#simply can’t do anything else. and i hate having to reconcile that with the little girl inside me who wants to please and be the best and

[fieldsofbone]

gets assaulted and traumatized in grad school > reports it and gets retraumatized by the hearing process and the person not being held accountable for anything they did to me > can’t function in academia for an entire year > starts therapy and gets diagnosed with ptsd > starts feeling okay enough to come back in fall 2022 > has to take on full class and teaching load to try to make up progress lost in the year i had to take off > gets covid at the end of december and has to jump into a new quarter with an extremely difficult class and three courses to teach and grade for before i’ve fully physically or mentally recovered > gets to the end of the quarter so burnt out and exhausted but still has to finish two impossibly difficult assignments and finish grading all before tuesday night > hasn’t had an actual rest day in over a week > wakes up this morning so depressed i can’t do any work but i can’t afford to not do work because i won’t have enough time to finish if i don’t > 🤪

[tsukishumai]

Your First Fight - Akaashi, Kenma, Oikawa, Kageyama (Setter Squad)

A/N - This was for anon, I’m so sorry, I’m not sure what the heck happened to this post >-< but it’s back, and I fixed the links on the other posts as well!

Ace Edition

Word Count: 2.8k T-T 

I may or may not have gotten carried away with this one  (✿◠‿◠) Buckle up, and I hope u enjoy!  ( ˘ ³˘)

AKAASHI –

You understand why Akaashi wanted to keep your relationship secret. Really, you did. You could already imagine the barrage of overbearing comments, and the teasing that was sure to be a distraction during practice. With Nationals just around the corner, this was the last thing you both needed.

Being the manager of the Fukurodani Volleyball Club, you know better than most just how rowdy the group could actually be. Bokuto may be the loudest one of the bunch, but all the others can be just as provoking.

And to be honest, the sneaking around was kind of hot. You can’t deny you got butterflies every time Akaashi would pull you into the equipment room for a quick make out session, or when he would give your thigh a secret squeeze under the lunch table surrounded by your friends.

But it’s been months now, and frankly, you were kind of getting tired of it. Sure, it may be slightly more convenient for the both of you, but some days you just want to hold your boyfriend’s hand down the hall without having to look over your shoulder.

You’ve only brought it up to Akaashi once before, but he brushed it off by saying it wasn’t the right time, and you were discouraged to try ever since.

You really weren’t planning to bring it up at the Tokyo Representative Playoffs… you really didn’t. But Konoha’s girlfriend showed up to cheer him on, looking so happy and proud in the stands, you couldn’t fight the tinge of envy that started to take over your body.

Akaashi was observant, and he knew you better than anyone. He could see you stealing glances into the stands, could see the tension in your shoulders whenever Konoha’s girlfriend yelled out cheers for him.

He couldn’t stop himself from following you after you told Yukie you were just going to the restroom.

“No good luck kiss?” he called out once the both of you were a safe distance from the team.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone to see,” you said bitterly, not stopping for Akaashi.

Akaashi frowned. “Y/N, you know that’s not true.”

“Well, why else wouldn’t you want to tell anyone about us?” you asked, you finally stopped walking, turning around to give him a hard look.

Akaashi groaned in frustration. “Do we really have to talk about this right here? Right now? I told you, it’s just easier this way.”

You scoffed, and Akaashi hated the sound. “Sorry our relationship is such an inconvenience for you.” You didn’t give him a chance to reply, quickly entering the women’s bathroom, faintly hearing the sound of Bokuto calling your boyfriend’s name behind you.

Akaashi didn’t blame you for the loss against Itachiyama, but he definitely blamed himself.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked Bokuto after the game, but the ace just shrugged, too upset about the loss to really care. The whole team had all gathered their things, ready to make their way out of the gym and you still were nowhere to be found.

Akaashi’s worries were relieved, but quickly replaced with new ones when Bokuto spotted you down the hall, cornered by someone wearing a Nohebi uniform.

“So tell me, do you have you a boyfriend?” Akaashi heard him ask, and you finally noticed the team approach you. The evil gleam in your eye didn’t escape Akaashi’s attention.

“No, actually. I don’t.”

It was one thing for you to deny it to your teammates, but to other men? Akaashi shouldn’t be mad that those were the words that came out of your mouth; it was his own fault for putting you in the situation in the first place. He knows you’re just doing what he told you to.

But he was furious, and there was nothing that could have stopped him from grabbing you by the elbow, turning you away from the dirty little snake that dared to talk to you, and crashing his lips onto yours.

You weren’t sure what reaction you were expecting from Akaashi, but it definitely wasn’t this. Though, you weren’t complaining, returning his kiss with equal fervor, ignoring the uncomfortable cough from the Nohebi player, and the gasps and shocked exclamations from your teammates.

All you could focus on when he pulled away was Akaashi, blue eyes staring straight into your soul, the next words tumbling out of his mouth was all you’ve wanted to hear for months.

“You’re mine. I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

KENMA –

You’ve been sitting in the same spot on Kenma’s bed for about an hour now. The room was filled with only the sounds emanating from the TV, and your boyfriend’s fingers tapping on the buttons of his controller.

Kenma always did like falling into a hole whenever he bought a new game; you’ve known this about him since you were kids. It wasn’t something you ever really minded, nor did you think it was something you wanted to change. It was a part of him that you simply accepted.

Normally, you were content with reading a book while he played, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence, getting lost in different worlds. You both respected each other’s hobbies, and the fact that you could do them together in the same room worked out so perfectly.

However, you finished your book faster than you anticipated, and in your shortsightedness, you failed to bring with you a second book. You tried to read webtoons online, but the light from your phone began to strain your eyes.

“Kenma,” you whined as boredom got the best of you, and the blonde boy didn’t bother to respond, “I’m hungry. Can’t we get something to eat?”

“After,” he grunted, though there were no specifications to when ‘After’ would be.

You sighed, getting up from your spot on the bed to tinker with his things. You walk around his room, running your fingers along the books lined on his shelf, picking up frames that contained happy memories of his life.

You hear your phone ding, signaling a message and you turned to make your way back to the bed.

“Hey!” Kenma exclaimed suddenly, making you jump, “Could you not walk in front of the TV? I just died because of you!”

You stared at him in shock for a second. You had never heard him raise his voice before “Excuse me? So what, it’s just a stupid game.”

“It’s not a stupid game,” Kenma grumbled, his voice back to his usual soft tone, but still held a slight tinge of anger. “You know I’ve been waiting for this to be released. Can’t you just read your book and be quiet like you usually do?”

Kenma immediately knew those were the wrong words to say, regretting the way you face turned into a pout. He watched you begin to gather your things, a slight panic rising in his chest when he realizes you’re trying to leave. “You know what, let me just leave you alone, since clearly my company isn’t wanted –“

You were cut off by Kenma getting up from his spot, opening the bottom drawer of his TV stand to rummage through it. You eyed him curiously until he finally found what he was looking for; pulling out another controller that he connected to the gaming console.

He quietly took your hand, pulling you down to sit on the floor with him. You sat cross legged and confused, wondering what he was doing until he handed you the controller. You stared at it in your lap, a small smile spreading on your face at his silent apology.

He started the game on easy mode, giving you a quick rundown on the basic controls.

“I’ll order us some pizza,” he said quietly, making you give him a soft peck on the cheek.

“Pizza sounds good.”

OIKAWA –

The booming sound of Oikawa’s serves was something that will never cease to amaze you.

Sometimes, it was hard to reconcile your Oikawa Toru – the one that hides behind your hair during scary movies, and asks you to kill the spiders for him – with Aoba Johsai’s Oikawa Toru. To you, they were just two completely different people.

But when you were watching him practice like this, raw power coming from his usually gentle hands, you can’t help but stare at him in awe.

You don’t usually stay this late to watch him practice; on a normal day, your club activities would end at the same time and Oikawa would walk you home, but on days like today where he felt he needed the extra practice, you left him in the care of Iwaizumi.

You were a little surprised, however, when you found Iwaizumi waiting for you at your club room, claiming he really needed to get his part of his group project done by tonight, and if you could please stay and make sure your boyfriend doesn’t kill himself.

How could you say no?

At this point, you’ve lost track of how many times Oikawa practiced his serve, the repetitive sound of the balls bouncing and his grunting becoming a sort of hypnotic rhythm for you. Before you knew it, the sun had BEEN down, and the moon had taken its place in the night sky.

You begin to notice the telltale signs of exhaustion, Oikawa struggling to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down, his form beginning to look sloppy.

“Alright,” you say, jumping down from your spot on the bench, “It’s time to go home.”

“One more.”

“Tsk,” you clicked your tongue, walking around collecting the balls, “It’s been hours, Toru. Rest is also a part of training, you know.”

He ignored you, grabbing another ball from the cart, but you just started taking down the volleyball net.

“What the hell are you doing? I said one more!” “And I said it’s time to go home!”

The ear-splitting sound of the volleyball slamming the floor cut through the gym, leaving you frozen in place. “You wouldn’t understand! You may be satisfied with doing the bare minimum for your practices, but my serves have to be perfect! I have to be perfect!” Oikawa’s voice echoed, glaring at you with red eyes, frustration evident on his face.

You didn’t say anything. You stared at him for a moment, then turned around and began the process of closing the gym. Oikawa also chose to stay silent, brown eyes trained on the floor as he gathered his belongings, silently following you once you turned off the lights and locked the door.

The walk home was quiet; the lack of a reaction on your part weighing more heavily on Oikawa than he expected. He snuck a glance at you, but you kept your head forward, steel faced and neutral.

Each step he took was more agonizing than the last, knowing he shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that. Your house was beginning to come into view, and he couldn’t leave the night like this.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and your sharp inhale let him know that you heard him.

“I know.”

“I’m exhausted...” and you know he wasn’t just talking about volleyball.

You finally faced him, and gently grabbed his arm, wrapping it around your shoulders as you snaked an arm around his middle. He felt all the tension his body melt away, half expecting to find it puddled around his feet.

“I know,” you said, “But if you ever talk to me like that again, you’re getting a flying fist to the face.”

Oikawa laughed, drawing one out from your own mouth. He placed a kiss on your temple, and gave you full permission to cut his head off if he ever lashed out at you again. He always appreciated how he never had to tell you anything… you always just knew.

KAGEYAMA –

Kageyama had a pretty good weekend, if you asked him.

He woke up early on Saturday morning to go for a run, then got home and had pork curry for lunch. He figures it’s been a while since he’s brushed up on his basic skills, so he went to the local gym and practiced some drills. On Sunday, he was dragged by Hinata to a study group with Yachi, and admittedly gotten more homework done there than he would have on his own.

It was a nice, productive weekend. He entered his Monday with this positive vibe following him around, even morning practice went by smoothly.

He went about his usual routine of waiting for you by the school gates so he could walk you to class. He only waited about ten minutes until you came into view, and Kageyama subconsciously straightened his posture. He tried to push down the little tickle at the pit of his belly when you made eye contact, not wanting to admit he was excited to see you.

“Good morning,” he said as soon as you approached, but his entire mood completely shifted downward when you simply walked passed him.

Where was his usual ‘Good morning, Tobio-kun!’? Why didn’t you stop to give him his morning peck on the cheek? Why didn’t you let him carry your bag for you on the way to class?

Did he do something wrong?

He was so confused, questions running through his head as he simply trailed after you silently.

“Is everything alright?” He tried to ask once you reached your class, but you just gave him a stern look, turning away from him to enter your classroom and take your seat. He was left there looking like an idiot.

He couldn’t focus in class, trying to wrack his brain on why you could possibly be upset. Did he forget an anniversary? Doubtful, you’ve only just started dating. Were you on your period? Kageyama shook his head. Even he knew that would literally be the worst question to ask.

The bell rang to signal the start of lunch, and Kageyama hurriedly gathered his things so he can go find you.

He didn’t have to look very far, though, because when he exited his classroom, he spotted you down the hall.

The second you saw him, you marched your way over; the dark aura you were giving off had made everyone steer clear of you.

Kageyama gulped, wanting to run away before he remembered that he also wanted to talk to you.

“Y/N –“ “You know, I was going to ignore you the whole day, but seeing you this morning just really pissed me off, and unlike you, I actually can’t stand not talking to you.”

Kageyama blinked, happy to hear your voice, but confused at the words you were saying. “Unlike me? What do you mean?”

You crossed your arms and huffed. “Where the hell were you all weekend?”

Again, Kageyama blinked stupidly. “What do you mean? I was home.”

This seemed like the wrong answer, because now your hands moved to your hips, and for some reason, you were ten times more intimidating like that. “So? You never thought to shoot me a text? Or give me a call?”

“Was I supposed to?” Kageyama asked, and the genuine curiosity in his voice made you face palm.

“Did you not want to?” You asked, though there was no hurt behind the question.

“I did.” “So why didn’t you?”

Kageyama thought about it for a moment. “I went to the gym instead.”

You let out a groan of frustration. Honestly, you should have known. It took you three tries before Kageyama even realized you were confessing to him. It took him even longer to realize that he actually had to tell you he liked you back, and that you had no idea that him buying you yogurt meant he was asking you out.

“Tobio-kun,” you said patiently, “If you’re thinking of me, you should text me or call me to let me know.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Even if I have nothing interesting to say?”

You nodded, looping your arm through his and starting your walk to the cafeteria. “Even then. I just want to hear from you.”

Kageyama nodded his head in understanding. “Okay. That’s good to know.”

Your phone never stopped blowing up after that conversation. RIP your notifications.

[valkyriegoddesses]

Thoughts on ACOSF

⚠️ SPOILERY, SO DON’T READ IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK ⚠️

⚔️ the good and the bad, I’ll try to get rid of the bad thoughts first and keep the positive ones for the end but idk where my line of thought would go as I recall and type so here we go

• Nesta’s journey of healing is hers and hers alone. She owes no one in the inner circle anything, they didn’t do her any favors. (Now before I delve into this, I just want to say that I see they (Feyre and Elain only) had good intentions, but I’m going to point out everywhere it went wrong, probably against what they planned, but still it went horribly wrong) She was still suffering all the same after she got her free will stripped from her, the decision made for her by packing her things without informing her or listening to her opinion or trying to have a more lenient approach to the matter, being threatened that her second option is being thrown to the human lands where she could die, being lied to about the consequences of her actions in law, being told she “belongs in the Hewn City”, being told she’s “a pathetic waste of life”, and choosing the place everyone admits they hate going to aka the House of Wind, as her destination to heal. Knowing full well she can’t make the descent down these stairs and would be imprisoned without the power to winnow. And instead of being given her space and time, they push her to talk and interact when all she’s trying to do is have some distance from everyone. Some time to herself, to not feel anything, to control the storm of thoughts raging on the inside. And she’s pushed time and time again to face her trauma and heal RIGHT NOW because apparently, they’re timing her. And she shouldn’t have her emotions on display, when she tells them she doesn’t feel like talking yet she’s forced to interact and socialize. Anyone who’s been forced to interact against their will knows how draining it is. Now imagine this coupled with being triggered by water, and being triggered by fire, which are a daily necessity. And imagine everyone got a decade or more to deal with their trauma and are still not entirely healed, yet your time is up after little over a year. It sucks. And I hate how what triggered them to action wasn’t that she was wasting away to nothing, but the bill. When the bill was high, they drew the line. And I hate how in the narrative, the “conversation” -even though I wouldn’t call it that because only one side was allowed to talk and the other side wasn’t allowed to object- was written in a way that made it about THEIR image, when she’s frequenting taverns. THEIR image, when she doesn’t show up to their parties. THEIR image when the bill for her drinking is high. (They say it’s too much money, as if they don’t have all the riches and they all spend money on things that are absolutely not necessary, and THEY drowned her with gifts, LOADS of gifts, after she sacrificed her power to save her sister, which she didn’t do for payment, but anyway the thought is, they had the money and just like they thought Amren deserves payment for what she did in the war, they should’ve kept the same energy for Nesta because she had no small role in that either). I just think they handled it badly. Not exactly how you’d talk to someone suffering from PTSD, depression and survivor’s guilt. For one, threatening a worse alternative isn’t helpful. Secondly, There were way too many people in that room. More than necessary. Feyre and Elain would’ve been enough AS HER FAMILY (and I’ll get to details on this in a moment). And Feyre was the only decent one handling it as someone who actually was looking for a better outcome and really had the intention to help, someone who wasn’t there just to humiliate. Amren and Rhys were only there to land jabs and poke at her insecurities and bad coping mechanisms. Rhys used his power on her to force her to obey him and we all know how it’s a big NO among them. Many of those in the IC had worse coping mechanisms. But what she was doing was too much for them to handle? She was self-destructing. And she kept her distance. If I told someone I needed my space and they kept poking their head in my business, I sure as hell would lash out. When someone needs space, their privacy should be respected. No matter how long it takes them.

And I don’t see where the problem with her drinking was. She never showed up to events drunk. We never saw her hungover the day after. She was spending some money on drinking yes, but it did not get out of hand. She was also spending money on food and gambling. All in all, not the worst coping mechanism among those who were criticizing her. Not to mention that everyone who criticized her were drinkers as well, and they all slept around during some part of their lives.

Now the problem with the presence of other people in that room, other than Feyre (if Elain didn’t wish to attend and preferred to have some space between her and and Nesta, it’s her choice) anyway, only Feyre’s presence was required. Everyone else there was just an accessory, only adding stress to the atmosphere, forcing Nesta to get on the defensive with the way they slut shamed her, shamed her for drinking, shamed her for not being able to take a bath even though she told Feyre how the water still scares her, etc. I can see Sarah wanted it to look like a “family” intervening. Like some tough love sort of thing. But she failed. Simply because, the IC might be Feyre’s found family and she might take such a talk from them because it would really be tough love. As for Nesta, she doesn’t view them as family. She barely knows them. So for a group of strangers, or let’s say newly acquainted people, to sit around her and point out her every flaw and shame her for every misstep, who wouldn’t lash out at that? It’s enough she’s forced to spend time among them, on holidays she doesn’t really believe in, where they force her to attend but actively ignore her presence and treat her like a ghost. Why make her come if they don’t enjoy her company? It’s just ridiculous. Then when she gets angry from all the pushing and lashes out and it’s entirely her fault. they’re all like “come to our gatherings where we will insult you, nitpick all your unhealthy coping mechanisms, but don’t be offended and seclude yourself, we all took decades to deal with our trauma and killed people while doing it but your coping mechanisms are unhealthy. And your actions are unforgivable because you lash out at us when we shove ourselves down your throat. How can you not like us? Everyone has to like us.” Then she gets thrown away to a war camp, a FUCKING WAR CAMP, while a big part of her trauma is because of war. And instead of dealing with her face-to-face, while being gentle and showing her they’re on her side WITHOUT JUDGEMENT, WITHOUT WINCING AND GLANCES AT EACH OTHER AND INNER CONVERSATIONS ABOUT HER WHERE SHE’S EXCLUDED, they’re like “we’re tired of your shit so here’s a house you can stay in while you sort this out away from our merry little circle, which has its nose up your business anyway. But still, sort it out away from us.” And in that house she became more and more closed off and her healing - and I will die on this hill - her healing DID NOT start until the house came into play which was her own doing. And it kicked off because of Emerie and Gwyn, who both didn’t judge her, didn’t demonize her, didn’t only see the bad in her, but accepted her as she was and loved every part of her. Showed her that she was not a waste of life and there are things to live for. As for the beloved inner circle? Beyond insulting her and her coping mechanisms, They don’t tell her about the weapons SHE made, because pro-colonization Amren doesn’t think it’s wise, that Nesta would use it against the world. (Amren do you hear how stupid you sound?) they always villianize her, assuming she’d be out to take the world and take revenge on everyone who ever glanced her way. They assumed she was bad, they assumed because she was angry, that she would use her power for killing and terrorizing and building an Empire like they all do. When all she wanted to do was listen to music and be around good company who passed her no judgement.

Anyway, getting into some details with each character:

Feyre: I hated Feyre’s “crying over scrambled eggs because my image is destroyed my sister spent so much money on drinking”. And the fact that when telling Nesta she was doing this for her own good, she told her she was embarrassed for her own image in the same breath. But beyond that I was fine with her. I loved her reconcilation with Nesta. I loved that she was one who wanted to give Nesta more time, recognized that she needed her own time. I love them together. I think without everyone’s interference, their reconcilation would’ve happened much faster. They were already making progress before ~some people~ ruined everything and caused Nesta to be closed off again. I don’t hate that Nesta sacrificed her power to save Feyre in the end. She’s her sister and she loves her and this is not the first time she proved this. She would do anything to protect her sisters and she hates herself for the times she misstepped. Even though it wasn’t her fault and there was a full grown man sitting there who conveniently got a redemption arc. What angers me though, is that it was only after this, that the inner circle viewed her as someone who is worth their respect. And made the sacrifice materialistic by drowning Nesta with gifts. She didn’t do it for their acceptance or for their love, or for payment. She did it because her sister needed help. Period. (Sidenote: I’m writing a post where I delve deep into their relationship, which I will eventually post, because I think I reached an understanding about their relationship)

Elain: let me get something out of the way, she has power. She has free will, she’s not a baby. She’s a grown woman who doesn’t need coddling. I hate how the fandom views her as a baby. And she’s constantly infantilized, preventing her from reaching her full potential. Now that that’s out of the way, here are my 2 cents on her, since she wasn’t in this book much: Nesta’s wording was very clear, yet I’ve seen this scene misread all over the timeline. Nesta said “I sat by your side for weeks. Weeks, while you wasted away, refusing food and drink. While you appeared to hope you’d just wither and die. No one suggested you either shape up or be shipped back to the human lands.” Nesta’s problem is NOT that Elain wasn’t “there” as in “by her side”. She explicitly stated she needed space. Nesta’s problem was that she stood between Elain and anyone who might tell her to snap out of it and lock her trauma in some dark room in the back of her head. She made sure Elain had her time. While Elain agreed to pack her bags and didn’t prevent them from shipping her away, deciding her time was up. All she wants is time, and Elain didn’t have her back on this. Then we have the fact that Elain slut-shamed Nesta. And then when Nesta comes to the party this time, Elain meets her at the door and her reaction instead of saying hi and leaving it at that or simply ignoring her, is “did Feyre pay you this time?” I’m torn on where to stand on the Elain-Nesta situation, a part of me is disappointed in Elain. I think she should’ve handled this better than anyone else because she was there, she witnessed the trauma happen, Nesta was there for her, they grew up being inseparable the entire time. If anyone should understand her better than anyone else, it’s Elain. So why did she abandon her to everyone’s judgement? And a part of me is like maybe she knew whatever she voted wouldn’t matter because the IC were taking the step anyway, and didn’t want to be there when it happened. Or maybe she’s still dealing with her own trauma in her own way and doesn’t want a confrontation. But I always circle back to the sl*t-shaming and the shaming about the drinking, and then I think about the Solstice scene where as soon as she saw her she was like “did Feyre pay you this time?” And a part of me is angry about the shaming undertone of that too, while some part of me thinks that maybe Elain felt unwanted along with everyone else and that in order for Nesta to meet them, she has to be paid, but we will never know unless we hear it from her.

Rhysand: that piece of shit, misogynist, who used his powers to compel Nesta to obey his orders, pulled rank on her, taunted and threatened her every step of the way and utilized her for his own agenda, and was *surprised* to learn the woman has trauma. Took him being inside her head and unable to wake her up from the nightmare, because the behavior she was exhibiting wasn’t enough. [insert shocked pickatchu meme]. I also would like to add that him playing the protective love interest from his mate’s own sister, WHO COULD’VE HARMED HER IF SHE WANTED TO, but never wanted to because she’s not a bad person, is so cheap. Like- you, the guy who drugged her and made her give you lap dances, are afraid for her sake… from her sister? Who only ever used words as jabs and is generally rude? Or do you feel like you’re overpowered and are trying to fill the void in your toxic masculinity and reassert dominance ?

Cassian: He was patient with her, and probably the healthiest person in the inner circle who dealt with her until she was okay, but he still silently agreed with all the shit that was said about her. Shit she didn’t deserve to be said about her as someone going through trauma. He mocked whatever progress she made on the stairs calling it pathetic in the beginning. He stayed silent when Nesta was stripped of her will, when she was told she belongs in the Court of Nightmares, when her fate was decided for her, when she was being lied to, when she was threatened to be thrown to the humans who would kill her. He made some progress and understood her better with time, but it doesn’t excuse how he stayed silent when she was being mistreated. Specially since he claims her loves her. He also stayed silent as the Inner Circle despised her presence but still used her to reach what they’re plotting for. He progressed, and he got better, I’ll give him that. But still, as someone who claims he loves her the way he does, he shouldn’t have allowed his friends to manipulate and use her in their schemes but then exclude her from everything else, even knowledge about her own power. But I love that he was patient, that he worked to understand her, that he grew to stand up for her. I would argue that they are the healthiest ship written by SJM this far.

Mor: fucking Mor, who experienced trauma, told Nesta she belongs in the court of Nightmares. Where she was abused herself. Knowing women are viewed as objects there, knowing Nesta would recieve abuse there. She said that, wishing abuse on someone who she simply didn’t like and had some quarrels with. They never saw eye to eye and that’s fine. They always had sharp tongues when talking to each other and that’s fine. What’s not fine though, is that THIS of all things, seemed so out of character for Mor. Now, she never knew Nesta was a survivor of SA. But as someone who helps SA victims, she’s the last person I expected such a comment from. It felt very out of character. I hate that this is the Bi character in all of this mess. Of all people, a hypocrite is the Bi person. The LGBTQ community deserves better. I thought about it, and maybe Mor, being like a stranger to Nesta, and seeing her ignore Cassian in front of the Illyrians who already look down on him, made her angry to the point where she just wanted to land a jab and didn’t think her words would mean anything. Maybe all she wanted to do was stand up for Cassian, but what she said was definitely not true and not okay. I wanted her and Nesta to have a talk about it, but also she grew to have decent conversations with her and she helped her when she and Cassian had that fight. So I don’t know, maybe it’s a silent progress between them.

Amren: this one told her she was a waste of life. What a great way to deal with someone who’s suffering from PTSD and depression and having suicidal thoughts, Amren. Tell them they’re a waste of life, enforce every thought they are having as fact, push them to the point where they doubt they should be breathing, and when they’re told they could tumble down a mountain and break their bones while hiking, their first thought would be “good”. Amren deserves a medal, a badge of honor for being the 500+ old woman who has healthy ways of dealing with traumatized people telling them they don’t deserve to live because the thoughts of their power and dealing with controlling that power right now is so overwhelming. Amren, who decided that because Nesta was always angry, she had no right to know that she used her power unknowingly and forged powerful weapons. Amren, who was pushing for colonization throughout this book, was afraid of Nesta misusing her power. Villainizing Nesta’s every thought, as if Nesta wasn’t overwhelmed from the thought of possessing so much power, as if Nesta doesn’t refuse to use her powers and train. As if Nesta is out there hiding as she masters her power to reemerge and turn the world upside down. You’re the one who’s pushing Rhys to colonize other territories and become high king, Amren. Maybe *you* should be locked up in the house of wind for therapy. What hurts most in this is Amren was her friend. She trusted Amren. Amren said that shitty line to her and then lied to her and manipulated her and used her to further Rhys’s agenda. She flopped from telling Feyre that Nesta is immortal and a few years are nothing, and she should be given time. She would not betray her trust, to whatever she turned into in ACOSF. And everyone give SJM a round of pats on the back and an applause for making Amren the wise one here and making Nesta, the traumatized one who was wronged, get on her knees and apologize. I mean- if you thought this apology scene was necessary, then clarification about the fight between them was just as necessary. Or you include neither scene. But deeming the apology important and not the incident? This is some victim blaming on a whole other level.

The House of Wind: The house of wind was honestly one of the best parts of this book. It was Nesta, “Lady Death” as they call her, breathing life into something, and it was gentle, and it was patient, and it was understanding, and it pushed her to be healthier without judging, without throwing insults or slut-shaming. It hated that she didn’t eat? It kept waiting for her until her body gave out and she had to eat. It didn’t like her drinking? It gave her water when she asked for wine. It showed her its darkest part where she found the greatest warmth as well, as if saying don’t be ashamed of your darkness because in it you’ll find light, and it didn’t abandon her or stop responding to her when she was angry. It was actively by her side, without any judgement, only support and pushing her to fix the behaviours without dissing her. and it was everything those people around her weren’t. It was family.

Gwyn: their first meeting wasn’t at all what you would call “friendly”, to a fault by Nesta. Gwyn didn’t even know anything about Nesta, yet she didn’t react with even more anger as ~others~ did, she didn’t fear Nesta, or give a retort, or get angry and lash out at her. She took the blow and was, with all the calm in the world, like fine, you want to tell on me, go tell. And Nesta did go tell on her, then realized by herself how she acted rashly. And later helped Gwyn without being asked to, by swapping the book so Merrill doesn’t scold her. And their friendship grew to the point where Gwyn, a traumatized person who couldn’t dare leave the library, started training with her, was her friend and had conversations with her that didn’t center her trauma or her coping mechanisms being analyzed. She went out of the library for the first time in 2 years when she knew Nesta needed her by her side. She occupied her mind with stories of Valkyries, women being strong and unyielding in a society which didn’t allow it. She took her hand and gave her a purpose in life to work for. Gave her a friend who didn’t judge, a kind face in the maelstorm of judgemental faces. Until she felt like a safe space to Nesta to the point where she spilled all her thoughts, the ones she could only admit to herself, to Gwyn, letting her inside those walls. And when she braced for judgement, she didn’t receive it. Gwyn dealing with someone’s trauma, as someone who’s been through trauma herself, is one of the beautiful corners of this book

Emerie: Another woman with trauma. She sees Nesta enter her store, of course she knows who she is, yet she doesn’t judge her. Nesta asks about making the fatigues warmer, Emerie says she’ll ask, but it’s costly. Nesta says then she can’t afford it, admits that she was cut off, Emerie, as a stranger, doesn’t judge her. She says she could make them anyway and she can pay her as she can. Because no one should feel cold. It’s simple, irrelevant. Nesta wouldn’t freeze to death, she as a stranger has no obligation to help, it’s a simple reasoning. “You shouldn’t feel cold”. It’s enough for her to help Nesta. Something as mundane as feeling cold. She asks her to join her for a meal. And Nesta asks her if she would join the training, which Emerie refuses. and Nesta blurts out that she didn’t take her for a coward. And later, Nesta sends her the herbs she wishes to get which she can’t get often because of her location, and it’s a message of “you too deserve to see what’s best in the world, to go out and experience the beautiful parts and live, not just exist”. So Emerie goes to training with her as well, and they bond over romance novels. Emerie also reaches a point where she opens up about her own trauma, and tells the truth about what she faced and her survival. This girl who is 50-something at least, who has never had friends, living a lonely secluded life, finally found someone who was trustworthy enough to be around and form a bond with. As for the fact that she is a PoC, and the illyrians are portrayed as this group of savages who abuse their women and their women have no say in their lives and futures and how they clip their women’s wings, when wings, wingspan and wingplay heavily imply that wings are erogenous parts of the body and wing clipping seems to be the equivalent of Circumcision, which again so happens to be done by the “PoC savages who abuse their women”, hits a whole lot as fucking racist and xenophobic. PoC deserve a storyline where they’re not viewed as the villains.

Azriel: I loved his relationship with Nesta. He was the best chaperon™️, he never spoke in judgement toward her. There was a silent understanding between them. However, I’m not against him showing his feelings toward Elain or her toward him. It’s fine, if that’s what they both want. I don’t think Lucien is the type to call for a blood duel. He simply brings her presents and attends when invited, he doesn’t force himself on her and keeps his distance. However I did hate that Azriel took the necklace and gave it to Gwyn, as a secondhand. I know his only intention was to make her smile but the necklace wasn’t meant for her. It’s not a trial by error, he can’t just keep trying out with different women every time he fails with one. And I’ll just leave this here.

The elephant in the room: the entire IC is involved in this, them all blaming Nesta, framing her as the wrong person, when she told Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy? I don’t care if she did it while she was angry, her heart was in the right place. She got hurt from them deciding her fate without her involvement, voting on her, not once, but twice, about her fate because she wasn’t fast enough to deal with her trauma, then again when deciding if she should know about what she did with her own power and the weapons. and she showed Feyre what was really at play. Protecting her from what she faced with the Inner Circle. Just because she was angry while doing it does not mean she did it out of spite. She did it to expose them, specially Amren at that point. But I don’t get how it was twisted to “because she wanted to hurt Feyre”. She wasn’t even angry at Feyre. But you all would rather suck up to the Inner Circle than confront the fact that they’re hypocrites and liars with a propaganda. They’re evil. They fear Nesta using her power to seize control of everyone because it’s how THEY are. With all this High King crap. Basically colonization dreams. With how they press rank whenever it suits them, and lie about the law to win arguments. It’s because those who are inherently bad think everyone is bad just like them.

Other Elephants in the room which have been here a long time: the thing with blaming Nesta for not being the breadwinner… I could never get it. Some have money-earning skills, others don’t. She, at the point of her life when she was human, was only trained in dancing and appealing to men socially so she could uplift the family’s social status. She couldn’t hunt. Feyre could. And NEITHER, should’ve been the breadwinner. Nesta was willing to starve to death if it would push her father to do something. Feyre wasn’t willing to wait and starve or watch anyone starve. But it doesn’t mean Nesta was at fault. She was only 3 years older than Feyre. Let’s leave the “the oldest child has to step in for the parents when the parents fail” mentality in the past. It’s ridiculous. Nesta was under no obligation to be the breadwinner. And she suffered self-flagellation regularly for letting Feyre walk out there and hunt. But she literally had no skills that when she thought of something to do, she could only think of selling herself on the streets. The parents were abusive, both of them. Favoring one child over the other and planting rivalry between the siblings. “i love you” means nothing. NOTHING, when there is no action to prove it. And if anything, this book made me realize that Nesta was never okay. She was never in a good place mentally. I mean, I knew, but this book just proved it. Her mother favored her alright, but it was not in a loving way. She simply exploited her to climb the social ladder. She didn’t give her love, she gave her instructions. She enabled the grandmother to beat her, and instill some “harsher punishments” one of which Nesta still holds the scars for. She was called worthless, as a child. Why? Because she made a wrong step in a dance. She was physically and verbally abused, and her mother let it happen. Yet she was the only one who would give Nesta the time of day so Nesta still loved her. As a child, her mother was the only person who showed interest in her and she clung to. However twisted it was, it’s the only love she ever got. The only love she knew. Then she lost her. and later the family also lost their wealth. So all she was taught to do her entire life suddenly became meaningless because she can’t achieve what her mother “trained” her to do. And we know the rest of the story. She never felt at home, not even when her mother lived and she still had that wealth. She admitted as much. She was never fine. She might’ve appeared the part, but it was never true. And since she was so good at masking her emotions, nobody was the wiser.

side note: As for her power being the “bare minimum” now, there better not be a plothole, since Rhysand couldn’t contain merely the “surface of her power” because it was too much. and if that’s all she retained, then it’s good enough for me.

[tiesthatbind-tf]

Question for Optimus and Megatron! Do you ever see yourselves reconciling in the future? At this point do you even want to?

The jagged edges of badly-healed scars and lines of age on the man’s face were thrown into clear relief by the soft blue glow of tablet in his hands as he studied the question proposed to him carefully. Unblinkingly.

It was two in the morning on a sleepless night amid a quiet week, and after a short prayer session and paperwork, an odd sense of melancholy had begun to creep in.

The rare moments of peace brought with them clarity to his thoughts that weren’t focused on missions, briefings and strategic discussions, and that clarity was, at times, a double-edged sword.

“Back when we used to meet each other at Maccadam’s every weekend, he would bring along this notebook filled with poetry and paragraphs of his thoughts about the state of the world. It wasn’t something he openly shared—miners wrote books yes, but mostly concerning their line of work,” Optimus finally spoke up after almost ten minutes of deliberating what he was going to say, and whether he should say it.

“On the day he left the Newham police station after being arrested for suspicion of inciting a riot, after he was brutalized by a rogue guard I had hired a few months ago... I found it.”

He had left the oak desk that was groaning under a stack of files, folders and documents that only increased as the days passed, long strides taking him to the bookshelf at the end of the room where the works of Thomas Aquinas were nestled carefully next to Imam Al-Bukhari’s. One book, much smaller than the rest, seemed out of place there however, and this was the one he pulled out.

“On the sidewalk.”

It was a woebegone-looking notebook, weathered by time with the edges of some pages crimped up by water damage, though it was clear that care had been taken to preserve it: The covers were wrapped in plastic, and not a single silverfish was to be seen scuttling away as Optimus opened it only to show the initials ‘M.T’ scribbled at the lower right corner of the first page.

“I thought he had dropped it and wanted to give it back to him. And with it, I wanted to apologize for everything—for not being there when it happened, for it happening in my station under my jurisdiction, for failing the promise I made to him twenty-eight years ago that I wanted to join law enforcement to protect everyone, not just those the system decided deserved protection—-but by the time I arrived at the mining community he worked at… they told me he’d been sent to Messatine.”

He closed the book before any demand for more of its contents could arise. They weren’t his to divulge.

“So I held on to this notebook for the better part of a decade. I memorized the words——some of them, I recited in front of the Senate the day I decided I was done being a part of their system. I hoped he would come home one day so I could return it to him in person. And he did!”

There was the ghost of a smile that crossed his features, which quickly shifted to a perplexed frown.

“But when I tried to give him back what was his, he told me to keep it or burn it—-he didn’t care for it any more. No point dwelling in the past, especially one he had grown beyond, was what he said. I took his words at face value back then… but when I think about it now? I wonder if it wasn’t him trying to bury what remained of the person he was before the Pits, before Messatine, before the night at my station. Before everything.”

The guilt was heavy in his tone as he sank down to the floor and leaned against the bookshelf; broad shoulders sagging under the weight of an invisible mantle and eyes glazed over in a thousand-yard stare for a moment.

“Do I want to reconcile our differences? Yes. More than anything. Because the boy I traded books with, the friend I shared a table with, and the man who wrote these words that opened my eyes ? I believe that man is still alive and that man is worth saving.”

He closed his own eyes for a moment and when they opened once more, the focus in his gaze seemed to have returned.

“Do I think it will happen? InsyaAllah, perhaps, but I would not stake the world on that reconciliation.”

___________________________________________________

The temperature in the empty war room felt like it had dropped several degrees as the Decepticon leader glared at the seeming-innocuous question as though it had come for his neck personally. Adam’s apple bobbing in a rare show of uncertainty and trepidation, he closed his eyes, steepled his fingers and exhaled harshly.

“I don’t… hate the man, if that is where the trajectory of your question is heading. He was my best friend, one of the few I would have trusted with my life. More heart than sense, foolish and naive and stubborn, but kind. To a fault,” Megatron uttered after a few minutes, his lips a thin and terse line as he thought about the matter a little deeper.

Another spell of silence fell upon the hall as he stood up and muttered an annoyed ‘tch’ at the part of him that saw it fit to indulge the inquiry at all before picking out a book from the glass-cased shelf in the back of the room.

“That is not to say the urge doesn’t arise from time to time. But every time that voice whispers venom and spite whenever I hear his name? I remember this.”

It landed on his paperwork with a dull thump; a hard-cover edition of ‘Umar Ibn Al-Khattab: His life and times’ which was, from first glance, well-kept save some light tatters on the book jacket.

A closer look at the book jacket however would reveal several brown specks which resembled dried blood.

“Thirty-two years ago, the sheltered child of a professor and a journalist threw this book over the fence dividing redlined districts to a nobody who simply voiced a fascination for what he was reading. Without prompt. ‘It’s a gift’ he said. A gift for someone he had spoken to for all of ten minutes. A gift for a new friend.”

The warlord who was greying earlier than most sank back into his seat with his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling overhead. 

“The nobody cherished it for approximately two days before the census team came by for an unannounced inspection, and lo behold they did find it, and the nobody was beaten within an inch of his life for the crime of possessing a book which wasn’t ‘approved’ for his class, and therefore could not belong to him.”

The scoffing disdain in his voice as he spoke of the abuse was replaced with a fierceness that would have made anyone listening take a step back, more so that his glare felt like it could burn right through the screen as he returned his attention to the person on the other end.

“But it did. Because it was a gift from a friend. And when that nobody became a rebel, and eventually a warlord who tore down the doors to the government’s archives for ‘Persons Of Interest’? He bled everybody in that basement like the stuck pigs  they were until he found that little box with his name written on it, found this inside it, and then burned everything else to the ground.”

That would explain the drying blood on the cover of the book that he was now holding up, at the very least.

“This, and the books that were to come which that kind and foolish boy would toss over the fence, was when I realized how broken the system truly was, that I had to rely on this subterfuge for want of a better education. This was when I realized I wanted more than to live and die in the mines as my barcode dictated.”

The mounting anger in his tone seemed to suddenly cut off he opened his mouth only to close it swiftly, and when his tongue could finally form words again, they were noticeably softer than before.

“This was also when I realized that perhaps, I wasn’t alone in my outrage, in my boyhood fantasies for a better world. No one told that meddling idiot to make my fight his as well, but at eight-years-old, he decided he was going to do something about it to help me because he wanted to. And it’s hard to hate that earnestness.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before standing up with his hands clasped behind him, features obscured as he faced the wall with shoulders squared.

“Reconciliations are not out of the question. Truth be told, I do desire it. Whatever my past as a gladiator might have impressed upon you, believe me, I don’t enjoy the prospects of senselessy killing Autobots I have fought alongside for many years, back when we worked side by side against our common enemy. Terrible waste of genuinely good if not exceedingly foolish people, I would think.”

A curt professionalism had crept in now as he turned around and stroked his beard thoughtfully at the notion.

“However the matter should only be discussed after our movement’s primary objective has been achieved, and not a moment before. And if he and his merry men keep being an obstacle in my path?”

He smirked coldly.

“I can’t promise that the consequences won’t be dire.”

[confused-as-all-hell]

Morrigan

A queen—a queen who bowed to no one, a queen who had faced them all down and triumphed. A queen who owned her body, her life, her destiny, and never apologized for it.

Morrigan; lovely and bright and brilliant as the sun herself. A female who knows hateful abuse by its first name, and can still rise every morning with merriment on her lips. A lethal warrior, a fierce third-in-command, a loyal friend. A good person. So why is she despised?

Mor, from the first page, is depicted as proud and laughing. She loves her family, the Inner Circle, and refuses to tolerate any slander against them. Time and time again, Feyre narrates Mor’s devotion knows no restraints, that she would end the world for those she loves. We loved her for it, applauded her sharp remarks against those who had wronged our sweet Feyre, commented on her unwavering allegiance. 

And yet, when Nesta makes no attempt to hide her distaste for her sister, some of you had the audacity to be shocked when Mor snapped. Mor loves her High Lady, has always stood by her side and protected her fearlessly. It must have hurt her to see Feyre harmed by her own family; don’t forget, Mor herself suffered unforgivable trauma at the hands of her parents. To see Feyre crying over Nesta... that would have pained her beyond belief. It would have struck a chord within her. 

Mor saw a friend in fucking tears, and she was furious. She had every right to dislike who Nesta was pre-ACOSF. Are we actually going to blame her for defending someone who was practically her own sister? Mor may not have understood Nes’ trauma, but she was not wrong for what she did. Neither was she wrong in the case of Cassian. Do none of you understand what it means to love someone? You protect them, worry after them, try and ease the source of their pain the best you can. 

Mor is not a saint. She can’t read minds. When she was cruel to Nesta, though it may have hurt Nes, Mor was defending Cassian. Cassian, who reached out a hand when nobody else did so long ago. Cassian, who she has known for five hundred years. Cassian, who looked after her like a brother. Come on. Since when do we hate characters for watching over each other?

I have, rather amusingly, also seen arguments over Mor’s sexuality. She is closeted and bisexual, with a preference for females, and little interest in sleeping or going out with males. Mor owes it to nobody to come out; she may do so when she feels comfortable and ready to share her news. I cannot believe people are whining “Ohhh, Mor can’t lead Azriel on like that, it’s just not fair to him.” That’s fucking funny.

I will ask, has Mor hinted towards him she might be ready for a relationship? Has she made advances? Has she mentioned by word or deed that she feels anything but sisterly love towards Az? 

If anything, she has done quite the opposite. Mor is not responsible for whatever Azriel has convinced himself of. It is not her job to sit him down and tell him she has no interest in their romantic relationship. She is not leading him on: Azriel is simply pining over a female who feels no attraction for him. It is disgusting that some of you think Mor owes Azriel an explanation. He chose to love her. She is not responsible for un-making that decision.

Mor is allowed to defend her family. She is allowed to live her life. She is allowed to have a wonderful girlfriend who will care for her, and protect her, the very same way Mor has protected so many for all her years.

I am not opposed to her dating Emerie, but I hate the theories Emerie will knock Mor down in defense of Nesta. I myself am actually pro-Nesta, but I will not allow lovely Mor to be slandered. She deserves someone who will understand her, not someone who is only going to berate her. Does she deserve to be held accountable for a few hateful comments? Yes. Does she deserve to be detested herself for it? No.

I also happen to hate the theories Mor and Eris are going to reconcile. Fuck, Eris hurt her unforgivably. He saw her bleeding and shaking and sobbing, nails in her stomach, and did he reach out? No, he curled his lip. And insinuating Mor lied about her abuse... this is so awful. Abuse survivors are already never believed. We do not need to project this further. And we do not need another shitty redemption arc for a brutal male with a sad story. 

I would like to see Mor holding Eris accountable. Not Cassian or Azriel or Feyre or Rhys or Nesta. Mor. Because we see in ACOWAR that Mor is not over her trauma, and being around Eris terrifies her. She can never find her closure if she does not stand up for herself, and she desperately needs closure. Even then, I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive Eris.

Mor is honestly such a lovely, flawed character. She makes her mistakes, but she has good intentions every time. She defends those she cares for without fail, loves her family fiercely, and moreover, she loves herself. I will not tolerate a word of slander against her.

[unsafepin]

Succession And The Humanity Of The Rich

The metaphor we use for a sight we’re unable to look away from yet we feel we shouldn’t continue looking is a car crash. It is fitting - the sight is brutal, unfit for sensitive and unfamiliar eyes. But I feel like this comparison doesn’t really resonate with Succesion’s brand of borderline unwatchable, yet completely addictive appeal. No, the metaphor I’m going to use, in line with the show’s crude sense of humor, is your dog shitting on your carpet. This would, I suppose, be a scolding critique in anyone else’s book, but Succession is actually a solid five out of five for me, so you’ll just have to roll with my punches here. First, let’s jog our memory on the basic plot summary for those absent-minded and unfamiliar.

Succession’s core is Logan Roy, an ultra-wealthy media magnate/patriarch, whose poor health and age are clearly signaling the time to retire. As the title suggests, he has to pick a successor, the most likely choices being his three children - Kendall, Roman and Siobhan. There’s also Connor Roy, Logan’s firstborn, but for the non-initiated he’s just doing his own thing and isn’t interested in the empire, let’s call it that. Drama ensues. All of them, including various side characters (notable ones for this essay being cousin-turned-pawn Greg Hirsch, pawn-turned-husband Tom Wambsgans, and run-of-the-mill-but-actually-gets-really-weird general counsel Gerri Kellman) are fucking weird. Which is really the main drive of the show - positively Shakespearian power intrigue and the absolutely unhinged personalities of the characters. Got that? Great. Because actually this essay is about capitalism. Yay.

I really don’t watch anything even in the remote genre of Succession, I haven’t seen House of Cards, not Mad Men, I’ve barely watched a few out of context episodes of Breaking Bad. Power struggles and topics of business and politics are really not what I look for in TV. What drove me to watch it is seeing notably quotable scenes giffed on Tumblr (I know, shut up) and the utter disconnect between those off-beat dialogue lines and the seemingly cold-hearted business machination premise. So I watched it. In a few sittings, really, as most of us consume TV these days. And it was painful: watching the screen get filled up scene by scene by all the luxuries only the top 1% can afford makes me consider getting a copy of The Anarchist Cookbook each damn time, I mostly don’t understand what’s going on in the business-focused plots (you can clearly see I’m a humanities person), the comic relief goes from mildly off-beat to disgusting and/or so secondhand-cringe-inducing you can’t even look at the screen straight, and all of the characters are morally detestable people, making you unable to root for basically anyone. All of this to explain, I still haven’t reconciled the fact that all the singular aspects of this show must make me hate and disavow it, but the whole of it made me passionately recommend it to every person I speak to.

I hate looking at Succession. It’s like looking straight at the sun. Each new house, apartment, helicopter, car, yacht are simply set dressings to the arguments the painfully entitled characters have within them. The most gut-punch of a scene for me is when Greg, our supposed everyman character, who in the first few episodes lost his minimum-wage job and had twenty dollars on his name, reacts to a three-story yacht he’s invited to with a simple “Uh-huh” by the end of second season. This is, I believe, partially what lends itself to the Shakespearian atmosphere of the show - The Danish court is but a setting, the real attraction is Hamlet’s inner battle. The wealth is just the premise, an underlying, rarely addressed theme, the characters are the plot. Just say “Uh-huh” and move on. The concept of money seems to almost dissipate the longer you watch it, this comforting lull only being broken by these little (no doubt, intentional) scenes, and you almost feel like being shaken awake from a dream you didn’t know was a nightmare. Everytime a character discards a glass of 200$ champagne, waves a promise of provision under a poor child’s nose only to snatch it away, tosses a brand new phone overboard, you have to actively remind yourself: this is not normal. Succession seduces you into adopting the worldview of its characters, even if for a second, and it almost makes you feel violated. I’ve only felt an emotion parallel to this, akin to heat and cold reading as the same kind of perception to your neurons, by being exposed to extreme poverty in media. Because what it often boils down to is that both of these situations - ultra-wealth and poverty - are elaborate theater props in TV. Except these aren’t cardboard and fog machines, they exist, and all you’re left with is a feeling that you should be doing more.

The language in the show works in a similar way. It’s juggling quite specific business jargon and people unable to communicate by anything except awkwardly strung sentences, sarcasm and swearing. This and the purposefully unpolished way Succession is shot does a great job of making you feel like an outsider looking into a life that is absolutely not your own. You’re forced to learn the language of the characters and oftentimes you’re left on ice, unable to piece together what characters mean, not least because they often don’t understand themselves, at least emotionally. Everyone is always trying to be a step ahead, communicate less by talking more, like students chasing a good grade on a presentation they did no preparation on. This leaves the viewer, once again, an uncomfortable distance away from the world that fictional media usually strives to engage them as closely as it can with. You’re watching pieces move by themselves on an incredibly pricey chess board and each of them makes a pleading case for you to take them, only them, seriously and you’re always stuck halfway between entertaining the notion and scoffing at the request. Each of the characters is both unforgivably slimy and alluringly broken in their own unique way, exemplified by Kendall, who is both a literal criminal who only got away due to his status and the only person making meaningful attempts to upset a rotten system. It’s a show about a corporation and it’s a show about a family. And you cannot divorce the two. You feel kind of good watching the Roys get ahead, hoping it would bring them together as a unit, and you feel as delighted by the notion of seeing their empire burn and all of them in jail.

And the worst thing is, it’s not just this TV show raising these questions of universal dignity versus unjustifiable wealth, isn’t it? I felt good reading about Melinda Gates’ divorce, not even due to schadenfreude but simply because no one should stay in a relationship that’s bad for them. But even the thought that I’m awarding this multi-billionaire some kind of notion of past disenfranchisement makes me feel like the devil’s advocate. The rich today are so rich they by all accounts cannot be people, no one person should be able to yield this much power and wealth. It’s a Lovecraftian horror - staring into the abyss that’s staring back, trying to comprehend something you cannot apply any meaningful scale to. It feels ridiculous to even assume they have some kind of experiences we can share, even less accepting this idea.

That’s why I said Succession is like watching your dog shit on the carpet. It lacks the grandiosity, the terror, the way pain grounds us all on the same level that a car crash has. Your dog doing its’ business where it shouldn’t is mundane. It’s gross, but it happens like, what, every other week? That often you’re faced to look at a thing which ideally you wouldn’t like seeing in your home, which shouldn’t happen at all, maybe. Wow, I’m getting my metaphors mixed up. Your actual dog should actually have healthy bathroom breaks. Okay, I’m done talking about that now. What I’m saying is, it’s uncomfortable being faced with the reality you were never supposed to see. The rich are as wasteful, as weird, as dramatic and horrible as you imagine, but they’re also human in that gross kind of way. They’re even based on real people - the Murdoch clan, the lovely owners of Fox News and The Sun. You’re not supposed to look in the eyes of the people you’re going to guillotine. And Succession isn’t here to pose any kind of solution to this existential dread and I can’t solve the mess of Lovecraftian magnitude that is current economic distribution either. So maybe all we can do is look on in our gleefully morbid disbelief and try to affect economics and politics locally as much as we can, hoping the ripples will reach the Roys of our world.

So if you haven’t already, you should watch Succession. It’s good TV. It’s not escapism, by any means, if anything it’s both a magnifying glass and a distorted mirror of today’s issues. These essays are a bummer lately. So if Succession’s not for you, watch some local and independent news and Squid Game or whatever, I’m on the first episode. Surely there isn’t any social commentary there.

[amarantine-amirite]

Friday The 13th

Most people hate Mondays. I hate Fridays. I’ve learned that Fridays are to be feared.

Growing up, my parents would come home from work upset more often on Friday than any other day of the week. In particular, my mother would be so upset to the point of tears. I quickly learned that nothing good could ever happen on a Friday.

It wasn’t until eighth grade that I learned the rest of the world loved Fridays. My fear of Friday was unusual. The first step to reconciling my fear of Fridays begins with a girl with pink hair wearing a sweatshirt with the logo for TGI Fridays. “Who’s TGI Friday?” I asked.

The girl in the sweatshirt replied, “It’s a restaurant.”

I tipped my head over to one side. “That’s a funny name for a restaurant.”

“The name comes from the expression Thank God It’s Friday.”

Then it hit me; that powerful sense of dread that came from Fridays. “Why would you feel good about a Friday? I’ve never felt good about Fridays.”

Sweatshirt girl's jaw dropped. She laughed, “There’s no reason to feel bad about Fridays. Fridays are good! Fridays are awesome!”

“Not at our house,” I said. I shook my head and sat down. “At our house, Fridays are for coming home from work angry, exhausted, and frustrated. Not something to be thankful for.”

“Poor thing! Well, that stops today,” she said with that perky expression that gave me the sense that she was either on the cheerleading squad or a party animal. Either way, she overacted it.

I spent the second half of eighth grade learning to love Fridays like the rest of the world. And I did love Fridays. They were my favorite day of the week.

That is, of course, until 11th grade.

Why 11th grade? Because something happened that year that made me wonder if I had perhaps been on to something. Maybe Fridays were scary after all.

I couldn’t be left in the house by myself, so my parents insisted that I sign up for as many school clubs as possible. Unfortunately, a lot of these extracurriculars had performance quotas and the leaders insisted that we treat them as full-time jobs. Underperforming meant getting kicked out. Getting kicked out meant angry parents.

Staying in anywhere was tricky, but the act of getting in was harder because I was overweight. I had to take medications that caused me to gain weight like crazy. Because of my size, I didn't exactly have teachers begging to have me in their classrooms. None of the other kids lined up to be my friend.

Having people reject you for being fat goes beyond school. Doctors reject you, organizations reject you, and summer programs outside of school reject you. If they can reject people, they will reject me. Getting in anywhere usually happens because somewhere along the line, somebody thought I was someone else.

In 11th grade, I finally found an extracurricular that I could do: Model United Nations. I could sleep during Model UN and no one would notice. Mrs. Markland, the teacher in charge, had only one performance quota: sit still. It’s like being asked to take a nap.

Usually, when I signed up for an extracurricular, they kicked me out within the week. I’ve been in Model UN for three months. How can a fat person that does nothing but sleep survive in Model UN for as long as I did? What must have happened is that the teacher in charge accidentally mixed up the people who applied to be part of the Model United Nations on the go and no-go lists. Since nobody on the outside wanted to double-check, she had no choice but to let me in.

This happened on Friday the 13th, the day they had finally caught on in my little act of sleeping through Model UN meetings.

It started very simply. I started talking in my sleep. Someone had taken something that I had said as an insult and got the teacher involved. Depending on who you ask, either what happened next was my colossal mistake or the sleep talking was the colossal mistake and this just compounded it. I shouted, "Danger! Danger!" when Mrs. Markland woke me up. Worse, I put up dukes. Within two minutes, I found myself suspended. "All right Sarah, get your things and get in the car."

I packed everything up and got in. We drove off down the road. Mrs. Markland took every effort to stay on the side streets. I assumed she was going to drive me home.

I spent most of the drive staring out the window. A heavy fog loomed over the road. Periodically, the fog would lift and reveal that what you guessed would be in the fog, you guessed wrong. Trees lined the streets; they took the place of the houses. At first glance, you would think that it was the humble abode part of town. The minute you noticed the lack of houses, you knew that you were on the other side of the last chance to go to the bathroom. This was somewhere where you needed to pay close attention to your surroundings. Maybe Mrs. Markland took the long way home due to road construction, I thought. "Did we make a wrong turn somewhere?" I asked, "because my house is the other way."

"I'm not driving you home," said Mrs. Markland as we drove over the bridge into the city. "I'm late to my other job, and you're coming with me because I'm not leaving you out of my sight."

Nothing looked familiar. Everywhere I looked, I only saw either skyscrapers or cranes plus a dense, low-lying blanket of fog. The only reason I think Mrs. Markland found where she was supposed to go was because of this unearthly red glow coming from the windows on the third floor from the top. "Come with me," she ordered.

We took the elevator up to the third floor from the top. She went into her cubicle. "Sit there, don't touch anything," she barked at me as she pointed to the hard plastic chair outside the cubicle bay.

I don't like to be told no. Within 10 minutes of Mrs. Markland starting her work at her other job, I got up and helped myself to a little adventure. I walked over to the outdoor access and wandered over to the other end of the building. I saw two people in the window arguing. From what I gather, something broke. The first guy tried to blame the second guy, but the second guy insisted that it wasn’t his fault.

I had no idea what the specifics were, but it sounded like the first guy was a landlord, and the second guy was a tenant about to be evicted. That whole incident illustrated that in the city, everyone can hear you scream. And then they complain to the landlord. And then you get evicted.

There’s no sympathy for the guy that was evicted for making too much noise. The only eviction victims to get sympathy are either those who’ve lost their jobs and can’t pay the rent anymore or those who got kicked out because the landlord decided to renovate everything so they can turn around and sell it again at a premium. If you get evicted because of the commotion you caused, you only get sympathy if your baby or toddler created the excessive noise. Anybody else, you’re an idiot. No sympathy for you.

When the two of them left, I went into the room to see what happened. Something flipped the mattress upside down, pulled the curtains apart, and karate sliced the end table in half. Also, the ceiling fan melted.

It soon became clear who did the damage. The closet door opened up. A poltergeist hovered in the closet, emanating a cherry red glow.

The poltergeist looked like someone in a slap-dash narwhal costume. It easily towered over me and had long limbs, and hands tipped with long bony fingers. Its skin is a pale grey, darkening towards the ends of its clawed fingers and feet.

As it exited the closet, it flattened out and bent its neck in ways that no human could achieve. One look at its lush, ruby lips, giant ears, and lack of eyes or nose sent a hefty message: I was in deep shit.

I booked it out of there. It wasn’t enough. It puckered up its lips and encased me in shiny, lime green slime. An appendage rapidly emerged from its neck. It fired off a spark.

ZAP!

I could smell my skin cooking like it was the hairiest bacon ever made, yet I felt no pain. The searing heat from the emerald green and heliotrope purple flames had killed my nerve endings. I could feel only the vibration of the vast electrical current as it coursed through my body. Seconds before I lost consciousness, the poltergeist disappeared in a sparkling cloud of zeroes and ones.

I spent the next month in a coma. Upon awakening, I had to relearn all those basic functions such as walking, sitting up without falling over, and using my hands. I would never be the same. I now had a newfound respect for the fact that Fridays are scary for reasons far worse than stressed parents coming home from work.

@wonderful-prompts

[marwritesgood]

Rewrite | M. Martinez

Pairing: Mario x Diaz!Reader

Timeframe: Season 3

Summary: As life with their newborn becomes increasingly difficult, Mario and Y/n stop seeing each other eye-to-eye (and other stuff happens).

masterlist

A/N: (This is one of the longest things I’ve ever written (I actually had to cut it down and group some paragraphs together bc it exceeded the limit), but I couldn’t help myself. I really enjoyed exploring the dynamics between the characters and all the themes that came with it. To keep it from dragging on, I condensed the canon timeline and changed some details around - hopefully it’s easy to keep up with x

It had been a month since the birth of my and Mario’s son, Manuel. What I had expected to be the beginning of the happiest chapter of my life turned out to be quite the opposite. And it had nothing to do with the people around me or my son.

Mario’s family were so supportive of us. Abuelita insisted we stay with her until we had the funds to get a place of our own. Both her and Geny were constantly offering to babysit Manuel, which I took up almost all the time, much to Mario’s dismay. Even Oscar tried to pull money together every other week to help us out. I should have been nailing this whole motherhood thing in theory because I had so much support from everyone I loved. In reality, however, I was struggling to get by.

“And you’re sure you fed him before you left for work?” I was on the phone with Mario as I pulled up at Oscar’s house. When it came to getting out and taking the buckles off Manuel’s car seat, I pressed my phone against my ear, using my shoulder. “The one I put on the counter, right?”

“Yes,” Mario replied, his aggravation vividly clear in his tone. I had to stop for a moment to try and keep myself from crying. I had been doing a lot of that lately at the worst times, and I couldn’t understand why. When I didn’t respond, Mario sighed loudly. “Look, babe, you can’t keep calling me when I’m at work... I’m new to the job, and I’m already on my boss’ bad side.”

I inhaled sharply. He was right.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, trying to control the way my voice sounded so Mario wouldn’t be any more concerned about me than he already was. 

“... I’ll see you when I finish, okay?” 

After a short moment, he hung up, and I put my phone in my back pocket, thinking back to the times where he would never end a call without telling me he loved me. I didn’t know if it was because he genuinely didn’t catch on, or he was too eager to leave the conversation, but I needed that reminder now more than ever. 

I slung my bag over my shoulder before picking up Manuel’s car seat, where he was fast asleep. After closing and locking the car I was borrowing off of Abuelita, I headed inside Oscar’s house. I hated the days where I was left alone with my son. The days where no one was around to take him off my hands. So on days like these, I would go to Oscar’s house and spend the day there, just so I wouldn’t be left alone with Manuel.

“He sleeping?” Oscar asked after he heard me come in. His back was turned against me, and he was facing the counter where he was making two cups of coffee for both of us. 

“Yeah,” I answered, exasperated from carrying my son and my belongings inside. After putting Manuel, who slept quietly in his seat, down on the couch, I joined Oscar, who smiled at the sight of my son sleeping soundly. 

“How you been?” Oscar asked, nodding at me as he pushed a mug of coffee in my direction. I hummed as I lifted it up and took a sip. I couldn’t drink coffee as often as I liked since I was breastfeeding, but I saved the few times I did when I went to Oscar’s. He made it the best.

“Good,” I answered, without even pausing to think. Oscar shifted his attention to me and watched as I fiddled with the handle on my mug. I knew he wanted to pry. He wanted to ask me more and more questions until I finally gave him a truthful answer, but I wasn’t ready for that. Fortunately for me, before he could say anything else, Cesar came bursting through the front door, throwing his bag on the ground before approaching Oscar. I held the handle of my mug tightly as I watched him speak.

“There’s a dude posted up outside.”

Oscar got up instantly and walked outside, his gun in his hand, ready to be fired. Cesar followed him, trying to stand next to him as he approached the guy across the street, only to be pushed behind by Oscar. I took the opportunity to peek through the sheets of tin foil Oscar had covering the windows. After squinting my eyes to try and make out the man standing on the other side of the street, a duffle bag by his feet with an oddly familiar stance, I began to piece together who it was.

My father.

Before my brothers could make their way back inside, I took Manuel into my old room, which Oscar left untouched since I had moved out after giving birth. I could faintly make out the sound of their conversation in the living room area, so I took my time putting Manuel and my bag down. When I finally made my way back to where my family were seated, I could see the tension between all of them. My dad and Cesar looked up at me when I walked in, but Oscar remained glaring at Ray. 

“Cesar, you need to get to school,” Oscar said flatly.

My little brother lifted his hands in annoyance and immediately looked at me. Often, when Oscar told him to do something he didn’t want to, he would turn to me in hopes that I would say the opposite. It was always that way, never vice versa. But, when it came to either one of our parents, I had to have Oscar’s back.

“Go,” I told him, and he reluctantly picked his bag off the floor. I took his spot on the couch and joined Oscar in, glaring at my dad. He looked no different from the last time he bothered to come around. 

“You still in school?”

“I finished over a year ago,” I droned, wanting more than anything to take my son and leave, but I knew I couldn’t leave him alone with Oscar. Not to mention if I did leave, I would have no place to go but back to Abuelita’s place where I would be left alone with Manuel. 

“College?”

“Are you kidding me?” I laughed dryly. Oscar shook his head.

My father inhaled slowly, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the corridor that leads to the bedrooms. I felt my heart begin to pound, fearing for where this conversation was heading. 

“The baby you took to your room,” he began, confirming what I had already expected. I hadn’t done as good of a job at hiding Manuel as I thought. “... yours?”

I could see Oscar getting angrier and more aggravated by how he clenched his fists and his jaw. He was always protective of Cesar and me when it came to our dad, but it appeared to be tenfold with Manuel. I glanced over at my brother, but he was too busy glaring at Ray to notice. Sighing, I turned back to him and nodded. There was no point in hiding Manuel’s existence from him. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t still try and protect him.

“... The father?”

Ray hesitated before asking. I could tell that, while he was obviously curious to know, he was also cautious that he was digging too deep so suddenly. Oscar huffed, rubbing his hand over his facial hair, clearly annoyed. I felt indifferent.

“Mario Martinez.”

“Martinez?” He raised his eyebrows before pulling his blunt back towards his mouth. After exhaling slowly, releasing a cloud of smoke, he nodded, seemingly impressed. “... Good family.”

“I didn’t ask for your approval,” I scoffed before standing up and turning my back to him. I looked down at Oscar and signalled him to follow me into my old room to have a conversation outside of our father’s earshot.

Once he had followed me inside, I closed the door to ensure privacy before turning back to my son, who was thankfully still fast asleep. I began packing his things up as I spoke to Oscar.

“What are we gonna do?” 

After gathering Manuel’s things, I brought the handlebar of his car seat up so I could be ready to take him to the car, through the backdoor, as soon as Oscar and I were finished discussing our next course of action.

“I don’t know,” Oscar sighed as he shoved his hands in his pockets. I sat on my old bed and looked up at him silently. After a moment, he looked back at me. “Cesar wants to... take him out for lunch tomorrow.”

The way Oscar explained, I could tell how immensely uncomfortable he was with the thought of it and with how eager Cesar was to reconcile his relationship with. 

“Want me to go with them?” I asked.

He nodded. 

I sighed but nodded back. As much as I wanted to avoid having a conversation with my father, let alone sit and have a meal with him, I couldn’t leave Cesar to meet him for lunch on his own. I couldn’t let him get too close and too vulnerable with Ray. 

Oscar and I knew better than anyone how that would eventually end.

***

After leaving Oscar’s place, I noticed that Mario’s car was parked outside the building when I got home. Manuel had fallen asleep during the car trip, so I carried him in his car seat inside.

After I took him to his nursery and placed him in his cot, I went back into the kitchen area where Mario was grumbling as he did the dishes. It was getting late, so I assumed he was just tired.

I walked over and stood beside him so I could give him a hand, but he turned to me with furrowed brows before I could do so. My heart began to pound because I knew I had done something to upset him.

“You said you would do the dishes today,” he stated sharply. I sighed before dropping my head down. “It’s so late. Where the hell have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled before reaching past him so I could finish washing the rest of the dishes. I hoped that would be enough to defuse the tension, but Mario simply took a step to the side and continued to glare at me as he waited for an explanation. “- I was at Oscar’s, and I lost track of time. My-”

“I don’t care,” he interrupted, the volume of his voice rising abruptly.

Whenever Mario and I fought, he was never the type to yell, no matter how angry he got. I always worried that I would end up pushing him over that edge one day, and it seemed like today was that day.

“Mario,” I whispered, slightly startled by how angry he was getting. There was obviously more to it than just me forgetting to do the dishes.

“I work so hard to support you and Manuel,” he began, his voice growing louder from what appeared to be frustration. “I asked you to do one thing.”

“I know, but-”

I was planning on leaving Oscar’s place early to make it back in time to get all the housework done. When my dad arrived out of the blue, it put a wrench in my plans. Mario cut me off before I could explain that to him.

“And what’s up with you calling me at work all the time?” His expression was saturated with anger. I wondered how long he had bottled up this resentment. “I thought you would be used to taking care of Manuel on your own by now.”

“I’m trying,” I cried in reply. I really was.

“Try harder,” he said in an icy tone, his expression becoming emotionless all of a sudden. I held my breath, trying to suppress my tears. “You shouldn’t be taking Manuel out so late... you need to start being a better mother.”

He turned around and walked into our shared room. Once I was sure he was out of earshot, I turned my attention back to the dishes I was cleaning, trying to keep myself distracted.

When I felt my tears beginning to pour out of my eyes, I knew it wasn’t working.

All of the insecurities I felt about being a new mother were beginning to surface. I wanted desperately to be everything Mario and Manuel needed me to be, but I just felt like I could never be able to do that. And it was killing me inside.

***

The following morning, I woke up extra early. I tried to get as much housework done as possible to give Manuel his second bottle for the day. Normally Mario would because I would be too exhausted too, and because it normally fell around the time, he was set to leave for work.

Since the night before, we hadn’t spoken to each other, so I thought doing that would be a step in the right direction for us. Apparently not.

“What are you doing?” Mario asked, startling me as I tested the temperature of Manuel’s milk on my wrist.

“I was gonna feed Manuel,” I explained.

“But I feed him his second bottle,” Mario said, anger and annoyance both prevalent in his tone and his expression.

“I know,” I replied calmly. This was appearing to have the opposite effect to what I hoped it would; Mario was seemingly getting angrier with me. “I just thought you might want a break from having to feed him this morning.”

“Looking after my son isn’t a burden, Y/n,” he retorted, his voice getting louder with each word he spoke. My eyes grew wide. I didn’t know whether to be startled or offended.

Was he insinuating that I made looking after Manuel seem like a burden?

“I never said that,” I responded.

Just as I finished speaking, the sound of Manuel’s cries sounded throughout the room. Mario turned back to me, holding his hand out so he could take the bottle and feed our son. Not wanting to argue with him, I reluctantly handed it over.

He left for work without saying goodbye to me, even though I stood in the kitchen and watched him go. Normally he would kiss me goodbye before leaving to go anywhere. I knew this was a testament to how angry he was.

Once it was nearing lunchtime, I took Manuel and dropped him off with Geny. When Abuelita saw me crying by the kitchen sink the night before, she sat me on her couch and consoled me. After I explained to her what happened with my dad, she called Geny. At first, she wanted to confront her son about how he spoke to me, but I talked her out of it. After that, she offered to watch Manuel for the afternoon while I went to lunch with Cesar and my dad.

Once I dropped Manuel off to her, I headed to Dwayne’s restaurant, where Cesar and our dad were seated at a booth. As I approached them, Ray sat up uncomfortably.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said as I took a seat next to Cesar, who immediately passed me his plate of fries. I turned to him and smiled, only to be met with a concerned expression.

“You okay?” He asked, knitting his eyebrows out of worry. I had forgotten I spent the night crying and that my eyes were slightly puffy.

“Yeah, I just didn’t get much sleep,” I answered a beat too quickly for Cesar to be convinced. Nonetheless, I knew he would look past it so he could continue catching up with our father.

“I was just telling Cesar how good it is he has a job,” my dad said, as he took a bite of the food Cesar undoubtedly got him with his employment perk.

“Yeah, Dwayne’s always been good to me,” Cesar explained, smiling nervously as he fiddled with his fingers. It was endearing and concerning the way he was so anxious he was acting like an overexcited child. “Even when things got hard.”

I placed my hand on him should and gripped it tightly. Cesar was one of the more emotional ones of the Diaz men, but that didn’t mean he was always upfront with how he felt.

“I heard about your mom,” our dad said, looking up at the two of us nervously. I stared blankly at him, trying my best not to glare, but I promised Cesar I wouldn’t be hostile at our lunch. “I should have reached out... I’m sorry.”

I looked over at Cesar, and I could tell he was trying his best to maintain his smile. I was the only person he had ever spoken to about our mom, but those conversations were infrequent and always emotional.

“You should try the char burger,” I said to our dad before sliding out of the booth, so Cesar could step out. “You’ll like it... Cesar, why don’t you go order one for him.”

He nodded before leaving so he could head towards the counter. I slid back into the booth and glared at my father.

“What’s your deal?” I asked angrily, annoyed that he would bring up such a painful memory for Cesar, let alone myself. “It’s not enough to traumatise us; you have to come back just to pour salt in our wounds?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here, huh?” At that point, I was just as curious as I was angry. He had been in and out of prison for over a decade, yet the last time he bothered to stop by, Cesar wasn’t even old enough to form memories.

“I... I wanna patch things up,” he said.

It really took him over two decades to grow a conscience and make an effort in his children’s lives.

“Look,” I whispered before glancing up at Cesar, who was in the process of getting the char burger. I sighed. “Just... tread lightly for now, okay? Cesar wants to catch up with you, not relive his childhood trauma.”

Ray inhaled deeply before nodding. I felt protective over Cesar, but when it came to our parents, this was only heightened. I was not going to let my dad hurt him. Not on my watch. Once Cesar was approaching the table, I slid out so he could sit in his initial spot.

“Where’s Manuel, Y/n?” Cesar asked.

My breath hitched as it dawned on me that I forgot to ask Cesar not to bring him up in front of our dad. Once he mentioned him, however, I knew there was no going back.

“He’s with Geny,” I answered before taking a bite of my plate of fried. Ray watched me intently before speaking up again- exactly what I feared he would do.

“Is there any chance I could meet him?”

I had to physically and figuratively bite my tongue. As much as I wanted to respond snidely, I knew that would only damage my relationship with Cesar- who made me promise that I wouldn’t be hostile at that lunch.

“I’ll think about it,” I replied. Cesar’s expression didn’t seem to change, so I knew I had answered in a way that both kept the peace and ensured I could continue to control how much of a role my dad would have in my son’s life- which, if it were up to me, would be minuscule.

Just as the conversation headed towards a different, much safer direction, my phone began to vibrate.

After I excused myself from the table, I went outside the building and answered the call.

It was Mario.

“Why does my mom have Manuel?” His tone was accusatory and angry. That seemed to be the case for all of our conversations.

“I’m at lunch-“

“You left Manuel so you could go for lunch?!”

“It was important, Mario.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He was speaking so loudly, I had to hold my phone at a distance away from my ear. “What kind of a mother are you? What could be more important than our son?”

My breath hitched, but I tried to recover quickly. Nothing was more important to me than Manuel, but I needed Mario to know that I wasn’t avoiding my responsibilities as a mother for something trivial.

“I’m at lunch with my dad,” I explained, trying to speak as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t have the chance to interrupt.

“... You’re dad’s back in town?” I was relieved that he was calming down, finally understanding why I was too preoccupied to have Manuel with me at all times.

“Yes,” I answered, trying to keep my tone neutral despite how much I was on the verge of tears. “- but don’t worry. I’ll pick up Manuel... I know I need to start being a better mother.”

I made it a point to use Mario's exact phrasing when he scolded me the night before. Just as he began spluttering a response, I hung up the phone.

***

It had been a week since I met Cesar and Ray for lunch. I hadn’t heard from either of them nor Oscar until I was on my way to picking up Cesar. Normally he preferred to make his own way home, but he had plans to meet with Ruby and wanted me to give him a ride. Just as I pulled up in front of Dwayne’s barbecue joint, my phone began to ring. As soon as I answered it, the sound of my older brother’s voice sounded throughout my car. Needless to say, he was angry about something.

“Did you know he got him a job?” 

There it was.

“Huh?” I answered, completely taken back by what he had said. I suspected he was talking about Ray, but for Cesar’s sake, I hoped he wasn’t. “- what are you talking about, Oscar?”

“Cesar got the viejo a fucking job,” he yelled, his voice growing louder and angrier with every word he spoke. “- what happened to keeping an eye on him?

“I-i had to leave early,” I sighed. “Cesar must’ve talked to Dwayne after I left.”

“Well, great fucking job, y/n,” Oscar retorted. I could feel the pace of my heartbeat quickening the louder and madder he got. I felt overwhelmed. “You were supposed to make sure Cesar didn’t get too close to him; now they’re workmates.

“Look, I know you’re mad, but could you stop yelling at me?!” My voice shook as I spoke, and I felt my eyes water and hands shake. I didn’t know what was coming over me, but I had no control over it. “- I have enough people telling me I’ve fucked up. I don’t need that shit from you.”

There was silence for a prolonged moment, and I groaned quietly. I didn’t mean to overshare, but it was too late to take it back. I didn’t want Oscar to worry about me more so than he already did.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled quickly. “... you alright?”

“I’m good,” I replied, even though he and I both knew I was far from it. Nonetheless, I wanted to end our conversation as swiftly as possible. The longer I stayed on the line, the more I feared he would pry into what was going on with me. “- Don’t worry... Look, I know it’s messy, but there’s nothing we can do without hurting Cesar. We just gotta wait it out and see how it goes.”

After agreeing to do so, Oscar hung up, and I finally made my way inside. My dad was wearing an apron and stood by the front counter. It eerily reminded me of the times he would cook for my brothers and me when we were kids, that is, in between the times he abandoned us and showed up when he needed a place to crash. When the doorbell rang as I walked in, he looked over to me and smiled. I almost didn’t want to glare at him. 

“Hola mija,” he greeted as he approached me. I hated to admit it, but I could see how hard he was trying to be an accomodating host. “Can I get you a menu?

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “- no, I’m just here to pick up Cesar. He said he needed me to give him a ride somewhere.

“He’s in the back,” Ray replied, nodding towards the entrance to the storeroom. “I think he’ll be out soon.”

“So,” I began, trying to fill the awkward silence. Though I still had 19 years worth of resentment towards him, I wanted to be civil. “You’re working here now, huh?”

It felt strange talking to my father like this. The last time he was around, I was around Cesar’s age. Now, we were making small talk like the two adults we were. It felt uncomfortable because part of me still felt like the girl I was when he left, the girls who had been hurting for almost 10 years because of what he did.

“Yeah, it’s nice... Dwayne’s a good boss.”

“Yeah,” I smiled in agreement. Mr Turner was one of the kindest people I knew. Whenever I came into his restaurant after school, he always made sure I left with an empty stomach even if I didn’t have any money. Now, he was doing the same for my little brother. “He’s always been good to Cesar.”

Just as I turned to call Cesar to come out from the storeroom, my dad spoke up, causing me to turn my heel back and face him. He seemed hesitant, which was a strange sight. I remembered him being certain of everything he did. 

“Hey, um,” his nervousness was heavily prevalent in his voice. I tried to prepare myself for what he was about to say, knowing it would have a significant impact. “- I know you said we could talk about it later... but I really wanna meet my grandson.”

I inhaled sharply. Of all the things he could have said, I was not expecting him to bring up Manuel. Considering his track record, I assumed he would be gone before my son crossed his mind again. He seemed to prove me wrong.

“- I know, you have every right to say no,” he added, in a tone I could only assume, and hope was sincere. “- I was a horrible father to you... but I’m hoping I can be a good abuelo... if you give me a chance.”

“I don’t know...” I sighed. I still felt uncertain about my dad and his agenda. I felt uncertain that he changed enough to be sincere, let alone enough to have a place in my son’s life. 

Although he was Manuel’s grandfather, and nothing I could do would ever change that, I had control over who came and left my son’s life. I would not let him in without confirmation that he was better, that he had changed.

“I understand,” he answered.

The two of us stood in awkward silence for a minute or so before Cesar entered the dining area, his backpack clutched in his hand. He seemed concerned by the way my father and I were standing, the tension between us physically apparent just as it was figuratively.

“Hey, you ready to go?” I smiled as I turned to face my little brother. I didn’t want him to worry any more than he already did.

Cesar nodded, drawing his attention away from the tension between our father and I. Just as we were about to turn and leave, Ray pulled out a brown to-go bag from behind the counter.

“Here, mijo, I got you something,” he said as he handed the bag to Cesar, who was taken aback but smiled nonetheless. “I noticed you didn’t have anything to eat when you were on your break.”

I glanced back at Cesar, who seemed grateful. Often when he had a lot on his mind or a lot on his plate, it was easy for him to forget to do important things like getting something to eat. Moreover, when Cesar did realise what he had forgotten, he would often try to hide it. It took a bit of paying attention before Oscar, and I picked up on it. I was impressed that my dad managed to do so in just a day.

“Do you need a ride?” I asked my dad, who shook his head and smiled.

“No, I’ll be okay. I still have a few more hours to go.”

“... Are you working tomorrow?”

“No,” he answered. I could tell he was worried about where my subtle interrogation was headed.

“Okay,” I smiled, knowing what I would say would make him happy. “Come by my place tomorrow morning... You can meet your grandson then.”

He grinned as he inhaled deeply. I smiled weakly before placing my hand on Cesar’s shoulder and walking out of the restaurant, hoping with all my heart that I wasn’t making a mistake.

***

My dad arrived at my doorstep the next morning, almost half an hour before the time we agreed upon. He tried to hide it when I greeted him, but I knew how happy he was that he was finally getting the chance to meet his grandson.

“Where’s Mario?” Ray asked nonchalantly as I led him to Manuel’s nursery.

“He’s working,” I answered shortly, not allowing my dad the chance to pry. “Just watch your step when you come in. There’s lots of toys lying around.”

I smiled wearily at my son as I carefully picked him up from his bed. I was getting more confident in holding him, but I still felt scared every time I did. As I cradled him in my arms, I looked over to my dad, who had carefully navigated his way through the array of baby toys on the ground. 

“Here,” I said softly, as I slowly moved towards him, carefully transferring my son from my arms and into his. Watching him cradle his grandson so carefully and with so much concern made me smile. “His name’s Manuel.”

“Manuel,” he repeated, smiling as my son continued to sleep soundly in his arms. I couldn’t help but smile. This was a side of my dad I forgot existed. He shook his head as he continued to grin down at Manuel. “... que lindo.”

I turned away and began folding Manuel’s freshly washed clothes away. As I pulled open one of the drawers, I looked down and saw my dad’s duffel bag in the corner of my eye; fully packed and discarded by the door. That’s when I began to piece together why he wanted to meet my son so soon. I pushed the drawer shut slowly before turning to back to my dad, who was still oblivious to what I had figured out.

“You’re leaving?” I asked, glancing pointedly at the bag he left by the door.

He slowly turned around, carefully placing Manuel back in his cot, before turning back to me. When he didn’t say anything- only nodded guiltily as he shoved his hand in his back pocket, I wanted to scream.

“Why?” I questioned, trying to understand why he was choosing to leave again, especially after reconciling with Cesar and finding out he has a grandson. Did those things mean nothing to him? Did we mean nothing to him?

He glanced back at Manuel before leading me into the living room, knowing that I wasn’t gonna be quiet. I closed the door behind me and began scolding my dad.

“Can’t ever think about anyone but yourself,” I shouted in frustration. I had really hoped he changed. “This is gonna break Cesar, but you don’t give a shit about that, do you?”

“Mija-”

“-And what about trying to patch things up, huh?” I wasn’t going to let him speak. Not until I got what I needed to say off my chest. I didn’t get to do that the last time he walked out, and I had regretted it ever since. “How do you think they’re gonna react when you tell them?”

When my dad stood silent, eyes falling to the ground, I stumbled back. 

“What, you’re dumping that on me too?”

Silent filled the air for a prolonged moment. I glared at my father, bewildered by what he was doing and how little regard his plan had for me and how I would be affected. He looked like he was about to speak.

“I’ll call Cesar when I get to Bakersfield,” he said as if that solved the issue. “Oscar... he’ll come around, but... he’s gotta let go of that rage-”

“- Stop,” I hissed, holding my hand up and shaking my head angrily. I began to regret ever inviting him inside. “You don’t get to do that... You don’t get to come here and try and tell us what’s wrong with us- You’re what’s wrong with us.”

“Mija-”

“And would you stop calling me that,” I snapped, raising my voice louder, although Manuel was sleeping in the room. “I stopped being anyone’s hija the day I had to start being a mother to a kid that wasn’t even mine.”

I glared at my father, who stood silent. My eyebrows knitted together as I continued to shout at him.

“And now... I finally get the chance to raise my own, but I’m too scared to be left alone with him in case I end up exactly like you. A deadbeat.”

My father looked taken aback by my outburst but remained silent, nodding his head only slightly, showing he acknowledged the truth in what I was saying, or rather screaming, at him. I breathed heavily, tears brimming in my eyes as I felt my throat begin to close up.

“Everything bad that’s happened to me is because of you,” I cried, my voice beginning to crack. Before I could continue speaking, I inhaled sharply, my breath beginning to stutter. “I can’t even look at my son without thinking of all the ways I could end up failing him as you did to me.”

His eyebrows rose before furrowing in sympathy. Before I could even think of stopping him, he pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly. I couldn’t help but sob quietly. I had craved a hug from my dad for most of my childhood. 

I wish he hadn’t waited so long to give me one.

***

Fortunately, not long after Ray left, Abuelita arrived home. After explaining to her what had happened, she happily agreed to stay with Manuel so I could go and break the news to my brothers. So I got my things together in haste and drove as quickly as I could to Oscar’s house.

After knocking on the front door and being let in by Oscar himself, I sat at the table and waited. My brother had our traditional mugs of coffee at hand and sat opposite me. He immediately noticed my puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

“What happened?” He asked softly, watching me intently as I fought back the tears while trying to piece together an explanation. He leaned forward and clutched the handle of his mug. “You and Mario fight again?”

I shook my head quickly. Staring down at my mug, I sighed deeply. The longer I waited to tell him, the harder it would eventually be. There was no point in beating around the bush.

“Ray left,” I stated. Oscar inhaled sharply, clicking his jaw as he turned his head away from me. I couldn’t bear to look up at him, so I sat in silence. Whatever he wanted to get off his chest, I would let him.

“Cesar’s gonna be crushed,” he sighed. He and I both knew that more than anyone. Even though he knew that our parents basically left us with no choice but to sacrifice our youth and dreams to support Cesar, he still yearned to have a relationship with them. If only he knew how painful it was.

“Hey,” I whispered, causing Oscar to finally look me in the eye. 

I could see his eyes glistening. Though his first concern was how Cesar would be affected, I could tell that he was just as impacted. We both let our guards down when Ray accepted the job at Dwayne’s business. We both secretly hoped he would stay this time.

“I’ll tell him,” I insisted. Oscar sat up, ready to disagree, but I spoke before he could say anything. “- he made you break the news to us the last time he left. I’m not gonna let you go through that again.”

My voice began to crack. Oscar furrowed his eyebrows in concern, but I had already made my mind up. 

“He’s gonna take it out on you,” Oscar said, in an attempt to get me to leave the burden with him, but I refused. I shook my head.

“Let him,” I replied shortly. 

Cesar was a wild card when it came to things like this. When Oscar delivered the bad news, Cesar would respond by either breaking down or shoving our brother. Sometimes he would even punch the nearest wall. When it was me, however, Cesar typically responded by saying awful things. Things he didn’t mean. Often he would accompany such words with a shove or two.

I knew that this was a big one, though. 

So I tried to prepare myself for anything. Maybe Cesar was gonna say something awful to me in retaliation. Maybe he was just gonna break down in tears. Maybe he was gonna react in an unprecedented way. Regardless, I was willing to take whatever. For Oscar and I, this was yet another time one of our parents let us down. For Cesar, this was the first time he got to develop a relationship with either one of them, and so the first time, he was gonna be disappointed so severely.

About an hour later, after Oscar and I finished our coffee and sat silently on the couch, Cesar came home from school. Noticing how quiet we were, he immediately figured out that something wasn’t right.

“What’s going on?” Cesar asked hesitantly, noting how Oscar and I were staring at him as he walked in with such intent and concern. He glanced down the hall before looking back at the two of us. “Where’s Ray?”

I had done so much crying; I was convinced that I had no more tears left. Yet, when Cesar spoke, I felt my eyes being glazed over again. I looked over at Oscar, who offered a nod of encouragement. 

“Cesar, c’mere... Ray left,” I explained painfully, not having enough courage to look at my little brother as I spoke.

“What?” Cesar was already beginning to shout, and I didn’t blame him. I inhaled sharply while looking up at the ceiling, trying to pull myself together so I could be there for him in whatever way he needed me to be. “He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

“He did.”

Cesar sighed, his eyebrows knitting as he processed the bad news. His eyes quickly darkened, and he immediately turned to Oscar. 

“What did you do?”

“He didn’t do anything,” I said before Oscar could chime in. I held my hand out and gently pushed Cesar back after he stepped towards our brother. “I was the last one he talked to, okay? I only just told Oscar before you got home.”

“Well, what did you say, then?”

“Cesar,” I sighed. I had little to no energy left, let alone enough to argue with my little brother. “He was never sticking around... He showed up with his duffel bag already packed.”

“What, you didn’t try to talk him out of it? You just let him go?”

“I’m not responsible for what he decides, Cesar.” My frustration grew exceedingly as I spoke. “He’s a grown man. I shouldn’t have to talk him out of abandoning his children... again.”

Cesar turned away, confirming to me that he knew I was right. I sighed, thinking the worst of our argument was over, but that’s when Cesar spoke again.

“I bet this makes you happy,” he muttered. “You and Oscar couldn’t wait to get rid of him.”

“Happy?... You think I’m happy?” I repeated, furrowing my brows as I stared down at my little brother. Of all the stupid things he’d said to me in his lifetime, this was an all-time low. “Are you fucking kidding me? Cesar, I’m your sister... but for most of your life, I’ve been your mom... If you’re gonna yell at someone, get on the next bus to Bakersfield and go yell at him. He’s the one who left. He’s the one who ruined our lives.”

“Ray didn’t ruin my life,” Cesar muttered quietly, shaking his head and laughing dryly, before looking up at me with a scowl. “You did.”

Oscar stood up and placed himself in between Cesar and me. He held his arms up in an attempt to get Cesar to back down but to no avail.

“Cesar, that’s enough,” he warned, facing our little brother, who shoved back every time Oscar tried to push him away. Cesar was adamant about getting the last word, but Oscar continued to try and keep him back. “Ces- Cesar, that’s enough.”

“No, you know what?”

Cesar fought free from Oscar’s grip and immediately finished what he started.

“Everything bad that’s happened to me is because of you,” Cesar spat, glaring at me with such passionate anger, I almost didn’t recognise my little brother. “Manuel’s gonna need all the luck he can get with a mother like you.”

My mouth slowly fell agape, and my breath hitched. I could hear Cesar breathe heavily from all the yelling. He glared at me, almost as if he knew how much he was hurting me, but he didn’t seem to care. He stormed out of the house before Oscar could begin scolding him for taking it too far. So instead, he watched my reaction intently, ready to console me if I needed to break down after what Cesar had just said. 

“Y/n, he didn’t mean that,” Oscar reasoned, taking note of the way my eyes glistened and how hard I was biting my bottom lip, something I only ever did to keep myself from crying. 

I nodded, even though I was finding it increasingly difficult to believe. Everything I had suspected of myself. All of the fears I had about being an actual mother for the first time. Cesar’s words were making me confirm it. 

I grabbed my bag off the floor and began heading for the door, despite Oscar’s attempts at calling out to me. I had to leave. I couldn’t face either one of my brothers. And, at that point, I couldn’t even face my son. I began driving around the block before finding an empty parking lot to stop at. There, I sat in silence for a few hours, trying to process everything that had happened since the morning.

***

I had been sitting in the parking lot for a few tens of minutes. Most of that time, I spent sobbing. It felt like all of the responsibilities I had spent the past few weeks and months, and years of my life carrying toppled over and crushed me in the process.

The part that hurt the most was how much I tried to do my best. I tried to be the best mother to Manuel. I tried to be the best sister to Cesar. I tried to be the best partner to Mario. Yet, it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, I still wasn’t enough.

In the midst of my emotional breakdown, a loud tap sounded throughout my car. I looked and gasped when I saw Mario standing outside my door with a worried expression. In all honesty, it never crossed my mind that someone would care enough to come and find me.

After I unlocked the doors, he sat in the passenger’s seat. He watched me intently as I wiped my tears away and tried to compose myself.

“Oscar and Abuelita told me what happened,” he whispered before slowly reaching out his hand and taking hold of mine. We had somewhat reconciled the last time we fought, but there was still tension between us. I was grateful he was taking the first step towards fixing it- goodness knows I was not in a position to be able to. “... Please talk to me.”

At first, I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. I felt an array of shame and embarrassment. Mario noticed this and responded by gently placing his hands on the sides of my face. He knew I loved it when he did that. I eventually looked up at him, and he just smiled as he waited patiently for me to speak.

“I-I,” I bowed my head for a moment to try and muster the energy to finish my sentence. Mario placed his hand on mine and gently squeezed it reassuringly. “I thought he was gonna stay this time... He kept asking to meet Manuel, and he got a job, and I... I thought it would be different this time.”

Mario nodded but remained silent. Before we began dating, we were childhood friends. He was there all the times my dad left before. He knew how much this was hurting me.

“And I’m so scared,” I cried, trying not to choke on my words. “I’m so scared I’m gonna fuck up my kids’ lives the way he has mine and my brothers’... I don’t wanna break Manuel.”

“Hey,” Mario whispered, taking hold of the side of my face and looking up at me with concern-filled eyes. “You’re not gonna break, Manuel... He and I are so lucky to have you.”

I sniffled as I turned away. I didn’t believe him, and Mario could tell. He sighed. I thought then that he would give up on trying to console me and leave, but instead, he continued to look at me, even as I turned away.

“Is that why you call me all the time?” He asked. I didn’t turn back to him, but I could tell from his tone that he was not agitated anymore. He was genuinely concerned. “- ‘cause you feel scared when you’re alone with Manuel?”

I dropped my head and remained silent, which Mario accurately interpreted as a yes. After a moment of silence, he reached for my hand again. This time, I turned to face him.

“I’m so sorry... for everything I said to you,” he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. It had been a while since I had seen him so vulnerable, which was strange considering how emotional Mario was. “Ever since I started my job, I’ve just been really stressed... I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. That will never happen again.”

“I shouldn’t have annoyed you so much,” I muttered. I couldn’t help but feel guilty that Mario was apologising to me when he was obviously under a lot of pressure. “You work so hard for us, I shouldn’t be making things worse-”

“Baby, you don’t,” he responded. I began to smile through my tears because he was using a term of endearment for the first time in a while rather than just simply calling me by my name. “You don’t... I’m sorry I made you feel like you do... How about, from now on, you text me when you have a question about Manuel, or when you start to feel overwhelmed, or even when you just want to talk. I can’t promise I’ll always be able to talk, but I’ll respond to you as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” I whispered, smiling at him as I nodded. I felt so relieved that he understood what I was going through. Mario leaned close to me and kissed my temple softly before looking me in the eye, his hands finding their way back to the sides of my face. He could tell something was still on my mind.

“You’re nothing like him, Y/n,” he murmured. “He leaves when things get tough... you’ve always stayed... I mean, you’ve taken care of Cesar since he was born... Now you’re taking care of Manuel... and of me.”

I chuckled beneath my breath. When Manuel was first born, Mario joked about how well I took care of them two. I would have had it any other way.

“There’s no one else I’d rather being doing this with,” he said before kissing me softly. I smiled against his lips, and my eyes remained close for a moment even after he pulled away. “Manuel and I are so lucky to have you, Y/n... I love you so much.”

“I’m lucky to have you,” I murmured as I brought my hand up to his jaw, drawing circles on the side of his cheek with my thumb. He smiled, leaning forward and pressing his nose against mine. “I love you.”

It was as if he came at the right time. Just when things began to topple over me, Mario was right there, ready to bear my burdens with me. For the first time in a long time, I felt a wave of peace and calmness wash over me. I knew I had a lot of work to do. I knew Cesar, and I were still on bad terms. But I also knew that so long as I had Mario with me, I would be okay. I would survive whatever other obstacles life threw my way, and it would all be worth it for my son.

He and Mario were more than enough for me.

[brywrites]

Flight Risk IV

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IV: In which airplane food is disappointing and the context of a case is heavy.

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Arthur stands waiting for her outside the jet stairs. “So you’re on speaking terms again?”

She freezes, hands still lifted in the middle of adjusting her cap. “What do you mean?”

Arthur gives half a shrug and begins climbing up into the plane. He’s not one to pry into the lives of other people, but she’s discovered he does make occasional exceptions to this rule. “Simply that you seem much happier to be around Dr. Reid today. Your scowl is gone.”

Her face flushes and she’s grateful he can’t see it as they file into the cockpit. “We talked, yes. I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

Arthur gives a noncommittal, mmmm, and gets to work adjusting Geff’s controls. She does the same, going through routine checks, only to be interrupted by a quiet, “Just be careful. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Y/N blinks, then looks down quickly. She doesn’t ask him to elaborate; Captain Dobson isn’t one for sentimental attachments or expressions. The fact that he’s saying this at all speaks volumes. It makes her happy, to know he considers her someone close. The BAU is obviously close-knit, she’s heard them refer to themselves more than once as a “family.” But the two of them, bound by similar schedules and shared challenges, they’re something of that sort too. Perhaps that makes them distant cousins of the FBI.

The team boards the plane, they’re cleared for takeoff, and it’s all smooth flying and blue skies for a solid three hours. They’re both tired, and the thought of being able to go home and sleep in her own comfortable bed lifts her spirits – until the cockpit door slides open and Agent Rossi steps in.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he says. “We just got word of a case in Houston. Two previous victims and now there’s a kid missing.”

A kid. Oh, god. Rossi looks genuinely apologetic, but Arthur nods.

“We’ll change course immediately.” Rossi murmurs a thank you, then slides the door closed once more, muffling the voices of the other agents, already discussing the case behind them.

Y/N follows all orders, gets in touch with the air traffic controller, telling Indianapolis Center that they’ll be changing directions and heading for Houston. Other than exchanges with ATC and instructions to shift speeds and change controls, they fly in silence. It’s a heavy quiet, weighed both by an acknowledgement that somewhere, something horrible has happened, as well as the fact that they won’t be going home tonight.

It’s harder for Arthur, he has a boyfriend to go home to, people who need him. She has less attachments, but has no desire to spend more time in a small motel once again. Still, things could be worse. It’s important work.

“I think we’ve still got lunches prepared that I could heat up,” she offers. “What do you want – the chicken or the pasta?”

“Pasta,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“You always take the pasta.”

“I’m the captain. When your epaulets have four stripes, you can claim it first.”

“I don’t know why we even bother with the chicken,” she grumbles. “We both hate airplane meat.”

“You know the rules. We can’t have the same meal.”

Y/N carefully clambers to the sliding door. “I know. But honestly, how many planes have gone down as a result of the food?”

“There have been some close calls. Japan Air, 1975, omelets. Overseas National, 1982, tapioca. British Airways, 1984, hors d’oeuvres.” She rolls her eyes, but begrudgingly goes to fetch the saran-wrapped meals. Slipping out of the cockpit, she catches bits and pieces of conversation as the team begins to work. The previous victims were a little older, most in their early and mid-twenties. All women with blonde hair.

“But Caroline Chapman is only twelve,” Morgan adds. “Though she fits the physical type.” Twelve years old. Her stomach turns, and it has nothing to do with the plane. She swallows hard and grabs the meals from the warm tray, hurrying back to the cockpit before she can hear anything else.

Their world is so different from hers. Their work is so heavy. Sometimes, in the silence of the flight, she pretends she’s a commercial pilot, bringing passengers somewhere cheerful. Maybe part of the crew on one of those Make-A-Wish flights.

The pilots eat in silence, then Arthur, sensing she needs a distraction, begins one of their infamous verbal games.

“Fortunately,” begins Arthur, thinking it over, “I’m taking a vacation in Seattle.”

“Unfortunately,” she counters, “climate change has turned Seattle to a frozen wasteland.”

“Fortunately, I’m an Iditarod champion and getting around won’t be an issue.”

“Unfortunately, the number of confused squirrels on the snow is distracting the sled dogs.”

Back and forth they continue, trying to create the most complicated situation until one of them has no counterpoint, or says something so absolutely outlandish they must concede. Sometimes their games can carry on for almost an hour; depending on which one they’re playing. This one finally ends when Arthur claims he’s saved up enough vacation time, and she rebuttals that the BAU has called in an emergency and he has to come fly the plane.

“Ah,” says Arthur, “fortunately Seattle is a frozen wasteland and no planes can take off.”

Y/N admits defeat. They sit in silence, cloud rushing past them. Then she says, “They’re only twelve.”

“I heard,” he says, starting straight ahead at the sky. She shifts in her seat, searching for the words to explain how she’s feeling. Arthur adds, “You can’t think about it too much. That’s their job.”

That’s all he has to say. A few hours later, they touch down just outside of Houston, and the agents file off to SUVs. She and Arthur prepare Geff for his overnight stay at the little airport they’ve landed at, before going off to the hotel. It’s been a long day, and they end up staying at the same one as the team. After a nap, she takes a long hot shower, and they order takeout, exhausted from the long flight.

Dinner arrives at nearly 8 pm; Arthur takes his to his room, and she makes herself comfortable in the lobby. Wet hair thrown up in a bun, a sweatshirt and leggings. That’s the nice thing about traveling. Nobody knows her. She can be anyone in a new city, only to disappear a few days later and leave only faint traces of herself. The sun has nearly disappeared outside the lobby window, when half of the team comes in, looking entirely drained. They head off in different directions, and she’s pleasantly surprised when Reid goes not to his room, but to join her on the hotel lobby couch. Y/N tries not to look too excited.

“You look tired,” she remarks. Holds out the container of pad thai and chopsticks. “Have you eaten yet?”

He politely refuses. “I have, thanks. Besides, I don’t know how to use chopsticks.”

“What? We’re going to have to fix this.” Her joking smile shrinks to one of hesitancy when she asks, “How are you doing?”

Reid shrugs, runs his hand through his long hair. It seems the more stressed he is, the messier it gets, and something makes her want to sit him down and brush her fingers through it until he looks calm.

“We’ve got enough for a partial profile, but that’s it. We still don’t have – I mean, we still can’t find the girl.”

Arthur explicitly warned her not to get involved, not to think about it. And yet, she asks, “So… what does that mean?” She knows enough to realize it’s not good.

Reid purses his lips. “The first hour is the most important. When a stranger abducts a child, it doesn’t always mean they’ll be killed. But of the children who are, almost half die within the first hour. Nearly all of them are killed within the first twenty-four, and we just passed that mark. Hotch, JJ, and Rossi are still out looking, with the CARD team. In five hours, they’ll come back and I’ll go out with Morgan and Kate.”

Kate Callahan is the newest member of their team, a short woman with dark hair and no time for anyone’s crap. She likes the way they look out for each other, making sure they have a chance to rest. But twenty-four hours, it’s such a short timespan. Gone too soon already. What does that mean for Caroline Chapman?

“Are you okay?” Reid asks, tilting his head. His voice is gentle, making it easy to admit to him what she hates to admit to herself.

“This job – it’s different for us, you know? As pilots,” she says. “You’re trained for this. It’s what you know you’ll be doing, going off to fight evil and save lives. I never thought I’d be involved with that. I mean, I like this job, don’t get me wrong. But I love flying. And lately, every time I get a call from work, my heart breaks because I know the only reason I’m going up in the air is because something terrible has happened to someone, and I just don’t know how to reconcile that. Every time I get into that plane, every time we get Geff off the ground, we’re taking you all to danger, and I only get to do what I love because someone else has suffered a tragedy.”

It’s so complicated, to have her great love for the sky tangled up in this mess she feels when the phone rings. It’s fear and it’s anxiety and it’s sorrow – grief for people she will never even meet. And flying back can be just as difficult. A case closing may mean a happy ending, but it also might mean that a victim is dead, or that an unsub – she’s picked up their lingo – is dead. Either way, there has almost always been some sort of loss. Perhaps in the form of innocence or hope or comfort. She can see it when they board before heading home. This job takes things from them. Will a day come when they have nothing left?

“I know it might sound selfish, but it’s just hard for me to understand. And you,” she adds. “I’m always so happy to see you and talk to you, but that only happens when there’s a case. I feel like I shouldn’t feel that way, not when someone’s life is on the line.”

Does it make sense to him? She hopes it does, because otherwise it’s going to sound so self-centered. Of course his job is more emotionally taxing. Of course she’d rather be a pilot than a profiler. But it hurts her heart each time she hears there’s a case. She grieves for them too. And she worries for the team, her team, their team.

He must understand though, because he places one hand over hers, just long enough for her to understand it’s meant as a comforting gesture, and not purely accidental. Reid doesn’t touch many people, she never sees him shake hands with anyone he doesn’t know. Crossing that barrier is a big deal, and that’s what leaves her all the more surprised.

“It’s okay,” he tells her. “It’s okay to feel whatever you feel – about this job, or a case. You don’t have to disconnect from things or stop being affected by them. But you also don’t have to feel guilty about liking your work. You shouldn’t – you’re a great pilot, and a really good person.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

Reid gives her half a smile, then looks nervously down at the floor. His pulls at his fingers. “You know, maybe we could meet sometime outside of work. That way we can actually talk for a normal amount of time, and we don’t have to worry about anything else.”

“That would be really, really nice.” At that, his smile widens, and she can feel her own mouth mirroring his expression. “Maybe after all this, when we’ve both had enough sleep, we could go get coffee or something? Go to a library?”

Reid’s grin makes his eyes seem less tired, and for a moment it’s so easy to forget the circumstances. “I’d like that.”

[awed-frog]

“The big flaw with this is that it completely misunderstands who JK Rowling is and why she wrote the books. Simply put, this novel is a Christian tale. You miss that, you miss the entire point of everything it has to say.” Elaborate? Sounds interesting and I haven’t heard that before.

Well - I love this to bits and sort of wrote my thesis about it, so here we go.

Basically, you’ve got several kinds of heroes, but ‘left-wing hero’ is almost a contradiction in terms (more on this later). There’s your average Greek hero, whose status as a hero is more of a social class than it is a job and who generally doesn’t have any morally redeeming qualities (have you met Theseus?). Then there’s the medieval Christian hero - he comes in different flavours, but what’s relevant here is the Perceval model: basically the village idiot, whose only power is his good heart and who has no desire to challenge the status quo (because kings are divinely ordained and also poets tend to work for them, so ‘That vassal guy of yours has rescued yet another damsel’ story is going to be better received than ‘Your tax system is corrupt and this knight will now implement direct democracy’). Next you have the modern superhero, who was born in a very different historical context (the vigilantism of 19th century US) and as such has very different priorities. Namely: in his world, there is no higher authority and it’s up to him to use his superior skills to be judge and executioner so he can protect the most vulnerable. This understandable but toxic narrative will later get mixed up with WW2 and then the rampant capitalism of the last 30 years, resulting in the current blockbustery mess.

Anyway - if you’re a Western writer, it’s basically impossible to escape these three shaping forces we’ve all grown up with (classical Antiquity, Christianity, and US-led imperialism/capitalism), so most books and movies of the last forever decades can be analyzed through this lens. In the case of JK Rowling, what you have is a Christian author who openly used her YA series to chart out her own relationship with God. This is not a secret, or a meta writer’s delusion, or anything: she’s discussed it in several interviews. Her main problem, which is most believers’ main problem, is how to reconcile her faith in a benevolent God with the suffering in her daily life; and something she’s mentioned more than once is how her mom died when she was 25, and how this was very much on her mind especially when she was writing Deathly Hallows.

Now, I don’t want to write a novel here, so I won’t analyze the entire series, but what it is is basically a social critique of British society, mixed up with Greek and Roman elements in a cosmetic way only, and - crucially - led by an extremely Christian hero. 

In every way that matters, Harry Potter is a direct descendant of Perceval: he’s someone who’s grown up in isolation as the village idiot (remember how he was shunned by other children because he was ‘dangerous’ and ‘different’), randomly found a more exciting world of which he previously knew nothing (he’s basically the only kid who gets to Hogwarts without knowing anything about the magical world, just like Perceval joined Arthur’s court after living in the woods for 15 years), and proceeded to make his mark not because of his innate powers or special abilities (he’s average at magic, except for Defence against the Dark Arts), but because he’s kind and good and humble. And in the end, he willingly sacrifices himself so everyone else can be saved: a Christ-like figure who even gets his very own Deposition (in the arms of Hagrid, the closest thing to a parent his actually has). 

(This, by the way, was the only reason why Hagrid was kept alive. JK Rowling had planned to kill him, but she absolutely wanted this scene - one of the most recognizable and beloved image in Christian art - in the books.)

And even if he ultimately survives his ‘death’ (like Jesus did), Harry refuses the riches and rank he was surely offered and chooses to spend his days in middle-class obscurity as a husband and father (if I remember correctly, Harry and Ginny’s house isn’t even big enough for their three kids). And no, of course he doesn’t stand for anything or challenges the status quo: that’s not his job. His job, like Jesus’, was to defeat evil by offering himself up in sacrifice; and the entire story - especially the last book - is a profound, intimate, and very moving reflection on faith.

(“Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's”, remember? It’s not your job to change anything in the temporal, material world; your job is to nurture your immortal soul and prepare it for the true life that comes after death.)

Like - I don’t know how it was for younger readers, but for me, reading Deathy Hallows as an adult, it wrecked me. Even as an agnostic, I read it over and over again, and I kep finding new meaning in it. The whole thing is basically a retelling of the Book of Job, one of the most puzzling and beautiful parts of the Old Testament. That’s when Harry’s faith in God Dumbledore is tested, when his mentor, the cornerstone of his world, disappears; when Harry has to decide whether he’ll continue to believe in this absent, flawed figure despite all the bad things he keeps uncovering or give up his faith - and thus his soul - completely. The clearest, most startling moment exemplifying this religious dilemma is when Harry decides not to go after the wand. Getting it is the logical thing to do, the only way he can win, but Harry - while mourning Dobby - decides not to do it. That’s when he recovers his faith, and starts trusting his own kindness and piety (whatever happens, he will not defile a tomb) over everything else.

Another key moment is King’s Cross - here, and once more, Harry forgives his enemy, thus obeying Jesus’ commands. He sees Voldemort, the being who took everything from him - and he pities the pathetic, unloved thing he’s become. This is what sets him apart from everyone else and what makes him special: not his birth, not his magic, not some extraordinary artefact - but simply, like Dumbledore puts it, that he can love. After everything that’s bene done to him, he can still love; not only his friends, but his enemies. He forgives Voldemort, he forgives Snape, he forgives Malfoy, he forgives Dudley; and I see so many people angry about this, ranting about abuse victims and how hate is a right, but I think they’re missing the point. This is a Christian story; from a Christian perspective, your enemies need love more than your friends do. 

(“It is not those who are healthy who need a physician” and all that.)

And in any case, a hero is inherently not left-wing. The whole trope relies on three rock-solid facts: the hero is special, and he can do something you can’t, and that gives him the right or the duty to save others who can’t save themselves. Whether it is declined in its Christian form (the hero as self-sacrificing nobody) or in its fascist form (the hero as judge and king of the inferior masses), that is is the exact opposite of any kind of left-wing narrative, where meaningful change is brought about not by individual martyrdom or a benevolent super-human, but by collective action.

So, yeah - Harry changes nothing and is not the leader of the revolution, but it’s unfair to link this to JK Rowling’s politics. It’s just how the trope works. And, in fairness to her, many kind and compassionate authors who write books concerned with social justice tend to lean towards this kind of hero because the only workable alternative - the fascist super-hero - is way worse. Had Harry been that, for instance, he would have ended up ruling the wizarding world. Would that have been better for its democracy? A 19-year-old PM who knows nothing about the law or justice or diplomacy? A venerated war hero drunk on power? Instead, JK Rowling chooses the milder way out: Harry and his friends do change the system - little by little, and within the limits of the genre. Hermione becomes the equivalent of a human rights lawyer, while Harry and Ron join the Aurors (and I know there’s a lot of justified suspicion towards law enforcement, but frankly having good people in their ranks is still the only way to move things forward. It’s been years and I still haven’t heard a practical suggestion as to how a police-less nation would work). As for the government, it is restored to a fairer status quo - again, not the revolution many readers wanted, but also not the totalitarian monarchies or oligarchies or the super-hero’s world.

And as to how one can write a story that’s actually revolutionary - I don’t exactly know. Some writers rely on multiple narrating voices to try and escape the heroic trope; others work on bleak stories which point out the flaws in the system and stop short of solving them. I guess that, in the end, is one of the problem with left-wing politics: they’re simply less eye-catching, less cinematic. On the whole, it’s dull, boring work, the victories achieved by committees and celebrated with a piece of paper. From a literary point of view, it just doesn’t work.

[boycottyashahime]

Hello! Anti-Sessrin person here. You said if this couple becomes canon it will ruin Sesshomaru's character development. I would love it If you could elaborate on that because you're always so eloquent and smart. It's ok if you don't feel like it, though. Have a nice day!

I've actually been looking for an excuse to sit down and write out a cohesive post on my thoughts about this. Contrary to what the shippers want to believe, my interpretation of Sesshoumaru and Rin's relationship doesn't have anything to do with my moral objections to child grooming. I happen to think there's plenty of evidence for a filial interpretation in the text.

First, I'd like to preface my little essay here by saying I'm going off the manga alone. I haven't seen the anime in a long time, because I dropped it when I got a little tired of trying to reconcile the inconsistencies between the two mediums. So, if you read this and have an impulse to say, "hey, what about that thing in episode such-and-such...", keep in mind that I probably just don't remember what you're thinking of.

So, let's go back, alllll the way back, to Sesshoumaru's first appearance. Here's a guy who tears off a dude's head for no other reason than to get the attention of his subordinates to demand a boat. Here's a guy who's spent a long time looking just about EVERYWHERE for his father's remains, not to pay respects, but to plunder them. Here's a guy who feels ENTITLED to rob his dad's grave for treasure he deserves simply for being his father's son.

Sesshoumaru begins his journey as a selfish, spoiled, entitled brat. He doesn't fit the usual profile of a kid throwing a tantrum on the street because he wants the expensive toy sitting in the window; he's very posh and very reserved, but fundamentally, his motivation comes down to the simple fact that he wants Tessaiga. It doesn't even really have anything to do with respect and admiration of his father, otherwise he wouldn't have been so eager to rifle through dear old dad's bones to get at a sword when he had another heirloom right there at his hip. Only Tessaiga was representative of the sheer destructive force he wanted to wield, so he ignored the fact that his dad didn't seem to want him to have it.

This is important, because at first, Sesshoumaru doesn't seem to think of his father in terms of the guy's intentions or the steps he takes for the sake of his sons. Like most rich spoiled kids, Sesshoumaru views the Inu no Taishou in terms of his prestige and how that priviledge can be appropriated for selfish ends. Sesshoumaru wants Tessaiga not because he needs it, but because it's a birthright, and reinforces his legitimacy. When it's clear that Tessaiga seals Inuyasha's youkai blood, keeps him from going berserk, Sesshoumaru loses interest in Tessaiga - it's just a crutch for Inuyasha, and there's no prestige in taking it from him or using it for himself.

Sesshoumaru doesn't start to REALLY consider his father's intentions for the swords until later in the manga, when it comes out that Tenseiga was originally part of Tessaiga, and Inuyasha was meant to get the Meidou Zangetsuha attack eventually as well. It's at this point that Sesshoumaru starts to question if daddy actually HATED him, to give him a rather neat power disguised in a lame shell, but only to develop it so Inuyasha can have it instead, even after Inuyasha already got Tessaiga in the first place. It kind of looks to Sesshoumaru that Inuyasha gets all the powerful cool shit their father left behind, and that there might have been some favoritism coming down HARD on Inuyasha's side.

Above, you can see Sesshoumaru has two interlinked but distinct issues that are addressed throughout the story - his lack of compassion and empathy, and how tied his identity is to his father's favor and prestige. These two are somewhat separated in the narrative; there's a kind of pause in Sesshoumaru's development while a bulk of the middle of the story deals more with other characters and their development, but there is a little bit of a thematic connection between the two halves.

We'll start with the development of Sesshoumaru's compassion since, well, that's where the story begins working on his character. Right before Rin shows up, Toutousai let's Inuyasha's group in on the sword Sesshoumaru carries around and what it does, indicating that Tenseiga requires a compassionate heart to function. A bit ham-handed, but RT isn't very subtle most of the time, so we'll allow it. This sets up the next few scenes in which Sesshoumaru is unable to move and must play captive audience to a little girl doing the literal opposite of what he's used to. Sesshoumaru's habit is to show up and kill things, with no thought to the years of history, relationships, thoughts, emotions, etc that he's snuffing out. But while he's reclined injured in the woods, Rin demonstrates actual LIFE and the preservation of it, that part Sesshoumaru never gets to see. It's made all the starker by how BAD Rin is at caring for herself, let alone the strange monster she found in the woods. She does exactly nothing to help Sesshoumaru, despite how hard she tries, and is even injured by others in her attempts. She is the very picture of vulnerability, the opposite of the strong and capable Sesshoumaru.

This is a stark contrast, because anything less wouldn't be enough to create the necessary awareness of Rin's struggles that Sesshoumaru needs in order to use Tenseiga on here. And I know I've said this before, but I really cannot stress enough how obvious I think the symbolism is when Sesshoumaru uses Tenseiga for the first time; a phallic object gives life to a child, and the object's owner looks after that life throughout the rest of the story. He's not very good at looking after it, and it's clear that he's not sure about taking responsibility for Rin at first, because she pleaded for him to come back for her when he and Jaken left her behind to requisition a sword from Gaijinbou. To me, it's reminiscent of a teenager who knocked someone up, and ended up having to learn to give a crap about the result.

But, even if you don't accept that symbolism as particularly significant, Rin being a child, and human, and weak, unable to survive on her own, are important characteristics to how Sesshoumaru's compassion develops. Sesshoumaru is one of the strongest characters in the series, and he rarely has to worry about his own safety. And since he's in the habit of just murdering everyone he comes across if they're in his way, he's never had to worry about the safety of anyone else, either. When Rin comes into the picture, though, Sesshoumaru is faced with the uncomfortable reality of vulnerability in general. Through her earnest and incompetent attempts to foster survival in a world that can and does crush her, she's opened his eyes to how the disadvantaged, those without a powerful youkai lineage to rely on, have to struggle.

Rin herself has nothing to offer Sesshoumaru within this context of supreme vulnerability. She's not a friend, because she can't offer mutual support or use a skill to their benefit as a team. She's not a lover, because, well, she's a child and sexual/romantic attraction are conditions that wouldn't allow Sesshoumaru to extend his compassion beyond just her. As a mostly helpless kid, Rin has to rely upon Sesshoumaru and his power to survive, and Sesshoumaru employs his strength to keep her alive, getting nothing but a sweet smile out of it all. She gets all the benefits, he has all the obligations. This is PURE compassion - using one's advantages to another's benefit because you care about them, and not because you derive something from it as well.

This is why making Rin into Sesshoumaru's lover is a REALLY thoughtless take. It puts conditions on the compassion and muddies the message.

Moving onto Sesshoumaru's continued character development in the latter part of the story, the sword drama starts back up with slow, when Toutousai shows up and offers to reforge Tenseiga into a weapon. Sesshoumaru discovers that because he got angry enough to break his primary weapon in defense of Kagura's honor, he's triggered the next evolution of Tenseiga into something that can murder. Which is what he wanted at the beginning, yay! I want to point out here that Toutousai says Tenseiga noticed a change in Sesshoumaru's heart - anger for the first time for the sake of another. This implies that what Jaken said about Sesshoumaru getting tangled up in the fight against Naraku because Naraku kidnapping and using Rin to manipulate Sesshoumaru hurt Sesshoumaru's pride is actually accurate; he just really hated the thought of Naraku trying to use him, even if it was a failed attempt.

After going through HELL to develop the Meidou into a full circle (literally), Sesshoumaru then learns that the Meidou belongs to Tessaiga and Inuyasha, and that it's supposed to be handed over. Now, part of Sesshoumaru's angst over this idea, I think, is not just "did daddy love Inuyasha more?", but also the assumption that Inuyasha would have to KILL him in order to retake the Meidou Zangetsuha into Tessaiga. Thinking that your father meant for your little brother to kill you at some point to take your stuff is a pretty disturbing thought, to be entirely fair to him. This is why, when Sesshoumaru jumps into the meidou to take back control of the Naraku-possessed Tenseiga and breaks it deliberately, he spends the rest of the time in there moodily resigned to disappear. He genuinely believes that his father meant for him to die at this point, and even after they get out of there, he seems genuinely depressed.

This is Sesshoumaru's lowest point as a character. He's lost something he thought his father had meant for him, at his father's own wish, and he can't help but question why his dad would give him something just to take it away and give it to Inuyasha. It looks for all the world like favoritism, and since the Inu no Taishou is dead, there's no asking him what the hell the meaning of all this is.

This is all leading to one of the most infuriatingly ridiculous scenes I have ever seen in a manga - when Magatsuhi has crushed Sesshoumaru and everyone thinks he's been killed/absorbed, Magatsuhi is blown apart and rendered unable to reform by the shiny new sword clutched in Sesshoumaru's newly regrown arm. I could talk your ear off about how having Sesshoumaru stop being an amputee is erasure of consequences for his actions, or how being given back an arm is kind of a slap in the face for actual amputees, and where the mother f*ck did that sword come from anyway, but that's not what this essay is about, so I'll just keep all that to myself. The point of this is articulated by Toutousai when he says that Sesshoumaru had to let go of Tessaiga and his father's heirloom to stand on his own as a daiyoukai.

We've already gone over how Sesshoumaru is one of the most powerful characters in the series, who rarely has to worry about his well-being. He's just really strong without having to try. Sesshoumaru had already learned that he didn't need Tessaiga ages ago - he knew this when he learned that Inuyasha needed Tessaiga to keep from tearing himself apart eventually. But when he thought he had been passed down something from his father that was truly meant to be his, only to put all this work into it so that Inuyasha could have it, that embittered him again. It's not that he wanted the sword necessarily, but the thoughts and consideration of his father, who seemed to be putting everything he had into Inuyasha.

But his previous experiences protecting and considering someone (in some cases, multiple someones) weaker than him should have tipped him off. During the very battle in which he got his new arm and sword, he was actively helping those around him avoid Magatsuhi and keeping them close because he had a plan and the strength to carry it out. He was willing to take the extra step to protect Inuyasha and friends before trying to take care of Magatsuhi though, and that was the point. He put everyone else's needs ahead of his own, even Inuyasha's, and he did it without even thinking.

Toutousai just articulated what Sesshoumaru should have already intuitively known by that point. He never needed his father's heirlooms, the swords, his dad's power. They were unnecessary for him from the start. Inuyasha needed a leg up, because his own BODY could kill him after a while. But Sesshoumaru always had the capability of being great on his own. He just needed to finally separate his ego from who his father was and become his own person; stand on his own as a great youkai. While I don't agree with the execution, I can get behind the big lesson - don't rely on your daddy's wealth and influence to prop you up, and do the work to build a personality and identity of your own.

Which is ANOTHER reason why making Rin into a lover would be a thoughtless take. It would walk back Sesshoumaru's final lesson about being his own person apart from his father.

So, there you go. A comprehensive post regarding my take on Sesshoumaru's character development. I could add in a bit about Sesshoumaru coming to understand his father's consideration and the lengths he went to for the sake of protecting Inuyasha by having to give similar consideration to Rin, but I think this post is long enough, and that one statement on that aspect pretty much sums it up. Let me know if you would like me to elaborate on any of this, or if you would like to argue any of the points, I'm up for it. Might take me a minute to respond, mind you, but hopefully it won't take as long as it did to draft this behemoth.

Take care.

[markleesthighs]

127 reaction to arguing with their s/o but they make up at the end?

-sorry this took so long I’m so busy T-T

Taeil

It would be very rare you and Taeil got into arguments. The last time you two argued was about dessert, Taeil wanted to share a cake but you wanted ice cream. But not all couples live an argument-free relationship. Taeil and you were arguing about the dishes because most of the time he was the one cleaning up after you. But you did all the laundry, cleaned the house, and organized everything else in the apartment.

“Why can’t YOU clean the dishes Taeil,  I’m not asking much of you.”

“I don’t want to come home to the apartment knowing I have dishes to clean after I’ve had promotions, recordings, and dance practices beforehand!”

“YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE THAT DOES WORK AROUND HERE?? I CLEAN, COOK, AND ORGANIZE EVERYTHING IN THIS DAMN APARTMENT.”

“y/n, it’s different, you’ve never been an idol, you don’t know how much work it is, it’s tiring. You have more time on your hands than I do, so I think it’s best if you do the dishes!”

“Keeping this apartment the way it is, IS TIRING, do you think I’m just some housekeeping slave for you? When was the last time YOU did something for ME?”

Taeil became silent after that not knowing how to respond. You bother were crying and you stormed out of the apartment slamming the door. You took the elevator down to the ground floor of the community park and sat on a bench, wanting fresh air and to be alone. Taeil shortly came after, wanting to reconcile with you. He found you sniffling alone on a bench with a slight breeze blowing in your hair. He came down and sat next to you.

“Hey.”

“…” You turned away from his face.

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m sorry for thinking I’m the only one who’s tired all the time. I was being selfish and stressed, saying things I didn’t even mean. You are one of the best things in my life and I’m thankful for all the hard work you do, just for me. I love you, so much, I will never take advantage of you ever again.” “Tae…I love you too, I know how much work you put into being an idol, and how stressful it is, it’s just hard when you are away for so long, so, the dishes were an excuse for me to see you more often…”

Taeil looked at you in awe feeling bad about the entire situation. You both hugged and Taeil kissed you on the cheek.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. I’ll talk tp my manager and see what I can do.”

“It’s ok it’s not like you can drop everything just to see me.”

“I could if I could my love”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah”

“I will never let you do the dishes ever again.”

“Agreed.”

Johnny

You and Johnny had gone to the coffee shop for a date and as you were deciding what do drink Johnny ordered his iced americano. Before you could say you wanted a vanilla latte you noticed the cashier trying to flirt with Johnny. She complimented his outfit and hair and was leaning slightly over the counter then you liked. You coughed and she glared at you sarcastically asking what you wanted and you replied with your order.

You both walked over to sit down at a table for two by the window. It was raining, but thats what you enjoyed about getting coffee with Johnny. It gave you warm and fuzzy feelings, enjoying time with Johnny in a nice coffee shop. You noticed the cashier bring your drinks over to your table as she purposely turned her back to you to talk to johnny. johnny, being johnny, was innocently talking to her smiling and hoping she would go away. But she didn’t. You quietly sat there sipping your latte, not wanting to cause a scene in the coffee shop. Johnny kept talking to her not knowing how much it hurt you and make you jealous.

By the time you finished your latte, you’ve had enough. Either johnny was enjoying their conversation so much that he forgot about you or he couldn’t find a way to make her leave. You decided that this date was ruined and you wanted to leave, you had no purpose in being in the coffee shop, so you go up and started to walk out. Johnny noticed and asked where you were going.  

“I’m going home, come back when you have her number and panties”

Johnny was about to say something but you walked out the door into the rain, forgetting Johnny had the umbrella. You wished this was the first time it had happened but it wasn’t. Several girls in public tried to flirt with Johnny in public in front of you and it only reminded you that maybe you weren’t enough for johnny. It made you think he deserved better sometimes. You sulked in the rain walking back to your shared apartment when you noticed the rain had stopped. Turning, you look up to see Johnny, holding an umbrella above you.

“Baby, I don’t want you to catch a cold”

“…”

“I’m sorry I got caught up in a conversation with the cashier, she just wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Do you like her?”

“What? No! Why would you think that?”

“Well, you’ve been hit on by other women before, and, I don’t know it makes me jealous and insecure sometimes.”

“Wait..she was trying to flirt with me?

“ARE YOU-“

“I’m joking, I’m joking, you’re so adorable when you’re a tiny ball of anger”

You pouted and he kissed your pout and reassured you of your feelings.

“I don’t care about these other girls, don’t worry I only have eyes for you.”

You smiled and kissed him as you both walked together in the rain holding each other closer than ever.

Taeyong

At the start of your relationship, Taeyong didn’t mind cooking for you, since you had little to no cooking ability. But it wasn’t until recently that it started to tick Taeyong off. You both were busy bees at work, but neither of you cleaned the house or did laundry ever since you got a promotion, and Taeyong started to train for SuperM. You generally came home from your nine to five job to come home and feel like collapsing on the couch. It’s not that both of you are lazy, you both had painstaking jobs that made you both burn out by the end of the day. But Taeyong, being nice saw how much stress you had, wanting to get that promotion, took on more chores for your home. He cooked, cleaned, and watered the plants in the house. But once you got your promotion, he noticed how used you were to Taeyong doing the chores.

One time the trash was filled up and Taeyong asked if you could take it out to the trash can outside but you simply said you didn’t know how and asked Taeyong to do it. Taeyong swallowed his anger and angrily took a stroll to the garbage can. It would only be time until he had enough of your laziness.

It was one night where Taeyong noticed your shared hamper was full, again. He had a long day of promotions, cleaned the house, and cooked for you all in one day. He had no more energy to do any laundry. You, on the other hand were sitting in bed on your phone waiting for him to join you. He sat on the bed and laid down on your lap exhausted.

“What's wrong yongie?”

“I’m so tired…I can’t even move”

“Why are you so tired? Is it the promotions?”

“Yes and no.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’m tired of doing all the housework”

“Housework? What housework?”

“Are you serious right now?!”

Taeyong got up from your lap to pace around in your bedroom, clearly looking stressed out.

“Haven’t you noticed you do NOTHING for this house?!”

“What do you mean?! I work at my office from nine to five bringing in more money for US?! Do you not appreciate my efforts to earn my money independently?!”

“I meant, cooking, cleaning, laundry, throwing out the trash!”

“Oh c’mon! You know I don’t have time for those things!”

“WELL NEITHER DO I! IVE BEEN LOSING MY HEAD FEELING THAT I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE MYSELF!”

“Yong-“

“NO! IT’S NOT LIKE I SIT AROUND AT HOME ON MY ASS AT FIVE WHEN I KNOW DAMN WELL MY BOYFRIEND COMES HOME AT MIDNIGHT!!”

“…”

“Bab-“

You left the room scared that Taeyong yelled at you, worried he was losing his temper. You walked to the living room to sit on the couch waiting for him to compose himself. After a few minutes, Taeyong walked out.

“….hey”

“hey…are you ready to talk”

“y-yeah…”

“I’m sorry I lost it, I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately. I’m expected to be in a new global supergroup, and I would appreciate it if you would help out with some daily chores once in a while. I’m sorry.”

“Its okay, yongie, to be fair, I don’t know how to do most chores, I grew up with a nanny who did all of it for me. So, I would really appreciate it if you taught me and I would be able to help out.”

“Yeah! I could teach you! I’m so sorry, I should have just asked for your help.”

“Stop apologizing! I still love you!”

“I love you too.”

Yuta

It would be rare when Yuta had a break from his career but when he did he would make sure you guys would make most of your time together. This time, Yuta decided to take you to an amusement park for fun date night. The date was going great, you both went on a few rides and played some games. But your heart stopped when you saw a scary ride that you did NOT want to go on. You were never the best when it came to horror anything, which is why Yuta liked watching horror movies with you. He loved holding your trembling body as you snuggled up closer to him while you watched them. But what you hated the most was zombies, the fear that the undead could walk made your skin crawl. Yuta saw the scary ride and begged you to get on it with him. Eventually, he dragged you over to the ride while you kept blabbering and complaining why you didn’t want to get on it.

Once you were on it you kept screaming that you wanted to get off but he kept reassuring you everything was going to be ok. Everything on the ride in the was pretty tame but you did not expect there to be one last jump scare that scared you to death. A zombie jumped out on your side of the cart and sprayed water in your face and you lost it. You started to cry and when Yuta tried to hold you you pushed him away screaming that you hated him for having you go on the ride. Once you reached the exit for the ride you pushed him out of the way running away from him. Yuta chased after you calling your name.

Yuta tried talking to you but you wouldn’t listen you would turn your head or try to shove him away. You sat on a bench pouting and giving him the silent treatment. Yuta sighed and looked around, noticing a cotton candy stall. He got up and went to the stall, he walked back with bright pink fluffy cotton candy. You looked noticing Yuta has your favorite treat in hand, slowly eating as if he was tempting you.

“C’mon baby…I know you want some”

“..hmf.”

“Fine, I guess I’ll eat it all by myself”

You looked at him offended as you turned away again still mad at him. You noticed he looked away for a second before you attempted to snatch it from his hand.

“oh oh oh, nope, you don’t get any…unless”

“…”

“you forgive me and start talking to me.”

“ugh, fine”

He smiled as he handed you your cotton candy. You pulled off a piece at ate it angrily. Yuta pats your head and kissed your cheek looking at you fondly.

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

Doyoung

One of your favorite things to do with Doyoung is to go shopping with him. You both have a strong passion for fashion and shopping. It was a rare day where Doyoung had the whole day to spend it with you. As the fall season was coming up, you both decided you needed some new fall clothes. Doyoung picked you up and drove you to a popular shopping district in Seoul. Doyoung only wanted the best clothes for you and knew all the best designer clothing shops for the two of you to visit.

You both tried on clothes for fun and some clothes you both wanted to buy. The good thing about shopping together is having their opinion or support when trying clothes on. But sometimes an opinion can go too far. Eventually, you both ended up in a shop that had clothes typically worn for parties or clubbing. After picking a few clothes you both liked you both headed to the private dressing room they had. You let Doyoung go first since he would take less time than you. You accepted and denied a few and he was left with a few garments you both liked. Then, it was your turn. You went to go change but when you came out, you saw Doyoung was still on his phone. You coughed asking for his attention and he looked up. You wore a very revealing garment that accentuated your body and you felt good in it.

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t like it. Try on the next one.”

“But I like it? What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know, I just think your body doesn’t fit the garment.”

“Oh, so there's something wrong with my body now?!”

“No that's not what-“

“No! I think I understood you perfectly!”

You aggressively removed the clothes and walked out of the changing room. Before Doyoung could speak you threw the clothes at him almost causing him to fall back. You stormed out of the store with a rage-filled stare that the employees knew to stay out of your way. Doyoung went after you before you went too far.

“Bab-“

“Don’t babe me! YOU'RE the one who messed up!”

“I know but please just hear me out, babe.”

“You have 2 minutes”

“Thank you. I am so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it. You are the most beautiful person in the whole world to me. I never want you to feel insecure about who you are or what you look like. I don’t like you or care about your body. I like that you are kind, patient, and caring, you are a person with a good heart and has the soul of an angel. When I said I didn’t like the dress I was just afraid that other people wouldn’t keep their eyes off you, because I couldn’t. So…”

Doyoung held up a bag from the shop with your dress inside. You looked at him apologetically, loving his romantic gesture.

“I bought it. Just for you, I’m sorry, but I still want to see you be happy.”

“Doyoung…”

You immediately pulled him into a hug tearing up a bit from what he said to you.

“The employees must think I’m such a drama queen for doing that.”

“Well, you’re MY drama queen”

“Shut up.”

Jaehyun

You and Jaehyun bonded over your shared interests in music, which is how you two met. You both were thrift shopping in local spots in Seoul and you both happened to grab the same record at the same time. You smiled sheepishly telling Jaehyun that he can have it. But as Jaehyun bought what he wanted, he walked up to you and handed you the record as a gift from him. (even though you kept insisting that he keep it) As he left you noticed he left a post-it with his number on it saying “call me some time ;) my name is Jaehyun” You blushed at the fact of how cute and smooth that move was, so you did call him that night. You both talked for hours on the phone late at night and you guys met up a few times at coffee shops.

One time at a coffee shop Jaehyun asked you out and you agreed, wondering where this would take you two. You learned more about each other and could not keep your hands off each other. Everyone you knew thought you and Jaehyun were the perfect couple. But that wasn’t the reality. Even the thing that brings people together can tear them apart. You kept all your favorite records hung on the wall at your shared apartment, while you and Jaehyun also kept a record player. Jaehyun had some of his members over while you were cooking them a meal, little did you know they were playing around with the records. His members knew what it was but never seen one in person.

“Hyung! How does it work?!”

“Ooh, this so cool!”

“How do I turn it on!?”

Were all common things his members said in the living room.

“Guys, just sit down and I’ll handle it. It’s very delicate stu-“

He stopped talking when he head the record shatter in the living room, you didn’t seem to notice so Jaehyun calmly walked out of the kitchen. He found a shattered vinyl record on the ground surrounded by his members with Mark holding the case it was in. It was the record he had bought you when you first met. Jaehyun was about to go into a full rage when he heard you enter the living room.

“What’s going….on”

You saw the broken record on the ground and looked as if you were about to cry. You left into the bedroom speechless and about to punch and kick something. Jaehyun soon followed.

“y/-“

“NO! JAEHYUN WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“What did I do?!”

“YOU INVITED THOSE IDIOTIC MEMBERS INTO THIS APARTMENT! YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD THEM NOT TO TOUCH THE PIECES OF VINYL!”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THEY WERE GOING TO DO THIS?!”

“YOU KNOW THEM BETTER THAN ME! Out of all of the fucking pieces of vinyl why that one…”

Your angry tears made Jaehyun tear up at the sight of you. He held you tight despite your anger and your hands swatting him away.

“I’m sorry I should have told them not to touch it. I know how much it means to you and the both of us. I know it won’t be the same, but I’ll buy a new one.”

You sighed at you hugged him back wiping your tears into his chest mumbling a “fine.” he pats your head and kissed it apologizing again. You both walked back into the room seeing the members looking at the both of you in worry.

“H-hyung…I’ll buy a new one for the both of you I am so sorry,” Mark said immediately.

“Fine with me. What about you, baby?”

You nodded smiling at Mark giving him reassurance. But at least the members cleaned up while you two were quarreling. The rest of them all apologized and you forgave them. Jaehyun played a song on the record player which made you smile and kissed him, remembering the reason why you loved him.

Jungwoo

You and Jungwoo were foodies, you loved your food more than anyone. You guys would commonly go on dates that surrounded food. Picnics, restaurants, and any date that involved food is a must for both of you. It’s actually what brought you two together. You were working at your family’s bakery and Jungwoo would come in and always ask you what new pastries you recommended. Jungwoo visited every morning and eventually asked you out, you’ve been dating ever since. Jungwoo got off of training early and he wanted to take you out for some Korean barbecue. Jungwoo and you took an Uber to the Korean barbecue place that looked a lot fancier for your taste.

“Woo? Is this the right place?”

“Yeah! Do you not like it?”

“No, no I just feel underdressed”

“You look beautiful, it’s okay.”

You were both escorted to a private room where you two could eat in peace and where people wouldn’t notice Jungwoo. Jungwoo ordered all the meats, side dishes, and drinks for the both of you while you waited. You decided to strike up some conversation.

“So, how’s training? Hopefully, it isn’t too straining for you.”

“It’s a lot to manage but it’s not as bad as my trainee days. But this date is really helping me de-stress baby. How’s the bakery?”

“It’s still doing well, I just have to come up with a new pastry by the end of the week to showcase in the shop. I still have no idea what I’m going to do.”

“How about-“

“Please don’t say bananas and bacon, it’s not happening.”

“You’ll never know until you try baby.”

“Nope. Never.”

After you two laughed it off, your food finally arrived. It had meat with the perfect marbling and delicious side dishes you could eat on their own. Before you could grab the tongs to grill the meat, the waiter insisted that they cook for the best results. You awkwardly agreed and let them cook most of the meat that could fit on the grill. They soon left after they finished cooking and told you to enjoy your meal. You and Jungwoo took a bite out of your meats and wraps and you both looked at each other about how good it was. You got so carried away that you didn’t even notice you were eating more than Jungwoo. You were like a vacuum for food and no one could stop you. Jungwoo, noticing you were eating most of the food, decided to say something.

“Hey baby, you might want to slow down, you’re eating a lot.”

“Why? Are you concerned about how much I eat?”

“I just-“

“Do you think I’m getting fatter? Do you want me to lose weight?”

“What? No! I just want you to share some with me.” He said with a pout.

“Oh, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. My family’s been telling me I’ve gained some weight.”

“That’s crazy talk, even if you did gain weight, I would still love you the same.”

“Really Woo?”

“Of course baby”

“Good because I’m ordering more galbi”

He smiled as he kissed you on your cheek

“Order as much as you want.”

Mark

You and Mark have been dating for a while and he’s not the type to show you off in front of everyone. You’ve been dating for about three years and you have yet to meet his members or anyone at his company. He was so worried about your relationship being exposed that he never wanted you to attend concerts or visit the SM building. You understood at first but it started to grow to a point where you believed Mark was trying to hide you from people for other reasons than good ones.  So you decided to visit the SM building on your own on a whim hoping they’d let you in. Luckily a receptionist recognized you as she consulted Mark about asking you out and giving him girl advice. She remembered you from a picture Mark had of you two on his phone that he showed. She gave you a guest pass and directory and let you in. You went up to the floors where there would be recording and dance studios assuming that’s where Mark was. You looked into the dance studio noticing Mark and his members working on a new routine. You knocked on the door and waved at Mark while the rest of his members just stared at him in confusion. He opened the door and talked to you in the hallway.

“I thought I told you not to visit me at work!”

“What’s wrong with visiting you!? Do you not want to see me?!”

“Of course I want to see you but- just, not here.”

“Are you ashamed of me? Do you not want me to meet your members or anyone in your company because you are littler mister perfect?!”

“Wh-“

“Don’t even try to convince me, Mark, you work hard to be perfect, even if it means hiding your girlfriend for three years to keep your image!”

“Who’s been telling you that?”

“My family and my friends! I just tell them I have an idol boyfriend and they warned me of things that could be a reality, and now they ARE.”

You were on the verge of tears. Everything people told you was becoming true. “He’ll never spend a lot of quality time with you.” “He’s ashamed of you.” “You’re average compared to him, be honest, you’re out of his league.” “He’ll never let you have your relationship be public until you break up or get married, you might as well give up now.”

“I don’t even remember the last time we went on a proper date, Mark.”

Mark kept silent, unsure of how to respond and shocked at the same time. You took that silence to only make you feel worse. You walked away but Mark couldn’t chase after you, he had practice and his members couldn’t start if he disappeared. You walked home with tear-stained cheeks and you laid in your shared bed watching k-dramas hoping it would help cheer you up. Mark eventually came home and he was met with the silent treatment by you. It was expected but Mark still didn’t really know how to fix it. He sat down on your bed near your legs and petting your hair and letting his thoughts out.

“Babe? I know you’re still mad at me, and you have every right to be. I was just worried about you, and you getting spread to the media is the scariest thing to me. What if you get hurt or stalked because of me and my job. When I was to dating you I sometimes wished I wasn’t an idol. You could tell all your friends about me and I could meet your family. But I’m not the perfect guy, but that’s what I like when I’m with you. You let all my flaws hang out and let me feel human. I don’t have to live up to expectations that you have, I can just be me.”

“Mark…” You said as you pulled him into a hug and kissed his temple

“I’m sorry, I just- was so worried about you and overprotective, I understand if you want to break up”

“Break up? Are you crazy? You think I would cut a whole watermelon for any idiot?!”

Mark giggled as he kissed your lips

“Fine, maybe I’ll introduce you to a few of my members and work from there. You have no idea how many times I’ve wished you could watch me backstage at a concert.”

“I can’t wait.”

Haechan

Video games were no stranger to Haechan, you would playfully tease him about being on his phone all the time. Sometime when you FaceTimed him he would just play his video games and still talk to you. But you weren’t the best at video games. Sure, Haechan would invite you to play when you visited him at the dorm but he would have to play simple sandbox games like Animal Crossing. Haechan preferred more competitive games like Overwatch or Fortnite but they were too much for you. The controls were complex and you lost immediately when playing. You decided to just watch him play while you rested on his shoulder or lap. You naturally fell asleep and he would adore and love you when you did that. But it got to a point where playing video games while on dates or when you hung out was constant. You got tired of constantly telling Haechan to put his phone down or talk to you face to face. You were out on a date in the restaurant when all you could see was the back of his phone which was in front of his face. It only made it embarrassing when other people would look at how shitty the date was.

“Hyuck?” You said, but you got no answer. You sighed as you distracted yourself with the menu to read. When the waiter came by for drinks that were the only time Haechan seemed to put his phone down to order a Coke. You ordered water and the waiter left you both in silence.

“Hyuck? Do you know what you want to order?” Again, you got no response.

“Hyuuuuuck??”

“Just order me whatever, I’ll eat anything, just let me get back to my game.”

As you were about to scold him the waiter came back and you ordered for both of you. You thanked him and handed him your menus. Then, you turned your attention back to Haechan.

“Hyuck, what’s been happening with you? You’ve been glued to your phone like it’s hypnotizing you.”

“Ugh, you’re not my mom, stop telling me what I can or can’t do with my life.”

“I’m not your mom but I am your girlfriend and I wish you would put your damn phone down and talk to me.”

“You sound so selfish right now you know that?”

“Selfish?! Are you kidding me!? You’re the one who’s selfish!”

“I don’t-“

“You know what?! I hope you can enjoy your dinner alone. Maybe you can kiss your phone from now on.”

You got up and grabbed your things and stormed out of the restaurant. Before you could call an Uber, Haechan ran up to you yelling your name.

“y/n! please! let me explain!”

“you have 5 minutes”

“I-I was playing so many video games because I was preparing to enter a competition to win some prize money so w-we could go on a vacation or a really nice date…”

“hyuck, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise, I thought you would think winning money from video games would be stupid…”

“Well…it’s silly, not stupid, and it's certainly not stupid if you were winning that money to impress me, next time just tell me.”

“Okay…but does this mean I can play video games at the dinner table?”

“No. That’s my one rule, no phone at the table when we are eating or on a date ok?”

“Ok angel, I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[struggling-author]

How are each of the Azulaang kids like? (bending, personality, etc)?

sorry I left this waiting for so long. I‘m really passionate about these characters and I wanna do this right but I simply don’t have the time for it right now. So here’s a short sum-up for all of them, and I hope to do a more detailed version at some point.

Ursa

the oldest, firebender, and quite skilled, but she hates using it and will only do so in absolute emergencies like when her family is in danger, a peaceful soul and much more low-energy than the rest of her family, likes reading, culture and politics, is about the same age as Izumi and her best friend and later advisor, she’s very interested in airbender culture, but more involved in fire nation politics, her cultural heritage gives her a unique perspective on most matters and she’s made it her life‘s mission to improve the fire nation by integrating that perspective into her politics, she’s a big advocate for the merging of cultural ideas and especially interested in air nomad and fire nation unity, she’s a lesbian (like kya in the original) but I haven’t thought about who she‘ll end up with yet, she loves playing pai sho and other board games and is very good at it, also yes her name means Azula has reconciled with her mother, but it took a lot of time and effort on both sides, naming her daughter after her was azula‘s way of showing how far they‘d come and Ursa (sr.) could not have been happier

Zuki

the second oldest, airbender, suki likes to joke she was named after her but everyone knows it was actually after zuko, a bending prodigy, she’s basically a mini-azula but with aang‘s playfulness, an absolute menace who constantly keeps her parents and everyone else on their toes, I first wrote her mainly as a way for Azula to reconcile with her own past and also to show how she might have turned out with a happier childhood and better parents, but she grows into her own character later, she really picks up the air-nomad way of life, focusing on the nomad aspect, and travels all around the world on her bison-dragon (yes, Appa falls in love with Azula’s dragon and a new species is born, it’s Avatar, their animals are all like that) she really is that cool wine aunt and Idk if she ever settles down, Aang was obviously delighted to have an airbender and fostered and supported those ideas in her, but Azula made sure he didn’t push her into anything she didn’t want and that he never gave any of his children preferential treatment (because she knows all too well how that feels) this is also how Ursa came to learn all about airbending culture and customs, while Zuki mostly dozed off during those lessons, her sister often made Zuki play board games against her, which she hated at first because she hated sitting still and her sister would always win, but her ambitious nature drove her to continue trying and eventually she got quite good at it

Kuzon

third oldest, firebender (or maybe non-bender) here’s where it gets a little scarce, he’s kind of based on Bumi in LOK but I really haven’t thought too much about him yet, he’s a lot like Zuko in the sense that he’s not as naturally talented as Zuki and struggles to learn new things, at the same time he’s more naturally kind and empathetic, he still loves playing with his older sister and chasing after her but he often falls and can’t keep up, he also likes spending time with his other sister Ursa who at first is kinda annoyed by it as she’s in her teens, but essentially does a full 180 later and becomes the most supportive big sister, often reading to him and encouraging him even when he fails at something, he especially loves his uncle zuko and looks up to him, as you can see he spends most of his early childhood looking up to other people and chasing after his sisters, so it comes as a real suprise (and maybe much needed confidence boost) to him when his younger brother is born and seems to idolize him, again I’m passionate about all these characters so it makes me sad to have so little on him but I hope to develop him more later, maybe he joins the united forces when he’s older

Tenzin

I loved Tenzin in LOK so I really didn’t wanna change much about him, he has a great bond with Ursa since they share the same interests, and this bond continues later in life when they often work together on political matters like organizing the air and fire unity festival (the day of the massacre is a day of mourning in both nations, the festival follows the day after to celebrate their newfound unity, it’s a little weird the first years but quickly becomes an established tradition, I like to imagine that the air and fire nation grow to be closer than ever in the future atla universe) he and Zuki kind of represent the two sides of airbending culture, she stands for freedom and the nomad way of life, he is more concerned with repopulating the temples and the spiritual side of things, as said before, as a child he idolizes and clings to his older brother and they stay great friends all their life

That’s it for now, it ended up being much more than I expected. If you wanna learn more, @resplendentgoldenwings wrote another post that lines up with my ideas quite well, and is honestly just a great and heartfelt read. Find it here:

https://resplendentgoldenwings.tumblr.com/post/629372835478028288/r%CE%B9s%CE%AD-%CF%83f-%CF%84h%CE%B5-r%CE%B9%CF%82%CE%AD

and you can read two short fics featuring the kids on my AO3 (link in bio) with another one planned rn and hopefully coming soon

[pigeontheoneandonly]

The Birthday

The Birthday

So here is a bittersweet little thing I wrote because Dragon Age won’t leave me alone this week.

NB: It is the year after the Kirkwall rebellion.  Anders and Briar Hawke are hiding out in Amaranthine, and Dae Tabris has, of course, put Anders to work, as if nothing at all amiss has occurred. Not having played either of those games in many years, I’m sure I’ve borked Anders’ voice.  Also, do not ask me about the early timeline; I think we all just do our best trying to reconcile Awakenings and DA2.

“We’re stopping here a moment.”  Daeroavain Tabris, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Hero of the Fifth Blight, and Arl of Amaranthine, pushed into the small shop just off the main square.  

Warden Anders trailed after him, lowering his hood as the door shut and cut off the steaming cold. Weak winter light filtered through the windows where the snow accumulation softened its edges.  “A toy shop?”

“It’s Wintermarch,” he said, as if that explained it.  He picked up a wooden soldier and scrutinized it, before setting it down and reaching for a bag of marbles.  

Anders glanced around the wares, awkward, and wishing they’d just get on with their errand, which was meeting with the city watch about some odd cattle killings they thought could be darkspawn.  “You have a nephew, or something?”

“Or something.” Distracted.  “You were a kid when they took you to the tower, right?”

“What?”  He blinked.  “Yes.  I was twelve.”

“Fuck.  I thought you were younger.  When did you know you were a mage?”

“That’s blunt.”

The look Dae gave him was pure exasperation.  “Two months underground, no baths and eating shit I don’t want to think about too hard, looking for that damn dwarf, and this is what you balk at?”

The Warden-Commander was one of the very few people in Thedas who could make Anders feel even slightly sheepish.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets.  “Eight.”

“Eight. That’s perfect.”  He held up a box emblazoned with an illustration of topsy-turvy glassware.  “Would you have liked an alchemy kit?”

Anders simply stared.  Dae looked at the box.  “No?”

“What are you on about?” he asked, patience running dry.

“I’m trying to buy a birthday gift for an eight-year-old mage.”  He tilted his head.  “Well, overwhelmingly likely a mage, in any case.”

“What, some kid trapped in the Circle?” It wasn’t that he thought child mages were undeserving. It was that he couldn’t imagine Dae knowing one well enough to undertake this errand.  The Circles were a mess these days, anyway.  Breaking down right and left.  It was what he’d wanted, but at the same time, somehow not.  Hawke had been right about that—nothing ever fell out the way you planned.  It just kept going.

Dae scoffed at that idea.  “You clearly haven’t met his mother, if you think she’d let him end up there.  She grew up luring templars to their deaths for kicks.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never introduced me to to this charming lady.”

“I would, if I had the faintest idea where she is.  You’d like her but she’d surely hate you.  You shouldn’t feel badly, though.  She hates everyone.”  He turned towards a shelf stacked with games, each piece carefully stained or painted. “A chess set is boring, right?”

“If she hates you, why are you buying her kid a gift?”

He smiled, to himself more than anything.  “Because she was one of my dearest friends.”

His brow furrowed. Verbal fencing wasn’t much like him, either.  “Come to think of it, how are you going to deliver this gift, if you don’t know where she is?”

“I’m not.”  

“That makes no sense.”

He shifted his weight, picking up a chess piece, contemplating it without really seeing it. “I’ve never met him.  His birthday would be sometime this month, so I just… get him something every year.”

“I don’t—”  Then he really saw Dae, staring down at the rook.  Oh.  Oh.

He put the piece back.  “Don’t think I don’t know how stupid it is.  There’s… simply not anything else I can do.”

Standing in the middle of the shop, comparing various toys and hunched in on himself with a feigned nonchalance so unlike him, Dae didn’t look so much like any of the things he actually was.  Just a shorter than average elf in worn armor and mud on his boots, staring down a hopeless task.

Dae backed him against the templars when they first met.  Barely knew him, no questions asked, just handed him a permanent way out. Like it was nothing.  He mentioned the dumb story about Mr. Wiggums, exceptionally careful to not make a big deal of how he was his only real friend and how hard it was to lose him, and the next thing he knew Dae somehow found a kitten and told him to take care of it, as if it were a big favor.  Come to that, he never saw him angrier than when he got back from being frog-marched to Weisshaupt after years of avoiding it, only to find the stand-in they sent had made Anders give him up.

When he and Briar fled Kirkwall, not a friend left in the world and and any number of people wanting them dead, Dae welcomed him back like he’d never left, greeted Hawke like an old friend, and stated flat out that the templars hadn’t managed to take the Keep yet but they were welcome to try.

“Here,” he said, pulling down something from an adjacent display.  “It’s a whirligig.  Stomp on the pedal, here, and some kind of clockwork makes it fly.  I think he’d like that.”

[theslashmix]

I didn’t merely see

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31545329

Written for the LLSS prompt  “ Harry Welsh isn't as oblivious as everybody thinks he is. (ft. Winnix and/or Speirton not being that subtle after all)"

beta-read by @thrillingdetectivetales

will publish a translation/ rework of it in Italian

For some reason, people seemed to forget that Harry was an observant man. He was an officer, and in his modest opinion, a decent one. This meant that he must have a good eye for detail and an even better brain to put things together in a coherent manner: it thus surprised him a bit that people seemed to stop at his jovial façade, somehow separating it from the competence that he had shown on the battlefield. It was almost as if there were two of him- good ol’ Harry, always down for drinks and shenanigans, and First Lieutenant Harry Welsh.

He had known that Winters and Nixon were a thing since Toccoa, and had guessed that they had been for a while before that- since OCS, probably. The signs were all there, almost painfully too easy to spot for someone who truly watched, instead of just seeing: the little touches that lingered just a second too long; the brief stretches of time when no one seemed to know where they were; the constant invasion of each other’s personal space that wasn’t an invasion at all, because at some point it had gotten from being my personal space, to you’re welcome in it, and it was slowly morphing into our personal space under Harry’s very eyes.

He had wondered why on Earth Sobel hadn’t picked up on it, what with him hating Winters’ guts and desperately trying to find even the smallest fault in the man. After some more careful observation, Harry had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t so surprising after all, because Sobel, consciously or not, didn’t want to see it. It was glaringly obvious that Sobel was very good at lying to himself, and him hating Winters was a big, fat lie. He was not good enough at lying to himself that he would try to destroy Winters with that particular tactic, though.

 When Sobel was removed from Easy, Harry drew a big sigh of relief.

It had made him uneasy, back then. It was hard to reconcile the stereotype of fairies he had in his head with the reality of how the two officers were. They should have been effeminate, weak, hysterical: they weren’t. Winters was everything that the high brass could want in an officer and a soldier, and Nixon, despite his flaws, was a good man, and a good intelligence officer. Harry wondered for long hours whether he ought to report them: a lifetime of conditioning was hard to shake. In the end he didn’t: D-Day arrived too quickly, and he had other things to think about rather than trying to convince a court martial that Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon were a homosexual couple. Especially since he had nothing more substantial than a lame “well, they are often together” and his own impressions.

After Normandy, Harry actively decided that he would do nothing about it, even if he didn’t approve. After Normandy, the boys would follow the two officers just about anywhere, and Harry couldn’t in good conscience take them from Easy, because that would mean that more of the boys would die in the incompetent hands of Norman Dyke.

 After Bastogne and Foy, after Nixon had decided to stay in that freezing hellhole with them (and with Winters) instead of taking the much sought-after furlough stateside, Harry decided that he would actively cover for them, if that was what it would take to keep Dick and Nix with them. He decided that it was completely wrong that the world had decreed that the two of them shouldn’t stay together, because after the long scrutiny Harry had imposed on them, there was only one conclusion possible: the two fit so well together that God must have made them to be together. Their relationship evolved to its full potential in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, if what was between them was just sinful lust.

 Now it had fully become our personal space, and the two could hold an entire conversation in just a single, prolonged stare, like an old married couple. Even the boys seemed to be always talking about them as a package deal. “Winters and Nixon said that…”, “Yesterday Winters and Nixon…”, “Do you think that Winters and Nixon will…?”, “Where are Winters and Nixon?”

 There could be no doubt whatsoever that Nix belonged with Dick and Dick belonged with Nix, the same way that Harry himself belonged with his beloved Kitty.

He noticed the signs of the very same thing going on between Speirs and Lip in Haguenau. It was nowhere near as long standing as Dick and Nix’s relationship. If he had to pinpoint its starting moment, Harry would have guessed around Bastogne, at the earliest. Probably when Speirs had stopped going to Dyke for updates on Easy and had started to go directly to Lip. There was still a tentativeness around them, the sweet, hesitating exultance of discovering each other, the pressing need to be together and close as much as possible.

It was in the way Lip perked up as soon as he heard Speirs’ steps, and in the way Speirs’ eyes kept turning in the direction of the house where a sick Carwood Lipton was billeted with a worried frown, as if the lieutenant was magnetic north and the captain was the hand of a compass. It was in the way Lip murmured Speirs’ Christian name when they thought that nobody was there to hear them, and in the way Speirs had claimed the right to take care of Lip as if it was his God-given privilege, and woe betide whoever dared to interfere. 

He hadn’t known the true depth of it though, not until one evening in Haguenau when he had decided to go and visit Lip in his billet. The lieutenant had healed from pneumonia in a way that Roe had defined “miraculous”, but was still quite weak and needed rest. Harry hoped that a Hershey bar would lift his spirits a bit, and distract him from his desperate need to mother everything and anything that breathed. They should probably have him infiltrate the German troops, he’d have them tucked up in bed by 2100 sharp, and no sneaking out to invade Poland, is that clear Adolf?

Harry walked softly, making no noise in case Lip was asleep. As he got close to the flimsy door, he realised that Lip wasn’t asleep, and was in fact talking with none other than Speirs.

“- if you die, what good would you be to the boys?” Speirs was saying, with an exasperated tone that indicated that they had had this discussion a few times already.

“There’s no other second lieutenant, Ron. If I don’t take care of my duties, nobody else will, and the boys will go without supplies.”

“Car- you seriously think so little of the other officers that we’d let Easy starve?” There was an obvious subtext there- do you think so little of me?

“No!” Lip’s exclamation was scandalized and filled with frustration. “No, I don’t. But you all have so much to do already. You shouldn’t be doing my job on top of yours.”

“You’re talking as if you were purposefully slacking, Car. You aren’t. You are sick, you didn’t want this, and nobody thinks any less of you because of it.” Speirs’ tone was getting increasingly frustrated.

“But I can’t-”

 “No, I can’t, Car!” Speirs’ voice rose a little before the captain brought it back down. “I can’t stand the thought of you grinding yourself to the nub. I’m scared, Car, for the first time I’m truly scared in this goddamn war because I’ve got something to lose,” he said, and Harry was surprised to hear him admit such a thing. Hearing Captain Ronald “Killer” Speirs so vulnerable, admitting to his fear so openly with a voice raw with emotion, was something Harry had never even dreamed could happen, not in a million years. It must have cost him a lot to admit it.

“It’s hard enough that I have to send you into action knowing that you could die, but I can accept that because it’s out of our control. I can’t accept the thought of losing you to a pneumonia relapse, not when it can be avoided by you simply resting a bit!” Harry had never heard Speirs talk so passionately.

There was a rustle of cloth, and a muffled sob- they had probably embraced, seeking the comfort of touch and closeness in the very real solidity of each other’s body.

“Please, Car. Please. Do your best to live- I just can’t bear it,” murmured Speirs.

There could be no doubt left that the love between them was the real deal and not something wrong or twisted, not after hearing the pain in Speirs’ voice at the thought of losing his lover. It couldn’t be wrong, not when it could give back humanity to a man like Ronald Speirs, giving him something not only to die for, but to live for, which was much, much more important.    

 “Oh, Ron…” said Lip in a voice that was heartbreakingly tender, and Harry decided that it was time to go. He suddenly felt ashamed, as dirty as if he had spied on them having sex- no, not having sex, he amended. They would make love. He shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It had been a moment of deep intimacy between the two men, not only of the body but of the soul, and he couldn’t bear to spy on something so pure for a moment longer. Even though he had to admit that he was glad to know that there was something that had remained pure and unsullied despite the war.

It was a week later or so, when he heard Luz talking about how quickly Lip had bounced back from pneumonia.

“Couldn’t bear the thought of us boys being without their Mama Lip, especially now that he’s got Papa Speirs to take care of him,” he said wisely, and his audience nodded solemnly, unanimously agreeing that Lip and Speirs were a package deal as much as Dick and Nix were.

He knew then, with certainty, that Speirs and Lip belonged to each other the same way Nixon and Winters did.

Of all the things he had expected to change during the war, his perspective on homosexuality hadn’t been one, but he solidly counted it among the few, positive things to come out of that particular bloodbath. When Dick announced at the end of the war that he had decided to accept the job offer at Nixon Nitration, and Speirs that he would go to West Virginia “to see what opportunities I can find there,” Harry felt happy for them.

They belonged together, and they would stay together. Maybe there was some justice, in this world.

[stressedspidergirlsfandomblog]

Okay, so imagine this

Kaer Morhen is a place that little boys go to die, if they’re lucky, or they become witchers. 

(In some ways, Strangers Like Me is what fucking ran thru my head literally all night last night. I wrote nothing, I could not sleep, and my brain SPIRALED all over this)

And somehow, despite the world beating him down and beating him down and beating him down and shelling him out over and over, he runs into an idiot bard who has no fear of him. Who slowly goes from thinking he’s a simpleton to realizing there is a man in there, a boiling seething lake of feelings and anger overtopped by a thick layer of ice. And the bard makes it his life’s mission to help him learn that he is human. (the whole fic idea is more Geraskier, but it has to START the development elsewhere)

he also bumps sorceress who teaches him love and anger and all sorts of other things -fancy table manners, philosophy etc. He has access to things with her he’d never have had in the keep. She teaches him how to eat chicken on the bone with a fork and knife (book canon), and all the other fancy utensils because he’s a person dammit and he should know that his napkin goes in his lap. He devours her books, and since she can read minds she can draw out the conversations from him. She teaches him how to have those conversations and those debates. 

TWs for all the canon compliant fucking misery that is Geralt’s life. Child abuse, neglect, assault, etc. 

Geralt is incapable of believing good about himself, or expressing himself normally or knowing what to do in social situations. He mimics, he copies, he attempts to replicate, but if the situation changes he isn’t sure what to do. 

Trauma gives us 4 options. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. He knows how to fight, but sometimes it leads him to battles he’ll never win. Flight is usually safest. Freeze can also work well, but he doesn’t know how to fawn, no one’s praised him enough or taught him how to give praise or fake affection in turn. Usually, he chooses to freeze until he can assess better. If there’s no blades drawn, it is time to freeze. 

( I am looking at this purely from a child abuse perspective) 

He has no idea what to make of Yennefer. She is rage, and greed, and feelings, and luxury. She teaches him to fight back. She teaches him you can be angry and people will not always leave you. Some children/adults will do anything to please someone in hopes of affection until they feel safe, and they begin to test boundaries. And with Yennefer, he’s allowed. Neither one of them knows how to process emotions in a healthy way, not really. But if she wants to throw a jam jar at the wall -not at him, never at him. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She’s just angry and has to break something. Better the jar than herself. Or him. He learns to stomp and yell right back, to knock things off the dresser or desk. Maybe it’s not a good lesson, but it’s something. 

She teaches him choice in bed. He’s never had choice in bed, he’s never made love. He has had sex. Voluntary, involuntary. Me for her, let the girl go, use me instead. He heals. He always heals. He can kill them if he wants to, but that raises more problems than it solves. Kaer Morhen has no women. He learns very little about making love there, either, feelings are forbidden. However, he learns to keep himself silent and still as his cock is stroked, he learns to not let the bed so much as creak the slightest bit, not the softest change in his breathing. He learns how to use precum as lubricant because there is nothing else, and while he doesn’t learn how to kiss, or fuck, he learns how to touch. There’s no kind of education like that. It’s control, management of pain, seeking approval from people who rarely give it. 

Yennefer gives him approval. She gives him choice, and she teaches him to move his hips. She teaches him it’s alright to breathe through it, to beg for it, to twitch, it’s okay to want something for himself. He can’t reconcile it, can’t adapt well to it. But in bed, with her, he allows himself to be freer. It doesn’t translate for him, into other situations. His learning is contextual. He has trouble applying the lessons she tries to teach him to other social situations. He can fight back with her because she likes him. He can argue with her about books because she starts the conversation for him because he doesn’t know how. He is heinously smart, he can read, write, and speak at least three languages, he can synthesize information so quickly it stuns her. If he’d been chosen as a mage, if he could access the Source, he would set the world on fire. 

She teaches him to say ‘no.’ It’s not something he knew he could do. Not outside of negotiating a contract. Most of his world is lived inside of his own head because he isn’t allowed to offer opinions unless someone asks. Other than contracts. There is a script, there are rules, he can say ‘I won’t kill that’ or ‘that’s not enough coin’ or ‘no.’ Those situations he can talk freely and articulately. 

They experiment in bed, to a point. She can tell when he’s getting cagey and stops. She never makes him say ‘no’, never lets it get that far, because she knows he’ll freeze. When he’s vaguely curious about light bondage she simply tells him to see if he can even stand to put his palms on the headboard and not touch her. He can’t. He can’t stand it if she won’t touch him, either, when she offers to return the favor and see if he likes that edge of control. He doesn’t. She’s had other lovers, but none like him. None as broken and angry as she is. (The book says, it flat out says, they did not know HOW to be kind, but they wanted to be, and so they were, when it describes how they make love.) They try other things, some things he more tolerates than enjoys -the unicorn. But he doesn’t hate it, he just doesn’t prefer it. 

He can’t admit to feelings, he can’t admit to loving her, and so she can’t tell him because he isn’t ready to hear it. He can’t believe any of it, and so she can’t say a word. Telling him would chase him out of her life forever. When he tries to share things with her, when he tries to push himself to describe any part of himself, she listens. She uses many of his failings against him when they fight, but never what he tells her in confidence and struggle and broken words. When he tells her ‘they botched it’ meaning they botched him, he’s worthless, not made right, and horrible, she tells him perhaps she is the same. 

Eventually the fighting is too much, the frustration at themselves is too much. They can’t heal each other. What they need doesn’t line up yet. 

They break apart and he travels again, happy to reunite with Jaskier. Not that he understands that feeling. But something feels ...easier, with the bard around. He tries on occasion to engage in conversations, just sharing a random fact or quote with the bard and Jaskier doesn’t realize what Geralt is doing for weeks until Geralt stops and he finally asks him what his quote of the day is. Geralt visibly perks and Jaskier finally understands what Geralt has been trying to tell him. He finally asks the right question and Geralt talks to him for hours, long after the sun sets, as animated as his training allows him to be, describing how he’s connected this human myth to an elvish historical event that is corroborated by the dwarves, he had to read it in Elvish, and also Dwarfish, but he can’t find a written version of the myth he’s only heard it spoken or sung. 

Jaskier takes him to Oxenfurt and leads him in and out of guest lectures. They sit in the back so Geralt can hide, because that’s what he does. Don’t look people in the eye unless they tell you to. Don’t look up, don’t be big, don’t exist if you can help it. And he hides and scrunches in on himself, but he listens, and the bard lets him pore over libraries and scares off anyone who would complain at a mutant witcher touching precious tomes. Geralt is gentle, and careful, and sweet, and he deserves to read what he wants, he deserves answers to questions about the world he could never find in Kaer Morhen where his only training was how to survive as a witcher. 

Jaskier teaches him how to answer the question asked, not just say what he thinks people want to hear. That’s not what I asked you. I asked what your preference was. He learns that Geralt was very much raised to believe children should be seen and not heard, in terms of himself. He doesn’t speak up, doesn’t offer anything unless asked. Not unless it’s about witchering, then he is allowed. And so he makes sure to ask. Are you hungry? Would you like to stop for the night, too? Does that hurt, it looks like it hurts. And Geralt learns to listen to the words, and he learns if asked, he is allowed to speak for himself. He doesn’t have to do what he thinks Jaskier wants. Unless prompted, around people, he rarely speaks, rarely converses, and just tries not to be terrifying. Keeps his head down, hood up, he doesn’t want to be hurt. He’s sick of being hurt. He’s sick of going hungry, he is sick of being miserable. And he has found if he is invisible, people leave him alone. He doesn’t get stoned, he doesn’t get beaten, he doesn’t get chased out for just wanting a bed to sleep in and a warm meal. If he doesn’t take up space, he can exist. Jaskier speaks for him, people think perhaps he’s a simpleton who the bard travels with, they don’t know the quick mind behind the eyes focused firmly on the ground. 

It constantly breaks Jaskier’s heart. He has never seen Geralt smile. He has never heard him laugh. He has heard him talk with intonation on occasion, and usually only when reciting what he’s been told. He is an incredible mimic for tone and pitch and it astounds the bard. When he asks Were you even listening to me at all?  and Geralt begins reciting everything he had said, with perfect inflection, since Geralt’s last one word response, perfect tone, perfect everything other than he doesn’t change his voice, his gravelly voice will never soar into tenor heights. 

Children, ones who don’t know what he is, love him. Parents who don’t know, don’t see the swords strapped to Roach, they don’t mind the bard’s pet simpleton playing pat-a-cake with their children, they don’t mind them teaching him to make flower crowns. Or watching them draw in the dirt. The children never think he’s stupid, they like him all the more for knowing they aren’t, either. He lets them pet his horse, and boosts them into the saddle. He helps them reach fruit on tree branches, and pulls down prickly berry vines full of blackberries so they can gorge on the sweet fruit. Jaskier loves watching him with children, because he’s less guarded. He starts out small, makes himself so small, so nonthreatening, and when the children realize he’s happy to play with them, he relaxes. The tension leaves him and the villagers ignore him. Any adult stupid enough to want to play with children, to humor them, and listen to their stories can’t be right in the head. The bard’s assurances he won’t touch them or hurt them goes a long way. 

He used to freeze and flinch and shudder whenever Jaskier touched him, because he could not understand. He still doesn’t. Emotions make no sense, touching for affection that isn’t between lovers makes no sense. Jaskier stays with him, so they must be friends. He’d admit it openly if asked. He doesn’t understand he loves the other man. He wouldn’t know that’s what he was feeling even if he was told. He feels nothing, it’s a scooped out shell, there is nothing inside of him other than sometimes anger. That’s why he had to leave Yennefer. She was the sun and he just reflected her warmth, he had nothing of his own to give back. 

Patently untrue, but there’s nothing that would convince him otherwise and Jaskier doesn’t try. Geralt is ridiculously capable and educated, and wonderful and the bard does what he can to praise him when he can because he knows Geralt needs to hear it. No one praised him or loved him as a child. Hugs are still foreign and after years of them his first instinct is still to flinch. He will sleep comfortably draped across the bard, or with the bard curled into him. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t have the same personal boundaries other people do. If he’s cold, and Jaskier is there, he sees no reason not to share heat. 

It had given the bard heart failure when they’d been sitting around the fire after eating and Geralt had just started pleasuring himself without understanding why that might not be socially acceptable. He’d offered to help the bard first. Not wanting to give Geralt another reason to be ashamed, or small, or scared, he had declined, and wondered in what world could a boy grow up afraid of being held, but feel perfectly comfortable jerking himself off in the company of others. What had been even odder was the witcher had continued their conversation as though this was normal. Hadn’t lost focus, his breathing had never changed, he hadn’t seemed to take much pleasure from his actions, and Jaskier couldn’t understand why he was doing it. 

It had made his heart hurt in new ways. It’s a perfunctory action, meant to relieve an itch, not something for pleasure’s sake alone. Everything he does has function and reason and logic. 

When they run into people Jaskier knows, and they want to talk to the white wolf, or see him, or bother him, Jaskier tells them to leave him be. He won’t talk to them. His poor witcher gains a bit of a reputation as being a tame monster, trailing his bard on a leash and killing monsters as directed. 

When they’re low on grain for the horses, he goes to busk and see if he can drum up coin. When he comes back to pay the stablemaster, the last thing he expects is for Geralt to be paying with his body, a blank expression on his face as he braces himself against the door of an empty stall. He looks at Jaskier without any kind of shame, any understanding of what’s happening to him because he needs feed for Roach, and she needs a warm place to sleep out of the muck during the rainy seasons. Her hooves need to be dried out, he needs to borrow tools to clean the frogs and check her shoes. He might need the services of a ferrier. He’ll get a bit of coin for this and then some extra. If it isn’t sex with a lover, it’s just a transaction, what should he care? The bard escapes when he realizes only Geralt saw, and pukes his guts up into the gutters. He’d have tried to stop it, but the stablemaster was bigger than he was and he couldn’t take the risk the man would hurt Geralt. 

The horses taken care of, Jaskier uses the coin he’d earned to have a bath drawn up and helps Geralt bathe until all trace of stable is washed away. He tries to ask, and when Geralt openly tells him it’s just better that way, he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds rather than reply or push the issue. He has coin, they’re fine, Geralt won’t need to do that again while they’re together. 

He notices how the witcher gets thinner after, stress and shame eating his insides even if he won’t admit it. He’d been the heaviest Jaskier had ever seen him after living with Yennefer for a few years. Healthy. Shiny hair, bright eyes, enough meat over his bones to hide them. Slowly his spine creeps through his skin and the bard can count the vertebrae. It will pass, and he realizes he’s seen this pattern. This has happened before he just hadn’t seen. It passes, Geralt finds lucrative contracts, and his body fills back out. 

They continue to work on what feelings are. Geralt remains baffled by the fact the bard will not bed him in any capacity, and doesn’t understand why they can’t share a little pleasure. Jaskier knows if he gives in, Geralt will never let it progress beyond more than just skin on skin. He’ll never understand it could be more. He has to wait, he has to keep pushing for the witcher to understand there is more. 

They happen upon a town, and a small girl, perhaps three or four years old, picks flowers by the side of the road. There’s a house visible in the distance, but it’s awfully far for a small child to have wandered. Geralt immediately looks around for a dead body, half expecting to find the child’s mother dead in a ditch. Nothing. When she notices his hair peeking out from under his cloak as he crouches down to talk to her, she pushes the fabric off his head to twirl her fingers into his hair. He barely breathes as he asks her where her ma and pa are. She points at the house and said she wanted the orange flowers. He looks over and sees that while there are what seems like thousands of wildflowers much closer, none are the color she’s currently collecting. The child will be missed soon enough, he supposes as he offers her a seat on his shoulder. Before she accepts, she splays small fingers under his eye and he freezes, waiting for her to scream or reject him. She simply says ‘pretty.’ When he lifts her up, she tangles a hand back into his hair to help her hold on and keep her balance. She stuffs the flowers into her small apron -probably made more to humor her than for any practical purpose, and occasionally pats Geralt’s head and tells him again, his hair is pretty and he’s nice to take her home. 

When screaming reaches his ears, he knows the little girl’s name is Ivana, and he tells Jaskier, “Make noise, her mother is in the fields looking for her.” The bard’s trained lungs will project far better than his will. His lungs are trained to breathe evenly and slowly in all things. He will endure if he keeps his heart slow and his breathing calm. 

“Over here! We’ve found her!” Jaskier calls, his voice ringing stridently over the fields. He’s not sure how she could hear him from so far that only Geralt can hear her frantic calls, but all the same he sees how Geralt tilts his head and nods to himself. 

They speed up, Geralt’s stride long and even as the woman comes pelting across the grass, crushing flowers, and her skirts hiked up over her knees to keep them out of her way. She gasps slightly when she sees Geralt and the brightly dressed bard, not sure what they will do to her or her daughter. She can see the swords on the roan mare. “I haven’t coin, please don’t hurt her,” she says. 

Jaskier feels Geralt shrivel. “We just saw her picking flowers and knew she’d be missing,” he explains. “We don’t want coin. Not for returning a toddler to her mother,” he protests. When she reaches out for her child, and Geralt obliges by leaning to hand her off, the girl shrieks in displeasure. 

Geralt freezes, one arm half coming up to ward the mother off, but unsure. Why wouldn’t she want to go back? It’s Jaskier who saves the situation by laughing. “I see she’s gotten quite attached,” he tells the anxious mother. “Here, Ivana, come down, he’s very tired and he’s not a pony. You brought flowers for your ma, didn’t you? You can’t show her very well from up there,” and holds out his arms. The girl allows Geralt to pass her over, and he swiftly deposits her on the ground where her mother relaxes immediately. She shows the flowers, and offers Geralt one. 

“Are you a witcher?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Geralt says, careful not to open his mouth too much. His teeth are a bit too white, and his canines a bit too sharp. Not fangs, but some people choose to see them that way. They’d grown in sharper when he’d lost his baby teeth, he’d seen plenty of other humans with teeth like his, but against his pale skin and yellow eyes, the effect was more noticeable. More monstrous. 

“There’s a wyvern, my man, when he gets back from ploughing, he can show you. I see Ivana has taken to you. If you’ll watch her while I bundle herbs, I’ll feed you both lunch.” She isn’t afraid of witchers. “We don’t have much coin, but there’s a bounty on the beast, you can turn it in, if you travel up the road a bit. In the mean time, I can offer you a place to sleep, some feed for your horse, and a meal in a few hours once I’ve finished my tasks.” 

Jaskier knows Geralt is well pleased with the idea just from the shift of his shoulders. “Geralt’s a wonderful babysitter,” he smiles. “I can help you with the chores, I’m sure. Just put me to work. My name is Jaskier, that is Geralt, and you are?” 

“Oh gods above, I’m so sorry, I’m Melina.” She reaches out to shake Jaskier’s hand and the bard accepts warmly, but when she tries to do the same for Geralt the bard gives her a look and she drops her hand. Odd. “Ivana, you mind Master Geralt, or I’ll give you such a hiding you won’t sit for weeks, do you hear me?” 

“Yes, Mama,” she promises. “I will show him where to put the horse,” she says proudly and Geralt makes a ‘lead the way’ gesture at her with a little bow that makes her giggle. He takes Roach’s reins from Jaskier and follows the girl child to the barn. 

“He won’t hurt her?” 

“No, he’d die in her defense in a heartbeat.” 

“But he can’t shake hands?” 

“He wouldn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Jaskier tells her. Not sure if that makes it worse or puts her more at ease. “You don’t seem much afraid of him, considering how we started.” 

“Witchers help people,” she smiles faintly. “My pa would have died long before he met my ma if not for a witcher who saved him on the road. Took a bad rake across his face, though, the witcher. My Pa taught us, even if we don’t know much reading or writing, history turns. People used to trust witchers. Then they tried to kill them all. And they’ll trust them again. Any man willing to risk dying to save others can’t be all bad.” 

“That is what I’ve been saying.” He glances up to see the black-clad witcher come back into view with Ivana swinging his hand happily. He can’t hear her, but he knows she is chattering nonstop. 

“Is he... simple?” she asks softly, watching as her daughter teaches Geralt a new clapping game he hasn’t seen before. He seems to be devoting all his energy to the game. 

“No,” Jaskier breathes. “No, he’s brilliant,” his heart aches. “Will they be alright out here, your man won’t come home and try and beat him with a stick?” 

“No, Roddy would never. He’ll come from the back fields as is. My Roderick is a good man. How could he hit your Geralt for playing with our daughter?” 

“People have done worse for far less,” Jaskier says bitterly. He has no idea why he’s sharing with her. Perhaps months on the road of people being truly horrible to Geralt have made him desperate to talk to someone who isn’t. Someone who is kind. 

“I see.” She shows Jaskier the herbs she’s drying, some to sell, some for home remedies. Vegetables to jar and pickle, and hundreds of other small tasks made near impossible by having a small child to mind. “My boys help their father in the fields, so that he can work on other tasks once they can manage the rest.” As the bard gets the knack for how to tie the herbs, she watches him a few seconds. “So what’s wrong with him?” 

“Nothing,” Jaskier protests. “Nothing at all,” he aches for Geralt. “People, people are the ones who are wrong. He does everything he can to not draw attention. The less he talks, the less he moves, the less people notice and the less likely they are to-” His head snaps up when he hears a husky chuckle from outside. “Your man early?” 

“No, he doesn’t laugh like that,” she says. 

“Who the fuck is that then?” he demands, peering from the small window. Ivana is pointing at something dramatically and stamping a foot and he realizes the laugh is Geralt. His heart squeezes and he blinks rapidly. He hadn’t known Geralt could laugh. Not in all the years they’d been travelling together. “Oh,” he gasps, the wind knocked out of him. 

“Let them be, if she starts to have a true tantrum I’ll rescue him. It’s about time for her to nap, she’ll be fussy soon enough.” 

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jaskier tells her, rubbing at his eyes with a knuckle. “He’s faced worse than a grumpy toddler before.” 

“Perhaps, Master Jaskier. But he cannot swing his sword to stop her from inconveniencing him.” 

“He would never. Although, he might turn tail and run in here, seeking rescue,” he tries to turn the conversation somewhere else.