#the only time ill get defensive/say something is when someone insults ME over it like OMG I WAS HERE FIRST

[witchpaladin]

the worst part about that shitty relationship that ruined my ability to trust people is because a lot of it has to do with DID it's pretty much impossible to communicate every little thing that happened without it just sounding completely insane, because it was

short version being that he claimed to also have DID but throughout our relationship his alters and etc kept mirroring or countering mine in ways that were weird and unhealthy but I didn't want to believe he was malingering so for years I made excuses for him

but it got to the point I'd tell him something like "yeah I don't like this character because I associate him with x trauma so his scenes can be triggering and I just avoid that part of the fanbase" and magically he'd spawn that character in his system even tho he'd never watched/read that media before

so basically he went out of his way to read up on that media, lie to me about it (because I'd directly ask him "have you read this yet" and he'd say no) and then randomly one day terrify and confuse my alters by claiming that character just exists as an alter now

and even that we tried to accept but as I started grilling him about the circumstances of the alter forming it became clear he'd manufactured the whole thing because he likes tormenting people

he'd been playing these kind of games for years but it finally got to a point where it was so overt and obvious that we couldn't excuse it anymore. and the realisation that someone would take vulnerable information from a mentally ill person who they claim to love and use it to manipulate and psychologically torture them for years kind of fucked up my trust with other people permanently. so that sucks

it's fucked up that I don't even know what parts of what he told me were lies and it's over such petty crap but the cumulative and mindfucky nature of it basically destroyed my brain

like did he even actually read the media?? did he only start reading it after he introduced this alter because I started questioning him and he realised he needed to beef up his story?

because I remember confronting him, and telling him, but you said you never even read or watched this. how do you have an alter from something you've never read or watched? and his answer was just "oh I guess I lied about that, I actually lie a lot, I'm a compulsive liar", which in itself was something I was hearing for the first time in like 3 years of being in a serious relationship lol

having someone lie to you and manipulate you like that for years when you're already vulnerable and traumatised is so hard to come back from. idk if I'll ever come back from it and it sucks

he did appear on one of my blogs once years ago to basically try to gaslight me and I just laughed in his face and blocked him everywhere. but it drives me nuts because he really has no concept of how much he has destroyed my brain lmao. it's been like 7 years since we met and I still don't trust anyone. I still think everyone is lying to me. I still see red flags in every tiny thing because I made myself ignore so many red flags in that relationship that now even a slight shade of pink puts me on the defensive. and I haven't had a friendship or relationship last more than a few months because I get scared or overwhelmed and I just ghost them and never go back

and. I barely even feel anything about it. because my ability to attach to others has been so wrecked that nothing anyone does hurts me anymore and nobody I lose hurts me anymore

and sometimes I feel bad about the things we said or did in retaliation but it's hard to feel bad about those things when we were in a constant state of distress because of the way we were treated. especially knowing that he holds onto those bits of retaliation as proof of us being the abuser or the instigator or w/e

like richard you can say w/e the fuck you want about the whole thing but you and I both know that the person who started with the lying, and the threats of violence, and the insults, was you. I'd never in my life spoken to people the way I ended up speaking to you and I haven't spoken to anyone like that since

it was you who started with the I hate you, I want to hit you, I hope you die, I'd kill your cats if I was there etc etc etc

I remember it clearly because I even remember when M finally snapped and for the first time answered you the way you speak to us, and he said he hated you and he wanted to punch you in the face, and suddenly you started laughing and said "wait what the fuck, I don't hate you, I'm so sorry, why am I doing this? I love you" and immediately M calmed down and stopped. because it was you who was always the instigator and us who were always just happy to settle into a pretense of normalcy and act like everything was okay

I remember this shit richard. I remember it vividly and every day

I remember you frequently suicide baiting us and keeping us up at night on call, begging you to get off the street and go home

I remember this happening so much that when we couldn't reach you we'd completely panic and we'd start messaging and calling random people who knew you to confirm you were okay

and then you'd come back and act like we were being insane but we thought you were fucking dead! because you'd do this all the time!

and it was all so insane and so stupid that I can't even talk to anyone about it. like congrats you ruined me for other men and not even in a fun way. I just look at everyone and see your lies now

it is so bad sometimes, thinking these things and feeling these things, that I actually want to kill myself. I want it all to end because I don't see how I will ever recover from this, because 7 years later and I still wake up sometimes with it fresh in my mind. and even if I don't remember, every morning I wake up ANGRY. AT NOTHING. AT EVERYTHING. AND I PRETEND NOT TO KNOW WHY- BUT I KNOW

because it was when we'd wake up that we'd immediately check our phone to see the aftermath of whatever had occurred the night before. we'd check to see if you were still angry, if you were still there, if you'd left any messages for us as we slept that will now lead into another argument. it always made R so angry because he had to sit there biting his tongue and just let you mistreat us

actually you know what really sucks is I feel like the only time you were ever truly content in the relationship was when you were regressed and N was taking care of you. any other time it was like you just felt obligated to be there and to pretend to actually like us so you could basically get your ddlg session in

[isaacgetspegged]

anyway now I’m thinking. I rly like myself but I like the duality I’m able to have with my faves... like no disrespect to people who do this but I really feel like some ppl take liking characters too serious? like. fandom arguments and insulting ppl and writing long philosophical/literary/etc intricate explanations on the fave... and while I do appreciate some of that I like. don’t always have the energy for it. I don’t always have the energy to write long paragraphs on why I fucking hate Marvel’s portrayal of Fat Thor’s or what I think about T’Challa and Erik’s relationship or opinions I have on Isaac. I just don’t! I don’t always have the energy to be serious and it takes a toll on me to always be that way. I like to have fun, I like to poke fun at my faves (over appropriate things ofc) and I’m naturally just... an upbeat person. again, life is too short for me not to accept myself as the silly little bitch that I am and I’m having fun doing what I do so?? yeah

[earthlyyan]

Little Trainee (Platonic(?)Yan! Childe x Reader)

For @bye-bye-sunbird (thanks again for your help) Warnings: Abuse, Graphic descriptions of violence, Implied Torture, Eye Trauma, Unhealthy Sibling relationships, Childe being a sadist, Kidnapping? If you squint? Imprisonment? Betrayal 

Word Count: 3084

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He was gone.

Tartaglia held his younger brother’s fur-lined cap in his calloused hands, bringing it close to his chest. He’d taken off without it, wanting to be as far away from the killer that was his big brother so badly, he’d neglected to dress for the cold.

Despite his best efforts, Tartaglia had been unable to find him, and though tempted, he had refused to get the Fatui involved. It would further remind Teucer that his brother’s job was a terrifying one, too dark for the mind of a child to fully grasp. A child’s mind would never truly grasp why he had to kill, only that he had taken the life of another. And how that was an unforgivable sin.

He’d requested a day off work to prevent him from making any rash decisions on duty. He’d spent the day wandering aimlessly, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. He’d found himself in the familiar shambles of Dunyu Ruins. Perhaps he’d take out his frustrations on some ruin guards, or at least he’d considered it, until he saw you.

*

In and out and in and out.

Your sword found its way into the ruin guards eye again and again. It had been dead after the first thirteen stabs, but you didn’t care.

Your thrusts were becoming harder to maintain, your shallow breaths and sore arms halting your rage filled pursuit. Your legs straddled its large, heavy body, thick vines restrained its arms and legs.

It killed him. It killed your brother. The laser sliced his body while simultaneously cauterizing the wound, leaving him in two, unable to bleed. His face still frozen in that of agonizing pain.

It was going to kill you as well until a blinding green light appeared before you; a dendro vision.

You didn’t know how you did it, but now it was dead, and the gift of the archons laid on the ground before you. You hated it.

A gift of the gods, what a fucking joke.

You choked back the urge to vomit at the rancid scent before removing your sword from the gaping glass wound.

You kicked the hunk of metal as hard as you could before losing your balance and falling back onto the ground.

A man stood there; a couple years older than you. You’d fallen right at his feet.

He wordlessly helped you up off the ground before clearing his throat, as if to clear the air with it.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone receive a vision before.” His voice was light and airy. “I had been walking when it’s light blinded me. I regret not showing up sooner.”

You refused to look at the strange man, his words not registering. Your mind was too busy trying to process what had just happened.

“Hey,” His voice was louder, shaking you from your stunned stupor. He held out a handkerchief from his pocket. “You should probably get out of—”

“He’s dead.”

The man’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

“That thing killed him. He’s dead.” Your words were empty. You contemplated if you should be feeling anything else other than thinly veiled anger and disgust. You should’ve been sadder. The only thing you had felt at the time of you mindlessly stabbing the guard was desperation for your own survival, and fear that it would get up again. You were revolted at the sight of the corpse before you, but you weren’t terribly torn up about the death in itself. And that disgusted you.

Anyone else would’ve been. Anyone would’ve been devastated if they had watched their own kin get cut in two. But no, you were more worried about what you’d tell your mother.

You walked over to the remains of your brother and poked it with your foot, your blatant disrespect for the dead caught the man off guard. Your gut did flips in your stomach at the gruesome sight.

“You don’t seem too upset about it.” He seemed to lack the same feeling of fear at the sight of a corpse. You didn’t quite know how to feel about that. “Though, you don’t seem like you’ve got the guts to orchestrate it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed. “The way you kept stabbing the poor ruin guard made me think it was self-defense, and that the death was an accident. But the fact that you’re not devastated at his death made me wonder that you did it intentionally.”

“And if it was?” “Then I think I’d applaud your ambition.”

*

The man introduced himself as Childe, a member of the Snezhnayan organization called the Fatui. He claimed to be a warrior of sorts, and that he had gone to Dunyu Ruins to take out some frustrations he had one some ruin guards. He then had stumbled across you stabbing a lifeless robot corpse.

He had treated you to lunch in Liyue, saying that leaving you to stew in your thoughts after witnessing something of that caliber was ill-advised.

“What were you doing in Dunyu Ruins?”

“My brother wanted to do something there. He wouldn’t tell me what it was.” You mumbled.

“And the sword?”

“The sword I have with me was the one he was carrying, but when his torso disconnected from his legs, his scabbard landed close to me. So I thought I might as well use it.” You stirred your soup with your spoon, not having much of an appetite.

“So why did he have the sword?”

“Archons know.” You sighed. “If I’m being frank, I think he was going to kill me.”

Childe lowered his tigerfish from his mouth. A light laugh left his lips, startling you. “What makes you think that?”

“I was father’s favorite, though I am the younger of the two of us. So when he found out he had left the inheritance to me instead of his eldest son, he thought it unfair.” You reluctantly brought the spoon to your lips and swallowed. “We had never gotten along; I was like a punching bag than his younger sibling.”

“And I suppose that’s why you’re not crying and mourning the loss?” His voice was mocking.

“Well, would you?”

Childe hummed. “I’m not sure, family is family, but…” his voice lowered into an inaudible mumble, pondering.

He was silent for a moment. He took a few bites of his grilled tigerfish. His eyes wandered to the scabbard at your hip. “You don’t know how to fight.”

“What? Where did this come from?” He hadn’t even finished his thought from before.

“The way you were holding the sword as you used it to kill the ruin guard was way off. Had you kept going, you could’ve gotten hurt. If you had held it properly you could still be stabbing it now. If you didn’t get that vision when you did, it could’ve killed you with how poorly you were handling yourself.”

“That’s the whole point of getting bestowed a vision. Saving you when you’re on the brink of death or something like that.” You shoved your spoon in your mouth again.

“Yes, true.” He sighed and set down the now empty skewer. “But if you hadn’t gotten it you would’ve ended up like—” “Okay jeez I get it!” You grumbled around the metal in your mouth. “What are you getting at?”

“Luckily for you, I’m quite skilled at the sword.” His chest puffed in pride. “And it’s not like you’re going to go home with half a brother in tow, yes?”

“So you want to train me? What good does that do you?” “I’ve always wanted to train someone in a weapon.” He smiled, though there was a tinge of sadness in his voice. Like he was looking forward to it before the invitation presented itself. “And now, I can.”

*

You were on the ground again, some shallow, superficial cuts littered your body, Childe’s blade inches from your throat.

“You left yourself open again. I told you this weeks ago and yet you can’t get it.” A disappointed sigh escaped his lips as he pinged the bridge of his nose. “Hunch, keep your legs apart, again.”

Some part of you wondered if Childe got off on hearing your groans and hisses when he slashed you. Something about the way he bounced on his legs and the way his grin seemed more genuine had you worried.

You slowly got yourself off the ground, your bones and muscles creaking in protest as you readied your brother’s blade again.

“If you’re sore it means its working.” His laugh echoed as he lunged himself at you again, leaving you a moment notice to swerve out of the way. “If you weren’t sore before it means you were doing it wrong.” He dodged an oncoming attack from your sword and swept your legs, leaving you on the floor again. Yup, he was definitely getting off on this.

*

Three months under Childe’s tutelage toned your body significantly. He seemed to be more eager to fight you these days. Saying that you were finally getting fun to fight or something like that.

“Despite your form issues in the beginning, you’re practically a natural.” He beamed as he extended a hand to you. “Fighting you is actually fun these days, and less boring.”

“It was boring before?” You were borderline insulted.

“Fighting against you was boring. Seeing you grow and mature as a fighter was interesting.”

“Uh huh.” You wiped the sweat from your brow. “Sure.”

He’d been gracious enough to let you room at his house. And for someone of his age, it was quite impressive for him to have one of this stature. You had your own room across the hall from his. He only had two rules when staying with him.

One: The lower levels were off limits. No matter what. He said that it had to do with his work, and that it would be unprofessional of him to allow someone to interfere.

Two: Don’t ask about his work.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about it. Sometimes he’d leave for days on end and come back beat up, other times you’d hear noises from the lower levels.

They sounded like screams.

You wondered what he’d have to do for a living to hear such noises from below. Sometimes he’d go down for hours and come up itching for a fight with you, other times he’d leave satisfied and covered in blood. You’d wondered if it was his own.

Something about it didn’t sit right with you, but a fight with Childe was not one you wanted to engage in. He’d know all your moves, considering he’d been the one to teach them to you. Whenever you’d try to bring it up, you’d be shut down with an uncharacteristic coldness from him. One that barely used, only when he was talking about his work, that is.

But tonight the screams were louder. They reached your room in the depths of the night, even with the door closed and pillows blocking your ears. You had to know.

You were sick of being left in the dark here, you were sick of hearing those screams from downstairs. You had to know.

Were you training under a serial killer? Childe didn’t seem like the type, or was he?

The strange amount of pleasure he’d get when watching you get hurt by his hand. The ruthless way he’d slaughter hillichurls and treasure hoarders alike. No matter who or what it was, its death was no different to Childe. It seemed to light him ablaze, having him itching for a fight with anything that moved, and when it stopped moving, he’d be disappointed.

 The screams had died down after a few hours. You had to wait until you heard his boots go back upstairs and into the room across the hall.

You had to be more quiet if you were going to get in and out of there before he noticed you.

After these escapades he would take a shower, the running water would be enough to cover your footsteps going down the hall, truly.

A minute after the shower started running you made your move. It was easy to pick out what door led to the basement, due to the sheer amount of deadbolts and locks keeping it closed. He’d left the key in the door, probably to stop whoever was in the basement from looking through the keyhole. Smart move for him when it came to living alone, but with company, it was practically begging to be used.

And use it you did. Deadbolt after deadbolt, you finally turned the key.

The basement was warm and sweet smelling. But not in the pleasant way sweets were supposed to smell.

It made your stomach ache and twist as you descended the staircase, closing the door behind you.

The clinking of chains got your attention before the sight of blood had. The lights had flickered on, illuminating the sight before you. You couldn’t hold back your vomit anymore.

Your suspicions were right, or so it seemed, with the sheer amount of bodies below. One was still living, trembling, and hunching away from you. “Did Childe do this?” You knew the answer but had to be sure. Perhaps it was an associate he worked with, or some weird fetish.

The man nodded, “I didn’t have enough money.”

“What?”

“To pay back the Northland Bank.” He stammered. “I couldn’t pay them back, so they sent him.”

“He’s a debt collector?”

The man shook his head. “No. He doesn’t care about collecting the debt, not like the others.”

There were others?

“He gets sent in after the warning deadlines are up. You pay with your—”

The man abruptly stopped, looking past you and onto the stairwell. Then he couldn’t see at all.

An arrow flew past you, barely grazing your ear before finding itself in the mans eye socket. He slumped to the ground, lifeless. You whizzed around to meet the source, only to find Childe, an arrow drawn taught in the bow you’d barely see leave his side.

“Well that’s disappointing.” He sighed. “I was hoping to make him last another day.” He grimaced. “That was a warning shot, by the way.” He walked down the stairs slowly, still aiming at you. “Put your back to the wall.”

He almost sounded sad. You were too shocked to move.

An arrow landed at your feet, standing straight up against the ground. “I said ­put your back to the wall. That wasn’t a suggestion.”

You tripped over the man’s corpse while making it to the wall. “Childe I—” “Nope, too late for that. Hands up.” He slowly lowered his weapon and made a show of putting it away. He wanted you to know he still had it. He leaned in close to your face. “Now that’s a look I haven’t seen in quite some time.” His voice was low, husky. “Betrayal looks so good on you.”

You could feel his hot breath on your neck. You growled and threw your head forward, colliding with his. He took a step back.

Blood ran down from his forehead, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. “Oh hoh~ Now that’s what I’m talking about. A real fight from you.” He drew hydro blades from his sides and threw one at you. “I’m expecting improvement from you, my little trainee.”

You picked up the cool blade from your feet, never breaking eye-contact with him. “I’ll kill you.”

“You better hope you do. For your sake, at least.” You lunged at him, swiftly finding your way behind him, ready to strike.

“Your stance has gotten better.” He smiled. “But I’m afraid it still leaves you open” He kicked off from the ground and into the air, his foot collided with your chin sending you reeling.

“You bastard.” You hissed, picking yourself off from the ground with the steadiness of a newborn deer. “Why not be more quiet about your escapades down here? If you’d had your victims quiet down, I would’ve never found about what you were doing.”

“I never said I never wanted you to find out what I was doing.” He ran at you again, slicing your shirt and your left shoulder along with it. “I was hoping you’d have enough faith in your teacher to follow my rules.” He sighed. “I didn’t take you for the curious type.”

“I’m not.” You said, you swept at his leg, but he narrowly escaped, jumping just high enough to miss it. “But I enjoy liking to sleep in peace knowing my upperclassmen isn’t a serial killer.”

“I’m no serial killer!” He laughed, landing a cut to your lower back, then stepping hard on it. You fell to the ground trapped under his heel. “I’m simply following orders. I have nothing against these people.” He pressed harder.

You suppressed a scream.

“I do have a problem with those who interfere. You were going to help him, weren’t you?”

You’d be lying if you said you were going to leave him to die.

“Weren’t you?” His voice was closer to your ear this go round.

“Yes! Yes, I was!” You sobbed. “I just wanted to—”

“I’ve heard this before. Suddenly you have the moral upright to save a dying stranger? But you sat back and kicked your brother’s corpse?”

“That was different!” “Sure it was. A man is a man is a man, yeah?” His foot lifted from your back and turned you onto your stomach. “See the difference between me and a serial killer, is that if I was a serial killer, I probably would kill you right now.” He sighed. “But see, I like you. So I think I’ll let you live. Though don’t expect things to go back to normal. I can’t expect you to stay quiet and continue your training in the open alongside me.” He leaned you up against the wall, easily fighting against your protests. He took your wrists and cuffed them to the wall.

The restraints were still warm.

You shuddered.

“See, here’s the thing.” He said. He cupped your cheek with his spare hand. “I don’t want to leave you the way you are, half trained. I do enjoy fighting you.” He finished tying you upright and smiled, admiring his handiwork. “I’ll let you go under one condition.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his smile finally reached his eyes.

“You’re free if you can kill me.”

[henqtic]

"𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘚𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘥 ”

Summary: Draco making you feel better about your hair insecurities throughout your years at Hogwarts.

Word Count: 3.7k+

A/N-hey well this is the first fic I’ve ever written and I don’t think it’s too good but please leave some feedback I would really appreciate it :) just looking forward to improving, this story includes a black/POC reader I just feel that there’s not a lot of stories that actually include us yk ? Because I don’t think I’m able to just put my hair up in a messy bun and go out lol.//ALSO there's no Voldemort and some of the years/dates will be off but I don’t think that matters much in this story:)

masterlist //  taglist form.

“It’s a toner” “for your hair”,she concluded in a way that was almost innocent but didn’t cover up the obvious amusement in her tone. Her box braids were flowing behind her, the two different colors blending together in a way to almost resemble Narcissa Malfoys. It was more of a Draco decision, he went on for months saying how if you got white hair you would look like an honorary Malfoy. Which he was already planning on making you sooner or later. 

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

“Darling your fascination with these muggle products is getting out of hand. Are you ill? Oh merlin, maybe it’s that muggle flu,”he said as he put a hand on your forehead.

In his defense he was actually worried about you.You owled him with a note that read

Dear Draco,

I think I’ve just found the best bloody gift ever,I was just walking around one of those muggle stores and found i! I don’t want to ruin the surprise but the I just thought of you when I saw it.

love, y/n.

He honestly expected a bag of green apples that you two shared a liking of but never in a million years did he expect you to show up with purple bottle labeled as “Purple Shampoo”.And what hurt most is that he was the first person you thought of when you looked at it.Of course he was the only platinum blonde you had seen with such bright hair, other than Luna Lovegood. But he was still deciding on if he should take offense or not.

“No Draco, I’m perfectly fine” You stated as you stated his hand away like a fly.“I just think that your hair may need a bit of toning to it.” You said as you looked at your boyfriend, he really did look beautiful in the sun.

The way the sun would bounce off of his skin and hair giving him this sort of glow.The way he ever so slightly had his eyes squinted because he could barely see when it was this bright outside.He was really a sight to see.He wore a faint smile that made your stomach erupt with butterflies every time you saw him, even now.

You told him that if he continued to bully Harry on how his glasses made him look like Dumbledore without a beard would come back to him.And of course it did.

You were sitting beside Draco under a tree at his family's manor.The sky had a few clouds but nonetheless it was sunny there were butterflies flying around and  variations of colors of flowers all around you.You had helped Narcissa plant some of the flowers and it was nice to see how it all came out.

 “I think my hair looks perfectly fine, why would I want to “tone it” He looked at you as if you had personally insulted his mother.

“Draco, darling, your hair is almost brighter than the sun” you said and you were so close to bursting out in laughter.

He looked at you faking an offended expression.

“Most likely stiffer than the grass we’re sitting on at this moment” 

“oh that’s enough” at that moment he shifted his weight over to you and started to tickle you non stop.

“Please I’m sorry I take back all of my words” you said in out of breath tone.Your laugh was probably the best sound to him.

He continued with his antics, “say my hair is the most beautiful this world” it wasn't even a second thought to him to follow up with a,“other than yours of course” he always had a way of making you feel appreciated for the multiple ways you did your hair through out your school years and even now.

Fourth Year

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

In the summer before your fourth year at hogwarts,you had decided that you wanted to try something new and get locs. It was something you always thought of but never really got the courage to do.

You always would just tell yourself “I think I’d miss my hair, even if doing it is a pain I’ll never stop loving it.”

That changed.Of course you’d missed your hair but getting locs, something you've been anticipating for a long time sounded a bit more exciting than doing your hair everyday.

It was finally the Gryffindor vs Slytherin quidditch game.Everyone had been looking forward to this.Every Slytherin, Gryffindor game always involved some sort of drama and it was the best.That day was nice up until it was completely and utterly ruined.

When the game was over Pansy Parkinson had shouted out to you and Angelina Johnson that your hair looked of worms.Angelina Johnson was probably the only Gryffindor you could put up with.Maybe it was because of the fact that she was an older black girl with her natural hair out and you desperately wanted tips on how to make yours look like hers.You and Angelina had quickly became friends in your first and her third year.She was more of a sister figure for you and when she went on about how nice Fred looked this year and the next you went on about how annoyingly hot Draco got third year She had teased you endlessly for it but you really couldn’t help it.

You didn’t know why it hurt so much coming from her but when that happened you were so close to crying.You were going to say something until Ginny Weasley said some very choice words to Pansy that left her as red as a tomato and she ran of the pitch.For someone with so much bark she absolutely no bight after that, you thanked Ginny and she responded with saying “There’s no reason to thank me Parkinson needed someone to finally give it to her” She then went up to Harry Potter and said he did good in the game.

“I don’t know if she knows her crush on him is obvious” You thought as you and Angelia walked back to the castle together planning on how to get Pansy back.

You heard the girl beside you try to stop a laugh from coming out so you just assumed you said that out loud.as always.

”Do you know what she has against you?”Angelina asked 

Even though Pansy was in your house she never much liked you for some reason.

“I think it’s from first year when I slapped her hand off of my hair.” You laughed “She was playing with the beads as if they were some kind of toy”

“She absolutely deserved it!” Angelia responded with a laugh.

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅) 

Much to you and Angelina’s dismay someone had gotten to Pansy before you.She ran into the great hall shrieking and when you looked the first thing that came to mind was low quality Medusa.Her long thin black hair now replaced with black worms.Everyone in the great hall was laughing at her condition.Even many of the Slytherins you were surrounded by, it was almost sad how her own house didn’t like her. almost.

Why would she even come into the great hall looking like that? You thought out loud on accident.You really needed to work on that.It wasn’t much of a problem though, because many of your pupils next to you nodded mindlessly at your statement in agreement.

You had guessed Angelina had told Fred about the incident, he told McGonagall, or as he said Minnie (you didn’t know how he even got to that level),and she must have informed the other teachers.

She ran out of the great hall when she noticed no one not even a teacher was going to help her.Not even her own head of house, it was nice to know that Snape was on your side on this you felt pretty bad now when in class all you thought about was how greasy his hair was and how you should probably anonymously drop off some shampoo for him.

“Hey maybe I should tell the twins about that one.Nope y/n you are a nice person who does nice things you thought as you tried to remove the voice that told you that’s Snape would mostly likely like some Muggle Brand “Head and Shoulders Shampoo” Although you’d never be caught dead using it, it could never hurt to try it on someone else.y/n stop.Nice thoughts.”Oh but imagine him trying to put his hair up and the hair tie is too greasy to ho-” You decided to turn your attention to something more valuable at that point.

The real question was who had done it.You turned over to the Gryffindor table.Your back had been facing Angelina’s.You two always did this seeing as many students at school didn’t know that touching someone’s hair randomly without even asking was weird.Angelina had found a solution saying “We should sit with our backs facing each other,Then no one from the other table can random tug at our hair.” You agreed to the idea saying that it was brilliant.

You asked with a giddy expression asking her “did you do it without me?” 

She shook her head and said “no maybe it was Fred or George”.

You would’ve thought that the girl was drugged up on love potion seeing how  easily she forgot what she was about to ask and looked at Fred with heart eyes going on about a completely different topic.

You rolled your eyes with a smile and looked around the great hall and your eyes landed on him.He was already looking at you.Your hair.You made the decision of adding gold accessories to it today. Angelina had had a long talk with you saying how “Parkinson was only jealous because the last remotely good hairstyle she had was the bob in your third year” You decided that you still wanted to add something to your hair to make yourself feel better.Not for the acceptance of the others and how they think your hair “should look”.

When he finally looked into your eyes you raised your eyebrows in expectance.You were almost waiting for him to say some sort of mean comment about you.

The truth was Draco was absolutely enthralled by you.He liked how when in first year you came into school with your hair in braids and beads of light brown, dark brown, and white beads.He liked when in second year you started to wear your hair out more often.The way it would always smell of Shea or Coconut.

But who was he to go up to a random person who barely knew him and say “oh your hair smells really nice”

He noticed how other kids would sometimes touch your hair and you obviously didn’t like that.You noticed that Draco wasn’t going to make some sort of mean comment you realized it was him who did it.You mouthed a “thank you” with a grateful smile and Draco nodded and smiled warmly.

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Weird thing is Draco probably gained his crush on you when he said saw that you two had both used an excessive amount of gel in your hair.

It was a dark time, second year, for you, and your hair, where slick backs were the only real things you knew how to do to style your hair.You wanted so badly to be like the other girls in your house who don’t even have to try with getting their hair up in the morning.Draco didn't mind though.

He liked when in third year you decided to wear your hair in an afro. He hated when he found you in a corner crying because some slytherin boys had said how your hair was “Worse than poor mudblood Grangers”.

Third Year

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He liked when he made up a story to his father and got the boys detention in the forbidden forest with Hagrid.He liked when he charmed a butterfly hair clip that he had charmed to flutter it's wings and left it on the outside of your dorm door.He had hoped none of your roommates would get to it before you did.

As he walked down the stairs and said in almost incoherent tone “They better not bloody get to it before her. What idiot would possibly think a flat golden butterfly clip y/n’s favorite animal was theirs? Merlin and who in their right mind would think that a baby blue box with the name y/n on it in golden letters was theirs?”

“Honestly” he scoffed as he continued down the steps he was met with Blaise Zambini’s wide grin.They walked side by side in silence until Blaise spoke up.

“Mate you’re absolutely whipped, sneaking to her dorm before she wakes up to drop off a clip?” He turned over to Draco and was met with a scowl that looked like it could kill.It didn’t phase him though and he continued with a wide grin.

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Blaise had known his friend had some infatuation with the girl ever since their second year when y/n passed by them and Draco leaned over and asked in an anxious tone,”Hey Blaise do ya think it'd be weird to tell someone their hair smells good”.

They had been working on finishing their potions essay and when he looked up he was met with a sight of his friends head in his hand as he admired you from across the common room.

Blaise obviously didn't want him to ruin his chance before he even got one, he smirked and answered with,”Mate.Yes.Don’t do that.” He looked over at Draco in a side eye way.Of course Draco didn’t notice he was too busy staring at you as you talked with Daphne Greengrass about with boy you think is the cutest at Hogwarts.He was trying to get closer to hear your response, in the process almost tipping over his ink. Blaise grabbed the ink swiftly and said in a stern tone ”I’m not kidding, that’d be bloody weird.”

“Right, it would be” he said in an almost dazed tone as he shook his head and went back to writing his potions essay.

(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)

He liked you when you walked into the great hall ten minutes late with your group of friends.You had a slicked back ponytail with the clip right on the right side of it.

He liked you when he heard you say to your friends “Godric I’m telling you guys I love the person who gave me this clip” You said as you took the clip out your hair with a bright smile that in Draco’s opinion could make guy swoon “and get this the wings move, isn’t that brilliant?”

He was overjoyed that you seemed to enjoy the new presence of the butterfly clip.Blaise nudged him and widened his eyes.Draco finally got out of his daze and noticed you gave him a smile he quickly smiled back and looked down trying to hide the blush on his face as he looked down at his plate.

He could hear Blaise snickering on the side of him muttering something about “its sad you can’t just tell her already”

Fifth Year

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Draco was never the guy on the other end of the bullying but when Profferer Moody had transformed him into a ferret he was completely humiliated.He quickly responded with a harsh “My father will hear about this!”

That’s when he noticed you at the front of the crowd with almost tears in your eyes as you told McGonogall what happened.You really did always look perfect in his eyes.Your melanated skin was shining in the sun practically counting off the sun and that shimmering butterfly clip halfway flying around on your hair.Something about you just couldn’t stop Draco from looking admiring you.He decided to run and probably go hide somewhere from all of the humiliation.He was running so fast probably crying at this point over what happened that he couldn’t even hear some footsteps following him and few minutes later.

He was sitting down in some old nook in the castle crying of humiliation. Muttering words of “How dare he stick me down of all people bloody Crabbe’s pants” and “Godric in front of her too”.

He could barely hear the small and careful “Hi” you gave to him.

He quickly looked up with a harsh glare and when he noticed it was you his eyes softened and he responded with a small “Hey”.He then put his face back into his hands hoping that you would just go away. Even if he wanted you to stay.

“Merlin, she really is seeing me like this,” He thought.

He felt her sit by him and their legs practically touching.When she touched he flinched a bit at the contact.His father and mother did love him but his dad Lucius didn’t exactly show it through physical touch and he obviously couldn’t get his mum to come to the school and give him some kind of goodnight hug could he?

“Oh I’m sorry,I probably shouldn’t have done that,” She spoke in a rushed and apologetic tone as she started to move over to give him space.

“No you’re fine just not used to it is all” y/n felt herself saddened at those words and took it as an invitation to grab one of his hands and lace their fingers together.

At this point Draco felt like he was going to explode and even if his hands were wet from his tears he wasn’t about to pull his hand away.”Um, Draco, I just wanted to say that Moody had no right doing that” “Teachers aren’t even aloud to that here, even though you were coming after potter no one deserves that.

“Thanks for coming to comfort me, it really erm, means a lot from you” He said as he looked down at your hands the paleness of his and the brown tones of your contrasting against each other. The sight really did make his stomach erupt with butterflies but all Draco could come up with was he felt sick but a good sick.The girl he liked didn’t laugh at him when he got turned into a bloody ferret and she actually took the time to check up on him. That was enough for him.

“I’m happy it does” you said as you looked foward with a small content smile.They sat in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before y/n spoke “If it means anything,I think you make an adorable ferret” y/n said with a small laugh.Draco let out a breathy laugh and before he could even think he blurted out “Your hair smells really nice” 

Really Draco he thought you get her to sit next. to you, hold your hand, and you told her hair smells good?? Why can’t we just listen to Blaise Godric wha-” His racing thoughts were interrupted by y/n.

“Oh-Um well thank you” She responded with a small nod and a content smile and she knew this was the time.She turned to the boy beside her and said “you were the ones to get those boys detention for me right”

Draco looked up at her for the first time since she sat down eyes red and wide.He became a rambling mess and started to awkwardly state, “Well erm y-you know I just thought they deserved it b-becau-”

“And I’m also assuming you’re the one to give this clip?” She interrupted with the brightest smile her and Draco now looking at each other.

“Well erm-yes” he said meekly. He was still holding your hand resisting the urge to look down at them forever.

“How’d you know?” You said eagerly. Draco looked at you a bit confused until you said “How’d you know that a butterfly is my favorite animal?” 

Draco started to gain some confidence and said “Well I had been having a bloody crush on you since first year so I thought it was only appropriate to know your favorite animal at least ” He hadn’t noticed what he had just revealed as he continued to tell y/n things.“I’m really sorry about the hair comment too” He rambled “It's just that I've been waiting to get that compliment in since second year.” He mumbled in a way that was almost too low to hear then spoke up,“Blaise told me it was rather odd and that I shouldn’t tell you th-” 

That’s when he noticed her face.As if he hadn’t been admiring her for the past five years of his school life.She wore a look that was giving off all different kinds of emotions but the one that was mainly seen was happiness and appreciation.

“Godric no” y/n breathed out “I think that’s the best sort of compliment I could get” Draco looked at her brightly then she continued “and well” She started looking down at their entangled hands “I’ve liked you for a long time too” “If you wanted to know” She looked up at him and he was in a sort of shock? It was like he was waiting for her to say “only joking” and run away like one of the weasels.but she didn’t.

“Draco” She said in a singsong tone as she waved a hand in front of his now almost red face.

“Merlin” he breathed out with the brightest smile he could make “Well in that case IwaswonderingifyouwouldliketgotoHogsmeadewithme” He said in the fasted way he could ready to repeat it before she chirped back a quick, “Yes! Of Course!”

“I-” Draco started to repeat, “Wait you understood that?” He spoke back with an inquisitive look.

“I mean if you don’t want me to say yes-” She teased with a sly grin.

“No,I mean yes,I like that you like me and that you’re going to go to Hogsmeade with me,” he affirmed in a rushed manner. 

“Perfect!” She responded “How about we go clean you up then yea?”

“Right, that’ll be for the best,” he said with a small smile.

They shyly held hands the rest of the way walking to the prefects bathrooms and y/n helped clean up Draco. They finally talked with one another and Draco finally got the girl he was going after for five years.

Present Time

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“Fine fine alright” You sighed in defeat.

“Draco Malfoy your hair is THE most beautiful thing in this world.”

He had stop attacking you at this point and you two were in a criss cross position in front of each other, you were holding his face in both of your hands and the both of you were smiling like absolute idiots.

He looked at your with a grin that he was failing at trying to hide with a pointed expression.

You rolled your eyes and said “except for mine of course”

Draco Malfoy was by far the most dramatic person you’ve ever met in your life.

One day you were in a bookshop and told him that if he went to a muggle school he would be an spectacular theatre kid.Draco for some reason had taken that to great offense and went on saying how “his own bloody girlfriend doesn’t love him” and how “she thinks I’d be in some sort of theatrical arts like Pottah and his unruly ballet”

You honestly didn’t know if Draco was trying to be funny on purpose sometimes or if the things he said just flowed out like silk unlike his hair.

Now you sat under the big tree in the Malfoy Manor garden with Draco’s head on your lap, taking about how just because the conditioner is apple scented it doesn't make it any less bad for your hair.

A/N- hey lol, Anyways this is my first fic. I would really like any constructive criticism, anything you noticed off, or anything that you think needs improvements.I really haven't written anything non school related in a long time and I really want to get back into it :) 

Also it might just be me but if any one gave a comment on my hair and it included “your hair smells good” I would just dies on spot.maybe that's just me lol.Lastly, if you didn’t know I based using a bunch of gel in your in a second year off of myself lol so let’s just say my hair was not the best.Anyways have a good night or day <3

[wenellyb]

hey! every now and then i've seen random posts about sebastian's comment/s on colin kap kneeling among other things, but i've never seen any source material or hard facts. do you have any posts about this or deconstruction of your own? i'd be very interested, ty!

Hey yourself😉!

So I've found the screenshot of the post (at the bottom) and just so you know he also posted an apolology but that one I couldn't find a screenshot of.

There are plenty of posts talking about this but I think most of them are old so it would take some time for me to find them.

If you want my opinion. The whole thing was f*cked up and I remember being extremely surprised and unfollowing him after that post.

And he did apologize, which is good and I do think he understands that that post was not great, but it wasn't my main issue.

When the whole story with Kaepernick happened it was a real eye opener and exposed a lot of racists even among celebrities. I'm looking at you Christopher Meloni. But not only him.

So Colin Kaepernick was to kneeling to protest against police violence and racism.

And a lot of people reacted like a lot of White people react when the topic of racism arise: deny everything and get defensive "How dare he protest blablabala" "He's so rich and he's saying White people are priviledged..." "How dare he say there is racism in this country". You know the usual.

But the thing is to me, the way he protested was the most respectful, and most peaceful way to protest and also so impactful. And some people had still a problem with it...I don't understand how ANYBODY could have a problem with it ... unless they were racist in one way or the other. That was the bar for me... I could not have respect ANYBODY who had a problem with him kneeling, because their message was clear “just sh*t up and play football”.

To me, anybody who had a problem with Colin Kaepernick taking a knee... was automatically problematic and the worst.

For other forms of protests there can always be arguments against it, lousy arguments, but arguements nevertheless: "They're blocking the streets" "There was violence during the protest",... etc... But what is your argument with having a man kneel during the National Anthem, to call out something as serious as police brutality.

To me it was clear that they just wanted Black Americans to shut up, and stay in their lane. "Sports have nothing to do with politics blablabla"

And unfortunately history proved Colin Kaepernick right, and I don't think anybody could voice bad opinions about him today, but at the time, a lot of people were criticizing him, calling him names, insulting him, and even some celebrities were talking about how disrespectful he was.

They cared more about the way he was voicing his protest, than the fact that racism was a real issue.

And because of the protests last year, I think a lot of people tend to forget about that time, but Kaepernick faced A LOT of backlash, A LOT and for what....??? Absolutely no justification. With the way some people reacted you would have thought he burned the American flag on a daily basis, or used it as toilet paper.

So having that in mind, it was really disheartening to see an actor you respect take part in that...

And just to be clear, this is my personal opinion, but I don't think Sebastian had any bad intention with that post (not like other celebrities who were outright criticizing Kaepernick, for some reason I only remember Chris Meloni lol). But the timing, and the content, even as a joke, even as a promotion tool for his movie was extremely bad. You also have to understand the context, and how there were a lot of people rooting against Kap.

Worst case scenerio Seb’s post was racist and best case scenario it was tone deaf.

I can only assume Sebastian watches the news in the US, so he must have known what the caption "take a knee" meant and still decided to post it... So maybe he wasn't ill-intentioned, but to him the topic was light enough that he could post it on his social media...

My main problem isn't even with Seb's post, it was a weird way to promote his movie, or a joke I don’t know. Artists do problematic stuff all the time, and it's up to the fans who support them to decide if they keep doing supporting him or not.

My main problem was and still is the reaction of the fandom, where White Seb stans think they know and understand racism better than anyone else. And honestly this is not me saying that Seb is racist, this is me saying that we should be allowed to voiced our opinions without being silenced or accused of trying to villainize him or cancel him blablabla .

But the Seb stans don't understand that and prefer to turn a blind eye.

I make difference between stans and fans. The Seb fans are the ones who are willing to listen, understand why some people might be offended and admit that their fav f*cked up. The stans are the annoying ones who yould rather keep their head in the sand.

And nobody is even asking to stop supporting Seb... If I cancel an actor, I will stop consuming his content, supporting him, paying to see his movies etc... But I'm not forcing anybody else to do it... But I would like to be free to voice my dislikes especially if that actor was being problematic... without the stans complaining about how "I don't know their fave"

I haven't cancelled Seb btw, I just don't feel like finding him excuses and glossing over the words and if I think that something he did was racist, I will say that it was racist, not "problematic" or "tactless" or "clumsy"...

I think that a lot of people are confused about what racism is, and think it is only White Supremacists who want to harm all non White people.

But it's not only that and in my opinion, there are many layers to racism. If you have "nothing against Blacl people" but there is a part of you that believes you or White people are better than Black people, well you are racist... If not hiw would you describe it? I have already told this story, but I have a friend who swore she wasn't racist and we even had a big debate about racism, and a few weeks later, her boyfriend told me that during a family dinner, she had talked about a common Black friend of theirs saying "She is pretty for a Black girl"... But if you ask my friend, she will say she isn't racist.

If you try to silence people calling out racism, you are contributing to it instead of fighting it.

Another example, I received a lot of "problematic" comments at work from coworkers on my hair, my origins etc, but when I talked about it to my friends and said those comments were racists.. they said that I was "overeacting" that those comments were harmless or just my colleagues being "ignorant". But one time, I was done with it and I wrote to HR about it losting all the comments I had received and the HR director called me and told me that those comments were racist full stop, he didn't try to minimize it or act like I was exagerrating.

And that's how I see the reactions of Seb stans whenever something from him re-sufaces, like my friends who just act like it is nothing.

Just so you know you are not helping when you do that.

They act as if we're suppoosed to accept that because "it's not that big of a deal". Who told you that? How do you determine what is a big deal or not? Especially when you have never dealt with racism?

Fandom behaves as if people who were hurt or offended by that post were overracting. "It was a joke" "It was a long time ago" "He would never do somthing racist"

How hard is it to say " I can see that my fave did something problematic, or that what he did was racist, and I would still like to support him but I understand that people were hirt"??? How hard is it to continue to stan your fave WITHOUT trying to silence people who call out the behavior.

And also the way they refuse to use the words is annoying... it's always "I'm sorry if anybody was offended", never "What I did/wrote was racist and I know better now". If no one wants to admit it when they do racist stuff... nobody will never get anywhere... Like my friend who is convinced that she isn't racist but goes around thinking that White Women are more beautiful than Black Women, and even says it when surrounded by her family. 

And people act like the people who were hurt have no reason to be hurt because he apologized, but I hope those people realize that it doesn’t work that way. An apology is great of course, but it doesn’t take out the hurt, or the feeling that if he was comfortable enough sharing this on social media, what is he comfortable doing in the safety of his close circle?, or remove the idea that maybe an actor you adored, and respected doesn’t view Black people struggles as a serious matter.

I personally don't hate Seb, far from it. And the reason why I have so many posts about him, calling him out or not, is that he is one of the very few White actors I'm interested in. I don't know him personally, but I enjoy his interviews with Anthony and enjoy his movies. But I'm not about to act like he is perfect like some of his stan do and also I have absolutely no issue with people who have "cancelled" him because of his past behavior, because I understand them and it's their choice, it's what works best for them... I don't want to force them to root for someone who maybe wouldn't root for us.

Last point, that I won't elaborate because I have already written way to much. There's a difference between people actively trying to be racist, and people who are racist and maybe don't realize it, or people who have prejudice but are working on it...

I hate it when White people act like the worst thing in the world is being accused of racism when the actual worst thing in the world is being racist. Because it shifts the conversation from... "Oh how can I improve myself and stop this racist thing I'm doing, or how can I work on this prejudice I have?" to "How dare you call me racist!!! I would never" all the while they continue doing the racist thing they do.

TL:DR: His Instagram post was f*cked up, and he apologized. And it's up to each person to decide if they still want to support him or not, but it would be great if thise who still support him stopped pretending that those whose don't are overreacting or had no reason of being offended.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Found Out.”

I took inspiration from the ONE question on the discord server that has caused me no little amount  of annoyance. I have had it asked so many times that now there is an auto response to anyone who asks me the question. Those of you who are on the server know what I am talking about. Those of you who don’t. I will answer at the end of this post.

Simon had to see what was going on.

Granted, the admiral’s business was the Admiral’s business, but there was something strange going on here, and she felt that it was her job to figure out what that was going on. As it occurred to her, generally when something was going on with the Admiral, oftentimes it was something strange and dangerous.

The odd behavior that Corporal Ramirez was now exhibiting might be evidence of some sort of strange contagious mind control alien that…. Well she didn’t know, but it probably infected other people through like…. Spores or something.

She never knew with the Admiral. 

She made her way up onto the command deck and passed the vacant offices. Most of the officers had already clocked off for the day and gone to eat dinner or to bed. Even she should have been off by then, but the strange behavior of the corporal and reports from Yeb (the strange little Tricar with the Green mohawk who now worked with the mess hall staff) that the marine had been stealing large amounts of fruit from the walk in fridge.

Whatever was going on, she had to get down to the bottom of it even if no one else was interested in helping.

She had tried to go to Krill, the only rational person ironically not even a person, to talk to him, but he had been too busy with a relatively routine, but still emergency, surgery and had been unable to speak with her. Dr Katie had been assisting him, and she considered Dr. Katie to be the second most rational person on the ship, and super sweet, but just her luck both of them were too busy.

So it was up to her to figure out what was going on.

She made it up to the Admiral’s door and waited.

She could hear nothing overt just yet, and so she pressed her ear up against the doo hoping that she might be able to hear something, but of course there was nothing. She went to step back contemplating what might be best to do, but as she did, her hand pressed against the opening pad on the door and it slid suddenly open with the soft familiar hiss. She was a bit surprised at first, having expected the door to be locked, and so she stood there blinking owlishly.

The room was dark mostly, light spilled in from the window on the right, bathing the room in the delicate pink of a nearby nebulae.

It wasn’t the only light source though, overhead, on the ceiling a strip of blue neon rested over the bed shedding light downwards on all of his strange and nerdy possessions, movie posters, moon lander replicas, and some other weird stuff that she couldn’t identify.

She saw some movement, and looked down to see the captain’s dog waffles resting in her bed. Her tail thumped once or twice upon seeing Simon.

Simon pursed her lips, she liked Waffles well enough, but was more of a cat person, and was glad the dog didn’t get up,

However, the good things about the animal was mostly to do with her being a good indication of what was going on in the room. As far as Simon could tell, the dog didn’t seem upset in any way, or even distrubed. In fact, she lay her head back down and closed her eyes barely even bothered that Simon had intruded on her master’s room without calling.

Her eyes scanned ver the room as her eyes adjusted, the dull neon light showed more and more of the room.

And the two men lying prone on the bed.

She froze not entirely sure what to think.

Crew fraternization was CLEARLY against the UNSC rules, and a marine with the admiral had some implications that she didn’t even want to think about.

She stood there confused in the doorway for a long moment not sure what to do.

By all rights she should turn the two of them in according to the UNSC guidelines, but… but could see do that? She didn’t know? The rest of the crew would be pissed at her if she did, and she could lose her job. Was this really something she wanted to get herself involved with? Was this really something she COULD get herself involved with.

She stood there racked with indecision for the longest moment until one of the figures began to move, likely allerted. She went to turn around, to run away or something, but just then the Admiral sat up and looked over at her.

He tilted his head as if confused and then his eyes went wide.

She held up her hands, “Admiral I…”

Before she could do anything, the admiral leaped forward off the bed ran over and grabbed her arm, dragging her inside and forcing the door shut. Corporal Ramirez was sitting up now looking groggy and confused.

The Admiral had a hand clamped over her mouth.

Her eyes were wide and wild.

She tried to pull away but he gripped her tighter, “Simon, don’t freak out.”

Ramirez sat up rubbing his head.

“Promise not to freak out, and I will let you go.”

She paused and then nodded, not entirely sure she was going to do what he wanted but she relaxed anyway.

He let her go and held out his hands eying her as if he was ready to jump forward.

Simon didn’t try to run away, but she did cross her arms, “This is unacceptable, Admiral. Absolutely unacceptable.”

He frowned at her seeming oddly confused for someone who had been caught.

“But you haven’t even-”

“Fraternizing with members of the crew!” She announced, she pointed at Ramirez, “And you with your commanding officer.”

The two of them looked at each other for a second confused again before it seemed to dawn on them.

Even in the Dim neon light she saw the Admiral turn red, and Ramirez raised his hands defensively

“Woah woah hold on.”

“We are not , we were’t….”

“Never in my life.:”

“He’s not even my type.”

“This looks weird, but I promise I can explain everything.”

Simon frowned and crossed her arms, “Oh I think it is pretty obvious. You all are acting weird, and then I find you in bed together. That seems pretty clear to me.”

Admiral Vir raised a hand, “I mean I'll admit it does LOOK shady, but we fell asleep kind of on accident, but I would never, not with him.”

Ramirez frowned, “ouch, insulted, but seriously. We weren’t doing anything. And you know me, if we were I would definitely make some inappropriate joke right about now for sure.”

Simon huffed angrily.

“Then what WERE you doing.”

“Well…”

At that moment a dark snakelike shape rose up from the center of the bed, turned towards her and opened it’s mouth.

Simon screamed and tried leaping away, but the Admiral grabbed her again and clamped a hand over her mouth. She tried to fight out of his grip, but he was far too strong. The THING on the bed lifted up higher it’s mouth still open. What was that! Some kind of mind control creature! An alien brain sucker! 

She continued to struggle.

The Admiral Pushed her up against the door hand over her mouth.

“SImon, SIMON!, stop. Stop struggling and we can explain! But I swear if you scream I…. I’lll….. Well I don’t know what Ill do right now, but it will be….. Very unpleasant.” He paused and frowned, “Mindly unpleasant…… well it might be a little unpleasant, definitely a good scolding.”

She frowned in confusion and stopped struggling, and the man, once again, removed his hand from her mouth.

The thing on the bed closed its mouth and blinked one slimy yellow green eye at her.

“What. the. Fuck. is. That.”

Admiral Vir rubbed the back of his head, “Well that is…. That is Jeffery.”

“Jeffery…?”

The snake-thing unwound itself from it’s curled position and slithered onto the floor. Waffles was standing up drawn out of her bed by all the commotion, and as she stood the snake slithered over, reared up and slipped over the dog’s back, wrapping around her belly once and then once around her neck, until it was wrapped around her like some strange looking scarf, head raised into the air like some knd of demented parascope. The dog leaned her head down to lick the snake once before looking back up at Simon.

“Where…. Where did you get it.”

“Huh…. um…. So funny story, we were down on this planet you see-”

She groaned, “You stole and alien from an alien planet!.”

“I mean…. Yes and no, you se Jeffery wanted to come.”

She glowered at him, “Did Jeffery SAY that.”

“Well, no, but I did try to put him back, honestly I did, but then I went to leave. He followed after me and he just looked so sad that I couldn’t leave him.” The man’s eye was wide like that of a child asking to keep a  kitten he had found on the side of the road. 

Waffles took a few steps forward, and now the snake was nearly at chest height looking at her.

She eyed it warily.

“Go on.” The admiral urged, “he likes chin scratches.”

She turned to look at him, “No I am NOT going to pet the snake.”

From the other side of the room Ramirez whispered, “Do it.”

The Admiral nodded encouragingly, and the two of them together frustrated her enough that she finally reached forward and hesitantly rubbed the soft skin under the strange alien’s chin. To her surprise the snake thing learned its head back as if it was enjoying the experience. Before she knew what was happening, it suddenly began curling around her arm and slithering up around her shoulders until it was resting with it’s head on top of hers.

It was…. Strange, and kind of…. nice .

Simon didn’t generally like hugs, or being touched by people period, but there was something about this that felt like…. All the good parts of a hug without any of the bad parts.

She knew pretty immediately that she had been dragged right into this with them.

She frowned.

“Do the two of you even know how to take care of a snake?”

They paused and turned to look at each other. Adam shook his head and Ramirez shrugged.

“Well he isn’t exactly a snake now is he?”

They did have a point.

“Besides, we’ve figured out what he can eat. He likes blueberries, strawberries. And he really loves Pineapple.”

“Pineapple, are you serious?”

“Yeah we were kind of skeptical at first, but he really just went for it, and you know we have been monitoring his health to make sure that he is ok, and it seems to be working rather well.”

Adam nodded, seeming pleased with himself, “Yeah, I seem to recall those berries having a pretty acidic smell, so maybe that’s sort of just the kind of thing that he eats.”

Simon frowned, clearly the two of them had no idea what they were doing. They were definitely going to need her help to be more organized and to take care of this guy way better. She absently reached up to rub Jeffery’s chin.

Don’t worry, she thought, I am going to take good care of you

That question is, “Can Drev eat Pineapple.”  The answer is NO, but Jeffery can!

[wanderinginksplot]

Just for Kix

Previous | Masterlist

Vent

"Hey, look who finally decided to show up!" a friendly voice called out as Kix walked into the GAR's main medbay.

"Curl, you di'kut, there's no one else here," Kix complained, though the grin on his face took the sting out of the insult he tossed to his fellow medic.

"Yeah, but the others are on their way," Curl said defensively, gripping Kix's forearm in greeting. Kix squeezed Curl's 104th-gray vambrace in return before helping to gather some of the medbay's most comfortable chairs.

'The others' were the other medics of various battalions. Every few months, the GAR brought some of the older medics back to Coruscant to be recertified. This class was going to be great or terrible, Kix hadn't decided. With some of the brothers he heard were scheduled to be here, it could go either way, but it was sure to be memorable.

Still, it would be good to see everyone again. They had decided to meet here as soon as everyone's transports arrived. Classes didn't start until the next morning, but everyone needed a chance to complain about the idiots they were in charge of.

"Are all the transports here?" Kix asked.

Curl started to say something, but he was cut off by heavy footsteps approaching the medbay door. A large trooper stepped in, his sheer size and the weight of his heavy muscle making the floor reverberate a little with every step. His armor, altered to fit his increased muscle mass, was painted with swirls of 327th yellow.

When he caught sight of them, he bobbed his head and removed his helmet. "Kix, Curl," he said in greeting, his low voice rumbling through the room like thunder.

"Limit," Kix returned.

"Well, if it isn't the most popular medic in the GAR," Curl joked, beaming at the man. "Heard you couldn't keep the females away last time you were at 79's, vod."

Limit's face flushed. "Stop it, Cu- Curl. I get enough of that from my- my own men."

"Leave him alone," Kix chided, shoving at Curl's shoulder. "Keep it up and I'll tell Wolffe you were bullying Limit."

Curl was irreverent, but Kix thought that threatening to go to his commanding officer would make him back off - especially with a CO as ill-tempered as Wolffe. Curl seemed unphased, however.

"Oh, yeah?" Curl challenged. "Maybe I'll tell him you were messing with Limit. He's still mad at you for joking about his cybernetic eye."

"You j-joked about Commander Wolffe's eye?" Limit asked, looking shocked and a bit horrified.

Kix felt an uncharacteristic surge of guilt. Limit was everyone's favorite brother. Disappointing him was like hitting a youngling.

"You didn't have to see how bad it was, Limit!" he defended. "I was scraping black goo out of it. He's lucky it didn't catch fire, and Curl is lucky he didn't have to deal with it!"

"Yeah, but I had to treat your general that one time," Curl tossed back.

"And I'm sure it was terrible for you," Kix said dryly.

The one time General Skywalker had been injured and admitted he needed a medic, Curl had been the one to treat him. Kix had spent his entire career dragging his general into the medbay for every injury, but Skywalker came and asked Curl to all but perform a battlefield surgery!

Curl had been insufferable after that.

"You know better than to make fun of someone who came to you- to you for treatment, Kix," Limit told him, deep voice saddened.

"Yeah, Kix," Curl gloated, beaming from behind Limit's impossibly broad shoulder.

"Come over here, Curl," Kix invited. "I want to show you this new method of spinal adjustment I learned. Only a mild chance of paralysis."

The door opened once again, this time admitting a trooper who wore Coruscant Guard crimson even out of uniform.

"Wow, Ink," Curl commented. "Didn't even bother to dress up, huh?"

"Got off duty an hour ago," Ink grunted. "Didn't want to be in my armor longer than I had to."

True enough, the trooper wore a crimson shirt with sleeves that barely reached his elbows. Wearing civvies to a medic meeting, even one that wasn't GAR-official, was a bold move. Everyone's civilian clothing was open to mocking, and Ink was no exception.

Of course, Curl didn't limit himself to Ink's clothing.

"What happened to your arms, vod?" he asked, seeming to fight a grin.

Ink was known among troopers for his tattoos. Intricate, Mandalorian-inspired patterns traced along the entirety of his back, shoulders, and arms. Ink had been expanding the maze of tattoos lately, and they had now spread down his forearms almost to his wrists. Of course, Curl was probably talking about the spots where messy splotches of color filled the precise outlines of the pattern.

At Curl's question, Ink glanced down at his forearms and shrugged. "The Guard had to investigate a fire on one of the lower levels. There were some younglings there."

He said it like it was a full explanation and - from him - it was. Ink melted around younglings of every species, despite how much he scared their parents.

Kix hid a smile of his own. "How's life with the Corrie Guard treating you?"

"He shou-should be the one doing the treating," Limit joked.

"Hilarious," Ink deadpanned. "Guard life is good. Treated a sprained ankle last week. Di'kut jumped down a level and a half without a jetpack."

"Hey, you know the rules," Curl objected. "No med talk until everyone is here."

"Who are we waiting on?" Kix asked.

"Heeeeeyyyyyyyy!" Shatter cheered, bursting through the door like he had been waiting for an introduction. Sprain followed close behind, throwing his arms outward like he was accepting applause.

"You didn't start without us, did you?" Sprain asked when Shatter finally paused to breathe.

"Just a short story about Wolffe," Limit admitted, looking guilty. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, Limit," Shatter forgave easily, gripping Limit's forearm in a quick warrior's greeting.

"Besides, we've all heard about Wolffe's eye," Sprain added. "Kix has been complaining about it for months."

"Was I supposed to stop?" Kix asked, mildly affronted. "I can still smell it!"

"Gross," Ink contributed.

"Gross? I'm gonna assume you're talking about that sad excuse for civvies," Shatter jabbed. "I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything, but it looks like something a Weequay would wear."

Ink snorted. "At least they didn't run out of dye for my shirt like they did with your hair."

Everyone else in the room chuckled at that - except Sprain, who had a single streak of dye up the back of his hair to match his brother. Shatter's was 212th gold, of course, while Sprain's was 41st Elite Corps green.

"I would be more offended by that if we weren't talking to the unanimously-voted best medic in the GAR," Sprain said, grinning.

"Is it true you actually got Fox to sleep more than five hours straight?" Shatter asked.

Kix perked up. This was new information… Fox was infamous for his lack of regular sleep, and infamously stubborn when it came to setting professional limits for sake of his health.

Ink leaned back in his chair and crossed his color-swatched arms over his chest. "I can neither confirm nor deny that story. Medic-patient privilege."

"C'mon, Ink," Curl wheedled. "No one's ever gotten Fox to sleep that long, especially not an almost-shiny like you."

Ink shot a glare in Curl's direction.

"However you d-did it, good job," Limit congratulated sincerely. "The Commander needs to take better care of- care of himself."

"We're here to learn new stuff to use on the field, right?" Kix mused slowly. "Well, I have a general who likes to avoid sleep. Can you give me some tips, Ink?"

Curl snorted. "Maybe another medic just has to ask."

Sprain, having heard the Curl-treating-Skywalker story before, just elbowed Curl. "Yeah, Ink, help Kix out. Of course, I don't need any help at all, since General Unduli believes in living a life of balance..."

"Shut up, Sprain," Shatter told his brother. "We get it; your general actually takes care of herself. Ink, if the circles under Kenobi's eyes get any darker, I'm going to get called in for dereliction of duty. Help a vod avoid a court-martial, would you?"

Ink sighed. "I can't be specific, but… did you know that certain Coruscant businesses will package unflavored protein powder in stim packages?"

Shouts of laughter greeted his carefully worded advice.

"Is that ethical?" Limit asked, sounding a bit troubled by the idea of deceiving a patient.

With a shrug, Ink told him, "More ethical than letting the Head Commander catch a plasma bolt in his shebs because he's too tired to function when his overlapping stims wear off."

Limit still looked doubtful, but Kix made a mental note of the trick. The general and commander didn't use stims except in dire circumstances - claiming that the Force sustained them - but the captain was known to be more reliant on non-sleep methods than Kix would prefer. And don't even get him started on Fives and Echo. When the ARCs were attached to the 501st, Kix could feel his heart working overtime.

"Speaking of catching a bolt, is it true you threatened to shoot one of your troopers, Curl?" Kix asked, relishing the looks of shock on the faces of the other medics. He had waited until everyone was present to drop that particular bit of news.

Curl looked surprised, for once. "How did you hear about that?"

"I have my ways," Kix said mysteriously. It paid to be friends with officers from other battalions, and his friendship with Sinker had proven it on multiple occasions.

Looking murderous, Limit drew himself up to full height. "You what?"

Curl knew when to get out of the line of fire and took a few steps away from the mass of muscle that was Limit. "It's not as bad as it sounds! Some of the members of the Wolfpack were experimenting with their jetpacks. I overheard a plan to drop a trooper from cruising altitude and have the other men catch him on the way down. I told them that they wouldn't have to worry about the enemy if they tried it."

Shatter blew out a breath. "Your battalion is something else, Curl."

That was the general consensus, if the nods and grunts around the room were any sign.

"So? Am I forgiven, Limit?" Curl asked, his eyes dancing.

Limit clenched his jaw. "I just don't think there is any- any cause to threaten one of your own troopers. Their safety is your concern, and they get enough threats from outsiders."

Sprain looked curious. "And what do you do when one of your troopers refuses to consider his own safety?"

"I talk to him," Limit answered simply. "Last miss- mission, Lieutenant Galle tried to hide an injury from me. When I found out about it, I treated- treated him and we had a talk about the responsibility of command and the importance of being at your- at your best when the lives of your vode are at risk."

"How did he take that talk?" Kix asked. Galle was notoriously stubborn and took criticism extremely poorly.

"He cried and admitted that I was right."

Surprised laughter met that pronouncement.

"Psychological warfare is the worst kind," Ink told him. "I'd rather someone just shoot at me."

"You don't mean that," Curl said, though his voice made it a question.

Shatter raised his eyebrows. "Would you rather get shot at or have Limit tell you that your life choices were bad?"

With a long look in Limit's direction, Sprain shrugged. "I'd go under fire any day."

"And I sup-suppose you all just threaten your men?"

"Sometimes, you can bribe them instead," Curl countered, keeping a steady distance between Limit and himself.

Any attempt at coherent conversation disintegrated from there, as the medics fell into arguments about the best way to handle stubborn patients. Kix fought a grin as he listened to them all. With medics like these fighting for the Republic, the CIS didn't stand a chance.

---

A/N - As a note, stims are canonically injected, but this is a theoretical powdered version. (Go with it.) I know some of you have told me your hopes for a happy ending for Kix. While I'm sure he continues to help where he can in his current timeline, the sequel era just doesn't inspire me enough to write a sequel-based happy ending for him. However, the idea of a medic group chat is one that has stuck with me throughout this series, and I wanted to include it in part here! You already know Curl, Shatter, and Sprain. Limit was introduced in the Bly chapter of Nobody Listens to Kix. Ink is new and got his name from his tattoos (not because of my username, I promise!). I hope it provided a lighthearted end to this particular fic.

Unfortunately, this is the last chapter of this story at this point. Unless I get some new ideas or surrender to my urge to write more about these OCs, this is the end of this particular story. If anyone has interest in a different work about several members of the Coruscant Guard, I have one I'm publishing as my new weekly-updated story (found on my masterlist). If not, no worries! It has been an absolute joy writing for you! Thank you, as always, for reading! Have a wonderful day!

[rpbetter]

Hi! How do you distinguish between a mun who has favorites but still treats their non favorites with respect, and a mun who has favorites but uses this as an excuse to disrespect everyone else? Sometimes it's hard for me to tell, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Hey, Anon! That's actually a great question.

It's also totally reasonable to have a hard time telling. When you feel like you might be a little more into the threads than the other mun is, no matter how much they're being respectful and caring, it can still feel a bit...lame. We all want to be a favorite writing partner, even as we know that's impossible, that we can't manage that ourselves. It's not a thing of logic!

I feel like I should probably preface the detailing I'm about to do - this is only my experience. There are always variables in anything dealing with other people, and any time we're already feeling down, it's really easy to see things in a way that might not be the reality.

Alright, then.

Muns who use this as an excuse or justification for what they're doing tend to be the ones that:

are likely to pair the excuse/justification with aggressively vilifying anyone who takes issue with their treatment of them for being too serious about RP/too emotionally invested in anything from friendships to ships/otherwise "not realizing it's just a hobby" - apparently, "hobby" actually means "you're not making a dollar, so, do whatever you want in whatever way you want, so long as it's making you and only you happy and comfortable," who knew?

will lead muns on, either because they're uncomfortable with telling those who are not the favorites that...well, they're not the favorites and they might wish to just drop the threads or because...

they have a bit of a habit of going through favorites/their favorites take frequent breaks or are slower to reply, and it's good to have other muns around for when either situation happens - it's okay if everyone else is bored and/or left out, but not them

become angry and defensive if you ask them about your thread(s) and/or if everything is alright after a reasonable period of inactivity only on your threads*

if they previously had OOC contact and/or a friendship with you, it's one pole or another of OOC behavior with you now - no contact/as little as they can possibly manage or they'll proceed like you also only want to have conversations about what is going on with the favorite(s), the ships, the threads, the fandom, the mun. Before anyone misconstrues this to mean that "so, no matter what they do it's sus lol," no. There is such a thing as neither insulting someone by having nothing else to talk about except the mun/muse/ship you're ignoring them for nor just stopping/avoiding conversation altogether. It's actually not normal or acceptable to treat people like disposable fixations or expect them to be thrilled or lie about it when you can't shut up about their replacement(s)

in general, if this mun just keeps making it apparent that neither you nor anyone else exists unless they're the favored mun? That's really it. That's the difference between having favorites and still treating other muns with respect - there isn't any respect, none of you exist to respect

*I'm not going to speak to what is reasonable to everyone, it's one of those things I think muns should mention to some degree in their rules, but with people taking it to mean things it doesn't, it's doubtful that's going to happen. (I encourage it, though, please, put in your rules when you'll ask about threads or if you'll assume there is no more interest and they've been dropped. "After one month of no reply and no OOC contact, I will either contact you to ask if you're still interested." No big deal!) For me, it would depend on the mun themselves, even if I've got in my rules that after x time, I will assume y. If this is a mun that has updated OOC that they're extra slow right now, and they're usually pretty slow, I'm going to just see that as them prioritizing preferred partners with what little time they have, that's not coming across as rude favoritism to me at that point. If it's a mun that has continued to reply as normal, posted no updates OOC, and they're specifically just replying to one or two favorites with that regular timing, I'm going to ask if they're still interested after a month or so.

The problem always is that, despite what the RPC likes to say for the same damn reason, we're all afraid to be acting on ridiculous suspicion and paranoia. We get treated a certain way, maybe it is once and it was just extremely bad, maybe it has happened over and over again, and we really do start seeing phantoms of ill-treatment. It becomes difficult to trust your own judgment and listen to your inner voice (one that, furthermore, is already at least a bit embattled by life on and offline).

These are only some points to help you trust yourself or disprove yourself if you already feel like there might be this problem going on.

If you have someone who could be impartial when given evidence, you might want to consider asking if they'd mind helping you identify if this is a problem or not. Don't mention mun names or even muses if you're in the same intersections of the RPC, you're not trying to smear anyone here, just get a different viewpoint that isn't touched by any negative or positive feelings about that mun!

I said "evidence," so, I want to be clear that I did not mean screenshots or direct quotes. Give situations, what the mun is and is not doing, as both are important.

Some questions that might help you identify things to present to a third party for help:

Are they replying to any of your threads, how about asks?

If/when they reply to you IC, how do they reply? Is it shorter than it used to be, unenthusiastic? Or is it the same, just fewer and farther between, or less interesting to you than what they're doing with preferred partners?

Are the plots they're doing with the favorite(s) ones that you previously had with them or that you had plotted out and were working toward? And if that answer is yes, are these common plots that can be applied anywhere or specific ones?

Is this all something that is perhaps temporary overexcitement, or has this just kept going on for months, shows no sign of stopping?

Did you speak/were friends OOC? If so, how has this changed? Frequency of messaging, topics of conversation, enthusiasm, interest in you or your muse?

Are you now left out of games on the dash in which you used to be tagged, or unwelcome in things like "dash crack?" Is it, by contrast, that you might be welcome in the latter, but either it doesn't interest you by inclusion/focus of the favorite or because you lack a base of engagement with what's going on?

Do they send you memes, has that changed at all?

The way you feel is valid, but it might also be influencing the way you're viewing a situation, including in how you relate it to someone else for help. So, try to stick to actions when doing so.

By contrast, muns who have favorites but are not using this to justify being disrespectful to others tend to:

be open and upfront about having favorites and why - they're not trying to hide anything, including what makes their favorite writing partners, threads, and ships favorites to begin with

^they are not "open and upfront" by obnoxiously reminding everyone constantly who those favorites are, they're not shit posting how @munthatisntyou is their bestie/their muse is lusting after their muse/actually my wife. They are upfront about it by stating in their rules they can, will, and do have favorites. They're open about it by not lying or acting like it's the worst accusation ever when someone asks them about it

definitely have priority threads, might have an easier, thus faster, time responding to questions/prompts regarding those threads/ships, but still respond with equal interest to memes from others*

the same is true of interest and turnaround time with thread replies, they might get the preferred ones out faster, but they're still replying to everyone and still keeping other muns updated on what's going on*

will not be hostile when approached by fair, politely put concerns about threads, but rather, will respond with honesty as to their interests - whether they have, indeed, changed or haven't alike

they still express the same interest OOC outside of messages, liking and commenting on posts, sending memes, and being concerned or congratulatory when they see OOC posts dealing with life events

in general, muns who just have favorites like everyone does remain aware of others in the same way they always have, still make efforts to respond to threads, memes, messages, etc. with the same interest they always have - they appreciate everyone they interact with, not only their favorite(s)

*Everyone has a different way that works for them, and that influences their meme answering, thread replying, and OOC response turnaround time. A very social mun might respond to OOC messages more frequently, reliably, and with more zeal than a mun who is less socially active, forgetful, or dealing with different difficulties that might prevent doing so, for example. As another example, a mun who writes lengthy, detailed novella that takes a while to finish is going to take longer with everyone than a mun who writes in a way, or just has more time to write, that allows for replies to get out faster. Please, keep expectations and observances mindful of these factors and differences! What is typical of one mun might be perceived as legitimate favoritism when contrasted with a mun who operates differently than them.

That's really the difference, there is recognition and appreciation of everyone. They might have a visibly different friendship with their favorite(s), but it doesn't come with the cost of treating everyone else either like they don't exist or like total shit. And that comes in many ways, as many ways as there are possible interactions in the RPC. From being casual mutuals who do not write together (still acknowledging posts etc.) to outright writing partners (still giving replies with as much effort and quality).

You can think of muns like this as you would people who have different sorts of friendships as opposed to people who have rather cliquey friendships in which it's often enough a clique of two in which everyone else, even if included or otherwise used by those two, only exists out of necessity. The former is a normal social situation, we get on well with the people we do for a reason, and that's perfectly alright. The latter is some immature and self-interested behavior one should have grown out of in junior high.

As you didn't ask for this, I'm putting it under the cut as additional advice for others!

If you feel like someone is being disrespectful, or worse, and is glossing it over with "it's okay for people to have favorites, calm down" (a thing that's totally true but not meant to be used to excuse shitty behavior), you really do want to just remove yourself from the situation. In a situation like that, you're not going to change their behavior, and even if you did, are you ever going to be able unsee it?

What is more likely to happen is you'll be growing the seed of upset they planted into a big tree of animosity. Every time you are on your dash and see them replying or tagging their favorite(s), you're going to be either hurt or angry. Eventually, it's impossible to separate which of those things you are, and it's increasingly likely you're going to say or do something regrettable. And I mean regrettable in how it is likely to negatively affect you. You don't deserve to be branded a terrible person for an outburst. The situation has been bad enough.

Whether you should soft block to unfollow and force an unfollow, hard block, unfollow with or without communication is all subject to too many variables for me to advise any single course of action.

If it's possible to communicate politely that you're officially dropping threads or unfollowing, I will always advise doing so. If that isn't possible because this mun has been that terrible, or has proven in the past that they will react badly to such communications, then so be it, just quietly remove yourself from their presence.

You owe friends, even former ones if they've not done you awfully, the decency of communicating that you're ending things. You owe mutuals who haven't done anything more than ignoring you (as awful as that is, it's not as bad as being aggressively disrespectful, lying to you, leading you on, etc.) that decency and maturity as well. You do not owe anyone who has behaved like an immature ass that decency, it's okay to just leave in those cases. As it is in situations when you feel confident that speaking to them is going to cause drama for you.

When a mun hasn't ever really interacted with you, you've become mutuals, but it never went anywhere because they were already engaged in ignoring everyone except the favorite(s), it's alright to just leave quietly, too. They clearly don't register that you exist, so...don't exist. Go exist around muns who know you're there. But the caveat to that should be that if they decide to notice your vacant spot on the dash and come to you to ask about this, you should answer them. Be honest, but polite. Tell them that you just didn't see working out with them after all, and since you hadn't interacted, you unfollowed.

You never know (you just shouldn't count on it), in that latter case especially, that mun might honestly not be aware of the effect of their actions. Like everyone else, they're just doing what they enjoy, what makes them happy is what they're concentrated on, and might genuinely just have a narrow field of vision on it until spoken to.

Whatever is right for the unique situation at hand, don't lie to someone if they message you about it. Don't just act like it was an accidental unfollow or a tumblr glitch, grit your teeth, and add them back so that there is no unpleasantness. There is already unpleasantness if you felt the need to distance yourself from them, remember that!

[thatsamericano]

Confidant by Accident

Pairings/Characters: America/Romano, Lithuania POV.

Ratings/Warnings: Teen, only for cursing. No warnings other than mild angst.

Word Count: 1838

Summary: After America rejects Romano’s offer of leftover lasagna in favor of a chocolate bar, Romano needs to vent to someone. Lithuania ends up being the perfect sounding board.

A/N: Takes place right after this week’s episode/Chapter 72 of Hetalia World Stars. Will be up on AO3 soon.

Lithuania was too busy helping America move heavy cardboard boxes to say anything when Romano appeared in the doorway. He could only glance over as he was setting down a box and wonder why Savino wouldn’t just walk into the room instead of barely letting his head peek in through the doorway. He was acting shy, which wasn’t like him at all.

But then it started to make sense. Savino was worried about Alfred working too much, though he hid his concern by bragging about his two-hour lunch break. (Which was frankly excessive, in Tolys’s opinion. Not that anyone had asked him.) When America admitted he hadn’t really sat down for lunch in a long time, Romano offered him homemade lasagna. Making that particular meal took a while, and Lithuania was a little surprised Romano would spontaneously offer it to America. Even if it was leftovers that he couldn’t finish himself.

America was surprised too, and Romano misinterpreted his reaction. By this time, Tolys was moving another box, but he didn’t have to see Savino’s face to hear how his voice got quieter and how he almost sounded hurt, as if America had rejected something more important than leftovers. Lithuania frowned as he set the box down and glanced back and forth between them.

Alfred thanked Savino for his offer, but he didn’t seem to pick up on how bothered Savino was. It wasn’t out of any ill intent. Tolys had been living with Alfred with a while, and if he had learned one thing about his employer, it was that he often seemed to miss the social intricacies that seemed so clear to others, especially when he was focused on something else.

Right now, he was focused on brandishing a chocolate bar. He pulled the chocolate bar seemingly out of nowhere, winked, then chomped into it in a way that was strangely… flirtatious? It was almost like he was trying to impress Savino, either with the mere fact he had a chocolate bar or the overdramatic way that he ate it. Lithuania didn’t understand how either of those things could be impressive, but it seemed to be working on Romano.

Savino was enraptured by Alfred’s odd display. His eyes were wide, his lips were parted, and, most tellingly of all, a reddish blush formed on his cheeks. But by the time America was looking at him again, Romano’s mask was back in place. He smiled weakly at America as he left the room, and once he was gone, America sighed fondly.

“Vinny worries way too much, doesn’t he?” He went back to his “multi-tasking,” which was clearly just trying to do too much at once. Currently it involved talking on the phone, doing paperwork, and attempting to eat a chocolate bar all at the same time.

Lithuania continued the single task America had assigned him. He grunted as he lifted a particularly hefty box. “About you especially.”

Alfred hummed in agreement, and Tolys caught a glimpse of his face as he passed by with the box. America’s expression was inexplicable but not something Lithuania had never seen before. Despite the person currently berating him on the phone and the mountain of paperwork he had to complete, Alfred seemed almost blissful. He’d seemed blissful a few weeks ago, on a much slower day, when Lithuania had caught him sitting next to the couch, where Romano was taking his customary afternoon nap. His hand was inching towards Romano’s hair, but when he heard Lithuania’s footsteps, America whirled around with a panicked expression on his face and insisted that he’d only been checking to make sure Savino was breathing, since he’d gone awfully still for a second. He wasn’t watching Savino sleep or considering playing with his hair, because that would’ve been creepy and weird, and Alfred wasn’t a creepy weirdo, okay, Tolys?

Back then, all Tolys had been able to do was nod even if he knew Alfred had been lying. Now, all he could do was puzzle over America’s odd behavior as he kept helping him move boxes.

Tolys stretched his stiff, aching muscles after he’d placed the last box. “I’m done moving the boxes, Al.”

“Really? Thank you, that was very helpful.” America was working his way through a large stack of paperwork, but he managed to look up and give Lithuania a sincere smile. “You can take a break for a while now if you want. You’ve earned it.”

“What about you?”

The phone rang again, and Alfred shrugged before he picked it up and answered with a cheerful voice that belied how exhausted he must truly be. Lithuania knew America couldn’t be convinced, so he left the room and made his way towards the kitchen.

Romano was at the stove, scraping lasagna out of the pan and muttering to himself. When he got closer, he could hear that he was ranting about America. “Fucking idiot, won’t even let me take care of him. Then he has the nerve to wink at me and eat his mass-produced, shitty chocolate, which is not even half as nutritious as my lasagna.”

Lithuania grimaced. “Hey, Romano.”

“Hey.” Savino cast him a tired glance. “You want something?”

“I, uh, know I wasn’t the person you actually offered leftovers, but I think America’s gonna be chained to his desk all day. I figured you wouldn’t want all that food to go to waste.”

Savino snorted. “There’s enough here for two Americas. Get yourself something to drink, and I’ll fix you a normal-sized plate.”

“Thanks.” Lithuania poured himself a glass of wine, which was what Romano usually took with his lunch, and yawned. “Man, I’m beat.”

“You guys have been really busy today, huh?”

Lithuania smiled faintly at the tinge of concern in Romano’s voice. “Yeah. Alfred’s been way more swamped than me. He can’t even end a phone call without someone else calling him five seconds later.”

“He should have put me on the phone, so I could tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.” Romano got a fork out of the drawer, set it on the plate, and handed the lasagna to Lithuania.

Lithuania chuckled as he walked towards the kitchen table with his glass and plate. Romano followed him. “I don’t think that would lead to good business relations,” he teased.

Romano huffed in annoyance. “It might lead that idiota to eat an actual goddamn lunch for once in his life. He can’t subsist on fumes and chocolate bars forever.” Lithuania sat down at the table, and Romano sat across from him.

He took a bite, chewed it slowly, then swallowed. “Romano, Alfred… he wasn’t trying to insult you. He loves your food. I’m sure, if he wasn’t so busy—”

“That’s not the fucking problem, okay?”

“Okay.” Tolys knew that, especially with Savino, sometimes it was better not to push. Forcing the issue would only make him more defensive. For the next several minutes, he only heard the scrape of his fork across the plate, his own chewing, and wine sloshing in the glass as he sipped it between bites. The silence was awkward, but Lithuania could endure it.

Eventually, Savino broke. He put his elbows on the table, gripped his hair in his fists, and started talking. “Sometimes, Fredo frustrates the hell out of me. I can’t hate him, but I hate the shit he does.”

Obviously, he didn’t hate Alfred if he was giving him a nickname and offering him leftover lasagna, but Lithuania wasn’t tactless enough to point that particular absurdity out. He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. “What does Alfred do that bothers you?”

“It’s what he doesn’t do. He looks at me, but he never really sees me. Ever. I’m around the guy practically 24/7, and somehow he’s too oblivious to pick up on the fact I fucking—” Romano paused, then shot Lithuania a look that communicated everything his fear refused to let him voice out loud. “That I care about him.”

Lithuania thought over everything that had happened today, and everything else he’d noticed since Romano moved into America’s house. “I think Alfred cares about you. But sometimes, he cares about you so much that he can’t see you caring about him too. Like today, with the chocolate bar. He would’ve probably preferred the lasagna, but he had something else to eat, and he didn’t want to make you go out of your way for him.” Or the fact that in his own clumsy, bizarre way, Alfred had been trying to flirt with Savino when he winked at him and bit into that chocolate bar. The fond gleam in America’s eyes as soon as Romano left the room, that was often there when Savino wasn’t looking directly at him. The way Alfred instinctively pulled Savino closer if they were walking through a dark, narrow street after spending the evening at a speakeasy. The fact that he would’ve sat beside the couch, gently running his fingers through Savino’s hair and watching him sleep if Tolys hadn’t walked into the living room at the exact wrong moment.

Care didn’t cover how America felt, and even love, that word Romano refused to say, paled in comparison. Devotion was the closest term, and it was growing steadily every day. But that devotion was concealed and unspoken, and it wasn’t Lithuania’s place to say anything for America. Even if today had made it abundantly clear that Savino reciprocated those feelings, despite his occasionally prickly demeanor.

Gradually, Romano loosened his grip on his hair. He put his hands down in front of the table and sighed.

“Why the hell did he whip out the chocolate bar, bite it, and pose afterwards? Showy asshole.” Romano was blushing again and avoiding Lithuania’s eyes, but he didn’t seem quite as troubled as before. He didn’t sound particularly irritated either.

Tolys shrugged. “You’d have to ask him. I can’t read Alfred’s mind.” He could put the clues together, and the clues all added up to one conclusion. But that conclusion, inconveniently, wasn’t his secret to share.

Lithuania finished his meal, and he carried his empty plate, fork, and wine glass to the sink. “Thanks for fixing lasagna for lunch. It was delicious, and it was a nice thing for you to do.”

Romano had gotten up at the same time he had, and now, he was standing near the broom he’d left by the pantry door. “Thanks for talking to me about stuff,” he said quietly. Savino was clearly embarrassed by their conversation, and by what he’d nearly confessed. Lithuania knew he couldn’t make a big deal out of it. Forcing the issue would only make things worse, not better.

“No problem.”

Savino smiled genuinely, if not joyfully, when he carried his broom out of the room to sweep elsewhere. Tolys cleaned the dishes and fork he’d used, and he resolved to put this matter out of his mind until Savino (or perhaps Alfred, at some point in the future) needed him to be a confidant once again.

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: It's a hanahaki fic, so. Mild body horror, blood, respiratory illness. (Starts at Ch 3 and gets worse from there).

Characters: All

Pairing: Moceit

Additional Notes: This one was supposed to be Darker and Longer, but turns out I'm not in the headspace to write angst atm, so it ends up moving p fast. Swaps between Janus and Patton's POVs. Post-PoF, light angst. Not whump. They both get hanahaki, but there is absolutely no version of Moceit in my mind where Janus isn't the one who falls first. My AO3 username is WizatdGlick.

Summary: The story of how Janus and Patton find each other at rock bottom and fall in love anyway.

A gentle knock on Janus' door drew him out of his thoughts. He donned a mask of triumph as he rose to open it, straightening his hat as he went. It couldn't be Remus; Remus never knocked so softly, which meant that Janus had to perform. He slid into the role with difficulty, struggling to find the edges of this gloating persona when all he felt was numb and tired and lost.

It was Patton at the door, and Janus felt everything slip, and Patton's eyes lit up with recognition, and all of Janus' resolve fell away in the face of that beseeching gaze.

"Come for another debate?" Janus asked in a low voice, making no effort to hide his ironical smile.

Patton smiled too, though he dropped it a moment too soon. Janus got the distinct impression that Patton was also far too wrung-out to put on any kind of act tonight. "Just came to check on you."

It would be as natural as breathing for Janus to draw back, place his fingertips delicately to his chest, widen his eyes. ' Check on me?' he would say, all faux-innocence, ' Please, Patton, I'm not a child. I don't need your pity.'

But he didn't.

Here was Patton, reaching out, and hadn't that been what Janus had wanted all along? That tiny, fervent flame that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge, that smallest ember of hope that someone might just give him what he was convinced he had to take.

The seconds stretched out until the silence verged on awkward, and Janus' pride stood up to do what his cunning would not: "I'm fine." He was fine, strangely. Not happy, as he perhaps should have been, but nothing hurt.

Patton's brow furrowed. "Am I supposed to believe that?" he asked gently.

Something warm and soft and dangerous bloomed in Janus' chest at Patton's look of confusion. He had freckles on his nose, scattered like spilled cinnamon: a trait assigned by Thomas’ subconscious. "Patton," Janus said, flicking his gaze upwards to meet Patton's eyes. "Would you like to come in?"

"To your room ?" Patton asked, eyes widening. He looked past Janus' shoulder and Janus fought not to move and block Patton's gaze with his body. He had just invited Patton in; there was no point getting shy now. "Won't that, y'know, do something to me?"

"It's just a matter of self-control," Janus said, hoping to get a smile out of Patton.

Sure enough, Patton did smile. "What color is my shirt?"

Janus said, "True blue," and stepped backwards to let Patton in.

It was a risk to bring someone into his room like this, but he felt unusually clear-headed tonight, calm and strangely secure despite the fact he had just let a known enemy past his defenses, and despite the exhaustion that made every breath feel heavy.

"Warm in here," Patton remarked, looking around.

Janus motioned him over to a set of armchairs. To be seen was to be judged, and he wasn't sure what he would do if Patton found him lacking again . "I have a question for you, Patton."

In the low light, the tear tracks on Patton's cheeks glimmered when he tilted his head inquisitively. "You do?"

Janus nodded, slow and calculated. He was sure he already knew the answer to the question, and preemptive anger bubbled thick and hot in his veins. "Who," he said, unable to keep from glaring, "came to check on you?"

"Well," said Patton, "Ah… They don't-- Everyone's upset right now--"

"And you're not?" Janus demanded. "And don't you dare tell me that you're fine." His emotions were running too hot; he needed to check himself, but seeing Patton make excuses filled him with a passion he'd only ever felt on Thomas' behalf.

"I am--"

"Don't."

"But I have to be," Patton whispered. "I can't-- I know they told me… They said it was okay for me to be sad, but--"

"If you fall apart, there's no one there to pick up the pieces," Janus guessed. "Sure, you can be sad, as long as it doesn't interfere with your role."

"Don't be mad at them," Patton pleaded, and Janus realized with a jolt that he would get into no one's good graces by slinging around insults.

"It's just hard," Janus said plainly, only half-noticing the words coming out of his mouth. He had just become aware of a keen and sickening new desire, borne on the back of a newfound respect for Patton that he had even lasted this long without having some sort of spectacular breakdown. Janus' whole chest ached with it, that and the equally sickening knowledge that he had just become horrifically vulnerable, that he had fallen under a spell he could never hope to break.

He saw it in his mind's eye: he saw himself stand and lean over, take Patton's jaw in his hands, kiss him long and deep and slow. He saw himself lay his body and soul bare before Patton, getting on his knees to forgive Patton all his perceived flaws. He meant well, after all. He only ever meant well, and it wasn't really his fault that those good intentions were capable of morphing into a cruel and deadly weapon.

But he would plunge that weapon straight into Janus' heart before their lips could ever even meet. Janus could see it now, Patton pulling away in confusion and disgust. His tenuous patience would give out then and there, and Janus would have no hope of acceptance ever again. Same for Remus, probably. They would remain Dark Sides forever, damned to be eternal outcasts. All thanks to Janus' pathetic inability to control himself.

"Why do you care so much about…" Patton hesitated for a moment and gave a shallow sigh. "Well, about me?"

And now Janus found himself walking a chasm’s edge. His instinct was to lean hard into the opposite of the truth and insult Patton so deeply that he left and never came back. Eliminate the threat. But that wasn't an option now of all times. No, he had to maintain a friendship with Patton, somehow. He had to keep himself under control. How fun. "You're a part of Thomas," Janus said. He paused.

"So are the others."

"You've earned my respect."

"Oh," said Patton. "Wow, um. Gosh, that's…" His lower lip trembled. "I should go," he said in a broken voice.

Janus surveyed him in silent agony, teetering on the precipice of a lie. With a monumental effort, he pulled himself away from it and opened his arms. "Come here."

The floodgates opened. Patton fell into Janus' lap, already sobbing. Janus held him, all his muscles stiff and awkward. He was much smaller in the mindscape than he was in Thomas’ eyes and it was difficult to support Patton’s much larger frame. A sharp pain flared in Janus’ collarbone where Patton had buried his forehead and his tears were already starting to seep through Janus' clothes. He cringed at himself and the absurdity of the situation, wishing he had some way to make it better. He should have had words for this, all the right words to soothe away Patton's worries and set him right again. But he was so tired.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Patton said through shuddering sobs that dug his forehead harder into Janus' clavicle.

"It's okay," Janus said, concentrating hard on keeping the effects of his room at bay.

"Are you--" Patton sniffled " --sure you're okay?"

A rush of affection melted Janus' heart and he sighed and held Patton closer despite the shooting pain in his collarbone and the ache in his arms. Even in the midst of a post-breakdown breakdown, Patton was self-sacrificing (self- destructive) enough to check in on him. "You don't have a selfish bone in your body, do you?" Janus sighed, lamenting Patton’s bleeding heart. For some reason, this only made Patton cry harder. Janus cast his mind back to the last time Remus was this upset, found nothing, had to speculate. He and Remus and Virgil were self-sufficient, secretive. When it came to personal crises, they weathered them alone and bore the aftermath in stoicism. "Do you want me to play with your hair?"

"I don't know," Patton sobbed into Janus' chest.

Janus sighed and began to run his fingers through Patton's honey-colored hair, grateful that the thick material of his gloves kept their skin from touching. It was better this way, and a good reminder for Janus. He guarded his heart so closely for a reason.

 

Janus, despite the discomfort from the awkward weight distribution and the clammy feeling of cooled tears on his shirt, was half-asleep in the chair by the time Patton stopped crying.

"Sorry," Patton said, pulling away, and even with snot and tears all over his flushed cheeks, even with his eyes all red and puffy behind his fogged-up glasses and his hair standing up at strange diagonals from Janus' attempts at comfort, he was radiant.

"For having feelings?" Janus asked, gently imaging himself into a new, dry shirt.

"For making them your problem." Patton took his glasses off and began to polish them on the hem of his own shirt.

"Patton, I need you to know this." Janus waited until Patton looked at him before continuing, "I owe you nothing. If I had wanted you to leave, I would have asked you to leave and thought nothing of it."

Patton nodded and went back to polishing his glasses. They were silent for a long moment, during which Janus found himself unable to suppress a series of yawns. It must have been around 4:00 in the morning by this point. They had to have been the only ones awake.

"Hey, Janus," Patton said, finally putting his glasses back on. "You know The Breakfast Club?"

"Yes," Janus said distractedly, trying to figure out where Patton was going with this.

"This wasn't our version of that, was it?"

"What do you mean?"

"When tomorrow comes and we're back to, to some sort of normal… You'll still be my friend, right?"

Now here was a situation Janus had never once envisioned for himself. He had pictured winning over Roman, had pictured gaining Thomas' support. Never once had he expected real friendship with any of them, let alone Patton. "Yes," he said, feeling sick at the irony of it. He had been comfortable as Patton's enemy, was now yearning for his kiss… How could he be friends with Patton when he burned like this for Patton's wholehearted affection? Was he really just supposed to endure it?

Patton smiled, so sweet and earnest that Janus had to bite down on his tongue. "Good," he said. "Speaking of, do you wanna have breakfast with me?"

"Not right now, I hope," Janus teased.

"No, no, not right now." Patton muffled a yawn into his sleeve. "I guess I'd better go."

Janus nodded. "See you in the morning?"

"Um," said Patton, who didn't appear to have been listening. "Thank you, Janus. You didn't have to-- Well, thank you."

He sank out without another word.

Janus imagined himself into his pajamas, imagined the lights off and threw himself onto his bed. "Fuck."

 

--

 

Frigid air seeped from the hallway seeped under the crack where Janus' door stopped just short of the carpet. He didn't allow himself to notice, and continued to put his outfit on piece by agonizing piece. The cold air made his joints slow and achy, and he struggled to get the clasps done up. It was just as well that he hadn't put on his gloves yet. He had become quite adept at handling things while wearing them, but for this task, the bulky fabric would only get in the way. After all, just like his singular snake fang, his gloves were for aesthetics, not function.

Finally, he donned his hat and faced the door, forced to confront that fatal truth: He could never have what he wanted. The moment he had achieved his goal of Thomas’ acceptance, the triumph had slipped away in his hands to be replaced with a truly unattainable goal.

Memories from last night, the phantom sensation of Patton in his arms, teased him until he had to sneer at himself. Pathetic. He was acting pathetic. Falling for Patton was strategically inadvisable, even if he couldn’t help it, but actively pursuing him was out of the question. It was all-risk, no reward. Still, his treacherous heart fluttered, teasing him with the thought of Patton’s lips on his own, Patton’s hands on his body, sharing heat, deepening the kiss--

“All risk,” Janus said out loud to himself, “no reward.” A mantra to see him through. He opened his door, his gloved hand slipping a little on the polished brass of his doorknob, and nearly walked straight into Remus as he passed by with an armful of dismembered dolls.

“Well,” said Janus, tilting his head to better examine the pile of plastic limbs and bodies in Remus’ arms, “I won’t ask what you’re up to.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand, visualizing a piping hot cup of coffee. A shudder wrecked his concentration and he frowned. “Are you the reason it’s so cold in here?”

Remus ignored the question, his feverish eyes darting from Janus’ mouth to his hand to his face. “I knew you were up late last night. That’s why I came this way.” He gave a crooked but strangely boyish grin. “I wanted to know where you’d gotten off to. Or who you’d gotten off with. ”

Janus, to his horror, blushed. Fragmented images flashed through his head-- What if he had kissed Patton? And Patton had kissed back? Mask, mask, mask! “I was spreading the Gospel.”

“You were spreading something , though, weren’t you?” Remus shifted the dolls in his arms and held up a masculine torso. “I know I heard Big Daddy’s voice. Play a little game of Patton- Snake , did you?”

Janus swore he could hear porcelain cracking as his heart began to race. “In all seriousness, Remus, we did reach an agreement.”

“Sounds like you reached more than that.” Remus waggled his tongue.

God, he was relentless when he was on the scent of something. Janus hid his face behind his hands, realizing a moment too late that this display of shame would only add fuel to the fire. So he took the only option left and muttered, “Boundaries,” into his palms.

“Oh,” said Remus, leaning back on his heels. “ Oh. Janus, you didn’t .”

“Of course we didn't!” Janus hissed, dropping his hands.

"But you wanted to?"

“How much did you hear yesterday, anyway?”

“Oh, I heard the whole debacle, including that heartwarming little moment at the end,” Remus said, rocking forward onto his toes. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me, by the way.”

They fell into an awkward silence as Janus once again reached for words that simply weren’t there. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, cursing himself.

“No?” said Remus. “Not even a teeny tiny little bit?” He poked Janus in the chest with the plastic torso, still clenched in his left hand. “Right here?”

“You,” said Janus, “are just as evil as I am.”

Remus backed off with a grin, leaving Janus in doubt that he had ever even been angry in the first place. “So where are you off to now? Roman’s got this place awfully cold; gonna go warm Patton’s snake?”

“You already made a ‘Patton snake’ joke,” Janus said, slamming another mask onto his face to hide his blush. “But to answer your question, he asked me to join him for breakfast.”

“Aww.” Remus wiped fake tears from his cheeks. “You better not start spending too much time with him or I’m going to get jealous.”

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[harrysweasleys]

all the things you do // d.m

Summary: Hi I was wondering if you would make a Draco X Reader where the reader is suffering from some Mental illness issues if possible? If not I completely understand! thank you for doing what you do

Warnings: PTSD, brief mentions of death

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: sweet anon, i’m sorry if you wanted this set during hogwarts times but i just instinctively thought of writing this post-war! also i don’t know why the ending rhymes. i’m a poet, apparently! enjoy :) x

——————————

Draco Malfoy had always been a naturally confident man. He usually walked with his head held high, his shoulders broad and straightened and his posture nearly impeccable.

He practically radiated confidence. And he was damn proud of that fact, all thanks to you.

The Second Wizarding War had taken a drastic toll on Draco. He had lost everything about who he was meant to be. He lost any contact with his parents, lost his identity and his friends, and even lost the path he had carved for himself. Or, really, the path his parents had carved for him. He had never really wanted to become a Death Eater — but it was all he knew. His parents had shaped this life for him and he was just living in it.

But when the war ended and peace was settling upon the Wizarding world once more, that’s when you came into Draco’s life. He knew you, of course. He had noticed you throughout the years at Hogwarts without ever making a move to speak to you. At first, you blended into the crowd. Just another face in a big world. But, as the years progressed, you slowly became more prominent in the Slytherin prince’s life.

He found you captivating in every possible way. You were soft, gentle, kind, sweet beyond compare. Everything seemed to hold a good place in your heart and Draco was enchanted by everything you did. Had he formed a teeny tiny crush? Maybe — possibly. But he never made an effort in getting to know you, knowing how his time at Hogwarts was going to end. And he knew it was going to end bloody. The last thing he wanted was to drag your into it. Someone so sweet, so pure.

When Voldemort was defeated, the dust settled, and order began getting restored, Draco wondered what had happened to you. Wondered where you’d run off to, where you’d be resting now that there was no longer an imminent threat around every dark corner. He thought about you a lot, really.

He’d thought about the way the sunshine made your hair glow, or the way your cheeks turned a light pink under any sort of attention, or even the way that your eyes lit up every time Hagrid would bring out another strange, possibly dangerous creature to demonstrate to an eager class. He had always hated Care of Magical Creatures, found it completely useless, but he adored watching your face light up upon being introduced to new species. 

He had thought about you so much, really, that he couldn’t find the proper words to say when he bumped into you strolling through Diagon Alley one cloudy afternoon, your scarf tied tightly around your neck and your long coat billowing lightly in the fresh wind. You had looked the same as you did the last time he saw you, but a few things had changed. You cut your hair, your skin was slightly more tanned, and you were wearing a hint of makeup that brought out the gorgeous colour of your eyes. 

“You’re Draco,” you had said, smiling up at him. The same breathtaking smile you had given him on a few occasions at school. 

Nearly forgetting to speak, Draco had spluttered out a lame, “That’s me.”

However, you had invited him over for tea to catch up at your flat a week later — despite his lameness upon your interaction — and Draco felt himself falling for you all over again. Luckily for him, you felt the same, and the two of you made it official in just a few weeks. It felt rather quick, but both of you knew that there was a reason you bumped into each other, and that reason felt like it was coming to be under a romantic light.

And with you in his life, Draco felt himself returning to his previous charm. He found himself smiling, forgetting, forgiving. It was a new look on him, but he didn’t mind it one bit.

However, while Draco was improving, he noticed you slowly beginning to change. And not for the better. He’d find you staring at the ceiling late at night, unable to sleep. He’d noticed how you’d pick at your plate but would never eat anything. He’d noticed how you jumped at sounds or spells that would happen nearby. And now that he was paying more attention, he noticed how you haven’t touched your wand since that day. 

You had also stopped caring about things that used to make you incredibly happy. Movie nights, walking through old London streets, the rumbling sound of thunder and heavy rain.

He figured you were just stressed — still not used to a ‘quiet’ lifestyle. But he couldn’t even fool himself. There was something wrong with you and he hated to think he couldn’t help.

“Love, you’re worrying me,” he sat you down one afternoon, his hand laced in yours as your eyes landed on him. You had been reading a book, but been on the same page for nearly fifteen minutes. You were usually a rather speedy reader, Draco knew you weren’t really paying attention to the book.

“Why?” you asked, blinking rapidly as you put your attention on him.

He hesitated, unsure if telling you all the things he noticed you were doing would set you off. The last thing he wanted was for you to become defensive or insulted.

“What’s wrong?” he decided to ask.

He noticed the way your face seemed to drop, but you composed yourself and furrowed your eyebrows, “Do you think about the death that we saw?”

Taken aback by your blunt question, he stared blankly at you. Had he been affected by seeing young bodies scattered around the Hogwarts grounds, bloody and lifeless? Yes. Had it haunted him for weeks? Yes. But did he continue to dwell on it? No.

He hated that so many of these young students died believing he was a villain, that he was the reason all of the tragedy had happened. He hated the thought that he was on the same side as the force that killed dozens of innocent kids. But as he moved on in his life, he felt as if he had also redeemed himself. That he had improved and learned from his mistakes. And although Draco Malfoy didn’t believe he had much to pride himself on, he definitely took pride in that.

“I used to,” he replied truthfully, forcing away the horrid flashbacks to the brutally gruesome scene at Hogwarts the last time he stepped foot there.

You nodded, “I still do. And I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I close my eyes, I see their dead ones staring back at me.”

Suddenly, Draco’s mouth felt awfully dry and the crushing feeling in his chest seemed to amplify, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He watched as your eyes closed and reopen, the gears in your head spinning as you thought about what to say next, “Because I didn’t know how. I remember how guilty you felt after the war and I don’t want you to think this is your fault.”

Draco furrowed his eyebrows and scooted closer to you, “If you’re dealing with something, I don’t care if it’s about me or not. You can tell me anything, love. You don’t have to, but if you want to, I’m always here.” 

You gave him a weak smile, “I know. I’m sorry. I was being stubborn. I just didn’t want to burden you with my problems.”

“Love,” he spoke, his voice coarse as his throat felt like it was closing in, “You’re never burdening me. We’re in this together, remember?”

And he stuck true to his word.

By the next few weeks, you found yourself able to sleep more than one hour a night. It was both thanks to Draco — who was helping you every second of the day — and thanks to the therapist you had begun to see in central London.

One of the very few Wizarding therapists, Draco offered to pay the hefty price for every session you attended. So far, you had only been to four sessions, but you already found that talking about your thoughts had improved them greatly.

“How was your session today?” Draco asked you over dinner that evening, placing his fork down and smiling over at you.

“Good,” you spoke back softly, “Feeling better. She seemed impressed that I actually slept four hours last night. And that it was my first night in a week without a nightmare.”

“Did she tell you to do anything?” he asked, lips curving up into a slight smile.

You nodded, “Told me to just take an evening off. Bubble bath, watch some crap telly — a normal evening, really.”

Draco smiled faintly, “We can do that.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, and Draco noticed that for the first time in a while, your smile didn’t look forced. Your shoulders slouched as you relaxed, continuing to munch lightly on the lovely dinner Draco had cooked up to cheer your spirits.

The rest of the evening was peaceful. The two of you sat in the bubble bath, talking and laughing about some old memories and even what you thought would happen in your near future. Then, you both wrapped yourselves up in comfy clothing and blankets and sat on the couch watching re-runs of old sitcoms until the middle of the night.

Draco’s heart did a little leap in his chest every time you laughed — every time you did so much as smile. He knew you weren’t fully ready, weren’t fully yourself just yet. But every step that he noticed improvement was a huge deal.

He had no problem doing all the chores around the house — cooking, cleaning, laundry — as you took time to yourself. It brought him joy, really, knowing that every little thing he did would help push you to improvement. Some days were better than others, but he didn’t complain once, for he knew that helping you would take time.

And he was willing to be as patient as possible for you.

“I love you,” he muttered to you that night as the cheesy sitcom played in the background, pressing a delicate kiss to the spot under your ear.

“I love you too,” you replied softly. He fought back a massive smile, turning to face you and lightly placing his lips on your temple. His entire body broke out into goosebumps at your words.

No matter what was going to come your way, no matter what people would say, Draco Malfoy had promised both you and himself that he’d be there every second of the day.

[bbq-hawks-wings]

I can't believe I didn't think the todo/endev stuff would've been divisive. Like if you don't like it then that's it, you just personally don't want to see it, that's valid, but then you have some ppl calling ppl who do like it and even hori abuse apologists (despite some of them being survivors themselves) but THen you have ppl on the other side insulting those who can't stomach it and, why is this all a thing.

CW/ abuse mention

I'm not all that surprised it stirs up such intense reactions. Unlike saving the world or becoming a hero, the struggle of a household and each of its members healing from a horribly abusive past, complete with all its uncomfortable, different, ugly blistering wounds and scars is way too close to home for a lot of people. Even for those who may have never experienced the same "severity" (in quotes because comparing trauma to silence or talk over victims of any kind is not okay - different forms of abuse is still abuse that leaves lasting impacts and effects everyone differently) they can feel personally connected to that pain.

I'm not surprised whatsoever that Endeavor is such a controversial figure. I would argue that's a good thing. If we come to love his character after lots of growth it's because he's really changed in the ways he's needed to and continuing on that road. If we can't ever get past what he did it's still justified because he's legitimately left the lives of his entire household in shambles - a home full of people who his chief responsibility was to love, provide for, and protect - who will carry the scars (some literal) of what he's done for the rest of their lives.

What surprised me most, however, is how Dabi became to be such a chief spokesperson for the entire family despite being the most removed as far as attitudes towards Endeavor and his actions in response; and how he became the only "valid" victim for so many.

I absolutely pity what he went through. He was absolutely right to feel abandoned. He was abused as much as anyone in that household. His trauma was just as real, just as impactful, and just as valid as the rest. All of his childhood trauma was a result of his father's actions of which Endeavor does need to face and account for. Even his desire to lash out at the objects of his father's affection - his mother and siblings - as a child as a way in his mind to make the pain stop and regain what he legitimately needed in his father's attention and affection is understandable given the circumstances. He's very much damaged, and the onset of that damage is not his fault. He desperately needed help he never got.

But here's where the split happens: at a point he was removed from his family and their influence and became his own person at which point he decided to step on the gas and purposely cause collateral damage on top of the self-destruction.

To be clear, simply leaving that harmful environment and growing up does not erase the damage it caused. PTSD would not be a thing of that was the case. However, Dabi is in one of two states given his behavior: he's genuinely insane (mentally ill to point he doesn't recognize what he's doing - a justified legal defense of insanity) or he's at least lucid enough to know and purposely chose to inflict harm on others because of whatever benefit he feels he gets from it (not able to plead insanity).

Either way, he's a clear danger to himself and others and needs to be reigned in. If he's not in full control of his faculties he needs professional help and has to be taken into custody for everyone's safety. If he is all there, it's right for him to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law because trauma does not excuse making more victims of any kind.

And for some reason, despite these facts well being able to coexist, the fandom doesn't seem to accept that - at least not uniformly and the disparity of opinion is night and day. We have real life examples of people who went through traumatic childhoods who became serial killers, and we don't disagree that they needed to be institutionalized or prosecuted for the safety of the public and their survivors; but Dabi gets a pass somehow?

Perhaps the main divide comes down to some can't/don't/won't make a distinction between Touya the abuse victim and Dabi the abuser. Both can and do exist in the same person, but the focus of his life's goal has shifted to be distinct enough to make that distinction as the audience. As a child, he was a victim who was doing everything he could think to do to get what he needed in a horrible situation. As an adult with ample degree of rational thought and self-awareness, he leverages his damage to justify the homicide he commits against his own victims.

And this especially is why I have pity for Touya, but not for Dabi.

I knew someone who did that - who did that to me. Someone who I considered a friend, even "family" until I set boundaries and started acting contrary to what they wanted when it was like a switch went off inside them. They had a legitimately terrible upbringing and a questionable family situation, at best; but that didn't mean I had to suffer the effects those negative influences splashed into my life.

If something I did made them upset and what they only ever knew was to verbally express, "You're lucky I have the control to hit the wall instead of you when I get this upset" that anger is valid, but I was also right to say, "If this is a problem, I'll do what I can to make it right on my end, but you do not have the right to threaten me, emotionally manipulate me, or lash out in retaliation - and especially not without consequences or pushback. You need help, and I want to help you help yourself; but that was not acceptable. I am responsible for me and what I do, not for how you take things and respond."

It boils my blood thinking back how often they tried to peddle back and make me the bad guy in my own head by trying to guilt me with their own tragic backstory so I'd stay complicit. Clearly, I'm still not completely over it, and I was unpleasantly reminded of it not long ago when nightmares with their face came back to haunt me for the first time in years after just seeing their name again in passing earlier that day. It took a complete stranger I met at a house party telling me after I spilled my guts late into the night for me to even begin to recognize that I was being manipulated and abused.

So yeah, there it is yet again - the Todofam drama is way too close to home for too many people. The worst tragedy in that, though, is that no one can apparently be validated in their opinions unless they bare themselves like I did just now. That shouldn't be the case. These discussions should be able to exist as hypotheticals and discussing canon events instead of requiring everyone who wants to weigh in to have their own trauma validated.

It's easy to pile onto Endeavor because he's the clear "bad guy" in the scenario who will never be able to erase what he's done even if all of his family magically forgave him and he turned into the patron saint of puppies and kittens. But for some reason it's not easy to recognize people can feel the same way about Dabi who can recognize him for being both victim and victimizer.

I wish it wasn't the case. There's a lot of right and wrong and stuff that isn't wrong - just uncomfortable and sucky in this subplot; but fandom is too stuck on insisting in an all or nothing bad guy/good guy to fully appreciate the nuance in this plotline.

[silvershewolf247]

Honestly it seems like some fans have trouble seem outside of Malcolm's pov, which is understandable given he is the show's protagonist and very sympathetic one at that. That being said regardless of how well intended Malcolm was he did make Ainsley doubt her own sense of reality and was projecting by assuming she wouldn't want to know or couldn't handle knowing. Yes the way Ainsley went about making that point was completely messed up but she did have a point to make.

Okay first things first, sorry it took me so long to get to this, I had a lot of thoughts to put together before I responded because I need to talk about Ainsley. 

I’ll start with the fact that I seem to emphasize with Ainsley more than a lot of people. Maybe it’s because I am the youngest sibling, with older brothers. Maybe it’s because I have “easier mental illnesses” like OCD and ADHD in comparison to others. Maybe it’s the fact that one of my older brothers has much more severe mental health issues and I’ve been reminded how lucky I am in comparison to him and others. Maybe it’s because my mother has been my best friend since I was a teenager. Or maybe it’s because I try to be someone else's emotional support while neglecting my own mental health until I eventually snap. Maybe it’s the fact that supportive figures in my childhood have turned out to be less than ideal as of late. Bottom line, Ainsley is someone I care a lot about, and I need to talk about what is going on with her. And why she isn’t evil or abusive. 

Let’s start out by debunking one argument. That being Ainsley’s lack of remorse over what she has done. Now this argument bothers me for a few reasons. Firstly, because Nicholas Endicott was a monster who deserved what he got and everyone on the show acknowledges that. Like Jessica and Malcolm do not morally disagree with killing him, Malcolm says flat out that he deserves to die. He’s just scared of being like his father and scared of losing his friends, this is an important distinction between him and Ainsley that I will get into. Secondly, we don’t see Ainsley’s initial reaction aside from her nearly crying in Malcolm’s flashback. According to Halston, she found out at some point around episode 4. Martin might have told her during their visit, she might have figured it out reading his journal, it could have been the nightmare she tells her mother about. We don’t know, we just know that by this point she has dealt with it. 

Going back to Malcolm’s fear of losing his friends. Malcolm’s guilt is from having to lie to his found family at the precinct. That is what makes him feel awful. This is something Ainsley does not have. She does not have any found family to lose. Malcolm has to keep lying, Ainsley doesn’t have to. Obviously it eats her up less. Speaking of Ainsley’s support system, or lack thereof, let’s go through it.  Starting up, Jessica, mother of the year, diminishes her daughter's career, blatantly insults her, emotionally neglects her for twenty years and snaps at her whenever she expresses her problems, undermines her issues, this only changes after she murders a man. Next we have Martin Whitly, out of her life for twenty years, literal serial killer, and yet somehow the most emotionally supportive member of her family. Then there’s John Watkins, Mr. Boots, childhood bestie, possible paternal figure, child groomer, who ultimately tries to murder her in favor of her brother. Gil Arroyo, Malcolm’s adopted dad who seems to find her incredibly annoying and only talks with her when somethings wrong. That leaves us with Malcolm, emotionally broken older brother and the only person Ainsley feels she can trust. Yeah, that’s destroyed. Malcolm shattered that trust with his actions. Malcolm is afraid of losing everything, Ainsley already did. 

Now we’re up to Ainsley’s actions in this episode. No they weren’t gaslighting. Malcolm was not forced to question his own sanity or memories due to her actions, he was just scared of her and for her. She just lied to him, an incredibly shitty lie that horrified him, but it was just that, a lie. He also wasn’t breaking down due to it, he was scared for his sister, but he honestly seemed pretty kept together throughout the episode until the end. At which point his frustration seems to stem more from the situation he’s in and what he’s “had” to do for her. Now I fully admit that what Ainsley did was shitty. But it doesn’t make her toxic. If it does, then Malcolm is as well because he does the exact same to the people he investigates. Was it abusive, maybe, but so’s gaslighting your sister, slapping your son, and punching your friend. But these aren’t patterns of behavior, they’re one time things that happened during highly stressful and emotional situations. Speaking of which. 

Yes, Malcolm did gaslight her. Gaslighting is a technique used by a lot of awful people, Malcolm doing it does not make him awful, but he lied to his sister about her memories and perception of the world and it made her emotionally spiral for months. In comparison, Ainsley let this go on for maybe two or three days, a week at most. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention that Ainsley gave Malcolm several opportunities to tell the truth. He had the entirety of Bad Manners and Head Case, during both of which she gives him reasons to come out with it and tries to get him to do it. She was trying to make him prove that she could still trust him, he failed to do that until he got a concussion and Ainsley decided to make sure that he never did it again.  

Now Ainsley did something horrible, I fully admit that. That being said, don’t act like Malcolm would have just listened if she told him not to lie to her again. She’s already told him and her mother to stop shielding her. Now there were definitely better ways to do this. Or if she was going to scare him, scaring him and then telling him the truth the next minute, hour, morning, which would still be bad, but less so. But Malcolm is someone who learns a lot better by experiencing than listening. She was trying to show him what consequences his actions could have had. Scaring him straight. She took it way too far, but the motive was understandable. 

Finally I want to dispute this idea that Ainsley is being ungrateful towards Malcolm. Firstly, she thanks him profusely in the first episode of the season. Secondly, she didn’t ask him to do this for her, and the show fully implies he might have screwed them both over by doing this instead of immediately going to the police and claiming self defense. Finally, Ainsley killing Endicott has been thanked by no one. Remember how he was going to have Malcolm sent to prison and only by getting rid of him was Malcolm able to get the DNA evidence properly refuted. One could argue Ainsley took a great risk and saved him too. Ainsley saved Malcolm from prison just as much as Malcolm saved Ainsley. 

Look Ainsley is flawed, I wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t. But let’s not act like she’s crossed the moral event horizon with this. Or that she did this completely unprovoked and everything she said towards Malcolm was invalid. Both of them are broken and in pain and I hope by the end of this they can grow even closer than before. 

[dreamwithoutreason]

Really need people to understand that there is a difference between your diagnosis being stigmatized (what usually happens with mental illness) and your diagnosis resulting in you being subjected to ableism (disability) because those two things are a bit different and the distinction is important.

I want to start by saying that I am in no way attempting to minimize the struggles that mentally ill people face. I am mentally ill and have depression, anxiety, and ADHD as well as a physical disability, Cerebral Palsy. The line between the struggles of people with mental illnesses and the struggles of disabled people is thin but there is still a line. I just want to highlight some of the ways that disabled people are especially discriminated against in a world built and run by abled people and how that can be different from how mental ill people experience alienation or stigmatization. These differences are also why I think that comparing a mental illness to a disability can be problematic. I am, however, also aware that there is overlap and that some diagnoses can be considered to have a foot in both arenas, this is in no way meant to be a hard and fast rule. I also don't claim to speak for the entire disabled community but a lot of the things under the ableism list are things that I've experienced myself which is the place that this post is coming from. I want people to realize that ableism is more than stigmatization and that it is engrained in the world that we live in.

Stigmatization comes from people misunderstanding your illness and how seriously it can impact you and your life. I would consider stigmatization to be things like:

People using your diagnosis as an insult or joke, further stigmatizing it. Ex: When ppl say things like "I'm so ocd" or "I'm so bipolar"

People ignoring your symptoms or attributing your symptoms to your character. For example, instead of recognizing the symptoms of your illness like executive dysfunction, someone might just call you lazy.

General lack of understanding or sympathy towards mentally ill people

Lack of accurate representations of mental illnesses in media. Most of the time the character with the mental illness is made to be the villain or antagonist. Once again, very stigmatizing and gross.

Also, for both mentally ill and disabled people it can sometimes be difficult or expensive to get the right medications you need.

Examples of everyday ableism and systematic ableism that's ingrained in our society which particularly affects disabled people include:

Someone using derogatory language to belittle and degrade your existence as a person. It positions you as less than. Can often be a targetted, direct attack at a disabled person. Ex: the r slur, words like "cripple", and using "deaf", "blind", or "disabled" as insults.

Mocking the way someone walks, moves, speaks, or exists as a disabled person.

No one taking you seriously because you are disabled/being subjected to infantilization. People assuming that you can't do anything for yourself.

Able-bodied people assuming the needs of a disabled person without asking them. Often this comes from a place of trying to be helpful but make sure you always ask what you can do to accommodate someone before assuming what they might need help with because it can be infantilizing

Example: I've had a lot of people assume that I need help putting on a jacket or getting my shoes on so they automatically start helping me with it and they basically end up treating me like a child because they assume that I can't do something.

People touching you or your equipment or mobility aids without your consent. Mobility aids can be like extensions of our body so do not touch them without our permission. This urge to violate a disabled person's space comes from the subconscious assumption that disabled people don't have their own autonomy.

Example: many times when I was a full-time wheelchair user people would come up behind me and just start pushing my wheelchair without asking or saying anything. Their intention was to help me get where I was going but it was very jarring to suddenly start being pushed without asking.

Being denied a job because you are disabled.

Job applications including physical ability requirements for non-physical or desk jobs to discourage disabled people from applying. Ex: "must be able to lift [x amount] of pounds"

Being denied the accommodations you need to be able to function in a school/work/home/other environment.

Lack of captions or audio descriptions

Being expected to work and move at the same pace as your peers all of the time.

Constantly feeling the need to "prove" yourself to the abled majority.

The idea that being abled is the ideal and that you need to do everything in your power to try to be as close to abled as possible. The idea that you shouldn't be comfortable with your disability. The notion that being disabled cannot be a whole or fulfilling identity.

A good example of this that people don't often think about are the viral videos that are like "Sally worked for months so that she could [struggle] to walk down the aisle at her wedding! Isn't that sweet?" Or the videos of kids feeling pressured to walk across the stage at graduation. These videos imply that struggling to perform ability is somehow better than being comfortably disabled.

The idea that disabled people can't be desirable, attractive, or sexy. The idea that they don't make good romantic partners.

Using disabled people as inspiration porn. This happens a lot with viral videos of disabled people where the comments amount to "if they can live with a disability, then you have no reason to complain about your life!" Disabled people do not exist to inspire you.

Also another personal example but one time in gym class I did more push ups than a girl who was able-bodied so she got all defensive and said "well if she can do that many then I'm gonna do more!" Like girl.... anyways...

Having to jump through a million hoops to get disability benefits. Or being denied disability benefits for arbitrary reasons.

Also once you get disability benefits it's barely anything. Also when you're on benefits you're not allowed to save up money and if you get married you lose benefits. I could make a whole other post about how disabled people are expected to live off of nothing but...

MOBILITY AIDS ARE SO EXPENSIVE HOLY SHIT

The world was built by and for able-bodied people. Architectural/environmental ableism occurs when there are no ramps, no accessible bathroom stalls, no elevators, no disability parking spaces, and/or no space for wheelchairs/mobility aids in public places.

This also happens a lot with public transportation. When I tried using the metro with my friends in DC, I had to have a security guard help me get down the escalator because there wasn't an elevator nearby. Right before I got on it, I saw a man force his wheelchair onto the escalator.

A smaller example but it can be as small as there not being a sidewalk ramp. One time I couldn't even cross the street because there was no sidewalk ramp and I was in a wheelchair. Once again, the world was built by able-bodied people.

Eco-ableism. It's when disabled people aren't considered when it comes to environmental activism. The best example of this is the straw debacle that happened last year. Every abled person and their mama wanted to complete ban plastic straws without acknowledging that a lot of disabled people need to use blendable, flexible plastic straws.

Another example that I've witnessed myself has been with automatic doors. I've had to tear down signs at my university that were put on automatic doors that said "save a polar bear, use the other door". Stop blaming disabled people's survival for environmental issues and blame big corporations.

Almost a complete lack of disability representation in media. Disabled kids don't have many people who they can look up to. I know I didn't have any.

The ableism that comes from abled parents of a disabled child.

For years I was told inaccurate information about my disability by able-bodied people, including my mother. It was only when I started researching my disability myself that I actually began to understand it.

Related to the previous point, lack of information or knowledge about certain disabilities

People assuming that just because someone is in a wheelchair that they can't move their legs or walk. This feeds into the idea that disabled people are "faking" their disability. The idea that someone is "faking" can lead people to be attacked or have people tell them that they don't "deserve" things like benefits or parking spaces.

People who straight up pretend they don't see us. I've had so many people try to cut me in line over the years just because they didn't think I would say anything or wanted to pretend they didn't see me.

I have friends who have delayed speech as part of their disability. If you know someone who has delayed speech or a stutter, don't fucking cut them off or try to finish their sentences for them. It's super rude and disrespectful.

DON'T FUCKING SAY THE R WORD. DON'T SAY IT! DON'T SAY IT EVEN IF YOU ARE DISABLED! THE R WORD IS SO ABLEIST AND STIGMATIZING STOP SAYING IT! DON'T PUT IT IN YOUR WRITING EITHER!

Lastly, about half of people killed by police have some sort of disability or mental illness. Disability is intersectional and it's important when talking about things like the BLM movement, women's rights, lgbtq+ rights, etc.

Hope this helped you learn something about ableism and how prevalent it is!

[mcrninqstar]

discord: it’s you. it’s always been you.

SUMMARY: Lucifer accidently sends Maze the wrong text leading her to believe her best friend is dead. He goes to her to clarify and they end up revealing more to each other than they anticipated.  TRIGGERS: Death Mentions, Daddy Issues, Mommy Issues WRITTEN WITH: @mazikeenofmurders

MAZIKEEN: She'd been in Hell, torturing Will when she got the update from Lucifer. Charlie's dead now. She'd seen a lot of people die in her lifetime. Most of the time it didn't bother her, but Charlie was her best friend. It was heartbreaking. Her chest felt restricted, and her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them away before anyone could see them. If Charlie had ended up in Hell, Maze should've been told, but no one came while she let out her anger on Will, which meant that she'd gone to heaven and that Maze wouldn't be able to see her again. She let Belphegor continue torturing Will on their own while she went back to her own place in Hell. She didn't tell Belphegor the news yet. They'd need to figure out how to break that down to them. They were already upset enough that she'd been hurt. Maze had diverted their sadness to anger, but handling her death would be harder. Maze remained stoic until she got home and saw a picture of Charlie, Lucifer, and herself in a frame on one of the walls. She picked it up and broke down into tears, clutching it to her chest as she laid down on her bed. Now she'd really never get Charlie to sleep with her and Lucifer. That made her cry more.

LUCIFER: "Well, that was bloody awful," Lucifer lamented as he appeared in Maze's home. He needed someone to complain to about this. He'd already tried calling Linda a couple times but she declined the calls on account that it was close to 2am now. "Maze?" he called out to her. She wasn't in the living room, but he could feel her presence about. He figured she must've gone to bed. Surely she wouldn't mind being woken up to some good news. Lucifer helped himself to the bar, pouring two glasses of champagne and placing them on a tray. He carried them into Maze's room like some sort of fancy butler. He expected to find her maybe in some sexy little number or maybe nothing at all. But what he hadn't expected was to find her crying. "Mazikeen..." he lowered the tray onto the nightstand beside her. "Why are you crying? I thought you'd be over the moon, honestly..." Becoming Death was one hell of a promotion, especially for a human reaper. Charlie had essentially ascended to an angelic form of being. It was unheard of for humans to do that. It was historic and spicy and no doubt causing Uriel to panic a little. Lucifer very much liked that idea. But Maze...he'd never seen her like this.

MAZIKEEN: She heard it distantly when someone came into her home. Sometimes the other demons tried to sneak into her place to fight her when she was off guard. She was never really off guard, but she could recognize Lucifer's presence. Archangels like him radiated power that was unmistakable, especially him. She didn't move when he called her name. She didn't want him to see her crying like this, but she couldn't stop. It hurt too much. Charlie had been too important to her. "I'm not crying," she insisted, even as her voice cracked and tears spilled down her face. The picture frame she'd been clutching left imprints on her arms as she sat up. She sniffled as she wiped at her face, but more tears kept coming. She looked at Lucifer with confusion. "Why would I be over the moon about this?" she asked. Why was he? What was good about any of this? "She's gone, Lucifer." She took in a breath trying to push back the tears, but it just distorted her face. Admitting that she was gone was hard. It was possibly one of the hardest things she ever had to do, and she dealt with Cuphegor all the time.

LUCIFER: "Right, of course," he nodded and sat down at her bed side. She was too crying but he wasn't going to call her out on it. He simply pulled out the handkerchief from his pocket square and held it out to her. He had no idea what brought this on. Maze normally loved when he sent people out to be tortured by her specifically. William especially had been a thorn at her side. What he'd done now warranted permanent death so naturally he figured Maze would be happy about that but she wasn't. She was crying about someone being gone. It didn't take long to realize she was talking about Charlie. "She's not gone," he replied, placing his hands on either side of her and rubbing down the length of her arms in a reassuring manner. "I mean, I don't really know where she's at right now specifically. She's kind of hiccupping in and out of afterlives and I'm not allowed entry into some of them because of politics. But she's very much alive...unalive...sort of dead?" he sighed trying to figure out how to explain it. "She's Death now." He didn't see what was so bad about that. Maybe it was because Maze couldn't hug her? "I mean, sure, it would be ill advised to touch her at the moment but you'll be able to give her a hug when she reigns her powers in a bit. Raphael said they'd help."

MAZIKEEN: She took the handkerchief he offered her and wiped the tears off her face, still not admitting that they were tears, not that he was insisting they were or anything. He hadn't argued her lie, and she appreciated it. She leaned against him as he rubbed her arms.  She thought he was giving her some spiel about how their afterlives didn't really mean they were gone or something. That wouldn't have made a difference to Mazikeen if she couldn't see Charlie herself, but that wasn't what he was talking about. She wasn't sure what he was talking about actually. "What do you mean she's alive? You texted me and told me she was dead." Her voice was raising angrily. She'd been so upset. "You made me think my best friend died!" She hit him in the chest as she spoke. "I was crying because I thought I lost her!" She spoke with a mixture of shouting and sobbing.

LUCIFER: "What do you mean? No I didn't," he defended as she shouted that he sent her a text saying Charlie was dead. He pulled out his phone to try to get a look at what he said but she started smacking him. He swatted her away briefly to take a peak and sure enough...he grimaced. Bloody autocorrect. "That was meant to say she's Death, not she's dead," he corrected, not that it mattered in hindsight. "I wouldn't break that kind of news to you over a text message, Maze," he tried to assure her calmly. "That's Levi levels of avoidance. I'd send a carrier pigeon at least." Perhaps it wasn't the best time for jokes but that was really the only way he knew how to work through the kind of day he had. It wasn't exactly easy having to run a death scythe into an old friend and hope for the best.

MAZIKEEN: "Yes, you did!" she snapped. She'd read over the text several times just to make sure she'd read it right because that news was so serious. It didn't make a difference to her now that it was a typo. If anything, she was more furious that he hadn't noticed the typo before he'd sent it, or even that he didn't see that it had changed once he had sent it. He could've corrected it immediately and saved her the heartbreak of thinking she'd lost her friend. "A carrier pigeon?!" she repeated angrily, not finding his jokes as funny as he did in the moment when she was still reeling from thinking her friend had died. She started hitting him. "You're so stupid! I can't believe I fell in love with you, you asshole! Who jokes about that?!"

LUCIFER: "In my defense a lot was going on," he lamented, still wanting to complain about the situation. "I wasn't exactly sipping Bacardi with Raphael up there." He might've put too much faith in his phone to get the message across. "I knew you were worried about Charlie's condition and I wanted to get the news to her ASAP. I had a million and one things I needed to do to secure the veil after everything happened and I wouldn't have had time to come down to hell until well...now. I didn't think it was fair for you to wait that long." He was trying to ease her nerves but thanks to his phone he'd done the opposite. He grimaced as soon as the pigeon joke left his lips and braced himself for another round of smacking. It didn't hurt and he let her carry on. It was best to just let Maze air out her frustrations rather than let them fester. He expected her to insult him. That was par for the course. But he hadn't expected her to say the other thing. He sat up a little straighter and held her firmly so that she would stop hitting him and look at him instead. "You don't...you can't...you don't mean that, do you?" he asked her in all seriousness.

MAZIKEEN: Realistically, she couldn't blame him too much for what had happened. All in all, it was a simple mistake, and anger was the main way she knew to release her emotions. She knew Lucifer  knew that, and there were ways she could make it up to him later when she wasn't emotional. She sighed. "I guess I do appreciate you trying to tell me as soon as possible, even if you did fuck it up." She really did appreciate that, considering how worried she'd been about Charlie. "So I really can't hug her though?" She was one of the people Maze actually liked to hug. Lucifer was also one of them, but him grabbing her took her by surprise. He probably just was getting annoyed with her constantly hitting him, but most of her anger had gotten out now. She sighed. "You are kinda an asshole sometimes, but I like it most of the time."

LUCIFER: "Well, someone will suffer for the ill conceived attempts of autocorrect," he assured her. It wasn't going to be him, but someone would. Surely there was probably a demon to blame for this. "Probably Sam," he offered, hoping that would lift her spirits some with another soul to torture. "Charlie managed to separate him and his evil twin. She dragged the parasitic one here. Not sure which kingdom but when we find him, he's all yours," he replied, still running his hand up and down her arm in a comforting gesture. "No, I'm afraid you can't hug her for now. She's deadly to everything except the Archangels now." Although Charlie was young by comparison, her ranking was up there with Cupid now that she was Death. Love and Death were fundamental forces in the balance of things. "But I'll give her extra hugs on your behalf," he replied. He didn't mind it one bit. Having to stab Charlie wasn't exactly pleasant and he wanted to ensure she was okay every step of the way. His features softened and his grip lightened when she remarked he was an asshole sometimes, but she enjoyed that about him. "That's not what I meant...I meant the other thing you said. The one about falling in love with me..." he clarified so that neither of them could be mistaken this time. "You don't mean that, do you?"

MAZIKEEN: "As they should." She nodded in agreement. She smiled brightly when Lucifer suggested that it would probably be Sam. She'd always wanted to torture him. "Is it my birthday again already?" she asked jokingly. She was a little disappointed that it wasn't both Sams that ended up in Hell, but she guessed that it was good for Charlie's happiness or something. "That's pretty hot," she remarked with a smirk. "It makes me want to try it anyway. I'll tell you what it feels like." She grinned. Lucifer couldn't have all the fun in being the only one of them to be able to hug Charlie. Her smile faltered when he clarified what he'd heard her say. "Ah," so she had actually said that then? She'd thought that part was just in her head, but it was hard to keep a cap on her thoughts when she was that upset. Her chest clenched up. She was trying to gauge his reaction to that before she said anything else, but it was hard to tell how he was feeling about it. The most she could tell was that he was uncertain, but she couldn't decipher if that uncertainty came from disgust at the idea, if he wanted it like she did, if his trauma from the curse just had him scared to trust it, or a combination of a few of those. She sat up straighter, holding herself higher to make sure this confession didn't make her look weaker in any way. If he didn't like it then fuck him anyways. "I do. I've been in love with you for a while now." She let out a breath of air. That was a weird thing she never really thought she'd let out, but it was out there now. She watched Lucifer carefully for his reaction, prepared to backtrack or defend herself if she needed to.

LUCIFER: He was glad to see her smile after the particularly awful news she thought he'd delivered. He knew he'd be paying for that for the next few weeks but for now at least the storm had passed and she knew Charlie was safe. "If your birthday occurred anytime that man nearly dies, you'd be aging at twice the rate," he pointed out. He really did feel for the Winchester's Guardian. That angel had to be doing overtime on most days. "Wear protection," he teased. "Safe hugging to prevent untimely death." Maze wore enough latex that it really shouldn't be a problem. Charlie was careful too. Lucifer had instructed her to go to Val in the meantime for pointers and perhaps a pair of sturdier gloves.

He swallowed back a bit of initial panic when she confirmed that he'd heard her correctly. His automatic thoughts and fears were that his curse was back. Why else would anyone love him? He projected outward confidence because he had to. It was expected of him as King of Hell to know what to do, or at least to look like he knew what he was doing. Maze knew better than most Lucifer had no idea what he was doing. He was a mess just trying his best. Truthfully, the curses had set him back quite a bit. He still struggled, wondering if any of the relationships and connections he'd made in his life were real. Chloe had left him long before the curse was broken and he couldn't blame her. But Maze stuck around. She'd been there before he discovered his curse and she was still there afterward. She'd been there through all of his milestone and all the trials life could've thrown his way. He couldn't have imagined doing any of this without her. In fact, he was certain he couldn't have done it without her. The duties of keeping Hell running and keeping his siblings both happy and alive stretched him thin. He needed a partner and Maze was the best one he could've ever asked for.

If she really did love him, then this was a blessing because as much as the feeling scared him, he loved her too. He hadn't realized how much she did for him until she'd disappeared to the other timeline. He'd been a mess then and so had hell. Since then, he tried to show her that he appreciated her more and more. He tried to do what he could to spend time with her because he didn't know how much time they had left. He realized some time ago if the void was going to take over, she'd be the person he'd want to be with in the end. He thought those feelings were just friendship, but he knew deep down it went deeper than that.

"Okay...." he took a deep breath. "Okay..." he ran his hands up and down her arms as a soothing gesture. "Mazikeen, you are one of the most important people to me. You're the first person I check in with in the mornings and the last one I see before I go to bed. You're..." You're the one person I can see myself spending an eternity with. Just say it Lucifer. Come on. "The last time I felt like this about someone, it turned out to not be real. How do we know any of this is real?" he questioned. It was an unfair question to place on her but he wanted to be upfront with his fears. He'd known Chloe for all of 4 years when she left. And her leaving left a hole in his belief in love. He'd known Maze for much longer. If this turned out to be a curse and if she left too...he wasn't sure where that would leave either of them.

MAZIKEEN: She laughed a little at his comment about Sam's deaths. "Even better. Maybe I can catch up to you, old man." It wasn't like they really aged anyways. Birthdays were an arbitrary thing they made up just for an excuse to celebrate. They were all too old to actually keep up with their ages, and even if they did, it just made them look so much better despite their ages. "Don't worry. My strap-on has a condom and everything." She grinned. She'd be careful enough, but the thought that her best friend could kill her with just a single touch was exciting and she wanted to see what it felt like. Hopefully, she wouldn't kill herself completely in the process. She wasn't actually suicidal like some people.

Her chest ached seeing that look on his face. As a demon, she considered it a skill of hers that she could recognize the fear in her victims, but Lucifer wasn't a victim. He was her closest friend and the person she was in love with. She usually knew him better than she knew herself most of the time, but she couldn't tell where that panic came from in the moment. Was he as scared of rejecting her as she was of being rejected? Or was he just as scared of allowing himself to love as she was. She knew that with his curse, he'd been hesitant of his relationships, romantic or otherwise. It was part of the reason she'd been so hesitant herself recently about talking about it (though it was mainly because of her own fear). The way he held onto her arms, rubbing them to reassure her, convinced her that this was a rejection, so she prepared herself for it.

She had to admit, he was setting up the rejection nicely. She imagined that he was going the route of asking if they could still be friends so they could still do all of those things. The last time I felt like this about someone... So he did feel the same way about her then, and his panic was about the curse. Even so, the doubt of whether this was real or not hurt. She knew his curse was broken. Cupid had confirmed that. Maze wasn't particularly great at dealing with her emotions, so the pain she felt at his doubt turned to anger. It wasn't rational anger, considering how valid his doubts were, but she was angry nevertheless. How dare he doubt her love?!

"I'm not Chloe," she snapped. "What, do you think that just because I was with her when Cupid broke your connection that it somehow transferred from her into me? Well, it didn't because I've been in love with you for a lot longer than that. I didn't fall in love with you because of a curse. I fell in love with you because unlike everyone else you were always there with me and for me from the day I met you. It wasn't some immediate infatuation. I don't do the love at first sight thing." She barely considered the love thing until she realized it was actually a possibility. "I don't just have the feeling that I love you. I know I love you because I consider the day you picked me to be your right hand one of the best moments of my life, and maybe kicking Azazel's ass made that day better too, but that's not the important part. You are. I like working for you. I like your dirty jokes because I have the same sense of humor. And your corny jokes are awful,  but occasionally I'll find myself making them too." She sounded annoyed as she said all of this, only angry that he didn't see it. She shouldn't have been surprised though considering that seemed to run in his family. "I know a lot of people think it's a little extra the way you will do whole musical numbers. I agree, but I fucking love it!"

He looked like he was about to say something, but she cut him off. "I'm not done yet! You wanted to know how I know that this is real, so you're going to hear it all! When I was younger, and practically everyone was doubting me for being your right hand, you didn't. You never doubted my capability to kick their asses and make them shut the fuck up. I fucking love the fact that even though you're an archangel, you trust me to handle myself and fight my own battles. I'd be pissed if you tried to, but I never had to worry about that with you. I never have to worry about most things with you because I trust you. Hell, even your problems I don't mind dealing with. You self-sabotage constantly, and so do I. You've got the the world's biggest daddy issues, and I've got the world's worst mommy issues. But we know how to deal with each other's issues. The drama in your family is exponential, but I don't ever want to stop dealing with it. It's honestly really entertaining, and don't you dare fucking tell them this, or anyone for that matter, but I started to care for them too. Some of them anyways. Just a tiny barely noticeable amount." She probably shouldn't have said that, but she kept going.

"When we came up here together at first and Chloe made you vulnerable, you have no idea how terrified I was. I am your right hand and your bodyguard. I don't usually have to protect you from much because you're an archangel, but there you were getting injured constantly just because you kept going near the thing that was making you vulnerable. I was honestly glad that it was a curse just because it meant that you could be safe again." Sure there were other things that could hurt him but not many. "I was just glad that I didn't have to worry about losing you."

She continued to list off more and more reasons to prove how she knew her love was her own and not from some curse. It spanned from centuries in the past all the way to the present, including the smallest details like the way he laughed when he was scared or  the way his hair looked after sex to more major details and events like the fact that she saw him when she looked at Asmodeus or how jealous she felt when she saw the other universe's Maze seeming to have everything with her Lucifer and how glad she was to come home to her own. It took her hours to get through everything, and it was well into the morning now. "And if that's not enough to convince you that this is real, I don't know what is," she huffed. "Cupid's been trying to get me to tell you for ages now, and she wouldn't do that if she had any doubts about my feelings for you being a curse. She might be a pain in the ass half the time, but I know you at least can count on her being genuine about love."

LUCIFER: "At the rate he dies, you'll likely catch up to Aamon or Michael at this point," he joked although he really hoped Sam would slow down a little for Charlie's sake. He chuckled when she replied that her strap-on had a condom. "A paragon of safe sex. I expect no less. I'm sure Charlie will appreciate the sentiment." If anything, Charlie would at least appreciate the jokes and the company. It had been a rough few hours for her. Those hours spanned days in hell. Days that Maze must've spent feeling anxious about her friend's wellbeing. No wonder she'd reacted so poorly to his faux pas.

He was hoping to make it up to her, but it was clear his hesitation was contributing to her anxiety. Being a demon from Aamon's kingdom, that anxiety naturally expressed itself with rage. He flinched as she snapped at him. He swallowed hard when she replied that she'd been in love with him for a lot longer than he'd been cursed. Maybe they'd looked at the curse all wrong then. Maybe it was there from the beginning. Maybe Chloe wasn't the original victim, but rather Mazikeen. The thought of that ached and hurt more than anything. She was his best advisor and his closest friend. The thought of their closeness potentially being driven by a curse was a hurt that threatened to tear his chest open, but continued to listen. It was best not to interrupt her when she was in one of these passionate rages.

His features softened and his panic started to drop off slightly as she started listing tangible things she liked about him. Love curses couldn't go that deep, could they? Cupid had told him even the strongest curses can only mimic a base and superficial love. What Maze was describing didn't feel superficial. She'd also said that real love felt different. It made you feel complete even when you felt like you were falling apart. Maze made him feel that way. She understood him in ways even those around him didn't seem to get.

She didn't try to change him or insist that he be someone else, someone more mature or someone she felt he needed to be in certain situations. She trusted his judgement even when he didn't trust himself necessarily. Apparently not everyone was the same way though. There were people out there that didn't like his musical numbers? He was about to open his mouth to retort, but she cut him off. He closed his mouth and patiently waited as she continued, a smile growing on his face.

Just as he'd been reminiscing about how she never doubted his abilities, it was clear she felt the same way about him never doubting her. He always knew that she was capable. His siblings might have been more powerful than her, but they always knew that Maze was an extension of Lucifer. She wasn't a subordinate, she was family to them. And it was clear Maze felt that they were her family too. That made Lucifer brighten considerably. He knew Maze didn't have a good relationship with her family and sometimes his own relationship with his family was rocky too. But she found her place among them and that was important to him.

She was as afraid of losing him as he was of losing her which was both terrifying and a relief. When she was off in the other timeline, he'd been a mess just thinking about it. It wasn't just the daunting task of finding another right hand if she never came back. It was the inexplicable pain of losing someone whom you couldn't imagine your life without. There was no one in this world or the next that could replace Maze.

"Mazikeen," he cupped her face as she finished, letting her take a few deep breaths to calm down. She looked like she needed a drink too. "I believe you," his voice was soft and gentle as he spoke. The previous panic that it carried was now gone. He really did believe her. He knew Maze well enough to know cursed or not, love was the last thing she wanted to admit to. It took guts to get this far and now it was time for him to show the same kind of bravery. "And I love you too," he smiled. "You make me a better person without trying to change a single thing about me. You listen to my fears and insecurities and you don't let them be the only voice inside my head. When shit hits the fan you are the only person I know I can count on. It's always been you," he replied as he leaned in and kissed her gently. "It's always going to be you."

MAZIKEEN: "He's really got issues if he's going that far." Maze could see the appeal of getting close to death. She liked pushing things that far all the time. Having sex with archangels who could easily end your existence provided a similar thrill, but Maze didn't actually want to die. "Yeah," Maze agreed. "Hopefully becoming death doesn't autocorrect her sense of humor." She was joking just to pick on Lucifer's mistake, but she was a little worried about how this change would affect Charlie. She didn't know everything about what becoming death entailed. She had always been closer to Charlie than Azrael, and Azrael wasn't very social. She hadn't talked much about what being Death was like either. Maze didn't know how much she could help Charlie, or how much any of them could.

She looked at Lucifer angrily as he cupped her face, waiting for him to make fun of her or say that her explanations weren't enough to prove that this was real even though she knew it was. Her expression softened when he said he believed her. "You do?" She asked, relaxing into him now. He'd gone through so much lately that she really didn't expect him to take her at her word. "You do?" She asked again as he told her he loved her too. She felt warmer, and she was smiling brightly. She didn't think she'd been in love before him, and just getting that confirmation was such a relief. She felt lighter and happier. She looked at him in awe as he explained just what made him love her too. "I don't need to change anything about you," she said in defense of him, but she couldn't counter the rest of it. She deepened the kiss. Her hands moved into his hair, pulling on some of the strands, but this kiss was different than their usual make-out sessions. It wasn't just from lust, though she was feeling hornier now. Adding an emotional extension to kissing someone was . . . Interesting to say the least. She might've loved him before, but loving him and knowing he loved her had the most thrill she'd ever known. Cupid could never be told that. She'd never hear the end of how right Cupid was, but this was something Mazikeen had needed to do on her own anyways. Maze smirked as they pulled out of the kiss. "If it's always going to be me, do we need to discuss anything else, or are you going to get me out of these clothes?"

LUCIFER: "There's minor death kinks and then there's whatever Sam's got," he chuckled. He would pass off Linda's number to Sam and maybe even introduce them. She'd get a kick out of an interdimensional client and Sam could really use the help after all of this. He groaned at the joke Maze made about Charlie's humor getting autocorrected. If course she wasn't going to let him live it down. Despite her ribbing at him, he knew there was some truth hidden in her jokes. She was afraid that this whole transition to becoming Death would change Charlie. "She's a little overwhelmed right now, but still Charlie. It's like the second Frozen movie where Elsa transitions into the fifth natural force," he giggled to himself. "You know, that sort of makes you Anna. I've seen dark before..." he sang through his giggles, ducking away before she could smack him.

"I do," he nodded. "It doesn't mean I'm any less scared about it or that I even know what I'm doing, but I believe you and I love you," he assured her. Admitting it out loud again felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulder. The more times he said it out loud, the more sure of himself he felt. He did love her. This wasn't the curse talking, this was him. He smiled when she replied that she didn't need to change him. He'd gone a good portion of his life thinking there was something wrong with him. He didn't fit the mold his Father intended for him. He never accepted him for who he was and simply wanted to beat him down until he was a perfect soldier like Michael. But Maze never tried to change him. She never made him feel like he was built wrong or that he was too soft, too hard, or too much for the role placed on his shoulders.

As she deepened the kiss, he pressed her against the wall, wanting to feel every inch of her. Having aired out how he felt, and having her accept it and feel the same was exhilarating and quite frankly more of a turn on than anything else he'd ever experienced before. He could hardly focus as she pulled away. "Well," he smirked, trailing kisses down her neck as his hands explored her body. "I do have some making up to do for my previous faux pas." He gripped her tightly and picked her up before plopping her down onto the bed. "You know what they say, no time line the present," he smirked, dipping down to kiss her again.