#or without trauma they look the same because their sense of fashion is not linked to their emotional state

[orange-coloredsky-archive]

those "what my ocs would look like without trauma" memes are megafunny because it often implies that your like. sense of fashion??? and general appearance?? is impacted by how traumatic your past was. like yeah obvs if you have a character that lost her eye in a battle that changed her perspective on life, then the change to being not-affected would likely mean her eye is still intact.

but usually it just means character looks less gloomy and has a brighter overall color pallete and like. less belts or accessories. implying that trauma makes you goth or something

[indraste-darktalon]

Title: Heart don't fail me now. You're all I've got left. (Indy) Word Count: 3000 Summary: Indy says another goodbye in her typical fashion. Warnings: alcohol, angst, death (of a family member), violence Song Link

Indy had been a functional alcoholic for decades. Cheerfully so, even, at least on the surface. Was it a good example to set as a healer? Absolutely not. Was it good for her, personally? No, but when she could just wipe out the excess in her system to prevent long-term organ damage, as well as stay coherent enough to work and be social, what did it matter? A solid buzz made her less nervous in social situations. It made her less likely to have nervous breakdowns in tense situations, and sometimes it was even kind enough to keep nightmares away. It made it possible to not have to deal with the far-reaching effects that the trauma of healing friends, family, and comerades over the decades had carved into her. And sometimes, it even made it possible to forget how guilty she was that despite being a genuinely gifted healer, she'd still lost friend after friend—as well as her entire family—over the past several decades.

But it wasn't doing a fucking thing to help her cope with the fact that her wife was dead.

They'd known it was coming, at least. That had made their few remaining days incredibly painful, but also savorable. Blix had asked her to enchant something that would let Indy know if her heart stopped, in case they weren't together when she was killed. A small enchant like that had been simple enough to add to her wedding ring; adding the same tracker to Blix's had probably been unnecessary, but the rings were a matched set. Close together, they glowed. And far apart, they gave a slow, constant pulse at the same rate of a heart at rest. Indy wished she'd thought of it sooner, because it was a surprisingly soothing feeling.

She didn't tell her wife that her ring beat to Indy's resting heart rate, and hers beat to Blix's. It was painfully, stupidly sentimental, but after so many years holding her wife close and listening to her live and breathe in the dark while trying to stay awake to avoid the ghosts in her head, well…. She wanted a few more hours, a few more days, of its rhythm.

The pause between every single pulse of the ring's band cut deep, but even that was tolerable compared to the thought of waiting and not knowing. Her entire family had been in the limbo of the missing for years, and Indy didn't want to have to go through that ever again.

At least Blix had been given the chance to offer her some certainty that there was no longer a need to either wait or look for her. It was sad to call that an improvement over her norm, but Indy was too grateful to be bitter that certainty was so unusual.

SILVERLOCH

Indy knew, when Blix left on the latest hunt, that she wasn't coming back from it. Maybe that was fatalism, but when the gentle beat that tracked Blix's heart stopped coming from her wedding ring, Indy just stared down at the ruby that her wife had picked to complement her tattoos and let her jaw clench until her teeth hurt. Feeling a sense of surprise would have been a kindness, honestly; it was rarely a good thing when the predictions the healer part of her made turned out to be right.

"You fucking idiot," she whispered.

She wasn't sure which of them she was talking to, but it also no longer mattered.

Indy reached for her flask, took a solid drink, and then quietly picked up the bag she'd packed that morning. After that, all she needed to do was call for their Darters and lock up the house. Asha and Tilly both immediately knew that something was wrong, and flew to each of their preferred shoulders without protest. Asha had been with Indy the second time she'd run away to mourn someone, and she seemed to know what was coming, based on the fact that she began to hum—her version of purring—against Indy's neck the moment they turned from the house.

"It'll be okay, baby girl," she reassured Asha, though the way her voice cracked didn't sell the words to any of them.

But it would be okay—or at least different from the last time—because she wasn't going to let it be anything else. Indy still had connections to the world, and she had fought hard to both make and keep them over the years since her return from Nagrand. No matter how strong the urge was, she wasn't going to fuck off into the wilderness without giving the people in her life some sort of indication where to find her. Running away had kept her from being there for the death of her brother and her parents both, and she wasn't going to make that mistake a third time.

So she dropped letters in the mailbox as she passed it: one to Andennaris, one to Ranek (and through Ranek, one announcing a hiatus from work. It was poor form to leave him to tell their coworkers since they'd been working with Blix for years, but she didn't have it in her to do it herself). The two of them had been warned in advance that this would be happening, so the content of their letters wouldn't be blindsiding, at least.

There was also one addressed to Rethea tucked into the envelope with Andy's; he was letting her stay with him since her home had been turned to dust, so he was her most reliable address at present. (And inside Reth's letter, a request to tell Grenfield what had happened; they mostly fished and drank too much to work on projects they'd gotten together to tailor, but if he was warned in advance, she wouldn't feel the urge to explain anything when they saw each other next. That would be ideal for both of them.)

The two addressed to Xarian and Andrastyn had been more difficult to send, but… if they reached out in response, she knew that they would understand why she was planning to handle her grief in the way she was. (That was precisely why they had been harder to notify, in fact.) Ranek and her brother might, too, but something in her hadn't been able to admit just how self-destructive she was planning to be to either of them.

Not long-term self destruction; she reminded herself frequently that she wasn't going to give up on everyone she'd found, met, and become close to over one new grief, no matter how much she wanted to hide like an injured animal. But at the same time, funerals weren't Indy's thing. Public grief among friends and family was more than she could handle—especially since definitely be expected to speak. As sad as it was, Blix would understand Indy mourning her by falling right back into the state she'd been when the two of them had met.

The day Blix had found out and told Indy what was about to happen, Blix had asked her to make sure she was remembered in a way that would be memorable, and lively, and as free of pain as possible. Indy had agreed, of course, but they had both known from the seconds the words left her mouth that Indy wouldn't be able to honor that promise. (At least Indy hoped Blix had known.)

Maybe if Blix had been blessed enough to live to old age, like Indy had so desperately wanted. Maybe if Indy still had a goddess she felt she could turn to for comfort, and ask to look after her wife, since she was an honorary druid (the tree hand made the rules, in that case).

But there were no victories here, and nothing to celebrate: misery, squandered chances, and a lack of time were everywhere in Azeroth, at any given point in time. If every one were memorialized, nobody would ever get anything done. In her mind, any formal memorial would have been nothing more than a waste, and Indy didn't want Blix's fellow hunters to have to deal with her working through that belief in a ceremony meant to honor a fallen friend and beloved wife.

Indy made a point to check her mail every few days, though nobody would have a way to know that. The message from Blix's fellow hunters, asking for her input, assistance, and participation in a memorial in her wife's name, was a mixed blessing. She was able to pass on what Blix had wanted for a funeral. Something positive, and a little strange—something meant to help heal the cut a little—and then she left to go very intentionally hurt herself for a while instead of sticking around to attend the service herself.

Guilt was a fel of an emotion.

BORALUS

Physical pain was supposed to help. The kind that came from missing a dodge or failing to block properly, the kind that signaled a direct hit with her bare knuckles. The dull throb of her back after being slammed too hard into a wall, post, or unprepared piece of furniture. The cheers and jeers of the crowd were supposed to be loud enough to drown out the disaster in her mind, too—whatever hadn't already been drowned in the booze, at least.

But this was her fourth—fifth?—underground brawling ring tournament in Boralus, and nothing was as numb as it should be. She'd blown through all the illegal boxing and brawling in Stormwind and Dalaran (and suddenly "blown through" didn't feel like a good word choice, but at least she hadn't said it aloud) in the six months Blix and her brother had been missing at the same time. Every establishment there had remembered her, unfortunately, so she'd caught a portal and moved on to a city whose bars didn't yet consider her notorious.

Indy had been to the city a few times when her brother still called it home, and had been drinking buddies a few of the fighters. But the people running the fights hadn't known the look in her eyes well enough to turn her away. It hadn't been a bad time when she'd last been through, so how would they even know?

But the drink hadn't been enough. Splitting her knuckles against opponents, then refusing to heal between fights hadn't, either. Darktalon rage was bad enough without giving it a self-destructive bent, and nobody was enjoying the results. Well. The people placing bets were, because she was far too volatile to be reliable. And that added chance into the game.

Each night ended the same, though: exhausted, a bloody, taloned hand clutching a drink glass, and her forehead planted against the tabletop as she debated cleansing enough booze out of her to keep her going, or to finish the drink and go get something she could pretend was sleep.

Indy was having a particulary difficult time with that decision the night a chair scraped loudly on the floor beside her, and she realized someone had joined her at the table she'd been using as a pillow.

"The table and I are taken," Indy muttered to the wood grain. "Well. It's taken with me."

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she was halfway through sending her elbow directly into whatever asshole had just grabbed her before she registered that the voice of the man seated beside her was familiar.

"Ind."

Her ears shot up to alertness, and she raised her head to stare blankly at the face of her older brother. "And? …Did you track me down." She huffed indignantly at him. "I said I'd be in Nagrand." "Yes, you did. But when I didn't find you there, I knew Stormwind was out. So that saved time." His lips pressed into a thin line (oh no, disapproval) before he added, "I lived here for years, and I remember where you like to fight. It wasn't that difficult to find you. Follow the feathers and find the upset tenders."

She shrugged. "I'm working through my feelings." "You've worked through them. You've tenderized them." There might have been a hint of a smile at that, but it wasn't reaching his voice. His tone was soft, but firm. "It's time to come back."

"I can't—" her voice cracked, but because it was Andy, she didn't care. "I can't go home."

Andennaris offered out an arm, and she slumped against his side like she had been doing since she was little.

"I meant Nagrand," he explained, and squeezed her against him slightly.

He was a little colder to lean against, these days. But the voice she'd known for centuries was still there, underneath the echo, though the comfort would have been welcome even if it wasn't. Still, she hadn't been the little sister since they'd been reunited. It felt weak. They'd been working together on restoring his memories for years, and she had always tried to be the support when the hard moments came. And now here he was, returning the favor—

No, not returning the favor. Being family. Neither of them were keeping a tally.

"You shouldn't go with me. You've got Reth staying wi—"

"Ind. She can stay alone for a while. You know she'd prefer that. She just needs a roof, and she has a key." He squeezed her again. "You need a brother. And I am here."

I am here, and the unspoken and I know I haven't always been. For a moment she felt like she might break down completely, right there in the middle of the tavern. But instead, she took a deep breath, and relaxed enough to be able to mentally let him take the older sibling role back from her.

(It was the oddest combination of new and normal.)

She sniffled and blinked away the moisture trying to overtake her eyes. "You really want to come with me?" "Of course. I'm packed for it already. Once you get your things together, we can go."

It had been hard, letting Blix in enough for her to be able to help Indy in an emotional capacity. There was a time when she'd cried with her older brother without feeling shamed, or pathetic, but healers couldn't be weak. They—

Indy finally turned her head enough to look at her brother. She'd fought so hard to find her family again, and actual friends, so that she could be more than an awkward emotional rock that healed people before drinking all the liquor and roosting in a tree.

But what was the point of the hurt, and the fear, and the effort, if she didn't let herself benefit from having people in her life again?

"Okay," Indy said through a heavy sigh. "Let me get my things. And then, I guess, you get to spend however long you can stand with the saddest camping partner available." She said it with a grin, and oddly enough, it was a genuine one.

He gave her a small smile. "Your company, and free energy for me? We'll both be feeling great, then."

She laughed and started to rise, pushing her braid over her shoulder. "Rude. And fine, you win."

Her brother caught her lightly by the wrist before she was fully out of reach. When he replied, his voice was serious again. "I'm with you for as long as you need. Rethea has been told I'm not available for work, and she's more worried about you as a friend than she is about me being free for contracts."

Indy sank her fangs into her lower lip and sighed. Dealing with the consequences of having people in her life who cared was hurting her pride a little. And that was fucking stupid. She took a deep, tired breath, and then finished standing with a very genuine groan as bruises, pulled muscles, and joints protested.

She spun her wedding ring around its finger, and tried not to focus on how still and dull it was. Part of her had wanted to take it off, but that was the same part of her that wanted to run and hide. Apparently, it was going to be just as hard to remain with her loved ones as it had been to find them. Every feather on her body was singing for her to shapeshift and sneak off when she went to her room to get her things.

But Indy had already learned, for worse rather than better, that running away was easy. And sadly, easy was never better.

Blix was a hole through her core that might never close properly, but that didn't mean that she needed to turn her back on everyone she'd met and everything else she'd built since coming back from her first self-imposed exile.

""Let's get my things and head out, then," she said, finally meeting her brother's flickering, empty eyes. "Asha will be happy to see you."

"…You left her alone in your room?"

"Of course not! Tilly is in there, too, so it's even worse than you're imagining."

He started laughing, and the sound caught in Indy's ribs, forcing her to replicate it. It had been days since she'd last laughed, and it the fact that it already felt a little foreign seemed sad.

But her big brother had found her. It might take a long time for Indy to feel anything remotely close to normal again, but thanks to Andennaris, she also wouldn't feel alone.

[sirisuorionblack]

Hey lmao how are you? I was wondering if I could have a Draco x Fem!Reader where someone is having a party on the lake of Hogwarts and the reader usually is really sassy and energetic, but she's really scared of water and doesn't know how to swim?

Best friend

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Summary - Hufflepuffs, the kindest of all four houses, has hosted a lake-side party for all the houses and the beautiful result out of it is understanding of friendship and perhaps love.

Warnings - Speak of trauma, near-drowning experience (like once) and fear of water. Cursing. And lmk if anything else!

A/N Hello!! I am great. Hope you are having a good day/night! I really hope I stuck to the description of the reader cause I am not sassy and energetic so...the reader wasn't much of those. Anyways, have a happy read!

"Did you know?” Your friend, fretted as she sat down at the Slytherin table for breakfast, “the Hufflepuffs are hosting a “party“ near the black lake. It’s going to be like a day where you just “enjoy“ and do things near the lake? Whole Hogwarts is invited,”

“What is up with you and your finger quotes?” You chuckled, taking a sip of your pumpkin juice.

She rolled her eyes, “Just- are we going?”

“Do you want to go?” You asked her back.

“I mean,” she shrugged and frowned, “If you are going,”

You giggled shaking your head, “Even a frog is more decisive than you,”

”I am not being indecisive, I just have a tough time weighing the pros and cons,” she said and blushed as you burst out laughing, “Oh, shut it,”

“I can’t,” You said among your giggles.

She rolled her eyes and tugged you by the arm, “We are getting late for class, come on. Stand up, you twat!”

You stumbled to your feet and allowed her arm to link around yours. “Now, tell me - are we going?”

“You said the whole Hogwarts is gonna be there,” you said, looking at her pointedly.

She rolled her eyes and slapped your arm, “You know that was an over-exaggeration,”

”Who all are gonna be there?” You asked, “Answer honestly without exaggeration,”

”Fifth year and above in all houses,” She mumbled, monotonously.

“Alright then, you reckon we can go?” you asked again.

“Oh, I don’t know, you say!”

“Fine, fine. Merlin, calm down,” The two of you reached the Potions classroom and took your seat on the opposite ends of the classroom. You, next to Malfoy and your best friend next to Potter.

Draco moved his textbooks that were scattered across your shared table to his side, giving you some space. He then proceeded to lean against his arm and idly flip the pages of his textbook, completely ignoring your presence.

You took a seat next to him. Looking around the classroom you realised, Professor Slughorn was nowhere to be found, “Where is Slughorn?” you asked him.

He shrugged, “How would I know?”

“Right, my bad,” You said through gritted teeth, turning to face the empty blackboard the thought of the party your friend had mentioned surfaced your thoughts. You masked the scare for water as hatred. The trauma those had given you were a bewildering amount, the near-drowning situation you had been in was not something you would like to experience again. The mere thought of water made you shiver in fright and consequently, you had never learnt swimming.

But you had to think of your best friend, she was a lover of water - lake, sea, beach, all of them - and the black lake was her comfort spot and a party right by it was a gift to her and the all houses thing was something she could condemn as heaven.

Letting out a deep breath, you tore a tiny piece of parchment and roughly scribbled ‘Should we attend the party?’ and hissed for Draco’s attention.

Rolling his eyes, he turned to look at you, “What do you want?”

You gritted your teeth to stop yourself from saying anything, “Can you pass this to the girl sitting next to Potter?”

He looked around to spot Harry and after finding he whipped his head to look at you, “You want me to pass a tiny little note to someone across the class?!”

“Use your brain, Malfoy, just pass it, you know,” you motioned with your hand.

He glared at you with a clenched jaw but did it nonetheless. He whispered in a hushed voice to the next girl and you watched as the note reached your friend, who narrowed her eyes at you and then determinedly scribbled something.

She took out her wand and levitated the note to reach you. Draco, who watched the scene intently with crossed arms, scoffed.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” you mumbled, unfolding the note that read We are going and that’s final!

You grimaced, oh shit.

“What are you gonna wear!?” Your friend yelled as she burst into your dorm, startling you.

“Merlin’s underpants!” you yell, clutching your chest and taking deep breaths.

“That’s a weird one to wear,” she scrunched her nose in disgust, “Now tell me what are you gonna wear?”

Fetching the book you were reading that laid open at the foot of your bed, you said, “Is wearing a hoodie a choice?”

“No,” she said, sternly.

You grinned at her, “I am wearing that. Especially that black hoodie with the skull design,”

“I don’t even know why you like it,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of your bed, pushing your legs.

“Because it suits my aesthetic,” you said, flipping your messy hair dramatically.

She scoffed, “You are like a golden retriever that’s high,”

You blinked twice, “I love how you are trying to tell I am cute without telling I am cute but no,”

She rolled her eyes, “I will get you a dress,”

Two days later, your friend never showed you the dress, always smiling cheekily and shaking her head saying “it’s a surprise”. On the day of the party, she rushed to you, with a bag behind her back. She ushered you to stand in front of the floor-length mirror and asked you to close your eyes.

“I trusted your fashion sense so that dress better not be looking weird,” you said, your eyes still closed as you heard some ruffling behind you.

“Open your eyes,” she gushed. You chuckled when you saw the excitement in her eyes as your turned around.

You gasped, “that is so beautiful,” you breathed taking the dress in your hands. It was of a soft yellow colour dress, reaching till shins with floral print all over the dress. It was casual yet so beautiful.

“I know right!” you squealed, “put it on,”

After an hour or so you found yourself walking to the black lake and you had to chuckle as you found the overly energetic teens littered across the area, cups of juices in their hands, some in their swimsuit, some wearing casual cotton clothes such as yourself. 

Your eyes fell on a certain Slytherin, hanging out with his group. Draco had dark green shorts on, a white tee that hung loosely on his body. He wove his fingers into the platinum blonde hair that fell in strands with a wide grin on his face.

“The love of your life,” she said, smirking.

“Enough of watching your prince charming,” your best friend said, tugging on your arm.

You rolled your eyes, “Yeah, my knight in shining armour,”

“Ever heard of something named sarcasm?”

“You ever heard of something named teasing?”

“Yes, and I do not claim to like it much,”

She rolled her eyes.

By the end of the evening, the students were slowly disappearing, the mass of the students at the time of the raging party was completely dissipated with just a few older students standing next to the lake, or sitting against the bark of trees. You, yourself were leaning against one of the trees, the energy you had at the beginning all gone with the laughter and fear. Almost everyone who attended the party jumped into the lake at least once, playing around, splashing water on each other and swimming but you hadn’t even gone near the lake, rather reserved to the ground and entertaining the students who either refused to go in or those who already did.

“Hey,” You heard someone say. Draco sat down next, “Where is your best friend?”

“Somewhere in that mass,” you motioned collectively to one side.

He chuckled, “Ditched you?”

“Excuse you, Malfoy, but not all the best friends are the same,” you said, smirking at him.

He looked at you, an impressed expression on his face and chuckled, shaking his head, “Maybe,”

“Your not wrong,” he stated simply.

You breathed in relief, “You know for a minute I thought you would get that wrong,”

He ran a hand through his hair. This was totally unlike the Draco Malfoy that was usually seen, he looked different like he enjoyed himself instead of the ever stoic he and you found this side of him endearing. You find all of his sides endearing. A voice said, loudly.

“What?” you asked, confused and slightly scared.

“You know, about that best friends. Not all of them are same, indeed,” he said, looking at you by the corner of his eyes. His breath was taken away the moment his eyes landed on you when you arrived in the beautiful dress you had worn, he simply had no words to express how he felt at that moment, how you looked at that moment stunned by your beauty beyond recognition that he could barely form a coherent thought.

“Perhaps, but at times we have best friends who even we don’t know are,” you said, looking at him.

“Is that so?” he asked, turning to look at you.

You hummed, “Now, think about it,” you looked around the lake and found two students, quite blatantly a couple, “See there, that couple. Now, say the girl doesn’t have a friend,” you looked at him, checking if he is listening and continued once he nodded, “So, he consecutively becomes her best friend and boyfriend, and she might not even recognize it.”

“It could be anyone like that?” he asked.

“Anyone - a professor, your mother, father, sibling. At times even pets,” you said, “Sometimes this little thing is what forms love, and it necessarily isn’t romantic,”

“You do give beautiful philosophy lessons, don’t you?” he said, leaning back against the trunk.

You chuckled, shaking your head, “If I really were to give philosophy lessons, you wouldn’t always find me with a group of people,”

Draco grinned and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence before he asked a question, “You never came near the water. Why?”

“You noticed?” you said, looking shocked.

“I mean, yeah,” he shrugged.

“I don’t really like water,” You said, playing with your fingers. Getting on the hint about your discomfort on the topic he remained silent.

“Can someone who neither you nor they know much about be your best friend?” he asked, after staring at the moon for so long.

“What do “they” do to you?” you asked. Draco’s eyes skittered through the water, “Provide some-some sort of comfort at the same time making me feel…weird. Have the effect on me like their smile would make my day and their laugh, its the most beautiful, makes me feel...s-safe,”

“Draco,” you breathed, and chuckled, disregarding the feeling your stomach, “You are in love,”

He whipped his head to look at you, “Love?”

“Yep,” you said, shortly.

“I am?” he said, letting out a sharp breath.

“Seems to be,” you said, “I think it’s about time. I need to leave to my dorm,” you stood up from your place to leave.

“No, wait,” Draco scrambled to his feet, taking hold of your wrist, “Would you-would you like to spend the next Hogsmeade trip with me?”

You were physically taken aback by his question. Why would he want to spend it with you? “Me?”

“Yeah,” he gulped. You had never seen him get nervous.

“Like on a date?”

“If you don’t mind that is,”

“What about that person?”

“Which person?”

“The one you were talking about, you know the one you like,”

“Why, of course,” You said, chuckling, “But I am choosing the location,”

Draco looked at you shocked for a minute before bursting out laughing. He pulled you closer once his laughter started to subside, holding your face between his hands, “It is you,”

”Oh,” your eyes widened. Not allowing you to think or react he once again asked his question, “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Nuh huh, already got the dream date set up in my mind,”

“That better not have anything to do with water,” you warned.

“We’ll see about it,” Draco said, chuckling as he pulled you closer by your waist.

“Draco!”

[izayoichan]

PROMPTS I’D LIKE TO RECEIVE, PART 2 - Lucas

@dandylion240​ and here is part 2

[ 🐱 ] does your muse have pets? did they have pets as a child? how do they feel about animals? - Lucas adopted a cat after meeting River and the kids. Munchie has become his best friend since then, and a steadfast companion through thick and thin. That someone to come home too after long days in the recording studio, who always has the time to cuddle. He loves animals in general, he hopes to one day learn how to ride horses, a little because he has a silly romantic dream of long horseback rides on the beach from watching way to many movies.

[ ❌ ] is there something your muse struggles with that they might never overcome? what is it? why do they have so much trouble with it? - His anxiety for being loved/liked for someone he isn’t. And in general being touched (with certain exceptions). These things come from his childhood, and they are something he will never fully get over and he will always struggle and have to work on those. 

[ ✨ ] what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices? - Sunlight is his main aesthetic really. Its what River also sees him as. Nature in general is also very much him, woods, where the light just peaks through.

[ 🌱 ] what themes are relevant to your muse? - Acceptance, romance, finding out who you are and Music.

[ 💀 ] has your muse gone through anything traumatic? if so, how has this trauma affected them? - Well they did wake up in a hospital room with a lot of people looking at him, only to be told his parents were dead and that he was a miracle child.. that is fairly traumatic for anyone. Without any other relatives he was sent to an orphanage when he was well enough, where a game of “who can adopt the miracle child” came into his life as well. As already mentioned, this has affected his self confidence, and of course, loosing your family and not knowing why you survived has an effect on anyone.

[ 💛 ] how empathetic is your muse? how compassionate are they? is this something people expect from them, or are people surprised when they find out how compassionate or empathetic they actually are? - I think a lot get surprised because he is a superstar, so you don’t expect him to be as emphatic and compassionate as he is. As those close to him know, he takes time to listen, to understand and to try and help if he can. A lot of his pay is sent directly to the orphanage each month, as a small thank you for taking care of him. For those that think they will meet a cold self centered superstar, they are always shocked. Even when he is not the biggest fan of VIP meetings, he does always do his best

[ 👗 ] what is your muse’s fashion sense like? are they able to dress the way they want to? what would they wear in an ideal world? - He spent most his younger years in hand me down clothing. Orphanage only has a certain amount of cash and clothing, so it was often clothing others had before, and the key part was that it fit. No more no less. When he was hired by his record company, he was told what to wear and how to keep his hair and so on. All to fit the band image. Because of all of this, he hasn’t fully found his own style, but in general its comfortable clothing like hoodies and jeans. (He has a lot of jeans and hoodies.. trust me!

[ 🔮 ] what is your muse’s relationship with religion and spirituality? were they raised in a certain religion? have they stuck with the same set of spiritual beliefs all their life, or have they changed over time? are they settled in their spirituality now? - He never really had one really. The orphanage told them of many religions as did school, but he never felt he found one that fit for him. After finding out he is a dragon, he kinda suspects its because he should be linked to the Vala, but as that link is severed somehow, he has no connection.

[ 🤷‍♀️ ] how does your muse approach strangers? how does this compare to how they interact with close friends or lovers? - Preferably not? He is not a fan of strangers in general, so if he has too it is very cautiously and carefully and he would be extremely tense. He always keeps an eye out for those that really wants his fame more than they want him. With close friends and lovers he is much more open, smiling, and just being relaxed. Some select few also get hugs.

[ 🎵 ] is there a specific song or songs you associate with your muse? why is that? - Lucas’s theme in a way.. would be this: �� a song that I associate a lot with him is this one: 🎶

There goes my heart beating 'Cause you are the reason I'm losing my sleep Please come back now

And there goes my mind racing And you are the reason That I'm still breathing I'm hopeless now

I'd climb every mountain And swim every ocean Just to be with you And fix what I've broken Oh, 'cause I need you to see That you are the reason

Part 3 will be up in a bit!

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

TEN OUTTA TEN 1010

Welp, its happened. I’m into No Straight Roads, and the boys with the K-Bop in their step has got me hooked.

So I’m gonna celebrate (for the moment) with lots of gathered info I’ve found, seen, or heard speculated, regarding the Top Boy Band of Vinyl City... 1010. [Possible OCs to come later]

Some of this stuff might be common knowledge, some is already on the wiki, but hey, no shame in having a consolidated list.

But for now...

The Names of 1010 were deciphered by out of universe fans. They are Rin (White), Haym (Yellow), Eloni (Green), Purlhew (Blue) and Zimelu (Red).

An old placeholder model for 1010 had Black Hair and different tron lines.

1010 in binary is... literally just 10.

Eloni does not get fan letters; He’s the “Funny Band member”, and Funny Band Members don’t get fan letters.

1010 wears Sailor uniforms (The US Navy would call them Dress Blues, so think... Popeye. But no hat.) In fact, their flying limo is a god damn Tron-lined Battleship. Even the Cannons dance to the music.

They’re a parody on K-Bop bands or Boy Bands to the West. And while they’re listed as Funky, they’re technically Synthpop. (Haha, Synth)

In the background of their fight, when the Battleship Limo stops for pictures, you can see that there is a set of pictures of 1010. Rin the White has a Fuschia or Purple Background, while all the others have a background matching their aesthetic colors.

1010 have common powers... ... Firing Lasors. ... Levitation (Or small time Flight; as they rush to the side to meet the Cameras) ... “Taking to the Sky”, or just really powerful jumping. ... Being powered by Cheers. ... There’s a reason I left Shield off in a moment.

1010 are both outrageously tall (Mayday only comes to their waist when they stand up properly), and outrageously heavy (did you hear them walk backward in their intro cutscene? How heavy are these guys!?)

It could whatever kind of AI they have, but they are waaaay insynch, almost preemptively. Perhaps 1010 are directly linked to each other?

In most of their appearances outside of battle, they all have the same colored eyes as their aesthetic colors. But in Battle, they all have White eyes. Mind that in their Show Stopper picture, they’re back to having their aesthetic eyes again. Take that as you will.

1010 has associated attacks, when you’re in the Phase facing the Factory and Neon J. ... Yellow has Missiles or Splash Damage explosions. No literally, the yellow droid is the missle. ... Green has Bombs. HIS HAIR IS A BOMB. ... Red has Saws. He-He literally uses Red Droid as the Saw. ... Blue has some sort of Staffs or Whirlwind strike. They are staffs made of Purl-Hew. ... Because of his Picture’s Purple Background, White’s likely isn’t an attack but is, in fact, the Shields that occured early in the battle. Which is probably why they’re never deployed, because how the hell can you make a shield out of Rin Bots.

It was pointed out in one of the many Youtube Comment Sections that 1010′s hairstyles match their respective attacks in some form or fashion. ... Zimelu’s Mohawk indicates his associated Saws. ... Haym’s hair looks like a missile. ... Eloni’s hair looks line a Grenade Pin. ... Purlhew’s flat top hair could indicate the fact that he’s literally used as a Staff End. So basically he’s Blue. That’s his attack. [Hah] ... Rin’s the sexy one. Look, for a Band of Robots with fancy hairdos and attacks, he’s not considered remarkable.

As they are a parody of Boy Bands across the World, they may follow the boy band “archtypes” ... Rin is the Leader, and the Heartthrob (He doesn’t have a weird hairstyle, and he does the most flirting / talking; as well as the most promoted) ... Eloni, as already established, is the Funny Guy, or the Comedian. ... Purl-Hew is the Cool Guy, (consider his Sunglasses) ... Zimelu is the Bad Boy (Mohawk, his ANGRY EYES AARGH) ... Haym’s is apparently considered a Pompadour. Maybe he is also a Bad Boy? Consider his name, he may be the Smart Guy. ... There is no known “Shy Guy” or “Cute Guy (Technically, the Second Heartthrob, but isn’t a threat to first Heartthrob’s position). So, go forth and create.

Fun Consideration on my part. Since Names can have meaning in No Straight Roads and meaning in personal names... ... Rin is a japanese name, and boy can it mean a lot of stuff depending on the Kanji (Some of the meanings are “Dignified” “Compassion” “Cold”). He’s probably coolly impassionate off stage. ... Purl-Hew is apparently a pun on Pearl Hue (cos I guess blue Pearls). Perhaps he likes puns. ... Zimelu is an ooold fortress in Lativa apparently. Perhaps he has a warish personality. Or I guess knows very Niche military history. (Perhaps, in-universe, it was the name of a base Neon J served at?) ... Haym is the name shared by a few people, but in the themes of music, its probably Nicola Francesco Haym (Italian Poet, Opera Librettist, Composer, Manager, Editor and Numismatist (That’s uh, a guy who studies Currency)). Perhaps our Haym is quite the Nerd. ... the name Eloni means Lofty. Which can me “Of Imposing Height” (They all are), “Noble or Exalted Nature” (Possibly?) “Proud, Aloof or Self-Important” (They all are that too, yes), or in regard to Lofty Wool “Thick and Resilient” (I mean, if you look at those thighs-- Ahem). So basically Eloni’s name defines all the group... Wow, poor fella. No wonder he’s the Comedian, he’d have to pull anything to get noticed (when its not about his hair) [THE DUDE DABS]

If Battledroids all have background memories to be more efficient in combat... Does 1010 have backup memories from Neon J?

Metro Division shows other kinds of Robots, and the progression of 1010′s Mark Models (1 looks like your typical Sailor, 2 looks a bit like our 1010 but more droid, jointed and blocky, and our 1010 is currently mark 3... There are 4 known Types of Droid, so a 4th Mark may be on the way)

Neon J, Manager and Creator, is a Vetren of Vinyl City’s Navy (It only has a Navy); and his District is literally a Theme Park mashed with a Ship Yard.

Neon is the 10th element of the Periodic Table, and J is the 10th letter. Dude loves his 10s.

Considering how he replaces the bots in battle, or even outright uses them as weapons... Perhaps his “Troops” are not the Bot bodies, but the AI possibly hosted inside? 1010 has more personality out of battle after all, and Neon is seen fervently protecting 1010 when their eyes share their hair color. (As their eyes are only white in battle...) Hm, mayhaps the HC is, that when their Eyes have color, the AI is truely present.

Neon is a Cyborg, note that his body appears to be the same kind of droid as 1010′s, with a Radar head. His brain is apparently in his radar, and as we saw post-battle, that head was smashed to hell. Perhaps the reason he was reminiscing so much and though that BBJ was really after him, was because of some serious onset head or brain trauma.

Apparently, Vinyl City has or has had Border Wars. This could be a reference to the Korean DMZ Conflicts (As 1010 does distinctly include Korean K-Pop, and South Korean men do have to serve 2 years in the military forces by law), but there have been hundreds of different Border Wars throughout the world. [ I wonder what war Vinyl City was in. Perhaps against the Artist Capital of the World, Canvas City ] [ Oh take me down to the Canvas City, where the grass is green and the pics are pretty--]

Neon’s passion is Dancing.

Neon J and DJ Subatomic Supernova do seem to be in a lot of pictures together. No wonder everybody ships them.

Neon J used to make toys, as seen by the collectibles you can get. Done by hand too. Though if each toy found is a stage in his life... I wonder who the doll with the violin is.

Think maybe Neon J has direct control over 1010? I mean they share the same voice, they have a passion for poses and dancing, he does directly command them...

Are Cyborg parts cheap? Or was Neon J someone important enough in the Vinyl City Navy to actually become a cyborg? Military doesn’t do expensive prosthetic surgeries for random grunts without reason.

Okay, regarding what the Azkar faction is. Its probably suppose to be Askar. Azkar is a type of Islamic Prayer. Askar is actually Arabic for Army. So it’d be The “Army Faction” (which makes more sense for a nation city-state that only has a Navy)

The place he called “Kewan” is not a real world place. Its either Persian for “Saturn” (What, is he... Is he a SAILOR SCOUT!?) or Kurdish for Mountains (He does mention mountains).

Possibly more as information arises.

[everything-laito]

Hypersexuality and Laito Sakamaki (UPDATED)

Hiya guys! Been a long ass time since I’ve made a post like this, I’ve been getting so much ask box activity + had school so I haven’t had the time to make an original post! This has been something I wanted to write for a while, and not only was I busy with school, but this one hits home hard to me personally, so I was going back and forth for a bit writing it. But I think I’m ready :)

I know there’s kind of a general consensus that anything DL related comes along with a trigger warning whether stated or not, but just a TW considering I’ll be talking about some real life experiences; not in depth or detail of course, but just mentions of it :) Not only is this a Laito analysis but it’s also an educational tool to help other people know about this!

So, without further ado, rant under the cut! 

Hypersexuality is something that many sexual assault/harassment and rape survivors experience after the abuse. People associate asexuality or sexual repulsion as the only (or common) psychological affect after experiencing those situations. However, there is another affect that can happen, and it is more common than people think, and aforementioned, it’s hypersexuality. It’s basically having more sexual feeling and urges after the experience, in order to cope with the nonconsensual one. And it’s exactly what Laito experienced after Cordelia’s abuse.

I’ve also experienced something like this. I don’t believe I’ve experienced it in full swing, but definitely something like it. I haven’t been raped thankfully, but I have been sexually harassed/assaulted before a handful of times. I know I’ve briefly mentioned that in other analyses, but I’m just explicitly stating it here.

I first learned about hypersexuality this year actually, and my Laito nerd brain was like “holy shit that’s the name of what Laito is going through.” Then I was like “oh fuck I’ve gone through that a little bit too.” I thought going along with  would help me “heal” myself, and it really was doing the opposite. (UPDATE: realized that what I thought was a lot of sexual trauma/hypersexuality was mostly compulsory heterosexuality (but still with those dabbled in too—quite a terrible combo) because last month I realized I’m not attracted to men! Although those experiences I mentioned did mess me up a bit, realizing this is a huge step in the right direction for my own mental well being. Just had to make this correction on my part, since the original post had more emotional investment than I would have liked it to :)) 

Like I have said in my little update, I realized I was going through mostly compulsory heterosexuality while also going through some minor sexual trauma/hypersexuality. Although again, I have not had it as bad as Laito has or other sexual assault survivors (which I am grateful for that), I still have a personal grasp of coping mechanisms with traumatic experiences or experiences I did not particularly enjoy. (If you are interested in learning more about compulsory heterosexuality, feel free to send me an ask! I just don’t feel that it’s appropriate to talk about it in regards to Laito or make a post about it, since it doesn’t relate to him)

And that’s probably also why I can resonate with Laito so much, at least on that scale, and even if I experienced a grain of what he’s going through. I know he’s fictional but these are definitely real experiences and real feelings. 

Laito’s case is a bit different than just feeling overtly sexual. Although he’s trying to heal himself through sex and other intimate actions, he’s also doing it as a type of revenge. He doesn’t like purity, and in fact, he’s quite jealous of it. I’ve heard this is also a pretty human way of coping with this type of abuse, and it is why I love Yui as a character. She’s incredibly strong and sets an example for Laito. This makes Laito jealous yet entertained by her, and that’s also a reason why he probably keeps her around. He also attempts to use Yui as a vessel to avenge his own feelings (even not knowing about Cordelia being in her at first). I  personally wasn’t like that, but given the circumstances, there’s definitely people who are. Laito’s character can be so human to me sometimes, its astonishing, despite him being a character, a vampire, and just generally does some wacky or terrible shit. 

You could say his hypersexuality could also be similar to typical Pavlovian Conditioning. You’ve probably heard of the whole experiment of training (conditioning) a dog to expect food when they hear a certain sound and thus, his mouth waters. We’re conditioned by a lot of things in our lives, from triggering a “flight or fight” response from this specific ringtone or high school bell. It’s just a built in “routine” our minds utilize to process pattern recognition. I know I say this a lot, but we don’t know how vampire brains in the DL universe compare to human brains (and quite frank, I don’t think we will), so I will just do my typical human brain picking. 

In Laito’s case, he was conditioned to “love” Cordelia in a fashion that was incredibly gross. No, I won’t sugar coat it. In my Cordelia/Laito analysis, I talk about how Laito was probably groomed. Grooming is another type of conditioning. Although I don’t believe his grooming was sexual, it definitely “prepares” the victim to be exploited in that fashion later on. It’s to build a false sense of trust to be betrayed. Later on, when Cordelia started having sex with Laito, he became used to it in a “conditioned” fashion. When someone said that Cordelia was calling him, he knew what it was. He also thought it’s what he wanted, even though he knew that he didn’t. I believe I have referenced his MB Dark Prologue monologue before, but not this part of it. Here’s the monologue: 

――Who is it that I give my love to? Throwing myself away, I caught the sight of someone Someone I didn’t recognize, Suddenly, I realized I was looking into a mirror. The mirror reflected myself within it. I couldn’t see anything else. I am disgraceful for this greed. I was wearing a visage. What I wanted, certainly was love. It’s not that easy. Because of these words, I suffer. No matter how many times love is said, The only thing that will be important to me, Is only the physical contact and body.

I know I've said it in the Laito/Cordelia analysis, but Laito is visibly confused in his flashbacks. He’s trying to grasp what love is, but then convinces himself that love is physical contact, and not emotional connection, especially near the end. He knows he’s suffering but he is still conditioned to think like this. Same case for people who suffer from hypersexuality. 

Although many people do not know why it occurs, it can be a symptom or “side effect” from disorders, medication, and the like. In the sexual trauma case, I believe a main reason is that the person utilizes sex to cope with trauma, or because they are used to sexual acts being forced upon them. That’s where conditioning still comes in. He’s treated as one of her suitors, lovers, or the like. Even as a stand-in for Richter and Karlheinz. He doesn’t consider Cordelia to be his mom until the DF Vampire ending. On top of him not receiving emotional gratification which leads to all sorts of just awful stuff for him, sexual attention is the only type that he receives until Yui comes along. He is used to not having emotional support or connections, which is why physical contact is what he is more “comfortable” with, while at the end of the day it still does not satisfy him.  

It creates a positive feedback loop of him being unsatisfied, while being confused about where he’s unsatisfied in, leading to him trying to “fix” himself or avoid his own personal, emotional problems through lust and sex, but then still finding himself not “healing.” Then the cycle continues, enthusing his hyper sexual behavior even more.

I was sent some great articles from @souchiika on the DL discord (thank you so much!) and one of the articles stood out to me, since I did not talk about this type of topic on this blog yet. Here’s the link to the article, and here’s the quote that stood out to me!

Furthermore, indirect effects were also statistically significant, providing support to the hypothesis that depression and guilt would be serial mediators of trauma-hypersexual behavior relations. The paths through depression and guilt have been found to be the most significant with moderate and high indirect effects on hypersexuality. Moreover, male gender, as covariate variable, is a relevant risk factor for hypersexual behavior.

Hypersexuality is something that is still being researched like I mentioned earlier, but since these findings came out, it definitely makes sense in Laito’s case (and in general). Like I said, Laito does feel unsatisfied and even shameful of his actions, which is more apparent in the beginning of his and Cordelia’s “relationship.” In those flashbacks, he asks himself if this is what he really wants, and although he attempts to force himself to like these actions as a coping mechanism, there is still a relative degree of shame and guilt he has. It is also apparent nearing his DF Ecstacy ending when he finds out that Karlheinz foresaw Cordelia having sex with him, and even wanted it to happen. All that shame and guilt came bellowing out while he was in a fit of distress. In initial attempts to mediate this guilt and shame, he projected his feelings onto other women through sexual acts, leading to more of this hypersexual loop. I know I talk about Laito projecting a lot, but it is frequent in his character. Like I’ve always said, it’s typical “bully” power dynamic manipulation. If Laito can bring a victim of his down to his level, then he feels better about himself (but it satisfies him for only a short while, until Yui in MB+). 

Also, note that this is no excuse or justification for him to rape or sexually assault others. It is merely an explanation as to why he does it (as for my posts in general, it’s not a justification, it’s an explanation). 

Another reminder that rape and sexual assault isn’t about the sexual urges, but about power. That’s why anybody with any background can do it, given the circumstances. 

This post was a bit hard for me to write, so I apologize if I got too overtly personal for your liking. Like I’ve said in the past, I’m not writing this to gain sympathy too, and sure that sounds superficial of me to say now (although I truly mean it), I just want to use my platform as an educational tool. Sorry about the change in my typical tone :) 

Sorry if this was too much of a doozy, I really wanted to talk about it and to educate people, despite it being a bit personal. I just felt like the most effective way was to convey how real this topic is, despite this fandom knowing about it in a fictional setting. 

I hope you have a great day! -Corn

[bonsai62]

Part 1: The Compatibility between Pisces and Capricorn

Hello everyone! Today, since I am hella bored and have nothing to do this fine evening, I am going to talk about the relationship between our two boys; Yuji and Megumi and how much they represent their signs so much.

Before I get started, I am not going to talk about their sex life even though it’s kinda important if you are into astrology, however, for this case I won’t because both of them are minors. But if you want to read more about their comparability then be my guess and look at the underline links. I will provide links in the discussion so you can have a better understanding on how the signs are and use manga pages for you to visually see it.

Also, excuse my English. I am very bad at it! Even though it’s my first language I still have lots of errors in my writing!

Also beware of manga spoilers too!!

Let’s get started on this very long essay!

Traits of a Pisces: Itadori Yuji

Positive: Compassionate (top), empathetic (middle), & creative (bottom)

We also have: Warm/gentle, caring, intellectual, animal lover, and romantic

Here we have the positive side of a Pisces and let me tell you it screams Yuji so damn much. Yuji is such a compassionate guy. I don’t think I have never seen a character who is very compassionate like Yuji (I have but we are talking about Yuji here lol). He can empathize with a whole lot of people and no matter what the situation is he understands. Yuji doesn’t need to have the same experience as someone because he can feel and get in their head to make him understand what their going through. Which brings me to that he has a really high empathy level when it comes to people (I can relate a lot because I have the same thing). However, having a lot of empathy isn’t all that’s cracked up to be but I’ll talk about it soon.

A Pisces is also very creative and they love hobbies. One of Yuji’s favorite hobbies is, I have a feeling is sports but that just based on what his old school thought of him + the baseball game. Plus cooking! Cooking is an amazing hobby and it lets you get creative with your hands and skills! I like to imagine that he is the best cook throughout the school and loves to share with his classmates and have them rate his cooking lol! Cooking is also a relief of stress so I can also imagine him having a bad day and just ends up being in the kitchen.

Now....

Negative: Overly emotional (top), impressionable (bottom), closed off (middle)

I messed up the order lol

We also have: melancholy, lazy, stubborn, moodiness, etc

Yuji is a very emotional person. We have seen him at his best and at his worse. He is such an emotional person that he felt bad for killing Choso’s brothers. His emotions gets the best of him when Junpei died, Megumi was hurt, seeing what Sukuna has done in Shibuya, and Nanamin/Nobara getting destroyed by Mahito. It’s an unhealthy feeling because we’ve seen Yuji get distracted with his injured friends and him kinda fucking up on his fighting. Another unhealthy trait that Yuji had is not talking about himself. We’ve seen him not talk about his feelings and I mean personal deep feelings that’s always going to be in the back of his head. Like when Megumi knows that something happened to Yuji but Yuji simple doesn’t want to talk about and closes it. He doesn’t really like talking about himself and rather hear other people/helping other people rather than face his own demons. If he’s facing his own demons, he rather be doing it on his own.

I also want to point out that many people think that he gets over people’s death hella easily. No... that is not true whatsoever. The boy has been through so much trauma that eventually you just get so tired of crying about it and you don’t have the energy anymore, you eventually start telling yourself “it is what it is” or “what can I do now?”. Noabra is a perfect example. He didn’t need to cry because he had the biggest mental breakdown when it happened. So when he asked Megumi about her status... he just had to say “alright”.

In my theories... she is definitely alive. Again, Gege is playing half of you guys. She is gonna pop out in the next couple of chapters or even the one coming up next.

Another things that I find interesting in Yuji which according to the links I put, Pisces tend to trust people easily:

Ease of being cheated: A desire to see the best things in other people makes the Two Fish very impressionable individuals. They trust others without any suspicions and often suffer from their frivolity. Any pressure of stronger people is accepted as a command for them and they easily agree with them without any doubts.

For instant, Todo and Choso. Those two mf were about to kill him but they didn’t because of what Yuji’s mind fuck did (I know Gege sensei said that isn’t a theory but still it’s mind fuck lol) He instantly call Todo his best friend like I can hear Nobara (Big sis) twitching somewhere lol. Whenever I think of Yuji and Todo’s relationship, I think of Vinny and Paula D from Jersey Shore haha!

Any who, while trusting people isn’t a bad thing, you still don’t know what their intentions are and everything. It’s a very naive thing to do.

But I felt for Yuji and Choso... Yuji didn’t have much of a choice...

I would like to know what changed Yuji’s mind into staying with Choso. I’m curious how Yuji “trusted” being with Choso after everything that went down. Yuji is a very forgiving character too (minus Mahito). But now, I think we can see that Choso has no bad intentions towards Yuji because he “might” be his brother. And their so cute too!!

On to our other boy!

Traits of a Capricorn: Megumi Fushiguro

Positive: Resourcefulness (top), discipline/patient (middle: also thank @pantherbeamish for the photos!), and reliability (bottom)

We also have: Responsibility, loyalty, diligence, team player, etc

Megumi is a very interesting character. Whenever I see him I get more interested in him. He is exactly what you would describe a Capricorn. We have seen Megumi be resourceful when it comes understanding how curse energy works thanks to him. He is very detailed when it comes to explaining and also a very patient man when Yuji, who doesn’t know jack shit about the Jujutsu world. Never, not once, does Megumi call Yuji an idiot for not knowing all these things. That’s what makes him amazing because if it were other Shonen mangas, the “rival” would’ve called Yuji an idiot. The only time Megumi ever calls Yuji an idiot is when Yuji literally does or says something stupid. To me, that is normal and not being a dick about it because we all know that if we had a friend like Yuji we would’ve stared at him like “why are you like this...”

It’s me... I’m a lot like Yuji lol

But no, he is very patient and tries to explain everything to Yuji as best as he can. I have this thing where almost everyone relies on Megumi a lot because he’s a serious guy + very responsible with his tasks. We see Maki trusting Megumi too. Like the time when Megumi was hyping Yuji up saying he can beat everyone in the Kyoto school if they didn’t use curse energy (something like that lol). Yuji also can confirm himself that Megumi is very reliable. He mentioned it while back at the prison because both sibling duo thought they were lost.

Negative: Sensitivity (top), seriousness (middle), reservation (bottom)

We also have: Unforgiving, criticism, suspicion, pickiness, etc

Just like Yuji, we have seen Megumi’s negative side a lot but it’s simply because he’s sensitive and thinks logically. Sometimes, I also feel like he thinks through his heart as well but that’s just me. That is where the sensitivity comes along. Megumi is hella sensitive he doesn’t need to show it because you can feel it.

In the article:

Sensitivity: It is better not to offend Capricorns who are very sensitive people. They can’t stand being laughed at and remain serious in public but feel badly deeply in their souls. Even a minor joke can result in resentment from their side!

In many, many occasions we have seen everyone fucking around or getting on Megumi’s nerves, especially in our recent Jujustroll where Gojo is saying a bunch of nonsense and embarrassing tf out of Megumi. His seriousness gets in the way and that’s what makes him sensitive.

On the side note: I also wanted to add something. As I was reading a few articles, some mentioned that Capricorns are... bland. Please, Capricorns!! No me ataques! I just find it interesting that someone, like Todo, who thinks Megumi is boring. Todo honestly thought he was boring since he first asked him what was his type and while Megumi gave us the best answer, Todo expected something more fun. But no, it was boring. Also, Megumi lives a simple life. Now, I’m not saying that Megumi is boring because as a matter of fact I like how simple he is. He likes to keep things neutral. Personally, on his activities he is considered “bland” and honestly, I can see why but I would still go out my way to enjoy it with him if I was his significant other lol I also feel like he has a good sense of style in fashion. I’m saying that judging from the official arts + “Lost In Paradise” because in that ED Megumi be looking like a bowl of fruits. A bowl of snacks lmao!

But, anyways! Megumi is also reserved to himself. He does not like talking about himself at all (hon hon does that sound like someone?). He doesn’t open up to a lot of people but I kinda feel like he does with Gojo but that’s just because Gojo raised him and he just knows when Megumi is feeling a certain way. Also, I bet Gojo just knows when Megumi is having a bad day too. We witnessed him just being in his own bubble in the current arc that is happened in the anime. Yuji and Nobara calls him out about him being so reserved to himself. He does eventually tells them what is going on, but it takes a lot for a Capricorn to open up and it’s totally understandable. I feel as if you want a Capricorn to open up, you have to let them give you time for them to get to know you. Give them your intentions and put in the effort to make them trust you.

Now in to the fun part!!

1. Trust:

Positive:

Articles 1: They will often understand each other well enough to respect their relationship and keep it clear of dishonesty

I’m a use this imagine again btw because this speaks their relationship clearly

I think what I truly love about their relationship and love the idea of them being an endgame is the trust that they have for one another(even though someone is gonna die). They barely knew each other for 2 months and their chemistry is off the mf charts.

The picture above isn’t just them having an eye opening moment but the fact that they trust each other to save one another.

Megumi had saved Yuji so many time

Yuji had also saved Megumi so many times

Tbh, when I was thinking about Megumi coming in to save Yuji from Yuuta and Naoya, I thought it would be the same as when Yuji saved Megumi and Maki from Hanami, but we got something better. We got to see Megumi never doubting Yuji and always making sure that he gives him as many chances as he gives. I hope that sparks a realization for Yuji because sometimes I always felt that he doesn’t really acknowledges Megumi doing a whole lotta things for Yuji. I’m still complaining about it because if he can say “thank you, best friend” to Todo or “thank you, Kugisaki, for letting me know that I am not alone” to Nobara, then he should definitely see how much Megumi gives a fuck about him.

I expect a “thank for being by my side and never doubting me” for Megumi.

Articles 2: Pisces, who prefers to hand off important decision-making to dominant Capricorn, feeds into the goat’s need to be in control. On the flip side, Capricorn trusts Pisces to attend to its emotional needs—something that can be very difficult to allow at first.

This is interesting because a lot of the time Megumi is always making the plans and the choices. I feel like Yuji tends to rely on Megumi a lot because Yuji respects the way Megumi thinks (I’m not saying he doesn’t do that with anyone either).

Another thing is that:

“Capricorn trust Pisces to attend to its emotional needs-something that can be very difficult to allow at first”

I want to use Yuji asking Yuuta to kill him if Sukuna comes out especially for Megumi’s sake as an example of “emotional needs” because we see that Yuji does not want to be anywhere near Megumi because of Sukuna. In Yuji’s emotional state, he would rather have Yuuta kill him than Megumi. A lot of people also have this head canon that the reason why he asked Yuuta to kill him instead of Megumi is because Megumi already has a lot on his plate or something. I forgot the theory lol

But... I have a feeling that Megumi is gonna end up killing Yuji at the end because it should be him...

But yes,

Let’s see where things end with the current event that is happening now.

But unfortunately, I have to stop right here because Tumblr only allows 10 images in one post. Tragic!

I do hope you guys enjoy and please comment if I’m missing anything with them! Let’s hope I won’t take long with part 2 because I’m hella busy at times! Overall, tell me what you guys think!

[spyder-m]

Zerith Week, Day 1: "Sanctuary"

My contribution for @zerith-week, Day 1: Church.

Summary: On her way back from down to the Sector 5 Slums, Aerith happens by two injured Soldiers passed out at the station. With seemingly no one interested in helping them, she took it upon herself to step in. Zack lives AU.

Chapter I: "Angels With Dirty Faces"

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.

“Phew, finally. We made it!”

“Urgh.”

Cloud garbled unintelligibly in response, his head lulling slack against Zack’s shoulder, before his body stilled once more. The shift was minimal, but enough to assure Zack that Cloud was still with him.

“Come on, Cloud,” Zack joked, readjusting his grip. “You could stand to be a little more enthusiastic.

Though the light-hearted quip went unanswered, it brought as much comfort to Zack as he hoped it did his friend.

It was a remnant of their old lives, the same banter they had shared back in Midgar. After seemingly everything they trusted in had been ripped away, he liked having that familiar certainty. Even now as those moments seemed at a completely distant, unreachable place in time, Zack would do all that he could to keep even a piece of them intact.

While Cloud didn't seem entirely cognisant, his company had been integral to Zack, imbuing him with the invaluable mental and emotional strength to carry through.

Internally, he was a wreck. He had no idea what was wrong with Cloud, who’d been unresponsive for months; their entire trip to Midgar. Frankly, it scared him.

Yet, he couldn’t let that fear show in his expression. He didn’t want Cloud, likely already scared himself, to worry. If Zack seemed uneasy, it may only serve to further rupture Cloud’s will, his psyche, at a point where it needed to be at its strongest.

Zack had wondered briefly what state Shinra HQ would be in now; with most of their top-ranked Soldiers either deceased or missing. He didn’t care to find out, firsthand though. Not when it would be far safer, he felt, to stick to Midgar’s Slums, knowing Shinra’s presence wasn’t as prominent underneath the plate.

Much of the slums were plagued by sickness and destitution. Monsters lingered on the outskirts of sectors and the roads and tunnels linking them, with many citizens open-carrying weapons to defend themselves. For that reason, Zack had been confident that the presence of two injured Soldiers wouldn’t appear too out of place or draw unwanted attention.

Still, he couldn’t be careless. The trains were overflowing with passengers; slum-dwellers who worked above the plate returning home. Knowing the likelihood of Shinra employees being among them, Zack had opted to sneak aboard one of the train’s rear compartments, intended for carrying cargo rather than passengers.

They still weren’t alone, but the train ride into Sector 5 passed without incident. Anyone unnerved by their presence simply chose to move to a different carriage.

Unfortunately, though, as he stepped out onto the station platform, Zack was beginning to sense a different, perhaps even more sinister, threat looming over him. His vision was beginning to fade, darkness seeping steadily into his periphery. The exhaustion and pain from the, fortunately, non-fatal wounds he had succumbed to was starting to weigh heavily upon him.

It was as though the urge to reach Midgar had been all that had fuelled him before, that determination helping him to channel strength beyond even his own supernatural limits. Yet now that he had succeeded, his body felt it could give out.

Zack grit his teeth, harnessing what little strength he had left within him to stay conscious. He had already crossed entire continents and stowed away on ships, all the while fending off platoons of men tracking them. Surely, he could make these last few miles into the Slums.

As Zack’s head lifted groggily, he scanned the near distance, squinting to make out the scrap yard stretching in front of him. His stomach sank.

Even if the monsters lurking there weren't the strongest, it would still be dangerous. They usually travelled in packs and, in his current state, Zack wasn’t sure he’d be able to effectively divide his attention between multiple enemies, as well as keep an eye on Cloud.

He had a bad feeling that they would end up as Gorger food.

Zack couldn't fall to such feeble prey, not after everything he'd pulled through.

So, spotting the nearby bench and vending machines, Zack cut a deal with himself.

Against his better judgement, he decided to take a brief rest. Just enough that he could regain his strength and fight safely through the scrapyards, but nothing more.

At least, that had been his hope.

.

Aerith sighed as she stepped off the train, lowering her still full basket of flowers.

Yet another day had passed and she hadn't been able to sell anything topside.

Despite being able to afford the luxury, the people above the plate showed little interest; rarely even acknowledging her presence.

She couldn't understand. Everyone in the Slums seemed to value the plant life much more, enjoying the way it brightened the drab mesh of concrete and steel shanties, giving it a more homely feel.

Still, as futile as her efforts seemed, Aerith would always make the trip; treasuring what few gil she could pull in to help out her mother.

As her eyes lifted, Aerith caught the last rays of what little daylight broke through the gaps in the steel sky. Conscious it wouldn’t be long before twilight began to set in, Aerith's gait picked up.

She had been volunteering at a soup kitchen being run by the Sector’s Church recently and didn't want to be late.

It only seemed fair to assist the priest who let her grow and sell flowers there. Besides, she found the work very fulfilling.

Whether she was brightening people's spirits by spreading her flowers throughout the Slums or providing warm meals and shelter to those who were struggling to find their own. It helped harbour an atmosphere far friendlier than compared to the one above the plate, creating a sense of community, of people who, despite struggling, were always willing to help one another out.

As Aerith crossed the station, her focus was broken by a vibrant shock of yellow entering her periphery, tugging her in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, any thought of needing to rush towards the Church was abandoned as she was drawn to the sight of two young men; not much older than her; slumped against the bench, their eyes closed.

At a cursory glance, it might not have seemed out of the ordinary; as though they were simply resting. Yet, from the state of their clothes and the dirt marring their skin, Aerith could tell they must have fallen on hard times.

Still, despite being in clear view, many commuters passed them by without so much as a second thought.

Aerith exhaled calmly, allowing those passersby the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew, they too were struggling and didn’t have much to their name that could help. Still, the matter was sensitive to her. Her own birth mother had passed away in a similar fashion, Elmyra being the only one to approach and try to help.

Kneeling down, Aerith glanced over the two more closely, in particular, noticing their clothes. Her eyes widened as she placed the dark, sleeveless sweaters and trousers, shoulder pauldrons, standard dress for members of Soldier.

It wasn’t uncommon for men and women leaving the military to end up like this, out on the streets. After the war ended, Shinra had suddenly found itself no longer needing so many large platoons of men, and there were only so many troops needed to patrol the streets. Because of this, many ended up being discharged and struggled to find work; the skills they’d honed under Shinra not translating well to other professions.

Though, what puzzled Aerith was that these two were not mere low-level guards. They bore the Uniform of ranked Soldiers, the company’s elite warriors. Which made her wonder how and why they could have ended up in this position? Surely, the company wouldn't want to let them go? Especially when she’d been hearing rumours that some of their most-decorated, highest ranked members had been declared MIA. Even if they did, wouldn't their skills be highly sought after? They shouldn't have had a problem finding work.

Still, regardless of the details, Aerith knew better than to judge. She didn't know their situation and didn't need to. For now, all that mattered was that they needed help.

She looked over the brunette nearest to her, a gasp breaking from her lips. She could make out patches of blood soaking through the dark material of his turtleneck, dried flecks crusting over his bare arms. Her hands hovered over him, calling on the power of healing magic. Yet the energy that surrounded him seemed to have little effect, as though there were no wounds that needed tending to.

Studying him, curious, Aerith found she couldn't see any obvious cuts or bruises. She could even hear him breathing softly, a sound that seemed to carry over the cacophony of the station, instilling the hope that perhaps he might be alright.

The blond at his side, however, seemed to be in a bad way. From the short distance she’d clocked them at, she hadn’t realised that his eyes were actually open. Though, they were glazed and unfocused.  Even if she were to meet his gaze, Aerith could tell she wouldn’t be able to get through to him.

The wounds he bore must have cut deeper, perhaps a trauma he still carried after being exposed to the atrocity and horror of war.

It was fortunate for her that one of the doctors in Sector 5 owed her a favour. She had been supplying him with rare herbs for his medicines and might be willing to treat these two. Though, getting them to the clinic wouldn’t be so simple.

Aerith supposed she could always find the doctor herself and bring him here, but she worried what may happen if she left them alone.

She might be able to help the blond, who was closer to her height and had a leaner build, but there was no way she could manage both. Especially not the dark-haired one, who, though malnourished, seemed much taller and bulkier.

Even if she could, she would still have to navigate through the backstreets and scrapyards where monsters lurked. Though she was certainly capable with a staff and her Cetra bloodline leant itself to a natural aptitude for magic, she would be hindered if she had to support someone.

It was obvious that she was going to need help.

As her eyes flickered across the crowd, hoping to find someone she knew, the brunette stirred, an exhale breaking from his lips. Aerith was pulled toward the sound, immediately catching the flutter of his eyelids.

He was regaining consciousness.

The sight gave her a flash of hope, as she wondered if he might have the strength to stand on his own. That could certainly make the trip the rest of the way into Sector 5 easier.

Tentatively, her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, a feather-light caress.

“A- Are you alright?”

His body sprung swiftly into motion at the contact, lashing out with the instinct of a wounded animal. Aerith lurched back, feeling her heart flutter unsteadily with the sudden movement. That pattern carried on as she took in the strong contours of his face and the few, errant strands of hair that hung over it. Her breath hitched in her throat as she was taken by the pure, shining blue of his eyes.

As the haze clouding Zack’s senses began to dissipate, he was overwhelmed by light shimmering through soft, chestnut hair, framing a brilliant emerald. He squinted, unsure if the presence was solid, or some ethereal vision.

While crossing the barren outskirts of Midgar, Zack had fallen prey to the odd mirage, finding images of Angeal or his parents burnt across the horizon. Whether it was a result of the climate or perhaps his declining condition, he wasn’t sure. But he wouldn’t overlook the possibility that he was still disoriented, imagining the presence of others.

He had certainly been starved for the company.

Surely, this seemed too bright and otherworldly, to be something, someone, underneath the plate. Perhaps, he wondered, he was returning to the planet.

“Heaven?” He muttered.

Blinking, it took Aerith a moment before her mind could piece together a coherent response. Conscious of the dire situation, she let out a forced, breathy laugh.

“Not quite. But I can see why you might think that.”

Aerith cringed, quickly realising her words hadn’t been the most sensitive. She had hoped some humour might be enough to ease the tension.

“I was just wondering if you were okay," she continued. "There’s a clinic not far from here, they’ll be able to help you and your friend out. I can show you the way if you like?”

Zack eyed her, at first, sceptical. His gaze scanned the perimeter, wondering if perhaps this was a ploy, expecting to spot a squadron of Shinra waiting to ambush him the moment he followed her.

Yet, the distinct, foreboding rush of dread that anticipated such an attack was something he’d become familiar with; particularly these last few months. For the moment, he couldn’t sense it.

Much of Zack’s journey had been bolstered by placing his trust in others, even when it didn't seem a hundred percent certain. There was Cissnei, who agreed to turn a blind eye and not inform Shinra of his whereabouts, the old guy who had given him and Cloud a lift.

Zack supposed he could tempt fortune once more.

“Alright,” he answered. "Lead the way."

He moved to stand; Cloud’s arm still draped around his neck; but staggered, almost losing his balance. Aerith's hands hung hesitantly by his shoulder, ready to offer to support some of the weight.

“Do you... need any help?”

"N- no, I've got this.” He grimaced, glance flickering briefly toward the sword still fixed at his back. “Though, I don't know that I'd be much good in a fight right now."

“No worry,” Aerith reassured, retrieving her staff. “You can leave that to me.”

.

Despite the obvious weariness bearing down upon him, Zack had been quite adamant that he, and only he, carry his friend; Cloud.

They had made their introductions briefly, before setting off. Aerith wasn’t sure what had compelled her to share her name. Perhaps she thought that if he knew it, he may be more open to trusting her. For now, he seemed somewhat apprehensive, as he trailed behind her, keeping a slight distance.

It would fall to her to fend off any monsters that crossed their paths.

Luckily, the packs of wererats they encountered were small and easy to keep track of. The fact that they tended to target the bigger, more immediate threats also proved advantageous, as; despite the giant sword at his back; Zack did not appear particularly imposing right now.

Before they could even think of calling upon their friends, Aerith was quick to rain ice spells down.

She led them safely the rest of the way to the clinic, just down from the Leafhouse.

Their late-afternoon arrival was opportune, as it meant she wouldn’t run into any of the kids, who were likely either inside or at their secret hideout. She suspected that the sight of her guiding two bloody, injured Soldiers might be cause for concern. It also meant there were no other patients being attended to, as they turned up just before the clinic was set to close for the evening.

The doctor’s head was bowed, looking over some paperwork when the door creaked open, his eyes lifting. Aerith’s hand rose in a sheepish wave as Zack stumbled in through behind her.

Gaze flickering toward the prone, motionless body balanced at Zack’s side, he swiftly rose from his desk, moving into action. Such a scene was not uncommon among the slums, it seemed.

“Move him to one of the beds in the back. I’ll examine him there.”

Suddenly, Zack grew apprehensive, his grip tightening instinctively, protectively, around Cloud. There was something about the room, the entire situation that unnerved him. The stranger’s white lab coat, their glasses, the stench of chemicals permeating the space. The cold, drab walls and equipment littered about the bench; needles, vials of unfamiliar substances.

It felt all too familiar.

He couldn’t trust it.

But, perhaps more crucially, Cloud was one of the few people left who Zack felt he could trust. After the lengths he had gone through to keep him from harm, Zack was not willing to hand him over so easily. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint shining through, enough for the man to recoil.

Catching the tension etched across his features, Aerith’s fingers treaded lightly against his back, immediately drawing his intense glare away.

“It’s okay,” she reassured. “He’s just trying to help.”

As Aerith held his gaze, her eyes shining with sincerity and conviction, Zack could sense his more jaded, survival instincts ebbing away, as he wondered if he had a reason to doubt her.

She had found he and Cloud in trouble and, unlike most, went out of her way to offer help. She had led them all the way to his clinic, even fighting off monsters to ensure that they would make it safely. Those acts did not reflect someone with ulterior motives. Surely, if she had wanted to take advantage of them, it would have been easier to do so while they were passed out?

Besides, while he had managed to get this far on his own, Zack knew there were things he wouldn’t be able to do by himself. As much as it pained him to admit, he couldn’t help Cloud.

Begrudgingly, Zack guided Cloud over to the bed. Setting him down carefully with the doctor’s assistance.

Producing a small torch, he shone the light directly into Cloud’s eyes, noting how his pupils constricted. He was responding; that much was a relief.

Lifting his finger, the doctor dragged it in a straight line across Cloud’s eyeline. Cloud, however, was slow and languid in following the motion.

“Mako poisoning. Looks like a pretty serious case too. I can’t imagine how he’d have experienced such direct exposure.”

Zack grit his teeth. Having already received Mako injections as part of his induction into Soldier, he had a much better tolerance. Cloud, however, had not seen any direct exposure before. It was no wonder his body reacted poorly.

Not to mention, prospective Soldiers were typically given much smaller, controlled doses over time, allowing them to gradually adjust. They weren’t soaked in tiny tubes filled to the brim with the stuff!

As Zack stewed over bitter, disjointed memories of Hojo’s experiments, for the first time during the examination, the doctor’s curiosity won out.

“What exactly happened to him?”

Zack hesitated, unsure of how much detail he should go into. He knew it was counterproductive to lie, especially to someone only trying to help. After all, even the most innocuous information may have helped in assisting Cloud’s recovery.

But, could he really tell him that they’d both been sealed in vats of Mako and experimented on? That he wasn’t even entirely sure how long that process had lasted? That they’d escaped and spent the better part of a year evading Shinra? Sure, Zack was vaguely aware of doctor-patient confidentiality, but wasn’t sure it extended to dishonoured Soldiers on the run.

He couldn’t risk it.

“There was an open pool of Mako. He, uh- Fell in.” Zack lied.

The look the doctor gave was scrutinising, all furrowed lines and narrowed eyes. It was obvious that he didn’t believe him. Zack’s hand rubbed at the back of his head, a nervous tick. For the time being, he did not acknowledge Zack’s dishonesty, instead continuing with the treatment.

“We have a means to treat this, fortunately.” The doctor continued, producing an elixir from one of the cabinets behind him. “Though, given his current condition, it would normally need to be administered intravenously.”

Zack nodded, unable to contain the flash of disappointment. Of course. This was a small clinic in the slums. There was no way they’d have access to that kind of technology. In yet another cruel twist, just as he thought he’d found a way for Cloud to get better, it was ripped away from him.

Surprisingly, though, the doctor did not seem discouraged, a prospect that gave Zack the smallest flicker of hope.

Positioning Cloud onto his side, the doctor began to pry his mouth open before slowly trickling the liquid inside. The sight woke panic in Zack, who feared that he may choke. That is until he saw the bobbing of Cloud’s throat, swallowing the mixture down. Zack’s bewilderment must have been shown in his expression, as the doctor offered an explanation.

“Keeping the airways clear is something deeply tied to our physiology. Even in the most vegetative state the body still retains its ability to swallow.”

His words brought Zack relief, as he watched Cloud drank down the last of the medicine.

“He should be fine. It’ll take some time to flush the Mako out of his system, though. It would be best if he spent the night here, just to be safe.”

“Then I’ll stay here too.”

As he spoke, Zack could feel the doctor’s eyes shifting now to examine him. The thorough and concise way he analysed him made Zack uneasy, still.

“You are fortunate to not be in the same position,” he said. “Though I am concerned by the amount of blood you appear to have lost.”

“Don’t worry,” Zack dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Most of it’s not even mine.”

“You may feel fine, but you’re still running on adrenaline. You’re going to feel the effects once it wears off. It would be best if you were to rest.

“I’m fine,” Zack pushed, stubborn. As if to further emphasise the point he pulled up a nearby chair, perching himself by the head of Cloud’s bed.

“Have it your way,” the doctor sighed, moving back out into the reception area; perhaps to speak with Aerith. “Though there are more beds available should you change your mind.”

It may have been reckless on Zack’s part, but he had his reasons. It had been unsettling when he first entered the Clinic. He could only imagine the panic Cloud would wake in if he found himself in a strange room. He may fear for the worst, thinking they had been captured by Shinra. If Zack was there, his presence might calm him down.

Besides, even if he wanted to, Zack didn’t think he’d be able to sleep right now. Not until he was sure that Cloud was better.

It wasn’t long, though, before he found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Suddenly feeling much less resistance to the sleep trying to take him.

Cloud was still recovering, but ultimately, in a better place; out of Hojo’s clutches. The realisation left Zack content, knowing that he could, seemingly, finally relax.

That they were safe, for the time being.

.

“You’re still here? I guess you were serious about staying.”

Zack blinked, looking around the room. He hadn’t realised how long it had been, finding darkness now blanketing the streets outside.

From the doorway, Aerith hovered in his periphery, her voice reaching out to him from a distance. She offered a soft smile as he eventually turned in her direction.

“If you really don’t want to sleep, why don’t you stop by the Community Centre next door? You’ll at least be able to clean yourself up and get something to eat.”

Zack could feel his stomach churn at the mere mention of food. The offer was tempting. He hadn’t been able to change his clothes or bathe for several months and had eaten only when the opportunity presented itself.

But, he still had doubts. For the time being, he’d feel safe lying low somewhere. Right now, this clinic seemed to fit the bill.

Though, Zack sighed, finding it cruel to refuse her. Particularly when she was being so kind, going to such lengths to help him, to no benefit of her own. But this was just the situation they were facing. He needed to be practical.

“I’d like to, but...”

Zack trailed off, eyes flickering back toward the bed where Cloud rested, the lone gesture more than conveying the reason for his hesitance. Aerith’s eyes softened, cradling a hand over her chest. She admired his steadfast dedication to his friend. The fact that he would value his well being over his own to such an extent. He was so selfless, albeit to a fault.

It was time that someone looked out for him.

“I understand. But if you aren’t careful, there’s going to be two people who end up bed-ridden and I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?”

She set her hands at her hips and scowled in mock admonishment, doing her best to mimic the same pose her mother would adopt if ever she was misbehaving. Zack couldn’t help the chuckle that broke his lips with the sudden shift.

“I suppose you’re right.”

“How about this? You can stay here and I’ll bring something back for you, sound good? There was actually somewhere I was supposed to be helping out tonight, but… something else came up...”

Her voice dragged into silence and Zack smirked.

“You sure are connected, huh?” He teased.

.

The soup Aerith brought back was light and warm as it trickled down his throat. Zack shivered, feeling it heat up his chest, in stark contrast to the rain-soaked sweater that was still clinging to his body.

He was surprised by the broth’s vibrant flavour. He would have thought good quality vegetables would be difficult to come by. Though, that may have also been due in part to this being the first proper meal he had been able to enjoy in months.

Still, it tasted divine.

Though his stomach grumbled, aching for more, Zack pushed down the urge to greedily suckle up every last drop before him. He knew he needed to pace himself, that he could get ill if he suddenly gorged his malnourished body too quickly. It was a problem Soldiers faced, when on long missions and short on rations.

Soup was a safe option to start with, though. The fresh vegetables would help settle his stomach and allow him to eventually move onto something heavier.

As he continued to savour the dish, he could feel Aerith’s gaze covering him. He glanced up, greeted by her warm smile.

“Like it? I have some more if you want. Or we could keep it for Cloud.”

Setting down his bowl, Zack did not answer for the moment. Instead, he mirrored her expression, sincere and unyielding.

“I really appreciate this, Aerith.”

“O- oh, it’s nothing, really.”

“Are you kidding? Things were touch and go for us for a while there. But thanks to you, I’ll think we’ll be okay. I have to repay you somehow.”

Zack pondered for a moment, unsure of how he could even begin to repay the lengths she had gone to for him.

He didn’t have any gil, or really... anything of monetary value to his name. Perhaps once he had settled into town and found some work he’d be able to repay her. But, money didn’t seem adequate to cover just how indebted he was to Aerith.

If it weren’t for her, Cloud might have never had a chance to recover.

One thing he knew for certain, he was actually enjoying her company and would like to keep spending time with her.

“I know,” he decided eventually. “How about one date?”

“Hmm?” Aerith considered, fingers pressing at her chin. “Spending time with you is a reward, is it?”

“Well, you got us food this time around. It’s only fair that I return the favour.”

“I keep telling you, it’s fine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I get the impression you aren’t exactly rolling in gil right now”

“Maybe not at the moment, but a man of my skills? I could be a mercenary, and take on any job. It won’t be long before I’ve found work.”

“Is that so?” She teased. “I don’t seem to recall you doing much monster-fighting today.”

“It’s true there’s no way I could compare to you, but I’ll have you know I’m quite handy with a sword.”

“Really? I guess I’ll have to hire you and find out for myself.”

“I’ll be there. Just say the word.”

Zack was surprised. He’d always thought himself friendly, amiable. But not since he had first met Cloud, could Zack recall jelling so effortlessly with another person; enjoying that same easy banter. That he was opening up so readily after what he and Cloud had just been through.

The conversation dipped as they continued to eat, silently.

That is, until he caught the basket of flowers resting in the corner of the room. That’s right, Zack recalled. Aerith had had those with her when she had found them at the station.

It was a hard detail to miss. You didn’t often see flowers around Midgar. It piqued his curiosity. They must have been important if she had made the effort to bring them all the way here with her.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier, but… what’s with the flowers?”

“Oh! I sell them. I actually forgot I had left them here. But, I suppose it doesn’t matter. They do make for a nice gift for someone who isn’t feeling well, after all. I’m sure Cloud will appreciate them.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You’re not jealous, are you?” She goaded.

Before Zack could offer any retort, a strained groan broke from the opposite side of the room. His voice caught, a tightness constricting his throat. Before him, Aerith froze, her hand in the midst of raising a spoonful of soup to her lips. Zack’s head whipped back toward the bed as the sheets ruffled under the distinct movement of Cloud’s body.

“Cloud?!”

“Z- Zack?”

Immediately, Zack sprung forward, stopping abruptly by the head of Cloud’s bed. His voice had been weak, his features scrunching up as he struggled to keep his bleary, eyes open.  Yet, it was more life than he could recall seeing from his friend in months. Zack laughed, tears of relief beading in the corners of his eyes.

“I guess you were right. The flowers did make a difference.”

[eloisevisualculture]

the hypersexualisation of young girls in the media

The abuse and use of children for an adult’s personal gain is an issue that has always existed, regardless of the existence of the internet and the media. But the propagation of this platform (social media, entertainment or fashion magazines) has lead to a whole new sets of problems like the hyper-sexualisation of children, particularly young girls. The dictionary Larousse defines “hyper-sexualisation as “in society, the fact of giving an increasingly important place to sexuality, by multiplying references to it in the public space (media, advertising)”. In some cases this has been so normalised that criticism of these portrayals can be described as purist and excessive. What is the consequence of hyper-sexualisation of children in social media? The purpose of this essay will be to discuss the way the different ways children are sexualised in media and advertising and the effects it can have on their lives. It is not uncommon to hear the phrase “they grow up to fast nowadays” when referring to the youngest generations, as a result of their exposure to the media. Of course if the only thing young girls had to fear from acting like ‘grownups” was wearing makeup earlier in life, then there would be less cause for concern. Unfortunately, the dangers always revolves back to struggle of the ill- intentioned praying on the weak and easily influenced, and the continued danger of a patriarchal mentality passed down through generations. In the highly publicised fashion industry for instance, that holds a great influence on our society, there have been many instances of very young girls chosen as models, and put into adult life contexts. A notorious example is the 2011 edition of Vogue Paris, who published photographs of Thylane Lourby-blondeau, a 10 year old model who was pictures, in revealing clothes, makeup and jewellery, lying on a bed and looking at the camera with a sultry air.

It sparked a controversy and brought up the issue of the hyper-sexualisation children. Many people and parents stated that it was inappropriate and dangerous to picture a young child in an undeniably sensual light, and that directing a shoot to appeal to post-pubescent men, while the child was too young to understand the implications.  Thylane Loubry-Blondeau, on the cover of Vogue Paris, 2011, January edition Others defended it simply as ‘art’, the portrayal of a girl playing dress up, which ultimately does little to justify morals. Art was also the excuse Irina UNESCO gave after photographing and publishing albums of her daughter in sexual, pornographic scene, also nude, from the age of 4 to 11. In an interview with the purple magazine, Ionesco reflects on how her mother used her for years for her own personal gain and career, her works being widely known because they were so scandalous; “She would put make-up on me when I was a child. I slept very little, didn’t go to school. She took erotic photographs of me and made me act in erotic films, of which I was the subject. It wasn’t just about the photos — her entire approach was abusive. Sometimes she would send me to other photographers. She’d say: “You’re going to see such and such a photographer. It’s not great, but you’re going anyway.” It was becoming very dangerous.”(Ionesco). One of the disturbing things about the work Irina published about her daughter is that it is still available to purchase today, and even praised for it’s artistic value.

Eva Ionesco in her adult years has described in detail the “loss of childhood” and the life long effects she had to deal with from being sexualised and abused from such a young age “You were thrown into a world of adults, of nightlife, sex, and art very young — from the age of 12 or 13. And in one of the most liberal periods we’ve seen so far in terms of morals.” She went on to write a film inspired by her childhood and relationship with her mother. As with everything, it is important to avoid blind censure, and condemn anything without a deeper understanding. It is very easy to doggedly pursue a cause and become set in our opinions, and not allow freedom of expression to well meaning individuals, if their children are understanding and willing participants. The artist Sally Man was criticised for publishing nude pictures of her children. They were done as a celebration and a chronicle of her children’s evolution, childhood and slow progression to adulthood, and were done with the children’s understanding and consent, as was made clear in an article in the New York Times “The collaboration of the children in their mother’s work is apparent to anyone who spends time in their company. They are impish, argumentative participants, not robots. (When a photographer asked them what kind of portrait of their mother should accompany this article, they shouted, “Shoot her naked, shoot her naked.” She did.)”(2015).

Sally Mann put the safety and wellbeing of her children above personal gain, choosing to publish her photo album ‘Immediate Family”, when the children would fully be aware of their choice. “I thought the book could wait 10 years, when the kids won’t be living in the same bodies. They’ll have matured and they’ll understand the implications of the pictures. I unilaterally decided.” (2015). One of the effects of the explosion of social media, and their ease of access, is that young children know have the ability to not only watch content that might not be suitable for age but to create content themselves. On Tiktok for instance, there is a lot of content based on visual, and sensual appeal, like women doing suggestive dances in revealing clothing. Women who are old enough have the experience and sense to be fully aware, and take distance themselves from the comments, they are doing it for their own enjoyment. Young girls watch these videos and see the adulation and attention these influencers get, and want to try it out for themselves. Dr Elaine Kasket explains this system on TikTok is artificially amplifying a natural phenomenon. Unfortunately, the same ease of access that allowed the children to post these videos also means that the people who want to abuse them can see them too. Not only do they write inappropriate sexual comment in the comments, or encourage more extreme behaviour for their own benefit, they also get in touch with the minors, and message them privately. Dr Kasket explanation is well illustrated by the 2020 film Cuties shows the traumas and effects of young girls lives governed by social media. This film portrays the journey of a young eleven year old Amy, as she joins a self organised preeteen dance group and is confronted with a whole new world of social media, pressures to be sexual and grown up.

"Teenagers are naturally interested in taking risks and they’re naturally interested in finding out about sex and The sexualisation of young girls is an issue which can be confused, but is also linked to their natural desire to imitate their mother, or older siblings. Every single child has tried at some point to act like their parents. But with the rise and ease of access of social media (instagram, TikTok), children have access to whole new world, and many try to imitate what they see on these platforms. discovering themselves as sexual beings and exploring that. "They are open to flattery, they are open to seduction, they are open to the verification they get from the hearts they get and the likes they get”. (2020, The Sun)Unfortunately, the same ease of access that allowed the children to post these videos also means that the people who want to abuse them can see them too. Not only do they write inappropriate sexual comment in the comments, or encourage more extreme behaviour for their own benefit, they also get in touch with the minors, and message them privately. Dr Kasket explanation is well illustrated by the 2020 film Cuties shows the traumas and effects of young girls lives governed by social media. This film portrays the journey of a young eleven year old Amy, as she joins a self organised preeteen dance group and is confronted with a whole new world of social media, pressures to be sexual and grown up. Through their imitation of sexualised adult women on the media, young girls inherit patriarchal and misogynistic ideals that superficial beauty determines their worth.The child beauty pageants are intensely popular in America, and raise a lot of money for charity. They parade toddler and young children in false nails, high heels, heavy makeup and heavy wigs, and are trained like performing animals to smile, pose and wave at the camera. 

Naturally, many people argue that the simple fact of wearing makeup does not affect the girls in the slightest, and while that is true on the surface levels, there is much more than meets the eye. By dressing them up in all these gowns, and covering them in makeup and accessories to make them look “prettier”, the young girls are being taught that their natural appearance is not enough, and  moreover that they need all these additional to get praise and win in life. 

These little girls might enjoy looking “ like a princess”, but they are also adopting restrictive and superficial beauty ideals, and learning the all importance of appearance. Naturally, it is important to avoid completely vilifying pageants, they are not always the traumatic experience described by anti pageants or even shown behind the scenes pageants show. In her article for The Cut Goode collects the testimonies of other pageant stars and they are a mixed bag. Some describe that they have fond memories of competing, as ' bonding experience with their mother. An other used the platform to raise awareness about suicide, after her mother took her own life when she was 10 years old.But most often pageant are for the parents gain, and while women and mothers are often the ones organising them, they are, unknowingly or not transmitting the pressures of performative femininity to their daughters. Perpetuating a patriarchal and misogynist mindset in which Women must prioritise their appearance above all else, as the only thing giving them value. 

And this cult of appearance and the emphasis on changing your appearance too fit the standards is the reason why eating disorders are so common in young girls and women. It could be argued that this is not the same as sexualisation of young girls, but beauty ideals and sexualisation are often intrinsically linked, especially if children are trying to abide to rules set by adults.  While this essay has been essentially focussed on young girls, because they are the most targeted and at risk, the sexualisation and perpetuation of beauty ideals gives a toxic example to a future generation of men. Young boys are taught from a young age that pretty girls must look a certain way.

Conclusion:The sexualisation of children is a topic that is heavily discussed, by those against it and those who deny it’s existence or effects. The fact remains that sexualisation along ever occurs for an adult’s personal gain, or benefit.Little girls want to be pretty and attractive, but it is rarely for themselves.Admiring and wanting to be an adult is the most natural thing in the world, it is just tragic that they incorporate toxic ideals of femininity and beauty at the same time.

Bibliography

COTTAIS, C. LOUVET, M. (2021). The dangers of the hypersexualisation of young girls: a stolen childhood​. ​growthinktank.org.​ ​[online]​ Jan. 2021​. at https://www.growthinktank.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/01/The-dangers-of-the-hypersexualisation-of-young-girls_-a-stolen-childhood.pdf(Accessed 8 apr 2021)

Woodward, R. B. (2015) ‘The disturbing photography of Sally Mann’. The New York Times. At:https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/19/magazine/the-disturbing-photography-of-sally-mann.html(Accessed 5 apr 2021)

Cuties (2020) Directed by M. Doucouré. Available at: Netflix (accessed 20 April 2018)

Ionesco, E.(unknown date) ‘Eva ionesco’. Interview with Eva Ionesco. Interviewed by O. Sham for The Purple Magazine, Paris issue num 32At: https://purple.fr/magazine/paris-issue-31/eva-ionesco/ (Accessed 9 Apr 2021)

Good, L. (2012) ‘I was a child pageant star: Six Adult Women Look Back’. The Cut. (November). At: https://www.thecut.com/2012/11/child-pageant-star.html (accessed 18 April 2021)

Hall. D. ‘How ‘supercharged catnip” Tiktok is fuelling the sexualisation of young girls an exploitation of teens.’ The Sun online. At: https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/10941512/tiktok-catnip-sexualisation-teens/ (Accessed 18 April 2021). 

[scripttorture]

Do you have advice on portraying mental disorders to the public in a way that makes sense? How does one portray multiple disorders at once while making it clear they’re the result of torture? Do you usually name them in the story? I can portray disorders + symptoms that come with mental health problems resulting from torture, but I feel like I’m battling public ignorance before even getting to debunking myths about torture. I have the information, but I don’t know how to portray it organically.

I can tell you what I do, but I think that whether that will work for you or not partly depends on how you approach writing.

 If what I say doesn’t fit with your writing style that isn’t a failing and it doesn’t mean you’re ‘doing it wrong’. I don’t think there is one sure fire way to write a complex topic well. And honestly the fact that you’re putting in the time to research and practice is probably more important then any advice I have to give.

 I don’t always name mental health problems in my stories. I appreciate that some people think you always should. Usually because they say if you name a disorder the readers can’t deny it or pretend it’s something else.

 I have a friend in one of my writing groups. He’s writing a wonderful adventure story with a Deaf protagonist. He repeatedly describes the character as Deaf and all of her communication is in sign language.

 He has still had feedback from people six chapters into the story saying they did not realise the character was Deaf.

 Here’s my take away from this: While it is important to try your best with anything you portray it is also important to accept that some people just Will Not Get It despite your best efforts.

 Shout out to the person who thought I was discussing trans people when I spoke about historical pre-pubertal eunuchs.

 Start by thinking about who you’re writing for. What does your ideal reader look like? Whose feedback do you hope for?

 Because I think there’s a big difference in how we approach the story/conversation when we’re expecting to talk to people with experience vs people without.

 Most of the time I’m writing for trauma survivors. I hope I’m writing stories that other people will enjoy. But I accept in the writing that a lot of people without experience of these things might not… quite connect the dots.

 It sounds like you want to write for people who aren’t survivors. To educate. That is just as valid and valuable. It’s a very different approach though.

 When I think about naming a mental health problem I think about how that name fits into the story. The main character in my current story is about 11-13. She’s spent a fair amount of time with two adult survivors. But I’m not sure if she has the knowledge or vocabulary to label what she’s seeing and I’m not sure if anyone else would say it to her.

 So I put those mental health problems in to the way these characters behave and the way their daughter talks to her friend about her parents.

 That approach may not work if the majority of your intended audience have no knowledge about mental health.

 And for me in this story that’s part of the point. I expect that a lot of readers will be taken aback when they find out what these characters have lived through and realise that what they’ve seen up to now are symptoms not ‘quirky character flaws’. I expect that to prompt some thought and questioning*.

 Linking these illnesses to torture was easy in this particular set of stories because the readers will (eventually) see the characters before and after torture. The change happens in front of them.

 Generally I think that’s a good way of establishing the link: explicitly showing the character before and after trauma and highlighting the changes. That can be directly as part of the story, but it can also be done through other characters talking about the past (which can help establish relationships and characters) and by having the survivors themselves reminisce about ‘before’.

 It’s also important to remember that you can show symptoms developing without showing torture itself. There’s nothing wrong with choosing to show quiet moments with the character in a cell, even if we’re told they’re cliché. Use every moment that you can make powerful.

 There’s also nothing wrong with jumping around in the time line and telling a story in a non-linear fashion. My general point here is that there are a lot of ways you can bring up the character’s past and how they’ve changed.

 You can also have a character explicitly state that these symptoms are expected, normal responses to a horrendous situation. Any characters who are doctors, mental health professionals or some types of social workers would be good fits for that. Depending on how you structure the story religious figures (who may be involved in anti-torture work or helping survivors) could work.

 If there are other survivor characters then having a discussion between them about what it changed could be a good organic way to bring that up while bringing the characters closer together.

 Circling back to writing mental health problems- I do think sometimes a lack of an explicit label can help communicate the experience. I think sometimes people get so caught up on the diagnosis and what they think it means that they don’t engage with anything that goes against that preconceived notion. But… whenever you don’t make something explicit in the text you’re leaving it up to the reader to decide how to interpret it. You’re taking a risk to trust this stranger who picked up your story.

 I get the feeling the main thing here is writing it all organically and the fear of messing up.

 That’s understandable. Any writing already asks that we juggle. Adding in torture and mental health problems and committing to doing them well adds a lot more implements into the air.

 And I guarantee that practice will help. It always does.

 Personally I’ve been writing mental health problems for so long that a lot of it has become instinctual. It’s an ingrained part of how I write (for better or worse). Making symptoms an organic part of the character is about making them a part of every aspect of a character’s life.

 Which sounds harder then it is. It’s about thinking things through and filtering them through the character’s personality/motivations.

 Because as much as we can hope to get a message across primarily we are telling stories. And everything needs to serve that.

 Let’s have some examples. I’m going to use two characters from two different stories, Kibwe and Ilāra. Kibwe made a full physical recover from torture. Ilāra ended up with a single below knee amputation. And while there is some overlap in the symptoms I chose for them they’re very different people.

 Kibwe’s long term symptoms are memory loss, intrusive memories, hypervigilance and chronic pain and I’m toying with the idea of adding in inaccurate memories as well.

 His memory problems are an integral part of his character arc and motivation through the stories he’s in. Despite knowing intellectually that they are a normal response to trauma Kibwe sees them as a personal failing. They made it impossible for him to bring charges and that fed into feelings of guilt and self-blame.

 Which is what drives him to stand up for other people.

 Every heroic action he takes in the story, every time he puts himself between someone else and harm, is coming out of his own experience of memory loss and possibly inaccurate memories. It’s all because trying to do the sensible thing and report what happened to the police left him feeling useless, powerless.

 His intrusive memories feed into this as well. They serve as constant reminders that strengthen his resolve.

 In the parts of the story from his perspective all of these memory problems and the effect they have are obvious and there inclusion is natural. Because they colour every single thing he does.

 In the parts of the story that are from other perspectives it’s less obvious what the problem is but there is still clearly A Problem.

 His intrusive memories are pauses in the middle of doing or saying something. They’re the moments when he screws his eyes shut and breathes deep and has to ask the other characters to repeat themselves. They’re the way he flinches at ordinary things and the way he flies off the handle anytime someone brings beer into his workplace.

 His chronic pain is in the days when he can’t do his job. When his hands shake and he snaps. When he takes his frustrations out with the wrong words to the wrong people. And in the distant, awkward way he tries to make amends afterwards.

 Internally he barely acknowledges his hypervigilance. But externally he always positions himself so that he can clearly see anyone else in the room. He can always see the exits. He twitches, he turns his head a lot to keep other people in view. And if he can’t see everyone, can’t see a way out then his speech starts to get biting, his anger leaks through.

 In contrast Ilāra is very very aware of their own hypervigilance.

 They track the people around them and the terrain and rationalise it as sensible. As a precaution. As keeping themselves and others safe. So a portion of any part of the narrative from their perspective is about that: Ilāra's internal paranoid risk assessments.

 They also have learning difficulties, which are more obvious from outside perspectives. Because Ilāra has a proud streak; they’re not stupid, they can get by just fine. They’re just letting their friends/found-family help out because it makes them happy. Ilāra does not actually need help.

 Contrast with the perspectives of the other characters who are very aware that Ilāra can’t manage a budget. Without help they really can’t manage their own money well enough to keep themselves fed, housed and clothed. Because they never learnt how.

 And again this comes up organically because it’s a big part of Ilāra's relationships. There’s a strange push-pull: Ilāra's hypervigilance internally rationalised as protecting these few valued people and those same people stepping in to do the things Ilāra can’t.

 They also experience chronic pain. Though I’m unsure whether this is primarily because of torture or because they lost a limb. And in a way the distinction doesn’t matter. Regardless of the cause it is there.

 They’re actually a lot better at dealing with it then Kibwe, because they’re much better at lying, acting and disguising their own distress.

 Ilāra's other symptoms are less immediately obvious in the narrative but again, they underpin everything.

 Ilāra struggles to relate to people, to really value them as people and they are incredibly socially isolated. Their entire social circle is essentially their family and their work colleagues and there is a lot of overlap in that Venn diagram.

 They don’t know how to honestly relate to other people. They play parts, putting on masks to get by.

 And this comes into the story with every interaction they have. It’s the contrast between their attempts at calculation around outsiders (and how often they’re rejected/dismissed) and their incredibly intense attachment to this small circle of people.

 I’m not sure what the end point of Ilāra's character arc is yet. But one of the things that keeps coming up is the question of who they are away from this small circle of valued people. And whether they can value their own life when they can’t ‘protect’ the people they love.

 Writing all of this out has made me realise something: it’s a lot easier to bring up symptoms organically when those symptoms become an intrinsic part of the character.

 And that can be difficult to grasp at the first attempt. Or the tenth. Or the hundredth.

 We are taught to assume health, be it mental or physical. That people have two legs and functional pancreases and don’t relive violent attacks every time they smell beer.

 Part of writing these things organically (for me anyway) is breaking that internal image. It’s… building a mind that’s a different shape.

 For both of these characters their symptoms are tied to important parts of the long term plot as well as their everyday experience.

 Kibwe would be a different person without his memory problems. They inform what he values, how he acts and the ethical lines he draws for himself. His intrusive memories impact his daily life and so does his chronic pain and hypervigilance. And this in turn impacts his relationships with the other characters, some of whom are more forgiving/understanding of his ‘moods’ then others.

 Ilāra is driven by their isolation and struggle to connect to others. It leads to them putting incredible weight and value on the few relationships they do have. And that drives them to act, to take risks. Fundamentally they fear loss and however calculating and cunning they can be that fear makes them do some idiotic things. Things that effect the plot and every other character.

 Hypervigilance and learning difficulties are their everyday experience. The tension they feel in crowds. The way they assess unfamiliar environments. The way they’ll hand over their pay check to a daughter-figure with a joke and tell themselves that she’s just fussing. The way they’ll get up in the middle of the night and count every item of food in the house.

 Writing mental health problems in an understandable way is like writing any other disability. It’s making it part of the character without it being the whole of the character. It’s recognising how any condition limits a character and having a clear view of when those limits are internal (ie the condition itself) versus external (societal, behavioural expectations, other people etc.)

 Including these things naturally means constructing scenes that are working at multiple levels. If symptoms impact how the characters relate to each other then they fit naturally into any important relationship moments. If symptoms impact the character’s everyday life then it’s natural for the character to consider them before taking an important action.

 When symptoms are related to a character’s long term motivation then it doesn’t feel jarring that they’d come up over and over again. In the same way that bringing up a character’s big-brother figure feels right when you’ve established they have an important, character defining bond.

 It takes practice. Writing is work and it takes a lot of skill to make it look effortless.

 Right now I think the most important thing to take away is this: keep trying. Write and write and write. Don’t let the fear of getting things wrong stop you from getting better.

 I hope that helps. :)

Available on Wordpress.

Disclaimer

*Yes I expect a lot from my readers.

[astudyinfreewill]

“look what you made me do” 2/? | masterpost

aka: me making taylor swift songs about dean winchester and/or deancas bc it’s what dean himself would want

second song on deck, as promised; this one actually has quite a few cas beats in it, especially at the start, despite it having a dean vibe overall, so it should be interesting. again, bonus fanvid link at the end <3

this is me trying

i've been having a hard time adjusting i had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting

ok, we start off strong with a couplet that could suit either dean or cas. “the shiniest wheels” is actually a perfectly fitting metaphor for a show that treats cars like emotional avatars of the people who drive them (i could so easily go into a digression about how the same thing happens in trc but this is the wrong post for that... how do i keep finding myself emotionally invested in car-fetishizing media while barely being a can-drive gay myself). ANYWAY, the first thing that comes to mind is the impala and how it’s pretty much synonymous with dean’s sense of self, how it gets wrecked and rebuilt over the course of the show, often tied in to his emotional state. and dean, well. he’s built up a lot of trauma over the years, but he’s also just getting older, as humans do.

on the other hand, we could also see it as a cas line - he’s not as much of a carfucker car aficionado as dean but he’s an adoptive winchester so hey, it still kinda works (rip to the pimpmobile, gone but not forgotten). what i MEAN is -- cas has been slowly falling from grace ever since season 4. he was becoming more human in season 5 already, with a grim prediction of his human future in 5x04; then lived as human for a while in season 7; then became completely human in season 9 before regaining his grace. but in season 15, again, his grace was apparently failing (boy it would be SUCH a shame if that plot point just, like... got dropped... 😐). substitute “wings” for “wheels” and you get a picture of someone who used to be this unstoppable, super-powered angel soldier that demons cowered in fear of, but has slowly become more human over time. as for “a hard time adjusting”... well, cas’ journey towards humanity has not been the easiest transition: it’s come with self-doubt, mental and physical pain, and of course, as he learned about love: heartbreak.

TL;DR: LIFE COMES AT YOU FAST AND THESE GUYS ARE TIRED.

i didn't know if you'd care if i came back; i have a lot of regrets about that

‘kay, this next part is definitely cas. cas who, as i mentioned in the previous post, just keeps leaving, whether that’s because he’s sacrificing himself or taking off on his own. and because that typically goes over like a lead balloon with dean, either because it leaves him grieving and traumatised or it plays right into his abandonment issues (or both - hello purgatory arc!), cas would be tentative about coming back. it’s also very apparent that castiel feels like the winchesters only value him for his abilities and powers (and after all, he’s been created to be a soldier), so if he feels like he’s not being helpful enough, he also tends not to feel wanted (again: dean wants him to stay, but cas wants to be asked to stay). plus, we know every time they’ve had a falling out it takes dean a bit to get over his anger (“dean, i thought i was doing the right thing”; “yeah, you always do”) so i don’t think cas takes his forgiveness for granted, especially if he has lied to him in the process (yes i’m thinking about the mixtape episode). “a lot of regrets”, indeed.

pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could've followed my fears all the way down; and maybe i don't quite know what to say, but i'm here in your doorway.

here, again, the car can easily work as a metaphor for someone’s emotional state. pulling over to take a breather, to try to assess things from a distance; and with lookout points so often being perched on steep hills, it’s easy to imagine the sense of vertigo, your own fear and self-doubt almost pushing you towards dangerous, self-destructive ideas. and we know cas doesn’t do things by halves - when he’s committed to something he believes is right, he goes all out. and yes, that has led to more than one falling out. 

but despite that - despite his worst fears telling him he should not come back to dean unless he’s “coming back with a win”, or able to protect him from harm (yes i’m thinking about the mixtape episode AGAIN), he does always come back to him. it’s the one thing that dean can always depend on, castiel finding his way back to him like dean is his true north. i’m here in your doorway; the please take me back once more is implied.

i just wanted you to know that this is me trying i just wanted you to know that this is me trying

(and dean does take him back, because however many times castiel feels that he has failed in his mission, he always comes back and tries again, tries harder, tries to make it right or do it better. and that’s something dean relates to - fucking up in the worst ways and getting beaten down but always getting back up, always starting over, always trying again. in fact, he’s kind of the one who taught cas that. and with that-- we move over to the dean portion of this.)

they told me all of my cages were mental so I got wasted like all my potential

ah, it wouldn’t be a dean pov without some good old fashioned self deprecation. “all of my cages were mental” isn’t 100% accurate in dean’s case because he has been dealt a pretty shit hand by life, but he also excels at self-sabotage. “I got wasted” is of course an allusion to his alcoholism, but then we have the clever play on words with “wasted potential”, which... hits close to home. all dean’s ever done is tried to live up to what he thought he should be, always feeling like he was falling short. never quite the favourite son, never the man his father thought he should be, not strong enough to resist hell, not the righteous sword of michael the angels expected, not good enough for the people he loves not to leave him, just not enough.

and my words shoot to kill when I'm mad i have a lot of regrets about that

...as i said above: though dean does always forgive the people he loves, it still takes him quite a bit to get over his anger at them. and when he’s angry, he lashes out, often saying things that come off cruel, things he absolutely does not mean. and this part reminds me, yet again, of dean’s painful confession in 15x09, about how he gets so angry and doesn’t know why (of course, the answer is trauma and childhood abuse; but he has no way to process that); and he tries to stop it but he can’t, and he always, always regrets it in the end.

i was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere fell behind all my classmates and i ended up here

oh, dean. dean winchester with his ged and his give ‘em hell attitude. he breaks my heart. i touched on this in my previous post, but there’s something to be said for the fact that dean had to grow up so fast, he really didn’t grow at all in some ways ( “so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere”). from a young age he was shoved in a parental role, having to be both a father and mother to sam, which meant never getting to exist just for himself. which of course, in turn, means he never got to develop a healthy degree of emotional maturity. in “bad boys”, we find out that the only time dean even got close to being a normal teenager, receiving positive reinforcement by sonny and bonding with his peers, john ripped him right out of that safe haven; and by the time “after school special” is set in, he’s given up on ever getting a shot at a healthy environment, using denial as a coping mechanism by trying to pass off his and sam’s shitty, depressing lives as super edgy and cool.

pourin' out my heart to a stranger but i didn't pour the whiskey i just wanted you to know that this is me trying i just wanted you to know that this is me trying at least i'm trying

i don’t really need to explain this bit i guess, but it’s about the implications of how it can somehow be easier to open up to a complete stranger rather than someone you care about; and how for dean, who is used to frequenting seedy bars and dives, one-night stands are as much about comfort than they are about pleasure. that’s the only way he knows how to let himself be touched, seen, held -- because of course, “no chick flick moments”, and besides, we know that when he falls in love he falls hard, so it’s safer to just roll in and out of town. 

the interesting part in this context though, is that “but i didn’t pour the whiskey”, especially since we know dean, like every other winchester, tends to drown out his problems with alcohol; so him choosing to not do that, and instead just look for comfort from a stranger (whether it’s through sex or just chatting away at a bar) is, in itself, a sign of trying to do better. because if there’s one thing dean knows how to do, is trying, and trying, and trying again. in fact, as i mentioned above, it’s kinda where cas learned it too. and we know dean is a stand-in for human nature, so of course, this is also a larger discourse of how humans are flawed and imperfect but can always improve, always do better, always try harder or be more. and maybe that’s what makes a righteous man, really.

and it's hard to be at a party when i feel like an open wound it's hard to be anywhere these days when all i want is you you're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town

this next part... listen. i don’t know how it fits into the narrative of trying, but what i do know is i can’t stop thinking about grieving dean. about how every time he loses cas, a little piece of him dies too, but it’s a piece that gets bigger and bigger every time, carving a hollow inside him. it’s unsightly, it’s unforgiving, it’s raw - it’s like an open wound. and as much as dean has always taken on the role of the person who puts on a brave face, makes a joke, and pushes all his feelings down, well -- it’s hard to that; it’s hard to focus on anything else when he’s missing cas like a phantom limb. “all i want is you” which is to say i’d rather have you, cursed or not; which is to say, i need you. need you badly enough to see your face everywhere after escaping purgatory, just like “a flashback in a film reel”. 

and i just wanted you to know that this is me trying  (maybe i don't quite know what to say) i just wanted you to know that this is me trying; at least i'm trying.

so, yes. dean is trying. he’s always trying, even though healing and progress are not linear or easy. and he knows he’s got anger issues, he knows he’s bad with his words, but damn it, he always shows up for the people he loves, and he tries to do better, every. damn. time. partly because he’s us, he’s all of us, he’s human perfectibility incarnate; and partly because he loves cas so damn much and maybe if he gets it right this time he’ll get to keep him -- and i don’t know which of the two options makes my heart hurt the most.

---

fanvid rec link here! it’s only for the second half of the song, so the more dean-centric one :)

[sterling-silvers]

Star Wars: The High Republic #2 Review

Ultimately a 7.5 out of 10, this installment was slightly better because of how Cavan Scott decided to advance the plot. While there some are nice nuggets of good-story telling and character interactions, even worse than last time, it’s bogged down with cardinal errors that truly make me question Scott’s competency as a writer for this story.

The issue comes right off the back end of Keeve being promoted to a Master Jedi and chronicles her first mission in the position. She is still dealing with the growing pains of what it means to be a Jedi which is depicted with her ongoing internalized self-doubt as well as her difficulty expressing certain Jedi mantras, such as “May the Force be with you.” Arguably exacerbating this bottled up uncertainty are the Keeve-proclaimed legends of Jedi Masters Sskeer, and identical Kobati twins Terec and Ceret. These twins are Bond-twins and as so are able to share the same mind and experiences of each other.

As they exit “hyperspace” (more on that later), the four masters come across the leftover demise of a ship that has been attacked. The Jedi were tasked with responding to the scrambled distress call that the ship had sent out sometime ago but, it seems as if they arrived too late. Both Keeve and one of the twins, using the Force, are able to sense survivors within the ransacked ship. As so, they board and enter.  Almost as soon as they are inside, they are met with poisonous Nihilian ovax gas and utilize a device called “rebreathers” to mitigate the effects.  Fully aware that the Nihil have raided this ship, they continue their investigation and split up to cover more ground. Traversing in groups of two, Terec – who is accompanying Sskeer – can sense the Trandoshan experiencing extreme trauma which means that Ceret can feel it as well via their bond; specifically, Sskeer is having flashbacks to the exact moment he lost his arm in the Battle of Kur.

On Keeve’s side of things, she and Ceret come across the corpses of a Hutt and Gamorrean guards. Upon further examination, it seems the Hutt was killed via an amalgam of stab wounds, blaster bolts, and nagnol poisoning – the latter being a toxic natural gas, capable of disrupting starship sensors, poisoning beings based on dosage, and a key element in the Nihil smokescreen.

On Sskeer’s end, he comes across a barley crop and together the Jedi deduce that the Hutt was capitalizing on the grain shortage that has occurred thanks to the Great Disaster. As the twins work on trying to ascertain where exactly the crop came from, Ceret is attacked by a Nihil that has been left behind; this causes both twins to feel the pain but, the wounds are not fatal. Sskeer charges ahead and chases after the Nihil raider, who is already suffering from serious injuries previously sustained in the raid. While Sskeer is perturbed that he cannot sense the attacker he is able to fatally strike down the assailant; coming to gripes that he has just killed, Sskeer goes on a rampage and continually slashes the bifurcated carcass only be brought back to his senses when Keeve addresses him.

Afterward, the Masters relay their findings to Marshall Avar Kriss and with the analysis from Master Maru, come to the conclusion that the barley – specifically Vratixia Renanicus – is a key ingredient in bacta; moreover, the shipment likely came from the Sedri System – principally, Sedri Minor. With this in mind, Kriss assigns Sskeer and Ceret to got to Sedri while she and Jedi Master Rwoh convene with Keeve and Terec to collect the Hutt ship that is breaking trading sanctions. Keeve moves to go with Sskeer but, Sskeer stonewalls her to stay with Terec.

Arriving on the planet, Sskeer is met with unwecolmedness by a citizen, Kalo Sulman who makes it clear that the Jedi’s presence will interfere with the colony’s independence. As the two are discussing, Ceret sees a Rodian in the crops motioning him to come over – as Ceret goes deep into the brush he is attacked by Drengir.

Back on the ship, Kriss and Keeve are discussing the remains of the corpse that Sskeer has left; Kriss reprimands Keeve for not telling her sooner but, also admonishes herself for not looking deeper into the signs the Force were giving her – such as not being able to hear Sskeer’s “song”.

As this happens, Terec – who is being medically assessed by Rwoh – screams out in pain feeling his brother’s anguish and relays this to Kriss. Kriss immediately contacts Sskeer and asks if Ceret is with him; when Sskeer realizes that the twin is gone rushes into the fields only to find his lightsaber.

What I liked:

A growing plot pivoting off of the bacta manufacturing that was touched on by Jedi Grandmaster Veter; this is much welcomed world building within the parameters that is the High Republic.

A very competent and aptly written investigation, analysis, and deductive reasoning done by the Jedi as a whole. The way the Jedi got on the ship, looked for clues, relayed their information to the data analyst/forensic expert, and hash out a plan to go to the planet where the clue originated from was great and definitely resonated with the idea that these Jedi are analogous to Texas Rangers. They certainly seemed like proto-Jedi investigators, not unlike future Jedi Master Tera Sinube.

The continued delving into Jedi Master Sskeer. I like the balancing act that is being conducted with his character. He’s a virtuous being that is dealing with trauma but, that doesn’t, ultimately, stop him from being a Jedi – it just tests it. He is still a “knight” and applies that chivalry when it needs to shine. Witnessing his accident and how it is affecting his psyche, ability to use the Force, and his morality is the highlight of this issue. This is what should be focused on to establish WHY Keeve looks up to him – give her these thoughts in accordance with herself doubt.

The dynamics of Ceret and Terec as interconnected Force Twins (could be seen as “Dyad Force-bond” inspired). Their link is a double-edged sword that reminds me of the Tomax and Xamot Paoli from Cobra Command. The original Star Wars was centered around Force sensitive twins and it’s nice to see that element played with more here – haven’t really seen that since the Mikkian twin sisters – Tiplee and Tiplar – in Clone Wars.

The holster to the lightsabers – it’s a nice, subtle way to convey how the Jedi of this era are more in a time of peace and reservation. To have a weapon holstered means that they have to take the extra moment to consider brandishing it. This underlying detail syncs really well with the time period considering that most of their enemies would be lifeforms and could be reasoned with – “life is precious.”

This can be seen as succinct yet distinct dichotomy between this era Jedi and the Skywalker Saga Jedi, as their sabers were without a holster and normally fashioned around the hips allowing for both instant access and draw in an age encompassed by war with droids – “droids are replaceable.”

What I disliked:

The application of Keeve’s personality traits continues to feel like a mismatch for the particular time period and volk she supposedly has been training and studying with; Ezra Bridger – who by the High Republic’s standards would not even be a Jedi – acts more like a Jedi than Keeve does. If anything, the uncertainty, quirks, and misapplication of Jedi traditions would have fit Ezra WAY more than it does (or really doesn’t) with Keeve. The concept itself is fine but, the iteration is what is flawed. Keeve is fast feeling more like a Jedi from post revenge Revenge of the Sith – like Kanan Jarrus – that a High Republic Jedi.

The sloppy fan service – there is a scene not only of a Hutt but, the Hutt is dead with its tongue out, surrounded by dead Gamorrean guards. It would be one thing if we just had a dead Hutt, I can even look past the Gamorrean guards (even though it would be nice if we saw this race in more roles than guards – there are some but, it does seem like guards is niche as far as the universe is concerned) but, to also have the Hutt dead with its tongue out to me just screams “DO YOU REMEMBER THAT ONE SCENE IN RETURN OF THE JEDI WITH JABBA?!!!” Just, how much are you going to dilute a reference? Make the fan service substantive and or just not in your face – the Rodian luring Ceret is a good version of fan service; present, notable, but not impeding in terms of the narrative.

What I Marked Off:

The completely wrong depiction of hyperspace; Star Wars Hyperspace is blue and certainly not immersed in stars when one is traveling through it. This error is on the very first page of the issue. This shook me to my very core and yanked me out of the immersion. IT’S THE FIRST PAGE! HOW DOES ONE MESS UP ON THE FIRST PAGE?!!! To add grave insult to mortal injury, hyperspace is a FOCAL element of the High Republic Era – you CAN NOT mess this up. Ultimately, it’s a team mess up but, Scott gets the brunt of this reprimand because this is his story and arguably his script is the one that should be guiding the artist.

The fact that Scott continues to fail to make the necessary references about crucial dynamics, events, and positions within this era. I had to learn from a YouTube video (link below) that Sskeer is actually the “Steward” to Kriss’ Marshall role. As of issue #3, this position is still not established to be held by Sskeer which is a real shame as it adds more substance and weight to his plight as a perturbed Jedi. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TPeRcyJE5dk&feature=emb_title

In summary, this issue was a 7.5 out of 10; slightly better than issue one because of how the writer decided to advance the plot and who he decided to advance the plot with. The genuinely good moments of story-telling are bogged down by ineptitude that can literally throw one out of the immersion. Nonetheless, if you can tolerate the faults there are elements to enjoy, especially when it comes to the characters. I hope those elements promptly become prominent.

[lattewithatwistoflemon]

Gundam Wing Essay

January 25, 2021

Gundam Wing has this powerful nostalgia for me, even though I didn’t actually watch the show when it came on television when I was little. I just shrugged it off and said I didn’t like Gundams. Yet I’m finding myself drawn to these characters and wondering if, in some subconscious way, this show influenced who I’ve become. From my love of damaged, traumatized bishounen to my inclination to dress exactly like Relena, despite never consciously thinking about her in all these years... I feel like maybe aspects of this anime molded me into who I am today. 

Every time I heard one of my favorite songs, “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None The Richer, there was a couple there in my head, and I couldn’t pinpoint who they were... But after looking at the Gundam manga issue I got when I was 7, where Heero and Relena are in a romantic garden together, and seeing the ending sequence of the anime, where Relena stands in a field wearing that dress and that hat, I can’t help but think “it’s them”. It’s been Heero and Relena in my head all along, as this idealized fairy tale couple, every time I heard that song. Thinking back on my childhood impression of them, I realized I always imagined them as being like Romeo and Juliet, talking to each other over a balcony, over a courtyard garden, in a star-crossed, Shakespearean romance. In my head, they were always so deeply in love. Perhaps they were a symbol of romance itself. I don’t remember if I had seen a specific scene in the anime as a child that made me see them as a couple, or if my memory is just based on that one chapter of the Ground Zero manga, but either way, they were imprinted on my mind as the most quintessential, devoted lovers. She was a fairy tale princess, and he was the gallant knight who would come rescue her. 

Zechs feels like an ideal fairy tale prince... the kind that will kiss my hand, give me roses, and carry me bridal style through a beautiful European garden, to a sweet little white outdoor table, where we drink tea out of fine China teacups, while the sun shines brightly, and the leaves of the trees around us cast shadows upon us that sway with the breeze. Yet Zechs also possesses that same dark, seductive quality of the Phantom of the Opera, whispering in my ear with that voice that’s both sinister and incredibly romantic at the same time, as if luring me into his embrace. Zechs has this beautiful duality to him. He goes down a dark path on multiple occasions, but even so, he feels terrible guilt for what he does. Because of this, he still comes across as honorable and chivalrous to me. Other anime characters that I’ve seen since then have had a similar feel, such as Yue from Cardcaptor Sakura and Griffith from Berserk. I’ve even created original characters for my own stories who are long haired, princely men with ambiguous morals, who I now wonder if they were subconsciously inspired by this one, long-forgotten figure that I had briefly seen as a 7-year-old. I tended to like blonde characters when I was little, and like most little girls, I loved the idea of a perfect, gentlemanly prince charming. I’m genuinely surprised that I didn’t remember him from when I was a child. Perhaps if I had seen those gentle blue eyes beneath the mask, I would’ve fallen in love.

Duo has a much different quality from Zechs. He feels familiar in a way that’s hard to pinpoint. He’s brash, energetic, and laid-back at the same time. He has this friendly, approachable quality to him that the other characters don’t possess. It feels like I can actually get close to him, while all the others feel like they’d push me away. I’ve realized Duo reminds me of various other characters, most of which are from video games, such as Sonic, Dante, and most importantly… Link. Link was my very first crush. My attachment to Link stemmed from the Ocarina of Time game. It wasn’t until many years later that I watched the animated Zelda series, in which Link is very much like Duo. I never thought of myself as being particularly attracted to that version of Link, yet now, when seeing an actual anime character who resembles him in appearance and personality, I find myself incredibly drawn to him. I can’t say for sure whether my attraction to Duo is due to his similarity to Link or to any other character or if it’s simply because of how warm and approachable he feels compared to the other gundam pilots. I remember that Duo’s design always stuck out to me the most, as the cute one with the braid.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been interested in angry, angsty characters who have traumatic backstories. For the longest time, I was under the assumption that Heero would be a basic, friendly protagonist. So when I finally started watching this show 20 years later, I was surprised by him being the type of angst-ridden anti-hero that I love nowadays. When I was 13, I discovered Saiyuki, and instantly obsessed over Genjo Sanzo, who’s exactly like Heero in that sense. His past trauma turned him into a cold, ruthless killer, who, despite his self-loathing, came to the decision that he must continue killing in order to live. While watching Gundam Wing, I saw these same qualities in Heero. Whatever he’s experienced before the start of the anime must have damaged him so badly that he’s become this cold-blooded killer. Judging from how quick he is to throw away his life for his mission, I conclude that he despises himself for all the people he’s killed. Just like Sanzo, he pushes aside that self-loathing to live on and continues fighting for what he believes is right. In addition to Sanzo, another character that I love with a similar personality type is Kai from Beyblade. Although his circumstances aren’t as extreme as Heero’s and Sanzo’s, since he hasn’t killed anyone, he also has a chip on his shoulder from his past trauma that causes him to be cold and put up a wall between himself and the people around him. Out of the characters that I know of who have this personality type, Heero would have been the first one I had seen. Even though I don’t remember knowing that Heero was like this, since I had assumed he was completely different all along, part of me gets this feeling of “what if he was the start of this? What if he’s the reason I love this type of character?” I wonder if it’s possible for him to have influenced my inclination towards these characters without me having any memory of it.

Adding to this topic of traumatized characters, Trowa also fits the bill. His trauma isn’t portrayed as anger against the world, as with the characters listed above. Instead, he’s often depicted as depressed and sometimes frightened, in a way that makes Catherine and myself feel pity for him. When he loses his memory and holds himself, shivering, that is a perfect illustration of the type of characters that I like, due to their vulnerability and need for protection. My very first favorite anime character was Hotaru from Sailor Moon, who very frequently displayed these same actions, which made me instantly love her. Also, Trowa reminds me a lot of Hakkai from Saiyuki.

Both Heero and Trowa are suicidal. Trowa had one or two moments highlighting this, but Heero has had at least 5 instances where it looked to me like he was trying to kill himself. He would often do something incredibly dangerous, without any regard to his own life. In one instance, he very nearly blew himself up, which resulted in him being bed-ridden and covered in bandages. I’ve always had a strong interest in suicidal and self-loathing characters like this. Whether this is from some sort of motherly instinct that makes me want to protect them or some sort of sadistic interest that I have with fictional characters, I’m not entirely sure. But either way, these two Gundam Wing characters stuck out to me very strongly due to their trauma and suicidal intent. Since Heero had always given me the impression of being the epitome of a shounen hero, him being suicidal struck me especially hard, and this just made me like him all the more. Even when I watch more lighthearted shows, I like to headcanon these kinds of things. For instance, I headcanon multiple Beyblade characters to be abused, suicidal child soldiers, so it was interesting to see that these things were canon in Gundam Wing. It’s rare for me to find an anime that focuses on traumatized bishounen characters similar to Saiyuki, so when I realized Gundam Wing was like this, I felt like it was written for me. I’ve come to call this the “pretty boys in need” genre.

Another reason this anime speaks to me is that, whenever I see Relena, I feel like I’m looking at myself as an anime character. Over the years, from high school to college especially, I’d developed my own fashion sense and aesthetic. This consisted of me wanting to wear ruffled blouses and long skirts. I loved feeling like a proper Victorian lady. I wore puffy sleeves, bows, and frills. My favorite colors to wear, which people have said look the best on me, were shades of red, pink, or maroon. I’d also wear a lot of white. My favorite hairstyle has always been straight cut bangs with my hair partly tied back, just like Relena’s. The hairstyle was consciously inspired by Gabrielle from Xena Warrior Princess, but I can’t help but wonder if Relena had some subconscious influence on it as well. My hair is naturally brown, but I was born blonde, and I often bleach my hair, so it’s usually somewhere close to her dark blond/light brown hair. My eyes are also dark teal, like Relena’s. Although I’ve lately been working a lot and hardly have the chance to dress up, I still see this Victorian princess image as my ideal appearance, which makes Relena feel like an idealized anime version of myself. I feel like I’ve grown to become her. Although, this comparison is almost strictly appearance-based. Some people say I’m serious, but in general, I don’t feel like I’m nearly as serious as she is. My life revolves around anime (certainly not politics), and I’m known to be very giggly. Although Relena and I do share an interest in angsty bad boys. I can’t help but wonder if maybe, somewhere deep down in my subconscious, I always wanted to be like her?

Lastly, the entire aesthetic and feel of this show feels incredibly nostalgic to me. There’s a scene in the second opening, where Heero suddenly looks up at the camera in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. I’ve been having trouble figuring out exactly what the feeling is that this evokes for me. I’ll say it’s a mix of sweet nostalgia and perhaps guilt. The characters’ faces and art style are so incredibly familiar to me. I’ve known of them since I was 7, but I never gave the show a chance by trying to watch it. I told myself I didn’t like it, after seeing a couple minutes, because I very quickly came to the conclusion that I didn’t like mecha anime. I was only 7, yet this opinion stuck with me for 20 years, without me ever trying to change it. Over the years, I had almost completely forgotten about Gundam Wing. I shunned the show. Perhaps I shunned Heero most of all, with my assumption that he’s a normal, cliche shounen protagonist. So when he looks directly at the screen like that, while I’m captivated by the familiar beauty of the art style, I also feel a pang of guilt for neglecting him all these years. 

I think the best way for me to conclude what it is about this series that makes me feel so strongly is that this space opera genre possesses the feeling of an Arthurian romance or a Shakespearean tragedy. While watching this show, my mind isn’t focused on the battles or the gundams. What draws me to this show are the characters’ relationships, emotional trauma, and the visual allusions to times long ago. Because of this, the small, barely remembered bits that I had seen as a small child had left such a big impact on me that, now, when I watch it for the first time, it feels like it’s been living inside my soul all along. When I watch this anime, I get this feeling that I can’t believe I’m actually watching it. As something from a bygone era that I had quickly discarded and never thought I would ever get back, it feels like some sort of miracle, as if I had gone back in time to watch this long-forgotten relic of my past.

Leah Marie

[aquilaofarkham]

title: end of sanctuary rating: M (violence, gore, disturbing elements, psychological horror, discussions of trauma) chapter count: ongoing summary: Trevor and Sypha enter Alucard’s dream world in order to help him confront, examine, and heal from his trauma while also reevaluating their own personal demons. Cover art by @kamek​ 💖

additional links: donations for RAINN donations for the Institute on Violence, Abuse, and Trauma

READ CHAPTERS ONE & TWO

I NEED A MIRACLE AND NOT SOMEONE’S CHARITY

The candelabras are made from human arms. Nails chipped, fingers discoloured and pale as they keep their iron grip on brass made to look like gold. Dim candle light flickers against darkness, dripping hot wax along the skin, burning it. They hold on without wavering, do their duty and light the way for their passenger in the corridor. 

Yet with every slow step forward, closer along the individual halos of fire, the candles move away from him before they’re snuffed out by an unseen and unfelt wind. There’s nothing behind him, he is alone; so he believes. So would anyone believe, surrounded by the dark and the quiet. 

He walks on, further and further, paying no attention to each broken shard of glass littering the hard floor. They cut deep into the soles of his bare feet. Smears of fresh blood follow him, wetting the cold stone beneath, but he doesn’t stumble nor slip. He knows it should be painful, realizes that he should stop, and notices how the candelabras continue to inch ever so subtly away from his presence before extinguishing themselves while his back is against them. 

There is nothing on his placid face, nothing in his amber eyes. No indicative expression of what he feels within and outside. Where there should be agony, there is only apathy. Where there should be fear, apprehension, there is only a complacent incentive to put one mangled and bloody foot in front of the other.

A thin white nightgown hangs off his body, not nearly long enough to cover his legs, leaving him both guarded and exposed. Another vulnerability he doesn’t care to rectify just as he doesn’t care for the voice speaking to him in one of those darker corners of the mind. It warns him in a whimpered tone: “there is something behind you”.

It’s uncertain whether this “something” has only just appeared or if it’s been following him since the first candles went out. But he can feel it closing in, lapping up the blood he’s left behind as an offering while he approaches the very last candelabra. It begins to turn away, the light repelled by his mere existence, and he stops. Come to the end of his meaningless journey. 

His unseen stalker remains silent, even when he can feel its hot breath as it caresses the back of his neck. He hears a sound akin to the wings of a creature much larger than himself stretching themselves out, preparing for flight. Weary eyes fixate on the last trembling candle flames, holding onto their last seconds of life. 

Still, he does not turn around. Barely a flinch even as the nightgown is carefully pulled down, displaying broad shoulders and the top of his chest. His long hair that matches the gold of his disinterested eyes tickles the newly bared skin like feathers. Both parts of his body are caged by precise scars not yet fully healed. 

Cold leathery skin presses down upon his shoulders, rough against soft. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a hand reach around from behind. Massive, clawed, and inescapable. Using a single deft nail, it gifts him a choker made of ruby red drops that slide down his neck before outlining the curves and crevices of his chest. With the blood comes a revelation that brings neither peace nor panic, only acceptance:

I am with myself.

–

Alucard listens to the distant voices of Trevor and Sypha talking, huddled into his blankets, his cheek pressed firmly against his pillow. They didn’t necessarily wake him because in order for one to be “woken up”, they have to be in the deep throes of sleep and dreams to begin with. Alucard was never asleep; not for very long. And his vision was far from a dream, yet he wouldn’t consider it a nightmare either. More like a personal realization; something he already seems aware of and his mind is only giving him a helpful reminder. 

The kitchen is five levels down from the guest bedchambers, but he can still hear them, if only as low indistinct mumbles. He can hear certain things more than ever before. Rats scuttling about within the castle walls searching for their next crumb of discarded food or an old grandfather clock ticking the seconds away before ringing out three deep chimes to signal midnight. Out of all his hereditary gifts most humans will never achieve, Alucard used to feel displeasure with this one the least. Then it had to grow more attuned, long past when he needed it most. Overstayed its welcome and now it’s useless. 

He can’t even make out the words spoken between Trevor and Sypha.

“How long do you think he’s had those?” 

The two travelers both feel as though they’re staring at themselves in a mirror crafted by a rather creative toddler. If not that, then a very doting grandmother or toymaker. A pair of dolls placed side by side on a kitchen counter, fashioned out of simple cloths stuffed with wool, buttons for eyes, and spoons in place of limbs. One is dressed in blue to match its eyes with orange fabric atop its head shaped meant to resemble short curls. The other sits next to an empty wine bottle in simple beige with two tiny red straps across its body and brown yarn for its own hair.

“I suppose not very long.” Sypha replies, bent down in order to get a much closer look at their little imposters. It’s the details of each doll; Trevor’s scar along one eye, a thin piece of string attached to his hip, and the high collar of Sypha’s robe. Alucard made these with care and attention, like he remembered every inch of them. Each individual thread, each stitch a reflection of themselves through the eyes of someone who desired their company.

Neither one is entirely sure whether to be charmed or concerned.

Sypha picks up her twin and taps at one of the button eyes with a fingernail. “I think they’re cute. Well made, too.” 

Trevor finds it difficult to share her amusement. He knows what an unhealthy coping skill looks like; he could write an entire book on the subject. “Finding a hobby to keep yourself entertained for a couple months is all well and good but don’t you think this meant something else for him? Like a cry for help?”

Sypha holds the doll awkwardly before setting it back down in silent agreement. The worry was there before but perhaps she didn’t want to admit it. After all that’s happened, she needs some respite; to see something and not contemplate its’ darker connotations. Then Trevor had to go and validate her initial unspoken concerns about Alucard. The dolls are not the first sign; they knew something was amiss when they walked down the battered halls of the castle, stepping over untouched broken glass and rubble. 

They knew even sooner when those bodies came into view. Both are gone now, removed days ago with haste out of disgust and before other wandering outsiders began to suspect anything, but the blood is still there. Sunken deep into the earth, staining the grass then drying up. Sypha can’t look down, no matter how many times she steps outside.

“There’s so much he will not tell us…” Her thought, voiced by a hushed tone is interrupted by a mere glance at the clock. “Look. The day is half gone and we still haven’t seen him at all.” A sense of responsibility and a desire to help surges through her, the same sort that’s always been a vital part of Sypha’s lifeblood. “We should cook him something. That might open him up to talking.”

Trevor nods. “I’ll go get him. I can only take so many “I’m fines” before I grab him by the shoulders and shake out whatever’s torturing him.”

Sypha expected such a plan. The way that Trevor cares, considers, and perhaps even loves is rougher than how others do it. It may have worked for him all those years alone with no one else to offer comfort, but it might not work now; not for Alucard. “Please don’t do that.” 

It takes little time for Trevor to traverse the castle from its kitchen to its hall of bedrooms; during their first day back, he asked Alucard if he had any maps to spare. Perhaps too subtle of a joke as the dhampir merely shrugged it off and showed them to their own chambers. Before either one could say another word, another joined expression of relief to see him again, Alucard was gone. Glided out through the door as though he were a passing phantom.

Trevor stops at one of the doors and raps his knuckles against the carved door. Of course there’s no answer, but he’s lucky enough to have it already ajar. Alucard won’t care if he slips in; he doesn’t seem to care about much these days.

“Hey. You awake?” A human-shaped lump covered in blankets stirs atop the bed with its simple, humble canopy; sturdy and made entirely of wood. Nothing like the extravagant transparent silk curtains of Trevor and Sypha’s bed. A head of golden hair pokes out but doesn’t turn around. No, you’re right, Trevor thinks. It was a stupid question. Alucard’s complicated relationship with sleep runs deep.

“Sypha and I are making breakfast… though I guess it’s lunch now.”

No need to finish his query; Alucard can answer it. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat something. You can’t fool me, I know that half-vampires can still eat human food.”

“I will eat later.”

First strike then second soon after without a moment’s hesitation. Trevor already knows there will be more if they continue like this but he won’t resort to ripping off the covers and carrying Alucard over his shoulder. Sypha wouldn’t approve of that. Even worse, he’d be choking on his own blood before reaching the door, torn out by a certain pair of fangs.

Trevor wants to remain alive. More importantly, he wants Alucard’s demeanor to be a bit brighter. Straightforwardness won’t work, but a different method might. If not, it will at least give Alucard some irresistible blackmail to use against him. Retracing his way through the castle, Trevor makes a mad dash back down into the kitchen. Alucard listens, one ear against his pillow, the other exposed. More voices, more words he cannot understand, followed by a series of quick footsteps coming closer, rising in volume until they stop. Something tiptoes towards his bed. What is it now?

“Alucard… Aluuuucaaaard.”

His sleep-deprived eyes open just a touch wider. It sounds like Trevor’s voice, only with a slightly higher pitch and an imitation of Sypha’s Iberian accent which straddles the line between charming and good enough reason for her to box his ears. 

“Please get out of bed. If you don’t come down, I will be sooooooo upset.” Alucard contemplates burying his head underneath the pillow until he feels another presence on the bed; small, light, and flimsy like a doll.

The doll. Panic quickly seeps in, turning Alucard’s body rigid. They found the dolls. He knew it was going to happen but he needed more time to prepare his admittedly troubling explanation. It would have been better if Trevor and Sypha never found them at all; he should have locked the stupid things away and not keep them in plain sight. For this situation, Alucard blames no one but himself.

“We have food, Alucard! Delicious, scrumptious food.”

Still, it is amusing to hear the rugged Belmont carry on in this manner. “I know that’s you, Trevor.”

“I’m not Trevor! I’m Sypha Belnades, the smartest and most powerful Speaker in the entire world! And if you don’t get out of bed, I’ll burn off all your hair with my fire magic.”

Alucard stifles a chuckle at the similarities between Trevor’s impression of Sypha and his own. They both must know her too well. “For some reason I don’t think you’re the real Sypha Belnades.”

“But I am!”

“Really? Then why do you feel much, much smaller and why does your voice sound like that?”

“I was cursed! By… by a witch! That bitch turned me into this. Now I’m trapped in this pitiful body. But if you have lunch with us, the spell will be broken!” This time Alucard doesn’t try to hold back his laughter. Trevor is clearly having too much fun with his little acting production. But when Alucard, despite his brightening mood, remains in bed with his back turned to him, he nuzzles the doll against the dhampir’s cheek.

“Alright, that’s enough of you.”

“Pleeeeeeease, Alucard?” Trevor moves “Sypha” all along his blanketed body as if attempting to tickle him. Alucard feebly waves his free arm, trying to resist but he feels the doll everywhere; on every inch of him. Moving over the scars.

“Enough, Trevor…”

“Pleeeeease do it for meeeeee?”

Alucard flips over and swiftly grabs Trevor’s wrist. “I said that’s enough!”

The two men finally see each other eye to eye, surprised against panic-stricken, as Trevor’s hold on the Sypha doll wavers. A tense moment passes before Alucard loosens his grip as well, realizing how tightly his fingers dig into the skin. Had his nails been sharpened, they might have gone straight through and down to the bone. His intense gaze relaxes and he lets go.

“I… I will be down shortly.”

Trevor nods then leaves. In a way, his ridiculous plan worked yet he doesn’t feel successful or proud. He doesn’t even stay long enough to hear a regret-filled “sorry” shyly muster its way out of Alucard.

–

Dracula’s modern inventions are a marvel—and a nuisance. 

Trevor and Sypha endlessly fiddle with the kitchen’s large contraption. A beast of burning wood logs crafted from metal and copper that’s been seemingly neutered by their shared incompetence. They could wait for Alucard instead of fumbling around until both of them reach their limits of agitation. But the idea was to surprise him with a fully prepared meal the moment he walks through the door. Light a few candles, pour three glasses of finely aged wine; just as Alucard would do for himself. 

Now they’ve wasted too much time wrestling with basic cooking mechanisms, pining for the days when they could create their own version of hearty gourmet food using only a simple campfire. Even Trevor found himself scrounging about in the cellar, stepping over broken glass, all for a decent bottle.

“I’m using my magic,” Sypha finally announces.

“Don’t do that.”

“I am. I have had enough of this stupid thing.”

“You’ll burn the whole bloody castle down if you do.”

“Would that be such a terrible thing?”

Her reply causes Trevor to stop and think. Just as she whispered exclamations of awe and wonder after first setting her eyes upon the Belmont Hold, Sypha was mesmerized by the castle’s sheer size, the depths of its architecture, and the intricacies of its numerous machinations. Part of her regretted the use of the word “grotesque” before she crushed the castle’s heart in her own hands thus transforming the engine room into an irreparable mess.

She felt so young back then. Now she sees Dracula’s castle for what it truly is and what it may be destined to remain as; a place that causes pain. A place that hurts anything caught within its walls.

Trevor searches every corner of the room before settling on a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, and some strips of dry meat hanging from hooks. “He’ll be down soon, let’s just put together something quick.” 

He pulls Sypha away and brings her to the nearest countertop just as she contemplates melting the oven down into a steaming puddle. She glares at the butcher’s knife placed into her hand then at the three food items in front of her. Seems too simple given the other ingredients surrounding them, but their time was cut short to begin with.

In the midst of their frantic slicing, pouring, and preparing, they pause to hear delicate footsteps making their way down the corridor. Alucard appears in the doorway, shoulders slouched and the dark circles under his eyes visible even from a distance. He doesn’t announce himself, though his silence does nothing to alleviate the awkward atmosphere. Taking his seat at the table, Sypha joins him along with Trevor, his hands full of three plates. He places them down unceremoniously.

“There. A meal fit for a prince.”

The two wait in anticipation while Alucard sits motionless. He examines the plate’s contents, his so-called “prince’s meal”: layers of stacked goat cheese and bacon sandwiched between two decently sliced pieces of sourdough bread with a thin twig of rosemary placed on top as a last minute garnish. Not a single vegetable or fruit in sight. Then Trevor and Sypha see something from Alucard that’s been missing for almost the length of an entire week following their return: a smirk. Subdued, but plain to see on his placid face.

“Did you make these, Trevor?”

“We both did, but it was Trevor’s idea,” Sypha answers in his stead. Alucard presses his lips tighter together, an honest attempt to keep whatever’s behind them locked away—a laugh perhaps? Hard to believe as it may seem.

“What?” Trevor demands. “What is it about my cooking that makes you giggle like a young nun who’s seen something naughty?”

“There is nothing wrong with your taste in food this time… shockingly so. I’m just remarking on how… humble this all looks. I expected nothing less from you both. Thank you.”

While Alucard takes his first few bites, Trevor and Sypha look to each other with uncertain expressions. He was always genuine in the small ways he showed his gratitude towards them, and they hear that very same gratitude in his voice. But only a sliver of it; the rest felt clinical. Still, they got him out of bed. They got him to eat. That’s more success they’ve accomplished in less than an hour than they’ve had for days. What they need right now, what they all need, are small victories.

The silence they eat in is comfortable, almost peaceful. Trevor and Sypha both know it won’t last. The enjoyment they feel with each bite of juicy meat, strong cheese, and soft bread comes with a sense of guilt. They know the difficult topic of Alucard’s refusal to tell them anything will have to be brought up now. If not, the wound will only meet the same end that all others left untreated do: left to fester and rot until there’s no hope of talking to him.

Alucard seems oblivious to their eternal conflict; maybe it’s for the best. Once half of his sandwich is finished, he raises the glass of white wine and downs every last drop in one bold gulp. Trevor turns to his own glass, barely half empty.

“Show off.” He mumbles under his breath, though not quiet enough as it catches Alucard’s attention.

“Oh? Have I bested you in that particular skill set?”

“Don’t push your luck. I’m still ahead of you in experience. A good couple of years in fact.”

“Remember, there is just as much inhuman blood running through these veins as there is human. I have more of a tolerance when it comes to certain vices.”

“Give me something stronger than whatever I used to find in my aunt Delilah’s liquor cabinet and I’ll show you how to take certain vices with tolerance.”

It always happens like this between them, again and again, over and over no matter the circumstance or situation. One man must compare himself to the other, measuring up his own long list of successes and failures. Sypha suddenly loses interest in her food. This conversation could go in many different directions—merely thinking about the probabilities brings her no ease. 

“Well, you’ve never been one to refuse a challenge. Let’s test that famous Belmont tolerance, shall we?”

Before Sypha can interject, Trevor does instead, pushing her further into silence. His expression turns grim as he lowers the wine glass. “I’ll pass on that challenge.”

“Showing restraint? I didn’t think you knew the word.”

“No, I just don’t want to give you an excuse to keep drowning yourself in something that hasn’t been resolved yet.”

Sypha is an excellent judge of character; she considers it to be a gift the same way she regards her prowess in the mystic arts. Simple, quiet observations of how a person carries themselves, how they move the slightest inch, and how they react to certain provocations tell her more than words can. When she sees Alucard’s eyes narrow while his fingers curl in on themselves, Sypha braces herself despite being the only one who predicted this. This will not end the way she wanted it to.

Trevor doesn’t notice those sorts of things quick enough, not like her. If he did, he would have swallowed that tactless statement before it had the chance to escape. Wash it down with the very same white wine he so candidly belittled.

“You think I’m drowning myself. How so?”

“Look at yourself, Alucard.”

“I do. Every day, in the mirror. It’s not something I particularly enjoy doing.”

His words sting, laced with venom but Trevor and Sypha understand what he means. Their eyes are drawn to his wrists and that window of skin exposed by his shirt’s plunging neckline. He tries so hard to hide those new scars—the ones he still hasn’t explained—but more often than not, they catch glimpses of tender flesh turned raw and inflamed. They abhor the thought of him carrying more, yet haunted by the idea that their worries are not unfounded. 

If only he would talk to them. Truly and deeply talk to them. Not in this way.

“I also do not enjoy being spoken down to like a troubled infant incapable of making their own decisions.”

“I’m not talking down to you and I’m not trying to tell you what and what not to do.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

“Sympathize, that’s all. And maybe help. I’ve been down that same road before and it’s not pretty.”

“I never asked for your help. I never gave you permission to coddle me, nor did I ever ask you to come back.”

“But you clearly wanted us to if those two dolls are any indication.”

“Those were not yours to see.”

“You left them out in the open! How could we not fucking see them?”

While voices and tensions rise with every heated exchange, Sypha breaks her vow of reluctant silence. “You cannot keep us in the dark like this forever, Alucard.” Both men turn towards her as all the words she left unspoken for days stumble out less like a steady stream and more like an untempered vomit. “Trevor is right; we just want to help. We want to understand what’s wrong and how we can all fix this. But you need to talk with us. What happened while we were gone? Who were those two outside the castle and why on earth did you display them like—”

A sudden loud clatter causes Sypha and Trevor to jump. Alucard holds his plate whiteknuckled while the rest of him shivers in quiet anger. He dropped it upon the table not hard enough to shatter but enough to crack. His half-eaten sandwich has fallen apart.

“I’m not hungry.” The chair scrapes loudly against the floor as Alucard pushes it back. He takes his leave without another word; not a bitter thank you or something far harsher. In a display of utter defeat, Trevor pushes away his own plate and rubs his face. A way of saying, “that was a fucking disaster”. And it all seemed to be going so well. 

Sypha doesn’t want to give in so easily. She follows Alucard out of the kitchen, her voice echoing off the castle’s stone archways and walls that dwarf them both. Nothing more than mice amongst giants.

“Alucard, please.” She calls out, still a fair distance away from him but catching up quickly. “We can fix this, just let us help you.”

“You can’t fix anything. Not even I could.”

Sypha knows she should be more careful with her choice of words but fears that if she hesitates for the slightest moment, she will lose him. He’ll retreat back into his room or another place deeper within the castle unbeknownst to her and Trevor, locking himself away in self-inflicted isolation, shutting out all daylight and human interaction.

“And you can’t keep punishing yourself like this either.” She’s close now; close enough to hold him. Close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“I want to be alone.”

“Alucard…” Sypha keeps her touch light and gentle. For him, it’s just another weight, another burden that’s been forced upon him. A sense of bodily contact he did not ask for. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Alucard feels her fingertips graze over a scar curving around his shoulder. He spins around and slaps Sypha’s hand away, his lips drawn back into a snarl, revealing fangs that have grown longer and sharper.

She takes a step back, then another until the divide between them is larger than it should ever be. There was no cry of shock or pain even as Sypha stares at Alucard with wide, possibly terrified eyes. He’s never seen her like this; not when their entire world was at stake. She holds the hand that was struck and then he sees it: three fresh claw marks. Alucard glances down at his own hand, though he already knows what he will find.

The rageful lines gracing his face soften while his eyes turn not just sad, but horrified. “Sypha, I…”

“What happened?” Trevor catches up to them, drawing Sypha into his arms. With the utmost care coupled with panic he takes her wounded hand and repeats the question, furiously shouting it in Alucard’s direction who stumbles with his answer.

“I—I didn’t mean—I won’t hurt—”

“What the hell did you do?”

Alucard forces out an apology, but is barely heard by either Trevor or Sypha. Again they fail to hear him when it matters most. They say nothing else, waiting for an admission they might never receive and stare at him as though they no longer recognize their friend. Friend. Alucard cannot breathe, cannot speak, yet his mind screams. Thoughts that plagued him for months which he tried burying now fully resurrected. Was he ever really their friend? Did they ever think of him that way? What must they think of him now?

Do they see him? Or do they see his father?

Trevor and Sypha’s poor attempts to make him stay fall on deaf ears. Alucard is gone from their sight, unable to hear their pleas. They’ll not see him again before the night comes.

–

“I’m not mad at him. It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

They don’t return to the kitchen. Instead, they traverse the ruined castle hallways until they reach what was once the foundation of Dracula’s genius and intellect. A laboratory filled with knowledge of a future not yet realized by humanity; or maybe a past that was deemed too heretical, too blasphemous by modern European institutions and so it fell into the hands of a monster. Knowledge that might thrive in the hands of someone else but now lies amongst broken machines, like every other room surrounding it. Still, there are smaller forms of medicine which Trevor uses to heal Sypha’s mild injuries. He rubs the cream over her hand, soothing the angry red scratch marks left behind by Alucard’s outburst.

“Well, there might be some bruising. Thankfully he didn’t draw any blood.”

“Would you have gone after him with your whip if he did?”

Trevor leaves the question as is; hovering in an awkward silence while he mentally searches for a change in conversation. Not because he doesn’t have a reply, but because he doesn’t want to face the conclusion he’s come to.

“Why doesn’t he use any of the medicine here? Continue his mother’s work, you know?”

“Maybe he’s just being cautious especially after what happened to her. Human beings are not ready for that sort of new knowledge yet.”

“And he spent more effort cleaning up my family ruins than he did with his own home.”

“You did give it to him as a gift.”

“But now that I really think about it, he never even liked the hold or its contents. It was a piss poor excuse for a gift.”

“Then why did you do that for him?”

He closes the lid on the jar of cream and places it back on the nearest shelf. Really, giving away his childhood home was done purely on impulse (as are most of Trevor’s decisions). But there was another motive, one he didn’t want to admit to at the time else a certain someone would endlessly mock him.

“He said he wanted to make the castle his grave and… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let him wallow in guilt and self-pity anymore so I thought I’d give him something to live for. A project he could dedicate all his time to and take his mind off things. I didn’t think he’d actually take it to heart like that.”

Sypha gives him a tired smile. “What you did was selfless and good, Trevor Belmont. Give yourself more credit than that.”

He tries, yet all that transpires is an exasperated sigh. “I will never fucking understand what goes on inside his head.”

“Don’t you want to, though? Don’t you want to help with whatever is troubling him?”

“Sypha, I don’t think it’s that easy. You remember those bodies.”

“I try not to.” Nevertheless, she still wants to rationalize Alucard’s current actions which means those two corpses along with his new scars will have to be explained. Her stomach churns at the thought. It couldn’t have been as simple as the shallow excuse of attacking the castle then attacking him.

“I hate feeling so useless.”

Trevor gently brushes a stray curl of strawberry hair from her face. His smallest gestures of affection are the ones she loves the most. “I know you do. You always want to help others and save the day. That’s what makes you so wonderful.”

“Or naive.” Sypha almost misses the time when she was far more optimistic, when her view of the world was a touch brighter, but past comforts do not fix present miseries no matter how fondly we dwell upon them—actions do. “We can’t lose another friend.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Trevor pulls her in close and kisses her head. “We’ll give it more time. Try again tomorrow.”

–

It’s not another dream but if it were, Alucard would hardly be able to tell the difference. He saunters down the hall, past each flickering candelabra, stopping momentarily to take a closer look. No soft flesh, no pulsing veins of blood, only painted brass. One piece of evidence to suggest that this is not a dream. Alucard needs that reassurance while he wanders dazed and disoriented, like walking through a thick mist.

The thin nightgown clings to his uncomfortably sweat drenched back, chest, and limbs. He’s taken to wearing the longer kinds, ones that reach down to his ankles. Hardly suitable for humid summer nights but he finds it better this way. Alucard continues on his aimless nighttime trek until he stops at a certain closed door. It’s not the first; there are many rooms within the castle which he finds no use for so they remain locked away from prying eyes. This one, however, is special to him. 

After his father’s death, Alucard thought revisiting his old childhood bedroom would be too painful. A single glance would conjure up memories best left untampered with. Since then he’s looked inside and even walked among its contents, frozen in time. He’s turned these brief visits into sporadic personal rituals, ways of grounding himself—or punishing, it depends on which feels more appropriate. He never touches or changes anything, not the singed carpet, not the crumbled up bed sheets stained with blood, and certainly not the ring.

Alucard raises a hand to push open the door before pulling back. Not tonight, he tells himself. He carries onward, quickening his pace past another closed door that will stay bolted tight until either his bones disintegrate into dust or the castle does, whichever happens first. 

Moonlight streams in through the tall kitchen windows, lighting the room in a nightly blue hue. Not strong enough to reach the ever-present shadows that hide in darker corners. That’s where Alucard left the dolls on their shelf, in plain fucking sight as Trevor said. It rings truer now that Alucard stands before them, staring down at the culmination of his little “hobby” long and hard.

Why did he make them with such love and care? With so much attention to their unique, individual finite details? It would have been easier to find two potatoes, a few buttons, some burlap, and be done with them. If there’s shame in the way he looks at the dolls now, then what must have been the purpose of starting this project?

Alucard knows that the real Trevor and Sypha are safe in their bed. He felt their presence during his walk; skin upon skin, hands resting along the curves of each other’s bodies. Neither one sleeps peacefully, discontented by earlier events. Because of him. He knows this for certain. 

Alucard picks up the Trevor doll first, running a thumb over the plush stomach before sharpening his nail. It tears into the fabric, spilling out the toy’s soft insides. Tufts of white wool float gently float down like snowflakes as they clutter the black and white floor, soon joined by a head torn from its body in an emotional fit. Once he’s finished with Trevor, he does the same to Sypha, ripping her into pieces. Everything, the dolls, their destruction and the manner in which they are torn up, it all seems so childish. When Alucard is faced with the mess he created, he’s filled with a confusing sense of regret over his impulsive actions and the frustration that he should have destroyed those dolls a long time ago.

Exhausted, head pounding, and chest aching, he joins what used to be Trevor and Sypha on the floor. Sitting uncomfortably, worsening his ruined posture, staring into nothing. “This is all so stupid.”

–

The large platform sways momentarily, dangling in midair before it begins to lower Sypha down the derelict tower that leads far beneath the Belmont manor. This is the first time she’s seen Trevor’s family hold in daylight; even in ruins, everything is brighter. Remnants of a once grand legacy that’s been holding on by its fingernails through sheer stubbornness and determination thanks to its last surviving son. She can now see the portrait of his founding ancestor without the obstruction of darkness.

Leon Belmont, fabled vampire killer and the first to hunt down Dracula—in appearance, there are no similarities between him and Trevor. Blond curly hair like a Renaissance cherub, noble demeanour, a true knight of old. That’s what the painting tells Sypha. She knows even less about Leon than Trevor does. Perhaps she’ll discover something in their family archives, something more scandalous than a spellbook involving vampire cocks and other unmentionables both human and inhuman. Though it’s certainly not her original intention; Sypha didn’t have any set goal or purpose in mind when she decided to seek out the Belmont archives. 

Only that it feels better than being inside the castle. Anywhere feels better than that incubator of sadness, death, and loneliness. Trevor may have questioned it but it’s no wonder Alucard put all of his effort into one family home instead of his own.

Upon arriving at the bottommost level, Sypha steps through the heavy door and nearly repeats her trick of igniting the entire hold in fire light. Until she notices that every torch has been replaced by the same bulbs of glass found beneath Gresit’s catacombs. There has to be a switch somewhere; always some sort of mechanism or device when it comes to the Tepes family and their inventions. She eventually finds a lever and pulls it down. A gentle humming sound fills the chamber and after a couple flickers, the bulbs illuminate bookshelves, cabinets, and other menagerie all kept in perfect condition.

“Incredible…” Sypha thought she was used to the archives. Questions dance in her mind as she descends the staircase. Is the electricity that Alucard installed the same as what she can conduct with her magic? She’ll have to ask him. 

Sypha isn’t looking for anything in particular. Simply being present around books interspersed between trinkets of no doubt dubious origins is enough for her. Meandering down each aisle, taking in the various titles containing any variation of “vampire”, “demon”, “mysticism”, and “grimoire”. They merge together until one happens to stand out: The Dream World: Mind Spells, Astral Projection, & Psychological Magick. It almost makes Sypha guffaw. Trevor still insists that the Belmonts were not magicians and never dealt in the more unsavoury aspects of the art, yet the contrary keeps rising to the surface. Sypha knows magic better than anybody and there’s plenty of it running through Trevor’s veins. If he ever picks up a spell and tries reading it, then he might realize.

Sypha holds the weighty tome, carefully skimming over each worn out page lest they crumble under her fingertips. An entire account of how someone could slip their own consciousness into another’s as if stepping into a friend’s home and rearranging its contents. All of which made possible through the simple act of sleeping.

I will never fucking understand what goes on inside his head.

Don’t you want to, though?

Sypha shuts the book without a second thought, feeling shock and a small bit of shame. She deals in elemental magic, manipulating the earth’s natural creations—never human bodies. It’s too dangerous and there are too many risks; something, or someone, could break. Shatter beyond reparation. Some minds are more delicate than others. 

But if she did the necessary research, as all good scholars of magic should, she won’t have to jump to such dire conclusions. Her predetermined fears might be dispelled; there might be hope. So, Sypha does the one thing that will always bring her comfort—she reads.

–

YOU SEE YOURSELF AS THEY SEE YOU

The water is always coldest in the morning. Before Alucard fills his two buckets with it, he dips a couple fingertips into the running stream, creating a slight shock that helps keep him alert. At the moment, the castle is empty and for good reason. Sypha is in the Belmont Hold; she always seemed more at home down there. The last time Alucard saw Trevor, he was following her outside and presumably to the archives as well. Still inseparable, those two. Meanwhile he’s here in the woods, away from castles and manors and underground chambers that have held on for generations. This place keeps him both sheltered and vulnerable.

This is a menial task, one of many that fill the days. Yet like all the others, it slipped Alucard’s mind until it reared its head and practically dragged him out of bed. It wasn’t always this way; not so long ago, the task of completing daily chores went differently. Collecting water, gathering ingredients for future meals, he treated them all as though they were part of a religion, a cycle that never stopped turning. Alucard’s mind once thanked him for it. Small distractions were blessings in the guise of simple tasks to keep himself afloat.

Alucard has tried to uphold this new religion. Though his attempts may not be so obvious to others. Occasionally, he’ll see the Belmont tower in the corner of his eye, no longer the crumbling pile of stones stacked atop of each other it used to be. He’ll feel the urge to pick up where he left off with its reconstruction. His palms are getting a bit soft, maybe it’s time to give them a few blisters and splinters again. 

Then there’s the one constant thing keeping Alucard from dusting off his tools, the immediate feeling that bars him from other forms of distraction: guilt. The same way he still “lives” within the castle despite its torment, he needs the reminders of what happened and everything he did. Distraction leads to remorse, then comes self-punishment, and finally discipline. This is Alucard’s new cycle, routine, and religion.

This recent excursion may seem like a step forward, but he’s certain it will be followed by many, many steps back.

He doesn’t return with any sense of urgency once the buckets are full. Instead, something in the water catches Alucard’s attention: a grey stone with a near perfect egg shape. He reaches down and pulls it out, wiping the mud and sand off its rough surface.

“Papa, it’s just a dirty old rock. What’s so special about it?”

“Watch closely, my little bat…” Using a single claw sharper than any hunter’s blade, the vampire cuts a perfect line along the stone. It cracks open, revealing colours that only exist in the younger vampire’s imagination. His gasps of wonder bring a smile to his father’s face.

“Do you know what we call a natural phenomenon like this one, little bat?”

“Hm. A geode,” Alucard mumbles to himself. Rocks that look unappealing on the outside but once they’ve been smashed open, they transform into treasure chests of jewels and crystals. He remembers now; Dracula used to bring him to the rivers and mountains surrounding the castle so that he could show his son the smallest of nature’s gifts. Without much deeper thought, Alucard drops the geode into his pocket before picking up the two heavy buckets. Sypha might enjoy such a trinket; perhaps it will bring her some much needed distraction. A paltry way of apologizing for the day before.

Alucard prepares for the trek back to the castle, but not before getting a good long look over his shoulder, then again once he’s started walking.

–

Trevor stares into the fountain, watching as momentary gusts of wind move dead leaves amongst twigs, animal droppings, and other debris littering the cracked stone. Otherwise empty and dried up just like the rest of what used to be the Belmont courtyard. Funny, it’s always the smaller, frivolous things about a broken home that are left to the very end when more important things demand attention and repair. That’s what Alucard did and only now does Trevor truly see the extent of his efforts not just to the Hold but the entire manor itself. Give it a few more weeks of hard honest labour and the building could almost be liveable again.

Why? It’s a question he’s been asking himself since their less than joyous reunion. Trevor remembers what Alucard said on their first night down in the Hold, hearing every word while he himself fawned over a piece of metal and chain. He must have thought the Belmont couldn’t hear. “Museum”, “dedicated”, and “extermination” coupled with other unsavoury terms as the dhampir looked over a casket of fanged skulls—one of which was smaller than the others. Much smaller. 

Then why do so much for a family that hunted his kind for generations? Like so much else concerning Alucard, the answer may always elude Trevor. Yet the only reaction stronger than his confusion is his own form of guilt. Trevor would say there hasn’t come a chance to show his full appreciation for Alucard’s work, but it’s just another lie and excuse.

He’s tired. Tired of staking his life on the constant movement from one road to the next, tired of putting walls between himself and others when there shouldn’t be any. During that brief, shallow time when he and Sypha settled down, Trevor felt a subtle sense of peace which had been lost to him for years—it scared him. But now that the manor is no longer a forgotten ruin, Trevor looks upon the structure not with sadness or pain, but hope. Life could return to its many rooms and corridors.

If only Alucard hadn’t halted his reconstruction progress. Still, the manor sits there waiting for the necessary work to be picked up again. He could talk to Alucard, offer a helping hand, rough up his palms a little. It doesn’t have to be a one man endeavour. 

Trevor forgoes the thought before it has an opportunity to solidify itself. All of it might be fruitless; there’s no point in having such a conversation if it only ends with more arguing, more yelling, and more of them storming off in opposite directions. More of yesterday’s events.

His flimsy attention span refocuses at the sound of Sypha calling out his name. He turns around and is greeted with an unsteady pile of books where her face should be. “Bit of light reading, eh?”

Sypha peeks out from behind the stack. “If you had come down with me, I wouldn’t be lugging all of these back up,” she says with a strained grunt.

“What’s the urgency?”

“I wanted you to see these.” She places the books down by their feet and begins handing them one by one into Trevor’s hands. He takes them, barely getting anything more than a few seconds to read their titles. What he manages to see doesn’t cultivate much optimism. Dreamology makes him believe that Sypha is simply having nightmares while Thought Manipulation Through Magic fills him with a creeping sense of dread. Those are only two amongst a dozen more.

“… What?” She asks, stopping once she notices Trevor’s usual silent cynicism. He holds up Cognitive Astral Projection.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning on making me your actual braindead manservant.”

She snatches the book away. “This is serious!”

“Hm. These say otherwise. Or are you getting bored of skewering beasties with ice pikes before scorching their arses off and want to try something a bit more subtle.”

“Just listen to me.” Sypha takes a breath to settle herself. “Remember what you said about not understanding what goes on inside Alucard’s head?”

“Vaguely.” But Trevor does remember, clearer than his most sober thoughts. And he already realizes Sypha’s plan before she can spell it out for him. His eyes turn dire while the palms of his hands suddenly feel cold. “Sypha…”

“No, listen, I have looked through all of these and look there are spells one can cast to, to, to project yourself into another’s mind.” She speaks faster than her thoughts. Trevor can’t even get his own opinion out while she excitedly stammers on.

“Sypha.”

“A-and it happens when both participants are asleep, you see, which means we can access Alucard’s mind through his dreams while we are both conscious yet also unconscious at the same time—”

“Sypha!”

“What?” She exclaims. “This is our chance to help him. If he cannot tell us outright then we have to see for ourselves. Otherwise we’ll never truly understand what happened. He can heal and we can all finally move on from this.”

“Maybe. Or maybe something goes wrong and none of us ever wakes up again. Maybe we end up putting another crack in that brain of his whether we meant to or not. Maybe we break him completely.”

“Nothing will go wrong as long as we follow the directions.”

“Have you ever cast a spell like this before?”

“No, but the very scholars who wrote these books were once beginners starting out for the first time in their lives.”

“Yes, and then they practiced and studied for decades before sitting down to write the entire fucking codex on mind manipulation.” While Trevor waves one of the books in her face, Sypha matches the rising volume in his voice. 

“You are just afraid.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! But you can’t abandon him like this just because you don’t want to attempt the only option we have. Do not go back to the man you once were, Trevor.”

Teeth grind together, hard enough to crack and shatter. He stares Sypha down with fury in his eyes; not for her, never for her, only for what she said. “I don’t want to do this because I am so fucking sick of magic. Sick of enchantments, incantations, and all that other occult bullshit. All it ever does is hurt others and make the world darker than it already is.”

Sypha holds her ground, expression placid and immoveable. “Is that what you think of my magic?”

A simple question that breaks Trevor’s hardened demeanour. He knows his answer— her magic is terrifying in beautiful ways and she might be the only morally decent practitioner in the world—but he doesn’t say it like that. “You… Sypha, you know I didn’t mean it like that, I just…” He tries placing a hand on her shoulder before it’s shrugged off. Calmly but with the right amount of force, she pushes a book against his chest. Trevor manages to guess two words from her intense gaze: read it.

Sypha steps back, about to take her leave, before giving him a valuable piece of information that’s long taken root in his mind. All he needs to do is accept it. “The Belmonts were capable of magic. As are you.”

Trevor opens his mouth when she’s too far away to hear or acknowledge.

–

When Alucard returns to the castle, he’s faced with a choice: slink back into bed and wallow in a false sense of security or take a bath before Sypha starts confusing him for Trevor. The first sounds more tempting but he’s been mobile all morning, it would be a shame to erase that progress. He could have an alright day. There haven’t been any great or even good days, only the alright ones. The slow and dull kind, which Alucard takes happily. Anything would be better than yesterday. 

With no windows to the outside world, the castle’s main powder room is darker than the others. It’s only source of light comes from sweet smelling candles scattered throughout, kept firmly in their places by years of hardened wax like pearl-coloured tears. The walls are dyed in that same sort of red that reminds Alucard of red wine or freshly spilled blood. Drenched in soft candlelight, the room is more a boudoir than a bathhouse (in some parts of the world there’s little difference between the two).

He turns a few heavy knobs at the head of the large brass tub and once the pipes clear their throats, buried deep behind walls and underneath the floorboards, clear steaming water begins to spurt out. Alucard checks the temperature; it burns to the touch which he prefers. He removes his boots yet hesitates with the rest. A single passing glance at himself in the ornate vanity mirror, one glimpse at all the pieces of bare skin despite being fully clothed, and his reluctance seems rational. Even alone, he doesn’t want to see the rest of him. 

Alucard sits before the vanity, listening while the tub fills itself to the brim. His eyes glaze over each cosmetic alongside his geode. He settles on a small bottle of herbal oil made from lavender and lemon balm leaves which he gently applies to his wrists. Smells divine, hurts like absolute hell. Liquid seeps into the raw, tender skin and he lets out a hiss. The necessary pain subsides; Alucard’s breaths turn deep and slow. He hates looking up into the mirror only to be faced with his overly familiar weary eyes surrounded by dark circles. It’s unavoidable. 

Something on the table begins to shake. For a moment, Alucard thinks it’s because of his own trembling hand gripping the mahogany wood until he notices the river stone. It moves from side to side, teetering then tottering, like a child’s spinning top about to fall. He stares not in fear but with caution as the stone cracks, louder than anything that size should sound. An egg ready to hatch.

Alucard expects to be greeted by a newborn chick when the rock turned egg finally cracks right open. What clumsily rolls out instead is still trapped within its embryonic sack, not strong enough to break through. He assists by making a tear with his nail as a viscous substance pours out along with its inhabitant. There’s hair, two arms, two legs, and a pair of wings weighed down by the fluid. Unsure and a little nervous, he helps clean whatever just emerged, allowing its delicate, transparent wings to fully unfold. 

The creature stumbles like a freshly birthed calf getting used to its own legs before using Alucard’s fingers for support. At last, he sees the long caramel hair that envelopes its entire body, not much larger than his outstretched hand. He sees the pointed ears and the earthy green tinge that covers the very ends of each limb. 

Despite what humans of sound mind and reasonable logic may proclaim, vampires and night creatures exist in this world. They may very well rule it. Why shouldn’t the smaller, daintier beings of fantasy exist as well?

Softly and with the utmost care, Alucard cups the fairy in both hands and lifts her off the vanity. “Now where did you come from?” A silly question, admittedly. 

Her eyes, which seem too big for her tiny face to hold, finally open. She stares up at Alucard, blinking rapidly, before her lips curl back, revealing a smile of pristine yet razor teeth. Wings flutter like a hummingbird’s and following a few delighted inhuman chirps, she’s encircling Alucard, unable to decide where she should land first. A second on his shoulder, then another atop his head. Eventually, she discovers the incomparable joy of hiding herself within the smooth locks of his hair.

“Well, aren’t we an excitable little one.” Alucard manages to pluck her free but the fairy isn’t finished with her thorough examination of her chosen imprint. She comes across his marred wrists and lets out a softened chirp of concern. He mutters the same excuse he gave to Trevor and Sypha: it’s nothing. The fairy can’t hear, or she just doesn’t listen. Determined to use every ounce of her miniscule strength, she begins pecking at the wrist, planting kiss after kiss upon his scarred flesh.

“Oh no, please don’t trouble yourself with that.” There are accounts of fairies who carry certain healing abilities, but this one is still a babe. The only world she knows is Alucard. Better she learns how to crawl before she walks. But the fairy couldn’t care less about any of that. This golden-haired giant could end up being the only world she ever knows or will ever know, and she would be overjoyed. Flying upwards, she holds his face in both arms and nuzzles against his cheek. 

It’s a surprising development, but Dracula’s castle will continue to play homestead to all things strange and odd. This fairy may just be oddly wonderful.

–

Trevor’s body has always despised him for many reasons, rebelling against itself. He can’t remember what he looked like without his battle scars (if there was ever a time when he didn’t have them), some bones have been broken then rearranged so often they float around amongst muscle and blood utterly ruined. He once considered keeping a log of every time he stumbled into a back alley to cleanse his battered insides through vomiting. One column labeled “drinking”, the other “fighting”. Some nights would require both to be marked up.

Those are understandable reasons. Trevor never thought reading would elicit the same visceral reactions. His head pounds away, the backs of his eyes sting like mad, and there’s an unseen weight pressing down on his chest. It’s been hours since he made Dracula’s disarrayed library his own, surrounding himself with books and half opened scrolls like some hermit monk or scholar holed up in his study. There must be a curse on this room; whoever enters to read its contents and is not the castle’s lord or of undead blood shall be stricken down with nausea, tiredness, and frustration.

Trevor ignores how his mind pulses and aches with every written word. Sypha’s talk of dreams and mind spells is the cause of all this. He’s managed to retain a fair amount of knowledge, though whether or not any of it will be helpful he cannot say for certain. There’s one story concerning an unnamed alchemist of the 10th century who performed dream spells on himself; perhaps he still had some higher morals to not use other bodies for his tests. With these incantations, his mind created absolute paradises where he would live for decades while only a few hours passed in the realm of reality. 

The effects on his physical body were apparent; the first time he cast the spell, he aged thirty years in the span of five hours. During his second sleep, he died in the dream world a peaceful old man with no regrets or unfinished business. When whatever colleagues he had left found him, he was a half-rotting corpse in his bed.

Accounts like these—factual or mere ghost stories—don’t encourage much optimism. Which is why Trevor keeps reading, keeps searching in case it’s not enough. His nose buried so deeply in knowledge previously unknown to him. He doesn’t notice that Sypha has found him, not until she lays a hand on his shoulder, startling them both. Trevor drops his most recent find while she lets out an exclaimed gasp and holds her chest.

“Christ…” He says breathlessly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up like that. This is the very last place I expected to find you.”

“I’m full of surprises.” As Trevor gathers up his resources, Sypha observes their contents; the very same she herself had been researching all morning long. Dream lore and mental magic, everything he denounced not too long ago.

Trevor makes a note of her silence. “I looked through that first book you gave me. Started thinking… which is never a good sign with me, and wanted to do some reading myself.”

Full of surprises, indeed. “Trevor, I’m shocked.”

“Hope it’s the pleasant sort. But you should know that I did all of this for you… and for him. Mostly for you.”

Sypha is used to Trevor’s deflections. She thought by now he would readily accept his growing ability to care deeply for others when his outward appearance suggests otherwise. There is always much to rebuild. “These are his books… does that not disturb you?”

“Hm, not really.” Sypha almost chides his nonchalant response, thinking back to how violently he reacted to the prospect of Alucard being his father before their silly duel was put to rest. “Dracula may have been a monster but he was a genius. There’s not much difference between what’s down there and what’s up here. Suppose one has to know their enemy.”

Genius. Trevor Belmont of the House of Belmont is either mad or drunk. Sypha assumes that if his family were alive, he would have been flogged for speaking their own form of blasphemy. The same might have happened anyway had they known about his partnership with the son of their centuries old adversary.

“So… you’ve thought about it?”

Trevor takes a breath, eyes downcast. “You wanted me to read, so I did. To be honest, a lot of this is just fear mongering, which is why I kept at it. There are things worth learning and knowing about. I’m not exactly jumping with enthusiasm over your proposal, but you could say I’m more open to it than I was. We just need to find the right spell.”

“I think I have. It was in one of the books from your family’s library.”

“What do we do?”

“There are a lot of steps involved, but the most important element is that we all have to be asleep. In order for our collective consciousness to enter another’s mind, that person has to be in an even deeper sleep. All but dead to the world.”

Trevor suddenly turns grim and angry. “I’m not fucking drugging Alucard.” 

Sypha reacts in an offended manner. “Of course we won’t! Why on earth would you ever assume that?!”

“Sorry… some of the things I read about this didn’t give me the best mindset. Does it involve any other unsavory acts like blood sacrifices or ritualistic masochism?”

“No, nothing like that. We just need to prick our temples hard enough to draw blood and burn something that belongs to each of us.”

“What’s the purpose of the fire?”

“As long as the items keep burning, we remain inside the dream world. When it runs out, that’s when we wake up.”

“And the blood?”

“Supposedly to help open up our minds. The chapter explains everything in detail. But we need Alucard’s consent first.”

Trevor bites at his thumbnail, something he hasn’t done since the age of thirteen. “It won’t be easy convincing him.”

“If we fail, we fail. It’s his choice.” Though there’s a part within Sypha, deeper and more persistent than she’s willing to admit, that wants their plan to succeed. Not for her sake and not for her ego.

“Right. Let’s go find him.”

They stand up to leave but only walk so far down the corridor before they turn round a corner and nearly crash into Alucard.

“Fuck’s sake, enough with all the sneaking around.” Trevor grumbles once his heartbeat settles.

“I heard voices coming from the library and wondered if it was you two.”

“Course it was us, who else could it have b—” He squints, peering closer at Alucard. “Is something on your shoulder?” It could be an effect of reading too much, but Trevor knows he hasn’t gone insane—yet. He sees the wings, the miniscule head and the even smaller face staring back at him with suspicion.

“Oh, this. Well, I… I found her in the river and—”

“She’s precious!” Sypha interrupts, bending down to get a clearer look at Alucard’s new companion the same way a child looks in fascination at a brand new doll. “I know about these creatures… she’s a pixie, correct?”

Trevor and Sypha hear a series of quick jingles and chirps but Alucard hears something entirely different. “She prefers to be called a fairy.”

“You can understand that thing?”

More jingles, more chirps followed by a distinct growl from the fairy. “She also doesn’t like being called a thing by giant hairy oafs who smell terrible.”

Trevor would almost feel insulted if he wasn’t already accustomed to far harsher and disgusting terms throughout his adult life. So Alucard’s new friend doesn’t like him. Fine, he never liked fairies to begin with. Too many bedtime stories warning him about those who steal babies and gather in hordes to eat the flesh clean off a human’s body.

“Sypha and I need to discuss something with you.”

Alucard’s muscles seize up; he feels the fairy grow more restless, impatient with these two strangers barging into her life and what they might do to her keeper. He calms her with a light pat on her head. Don’t let what happened the day before happen again. Listen to them. Hear what they have to say then react.

“Go on.”

Trevor glances at Sypha and lets her speak for both of them. “We were thinking about what you said the other day, and you’re right. We can’t fix you. It was ignorant of us to believe we could especially after being gone for so long. But we still want to help in whatever ways possible. Talking about causes you too much pain, we understand that. So maybe if you showed us…”

She pauses, examining Alucard’s demeanour. Still face and even stiller breath. Sypha carries on with extreme care. “We read about a type of magic that focuses on dreams and projecting oneself into another’s mind. If you would allow us, Trevor and I could relive your memories and feel whatever it is you’re feeling through dreaming.”

“What she’s trying to say is—FUCK!” Trevor lets loose an entire chorus of expletives as the fairy swarms about trying to lay another bite somewhere she can reach. In between her efforts, she moves to Sypha and pulls her hair, chirping frantically. They flail their arms, ducking and avoiding the little menace as best they can while Alucard looks on. He doesn’t take any pleasure in watching this chaos, yet is in no rush to stop it. Eventually, the fairy tires of her own antics and hides behind his neck, hissing in their direction.

“If it does that again, I’m pickling it inside a jar full of ale.” Trevor threatens, wiping away the small amount of blood drawn from her many bites.

“How much did you read about dream magic?”

Sypha smooths out her curls and straightens her robe. “A lot. We found books from both the Belmont library and your father’s.”

“Were you aware that you can easily die while in someone else’s consciousness?”

“… Yes, we did read about it.”

Alucard nods, clear that he’s holding something back. He hides it behind an uncomfortable stance and glare. “And when you do, your soul wanders aimlessly between worlds. No heaven, no hell, not even limbo. The only afterlife is emptiness. You’re waiting for peace or punishment or anything you actually can feel, but it never comes. Never to be reunited with your loved ones no matter where they are.”

The final statement instills slight panic within Trevor and Sypha. They know the truth as it’s been sitting with them, a festering wound that demands attention. Neither of them have told Alucard but the way he speaks leads them to believe he somehow knows. The one parent seems obvious, necessary even, but both? Another revelation to weigh heavily upon him. The two brace themselves for his venom and the further erosion of his trust for them. They’ve accepted it; maybe they both deserve his vitriol.

“I will consider it.” Alucard walks away with the fairy still glaring daggers into Trevor and Sypha, plotting their inevitable demise.

It’s not what they were expecting, far from his first reaction to their outstretched hands offering support and help (or rather forcing). Though it does not surprise them. I will consider it, I will think about it, all of it means the same outcome. A gentle, polite method of saying no without pushing someone away.

They have failed, but Sypha was truthful. It is his choice.

–

Night arrives quicker at Dracula’s castle. It rushes across the sky and fills each hallway with rushed excitement. The earlier conversation feels like nothing more than a hazy memory, one that warns him of bad tidings whenever it rears itself, now pushed back in favour of things Alucard wants to think about willingly. He sits on his bed holding a white and gold porcelain box while the fairy balances herself on his thighs waiting patiently. He had to do a bit of searching in order to find the illusive box. There was an image tucked away in his distant memories; something his mother always carried with her during the later hours of the day. He thought it was only his mind conjuring up a false recollection but he found it by chance.

Dracula was an inventor as much as he was a conqueror, a recluse, and a legend to keep hell-fearing morals in their place. Yet in the eyes of a child and mother, his grander discoveries paled in comparison to his smaller, more intimate ones. They appreciated and gazed in wonder at the various devices that kept the castle alive like a ticking clock tower but individual items like a music box carry far more heart than gears or electric lights. With a few turns of a small winding key on the side, a soft metallic melody begins to play. The fairy’s ears perk up as do her wings, twitching rhythmically as she stares in elation.

“You enjoy music, don’t you?” He chuckles. She has another surprise in store for Alucard when her mouth opens and lyrics tumble out in perfect tune with the music box. Her high-pitched voice sounds sweeter than honey in the sunlight, but Alucard is most endeared by her skills as a little musician. Less than a minute of listening to a song she’s never heard, and already the words come more naturally to her than to a seasoned court bard.

He closes the box thus silencing its music and the fairy returns to her happy chirps. It is in these moments when he wishes he could match her cheerful presence. All he can do is return her displays of affection with a tired smile, reopen the box, and fashion a bed just for her. She squeaks in delight, immediately flying in to make herself comfortable before curling up, ready to enter a peaceful sleep after an exciting first day alive.

Alucard snuffs out the room candles and settles himself under the covers. While he dreads tonight’s sleep like all the ones that came before and will come after, he feels somewhat pleased that today has joined his list of “alright” days.

Eyes close and he hears the screams. He doesn’t recognize them as screams but instead as distraught squeals similar to that of an animal caught beneath a predator’s claws. Alucard sits upright and turns to the fairy who thrashes about in her makeshift bed, eyes shut tight as sobs wrack her body. The box clatters against the table with every movement.

“What’s wrong? Here, let me help…” He goes to cup her in his hands but her fearful eyes open, tinged red with tears. She backs away even further when Alucard tries again.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.” His fingertips brush along her head; he feels how she trembles at the mere sight of him. She’s terrified of a presence she once loved unconditionally. 

It takes a moment, but the fairy holds Alucard’s fingers and hugs them against her chest. There remains a hesitance in every action. It’s clear that members of her kind display certain talents that moral minds could never hope to achieve. They’re naturally attuned to the art of music, the mythic science of healing, and the magic of dreams. What did she see within Alucard’s?

He keeps the question to himself out of respect for her sanity; his own as well. Placing the fairy back into the box, she’s not as quick to sleep as she was before and neither is he. She’s too occupied with watching him close, still shaking, while Sypha and Trevor’s proposition crawls its way back into Alucard’s thoughts. It will keep him awake for the rest of the night.

He did say he would consider it.

[eclipsemanipulation]

Choose: YES or NO to photo Manipulation.

Introduction to photo manipulation:

Photo manipulation involves transforming or altering a photo using various methods and techniques to achieve the desired results. Some photo manipulations are considered skillful works of art, while others are considered unethical practices, especially when used to deceive the public. Other examples include use for political propaganda, low-turnout rallies, but images of people are added to the photo. The photo itself is manipulative in shooting by finding the right angle to display as many people as possible, or to improve the appearance of a product or person. It can also serve for fun and practical joke like the latest case of Bernie Sanders meme. Depending on the application and the purpose, some photo manipulations are considered to be an art form because they involve the creation of unique images and in some cases, the signature expressions of art by photographic artists. Other examples of photo manipulation include modifying photos using ink, paint, airbrushes, or duplicate exposure, snippets and negatives together in the darkroom, scratching instant movies, or using software-based manipulation tools applied to digital images. This technique was used in the former communist countries to retouch photos of the history, such as the disappearance of political leaders from historical or other meetings. Software applications have been developed for digital image manipulation, ranging from professional applications to highly basic image software for casual users.

"Pollution" photo:

Edited photo

Original photo

Pollution is a global problem that affects all of us. We are all aware of its existence but very few people try to make a change in the current situation. I covered the faces of the couple to protect the privacy of the people in it. The photo could be used to illustrate an article about the pollution of the marine world, and it would be somehow sarcastic. The biggest problem of this century is pollution which is not only warming the climate, but also making our lakes, rivers, oceans and seas acidic. Thousands of debris are dumped into the sea, which is why many countries are protected by wetlands and sanctions. I also added a can of Coca-Cola next to the swimmers to raise the alarm for urgent measures. An article a few weeks ago pointed out that in the beautiful beaches of Bali the debris has invaded the sand, because due to the pandemic, many hotels that take care of cleaning them have closed. This pollution endangers not only human life but above all water’s life. Due to the pollution many animals that communicate using ultrasound now have difficulties communicating with each other. I think that the manipulated photo is an outcome of millions of photos that show the same situation of pollution (but the others on the internet are without people on it). I don’t think that tourists would ever go on vacation in places where the cans or other debris are floating at the surface of the sea. The non-edited photo could be used and give the message to the viewer: Love your planet and do what you can to protect it, to prevent pollution and to spread the right message. Whereas, the edited photo gives the wanted message to the public, it can be misguiding as it doesn’t represent the truth in the moment and place when the photo was shot. In my opinion the edited or unedited photo cannot be used as press photography, because it doesn’t represent “pure” news. It is not linked to a specific event or lifestyle and the purpose of the edited photo is just raising awareness toward people and pollution. If an article would be realized, this should not be the main photo, but serve as an attractive photo to read the news, and after reading the article, people could do extra researches and get more information about the topic. In both cases, if we use the original or not original photo, we fulfill the meaning that the photography has. As in the Smithsonian Project, the impact on the society in this case will be how photography changes a full cycle of what we see, what we remember, what we do, the place we choose to go, and also what we want (to change or not the future).

“War” Photo:

Edited photo

Original photo

In the case of this photo I covered the face of the little girl for ethical reasons, and I also intensified the colors of the writing in order emphasize directly on the message. The photo was taken in peacetime, in a place where no fighting is taking place, but where an artist has written a well-known slogan all over the world (if I were to choose a picture of war there could be mutilated, dead, massacres as in the case of Syria or Iraq). We could use this photo best in an article on world wars, to give a message of peace. Since 2011 over 800 thousand people have lost their lives in war, and 108 million people were killed in wars in the twentieth century, so it is very important to focus on the bright side of that. The photo is an artistic realization, not a direct image from the war, which makes it more unique, and the purpose is to raise the sense of peace and positivity. It shows the future and the faith of rebuilding and healing the traumas of the new generation.

I think it is a perfect tool to deliver and promote the reality of peace and the impact of the wars on societies. In my opinion, it can also be used as press photography to impress the viewer and raise the curiosity of reading the article linked to this photo (but I would not prefer to use this photo as press photography). Edited or unedited image, both lead to the truth and they do not misguide the public as the message to deliver is clear.

Advertising photo:

Edited photo

Original photo

Shades and colors in this photo were edited to add sharpness and contrast making it look more appealing. It can be used for articles in magazines or advertisements online as well as in advertisement for fashion, perfumes, promotion of a new song (as a cover of the album), or for an artistic exhibition. It can also be used as press photography to record an event where the image was used, to show the sales that was done, or for lifestyle stories. My inspiration for this creation was retracted by Richard Avedon’s work. Today more than never, the photography is the core of marketing.

The better a “product” is presented the more it will sell. Since the manipulation of this photo is not touching the ethical rules, it can be used freely whenever is needed. The photo above will not mislead the public and it will showcase the product it was created for. The photo doesn’t have added objects and has a wide range of use. It will serve the purpose even if the public will not see the original image, meaning that we can use the edited or unedited image, even though in my opinion the edited image is more powerful. It can be used as press photography for the purpose to write about an event that will occur or had occurred, or as an article linked to the design field, and even to the tendencies of the lifestyle.

Art vs press photography:

The difference between an artistic photo and a press photo lies in serving the truth. In the case of the photos I used, they are more artistic. Art photography is open to interpretation, whereas press photography uses images without any explanation. Press photography is spontaneous, and is used in recording news, lifestyle stories and different events with the intent to capture the image and to write a story without leaving room for bias and attract the public to read more about it. On the other hand, art photography is a created vision of the photographer. The artist in this case is free to capture images that make sense for him and have an interpretation of the subject.

These photos were taken from www.pixabay.com website, there is no mention of author name. These images are not protected by copyright and are for free use.

References:

www.pixabay.com

https://www.cnbc.com/2021/01/23/bernie-sanders-inauguration-meme-heres-the-story-behind-the-photo.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Photograph_manipulation

https://www.history.com/news/josef-stalin-great-purge-photo-retouching

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Censorship_of_images_in_the_Soviet_Union

https://www.prospects.ac.uk/job-profiles/press-photographer#:~:text=Press%20photographers%20take%20photos%20for,current%20events%20and%20lifestyle%20stories.

https://sites.google.com/site/shootingthetruth/Home/modules/module-1/learning-activities-week-1

https://www.nationalgeographic.org/encyclopedia/marine-pollution/#:~:text=Marine%20pollution%20is%20a%20combination,and%20to%20economic%20structures%20worldwide.

https://www.sbs.com.au/news/the-trash-keeps-coming-bali-s-iconic-beaches-are-buried-in-rubbish

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_wars_by_death_toll

https://www.nytimes.com/2003/07/06/books/chapters/what-every-person-should-know-about-war.html#:~:text=How%20many%20people%20have%20died,150%20million%20to%201%20billion.

https://sites.google.com/site/shootingthetruth/Home/modules/week-7/course-notes-week-7

https://www.avedonfoundation.org/

https://gagosian.com/artists/richard-avedon/

[mimzy-writing-online]

Writing a Blind or Visually Impaired Character: Crafting

How to Craft a Blind or Visually Impaired Character, Part One of a series

The is part of a multi-step guide for writing blind characters, and it’s master post is this link: https://mimzy-writing-online.tumblr.com/post/185122795699/writing-a-blind-or-visually-impaired-character

All the posts associated with this guide will be tagged #blindcharacter along with any other posts I write in the future regarding writing blind characters.

Disclaimer: This blogger/writer is visually impaired, has lived with vision loss for almost two years, has been using a cane for two years, and has written two blind characters so far. 

Part One: Crafting the Blind Character

Step One: Make a character. A real, fully fleshed out, written and perfected character.

I am VERY serious here. You need the character first before you can decide to make them blind. Or disabled in general. The reason for that is because disabled people are real people. They were real people before they developed their disability and they continue to be real people living with their disability.

Real people have family and friends they love and adore. They have their own community. They have an innate desire for human connection, whether it’s romantic, familial or friendship connections. They have sexual orientations and gender identities.

Real people have a sense of humor, whether it’s sarcastic, dry, witty, full of puns, dark humor or lighthearted humor. Even if their humor is reliant on memes, everyone has a sense of humor. Unless you’re writing a character who has a distinct lack of humor and never laughs at anything ever, but then I generally advise against writing a character who never laughs once in your book, sighted or not.

Real people have interests, favorite and least favorite things, music and food tastes, books they love and hate, unique mannerisms, goals, things they’re afraid of and things they’re willing to fight.

To be honest, blindness doesn’t change a person that much. There’s not much of a difference between sighted me and visually impaired me. Visually impaired me learned some better social skills and has an affinity for soft things and interesting textures, but I’m still the same person.

Think about it like this: take your favorite OC that you’ve ever made, and make them blind. Ideally they’re still an interesting person without being blind, so blindness is just sort of a thing that happened to them.

(this is actually how I made one of my blind characters. I took my favorite original character ever, and I made him blind. He’s still the same person, but his lifestyle and how people perceive his ability and treat him, are different.)

Blind people have amazing, colorful lives that are just as interesting as a sighted person’s life.

Your character needs to be developed and fleshed out before you give them a disability because at the end of the day disabled people are still real people and disabled characters should reflect that.

If you want to see a good example of what I mean when I say blind people are real people, I would check out YouTuber Molly Burke. Link to her channel right here:

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCwf9TcLyS5KDoLRLjke41Hg

She’s gotten pretty popular and through her videos you can really see her personality fleshed out. She’s a very authentic person, living her full life on camera. She does videos on her experiences with blindness. There are lots of educational videos on her channel, including how she (as someone who is considered medically blind and has only light and shadow perception remaining) uses technology as a blind person, what it’s like having a guide dog, videos about what it was like growing up with continuous vision loss, how she shops and picks out her daily outfits and does her make up. Like many people, Molly has an interest in fashion and beauty, and blindness has never stopped her. (Hint: your blind characters can have an interest in fashion and makeup too! Wouldn’t that be cool?)

She’s amazing and she is exactly what I mean when I say blind people are real people with vividly interesting lives just like sighted people.

Step Two: Make them blind

This is actually a multi-step thing, so we’ll work one step at a time.

First, decide how they went blind. Was it a disease or an accident? If it was a disease, you need to determine what disease it was. The disease you choose will affect your character’s vision in a specific way. Macular degeneration and retinitis pigmentosa will create two very different changes to vision. Get very specific and then research the shit out of that disease.

If it was an accident, you need to get very specific about the details of that accident and research whether what you’re suggesting is actually possible.

A head trauma might create a tear in the retina which would certainly affect vision, but retina tears are actually fixable through surgery in most cases (though probably not all cases, but most)

A chemical burn would damage the layers of the eye enough to cause blindness, but you need to be specific on what chemical it was, way type of burn it might cause, and how badly it would affect the skin surrounding the eyes.

In general, I advise against going the accident/trauma route for blinding a character. Going the trauma/accident route is very easy to mess up and can quickly turn into a daytime soap opera type of drama. It easily becomes a tragedy and tragedy is not fun to read. If that’s not the story you want to tell, then I recommend an eye disease.

Second, using what you’ve researched, you need to decide exactly what your character sees. Be very specific. Keep in mind that 90% of blind people have at least some remaining vision, even if it’s very little.

It might be shadow and light perception, so they see more outside in the sun than they do at night. (and probably see nothing at night in this case) They can still be light sensitive if they have light perception. Let me go back to Molly Burke, who only has light and shadow perception left, but is light sensitive. They might see shadows moving in front of a light source, but see almost nothing at night. They may only see the light source (like a lamp or headlights) and see darkness everywhere else.

Your character might have color vision still, or some vision acuity that allows them to distinguish some shapes from others but still prevents them from seeing details.

Your character might have terrible depth perception, and this makes stairs and curbs impossible to perceive and they might knock something over because they perceived it as being farther away than it was, or feel frustrated when they reach for something they thought was a few feet in front of them and is actually closer to ten feet away.

Maybe they have tunnel vision (if you’re writing with retinitis pigmentosa in mind, follow this guide) What they see is more like a window. It’s oddly shaped, not perfectly circular. There are probably dark spots in that window where they still don’t see. One eye might see more than the other. Large objects will be easier to see from a distance than if they were close up, and if they’re close up they might have to rove their eyes around the surface of what they’re looking at to see all the details to make a bigger picture. People with retina disorders tend to also lose color vision over time.

They might have vision acuity loss and they’ve lost distance vision. This is when the definitions of legally blind and visually impaired became a bit more important, because there is a distinction between the two.

Your blind character’s vision should not be completely fixed by glasses. That’s not blind. Having terrible distance vision that corrects to normal people vision with glasses is not blind. It’s not the same.

Some blind people still wear glasses, don’t get me wrong, but only if glasses create any real improvement. And even then, they’ll always see worse than others with glasses. It’s just an improvement.

(I’ve always needed glasses to correct some vision, but until I was 22, glasses always corrected my vision to 20/20. Now they correct to about 20/70 or worse. Even with glasses I still see like shit)

So sit down for a while and figure out what your character really sees. Put yourself in every scene or location your character will be in and determine what they can see in the moment. I don’t care if you’re narrating from third person, or from a different character’s first person perspective, or if this character is only a background character, you need to know what they can see in that moment.

Using this, you need to know what your character knows, especially if your blind character is important to the plot. They can’t see the small print on that sign, the dried bit of blood on someone’s shoes, a shadow sinking into an alley way, or even if that blurry blob twenty feet away is a trashcan or a person. (True story, always happens to me, and I am always wrong the first time)

If your character is meant to be uncovering these clues, you need to find a reasonable way for them to figure it out. Is there a sighted companion who points visual clues out and your blind character? Do they have magnifiers to read small print? Are they good at sneaking around and overhearing people from a distance? Are they just great at knowing when someone’s lying by the tone of their voice? Are they working with a team?

(Side Note: please don’t write your blind characters as some superhuman with amazing super senses that know where everyone and everything is. Please don’t write Toph or Daredevil. I love those characters, but those characters already exist and you need to make someone new. You’re not writing Toph or Daredevil.)

That’s it on crafting the character. To sum up, what you need is a character who is already interesting and amazing on their own without a disability, and then you need to give them a disability you spent hours and hours researching and figuring out.