#i refuse to update at any standard time. when i am done i am DONE i cannot and will not wait

[astral--horrorshow]

Around-The-Clock Shadows

Platonic Yandere ROTTMNT x Reader

Info: This will be a full-length fic including multiple ROTTMNT characters, the main storyline revolves around the Mad Dogs.

Fic Summary: You sure are likeable, aren't you?

《Directory》

Chapter 6: A Plan

Characters: Donnie, Mikey, Leo

A/N: So sorry for the short length for such a wait! I was feeling very unmotivated with this chapter, for some reason. Don't worry, though, I have no intention of abandoning this fic! I am going to quit the schedule for it, though. It was an unrealistic standard to hold myself to, and it made me rush the chapters just so I could get them out on time. I'm going to focus on some other writing, but I promise to be better with updating!

If you want to be added to a taglist, just say the word! If you want to draw fanart or make anything based off of this, I would be literally honored. Please don't be shy, I will love whatever you make! If you have any questions about the fic, feel free to ask!

TW: Unhealthy relationships, toxic mindsets, melodrama, unjust frusteration, kidnapping, harsh words

I do not condone any of the behaviors found or done in this fic. This story is purely for entertainment purposes. If you or someone you know is being treated like this, please contact the authorities.

Chapter Summary: Donnie pays you a midnight visit, Mikey and Leo have an argument, and a plan forms in your mind.

Word Count: 899

☆~☆~☆

Your bleary eyes opened, the ceiling swirling around and venturing in and out of your focus. You blinked a few times to see clearly. When the initial drowsiness of a midnight wake-up wore off, you finally noticed how dry your throat and mouth were. The taste of phlegm haunted your every waking millisecond, and so you reached over to the spot on the bedside table where your glass of water was usually kept, where only the fridgid air of the sewer met your outstretched fingers. You looked over in confusion, and sure enough, the glass was missing.

"Don't worry, I have it right here."

You turned towards the voice of Donatello, and sure enough, there he was. He was casually leaning against wall, glass in hand. "It's not good to consume anything old," he said, holding it out towards you. You grabbed it, the sudden chill on your hands almost making your grip loosen. "Be careful, don't spill it," Donnie said. You drank the water, internally sighing in relief as it poured down your dry throat. After lowering it from your lips and placing it on the side table again, Donnie reached towards your face, sitting down on the bed so he could grab your chin and tilt it upwards to stare into your eyes.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Of course I have!" You hadn't. Believe it or not, being kidnapped by mutants would throw off one's sleep schedule in most cases.

"Lower your voice. It's nighttime. And no, you haven't."

"I have..."

"Don't lie to me. I can always tell."

You averted your gaze to the side, embarassed at his callout of your bluff. Donnie simply pushed at your cheek, forcing you to look at him. "Don't act like that. I only want to help you, the only reason that it's not happening is because you're not letting me."

You refused to answer still, nearly making Donatello's irretation bubble up to the surface, but he controlled his temper. Lashing out would only drive you further. Patience was a virtue, his father said.

"Go back to bed. Sleep deprevation can lead to death."

With that, he left you with you with his hyperbolic warning and a half-empty glass of water.

☆~☆~☆

Mikey rolled towards you on a bright orange hoverboard, which was adorned with stickers like his battleshell was. Just as you turned around to see the source of the noise, Mikey plucked you up from off of the ground and held you from under your armpits, arms wrapped around your chest, akin to how one would hold a cat. He traveled with you like that all the way to the kitchen, where he set you down at a barstool at the kitchen island.

You didn’t react at all, not when he picked you up or the whole time he was carrying you. You had grown used to being picked up or dragged along to wherever one of the turtles wanted to bring you. “What’s up, Mikey?” You asked, resting your cheek on the palm of your hand.

“Nothing much,” he said with a grin, “Have you eaten today? You don’t seem like you’ve eaten today. I’ll make you something.” He rambled without letting you get a single word in, already flitting around the kitchen and gathering ingredients and cooking utensils.

As you watched him chop up chicken, Leo strolled into the kitchen with his trademark casual energy. “Hey, party people, what’s up?”

“Makin’ lunch!” Mikey cheerfully chirped at his brother, who seemed chuffed enough with the answer. “Okie doke, then. Anyways,” Leo didn’t further converse with his brother in favor of talking to you, “Have you ever been tubing, hermanito?”

You shook your head, “No, I don’t know how to swim.”

Leo gasped and held his three-fingered hand up to his chest, “Really? Wow, I didn’t realize that nobody loved you enough to teach you how!”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you opened your mouth slightly, tears welling up.

"Leo!" Mikey had abandoned his cooking pursuits to glare at Leo with his hands on his hips.

"What?!" Leo shot back, "You don't agree?"

Mikey's face fell, and he not-so-slickly jerked his head in your direction.

"Don't say it in front of them! It'll hurt their feeling!"

"But it's the truth! We're the only-"

"Stop!"

As the brothers continued to argue, the tears in your eyes spilled down in your cheeks. You quietly sobbed as Leo and Mikey continued to go at eachothers throats.

The brothers ceased their arguing and glanced in your direction after a noticebly loud sob from you, causing looks of regret and guilt to spread across their faces.

"Awe," Leo cooed as he and Mikey approched you with their arms outstretched, "Don't cry, poor baby."

"That's right, Leo didn't mean it," Mikey chimed in, shooting a dirty look at his brother over your head, "Plently of people love you!"

Mikey wiped away your tears as Leo wrapped his arms around your shoulders, hugging you tight. "Don't fret, hermanito. You know what? I can teach you how to swim sometime."

You perked your head up, "You mean, like, at a beach?"

He laughed, "No, silly head! There's plently of water down here!"

An idea blossomed in your mind.

"Like, the sewers?"

"Yeah, it's not as gross as you think!"

The sewers had manholes. Manholes lead outside.

"Alright."

☆~☆~☆

A/N: I'm going to try to write as much as possible in early-mid-august, because I start my sophomore year in a month, and my piano lessons in the fall, so I can have plenty of content to give to ya'll!

Taglist <3: @ssak-i @yanteetle @averagerottmntsimp @oleander-nin @whyiseveryonesodamnfinetho @writelikenobody @takottai @moths-and-mantids

[thatmahblog]

The 3rd gender was legalized 2 years ago where I live and the government has been trying to avoid the decision of the court and postpone its application ever since. They made a commity to think about what the right thing to do is and it includes 0 trans or non-binary person. We got "sex" change certificates and new birth certificates, but what they refused this whole time was to update any IDs, rendering that "X" completely useless.

Anyways, the news came out and the law that passed 1131 days ago will finally be (fully) applied on October 10 (we get to have IDs that correspond to our legal identities!) People, like me, have been without a valid ID or valid (obligatory)(government) health insurance, this whole time, because they refused to give us IDs.

Huzzah!

I'm still angry.

First of all, that atrocious commity has not been called off, somehow. But let me paint you a picture, if you will listen to my story. I am so angry and wounded and nobody around me seems to give a shit.

The year is 2022, I am rejoiced that the X has been legalized and painstakingly fillout forms, back and forth, by (physical) mail. I have already burnt out and screamed in agony before from the absolute bullshit™ that changing my name was. I am sick and tired of seeing my chosen name next to an "F" and being called "mam'" everywhere I go, regardless of if they've seen my face or heard my voice yet.

After a long wait I get my papers and go to the health center to fill the paperwork to get my new ID. It's recent, their paperworks are not up to date, no surprise there, my standards are below the ground. I get lucky and this extremely nice employee does everything he can to figure this out for me. He writes out X on the form and we attach a copy of my certificate. Now I wait again.

My new card arrives in the mail! I can feel it through the envelop, I am buzzing with glee.

There's an "F" on the card.

I collapse on the floor of my appartment, scream and cry and call off work because I am having a mental breakdown.

Small independent online news cover the story of non-binary folks being deprived of an ID. Months of silence. Major news network finally publish something (nobody talks about it). The gorvernment says they'll put up a commity to make a wise decision about what is best to do with IDs (even if the law has already passed). Months and months and months pass.

The year is 2024, I have made a lot of advocacy and shared my strife about this whole shitshow two years ago. People who are close to me know, because I fucking care about my human rights being respected, being treated like a human being with dignity and the law being respected where it fucking should. I share the news that this great injustice who has caused undue pain to thousands is finally to be rectified.

Nobody.

Nobody fucking says anything or react to my post in any way at all.

And I remember all the way back when I got my name on my ID and I happily boasted it to others as a great news and as I was met with indifference, felt a pang in my chest.

Nobody cares.

It matters so much, it is life changing, I have done everything I could to properly express and explain this. There is so much pain and injustice and where there should finally be joy and celebration I am met with a void.

It's grim, but with the growing transphobia internationally, I fret and wonder : how much of this silence, of this show of indifference, is hatred, disgust, or rejection? Does my life mean so little to you? Do you not see trans rights as human rights? Do you not see trans people as human?

I don't know, I'm just really tired. I fought so hard for this, and it hurt a lot. I got treated like shit and saw my rights denied. I dealt with dysphoria and gritted my teeth, trying to forget about that damn X, 'lest it rot my brain with anger and grief. And finally, though I don't want to believe it till I see it, it truly seems like what I wanted and waited for this whole time is finally within reach...

I'm angry. I'm sad.

I'm hurt

I wish I wasn't.

I shouldn't have to be.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Moving update

I'm grateful to the folks checking in on me and @crowtoed and thought I'd drop a quick update.

We're almost done putting all non-essentials in storage. The many bins are an investment in case we have to do this again. (I have already started researching shipping containers for an overseas move.) I'm going to buy storage unit insurance this week because I have more valuables stowed away than standard homeowners will cover.

My storage unit is almost the same size as the moving truck, which makes it easy to guage if I have to purge/store anything that won't fit. I'm going to hire the biggest trailer from upack.com when it's time to leave. The prices are amazing - less than $4k to move to Connecticut.

The Florida realtor (a condo expert) is viewing my place tomorrow, and with her advice, we'll start on final repairs/refreshes (this place is 23 years old, about when things like windows and tile get rather iffy). My mother graciously gifted me money to cover the majority of the fixes. This move would be a lot harder without her help.

Mom is also letting us stay short-term in her MiL suite a few towns over, so we can sell my condo asap. That means we don't have to worry about timing the purchase of the new house with closing on the old. Plus, I should have a few paychecks rent-free I can sock away / apply towards mutual aid.

We're hoping the condo sells by June or so. Once that happens, I'll use some of the funds towards old debt to nudge my credit rating ever closer to 800 (it's 778 rn, a multi-year project as I used to be in the 400s). Most of the rest of the money will be earmarked for a generous down payment on the new home.

We're still looking in Connecticut and have a realtor there as well. If it's possible, we can afford to fly up a few times to check out houses. The realtor told us our budget for what we want (1500sq ft or larger) is totally doable. The housing market there is weirdly reasonable.

Work is incredibly kind and has said if I need more than 2 weeks to move, I can take whatever time I need. I am fully remote now and blessed to be part of such a progressive company.

We still have some household and personal things to sell, but it's more out of "I no longer like/need this" than an urgent need for money. But thank you to everyone who has offered cash. It means so much to us to have such a strong safety net. If this happened even 5 years ago, we'd have been up shit creek.

Once we close on the new house, we'll drive up asap to move in. This is when we'll know our route and we'll connect with folks along it who have offered to be pitstops for us and the cats. The moving truck will meet us there in 5-7 business days after we leave Orlando.

My HRT Rx also got renewed for 6 months, and with my current stash + a little rationing, I shouldn't have any interruption with my shots, even if pharmacies start refusing me come July.

We're hoping to be all settled in the new home come October, but are dependant on the housing market. But we're stacking as many chips in our favor as we can.

Again, thank you, thank you to everyone who has reached out. I'll update again when something major changes.

[lupus-venatici]

profile — voice - overs | story .

this page will be updated and changed as interactions & story progresses , please check back often for updates .

— HELLO .

— pre natlan act v .

forgive me if i am not who you were searching for, but my captain is not currently taking visitors. as such, any message to him may instead be passed through me. i am adonis, advisor to il capitano.

— post natlan act v .

if you simply must know who i am, you may call me adonis. now spare me the pleasantries, there is work to be done.

— CHAT : IDLE .

we should not stay idle for too long, otherwise our position may be discovered. let's move.

— CHAT : COMMANDER .

— pre natlan act v .

the captain has not yet sent another missive . . . troubling.

— post natlan act v .

captain . . . i hope you are resting well.

— CHAT : WORDS TO LIVE BY .

a blade must be tempered and honed before wielded. one must always be refining their skill if they wish to come out on top.

— WHEN IT RAINS .

we should plan our movements carefully. leave no trace.

— AFTER THE RAIN .

come along. we need to move quickly if we are to track the enemy.

— WHEN THUNDER STRIKES .

i have heard tales of this being the shogun's rage. are you angry, too, my lady?

— WHEN IT SNOWS .

how mild. nothing like home.

— IN THE DESERT .

why must you drag me out here?

— GOOD MORNING .

good morning. pick up your blade—training is already underway.

— GOOD AFTERNOON .

lunch is in order. you should take a short rest if you need it.

— GOOD EVENING .

dinner is served. if you wish to go gallivanting about like the rest of the platoon, very well. but do not hold me accountable for your condition in the morning.

— GOOD NIGHT .

rest well. if you require my assistance throughout the night, i am one word away.

— ABOUT ADONIS : STIFF JOINTS .

i am not in as grand condition as i once was, and my strength reflects this. changing sword hands has helped, however i still combat problems with the other. if i could, i would have told my past self what was to come if i were to fail that day.

— ABOUT ADONIS : SCARES .

Friendship Lv. 4 | Complete "Knight's Reminiscence"

i am still . . . incredibly jumpy. when i first returned from that failed mission, i, many a time, held my blade against my captain. i was lucky enough he did not hold it against me, but he made it a point to announce his arrival in some way when he approached. it was quite embarrassing.

— ABOUT US : APPEARANCE .

as an advisor, i have found myself more drawn to a neater appearance. our soldiers are held to the utmost standards, however after a long day, even their appearance cannot be maintained.

— ABOUT US : CLEANLINESS .

Unlocks at Friendship Lv. 6

my captain and his men can settle in the dampest of caves or the filthiest encampments without issue. i hardly see why—or how. call me spoiled by my time residing in the palace, but i refuse to. i think i would much rather find myself on madam sandrone's workbench.

— ABOUT THE VISION .

— pre natlan act v .

i do not wield a delusion, as many soldiers do. my vision is ordinary, but due to the nature of my body, i must force my elemental energy out in higher concentrations. thus the peculiar properties. hm? does it hurt? i hardly see how that matters.

— post natlan act v .

the moral code i used to adhere to no longer applies. to me, the best way to be close to my captain… is to take up the very element he had shown great prowess with. perhaps one day, should he return, i will be at a level rivalling him.

— SOMETHING TO SHARE .

my captain says i am almost like a feline, at times. i suppose that is why i am drawn to them—however that does not excuse the way he has picked me up by the back of my uniform at times.

— INTERESTING THINGS .

trainings for the fatui range wildly dependent on who is in charge of them. the knave prefers to stick with small groups whom she calls her "children," and the damselette specializes in being rather sharp-tongued. when the captain is away, he leaves me in charge—and i attempt to make said trainings as fair as i possibly can.

— ABOUT THE TSARITSA .

on occasion, i have heard tales of her kindness. she has my respect, of course, but i have pondered occasionally if she feels at all. my lady has not been unkind, however, even in the face of both my failure and the change in title i have experienced. for that, i am grateful.

— ABOUT THE JESTER .

in demeanour, he and my captain are eerily similar. i have not spoken with him often, however the few occasions feel icy and uncaring.

— ABOUT THE CAPTAIN .

— pre natlan act v .

my captain is stern, however soft at heart. although he projects an indifferent attitude, he is not entirely unkind. he saved my life, and for that, i am utterly and entirely in his debt. should the time come, i am ready to defend him until death takes me.

— post natlan act v .

his ‘death’ will not be in vain, however the grief felt throughout all of the fatui is paramount. i can only hope that someday, somehow—he may return to us. in the meantime, i will allow myself to mourn in whatever way i see fit.

— ABOUT THE DOCTOR .

i would rather die than speak with him willingly. he is a blatant madman, and i am disgusted by his actions. if i could, i would dispatch him with haste and little regret.

— ABOUT DAMSELETTE .

on the few occasions i have been allowed to hear her sing, it has always been hauntingly beautiful. i could listen to her endlessly.

— ABOUT THE ROOSTER .

i have an indifferent stance for the man, however i have sensed tension towards him before. if i were to advise him, i would tell him to ensure he treads carefully.

— ABOUT MARIONETTE .

i believe i would rather be shattered to pieces than have to face her willingly once more. her passion borders on terrifying, and i have often feared her presence.

— ABOUT THE KNAVE .

i dare not speak her name, and i dare not meet her gaze. she is a fearsome woman, and even i do not believe a mere human could best her in battle.

— ABOUT REGRATOR .

the most i have ever interacted with him is regarding expenses for our soldiers, and i would prefer to keep it that way. he gives off an eerie air about him, one which i am not a fan of.

— ABOUT THE FAIR LADY .

she was a blatant fool for acting out in such a way, throwing away her life so carelessly. however, arrogance breeds stupidity at times, so i suppose it should have been expected eventually. still... i do not enjoy the idea of throwing oneself so recklessly at a task and hoping for success.

— ABOUT CHILDE .

you know, he lives up to his name quite well. i have seen young recruits act similarly, though it is usually tempered as they grow as soldiers. how he remains so rambunctious... truly a mystery.

— ABOUT AZIA .*

oh? the natlanese saurian trainer? yes—she is quite fierce. upon my first meeting with her, she spewed insults at myself for my captain's actions against her archon. however she has seemingly begun to warm up to both my presence and his—an alliance i hope holds strong.

* azia is the character of admin's friend who is not presently on tumblr .

— ABOUT MAVUIKA .

i believe my captain a fool for facing off against her head-on without consulting me first, even if i weren't present. she obviously possesses a great amount of combat prowess, considering the nation she presides over. nevertheless, i hold admiration for anyone that can successfully land a blow against my captain.

— MORE ABOUT ADONIS : I .

i beg your pardon? i see little reason to expose our respective stories to one another, but. . . very well. but i would certainly prefer it if these tales stayed strictly between you and i. you're already learning far too much for my tastes.

— MORE ABOUT ADONIS : II .

i have often been looked at with great fear because of my demeanour. but you. . . you are different. on occasion, i have wondered what has made you so trusting of one such as myself, but i suppose battle brings many kinds of people together. nevertheless, i thank you for your continued companionship.

— MORE ABOUT ADONIS : III .

oftentimes, soldiers assume the use of my vision is painful, for even the strongest of agents cannot seem to handle the temperature of the flames. and, while i am capable of feeling other forms of pain, it does not affect me. it is quite a strange phenomenon, even to myself.

— MORE ABOUT ADONIS : IV .

. . . admittedly, i still have nightmares pertaining to that ambush. one second, all was good, and i allowed the platoon to rest, and the next. . . i despise thinking about it. therefore, i avoid rest wherever possible. it makes the coping process much, much easier. please, do not fret over such a thing. i am fine.

— MORE ABOUT ADONIS : V .

when i was first placed into my position as an advisor, i was brought to stand before the tsaritsa. she must have seen something in me, because she did not look at me with disgust—merely... smiled, and murmured that all would be well in time. she could have had me executed on the spot, and i would have accepted it—and yet, she spared me. i still do not understand why, but it has guided me to be the being that stands before you now. so i suppose i should be thankful for both that ambush, and my lady the tsaritsa.

— RECEIVING A GIFT : I .

wip

— RECEIVING A GIFT : II .

wip

— RECEIVING A GIFT : III .

wip

— FEELINGS ABOUT ASCENSION : INTRO .

wip

— FEELINGS ABOUT ASCENSION : BUILDING UP .

wip

— FEELINGS ABOUT ASCENSION : CLIMAX .

wip

— FEELINGS ABOUT ASCENSION : CONCLUSION .

wip

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Chapter Thirteen: this sure is a fuckin’ chapter that’s for sure

I drop this on you at 11 pm after nearly two weeks of silence because I have no respect for neither man nor fae nor god

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

If he had looked at any of Mia’s books sooner, he would have found that about a fourth of them only look like law books and are, behind the covers, spellbooks or grimoires of fae secrets. And maybe if he had learned that any time before the last year and a half, he would have had time to look through them all, to know if there was anything on the mechanics of selling souls in their depths, and he could have jumped right to that now.

Instead, he’s brought all of them home in three loads and has them stacked up on the floor beside his bed. Grimoires don’t have indexes so he can’t exactly just look up mitamah in the back and jump right to the page. And skimming is difficult with the text size — god, does he need reading glasses? At least he outlasted Edgeworth in that front — so he’s left with a laborious process that feels like law school again. He stole a pack of sticky notes from Trucy’s desk and has marked up several of the books with tabs and folded corners and notes in the margins, things he wants to come back to when he’s not stretched thin between the Jurist System and this.

He is trying to untangle a note in the margin that he didn’t write, that isn’t in Mia’s hand, and when he looks up he doesn’t know how long Trucy has been standing there.

She hasn’t said much to him all day since Apollo and Ema and Clay left, when she took her laptop and her phone and a blanket and curled up in what used to be her hidey-hole beneath what is now Apollo’s desk. When he ducked in on her to tell her to get ready to leave, she said she had been texting Jinxie and pirating anime. Which maybe was distraction enough at the time, but when night and the dark and the quiet press in, is no longer.

He’s wondered when she will allow herself to have a well-deserved breakdown.

He sets the spellbook down. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

She looks eight years old again in the doorway, unsure of what space she was allowed to take up, those moments when the act slipped and she let show an uncertainty of if she was allowed to exist in the household without contributing something positive, her optimism in the office and her Magic Panties and her singing voice at the Wonder Bar. If she was allowed to grieve.

He waits for a question about Magnifi.

She pads across the room and curls up on the bed next to him, her back to his side, her face turned away. “Why did my daddy leave me?” she asks.

Because he was at best a fool, at worst selfish. Because he at best couldn’t see well enough to know the die had already been cast, the cards dealt, and thought if he ran the consequences that he didn’t know had already been marked wouldn’t fall on Trucy’s neck; and he at worst thought to unburden himself of her, to leave her behind to fill the noose. Because he at best couldn’t see at all, and at worst could see enough to think to save himself from being cursed.

Phoenix would like to think the best of people — really, truly he would — but god damn if Zak doesn’t test him in every way possible.

And god damn if he isn’t glad that Trucy came to him before the Gramaryes could do worse to her. Before she could lose her soul and her life, like her mother.

“I think,” Phoenix says, because he doesn’t know, not for sure, got stonewalled by vagueness on one end and by black locks on the other, “that he was trying to keep that diary page safe and out of anyone else’s hands.”

“Ema said that,” Trucy mumbles. “Asked if that was why he hadn’t looked for the map after all these years. But why would he think he had to run and hide from Uncle Valant?”

“Because I don’t think he was running from Valant.”

It’s all supposition, nothing a court of law would accept. A jury might not even accept these conclusions. But it’s all Phoenix has, even after seven years, pieces of guesses and guesses at pieces for the why. “I think that’s why Kristoph wanted to defend him. He wanted the diary page, the map — he wanted Magnifi’s power.”

“That soul,” Trucy says. “The — mia-tamah?”

“Mitamah.”

“Mitamah.” She lets the seconds drag out. “Why didn’t he take me with him?”

Shortsightedly foolish or callously selfish. “Perhaps he thought it would keep you safer,” he answers. He can’t say I think anymore, not knowing what to think, not wanting to plainly lie to Trucy even when she isn’t looking at him. Maybe Zak meant well, maybe. That’s the best Phoenix could say. “That you would be overlooked when not with him, and then when the danger had passed, he could come back.”

If he thought that, he was wrong, on so many levels: running was too little, too late, for Trucy to go ignored. (The devil handed her a diary page and pulled her into his plots.) And after seven years Zak underestimated the length of a grudge, didn’t notice the hound hunting him. (Or he did, and realized he couldn’t escape it stalwart pursual, and thought to bring the diary page home before the jaws closed on his neck. The hunting hound herded her prey to her master’s waiting claws.)

Trucy’s breathing is too soft and shallow for her to be asleep. What is there for either of them to say? He watched Trucy feed a snack to Kristoph’s hound while they waited for the jury’s verdict; she isn’t going to want to know its true purpose, whose necks it has left the mark of fangs in, tempered now only by a new handler of better nature. (Phoenix knows it would be easier to live with not knowing, with not having to face that failure. He doesn’t know how Kristoph kept the hound caged out of Phoenix's sight until Kristoph was clapped in irons.)

“Daddy? If you had to leave me you would tell me why, right?”

If Phoenix had to choose a man to smack upside the head with a wine bottle, he would probably still choose Zak Gramarye.

“I’m not going to leave you, Trucy, ever. I promised I won’t disappear and I mean it.” She curls a little tighter into herself and sniffs audibly. “I know you are safest with me, here, with Mia.” This line of reassurance doesn’t seem to be working as well as he hoped. “But if - if anything were to happen, then, yes, I would make sure you knew why.”

She rolls over, eyes filled with tears. “Why wouldn’t he just give the soul back before he died?” she asks. “That’s not right, that’s not fair, to keep it! To take it at all!”

She can’t be at peace with what happened with Zak, not by a long shot, but there’s still too much else for her to grapple with, all at once, and still the more that she doesn’t know. His heart breaks for her. “Oh, sweetheart, I know. It’s not.”

She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. “I wanted to be like him, and now I don’t know anything. I don’t know what anything is!” She sniffles loudly and looks away again. “I don’t even know if I want to be a magician anymore. Not when magic is all just taking things that aren’t yours!”

Not quite all — she knows that. She knows Mia. She doesn’t know quite the depth of what Mia saved Phoenix from — he doesn’t want to scare her — but she knows that Mia took nothing, gave Phoenix life that he wouldn’t have had.

But Mia was always one-of-a-kind, in every way.

And Phoenix—

He stares at the grimoire balanced on his legs. He’s no magician — but he can at least try to give something back.

Give back a soul, and to two kids, give back their mother.

-

Vera is released from the hospital in the morning and Phoenix sends Trucy off with twenty dollars to get her lunch — “Not Eldoon’s; she needs to go easy on the salt” — and bring it over to her house so that she isn’t left alone in it for the first time in her life. And this they have in common: Kristoph Gavin killed their fathers, and they escaped his claws to be left adrift.

(Phoenix has taken in two Kristoph-made strays and is gunning for two more.)

And Phoenix, having made a phone call early that morning, sits on the stoop of the office and waits for a taxi to pull up to the curb. Lamiroir — Thalassa — is either name truly hers? — isn’t using a cane, and he wonders how she has been getting along since Machi’s arrest. There wasn’t time enough with the jury for him to assess that, and Edgeworth, after Phoenix made the mistake of lending him the magatama, treated her like she was a quarantine zone.

“Good morning, Lamiroir,” he calls, rising to meet her and offering her his arm to guide her up the steps and into the office. He had forgotten to clean up the floor, but the job has been done for him - and all of the mess, Trucy’s textbooks and stage props and two stray pairs of shoes and a half-eaten bag of chips, has been piled onto Phoenix’s desk.

He deserves that, really.

“Mr Wright, if this is not, as you said, about the trial,” Lamiroir says, lowering herself onto the couch with regal poise that shames Phoenix into squaring his shoulders even though she can’t see him, “then what is it you wish of me?” She turns her face toward him. Her eyes don’t look empty. “This is not, is it, about me?”

“Yeah, it is,” Phoenix says. He leans against the arm of the couch for a moment. “How did you figure that?”

“It is…” She closes her eyes. Her fingers toy with the bracelet on her wrist, the match to Apollo’s. “Whenever we spoke, as the jury, you seemed expecting more of me. As though you knew more of me and what I am supposed to know. Something of the trial was supposed to speak to my memory?” She smiles sadly. “It did not.”

“I did hope it might jog something loose,” Phoenix says. “I do have more than that, now. I think — I think I can help you.”

Or hurt her. How much less painful must it be, to have forgotten?

The mitamah is locked in the bottom drawer of his desk, the one where he usually keeps his magatama (though more often now he just leaves it unlocked so Trucy can grab it if the need arises). It is still wrapped, like a gift, in Trucy’s scarf.

Lamiroir knows before he hands it to her — she gasps, her eyes going wide and their gray depths paling to blue. She reaches up and he puts her soul into her trembling hands.

It is lightning, instantaneous, and her next gasp turns into a shudder and a sob and she pulls the mitamah close to her, pressing it against her chest and curling in over herself. Phoenix sits on the couch, leaving space in between them, but moments later she fills it, her soul clasped in her hands and her head against his shoulder to sob. He doesn’t know how long they sit like that, no sound but her distress; it could have been an hour. For her, it must have been a lifetime.

“Where did you get it?” she asks. Her soft voice still bears her Borginian accent. Phoenix doesn’t know why he expected that to change. “From who?”

“Trucy and Apollo found it,” he says. “Magnifi left a map to ‘the source of his power’ to Zak, and Zak to Trucy.”

Thalassa sits back upright, blinking furiously; there are tear tracks glittering on her cheeks, but her appearance is incongruous with the broken, overwhelming sound of her sobs. She looks like an artistic idealized portrait of glamorous grief, and Phoenix is very sure he would see something very different if he had his magatama on him. “Oh Trucy, little Trucy.” She smiles sadly. “She must not be little any more. And Apollo — my Apollo — to find him again — to have them both—” Her chin sinks to her chest. “Do they know?” she asks. “Do they know that this is their mother’s soul they found?”

“They don’t know that they’re siblings, yet,” Phoenix says. Thalassa starts. Her eyes, Sighted-blue, turn accusingly toward him. “First I wasn’t sure if A — if they would believe me. Then you arrived, and I wanted you to know first. To have your memories, and to know…”

“To know it best for their sakes that I stay away,” she says.

That was not exactly how Phoenix was going to finish that sentence.

“Should I enter their lives to bring only grief?” she asks. “For I am a dead woman, am I not?”

“I don’t see any curse on you,” Phoenix says.

She tilts her head. Her eyes are still blue. “Yes, I can see your eyes,” she says, lifting her hand and touching her fingertips to the side of his face. “Your eyes, and the blessings and curses about you. I know so little of you, but I can See you were a favored tool of many of Them.” She lowers her hand to her lap and narrows her eyes. “And you learned from Them, to try and evade. I did not ask you if I am cursed. Perhaps you are used to death being a curse” — she lifts her hand again, not touching him this time, but hovering it near the base of his neck — “this necklace, this noose, you bear, but that is not all there is. You held my soul in your hands. Do not pretend not to know.”

Phoenix says nothing.

“You know I have the same blessing as my daughter’s eyes — you know I see Truth, too. So you did not lie to me. You avoided. I grew up in the twilight; I was a favorite tool, too. Answer me plainly: am I dead?”

He hasn’t looked at her with the Sight today; he doubted anything would have changed, and even then he hasn’t exactly wanted to look at her because makes his eyes sore. But he does now; he watches her light up. Teal diamonds mark her face around her eyes like a domino mask, like the same blessing from the same source as Trucy has, that of Truth, like Phoenix and Apollo also have Truth just a little differently. A roiling royal ocean glows beneath her skin, starlight through her hair. She looks like the robe she wears. She is ethereal, looks fae but for the hollow shape in her sternum of the missing mitamah, a dark space that seems to go in and in and eats up the light that makes her.

And that — no one could mistake her for anything but human, no matter how she glimmers and gleams, no matter the shine emanating from her, not with that glaring empty spot where her human soul should sit.

A soul is only visible when it’s gone.

There are lots of things in the world like that, Phoenix thinks.

Near her left collarbone, just above her heart, the bloody wound looks just as fresh as it must have been when the bullet shattered her a decade ago.

“Yes,” he says. “You are — or you should be.”

She touches her fingertips to the mark. She has likely not ever seen it — the Sight does not work in mirrors — but Phoenix has never seen that which Dahlia branded on him and he still feels where it lies on his own skin. “How strange,” she murmurs, “that it would save my life when he took my soul. And” — her voice is louder now, droll amusement — “how kind of my father to not shatter it when he died.”

“That would have been a pointless waste,” Phoenix says.

“Oh, but things were only valuable if they had use for him. When I had no more use, he discarded me and kept my soul. Perhaps he went soft in his old age — became generous enough to give me away.” She shakes her head. “Would that he had been that kind always, and given me away instead of murdering my first husband.”

Phoenix is lucky he wasn’t holding anything, because it would be on the floor now. As it is, his stomach has fallen through him, out of him, and his tongue into his throat. “He — he murdered—”

Thalassa blinks her eyes shut, slowly. “Oh, no one could prove it. Magnifi” — her face does not twist with the disgust in her voice, her serene, glamorous expression remaining carefully set as though marble — “Magnifi never laid a hand on my Jove, and he did not breathe forth the flames that left me with naught but ash and grief. But he laid the tinder. He laid the curse.”

Phoenix should say something. He really, really should say something.

He opens his mouth and a dry croak emerges.

Well, so much for that.

“You know curses.” Thalassa lays a hand over one of his. Her skin is cold and the chill seeps down into the joints of his fingers. “You live with death. You are blessed, fortunate. Someone saved you. There was no one to save him, the father of my son — we tried to run. We tried to run from the death that we carried with us. And surely you know how that story ends.”

He still can’t say anything but he turns his hand over and squeezes hers. “I tell you this because you know my children better than I do,” she says. “And you should know our family. What they come from. What they are freed from.”

Only to carry with them different kinds of death and grief. Old stories repeat themselves.

“Your first husband — was he human?”

She laughs and sounds surprised at herself, one of her hands coming up to cover her mouth, anything more than perfect dignity unacceptable to present. “You think Apollo isn’t?” she asks. Behind her hand, the corners of her mouth still show, still upturned.

Phoenix shrugs, then realizes she can’t see it. “No, but I also think it’s better to check, if I can trust someone to ask.”

She tilts her head to the side, assessing him. Perhaps it is the word trust that slows her. “Yes, Apollo is human; yes, Jove was human. I met him here, soon after Magnifi and I left the Realm. I had not stood in our mundane world since I was stolen away, you see - I had never tried to leave, never thought myself with something worth bargaining to escape my father. I was… I do not know how old I was when we left. Younger than Apollo is now, surely. A little older than Trucy?” She shakes her head. The light on her hair looks like sunlight instead of the cold fluorescence. “Stunted, just freed from being a child for too long. Jove showed me there was more to life than I had seen in my gilded twilight cage — that I was more.”

Her hand falls to her chest. Her smile fades like a falling feather, drifting slow, the distant wistful fondness thinning into pain she doesn’t hide. He can see the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth where her glamour breaks to make visible the little imperfections that make her more than a statue. “And after,” she says, her nails now digging into Phoenix’s skin, a different sensation than claws he has so often come to expect, “I went back. He killed my husband and I so knew who killed him and I went back.”

She withdraws her hands from his suddenly. “What must you think,” she asks, “that I went back?”

“I’m not going to condemn you,” Phoenix says. “I can’t. Not for being alone in the world and knowing little else, not when he’d stolen you and raised you in a world that wasn’t yours. I’m sorry.”

Does she allow her glamour to drop, or is it too hard to hold? Her cheeks and the tip of her nose are blotchy red, her eyes pink and puffy. “My name was not my own,” she says softly. “‘Gramarye’ is his, and he owned it, and I — what was I? We made a deal, on my return; my soul — my tired, grieving soul that I thought then useless — that he would never harm one I love. That he could never kill or take from me someone that I loved, ever again. And for that, he only gave to Trucy. I suppose she must have loved him, believed good of him.”

“She did,” Phoenix says.

A few more tears form damp on her cheeks. “I wanted to shelter her, but not for her to be deceived.” She picks up her mitamah, colored like a constellation chart, stars on a smooth sea, and presses it against her chest, like she can push it back into the hole it came from. “How did he die?”

“He shot himself.”

Her smile twists, ugly, warped, wet. “And that he could pull the trigger, then, he would know — I loved him then as much as he deserved.”

“I’m sorry,” Phoenix says. “You didn’t deserve that, any of that. And I’m sorry that you had to remember all of this pain.”

“You give me my light back — my children back. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. And you must know magic in names — if not I, then who to know Jove’s name? I would not trade all that I have loved for the end to my grief.” She brushes some stray hairs back toward her braids. “And this grief I share with you, but if you will do one last thing for me, spare my children it.”

“It’s a little late for Trucy not to know,” Phoenix says. “Finding your soul in the pot at the end of the rainbow couldn’t mean much else.”

“Yet it does not tell the story of curses, and that, she does not have to know. Apollo does not have to know. And I, with nothing more than a severed soul — what worth have I do them?”

“You’re their mother,” Phoenix says. “The mother they don’t know. That’s — you don’t have to — to earn the right to see them.” His phrasing catches up to him a moment later. “Or to meet them, if not see—”

“What do you know of mitamahs?” She cuts across him with a flick of one finger, a motion so miniscule he doesn’t know if she notices she had done so. “I will not meet my children for them to mourn me — I will not meet them without reassurance that reuniting this body with this soul will not cause me to die as I should have, were they together those years ago.”

“You haven’t dropped dead yet,” Phoenix says. Definitely a good thing; there’s no easy way to get a body out of this office. “I think that’s a good sign.”

She taps the curved-over part of the mitamah against her collarbone, to the center of the lingering bloody wound. “You know nothing of soul magic, do you?”

“No.” She has him there. “I started looking through grimoires for something to help, last night. I have friends in the Court, as well — for you, I would ask if—”

“No!” Her rebuke hits a discordant screech. It lingers, jarring, in his ears, a few keys next to each other on the piano smashed all at once. “No. I do not think you naive, Phoenix Wright” — his name on her lips hits heavy, strengthened by her earlier comment about the magic of names, and her life grown up with the fae’s own name customs — “but you think Them friends? To call for the merest trifling inquiry—”

“The soul of the mother of my daughter is not a trifle, Thalassa—!” He hits back the best way he knows, and she jerks backward, one hand to her mouth, the other around her mitamah slipping loose. Then the corners of her mouth harden, the lines about them fade, and the tearful red runs out of her face like a cooling corpse. Defensively, she pulls her glamour back around herself.

He presses a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. But it’s not any mere inquiry, and I know by now how much magical assistance I can buy for the price of five dozen pizza rolls and getting kicked out of an all-you-can-eat sashimi bar.”

She tries her hardest not to smile. She does not succeed. “You speak of them with fondness,” she says softly. “You do love them?”

“Unwisely,” Phoenix says. “But I’ve been told most of the way I love is unwisely.”

Thalassa touches her fingertips to his arm. “That, I understand. But do not trouble yourself for this — they will not know.” She resumes tapping her mitamah against her skin. “The Winter Court lost the nuances of mitamah magic long ago; there is little more that they will tell you than the crude process of buying them. To know what happens when bringing them back together — I will assure you, they will not know.”

If he’s remembering correctly, and if Trucy didn’t raid them at midnight within the past three days, he has at least one box of pizza rolls in the freezer. He believes that Thalassa, having grown up in the Court, would know — but he still wants to check. For her sake, for Trucy’s sake, for Apollo’s. Maya is the Mystic Queen — maybe she knows more than anyone else, now.

And there is still one fact that Thalassa in her words sidestepped. “And the Summer Court?” Phoenix asks. “They would know?”

Thalassa grabs his hand with a force that turns her knuckles white, puts an icy chill back into his skin. “I have lost too much to them already, and for all the world, for my soul and life, I would not let you set foot in their halls. I would not chance my children losing another father between their teeth.” Her eyes are fixed on his. With her Sight, and without sight, she might just see them as suspended blue, and flecked through with the colors of Truth that Pearls gifted him, in the midst of nothingness. “You are not a firebird; you would not withstand the breath from their jaws.”

“They’ve gotta be far away from here, so I doubt I could afford the plane ticket, anyway.” Her hollow, intense eyes are starting to unnerve him. His own are starting to hurt. He glances away, lets the swirling colors of magic fade, and then looks back to her. She is still glamorous beyond human, but she is no longer starlight. “But — what will you do then? If you don’t think you can get your soul back — if you won’t introduce yourself to them—”

“Here, I will still stay — to live my unlife in this city I was first stolen from, as close to my children and you as I dare. And this…” She clasps her hands around Phoenix’s and turns his palms up to place her mitamah into his hands. It is cold. “I will not carry this forth with me. You I entrust with my soul, for you have in your care already that which is much more valuable: my hearts.”

-

Hey Howre you feeling today 

-good!

Really?

-? -Pollyyyy -why would I lie 

Because you CAN lie to me in text?

-bleh -fine -I’m feeling -better -at least -you want to interrogate me I’m at Vera’s -bring us food -low sodium 

Because she’s….?

-yeah -that’s what Daddy said -he had stuff to do so he sent me off to hang out w her -someone to meet with too I think -maybe it’s a new mommy for me

--

[my notes on Thalassa]

[darkdevasofdestruction]

An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader

Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.

And I didn't leave the house.

That says a lot about today...

Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...

helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??

I live for it.

Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.

I love you, baby-cakes.

Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.

--------

For the 5th time writing this :

FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE

Thanks.

-------

Hell - What was that place, anyway?

Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?

But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.

All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.

But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.

In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.

On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.

The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.

The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.

These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.

Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'

And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.

Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.

He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.

Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...

Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.

Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.

"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.

However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.

"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.

It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.

It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.

He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.

He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.

"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.

Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.

"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.

As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?

It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.

As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...

"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.

What the hell was he turning into?

A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.

She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.

"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.

When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.

Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.

It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.

An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.

As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.

"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.

She was hooked.

Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.

Yay.

[gomgeomeogmeogmy]

Hi :) my friend recommended me your Tumblr and I've asked stuff before so I thought maybe I should do it again

I really like the theme of this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/33668362/chapters/83671462 and it hasnt been updated

TW: s3lfh@rm

I'd like to ask for headcanons about Todd dealing with depression and self harm (with Neil helping him cuz i luv anderperry)

I'm sorry if this triggers you, i wanted to see my favourite character dealing with similar struggles as me

Tysm anyways

Okay!! So, before I get into this, I do want to put a HUGE TW on this post, this post WILL mention self-harm and struggles with depression and anxiety.

I want to make it clear: I am by no means attempting to romanticize this topic, as someone who struggles with SH, that is the last thing I ever want to do. If I write something that seems like that, please do not hesitate to call me out.

Here we go! Last TW

Todd dealing with SH and depression/anxiety

Switching to Welton was extremely difficult for Todd, we know this

He felt the pressure of living up to his brothers standards, pleasing his parents, his teachers, and worrying about not fitting in

He always struggled with SH, since he was in grade school, so it was nothing new, but it definitely got a lot worse once he started at Welton

Meeting Neil, Charlie and all the others helped him feel more comfortable, but at the same point it kind of made it harder for him

He couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding in their dynamic, all of them having been friends for their previous years at Welton, a few even before that, and here he was trying to shove his way in

One night, Neil was out late at a play rehearsal and Todd had one of the worst anxiety attacks of his teen years

He wanted so desperately to go get Charlie or Knox, maybe even Meeks, but he couldn’t get himself to, he was so scared of what they would think about him, so he resorted to his usual coping mechanism, self harm

He didn’t want to, but it didn’t feel like he was in control, he didn’t feel like he had a choice

The next few days after that, he was really off, everyone noticed

He was talking even less than usual, walking behind the group instead of with them, wearing extra layers, always seemed to be making himself as small as he possibly could

What really worried them was the way he winced Every time someone touched his leg

Neil and Charlie were the first two who saw it

Charlie had gone to pat Todd’s leg after making a joke, but he quickly pulled his hand away when he saw the pained wince

He and Neil shared a quick, knowing look. Something was seriously wrong

Neil was cautious with Todd the rest of the day, keeping a close eye on him to notice every change in his behavior to see if he could figure out what was wrong

That night, when Todd got up to go to the restroom, Neil got a gut feeling that he needed to look through the trash

He felt weird about it, but he did it, and his heart suck to his feet when he saw the bloodied tissues. Him and charlie were right

Todd walked in right as Neil found them, both of them stopped and stared at each other

“Todd…?”

Todd broke down again, instantly hyperventilating and sobbing and apologizing profusely

Neil panicked, no doubt crying himself as he attempted to comfort his friend

He quickly pulled todd into a tight hug, carefully sitting both of them down on Neil’s bed as he shushed and comforted Todd

After about a half an hour, todd stopped crying, but he was still shaking and refusing to meet Neil’s eyes

(The rest of this will be in writing/story form)

“Todd, you know I’m not angry, right?”

Todd stayed silent, keeping his head down.

“I’m really not mad. I’m just- worried about you… we all are.”

Todd’s head snapped up, his eyes wide and afraid.

“The others know too?!”

“No no no! And-and they won’t know if you don’t want me to tell them, I promise, but you’ve been off for the last few days, we’ve all been worried sick about you, Todd.”

“I’m…im sorry, I don’t want to worry you guys-“

“Well, that’s part of what being a friend is. We love you Todd, I love you, we all just want you to be okay. Can… can I ask why?”

Todd went quiet again, the tension so thick you could slice it with a knife.

“I didn’t want to… I was just-I had an anxiety attack, and I didn’t want to annoy Charlie or Knox or any of the guys, I tried to stop myself but it didn’t feel like I was in control, I’m sor-“

“Todd, you don’t need to apologize. Look, I’ve been there before, okay? I’ve done the same thing, I know exactly what it feels like. I also know that Charlie, Knox and any of the others would never be annoyed if you came to them for help, shit, I think most of them would be flattered that you trusted them enough.”

Todd looked away again, obviously not believing a word Neil said. Neil sighed and grabbed Todd’s hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“I know it’s hard, I know that better than anyone, but we love you, so much todd, all of us do, and we want you to be okay. You don’t have to ever tell us anything you don’t want to, but please, if you ever get the urge again can you just…come to one of us? Any of us, really. You don’t need to give details just-just talk to us, be with us, we care, and we’ll all help as much as we possibly can.”

Todd met Neil’s eyes, and Neil gave him a soft smile. Todd’s eyes grew glossy, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

“Yeah. Yeah I’ll try…”

Neil’s smile grew. He pulled Todd into a tight hug, and Todd couldn’t help but melt into the comforting touch.

“You’re so important to us Todd. Don’t ever think for a second that we don’t want you around, or that you’re annoying us. We love you so so so much. I love you, so much more than you know. Everyone here just wants you to be okay.”

“I…thank you, Neil.”

Back to HC style

The next day, Todd was already seeming a little better

Neil made sure to keep a close eye on him, but he acted like everything was normal, he knew it sucked to have the attention drawn to you when you weren’t feeling good, so he tried to avoid making that happen

The group was obviously thrilled that they had their Todd back, all of them talking to him and joking with him like they hadn’t seen him in days

Neil and Charlie looked at each other again, charlie giving him an “is everything okay?” Look, to which Neil simply nodded and grinned

Todd might not have been fantastic right now, but he was better than yesterday, and that’s all that really mattered

Please, if you ever have the urge to hurt yourself, reach out to someone you trust or find a way to distract yourself. I know what the feeling is like, I know it all too well, but I can also promise you that it is not worth it.

You are so important, and you do not deserve to be hurt.

If you need alternatives to self harming, please look at this list. It gives lots of good alternatives that are far better than harming yourself in anyway

You are loved, you are important, and you matter. <3

[ms-demeanor]

While I appreciate that you want a person to live, have you considered that you are just another person who has refused them help? Sometimes it doesn’t get better. For how many years, and from how many people, is a person supposed to be ok with being dehumanized before it is ok for them to throw the towel in?

Telling someone what caliber of gun is most likely to kill them so they can start a savings fund for it isn’t helping; refusing to respond to that with anything other than mental health resources isn’t refusing to help.

But okay we’re going to have the It Gets Better talk.

I am almost thirty four years old. I’ve been getting treated for depression for literally more than half of my life. I have spent even MORE of my life than that kind of wishing that I was dead and occasionally REALLY wishing I was dead and sort of getting off my ass to do something about it. I have the standard CSA/multiple rape survivor Oh No The Trauma backstory and spent the last *nine* years living with an emotionally abusive relative who had recently taken to tracking my activity by filming me in my home.

I kind of hate “it gets better” narratives because you know what, sometimes life is shit and it doesn’t really get all that much better. Sometimes things are bad and the only thing that gets you out of the abuser’s house is the fact that your partner nearly died. Sometimes everything sucks and it sucks for a long time and there’s no end of the suck in sight.

I have friends who are chronically, degeneratively ill. I know “It Gets Better” doesn’t really help them because they aren’t going to get better. They’re going to stay sick, they’re going to keep hurting, and in a lot of cases things are going to get worse.

So “It Gets Better” kind of rubs me the wrong way. I’d like to reframe it.

You get better at dealing with the bullshit.

Sometimes your situation doesn’t improve but how you approach it does. You may be stuck in the same shit but dedicating less mental space to caretaking an abuser’s emotions. You may still be dealing with daily pain but you’ve gotten to know what triggers it and what to avoid. You may be stuck in a miserable, terrifying situation and have a rich and thriving community of fanfic authors you talk to when shit gets to be too heavy.

The people who “it gets better” narratives tend to be really helpful for are young people who don’t have any autonomy who are close to being old enough that they’ll finally get to make some choices about their lives.

It’s harder dealing with feeling trapped as an adult because you can’t generally escape the things that are trapping you by living in a college dorm or getting an apartment with a bunch of roommates or coming out because you may have already done those things OR you may be in a place where those things aren’t possible for you.

So what do you do?

Well, for starters instead of saving up money for the best kind of gun to kill yourself with save up money for something stupid and funny that you like. Save up money for a tattoo, save up money for an arcade-size DDR cabinet and pads, save up money to buy a camera to make a youtube channel of you doing bad cover songs. (And if you don’t have money to save up then take up a free hobby; if you’ve got access to the internet to send me anons about how to kill yourself you’ve got access to the internet to use AO3 and I strongly recommend you start writing self-insert fic where you get to hang out with the cool fictional characters you like because it’s sort of like maladaptive daydreaming but people will stop by and say nice things about it and you feel validated when the numbers go up)

If you *can’t* fix your situation (because you live in a country that doesn’t recognize your gender, because you’re poor and have to live with people who hurt you, because you’ve got such deep and overwhelming anxiety that making the change seems impossible, because you don’t want to abandon someone more vulnerable than you to the bad situation) then do something, ANYTHING, that you and you alone are in charge of. You’re in charge of your bad cover songs youtube channel. You’re in charge of the smiley face tattooed on your ass. You’re in charge of what happens in your totally self-indulgent, fluffy, found family fic.

Find one thing, ONE THING, that allows you to assert your autonomy and everything gets a lot easier from there because A) you’ve got proof you can do something for yourself and B) you’ve now got something to fall back on when you ask yourself “why do I keep going?”

You keep going because you like your gender affirming roleplay group online. You keep going because you want a horrible butterfly tattooed on the other ass cheek. You keep going because you want to see how many kudos the next update gets.

And while you’re doing all of that you’re making a plan.

Let’s not kid ourselves here, suicidal people are GOOD at making plans. Not at keeping them all the time, but good at making them.

So you plan to get out.

You might not *keep* that plan but if you can sit and fantasize about eating a gun so that the pain will stop then you can sit and fantasize about buying a plane ticket or running away or looking for a different doctor so the pain will stop.

Do the little things that you can do. Write fic, go fishing, fold paper cranes, take long walks by yourself, pet a cat, get a tongue piercing, read a book. Do the little things that you can control, that you enjoy, that you do just for you.

And while you’re doing that think about the train you’re going to take to leave, how much nicer the nurses will be at the new doctor, how great it’s going to feel to dress in a way that feels right.

And even if it doesn’t work and you’re stuck living with a shitty abusive harpy who screams you awake and makes you have panic attacks whenever you hear her moving around the house you’ll get better at dealing with the bullshit. You’ll build up a space for you in your head where the bullshit isn’t there.

And then maybe someday the outside matches the inside. Maybe your friend needs a roommate, maybe you get a job that pays better, maybe a new medication is released. You don’t know for sure that it’s going to happen, there’s no guarantee it’ll happen, but at least if it doesn’t happen you’ve carved out a little space for yourself where you can survive.

ALSO

I know that a huge number of suicidal people are suicidal because they feel helpless.

One way to IMMEDIATELY make yourself feel less helpless is to help someone else. Here’s an app where you can give visual assistance to blind and low-vision people: https://www.bemyeyes.com/

The world is shitty and everything sucks and sometimes you can’t make your own situation better, but you can write video and image transcriptions on tumblr and maybe that’ll cheer someone else up.

Anyway, it’s not up to me to say when anybody else has had enough, but I figure you shouldn’t try to kill yourself until you’ve gotten a stegosaurus in an admiral’s hat tattooed on your thigh or something because who knows, that could be the thing that makes you feel better enough to keep going and if you’ve put up with the pain and bullshit this long what do you have to lose by putting up with it a little longer?

[cosleia]

I (29M) want my boyfriend (34, scary) to treat me as well as he treats his cat. AITA?

(kylux, ~900 words)

My (29M) boyfriend (34, scary) treats his cat (3F) better than he treats me. He has many affectionate nicknames for her, but all he calls me is "idiot" and "beast". She gets all his attention when we're at home. She's the one who gets to curl up in his lap. He makes special food for her and sometimes even feeds her by hand. He never raises his voice to her. Meanwhile, he is always yelling at me, even in bed (though that isn't ALWAYS bad).

When I told him I want to be treated like a cat, he laughed at me. AITA?

~ My (34M) work acquaintance (29M) frequently makes unreasonable demands of me. He leaves his things in my chambers, he accosts me any time we are alone, and he falls asleep rather than leaving once our business is concluded. Why I have not put a stop to this is beyond me.

I have humoured him, but today he made a request that has me utterly baffled. The interaction has weighed on my mind ever since. "I want to be a cat," I believe are the words he used.

Naturally, I laughed. I expected he would storm off and terrorize a subordinate as usual. Instead, however, he seemed to crumble, as though he were delicate and fragile rather than the great beast that he is. I have not been able to put his sorrowful face out of my mind.

I am most certainly not the asshole, but I would appreciate reassurance to that effect.

~

UPDATE: Thanks to everyone who responded with helpful comments. To the asshole who asked if my kitty litter needs to be changed, fuck off.

I was going to try to be more specific, like many of you suggested, but we haven't been alone since he laughed at me. He hasn't come back to our quarters, and every time I go to his office, a member of his staff is always there. I can usually scare them away, but now they all refuse to leave. They just stand there, shaking. He must have threatened them.

I think he hates me now.

~

As evidenced by the replies to my previous post, this forum is bereft of reasonable advice, but I am at a loss. Since the strange incident in which my work acquaintance responded unexpectedly, I have done my best to avoid any encounters that might produce the same result. Unfortunately, as I am lacking enough evidence to form a conclusion about what occurred, the best strategy I could conceive of was avoidance.

So far, I have successfully managed to keep my distance, but I can't imagine I will be able to maintain this separation for long. Not only do we work closely together, but I am finding myself uncomfortable with this state of affairs. I have grown accustomed to a certain standard of living, and that standard includes frequent contact with my work acquaintance.

Nothing's the same without him.

~

UPDATE!!!! I don't know what happened but my boyfriend and I made up!!! I was standing alone at a viewport looking at the stars and thinking about the incomprehensible nature of the vast universe when he suddenly came in and marched right up and stood next to me! I didn't say anything because I was so surprised, but then he didn't say anything either, so I started getting mad. I asked him why he was there. He wouldn't look at me, which was totally weird, because he's the type to look you right in the eye no matter what. Then he finally said something like "Please tell me why you wish to be a cat. I promise I won't laugh." That was a weird way to say it but I told him all the stuff I want, like you all suggested. He actually looked at me then and I got embarrassed. But he was like "Oh." And then he smiled! He's really pretty so I kissed him. He kissed me back! And then we did some other stuff that's probably TMI.

But the best part is, he came home and let me lie with my head in his lap and he petted my hair!!! It was so good!!

So that's what happened! Thanks to everyone for sticking with me. If anybody ever needs advice about hand-to-hand fighting or embracing the Dark Side of the Force, lmk!

~

Well, as some of you rightly surmised, the man about whom I have been posting is rather more than a work acquaintance. It is difficult for me to reveal this sort of personal information about myself. I must also admit that I did not realize the truth of it until recently.

I spoke with him and it was a great relief. As it happens, he did not mean he wished to be transformed into a feline, though if you knew anything about this man's arcane mysticism you would understand why I might come to that conclusion. His true desires are far simpler. For posterity and to bring this matter to its conclusion, I include here a sampling of the list of requests he gave me:

Affectionate nicknames (I have chosen "darling")

Petting his hair

Addressing him gently and kindly

Feeding him by hand

Holding him

Acquiescing to these requests has turned out not to be any sort of hardship at all. In fact, it has only added to the depth of pleasure my standard of living brings me.

I am pleased to have the opportunity to share this exemplary model of behavior and to enrich your lives with the record of this experience.

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Chapter 6: A Room with a View

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,359

Warnings: Swearing, slut shaming, death mention, crying

Author’s Note: So, I already answered this, but just in case anyone missed it: I update this series weekly and I am still editing the vast majority of chapters! Sorry if it’s coming out slower than expected!

Tags: @divinity-deos @wolfish-willow​ @scoopsohboi​ @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina​ @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary​ @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @a-big-ball-of-idk​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ @ggclarissa​ @voidnarnia​ @anonymousonion23 

Steve had no idea what he’d done wrong. Not a clue. But you were ignoring him. You sat farther away from him in English the past two days, and you’d been blowing off plans with him. You’d say that you had other plans, but he’d see you sat on the bleachers after school, watching the girls soccer practise or drawing in that book again. He still didn’t know what you were doing in that book and he was irritated by the fact that he could see you sat in your room some days, caught in a lie without knowing it, your nose caught in the pages in front of you, pencil in between your teeth, focused but unaware of an audience. Steve could see right into your room from his when your curtains were open and you often sat at your desk, working in your pads.

On the day that Mr. Lawrence announced the start for the final essay, Steve had had enough. It had been a week of this behaviour and he felt as though he deserved an answer. And he was sick of watching through the window. Tommy and Carol were busy every damn day chasing Billy Hargrove, Vicki had gone back after him too after their awful date, and Tina wasn’t his friend. Sure, he could bug Dustin, but that made him feel like such a loser. His only friends were a rag tag group of preteens and a weird girl who wouldn’t even talk to him! This was getting pathetic.

The bell rang before Steve could make his move and you were out the door before he could even open his mouth. Tina rolled her eyes as she passed him by, grabbing Tina’s arm to whisper loudly “God, how tragic.” making Vicki cackle loudly.

Steve booked it out the door, scanning the halls for you, but you’d already disappeared from sight. He spotted Samantha, but she was on the retreat. He chose not to chase her down, they’d never even had a conversation before and using her to try to get her to spill on her friend felt a bit shitty. So he decided to just take a walk, no harm in a walk, it was a nice day anyway, out by the field. He wandered out the gym doors by the car park. He shoved his hands into his blue workman’s jacket. The weather was still a bit too chilly to go without a coat, but the sunshine made it easier.

He spotted you and Samantha at the top of the bleachers. You had your hair up that day and your lavender bomber jacket draped around your shoulders. Carol had something similar, or maybe it was Tina, he couldn’t remember which one the pair blurred into one being in his mind.

Samantha caught Steve’s eye before you did. She leaned over to you with a smirk “Lover boy’s watching.” She whispered cheekily, pointing slyly at him.

You turned immediately. Steve was standing in the car park, a few smattering of folks on car hoods, eating packed lunches and watching the scene go down. He waved, taking a step towards you. You turned your attention away.

Samantha was baffled. A week ago, you were telling her all about the weird fun you were having with him, all smiles and laughter, and now you wouldn’t even look at him for more than a second. You wouldn’t admit it, but Samantha knew that he was something more than a friend to you. Nobody was this upset when someone cancelled plans.

Steve turned away without a word. He wanted to scream at you, his mind demanding to know what he had done wrong. He made a plan that afternoon, one he was certain might ruin everything for him.  

As soon as the three o’clock bell rang, Steve made a mad dash for his car. He didn’t leave immediately; instead he waited to see an expected sight. Once he saw you huddled and headed for the bleachers, he was sure that the girl’s team was practising. Then he drove off towards home, parking in his own driveway. His mother was home, a shock to him, but he still headed upstairs. The next part was tricky. He’d time out that practise ended at four thirty, but that you usually left at four since the walk was so long. At four twenty, he headed across the street. As always, the yellow Volkswagen sat in the driveway. He’d rarely ever seen it leave the driveway, but it gave him hope that someone was inside the house. You couldn’t be living alone as a senior. He bounded up the front steps, knocking on the door twice. He was nervous, switching his weight from his toes to his heels in a rocking motion forward and back, forward and back.

An older man opened the door. He had to be in his eighties, with age spots speckling him around his eyes like a second pair of wide frames behind his tortoise shell glasses.  He seemed suspicious of Steve, although that was probably because he was staring.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand for the man to shake “I’m Steve Harrington, I’m a friend of Y/N.” the man didn’t take his hand, staying silent as he looked him over.

Steve pressed on “I was wondering if she was home, we were supposed to study together today and she said that she’d call when she got home but I haven’t heard from her.” He chuckled awkwardly.

From behind the old man, a woman’s voice called “Harold, who’s there?”

“One of Y/N’s friends, she home yet?” he called back, opening the door wider. Steve could see the pale yellow walls, sun stained from the large three panel window at the front of their house.

Steve watched as an older woman hobbled into the scene, back hunched and skin thin. She looked frail, her hair dyed to what Steve assumed was its original shade, her grey roots visible from the top of her head. She greeted Steve with a warm smile. Steve was quick to offer his hand to shake, which she took carefully. “Hi, Steve Harrington, it’s nice to meet you both.” He said quickly, smiling brightly at the pair.

“Well hello there, I’m Maude and this is Y/N’s grandfather Harold, it’s lovely to meet you.” She said sweetly. “Why don’t you come inside, Y/N should be home any minute.”

Maude hit Harold’s arm roughly and he let go of the door, letting Steve into the house. He quickly kicked off his shoes, noting the pair’s socked feet. He looked around the house. Every house on the street was one of three standard box deals, with specified details. His parents hadn’t paid for the window seat like your family had, but you didn’t have the open kitchen that his did; an extra yellow wall separated the space. He looked to the fireplace, an exact copy of his family’s before their renovation last august. He missed the grey brick they used to have. You had a large family portrait on the mantle. You were sat in the centre in your Sunday best, your grandparents flanking the outside, two other adults stood closest to you. Steve assumed they were your parents. You looked like your father.

“You have a lovely home,” he said, turning his attention to the pair who were watching him intently.

“Thank you.” Maude smiled “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Sure.” Steve wasn’t much for tea, but he was taught not to refuse something offered by his host. Maude hurried off, leaving him and grumpy old Harold alone.

“Y/N doesn’t bring boys around.” Harold announced when his wife was out of the room. Steve didn’t really know what to say to that, luckily he continued “So what’re you trying to do with my girl?”

“Study,” Steve said with a shrug. The man scoffed, but Steve pressed on. “She’s my partner for our English final, we’re supposed to be working on it today, it’s due soon.”

Harold nodded gruffly “Alright…” he took a seat on the couch, turning the volume back on. The Love Boat was on, a rerun of the episode with guest stars the Captain and Tennille, and Steve was certain that they’d both seen it before.

Maude came in with a tray, handing her husband a mug. It was hand painted, thick script reading ‘Happy Father’s Day’ on the front, the year 1974 written in smaller script underneath in blue paint. She handed him a plain white mug.

“Well, Steve, you’re free to go and wait for Y/N upstairs, her room is two doors to the right of the stairs, you can’t miss it.” She said, gesturing to the stairwell. Steve bid his thanks and headed up the wide carpeted stairwell.

Harold mumbled something to his wife that Steve couldn’t hear, only catching her response. “He’s young, he doesn’t want to sit with us old folks.” She laughed at her own joke and Steve smiled at their friendly banter. They reminded him of his aunt and uncle, they always joked in that sort of way, laughing at themselves before anyone else. It made him feel as if he were at home in the house; he was comforted by the casualness of existence.

Maude was right that the room was impossible to miss. The door was covered in childlike butterflies painted in purple puffy paint. When he opened the bedroom door, he was transported into a small, private art gallery. The room was covered wall to wall in fabric canvases, canvas boards, and paper sketches. Your desk was covered in paint splotches and doodles carved into the wood, there were glow in the dark stars and moons on the blades of your ceiling fan. You’d painted your ceiling into a buttery sunset. It was as if for the first time, Steve was seeing all of you. And you were absolutely incandescent.

His hands went to roam your shelves, filled with sketchbooks and art books and worn copies of the classics. Greedily, he grabbed the first black sketchbook he found its pages heavy and curled. A piece of masking tape on the cover read ‘Still Life, 1980’ in black Sharpie. He flipped over the cover. Every page was the same bowl of fruit, some plain sketches, some painted in acrylics or water colours, but the fruit changed in shape and structure with every flip, rotting more with each sketch until the image switched to a vase of sunflowers, a prim and proper version of the Van Gogh he’d seen a print of in his freshman year art class. He wondered if you’d been there, silently making your own master pieces. He wondered how many masterpieces you had hidden away in your big black book.

The door opened behind him before he could put the sketch book away. “What the fuck are you doing in my house?” you snapped, bounding towards him. When your grandmother told you that your friend from school was upstairs waiting for you, you had a sinking feeling that you knew who it was. And seeing him rifling through your things made your blood boil.

Steve turned slowly, unsure what to say. You snatched the pad out of his hands “And who the fuck gave you permission to look at my stuff, you pervert!” You knew that he hadn’t done anything actually perverted, but you still felt violated.

“I can’t get you to talk to me, I figured coming here would at least make you see me.” Steve laughed a bit, unable to even process what was happening. In the back of his mind, he thought that this would be an effortlessly cool way to go about a solution. Like you’d see him in your room and think ‘wow…what an effort that was…’ Instead, you were furious.

“So, you thought that coming into my house without telling me, lying to my grandparents, and touching my stuff would make it better.” You raised an eyebrow, shoving your sketchbook onto the shelf.

“What was I supposed to do? You won’t answer my calls, you won’t talk to me, I can’t get you to look at me for more than a second and all I want to know is what I did wrong so I can fix it!” Steve cried, words tumbling out of his mouth. You both stared at each other for a moment, surprised by each other, your mouth hanging silently ajar.

You closed it fast, swallowing before speaking “You…you hurt my feelings.” You said softly, pushing past him to put distance between you, standing next to your desk and the window.

“How did I hurt your feelings?” Steve asked quietly, watching you carefully even as you stared defiantly out the window.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest “You cancelled our plans. For Vicki.”

“So?” Steve asked.

“So, I don’t cancel on you. I never cancel on you, especially not the day of. It hurt my feelings.” You explained, picking at a bit of lint on your sweater.

“Yeah, but I…” he tried to catch himself before he said something terrible, but you already knew what filled in the blank.

“What? You have more friends than me? Is that it?” you snapped. It was Steve’s turn to look away, but you pressed on. “You’re right, you do have more friends than me. But don’t act like I don’t have a social life without you. I do. Do you know how many games of Samantha’s I’ve skipped out on to help you study? How many practises she’s asked me to come and watch that I’ve said no to because I already had plans with you?”

“I don’t know…” Steve muttered. Embarrassment crept up his face. He felt like such a dick. In truth he had forgotten about your plans that day in the excitement of a date with Vicki. With hindsight in full effect he could see that he would’ve had twice as much fun with you eating greasy burgers then he did with Vicki driving around Hawkins.

“Well, it’s been a lot. And it’s not the fact that you went out with Vicki that upset me, you are free to date whoever you want. But can you please at least tell me if you’re cancelling a little sooner than mere minutes before?” you asked, your voice cracking on the end.

“Sure, yeah of course. I should’ve been doing that before.” Steve stumbled over his words to apologize.

“Okay.” You nodded “Now, why are you going through my shit?”

“I wanted to see more. This whole room is incredible.” Steve breathed, plopping down on your mattress.

“You think?” you asked quietly. In truth, you didn’t think that you were that good of an artist. You loved art, but you didn’t think you were exactly talented.

“It’s so cool!” you couldn’t help but laugh, or else you’d cry. Nobody ever talked about your art with such enthusiasm. Teachers only criticized mistakes and your mother and grandparents saw it as clutter. Samantha liked some stuff but she didn’t talk about it much. Even a simple compliment from Steve made you want to cry. You covered your mouth to avoid the tears.

Steve didn’t seem to notice, wandering the room to point out pieces he thought were interesting. He pointed to a canvas depicting the quarry. You’d camped out there one night in the summer; drawing until the sun fades out of the sky and then painting it out once you had it exactly right. “This one is just insane I mean it looks like it’s going to eat you whole, like it has teeth or something.” He exclaimed.

“You can have it.” You replied quickly.

Steve shook his head “No, I couldn’t I mean don’t you want it? For college apps or something?” he couldn’t take it, he’d feel too guilty.

You shrugged “I have enough stuff for at least three portfolios, you should have that one if you like it so much. It’ll make your room cooler.”

“Hey, my room is cool.” Steve pouted, making you laugh harder. He liked your laugh, it split your whole face open into a smile. And your smile looked as if it sat on a bed of clouds. He wanted to float along with it forever.

“Oh yeah, your pee wee t-ball participation trophy is real slick, it gets you all the chicks.” You drawling, bouncing on your mattress.

“Hey, you didn’t run when you saw it.” Steve shrugged, sitting down next to you.

“Eh, your baby sports escapades don’t frighten me. It adds character to know that you suck at something.” You replied. Steve thought briefly of the bat in his trunk and the weight of it mid-swing, connecting with a heavy skull. Better with a bat now then he was as an elementary schooler.

You both lay back on the mattress, staring up at the slowly turning fan. Steve turned to you “What’d you think of Vicki anyway?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Steve nodded “I think she’s a bitch.” Steve laughed loudly but you pressed on “She is! She’s so mean for no reason!”

“Yeah, she’s not cool. She spent our whole date bitching about people, saying a lot of shit about you.” Steve murmured.

“What’d you…” you didn’t know if you could ask how he responded. You bit your tongue before finishing the sentence.

Steve understood anyway “I told her the truth. That you’re a really cool chick and that she shouldn’t be such a bitch about people she doesn’t know.” He said simply, turning his attention back to the slowly moving stars.

You didn’t necessarily believe that he actually defended you. Still, you didn’t feel like arguing. Steve continued on in your silence. “So, do you live with your grandparents’ full time? Or do your parents just work?” he asked.

“Both,” you sighed softly “My mom’s not home very much so they take care of me. She’s a fashion photographer, travels all over the world for different magazines.”

“What about your dad?” Steve asked. He’d seen a younger man in the photo; he assumed that it was some kind of father figure.

“He died.” You muttered.

“Oh…” Steve didn’t know how to react to that. He wasn’t sure if he should apologize.

“She killed him.” You couldn’t help yourself from saying that. Anger still stewed into your bones whenever you thought about your parents.

“What?” Steve to fully look at you, flabbergasted.

“She worked him to death. She always wanted more and farther away from us. Trips to Europe, designer things, this stupid house. She killed him.” You wiped hard at your face, trying to keep the hot tears from streaming down your face. Steve didn’t say anything, he simply pulled you into his chest, holding you tightly into him and letting you cry. He patted your hair gently, trying to soothe you as best he could. He didn’t think he was very good at helping people in their pain. But you grabbed onto his middle and clung to him like a life raft.

“My parents aren’t that great either.” He muttered, unsure if he was helping at all. “They ignore me.”

“I-I’m sorry they do that…” you muttered, looking up at him with wide, wet eyes. Steve melted. He absolutely melted. He was filled with the sudden urge to kiss you, which surprised him. He didn’t follow through with the urge; he didn’t know how you’d take it.

“I’m sorry he’s not here for you…” he replied, petting your hair softly. He stayed with you like that for what felt like hours, letting you cling to him and ruin his shirt with tears. He didn’t care. He needed to be there for you. He promised himself that he wouldn’t hurt you again. That he’d be more careful and pay more attention. He couldn’t bear to see you in this much pain again. He knew that you weren’t crying because of him, but if he could keep you from feeling even an ounce of this sort of pain again, he would.

He cared about you too much to ever let you suffer alone again.

[girlactionfigure]

She was alone when she died on February 7, 1965. She was 50 years old.

Before the incident happened, she had been a successful businesswoman. But after the incident, in which she suffered physical injury, humiliation, and injustice, the personal and professional repercussions were just too much. Her marriage ended, she had to close her business and move out of the city, then out of the country. 

And, even after her death, just this past October 2020, a sign at the cemetery giving directions to her head stone was vandalized with  “highly offensive racial slurs”, according to the Halifax Police.

What did she do “wrong”?

Like Rosa Parks, she refused to give up her seat . . . but at a movie theatre.

At a movie theatre in New Glasgow, Nova Scotia, a white ticket-seller told her “I’m not permitted to sell downstairs tickets to you people.” Desmond then refused to move to the segregated section of the movie theatre for black patrons.

She was dragged out of the theatre by police, arrested, thrown in jail for 12 hours and fined. 

She is called “Canada’s Rosa Parks,” although the theatre incident occurred nine years before Parks refused to give up her seat on a city bus to a white passenger in the United States.

Her name is Viola Desmond, now a civil rights icon in Canada, who confronted the racism that Black Nova Scotians routinely faced and  brought nationwide attention to the African Nova Scotian community’s struggle for equal rights. 

This is part of an ongoing series on the Peace Page for Black History Month.

“Viola Desmond was born in 1914, the daughter of a middle-class mixed-race family in Halifax,” according to Parcs Canada. “When Desmond graduated from high school she worked as a teacher in Black schools, one of very few employment avenues open to her. Black women in Nova Scotia were restricted from going to beauty salons and studying beauty culture (hair-styling, cosmetics, or wig making), so Desmond attended schools in Montréal and New York. When she obtained her diplomas she opened a salon and eventually a beauty school beside her [husband]’s barbershop in Halifax. As an entrepreneur, she achieved financial independence and became a role model to African-Canadian women through the success of her enterprises, which included skin and hair care products for Black women that had previously been unavailable to Nova Scotians.

“In November of 1946, Viola Desmond was travelling on business from Halifax to Sydney, Nova Scotia, when car trouble obliged her to stop overnight in New Glasgow. She attended a local movie theatre where she encountered segregated seating rules.”

“To be a black entrepreneur was ground-breaking,” Henderson Paris, a  New Glasgow town councillor and founder of the Run Against Racism, said in 2015.

“She was building her business and through this – this incident unfolded. Being the strong woman she was – she wasn’t standing for it. It was not right, and something needed to be done.”

Desmond was no stranger to systemic racism, according to Amanda Coletta of the Washington Post. When she left her teaching job to launch a career as a beautician, Desmond was forced to travel out of the province for training because beauty schools in Nova Scotia barred black people from enrolling.

“Canada had no Jim Crow-like laws, but it did have policies that enforced segregation,” said Constance Backhouse, a law professor at the University of Ottawa who has written extensively on Desmond.

The policies were “just as bad as Jim Crow,” Backhouse said, but they were written in a way that “masked” their racist intent.

Desmond was unaware that the Roseland Theatre was segregated, according to the Canadian Museum for Human Rights.

“The segregated movie theatre relegated black patrons to the balcony at the time, while floor seating was reserved for whites,” according to Global News Canada. 

“Desmond was shortsighted and needed a better view, and tried to buy a floor seat, but was refused because she was black. She then bought a balcony seat (which was one cent cheaper) but sat in the floor area – until theatre staff called the police and had her dragged out,” according to The Globe and Mail.

She “was charged with tax evasion for failing to pay 1 cent — the price difference between the floor and balcony seats,” wrote the Washington Post. “Despite the theater’s refusal to sell her the more expensive floor seat, she was convicted and fined $26.”

Let us emphasize that again:

“She was charged and convicted of tax evasion – over a single penny,” wrote The Globe and Mail. “She did not have a lawyer at trial – she was never informed she was entitled to one.” 

“Her arrest and conviction on spurious charges . . . concealed racial discrimination behind the arrest,” according to Parcs Canada.

“Protests from Nova Scotia’s black community and an appeal to the provincial Supreme Court proved fruitless,” according to The Globe and Mail.

“Now a symbol of the struggle for equal rights, Viola Desmond’s defiance in the face of injustice became a rallying cry for Black Nova Scotians and Canadians determined to end racial discrimination,” according to Parcs Canada.

Desmond’s defiance spurred a broader fight for racial equality that helped end segregation in the province,” wrote Coletta.

She died in 1965 without any acknowledgment of racial discrimination in her case, according to The Globe and Mail.

“It would take 63 years for Nova Scotia to issue Desmond . . . a posthumous apology and pardon,” according to Global News Canada.

“In 2010, Nova Scotia gave her a free pardon – and the black lieutenant-governor signed it into law. “Here I am, 64 years later – a black woman giving freedom to another black woman,” Mayann Francis recalled in a 2014 profile about the pardon, which called Ms. Desmond’s case a miscarriage of justice and said she should never have been charged. “I believe she has to know that she is now free.”

Desmond’s story went largely untold for a half-century, but in recent years she has been featured on a stamp, and her name graces a Halifax harbour ferry.

“More than 53 years after her death, Desmond [also] became the first black person and the first woman other than a royal to appear on the front of a regularly circulating Canadian bank note, replacing Sir John A. Macdonald, Canada’s first prime minister, as the face of the new vertically oriented $10 bill,” according to the Washington Post.

“She was an everyday person... this tiny little woman, it’s such an example of strength and determination and education and dignity, respect that was this whole little woman,” Desmond’s sister, Wanda Robson told the Cape Breton Post ahead of the first Nova Scotia Heritage Day in 2015, which honoured Desmond. Robson is the author of “Sister to Courage: Stories from the World of Viola Desmond, Canada’s Rosa Parks.”

“She laid the foundation in regards to justice and how black people were being treated in Nova Scotia. Even though it happened in New Glasgow, similar incidents were happening all over the province,” said Crystal States, an educator with the Black Educators Association and the representative for the African Nova Scotian North Central Network told The News in 2015.

“It was a breakthrough in social justice that had predated the civil rights movement in the (United) States,” States said ahead of the first Nova Scotia Heritage Day, which honored Desmond.

"At the end of the day, we're all just human beings," her sister Wanda Robson said. "We're just people. There are people with different colours, different skin shades, different hair, but at the end of the day, as I said, we are just people."

Update: 

This past week, Novia Scotia issued a check to refund Desmond’s family in a symbolic gesture after 11th grade student Varishini Deochand wrote to Nova Scotia Premier Stephen McNeil asking that the province repay the court costs handed to Viola Desmond.

The court costs of $26 would amount to an estimated $368.29 by today's standards, but the province has since increased the award amount to $1,000, which was given to Desmond's only surviving family member, Wanda Robson, who chose to donate the money to a one-time scholarship at her alma mater, Cape Breton University.

"I strongly hold that one should not pay a fine for a crime they did not commit," Deochand said during a virtual ceremony. 

"While we may not be able to travel back in time to right our wrongs, we can show that we care in the most sincerest of ways."

~ jsr

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

[thatfunkyopossum]

Uhhh so I’m just gonna slap a life update under the cut for anyone who’s curious? Also bc this is my blog and I want to be able to vent wherever the hell i feel like. it’ll be messy.

Alrighty so first things first: My mom is in the hospital with some pretty severe cancer. Hospitalized for several months straight severe. It’s happening because of the treatment from her breast cancer several years ago. I’m fine with this. She’s abusive and is completely fine with how she’s treated me since I came out as trans. I know that she’s fine with it because we���ve talked about it and she said as much.

The real problem with this is that i’m now living with my dad alone because my sister moved out earlier this year. Its just the two of us, four dogs, and two cats. This is a problem because my dad has no healthy ways to deal with his stress and frustration so he takes it out on me. His toxic behaviors that have been harming me my entire life have only gotten worse. He refuses to acknowledge that anything he’s ever done has been wrong, and I mean it when I say he’d do anything to help me be better short of ever changing his behavior.

For example, i told him that when he referred to the house and dishes as belonging to him (for example, saying things like “stop leaving my dishes in your room” referring to the dishes i’ve eaten on in my room. Like, the communal dishes the whole family uses? and has for my entire life?) made me feel like a guest in my own home and like i had no claim to anything he told me i was delusional, that he wouldn’t stop talking like that, and that if I wanted any claim on anything in this house that he expects me to maintain I’d have to start paying to live here. I can’t do that, because I’ve only recently gotten a job (i’ve been trying to avoid it because I don’t want to get sick and hurt my friends) and I have to save up so i can either A) get myself the fuck out of here & transition or B) pay for a school program myself that in two years or so could help me get a decently stable and well paying job.

Also, on the topic of paying rent, both of my parents have completely refused to negotiate with me. I asked them to let me move into my sister’s vacated room (it gets more sunlight, is bigger, and overall would be genuinely much better for my emotional health) and I was informed that I’d need to pay them $300 a month to do that. Mind you, my sister only had to pay a percentage of her paycheck up to $300 a month. My parents would accept her maximum as my absolute minimum. So i’m making do with my cramped space.

Its been 2 years since I came out as trans to my parents. The only person in my family to wholeheartedly embrace me aside from my sister is my grandfather who lives 3 hours away. My dad can’t even consistently call me by my name, still calls me “girl”, and acts like he found out a few weeks ago and its still new. He introduces me to strangers as his daughter and by my deadname. He’s a trump supporting capitalist evangelical christian (both parents are) and has been drinking the voter fraud koolaid and doesn’t wear a mask at his job sites.

Every interaction I have with him has me on edge and nervous. I can’t be my own self in the place where i live, and i’m not even allowed the illusion of thinking that this is actually my own home. Even when he’s gone for days at a time I can’t relax because I have four severely neglected hunting dogs that I cannot help and I can’t take care of to monitor and try and control. I have to keep them quiet because if they start barking at the landlord’s dogs (who are allowed to run around outside off lead) the landlords get angry at us. They’re not leash trained, so I physically cannot walk any of them. Karley was abandoned by my middle sister, and is now basically my responsibility.

Tucker, Karley’s son, was left here by my oldest sister who couldn’t take him with her immediately when she moved away. Both of them are purebred german shorthaired pointers because my dad wanted hunting dogs and then never trained them. They’re never taken on walks. Finley is a miniature poodle who belongs to my mom. She was too lazy to play with him with a laser pointer, so yeah. Zeke is an old standard poodle who is dying and my family will not put down even though he seems absolutely miserable. I cannot care for these dogs. I never asked for them to be my responsibility, but I’m the only one who actually cares about their well being except i can’t help them. I don’t know what to do. Finley’s so smart and I can’t do anything to stimulate his brain. Karley and Tucker are so energetic and I don’t have the space or stamina to exercise them, and I can’t teach them to walk on leads because they’re too hyper but they’re too hyper because they’re never walked and they’re never walked because they don’t know how to walk on leads and i can’t do anything about it. Zeke is in pain and there’s nothing I can do about it!

There’s nothing I can do to help them and because they’re all under stimulated and not trained (my family HAS ACTIVELY REFUSED TO TRAIN THEM SAYING IT CANT BE DONE) they destroy my belongings and what few things I have to my own self and I’m told its my fault when they do. They’ve made this house filthy and foul smelling and theres nothing I can do about it.

I’m trapped here and i’m suffocating and I can’t even assert who I am without risking my shelter.

[arseneiic]

Short, sweet, and to the point. Follow these rules and we all have a great time.

1. Mutuals only. I must be following you and you must be following me. Only those that I follow can like starter calls, send in character asks, and reply to posts.

1a. I will not interact with non-Mutuals, that includes asks, unless it’s done anonymously and it doesn’t have a url attached.  Anyone who breaks this rule will get about a few pardons but after that will be blocked.

2. My time is limited here in what I can do. This means that I am very selective in what I reply to. Doesn’t necessary mean that I am ignoring anyone. Some days I reply to everything and everyone, others I am so burnt out from irl things or work that I just lurk and do the bare minimum. My mental health and well-being comes before anything else.

2a. Replies vary by length and time. I normally work eight to ten hours a day and experience a lot of exhaustion. Unless I don’t see a thread or an ask going anywhere and publicly make a post saying it’s been dropped, consider everything as pending / will do ASAP. Memes are okay to send in late unless it clearly states, not accepting. My timezone is Eastern Standard Time or EST. United States is where I am located at. I am usually online from 10 PM EST to 3 AM EST unless it’s a day off from work, which the online time will vary from 12 PM EST to 3 AM EST.

2b.  Role-playing is a hobby, not a job. Do not pester me for replies or asks to be answered. I am not obligated to owe anyone anything on this website. I am human and can’t cater to everyone’s needs.  Being persistent here is not going to make me answer yours faster than other people.

2c. Don’t follow, unfollow, and then refollow my blog. It’s not going to make me want to follow you back, ever. It’s annoying and no one is being crafty by doing that. If you continue to do this and it isn’t a tumblr glitch, I will be inclined to block and possibly report for spam.

3. If you do need to break mutuals with me, HARD BLOCK my blog. Don’t just UNFOLLOW or SOFT BLOCK because chances are that I could mistakenly follow you again. And that’s something we both don’t want since it would be quite awkward.

3a. I have the right to unfollow whoever I want to and so do you. Please don’t go on a hunt and try to guilt trip me into following you back again. Just don’t. I can and will tell you the reason why I unfollowed you but other than that, just let me leave in peace.

3b. Personal blogs and non RP blogs will be blocked on site. Please, if you have a side blog let me know through asks so I don’t accidentally block you. IMs are not a good way to let me know since they are closed for non-mutuals.

4. Duplicates are welcomed to follow me. The more the merrier. I do not suffer from same muse anxiety and encourage any of the same muse to follow me. Only request is that you don’t steal my headcanons, edits or icons. Other than that, we should all be able to have a good time. I’m always up for twin verses or alternate universes shenanigans.

4a. Original Characters are allowed to follow me. However, they need to be a little flesh out before I make a decision to follow them back or not. Just a small backstory or biography is all that I need. Headcanons also work if there isn’t an about page but must have about one page worth for me to consider following.

4b. Crossover Characters from other shows are allowed to follow me but I must know about said muse or else I’ll have a hard time whether to follow or not. Few fandoms I won’t interact with because I have no interest in these series are: Avatar the Last Airbender, Avatar the Legend of Korra. ( more to be added ).

5. I am a multi-ship blog. Arsene himself is ageless but his physical form is around 25 when he became a shadow / persona / demon and as such, I will only be shipping him romantically with muses around the 20s to 30s range. Some threads may get a little spicy but nothing that requires a ‘do not read at work’ type of posts. I will tag those post that are suggestive with a ‘spicy: tw & spicy for ts’ and ‘Looks like someone needs proper punishment’ for blacklisting purposes.

5a. I am open to all kinds of ships, not just romantic ones. I also enjoy platonic, rivalry, and familiar bonds. All ships are open to discussions through my IM(s) or otherwise known as Instant Messenger. Chemistry is key. As long as we interact a little, there’s always the chance that both muses can be in a relationship.

6. Things for you to tag for me are: BIRDS, CHAIN LETTERS, ORGANS, DOGS. For the birds and dogs, just in real life ones trigger me. I am fine with cartoon / art / video game ones as they are not real.

6a. Things I’ll tag for you: BLOOD, GORE, DEATH, BODY HORROR, EYE HORROR, INSECTS, MAGGOTS, BRUISES, SCARS, GUNS, KNIVES, CLOWNS. If there are anything I missed that you want tagged, please let me know through IM(s).

7. I am over the age of eighteen. However, I refuse to write smut as I am not comfortable with that subject to begin with. Please never force me to write this with you and if you keep sending things to me in this type of nature, I will report you, no questions asked.

7a. If I see any form of hate and I find out it was you that sent it, I will immediately BLOCK you. No questions asked. Life is too short to send unwanted hate, anon or not. All anon hate and hate towards me and my characters ( s ) in general will be reported and then blocked, no questions asked.

8. My pen name on here is SERE. Obviously, that is not my real name but it’s what I go by. It’s short for ‘Serena’, the English name that DIC gave Usagi Tsukino in the Americanized version of Sailor Moon. It’s pronounced; SIR-REE.

9. I am not a meme source. If you need to reblog a meme from my blog and don’t plan to send me anything, reblog from the source. I hardly get asks as it is, and for you to just use me as a meme source puts a bad taste in my mouth and I feel like I’m being used, which isn’t a good feeling. If you wonder if you should send in a meme to me, please do. I love getting asks. I do hoard them from time to time like a dragon hoards treasure but I do get to them eventually. The more memes / asks, the merrier.

9a.  Feel free to turn inbox replies into threads. Just remember to make separate post when replying. Do not reblog threads not meant for you and don’t reblog my headcanons. It’s okay to reblog my asks though if you want them to be keepsakes on your own blog. Also, it’s alright to reblog musings and images from me.

10. I rather not be bothered by callout posts and any potential drama that might accumulate. I am just here to have fun and I hope everyone else can too. Life is too short to spend on certain things that don’t matter in the long run. If I see multiple call out posts from you in a single day or that’s all you post, I will quietly unfollow you.

11.  Out of character posts will be on here from time to time. Mostly talking about life in general or me venting once in a great while. If this annoys you, please remember that this is my blog, not yours. You are welcomed to unfollow / block at any time.

11a.  The best way to interact with me is to send memes / asks / inbox things. I am always up for unprompted things in my inbox. Also, my instant messenger is always open if someone needs to contact me out of character or to plot something. Don’t hesitate to talk to me. I will try my best to respond.

11b. Not interacting after a month or two with me and my blog will make me silently unfollow you or result in a soft block. Or if you don’t interact with me at all, even out of character. Also, if you are gone for more than 6 months, I consider your blog inactive and will probably assume that you aren’t going to return.

12. I’m really laid-back in nature so don’t feel pressure to reply to anything I send to you. I understand that life happens and that sometimes you just need to unwind from the stress of daily life.

13. For pronouns; either SHE/HER or THEY/THEM is okay with me. My orientation is DEMIROMANTIC ASEXUAL. I love anime, manga, video games, music, drawing, and writing. If you read all of this, then thank you! I won’t ask for passcodes but please still try to remember these at some point. That’s all I ask. <3.

( rules may be updated from time to time so please check here once in awhile. I will also post when these are updated as well ).

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 4

Warning, if it hasn't been obvious in the movies there is Nazi symbolism within the First Order. I will expand on this much more throughout the story. If this is something that bothers you, please just exit the story. The author does not condone any Nazi ideals, this is just for fictional uses only.

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with some canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

Originally posted on my Ao3 Crystallclover. (Incase you missed it) Chapter Three 

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Chapter 4: When the Machine Starts

Summary: “ALL REMAINING SYSTEMS WILL REMEMBER THIS, AS THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW EMPIRE!!!” Cannon fire was heard in the distance.

_______________________________________________________________________

“Y/N? What do you think,” asked Carter.

You thought for a moment and answered, “I don’t know, this is all so much to take in. When are you guys thinking about registering? I don’t want to go alone, there will be too many people.”

“I was thinking about going tomorrow morning. The registration office closest to me doesn’t open until 9 AM but I want to guarantee that a line will start 6,” said Carter. 

“I guess I really hadn’t thought that far to be honest. Too caught up in the alien thing,” said Hayden “Why don’t we plan on going together?” 

“I think that would great, but Y/N do you need to go to a special registration center? As an American,” asked Carter.

“Let me check online,” you said while pulling up the government website on your phone. “It says it I should be fine if I go to the motor vehicle registration office, the social insurance number office, or the immigration office. I need my passport, social security card, immunization forms, birth certificate, driver's license, and work visa. It also says that I will be in a separate line and that my registration will take up to 1 hour to complete.” 

“Sweet, I know you aren’t a fan of getting up early Hayden but what if we all go to the MVR office tomorrow at like 5:45 AM and just get it done together? We have no idea how long the lines will be or really how long it will take,” asked Carter.

“Fine, but like we need to get brunch afterward or I will riot in the streets. You guys don’t have to work tomorrow right,” asked Hayden. “Tony gave me the next few days off.”

“No, Henry gave us all time off. I’m pretty sure Scott and his wife will go awol. Like you should have seen him this morning. He was on his phone in the walkway for the first hour, late to our meeting. Ally had to message him asking if he was coming. He then walked finally went into his office and got ready. He blamed it on his wife being paranoid,” you said. 

“Yeah but that is such a Scott thing to do, I am surprised Talia hasn’t evaluated him yet that man is a walking HR nightmare,” said Carter.

“That isn’t even the worst of it. Immediately after the announcement he kind flipped out. Talking about how the First Order will brainwash us and how we shouldn’t stand for it. Like I’m pretty sure he was going to blow a gasket. Daniel told him off and then he went to talk to Henry but not until saying that this may be the last time we will probably see our families, then Henry gave us the week off basically,” you ranted. “I honestly hate the man he’s late to everything, even deadlines, he also can’t organize his office even if his life depended on it. Plus he’s always on his phone with his wife. Just all around unprofessional.” 

“Damn go off, I would hate to hear what you would have go say about me if I worked with you,” stated Hayden.

“Well, I’m glad we are just friends and not coworkers. Brunch sounds like a good idea to me, especially if we can start day drinking because guaranteed my registration is going to be more stressful than both of yours and I’ll probably need something to take the edge off. And if Scott is right about this being the last bits of freedom before the First Order starts brainwashing us or ‘probing’ us then I’d like it to be fun,” you ranted. 

“Probing, damn I wish I thought of that earlier. You know we should start watching some really cheesy Sci-FI movies before the ‘Supreme Leader’ announcement,” suggested Hayden.

Both you and Carter agreed and you set up your phone to keep steaming CBC News and you set up “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” on your laptop.

After your third movie, you all just decide to pull up the news to avoid missing the announcement. The seemingly perfect white brunette anchorman and similarly perfect blonde anchorwoman were explaining once again where to register while also talking about the average wait time to register. You always found their perfect hair, teeth, and skin; they were just too perfect. 

Live from Washington D.C. 

The camera focused in on the Supreme Leader, “People of Earth, the First Order has so far been impressed by the cooperation we have received from you. As it was mentioned before, if you remain calm and follow all orders directed towards you, you will be able to live a long and prosperous life here. 

Your respective nation’s leader should have informed you of more updates such as where to receive registration and changes to your planet's economy. The First Order and my self Supreme Leader Ren have a few more directives for you. 

First as mentioned to you many times today, everyone on your planet must register with the First Order as citizens. Anyone refusing to do so will be dealt with justly. Second, all citizens upon registration will receive an education on the First Orders and the beliefs of the new empire. Any citizen who has an issue with this education should direct their comments and concerns to any Stormtrooper or First Order officer at their local registration station. 

Finally, anyone found in favor of the New Republic or the Resistance will be dealt with immediately. The First Order would like to make this transition for Earth as smooth and as peaceful as possible. Any found being a traitor to the First Order may find themselves at a public execution!

My Allegiant General Hux has a few words for you.” He stepped to the side to reveal the ginger human-looking man. 

“Today is the is the beginning of the new empire! And the end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder! At this very moment, in a system far from here, the New Republic lies to the galaxy, while secretly supporting the treachery of the loathsome Resistance,” The red hair man almost seemed to be foaming at the mouth while he was giving his speech. “Our alliance is a fierce machine that we will build, upon which we will stand, will bring an end to the Senate, and to their cherished fleet! ALL REMAINING SYSTEMS WILL REMEMBER THIS, AS THE FIRST DAY OF THE NEW EMPIRE!!!” Cannon fire was heard in the distance and the camera came to a wide shot of the podium’s stage. 

On the stage, you could see the U.S. President, Supreme Leader Ren, Allegiant General Hux, and the silver armored soldier. Behind the stage, you could see the white house lawn filled with the white armored soldiers standing at attention. In the distance you could see there was now a banner over the white house, it was large and read with a hexagon with a star-like black symbol. You assumed this to be the flag of the First Order. 

The camera cuts back to the news anchors who were now conspicuously wearing pins with the same symbol that was on the banner. “I like the sound of that, don’t you Karen,” asked the male news anchor.

“I sure do Jim. A new galactic economy and protection from a powerful new ally to protect us from the treacherous Resistance. I don’t think we could have asked for a better ‘alien’ invasion, do you, Jim,” responded Karen.

“Now it's almost as if fate was on our side, or should I say the Force. For everybody, at home, both Karen and I have been registered and have started our First Order education. That’s where we got these cool new pins that you will be required to wear once you’ve been registered unless directed to do otherwise,” stated Jim. 

“Yes, it is important that all citizens register as soon as possible, and all citizens are asked to cooperate with the First Order. You all heard our new Supreme Leader Ren, they would like us to be peaceful and anyone found in contempt of the First Order may be subject to public execution,” stated Karen. “And I’m sure all of you remember 8th-grade world history when we learned about what happened to Marie Antoinette, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She and Jim chuckled at her off-color joke. 

“I’m sure no one wants that so if we all stay calm no one should lose their head. There will be nightly updates every night at 7 PM Eastern Standard Time from the First Order. We have been informed that it will be various officers as our new Supreme Leader is very busy,” stated Jim.

“I’m sure he is, and what a wonderful Supreme Leader we have. Dedicated to our safety and the safety of the galaxy. I can’t wait to learn more about him from my First Order education. Now stay tuned to the weather,” said Karen. 

You muted your laptop once again. You, Carter and Hayden all sat in shock after what you just watched. 

Carter was the first to speak, “well at least be getting the registration and education over an done with as soon as possible. That General Hux guy seemed pretty intense.”

“Your boss might be right Y/N we may just all be brainwashed soon. Why do I have a feeling like the First Order may be something out of a George Orwell's novel,” said Hayden.

“Just promise us you won’t do anything stupid Hayden, we will all have enough to worry about. Tomorrow at the registration office you might want to keep your conspiracy theories to yourself. I don’t know how much the First Order will like them,” you responded.

Carter seemed to be in agreement with you, “Why don’t we all just call it a night? We can meet in the parking lot of the MVR office at 5:45 AM and I’ll bring coffee for all of us.”

You and Hayden nodded in agreement. Both of them packed up their things and left. You cleaned up the kitchen and plates. Shut your laptop before preparing for bed.

You grabbed your pajamas and went into the bathroom and took a shower hoping it would relax you. Getting you changed into your clothes, brushed your hair and teeth. 

You shut off the lights to your apartment and walked over to your bed. You plugged in your phone and set an alarm before crawling into bed and drifting off into fitful sleep.

[jackthevulture]

(Updated as of February, 2020)

READ EVERYTHING PLEASE

Paypal ONLY, Prices USD, Payment Via Invoice

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Hello! I’m opening up for commissions again! I’m offering two types, Standard and Artistic Liberty. Only very simple, geometric backgrounds and props, no environments.  Highly detailed character designs and props may result in additional payment to be negotiated when you contact me.

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Line: Half Body - $20 |  Full Body - $30

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Extra Characters: +50% of the base price, each.

ARTISTIC LIBERTY

Sketch: Half Body - $15 |  Full Body - $20  

Color: Half Body - $30 |  Full Body - $40

Extra Characters: +50% of the base price, each.

Artistic Liberty commissions are an option that are less restricted in style and color than the standard type. I may experiment with different brushes and techniques, and because of this the results will not all be a uniform and consistent style with other commissioned pieces. I am open to input from commissioners on directions you’d like me to take the piece! This can be things like color schemes, kinds of brushes to use, or even example pieces from work I’ve done you’d like me to emulate. If you want to give me permission to tweak your design to fit my style more, feel free to let me know! Otherwise I will try to stay close to what you provide me with.

Ordinarily I offer a WIP stage, but with Artistic Liberty commissions you can opt out if you trust me and would like the final to be a surprise. I will not, however, give a full refund after the final is completed.  (I charge minimum 50% up front, which will be kept after completion.)

PROCESS AND PAYMENT OPTIONS

Contact me with the type of commission you’d like, an idea and some form of reference. This does not have to be visual, it can be written, though I do appreciate any supplementary references you can give me (example: images of clothing and hairstyles, examples of body type, colors you’d like me to use etc.) These aren’t design commissions though, so don’t expect me to change the design multiple times without asking for additional compensation. Please be thorough: if it is important that it be in the image, I have to know about it. I will happily make changes to WIPs, but if you ask for additions and changes I couldn’t have known of, I may ask for more compensation.

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I can draw most characters if given reference.  I also have a flexible style, so feel free to ask me about that when you email me, or suggest a direction you’d like me to go. It is much easier to list the things I will not draw than things I will. If you aren’t sure, ask me! :)

[lacefuneral]

Hello! If you haven't done them yet for the ship meme, would you answer 4, 14, and/or 21? Thank you!

(ship headcanon meme)

I’m not sure if this is for spirk or daforge so I’m doing both!

TOS Spirk:

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

Honestly? Spock. Between being raised with Vulcan values and not being able to form significant interpersonal relationships (due to bullying/xenophobia) I imagine that he’d be incredibly touch starved. Kirk brushes against his arm for the first time. Just a casual, platonic gesture and Spock’s like “I… am not opposed to this.” Because finally, he gets to experience physical contact from another person that isn’t violent in nature. So he welcomes all of the times that Kirk puts a hand on his shoulder, or pats his back, or tugs at a sleeve to get his attention. It reminds Spock that he is safe and cared for.

So when they actually start dating (and they’re no longer secretive about it), it’s just… PDA city. He wants to reciprocate, send those same feelings back to Jim and more. Spock’s leaning on him, hugging him, resting his head on Jim’s shoulder, and holding his hand (like the whole hand - not just ozh'esta). Stuff that by human standards is relatively tame, and not too dissimilar from what Jim was doing before (if a bit more lovey-dovey), but by Vulcan standards is risqué at best, obscene at worst. Anyway, Jim loves every second of it. He’s like “Hello, my gorgeous Vulcan. Yes, you can sit on the armrest of the captain’s chair and thread our fingers together. ;)”

The crew hates it. Like, there’s no lips involved but they know what’s up. You know the vine of the couple holding each other in Panera Bread? It’s like that.  

IS THIS ALLOWED? IS THAT ALLOWED?

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Jim is THE biggest baby when he gets a cold. He just kind of flops over and is like “This is it! I’m going to die!” And Spock just sort of rolls his eyes and brings him his cough medicine, or whatever they have in the future. And he’ll open up a book of Vulcan poetry, and read to Jim in his dulcet baritone until he eventually falls asleep.

Spock, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. He’s exceedingly stubborn, and refuses to stay in bed. Instead, he’ll try to suit-up in full hazmat gear (to avoid contamination) and run experiments in his lab. Until Jim catches him, of course, and does his usual: “Ah, ah, ah! No you don’t, mister!” Drags him back to his quarters, tucks him into bed, and climbs under the covers with him to keep him nice and warm. (Because Vulcans are cold-blooded.) Eventually, Spock relents, and falls asleep while Jim spoons him and gently strokes his hair.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

It’s the places they don’t go together that makes them nervous. There’s always that fear where, if only one of them goes on an away mission, the other won’t be there to protect him from danger. But having the bond helps. They’re able to check in with one another, even from a great distance - even when communicators are unhelpful. And that eases the worry somewhat.

That being said…

Spock always feels weird about going back home to Vulcan, because he has a lot of bad memories there. He worries that he’ll encounter people who harassed him in his youth, or that people will be hostile towards his human bondmate. And Jim worries for Spock, doesn’t want him to feel uncomfortable or afraid of his homeworld. And he reminds Spock of how much he has accomplished, and assures him that he will make a fine ambassador someday. That the xenophobia he faced as a child is becoming a thing of the past, and that he has the same right to be there as any other Vulcan. And that no matter what happens, Jim will always love and support him. The first couple of trips are rough on them both, but eventually they manage to not only feel comfortable visiting Vulcan, but greatly look forward to it. Spock always takes him to museums and historical sights, and Jim eagerly learns about the culture so he can understand his husband better.

Daforge:

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

I feel like at first, both of them would be really awkward about any sort of contact. Because Data isn’t sure when he should hold hands with or kiss Geordi. Where is that behavior acceptable, and where is it not? How does he know if that’s what Geordi wants? Meanwhile, Geordi assumes that because Data is an android, he just… has no interest in that sort of thing. And that, if Data did reciprocate, he’d only be doing it to please Geordi and not because he genuinely wants to do that. But eventually Data asks Geordi if he can kiss him, because he loves him and wants to “Express this through a physical gesture.” And Geordi’s like: uhhhh yeah, of course you can! And the awkwardness completely diffuses after that.

Once Geordi has been reassured that Data genuinely wants physical affection - that the feelings are mutual - he readily initiates it. Lots of arms-around-the-waist-smiling-against-his-back “Hey, babe. We still on for chess today?” Lots of standing-on-the-tips-of-his-toes to give Data a quick peck on the lips. If he’s feeling ambitious (and no one else is around) he might even give Data a playful smack on the butt, which never fails to make the android blush.

But Geordi isn’t the only one who does PDA. Data, for his part, is fond of kissing the back of Geordi’s hand like a Victorian suitor. Sometimes, he’ll kiss Geordi’s forehead (because it’s easier than craning his neck all the way down to kiss his lips). Or, when he’s feeling ambitious (and no one else is around), he’ll abruptly hoist Geordi into the air and carry him bridal style, which never fails to make the engineer blush.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Data has this On Lock™. Just like he has done with Spot, he’s programmed a vast collection of soups and teas into the replicators that he’s designed for Geordi when he gets sick. (He always requests his mom’s chicken noodle soup, though, so that particular endeavor was a waste of time.) He ensures that the room is kept at an optimal temperature, that the lights aren’t too bright (in case Geordi decides to put on his VISOR), that the sound of ocean waves are playing in the background, the humidifier is running, that there’s a box of tissues and a bag of cough drops nearby, and even gives Geordi a giant teddy bear to hug if he has work to do or if he’s summoned to the bridge.

Otherwise, Data cuddles up alongside him and helps to keep Geordi’s fever down by lowering his own temperature - essentially turning himself into a giant ice pack. He massages out any sore muscles, he rubs Geordi’s back if he throws up, and he regularly updates Dr. Crusher on Geordi’s status three times an hour, just in case. We love a caring boyfriend.

Data doesn’t really get sick, because he’s an android, but he does occasionally experience a malfunction or receives damage during an away mission. During those times, Geordi just softly talks to him and assures him that everything is going to be okay while he performs the necessary repairs. Sometimes he sings to him. I’d like to imagine it’s this song by Billie Holiday. :’)

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

After the whole Kivas Fajo incident, they tend to stick very closely together when they’re dealing with cargo freighters, scavengers, and “collectors.” Not just for Data’s sake, but for Geordi’s. His VISOR has been stolen multiple times - with the intention of being traded for bars of gold-pressed latinum. They both watch out for each other, and they do alright - but it’s still stressful to have to be vigilant during these times.