#well maybe you should really consider what the common variable is

[haliteatiger]

Happy Werewolf Wednesday, ya'll! We're serving up a big pot of tea tonight so get those cups ready!

Special thanks to Blackbackedjackal and King for their help in putting this together, editing, and especially to Jackal for being so supportive and encouraging. I'm very much not normally the type to do call-out posts, but people need to be aware of Dogblud, as she has hurt, not only myself, but quite a few others as well, and seems to have somehow gotten away with behaving like this for 20-odd years. I'm of the mind she shouldn't be allowed to do so any more, hence this post.

TL;DR - Beware of Dogblud, aka Ashryn, aka DogofBlud, aka ThatDogMagic. Very, very long post under the cut.

With everything happening with DogBlud and Blackbackedjackal's studio, I felt emboldened to come forward with my own experiences with her. This is something I've been carrying around since it happened roughly 2 years ago. It was one of the main reasons that put me off drawing werewolves, my own characters, or engaging any more in the fandom. I've hinted at it a few times but I've never had the energy to come forward and deal with the fall out. I wanted to move on with the rest of my life because IRL was more important than online drama. And I knew her behavior would come back to bite her sooner or later, regardless of what I did. 

It's been very validating to see that I was right.

It was around the time that Blud and I became friends that I was feeling a bit burnt out on werewolves. I'd been trying to pull together my own werewolf-related project for something close to 12 years. The past 4 years had also been pretty draining on me creatively and socially, as it had for a lot of artists with regards to the pandemic. I also had some IRL things I was dealing with: mainly with my marriage and transitioning between medications to manage my anxiety + bipolar.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the foresight to screenshot everything at the time. I do have logs from back when we roleplayed together. There are several conversations in them but because they were saved as text documents, they're pretty dubious in terms of solid evidence. 

It would have been better if I had taken screenshots as it was happening, rather than just saving the logs. With what I *do* have, however, I feel as though it may be enough to make the point that I'm trying to make, and to exhibit how horrible things got.

I'll provide some context.

I had talked with Blud on and off over the years, and we had always gotten along. We had a lot in common and after we had started talking more, our friendship eventually grew into a collaborative project. We were going to combine our stories and write a comic based on it. We had a lot of discussions on how Blud was reticent to do this in the beginning and how she wanted a contract to be made up so that in the event that something *did* happen, we could both walk away feeling like it was handled fairly.

Honestly, I should have listened to the first alarm that went off in my brain, when, in an act of ominous foreboding she said something along the lines of don't be so sure, it could happen. It was in response to me being like "we're getting along so well and share so much of a bond right now. I can't fathom that being a problem!" 

The contract never materialized. It was something we had decided to do *after* we had put together something of a prototype project to see how well we worked together. It made complete sense to me at the time as we were both eager to focus on the fun parts of writing and drawing together.

It was decided that I would be the lead artist (doing coloring and final lines) while Blud would do everything else (which was inking, layouts, and the majority of the writing). The both of us felt that she had more experience in those areas. I also believed that she had a better knack for it as well. I had felt that she had a better understanding of story structure than myself. And I thought that Blud had felt the same way about my art. That I had the experience to take point on that. 

Since I had collaborated with other artists and writers before, I attempted to approach the project with the same sort of professionalism I always do. Especially the projects that I genuinely thought stood a chance of being published in the future. We had started out trying to get a feel for each other's flows and rhythms. I had expected Blud to try and meet me in the middle of where our processes would potentially differ from one another, so that we could develop a fairly smooth workflow.

I had also expected, according to our discussions on the matter, that we would value each other's opinions on things and take them into consideration. We had such good synchronicity already.

In the beginning, there wasn't any unusual behavior that caught my attention. Blud was a bit uncomfortable with trying out new things but I did my best to accommodate her so that our project could move forward without too much turbulence. She had also mentioned to me before that she was autistic, and since my husband is also autistic, I knew how difficult it could be when it came to adapting to new routines. But when it was time for her to deliver the first set of layouts, it wasn't at all what I expected.

What I had expected was something with margins, clearly marked boxes, and figures that I could do rough lines over. I also expected notes that confirmed what we had discussed earlier about the project; that way I knew what she wanted or if there would be any changes. She took offense to this, feeling like I was violating our agreement. Though Blud did try to give me space with regards to the actual art, and while she would offer criticisms here and there, I trusted her opinion as an artist and as a friend. But apparently that didn't go both ways. In fact, Blud seemed to be offended that I expected more from her.

Blud agreed to concede. She suddenly seemed fine with the changes that I had asked for after seeing the layouts. I guess she was feeling overstimulated by the change and I might have been applying too much of a critical tone to her responses to begin with. I have had to deal with rejection sensitivity throughout my life and it's certainly prompted me to approach what people say to me online with a bit of scrutiny (sometimes too much).

And while I was mildly annoyed, although admittedly I was more concerned with Blud's overall reaction to my asking for clarification about several things in the layouts, I let it go. But it seemed like there was a problem. The majority of my ideas were either rejected or outright overridden with Blud convincing me that my faulty memory had made me unable to remember what we had agreed upon. Or that I might have been misremembering in my own favor.

There was one time where we were discussing a monster's design. Blud had already decided to settle on one design that she had come up with, even as I continued to offer other suggestions. The story was to take place in my setting, so I was under the impression that I got to decide what kind of creatures should populate it. The conversation ended somewhat ambiguously. I had assumed that we'd come to a solid conclusion later. 

I came back the next day and it turned out that we were using her design because that was what we had decided on. "Don't you remember? You really need to do something about that faulty memory of yours, Tek. I can't be doing this for you all the time."

At which point, Blud would go back and meticulously scour the conversation until she managed to find a set of lines that would make it seem as though I had 100% agreed. Even when I tried to explain that I had meant something else, she took it as an affront on her inability to understand nuances due to her autism.

I admit that my memory isn't that greatest at times, but I've never had anyone complain about it before. And none of my friends have ever minded providing reminders to me if I did misremember something incorrectly. We all forget stuff at times, right? It's *still* something that I'm self-conscious about because (like a lot of people with ADHD) my memory seems selective at times. This was, apparently, a problem that I needed to manage. 

And even as I'm remembering these incidents to the best of my ability, I've already spent so much time recounting all of this to friends. I feel confident in my recollection. There are some details that may overlap or become entwined with other things, but it all basically tells the same story. Especially in conjunction with what's been said by others. You're free to take it as hearsay since I do not have screenshots to back this up.

I will mention (since I've been told it's something that Blud has taken particular interest in) that at one point, I did have a crush on her. I was having some problems IRL, and it was nice to have someone whom I felt actually understood me. I also felt like I saw a lot of myself in her. I think that, at one point, I did describe her as the kind of "girlfriend" I would want. Blud seemed to indicate the feeling was mutual.

Between our collaborative partnership and all of the details we shared about our lives, it did feel like an intimate relationship at times. I had no intentions of pursuing it. We were not compatible in our romantic and sexual identities, and I had no intention of leaving my current partner for her.

I had begun to notice red flags, even if I wasn't ready to accept them yet.

I've had experience with abusive relationships in the past but they were in person, and not online. I knew what to look out for and yet I was being willfully ignorant about our friendship. I wanted to give Blud the benefit of the doubt. I wanted the project to work *so* badly that I was willing to work with her increasing demands as the months went by.

I had no idea that those demands would change into, quite literal, temper tantrums. It would then trigger my fawning response which was due to an abusive family situation that I had dealt with before I moved to Canada. The tactic was this: concede to someone until there was a time that they either understood reason or I had the chance to use it against them if necessary.

I started to take screenshots. I wish that I had taken a lot more of them so that everyone could get a better idea of what was happening. I did go back and manage to record the majority of the first outburst. It was the first inkling I had that Blud wasn't playing with a full deck of cards. I knew that that would be one of the first conversations that she would promptly delete. And consequently, I was right.

This assortment of screenshots will exhibit the first serious confrontation that Blud had with me. I am absolutely *not* proud of how I handled this. I was literally panicking at the time and doing whatever I could to get her to calm down. Because I have a temper that can look similar to this in person, I knew that I had to wait until the post-tantrum clarity would hit Blud. I tried my best to not lose my own temper in turn but looking back, I feel that I came off as sounding too timid.

I didn't want to ruin this project.

I wanted to make a comic with an individual that I admired and respected as a fellow artist. And, with me not knowing how to respond, my main priority was to not make things any worse than they already were.

Below is the conversation in its entirety:

I had taken this screenshot on my phone after I had stepped away to compose myself. Blud had handled the confrontation and criticism with a reasonable amount of apprehension. But what had not occurred to me was that I could have said something that would remind her of past experiences with a roleplaying group.

It was something that had evidently scarred Blud for life.

I took away the wrong things from what she had told me, choosing to focus on the aspects of the "betrayal" that had appeared to bother her the most. And in hindsight, I did not see the correlation. I was genuinely apologetic that I had hurt her feelings.

But I *will* critique Blud for her poor handling of the situation. Whether or not I had hurt her feelings, no one is entitled to act like this or claim that this is what attempting to resolve a problem should look like.

I wasn't sure on how to initially respond to Blud. It had been ages since I'd had to deal with someone flying off the handle like that.

The following screenshots are where the conversation picked up, after she had already deleted the above message:

We had weathered the "storm" and after Blud calmed down, she was ready to communicate. There was a part of me that was genuinely sincere when I apologized to her. I did mean it when I said that I had no intentions of hurting her and that I hadn't considered how my statement would sound to her.

I had hoped that this had been a stress response due to factors outside of our collaboration. And especially when I took into account how she had interacted with me in the past. I knew that Blud had a lot going on IRL, and that she had already put a considerable amount of energy into this project.

I had taken her meltdown more personally than she could perceive that I would, because this was something that was acceptable to her. She had a "condition" that would absolve her of these abhorrent meltdowns and I needed to get used to them if we were going to continue working on that project together.

I was shaking the entire time we were typing in the chat.

I was sincere in my responses. I really did want to work things out with Blud and give her the benefit of the doubt. I could have been taking the things that she said too personally or maybe I had been reading too much into the situation. Was there a chance that I could have been misreading her outburst? I tried my best to keep an open mind though I was still somewhat baffled by the fact that she would have meltdowns as often as she did.

I confided in my husband and some other friends about the situation. They were also bewildered by Blud's actions.

By this point, I was struggling with the reality that this collaboration was most likely *not* going to work out but I still wanted to try. I still cared about Blud. We would still hang out together and talk about things like music, our characters, or our stories.

While I did have the foresight to go back and screenshot this section, I wasn't fast enough to get screenshots of everything else that I will be going over. Blud *did* admit to going back and deleting certain exchanges due to a mixture of shame; not wanting to look at them when she would scroll through our conversations. 

In retrospect, it was very telling.

And even after that meltdown, I still enjoyed the friendship that I had with her. I kept my guard up but I was willing to make compromises on her behalf if it resulted in better communication between the two of us. Blud made me promise to immediately tell her if I had a problem with something. I also agreed to keep notes of our conversations.

It worked for the most part.

In the end though, it became apparent that Blud wasn't willing to do the same for me (even after we had an extended conversation about it). I then realized that I had been tasked with basically *managing* her autism for her. I was already busy with my supposedly "bad memory" at the time; and Blud was more than ready to scroll back up through our conversations to cherry-pick a line or two of text to remind me of what was said earlier.

Because, for her, circumstances couldn't ever change. If they did, it would mean that Blud had lost control of the situation and that she was in the wrong. She could *not* be in the wrong. 

And if she was in the wrong? It would take solid evidence, three witnesses, and a court of law to prove it.

She had two other major meltdowns after this. I managed to step away from communicating with her through one of them and I don't remember the other meltdown lasting very long. She immediately deleted the texts of both of those instances before I could take screenshots of them.

It seemed like I could do nothing right when it came to Blud, no matter the lengths I would go to accommodate her. I knew that it was a common tactic used by abusers. I finally accepted that our partnership wasn't going to work out and I began thinking about an exit strategy. The final straw was when she began to expect me to be at her beck and call.

I had promised that I would be there for her, within reason, and I was willing to offer reassurances whenever she would ask me for them. The promise had been made back when we had first started to talk to one another with more frequency, before Blud had shown me her true colors. I would end up completely underestimating just how badly she would need reassurance.

To be frank, I underestimated a lot about Blud in the beginning.

I would end up mentioning that I enjoyed my space in several different conversations with her. That there was a chance that I might be offline for several days so I could take care of things IRL and recharge my social batteries. I'm somewhat of a recluse. And an adult who enjoys things that aren't online.

She said that it was fine.

I became incredibly anxious when I would talk to Blud, especially after her somewhat abrupt change in personality.

I then attempted to put my foot down about boundaries and this is what she had to say:

I decided to walk away for a bit and I came back after I had had some time to think things over. This wasn't healthy for either of us. I wrote a couple of sentences to say goodbye to Blud before I blocked her. I knew that my actions would probably infuriate her. She had told me in the past that she *hated* not being able to have the final word... which she was able to do through email:

“And I'm not letting you pretend you have control over the situation, or the high ground. You distinctly have neither. But since you're determined to stick to your 'principles' on this, I've decided to make it easier for you.”

She thought that she was absolved of all sins just because I had said that I would stand by her at her worst. And at the time that I said that, I had no idea that her worst would be her trying everything possible to protect her boundaries while stomping all over mine. It didn't matter what she said or how often she would apologize when I would confront her. She kept doing it.

I admit that I wasn't perfect in this situation either.

There were times when I was condescending, critical, or downright mean when I talked to Blud because that was the way I had felt when she was talking to me. I soon realized that it didn't matter either way. I could have been using the friendliest tone imaginable and she still would have perceived it as either mocking or dismissive on my end. There were even a few times where I would preface my explanations with an advisory “please know that I am not attacking you and try to read this in an understanding tone,”etc. I would then post an explanation I had spent hours picking at to ensure that there was no way she could misinterpret the intent. Even so, she still read the majority of what I said as criticism and would take it to heart.

I never expected Blud to do something that made her uncomfortable; nor did I expect her to overextend herself when it came to our project. I would go out of my way to make sure everything was fine when we would talk about it. I only expected mutual respect in return.

When we would get into discussions (arguments), she would never attempt to understand my point of view or let me explain myself. It would have made it about me when it should have been about Blud and her needs. She sometimes would agree to come to a compromise about something, but only if I would admit that I was in the wrong.

I know that if Blud was to look at these screenshots, she'd be incredulous that I'm trying to distract from the horrible things that *I* did. And those horrible things that I did? I tried my best to work with her.

It wasn't just her poor teamwork that bothered me. It was her attitude and the lack of respect that she showed me. She would never ask me to clarify something that I said; always assuming that it was a criticism against her. I can only speculate that Blud did not want to hear about how any of this was her fault, like in the email she sent me.

I don't know if I was actually her friend at any point. Friends make efforts to understand one another. Ideally, they’d want their friendships to continue, and they would want everyone to be getting along and having fun. She seemed to actively defy that.

I would argue that things like this don't just happen in a vacuum. There's almost always a reason for such things, but it's honestly a mystery to me as to where this vitriol comes from. I don't know why Blud sees monsters in every word, especially if they come from a  "friend". 

I've seen her viscously mock herself during meltdowns; it seems like she hates herself and expects everyone else to hate her too. I think that she wants it to be the truth, so that it validates the feelings she has about herself. The behavior patterns that I'd been exposed to are consistent with the idea that Blud is seeking confirmation about the personal assumptions she has about herself. It's what makes her so volatile to those around her. Yet, she refuses to break the cycle.

I hope that she can make that choice in the future but at this point, I'm not holding my breath.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

One day I will cry long enough to make you feel so sorry for me you will write that meta about heteronormativity of marines

aw, you don’t have to cry! asking nicely is all it takes.

so, when i say the marines are a rigid, heteronormative institution, what do i mean by that?

they work in the service of a heteronormative government and society—the world government, and the world nobles, who consider themselves superior to the rest of the world because of their bloodlines

they have heteronormative values—among them strictly defined gender roles and prioritizing relationships based in blood/deprioritizing all others

they use those values to dictate how the ‘civilized’ world should behave and assume that everyone shares those values, marking those who do not as uncivilized, criminal, and rebellious

more details below the cut.

any kind of royalty or nobility that defines itself as superior to the masses because of their bloodline, ancestors, etc. is going to be particular about having proof of that blood connection. if you think your blood makes you better, you better have documentation of it, family trees going back eight hundred years so no latecomers can doubt your importance.

they’re also going to care deeply about the “sanctity of marriage”—not because it’s actually sacred, but because if wives are cheating on their husbands then you can’t trust your family tree. and if your family tree is a lie, then maybe you aren’t actually superior to all of those dirty, common masses. the horror!

lastly, they have to care deeply about children. because, until someone develops some kind of immortality elixir, the only way to keep your very important family going (and it has to keep going, or what’s the point of any of this?) is to have children. and you’re going to prioritize biological children over any other, because if the child doesn’t have your blood, they aren’t really superior to the masses.

(the exception: note that the child sabo’s parents adopt when he runs away is chosen for his aptitude in school and his higher status biological family. bringing fresh blood into your family that improves your status is always beneficial, whether it’s through marriage or adoption.)

so. special bloodlines, preserved by marriages that produce biological children. until someone develops alternate methods of reproduction—which is not out of the question in one piece—all of that requires heterosexual relationships. they have to be the priority, in order for the superior bloodlines to persist.

thus, the prioritization and normalization of heterosexuality by the world nobles—and therefore the world government that serves them—and therefore the marines that serve them.

.

what about those heteronormative values?

well, look at female marines. there aren’t many of them; even if you’re only thinking about named marines, women are outnumbered nearly ten to one. and the unnamed background guys are always guys, so actually it’s an even greater disparity. why? because a woman’s place is in the home. she should be a homemaker and mother, because continuing the family line is the point of a woman, according to the nobility’s heteronormative view of the world. going against that is to set yourself up for a struggle. and a number of these ladies do struggle.

bell-mère had to leave the marines to keep her kids, taking on a job with a highly variable income that left her nearly starving at times; men in the marines have no such trouble, though whether that’s because of narratively invisible wives or these men not caring if they raise their children well is unclear.

tashigi has an enormous complex over being treated differently because she’s a woman, and it’s not a complex that comes out of nowhere—she is treated differently. most of her opponents beat her easily and then let her live for no good reason; as a captain she’s idolized, not respected, by her crew.

then there’s characters like hina and tsuru, whose presence high up in the military structure is acceptable because they have powers that put their opponents into submissive, humiliating positions. you don’t see a female marine with one of those elemental devil fruits; no, they have to have a fruit with a power play component to it. because god forbid women hold positions of power if they don’t have a bit of a dominatrix energy to them. (actually it’s because they’re being subversive in service to the state and the status quo, which makes them acceptably quirky rather than rebellious, not unlike members of SWORD, or our single female warlord.)

.

and then there’s the prioritization of bloodlines.

we see that value most clearly in the paramount war, where ace is executed not because he’s the second division commander of the whitebeard pirates, not because of any crimes he’s committed, but because of who his father is. a man who died long before ace was born, a man ace hates because of the awful opinion the civilized world has of him (and therefore his kin), a man who had no influence on ace in any way but blood. that’s enough reason to kill a man, by the marines’ logic.

and the man ace does call father, who embraced ace and gave him a loving family? well, that man, as far as the marines are concerned, only took ace in to put him on the throne of the pirate king, making himself the power behind the throne. (because naturally a king’s son should inherit his throne! never mind that whitebeard’s power far outstrips ace’s—surely pirates would only bow down before their king’s rightful, blood heir—and the marines can’t allow for the pirates to unify under one man’s leadership like that.) to the marines, ace only has value as roger’s heir, and so they expect that to be all the value he has to anyone.

and this backfires on them. the betrayal from within the whitebeard fleet (which the marines orchestrated) operates on the assumption that whitebeard will prioritize ace over the rest of his fleet. but all of the whitebeard pirates are his children, and he makes that clear when he gives them an out, allowing them to abandon him to his death if they so choose. the marines wanted to show the world that even this benevolent father figure of a pirate captain was a monster deep down, but they couldn’t pull it off. they don’t believe whitebeard is sincere in his affections for his ‘sons,’ and that costs them the narrative they wanted for the paramount war.

.

there’s also this one-off line that i rediscovered while rereading impel down/marineford to prep for this post, which in retrospect explains garp’s manic insistence on his grandson becoming a marine.

in chapter 530, hearing that luffy’s broken into impel down, sengoku shouts, “if you weren’t called ‘the navy’s hero,’ i’d make you pay for the sins of your entire family, garp!” as a counterpart to it being just and lawful to kill people for the crime of being related to a sufficiently dangerous criminal, garp and others like him believe that if you serve the state well enough, you can be forgiven for the crime of being related to a criminal.

if luffy (and ace) had just become a marine, garp thinks, then the identity of luffy’s father wouldn’t matter.

which strikes me as very naive. of course it would still matter; blood is the only thing that matters to these people.

[gust-jar-simulator]

I have written too many posts referencing goth Vio and not enough posts actually describing goth Vio. I should fix this.

I need everyone to know that Red is really supportive the entire time, drags Blue into it, and Blue and Vio 100% do the lesbians-doing-their-makeup straddle pose thing at least once. Blue is the best at eyeliner and he is personally offended if one of his counterparts has uneven wings when he is Right There and could have just done it in the first place.

Eyeliner is not a common makeup practice in Hyrule, it is extremely Gerudo, so we’re off to a great start actually. While the mines we know about in-game are mostly connected to Mt. Crenel, volcanoes in general, etc, given the blatant Egyptian references with the Gerudo (pyramids) as well as the general theme of making them Pretty Ladies, they deserve to have makeup and the mineral resources for it.

(I have vague thoughts about the Goddess of the Sands as a kind of Hathor/Sekhmet figure, but that’s irrelevant here)

I tend to base a lot of fashion and culture ideas in the Minish Cap era on Scotland/Ireland/Wales, though I think the climate in that version of Hyrule is a lot warmer considering the proximity of Mt. Crenel and the Desert of Doubt, so maybe a bit more like Galicia in Spain? I’m getting sidetracked.

When I think about dressing Vio, I tend to automatically fall back on archers and archery garb throughout history. Archers were an insane tactical advantage, particularly on horseback, so pants would be my go-to. Heeled boots were also useful to give you an advantage when standing in the stirrups, actually. Overall the boys seem to hoof it everywhere, pardon the pun, but in places like France heels were adopted so nobles could be a little taller than everyone else. In Ancient Greece they were used to denote the most important actors on a stage.

I’m getting sidetracked again. Point is, Vio in heels would be fun, but to be honest I could see Legend wearing them more often. Sometimes Time. And Twilight. That’s what cowboy boots are, you know.

Back on topic, Vio has the advantage of being able to make his own jewelry. Drawing wire in particular takes a kind of focus Blue may or may not have, and that’s not even getting into the detail work. Plus, as evidenced by BOTW, it’s good for enchantments. Considering Vio’s fanon fixation on dark magic, I could definitely see him experimenting with earrings that shield you from sunlight, or light magic in general, for whenever he finally resurrects his boyfriend. Vio quickly starts becoming extremely pale after that because he keeps forgetting to take the earrings off (they’re dark and cold and feel a little familiar, he doesn’t want to).

In that same vein of thought, I am genuinely not sure if whatever his body is made of can take tattoos, or how it would work when they recombine, but if you’re going to research necromancy you might as well tattoo ancient and ominous runes on yourself the same way you inscribe them into jewelry. Why augment items when you can augment yourself? They’d have to be carefully chosen and very carefully done, mathematically precise, but Vio’s up to the research necessary to make his own body into a conduit for dark magic. Considering the major sources of darkness in LOZ are the Gerudo and the Sheikah (and the Twili who might be both), the aesthetic is probably unmatched too.

I definitely think he’s got a little ruler tattooed on his finger specifically to make sure he gets his summoning circles right.

Depending on how you want to write the rules of necromancy his clothes could go a few ways, but I’ve been rolling around the Egyptian idea of no materials from the dead. No leather boots, for example, because you don’t want to offend the spirits by bringing the unclean presence of death before them, etc. If we want to get really wild with it, I would love to play with the idea of Vio doing some magic experiments buck naked just to remove that variable altogether. There are a few reasons to do something like that- respectfully showing you’re of lower status than whatever you’re summoning, an attempt to be more in tune with the nature around you, so on. There is some comedy potential for Green walking into the basement, seeing Vio naked and covered in runes, and walking right back out.

While the Era of Light probably doesn’t have a convenient goth scene or even a decently moody bar, I feel like I would be doing a disservice to the subculture if I didn’t mention music. Music is a massive part of the Legend of Zelda experience, and an argument could be made that raw magic- and the ancient language of the gods themselves- might be music. In English, the words incant and enchant both have their roots in the Latin incantare, “to sing”. In Skyward Sword, Fi sings, and both of the sword spirits seem to dance to channel magic. Don’t get me started on Ocarina of Time.

As such, no decent aspiring necromancer worth their salt could neglect the possibility that an understanding of music, particularly funerary songs and the like, might help in resurrecting a dead boyfriend. If there is a spiritual aspect to burial, surely there is an equal and opposite spiritual aspect to unburial. Given how I tend to utilize Gaelic mythology when I think about Minish Cap, there’s topics like the banshee caoine to consider. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Gerudo had professional mourners. Vio is 100% experimenting with the technical side of writing music for ritual purposes and simultaneously writing little heartfelt pieces to go with the grief-filled love poems in the back of his journal that no one gets to read.

That’s all I have for now, but there will be more.

[as-if-and-only-if]

half-thought for later elaboration but:

I think a big part of “doing new stuff competently” in abstract fields is having reliable expectations of the general form that any given excursion in your field must take. If you know what the overall structure of what you’re working with is, how it’s used, what to do with it…you can do new things much more easily. You’re not bogged down in the “implementation details”; you get straight to the point of what you’re doing, instead of worrying about how to do it in the first place. Building these intuitive expectations of what we are doing and how is the real purpose of formal training, I think; learning facts won’t train you in how and why to use them.

Like, for example. In math…

…you’ve got intuitions that restrict what type of activity you’ll be doing. You know you’ll have statements; you know these statements will be connected by proofs, which come from a set of rules and truths you can rely on. You know that any given mathematical object is defined entirely by what we say it can do and the rules of the system it lives in; there won’t be any surprises. And this lets you establish some mental scaffolding and start building.

In contrast, if you didn’t know the form of these activities and phenomena…well, anything could happen! maybe the next problem will involve me chasing down an elephant and taking its photo in a funny hat! we should have more math problems like this actually. who knows! and since I don’t know the form of the thing I’m walking into, it takes a lot longer to get my bearings and start doing stuff which is considered meaningful by research mathematicians—if I can even make out what that stuff would really be in the first place through the forest of scaffolding.

I think I’ve felt like this with coding, actually. When I look at some repo, I feel like I don’t even know where to start in figuring out how it works. What could this thing be doing? Anything!

And maybe this is justified to a certain extent—different languages leverage different abstractions and work in different ways, after all.

But I could probably afford to narrow my idea of the landscape. For example: stuff gets compiled or interpreted. There’s memory and there’s reading from memory and there’s writing to memory. Instructions get executed and data gets manipulated and transmitted between places. Everything in a typical computer bottoms out to more or less the same architecture; you can expect certain circumstantial accidents of history to obtain pretty much everywhere with variations only in the specifics, such as common abstractions like scope and caching and, like, the idea of a variable.

And somehow, my brain knows all this, but throws it out when I start looking at a real project. Uh-oh! This is totally new! it says, not realizing that, well, no it isn’t.

So the key isn’t just knowing the scaffolding: it’s having the confidence and surety to use it, to set it up in novel situations, and to feel as though novel situations must be operating on familiar terms—i.e. on the conceptual scaffolding’s terms.

••••••

But this isn’t to say that these accidents of history and these general frameworks are right. They’re merely convenient for working within the current domain. Sometimes, you’ll want to unlearn these—especially if you want to do really new things. Things that challenge the long-held assumptions implicit in these expectations; paradigm-shift type things.

And then you’ll want to learn how to create this same sort of mental scaffolding for your new way of doing things, so that it’s more than just a novelty!

Ultimately, there is no hard extrinsic distinction between scaffolding and knowledge. Things that are knowledge eventually become scaffolding, and things that are scaffolding are things you know. The difference, really, is in your personal relation to it. How do you use it? When do you use it? How do you feel using it, and how much do you second-guess yourself when using it? Do you know what a given piece of knowledge (or scaffolding) is “for”?

There’s more to say here, but those are some thoughts I’ve been having—motivated by me trying to figure out why coding (specifically “understanding software organization at a project- or stack-level scale and broad level of abstraction”) still feels so vast and confusing.

[makorays]

How the best to not care what other people think because this keep me up at night the most? I got a lot of a lot of controversial (or not depend what kind of person you are) ideas in my head I want to show it to the world but I can't because I worry what other people think (mainly people who know me and care for me) so what the best to not care because I want to write all those thought into a fantasy book with of my mess up thoughts

sigh. i'll at least answer this one, since you're actually asking for help and i can't resist the 1% chance that you might actually be primed to listen to my advice for once.

have you ever considered the idea that the people who react in confusion and annoyance at everything you say might be correct to do so? have you ever thought about changing the way you speak? if you talk to 100 random people and 90 of them end up thinking you're a disgusting, insane, stupid freak, then, well. there's a common variable here, and that variable is you.

maybe you're just really fucking dumb and should shut the fuck up instead of rambling incoherently about all your half-formed schizophrenic philosophies about society? you haven't seen through the system, you just deluded yourself into thinking your dumb ideas were correct.

[tlbodine]

A Lesson in Critical Thinking

It occurs to me that not everybody got particularly robust education (read: any) in how to think critically or apply problem-solving and data collection methods to day-to-day matters they may encounter in their lives. And while I'm no expert in this by any means, I do think I can shed some light on a thing or two.

Let's Say I Have an Observation

It could be anything, from a "fact" someone shared to a pattern I notice in the world -- what matters is it's something I want to verify. For a lighthearted example: I run a discord server, and three members whom I think most of us in the community would consider "cool peeps with their shit together" are polyamorous.

Faced with that observation, one might be tempted to make the claim, "Poly people have their shit together more than the rest of us." And you could even come up with some compelling rationalizations for that, such as, "the poly lifestyle requires so much more communication that people who live it also have better people skills" or hell, even, "living with multiple partners is the ideal state of being, and if we all did that we'd be happier and better-adjusted, too."

And, hey, maybe those things are true! But before we go about spreading that message, maybe we should take a step back and confirm it a bit, hmm?

Checking for Biases

The first thing I'll want to do is think about my claim and validate whether it really feels true and fits within what I generally know about the world:

Are those three people really as "with it" as they seem to be? Am I cherry-picking my evidence to support my conclusion?

Did I see that two people fit the pattern and so lumped in the third polyamorous user with them just to make my argument more compelling?

Might I have a vested interest in wanting this to be true? Does anything about me/my identity hinge on this worldview being correct?

it's important to be honest with yourself at this stage. Confirmation bias is something we can all fall into, and it doesn't make you a bad person -- but it DOES make your data unreliable!

Searching for More Cases

If the claim "polyamorous people are better communicators and more likely to have their shit together" is true, then we should be able to find more examples of it in the wild! Perhaps we should validate our claim by collecting some more data:

Can we survey a population -- say, a polyamory community online -- and capture some raw data? Could we come up with some kind of questionnaire that evaluates the "has-it-together-ness" of a person?

Can we even just informally ask around for other people's experiences? Anecdotes aren't data, but they can help you take a temperature of whether something might be worth investigating further.

Do we have any other experiences we can draw from that might help us validate the claim? Do we have counter-examples in mind who are polyamorous and *don't* have their shit together?

Has anybody ELSE noticed this phenomenon before? Are there studies about it? If so, do they seem well-done? Are the sources credible? (Evaluating a source is a whole other thing and a matter for another guide)

Obviously, a survey is the most scientifically rigorous option -- but you don't have to do a full-on study to validate every single thought and suspicion you have! Sometimes you discover a satisfactory explanation that somebody else has come up with. That's still better than running around espousing a claim you just made up or heard on the street without any further validation!

Eliminating Variables

Okay, so let's say you've acquired some data -- either scientifically collected or informally gathered. And let's say that data does indeed agree with our suspicion! From the results of our hypothetical survey, perhaps we've determined that polyamorous people are indeed more likely to have their shit together (by whatever metric we're judging that against).

Let's see if we can poke some holes in that.

Is there anything else that the people you surveyed have in common that might affect things? For example, if everybody happens to have a stable polycule, could it be that relationship stability is the real factor (as opposed to the number of partners?)

Is where you're finding these people affecting the results? Are people who are in certain types of communities more likely to respond in certain ways? How big was the sample size?

There's a reason why scientific studies eliminate variables, have control groups, and utilize a double-blind method!

The point of all of this is not to make any claims about polyamorous people, and it's not to tell you that you need to complete a scientific study to every thought that pops into your head. The point is to give you a framework for thinking critically about claims and observations. Mentally running through this process ("is my data accurate? am I biased? how could I validate this information? what other explanations might make sense?") might take just a few minutes once you've practiced it, and it can save you from falling for fake news, dangerous pseudoscience, propaganda, and so forth.

Now go out there and think critically!

[holykillercake]

Coin Stealer

Trafalgar Law x psychic!Reader

word count: 3.3k

summary: Law does not believe that you can see dead people, so you crochet him the strange-looking beanie of the strange-looking man that walks around the Polar Tang. 

highlight: ¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

warning: You are entering Trafalgar´s room. 

notes: Bello, ma people! This is the 3/3 part of a lovely anon request in which the s/o makes them a thing with crochet! This time is Dr. Heart Stealer edition!! I really enjoyed writing this, and it got a little long, but I did not want to cut off important things. Anyway, I hope you like it!

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞!

¨Hey, Bepo! Have you seen Law?¨

¨Y/N! I don´t know where he is... I´m sorry.¨

¨Oh, it´s ok!¨ you patted the mink´s shoulder, giving him a warm smile. 

You were never a big fan of his constant apologetic personality, but you couldn´t deny that you missed it during your time apart from the crew. 

The Heart Pirates had parted ways a long time ago when your Captain decided that the time to put his life-long plan in action had finally come. The crew split into three parts, and each one followed a different path. 

After the sudden disappearance of the Strawhats, the Paramount War, the Rocky Port Incident, and Law obtaining his title as a Warlord of the Sea, you were the first to depart, remaining in Sabaody Archipelago, waiting for the owners of the Thousand Sunny to return. You fought alongside a fishman called Hacchin, a weird guy that reminded you of Black Leg and other allies to protect the ship. 

Next to leave was Law, who sailed to Punk Hazard, where he formed a partnership with a crazy scientist bastard. Then the rest of the crew went on their own towards the island where you would meet once the plan was concluded.

The trajectory was not smooth by any means, but you did it, all of you. And now you feasted along with the Strawhats, celebrating whatever it was that you did not understand. Maybe they were like that, or maybe they didn't understand the risks you would take from now on. 

Anyway, the crew seemed to be in need of some music and fun, and you were too busy looking for your Captain to care about that.

In the midst of the evening breeze, the crackling of the fire, and the barrels of beer crashing in celebration, you saw the answer you were looking for.

Of course.

¨If I didn´t love you...¨ you growled as you made your way out of the island to reach the Polar Tang. And let´s face it, that was a detour.

You went straight to your room, where Law would probably be sipping coffee, napping, or just running from the crowds. And just like you, it has been months since he stepped on his own ship and slept in his own bed. 

So maybe you could cut him some slack. 

However, as you approached the room, there was no smell of coffee. No smell of coffee and no light snoring. Just a stillness carried with heavy emotions and your boyfriend, sitting in the dim light holding tight the crochet piece you gave him years ago. You swayed in place, expecting that thing you made to provoke him to be at the sea bottom.

¨Wondering why I kept this?¨ he asked. 

¨Not really.¨ you replied. ¨But I am surprised. Am I disturbing?¨

¨You never do.¨

You jumped on the bed, sitting beside him and resting your head on his shoulder.

¨YN-ya... do you know how he...¨ the question struggled to come out.

¨Peaceful.¨ 

¨Hm.¨ he nodded.

¨I don´t like when he smiles, though. It creeps me out.¨ His body bounced slightly as he joined you in a chuckle. 

¨Remember when you gave me this?¨

¨Of course, you almost kicked me out of the ship!¨ you giggled with the memory.

¨You were really annoying back then.¨

¨Hey! Objection!¨

¨Objection rebuffed.¨ he smirked and moved on the bed, pulling you to lay down on his chest.

You told him to shut up before cuddling in, not falling asleep immediately. None of you said much. Instead, you enjoyed the calming and comfortable silence of each other´s company. 

It has been a while since you had that. 

You remember every moment of your early days as a Heart Pirate. You and Law hadn´t started on the best terms, but he needed you - well, your skills - and you were given a good deal. 

The pivot of your history together began on a chain of coincidences. The first one being both of you docking on the same island. The second one was him finding a rare coin for his collection, the same one you would later slip into your pocket. 

You wandered around towns using the beautiful art of distraction to get anything you wanted from anyone. Watches, necklaces, wallets, and, well, coins? It was all he had in his pocket, and since it was a cute one, you decided to keep it. 

Some called you a thief. Some called you a burglar, and some may even have called you a big son of a bitch. But the thing they all had in common was that none of them knew exactly who they were calling those names. 

The thing is, you messed up the first rule and made eye contact with him. Well, it was more of you not being able to take your eyes off of him. He stood out in the crowd, and you had gotten cocky. So when he later found out about the missing coin, it did not take him long to connect you to it. 

A lot of things went through his mind. He felt frustrated because his Haki failed him, annoyed for the trouble he would have going after you, and intrigued by the touch so light he did not feel at all. 

Or that is what he kept telling himself. 

Yes, he was interested in someone with skills like yours, but maybe there was something else he would not admit. The way you looked at him as if you had deciphered his entire life and found the missing pieces of his puzzle. Even the ones he tried to hide. 

That night he went out for your head. Or better, your heart, literally. 

You were enjoying the comfort of your hotel room, eating some snacks, and playing with your new commemorative coin when he materialized himself by the bed. You instantly knew something was about to go down.

Oh, fuck.

That situation got pretty tense pretty quickly, both ends asking things, and no one willing to offer any answers. The stakes were high, glares cutting the air like blades. It did not help to ease the mood when in the sway of his hand your heart popped out of your chest. 

Long story short, his plan was never to drag you to the Polar Tang. Law wanted you to go willingly, joining his crew in exchange for your heart. However, the unfortunate variable he did not consider in the equation was that you would not go down without a fight. So by the time he reached the ship, he noticed the gentle fresh breeze ruffling his hair. 

You know, since his hair was usually covered by the hat. 

...

THE FREAKING HAT!

The next morning when he returned, you were waiting for him with a satisfied smirk bending your lips, the hat on your head, and the coin dancing between your fingers. 

At some point, you had stolen it, and once again, it passed unnoticed by him. That was not a good night for the Heart Pirates. And that was also the night Trafalgar Law realized a couple of things. The first, he needed you on his crew. And the second, you were going to be the death of him. Or maybe the aneurysm of him, he would not give you such credit. 

¨You´re late.¨ you said, amused, and his grip tightened around the sword.

¨What´s your name?¨ he repeated the question you dodged several times during your last encounter. 

¨What´s with the dog?¨ you pointed at the tall, white polar bear wearing a uniform. Law pursued his lips, breathing heavily through the nose.  

¨I am B-¨

¨Bepo-ya don´t talk to he-¨

¨Your name is Bepoya?¨ you ignored the man, bumping into his shoulder as you walked towards the mink ¨Hi, I´m Y/N! Nice meeting you.¨  

The polar bear looked back and forth at you and his Captain, not knowing how to behave in this situation, so he apologized and stepped farther back. 

¨Alrighty, now that we are all introduced, shall we go?¨ 

¨What?¨

¨Come on, Law, focus.¨ you snapped your fingers multiple times, teasing him. ¨You came here to pick me up, right?¨

¨No. I want my hat back.¨ He tried to grab it, but you ducked in time, holding the hat on your head with both hands. It was so soft. 

¨How about a trade? The coin for the hat.¨

¨How about my hat for your heart? Do this, and I won´t...¨ his words died in his mouth as he clutched his pockets. 

¨Looking for this?¨ You held your heart, wrapped in a cold and gelatinous box that you retrieved when you bumped into him minutes earlier.

How could you fool him again? He kept seeking answers that explained why it was so easy for you to outwit him, and his expression showed. 

¨You´re getting close, Law. Put your little trash can to work.¨ you tapped your temple, smiling mischievously at him. 

¨YN-ya, you know I can kill you, right?¨

¨Yeah, but you won´t.¨

¨How do you know?¨

¨I got a sixth sense for these things.¨ 

The rest of the conversation did not take long to come to an end. Amid sarcastic comments and threats to each other's lives, what should have been the pinnacle of the moment became a random passage in the Heart Pirates´ logbook.

¨So, YN-ya, do you want to join us? You´re gonna have to wear a uniform and address me as Captain.¨

¨I´ll give a chance to the uniform, and I´ll only address you as Captain when you behave as Captain.¨

Law sighed, giving himself a carotid massage ¨Ok. Let´s go.¨

He walked a few steps ahead of you and Bepo, wondering why he spent so much effort on an arrogant thief that wouldn't even call him Captain.

You quickly became friends with the polar bear, even apologizing for calling him a dog. He strangely apologized for your apologies, culminating in what would almost make the notorious Surgeon of Death suffer a stroke.

¨What the hell is that?!¨ you shouted when the Polar Tang entered your field of vision ¨That´s not a ship!¨

What if I am claustrophobic?

The ya thing is a schtick?

Death? That´s a little borderline controversial for a doctor.

Trafalgar more like Trafraude!

On occasions like that, Law wondered how peaceful and quiet would be the sixth level of Impel Down. From a current perspective, your initial interaction served as a vaccine, creating the necessary antibodies Law would need to deal with future pirate alliances. 

The crew got attached to you very quickly. Your adventurous spirit, your stunts, and street trades fascinated them. Losing bets against you seemed acceptable, your card tricks and the thing of guessing the numbers they thought was like fuel for a good day at work.

Law didn't seem to mind that much. After all, you wouldn't get him on his nerves if you were busy with them. However, one day, you let slip something that caught his attention. 

¨YEAH! That´s exactly what she looked like! How did you do this?!¨ 

Law heard Shachi´s roar, followed by a wave of surprised ´ooh´s coming from the kitchen, where the majority of the crew hunched around the dinner table. 

The doctor leaned against the door, silently observing what could possibly be more important than keeping the ship working. He had been drowning in files all night, and now he decided to have a coffee break. That mess early in the morning did not make him happy. 

No one seemed to be too intimidated when he cleared his throat, announcing his presence. Everyone greeted him with smiling 'good mornings' and turned their attention back to you.

 ¨What is going on here?¨

¨Captain did you know Y/N can see dead people?!¨ 

The coffee left a bitter aftertaste on his mouth.

¨What?¨

¨Yeah, Captain!¨ Shachi yelled on Law´s face, earning a death glare ¨She just described my mom!¨

¨Really, Y/N-ya? Now you´re a magician and a psychic?¨ he asked, taking the seat across from you. 

¨The perks of being me.¨ you shrugged. 

¨Do you see more dead people here?¨ 

Yes

¨No. But you sound a little skeptical, Law.¨ 

It was way too early for that discussion, but your biological clock didn't seem to care. Whenever Law came with his teasing, you would be ready to strike back.

He gave everyone a lecture about empathic accuracy and how good you were reading cues communicated by words, emotions, and body language. Or some crap like that. 

¨Ok, let me see if I got this right.¨ You shifted in the chair, hands moving in the air ¨You can pull organs out of people´s bodies, cut them in pieces without killing, switch their souls, but you do not believe that I can see dead people?¨

He tilted his head, but not giving you an exact answer.  

¨Do you wanna know what I think?¨

¨No.¨

¨I´ll tell you anyway. I think you have something you don´t want people to know, like a soft spot or a tragic past.¨ you sought the answer in his eyes ¨I´m guessing a loved one who died?¨ 

Overall, he was not wrong. You were a master in reading people´s body language, but you were not a jackass. So when the slight twitch of his mouth cleared up your doubts, it was time to stop. 

You knew how it felt, soft spots, tragic pasts, or late loved ones. There was no need to go further and throw more salt on his wounds. Hopefully, that taught him a lesson. 

An awkward silence ensued while everyone watched the scene, uncertain how to act, fearful that an extra spark would make everything explode into massive destruction.

¨Whatever.¨ he sighed ¨Show´s over. We´ll be reaching land in a few days, and we should be preparing to dock.¨ 

When everyone left the kitchen to go about their businesses, you remained alone with the figure that constantly wandered the submarine. He didn't do it in a creepy way. Despite his extravagant makeup and the intimidating aura, he was not a bother.

And it wasn't like he was there all the time, definitely more than anyone else. His passages were guaranteed on the days when Law was more sensitive. For bad or for good. He would look after him from the distance like a parenting figure. 

¨Who are you?¨ you murmured under your breath. 

For the next few days, Law made sure you were too busy to foster discussions about dead people or paranormal abilities.

When your services stealing rare supplies or getting answers to your Captain's questions you weren't required, you would help him with mountains of paperwork.

Only this time, he had outdone himself.

He managed to assemble the annual check-up of the crew, the inventory packing list, and the update of the logbook at once. This last one could easily wait until after you docked. But that freaking workaholic sadistic surgeon would not let this opportunity slip. So you pulled several all-nighters writing, signing, and stamping, all without exchanging a single word.

When you emerged, a few miles from land, you barely enjoyed the fresh breeze and sunlight. The crew hopped around, getting ready to put their feet on the continent as you sat in the kitchen profusely grouchy.

Your brain was fried, burnt, carbonized. 

¨You´re not coming?¨ Penguin asked, and you shook your head. ¨It´s been a while, Y/N, you should come.¨ you shook your head again. ¨I guess you´re not buying anything for the Captain´s birthday as well.¨

An incohesive question came out of your exhausted being. Penguin couldn´t help but feel sorry for you. ¨By the time his birthday comes up, we will be underwater, so everyone is preparing.¨ 

¨Do I have to?¨

¨No!¨ he chuckled ¨He doesn´t really like it, but we still buy him something.¨

¨Why?¨

¨´Cause he is a good Captain!¨ he said and sprunt out by the voice of someone calling him, waving goodbye at you. 

 It wasn't that you didn´t think Law was a good Captain. It was just an inherent nature of yours to clash every time you looked at each other. 

But on such occasion, you could combine the useful with the pleasant. After all, you were grateful because he gave you friends. Of course, he was the unfortunate by-product that came with them, but you could handle him. 

So fighting against your will to stay and sleep, you forced your way out to the solid ground, hoping to find the most random store someone could wish for, a haberdasher. 

Much to your delight, you did it. You picked a burgundy color wool and the first hook you put your eyes on and returned to your soft bed. 

The chances of you having scared your crewmates by staring at the blank for hours were high. In reality, you wanted to memorize and come up with a pattern for the strange-looking beanie that man wore. 

It had no pompom at the top like Penguin´s. Instead, two long pieces of fabric ran down from each side with heart-like things hanging.

When the sixth day of the tenth month arrived, Law´s desk was cluttered with presents. You had decided to wait until you were done with work and heading to bed to give it to him. 

After conquering that task, you locked yourself in your room, where you stayed until you had it finished. For some reason, you bothered to buy a box to put it in. Whatever.  

On the sixth day of the tenth month, Trafalgar Law could not focus on work. Every slight movement of yours, every bathroom break got him jittery, rehearsing words that wouldn´t make you hate him more. 

Not that you ever hated him, but you didn´t talk, so he didn´t know. After some time starting small talks and being ignored, you just gave up trying. 

By the end of that night, he had given up too. So when you placed the golden-yellow box on his desk, he couldn´t vocalize his feelings. It became just another silent night. 

Chests tight and hearts clogged with unspoken words. 

Law did not work for the next couple of days, and if he left his room, no one saw. The gifts on his desk were not even opened. Everything was left the way it was. 

Maybe you had crossed a line. 

As you marched up to the room at the end of the hall, several paths popped into your mind. You could act like you didn´t care, so what if you left? You had been alone for so long, it wouldn't make any difference! Still, something was begging you to apologize. To ask to stay, because being there was good, everything you never knew you wanted.

You were ready to pack your bags and have your title as a Heart Pirate retracted when you woke up one morning, finding a note on your desk telling you to meet him in his room. Your nails dug into your sweaty palms. Where did this tightness in your chest come from?

When you set foot in the room, your eyes hovered around. It was the first time you saw Law's room. It was exactly how you thought it would be.

Keeping your gaze locked on his was more difficult. He was sitting in an armchair near the foot of the bed. From afar, his appearance remained neat, as always, but as you approached you saw the circles under his eyes even darker. A thing you didn't think was possible.

For the first time, you didn't know how to read his expression. And seeing him vulnerable like that made your stomach drop. So you prepared yourself for the worst. However, to your surprise, all he did was ask you questions. 

No snarky remarks. You just talked.    

That day something changed. And from that day on, Law had found someone to help him carry the unbearable weight he had on his shoulders, and you found a place to call home. 

                                                             ...

¨Y/N-ya.¨ he called you, who was a cuddle away from sleeping.

¨Hm?¨

¨Before you left, in Sabaody...¨

¨Uhm.¨

¨You stole the coin again, didn´t you?¨ 

You giggled and pulled the commemorative coin from your back pocket, snuggling closer to his body and feeling the vibration of his chest as he chuckled.

Extra notes: I hope you had enjoyed it! It came out a little too long, but I have been feeling like I´m limiting myself when it comes to the number of words... I don´t know, I´m confused. 

Anyway, is that pink and red that I see on the horizon?

[aerltarg]

Maybe this is a stupid question, buuuuut:

I just can't imagine a world that Rhaegar comes back from the Trident, wins the war and becomes king. No, I'm not a anti Rhaegar, matter of fact I like him very much, I'm just can imagine how would Lya, little Jon, this whole affair, would settle in the capital. The norm that fics (at least those I read) tend to follow is to make Rhaegar:

1. A douche, paranoid and destiny-obessed king.

2. Completely incompetent, aloof monarch, that deep down has a heart of gold, but can't really be understood.

I mean, isn't he supposed to be a scholar since he was a kid? What's are your thoughts about it?

oh, yeah, i can totally understand this! it's is the whole point in canon actually, "the wrong man came back from the trident". you would expect a hero win against his antagonist and have a happy ending w his lady love but it doesn't happen. instead the subversion happens to them with rhaegar being killed by robert who becomes obviously a shitty king and lyanna dying after him. they were never supposed to have happy ending, they were created as tragic and doomed and dead from the beginning for the whole plot to start, jon to have his parentage mystery and dany to take the passed baton as the last dragon, prophesied savoir and the heir who has to carry entire house on her back now.

as for the realistic rhaegar wins aus that's the difficult question. tbh we just don't know enough abt their situation, plans and wishes. you see, e.g. in agot we can be right in ned's head and see his motivations, what he was thinking abt, what he was planning, what he was hoping to do. but if his story was told the way rhaegar's was i bet he would have his own crowd of haters and ~intellectuals~ jumping out every two seconds w their "hot takes" how actually all hints abt what rlly happened (ned being a good man w his own sense of honour, justice and experiences affecting him and the deal w cersei's children) doesn't matter and he was an ambitious prick, planned to grasp the power by being joffrey's regent and make his daughter sansa queen. (you can actually insert there any bullshit and still don't reach the level of stupidity of such "hot takes" this fandom loves so much lmao). also he would be blamed to the hell and beyond for being too stupid and not foreseeing the future and actions of other ppl bc ofc after everything happened it's so easy to say what was so obvious to notice. also they would say that the deaths of his men and horrible fates of his kids are 100% his fault and even straight up say he killed them lmao. i can rant abt it for hours so yeah. this is a situation w too many unknown variables bc it depends too much on actions of too many characters we don't know enough abt. the only thing it's possible to tell for sure is the fact that there couldn't be any perfect solutions since things got too complicated at this point.

such fics as you've mentioned tho are just a part of this dumb fanon where rhaegar is "too prophecy obsessed"/"incapable of love"/shrodinger's rhaegar both smart and stupid at the same time/whatever/all of this combined lmfao. the man was notably intelligent from the early age as you've absolutely rightly mentioned, his guesses abt himself being tptwp have nothing to do w egocentrism as some parts of the fandom would want us all to believe unless he wouldn't be so reasonable abt it and later on, after so many years, wouldn't have changed his mind and thought his son could be tptwp.

and literally fuck all antis that think you shouldn't consider prophecies that hold real power in this fantasy world lol. you know, aegon the conqueror was said to be motivated (or at least partly) to unify westeros by the prophecy and still got the treatment of perfect/maximum close to perfect figure of a leader everyone should look up to from the narrative and grrm. prophecy obsessed much, huh? i don't even talk abt all these parallels between him and rhaegar grrm put there not for bitches to ignore them completely! and i will never get tired of reminding that dismissing prophecies is UNWISE for targaryens of all people. the house whose story is built on the dream of young daenys and her father aenar that listened to her despite common sense (or what local "anti magic"/"anti prophecies" clowns consider to be common sense). targs would be as dead as the rest of dragonlords if not for daenys the dreamer. who else in the world has as many reasons to take prophecies seriously as them?

yet antis out there act as if rhaegar is one dimensional weirdo whose every character trait is abt mf ~prophecy obsession~. like how can they miss one of the main points so badly?? the game of thrones distracts ppl from the real danger beyond the wall, yk, the one rhaegar was aware of and meant to deal with. there wouldn't be such a problem if he became king and had as many years of head start before ice zombies apocalypse as ignorant bobby b did. rhaegar had to die just for westeros to sink in shit and our main heroes to save everyone to make this story more epic LMAO

so yeah, too many ppl portray rhaegar as this one dimensional robotic creature without any knowledge of what feelings are idk even for what reason. it seems these ppl can't read for real bc rhaegar was not only intelligent af as well as dutiful ("it seems i must be a warrior" but "he loved his harp more than his lance") but also. ugh emotional?? my boy had constant emo sessions w brooding at ruins of summerhall, sleeping out there beneath the stars all alone and writing songs that made all women cry. does it sound as someone who "isn't capable of love" lol? folks act as if he was completely heartless from the day he was born (bc he didnt play w other kids ig??) but in reality their emotional range is less than the one of a spoon in comparison to rhaegar's lol. i'm not even gonna address the horrible attitude of demonizing him for his implied depression, vile clowns never listen to themselves when they talk abt targaryens and their "madness".

tldr; these fics are mostly lame af and suck at characterization if they're making rhaegar like that lol. anyway his character isn't abt being a good or a bad king, it's abt being a would-be-king for characters in books and readers in reality to sigh over his tragic aura and pretty aesthetic abt how it could've been. however, grrm clearly doesn't write rhaegar as evil or incapable as some parts of the fandom would want to try to persuade others. realistically speaking in the scenario where he wins there couldn't be any perfect decisions but it's a territory of speculations on thin air and lit nothing more since canon doesn't provide us with enough information to rlly theorize anything instead of building biased headcanons some ppl call "analysis".

but remember what barristan said about rhaegar while practically watching him all his life, from a literal baby to the man grown:

“I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded.” (ASOS, Daenerys I)

“Prince Rhaegar’s prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.” (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

[leupagus]

On being a boss

Piggybacking off my earlier comment about how politicians are employees; I don’t think enough people realize that that means we are their bosses. And while I know many folks who are reading this have never thought of themselves has being in a position of authority over anyone, the minute you become an eligible voter, that’s literally what you are. There are different names for it—voter, constituent, stakeholder—but it all means the same thing. You’re a boss, baby.

And that means you need to be an effective boss.

Think about how authority figures in your life have influenced you, either well or badly. Did the PTA meeting between your parents and your teachers always fill you with dread? That’s how politicians feel about polls. Do you hate getting summoned into a boss’s office to get reamed over something you did wrong? That’s how politicians feel about town halls. Did you get absolutely devastated over losing a job or not getting a job you really wanted? That’s how politicians feel when they get beaten in elections.

I’m not saying this to encourage you to have empathy for politicians—although honestly maybe remembering that they’re human beings once in a while wouldn’t kill some of you—but rather to show you how to be effective at getting your employee to do what you want.

Now, obviously there are some big differences in terms of scale; you are, please remember, not this politician’s only boss and almost certainly not their most influential. And politicians also listen to people who aren’t their bosses, like their donors or their family or their friends or their party leaders or the companies they came from pre-political career or the ones they want to join post-political career (they call it the revolving door for a reason). Those people aren’t their bosses, but they have pull all the same. So there’s that.

But even though the scale is different, all of us, no matter how young (including the 12-year-old who’s stumbled on this post) have had to deal with the pressures of multiple authority figures wanting us to do completely different things RIGHT NOW. So think back on those situations and consider what choices you made in those moments. Whose “orders” did you follow: was it the boss who would be most upset if you disappointed them, was it the boss who would retaliate the most harshly if you crossed them, was it the boss who would reward you if you pleased them, was it the boss who wanted you to do something that you yourself already wanted to do/planned to do anyway?

That’s not a trick question, I promise; chances are that your answer changes based on a shitton of variables. And because politicians are human beings, they also have different answers to that question. Sometimes they go with the people who gave them the most money in the last election (although that happens less often than you think, and way less often the more powerful a politician gets, for obvious reasons). Sometimes they go with the people who agree with them. Sometimes they go with the people who voted for them. Sometimes they even go with what they sincerely believe is right (anybody rolling their eyes at this wasn’t paying attention during the political massacre that took place after Dems rammed through the ACA in 2009; there are a dozen or so people whose political careers ended because they voted for it).

So as your politician’s boss, you have to figure out what tactic is most effective to get your employee to do what you want, because as nice as it sounds, you can’t just fire them every time they piss you off. So think about a politician whose mind you want to change—your Congressman doesn’t want to support climate legislation, let’s say. Look at her record and her interviews and past elections: what’s influenced her over the years and what’s changed her mind. Then you know where the pressure points are.

Of course you, by yourself, can’t make your politicians do whatever you want every time; not even whatever boogeyman people conjure up like the Koch brothers or Bill Gates or George Soros can do that (and believe me, a lot of them have tried). But, you do have more power than you think: you can attend a town hall and confront your wayward politician, you can volunteer for promising opponents, you can call her office and find out if her staff take in-person meetings (less common these days but my mayor does do zoom calls, lol). You can even run for something yourself; it’s really not as stupid as it sounds, especially if you’re not the only one in the field, because more people running is always a good thing. These are all time-consuming and energy-consuming options, and I know we’re all exhausted. But we’re also bosses, and we’ve got to do what we can to ensure our employees do the best job they can.

Besides, politicians change their minds based on their voters’ influence all the time—Bernie Sanders, for example, is a principled opponent of the US’s foreign policy and believes we should withdraw from the “forever wars” that we’ve been embroiled in for decades. But he also championed the construction of the... uh, not-exactly-practical F-35 fighter jet, which over the years has cost almost as much as the entire COVID relief bill that just passed. Sanders didn’t support it because he’s a hypocrite or a warmonger in disguise; he supported it because it brought crucial, desperately-needed jobs to Vermont, and he genuinely cares about his constituents. Sanders has also credited the influence of his constituents on his championing of queer rights and gay marriage, before most other politicians were sticking their necks out in support, because the people who spoke with him changed his mind. And while you can argue that Sanders is unique amongst politicians, he really isn’t; Biden himself came out in support of gay marriage just a couple years afterward—in an election year, no less, and I remember the absolute panic that set in about whether or not his radical notions would cost Obama reelection. (It’s weird thinking that it’s been a little under six years since Obergefell, isn’t it???)

Every day we’re seeing politicians getting pushed one way or another by their voters; the mayor of Austin had to go to court to defend his city’s mask mandate, for example, and Florida cities are fighting to keep their own mandates going despite their shitty governor doing everything he can to undermine them. (There are other examples but it’s Saturday morning, what do you want from me.) They can be pushed, and they should be.

To write politicians off as evil monsters who are doing a bad job because they’re just amoral is to ignore your job as their boss; if you want your employee to work for you, you’ve got to figure out why they aren’t (or if they aren’t, which: I could go into that whole thing but this is already longer than my dick). And then you can decide whether to push your influence, which you do in fact have, to either change them or replace them. It’s up to you. Go be a boss, baby.

[gendercensus]

On plural inclusivity and "plural they"

In the Gender Census feedback box and elsewhere I have frequently been asked:

to make the annual Gender Census survey more inclusive of plural participants, and

to add "plural they" to the checkbox pronouns list alongside "singular they" in order to be inclusive of plural participants.

It's a rambling topic, so I'll address them in sections in that order.

~

INCLUSIVITY RE: PLURAL PARTICIPANTS

I've been inviting plural people to take part in a short survey about the Gender Census, asking questions that help me get a feel for the issues involved and asking about whether people feel included in the survey (and why or why not). At the time of writing there have been 139 responses, I will leave it open for ongoing feedback, and I'm unlikely to be publishing the spreadsheet of results in full because the responses are off-topic and very personal. However, I will refer to some individual responses as well as my personal experience discussing inclusion with plural systems.

Here's a graph based on the responses so far:

I'm asking for direct feedback about this issue because over the past few years plural folks have been one of the more consistently vocal groups in the feedback box of the survey and elsewhere, which would usually be fine, but I've been finding it very overwhelming and confusing. I think that's because the advice/demands/questions have been unusually inconsistent, often to the point of being in direct opposition to each other, and the result is that I have no idea what to do.

Before now, most plural people have understood that it's quite a nuanced issue. When asked I would explain that if they felt that filling it in once for the whole system made more sense they should do that, and if individual system members felt strongly that they should participate alone then they could do so.

This year it got to the point where I had to make a decision and write unambiguous, easy-to-follow guidance about how plural people should fill in the survey, because I had one system submitting dozens of responses and giving the exact same three points of feedback, paraphrased, over and over - making it look like many unconnected people felt strongly about these particular issues, when in reality it was all this one system. I decided that, to be as fair as possible, plural people should fill in the survey once per body.

When I posted about the "once per body" policy on social media I received very little direct feedback, which leaves me in the position of not knowing whether that's because I did it right and you have no complaints or because you've all jumped ship! The statistics and comments from the plural feedback survey are very helpful in this regard:

It seems that plural participants, on the whole, are fairly understanding about it all, often supportive, and are still able to participate. ("Unknown" and "no strong feelings" together are a much higher proportion than I expected.) Some positive feedback included appreciation for the ability to select as many gender identities and pronouns as one wants. Common arguments against the policy include feeling that system members are not treated as people in their own right, which is understandable; the Gender Census is designed to present practicable data about nonbinary people for use within a system that assigns one identity per body, socially and bureaucratically. A "once per body" policy makes sense when prioritising nonbinary people, but adds to the list of crap that only plural people have to struggle through when they're not the main focus of the research.

I was surprised that only a couple of people pointed out that some systems have amnesia between members, and so some systems may participate more than once per body unintentionally. (I understand that this is unavoidable, and I certainly wouldn't be upset about it. Sometimes non-plural people participate more than once by accident, too! On the scale we're talking about, I'm unlikely to even notice it happening.)

Back when I first started to get requests to make the Gender Census more plural-inclusive, my first move was to ask people what exactly they felt excluded by. Responses to this have been continuously nebulous, to the extent that I don't think I have ever made any design changes to the annual survey at all as a result. I also asked what they would do to improve the survey and help them to feel included, but this has yielded very few viable ideas for how to move forward, just because so many of the ideas that people suggest are mutually exclusive.

As an example, I spoke to one member of a system who expressed, understandably, that their experience of themselves as plural inextricably affected their experience of their gender(s), and after some discussion they concluded that the two were so intertwined that it made the most sense for it to be included in the identity question, e.g. a checkbox called "plural" alongside nonbinary, genderqueer, trans, etc. I explained that I don't arbitrarily add things to the checkbox list, but it would be counted if it was typed into a textbox underneath, and if it went over 1% I would consider adding it to the checkbox list. They became increasingly angry. The only way this situation would make sense for them moving forward was if I added "plural" as an identity checkbox option immediately. Conversely, just a couple of weeks previously I had spoken with a member of a system who was very vocally distressed at the idea of plurality being conflated with gender, and wanted to make sure that I never added "plural" as an identity checkbox option.

As another example, in the plural feedback survey when I asked people how they felt about the "once per body" policy, a member of one system was against it and said "it feels like this policy doesn’t recognize us as separate people", but a member of another system was in favour and said "we're encouraged by our therapist to think of ourselves as dissociated parts of a whole. So we're all one person, just not directly connected like a singlet [non-plural person] would be. From that perspective, it makes sense to keep us as one person in the gender census, no matter how many genders we have." It's not possible to reconcile these two perspectives.

From the very beginning up until now, the unifying theme for feedback from plural people and their allies is "please be more inclusive of plural people." That's a really good start! After that it becomes a plate of tangled spaghetti.

Here are some themes I've managed to tease out, and my thoughts.

"Each system's alter should be able to participate in the survey individually if they want to." Some systems have literally hundreds of alters, and several systems have acknowledged in the feedback survey that this is probably both impractical for many plural people and unfair on singlets.

"We're okay with taking part once for all of us in the system, but we're just checking all the boxes that apply to at least one of us, and some of those are explicitly disliked by at least one of us. This is uncomfortable." I think that's... probably okay, actually. Other subcategories of participants whose identities fluctuate that strongly (e.g. a genderfluid person who is sometimes very male and sometimes extremely not male) or whose pronouns are context-dependent are also in this predicament. Participants often express a desire to rank their identity terms by importance, accuracy, fluctuation or frequency. The survey aims to collect broad and fuzzy data about a very large group of people, to monitor trends and let people know what language we're comfortable with on the whole. This survey just isn't looking for that kind of nuance.

"We're okay with taking part in the survey once for everyone in the system, but there should be a way to separate out responses about different alters within that one response." It's literally impossible to program the survey to have infinite subsections for each alter, but if it were possible, what would I do with the data? I think the most likely approach would be combining into a list of identities etc. "per body". The participant would feel better for being able to enter different words for different alters, but it would be more work for them, and it would be more work for me to process responses from plural people just to have them be counted like those from non-plural people.

"There should be a 'plural' checkbox in the identity list so that we can express that our gender is influenced by our plurality." I consider adding terms to the identity checkbox list when they're typed into the textboxes by over 1% of participants. There are some situations where I'll make an exception to that rule, but it's unusual and this isn't one of them. Whether you enter a term using a checkbox or a textbox makes no difference to how well-represented you are in the results.

Maybe just a question that asks if you're plural, with a checkbox? What would this checkbox do? Plurality is beyond the scope of the survey, along with things like height and eye colour. It would allow curious people to analyse the responses using plurality as a variable, but I wouldn't include it in any analysis in an annual Gender Census report.

That last one is particularly interesting, because it's what I actually did in the supplementary survey. I wasn't 100% sure in advance whether or not I would need that information for the singular vs. plural they issue, so I included an "I am/we are plural" checkbox just to be on the safe side. As far as I could tell, the survey was no more or less materially inclusive than the annual Gender Census survey. There were a couple of interesting patterns to report in the statistics, but the main things I noticed were:

Feedback saying that the survey wasn't inclusive of plural people was non-existent.

Several people thanked me in the feedback box for making the survey plural-inclusive.

Several people promoted the survey on social media by using its plural-inclusivity as a selling point.

Again, the supplementary survey didn't take a different approach. There was no particular difference in language, there was no indication that whether or not you're plural would be integral to the reporting of the results or even used at all, the only difference was the existence of a checkbox that let participants declare their plurality.

That's all it took to cause a complete U-turn in feedback. A checkbox that doesn't relate to gender or connect to any of the other questions in any way, and isn't particularly statistically useful based on the supplementary survey. It doesn't make the survey more inclusive, it just acknowledges that some participants are plural, and gives them a way to declare it.

Whether or not participants are plural is beyond the scope of the Gender Census, which aims to collect broad data about how we as nonbinary and otherwise genderly-interesting people want the world to see and describe us. It just doesn't make sense to include questions about plurality in future surveys. But I'm honestly amazed and a little confused, because until the "once per body" policy was added it seems that there wasn't actually anything about the Gender Census that prevented plural people from participating, at least not more than anyone else whose genders change significantly over time.

~

SHOULD "PLURAL THEY" BE ADDED TO THE CHECKBOX PRONOUN LIST?

This is something that participants often ask me to do in order to make the survey more plural-inclusive, so I decided to seriously consider it.

The first draft of the supplementary survey asked over 1,000 participants about this issue, but I had to scrap those responses and then redesign and restart it because, even though dictionaries are fairly clear on what exactly "singular they" is, a lot of survey participants who are not dictionaries seemed to be in disagreement (or confusion) about what singular they and plural they actually are. I have been unable to find any academic or reference articles online using the phrase "plural they" at all.

Here are some of the things people have told me recently:

"Singular they" is when you use "they" with singular verbs, e.g. they is a teacher.

I can't say that I use "singular they" pronouns because I always say "they are". "They is" just sounds wrong to me.

"Plural they" is when you use "singular they" pronouns to refer to a system/someone who is plural.

"Singular they" and "plural they" are grammatically identical except for the name.

"Singular they" and "plural they" are functionally the same and should be combined into one option called "they" in the annual survey.

Let's start by stating what we do know for sure.

~

THEY VS. SINGULAR THEY

For the record, "singular they" is defined by its purpose and context, not the specific words used.

Wiktionary says:

they (third-person, nominative case, usually plural, sometimes singular, objective case them, possessive their, possessive noun theirs, reflexive themselves, or, singular, themself)

It then goes on to specify three use-cases:

third-person plural, referring to two or more people

third-person singular, referring to one person

"indefinite pronoun" - people; some people; people in general; someone, excluding the speaker. E.g. "they didn’t have computers in the old days."

So we've got "they" (groups), "singular they" (individuals), and "indefinite they" (an "other" that is ambiguous in number).

Again, I have never found anything academic or, er, dictionarical (lexicographical?) that calls any of the forms "plural they", so my first job is to find out whether what Gender Census participants are calling "plural they" is the same as what the dictionary just calls "they", which is defined as the set used to refer to two or more people. For the purposes of this article I will call it regular "they".

~

WHICH WORDS MAKE UP SINGULAR THEY?

Even though most dictionaries will state which words make up singular they, and it's usually they/them/their/theirs/themself, if you change individual words within the set or even around the set it is still called "singular they" if it is used to refer to only one person. This might happen due to regional or cultural variations. So whether you say "they is a writer" or "they are a writer", whether you say "themself" or "themselves", if you're talking about only one person, it's still singular they.

In the annual survey, singular they is consistently chosen in the checkbox pronoun options by the most participants, usually more than twice as popular as the next most popular option. (I use the dictionary-provided set, and I've checked it's still the most commonly used in several polls and surveys along the way.) In the annual survey, singular they is presented as:

singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself (e.g. "they are a writer")

~

WHICH WORDS MAKE UP PLURAL THEY?

I had never heard of "plural they" before people started asking me to add it to the checkbox list in the feedback box of the annual Gender Census survey, but it seemed clear from the name that it is meant to be contrasted with singular they, and I wondered if perhaps everyone else had been calling regular "they" (for referring to two or more people) "plural they" this entire time and I just hadn't noticed.

It was specifically presented to me by participants as a pronoun that a plural system could claim, and that a plural system might prefer over singular they. This tallied with my initial assumption that "plural they" may just be regular "they" referring to groups, since a system is a body containing two or more distinct individuals, so if they wanted to be referred to as a group then singular they would be inappropriate and regular "they" would fit.

I went to the pronouns spreadsheet of the 2021 Gender Census, and took every pronoun set that was named and copied it into a new spreadsheet. I ran a query to list all sets that contained both the words "plural" and "they" in the name field. There were 71 results, out of ~44,500 total responses. I ran another query to find out what these people were entering in the reflexive field, and here's what I got:

themselves - 61 (85.9%)

theirselves - 3

them - 2

themself - 2

themself (plural) - 2

theirself - 1

So I think it's safe to say that the set that people are calling "plural they" uses "themselves" as the reflexive, which is consistent with dictionaries' reporting of regular "they".

I conclude that most people do mean regular "they" when they refer to "plural they". "Plural they" seems to be they/them when used to refer to two or more people, including the plural reflexive "themselves".

As in "singular they", if you change individual words within the set or even around the set it is still called regular "they" if it is used to refer to two or more people. This might happen due to regional or cultural variations. So whether you say "they is writers" or "they are writers", whether you say "themself" or "themselves", if you're talking about two or more people, it's still regular "they" (or plural they).

~

IS PLURAL THEY GETTING SMUSHED INTO ANOTHER PRONOUN/GROUP?

I recently explored the (apparently unintentional) overlap of Spivak (e/em) and Elverson (ey/em). In case you've not read it, here's a brief overview: I found that it might be that Elverson (not on the checkbox list) is many times more popular than Spivak (on the checkbox list), even though it isn't being written into the pronouns textboxes often enough for it to reach the 1% threshold. Since the two sets are identical except for that one letter in the subject form, it is very likely that many of the people who use Elverson (ey/em) pronouns are choosing the Spivak checkbox option in the annual survey because they don't realise the spelling is different, or they think that they are minor spelling variants of the same set. I concluded that in order to get a fair count of both sets I will need to list both in the checkbox options next year, even though Elverson hasn't been typed in by over 1% of participants yet.

It's possible that the same thing is happening with singular and plural they. I ran a couple of Twitter polls, asking people whose pronouns are they/them which set they prefer, and presented answers like this:

a) Singular they, referring to only 1 person: they are themSELF

b) Singular they, referring to only 1 person: they are themSELVES

c) Plural they, referring to 2+ people: they are themSELVES

Here's the results, with 927 usable responses:

The results of this poll are really useful, because it allowed people to choose between singular and plural they AND themself and themselves, in combination. We can see that of the people who call their pronouns "singular they" (referring to only one person), the majority prefer "themself" as the reflexive, but a respectable proportion prefer singular they with "themselves", even when presented with the option of "plural they" (referring to two or more people).

(I have a policy of providing the most popular word choices in checkboxes, so I will continue to provide a they/them checkbox option that says "singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself", but since singular they is consistently the most popular pronoun this is something I like to keep checking in on.)

If we apply these proportions to the 2021 Gender Census responses and imagine that everyone whose pronouns are they/them chose "singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself" regardless of how accurate that is, this would mean that 3.7% of all respondents would check a "plural they" box, which is well above the 1% threshold for adding something to the checkbox list. Why not add it to the list, the way I'll also be adding Elverson to the list? This graph may help:

I generally consider it unwise to make big decisions based on Twitter polls, because the sample is much smaller and more biased than a standalone survey. Twitter requires membership, Twitter membership is skewed younger, and younger members are more likely to use Twitter often and see polls when they appear.

However, even I can't deny that there is a very clear mandate here for Elverson to be added to the checkbox list. When given a straight choice between the Spivak, Elverson, both, and neither/something else, participants were over six times more likely to choose Elverson over Spivak. (For context, Spivak got 4.3% in the 2021 Gender Census as a checkbox option.) Even if this poll were somehow put to the entire Gender Census participant group, it's hard to imagine a scenario where the results shift enough that Elverson gets a lower percentage than Spivak.

4.7% of a smaller sample of younger Twitter members just isn't enough to push me to add something to the checkbox options. I really hope that everyone whose pronouns are "plural they" takes the time to type it into next year's survey as a pronoun distinct from "singular they", so that if they do end up being over 1% of participants I can add "plural they" to the checkbox options.

~

IN CONCLUSION

As far as I can tell, the Gender Census doesn't particularly exclude plural participants. Systems are still able to take part, so it is at least as inclusive as any other survey of a similar nature, maybe even more so thanks to the ability to choose multiple gender identities and pronouns "per body".

There isn't sufficient evidence to support adding "plural they" to the list of checkbox pronouns at this time, and systems can be represented in results by typing any plural-inclusive terms and pronouns that are not on checkbox lists into some of the many textboxes provided, as any other participant would be expected to do.

The "once per body" participation policy is uncomfortable for a significant number of plural people. However, due to the intensely varied experiences of plural people, any policy on that issue that I impose would make some plural people uncomfortable - and it turns out that I chose the "side" that plural people are more likely to agree with. The survey isn't intending to collect or convey the more nuanced information that plural people (and others) have said that they would like to provide.

A separate question that specifically asks participants whether they're plural makes systems feel seen and acknowledged, but is beyond the scope of the project and doesn't add value to the data or analysis.

So, I will not be making any changes to the Gender Census at this time, based on the information I've gathered so far. However, I welcome further feedback in the plural participants' feedback form, which will remain open, anonymous and private.

~

Edit: Follow-up.

[vegalocity]

Kisses 17 and 26 and Touches 15 with MKsdadshipping?

Affection meme

17. kisses as a promise

26. giggling while kissing

15. hugging each other

For some reason fluff wasn't coming to me for these, so I said to myself "how funny would it be if i managed to make this an angst fill?" and now here we are

this just in: three middle aged(-ish one of them's immortal) men in a polyam trio are completely blind to what they bring to the dynamic and all consider themselves as the 'awkward third one whose just kinda there lowkey ruining things'

--

It was more than he deserved.

All of this.

To the point where every so often he’d have to peer at the world around them and the two of them just to be sure he hadn’t somehow been fooled and was being left to rot in an illusion, or perhaps that calabash those silver and gold brothers still had about.

But no, the world was as it should be around him, unless whatever it was was so thoroughly good at crafting its illusions it could fool even the Monkey King himself. For all intents and purposes, he was in reality.

And in reality, he had his two greatest loves back. It wasn’t perfect of course. Neither of them remembered their pasts alongside him, sp as far as their own histories were concerned, he was in fact the interloper while they’d been around each other for years already. He was… an untested variable.

An interloper.

It wasn’t like this was as it was back then, when the three of them had slotted together practically as one despite the superficial dynamic of master and two eldest disciples.

But they didn’t have that anymore, and he was okay with it. It was probably just the echoes of Sanzang and Baije that made them decide to bring him into their little fold, and he was okay with it.

Besides, it made for a lovely view. The way Tang would tease and taunt Pigsy with that adoring glint in his eye just because he thought he looked cute when he was mad. How he was pretty sure Pigsy would purposely rise to the bait more than he actually was getting angry because that was simply how their relationship worked by that point. How before too long had passed the two would stop and begin to laugh. A sweet domestic peck shared between chuckles.

It was beautiful in its simplicity. He was glad he was allowed to peer in.

It was more than he deserved for how he'd failed them so long ago.

--

Look, here’s the thing.

Even before they’d found out about all of this reincarnation business, Tang had been possibly the biggest Monkey King fan in China (Though Xiaotian may have given him a run for his money if all of that successor nonsense hadn’t started up) and that was all well and good when he might as well have been just another historical figure.

And then he was a far more common figure in their lives and Pigsy had grown a bit… worried. Mostly that his husband would embarrass himself in front of his idol of course. Then… you know.. Sun Wukong proved himself to be a complete and utter dork and the mystique began to fall away, and Pigsy found he liked Sun Wukong a lot better than he’d ever liked The Monkey King.

And then… well.. Sometimes things really do just fall into place, don’t they?

Of course, nothing was without its bumps, and Pigsy was man enough to admit that sometimes he just couldn’t keep up with his husband and boyfriend when the two of them got rolling on something. Bouncing from topic to topic fired back and forth like a Ping Pong Volleyball match right when he realized he might have something to add to a topic of conversation they were already about three subject changes away from it. And he wasn’t about to be that guy that says ‘back on that earlier thing though-’ and derail the whole flow.

After a certain point he’d just feel lost, catching up let alone keeping up a far away dream. Sure once one of them noticed that they’d gotten carried away they’d both apologize and be all awkward about it, usually stay on a topic for quite a bit longer, but Pigsy could tell it was just to include him so he usually assured them he was happy just listening.

He’d watch as either of them got back into what they were talking about, and whatever historical document Tang had offhandedly mentioned he’d give a limb just to peer at Wukong would mention he had a copy off off-handedly. And he’d at least get a laugh out of the shocked/awed/excited look that only Sun Wukong seemed to be able to bring out of him, as the Monkey King promised to be right back, he just needed to pop over to his mountain to grab it. Gently peking Tang on the cheek and winking at him before shimmying open the window and taking off.

Tang was always practically vibrating when he’d get back and they’d go back to whatever they were talking about without skipping a beat and… you know…

Pigsy wasn’t stupid, he graduated with top marks from culinary school.

But he just wasn’t quite on the same level as his husband, and that had been fine when it was just the two of them, and he certainly didn’t regret bringing Wukong into their lives like this but…

He couldn’t help but feel like he just… couldn’t keep up.

--

Tang had always known he wasn’t particularly good at… people… he talked too much, didn’t understand the line between playful ribbing and outright bullying, allowed his passions to drive him to the point of making some pretty bad choices.

He’d figured Pigsy (and to a lesser extent Sandy) was probably the only person he’d ever really have in his life that didn’t mind all of that. That liked yelling about as much as Tang liked making him yell.

It had honestly been a dream come true to not only MEET Sun Wukong, but to realize he was cut from a similar cloth. His ‘fears no heaven nor demon’ attitude made anything and everything slide off his back, even some pretty nasty things said with the intent to hurt (though Xiaotian was a noticeable exception, he took almost everything their kid said to heart) But by that line Tang had been so excited that he actually COULD talk to him about almost anything. And so they did. They talked quite a lot.

But… the thing was… they debated and explained and dialogued, and flirt if the mood stuck (and wasn’t that trippy to experience for the first time) Tang just… couldn’t shut his damn mouth. He didn’t really realize it until he’d been coming home one of those rare days Pigsy had the shop closed but he had to give a lecture and had just been quiet enough to see what Sun Wukong and Pigsy got up to when he wasn’t around and…

It was quiet. Very quiet. Tang almost didn’t want to breathe. He’d been able to keep silent, but he was sure Sun Wukong had sensed his presence just as the doorknob had turned. He was just a bit… distracted.

Distracted by being curled up against Pigsy’s back as he threw together lunch for the lot of them. It occurred to Tang quickly that Pigsy never let him be affectionate while he was cooking. How he was ‘distracting’ and ‘always sneaking tastes’ and such, whereas Sun Wukong appeared to be content in just hugging his husband close as he cooked. And… it was a sweet scene really. Pigsy was always embarrassed over his more animalistic instincts around him, but every time he’d poke his head in on him and Sun Wukong he was getting more and more comfortable with them.

He was the only human in their little trio, and he was sure that came with its own baggage beyond being the one the other two had to protect when Mystic demon business came up, but he supposed what made him the real oddball was simply that he sucked at slowing down.

He couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long enough to enjoy someone’s presence quietly. Sun Wukong and Pigsy probably didn’t talk near as much when he wasn���t trying to drag them into conversations or playing ‘topic volleyball’. Just watching the two of them doing their own thing, probably long since knowing he was there but waiting for him to speak first, it was so obvious how quickly they’d gotten comfortable around eachother. How quick their relationship had been to run deep.

It had taken Tang five years to worm his way into Pigsy’s heart. Sun Wukong did it in five months, and he was starting to think it maybe was because he’d never learned how to take a quiet moment for what it was.

And then the silence was unbearable and Tang made a teasing remark, because he was probably incapable of anything else.

Pigsy huffed and puffed in that cute way he always does, Sun Wukong pulled away from him and went to lean against the opposite counter, the moment thoroughly ruined by his big mouth. Again.

Seemed like he was more annoying than he thought.

He wondered why the two of them even put up with him.

--

Send me stuff

[hrtiu]

@flybynite19 come get your man.

Brit’ni haunted the long aisles of the Coruscant Public Convention Halls, her eyes darting from stall to stall. This was the biggest Galaxy of Heroes miniature convention in the Republic, and if she didn’t find it here, she wouldn’t find it anywhere. Finally, in a sketchy-looking booth in one of the auxiliary wings, she saw it.

It was perfect. A mint-condition figure with articulated arms, first-edition armor, and no helmet. It was almost impossible to find a figure of Captain Tabbard without a helmet, and Brit’ni couldn’t wait to get her hands on it. 

She reached out. “How much for-?”

Another hand grabbed the package just before her, blocking her fingers from her prize.

“What’s the price?” the interloper asked.

Brit’ni turned on her rival, ready to throw hands if necessary. “Excuse me! I was here first!”

A Human man blinked back at her from behind huge, yellow-tinted goggles. “As you can see, my hand reached the package first. I believe that means I have dibs.”

“Look, buddy. Just because you have slightly faster twitch reflexes than me doesn’t mean you get this figure. I’ve been looking for it for forever and I saw it first. Run along.” She tightened her grip around his bony fingers and shot him a death glare, then flicked her gaze to the shopkeeper. 

The Ithorian man backed away slowly and raised his hands, his translator sputtering out his apologies. “The price is 70 credits. Whoever can pay gets it. Don’t drag me into this.”

“Please let go of my purchase,” the Human in the goggles said. “I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not letting go until Captain Tabbard is in my bag. Got it, Goggles?”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head disapprovingly. “This stalemate is productive to neither of us. I propose a compromise.”

“What, you get the head, I get the body? No way.”

“As humorous as that would be, I was thinking something more mutually beneficial. You seem to be an avid collector, and I have several pieces that might be of interest to you.”

Brit’ni leaned closer to him, but didn’t loosen her grip on the figure. “Something more interesting than a first-edition Captain Tabbard? I don’t think so.”

“If you’re a fan of Captain Tabbard, I’d imagine you also enjoy the Chandrilan Guard. But there aren’t any figures for the standard Chandrilan Guard armor. I happen to have a custom pattern made for their armor. I’d be willing to share as many molds as you’d like if you are interested in creating the whole set.”

Brit’ni salivated at the thought. A whole set of custom CG figures? She’d been doing her best to make her own over the years, but with new resources… She’d be unstoppable.

“You have my attention…”

“We split the cost, 50/50. We store the figure in a locker at Coruscant Central. Then we meet up next week. I show you the goods and we decide on the deal. If you don’t want my customs, you take the figure and we go our separate ways. If you do, we make the trade.”

Brit’ni narrowed her eyes at him. “It didn’t take you very long to come up with this plan.”

He shrugged. “I’m smart.”

Brit’ni leaned closer to him, staring him right in those yellow-tinted eyes. She wasn’t in the habit of trusting strangers on a planet like Coruscant—especially not lately. But she really wanted those customs. 

“Deal.”

---

“Your name is Tech?” Brit’ni asked doubtfully as they walked down to the magtrain platform together.

“That’s what I just said.”

“Ok, sure,” Brit’ni said. What was it to her if he gave her a fake name? They didn’t need to be best buddies or anything.

“We live in a galaxy of billions of planets, populated by thousands of unique species, each with their own distinctive regional subcultures. I don’t see why ‘Tech’ should be a particularly unusual name, considering.”

Brit’ni laughed and shook her head. “Ok, now I get where you got your name.”

They swiped their muni chits and stepped onto the waiting magtrain, finding a spot near the back where they could both comfortably hold to the hand rails. It was a weekend so the train wasn’t as crowded as it would be during rush hour, but Brit’ni still barely felt like she had room to breathe. Just a few inches from her, Tech’s eyes darted back and forth across the magtrain car and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“New to Coruscant?” she asked.

He looked up in surprise, like he’d forgotten she was there. “...Yes.” His expression was oddly guarded, and Brit’ni raised her hands reassuringly.

“You just look like I did when I was still new to the magtrains. Eventually you’ll get used to the close quarters.”

His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “So many variables, with all these people around. Too many unknowns for my taste. And sentient life is so… unpredictable.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that but I think I get you. There’s a reason we collect little plastoid figures, right?”

A single eyebrow peaked out above Tech’s goggles and he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought about it like that before, but perhaps you are right.”

The magtrain shuddered as it rounded a turn on the old track, and Brit’ni clutched her precious Captain Tabbard tighter to herself.

Why so much interest in Captain Tabbard?” Tech asked. “Some figures are rare because of their popularity, but he was simply rarely produced due to lack of interest.”

Brit’ni bristled like he was insulting her toddling infant. “He’s the best character!”

“I understood that most fans of the serials disliked him because of his treachery.”

“Treachery?” she scoffed. “That’s not treachery. He had good reason to be loyal to both the Old Republic and Tiberian Empire. It was his conflict that made him interesting. And in the end he chose what was right. That’s what makes a good character. Conflict. Struggle. Then overcoming in the end.”

“I suppose.”

“What about you, then? Who’s your favorite character?”

“In Galaxy of Heroes? I don’t know—never seen it.”

Brit’ni’s jaw dropped. “Then why were you ready to fight me over this figure?”

He shrugged. “I’m a completionist. This is the last one I need to complete the set. You know they’re more valuable together, right?”

She just stared at him. Her eyes trailed down to his booted feet, up his khaki slacks, past his drab, navy-colored tunic, and back to those big, yellow-tinted eyes. Who was this guy?

“Deal’s off,” she said.

“What?”

“I can’t give Captain Tabbard to… to someone who won’t appreciate him.”

“I appreciate him! He’s a first edition, mint-condition, ultra-rare piece that will complete my collection! How much more appreciation can you get than that?”

“No.” Brit’ni shook her head. “You’re not worthy.”

Tech pursed his lips and huffed through his nose.”Well I still paid for half of that figure, so what do you suggest we do? Cut it in half?”

She recoiled in horror. “No! I’ll pay you the 35 credits and I take the figure. It’s as simple as that.”

“That’s unacceptable. You have to at least give me a chance to meet your criteria.”

“How could you possibly do that?”

“By watching Galaxy of Heroes. I watch it, I tell you my favorite character, I show my appreciation for Captain Tabbard.”

“Or I could just take Captain Tabbard home now, and have a figure of my very favorite character to display proudly on my shelf.”

The magtrain slowed and a cheery voice emanated from the intercom. “Coruscant Central.”

“We’re at the station,” Tech said. “I suggest you get off, because I assure you my Chandrilan Guard figures are very good.”

He stepped off the train and Brit’ni bit her lip, her grip tightening on the handlebar as she watched. “Ah, sithspit,” she cursed under her breath, and hopped off the train just as the doors closed.

She hurried to catch up to him—he set a surprisingly quick pace considering how scrawny he looked under those pants—and he tilted his head in her direction in acknowledgment.

“Glad you decided to join me,” he said.

“I really want those CG customs. I’ve been saving up for materials for forever but they’re expensive and my job doesn’t believe in working hours that give me enough time to sleep and eat.”

Tech frowned. “What kind of job is that? It seems like a sub-optimal way to treat your employees.”

“I work at one of the Imperial training facilities. I get to clean up after all the sweaty recruits in the exercise halls. It smells and I hate my life.”

He tensed almost imperceptibly at her side and Brit’ni tried not to notice. Plenty of people on Coruscant didn’t like the Empire, but a job was a job. And Captain Tabbard wasn’t going to pay for himself.

“That sounds… unpleasant. I hope you are able to find alternate forms of employment sometime soon.”

“Yeah, me too. But there aren’t too many options these days,” she said with a sigh. “If I had my way I’d be working in the archives or curating the Imperial Historical Society. I have the training for it, too! But I guess they only need a handful of people to do that, and they need thousands to clean the stormtroopers’ locker rooms.”

He nodded sagely, and she wondered if she was saying too much. Scratch that—she was definitely saying too much. But any time her job came up she couldn’t help but try to distance herself from it. To distance herself from the Empire.

“I also wish I could spend my days doing research and furthering our understanding of the universe. But unfortunately I don’t have that luxury,” Tech said.

Brit’ni looked at him out of the corner of her eye, surprised at the wistfulness in his voice. Maybe she’d judged him too harshly. A completionist who’d never watched Galaxy of Heroes he might be, but they might have more in common than she’d thought. He gave the station map a quick once-over, pushing his goggles up his nose as he read the map, and she couldn’t help but notice how oddly endearing the action was. She cursed herself. She’d always had a weakness for hopeless nerds.

They wound their way through the labyrinthine corridors of Coruscant’s largest magtrain station, and Tech seemed to know every turn and forgotten corner. He took them down another flight of stairs to the lower levels, where the storage lockers were, and a squirmy feeling started to bubble up in Brit’ni’s stomach. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to follow a stranger down into the depths of Coruscant Central without telling anyone where she was. But something about Tech felt oddly comforting. Condescending and annoying, yes, but also kind of nice.

Brit’ni cleared her throat and tried to dispel her sudden nerves. “So… what do you do, then?”

“I’m a tech specialist,” he answered immediately.

Brit’ni furrowed her brows. “A tech specialist? Are you military?”

He looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there, then shook his head, oddly flustered. “No, I mean… I do holo repair, comm device repair, droid maintenance—that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Sure he did.

“It’s, uh, not very glamorous, but it pays the bills,” he said, tacking on an awkward laugh like the world’s worst holo actor.

Brit’ni resisted the urge to roll her eyes. I promise you, dude. Whatever your secrets are, they aren’t nearly as interesting as you think. She found herself wishing he’d just be honest with her, then reminded herself that she didn’t care. She didn’t. He was just a means to the end of collecting Captain Tabbard, not an strangely cute guy she wanted to learn more about.

They approached a squat Rodian manning the checkout counter for locker rentals and paid up.

“And can we get two locks, please?” Brit’ni asked. She needed some assurance that Tech wasn’t just going to come back later, open their locker, and leave.

The Rodian shrugged and tossed them another lock. “Sure.”

They walked down the aisle of lockers and found theirs—locker number 9999. Tech gave a weird smile at the number, but Brit’ni ignored it and opened the locker, carefully placing Captain Tabbard inside and giving him one last look of longing before closing the locker on his beautiful, first-edition face.

They both stuck their locks on the door, and Brit’ni pulled out her portable comm device.

“What’s your comm signature?” she asked.

“I don’t see that that’s necessary.”

“Sure it is. What if I can’t make our meeting time? What if you decide to watch Galaxy of Heroes but its themes and storyline are too complex for you to follow? What if you decide to back out and just want to give me your lock key so I can pick the Captain up?”

He frowned. “Alright, then.”

They swapped comm signatures and Brit’ni stuck her hand out to shake. Tech hesitated a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, then took her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Brit’ni said with a firm, professional shake.

“Likewise.”

---

A few days later Brit’ni staggered home from her shift at the training facility with a deep and abiding exhaustion in her bones. She swiped open the door to the small apartment she shared with her younger sister and stumbled through the dark room, determined not to turn on the lights. Her sister was already asleep and Brit’ni knew she had an early shift the next morning.

Brit’ni shed her uniform, took a quick shower, and fell into bed. She could easily have fallen asleep right then and there, but she hated going to sleep right after getting home from work. It felt like giving up—like acknowledging that all there was to her life right now was sleep and work. She rolled over onto her side and pulled out her comm device, checking for messages. There were a few from her mom, a couple of taunting inside jokes from her sister, and… one from a signature she didn’t immediately recognize. 

She opened the message, convinced it was some kind of advertisement but curious nonetheless.

I am happy to report that my viewing of Galaxy of Heroes has commenced. Will keep you updated on my progress. -T

A surprised smile rose to her lips. Maybe her evening would be a little more interesting than usual, after all.

She gave it some thought, then typed a response. The first episode is great, but the rest of the first season is a little slow. Make sure you keep watching to season 3.

She pulled out a datapad and scrolled mindlessly through several news updates. There was never anything interesting anymore—not since the Empire had taken over. All the updates felt like propaganda, but there was nothing else to read. Then her comm device pinged.

Then why don’t I just skip straight to season 3? I don’t understand how people can be such fans of a program while disliking a significant percentage of the content. -T

She snorted. Don’t skip to season 3! I thought you were a completionist.

He responded immediately. Fair point. -T

Deciding to let him focus on the show, Brit’ni rolled out of bed, determined to do something useful with the evening before calling it a night. She pulled a case of her in-progress figures out from under her bed and hauled them over to the small work desk she’d set up in the corner. She had some painting to do.

Commander Fes’s helmet was beautiful. The design etched across its surface was gorgeous, with intricately weaving strips of color and textures. That also made it an absolute beast to paint, and Brit’ni extricated her tiniest brushes from the bottom of her brush bag. 

Eyes straining with the microscopic details, she labored over the good commander’s helmet for a solid half hour before setting her tools down in frustration. She glowered at the thumb-sized helmet, as if her anger would force it to cooperate better, and reached for her comm device.

What paint do you use for your customs? she sent Tech. For the fine details? I feel like I’m going crazy with Commander Fes’s helmet.

I don’t hand-paint details that small. I have a three dimensional stamper, so I design the decals at full size then use the stamper to apply them. -T

Huh. Brit’ni had heard of tools like that, but most collectors had to make them themselves. It wasn’t a simple or easy thing to put together.

I’ve always wanted to use one of those! Did you follow the Talatar template or the Bikqwik one?

Neither. I made my own design, though to be fair the base design was inspired more by the Bikqwik one. -T

Maybe I should make one. I’d love to get those fine details right, but I don’t know if I have the time to figure it out or the money for all the pieces.

That’s understandable. I was able to use leftover pieces from my work, so it wasn’t so expensive for me. -T

Images of a perfectly-painted Commander Fes helmet floated through Brit’ni’s mind, and she had half a mind to ask him to lend her his printer. That would probably be too much, though. She was considering what she should say next when Tech sent her another message.

It’s nice to talk to another collector about customs and painting. My colleagues are not very interested. -T

Brit’ni laughed. Same! My sister and mom indulge me, but they definitely don’t care as much as I do.

She set her comm device down and refocused her attention on Commander Fes’s helmet. It might be nice to use a three dimensional stamper, but this was what she had to work with for now. And as she focused in on the tiny design, she had to admit that it was turning out pretty well.

She soon fell into a groove so deep she hardly noticed the next half hour fly by. Then her comm device pinged again, breaking her from her painting trance.

I’m going to sleep now, but I’m happy to report that I’ve finished season one. -T

Brit’ni’s brows rose. You finished a whole season in one night?

I’m watching it at double speed. -T

That’s cheating!

When you demanded I watch the show you did not specify a required playback speed. -T

Do I have to specify things that should be obvious??

Goodnight, Brit’ni. -T

No longer in the mood to paint, Brit’ni set Commander Fes’s tiny helmet on a stand to dry, then packed up her materials. She crawled into bed and set her alarm, her eyes already heavy with how tired she’d be in the morning. Still, it had been a pleasant night.

---

The week flew by, and Brit’ni was so busy with work she hardly had any time to work on her figures or chat with Tech. Every once in a while he messaged her with updates on his viewing progress, and he was burning through Galaxy of Heroes at an alarming rate. His last message he sent the morning of the day they’d agreed to meet back up at the station—a simple statement that he’d finished the series. 

Brit’ni wanted to ask him his thoughts, who his favorite character was, and what he thought of the infamous plot twist in season seven, but instead she’d had to run off to work. By the time her shift ended, she was excited to hop on the magtrain and head to Coruscant Central not only to finally see his promised customs, but also to talk to him. Funny, that.

She walked down into the lower levels of the station and quickly found locker 9999. Tech was already there, typing away on some kind of datapad built into his wristguard. Brit’ni didn’t think he’d worn that the last time they’d met, but she also couldn’t really depend on her memory.

“Hey!” she called out, and he looked up from his datapad.

“Excellent. Right on time.” 

He swung his backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through it, pulling out a carefully labelled black box as she approached.

“Are those the custom molds?” Brit’ni asked eagerly.

“Yes.” He opened the box and she could swear the box was glowing from the inside like some kind of mythic treasure.

“I have molds for the standard shock trooper, captain, commander, and the recon units. Four molds in all.”

With a reverent hand, Brit’ni lifted the silicoid molds from their case. The detail work was exquisite, the edges sharp and defined. “I just pour in molding plastoid and let it cool?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yes, that should work adequately.”

She stared for a minute longer, her fingers running over each groove and divet. They were perfect. “Alright, you have a deal.”

“No, but… I haven’t told you about Galaxy of Heroes yet…” Tech said, confused.

“That’s alright, the molds are enough-”

“I watched that entire series in a week. I’m going to tell you about it,” he snapped.

Brit’ni shut the case with the molds and stepped back from him a pace, her eyebrows raised. “Alright then, do you see now why Captain Tabbard is the best?”

“He’s such a minor character, it’s hard for me to understand why he is your favorite. But I do see the nuance and conflict that you mentioned earlier. I can see why you admire him.”

“Who’s your favorite, then?” It had better not be that awful Alduous Rux. Or even worse: Leve Bontera.

“K3WO was my favorite, I believe,” he said.

“The droid? Really?” she asked, though as soon as the words left her mouth she had to admit that it made a certain sort of sense.

“Yes. He always remained level-headed, he was intelligent, but he had his own personality. He was my favorite.”

“Ok, fine, I get it. But what about your favorite organic character?”

“Why does it have to be an organic character?”

“Do you have to argue everything I say?”

“It’s not arguing if-” 

Tech suddenly cut off, his eyes darting down the hall, and Brit’ni followed his gaze. Two stormtroopers had stepped off the landing and were making their way towards locker 9999. Tech glanced quickly away from them, but the tension in his shoulders was clear. 

Brit’ni saw the problem immediately. They looked like they were making some kind of illicit deal here, exchanging goods in the basement of Coruscant Station. The misunderstanding could be easily cleared up under normal circumstances, but Tech obviously didn’t want any attention from Imperials.

Thinking fast, Brit’ni clutched the black case of molds to her chest. “Oh, honey! You shouldn’t have!”

Tech stared doubtfully back at her through his goggles, his eyes growing wide enough to fill the lenses as she grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to her.

“What are you-” he hissed.

She pressed her mouth to his before he could give them away, her hands snaking around his back to make sure he didn’t pull away while the stormtroopers were still watching. She worried that she might have to fight him the entire time, which would both make her feel like the worst kind of swamp scum and would also make this significantly less enjoyable. But then he relaxed into the kiss and set his hands at her waist, his long fingers careful and hot against her skin. He picked her up by the waist and spun them around, pressing her back into the lockers. Then he kissed up the side of her neck. Heated shivers ran up Brit’ni’s body, and she wondered if maybe she’d gotten in way over her head.

“Good thinking,” he whispered into her ear once he reached the top of her neck. “My apologies for not realizing sooner.”

“Th-that’s fine,” she stuttered, looking over his shoulder to check for the stormtroopers. They were still there. “Still got eyes.”

He nodded, then kissed her again, this time sliding a hand up her back to run his fingers through her hair. She pressed herself further into him, finding surprisingly firm, defined muscle under his plain clothing. Brit’ni doubted that there was an electronics repairman this athletic in the entire galaxy, and the mystery that was Tech just seemed to deepen with each passing moment. 

Then one of Tech’s hands slipped lower on her waist and all coherent thought fled from Brit’ni’s mind. Her teeth caught on his bottom lip and she tugged gently. He started against her, and she took that as encouragement. Then she slipped her tongue into his mouth, and he started again, this time jerking away from her in surprise. 

Brit’ni’s gaze darted to where she’d last seen the stormtroopers and, Force be damned, there they still were. Staring like a bunch of touch-starved morons.

“What are you looking at, you karking pervs!” she shouted at them.

The troopers flinched away like she’d hit them, then sputtered something about their patrol route and orders to “carry on.” They turned back the way they went and soon enough they were up the stairs and out of sight.

Brit’ni let out a heavy sigh of relief and let her weight lean back against the lockers behind her. “Well, that was a lot closer than it needed to be.”

“Yes,” Tech said, a healthy dusting of red high on his cheeks. “Thank you, by the way. I’d rather avoid Imperial entanglements.”

“Wouldn’t we all?” she said with a wry twist of the mouth.

“And, uh… My apologies, for losing my grip earlier. I… well I have never engaged in kissing before.”

Brit’ni sat up straight at that, her eyes going wide. “Really?” she asked, her skin still tingling from where he’d run his hands up her back. “You could have fooled me.”

“Well, I’ve seen plenty of holos,” he said, shrugging with one shoulder. “The mechanics of it seem simple enough. But, um. I didn’t really know what to expect in terms of sensation.”

“Ah,” Brit’ni said, feeling the heat rising in her own cheeks. “Well, it all worked out in the end.”

“That it did. Now if we could exchange goods?”

“Sure.”

They each unlocked their locks and there Captain Tabbard was, safe in his perfectly-preserved box. Tech handed her back her 35 credit share of the price, then lifted Captain Tabbard carefully from the locker. Brit’ni checked the CG molds Tech had given her one more time, then closed and locked the case.

“I guess we’re done, then,” she said, suddenly not sure where to put her hands.

“A pleasure,” Tech said, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some secret meaning hidden behind the quirk of his lips.

“A pleasure.”

---

A few days later, Brit’ni dragged herself to work feeling particularly haggard. She went through the service entrance and changed into her ugly uniform, then jogged to her supervisor’s office just in time to clock in.

She punched the buttons that would start recording her time, then started to walk away from the desk.

“Brit’ni? That you?” her supervisor asked, turning around in his swivel chair. He was a pale, sleight Human who’d barely spoken three words to Brit’ni before today.

She turned back to him slowly, her body already tensing to expect the worst. “Yes, sir?”

“You have a package.”

“A package?”

“Yeah.” He got up from his desk and pulled a drab grey box out from under the counter, sliding it towards Brit’ni with a look of perfect unconcern on his face. “Someone dropped it off early this morning for you.”

“Oh…” That was strange. In earlier years Brit’ni had liked surprises like this, but ever since the Empire… Well, let’s just say that most surprises were bad ones these days.

She took the package back to the locker room and set it down on one of the durasteel benches. Carefully, like she was defusing a bomb, she opened it up. Inside, the perfectly-painted face of Captain Tabbard stared up at her, a bright orange piece of flimsi stuck to his box just over his chest.

Dear Brit’ni,

Thank you for the other day. I should have just given this to you at the time, but I’m afraid I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I hope our paths cross again.

-T

A slow smile crept across Brit’ni’s face, and she picked up Captain Tabbard, holding his box to her chest. She knew she and Tech’s paths would cross again. She’d make sure of it.

[rpbetter]

I'm so tired of roleplaying with people who don't put half the commitment I do into our threads and muses. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm a weirdo or like I don't belong for that. Any other hobby and people wouldn't care if I took it seriously. Why is roleplaying different? How can I keep going like this if I'm getting rudeness from all sides? I can't even go outside my already tiny bubble and find more partners, because I always see people putting roleplayers like me down and it's exhausting.

"Why is roleplaying different?"

Well, Anon, I know that was a rhetorical question, but I have some thoughts on that. To the surprise of no one!

I strongly believe that this is an issue with how fandom has come to dominate roleplaying. As I've said before, it really wasn't always like that. Of course, you always had canon characters and almost all RPers were invested in a fandom or two. The difference was that online RP was once viewed much more like tabletop RPGs are.

When the RPC became a near-total offshoot of Fandom, a lot of shit changed and very rapidly...and within Fandom, a lot of shit was changing very rapidly as well at that time.

RP has always been something looked down on (though, at least no one ever accused written RP online of being literally demonic like they did DnD, or made correlations to murder sprees like they did LARPing, so there's that) as strange, not the good, understandable sort of dorky.

Part of that is almost certainly because of the difference in the way society views writing vs the way it views hobbies like gaming - writing is seen as an intellectual pursuit and a job, gaming, even at its most negative points of view in wider society, has been seen traditionally as a downtime activity only.

But. RP was not looked down upon from within Fandom or in roleplay communities themselves like it is now.

When the whole experience of fandoms themselves became extremely mainstream and open, it welcomed in a ton of shit ideas and behaviors that were not previously prevalent. It changed RP, too, along many of those same lines.

When your hobby is considered objectionably weird by people within the fandoms you love and RP in and that makes you a sort of lowest-tier fan, the viewpoint of RP to RPers becomes something lesser than a valid hobby. When RPers are the same people who engage with Fandom monetarily, anything not monetized is passively consumable content, including RP. And RPers are trying to both deflect shame and struggling with wider society's mixed messages, that now hit them everywhere online as well. Shit like, "you don't have to monetize your hobby, it's okay to just make really good cross stitches of memes for yourself" and "if you're not paying me, you have no control over me."

We seriously do not view RP as a proper hobby anymore, that's why. There are many factors to that, those are just few, but that's the ultimate answer. It's not seen that way because it's not valued in the same way.

I think much of the problem with muns losing their entire shit over anyone else approaching the hobby differently, dare I say...more seriously, is related to a lot of complex psychology about self-esteem, control, and anxiety. So many people here struggle with serious self-worth and confidence issues, and I think to many of them, whether they realize it or not, when they see serious RPers, they feel like that's an inherent judgment and a danger to their own enjoyment. Because RP, as writing, is a skilled hobby - the more you practice it, the more skilled you become with it. Meaning that someone who approaches the writing seriously is going to be at a higher skill level.

Enter the way we're training to think about writing again - when they see someone who is very practiced, skilled, and confident with their writing, the learned idea is that they're somehow superior in a nasty, personal way.

I most certainly do not think that makes it alright, it isn't, and I'm not very tolerant of it.

It's absolutely alright to engage with RP in any way you see fit. If that's extremely casual, it's a minor hobby for you, that's great! I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself, and I mean that in no facetious way. But not when that is the only form of it respected and accepted. It's just as alright to have RP as your primary, serious hobby!

The only way we can all enjoy a hobby with such great variance within it is by respecting each other's variables, not by vilifying them. It's recognizing that, no matter how much you enjoy the mun and/or muse, they're not engaging with the hobby in the way you are, it's not a good fit to write together. (Please, begging y'all to be friends with those who are different, not enemies, shit's sake. You've not got to write together to be friends!) Instead of labeling them and being hateful. Different =/= a threat.

And, to go off a bit lol y'all demonizing serious RPers really don't get that there are some intense tones of ableism and more going on in that narrative of yours, huh?

Not that anyone requires a reason to be serious about any hobby, but when people pick a hobby like RP as their primary one...you should probably have the maturity to consider why that is. Could it be that they focus on a hobby they can do from their homes and that requires low physical involvement, and has a degree of separation from direct socializing, for a reason?

Serious RPers tend to be limited in their ability to pursue other hobbies. Mental and physical health, region, finances, and ability to spend time outside of the home are all very common limits for those who "take RP too seriously/are addicted to RP."

Maybe take five seconds away from your own issues to consider that the person you're shitting on for something so minor as a difference of importance of a hobby might be the full-time caretaker of a special needs child, having to remain home and on a very small income. They might be chronically ill or suffer from agoraphobia. They might live in an area with no hobbies of interest, affordability, or at all...or they might live somewhere that is incredibly dangerous for them.

I honestly do not know where these people have been that they've been aggressed at by serious RPers, but that's usually the excuse. (I'm not saying it has never happened or does not happen, before anyone goes there.) The idea that serious RPers are extreme elitists who are demanding that other muns do what they do, how they do it. That they expect other muns to be online and RPing all the time, that they be "available for entertainment at all times" at the cost of real-life matters. Having the expectation that threads not be dropped constantly or that a writing partner not leave for months with no contact is neither of those things.

In over two decades of RPing across almost every platform type that has existed, I have literally never seen that be either a singular RPer-type problem or one that serious RPers are even more likely to deal in. I've seen the opposite, actually. Which is not a condemnation or a statement that all casual RPers do this, just what my experience has been. And one that actually stands to reason based on the way they view and engage with RP - quick replies, quick entertainment, and very low commitment to threads, muses, or other muns. Of course, it's annoying to them when a more serious RPer is unwilling to do rapid-fire style quick, short threads from an ask with them, but is writing the lengthy replies they already owed instead.

That's probably a factor as well, in here among a plethora of misunderstanding/unawareness of differences - for many serious RPers, it's not easier and more fun to write short, quick threads. So, what a casual RPer is seeing is that they're willing to put all this extraordinary effort into a massive reply to someone else while their easy, fun, quickly done thread is waiting in line.

Misunderstandings and unawareness breed hostility, period. And there is a hell of a lot of those things in the RPC.

What serious RPers are expressing are either boundaries/expectations or frustration. Not a demand that you be around all the time, but an expectation that you leave them alone if you're not also a serious RPer who will be committed to threads and muses. Not hostility and elitism, the frustration that it's already difficult to find muns who will work out before you add in the majority rule of casual RPers.

It's incredibly disheartening, frustrating, and honestly, a bit anxiety-inducing to constantly be the weird one, always have few choices, and to be at risk of being Problematic purely because you take the hobby seriously. You can't vent without someone jumping on your ass to remind you (even if you said numerous times that "real life comes first" and "people can do what they want") that omg, people have lives, people can do what makes them happy, it's just RP.

It's so upsetting when you think you might have found a good writing partner, then, you see a PSA they've reblogged about how it's a "hobby, not a jobby," and "no one owes anyone anything, ever." Excuse me, as that last one is a direct quote, let me redo it so it is verbatim: "no one owes anyone here anything - EVER !!!"

I said I wasn't very tolerant :)

But seriously, exactly what you've expressed is why I'm not...it's another form of controlling others instead of trying your best to control your own experience, and it's often extremely hateful. I'm not tolerant of anything like that, it's no longer supporting preferences at that point. When your preference is the only one that will be tolerated in the community, it's not a preference anymore.

It's something that makes others feel isolated, afraid of harassment, and depressed. It is a hobby and it isn't supposed to make you feel like that!

And, no, absolutely the fuck not lol the "answer" to this isn't that you're taking it too seriously and need to take a break. I'm so tired of seeing that shit tacked onto RPH responses and vents and PSAs. You're not saying that RP is making you feel this way, "just take a break and come back when you agree with everyone else" isn't a solution.

Of course, if you do feel like your time here has become so upsetting? Yeah, obviously, you should try to find some other things to supplement your downtime that make you feel happier again. Engage in some other forms of writing just meant for yourself, or that can be published as fics. Spend some more time on a game you enjoy for a while, or get invested in a new one. Learn to shape bonsai or make no-knead rolls. Whatever would make you happy as a hobby when you're not here.

Other than that, however, well...we're not going to be implying on this blog that you're too serious and need to take a hiatus until you have no emotional investment in your hobby. That's insane. I'd not say it about hiking, martial arts, dog obedience competitions, hobby farming, or painting either.

I wish I could think of some solutions as to where you could look that wasn't like this, but it's definitely the majority of the RPC. It doesn't help that, due to this, serious RPers have a tendency to quietly stick together and not venture out into the RPC. They're just not incredibly easy to find.

I will say that they tend to be:

novella - if you're not here for serious RP and sticking around for a while, you're not going to invest the time and energy into particularly lengthy writing

older RPers - I would say that twenty-five is probably the youngest, with early thirties to late forties being the majority

in fandoms with a large adult base of fans - even if it's a franchise friendly to, or even meant for, younger fans, if it has a particularly active adult fanbase, it's a better chance of finding serious RPers in it

as above, old fandoms - fandoms that have been around for a long time tend to have more serious RPers in them

fandomless OCs - tend to have a higher chance of being written by serious RPers than canons or heavily fandom-involved OCs

RPers who do not do a ton of advertising for their muse(s), but when they do, they don't advertise them based on activism points or trends

slightly more likely to not have an emphasis on highly aesthetic blogs, graphics, icons etc. - they use a modified basic tumblr theme, low on graphics, their aesthetics are not on-trend, for example

anti-content policing/"write what you want" style muns

muns with more extensive rules pages - they plan to be here for a while, they take writing, RP, and their muse(s) seriously, so, it's a bit more important to them to head off problems before they start

those with older characters/FCs - be that literally in age or the character being one that has existed for a long time

"stay in your lane" style muns - if they're opining on fandom or the RPC, they must really be angry about something

those with numerous and detailed headcanons - for example, their response to a HC meme ask like, "what's your muse's favorite ice cream flavor?" is going to be treated seriously, not simply answered with "mint chocolate chip because my bby is gross"

As usual, not a complete or perfect list. I don't fit some of the things on there! It could give you some things to look for when trying to find other serious RPers, though. It's based on observances from someone who was never a casual RPer, even as a minor (me, obviously), and maybe it could at least keep you from continuously running into hostility about your approach to RP.

I've honestly considered making a list of some sort expressly for RPers who are on the more serious end of the spectrum, but...in a RPC back when things were dominated by serious RPers, I did that sort of thing with a RPH I had, and it still got labeled as being a list for and by Elitists. I don't know that anyone would want to put themselves out there for potential harassment on tumblr, you know? It was a joke then, just having a group of RPers label you as an Elitist. Here, you get told to kill yourself, and none of us need more of that shit, right?

Try to hang in there, Anon, I know it's upsetting, and I'm so sorry that something fun has gotten to be like this.

Try to understand that these people are coming from a place of irrational defensiveness, often in response to bullying themselves at some point or feeling bad about themselves. That doesn't make it right, but it does make it easier to not take to heart.

And keep at it! In my experience here, once you find a group of people you fit into, it really is...A Group. Especially among RPers who are ostracized, they stick together, they promote each other, and they're very happy for their mutuals to become your mutuals. Once you find them, it unlocks so many opportunities for the interactions and type of RP you've been missing!

[tealquacks]

They Share A Kitchen

An intrulogical (can be read as platonic) fic

Originally posted here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644

While the light and dark sides preferred to keep their distance from one another, they had to share some parts of Thomas’ mind. The imagination, for example, was split down the middle just like the two sides that ruled them, a mix of gnarled trees and fluffy clouds, unicorns and demogorgons, living in hostile harmony. They also had to share a living room, a few hallways, and the kitchen. Almost as if Thomas’ subconscious was trying to push the sides together. 

But the sharing didn’t bring them any closer, especially considering recent events. The “dark” sides avoided the “light” sides and Roman avoided everybody. All the shared spaces did was give Logan reasons to share more fun facts at the breakfast table.

“Studies show certain animals that inhabit areas close to human activity have begun to develop nocturnal tendencies in order to avoid said humans,” Logan had said one day over a bowl of dry cereal. 

“And what does that have to do with anything?” Virgil grumbled. Patton yawned.

Logan sighed. “I’ll answer your question with a question. Why do we always wait until eight am to get our breakfast?”

Virgil looked down into his coffee cup, and mumbled something. 

“What was that?”

“...To avoid Remus and Janus.” 

Logan had huffed triumphantly. Really, he found their little schedule fascinating. He made a little schedule on lined paper, marked out by half hours. He practically had their movements tracked down to the minute. Weeks worth of observation, neatly graphed out. It almost made Logan want to cry. 

Six am to seven am seemed to be the hours where Janus, the resident morning person, dragged Remus to the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee and made himself breakfast, before making a hasty retreat to his room. Remus made breakfast after him, then left at around seven forty five am. Then the ‘light’ sides (minus Roman) claimed the kitchen from eight am to ten. Sometimes even to ten fifteen, depending on what Patton and Virgil made. 

Roman grabbed whatever leftovers there were at ten thirty. Afterwards, (around 11) Janus would emerge to get another cup of coffee and an early lunch, and Patton would get a cup of tea to drink and chat with him. Roman would slip into the kitchen at noon to get water or a snack, then right at twelve o’ eight, Remus would bolt into the kitchen, grab something to eat, then dash away before Patton could enter for another cup of tea at around twelve o’ twelve. At two, Virgil and Patton would sit in the kitchen and chat.

There were only two ‘dead zones’ Logan could find, where nobody visited the kitchen. Between two thirty and four, where everyone kept to themselves in their room until dinner (which Janus and Remus ate at four, himself, Virgil and Patton at five, Roman at around six if he remembered to eat), and from three am to five thirty am. Logan never had the chance to observe the kitchen that early in the morning— which is to say he never had an excuse to disrupt his sleep schedule. 

Even then, his curiosity plagued him. Virgil sometimes woke in the night to grab a midnight snack, but was he ever there at three thirty am? Some mornings there would be a pot left on the stove, or flour on the counters. Maybe it was Roman, trying to cook but only succeeding in making a mess. Or Janus? No, Janus always cleaned up after himself, it wasn’t him. Did Patton wake in the night to cook or bake…?

The logical thing to do was to ask if anyone went into the kitchen at those hours. The logical thing sounded like far much more trouble than simply staking out in the kitchen and waiting to see if someone came along, then ask them if their late night (early morning?) visits to the kitchen were a part of their routine. That would cut out any unnecessary conversation. Certainly it would be the best option— avoid any conversation that could possibly turn into an argument and distress Thomas, while also ridding himself of this curiosity. 

All of those events led to now. Logan sat on the couch, close enough to hear if anyone entered the kitchen, but obscured enough by the couch that he wouldn’t be seen. Not that that mattered, both the kitchen and the common area were pitch black. Not a single sliver of moonlight shone through the windows. He checked his watch. Two fifty-one. He’d been sitting there for an hour.

Logan briefly paused his train of thought. Why did he care so much? He wanted to complete his chart. Why did it matter to him? 

Logan sighed. The mystery person wouldn’t be here for at least another forty minutes. And that is assuming that they follow their schedule every single day. It made sense that there would be nobody in the kitchen. Every single metaphysical person was asleep. Except for him. 

Being thorough is important. What if he had missed something? Or this person's trips to the kitchen add a whole new variable to his chart? Who knows. He certainly didn’t, so he had to find out.

He checked his watch again. Three twenty am. Huh, overthinking truly was a great way to pass the time. Only fifteen minutes to go until the truth revealed itself to him in the form of one of his fellow sides stumbling into the kitchen. Maybe it would be Patton, taking sock-muffled steps into the kitchen on his way to bake, or Janus with a novel and a desire for a cup of tea. The possibility that simply nobody went to the kitchen between three thirty am to five am hung in the air. It didn’t make him any less curious. 

Footsteps. Heavy, thundering things in the kitchen. Logan jolted. Slowly he turned around to look into the kitchen, and found that the lack of light made his eyes useless. All he could see was a shadowy figure in front of the cupboards. He heard one open, then shut a minute and a half later. 

Logan watched the shifting darkness. Metal scratching metal—what the hell was that? He cringed at the harsh sound. More scraping noises. If he could feel anything, he’d classify the prickles running up his spine as fear, or anxiety, but since he certainly had no emotions, he chalked the sensation up to being cold. Even then, Logan flinched hard when the shadowy figure used a food processor. Three thirty five am.

More metallic scraping (sharpening a knife?) mingled with mindless humming. Maybe it was Roman, making himself food. He hadn’t eaten that day, so he would certainly be hungry. So certainly, if Logan were to turn on the light, he would see Roman in his Beauty and the Beast onesie. But then again, Roman was a shit cook. There wouldn’t be any scraping of knives or sounds of rustling in cupboards— maybe the rustling of a cereal box. 

Could it be Patton? No. Patton always loudly sang while cooking. Or maybe it was Patton, and he was just  being considerate of the other sleeping sides. How would he even confront the mystery chef? ���Hey, not to sound weird but I’ve been keeping track of everyone’s kitchen time and I want to know if you do this every night. I have a chart. Yes, it is laminated, and color coded. Tell me about your schedule.’

Logan stared into the darkness of the kitchen unblinking. Rustling of… something, more chopping and scraping noises. Something sizzled, and Logan slowly breathed in. Oh, it smelled wonderful, rich and herbal… garlic, maybe. And onion. He checked his watch. Three thirty am, and he still had no clue who the hell was making food. What were they making? 

The fridge opened, and Logan could finally see. The cold light glinted off a long, sharp knife. Logan swallowed. There was a hunk of meat on the cutting board. Peering into the fridge was, well, someone, but when they turned their head, Logan could see the bright shock of white in their hair—

“Remus?” Logan exclaimed, bewildered.

Remus jumped and let out a panicked shriek. Logan stood up from his place at the couch, and blindly stumbled to the light switch. Remus flinched at the sudden light, and Logan just blinked as he took in the sight before him.

Sitting on the counter was a baking sheet with a raw rack of lamb perched upon it, covered in some sort of seasoning. On the stove sat a pot of golden broth that barely simmered, and the source of that delectable smell— a skillet of shallots and rice. Another pan of perfectly cooked mushrooms sat close by. Logan blinked.

“What is this?” Logan asked.

“Food,” Remus answered, “and I would’ve let you have some if you hadn’t scared the shit out of me, ‘figuratively’.” 

Logan raised an eyebrow. Remus looked as disheveled as ever, even though he only wore a pair of boxers with little octopi on them. For once he wasn’t wearing his eyeshadow, and his hair looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. A grain of rice was caught in his moustache. What an odd thing to notice.

“I apologize for interrupting your cooking,” Logan deadpanned, “but if you would be more specific?”

Remus shoved the pan into the fridge, then picked up a bottle of white wine. He took a long swig out of it before pouring a bit into the pan with the rice. It sizzled loudly, and he started mixing vigorously.

“I’m making garlic and herb crusted roast lamb and mushroom risotto,” Remus said.

Logan blinked slowly.

“What?”

Remus looked up from his pan, a little smile on his face.

“Come on, Logan! You’re the smart one, you should know what a risotto is!”

Logan sat down at the kitchen table, staring dazedly at Remus. 

“I know what a risotto is,” Logan said, “a northern Italian dish made with rice and broth until it reaches a creamy consistency, sometimes made with white wine or butter. I didn’t know you knew how to make it, though.”

Remus added a bit of the simmering broth to the rice.

“Why not? I mean, gluttony, envy, greed, all those dirty little sins Thomas associates with me,” Remus said with a shoulder wiggle.

“Well—“

“Are you jealous of my skills? I know how to keep a man happy, Logan. Don’t you know? The fastest way to a man’s heart—“

“Is through his stomach.” An idiom Patton had taught him. Remus nodded rapidly.

“Yes, like gutting a deer! You carve open the stomach and poke through the diaphragm to cut the esophagus and pull everything out! And then you yank out the heart!” Remus cackled manically, pouring more broth into the pan and stirring. A bit of rice flew out. “It’s really tasty. Deer heart, I mean.”

Logan nodded, “And very nutritious. High in potassium and protein.”

 Remus nodded even more, his white streaked hair flopping into his eyes. Logan was still in shock over this whole thing. Who the hell knew Remus could cook? Certainly not him. Now came the hard part, talking.

“Did you know that sheep don’t have teeth in their upper front jaws? And that like, a bunch of sheep are gay!” Remus rambled.

“Do you do this every night?” Logan questioned.

“No,” Remus responded, “most of the time I cook in the buff— it’s freeing!”

“That’s… I mean. Uh. Do you cook every night,” Logan deadpanned.

Remus shrugged.

“On and off. Some days I do some days I don’t!”

Logan opened his mouth, then shut it. Remus, as far as he could tell, was every single bit of chaos Thomas had (that wasn’t already represented by Roman). As Remus himself had said, he was the opposite of rational thought. Remus added a little more broth to the rice, stirring quickly. 

“It’s my turn for questions— I have about seven,” Remus said. Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Remus started rattling his questions off.

“One, why’re you in the kitchen? I’ve never seen you up this late, not very logical of you.”

Logan shrugged, not sure what to say. Lying was Janus’ thing. So he straightened his tie, and said:

“Recently, I have been collecting data about the habits of the other sides, namely, when they use the kitchen. A pattern started to emerge, but there were gaps in my data, one of which exists because of the other sides waiting to make dinner, but the other gap I could not fill, nor could I simply ignore. I assumed everyone would be asleep—“

“—And you got me instead!” Remus chirped. “A pleasant surprise, isn’t it?”

Logan started at the knife laying on the counter. Next to it laid a sharpening steel. His wandering eyes landed on Remus’ back. So pale...

“...It’s certainly a surprise. Where did you—“

Something struck him right between the eyes before clattering to the ground. Logan blinked in shock, before realizing Remus had simply thrown a spoon at him.

“It’s my question time, whore!” Remus exclaimed. He summoned another spoon 

Logan nodded.

“My apologies,” Logan said, “go on?”

Remus’ brows furrowed, but he continued.

“Questions two, three, four, and six—“

“Six?”

“I’m going out of order. Question two: is Roman still a shit cook? Question three: why are you surprised? Four, how long were you sitting there, and six, do you want to eat with me?”

Logan’s eyes went wide as he tried to take in all the questions. Remus stirred in a little more broth, but he never took his eyes off of him. A little disconcerting, but in character for him.

“Well,” Logan started, “Roman is not the most skilled in cooking. His ideas are creative, but the execution tends to be subpar. While cooking he is easily distracted, which leads to burnt things. The food he summons is wonderful, though. However, this information may not be recent nor accurate because I have not seen Roman since the events after the wedding.”

“The events— you mean when Padre flipped out and turned into a frog? And Jannie told everyone his name, and Roman got princey pissed?

Logan nodded.

“Yes. But to answer question three as honestly as I can, I did not have any reason to believe you had any cooking skill, especially not of this level.”

Remus tilted his head. “Why so?”

“Because of what you represent to Thomas,” Logan explained, “all of his “bad” creativity. I had no reason to believe you could make anything good, let alone what smells like a finely made risotto.” 

Logan expected Remus to throw something at him again. Instead, Remus seemed surprisingly calm, looking down at his risotto. Logan straightened his tie again.

“Not only that,” he continued,” but also because Thomas does not possess cooking skills of this caliber.”

Remus chuckled.

“Thomas also does not possess knowledge of a lot of the shit you and Jan talk about. Like, philosophy and psychology and a whole lot of other stuff. Roman knows spanish! So who’s to say that I can’t cook? Besides, Thomas’ perception of me hasn’t done shit since the split, ya know? He has no power over me. He sees me as bad, yeah, and I don’t give a fuck. If you ask me, if Thomas let Janus take control instead of Prudey-Patton, we’d be sailing much much much smoother. But that’s only my opinion of course!”

“Really?” Logan asked, surprised.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think Janus would be a much better ‘morality’ than Patton. He has good opinions of the shit Thomas should be doing. And, he likes me! I’d say it to his face.  Patton’s face. Actually I might have? I’m not sure! I’m not sure…”

“I don’t think you have,” Logan said, “but it would be unwise for Janus to take Patton’s role, since Thomas is attached to Patton and the sudden shift would be detrimental to his mental and emotional health. Besides, I don’t think Janus could actually take his place, since he also acts as Thomas’ self preservation.”

 Remus rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. Question four! Let’s go!”

“I was sitting on the couch for about an hour and forty four minutes. Before that I was in my room. I came out and sat on the couch at one fifty one, so I wouldn’t be tempted to go to bed.”

Remus whistled low. He let go of the spoon, which kept stirring the risotto even without his touch.

“Goddamn, that’s dedication. I can’t even sit still for half that time! What would you have done if nobody showed up?”

Logan looked awkwardly down at his hands. Honestly, he hadn't thought of what he would do. 

“Go back to my room and sleep,” Logan answered, “but stay up this late for at least a week in order to make sure I had proper data.”

Remus crossed his arms and leaned back against the stove. With one hand, he tapped his fingers to his thumb in a quick rhythm— index finger to thumb, middle finger to thumb, ring finger to thumb, pinkie to thumb, over and over again.

“It really must mean a lot to you. Which leads to question five!”

“I thought you said you were—“

“Going out of order? Well, I’m not! I’m unpredictable like that. Question five! Why does charting our schedules mean so much to you?”

Logan stared at the knife laid on the counter. For a split second, he considered standing up and leaving. Because how could he explain the reason he decided to chart their movements? There were so many, each one sillier and more trivial than the last, each one of them soaked in emotion, so much so there was no denying how he felt, and if the others found out they’d never ever listen to him ever ever again— 

But on the other hand he so desperately wanted to tell him, just to get the words out, so they’d stop pushing on him. Logan fiddled with his tie. 

Logan took a slow breath in.  On the counter laid the knife. Logan’s eyes flicked around the kitchen. Sharpening steel, cutting board, some leftover herbs, Remus, the streak of white in his hair. The air was cold, the floor was hard, the chair felt sturdy, and his tie was smooth. Sizzling of the pan, his own foot, tapping restlessly on the ground, Remus’ quiet humming. The air smelled like chicken stock and a bit of garlic. None of Remus’ usual reek, surprisingly. Logan moved his tongue around a little. His mouth tasted like spit. Nothing more, nothing less. He breathed out.

“I realized that all I do is pointless. Every plan and suggestion I give is ignored, or unwanted, unless I push and push… but even then, I’m not listened to. The chart is what I believe Janus would call a ‘coping mechanism’. I know this, too, is pointless, but knowing that I can complete this without any interruption, without any need for input from the others is comforting. It does nothing, and yet I’ve dedicated a good deal of time towards it.”

Remus stared at him, expression unreadable. That was until a bright, manic smile split his features, and he clapped his hands.

“So it’s like jacking off!” Remus exclaimed.

Logan made a face, looking at Remus with nothing but unbridled confusion.’The spoon in the risotto kept on stirring by itself.

“...And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Well, it makes you feel phenomenal, it’s something you do for yourself, and it’s good for stress relief!”

Logan blinked slowly, then looked down at his lap, desperately trying to keep his composure.

“That is a good metaphor. Just like masturbation, this chart is, in the end, pointless.”

Remus snorted, and rolled his eyes. He sat down at the table next to Logan, and their knees bumped. Remus set both his elbows on the table.

“I don’t see how it’s pointless.” He said, “It’s something you’re doing to make yourself feel better because everyone else is shit. As you said, a coping mechanism. What makes it pointless?”

“It serves no purpose,” Logan deadpanned.

“Ya see, Logan, when you really, really think about it, everything is pointless!” Remus exclaimed. “Every meal we eat and person we see and every idea we have and every place we go and every happy moment is pointless, because in the end it’ll all go away! It’ll all be for nothing! Thomas will die and we’ll go with him, so everything is pointless!” 

Remus leaned closer. Their foreheads touched. How was Remus’ skin so warm? Logan swallowed, trying to push the tingling sensation in his chest down. Fear. It was fear. 

“Every single little thing is pointless!” Remus whispered intensely, “It’s true, you know it is, so don’t you agree?”

Logan looked him dead in the eyes.

“No, I don’t,” Logan said darkly, “Because while death is inevitable, Thomas’ life still matters. It might not matter cosmically, but his happiness and well being matter to me, and I will do everything in my power to give him a wonderful life, a life he can smile at even when he is close to death. So all those things you just said were meaningless? They matter more than anything. To Thomas, and to me.”

Remus smiled, wicked and sharp, waggling his eyebrows.

“So your chart isn’t pointless,” Remus said mischievously, “nothing you do is. As a part of Thomas, anything and everything you do matters. And if you say it doesn’t, then that makes you a hypocrite!”

Logan’s eye twitched. Ah, dammit, he just got played like a cheap kazoo by a guy who eats deodorant. 

“I guess you’re right.”

Remus dramatically leaned back, arms outstretched like a bird.

“I know!”

Logan sighed, hands in his lap. The risotto kept on stirring itself. Was it done? How long had it been? Logan looked at his watch. He couldn’t see, his vision clouded. He blinked. 

“I don’t know,” Logan said, “I’m Thomas’ logic I don’t know why he won’t listen to me anymore. Why none of them ever listen to me. I don’t feel like I belong among the sides even more. I’m a part of Thomas. It’s hard. I know I’m needed, but I don’t feel that way, and I can’t stop feeling. I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried. Really, everything feels pointless, because none of my efforts yield anything of value.”

Remus pat his head.

“There there,” Remus said, “now about these feelings. Have you tried turning that big brain of yours off and on again?”

A chortle escaped Logan’s month. Then, a teardrop landed on his glasses. He ripped them off and slammed them on the table, taking deep, slow breaths to calm himself. They didn’t work, and dissolved into hiccuping, pathetic sobs.

“Oh boy,” Remus said. He didn’t move his hand from Logan’s head, gently stroking his hair like how one would pet a cat. Oddly enough, it was a little calming. Logan thought for a second of what the others would see. Remus, in only boxers, petting him as he cried. Remus made a few cooing noises.

“Why did I even tell you all this?” Logan whined, sniffling wetly.

Remus removed his hand. Logan heard him stand, then rustle around a bit.

“It’s like, four am,” Remus explained, “everyone is dumb as fuck at four am. Even you, Raisin Brain.”

“Raisin Brain?”

“A pun on the cereal and a reference to how scrunchy and smart your brain is, like. A raisin? It is also something that proves my point. But I get you, sometimes the thoughts just have to come out. Here, try some.”

Logan looked up from his hands to see Remus, offering him a spoon with some of the risotto on it. He’d mixed in the mushrooms. The risotto was as pale as his skin. Logan took the spoon from Remus, and put it in his mouth. His teary eyes went wide at the taste. The rice was cooked wonderfully, and he could taste the wine and chicken broth. The mushrooms in the dish added a wonderful earthiness,  and Logan forced himself to chew slowly, relishing every last flavor before swallowing.

Remus peered down at him anxiously, twiddling his moustache with the hand not holding the spoon.

“What do you think?” He asked. Logan wiped his eyes, running his tongue over his teeth to catch the last bit of the taste.

“It tastes wonderful, the wine and the mushroom… it’s a very well done dish, you should be proud of yourself.”

Remus clapped his hands, dropping the spoon and letting it clatter on the floor. He jumped up and down, hopping back over to the pan of risotto and taking it off the heat and letting it rest on the stove.

“Won’t it get cold?” Logan asked. He sniffled.

“Not unless I want it to,” Remus said, “and I don’t want it to! I’m serving it with the lamb, which I’m gonna roast. But it has to marinate for a while. Here, while we wait…”

He grabbed the bottle of white wine from the counter and sat at the table with Logan, offering the bottle to Logan. How long had it been since he’d had wine, or anything alcoholic? One week and three days. How long had it been since he’d had wine somewhere that wasn’t his bedroom? About a year and a half. He couldn’t risk being drunk in front of the others. Then they wouldn’t view him as serious and smart, just as a silly, drunken idiot—

None of those others were here. They were all asleep.

But what would Remus think? Would he care? He could hold this moment over his head for the rest of Thomas’ life, and he would no longer be able to keep him in check. He’d truly be useless, unnecessary.

“I can hear you thinking from here, Teach,” Remus said, brows furrowed, “I can get you some water instead?”

Logan nodded. Remus snapped his fingers, and the golden wine faded until it was clear. Logan hesitantly took the bottle, gingerly sipping. Yes, that was water. He couldn’t help but take a deep gulp, almost choking on the cold, wonderful water. He lowered the bottle. Logan furrowed his brows. 

“Wine to water? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?” Logan questioned.

Remus smirked, “I think my way is more fun. I still have more questions, if you’re game?”

“I’m not ‘game’. If I was, I’d be chess,” Logan said.

“I’d be strip poker!” Remus cackled, throwing his head back in glee. When he composed himself, he looked at Logan. “But that’s not what I mean. I mean. Okay! Question eight.”

Logan blinked. He put his glasses back on, sniffling pathetically.

“I thought you only had seven questions—“

“Question eight!” Remus proclaimed, “why are you so self conscious?”

Logan spluttered.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Uh. It’s like, four am, and you’re in your usual clothes. I’m in my boxers. It’s a little weird.”

Logan looked over Remus. Pale, a few small scars unique to him. The octopi boxers. 

“I prefer to remain clothed,” Logan said, “especially in places where I could be seen. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Remus snorted.

“Whatever, I’ll get an honest answer from you one day. Now, question seven and six— question seven! What should I cook tomorrow? Er, tomorrow at this time. Time is weird.”

Logan paused, sipping the water slowly. He could say some basic dish, and join him for that, or he could test the theories building in his head, test the limits of the chart by throwing a new variable into the schedule, that variable being Remus.

“Croissants!” Logan exclaimed. He took a deep breath. “Yes. Croissants. Homemade croissants.”

Remus’ brows shot up. He flicked his wrist, and a piece of worn looking paper appeared in his hand. He glanced at the paper, eyes going wide.

“Ah, fuck, this recipe takes like, twelve hours just to prepare the dough, holy shit! This’ll take all day—“

“If you begin the preparation at three thirty am, you’ll be done at four forty pm on the dot.”

Remus looked at Logan with a bright smile. There was still a grain of rice stuck in his mustache, as white as the streak in his hair. Logan blinked slowly, suddenly struck with the urge to say something was pointless so Remus would get closer, press their foreheads together and do… something. Remus flicked his wrist, and the recipe disappeared in a burst of smoke.

“Perfect!” Remus exclaimed, “Come around the kitchen then, tomorrow, I mean. And I’ll make you the Cwossaints.”

“Croissants,” Logan deadpanned. 

“Oh, keep talking French to me, honeycomb! Ah! But now, it is time for the last question, question six!” 

Remus struck a pose, and a pan flew out of the fridge and clattered onto the stove. Pale, polished bones stuck up��� oh, the lamb. With a snap of Remus’ fingers, the pan suddenly burst into a plume of green flame, lapping at the walls and the ceiling, leaving no mark, as Remus’ destruction typically did. The rich smell of garlic and cooked meat filled the kitchen. Logan stared at Remus, unblinking. 

“Question six,” he repeated.

Remus made a face, but nodded and spoke. “Yeah, question six! Do you want to eat with me? The lamb and the risotto? I promise, it’s heavenly! And good company would make it even better!”

Logan stared at the stove. Alright. Pros and cons. It was four am, but he could still be logical, weigh his options. 

Pros: A good meal, conversation with someone who listened.

Cons: lack of sleep, another distraction, what if the others find out. 

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, standing from the table, and gingerly pushing his chair back, “but I really should be going back to sleep. It certainly smells wonderful, but I really must be going to bed.”

Remus crumpled a little, dropping the pose.

“Yeah, sure, whatever! I’m sure Jannie will eat it for breakfast. But you’re eating the cross-I-ants, or I’ll skin you.”

Logan nodded, and took a step backward. 

“I will.”

Remus stood, picking up the wine bottle and passing it to Logan. Logan took the bottle, filled with water, not the wine. He gave Remus a tight lipped smile, and walked to the stairs. Logan set his hand on the banister.

“Remus?”

“Yes?” 

Logan didn’t dare look at Remus.

“You have a grain of rice in your mustache.”

Remus cackled as Logan ascended the stairs, not looking behind him. It was as if he was a child again, running away from some sort of shadow monster that emerged only in the darkness. Running away, not from Remus, but from something. A lot of things. The water in the wine bottle sloshed.

Logan reached his room and flung the door open. His bed was perfectly made, indigo sheets pulled up nice and trim with no sign of being slept in. The lights were still on, bathing the room in clinical white light. His desk was covered in papers that he should’ve already looked over. A well loved indigo office chair sat in front of the desk. He set the wine bottle on his desk, and leaned over his chair. There was his chart. Almost reverently, he took a green marker, and, in the once empty space, wrote Remus’ name. 

There. It was done. He’d finished it. It was neat and tidy, and his. He exhaled slowly. Carefully, he undid his tie, then slipped off his shirt. After that, his shoes, then his jeans. He folded them neatly, and set them at the foot of his perfectly made bed. Sleep. Sleep sounded good. So did a lamb dinner. But there would be croissants, another excuse to sit at the kitchen table and be asked silly, harmless questions while studying the pale skin of Remus’ back.

Logan snapped his fingers to turn the lights off, and sat down in the office chair. Nice and comfortable. He relaxed, and took slow, deep breaths to take himself to sleep.

Each breath smelled like cooked lamb and wine.

[five-rivers]

Long Night in the Valley Chapter 1

Behold, my attempt to rectify the appalling lack of into the mind fics in the BNHA fandom.  :P

AO3

FFN

.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

He stood on top of the stairs to the beach, looking down on them.  With the sun rising behind them, his pupils were pinpoints, his irises shockingly bright. He wore a thin windbreaker over a t-shirt that read ‘tracksuit’ and a pair of sweatpants with his signature red shoes.  His expression was strangely flat and blank.  He had never looked at them like that before.

“Deku?” said Ochako, uncertainly, taking a step forward, her hand half raised, as though she could reach him despite being so far away.

The commission instructor flung out an arm, stopping her.  He was staring up at the boy, too, his eyes blown wide, lips pulled back with something like worry, something like fear, and something like avarice.  “Whatever that is,” he said, “it isn’t Midoriya Izuku.”

.

Aizawa reviewed the program the commission had sent to him, ignoring the gentle bumping of the bus and the barely controlled chaos of the students around him.  It looked fairly straightforward, all things considered.  The requirement was new, and Aizawa felt it was illogical to test students like this, when they could simply have the material added to the course load, but, overall, he’d seen worse.  

So why did this bother him so much?

He scanned the paperwork again.  He was going to be getting the same certification as his students, had arranged to be part of the same general ‘cohort’ even, because he didn’t trust them on their own.  At all. Ever.  

But that shouldn’t be an issue.  Even when they did get split up, they’d be going in groups of five and—

Ah.  There it was. Groups of five, with any odd numbers being used to fill out other groups who were undergoing testing on the same day, most of whom were adult heroes, if he recalled correctly.  

With the addition of Aizawa, there were twenty-one of them.

Calling on years of experience, Aizawa didn’t groan.  The thing was, Aizawa knew, even before arriving and having numbers and groups assigned, who the odd one out would be. There was only one student who could be so problematic without trying or indeed having any control over the variables that went into causing the problem.  

Midoriya.  

Aizawa almost suspected that Midoriya had some secret trouble-attracting quirk on top of the lightning-spitting bone-breaking insanity and the randomly appearing eldritch abomination tentacle things.  It would fit right in.  

Sadly, Midoriya’s ability to find trouble didn’t seem to go away when Aizawa stared at him, so he had to acknowledge that the kid was just that unlucky.  

If Aizawa let Midoriya go off to complete the course on his own, he would probably discover that, oh, pro hero Wash was laundering money from an overseas smuggling operation disguised as an environmental clean up charity.  Or, somehow, locate a villain, despite being at a secure hero commission building. Like he had during the provisional license exam.  Or break a bone.  Again. Or discover a previously unknown aspect of his quirk.  Again. Or get into a fight with Bakugo. Again.

No way.  Not if Aizawa had anything to say about it.  

.

Izuku bounced in place, excited.  He was attending a professional development course given by the Hero Standards and Practices Commission.  It was like a dream come true!  Literally!  He dreamed about this!  Of course, he’d had the dream when he was seven, and he’d just learned about the HSPC and what it did, and All Might had been the course teacher, which he wasn’t going to be for this course, and which was also a little redundant, because All Might (Mr. Yagi, Toshinori, Eight) was already his teacher, and the reason behind this course, and making everyone with any kind of hero license take it, was a bit disturbing, and he’d had to opt out of some of the course features, because reasons, but, regardless—

“Midoriya,” said Jiro, tapping on his shoulder, “they’re calling for you.”

“Oh!  Thanks!” said Izuku, nodding vigorously, and, man, he really had to cut his hair soon. It was getting long enough to fall in his eyes when he did that, and that would be distracting in the field. Good thing it wouldn’t matter for today!

They weren’t going to be doing anything physical, after all.

He walked up to the table, showed the person with the clip board his provisional license (he could still hardly believe he had it!  It was so cool!) and received a card with a number on it.  

“Pin that to your shirt,” said the man, hardly looking at him.  

At least, the man was trying to look like he was hardly looking at him.  Maybe he recognized him from the sports festival and didn’t want to make things awkward?  But it had been a while since the sports festival.  They tended to drain from common memory pretty quickly, and—

Oh, no, he’d been holding up the line.

He sketched a quick bow and ran over to where the rest of his classmates and teacher were waiting.  

“So,” said Aizawa, looking as exhausted as ever. There was a spark of something in the man’s eye, though.  Vigilance. Had he noticed something amiss? Should Izuku be on alert as well? “We have consecutive numbers, so most of us should be together in the same groups.  Problem child.”

Izuku jumped to attention.  “Yes, sir?”

… It was kind of sad that he answered to the name ‘problem child,’ wasn’t it?

(Was it sadder that he almost liked the nickname? It was nicer than what some of his other teachers had called him.  It didn’t have the same bite.)

“Trade numbers with Yaoyorozu.”

Izuku blinked and looked at Yaoyorozu in surprise.  “Um,” he said.  “Okay?”  He unpinned his card and held it out to his classmate.  

Yaoyorozu took it carefully, frowning at the number.  “Why are we doing this, sensei?” she asked.  

“Because knowing his luck, Midoriya is going to be the odd one out, and you’re the only one I trust not to kill someone or get kidnapped if you’re left on your own.”

Okay.  Harsh. But fair.  

“What about Iida?” asked Kaminari.  

“I know what I said.”

Harsher—Wait.  Aizawa knew about that?  Since when?!

“Didn’t she go off that one time, though?  At Kamino?”

Aizawa turned to stare at Mina, who held her hands up. “Forget I said anything, sensei!”

“No, no, you’re right.  Hagakure, you take Midoriya’s number.”

“Eh, me?” asked the invisible girl.  

“Yes,” said Aizawa.  

“Er, are you sure?  I don’t know if I could survive a Midoriya-level calamity!”

Izuku felt his jaw drop a little.  Was that what they were calling it now?  Rude.  

“The calamity won’t happen if he isn’t there,” reasoned Aizawa.  

Which.  Okay.  True.  But also, rude.  

Izuku wasn’t that bad, was he?

Izuku took Hagakure’s card.  The number put him between Uraraka and Aizawa, so he’d probably be with at least one of them.  On reflection, Yaoyorozu’s number had put him on the other side of Aizawa.  Which probably wasn’t a coincidence.  

The rest of the class got through registration shortly thereafter, with several of his classmates trying to trade their own numbers, only for Iida to scold them.  Which was typical, really.  It was almost calming, and Izuku needed calm after… that.

Was his luck really that bad?

Now he was much more nervous than before.  Except, before he’d been excited, and, now, he was really—

Not.  

He fiddled with the sleeve of his uniform, trying not to pick at his scars or cross the line into overtly fidgeting and being distracting.  He wished he’d brought one of his grip strength training tools.  At least with those he could pretend their only purpose was working out, unlike his other fidget toys.  

Oh, gosh, was that pro hero Rosemary, the memory hero? And Strato!  The high altitude hero!

Wow, he’d been so worried he almost hadn’t noticed how many amazing heroes were here!  There were even some he didn’t know!

And then they were being called up, number by number.  

Hagakure, true to Aizawa’s prediction, was placed with a group of confused-looking strangers, including Rosemary.  Izuku was almost jealous.  He’d love to learn how her quirk worked.  

Actually…  All of the people in that group were heroes with mental quirks.  How interesting!  Izuku would have to ask Hagakure if they gave her any tips.  He was sure they’d have different insights than the other people in their class, especially considering the subject matter of the course.  

The subject matter being combating mental attacks.  

That’s why Izuku had to opt out of being a ‘subject’ for the course.  He didn’t entirely understand it, not yet, but One for All definitely had a mental aspect, and he didn’t know how or if that would show up in a simulated attack like the ones they’d be demonstrating.  It was better to play it safe.  His quirk was already weird enough as it was.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d manage to talk Aizawa and his classmates out of being suspicious after blackwhip came out.  Most of that day was a blur.  

Izuku suspected that things would not have been smoothed over nearly so easily if Nezu hadn’t known about One for All.  

He also wasn’t looking forward to the reaction when the other user’s quirks started coming out – Even if being able to use them was going to be really cool.  

Anyway, his own group had resolved itself to consist of Aizawa, Uraraka, Iida, and Todoroki.  He was relieved.  Todoroki looked relieved, too.  That made sense.  With what Todoroki had told Izuku about his history, he wouldn’t want to be doing this with people he didn’t know, either.  

But Todoroki would have opted out, anyway, right?  Or did Endeavor not let him?  Honestly, that would be par for the course for Endeavor. Todoroki said he was getting better, but…  Izuku had doubts.  He liked to think that people could always be saved, even from themselves, that most villains could be reformed, even if the government didn’t think so, that people like Endeavor and Kacchan could see the error of their ways. But.  

But even though Kacchan was better than he was before didn’t mean that he didn’t still do things that Izuku… didn’t like.  

And he couldn’t imagine that Endeavor was changing faster than Kacchan.  

“Who will they have us do first, do you think?” asked Uraraka. “I mean, I know they’re going to go through all of us, but all of this is making me so nervous.  I have a lot of embarrassing memories, I mean, I’m sure everyone does, but, ugh, that didn’t come out right…”

“Well!” said Iida, energetically.  “If they let us volunteer, I shall go first!”

“What?” said Izuku, surprised.  “You didn’t opt out?”

“Opt out?” asked Uraraka.  “That was an option?”

“I mean, yes?” said Izuku.  “I mean, I had to file a bunch of paperwork and get Mom, All Might, and Principal Nezu to sign off on it, but, I mean, it’s an option for people who know secrets that shouldn’t be exposed.”  Like Iida.  What was he thinking?

“I… did not know that was an option,” said Iida, who had evidently now realized he was in deep, deep trouble.  

Izuku resolved to protect his friend’s secrets as best as he was able, even if it meant he didn’t get a good score in the training.  

“I didn’t think there was an opt-out option, either,” said Todoroki, frowning.  He reached towards his face but tugged on his hair instead of touching his scar.

Okay.  So.  “Am I- Am I the only one that asked?  L-like, it wasn’t easy, I had to get a bunch of signatures, but it was doable, I…”  He shrugged, helplessly.  

“I wasn’t informed there was an opt-out,” said Aizawa, grumpily and a little… suspiciously?

Izuku cringed.  He did not need his teacher to be suspicious of him.  He did not need people looking into his life.  Into his past.  Into his quirk.  

Maybe, if they couldn’t keep Iida’s and Todoroki’s secrets quiet, he could play his reluctance off as pertaining to those.  Even if the idea made him feel incredibly guilty and unworthy of his friends.  

He would just have to do his best to help them.  

Before any more conversations could be had, their group was called into one of the rooms.  A set of six cheap futons laid on the floor.  Monitoring equipment lined one of the walls.  Two commission personnel, a man and a woman, were waiting for them.

When the woman saw Izuku, she frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket.  What was that about.

“Hi,” said the man, who had a rather hooked nose and very bright, almost glowing, yellow eyes.  “I’m Ito Kenzo, and I’ll be your instructor for today.  You can call me Ito-san.  This is Saito Yume, we’ll be using her quirk for today’s demonstration.”

The woman smiled brightly, putting away her phone quickly. “The way my quirk works is that I can put up to five people into a shared dream state modeled after a sixth person’s mind.  All six people lose consciousness when I use my quirk, and the perception of time in the dream state is usually altered, although by how much varies depending on the group.  The dream state persists until either I release it, the people involved break free, or eight hours pass.  However, I’ll be making the rounds once an hour to pull everyone out and let you move on to the next person in the group.”

“I’ll be joining the dream state with you, to help point out tactics,” said Ito.  “Although the person the dreamscape is modeled on won’t be completely aware of what’s going on, the goal is to familiarize you with what it feels like to have your minds invaded in a safe, secure environment.  Saito-san’s quirk is similar enough to that of several known villains to be a good example of what to expect.”  Ito paused.  “Any questions?”

Uraraka raised her hand.  “Who’s going first?” she asked.  

“Ah, that would be—” He broke off as Saito tugged on his sleeve and showed him her phone.  The man did a double take, then paled, slightly.  He glanced at Izuku.  “Er,” he said, “you’re not supposed to be in this group.”

“Yes, I-I am,” said Izuku.  “This is- This is my number?  It matches?”

Ito glanced at Saito.  Then his phone rang.  “Oops,” he said, looking at his phone.  “It looks like I’m in the wrong group.  You kids are supposed to have Suzuki-san, I was, was requested by another group, so sorry! He’ll be here in a minute!”  Ito retreated through the back door at high speed.  

Izuku swallowed.  Something was going on behind the scenes.  This wasn’t about the suspected traitor thing again, was it?  Izuku had thought, after the training camp, that it was pretty obvious it had to be a teacher…  And it couldn’t be Aizawa-sensei.  He’d almost been killed by the noumu.  

(Also, he was the best teacher Izuku had ever had.)

A new, much taller man walked through the door.  “Hello,” he said.  “I am Suzuki Takami.  I am your instructor.  Apologies for the mix up.”

“No worries!” said Saito.  “Everyone, go ahead, lie down, get comfortable.  Midoriya-san, you’re first!”

“What?” said Izuku.  “But, I, um, I opted out?  I filled in the paperwork and everything.  I got a signature from Abe-san, and Kondo-san, and, and—” He fumbled to pull out his paperwork.  He’d kept copies, just in case.

Saito and Suzuki didn’t so much as look at it.  

“This course doesn’t have an ‘opt-out,’” said Suzuki.

“Excuse me,” said Aizawa.  “He clearly has paperwork for an opt-out.  Maybe you were misinformed.  Like you were about the room.”

Suzuki shook his head.  “I don’t know who you talked to,” he said, “but they were either mistaken about what course you were referring to, or you misunderstood them.”

“But,” said Izuku.  

“Midoriya,” said Aizawa, “if you want to sit this out, it’s fine.  I can go with you, so you won’t be alone.  No one’s going to make you subject yourself to a quirk you aren’t comfortable with.”

“He can do that,” said Suzuki, “but he’ll lose his provisional license.  He’d have to go through recertification entirely.  When’s the next licensing exam?”

“Hold up,” said Aizawa, “you’re doing this course two more times, aren’t you?  I know I was given multiple options for getting this certification.”

“Sure,” said Saito, “but it’s still going to be my quirk.” She wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger, stressed.  

Izuku’s mind was racing.  He couldn’t lose his license.  He couldn’t lose his ability to help people.  He—What would All Might think?  He couldn’t—

“It-It’s-It’s fine, sen-sensei, I’m um.  It’s fine!  I’ll- I’d have to do this anyway, right? Mi-might as well get it over with, huh?”  He walked over to one of the futons, and set down his backpack, trying to hide his trembling hands.  “So, is-is there anything special or specific I have to do for your quirk to work?”

“Nope,” said Saito, cheerfully, “just lie down and close your eyes.  Come on, everyone lay down.”

Aizawa moved slowly, which was nothing short of shocking considering how eager he usually was to crawl into his sleeping bag.  He put the bag down on one of the futons.  “You’re sure there’s no way for Midoriya to opt out?”

“Positive.  We’re really sorry,” said Saito.  

“Illogical,” grumbled Aizawa.  He got into his sleeping bag nonetheless.  “You sure about this, problem child?”

“I-I’m sure, sensei!  Plus ultra, right?”  He laid down, trying to get comfortable, but the panic rising in his veins really didn’t allow for that.  He could, distantly feel One for All (and all it contained) pressing up against the back of his mind with something like concern.  He swallowed.  Don’t think about it.  

His classmates were, hesitantly, picking out their own spots. Iida looked like he wanted to say something.  Uraraka’s brow was furrowed, her lips pursed.  Todoroki was difficult to read, as always.  

Suzuki was already lying down, staring at the ceiling.

Izuku closed his eyes.  

“Alright!” said Saito.  “Here we go!”

.

Yume left the room with Midoriya Izuku in it, feeling just slightly dazed.  She paused for a moment in the back hallway.  She had dozens of other groups to set off, and she was running late after that little snafu.  

Midoriya Izuku was supposed to be in a group with Suzuki-san and four other specially picked professional heroes.  Heroes who would get to the bottom of why and how he had multiple quirks, who would find out who he really was, who would figure out how he was in contact with the League of Villains and why they decided to pick some random quirkless nobody—

Assuming that’s what Midoriya Izuku really was.  The initial investigation had uncovered some discrepancies in his family records.  

In any case, he was not supposed to be in a group with his little friends and overprotective teacher.  

Oh, well.  Except for Midoriya, they were all clean.  If they were really heroes, they’d do what was right.  

Yume pushed off the wall (when had she started leaning on it?) and stumbled.  Something bright and red caught on the periphery of her vision and she looked down.

Her nose was bleeding.

She licked her lips, tasting copper.  It shouldn’t be bleeding.  That only happened when she overused her quirk, when she tried to put too many people into one dreamscape or tried to combine two dreamscapes into one. She’d been pacing herself.  This shouldn’t be happening.  It shouldn’t be bleeding like this, like she had just put more than a dozen people under.

Suzuki Yume promptly passed out.  

.

“Wow,” said Uraraka, looking around in delight.  She was still worried about Deku.  He’d looked really bad right before Saito-san activated her quirk, and she and Suzuki-san had been acting kind of shady, but—

But—

This place was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but be a little in awe.  She’d kind of expected dreamscapes to be more… Mushy, maybe?  Darker?  Her dreams usually weren’t very clear (except for the nightmares, and those didn’t count).

But Deku’s dreamscape was as bright as he was: a beautiful beach and a cerulean ocean at sunrise.  Or was it sunset?  Either way, the sun hovered above the ocean, its light gleaming off the waves.  

“Wow,” said Todoroki, approaching the breakers on the beach.  He crouched, looking at the sand.  “It’s really…”  he poked the sand, “detailed.”

“As expected of Midoriya!” exclaimed Iida, waving his hands. “His attention to detail is unparalleled!”  

“Hm,” said Aizawa.  “Too bright…” He put on his goggles.  

“Excuse me,” said Suzuki.  “If I can have your attention, please.  I apologize for the deception, however—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (10)

this fic requested by @fromsomewhereoverthere as a giveaway prize! thank you for your patience!

warnings: crying, repression, people misunderstanding/talking over each other, virgil’s awful no good dissociation, negative talk

Chapter 10

Virgil wasn’t surprised when he woke up on the edge of Patton’s bed distinctly not tiny-dragon-shaped, the moral side starfished out beside him. 

Of course, not being surprised didn’t mean not being very, very panicked, especially when Patton began to sleepmumble indistinctly. It was as sure a sign as any that he was going to be waking up soon. 

Luckily, Patton was much less clingy in sleep than Roman had been, with only a hand thrown over Virgil’s shoulder and an ankle twining under his leg. It was easy enough to sidle away, right up until the mattress disappeared from under him and his stomach lurched as he fell right off the side of the bed with a yelp.

“Humh?” Patton grunted, blankets shifting, and Virgil did the first thing that came to mind with his whole brain in a screaming panic. He rolled under the bed.

There was the creaking of bedsprings above him, and then a muffled yawn. “Mmgh. Puff? Where’re you, buddy?” 

Two feet swung over the edge of the bed to plant themselves on the carpet, and Virgil felt blood rushing in his ears as though he was about to pass out. He’d tried to convince himself last night that maybe Patton wouldn’t be disgusted if he found out, but he knew what kind of luck he had, and it wasn’t the kind that was generous with maybes. 

Feet away, Patton got on his hands and knees to peer under the bed. Virgil shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see his expression when he finally realized who “Puff” really was. 

There was a pause that felt both too long and too short as Patton shifted again, and then gasped...

“There you are, little guy!” 

Virgil opened his eyes, blinking in surprise at the sight of tiny talons instead of fingers in front of him. He’d changed back? He hadn’t been able to while he was on the bed with Patton, or even earlier, tangled up with Roman. What was different?

Patton wasn’t privy to his confusion, laying flat on his stomach and reaching out a coaxing hand. “Did you have a nightmare, Puff? It’s okay, it’s not real. I know sometimes things seem scary, but we’re together, okay?”

Virgil shook himself, focusing back on the matter at hand. He could worry about his scaly ailment’s odd restrictions later. For now, he had to convince Patton to stop shoving all his bad feelings down.

He slunk out from under the bed, brushing against the back of Patton’s hand as he went, and sat right in front of the moral side’s face, inspecting him sharply. Don’t think I forgot about yesterday, he tried to convey with a glare.    

Patton barely even blinked at a mythical creature full of sharp teeth and claws getting in his space, because that was just the kind of person he was. At the look, he did have the grace to at least appear sheepish. 

“Hey, it’s okay! Don’t worry about me, I’m all better now, see?” He spread his arms out like he was attempting to make a snow angel face-first. “Back to normal size and everything, not a single problem here--!”

A sharp pop that made Virgil recoil with a squeak, and Patton laid before him once again at a diminutive five inches. He sat up with a frown. “Fiddlesticks.” 

Virgil couldn’t make a sarcastic comment about language, so instead he churred at Patton, unimpressed. 

“Okay,” Patton sighed, “I guess maybe we should go talk to the others, huh?” 

--- 

One jaunt over to the commons later, Virgil stood a vigilant guard as Patton showed the others his new stature. 

“And you’re certain no curse triggered it?” Roman asked again, looking troubled. “You weren’t poking at any of my gifts from the imagination or anything?” 

“Nope,” Patton answered, stretching his shoulders absently. “I was just curled up on the floor with Puff, ‘cause he seemed like he could use a hug from a friend, and I…” 

His voice trailed off weakly, a brittle smile beginning to form, and Virgil leaned down to bump his head against Patton’s shoulder in gentle remonstration. Patton stared at him for a long moment, smile still half-frozen on his face, and then let the expression crumple. 

“... I think I needed a friend hug, too.” 

Roman and Logan exchanged panicked glances for a moment, and Virgil huffed a small puff of smoke at them pointedly. Huh. He hadn’t known he could do that. 

Before either of them could speak, however, Patton shifted back to normal with a pop and some flailing that knocked over most of the objects nearby. Virgil jumped nimbly to the couch to be out of range. In hindsight, they probably shouldn’t have people who were going to abruptly jump in size stand on a slightly-messy table.

Patton sniffled, adjusting his disheveled glasses, moving to roll off the table. He looked like he was on the brink of apologizing for his feelings again, so Virgil growled and scaled Roman’s arm to reach his shoulder, cuffing him over the head with a wing. Show him support, already!

Roman shot him an offended look, but moved forwards anyhow, offering Patton a hand up. The moral side took it and then was promptly tugged into a hug, Princey lifting him right off the ground for a moment. Still clinging to Roman’s shoulder, Virgil could see Patton’s surprised expression relax and descend into small sobs as he finally let go.  

“Hey, hey,” Roman offered soothingly. “Don’t worry about it, Pat. We all have our bad days, nothing wrong with that.” 

Patton shook his head slightly, but didn’t say anything to the contrary, and Virgil leaned forwards to gently butt foreheads with him before Roman finally released him. 

“How about we help you with breakfast? I can fry up some excellent bacon, if I do say so myself, and Specs is excellent at waffle measurements.” Roman winked, leaning in to stage whisper to Patton. “I'm sure we can sneak in some chocolate chips by the time the batter is ready.” 

Logan rolled his eyes, snapping his fingers and exchanging his normal attire for an apron with the NASA logo on it. “With the advantage I have in attention span, I believe my waffles are at no real risk from the two of you.”  

Roman gasped in outrage, and Patton managed a teary chuckle. “You’re going to eat those words! And some delicious chocolate chip waffles!” 

Virgil balanced delicately on Roman’s shoulders as they all moved to the kitchen, and he chirped in warning before using the creative side as a springboard to clamber up the side of the fridge. Princey snorted at his scramble, but before long all three of the human-shaped sides were busy bustling around the kitchen and Virgil was free to curl up on top of his excellent vantage point and take a well-deserved nap. 

-

“Anxiety?” 

Virgil jerked awake automatically, half-ready to duck away from a blow and snarl a retort, but-- he glanced down at his talons. Still Puff. Then, what…? 

“Padre, I know you try to see the best in everyone, but I don’t want that guy anywhere near Puff,” Roman was saying, piling the last pieces of crisp bacon onto a plate with a little more force than necessary. “You should’ve heard the way he talked about him, it just makes me— ugh!” 

He threw his hands up emphatically, and stalked over to the dining table to set the plate down. Patton followed with a dish of waffles stacked high, looking conflicted. Virgil absently noted that Logan had let them get the chocolate chips in after all.

“I know, they don’t seem to get along, but maybe if we all just sat at a dinner together…” he tried, but his voice was weak. 

“For once, I have to agree with Roman,” Logan chimed in, carrying a cup of freshly poured coffee to his seat. “Even without Puff to take into account, I suspect that strong negative emotion is the last thing Morality needs to deal with right now.” 

“And we all know that’s what Anxiety will bring to the table,” Roman added, stabbing a fork viciously into his waffle. “That Negative Nancy never has anything nice to say to anyone.” 

“I… I guess,” Patton said, moving to sit in his own chair with one last look cast over to the stairs.

Virgil felt a tightening in his throat that probably meant he was going to be all sorts of emotional about this moment later, when he was human. Sometimes the anxiety-dampening feature this form came with was handy, he reflected as he glided down to the floor with only a little wobbling. It wouldn’t do him any good to be acting sad when they weren’t even talking about him. 

Something in his mind twinged. He slowed his trot across the carpet for a moment, reviewing his last thought.

… Puff. They weren’t talking about Puff. He was still Anxiety, like it or not. 

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton said, shooting him a smile before leaning over to offer him an arm up. He shook the errant thoughts away, deciding that he should eat first. 

It was better that they didn’t go get Anxiety anyways. Then he’d have to sneak off to play his role or risk them getting suspicious of an empty room. Between being forced through another tense, glare-filled breakfast as Anxiety or sitting content as the tiny dragon people actually liked, the latter was clearly the better option. It just made sense. Who would want Anxiety over Puff, anyways? 

“Speaking of Puff,” Logan started, nodding at him politely, “I was considering the shrinking occurrences again while cooking. Morality, you said Puff was there when you first reduced in size, correct?” 

“Mmhm!” Patton hummed through a mouthful of waffle. Virgil paused in dragging another piece of bacon to himself to tilt his head at Logan curiously. 

“Roman, you believed your reduced size was due to a curse, but Puff was also with you when you first transformed, was he not?” 

“Well, yes, but I’m not entirely sure I like where you’re going with this,” Roman said, frowning. “Surely you can’t be implying that Puff is the cause?” 

Logan didn’t falter, pushing his glasses up slightly as he peered at Virgil. “He is currently the only constant variable in the two cases, seeing as neither I nor Anxiety have been subject to this… shrinking phenomenon. We still don’t know where he came from, and—“ 

“Stop right there, Specs. First Anxiety, now you? There is nothing bad about Puff!” Roman insisted, and if Virgil wasn’t so busy watching the two of them glare, he would have laughed. 

“That’s not what I was—“ 

“Roman’s right, kiddo,” Patton cut in this time, placing a hand on Virgil’s ridged back supportively. “I know you want to get to the bottom of this, but that’s no reason to start accusing friends.” 

Logan took a deep breath. “I know that, I’m simply suggesting that we investigate all possible causes. Unless you want to be left doll-sized without warning at random periods?” 

“I think we’re learning to handle it pretty well,” Patton offered optimistically. Roman nodded, looking a bit smug. 

“Personally, I've had enough practice that I’m confident I can reverse the transformation at will! You’re falling behind, Snorelock Holmes.” 

Virgil ducked back slightly, watching as Logan visibly grit his teeth. “I—“ he faltered for a moment, lips thinning, and then stood. “I am going to retire to my room. I will speak with you all at a later date.” 

He immediately sunk out, ignoring Patton’s protests. Roman rolled his eyes, and then visibly remembered that he was supposed to be cheering Patton up and turned back to the moral side. “Look, we’ll let Calculator Watch cool his jets by doing sudoku puzzles or whatever it is he enjoys. In the meantime, I was thinking of having a movie marathon, which you are most certainly invited to. Maybe some classic Disney will lift your spirits?” 

Patton nodded slowly, still looking slightly troubled. “It feels wrong to let him storm off like that, but  I don’t want to make him upset by pushing…” 

“Then it’s settled!” Roman decreed, rising to his feet and sweeping a few dishes off the table into his hands. “I’ll clean up here and prepare some snacks-- other than myself-- so you go pick a movie to start with.”   

Virgil left the last piece of bacon on his plate untouched, appetite suddenly gone as a strange compulsion tugged at his chest. He jumped down to follow Patton over to the couch, and then slowly ambled over to the stairs as Patton began shifting through their movie cabinet. If he could just make his motions casual enough...

“Puff? Where’re you going, buddy?”

Virgil twisted to peer over his shoulder at Patton, who seemed curious but thankfully not upset. He glanced up at the hall that led to Logan’s room, and then back to Patton. Wasn’t it obvious?

“You’re gonna go check on Logan?” Patton asked, and Virgil hopped up another step in confirmation, waiting to see what the moral side thought. “I see… Maybe you’ll know what to do better than I do. Stay safe, okay?” 

That was a relief. If it had been Roman, he probably would have had a much more difficult time scampering off. The prince was bizarrely attached to his dragon self. 

He chirped once and continued to scale the stairs, claws finding easy purchase on the carpeted corners. It was only once he’d vanished from view that he began to slow, wondering what exactly his plan was. Logan was upset, that much he knew, but how could he fix it? He was Anxiety, and dark sides weren’t really known for ‘fixing’ things. 

There was another tug in his chest, an urge to go-find-protect that only increased with his certainty that Logan was hurting. He took a deep breath, shaking his wings out. First things first, there was no way Logan wanted to see him like this, not after his theory about Puff was the reason he’d gotten agitated in the first place. 

Not to mention, he didn’t particularly want to reveal anything more about Puff to the intelligent side when he barely knew what was going on himself. He focused for a moment, closing his eyes and pulling for the harsh cold edges of his real form. When he opened his eyes again, the world around him was visible from a human eye level once more, and his lungs felt as though they were being constricted.

He stuttered through a few shallow inhales, and then firmly stomped down the panic and racing thoughts down before they could reverse his transformation. He was Anxiety now, and that meant everything that came with it. He’d deal with the panic attack later.

Unfortunately, including his less-than-popular social status, he reflected as he knocked on Logan’s door for the third time. “Logic, it’s me-- shoot, I guess we all kind of sound the same, huh? It’s Anxiety. Are you going to let me in or not?”

Silence. 

“What, did you drown in a lab sample or something? Come on, I know you can hear me.” 

Not a peep from behind the door, but the certainty that Logan was feeling threatened and overwhelmed only increased. His hands twitched uselessly at his sides for a few moments, and then he growled in frustration. “Screw it, I’m going in.” 

Surprisingly, Logan’s door wasn’t locked, the handle twisting easily under his grip. He entered with careful steps and stopped short. It wasn’t a particularly large room, professional-looking with not many places to hide. Logan wasn’t visible on the bed or at his desk, and he didn’t seem the type to dive into a closet to hide from someone. 

Despite the evidence before his eyes, he knew that Logan had to be in the room, which meant that he was tiny. Everyone in this part of the mindscape had officially had a turn, it seemed. Virgil forced his thoughts away from that line of thinking, since he couldn’t afford to have a panic attack at the moment. 

“Logan? I know you’re in here, dude.” After a moment of hesitation, he knelt on the floor, watching the ground carefully. 

There. He doubted he’d have caught it if he wasn’t Anxiety, but there had been the slightest movement in the corner of his eye, under the desk. Without thinking, he turned his head to look closer, and was rewarded with the sight of a tiny form stumbling back a few panicked steps.

“Hey-- wait!” Virgil lunged forwards, chin meeting carpet as he just barely reached his goal. He heard Logan yelp as hands bracketed into a curved shape around him, the tiny side backing into his fingers for a moment before jerking away. 

“Anx— Anxiety, what is the meaning of this?” Logan said, tilting his chin up and trying to conceal the way he was slightly shaky. Afraid of him. 

Virgil kept his hands still, resisting the urge to scowl. “Relax. I’m not going to grab you. Here, just—” He glanced behind Logan, and nudged him forwards slightly, ignoring the glower sent his way with practiced ease. Once he deemed the nerd secure, he pulled his hands away, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“If you’re finished assaulting my person, I’d appreciate an explanation. Now,” Logan demanded, looking increasingly exasperated. 

Virgil rolled his eyes, pointing. “You were about to take a nosedive, Pocket Protector.”

Logan turned and blinked at the open heating duct on the floor under the desk. The one he’d been about to trip back onto, resulting in at best a sore backside and at worst a bone-breaking fall. “... I see. Well, you have my gratitude, though I doubt I would have encountered such a difficulty if you hadn’t decided to intrude upon my abode.”

Virgil narrowed his eyes, and Logan coughed tactfully before continuing. “It’s irrelevant now. What was it that you needed?” 

“Me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re the one who’s literally pint-sized at the moment.” 

“I would estimate my current height is closer to a half-pint,” Logan corrected, “and regardless, it’s none of your concern.” 

“It’s my concern when it means I could be next,” he countered, thinking fast. “You’re Thomas’s intellect, you’ve got to have some idea of what’s happening. Why it’s happening.”

“I do have a hypothesis, however, regarding--” Logan cut himself off, face falling into a frown. Virgil could see the wheels turning in his little head, and resisted the urge to wince. “You were eavesdropping.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Virgil answered anyways with an echo of his usual smirk. “Remember, I’m always listening.”  

“You only listen to yourself,” Logan snapped back with surprising ferocity. Virgil opened his mouth, but the logical side wasn’t done. “You’re the same as the others, too emotional to actually use your brain for anything but your own feedback loop. You’re only listening to me because you think I'm on your side of this conflict.” 

“That’s not true,” Virgil interjected, shifting to sit up with a frown. Logan took another step away, craning his neck up, but didn’t back down.

“Oh?” Logan said, sounding incredulous enough to make Virgil’s hackles rise. “What would you think, then, if I said that I believed Puff wasn't behaving maliciously?” 

Virgil bit his tongue on his instinctive response, forcing himself to take a moment and think about the suggestion without letting any of his insider knowledge of the situation slip. If Patton had found a sentient monster that everyone seemed to love, and then everyone exposed to it had started shifting mass at around the same time? Yeah, he would absolutely have a healthy suspicion, and more than a few conspiracy theories on the topic.

The real question was, would he be restrained enough to trust Logan’s judgement? He hesitated.

“Look, I can’t not be suspicious, but…,” Virgil sighed at the slight slump of Logan’s shoulders. “Ugh, whatever. You’ve spent more time near that little monster than me. If you think it isn't trying to hurt anyone on purpose, then fine, I’ll follow your lead until-- I mean, unless-- unless things get dicey.”  

“You… are being genuine.” The scrutinizing look that Logan gave him was almost insulting, but fair. He was still a dark side, after all, and even now he was hiding his actual motivations to keep himself safe. 

Virgil shrugged. “You generally know what you’re talking about. It’d be stupid not to listen to you, and I may be a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I leave that to Princey-- woah!” 

With a loud thunk, Logan had returned to his normal size, half his body knocking against the underside of the desk. Virgil did wince this time. “Ouch.” 

Of course, when he emerged from under the desk, necktie askew, he barely even seemed to notice the bump, eyes alight as he looked at his hands. “Did you see that?” 

“A bit hard to miss,” Virgil muttered, and was promptly ignored as Logan scrambled through a pile of notebooks for the right one to jot his new findings down in, mumbling to himself about triggers and overlapping variables. 

Virgil sighed in faux annoyance, careful to conceal the relieved smile he felt coming on at the sight of a return to status quo. “Alright, nerd, I’m leaving. Remember to sleep, or Thomas will stay up on wikipedia all night, and I’ll make him google creepypasta as payback.” 

“Wait, Anxiety,” Logan looked up, his pen stilling on the page. “You do know that if you ever suffer from this affliction, you can reach out, correct? I’m aware we are not always on the best of terms, but such a shift can be… disorienting, to say the least. It would be illogical of me to leave you to face it alone.”  

“Yeah,” Virgil rolled his eyes, “I know. Don’t worry, Teach, I’m aware that you want to know about  every instance of this shrinking thing.” 

Logan frowned as though he wanted to say something else that might embarrass them both, so Virgil spared him the effort by saluting shortly before sinking out. 

As soon as he was in the hall again, he knocked a fist to his shoulder in a self-soothing motion, panic rising up like a wave. He’d promised himself he’d deal with these feelings, but with them bearing down on him like this… 

He turned towards the faint sound of Lilo & Stitch in the commons, and released his grip on his human form, feeling the stress fade into the background as he became Puff again. 

He could afford a little more time like this, couldn’t he?