#is the longest ive had to deal with and also the Most Important

[bugintheruins]

[wellplacedbanana]

I’ve seen a few posts recently talking about how important it is for us to share our tips for dealing chronic illness with each other, and I’ve realized that as a freakishly avid community enthusiast, I’ve been falling down on the job. So, I present

Wellplacedbanana’s Ridiculously Long List of Tips for All Things Chronic Illness (Curated Over 8+ Years):

Infusion Centers

Headed to an infusion center to get that sweet sweet (expensive as hell) live-saving medication pumped directly into your veins? Here’s what I do.

Bring headphones or earplugs. Most infusion centers try to maintain a semblance of quiet for the patients, but it can get loud fast—beeping IVs, pulse ox monitors, loud families, codes. Some infusion centers do pods of multiple people and some do individual bays, so this can affect noise levels.

Drink lots of water before if you have to get an IV placed. Don’t worry too much about bringing a water bottle because they’ll give you one when you get there. (Of course, if you have something like POTS and need more intense hydration, bring the damn water bottle.) If you’re not hydrated and they can’t find a vein, they’ll call in the ultrasound tech, and they’ll bring the longest IV needle you’ve ever seen. It hurts. Drink water.

Bring a book or your Switch or something else to entertain you, but don’t expect to actually do it. I tried bringing papers to edit the first time because I was like “Oh it’s an hour and a half of uninterrupted free time. I can get so much done!” I was wrong. The nurses are constantly checking in for vitals, the unit can be loud, and I spent the whole time trying not to vomit everywhere. Different infusions will have different side affects. Knowing what yours might be will help you plan for what you want to bring. Knowing how long your infusion will be can also help. Most infusion centers have to keep you 20-45 minutes after your first dose of a new medication to make sure you don’t have an allergic reaction, so factor that into your time too.

If you’re in a pod with other patients who’re friendly and if you feel up to it, don’t be afraid to talk with them. Lots of them are lonely, bored, interested in other people, etc. I met an elderly Thai lady one time who had been there for three hours and would be there for another four AFTER I left. We talked about her husband and her kids, and she listened to me talk about punctuation as style in prose. It made me feel less alone in the medical system and helped distract me from the nausea.

Conversely, if you don’t want to interact with anyone, snap on those headphones and block everything out. The nurses will get your attention if they need you. Don’t worry about staying lucid. Your job is to get the infusion and do what’s best for you.

You can bring snacks if you want, but most units/centers will have something to munch on or can order you something from the cafeteria if you’re at a hospital. Also the medication and the smells in the unit always make me nauseous, so it’s kind of a waste for me to bother pulling together food before I leave. You can always eat before or plan to get something on the way back. Going through a drive thru to get something with protein is my go to.

If possible, schedule your next appointment while you’re there. I have to go every three months, so I schedule the next one while I’m there, and then I never have to make any fucking phone calls. Phone calls are the worst.

My last and most important tip: ask the nurses when you need something. Blankets, water, snacks, pain meds, the lights turned off. If they can’t do it, they’ll tell you. They’d rather have you ask and have to say no, then you be uncomfortable. Don’t suffer if there might be a solution.

Dealing with Shitty Doctors

There are shitty doctors everywhere, in every specialty and every hospital system. It sucks, and you can do your best to avoid them, but most chronically ill patients will have to put up with one at some point. Here are my suggestions:

If they’re refusing to acknowledge one of your symptoms is a problem (won’t order tests, won’t refer you out, won’t ask any questions), tell them it’s affect your Activities of Daily Living. ADLs are one of the ways doctors measure severity of symptoms and quality of life. ADLs are the absolutely essential things you need to do to be a functioning human: eat, shower, get dressed, brush your teeth. ADLs are a trigger word for most doctors. Physical therapists and occupational therapists were created specifically to help patients achieve their ADLs. If you’re having severe joint paint, say it’s affecting you’re ability to shower and dress in the morning. If you have intense fatigue, say you’re too tired all the time to cook food to eat or even brush your teeth before bed. Tell them your symptoms are affecting your quality of life and your ability to function daily. This won’t always work, but it’s a good starting place. (A side note: if you have have to submit an insurance appeal for something that was denied, citing ADLs as a reason to receive the treatment/medical equipment/doctors visit, will often spur them into action. Sometimes, it’ll just make them ask more questions, but questions are better than flat out denial. This was a very helpful tactic when I was trying to get my manual wheelchair approved. I told them I was unable to complete my ADLs and it was affecting my quality of life, and they eventually came around. It’s also important to remember that ADLs are only the most base tasks that you need to live. Driving, working, socializing—those aren’t included in ADLs, and insurance especially will laugh in your face if you try to say you need medical equipment for something like that.)

Lots of doctors, consciously or unconsciously, will judge how you’re actually feeling by your mood in an appointment. I had a pediatric neurologist who couldn’t be convinced that my pain was at an 8 because I would laugh with my mom in the waiting room. Eight months in, I started getting real quiet, not talking, crying when he talked, all that shit, and he was so fucking flummoxed. He was like “what changed?? Are you depressed??” And I had to remind him that I was thirteen with a severe shoulder inure that hurt every time I breathed. Doctors will judge you based on how you look and how you present. It’s horrible, but it’s true. Present to them in the way that represents what they’d expect to see for your symptoms.

Whatever you do, don’t say anything (or send any snappy messages) that might be considered aggressive until you are absolutely, 100% positive you will never ever have to see them again. I’ve had a few doctors that said ridiculously horrible things to me. It’s tempting to send them a message about how shitty they’ve been or how much they’ve hurt you, but it won’t help. Shitty doctors have fragile egos and they don’t like to be challenged. They won’t take this well, and they’ll mark you as attention seeking, emotional, mentally unstable—you name it. When your other doctors call to ask questions about symptoms, etc, they’ll start talking shit, and everything gets complicated. This might sound dramatic to anyone who hasn’t seen it happen, but honestly, the medical system abuses emotion and mental illness to discard patients that aren’t afraid to advocate for themselves, and this is one of the least immoral ways they do it.

Remember that you don’t owe your doctors anything (except basic human decency). If they ask you to do something and you can’t or don’t want to, don’t. My psychiatrist was really fixated on me getting a light box to cure my depression. I did Not want to do that, so I didn’t. Sometimes, your doctors won’t move on to further treatment or tests until you try it, but most of the time you can say, “that’s not something I’m able to do right now. Let’s explore further options,” and they’ll move on.

Remember that learning to advocate for yourself takes years of practice. Just do your best, and try not to blame yourself for the ways you get mistreated. Therapy is the best investment I’ve ever made for this. It’s helped me learn how to advocate and how to process medical trauma.

Medication

For gods sake, take the as needed medication when you have a migraine or if you’re nauseous. Don’t punish yourself.

This might seem like a no brainer, but if you’re traveling and you’re going to take your medication bottles with you, put them in a ziplock bag. They will definitely open in your suitcase, and you’ll have to pick Levothyroxine out of your socks.

If a medication gives you icky side effects, tell your doctor and ask if there’s something that doesn’t do that. For me personally, it’s hard to find medication that works at all, so I often get stuck with things that make me feel like shit. But it doesn’t hurt to ask. Sometimes new medications come out or they dig up old ones.

Some medications come in dissolvable tablets or suppositories. They’re not fun, but if you have trouble swallowing pills, this is a good way to go. Again, communicate with your doctor about these things. I know that there are Scopolamine patches for nausea too. I’ve never used them before, but it might be worth looking into if need easy nausea relief.

All Things Wheelchair

Man, wheelchairs suck, but they’re also amazing. If you find yourself using one, you’ll encounter a steep learning curve.

If you’re not super buff when you first start, it’ll seem impossible to go up even a slight incline. Your arms will get stronger the more you move around, but it might take time. I eventually bit the bullet and started doing personal training. I’m lucky that I can afford it, and I know it’s not an option for everyone, but if you can, find a trainer who won’t saying anything shitty and who’s willing to accommodate. I worked with a queer-owned gym to find someone I was comfortable with. We do upper body strength training, and it gives me a chance to move my body more often. I still can’t go up big hills, but I feel infinitely more mobile. Give yourself time to adjust to the new strain on your body, even if you don’t do training for it. You’ll be sore in the beginning. Ice and heat will be your friends after long days. If your wrists start hurting a lot, you’re not wheeling correctly, and you should ask your doctor for a referral to PT or OT. Oh and your hands will be fucked for the first few weeks. I bought special wheelchair gloves to try to combat this, but it just made it harder for me to maneuver. Now I only use the gloves if it’s cold, if I’m going down hills, or in the rain/snow. (But seriously, if you’re going down steep hills, use traction gloves.)

Learn to pop a wheelie as soon as possible. It’s such a helpful skill. If you get good enough, you’ll be able to get up over single steps and traverse shitty pavement.

If your wheelchair has a cushion, then it has a cushion cover. Wash it.

Time for the grossest part: cutting hair out of your caster wheels. I hate this. I hate it so much. It’s fucking disgusting, but you have to do it. It’ll fuck up your wheels and make it harder to maneuver. Also it’s just gross to have all that nasty hair hanging out by your feet. Get yourself a long pair of thin scissors and cut all that hair out every week or every two weeks. If you don’t have long hair or live with people who have long hair, then you might be able to wait longer. You should also sanitize your hand rims while you’re at it. Hand sanitizer or Clorox wipes are great for this.

You’ll notice that it’s fucking impossible to carry shopping baskets or suitcases if you use a manual chair. Some people try to balance them on their laps or wedge them onto their footplates, but it’s pretty precarious. I got these weird peg things that attach to the frame. You can place a basket or your bag on it and still keep your hands free. Here’s the link for the ones I got, but it depends on your make and model, so do some research and call some different companies before buying anything. Also, make sure to measure the distance between the two sides of your frame to make sure a basket will be able to balance on the two pegs. Your frame might be too wide for this. Mine is, but I bought a special basket to take to the store that’s wide enough to reach across.

Lots of people will offer to push you. Some won’t even offer; they’ll just grab on and take you in whatever direction. It’s insanely invasive and dehumanizing. Don’t be afraid to put on your breaks if someone does this. I can stand and take small steps, so sometime I just get up and stare at them. You can also buy covers for your handles that have spikes so people can’t grab them. I know some wheelchair users who like it when people offer to push them. That’s good too! Take the help if you want it. Just remember to prioritize your safety and comfort. I had a big debate with another disabled person about whether it was infantilizing for someone to offer to hold open the door for us. I’m firmly on the side that they can offer, and I can say no, and they can listen, and then we can both appreciate the moment of shared humanity between us. They did not agree. Disabled people fight and disagree all the time because we’re not all carbon copies of each other. That’s okay! Just be respectful.

Getting a customized manual wheelchair was one of the single most stressful things I had to deal with. Insurance doesn’t like to pay for them because it’s about 3-12k, depending on the specifications and add-ons. But it’s also been the most liberating thing I’ve done since getting my mobility stripped from me. I’m not sure how it works for everyone, but I got a referral from my doctor to a custom wheelchair company. From there, they took measurements, discussed needs, and showed me different models. It’s going to be really really difficult to know what you want the first time. There’s a lot of different brands and customizations, so do your research and talk in depth with whoever’s making your chair. Ultra lite rigid frames are my favorite because they’re usually only 15-40 pounds, and the wheels can come off to make it even lighter. However, rigid frames don’t fold together in the middle like classic manual wheelchairs that you might find at a hospital or get at a rental company. They can be difficult to fit in the backseat of a car or in some trunks, so make sure to measure any cars you ride in regularly. Some people prefer to have tilted wheels so they can turn easier. Some people don’t want anything to do with that. Depending on your mobility and the people in your life, you might choose not to add push handles to your chair. I added some to mine because I often get dizzy, and it’s helpful to have handles in case I need someone to push me out of the crosswalk or into the shade. People who are highly independent and extremely strong might not want push handles because they won’t need help up steep hills. I like my handles a lot; however, my chair back is shorter than a standard wheelchair because it helps increase range of motion when I’m wheeling, so my push handles are lower than normal, and anyone who wants to push me has to hunch a bit to reach. Again, do your research and talk to your rep before making final decisions. Some companies will let you test out the chairs they have on hand to see what you like. It’s important to work with a wheelchair company you really like because you’re literally putting you life in their hands. I’ve had better luck with smaller, locally-owned companies, but you can’t always get referrals there, and not every town has them. Here’s my tip to you: Numotion sucks ass. Avoid them. My branch of Numotion seems to be an outlier; I’ve had really good experiences with them. But most of the time, its impossible to get ahold of anyone, their hours are few and random, and their customer service reps are rude. But! After you’ve completed your order form—gotten measurements and found customizations—they’ll submit it to insurance. This is the tricky part. I went through four appeals, before I got mine approved. Luckily, I had insurance through my mom’s job, and after the last appeal, her company told the insurance that they had to pay for it. This won’t be the case with everyone. Be diligent with your appeals. Have your doctors write specific, clear letters about why you need it, including information about all the customizations and add-ons. It’s likely that they’ll only pay for the base chair, and you’ll have to pay out of pocket for any extra things. Another note: most insurance companies will only pay for a new chair once every five years (if they approve the first one at all), so be sure that the chair you pick out will work for you for at least the next five and a half years.

I had an advisor in college tell me something devastating once: there is no AAA for wheelchairs. I’d broken a caster wheel and gotten stuck on a university sidewalk in 102 degree heat, and she was telling me about her own experiences getting stranded after one of her tires popped. She’s right; if you’re wheelchair breaks, you’re stuck wherever you are without any backup. Carry your phone with you. Tell your friends or family where you’re going before you leave. Familiarize yourself with the wheelchair repairs shops in your area. Sometimes places like bike shops will be able to help you fix smaller things. I always carry an Allen wrench with me in case I need to take a part off. And don’t worry; you’ll find that if something does go wrong, people are far more willing to help than you’d expect. One of the sculpture professors in the art department found me that day and went back to his workshop to get all his tools. He brought me water and sat in the sun while he tried to fix my wheel, and when he couldn’t, he offered to drive me wherever I needed to go. This man was a tenured professor with a prestigious MFA, and he was running late for a party where he was supposed to be handing out awards. You’ll find lots of good people when things inevitably go to shit.

Going along with the last point, your wheelchair will break, and you will have to send it into the shop to get repairs. If you can, invest in a cheap manual chair that you can use in emergencies. If you live with other people, you can buy a transport chair for cheaper, but you’ll need someone around to push you because it won’t have hand rims.

If you’re new to wheelchair use, give yourself space to feel all the emotions. When I first started, I had been using an office chair(!) to get around. My mom would push me from my bed to the bathroom and then back to bed while we waited to get a rental. I was so relieved when I got my own chair that I pushed everything else down. It took months to allow myself to be sad about all the things I couldn’t do anymore and be angry about all the inaccessible infrastructure that America has. Don’t push it down. Talk to a therapist or find people in the community to discuss it with. (If I choose to talk about my frustrations with friends, I always start with “I need to vent right now, and I’m grateful you’re willing to listen to me, but I’m not looking for any solutions to this at the moment,” or “can you give me some suggestions to work around these things that are frustrating me?” This gives my friends insight into what I need, instead of making them guess. It keeps us both from getting frustrated, and I highly suggest it, especially if you or your friends have trouble navigating social situations/expectations.)

Hand Controls

Hand controls are great option for your car if you’re unable to use your feet to drive. I got mine about a year back, but it was tricky and really confusing at first.

First thing you need to know: you can’t get hand controls without a prescription from a specialist. Usually a certain type of occupational therapist. You can look up driving rehab OTs in your area, but there aren’t many of them, and lots of the time you’ll have to drive several hours to see one. There’s usually a long wait list as well. (And of course, a lot of them don’t take insurance.)

If you’re able to find someone who’s certified, they’ll do an intake appointment and assess your physical abilities and needs. Sometimes, they’ll do the assessment and decide you aren’t fit to use hand controls. This can be for a multitude of reasons, including impaired mental cognition and slow reaction time, issues with hand or arm mobility, or there might be a better way to adapt a car for you. Again, it varies greatly on the person, and I’m not an OT, so I don’t know all the ins and outs. If you pass the assessment, and they view you got to drive with hand controls, you’ll be required to do a certain amount of training where you practice using different equipment. Some OTs will know what you need to use right away, and others will have you try different things out to see what fits best. There’s a lot of types of hand controls and a lot of adaptations that can be done to a car, so it really depends on the person. My training was only about 15 hours (plus independent driving practice), but it’ll depend on whether this is your first time ever driving, if you’ve driven without hand controls before, and if you have any other medical issues that might make it hard for you to adapt. Once you’ve completed the training and received your certificate from the OT, they’ll write a prescription to send to a shop that does specialty car adaptation. Kind of like wheelchairs, the shop you go to is very important. Ask your OT if they have any favorites in the area. Insurance never covers this, and some shops will way overcharge you if you’re not careful. My hand controls were about 3k out of pocket, but it was definitely worth it. It would’ve been a lot more to add other adaptations like a lift or a ramp, but sometimes you can buy used accessible vans for cheaper than adding it to your own car. Something to know: you’re usually able to turn your hand controls on and off. So if your friend needs to borrow your car, or you need to let a mechanic test drive it, you can disable to hand controls and allow someone else to use the foot pedals as normal.

Overall, it’s a very long, very expensive process, so plan ahead and be prepared to wait and pay.

Navigating Raising a Kid with Chronic Illnesses

I don’t have any kids, but my mom was my sole caretaker growing up, and I can offer you some of her thoughts. You have to remember that no matter what age your kid is, chronic illness is an impossible thing for them to deal with, and yet they have to deal with it anyways. Sometimes, there’s no good way to comfort a child who’s in 10/10 pain, or who’s about to undergo a life-altering procedure. All you can do is your best. Communicate. Offer support. Give affection. Make your love unconditional. I was a very angry teenager. I was angry with my mom that she couldn’t fix it, and I was angry with my doctors for the way they treated me. There were days where I would yell and sob and refuse to take my meds, and there where days where I would stare at the wall and not respond to anything. It drove my mom up the wall. She’s used to fixing things, and this was one of those things she couldn’t even help. I know she stills holds a lot of guilt for this, but she shouldn’t. She did her best. You’re doing your best too. You can’t fix everything. That being said, here are her suggestions:

Therapy, therapy, therapy. They might hate it, but some day, they’ll thank you. Remember that not every therapist is right for every patient. If your kid wants to switch to a different therapist, let them. It’s better than them sitting and not speaking the whole session.

Lots of kids with developing rare undiagnosed diseases will go through this vicious cycle where they get a new symptom, get sent to a specialist, get dismissed, and then develop a new symptom and start the process all over again. It’s not easy. My mom was a fan of throwing Pity Parties. Every once in a while, when the grind of it all started making us feel hopeless, she’d take me to the store and say, “pick out snacks and drinks. We’re going to throw a pity party, gorge on sugar, watch Lord of the Rings, feel bad for ourselves, and tomorrow, we’ll dust ourselves off and try again.” It helped. It was good to know that sometimes you can let life feel unfair, and it was even better to know that the next day it would be easier to try again.

A lot of being chronically ill as a kid is getting decisions stripped from you and having unexpected negative experiences. My mom would try to do spontaneous things every once in a while to remind me that not all surprises are bad. Instead of driving straight home after school one Friday, she took me to Starbucks without saying anything. After an MRI, she stopped at an art fair and let me pick out a necklace. We would go to the library after I spent the day in the hospital. Sometimes, she’d call my aunts while I was at school to come over and play card games on the weekends. And she was really big on giving me choices in everything. She never made me agree to new (non-lifesaving) treatment. Ever. If she really wanted me to do it, we’d talk it over and come to an agreement that made us both happy. Sick kids are forced into adulthood early; they know how to make calculated, logical decisions when needed. Let them be a part of their own healthcare. (They should also be given the chance to make rash, stupid decisions that have no bearing on their health.)

Keep track of everything. Doctors, meds, ER visits, PT exercises, diets they’ve tried for GI issues, everything about the surgeries they’ve undergone. Some day, you’ll need it. Or your kid will grow up into a chronically ill adult, and they’ll need it.

Talk to their school counselor about getting a 504 or IEP. Even if they’re not struggling. I was a super academically minded kid; I didn’t struggle to understand new concepts or complete homework correctly. But eventually it became hard for me to attend class and finish assignments. Having an IEP saved me. 504s are a lot easier to get (a lot less paperwork, less testing, less pushback from admin), but they’re not legally binding. If you want something concrete and all-encompassing, go for the IEP. IEPs are also really helpful when trying to get accommodations in college. You can also start with a 504 and switch to an IEP later. While we’re on the subject of school: remember that education is important, but school is not the end all be all of your child’s life. What should matter the most to you is that they end up safe and happy. I didn’t graduate high school; I took a proficiency test my junior year and dropped out. It was the best choice I could’ve made at the time, but it was still tough for my mom. I ended up going to college, and now I have a pretty solid job, but every kid will be different. Their mental and physical health is the most important. School is a huge huge huge stressor. Don’t make it harder for them than it already is.

Dating

God dating sucks enough on its own, but adding in chronic illness and disability just makes it a shit show. I don’t have a lot to offer on this other than you shouldn’t settle for anyone who doesn’t respect you, treat you with love and compassion, and accept every part of you for what it is. People will say rude shit. They’ll be nasty, fetishizing, infantilizing, dismissive. Some won’t be able to put up with all the things that come along with being ill. I sound like a broken record, but find a good therapist who can help you voice your needs and expectations clearly. Remember that you never have to go on a date if you don’t want to. Participate as you see fit. Throw it all out if you want.

I don’t have enough time to go into my tips for intimacy/sex and disability, but I’ll give you the highlights.

Communicate. Make it very clear what you’re able to do, what you’re interested in doing, and what you don’t want.

There are lots of ways to have sex. If you’re both having fun, being safe, and engaging consensually, then you’re doing it right. Don’t let abled bodied people tell you the way it should be done. There are lots of accessibility friendly toys to invest in, too.

As weird as it might sound, don’t be afraid to take breaks. Keep water near by. If you have POTS, keep salt or electrolyte tablets on hand. If you have to stop to vomit or go to the bathroom, don’t let it shame you. Go at your own pace and take care of your body.

Misc

Having seizures on a college campus: Most universities have a policy that if you lose consciousness while on campus, they have to call an ambulance. You are not required to ride in the ambulance. You can decline, and the paramedics will make you sign a form before leaving. If you’re still actively having seizures, then they’ll take you anyways, but you probably won’t be in any shape to try to decline. If you’re having seizures regularly, tell your professors. It’ll freak them the fuck out, so warn them ahead of time. It makes the whole thing a lot less awkward when you collapse in the aisle during a lecture. Related to that: communicate with your professors about all your accommodations and emergency health needs. They really honestly appreciate it when you talk to them about this stuff. Even if they have a big class and don’t remember you, it’s good to send them an email and introduce yourself. Hopefully, you’ve also talked to your college’s Disability Resource Center. If not, go do that. Now. (There’s a whole lot of shit that I have to say about campus accessibility and disability resource centers, but I’m not gonna go into it right now.) Also, wear your medical alert bracelet. I know they suck, but it sucks more for someone to be digging through your pants pocket while you’re seizing to try to find your wallet. And keep your emergency contact info pinned up somewhere in your dorm. I used to put mine on the fridge and point it out to my roommates at the beginning of term. It can take a while for RAs to pull yours up, so it’s best to make sure it’s easily accessible.

Remember that you do not function like a normal person. There is no wrong way to solve one of your problems. If you need to put a stool in your bathroom to sit at while you brush your teeth, do it. I got an extra tall stool to sit at while I cook at the stove because my wheelchair is too short. (Cooking in a wheelchair is another thing I could talk about forever.) If you need to wear a sleep mask on the bus because the light makes your migraine worse, do it. People can look at you funny all they want. Like I said, I rolled around my house in an office chair while I waited for a rental wheelchair. What I’m trying to say is find things that work and implement them, even if they’re non traditional.

Here’s what I pack in my bag for an ER visit: headphones, phone charger, book, zofran, Naproxen, water bottle, wallet with cash, socks, and sleep mask to block out the waiting room lights. If I’m expecting to be admitted, then I’ll pack more, but I try to keep it light if it’s just triage and a visit with the ER doctor. Sometimes I’ll stuff a granola bar or some almonds in there too.

My biggest tip for surviving hospital stays is to get out of your room (if possible). Go on walks around the unit. Some hospitals have little courtyards patients can sit in. If you’re in peds, go visit the rec room, even if it’s awkward. Their activities are usually meant for the younger kids, but it can be fun to connect with other people your age, and you’ll thank yourself later when you’re stuck in bed at 3am. Also, tell your friends to come visit you. Not everyone will be able to, but most people are happy to come hang out for an hour or two. It’ll help; I promise.

Clean your room every few weeks. Dear god, clean your room. I have trouble with executive functioning and finding energy to do housekeeping type stuff, but I get more depressed when my room is gross. So clean your room. Especially if you have hypersomnia/sleep excessively.

Don’t force yourself to use a pill organizer. I know everyone says it makes it easier, but I get overwhelmed when I have to refill it, and then I just don’t end up taking my meds. If it doesn’t work for you, don’t do it. If it does, then do it!

Don’t buy the self help books your therapist recommends unless you’re actually interested in reading them. It’ll just sit on your shelf and make you feel guilty for not being good enough.

Mental illness is tightly bound to physical illness. Try to be an active listener in your body. Sometimes, when I’ve been feeling really nauseous, my PSTD symptoms will get triggered over nothing, and it’ll frustrate the fuck out of me because it seems like it’s happening over nothing. I try to track when my emotional state is worse to see if it’s correlated to my physical symptoms. This helps curb the frustration and guilt. Sometimes it makes me dissociate more. It’s a balancing act. Just do your best.

Hobbies are so so so important. Make sure to give yourself time to work on them! And there are a million ways to adapt the activities you love if you’re having trouble, so don’t afraid to do some research. I know they have crochet hook grips for people with arthritis or loose grips, and there are super intense magnifying glasses for people who like to cross stitch and are having trouble seeing the tiny ass holes. I have a color blind friend who sends us pictures of paint to see if it’s the shade he wants. Very occasionally, you’ll come to the conclusion that there’s a hobby you can’t adapt. Let yourself be sad. I can’t hike anymore and it sucks. I can’t go tide-pooling either, and its not like if I just work really hard I’ll be able to do it some day. Life is shit, and sometimes you have to let things go. Be angry, be sad, tell people to fuck off if they try to turn you into inspiration porn, but also remember that there are lots of other cool things out there to try.

Going along with the hobby thing: take the time to learn ASL if you’re having trouble with your hearing or if you often go nonverbal. One of my friends had to get hearing aids last year, and we offered to learn with them, but they were hesitant because it feels like a non necessity to them. Something selfish that would take up all our time. If you think it’ll help, you should grant yourself the time to learn. Capitalism makes us think that we shouldn’t engage in activities unless we gain money or power from them, but that mindset will kill you. Your life will be infinitely easier if you learn ASL online with your partner or friends or siblings.

Look up Spoon Theory. It’s not a helpful metaphor for everyone, but most people in the community talk about it, so it’s good to be familiar with it.

Don’t be afraid to go out and find community! Find support groups, look up wheelchair sports if you’re into getting sweaty, brave the awkwardness of starting conversations with other patients in the clinic. I’m wholly and completely of the idea that humans are innately good. There are lots of interesting chronically ill/disabled people who’re looking for connection. Insurance companies and other medical entities rely on us feeling isolated, alone, and uniformed to continue making money and hold power. It’s important that we share with and support each other.

I know a lot of this is basic stuff, but it’s helpful to have reminders, and if you’re new to the whole song and dance, then it’s nice to get a sneak peak. There are a million things I didn’t get to, but this was what was on the top of my brain.

Also, I’m not the collective voice of every chronically ill person in the world. My experiences are not yours and they’re not everyone else’s. What works for me, might not work for you. Be kind.

[starker-raving-mads]

For You: Part VII

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

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To say that the next week was hectic was to put it lightly. Peter didn't surface from the lab for anything - Not Aunt May (and her terrible lasagna that Peter loved so dearly), not Ned and MJ, not even for Bucky, who had taken to texting Peter fairly regularly with things like lunch requests or questions about pop culture.

(The man was, hilariously, Steve's opposite in that regard. He still didn't remember much of his time on ice, but he reveled in all of modern technology instead of simply trying to deal with it, which was Steve's approach. He and Peter had partaken in more than one text conversation that ended after 2 hours with, 'Steve's taking my phone because he says I'm becoming a zombie staring at the screen. I think he's just jealous because he doesn't understand modern…anything, really. I think he might be a himbo. Am I using that word right?')

No, Peter instead spent that time with Tony, having the longest, craziest, most wonderful lab binge of his life. His sleep schedule was royally messed up because of it, taking to just falling asleep at his desk or on the couch instead of going back up to the penthouse. He only got a few hours at a time like that anyway and it just didn't seem worth it to put an official pause on their work.

What was their work? Integrating Tony into everything.

He was already fully incorporated into the lab, that was easy enough after the confirmation of the program's success. But they made small tweaks to improve his core functioning systems, defined a few things, and Tony went from almost being Tony Stark to really being Tony Stark. The first day or two, the man had stilled unnaturally in a way that Tony just never had. He'd also not remember certain things, important things, until reminded of them.

"I have a daughter?" he'd asked, overwhelmed awe spread across his face. "I have a daughter!" He looked at Peter then, that same unfamiliar softness in his eyes. "I made you her godfather! Isn't Morgan just amazing?"

"Sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter grimaced at the perplexity on the other man's face. "Since Ms. Potts has been kind of…upset about the whole SI thing, I haven't been allowed to see her." And he'd tried, he really had. He wanted to know the little girl that was half Tony, who was his family in all but blood. But Pepper had responded to every request with a resounding 'no' and she was Morgan's mom, so she got the final say.

Tony had a look of determination on his face at that. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

But all those little issues had been flushed out in the first few days, and now they were working on incorporating his program into everything. Peter already wired him into the Spider-Man suit, tapped him into the tower's network architecture, and into the smart glasses the man had pointed out to him that were, apparently, never finished in the face of the Peter Project.

EDITH, he had called it, but based on all the features she had, Peter was mostly positive it was better that project was never finished. Peter kept the glasses, though, body having an all over shiver the first time he heard Mr. Stark's voice directly in his ear.

Now, they were putting the finishing touches on getting Tony wired into the penthouse, which had its own individual network infrastructure and security protocols. Having Friday helped with a lot of the grunt work, but there were some fine tuning things that Peter had to do to wrap it up.

"There!" he said, leaning back on his haunches as he slid the discreet panel back over the hidden network rack in the living room (carefully hidden behind tall, leafy vegetation he was vaguely sure was called a monster plant). "Okay, Fri-baby, fire it up, let him in."

"Are you sure, Mom?" Friday said, voice warm with humor. "Shouldn't guests knock first?"

"Your father is not a guest, dear," he joked back with her, loving the rapid way she grew with him. He was weirdly proud of her, seeing all these changes in behavior and temperament.

"If you say so."

And then - Tony.

Adding the holographic projection system was another touch Peter had to manually install, like with a drill and everything. It was absolutely worth the time spent crawling around on the ceiling when the man bloomed to life in front of him, craning his neck around to check out the apartment.

"Man, I forgot how bland this place was," he said, eyeing the all-white leather couch and black slate flooring of the sunken living room.

"Bland?" Peter asked, aghast. "This place is great!"

Tony gave him a look. "Kid, I know your taste runs to the science pun t-shirt side of the spectrum, but all black and white isn't exactly that much of a step up from beige."

Peter flushed. "I mean, it's simple but it's nice! And why did you even pick it if you didn't like it?"

"Oh," the older man responded, casually walking around the space. "I didn't. Hired some expensive decorator and told them to go crazy with it." He shrugged. "The lab was always my space, so I didn't really give a damn went on up here as much. Pep was the one to put the art and stuff up - which I see she took."

"Yeah, it was gone by the time I got up here, but not much else thankfully. And I guess that makes sense. The lab just…feels like you, Mr. Stark."

Tony gave him another look. "Kid, you've gotta start calling me Tony. It's cute when you say it, but since I'm essentially a ghost, I think we're past the point of titles."

"I mean," Peter said, struggling not to let all the blood in his body rush to his face at how enflamed he felt at Mr. Stark calling him cute. "If I'm only cute when I say it, I guess I have to keep it up, right, Mr. Stark?" He was falling far short of the playful retort he was going for, mostly because there was too much sincerity in the words.

"Pete, you're cute with or without the 'Mr. Stark' schtick," Tony chuckled casually, as though he wasn't uprooting Peter's entire existence right now.

"O-oh, okay." This was one of those things that made Tony differ from Mr. Stark and Peter had to say, he appreciated it. The openness and honesty, the lack of barrier he could always feel was there before. He wondered how much of it was anxiety and part of the physical pretense of being Tony Stark that made him that way, that he lacked now. Whatever it was, Peter liked it. "So, Tony."

"That's my name, kid," he winked, "don't wear it out."

Peter rolled his eyes. This was the Tony he was used to.

"But seriously," Tony continued, picking their previous conversation back up. "You should redo this place, liven it up a little! Some paint, new furniture, yada yada," he waved a hand around the room. "I've seen your bedroom, not to mention the apartment you shared with May - eclectic is in, and now you've got all the money in the world to make your space your own."

"I hadn't really thought about it like that," Peter said, walking over to where Tony's glowing blue form was. "It just - it feels so weird to change things in your house, you know?"

"Peter, and I say this sincerely," Tony said and yes his tone was playful but sincere nonetheless. "I never cared about how this place looked, it was a matter of convenience. It was a bed and a kitchen and a respectable place to have people over but that's about it. And it's your house now."

Peter furrowed his brow. "But the media center and the blankets and pillows - ?"

"Yeaaaaah," the man dragged out and turned to look over at the TV set up in question. "I may or may not have bought that after you mentioned wanting to binge Star Wars with me when you'd realized I hadn't seen all of them." He shrugged but the casual gesture was ruined by the side-eyed sincerity.

"You bought," Peter started, "an entire TV set up, surround sound, and game console just to watch TV with me?"

"Sure," the man shrugged again and Peter knew for a fact that his whole casual-whatever he was doing was put upon, but he didn't know how to call it out - or if he even wanted to.

What do you say when someone spends a few thousand grand on something because you mentioned it offhand in one conversation?

"Listen, kid," Tony sighed, looking over at him finally. "I told you I was too much and this is what I meant. I do - too much. Extravagant gifts and shit like," he waved his hand at the media center wall, "whole media center set ups and custom blankets without asking." He shrugged, and it was probably the first time Peter had ever seen the man truly awkward, for all that he fidgeted normally. "People've been telling me that my whole life but I just can't ever seem to break the habit." He sounded truly apologetic and that was the moment that Peter snapped.

"Stop," he said, voice firm, face rigid. Tony looked at him, chagrined, like a kid being told off after putting his hand in the cookie jar. "There is nothing wrong with you," Peter continued and watched as the man's glowing blue face snapped up at him in surprise. "Your love language is just gift giving, is all," he explained. "You show people you care by giving them things and I bet it's always things like this," he waved toward the media center. "Things they've mentioned or things you know they'll need or care about. Right?" Tony nodded, eyes wide behind his square framed glasses. "Then, there you go," he said, running out of the confident steam he'd been using for his little mini-rant. "You just want to give people you care about things to make their lives better or things they want or way to enjoy themselves better. There's nothing wrong with that. Sure, it can feel like a little much sometimes due to the expense of such things but at the same time - it's your money, you can afford it, so why not?"

The look on Tony's face clearly said that no one had spelled it out like that before and that he wasn't totally sure if he believed Peter.

Peter smiled, a little sadly. "Tony, if I had thought you were giving me things to make me in debt to you or buy my loyalty or something, I'd have turned them down. But it's obvious you don't, and why would I try and hurt you by being a dick about it?"

Tony cleared his throat. "I gotta say, kid, you're like the first person to not give a damn about it. It's always either people after my money, or people who think I'm trying to buy them with it. It's…refreshing."

"I mean," Peter said while he walked over to the large, squishy chaise side of the couch he liked. "It's not like I don't think about it? It's just - like I didn't grow up with a lot of money, right? And neither did my friends. And so when Ned or someone went out of their way to get me something it really meant a lot. And while you have the ability to probably buy a small country - " Tony laughed, " - that doesn't negate the fact that you put thought and energy into it just like anyone else would."

Tony sat down on the other side of the couch from him, their usual seats, and the normalcy of the action soothed Peter. He was starting to look past the faint blue glow of the other man and just see Tony.

"Thanks, kid," Tony said, looking over at him. "I mean that."

"I know you do," Peter smiled softly. He curled in on himself, snuggling into the cushions, wishing he had his movie blanket.

Tony's mind seemed to go the same direction. "Where's that blanket of yours?" he asked, craning his neck to look at the space where the basket of blankets and spare pillows for the living room used to be.

Peter sighed. "It was one of the things Ms. Potts took," he shrugged. "I haven't gotten around to replacing it yet."

The older man frowned. "You should have Friday do it," he finally said. "I didn't buy it, I crafted it out of the same textile I used to make Steve's stuff with." At Peter's look, he explained, "Capcicle has a similar texture issue that you do, senses cranked up a little under yours. Your first Spider-Man suit was made out of an off-shoot of the formula, but the base is perfect for blankets and things." He furrowed his brow, looking away, thinking. "Pepper knew that," he muttered to himself. "Fri? Get on that, will you?"

"You got it, Boss."

"Maybe she had them grab it by accident when she sent people up to get the artwork and stuff?" Peter pondered.

"Yeah, maybe," Tony agreed though he didn't sound convinced. "How about," he said instead of whatever seemed to be on his mind, "you go grab a blanket from somewhere and we watch something. You wouldn't believe how fast my brain runs now," he chuckled. "And I don't really sleep anymore, so being online and zoning out a little would be nice."

Peter smiled and agreed, stopping at the kitchen to pop a bag of microwave popcorn in before heading down the hallway. He paused by his room first before ultimately going to Tony's and grabbing the bundled up comforter. It was just so much softer than the one in the guest room, and it still faintly smelled like the other man. That wasn't too weird right?

Pushing back the anxiety in him that screamed, 'uh yeah it's weird he's going to call you out on it,' Peter walked back out to the living room and dumped it onto the couch. He tried to be casual about it, twisting on his heel to grab the popcorn and pour it into a bowl before coming back to the living room and snuggling down into the blanket.

He tried not to pay attention to the long, long look Tony gave him when the teen asked, "Anything you're in the mood for?"

After a moment, the older man said, "Fuck it, let's watch Star Wars again."

[copiass]

What's In A Name?

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,218

Warnings: nsfw, light dom/sub, oral sex, glove kink, dirty talk, office sex

"It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip-up that had sparked something sick and wicked right in the pit of your stomach."

AKA: Whilst harbouring a secret crush you use your boss’ last name without him knowing. (I know nothing about tax returns or identity fraud, deal with it.)

Can also be read on ao3

Other fics here

It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip up that had sparked something sick and wicked in the pit of your stomach. An urge to fulfil some long-dormant, base need that had somehow started to form in the deepest part of your gut. An urge that had, admittedly, spiralled out of control weeks ago. An urge that currently had you pacing towards Copia’s office, pretty sure you were about to get fired.

You’d been Papa’s Personal Assistant for about six months, and up to now it had been going just swimmingly. The promotion had been a surprise, the latest Sister handing in her notice red-faced and vexed after being summoned to Copia’s office for yet another lecture. She had managed to last 2 months, admittedly his longest up to that point. But his PA’s always ended up the same, pacing and ranting endlessly in Imperators' office, notice in hand, begging to be moved elsewhere to spare his ‘incessant micromanaging’. You had been fairly new to the clergy, eager to make a good impression with a secret soft-spot for the newest Papa. With, unsurprisingly, few takers for the role all it had taken was a short interview with some of the higher members of the clergy and you were in, your own desk, a stripe of Papa’s blue added to your uniform and even an extra half-day off in the week (though, admittedly, you rarely saw it). 

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that Copia was not, in-fact, an insufferable asshole, a particularly cruel employer, or a dictatorial micro-manager. He just appreciated when things were done a certain way. And - oh - you’d made the effort to learn, how he liked his papers filed and tabs colour-coded, how he preferred his stationary ordered at his desk, the exact temperature he liked his afternoon tea. It became easy, placing things on his desk before even he realised he needed them, slipping his old books back to the library without him asking, making sure his reading glasses were sat right where he would reach for them while he absent-mindedly flicked through paperwork. It just worked. The more time you spent with him the more you understood what he wanted, what he needed, just intuitively. Yes, Copia ran a tight ship, with little to no room for slip ups, but you soon realised it’s because it had to be that way. His keen attention to detail sometimes seeming like the only thing keeping the whole ship afloat and fully functional. 

Not that he had made it easy for you. It was like he had already resigned you to failure that first morning you showed up in his office, eyes flicking over you briefly before he looked back down his nose through his glasses, examining spreadsheets with a displeased hum. It had only pushed you, the more unmoved he appeared at your presence the harder you worked to get it right. The more paperwork he pushed through your desk without comment, the quicker you filed it. The more he complained about his tea not being right the longer you kept it brewing. The louder he scoffed under his breath at his ink running dry, the sooner you were there to refill his pen. Not with Ministry issued ink, no, but Copia’s favourite ink. The one imported from Italy in a gilded case, kept in the top right-hand drawer, behind his ‘secret’ chocolate stash. And it was worth it - so - worth it when he would give you that look. Like you had pleased him, that he understood what you had done, that he appreciated it, deeply.  

And it felt perversely intimate. Knowing someone so well when you barely knew them at all. You quickly learned Copia was not a morning person and did not like to chit-chat before at least 9.30am. His favourite lunch was on Fridays when the kitchens brought up a small charcuterie board paired with an expensive red to finish off the work week. He preferred the black olives to the green ones, even though you insisted they were the same just to wind him up and watch the smirk pull at his painted lips. You learned how he bit away at those same lips when he was expecting a phone call from Saltarian, and how he rubbed at his temples when he had been working too long, the both of you sprawled across the desks working into the early hours of the morning. 

Copia learned too. He learned that when you were stressed you’d chew on the end of his, frustratingly, expensive pens as you worked, brow furrowed as you read over his work. He learned that if he voiced his distaste for green olives for long enough you would eventually slink over to the other side of his desk and steal them off of his plate, neglecting to use cutlery, giving him the chance to watch your oil slicked fingers slip them gently into your mouth. He learned that you were eager, so eager, for every challenge he presented to you. Eager to prove him wrong, eager to impress him. He also learned that you liked to poke at him, test the waters, push his buttons just to tease. 

“Ai! This stress will be giving me even more greys, Sister.” He’d complain, whining and smoothing at the silver hair at his temples, checking his reflection in the gilded mirror in his office. 

“Oh, I do hope so, Papa.” You’d sigh back with a wink, savouring the way he would look over to you, eyes burning in the candlelight of his office, eyebrows raised in a mock warning.

And there it was. The fine line that you both danced around in the confines of his office. You initially made a point of not seeing him outside of work, intentionally ignoring the pointed silence that had started to emerge everytime Copia announced he was retiring to his rooms for the evening, avoiding his offices on your days off, only seeing him at Masses with the rest of the clergy. But soon enough it just became easier to spend your lunch breaks together, whispering clergy gossip over a now shared pot of tea. And then it was just easier to eat dinner together over paperwork, the kitchens bringing two dishes instead of the one. And then it was just easier to have a quick shared nap on the couch in his office when trying to meet a particularly challenging deadline, the weight of your head pressed nicely into the warm meat of his thighs as his gloved hand rubbed at your temple lightly. 

It was inevitable really. To be so close to a Papa, to be so close to him and have him seep into every crack, every crevice of your subconscious. It was funny, to see behind the facade, to witness him as just a man at his desk every day, swearing under his breath at his “horseshit” brothers who couldn’t balance out a spreadsheet to save their lives, and yet also see that he was objectively not just a man. The confidence with which he carried himself, the way he unashamedly let his gaze linger, his reluctance to ever speak indirectly or without purpose. And if you had to finish off most evenings alone with your fingers between your thighs and his name falling from between your lips, that was your prerogative. Copia didn’t have to know. You were driven, determined even, to not let it distract you. To prove to him you could work well, help him achieve his vision without getting preoccupied with something else. 

So, naturally, when the postman responsible for delivering your mail made a mistake, just a tiny, minor mistake, it should have been an easy fix, a laughable offence. When the postman dropped off the usual letters and packages with a warm smile, and a casual ‘Mrs Emeritus, I take it?’ you should have laughed politely and corrected him as you took the mail. You should have clarified your position, maybe even offered up your own name instead. You should have taken the mail to Copia and offhandedly mentioned the exchange so you could both laugh at just how ridiculous that concept was. 

Yet, before you could even think, before logic even had the chance to enter the equation you found yourself nodding, smiling as you took the mail with a surprisingly confident;

‘Yeah - that’s me.’ 

Any sense of professionalism, common sense or even decency were outweighed by the sudden, sick satisfaction at the implication not just of being his assistant, but his wife. Copia fucked around, you knew that, gathered as much from the gossip around the ministry. Not that you’d dared to ever ask him personally, though due to embarrassment or jealousy you weren’t really sure. You knew he had a reputation, that was just part of being Papa, it came with the job. When the urge took him he had any number of Siblings to choose from to satisfy him for the night. But being his wife. That was different. 

You’d shut the door, letting your back hit the dark wood as you grinned to yourself, cheeks still flushing at an implication you’d never considered before. You let the fantasy wash over you, picturing what it could be like, how he would hold you, how he would adore you, how he would fuck you. For a moment you weren’t just his assistant, who tidied his desk and sorted his mail and served his tea, but his partner. His equal. Your head had felt dizzy with it, the words of the delivery man still buzzing in your ears, pulse racing, cheeks flushed. You’d thrown the letters down on Copia’s desk a little more hurriedly than usual, rushing back to your own desk pointedly avoiding his gaze. If he noticed anything he did not comment, choosing instead to sort through the post with just a soft glance your way. 

That’s when it started. This problem. This perverse little game you’d been playing only with yourself. You’d tried to forget it, laugh it off as a joke and nothing more, just a mistake that caught you off guard. But that seed had burrowed down, deep into your gut where even you couldn’t remove it. Then it spread, reaching even into your dreams, filling them with images of dishevelled greying hair and slick leather gloves. It had appealed to some base nature deep within you, eager and possessive. Yes, the first time had been a mistake - but offhandedly signing a receipt with that same name certainly had not been. Neither had the second receipt. Nor had the third. Or that new email signature to an outside agency. Or the rooms booked under your name on the last tour. 

Who would know? You’d reasoned to yourself, knowing that the only person checking the paperwork was, by default, you. Copia was none the wiser, more important things to think about than receipts for minor purchases or email signatures. You’d never use that name inside the ministry, it was a dangerous game after all - playing with the Emeritus name. You’d seen what had happened to those who played games the Ministry didn’t approve of and you did not intend to join that list. It wasn’t even about the name, not really - just him. The fantasy that you were someone that was important to him, someone he was attracted to. Theoretically, it was foolproof. It was harmless, no one would ever find out anyway. It just gave you a thrill - the risk of being caught weighed up against the kick of using his name. 

Theoretically. 

It wasn’t until Copia pulled you aside one evening as you were aimlessly fiddling with his diary for the next day that your heart dropped into what felt like your ass. 

“We may need to be breaking into Terzo’s coffee supply the next few days, eh Sister? Hehe.” He’d chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair. 

You flicked your eyes over to him, taking in the way the leather waistcoat lifted as he stretched, pulling up his black undershirt with it, revealing the dark, greying hairs on his lower stomach. Satanas - you’re sure he did it intentionally half the time, just enjoying making you look. Realising you had absolutely no idea what he just said you shook your head.

“What?” 

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes away as he tried to repress it . 

“Tax Returns, Sister. We have a lot of paperwork to get through together.” 

“I thought we got … someone else to do that?” 

You blanched, your stomach flipping as you thought about the stack of paperwork in your locked top draw, signed with a name that is most definitely not your government name. 

“Ai - I am not paying someone to do what we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

 Papa moved to stand behind you, hands coming down to squeeze at your shoulders reassuringly. You absolutely do not think of the size, or weight, of them as they cover most of your frame. 

“And we will do an excellent job as always, Sorella. Nighty night!” 

“Goodnight, Papa.” 

You had sighed in reply, your eyes following him as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters, knowing he’d used your favourite nickname to try and soothe you.

Shit. 

That is how you’ve found yourself pacing to your shared office, praying to any deity that will hear you that Copia does not, for probably the first time in his life, need to see every single detail and scrap of paper that has ever passed through the Ministry. After spending the night tossing and turning and triple checking the receipts just to make sure they definitely didn’t look like he had signed them, you had formulated a game plan. Realistically a few minor receipts would be fine going under the radar. You had made sure to never sign for something important, something there would need to be a paper trail for. You also knew that Papa, being the way that he is, had kept all of his most important paperwork with him, collated in colour coded folders next to his desk, obviously. There is no reason that he would suspect something is amiss, there is no reason for him to suspect you have a hidden stash of, probably illegal, receipts and invoices currently stashed in your bag ready to burn. And there is absolutely no reason for Copia to already be in his office before you get there. 

It seems that no deities have decided to take pity on you. 

You know he’s in a shit mood the second you open the door to the office. The first indicator is that he’s already drinking coffee - which he hates doing. The second is that he’s got an already well-used ashtray on his desk and a cigarette in his mouth, meaning he’s cracked open his also ‘secret’ emergency ‘stress-relief’ smokes. Those usually only make an appearance when he’s got those big annual budget meetings with the upper clergy. Shit. 

Doing your best to look objectively not guilty you sweep over to your desk, flipping your laptop open to check your emails. He’s on the phone, you notice, that stupid ancient phone holder balancing between his shoulder and his ear, cigarette balanced between his full lips. Whoever’s talking is clearly pissing him off, his brow is furrowed and he’s tapping his fingers against the desk. He also hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet which is unlike him, unnervingly unlike him. Unsure of what to do or say you just continue mindlessly tapping keys and clicking on already opened emails, doing anything to look busy and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself. 

“Pah!-” 

Copia spits out, slamming the phone down on the holder in response to whoever was on the other end of the line. You startle and look over to him as he finishes his cigarette with a deep drag. Now that you’re looking at him you can see the extent of his stress. Even under the paint you can see the heaviness under his eyes, the way the waxy pigment has started to crease with the tension in his brow, the way it’s started to rub away a little where he must have been rubbing at his jaw. His hair is just the right side of dishevelled where he’s been running his hands through it, the greys threatening to fall into his face as he talks. His scarf has been pulled loose, hanging somewhere near his chest rather than up near his ruffled collar. His desk is a wreck, different piles of papers stacked and stapled, different mugs strewn in between, an unlidded highlighter cast aside near the phone. He’s been at this all morning. He takes a breath, emptying his lungs of smoke and rolling his neck. 

“Sit.”  

You startle, jumping in your seat. He is not asking. 

“Regretting not getting someone else to do it yet?” 

You joke, trying to save it, though your delivery and flat half chuckle don’t quite manage to sell it. Copia doesn’t bite. 

“That was my brother on the phone.” 

Papa starts, you try not to think about how rough his voice is after taking a drag, much deeper than it usually is. You don’t have to guess which brother, that would explain his sour mood.

“You see, Sister, I am missing paperwork. Some receipts, some invoices - you know-” He motions with his hand as he talks, eyes scanning the papers at his desk, not looking at you just yet.

“So, I call my idiota brother, these things are usually his fault, si?” 

And shit, he’s definitely stalling, he’s getting at something here and you’re hoping, praying it isn’t what you think it is. You force your bouncing knee to still itself, willing your face to be straight and empty of anything that he can pick up on. 

“And yet he says, it is not him. So I do the checking, and he is right-” He scoffs, “for once.” 

You nod, patiently, obediently. Waiting for him to make his point. He turns to look at you, really look at you, the white of his eye somehow more intense than it usually is, stark against the deep paint on his eyes.

“I do not miss paperwork. Sister.”

And there it is. He’s giving you an out. Copia doesn’t give second chances, and this is going to be his only offer at a first. You don’t speak, a million excuses coming to mind at once, each one as equally pathetic as the last. You know how you must look sitting there in front of him. Lying was never one of your strong suits, especially under pressure, especially when it’s to him. Yet it’s like you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of how to get your mouth to move and formulate words. 

“Do understand, Sister, that we do not take this sort of thing lightly. If you were hoping to be fiddling or moving extra money in some way-” 

“Woahwoah-”

You interject without thinking, room spinning a little as your brain catches up to what he’s actually accusing you of. 

“Of course, I would have hoped that you would have told me if-” 

“It’s not that!” 

You hiss at him, suddenly a little offended that he thinks so lowly of you and your intentions. The room is still tilting as you try to save yourself from whatever the fuck is happening. You suddenly realise you’ve just handed yourself a shovel and started digging, Copia’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and fucking hell why does he look so good when he’s mad. 

“Then what is it.” He asks, patience clearly wearing thin, the coffee and nicotine only working to rile him up more. 

You decide if any deities are still listening they should most certainly just open the ground, swallow you whole and just have done already. At this point you honestly don’t know if it would be less embarrassing to just admit to some sort of fraud and risk being excommunicated permanently on grounds of financial criminality. Lucifer - your habit has started sticking to you and your throat feels like it’s closing up, panic setting in. You’re just about to throw the towel in, admit to being some sort of crook when you decide to look at Copia again. 

And it’s devastating. Under the paint, under the mask, under the guise of cold professionalism is worry. Genuine unease sitting in the all too familiar lines of his face. Your chest pulls as you look at him, his eyes threatening to become wet and glassy. You realise that he’s not pissed, but hurt at the idea of you admitting to this, at the notion that his assistant has been dishonest with him. It’s right about then you decide then you would rather suffer any amount of personal embarrassment over hurting him. Without speaking you reach into your bag and pull out the stack of papers you’d been hoping to get rid of. He looks away, immediately wounded at the implication. 

“Just read them.” You breathe out as you throw them onto the desk, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“Sister, You cannot expect me to believe-” 

Copia starts, then pauses once his eyes have scanned over the first few scraps of paper. He stops. He looks up at you. His eyes flick down again, then over the next piece of paper, and then the next. For the first time in six months you think you may have just rendered him speechless. You swear he must be able to hear your heart beating in your chest as you wait for his reply, only just realising that you’ve handed him a metaphorical loaded gun. Satanas, you really must have been stupid, handing over signed proof of your … feelings for him. Copia still hasn’t reacted, not really, choosing to sit further back in the chair and flick through the papers like some sort of sick flipbook.

“Ah.” 

He finally sighs out, dropping them onto the desk, one hand coming to comb through his hair.  

Unable to move your mouth you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Papa doesn’t speak either, reaching for his pack of smokes before lighting one and taking a long, drawn out drag. If you’re being honest his reaction to your confession isn’t exactly inspiring. You hurt a little at that, realising perhaps you had misread the ease between the two of you. Realising that there might have been a reason he’d never propositioned you on those long, late nights alone.

“Which one is it?” 

He finally asks, his voice again deepened by the smoke, his tone one you can’t quite place, sitting somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. 

“What?” 

Granted it comes out a little ruder than you were aiming for, but you’ve been thrown so many curveballs in the last five minutes you’re honestly just grateful to still be sitting upright on the chair. 

“Do not test my patience, Sister. You do not have to hide it now. So - which one is it?” 

Fucking hell Papa could be petulant when he tried. He takes another drag, moving his eyes away from you again, like he can’t bear to look at you. You immediately decide you hate that more than anything else. 

“Copia, I can assure you, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.” 

You’re not sure if it’s because you used his name or the language, or his clear lack of sleep, but either way he bristles at that, eyes fiery turning to look right into yours. Shit, he really is something to look at when he is like this, the logical part of his brain lagging behind his emotion for once. He’s surprisingly menacing, the pupil in his white eye unable to dilate with the other, unbalancing his features. This is the Copia that secured his own place in the lineage. 

“Do not play stupid with me Sister, I will not tolerate it - not from you. This is the Emeritus name, is it not, Sister?” 

“It is, Papa.” 

“And here it sits with your own name, does it not, Sister?” 

“Yes, Papa.” 

“Then, I can only be assuming, Sister, that you have found yourself a considerably comfortable spot in one of my brothers’ harems.”

Your brain completely taps out. You go to open your mouth, in an attempt to say anything. 

“Ah-ah!” 

Copia stops you, taking a moment to calm himself, finishing the cigarette and shoving it into the ashtray. You’ve not seen him like this before, so unpredictable, so wiry. You’d almost have considered it exciting had he not just accused you of fucking one of his brothers. 

“That is … fine, Sister. I just feel I would like to know which brother that is all? It is selfish I know, I just … need to know.” 

Taking a second to process what he just said you lean back in your chair, counting on the ornate backing to catch your fall. You close your mouth, noting you don’t actually know how long it’s been open. It baffles you, faced with the realisation that the man that you have seen write speeches; balance spreadsheets, translate texts, compose music, and recite spells and incantations with ease, is a fucking idiot. Copia notices your lack of a response and shakes his head. 

“Ai - forgive an old man, Sorella. I pry too deeply. I just did not expect that you had-” 

“There is no one else.” You interrupt quietly, for his sake. “Just you.” 

It’s like you can see his brain working, cogs turning behind his eyes as it’s his turn to play catch up. He looks down to examine the papers again, jaw working in that way it always does when he’s thinking. He’s rubbing his fingers together, the room so quiet now you can hear the leather working against itself. Suddenly, you feel even further out of your depth, gooseflesh rising as he finally brings his gaze back up to you. It’s been a long six months, you’d dealt with worried Copia, pissed Copia, unbearably, sickeningly sweet Copia - but never this Copia. The one that’s looking at you like you’re a rabbit in his headlights. Like he can smell you already. 

“Up. Come. Now” 

He snaps his fingers suddenly moving his chair back a little as he taps the top of his desk. Copia does not ask twice. Surprised that your legs are even able to move, you stand slowly, hoping you’ll make it to the desk without embarrassing yourself even further. His eyes don’t leave you as you walk around to his side of the desk,so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. He opens his legs for you to stand between them, making a point of shifting his hips up as he does so. It’s at that minute you decide you absolutely cannot look at anything else but the knot in his loose tie, for the sake of your own self-preservation. 

“Do you know how we got this name, Sorella?” 

Hells his voice is so deep now you’re close it’s almost like a purr, the thrill of it settling right between your thighs. There’s a softness to it but it’s far from kind, far from being anything but mocking. He starts to adjust the sleeves to his black poet shirt and you mentally curse him, it’s like he knows down to the minute how many sleepless nights you’ve spent thinking about those godforsaken sleeves. 

“Now, now Sister. You are usually so talkative, no?” He teases, though again it’s not entirely kind.  

“It was a gift, Papa. From Him” and fuck it’s embarrassing how breathless you are already, thighs clenching just at being this near to him like this. 

He moves quicker than you can react. Before you can process it, he kicks one of your legs from under you, knocking it so you stand wider, legs open in between his own. 

“Errato.”

And just like that he’s standing in front of you, much taller than you remembered, much broader than he seems from where you sit at your desk across the room. You can’t help but shrink back, lean further back into the wood only to be devastated when he follows there too, eyes examining your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. He breathes you in and you can’t help but follow, eyes closing as you take in the smell of him, all incense and smoke and something that must just be him. 

And oh, perhaps those deities had been listening after all. His hands come to cradle your head, holding it as he fiddles with something at the back of neck. With a gentle pull your veil falls away somewhere onto the cluttered desk, exposing you to him. Papa’s eyes flick up to examine you fully now you’re without your veil, like he’s got to squeeze one more look at you in before he’s moving again. His hands wander to find your own, pinning them down the desk under his as he carries on his, frankly lewd, inspection of you. You can’t help but gasp out, surprised that the gloves are warm, and that he’s strong, and that he’s actually touching you. He lowers himself until his face is right next to yours and you can’t bear to look, it's too much, being this close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking the chance to breathe you in again, nuzzling as close to your neck as he can get without actually touching you. 

“Gifts are given freely, Sorella. Without reason, without obligation.” 

He lets his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“Try again. How did we get this name?” 

Fuck, it was one thing hearing whispers in the hallways about his talent, all hushed giggles and filthy conspiracy. It’s an entirely different thing to see it in practice, to be the object of his attention when it’s so all-consuming. Your thighs are already wet, you can feel it as they rub against each other. You can feel where the front of his waistcoat is pressed up against your chest as he crowds you into the desk, sure now that he can feel where your nipples are hard against him. His hands snake their way up your arms, before one comes to settle in the back of your hair. Your eyes open as he pulls on it, seeming to relish in the gasp you let out. 

“Say it.” 

He speaks again, nodding mockingly, eyes flicking over your face lingering on your lips as you part them to speak. 

“You earned it, Papa.” 

“Brava Ragazza, Sister. Well done.” 

And Oh - he’s giving you that look, the one that got you into this fucking mess in the first place. Like he’s proud of you, like he sees you. He disappears from view as his lips press against your hairline. 

“You’re always so smart, hm?” 

And you really can’t tell if he’s being genuine or mocking you but you couldn’t care less as his warm, wet lips traced across your forehead, the fingers of his other hand coming to cup your chin and keep you still. It’s barely a kiss, just the press of his lips against your skin but it is singularly the least chaste thing you have ever experienced.

“It is a Sacred name, Sister.” His lips are trailing down the sides of your face as he speaks, lips catching against your skin as he talks. 

“Given to my bloodline by Satan himself.”

Copia finds that spot that sits just behind your ear and chuckles as you shudder against him. You’d put good money on the probability of him mentally logging that away for later. 

“I have worked for this name, I have bled for this name-” 

He pulls away and you’re almost embarrassed that you whine and try to follow, so caught up in the heady way he’s been touching you, you think it might actually kill you if he stops. 

Cruelly, he pulls away completely then, leaving you giddy and off-balance as you look up at him helplessly. 

“I would kill for this name.” 

Papa finishes, his gloved thumb coming to pull at the full flesh of your bottom lip. His face hardens and you understand that he isn’t lying. It’s not a warning, not really, more a confession. Not that you would have ever doubted it anyway. Abruptly, he chooses to sit down again, legs spread open on the seat as he lays his arms down on the rests. You fight back a mewl at the loss of him, thighs twisted together to try and keep some semblance of self-control. His hands come together under his nose as he thinks, calculating his next move, thoughtfully, carefully. 

“This - is where you have overstepped, Sister. You are using a name you have not earned. We must all earn our place, earn our name, dolce.” 

Ah. It all clicks into place then. Here he is again, giving you another out. Giving you a chance. Here it was, that instant knowing, what was wanted, what was needed - just intuitively. You started to lower yourself down, neatly folding up the habit at your thighs as you did, knowing Copia was nothing if not a sucker for reverence. The greying hair at his temples fell forward a little as he bent his head, gaze following you down to his floor. You made sure to grab at his thighs for leverage as you did so, half for your own satisfaction and half acting on intuition. It paid off you realised, as he chokes out a moan and pushes his hips upwards. You log that away for later. 

“Let me earn it, Papa.” 

It’s merely a whisper, bowing your head as you speak, another show of reverence for him. You let your head rest in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh, a sick imitation of the last time your head was resting there. His hands come to stroke at your hair, just as he had done before, and you take the chance to capture his hands in your own. Eager to please him, to elucidate. You start to kiss his palms, mouthing along his fingers with delicate presses of your lips, the action itself chaste and devout.

“Let me never stop earning it”

Oh, he likes that. The rumble in his chest gives him away, the way his fingers follow your lips revealing him. You run with it, eager as always to impress him. Flicking your eyes up towards him, looking through your lashes you wrap your lips around a single finger, welcoming it along the length of your tongue to rest near the back of your mouth before sucking it gently. It’s odd, the sensation of leather in your mouth, but it’s warm, rough and him, and you can’t help but moan through it. If the stress of tax returns hadn’t already ruined him enough you’re more than making up for it now, his chest is heaving, pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat as his eyes lock onto where your mouth is around him. His hips have pushed out and thighs opened around you, letting you shift closer to him. He nods his head, showing his consent, his approval of your actions. 

“Fammi vedere, Sorella.” He nods, voice even deeper than when it was laced with smoke. 

Your Italian is patchy at best, Copia likes to remind you of that daily, but you find yourself positively unable to care, the gist of what he’s saying suddenly very clear. You gently place his hands back up onto the rests for him, kissing the knuckles on each hand as you do so. Savouring the feel of him you move your own hands to his thighs again, digging in to feel the strong muscle underneath. So much wasted time spent staring, as he moved around his office gesticulating or bounced his legs around on stage in those obscenely tight trousers. 

You carry on massaging him, each time your hands getting closer and closer to the now, completely strained fastenings of his jeans. Completely beyond sense now you move on impulse, muscle memory, letting your legs slip open, pressing yourself against the cold tile floor as your face falls forward to lick at his seam. He’s hard, and hot, and it’s twisted that it’s taken you this long to be in this position. It’s degenerate really, finding some relief working yourself against the cool floor, the heat of him on your tongue. You can see his hands move to grip the arms out of the corner of your eye, a smirk pulling at your lips. 

You find the end of the ties with your tongue and manoeuvre it between your teeth, pulling it back as you flick your eyes up to his face again. Copia chuckles at your trick, looking at you like that again as you undo the strings to work him free. You burn with the need to impress him again, and bring your hands to pull him from his jeans. The first thing you notice is that he’s not wearing underwear, the warm pink of his flesh very apparent once you’ve worked the fastening open. The second is that Copia is fucking hung, thick and throbbing in your hand as his cock springs back against the greying hairs on his stomach. 

You’re pretty sure your eyes must bug out of your head at the sight of him, mouth watering in anticipation. You’d certainly heard things about Copia and his endowments, but well, Siblings were prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to the Papas. In this case they frankly hadn’t done enough. In the back of your mind you question how he’s still conscious with the lack of blood that now can’t currently be flowing to his head. You laugh lightly in spite of yourself, at your stupid internal monologue, at the situation, giddy with the size and smell of him. 

“Mi fai aspettare?” Copia asks, his voice thick and rough as it comes out. 

“My deepest apologies, Papa.” 

You immediately lick from the base, right above where his balls are still covered, to the tip - uncut and almost purple. His reaction is instant, making a noise like the air has been punched out of him, fingers gripping the arms even tighter. It’s maddening, having him throb beneath your tongue, and you carry on, just single licks against him, marvelling at the size of him as you go. Unable to help yourself, you take the tip of him into your mouth, positioning your head to take him down. 

Copia loses what little control he has, snapping his hands away from the rests and bringing them to wind in your hair, directing you down onto his cock. You moan in thanks, grateful for his guidance once again. He’s not being rough, you’re guessing he could do far worse, but he is being thorough, making sure your lips hit the bottom of him before pulling you back up. You find a rhythm in it, following his lead, not having to think about anything but keeping your lips sealed around him and your throat open. There it is again, that balance of what you both wanted, what you both needed, the unspoken instinct you seemed to share. 

Your scalp burns with it but it’s just so good, the way he’s started to fuck his hips up to meet you, using your mouth like you’d wanted him to for six fucking months. He manages to slip out a few times in his thoroughness, the wet of him slicking up your face and lips, and you wonder what you must look like. Your eyes are watering, your mouth flushed and wet and open for him, hair still tangled up between his gloved fingers. Not that he’s faring much better, head thrown back as he fucks your mouth, broken Italian and Latin and nonsense spilling from his mouth, undershirt shoved up around his waist, exposing his stomach. Copia notices you looking and his gaze hardens, teeth gritted as you take him particularly roughly.

“Puttana.” He grunts, and you have no problem translating that one. 

But there’s no malice in it, no spite, just that tone you recognise from when he’s impressed with you, his own warped reverence in return for yours. It only pushes you further, even more eager to please. As you take him down the next time you stay there, even as his own hand tries to pull you back up. You warm him with your mouth, keeping him as deep as you can while your lips meet the bottom of him and your nose is pressed up against the greying hairs at his base. You feel him push up against you, his legs lifting off the seat, getting as deep as he can while he cradles your head. He keeps you there for as long as you’re able, fucking your throat gently, before bringing you back up with a groan when you start to push at his thighs. He doesn’t let you sink back down, not immediately, just keeps your hair firm in his hand as he holds your head up - so he can look at you. Savour how your mouth is pink and slick and swollen with use. 

You whine at him, pathetically, asking him to let you go, mouth still open for him. He guides you down again, only this time he’s shoving his fastenings out of the way, guiding you down to suck at his balls. That rips a noise out of him, loud and unashamed as he presses your face harder into him, grinding against your tongue. You are nothing if not eager to please, laving your tongue over his balls, his thighs, even venturing further down toward his ass. Copia makes a frenzied noise at that, involuntarily lifting up in the seat to grant you better access to him. And it’s obscene, the way he tries to grind against your tongue, fucking himself on your face. He grabs your head again, only this time to stop you. 

“N-no-no …non posso. I won’t- I won’t last, Sister.” 

He breathes out between gasps, body sagging as he relaxes into the chair. Smirking, you raise an eyebrow, noting that one for later. Copia catches you smiling, managing to look over at just the right time, like he always does. The look in his eyes makes it apparent you’re going to regret that. 

“You have earned nothing yet, dolce. Up.” 

He’s demanding, shucking down his trousers a little more so he can widen his legs. You stand, hands pulling at your skirts, eager to pull your habit over your head before he stops you. 

“If you could keep it on, Sister, the habit, I mean. I- I quite like you in it.” 

You must beam at him, you can feel it, the warmth in your face and the swell of your smile, so big it almost hurts your cheeks. It’s the fact it’s your uniform, the uniform that identifies you as his, that special blue stripe singling you out as his own. He’s watched you everyday in this habit, liked you everyday in this habit. Nodding, you start to stand, hiking it up as you go but slow enough to tease. Papa’s eyes flick down to your legs, his normal pupil blown so wide it’s almost black as his licks at his lips, splotches of pink peeking through the paint. He’s fucking his hand as he watches, balls bouncing a little, glove tightening as he nears his tip. You flush as you think about how many times he’s touched you with those gloves, you wonder briefly how often he washes them. 

Suddenly, now you’re standing, underwear kicked down and flicked off your ankles, you feel a little shy. It’s odd, considering moments before you’d had his cock in the back of your throat, but somehow sitting into his lap without his request, without his permission would be just the wrong side of intimate. You’ve napped in his lap, just once, but sitting in it, taking him like this almost feels like too much. He notices, like he always does, his eyes and mind too fast for his own good. He softens a little.

“Please, Sorella.” 

And it’s deep, and demanding and yet his voice breaks a little along the way, and it’s just too Copia for your own good. Now unable to stop yourself you lurch forward, bracing your legs on either side of his own, relishing in the strong muscle of his thighs underneath you, holding you up. One of his arms comes around the back of your waist, balancing you out as he lines himself up against you. It was intoxicating being so close to him, where he was warm and soft and smelled of smoke and whatever expensive shampoo he used. Your arms find the rest on the chair and the back of his neck, fingers toying with the few strands of hair that curl into his nape. It’s nice being close to him like this, seeing the fine lines in his face, the mix of greens in his eye, the slight shadow on his face where he’s neglected to shave. It’s almost too much, the smell of him, the feel of him, the idea of him and you doing this. It’s then that he breeches you, just the first part of him and your stomach drops at the realisation that everything up to this point had been nothing. 

“You think you have earned this yet, Sister?”

Copia is talking, you’re sure of it, somewhere outside of the bubble of just feeling him. Somewhere where he sounds drowned out and far away. Satanas, he won’t stop pushing into you, splitting you like he was made to do it, each ridge and vein dragging you open with a slick sound, the heat oh him almost unbearable. 

“Think you can take my cock?” 

And fucking hell he’s a talker. As if it couldn’t get any more ruinous he was going to talk you through it as he ravaged what was left of you. All you can do is mewl back, legs open and hips pushed forward to take him. 

“Others have tried, Sister.” 

He slides home, his hips coming to sit neat against your ass as he bottoms out. If you thought that had been devastating enough, it was nothing compared to the drag of him as he pulled out again, lighting up your insides as he moved, nerve endings singing with it as he warms you up. He lets out his own sigh then, rumbling deep in his chest and oh - you realise you’d spend your life trying to earn him, if it meant hearing him do that everytime you sank down onto his cock. Copia seems to remember himself then, sucking air through his teeth before he starts talking again.

“Yes - they try their best. Wailing with their legs open for me.” 

It’s simply deviant how that makes you throb, the image of him fucking some Sibling in his quarters after spending the day cooped up in his office with you. He starts to build a rhythm, balls starting to slap up against you as he fucks up into you, his feet planted on the floor for leverage. You brave a look at him and whine when you see how he looks, his eyes fixed on where he’s fucking you, his mouth hanging open, slack as he watches. His hair is fucked, paint starting to bleed just a little with the exertion of it, sweat threatening to leak through. 

“Yes - I fucked them. I made them come-”

It’s like it’s intentional at this point, that he says that as he finds that spot inside you, the one that has your mewl turning into something far more embarrassing, something more guttural, more animalistic in nature. He chuckles, and it’s sinister as he re-adjusts himself to fuck up against that spot again. You suddenly don’t doubt him, or the matter of fact way he says it. You’re fairly confident that you’re not far off already, your cunt clenching around him as he speaks. He comes to grab at your ass, hands squeezing into the meat of it as he bounces you on his cock. 

“I send them back with their legs shaking and their holes full, Sister.” 

He growls right into your ear, back to his monologue, like it’s a threat, like it’s a promise. You start to clench around him, hips working without even thinking about it, letting his strong hands pull you down onto cock. Half for leverage and half for comfort, your hand at his nape starts to twist into his hair, savouring the feel of it between your fingers. 

“And did they presume to have some ownership of me? Did they feel so brazen as to take my name - the name I fucking earned?” 

You can barely even think straight with how he’s fucking you. But you realise, somewhere in the haze, that you’d been so caught up in the idea of being his, the daydream of being so owned by him, that you’d neglected to realise your own claim over him. Taking his name, making it and himself your own by definition. 

“But you - you have the nerve, to sit every day in my fucking office, to flash me that sweet fucking smile, acting so eager, so useful, so innocent, like you aren’t making a perversion of my own name, hm?” 

And he is still hitting that spot, sparks flying to every nerve ending you have every time he hits it, his hips snapping up faster as he riles himself up. 

“You see fit to play and tease, like you don’t rush back to your room at night to play with this tight pussy at the idea of me using you like this.”

He knew, of course he knew he always fucking does, two steps ahead of everyone else. 

“It is my turn to take now, Sister.” 

Before you can help yourself you’re seizing up, muscles locking around him with nowhere to go as you bounce on him, the noise of it becoming downright indecent. The wet suck of you as you take him filling your ears. Copia senses that you’re straining, just missing that extra something you needed to tip over the edge. Your eyes actually start to tear up you’re so desperate to come around his cock, to let him take what he wants. He moves his hand to grab at your face, cheeks pushed together in his firm grip as he looks at you. It’s humiliating, his eyes flicking to your mouth once more as his face twists into a smile that’s almost threatening. He brings his other hand up to his own face, spitting and sucking on his own fingers, moaning at the feeling of it. Fuck his lips looked sinful stretched around his own fingers, swiping at the paint as the coated them. 

Papa nods at you, almost mockingly, letting you know he’s going to help you, he’s going to make it all okay. His fingers leave his mouth and he swipes them directly over your swollen clit, making you cry out and work his cock deeper into you. 

“And I will take it.” 

And his voice is fucked, broken and gravelly like he’d been awake for 3 days straight. You couldn’t have stopped it if you had tried, the way he was fucking you right where you needed it, the rough, wet leather against your clit, the idea of him taking rather than you giving it freely. You shut your eyes as you worked through it, wave after wave as you clench around him, throat raw as you groaned into the hand that was still holding your face. Fuck, you would work to earn it, work for it every day if he could make you come like this. It’s far too slick between you now, the way you’ve leaked onto him, coating the both of you in it. Copia is glowing with satisfaction, lips pulled into a smirk as he just watches.

“Acqua santa, hm?” 

He snickers, more to himself than to you. You can’t help but whimper at his pun, grinding down on him as if to coat him further, like it’s a gift for him. He grunts at the feel of it, head thrown back for a second as he revels in the feel of you, the tight, wet grip of you around him. He moves the hand that’s been holding your face to rest at your waist, his other still lazily rubbing at your cunt, helping you ride it out. He brings his now sticky fingers to his mouth, sucking them onto his tongue with a groan. You should be embarrassed, the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking you, but it feels right. Like you’re earning something. 

Copia is clearly giving you time to rest, reclining back in the seat, letting you balance your hands on his chest as you grind out the last of your orgasm for him. Rest isn’t exactly something you had in your plans for the foreseeable future, content to pay back the favour tenfold. He’s quiet now, a little out of breath with his effort, looking up at you as he savours the way your face looks, flushed and bright. You sit yourself up, ready to start bouncing for him again and he kicks his knees up, ready to angle himself to start fucking you again. 

“No no, Papa.” 

You smirk, choosing instead to push him further into the chair with your hands, stilling his movements as you start to fuck him. Speaking seems to be beyond him at this point, he just nods as you ride him, letting you fuck him into the seat of his pretentious office chair. You mentally curse yourself for not choosing to go to the gym more often, the burning in your legs threatening to become a problem. Just looking at Copia underneath you immediately throws that idea under the bus, his head thrown back as you work him. His mouth open with broken gasps leaving his lips with each bounce, eyes heavy-lidded now. The chair starts to scrape across the tiles with the force of it, the low squeak mixing with your own moans. 

It sends a dangerous thrill through you, knowing this was Papa, head of the fucking Ministry, signature powerhouse on the stage, knowing he could snap his fingers and have done with you whenever he felt like it. This is who they all wanted, the fans, the followers, the clergy, the Siblings. But it’s also Copia, your Copia, your boss who lets you steal his green olives and nice wine, and likes you in your uniform, and your chest just swells. Moving your hands to cover his own you move them to cup your neglected tits as you ride him, guiding him to your covered nipples. The kick his cock gives inside you is some indication that he likes that, though his frequent ‘subtle’ glances when you neglect to wear a bra to work had already proven that theory. 

“I mean it, Papa.” 

You move your own hands to cup his face, brushing his hair from where it’s falling into your eyes. The capacity to form words is still out of his reach he just watches, eyes flicking between your face, your nipples pinched between his fingers, and where you’re fucking him. 

“Let me never stop earning it”

You repeat your promise from before, almost hiccuping at the end of it as you manage to angle his cock at that one spot again, savouring the sticky, slick drag of your skin against his. 

“I would spend my life earning it, earning you.” 

Copia is objectively a wreck. All he can do is sit and take you on him, tweaking and twisting your nipples, tilting his own hips to make sure you can work his cock how he’s already learned you like. It’s laughably unrealistic really, his good he feels, like something out of one of those shitty vintage VHS pornos Copia keeps in his ‘locked’ drawer. You feel him throb inside you as he lets out a strained groan and you’re convinced that the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to make him feel good, however he would let you. You didn’t know it could be like this, just an endless feedback loop of pleasure, giving and taking and fucking like you can hear what he’s thinking, and he can hear you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Copia grunting, choking out a mindless, “You’re s’fuckin’ tight, fuck” as he tilts his hips up for you.

Sitting up tp to lean back, you open your legs to him, so he can see where he’s fucking you. You know how it must look, your cunt wet and swollen, taking his cock so deep you’re sure you can feel it in your throat. He grunts in approval, bringing his gloves to smack lightly at your clit as you bounce, biting at his lips when you stutter around him, shocked at the feel of it. Keen to stay even, to impress him with your efficiency, your efficacy, you bring your fingers to your mouth, spitting onto them as you keep your eyes locked on his. Copia knows what you’re going to do before you even move to do it, already whining so loud it’s almost pathetic. You can’t help but smile sweetly as you reach your slicked up fingers behind you, massaging and squeezing his balls as he buries himself into your cunt. 

“Sister, I need- Can I-”

You’re almost surprised he has the wherewithal to ask, his thrusts turned shallow and stuttered as he tries to keep himself from filling you too soon. It’s all you can do to gasp out a raspy ‘please’ before he’s grabbing your hips once more. It’s a done deal after that, a few broken, sloppy thrusts into you before he’s spilling himself inside, pulling you down onto him with a string of broken curses, using you to come. You’re not far behind, the throbbing of his cock, the feeling of him filling you up kicking off your own orgasm, softer and sweeter than the first. Copia fucks you through it, his capacity for thoroughness making sure you’ve milked him completely, making sure you’ve used him more than well enough. 

It takes you a second to come back to yourself, lost somewhere in that bubble of pleasure and Copia, not knowing where slick, sweat and spend started or began. Bordering on something tantric, something spiritual, you slowly move together as you each catch your breath, his hands coming to soothe at your thighs, strong fingers working the muscles there. It’s quiet, that familiar, comfortable silence you so often shared filling the office. He pulls himself out from you with a wince, tucking himself back into his pants, and lazily tugging the ties shut.

Copia pushes your legs open, gently admiring the way he leaks out of you. He takes his hand and moves to swipe at his come as it drips, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like devotion. Licking his lips, he pushes it back into you with his fingers, his pupil dilating as he watches for your reaction, ever the eager learner. You smirk before reaching down to save your underwear. You go to stand, unsure of where this really leaves you, unsure of what to say - of how to say it.

“There was never anything to earn, tesoro.” 

Copia speaks before you have the chance to overthink, his clever eyes watching your mind tick over. He is giving you that look again, the one he seemingly saves up just for you. 

“Whatever you want - it has been yours for a while.” 

It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s all encompassing, it’s Copia. You feel like maybe you should kiss him but flush with the idea of it, cheeks heating up as he watches the thought pass through your mind. He smiles despite himself, averting his eyes for just a second. Although his paint is still mostly intact you’re sure he blushes underneath it, you can tell, intuitively.

Plenty of time for that later, you reason, remembering there was a desk full of receipts to file and sort before Saltarian decides to come chew Copia’s ear off about his tax returns. 

“Though Sister-” Papa starts as he neatens himself up, slicking his hair back into place, “maybe, for now, we will hide those, hm?” 

He nods towards the stack of crinkled papers. You understand what he’s doing, putting his own ass on the line to cover you. Risking his reputation for complete competence just for you. 

“Yes, Papa.” You nod earnestly in thanks, wanting him to understand that you appreciate the gravity of what he’s doing for you. 

“And maybe for now, though mine certainly suits you, use your own name, hm? At least let me take you to dinner first.”

[cometcrystal]

I dont think some of my newer mutuals realize how important pnf is to me and how big of a deal it was in my life. To this day it's STILL the longest-running special interest Ive ever had where it was at the forefront of my mind without any breaks. It was my main interest for roughly 5 years give or take. And when i felt myself switching to mlp, it was the first time my SI had ever switched like that, I didn't know how to deal with that emotion yet, and i was genuinely HEARTBROKEN it felt like i was betraying one of the most important things to me. It was the first fandom i really stretched my creative muscles with beyond a few vague concepts. I had storylines and shit. It was a BIG FUCKING DEAL to me. Not only was it A formative media, it was THE formative media. I will never have another special interest like it. And it feels very weird rn being so out of touch with the dwampyverse in 2024 but i also dont have any interest in mml or hamster and gretel so oh well 💙 that wasn't the point of this post but that's where it ended up

[bl00dh0rs3]

I really need a name for this au. Anyway i nailed down their color schemes (flats and some character design-y thoughts notes below)

Aw man im really about to go in on this here, ok--ill stick to just design stuff and a bit of Their Deal^tm for now! ill explain the au in full some other day, with a more polished drawing.

Alright so. I am still doing research, its ongoing, but i think ive decided that, in this au, their relationship is something more akin to... in a past life they were the same, but for spiritual development reasons, the qi that made That person split, and went on to reincarnate as Them--narratively this is going to make them function like. Just normal Foils lmao--just with an added umph of it being somewhat literal for them, in the scope of their world, if that makes sense! I dont want to put myself in the box of calling them brothers, bc it just irritates me, but they are Not going to be romantically involved in this au either--SWK has enough trouble in his weirdly uneventful but still tumultuous love life as it is (👀 at Erlang and ZBJ), im not going to torment him by adding his evil clone to that list LMAO. Also LEMH aromantic as hell bc i said so.

Also their both trans thats very super important. Trans monkeys forever obviously

Anyway, So theyre still sort of "the same person", yet not, as they had still Never properly met (until Liu'er chapter)--their both incredibly similar and incredibly different, due to the imbalance of the energies within them and the actions they took for the majority of their lives. SWK is the yang, extroverted and bold and destructive and take-no-shit, while LEMH is the yin, (at least in this story) by being reclusive and a bit of a pushover for the longest time--the, erm.... Outburst, being the result of built up resentment and imbalance within himself spurning him to overcompensate for what he was lacking. It's kind of complicated and intricate and i like it that way if describing it is kind of rough Pfft--but anyway!

Point is, i wanted ALLLL that to be reflected in their designs by giving them plenty of Contrasting but Complimentary, and even sometimes juxtaposed details! The incorrect yin yang belt buckles/brooches are the most obvious one i think, next to the general warm vs. cold color palettes--then there's Liu'er being shirtless and with shorter hair, just to bring a sense of masculinity into his appearance, counterbalancing the fact that he's otherwise very feminine and in line with his Yin nature. Id say i made SWK's hair longer for the same kind of reason, but given that long hair isnt seen as inherently feminine, mileage can vary on that--if one reads it that way then yay, fun detail, and if not, then you still get to be looking as a SWK with long hair, and thats always a win in and of itself.

The red parts of their face are also matching--SWK's making up the over eye and LEMH's the under eye, to visually indicate the "this is the same person split in two" dealio. I also tried to make SWK appear a bit more Rounded and Soft, curving his cheek tuffs and little beard In a bit more (belying a gentler nature and other. Yknow, Round thoughts underneath his theatricality (contrasting with his yang-ish behavior), while LEMH's is sharp and feathered out (bringing to mind hostility and action and other Sharp thoughts, equally in contrast with his usually yin-ish nature).

They were initially going to both have the fillets on their heads, for reasons Like the ones above, but without a shirt Liu'er torso was feeling empty and i felt like he needed something to break up the grey of his fur--so, necklace. Hes bouta get choked tf out dont worry about it ❤

Uhhh thats all i can think of writing down right now, feel free to let me know if any of it is kind of Eh, constructive criticism and all that--if you saw any typos no you didnt, thank you for coming to my ted talk and have a groovy day

[translucio]

initial thoughts

cassandra reading varrics memoir at the end of trespasser was soooo good i love her sm

despite the game having been out for 9 years and being spoiled on most major things there were still some things i never got spoiled about. wild

not knowing exactly how some quest chains and major story decisions work, and not having been spoiled on them, actually turned out to be bad for me. some things happened that i didn't know were possible and would have avoided, but by the time they happened, the events that caused them were already like 20+ hrs of gameplay back. which is frustrating. these were things i really had no way of knowing would happen without looking it up far in advance. im the type of player who saves religiously in case i need to go back a little ways to fix things, but im not willing to go that far back

the war table....... is a mechanic. UX/game feel good. systems bad. the experience of going to the table, getting all your advisors together, studying the map, choosing which method to deal with different events, the diegetic menu - great! having to Wait Real Time to unlock content, and not knowing which content is important, and the sheer quantity of dumb operations that just crowd the map - bad. annoying. the reason i failed to do all the personal quests even though i wanted to and thought i had

this game was a poor attempt at open-ish world. it did not need to be this long or big. long load times and slow transitions were of course hardware limitations, but they are just painful, and could have been avoided if theyd made different design decisions. horseriding kinda feels like ass. most of the activities that populate the maps are pointless bloat to keep you there longer and get more mileage out of areas youve already moved through. of course this was 2014 and we have to try things to learn how to do them well but there were a lot of mistakes here.... lets do better guys

romanced dorian. wish you could be poly in this game cause i am not spending any more time in it but i did wanna see josephines romance...

i know shes kind of popularly disliked in the fandom and i saw a post a while ago saying shes really not that bad and people are just racist or misogynistic or whatever. but having finished the game now. i do not like vivienne. she pissed me off really bad and i wanted to kick her out but couldnt. and i never want to kick out companions in games

sera also irritated me but in her case i feel like its just cause some of her writing is not the best lol

i hate to say it as i was a certified cullen hater for the longest time. but you know what. he got better and i like how his arc went / how hes developed across the games. cullen girlies i understand you now. will you forgive me

and to be honest. yes solas is a bastard but hes not that bad.... maybe its because ive been desensitized by having been spoiled long ago but i think hes fine as a character/villain reveal. im not mad. he is not sexy though yall need help. that is an egg.

overall plot writing..... meh. the stuff they did with elves and elf gods and all is a bit convoluted, and ofc the whole mage templar war thing was so messy and uncomfortably centrist. and they really just continue to present qunari in A Way. really hope they do better next game

[chisatowo]

K Im done posting cringe now time to go lay in a hole

[jamesvanriemsdyk]

Best GMs and coaches in the league ACC to you?

we can start with gms because coaching is a bit more complicated. best gms in the league is easy to look at because like, who has a good team? who has had a consistently good team? whose locker room is the most cohesive, whose coaching staff is the best? who is the best at acquiring and keeping the best players, coaches, staff, etc? and you can see that in the way teams play. 

(putting this under the cut because it got long. and i mean Long.)

so, in no particular order: kyle dubas (leafs), steve yzerman (red wings, i will explain this later), don waddell (canes), julien brisebois (lightning), joe sakic (avs), and kelly mccrimmon/george mcphee (golden knights) (god i still hate that name and also will explain this later too) are the best in the league in my opinion. honorable mention to marc bergevin, who has held onto his job much longer than he arguably should have, but still has a decent team on the ice and a decent coaching staff, although the french rule does severely handicap them (i understand why it exists but it does, it just does). 

david poile (preds) is the longest tenured gm in the league (has been the preds gm since fucking 1997, thats insane, thats legit before i was born, what the fuck), and i do genuinely think he is very good at his job, and that he is very hockey smart, but oh boy have his recent decisions been suspect as hell, and that reflects in the state of his team. doug wilson (sharks), who is the second longest tenured gm in the nhl, is in the exact same boat (the karlsson deal is a nightmare, and also did he just forget that his star core was gonna get old and retire or ??).

with dubas, waddell, brisebois, sakic, and mccrimmon/mcphee all have the same basic strengths: they draft well, they have a fundamental understanding of their team structure and how to manage public perception of the team and everything that implies, and they have two fingers on the pulse of their locker room at all times. im not going to pretend to know as much about sakic and mccrimmon/mcphee as i do the eastern gms, but it doesnt take much to figure it out. look at the avs, and their locker room, the success theyve found after being dead fucking last in the league. look at the knights and their incredible success that theyve found after literally not existing before 2017. ive talked about dubas a lot on my blog, but its incredibly easy to see that waddell and brisebois do the same shit he does, and i can do a deep dive on them if asked. bergevin has moments of brilliance, like the suzuki trade and acquiring caufield and anderson, but things like kotkaniemi’s development and their entire blue line give me a massive pause, which is why he’s not in the main list. he’s a good gm. he’s just not the best.

in regards to steve yzerman: you have to understand that this is the man that built the tampa bay lightning as we know them. this man was gm of the bolts until fucking 2018. tampa bay has been a monster in the eastern conference for years, BECAUSE of the work steve yzerman put in. his team set the franchise record for wins, and he was the first and is the only lightning gm to have won gm of the year. look up the 17-18 roster. it is, essentially, the roster that won them the cup last year. make no mistake, i think brisebois is great, and hes on the list for a reason, but the biggest part of brisebois’ success was steve yzerman’s incredible hockey mind. brisebois essentially had to sell off a fourth of his roster, and the lightning are still a top team in their division and in the league, and thats why he’s there (it is so incredibly easy to fuck shit up post cup win), but the brisebois lightning would not exist without steve yzerman, plain and simple.

what steve yzerman is doing in detroit should be watched very, very closely by every single person in the hockey world. youre fucking nuts if youre not paying attention to them, not gonna lie. the mantha trade was excellent, if really sad if you know even a bit about the wings, but the amount of draft picks steve yzerman has amassed and the way he’s using the prospects and players he already has is really fucking admirable. mike babcock left the red wings organization absolutely in tatters, and i think, honestly, it was always steve yzerman’s plan to go home to detroit and rebuild. if there is anyone who is going to strike absolute gold this draft year, it is steve yzerman. watch the red wings, i am telling you, keep a beat on detroit. they are going to be good. its not an if, its a when.

(real quick on the knights situation: mcphee was the first gm of the knights, and was also president of hockey ops at the same time, and then in 2019 mcphee said he was just gonna focus on his job as president, but we all know hes still an integral part of the way the knights are run, and he and mccrimmon have kinda been building the knight together since the beginning anyway bc mccrimmon was originally mcphee’s agm. so. thats why theyre together)

as for coaches, it’s very simple. rod brind’amour (canes), sheldon keefe (leafs, yes im biased, we’ll get into it), jared bednar (avs), joel quenneville (panthers), jon cooper (lightning), barry trotz (isles), and mike sullivan (pens).

(disclaimer: obviously coaching is done as a team, and assistants and specialist coaches and staff are all very important, but the head coaches set the tone and organize the entire machine, if you will, so im going to be talking about head coaches as if theyre the entire coaching staff. its just easier this way im sorry)

im gonna just start with the easy ones: barry trotz, mike sullivan, and jon cooper have been in the league for years. cooper is the longest tenured coach in the nhl for a reason (again, just look at the tampa bay lightning. its the gm’s job to make the coach’s life easier and the coach’s job to make the gm’s life easier, and this is one of the prime examples of it in the league. its dope as hell tbh), trotz is one of the most respected coaches in the hockey world for a reason (the caps lost something when he walked. they just did. and now the isles are absolute hell to play against and that is largely the coaching of barry trotz, you legit cannot tell me im wrong), and while mike sullivan does have his faults, i think hes found a way to please both management and the crosby-and-malkin unit, which has been really really fucking hard to do. he also led the pens to back to back cups, which you can never really uh. ignore. lmao. so theres those three.

i know less about bednar, but again, another example of the coach and gm working together to make each others’ lives easier. sakic gets bednar the players and staff he needs to make the avs better, and bednar takes those players and staff and makes them into the absolute giant they are. it wouldve been really, really easy to fuck up makar’s development, or bowen byram’s, or sam girard’s, or ryan graves’s, or jost or mackinnon or rantanen’s, but he hasn’t, and he hasn’t just given up on players like burakovsky or kadri, he’s given them new life as players and made them more successful.

joel quenneville is the reason the bl/ckh/wks were a legacy team point blank period. sure they had the talent, sure the gm drafted well, but you do not get the legacy of the chicago bl/ckh/wks without joel quenneville. they fired him on a whim and it absolutely was a mistake, and the moment the cats hired him i literally out loud said ‘oh no’ because i knew exactly what that meant for the leafs and their position in the standings. the panthers are underrated generally, yes, but they would not be the powerhouse they are this season without quenneville. just look at q’s wiki stats. he’s absolutely unbeilevable. he won the jack adams in fucking 2000, before he’d even won any of the cups with the h/wks. i cant tell you what kind of a locker room coach this guy is, but i can tell you his teams win and win convincingly, and that firing him was the biggest mistake the h/wks have made in years.

whenever i talk about coaching, i talk about rod brindamour and sheldon keefe in the same breath every single time because there is no match, and i mean none, for the love inside those locker rooms. the avs, maybe, but my point stands. keefe and brindamour fucking BLEED team spirit, it is at the center of their coaching styles and their teams are good because of it specifically. marner and matthews are good, yes, and they always have been, but they have surpassed all expectation and then some with keefe. aho, teravainen, and svechnikov are good, yes, and they always have been, but they have surpassed all expectation with brindamour. brindamour and keefe have both hashtag played the game, so they Get It, and more than that, theyve grown and changed their understanding of the game as the game itself has changed, and so they can command the authority of their teams while also connecting to them on a really deep level. i should make a note here that keefe and brindamour are incredibly, deeply hockey smart, and that they are also just technically good coaches, skimming their wiki or nhl dot com articles will tell you that, but what makes them stand out to me is that their players would fucking die for them. the leafs would go through the end boards for keefe, the canes would do the same for brindamour. travis dermott said it best when keefe got promoted: boys wanna play for him. beyond that, the management skills both brindamour and keefe have are just frankly amazing (the amount of ego keefe specifically has to manage in the leafs locker room is astounding and he does it so incredibly brilliantly). the leafs and the canes are talented, yes, and would have been talented regardless of who was coaching them. but brindamour and keefe bring both of those teams from talented to exceptional, and the true mark of an amazing coach is not only how many games their team wins, but how they win them, and the leafs and canes have been winning games this year for and because of each other, and that starts with their coaches. what makes a great coach, to me, is not the talent on the team (though that certainly helps), but how the coach manages his players no matter who they are, and how he helps those players grow not just as players as people, because no matter how much pure stats people and twitter hockey dudebros wanna deny it, that shit does affect on ice play, and it does make good players better.

so theres my analysis of the best coaches and gms of the nhl, im so sorry this is so long, oh my god. also, shoutout to @bishops--knifetrick for sending me an ask about this literally a month ago that i just never answered, sorry for that, but here i hope this is good. :)

[neotrances]

ive been offline for like.a week hiii sorry for spam liking ur parousia tag but omg its so interesting.. if you had any writing for it that youd be ok with sharing publicly id love to read whatever you have!! the idea that all the gods are aware of their reincarnation and can purposefully avoid bringing new gods into the world is rlly interesting to me like. when a lesser god is close to death/weak would they be aware that they will probably never be brought into the world again and has that ever altered their actions like if they begin to get weaker would they try to become more important or change themselves as a last chance way of being remembered/brought back + id love to know more about syr omg

its okay ur good ^_^ answers below for ur initial questions about the lesser gods, but also if you want could you send a separate ask? i could post a little excerpt about syrs childhood / how his powers manifest if you’d like ! (i’d add it here but itd be too long in addition to the god talk)

correct ! a lesser god by virtue knows that the likelihood of them existing king is very low so many of them find one place and settle down, while base gods don’t have much to worry about and can travel as they wish and die as much as they want, a lesser god has the best chance of living king by settling in one spot and aiding mortals in any way they can

gaining any kind of worship will greatly lower the chance of them dying from lesser injuries (all gods have abilities of self healing but only base gods with high amounts of worship can heal themselves almost instantaneously if they choose) so things like disease or infection would infect a lesser god less if they managed to cement themselves in a community and commit to a life of good deeds etc

so for example the lesser niche god of weaving (as in making baskets, sewing, creating clothes any activity involving weaving) would have the most support and longest life span in a city “working” as a seamstress and giving out clothing, baskets, blankets etc to the poor, and these gods don’t necessarily have to reveal themselves to be “worshipped” simply being liked by the general public (or in their minds frequently) counts as worship, having friends that go out of their way to hang out with you or bring you gifts no matter how small also counts as worship

another thing that happens with lesser gods of more negative attributes (again mentioning the god of poison) is that they’d try to have folk tales spread about them, it’s similar to how we (in the real world) believe in things like jack frost, or the boogeyman when we were younger, believing in stories like that count as an act of worship (worship doesn’t always have to be positive, just a strong belief in that thing and acknowledgement of it’s existence) so for the god of poison they may try to start rumors of them poisoning evil dooers and thieves

because of how large paxions land is, books are the primary way to spread information, everyone owns many books and most cities and towns have massive “alters” filled with free books that can be taken and left as you please, and these also double as centers for people to hang out and trade etc, books about lesser gods as “fantastical fake characters” would help them exist longer and trick mortals into worshipping them in a way

the last way these gods can make sure their existence stays constant (or as constant as it can be) is making sure their two base god (or combi + base god) parents stay in love / near each other, but this can be difficult depending on what gods you’re dealing with, and you’d basically have to be like “hey mom. check every day that i’m alive. if i’m not alive i NEED u to smash like immediately” but like i’ve said before gods only have children for serious reasons, if they don’t both think your existence matters that much / or they in deep love you’re pretty much screwed

bottom line is if you’re a very niche god you need to be doing everything in your power to either make a good impression with the people you live around, cement yourself as a character in books and folk tales, or make sure ur parents are getting busy on the daily (awkward and weird) all in all being an extra niche god would succcck if you weren’t careful and is comparable to being a mortal (which most gods already look down upon)

[yuraimi-lee-bunny]

Gray's Character Analysis Part I. Introdution

Well, the day has come, here begins the analysis of Gray as a character throughout the series. I had previously done character analysis, but this is the longest in analysis writing I'll do, but it's worth it. I hope you enjoy it, don’t hesitate to comment on everything you believe or even add other examples or characteristics that I have not noticed. I’m very excited and nervous hehehe.

Here we go!

There are 3 important facts you need to know about Graham/Gray/Crackle to fully understand their personality and worldview:

1.- His name is Graham Calloway (let's put aside that we FINALLY have his last name, it will be important and symbolic later)

2.- He’s an orphan

3.- He wants to be successful.

Gray enrolled in the “Vocational School” being actually VILE. Maelstrom mentions that he currently works at the Sydney Opera House as an electrician and will soon be promoted to Stage Lighting Technician. Let's start with the fact that Graham wasn’t working in a simple place, we’re talking about a place like a lot of prestige and tourism, light and electricity being extremely important, therefore, really professional and prepared people must be hired. That tells you how Gray besides being a great electrician, he wants to work at the best of the best to earn as much money as he can. And with that promotion, Graham is doing very well, he is succeeding. But as he said: "I feel like my talents can be put to more ... lucrative ends"

Something that from the first time I watched the serie and that I could notice in Gray is that he's curious, he always wants to see and do beyond what is presented and has. He likes new experiences, learning things that help him with his purposes, challenges and showing that he can overcome them (I consider that he only shows it to himself, not to someone or others). Even in the first book of "Who is Carmen Sandiego?" it's mentioned that he spent a lot of time with Dr. Bellum creating and devising new things. This boy always has ideas in his head as to what he likes the most, which is electricity. He's really passionate about it.

He realized that he could make more money by stealing from the rich and not just being an electrician. Gray always points up and wants to show himself that he can do it. He's always calm, relaxed, with a mischievous look, as if somehow he's always ready for everything and nothing surprises him. Until then a girl named Black Sheep arrives. When Graham first meets Black Sheep it was because of a tease he did to her, showing that he’s too naughty, he likes to make jokes, however, he tends to underestimate people. Black Sheep fights back and well, we all know the scene.

Something that surprised me a lot and at the same time I loved it (it was from then on that I said "You have all my attention boy") is that I believed that because of the way Black Sheep defended herself, he could take it to heart, get angry or something similar, but no! Graham appeared very calm before her to greet her with a handshake, as if nothing had happened. What makes me interpret that Graham is someone who is going to recognize and respect people who really show him that they're capable and that they should be respected. At the same time, it seems that he doesn't like people who are too smug, who have simple goals, and appear to be the best but with their actions doesn't show it, the best example is Sheena/Tigress, both in the book and in the series shows that although he tolerates her, deep down he likes to make fun of her, he has no compassion on her and according to the book "Graham rolls his eyes when Sheena says she likes shoplifting."

He wasn't afraid of Black Sheep or her attitude, on the contrary, he liked it and she won his respect. At the same time that Graham really isn't someone to hold grudges or get angry easily, but rather someone who tries to keep things calm and under control, he stays out of the unnecessary drama. He was almost always the mediator between Tigress and Black Sheep (there are more such moments in the Book) And he isn't someone who is afraid to say things as they're, he is very frank and direct.

When he makes a mistake, he doesn't get frustrated, he just lets it go and moves on: Sheena calls him "Lame" and says nothing, his friends make fun (in the case of the book) of his nickname "Graham Crackle" and he say nothing. Even Carmen Sandiego on the train beats him in the fight, knocks him unconscious and there isn’t a hint of frustration in him. He knows how to deal with his own mistakes and doesn’t let them affect his self-esteem or image. He keeps going. His self-esteem in fact is seen to be normal, he may perhaps appear to be "cocky" for his looks, but in reality he's never seen to be affected by what others think of him, nor does he act as if he were better than everyone. But he himself knows that he's good at what he is, and as he already said "I want to be successful", he knows that he can achieve it, and will do it, even with chaotic actions. There is an interesting phrase in the book that isn't mentioned in the series, is when Black Sheep proposes a nickname of Gray, she says "Electrical Failure" to which Gray replies "Failure? No, I don't think so" which gives me a certain idea of how Gray doesn't consider himself a "failure", perhaps he makes mistakes, but even so he doesn't believe that for this reason he's belittled in such a way, much less for it "a fail", as I said, He has healthy and secure self-esteem.

Another interesting point is how expressive he's in looks and gestures: those eyebrows almost never stay still! This point is curious because as some say "a look says more than a thousand words" and he's a great example of this. I actually consider that that touch makes Gray have a mysterious air next to the long eyes that he has. He doesn't talk much, only what is necessary, causing all eyes to express what he thinks/feels. But other times you don't know what's on his mind. But most of the time, his expressions are a clue that he happens to him and feels. Remember this, it will be important.

He also has a certain "gift of the word" or rather knows how to use the correct words to address people (In addition to making word jokes) which these two characteristics together achieve many things: calm situations, ensure that Black Sheep isn't expelled, have an almost date with Carmen Sandiego, among others. It seems that he's someone who is direct, transparent and pragmatic, he doesn't try to complicate his life, but if he likes to make intelligent movements, play with people and show that "he's one step ahead of you" (although that doesn't work almost never with Carmen)

In general, this is what I have managed to analyze about Gray's personality. However, as I said, it’s an introduction, some things will remain, while others will change a little or even a lot throughout the analysis. I hope you liked it and for the moment, it will be 5 parts in total for the entire analysis. I will leave the parts with their titles in each post (Maybe the titles will change depending on if something better occurs to me as I write.), and I will leave an analysis that I had already done before but it complements a little to Gray and his personality. Maybe every two days I will get the next part, depending on my time, but also so that you can take your own time to read, reflect and comment on your points of view.

Part. I Introdution (HERE)

Part. II Empathy vs Ambition

Part. III Amnesia and it’s Future Consequences

Part. III.5 Graham Calloway: The Walking Enigma

Part. IV Integrity At a high (and unfair) price

Part. V The final decision and a new beginning

Plus 1. Gray and his strange habit of explaining things

Plus 2. Crossover: Sabrina And Gray: New Beginning

Plus 3. Crossover: Hawk/Eli and Crackle/Gray: Redemption

[lazyliars]

Tubbo for the character breakdown? :D

How I feel about this character

c!TUBBO MY BELOVED.

The Sidekick. The Yes-man. The Pawn. The Child Soldier. The President. The Government. The Revolutionary. The Fool. The Scientist. The Husband. The Best-friend. The Leader. The Follower. The Underestimated.

Tubbo is a man with many titles, and as the situation calls for it, he can wear any of them comfortably.

Tubbo is defined, more than a lot of characters, by those titles, and by who calls him by which ones. The roles that he has played over his tenure on the server have left a more dramatic impact on both how he is perceived by others, and his own self-image.

He’s Tommy’s Sidekick and Best-friend - but he’s also Ranboo’s Husband, and Snowchester’s Leader, and A Scientist with Jack Manifold, and an (ex) President to Techno, and a Pawn to Dream.

What's interesting is that this relationship with titles is one he shares with Technoblade, and it's a unique way in which they foil each other. None of either of their other foils really share this dynamic, and to add to it, they both propagate this in each other. The difference is in how they deal with, feel about, and utilize it.

Techno is “The Blade” and “The Blood God,” and he hates it. He feels used, objectified, and reduced to a weapon by these titles. At the same time however, the actions he ends up taking only reinforces the way the average people perceive him – violence, blood and anarchy. The reputation Techno has aqquired often overshadows the person who might prefer to be seen as.

Tubbo on the other hand, tends to slip into the these titles without much resistance. He accepts them, sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. He's happy to be Tommy's sidekick; He takes on the role of President of L'manberg; He accepts Dream's metaphor for himself as a Pawn. But to his advantage, his flexibility within these roles and the ability to put them on and take them off as he pleases gives him a uniquely wide arsenal of social tools.

There is so much more to say about c!Tubbo but If I keep going I could be here for hours...

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I am an enjoyer of his marriage with Ranboo, although I wouldn't call myself a shipper really.

I think their dynamic as two people who value kindness, but who also possess the capacity to be surprisingly ruthless, makes them an unusually dangerous and honestly, somewhat thematically opposed pair.

Tubbo is one of the people on the server who has the longest and most consistent relationship with what Ranboo would consider “sides” which automatically sets him up as a foil. Before even L'manberg, it was Tommy and Tubbo vs. Dream, and Tubbo has always held that loyalty close to his heart, and likely wont be cutting that off anytime soon. As a consequence of this, he naturally adds Ranboo to the list of people “on his side,” quietly, but surely.

Ranboo's somewhat correct, somewhat misidentification of “sides” as the root of all conflict on the server, in contrast to Tubbo, drives him to be more individualistic, “choosing people over sides.” And accordingly, it would be a stretch to call him a member of Snowchester, despite how deeply entrenched he's become in it's founder's life. At the same time, it's clear that Tubbo is one of, if not the most important person to Ranboo out of everyone on the server, and he's willing to do anything to protect him.

All in all, Ranboo and Tubbo end up being an odd couple for a multitude of reasons, who, despite some very core differences in personal philosophy, both end up caring for each other ferociously.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

I would love to be contrarian here, but I just can't. Clingy Duo 4 LYFE!

Tommy and Tubbo's friendship, from the start of their time on the server to the current day, has been one “thing” that I continually return to, and that the story over all returns to. They are the emotional anchor of the server in a lot of ways – both a representation of it's innocent, idyllic past, and it's forward march into a darker future. Whenever the narrative wants to make a story beat feel strong and impactful, they'll often end it by echoing the scene on the bench that started everything, whether or not it's Tubbo and Tommy specifically; their Bond resonates so strongly throughout the DNA of the story that their Bench has become a Symbolic Archetype all in itself, and is something that no longer even requires the two of them present to recall it's power as a representation of Attachments, Loyalty and Platonic Love.

TLDR; Clingy Duo is the glue that keeps the core of the story together, and intentionally or not, most important friendships will end up either paralleling or foiling them by the sheer fact of how impactful their relationship is to the greater narrative.

My unpopular opinion about this character

I don't know how unpopular or not this opinion might be, but I do consider Tubbo to be a darker character than a lot of the content for him I see produced.

One way this expressed: he's incredibly pessimistic. He's a person who lives his life hyper aware of how easy it is to die, and with a full acceptance that, if a worst case scenario should arrive on his doorstep, he would die without hesitation, if he had to.

That isn't to say he isn't invested in preventing that, far from it – but there is an undercurrent of absolute certainty that he is living on borrowed time.

One interesting development on this is how he's expressed this – during the Disc Finale, Tubbo has already accepted his own death. He tells Tommy that he's “done enough” and that he should let him die so that Tommy can have his disc back. He tries to get Tommy to resign, to not fight Dream in the end because he can tell that they've already lost and he doesn't want him to have to die too or suffer more.

Contrast this to Snowchester now – as we've learned that the Nukes have dead-mans switch; a suicide button, that only Tubbo knew about. It's a far more proactive expression of this mentality, a final ace up his sleeve, so to speak, so that if an unwinnable situation should occur again, he can turn it from a loss into sick kind of pyrrhic victory.

It's important to note that Tubbo has not yet projected or pressed this mentality onto others; this is self destruction only, and I do think that says something about him, although it's less positive and more tragic.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon.

VILLAIN ARC. VILLAIN ARC. VILLAIN ARC.

Okay, as a specific example, there is sooooo much missed potential for Egg!Tubbo (and Egg!Tommy) and I will die on this hill.

Imagine, in a world where Tommy isn't immune: Tubbo gets trapped and infected by the egg, as it offers to grant him the one thing he wants most in the world.

The vines grow around Snowchester, seeping into the cracks in it's walls and then hardening into a scaly form, creating a shell around his home. The ambient radiation causes the egg to grow faster in this area, and form odd spikes that loom outwards from the heart of the town, like blades pointed at anything that gets too close.

Tommy realizes too late what's happened, and when he tries again and again to convince Tubbo to just come with him, please come with him to Church Prime, he’s sure that they can find a way--

--he ends up letting Tubbo lead him, and follows him down to the depths of the egg.

When the doors behind them are covered in thick vines, and the humidity of the room increases, and every breath feels like it draws in clouds of dust, it’s already too late to run.

Tubbo stays with Tommy for the two weeks it takes for his will to break and the egg to infiltrate his mind; it's offers of wealth and vengeance and rebuilding L'manberg and resurrecting Wilbur and making people love him and making him powerful and giving him the whole world--

--all rejected, until finally, in the sickening red haze of Tommy's mind, a single scene; a clear blue red sky, the sun high and bright, a warm breeze blowing in, a bench, the sound of good music, and there--

Tubbo moves and the vines around him creak, having been undisturbed for days. He places his hand on the mass of crimson where Tommy is trapped waiting.

--Tommy grins and rushes forwards, all of the weight in his heart, all of the dread and responsibility and fear and anger and hurt and pain, all of it suddenly gone on the breeze as he takes his place next to Tubbo on the bench.

The Eggpire grows. The vines begin to appear in more vulnerable places – peoples secret rooms, near their pets, wherever they keep their most sentimental objects.

Tommy loves causing harmless mischief, and the feeling of being accepted, of being cared for? It's perfect. Nothing can touch him now, where everything is simple and easy and just the way it should be.

Tubbo knows. It's not a deep feeling, it's not a secret part of himself still in there, still fighting. He knows, and when he sees Bad staring him down, piercing through him, he knows that Bad knows too.

There is no kinship for them. There can't be. That would be too close to rebellion against The Crimson. That would be too close to comfort.

But Tubbo knows quietly. He's not a follower by nature, but he'll follow now, simply because he's seen the most logical way to attain what he wants.

And he and Tommy will make a kinder, safer world then the one the Crimson is eating now.

[fluffmugger]

I posted 7,091 times in 2021

389 posts created (5%)

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For every post I created, I reblogged 17.2 posts.

I added 210 tags in 2021

#*ugly laughter* - 39 posts

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#odysseus' dog was just fine having a grand old life and then ahh fuck that cunt's back and it got so exasperated it noped off the mortal coi

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

123 notes • Posted 2021-08-03 14:25:05 GMT

#4

Chaser are 5000% DONE

160 notes • Posted 2021-11-25 10:48:14 GMT

#3

Indulging in my spones and inevitably fics will bring up Tarsus IV and it’s really really important that people realise that Conscience of the king  deliberately wrote into Kirk’s backstory that he is a Holocaust survivor.

I’m not dropping the H word for drama here, the ep itself very deliberately brings you to this path. There is clear mirroring of the uncertainty surrounding Hitler’s fate - not only the uncertainty, but the exact way Kodos’ body was discovered (burned to the point where no positive ID could be made), and the fucked up application of his own personal eugenics to select those who should die - McCoy even says “He wasn’t the first”  and don’t even try to pretend you don’t EXPLICITLY know to whom is he is referring here.   And let us not ignore the glaring, elephantine presence of Kodos' speech - forever burned into Kirk's mind, so deeply he can recite it word for word 20 years after the fact.  The circumstances are shifted slightly, but the cant is the same. Then there is the greater meta context of the episode - this was written in the 60′s, when Wiesenthal et al were making headlines as they were actively hunting and bringing nazi party members to justice for their crimes.   Not to mention that Tarsus IV was "Twenty years ago" - what happened twenty years before the sixties, kids?

The ep is written, as the best of Trek is, to hold a slightly obscured mirror up to society and social issues of the time. It deals with survivor's guilt after an atrocity, the desire for vengeance, crimes so great they cannot - and should not - be forgiven, and even in the face of mounting evidence Kirk tries desperately to hold to a higher ground, to be certain, absolutely certain, not only because "This is a man's life" but because he will also have to face the decades old personal trauma he thought buried that is once more made flesh.  And this is very much a struggle many real-life Holocaust survivors went through in the time period - for a very long time their suffering was propagandised and trumpeted, while the survivors themselves were shamefully left behind and pushed by society to hide that part of their past, just as Kirk himself does, so deeply that even Spock and McCoy are unaware of it. 

They took James T Kirk, the star of the show, fearless hero of the Federation, commander of the Federation flagship and they made him a Holocaust survivor.

That’s really, really fucking important.

809 notes • Posted 2021-08-06 13:17:26 GMT

#2

The Ankh-Morpork Trespassers’ Society*

*Originally the Explorers’ Society until Lord Vetinari forcibly insisted that most of the places ‘discovered’ by the Society’s members already had people living in them

961 notes • Posted 2021-08-29 14:15:19 GMT

#1

9869 notes • Posted 2021-09-23 03:32:49 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[autistocracy]

(Left: flag of the Principality of Albenga; Right: flag of the Colony of San Cassiano)

Il Principato di Albenga was founded in 1298 as the Signoria di Albenga for Nicolò Doria, of the famous Genovese Doria family. Initially, it was little more than a feudal holding of a powerful family, but as the years turned to centuries, the Albenga branch of the Doria family, known today as Doria-Albenga, became more and more independent of the main family. In 1488, it was elevated from a simple Signoria to a Principality, and the Prince of Albenga continued to amass more power. Eventually, the Prince was sovereign of much of the surrounding area (what corresponds to the real world Italian province of Imperia).

By the time the conquest of the New World truly began in the mid-16th century, Albenga was a nation fully independent of the Republic of Genoa. The Prince from 1603 to 1631, Emanuele Raffaele Doria-Albenga, along with several other Albenganesi nobles (namely the Signoro of Dolceacqua), funded an expedition for the New World, landing on the island of San Cassiano, named this because it was discovered on August 13, feast day of Saint Cassian (San Cassiano is known in the real world as Saint Thomas in the US Virgin Islands). Upon arrival back in Albenga, the expedition was sent out once again to establish the island as a colony of Albenga. When they returned to San Cassiano, they did thus, and also explored the nearby island of San Vitale (discovered on April 28; St. John in the real world), expanding the colony there as well.

Emanuele Raffaele Doria-Albenga appointed his brother, Mariano Eraldo, as the first governor of the so-called Colonia de San Cassiano, the colony of San Cassiano. Mariano Eraldo was an established sailor and cartographer, and his first job upon reaching San Cassiano in the summer of 1616 was to begin mapping the islands of San Cassiano and San Vitale. Initially, the colony was worth little, but in 1618, sugar was imported and several plantations, owned by the families who had bankrolled the initial expedition, were established. On plantation in particular, belonging to the brother of the Lord of Dolceacqua, became well-known for the rum produced from the sugar grown on their plantation.

For the next century, the population of both Albenga and San Cassiano continued to grow, and so did the wealth of the principality. The Prince of Albenga from 1669 to 1691, Constantino Franco, ordered the construction of a palace in Albenga, as well as the construction of a large church on the island of San Cassiano. Prince Constantino was also the first Prince of Albenga to visit the colony, arriving on the in San Cassiano to much fanfare. The visit, however, would be his undoing, as his ship wrecked on its way back to Europe, killing everyone onboard.

Prince Constantino’s son and successor, Jacopo II, not being deterred by his father’s death, made many trip to San Cassiano during his reign, and some critics of his referred to him as the Prince of San Cassiano instead of Prince of Albenga because of how much time he spent in the colony. Prince Constantino was also known for being a great patron of the arts, and commissioned many art pieces and sculptures. However, he is more well-known for his construction projects. The total number of buildings he commissioned is currently unknown, but it ranges from 200 on the end most people accept to over 1,000 on the high end. Many of his construction projects were churches, and he had a new church built in nearly every town and village in his country. Many of his buildings are still around today, particularly the Principal Manor, home of the Princes and their families since it finished construction in 1719.

After Prince Jacopo II came his son, Emanuele II. Emanuele II had the longest reign of any of the Princes of Albenga, and one of the least interesting. A great many things happened outside of his country during this time period, but not too much went on within its borders. He continued some of his father’s building ambitions, though he only issued the construction of a few buildings himself. He died in 1770, leaving the throne to his nephew, Jacopo III.

Where Emanuele II’s reign had been boring, Jacopo III’s was anything but. During his reign, 13 of Britain’s colonies revolted and established their independence. Not long after, France faced its own revolts. Albenga, which borders France, faced some problems with this, particularly when Napoleone took over France. France invaded the rest of Italy through Albenga, establishing the Ligurian Republic, which would last until 1805, 4 years after the death of Prince Jacopo III, after which time the area was incorporated into France proper. After Jacopo III came his son, Emilio II. Prince Emilio II had a great deal on his plate, inheriting the throne of a nation that hardly existed. He pledged his forces and people to the forces fighting Napoleon, and in the end, Napoleon was defeated, and Emilio II returned to Albenga victorious. The date of his return to the city of Albenga, August 11, 1814, is celebrated to this day as Victory day.

After this victory, Prince Emilio II would commit the rest of his reign to strengthening the borders and army of his small principality, especially with the neighbouring threat of Savoy, who were constantly attempting to encroach on Albenganese territory. The Prince ordered the construction of 11 forts along the borders of his country and 2 in the colony of San Cassiano, as well as a national armoury in Albenga to manufacture guns for the army. By the time he died in 1831, Albenga had one of the most well-equipped militaries of Europe at the time.

Prince Emilio II was succeeded by his son, Umberto I. Umberto shared his father’s passion for the military, and continued to build up the defences of his nation. However, disaster would strike in 1848, as all of Europe fell into a blazing region of revolution. Prince Umberto I was assassinated by revolutionary forces, and his brother Valerio ascended to the throne, albeit briefly, as he was likewise assassinated by foreign revolutionaries later that year. After Prince Valerio came his cousin, Umberto II. Prince Umberto II managed to quell the revolutionary storm, at least for a time. He ruled for a decade before he resigned after suffering a mental breakdown from stress. After him came Valentino, who lasted less time than Umberto II. In 1861, the majority of Italian states unified as the Kingdom of Italy, and Valentino, like Umberto II, had a mental breakdown, causing him to abdicate two years later. His brother, Aurelio took over the throne, and proved to be more mentally sound and capable than his two predecessors.

Prince Aurelio led Albenga through the storm of Italian unification and managed to keep his principality independent. In 1866, war broke out between Austria and Italy, and Albenga joined the Austrian forces after they called for aid. The war, in the end, ended in an Italian victory over Austria, but Albenga was able to assert its independence nonetheless. In 1870, a small war broke out between Italy and Albenga, and Albenga was again victorious. After this war, Italy wouldn’t try to take Albenga again until World War One. Also of note about Prince Aurelio’s reign, is that slavery was outlawed in the colony of San Cassiano.

In 1875, just before the death of Prince Aurelio, Albenga established a colony on the island of Girba, off the coast of Tunisia. Later that year, Prince Aurelio died of dysentery and was succeeded by his son, Jacopo IV. Prince Jacopo IV was responsible for many great things for Albenga. He established a colony next to the African country of Liberia, calling it San Pietro, after the name the Portuguese explorer Soeiro da Costa had given it in the 15th century. He also established a colony around the villages of Mtwara and Lindi, north of Portuguese Mozambique, the colony being named Lindi. Aside from his colonial efforts, he was also a great patron of arts and inventions, and established a small photography studio and art colony in Albenga. It wasn’t as famous as its fellow European counterparts, but is well-respected in the modern day nonetheless. He was also a great patron of the military, and invited several renowned firearms designers to design guns for his principality. Albenga was one of the first European nations to have modern bolt-action rifles and early repeating pistols. Prince Jacopo IV was also responsible for introducing electricity to Albenga, and his Principal Manor was the first building in the country to be lit with electric lighting. He also introduced the constitution to Albenga, penning it himself.

In 1901, Prince Jacopo IV died at the age of 63. His son, Alberto, succeeded him. Alberto had big shoes to fill, but historians agree he did a pretty good job of filling them. Under Alberto, Albenga continued to flourish. Though he wasn’t as great a patron as his father, he continued to support the arts and the military. He spent a great deal of his personal wealth modernising many of the defences around his country, including the forts that had been created only a century before by Prince Emilio II. In 1914, just before WWI would begin, Prince Alberto died after a short bout with disease. His son, Giancarlo, succeeded to the throne.

Prince Giancarlo had been raised as a military man, and his lifelong education would come in handy almost immediately upon his accension to the throne. A month after he was coronated in Albenga, the Arch-Duke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was assassinated in Serbia, and Europe was quickly overcome with war. Prince Giancarlo quickly dispatched the military to the borders of Albenga, intending to keep his country neutral, but heavily protected. His foresight would prove useful, for in 1915, Italy invaded Albenga, hoping to finally take the last little country that had refused to join in unification 40 years before.

Albenganese forces were able to rebuff any Italian encroachment into sovereign territory during the duration of the Italian involvement with the Central powers, though Albenga remained otherwise neutral. After the war, relations between Italy and Albenga would continue to be strained until Marcurio Salvetti, of the Partito Fascista, seized the office of the Prime Minister in a bloodless coup. Prince Giancarlo was initially amicable with the Fascist cause, though officially he was opposed to it, so he offered only symbolic resistance to Salvetti. Though Salvetti was indeed a Fascist after the Italian fashion, and improved relations with the country of Italy under Mussolini, he still sought to remain independent. However, in 1938, as things were beginning to heat up in Europe, Prince Giancarlo stepped in and ousted the Prime Minister after he attempted to introduce several measures to reduce the title of Prince to a mere figurehead office, likely at the behest of Mussolini. Not long after this, however, Prince Giancarlo would die of natural causes, being replaced by his son, Jacopo V Lorenzo.

Jacopo was not the pure military man his father was, and was raised more by tacticians and scholars than by the military officers his father had been instructed by. He saw war brewing in Europe, and made efforts to defend his country should something happen, much like his father had done in 1914. In 1939, war again broke out, and again Albenga remained officially neutral, though the government and Prince did officially condemn the Nazi-Soviet invasion of Poland. In 1940, Italy declared war on Albenga. In spite of the country’s smaller numbers, they managed to bring the Italian invasion to a standstill, but were unfortunately unable to push them out of their borders entirely over the following 3 years, until Mussolini and his Fascist government were overthrown by Partisans in 1943, after which Italian forces were forced to leave Albenganese sovereign borders.

While the war was ongoing, Jacopo opened ports in both Albenga and San Cassiano to be used by Allied forces, in return receiving arms to fight against the Italians, as well as funnelling those arms to Partisans in Italy. In addition to this, Prince Jacopo opened the country’s borders to refugees from persecution in German occupied territories, many of whom remained even after the war ended and they were allowed to return home.

After the war ended in 1945, Prince Jacopo dedicated the rest of his reign to maintaining neutrality, refusing any aid from the Americans, and rebuilding the damaged territories of his country. With his assistance, industry flourished, and Albenga was an early centre for the booming field of electronics by end of the 50s. Unlike neighbouring Italy, which suffered from the Years of Lead during that period, and other such unrest, Albenga was mostly unaffected, for the most part. In 1965, after 3 years of investigation, the Prime Minister, Adriano Fanelli of the Unione Albenganese party, was convicted of a multitude of crimes, including corruption, embezzlement, solicitation, and other crimes, and sentenced to 25 years in prison. The Prince’s godson, Gustavo III, the Count of Seborga, was made interim Prime Minister, serving the rest of Fanelli’s 10 year term until 1970.

In 1976, Prince Jacopo V died after a battle with cancer, and was succeeded by his son, Filippo. Filippo, unlike his two predecessors, wasn’t heavily educated in military affairs, instead receiving instruction in management, business, and so forth. Like the later years of his father’s reign, he would devote himself to maintaining his country’s booming industries, and as the country had been a centre for electronics two decades earlier, Albenga was now a leader in the burgeoning field of computers, and would continue to be until the mid 90s, when most Albenganese computers manufacturers were purchased by foreign (namely, American) companies.

While its territory in Europe was going through all of this, some in the colony of San Cassiano were feeling neglected and forgotten, though the economy there was no slouch itself, being a premier destination for tourism, known for being a small piece of Italian culture in the middle of the Caribbean, as well as having a healthy sugar and rum industry. To address this, the Partito Communista Sancassinese, one of the oldest parties in the country, launched a campaign to have a referendum of independence. In 1980, the “No” side won the campaign, with a vote of 75% against independence, 23% in favour, and 2% indifferent. Their overwhelming defeat in the campaign led to the demise of the PCSC two years later.

In response to the support the Prince was shown in the referendum, he acknowledged that he had, and his predecessors had, indeed been rather neglectful towards the colony, and apologise, pointing out though, that his father and grandfather had had to contend with wars and invasions of the home country, but that he had no such excuse, and promised to help the Colony of San Cassiano. To that end, he established a government run cruise line, using some of his personal finances and donations from other nobles of the realm to fund the purchase of a top-of-the-line cruise ship that would operate from the Colony. Prince Filippo would do other things besides this to strengthen the Colony, but the fact that he had used some of his own money to fund the cruise ship greatly ingratiated him to the populace.

In 1983, Prince Filippo tried to launch a native Albenganese car brand, but unfortunately this venture would not see the end of the decade, only producing around 4,000 cars by the time FAA (Fabbrica Albenganese Automobili) ceased production of native-designed cars in 1991. Since then, the FAA factory has produced badge-engineered FIAT and Peugeot vehicles for the local market. Beginning in 1993, with the acquisition of Albetec, one of the top three technology brands in Albenga, by American corporation IBM, the tech industry has been largely dominated by foreign firms, though in recent years, the local industry has begun to rebound. Albenga, like Switzerland, is noted for its high standards of online privacy.

In spite of its position in Europe, the country has continuously refused to join the EU and NATO, and only reluctantly joined the UN in 1998. The country has continued to be neutral, not being involved with any global conflict since WWII ended in 1945, with the exception of some anti-piracy missions in the Indian Ocean.

‘’

List of Princes of Albenga from Emanuele Raffaele to present

Prince Emanuele I Raffaele Doria-Albenga, 1603-1631

Prince Marcantonio Jacopo, son of Emanuele, 1631-1636

Prince Emilio I Laureano, son of Emanuele, 1636-1649

Prince Jacopo I Luciano, son of Emilio, 1649-1669

Prince Constantino Franco, son of Jacopo, 1669-1691

Prince Jacopo II Emanuele, son of Constantino, 1691-1722

Prince Emanuele II Luciano, son of Jacopo II, 1722-1770

Prince Jacopo III Vincentio, nephew of Emanuele II, 1770-1801

Prince Emilio II Raffaele, son of Jacopo III, 1801-1831

Prince Umberto I Riccardo, son of Emilio II, 1831-1848*

Prince Valerio Pasquale, son of Emilio II, April 11, 1848-August 28 1848*

Prince Umberto II Franco, cousin of Valerio, 1848-1858*

Prince Valentino Marcurio, cousin of Umberto II, 1858-1863*

Prince Aurelio Emanuele, brother of Valentino, 1863-1875

Prince Jacopo IV Riccardo, son of Aurelio, 1875-1901

Prince Alberto Emanuele, son of Jacopo IV, 1901-1914

Prince Giancarlo Vincentio, son of Jacopo IV, 1914-1938

Prince Jacopo V Lorenzo, son of Giancarlo, 1938-1976

Prince Filippo Ernesto, son of Jacopo V, 1976-2002

Prince Emanuele III Maurizio, son of Filippo, 2002-current

Hereditary Prince Massimo Durante, son of Emanuele III, born January 3, 1994

*During 1848, Europe was embroiled in great revolutions, and several Albenganese Princes were either executed by revolutionaries or forced to abdicate. This continued after 1848 in Italy, as the unification wars began.

List of Prime Ministers of Albenga

Count Alfonso II Marcurio de Seborga, Count of Seborga, 1745-1786

Count Jacopo I Emanuele de Seborga, Count of Seborga, 1786-1802

Lord Vincentio Ernesto Doria-Albenga-Terzorio, Lord of Terzorio, 1802-1831

Marquess Salvatore I Ottavio de Vallecrosia, Marquess of Vallecrosia, 1831-1834

Lord Angelo III Adriano de Pontedassio, Lord of Pontedassio, 1834-1846

Count Gustavo I Massimo de Seborga, Count of Seborga, 1846-1856

Marquess Luciano II Ernesto de Vallecrosia, Marquess of Vallecrosia, 1856-1866

Lord Ugo IV Lazzaro Doria-Albenga-Terzorio, Lord of Terzorio, 1866-1876

Count Piero II Giancarlo de Chiusavecchia, Count of Chiusavecchia, 1876-1886

Lord Jacopo IV Donato, Lord of Vallebona, 1886-1896

Ugo Marcello Petri, UA, 1896-1906 (first non-noble Prime Minister)

Alfonso Mariano Giambelli,PP, 1906-1916

Piero Amadeo Tauriello, PP, 1916-1920 (assassinated by anarchists)

Lord Jacopo V Eraldo Gagini, Lord of Vallebona, UA, 1920-1930

Marcurio Adriano Salvetti, PF, 1930-1938*

Domenico Enrico Vecchi, UA, 1938-1950

Filippo Arsenio Zamperini, PP, 1950-1960

Adriano Marcurio Fanelli, UA, 1960-1965**

Lord Gustavo III Enrico de Seborga, Count of Seborga, 1965-1970

Alfredo Donato Bacchetti, UA 1970-1980

Federico Maurizio Fanelli, PP, 1980-1982***

Lord Jacopo VII Valerio Gagini, Lord of Vallebona, UA, 1982-1990

Alfredo Donato Bacchetti, UA, 1990-2000 (second term)

Valerio Marcurio Gattilusio, UA, 2000-2010

Piero Riccardo Salvetti, UA, 2010-current (next election in November 2020)

*M. Salvetti was a member of the Partito Fascista which ran the partisan government from 1928 until it was ousted by Prince Giancarlo in 1938.

**A. Fanelli was charged with several crimes, including corruption, and was sentenced to 25 years in prison. The Prince’s godson, Lord Gustavo III of Seborga, replaced him for the remainder of his term.

***F. Fanelli was A. Fanelli’s cousin. In 1982 he was convicted of smuggling drugs into Albenga on a government jet, as well as solicitation, and associating with the Mafia. He was replaced by Lord Jacopo VII of Vallebona for the remainder of his term.

PP: Partito del Popolo; UA: Unione Albenganese; PF: Partito Fascista

List of Governors of San Cassiano

Mariano Eraldo Doria-Albenga, 1616-1643

Vincentio Adriano Doria-Albenga, 1643-1672

Marcurio Riccardo Spinola, 1672-1681

Lord Amadeo I Gaetano Gagini, 1st Lord of Vallebona, 1681-1708

Lord Mariano I Luciano Gagini, 2nd Lord of Vallebona, 1708-1731

Lord Alberto II Marcurio Gattilusio, 2nd Lord of Bordighera, 1731-1764

Lord Amadeo I Valerio Cavanna, 2nd Lord of Soldano, 1764-1798

Lord Jacopo II Arsenio Gagini, 5th Lord of Vallebona, 1798-1824

Alfredo Aurelio Doria-Albenga, 1824-1848

Lord Jacopo III Riccardo, 6th Lord of Vallebona, 1848-1872

Vincentio Emanuele Doria-Albenga, 1872-1897

Piero Augustino Alessandri, PPSC, 1897-1902, first elected Governor

Giancarlo Marcurio Antonietti, PPSC, 1902-1907

Alberto Riccardo Pacelli, PPSC, 1907-1912

Martino Federico Vecchi, PCSC, 1912-1917

*I can't be bothered to make more names here yet

PPSC: Partito del Popolo Sancassinese; PCSC: Partito Communista Sancassinese

[keigos-dove]

Fallen Angel

✎ A/N: Being the crackhead I am I wrote this to celebrate 666 followers. This is the longest fic I’ve written yet and I’m honestly so proud it came out as wonderful as it did. I hope you enjoy it. 

✎ Paring: Keigo Takami (Hawks) x G/N!Reader

✎ ⚠️Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, hospital experiences, swearing

✎ Word Count: 2,555

✎ Synopsis: A fight between Hawks, Dabi, and you turn for the worst. Hawks and you being hospitalized, you both discover your future will be different from then on. But maybe it’s a good different.

✎ |Tags:| @secondhand-trash​ @sparkncharge​ @redbeanteax​ @adoringwords​ @lady-bakuhoe​ @keigos-wings​

Heroes were given dangerous missions all the time. Most of them came out successful. There were also the few who failed those missions, and died, or got seriously injured. This mission given to Keigo and yourself was one of those missions.

You were both in for the final ride.

Gaining information about the LoV wasn’t the most ideal mission, but it’s not like the two of you could reject it. You both were forced to be heroes. You had no say.

Today you both had a meeting with Dabi, Shigaraki’s right-hand man. Dabi wanted to meet both of you one more time before you both meet the rest of the League, and Sigaraki himself.

You both were currently flying to the location sent by Dabi, your only instructions were to meet him there and a given time.

Silence was the only thing between Hawks and yourself at this moment. This meeting could go many different ways.

“Nervous, Little Dove?” asked Hawks, your business partner, and boyfriend.

“A little bit. I’m just hoping this goes smoothly.” you chuckle nervously.

“Hey, this is just a meeting. We’ll be fine. The important stuff doesn’t happen until Dabi says so.” he said.

“You sure?” you asked.

“Positive, Little Dove. Now,” he started. “That’s the location right there.”

Keigo started flying towards the coordinates. It was a building. An abandoned factory in a quiet part of the city. It was dark out, and the streets around were empty.

Finally, the two of you were safely on the ground. Keigo placed you down on the ground and let you stretch.

“This place gives me bad vibes. What do you think, Pretty Bird?” you ask

“It’s quiet, abandoned, concealed. Perfect for a villain to hide.” Hawks analyzed.

“Doesn’t answer my question, Bird Brain.” you chuckle quietly.

“Yes,” he giggles. “It does seem suspicious.”

Keigo walks over to the door of the factory and opens it, keeping it open long enough for you to walk inside as well.

“Ready for this?” he asks

“As I’ll ever be,” you answer. “When should Dabi be here again?”

“Any time now, Little Dove. Just gotta be-”

“Well, well, well. Look who the cat dragged in. A bird and a baby.” Dabi’s voice echoed throughout the factory.

You bit your tongue. You did not need to start a fight when you were this close.

“Well hello to you too, Dabi.” Hawks answered. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Talking,” Dabi replied vaguely.

“About?” you ask.

“Well, if you want me to be honest, I want to talk about you for a bit,” Dabi says, pointing at you. Dabi comes out of the shadows and starts circling you and Hawks. Just like a predator with its prey.

You looked over to Hawks confused. He quirked an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Me?” you ask. “Why me?”

“Why are you even here? I mean I know you’re with him,” Dabi says pointing to Hawks. “But what purpose do you serve? He’s done all the work here, you’re just a tag along.”

You think, trying to choose your words carefully. “I’m not a tag along. I want to be here just as much as he does.”

“Are they a tag along? A burden? Do they really help you?” Dabi asks Hawks, completely ignoring you now.

You roll your eyes. Is this all he wanted today? To question your loyalty?

No matter what you knew you had to stand your ground. There’s no way you’re leaving Keigo to deal with him, with Dabi, alone. You just couldn’t do it.

Your eyes stayed on Keigo. No matter what he was most important. You couldn’t let Dabi get a hold of him no matter what.

“They’ve put just as much work in as me.” Hawks answers honestly. “Why does any of this matter?” he asks, his usual smirk disappearing.

Oh shit. He was serious.

“I have a reason to believe that they’re a traitor. A liar.” Dabi says continuing his cycle around the two of you.

At this current moment, he was behind you. And you still kept your eyes on Keigo. You kept your mouth shut, deciding to let Keigo handle this for now. After all, he was much better with people than you were.

“They’re no traitor. They’ve helped with everything we’ve done so far. You saw the blood on their hands. The blood of a hero.” Hawks said.

“There’s acting, lying, deceiving. Ever heard of those?” Dabi asks. He was closer to you now. Like he was right behind you. You heard his voice ringing in your ears, felt the heat of his quirk radiate off his body.

And still, you looked at Keigo.

Keigo couldn’t even speak. Dabi was too fast for him. Too fast for Hawks, the fastest man alive.

Dabi, quick in reflex, grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back, keeping you in place.

Snap.

A silent scream left your lips. Pain shot through your arm and up your spine.

“Dabi, let-”

“What Little Bird? I’m not shitting around with this. I don’t care how much you trust them, they’re lying.”

Your shoulder throbbed, tears made their way down your cheeks.

You were in pain and right now Keigo couldn’t help you. His first instinct is always to hold you in his arms and wrap you in his wings if you were ever injured during a fight.

You looked at Keigo, tears clouding your vision. He was scared, he knew Dabi had the upper hand at this moment. And for once, Keigo looked clueless as to what to do.

“Admit it,” Dabi breathed in your ear. “You’re a liar, a traitor.”

“You’re a stupid bastard if you think I’m the liar here.” you spat through gritted teeth.

“Dabi let them go,” Hawks said, his voice shaking. “They’ve done nothing wrong.”

Keigo shot you a glance.

Right now Dabi had his focus on Hawks. Dabi’s grip wasn’t as strong now. Seeing as you’re injured there’s no way you could fight, right?

Wrong.

Keigo shot you another glance.

Now.

You took your uninjured arm and swung backward, hitting Dabi square in the jaw, so hard you’re sure you heard a snap.

You fell to the ground, quickly you started to crawl to Keigo for safety.

But Dabi was one step quicker yet again.

Dabi fisted your hair in his hands and pulled you up off the ground.

“Hawks!” you shouted.

“I got ya, H/N,” Keigo shouted back, running for you.

“No,” Dabi says, his voice dark. “You don’t have them, Pretty Bird.”

Dabi then pulled you back down to the ground. Making sure your head collided with the ground.

Black filled your vision. Ringing filled your ears. Blood rushed to your head.

You heard a scream, but you knew it wasn’t your own.

Then it was silent.

Then you were out cold.

Walking up, pain and exhaustion hits your body like a truck. You look around the bright white-colored room.

You’re in a hospital room. So that means the fight ended. How long, obviously you didn’t know.

It was daytime. The long curtain blades covered the windows but light seeped through the cracks, casting shadows on the blue and white checkered tiled floor. There was an IV in your left arm, connected to a machine by the side of your bed. Other machines and tools sat beside your bed as well. The only thing you could hear was the beeping of the heart monitor.

A creaking sound filled the room, then a click. Stepping out from around the corner was what you assumed to be a nurse.

“Why hello, dear,” she said gently. “It’s good to see that you’re finally awake. How do you feel.”

“Lightheaded. I’m in a lot of pain too.”

“The lightheadedness is most likely the concussion you have. The pain, which I assume is in your arm and chest, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“You broke your right arm in three different places. You also broke a few ribs. That’s probably the pain and pressure that you feel.”

“Oh, how fun,” you say sarcastically.

The nurse stayed silent for a bit. Checking the machines and writing things down on the clipboard she had in hand.

“I’ll most likely end up upping your medicine dosage, I’ll ask the doctor to make sure,” the nurse said quietly to herself.

Your mind started to wander once the nurse started doing her own thing.

Dabi really did a number on you. You don’t remember any injuries to your head or your ribs, so Dabi must have gotten a hold of you again after you passed out. Your mind eventually drifts to Keigo.

Keigo.

What happened to Keigo after you passed out?

“Keigo!” you shouted, quickly sitting up, trying to look for him. You winced suddenly, it got harder to breathe and more pain shot throughout your chest.

The nurse pushed you back against the bed. “Don’t just up so quickly like that, you’ll end up hurting yourself more. Who are you even talking about?”

“Hawks,” you breathe heavily. “He was with me at the accident. Where is he? Is he okay? Please tell me he’s alive!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. Hawks is fine. He’s resting in the room right across the hall. A few injuries as well as some burns, but he’ll be okay.”

A weight was lifted off of your chest and shoulders, but pain and pressure still stayed. You were relieved to know that he was still alive, but you felt as though the nurse was hiding something.

“Is he awake?” you ask. “I want to see him.”

“He’s asleep, sweetheart. You rest for a bit. I’ll let you see him later, okay?”

“Promise?” you ask. You probably sounded like a child, but you didn’t really care. You were way too worried about Keigo to care.

“I promise. Now relax, maybe take a nap.” the nurse suggested. And with that, she left the room. Probably to talk to the doctor like she mentioned.

You don’t really know when, but eventually, you fell back asleep.

When you woke up again, the sun was still out. But the light shining on the checkered tiles was dimmer, so you assumed it was early or late afternoon. Luckily you didn’t feel any pain this time around, so hopefully, the meds finally decided to kick in. The only thing you did feel was a slight throbbing in your head.

The nurse from before was at your bedside checking the monitors again. Sitting behind her was a wheelchair.

“Welcome back, sweetheart. How do you feel?” she asks with a smile on her face.

“There’s no pain which is good, I guess. I only feel a throb in my head.”

“That’s good. It’s progress.”

“Can I see Hawks now? You promised,” you said in a whiny voice.

“Seeing as you’re feeling a bit better, I’ll allow it. I did promise after all.”

The nurse pulled the wheelchair closer to the bed. She helped you sit up, and threw the blankets off your body. A heavyweight pushed down on your chest. Your lungs started burning, it got harder to breathe.

“Deep, slow breaths. It will feel a bit better soon. Just got to get used to sitting up.”

You started taking deeper breaths. The burning started going away and the weight started pulling away. But it didn’t go away entirely. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and held onto the nurse’s shoulder with your good arm and pushed off the bed. The nurse spun you around and sat you down gently onto the seat. She took your IV bag off the rack and placed it on the hook on the back of the chair.

“How do you feel? Good?”

“Yeah, a little lightheaded but I’m okay.”

“That’s normal. You just have to get used to sitting up,” the nurse said. “Think you can wheel yourself over?”

“With one arm? I think so.”

“Your arm is actually all better. Recovery Girl came by while you were sleeping and healed it. She couldn’t fix your ribs though.”

“If my arm is okay I should be able to go about myself, thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart. I’ll leave the doors open for you.”

She started to walk out of the room and opened both doors, just like she said. And set off to another room. To help another patient most likely.

You wheeled your way across the hall to Keigo’s room. Making your way in, you see the curtains closed, allowing little light to come in. Keigo was sitting up in bed slightly. He was asleep, or so you thought, his eyes were closed but you couldn’t really tell from the doorway. He had bandages wrapped around several parts of his body. Some were clean, others stained with blood. Many machines, tubes, and wires were connected to Keigo’s body. And as clear as day you saw it. You were right. The nurse did leave something out.

Keigo’s wings…

They were gone…

Not just the feathers, but the entire wing itself.

Both of them. They were gone completely.

Screams filled your mind. Blood curtailing scream. Screams of pure pain. You remember waking up before passing out again. You heard the screams, you wanted desperately to help Keigo, but your exhaustion took over you again and you passed out. You couldn’t help him.

You could have saved him. But you were too late.

“Keigo,” a choked sob escaped your lips.

Keigo’s eyes shot open at the sound of your voice. “Little Dove?” his raspy voice whispered.

You wheeled over next to his bed. Tears flowing quickly down your rosy cheeks. “Keigo, your wings. They’re gone!” you sobbed. 

He stayed silent. He couldn’t speak. Tears started falling down his cheeks as well.

“Keigo that bastard Dabi clipped your wings?” you sobbed, shouting. 

“He didn’t clip them, Little Dove,” he whispered.

“No-” another choked sob escaped you.

“He burned them and tore them clean off.” he cried softly.

“Pretty Bird.” you cried reaching for his hand. He took your hand and squeezed it tight.

“Little Dove, look at me,” he said softly.

“Yes, Keigo?”

“We’re free,” he said.

“What do you mean we’re free? You’re quirkless now!”

“Exactly. I’m quirkless.”

“That means…” you whispered, finally realizing what he’s hinting at.

“I’m not going to be a hero anymore. You can retire, and we’re both free, Little Dove.” he cried, happily this time. 

“We're free. You're free!” you cry happily. 

“Took this long to find it, but it's finally here,” he said as tears ran down his face.

“I'm going to miss hugs from your wings, Pretty Bird,” you say softly.

“You might not get hugs or free flights anymore. But I can tell we're going to be so much happier,” he said back, squeezing your hand again, and ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“What are we going to do now?” you ask.

“We have more free time than we know what to do with. We'll figure it out,” he said, his usual smile splitting his face.

“We'll be okay,” you said happily.

“Damn right we will.” 

And he was right. You both are okay. Free from hero expectations, society, everything. It's finally just the two of you. Just like Keigo wanted it to be. He may have lost his wings, but he still had himself and you. That's all he needed.

[micamicster]

this post is for @tovezza ! I’m ur vergil here to guide you through the 9 circles of cw hell lmao

Ok so I am going to make a list of episodes that I think will serve your purposes (family dynamics, american experience). I will be bolding episodes that I think are particularly “good” (good being a subjective term at all times but particularly in the case of cw’s longest running hate crime, supernatural) Episodes that are not bolded you can assume are on here for being a pretty good monster episode and worth watching, but not specifically your interests (unless otherwise explained).

Ok warnings for early season supernatural. Dean is at least passively suicidal as early as season 1, so if that is a trigger for you message me and I will give you more specific warnings! Other than that, Racism, sexism, you know the drill.

ONE MORE THING! Don't watch season 1 on netflix. (Watch it on p*tlock*r or something) Netflix didn't shell out for the music rights for the first season and the music is all wrong! This wouldn't be such a big deal for most shows, but the music is AMAZING in supernatural it’s one of the only things they get right and a lot of the scenes just don’t hit as hard without it

ok SO: buckle up there are 15 seasons and ive watched at least 8 of them so there is a lot of Content for us to sift through!

Seasons 1-3

Idk how much you know about this show but there is Dean (my fave) and his younger brother Sam and for the first 3 seasons the two of them mostly drive around hunting monsters and grappling with the effects that their abusive dad and childhood trauma had on them. Overarching plot is that they are looking for their father, who is hunting the demon who killed their mother and sam’s girlfriend (TWO fridgings in episode one! a record!)

They have really mastered the art of the procedural: almost any episode in those seasons is going to be both a fun 40 minute horror movie and have some good character stuff. 

Pilot: like it’s fine. Not a standout episode and the exposition is a little clumsy but if you really have no clue who tf these people all are it’s probably good to start here.

Dead in the Water: great Dean episode

Phantom Traveler: good because it introduces how demons work. Otherwise pretty run of the mill

Bloody Mary: here we got american urban legend that I played in elementary school, dean looking hot, fall out boy on the soundtrack... what more can a girl ask for?

Skin: like not to spoil the punchline but dean shoots himself in this one.

Hook Man

Bugs: This one is racist and Bad but it also contains some of the early arguments between sam and dean over their dad, and the implication (through jensen’s jacting joices) that their dad was physically abusive to him, if not to sam. Or you could just take that as established fact and not subject yourself to this monstrosity.

Home: something is haunting their childhood home. Sam is having visions. I hate John Winchester.

Scarecrow: Great episode that validates my deep-rooted fear of small towns

Faith: FAITH! Like this is the first episode that came to mind when you asked for fucked up family dynamics and america. Also crucial to the Dean/Cas dynamic in the future. I am in love with dean and i hate John what more is there to say. If you are ignoring my advice and watching on netflix do me a favor and at least watch this one elsewhere. 

Route 666: racist car ep. yeah. but it does contain Cassie, who is great and is dean’s ex. If you would rather skip (it is not a good ep) I think the important information to have is that dean told his girlfriend the truth about what he does, as opposed to sam, who intended to lie to Jess indefinitely.

Shadow: John Winchester makes his first real appearance! Necessary bc you see the family dynamic on full display for the first time. I hate him

Something Wicked: ELDEST DAUGHTER CODED

Provenance

Dead Man’s Blood, Salvation, Devil’s Trap: the plot of the season concludes in some RANK family dynamics seriously fucked up

Moving on to season 2! You can go back to netflix for the rest of the show it will have the correct music from now on

Season 2 ep 1 In My Time of Dying: FUCK YES

Everybody Loves a Clown: I guess we’ll have to deal with All That... gestures vaguely at the previous few episodes. Introduces Jo and Ellen who I love.

Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things: FELLAS ARE YOU EVER VICIOUS ARE YOU VIOLENT DO YOU ROT THE GROUND YOU WALK ON

No Exit: Jo is in this which is fun. Honestly most of the generic motw episodes this season are solid

The Usual Suspects: introduces Victor Henrickson! I love him! (yeah hes a cop... but)

Crossroad Blues: speaking of american folklore....

Croatoan: a lot going on in this ep. contains one of my favorite lines of dialogue in this whole show alskg;gjsdg like sometimes it is Self Aware. Dean reveals the last thing his dad asked him to do before he died. I hate John Winchester.

Night Shifter: oh fuck yeah victor henrickson. This is a great episode.

Houses of the Holy: can you believe they didn’t plan to have angels in the show CAN U BELIEEEEEVE ...god everything good about this show was an accident

Born Under A Bad Sign: good if you think Sam is the main character

Tall Tales: this ep is just really fucking funny

Hollywood Babylon: this is just really funny what can I say!

Folsom Prison Blues: dean said acab!

What Is and What Should Never Be: oh. speaking of fucked up family dynamics. This one is like a kick in the teeth

All Hell Breaks Loose: season finale and very important both for the plot and for the characters!

Season 3! One of the best seasons, and (due to the writers strike) one of the shortest! Dean is.. so fucking good this season.

The Magnificent Seven: plot mostly. Introduces Ruby who is very important

The Kids Are Alright: introduces Lisa! I have mixed feelings about where her story goes but that doesn’t mean I don’t like her. Dean interacts with kids idk how much of a selling point that is for you but it sure is for me!

Bad Day at Black Rock: sooo fucking funny also introduces Bela I love Bela Justice 4 Bela

Sin City: really good Dean content, the plot of the ep is weak tho

Red Sky at Morning: not everyone likes this episode but Bela is in it so EYE love it

A Very Supernatural Christmas: family traumaaaaa and... a christmas monster plot? ok?

Dream a Little Dream: DEAAAAAN I LOVE YOUUUUUU

Mystery Spot: really funny until it. isn’t.

Jus in Bello: REALLY good episode. I love Victor. Justice 4 Victor

Ghostfacers: ok this is a spectacular episode it is deeply chaotic tho so. brace yourself.

No Rest for the Wicked: Listen to Johnny THEE Cash’s 25 Minutes To Go before watching. Cannot BELIEEEVE they ended the season like that genuinely... Back when this show had cojones

I will update this post with season 4 and 5 if you actually get that far. I think that since you’re interested in the family dynamics and the american roadtrip feeling then seasons 1-3 are really a good place to dig into that, and that allows the show to explore john winchester/God parallels in seasons 4-5 without it feeling unearned.