#my entire dash is self harm right now because i liked ONE post

[lacunazai]

taking a lil break off tumblr my dms are open if anyone needs anything <3

[4x01]

Returning one more time before I go to bed. I’m sorry if I made it sound like I was holding you responsible more than others, the post about a particular user just sort of hit a nerve for me. When these things happen - and I never read the fic in question - it always seems like everyone rushes to put out their “statement�� on how the obviously bad thing was bad, and it strikes me as so defensive. You posted specifically about how you liked the fic and changed your mind, which is cool, but it’s worth engaging in like, why didn’t it bother you, or stand out to you (and by “you” I really mean white fans in general), the first time around? and I know you’re not the only one doing this, and I apologize for putting you on the spot. I’m not asking you to defend yourself (and again, I appreciate that you said “hey, I used to like this and now I don’t anymore”), I’m saying the way these incidents always go seems like white fans circle the wagons to condemn and lecture instead of looking inward, or thinking about what harm the story actually contains. It makes me feel sad and drained and there’s a reason I’m only talking to anyone about this on anon. It’s like, my whole dash is white people telling me Asian fetishization in a fic is bad, which I agree with, but it didn’t stop you from loving the show, did it? (Me either. It’s complicated.) But the Ally Posts, the warnings and disclaimers, always just strike me as self protective in a way that makes me feel so tired. I’m engaging on anon bc I’ve literally gotten too tired of white people in this fandom waiting until somebody remembers a racist thing that everyone accepted for years or months, then suddenly a deluge of posts about that thing. It feels like we never get to the point where white fans aren’t performing their disgust at racism they only just noticed, instead of unpacking why they only just noticed it.

I hope this is coherent and doesn’t come across as attacking; I’ve had people (self described allies) get very angry at me for making this point before (hence anon) but I wanted to try, since I think your intentions are good.

hey i totally understand, i don’t blame you at all for being wary especially since what you say is right! a lot of white allies absolutely do exactly as you said without any real introspection so it’s entirely valid that you’d begin to expect it at this point.

since i was reminded of BAB’s presence in 4lw today the posts by poc that have been circulating have repeatedly been making me examine why didn’t it make me drop the fic back then? and i don’t really have an answer, apart from the fact that i had assumed ignorance on the author’s part- that somehow he didn’t know it was a dehumanizing thing to do- rather than including it because he wanted to make it “realistically imperfect.” and then i forgot it was there (for aforementioned reasons.)

which was wrong! even if it was cluelessness, i shouldn’t have been okay with reading a story about a character like that. it showed i didn’t care enough about being a genuine ally in order to have a real problem with it. i can’t defend that and i wouldn’t want to. but since i can’t change the opinions i had a year ago, or undo the discomfort i caused by spreading it, all i or anyone else like me can do is listen to those who have been hurt by it, and try to internalize change. it sounds corny but seeing people spread awareness genuinely does open your eyes.

anon i hope people are kinder to you and i hope you have a good night

[haleigh-sloth]

you were talking about something a bit similar yesterday so I'm sorry for being late to the conversation, but I just do not understand people who are fans of the LOV and yet are so vehemently hateful towards Midoriya, and in turn most of the other kids. I understand the criticism that sometimes the kids get things handed to them by the story, but tbh that is just to be expected of the protagonist characters in a shonen manga like this one. even so however, it's not like Midoriya gets off free of everything that he does? his actions and his sacrifices and very actually very rarely ever truly appreciated within the story, just because he is successful in most of his feats doesn't mean that the people around him necessarily Notice (him only getting one internship request after the sports festival despite displaying amazing power and critical thinking skills, the Stain Hosu incident, even in the VERY BEGINNING of the series when he runs forward to save Bakugou he says himself that he was only reprimanded for being so careless in his actions).

I see so many people who are (so ironically) only seeing the story in black and white, when in reality these kids, and Midoriya especially, are being negatively impacted by hero society just as much as the villains are, they're just experiencing it from a different angle. (Which adds a whole other layer to the Midoriya becoming the greatest hero plotline, because the society that he is also fighting against is the one that was shaped that way by his predecessor- albeit unintentionally.) Midoriya is going to be the one to try to save Shigaraki, Midoriya has already become the greatest hero by actively looking past the actions of Shig and the League and wanting to help them.

- I didn't get to finish my thought from the FULL ESSAY I sent earlier (my bad about how long that ended up being lmao) but...yeah I was saying about how Midoriya is already a better hero at 16 than most other pros because he actively wants to help the League. Midoriya is exactly the kind of hero that the villains, and Shigaraki in particular, needs in order to have the happy ending that so many want for him. I agree that the manga has been a bit of a drag-along for the past few...months tbh, and I am absolutely Livid at the way that Bones has structured the story, and it's causing a lot of boredom and Tons of tension with people, but I feel like a lot of villain fans are taking that out on the integrity of the characters themselves, which is causing a lot of the mischaracterizaton of Midoriya in particular. n idk, I just find it sort of ironic, DEFINITELY annoying, and in general just.... :/ yknow. just :/

I think it's completely valid for people to just simply not like certain characters for whatever reason they might have, im not here to police people's opinions, but when people's opinions come at the expense of misunderstanding pretty key elements of the characters / story they're talking about, that's when I have a problem. FINAL MESSAGE I promise lmao sorry again for the 600 page essay

You're good lol. In fact, I've discussed some of this in-depth in private with a tumblr friend. Again, I feel like my DMs are being read 👀 anyway lol

So obviously this is going to be a long ass post so I'll add a cut toward the top. But I wanna start off with: there's a lot to unpack here and I'm going to preface with, I agree with you. But I also have to say that I see both sides, but when it comes to vehemently hating a character and letting that hate for that character lead to bad takes (which I see for Deku and another character that I'll get to under the cut) I feel like the overall point people are trying to make loses its grip because it starts to just turn into bashing, and doesn't actually hold water with what's actually in the story.

"I just do not understand people who are fans of the LOV and yet are so vehemently hateful towards Midoriya, and in turn most of the other kids. I understand the criticism that sometimes the kids get things handed to them by the story, but tbh that is just to be expected of the protagonist characters in a shonen manga like this one."

I'll be honest, I see a lot of people love on the UA kids. Especially ones like Kirishima, Kaminari, Mina, Tsuyu, basically any of the ones with personalities that are beyond "I have to get stronger! I have to catch up with my classmates and live up to everyone's expectations!" Which I personally feel like pretty much all of the UA kids have as personalities, save for the main five, and the few above that I listed. But for the hatred toward Midoriya....oy. Where do I begin.

Well, I actually don't see a lot of Deku hate on my dash. I follow a very small number of blogs, most of which are pretty in line with my POV of the story and therefore, I don't see a lot of bad takes.

A little baby rant inside of this monster post:

Yes, I have come across extremist villain-stan blogs that, while I agree with some of their opinions on the villains, I don't agree with their opinions on the hero characters. I've unfollowed blogs like that, because they started exhausting me and making me upset, tbqh. Like yes, the villains are the best characters in the story. But guess what? They aren't the only ones in the story. We have other characters that are important to the overall themes and messages. I, personally, really like the hero kid:villain set up. Others I've seen want the heroes and villains completely separated in the story and for the villains to save themselves without any help from the heroes?? Makes zero sense because the story is about these becoming true heroes, and in order to do that they need to challenge themselves by saving a villain. So...blogs that were spouting that nonsense, I've unfollowed and stopped engaging with.

But back to Midoriya. Okay, I genuinely, genuinely like Midoriya! I've liked him from the beginning. He's not favorite, he's not even my second favorite. He's in my top 5 though. But the only dislike I personally see toward Midoriya on my blog is for these problematic things that have occurred:

Telling Shouto he thinks he's going to forgive his father because he's kind, making Natsuo feel bad for not forgiving his abusive POS father.

Trying to "reach" Dabi the same way he reached Shouto, only to just cause more harm.

Saying Endeavor is a mentor who made him stronger??? TO Dabi??

Teaming up with the fucking top 3

So....basically...any time Midoriya has been interjected into the Todoroki plot line, he's been less than likable--AFTER what he did for Shouto during the sports festival. That was a positive thing, and it actually kicked off the Todoroki plot line really really well. It got us into Shouto's inner world and started his story off nicely I think.

And you can argue that Midoriya's flaw is being blinded by hero society and seeing the good in everybody, BUT--

This was LITERALLY THE FIRST INTERACTION between Midoriya and Endeavor. THIS set the tone for the Todoroki plot. So....all that stuff up there that people hate about Midoriya, is definitely valid. I mean...I don't think it's worth hating him for but people can like and dislike who they want. But this just reiterates my belief that so many things in BNHA come to a fucking halt for Endeavor's bitch ass. The main character included.

"it's not like Midoriya gets off free of everything that he does? his actions and his sacrifices and very actually very rarely ever truly appreciated within the story, just because he is successful in most of his feats doesn't mean that the people around him necessarily Notice (him only getting one internship request after the sports festival despite displaying amazing power and critical thinking skills, the Stain Hosu incident, even in the VERY BEGINNING of the series when he runs forward to save Bakugou he says himself that he was only reprimanded for being so careless in his actions)"

So, I don't entirely disagree but I do have to disagree to an extent. Midoriya's consequences have been a topic for a while now and everyone says the same thing. Nothing ever comes back to him, he doesn't ever actually fail at anything. His failures don't actually hold him back or push him to challenge his beliefs. Like...narrative consequences here is what I'm talking about. Midoriya only got one offer after the sports festival, yes that's a consequence of putting your body through ridiculous strain and self-destructing in front of everyone like that. But it ended up working in his favor because he went with Gran Torino who taught him his next big move, full cowling, which I think we can all agree was a major power-up for him. So...it wasn't much of a consequence in the long run. It wasn't a set back. And you're right, he was reprimanded for rushing in to save Bakugo in the beginning, which is coming into play now when we see that it's actually hard for people to step in and save others because everyone is so trained by society to just let heroes handle everything. Even though Bakugo would have died if not for Midoriya. BUT--what happened next? All Might gave him his power. That was a reward by the narrative. Granted that HAD to happen for our story to kick off, but I'm just trying to show how Midoriya doesn't ever actually have any set-backs.

"Midoriya is going to be the one to try to save Shigaraki, Midoriya has already become the greatest hero by actively looking past the actions of Shig and the League and wanting to help them."

"but...yeah I was saying about how Midoriya is already a better hero at 16 than most other pros because he actively wants to help the League. Midoriya is exactly the kind of hero that the villains, and Shigaraki in particular, needs in order to have the happy ending that so many want for him"

Fully agree here. I'll say that recently I've seen a lot of people making posts about how they don't think it'll be Midoriya doing the reaching and saving. How they think it'll be the LOV saving each other without the help of the heroes, how they'll reach each other's hearts?? Which...I don't even know what to say besides ask people who think that what they think the purpose of all these parallels and similarities drawn between him and Shigaraki are for, if not to bring them together in the end (and stay connected too--not just be yeeted from each other's lives), the two brothers who were separated from each other, and a teenage girl who was never accepted by her peers and basically forced to find family in a group of adult men lol. I'm not sure if you were responding to my rant yesterday with this ask lol, but if you are, I mean yeah I'm on board here. Midoriya is supposed to be that "true hero" that breaks through even the toughest, strongest walls, who in HIS case is Shigaraki. But not just him, Shouto, Ochacko, and Bakugo too. There's a kid:villain set up for a reason, so people who don't want that set up are either just....super super one-sided in how they're reading it, or it's just their preference and they're not actually caring about what the story itself is going to do. (Bakugo is kind of a seventh wheel....lol)

Again, I can't say I've seen too much irrational Deku hate on my dash. I avoid stupid shit for the most part. Most of the blogs I follow, while they may not like Midoriya, they still see the redeeming characteristics in him and still make valid takes on the story and take his actual character into account. But I have seen the irrational hate you're talking about, I've just successfully yeeted it from my dash.

Another character, and I know you didn't bring this character up but I feel this issue applies to them as well--is Hawks. Now...I do not like Hawks. I don't hate him, but I seriously just cannot bring myself to like him. I can't tell if it's his fans that have just ruined him for me, or just his overall vibe in the story. I don't even know at this point I've spent so long avoiding getting to know his character. But--I've seen villain-stan blogs hate him so much to a point where they completely forget that he is also a victim of society and has his own issues. And their takes on him come at the expense of....well, a clear understanding of the story. Now right now Hawks is being handled not-so-great, but even before this. Of course nobody has to like him, I mean I just said that I don't, but this irrational hate that comes at the expense of his actual character is annoying to me.

"I think it's completely valid for people to just simply not like certain characters for whatever reason they might have, im not here to police people's opinions, but when people's opinions come at the expense of misunderstanding pretty key elements of the characters / story they're talking about, that's when I have a problem"

Yep yep yep. I agree here too. So in a nutshell, no matter what character it is, if people irrationally hate them to a point where their takes on the story just stop making sense, yes I agree that it starts to wear away at the integrity of the character, and it also annoys me and I end up just unfollowing and I no longer take anything they say seriously. And there are a couple of blogs I follow that really don't like Midoriya at all, but they don't waste their time talking about how much they don't like him. They simply just...don't talk about him. That's what people should do because otherwise it fills EVERYONE'S dash with negativity that we didn't ask for. That's why I'm glad I've stopped getting so many asks about Hawks because I have never really had anything nice to say about him and after so many people sending me stuff asking to talk about him I started to feel like a shitty person for filling peoples' dashes up with that. I mean...I'm seriously mean to Hawks lol. I am. So yeah.

I don't particularly understand the extreme hatred either. I totally get not liking a character but that extreme hatred you're talking about I've made a successful effort to distance myself from. Thankfully.

[nah-she-didnt]

Another Day

Slight tw: self harm, violence (nothing too graphic)

One day I will thoroughly proof read before I post, but not today!

--

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry, you stupid cow. Come on, just a few more minutes. Hold it in, just hold it in a little while longer, alright? Can’t you just be a grown up for once in your life? Stop fucking crying!

Just twenty more meters and she’d be safely behind the Fat Lady’s portrait. Ten more meters, and she could let it all out. But not yet.

The Fat Lady eyed her suspiciously. “You’re out late, m’dear.”

Lily cleared her throat. She could feel the tears longing to be shed that pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Prefect duty. Password’s ‘Agean.’”

The portrait swung wide, and Lily dashed inside. The common room was, miraculously, empty. This wasn’t totally surprising, as it was past one in the morning on a Wednesday night, but it came as a huge relief nonetheless.

Lily glanced around twice to make sure that there were no stray seventh years in the corner of the room taking advantage of the quiet atmosphere to finish up another hour of studying.

At last, when she was satisfied that the room was clear, Lily burst into tears.

“Damn it,” she whispered ferociously as she wiped her tears on the back of her sleeve, “for fuck’s sake, stop it. Stop it!” But she was powerless to stop the flood of feelings that came pouring out of her. She swore again and shook her head, hard, to stop the thoughts. Useless. Pathetic. Little girl. The words rang out over and over again, bouncing around the corners of her mind until she couldn’t take it any more.

With a roar of frustration, Lily kicked the leg of the nearest armchair as hard as she could. Fuck.

“OUCH!” She screamed and dropped to the floor. Her toe throbbed horribly, but at least it distracted from her head. She cradled the toe and prayed she hadn’t broken any bones. At this rate, she’d probably end up back in the hospital wing tomorrow morning. Lily knew that Pomfrey could probably fix a broken toe just as fast as she’d fixed the cut on her neck, but the idea did not bring her any comfort.

“Uh, Evans?”

Lily shrieked. She grabbed instinctually for her wand before realizing that it was tucked into the waistband of her school skirt. She had to flip over onto her stomach to access it properly. She pointed the wand wildly in the air in the direction of the voice. “Who’s there?”

“Oi! Stand down! It’s me!”

Lily’s heart sank. That was the last voice in the entire world she needed to hear right now.

James Potter stood near the door to the common room, his hands raised in front of him in surrender. “Blimey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lily groaned as she rolled onto her back, then sat up, wand still pointed at James. “How the hell did you get in here? The common room was empty five seconds ago, and I didn’t hear the door open.”

James, who still had his hands raised, offered her a weak smile. “Ah, well, a gentleman never reveals his secrets, or something like that,” but he looked a little guilty, “would you put that thing away? I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

Lily lowered her wand cautiously. “I’m fine.”

James pointed down at her toe. “You don’t sound fine. C’mon, up you get.”

He strode over to her spot on the floor and pulled her into a standing position. She winced as she tried to put weight on her damaged toe. “I think I broke it.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” James tried to joke as he helped her hobble over to the couch, “the way you kicked that chair. Did the poor bastard commit an unspeakable offense to your person?”

“Very funny,” Lily grimaced as she sank into a seat on the couch. To her annoyance, James slid into the seat next to her. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of having a very private breakdown.”

“Yeah, I noticed that bit. Come on, give me your foot.”

Lily scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“Seriously!” James cried as he waved her foot in the direction of his lap, “I’m actually pretty good with injuries. Comes with the territory, being quidditch captain. I see lots of injuries worse than this.”

“I’m surprised you made it this long through a conversation without bringing up your captainship,” Lily grumbled, but relented. She reached down to pull her mary jane off, wincing sharply as she did, then pulled her sock off as well. “Don’t tell me you’ve got some sort of foot fetish.”

“Nah,” James grinned as he accepted her maimed foot onto his lap, “I’m actually not fond of feet. Can’t stand anyone touching mine, you see. I’m dead ticklish.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” Lily joked, then flushed a deep scarlet. The comment sounded much more innocent in her head.

James, however, merely laughed. She could feel herself soften a bit at his smile.

“So,” James said cautiously as he examined her foot, “do you want to talk about it?”

Lily picked at a hangnail to save herself the moment when she would have to meet his gaze. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

James rotated her foot gingerly, frowning slightly as he moved. “I mean your very private breakdown. Want to tell me what happened? You were on rounds tonight, right?”

Lily nodded. “Nothing happened. Just a bit of an accident. Kept me out later than usual. I must have gotten over tired.”

“You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?” He took his wand from his pocket and pointed it steadily at her toe. “Episkey.”

Lily took a sharp intake of breath as she felt her bones reset with a soft pop. Then, suddenly, the pain was gone.

“Thank you,” she breathed as she flexed her toe back and forth, “really, Potter, that was brilliant. It doesn’t hurt at all anymore.”

James winked annoyingly. “Don’t mention it, now,” he leaned forward slightly, hands clasped between his knees, “if you don’t want to talk about what really happened, fine. I’ll leave you alone. But, on the off chance that you do want to talk about it, I’ve got nowhere else to be tonight.”

Lily considered this proposal. On the one hand, she’d rather eat frogspawn than admit weakness to James Potter. On the other, she couldn’t bear the thought of going back up to the dormitory with nothing but five sleeping roommates and her own thoughts for company.

For now, Potter seemed to be her only option.

“I was on rounds,” she began slowly, still looking down at her hangnail instead of in his eyes, “and I was in the dungeons.”

She paused here for a reaction from James, but he did not offer one. In fact, he was so silent she wondered if he even dared to breathe.

“It was my last stop of the night before my shift was over,” Lily said into her hands again, “and I was coming round the corner by Dungeon five. Benjy was down the other hall and lost sight of me. You know where there’s that enclave with the tapestry of Agrippa?”

She waited for James to say something, but he did not. Instead, he offered the tiniest of nods.

“He was waiting in the shadows there. Mulciber.” The name was poison on her tongue. It attacked her senses. Filled her mouth, her ears, her nose and eyes with a foul presence. She wanted to scream, to claw her face to get it out get it out get it out.

James swore quietly under his breath, but did not interrupt her. She took a moment to compose herself, then pressed on. “I tried to scream, but he put his hand over my mouth. He had something sharp up against my neck. I couldn’t see if it was a knife or some sort of spell, but it cut me. Just there,” and she pointed to a spot on her neck just above her collar bone. “Then he started to say things to me. Nasty things. Just kept on and on. Then, finally, Benjy yelled out, and Mulciber ran off back to his common room. And I just...let him go.”

She was shocked to realize that she’d started to cry again. The tears weren’t fast and desperate as they had been a few minutes ago. Now they were controlled, cathartic. They rolled slowly down her cheeks, past her chin, and over the spot on her neck where Mulciber had cut her.

“Thank god,” James murmured. She was grateful for this interjection as it gave her a moment to wipe her eyes. “What happened then?”

Lily shook herself slightly. Now that she’d started to talk, she found she couldn’t stop. “We went straight to Dumbledore.”

James nodded vigorously. “Good, good. I’m glad. What’s going to happen to Mulciber?”

Lily let out a cold, involuntary laugh. “Nothing, James. Nothing at all.”

James gaped at her. “How is that possible! Surely Dumbledore-”

“I gave Dumbledore my memory,” Lily felt shame creep into her once again, “but it wasn’t enough. I never saw his face, never got a clear view of him in my mind. But I knew it was him. Dumbledore said there wasn’t enough to go on and sent me off to Pomfrey.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Lily noticed with a jolt that James clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “That’s bullshit,” he whispered finally, “Dumbledore is supposed to protect us. Supposed to protect you.” He glanced sideways at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry, Lily.”

She smiled weakly back at him. “Thanks. But honestly, he was right. If I’d have just gone after him. I mean, he ran away from me, I could have hit him with a stunner when his back was turned. But I just let him run away. I didn’t do anything to stop him.”

James’ jaw twitched, as if he were about to argue but thought better of it. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then looked at her once more. “Lily,” he whispered, as he put his hand gingerly over her own, “I am so glad you didn’t try to stop him.”

Of all the things he could have said, this was perhaps the most surprising. “How can you say that?” She wrenched her hand from his as if he’d burned her skin. “I’m supposed to be a Gryffindor. A prefect. And I can’t even defend myself from an evil, cowardly-”

“I’m glad,” James interjected softly, “because it could have saved your life. Or at the very least, saved you from an even greater harm. Think about it. He was already willing to hurt you once, who’s to say he wouldn’t have done it again?”

Lily did her best to choke back a sob. “But I let him get away with it. What if he does it again to someone else?”

James considered this for a moment. “I think sometimes the bravest choice is to keep yourself safe. And it sounds like in that moment you were in no position, emotionally or otherwise, to try and take him down. Not after what he did to you. You live to fight another day, always.”

Lily said nothing. She still felt the shame, the guilt that she’d watched Mulciber run down that corridor without so much as reaching for her wand. But she also remembered the panic, the feeling that she couldn’t move a muscle. Fear had rendered her completely immobile. She couldn’t have stopped him even if she wanted to.

“I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but you can’t blame yourself,” James said firmly, “you reacted the only way you knew how. It doesn’t make you weak.”

Lily nodded slowly. Then, without thinking, she reached back out and took his hand gently in her own. They sat like that for a long time, sitting several feet away from each other but holding hands quietly. James stared straight ahead into the fire, but every now and then would run his thumb across the ridges of her knuckles.

After at least ten minutes of quiet, Lily spoke. “You haven’t asked me what he said.”

James shrugged. “It’s not my business. I mean, if you want to tell me, you can. But I have a feeling you would have by now.”

Lily tried to block out the voice that played like a megaphone in her head. Mudblood. Pathetic. Useless. Stupid little girl.

“I’m sure you can guess,” Lily muttered, hating herself for crying again.

James turned his head from the fire to look at her again. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met, Lily,” he’d never heard him sound so sincere before, “I really believe he chose the wrong person to fuck with.”

Lily smiled weakly and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

James smiled back. “Plus,” he offered, “you’ve got a lot of friends that will help you kick his arse back to hell or whatever hole he crawled out from.”

Lily couldn’t help but laugh a little. It was an empty threat. She knew that Mulciber’s attack was a symptom of something darker, something more insidious than a school rivalry. Her friends wouldn’t be able to protect her forever. But it was nice to pretend that she wasn’t alone.

“Thank you. I’m glad you were here tonight, even if you scared the ever loving shit out of me.”

James winked, but it was with less cheek than he usually possessed. “No problem. You know me, students from far and wide across this great castle seek me out for my emotional services.”

She really laughed at this. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

“Believe it, I’m really quite mature when I want to be.”

She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. Her heart was still heavy, and she suspected it would be for some time now, but it was easier to bear. Suddenly she realized how completely exhausted she was.

“I should go up,” she whispered. She squeezed his hand gently before pulling away from him. “I’ve got to get some sleep or I’ll be a wreck for McGonagall.”

James stood quickly with her as she moved to leave. “I’ll hand in your essay, if you want,” he said hurriedly, “you should get as much sleep as you can. She won’t mind, I’ll tell her to talk to Dumbledore if she has any questions.”

Lily frowned at him slightly. “How can you hand in my essay if you haven’t even done yours?”

James barked with laughter at this. “You underestimate me! I wouldn’t dare ignore an assignment from Minnie.”

“Right,” Lily said, bemused. She pulled out her wand and summoned her essay down from her dorm. It zoomed right into her hand, and she handed it over. “Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it, I hope you get some-”

But his sentence was cut off by the sound of the portrait hole swinging open.

“Oi!” Sirius called as he and Peter strode over to them, “where the bloody hell were you? You were supposed to be our lookout, remember?”

Lily raised an eyebrow at James. “You know, we never did get around to discussing what you were doing in the common room at one in the morning.”

James laughed nervously. “Ah, Evans, there are some things you’re better off not knowing. Trust me.”

She smiled at him once more, then turned her back on him for her dormitory. The sounds of bickering followed her, echoing all the way across the common room and up the stairs.

The words did not stop playing over and over again in her head the whole time she got ready for bed. Pathetic. Useless. Mudlbood. But now, new words joined them. Soft, kind words broke the monotony of cruelty that played on repeat inside her mind.

You live to fight another day, always.

[ninjabelle]

Key-points in Berserk if Guts was allowed to act on his emotions where Griffith’s involved - Meta

There is a theme with regards to Guts always wanting to run to Griffith when he is feeling emotionally shaken up and vulnerable and though it happens a bunch of times in a lot of subtle ways all throughout Berserk the 3 that majorly stand out to me are - going back in time - the hill of swords, primrose hall and after the Zodd fight when Griffith’s recovering.

Let’s start there, and this is also a direct (long winded lmao, forgive me) response to this reply by @bthump about what I wish had gone differently.

When Griffith gets injured after fighting Zodd together Guts wants to see him. I forget the exact timeline but I’m pretty sure this is effectively immediately after. As soon as he’s able to, but he’s stopped by Caska and whatever it was that he wanted to say or do gets put on hold until his talk with Griffith outside later on when, surprise surprise, they get interrupted again. This is also a theme and another recurring, deliberate one. Guts never gets to have a true heart to heart with Griffith and vice versa and this is something that drives the plot forward because otherwise those two would’ve run off into the sunset together long before the eclipse ever had a chance of happening. The whole of Berserk rests on the fact that Guts and Griffith have unfinished business and the entire story takes a nosedive into the dark and depressing once Guts overhears Griffith’s speech to Charlotte at primrose because, again, he’s stopped by Caska (again!! poor girl gets done so dirty every time she gets used like that but that’s meta for another time) and he does not have the opportunity to speak with Griffith about how deep that affected him either.

So, back to just after the first Zodd fight, though he doesn’t seem as deeply wounded and emotionally raw as he was after accidentally kebabbing Adonis while trying to get to Julius, I believe he was deeply shaken up by the whole Zodd encounter regardless, not to mention the thought of Griffith being injured, the guilt - god, the guilt, between the two of them I don’t know who would win when it comes to sheer amounts, but the key difference is that Griffith’s guilt morphs into self-loathing and ruthless actions and Guts’ guilt manifests as self doubt and a recklessness and disregard for his own safety that gets thrown back into his face when Griffith shows time and time again that he’s willing to put himself at risk to protect Guts in spite of all that. Imagine what a shock to Guts’ system that was, to be seen like that. It’s what he still wants, even now wayyyy post-eclipse.

If he hadn’t been stopped that very first time, I imagine him storming into that room and demanding Griffith explain why he risked his life again. His handling of the guards earlier and the fact that he never, not once during the golden age gave a single shit about politics and standing and propriety and would only participate for Griffith's sake speak volumes, because in that moment of intense feeling and on a quest for answers he moves on emotions alone, like he does in battles, where he goes with his gut instead of strategizing, and it helps the Hawks win, because he is the perfect wild card and so complementary to Griffith's more analytical nature. You could argue that emotive Guts = best Guts, but when it comes to directing them at Griffith in a productive way he always gets stopped one way or another, and I mean every. single. time.

In a perfect world Guts gets to storm into the room, where they’re alone and they do not get interrupted and instead of a non answer like ‘do I need a reason?’ Griffith would tell him exactly why, and the only you made me forget my dream is said to Guts’ face instead of thought during Griffith’s despair event horizon. Guts probably wouldn’t even know how to process that and would promptly leave the room to think that over, or not think about it and swing his sword some in frustration, but crucially that would have created an opening and a version of Berserk where Guts is mercifully allowed to seek out Griffith when his emotions dictate that he should.

So then, even if the story unfolds the same after this and Griffith still makes his speech to Charlotte and Guts still wants to see him that night because he just did something horrible and needs comfort, even if Caska gets thrown in front of him again to stop him there would be an opening - because it was allowed to happen before, and last time he learned he meant more to Griffith than he could have ever imagined, maybe he would know to take Griffith’s words about equals and see them for what they really are instead of feeling so horribly incompetent and resolving to leave.

In a perfect world he seeks Griffith out afterwards, and tells him he overheard, and Griffith would probably panic and start babbling politics as damage control, and Guts would throw in a ‘what are we?’ and Griffith would look into his eyes and say ‘you’re so much more to me than an equal’ (I’ll write the fic someday, I promise) and then... well. All I’m saying is when Guts is allowed to be emotionally vulnerable when he’s alone with Griffith that would give Griffith the boost of confidence he needs to finally open up and tell the truth about his own feelings. Because Guts isn’t alone there, Griffith’s just as emotional, just as fragile, if he allowed someone close. He’s just better at pushing all that down until his indifference becomes a mask he wears and a weapon he wields.

He could overcome it, but it starts with Guts, he’s the catalyst, as the only one that could have ended Griffith’s dream that’s only fair.

Now last but not least, the hill of swords.

In a perfect world, the eclipse never happened because Guts, knowing his true worth in Griffith’s heart, would never leave. And even if he did, for whatever other reason, having opened up to someone would have made Griffith a hell of a lot less repressed, and less likely to hit a point of despair so strong it triggers the behelit. After all, it wasn’t the torture that broke him.

But.

The eclipse does happen, and even then, with all the bad blood between them and al that hurt and anger Guts still want to run to Griffith. There is a reason why my favorite moment in the whole entire manga is that scene. It’s just- mwah. Kissing my fingers. So good. I almost have no words. Almost.

Guts, for a moment, forgets that he has to kill Griffith. And I say has because wants does not feel right to me. I don’t believe Guts, nor Griffith, nor Caska or anyone in the story for that matter really ever gets to do what they want. In the world of Berserk desire is a ticket that leads straight to tragedy. But Guts has to kill Griffith, and he forgets himself for a moment and is ready to run to him, and in that moment I see the echo of all the moments before where he wanted to do the same thing and was stopped.

Again it’s Caska that jolts him back to reality and his rage and away from Griffith, who even as Femto draws Guts in. Who even after everything he’s done has Guts standing there with wide eyes and the whole of his body straining towards him. Now if this sounds overly romanticized to you I say this, look again. That’s Guts, again, vulnerable and raw and hurt, and to who does he want to go? I guarantee if Zodd hadn’t whisked Griffith away when Guts went on his mad dash to run him through with a sword under the pretense of rescuing Caska it would not have been her he’d locked eyes with first.

Do I believe they would have talked heart to heart, even in that setting? I doubt it. But if Caska hadn’t been involved, and Zodd was nowhere to be seen I wonder what could’ve been said. I imagine Griffith as Femto wouldn’t have let Guts come close enough to physically harm his brand new body, but perhaps if he was slightly less in denial about no longer feeling anything he would have let Guts rant and rave and cry out all his anger instead of flying off, and maybe in seeing the pain in Guts for what it truly is - betrayal over hatred, a broken heart over unstoppable righteous fury - that would have made it easier for his heart to thaw, and perhaps then at least he would know that he meant more to Guts, like Guts meant more to him. And Guts, would he admit that to himself? That it’s not just anger and hatred he feels for Griffith? It gets hinted he knows that damn well several times post-eclipse, that the anger and hatred is just a front, the beast of darkness whispers it to him all the time. But it never gets to go somewhere, because he’s not alone with Griffith when it happens. Even now, even as enemies instead of comrades he’s still not allowed to be near Griffith when his emotions demand of him that he should be.

And that’s a damn shame.

Ninja out~

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

More Than Allies

Prompt: If you ever consider writing for the Sweetheart AU again (it's completely ok if not) I'd love love love to see a time where Frisk was the one to comfort Sans by being their pure, adorable self; there's just something lovely to me about the thought of Frisk realising Sans is sad and knowing exactly how to help him - anon

DISCLAIMER: This is part of a Flowerfell!AU I've got on my Ao3. I'm not posting the rest of them on here because that would take too much time and I ain't about to clog up y'all's dashes with that shit. SO imma link to this work AND the series on Ao3 so y'all know where this fits

Read THIS on Ao3

Sweetheart series

Warnings: this is a flowerfell!au, where Frisk has flowers growing out of them, so slight warning for body horror but nothing graphic

Pairings: all gen

Word Count: 1650

Patching up wounds is one thing. So is keeping someone alive.

But making them happy?

Whoever invented the concept of snow seriously needed their head dunked in a bucket of the stuff. For at least a day. When they could deal with having cold shit shoved into places it shouldn’t be shoved for hours on end, then they could say that they made a good decision.

Sans continues to grumble to himself as he trudges back through Snowdin. Grillby’s place isn’t inconspicuous enough right now, seeing as he just spent most of the night there looking after the child.

“…you better be keeping ‘em alive in there,” Sans mutters, turning the corner to make it to the edge of the town, “or else i swear, grillbz…”

He doesn’t bother finishing the threat. He knows the fire monster would burn the entire fucking town to the ground before letting harm come to someone under his protection. Hell, Sans has seen that explosive rage once or twice. He’s not very keen on seeing it again, especially not if he’s on the wrong side of it.

As he walks, his hand finds its way into his pocket, absentmindedly fiddling with one of the bandaid wrappers.

Shit.

He swerves around one of the icebergs—flipping off the wolf as he did so, he received a threatening snarl for his troubles—and hustles down the path in the bottom of Waterfall. The mushrooms blink innocently as he tromps down the path, finally making it to Temmie Village.

One of the Temmies looks up at him and snarls.

“yeah, yeah,” Sans grumbles, “i just got business with the shop. keep your temmie flakes in order.”

Luckily the Temmies still seem to hate the red glow of his eye. The rest of them part easily as he strides into the shop. The cardboard box hiding the real shop front is still soggy and mold-eaten, much like the Temmie behind it. It glowers at him as he pulls out the payment.

“wouldn’t kill you to keep it a little less decrepit.” He glances around at the artfully arranged trophies on the walls. “though it might make it harder to excuse not cleaning your shit.”

The Temmie just glares at him. Sans shrugs, the absence of the child cold at his side.

“just sayin’.”

The Temmie grumbles something Sans doesn’t understand as it puts the package on the counter. Sans nods and turns to go, thanks forgone. He’d paid. And the Temmies tended to get word after dark anyway, so he’s better off just hurrying back to the child.

‘Child.’ Yeesh, he sounds so fucking formal.

Well, Sans thinks as he scrambles into the cave and restocks the first-aid kit, death does have a way of making things sound really fucking formal.

The kid could’ve died.

Yeah, yeah, he fucking knows, they’ve died too many fucking times already. The flowers aren’t going away any time soon and they’re hurting. But that’s different. It’s different watching them die.

Sans growls as he forces one of the long gauze strips into the plastic box. The hinges wheeze and groan in protest as he finally jams the thing shut again and stuffs it under his coat. He’s been away too long. He’s out of practice.

Not at killing motherfuckers, no, he’s got that down pat. But caring.

Shit, is he even doing this right? The kid’s practically glued to his side day in and day out, partially at his bidding but mostly because the kid just decided his hoodie is perfect to cling to. It’s no different than that damn stick they won’t fucking leave behind. It’s like another limb or something.

…and he would be lying if he said the kid didn’t feel like another limb too.

Sans grits his teeth as he makes it to the shortcut chamber. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps out a quick message.

me: package in tow

hothead: Too many customers wait for 22h00

Sans sighs and slumps back down. There are just not enough hours in the goddamn day, apparently. He’s got a bone to pick with whoever invented time keeping the way it is too. Seriously. Sometimes it really got under his non-existent skin.

“time is fake,” he grumbles to himself, hand going to his pocket again, “so fake.”

He has to stifle a wince when the expected tug on his sleeve doesn’t come.

When did he get so fucking attached?

…okay, listen, when a kid growing fucking flowers out of them decides they’re your friend now, they’re your friend now. Sans doesn’t make the fucking rules, he just follows them.

That doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing.

The kid seems to remember what happens when they die. They always come back looking a little different—more flowers—but they seem to know what’s going on. Of course, that doesn’t mean Sans always knows what’s going on, but he knows enough to recognize the way they seem a little more sure of themselves. Which is good; that means they won’t be walking defenseless into any big shit storm, but that also means that if he fucks up, they’ll remember.

That’s the part he’s worried about.

He’s been doing okay…hasn’t he? He remembers they like Echo Flowers, they like the quiet burble of Waterfall, he always keeps an extra blanket at his Sentry stations, he keeps them the fuck away from his brother, and they…they like his voice.

He talks to them when he can. They seem to like being able to hold onto him—which, okay, he gets. He can’t imagine not being able to see anything, much less be a kid and have to rely completely on someone who might just kill you.

Unbidden, a bone forms in his hand. He growls and puts it away.

No. Never.

A buzz from his pocket startles him out of his thoughts. Grillby informs him he’s good to come over and he doesn’t waste another second before teleporting straight to the fire monster’s backdoor.

“Good,” Grillby mutters, already striding upstairs, “they’re almost awake.”

“any changes in their condition?”

“They’re almost healed. They’ll make a full recovery. Well…” Grillby trails off as he sits back down in the chair. “Except for…”

Grillby doesn’t need to finish. Sans’s SOUL clenches as he looks at the kid lying on the couch. They look so…so…

…fragile.

The flowers haven’t grown anymore, at least not that he can see. As he watches, a few of the petals catch the very edge of Grillby’s flames and the purple light makes them look almost white.

“how long’ve they been asleep now,” he mutters, “twelve hours?”

“Nearly.”

Sans mutters a curse and scratches the back of his skull. If they don’t wake up soon…

No sooner does the thought cross his mind—and get swatted away with the force of a blaster—the kid starts to shift on the couch.

“easy, sweetheart,” he says, worry growing in the pit of his chest as he watches them shift, “hey, kid. kid.”

“They’re having a nightmare?”

Sans bites back another curse and rushes forward. “hey, hey, sweetheart, it’s alright, i’m here.”

As soon as he gets closer, his chest starts to glow a soft white. Grillby stifles a noise of surprise as the kid reaches up for him, wrapping their hands around the lapels of his hoodie and pulling. Sans eases himself down onto the floor next to the couch and lets them bury their face in the fluffy lining of the hood.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” he rumbles, his hand coming up to steady them, “it’s okay, nothing’s gonna hurt you, ’s just me and grillbz here, we ain’t going anywhere.”

There’s a soft sigh against his clavicle and then clumsy signs appear in front of his sockets.

“you want me to talk to you, sweetheart?” A little nod. “uh, okay. there’s a, uh, a new cave in waterfall we should check out.”

Their little hands settle in his hoodie as he murmurs to them, their head starting to loll against his shoulder. He hears Grillby stand up and come over as well, hushing the kid’s confusion with a quick explanation that it’s okay, they won’t be hurt, Grillby just needs to check their wound.

The kid just tugs on their sleeve. They butt their head lightly against Sans’s and slowly reach out.

“what, you wanna hold my hand, kid?” Fingers twine with his. “okay, then.”

Grillby chuckles over his shoulder only for it to choke off when the kid grabs for his hand too.

Sans laughs. “guess you’re stuck now too.”

“…worse fates I can imagine.”

There’s another little tug on his SOUL. He frowns, looking back at the kid’s face, only to see their head aimed at the spot on his chest where his SOUL would appear. Then they lean forward and—

“Wow,” Grillby chuckles again, “you’re in this bad.”

Sans, cheeks still warm and bright red from the kiss pressed to his forehead, just stares. The kid seems to be satisfied with the light mortification they’ve just caused. Nodding proudly to themselves, they settle back on the couch. One hand firmly in Sans’s, one hand in Grillby’s. Without being prompted, Sans cards his free hand through their hair, smiling as they let out a hushed sigh, head flopping back onto the pillow.

“They trust you,” Grillby says, something like awe in his voice, “they really trust you.”

“…seems so.”

And yet, even though Sans will readily admit he has no idea what he’s doing still, he wouldn’t give it up for all the hot dogs in the multiverse.

[raevenlywrites]

Okay, so. The point I wanted to make earlier was something like this:

TL;DR: Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. More kids need access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable.

(Did I just put a tldr at the START of my post? why yes I did. why? because i’m about to drop this entire damned ESSAY under a read more because it’s dash destroying (think of it as an abstract on a scientific paper) ... (no, it is nothing like an abstract on a scientific paper. wtf did I say that) ... (anyways))

(Can you tell its an ADHD night? are there enough parenthetical asides in this yet?)

...

(no)

.

ANYWAYS

When I was a teen, I read a book called In The Forests Of The Night. I’m sure you’ve heard me mention it before, but believe it or not, it was only TONIGHT that it occurred to me that this book and its fellows is my hyperfixation. Because, for the first TWO THIRDS OF MY LIFE, I didn’t know to think of myself as someone with hyperfixations. Hell, I didn’t even know what a hyperfixation was. I am one of the countless adults who has self diagnosed as ADHD or autistic or SOMETHING, and this is the story of how not having a diagnosis growing up hurt me.

So. I read this book. My now-wife-then-unbeknownst-crush gave it to me as part of our ignorant teen courtship. You’ll like this, she said, trying to share an interest with me in order to bond. Thank you, I said, not knowing I wanted to smooch her face. Unimportant, but I like reminding myself when I look at back my teen years how queer I already was without knowing. And this story is mostly for my benefit of getting it off my chest, so smoochy thoughts included.

So I read this book. It’s short, 200 pages or so, and if I’m honest with myself as an informed adult, nothing spectacular. It’s not bad, but its not ground breaking. None of the books are. But they broke new ground in Me, and what grew out of them has literally shaped the course of my entire personality.

Raev, I hear you say, it’s not great to base your entire personality on a bit of pop culture.

Shut up, I said, I’m telling this story and anyways insert-edgy-media-here dudebros have been doing it forever. Anyways.

So I read this book. I read it again, and again. I read all the books that went with it, but I stayed especially hung up on Forests. Why? Partially because it was the first one I read. Partially because the MC and I share a name, and therefore in my little teen head a connection. It was the first time “Rachel” felt like an identity, instead of just an identifier, and one that way too many of my classmates shared. Rachel was a badass, stifled by her Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. I was a badass, stifled by my Christian upbringing and the expectations of the day on women. Rachel became a vampire, spiteful and spitfire the entire way. She did it on her own terms (so my teen reading of the text went), spurning every attempt of her kind to show her the ways of the vampire. She had a nemesis, a clear, concrete reason for her pain, and took charge of that pain and overcame it to be a complete and utter badass by the end of the book (again, so my teen reading went. Part of the problem here was my teenness. Part of it was my neurodivergence, which I will get to (you didn’t think this would be a SHORT story, did you? I warned you I have ADHD and that this was my hyperfixation; how did you think this was gonna go?))

So I identified heavily with the protag, and with its shocking author. This lifechanging book was written by a teen, like me! Holy cats, I said to myself, why, if she can do it, so can I! I had just started writing my own first novel (a shameless retelling of Star Wars, hyperfixation of my grade school years), and immediately trashed it to write my own vampire thing. Because vampires were clearly IT and I was gonna be a cool badass author hero, just like the MC of the second book.

Then the shapeshifter books came out, and so did I.

It’s really unrelated, but that was a fun transition, and as previously stated, author-type. Anyways.

So I came out to my girlcrush, angsted about that a lot, and continued to gobble up the books. Did you know there’s a website, she said. There’s like a whole fan community and everything.

Now, part of the problem here was being part of the first generation on the internet. It was relatively new, and so stranger danger and not being entirely comfortable on the internet and all that had its part to play. But this is also where the hyperfixation finally comes into play.

I liked Nyeusigrube A LOT. A lot a lot. So much so that I made my own conlang, my own mythos, my own entire story universe patterned after this one but not exactly this one. For whatever reason, it never occurred to me to self-insert, just to shamelessly copy. That one I can’t explain, but this one I can now understand through the lens of an adult.

Nyeusigrube was my especially special interest, and I had no idea that was a normal, healthy thing.

So tangled up in all this was my raised-too-conservative freak out about being Not Straight. I had finally figured out I liked girlfriend, if not that I was incredibly bisexual yet, and that was a Big Deal. Super cool author I hero-worshiped was one of those “Do I want to BE her or just want her?” kind of idolations, but again, didn’t know that at the time either. So these two very normal things that I knew NOTHING about were getting tangled together in a rat king of Issues with a generous slathering of Shame glue to hold them all together. Add to it the paranoia/RSD/general not-great-at-social sides of my neurodivergence, and basically I had decided I was Too Weird and liked this book Too Much and if I so much as LOOKED at the websites/forums/etc, everyone would know and that would be Bad.

Did I have a clear idea of how that would look? Not really? I didn’t need to. Just the thought of checking out the fansites was enough to send me into a panicking guilt/shame spiral about how much I enjoyed the books. Everyone will KNOW, I thought, and it will be BAD. The End. It was Not Normal how much I liked the books and I will freak everyone out.

So.

If I had just KNOWN that hyperfixations were a thing, I might have still felt weird, but I don’t think I would have AGONIZED (and I do mean fucking AGONIZED) over how shockingly Not Normal my level of interest went. I might have still felt bad, because I didn’t have a diagnosis, and therefore probably wouldn’t have given myself permission of admit I had a hyperfixation, but at least I wouldn’t have wallowed in ignorance. Now, if I’d had the knowledge and the diagnosis, I probably would have still been too shy to interact, but I wouldnt’ have wasted hours of my life in panicked/guilt/shame spirals. If I’d have a diagnosis and a support group? If I’d had a diagnosis and been raised with the normalization of being queer? If I’d had medication, role models, a safe place to open up and communicate, so on and so on? Like, you get the idea, right?

I consider myself immeasurably lucky that my love of writing and vampires and high school girlfriend survived all this. (My equally intense boy crush of the time did not (not because I don’t like boys but because I fell down another hyperfixation spiral and no PERSON should ever be subjected to that but I digress)). As I said, this is my especially special hyperfixation. I can’t imagine how many hours of enjoyment I might have gotten out of the forums, the fan arts, the roleplaying groups, the FRIENDSHIPS, my gods, can you imagine the friendships? Anyways, what I’m really saying is that it caused me real emotional Pain and Trauma, thinking something was Wrong with me for my level of interest. A lot of people have regrets about like not trying out for the team or not asking so and so out or whatever, but mine is a stupid fansite. I have deep and palpable regrets about letting my fear and shame keep me from something so harmless and silly, and as I said before I don’t think I have a concise or tidy ending, but this was what I wanted to say on the matter so there it is.

TL;DR: (hey, didn’t you already post this part? Yes, yes I did. I’m doing it again, but this time its the In Conclusion bit instead of the summary bit) ...(abstract. they’re called abstracts)...(this is still FAR from a scientific paper) (ANYWAYS) Not knowing that hyperfixations were a thing hurt me, and cost me not only enjoyment of a thing, but more serious social and emotional growth potential. I was stunted and harmed by this lack of education, and I guess my point is I hope no one else has to go through that. If my stupid little story can fix a thing, I want it to be that. More kids needs access to a broader range of what Normal is, and Normal needs to be opened up and expanded to include things that are perfectly harmless because the harm of excluding those things is immeasurable. Thank you for coming to my TED talk

[bellaslilpapercut]

Eclipse reread part 3 bewr bewr bewrrr! Covering the entire rest of the book in ONE post so buckle on in baybee: 

1. Absolutely everything about chapter 15 (wager) is disgusting. To a certain extent I appreciate how successfully meyer captures how frustrating assault is as a woman, how futile it feels to fight against it. But at the same time the way she handles the aftermath is unbelievably disappointing and infuriating. Charlie doesn't get up to help his own daughter, Jake trails after Bella into the house and sticks around, there's just no relief or reflection that feels satisfying. Bella can ask where the justice is when she finds out Jake isn't aging but just ignores Charlie defending her assailant? And to some extent I get it, I've shut down after assault before to the point where it took years to recognize that some of the things that happened even were assault. But when there's a pattern within the series of men being narratively rewarded for assault and abuse and women being punished for reacting to abuse it feels like the narrative is reinforcing the status quo of women<men. I'm not stupid, I understand when a book is trying to make me uncomfortable and I don't need villains to be punished to know that they're villainous. This doesn't come across that way at all. Meyers handling of misogynistic abuse and violence lack the nuance to make me believe that she sees this violence as something to be critical of rather than something that just happens to women. And again, because it's a pattern in her writing, women getting no reprieve from gendered harm, I don't believe she's making a statement. There's just no self awareness and that's the key difference between a story like Brave New World or Lolita and Twilight.

2. Also this quote that precedes the assault is just so so frustrating:

Bella is not mean for setting boundaries! She isn't stringing you along! I would love to hit meyer in the head with a rolled up newspaper. Anyway.

3. Bella keeps saying things like "this would be annoying if it weren't so scary" in regards to having her clothes stolen by vampires that want her dead and having to lie to people around her, again because dozens of vampires want her dead. And y'know after the third time she said she would be annoyed if she weren't scared I'm just left to believe she isn't scared at all. I don't feel rising tension, the newborn army feels like a minor nuisance and even after they connect it to victoria (who still hasn't shown up at all) I'm just like...okay well get on with it then! Meyer makes bella "shudder" (I'm still tempted to make a comp of every time she shudders in this fucking book lol) instead of showing us her actual fear. I don't believe she's scared, I don't care about the "threat," and I don't believe anything bad will happen to Bella. There are Literally No Stakes here. I'm not invested in this story at all.

4. Alice is a bad friend lmfao

Girl, you're psychic you know she wanted to wear red why are you just dressing her up for your brother.

5. Okay returning to point 3 because I read chapter 17 and had an epiphany: Bella says she isn't scared for herself and I get that I do. But smeyer also hasn't shown us that she's selfless- just that she doesn't care if she dies. If bella actually cared for her human friends, in any way, I would believe that the newborn army was a scary threat because the people she loves might get hurt. But I don't believe that she cares about that I only believe that she- like Edward- has a weird martyr complex.

6. The Mirror chapter also reinforces this. I can’t stop thinking about how much more impactful it would have been narratively if it had been Angela in Bree’s position (because she’s the only human friend Bella seems fond of but if Bella showed interest in any of the other humans, honestly any of them would do). Imagine the moment where the newborn vampire first lifts her head to look into Bella’s eyes and it’s someone she knows. Someone she cares for. There should have been consequences for Bella beyond “Jake got some bones broken and now I feel bad :(” which was also a shitty punishment because smeyer is inflicting physical trauma on an indigenous character just to make Bella feel bad. Okay. Anyway, it would have built the tension I was missing for- quite literally- over 300 pages of this book if Bella’s friends and classmates and Fork’s residents had been going missing the whole time. Suddenly, at the end of the battle, there’s Angela. Or Jess. Or Katie fucking Marshall. Someone Bella knew should have been there and maybe I would have cared about this book at all.

7. Going back in time to this quote which comes before the battle:

UGH!!! SHUT UP SMEYER! She literally poisoned Jake’s character from the moment she made him a main character and she has zero self reflection to see the damage that she’s causing here. I’ve said before that I don’t think Jake’s actions were a romantic deal breaker and that stands out now more than ever after reading Eclipse. THIS is the moment that Bella realizes she’s in love with Jake too. Smeyer not only sees abuse and aggression as romantic, she also lacks the braincells and reflection to see that she’s playing directly into racist stereotypes. Edward got to grow up- marginally- but Jake had to remain aggressive. I still don’t think she ever once meant to villify Jake- I think that there was no way in a hell a racist woman could ever successfully portray an indigenous character. His tenderness is tainted by the aggression she forces on his character and in the end he never had a chance because- again- he was being written by a racist woman with fucked up views of indigenous people.

8. Okay, I get it. They’re like Cathy and Heathcliff. Fine. I buy it.  

This isn’t even the last time she compares them to Cathy and Heathcliff. Kate Bush isn’t gonna write a song about you, meyer! Give it a rest! (Also lol at “like wuthering heights”)

9.  Jumping right to the end here because to be completely honest the only actual event in the entire book was the newborn battle. Jane was a bitch, fine. Edward talked at Victoria and bored her to death (presumably) and the action never felt very action heavy. I knew if from the “best friend (and werewolf)” line that this book was presumably written for idiots given how little is left to the imagination at any given time. I can’t stand when books treat the audience like dummies and I especially can’t handle YA books that do this. Teenagers aren’t stupid!! Young adults can pick up on subtlety in literature!! AND young adults can handle suspense and action. smeyer doesn’t do either well and the editors never once said “hey you know teens aren’t stupid right? like your audience will pick up on hints that you scatter you don’t have to forcefully explain everything?”  

10. Smeyer can’t stop interrupting herself even in the very last sentence of the book proper:

What, pray tell, is wrong with “Where it would stay for the rest of eternity.” Why did you have to sow doubt in the sentiment right after Bella made her For Real Final Decision???? And why the em-dash!? Again: the editors of the twilight saga are my nemeses but also my favorite conmen. What were they paid for?

11. Back to the editors real quick: if i was given a draft of eclipse I would instantly say: this story is almost 400 pages of nothing, you need to play with the structure of the story. You need to build suspense and if that means playing with POV like you randomly start doing in the epilogue, then do that. Or you can play with the plot. Nothing happens for 300 pages. It takes 300 pages to get to the newborn battle and nothing that happens before the newborn battle makes me feel worried about it. Again, kill off some humans, raise the stakes, do SOMETHING. This was so painfully slow to read because meyer tried to center this book on a love triangle that I didn’t even believe in myself. And even then, it took 14 chapters for the love triangle to get real action (as in an Event, not necessarily physical action). 

12. The epilogue. Oh man. Was the r-slur really so acceptable in 2007 that not one single editor questioned its use? I won’t type the quote in full but Jake refers to his fake arm sling as r-word. Like??? What? And THEN smeyer has him call Leah a “bitter harpy.” Shut up. 

In conclusion, nothing felt like a bigger waste of time than Eclipse. Genuinely, to be completely honest. Two (2) important things happened, at least in Bella’s narrative (I agree with Vinelle that the Volturi debacle was important from Carlisle’s perspective, it adds nothing to Bellas and Bella learns nothing important from it.): 1. Bella made a decision, she chose Edward. Who could have seen that coming? Whaaaat? 2. Rosalie told Bella her backstory. Not that Bella even used that to reflect on her decision to become a vampire but hey, at least it felt like an important moment. Jasper’s backstory only mattered for the newborn battle which didn’t matter at all (and it never informed his character and no one ever brings up that the confederacy was a terrible dark stain on US history (along with the rest of US history but that’s a full dissertation or two on its own)). I can’t imagine a way to improve this book as a standalone book. You could split up the plot (using that term loosely) so that New Moon and BD are both a little longer and BD a little more organized. But without completely changing the plot beats in Eclipse, its just pointless.

[babyybitchhh]

Announcement

Alrighty, then. This post has been a long time coming so lets get right into it.

After much deliberation, I've decided not to push the self destruct button. I thought about it. Oh, when I say I was SO damn close to deleting this entire blog and all my fics right along with it. I'm frustrated and angry with myself, and I can't exactly say I'm doing well atm, but I know when things start to get better I'll want to write again, in earnest, and then I'd have to start over from scratch. Egg all over my face. Clown shit. We don't know her.

BUT. I think its clear to any and all that this is not working. It's just not. I expect too much of myself, for starters. And when it feels like others expect a certain level of performance from me that I just can't nail consistently due to my own ineptitude, my brain powers off. Is it some kind of executive dysfunction? Is it a fear of failing? A fear of success? Plain old anxiety? Who knows! I certainly don't. Whatever it is, it's hanging over my head like a guillotine. I'm beyond stressed and barely staying afloat irl, but then when I turn towards what should be a fun and therapeutic outlet all I see are expectations.

"When will you post the next chapter" on works that I WANT to finish but yet fear putting out a subpar product for and disappointing people.

"Will you write a follow up piece" for works that I WANT to expand on but don't know how to in a way that will make everyone else happy, let alone myself.

"Are you working on my request" for WIPs I have partially drafted and yet no way of knowing if that person - or anyone! - will even enjoy it.

I honestly feel guilty working on my own ideas instead of the multiple prompts in my inbox. I'm pretty sure that's part of my malfunction with my Ogun fic and others like it that are close to being done but remain unfinished simply because I'm thinking about what everyone else wants. It'd be one thing if I could just churn out content without a second thought but I can't. Like, it genuinely upsets me thinking that people are stuck in limbo waiting because I'm too chicken shit to just go with the flow instead of obsessing over every single line of text to the point of nausea, all for the sake of putting out "quality" content. I feel bad. I want to enjoy the writing process again, just like I did when I first got back into it with OsoSan. I shouldn't have started taking requests if I wasn't going to deliver, I know, and I sincerely apologize for my lack of foresight but it is what it is. I can't change the past. But what I CAN do is start fresh. So, long story short, there are going to be some changes coming to this blog.

A total revamp. I'm going to do an overhaul on the whole thing so don't be surprised when it starts to look different. I'm going to work primarily on navigation and organization, and try to tidy up a bit.

I'm turning off anon. Both because people looking to have a go with writers aren't so brave when that's no longer an option and also because I want to get as far away from those expectations as possible. I wont be reading or responding to comments on AO3 anymore for that same reason. I love you guys, and you're more than welcome to talk to me in DM's if you're more comfortable that way, but the long list of asks wanting to know wtf I'm doing in my spare time if not writing this or that is doing more harm than good.

I'm getting rid of the requests page and also purging any that I haven't already started working on - hopefully once I get into a better groove I'll actually be able to finish them, because I genuinely would like to. I really am sorry to everyone who's been waiting for their request to be fulfilled but I'm clearly not talented or confident enough to juggle my own ideas with someone else's. Maybe at some point in the future, when I'm a better writer, I'll start taking them again and we can all be happy.

And finally, I'm going to start experimenting with my writing method. As in, you're probably going to see shorter, less obsessively curated pieces popping up on my page that may not always be sexual in nature. I just really need to buckle down and work on this - all of it - and I'm determined to improve my skills even if it kills me. I have the urge to write every single day but it's hard when I'm the way I am and I've backed myself into a corner like this. I need to learn how to stop overthinking everything and just DO it. I know my productivity would increase and, with it, so would the overall quality of my work so I'm going to be focusing on different areas that need improvement. Not everything I put out will be good but that's part of the process, right? Right.

I totally understand if I lose followers for any of the above reasons, or even just personal ones, so don't hesitate to do so if you feel like you can't jive with this blog anymore. I appreciate you taking the time to read all this and I hope you understand my reasons for needing to do a reset on this page. This is exactly why I didn't want to start taking commissions and I would once again like to apologize to anyone I've let down.

P.S. I've had this distinct feeling that certain people in the writing community are not happy with me for a while now and although I'm not entirely sure what I've done wrong, I would still like to issue a formal apology for any toes I might have stepped on. That was never my intention. I can't claim to be a saint by any stretch of the imagination, but I have no ill will towards anyone. If its about the patreon I subscribed to and then left a month later, it had nothing to do with the author in question. I just belatedly realized I had more money coming out of my account than I could handle at the time and yes that weighs heavy on my shoulders. If its about the way I suddenly disappear in private chats, that's also something that shouldn't be taken personally. I genuinely have a hard time keeping up conversations with people, and I feel like a bother more often than not. If it's about the discords I join and then never participate in, see the above. If its about the way I fangirl or enthusiastically support some writers but not others, I never meant any harm by it. I just can't conceivably read everything that comes across my dash and, yes, my favorites are prioritized. Either way, whatever the grievances may be, anon will remain on until I start the revamp process some time tomorrow night so if whoever wants to air out their problems go for it. I probably wont post them but I will read them and try to learn from them, so have at it.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xvii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xvii: what the wolves taught me

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~6.9k  

Rating: Explicit.

Warnings: mentions of gore and blood, like a LOT of mentions of blood, mentions of self-harm, shower sex without Reasonable Protection, also like kind of dubious if you squint because John is tripping, bad decisions are made as well as some questionable dirty talk (John really likes that she beat a man to death). Elliot kind of has like one (1) tiny power trip. Idk man just like proceed with caution??

Notes: A little bit of an interlude chapter, this one! Last chap was a bit intense, so this one's more of a transition--not a lot happens in terms of plot movement, so everyone can go ahead and catch your breath. ♡ As always, a big and huge thank you to everyone who reads and comments, has come and said hi to me on my tumblr. This fandom has been so incredibly lovely and welcoming and just understanding of my general chaos and my inability to bend to canon at all. I'm just so grateful to each and every one of you! Thank you thank you thank you!

Big thank you to @shallow-gravy for lending me their eyeballs and for making me this GORGEOUS moodboard for Elliot. When I say that I like died inside when I saw it, it's because my life became complete and I was ready to ascend. Thank you so much!!

And of course my angel @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife, who proofreads all my garbage even though she doesn’t even go here but she goes here for me! ILY ♡

As always, I hope you enjoy and thank you again!  ♡

John felt pretty good, all things considered.

Yeah, he was probably going to feel like shit when came off of his high; yeah, kissing Elliot did smear blood all over his mouth, but when he spotted the two of them in the reflection of the truck’s dark windows, Elliot’s face and hair splattered in crimson and the very obvious incrimination on his mouth, he thought, well, don’t we make quite a pair?

Everything blurred and pulsed pleasantly around him now as he sat in the passenger seat of the truck. The crash of the drug wasn’t really much of a crash at all—idly, John wondered how it was they got the downturn to be so easy, so slow, so mild. Each time he took in a breath it felt like the car expanded with him. There wasn’t anything the world, in that moment, that wasn’t for him, not a single thing that didn’t sway and pulse and beat in time with the rhythm of his own heart.

Except for Elliot. When he looked at her, red sparked off of her in violent waves to their own metronome, mimicking the dashes of crimson on her face and in her hair; the bruises welled red and blue along the pillar of her throat, her jaw, one on the corner of her mouth. She looked wild; her eyes moved with a sharp clarity that had him wondering how long that Wrath had really been sitting inside of her.

Not a good girl, he thought, watching Elliot drag her thumb from one end of her mouth to the other, wiping the blood their liplock had smeared around. He could still taste it in his mouth. Not anymore.

You couldn’t be good and bash a man’s skull in, could you? And it was bashed in—John had gotten one single good, long look at Kian’s face, and there was nothing of it left except bloody mush and two battered eyeballs barely stuffed into his skull. Gruesome. Well past the point of killing him.

“They attacked the compound,” Jacob was saying from the driver’s seat, pulling out onto the highway with a not-so-kind lurch as they hit pavement. ���About an hour after you took off. I bet they were waiting. Fucking cockroaches.”

John glanced into the rearview mirror. He meant to look and see if he could catch any movement in the trees—anything that wasn’t Eden’s Gate—but he just looked at Elliot. Sharp-eyed, bloodied, fingers knotted into Boomer’s fur as the dog lay with his head in her lap. It wouldn’t have done any good, looking back there; everything was moving. Everything was breathing.

“Drugged me,” he offered helpfully, his tongue feeling a little too big for his mouth. Jacob looked at him through the sides of his eyes and hit the cruise button. “Got a radio back, too. I tried calling you guys, but—”

“But not Elliot,” Jacob said, less a question and more a confirmation of what he believed to be true. John shrugged idly.

His eldest brother glanced back at Elliot then, but she was silent for two heartbeats longer than what it should have taken for her to answer before she replied, “Wouldn’t have been fun for him if I was.”

“Yeah, well,” the redhead muttered. “You sure made...” His voice trailed off, and his eyes fixed on the road again. “... Work of him, didn’t you, deputy?”

Elliot sighed. That Jacob said you made work instead of you made quick work made John painfully, delightfully aware of how many times and how much effort it must have taken for Elliot to cave Kian’s face in, and that knowledge writhed pleasant and desirous in his stomach.

But Jacob didn’t sound pleased. John supposed that he wouldn’t be, all things considered. Kian was dead, sure, but the rest of the Family had almost certainly scattered like rats to whatever corner of Hope County they could reach. They would be a problem. By now, they were all supposed to be hunkering down in the bunker to outlast the End Days, and instead, they were contesting with an entirely different pest.

Maybe Elliot was right; maybe without Ase and Kian, they would just leave. Go and kill some other tiny town of people. Get their skin melted off by the nuclear war.

In fact, if John really thought about it—and it did take work—he didn’t think that the Family was much of a problem at all anymore. The only thing that remained questionable, and up in the air, was Elliot herself.

My wife, he thought, his brain ticking and idling like an engine cooling down, wading through the neck-high water of his thoughts. Each leap from one thread to the next felt sugary-slow. Little killer, aren’t you?

He didn’t think that she would be content with hunkering down in a bunker. That would take some time to warm up to, probably—and, John reasoned, he would have to first broach the subject of their legal binding. But that was another problem, for another time, and right now all John wanted to think about was getting home and enjoying his high while he had it.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Elliot was very young, she remembered coming across a snake coiled on the hot pavement of the path up to their front door. It had been after school; her mother had had the windows of the kitchen open, playing an old song, something about a dream, and she could hear it from all the way down at the road. The snake was basking—drinking in the sunlight, mottled in shades of brown and copper, flecks of white highlighting the prettiest parts of it. The snake had been a dream to a girl who ran wild and barefoot through every inch of the Hope County wilderness she could reach; the speckled pattern begging for a touch, it’s elegant coil beckoning for attention.

The window to the kitchen had been open, and the second her mother had seen her staring at the snake, she’d come sprinting out the front door. Her mother had never liked any kind of animal that didn’t have four legs and wouldn’t fall under the “fluffy retriever” category, so at first, she had thought it was just her mother’s aversion to the scaly members of the animal kingdom; but after her mother’s insistent shrieking that she give the rattler a wide berth on the way up to the front steps, she’d thought maybe it was actual danger worrying her mother.

Of course, Scarlet had called the sheriff’s office and immediately demanded someone come and get rid of the snake (even though you weren’t supposed to call the sheriff’s office for that kind of thing, there was animal control) while she made herself a vodka soda.

“He’s pretty, mama,” Elliot had said, staring out the window at the snake. “Did you see his spots?”

“Pretty.” Scarlet had never sounded more displeased. She squeezed her lime into her drink, muttering furiously. “All those spots mean that ugly thing would kill you with one bite, bunny. Do you hear me? Venomous. Stay away from it.”

Now, sitting in the back seat of an Eden’s Gate truck, her face mottled with a dead man’s arterial spray, she felt like that prairie rattler, her spots belying a poison and vicious bite.

Pretty, she thought tiredly, combing her fingers through Boomer’s fur. Pretty venomous.

Her gaze drifted absently, away from the landscape blurring past them as Jacob cruised back to the compound and instead onto the occupants of the car. John was leaned back in his seat, eyes fluttering shut occasionally like he couldn’t keep them open very well, and Jacob had a tight grip on the steering wheel. A pack of cigarettes sat in one of the cupholders in the center console, and she reached for them on autopilot.

Jacob’s gaze flickered down to her hand snaking between them. For a second, he looked like he’d been about to grab her hand, like maybe he thought she was trying something—but his fingers stayed on the steering wheel, and he said, “Probably a lighter in the console.”

Elliot snagged the cigarettes and then fished around in the console until she found the lighter. The cotton fabric of Ase’s high-necked dress felt sticky on her skin, like she was in the middle of a summer storm; chill seeped down into her bones, and her skin bloomed feverish, and she thought this is when the crash happens, but it didn’t hit. She lit a cigarette and rolled the window down before she took a drag and felt the tiredness pull at the corners of her vision.

The song from her memory played on a gentle loop in her head. Leisurely, lulling. So dream, when the day is new; dream, and they might come true. Her mother had listened to that song so many times, growing up. She wondered, briefly, if her mother was alright. If she’d gotten out. If she’d gone with the resistance and fled, or if she was still here somewhere, or if she was dead.

“Anyone get hurt?” she asked after a minute. “At the compound?”

“A few,” Jacob replied. His eyes narrowed. “None dead, though.”

Elliot exhaled smoke out the window. She thought she would have felt dirty, now, sticky with Kian’s breath and his fingers and his mouth against her skin—but she didn’t, not right away. She just felt—

“Sure that’s disappointing for you,” Jacob continued.

—tired.

“Eat shit, Jacob,” she muttered. “I just solved your biggest problem.”

“No, you didn’t,” he snapped back. “Not by a long fucking mile, deputy.”

The redhead eyed her through the mirror, but she didn’t say anything to that—and for the rest of the ride back to the compound, it was blissful, empty silence.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John thought he must have certainly fallen asleep in the car, because one second he was blinking through Jacob talking about how the compound had been attacked, and the next they were parking.

The compound looked a little worse for wear, but it was quiet; if not for the bullet holes in the walls of buildings, and the occasional blood spray dried nearly black with time, he wouldn’t have known anything was amiss at all. He would have thought it was a regular evening—but was far from it.

At the very least, John felt a little clearer now. His high was slowly cruising down, and he’d probably feel all of his bruises once he sobered up, but for now he buzzed.

Jacob climbed out of the driver’s seat beside him, and his body operated on autopilot to do the same. He saw Boomer drop from the truck and stick his nose to the ground instantly, eyes wary and waiting to see if any danger still lurked. When Elliot’s feet touched the ground, the Heeler did a single loop around her legs and then nosed her hand.

“John,” his brother said, his voice clipped. “Chapel.”

“Right,” John replied. He glanced over his shoulder and then looked at Elliot; she took in a little breath and waved her hand.

“Gonna shower,” she told him. “I’m good.”

John reached for her, fingers itching; Elliot caught his wrist before his hand could land on her shoulder, or her face, but she used it to pull him closer, and then she kissed him—leaned up and pressed her mouth, tasting like wild copper and a little like ash, against his. John’s brain fizzed white static and he sighed against her kiss, and he was reminded of how electric she had felt back there in the forest with the buzz of her kill still sitting under her skin.

“John,” Jacob insisted, louder this time, “now.”

“Okay,” John said, but he said it into the kiss, sliding his hand from Elliot’s grasp. “Okay, I’m—”

And like that she had pulled away from him; she whistled for Boomer and set off across the yard for the bunkhouse, and he turned and forced his legs to move towards the chapel. I’m good, she’d said. What did she mean? What did “good” constitute?

His brain felt too muggy for him to contemplate whether or not he was spiraling on a thought because it had some other meaning or because he was high, so he just pushed aside as he walked into the chapel, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Joseph was there, sitting beside Faith; their heads bowed in silence, only disturbed when the sound of his and Jacob’s footsteps echoed in the quiet.

“You’re safe,” Joseph said, sounding relieved. As John came closer, his older brother lifted an arm; beckoning him, and he went instantly. Joseph’s hand cradled the back of his head and pressed their foreheads together in an embrace that was far softer than anything that had occurred between them as of late. It felt like John’s entire body sighed in relief. “We were so worried, John.”

“And high as shit,” Jacob replied as they neared. “Tripping fuckin' balls, aren’t you, Johnny?”

“It’s fine,” John insisted, though he could hear the words slur a little even as he tried very hard to punctuate them on their way out of his mouth. “Not so bad.”

“You look awful,” Faith murmured. “What happened?”

“Um,” he said.

“Kian’s dead,” Jacob explained helpfully.

Joseph blinked. His expression was guarded, but hopeful. “Good news, then.”

“Deputy Honeysett bashed his skull in with a shotgun.”

Faith said, “Oh.”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Jacob paced to the front of the chapel; Joseph absently scratched at his cheek, his hand having withdrawn from John as he took in this news from his brothers. John tried not to shift too much, but the silence was killing him—he didn’t know how Joseph was going to feel about that. If he would still want Elliot with them.

“Was she?” Joseph asked after a minute. “Drugged?”

“No,” John said. “Not—I mean, she said she wasn't.”

“So she did it on her own,” he continued, “without being influenced by anything that could arguably… Cause a hallucination which would make her do that.”

“I—” John’s brain struggled to keep up with Joseph’s train of thought. “I—guess—”

“This is good news, then.” Joseph’s voice bloomed with warmth. “Don’t you see? There is no person more in need of us,” he continued, “than someone who has nowhere left to go.”

“And where would she go,” Jacob muttered, “that wouldn’t commit her to a psychiatric ward.”

Joseph nodded. His hand returned to the back of John’s neck and gripped there, firm and steadfast.

“You’ve done so well, John,” he said, “but our time is running out. You know that, don’t you? We are borrowing it now, from God himself, and I don’t intend to go into the next phase of our lives with a debt to pay.”

John blinked through the fog in his brain and swallowed thickly. He thought he knew what it was that Joseph was telling him—but before he could think too hard on it, Jacob interjected, “John hasn’t told the deputy about their blissful union.”

“What?” Faith asked, head snapping to look at him.

“Well,” John began.

“Actually,” Jacob continued, “he lied about it.”

“Well,” John tried again, irritably, “it had already been done, and she didn’t remember it thanks to Faith’s handiwork, and at the moment in time I thought—maybe—it would be worse off to tell her rather than…”

He fumbled for the words he wanted to say; the truth was that there were no good excuses. He just didn’t trust Elliot not to go absolutely feral when she found out, because she certainly didn’t remember it which meant she certainly was going to have feelings about it. And that was a problem.

But a problem for another time. Right?

“You’re gonna stick us in a bunker with her,” Jacob snapped, “and let her lose her shit on us while we’re trapped.”

“I won’t,” John insisted.

Joseph exhaled softly. “John—”

“I’ll—I’ve got it under control!” he exclaimed, looking at Joseph. “I know Elliot better than any of you, and I’ll find the right way to tell her, and it’ll be fine. I know.”

His older brother watched him with a pensive gaze. For a moment, John thought he saw regret flash across Joseph’s face—maybe for praising him too fast, maybe for entrusting this to him at all in the first place. But if he let someone down, that wasn’t his fault, right? This shit was so far beyond the plan of attack—so far beyond what they had anticipated, that there was a margin for error.

No, John thought, no, there isn’t. I know better. I’m better. I know.

“Borrowed time, John,” Joseph cautioned at last. “We’ve got to get rid of these locusts, and then we will be retreating for the End. You understand?”

John steadied the breath that tried to slip out of him. I don’t want to go into the next phase of our lives with a debt to pay.

“Yes, Joseph,” he replied. “I understand.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The stinging shower water ran pink to the drain. Elliot dunked her head under the water and passed her hands over her face; she stood there for a moment letting the water pool in the cups of her hands until her lungs ached and she had to let it go, spilling over her neck and shoulders. The dark dress, wretched thing, had been discarded and tossed into the trash; she thought if she had to look at herself in it for one more second she was going to come fucking undone, and that just wouldn't do.

The door clicked open; a brief moment of hesitation sounded before she heard footsteps coming inside. “El?”

She turned in the shower, wiping water from her eyes before tugging the curtain back. John regarded her with eyes only half-intoxicated, more clarity about them now than there had been in the truck.

Elliot watched him for a moment as she considered. The chill hadn't left her bones, even in the scalding hot water.

“Are you getting in?” she asked, watching his gaze flicker absently before landing back on her.

“Are you inviting me?”

Elliot pulled back from the curtain and ducked back under the water. “I’ve never known you to need an invite.”

“Fair enough, I won't disappoint.”

There was the gentle rustle of fabric, the push of the curtain, and then she wasn’t alone in the shower anymore; but it was fine, because she didn’t want to be alone anymore, because it felt like her entire body was vibrating and she couldn’t get it to stop. Unlike John, who she guessed was cruising down the same gentle crash that she had felt when the Family had drugged her with their weird shit, there was nothing inhibiting her body now. Only the quick, sharp, violent buzzing of blood on her mind, under her fingernails, between her teeth.

It felt good, too. An adrenaline high; the fall, right before impact.

John’s hands slid along her hips. The calloused pads of his fingers—fingers meant to hurt, to twist and coerce—skimmed the scars along her abdomen, sloping across her hip bones; she didn’t have to glance down to see that’s what he was doing. You’ll tell me, he’d said that morning. Eventually.

“I did them,” she said around the dull roaring in her ears. The words tasted strange on her tongue. A verbal admittance was very different from scribbling it into a journal. But the catharsis had begun; with Kian’s collapsed skull imprinted into her mind forever, it felt as though a tension had released in her, pulled taut and sharp and finally ripped free.

“Did what?” he asked, nosing past wet hair to glide his mouth along the pillar of her throat.

“The scars,” Elliot murmured. “I did them.” To feel real, she wanted to say, I did them so I could know that I was still real, but the words wouldn’t come. Maybe they didn’t need to.

John’s thumb swept along the one that stretched over her hip bone. He hummed, low and hungry, into her skin. He might have been coming down from his high, but it didn’t seem to be pushing him into sleep; he was enjoying it, the gentle careening to sobriety.

And maybe tomorrow she would regret telling him. Maybe tomorrow she would feel dirty for the way that she killed Kian, instead of intoxicated with her own magic. Maybe, maybe, maybe—but that was a thing to think about when the time came, and just like she had done everything else about herself that she hadn't liked, she would strangle it and move on.

John turned her around so that he could pull her against him. He said, “I thought so,” like he had recognized it in her, and she thought about that dream. Just like me, holding her blood-covered hands in his. You’re just like me.

Lifting her arms, Elliot carded her fingers through his hair and then gripped, pulling him in to press her mouth against his. She kissed him the way that she wanted to; no time for shyness now, she thought, no room for hesitation. John had watched her cave a man’s face in, and he was still here and hungry, so she kissed him hard—dug her teeth into his lip and revelled in the way that he moaned and leaned into her.

He’d kissed her frantically, too, back in the clearing and with Kian’s body just a foot away from them. Kissed her with blood in her mouth, greedy and insatiable, and frenzied, like he’d wanted her right then and there and wasn’t willing to let her go until he absolutely had to.

The raised skin of his Sloth scar dragged under her fingers. She dug her nails into the soft expanse of his shoulder, and he made a low, delicious noise against her mouth. I could give him more, she thought, dizzied at the idea of it, at this sudden humming, heady power she felt had become hers. This something that had become unlocked inside of her. I could give him more, and he’d thank me for it.

“Elliot,” John began, hands gripping her hips as he nudged her back against the shower wall. But he didn’t follow it up with anything; he just kept her there, skin on skin, heat bleeding out from every inch of him. His hand drifted up above her head, fumbling at the window, trying to push it open. “Fuck, it’s so fucking—hot in here—”

I want to be yours. I want a home with you.

Briefly, she wondered if that dream had been as wishful as she’d thought. John had been exactly what she wanted him to be—just the color, just the shape, everything in him built to lure her and keep her there like the most perfect predator. It was easy to forget that she had never known that she wanted a man whose hair was dark and his eyes a little cruel until she had looked at John Seed. But now it was impossible to ignore; she pressed to him, craved him, this delicious anchor of hers.

He could be cruel, if he wanted—he’d considered drowning her to death. He’d been greedy to mark her skin forever with her sin. He’d littered his body with markings and scars, testaments to his devotion, just like he had done every other conversion.

Yes, she thought absently, against the stifling heat of the stinging shower and John’s own radiating warmth, feverish from the hallucinogen seeping out of him. He is cruel. But maybe I—

And then he murmured, against her ear, “Want you,” hazy and buzzing and warm. His fingers slid down between them, gliding along the curve of where she most wanted his attention, and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. He buried his face into her neck and sighed, pressing into her and eliciting in her a spark that traveled straight down her spine; and then, almost as though he wasn’t thinking too hard about it: “Would’ve—back in the forest—”

He cut himself off and his movements stilled, just for a second. Elliot tilted her head to look at him through her eyelashes and canted her hips to gain some friction against the heel of his palm; she wasn't bothering anymore to stifle the stuttered, half-breath-half-whimper that came out of her as slick pleasure pooled in her stomach, the feeling of his fingers dragging a delicious, heady burn through her. 

Elliot heard him swallow back a sound over the white noise of the shower. It was a wicked kind of thing, this watching John as she leaned down into him; watching the muscle in his jaw tense and flex just before he beckoned his fingers against her and bit out a swear between his teeth when her body tensed and arched prettily into his touch. Needy and wanting; just the way that he liked, she was sure.

“Would’ve what?” she prompted breathlessly. John’s lashes, long and darker still from the shower spray, flickered. He seemed to be weighing it in his head, the pros and cons of what he had been going to say, but Elliot was no longer in a place of wanting to wobble. No floating, no drifting between ethereal and corporeal—she didn’t want to have to wonder, to have to piece together what it was he was thinking with the crumbling threads she could scoop up.

He didn't answer her; instead, he dragged his mouth along the slope of her neck, teeth digging against her pulse point. Elliot moaned, choking the noise halfway out of her spitefully, because she wanted him to earn it, and he did it again—harder this time, less like he was testing and more like he knew that she wanted it. The sting rippled heady anticipation straight to her brain, sparking through that hazy fog in her mind.

She sighed, "John," just as he dragged his fingers out slowly, torturously slowly, not enough to give her even half the friction she wanted and not so little that it didn’t make her suffer in the best sort of way. As soon as they didn’t return, but rather traveled the expanse of her abdomen, a quiet complaint slipped out of her; John kissed her, his tongue gliding against hers, his teeth nipping and biting as he dragged her leg up around his hip.

Everything felt like it was happening between breaths, between heartbeats, her pulse moving so sluggishly it was lava spreading through her body. Stifling, so hot, too hot, too much, but John’s mouth over hers pushed and pulled the breath out of her, guided the currents of her like the moon. Elliot tried again, giving the words more punch on their way out, “You would’ve what?”

She thought that she knew what he was going to say, and she wanted to hear him say it, that he would’ve—

“Fucked you,” John managed out hoarsely, just as he rocked into her. “God, I—”

Yes, she thought; the word left her mouth in something close to an exhale, and she didn’t know if she was responding to what he’d said or to the way it felt like he’d set a wildfire going racing along her skeleton the second they connected. He managed out a half-moaned swear and shifted into a slower, more leisurely paced as he sighed, “I would’ve, El— fuck , you’re so tight— ”

Pleasure wrenched in her stomach and writhed, hot and wicked. John’s pace was halting; he was trying not to go too fast or too hard even though he wanted to, but then he said things like how he wanted to fuck her while she was covered in blood and—

And she felt seen, and wanted, and she thought this must have been how they did it: took all of the grit and gore of someone and worshipped it, like something holy.

Biggest fucking Peggy-killer this side of Hope County, he’d spat at her that day they’d found Waylon’s body. But now? Now, it was all, so tight, El, want you, would’ve fucked you right there.

His hands grazed the bruises on her body before stopping at her hips again. He pulled back to get a good look at her, and then reached up, cradling her jaw with his left hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across her lip. A thrill crawled up her spine, hot and searing and latching onto her; she thought, this magic is mine now, too, and she parted her lips obediently to drag him into her mouth just so she could watch John just about come unglued.

And never before had she felt like this, wicked with John’s eyes blown wide and dark with want as his gaze fixed on her mouth and moaned, “God, Elliot—”

She wanted to forget about Kian’s hands on her body, his mouth on her skin, his words ringing in her head. So she did; she indulged in the feeling of John’s breath trembling as her tongue flickered against the pad of his thumb and the way he hissed as his pace changed. 

“Should have,” Elliot managed out when his thumb slipped from her mouth so that he could press his hand against the wall by her head. She said it between dizzying, radiating pleasure dragging through her body, devouring her, dragging her further and further toward the edge. “Should have—fucked me then, John, I—”

“F-Fuck.” The swear left his mouth wrecked, his movements stuttering. “Fuck, that’s so— filthy.”

He stopped tempering himself. If he was doing it because he was worried about whatever injuries she’d sustained, she was glad that he’d stopped—each haphazard, frenzied connection of their bodies sent her rapidly hurtling towards her finish, his fingers digging and dragging against the parts of her that craved him the most. It wasn’t fair, really, that John could rumble a few dirty things about wanting to fuck her in the woods and get her so close: but he did, and she was, and that was the end of it.

She breathed out, “Close, John—I’m—”

“Liked that, did you?” He sounded awfully pleased with himself, even as each of his breaths were punctuated with a desirous sound. “Liked me telling you how badly I wanted to push that dress up and fuck you right there? You get s-so —fucking tight when I say that—c’mon, El, let me hear those pretty noises—”

“Yes,” Elliot moaned, hazy with want, desperate and still trying to swallow some of it back, so close so close so close. “Yes, yes, I— John—”

John said something into her mouth; she couldn’t have said what it was, because all of the blood went rushing through her head the second her climax hit. There was a strange, suspended moment of nothing before it ripped straight through her, every neuron firing off rapidly as she buried her face into John’s neck and dug her nails in hard while the wave washed over her, wicked-hot and nearly too much.

Nearly, but not quite. John’s teeth on her lip dragged her back, and he moaned, “Holy shit, fuck yes —fuck, El, I’m gonna—let me—”

He couldn’t quite get out what he was trying to say, but Elliot thought she knew; it wasn’t hard to guess, anyway, considering the way he was gripping her like he’d fucking disappear if he didn’t. And she felt a little wild, a little wicked, only a vicious desire left before she hit empty, so she managed out, “Beg.”

John pulled back a little and let his gaze rake over her. His movements slowed, just enough that she could tell that he was pacing himself, holding back the same way he had that first time when she’d dragged him through his own climax. Though his eyes were blown nearly black, the clarity about them made her want to squirm—that she knew he wasn’t quite so high as he was before, that he was going to remember this.

“Wh—” The brunette swallowed thickly; his hands skimmed absently across her skin, like he didn’t need to really think about it to do it anymore, but that they did it of their own volition. “What?”

With that same kind of recklessness, Elliot knotted her fingers in his hair and said, “ Beg to finish inside me.”

A short, breathless laugh barked out of him. He said, “Fuck you. I’m not—I don’t—”

Elliot squirmed, pulling on his hair until his lashes fluttered and he was leaning back into her on instinct. “You do now,” she replied silkily against his mouth. And then, in an attempt at graciousness: “Didn’t you want me to be loud, John? To hear me?”

He groaned. “Y—Yes—”

“So beg me,” she bit out, canting her hips against him and feeling his breath stutter and hitch, “and I’ll be as loud—”

“Fuck—”

“—as you want—”

“— yes —”

“—tell you how much I want it—”

“ Please,” John moaned as he slotted his hips against hers, unable to hold still any longer. He made a low, wrecked sound, and by the time the adrenaline rush from hearing John Seed say please to her had hit her brain he was foregoing all pretense. “Please, El, let me finish inside you, I’ll—fuck—make you feel so good, baby, make you mine—”

Elliot kissed him, hard and punishing, and moaned “Yes—yes, John, so good ,” against his mouth until he was driving into her like a man incensed, frenzied, each desperate dig of his fingers against the bruises in her skin delivering a different kind of delicious pain; and when he came, panting, yes, fuck yes, don’t stop, El, please, fuck, she held onto him tighter.

Anything to feel whole. Anything to feel safe. Anything to forget, even for a moment.

“Don’t move,” John managed out unsteadily. “Don’t—Jesus, fuck, it’s so fucking hot in here.”

“Don’t know where I’d go,” she replied in a murmur. Her brain felt foggy now, delicious sliding down from her high, remembering the surge of delight she’d felt when John had said please, El. The water had since gone lukewarm, and she wasn’t sure she even got all of the blood out of her hair, but it didn’t matter; pleasant after-currents rippled through her, and all she could think about was how little of her brain was being spent on churning around the Family.

John’s mouth traced a bruise on her neck—either from him, or Kian; she didn’t know—and his breath slid across her skin.

“Viper,” he murmured huskily, admiringly. “Aren’t you?”

“You said it yourself,” she replied tiredly, eyes fluttering as the desperate need for sleep finally registered in her brain; no more adrenaline to keep pushing it away. “More devil than woman.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the second time waking up next to John, and the second time of having to try and brace herself for some kind of impact after.

That is to say, Elliot thought that maybe fucking John Seed felt a little bit like throwing herself off of a cliff, and so every time it happened—she thought, as though it had been more than twice—it was the same sensation of falling. The feeling prevailed over any other logic in her brain: upon waking, she thought very little of the sensation of his arm draped over her waist or his face buried into her hair and only of the sheer blast of panic that raced through her.

I smell, I feel, I hear, she thought, closing her eyes tight, but when she did, she saw Kian—blood streaming down his face, gripping her jaw, will you feel guilty about this too? And the panic shifted into dread, knotting tight and hard in her stomach.

She forced her eyes open. Sheer exhaustion had pushed her through a dreamless night, but that didn’t mean that her nightmares were confined to sleeping hours only.

When Elliot shifted, John stirred; his fingers skimmed up the back of her shirt, palm flattening at the spot between her shoulder blades, and she winced. Everything hurt. Everything ached. She wondered what was worse; nightmares, or this?

Definitely the nightmares, she thought, each breath a labor of her bruised and battered body. Right? Has to be the nightmares.

“Stop moving,” John muttered against her head.

“I don’t know why you don’t get the concept of a twin bed,” she snapped. “Fuck, my body hurts—”

“Well.” He was clearly trying not to sound smug, and failing; she could feel his grin into her hair. “I do recall you spurring me on—”

Oh, she thought, reminded of their shared shower. That.

A problem.

“Not from that, fuckhead.” She squirmed back from him, back pressing against the wall. “Feels like someone tried to curb stomp my ribs eighty times.”

“Probably did,” he replied. John tilted his head, wincing a little, and then nudged the blankets back from her body. His gaze was admiring. “Christ, you bruise easy, huh?”

“A fucking van t-boned us in a truck that spit out pitiful, half-functioning airbags, ” she bit out, “and then I got tossed around like a ragdoll, so—yeah, I guess if you consider battery and assault “easy”, then—”

John’s hands came up to her face and he kissed her. It lacked the same kind of urgency that it’d had last night; this was John taking his time, savoring her, parting his lips against hers and sighing into the kiss as he carded his fingers through her hair. The gesture itself was so unexpected that Elliot could do nothing but reciprocate, and the breath hitched in her throat as he tugged her back against him—part in pain and part because of the way he did it, like he just couldn’t get enough of her.

“So ungrateful,” he said against her mouth, “after I gave you what you wanted so badly last night.”

“I’m not the one who begged,”   Elliot replied sharply, “am I?”

John’s hand skimmed the slope of her hip, and he made a low noise, thumb digging past the top of her underwear to press lightly into a bruise that she thought his fingers had left. She sucked in a sharp breath as a familiar heat sprinted down her spine and squirmed.

“Worth it,” he replied after a moment, teeth catching her lip, “to have you say how much you wanted me in you.”

He flashed that half-cocked, shit-eating grin that she could feel against her mouth, and she swatted his hand away from her hip. There was, perhaps, a part of her that regretted goading him like that—that regretted spurring him on—but there was no point in lingering on it now. As much as John might want to. As much as, when he looked at her with those too-blue eyes, she might want to.

Elliot opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, there was a soft, quick knock at the door. Boomer, curled up on one of her sweaters by the door, immediately pricked his ears and barked at the intrusion.

“Elliot?” It was Faith’s voice. She felt her stomach somersault, plunged into—well, it wasn’t quite shame, but maybe a little bit of embarrassment, in the way that it was to have the little sister of the man you were currently entangled with knock on your door while you were still in bed.

“I’m—” Elliot sat up, slapping a hand over John’s mouth when she saw him start to say something. “I’m getting dressed, what is it?”

“Joseph wants to talk to you,” Faith called back, pausing. And then, perhaps with a bit more slyness than Elliot liked: “And John.”

Fuck fuck fuck. The last thing she wanted was for Joseph to know . There was probably a ninety-eight percent chance that Joseph was going to be flashing that psychotic smile the second she walked in, knowing that she and John were—

“W—I’m coming,” she said, as John gripped her forearm and pressed his mouth to the pulse point on her wrist, letting his teeth drag there. She yanked her arm out of his grip and hissed, “Stop , you fucker, or I’ll pick my teeth with your fucking bones.”

“Okay,” came Faith’s light-hearted reply. “See you soon!”

As soon as she heard the footsteps receding, she turned to John. “What the fuck does your brother want with me, John?”

John shrugged. “Contrary to what you may believe about me, I am not entirely all-knowing.”

“As usual, you are stunningly unhelpful,” she muttered crossly, sliding out of the bed and over to her bag of clothes. Now, she really felt it—each impact had been dulled by the adrenaline at the time, but as she shimmied into her jeans, every inch of her body screamed in pain and her vision fuzzed around the edges.

John had gotten out of bed as well, but he departed to the bathroom and returned with a bottle of aspirin, which he shook two pills out of and held in his palm for her.

“You might consider something with a higher neck,” he suggested lightly.

Elliot snatched the aspirin out of his hand and swallowed them dry. “My teeth,” she said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “your bones.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Suggestion box is closed,” Elliot snapped. “Now—”

Her eyes flickered over him. It was very easy to disassociate John’s personality from his physical body, but harder when he was half-stripped-down in front of her, scars and tattoos on display and reminding her how intimately familiar she was becoming with them.

“Now put your clothes on,” she finally said, somehow managing to keep her voice mostly steady. “I want to get this done as fast as possible.”

The brunette flashed her a cheeky smile and gave her a two-finger salute that rang sardonic at best.

“Anything you want, baby.”

[smallplaceinthecosmos]

No Roman is an Island

If you’ll excuse the title pun, it popped into my head while I was writing and I couldn’t not use it. I’ve been in the fandom for a few months now, but I think this is my first real contribution to it; the fic was inspired by this post by @coconut-cluster, which is funny because it wasn’t technically a Sanders Sides post but far be it from me to pass up some inspiration, especially since I haven’t really written anything since before I got into Sanders Sides, and I was very excited to get involved. It was originally going to be mainly prinxiety but it ended up involving all the core four Sides pretty much equally, and I think I like it better this way, tbh. I wanted to involve Deceit and Remus too, but it didn’t happen naturally and I didn’t want to shoehorn them in.

Summary: Virgil was no stranger to feeling uncomfortable, and in fact he rather considered it his default state, but new things were still new things, and they had taken some getting used to. By now, Virgil thinks he's a fair bit more comfortable with the other Sides than he had been in the past.

That said, whatever is going on with Roman right now is a new kind of weird, and Virgil isn't sure what to think of it.

Pairings: platonic LAMP/CALM (can be romantic if you want, but it’s pretty ambiguous)

Warnings: description of injury, minor character death(possibly? Not sure if it counts but I’ll include it just in case), low self-esteem (and please let me know if I’m missing anything!)

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3826

AO3 Link

It hasn't ever been a bad change, learning to live with the Light Sides, Virgil thinks. He's gotten used to a lot of unusual things the Sides did, since they've accepted him (and if he’s entirely honest, to some extent before that). It wasn't anything bad, necessarily, that the Light Sides did; they were just...weird, sometimes.

That wasn't to say Virgil thought he and the other Dark Sides weren't strange in their own ways, of course - obviously, Remus couldn't by any stretch of the imagination be called "normal" compared to the other Sides, and Deceit and Virgil had their own eccentricities - but at least that had been weirdness he was used to. 

When Patton had said things, sometimes, that for just a moment made Virgil raise an eyebrow and wonder what was actually going on in his head, or when Roman was feeling particularly dramatic and saw some need to drag Virgil and the others into some fantastical scheme, or when Logan put his signature jam on the most unusual of foods...Virgil was no stranger to feeling uncomfortable, and in fact he rather considered it his default state, but new things were still new things, and they had taken some getting used to. By now, Virgil thinks he's a fair bit more comfortable with the other Sides than he had been in the past.

That said, whatever is going on with Roman right now is a new kind of weird, and Virgil isn't sure what to think of it. He watches over his phone screen from his seat on the couch as Roman dashes in and out of the common room, looking considerably more disheveled than Virgil thinks is normal. Whenever he comes through, he seems distracted - in all the times he's passed through, Virgil's not sure that Roman has noticed him on the couch, and it's been a couple of hours at this point - and more than a little disconcerted, which in turn makes Virgil a lot disconcerted. 

The more Virgil watches, the more he feels a need to say something. Say what, though? "Hey, Princey, you look like you were personally threatened by an eldritch horror, what's up?"

But during one fifteen minute period of waiting for Roman to reappear, Virgil sighs quietly and decides he should probably at least make some show of concern, instead of sitting on it and not helping either of them. So when Roman pops back in, before Virgil can lose his nerve, he calls, “Hey, Princey, what’s got your sash in a twist?”

It comes out harsher than Virgil meant for it to, and Roman jumps, clearly caught off guard. This, in turn, catches Virgil off guard, and they stand staring at each other for a long moment before Virgil clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been here all morning and you haven’t even tried to insult me once.”

Roman blinks once, twice at Virgil, and then replies, “Well ex-cuse you, tall, dark, and emo; I’m a very busy prince.” His faux-offended tone and the hint of a grin on his face ease Virgil’s worry somewhat, but Roman adds, “I’m working on something. I’ll talk to you later,” and turns to leave as suddenly as he’d arrived.

“Roman, hold on - “ Virgil begins, but Roman pretends not to hear him as he leaves, and Virgil is left alone again. He figures Roman will probably tell him when he’s ready, anyway, and decides to leave it alone for now.

“For now,” it seems, lasts until lunch, which Roman doesn’t show up for. When Patton expresses his concern, Virgil decides he should probably tell them what he’d noticed - maybe they would have a better idea of what’s going on than he does.

As it turns out, they don’t. “He’s clearly hiding something from us,” Logan says when Virgil explains. 

“We don’t know that,” Patton says, but it sounds more like a question than an argument. “Maybe nothing’s going on at all. Maybe it’s something good! Some kind of surprise, or a cool idea to show Thomas.”

“Well, whatever it is, he shouldn’t be running himself ragged doing it,” Virgil tells Patton. “That’s enough reason for me to want to say something. But if he won’t explain himself...”

“We could try to talk to him together,” Patton suggests. “Maybe if he knows we’re all worried about him…?”

“If he wasn’t willing to talk to Virgil by himself, I don’t think he would be more willing to talk with all three of us cornering him,” Logan responds with a shake of his head.

“If he would be willing to talk to any of us, though, it’d be you, Pat,” Virgil adds. “Maybe you can try to talk to him on your own?”

“I can try,” Patton agrees.

Patton doesn’t fare much better, though - it takes him hours to even catch sight of Roman long enough to stop him and try to question him, and from what Patton tells Virgil and Logan, Roman brushed him off just as easily as he’d brushed off Virgil, leaving them with no answers and several more questions.

Patton protests when Logan suggests they take somewhat more drastic measures. “We can’t just go sneaking after him,” he argues with a displeased frown. “Isn’t that kind of a breach of trust? What if he has a reason for not saying anything?”

They’re in Logan’s room this time, because it’s easier to deal with than Virgil’s or Patton’s rooms, but out of the common room where Roman might overhear. Patton had already expressed that he was feeling a bit underhanded, meeting somewhere out of the way just to avoid Roman. Virgil had to admit, he almost felt the same way.

“Pat does have a point, Lo,” Virgil sighs from his typical spot on the stairs. “If we’re wrong, and it isn’t a big deal, or if it is a big deal, and we make things worse…”

“Do you think we’re wrong?” Logan asks. Virgil blinks at him, not having expected the question, and Logan elaborates, “Roman has given us plenty of reason to believe that he’s struggling with something, and he refuses to share what it is with us. What we don’t know is why he’s hiding it - but I’m willing to take a chance on the fact that this is something that needs to be brought to light for Roman’s sake. There’s more harm to be done if we ignore it.”

“So it’s between Roman possibly being mad at us...or Roman possibly getting hurt,” Virgil says. “Sounds dumb to argue if you think about it that way.”

“I guess it’s a little more obvious when you say it like that,” Patton agrees, though he still sounds somewhat resigned on the subject.

They discuss a plan for following Roman for a little while longer before they’re satisfied with it. It’s late by then, and Logan insists they go to bed - not that Virgil sleeps much anyway. The next morning, Roman doesn’t show up to breakfast (which is less strange than not appearing for lunch, and sometimes happens for more benign reasons, though they suspect in this case it isn’t), so they loiter in the common room until Roman shows up again.

He doesn’t acknowledge them if he notices them, but in this case, it works to their advantage - the less noticeable they are, the easier they can follow him. Virgil takes the lead to make sure they keep a safe distance without losing him.

Virgil is somewhat confused as he peeks around a corner and watches Roman slip into the Imagination.

He’s not sure why he finds it strange - Roman is Creativity, or at least one part of it, so he spends plenty of time in the Imagination. This isn’t strange. Perhaps that’s why it seems strange, though, because Roman was acting out of the ordinary, so Virgil was expecting him to be doing something out of the ordinary.

Either way, they go up to the door, and Logan cracks it open to peek inside.

The Imagination can look like almost anything, by virtue of its very nature, but right now it’s an endless stretch of land: a vast meadow to the left, and a dense oak forest to their right. Roman is nowhere in sight.

Logan lets the door swing open, and the three Sides step into the Imagination. The door swings closed behind them on its own and disappears, though any of them can summon it to exit whenever they wish. Roman had probably entered somewhere different than they had, as he’d likely had more idea where he was going than they did. He can’t be far, though, Virgil knows.

“He’s gotta be somewhere around here,” Virgil tells the other two.

Logan nods and says, “At least we can see clearly that he’s not - ” he pauses to gesture out at the tall grasses that stretch out into the distance, “anywhere in that direction. Which means he must be in the forest.”

“It’ll take ages to find him in there,” Virgil grumbles. They head into the forest anyway, and, thankfully, quickly find a clear trodden path to follow instead of having to push through the brush and get stuck with thorns and smacked with low-hanging branches. There’s no sign of Roman, though, until a few minutes later, when Patton suddenly stops and hushes them. 

Virgil and Logan stop, surprised, as Patton listens for a moment before he says, “Do you guys hear that?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before taking off in the direction of whatever he’d heard, and Virgil and Logan have no choice but to follow him. As they get closer, though, they hear something that sounds like fighting - and when they catch up to Patton, crouched behind some bushes and peeking between the leaves, they see what caught his attention:

There are dozens of them - small, green-skinned...gremlins, Virgil’s mind supplies, that might be just below waist height to him, wielding rudimentary weapons of clubs and spears and the like. They don’t look like Roman’s usual style, Virgil thinks - they’re nearly identical to each other, and there’s no intelligence in their eyes, only malice. Virgil wonders if Remus thought them up.

At the center of it all is Roman, brandishing his sword almost desperately, slicing through enemies that disappear in a puff of smoke as they “die” (are they even properly alive? Virgil isn’t sure). Is this what he’d been worried about? What’s so special about these things? And most importantly, what’s the need in hiding it?

As one of the small creatures charges Roman,he turns to face it, and another comes at him from the side directly opposite from where the other Sides are watching. As they watch Roman deal with them, leaving a pair of  Logan’s eyes widen and he jolts upright from his crouched position at some realization Virgil isn’t privy to.

Logan wastes no time letting them wonder, though, and hisses to the others under his breath, “They’re actually injuring him.”

Upon closer inspection, Virgil realizes that Logan is right - minor cuts and bruises litter Roman’s forearms, and one lucky hit had left a more serious wound along his ribs. Had he been this injured yesterday? How hadn’t Virgil noticed?

More importantly, how was Roman injured at all? Not a lot of things in the mindscape could actually leave a lasting mark on one of the Sides, not even another Side - Remus’s antics were generally unpleasant, but they didn’t typically last. The only things that had ever really hurt any of them had been outside circumstances, reflected in Thomas’s psyche. None of Roman or even Remus’s creations should be able to do this sort of thing.

Most of the gremlin creatures are defeated by now. “Roman?” Patton calls suddenly. He sounds concerned; uncertain as he stands so Roman can see him. Logan and then Virgil quickly follow. Roman whips around with a startled look, and in his momentary distraction his guard slips enough for one of the smaller goblin-like creatures to get in a hit with a long-reaching, fire-hardened wooden spear. “What are you guys doing here?!” Roman growls as he turns his attention back to the remaining monsters. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he shakes his head and says, “Never mind, just...go, I’ll handle this, it’s fine!”

The others definitely do not go, and Virgil lays into Roman, who’s a bit distracted fighting for his life at the time. As the last waist-height goblin is dispatched, he turns around to face the others.

“What do you mean it’s fine?! This doesn’t look like fine, Princey!” Virgil is saying. “What’s going on, why are you acting so...weird?!”

“Virgil is right, Roman,” Logan chimes in. “You know if something is going on you can tell us.”

“Nothing is going on,” Roman insists. “I can handle it. I’ve been handling it, really, it’s okay, you guys can go back to,” Roman makes a vague hand gesture, “whatever you were doing. It’s cool.” “You’ve been handling what?” Virgil asks.

Before Roman can come up with an excuse, something else appears where the gremlins had stood. It doesn’t come from anywhere - it simply materializes from a cloud of smoke like the gremlins had disappeared into, large and singular and intimidating where a horde of goblins had pushed and crowded. Three big canine heads come into existence snapping and snarling on a huge four-legged body. He towers over the Sides, and Logan, Virgil, and Patton stumble back at the sight of the creature.

Roman looks between three slavering maws and three pairs of wide eyes, and then his own eyes meet Virgil’s, and - 

“Don’t even fucking think about it - “ Virgil manages to get out before the sudden feeling of falling hits him, and the Imagination falls away around him. When he comes back up, he’s disoriented for a moment before Patton cries out wordlessly and is suddenly pounding on the door to the Imagination...from the outside. Roman kicked them out of the Imagination.

“Shit,” Virgil mutters before trying the handle.

It’s locked, of course, so Virgil alternates between joining Patton in banging on the door and trying the handle again. Logan watches with equal concern, but doesn’t join them - they all know it’s probably useless anyway, but it makes Virgil feel like he’s at least trying, so he doesn’t stop. This goes on for several minutes before, all of a sudden, the door opens on its own. Patton rushes in immediately.

Virgil and Logan don’t waste any time following him.

Roman wakes up with a nasty headache.

And an everything else-ache, for that matter.

He lets out a little pained noise and hears someone shifting nearby. When he manages  to crack his eyelids open, Logan is standing over him with an unreadable expression.

Roman realizes he’s in the common room, laid out on the couch propped up with pillows and a blanket tucked under him.

“What - ” Roman begins, and realizes even talking hurts right now.

But it’s fine because Logan already knows what he was going to ask, and tells him, “You tried to fight a ten foot tall, three-headed hellbeast on your own. While already injured,” he stresses.

“Sorry,” Roman mutters, and neither he nor Logan is sure exactly what he’s apologizing for.

“Do you...need some water, or anything?” Logan asks awkwardly.

Roman opens his mouth to respond before thinking better of it and just nodding instead.

While Logan is in the kitchen, there’s nothing to distract Roman from how much everything hurts. He thinks, bitterly, if the others just weren’t so nosy -

But that’s not fair to them, Roman knows. He should have been more careful and then they wouldn’t have found out in the first place, and then they wouldn’t have been there at all.God, Patton and Virgil were probably worried sick.

Then Logan is back with his water, and helps Roman sit up to drink it as Roman takes stock of the bandages on his own extremities, feels the aching wounds on his torso, reaches up to gingerly touch the gauze wrapped around his head...the gravity of the situation sinks in a little further.

When Roman sinks back into the couch, still wrapped in the blanket but opting not to lay back down, Logan detaches himself from Roman and stands as he says, “I’m going to tell Patton and Virgil that you’re awake.” Logan’s brow furrows into a faintly concerned expression as he adds, “They were worried about you.” Maybe it’s Roman’s imagination, but Logan sounds a little softer than he did before, as Roman avoids his eyes. It still feels like an accusation, even though Roman knows Logan didn’t mean it that way. 

He doesn’t hear the unspoken “So was I” in Logan’s tone.

Roman is only left alone for a few moments before all three of the others rejoin him, Patton bounding into the room with a relieved exclamation of “Roman!”

Even as Roman flinches at his volume, he sees tears brimming Patton’s eyes and feels the guilt worm its way into the marrow of his bones.

Virgil sees Roman wince and taps Patton on the shoulder to get his attention, putting a finger to his lips wordlessly. Patton looks from Virgil back to Roman, and says in a more mollified tone, “Sorry, kiddo.” He sits next to Roman on the couch, taking Roman’s unbandaged left hand in his own and rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of Roman’s hand. Virgil sits on Roman’s other side, slightly further away than Patton, not touching Roman. Logan joins them on Virgil’s right.

“Sorry I worried you guys,” Roman says hoarsely.

“Damn right you are,” Virgil growls. “You could’ve died! What would’ve happened if we hadn’t noticed that something was wrong? What if something worse had shown up? What if you hadn’t beaten it?” Virgil runs an unsteady hand through his hair, and Roman avoids looking at the other Side’s stricken expression.

“But I did beat it. It’s fine, Virgil,” Roman tries to reassure him. It’s a testament to how not fine it is, though, that Roman can’t even come up with a good nickname to ease the tension, and in the moment of silence that follows, Roman chooses instead to focus on how his ribs ache. 

“Stop saying that,” Virgil hisses, smacking his hands on his knees in frustration.

"If I may,” Logan interrupts, placing a hand on Virgil’s arm for a moment, as though it were a way to ask permission. “Roman, what were those things that attacked you? What makes you think you have to deal with them alone?”

Roman hesitates for a moment before he answers. “Back when Thomas was a kid, whenever he was...dealing with something, it was my job to keep his spirits up. Through my art, yes; that was a lot of what I did. But sometimes those issues manifested a little more physically. Or as physical as things in the mindscape can be anyway - ”

“Like those little gremlin things?” Patton interrupts, and Roman nods. “I think they’re like...the way Thomas processes emotional, uh, distress or something?” Roman continues. “They always show up after something happens that make Thomas upset. Like a bad grade on a test in high school would be an evil sorcerer, or...or feeling bad about doing something wrong would be a bloodthirsty dire wolf, or - ” Roman cuts off, evidently deciding against saying whatever he’d been about to say.  “...Yeah. They’re different monsters depending on whatever thing Thomas is dealing with. And I help him deal with them.”

“So you’ve been doing this for all those years by yourself?” Virgil asks, voice still sounding somewhat strained.

“I’m Creativity, I’m the one who’s supposed to be able to get rid of that stuff,” Roman replies lamely.

Virgil scoffs. “And look how well that’s working out for you.”

“I can handle it!” Roman insists, but as he sits up straight to make his point, a shock of pain runs through his side and he inhales sharply, leaning back against the couch gingerly, feeling as though that’s less true than it’s ever been.

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Patton insists, and he’s still holding Roman’s good hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Not by yourself. We want to help you, Roman, all you have to do is let us.”

“It doesn’t need to be your problem,” Roman mumbles, and he doesn’t know if the others hear him, but clearly they get the gist, because Logan speaks up next.

“Roman, we’re not here out of obligation,” he begins, catching Roman’s eye as he leans forward to look at the other Side properly. “As I said before, if you have a problem, you can come to us with it. If things get to be too much, there’s no shame in asking for help. Stepping back and reevaluating the situation can be more helpful in the long run than rushing in to deal with things head on - and the worst thing you can do is push away the people who care about you.”

After taking a moment to process Logan’s words, Roman tears his gaze away from Logan’s and laughs dryly. There are a few long moments of silence, and then Patton says, "Can you just...promise me you won't get in trouble like that again without saying something? I don't - we don't want you to get hurt."

Patton's looking up at Roman, and he looks so earnest, Roman knows he's not escaping without giving a real answer.

"Okay," Roman replies. "Okay, I can do that, Padre." He leans into the other's side, and the smile he gets in response alleviates some of the pressure Roman feels weighing on him. He manages a small smile back.

"Hey, we mean it, Princey, if you get so much as a scratch and we don't find out about it you're never hearing the end of it," Virgil threatens, but there's more fondness in his voice than there had been.

“But for now…” Patton releases Roman’s hand, and Roman is disappointed for a moment before Patton claps his hands together and says, smiling, “Since we’re all out here, why don’t we have a movie night?”

The other three agree without any cajoling, and Roman is more enthusiastic than is probably strictly necessary, but that’s not unusual normally, and particularly not when Roman feels has so much to make up to them.

Patton gets up to pick out a movie, and asks, “How do you feel about Mary Poppins, Roman?”

“I think that Julie Andrews is a goddess and that sounds,” Roman pauses dramatically, “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!”

Logan goes to get snacks, and in the meantime Roman badgers Virgil into being his pillow. When Logan returns to see Roman sprawled dramatically across Virgil and Patton’s laps, he raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

And if a few minutes into the movie, Roman falls asleep with his face buried in Virgil’s hoodie, snoring gently...well, Virgil doesn’t say anything about that, either.

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! and PSA

*waves* hi everyone! so uh, I’ve kind of had a bit of a surge in followers recently, and I thought I would make a bit of a PSA/intro post with a bit more targeted info than my about page.

anyways, I’m cyan! statistically speaking, you are probably here for one of the following reasons:

my fic

my meta

my gifs

my translation

all of the above

this is pretty much an mdzs blog on main these days, but I also rb a lot of other misc things because I have never been good at keeping my interests separate. it’s also my personal blog, so expect some of that? i am very all or nothing ahaha. my opinions change very quickly as I process new information, so like, something I said last week or yesterday might be different now! I’ve seen several people going through some of my older posts, and I’m just like oh dear, I said a lot of things six months ago that I no longer vibe with. /o\ please keep that in mind as you go diving in my blog!

i don’t have a BYF or DNI policy, but I reserve the right to block anyone for any reason because this is a personal blog first and foremost, and I do need to be better about setting my boundaries and curating my own online space! on that same token, you are free to follow, unfollow, block, whatever, even if we’re mutuals. <3

you’re free to come talk to me in my inbox or dms, but please be aware that there’s a very high chance I will never get back to you /o\ it isn’t personal!! I am just very mentally ill and have many difficulties with keeping up social interactions or talking to people.

in the interest of trying to be more open about myself, my brain, and what that means for me in an online/fandom space, I’m gonna do a boatload of mental health talk under the cut (or, if you’re looking at this on my blog proper or somewhere where the cut doesn’t display, it starts right after this paragraph), including mentions of self-harm/thoughts of specific self-harm etc, just so you are warned! I’ve been thinking recently that it’s good to try and take steps towards being more open about my issues, both for my own sake and others’. It’s long, because one of the fun things about my mental illness is that I am hyperverbal ahahaha (if that... wasn’t already obvious orz)

so if you’ve read pfmmpd, you can kind of get a sense of what I’m working with. a lot of how i wrote lwj was drawn directly from shit happening in my own brain, but like? dial that up from the specific issues that lwj had in that fic and apply it unilaterally across the board to almost anything you can think of.

I hesitate to describe my OCD as debilitating, but only because my specific cocktail of compulsions and anxieties and triggers push me to be hyperachieving and hyperfunctional. I consider myself pretty fortunate (?) in that regard. on paper, you could never tell how absolutely batshit my internal landscape is! which is very good for me practically in that I can hold down a job, keep scholarships, graduate with honors, have good prospects for my future, hold onto relationships (usually yikes) etc. but the fact of the matter is, I’m like. oh boy.

to give you a peek, here’s a non-exhaustive list of things that have triggered me to varying degrees of severity within the last like, week or so:

my dog

a chinese folk song

my mother reading a chinese haiku to me written by a young gay man

a chinese reader of my fic lovingly and gently giving me a history lesson on china and on mdzs while praising me

stepping on a piece of snow that didn’t collapse in the precise way i expected it to

writing meta

reading meta

ruminating on my triggers (honestly, I played myself)

seeing a twitter thread going around tumblr with decent information but the OP is someone who was exceedingly cruel to a good friend of mine

visiting my grandmother’s grave

deciding to visit my grandmother’s grave

discussing the concept of cuddling my partner whom i love and have been with for four years

self-harming (truly the height of irony, being triggered into self-harm and then getting triggered by the result of the self-harm hahahahahaha)

dropping off a package

trying to explain queer-coding to my parents

talking about stressors in my life related to covid19

having a very pleasant conversation with a person i admire

editing my translation

the fact that the “close” button on my accessibility sidebar on the translation website is the wrong color

choosing between eating all the shiitake mushrooms in my soup and purposefully giving myself a bad reaction or throwing one out and wasting food

thinking about playing a fun game with my partner and a mutual friend

my mom asking me to take a photo of some tea for her

my mom asking my opinion on a photo she was photoshopping

animal crossing

writing this fucking post HAHAHAHA

like!! it goes on!! endlessly! obviously, these triggers are not simply “bad” things. the chinese folk song and the haiku were both really beautiful and i love them! but I did spend a good amount of time curled up on my floor in the dark sobbing as i played the song on repeat. the haiku was one of the last straws that ended up with me screaming and crying and hurting myself. the snow??? like wtf the snow thing. I stepped on the snow and it felt wrong and my brain just started screaming SMASH YOUR KNEECAP. ???? (I didn’t, for the record, and I would never.) I love my partner very much! I love my friends very much, and my mother, and my grandmother etc. my triggers are infinite, unpredictable, and bizarre.

I’m saying all of this because I want to be clear that MDZS/CQL fandom specifically triggers me on a daily basis, sometimes very very badly. this is just a fact! it is no one’s fault! I have decided it is worth it for me to stay anyways. it is impossible for me to request people tag for certain things because I myself have no idea what my triggers are until I encounter them. It’s like a fun mystery boss encounter! sometimes it’s low level and i’m well-equipped to handle it. other times it’s a one-hit KO. We just don’t know! there are lots of very cool content creators in this fandom that I can’t follow because it would make my dash that much more high stakes. the original source canon material triggers me! all the events leading up to Lotus Cove massacre? I was shaking at work for three hours after consuming it for the first time.

Meta specifically is something I know a lot of people like me for, but it’s 100% the most triggering activity I participate in for this fandom. like, that suibian meta post I wrote that’s currently going around? Probably took me four or five hours of concentrated effort to write because I was compulsively panicking and rewriting and editing and panicking more and qualifying and editing and qualifying some more and then debating whether I should post it or not and then fighting with myself about my wording and then immediately regretting it and then every time someone commented on it (regardless of positive or negative!) my anxiety spiked. I started a reply to a response on that post and had to stop after a few minutes because I was already starting to trigger myself over it.

this is actually a pretty good outcome when it comes to meta! I recognized that I was hurting myself before I got any further, and I only spent like, five hours on it! it was good exposure therapy for me! the bad outcome is. well. bad, as you might imagine lmao.

I like writing meta. I like talking to people about it too! I like participating in fandom, I like writing, I like translating, I like all of these things. they’re just also really hard for me! there’s a couple meta requests sitting in my inbox right now that I want to get to, but it might take me like. a long time because of. you know! *gestures* Everything takes me a long time. that first chapter of the translation took me literally five months from beginning the project to posting a final edited version. It’s just over 1k words. D8

I try really hard to be chill and kind in public and I largely think I succeed on the kind part (I hope!). If you thought I had even an ounce of chill before this, perhaps I have disabused of that notion entirely now lmao. I’m not saying this for pity, but like? just so we all know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt when I don’t engage with them or feel snubbed if I never reply to them. and also like, hey, if someone relates it’s like hooray, high fave, solidarity! we’re not alone in this world! or maybe this will help someone understand OCD a little better! I don’t know. I hope this post is a positive thing. BUT! I’ve spent three hours on it already, and i’m definitely starting to compulsively spiral, so instead of going back and editing it over and over, I’m just going to post it. thank you everyone for your understanding! I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! (*´▽`*)

[professoruber]

Epithet Erased Role Swap AU FanFic: A swapped place in Sweet Jazz City Prologue

Hi, This is just a quick Fanfiction I've written up based on the amazing Role Swap AU made by @spliinkles. I actually did have a somewhat similar idea before (which was what if some epithet related event caused characters to switch ages) but I really love the ideas of this AU and wanted to write about it.

Sorry first of all if there are any errors. I wrote this up kind of quickly and if I do find errors I will be willing to fix them if  I get around to it.

Am posting this fanfiction here because the Epithet Erased fandom seems biggest on Tumblr and also that's where this AU is from.

Prologue: You're reading it

Chapter 1: https://professoruber.tumblr.com/post/189841325568/a-swapped-place-in-sweet-jazz-city-chapter-1

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Giovanni Potage was what some might call a variety of unflattering yet undeniably accurate descriptors. Such things included ‘problem child’ and ‘wannabe delinquent’, both titles he wore with pride.

With the exception of the ‘wannabe’ part of course, if you were to ask him, he would insist he was the most feared delinquent in his school’s history and most definitely not an adorable little soup child.

His reign of delinquency was joined by his friends, his ‘boys’ as he called them. Two of these aforementioned boys were now accompanying him on the most boring field trip ever.

“-and that’s when I smash that ball right into the principle’s office, and everyone cheered” Giovanni finishes accounting his latest most definitely truthful anecdote about his misadventures as a dangerous criminal delinquent.  His squeaky twelve-year-old vocal cords pushed to their deepest potential level in order to attempt to put on a wave of coolness on top of what he considers his amazing storytelling ability.

 “WOW GIOVANNI. YOU’RE SO AMAZING! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH” Screams one of his friends, known most often as Crusher for rather self-explanatory reasons. The high volume of his sudden outburst eliciting a glare from one of the museum guides who were currently giving a tour to their class.

The young guide turns away from the crowd of youths briefly to pop another pain pill before taking a deep breath and snapping back towards the kids with a forced smile.

“As I was saying before I was… interrupted…” she began, briefly pausing to once again glare at Crusher, who blessed with embarrassment and hid behind the protection of Giovanni as she continues “Epithets are rare and amazing powers gifted to just a one in five of the population. Wow, so cool. Anyway, moving on…” she begins to keep walking before being lightly nudged by her older bearded co-guide.

“Come now my apprentice Mera. It is important to show enthusiasm for this thing. It’s important to always do your best in every situation” the man says the last sentence with such sheer power that he flexes for emphasis, prompting a array of awed stares bystanders at his muscular build.

Mera even admires it for a moment before turning back to the children and sighing “You’re right Indus… I’ll try to spice up the tour a bit” she gives a somewhat more genuine smile this time, as Indus pats her on the back.

“Now that’s the spirit! Why don’t we tell them about the Arsene Amulet, that will certainly spice things up” Indus suggests with large genuine smile aimed at his young apprentice.

Mera goes wide eyed at the mention of the amulet before whispering to Indus “Uh… Indus I’m not sure if telling these kids about the amulet is a good idea”

Indus looks thoughtful but nevertheless was still in proud teacher mode “Do not worry apprentice Mera. No harm should come from granting these children some of the wonder of this museum”

Mera eventually relents and soon launches into a somewhat less half-hearted explanation of the amulet as well as other cool and interesting exhibits, Indus sometimes dropping in to suggest topics, such as the Dinosaur exhibition which he insists is amazing.

However, these were quickly drowned out Giovanni’s criminal mind as it’s focus settled firmly on the fact a mysterious cool amulet was hidden within these halls. An awesomely evil formed from the dark confines of his self-proclaimed delinquent mind.

“Car Crash, Crusher, come with me” he whispers in his best covert voice before snatching his pair of friends away from the tour. The former blushed at the close contact to his crush while the latter looked annoyed.

“Hey, my name’s Fred. All I did was crash Ben’s go-kart five times and now everyone just won’t let it go!” He complains and throws up his hands in annoyance.

“Shush, will you? Whatever. I have an awesome plan to show the whole entire world my awesome criminal skills so no one will deny that Giovanni Potage is the most awesome supervillain of all time!” He exclaims quietly with clenched fist.

Crusher loved every moment of It and even ‘Fred’ was captivated by the intensity if nothing else.  

“I will sneak inside the museum; spray paint my name on the exhibits. And then for the finale I will steal that amulet thingy and leave a pool of boiling lava and… uh… acid! In its place. These history nerds will never no one hit them” he gives a smug smile, proud of himself for having come up with such a villainous plan.

Crusher fell to the floor as he clenches his heart, overwhelmed by the sheer continued amazingness of Giovanni. Fred meanwhile was somewhat confused on What Giovanni’s plan was.

“So, you want to get an amulet which steals Epithets?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Giovanni looks confused for a moment before putting two and two together “oh is that what that thing does? Nah that’s totally lame. What I want is the street cred. If I pull this off then all the greatest criminal gangs will be begging to have me join them. Maybe I might be able to join the Bushido Blasters… or even the Banzai Blasters!” He exclaims with enthusiasm.

As Crusher continued to be amazed, Fred scratched the back of his head “I don’t know man, this seems kind of dangerous even compared to what we usually get up to. And me and ‘Crusher’ can’t be out after dark, so you’ll be alone for this”

Crusher cries manly boy tears at the thought of having to abandon Giovanni. But Giovanni simply dramatically holds his hand to his chest and begins to reassure them.

“Don’t worry my boys! I have the greatest- hey what’s that over there!” He suddenly shouts pointing to the left, and grinning as Crusher and Fred look to in that direction. While his friends are distracting, Giovanni quickly dashes behind them and yells “Teleports behind!”, startling both boys.

“As you can see my stealth skills and unmatched. And after tonight no one will able to deny the supervillainy of Giovanni Potage!”

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Across the city in the backroom of a family owned toy store sat a young barely adult woman wearing a dark green dress and a yellow apron and boots, her dark brown hair tied up to prevent it getting in her face.

The woman was working stoically on toys which would be sold in the Blyndeff Toy Emporium, her family’s store.

“Police are still baffled at the recent theft of expensive several statues from a local art gallery, all of which were replaced by teddy bears. Despite the absurdity of this case police have still found no leads on the criminals responsible, although reports suggest Banzai Blasters may have been involved- “ the noise drowns out in the woman’s mind as her lips slip into an evil grin as she recalls the recent caper which led to her promotion from Blaster to Captain in the Banzai ranks.

In the monotonous world of manufacturing and retail she was glad to have an outlet to cut loose when she could, keeping up appearances in front of customers and not hitting the many who deserved it was tiring, and she’s been doing this for around a decade at this point.

Taking a deep breath, she got back to work, turning off the news livestream playing on her phone just had it had begun talking about how a Detective Ashling had been assigned to the case. She had bigger things to concern herself with right now.

Namely that of her first heist as a Banzai Captain. Her crew of minions were ready and a location had been mapped out. Now all she needed to do was complete the final workings of her special criminal helper toys, as well as the toys which need to be sold.

“Molly! Mum wants to know if the new toys are ready yet!” The bratty voice of the woman’s little sister comes through the door of the workshop as the young girl in question walks into take a look herself.

Molly feels like grimacing but instead effortlessly donned a smile as hollow as her soul.

“Almost done Lorelai. Tell mum I’ll have these out on the shelves soon” she said with a mask of cheerfulness, to which Lorelai simply rolled her eyes at and gave a quick “Whatever” before leaving back to the rest of the building, shutting the door behind her.

Molly got back to work, only stopping at one point to take out a small picture of the Sweet Jazz Museum, causing her to gain a much more genuine, and evil smile “tonight” she simply says, as she returns to work.

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Later in the dead of night, Giovanni’s head raises up above from a bin. He leaps out and whisper shouts “Teleports inside!” to himself as he looks around.

He proceeds to run carelessly around the now empty halls of the museum, slipping and knocking some stuff over a few times before arriving in the entrance.

“Uh hu! This shall be a great place to begin the reign of terror of Giovanni Potage” the twelve year out super-criminal announces as he walks up to the desk.

“I should call my boys, to let them know I got it, not that they would be surprised of course” He picks up the phone and dials Car Crash’s number, only for it to fail to go through. Confused, Giovanni looks at the phone only to find an explanation of its true nature.

“Internal and emergency calls only? Pfft, lame” he comments as he slams down the receiver. He then proceeds to duck down under the desk and take out some items from his bag. First a whoopy cushion which he fashions to the chair and then a canister of spray paint.

He begins spray painting a message about how lame their phone system is. Meanwhile as the young delinquent writes, a hole in the roof is silently made and a group of Banzai Blaster begin slowly coming in from above, going unheard from anyone who might be within earshot thanks to their leader’s Epithet.

The last to go down is their new Captain, Bear Trap, who under the silence of her Epithet begins handing out instructions to her minions.

“There all done” Giovanni says proudly as he finishes his villainous vandalism, popping back up from behind the desk her suddenly comes eye to eye with Bear Trap.

All parties present simply fall back, startled due to not expecting to encounter anyone else. For a few moments silence reigns even without the assistance of Bear Trap’s Epithet.

The silence isn’t broken until the shock face of Giovanni suddenly shifts into one of wonder and excitement.

“Wow criminals! Awesome!”

[fallershipping]

Looker x Anabel Retrospective

The absolute ultimate Retrospective post as to explain why I’ve been on this OTP since 2016. Especially made in mind with the idea that some new peeps on the boat may not realize the extent of the lore between these two characters. Feel free to read this or skip this if you want, because I did pour out my heart and soul and it can be kind of a lengthy read.

Enjoy~

So Looker and Anabel have been two existing characters in Pokemon for the longest time, with both being sort of beloved for different reasons but not too often thought about as compared to other NPCs. One’s a reoccurring comedy relief detective since Platinum and the other is probably the most memorable and strongest of the Hoenn Battle Frontier from Emerald.

But when SunMoon dropped, these two characters got a new lease on life that no one really saw coming. This special appearance made them go from NPCs I never really thought too much about to placing them as my top two favorite Pokemon characters of all time.

The UB Task Force mission, as much as a glorified fetch quest as it seems to be, continues some of the darker, more adult themes brought along with SunMoon. While the main story dealt with subjects of abuse and what it means to be a truly strong person in the case of hardships, the post game surprisingly delves into the corrupt side of a seemingly good organization and idea of sacrificing one life to save another. What appears to be another run of the mill Looker mission takes a dive into the tragic backstory shared between certain characters, and all of this lore was scrapped in the ‘definitive’ USUM games.

So while a lot of people might have played this portion of the game, many could have skipped it entirely or didn’t give the dialogue too much thought.

But you’re asking, why is it special? And why have I cared so much for a potential romantic relationship between Looker and Anabel enough to draw them as much as I have?

Haha. Buckle up buckaroo.

So right off the bat, Looker and Anabel’s banter sets up what kind of relationship they have with one another. They’re formal as coworkers can be, but the more they talk to one another, the friendliness that they share quickly becomes apparent. They also tend to speak highly of each other, no matter if the person is in the room or gone out.

And he’s not wrong! Looker is well aware of just how capable Anabel is for a guy that isn’t really known for Pokemon battles himself.

After the first UB on the list is securely captured, Looker insists on a feast for everyone to enjoy in one of Alola’s famous restaurants, in which Anabel points out asking how he had known of this already having just now arrived here. Looker, flustered, says that he’s read it in a magazine and dashes out to make reservations, cuing Anabel to react to his odd antics in a more...

Affectionate way.

Look at that lil smile.

He’s an odd fellow, for sure. A lot of characters in the past called him weird or were off put by his personality, but Anabel is very patient and sort of endeared by him. He constantly returns to the gang yelling “It’s a catastrophe!” in different languages-- And Anabel doesn’t snap at him angrily for it, but calmly asks him to repeat himself in english so that she can understand him.

During the course of the post game while Looker’s away, Anabel is always talking about him in a positive manner. Despite his quirks, she finds him a league of his own even amongst the elite of the International Police.

Despite this acknowledgment of Looker’s skill and ability, she seems to be awfully dead set on keeping Looker as backup in their base of operations.

Anabel knows how dangerous UBs are. They’re not human criminals that he can easily deal with with his own fists-- they are aggravated alien monsters. Her imagining Looker facing one of them alone without any Pokemon to defend himself with probably scares her deeply.

Scares her enough for her to constantly assign him to be backup for her and the Protag, despite his protests and his expertise in fieldwork.

And yet she never fails to remind him that he is important regardless of whether he’s on the field fighting alongside her or set to backup. Almost, in a way, finding a way to flatter him. (smiling at him as reassurance or perhaps even putting up a bit of charm) She is thankful for his help on getting intel and he’s a valuable asset to the mission, but she cannot bear the thought of her friend getting hurt when she can handle the UBs with her own fully trained Pokemon team.

However, despite her confidence, Anabel grows more and more fatigued with each UB encounter. Looker’s worry rises and he tries even harder to let himself take her place in the field.

As much as she also insists on not wanting to worry him, Looker’s usual goofy and eccentric demeanor begins to change. His speech patterns start to become more serious and his sentences trail off more often, which throughout all the games, is a rather rare sight to see. His care for Anabel brings out something vulnerable and emotional out of someone self proclaimed hard-boiled.

With all the respect he gives her and all the times he commemorates her aptitude, he still fears for her greatly.

And when a familiar character appears, we understand why.

Nanu comes in to talk about the truth behind Anabel’s reappearance in the series; much like the UBs, she came from another world through Ultra Space and ended up as what Interpol dubbed as a Faller. 

Fallers are bathed in the energy from ultra wormholes. Thus, UBs are attracted to these humans, mistaking them as a way back home and going on the attack. Back then, Interpol found a particular use for Fallers by using them to direct the attention of UBs away from public areas.

Which is what happened ten years prior to the events of SunMoon. Looker, Nanu, and a third member were sent to fight a Guzzlord. However, Looker hesitated in harming it further when it realized it was just scared monster sent here against it’s will. But his lapse in judgment cost the life of the third member, a Faller woman, to fall victim to Guzzlord’s attack.

Looker and Nanu took down the Guzzlord but learned the horrible truth about their companion, who was not trained in combat-- she was designated as bait, but the catastrophic results were a failure that shadows Interpol forever. Not long after, the two agents found a woman washed up Poni’s shore recollecting nothing about herself but her name; Anabel.

This is why Looker has been growing ever so worried for Anabel’s safety and why he even asked the champion in the first place to help. The protag is indeed a Faller as well. He thought he could be able to control the situation with having a fantastic trainer who befriended Solgaleo/Lunala to keep the UB outbreak in check-- To make sure Anabel was safe. After all, the protag is able to help the mission go along beautifully and safely capture each UB.

But not without a price. Anabel was still being hurt, and Nanu had to intervene to make Looker realize that he had made a big mistake.

After all, Anabel isn’t aware that she’s a Faller herself. Why doesn’t she know yet? Wouldn’t Looker tell her? Or Nanu?

It would appear as Interpol learned something after all these years, and isn’t really using her as Bait as they did before with the first Faller. Anabel is said to have autonomy over this and chose to save the UBs from a worse fate. Unlike the first Faller, she was properly trained for the UB Task Force missions and for many other Interpol related missions as her own strong, resourceful agent. However, Interpol is still quiet about her status as a Faller and anything relating to them from the past.

And Looker, years after the incident with Guzzlord, is now met with an Anabel with a newly built Interpol life determined to help people, Pokemon, and UBs in need no matter what. She absolutely believes in her successes and her cause. And she is adamant of going on these missions. Looker grows a bond with her and is faced with this troubling realization;

To tell her the truth would mean to collapse the whole world upon her.

After all... Having rebuilt her life, seeing her so confident, so passionate about what she’s doing... He sees her succeed in something he feels all too familiar with-- Starting from the bottom and creating an identity, somehow.

Having been found in the Battle Resort, washed ashore with no memory, not even a name to go by. Looker knows her pain more than anyone else. She needs to know about what she is going through-- But the uttermost pain she will feel and the lingering eyes of Interpol’s heads has been keeping him mortified and silent.

So he does anything and everything in his power to protect her in the meantime, before she can be told the truth. And with the way the Alola mission went, that time is coming up real soon.

However, with the protag and Nanu’s help the UB Task Force finally had every UB under control. And Anabel was kept safe and sound, much to Looker’s relief. They can finally enjoy some time off and no doubt will be in for quite a long, painful, but necessary conversation when the time comes.

Not of course before Looker going off into a slight panic over the idea of Anabel going on a date.

And that was the line that made me totally think “Oh yep, yep! Looker’s got a massive crush on her!”

SO! What’s the take away from all this madness??

The fact that Looker and Anabel care deeply for one another so much, as they go far too out of their way to protect each other from harm. Not just out of necessity, but their banter clearly shows that there’s a deeper connection between the two than just a professional coworker one.

You might argue that Looker is only worrying about her this deeply because of what he went through all those years ago and is trying to prevent the same thing from happening, and yet... He’s grown to appreciate and know Anabel for who she is. She is in fact her own agent that joined Interpol on her own volition and chose to do the UB missions due to her empathy to the lost beings so far from home.

He knows when she’s unwell, he knows why she hides it away. He understands her as a person and it’s wonderful how much they show that they grew to have a bond with one another. Enough for both of them to catch on to each other’s quirks and feel comfortable.

The small giggle that she gives him, the small yet playfully affectionate jab, the way it just says “Oh there he goes again thinking about the feast at this time... Just Looker being Looker~” Because she also knows him deeply as well! This man is not one of her best allies but one of her most trusted companions in this new life of hers and it shows!! 

They’re each other’s most trusted companions and their partnership is just wonderful to see.

Of course, romance can’t happen between them yet-- Not until Anabel knows the truth about Fallers and what Interpol did long ago. But let’s be honest, even the big angst/hurt/comfort fest that would come from that conversation would be a whirlwind of emotions that would just end up with them having an even stronger relationship than they’ve ever had before.

It’s not just that they look wonderful together, complement each other, and such-- It’s all those things plus the backstory and close bond and tragedy that comes from this mission. It makes me want to see them overcome every hurdle and be happy with one another and have all the joy and happiness they deserve after all they’ve been through.

I want to see them in more situations where they can be casual with one another, fight alongside one another, and so on so forth. They just have so much potential and I really think Game Freak sees it too.

And as for a lil bonus, Looker in USUM finding out the protag is the champion but is more impressed with Anabel’s knowledge than the actual champion. Also they’re always vacationing together mutually huh hmm wowie?

--

tl;dr go ship Looker/Anabel aka Fallershipping aka Lookabel best ship 10/10

[bluebloodstained]

;|; Mobile Rules ;|;

Mun Info

name: Moe Loogham

age: 21

birthday: September 25th

pronouns: She/Her

faceclaim: Deadpool, Rose Quartz, or Loki

rp experience: 8+ Years

discord: Available to Mutuals on Request!

HELLO!

I'm Moe! It's great to meet you. After taking a very long break from the tumblr rpc, I've decided to dive back in, because why the hell not.

I'm from New York, I have two beautiful guinea pigs named Sage and Rosemary and I'm a witch, that's just about everything you gotta know. I recently graduated from college, and still trying to figure out where I wanna be in the world, so this is my little corner of the internet where I come to unwind and scream about my favorite roboy.

My Rules have been broken up into sections. I will try to keep each section as brief as possible while still informing you of everything you need to know about how I like to run things.

Blog Etiquette + Following

This blog is

PRIVATE, SELECTIVE, and MUTUAL'S ONLY and 21+.

I do not follow for a follow, and I do not follow back unless I am interested in threadding with you. If I follow your blog, it means I have read your rules and bio at the very least! I do not send in passwords, but if you have a post that you would like to direct followers to when they've read your rules, I will like it.

If we are not mutuals, you are still free to interact through asks and ask memes. i reserve the right to delete/ignore asks from mutuals and non-mutuals alike! this is mostly out of precaution, and would only be done in cases that violate privacy or cause discomfort.

I will only thread with other Roleplay/Ask blogs. Sideblogs are fine, but if your main blog is a personal, please let me know and tell me your sideblog url! If you RP off of your personal, I will not follow/thread with you. This is mainly to keep my dash organized. That being said, I will not unfollow someone just because they post OOC a lot. I know I have a tendency to do the same sometimes.

I am not okay with nonmutuals reblogging my content. Feel free to like them, but reblogging anything will result in a soft block. Repeated offenses will result in your blog being blocked. I'm not here to be your aesthetic/graphic archive.

The same applies to ask memes. Do not use me as your meme resource. ALWAYS reblog from the source.

Just as a general note, sometimes I will have periods of low activity. I try to be active at the VERY LEAST once a week, and sometimes I'll be able to crank out like 10 replies in one day. But real life always comes first, for me AND any of my rp partners. RPing is a hobby for me, and I don't let it stress me out. Of course, if it's been a week or two since I've replied, there's a very good chance that I've just forgotten to respond. If that happens, do not be afraid to poke me about it.

If I ever want to drop a thread, I'll let you know, and I'll very much appreciate if you do the same, but it's absolutely not required. I don't mind at all, if anything I'll usually ASK if you want to drop it and if you do, that's completely fine. The other option I have for threading is ARCHIVING, for when we have a thread that we want to put down for now, but maybe pick up again later. If you'd rather Archive a thread instead of drop it, just tell me. :)

Also!

All Icons on this blog are made/screenshotted by me or RK800ISALIVE, and my post banners were made by DENICDLIFE Please do not take them or use them!!

Shipping + Exclusivity

this entire section is very important. please read it carefully, and feel free to ask me if you don't understand something.

This isn't my first rodeo. I love shipping. I am perfectly open to shipping. HOWEVER, that is not the sole purpose of this blog. Regardless of canon, fanon, personal preference or otherwise, unless we have spoken previously about it, Connor will not be automatically shipped with your muse. This blog is OCxCanon friendly, and canon ships are fine too. But for ANY case, I ship chemistry If your muse doesn't click with mine, that's totally fine. But please don't try to force a ship on me, and do not follow me if shipping is the only thing you're looking for out of our threads.

On that note: Original Characters. They're great, I love hearing about them and seeing their depth and complexity. But if your OC has little to no history, or if their sole purpose is to flirt with Connor, please do not ask to interact.

I've had so many experiences in the past with OCs whose existence is based around wanting to bang my muse and it really grates on me. It's nothing personal, I know writing only gets better with practice, but if you come to me asking to be a detective who works with Connor and that's all the information you have, I really ask that you go find another Connor to interact with.

I will only ship with your muse after discussing it out of character. IC flirting is the only exception to this, but do not get angry if Connor does not respond the way you want him to.

I don't want to have to put that there, but it's happened to me too many times before and it's an uncomfortable situation for everyone involved. Please don't do it.

This blog is NOT Exclusive, but I do practice Maining with other muses. What that means is if we have previously discussed it, and have had enough interaction, my muse will refer to yours in conversation or in terms of relationship depending on circumstance.

Once I have created mains, they will be posted in the Navigation tab. Occasionally I may post a mains call, which invites anyone interested to discuss becoming a main with Connor.

Mains have top priority for threads.

TRIGGERS + NSFW

I am 21+ years old, and NSFW can and will happen on this blog, however I will always keep anything that contains NSFW under a "read more" cut for the sake of any followers who are not comfortable with seeing NSFW content.

I am comfortable with most NSFW topics. I absolutely WILL NOT write about pedophelia or incest, and definitely WILL NOT rp sexual situations with minors or people who I have not shared consent with. This is for my safety as well as those who I interact with. I'm trying to get into grad school, not jail.

I will try to tag triggers accordingly as they appear. Triggering content that MAY appear on this blog include:

Abuse

Child/Character Death

Disease

Drugs/Drug Use

Alcohol

Execution/Murder

Gore

Nudity

Self-Harm

Suicide/Mental Health Issues

Verbal/Physical Violence

Torture

Important: mun and muse are mutually exclusive. I am not Connor. Connor is not me. Actions performed in threads do not reflect me or my personal beliefs, unless otherwise explicitly stated by me.

If you've made it this far, I would really appreciate if you could like this post, just to let me know you've read and understand all my rules. If you are not comfortable doing so, that's fine! It's really just to help me know people cared enough to go through the whole list. :) It's not at all an obligation, but it would be really awesome.

Despite the fact I am comfortable with NSFW, I prefer to be comfortable with the other mun as a person before agreeing to write these topics with you. I am not obligated to write NSFW with anyone.

Last Updated: 8/19/2020

[typewriterghcst]

Title: But For Me It Was Tuesday Rating: also G-ish, but some allusions to probably what we would consider child abuse in the modern day lbr Characters: one (1) OC, Baron, Natori, Yuki Summary: The events of The Cat Returns, but told through the eyes of the smallest-- oh, sorry, my mistake— the youngest kitchen maid in the service of the Cat King. No romantic pairings. A crush or two may be mentioned, though. Notes: Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, even though I emphatically missed the deadline rip. This one was for the prompt of ‘Movie Extra’, which I took to mean, well, pretty much just what I wrote— the events of the movie as a backdrop to another character’s everyday life, lmao This is another one that isn't Entirely Finished, but I've been working on it since June-ish and I've just lost all motivation to finish it. Though, unlike the last one I posted that was unfinished, the only part missing from this one is the ending.  There's also a part in here involving Natori that needed to be changed, but I liked the wording and imagery of it, and never did get around to figuring out where else to put it, so some of the pacing in here is Off rip

                                                        &&&

She oversleeps. That's the first unusual misfortune that happens to her on this particular day. Opens the day, no less, she  thinks to herself as she forlornly stokes the ovens' gently smoldering fires. Her ears are still ringing from the boxing she'd received— the fact that Cook had had to include a little hop to even reach them means what little pride she has feels just as bruised.

Were she a more superstitious, flighty sort, she might even have taken this setback as the first of likely many portents of an upcoming stressful day. But instead she is only Topolina, the youngest (but emphatically not the smallest; more on that later) kitchen maid currently languishing away in the employ of the illustrious royal castle of the Cat Kingdom.

Of course, it’s there she stops herself. It’s only the chaos of the morning that has her using such bitter language. She should try harder, she tells herself, not to linger on the unpleasant aspects of her current existence, and instead focus on… on… well, she supposes there’s something to be grateful for in all of this. 

Like…

Oh! She has a home. A relatively nice bed to sleep in. And meals, every day.

...Meals which she is most often forced to wolf down in the kitchen in solitude as she tends the fires and keeps a watchful eye on the simmering pots.

Ah.

Perhaps she needs a bit more practice with this gratitude thing, is all.

It’s entirely possible her recent light resentment had begun with her very name, Topolina, a name which had been quite fitting when she stood at least two heads shorter than all the other kitchen maids, one she'd even perhaps viewed with some fondness for its endearing quality. And yet, alas, it now exists as a name which seems only heavily ironic— that is, now that she's hit the tender age of fourteen and found herself towering over all but the very tallest of cats. It feels to dear Topolina like some massive, omnipresent joke that she remains her old timid, meek self, still eager to fade into the background and disappear... now without even the faintest hope of being able to do so.

Metaphorical salt in the wound is the undeniable fact that her pinafore's hem, once perfectly aligned with her ankles and cutely poofy, now drapes awkwardly far above its original position. Perhaps it’s comparatively trivial atop all her other complaints, but when she finds herself thinking back to her old unassuming silhouette, she can’t help but feel at least a little crestfallen. Nowadays, she feels quite akin to a pitifully overgrown shrub, no matter how many well-meaning words to the contrary she receives.

All in all, she imagines such a thing might make anyone feel rather less than appreciative.

It’s as she’s sitting there alone before one of the nine stoves in the palace kitchen, contemplating her rotten luck, that she hears— well. She’s not sure, exactly. It’s something of a crunching sound, like rusted metal grinding against itself, and she can’t imagine what its source could be. She stands, and gingerly inspects the oven itself from every angle she can think of. She even studies her fire iron. Yet still she comes up empty-handed.

Defeated, she flops back down in her original spot.

And then— she squeaks, because the ground under her is moving, slowly twisting back and forth as if she’s sitting on a lazy top. She leaps (falls is more accurate) off the emerging ground once her mind comes back to her, once it stops panicking, and stares in confounded shock as the very spot she’d been settled atop transforms into what appears to be a long-forgotten manhole covering. How long had that been there?! She’s never been made aware of an old servant’s tunnel in this area!

Her perplexion only deepens when she spies just who has made use of this abandoned tunnel— a cat much like herself, though she thinks that he looks quite a sight better than she would have had she just crawled through a dirty tunnel. His off-white suit is pressed and smart, for one, and hardly has a tear nor even a wrinkle to show for the abuse he’s no doubt just put it through.

His sharp gaze falls then on her, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of her ill-fitting, nearly threadbare pinafore, the scuffs of dirt and soot smattered across it, and her probably unkempt fur, smudged and mussed from fire-tending. Oh, if she could just will the earth itself to open its maw and swallow her up—!

“Ah,” he starts, in a much gentler voice than Topolina had expected, turning to her and offering a hand to help her up, “I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” she stammers, taking his hand without thinking. (Were she in a right state of mind, she’d never do such a thing— the very last thing her poor Young Maiden’s Heart could stand is for a handsome gentleman to struggle to lift her.) He pulls her up with little difficulty, though, and in her chest she feels a very peculiar thump, and then a flutter.

“A-Are you here for the king..?” She asks impulsively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, appearing to think that over for a fleeting moment, perhaps aware of the myriad of ways the pairing of her question and his response could be interpreted, before he makes his decision.

“Yes. I would like to have an audience with him. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Y… you’re not here to kill him, are you?” She whispers, perhaps irrationally afraid that the king himself might be listening in on her. And yet, not too irrational— she’s seen his spying Cat’s Eye floating languidly about the castle on more than one occasion.

There’s something pitying in his gaze, she thinks, but he replies graciously enough. “You have my word, miss. I am not here to usurp or otherwise harm your king.” Then, while dusting some nonexistent dirt off his clothes, “I do believe I will need a change of wardrobe, however. It won’t do to adress a king while clad in anything less than my finest, will it?”

He says it without flinching, and in such an earnestly straightforward fashion, that Topolina herself is almost led to believe there really is some flaw with his clothing that she simply can’t see.

“Oh!” She says then in sudden inspiration. Without explaining herself first, she scampers to the open alcove behind him, separated only by an unfinished wall. The kitchen servants have long used the area as a makeshift coat rack, and one particularly bizarre ensemble has been there for as long as she can remember. She comes back around the wall bearing the large hat and cloak before offering it to him, embarrassed now that she realizes that, judging by her actions, this is what constitutes ‘his best’ for her: an absurd hat and a dusty, worn cloak.

He himself appears no less than enchanted at her offering, however, and when he stands before her with the hat cocked just slightly on his head and azure mantle thrown over his shoulders, Topolina finds she’s again being assaulted by those odd, vexing heart palpitations. Is she really such a nervous thing? ...Yes, she answers herself firmly. Yes, she is. But she’s far from convinced nerves are to blame in this instance.

“Oh,” she breathes eventually, clasping her paws together and resting them against the edge of her cheek. “You look like you came out of a storybook.”

Well… that was more childish than she meant it to be.

“Then it’s perfect,” he says succinctly. Then, removing the hat and inclining his head to her, he adds, “Thank you for your assistance, ah—”

“Top— erm, Lina.”

“Miss Lina, it is. I’m quite grateful for your help. I am sorry only to startle you and then run without so much as a token for your assistance, but it’s imperative I make good time.”

Topolina shakes her head. “It’s okay— I-I don’t mind!”

And with a final bow, he leaves her and the kitchen behind.

                                                        &&&

Peculiar dashing stranger aside, the rest of her day passes in relative normality. There’s a clamor about the servants some time later, and she catches snippets of an excited buzz about something happening with the prince (something that ties in with a group of special guests, but she’s yet to put together how) as she goes about her duties, but in all, for how bizarre the day started out, it all strikes her as rather uneventful.

She’s instructed eventually to scour the floors in the audience chamber in preparation for a banquet, which means filling an old rusted tub with hot water and soap, and then carting it to said room. She’s no stranger to the task, of course, and thinks nothing of trudging through the hall with this metal burden in her arms.

Perhaps as penitence for her lack of investment in the day’s continuing  Wonders, another ill-fated obstacle is tossed onto the tracks before her. In this case, literally. 

Earlier that day, a courier had accidentally overturned a loose stone in the hallway floor. Scratching his head, staring down at the disturbed piece of clay as though it had personally insulted him in the most obtuse way possible, he’d eventually looked from one end of the corridor to the other and quietly snuck it back into place, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Unfortunately, Topolina notices.

With a decidedly unfeline-like squawk, she trips over the rogue stone; the tub in her arms ends up the victim of gravity, as we all so unfortunately are.

And who should turn the corner then but Natori, just in time to be the unwitting second victim of her bad luck— drenched by the ensuing sheet of warm, sudsy water and so jarred by it, it seems he can do little other than look rapidly from his own sodden person to her no-doubt horrified countenance for near a full two minutes. In the fraught silence that follows, his glasses clatter to the earthen floor, and the tiny sound echoes in her ears like a gunshot. Trembling, Topolina instantly drops to her haunches, paws clapped together in desperate and tearful pleading.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! Please, I beg your pardon— I didn't mean— i-it was an accident!"

"...Topolina," Natori finally interrupts quietly, gently, even, but the hum of exasperation vibrates just underneath his patient tone like a trapped butterfly, "—retrieve a mop and a towel, please.”

“Of course, sir! R-Right away!”

                                                        &&&

It’s afterward, as Topolina does her best to mop around him while he tries to dry himself without incurring any extra… floof, that Natori deems an appropriate time to address his reason for coming this way in the first place.

“It’s possible that Cook may have instructed you about this task already, but the kitchen staff will likely be needing every pot and pan that can be spared for today’s dinner, so do ensure that you tend to the ones that have been, er, languishing in... that corner.” When she chances a glance at him, she sees that his gaze is inconspicuously trained on a particularly infamous corner of the palace kitchens, one where abandoned cookware is just shy of creating its own ecosystem by now. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, some measure of indignation rises in her; she’s so very close to telling him she isn’t the one to blame in this instance! ...At least, not the only one.

Ah. Alas, once more. Her courage withers in the face of this culpability, small as it may be. Instead, she goes back to her doleful mopping. Still, there is at least enough nerve left in her to present him with one continuing question on the topic.

"Is it... is it for the special guests?"

Natori pauses, giving her something of a searching glance. "...It is, yes." Then, after a few seconds spent appearing to think this over, he continues ringing out the bottom hem of his robe. It seems at some point while she was distracted, he’d laid the drenched towel at his feet. "I see word spreads fast through the kitchens."

To herself, she thinks that he has no idea how true that is, nor precisely how fast it truly does.

Finally satisfied with all that the towel can accomplish in drying him off (and evidently feeling his now damp robe will no longer leave any puddles as he wanders through the castle), he returns it to her. "Now, Topolina, please try to keep the mishaps to a minimum. We do have an exceptional guest today, after all."

She only nods frantically, all too aware of her ears flapping up and down. To this, he gives an approving nod of his own, and then finally turns on his heel and leaves. Secure in her admittedly paltry position for at least another day, Topolina breathes a sigh of relief as she puts the mop away.

...An exceptional guest, he’d said. Curiosity flares again, this time stronger than before, and she can’t stop wondering just who they could be. For the most fleeting of seconds, she remembers the cat who had interrupted her delayed routine this morning, but he’s quickly waved away.

Honored guests did not arrive to their own commemoration by climbing through old servants’ tunnels.

                                                        &&&

Once the dirtiest, most grime-caked pots and pans are finally scrubbed to perfection, she peeks around the corner in search of Cook or Natori, wondering what other (insignificant) part she may have to play in the care of these exceptional guests. To her consternation, however, the kitchen aside from her seems rather empty, present only to the sound of a maid or two prepping extra portions of stuffed mice on the off-chance they’re requested.

Cautious as always, Topolina all but tiptoes through, still careful not to draw attention to herself, and— once she’s certain she’s not being scrutinized— peeks out of the kitchen itself into the servers’ hallway. There’s music playing, muffled, down the hall in the great dining room— something elegant, bouncy. A waltz, perhaps. She wonders distantly who it is that might be dancing, and if the well-spoken cat she’d crossed paths with earlier is anything of a dancer himself. She could imagine him dancing… Oh, the flutter is back.

“Lina—”

“Yes!!”

She jumps impressively high, her hackles on edge and tail fluffed out in alarm.  Yet, when she whips around to face her unexpected company, she’s met only with Yuki. Another of the kitchen servants, Yuki has existed as a consistently friendly, warm presence, to the degree that she’d willingly adopted Topolina’s attempts to shorten her, well, newly embarrassing name, something a few of the other servants (and Natori…) were still having trouble with. Her fright abated, Topolina tries to greet the smaller cat with a smile, but it wavers.

“Oh— Yuki, it’s you.” She’s carrying a large glass bottle, freshly-filled with some unfamiliar pink-tinged liquid, Topolina notices.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki starts in reply. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-It’s okay!”

“What were you looking at?”

Oh. That.

“I was looking for Cook,” Topolina admits reluctantly. “Or maybe Natori. I’ve finished the dishes they wanted me to clean earlier today.”

“I saw The Corner was all clean. It must have taken a while.” Yuki sounds impressed, perhaps. Topolina doesn’t mention it, of course, but deep down she’s a little tickled. “Natori’s already taken his place in the dining room, though, so I don’t think you’ll have any luck getting more directions from him.”

“Oh…” Thinking back now, she realizes she should have surmised that already. At least, if the banquet has progressed to the point that entertainment is warranted. “What about Cook? Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

After a short silence, it suddenly occurs to Topolina that Yuki seems… a little distracted. Troubled, even. Fidgeting, she gathers her resolve for the third time that day.

“...Are you okay? You look like… um, something’s on your mind.”

Just the mention of her evident disquiet is enough to erase its presence from her expression; Yuki almost instantly brightens some, shaking her head gently.

“No, no. I’m fine.” And then, before Topolina can press the issue, “How about this? Stay here— I have to go back in and serve refills. If I see Cook, I’ll ask her what else she wants you to do and then fill you in when I come back. Okay?”

Topolina is just about to enthusiastically agree (leisure time in the sparsely occupied kitchen? Not being the one to personally ask Cook for more work? Of course she’d be on board!), but a sudden eruption of screams and breaking glass from the direction of the banquet room means the two of them are turning their startled attention to the ruckus instead.

“Wh— what could it be..?” Topolina wonders aloud, shaken.

[ and that's it rip the ending i had in mind was that yuki tells topolina to find a safe place, topolina cowers probably in the kitchen the whole time, especially upon hearing an Explosion. and the next day there's all kinds of rumors and tall tales about baron and The Daring Rescue he pulled off. topolina connects the dots and. well basically becomes haru 2.0 crushing on him and indulging in fantasies where she's also swept off her feet by a dashing hero fjfjkda; ]