#logic tells me that it's because of the recent stuff. irrational logic tells me it's because my bday is almost there.

[jellyloveru]

ough

[standfucker]

Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out. 

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat. 

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who? 

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either. 

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji. 

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I��m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!” 

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie. 

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!” 

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

[jar-of-galaxies]

main character syndrome

im waiting in jury duty and ill probably be here for a while so i want to talk about something ive been thinking about. this might be long sorry

you probably see people all the time that act irrationally because they believe theyre different from everyone else. i think it was the voyager submersible collapse that initially brought this to my mind. disregarding the billionaire/millionaire status of the people who took part in that, they did what they did despite everyone-- LITERALLY everyone-- was telling them it was unsafe and they would die. and yet they believed they were safe, so far as to risk AND LOSE their lives doing it, all because... why? "rip to you but im different"?

ive heard this phenomenon referred to as "main character syndrome" in the past. the phenomenon for people to think contrary to everyone else because theyre the only people that know right. theyre the only one with perfect information about the situation. theyre the main character of their own life, so everyones opinions are secondary to them.

its philosophically sound, to be fair. without any proof, like, how can we verify anyone elses existence but our own? you, the person reading this-- there is no proof im """real.""" theres evidence-- i wrote the post youre reading right now-- but nothing about this intrinsically proves im real. or, yknow, """real.""" we could have a whole discussion on the definition of that word but thats not the point.

what im saying is, i think theres a line of logic that a lot of people follow that i believe to be erroneous, and thats where main character syndrome manifests itself. someone will think "im the only person that exists-- that i KNOW exists," and so they think "im the only person that can truly understand anything" or "im the only person that can be truly 'correct.'" they know they can be wrong or irrational about things, mind, but if they really believe in something... like, REALLY believe... no one else can possibly shake them out of that belief.

do you see where im going? this is the big realization that ive made recently, something that i think has made big waves in my journey through depression and anxiety. if you take one thing from this post i want it to be this:

main character syndrome can be a significant part of depression and anxiety just as much as it can be a part of overconfidence and foolhardiness.

one thing i often told myself when i was really suffering through depression was "i deserve all these bad things because i am me, and no one else is me." people can SAY im deserving of love, respect, and dignity, but they dont see the parts of me. surely, i said, if they could see the FULL picture, see me for how i see myself, then they would finally agree with me, and i would be at peace. fun fact babes-- thats fuckin main character syndrome!

i think that the force that led the people on the voyager submersible to their deaths is the EXACT same force that leads people to believe theyre irredeemable and worthless.

do i have proof of this? like, no, obviously, lol. but this thought has led me on a road of progress, i think. now when faced with an adversity or a situation that i have anxiety about, i ask myself "what if im wrong?" its not big stuff, mind, but ive become a lot more adventurous and willing to try stuff than i was a month ago simply by asking this question.

theres no moral to this story. but i dont think anyone is immune to main character syndrome anymore. i think its just a fact of life. having to balance the perceptions of yourself as The Only Person and yourself as the Part of the Whole. maybe asking the above question to yourself more often is an option? i dunno, im not a cop.

but just like, take care of yourself. take care of yourself as you would another person. you have no reason not to.

[a-crimson-lion]

The Past Is Present (In All The Wrong Ways…)

So I saw that @elflynns-horde-of-stuff wanted to talk about BNHA 319, and I was going to send her and ask, but then I let my thoughts go on too long, so… everyone gets this gigantic brain dump. Enjoy :D

[Fair warning: no immediate Bakubashing, but it does come in later. I’m not joking, if you don’t like that, AVOID it. Please. Thank you.]

Now there’s a LOT to unpack with this chapter, and I might not be able to put all of it in words, so let me try and boil it down to what I believe is the core issue:

People are recognizing Midoriya’s bulls*** without recognizing Bakugo’s bulls***.

[TL;DR at the very end, just so you know.]

Which, let me be clear, is completely fair. I like Midoriya as a character, he’s obviously one of my favorites, but hoo BOY am I sick and tired of the s*** he has to go through and the s*** he’s pulling! I understand he’s going through a lot of stress right now and he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt, but from a completely professional standpoint, that is LITERALLY THE JOB. His other friends are literally HEROES (in training) that have also been through their fair share of UNREALISTIC EXPECTATIONAL BULLS*** BECAUSE OF SHONEN LOGIC, so realistically trying to protect them, while noble, does kinda come off as insulting. And I get the whole savior complex thing, because the whole “its my responsibility, let me handle it” isn’t entirely irrational on its own.

The previous holders of OFA more or less signed up for the responsibility.

Nana Shimura signed up for the responsibility, not her family.

Toshinori Yagi signed up for the responsibility, not his friends and (found) family.

Izuku Midoriya signed up for the responsibility, not his mom, not his friends.

...except AFO isn’t just targeting OFA, though that is a big priority on his to-do list.

Except AFO, as a villain, isn’t just OFA’s responsibility.

Except even if innocent people can’t and shouldn’t be brought in the crossfire, Midoriya’s friends aren’t civilians. A good bulk of Midoriya’s allies aren’t civilians. They’re heroes. They signed up for this. Maybe not taking on an ancient evil like AFO, but hey, most villains nowadays AREN’T a part of the standard deal.

The thing about a savior complex is that you often have a blindside.

And from a more personal perspective, I’m not a big fan of the whole “protagonist repeats history” kinda deal, especially with the way BNHA framed itself as a sort of “next-gen” shonen which was supposed to be kinda sorta different. And the thing is, we already have several examples of the same story with the previous OFA holders, especially Nana and Toshinori, which we’ve seen in glimpses on several occasions.

Internally, it does make sense for Midoriya to be repeating the mistakes of his predecessors. Personally, I think it would make more sense if Midoriya’s inferiority complex manifested in a different way (and maybe show us the dangers of that heroic isolation through Nana and Toshinori in more fleshed out flashbacks so that part doesn’t get completely left out). But that’s not what we’re talking about here.

Now, with all my grievances of Midoriya settled… Bakugo.

Before I go to deep into AntiBaku mode, let me just say right now: I kinda get what he was going for.

He’s not being an arrogant loudmouth like usual because he’s letting his ego talk; he’s doing it because that’s what’s familiar to him AND to Midoriya. Midoriya is used to Bakugo when he acts like that, he hasn’t shown any serious signs of not being receptive to Bakugo when he’s like that (at least not recently), so Bakugo uses that in the hopes that maybe that familiarity will get Midoriya to stop and think. It’s worked before, right?

And in all fairness, maybe those insults are trying to get to Midoriya, too. He’s not thinking of OFA as some grand blessing, he’s not trying to be another All Might (the manga went as far to show us how much Izuku does NOT look like a traditional hero right now), so maybe Midoriya will stop and try to reason with his friends, and maybe come to reason with himself as well.

...or he’ll think Baku is full of s*** trying to set him off and just keep moving along, both out of annoyance and thinking Bakugo doesn’t really understand.

(This is where trying to understand Bakugo ends by the way.)

Because all of the above is assuming that Bakugo is approaching normal circumstances. Which he’s not.

Midoriya is tired, both mentally and physically. Midoriya has a very, VERY bad person trying to cut him off from everything, and everyone, and it’s working. Midoriya is under the impression that if he doesn’t keep moving, if he doesn’t try to fix this mess that HE signed up for, people that don’t deserve to get hurt are going to get hurt.

All Might is one of those people. His friends and classmates are some of those people. BAKUGO is one of those people.

And right now, all Bakugo is doing is getting in close proximity, doing what he usually does. He’s not changing his approach to throw Midoriya off, because he’s not that kinda person. He’s trying to talk Izuku down because that is his usual approach, and it’s worked before. Even if Midoriya ultimately contradicted his words, he’s always at least acknowledged Bakugo and what he’s had to say. So Bakugo’s trying to get him to realize how it looks from his perspective: Midoriya is getting a big head, he’s not ready for this responsibility, he’s not supposed to be this way.

...but that’s not what Midoriya’s hearing.

Right now, if I had to guess, the only thing Midoriya is processing right now is that he’s not enough. All Bakugo’s taunts are doing is inflaming his inferiority complex, reminding him that he’s not doing enough. He’s not a “Majesty… successor of One For All” because he’s NOT focusing on the clout, and from Midoriya’s perspective, he’s been doing a s*** job of helping people after the Nagant fiasco and with tracking down AFO and Shigaraki in general. He’s not an “All Might wannabe” because All Might can’t help right now, and even if he could, he’d be doing a lot better in Izuku’s eyes, because even if Toshinori Yagi was human, painfully so, All Might was always, ALWAYS, the #1 Hero for a reason.

...and how can Midoriya live up to that? What has he done to live up to that, to live up to ANYTHING, really?

Midoriya isn’t focusing on how much he’s done. He’s focusing on how much he hasn’t done.

“I can still move…” ...becuase I haven’t moved enough. Because I haven’t done enough.

With that said, time to switch topics: Bakugo’s understanding of the situation, while more extensive than anyone else, is also limited in its own right. I have problems with him claiming he knows All Might and Midoriya better than anyone else because of the sequence of events leading up to that are, realistically speaking (shocking, I know), completely contrived (aftermath of the Battle Trial, DvK2, subsequent invitation to secret OFA meetings). But that’s also because really, there’s a lack of complete awareness on Bakugo’s part, which isn’t expected, but still important.

Neither Bakugo nor Midoriya (nor the readers/viewers, really) know the full extent of All Might’s history as Toshinori Yagi. Midoriya probably knows a lot more of it than Bakugo does from a purely personal perspective, but that’s still not much, so Bakugo’s claim of knowing All Might is kinda :/ Then what about Izuku? Well…

Bakugo is willing to acknowledge that he bullied Midoriya. Bakugo is willing to acknowledge that Midoriya’s sense of self-worth is non-existent. But has Bakugo ever really acknowledged the impact he personally had on the latter?

Bakugo has been willing to see that the way he treated Midoriya was unjust, I won’t deny that. But as of now, we have yet to see Bakugo properly, explicitly realize that HE is the major contributor to Midoriya’s lack of self-worth. As far as Bakugo’s concerned, this is just another thing that Midoriya’s been doing since he was a kid. Except the fact that it’s not. Midoriya’s selflessness was always there.

...his lack of self-preservation came later.

And that’s the crux of the issue, really (finally, no more babbling): Bakugo is trying to tell Midoriya that he isn’t enough, but Midoriya is used to that. He grew up with it, heard it on repeat, internalized it. Not just from Bakugo, even if he was at some point a major contributor. And that’s Midoriya’s driving force: he’s not enough, he needs to do more, he can’t stop. There’s logic in Bakugo’s approach, but first off, it’s f***ing stupid logic, and second, logic doesn’t translate well to emotion. Even if Bakugo is doing what he’s doing with Izuku’s well-being in mind, he’s completely missing the point and kinda coming off as a dick, both externally and from a meta standpoint.

Izuku Midoriya doesn’t need Katsuki Bakugo trying to talk him down. He’s used to that.

Izuku Midoriya needs someone to tell him he’s done enough, plain and simple. No backhanded compliments, no workaround taunts. He needs someone like All Might- no, someone like Toshinori Yagi. He needs someone who is willing to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that he is enough, that he’s done enough.

More than enough people have already acknowledged Katsuki Bakugo.

Not enough people have truly acknowledged Izuku Midoriya.

TL;DR: Midoriya needs help, but the way Bakugo is going about it could actually backfire and feels shortsighted.

-Crimson Lion (9 July 2021)

[lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie]

You And I

Summary:  The wedding was a disaster. The recent episode was a disaster. Roman feels like no one understands him anymore. Well, so he thought. Maybe he and Logan have more in common than they thought. Maybe something better is in store for them.

Pairings: Logince

Warnings: a bit of yelling in the beginning

Taglist:@larrymalecsolangelo (I hope this counts as Roman angst!)

________________________________________________________________

Logan sighs. Another day, another episode of him getting shoved aside and ignored. At this point, he’s used to it. The silence is just as welcoming anyway. He decides not to get too irrational over it and sits at his desk, working on Thomas’ schedule instead. Soon he gets really into it, typing away and writing things down. As he continues to type on, the sound of a slamming door startles him out of his work trance. Sighing again, the logical side pushes his chair back and rubs at his temples in slight frustration. Before he can even stand, he hears a muffled growl from the wall beside his bed. 

Roman’s room is on the other side. The creative side was often loud and noisy at almost all times of the day. He usually quiets down before midnight. Logan has grown used to the prince’s noise, wearing headphones when it got too noisy for him. Though now, Logan’s hearing sounds he hasn’t heard from Roman before. Nothing like this. Has Roman always made these sounds? Logan swallows, unsure of what to do or how to feel as more noises come from Roman’s room.

Another growl.

Shattering glass.

Screaming. 

Crying.

Things crashing.

Things falling.

Papers tearing and being crumpled.

Fists banging on a table.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!”

Logan pulls back at that, feeling his heart pound harder than ever. It’s never done that. What had happened while he was gone? Should he even ask? He doesn’t know. He can’t tell if Roman is really, really hurt or is being his dramatic self again. He remains sitting on his bed, trying to listen for more sounds. So far, he hears footsteps and heavy breathing. It’s silent then for a moment before a faint knock filters in. Roman’s sigh is heard then the sound of his footsteps follow as he answers the door. Patton’s sad but apologetic voice is soon heard as well.

“Hey, ki-”

“I’m not apologizing.”

“But-”

“But nothing, Patton. He gets away with calling me the evil twin but I’m in trouble for making fun of his name? Is that what you wanted to say?”

“Roman…”

“Don’t. Don’t play the victim. Don’t try to apologize. I’m done trying to get you all to listen to me for once. I’m done playing as your little prince. I’m done being your kiddo.”

“Y-You don’t-”

“I do. Now, don’t you have a snake to welcome to the family or are you going to scold me for being rude again?”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, Roman. Please, won’t you listen?”

An empty humorless laugh surprises Logan next along with what Roman says.

“Listen? Listen?! Patton, that’s all I’ve been doing! I’ve been following your lead. I trusted Janus and you say I was wrong. I didn’t trust Janus and you’re telling me I’m wrong again. And you expect me to listen to you again?! Look, I’m not adding to my already long list of mistakes. In fact, I won’t add to anything at all.”

“W-What? What do you mean?”

“Well, clearly you don’t want my input in anything. It’s too much or not enough or just plain childish. Sound familiar?”

Both Logan and Patton wince at that one. Logan more surprisingly. How much did Roman take his words to heart?

“Kiddo...you know we only meant well when we said that. We just want what’s best for Thomas.”

“No, YOU want what’s best for Thomas. YOU constantly shut the rest of us down when we try to share ideas. YOU only listen if it’s beneficial for Thomas. YOU don’t listen to any of us. Tell me, when was the last time you even let Logan have a chance to speak?”

That surprises Logan. He and Roman usually butt heads when it came to their functions and trying to help Thomas. Why did Roman care now?

“I...I do try to listen.”

“Do you? Because if you did, maybe you wouldn’t have to scold me. Maybe this mess wouldn’t have happened. Maybe our family wouldn’t be such a disaster!”

“Roman! How can you say that about us?”

“Because we are! We’re all broken and you can’t accept that! All you want is to put bandaids on the cracks and call it better. But it’s not better! It...It never will be…”

A sniffle follows and it’s not from Patton. It’s from Roman.

“It will...We all just need some time.”

“Time? For what? For us to forget all of this and move on like nothing happened? Like Janus didn’t just manipulate me like that? Like how we hurt Thomas and made things worse? Patton, stuff like this isn’t fixed with time...it’s not forgettable. I can’t forget...I...just get out.”

“But-”

“GET. OUT.”

Another door slam is heard followed by Roman’s growling and stomping. He’s heard climbing into his bed then...he sounds like he’s...sobbing? Has Roman ever sobbed? Odd. Logan’s never heard Roman sobbing before. Had he kept his headphones on his ears too long to even notice? Why does his heart feel heavy listening to this? Logan doesn’t understand much.

“It’s not fair...The one time I try to do something, I mess up. I always mess up. Everything went wrong because of me. Janus was accepted. Thomas got hurt. And...And I let Logan be impersonated next. He definitely hates me for that now. But then again, what’s a little more hate? Logan already has so many reasons to hate me. He made that loud and clear when he threw that paper ball at me. I can’t blame him. Emotions are hard to control. I should’ve known better. Anger isn’t easy for me to control either...oh stars, I’m a mess…”

That takes Logan aback. How long had Roman felt like this? Had he really hurt the prince this bad for him to feel this way? Just how bad did the creative side’s heart hurt? He doesn’t know but what he does know is that someone does understand how he feels. And he understands that someone. Deciding to fix his past mistakes and to make it up to Roman, Logan wiped his face that he now realizes is a little wet. He stands up, taking a deep breath before leaving his room. He then walks over to Roman’s room, knocking on the white and golden gilded door. A moment of silence passes by before the door opens and Roman shuffles out.

Roman’s actually a mess. His beloved prince costume is wrinkled and disheveled, the sash wrapped around the hand he must’ve used to smash the mirror. His eyes are red and puffy and his lips are set on a deep frown. His hair is a little messy as well. 

“Hey, Logan. Here to yell at me too for letting the snake get to you?” the prince sighs, voice tired from all the screaming and crying.

Logan feels the heavy weight in his heart grow...heavier.

“No...I came to talk to you, actually. I apologize if I were eavesdropping but I overheard you. Remember, my room is beside yours. I just wished to speak about today’s events and what I missed. It’s alright if you do not want to disclose anything but I need to know and I do not feel comfortable asking anyone else.” he explains awkwardly, fiddling with his tie.

Roman blinks before sighing again, rubbing at his sash covered hand.

“So...you want to hear the fall of Prince Roman Sanders and how he messed up, letting the snake win?” he asks tiredly. “Or would you like to hear the story of how Roman Sanders lost his title as Thomas’ hero?”

Logan frowns in concern at that, seeing the brokenhearted look in Roman’s eyes. He’s never seen that look in his eyes before. Then again, he never even bothered to look Roman much in the eye. Just how much is Roman really hurting? Did he himself contribute to that too? Had he been just as harsh? More and more questions fill his mind but Logan blinks and focuses, remembering what he came here for. Though maybe he should stay...

“I only wish to know what happened after Janus decided to...shove me aside again. Whatever is, it seems to upset you.” he says.

“I am upset, Logan!” Roman cries angrily. “Everything went wrong for me and I don’t know what to believe in anymore!”

“I...see...Well, if you really do not want to talk about the video then I shall take my leave.”

Logan turns to leave-

“Janus was accepted...”

Now that made Logan stop and turn around, that heavy feeling in his heart growing more. He’s never seen Roman so...down. It’s an odd thing to see the normally confident prince like this.

“So...he’s a light side now?” 

Roman nods numbly, lips quivering as tears streamed down his face. He didn’t bother to dry them or even compose himself. What was the point? Logan’s already seen how awful he looked and he’s heard the things he’d been trying to keep quiet. He sighs, plopping down on his bed and hugging himself tightly till his knuckles started turning white in hopes that Logan wouldn’t at least see him shaking. 

But Logan notices it for a microsecond, frowning and taking a step towards Roman. He doesn’t know what this weight in his chest is still but...it grew even heavier. Unsure of where to go from there, Logan awkwardly sits beside Roman, looking the prince up and down as he chooses his next words.

“How...did he get accepted?” the logical side asks, wincing slightly when he sees Roman stiffen before sighing. 

Before Logan can take the question back, Roman answers it. He tells him what happened, word for word. The fight between him and Patton against Janus. How Thomas got hurt. How Janus revealed his name. How he laughed in reply. How Janus called him the evil twin. How no one cared to defend him. How Thomas lied about being his hero. He told Logan everything he remembered and more. When he was done, tears were pouring out of his eyes. 

Logan is...well, he’s ironically speechless. Sure, Janus had his moments of arrogance and cruelty but to hit Roman where it really hurts...that was going too far. Even if he and Roman clashed and threw insults at each other in the past, he never wanted to bruise the prince’s ego. He never wanted to cause harm. Anger was just hard for him to control...and now so it was for Roman too. So he finds himself touching Roman’s shoulder, feeling the prince shiver.

“That’s quite the ordeal. I will be honest...I’m not happy about Janus’ actions all the same. He...He did not have to hurt you to get what he wanted.” Logan says, anger flashing in his eyes along with this newfound need to protect Roman. “Or me...If he really wanted what was best for Thomas, you’d think he knew better to work with us and not against us.”

Roman sighs but doesn’t brush Logan’s hand off. It felt...nice.

“Spare me the lies, Logan. You’d choose him over me too. He’s mature and smart and probably more realistic than I’ll ever be.” he sighs. “Besides, why would you care about me? I made fun of you and I fought with you. I even let you get impersonated and shoved aside. Don’t you hate me too?”

Logan’s heart breaks, hearing that. He felt bad. Very, very bad...Oh. Guilt, there it is. That’s what he was feeling inside. That’s what that weight in his heart was. So he squeezes Roman’s shoulder, looking at him again.

“I don’t think I ever have. I know we had our arguments and our moments but I don’t think I could ever dislike you. You are so much more than it seems. I was a blind fool to see that.” he admits, flustering slightly. “I never even saw how much you’ve been hurting, Roman. Sometimes I forget you’re more than just creativity. You’re the ego…”

“And egos bruise easily…” Roman finishes with a sigh. “Which makes me bruise easily. Why do you think I play the role that I do? Who wants to see a broken and ugly Roman?”

Logan frowns, seeing another tear roll down Roman’s cheek. He finds himself unable to stop as the hand on the prince’s shoulder moved to his face and wiped the tear away. He definitely didn’t miss the way Roman seemed to lean into his touch with want. It makes Logan wonder just how lonely Roman felt. And maybe...maybe he understood that feeling. Those desires for even just a gentle touch. A chance to be heard. Even just the barest hint of acknowledgment. Maybe a praise. A real praise. Maybe he can give some to Roman...even if he can’t receive any himself.

“I do not think you’re broken or ugly. You’re Roman. The creative and romantic side. The ego. A side with talent far better than mine. A side who can build worlds and bring ideas to life in the blink of an eye. A side who deserved better than what the world has given to you. A side who’s much more than a prince.” Logan says, caressing Roman’s cheek. “A side I should have gotten to know better. A side I…”

It’s then that Logan realizes a new feeling he hasn’t felt in a while. It was warm and fuzzy and..right. It was heated and curious. It was a desire to pull Roman close and never let go. It was a need to make Roman the happiest side ever. It was...It was...oh...love. That’s the one. Love is something new and old to Logan. He felt it and stopped feeling it and now...he’s feeling it again. The last time he felt love was...several months ago on a Christmas morning. 

He felt it, seeing Roman smile and sing at the top of his lungs. He felt it whenever Roman said his name with glee. He felt it when he saw Roman beam at his rare praises (something he realizes he needs to make less rare). He felt it when Roman gave him his gift. He felt it reading through the pages. He thought he’d fallen in love with Sherlock but...it was never Sherlock...was it?

“Specs?...Logan?”

Logan blinks and realizes he’s been staring at Roman’s face, the prince’s eyes gazing up at him curiously. Oh...he’s much closer now. Very...very...close. For a moment Logan couldn’t breathe but then he remembers and flusters.

“Ah...A-Apologies. I may have overstepped my boundaries.” Logan says, starting to pull away.

“W-Wait!” Roman grabs his wrist and puts his hand back on his cheek, nuzzling it with a shy but faint smile. “I...you can keep doing it.”

Roman doesn’t know why can’t stop or pull away. It just felt nice. The touches. The attention. He just needed to know if it were true. What if Logan was lying? What if Patton just sent him? What if Janus was impersonating him again? What if-

“Roman...Roman, you’re overthinking, love. I see it in your eyes.” Logan suddenly cuts through, tilting the prince’s head up with a finger under his chin. “What’s on your mind?”

Roman flusters, turning as red as his sash. Logan’s never called him ‘love’ before. He bites his lip, looking away for a moment but the hand on his cheek makes him look back up again into Logan’s pretty eyes. 

“It’s just...after what happened...um…” he starts but doesn’t know how to say it without upsetting Logan through his words.

Logan notices the fear in his eyes and softens.

“I can assure you, I am not leaving you. Nor am I Janus in disguise. And most importantly, my words are true. To lie to you now, that would only break your heart and that is not what I want to do.” he whispers.

“B-But...how do I know you’re...you?”

Logan manages a tiny smile and looks Roman in the eyes, taking Roman’s hand and placing it gently on his cheek. Oh...so that’s what a gentle touch felt like. He wonders...would Roman ever let him have more? Perhaps another time, Logan tells himself as he looks into Roman’s eyes.

“I could never wear scales for you, my dear. I am myself. And I bear the scar from Janus’ actions.” he assures the creative side, tilting to the side and showing the mark that Janus left from yanking him away with his cane.

Roman sees it and doesn’t stop himself from reaching up and tracing his fingers over it. He concentrates and heals the mark, his fingers lingering on the skin. Guilt fills his heart and glimmers in his eyes. If he hadn’t opened his big mouth, Logan wouldn’t have been harmed. If he hadn’t been so focused on himself...he at least would have noticed Logan sooner. Logan should have been noticed sooner. Maybe now is a good time to try and apologize?

“Logan?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry…”

Logan blinks, gazing softly at Roman, caressing his cheek again to stop his shaking.

“What for, my dear?”

Roman flusters but sighs, playing with Logan’s tie.

“For not noticing you sooner. For being dumb and helping Janus impersonate you. I should have helped you like a hero.” he mumbles, running his thumb over the blue silky fabric.

Logan feels himself soften at that apology, smiling at Roman. He feels warmer than ever and it didn’t seem so bad. It made him feel a little lighter even. He tilts Roman’s head up again.

“Don’t blame yourself for that. You didn’t know. I should have seen Janus coming too. But know you are not at fault for anything. Janus manipulated the both of us. It’s him that we blame.” he says, a dark look flickering in his eyes for a moment.

Roman blinks in surprise.

“That’s it? No yelling or telling me I messed up again? No fights or arguments?” 

“None. There is no reason or cause for any of that. We’ve hurt each other in the past. I believe it’s time to move on from that. I know now just how much you’re hurting and I know I had a part in causing that. If you’d let me, I’d like to make that right.”

Roman looks at Logan with wide watery eyes, searching for that golden glint of deception. He searches for that yellow-slitted eye. But...there’s nothing there but that mesmerizing ocean blue. Even when he leans so close to the point where their lips could almost touch, he sees nothing but that truthful gazes.

“After everything I said and did...you’d forgive me?” he asks one last time to be sure.

“Of course, my dear. Shall I do something more to prove it?” Logan replies, eyes flickering to Roman’s irresistible lips.

Roman nods and Logan pulls him close, his lips touching the other’s. It’s soft and careful and light, an opening left there should Roman want to back out. But...he doesn’t. Roman, having grown desperate for any kind of affection, kisses back. His hands cling to Logan as if he were afraid he’d leave him to kiss the air. A soft but contented sigh leaves Roman in between kisses, feeling Logan’s arms now wrap around him and hold him tight. It just felt...safe. So safe...that he wants more and more. 

Logan, on the other hand, is feeling that heat inside grow hotter. He’s never felt anything like this before. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to. But now? He felt wonderful, incredible, and so many more words that would take him a while to list down. This...This hot and electrical rush was too good to let go of. It makes him wonder why he held back all those years. Like Roman would have sung...so this is love…

Then they pull away, gazing at each other in wonder, faces flustered and a pretty red. There’s this warm and secure atmosphere they’ve created for each other. It’s silent as they smile at each other, wondering what to say next. Never in their wildest dreams did either of them think they’d end up here, kissing each other after being at each other’s throats for years. This was definitely much nicer. So they bask in the silence for a moment. Then,

“Logan?” Roman breaks that silence.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, Roman. I...I love you.”

Roman blinks before smiling softly.

“I love you, too.” he caresses Logan’s cheek before remembering their situation with Janus and the others, “So what happens next?”

“Well, you have me and I have you, right?” Logan replies, squeezing Roman’s hand.

“Right, but I meant with the others. Do we really have to stay with them when Janus is there?”

“Do you want to?”

Roman sighs.

“No…”

“Then what do you propose we should do, my dear?”

“Hmm…”

A week then passes after the POF incident and Roman and Logan have decided to avoid the others, hiding in their rooms. Sometimes Roman would spend all day in Logan’s room and vice versa. The two of them could hear Patton apologizing profusely at the other door. They could hear Janus muttering half-hearted apologies and insincere regrets. But neither Roman or Logan cared. If Patton and Janus wanted to ignore them then they’ll ignore them back. Patton always did say to follow the golden rule.  

Soon it’s evening again and Logan’s spending his day in Roman’s room. They were sitting on the bed and talking about different things, chuckling quietly among themselves as they talked about a plan Roman suggested. Something he says that’s been long overdue as well as help them really get away from the others. 

“Are you sure about this, Roman?” Logan asks one more time as a precaution.

“Yes, love. For the millionth time, we’ll be fine. I promise, it’ll help all of us and we can be free there. No more being ignored or silenced. We can be us!” Roman grins excitedly.

Logan chuckles, something he’s been doing more since he’s gotten together with Roman.

“Alright but do know there are consequences too.”

“Relax, Lo. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

With that, Logan lets himself be tugged along and led to the door to the Imagination. The two walk through and traverse the land until they reach the border that Roman’s half from the darker part of the Imagination. They walk over the marble bridge, through the center gazebo and down some rickety steps. It’s dark now and cold but Roman isn’t phased. He’s been here enough and has grown used to the atmosphere here. That, and the creatures here have been created to cause no harm unless their maker wills it. Before the two know it, they’re at a familiar green and onyx gilded door. It’s teeming with thorny roots and dead roses. Roman has to stop and take a deep breath before knocking.

The door opens with a creak.

“You...You came back...

“Of course, I did. I made a royal promise. Is...Is there room for two more?”

A familiar face with a wide grin and glowing red eyes answer him.

“Welcome home, dear brother. And welcome to the family, Logan.”

“Thank you...Remus.”

[atheistforhumanity]

What's the worst thing about being an atheist in the US? Is it the same experience everywhere in the country ?

(I'm French, so thankfully atheism is considered rather normal where I live.)

Hello,

Sorry I didn't answer this the night you sent it in. I was seeing z's a lot earlier than I thought.

This is actually a hard question to answer, because I have no idea what it's like in Europe. I would love to point out differences, but I always assumed things were pretty similar.

I suppose the worst part is the fanatical devotion and emotion that comes from some religious people in America. Slowly, the rate of people who are not associated with any religion is growing. In certain areas though religious belief is much more ubiquitous. The Evangelical folk are fierce believers and they are the ones that drive the radical policies in the right wing.

The level irrationality is one of the worst parts. It makes public discourse nearly impossible. The disturbing part is that that is the norm and has always been woven into our highest levels of government. In some areas they are so irrational that some become violent in an instant at anyone having an objection. So much violence is caused in America due to religious beliefs. Combine this with America's obsession for gun owner ship and we have multiple right-wing religious militias in America. Knowing that people are so irrational is scary, because their actions are unpredictable.

I get a lot of irrational objections to my blog.

For example, someone just left this comment on one of my posts:

Atheist for Hell. Mark 9:44 And, the Lake of Fire And Brimstone Revelation 20:10-15 Revelation 21:8 REPENT! Asking GOD for forgiveness of your sins And That You Accept JESUS As Your LORD AND SAVIOR Because You Believe That JESUS Died On The Cross for your sins and the sin of the World. John 1:29 HE LOVES You, All Of Us, But, We all Must Be CLEANSE from all of Our "unrighteousness" AND JESUS IS THE ONLY ONE QUALIFIED TO CLANSE Us from Our sins, AND HE LOVES You. John3:16-

I get stuff like this pretty often, and I also get calmer versions that are the same idea. Someone just recently commented on one of my religion posts to tell me that I'm wrong, ignorant, and don't know the truth. They say I should learn the truth, but they can't tell me what I'm wrong about or what this truth is. I get these types of message A LOT!

What is so frustrating is that "you're wrong" is all 90% of them can say, because they didn't adopt these beliefs through critical thinking and education. They don't actually have any basis for an argument, but will simply impose their position through repeated rants.

There's more, but I won't go on forever. This is the main thing that troubles me living in America. Facts and logic are the exception and not the rule.

[c-c-cherry]

HELL YEAH I HAVE SOME BRUNO :D

I fuckin love Bruno. Can’t really explain it, stoic/parental characters and found family tropes are just drawn to me and writing it just gives me immense joy! It’s time to dive right in this, babey >:)

Also I’m sorry for the recent inactivity. School’s been kicking my fucking ASS and I need to put in more time for that right now, so things might be slower until Holiday break. Hope y’all can bear with me a bit :)

//content warning for whump-related shit (sickness, major injury, drugs etc..)

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Pain Tolerance

-When it comes to physical injury, he can handle almost anything with grace

-With a job like his, it always helps to be quick on your feet and resourceful enough to save your life

-He’s not stupid, either. When he’s hurt in a way that he can’t fix himself, he doesn’t hesitate asking someone who actually can help

-He doesn’t particularly like it when people help him out because he’s supposed to be this omnipotent leader figure, but he won’t be stubborn when it comes down to it. He hates wasting time more than he hates showing weakness

-No one can tell him that Sticky Fingers ≠ instant stitches because that stand can get shit done

-Is it sanitary? Not really. Does it hurt a shit ton? Yeah. Does he care? Take a fucking guess y’all >:)

-This man is used to putting up with shit in order to survive and trained himself to take pain in waves. If he can just ride through it, he’ll eventually be able to function again

-Sometimes hesitating isn’t an option. Neither is acknowledging that the bullet wound in your side is bleeding out and logically you should be unconscious from how painful it is

-It takes a certain person to quite literally hold off on their own pain to help others (partly because they aren’t ready to acknowledge it) but Bruno is definitely that saviour-complex, martyr type

-He could have a fucking bullet still in his side but he’s too busy to worry about it because Narancia might have a concussion or Fugo’s arm is broken or they can’t find Giorno amid the stand battle the possibilities are endless

-The one thing he can’t seem to shake off? Getting drugged.

-He almost always has control over his surroundings with any other mishap but once his brain is messed with like that, he’s basically done for

-It doesn’t really help that he’s a lightweight with recreational things in general, but heavy stuff used for spiking or kidnapping absolutely fucks with him

-His stand completely shuts down, he loses control of all his surroundings,,,basically everything he relied on to get through stuff in the past is off the table

-It doesn’t happen very often, but when the gang has had to deal with him like that, its like watching someone’s entire self completely break down

-Suddenly any kind of feeling or pain is amplified and it’s unbearable. It’s awful seeing someone who’s usually so stoic act in such a manner, but it’s almost,,,,cathartic? It reminds all of them that he’s human and his stoicism shouldn’t be taken lightly

Injury

Rule #1 of Bruno’s moral code that doesn’t really make sense but you can’t really argue with him on it: DO NOT BRING HIM TO A FUCKING HOSPITAL.

-He’ll flat-out refuse to go

-Things are much easier now that Giorno is on their team, but things used to be borderline nightmarish during pre-canon missions that went awry

-He’ll have no problem recommending getting professional medical help to anyone else on the team, but there’s no way in hell you could make him go himself

-He hasn’t set foot in a hospital since his father was in one, and and plans to never go in one again

-To him, the medical system failed him (even though there was nothing they could virtually do)

-It’s an irrational way of thinking, but he refuses to talk about it either way

-Even when he is injured enough to require going to a doctor he can usually repress it, usually because he’s in shock, and his mind convinces him that he’s absolutely fine

-His refusal to acknowledge when he’s injured sometimes can get him in deep shit though

-Abbacchio is beyond counting on his fingers how many times a mission will be over and Bruno will be cooking dinner or reading a book and suddenly stop and get this look and Leone will be like “you good?”

-And Bruno just sets his book down and says:

“I fractured my arm and dislocated my elbow earlier today. I should probably look at it now, shouldn’t I?”

in the calmest fucking voice on the planet.

-Sometimes Bruno will just go on about his day and won’t have the chance to tell them calmly because suddenly blood is leaking out of the side of his head or they find him passed out oN THE FLOOR INSTEAD

-Needless to say it gives them all fucking heart attacks all the damn time

-Its actually so common post-canon that the gang has to do routine checks on each other to make sure no one is “withholding any injuries” (but they all know who the rule was really created for)

Sickness

-The. Most. STUBBORN MOTHERFUCKER

-Extremely irritable and hates not being able to do anything. Most people when they’re sick either get very clingy or very bitchy and we all know which one he’d be

-This is nothing like injury. He’ll KNOW he’ll be fine because it's just a fever, so to him that automatically means that no one is obligated to know and/or care regardless of how shit he’s feeling

-He either pretends it’s not happening at all, or he hides away in his room or some zipper dimension until he’s totally fine again

-Hates, and I mean HATES it when people try to take care of him

-Maybe he wants it. Maybe he doesn’t. Either way, he feels too selfless to “make someone do all that” for him

-Though Abbacchio and Fugo would refer to it more as self-destructive than selfless (but they aren’t exactly ones to talk)

-Seriously high fever? It’s just really hot in here, better turn the heat down.

-Can’t fucking breathe because he’s coughing so hard? No no, they still have another mission today to get through. Just have some tea and you’ll be fine

-So nauseous that he can barely stand up on his own? Probably just need to drink some more water today

-The KING of sick denial. The embodiment of the “parents don’t get sick because they don’t have time to” myth

-The times when they do catch him before he can disappear is when stuff is really bad. He’s gotta be too weak to move for them to pounce on him and force him to take care of himself, and even then he will only let Abbacchio do things for him because he doesn’t want to seem like a weak role model for the rest of them ;-;

-Bruno makes the best soup for when the rest of the gang catches something but Mista pulls out the good shit and makes the best fucking food for sick Bruno and it’s very wholesome and nice :)

Emotional Stress

-Bottles up everything, and I mean EVERYTHING until his limbs are fucking shaking and he’s unable to do anything else but sit there and cry

-He feels like he has to be stoic and emotionless most of the time, and although everyone knows that Bruno’s a bleeding heart, he’s also very reserved when it comes to what he really needs

-Things like nightmares or his father or things that happened to him in the past or things that you need to talk about to get off your chest are things that he keeps to himself

-Taking on too much and overworking himself is how he distracts himself from most things. He’d rather just pretend that things aren’t happening then confront it and end up breaking down

-It always comes out in the worst ways. He’ll start snapping at people when he normally would never, stops sleeping and eating, drinks too much even though he knows that it does nothing for him

-He hates the fact that he doesn’t tell people when he’s hurting, but he can’t bring himself to do it without thinking about how weak it would look on his part

-He zips himself away and cries in secret, but everyone can always tell when his nose is too red or the light is gone from his eyes later that day

-When things get bad, his hands will shake. It's almost an unconscious action that happens when he’s thinking too much about things or when he hasn’t gotten nearly as much sleep as he should, but it's extremely noticeable and he despises the fact that he can’t do anything to stop it

-His face and body will look completely put-together but the gang’s eyes will drift to the trembling paperwork that his hands are holding

-Fugo or Abbacchio will usually pull him aside and ask him if everything’s alright and the answer is always arguably a no

-It usually ends up with Leone dragging Bruno somewhere alone or kicking the rest of them out and just letting him let everything out

-Sometimes it’ll take hours and these giant “blow-ups” happen more often than they should, but Leone’s just glad that he’s communicating, even just a little bit

-Once things blow over, they actually talk. They find solutions as much as Bruno doesn’t want to, and things really don’t seem as bad once he starts actually talking about them

-The rest of the fam comes home and makes dinner/finishes up his paperwork for him and they all watch a warm-hearted movie together :3

-He loves giving people hugs because he’s all about that family love, but asking for one is a whole other story (good thing Narancia and his impeccable emotional intelligence always swoop in for a hug when Bruno looks like he’s on his last legs) :))))

-No one said opening up was going to be easy, but he’s got his supportive Passione fam to help him out when he needs it most :’)

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

I actually had some fics in mind while writing this list! If you want some Bruno whump to inhale, here’s what I was thinking of while writing this: 

The Mighty Fall by @lady-wallace​

Only Bend When It Breaks  and Night go Slower by roktavor

and Yet here he was by Your’s Truly!!

[natsubeatsrock]

What Mashima Could Have Done To Improve Nalu (And What He Should Do With Nalu Now)

What could Mashima have done to make Nalu work for someone like me? 

Wait, this isn't the rewrite...

I've wanted to make this post for a while. More accurately, I've wanted to make a post about this topic for years. Recently, I've gone through several different drafts of this post with drastically different types of approaches to this topic. However, I feel like this is the right direction to go about this topic.

Obviously, the vast majority of fans like this ship already and are counting the proverbial days until it becomes canon. But I know I'm not the only one who thinks the ship could have made more sense. And, it doesn't seem like Mashima isn't against playing around with the idea of this ship. (I'm not talking about specific spoilers here.)

So, I've decided to point out a few different ways Mashima could have worked Nalu into a better sense of becoming canon through the course of the original series. These are based on what I've heard regarding Nalu on both sides. Near the end, I'll include my suggestion for the best possible route Mashima could take regarding Nalu, especially at this point in the sequel.

Change #1: Natsu Leaving at Chapter 416

Let's get this one out of the way now. The big thing that turned me off to Nalu is how Natsu left at the end of the Tartarus arc, and I know I'm not alone in this. There are two camps of logic about why this is bad. Most people are in the Lucy camp which focuses on Lucy's broken bond with her friend. I'm more in the Natsu camp and focus on how his leaving betrays his ultimate goal of protecting his friends. Either way, Mashima didn't do much to make people who didn't already love the ship like it.

I don't think the argument should be made that Natsu shouldn't have left. He needed to leave to get stronger and if the guild was going to break up, their splitting up was inevitable. There are ways that Mashima could have handled Natsu leaving Lucy that aren't "write her a letter and leave". Given their relationship, he absolutely should have told her to her face that he had to leave and why. That's just a matter of being a good friend.

That's another reason I feel like it's important to start here. Mashima could work to further their relationship from a friendship to a romantic one. However, if their friendship is strained, there's no reason to start that in the first place. With that out of the way, let's talk about how Mashima could have made their relationship more romantic.

Change #2: Clearly Change their View of Each Other

It's not as if Natsu and Lucy's views of each other were consistently positive. It's weird to see that Natsu was dismissive and kind of exploitative was of Lucy early on in Fairy Tail. Of course, this changes throughout the series. Natsu and Lucy come to have a really cool friendship and one of my favorite partnerships in anime and manga.

However, there's no moment where Natsu or Lucy comes to a definite "Oh, I love them" realization. While the other ships in the Big 4 have at least one moment you can point to where the perception of a character towards the other noticeably changed, Nalu doesn't have that. The idea that they could be a couple is brought up every now and then. However, it's always treated as a joke and dismissed almost as quickly as it's brought up. If Mashima were to take Nalu seriously, this kind of moment would be crucial to their progression from great friendship to definite romance.

It's not even as if this couldn't happen. I've seen Nalu fans point to a few different places as possible moments for this to happen. However, my personal favorite moments happen during the Tenrou Island arc. At the beginning of the arc, Lucy looks at Natsu as he's sleeping and mentions how cute he looks. Later on, Natsu sees Lucy struggle against Kain and hears her say "It's more fun when we're together". I think both moments could have been reworked to start them on the trend of starting a romantic relationship with each other.

Change #3: Define Natsu and Lisanna's Relationship As Platonic

Depending on who you ask, we already got this during Tenrou Island. After all, Lisanna told Lucy to take care of Natsu before they went to fight Hades. A lot of people see this as the sign that Lisanna gave up on being with Natsu romantically. (If you can't tell, I'm restraining myself from arguing against this.) Mashima could have made this purpose of the moment more obvious.

Regardless, we didn't get a similar moment where Natsu and Lisanna realize their relationship has changed since Edolas and can't currently be romantic. All we got is a moment that might indicate that Lisanna thinks Lucy is a better romantic fit for Natsu. As someone who's been advocating for more of Lisanna, this change could lead to some interesting moments. Lisanna doesn't have problems with either Natsu or Lucy that would result in any ill will between them. I don't think that should change regardless of how feelings are written regarding Lisanna and the duo.

[insert discussion about Mashima's comment in France here] 

Change #4: Give Us A Real Confession

I've said this plenty of times already. We did not get a confession from Natsu at the end of Fairy Tail. The fact that people are arguing that a straight-up confession would be "out of character" for Natsu and Lucy is proof enough of that. If Nalu was meant to be, this would be an obvious inclusion.

Opinions are all over the place regarding how that ought to play out. Should Natsu confess first or should Lucy? Will their confession be more composed or frenetic? That's not so much of my concern. What matters most is that a confession actually happens for the reader to see.

Honestly, it's a shame that so many different romantic ships can get away with happening without seeing definite romantic confessions, especially in battle action shonen series. I've gone through 11 years of nonsense with these characters. If they end up a couple, I want to see the confession, at the very least.

And those are my suggestions for changes.

You'll notice that I haven't talked about romantic progression in this post. That should be obvious when talking about this kind of thing. I think it's hard not to write characters falling in love if you know you're building to a couple being romantic. Fans are more likely to see it in places it isn't happening. Mashima has proven himself capable of writing good romance time and again in both of his big running series. Of course, we're waiting to see if he'll do it again with Edens Zero.

Though, these are changes that would have to take place regarding the original series. If Mashima wanted to do any of these things, it would be too late to properly do them. With that in mind, here's what I think is the best thing Mashima could do with Nalu, especially at this particular time in the sequel.

Destroy Its Chances.

No, seriously.

To be clear, I'm not advocating for Mashima to give us less ship tease fakeouts or meaningless rejections. I'm not asking that he simply not make Nalu canon. I seriously wish that Mashima would make explicitly clear that Natsu and Lucy cannot and will not ever enter a romantic relationship with each other. I simultaneously wish he would stop playing with the idea that they may start one in stuff outside of canon, like Twitter sketches, omakes, and spin-offs.

I've had a lot of time to sit with Nalu as a possible ship. I've thought over and over about what's wrong with it. And I can't think of anything fundamentally wrong with Nalu. The worst thing about it is the nonexistent progression from friends to lovers and Natsu leaving in chapter 416. I'd add fanservice, but pretty much every Fairy Tail ship has egregious fan service moments.

When people talk about Nalu not being a good ship, there are worse things they could be talking about. They could talk about how one person is clearly pushing for a relationship the other isn't interested in. They could talk about how their relationship started off with one brutalizing the other. They could talk about how Nalu is incestuous or pedophilic. However, when we talk about the ships in Fairy Tail, these topics don't come up regarding Nalu.

Like, people don't like Gruvia because of the dynamic between them. For people to like that ship, you'd basically have to rewrite their dynamic entirely. I know someone who would only make Gruvia canon in its current state if it were an abusive relationship. My suggestions for Nalu don't even change that much about their relationship.

The real issues I have with the ship stem from the fandom itself. The Nalu fandom considers any and all moments that involve Natsu and Lucy as a sign that they can become a couple soon. This ranges from "understandable arguments regarding certain scenes in canon" to "irrational interpretations regarding Twitter sketches". All of it's treated with the same cavalier attitude of Nalu's impending canonization. This is all despite no confession, no indication of romance on either side, and an omake literally made to dissuade people from this idea.

I can't say that Mashima will never make Nalu canon. But if he plans not to make it canon, I want it to be clear that Nalu is never going to be a thing. Leave no sense of ambiguity for readers to argue that it might happen in the future after the series ends. When I read the last chapter of the sequel, I want Nalu's prospects to end with the series.

"But what about the fans who spent years following the series hoping for the ship to happen?"

What about them?

I'm not saying this as someone who has no interest in the ship or empathy for its fans. I could and probably should, especially given the stuff I've seen happen over the years. But I'm not. (People can just as easily point to any of the various extreme Nalu haters like... a certain someone.) No, I have no patience for this view considering another perspective I hold.

I came into the fandom enjoying Fairy Tail. I started this blog because I wanted to talk about the things I liked about it and places I disagreed with fans about it. As time passed, I started to like the series less and see more issues with it. Many of the things I came to like about the series started to annoy me more and talking about this series became more of a chore than anything else.

However, I came to have a renewed sense of love for the series as I revisited it. I found new things to like about it and reconfirmed my enjoyment of the things that previously annoyed me. Consider the ship I talk the most about positively on this blog is likely not going to be canon officially. I'm still here and I still love the series.

I find it hard to believe that fans can come this far into the series only because they want to see their ship happen. I get that this sentiment is popular to hear fans say. However, I can't believe that all those people are so deeply invested in Nalu being canon, as opposed to other aspects of the series, that the series would be ruined for them if it didn't happen.

This is a series that's almost a decade and a half old. We've had more spin-offs, omakes, and tie-ins than series many times more popular than Fairy Tail have received. We just got an anime game that actually isn't just another arena fighter and a sequel has been greenlit. There has to be SOMETHING that these people can come back to and appreciate about this series OTHER than Nalu.

And if there really is nothing they can come to like about this series than Nalu? If they really come to hate the series over their ship not happening? If we really see a fan meltdown over the ship not happening, then...

Good riddance to them!

I know plenty of fans who bowed out of the series after realizing the series wasn't great. I'm still following a few of them for other stuff. Almost every one of them came to the conclusion long ago that the series wasn't as great as they'd like it to be and moved onto other things that interested them. They handled it calmly and left the fandom without a ton of drama. A couple of them even drop in to make new fan content every now and then.

I can respect a perspective that acknowledges a series isn’t doing what you want it to do and decides to engage with only the elements that matter most to an individual. I can respect a similar perspective that decides to cut ties with a series or fandom over how canon plays out. I can’t respect or sympathize with a perspective that says canon is worse because one’s wishes for it weren’t fulfilled.

I'm not even saying that it's wrong to not like how Mashima handles a ship. I still don't like how Graytear played out. You're allowed to feel that Mashima's handling of any part of a series isn't great. However, I don't think the series is worse for what it did to Graytear. Fairy Tail wouldn't be worse if Nalu didn't happen.

I'd argue it would be better, but that's enough for now...

[bordeauxatdusk]

Mystique (A Detroit: Become Human Fanfic) Part 1

 Read the full fic (so far) on Ao3 here!

DISCLAIMER this fic is about gay android detectives in 2038. Please know that I am a BLM supporter and that I do not write in this in support of our current shitty criminal justice system. 

Forget-me-nots.

The dead woman’s eyes were the same color as the flowers in her hair.

She was poised, artfully, in an elegant position that looked almost like a sculpture. Rigor mortis held her in place. The crown of forget-me-nots was integrated with an elaborate veil of white lace that fell gracefully down her back.

The bloodstained silk wedding gown she was wrapped in extended outward, rippling over the room, which was staged like a movie set; a host of antique items and classic still-life objects had been structured to frame her. Elaborate globes mingled with vases of flowers mingled with stacks of old yellowing books, covers frayed. Warm light streamed in lazily from large arcing windows, illuminating the oakwood floors of the room.

The light glinted off the pearl dagger embedded in the woman’s chest. In front of her, a gold-leafed, leather-bound edition of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet had been left open to the infamous scene:

“O, happy dagger, this is thy sheath.”

A human would undoubtedly call the scene beautiful.

To Nines, however, it was simply another murder.

He was capable of appreciating beauty, although many would be surprised to hear it. (Some people were surprised to hear that androids were capable of any abstract thought at all.)

Nines understand the concept of aesthetic value perfectly well. What he was not capable of understanding was how humans, in their love of aesthetic value, sometimes seemed to discard logic and reason.

The concept of a beautiful murder was immaterial to him. It was still murder. Whether it was committed in a wide-open oak room or in a rotting gutter made no difference.

Nines would hunt down and eliminate the murderer either way.

He was glad that Gavin felt the same, although Nines was concerned that he seemed disproportionately unnerved by something. What exactly it was, Nines couldn’t tell.

He knew that Gavin was upset partially from the rising levels of adrenaline in his scans, partially from the fact that Gavin’s pupils were dilated and he was beginning to fidget in the way he typically expressed distress (tapping his fingers together and pacing, mostly) and partially from the fact that he was increasing his profanity from its normal rate of about every one in fifteen words to every one in ten.

Nines had spent a lot of time analyzing Gavin Reed. Perhaps an irrational amount.

It hadn’t helped much.

Nines guessed that the cause of his partner’s distress must be some deeply-held psychological trauma. Humans often experienced it, and Gavin personally had suffered a difficult childhood. Whatever the reason for his distress, it must be very serious.

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘ I don’t know ’, Tina?! ” his partner was currently yelling into his phone. “It’s a simple goddamn question! Do they have jalapeno poppers or not?!”

Fascinating.

Nines was well equipped to read Gavin, but very poorly equipped to understand him. The difference, he felt, was vast. He was... displeased by it. Androids were predictable, generally. Deviants much less so than non-deviants, of course, but they were still more logical than humans. At first Nines had been convinced that Gavin was simply uncomfortable expressing his emotions, but the android had begun to discover that Gavin himself was often unaware of them.

Perhaps there was some unpleasant memory jalapeno poppers evoked for his partner. He would have to ask later. Nines would have preferred to have Gavin leave the room and take a few minutes to calm down, but he had learned recently that it wasn’t an option. Apparently, Nines doing what he was designed to do and examining the physical evidence without Gavin’s interference meant he was “being a fucking know-it-all” and a “stuck-up asshole.”

“Look,” Gavin had said a few weeks ago, waving a hand dismissively to try and distract from the fact that he was clearly upset. “ It’s no big deal. Just don’t keep fucking asking me to leave in the middle of crime scenes, okay?”

Nines had been unable to see the point of this request. “ Gavin, you were clearly disgusted by the scope of the damage done to the victim.”

“Well, yeah,” Gavin had muttered sulkily, “but you don’t need to be all weird about it. Look, Nines, I want to do my job. Let me do it. Even if I’m not really helping, just let me feel like I am, okay?”

Nines had been even more confused. “ If you aren’t going to help, why are you so determined to be there? Humans aren’t exactly well-equipped for forensic analysis to begin with. I don’t hold it against you.”

It had escalated into a full-blown fight that left Nines more confused than ever until Gavin was finally able to articulate that he didn’t want to feel useless.

The absurdity and simplicity of the answer had caught Nines off guard. Gavin Reed, useless? They had won a medal together just six months ago for solving an incredibly dangerous case, saving the lives of ten other officers in the process (and possibly the entire DPD). Their success had almost entirely been due to Gavin. Useless?

Nines strongly disagreed.

He had told Gavin so. Nines always said what he meant.

Gavin had huffed under his breath.

“ Alright, shit, I get it,” he’d said, trying and failing not to smile. “You’re a big fucking suck-up.”

Nines knew enough about humans to understand that the insulting response had roughly meant, in Gavin-language,“Thank you, Nines. I’m flattered.”

What confused him is why Gavin didn’t just say that instead.

Humans never said what they meant. It was inconvenient.

Gavin's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

“Hey, Robocop. You find anything?”

Nines blinked. Gavin was staring at him, phone in hand, waiting.

Nine shook his head. “This crime scene is so elaborately staged, I can’t move through it without risking disrupting the evidence. Every object in this room is potentially a key to solving the case. There’s a very low probability the killer managed to set this up without leaving some traces of his presence behind-- fingerprints, hair, DNA. It would be better to wait until forensics arrives, and allow them to do their job. “

Gavin wrinkled his nose, thinking. It was a habit of his.

(One that Nines found extremely distracting, but it wasn’t the time for that.)

“Is something bothering you, Detective?” Nines asked.

Gavin huffed. “Yeah, stop calling me ‘detective.’ You know my name.”

He paused for a moment, sighed, and then gestured to the scene in front of them.

“It’s this whole thing, Nines. I hate it when they do this shit. It’s so fucked up. Trying to turn something so horrible into something pretty, or romantic, or-- I don’t know. You’ll see. These cases are always hell to investigate. We can’t let a single drop of this leak to the media, or else this poor girl is going to be on the front page of every newspaper across the country. ‘The Girl In the Wedding Dress’, or some shit like that.”

Nines didn’t understand. “I’m not sure I’m following you. You don’t want her case to be publicized?”

Gavin shook his head. “Hell no. How do I explain this? Okay. This girl, she’s not fucking Juliet, right? What's her real name? You know it already with your facial recognition?”

“Ashley Briggs.”

“Okay. She’s not Juliet. She’s Ashley. Ashley was a whole person, with a life and family and friends, and then some fucking creepy asshole murdered her and dressed her up like Juliet. The media’s problem is, they like stories with publicity. They like stuff that has a nice ring to it. Ashley Briggs, not so much. ‘The Girl in the White Dress?’ ‘The Woman in White?’ some other bullshit like that? They eat that up.  A picture of a pretty girl in a wedding dress with a dagger in her chest? That’s the kind of stuff they eat for breakfast. They love it, Nines! It’s like the Black Dahlia. If any of this gets out,  nobody will give two fucks about Ashley Briggs, but they’ll all love her death."

Gavin stopped for a moment to take a breath, hands gesturing wildly, eyes narrowed in anger.

"Rumors will be everywhere. Poor Ashley’s family is gonna have to deal with photos of their little girl murdered and dressed up in a fucking wedding dress all over every tabloid in the grocery store for the next eight years. And not a single one of the people obsessed with ‘Juliet’ is gonna give a shit about Ashley. Everyone’s gonna see her how the killer saw her, how he wanted us to see her, how he set her up: as pretty tragic Juliet in a wedding dress. Nobody is gonna know or remember Ashley Briggs. Don’t you see how fucked up that is? They never give a shit about the victim, even though they pretend to. It’s always about the fucking killer and his ideology.”

Nines was stunned. He had never considered that aspect of a crime before. Looking at it from that perspective, it did seem disturbing.

“They’ll romanticize her murder," he finished for Gavin, who looked almost too angry to continue.

Gavin nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “The most fucked up part is, that’s what he wants. Her killer staged her this way because he’s trying to put on a fucking show. This is a murder with a message, we just don’t know what it is. I hate that those bastards always seem to get the attention they want. People always remember the killer, but they never remember the victim. Hell, how many people do you think could name a single victim of Ted Bundy? Or Jeffery Dahmer? Or any of the other sick bastards that decide to take their sexual fantasies out on so many innocent people that everyone forgets about?”

Nines raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know that this murder is sexual in nature.”

Gavin huffed. “Nah, but there’s a pattern when it comes to motive and method. There’s tons of examples. Um. Execution-style gunshots to the back of the head are cold, professional. Victim’s turned away, there’s a distance between them and the killer. No eye contact. Hired killers, a lot of the time.”

Gavin demonstrated with a finger gun, eyes distant, like he was remembering cases he’d seen before.

“Stranglings are personal, and a lot of the time they’re sexual. Killer’s up close, right in their face. Looking them in the eye, watching them slowly die, hands-on contact. It’s ‘intimate’ for those fucked-up pieces of shit. They’re normally sexual sadists. Hate those ones.”

Gavin’s brow wrinkled in disgust as he demonstrated.

“Stabbings are personal too, but in a different way. Bloody, aggressive, painful. Personal vendetta, lots of times. Someone close to the victim with a grudge. Betrayal maybe, ‘cause there’s anger behind it. Besides, she’s staged as fucking Juliet. Who do you think her Romeo’s supposed to be? The mailman?”

Nines hummed in response. He didn’t doubt Gavin’s theory, but any investigation should work from the external to the internal. The solid evidence should be interpreted to form theories, not theories interpreted to fit the evidence. The second an investigator began to let their personal opinions dictate the situation, they became biased.

“I still believe we should wait for the evidence to be analyzed before assuming anything.”

Gavin crossed his arms. His body language throughout this speech had been aggressive. Nines’ scans told him that Gavin was intensely angry.

“I’m not fucking assuming, I’m theorizing. If the evidence says something different then I’ll change my tune. I’m just saying, maybe the fact that she’s being staged all pretty in a fancy room in a wedding dress mirroring the suicide from goddamn ‘ Romeo and Juliet’ might have some tiny romantic undertones, Nines.”

“So perhaps we should interview her neighbors first.”

“Hell yes, we should,” Gavin said. “Starting with whoever found the body.”

He started to turn away to head out the door.

Nines stopped him. “Gavin, wait.”

He twisted back around in surprise. “What?”

Nines pressed his hands together, standing stiffly. “Are you angry with me?”

Gavin stopped in his tracks and paused for a moment in an emotion Nines was unable to read. There was a second of tension, and then Nines’ partner seemed to crumple inward as he sighed heavily, shoving his hands back into his pockets.

“No,” he said to the floor by his feet. “Sorry. It’s this case. Stuff like this- it’s fucking creepy. I get all tense. Of course I’m not mad at you, dumbass. I’m just- I’m not good at expressing shit, y’know. ”

Nines walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

Gavin’s entire demeanor changed, going from aggressive to something much more vulnerable instantly. It was a switch that, even though they’d been together for six months now, Nines had rarely seen.

“No,” Gavin said softly. “I just want to catch the bastard. Otherwise, cases like this, they always stick with me. I’ll- I’ll see her everywhere. Ashley, I mean. In mirrors, reflections, dreams. Asking me why I couldn’t do it. People always act like murder investigations are some cop-show badass bullshit, but they aren’t. The pressure’s gonna be hell. We’re gonna have to go through her whole life and dig up a lot of secrets. Everyone has graves that are better left buried. Take my word for it, it’s gonna suck. And even if we find the fucking bastard, he still might get off. Normally, I can distance myself from it, I guess, but when it’s something this creepy- I just- I don’t know if I can do it. There's something about this case. I have such a bad fucking feeling about this whole thing. It’s driving me crazy. ”

Nines reached out and wrapped his arms around Gavin, pulling him close. It was meant as a comforting gesture, and he noticed with satisfaction that his partner’s distress seemed to decrease.

Nines was beginning to understand how to react to Gavin’s moods, even if he didn’t always understand the reason why they were happening. They had both worked dozens of homicide cases. Nines didn’t understand how this case was any different, but it didn’t matter. He was programmed to adapt to human unpredictability.

He never knew what to make of Gavin’s hunches, though. They were objectively irrational, and they were also always right. It drove him insane. It defied reason.

Then again, nothing about Gavin was reasonable.

“We’re professionals,” Nines began, “and-”

“And you’re hugging me in the middle of a fucking murder scene,” Gavin interrupted, voice muffled from pressing his face into Nines’ shoulder, “like a true professional.”

“You needed a hug. Let me finish. We’re professionals, and there’s a lot of potential just in this room for the killer to have made a mistake. The chances of him staging all this with zero forensic evidence left behind are very low-”

“Mhmmm,” Gavin said, leaning into the hug.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Nope,” Gavin muttered.

Nines sighed.

He gently pulled Gavin away from him, brushing off his partner’s coat, which was eternally covered in cat hair.

“We need to go interview the neighbors. Listen. We work very well together. We’ve faced near-impossible odds before. Compared to our last big case, this will most likely be easy.”

“Nothing’s ever easy,” Gavin groaned. “Especially not in fucking homicide.”

“Well then, we’ll support each other, just like last time.”

Gavin smiled wryly. “Are you going to break a rib and give me a concussion again?”

“That highly depends,” Nines said, “on whether or not you plan to shoot me a second time.”

“You told me to!”

“I was paralyzed and all my communications were disabled. I couldn’t tell you to do anything."

“Your light flashed!”

“My LED,” Nines said, raising an eyebrow, “never stops flashing, unless I’m decommissioned.”

Gavin shoved him-- an adorably futile effort, considering he didn’t move even a fraction of an inch.

“Come on, smartass,” Gavin said. “We have some friendly neighbors to interrogate.”

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

Could you do the first five asks from the autumn list and the spooky Halloween list please? 🥺

Hi nugget!! Thank you so much for this ask!! 🥰 Like an idiot, I reblogged two autumn lists and I didn’t know which you meant, so I did both 🙈 I hope that’s okay!!

1. What is your favorite autumn scent?

Ohhhh I have so many favorites... really anything that smells sharp and smokey (i.e. anything with “fireside” or “sweater weather” in the name)

2. Would you rather go through a corn maze or go pumpkin picking?

Pumpkin picking, hands DOWN. I’m weirdly terrified of corn mazes? I just feel like it’s the perfect opportunity for something to jump out and scare me and no thank you. Plus pumpkins are adorable, and I love picking them out and feeling their energy and finding the perfect fit for my little room.

3. What is your favorite Halloween candy?

Okay so hear me out- we used to get these candies called “dem bones” for Halloween when I was little, and they were like sweetarts but shaped like pieces of a skeleton and you could put them together before eating them. Those were my favorite growing up, but I don’t think they make them anymore. Honestly I get really excited about anything unusually flavored - cauldron Skittles, spooky fun dip, funky laffy taffy, etc.

4. Favorite autumn holiday?

Thanksgiving. Please don’t eat me 🙈

5. Rainy, foggy autumn days or cold, sunny autumn days?

Cold, sunny autumn days. ALWAYS. Don’t get me wrong, I love rainy days with that chill that seeps into your bones where you can bundle up in a million blankets and drink tea and have a movie marathon. BUT- if it’s cold and sunny, you can go outside! And stomp in the leaves! And get an apple cider and wear little gloves and scarves and enjoy the breeze on your face! Oh, what joy—

Boogeyman: What is your weirdest/most irrational fear?

Oh gosh I think I have too many to count. And as far as weirdest, maybe that’s relative? Because in my mind they’re all equally logical aksjaksjjff The one that always baffles my psychologist is my “modified” trypophobia. She doesn’t even have a name for it. But when spiky things come out of holes? I’ve had nightmares about it ever since I can remember. I’ve also developed a more recent fear of being abducted by aliens late into the night while everyone else is asleep, and no one knowing where I went. Or maybe everyone I love forgetting about me? Being alone, I guess 😂🙈

2. Candy corn: What is the best Halloween candy? The worst?

There are too many good candies to choose from and you know how indecisive I am, whyyyyyy— Okay so of the “traditional” Halloween candy, I’m going to say… snickers, kit kats, sour patch kids, and/or nerds. I’m so sorry, I can’t choose because it really depends on my mood!! But the worst are definitely Mounds. No contest. 👀

3. Crow: Do you believe in omens? Which ones?

Okay so I’m going to say no. But I also don’t know enough omens to actively believe in any? My sister and I were watching a Halloween movie and she went “oh, a black dog. He’s going to die now” and I just kind of looked at her and she really simply went “black dogs bring death” and I looked down at MY BLACK DOG and was like “oops” 🙈 so I’m going to say no

4. Exorcist: Do you believe in demons?

I grew up Catholic so let’s say yes but I don’t touch that kind of stuff

5. Ghost: Have you ever encountered a spirit or haunted place?

I’ve never actively gone to a haunted house or anything like that, but I do see spirits occasionally. Usually people I’ve known, I can feel them in a space or see them standing/sitting by someone. I used to always see my uncle in his old house, but my aunt moved to a new house and I walked in and the space felt so dead. And I almost cried, because I knew I wouldn’t see him again. But maybe that’s weird that I can feel them, so shhh nevermind forget I said anything oop

1. Hay ride: Where have you always wanted to travel?

Africa!! Or maybe Scotland

2. Pumpkin carving: Are you artistic?

Oh goodness, everyone in my family would tell you yes, but I don’t feel like I am

3. Soft scarves: What’s a talent that you hide from the world?

I don’t know, I’m a pretty open book. Although I never properly sing in front of people because I’m convinced I’m tone deaf

4. Jack and Sally: What’s your love language/what makes you feel loved?

Alright let’s get sappy here we go: Being understood, being listened to, someone who tells me I’m not too much. Someone being there for me no matter what, good times and bad times, who never makes me feel judged, is patient with me, looks at me when I’m at my lowest and craziest and most and tells me that I’m perfect and that they wouldn’t change one thing about me. Being accepted exactly as I am, in my entirety. (Also: snuggles)

5. Cardigan: Tell us about your favorite autumn outfit!

Jeans, boots, a big comfy sweater that stretches down over my palms, with a pea coat and maybe a beanie if my hair cooperates! Either that or tights under a skater skirt and a cropped, brightly patterned sweater skaldjlfgf

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia, I hope you’re well. Please feel free to ignore this if it’s too personal... but how do you deal with death as a concept when you have the chronic illnesses that you do? Are you afraid to die, and if you are, how do you keep from constantly thinking about how you could die early (so to speak) if your health takes a turn? I’ve had a lot of health scares recently and it’s getting harder and harder to just live without feeling constantly afraid. Thank you for everything you do.

Hi anon!

Firstly, I am very sorry to hear about your health scares. They suuuuuck. They really suck. I’m replying partly out of solidarity, but I don’t know if I have anything that will really work for you, because sometimes I really struggle to find things that work for me, but I’m happy to share what I’ve picked up along the way. <3 And I hope in the meantime that things pick up for you.

The timing of this is pretty spot on, in that I’m going through pretty serious scanxiety at the moment (what we call ‘anxiety around getting scans for cancer’ in my cancer support group that I’m a member of). I had a full body PET scan two weeks ago (no results yet), and I have a head/neck MRI on Friday, for which I can hopefully get the results Mon/Tuesday. But I don’t have my follow up with my Endocrinologist until late July, so I won’t know for about 6 weeks if I have any new tumours in my abdomen.

I definitely don’t want to die from this disease, and it will probably be the thing that kills me. Not any time soon, that’s less likely, but it’s just...likely overall. A lot of the statistics are stacked against me, I have three primary tumours in my head/neck, and there’s no indication that my body is going to stop growing them, and there’s no cure and likely to be no cure in my lifetime.

So yeah, I get anxious. I am afraid to die (I mean in general, unless I’m suicidal, but also specifically the way this disease is likely to kill me: progressively taking my hearing, my ability to swallow and talk, my ability to move my arms and my head and my neck, my sense of balance and ability to walk upright without collapsing, and more - which doesn’t even count metastatic disease - is a horrible way to die). And I live with the knowledge that like, it literally takes one scan result to change my entire life all over again (hence, scanxiety).

BUT, living in constant fear is just...not helpful. It’s understandable, it is an understandable emotional response, but it’s not a helpful response. Because what matters most in these scenarios is quality of life; and you get quality of life (in chronic illness and acute disease) by managing emotional outcomes as vigilantly and with as much self-compassion (and patience) as possible. So these are the things that work for me, if they don’t work for you, that’s fine, some might even feel completely wrong for you, that’s also fine and normal. The things we tell ourselves to cope in this are deeply personal. I hate the phrase ‘fuck cancer’ for example, other people who have cancer use it as a battle cry and feel strong because of it.

***

* ‘Can I literally do anything more than I’m doing to change the outcomes of my illness without hurting myself? No? Then admit you have no control over this and let it go.’ This is something I tell myself when I start panicking. ‘But what if I get this result what if this happens what if this tumour starts growing again what if.’ I just look at myself sternly and say: ‘HOW is this helpful?’ It’s NOT. Knowing the answers to any of those what ifs changes nothing in the moment except my anxiety, distress and fear levels. And then I say ‘so WHAT would be helpful? What do you have control over?’ And then I might wait and think... ‘well...I really like that Youtube channel One Meal A Day I might watch one of those videos’ or ‘well...I might journal about my feelings and give them some space (see further down) and then try and let them go because just cycling around them isn’t productive.’ Sometimes we hang onto anxiety because our brain convinces us it will somehow be helpful. With this stuff it rarely is.

* WORRY TIME. Yay worry time! Set aside 5-20 minutes a day (or every three days, or once a week, but you might need to start with once a day when things are really bad) to write down ALL of your worries about your illnesses. All the irrational things, the logical things, ALL of it, no matter how embarrassing. And omg, chase those worries down. Really sit and be with your worry. Give it space. Let it speak! But do it with the intention that once those 5-20 minutes are over, that’s it. You’re done. If your worries start up again, say gently to yourself: ‘You told me all of this during Worry Time, but if this is new, please save it for tomorrow, I will give you space to share with me then!’ Treat your worry like a little animal that doesn’t know any better, and has to be taught some boundaries. Worry Time becomes the boundary. That doesn’t mean you won’t feel anxious the rest of the time, just if you do, it’s easier to step back mindfully and go ‘huh, I’m anxious right now, that’s really interesting, but I’m going to do something about that tomorrow, and so for now I’m just going to acknowledge it but I’m going to try not to let it ruin my day.’

* ‘Everything right now, this moment, this second is exactly the way it should be.’ This is Taoism, and some people hate it. I use this most often when I’m in excruciating pain, or terrified, or literally in a panic attack. I don’t know why it helps so much, but it does. And I think it’s because it works like this: ‘Everything right now, this moment, this second is exactly the way it should be. Terrible things are happening all over the world. Other people are feeling pain like I am. Animals and plants go on living and dying. Right now everything in this moment is perfect messy imperfection and I am a part of that, a small cog in a huge ecosystem. I am a part of something, I belong in this, and I hate it - I really hate it - but even that is part of that messy imperfection. It just is. And therefore, I can release any attachment or urgency to change the things that I cannot change.’ And then...I will still be in pain, or having a panic attack, or terrified, but it will feel integrated and connected to me. It will feel like it’s a part of something. Still, ultimately, sometimes useless but...even useless excesses of terror are a part of the messy imperfection of life.

This leads onto the second:

* ‘In this moment, I am okay.’ Not like, literally 100% healthy. I’ll never be that. But I’m okay. I’m okay as a person and a human being who deserves love and comfort, and I’m okay to just grab another minute to feel okay. You can pair this with mindfulness meditation, and Smiling Mind has a great free app, and most of the meditations are between 5-8 minutes long. Sometimes ‘I’m okay’ doesn’t mean ‘I feel okay’ - and that’s okay too! I’m not trying to erase my emotions, I’m not trying to make myself never feel afraid of dying, that is an appropriate response to something that literally threatens my life but isn’t doing it urgently right this second. And because it’s not doing it right this second, well, right this second, I’m okay.

* Goals that have nothing to do with your health. For me, probably pretty obviously, it’s my writing and my art and similar. I have responsibilities towards my loved ones and my animal companions. Sometimes just...putting my head down and getting stuff done helps take my mind off things, and that also makes me feel productive and like I’m more than my illnesses. Socialising is a part of this. You are so much more than your illnesses, but you have to live that way too, that’s your responsibility to yourself, to remember that you are more, and then to embrace that in your actions (I mean, keeping in mind spoons/energy levels), even when you’re not always feeling it.

* Look at the things you can control and shore them up where you can. Like, consider writing a will. One of the things I’ve had to do is consider what I’ll do if I get sick so quickly I can never finish Fae Tales or never write anything again. These practical steps can be distressing, but sometimes they can answer background anxieties you didn’t know you had, and put them to bed. ‘I don’t need to worry about this, I’ve already done this part.’ Sometimes it’s just knowing that every time you see a specialist, you’re going to write down your questions, so you no longer need to worry about forgetting them. Things like that seem little, but they add up as background anxieties we do have control over.

* If you can afford it; Therapy. Depending on your illness/es, there may be support groups. Some are dodgy as shit (Fibromyalgia groups have categorically been the worst spaces I’ve ever encountered for genuine support), but generally speaking for serious illnesses, there are support groups. They can be an incredible resource. I help moderate the Australian/New Zealand Para/Pheo Support Group (there’s only one, lol), and like sometimes it’s depressing (people I care about do, on occasion, die), but knowing I’m not alone, knowing I can get advice about what to ask my surgeons or my Endocrinologists or Oncologists, especially for a rare disease? Fuck that’s so invaluable. And being able to help other people advocate for themselves has been really empowering for me.

* Don’t expect to get rid of your fear or anxiety entirely. If you’re alive and you’re human and you like life, you just can’t do that. So remember that when you’re feeling those things, you’re being a normal human being, and you are not alone (even when you feel like the loneliest person in the world, even that’s a part of it). It won’t fix those things, sometimes you can’t. Some days I just give as like, shit days, it happens. June I’ve given up as kind of a shit month honestly. Am I having good moments? Yes. Am I stressed every day about this disease? YES! Fun times. (I won’t be stressed every day if the scan results show that everything is the same tbh, like, then I’ll go back to ‘normal’ where I rarely think about it).

* Don’t write off the day until the day is over. I used to have this habit (and still can sometimes) of writing off the day as being ‘a bad day’ because of a terrible morning. I actually started this habit as a child, because of trauma and abuse, and it was something I kept doing because of mental illness. So this is something I was doing long before cancer came along and additionally kicked my ass. These days, even though I feel so bad sometimes I feel like hell, my entire life is a write off, I try and keep in mind that one thing can change the tone of the day and make it better. And that ‘thing’ can be me and my choices. And the fact is, even if I try some Youtube videos, or to pet my cats, or talk to friends, or whatever and it doesn’t work, at least I can look back and reassure myself: ‘You’re trying so hard, you’re really trying your best’ and also ‘you know this never lasts, it never has, you still have moments where you feel good, which means you’ll have a moment where you’ll feel good again. It’s okay. I’m okay.’

* Dark humour can be a saviour. Oh boy, can it ever. But be careful who you share it with.

* Gratitude for what you have now, and not what you might not in the future, because the future is an illusion, it’s not here now. But you are. I have a journal where I write down something I’m grateful for every day. Even if I’m feeling cynical and hateful and anxious and bitter. And then I might just say ‘I’m grateful for chips’ or ‘I’m grateful for that nice leaf I saw but nothing else’ lol. Just something. I’m grateful I can still hear, I might not hear one day, but I’m listening to a song right now. That matters. I’m grateful I can walk. I’m grateful I can read this post. I’m grateful I can still write my books despite the mild cognitive brain damage I got from radiation. My gratitude doesn’t always feel warm or nice, but I am still, somewhere, deep down, glad I haven’t lost those things.

***

It’s hard, and many of these things take time to learn, and repetition, and getting back on the wagon when you forget. Some days they won’t help, and some days you’ll be so glad of one 5 minute mindfulness meditation it saves the whole rest of the day for you. Sometimes sleeping is a really good reset tool for the brain.

Some people find Buddhism helpful (all life is suffering can become pretty zen when you’re suffering), I found the philosophy of Taoism helpful on top of my regular paganism.

ANYWAY this post is now...2,200 words long fuck that’s longer than some of my university essays I’M SO SORRY so I’m going to stop. Just, please anon, from the bottom of my heart, be gentle with yourself. It’s hard. This stuff is hard. It requires an unfair amount of effort to make it less hard, but that’s all life gives us, because life never promised to be fair or just or compassionate to us. So we must be fair and just and compassionate to ourselves. And that, in its messy imperfection, is all we can do to be a perfect part of this world. <3

[nads6969istrash]

When Idiocy and Spite Collide

So we all know that Ms. Stepputat is gone from Deviantart, but she’s still on Pinterest.  Thing is, Pinterest has this feature called “Secret Boards” which allow you to pin stuff that you don’t want others to see.

I personally find this stupid, but I digress.

She’s been using her Secret Board to continue tracing off of not only Drachea Rannak, but her main foe FireFlea-San as well.

When Flea drew this:

https://www.deviantart.com/fireflea-san/art/CO-Alcor-Knight-619997844

This showed up as well:

https://www.deviantart.com/genetic-miles/art/Nads6969-Overlay-of-FireFlea-San-830336955

That’s right.

This is a commission that Flea drew, and that scarlet abomination is Ms. Stepputat’s trace of her work.  She traced off of someone who has filed multiple DMCA notices against her for tracing her previous commissions without permission and has successfully led the fight in getting her kicked off of DA.

It gets to a point where you have to question her IQ.

Considering how Flea, with the help of many other people, destroyed her on multiple internet platforms, I have to wonder why she’d continue to start shit like this.

Here’s a tip: don’t kick the same hornet’s nest after you were previously stung enough that you went into anaphylactic shock.

For some reason, Ms. Stepputat thinks that she still has something to fight for, and that doing things out of spite is the most logical option.  She seems to think that, as long as she hides her tracks and doesn’t get caught, that she is perfectly justified in continuing with this behavior.

At this point, a lot of people are convinced that Ms. Stepputat has a legitimate mental/behavioral disorder.  She is not thinking logically in dealing with her problems, nor is she capable of recognizing other people’s boundaries or respecting their rights and feelings.  

Several of her ex-friends have come forward and stated that her temper is often irrational, violent, and explosive.  They’ve also told me that she is incredibly manipulative; she will avoid apologizing for being mean, and then turn the situation back on her victims and attempt to make THEM feel like THEY were being mean to HER and expect them to apologize to her.

I do not say this in jest.  Nadia Stepputat is sick.  She is sick, and her current psychiatrist is not worth their weight in toenails if this is how she behaves after years of sessions.  But I suppose I can’t blame the psychiatrist if Ms. Stepputat is not being honest about her behavior.

At the same time, someone’s mental health shouldn’t be an excuse to engage in behavior that adversely affects other people.  I say this because this is not the first time someone with a severe mental illness has joined Deviantart and caused a lot of trouble for a lot of people.  There have even been incidents where these same people had their “feet held to the fire” so to speak to get them to stop.

Shia Castaneda, aka NightFlightVersel, comes to mind.  This guy was incredibly sick in the head.  Despite people constantly telling him to leave their artwork alone, he continued to create new accounts and post people’s pictures without their permission and take credit for them.  His amount of harassment, stalking, and terrorizing members of the DA/HTTYD community eventually culminated in getting the police involved, and from what I understand, his internet activity is being closely monitored.

Something similar to this was the crazy art-stealing vegan named Josue LP, aka CuteTurtleBoy and Tortuga-Ladrona on Deviantart.  If you want to read his deal, check out my journal here.

Ms. Stepputat recently announced on her Facebook that she’s in a relationship...  I hope that person knows what he’s getting into, and that his potato bag of a girlfriend is bringing a lot of self-inflicted baggage and might very well be staring down the barrel of possible litigation.

I hope he also realizes that she is a very, VERY ugly, awful person who is incapable of any sort of remorse or accountability, prone to violent, irrational actions when she doesn’t get her way, and constantly on the look out for ways to get away with poor behavior each time she gets caught.

Either way, FireFlea-San is in the process of reporting her not only for copyright infringement (again), but also repeated ban evasion (this will be her third account there, since the previous two got banned).

In my opinion?  A C&D written by a lawyer and looping her psychiatrist into her internet activities would put pressure on her to stop.  

[thesharpeningboat]

Should non-vegetarians not condemn the inhumane act towards animals?

Hello people!

So recently we all came across this news of a pregnant elephant being fed cracker-stuffed pineapple in one of the Indian states. Although after a day or two this news was declared false by some of the sources, stating that it wasn’t something intentional, but an act to prevent the agricultural areas by the natives. Now obviously it’s debatable too that how ethical is it to use food as a bait, because that’s also cruelty in a way. But not going much deeper on that side, what if this act was intentional by a sick-minded person? Would it be okay to call it hypocrisy if non vegetarians condemned that act? Okay, so now let’s do a little fact-check over here, and see how apt is it to compare non-vegetarianism with this case!!

First and foremost, there is a term named “EVOLUTION”, we read about which when we were like what 10 or 11? So yeah, there is a whole concept about homo habilis evolving and started feeling the need to eat animals because of their increasing brain and decreasing gut size.... A review article could be written on the theory!  The first major evolutionary change in the human diet was the incorporation of meat and marrow from large animals, which occurred by at least "2.6 million years ago"!  Duh! Now, to go a little deeper into the fact-check, animals are basically classified into these three categories based upon what they eat - herbivores, carnivores and Omnivores, where omnivores are the hominidae, including humans, chimpanzees, and orangutans. Humans are kept in this category for a reason, the best evidence being our teeth: biting/tearing/ripping incisors and canines ( like carnivores) and chewing molars (like herbivores). Going ahead... There’s an ecological term named “Food Web” (yeah, had to write about all the basic stuff, but this is the only way to make “this basic thing” understand!!!!) IF all the humans will turn to a vegetarian diet can you even imagine the impact it will create on the nature!!!!???? What an ecological imbalance that would create!!?? Man! It's the "nature", that is how it is created and meant to be, that is why everything on this planet “evolves” ! Moreover, animals are reared in farms solely for this purpose.

NOW coming to my basic point, should this be compared to the animal brutality/cruelty or torture done just for the fun and pleasure of some sick and criminal minded people of our society? Is it really hypocrisy to speak up against any such act if you are a non vegetarian? (as many of the posts by the “so-called animal lovers” read!) Now people these days have inculcated this habit of judging others on irrational grounds! yea, might seem harsh, but that’s a fact too! The basic problem with such comparisons is that it is done on senseless grounds. Like, during an experiment do you compare kgs and litres together? Do ya? We even have a conversion system for that, so how can anyone compare between these two situations?

Let me make it more clear, and show that what it is meant to weigh things on the same scale! So yeah, killing of animals for a meal is cruelty, Agreed! But what do you say it when cattle and poultry are massively “exploited” and “harmed” for the “egg and cheese sandwiches” and a glass of “chocolate milk-shake” for your breakfast!!!??? OR when you just show off a “Pashmina” OR even when you keep a pet that has been bought from some animal shop (if rearing an animal for food is wrong for you, by keeping a pet you just cage that animal forever) ...!! Here comes again a fact-check for your basic understanding- cattle and poultry is so majorly exploited for our basic needs of milk and eggs that a cow which has a natural lifespan of 20 years and can produce milk for 8 or 9 years is sent to a slaughter house when it’s just 4 or 5 years of age, because of the stress caused by the conditions on factory farms that leads to disease, lameness, and reproductive problems and render cows worthless to the dairy industry and same goes with the poultry! 

So yeah, if you are a NON-VEGAN and telling the non-vegetarians that they are hypocritical, then so are you! again, harsh but true!! Now we are on the same boat, and now you call it “weighing things on same scale”!! But not being able to do so is also not really our fault, right? Perhaps we have been taught things this way, that we now have a habit to judge every fish by it’s ability to climb a tree. The quote, however, was not given by Einstein for this context, but still, it feels true this way too! Today we don’t really feel necessary to logically define and address things, so we end up making such faulty comparisons. But this can be improved too, because you know... "evolution"!! ;)

DISCLAIMER: The purpose of this blog is in no way to support animal cruelty/brutality done for ANY reason. It is just written to help people think more logically and clearly towards some issues rather than just irrationally defining their statements. 

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

Is it sad that whenever my stomach throws... a fit..... I have to self-soothe after, because, you know, phobia, but a big part of the way I do that is legitimately reassuring myself that I lived, I got through it, I’m okay...

Like, some part of me is So Absolutely Convinced that when it happens, I will Not Be Okay. (And, I mean, for a good two hours leading up to it, during, and usually for up to an hour after, I definitely don’t feel okay. I almost collapsed when I tried to stand awhile afterwards tonight. It’s... definitely bad while it’s happening.)

But I have to keep repeatedly chanting to myself, I’m okay. I got through it. It’s over. I’m better now [if, only marginally]. I survived. I’ve done this before and I’ll get through it again.

Sure doesn’t stop the phobia from spiking my heartrate and seizing my thoughts in its loop before and during, but once the initial panic passes and my physical body starts to calm down, once the STIMULI is gone, I can get my mind back down to earth, too.

And I think there’s this part of me that remembers the constant unending torment of 2017, that just.... put me in the darkest place I’ve ever been. To the point where I literally YELLED my plans at a doctor to demonstrate just how much I needed help. Because it just would not stop.

And I don’t know what caused it. We still don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s at the point where even my gastroenterologist is stumped. So i can’t be entirely certain that it won’t happen again...

But I’ve done a lot of meditation in my life, a lot of focusing exercises, a lot of introspection and self-talk and the stuff I recently learned was called “mindfulness”. I’ve trained myself to focus on the moment, the evidence, how to talk myself out of a downward anxiety spiral and bring my consciousness to my center.

At least, when I’m not feeling the stimuli that triggers the phobia. I don’t know what it is about these irrational panic responses that makes it so hard to combat... But I can’t talk it down. All I can do is cope with it, walk myself through it, and... well, I’m learning, at least, how to let myself feel relieved and calm and triumphant when I survive.

It feels silly to celebrate. Most people don’t die from it, I know that. But it’s still an endeavor, and it’s still stressful, and it’s still really, really scary for me.

So I’m allowed to celebrate survival.

[mittensmorgul]

3.09, Malleus Maleficarum. The one where we finally learn about witches and witchcraft, and learn a heck of a lot more about demons. Most importantly, we learn about what happens to human souls in hell, and how demons are made... which is effectively the same thing...

Souls + Hell = Demons

which brings us to 3.10, Dream A Little Dream Of Me... because this heavily influences Dean's "dream." I've written a bit about this episode in the past, including during and after s14:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/tagged/spn-3.10

But Dean literally fights off his own "inner demon" in this episode, who taunts him with everything, beginning with having to literally force Dean to talk with him at gunpoint, behind a locked door. Imagine avoiding looking at the truth of yourself so hard your subconscious literally has to hold you at gunpoint to get you to deal with your own shit...

DREAM DEAN: You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog. DEAN: (smiling in denial, braving it out): That -That's not true. DREAM DEAN: No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's. Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought? DEAN scoffs, not wanting to admit to anything. DREAM DEAN: No. No, all there is is, "Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!" You can still hear your Dad's voice in your head, can't you?

At the end of the episode, after defeating Jeremy, Dean tells Sam that he doesn't want to go to Hell, and even that miniscule mote of self-worth is a massive turning point for Dean. It changes everything that comes after. He might still be willing to sacrifice himself in the name of saving the universe, but he's never really able to pretend it's a throwaway gesture for him.

And Sam... this is a rather terrifying series of episodes for Sam, too. He starts off rather naive with regard to all the magical stuff, willing to accept Ruby's help dealing with the witches in 3.09, willing to believe that Ruby really can help him save Dean (even though she's confessed to Dean that she can't, so we clearly know she's lying to Sam about that to string him along). But once again he has to face an iteration of Dean's death as he's cursed... and it's Ruby who saves him. He even learns something from the first time he uses the dreamroot in 3.10 to the second.

Dean stays largely on point in dealing with Bobby, breaking him out of his nightmare and convincing him to wake up, and on his second trip into dreamrootland he gets literally lost in the woods and finds himself in there among the trees. But Sam? On that first trip into Bobby's mind, despite Dean's warning to stick together, Sam wanders OUTSIDE. He walks out, on the pretense of looking for Bobby, but it's bordering on irrational-- if entering Bobby's dream put them inside the house, then Bobby would logically be trapped somewhere inside the house, you know? But this is the first "it was night, and now it's day" moment for Sam. As he's distracted trying to figure this out, the door slams behind him, locking him out of the house and into the outdoors with Jeremy-- who is fully in control inside the dream. Like Sam slowly growing to understand his Special Powers in s2, he's new at this dreamroot nonsense and hasn't yet figured out (like Dean did instinctively) that he should be able to take control just as much as Jeremy did. He says it the second time he uses the dreamroot, though, but only after Jeremy practically beats the snot out of him, "I took the dreamroot, too," and finally turns the dream on Jeremy... using the memory of his abusive father against him, the abusive father who literally became Jeremy's cause of death.

(there's also the matter of Bela sneaking around while they were all distracted trying to save themselves, giving her the chance to snatch the Colt out from under their noses in an attempt to save herself, giving it to the demon who held her contract... which makes me wonder if Crowley didn't release her from Hell after her contract was fulfilled... it's more of an interesting thought exercise than anything, but considering that Crowley was willing to buy and sell the Colt multiple times for his own convenience over the years, it makes me wonder what he gave Bela for it back then... okay, back to the point)

But this brings us to the biggest lesson yet for Sam, in 3.11, Mystery Spot. I've written a bit recently about Gabriel serving as an interesting mirror in the narrative for Chuck-- and really all four archangels reflecting different aspects of God, of which Chuck is just the "friendly" human face.

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/184946657745/so-im-still-out-ahead-of-the-tnt-loop-but-i

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/184996231285/so-ive-watched-four-more-episodes-since-my-last

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/185420597825/final-episode-of-todays-tnt-loop-is-too-precious

Because like Chuck, Gabriel keeps nudging the narrative, keeps nudging TFW, pretending he's something so much "tamer" than what he actually is, faking a level of disconnect from the main narrative like Chuck did in playing the part of "prophet," pretending to be just as much a victim of the narrative as everyone else when in reality it was all his storytelling all along. Gabriel plays the trickster, hiding his true identity to give him reason to interact with Sam and Dean (and eventually Cas) until they finally see through to his true identity.

We have that with Chuck on a much bigger scale, with the ultimate reveal only coming in 14.20. And I think there's one more reveal regarding him and his influence in this universe to come, but more on that later...

But Gabriel uses this literal time loop to teach Sam a lesson. We watch Sam horrifically shaken by Dean's first few "deaths" in 3.11, watch him zoom through over a hundred narrative loops... or spirals, if you will, until he's finally ready for the "real lesson" Gabriel needed to teach him. Broken down again and again until he's forced to confront what his life will be like without Dean. His focus in that iteration is a six month singleminded quest to find the Trickster and force him to put everything back, including Dean... Despite the fact that Dean is already destined for Hell, and only has months to live anyway. Gabriel does eventually put everything back, as if those six months of driven revenge never happened. And for Dean, they didn't. But for Sam? He's been handed a lesson, and he's never gonna be able to forget it.

It's spirals all the way down, and there's some destinies you can't run from. Because the universe is conspiring against you in ways you can't even comprehend yet. And it's only gonna get worse from here.

[edsbrak]

Seeing Double

summary: 1990!Richie has a chance meeting with 2017!Richie and it’s just a whole bag of fun, really. yep.

a/n: hey yall, I know this isn’t the final SW chapter, don’t worry, I’m still finishing it, I was just in a lull so i thought I’d write this to get my inspo back! I hope you enjoy this ridiculousness! 

Read on Ao3

It was strange, being back in the place where it all began.

At this moment in time, the ground was decorated in a canopy of oranges, greens and browns. Occasionally, a group of leaves would float up in a gust and around the interweaving paths, catching in between the cracks made over countless decades of use.

Up above, the sky was cloudless and pale, warming up his exposed hands and face against the cold nip of the autumn wind. His glasses, tinted to shade away the sun’s glare, were pushed back up when he felt them begin to slip down. There were a pair of mothers sat over beneath a large tree, their toddlers by their feet as they shout at them for attention.

Beyond that, standing proud and stark in the centre of the small park, Paul Bunyan stared out ahead with his looming, fake grin, and Richie tried his best to ignore the distasteful curl in his stomach. He scoffed once, partly at his irrational fear and partly at the town for still having the lumberjack on display.

It wasn’t surprising to notice how little things had changed over the years.

Richie wouldn’t say he was back here by choice.

With the passing of the seasons comes old age, and lately, regrettably, his old man wasn’t in the best physical shape anymore. He was growing more forgetful, unable to perform the labour of maintaining a home for much longer. So really, Richie always knew he’d find himself in this town again. He just hadn’t expected that time to come as soon as it did.

His mother, God bless her, had the patience of a saint and made sure to keep up her reassurances that things would be fine and there was no need for their son to worry. Not too long afterward, Wentworth had pulled Richie aside to make him promise to look after her if things were to turn sour. Richie had agreed, resting his hand atop his father’s crinkled own as he swallowed back the reality of everything that was happening.

Convincing himself it was just to stay on the safe side, the next day he looked into nursing homes listed in the tri-state area, and as an extra step, made a few calls back home on the west side.

The rest of the visit turned as light-hearted as his mother was determined to make it. Richie would stand in the kitchen doorway, watching on as she moved back and forth between the stove and fridge and sink, humming a faint tune that Richie thought she might have sung to him as a child.

A thought, shrouded by something dark and unknown to his consciousness, whispered to him how lucky he was to be alive.

And despite the circumstances of his unofficial visit to Derry, Maine, Richie could be grateful for one thing, and that was having Eddie Kaspbrak accompany the journey with him.

Eddie had insisted on checking into the local hotel in town when they first arrived, not wanting to impose on Richie’s parents despite the claims that they have room to spare. It was nice, though, after a long day of sorting through his parents finances he then had the option of retiring to a night in with Eddie instead.

Occupying the space on the bench to his left sat his backpack, and inside it, a cellphone waiting for a call from Eddie to come through. He promised he would phone before leaving the hotel, with a plan to meet Richie here in this park before heading over to the Toziers for dinner.

He almost didn’t hear the ring, because in that moment a group of kids decide to rush past him, shouting at full volume as if something wicked was chasing after them.

He reached into his bag to retrieve the clunky, heavy phone, pressing the green coded button to accept the call and resting it against his ear with a smile.

“Y’ello, this is Richie,” he answered, just to be sure.

“Hi Rich,” Eddie’s soft voice came through with only mild static. “I was just about to leave to come and meet you. Are you at the park?”

“Yep,” Richie said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m in the middle of a stare down with good ol’ Paul here.”

“Please,” Eddie laughed gently, the sound wrapping around Richie in a pleasant tingle. “I know for a fact you could never look that God awful statue in the eye.”

“Alright, you got me.”

Even without seeing him, Richie knew Eddie was still smiling.

“I also wanted to ask if I should pick up some coffees on the way there?” Eddie tacked on, and the sudden need for caffeine hit Richie quickly. Ever since his recent attempts to cut back on alcohol he had turned to coffee, figuring it was better than a possible relapse.

“Sounds like a plan, Spaghetti Man.”

“Richie, please,” Eddie whined through an exasperated laugh.  

“You love me,” Richie taunted, glancing around briefly to make sure he had been out of ear-shot. Eddie clearly sighed on the other end, but Richie took no offence.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Bye.”

The line went dead, and Richie took a moment to stare at it before putting it away. He fidgeted around until he was comfortable along the back of the bench, arms spread wide and head tilted up toward the sunlight. Moments like this one had been hard to come by lately, so he soaked up all he could, not allowing his mind to linger on anything that might send him into another spiral of worry.

Having Eddie here with him helped. In fact, in the past few years, they had both helped each other to grow; to be the people Richie thought they were always meant to be.

There were parts inside of him, memories; still there but as if they’d simply just been swept under a rug. No matter how much he tried, no amount of struggling allowed him to remember. Some days he could see the frustration mirrored in Eddie’s eyes as well, mouth pulled down as he stopped whatever task he had been doing to focus his attention on the whispers and murmurs in his head.

Richie knew he had gotten off easy, whereas Eddie had to live with the reminder of their last visit to Derry in the form of a missing arm.

Over the years, through the pain and the physical therapy, there were some days when it was almost second nature to his day to day life. But on the bad days, where Eddie would struggle to drive or clothe or bathe himself and he would shut himself off in hopeless tear-stained rage, Richie would wait. Because no matter how long the recovery may be, Richie had no plan to leave Eddie again, and vice versa.

He didn’t know how he managed to find this second chance, and with Eddie as well, but there was no way he was about to waste it.

Suddenly, an object (that Richie thought might have been a frisbee) narrowly avoided a collision with his nose before landing somewhere off to his right. He turned in the direction of the culprit to see it was those kids from before, still shouting as some of them pointed or shoved each other in worry.

After the shock wore off, one of them finally started to walk over to retrieve it, and Richie could hear the boy muttering under his breath – something about “hating physical activity, I mean, this is so stupid,” and Richie could honestly relate pretty well.

The kid bent down to pick up the fluorescent coloured toy, pushing familiar shaped glasses up his nose as he began to walk back over to his friends. But then he stopped in front of Richie, movements awkward as he gestured to the frisbee weakly.

“Sorry, dude. About almost knocking your nose right off,” he said, voice cracking from what Richie could only assume was puberty striking hard.

“You’re alright kid, just watch where you throw that thing next time.”

“Yeah, sure,” the kid said, and Richie made a point to look away, waiting for the kid to start walking again and return to his friends. Only Richie didn’t hear any retreating footsteps, so he glanced back over to see the kid now had his head tilted, eyes slightly squinted behind his frames. “You… look familiar. You live here or something?”

Richie quirked a single brow at him. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to interact with strangers?”

“Trust me dude, you’re one of the least weird people around here,” he said.

“How are you so sure?”

The kid shrugged, his oversized button-up swaying in the breeze, and Richie was beginning to suspect this boy was perhaps not the most logical thinker amongst his group of friends. But then that thought paused, and he reconsidered it. This town was full of some shady characters, so really, Richie should be classifying himself as someone trustworthy, right?

“What’s that gadget you got there?” Richie asked, gesturing to the toy in the kid’s hand.

“Oh, uh, a frisbee,” he said. “You, like, throw it and stuff.”

“I got that, yes.”

There’s some more shouting coming from the group again, presumably telling him to hurry up, and the kid made an exasperated sound and huffed out, “In a minute!” to his friends. None of them looked particularly happy that their friend was talking to a stranger and wasting their important play time, and Richie still had no clue as to why the kid hadn’t left his space yet.

“But seriously,” he continued, “I swear I’ve seen your face before. Like, on TV I think? Are you like, famous or something?”

Once upon a time, maybe when Richie was around this kid’s age, hearing those words would have been music to his ears. He can remember the days when he would boast to his friends after school about being the next best voice actor; dazzling audiences with his voices in the hopes he could bring them to tears with laughter. He had told Bill and Eddie and everyone his dreams to make it big – take Hollywood by storm one act at a time.

And he had, for the most part.

But as it turned out, that life, that glamour… it wasn’t what he thought it would be.

He’d convinced himself it had been enough, that he was content with what he had and there couldn’t be much else he was missing from his life. But he knew that lifestyle, that attitude, was probably what caused all of his relationships to fail, each woman leaving him with the same speech but phrased differently every time.

Returning to Derry and seeing the Losers again, seeing Eddie again, had been what he believed to be his wake-up call.

So Richie lifted up his sunglasses so the kid could see his face more clearly. “You’re right. I did used to be on TV. Not anymore, though.”

“Dude,” the kid almost laughed, “What the hell are you doing in Derry? And I’ve seen some of your stuff. Your jokes are so old, what’s up with that? My dad finds you funny.”

Richie huffed. “Everyone’s a critic,” he muttered under his breath.

“How come you left TV? Did they fire you? That would’ve been shit,” he said and dragged out the word ‘shit’.

“I quit, actually,” Richie answered and brought his shades down again.

“What?” the kid said. “Why’d you do that? Being famous would be fucking ace! Not to mention the attention you get from so many babes!”

Did I swear this much as a kid? Richie thought briefly. “Let me give you a piece of advice, kid,” he said, hoping to be done with this interaction soon. “Being in the spotlight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. One day you’ll learn there are much more important things in life.”

The kid pointed at him accusingly. “That’s what a washed-up comedian would say!”

“Rich, what the fuck is taking you so long?” another boy ran up to them, face pinched in anger as he glared up at his friend.

A memory, faded and distant, made an appearance in Richie’s head as he watched the two boys proceed to bicker back and forth, snarky and strikingly familiar. It was uncanny, almost, how much this kid was reminding Richie of himself.

The newcomer snatched the frisbee out of Rich’s hand before forcefully throwing it back over to their friends.

“Hey, you stole my shot,” Rich said.

“Shut up. You don’t even like frisbee,” the smaller one said.

“Okay, are we done here?” Richie asked no one in particular.

“Huh?” Rich turned to him. “Oh, right. Well, nice meeting you, dude. Sorry again and all that. But no offence, I’m gonna make sure I become so famous I’ll never have to come back to this town again.”

Rich’s friend smacked his shoulder. “Don’t be fucking rude, idiot.”

“I said ‘no offence,’” Rich argued, mumbling as he was finally dragged away to leave Richie in peace.

Richie let out a deep sigh, rubbing at his temple and thanking his lucky stars he never had any children of his own.

After that, it wasn’t much longer before Eddie arrived at the other side of the park, bags slung over his shoulder as he balanced a tray of their coffees in his hand. Richie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, watching as Eddie drew closer, his soft blond hair bouncing in the wind. Once he was close enough, Richie offered to take the coffees so Eddie handed them over. He took a sip straight away, enjoying the warmth as it filled his stomach.

“Were you talking to some kids before?” Eddie asked him curiously.

“Yeah,” Richie said, seeing that group had moved on from frisbee and were now walking down the main street. “One of them seemed dead set on making sure I knew my comedy skits were outdated-dad-joke-garbage.”

“What’s that? Children of today not understanding your middle-aged humour? Shocking,” Eddie teased.

“What is this? Make-fun-of-Richie day?”

“That’s every day, honey,” Eddie said, using his hand to gently wipe away some milk foam that got caught in Richie’s moustache.

“You really need to stop doing things that make me want to kiss you in public,” Richie murmured. He knew they shouldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from imagining it.

“Sorry,” Eddie said bashfully and looked to the ground.

“Ready to head over to my parents?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

As they began the 15 minute walk back over to his childhood home, Richie took one last look at the kids playing in the street, jumping out of the way of honking cars as they passed by. A small part of him he’s not entirely sure of tells him they did something good here – that the kids growing up in this town have a better chance to live the lives they were given.

“As much as I came to despise this town, I have to admit some good things did come out of it,” he said as they crossed over the kissing bridge and out of sight of peering eyes.

“Yeah?” Eddie asked. “And what’s that?”

Richie made sure their fingers brushed together as he turned to smile at Eddie.

“A fighting chance.”