and anguish of those events into his loathing for wick, if that makes sense? it’s easier that way -- to finally have an outlet for everything bleeding inside of you, to be able to bite and claw at something without feeling conflicted or having to take personal accountability for your own mistakes … which is something that i think rocky does struggle with to a degree. he is sort of a finger pointer! his pain has to be worth something, it has to be for someone else ; spending years homeless and losing his last bit of family was for freckle, and the scrambling of his literal brain was for mitzi, and that means he can’t ever be angry with them! well, except that he is, somewhat, but he buries it deep down instead of feeling it. with freckle there is a sense of strain between them -- an air of ‘you owe me’ from rocky to freckle as he uses freckle to appease miss m, and he constantly pokes fun at his cousin too. it’s lighter than his jabs at wick, but there’s a constant pestering, a reminder of how good freckle has it : how he’s got the mom and the house and the job and the girl most notably. i don’t think rocky is intending to come across as mean, and to his credit he hardly does! but it’s rather clear to me that some part of him, some hidden and deeply hurt part, is rather indignant about taking the fall for freckle all those years ago. which he can’t understand, because how could he? he made that choice, he decided to take accountability for something he didn’t do because he loves freckle and knows it’d be so easy to believe this family tragedy was roark’s fault ; the devilish child he was, all troublesome and too broken to properly fit anywhere. so there is a disconnect born here, where rocky can’t comprehend that he’d be angry at freckle, so instead these not so great feelings are placed elsewhere and silently boil over time. and with mitzi … i don’t think he’s angry at her per se, but there is a frustrated and desperate chorus of : why him and why not me, when i’m the one out here dying for you? which is certainly unpleasant. of course, rather than allowing those feelings to be more aimed at miss m, whom he feels unloved by, he ( again! ) represses these emotions and allows them to fester into his greatest fears and fantastical complexes. i think there is a lot of other miscellaneous anger he could have towards others too … perhaps some part of him is sore upon seeing ivy’s normal lifestyle, watching her go to university and knowing that’s been taken from him. or an ache felt when hearing stories from zib and the band and how they used to travel successfully, living as nomads, and rocky is all too reminded of his similar lifestyle and how he couldn’t make it work as effortlessly. people with immense trauma are more prone to irrational anger and jealousy, to viewing everything around them as unfair and believing it’s even more unjust that so many people get to live comfortably while they’ve suffered. a situation that gets more messy when you’re someone like rocky, a man who’s willingly made choices that have harmed himself and wants to continue on with his smiling, bumbling fool of an act. he does not want to be angry, does not want to see it within himself, i think, which leads to an accidental increase of it.

all of this is to reiterate that wick is a scapegoat for rocky and nothing more. it’s why he’s rather hypocritical whenever it concerns the man. for example, it was stated by tracy that he looks down upon wick for his excessive presence at the bar, yet he appears to enjoy hanging out with zib -- who drinks just as often! he makes fun of how all wick ever talks about is rocks, when he himself is prone to poetry rambles that people find irritating or boring, and etc etc. this is also just a human nature thing, to critique someone you heavily dislike and even going as far as to belittle things you love or do in your own day to day because you just hate them that bad! but given rocky’s willingness to befriend anyone, it more so reeks of a dehumanization element. wick is every obstacle in his way, every divine force that threatens to send him packing again, so he is equal parts unnerved by wick’s presence and angry about it. it is mostly a fear response we are seeing, an emotion that’s morphed into long held resentment and anger. so his actions are extremely defensive, with him trying to push wick far away and keep him and mitzi separate, like some sort of animal attempting to ward off a threat that’s come too close to their home. despite the loaded animosity there, this hate has hardly reached its peak … but it shall only grow more intense as things continue onward i’m afraid, since as it stands ( in the comic at least ) rocky is at an all time low … and is ten times more desperate. i’d honestly say wick has become so warped in his mind’s eye that he can only strive towards ‘winning’ over the other man, because that’s all he can see anymore. i think mitzi implying that wick willingly helped her out, the intense head injury, and rocky’s fragile emotional state is exactly what pushes him towards premeditated murder in look-see. i don’t know how people perceive that arc, but to me it’s very clear that rocky actively sought to see the deaths of wes and fish that night. going as far as to lament that he’d be, “very disappointed if ( he ) dreamed them,” and purposefully luring the marigold duo away to have freckle pick them off. while you could argue that this was a smart move, in a gangster sort of sense, there’s still no denying that rocky is oddly chipper about the whole thing and is now seeking death out ; whereas before his methods of vengeance were just, well, ruining people’s livelihood but ultimately leaving them alive. this isn’t to discredit the fact that rocky is going through something! he is in a very muddled and dark place, mentally and physically, but even tracy has said that the head injury hasn’t changed rocky’s personality -- it’s only brought things to the surface.

source : q&a with tracy .

which, yeah! makes sense! head trauma can cause a person to become a wreck emotionally ( think mood swings, irritability, etc ) but it doesn’t completely morph someone either. personality changes may occur, but it’s not like you’re being rewritten entirely, you know? and given tracy’s old statement, it’s clear that ‘personality changes’ aren’t a side effect he’s suffering from. something that adds to my beginning statement, which is that rocky is a deeply angry and troubled person, more so than fans give him any credit for.

however, to touch upon your mini opinion about these two, i actually wholeheartedly agree that rocky and wick could become friends if circumstances were different. they do in fact have many superficial similarities, but one of the more prominent things they deeply share is never really belonging in the groups they frequent. this is more overt with rocky’s character, yet wick faces it too in subtle ways. the well-to-do crowd, seen through the investors, find the gentleman to be lacking in about every place imaginable ; to them he is an obsessive freak who cares too deeply for meager rocks, something they constantly mock him for, while he’s also being noticeably set apart from the rest of them … he seems younger than the investors, more excitable, passionate, and a little less experienced, and doesn’t seem to care for money or reputation as much as them either. there is a constant rubbing between him and them, where what he enjoys is seen as wrong, such as his love for the lackadaisy and his choice in paramor, a grieving widow with extremely dangerous ties. we also know that wick doesn’t have many friends at all, with the only two he has being lacy and church ( church is listed as such on his character profile, in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way ), both of whom work for or with him. they are obliged to hang around, and while they care in varying ways, they are prone to judging him just as much. honestly, it’s not shocking that wick seeks refuge at his chosen speakeasy! but even there he is rather distant from everyone else. he doesn’t speak to zib ever in the comics, nor seems all too close with viktor, ivy, or horatio … it is merely mitzi he is close to, even if he knows of the other people who work there. and, once again, wick very obviously doesn’t fit in. he is not gangster material, could never be an atlas may replacement, much less someone who could get his paws dirty in such an active way. so he has his feet in two different worlds and doesn’t know how to fit into either of them, or which one he actually wants to fit into more. i think in many ways rocky could relate -- these are two very lonely people who wish to belong somewhere and be accepted by some group or another but go about it in all the wrong ways. wick, who is too hesitant to fully commit to what he wants and is worse off for it, and then rocky, who obsessively throws himself against what he wants until he breaks every bone in his body. they also have explosives to bond over, lol, and other miscellaneous things like their taste in women i suppose … but this potential bond adds to the tragedy of lackadaisy, where we see two people who on every level should get along but we’re burdened with the knowledge that it’s an impossibility anyway, because there’s no removing the circumstance of which they’re in.

though i like to believe that despite wick’s fear of rocky, he maintains a kindness towards him regardless. i think his worries about rocky are rather surface level … he doesn’t know the boy at all, really, and thus can’t make heads or tails of him, hence him believing the lie in balderdash. so when i’m feeling particularly self indulgent, i like imagining a world where they’re forced together and sort of ‘stuck’ together ; to which rocky finally breaks and exposes his wounds to wick, in every sense of the word, and wick finally gets him. the aggression, the possessiveness of mitzi … it is all fear and desperation and a profound sadness, things he’d sympathize with. if rocky was able to explain that he loathes wick because if he saves the lackadaisy then mitzi won’t need him anymore and that it’s not fair that wick gets to so easily fix things when rocky would give his soul for his home, for her, and how wick could render every sacrifice he’s already made for naught by smoothing things over with some greenbacks and he can’t lose this, he just can’t --! … which, well, wick is too kind of a man to be able to do anything except feel awful, even though it’s not his fault at all. here we have two people who could coexist! and they should, since rocky logically can’t do every speakeasy job ( band member, rumrunner, mitzi’s shadow, also the guy who gets the money for the hooch ) by himself, just like how wick can’t save the lackadaisy with only his cash and limited booze stash. it’d be a joint cooperation, a collaboration between them, both equally important in the grand scheme of crime’s every turning wheel … but rocky’s rage and fear won’t let him see that, and likely never will. still, in scenarios where everything ends up alright for the lackadaisy and the people involved in it ( which is not how canon will go, by the way ), i fancy wick and rocky getting better within their relationship. rocky will always be prickly and quick to upset around the other man sadly, but perhaps he could see wick in a softer kind of light. or at least understand vaguely enough that he isn’t out to get rocky, so to speak. and then maybe wick learns that pancakes soothe rocky’s ire and poorly makes them anytime he wishes to talk to the man, and other fun things like that! but you should have more confidence in your character analysis skills, because you were spot on ( at least in my eyes ) about them potentially getting along if things were different. it’s certainly a fun aspect to play around with, and is important to note when discussing their relationship so you can fully understand just how warped rocky’s perspective on things are. and how unstable and traumatized he is too, of course </3 sidenote, but i also hope that throughout everything i’ve said here, or anything i’ve said before on my blog, that my love for rocky and my own sympathy for him comes across well enough. while he’s deeply flawed and i have no qualms discussing said flaws in depth, i also don’t think of him as some insane freak who’s evil at his core or anything like that. honestly, i adore analyzing him so much as a character because of how far down his issues go! he’s very well written, i’ll say, as is wick and many of the other characters, but i digress.

once more, thank you for the ask! i’ll end this here because i fear if i don’t i’ll start going in circles, since their relationship is so vast and very important for rocky in a character sense. hopefully i shed some more light on it though! i love these two to bits and pieces and i wouldn’t be half as invested in lackadaisy if their dynamic wasn’t so monumental -- at least to me.

[uncanny-tranny]

I think what might actually help the families of trans loved ones is to actually engage with where the trans person is at - especially if the family isn't quite understanding yet. When I came out, I was completely alone in figuring out my manhood. I had peers and I had exposed myself to so many trans people who explored gender, and while it was amazing, it isn't quite the same at times. I grieve quietly, sometimes, about all the missed opportunities that might have just made it easier for my family to have seen how utterly happy I was. It took them a very long time to actually notice that I was happy, especially once I got on testosterone. I'm lucky that they saw that happiness eventually, and slowly accepted it. My manhood is completely detached from their influence, both to my relief and chagrin. It's sad to me that I learned to shave from a kind online stranger, somebody who didn't even have a father and yet, I do. I have a father. I grieve at the loss of a potential shared experience. I grieve about the pain I went through when I was in that stage of transition, especially because it was raw and vulnerable. I grieve that many trans people today are traversing the path I had to, because it's sometimes lonely (even when you do have other forms of support).

It's hard to know that I will never have gotten my sense of being from my family. In many ways, it has severed a lot of connection with them because there were so many times that I was begging them to see happiness when they were focused on the idea that I was almost in a state of purgatory - flesh which felt warm but held no familiarity to them. I don't harbor ill-will toward them, I hope I don't leave the impression that I despise them. I understand what they felt, even if I can't conceptualize it myself. However, it's a raw wound in my heart, and I don't want to leave anybody else feeling that way, either.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Dean is such a paradox for me because on the one hand, I have been actively triggered by him in the show, there are moments where, intentionally or not, the writers managed to create a portrayal of manipulation and abuse and control issues that it sets off actual alarms for me. And on the other hand, I would not have him any other way. There is something — not comforting, that’s too soft a word — about knowing where Dean’s actions stem from, having seen and learned all that we do about his childhood neglect and parentification and the trauma he goes through repeatedly in the show, and that he doesn’t come out clean. He comes out a goddamn mess who ends up hurting the people around him in reaction to his own pain!

There’s a reality there that’s. Almost nice, actually. Distressing to watch, but it is a fucking mess, it’s a good mess! He’s got zero healthy coping skills and a healthy relationship with say, his brother, is terrifying because it leaves him open to abandonment!

I’m not sure I’m wording this correctly. There is a way to be a good abuse victim. Take the pain, martyr yourself on it, and then, even if you have no support or idea how to, then you have to become a Good Person who never hurts anyone the way you have been learning to your entire life. Simply toss everything that shaped you out the door and emerge a saint with a tragic backstory. And Dean is not that. And that’s so fucking good. Everything that he has gone through continues to effect the way he treats the people around him, and he can’t fight the behaviors he might recognize as harmful because he also sees them as protecting him (or protecting Sam by keeping Sam with him.)

And sometimes, idk. It feels good to see a guy who didn’t heal the “right way.” Who mostly didn’t heal at all, just keeps the wound open because it’s easier that way.

[kindnessoverperfection]

Lately, when I talk about someone I strongly disagree with, I think about my friends.

When I interact with someone who regularly rants about people, and tends to take things in the worst ways (without any attempts at self-reflection or grace), I feel more on-edge. I'm nervous to voice opinions. I'm always over-thinking everything I send them, worried about how they'll receive it.

On the other hand, I feel much safer during conversations where someone is speaking neutrally about those they feel at conflict with. When they feel upset about a situation, but without talking aggressively about the other person. Because I know that if we're ever in a disagreement, or have some sort of conflict or misunderstanding, they won't hurt me or suddenly hate me*.

I used to speak much more aggressively about people. My personality disorders, combined with online toxic environments, were big factors in that. I was stressed and angry constantly, and I felt justified, and I felt afraid and ashamed to respond with anything but anger. But to make a long story short, I had several big painful interpersonal experiences where I realized how my attitude was impacting my friends.

I remember the nervousness in my friends' eyes. I remember the people I've met who are much older and never grew out of that reactive communication style, and I don't want to be that person. I want my loved ones to feel safe around me.

So nowadays, I do my best to speak compassionately (or at least neutrally). Because I want to signal to my friends that I'm not going to be cruel to them, or to automatically believe the worst of them, during a conflict or misunderstanding. I try to vent about situations and my fears instead of people.

I wish I'd realized this before.

*(I discuss splitting in the tags)