#punishment by the law no longer suffices

[azura19]

Chapter 2 ↩

Chapter 3.1:

Behind the Face of the Villain

The world is mad, isn't it?

Well, perhaps to understand a little more, we must go back a week before to the Encinereb mansion, and after Astral Mertencia's failed attempts to look like the original Villain, and the fact that all he got was the unconditional support of his parents.

They, not being satisfied with such small expenses and attitudes, encouraged him further by showing him how he should really punish the servants and how much he could spend in a single day. To say that a blank chequebook was little, well....

Being who he was, even in his past life he could never imagine seeing so many zeros together, let alone spent in a short time or in one sitting. He was sure that this was illegal in the real world, however....

He just had to remember that he was inside a RoFan novel, and that normal laws here didn't apply or purely didn't exist. So worrying about banal things, well, they just distracted him.

From what?

You might ask.

Well, from his own selfish goal: to survive!

Putting aside how confusing this world was, Astral was still aware that he was the Villain and, therefore, had time on his hands.

Spending his energies on something that turned out to be useless and of no benefit to him would only advance what was going to be inevitable. So he could no longer afford to be distracted!

His life was at stake!

His Duchy was at stake!

And even his family was at stake!

How could he ignore these facts when the protagonist with the guillotine was slowly approaching? No, he could not afford to die. Not now.

Not when he had already decided to live.

So, gathering all his experiences and knowledge from his past life, and after deliberating for almost two whole days, he came up with a solution.

And that is, if he remembered well how the powers were handled in that world under the Imperial family and the Noble faction. So, all he needed was his parents' permission and his fiancé's contribution. Sounded easy, didn't it?

Well, no!

NO! It wasn't that simple either.

In the first place, because he was the one who had harassed his parents to allow his to get engaged and, secondly, he doubted that his fiancé's family would do everything right the first time. Which left him in a corner and on the ropes.

Ah, was there anyone worse off than him? Ha! He doubted it. But noting that this was the only way to break off the engagement and get away from the protagonist.... He would have to try.

Though to do so, he would also have to fix a few things about himself.

So, come the morning, five days before the arrival of his fiancé, he set out to start up that personal office that had only been gathering dust for... God knows how long. He went through shelves, books, sheets, ink, candles and other stationery to find out what he was going to keep and what he simply had to throw away.

The dust had done its thing, so when he opened the large windows for proper ventilation, it was no surprise that the cloth ripped at his gentle touch, let alone having caught the attention of his parents who happened to be strolling nearby.

Does this look suspicious? Astral wished to ask, but contrary to what his imagination had conceived, his parents quickly went to his side to ask what was going on. And when they noticed how Astral himself had begun to clean up, the surprise on their faces turned to pure joy. 

The Goddess had heard their plenaries!

Theirs child had begun to grow!

Ah, the parents were beside themselves with excitement, so, leading the clean-up, Aren took charge of the rest.

With his hands on his waist like jugs, he began to order the servants to move things around, to change the wallpaper and even to polish the floor properly, which sounded in his words like:

— Clean the floor well, I want my face to be reflected! —

Suffice it to say that the poor servants ended up exhausted once that office was ready in record time. The shelves that were once falling down had been replaced and were now gleaming with new books and stationery. The curtains that had once been torn at Astral's hands were now soft velvet with gold embroidery. And the floor that had been pure dust, was now a dark blue and gleaming.

Hum! Was there a better office than this? Aren doubted it, and looking expectantly at his son, he waited for his opinion by his timely intervention, while he gently took his surprised husband's hand.

—My lady... This... —

Aren laughed softly, it was normal for his husband to be surprised to see his homely capabilities, but the opinion that mattered most now was...

—M-Mother... I don't know what to say. Honestly, I feel you've excelled in your skills. This is fantastic! —

—Really? –

Aren questioned embarrassedly, and placing one of his hands on his cheeks, he barely caught a glimpse of the cute expression on his offspring's face. Who, for better or worse, looked tremendously surprised.

And could they blame him? This was humanly impossible! The cleaning was done in less than two hours, and Astral—who had been commissioned in a past life to serve as part-time House Master— had taken at least three days. And for the servants to have ended up with such a place...?

Now he felt guilty for wrongly singling them out. Ah! Right now, he should light a candle to them in apology. He would be sure to pay them extra later, though of course without his mother noticing, since, after all, it was he who was in control of the Manor and the servants. As the Grand Duchess of the house.

So, once again praising his mother's skills, it was then that he made one more request. One that... He supposed had won him points with his parents.

—I'm glad to have my office back, but I'm afraid it won't do if I don't use it properly. Mother, would you be so kind as to lend me the account books for the last ten years? Oh, and also, please, the territorial charts? —

—The books of...? —

His mother whispered.

—The letters... —

Whispered his father.

And when he least expected it, both parents began to weep openly. And nodding at both requests each of them scurried to their own servants to bring urgently what their son had requested.

Aren't they acting like a couple of fools right now? Astral wanted to question, but, noticing the genuine happiness on the other's faces... he simply let them be. Is this what it means to have parents who care about you? Astral wondered, and for a moment, he allowed himself to receive that unconditional love. Maybe if he told them what he wanted to do? Would they agree?

It was a possibility, but...

Astral needed insurance. Something real, and leaving it to vague feelings... It wouldn't do him any good. So, returning to his original plan, he set about studying the material the Villain had left aside. Learning by heart what he could use and discarding what he considered obsolete.

And so, with only a day to go before the arrival of his fiancé, he had memorized what he needed to put his plan into action.

So, waiting for nightfall, he made his way to the place where he knew the family seal was kept.

***

The family seal.

Such a precious commodity that it is even guarded by guards. Only those who are considered Grand Dukes or carry the word ‘Grand’ are able to use this seal, since, as in all RoFan novels, only letters or documents bearing this seal are considered legitimate and are endorsed by the power of the Imperial family.

The seal, which is actually the symbol of each imprinted family, has the magical ability to be used only by one bloodline, so Astral who knew this information thanks to his knowledge of the novel and what he had studied before knew immediately how it should be used for his plans.

So, learning how often the guards changed and how the security system implemented by his own father worked, it was easy to sneak in after three in the morning.

He had already prepared everything, and even had the letter with him that he was going to sign and pass as if his parents had approved, so getting in and out would be a piece of cake. And although he did not expect to have to open the lock with his master key, nor to have to hide to prepare the wax in total darkness to seal the letter, everything went according to schedule.

That the adrenaline and the fear of being discovered were there was certainly a plus for being more careful. However, as soon as the wax dried and the seal was in position, all Astral had to do was wait for the next shift and exit as silently as he had entered.

With his feet frozen and his eyes glowing, his escape was incredible. And when he looked at the envelope in his hands, well, he allowed himself a jump or two.

Wasn't this the first step to freeing himself? Astral was excited!

Ah, he couldn't wait to see the main character. Nor did he expect to go back to sleep, so deciding that he would prepare himself from now on, he headed to the bathroom for a deep and relaxing wash.

They say that water washes away all ills and sorrows. Astral thought, and realizing what was inside his mind, he let himself go until it was time to face the truth.

No matter what outfit he wore, he would look intimidating, so choosing something he could consider simple, he got ready to receive his guests according to protocol, not imagining of course, that he would see the one person he didn't expect to see.

Nervousness almost betrayed him, but it was strong enough to consider that his performance was not mediocre.

Was belittling the protagonist and a delicate situation such as anaemia or poor health considered villainy? He hoped so, otherwise it would just be rude and unfounded. He called his fiancé stupid and even said hurtful things on purpose, and while that earned him an excuse to call off the engagement, he didn't expect the reaction of the protagonist's older brother to also be tremendously angry and mean.

Was snatching Yuma away from him petty? Maybe. No, scratch that. Yes, it was.

It was mean. So, he had to respond in kind, right. Now that he knew his beloved was there too, wasn't that reason enough to throw it all away?

He would shield himself with the threatening words of the protagonist's older brother and with that, he would do whatever he wanted to achieve his goal. He was allowed to do that because he was a villain, wasn't he? So, he just had to manipulate everyone around him to achieve his goals.

And the first point he was going to touch on, would be exactly the one that got him to the office of his father, the Grand Duke Encinereb. Who greeted him just as he thought, with a pearly smile and a prominent figure.

—Astral! It is an honour to have you come to see me my son. Has something happened? Don't tell me, you want some of my advice for the Duchy, do you? —

Oh, Astral loved that naivety. The twinkle in his father's eyes, so lively, was unique. It really felt good to be by that man's side! However, to think that the Villain had done heinous things to them....

No. It was not the time.

So, clearing his thoughts, he politely acknowledged his father's invitation to take a seat.

—I hope I have not inconvenienced my father in any way. —

—What are you talking about? You are more than welcome. Is not a visit from a son considered a joy? Leave those silly notions of etiquette your mother has told you, and tell me, what you have come for. —

—That... —

Well, that was the end of his idea. He didn't know how he should start the conversation! Should he start with the visitor who had just left? Or would it be a good idea to cry like a cupcake to curry favour with him? At first glance, the man in front of him seemed strong and determined, he looked like a guy who wouldn't be fooled or convinced by useless, tearful ruses, so, considering his first assessment, wouldn't it be better to just tell him what he did?

He feared the consequences, but.... He needed to address the breaking point of their engagement as soon as possible, so, mustering all his courage, he let out a couple of sighs before opening his mouth, willing to let the weight of his actions fall.

That is, until the office doors swung wide open to reveal the Lady of the house, who was noticeable with a pale complexion and a terribly surprised expression.

What's going on? Astral wanted to ask, but his mother was quicker to move to one side of him before peppering him with worries and other words. Leaving in the background the loving father who was now trying to keep up with the unplanned conversation.

—Is it true what happened?! You called off the engagement with Duchess Arclight? —

—What...? —

Oh, Astral was terrified right now. Was gossip spreading that fast? Certainly, that world had almost nothing to envy the real world, when it came to showbiz, wasn't that what society found out first?

Astral was about to have a migraine, but as soon as his mother blurted out those words tears quickly came to his beautiful red eyes.

—Why would you deprive yourself of a love as pure as Duchess Michael's? Tell me, has she disrespected you, is there anything you don't like, tell me and I'll try to please you with a better candidate! But please try not to be left alone... —

Astral would rather say that he was the one who failed, but between saying and doing, there's a long way to go. Especially once his father was able to process the information.

—You cancelled the engagement with Duchess Arclight? Why? Shouldn't you have consulted us first? —

And there it was. The protocol he shouldn't have skipped. Maybe it wasn't exactly a good idea to let go of that authority, but on the other hand.... Well, there was no point crying over spilt milk, so taking all the confidence and seriousness he could muster, he spoke the truth.

His parents wouldn't give his a harsh punishment, would they?

—Father, mother, please calm down. What happened was nothing more than my own decision. And no. —Astral foresaw his mother's plea, so, helping him to sit properly, he continued. —It was not that I disliked anything about Duchess Arclight, this engagement or anything related to it. It was purely my re-election that made me realise that I am the one who does not want this engagement. —

—What...? But...! —Aren voiced his displeasure, but Astral silenced him again with his words.

—I know that it was I who instigated this engagement, but... I don't want it anymore. And please, before you try to convince me otherwise. Thanks to your support and the fact that I was able to check the accounting books, I was able to realise that being with the Arclight would benefit absolutely none of our business... It may be that the prestige of both families will grow and they will unite, but that will only be for a short period of time. Isn't it now the Arclight family that has severe problems of chaos in their lands? –

—Well... If you mention it... —Eliphas quickly set aside his role as father to step into the role of Grand Duke, so acknowledging his son's words he nodded at them, understanding where Astral was going with his point.

—But...! —His more reluctant mother, however, wished to appeal, but Astral already had a better solution.

—I know mother is worried, but she need not be afraid. I have already thought deeply about this, and the best thing is for me to re-engage with a better prospect, don't you think? —

—I thought you loved young Michael. —

—Maybe that was true at one time, however, now I wish to see the family. So... I've thought of someone else for that position. —

—Someone else? But I wish for that position to be filled by someone who has won your heart. —His mother expressed, gently soothing his crying, so Astral, seeing an opportunity to talk about Yuma, simply took it, with a strange twinkle in his eyes.

—And so, if my mother will allow me.... I already have that person. But for now, I wish to finish things well. —

—You already have that person? Who is it? —

Astral smiled, and was about to utter the name that would drive him crazy from now on. But he felt that being mysterious was the best way to deal with what was coming.

So, he dropped the bombshell he had been hiding since last night.

—I am sorry... But I apologise to my parents, because of the rush and the rest thinking about my future and my upcoming marriage, I dared to sign the breakup on their behalf. I am very sorry. —

—¡...! —

Oh, and that was enough to make his parents' expressions white, and pale. However, as if that world for the first time agreed with him, the pair looked at each other in a long silence before the patriarch of the family denied with a deep sigh.

Could it be that both men were accustomed to their son's acts of villainy? God only knows, for when tempers had calmed and settled, it was that Eliphas spoke, in a flat, level tone.

—To say I am surprised is an understatement. But if it is your decision and you have made it in consideration of our family… To stop you would be unfair, wouldn't it, Astral? —

Astral didn't know how to take his father's words, but wishing that it wouldn't get any bigger he nodded. Lowering his head slightly, as if he really regretted it.

—It's true... I'm sorry. —

Eliphas sighed again, and calling his husband to his side, he tried to encourage him.

Perhaps everything had gone well? Astral wondered, and watching his father lovingly comfort his mother, he knew. Everything had gone exactly right!  Although...

—I know that your desperation has caused you to commit this fault, but.... —His father spoke, in that tone which brooks no interruption. —Still, you might have spoken, we would not refuse your happiness. —

Ah, and now Astral felt guilty. How should he know? Did they really love him that much?

—So, considering it is a serious thing you have done, you will be punished by being deprived of your outings to the capital or anywhere else in the Duchy. You will remain here at the manor until I deem you have learned your lesson. —

Oh well, it could have been worse. So, nodding once more at his father's words, he bowed.

—So be it. I'll be sure to mull it over in my room. —

And with those words, he left the place.

💎

Chapter 3.2

[passportclown]

Overhaul's Punishment

Let's talk about Overhaul.

This post may be edited frequently with new information or new opinions.

(Hey! Here from the year 2024. Some of the info in this post isn't elaborated on well enough or doesn't have enough specifications mentioned. But someone in the reblogs pointed those things out if you want quick corrections. If I made this post now I would've changed a few things and mentioned other things, I just don't feel like doing that. Still wanted to mention that here, though.)

Content Warning: Discussion of torture and child abuse.

The United Nations set the max amount of time in solitary confinement to 15 days, which is more than enough to have permanent trauma. Let's assume that in the BNHA universe, these laws still hold up. When we see him appear again he's in a secluded cell, we can assume he was in solitary confinement or that's just where he resides.

Kai Chisaki was in Tartarus for months.

Tartarus is, from what we can tell, a glorified torture home. Patients like Overhaul aren't given prosthetics (the bare minimum for an amputee) nor healthcare for their quirks or mental state. From what we know, there wasn't even any investigation into how he lost his hands. He was already detained and no longer a threat when his hands were removed, there should've been an investigation.

He deserved punishment, to go to prison and pay for his crimes and realize why what he did was wrong. However, Kai didn't receive a psychiatrist or a psychologist, nobody who could officially diagnose him and help him repent.

Tartarus is a prison in which the prisoners never leave, they spend the rest of their lives there as punishment. We can assume from what we've seen that Tartarus doesn't cater to the prisoner's quirks [which should be a basic human right, even for 'bad' people. (Toga, Twice, Shigaraki, Dabi, and many more have been mistreated for one reason or another due to their quirks.)]

We've seen no accommodation to Overhaul's Mysophobia, in fact, he actually looks quite dirty when we first see him in Tartarus.

Let's list Overhaul's crimes, Mass murder [including child murder] Usurpation Gaslighting Mutilation Abuse [physical and psychological, including child abuse] Torture Drug dealing Attempted cultural genocide Destruction of property Assault and battery Jailbreak Organized crime [-Villain Wiki]

Crimes of this amount, would [in places in our world] result in the death penalty.

Speaking of penalties, in the universe of BNHA, we don't see any lawful punishments that include removing quirk factors, it actually seems quite taboo. Child abusers deserve immense punishment [nobody is arguing on that] but the actions taken towards Overhaul were illegal and objectively immoral.

He was assigned a life sentence [Which was deserved however you could also argue that he deserves the death penalty. I personally believe he should live with his sins and be punished for them but I can understand if your opinion differs.], repenting for his crimes and no longer being able to cause any harm. Shigaraki took his own revenge by removing Overhaul's hands. I feel as if only one of these punishments would've sufficed. In serving his life sentence he'd repent for his crimes and no longer be able to cause any harm. As soon as his hands were removed, he experienced immense distress that caused him trauma.

The current Overhaul is not a functional member of society, he's a broken husk, a shell of his former self. When Shigaraki made him an amputee, we could see that Overhaul was immediately broken. He'd no longer be able to use his quirk, to do basic daily tasks which accommodate his phobia [Cleaning, etc] or to heal his father.

Overhaul put his father into a coma that [supposedly] only his quirk can cure, it's either that or the doctors aren't putting much effort into waking up his Pops. [We've already seen the corruption in this universe, weaker people are afforded fewer rights and opportunities. Pops not receiving proper medical care could be because he has a weak quirk or his affiliation with a criminal.] With people like Overhaul, Eri, and the nurse I think it's safe to say there'd be at least one doctor able to attempt something. [We could just not be shown this but there is an actual effort being made, not just seeing him in a bed with doctors.]

More effort is put into restraining people with powerful and 'dangerous' quirks, Muscular, AFO, and Stain. But Overhaul is effectively quirkless. It wouldn't be far-fetched to assume they just threw him in a cell, made sure he was fed, and were done with it. [We can see from Overhaul's prominent muscles that he's at least been afforded exercise and a somewhat healthy diet.]

Even when serving out life sentences in our world, although the prison system is corrupt prisoners have some semblance of rights and access to mental health experts. These rights aren't given in the BNHA universe.

Opinions on Overhaul's treatment and punishment vary, if you think he deserves all of this then that's fair. He abused and permanently traumatized a girl who is almost definitely younger than 10 years old.

However, you can also see he is almost certainly not neurotypical [which isn't a bad thing]. Overhaul growing up in the yakuza [who we know weren't doing well financially, even if they were that doesn't guarantee he'd get any help.] wouldn't give him much if any access to somebody who could diagnose and assist him. Of course, nothing justifies his crimes, they are only possible explanations.

If you believe that his punishments were overkill, then it's not hard to understand why. He was effectively tortured and thrown into a cell. Without the context of who he is and what he did, you'd pity him and advocate for his rights.

I can understand and somewhat agree with the people who say he deserves it, but maybe I'm biased since he's my favourite character.

I'd like to see others' opinions and any corrections to any mistakes I may have made. I'm not at all an expert on any of these topics, I was just interested and did my own research.

[puppyexpressions]

How to Teach a Dog to Come to You in Any Environment

No matter where we are, we want our dogs to listen to us. In this article, we will focus on having your dog come on cue in any environment. But in order to do so, there are a few basic dog training principles that we need to understand.

Although the laws of learning are universal to all animals, many still struggle with having their dog come to them in any environment. Let’s delve into the “come” or “recall” cue.

Why It’s Hard to Teach a Dog to Come

Why is dog recall training so elusive to many pet parents? My supposition is that one primary factor is that pet parents (and trainers) poison the cue by accidentally associating it (or any cue) with something the dog perceives as a punishment.

For example, assume your pup does not like the bath. Your dog may not like a bath for many reasons. She may be scared of the water, sounds, smells, water temperature or the bathroom. In any case, she eagerly and excitedly comes over to you when called, and you immediately pick her up and plop her in the tub.

If you recall your dog from a reward to a “punishment,” you will poison whatever cue you have used. In this case, your dog will no longer come to you when you call them inside from the backyard or dog park. How many times have you done something similar to this?

How to Address a Poisoned Cue

There are a few ways I like to fix a poisoned cue, but the easiest is to simply change the cue to a new one. That means changing both the word and body language we have associated with the “punishment.”

This is also excellent opportunity to practice mindfulness. The reason cues get poisoned so often is because parents and trainers are not mindful or conscious of the words they are using and their consequences, as viewed from the dog's perspective.

Any single-syllable word that you will remember will suffice. I have had clients use "Here," Now" or "Touch," for instance. I like using the cue “Touch.” Touch has many advantages and is used as the basis for many behaviors to lure dogs into place. Touch is also a simple, one-syllable cue.

More importantly, I do not use it nearly as often and mindlessly as come. This small but significant difference is very important.

How To Use Touch as a Recall Cue to Get Your Dog to Come 

 In order to use the new touch cue instead of come, we don't want our dog to simply come close to us, orbit around us or be in close proximity to us. Instead we want the dog to physically touch your hand or finger, etc.

Begin asking your dog to touch after they start playing with and are engaging in a mildly exciting activity—perhaps playing with a toy that is not their favorite. Once she begins coming to you and touching your hand, you immediately offer her an appropriate, delicious dog treat as a reward. Next, try again when you are at a distance or out of sight, and repeat this pattern.

Then practice when there are distracting sounds, or practice with some doors open. Then move to the backyard or balcony, perhaps transitioning to a hallway or elevator. I would integrate the touch cue for recalls when on leash walks as well.

Spontaneously and unpredictably offering the cue and being prepared to immediately reward your dog “proofs” the behavior and makes your dog fluent with practice. The list of exercises is endless. You can create any scenario you like as long as you go slowly and gradually.

How to Practice Come or Touch in Different Environments

You will first teach your dog to come in a familiar, safe, comfortable and non-distracting environment. Never use force, punishment, intimidation or coercion to manipulate a dog. Then you can introduce duration, distance and distraction in each environment before using them all at once. Then gradually proceed to more difficult training scenarios and environments as the dog becomes proficient in all three.

It's critical to manage your dog's rewards effectively. Imagine being your dog's employer. You wouldn’t give an employee $1,000 just for typing a memo, but perhaps for completing more difficult tasks. In this scenario, we need to alter how much we pay our dog (with high-value food rewards) for each performance of a behavior.

It is crucial to know your dog's hierarchy of rewards before you begin any obedience or dog training exercise. If you don't know what type of treats your dog is crazy about, now's a great time to find out. Otherwise, how can we possibly reward them appropriately with their currency of choice?

If you bring boring old kibble to the dog park, and there are tons of distractions, your pup is less likely to come when called. However, if you condition them with their favorite treats that you only offer on very special occasions, they will drop whatever they're doing and sprint to you.

If your dog is not paying attention to you or responding, you have gone too far too fast, and the environment is likely to be too distracting for her to concentrate. However, keep in mind that using a different cue such as touch will be no different than using come if you poison it as well.

Our connection and communication are fundamental to a healthy and thriving relationship with our pets. Dogs are our family, just like any other member, and we love them deeply and without condition. Understanding them can strengthen our bond and connection, which makes for a beautiful experience.

[deathly-toxins]

It was hard not to be shocked. When you only knew of the dregs of society. When you only knew how to be kicked down over and over again because the rich and privileged said they could. All the while, the so called law did nothing, if anything.. they spat on the poor even more. Punished for trying to simply survive.

"No ones ever been kind to us, especially me.. Only Ume's been nice to me." Because he was ugly. Hideous... They called him so many names, names he started to own after a while. They cut so deep, they were tailor made for him. They wanted a monster, so he gave them one. And he felt no remorse for cutting that man's entrails to spill on the ground.

He was wondering what happened to his sickles though... Sure, maybe he didn't have too defend himself and Ume here but...

He felt a little unsafe without them. It made him a bit anxious the more he thought about those people calling him names, scratching at his arms. It was the only thing he could do to calm himself down most days. Self-inflicted pain helped him forget the external pain.

He'd wait and watch as Douma-sama moved to the door, to carefully open it and speak in hushed whispers. He did over-hear the concern in the other persons voice. Mostly for Ume, which was no surprise. She had been the worst off..

Had been.. But no longer. Maybe they didn't know that their leader worked his miracle yet. Didn't matter, he did catch some concern for himself as well, cooing about how they'd be as fast as possible for the 'poor boy'. Of course, a few whispers of asking how the girl was doing.

All the while he looked back down to his slumbering little sister, moving to pull some blankets carefully over and tuck her in a bit better. Nice and warm, just as she deserves.

But he was excited. The first real meal he'd ever had was on the horizon for him. Never did he think their misfortunes would suddenly take such a turn. And suffice to say, his own gut agreed, as it churned neigh violently at the thought of food.

"I.. I am excited, Douma-sama." This all felt too good to be true. But the pain in his gut reminded him that he was certainly not in some wild fantastical dream, brought on by his exhaustion. His sister's tight grasp also grounded him in reality at the same time.

"It's been.. days since we last found anything to eat." Before all hell broke loose for the two of them. The stupid samurai, Daki stabbing him for insulting Gyutaro to her face.. The House Lady of course bowed to the whims of such a disgusting man and burned her...

She was next, that damned House Lady was next, he'd swear on it.

He was shaking, however. Not from what has happened in the past few days, but... Excitement? His body actually getting the chance to anticipate food?

So yes.. yes he was excited.

A little bit of kindness can go a very .. very long way.

He had to admit, he knew nothing at all of the slums, the gutters, how life was for those who had not even little, those who had nothing at all. Not even a place to lay down their head down at night and know that they could rest and be safe, and nothing so horrid would befall them while they would sleep.

What a cruel and harsh existence that had to be. He did wonder what would have happened, if he had not been there, how different there lives would have been, for the girl mere hours before the pain would claim her, then what of the boy?

Would he have carved his way through the entire slums and made his way to the pleasure district and started to slaughter those who had everything and merely took it all for granted, one has to wonder how far he would have gotten, before someone would have stopped him, if not that night, then if he judged correctly, he did not have long left to live as it was, with a frail and weak body, riddled with illness and no means to purchase any relief of pain, treatment for such a thing, for one like him.

Was laughable, who would wish to help someone of no worth and value.

“You seem so shocked?”

Charity was not .. a sign of weakness, there was no shame at all, in allowing someone to offer you a kind and gentle hand, and pull you up a little, that was what he wished and nothing more than that, he merely wished to offer him a few more days before the girl would awaken, to quickly form a bond with the child in the hopes, the link remained when he turned him.

“One moment ..”

As he heard the request and nodded his head.

Stepping up once more as he walked across the room, as he pushed the door open a little and poked his head out and summoned a waiting follower over.

Little whispers exchanged.

Concern for the children could be heard, requests from the followers if they were safe, well, especially the girl.

All he did was wave his hand up and down to shoo them all away, they where under his care now and they would be taken care off .. one had been saved, the other he wished for a little bit more time to try and learn, as much as he could from him.

“Away you go now, run along.”

With a little wave, as the follower ran to deliver his message to the kitchens, he did not know, what kind of meat, they grilled on the streets, what would be so appeasing, to a little boy who no doubt ate out of the rubbish of others, so he would have, one of everything then made for him a feast to be laid out all for him to pick and choose, at his pleasure and dine like the little prince he was being treated as.

“It will not take that long now, just try, to let the butterflies flutter in your tummy, the excitement must be incredible, I am very jealous.”

[obliviorum]

what does the capybara say? 👁👅👁

I EAT BUN(ITA)S FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH AND DINNER. 

[chaoticfandomcat]

Round and Round they Go

@wolfcamellias @wolfloupen I tagged both but I did say I was gonna end up writing something with Valley AU and Teacher!Wukong. Once I started writing it ended up. So much longer than I expected.  (1.7k words, I did not make enough circle puns in this. Minor warning about allusions to the pain Wukong felt from the circlet. Nothing graphic but there is some description. Also added some bonus stuff at the bottom I found while researching the circlet a bit when writing this.) 

Wukong toyed with the small monkey figure under his desk as he passively listened to the debate going on beside him. As much as he tried to steer the topics away from it, they always seemed to circle back around to, well, the circlet.

Pressed, squeezing, burning, digging into his skull making it impossible to—

It wasn’t hard to guess why, it was one of those topics that sparked a lot of thought and branching topics that would link back to it. He was glad they had gotten better at keeping it civilized, but there was only so many times he could hear them talk…

Pain. Pain. Pian. Pain. He just wanted to claw it off and and –

“What would the alternative have been?”

Wukong carefully unclenched his hand and stored the little figure back in his desk. Maybe fully listening would keep his mind within the moment.

“Wouldn’t the threat of a punishment, like being tapped under the mountain have sufficed?”

“It wouldn’t have been an immediate threat! Plus, only the Buddha could do that.”

“So do you have an idea for an alternative since you brought it up?”

Names and faces were blurring to him as he just tried to listen to what they spoke of. He was sure he knew them all, but his mind did not want to let him put names and faces together.

“The band wasn’t the issue. The issue was how it was used.”

“So are you blaming the Monk?”

The words were on the tip of his tongue before the other student spoke up again.

“No. Well, not exactly no. He’s human. Plus, the Monkey King had a history of killing people to remove the threat. It was what cause their first argument.”

“That means he was open to help, there had to be other ways”

“Open to help, but not yet open to all the teachings. The goal was to provide a lesson, albeit a painful one, but a lesson none the less.”

“Why do you think they picked Monkey King at all?” Another student interrupted, pressing on when the others turned to them, “There had to be lots of other possible demons, or if they had really seen him as too dangerous, he didn’t have to be let go”

“Maybe they saw potential in him? He had undergone teaching before!”

“Yeah, and most of what he did was just in retaliation to being treated badly!”

“Exactly!” The first student, who had brought up the alternative question, joined in again, “Retaliation! He acted out! Plus think about what he knew!”

“What do you mean?”

“He grew up around monkeys, demon monkeys but monkeys none the less, it’s not as if he’d have known any human customs and rules or laws.”

That was…a new direction. They were getting very off the generalized topic, but it was different from what usual came up Wukong was interested to see where it went.

Anything to keep his mind off the pain. Off that. Off his brain wanting to.

“What about when he went for teaching? He had human peers then.”

“And was there any talk about him doing anything bad.”

“He got kicked out.”

“For showing off, not for say, injuring another student.”

“We have had a habit of assuming the Monkey King would fight first, ask questions later.” A different student spoke up. They were usually a quieter one. Names were still escaping him, but he was starting to remember the smaller habits of each.

“Most of the time he had to fight though didn’t he? The demons weren’t exactly open to talking or set in eating the Monk.”

“What about all the havoc he caused in heaven? They would have been open to talk.”

“Retaliation remember? That and the heavens originally wanted to be rid of the Monkey King, but he was too powerful and they were scared.”

“Fear does cause things to be done irrationally.”

“Also we…” The student trailed off, some of their gumption wilting before they spoke again, “Can we split into new groups? I. I want to know something.”

They all turned and looked at Wukong who blinked remembering he was the teacher here. They may all be adults, at least in human terms, but he was the authoritative figure here.

“Go ahead, just keep track of the time. And no fighting.” He pointed his pencil at all of them and specifically locked eyes with a few of the students he remembered, now if only the names would come back to him, would get a little heated at times.

“Left for yes, right for no, is the Monkey King, or at least was he, evil?”

Ah, another debate that would come up frequently with the circlet. Afterall, to deserve the circlet the wearer must be evil.

The divide was more even than it usually was, he wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but his emotions settled on quietly disagreeing. He already knew the answer, for unlike some of the other topics this one had an answer, and the answer was—

“Does it count if he was ignorant?”

“What do you mean ignorant?”

His thoughts tuned back into the debate, he himself leaning forward on his desk wondering where the topic of the question was going.

“It’s not like he knew it was bad. And for everything he knew it wasn’t…. evil, maybe not correct but no one ever told him it was wrong otherwise!”

“He is known for being a trickster. Plus all the ones he fought before were immortal beings! Anyone else he killed was worse than him.”

“Didn’t have any reason to hold back. That and you wouldn’t call a hunter evil for providing food for his family right?”

“I guess not…”

“That and he was usually right! They just didn’t believe him!”

“It’s true. And it makes sense with what was said earlier, about change and all. Just because the Monkey King was told he shouldn’t doesn’t mean he would change his thinking right away.”

“Killing people, any people in this case, was considered wrong! Even if they posed a threat, like the bandits!”

“That was mentioned as the first incident, wasn’t it? I mean I would also be a little suspicious towards someone if I knew they saw that as an okay method for removing a problem.”

“Another debate maybe, but it wasn’t always explained to him either.”

“Explained?”

“I mean uhm…” The student glanced at Wukong who offered a comforting smile in return, they nodded before turning back and marching on, “Every time the circlet was used was usually due to the Monk being convinced the Monkey King was wrong…right?”

“More or less yeah I think so.”

“So, how would you react if you got punished for being right?”

“Angry probably. I was right and I’m still being punished for it? No wonder he had to be convinced to come back each time.”

“Yeah but, if we think about it in terms of how the Monk would have seen it…. take the incident with the Bone Demon. It’s not impossible for the Monkey King to have been able to set up a scene like that right?”

“He was extremely powerful, I guess he could have.”

“Right and we established earlier killing any human was bad, even if said human had evil intentions themselves.”

“Oh I think I see where you’re going! Can I finish it off?” Another student chimed in, leaning their seat back and forth in excitement. At the nod from the previous one they took over, “At minimum with the Bone Demon incident the Monkey King killed a human! Which is a no no. But since we all know for a fact it is a demon, it seemed like the punishment was given unfairly!”

That was…another new perspective. Wukong hadn’t thought back to the more particular incidents where the spell was cast.

Pain pain pain pain.

“I would bet any one of us here would also react similarly,” Wukong couldn’t drown in memories now. Maybe he should put a stop to this debate? Time had to be running short, “Knowing for a fact we’re right but getting punished? I wouldn’t have even bothered to think about what lesson it was really trying to teach.”

“To circle back around, yes I did the pun on purpose, on if the Monkey King deserved it… I also want to ask again but in a different way, what else could have worked?”

“They…have a point. Nothing else could hold down or stop the Monkey King. He was an immortal and indestructible demon. Maybe it still wasn’t the best method but…”

“It was the quickest way. If not for the misinformation being told to the Monk, the Monkey King picked up on the new wrong and right really quickly.”

“And it’s not like any of the others had experienced it either…sure they could have been told but it’s different from experiencing it isn’t it?”

“And they also viewed him as a powerful and terrifying demon! Just because they saw it caused him pain doesn’t mean they could judge how much it was to th—”

“And that’s time everyone,” Wukong brought their attention to him as he stacked some of the books on his desk to take home, “You all did good this time around, next time though each side should try and stick to the side they’re on even if you start thinking otherwise.”

“Are you sure we can’t stay a little longer?”

“Not this time. I have something I need to do, but if you all meet elsewhere I can’t stop you,” He joked at them even as he flexed his hands to keep them from clenching. “Really, next time though it is good practice to still defend the side you first joined. Never can be sure if all the information given is correct.”

The students looked at him a little puzzled and a few were starting to ask what he meant before he cut them off, “I’ll explain to you all next time. For now, all of you go home. I wasn’t kidding about having something to do.”

“That’s a first.” The comment sent a wave of laughter through the class as they packed up and headed out, saying their goodbyes to Wukong as they went.

In the quiet of the classroom, after all had left, with only the ticking of the clock. Wukong took out the small wooden figure once more.

Bitter. Cold. Frustrating. It wasn’t a wonder why the circlet happened.

So why did that seem harder to understand? =========================================================== Fun facts! While writing this I found this site which talked about how in a version of JTTW that predates the one we know The Monkey King sought out the Monk on his own to help him in the journey.  The circlet being more of just a crown he had and not the tightening band we all know it as now. It’s an interesting read :Oc  All their sources for the article are listed at the bottom, but if nothing else the most popular interpretation had turned into what we know today  That and I had other ~*thoughts*~ on why something that would cause pain would be used for teaching, related to the time period and all, but I never actually did enough research to know if it would fit with my thoughts That and as the story is actually history in the world Wukong is in those thoughts do not work xD. 

[livbygrace]

I’ve worked on this post for days and days. I’ve debated on how much to share and how to share it. This is something very personal, for me and my mom.

Though my mom is no longer here, I will always have the utmost respect for her. And I know that if she were here now, she would agree that it’s worth it to share this if it might save one life or change one mind. 💛

There's a copy-and-paste post making the rounds that claims to be both pro-choice and pro-life, and 13 scenarios are given that describe situations in which abortion should be justified.

The first type of scenarios reads like the beginning of my life story. They describe my mother’s situation perfectly—pregnancy as a result of abuse or assault. Here are the scenarios from the “pro-choice & pro-life” post:

“I'm pro-Susan who was sexually assaulted on her way home from work, only to come to the horrific realization that her assailant planted his seed in her when she got a positive pregnancy test result a month later.”

“I'm pro-little Cathy who had her innocence ripped away from her by someone she should have been able to trust and her 11-year-old body isn't mature enough to bear the consequence of that betrayal.”

“I'm pro-Jessica who is FINALLY getting the strength to get away from her physically abusive spouse only to find out that she is carrying the monster's child.”

The implications presented in these scenarios suggest that you can’t support women and young, innocent mothers at the same time as their pre-born babies, and that you also can't be anti-abuser and pro-baby at the same time.

But this is an obvious fallacy, and I am living proof.

Sexual assault is wrong, sickening, and horrific, and perpetrators should be punished to the full extent of the law, especially when the victim is a child. Yet, one crime committed does not justify another. Killing a baby doesn’t undo rape. Additionally, brutally ripping a baby from a poor girl’s body creates further violence and trauma.

The baby deserves life, not a death sentence for the crimes of his or her father. The father might be a monster, but that doesn’t deprive the baby of his or her right to life. If you choose not to love your child because of his or her genes, allow them to live and place them for adoption.

You probably don’t know this, but I am the product of r*pe.

My mother’s husband (my biological sperm donor) beat her, humiliated her, stalked her, pulled weapons on her, threatened to kill her, threatened to kill her family, and threatened to kill me when I was in my mother’s womb.

If he would’ve succeeded in killing my mom—and me while in her womb—he would’ve been charged with double homicide. Yet my mom could have had me killed via abortion. One means of killing is condemned and punished while the other is condoned and even supported. Something has gone very wrong.

My biological sperm donor hid in the crawlspace beneath my mom’s house for months, drug her around by her hair, locked her outside naked, threw her, threw things at her, hit her, r*ped her, accused her of *ncest, and tried to get her fired from her job, among many other horrors. Suffice it to say he was abusive, manipulative, cruel, ruthless, and evil.

He was that monster mentioned in the above scenarios.

See the picture I’ve attached of a smiling, happy little girl in a red t-shirt? That’s me.

I would've missed out on that joyous, wonderful childhood if my mom had chosen to see me as a product of abuse and aborted me.

By the way, does that innocent little girl look like a monster's seed?

I cannot thank God enough that my mother loved me and saw me as a gift from God, created for His purpose—to work good out of what was meant for evil.

My mother chose to let me live. She could have murdered me in her womb, but she saw me as an individual, separate from her abuser, and loved me dearly.

As she carried me, she thought of God’s plans for my life, not her abuser.

When she looked at me after delivering me, she saw a precious baby, not her abuser.

When I accepted Christ as Lord and Savior, she saw the beginning of His wonderful work in my life, not her abuser.

As I grew into a young woman, she saw me as me, not her abuser.

He had no part of me other than lending me a few genes.

My mom remarried when I was a child, and since then I've had a wonderful, true father who chose to adopt me when he married my mom.

HE is my dad, not my mom’s abuser.

I'm so grateful that my mom chose not to take my right to live away from me.

May we allow all children in the womb the same right to life.

The only pro- is to be pro-adoption.

See the other picture of 2 little girls snuggled up in their pj’s with their stuffed animal? That’s me and my lil sis.

If my mom would've ended my life in her womb, I would've missed out on that precious little sister!

The other photos are from Live Action and are collages of babies in the womb from 6-15 weeks. SIX WEEKS.

Take a moment to clear your mind of all presuppositions and look at those photos and tell me they are not living babies.

The site CreatedEqual.org will show you exactly what happens to cause these precious innocent lives to suffer the brutal pain of abortion. If you have not seen it, I beg you, don’t choose to remain ignorant of it.

It's not just adult women's lives that matter. Every woman's life matters, from the womb to the tomb.

There is NEVER a need for abortion. There is early delivery, there is adoption, and there is support available.

We must value every life.

We. Must. Let. Them. Live.

May we stop tearing our precious children limb from limb in their mothers’ wombs—what should be the safest place in the world.

Here are just a few resources for expectant/struggling mothers:

LetThemLive.org - Providing financial assistance, counseling, and help finding employment so expectant mothers feel able to choose life.

LoveLine.com - Providing tangible support for pregnant and single moms across the US, as well as helping single dads and married couples in crisis.

LiveInMyShoes.org - Offering shelter, food, and other support to homeless pregnant and parenting women. Based in Texas.

FriendsOfCrossroads.org - Gospel-centered clinic and counseling center for expectant mothers considering abortion. Based in Oklahoma.

ReverseAbortionPill.com - Helping mothers who are considering taking the abortion pill or those who have already taken one and regret it.

The pictures I’ve attached are one reason that people have been fighting for life for decades, because at the time that Roe v. Wade was decided, ultrasounds weren't yet available, and the technology to take such photos as these was yet unavailable.

People just DIDN'T KNOW. They believed the lie that fetuses are lifeless blobs, but now we can all see how mistaken we've been. When we know better, we should do better.

If you've fallen prey to the propaganda claiming that a fetus is nothing but a lifeless clump of cells, let today be the day that you do a 180 for life in the womb, and forgive yourself for having been unaware.

We must be willing to be brave, to take off our blinders and adapt to new truths.

We have no excuse now, so let’s begin to stand for life from this day onward. 💛

[positivelybeastly]

On a scientific level, the process made absolute, perfect sense.

The creation of infertile eggs en masse, the assemblage of the building blocks of life.

A subtle change in reality's finer strands, a quirk of fate, a burst of guaranteed spontaneity.

Fertilisation, growth, the setting down of the blueprint.

And then the final steps.

That which shapes an individual more than anything else, that inexorable force that should be beyond any man, woman, mutant or god to control - time itself.

All harmonised, all conducted, all a choir singing a hymn in perfect tune, the words of which go against the natural laws of the earth - but that was par for the course by now. Death had no meaning. Death was no longer the end, no longer a punishment, no longer the next step. No longer something to be righteously feared or welcomed, no longer something to be defined by or against.

Death was barely an inconvenience on Krakoa.

But who cared? The natural world had clearly spurned mutantkind a long time ago, or it would have stopped handing them weighted dice, so who cared that life was no longer a journey, but one long Möbius loop, one long continuum - one, long, party. Who cared?

Well. Someone in the room cared.

Someone in the room cared as a naked blue body escaped the egg, shapely, young, and oh so ignorant. Blue eyes that had always been so sharp were fogged over and empty, the laughter lines that had been etched around them wiped clean by the Protocols - the body was, in its way, perfect and without flaw.

Which was exactly why it was an aberration.

But then came the final step. Then came the man in black to reach down and bestow consciousness. Bestow a soul. Bestow the immutable, the indelible, the ineradicable fact of Henry Philip McCoy's consciousness.

That . . . was what was happening, wasn't it?

"DYAAAAAAH!"

In an instant, a very naked Hank McCoy came to life, and promptly fell back in alarm, his entire body on high alert. His senses were inflamed, his mind was a sun, his fur stood on end - every single part of him screamed that this wasn't where he was meant to be, that this was all somehow wrong, that he didn't know these people.

"W-Where am I? Who in god's name are you? I swear, if you're from the fan club down in Long Island again, I'll cut the fur off myself and just give it to you if it means you'll leave me alone!"

Suffice it to say, as resurrections went, this was . . . among the less conventional.

@positivelybeastly | plotted starter

Arbor Magna.

Not so many things sadden me these days but the loss of Herr Professor will hurt until I die for the last time.

Kurt Wagner walks into the clear, moss and branches, the scent of forest… He stands on a large root and waits.

The Five have finished already, the egg already broke and the it’s a matter of time for this mutant comes alive again.

That man named Xavier is not The Professor anymore, he murdered him long ago and I was in denial so many years, why am I still loyal to him? Why am I still loyal to a dead man?

The body is alive, the person he was died long ago.

Like me.

We’re all dead in this place, many of us don’t know that yet.

The glow increases, so bright. Krakoa’s eyes reflecting on the empty shell and back. Those large red eyes shine in the golden light as the body crawls out of the cracked shape.

Of course, I wasn’t surprised when Charles said he kept copies of them in Cerebro and my vote was obviously override when I voted against bringing them back.

Why do I keep trying?

Forgive me God, I will drown tonight. I need yet another attempt to forget I died when Krakoa became alive.

Charles Xavier takes a step closer to the man that has become alive, and with arms wide open he speaks:

“Welcome to Krakoa my son. Welcome back Hank McCoy.”

[dwellordream]

“Sexuality primarily aimed at procreation and was only licit between wedded spouses. This broad ethical precept should suffice to steer the reader in the right direction, for its implications are self-explanatory: no sex outside of marriage, no sex for non-reproductive purposes. It was only during the 10th and 11th centuries that the Church started to assert exclusive jurisdiction over marriage, and during the 12th and 13th that canonists established a legal definition of Christian marriage which lasted for centuries. Since then, matrimonial validity rested only on the free consent in exchange of vows of the groom and bride, as long as they were legally allowed to marry.

The church distinguished two types of vows (or types of consent to marriage) that were on equally binding: the betrothal, during which a couple promises to marry each other in the future (marriage “per verba de futuro”), and the exchange of vows in the present tense (“per verba de praesenti“). A promise of marriage in the future could be broken, unless the couple had intercourse. If they had, they were legally married. Consummation made a betrothal a legally valid marriage, which could no longer be broken. A lot of confusion arose from this definition of marriage and many cases heard by ecclesiastical courts concerned people on who disagreed on what had happened: had they talked and fornicated, or exchanged promises of marriage in consummated the union?

Since Pope Alexander III (1159-81) had established matrimonial validity on consent only, a couple married per verba de praesenti need not consummate the union to complete it. The exchange of promises in the present sufficed. However, the non-consummation of the unions needed to be voluntary to keep the marriage standing. It was thus possible to be legally married and to never consummated the marriage if both partners had taken vows of chastity. “Chaste marriages” often characterizes the lives of lay saints.

If either spouse was incapable of intercourse the marriage could be dissolved. Impotence (masculine and feminine) a physical impairment rendering sex (and thus procreation) impossible, was considered an impediment to marriage, enabling the annulment of the union after a trial. Many writers warned that impotence was difficult to assess and that many used it as an excuse to find a new spouse with whom their affliction was miraculously cured. To obtain an annulment of the marriage for impotence, sufficient proof just had to be brought in court (witnesses were especially important), and the spouses should have unsuccessfully tried to consummate their marriage for a minimum of three years.

…In the Early Middle Ages, clerical attitudes toward sexuality were highly restrictive: the list of “chaste days” during which partners should refrain from intercourse roughly match the religious calendar. No intercourse was permitted on the major holidays (such as the Nativity or Easter), neither on the six weeks of Lent, nor on Sundays and fish days. Only a few days were left for people to have sex although most historians doubt that these rules were really followed. By the twelfth century, canonists showed a more permissive attitude towards sexuality, more in tune with lay expectations and habits. The clergy invited lay people to refrain, if possible, from sexual activities on Sundays dedicated to the Lord rather than be rather than being an absolute command, observance of the holy days had become more of a guideline. Sex should also have been avoided during the wife’s menstruation, pregnancy and lactation, an opinion equally found in clerical and medical sources, all through the Middle Ages.

Once the marriage was consummated, sex should be given “on demand.” The concept of marital debt was entrenched in tradition: Saint Paul had asserted that husbands and wives should pay each other what was due, and they both had power over the other’s body. These conceptions of marital debt were carried out through centuries. Both husbands and wives and had the right to demand intercourse, and both had the obligation to comply, except if they had taken vows of chastity, or if the demand was unlawful.

While medieval marriage was usually characterized by an imbalance of power between husband and wife, the former having the upper hand on the ladder, the marital debt put both partners on equal footing. The topic of marital debt raises questions about whether or not medieval people conceptualized conjugal rape (rape within marriage). Given that spouses who had consummated their union were legally obliged to have sex, in the eyes of the law, the answer was no. Marital violence could however be punished, giving some legal grounds to abused spouses to file complaints against their abuser.

In order not to be sinful, sexual activities between spouses should be open to the possibility of conceiving children. Practices that did not enable procreation or that intentionally prevented it were thus sinful, if not perceived as “unnatural.” Likewise, having sex solely for pleasure was considered a sin; sexual pleasure was not a problem in itself, for it was believed that it is enabled conception but the point of sexuality remained procreation. Books of penance, especially the very restrictive early medieval ones, listed the punishments for those who confessed fornication for pleasure, coitus interruptus and other forms of contraception, oral sex, anal sex, etc.

Medieval sex was construed as something men did to women, who let them (or did not let them) do. In Latin and vernacular languages, verbs associated with intercourse were in the active voice when performed by men, but in a passive voice when women were subject of the sentence. Sexual practices deemed undermining masculine dominance (such as the woman on top of the man) were frowned upon. Women were thus associated with a form of passivity in the sexual act, while men were the doors. Yet, in clerical, medical and narrative sources, all written by men, women were often described as lustful and actively seeking sexual encounters, sometimes resorting to sorcery to obtain what they wanted.

Little is known about the actual intimate lives of couples. Medieval literature yields a spontaneous and often humorous glance at sexuality, which contrasted with the restrictive attitude to the Church, but the veracity of any source is difficult to ascertain. Bedrooms were not private places in the Middle Ages: the bed was often more shared with children and other relatives in humble households, while, in more wealthy houses, servants usually slept in their master’s room. But maybe sex was not as a private act as it is today. A lot of sex also seems to have happened out in the open – in the fields, backyards and alleyways, even in cemeteries or – in the middle of the day – in empty churches and empty houses.

From the Church’s perspective, the sinfulness of sex was compensated by its purpose: procreation and expansion of the human race. If sex was enjoyable, it was for men to render the act of conception more pleasant for the partners. The pleasures of the flesh, as any earthly delight, were a temptation that should be overcome. The Church’s view on marital sexual was not solely restrictive. The high medieval reformist had taken a rather “down-to-earth” approach to sexuality, making it a central element of the lay marriage. Many argued that sexuality intimacy participated in creating affection and love between the spouses, and marital affection was construed by the Church as a defining component of a successful marriage.”

- Lucie Laumonier, “A Guide to Medieval Marital Sex.”

[thehouseoflamentation]

(Hey it's the person who just sent in for the unavailability to request in the given time) Mind if I request a senario for diavlo who's in a relationship with a short haired MC. During his heat hes going back through her papers and discovers that due to a childhood injury she is unable to become pregnant? And when he finds this out he has barbatos pull you from lessons to spend the rest of his heat with him in his office or bedroom? Sorry if this is to demanding , good luck with bread day 😊💖

Diavolo x Short Haired Fem!MC ~ NSFW (BREAD)

Diavolo wasn’t fond of his heat. Cycle after cycle he restrained himself for the sake of his reputation but this time it felt particularly unbearable. He sat in the quiet emptiness of his office, several stacks of paper towered before him. Make no mistake he was happy with the progress of the exchange program however the seemingly endless paperwork involved proved to be a daunting challenge even for the prince of the devildom himself. Letting out a sigh he took another paper from the stack and started looking it over only to realize it was yours. The words “Health and Medical Background” were printed in large, bold letters on the top of the page. It was certainly important that you remained healthy for the remaining year especially considering the rather unique diet demons had, however a particular side note caught his attention. Apparently due to an injury during your childhood you were unable to become pregnant. Why hadn’t he heard of this before? Was it a sensitive subject for you? Did you not trust him enough to tell him? Well in any case it was none of his business so there was no need for him to get involved. Or at least that’s what he wanted to think. 

In reality he couldn’t help but recall all those lonely nights he spent by himself when instead he could have had you by his side. He thought of all the times he was in heat and wanted nothing more than to pour out all his passion and lust into you until you could no longer take it. He thought about how you passed him in the hall that morning, your scent was so delectable he could barely stand to be around you without losing himself. He thought of how he would take you. He thought of tearing your uniform apart to see you in nothing but your bare skin. He thought of what it would feel like to finally get the relief he craved from the person he wanted the most. Then in that moment he had one final thought,  “What the hell was stopping him?”

Pulling out his DDD, Diavolo ordered Barbatos to retrieve you from your classes for an urgent meeting. He refused to specify any further but considering Barbatos could see into the future he knew full well what his lord had in mind. Still, he merely obeyed and headed off to your classroom. 

Meanwhile you were in devildom law class. Out of all the horrible punishments available in hell this class, by far, should have been on the list. It was hard enough covering the laws of the devildom but here you were expected to memorize the laws from all seven layers of hell. Suffice to say when Barbatos pulled you out of class in the middle of another hour long lecture you nearly sprinted out those doors. Even though you had to see Diavolo for another meeting it still beat sitting through that class for another second. Once Barbatos led you to Diavolo’s private office he let you in and exited the room leaving you alone with the prince. 

“So MC do you know why I called you in here?”

You shook your head in response. 

“Well, I just looked over some of your health records and I found something rather… interesting”

“Oh?”

It took you a minute to grasp what he meant but once you saw the smirk that was peaking just behind his smile you understood everything. 

“...Oh….”

Diavolo chuckled as he walked around his desk and approached you. His hands cupped your face as he stared into your eyes and spoke, his voice now lower and more seductive.

“Classes won’t be done for another forty minutes and the way I see it unless you’re dying to learn about the 2871 sections of devildom law, why don’t you keep me entertained for the time being?”

After hearing his words you leaned in and closed the gap between his lips and yours. He couldn’t have hoped for a better answer. His hands ran down your neck, teased your breasts and moved past your waist only stopping once they gripped your ass. You could feel his hardened arousal as he grinded against you. So needy, so desperate, so unbecoming of a future king. There were so many things he wanted to do to you but now what he needed the most was to be inside of you. Tearing off your clothes could wait till the second round, besides seeing you hot and disheveled in your uniform was also just as appealing to a demon in heat. 

Without wasting any more time, Diavolo carried you back to his desk and bent you across the edge. He licked his lips as he brought your skirt down, admiring your ass and giving it a nice, firm squeeze as he undid his belt. Using his precum to lube up your entrance he eased his cock inside you until every inch of him was wrapped in your warmth. Once he started thrusting he couldn’t stop. He buried his head in the nape of your neck taking in your irresistible scent as he bucked his hips harder and faster with each passing moment. If there was one thing he absolutely loved about you it was your hair. Since it was nice and short he had an easier time nibbling and kissing your ears as much as he pleased. Not to mention it also gave him better access to your neck making it all the more easier to mark you. As he got closer and closer to climax he couldn’t resist covering the back of your neck and shoulders with bite marks, making it clear who he would be breeding with from now on. With one more deep thrust he spilled his hot load inside you, only pulling out once he was sure you milked every last drop. 

He would have gone for another round but considering the two of you were still in his office and he would hate to make Barbatos clean up after his mess, Diavolo made a one time exception for you to skip class for the next few days. Now in the comfort of his castle nothing was going to distract him from you and even though you weren’t able to get pregnant that fact wasn’t going to stop Diavolo from pumping as much of his seed into you until every bit of his lust was sated. 

[wordsablaze]

farewell wanderlust

jaskier is eighteen and fuelled by wanderlust, but then jaskier is eighteen and wonders if he's lost...

A/N: basically i was feeling angsty and wanted to write one of these lowercase fics so... (title credit to TAD because i can’t stop listening to them)

-

jaskier is born,

and he is small, an infant, a child, nothing more than the potential of new life.

he is and yet he is not, for he is too young to know what it truly is to be and all he really knows are the hands that pass him around and the arms that hold him close.

jaskier is one,

and he is capable of only garbled noises that suffice as weak imitations of words;

he enjoys being lifted up and thrown in the air and he does little but sleep and eat and watch the people around him, his eyes blue and bright and innocent.

jaskier is two,

and everything he knows makes no sense;

he knows that he will be given food if he cries but he is also sometimes left alone in the dark and there is no way to tell which outcome it will ever be and so he cries anyway because he knows nothing.

jaskier is three,

and he is learning how to talk just like the tall people he’s surrounded by

but he doesn’t understand why they don’t want him to talk, they only sharply hush him and place their fingers on his lips and whisk him away and he just doesn’t understand and-

jaskier is four,

and his hands sting from being hit with wood

because he is too much and not enough all at the same time and he can’t fathom why he isn’t allowed to express what he thinks, wishes, wants .

jaskier is five,

and he is told to be quiet and learn as the other children must do,

and he tries but he can’t sit still and he doesn’t want to remember all these numbers and he wants to chase the music outside his window but he’s not allowed to leave his room.

jaskier is six,

and he is not tall enough to reach the shelves,

even though everyone thinks he should be so he falls and hits his head and hurts his ankle but his father shouts at him and he doesn’t get to eat lunch with everyone else for a month and he almost forgets what proper food tastes like by the end of it.

jaskier is seven,

and there are bruises on his wrists from where he’s been pulled away

repeatedly, because he is too loud and too noisy , children are meant to only be seen but he’s not even worthy of that and there’s nothing he can do to impress anyone and it makes him so sad because he’s trying and he can’t-

jaskier is eight,

and he is good at poetry.

or, at least, that’s what the travellers say, but he’ll take their word as law because they smile at him, encourage him, make him feel alive for the first time in so long.

jaskier is nine,

and he has decided that he hates his name;

it’s only ever used to call for him so he can be ordered around and punished or teased and insulted and he doesn’t want to be himself anymore but he doesn’t think there’s anyone else he can be.

jaskier is ten,

and he is meant to feel special but he doesn’t

and his mother hisses at him when he can’t figure out to convince the guests at his party that he’s quiet and happy and everything they want him to be because he’s not, he’ll never be-

jaskier is eleven,

and he decides he wants to run away

but he’s foolish and he writes it down and someone finds his notebook and all he gets for his planning is a month locked away and the lute he’d been gifted from a traveller smashed in front of his eyes and he can’t stop himself from crying and crying -

jaskier is twelve,

and he falls horribly ill

and nobody even cares and he moans himself to sleep every night until a guest accidentally finds his room and takes pity on him and secretly brings him a healer who makes sure he stays alive but can do little else to help.

jaskier is thirteen,

and he knows he’s nothing but a disappointment

because that’s all his parents ever say, that’s all anyone ever says, even the girl who’d promised to love him forever and then left when he couldn’t give her what she wanted, and he can’t give anyone what they want, not even himself -

jaskier is fourteen,

and he knows he is unlike the others

because he likes to write and explore and the others like to fight and leave bruises and he doesn’t fit in at all and it all kind of hurts but there’s nothing he can do.

jaskier is fifteen,

and he knows heartbreak is written into his destiny

and he doesn’t even think to change it because even the kind boy with the winks had given up on him and his siblings pretend he doesn’t exist and he’s so tired of switching between invisible and a nuisance.

jaskier is sixteen,

and he cannot live with the pain anymore

so he runs away, and he runs and runs and doesn’t stop until his lungs ache and his feet throb and there is nothing behind him except the sound of silence and the hushed whispers of the wild wind urging him on and on and on -

jaskier is seventeen,

and he is finally just jaskier;

he is a bard and he is free to do nothing but sing his songs, even if it means he finds his food thrown at him rather than given to him, and it takes time but he grows and he learns and life finally starts to feel like something he likes .

jaskier is eighteen,

and he finds himself a witcher,

and it’s everything he’s ever wanted even if the witcher doesn’t feel the same and that’s okay because his heart, his foolish heart, guides his feet wherever the witcher goes and he loses yet another lute only to have it blessedly replaced and that has to be some sort of sign -

jaskier is eighteen,

and his life changes for the better

because following a witcher is dangerous but it is thrilling and he has never had more inspiration and everyone starts to sing his songs and toss coins instead of stale bread.

jaskier is eighteen,

and he falls head over heels in love

with the famous white wolf, the white wolf who rarely uses his name and sometimes leaves him behind but usually comes back or finds him again and saves him from nobles and accidentally curses him but lets him stick around despite everything.

jaskier is eighteen,

and he has travelled the continent;

he’s seen more monsters and mages than most and he loves it, he lives for it even if it does put his life at risk, because it’s always worth it when geralt, albeit reluctantly, cares for him and makes sure he stays relatively unharmed.

jaskier is eighteen,

and he knows he is a second choice

because, truly, there is nothing he could possibly have to offer that could compete with yennefer and her magic and her beauty and he’s back to being helpless and all he can do is write a ballad in her name and watch from a distance as his heart breaks yet again -

jaskier is eighteen,

and he climbs a mountain to find a dragon,

an actual dragon , and it should be amazing but it’s violent and they almost plummet to their deaths and then he wakes up alone and then- and then he is rejected yet again and this time it hurts so, so much because he’d thought they would always stay together but his witcher doesn’t want him anymore, has perhaps never wanted him, and he truly feels like less than nothing and oh , how it hurts -

jaskier is eighteen,

and he remains eighteen

but he could not care less, for life no longer means anything to him and there is a brutal, gaping void where his dear heart should be and he feels empty, silent, so much like the weed he had named himself after.

jaskier is eighteen-

jaskier is always eighteen-

but jaskier is filled with pain and his pain is timeless and jaskier is lost -

so jaskier is eighteen

but jaskier is not entirely sure if he still is.

-

me? continuing to bring pain to my faves? more likely than you think. (sorry jaskier) i also accidentally saved this to drafts instead of posting oops

-

edit: companion piece: these are the lies

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | witcher blog: @geraskifer 

[leesielex]

I could not resist reblogging this. Get your popcorn people! This thread is Entertainment gold! But also, even though the two who he was arguing with made all the points that were needed to refute these ridiculous claims, I couldn't help but write my own that no one asked for. 😂😂🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

It is cuckoo bananas that anyone doesn't understand that Dany TRIED to save Viserys the moment he showed up drunk waving his sword around. She told Jorah to stop him and tell him she would give him HER DRAGON EGGS, all THREE of them, something of ridiculous value as to the rarity of them. So that he would put his sword away. Viserys has had a death wish the entire time they have been with the Dothraki and the entire time Dany has taken time and effort to try to help Viserys acclimate himself so he can begin to gain their respect and he refuses. Not only does he refuse but he consistently continues to abuse and beat her.

What does this dude think a pregnant 14 year old can do when he BROKE A SACRED LAW in a place where ALL THE KHALS are? AFTER he just pricked her navel and told her he would rip Drogo's child from her belly, and therefore kill her cause even Maesters couldn't successfully do that back then. At best, Viserys would still end up dead but she would lose respect of not only Drogo but all the Dothraki people and he would still kill Viserys. There is a lot of headcanon going on here, completely forgetting that Viserys broke a sacred law by baring steel in Vaes Dothrak and thinking anyone would question it when the penalty is death and execution. Arianne questions it because she has no idea what happened, only that he was murdered by Dany's husband. And even then she only questions it because she thinks it means Dany is like Aerys, not that she is no longer his heir. Even in Westeros they understand sacred laws being broken the penalty is death. Heck, Jon Snoe executes Janos Slynt for disobeying his order. Even when he begs forgiveness and mercy and says he will obey Jon he doesn't then give him mercy, no he takes his head. But you expect Dany to grant mercy to the brother who abused her and just threatened to murder her and her son and broke the laws of Vaes Dothrak, when she has zero power to enforce laws and inflict punishment or grant mercy m, so what? So you can then claim she can't be ruler of Westeros b/c she is a weak fool who bows to a mad/vicious brother and can't do what is necessary to keep peace and order and enforce the laws?

What do you think would happen if Dany spoke up? If Drogo didn't kill him then he would lose his Khalasar for being weak and allowing their laws to be broken and the other Khals would still not let Vis leave alive. Like do you have zero media literacy to not understand the gravity of what Viserys did and to overestimate the power Daenerys has at this point? Well, I know this dude's media literacy is terrible because he thinks in the books that Jon will have a claim to the Iron Throne.

Jon is one of my favorite characters and if I had my way Dany and Jon would marry and be equal King and Queen and have lots of Targ babies while they set up a democracy to break the wheel and then retire. But I know that is a pipe dream. That Dany and Jon are meant to unite the realms of men to defeat the Long Night and bring the spring, and they will both most likely Sacrafice their lives and die heroes to do so. No amount of proof will suffice that Jon will be taken as anything but a bastard once his paternity is known unless Howland Reed pulls a royal decree from his swampy ass signed by Rhaegar legitimizing him as his heir. And why would he do that when his oldest daughter and son was still alive when he went to war? Maybe he legitimized him, but unless Aerys named him specifically as heir, he can NOT inherit as a natural son, legitimized or not.

From Bran II ACOK "An acknowledged bastard might even be considered to inherit a seat when no direct heirs can be found."

Acknowledged bastards only inherit when no other direct heirs are found, or when the King or Lord would decree their heir is their natural child or brother, as Robb Stark does when he disinherits Sansa and believes his other siblings dead.

I understand wanting Jon to be King. I do too! But as it stands with all the information we have in the books right now, Daenerys has the better claim. Period. And we have zero evidence to suggest Jon has any claim until/unless we have someone legitimizing him AS a Targaryen!

A response to @stargareed’s comments, he has deleted (or don’t show up anymore because he has me block lol) and his response to @theblackqveen’s post.

Keep reading

[project-ohagi]

Isaac “Zack” Foster x Reader {Satsuriku No Tenshi}

Doll/Puppet, Dissection.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Since the advent of your maturity, a profound and overriding sense of infatuation had blossomed, yet it wasn't for the usual suspects - teachers, peers, cousins...No, this all-consuming emotion, poisonous and blackened to its very core, was, oddly enough, directed at a child serial killer. Although, about a decade in the making, you figured that the offender wouldn't exactly be pre-pubescent any longer. This seeped into your imagination, intertwining it with severed demon limbs, or forbidding scarlet thread. It thrilled you, perhaps more than was healthy, but your heart just couldn't help the fascination, the intoxicating allure of the entire situation. After all, questions such as 'What drives a child to murder?' permeated your brain constantly, for they were simply beyond human comprehension. True responses, whether through psychosomatic research or basic interrogation, bore little real fruits. The mind of a murderer, however horrifying and depraved, still demanded thorough investigation.

Isaac Foster was hardly an exception, and yet for years, nobody had developed an understanding as to his location. This unfortunate fact wouldn't ring forever, though, as lady luck appeared to favour both you and your research. The moment in which the killer, Foster, paraded forth from within the shadow of a burning building, cradling a young girl in his arms, was recorded and played on repeat for your benefit. Questioning from law enforcement was methodical, yet Isaac Foster never once caved, not truly, despite what they might have you believe.

The bandage-wrapped dreamboat clicked his tongue, signalling his intense displeasure at the questions concerning the young girl, Rachel Gardner. From behind the two-way mirror, you observed and noted down his behaviour patterns, his posture, his words (how he spoke and what, precisely, he said), and anything else of personal interest. Your heart commanded the scribbling of tiny hearts on the page, alongside quirky drawings of a possible future life together. You, of course, understood the need for such a homicidal maniac to be separated from his body, but you desperately wanted to be the one who ended him. If he couldn't remain essentially conjoined at your hip in life, then he would most certainly in death. A simple excuse would likely suffice: you were absolutely appalled at the treatment of his previous victims, and the most recent, almost-victim, Miss Gardner.

"Alright, Isaac." One of the policemen, Arthur, began. "Before the trial, we have a criminal psychologist here, who would be quite happy to study you. What do you say?"

A sigh of contempt passed his lips. "I told ya, my name's Zack, and I don't think I have much of a choice."

Arthur laughed, rather heartily. "And all my sources said you lacked common sense, as well as intelligence."

"Whatever, gramps. Just bring this guy in here, would ya?" Another sigh echoed off the walls, sending the most wonderfully warm shivers rocketing through your body.

An officer insisted on the utmost security, and he intended to remain in the interrogation room, with you and the killer. This really wouldn't do, however, because capture was only a viable option later, when all Zack's screams and cries were lost to history. Nearly-convicted murderer though he may have been, the truly deranged mind, bubbling away in a cauldron of wicked schemes and bloody torture, was your very own. With the sternness to rival a military commander, you dismissed the officer. Zack's lips parted slightly, as you slid into the room. Those gorgeously-asymmetrical gemstones, just above an adorable little bandaged nose, offered a glimmer of astonishment, maybe (dare you say) even curiosity. The snowy paper obscured his cheeks completely, but he was definitely blushing; a crimson hue manifested on his ears, which you found incredible.

Choosing a seat directly opposite the drop-dead handsome serial killer, you reached out a hand for him to shake. Upon realising that this gesture was unfamiliar, you retracted your hand. "My name is (Y/n) (L/n). It's nice to meet you..."

"Zack. It's just Zack." He replied, apparently refusing to acknowledge the sloppily-concealed admiration in your eyes.

"Okay then, Zack. Tell me, when and why did you start killing? Did it possess any element of fun, or was it simply out of revenge, or spite?" Notebook in hand, you posed the first set of questions.

For a moment, it seemed as though he would decline to answer. "I started...well, it was 'cause of the orphanage."

"The orphanage?" You prompted, when Zack failed to continue his sentence.

Like a bursting dam, water free-flowing and chaos-wreaking, Zack's tongue released all his repressed emotions, all the knowledge, all the agony. In a matter of minutes, each piece of valuable information (that which you had yearned for, almost since conception) was written so beautifully on your paper. The sudden urge to allow your crystal tears to bleed the words arose, but for the sake of your master plan's survival, you swiftly pounded it into ash. The less-than-innocent, pure-hearted Zack, for all his primal instincts, couldn't have possibly guessed what you had veiled within that notebook. Two scalpels were buried compactly, inside a hollowed-out section of the book. These would issue Zack's most grievous punishment, and hopefully, his worst nightmare.

The ease with which you were able to progress, was due in large part to the handcuffs adorning Zack's wrists, pinning him to the table. Before the complimentary three or so seconds Zack would normally permit a victim were up, one of the scalpels was protruding forth from his chest. A surge of blood erupted from his mouth. Zack was in pain, and you relished every last second.

"What...the...hell?!" Anger swelled in his voice, yet the words sounded crackled, sputtered, as he attempted to speak through the bleeding.

Without leaving him a moment's respite, you once more plunged the scalpel inside, deeper and with increased ferocity. Zack's entire figure trembled, although he wasn't afraid. The handcuffs appeared close to losing their grip on the table, so, to cover your bases, you quickly grabbed the second scalpel. Finding purchase in a vital - his trachea - you dragged both scalpels down, ripping open his flesh in the process. It was the most amazing sight you had ever witnessed, and it was flourishing, growing more beautiful by the second. Zack stopped struggling after another few lacerations, and the puncturing of both lungs. Now, there wasn't even a sliver of oxygen for the bloodthirsty monster. He was nothing more than a doll, stiff, lifeless, and oh so handsome. Cutting around the organs, you carefully removed his heart, lungs, pancreas, kidneys and liver, refusing to bother with the rest.

Dwelling within the warmth of your palm, Zack's silent heart almost seemed to shiver. You placed his blood-soaked organs on the table. You found some suitable replacements, in old, scrunched-up papers. Drawing out a needle and thread from your pocket, you began stitching his gaping wounds closed, although the crimson liquid dripping from your hands made this task a little difficult. The zig-zag pattern looked lovely when completed, and you again stepped back to admire the scene. Zack's life-force had ceased to exist; his soul had vacated this world. Gently, you lifted up his chin. A chaste kiss was planted on his lips - a symbol of your undying affections. You lolled his head back and forth, moved his arms in all directions, squished his mouth and even removed some of his bandages, to unearth what had been hidden from you.

Ah, what beauty, what grace; such an angelic little doll.

[joanaflbarbosa]

How Therapy Works: What it Means to "Process an Issue"

People are often advised to go to therapy to “process” some issue. But what does “processing an issue” actually mean? And why and how does this “processing” help?

For starters, we may define “a process” as a series of actions or operations taken toward achieving a particular end. “To process,” hence, is to perform a series of operations on something in order to change (or preserve) it—processing milk to make cheese or yogurt, for example. In therapy, these operations are performed through the therapist-client interaction, and they may take several forms.

First, processing an issue in therapy may mean working to place it inside a coherent life narrative. We experience our life as a story, of which we are both protagonists and narrators. And we make ourselves known to others in this manner, too. If someone wants to genuinely get to know you, giving them a list of facts and numbers describing you will not suffice. They will want to hear your story. For human beings, processing information involves organizing it in narrative form.

In this framework, shocking or traumatic events damage us by disrupting our stories, mangling our established narratives of self and the world. They do this by refusing to fit into our established narrative (“This is not me; this can’t be happening”) or by flooding and overwhelming it (“I can’t stop thinking about it; nothing else matters”). To “process an issue” in this case is when therapy helps us to either integrate the traumatic event into our life's narrative or pull our story out from under the weight and confusion of the trauma.

Second, processing an issue in therapy often means bringing past events or habits into present consciousness and analyzing them using our current tools and knowledge, resulting in fresh insight. One reason this is helpful is because difficult events often lead to avoidance. Places, emotions, and memories associated with the traumatic event are avoided, and thus they fail to undergo the constant reevaluation and examination that would have updated their meaning in light of new knowledge and experience. Thus, the meanings of these difficult events remain frozen in a past perspective. This means that the only reactions in our repertoire regarding these events are our original ones, which by now may be dated, ill-fitting, or suboptimal. If a dog bit you when you were 4 years old, leading you to hate dogs and carefully avoid any contact with them, whenever you do finally encounter a dog, you will have the terrified reaction of a traumatized 4-year-old, which you no longer are; likewise, the dog you are responding to is the one from your childhood, not the one in front of you now. Such a rigidly disproportional reaction is, by definition, neurotic, and neither healthy nor helpful.

Another example: Children often experience their parents’ divorce in real time as somehow their fault, and thus may harbor guilt and self-doubt related to the event even many years later. Observing the events of a divorce from an adult perspective allows the client to realize that their parents’ divorce was not their fault, and that the childish expectation that their behavior could somehow have mended their parents’ rift was both developmentally understandable, even inevitable, but also factually incorrect, even absurd, when viewed from the perch of the grown-up perspective.

“Processing” in this context often includes not only updating and reexamining the meaning of old memories and emotions, but also developing a new language with which to describe, experience, and understand the past and present. Moving from a language of powerlessness (“I’m a victim”) to a language of resilience (“I’m a survivor”) is one example. Moving from self-demeaning, perfectionist language (“I made a mistake; I’m stupid, deserving of punishment”) to a language of empathy and self-nurture (“I made a mistake; I’m human, deserving of compassion”) is another.

A third way to understand the notion of “processing an issue” is through the prism of cognitive developmental theory, specifically the seminal work of the pioneering cognitive theorist Jean Piaget. According to Piaget, the child is akin to a scientist, exploring her environment and experimenting with its properties in order to gain an understanding of the world and its laws. As the child experiments with objects, she learns about the character and attributes of reality itself. The child thus develops cognitive “schemas,” the building blocks of her mental architecture. Piaget defined a schema as, "a cohesive, repeatable action sequence possessing component actions that are tightly interconnected and governed by a core meaning."

In other words, schemas are organized ways of interacting with the world. Through experience, our schemas over time become increasingly numerous, at once larger and more specific, and they help guide our movement in the world. Having acquired a "restaurant schema," for example, allows me to know how to behave and what to expect in any restaurant, even one I had never visited before. Because I have a "party schema," I know a party when I see it, I know how to behave at a party, and I have a set of party-related expectations by which to evaluate whether the party was any good.

According to Piaget, schemas develop through two cognitive processes: assimilation and accommodation. We assimilate when we use an existing schema to understand novel information. Accommodation happens when the new information cannot fit our current schema, and we must then adjust our schema to fit the information. My “mammals” schema may easily assimilate a lion glimpsed for the first time. But upon encountering a whale, I may need to change my schema to accommodate this new information. If your wife gives birth to a new baby boy, assimilating him into your "male family member" schema will be easy. Yet if your adult daughter decides to transition to become a man, then you may need to accommodate your old "male family member" schema to include transgender persons.

From this perspective, processing an issue in therapy amounts to an effort to assimilate and accommodate new information, to improve our ability to understand and move in the world more seamlessly and effectively.

Fourth, processing an issue in therapy requires that we engage it, think and talk about it. In doing so, we are practicing de facto exposure with regard to the emotions attached to the issue. Exposure is a therapy technique that lets a client face up to a scary or uncomfortable situation. The goal of exposure is to achieve physiological habituation, psychological mastery, and behavioral skill. Physiologically feeling your emotions and remembering your memories will result in nervous system habituation and, with that, lower anxiety. Psychologically confronting difficult memories will lead to a sense of agency, courage, and achievement. Behaviorally learning to feel, identify, express, and discuss one’s emotions will lead to improved communications and interpersonal skill. Moreover, with exposure, the client learns new associations regarding the issue at hand. (Through interacting with dogs, I begin to associate them with playfulness and companionship rather than with the pain of the initial attack.)

Processing in this context can be viewed as a way to familiarize a person with unfamiliar territory. When we process an issue, we learn the terrain, thereby becoming less afraid of it and more able to navigate within it.

Working for many years in this area, the influential psychologist Edna Foa has proposed that fear is represented in memory as a cognitive structure, a program to escape danger (e.g., you see a lion; your heart races; you run away). The fear structure however, may in the course of one’s life become faulty, acquiring inaccurate associations between benign stimuli and exaggerated fear response (e.g., you see a lion at the zoo; your heart races; you run away). In Foa’s system, emotional processing, achieved through exposure practice, involves activating a person’s fear structure and then introducing new information that is incompatible with earlier faulty associations (e.g., hanging around the lion’s cage is safe; your heartbeat will eventually come down; you don’t have to run).

Fifth, processing an issue in therapy means bringing the issue into the light of another’s benevolent attention. Such interpersonal light is often, as it were, the best mental disinfectant. We are social animals, and we define ourselves, and our circumstances, in part by others’ responses. For example, if you kill your enemies in socially approved ways (say, by becoming a soldier and going to war), then you become a hero, but if you kill your enemies in a way that is not socially approved (you poison your nasty neighbors), then you have become a murderer. It’s all about how others see and judge what you have done. Receiving a 5 percent raise at work will make you feel good, but only until you find that all your coworkers have received a 10 percent raise. Your mood is determined not by what happens to you, but by how it compares to the experience of others. For good or bad, social connectivity is our foundational psychological currency. As Alfred Adler argued a long time ago, in the human psychological calculus, social connection is akin to health. Social isolation is akin to illness.

The engine of therapy is the human connection at its core. In this context, processing an issue means communicating it inside a safe, supportive interpersonal space. A secret loses much of its power to paralyze and poison us internally when shared with others who are capable of resonating with our experience, accepting and understanding it. In the act of discussing difficult matters, we become less alone, less opaque to ourselves, and thus less fragile. We manifest and build our strength when we express and own our weakness.

In sum, therapy may help you “process” a difficult issue by helping to place it inside a coherent life narrative; by reviewing past events using current tools and knowledge; by adjusting your cognitive schemas to include new information; by helping you confront previously avoided uncomfortable feelings in order to increase your competence in managing them; and by bringing the issue into the light of another’s benevolent and empathetic attention, thus reducing shame, fear, and isolation.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/insight-therapy/201801/how-therapy-works-what-it-means-process-issue

[bluesfortheredj]

A Beautiful Mistake Chapter 17.

Smut ahead.

Your body felt weak, your mind was racing at an alarming pace, and every tiny twinge of pain caused you to panic as you wondered if your time would come now. Your thoughts drift back to being on the ship from England and one of the crew having to have a fishing hook dug out of their abdomen; the screams from the man were deafening even though the men shoved old rags between his teeth and there was no escape from the sound in such an enclosed space, then all went quiet when he eventually passed out from the pain, never to wake again. That was only trying to retrieve something that was just underneath the skin, so surely to have to delve so far into the body for kidney stones you stood no chance at all. You turn away from Samuel in bed as you cry quietly into your pillow at the thought of leaving him behind, but you’re determined to at least give birth before anything has to be done, you refuse to put your baby’s life at risk.

“My love, what is wrong?” Samuel gasps quietly as he wakes to find you sobbing next to him.

He wraps an arm around you immediately and pulls you against his strong and comforting body as you continue to let your fears overwhelm you.

“Please, (Y/N), tell me what is on your mind,” he pleads as he presses a long kiss to your head.

“Oh Samuel, we should not have acted upon our feelings, you should have stayed with Jocelyn and I with James then maybe we would have escaped this wretched punishment God has put upon us for defying the laws of the settlement.”

“Do not say such things!” Samuel frowns as he holds you close, “I would have been unable to live if I had to see you and James together every day, it would have torn me apart. This is no punishment, this is a test my love, a test that we shall face and conquer together to prove our love for one another and show everyone this was the right thing to do.”

“Samuel,” you begin with a sigh, turning around in his embrace so you can face him, “will you promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“If something happens after our baby is born, please tell them about me and how much I loved and wanted them.”

Samuel opens his mouth to protest against your dark thoughts but a sob escapes instead and his mouth closes as his lips turn down while tears spill from his enchanting eyes, and you rest your forehead against his as you cup one of his cheeks gently. After a few minutes together in a sombre silence Samuel’s lips find yours for a kiss that takes your breath away as one of his hands travels down your body to pull your nightdress up, and he begins to comfort you in a way only he could. You both manage to slip out of your clothes trying not to break the kiss for too long, then Samuel gently pushes you down onto your back before settling his lower body between your open legs and carefully sliding inside your slick opening.

His name falls softly from your lips as he leaves a trail of kisses along your jaw and down your neck while his hips move in unison with yours, burying himself deep inside you with every thrust, and Samuel’s touch is much more delicate than when you’d made love before announcing you were with child. The sound of deep breathing fills the small space around the bed and the air soon turns thick and heavy as the sweat beads across both your bodies, and you wrap your legs around Samuel’s hips so your heels can aid him by pressing against his buttocks. Your hands glide along his back then up to his shoulders so you can hold him close to you as his hot breath stutters out onto your neck between chaotic kisses, and he soon calls your name out repeatedly while you brace yourself for your own high; lifting your hips off of the bed as much as you can to ride out the pleasurable pulses that take over inside.

“I love you,” Samuel whispers as he pulls out and strokes your stomach with both hands while kneeling between your legs, “and this little one.”

“I love you too Samuel, so very much.”

He moves to lay beside you once more and his broad chest is far too inviting for you to resist draping yourself across it, then you hear Mercy pottering around in the next room as your eyes finally shut after spending most of the night awake. When Samuel knows you’ve drifted off to sleep he carefully moves from beneath you to get to the meeting that was being held this morning between the Governor, Redwick and Farlow about the situation with James.

“Good morning Mercy,” he smiles as he emerges from the bedroom once fully presentable, “(Y/N) is still asleep after having a bad night. Could you check in on her every now and again please?”

“Of course Master Castell,” she nods willingly, “do you need me to fetch the doctor?”

“No, not necessary Mercy, but thank you. Just keep an eye on her while I’m out and that will be enough. I’ll be back soon.”

“Bye Master Castell.”

Samuel takes his seat as company recorder but keeps his head down as he takes the notes from the meeting, too worried to look up as the three men discuss what to do with James Read.

“Punishment should be the same for him as it was for the attacker, should it not? This was a planned event,” Farlow suggests.

“I agree,” Yeardley nods.

Samuel’s eyes dart to Redwick, silently urging him to defend James after his agreement with you, and he smirks as he allows a longer pause than Samuel would like.

“I disagree. If he admits to it, then I see no harm in a simple whipping. The length of which should be decided by Master Castell of course,” Redwick sneers, “one or two days should do it.”

Samuel’s gaze widens in horror at such an offer, he was not a violent man in the slightest and it was something he chose not to witness either if he could help it, and now here he was, possibly in charge of someone’s length of punishment.

“Hmm, would that be suitable, recorder?” Yeardley questions.

“I… Yes of course it would. An afternoon should suffice.”

“Just an afternoon, Castell?” Redwick pushes.

“A day then,” Samuel replies hurriedly, moving his quill along the parchment to try and keep up with what had been said.

“Excellent, I shall look forward to the spectacle tomorrow!” Redwick grins.

Samuel walks home with a heavy heart as he prepares to tell you what had happened during the meeting but is quickly interrupted by James as he leaps from his shack to stop the recorder in his path.

“What is my fate?” he asks quietly.

“One day of whipping,” Samuel sighs, “I did suggest an afternoon but Redwick has a particularly nasty vendetta against you and soon changed it.”

“Thank you,” James nods, “you are a kind man Master Castell, and I am forever in your debt.”

Samuel gives the man a curt smile before continuing to the house and opening the door with a forced smile only to find Mercy worrying in a chair at the fact that you had gone missing.

“What’s happened Mercy?” Samuel asks as he studies her shaking frame.

“Mistress Castell… I turned away for only a moment after she dressed and when I turned back she had gone! I don’t know what to do! I ran outside but there was no sign of her Sir.”

“How odd. Do you think she has gone to get some food or maybe some medicine?”

“I told her I would do that for her with her being in such a fragile state, I promise I did Master Castell!” Mercy says as tears prick her eyes for fear of him not believing her.

“I know, I know,” he soothes, “did you hear a knock at the door maybe?”

“I don’t think so… Oh, I can’t remember, I’m so mixed up with worry inside Sir, I’m ever so sorry!”

“It’s okay Mercy, it’s not your fault. Have some water and calm down while I go out and see if I can find her, okay?”

“Yes Master Castell, thank you,” she nods as her shaking hands reach for the arms of the chair to help her stand.

Samuel stands outside the front door with a perplexed look upon his face as his eyes scan the settlement for any sign of you but of course there is none in such close proximity to the house, so he begins to walk towards the gates of Jamestown, being sure to study any path that he passed on his way. Several people greet him along his short journey and he makes sure to maintain his polite nature, but he can’t help the trepidation that rises inside him as he walks increasingly further from the safety of the colony.

“It’s unusual to see you so far from Jamestown Master Castell,” Pepper frowns as he walks towards the worried man.

“I am unable to fin my wife, have you seen her on your travels?”

“Of course,” Pepper laughs, “Mistress Castell is with Alice at our land!”

“Goodness, thank you!”

Samuel picks up his pace until he’s almost running up to the Sharrow land, then when you finally come into view he stops to catch his breath before taking a slow walk over to where you and Alice stand talking, and his eyes are drawn to the large bump that protrudes from Alice’s dress.

“Samuel!” you cheer as he gets near enough for you to notice, “I’m so sorry I left without telling you were I was going, but once I heard the good news I could not resist coming to give my well wishes to Alice in person!”

You link your arm through his as he presses a kiss to your hair then he grins at Alice as he realises you were here to see how far along she was and whether it would be her that was to give birth to the first child of Jamestown.

“Our very best wishes on your joyous news,” Samuel nods, “it will be wonderful to begin to see children around the settlement!”

“That it will,” Alice agrees, “I shan’t keep your wife any longer, I must get back to helping Silas myself! Good day to you both.”

“And to you too Alice,” you smile.

You both turn away ready to walk back to Jamestown, and your hand runs up and down Samuel’s arm happily.

“Our news can be kept a secret for a little longer my love,” you whisper excitedly.

“I’m so very relieved,” Samuel sighs, “after this morning I need some good news.”

“What was the verdict?” you ask, stopping in your tracks to face him.

“A days whipping.”

“Oh my goodness,” you gasp, bringing up a hand to cover your mouth.

“Redwick gave me the choice of length for the punishment and I did try for an afternoon but…”

“No, no, I know you would have done your best Samuel, you always do.”

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him, then stroke his cheek to help ease his troubled mind.

“We should get back, poor Mercy was shaking with worry over you!” he chuckles.

“The poor thing! I must apologise to her!” you say before lifting your dress a little so you could walk quicker.

“Hey!” Samuel laughs from behind as he jogs to catch up with you.

You turn and give him a sly smile before picking up your pace and the two of you end up laughing all the way back to the settlement as he chases you through the dense woods; the light relief something you both so desperately needed.

@lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @timeandpixiedust @captainxholmes @antonomase @queen-bunnyears @leah-halliwell92 @queen-paladin

[ishgard]

Title: Gifts & Curses Chapter 1: Nothing if Not Consistent Words: 2,545 Rating: T/PG-13 AO3 Link A/N: I opened one of those RP prompts ages ago that said something like 'Gaius gets cursed and Ahru can heal him', and then at like 4am falling asleep it burst wide open. One day I might go back, tweak it up, and fit it in to the grander story at large, but for now it’s just a stand-alone, for fun, deal.

________

Curses were tricky things, suffice it to say. They didn’t work in the ways one expected, or in ways that were obvious. Other times the cursemaker may not have been practiced in the art of it, bringing forth spite-driven but clumsy results.

As it stood, it was difficult to say one way or the other what Gaius Baelsar’s particular case was, but the effects had been wearing on him for days.

“I’m not sure, it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen before…” Yulania frowned, leaning back and folding her arms over her chest. She was still reluctant to help the ex-legatus, but she’d come at Ahru’s behest just the same.

Moving almost in unison with her, Arsh instead leaned forward, tilting his head this and that as he looked Gaius over, scratching his chin.

“That’s because it scarcely resembles anything it ought to. A mess is what it is. Someone slapping together whatever bits of knowledge they could assemble…” He restrained a chuckle -barely- and shrugged. “I’d be surprised if they themselves didn’t suffer for the casting of such a foolish attempt.”

In a small, dim-lit storage room in Ala Mhigo, Gaius sat in silence, gaze cast low to the ground before him, head sunk between his shoulders. He’d always thought himself a decently sensible man - arguable to some, he could reason, when he’d been blinded by grand ideals and the promise of power.

Such was neither here nor there though; whatever this curse, it weighed on him. Hushed whispers and babbling played at the back of his mind, barely audible - only to be crashed by a sudden scream, or angry shouts. Countless voices, all in unison, sometimes dulling to silence, as if to offer him some mild hope of reprieve only, of course, to come barreling over his senses again in a rush.

Sleep was impossible, his performance in battle suffered, and though he held himself together best he could, he could no longer deny the threads were growing thin.

“Can’t say I’m too surprised, there’s no small few who would love to see the Black Wolf hang - or worse.” Yulania sighed and shook her head. While she wasn’t so comfortable with their new ‘ally’, capital punishment didn’t sit right with her either.

“Think you could… I dunno, trace the aetherial patterns or some shit?” Ahru waved a hand at the air. "Track down who might have done it?" She may have been better at the aetherial arts than she’d ever been in her life, but hells if she knew how to deal with any of this. At best she could muddle her way through more basic healing, and instinct had often guided her well, but it had been clear from the moment Gaius had come to her this was well beyond anything she could pull off.

Yulania scrunched up her nose. “You really think the Elementals are going to give me a hand with this?”

“Pff, of course not. I just figured you might have some handy witch-y tricks up your billowing sleeves.” She didn’t give a piss about the Elementals, Yul was one of the most gifted healers she knew, and that wasn’t because of them. Catching her meaning, Yulania’s cheeks gave a faint pink glow, though she hid it with a frown and shake of her head.

“Unfortunately, it’s such a mess, I’d be afraid to apply any of my usual remedies. Fixing one thing could cause something else to worsen.”

Together they both looked to Arshadaya, who was now crouched down in front of Gaius, waving his hand not five ilms from his face. Gaius, however, didn’t seem to notice, his eyes wide and glazed over, mouth agape. The lines of his face were writ in horror, as if he were seeing some fearsome, terrible thing beyond Arsh’s palm and wiggling digits.

Ahru reached over and smacked Arsh’s hand back - even that did not draw the man out of his stupor, however.

“Gaius.” Bodily shoving Arsh out of the way she instead clapped her hands on either of his shoulders, trying to bring his gaze to hers. She’d seen him go like this once before already, and nothing had worked to bring him out of it then, yet still she could not help but try. There was little use in trying to wrap her mind around whatever their relationship was at this point, but she didn’t enjoy the idea of any she counted among her allies suffering.

“Another part of another stitched-together hex,” Arsh shrugged dismissively. “I don’t think wiggling him around will snap him out of it.”

“Your pointless commentary is not why I asked you here,” she grumbled back. He knew that, he knew everything, and she was oh so certain he knew how to fix this, but it was ever his wont to play so frustratingly coy.

“Yet it’s all I’m capable of offering.” Feigning a crestfallen pout, he dramatically shrugged his hands out to either side of him. Now that she knew better, these little gestures of his at times reminded her of Emet-Selch. But she quickly shoved that thought away, as she was becoming accustomed to doing every time the dead Ascian surfaced from the deep to haunt her.

“Oh, come now, that can’t be true.” Yulania was the first to speak up, as exasperated with the Ascians usual antics as Ahru herself was. No matter how accustomed to it they may have been. “According to Ahru, Emet-Selch could snap his fingers and pluck souls from the lifestream. You’ve practically done the same with her. Surely a tangled up little curse can’t pose such a problem.”

“Ah, but it can. And I’d like to remind you I very nearly died saving our darling Ahru. Emet-Selch was nothing short of prodigious in his abilities to see and understand the movements of the lifestream, and I but a paltry babe suckling at the teet by compare.”

“Imagery I could do without,” Ahru muttered. Her hands remained on Gaius’s shoulders, her eyes on his - still swimming in mute, abject fear. What nightmare of his own making must he have been seeing this time? Unable to scream, same as the dead bodies in his wake. Such was as much as he’d conveyed to her the last time this had occurred. That he’d found himself trapped in the corpses of those who had suffered for his ego, watching with lifeless eyes as even greater atrocities ensued. Their fears and horrors became his, but their anger and resentment wrapped gnarled fists around his throat and strangled him.

“Unfortunately, messy as this curse is, it’s effective. Patchwork bits of one hex and another strewn into his very soul, all twisted and knotted together with one great thread of hatred and murderous spite. Removing one could cause upheaval of another, but worse still is the very potential to unravel his very being.”

It was, at times, difficult to grasp just what Arshadaya really felt on a matter. One sentence or word weighed with amusement and curiosity, another with pity. Such was the case now, but Ahru knew the truth to be simple enough. He was fascinated, but not without sympathy.

“So… it’ll keep going like this…”

“Until it kills him, yes. Perhaps he will go mad and take his own life. Perhaps he will act rashly, or from exhaustion, and get himself killed. Or perhaps the shock will soon grow too much for his withered old heart.”

“Arshadaya, please…” Yulania’s voice was soft and small, the barest rustle of leaves on a spring breeze. “There’s no need to elaborate on what we already know just because you relish the chance to talk more.”

Again, Arshadaya shrugged, but his flippant demeanor slowly began to slip away, like a mask discarded. Instead he watched Ahru’s face in profile, the way it furrowed and stared deep into the Garlean’s gazeless eyes. Her fingers were sunk deep into the folds of his coat, making the subtlest of movements as if she hoped to massage away the tension even while knowing it would do no good.

“It’s not really a problem, is it?” The moment the words were out of his mouth she was snapped back to the present, face an amusing blend somewhere between a ‘glower’ and aghast. This did not dissuade or give him pause. “By the laws of mortals, this is a just fate, is it not? To suffer all he has made others suffer, to bear every fear and scar upon his soul. In fact, I daresay it’s better than what any judicial system might be able to fathom up. Beheadings are much too quick.”

With each word her face scrunched up more and more, but so too did her obvious annoyance. Alas, it would seem he’d become much to predictable to his favorite little mortal.

“Can we please skip the part where I have to justify my desire to help people?”

“Even old enemies who’ve done so very, very, many terrible things?” He spoke as if he were talking to a puppy, the sarcasm dripping. What fool mortal could possibly have had more blood on his hands than an Ascian, after all?

Ahru turned partway to him now, drawing her hands back from Gaius’s shoulders to fold them across her chest. She was good at nailing this particular expression, half pleading pout, half stubborn glare. But then, it did precisely encapsulate two of her most prevalent emotions; long-suffering exhaustion and willful defiance. She was not so gifted in the Echo that they could share thoughts, but he could hear her loud and clear. ’Do not make me work more than is necessary for information you could just as easily provide me freely.’

“Fine, deprive me of my fun,” Arsh pouted right back at her, though his he would argue was far more heartfelt. “I could, possibly, fix him up if you are truly so adamant about it, but it will require ample payment. Sacrifice, you might even say.”

Had the current situation not already been sobering enough, Ahru and Yulania both tensed, listening with rapt attention. ‘Sacrifice’ was no small word to them, who had buried the bodies of countless comrades, and something neither of them took lightly. Arshadaya, however, simply grinned at them both, shaking his head.

“Ahru, my darling, you’ll have to take him home with you. To Hyr’asra, and your mother.”

Immediately Ahru blanched, eyes wide and mouth agape, not looking all too different now from Gaius.

“You… have to be joking.” There was no emotion to her words, she wasn’t processing much in the way of thoughts let alone emotions, and the thoughts that did get by simply came out like some automated recording on old Allag tech.

Yulania arched a brow. While she was well aware Ahru’s relation with her mother and birthplace were not particularly great, she didn’t realize it was quite so bad as to warrant such a flabbergasted response.

“Mm, as I recall, the Hiraeth don’t take too kindly to outsiders…” Instead Yul grappled for the easy, obvious answer - or question, rather, which she posed to Arshadaya. “So, wouldn’t it be difficult taking a Garlean there?”

“Oh, that’s not the problem.” Arsh moved over to Gaius now running a finger over the crease in the mans brow as if he were naught more than a statue to bear his intrigue. “Ahru can, technically get away with almost whatever she wants-” at that, Ahru nearly choked on a sudden, bitter laugh. “…The problem is she’s been avoiding it so long she hasn’t the faintest clue how to face going back.”

“Yeah, and marching in for the sole purpose of healing an ex-legatus isn’t exactly going to sit well with the uma’taja.” Ahru piped in, her words betraying her reluctance. But even as unwilling as she was, the greater reluctance was saying no to the suggestion if it might really help.

“I mean… will they punish you at all?” Yulania muddled over what they were telling her, unable to pick apart what from what. Arshadaya, conveniently, was more than willing now to be silent and pin any answers on Ahru, his golden gaze locked on her. Ahru simply shook her head.

“It… really doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

“Well that doesn’t sound promising.”

“The worst punishment she’ll endure is her mothers disappointment and dissatisfaction,” Arsh offered.

“No, I’m sure they could do a lot worse.” Ahru rolled her eyes, but she was already coming to her decision. Arsh joked of payment and sacrifices, but as far as she could see it was only her own stubborn pride at stake. “Will you really be able to help him if I take him there?” She frowned, squinting at Gaius. “You said… mother could?”

“Maybe. First I’d try the ruins. We may be able to fix him there, where the aether is strong and pure. But if nothing else,” he grinned - vicious and cruel. “They could always sing it out of him.”

Ahru shivered. The phrase, however, was perhaps comically lost on Yulania - and for the better.

“Are they… bad at singing?” She hazarded, voice small and uncertain like a mouse. To that, Arshadaya laughed.

“The worst,” he answered, clapping her on the shoulder in a way that did nothing to alleviate her unease. “But if we’re going to do this, I should go on ahead and prepare.”

This time he did not wait for assurances or firm glares. A dark portal opened for him, and he was gone, leaving the women and nigh-catatonic legatus behind. Yulania sighed, looking to her friend for some sort of assurance that there was not some worser fate awaiting her. As did, unfortunately, seem to often be the case.

Frustratingly, Ahru simply smiled back at her. That same, tired smile she’d seen countless times before when, inevitably, she rallied herself off to some great battle despite however much she needed the rest. The same one she used to ‘jokingly’ breath the words ‘No rest for the weary.’

“Ahru… You really don’t have to do this.”

“Hah, I do too. I’d do the same for you, or Regi. Any of you.”

Face scrunched up, she fixed her friend with a most ungrateful and quizzical look. “I do hope Regi and I place a little higher than Gaius, Ahru.”

She laughed outright at that, genuine and hearty, and it seemed to liven her up. “Without a doubt, but the sentiment remains the same. So I have a painfully awkward family reunion waiting for me? Not much of a price to pay if it means saving someone.”

Sighing, Yul was near to agreeing, but stopped herself short seeing the apologetic grin now unfolding across Ahru’s features. “…What?”

“Besides~” she sang, “you’ll have the much more arduous task here, letting the others know what’s going on. Should probably start with Valdeaulin.”

“Oh, he'll be pissed, don’t you dare saddle me with-”

“You’re a gem, Yul. I couldn’t do this without you!” Before she could utter another word of protest, Ahru had seized her by the shoulders and given her a kiss on the nose. “Look after him a moment while I grab my things!”

And then she was darting out the storeroom door, leaving her blinking and grumbling to herself.

“You’re as bad as the Ascian…”