#try to focus on explaining why certain aspects turned me off from the shows

[soulerflaire]

Felt like rating more anime I've watched recently or am currently watching.

Skip and Loafer

Summary: Mitsumi, a girl growing up in the country, moves to Tokyo to attend a prestigious high school. Her first day, she runs into Sousuke, the most popular guy in school, and they become friends.

Sounds like fairly standard high school romance anime, which I usually am not particularly interested in, but the writing in this one is far better than most. The characters act like real people with complicated, messy emotions that they are still learning to deal with. Also notably, Mitsumi doesn't immediately fall head over heels for Sousuke, nor does he immediately fall for her. Even by the end of the season, they're just good friends, though it's clear feelings are developing on both sides. The focus of the show is less on the romance and more on the characters themselves. Mitsumi's ambition mixed with uncertainty and anxiety in a new environment, Sousuke's past weighing him down and his popularity affecting his interactions with people, Mika's realization of her own jealous and petty nature and her attempts to break free from it, Makoto and Yuzuki overcoming their preconceptions about each other.

But even without all of that, I still very much like the show for something major it did: it included a trans character and treated her with respect. I've talked about this before, but the inclusion of Nao as a character is so well done. She's never once the butt of a joke, or made out to be creepy or bad. Mitsumi lives with Nao in Tokyo, and Nao's a loving and caring aunt who offers advice and support to Mitsumi whenever she needs it. Most animes that include trans characters either make them "guy in a dress" jokes or demonize them as unstable or dangerous (even some of my favorite shows are guilty of this). But Skip and Loafer puts Nao into the position of a caring mentor figure (not just to Mitsumi, but to Mika too) as well as a competent and successful stylist. And even beyond that, the show doesn't make a big deal out of her being trans. Rather than Nao being "the trans character", she is just a character who happens to be trans. I hope this is the beginning of a trend of anime treating trans people better. 8/10.

The Wrong Way to Use Healing Magic

Summary: Usato and his two classmates Inukami and Ryusen are summoned to another world on their way home from school. In typical isekai fashion, they were summoned to defeat the Demon Lord, and are granted magical powers. However, once the large and imposing Rose, leader of the kingdom's team of healers, learns that Usato has an affinity for healing magic, she grabs him and hauls him over to the healer team's base for intensive training.

I love the general premise of how Rose teaches Usato to use healing magic. Rather than allow him to become a physically weak caster, she puts him through hellish physical training and forces him to use his healing magic to instantly recover so that he can train more, pushing him harder and harder until he learns to constantly cast healing magic on himself to reinforce his body, allowing him to perform inhuman feats of strength and endurance. I also love that pretty much everyone else in the world thinks Rose is completely insane for using healing magic this way and slowly goes from pitying Usato to wondering about his sanity as he progresses in his training.

The show generally has a very light tone, poking fun at some isekai tropes, but there is a heavy undertone about the horrors of war. There's a reason Rose is training Usato so hard. And when the time comes for Usato to step onto the battlefield as a member of the Rescue Team, the show almost completely drops the light tone, only bringing it fully back after the battle ends.

I thoroughly enjoyed every episode, and I like all of the characters a lot. I am a little worried about the potential harem forming, with both Inukami and Felm clearly crushing on Usato, but I'm hoping it's just a love triangle and doesn't develop into a full blown harem. I have so little patience for those these days. 8/10, if the show doesn't continue I will absolutely have to read the manga.

Ningen Fushin: Adventurers Who Don't Believe in Humanity Will Save the World

Summary: Four adventurers, Nick, Tiana, Zem, and Curran, have all been betrayed by people they trusted completely and have become disillusioned with the world. They happen to meet at a tavern and drown their sorrows together. The following morning, they decide to form an adventuring party, promising to never trust each other and to never interfere with each others' personal lives.

What I love most about this show is that, of course, they all immediately begin trusting each other and become a found family. They constantly talk about distrust, but their actions say otherwise. I love their interactions so much, I could watch entire episodes of them bantering.

I think it's also interesting the way the show handles their trauma. All four of them have unhealthy coping mechanisms that cost a lot of money: Nick has become an idol otaku, blowing all his money on merch. Tiana is addicted to gambling and, despite being quite good at it, still gambles too much and always loses money in the end. Zem spends almost every night drinking at a hostess club. And Curran is obsessed with food, using all her money to eat at fancy restaurants. All four of their addictions are clearly coping mechanisms filling the holes their betrayals left, and while these habits are unhealthy for all of them, the habits also keep them from falling into despair. They're both distractions from the group's pasts and goals to strive for: keep working, keep earning money, keep living, so they can keep enjoying their vices.

It's a found family show that focuses a lot on trust, trauma, and the complex lives everyone has. Even antagonist characters get backstories that explain (but don't excuse) their actions. And it balances the heavy subject matter very well with humor, so the show never feels like a downer. 8/10.

Kaiju No. 8

Summary: In a world where monstrous kaiju regularly attack civilization, Kafka Hibino works as part of the cleanup crew that handles the aftermath of kaiju attacks. He once aspired to join the Kaiju Defense Force, but gave up after failing the exam repeatedly. He meets Reno Ichikawa, a young man who plans to enlist and who encourages Kafka to take another try at the exam. Before that happens, however, they are caught in a kaiju attack and end up in the hospital. While there, Kafka is infected by a small kaiju, and is transformed into a new type of kaiju.

Despite having a similar premise of kaiju attacking humanity, Pacific Rim is not a good comparison for the show. The Kaiju Defense Force doesn't use giant robots, they use special combat suits created from materials harvested from kaiju corpses. The kaiju themselves have specific types (seven known types, leading Kafka to be designated as a new eighth type, hence the name of the show) with a range of sizes (though all still much larger than humans).

This show is fantastic. The humor, the action, the animation, it's all top quality. It's also a wild ride and I have absolutely no idea where it's going, to be honest. It's on episode 7 right now and they just keep throwing curve balls left and right. I think my favorite aspect is that, when not in his kaiju form, Kafka is just a regular dude surrounded by typical OP anime characters. Despite weeks of training, he is unable to perform the superhuman feats the rest of the Defense Force trainees can. Initially, he can't even use the power suit properly, which makes him unable to use most of the anti-kaiju weapons because they're too heavy. That, combined with his cheerful personality, makes Kafka a relatable and endearing main character.

Also, it's nice to have a main character in his 30s, even if it's physically painful for me to hear other characters call him old. Tentative 10/10, we'll see how the rest of the season holds up.

Tonari no Yokai-san

Summary: In an alternate reality where myths and legends are normal, everyday things, the small town of Fuchigamori is home to numerous supernatural beings living alongside humans.

This show has got some feels. It starts out as very heartwarming slice of life, focusing mostly on Buchio, a recently reborn nekomata, and Mutsumi, a young human girl who idolizes Jiro, the crow tengu who watches over the town. The stories are mostly separate, though they deal with some common themes from different perspectives.

As the show goes on, it starts hitting on heavy topics about love, loss, and family, the three major themes of the show. There are still heartwarming moments to be had, but they are outnumbered by the heavy emotional moments. To me, the main message of the show so far has been "Relationships of all kinds are painful, but the good ones are worth every moment of that pain."

I love Buchio, he's such a good character. He's trying his best, and he messes up, but he keeps trying; the lil' guy just needs so many hugs. And the exploration of Jiro as a character is fascinating to me. At first he seems like this calm, confident guy who always knows the right thing to say, always knows what to do, a steadfast guardian for the town. But in time we learn that he's a person like everyone else, suffering from fear, doubt, and loss just as much as anyone, and all he can do is try his best, just like Buchio.

Also there's at least one queer couple in the show, Wagen and Kazuhiko. The show refers to them as "partners" and doesn't elaborate further, but to me at least, it's pretty clear they're a couple.

The downside to the show for me is that it is a little slow. I love the characters and their interactions, but that is literally all the show has. It's 95% people sitting around talking and having emotional moments, so it can feel kinda dull at times. I would not recommend binging it, tbh; I'm watching it weekly as it updates on Crunchyroll, and I think that's probably the best way to watch it. 7/10.

A Salad Bowl of Eccentrics

Summary: A reverse isekai where young princess Sara da Odin and her faithful knight Livia de Udis teleport to modern day Japan to escape the rebellion that overthrew their kingdom and killed Sara's parents, the king and queen. Sara meets Sosuke Kaburaya, a private investigator, and convinces him to take her in off the street.

This show definitely does not start off with a bang. It very much gives off "weak story for the purpose of jokes and fanservice" vibes, and for several episodes, it looks like that's all it has to it. But episode 7 was a turning point where I realized how well they were actually writing the characters of Sara and Sosuke.

The show basically follows two stories. One is about Livia's attempts to make a living in this world, and is mostly just jokes and fanservice. The other is Sara and Sosuke, and this one focuses much more on their character growth and dynamic. I didn't even notice how their interactions smoothly changed over time from "Guy forced to take care of child from another world" to "father and daughter" until episode 7. The episode begins with Sosuke trying to figure out how to enroll Sara into school, something she expressed interest in previously. She has no citizenship, no form of ID, and no birth certificate with which to get said ID or citizenship, and she can't be enrolled in school without those. There's a scene where they calmly discuss options, and that was the first moment that I noticed their dynamic had changed. They don't throw blame around or get mad at each other, they just discuss options, realize they can't figure out a solution, and decide to set the issue aside for the day. Even when Sosuke comments that Sara's not good enough at acting to pretend to be his daughter, Sara doesn't get defensive; she agrees with him. She realizes Sosuke is trying his best to figure it out, and Sosuke genuinely wants to find a way for Sara to go to school.

They then spend the day on a case, following a guy around to see if he's cheating on his wife. It turns out he's just dropping a bit of spare money on horse races for fun, and Sosuke and Sara end up enjoying the day together instead. At the end of it, as they're walking back to the car, Sosuke stops and says "Hey, Sara. Do you want to be my daughter for real?" and Sara says yes.

That's the point that it hit me, that these two had already become a father-daughter duo, and I just hadn't realized it. Sosuke, a man who previously hated the idea of being responsible for the well-being of this random girl, casually suggests adopting her, and Sara, a proud princess who previously considered Sosuke just a useful peon, happily agrees.

To be honest, if the show was just about Sosuke and Sara's story, I would give it a 7/10. But so much of the show is devoted to the Livia story's jokes and fanservice, it's like they're afraid their audience would get bored of a serious plot. For that, I have to knock it down to 5/10.

[garrothromeave]

Hi! I just wanted to say I randomly stumbled upon your post about people’s reactions to the aphtwt confession about Laurance as a love interest and the reaction he had during the pregnancy arc and I have a lot to say but have a lot of nerves, so I’m doing it like this. So I hope you don’t mind! This is probably super long, and I really apologize for that.

I think one of the reasons people brought up Garroth so much is that people see a lot of the romance drama as ridiculous (at least I do), and Garroth and Laurance are incredibly similar in some regards when it comes to Laurance. So even if it was unintentional, people wanted to pull them onto the same level.

Laurance has a charming character, it grabs viewer’s attention and keeps it. But I bet one of the reasons people probably like him so much is probably because they like the version of him that they made up in their head. That's why there's people who say stuff like "no one understands this character like I do.” people pretty much accidentally create their own version of their favorites the deeper they are into a fandom. Yes, everyone uses the same canon, but it doesn’t mean everyone sees those events the same. This fandom, especially here on aphblr is FILLED with rewrites.

Laurance is an odd character. He does questionable things for questionable reasons, but seems to get away with it more than other character. Especially if you scope into end of season two. I think one of the reasons for this is because we never truly see the fallout of what his actions after the pregnancy announcement caused.

There's this thing l've noticed in media that two characters can to the exact same bad thing but one will be brushed off and the other will be more focused on. The character whose bad action has the fallout more focused on ends up becoming more disliked for that action than any other character who did the same thing. It's hard for people to criticize certain aspects of a character's decision if the after effects of that decision are never truly explained or focused on, and what their intention for doing said thing was. It doesn't mean they're exempt from criticism, but people tend to focus less on those things because there's simply less to look at. But we'lI never get those answers about Laurance, and people know that. So it’s easier for us to turn a blind eye and focus on other things or characters.

I’ll end this similar to how you did: Laurance fans (like myself), it’s okay to criticize one of your favorite characters. Even if you’re like me and create a justifiable reason for why one might do what he did in some of his situations, it doesn’t mean it’s a good decision. It just means it’s explained. Thank you for your time :)

very well said :) thanks for getting out your thoughts homedawg.

i genuinely don’t have AS much of a problem with the end of season two and him leaving. he had shadow knight shit to deal with, he left to protect aphmau, i really do get that. that’s not actually what i think laurance fans try to unnecessarily defend—i’d honestly defend that too. i think you’re very right to say that fans will criticize characters for the same things that others do—i’ve fallen victim to this too, with the whole aaron vs gene in pdh. double standards, yk?

but when it gets to the point that laurance criticisms are ridiculed and it’s an excuse of “um, idc what he did he was hot while he did it” it gets SO fucking annoying so fucking fast. like you can like a character with flaws. like that is perfectly ok.

laurance is a charmer, he’s flirty, he’s loyal. but yeah, let’s not talk about how he’s also obsessive and creepy, making advances on aphmau after she shows no interest. let’s not talk about his “i’ll wait for you” mentality. because no! as you pointed out, fans love to keep this very specific interpretation of him in their heads, so that none of that is acknowledged—because it’s seen as romantic. that is so infuriating. behavior like this in real life is gross.

and then there’s like “okay, laurance did all of that, but garroth LITERALLY BETRAYED PHEONIX DROP OVER A KISS” no! he didn’t, that’s literally a scapegoat i see ALL the time—but in reality, with some general paying attention to his character, that misinterpretation could genuinely be worked out. does that excuse his actions? no. does it make them more clearly understood? yes. but i can still acknowledge, as a garroth fan, that he did betray them and does need consequences for his actions. he’s not free from doing bad things just because he’s my favorite character. but people also won’t look at his character like that because they just don’t give a shit, so?? don’t know what to tell you there, buddy! i’d just say it’s not fair to criticize a character without fully understanding the situation lmfao. like, i’ve been a diehard laurance fan. i know that he does not have bad intentions. there’s just things that should be talked about

we can do stuff like this with laurance. someone mentioned this under my last post, that every single character is honestly quite shit. the best thing we can do is acknowledge those flaws, and then portray our interpretations and explanations as to why this character did this. but it’s not an excuse. it’s an explanation. i saw under that aphtwt thing A LOT the saying “idc, im still a laurance dickrider” LIKE IM NOT SAYING YOU CANT BE. JUST PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT HE’S DONE BAD THINGS. it’s INFURIATING watching people continue to brush off what he did without at least trying to work out explanations?? and doing a, “okay but he did worse” is NOT a good excuse im sorry its fuckin not

you made a really good point with the fact that we just don’t get explanations for laurance, hence why it’s ignored. and the hard truth is the fact that he was just genuinely like that. jess wrote him. of COURSE he’s going to suck.

but yeah anyways ill eventually drop the laurance doc i have going over him as a character but lord almighty folks, pleaseee take an unbiased look at him. he’s not the knight in shining armour that you thought he was when you were twelve. thanks

[potassium-pilot]

FFXIVWrite 2023, Prompt 25: Call It a Day

The Crystal Tower stood tall against the skies of Mor Dhona. The Allagan construction happened to be the focus this day as Dia finished her trip into the Labyrinth of the Ancients. Rammbroes already told her to take a break and told a certain miqo'te not to interfere further.

He didn't tell her not to interfere with him, however.

G'raha went off to sulk somewhere as a response, and she simply had to interrupt his gloom. She found him sitting on a rock cataloguing everything that occurred.

"Hey, G'raha."

He stopped, turned around, and paid special attention to her. "Ah, tell me you've managed to convince Rammbroes that I simply must explore the tower with you."

"No."

"I see. That's unfortunate. What brings you to me then?"

"Your invisibility spell."

"My invisibility spell?"

Dia nodded. "I want it."

G'raha couldn't help but laugh at the idea. "Oh, certainly, that's why you're here."

"That's right. Teach it to me."

G'raha smirked condescendingly. "To master such an art requires immense study in aetherial manipulation, and I simply cannot pass on the art to someone untrained."

"Manipulation, you say?"

"Aye."

"You mean like this?"

The rock that G'raha used to hold himself up moved to the side and he fell over suddenly.

"Aetherial manipulation's something of a specialty of mine", Dia explained with her own smirk.

G'raha stood up, wiping off dirt from his clothes. "Well, moving rocks is fine and good, but any conjurer could do something like that."

He began stepping upwards, using the aether in the air as stepping stones. "The level of aether manipulation required to make your form invisible to the naked eye takes an understanding of aether on a molecular level. While you're a fine arcanist, this I doubt not in the least, there are aspects to what I do that would take decades of research to grasp fully."

With her training in spatial manipulation, she made her form appear positively giant in front of G'raha, as though someone took her form and put it under a microscope. "Yeah? Aspects like what?"

This stunned him off of his balance and he just managed to land on his feet with a feather fall spell. "By the Twelve..."

"Like what you see?"

Slowly, he reached his hand out to try to touch the giant Dia only for his hand to slip through her illusion.

"Now skip the pretense and show me your invisibility spell", she demanded calmly as she stood behind him. He quickly turned around with a shocked look on his face. Quickly, he shook it off and showed an indignant face.

"Well, if you've already attained this level of awareness of aether manipulation, why do you ask me?"

"Because you're doing something different. I know how to manipulate the space around me, but not in a way where I can make it so I'm not visible. That's where I need to see what you're doing."

"Hm." G'raha kicked the dirt beneath him. "Well...tell you what, we can resolve this, I believe, with a simple race."

"A race? Why the games?"

"Simple. I love games." G'raha pointed out a spot over in the distance northeast of where they stood where crystals and the remains of an old cave system gathered above a pool of water. "If you can beat me, I shall share all that I know."

"Using what methods?"

"Methods?"

"If you like games, then surely, you like setting up the rules for them."

G'raha chuckled. "You would be right. All is fair here."

"Very well. On the count of 'start', then?"

They looked to each other. Staring intently into each other's eyes, each waiting for the other to make their move.

"1-2-3-go!"

With G'raha's hasty countdown did the two of them immediately cast spells to up their speed. Neither of them could teleport with magic alone with the help of aetherytes, so it was a matter of speed. Down the eastern path they went, running as fast as they could until finally, Dia found herself in the crystalized area alone. She looked around trying to find her opponent, but no one was near.

"Good job. Now find me."

The disembodied voice beckoned her from somewhere.

"Oh, gods' sakes. Did I lose?"

"This is what I promised. If you beat me, I would teach it to you. Now use your skills to find me."

Dia groaned. At first, she thought she would take a slow approach, feeling out G'raha to find her. About five minutes of slowly searching later with no luck, she took a different approach.

"Okay, so chances are you went somewhere that I couldn't easily reach."

He said nothing.

"All right. You're insistent that it's a matter of spatial manipulation. That's my specialty. So...let's play manipulator."

Using her own skills, she bent the space around her to search closely. The space grew larger and smaller, wider and thinner, solid and liquid and gaseous. If she was to find him, she was going to have to think outside the box. Finally, it hit her.

"You're not using the aether around you to hide yourself."

She reached out a hand in the space ahead of her, grabbed the Miqo'te from nowhere, and pulled.

"You're cloaking your own aether to match your surroundings."

G'raha smiled. "Excellent work."

"You realize how dangerous that is to your own form, yes?"

"Yet I'm still here."

"Unbelievable."

"But if you don't wish to do such a thing, you need not endanger yourself."

Dia smirked. "No way. I finally figured it out, and you think I won't try to use it for myself?"

In a moment, Dia's form faded into the aether in front of G'raha's eyes. He joined her in her cloaking.

"Wanna pull a prank on Cid with me?" Dia asked.

"Perhaps tomorrow. For now, it might be better if we call it here."

[daydreamslikewaves]

Little mothers, bigger daughters.

So this is quite personal but it’s something that I want to post, because sadly I know that there will be many, many women out there who this is going to resonate with. It’s all about a realisation I’ve had which is helping me deal with /manage some not great behaviour which is just not ever going to change - and maybe it’ll help someone else out there. I feel like it’s personal growth for me to have reached this point, too, and it felt like a safe space to share.

TW: parental toxicity, talk about weight, food, body image.

My mum is a solid and reliable person. She is loyal to a fault and passionate about family and a very strong-willed woman. A force of nature. She is fierce. She’s gone through slightly more personal tragedies than the average human. One hundred percent, she would kill for me and my dad. All in all, we have a good relationship. But there is one aspect that has always been difficult to deal with.

I think we all know that it’s unwise for parents to comment on their children’s weight/body/diet. Even if there are genuine concerns, there are ways to tackle said concerns and ways not to. And this goes for any child/person, of any body type. But it’s something I have particularly struggled with as someone who has a very different build to my very petite mother. I am tall and athletic while my mother is absolutely tiny. There has been a lot of vigilance regarding my body, always. ‘That doesn’t look as good as you think it does’. ‘Are you sure you want to eat that.’ The ‘big-boned’ comments were meant as ‘compliments’ but were neverending. As was the focus on my posture, and how inelegant I was, and the emphasis on that I always needed to be active as if there was an undercurrent of concern as to what would happen to my body if I stopped exercising. All of this focus on my body which in turn made me hyperfocused on it. I’m that person obsessively watching myself in every reflective surface to make sure I’m standing normally. Because usually I don’t; I tend to shrink in on myself in an effort to seem physically smaller. I slouch in photos to make myself small, too.

I won’t go into detail about all of the comments I’ve received over the years, because they did get progressively worse. Some of them were extremely damaging - especially over the last two years. Me gaining 8kg over quarantine sparked endless debates. 

Recently, though, I’ve come to the realisation that a lot of these comments might not actually come from a terrible place after all; and not in the way that all those Psychology Today articles suggest (’they do it because it’s their way of loving you, even though it’s flawed, unsolicited advice etc etc’). What they say goes some way when it comes to explaining it, but.. I simply have started to believe that sometimes, it’s as simple as this:

As a petite woman, my mum just can’t comprehend what it’s like to not be petite. 

She has no frame of reference. Every woman on her side of the family is relatively small. She has been taught that petite is petite and that not-petite is big. That big can be negative. Needs someone to keep an eye on it. She does not understand what it is like to be the tallest in the class and how working out requires you to eat more to keep energy levels up. For her, good food and no bad food/less food + ‘moving your body’ (cardio only) = weight loss. No matter how much I try to explain that strength training combined with cardio is much more effective in getting leaner, she is horrified at the idea of me getting muscly because ‘that should not be your goal’. She is not a fan of tattoos but one big concern she has in relation to mine is ‘why would you want to show off your body?’. It is not said with disgust, more like a genuine question bred from genuine curiosity - she can’t fathom it. It isn’t out of spite that she feels these things but more because she a) has been taught certain things about how women should be and b) as a smaller woman her experience is completely different to mine. 

I am trying to actively remember this as I go to visit my parents this weekend as undoubtedly, the fact that I posted a bikini holiday pic on instagram will be a pressing topic of conversation. I am trying to remember that she doesn’t know how tall/curvy women experience the world. I’m trying to see it as something that makes her really confused - because this is ultimately easier than seeing it as a constant slight against my physical appearance. It helps that I now think this is the genuine reason for her comments all these years. Just wish that it had taken me less than thirty years to figure it out.

Anyway, water off a duck’s back.

(I would like to add that this may not be the case for everyone experiencing a similar situation. Some people are just shitty to the core. But for others, the situation is much more complex. This is just my perspective on my own experience.)

[astroandstuff]

Hey theree

Could you please tell me what you think about Uranus 10th house square Gemini Rising and Mercury 5th square Gemini rising?

Thank you for your time ❤

Hey! Sorry about the wait, but here we are! I hope you enjoy this and please remember I'm not a professional astrologer this is just how I interpret these placements together. Also remember this is only a small portion of your chart so take it with a grain of salt. This is also pretty long and full of typos so I apologize for that!

Uranus in the 10th House:

eccentric

not a follower

confident (can turn to arrogance if not careful)

originality is important

free expression

impulsive

might change jobs a lot

Gemini Rising:

curious and has many interests

needs constant mental stimulation

hands on learner

clever

can appear detached

dynamic personality

can come off flirtatious

Uranus Square Ascendant:

creative

unpredictable and erratic

need for personal freedom

expression through appearance

nervous and restless

rebellious

can be pushy

So Uranus square Ascendant can make someone dislike any type of authority no matter how big or small it presents itself, whether it be your boss or parent to even some random person telling you to do something (depending on the orb and other Uranus placements). This can make someone want to be different just to spite others who try to tell them what to do and how to behave (NOT ALWAYS), but these individuals do carry out certain actions because they are rebellious at heart. Sometimes they themselves don't even know why they do the things they do and this can make communicating and expressing their thoughts and beliefs hard. This might be made a bit more difficult with Gemini rising because you want to communicate with people, you want to learn about anything and everything and you want to share your opinions on matters with people. So when you have these two placements come together it may cause a lot of tension because you probably know exactly what you're feeling and why you do things a certain way, but you just don't know how to explain it to others so that they'll understand it and it'll make as perfect sense to them as it does to you.

These individuals might want to connect with people socially and often try their best to convey their opinions, but might feel like people don't understand them because their way of describing things is a bit more erratic and wild. Since they might feel like they're not the best with words they try and find other ways to express themselves such as work or art or very likely since it's the ascendant through their appearance. They are in complete control of their appearance and they use that to their full advantage and show the world who they are through their clothes, hair, makeup, expressions, etc...

These people also would much rather experience things than be told, even if it's a negative experience, in order to learn. The problem is sometimes they don't learn the 1st time or the 2nd or the 3rd. They will keep putting themselves through these situations because deep down they might think since it's their own personal experience the result has to be different for them than how it was for others. These individuals really just want to be their own person ultimately. They like that they're different from others (as they should). They embrace all their quirks even if they don't love them they can accept that it's a part of them and they truly try to highlight them even if they don't realize it. These placements together would manifest in my opinion as someone who truly just wants to find themselves on their own and doesn't want anyone's input on the matter. Learning who they are and how to be their own person would probably be something so amazing and personal for them.

These are also people that need to keep busy or else they might get very restless, nervous, or even anxious because of how fast their minds are.

Mercury in the 5th House:

secretive

playful in the way they communicate

manipulative (if poorly aspected)

witty and dynamic

charismatic

might put too much focus on fun

Mercury Square Ascendant:

opinionated

doesn't really share opinion though

thrives in any aspect that utilizes words

busy bodies

honest (sometimes brutally so)

might appear stoic or not present

Okay so these two placements together I think would make for someone who is very playful in the way they express themselves and are amazing sweet talkers, but only with people they're completely comfortable with. Mercury in 5th house makes for someone who really just likes to have fun and wants to make sure the people around them are having fun almost to the extent that they'll really do anything to make sure it happens. This could be as innocent as just exaggerating a bit to something as intense as manipulating people so that they'll get their fun (but that really depends on the individual). Combine this with Mercury square Ascendant and it gets a bit stifled for lack of a better word. They might focus more on having fun to distract others from the fact that they don't want to share their opinion. It could be someone who might struggle with having confidence to speak about their opinions so they just want to keep them private. This also makes someone a bit brutally honest but putting it together with 5th house Mercury I think it would make for someone when asked for their opinion wouldn't sugar coat it, but also would try to be as nice as possible (hope that made sense).

So all these placements together I think would manifest in a person that has strong beliefs and opinions, but doesn't necessarily share them with others. They have a reasoning behind these beliefs, but they might not know the best way to relay the information to others so they choose not to and might focus on other forms of expression. This may lead others to think that these people just don't care or are indifferent about many things when that couldn't be further from the truth.

Okay I think that's it! I hope you enjoyed this so please let me know if any of this resonated with you or not. Stay safe and remember to be kind to yourselves!

- S 🤍

[authoressofdarkness]

I saw that you're taking prompts, from the dialogue list. Can I get number 20? “I’ve never had someone taking care of me before.” for starker obviously. I'm excited, I love reading your works. Thank you in advance!

Hi anon! That means so much to me and I’m v glad to be taking this as my first prompt. Thank you 💙

I kinda want to try some new things with some of these prompts, so I’m gonna go at this with omega Tony and alpha Peter and see where it goes. I hope that’s okay with you anon and that everyone likes it 😘

Same age college AU, omegaverse, alpha Peter Parker, omega Tony Stark, some angst and some fluff at the end.

—

It’s a well known fact that Tony Stark has a shitty family.

Well, at least to anyone who knows him, it is. They know how he’ll do anything to not be at home when his father is around, to get out of the endless pressures of social events and promotional things and questions of mating and management and all of the things that he hated about being born an omega and being attached to the last name Stark to top it all off—

For years, it was just him. Some flings, mainly to piss his father off, but he never had his attention for longer than the time it took to scold him or order him around, and his mother was never much help, either. He had precious few friends growing up, never really made any real ones until college when he met Rhodey and Pepper — an alpha and a beta respectively that helped him manage things there and that were the first people to truly understand the depths of struggles he had going on at home.

And they were great friends, still are, but there was never anything more there between them. They helped him float through the first year of school, and then—

And then came Peter Parker.

Tony doesn’t hate all alphas on principle, although he is often rather tempted to try to, what with how they were shoved in his face most of his life. They were great for a good fling but most of them were meatheads. As horny as Tony was, he couldn’t allow just anyone to be close to him, nothing too get to serious, because he’s got a lot of responsibility coming down to him and he needs the right partner — alpha or otherwise — to be willing to deal with that. Not that he’s particularly interested in mating right now but he also isn’t going to allow someone close enough to potentially mark him knowing the repercussions of that.

He’s the heir to Stark Industries, sure, but he’s still an omega. An alpha will have significant legal power over him once they’re mated. And he wants to be the one to run SI, to take on his legacy, to build, to create, and to run his business, and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, even if that means flings forever.

(Not that that’s legally going to fly because he can’t take over until he’s considered qualified which implies a certain amount of stability that translates into having an alpha that’s more than just a fuck buddy but—)

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters after he meets Peter.

Peter is a year younger than him in school, technically, but biologically they’re the same age. Peter just started a bit later than most — and for good reasons, as Tony comes to find out.

He’s in one of Tony’s engineering classes and his organic chemistry class and the omega would be lying if he said he wasn’t immediately taken with him.

He can’t help it. Peter is cute, with his overgrown curls and slim form and silky skin and shy little smile and—

The other man is all alpha, there’s no doubt about it. He exudes it without even trying, but there’s a shyness to him, too. He’s not a meathead; he’s a sweetheart. From day one he’s respectful of Tony in class, kind when he sees him around campus, and that makes them the perfect lab partners in chemistry, and after knowing that, it’s just the natural choice for them to partner for the project in engineering and then—

Then things spiral, and Tony doesn’t even care.

He’s seeking the alpha’s attention, and Peter, the innocent, shy thing he is, is happy to give, to dote on Tony in ways that he would resist if they were coming from anyone else.

They’re not even fucking, but it’s intimate, so intimate that he can’t even explain it, and he loves it, scarily so. It both soothes and sets all his instincts on edge at the same time.

By mid semester they both have keys to come and go freely from each other’s rooms. It’s more common to see them together than it is to ever spot one of them out alone. The whole school probably thinks they’re a couple, and even though they’ve never made it official — and he’s never allowed himself to even come close to considering it before — Tony can’t bring himself to mind.

As midterms approach, though, Tony locks himself in to focus on his work. He doesn’t mean to, really; it’s just that hours studying slip into full nights and then he hasn’t eaten and he hasn’t left the room, even missing one of his classes because he doesn’t realize the time.

Peter hasn’t come by in days and except for the occasional check in text, Tony hasn’t heard from him, either. But they’re both busy with midterms so he really isn’t surprised. In fact he barely has time to eat, let alone check his phone, so even if he was texting him regularly Tony probably wouldn’t be answering.

Except mid terms or no, of course Peter notices when Tony misses class. And when his texts go unanswered by the absorbed omega, he doesn’t hesitate to show up and let himself in.

Tony doesn’t even realize anyone is there until he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps so hard he nearly knocks the chair back, and when he turns around he sees Peter, stepping back and holding his hands up in the universal “I surrender” gesture, clearly not having meant to startle him.

“I’m sorry, I knocked but you didn’t answer so I let myself in. I just— you weren’t in class, and I was worried… are you okay? When was the last time you ate?” It takes all of two seconds for Peter’s sheepishness to melt into concern, and he steps forward again, closing the distance between them to tilt Tony’s chin up, looking at the shadow stretching across his jaw where he hasn’t shaved in a few days. “You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over Tony’s cheekbone tenderly — which, yeah, is definitely more prominent than it was at the beginning of the week.

Tony’s eyes flutter and he leans into the touch for a moment before refocusing and shaking it off. “I’m fine. This is normal, Peter. I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Peter raises an eyebrow. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“It’s Saturday—“

“It’s Monday, Tony. 1pm on Monday, at that. You missed engineering this morning and you haven’t answered my texts all weekend.” Surprise flits across Tony’s face at that, because — yeah, last time he checked it was Saturday, and he had no new texts from Peter, so— “When was the last time you ate?” Peter continues to prod, voice gentle but insistent.

Both aspects only serve to spark irritation in him, though. Tony bats Peter’s hand away from his face, frowning. He doesn’t need to be treated with kid gloves. “I ate a little while ago. I’m fine.”

“You don’t even know what day it is—“

“It all kind of blurs together when you’re not doing anything besides working, okay—“

“Two days is a lot of blur, Tony—“

“And just because I need a shave doesn’t mean I haven’t left my desk or that this isn’t totally normal for midterms—“

“You’re the one saying you haven’t left your desk, not me—“

“That’s not what I meant! I’m just saying—“

“I’m just saying you need to take a short break, it’s not that big of a deal—“

“I don’t need a break, I know my limits—“

“Tony, I really don’t think—“

“Jesus fucking— You’re not my alpha, Parker, would you fuck off?”

The words come out before he can stop them, and he flinched himself at the hurt on Peter’s face, the way the alpha physically recoils, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I’m not— god, I know that, okay? I’m just trying to help you, Tony. Please, this isn’t sustainable. You need to eat. Just— let me find you something, and then I’ll leave, okay?”

Leave? No, he doesn’t want him to leave. But the only thing that comes out is a quiet “whatever,” and he watches Peter escape to the kitchen with a ball of guilt growing in his chest.

Peter is just trying to help. He likes Peter and he doesn’t want him to leave, he just— he panics, and then he snaps.

Because what if Peter wants more? What if he really likes him? And Tony is a fuck up that does shit like this when he feels emotions and has so much baggage attached to being with him and—

And Peter knows that, at least some of it. It’s been a few months of seeing each other nearly every day, now, and his family situation was never a secret.

So why is he still here? Oh god, did Tony just ruin it?

The thought, for reasons that he’s refusing to immediately think about, is almost too much to bear. He stands up, fumbling his way out of the chair and into the kitchen.

The smell hits him almost as soon as he enters, and he sucks in a deep breath. His traitorous stomach growls, loud and demanding.

Soup bubbles on the stove as Peter works at the counter, chopping up some fruits and vegetables. He’s already managed to put a few little storage containers of food together for him, and something in Tony’s gut feels warm at the sight. But it also drops — preparing premade meals most certainly means that Peter isn’t intending to come back.

He looks up when Tony enters, expression wary. “The soup was the quickest thing you had, and since I had to be here for as long as it takes to boil anyway I thought I would just—“

“Peter.” His own voice sounds remarkable calm for how shaky he suddenly feels, lurching towards the alpha at the countertop. “It’s okay. I… thank you, for this. I’m sorry.”

Peter looks taken aback by the apology. “Tony, you don’t have to apologize. You’re right; I’m not your alpha and it’s not my place to give you orders. I just… I care about you, okay? I just want to help. I know you don’t think about me that way, and I’m sorry I overstepped, but—“

“You’re wrong.”

“What?” The words draw Peter up short.

Tony takes a breath, looking down. He focuses on the alpha’s hands, watching him chop instead of looking at his face. It’s easier. “You’re wrong. It’s not that I don’t think of you that way. The problem is… that I do. And I… I’m not used to this. I’ve never had someone take care of me before. Not really, not in any way that mattered. And what I feel for you… it scares me.” He takes a little breath again, looking down at his own hands. “I want you to be my alpha, Peter. But I’m not really a good omega, and I just have so much shit that comes along with being with me. The thought of asking you to do that… what that could do to us… I just don’t think I could handle that.”

He hears the knife ting against the countertop as Peter sets it down, and the pitter patter of footsteps as the alpha crosses the room. He’s suddenly being drawn into a pair of lanky but surprisingly strong arms, surrounded by the musky, relaxing scent of alpha, and he practically melts into it, nestling his nose into the spot between the collar of Peter’s sweatshirt and his throat almost automatically.

Peter’s hand running up and down his back is soothing, relaxing him the rest of the way, and the press of the alpha’s chin against his head is just the perfect weight to be comfortable, reassuring.

“Tony… I’m not an idiot,” he says gently. “I know who you are. What you’ve done, where you came from, what’s expected of you — and yeah, I’m sure there’s more that you haven’t told me and that’s not public, but— I get why this is a struggle for you, and why you feel the need to put so much pressure on yourself. There’s nothing wrong with you for that and it is most definitely not your own fault that you’re not used to being taken care of. And you’ve no idea how badly or how long I’ve wanted to be your alpha.” He pulls back a little to look down at him, fingers scratching Tony’s scalp gently as he works his fingers through his hair. “But that doesn’t mean that this kind of behavior — towards yourself or others — is good or acceptable. It’s okay to let me take care of you — at least in small ways. I know you’re scared of losing your independence, but that’s not what I want for you, either. I just want to help.”

“Help,” Tony echoes, eyes drifting to the pan on the stove and then back to Peter. “I… I think I’d like that.” He bites his lip, looking up at him. They’re about the same size and height, but this close, wrapped in the alpha’s arms and scent, with his steady gaze on him, he can’t help but feel small by comparison. “You really want to be my alpha?”

“Only if you want me to be, but…” Peter looks down at him and cracks his shy little smile. “I’d like to try, if you’d let me.”

“I’d like that,” Tony admits. He shifts to press up against him, putting a hand on his chest. “I’d also really like it if you’d kiss me.”

Peter looks a little surprised, but not unpleasantly. Still, he shakes his head, giving him a little push back. “Tony, you didn’t even know what day it was. God knows when the last time you brushed your teeth is. No offense, but… ew.”

Tony just laughs a little, unable to help himself. “If I brush my teeth…?”

“Maybe. If you eat your food as well.” Peter moves back to the counter, finishing up the container he was working on. “We can’t be doing anything that’s going to burn you extra calories when you don’t have enough to begin with, hm?”

Tony finds himself grinning. “That’s an argument I can get behind. Literally and metaphorically.”

Peter flashes a grin in return, voice back to that gentle but insistent tone that he knows so well when he says, “Go, Tony.”

And for once, Tony is all too happy to obey.

[robininthelabyrinth]

I'd love more from your deaging NHS AU verse! Maybe little NHS hanging out more with WWX? Or little NHS meeting JC? Or getting spoiled by JYL?

sequel to Little (deaging NHS - need to read that first)

Hosting another sect leader was both a burden and a privilege.

The burden was mostly logistical – although they’d reclaimed the Lotus Pier, they hadn’t managed to fix it all back up, and it was one thing for all of them to be living in a state more fit for wild bandits than a Great Sect but another thing entirely for them to let someone else see them do so.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t do everything himself, even if he was trying to, so Jiang Yanli stepped up to assist: she turned the kitchens into something livable, requisitioned disciples and laborers to focus on the main hall and the guest rooms, supervised the hiring of those who did the laundry and removed waste, all the important things needed to make their home an inviting one, as long as you were careful to only look at the main parts and not the rest.

Luckily, their guest was Nie Mingjue, not any of the other sect leaders, and he didn’t care. That was, Jiang Yanli suspected, the only reason that Jiang Cheng hadn’t had a full-on heart attack as the date of the man’s approach arrived.

Sure enough, he arrived with as little fanfare as possible, greeted them politely, and promptly sequestered himself, his younger brother, and his chief disciples into a room with Jiang Cheng to discuss sect business. By the time they emerged for dinner, Jiang Cheng looked worn out but immensely pleased, they’d signed a half-dozen treaties, and Jiang Yanli had enough food to feed a small army waiting for them. A good thing, too, since apparently the Nie ate like they’d been starving the week before their meal. Even Nie Huaisang made the food in front of him vanish at lightning-quick speed, and he didn’t even have the build to explain away where all of it was going.

By far the most interesting aspect of it for Jiang Yanli, however, was that Wei Wuxian had made an appearance.

This was something of a rarity recently. Something about the war had hurt him, deeply, and that reason, or for whatever reason, he was very obviously avoiding Jiang Cheng – and, as a result, neglecting the duties that ought to be his as chief disciple. Jiang Yanli knew that it was unintentional, that he still cared for both her and Jiang Cheng, for the sect. But it didn’t make it any easier for them that rather than helping them, he instead spent his days skulking around wine shops, and nothing either of them said seemed to make any difference.  

Both she and Jiang Cheng had already resigned themselves to Wei Wuxian snubbing the Nie sect entirely, but to their mutual surprise he was there with a smile that Jiang Yanli hadn’t seen in weeks, boisterous and loud and trying to steal some of the plates of Nie Huaisang’s food whenever the other man turned to say something to Jiang Cheng. Without success, since being notoriously poor at any martial skill did not keep Nie Huaisang from effectively slapping away Wei Wuxian’s wandering fingers without even looking.

He even volunteered to show them around Yunmeng the next morning – meaning a walk by the river, since the Lotus Pier itself was largely not showable in its current condition – and Jiang Cheng agreed to the idea with no little relief, since he needed some time to get the treaties filed and implemented.

“I didn’t know you two had gotten so close to the Nie sect during the war,” Jiang Yanli murmured to Jiang Cheng, who rubbed his face in exhaustion and joy.

“I think it’s because it’s a reminder of happier days, with Nie Huaisang?” he said hesitantly. “Maybe? Anyway, can you make sure they get snacks along with their tea this evening? Chifeng-zun said he was full when he finished his plate, but Nie Huaisang was definitely eying his neighbor’s bowl longingly at the end there.”

Jiang Yanli hid a smile with her hand. “Of course, A-Cheng. Leave it to me.”

She made an entire pot of soup, plus a handful of side dishes, and brought up the portion to the rooms set aside for the main Nie sect herself. It wasn’t just to give them face, though of course that was important given that the Nie were their most important allies barring maybe the Jin sect – it ought to be the Jin sect, but they were playing games with it, and certain overtures by Madame Jin had led Jiang Cheng to speculate that they hoped to finalize the revival of the engagement between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan that Jin Guangshan had unilaterally raised not long ago before agreeing to provide any actual aid.

They hadn’t yet decided if it was worth playing the game back, hinting and implying and leaving themselves wiggle room in case Jiang Yanli really didn’t want to marry Jin Zixuan in the end; luckily, this visit by the Nie sect would put off the necessity of that for a good while. Maybe even for good, depending on how good some of those trading contracts were, and Jiang Cheng’s expression gave Jiang Yanli some hope.

Still, despite the absolutely critical importance of the relationship, that wasn’t why Jiang Yanli decided to go act the part of a servant personally.

Instead, she was hoping to use the opportunity see if she could get some insight into whatever they’d done to make Wei Wuxian smile like that, and to see if she could replicate it.

She wasn’t expecting to hear Wei Wuxian’s voice from the guest quarters they’d assigned to the Nie sect.

Not only because it was a little too late for any visit to be appropriate, but because Wei Wuxian had been avoiding the Jiang clan rooms for – rather a while, now. He wasn’t even sleeping in his own bedroom.

And yet – here he was.

Talking like a child.

Jiang Yanli’s heart stopped briefly in her chest when she heard the familiar whine Wei Wuxian liked to adopt when he was playing as A-Xian: it had always been their special game, her favorite way to indulge her mischievous little brother who sometimes liked to be fed and hugged and tucked in at night, and she would have sharp words for anyone who dared criticize it. But – in front of another sect leader –

“A-Xian, stop,” Nie Mingjue’s deep voice said firmly, his amusement audible even through the door. “Give Huaisang the toy back.”

“But da-ge,” Wei Wuxian whined, even though Nie Huaisang’s laugh made clear that he had handed back whatever toy they were talking about. “Why does he get to have the toy and I don’t?”

“I brought you three toys, you brat, and Huaisang only has one. Not everything is for sharing; some things are yours and yours alone.”

Jiang Yanli reflected briefly on the differences in child-rearing techniques between the sects – if it had been Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, she would have encouraged Jiang Cheng to share, and instructed Wei Wuxian to share in return – before realizing that Nie Mingjue was reacting to Wei Wuxian’s nonsense with extraordinary calmness. Almost as if he’d dealt with it before.

Almost as if he accepted it.

Jiang Yanli steeled her spine and knocked.

“I brought some snacks, Sect Leader,” she called.

There was a brief moment of quiet – some brief murmuring in low voices – but at last he said, “Enter,” and she did.

Wei Wuxian was sitting on the floor with his face buried in Nie Mingjue’s thigh, Nie Mingjue’s hand petting through his hair in a calming gesture; behind them, a small child of around seven, dressed in oversized Nie robes, lolled around on his stomach, his legs kicked up in the air, as he toyed with some puzzle game. Jiang Yanli hadn’t realized the Nie sect had brought along a child – one certainly hadn’t been present at dinner – but under the circumstances she opted not to comment.

“I thought you might still be hungry,” she said with a smile. “So I made some snacks, and soup.”

“Soup!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, lifting his head to reveal red cheeks. “Da-ge, you have to try shijie’s soup!”

“I intend to,” Nie Mingjue said. He was looking at Jiang Yanli thoughtfully. “Would you care to join us, Mistress Jiang?”

“I’d be happy to,” Jiang Yanli said, though she’d originally intended no such thing, and settled down to serve it out. “Thank you for taking care of A-Xian.”

“It’s nothing,” Nie Mingjue said. “A charming child, and one that speaks very highly of you. You must be very proud.”

“I am,” she agreed, and from the corner of her eye saw all the tension drain out of Wei Wuxian’s shoulders at her affirmation of their game. He scrabbled over to her side, abruptly affectionate, and cuddled up. “A-Xian, no! I need that hand to serve the soup. Didn’t you just say that you want Nie-da-ge to have some?”

Wei Wuxian pouted, but withdrew his sticky tentacles. The child on the bed laughed again and rolled over and up to his feet, hopping over to where Wei Wuxian was. “Wei-xiong can play with me while we wait.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian agreed at once. “We can play tag!”

“Don’t break anything,” Jiang Yanli said, and discovered to her amusement that Nie Mingjue had said the same exact thing at the same exact moment. He smiled crookedly at her, very briefly – his expression was not one usually given for smiling, typically stern and grim even when it was neutral, and the expression made him look suddenly younger.

“Younger siblings,” he said, an explanation and an excuse, and abruptly Jiang Yanli knew who the child must be. She didn’t know how it was that Nie Huaisang had physically regressed into childhood, as well as doing so emotionally the way Wei Wuxian did, but she supposed it didn’t really matter.

“Yes,” she said, and smiled back at him. “A-Xian likes it when I feed him his meals. Does…?”

Nie Mingjue shook his head. “Huaisang is very proud,” he said, voice fond. “He wouldn’t accept that sort of help from me, though perhaps he might accept it from you if he sees A-Xian getting a treat.”

“Children that age can be very jealous of each other,” Jiang Yanli agreed. “It’s a good thing that A-Xian is five today, so he can play with his friend, and not three. Maybe he can be three another time.”

“I must admit I haven’t noticed much difference so far,” Nie Mingjue remarked. “He’s still always clamoring for hugs.”

“Da-ge gives the best hugs,” Nie Huaisang said loyally.

Wei Wuxian looked a little shifty, but Jiang Yanli nodded at him supportively and he smiled. “They’re really good, shijie,” he confided in her. “He can pick me up!”

Jiang Yanli’s smile broadened, even as Nie Mingjue’s shoulders went up a little in embarrassment.

“We’re all good at different things,” she assured him. “Nie-da-ge is good at hugs, but I bet I’m better at doing your hair, right?”

“Yes! Shijie’s the best!”

“I want my hair done by Jiang-jiejie,” Nie Huaisang declared, eyes avid. “Can I?”

“After we eat,” Nie Mingjue said. “And only if you ask very nicely, and Mistress Jiang says yes.”

“I’ll say yes,” she said, and then, as an aside to Nie Mingjue, added, “You can call me Jiang-meimei if you like. If I’m calling you Nie-da-ge and all.”

He smiled again.

At some point, Jiang Yanli would need to examine how exactly Wei Wuxian had ended up taking Nie Mingjue as one of his caretakers, as well as how Nie Huaisang managed a full-fledged bodily transformation – and they’d need to bring Jiang Cheng in on this, somehow, even though he was neither caretaker nor little, simply because he would be jealous at being left out. And there was still Wei Wuxian’s unusual behavior, his inexplicable distance from all of them…

But that was a problem for later.

For now, they could just be there for them.

[justaratswriting]

Batfam and Mental Health

orOkay so I love Batman and all the things surrounding it. Like the idea of a random rich man who happens to be an orphan just suddenly adopting a ton of children is ridiculous, and thoroughly entertaining.

But I am also a big fan of psychology, and learning about the mind. So mental illness and related things are fascinating to me. 

I notice that like strangely there is very little stuff about the batfam having mental illnesses or dealing with psychology or therapy. Don’t get me wrong there is still a lot addressing these things, but still with the things the family experiences you would think it would be a lot more prevalent in the writing about them, and especially fan fiction about them.

Like I think showing mental health through  beloved characters would be really cool and could be a tool to destigmatize them. Like showing hero's with them would make really great representation, people could see them and think Oh I can still be a good person and helpful even if my mental disorder makes it hard and for things like depression or ADHD showing which misconceptions are harmful and don’t work. 

I can also see this in the physical aspect, like I wish a hero would have something like chronic pain or one of the many invisible illnesses. To give representation and show how pushing through the pain can shut a person down for days. 

The specific disorders I think would be really interesting of the top of my head is, depression, Anxiety, POTS, Fibromyalgia, Chronic pain, eating disorders, nerve damage, ADHD, Bipolar, OCD, Chronic fatigue, PTSD, c-PTSD, Autism, Elhers Danlos syndrome, And the one I really think would be interesting DID. 

Like fore depression, showing how hard it is to get out of bed. Not showing constantly being sad but showing how it can be numbing. Acknowledging that in a disorder like this logic doesn’t always win even if you are the most logical person to live. 

For anxiety showing how debilitating it can be. Looking into their minds to show the thought process, the mind fight itself and logic. Knowing their fears are unreasonable but not being able to shake the feeling. Show how for different people different things cause anxiety. 

POTS or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, (super simply put it is a circulation disorder where upon standing up blood rushes to extremities and can cause all sorts of problems like fainting, pain in your feet, Dizziness, poor temperature regulation, etc. Also I am assuming people know what depression and anxiety is.) would be fascinating to me. Like having a hero that is constantly sitting down or biting down and pushing through the pain even a hero that has to slowly stand up. So in the middle of a battle being shoved down having to slowly stand up or risk fainting or vision completely blacking out for a while. Showing a hero who has learned to fight with no sight because of that very thing. 

Or Fibromyalgia (This one I am a little less educated about but from what I understand, it is a disorder characterized by muscle pain and tenderness usually with no known cause, so from what I understand it usually is diagnosed after a ton of other disorders are eliminated and the pain is still occurring, often also has affect on sleep and memory/mood.) Like showing a hero having a particularly hard patrol and having to take a couple days off and constantly going places or trying things to help with the pain. 

Or Chronic pain ( from what I understand the main difference between Fibromyalgia and Chronic pain is chronic pain has to do with the nerves and Fibromyalgia has to do with muscles, also Fibromyalgia has other thins to go with it like energy levels and mental functions so memory/mood.) Like a hero having constant pain even if they didn’t have a big fight, maybe showing them icing, heating, or taking pain meds and the rest of the family or team being super confused as to why. Before they know showing them freak out and worry that they went on a mission without telling anyone. Showing how it is a constant battle, that sometimes treatments will work and other times, for seemingly no reason they won’t. 

I would also like to see eating disorders portrayed by the bat family. Showing how it’s not always a conscious choice, sometimes it is more along the lines of choosing something else over eating. Showing how people can use it for control or to punish themselves. Letting there be a male example, reminding people that they can happen to anyone. Allowing people to have representation. Show a recovery, how it is not impossible for anyone but not down playing how hard it is. It is a true and hard fight, and show how it can sneak up on you and drag you back. Not just one easy recovery, that recovery is a choice. You have to want it but you also need help, it is a long hard process and accessibility is everything. Show a family member making them food, show them sometimes eating it and others not. Also don’t only show under eating show how people can’t stop themselves from eating. Having cabinets locked to keep people out, for their own safety. 

Or nerve damage, showing how years of their work and fighting can really mess someone up. Show someone suddenly losing all feeling or sensation in certain parts of their body or constant pain or even pinched nerves. Show how confusing it can be to not know what you are feeling. Show how weird it can be when you realize you are fine or that nothing is touching you or taking it in the opposite direction and not realizing you are hurt or someone is trying to be your attention. I would also love to see the batfam explain any of these injuries to the hero community or to the public. Maybe show the hero community really starting to look into mental and general health services. 

ADHD or also ADD, showing how people can use it but also showing how hard it can be to control and fight. How much it can impede focusing and show situations it can put people in. Show a hero forgetting a huge part of their plan and falling but because of some random information from a hyper focus they still save the day. 

Bipolar, showing the wild swings and how confusing it can be. Feeling like a different person, struggling with identity and their own decisions. Show them accidently pushing people away but also how hard they work to maintain family and friends that despite how unpredictable they can be their friends still stick around. Or if their friends can’t handle it show them peacefully and respectfully stepping out of their life. Show how hard that can be to except but that the future can end up better than you could ever hope. 

OCD is really one I wish we saw in the hero's. Show their routines and things they do. Show the thought process, like if I don’t properly put the dishes away in fourteen seconds the joker will escape arkham. Show how terrifying the thoughts can be, but show how detail oriented it can make people and the beautiful art and amazing work that they can do. Show a person putting them selves at risk to comply with their routine. Like ignoring injuries to write a report. Show them and family or friends working to change the routine. Show how hard it is the moments they want to turn back and continue and how much they want to stop but show them not giving up and making the differences they want. Show them accomplishing things, show their compulsions actually keeping them safe.

Or even chronic fatigue, Show the fight each morning. Them saving energy, the disconnect between how exhausted you are mentally vs. physically. Show a hero that 50% of the time physically is too exhausted to be in the field so they offer technical support. Show a hero crashing, suddenly just not having enough energy to finish patrol or even get home. So someone has to come pick them up. Show them getting stuck in a fight and how hard it can be to do anything much less a fight. 

Let the characters have PTSD or c-PTSD, show flashbacks and being stuck in your head. All of the bat family has lived through horrors please show it affecting them. Show how they get help how they work through it show what can happen and how bad it can get if it is unaddressed.  

Show them having autism and how it is just a different way of life that there is nothing inherently wrong with it and how the ignorance that surrounds it and similar disorders can hurt and affect people. Show how it can be simple things that can show it or affect it. Try and look at it from their perspective and what things happen that should not just because they way someone is. 

Elhers Danlos syndrome, show the pain, the misdiagnosis, the process, the fight. Show how disabilities like this and several others including ones I have mentioned can cause a person to need medical equipment such as wheelchairs and braces. Show how not everyone using a wheelchair can’t walk. Show how limiting it can be and the precautions you have to take but don’t make everything about how hard it can be. Show how using a Wheelchair while not ideal can open up so many opportunities. Show them actually being able to go on family vacations and amusement parks because they have a wheelchair. Show how important it is to have ramps and accommodations for similar things so people can participate and so people can actually go places they want. Always show how hard people with disabilities and such work. Show them trying to get treatment and trying new treatments show how it isn’t as simple as getting a knee brace or two. 

And finally coming to one that absolutely fascinates me, DID or Dissociative Identity Disorder formerly known as multiple personality disorder. But don’t do this one completely uneducated, it is already a very stigmatized disorder. Show how Alters communicate. Show how they all work together and that they were made so the body and mind could survive. Make full characters just put them in one body. Show the confusion once they find out, show them slowly realizing and learning signs and what happened to them. Show each of the Alters having different friends and maybe understanding and knowing the family different. Show the different reasons and setups systems can have. Show system responsibility and each Alter working on themselves and to make a life for the system. Show the roles Alters will take. Show the horrible process of fragmenting and what things can cause it but also show healing and people supporting and accepting systems. 

Overall showing good parts of all the struggles people can have but not ignoring how hard they can be or glorifying them to people who don’t understand. Showing misconceptions and how support can affect these disorders. And most important in my mind, giving hope and a future to look forward to for the people with these disorders.

[inkslingersworld]

Crowbar (Alternate First Meeting)

Hi guys! This here short story is my first participation in Adrigami Week! I was planning on posting it yesterday, seeing as it’s following the “Alternate First Meeting” prompt, but the time got away from me. Idk if it’s still eligible for the official reblog or not, but I still had a blast writing it all the same. Enjoy! (Contains very mild profanity)

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Her lip was bleeding. For whatever reason, Kagami chose to focus on this minute aspect out of all the other injuries she’d sustained. She dabbed it with a paper towel.

Kagami couldn’t recall how she’d gotten like this. There was so much she couldn’t recall, and the staggering immensity of all her forgotten experiences had weighed down on her for so long that when she found herself in a bathroom without a clue as to how she’d gotten there, she was able to handle the newfound situation better than someone who hadn’t been through what she had.

The only thing that confused Kagami was that her clothes were in perfect condition, despite her face being bloody and streaked with dirt. In fact, they looked as though they’d just been sewn by a master tailor. 

She brushed the puzzlement aside - she couldn’t linger here in this mysterious bathroom. Lingering got you killed.

The door opened easily at her touch, and Kagami examined the bedroom that it led into. The walls were painted in an eye-catching shade of purple, but the bed itself was small and plain. Kagami also noticed that there was no furniture other than a small nightstand and that the window was broken. It framed the outside world in jagged glass.

This aforementioned outside world was cloudy and bleak. Based on how damp the street appeared, Kagami concluded it must’ve rained recently. The buildings matched the clouds in their shade of gray, with windows just as broken as the one Kagami was using as an observation point. No street signs were visible. No vehicles, no animals, no people. Not even wind.

Kagami couldn’t care less about the lack of other individuals; her attention was pinpointed on the crowbar leaning casually against the building opposite. Without a second’s hesitation, she kicked away the rest of the glass and crawled expertly out of the window.

She didn’t know how she knew there’d be a fire escape, but resolved not to ponder on it, because every second she didn’t have the crowbar was a second where it could fall into the possession of someone else. Crowbars were tools; tools were extremely helpful.

By the time Kagami had raced down the stairs leading to the ground, she could notice how old and rusty the crowbar was. In retrospect, it probably wouldn’t be much use against some of the more contemporary weapons others owned, but in times like these, Kagami would take anything she could get.

In no time, she had dashed across the street and grasped the crowbar in her right hand. Flakes of deceased metal fell to the ground like rotten snow as she twirled it experimentally. Even if it fell apart in combat, it was nevertheless pretty maneuverable. 

“Drop it.”

Kagami turned around instead, searching for the voice’s master. She found the man in question stepping out the adjacent alleyway. His face was hidden under an old halloween mask, but Kagami could see he was wearing a green rain jacket and pointing a pistol in her direction.

Was it a pistol? Further examination led Kagami to realize it was no such thing; it was a water gun, and she almost pitied the hopeless idiot who brandished it at her.

“I said drop it!” the man shouted, though not very loudly.

“You know that’s not a real gun, right?” Kagami asked nonchalantly, deciding to break the truth to him.

The man lowered the toy firearm and hung his head. “Damn it.”

“Wait, you already knew?” said Kagami in disbelief. “Why on Earth would you use a water gun instead of, I don’t know, an actual one?”

“I’m a pacifist,” admitted the man, sounding guilty. “I’m a believer of nonviolence.”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but nonviolence fell out of fashion a while back,” said Kagami, not knowing where she’d heard it from.

“Well, I always favored the old styles over the new,” the man said. “You hungry? I’ve got some food.”

Kagami’s mouth fell open in spite of herself. Who did this airhead think he was? You didn’t just go around offering people food. But before she’d even responded, he started walking over to her, removing his mask in the process.

Based off his recent actions, Kagami was expecting him to look innocent and tame, and she was not disappointed. However, she hadn’t foreseen blond hair and green eyes. She hadn’t expected him to look this... well, attractive.

“I’m Adrien, by the way,” he said, plopping his butt on the pavement and taking off his previously concealed backpack. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not about to tell you my name!” Kagami cried exasperatedly. “I know nothing about you!”

Adrien, who’d previously been busy unpacking, looked up at Kagami closely for the first time. His eyes widened after locking with hers and he dropped the box of Ritz crackers he’d been taking out.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Kagami demanded, “What?”

Adrien flinched violently and faced the ground, blushing. “Nothing.”

“Why were you staring at me for so long?” persisted Kagami.

“N-No reason!” Adrien stammered embarrassedly. 

“Then why were you doing it?”

“I don’t know!”

Kagami decided not to push the topic and begrudgingly sat down; she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.

“So...” began Adrien slowly, seeming to regain some of his previous placidity. “I never did learn your name.”

“We’re not there yet,” Kagami grumbled, snatching a plastic-wrapped sandwich out of his hands.

“Well, what are you doing ‘round these parts?” Adrien asked curiously, putting his chin in his hands.

“None of your business,” snapped Kagami, losing some of her intimidation skills to a mouthful of grilled cheese.

“How’s the food?”

“Awful,” Kagami replied, even though it was delicious.

Adrien laughed hard. “You’re funny!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are!” 

“What’s your problem?” asked Kagami sternly. “You know nothing about me, I could’ve killed you without hesitation as soon as you came over here!”

“And yet you didn’t!” Adrien pointed out cheerfully.

Kagami took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper in check. “Adrien, wasn’t it?”

Adrien nodded and smiled, seeming delighted that she’d remembered his name.

“Adrien, I don’t know what miracle allowed you to survive for this long, but in our society’s current state, you might not be around much longer. I suggest you drop this puppy dog attitude and learn to fend for yourself.”

“Why learn to fend for myself when we can fend for each other?” asked Adrien earnestly.

The sincereness of this question, contrasting with the playfulness Adrien had exhibited, caught Kagami off guard for a moment, though she soon regained her bearings.

“Adrien, no offense, but you’d be dead weight,” she stated. “Even if I wanted to stick around with you, my memory kinda wipes itself clean every six hours or so, only holding on to the most treasured information - my name, my personality, how to speak, how to read and write, knowing what stuff is, and the like.”

“No way!” exclaimed Adrien, before Kagami could continue. “I have the same thing! That’s why I started a diary!”

He zipped open his backpack again and retrieved a worn leather-bound book. Adrien opened it and showed Kagami its messily written contents.

“I originally didn’t remember how to write,” he explained, flipping through some pages to get to the beginning, “but I was able to relearn! It took like a year, though.”

Kagami peered at the even messier scrawl of a younger Adrien. She was shocked to see his name spelled incorrectly with crayon.

“How long’ve you been on your own?” she asked uncertainly.

“About twenty years, I think,” Adrien answered dismissively. “I can’t know for certain, I didn’t relearn how to understand a calendar until someone took me in when I was... fourteen, maybe?”

“Someone took you in?” inquired Kagami.

Suddenly, Adrien’s face began filled with sorrow and loneliness. “Yeah... yeah, I don’t like thinking about that.”

Noticing how sympathetically Kagami was gazing at him, Adrien quickly plastered his old smile back on. “That doesn’t really matter. Now I’ve got you!”

Kagami hesitated. One of the instincts her memory’d held onto was avoiding people, but Adrien seemed different. He in the same situation she was in, and he’d shown her kindness. Besides, it’d be nice to have a companion, and Adrien’s diary probably contained scores of valuable information to help the duo survive. 

Even if not for all those reasons, there was something else, though Kagami wasn’t sure what it was yet. For whatever reason, Adrien made her feel relaxed, happy even. She didn’t know why, but he did.

“Okay, Adrien,” she said resignedly. “You can stick with me.”

Adrien’s face lit up with gratitude, and before she knew it, Kagami found herself buried in a hug. It was warm and comforting.

“Thank you so much!” Adrien said happily. 

“No problem, Adrien,” sighed Kagami, already having her doubts.

Adrien released her and scooped up his backpack. They both stood up.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“West,” responded Kagami mechanically. “It won’t make too much of a difference, but we need all the sunlight we can get.”

The two started to walk. After trekking for about a minute, Adrien spoke again.

“You never did tell me what your name is.”

Kagami smiled softly and rolled her eyes. “It’s Kagami.”

“Kagami,” repeated Adrien thoughtfully. “I like that name.”

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@adrigamiweek

[shiversdownyerspine]

10. Douse

Still alive and kickin, I can’t be stopped!

18+

Expected to be set back on your feet as Axel reaches your screen door, you feel your face flush when you realize he fully intends to carry you out like this in front of his brothers.

At the sound of the handle turning with a creak, you promptly start flailing.

"Axel I can walk, you know I can walk! Let me down!"

Your cries falls on deaf ears. The relentless man releases the door handle to adjust his grip; the hand on your thigh slides higher, taking your dress with it, while his other grabs the back of your knee. Thrashing reduced to a much more controllable wiggling, he kicks the door open and steps into the sunlight.

Squirming and praying your rear is still covered, you try a different angle, "I will answer any questions you have about my Phase, I promise!"

That brings him to a stop. You brace your hands as close to his shoulders as you can and push off, shoving yourself backwards to his front.

With a gasp you slide down his chest as his hand cups your side to steady your quick descent. Your bare feet lightly pat atop the stone of the patio. The oh so cold wet stone.

Jolting at the chill, you look around the watery murder scene before turning your attention to the two culprits standing face to face like they're in some sort of showdown; Otto and Oscar, to their credit, have pristine feet. But at the cost of becoming drowned rats. 

You hold back laughter, but allow a wide smile. Their hair is an utter mess.

Otto and Oscar are ripped from their stalemate at the sound of your voice, "I'm sorry to say, but you're going to have to put your water war on pause. We should get this started before the weather takes a turn." 

Your next sentence you mutter just loud enough, "That and before a certain somebody gets impatient. And tries to carry people again."

The hand still at your side gives a soft warning squeeze that has you quickly scurrying over in the direction of your patio furniture before he can grab you up. You're not going to take any chances, you'd like to keep your feet on the ground thank you very much.

The younger brothers glance up at the sky to see rain clouds on the horizon. They wander closer to the cottage as you check and make sure the flower bushes close to ground zero haven't been completely flooded. Otto rewraps the hose as Oscar tries to squeeze out as much water as he can from his sweater. After securing the coils back on the hook, Otto slumps down in one of your wooden chairs. Sliding the messy locks of his hair out of his face, he gives Oscar the stink eye as his brother flops even more gracelessly down in the matching chair next to him.

Oscar pauses, taking a closer look at what you're wearing, and smacks Otto's elbow with the back of his hand. Otto glares at his sibling before his attention is directed to you. Admiration lightly flushes the large man's cheeks as Oscar grins at his reaction. Your usual wear is adorable, but they would kill to see you in something light and flowy like this again...and judging from the possessive hand Axel has rested at your back after he makes his way to you, he approves as well.

Trying not to focus entirely on the warmth of the eldest brother's hand, you step carefully to the wooden bench sitting adjacent to the chairs. Taking a seat, your feet lift quickly from the chilly shallow lake below as Axel follows close behind you. 

Sitting beside you, the man pulls your knife from his pocket, and begins with a simple, "Explain this."

Your eyes flash stubbornly. Did he really think you were going to make this easy for him? After his earlier stunt? Right.

As innocently as you can, you reply, "Axel that's a paring knife. You cook, you should really know this."

Oscar chokes his laugh down as Otto clears his throat. Unbeknownst to the two of you, the younger brothers had actually been locked in water combat for only a short time; earlier on Otto had gotten distracted by you and Axel, and Oscar had noticed where his tallest brother's attention had been directed. You both have had a captive audience pretty much the entire time.

At least until Axel had made his way over to the screen door with you tossed over his shoulder. Oscar had immediately grabbed the hose and did what he had to do to hide any sign of their guilty observation and eavesdropping. Otto hadn't been amused, but he begrudgingly understood that they may have needed some sort of alibi.

Axel's nostrils flare, his eyes narrowing as he thumbs along the blade.

He drawls, "What do you do with it."

Keeping a straight face is becoming a bit difficult. He is making this too much fun for you.

With slight confusion you reply, "...It's...it's in the name."

The silence from Axel nearly breaks Oscar. Otto has his poker face on and appears unaffected by your antics, but the mirth in his eyes tells a different story.

As for Axel? He betrays almost nothing, maybe a mild frustration at best. But his brothers would bet money that their older sibling is resisting some rather...lustful urges right now. Your teasing bothers the eldest in the worst way...or maybe the best.

Your eyes fall to the knife in Axel's hand. Might as well get this show on the road.

"...But yes, I do use it differently. I use it as an aid for my ability. When I want to change into my Phase, that knife provides me with a method that gives me the most control. If I vary the depth of the cut, I can adjust the time I spend in my Phase."

Oscar glances at the little unassuming tool before asking, "Change for what?"

You shift on the bench, getting a little more comfortable.

"Well. When I first started living here, my forest and lake were in pretty poor condition. Garbage and filth had been left sitting for years, which meant the soil was being smothered by water that couldn't drain the way it needed to. Because of the waterlogging, many of the trees developed root rot."

Cocking your head to the side, you recall the information provided by your environment books. You had spent countless hours reading and notetaking, determined to restore your childhood home.

"Root rot isn't the most dangerous thing, but it can be tricky to identify in its early stages. A little less than half of the pines were infected, a good amount too far gone. Their root systems had basically been turned to mush."

You worried for a moment you were boring the three who may have been expecting something more thrilling, but they appeared to be listening quite intently. They had mentioned hunting and fishing in their lives, so you'd have to remember these three weren't just assassins, they were woodsmen. Maybe this was right up their alley?

"So! The biggest problem I had at the end of the day, was identifying pines in early stages of rot. Not to mention a lack of tools to do so. But I knew that my ability affected my senses, and thought maybe I could use that."

Otto murmurs, "Better senses?"

You pause, "...Yes and no. Um...take my eyesight for example, my night vision. My eyes are better at night but are more sensitive to light, kind of like..an owl's. So in that aspect, it's situational. Better at night, weaker in the day. If there is anything I can call 'better' outright, it'd be my hearing and balance. But not by much."

Fidgeting with the hem of your dress, you fight back bashfulness at talking about a part of your ability that is particularly...bestial.

"When I was in my forest in my Phase, I..was using smell. Normally you smell root rot from the soil, it'll be bad...swampy. But with time and practice, I could smell the rot itself. I can't really describe it other than it's very...heavy."

Decay in particular stood out to you; a combination of sharp and dark, old and new and lost. You count yourself very lucky that you had no urges to consume those types of things, given the peculiar animalness of your ability.

"So, that's what I use my knife for."

You lean against the side of the bench, folding your arms over your belly as you think. There was something else...

"Oh right! You wanted to know um...why I didn't attack you three the first time? To put it simply, instinct plays a part in what I choose to perceive as a threat when I'm in my Phase. It's...decently reliable."

Otto shifts, grimacing at the wet feel of his long johns sticking to his skin, before asking, "To you, not a threat?"

A soft sigh leaves your lips, "I haven't really been in many dangerous situations in my life. But uh...when you three caught me...there was no sinking, overpowering, awful sensation. It was quiet. I was really nervous, definitely, but it felt like...I could wait? So I did."

You smile a little, "Besides, my healing gives me a little more wiggle room in terms of patience."

Oscar shuffling in his seat draws your attention; he does not appear to be happily enduring the texture of his soaked turtleneck, and his frustration is mounting. Refusing to be trapped and uncomfortable any longer, he slips his suspenders off his shoulders and drags the article of clothing up and off his body.

With flushed cheeks, you watch him drop the sweater onto the arm of his chair and relax half-naked in his seat. You try to distract yourself from the handsome man, to rip your eyes away before you're caught.

You succeed, much to your relief. Only that relief is temporary as your eyes land on Otto, whose clinging long johns have been rendered nearly see-through and what were you talking about again?

When Oscar returns his attention to you to see you tense and cheeks practically glowing with your gaze riveted to your knees, he smirks. Oh sweetheart, you can look if you want, they won't bite.

Well. Not too hard at least.

Besides, they've all been looking at you for quite some time. Not to mention having some not very polite daydreams involving you. Do you think of them too? Of their hands and mouths on you, fingers and tongues inside of you, bodies pressed tight against yours?

Curiously, he looks to Axel, whose interest is still on the knife...except its not, not at all. He's watching you, eyes half-lidded with a wicked spark glimmering in their depths. He'd seen your reactions, and if Oscar had to guess, was having some more indecent thoughts of you right now.

You're trying to convince yourself that the burning gazes you feel are simply the brothers thinking of questions...but if that's all it is, why do you feel so naked?

You squirm; it's probably just in your head, but you can't bring yourself to look up and meet their eyes just yet. You need something to keep the ball rolling, before this silence stretches on for too long.

Well...there is something that's been on your mind lately...

"...If..If you don't mind me asking you all a question?"

That seems to break the trance they were in, curiosity pushing through.

Axel encourages, "Go on."

You approach the question gingerly, "Alright..so doing the work that you do...I'd imagine one of your stronger instincts would be protecting yourselves and each other. Avoid hesitation...shoot first ask questions later? And...well?.....you all saw some..weird...woman?..animal?!?..looking thing! With glowing eyes, like something out of a nightmare. Why did you let me live?"

The silence and quiet shifting of their bodies that follows your question is enough to draw your eyes up from your knees.

The brothers had their gazes fixed on you, but after they have processed your inquiry, they falter. Oscar and Otto look to Axel, to you, and to each other. You watch them under your lashes the entire time, a little surprised to see them so...unsure. Axel had settled against the back of the seat, thinking. He seemed far away, lost in old memory. 

Otto keeps his eyes trained on his hands where they rest...were his ears a bit red? 

He mutters something and his brothers look to him in mild surprise.

He clears his throat and tries again, carefully, "Not..night hag...dream? You are...story?"

Scowling with frustration, Otto sighs, "Jävla engelska."

Oscar elaborates, "From fairytale."

Their admission brings back bittersweet memories.

Content to reminisce, yet a little forlorn, your eyes fall to the water that has submerged the stone floor of your patio.

"You know. When I first discovered what I was..or..what I wasn't?..the very first thing I did was grab any fairytale books I could find. Folklore, myths and legends, anything. We didn't have a very good collection though, and many were basically the same stories, but I had to be sure. In the end, there wasn't anything really like me in them. Of course."

It had been disheartening. You had been so naive; you had thought that maybe you could have found some kind of answer or reason for being the way you were, some kind of history or even family. Myths and tales had to come from somewhere, right? Hold some speck of truth.

Wanting to do something about the soft, sad expression on your face, Oscar lightheartedly teases, "Werewolf?"

It works.

Biting your lip, a grin slips through with a giggle, "I considered maybe something like that, but since there was no..changing under a full moon, I crossed it off the list."

You fidget, a little sheepish as you admit, "I still read any new fairytale books I can find in town. I'm not exactly looking for anything anymore, but...well, habit is habit I suppose."

Every once in a while you'd pull a book from the small collection locked away in your bedroom to read as you were winding down for the night. That or to pass the time as your condition played Keep Away with your sleep.

Axel finally drifts out of the past to join in, "We were told stories in childhood. Women with tails, or hooves. Forest spirits."

Otto hums, "Skogsrå or Huldran."

Oscar grins, "Forest maiden."

When all three had laid eyes on you, they had to fight back the initial knee-jerk reaction that they had encountered a real mythical creature. After the three had retired to their guest room to regroup, a dazed Otto just sat on the bed and stared into nothing while Oscar had jokingly asked if they could keep you. 

Half-jokingly.

Their curiosity about you had been...exceptional, but they still had manners they needed to mind. Drowning you in personal questions for hours and hours on end was too boorish, their mother had taught them better. They wouldn't subject their polite little hostess to such disrespect.

With a smile you say, "No tails or hooves here, just feathers and scales. And claws."

A ripple breaking the calm surface of water surrounding the bench has you peering up to an overcast sky. Maybe it would have been better to stay inside after all, but a light drizzle never hurt anyone. You can count yourself lucky that cold water doesn't bother your condition all that much...unless it's a cold season downpour.

The brothers look to your hands, recalling the new information you had revealed to Otto about your victim. 

Axel leans in, "Tell us about claws."

You hesitate, considering your response, "Well...they're...basically made of keratin. I think. Like fingernails but stronger. They're not that long, so they can't really be called talons, but they help me grip and climb."

Otto questions, "Not fight?"

Flexing your fingers against the material of your dress, you speculate, "That's...I mean, if I took a swipe at someone I would probably leave a bit of a cut. Although if I went for the eyes that'd be a different story..."

Confusion crosses the brothers' faces. How exactly did you kill the man, then? Was it the adrenaline?

Axel asks what's on their minds, "Can't kill?"

You figured after everything you said to Otto that this would be coming.

"...I know what you're getting at. You want to know how I did..what I did."

You lock eyes with the eldest, bold as you simply state, "I won't be answering questions about that today."

Determination sets the oldest Swede's jaw, "You made a promise to tell everything. Was this a lie?"

Unsettled, you speak before you can think, "Everything about my First Phase, yes! I haven't lied!"

You clap your hands over your traitorous mouth.

Axel blinks, and then slowly, surely, his expression slides into something sly and victorious; you've revealed something quite interesting. Only for a moment do you bear witness to the brothers' growing intrigue before you cover your eyes, head bowing to hide your face in your hands in pure frustration.

Oscar's voice drifts into your ears, "First Phase? More than one?"

You groan, "See, this is my problem. I like you three too much and it makes me slip up in such stupid ways. Fudge muffins."

The three assassins perk up at the additional reveal of your fondness for them, carefully storing that particular little nugget of information away to be closely inspected at a later time. For now, their focus is elsewhere.

Before they can push for a little more clarification from you, a flash of lightning interrupts the conversation. Worried, you turn to the men with a frown.

"We should move this inside, Pumpkin really doesn't like thunderstorms. Not to mention the kittens will probably be scared too."

Oscar is the first to react to the information; leaning far to the side in his chair to peer at the screen door, he can make out a little ball of orange fluff curled tight against the door in misery. You stand, the brothers quick to follow in your lead.

As you head towards the door peering this way and that at your arms and legs, you mention, "Don't forget to check for spiders before heading in. It's been a while."

Otto grunts and the trio do a quick once-over as you pause by the hose to rinse your feet, watching Axel out of the corner of your eye.

Hm. He really didn't check all that carefully...you eye the hose, weighing the risk. Really though, don't you deserve a little revenge?

Yes, yes you do.

Instrument of justice in hand, you take aim and blast him with what water was left in the hose before you have the chance to talk some sense into yourself.

Surprisingly, all the man does is tense up, still like a statue. There's no grunt or bark of surprise, though maybe you heard a sharp intake of breath from him?

Hair disheveled and wide-eyed as water drips from his skin and clothes, he stares at you. His younger brothers mirror his disbelieving expression and you can't help but take pride in the thought that you've successfully surprised all three of them.

You offer him a simple explanation for the impromptu shower, backing slowly away from the hose towards the door to the cottage all the while.

"...You missed a spot."

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Jävla engelska-   Fucking English

[whenisitenoughtrees]

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

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

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[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (6/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: So much fluff, arguing, mild heartbreak 

Word Count: 1.8k 

Part Summary: Y/N has finally broken her silence and Spike is relieved. Then, when he suggests they find a way for Y/N to harness her powers things take a turn, leaving both of them at a loss. 

Masterlist

The black cloud that blocks my sight subsides as I slip into Spike’s memories. Then, I lose myself completely in Spike’s mind.... 

Enraged, I storm into my crypt. Slamming door behind me, I immediately begin smashing everything and anything in my reach. 

“You bitch!” I scream to the ceiling and pick up the candle stand beside before throwing it to the far wall at full force. The glass holder shatter against the concrete and fall to the floor. “Wherever you are Glory,” I growl. “I’ll find you and make you pay!” 

After Y/N left Glory’s mind and I ran to protect her, she screamed bloody murder before going mute. All I see are her traumatized eyes starring back at me. She won’t speak to anyone, look at anyone... What if I can’t fix her? What if I can’t get her back?

I pant, continuing my rampage as my rage grows. I punch the nearest pillar, making a giant gash. I look down my fist and bloody cuts consume my knuckles. Turning around, I slide down against the pillar to the floor. Tears fall from my eyes as I brings my knees close to his chest. I hang my head low, hiding my face from the world. 

“I need her back…” I plead in a whisper, thinking of Y/N. “I need her...” 

I snap back to reality, flying up from my laid position, panting for air. Spike is knelt before me, no longer touching me. He must’ve pushed me out by breaking free. He looks at me with a narrowed gaze, presumably waiting for my reaction. I didn’t mean to invade his memories. I just didn’t want him to leave me again. 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I stutter. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Spike shakes his head, assuring me it’s alright. “Will that happen every time we touch?” He asks and I notice his hands resting inches from me on the bed. 

I swallow hard, still a bit shaken from the insight. “Not if you shut me out.” 

His brows scrunch together in confusion, but when we kissed, I didn’t feel you in my head,” he describes. 

“That’s because uh... that’s because when you kiss someone you’re so zoned in on the sensation and your uh... your thoughts that you’re- in a way- isolated and internalized,” I explain what I’ve learned over the years. 

“Is there a way you can prevent it from your end?” He questions, much to my surprise. “That way we don’t have a repeat of the hospital?” 

“There is one way,” I explain with pause, unsure myself. “I’ve heard of psychics who’ve learned to manage it. Some can touch people without a problem. It’s complicated though. I tried to learning when I was with the coven, but I never mastered it. When I slip... it’s sort of like falling. I lose control and keep going deeper until something triggers me out.” 

“Do you only see memories?” He rushes out eagerly, moving to sit on the edge of my bed. “How does it work?” 

I prop myself up my elbows, shaking my head. “There are layers to it. It also depends on how open the recipient’s mind is to me. When I’m in your mind, I’m living through you basically. If I’m seeing old memories, then I relive them from your perspective. Seeing a memory is the easiest layer to reach. If you wanted me to experience a specific moment, you can project that by thinking of the memory. If I’m experiencing the world through you in the current moment, then that requires concentration of your side. You have to open your mind to me completely. It requires a lot of awareness and discipline because the mind is protective of itself, your first instinct is to kick me. When it comes to seeing your future, that’s highly complicated. I would have to navigate your mind and focus on channeling the images. For example, if I envision you ten years from now hard enough, I would see a flash of it,” I do my best to explain. 

Spike leans to rest an arm over my legs. I shift under his touch, afraid I’ll slip. 

“It’s okay!” Spike assures me, showing me how the fabric of his coat keeps our skin from touching. 

I settle back down, relieved and subtly impressed that he’s already taking precautions. 

“Is there a way you could do both?” He asks. “Be in the present moment but read what another is feeling or thinking?” He clarifies further. 

Processing the seriousness of his request, I sit up, shifting to lean against my head board. He’s speaking of extremely sophisticated self-control. I’ve only ever heard of leading psychics mastering such skills. It would require immense self-awareness and discipline. People have spent months, years even, in Asia studying the methodologies. The leader of my coven visited the temples on her way to Australia last summer. When she came back, she taught me everything she learned. I tried the practices while in New York and gave up when it became too much. Every time I failed, I entered someone’s memories and saw all sorts of things. 

“What?” He asks urgently, noticing my hesitation. “What is it?” 

“I’ve... I’ve tried it,” I confess, growing nervous as I remember the constant trials, the countless hours. 

There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, “how did you test it?” 

“Practiced, had friends in the coven touch me and I would focus really hard on not falling in” I mutter, fiddling with the fabric of my blanket and avoiding his gaze. 

He shifts closer to me eagerly, “could we try it?” 

I know Spike is just trying to help me, to find a solution. Yet, he’s asking for too much. My friends in the coven tried the same thing! This won’t be a one time thing, I’ll fail on the first try. I experienced first-hand the frustration and obsession that forms from wanting control so badly, but failing on the way. 

“I’ll fail,” I admit, certain of it. “I’m far too weak to channel that much power.”  

“It’s okay if we don’t get it right the first time,” he encourages, reaching for my hand until he stops himself. “I don’t care how many times it takes! I want to do this with you! I want to be able to touch you, actually touch you!” 

“Spike...” I exhale deeply. 

Overwhelmed, I toss my comforter and climb out of bed. Spike moves out of the way, watching me pace the floor of my bedroom. He’s asking too much of me, of both of us! He’s offering up every aspect of his mind. Every memory, every thought, every emotion, there will be nothing left. In return, I would be accepting the possibility of seeing and experiencing events that could leave me worse off than I am now. 

“It’ll take days, months, maybe even years!” I try to reason with him. 

“I understand that,” he claims, still up for the idea. “If you’re afraid of what you may see, I’ll do everything I can to prevent the bad part from coming forward!” 

I shake my head, it’s too risky. What if I become confused between reality and memory? I mean, it happened at the hospital with Glory! Then, there’s always the risk of falling in too deep and become obsessed with consuming power. 

Spike rises from the bed and crosses the room, “it doesn’t hurt me! In fact, it does quite the opposite. When you’re in my mind it gives me a rush- if you can even call it that. It’s like weight off my shoulders,” he describes with a bright grin. 

“That’s because I absorb a part of your energy,” I explain. “Everything you’ve ever felt I take a piece of it and carry it forever.” 

“So when you saw me turn...” he frowns, beginning to piece everything together. 

I nod, “I felt it and took some of the pain from you.” 

“Bloody hell, Y/N!” He moves to reach for me, but again realizes his mistake and stops himself with a growl. Growing irritation etches across his features as he clenches his fist. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” 

I scoff, is he serious? “Why do you think I was so emotional the other night? I was dealing with over a century of emotions!” I shout in defense. 

“For God’s sake, how did you not explode or something?” He remarks, sounding both impressed and concerned. 

“Umm, nearly fucking did,” I admit darkly. 

He tilts his head back with a deep sigh in reaction to my words. 

“I certainly did after Glory!” I add with a brief snicker, making light of the situation. 

Spike doesn’t share my humor at the mention of Glory or of what happened. He snaps his head in my direction, looking into my eyes pleadingly. I don’t have the same optimism he has for this to work. 

“We could at least try, Love,” he urges in a mutter. 

“What must I say to make you understand?!” I snap uncontrollably, turning away from him. “You’re asking for the impossible! It’s like challenging gravity! It can’t be done!” 

“But it can!” He yells, “you said so yourself! There are people out of there who’ve done it! We’ll go to them and we’ll do whatever it takes!” 

“You don’t think I wish I were normal?!” I shout back. “Spike, I would give anything to be normal!” He forgets that I’ve been dealing with this my whole life. I pause, finding it hard not to cry. “To be able to touch you...” I whisper. 

The room goes quiet as the two of us reach a crossroads of our opposition, perhaps now he’ll see that I’m not saying ‘no’ for the fun of it. 

“You may not believe in yourself, but I do,” he confesses, breaking the silence. “You’re the greatest witchy-psychic I’ve ever met. If there’s anyone who can do it, it’s you.” 

“You hold too much faith in me,” I reply, utterly broken. 

“You’re the only thing I hold faith in...” he mumbles sorrowfully. 

My lips part as I fall speechless. I would’ve never predicted him to say that. 

Abruptly, Buffy storms into the room. “Spike!” she shouts, as though she was looking for him. Then, she notices me out of bed and functioning. “Y/N, you’re up!” She practically squeals and yells for everyone. 

“Yes,” I reply plainly, starring Spike in the eye. “I’m back.” 

Disappointment plagues his face, his eyes glistening with emotion. I don’t want to let him down, it’s the last thing I want to do. It’s true, I would do anything to be normal, to touch Spike and for us to be normal. However, as the universe has made, we’re not normal. I’m a ‘witchy-psychic’ and he’s a vampire, nothing about this is normal. It’s the most complicated affection I’ve ever felt toward another. Yet, I refuse to ever let it go. 

_________________________________

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​ @hexmancia​

Masterlist

[shimmershae]

Some, okay a lot, of pre-mid season (tri? season) finale thoughts.  As if you actually asked for them, lol.

And no, I haven’t actually watched the last episode yet.  I’ve been putting it off all morning.  For reasons.  Reasons that I felt the inexplicable need to put on paper, er, screen.  

If you care at all to read the purging of my fatigued TWD fangirl mind, please look beneath the cut.  Fair warning.  It’s long so pull up a chair maybe, lol.  

I’ll admit it.  The spoilers indicating a significant lack of Carol/Melissa content has dampened much of my enthusiasm and there wasn’t all that much to start with.  

Let me tell you why--

The season, so far, has been woefully unbalanced in favor of the Reaper storyline and the Maggie/Negan conflict (which ties back to the Reaper storyline by the flimsiest of strings) and I’m just not invested.  

Why?  

Well, it’s multifold.  

#1 reason why?  Having a third of the last season ever of TWD devoted to going inside “the lions’ den” of villains I have no emotional connection to or curiosity about is a big fat fail.  

You might say “but there’s the Daryl double agent” aspect and I say “so fucking what” because it was so poorly conceived and has felt like such a WTF set of fraying puppet strings for this plot Angela was apparently jonesing to tell from the GO, damn the torpedoes she had to know where inevitably coming her way.  

Seriously.  I had talked myself into accepting that which I could not change, citing Daryl’s emotional brokenness after Rick.  Convincing myself he’d lost his anchor to goodness and hope and fulfillment in his years of self-imposed exile from Carol and what was left of his family and to a certain extent?  I can still by that explanation.  But really.  It’s the Leah of it all.  

Let me attempt to explain.  

To do that, maybe I should detail how I’ve always perceived Daryl.  

Daryl, IMHO, began this journey with us and the rest of Team Family with a figurative fortress erected around his true, core self.  

He was prickly.  Defensive to any overtures of kindness because he inherently did not trust them.  Loathe to form any real connection to anyone other than Merle, his blood.  

Daryl balked at the possibility of emotional connection and flinched in learned fear from physical touch.  

He did not recognize or accept affection or respect at face value because it was something rarely shown to him before.  

Anybody else remember that childhood abuse book from Consumed?  You know.  One of those first times the showrunners/writers dumped a character nugget in our laps and left it to us to do all the backstory in our own imaginations so they didn’t have to enrich their own characters beyond the scratch and sniff, wham bam this is who they are work?  

Anyway.  We were left to extrapolate from that what most of us h ad already suspected--that Daryl’s formative years were already a living hell before the ZA ever happened.  

So he was standoffish.  He didn’t form emotional connections lightly and physical intimacy was something light years out of his comfort zone.  

Until Carol.  

Daryl’s defenses started to crumble from the very start with Carol because she piqued his interest.  He looked at her, watched her withstand Ed’s abuse, and recognized something of himself.  

Against his will, Daryl started to care and when Carol lost the one good thing that had come out of her miserable life with Ed--Sophia--Daryl’s core identity started to be revealed to us and probably?  To himself after burying it so deep for so long.  

Long story short?  Daryl connected with Carol pretty quickly on a base level through the trauma of Sophia’s loss.  

The real connection, the emotional work it too to peel all those protective layers away took more like--like planting a flower from seed and tending it to help it survive and flourish.  

Simply said?  The work was put in and Daryl bloomed with Carol’s (and Team Family’s) care.  They all put in varying degrees of work but Carol planted the seed of his “belonging.”  

And the thing about Daryl?  Once he bloomed?  He grew strong.  He stretched toward the sun.  

He and Carol essentially bloomed and fought their way toward the sunlight together.  

And little by little, Daryl learned to accept the kindness, trust, and love he always deserved.  

From that newly confident man emerged a Daryl not so fearful of forming connections and none have ever been more powerful than his connection to Carol.  

I’ll spare ya’ll the paragraphs of how Daryl and Carol gravitated toward each other like magnets no matter the means of separation.  

I’ll just spell it out like this:  their bond supersedes all others, even Daryl’s bond with Rick.  And with Daryl only accepting affection from those he trusts implicitly, Carol and Daryl have been the only potential “romantic” pairing that has ever fully made sense for his established character.  

At least the character before Angela launched the grenade of Leah into the mix.  

Leah was a fail from the start.  

And you know what?  I’m thinking that was largely intended (for various reasons) but I still think they could have shown Daryl as receptive to having a “romantic” relationship to those willfully blind to the possibility that he’s actually been in a “romantic” relationship with Carol since Season 2.  Never mind that Carol and Daryl haven’t (yet) crossed certain physical boundaries yet.  Emotionally? They are already there even if neither is able to admit it out loud with the actual words yet.  But I digress.  The people that never wanted to “see” Carol and Daryl as “romantic” because they couldn’t fathom Daryl as seeing Carol in that light had already deemed that Daryl just didn’t feel that way about her, that maybe he didn’t feel that way about anybody (if they couldn’t have their way and have him feel that way about their preferred choice for him, they preferred him alone), and Angela wanted to show them differently.  To show them the light.  

That said, if Angela was so hellbent on doing Leah?  There were a multitude of better ways.  

Here.  I’ll give you one of them.  

Daryl isolates himself from his family after Rick’s “death” same as he did in Angela’s version.  

Carol’s been being pulled more and more to the Kingdom because Henry’s needing a mother figure is like catnip to her hurting natural-born, hurting Mama’s heart.  So Daryl’s anchor to the man he’d matured into, the one with all these earned emotional attachments, is reeled back in, little by little, leaving him unmoored.  

Dog literally runs into him just as before.  It hardly makes sense given how young and floppy and uncoordinated puppies are and thus vulnerable to danger, but this is the least of things we need to worry about suspending disbelief for right?  ;)

Dog and Daryl continue to have these run ins until Daryl decides to retrace the puppy’s clumsy trail and viola!  He finds Leah’s cabin and Leah inside.  She levels the same shotgun at him, they have a standoff, until---

Leah suddenly lowers the gun and incredulously says Daryl’s name.  

That’s right.  One simple change and Daryl and Leah have an undefined past already.  

Daryl doesn’t completely let his guard down because he’s Daryl, but he relaxes enough that we see he doesn’t immediately regard Leah as dangerious to his own well-being.  

From that point on, instead of tying Daryl up and threatening him, we could have been told the story of how they knew each other from before.  

My version goes a little something like this--

Daryl met Leah through Merle.  Merle, in turn, met Leah through the military before he got discharged.  He and Leah had an ongoing “I scratch your itch if you scratch mine” thing and Leah?  Well, she always had a bit of a soft spot/interest in Daryl that Daryl never really returned.  

The thing is, though?  With losing the chosen brother that filled the hole left behind by his lost blood brother Merle and losing Carol to her chasing after a chance of a new family (because she feels Daryl’s out of her reach too, our too blind and stupidly, silently in love idiots)?  Daryl finds himself embracing the shared memories however minimal of that brief past and his grief and loneliness leave him receptive to Leah’s eventual advances in ways he never was before.  

We’re still given hints of their unfolding relationship and we still don’t like it, but it makes more sense for Daryl to cling to the past when he feels he’s lost his future.  

Leah still gives her ultimatum (there’s a reason she gravitated toward Merle in perhaps his most toxic state, she’s more than a little fucked up too) and it’s not as much of a hard sell that Daryl might be pulled in Leah’s direction when he feels Carol is all but lost to him.  

Hell.  They could have even explicitly discussed Carol.  But wait!  Angela would have never allowed that because she doesn’t want to shatter all the crackship dreams in one fell swoop.  

But the story from that point on could have continued just as it has and probably I still wouldn’t have liked it but I could have at least bought it somewhat and understood it.  

Obviously, it didn’t. 

I don’t buy the Leah of it all.  Angela built that “relationship” with monopoly money and it shows.  

Because I don’t buy Leah period.  I don’t buy Daryl giving even giving a shit about trying to or feeling like there’s a snowball’s chance to redeem her so I’m not engaged whatsoever with this Daryl double agent story and him even givign her crumbs about his real family.  

That part rings false.  

So that’s a big problem right there and we haven’t even gotten to the other part I don’t buy.  

You know what else I don’t buy?  

#2?  

Why the hell are the Reapers so bloodthirsty for Maggie’s departure from this mortal coil?  

Without giving better reasoning than they’re just cray-cray, the entire faceplants and considering it’s taken up about 70% of 11A’s focus?  I’m pissed.  

Because, IMHO, they should go big or go home on this to give it any entertainment value because it’s all stale, recycled air if not.  

Maggie’s been established as a much darker character this season.  Which led me to believer the Reapers probably had a legit beef against her, but it seems Angela is reluctant to go all that way down the rabbit hole and doesn’t want to commit to what could be a more entertaining and potentially fascinating story than just Maggie’s in the right, the Reapers are just evil.  

Maggie is right about Negan, IMHO, but she’s also wrong in not listening to him when what he’s saying reeks of simple common sense.  Ignoring sage advice makes her seem more like an angry toddler stamping her feet in defiance than the leader they are so bound and determined to tell us she is.  

You know what?  The window for me to give more than the half a fuck I’m giving right now as they beat this dead horse to dust closed when Maggie decided letting Negan rot in the ASZ jail cell was enough and spared him when she finally had her best chance to end him once and for all.  

Maybe if they stopped having the same damn conversation and they didn’t take up 20% of the screen time left after the boring Reapers/Leah shit, I would be less resentful but I’m not and again, I’ll tell you why.  

BECAUSE.  We are in the last season of the OG TWD ever and this show has chosen to waste screen time on stories nobody cares about to the exclusion of the ones we’re yearning for more of.  

Like ASZ.  We’ve barely seen more than an hour of the eight hours devoted to Carol, Aaron, Rosita, Lydia, Judith, Kelly, Jerry and Co. in total.  Especially since they’ve been trying to establish the Commonwealth on the side, too.  

I mean, I never really expected to dig the Commonwealth so my expectations for it were lower than low so they’ve been exceeded at a miniscule level.  But I expected and hoped for ASZ and those characters we’ve cared the most about to receive much more emphasis and the fact that they haven’t in this last season so far has been the biggest FAIL.  

And okay.  Selfishly, I want more Carol.  She’s like salt.  She makes almost everything go down better.  

But really. Give me more of all the characters we actually care about, please.  The Reapers and the offshoots from that story wheel aren’t it.  I love Daryl but I hate this retread story for him.  Leah is a weak point that pressed upon?  Makes this weak ass arc collapse.  Maggie and Negan are giving us nothing new.  They are the definition of the word STALEMATE and that’s not what you want or need on the finale season of a show.  

Yes, I have enjoyed the majority of the episodes overall, but that was because the moments I loved I weighted more than the ones I didn’t and know they have the most impact on the show down the road.  

Probably 11A will fare better when all is said and done and the show can be binged but standalone?  It’s been an overall disappointment and that saddens me more than I can say.  

Anyway.  I’m going to stop rambling now and try to psyche myself up for episode 8.  I’ll be back with thoughts on it later, maybe.  

Sorry for the word vomit, but I felt maybe I could in someway give voice to some of the feelings floating around out there and let you know that you are not alone.  

Until later, lovelies.  

[petri808]

O5+Itafushi sick/injured/comfort for Anon 😊 totally canon divergent since we still don’t know a lot about their backgrounds and the series is still on going 🙃 Hurt/Comfort, angst w/happy ending. *Does container manga spoiler aspects if you’re not up to date on it.

It couldn’t be helped... logically, Megumi knew this, but what his brain understood didn’t mean his heart could accept. Yuuji was fated from the beginning to die and he knew— Knew that all the man wanted was to die without regret, and saving their world... well how much more honor could one achieve by fulfilling his grandfather’s dying wish? He should be happy for his friend, content in the knowledge that Yuuji gave them a chance to rebuild a better world without the fear of Ryomen Sukuna ever destroying it. Should be... but he wasn’t.

How many times had Megumi convinced himself they weren’t heroe’s, they were just sorcerers. Spiritual police in a sense, there to protect without a desire for acknowledgement. And that their deaths were both inevitable and not immune to regret. All they could do was their best not to garner too much of it and become the very curses they swore to fight. It was why most jujutsu sorcerers learned from an early age not to care about humanity, or at least lie to themselves that it was a possibility. Such bullshit, really.

So, as he stood there staring down at what remained of his best friend’s body, Megumi couldn’t help the regret bubbling up in his very soul. This was literally and figuratively his fault. Yuuji’s, or rather Sukuna’s exorcism was a combined effort in which he’d participated in. That’s not something you can simply set aside. Yes! Megumi was glad that Sukuna was gone, but so was Yuuji! He didn’t care if his friend had been born into, or chosen to, or somehow been trapped in this fate. It wasn’t fair at all. None of this was fair to any of them, just as his own birth had been an unfortunate creation for revenge.

“Fuck!” Megumi gritted out a barely audible utterance as his nails dug into the clenched fists at his sides, and tears trickled down his face. This wasn’t fair at all!

He shouldn’t even be there. If Gojou sensei knew he’d snuck into the morgue he’d be in trouble. But he didn’t care! They didn’t even let him say goodbye to his friend before carting him off to Dr. Shoko. It was for his own good— pfft, fucking uncaring bastards! Yuuji was the first real person he’d ever connected with who gave him back a sense of the humanity he’d lost along the way. The man made him feel, and now. “Fuck...” Megumi knew he was screwed. His heart had crossed the line. Images of a smiling Yuuji play like a movie behind his closed eyes, bringing a pained smile curling on Megumi’s lips. He’d avoided admitting it to himself, but it was true. He’d fallen for Yuuji Itadori.

It had been an unspoken promise Megumi made to Yuuji, one he’d made deep within his heart the moment it had chosen to cross the line. He’d find a way to sever Sukuna from Yuuji and save his love from the ultimate sacrifice. This promise had never been proclaimed from his own lips, but there was no running from the covenant he’d created in his soul. As Sukuna once explained, certain pacts in their works simply could not be broken.

His knees weakened, crumpling Megumi to the floor in a position of summary execution. All of the emotional walls he’d learned to control, gave way in a flood, sending shadowed curse energy to blanket the room. He didn’t even try to stem the flow of power surging out from his pain. It was entirely selfish to lash out with his regret and anger, but Megumi couldn’t stop... didn’t want to let go. “It’s not fair!” He raged into the still darkness. “I should have saved you! If I was stronger, I could have saved you! But I’m too weak... even now, I can’t...” he hung his head head and closed his eyes, “I can’t even let you die properly because you deserve to live Yuuji...” Because I still need you... Damn the consequences, he’ll take whatever comes his way! “Yuuji!!!”

.....Megumi wasn’t exactly sure what happened, how he ended up passed out on his side, or even how long he was laying there. But something gentle brushed against his face, sweeping his hair aside, and caressing it to stir him awake. His body was groggy from the power drain, eyes barely able to focus in the amber emergency lighting. Whatever it was said nothing, just continued soothing him and coaxing with light prodding to wake up. It felt so nice... Wait! Fuck! Was he caught?! Was it Gojou, Dr. Shoko, someone else?!

His eyes flash open wide as he scrambled to sit up, ready to explain himself, but— “Sukuna?!” Megumi screamed in shock.

“What?!” The naked man stumbled back, looking around in a panic. “Where?! He’s supposed to be dead!”

Megumi adjusted his eyes better, because the form in front of him looked like Yuuji, but with all of the same markings as Sukuna, including the second set of open eyes. Although the voice was different... not exactly Yuuji’s, not Sukuna’s, maybe a mix of both. “Who are you?” He asked, noting that the curse energy flowing from this thing was akin to Sukuna in power and this could be a trick from the God of Curses. Is this what his regret had wrought?!

“It’s me,” the figure stepped forward in confusion, a hand over his chest. “Yuuji. Megumi how could you not know it’s me?”

“Because you look like and feel like Sukuna.”

Yuuji looked down at his body and could see the markings too. But that’s when he also noticed something else in the room. His dead body lying on the operating table. His eyes widen as they whip back to Megumi. “Am I?!” His shaky voice cracked.

It was becoming clear. Megumi nodded. “My regret brought you back as a...”

“Curse...” Yuuji breathed out. He was stunned, and yet somehow not surprised. “Wow... but I don’t look like a normal curse.” He could think and feel, “I’m like Mt. Fuji head?”

“I don’t understand it either. I’m so sorry Yuuji— I just couldn’t let you go.” The tears formed again in Megumi’s eyes. “I’d sworn to myself I’d save you, but I failed miserably and for that... n-now you’re a curse.”

“I should be mad at you.” Yuuji knelt down in front of his friend, smiling. “But I’m not. I know all too well how hard it is to let go of people we care about.”

Megumi shook his head. “You don’t understand. I’m being selfish and that’s wrong! I just... I-I just... I love you too much to let you go.”

“You... love me? Like a friend, friend love or...”

Megumi turned away and if it wasn’t so dark his blushing cheeks would be glaringly obvious. “No, the other kind.”

“Brotherly love?”

For a second there, Megumi had to question his own sanity again for failing in love with an idiot. He ran his hand down his face in a huff. “The I wanna kiss you kind! I know you said you like women with big butts and all, but yeah,” he mumbled, “that’s how I feel about you idiot.” His face was truly on fire by this point, only made more difficult by the fact the man he loved was hanging out for all to see.

“Oh!” Yuuji chuckled and sandwiched Megumi’s face between the palms of his hands. “I’m just messing with you. I knew that for a while now.”

“Wait how?!” But dang if seeing Yuuji’s smile again didn’t just melt him. “I kept it hidden.”

“You did, but Sukuna sensed it in you when your domains overlapped, and he showed me.”

Yuuji leaned forward and brought their lips together in an awkward kiss. It was brief, but for Megumi, it solidified how he felt. That yes, he really did love this man and finally! He got to kiss him!

“There was a time I thought Sukuna had a crush on you actually,” Yuuji chuckled. “But then of course, it turned out he just wanted to use you.”

“So... you’re okay with me liking you?” As he spoke, Megumi pulled his coat off and handed it to Yuuji to cover up.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Yuuji smiled and put on the coat. “But what do we do now? Technically I’m not alive, I’m a walking, talking curse.”

“Fuck,” Megumi sighed, his shoulders slumping, “I didn’t exactly think this through, just lost control.”

Yuuji placed a hand on his shoulder, “hey, we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Megumi couldn’t hold back any longer. He pulled Yuuji into a tight bear hug as renewed tears pooled in his eyes. “I don’t care what you are, I’m just happy to have you back.”

Yuuji returned the hug. “Me too.”

Suddenly, clapping echoed through the darkened room seconds before the light switch was flipped on, causing Megumi to flinch. Shit! They were caught so quickly!

“I had a feeling this would happen.”

It was Gojou’s voice. Aww crap!

Megumi moved Yuuji and placed himself between the two men. “Leave him alone!”

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head Megumi Chan, I’m not gonna exorcise him. I followed you here, so if I’d wanted to stop you, I would have done so sooner.”

“You’re messing with me.” Megumi narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “It’s our job to dispatch curses. Why would you make an exception.”

“Yes, under the old ways, but as you know, those ways were destroyed by us. As long as a curse is not a problem, I don’t care if they exist.” Gojou cocked his head in an evil grin. “Yuuji is now for you, as what Rika is for Okkotsu. I didn’t exorcise Rika, did I?”

“No...”

“Exactly!” He clapped his hands together. “Having powerful special grades on our side is a benefit in my eyes,” Gojou moved his mask to reveal his own, “and these eyes know everything,” he winks before affixing the mask. “Besides, who am I to get in the way of love,” he shrugged.

Megumi rolled his eyes at that last jab, but Yuuji let out a sigh of relief. “Gojou sensei, do you know why I’m like this?” He motioned to his body. “Shouldn’t I be more like Rika? But I can think for myself and talk, and I feel... well, normal.”

“That’s a good question!” Gojou cackled and pointed at Yuuji. “I have no idea!”

“Ugh!” Megumi slaps his forehead. This man never changed.

“But,” Gojou grew serious in an instant, “I can guess there are three factors involved.” He held up one finger, “Number one! You, Yuuji are no ordinary human but created by a curse at birth.” Raising a second finger, “Number two! You and Sukuna were bonded at the instance of death, so you’ve fused with him.” Adding a third finger, “and lastly, number three! When one special grade sorcerer curses another former special grade sorcerer, that amount of curse energy wasn’t going to create a lower lever spirit. So, voila! You were made Yuuji!”

“But is it like I still have control of Sukuna or something?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. Do you still sense him?”

Yuuji paused in thought before shaking his head no.

“It’s likely Sukuna’s soul was fully exorcised, and since Megumi was only thinking of you, it was only you that was brought back. This is just the form your cursed energy has taken. We’ll need to test what powers you’ve retained, but from what I’m sensing, they are on par with Sukuna’s residual energy.”

It’s Megumi who speaks up next. “So, is Yuuji allowed back at school?”

“I’ll allow it, provided your classmates don’t mind. Remember, while you can see him, he’s no longer alive, so normal humans won’t see him anymore. He is just a cursed spirit.”

Megumi and Yuuji looked at each other, then back to their teacher with Yuuji taking hold of Megumi’s hand. “I think they’d get mad if we didn’t return,” Yuuji smiled.

Gojou tipped two fingers as he turned to leave, “then I shall see you in class tomorrow. Try to keep the noise down in your room.” He teased with a cackle.

Megumi flushed red. “He’s so irritating.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit Gojou sensei’s one of the cool ones.”

“Yeah,” Megumi sighed, but smiled. “Guess we should head back to school too.”

Yuuji squeezed his new boyfriend’s hand and nodded. “I can’t wait to see everyone’s faces when I walk in!”

“Just, no practical jokes like phasing through walls to scare them. We don’t need someone actually trying to exorcise you.”

“Oh, right! I’ll behave.” Without warning, Yuuji then swept Megumi into a bridal carry. “Let’s test my powers! I bet I’m faster than Gojou sensei now!”

“Wait! What are you doing?!”

Yuuji grinned down at Megumi with ruby red eyes glowing. “Trust me.” Cause I’ll kill anyone who dares to hurt you now...

[thevoilinauttheory]

The Funeral

[ FFxivWrite2021 Prompt 29: Debonair ]

[ Content Warnings: passive suicidal ideation; death and blood mentions ]

[ Just want to note here... that this started as one thing and ended as another and don’t have the energy to change it because it ended up being so long lol I wanted to try something different, but then it went *way* different, so. Uh. Here you go! 😂 official video not posted due to the fact that it was flashing enough to bother me, so it might bother someone else. ]

==

“He’s a strange one, that’s for sure. Have you seen him ever show an onze of emotion?” “He may be the eldest, but do they really think he’d be the best heir?” “He’d run the family into the ground, if given the chance.”

He could hear them through the walls, the jabs at his character. How dare they? Was he not the perfection the rest of the noble community sought? Or was it his perfection that made them think as such? His ears twitched. Someone was coming, and by the weight of the footsteps…

“Cedre, Mother wishes to speak with you.” Sylvain gripped at the hem of his shirt - nervous. All of his siblings were intimidated by him. All of the people he would call his friends did the same. Cedrenaux stood from the bench he sat on, waiting for his parents to call him in. This gathering was supposed to be one of levity, other houses joining them for a single night of enjoyment. It was always too bright in here. The bright blues, the bright reds, the bright violets and whites and lights. Dear gods, the lights. He spoke no words to his brother, passing by him in some furied silence. Or, what Sylvain would think as he passed by.

“Cedrenaux, dear! Look at you, dressed to the nines~.” His aunt was the first to applaud him - for what, exactly? He never knew. All of them praised him for some unholy reason. “Well, it is only proper for him to be dressed so.” His mother was a walking contradiction. Doting, and yet, not so easily impressed. She brushed some of his stray hairs down, the wavy near-curls springing up to their own liking. Despite the fact that he was old enough to do so himself, old enough to speak for himself, he did not. “I want you to meet this lovely girl,” She turned him towards a beautiful woman, slightly older than him; fair skin, chestnut hair, what wondrous green eyes. “This is Cassandra Babineaux, under House Dzemael. Cassandra, this is my eldest son--” “Cedrenaux. A pleasure.” His voice was dry, it said anything but. He offered her a formal bow. “You two are to spend much time together, in fact, why don’t you get to know each other a bit more now?”

==

“Cassandra is to be your bride, Cedrenaux, you must compose yourself well.” “Yes, Mother.” He stood still as his mother fussed over his appearance, brushing lint from his shoulders, straightening his jacket. While it was infuriating to be coddled like a child, he let her do her thing, letting out a short sigh when she stepped away. “While this marriage is arranged, you two have gotten along so well - we thought it best that you would propose to her in a traditional fashion as well. I am certain it would mean a lot to her.” “Yes, Mother.”

He couldn’t stand her. There was always something off about the woman. To be married to her was going to be a long road, one that would likely never end - not until he was at the end of his days. The temptation was there - death would be far preferable, but he knew that his family needed this. After the accurate accusation of his grandmother as a heretic by the Dzemaels - his mother’s mother, worse off - they needed to make amends to the House. To prove that just one was enough. Once his mother left him, he took himself to the closest mirror. His hair was tied up in a bundle of wavy curls, not quite untamed, though no less annoying. He pulled the band from it, letting it fall loose; using his fingers to comb it out. Princely, straight from a faerie tale - that’s what Cassandra had called it. Disgusting.

“Cedrenaux?” A soft voice peered through the door, nervous and shaking. “Isabelle, is something amiss?” “N-No, not… not really. You look upset.” “...I am.” “Is it the marriage?” “...” He nodded slowly as he strode to the door, opening it fully for his youngest sister. She was easy to talk to, she had no room to judge anyone else, nor did she have a habit of doing so. “It’ll… be okay, I think.” Cedrenaux shook his head. “No, it will not. I do not like her in the slightest.” “But you got along so well…” “Because I was forced to… I do not want to marry, and especially not her.” “Why is that?” “Aside from a bad feeling…? I… I cannot say.” He muttered to himself, eyes to the floor, a crack in his usual expression. “...I simply do not like any aspect of her.” “Have you found another lady that caught your fancy?” “....” How was he supposed to answer that? He opted for another shake of his head. “No. I have had no interest in any of them. I have been putting my focus into my studies.” “I see.” She needed no other words to explain, she only smiled. “It’ll be okay. I can feel it. In the end, it’ll be okay.”

==

“I… am at a loss for words.” “Cedre, dear, please, I didn’t mean--” “Did not mean…? For what? To take on another man, force him into marriage? We have two children, Cassandra - that something like this happened is beyond me.” “You’re not… leaving, are you?” “Your kind are not wont to change.” “B-But.. the kids-” “Are in your capable hands. Perhaps you will no longer find your eyes wandering when you are pressured to do the job I have been doing whilst you were galavanting about with another man. The poor sod better be thankful he got away when he could.” “...Not without stealing the better half of our funds…” “Of your funds. Good riddance too.” “Cedre y-you sound so…” “Pleased? Gods be, I am. I had been looking for years for a way to get you far from me.”

Those words were heartbreaking to anyone who would hear them - and a relief to the one who said them. Cedrenaux finally felt a weight off of his shoulders. Such a relief to breathe out. “Since we are on that topic, I had never liked you to begin with - we were only together thanks to our parents.” “L-Love, I--” “Do not address me as such, lumping me in with the Brume rabble you called your lover. Of course, I side with him - the abuse you have fed both of us.” “You would punish our children over this?!” The shock wore off, it turned to anger. “Hm? I am sorry, did you say “our”? No, no. They are your children now. You can disclude me from the picture. Of course, I did already speak to them. They are old enough to understand how rotten you are, and thankfully, old enough to know how to ruin the rest of your days. Of course, in the end, you will have wonderful heirs to your house and name. Seeing as I taught them as such.”

“What would your mother say once you came home? She’d be disappointed, angry. She’d make you come back.” “Oh, do not worry. Your backstabbing name will be littered upon the ears of others, I am certain my mother will be just fine with it.”

==

“Please, wait! Wait, I have evidence!” Cedrenaux tried to push his way past the Templars which guarded the Vault. Guarded the trial - the trial against his parents. He held above him the papers, the ones that showed their innocence. “They are not guilty, you must hear me!”

“Lord Voilinaut.” One of the clergy approached him - a tone that made his heart sink. She took the papers from him, a slight twitch of shock. “I apologize, my lord, but you are too late. Their sentence was held a quarter of a bell ago. These papers, however -...” She shook her head. “This would not be enough, though I will see to it that these are filed properly so that no future mistakes will happen.”

“Y-You… admit… it was… a mistake?” He could feel it, it boiled under him, made his skin itch. He bared his teeth in a scowl, words sharp with his shouts. “You would murder for your own sakes?! They were not guilty! If I could find the evidence, why could you not have?!” The Templars struggled to keep the young lord from attacking the clergywoman, having to catch him by his collar and arms. “I apologize, my lord. I do not oversee the investigations, but I shall apprise them of the situation so that no others will have to face an injustice like this.” Cedrenaux managed to settle himself, composing with a sigh. “...Very well… so long as it does not happen again. You will regret the next time it does.”

He could hear the papers burning in the room she had left to.

==

“I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. If I could ask a favor of you…” An Elezen, far taller than he - though who would not be? Even the hyurs in the city were taller than him. Dressed in nobles’ clothes, light hair, fair eyes. “And you are?” “Tristan.” “...Tristan.” “My… full name is rather long, and this moniker suits me well.” “I see, and what can I do for you?” “...It…” Tristen looked about for any passerbys. “Perhaps we could sit over here, it… concerns a rather personal matter.” He gestured to the gazebo of the Voilinaut’s estate. Cedrenaux nodded, leading in taking a seat.

“I… have heard many things. I would clarify if they are true or not, and if they are… perhaps you could listen to my plight. I have heard that upon your divorce with Cassandra, your parents were tried for heresy.” “...That is true. You know of Cassandra?” “I know that she is behind it - ah… I know… from personal experience, as she has done the same with my family. They are currently in a gaol awaiting their sentence.” “How do you know?” “...She screamed at me as such when I pushed myself from her.” “You were…?” “Also married, yes. At the time you were.” “You certainly do not look the part of the man I had found her with. Do you mean to say she was doing as such with three individuals?” “I am, yes.”

Cedrenaux folded his arms over his chest, inhaling sharply. He closed his eyes to think, ears twitching to the sounds of other gossip from down the road. “...And what favor would you ask of me.” “That I may remain in your estate as a guest, until I am given my home back after the investigation. I am without one, currently.” “....” He wasn’t keen on sharing his home with strangers, especially since they were in the process of moving furniture out; sorting through paperwork and memories. How could he not lend aid to another who has shared this pain - who will share this pain. He knew that Tristan would not see his family again. Cedrenaux nodded slowly, bringing a bright smile to Tristan’s face. “I thank you, sir,” “Cedrenaux.” “I thank you, Cedrenaux. For your kindness.” He shook his head. “...Do not worry of it. My family will see to it that you will have a place to stay. Do excuse the mess.”

==

With a heavy thud, Tristan had his back trapped against the wall. Such brashness was rewarded with the second heavy emotion he had shown - first anger, now… Cedrenaux sputtered under his words, some semblance of fear on his face as his fingers clutched into the hem of his own shirt. Tristan let out a bright laugh, that perfectly playful smile. He was so forward, how could anyone act without shame - or at least thought to their actions. Or, perhaps he did think it over and--

“You’re so adorable like this!” Tristan pushed off the wall to let Cedrenaux have some breathing room. “L-Like what? What do you mean?” Despite the blatant display of emotion, and the catch of his teeth on his lips, his voice still stayed dry and even. “C’mon, I know you’re not that much of an idiot.” Silence. There was no response - he definitely was not that much of an idiot, still--

“Why?” “Why not?” He was nudged with an elbow. “The moons I’ve stayed here, you have shown nothing but care and kindness to your family - and myself. Of course, not everyone would call it that, but… you really are adorable.” Tristan leaned forward to pinch his cheek. His smile faded as he lowered his voice. “You have a lot of qualities about you that no one else does, something the rest of Ishgard needs. You exude safety, protection, you’re diligent - strong.” His smile came back with something softer. “They don’t see it, but I do.”

“...” Cedrenaux looked down to the floor - he was tense from the surprise, but it was relief that came from his breath. “Thank you.” It took a bit, a little moment, but he smiled. Nothing as bright as the man’s in front of him, but it existed. He took a careful step forward, hesitant, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing… but he wrapped his arms around him, tucking his head into Tristan’s chest. “....” He smelled of Starlight - he wouldn’t forget that. Pine and cinnamon, a fresh fire, winter air. It was… it was comforting. It reminded him of the times he could truly be a child with no worry of others’ thoughts. “...Thank you…” His voice was soft now, afraid to speak aloud. Gods, if his siblings saw him.

Even Tristan was surprised by the forward action on Cedrenaux’s part, but he wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he placed his head atop his. “Just one night?” “...Just one.”

==

One night turned to moons - moons of a fleeting emotion.

“Is Lord Tristanaireux in? We received word that he would be staying with your house.”

Several Templars were at their door. Cedrenaux knew exactly what that meant. “The investigation is over then? Should he return home?” “...He is, yes.” Their hesitation said otherwise. He saw that too. “Is that right, then? I will escort him then, to make sure he arrives safely.” “There is no need for that, we will-” “I do not trust you. After the last time, I refuse to.” “My lord, we have found relics of heresy amongst his belongings. He needs to be turned in--” “You would lie to me, on my estate?” Cedrenaux’s voice got low, deep, something dark.

“A-Apologies, m-my lord…” “Leave. Come back when you have hard evidence that it is his, and that it was not planted by you nor anyone else.” “Sir, you will be tried, too, if--” “Learn your battles, boy.” The Templars at his door were armed, and yet they made no moves against him. As if they truly were afraid of just him alone.

“Lord Cedrenaux, is aught amiss?” Another lord from the Dzemael house, when would they leave him alone? “No, in fact, these kind gentlemen were here to let me know that my friend is allowed to return home. ...Yes?” His glare pierced them. He made these fools stand straight, near threatened into admitting so. “Is that so? I had heard just the opposite. Are you housing a heretic, Lord Cedrenaux?” “On baseless accusation. Show me the evidence, and I will turn him over.” “The Vault is already in the possession of the evidence, s-sir…” The Templars spoke up again. “Then tell them to show me.”

His continuance on their argument was cut short, with Tristan looming over his shoulder. “What’s going on now?” “Back inside, now.” The sound of his voice turned to urgency, he was thankful Tristan understood - the man took a hefty step back, just before the sharp cry. “Grab the heretic, now!” Without so much as a second thought, the Templars trampled over Cedrenaux to seize Tristan from the hallway - dragging him out to the streets as he kicked. “Let go! I know naught of what you speak!”

As Cedrenaux found the strength to pick himself up off the floor, his eyes turned to the door - to the road - to the people across from his home - to the smile of the woman standing there. Her.. this was her fault. “Tristan!” His boots skid along the stone as he broke into a sprint. “Cedre!” The sound of his name was cut with a cry and grunt, a chained elbow smashed into his face - thrown into the ring in which the trial was being held. “Stop! I beg of you, please think before you act!”

It felt like the trial held for his parents, another mistake - another intentional mistake.

“The evidence was planted, my lords!” “By who.” They spoke to him, they addressed him. Gods be, he had a chance. “Cassandra Babineaux. She admitted to accusing not only his family, but mine as well, of baseless heresy. I had word that investigations would be thorough.” “What motives would she have to do this?” “We are both her ex-husbands, having committed adultery against us both - she seeks revenge for our leaving.” “Have the guard fetch this woman then.”

He could hear it, the sigh of relief from his love.

==

“I do not know what you speak, my lord! Why would I take the risk of being accused, myself? If I had planted it, I would have had the evidence on me at some point!” “Anything for revenge… first my grandmother, then my parents, now this…”

She lied through her teeth, she lied, and they both knew.

“Lord Cedrenaux, why would you accuse this woman of--” “Why would you believe her words over mine? Do you think me a liar, my lord? I have stood by and watched countless of my family die at your hands on false accusations - the truths brought to light, and still, you would do this?” “Why would you accuse me? I have found my love, I do not need yours nor his!” “Be- Because… I saw that look on your face, when I was on my way here, that smile of yours.” “Can I not greet you on the street?” “...” His jaw clenched. “Not when you just witnessed this man being dragged off.”

“Lord Voilinaut.” “Check her home, then, if you dare will! There’s plenty more evidence to plant, isn’t there?! One at a time, you will pick off those I love… who next, then? Sylvain? Valera? Isabelle?” He saw the corner of her mouth twitch at the mention of his youngest sister, that little detail. “Snake, impudent hag - you would harm such an innocent girl for your petty spite against me?!” Everything in his body could not stop him from lashing out, jumping on her in an instant - he only landed a single blow to her face before the Templars snatched him away from her.

“Calm yourself this instant!” The loud thud of a hand against the table snapped him from his rage. “You would conduct yourself in this manner, Lord Cedrenaux? Your accusation of your ex-wife is paranoia, that she is out to get you - she has clearly moved on. We will consider your evidence null.” “N-No, please! Do not harm him! He is innocent!” It was the first time he had ever cried, even as a baby; he screamed, but never shed a tear - he choked on his sobs. “Please…” He would resort to begging if it made it so, he sunk to his knees - he did not expect to hear the scream so close to his ears, so loud, it took up the room. He heard nothing else. The thump of the body on the floor, the spill of blood. The tile was stained with it.

Even as the room cleared, he did not move - he could not move. He cried, coughed, sobbed, screamed and yelled and begged what gods there were to make it stop.

In the end, all he could do was make certain that his family was safe.

[sir-phineas-lost]

Follow-up post

So I got a reply to my comment about the ableism in Ironwood’s character arc by @swapauanon and then they immediately blocked me. Since I am sometimes a petty bastard I decided to make a separate response anyway.

The first thing I would like to point out is that this person does not actually address my points in any way throughout this lengthy rant. My comment was all about the behind-the-scenes comments from the creators and they only responded with in-text examples and their interpretations of them. Those are important sure, and I will talk about those, but they don’t exactly come off as arguing in good-faith right from the get-go.

Okay, so I don’t TYPICALLY acknowledge RWDE’s beyond blocking them, but I think it’s important to separate how Ironwood views himself versus how the writers view him.

Because Ironwood’s entire downfall is his misunderstanding of how humanity works. He denies his own humanity, and sees maiming his vulnerable flesh and replacing it with unfeeling machinery as ridding himself of his own human weaknesses.

Except at the end of the day, he can’t cast off his VERY human soul, and his refusal to acknowledge that he can’t and SHOULDN’T do that are ultimately what leads to his downfall.

I have seen this “Actually it is just Ironwood himself that is ableist” argument before, and I don’t think it holds any water. While it is true that he begins to see compassion as a weakness, he never expresses the views you say he does about his own machine parts. And if you want to talk about how Ironwood sees himself vs how the writers see him you really can’t do so without talking about framing and subtext. When we get scenes that emphazize Ironwood’s machine parts to make him look intimidating or use his passive superpower (described as “hyper-focus” by the creators themselves) to shut off his empathy, that is the writers telling us that these physical aspects of Ironwood makes him less human.

Meanwhile, what V8C12 was TRYING to convey (even if it was horrible in its execution), was that it’s one’s SOUL that defines them, not the body that houses it. 

Literally NO OTHER CHARACTER with mechanical parts added to their body views themselves as less human.

[...]

Penny doesn’t angst over not being human, she angsts over being treated like a soulless tool. (Which is why I don’t like that they turned her human. Had they set up that she’d wanted to be human back in Volume 2, it would’ve been one thing, but they don’t establish that Penny wanted to be human until AFTER her mechanical body has been discarded.)

So here they outright contradict themselves. They start off saying that no other character views themselves this way, and then go on to say that Penny does (but only after she has been turned human). And like, points for admitting that scene was bad, but they seem unwilling to consider that maybe the fact that the writers did include that scene tells us something about the way the show at large views disability. They seem to think they can just write it off and move on like this instance of Penny absolutely seeing herself as inhuman can just be ignored. it also disregards that this isn’t just Penny expressing how she feels about herself. When Penny gets her human body she expresses surprise that hugging someone makes her feel “warm inside” even though she has hugged people countless times before. This is not a villain saying that having machine parts makes you less human and being proven wrong, this is a hero saying outright that “wow, my mechaniocal body made me unable to appreciate this simple human interaction, but now that I have a flesh-body I can”. Things like this is why I do not buy the argument that it is only Ironwood who thinks being part machine makes you less human.

Mercury doesn’t angst over the loss of his legs, he angsts over the piece of his soul his father tore out.

[...]

While Yang DOES lose her arm and angst over it, she doesn’t view herself as less human because of her prosthetic.

The closest we get to a LITERAL “cybernetics eats your soul” story is with Cinder, and she doesn’t have ANY cybernetics, just a parasitic leash that’s slowly consuming her flesh and threatens to eventually consume her mind if she doesn’t get rid of it. And if/when she does, I imagine she’ll replace that with a mechanical arm.

(I moved a few parts of their post around here because it made more sense to me to talk about these quotes together)

I feel like this highlights how much this person completely ignores the core argument of what makes the themes in RWBY ableist. They focus way too much on the literal and whether the characters “angst” over their humanity. But like I have said before, thie main issue here is theme and subtext.

Mercury doesn’t “angst” over his legs, but that doesn’t erase the subtext inherent in the fact that he still lost his legs (and presumanbly the piece of his soul) at the same time as he joins team evil.

Yang is probably the best take on a disabled person with a prosthetic in the show. I will give it that. I don’t think there is anything particularly wrong with how it has handled this storyline, but I do think it sets a certain expectation for how it thinks a “good” person should handle their disability. Because Yang basically deals with her lost arm by seeing her prosthetic as an “extra”. She creates a distance between herself and it instead of seeing her mechanical arm as actually part of herself. Again, nothing inherently wrong with that but combined with the Penny-nonsense it creates a pattern of seeing machine parts as inherently inhuman and “lesser”.

The point about Cinder is where the argument relies too much on technicality. Sure, Cinder’s new arm isn’t cybernetic, bhut it is still a prosthetic and it is unambiguously presented as evil and corrupting.

So, no, it’s not the fact that Ironwood has prosthetics that makes him less human, they’re simply a symptom of his view of “soft” traits (kindness, empathy, forgiveness, and flesh), as weaknesses to be sacrificed for the “greater good”. Basically, while I know this term gets misused a lot, Ironwood embodies toxic masculinity. The idea that showing any emotion other than rage and pride is “shameful” and “unmanly”. The idea that brute strength matters more than strategy. That taking unnecessary risks to achieve your goal is “brave” and “daring” and not “stupid beyond belief”. Plus, I want to point out that WINTER HERSELF said that Penny (as a robot) was more “human” than her. 

Again, this completely ignores how Ironwood and his prosthetics are framed by the narrative. The idea that all of his flaws are based in toxic masculinity and have nothing to do with his disability is just not very supported by the text or by word of God (again, it was the creators themselves who said that losing his arm was “symbolic of losing his humanity).

And Winter’s words to Penny aren’t very positive either. The point being made there is that Penny was always human “underneeth” her robotics, which sounds good until you realize that this still frames her mechanical differences as negative. They are treated as a prison for the “real” Penny and the narrative explicitly tells us that they have made her unable to feel certain emotions.

It’s just that searing off that flesh after breaking his own Aura serves as a good visual metaphor for Ironwood giving up his “softer” traits to accomplish his goals, even if there was a better solution staring him right in the face (i.e. the rings were EXPOSED and he could’ve just nudged them out of alignment to get to Watts).

This feels like a really big reach on their parts to justify their idea of Ironwood as stupid on top of everything else. It relies on assuming things about fictional technology that was never explained in the show itself. I mean, if the rings are so easy to nudge then what is even holding them in place?

Either way it doesn’t really matter because the message of the scene is the same. If the point is to signal that ironwood is willing to give up his softer traits because he is also willing to give up his soft bady, then that also tells the viewer that being able-bodied and being capable of compassion/kindness/etc are synonymous.

It has nothing to do with the metal, and everything to do with the “Mettle”. 

I have no idea why they would bring up the fantasy neurodivergence the writers added in through word-of-God as if it somehow makes the show less ableist. “Mettle” as it is described by the writers, is not a character flaw. It is a chronic condition.

Edit: Seriously, I hope you realize that the hatedom makes it VERY hard for any criticism of the show to be taken seriously when the very VALID cricisms are downed out by “Adam should’ve been an anti-hero!” and “Fascism is good, actually!” leading to those of us with ACTUAL constructive criticism getting lumped in with you lot!

I am curious what they think “constructive criticism” looks like since apparently “Hey, constantly equating robot parts with inhuman behavior is shitty and ableist, please stop” doesn’t cut it.

Anyways, fuck this guy. If they want to be taken seriously maybe they should think about why they had to make such a long-ass rant to dismiss criticism of very basic ableist tropes.