#like that dude have thousands of years trauma

[goodolddumbbanana]

I love that while Ruin has to pretend to be insane for like hundreds of years, doing Creator's bidding jobs to survive, working with Bloodmoon for his purpose, and getting trapped and tortured by Dark Sun.

And many many things, what is really getting on Ruin's nerves, what Ruin couldn't stand and consider it is his torture is working and breathing on the same air with Nexus.

Like...

Seeing Bloodmoon, Creator, Creators, Molten, Dark Sun...: (terrified but still trying to be smartass) ooh dear... But There is nothing I couldn't fix with my tea.

Seeing Nexus: (dramatic crying) This is the worst day of my life. My smile is ruined and my day is disappointing. I never see a creature this ugly like Nexus.

[phantomonabudget]

We need to talk, Pham. Stop shaming Christine Daaé.

I have seen this behavior consistently for the 30+ years I have been a Phan. What's worse is that I see A LOT of it from grown women. I see posts calling her foolish for leaving Erik. Slut shaming her or calling her a gold digger. Calling her stupid, weak, or unworthy because a "real woman" (presumably the women posting these absurd notions 🙄) would have loved him better and been worthy of his awesome talent and capacity for love. 😳🤮

It's disturbing, disheartening, and disgusting. And it needs to stop.

First off, none of these characters are real, so perhaps let's take things a little less seriously in general. It's a fictional story. I get it: we all love it, and probably love the Phantom's character. That's fine....I've made a 20+ year career dressing as the dude, for crying out loud. 🤣 Maybe we all identify with Erik/The Phantom to some degree. Regardless of the version of the story, if the actors or authors do their job well, we *should* feel pity and compassion for him. But feeling compassion and completely ignoring the character's dangerous and abusive behavior are two very different things. It has the potential for some severe consequences in the real world.

By shaming Christine for leaving Erik at the end, you are potentially telling young people that staying in abusive relationships is the right thing. You make them think that if their significant other is talented, misunderstood, been abused themselves etc, then they should stay and love them into a healthy relationship. That if they just love their abusive SO harder, sacrifice themselves a little more or for a little longer, or keep putting that person's needs above their own, that the relationship will suddenly become this wonderful, euphoric experience. It won't. As a survivor of longtime abusive myself, I can tell you from experience: it doesn't happen that way.

Celebrate healthy relationships and enforcing healthy boundaries. Stop shaming Christine for fighting for and winning her life and saving the man she loves.

And please stop calling this a romance. It's the antithesis of romance.

I am sick of members of this Phandom completely ignoring Erik/The Phantom's behavior to justify their blind adoration. Erik is an abusive and dangerous character, and extremely toxic. He lies to and manipulates Christine using her trauma from her deceased father. He kidnaps her, multiple times. Threatens her and her colleagues. He extorts hundreds of thousands from the business managers. He endangers dozens of people with the chandelier crash, and effectively holds hundreds hostage for months or years at a time with his reign of terror at the Opera.

Then there are the murders. Several of them. Probably been at that for awhile so we can assume it's far more than the two we see in the show. We don't know his actual body count, but we do know he's adept and comfortable taking human life.

And yet, I see some mature phans out here completely ignoring all those things and still shaming Christine for leaving him. Why? Because he's "sexy" (author's note: PLEASE go re-read Leroux. Please). And he's talented. And has so much love to give. And is misunderstood. And society was terrible to him...so it's all fine. 😳🤮 She should have just stayed and loved him like he deserves to be loved. 🙄

Recently I saw a post shaming Christine and the justification was that Raoul was so much worse. He isn't. Is he a perfect character? No, not at all. Does he make mistakes and try to use Christine? In some versions, yes. Does he run around extorting, manipulating, threatening, and killing others? Also no.

Pleasw don't ever use LND!Raoul's character assassination as some kind of justification, because he's still the most sane, normal human being in that show, and Erik is still 1,000 times worse than Raoul in LND. Also, using LND as justification for anything makes for a very weak and uninformed argument.

"Hurt people hurt people." Ever heard that phrase? Abused people sometimes abuse others, especially if they haven't done the work to heal themselves. Their previous abuse does NOT entitle them to abuse others. That is always a deliberate choice and those choices have consequences. The dangerous, disgusting rhetoric I see in the Phantom community basically excuses toxic behavior because Erik was previously abused and nothing is his fault. That is simply not true. Those that abused me were previously abused. Didn't make my abuse hurt any less. And I made the choice to do the work so that the abuse stopped with me. Previous trauma is a reason for the behavior, but it is NEVER, ever an excuse.

And don't let the fact the dude can sing or that he's a snappy dresser blind you to his toxicity.

We can all enjoy the Phantom character's complexity and love him, while still acknowledging his flaws and holding him accountable for his deeply inappropriate choices.

We talk a lot more these days about trauma, toxicity, and self care. And yet, as a community, we still shame the character of Christine Daaé for doing the healthy, correct thing. The ONLY thing. And in doing so, we set a disturbing precedent for our young or vulnerable Phans who now might think that staying in toxic relationships in the real world is okay.

Please do better, Phandom.

[foolish-neko]

Because series made me to think about this canon again

For years, I was confused about how to feel about Armand's book backstory.

Like. He's from Kyivan Rus', BUT at the same time from 15th century. Kyivan Rus' was feudal monarchy that existed from probably IX (at least we assume so, because it was mentioned under that name in 852, tho it's not popped from the air, you know) to 1240. From ~1240 to 1349 the country was Rus' Kingdom. After that, Ukraine was splitted between Poland, Lithuania and Moldavian principality. Tho, Ukrainians were called Ruthenians (Latin name for former nation of Kyivan Rus') up until 19th century. I've read Beauplan's and Merimee's works about Ukraine, and they call Ukrainians both Ukrainians and Ruthenians.

SO.

When was Andrii (yes, this is how you would pronounce Ukrainian variation of Ανδρεας or Andrew)? He was Ruthen from Kyivan Rus' or he was Ruthen from 14th century Rus' Kingdom? Or he was even later? Book says he was born in 1481. So, later. A lot later.

We also know that he was kidnapped and enslaved by Mongolians. Mongolians entered Kyiv in 1240, it was a 13th century, not the end of 15th.

AND I HAVE A THEORIES.

Vampires live very long. So, probably it could be a mistake. Maybe Armand is simply older. Maybe he was around in 1240. He was just a child back then. Probably centuries later he was like 'yeah that Mongolians they sold me... so... it was... um... 15th century... yes? no?' Maybe it's just miscount. And then he never bothered to fix that.

The book is written by Daniel if I remember correctly. Perhaps Armand was like 'dude I was in orthodox Christian church I didn't know what year it was, I almost forgot my name and appearance in the catacombs under Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra'. And Daniel asked Marius when he met Andrii. And Marius... Well, if you are around for 2 thousand years, you can remember things incorrectly. So, Daniel, who is American and know nothing about history of Ukraine, and Marius who maybe knows something about Kyivan Rus' because it was a huge and powerful country back then just made that. They counted and assumed that it was 1481. And it was wrong.

Armand is a liar. How we can know that his real name is Andrii? Maybe he had a friend who's name was Andrii and Armand stole it. Maybe he was Taras. Or Bohdan. Or Oleh. How we would know? And maybe he never saw Mongols. How we would know? How would Daniel know? Maybe it was just his grand grandmother who told she saw Mongolians and how they burnt Kyiv. And little Andrii (we can say he was a weirdo all along) was just 'wow I want that! how cool it would be!'. And then he was kidnapped. And assaulted. And sold as a slave. And little weird Andrii just wanted a little comfort in his misery and a cool story. And when Marius asked how Andrii was captured, he made up this cool story about Mongols. Maybe in reality it was something more... Common. Dark and common. Everything could happen. Maybe he was sold by his parents, and he denied it. Maybe it was abuse in that church. Maybe he ran away from church and somehow ended up on the slave market.

Actually, I tend to 3rd. Isn't it a western movie where little talented boy paint so beautifully that Prince Michael (Mykhailo II of Chernihiv I assume) orders one of his icons, but on the way he and his father are interrupted by Mongolians. Also, it was said that Andrii suffered an amnesia due to his trauma caused by life in a brothel. He even starts to learn how to paint from the start, like he never knew how to paint before. So, was he at Lavra at all? Was he an icon painter? We would never know. He could just go to the Kyiv-Pechersk Lavra, point at some old icon and say he drew it.

Or maybe some part of the story is true and some - isn't. I would speculate that Armand had an education. He wasn't a son of a hunter, no. He knew about Mongols. He knew who was the knyaz in 1240. But in 1481 Yurii Paz was knyaz. Mykhailo would be long dead by that time, obviously. So, how would little poor Andrii Ivanovych from 1481 know who was knyaz back when Mongols burnt Kyiv?)) A hunters son could not, he would not have an education, he would not know how to read or write, so history? Oh no, no way.

So, simply, we do not know who is Andrii. Is he Andrii at all? Was he born in 1481? Was he even 17 when Marius was thinking he was? Was his father a hunter named Ivan? Was he an icon painter at Lavra? probably yes and Ann Rice just didn't research enough

I just was thinking about it for years since I have read Vampire Armand. All these years I was wondering how he end up stolen by Mongols in 15th century...

Tho, it would be hilarious to see Armand's icon in Vampireverse Lavra. Imagine that. By the way, Lavra still have catacombs (I was there on tour). Maybe in Vampireverse some of Andrii's friends are there. Literally, their mummies as saints. He would arrive in Ukraine, in Kyiv and like 'oooh let's go see my old friends'. 'Look, Daniel, this is Marko, I knew him. Oh, and this is Illya, he looks better now, actually'. And then he would see his icon. And like... You know how it feels to see your artwork after some time. It's just not that good anymore, you know. You can do better now. Yes, this is how he would feel. It was a masterpiece in 1490s, he painted it for a year and a half. And now he can draw photo-like detailed art on his graphics tablet.

If you read this, thank you for the attention! Love you!

[lexosaurus]

Everything Was White: Part 23

[see all chapters]

read on: [ao3] [ffn] (please read tags)

Summary: After being accidentally revealed to the public and taken away by the government, Danny deals with the aftermath of his time with the GIW.

****

Danny watched the countdown on Tucker’s television. They usually celebrated New Year’s at Sam’s house, but not this year.

He wasn’t allowed over to her house anymore.

Thousands of people were packed in the streets of Manhattan, all cheering over some pop singer Danny didn’t recognize. He’d been a little too busy lately to keep up with current media trends.

Danny had a Coke in hand. Sam and Tucker were also drinking Coke, plus a little something extra that Sam had snuck from her parents’ liquor cabinet. Danny desperately wanted some too, but he wasn’t allowed. He was on medication. 

Still, sobriety wasn’t fun when surrounded by people who were not. So, when he last excused himself to the bathroom, he popped an extra pill instead.

He didn’t have many of these left. He could have rationed it better. But he didn’t.

Oops.

He should have felt happy tonight. Relieved, even. He’d made it through what could easily be defined as the worst year of his life. He’d experienced the deepest depravity that humanity had to offer, and he was still alive.

That meant something. He knew it did, deep down inside. But he couldn’t stop the crushing crises course through him as he said goodbye to the previous year and hello to the next. A hello so empty, it felt like a black hole was sucking his entire psyche into it.

This would be the next year of his life. Another year of the Ghost Investigation Ward stalking him. Another year of the fire of his fried nerves igniting in his chest. Another year of clawing at the steepest cliff of recovery until his fingers bled and his voice was hoarse from yelling, pleading for someone to listen, for someone to help.

The singer’s set ended, and one of the television announcers came on air to announce the final minute of the year. The crowd’s roar increased, and Tucker playfully nudged his shoulder.

“This is it, dude!” he yelled, his voice thick with alcohol.

Danny pulled his throw blanket farther up his torso and gave what he hoped was an adequate thumbs-up to his friends. His fingers were heavy and clumsy tonight.

Sam said something, and Tucker burst into laughter, grabbing her arm for support.

The chasm between Danny and his friends had never felt larger.

To them, this New Year’s celebration symbolized something different from his. It had been a horrible year for them too, but their trauma was done and over now. They’d fought valiantly for Danny to come home, and he had. 

Yay! Victory for Sam and Tucker! 

And now, it was over. Whatever horribleness that they’d dealt with was about to be wiped clean. 

But Danny’s…wasn’t.

And that was the difference between them. They got to do normal teenager things like drink alcohol on New Year’s, while he couldn’t. They got to laugh about what awaited them in the upcoming year, while he couldn’t. They got to be normal, while he wasn’t.

During their freshman year, there had been a point where he knew they were jealous of his ghost powers. Tucker had been a little more of an open book, but even Sam—in her loudest angry outbursts—had expressed more or less the same. But now, even when Danny stretched his ghostly empathy as far as it could reach, he couldn’t detect the barest whisper of jealousy from either of them.

Because his powers were only fun until they weren’t. And at that point, they were life-ruining. 

“Shhh! They’re starting!” Sam said, flinging her arms across Tucker.

When was the last time she’d playfully touched him like that?

He took a long swig of his drink and tried to block out the acrid taste in his throat.

“Ten…nine…eight…”

Danny felt the warm embrace of the blanket and the medication. The burning in his chest lessened, finally, though no one else but him would be able to tell.

He had become an expert at hiding his pain.

“Seven…six…five…”

Sam was standing now, and Tucker was trying his best to help Danny up so he could celebrate with them. They stumbled, but Sam grabbed his other side, her strong arms supporting his weak ones. 

Her laugh bubbled in his ears. He’d always liked her laugh. It was sharp, especially through the tilted room.

“Four…three…”

Tucker said something, but Danny couldn’t understand him. 

He…

The world was warping now. Melting, spinning.

It was nice. So, so nice. To not have to think. To let the chatter of his friends blend into the sound of the television and fog until everything was too indistinguishable for him to attempt to puzzle out.

“Two…”

He leaned on his friends, who were free to interpret that however they’d like. Maybe he was leaning on them because he wanted to be closer to them, maybe he just couldn’t support his body.

Wow. The world was really spinning. Thank god his parents were letting him stay over at Tucker’s tonight. There was no way he could deceive his mom right now.

“One!”

His friends cheered beside him, the TV was a mirage of colorful confetti, and just like that, the new year had begun.

Danny took another sip of his rum and coke.

Perfect.

****

Jazz left with Jack. It was a three-day road trip to Boston, just the two of them, stopping at a few prime tourist locations to give Jazz her last big “hurrah” on the way to her new life.

Maddie didn’t go. She couldn’t. She had to stay here with Danny. Danny couldn’t be by himself yet. Danny wasn’t healthy enough. What if Danny needed something? Danny couldn’t travel with them. Danny wasn’t stable enough. 

Danny, Danny, Danny.

Danny liked to pretend that his parents planned Jazz’s college move-in this way. That they hadn’t been stressing about who would have to miss out on such a monumental moment in their child’s life, and Jack hadn’t given Maddie his signature guilty smile on his way out the door.

That Danny hadn’t gotten in the way of his sister’s life yet again.

He liked to pretend that he had been at Harvard with her, hugging her goodbye. That their last moments together hadn’t been in their living room, that he hadn’t turned away from her, ducked his head, and mopped the corners of his eyes because he’d failed at hiding how selfish he was, failed at obscuring the truth.

He liked to pretend that Jazz’s last words to him hadn’t been, “Promise you’ll call, okay?” and that there hadn’t been an underlying tone of, “Promise you’ll call me if you need me, if you’re having a hard time, if you’re feeling close to a breakdown, okay?” 

He liked to pretend he’d left her with words of encouragement, telling her to have a good time and to make new friends, instead of the words he actually said: “I’ll miss you.”

He liked to pretend.

It was easier to give in to the fog.

****

Danny flew deeper into the city, invisible. He’d missed this, the rush of air across his cheeks, the tight twists and turns around building corners he could make, the feeling of freedom flowing through his veins.

He’d missed this far too much. And now that he’d built back some of his strength in his ghost form over the past few weeks, indulging in a daring flight after so long was pure bliss. 

It would be better if he didn’t have to hide Phantom like some dirty secret. He wished, more than anything, he could go back to the way things were before his reveal. But if nothing else, he still had his invisibility.

Racing against an imaginary opponent, he channeled more power into his speed, pushing himself harder than he had in months. He was still a long way off from his top speed, but he would get there again. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.

He whipped around a corner and flew through an intersection. It was empty, but intangibility meant he didn’t have to care about passing cars. He couldn’t help it, he whooped in delight. It had been so long, too long. 

The whir of a car engine going a little too fast for the area sounded behind him. Danny risked glancing back, wondering what kind of idiot was seriously speeding down this road, only for him to nearly fall onto the pavement.

It was a white van. 

A Guys in White van.

He cut around a corner and pulled up in the middle of the road, turning to look behind him. Sure enough, the van also turned the corner.

That wasn’t a coincidence. 

His world slowed around him, he felt the weight of the collar snapping on his neck and the sounds of a gunshot rattling in his mind. He grasped for his neck, but where he expected a collar, there was only skin. His parents weren’t here this time, no one was shooting at his dad. It was just a memory, just a memory.

He forced himself back to reality, back to the van approaching him. Just before it gained on him, he took the risk and bolted back the way he came.

Only to hear tires screech as the van pulled an illegal U-turn in the middle of the damn road.

The van was following him. It was following him. 

It was following him.

If they knew he was here, then the van was likely outfitted with power-level detectors and ectosignature readers. Wouldn’t the agents know that the ghost they were following was Phantom? And that they couldn’t touch him anymore?

What a silly thought, though, assuming that a piece of paper from a judge meant anything to the federal government. Of course, they were following him because he was Phantom.

Danny’s blood roared in his ears, and he kicked it into high gear, dodging around the maze of city blocks until he didn’t know where he was anymore. Colors melded with the wind, whipping past his face and stinging his cheeks. Panic and adrenaline forced him forward, stretching him to his limits and past them. He needed to get out of here, get away, shake them, don’t get caught, Danny, don’t get caught.

Bracing himself, he jetted through a row of buildings, timing his rings to snap and his powers to fade out just as he exited the last wall and crashed onto the alley pavement.

A chorus of cries sounded around him, and he scrambled behind a dumpster, breathing hard. His body had not liked that fall, and his chest was singing a song of pain. He flipped his hood over his hair and ducked his head into his knees, forcing himself to breathe through the waves of nausea and fire that licked his body.

“Who the fuck?”

“Hey! Hey, kid!”

The gruff voices around him got closer.

“Did he just fly through the fucking wall?”

“Someone get this fucking—”

“Kid!”

Danny risked peering up to see a shaggy man in a beanie holding his backpack. “Hey, that’s mine!” he cried, sitting upright.

“Hang on, is that…?”

“Oh, nah!” A tall man in a bomber jacket threw the end of his joint to the ground and stomped it out with his foot. “Nah, I’m not sticking around!”

A few other men followed him out of the alley.

“I’m sick of this ecto-bullshit!” Danny heard the bomber-jacket guy cry from the street.

“That—that’s mine.” Danny slowly stood, despite his shaking limbs. He held onto the brick wall for support and let his eyes glow green. “Give it back.”

He watched as the remaining men behind the beanie guy stiffened, and one more slipped from the alley.

The beanie guy dropped the bag and raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t tryna steal it. I was giving it back.”

Danny let the glow of his eyes peter out. Then a white van zoomed past the alley, and on instinct, he dropped back to the ground and curled up behind the dumpster.

His actions had not gone unnoticed. A man with a gravelly voice said, “Hey, Tim, I think the Phantom is hiding from someone.”

The beanie man pivoted between the small group and Danny. He leaned down, his face softening. “Phantom? Are you bein’ chased?”

Danny’s mouth dried. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“I don’t wanna get in nobody’s business,” another man from the group said. He picked up his own ratty backpack. “I ain't tryna get on the cop’s radar, kid.”

“Wait, come on!”

But the man in the ratty backpack too ducked out of the alley.

“Sorry,” Danny choked out. At the moment, it was all he could do. The government had to have known he was still in the area, even if they couldn’t detect him in human form. They knew he was trapped here.

It would be too easy to capture him now, especially in a seedy place like this. They could just blame it on the local population who, by the looks of things, had their own set of problems they were dealing with.

“Leon, we can’t leave the kid here,” the beanie guy said. “Not if he’s bein’ chased.”

“He’s a ghost, ain't he? Phantom kid, can’t you fly away?”

Danny gripped his bangs and breathed low into his forearms. He wanted these men to leave him alone, go back to smoking weed and whatever else was in their pockets, just let him deal with his own shit behind this dumpster.

God. How pathetic. He’d only just gotten his ghost form back and already was cowering in an alley like a criminal.

You haven’t done anything wrong, he reminded himself. Phantom’s legal now. You’ve done nothing wrong. 

So why didn’t it feel that way? Why was everyone treating him like some disgusting leper? Why couldn’t he just fly around the city without his worst nightmare tracking his every move?

He heard the van pass by the alley again and dropped his head back onto his knees.

God, he was exhausted. He hated this feeling, he hated everything about this.

“Come on, Phantom, we gotta get you out of here.”

A hand gently touched his shoulder, and Danny jerked back. “Don’t touch me.”

The beanie man retracted his outstretched arm. “Sorry, but you gotta get out of here.”

Danny saw that the remaining men from their original huddle had ventured closer, and he directed the green glow back into his eyes, hoping to scare them back. 

Phantom’s powers bleeding into his human form or not, he wasn’t strong enough yet to handle these four men in human form. Especially when his collapsible crutches were currently tucked in his backpack.

“I’m not moving,” he hissed. “Don’t even try.”

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down, kid.”

“Tim, it’s a ghost. It ain't gonna listen.”

Danny’s head snapped over to the other talkative shaggy man. What was his name? Lenon? 

“Uh, Leon, I don’t think he likes being called an ‘it.’”

“No, he doesn’t,” Danny snarled. “Get away from me.”

“Phantom, we ain't tryna hurt you. We tryna help.”

Danny’s brows shot up. “Oh? Forgive me if my ecto-bullshit self has—has trouble believing you.”

“Come on, Tim, let’s go,” a new voice piped up. “He don’t wanna talk.”

Good. Leave him alone, let him stay here until the Guys in White give up their search and move to another city block. They couldn’t track him in his human form. So long as he stayed quiet, stayed hidden, he could lose them.

His chest whispered in discontent again, and he couldn’t help the choked gasp that came out of his lungs.

“Phantom, you alright?”

Danny tried to nod, but the adrenaline was leaving his body and with it the last of the pain medication. That, or his body was finally letting him know just how unhappy it was that he’d rammed into the pavement a minute ago.

“Yo, agents! Get the fuck out!” the bomber-jacket man’s distant voice shouted from the street.

Danny’s breathing picked up again, and his head swam. They can’t touch you. They can’t touch you, he repeated like a mantra to himself.

“Remain calm, we’re only here for a routine inspection,” another voice echoed around the corner.

Danny went cold.

His eyes trailed back up to the small group of scraggly men before him with untamed beards and missing teeth. He closed his eyes and clamped his jaw together. Finally, he gave a low, “Help me.”

The men wasted no time grabbing his backpack and arms, hoisting him up, and pulling him down and around the alley at a pace Danny could only pretend to keep up with.

He should have been humiliated, but he was too focused on trying not to puke.

“Where we takin’ him?” the man with the deepest voice whispered. His accent wasn’t from around here. Danny couldn’t place it—maybe New York? He wasn’t lucid enough to be able to tell.

“Drew’s just ‘round the corner,” the beanie man said.

“What, you crazy? We can’t take him there,” the man with the probably-Brooklyn accent said.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause, that’s the kid! He’s—” Brooklyn’s voice lowered. “He’s the Phantom. ”

“Yeah, but Drew’s place is on the next block.”

Danny heard a sharp sigh. “Fine, but it was your idea.”

“Hey, kid,” came a scrappy voice and the smell of cigarettes. Danny was only vaguely aware that someone was leaning down to his height. “We gonna take you to a friend’s house. You gotta keep your mouth shut about it, though.”

“Fine by me,” Danny muttered.

They jerked him around another corner and Danny grunted at the sudden movement, nearly sending the entire team tumbling.

“Can’t you walk, Phantom?” Brooklyn asked.

“Not really,” Danny growled. He could, but not without tools. And not this quickly.

“Remember?” the gravelly man said. “He’s got a wheelchair.”

“Oh yeah, where is it?”

“Not here,” Danny said.

They halted before a dingy door. Behind it was the low thump of a hip-hop bass and various deep voices. The beanie man stood before it and knocked.

There were footsteps, and then a lock turned, and smoke poured out of the open door. Danny lowered his head, his heart suddenly in his throat. The last thing he needed right now was to be recognized and tossed back into this sketchy alley.

“Winnie! You look as radiant as ever,” the gravelly voice said from behind him.

“Fuck off, Leon,” a woman responded. “Get in here.”

“Thanks, princess!”

“Don’t call me that.”

The group stumbled through the doorway. The man with the beanie dragged Danny over to a giant sectional couch in the middle of the room and dropped him next to a group of larger men who did not look like they were cool with Danny’s scrawny butt being nearly thrown over them.

“Hey! Tim, what the hell?” One of the men jumped out of the way.

The voices in the room hushed. Immediately, Danny was aware that every eye was on him.

Yeah…

“Whoa, is that—”

Someone muted the music.

“That’s the Phantom kid!”

Despite most of these men easily weighing at least a hundred pounds more than him, they scrambled away as if he were the biggest threat here.

“Bro, what the fuck?!” One of the bodybuilder-like men stomped over to the four scrawny homeless-looking men. “What the fuck are you thinking bringing him in here?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” The gravelly man– Leon, was it? —put his arms out in defense.

“Easy!” another man in the room yelled.

A trim man on the edge of the couch put out his joint and stood. Immediately, all eyes were locked on him. He was tall with black, meticulously faded hair and sharp eyes that flickered between the two groups of men in the room. His face was smooth, cheekbones high, and his expression unreadable. His black hoodie was long, but when he raised his arm back up to point at Leon’s group, Danny saw slender fingers peeking through.

“I have a quick question for you four.” The man’s voice was smooth and yet just as sharp as the suspicion in his eyes.

Danny could feel the tension in the room mount. He didn’t dare move a muscle.

“Just what the hell were you fuckwits thinking?”

“Drew!” the man with the beanie defended. “The government was chasin’ that kid. I couldn’t leave him out there.”

The man—Drew—turned, approaching Danny as if he were rabid, assessing every inch of him. Around them, one spoke, no one so much as twitched.

Danny held his gaze just as he would any other ghostly predator. Because this man—this situation—was familiar. It was just like the ghosts in the Zone. Ghosts held respect via power, and this man before him clearly commanded the room.

It was perhaps the ghostly part of his brain that whispered that if this commander signaled for his cronies to attack, Danny would have no way of escaping without transforming.

“You’re really Phantom?” the commander finally spoke, his dark eyes boring into Danny’s.

The unease in the room thickened as Danny hesitated, but then he gave in, pulling the green of his core into his eyes. He saw green light reflect onto the smoky air before him, and gasps rang around the room.

“See, Drew? I wasn’t lying.”

“What the hell are you doing in our part of town?” the commander— Drew asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be injured or something?”

Danny finally broke eye contact. “I—I—I’m being followed.”

“And? How is that my problem?”

Danny looked around the room, finally taking in the faces of the cronies hovering along the plain, undecorated wall. All shapes and sizes stared back at him bearing expressions ranging from apprehension to fear.

Danny sighed and began struggling upright. “Look, this was an accident. Sorry for—for intruding. I’ll leave.”

Drew folded his arms, watching Danny clumsily try to balance without assistance.

“Can I—” Danny looked around the room to see one of the men still holding his bag. He needed his crutches. “Can I have my bag?”

“Your bag?” Drew glanced over to Leon’s group. “Give it to me.”

Danny held his arm up. “Wait—”

The braver of the bodybuilders stepped forward and pushed him back onto the couch. 

Danny fell back, heat rising to decorate his cheeks. How degrading, being pushed down so easily by this random human man.

“For all I know, this is a sting.” Drew rifled through his bag and dumped the contents on the floor. “Are your brains really that fucking fried? If the government is tracking this kid, then why the fuck would you bring him here?”

“I didn’t know where else to bring him!” 

“I don’t care, I’m not going to prison for kidnapping a fucking celebrity!”

“Wait—wait, my—” Danny winced as two metal tubes fell out of the bag and clattered onto the floor.

“The fuck are these?” Drew asked, nudging one with his foot.

Danny’s face was surely blazing red. “My crutches.”

“Those don’t look like crutches to me.”

“They’re coll–collapsible. My dad built them.”

Drew nodded to the bodybuilder who picked one up like it was a pipe bomb and gingerly handed it over to Danny.

He tried not to fumble as he felt for the side of the tube, pressing the button and expanding the device to reveal a regular arm crutch.

Drew nodded stiffly and returned to ripping the bag apart.

“If I could—could have the other one, that—that would be—”

“Shut up,” Drew said. He unzipped the front pocket, and it took all of Danny’s strength to refrain from transforming into Phantom right there.

“Wait!” Danny stumbled forward, his hand shaking again. But one crutch wasn’t enough, and he collapsed at Drew’s feet.

Drew’s hands tightened on something, and Danny had a moment of pure terror icing his veins before Drew’s hand slowly pulled out his cell phone.

Relief shuddered over him, and Danny couldn’t help the shaky breath that escaped his lips.

Drew’s eyes pierced into his. “It’s off.”

“I—I didn’t want anyone…tracking me.”

Drew rolled his eyes and tossed the phone down onto the coffee table full of ash and drugs. And to Danny’s utter despair, his hand plunged back into his backpack and he pulled out something else.

Something that sucked the air out of Danny’s lungs completely.

Drew held up the bag of pill bottles like it was some sort of prize. He read the labels, and Danny watched as his lips curled upwards in realization.

“No,” Danny mumbled, too stricken to do much else. “Please stop, stop.”

“Who would have known,” Drew said, almost thoughtfully. “Danny Phantom, town hero, on opioids.”

Sharp breaths and mutters filled the room.

Danny felt his eyes prickle in shame. “No, you don’t—you don’t understand. I need those. Please, I need them. They—they’re my medication.”

“Right, Pamela Manson,” Drew sneered. He kicked the other crutch over to Danny, who scrambled to unlock it and push himself up.

“You don’t understand,” Danny said, his voice slightly less panicked now that he was on equal footing. “I’m a—a halfa, human medication doesn’t work the same on me. I have nerve damage.”

“And so, what, you need to go behind the doctors’ backs? Steal other people’s shit?” Drew laughed. “Doesn’t that go against your moral hero shtick?”

“No—I—” Danny gritted his teeth in frustration. His throat closed, his voice betraying him. 

“Don’t get yourself worked up, kid. I don’t care.” Drew put the plastic bag back in his backpack. “I just think it’s funny, is all. It also makes sense. I mean, no one can get thrown into so many buildings all the time without having a little something to take the edge off.”

Annoyance pinged through Danny. This guy was completely misunderstanding the situation, but Drew was a total stranger accompanied by other strangers. There was no way Danny was about to get into the intricacies of ghost biology and Obsessions with this random guy.

But he couldn’t just let people think that Phantom was some sort of junkie who only got into ghost fights because of drugs.

The voices around them were starting to pick up again.

“Who woulda thought.”

“I always figured the guy was on something.”

“So much for the hero thing.”

Danny cringed, listening to the whispers making all sorts of assumptions about his character.

No, no, no. Why was this happening? Now everyone was going to know that he used drugs and everyone was going to think he was some sort of addict chasing his next high rather than the truth. 

He needed to fix this. Do something—say something. Anything. He needed the medication. For pain, for sleep, for anxiety, to be normal. Didn’t they understand? No, of course they didn’t. They didn’t know what happened while he was supposedly arrested. There were rumors, but they didn’t know, they didn’t get it.

But his voice didn’t work, and it was obvious that Drew had a smarter tongue than he did anyway. He needed to show them. There was a way. He had the visual evidence, didn’t he?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he phased his hoodie off and pulled his T-shirt up to his neck.

“Whoa, Phantom, what are you—” Drew’s eyes snapped onto his chest, and despite wanting to crawl into a hole and die, Danny forced himself to keep looking forward.

The room was silent once again.

“This is what the—what the government did,” Danny said. 

Realization hit Drew’s face, and his jaw dropped as horror overtook his features.

Danny released his T-shirt, humiliation crawling up his spine. “They had to recut me open at the—at the hospital after because the—the operatives didn’t bother putting everything back together correctly.”

He looked out into the room, and the faces of disgust, revulsion, and pity looked back at him. Self-consciousness threatened to knock him back down to the couch, but he pushed it away.

He’d never told anyone what happened outside of therapy. Sure, Sam and Tucker may have pieced it together more or less on their own, but these guys were strangers, and Danny had never told strangers anything.

“So the rumors are true,” the round-faced girl from the doorway said. “You know, what they been saying about you.”

Danny leaned on his crutches. “That’s why I have the meds. Honestly.”

Drew exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why not go to a doctor? Aren’t you fucking famous?” He handed Danny’s bag over, finally. 

Danny didn’t want to mention that the contents of his backpack were still scattered all over the floor.

“Wouldn’t you be able to get this shit from them?”

“Because, like I already said, my metabolism burns through this faster than—than normal humans. I can’t just—I’m already on a prescription. It doesn’t work, and they won’t listen to me because I’m too young.”

“And now you just happened to land here.”

“What?” Danny guffawed. “You think I planned this?”

“No, no, that’s—” Drew sighed sharply and rubbed his forehead with his fingers. He glanced around the room, seeming to realize the audience they still had around them. “Alright, everyone get the fuck out for a second. Except…” He looked at one of the bodybuilders next to him. “Except you. Everyone else, out. And don’t say a fucking word about this or you won’t like what happens.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not a snitch,” one of the men said. He grabbed a jacket thrown over the couch and began leading the group out.

The group of scraggly men gave Danny a sympathetic look, and the man in the beanie nodded one last time to him. “Good luck, Phantom.”

“Nice to meetcha, kid,” the woman said. She paused, looking like she wanted to say more, but then ducked out the back door with everyone else.

And then it was just the three of them: Danny, Drew, and the third man who, without the interference of ghost powers, could probably beat the shit out of Danny in about two seconds flat if he wanted to.

Thankfully, Danny had intangibility on his side.

The door closed, and Drew collapsed onto the couch, picking up a blunt from the table. He took his time lighting it and inhaling, before, much to Danny’s surprise, he held his arm out, offering it to Danny.

“Uh—um, no thanks,” Danny said quietly. “I don’t smoke.”

Drew shrugged and took another hit instead. He gave Danny a curious look. “Jeez, kid, I’m not gonna bite. Sit down.”

Danny glanced back at the bodybuilder, who was also sinking into an armchair, before he decided to sit back down. Which, glancing down at his quivering legs, was probably good timing. 

“Alright, so you were being chased, you said?” Drew asked.

“Yeah.”

“By who?”

“The Guys in—Ghost Investigation Ward,” Danny responded, barely remembering to use their official name rather than the mocking one he and his classmates preferred.

Drew shot him a suspicious look. “I thought y’all went to court with those guys?”

Danny’s silence was enough of an answer. 

“Figures.” The bodybuilder tsked his tongue. “They don’t play by their own rules.”

“The fuck were you doing in this part of town anyway? Aren’t you from the west side?” 

Sometimes Danny forgot that nearly all his personal life was easily found online. “I—uh, I can fly. It’s…I get around.”

“Shit, I guess you can.”

They fell back into silence, and Danny watched the smoke swirl around the air. Now that any lingering adrenaline had completely left his body, he was steadily becoming more aware of his own discomforts. The fire from the fall prickled his chest, and his ectoplasmic power itched his skin, threatening to emerge and force him to fly away. His throat was parched, but his water bottle was still somewhere on the floor with the rest of his stuff.

Drew tracked Danny’s eyes to his scattered belongings and jerked his head to his friend. “You mind getting our guest’s things?”

“Huh?” the man said.

Danny instantly felt self-conscious all over again. “No—no, don’t worry. It’s fine.”

“Marcus, the kid can’t walk, come on.”

The bodybuilder grumbled but nonetheless stood from his chair, scooped Danny’s things up, and stuffed them haphazardly back in his backpack.

Danny sat tense on the couch. He wasn’t sure what this sudden tone shift from Drew was about, or what his new objective was by shooing everyone else away. He couldn’t have been in a rush to talk to Danny given the blunt that he was blowing into the room. Regardless, every single movement had Danny on high alert.

The bodybuilder jerked his arm out to Danny, who flinched on instinct. “Here,” the man said gruffly, and it took Danny a second too long to realize that he was returning the backpack to him.

“Oh. Thanks.” Danny accepted the bag and gently lowered it to the floor by his feet.

That seemed to satisfy the two men, who settled back into their chairs and passed the blunt between them. 

The awkward air was too much. Danny ran his fingers through his hair, saying, “Um…I’m sorry to have intruded, by the way. I—the Ghost Investigation Ward should be gone now. I can leave.”

Drew waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Those guys are freaks anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Listen, kid,” Drew started, his tone shifting. Apparently, now he was in the mood to talk brass tacks. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to you, but I’ve been around the block and I know your type.”

“My type?” Danny said, bewildered.

“Yeah. Your type. Dumb, upper-middle west kids who get into this world not knowing how the fuck it works.”

“I—I’m not—”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Drew snapped. He took a hit and let the smoke cloud over his head. “I’ve been in this scene my whole life. You think you’re the first kid who went through some shit and got into drugs to help?”

Danny’s mouth slammed shut at that.

“Listen.” Drew dragged himself off the back of the couch and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know the shit they sell nowadays. You know what fentanyl is?”

Danny shook his head slowly.

“That’s what I thought.”

“West kids, huh?” The bodybuilder barked a laugh.

Drew ignored his friend, continuing, “I’ll be honest, I always liked Phantom. I always thought you were a good guy just doing what you could do to help with the ghost problem. And if it meant that I didn’t have ghosts fucking with me so much, then I thought it was great that you were out there doing your thing. Which is why I’m gonna propose something to you.”

Danny’s tongue dried. “What is it?”

Drew nodded to Danny’s bag. “If you want something, you come to me for it.”

Whatever Danny was expecting to happen, this wasn’t it. “What?”

But it seemed, by Drew’s unchanging expression, that he was serious. “I don’t want you getting laced shit off the street from some guy who is gonna take advantage of you. If you want some good shit, you want pills , you get it from me.”

“Wait—wait.” Perhaps for the first time, Danny looked around the room and noticed the bags and powders scattered around. “Hang on, are you a dealer?”

The bodybuilder reacted as if Danny had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard. His laugh wheezed, and he wiped his eyes with thick fingers. “Oh man, kid, you’re something else.”

Drew’s lips quirked into an amused sort of expression. “Yeah, Phantom, I’m a dealer. And if you want some pills, then I can give it to you for a fair price. And that’s my proposition.”

“Oh…” Danny’s eyes trailed to his legs. “Oh.”

Never in his life would he have imagined he would be in this position, seriously mulling over the words of a drug dealer. 

Danny was a good person. He always had been. He wasn’t some…some addict who needed a drug dealer to cope. He wasn’t that person. 

He wasn’t. 

And yet, the government had fucked that all up. They ruined his body, turning him into someone with constant pain and PTSD to boot. Now they were stalking him, waiting for the best opportunity to snatch him for round two, and if Danny didn’t hurry up and finish healing, they might succeed.

He was a good person, he tried his best, and yet he had no choice.

He needed the medication.

It was that simple.

“Okay. Yeah, thanks.”

Drew stood and stretched, satisfied. He walked out of the room, and Danny heard him rummage for a moment before he returned with a small bag containing a few white pills. He tossed it to Danny, who caught it on reflex.

“Here’s some oxy on the house,” Drew said. “Call it a belated thank-you.”

“For what?” Danny mumbled, turning the bag around as if it were gold. Inside was a scrap of paper with a phone number scratched on it.

Drew didn’t answer, and instead went back on the couch, pulled a vape out of his pocket, and scrolled through his phone. 

Getting the cue, Danny stuffed the plastic bag in his backpack and stood to leave. “Thanks,” he said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and hobbling to the door.

“Don’t mention it,” came Drew’s faded voice as Danny closed the backdoor behind him.

The alley was empty now. Straining his ears, he couldn’t hear any operative voices. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a van camped nearby. He slowly shuffled down the block, trying to put distance between himself and Drew’s apartment before he transformed.

Not alerting the government of Drew’s drug den was really the least he could do after everything Drew had done for him.

He turned a corner and found the guy in the bomber jacket smoking along the wall with someone else. The two held each other’s gazes before the man nodded stiffly to Danny, who returned the gesture.

Then, without fanfare, Danny let the rings wash over him, invisibility to cloak back over his body, and he was gone.

In the air.

With his backpack and everything else inside.

****

previous / next

****

Thank you @imekitty for beta reading the chapter!

[seiya234]

the haunting of ian beale, 2/?

uh this one got long lol. part one here.

---

Ian looked around him.

He looked at who was next to him, and what he was wearing and sighed deeply.

"Well, it's not the Symbolism Room at least."

Henry nodded. "It's the Symbolism Beach, which will obviously be better."

"Was that a joke?"

"Rest assured, I do not engage in any type of jokes, frivolity, japes or shenanigans."

"Well as long as that's settled."

The beach was... endless, sand in all directions on either side of him, water in front of him. Ian didn't look behind him; something inside told him that he wouldn't like it. Normally that would have had him immediately looking from sheer spite but his gut was telling him

he would see Nothing

truly, Nothing.

could he handle seeing Nothing? no, okay, let's move on then because

this chair was very comfortable.

Henry and Ian were in Adirondack chairs, and Ian knew it wasn't his mind supplying he beach because he had never heard that term in his life. Thankfully, something knew him well enough to pair his swim trunks with a shirt and sun hat.... though considering his trunks were covered in yellow triangles, and his shirt had a Radical Dude Doing Sik Sk8 Trix on it, he was still clearly being fucked with.

Henry, Ian was bemused to see, was still in his weird pre-Transcendence 'preacher' outfit, though tonight at least he had short sleeves on.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Ian looked out at crashing waves, water so dark as appear to black, a blue cloudless sky. It felt... calming. Meditative. The waves were just enough to provide sound, but not so violent as to actually disturb the sense of calm tranquility.

His brain, Ian realized, was quiet.

Quiet in that every time he felt the panic rise, it felt like a big fist came to kindly push on his chest until he settled down.

He should probably be worried about that but

oh. hey. A fruity tropical drink in his hand. Convenient, that.

"What brings you here this time?" Ian asked. "I"m not sure how many after school specials I can handle."

Henry frowned a bit. "I'm not entirely sure myself. Quite frankly I'm amazed I'm here spea-"

Henry disappeared. Ian took the opportunity to will his drink from a virgin pina colada to a margarita.

He looked out at the ocean.

He didn't look behind him.

"My apologies." Henry was still the same, though his glass had now turned into a mug that read 'World's Best Grandpa.'

"Not exactly fun being constantly in the midst of an existential crisis, I get it."

Henry looked around him. "This... this is my daughter's beach."

The mindscape of someone dead a thousand years. But

"You seem... relatively calm, about that," Ian finally ventured.

"You mean, as compared to Alcor?" Ian must have pulled a face, because Henry let out a bittersweet little laugh.

"No. I am sad my daughter is gone. But I am happy knowing since then she has had a hundred different life times to experience joy-"

"-and pain-"

"-and that too but one is not outweighed by the other. It just is. We see each other in-"

Henry kept talking but for a minute all that came out was radio static. Ian had a feeling that even if Bill or Alcor were here, they too would only hear that static as well.

"-also, with all due respect for my brother, it has been a millennium. Everyone and everything involved has moved on."

"But not him," said Ian with full disrespect.

"No." Henry took a drink and adjusted his visor. "in a way, I pity him, deeply. I think he will forever be locked in the trauma of losing everyone and everything he knows. There is a part of him that cannot change, cannot move on, and he knows it."

"Okay, but that's bullshit though?" and oh, was he mad? Okay, he was not only mad, but pretty mad, even with the chest pushing blanket on him.

"I'm sorry, but a thousand years, and nothing has changed? Seriously? Also have we forgotten that vampires also can live a very long time, or dragons, and I don't see them doing... doing-"

Ian waved a hand to indicate everything Alcor had done, ever.

"Vampires don't have infinitely expanding and growing power at their beck and call."

"And that makes a difference how?" Man the combination dreamarita, dream beta blocker, and the constant rage that bubbled under his skin was actually a really good combo, the words were flowing but the heart rate was not accelerating, 12/10 feeling.

"My life, Mira's life... they're different because Alcor is in them- and not always for the better."

"Bill might have happened anyway."

"Point. But would I be missing an eye, would-"

Ian stopped, because he didn't want to tell Henry about the pain, the sadness, the absolutely tremendous amount of stress on all of them, because the preteen with the power of a god decided to come into their lives and play with them like dolls.

He didn't deserve that truth, yet.

Everything was silent for a minute, save for the breaking of the waves and the cry of the gulls.

Finally, Henry managed to say, "I think, I am a little upset to hear you say that. But if I put my emotions aside for a second, I do not think you are entirely wrong, either."

Ian was still. He had seen Henry crush the plastic armrests under his hands, caught the hot iron tang of blood in his nose and a flash of meat in the antlers.

"Has he told you, about my children? His nieces and nephew?"

"No. He hasn't? I'm... sorry?"

For a minute, Henry disappeared. But this time it felt like it was because he chose to do so himself.

Henry blipped back in, now also holding a dreamarita. "My apologies. I did not realize how that would affect me. And I did not hold space for your extremely valid criticisms."

Looking at him, Ian felt a wash of pity come on him. What was it like- no, what had to have happened that even a thousand years later you felt the need to exert that level of control over oneself?

"Anyway," Henry went on. "We had triplets- Acacia, Hank, Willow. They were our everything. Alcor was their fourth parent." The math must clearly have not been mathing on Ian's face because Henry added "We also had my father-in-law with us. No but... I don't regret having Alcor with us, having Alcor raise the kids. He loved them, more than anyone or anything else-"

"-except Mizar."

Henry looked like he bit a lemon.

"Yes. Well. My point is, I don't regret it but thinking about it... we were all affected in some way, letting a demon into our homes, into our bed. And... it wasn't always all good." Henry paused. "But it wasn't all bad, either."

Ian thought about it, really, truly thought about it for a minute.

"It's not all bad," he finally agreed. "But he seriously needs to fix his shit."

"I'll have a talk with him-" Henry's hands and feet blipped, appeared quickly hanging from his antlers, then appeared back where they should be. "Or I'll try to anyway."

They drank their drinks. At some point, a goat wandered onto the beach.

Ian still didn't feel tempted to look back behind him. It felt like being fourteen. It wasn't a good feeling and oh, the calm down hand was pushing him down again-neat!

"I am a little embarrassed that I am just now having this realization," Henry said as he began his second dreamarita. "It feels like something I should have recognized a long time ago."

Ian was now three dreamaritas in and beginning to see 5-D colors. "I wouldn't sweat it, it's probably because your consciousness was violently ripped apart and the resulting energy used to power a demon and now the million fragments of your soul are slowly beginning to piece themselves together and wait, how do I know this?"

"You know the answer."

"Ugh. Him."

"But you are probably correct."

"Orrrrrr, and just throwing this out there- none of this could be real and it's simply my brain trying to process the absolute shitshow of the last few years."

"Perhaps. I know that I, personally, do not feel very 'real' right now, which is also very disconcerting."

They sat. They drank their drinks. The goat was eating a seagull, an image that Ian was almost going to immediately throw on a storyboard for the next episode when he woke up.

"Why are you here? Doing this?" Ian finally asked.

"I don't have anything else better to do. Dipper won't listen to me."

Ian was not going to touch that with a ten foot pole but he went on. "That's not your vibe, that's what assholes like me say."

"I am trying to be witty, but that has never been my strong suit."

Which was why Ian wasn't going to point out that that had been nowhere near wit but-

"-I thought you could use someone to talk to, about all of this."

"Okay, but we already had this conversation and I am pretty sure you are not a licensed therapist."

"Very much not; I was a librarian."

"That tracks."

"So no, I am not a therapist. I certainly can't 'fix' you, nor do I have any intent on doing so."

That flare of anger again. "Okay, but my life would be considerably easier if my brain wasn't constantly trying to crash into the ocean and explode, so I'd rather like some fixing, thank you very much."

Henry held his hands up in supplication. "My apologies, I was trying to go for more 'we are defined by our life experiences.'" He looked down. I'm not always the best with.. talking to people. Understanding them. That was all-"

"Mira." Unbidden, her name out of his mouth.

"Her."

On Henry's arms, Ian could see dozens of little round scars, up and down. His hands clasped his mug, and Ian could see that two or three of his fingers were crooked.

Ian had a feeling why Henry had a hard time with people. It wasn't a good feeling.

"But look. One good talk won't fix everything forever. I think you could use someone to talk to about this a little more regularly. I don't know all of what you've been through, our experiences aren't a one to one comparison but, I get it. Really. And I know in retrospect, I should have talked to someone myself."

"Wait. I'm sorry, you didn't have a therapist? Or anything?"

It was disconcerting to see a middle aged man who could instantly obtain and wear the mantle of Death blush beet red.

Ian could see where this was going. "Henry did you ever talk to your wife about any of this?"

"A... a tiny bit, I think. I hope. But, I think I didn't want to burden her... which in and of itself created a burden on her. I trusted her, more than anything else in the world, but I... I couldn't talk to her."

Henry looked down at the drink in his hands. "It was always so much easier to talk here, than it was in the real world."

Control.

Ian thought about the control it took to keep the anger at bay, keep the temper cool, keep everything inside, at all times.

Control, that was more akin to a prison.

Aloud though, all Ian said was "Oof," because honestly he wasn't sure how to handle this level of honesty from a guy he was only talking to for the second time ever, also who was super dead.

"My apologies, I know that was a lot of- as my kids used to say- 'oversharing.' But I just dont want you to make the same mistakes I did."

A chill trickled down Ian's spine. "Um, I'm actually emotionally available and talk to my fiance like a real person, thank you very much. To say nothing of the multiple therapists I am currently seeing."

Henry ignored Ian's barbs and went on. "I know you talk to Mira-"

"How-"

"I can see inside you," Henry said, nonchalantly.

Not even magic airborne anxiety medicine would keep Ian's heart from immediately jackhammering in his chest, stop his temper from instantly snapping like a twig."

Ian's voice was low. "I am sick and TIRED of people, especially people I don't know, RUMMAGING inside of my head."

Henry was flushing but this time there were stormclouds in his face, which tough shit.

"It all comes down to BILL, always and forever, and apparently that's a legitimate reason to invade my privacy? In the most violating way possible?"

"That was certainly not my intention, could I please explain?"

Ian was standing up now, albeit wobbly because those dreamaritas were hitting hard, and looked out to the ocean beyond. He resisted the urge to dump a devastating one liner and began to wade out into the ocean. He'd just swim until he woke up, and then put "learn how to lucid dream" on his calendar so he could peace out right away next time this happened.

"Wait, Ian you should not go out in that water-"

Ian flipped him the bird and kept going.

"No, seriously, I think that's a rip tide-"

Suddenly, it felt like two hands grabbed Ian's ankles and pulled and now he was flying through the water, further and further from shore. He tried swimming sideways, but the not-hands on his ankles held on tighter and pulled him under."

It was a dream so obviously, Ian didn't need to breathe.

But

Everything around him was wine dark and suffocating. Underneath his feet was tens of thousand of feet of water and more than that was a deep crushing M A W, a great big stingray's mouth that sought out pray and sucked it in to crush it between it's two great grinding plates and he was drawing closer and closer and

Something else wrapped around his waist. Something... wood? It wrapped and it Pulled

And the maw and the wine dark sea and the bird eating goat and the beach were gone, all gone, and it was just him, and Henry, in a blank white space.

"I'm sorry, I tried to take you to my space but-"

For a second, everything flickered around Ian and he was in a forest but flicker again and it was the blank white room.

"-but I think that part of me is gone, right now."

"So. Thank you for saving me, but counterpoint, what the fuck was that murder beach?"

"I did not realize that her beach had.. not quite gotten a mind of its own. Say was akin to a machine left on way too long, running the same processes until it burns out-"

"And those processes are?"

"Eradicate intruders by destroying them, and dispersing their energy."

"And," Ian said after a long minute, "that was your daughter's mind."

"She was going through some things." Henry paused. "In retrospect, quite a lot of things."

Ian sat down, and Henry next to him.

"I don't- it's not on purpose, I promise."

Ian sighed. "I had a feeling. Honestly, you don't give off that kind of vibe. It's just-"

"You've been violated. Several times." There was an edge to Henry's voice and for a second the air around him smelt of blood and pine and wait, was he getting mad on Ian's behalf? Oh, that was... unexpected. But cool, thanks!

Henry closed his eyes, took a breath, and the air cleared. "I want to let you know I am not reading your mind-"

"Oh my stars, is that one theory that souls just watch the living like TV true? Because I got to tell you, I am deeply not sure how I feel about that existentially."

"No. I mean, kind of but-" radio static, again.

"I didn't catch any of that but I'm guessing no one is watching grandma go to the bathroom from the afterlife."

Henry shuddered. "Absolutely not. I can just..." He paused, clearly trying to think of a way to phrase it so that mortals could understand. Finally, he just reached out and gently tapped Ian's chest.

"I see that."

"Are you telling me you can see my heart? Because that is unimaginably corny."

"I can see that you are a good man, who loves and is loved in return."

For once, Ian had nothing to say.

The room began to dim, and Henry looked around. "I think you're starting to wake up."

"Oh, uh... okay."

There was an awkward pause, but finally, Ian extended an olive branch. "It feels like you still have more to say."

"I do."

"Then, I guess I'll see you around."

----

A pillow smacked into his face.

"Dude, why are you groaning so much?"

"Love you too, starshine."

"Seriously though, you practically woke yourself up. Weird dreams?"

Ian's brow crinkled. He couldn't remember anything but-

"Did I drink last night?"

"Um, unless you managed to do it in the 2 minutes we were apart before bed, no?"

"Huh. It's weird but I feel... hungover?"

[toxycodone]

Please write that Thistle essay.

I feel like I’m losing braincells every time I see someone infantilizing Thistle as if he’s some kind of dumb elementary schooler and not the most successful dungeon lord in history who technically controls the entire Golden Country (or what’s left of it) and spent years on magic research.

Legit saw several posts that say something along the lines of “If you think about it, he’s not actually insane, he’s just a kid”. I’m sorry, but it was directly stated in the manga that sooner or later, all dungeon lords go insane. Marcille was a mess after just one day, meanwhile Thistle has been living in this nightmare for thousand years, in addition to having so much more trauma and responsibilities fucking him up.

He’s obviously way to young for all this bullshit, but he’s not a literal child. Give him some credit.

(While we're at it, I'm politely encouraging/proposing you to write more Thistle x reader - there's so devastatingly little of this type of content. Preferably bottom!Thistle... ahem. You didn't hear me say that.)

GOD MAYBE ONE DAY IF I HAVE TIME.

Dude anon you’re so fucking woke for this. Like. Thistle is crazy. He’s insanely smart and strategic and like. HIS TRAUMA. IT RUNS SO DEEP. He is not just some kid or a bratty child at ALL

like in my mind the way he behaves is like a pretty common trauma response (mixed with the paranoia from all the shit of being dungeon lord). He’s avoiding any type of personal growth and instead focusing on every little outside detail he can control which makes him super emotionally and mentally stunted in a way. Does that make sense

I honestly wonder if people will keep up the “thistle is baby” stuff when it’s revealed in the anime he’s been executing golden kingdom members. 💀 he’s literally keeping these people alive and TERRORIZING THEM. IN THE SAKE OF “FINDING DELGAL” dude his mind is just. Paranoia soup like I said earlier.

(I’m satisfied w him getting his desires eaten only because he’s so far gone mentally there’s no sort of redemption for him. Like Mithrun tried the hard way and Laios tried to be kind but NEITHER WORKED. Thistle. Man. He’s so. Yeah.)

[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 12:

TW: Slight references to past trauma, depression

Part 11:

"Godsdammit, not again."

Nezha woke up with a familiar feeling in his body: fever, aches, and overall fatigue that would plague him whenever he felt like he could never feel so low again.

And on the day of Wukong's appointment too...

Wukong was sleeping soundly with his new blanket and plushie, at least. It would likely be a while before he gets up. It would give Nezha a few moments to collect himself as much as possible so he could get them through the day.

Wait...

"Shit."

SWK: Are you alright there, bud?

Nezha: I'll be fine. Just... *sighs*

SWK: Just what? You sure you're okay?

Nezha: Yes, I'm just... overheated a bit.

Nezha: Makes it hard to think...

SWK: *puts his hand against Nezha's forehead*

SWK: Woah! Geez Nezhie, I wouldn't call that a bit!

Nezha: Just... don't do anything...

SWK: I'll get you some ice packs!

SWK: *Grabs his blanket and plushie, hops in his wheelchair and leaves*

Nezha: ...rash...

Nezha felt like the whole room was slowly spinning, like some sick drug had been administered to him. Of course that wasn't the case. His vision turned into TV static after he stood up to try to go after Wukong. No go.

He laid back down in bed and tore his shirt off. Wukong wouldn't mind. He could care less about decency, living with Wukong for two months short of a year taught him that much.

Nezha grabbed a nearby remote and turned on every fan the remote could to full blast. He then turned on his favorite playlist on the TV.

And then the phone on the bedside table started ringing.

It was Li Jing.

Fuck.

~~~

Sun Wukong made it down to the refrigerator in the kitchen to collect the ice packs for Nezha. Finally, he could be the one giving help instead of receiving it.

But that didn't mean he stopped having problems of his own.

Wukong exhaled and felt a wave of depression topple over him like a weighted blanket he couldn't shake off. He tried.

"For the sake of Buddha, pull yourself together Wukong, you've been like this for too long!"

No amount of telling himself that was going to make things any easier.

Just for a moment, he breathed and laid his head back on the chair.

He picked it up again when the doorbell rang.

~~~

Wukong opened the door to see Li Jing standing on the opposite side holding groceries.

SWK: What are you doing here?

Jing: I came here to help my son.

SWK: Really?

Jing: Yes.

SWK: ...

Jing: *sighs* I'm not how I once was, if that's what you're thinking. I know about my son's condition, and since he hasn't called in sick for some time, I figured it would be soon.

Jing: Whenever he is in good health for an extended period of time, his condition tends to come back with a vengeance. By the amount of ice packs in your lap, it would seem I was correct.

SWK: Yeah, dude was burning hotter that the furnace you and the others stuck me in all those centuries ago.

Jing: You're still upset about that? It was over a thousand years ago!

SWK: You still think of me as a beast? It was over a thousand years ago! You still felt the need to "collar the beast" back there. You haven't changed your views of me, why would I change mine of you?

Jing: ...

Jing: I believe I deserved that.

SWK: Wait, really?

Jing: Yes. It is rather foolish and hypocritical of me to think you to have moved on from past events when I clearly haven't done so myself.

SWK: I... wasn't expecting that of you... of anyone, really, but especially you...

Jing: I have been working on myself since those days.

SWK: Uh... good to hear! I'm still a little shocked by it, but hopefully it's impacted you and Nezhie in a good way!

Jing: Nezhie? Does my son know you call him that?

SWK: Yeah. He hasn't ever complained, so I think he likes it. Kinda hard to be sure though.

Jing: Indeed...

Jing: Does my son speak of me at all?

SWK: Um... not really... sometimes he'll tell me about occasionally running into you at work or what you say in meetings but not much else.

Jing: I see... I may still have a ways to go before fully mending things with my son.

SWK: Hey, if what you said earlier is any consolation, I'd say you're on the right track!

Jing: You think so?

SWK: Yep! I do my best to stay positive. Kinda hard when I'm like this *pats wheelchair* but I'm trying.

Jing: It would seem you are doing good as well.

SWK: Thanks! Now let's get these ice packs up to Nezha, my legs feel like they're gonna get frostbite!

~~~

"Bittersweet Symphony" played on the TV as Nezha laid chest up awaiting Wukong's return. He had no idea what the lyrics meant as he didn't speak English, but Wukong seemed to enjoy the message, so it likely meant something good. Plus the instrumentals were really good.

As usual, Wukong made the loudest entrance possible.

SWK: *opens door slightly by hand and kicks it the rest of the way open* YEET!!!

SWK: *gently tosses the smallest ice pack to Nezha*

Nezha: *catches ice pack while barely paying attention*

Jing: I have so many questions...

Nezha: Good morning, father.

Jing: Good morning, my son.

SWK: We got you ice packs and some other stuff!

Nezha: Good morning to you too, Wu.

Sun Wukong gently positioned each ice pack on Nezha's body with Li Jing's help. Li Jing helped Nezha eat some breakfast and get some pain medication in him.

The three conversed for hours on various topics: Nezha's music taste, Wukong's fluency in multiple languages and each person's favorite snacks, as well as everyone's current health condition.

All in all, the day went much better than any of them had anticipated. Nezha was just happy that his best friend and his father somehow managed to get along with each other, though that did lead to some interesting conversations...

Li Jing: What is a... yeet?

Part 13:

Masterpost

[theoldoor]

churin in that new hoyofair thing + fenrir I LOVE MY MANNN

OHHH GOD THEYRE SO STUPID TOGEHTERRR

Nothing much here today just post-talia content.

ure aventurine imagine giving u a new family for like 2 years and it was revealed to all be a scheme set up by ur colleague (obsidian) to fetch back her little gems that talian thieves stole and now you watch that said family gets fucking obliterated two fold ur trauma and spent the following time beating urself around and them boom the said family came back as prisoners to the ipc just so they can meet you and all the time u spent grieving they weren’t even dead they were just goofing around (running as refugees) with a new name and causing up shits

but its cool now cuz theyre all safe and you guys can get back into being dumbasses together.

im so obsessed with that star rail disco thing HOW TF DID AVENTURINE MANAGE TO CONVINCE SUNDAY AND DR RATIO TO JOIN THAT SHITTT LMFAOAO ok fenrir too but he will piss and shit about it, like he always does but still do it anyways. look at how cute he is in that shirt that aventurine kinda pressured him into cutting that titty window out to match his unbuttoned shirt HAAHAHAHHH IM SO SIICCK THEYRE LITERALLY SO OLDER BROTHER X HIS BROMANTIC BEST FRIEND

+ no angsty shit cuz theyre happy and goofy now so let them be. just two dudes being teenagers again despite being an elite scary guy in the business and have probably been indirectly and direcrly responsible for thousands of death and the other guy is a dude who manipulated 34 people to sacrifice themselves for a weird ritual because he had to get rid of the vampire larvae in him so that he wouldnt become swarm jr - cuz theres still humanity, even in destruction

they’d start a garage band together tbh, fenrir being the bassist + vocalist while aventurine being lead guitarist OOOHHH VOCALIST X GUITARIST IM FUCKING SIIICCCKK … also sparks me an idea icp ipc au LMFAO imagine if the IPC were juggalos that’d be funny as shit + fenrir probably introduce them to icp

ive been fanonizing fenrir so much i kinda forgot he’s canonically intimidating

bonus tiktok thing </3

[justeliiijah]

1:25 Siffrin!

submitted by @sammusbird my beloved <3

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

HOOO boy okay a lot of characters with anxiety, PTSD, and depression in media are shown as uwu soft or evil with NO in between and siffrin has a LOT OF NUANCE TO HIM. there was a lot of care and love put into how they react to the hopelessness of their situation and by god do i adore it.

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

dude is so fuCKING shape. also SUCH fun nonbinary rep??? give more queers knives. i know a lot of us have them but more. more should have them. me. give ME a knife.

3. Least favorite canon thing about this character?

how do i draw him in color he looks Wrong

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

ace attorney bc i think it wld be funny. they wld get framed for a murder that they did commit somehow i can Feel it

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

dont kill me bc this is kind of hilarious but the song is called Time Travel by Never Shout Never it's linked lol. u can extrapolate abt who's talkin to who in the song but i imagine it's loop and siffrin

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

[thousand yard stare] hot and transmasc next question

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

fuck that lad up yall ur doing great

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

as king of angst every time i see siffrin unburdened with trauma i lose ten years off my life span (i don't have any real pet peeves and am not super active in the fandom!)

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

i can't even be roommates with my roommates, man

10. Could you be best friends with this character?

unfortunately i am a bit of an asshole and i also have ptsd i think we wld kill each other with our eyes immediately

11. Would you date this character?

we are the same type of fucked up so that is a solid dear god no

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

ftm (i am projecting ok). they are canon nb i believe but i don't know if. like. there's a canon depiction of them w top scars or some shit but it wld fuck!!!

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

feel free to assume what i mean from this bc i'm not adding context

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

i am not a fashion bitch but i think someone shld give him a choker

15. What's your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn't matter if it's canon or not.)

surprisingly canon for once! isafrin <3

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

mira or odile w siff. those mfs are his besties stop trying to make them kiss. also mira is aroace

17. What's a ship for this character you don't hate but it's not your favorite that you're fine with?

loopfrin. ironically my bf @codacheetah is extremely abnormal abt this one lol

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

mira and siffrin's relationship makes me fuckign emotional literally dont look at me???? but siffrin and odile too bc like. they share that lack of ability to Know where they come from (if only partially on odile's part). and bonn-- okay i think. i think all of their relationships are insanely complex and important ok

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

not applicable tbh. i do think that he shld kick the king in the wiener tho

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

mira my beloevd <333

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

i havent posted fic since like. 2017

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to ths character? Something you don't like?

i love the introspection abt the recovery i've seen!!! like, ppl showing how they think siffrin copes after the fact.

as for dislike,,, hm. i don't love the Other People Loop aus despite how intriguing they are because,,, well. there's a Reason to me that it was siffrin, a reason that their desperation to stay was so powerful. they are singularly capable of that level of need, i think.

23. Favorite picture of this character?

man its gotta be

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

ur gonna laugh but. like s4 jon sims. i think they wld get along but jon is far more of a loser

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

honestly i think i thought they were a very malleable char? like, that he wld change w the player's decisions. and i wasn't wrong entirely, because that's. how story driven gaming works, but siffrin has a much stronger personality and identity than i thought. i also thought they were in space for some reason i did NOT listen to coda's rants

26. FREEBIE QUESTION!!

hes a cutie :3

[atla-confessions]

“Damn right, the only person true Aang stans hate is the fucking guru (lmao plz ask me why)"

Why?

LMAO THANK YOU FOR ASKING

Anyway, The Guru is just, awful. I mean, this man really looked at a 12 year old and was like "just don't be sad dude." Like, "oh, literally everyone you knew and loved is dead? That's fine, you have a crush on a girl. That's basically the same thing." Like no, I'm sorry. Sure, I kinda understand the point of like, love evolves but NO you cannot equate his love for Katara with his love for LITERALLY EVERYTHING HE HAS EVER KNOWN.

And then the whole, "Katara or the avatar state"??? Like??? I'm sorry, every other avatar seems to be vibing with their avatar state just fine while still having earthly attachments. Roku had an attachment so hard a 100 yr war happened, but he gets to use the avatar state at free will. Almost like, oh, maybe the avatar state is something controlled through skill and not some arbitrary state of mental bliss. It really reads like Aang is just too young to be able to handle the avatar state naturally because he's, you know, a child, so the Guru is trying to force it onto him child soldier style.

And yeah, I love people who point out that there is a difference between love and attachment. You know who doesn't explain that? THE GURU. Bitch, if it took us adults a whole lot of thinking to figure out wtf he meant, (and some people are still convinced he just meant Aang shouldn't love Katara like that anymore) how the fuck did he expect a TRAUMATIZED TWELVE YEAR OLD to get it????

And like, ultimately, his lesson was wrong???? We are told point blank by Iroh, a character we know and trust for his wisdom, that the Guru was wrong???? And Aang fucking died for that shit???? WHAT WAS THE POINT

I'm so convinced everything would have gone a thousand times better without the Guru.

1. Aang wouldn't have left in the first place. No need to save Katara if he got captured with her bc hes a fuckin earthbender. 2. Even if they still ended up in the same situation in the catacombs, if he didnt use the avatar state, you know what would've happened?

They would have been captured. And then either been saved by the others or escaped on their own again. Because that's what they always do. I mean really, they had SOKKA and TOPH on the outside. You think those two wouldn't be able to figure out how to bust them out of anything???? Nobody would have had to fucking DIE. The world wouldn't think Aang was dead. So many things would've been better

But NO because the FUCKING GURU had to STICK HIS NOSE IN BUSINESS IT DOESNT FUCKING BELONG IN.

I'm so about forgiveness and love. I vibe with Aang's message so hard, but I will punt the guru across a nation any day. I can forgive genocidal maniacs, I draw the line at old men who tell 12 yr olds to completely dismiss their trauma and throw themselves into unnecessary danger smh /j

Literally what did he do? What did he contribute? Nothing but pain and misery. I liked him bc he was nice to Appa and then he went and told Aang "just stop being afraid bro" (which clearly worked so well as we see later in Daydreams and Nightmares)

Just, ugh, 0/10 worst character. I will forever be anti-guru lmao.

X

[canonizzyhours]

the canyon are really on one the last few days in the tags. calling ed an abuser, whining about izzy dying being unfair and cruel. i've been going on a blocking spree. it's obviously in desperate response to the surge of reason from this blog and other meta takes that properly represent canyon izzy in their analysis of s2.

personally i am super grateful to this blog and everyone's anon takes and other posters' metas. i've been a victim of relationship abuse and have struggled with reacting to triggers for years since that experience, because my trauma responses often hurt others, in ways that i fear are me being abusive. it's done major damage to my sense of self-worth because i have blamed myself for hurting others and felt ashamed of my difficulty controlling myself when triggered and when traumatized. this is even after years of therapists reassuring me that i'm not an abuser (doesn't absolve me of responsibility for my behaviors, and i can recognize the difference in myself versus my abusers when i acknowledge the thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours i have spent on therapy over the years to work on myself and my relationships).

i really identify with ed as a character with similar struggles, and with the fear that i'm unable to change, the fear that i am just as bad and dangerous as my abusers and thus possibly deserving of the abuse in some way. OFMD depicts this aspect of surviving family and relationship abuse that is otherwise rarely (never?) shown in mainstream media, and it does it so thoughtfully and beautifully and in a way that feels HEALING and like it gives me hope. i wish the canyon folks could have the empathy they so clearly have for izzy, a pretty nasty and harmful dude, for ed as well, so that they could feel some of the healing and hope from this show that they clearly are in search of. or that they could recognize the healing and hope present in izzy's arc in s2 instead of centering his character over ed's. i do think their inability to do so stems from (unconscious) white supremacist bias that they aren't willing to acknowledge. props to the writers for killing off the white guy to advance the indigenous person's character growth for once, as it's clearly necessary as a wake-up call and challenge to audiences who are used to white supremacist ways of seeing and aren't happy that they're not being coddled with that shit. i just hope they don't get cold feet about it in s3 after all the canyon backlash online and take that as representative of the core audience. it isn't.

#143.

[love-triangles-au]

Gotta know, which Triangle is needier?

(Mod Minty let me steal her art for today's edition of the gay geometry channel. Say "thanks Minty for letting us see your gorgeous art!")

Bill, by a longshot!

Y'see, when he eventually realized that he actually does kind of give a crap about Venuz, he became aware of something: oh, no, a whole lot of people want my loved one dead. Sound familiar?

With that realization comes an immediate (and in his mind extremely embarrassing) trauma response. The last time he loved someone, they were taken from him brutally and unfairly, and the very nature of Venuz being the Gun God means that he is destined to eventually be succeeded.

Now, rationally, what happened to Liam was not at all Bill's fault -- his big brother was basically doomed from the moment he was born -- but as we all know trauma loves to make no sense. Because Liam was taken away while Bill was out, a part of him feels like if he had just been there maybe he could've done something.

And so we begin what we've dubbed the "separation anxiety arc".

He tries to bottle it up, god knows he does, because if Bill's good at anything it's pretending like everything's okay, but the moment Venuz goes to walk out the door it's like being hit with a bolt of lightning made of "what-if"s.

Luckily for him, the first couple times Venuz can just stay home or take him with him. Frankly, more often than not he goes to work as more of a way to keep the day interesting than anything else, but eventually it becomes clear that this is a serious problem.

The more the behaviour is enabled, the worse it gets, and the worse it gets the less Bill's excuses for his behaviour add up. Eventually, he lets it slip.

Once Venuz is aware, it begins to stress him out because there's nothing he can really do to help and he hates seeing Bill so uncharacteristically afraid. All he can really do is distract him at best, because he doesn't know any other way.

And then, one day, he has a lightbulb moment: vacation time! Far away planet (I dunno why but I've leaned towards Io, one of Jupiter's moons), no mortals, no guns. Bill really, really likes this idea, and so they hop in one of Venuz's 50 cars and, when they arrive, Bill finally feels a little better again.

Now, Bill doesn't have very much. As far as he's concerned, he's got his Veeny with him and they're perfectly safe right here. So, he basically pitches that they just stay there forever and live happily ever after.

But, they can't, and here's where another piece of our Gun God lore pops up.

The Gun God's power is tied to Venus itself, and he can't be away from the planet for too long without his powers fading. This prevents the Gun God from just dipping and living out in the deep recesses of space for all eternity, keeps the machine running so to speak.

So, they have to eventually go back.

We haven't got much further than this, but the current thoughts are that anxiety does get better with time (I have an anxiety disorder and know this firsthand), so that will likely ease him a little eventually.

BUT, where things get muddy here is that what Bill's afraid of isn't entirely irrational. Venuz is gonna get into gunfights, people are gonna come try to kill him, it's unavoidable. Thankfully, each Gun God tends to rule for a longer period of time than the last, because his skills only get better with each iteration. So, Venuz is very likely to keep his position for a couple thousand years at the least. But, the chance of him meeting an early demise is never zero.

I think the only way he's gonna get through this is if Venuz helps him through it, and even then I don't think it ever entirely goes away; dude's got like a trillion years worth of suppressed trauma, that doesn't just heal overnight. I think if Venuz is able to consistently prove that he's the best gunman on the planet that will gradually make Bill feel a bit better, but it would need to be consistent, like maybe Bill watches him train every day.

And, okay, when I said we hadn't gotten much further than this, that was kind of a lie; Bill's post-marriage activities very much revolve around this anxiety he feels around losing the fabled Only Guy He Cares About™.

With inclusion into the Yung family, he also becomes immortal and gains Venuz's powers. So, what's the logical thing to do with this newfound power, then? Begin an underground criminal organization dedicated to snuffing out possible competition before it can get to Venuz, of course!

The return of some of his power gives him the confidence that he can protect Venuz himself and that's when he forms his whole mafia operation. And, of course, Bill always thinks he's the smartest guy in the room, so he's often able to fool himself into thinking his plans are air-tight and cannot possibly fail and that suppresses his anxiety as well.

However, he does still sometimes have the occasional moments of doubt that result in full little kid meltdowns. He still needs occasional blanket time to calm down.

~ Mod Emily 🦇

P.S.: Sorry for the slowness on asks right now! It usually means we're wanting to draw something for it, so sit tight; we see you! :D

[winterlogysblog]

I've just watched an interview Nakaba did for Netflix, it was quite old something like 3 years ago. But there he was saying about the Sin's interactions, on how Ban is Meliodas best friend and hang out with him a lot while Meliodas and King barely talk to each other: he said it was on purpose to reflect how people have different relationships irl.

This makes me somewhat worried for the 4KOTA, will they ever be closer and feel like a real group, and especially now that Percival's gone for two years? What are your theories?

Oh this is a good question... A good question

Firstly, I like Nakaba's approach with the dynamics and relationships of the Sins it is definitely realistic.

With Four Knights. I like to believe that soon they're gonna have this close relationship between all four of them. It's not a big stretch since they're just four of them and the group started off as teens compared to the Sins which are Seven individuals with most ranging from over hundreds and a thousand years old with different kinds of past trauma that they don't even talk about to each other since there is a rule about that.

With this 2 year timeskip and Percival dipping out. There's a whole bunch of emotions. Lancelot is pissed off and blaming himself for it. And if we look at Tristan's and Gawain's reaction about his death.

Tristan is angry and Gawain seems devastated at the fact that the moment they got together, the moment she accepted herself as part of this rag tag group, Percy left.

When Percy returns, Lancelot is probably the first one to accept it and be happy that he's back. I'm not saying that's his immediate reaction (it probably will, who knows). Next is Gawain then Tristan. Tristan might take a while to process all this unless the probability of Percy actually coming back is really high and Tristan hopes that Percy comes back to them. Cause out of everyone Tristan is mad at Percy.

With the rest, I don't think it really would change much at this point. Lancelot is at rock bottom right now. Lancelot. This is the dude who refuses to go home without Jericho because he thinks it's his fault why she left. After Percy left, Lancelot literally went home and cried. That's the sum of it. He went home, locked himself in his room and cried. (My poor boy) I dunno what everyone is up to after 2 years since we haven't seen any of them. Heck we haven't gotten time skip Nasiens yet. There's a possibility that Lance might have grown closer to Gawain they do give similar "I'm surrounded by idiots" vibes so yeah. With Tristan and Lancelot though. I think they'll be fighting. Since like I said Tristan is mad at Percy and Lancelot isn't, so yeah I can smell possible conflict arising.

Also, speaking of Lancelot being absolutely depressed with Percy gone. I think this is a great way to introduce his cousin.

At this point it's obligatory. I've been waiting for years and I do mention them every time I have the opportunity.

[kaija-rayne-author]

Is Solas neurodivergent?

Of course, unless Weekes confirms one way or another, we'll never actually know. But I'd like to point out a few things.

Firstly. I'm autistic/ADHD, so are my kids and I've been an advocate for invisible disabilities, especially those two, for almost a decade now.

I offer an option on my Patreon for parents (or even just people) who need or want advice.

I have a little bit of a clue here. (More like a massive clue by nuke, but I digress 🤣.)

Why I code Solas from Dragon Age: Inquisition as neurodivergent.

1. Mentally ill fits under the neurodivergent (ND) umbrella. There's no way on Thedas that Solas isn't mentally ill.

(Yes, it really does fit. I'm not going to entertain arguments on the topic. It originally meant 'autistic' it no longer means that and hasn't for a long while. Neurodivergent brains = brains that work in any way other than 'the average'.) The antonym is Neurotypical. I tend to abbreviate them. Neurodivergent = ND, Neurotypical = NT.

At the very least, he likely has survivor syndrome. I'd wager on Depression and CPTSD too. (I have these conditions and am comfortable with saying he has a lot of the traits.) The guy was the leader of an enslaved elves rebellion and a war against the Evanuris. In his own words, he got his hands bloody.

No matter who you are, violence, whether you're the perpetrator or the victim, causes trauma to the psyche. And it went on for actual ages. An Age, in The Dragon Age franchise, is considered to be 100 years, so for hundreds of years, if not thousands, this dude has been fighting. Humans can get CPTSD just from a bad childhood. There's no way he hasn't developed it too.

Survivor syndrome is the response of a person when they believe they have done something wrong by surviving a traumatic event when others did not, often feeling self-guilt. (Can we classify Solas clearly with this? Yes, yes we can.)

He wakes up in a world so horrific to him that he can't even conceive of the people as people.

That's a type of disassociation, which is a symptom of many mental illnesses. Depression is the most obvious. He fucked up, he knows it, he's now trapped in a hellscape. (Heeee, we're all trapped in a dystopian hellscape right now and Depression is on the rise, the correlation is there.)

Disassociation is feeling disconnected from yourself and/or the world around you. For example, you may feel detached from your body or feel as though the world around you is unreal.

There could be a few other things there. He'd be a classic case for Disassociative Identity Disorder, for instance, but given the shit rep on the topic, I'm not going there.

2. ADHD

ADHD is still not very well understood by the average person. Sometimes people think it means we can't hold still. But a lot of the time, the H-Hyperactivity portion is only evident in our brains. For me, for instance, I have to constantly be feeding my brain written stuff or I get very antsy and uncomfortable. (ADD no longer exists, we're all ADHD now.) It's why i developed the habit of reading encyclopedias for fun. (Yes, I really do this.)

Solas is constantly reading, or studying, or thinking.

He shows a pretty typical type of temper for an ADHDer several times. Our tempers can be hot, flaring up suddenly for seemingly unexpected reasons. He absolutely does that. Now, there's always a reason for it, but few people on the outside of us will be aware of whatever the issue is.

ADHDers can also experience incredibly fast (compared to neurotypicals) shifts in emotion. Solas does this. Especially in the after the well of sorrows/pre-breakup scene and the break up scene itself. He see-saws emotionally a lot.

He's incredibly creative. He paints (and probably draws at least a little to paint the way he does). So many neurodivergent people are incredibly creative.

Snark. Many ADHDers tend to be snarky or sarcastic because of, well, everything that usually happens to us in life. The snark and salt simply spill out of Solas. Especially on the 'make him hate you' route through the game. Or any time he's around Vivienne.

Finally, ADHDers very frequently have a deep seated drive to change the world and make it better. Stares at Solas. Yup!

3. Autistic

So, firstly, let me say that most people don't understand what autism is or what autistics look and act like.

As an autistic/ADHD person, my experience of life is completely different from a neurotypicals simply because my brain is wired differently.

Reminder that you can't see autism or ADHD. You can sometimes see common comorbids, but without a brain scan, you cannot see autism or ADHD.

I connected and empathize so heavily with Solas because he's a well written, complex character, and because I love anti-heros.

But also because he's exhibits the exact same type of autistic/ADHD traits that I have. (Both autism and ADHD come in different flavours.) Seeing that rep in a triple AAA game was an incredibly powerful experience.

Even though, given Bioware's absolutely shit rep re: disability, it had to be accidental. I credit Weekes with that rep. I read on Twitter they were recently dxd with one or the other (ADHD or Autism, I honestly can't remember which. And up to 80% of ADHDers are also autistic.)

Solas practices esoteric arts. It's a common thing for many autists & ADHDers to learn and practice arts that just aren't as common anymore. Mine? I spin with a spinning wheel, drop spindle, or Andean hand spinner. I make maps. There's several other strange hobbies and skills I've picked up along the way too.

He shows hyperfocus several times in the game. (Hyperfocus is a trait of both ADHD and Autism.)

He stims with his hands a lot. Especially in the kiss scene. I don't recall seeing any of the other characters do this. I'm not talking about the 'dry hand wash' movements most of the characters do. Solas does a thing I do, taps the tips of his fingers against each other. Whoever did his modelling (is that the right term for making a game character?) understood neurodivergency or are ND themselves. Whether they know it or not.

You could even call his painting a type of stimming.

Stimming is where someone will use repetitive motions or sounds to self-soothe. It's really bad to prevent an autistic/ADHDer from using their stims.

I used to have to have a book on my person at all times. I'm late diagnosed, so I didn't know I was using the books as both a stim and a comfort item.

Solas has something autists call 'flat face effect'. Basically, his face is a bit masklike. He doesn't show emotions strongly on his face or in his body language (unless you make him angry 😅 which is also pretty typical for many of us). I've seen rather a lot of discourse about how emotionless Solas appears. I can read him easily, the emotive cues are there, just subtle, like they would be in an autistic & or ADHD person.

He's a decent actor. Now, most autists will agree that we're not innately good at lying or acting. But we're also really good at acting, at least, many of us are by the time we're adults. It comes from having to mask (autistic masking) almost every second of every day just to survive. Masking kills us. So it's not good that we are forced to do it. But it does make many of us incredible actors.

Anthony Hopkins is argueably one of the best actors of the past several decades. He's openly autistic. And he's spoken of how he got to be a good actor. Dan Ackroyd and Darryl Hannah are a couple of others who are out about it. I code a lot of other creatives as being one or the other, but it’s considered rude to assign a diagnosis like that to a living person. That's for them to do.

Solas managed to stay hidden as a 'unwashed apostate hobo' for however long the Inquisition took to fix things. I've seen estimates of 18 months to 2 years. That's a looooong time to be acting like something you're definitely not.

We see in Trespasser that he's not like that at all. But he still sold it so well his reveal at the end of the game shocked many people.

He's a nerd. An absolute nerd about the fade. Nerdery isn't solely the domain of autistics and ADHDers, but it’s a really common trait.

He's stand-offish.

Many autists and ADHDers are rather stand-offish with people for a variety of reasons.

1) We've been hurt so many times because of people refusing to do half the work of communicating with us. (Trust me, autistics and ADHDers are trying ALL THE TIME to communicate with neurotypicals. Y'all could pick up your part of things, y'know?)

2) We've been rejected so often for a genetic condition(s) we can't change. But accommodations for us, which are usually pretty simple and often help neurotypical people too, are considered 'too much'. There's something called RSD that most, if not all, autistic and ADHD folks experience. Rejection Sensitivity Disorder is a bitch kitty and there's no dealing with it well. It hurts.

3) We're often stand-offish while we try to figure out whatever social rules exist in that space/time. We often warm up when we know (or think we know) the rules. Or once we get to know people.

4) Solas is often alone, he's rarely pictured as being with anyone else other than Cole and the Inquisitor. NDs often end up either pushed to the edge of the crowd, or we choose to stay distant as a preventative measure so we aren't rejected.

Food sensitivities: Solas utterly loathes tea. There's a whole cutscene about it. (Fun fact, Solas doesn't like tea because Weekes doesn't.) But that extreme reaction to a relatively innocuous drink is a classic example of a food sensitivity. Most autistics and ADHDers have food or texture sensitivities or both. I can't abide raw tomatoes, and I'll get the urge to cry if I touch corduroy fabric.

Sensitivities can really be anything, but if you know someone who has them, please understand we're not trying to be difficult or to ask for extra attention or to make trouble. The modern world is frankly hell for most autistics and many ADHDers. Brain scans of us when we’re exposed to our sensitivities show that they actually are causing us physical pain. Pain centres in the brain light up like a Yule tree.

Solas is quiet, until he's not. Then he'll talk your ear off. This is pretty common for many of us too.

Solas and the fade. Special interest, anyone?

Special interests: Most autistics and ADHDers have Special interests. It's something that can utterly enthrall us. We tend to want to learn everything we possibly can about the subject we're fascinated with. And we love to share that information. In something called 'infodumping' we're trying to connect with other people. It's one of the ways many of us say we care about someone. By sharing our favourite things. We're also deeply penalized for something we can't change, there, too.

We deeply enjoy the thing and want to share our enjoyment with people we like/love. This can utterly backfire on us, but it doesn't change the urge to share. Often until our audience is giving us the 'dead fish face'. It's where the person's eyes are a little glazed over and they look a bit concussed. Anyone who has ever taught a class of students or is a parent or child caretaker, or is autistic/ADHD knows the look I'm talking about.

I'll stop blabbing for now, but those are most of the reasons I heavily code Solas as autistic/ADHD/mentally ill. Or, in another word. Neurodivergent.

Thanks for reading! If you have the wherewithal I'm a disabled mom of two disabled kids and a tip would help more than you can probably understand. Another way to help is to become a patron. My work of words is my only income and we live well under the poverty line. Like a lot of other neurodivergent people do.

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[youcouldmakealife]

LBTE: Jared (170-172)

Holden Chase again, a few proposals in the making, and the end of a season.

If you'd like to follow along you can do so here.

170. Lessons Learned

The Bruins are coming to town, and to say Bryce is prepared might be an understatement.

Boy’s had Eye of the Tiger running through his head every time he’s hitting a punching bag (and he’s been hitting them a suspicious amount)

It isn’t even the first time they’ve played the Bruins since Jared got blindsided at TD Garden, but Bryce was thousands of kilometres away, so he couldn’t do anything stupid.

Well, unless Jared counts probably egging Dmitry on

No probably about it.

“Don’t do something stupid,” Jared says.

“Everybody keeps telling me that,” Bryce complains.

“Because they know you’re going to do something stupid,” Jared says.

But you don’t understand, J, he wants to do the stupid thing.

“I won’t start it,” Bryce says. “Okay? I’m not making any other promises. If he starts it, that’s on him.”

“Fine,” Jared allows, because he’s pretty sure that’s the best offer he’s going to get.

Little does Jared know Bryce considers ‘having the audacity to share the ice with me’ to be starting it.

“Define pissy for me, Dmitry,” Jared says.

“I think he made Landon cry,” Dmitry says.

His eyes just got a little misty. Must be hay fever or something.

Jared kicks his sneaker.

“What?” Bryce snaps, not looking up.

“Fighting me for my honour seems counterproductive,” Jared says.

Everyone cleared the fuck out the second Jared entered that room. Bullet's mood was bad enough, no way they want to witness this.

“Dmitry said you’re making dudes cry,” Jared says.

“Dima exaggerates,” Bryce says, which is true, but he looks guilty as he says it.

Only his allergies, don’t worry about it!

“If you’re a dick that means I have to be the nice one,” Jared says. “And I’m categorically terrible at that, so quit it.”

Jared’s priorities, everyone.

“You’re nice—“

Jared kicks his foot, and Bryce scowls up at him.

“No I’m not,” Jared says.

Don’t you lie to him, he’ll kick you while you’re down just to prove you wrong.

There’s only so much distance the guys on either side of his stall can give him, so instead they look longsuffering as Bryce bounces his knee, pendant between his lips.

This is big Holden Chase energy. Bryce would hate that.

He was hoping Chase would be smart enough to steer clear of Bryce, considering it’s public knowledge who he’s married to, but either he doesn’t remember the blindside hit — to be fair, he does throw a lot of them — or he doesn’t give a shit, which wouldn’t surprise Jared either.

There is a third option, but frankly Holden would prefer you thinking it’s one of those two.

“Bullet won,” Dmitry says proudly.

“Nobody won,” Jared says. “Nobody wins in a game of head trauma.”

Jared will have you know he is unimpressed.

But honestly, Chase probably could have said ‘nice day, isn’t it?’ and it would have lead to a fight, so he wouldn’t be surprised either.

How dare you say that when you know FULL well it was overcast and drizzling.

“You’re very pretty,” Dmitry says. “Women would kill for your eyelashes.”

“You just said that,” Jared says.

“Beware of Oksana,” Dmitry says, shaking his shoulder for emphasis.

He just rolls out of bed looking like that? His looks are WASTED on him, says Oksana.

“Why is Dmitry repeatedly warning me about his wife?” Jared asks Gabe, during a TV break Dmitry spends exchanging insults and obscenities with the Bruins bench — they play each other twice a year, so Jared doesn’t know that kind of animosity builds, except of course he does, because it’s Dmitry.

It will surprise no one that Shithead is involved in this.

“He was trying to distract you from stewing about the fight,” Gabe says. “And succeeding, I might add.”

“Oh,” Jared says. Being handled by Dmitry Kurmazov is a new low for him, he thinks.

He handles you all the time, you just don’t realise it. Which has to be a lower low.

The period expires before Bryce’s misconduct does, and Bryce skates across the ice, marching straight down the tunnel. If Jared hoped time in the box would cool him off, well — he wasn’t, really, considering every time he looked over Bryce was yelling shit at the opposite box, poor Jan sitting mute beside him, serving the additional two.

Jan deserves a drink or ten for that time in the box. Take it out of all the fines Bryce and Jared have recently paid.

“I’m not sorry,” Bryce says. He sounds as petulant as Jared’s ever heard him, and that’s saying something. “J’s off limits.”

Bryce was expecting Stevie or Gabe, here. Though it’s not like he’s saying anything Jared doesn’t know.

Bryce has a split lip, which really completes the surly teenager pout. He winces when Jared’s fingers brush his mouth, but doesn’t pull away, not then, and not when Jared kisses him.

“That’s not positive reinforcement,” Jared says, when he pulls away.

You can’t just say that and make it true, Jared.

Jared doesn’t know if it’s game management, the refs figuring the best place for Chase to be is the box for both team’s sakes, or the fact that Chase is just a fucking idiot who doesn’t know when to quit, but he takes two more penalties that night, spends more time in the box than he does on the ice with either of them.

Hey! Holden will have you know he’s a driven individual...who doesn’t know when to quit.

The Canucks handily take the game — Chase’s penalties don’t hurt — and normally they’d join the team for a drink or two to celebrate the win, but Jared isn’t in the mood, and Bryce frankly doesn’t deserve it.

He says this like he isn’t about to positively reinforce Bryce some more.

“This is not a reward,” Jared tells him, once they get in their front door.

“Okay,” Bryce says. He sounds distracted, which Jared supposes isn’t surprising, considering Jared’s currently unbuckling his belt.

“I don’t approve of any of your behaviour tonight,” Jared says.

He’s getting some mixed messages right now, but that’s okay, carry on, Jared.

“You want to lecture me or you want to get your dick sucked?” Bryce asks.

“I can do both,” Jared says.

“Fair enough,” Bryce says, moving to drop to his knees.

Go right ahead, Bryce is game.

171. All In

and whenever Bryce is happy, Jared can’t keep from joining in.

These two are like a feedback loop. Bryce Happy = Jared Happy = Bryce Happy…

“Can’t give people shit to say about me,” Bryce says.

“That implies they’ve actually shut up since Julius’ interview,” Jared says. He still refuses to look, on principle, but by all accounts it hasn’t died down yet.

“Okay, yeah,” Bryce says. “But if I came back and sucked they’d probably say it was because I was gay. Like, let my sexuality become a distraction, or whatever the fuck.”

Don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for the first out NHLer to inevitably get a streak of bad play blamed on the 'distraction' of their sexuality.

“Like, not more hockey media, or, kind of hockey but more like, a profile thing? How it was growing up gay in hockey, that kind of thing,” Bryce says. He looks weirdly nervous, especially for someone who’s done more media in the past few months than he likely did his entire tenure with the Flames.

Jared frowns. “Is PR Grace pushing for more interviews? I thought she was supposed to chill when you got off IR.”

“No, I was just — I was talking to Summers, and he was saying the fact people want to talk to me right now gives me a chance to establish myself as like, I am now,” Bryce says. “Kind of like — not set the record straight, exactly, but like, show I’ve matured and stuff. That I’m not the dude I was when I met you.”

Bryce isn’t lying but he is obfuscating. Still in the planning stages, still not ready to tell Jared.

He’s less magnanimous about it when Bryce’s apologetic ‘I have media’ keeps fucking with their carpooling; more often than not he’s got to head in early, or cut out straight from practice and leave Gabe to drop Jared off. Gabe’s way more chill about it than Jared is, which is frustrating, because Bryce has very much noticed that, and when he points it out it makes Jared look petty.

Does it, Jared? Does it make you look petty?

“What you and Stephen find annoying doesn’t impact my behaviour,” Gabe says, pulling out his e-reader. “You two are irritated by so many things that I’d never be able to keep any of it straight.”

The list that would be.

“You look like your kid right now,” Jared says. He lost a tooth the last time Bryce babysat the Kurmazovs. Literally. It was a whole thing. Bryce sent Jared at least half a dozen frantic texts before they found in the pantry for fuck knows what reason. Bryce’s theory is aliens. Jared’s is the much simpler explanation that Bryce is being fucked with by small children.

He put it somewhere he wouldn’t forget about it (beside the cookies) and then he promptly, you know. Forgot the place he swore he wouldn’t forget about. No aliens or practical jokes required.

“See, I told you he’s not just pissy when Bullet isn’t around,” drifts over to him.

Jared’s not sure who said it, but he’ll find out.

“I heard that,” he says, and waits for a flinch.

“Math,” Gabe says, not looking up from his e-reader. “Stop terrorizing the rookies.”

I’m so proud of Jared’s growth from ‘non-participant’ to ‘terrorizer of rookies’.

“I see you,” Jared says, then, “Ow,” when Gabe elbows him.

“I’m trying to read,” Gabe says.

Jared pulls his phone out. “I’m trying to read too.”

“Good,” Gabe says.

“Good,” Jared says.

The patience Gabe has.

Jared’s thoroughly sick of his teammates when they get back to Vancouver. Bryce apparently isn’t, considering he’s at Gavin’s fighting for Smash Bros supremacy, while Jared crawls under the bet blanket on the couch and refuses to surface for anything. Which is unfortunate, because he’s hungry now, but he’s committed.

Extrovert after road trip vs introvert after road trip.

Jared’s checking in on how the Hitmen are doing when Raf sends Jared a picture of a diamond ring, with no context. Jared’s still processing it when Chaz sends him a text saying do u think ash would marry me?

She literally had your baby. Jared replies. He wonders if Raf sent Chaz the photo too, and that’s what sparked it, or if they’ve got some kind of hivemind going on in the Eastern Conference.

Hivemind.

But actually, baby 2 on the way in the case of the Guerin Rossis, and approaching offseason in the case of the Sanchez Dawes household, accompanied by a lot of recent wedding invites that got Raf’s brain humming.

“Hello,” Raf says. He doesn’t sound like he’s panicking, but then, Jared’s never heard him panic before, so how would he know?

“Are you panicking?” Jared asks.

“I wouldn’t describe this feeling as panic, exactly,” Raf says.

Big time panicking happening.

“Well,” Raf says. “Do you think Grace would marry me?”

“I think she moved to an entirely different country to be with you,” Jared says.

Raf’s quiet. “Is that yes?”

Jared just tell them yes, they don't want to hear logic, they want to hear yes.

“And I mean, have we even been together long enough to consider marriage?” Raf asks.

Considering Raf was already dating Grace when IJ(aoe) began…yes, Raf.

It takes awhile to convince Raf that he’s not about to get turned down, even after Raf admits he and Grace have literally discussed marriage like, half a dozen times, and the only thing that’s going to come as a surprise to her is the time and place.

Of course Raf would never propose without serious discussions taking place first.

You’re not allowed to propose to my sister any time soon, Jared texts after he gets off the phone with Raf.

I do not require your approval., Julius replies,

Could have told him about the not planning on it right then, but it was too good an opportunity not to take. Also facts.

Julius snorts. “I am not planning on proposing to your sister.”

“Why, what’s wrong with her?” Jared says. “I mean, I know exactly what’s wrong with her, but—”

“You just told me not to!” Julius says. “And there is nothing wrong with her!”

This conversation is just constant mixed messaging on both sides.

What’s wrong with Julius? Jared says.

Nothing is wrong with Julius. He doesn’t believe in marriage either

It seems that Julius is screening his calls now too. Typical.

Why is no one willing to listen to Jared’s pro-marriage propaganda.

“Everyone’s getting married,” Julius says. “Except my sister. She’s too young.”

“She doesn’t believe in marriage,” Bryce says.

“Why do you know that?” Jared says.

Because Bryce isn’t demanding she marry his former liney, right after forbidding said liney from marrying her. (Seriously, the messages could not be more mixed)

“I should probably call him,” Jared says. “Make sure he doesn’t hide it somewhere stupid like the sock drawer.”

“Hey!” Bryce says. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“Maybe not in our case,” Jared says. “Considering you were looking to get caught.”

Bryce blinks at him, then belatedly says, “Huh. I was, wasn’t I?”

Not consciously, but absolutely.

“Pretty well,” Jared agrees. “There’s a pizza with mushrooms in the kitchen.”

“You hate mushrooms,” Bryce beams.

It’s very easy for Jared to do nice things for Bryce considering when Bryce notices (and he always notices) he lights right up. Palpable reward for good behaviour.

172. Responsibility

he does suspect his next contract might be longer term, likely as a concession to Bryce.

Not to diminish Jared as a player, but yes, as a concession to Bryce. He’s an RFA with limited bargaining rights, it likely would have been in the 1-2 year ‘show me’ range, ending while they still had his rights. Instead the contract he gets takes him right into free-agency. (Term’s long for middle sixer, but price is fair value)

They lose their final game to the Oilers playing spoiler, and Jared only has time for a hug and a blanket hand-off before Julius is wheels up, on his way back to Edmonton for his own final game.

Season’s blanket tally: Julius: 3, Jared: 1. Embarrassing considering their respective place in the standings, but Jared made the mistake of motivating Julius Halla.

Jared would prefer something a little more chill than the trays of shots going around, people screaming to one another over the music, but he knows it’s what the majority wants, and he’s fine sitting in a corner with Gabe and Stephen, sharing judgmental looks as everyone else makes fools of themselves. Well, sharing judgmental looks with Stephen. Gabe just looks on indulgently.

Look at Jared contentedly sitting with the marrieds, sharing mean telepathic comments with Stephen. He’s having fun.

It takes a couple more rounds, along with Gabe and Stephen abandoning him with some excuse about being ‘old and tired’ (Gabe) and ‘not old or tired, thank you, but I do have work tomorrow’ (Stephen)

Fair (Gabe), and lie (Stephen.) Stephen does have work tomorrow. He’s also getting sleepy.

“It was a competition,” Bryce says. “And I lost.”

“Or maybe you won?” Jared asks. “By not drinking more? Maybe that was the real way to win?”

Bryce considers this seriously for a moment, then shakes his head. “No.”

Bryce really mulling over whether that’s the point of drinking contests for a minute, he lost so badly.

“Alright, time to head home then, loser,” Jared says.

Two of the younger players give Jared absolutely scandalized looks. Kids these days have such delicate sensibilities.

“I meant it affectionately,” Jared says.

“I know you did, babe,” Bryce says. “It’s like, your love language.”

Jared’s love language: snark

Bryce’s love language: all of them

Actual love languages though: physical touch and/or quality time(Jared) and seriously, all of them (Bryce), but gift giving probably edges the rest out.

Bryce slumps into Jared in the Uber, and Jared wraps an arm around him, making supportive noises while Bryce mumbles to him about how he thinks Oksana might have a hollow leg.

“Maybe she stores it all in those five inch heels she wears,” Jared says.

Oksana is 5’4”. Her husband is 6’2”. She needs the damn heels or she’ll get a crick in her neck.

Her leg may or may not be hollow.

“Okay, okay, you’re a heavyweight,” Jared says.

“Thank you,” Bryce says, then slumps right back into him, and Jared fights a smile, wrapping his arm around him as they drive into the ink dark night.

“Super heavyweight,” Bryce murmurs.

In amateur boxing, Bryce, at 205 lbs, would be a super heavyweight (200+). Yes, he did fall into a rabbit hole about boxing one night many years ago when he was supposed to be doing a project for school. No, the project did not get turned in on time. Yes, he still does know random facts he learned that night. No, none of them have actually been relevant until right this moment.

Jared’s so fucking sick of the Kansas City Scouts.

It’s you!! It’s always you!!

Think how heated the blanket war’s going to be when Julius is in KC.

Jared shaves his still patchy beard, taking his time. The last thing he needs is to show up to media day nicked up because he was in too shitty a mood to do it right. He looks better after he does it, but his face feels naked, wrong. He hates the playoff beard tradition — even if he could pull it off, and he definitely can’t, shaving it off feels like the worst kind of penance, forced to look in the mirror when the last thing anyone wants to do is look themselves in the eye.

Seriously though. ‘Here is a tradition where if you lose, you have to look at yourself in the mirror and shave away the physical embodiment of your hopes and dreams’. Absolutely brutal, hockey.

“What are you doing?” Bryce says when Jared pulls the covers back. “No, stop.”

He thinks Jared is about to try to get him out of bed. If he knew cuddling was coming he’d be fine with this.

“Hey,” Jared says, nudging his knee against Bryce’s under the covers.

“You want to talk about it?” Bryce asks.

“Not really,” Jared says.

“Thank fuck,” Bryce says, then buries his face in Jared’s neck, curling into him while Jared strokes a hand through his hair.

Physical touch and quality time, baby.

“Want to go sulk in the sulking room?” Jared asks.

“Stop calling it that,” Bryce says. Jared would like to note that is not a no.

I was informed by a reader that the word boudoir is from bouder (to pout/sulk), so it literally translates into ‘a place to sulk’, or ‘sulking room’. Which is incredible. Bryce’s boudoir, everybody.

“Been a hell of a year, huh?” Brian says.

“You could say that, yeah,” Jared says.

“Good one, though,” Brian says. “Shit, I meant a good one for the Canucks, not necessarily — obviously Bryce being injured, and you and Bryce having to come out was—“

“It was a good one,” Jared interrupts.

Jared would not typically interrupt his boss, but Brian sometimes wears this look on his face like ‘please stop me the words keep coming’, and Jared will do so if he sees it. He knew what Brian meant.

“I want you to keep doing what you’re doing,” Brian says. “I mean, on the ice, not — obviously keep doing what you’re doing off the ice if you want to, it’s just none of my business. I mean technically — I’m going to sip my coffee for a moment, excuse me.”

Sometimes Brian stops himself, though.

“It’s a bit unorthodox to be telling another player before — but you’re his husband, and after the year he’s had I don’t want to —“

Brian really doesn’t want to add to Bryce’s load. Everyone seems to think Bryce would want it (Team leadership, coaching staff), but Brian figures it doesn’t hurt to check one last time with the person who’d know best.

Jared’s barely put the groceries away when Bryce texts him saying he’s on his way back. To be fair, that included clearing the fridge and pantry of everything expired, because otherwise their new groceries weren’t all going to fit, and also finding then rescuing the pucks from under the sink, where Bryce must have put them at the height of the sulk.

Stupid pucks. Who cares. Game-winners didn’t win the SERIES, do they.

Jared sits on the couch and waits for Bryce, trying to look casual. Fidgets with the remote, though he’s turned the TV off — having it on distracted him from his casual pose. Jared considers that maybe staring fixedly at a blank TV isn’t actually casual, but then it’s too late, because over the completely silent TV he can hear a key in the lock.

I still can’t believe this dude thought he would be able to pretend he wasn’t married to Bryce.

“They’re giving me an A!” Bryce calls the second he opens the door. “J!”

“What?” Jared says, and puts the remote down, standing up. “Really?”

“Brian told me he talked to you about it, you don’t have to pretend to be surprised,” Bryce says.

It was an absolutely pitiful attempt at ignorance. Somehow Jared had an accent?

Also I love that every time Bryce has good news he rushes to tell Jared. It's not real until Jared knows.

“I know,” Jared says. He really should, though. The receipt’s the length of his arm, and they’ll probably have to leave a bunch of it at Elaine’s, it was so excessive. “I’m really proud of you. You deserve it.”

Jared is NOT a words of affirmation person, and this is honestly huge from him? Saying that without any jokes or backsliding or anything, just that he’s proud of him.

Bryce somehow gets even more radiant. Jared didn’t think that was possible. “Brian said I was a glue guy.”

“You are a glue guy,” Jared says.

From locker room cancer to glue guy. I’m so proud of him.

“Not a thing people used to call me,” Bryce says. “Not a thing I used to be, though, so that’s fair.”

Jared would protest, but it’s not like Bryce is lying. “You weren’t in the right place yet.”

He’s come so far, truly. Got a bit misty writing this scene due to just how far Bryce has come.

[chuchu-lovely-munimuni-muramura]

I felt like talking a bit about my characterization of Lammy in Water & Heart AU.

When writing Lammy, I wanted her to be WORSE than Law. Not necessarily by giving her worse traumas but by being someone that didn't heal and don't care about healing. Like Doffy and Rosi, one of the sibling fell into piracy and the other joined the Marine. Except that in the Trafalgar's case, the Marine is the one that turned out to be "heartless". The difference between Law and Lammy is that Lammy failed to truly connect with people around her. Law had Cora-san, Wolf, Bepo, Penguin and Shachi to show him that the world wasn't that terrible when he was a child/teen, while Lammy never leaved herself to soften around anyone. Ever since she joined the Marines (at seven years old) she became very work-minded/workalcoholic as a way to ignore her traumas. She never made place for relationships in her life, the rare ones she have are one where she didn't really have a choice (Tsuru,  Rosinante, Koby…). She always had an objective from the start; getting higher & higher in ranks and serving the Marine. She was pretty "normal" until learning that Law was alive and  became a fucking pirate. She had thousands of nightmares about this boy and kept blaming herself for his "death" and suddenly you announce her that the fucker's alive AND sailing through the seas??? And you thought that she'll be happy??? That made her go crazy more than anything dude... Now she has two objectives in life; being one of the greatest Marine ever & be the one to fucking beat the ass of the "Surgeon of Death". She's obsessed with the idea of  beating Law, the same way Law is obsessed with killing Doflamingo. Except that if you asked Lammy why she hates Law, she won't be able to give you a real answer! She isn't even sure if she really wants him dead! And honestly? It makes her mad, that someone as logistic and clever as her isn't capable of explaining why she hates someone. She don't know how to deal with feelings and it's visible in her relationships, but her circle is so small that it really doesn't bother any of them.

I might write a bit more and try to analyze Lammy in more advanced ways, but for now I'm thanking you for reading my stupid rambles!