#which i left untreated for too long

[theinternetisaweboflies]

so far my favorite part of persona 5 is when ann tries to get rid of kamoshida by telling him that she has appendicitis but she's been too busy to go to the hospital and he's such a bad phys ed teacher that he doesn't realize she would be dead

[sky-scribbles]

Just remembered how, when I was first levelling up Gale, I thought, 'huh, he's got fairly decent Consitution for a wizard. Useful for gameplay purposes, of course, but I wonder if there's a narrative explanation?'

And not an hour or two of play later, learned that the orb - if left untreated too long - causes him constant pain, muscle spasms and disorientation. Gale and Tara did not immediately figure out how to treat his condition, which meant that he likely spent weeks or months in that state - and of course, whenever the orb acts up, he goes through it again. He probably endures it constantly through the end of act 1, after his treatment stops working.

Constitution, of course, is that the stat that represents ability to focus while being hurt. Endurance even after physical distress. Pain tolerance.

Yeah. I think there's a narrative explanation.

[evilminji]

You know, i just had the mental image of a sith in star wars finding a ritual or something to summon a ghost and end up summoning danny, while in space. The sith is struggling to try and convince this otherworldly being to help them do evil and their just staring out the nearest viewport in awe about the amount of new space things to discover.

How does it feel? To have such a big and wrinkly brain? So full of smartness?? :O

That? Is Brilliant~☆

It could be a Krell situation. Stress of the war got to be too much. Or a Dooku situation, discontent fed and fed until it burst. Like a silently festering wound, left unseen and untreated.

Regardless of HOW it happened?

The lil shit steals from Madame Nu. Like a CRAZY PERSON.

Rightfully terrified that she will Kick Their Ass into the stratosphere for touching HER archives, they head straight for the "Sith Stuff". What does it DO? What RESEARCH did they do? HA! You ask too much of them! There is no PLAN here!

Their brain has gone to SOUP with the Dark Side. It's all wild mood swings and impulse decisions! Research and careful precautions takes PATIENCE. Planning. The calm and rationality they just THREW OUT AN AIR LOCK.

They are high on the initial high of the Dark Side that few, if any, Dark Siders ever SURVIVE. That TEST of their character and control, as they stand in the storm they have unleashed upon themselves.

You want POWER?

Okay.

HAVE IT.

Like trying to swallow a waterfall. Drink the ocean, one cup at a time. Endless, yes, but equally so? It is BRINE. Not the life giving waters of the Light. The more you drink... the deeper your thirst. The faster you die. Can you control yourself? Suffer it? For that's all that's left... suffering. Thirst. Endless, Endless Thirst.

Water water everywhere, and it shall grind your bones to DUST when next you drink.

Welcome to the Dark Side! Was it WORTH it?

But, ah, our Fallen's brain is muddled soup. They think so. They are not themselves. May never be again. That's why it's a tragedy. Because it both IS and ISN'T their hands that takes that Sith artifact. Because who they WERE would be appalled.

They don't even know what they are grabbing, do they? No one does. Seized from the ruins of a laboratory. Long dead horrors, painted upon the walls. A Sith's obsession with the afterlife of his people. Ghosts. Beings that were, supposedly, DIFFERENT then Force Ghosts.

The notes speak of "green". A vision or experience in his youth. Brief. The world tearing open. A gate to somewhere "green". The Sith believed it was the afterlife. Felt death inside the gate. Described as "peaceful, joyful, driven, and eternal", he was ultimately unable to full articulate the full scope of what he believed he saw.

Now his last device is in the hands of a fallen jedi.

Who is going to USE it.

P A N I C

Obviously, the Temple gaurds chase the crazy mofo as hard as they can. Without a DOUBT, every master on hand and available, is roped in by Madame Nu to FOLLOW that psychopath, before he unleashs FORCE KNOWS WHAT, directly over CORUSCANT AIRSPACE!!! The SENATE. THE TEMPLE?! HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF LIVES!?

Fallen McFuckface? Clearly did not think this through (nooooo, REALLY? Everyone is SHOCKED! Shocked, they tell you!), panics. Which is, unfortunately, the LAST thing they wanted them to do. FUCK™.

Masters and Knights are LITERALLY cutting through the hull, kicking down the door, they can survive limited Space exposure and honestly? We're not THAT high yet! Let's see you jump to hyperspace with HOLES in your ship! (Fucking, DONT GIVE THEM IDEAS! They're insane, remember?!) (Shit. You're right.)

When?

.......Green...~¤~

Hilariously? The Sith can plan all they want. But you can NEVER plan for stupid. Make a plan idiot proof, as they say, and the Universe will just build a better idiot. All that carefully curated misery, hatred, and suffering? That DISPAIR. The webs upon webs of Darkness carefully spread across the Senate district? Choking the Temple?

Mmmmm, tasty kindling. Good fuel! Sith Artifact LIKEY~!

It RIPS and TEARS. A screaming MAW IN THE SKY. A black hole for Dark Side energy that takes and takes and TAKES. Dropping people all across the district below. KILLING the particularly irredeemably monstrous. After all~!

The Force? Is in all things.

You DON'T have to be Force Sensitive, to Fall. Just a BASTARD. Just cruel and selfish, hateful and needlessly petty. All the things that would sour and turn a Jedi? Can sour and turn YOU too. Just slower, quiter, and with less explosions. But! It still wraps the Dark around your bones. Feeds it into your blood.

Kills you, when it all gets ripped away.

One must wonder.... how many Senators die instantly? And how many die in the days to come? Slowly, painfully, bed-bound as they reflect on who they had become? The fall out will be SPECTACULAR.

The Jedi's fault? How? How is their being stretched so thin they could not mount a proper response THEIR fault? How is YOUR corruption, THEIR fault? Please note all the individuals who were FINE! Baffled, but FINE!

But perhaps you are correct.

Perhaps, for the safety of ALL, we should MOVE our main Temple.

We've done it before. We can do it again. Or do you not want to HAVE that conversation? Hmmm? No, no, we wouldn't want to be a THREAT to you FINE people! You HONORABLE senators! Please, continue to yell and make demands! SEE HOW FAR IT GETS YOU!

Would they normally send someone more diplomatic? Yes. But STRANGELY all of THEM had weird SITH Darkness on them that got violently ripped off! They are in the halls of healing. Unconscious. Because getting Sith shit, that was hooked into your brain, violently ripped out? Not GREAT! 0 out of 10 healers recommend!

Fuuuuck you! Yes, I bite! And be warned, my Race is VENOMOUS! *aggravated Jedi Senior Padawan noises, hissing*

Danny? Got pulled out in FULL regalia. Just FULL on Ice and Stars. Full "I am the Cosmos beholding itself, I am the dead child you could not save.", beyond vanta-black armor and cape like a window to ever shifting stars, crown of aurora borealis playing off the eternal ice, all upon a youngling that seems forever floating... frozen in time. By death.

Was it sacrifice? Natural? Is it just a shape the spirit takes? IS he a youngling?

They both can and can not feel him.

Both can and can not SEE him.

He is so young....

A child king, hsmiles with such shared grief, when they look upon that too large crown, upon a head that should never have been forced to wear it. Like a child, forced to wear his father's mantle too soon. Is that what happened? Was it something worse? They can not bring themselves to ask.

Not when he is so... so DELIGHTED?

Playing with the younglings. In AWE of each and everyone of them. The things they learned each day. "Who wants to go flying?" "Try to float me!" "I believe in you." Oh, he BASKS in their Light like a desperate thing. Showers them with praise and attention, gentle corrections and undivided attention.

He is empathic. Alive and dead. Fascinated by the stars.

And of course... King™.

No, no, he's not interested in your Senate. Doesn't like um, Doesn't trust um. The vibes are RANCID. But I mean... if you REALLY need an army so bad? Since it seems you guys are pushing yourself WAY outside of your normal duties? Like, he doesn't know, uhhh farmers burning crops to prevent starvation? Something like that.

Just? Since you hate it? But are worried people will die? Or those Clone guys (Sweet! Clones! Ellie is gonna be HYPED.) Are gonna die? He could, you know... fix that for you?

JUST you.

We're gonna have to get it in writing. And they won't do anything BUT stop the robots and help people. They don't actually answer to you. Soooo.....?

.......are you offering us an army? (Yeah. An endless skeleton army. Lead by the greatest Generals to have ever died.).....(they get bored.)

And SUDDENLY? Oh look! The Galactic suffering levels? Just fucking DROPPED. All those SENTIENT Clone soldiers! Dying in vain, in agony, ALONE? Not happening! Skeletons can get blasted apart, fade, reassemble, and march RIGHT BACK OUT! This is GREAT fun!

And even better? Unlike with Pariah? THIS time they march? King PHANTOM is sending them to HELP people! Woooooo! Destroy metal crunchy things! Help clean up rubble! Build a house! Rescue trapped people from rubble! Tireless effort! Honor and service! Thanks for the FREE METAL! *rips apart your robots*

There are no anti-ecto technologies here! The BEST they have is Force users! Which? Ha ha ha! GOOD LUCK. That's what? One? TWO? Of you?? To HOW MANY of us??? *cackles in bone army*

And! If they happen upon OTHER things they don't like? Whoop! Should'a thought of that! Before being a DICK! King Phantom says slavery is ILLEGAL. And we, the FORMER slave army of King Pariah, have Millennium Long ISSUES with that! (Easy to remove that chip, when you can reach THROUGH a person. Here you Slaver FUCK. YOU have it! In fact! Have ALL of them. From each and every slave.)

Anikin LOVES his new Bone friends. They are WONDERFUL. Him n them? Bonded. He's made them all speech boards. They're plotting the gruesome end of the Hutt cartel together. He's showing them the holo of his wedding. They're making Super Advanced Chip scan-.....

W....Why is his scanner going off? There should be nothing near by for it to recognize. The only thing HERE is him, his Bone Buddies, and Rex for supervision.... *mounting horror as he slowly waves the device around* *beep*

R-Rex?

...

......

The Clones? De-chipped in like... two days. There are too many skeletons to NOT have them be able to just? *reach in, feel for the Non-Clone bit, grab it, pull out* didn't even need surgery! But boy, oh, boy! Is Anikin upset. That sure is a Slave chip! Hey, Kamino! Have a Chosen One and his Bones Bros! Some Clones in orbit with Real Big Guns.

And Palatine? Is? PISSED.

His whole ass Empire is dissolving in his hands. The Sith Master Plan! Going up in smoke! Walls are closing in! All because of ONE(1) glowing BRAT.

Wanna bet he goes after him... with LIGHTNING? In human form, of course. Danny. Who DIED to electricity. Who has, throughout ALL of this? Been chilling in the Jedi temple, finally... FINALLY! Unwinding. Putting down the stress on his shoulders. Healing from his childhood. Cuddling cute babies and laying on the grass to nap, listen to the waterfall. Be at PEACE, surrounded by the Light of the Jedi.

Danny, who has been making friends. Enjoying the archives. For once in his stressful, STRESSFUL life? Letting OTHER PEOPLE deal with it. Playing with alien puppies and weird not-cats. Trying new foods! Seeing about adopting some droids that Tucker might get on with. Sorry "buying" some droids. (As though those Restraining Bolts aren't coming off the SECOND they droids are in his hands.)

It's been cool. Relaxing. Great for his mental health.

They have folks LITERALLY called Mind Healers here! Jazz would love it!

So obviously Sith face ruins it. Hurts his friends and blasts him with LIGHTNING. The kids are crying and terrified. This was supposed to be some sort of "learn about how the Republic works" day trip to the Senate! He was helping chaperone. They are being so, SO brave. Staying together. Trying to get their teacher out of harms ways.

He? Is? PISSED.

How DARE you. How FUCKING DARE YOU?! A fight between adults? Not his Reality, not his business. Clockwork drilled that into his head. He CAN'T keep the Multiverse together. Fight every fight for everyone, save everything. People have free will. Have to decide for THEMSELVES. Choose to do the right thing.

It doesn't mean SHIT if they don't save themselves. Wont last, in the end, because they won't have LEARNED a damn thing. He GETS that! But KIDS?! Ooooh ho ho! He DRAWS THE LINE AT KIDS! At shocking the SHIT out of him with LIGHTNING!

You want to poke the sleeping titan 'til it wakes up?

Well congrats!

YOU HAVE HIS ATTENTION NOW!

*inhale*

*Wail*

Palpatine goes through the HOLE where about fifteen walls USED to be. Half of Coruscant physically hears it and EVERYONE with even a TOUCH of Force sensitivity FEELS it. Across the entire planet and up into orbit.

Dying screams and the crackle of electricity. Regret. Fear. The desperate need to protect, in your final moment. Pain and pressure, the cool slide of Death come to take it all away. You were just fourteen. You were just fourteen! You died screaming, you came back screaming, in the place between... will you ever stop screaming?

You are the Galaxy, the Cosmos, the INFINITE. You are just a child.

How many souls died screaming?

Can't you hear ALL OF THEM?

Pissed or not, kids come first. Fuuuuuck that guy. Danny picks up the teacher, the kids, and back to the Temple they go. Teacher survives. Kids cling. Senate gets itself into a snit over the "unprovoked attack". But the thing is? A whole CLASS of Baby Jedi say the Chancellor is the Sith Lord. Look too spooked to be lying. Their teacher, too WOUNDED for this to be a prank.

The Jedi close rank.

Palpatine tries to use the Clones.

You know... the De-chipped by their Bone Bros Clones.

Commander Fox? Gets to finally, FINALLY(!!!) live out his long time fantasy... of shooting the fucker. Slug thrower. Tragically, fails to kill him. But the attempt WAS enthusiastic! We applaud his attempt. Commander Fox gets to join Danny in the Gardens, under a Crechelings pile, staring at the stain glass ceiling and Not Thinking Or Having Responsibilities.

Huh.... kid's right. This IS nice.

Fox enjoys being a climb-able lump for the Crechelings. Welcome to the club, my dude.

The other Jedi? THEY can figure it out. The Temple is literally unassailable. If needs be, his army can PICK IT UP AND MOVE IT. Danny is Vibin. Have a fruit. You hear about Skywalker? Making pretty good ground on his whole "one man and massive bone army campaign against Slavery" thing. Missed the whole.... his buddy was an asshole reveal. Apparently reception is spotty. *shrugs*

His wife's nice though! *various married Jedi agree, Obi-Wan continues to sulk because: "REALLY?! You didn't even INVITE ME!? My own Padawan! To his WEDDING! Anikin how COULD YO-!?"*

[unboundprompts]

any tips on how to write somebody who is suffering from hypothermia/ frostbite?

How to Write About Hypothermia/Frostbite

-> Mayoclinic: Hypothermia

-> Mayoclinc: Frostbite (has images that may be triggering)

-> Nationwide Children's: Frostbite

Hypothermia is caused by long exposure to cold weather or water. Your body begins to lose heat faster than it can be produced. Left untreated, hypothermia can lead to complete failure of your heart and respiratory system and eventually to death.

Symptoms of Hypothermia:

Shivering

Slurred speech or mumbling

Slow, shallow breathing

Weak pulse

Clumsiness or lack of coordination

Drowsiness or very low energy

Confusion or memory loss

Loss of consciousness

Bright red, cold skin (in infants)

Someone with hypothermia usually isn't aware of their condition because the symptoms often begin gradually. Also, the confused thinking associated with hypothermia prevents self-awareness. The confused thinking can also lead to risk-taking behavior.

What to do if a Doctor is not an Option:

Removing wet clothing

Protecting the affected area from further cold

Not walking on frostbitten feet

Reducing pain with a pain reliever

Frostbite is damage to the skin caused by extreme cold. It happens when the skin, nerves, and blood vessels below the top layer of the skin freeze. Rain, snow, water, and wind can cause the skin to cool faster, which may lead to frostbite.

Early signs of frostbite:

Skin that is paler than normal, cold, and hard

Pain, tingling, burning, numbness, or aching

Swelling

Blisters in the first 24 hours

Later signs of frostbite (if not treated):

Dark purple or black skin color

No feeling or pain in that part of the body

Frostbite is most common on the fingers, toes, nose, ears, cheeks and chin. 

Writing Prompts about Hypothermia and Frostbite:

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

She was so cold she could barely think. The feeling in her feet and hands were lost so long ago that she could hardly bring herself to continue walking.

His breathing was so shallow that he was lightheaded. He couldn't catch his breath, couldn't keep his eyes open. He wanted nothing more than to just lay down.

Their fingers and toes were tingling, a burning sensation that was slowly spreading.

She looked at her fingers, her skin an ugly purple shade.

Blisters coated his skin, the confusion he felt was too much for him to grasp the gravity of the situation.

They couldn't stop shivering, their entire body felt like it was burning.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hello, if it's alright, could I request a Toby, Slenderman, EJ, and Jane the Killer x reader (separately) in which the reader (in most cases) doesn't know that they're injured until they look down at the injury? Not exactly to the extent of cipa, but more like they don't feel the pain or even notice it until they look down and see the injury.

If not that's ok too. Either way, have a good day!

Various crps x injured!reader who doesnt realize theyre injured

idk if theres a term for it but this happens to me sometimes </3 the amount of times id randomly find bruises or cuts and start feeling the pain as soon as a acknowledge the injury hisshiss characters: ticci toby, slenderman, jane the killer, eyeless jack notes: reader is gn cws: mentions of injuries

SLENDERMAN

he almost has a sixth sense when it comes to you, so its likely that he knows youre hurt before you do... though to be fair, with how long it takes you to notice that isnt... very impressive/lh

he does not wait for you to actually notice the damage, he goes into caregiver mode- taking you to clean the wound if its open and wrapping it if needed

does not have any answers for why you dont notice the pain at first but thats mostly because hes not skilled or educated in that sort of thing- you can only learn so much by observing others from far away and living in the woods

TICCI TOBY

you both passively lean into one another to keep track of the others wounds; you dont notice yours for a while, and neither does toby- though your scenarios arent exactly the same, you help each other take care of any nasty wounds that could get nastier if left untreated

in a way he finds himself relating to you on some level, because even temporarily you dont feel pain- you both may end up talking about your experiences

that being said, the two of you may not take cuts and bruises as seriously as you should because "well i can still function/i didnt notice the pain before- so its fine!" mentality, its... not the best way to go about things...

EYELESS JACK

headcanon that he was into medical stuff before getting all goopy and cannibalistic, so even if he doesnt immediately know whats going on he can cook up some theories-

that being said hes going to get onto you for leaving wounds uncleaned and uncovered, and will make it a habit to check over you every now and then to make sure youre not hurt... looks in places that are hard to look (back, neck, stuff like that)

always keeps a pack of Band-Aids/bandages on him at all times for general use, keeps other stuff at his place for worse injuries- disinfectants and needles to stich things up- hopefully it wont ever have to come to that, though

JANE THE KILLER

if youre the type to joke about your wounds to make the atmosphere lighter, its not going to work on jane... not because shes worried (okay... she is....) but because shes just.. not amused by that sort of humor

like jack, shes going to be stern and make sure youre taking better care of yourself and taking the time to look over yourself, as well as teaching you basic first aid if you've decided to skip over that

does not try to control you, shes not going to stop you from getting into a fight or doing something a little risky (within reason, if the situation seems too.. intense... itd be different), because even despite your little... situation... she has enough trust in you not to get mortally wounded

[akirathedramaqueen]

CBT and Exposure Therapy: Blitzø Showcase

An important (really, don't skip) disclaimer

If you are contemplating whether or not you would benefit from any kind of therapy, consider consulting with your medical provider first. While I did my best to validate all the points made using publicly available resources, I am not a medical professional. At the very least, I strongly advise that you do your own research and not take some amateur's opinion about a character from a silly demon show for granted.

"Everyone in this show needs fucking therapy STAT!"

We hear fans screaming into the void every now and then. Me too. I plead guilty and I willingly put myself in custody. But I am not taking these words back.

Especially often it is being said with Blitzø in mind, who, as hinted earlier and clearly shown in the latest episode, Ghostfuckers, is not doing okay. Not in the slightest.

Which is . . . yes. Indeed, trauma-ridden Blitzø is a major problem for both him and those around him. Yes, we see him reaching his lowest point now exactly because he left these gaping wounds untreated for so long.

But the tricky question is—how, though? What to do? Will a good talking to a confidante help? Or, maybe, some kind of shock would snap him out of the spiral?

I've been pondering on this topic for more than 4 months, and, as the Ghostfuckers came out, I finally got all the data I need to prove a point. The show did all the job for me and effectively made Blitzø go through improvised versions of two popular therapy techniques. And, before I even start, I want to say—I am so glad with what we ended up with. What they did, and, more importantly, didn't do, aligns well with how it would likely happen in real life.

So buckle up, and let's see where it gets us!

Therapy # 1. Cognitive-behavioral therapy, or CBT

This is, in essence and with some corrections, your good old talking. Here you can find more information about it, so, if you're not familiar with the topic, I recommend following the link first.

But, very shortly: CBT is an extremely common approach to be tried while you're dealing with anxiety, depression, and a number of other mental disorders. What it aims to do is to help you get past unhelpful thinking (distortions) and learn not to act on it.

Looks like it fits the bill, right? Blitzø has a lot of issues with self-fulfilling prophecies, infuriatingly stupid assumptions, poorly thought-out actions . . .

But he's not like, you know . . . w-we're not, like . . . we're not doing a . . . w-we . . . what's betw— It's a transactional fucking, you see.

If you don't feel like coming, that's OK! I'm sure I can do without it for one month. :)

Stolas only cares about having a rugged peasant raw-dog him into his matress! It's nothing, ya know . . . it's nothing else.

You . . . no longer have any obligation to see me, to touch me, to bed me . . . You are— you are free of me.

He sees things which aren't truly there.

It's not Stolas giving him space after the disaster in the 'Ozzie's.' It must be Stolas not needing him anymore, getting tired of him.

It's not Stolas caring about Blitzø. He is a royal, why would he care how an imp's day he happened to be fucking was?

It's not Stolas setting Blitzø free and putting an end to a problematic transaction they had with the hope for it to grow into something more. It's him getting rid of Blitzø.

As a result, he ends up hurting himself and the relationship he had with that one sad gay bird he happened to fall deeply for but literally trashed in his own house twice, acting on nothing more than frenetic fear of losing Stolas, but in reality, driving him away even more . . . for good.

I mean, you royal fucks think you can do this every time, like you can just play with our feelings because we're smaller and not as important!

Ha! I'm right, aren't I? You get off getting plowed by people you look down on!

And I can sorry more people, everyone but you! 'Cause I don't owe you dick! Everyone, but you . . .

So, the case's closed? Let someone—say, Millie—talk to him and tell him how wrong he was about himself and the others?

Well, here's the thing. Despite him being infinitely wrong about Stolas's intentions, we can't deny the fact that every one of his beliefs was not, in fact, a distortion. It'd led him to wrong conclusions, yes, but it was built on the information he received and legitimate experiences he had in his life. Here are only some of the facts connected to only this situation with Stolas, but there are other problematic behaviors and other reasons for him acting the way he does.

Fact # 1. The circus fire did happen, and Blitzø was the reason for it. Unintentional, and of course it wasn't his fault, but it still ruined the lives of many people—him included. Blitzø cannot act like it never occurred.

Fact # 2. Hell is divided by class and race. Their situationship with the grimoire was an embodiment of that inequality. A lot of Blitzø's outburst during the Full Moon and later in the Apology Tour was connected to it, to his beliefs that Stolas is the same as the rest of the privileged circle. Beliefs, I stress, justified by the real world. Stolas is more of an exception, and even then, his behavior is only different when it comes to Blitzø. He still acts the same toward other imps.

Fact # 3. We knew about Stolas's intentions all along, but before that fateful Full Moon, what Blitzø saw was Stolas avoiding him and not communicating the issue the Ozzie's date had raised. And before Ozzie's? Stolas did act entitled and inappropriate. He was baby-talking to Blitzø and used derogatory terms while addressing him. The dude literally called him an impish plaything in the Truth Seekers.

Fact # 4. Blitzø's heavily implied (though not officially confirmed by the show) existing conditions—ADHD*, BPD**, PTSD, and dyslexia/dyscalculia***—do affect his life, and while Hell seems to be somewhat receptive of neurodivergence, he still has to deal with it every single fucking day. He is going to be avoidant and afraid to be abandoned at the same time. He is going to hate himself. His learning disabilities are going to make his life harder. No way around it.

Note: *, **, and *** contain links to separate meta-analyses from @timkontheunsure and @tealvenetianmask about the respective conditions and how they show themselves in Blitzø's case.

And my beef with CBT here is exactly that. CBT's goal is to gaslight you into believing your distortions hold no water and suggests you just ignore them. And, as I've shown with Blitzø, these reactions and assumptions aren't baseless. They are legitimate, and, in fact, sometimes help to get by. Even though it's a crooked crutch, you can't learn to walk properly by just throwing that crutch away. You're still going to limp, and oh, will it be painful.

This is oversimplistic and dismissive. Anxiety and depression don't come out of the blue, and with mental disabilities, it's even deeper. The class/disability stigma is alive and strong, and just slapping a "you're fine" bandaid on your traumatized self isn't going to help.

Therapy # 2. Exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy is another approach commonly used while dealing with traumatic past and its aftermath—PTSD, anxiety, phobias, and such. Again, if you're not familiar, there's the link for you, but very shortly—the therapist puts the patient in a safe environment and 'exposes' them to the feared object in question for limited periods of time. The goal is to eventually get rid of the targeted fear and decrease avoidance.

And Blitzø has got some phobias for sure.

The fear of letting everyone down. Again.

And the fear of abandonment. Again.

All of it is a result of self-hatred, sitting so deeply it rules his life and his vision of how others perceive him. Said it himself. Almost.

So, where and how does the show expose Blitzø to his traumatic past?

First, the most recent, and the most obvious one—Rolando and his slideshow of all traumatic events Blitzø ever had in his life.

Second—Blitzø's drug trip in the Truth Seekers. While it does not contain the events of the past as they were, it does force him to face his fears.

Are you worried I might have enough of it one day as well? . . . You're going to die alone! . . . You're going to die alone, Blitzo!

With some stretch, the third one is Verosika's 'Blitzo sucks' party. Where Blitzø was forced to see the consequences of his avoidance and rejection.

Note: to be clear, I do think the party does not show the true extent of Blitzø's actions and how much he'd hurt people. It was exaggerated by Verosika, and here I explain why this is the case.

So, what gives? Or, rather, what gives it not?

It might sound funny now, considering I brought it up myself, but I, once again, say this is not therapeutic, just as CBT kind of 'talking.' If anything, all these three events did more harm than good.

The D.H.O.R.K.S.'s goal in the Truth Seekers was to torture the information out of Blitzø. He was not supposed to overcome it. He was supposed to crack.

The Verosika's goal was to ruin Blitzø's reputation. She was working her ass off to prove he's just a heartless freak.

The Rolando's goal was to fucking kill Blitzø.

And okay, their motivations had nothing to do with helping him, but maybe it did, in its own twisted way?

No. The writers added this to push Blitzø past the breaking point, not to heal him, and to show us more of his lore. Each time he was forced to face his past or fears or consequences, he was only spiraling more.

The only thing which did him some good was . . . well, Millie finally seeing his bravado mask falling off. But the cost of it was way too high. Not worth it.

To the therapy's defense, some points why it would never work in the way it was done in the show:

Blitzø had never given his consent and was not ready to face it. I might be very rude right now, but go and try producing some explosion-like sounds in front of war veterans without letting them know first and see what happens.

The amount of fearful experience exposed was way too overboard. He couldn't possibly digest it in a healthy way.

The environment was not safe. It was straight-up retraumatizing, an intentional one.

So there's that.

But what helped then?

We've briefly brushed over the fact Millie did talk to Blitzø. While I did imply this might be an example of CBT, here are some key deviations from the classic therapy which made all the difference.

Millie didn't sugarcoat all the shit Blitzø did. He was hurting their business. He didn't pay her. He was reduced to Bethanie. It showed her opinion can be trusted.

Millie apologized for not being there for him sooner. She admitted she relied too much on Blitzø being bulletproof, unbothered by everything. She admitted she didn't support him in a way he always did.

While proving she could never hate Blitzø, she used their common story, one he knows and can recall. She used evidence to prove him wrong, not a "it's all in your head" bandaid. And more than that, later she proved it with action—not for one second did she believe Rolando and his shittalk about what Blitzø supposedly was thinking about her. Her unwavering faith spoke more than any words ever could.

Getting back to exposure therapy . . . Metaphorically, she reminded Blitzø he can handle a beating or two. And physically beat the infestor demon out of him, which, as we can see later, didn't really affect Blitzø that much. He wasn't even battered. So, apparently, when the said exposure is done by someone who genuinely tries to make you feel better and knows your limits well, it might just work?

And finally, Millie acknowledged Blitzø's pain. She didn't brush it away. She validated him.

What all of this is about?

Like every treatment, too much of a medicine can become poisonous. So are CBT and exposure therapy.

They might help, and lots of research shows they do in certain cases. But there are limitations to what they can and cannot achieve, and they have to be adjusted to each individual story, to each trauma, and they should not be applied as a way to mend the outcome of the trauma without taking into account the story it comes with. Again, legitimate concerns and experiences cannot be brushed away or ignored.

Actualy . . . we've seen where it leads in the show too. In the beginning, Millie was quite dismissive of Blitzø's worries—all of this over a . . . breakup?

And here it comes full circle.

Only when Millie started taking Blitzø seriously, did it help them progress. And look how quickly we've switched from a complete despair to a glimmer of hope! Isn't that a beautiful closing scene?

As a closing note—we do not need to 'fix' Blitzø. After all this shit he went through, there won't be a day where he wakes up and be like, "Hey, I don't hate myself anymore! And look, I'm not afraid to be abandoned or misunderstood!"

I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is a lifelong battle. Being mentally whole, healthy, and constantly happy is no more than a myth, and everyone has their own demons and skeletons to deal with.

What Blitzø needs is some good support system to pull him back when he's down.

And boy, do I hope that one particular owl will fill in that role of unyielding pillar for Blitzø each time our lizard will fall into that pit again. Look, I love Millie, but there's only so much she can do. She can't be always present, she has her own life . . . and her own disaster of a husband to look after (affectionate <3). Here and here @lost-romantique talks about Stolas's capacity of loving, with me occasionally nodding, ha-ha. But to be short—it's fucking immense. And since he loves words, I do believe he has all the energy to tell again and again and again how awesome Blitzø is. Even if Blitzø wouldn't believe it himself.

[activesplooger]

ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Notes: Part two! Im able to pump fics out rlly fast rn bc i recently have wayyy to much free time, but anywho enjoy! (also the consistency of which I put out fics is gonna drop in a week or two when I get busier)! im so bored rn so writing fics is whats keeping me together lol idk what to do with this abundance of free time I need to find something productive ahhh anyways here u go

MDNI

CW: angst, choking, blood, abuse of power Masterpost! Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

”Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!”

You search through the broken cabinets of Vox’s office looking for some type of extra head replacement. Eventually, you find a cabinet full of broken TV’s that you assumed were for head replacements.

“Cmon… There’s gotta be at least one…”

Frantically searching through the mass of broken TV’s, you notice the cuts on your hand from all the broken glass you’ve encountered. Blood spilling out through the cuts and dripping onto the floor. You ignore it and keep looking, you’ll deal with the pain later. For now your focus was on saving Vox. An exhale of relief escapes your mouth once you find a miraculously unbroken TV. However, this one looked different from the others… The back was flat instead of having the usual bulk, and the screen was much bigger. ‘This must be one of Vox’s prototypes… Fuck it, it’s all we got.’ you think to yourself.

You grab the TV and lug it over to where Vox is laid. Carefully, you unplug his current broken head and plug the new one in.

“Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework…” As you plead, the screen suddenly lights up. The display reads: LOADING… 1% COMPLETE. The loading was painfully slow, only going up a single percent every few minutes. But, you stayed. Part of you felt it was your duty to make sure he was okay… That and your morals weren’t completely gone to where you’d just leave a man to die. You nod off every once in a while, but you’d always jerk yourself awake. ‘Just a little longer… C’mon Y/N, stay awake!’

LOADING… 100% COMPLETE

VOX_EXE

VOXTECH_PROTOTYPE_4

BUFFERING_OW_WHY_AM_I_IN_PAIN

FUCK_MY_LIFE

Vox’s screen lights up, blinking slowly. His face, now with a more flat appearance, glowed black with red eyes and teal teeth. You perk up “Sir?! What happened?! I tho-“ Your boss cuts you off with a hug. Well… this is unusual… You never took Vox for a ‘touchy feely’ person, but it seemed like he really needed it so you didn’t say anything.

The shoulder of your blouse dampens from the sobs of the overlord. He buries himself in your blouse and speaks through choked sobs that were muffled against your skin.

“He- What the fuck did I do wrong…? Y/N… What’d I do..?”

Jesus, Alastor must’ve done a number on him if he got the usually snarky and unfazed overlord to be vulnerable like this. You wanted to pry, get every detail of what happened, but you held back. He would tell you later, right now you just needed to calm him down.

Your bloody hand hesitantly makes its way to his back, rubbing soft soothing circles in an attempt to calm him. Red stained the back of his orange turtle neck as you gently massaged him.

“Shhh shh, it’s okay… It’s okay…”

For the rest of the night, you stayed there with him and let him cry for as long as he needed. Vox was the first to fall asleep, and you followed suit not too long after. The two of you nestled against each other as you napped peacefully.

You don’t know how, but when you woke up, you were in your apartment, tucked into cozy blankets of your bed. Cuts that were left previously untreated on your hands were now bandaged and patched up. ‘Huh… Weird…’. With a shrug, you ignore it and make a mental note to revisit this later. You get ready for the day and put on your work uniform:

A black pencil skirt and white blouse that exposed just a sliver of cleavage. You paired it with stockings and black stilettos to complete the look.

As you came into work, you picked up a large black coffee from the cafe in the lobby of the office building, something you’d do every morning per Vox request.

Knock Knock

“Sir? I have your-“

“Come in.”

Walking in, you see various workers cleaning up the office, sweeping up glass, putting in new furniture, etc. Your boss is standing in front of a large broken window, staring at the streets below him, not bothering to make eye contact with you as he speaks.

“About last night-“ Vox speaks, his tone flat and emotionless.

“Oh, right, I was hoping to talk to you about th-“ Vox raises a hand as a gesture to silence you. You obey and stop speaking.

“Let me finish. About last night, we never speak of that again. You hear me?”

“Okay… I was just-“

A teal blue chain materializes against your neck, choking you as the Overlord pulls on the chain and brings you onto the floor in front of him. You drop his coffee to the floor as your brought to your knees. He looks down and yells, his voice wavering in a deep staticky mess of anger.

“ŁƗSŦɆN ĦɆɌɆ, Ɏ/N. WɆ’ɌɆ NØŦ ǤØNNȺ ŦȺŁĶ ȺɃØᵾŦ ƗŦ, ØĶȺɎ? NØŦ ɆVɆɌ. ĶNØW ɎØᵾɌ FᵾȻꝀƗNǤ ⱣŁȺȻɆ.”

The grip on your chain tightens, a painful reminder of the power roles between the two of you. You gasp for air and grip at the collar in an attempt to pry it off your neck.

“Yes… Sir…” you manage muster out the two words in a breathless voice

The TV demon stares you down for a moment before letting go off the chain. You take a big gasp of air, catching your breath as the chain vanishes into thin air.

Vox’s red eyes flicker to the spilt coffee “Ugh, you dropped my coffee. I have to do ɇvɇɍɏŧħɨnǥ myself, don’t I?!” Vox points at a few of the cleaners in his office “You two!” he demands, “clean up this mess!”. The workers nod nervously and start to mop up the liquid “Yes Mr. Vox.” they chorused. Vox gives you one final stare before leaving the office, presumably to get another coffee.

The chatter of worker demons fills the room as he left, gossiping about the scene that was just laid out before them. You look at them and glare, to which they pretended to keep working. But, you knew as soon as you turned away they would go back to gossiping. Your hands shake in your lap as you stare at the floor. ‘W-What the fuck was that… s-so violating…’. Vox had never abused his power over you before, in fact, up until then you completely forgot that he owned you… The overlord had a reputation for being callous and controlling, but he was never that way with you. That stung, you thought you were different then the other employees, but maybe he saw you as just another soul he owned…

You get home later that night and take a long steamy shower to clear your head. Stepping out, you wrap a tower around yourself and begin to leave, but something catches your eye when you pass your mirror. You back up and stand in front of the mirror, a shaky hand reaches up to your neck. Bruises… Dark purple streaks covered your neck from the brutal choking you received this morning. ‘Shit….’. You sighed and pushed past it, simply putting on concealer the next morning to cover the bruises and try to forget about it.

———————————————————————

Okay hii enjoyyy! slow ass burn ikik it’ll get there! Also Vox’s new appearance once we put on his head, imagine his head from the pilot but with the clothes from his past (orange turtle neck + sports coat). thats how he looks as of now (pilot vox is in the collage at the beginning). anywhoo hope u liked it! lmk if you have suggestions for stuff you wanna see in this fic! Masterpost!

also lmk in the replies if u wanna be apart of a taglist for this series!

[pyrrhiccomedy]

the one thing I have heard probably the most consistently, from the most people, since being diagnosed with breast cancer, is that I have a "good attitude;" meaning, that I make jokes about having cancer, which makes whoever is listening to me feel better about the fact that I have cancer.

Here's the thing - the worst part of having cancer (so far, in my experience - I'll update as this progresses) is having to live with the constant, oppressive dread that right now, somewhere in my body, a cancer cell is taking root in my bones, or in my lungs. That it will silently grow, and spread, and eventually become rampant and untreatable, killing me decades before my time, and I won't know that I'm on that course until it's too late to do anything about it. That I will have to leave my wife alone, that she will have to watch me die painfully and without dignity, and that I will leave this world without having had the time to see so much of what makes it beautiful and strange.

this is not a funny thought!

However, the second worst part of having cancer is - okay, so they removed the tumor, right, and at the same time, they also removed a clump of lymph nodes in my armpit. They do that to test whether or not the cancer has spread. So coming out of surgery, I have two incision sites: one above where the tumor was, and the other one on my trunk right about where your bra passes under your arm.

And that means I'm not allowed to wear deodorant for ten days.

Imagine me: stinky, in my bed. I am an adult woman with a beating heart. I will not claim I have any greater share of dignity or wisdom than a typical example of my cohort, but I have lived and learned and erred, and amassed a small collection of accomplishments which I would not be ashamed to present to God at my reckoning, should such a being exist, and should such a reckoning take place. Times when I have shown meaningful kindness to someone when it would have been more convenient or popular to do nothing. Times when I have told a necessary truth to my own painful detriment. Things I have made that possessed, to at least a meager measure, a glimmer of genuine beauty. Trust I have earned, and not betrayed. I'm not a saint, but my soul is not nothing, and as I am forced to reckon with my own mortality in a way that few people my age ever do, I, like - I smell pretty bad? And like - my armpit is, like, clammy. I mean, how long has it been since you didn't wear deodorant for multiple days. There's a change in texture that I was not expecting. Just in the right armpit! The left armpit is fine, she gets to have deodorant.

But like, stress makes the B.O. situation not so hot, and I'm medically prohibited from doing the one thing that would rectify the situation. I own deodorant. It's right over there. I can see it from where I'm sitting. I am sure you understand of course that I am immersed in greater miseries. Even aside from the existential dread of having cancer - the incisions are painful. I'm very tired. I have two blown-out veins from when the anesthesiologist struggled to find a workable injection site before the surgery, so I have some wild bruising, and I can't really bend my left arm. But these are afflictions with some dignity. To have pain or fatigue after surgery is rather ennobled in the common discourse. But - do I have to smell like ham, too?

Must I smell like rank ham?

Of course the solution to the ham smell is just to take more showers, but bathing after surgery presents its own category of woes, which are also not particularly dignified. And it's here, caught betwixt the Scylla and Charybdis of 'smelling like old meat' and 'unwinding my boob from its surgical sling to take another ride around the wet room rodeo' that I find the humor in my situation. The feeble ape rails against her trivial but intractable stink!

And that humor spreads - much like cancer! - to everything else that it touches. It is, actually, very funny to tell someone that the joke Christmas gift they got for me is probably what gave me cancer. It's funny, when people find out I got my diagnosis on January 2nd, to blandly follow that up with "--So, 2024, not off to a great start, but 2025 is going to be my year." It's funny, when someone invites me to something we both know I probably don't want to go to, to suck air between my teeth and go, "Ooh, I would, but, you know--the cancer. Yeah, I can feel it flaring up right now. Maybe next time."

Things are funny when they subvert your expectations. People expect you to treat your cancer diagnosis very gravely, and so it's funny - to them, and to me - when I don't. And then they tell me I have "a great attitude."

"You'll be fine," I've heard over and over again. "You have a great attitude. That's the most important thing, in this kind of a situation - keeping a great attitude."

I certainly hope that's true! There is definitely plenty of science to support the idea that a positive mental attitude has an impact on health outcomes. I think the effectiveness of modern chemotherapy drugs, and the extent to which my particular cancer responds to them, will have a significantly larger impact; and that moreover, it's probably prudent to remember that people with great attitudes die of cancer every day. But I will not turn my nose up at a percentage point or two perhaps coming from the willingness to crack jokes about all the cancer I've got, and how surprised I was to learn that I'd got it.

As I suggested up top, I know that when people say "you have a great attitude," they sometimes genuinely mean that they are pleased to find me in a mental state that might increase my chances of recovering from a deadly disease, but mostly they mean "thanks for not being a huge bummer about your cancer. I appreciate you for not ruining my day about it." And I'm completely okay with that. Like, yeah - I am deliberately sparing you from the burden of having to Take Seriously my life-threatening condition. You're welcome. I, too, would rather avoid this conversation on one of the finite number of Thursdays God has seen fit to grant unto the measure of our lives. What the fuck are you supposed to do about any of this?

(Shout out to my one good work buddy who, on hearing the news, instantly responded with "Oh my god, Geri Hallwell aka Ginger Spice also got breast cancer young! You're like twins!" Thus far he is the only person who has said something in response to the news that actually made an immediate, positive impact.)

So anyway, obviously all I ever say in response to "you have a great attitude" is "Thanks! I'm just focusing on the positives and taking it a day at a time." Because that's true, and moreover, it's all anyone needs to hear.

What I'd like to say - not to them, because there's no point in burdening them any further than the embarrassing reminder of death burdens anyone - but maybe to someone, maybe just to You, maybe that's why I'm writing this -

What I'd like to say is: dogg, you have no idea how subverted my expectations have been lately. How could I not find this funny?

How profoundly alienated from the absurdity of death would I have to be to not laugh about this?

Like - I know this is so stupid, but listen: I could die. No, no - listen - no I know everyone dies - but like - are you listening? Are you actually listening? I could die. I could die. I could die. I could die.

Isn't that so funny? Isn't that actually so funny?

And this - this attitude that I'm in, right now, this one right here, where shaking my head ruefully and marveling at the - maybe belated, but I think probably actually quite premature - realization that oh no, 'everyone dies' means for me too, huh - and laughing at myself for never, apparently, really grasping that until now, and laughing at the incredible statistical unlikelihood my cancer - I've never won anything before! - and laughing at how woefully ill-prepared most people are to respond to news like this, and laughing about how, of everything terrible about cancer, the actual number-two-on-the-list worst thing about it so far is that I can't put on deodorant -

Is this the great attitude you're talking about?

I'm not angry, I'm not resentful, I'm curious, I'm really curious. Do you understand why I'm laughing?

[andavs]

Nope, still thinking about it.

Shannon comes back around Halloween and Eddie says they haven’t seen her in “almost two years”. The show timeline generally lines up with real life, so Eddie would’ve started at the 118 like early September? He’d been working there for about two months by then.

LAFD training is 22 weeks (or it was, apparently they shortened it a few years ago) which is like five months. Looks like there are academy classes starting in January and April, and April is the latest he could start to finish by September, and that’s basically graduating one day and starting work the next.

But April is a weird time to up and move a seven year old to a new school, just a couple months before the year ends. I don’t know if he would’ve moved in January for Chris to start at the new semester, but he probably moved prior to April to get him enrolled and get their new place somewhat set up before he started at the academy. (Unless they lived with Isabel at first, which I love the idea of, actually.)

All that right there is almost a year. So that leaves about a year before he moved to LA where he was back in El Paso alone after Shannon left.

Adding a cut because this got long.

Whether his parents helped him out financially for part of it or not, that’s just one year they gave him to not only adjust to suddenly being a single parent, but to try to cobble together the equivalent of his military salary with a high school diploma, alone. While also readjusting to civilian life and employment. And probably still recovering physically from getting shot three times. And losing the insurance he had through the army that was covering Chris. With untreated PTSD to cap it off.

And who knows what Shannon was doing in LA. It seems like her mom died at some point and she was too paralyzed to come home after (grieving, guilt, etc.), but I assume she had a job? If she inherited enough from her mom to be able to live on it for over a year, and she didn’t send any of it back home, that would be a serious dick move. But they were still legally married! I don’t know how it works when your spouse is in another state, cut off but also working, but I’m assuming that factors into things if Eddie tried to file for any kind of government programs or assistance.

That’s one year they gave him to navigate all of that alone before his parents tried to take Chris away.

Eddie was doing everything “right” before he got shot. He had a solid job, he was providing, they had two cars and a mortgage, he had insurance for Chris, Shannon could be a stay at home mom—she didn’t want to be but financially, she could be. As far as we know, that was all on Eddie. It seemed like Helena helped with Chris (even when Shannon didn’t want it) but it didn’t sound like his parents were contributing financially. Eddie was doing what he thought was his part and providing all of that.

And then he got shot. He got discharged from the military. Shannon left. And the five years it took to build all of that fell apart within a few months.

And instead of helping him get back on his feet by giving him a minute to breathe and get his bearings, his parents watched him struggle for a year and then tried to take his son.

It sounded like Helena was caring for Chris quite a bit while Eddie was working, but Ramon was a petroleum engineer at the same company for forty years. He made enough to raise three kids on one salary and send (presumably) all three to Catholic school. He was still working well after Eddie moved to LA. They couldn’t have helped him out financially during that year so he could actually spend time raising his own son? Maybe only work two jobs while he tried to figure everything out?

Nope. “Don’t drag him down with you,” Helena said, while she watched Eddie drown, only caring that Chris was safe with her.

[chatonarya]

I love Enciodes's module. It adds so much to his character. It paints such a vivid picture of this lonely, grieving, frustrated, hurting youth, who nevertheless doggedly kept the spark of hope and idealism alive in his heart.

It's called "Snow Realm Fowlcare Kit," and is told from the perspective of Enciodes's perpetual companion: Tenzin. The image depicts an assortment of bird-related paraphernalia which Enciodes used (and perhaps still uses) to take care of Tenzin.

When it awoke, it found itself lying in a warm room. The unfamiliar environment frightened it and it wanted to leave, but it was in so much pain it could not move. The door opened, and through it strode a Feline boy with silver hair and a thick tail. He approached it with liniment and gauze in hand, applying the medicine in the bottle to the wound before bandaging it up. It struggled a little at first, but was too weak to do anything but accept the boy's treatment before falling into a deep slumber.

We open with how the two met: Tenzin awakening in Enciodes's room, afraid and hurt. Tenzin is first introduced to Enciodes with an act of kindness: cleansing and wrapping the bird's injury. We don't know what kind of injury it is, but considering how Tenzin is in pain too overwhelming to even move, I can only presume it's a grievous wound for a young bird, likely one which would lead to the creature's death if left untreated.

So right off the bat, we have the impression that Enciodes is the kind of the person who would come across a severely wounded animal and rescue it in the hopes that he might still be able to save its life. While Enciodes himself draws a distinction between his childhood self and his adult self, not unreasonably, this is something that we can still see the glimmers of--positive and negative--in him later on, not only in the way he saves Degenbrecher but in the way he seeks to save all of Kjerag from ruin.

On the second day, the boy took it back to where it had been found. They wandered through the woods for an entire day until the boy was exhausted and gasping for breath, but in the end found only the remains of two adult fowlbeasts. He built a small grave for them, then turned to it and said: 'Now, both of us are in the same boat.' The boy took it back to his room, and the tiny nest inside became its new home. The boy would come check on it every day. He liked to gently wipe its plumage while chatting with it, unconcerned with whether it could understand him.

Enciodes was so determined to return this baby bird home that he spent the whole day searching to the point of exhaustion to try to find Tenzin's parents. Not only that, but when he found them dead, he took the time to build them a grave. It's so sweet and pure of him to spend his time like this for a mere bird, particularly as we can see by the mention of them being "in the same boat" that this happened not long after the accident that took Olafur and Elizabeth. No doubt, struggling to cope with grief is what sent Enciodes wandering in the woods and finding Tenzin in the first place. And immediately, he finds this to be the point of connection between them: they're both orphans now. I can't help but wonder if Enciodes building a grave for the dead birds was a form of closure for him--Olafur and Elizabeth died in a train accident. Was there anything left of them to bury at all (if the Kjerags bury their dead)? Possibly not. At least he could give the birds a proper send-off.

And with no other choice, he doesn't hesitate to bring Tenzin back home with him, resolved to care for this feeble creature that he rescued, because who else would? They're in the same boat, after all.

It's also clear that caring for Tenzin gave Enciodes a much-needed psychological outlet, a form of healthy distraction from the many burdens on his shoulders and the loss of his parents. Looking after an injured animal even more helpless than himself and wholly dependent on him must have been a form of therapy and comfort for him, especially because it was someone he could talk to and who would listen and not judge him. Every single day, without fail, he wiped Tenzin's feathers and presumably changed the dressing of its wound, talking to it about his troubles--because he had no-one else to talk to.

...... Like that one night, when the boy approached it with a sullen face and said: 'I'm confident I have what it takes to be a strong clan leader or a good brother, but I cannot guarantee I can do both at once.' The boy sighed as he spoke. He contemplated for a long time, before finally running off to return with a box that smelled nice. Inside was his sister's favorite dish.

This one stings, and it wouldn't surprise me if this is foreshadowing for the final reveal of what was the argument between Enya and Enciodes the night before she went on the Saintess's trial. Enciodes, who has been groomed to become the clan's leader since virtually the moment he was born, has come to the painful realization that he has to choose between being a good leader and being a good brother, because he cannot do both at the same time.

This plays into a recurring theme in the Kjerag stories: choosing between family and leadership. We've seen it in the conflicts between the Browntail sisters and how they envy each other's position but most clearly with how Ratatos feel hollow and deprived of her sister's mundane happiness; in the way Arctosz chose to send Tatyana and Rosalind back to Ursus, as even being leader of Paleroches wasn't enough to guarantee their safety after the Silverashes were targeted; in the way Enciodes complains as a child that his own father can't even smile when he's with his family; and of course, in the ongoing conflict between Enciodes and Enya and how they must set aside their blood relation to each other in their leadership roles, and how those leadership roles further divide them from each other and from Ensia.

While for now, as he retrieves Enya's favorite dish, Enciodes is trying to do what he can for his sisters while he still can, we know his choice is a foregone conclusion: he chose to become a strong clan leader over being a good brother. Ultimately, he chose the clan and chose Kjerag as a whole over his relationship with his sisters, no doubt in part because he believes protecting Kjerag from the threats posed by the outside world is the best thing he can do for the country and for them as a whole, and in part because it was always his dream that Kjerag should, could, and would be more, as is seen in Gnosis's oprec. Enciodes has always been dissatisfied with Kjerag's standing in the world, and has always wanted to change this.

But we see here that as I said in my previous essay, he did not make that decision lightly and it was a decision that caused him emotional anguish. This module as a whole, as well as Gnosis's oprec, demonstrates painfully clearly that Enciodes was a normal child. He had his dreams, his quirks, his interests, his struggles--and he did, in fact, care about his family a normal amount. But he was forced to make a choice, and make a choice he did.

...... Like that one afternoon, when the boy approached it with a tinge of melancholy in his voice: 'I want to graciously wish Gnosis success on his new journey, yet I selfishly hope for him to stay.' Perhaps because he had been bottling it in for so long, the boy spent the next half hour explaining to it the situation of the Edelweiss clan, the difficulties facing Gnosis, and his reluctance to part ways with his best friend. In the end, he sighed again and said, 'Alas, you're the only who can hear me out. I'd better think of a farewell gift for him now.'

I talked about this in-depth in another post, so I'll try not to repeat myself. I'm glad to see it explicitly stated that Gnosis is Enciodes's best friend; likely, at this point, still his only friend, too. It breaks my heart how Enciodes is so stressed and has been bottling up his feelings about Gnosis in the wake of the blame being pinned on the Edelweisses that he pours his heart out to Tenzin for half an hour. Tenzin is the only one whom Enciodes can talk to about the Edelweisses and their hardships, which underscores just how bad their situation in Kjerag was and how awkward Enciodes's position must have been as the ostensible victim of theirs. It must have been difficult for Enciodes to even go on seeing Gnosis, much less openly associating with him as the son of his parents' murderers, after everything happened.

Enciodes knows the polite thing to do is bid Gnosis good luck going abroad, but he's unable to do this just yet because he selfishly, desperately, hopes that somehow Gnosis will stay. This is how much Gnosis means to him: even though it's possible that Gnosis's life will be in danger if he remains in Kjerag, his companionship is so important to Enciodes that even knowing all of this, even knowing that the Edelweisses are at the epicenter of all of Kjerag's hatred right now, Enciodes still wishes he could stay. He doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to be without Gnosis--his one friend, the one person who shares his dream and the one person who understands him and with whom he shares a deep connection outside of his family.

But alas: there is nothing Enciodes can do. He can't keep Gnosis there. Sooner rather than later, he has to bid Gnosis good-bye, and make him that promise one last time, "I'll come find you," probably fearful deep down that they'll never see each other again.

I wonder, also, what was Enciodes's farewell gift to Gnosis. (I'd be over the moon if Gnosis's second module was about this.) Gnosis probably gave him one of the traditional Edelweiss family knives if he hadn't already, but what could Enciodes give him? Something to remind Gnosis of him, their friendship, their shared dream, their promised future together.

...... And like that day when its wounds healed, and the boy took it out to the snowy plains to practice flying. When it was about to take off, he took out a black silk scarf, tied the fabric around its neck, and asked: 'Will you come with me?' —At that moment, the boy had already decided to set aside the burdens of being a clan leader and depart from the Snow Realm to study abroad. It simply cocked its head and looked at him. Of course, it did not know what the boy was worried about, why he was anxious, or why he was sad. But perhaps, it sensed that the boy, just like it, did not wish to stay confined in a warm room. He wished to soar beneath the blue sky— It spread its wings and leapt forward. Then, to the boy's happy, surprised shouts, it took off with the wind. On that day, it learned to fly once again.

As soon as Tenzin's wounds have healed, Enciodes takes it out to practice flying. If Tenzin was just a baby when Enciodes rescued it, it never even had to opportunity to learn to fly from its parents, but Enciodes is clearly resolved to find a way anyway, or maybe believes that Tenzin will somehow be able to do it through instinct. Yet first, he must ask it a question, as he's already made up his mind to continue on the path he'd previously chosen.

I love how he straight-up asks Tenzin if Tenzin will go with him. He's cared for this bird for probably weeks, spoken to and petted it on a daily basis, given it a home because it has no other--for all intents and purposes, it belongs to him now and will never be able to survive in the wild again, and even the scarf he ties around its neck can be taken as a symbol of ownership rather than a token of affection. Yet still, approaching the verge of departing Kjerag, he sees fit to ensure Tenzin can fly and has its own free will to choose whether or not it wants to go with him. Undoubtedly, Tenzin went with him to Victoria, and I'm sure Enciodes was happy to have his beloved pet as company in an unfamiliar country, particularly given how nervous and uncomfortable he is there.

It's beautiful as well how Tenzin is a metaphor for Enciodes himself in this last section. Through their long time together, even if Tenzin doesn't fully understand Enciodes's words or complex problems, it understands his emotions, and shares his joy and his sorrow. And through this bond, Tenzin feels that Enciodes, too, longs for freedom, for more beyond the comfortable isolation and willful ignorance of Kjerag--he, too, wants to fly. And Enciodes's determination, however battered, is inspiration for Tenzin to fly once more. They're one and the same in this last moment: two creatures both wounded albeit in different ways, seeking the earliest opportunity to spread their wings, literal and metaphorical.

(Here I must also note that this bird metaphor and seeking of freedom is a potential callback as well to Gnosis once more, as he also receives similar imagery in his EP and his oprec.)

And as Tenzin takes off, we know that Enciodes will soon take off as well, perhaps inspired in turn: the greatest changes to his character and person, not to mention the beginning of his practical experience and the true real foundation of his great endeavor, began when he departed the "warm room" of Kjerag and went to Victoria. As Tenzin learns to fly once more, Enciodes too will also learn to fly.

Reading the module, it's abundantly clear now why Enciodes is accompanied by Tenzin at almost every turn. Not only does he love Tenzin so much, he's cared for Tenzin since Tenzin was a little chick, and Tenzin chooses to go with him wherever he goes. (Similarly, I think I can say my headcanon of Enciodes lovingly choosing Tenzin's bandanas to match his own outfits is more or less confirmed.) They're inseparable companions.

It's also incredibly sweet how reading this, we can see that much as Enciodes hand-raised Tenzin, Tenzin has also watched Enciodes grow up: from a frustrated child into the powerful adult he is today, listening to his thoughts and secret worries all the while, at many instances being his sole comfort and confidante. I'd like to think that Tenzin harbors just as much affection for Enciodes as he must hold for it...

[kitthepurplepotato]

Side note: I’m not back from my hiatus, I’m just giving you guys a treat to make the long waits a little bit better!

Chapter 7 - Something’s wrong with the puppy.

Summary: Eijirou comes into the coffee shop looking like the ghost of himself. Needless to say, you make sure he feels better as soon as possible.

Warnings: Swear words, reader has a few, tiny bit inappropriate thoughts here and there, sharing a bath (in underwear! Nothing cheeky!) a little bit angsty on Kirishima’s side, bless his broken little soul.

First Chapter Master List

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“Who made you frown like that, puppy dog?”

Eijirou is here for his usual morning beverage but he looks absolutely… done. He also looks like he just finished a shift instead of starting one but you decide not to comment on that for now; his mental health is much more important than the fact that he has soot all over his face and probably scares the customers with his disheveled look. His bright red hair is muted into a weird, dark grayish-crimson color and there are cracks in the metal parts of his costume.

It has been two weeks since your first kiss but Eijirou haven’t kissed you since. His work was hectic, your date on that Friday got canceled and you’ve only seen each other here, in the coffee shop and even that was only for a few minutes instead the usual half an hour. You miss him so much. “Why are so dirty, hun’?”

“I don’t want to go back. Too much. Tired. Don’t wanna talk to anyone.”

Yet here he is, in a busy coffee shop, just so he can see you. Fucking hell, you love him so much.

“Come.” You point towards the staff room at the back. Thankfully, the boss is here to support you today and she’s nice enough to not comment on the fact that you are supposed to serve customers and not to give mental support to your broken boyfriend. You make eye contact with her and she only rolls her eyes.

“Go home.” She mouths silently and you don’t need to be asked twice.

“Actually, change of plans, follow me.”

Eijirou doesn’t say a word through the whole journey home. You call a taxi and tell the guy your address; you don’t want anyone to see him like that and you are quite sure he wouldn’t want that either if he would be in the right state of mind.

You open your door but Ei doesn’t move so you pull him in with you and make your way towards the bathroom with him. He still haven’t said a single word since you’ve left the coffee shop but that’s okay. You start the water in the bath and pour your favorite lavender scented bubble bath into it; the water becomes purple with silver glitters swirling around happily, the scent calming you right away and you can only hope it does the same for your mopey companion.

“I’ll take your… this thing off. Is that okay?” You point at the two metal accessories on his torso and he only nods at that. You hate seeing him like this. Eijirou should always smile. He’s beautiful when he’s happy.

It takes you a few seconds to understand how those things work but after a while you find two clips on the back; you catch the gauntlets when they are about to fall down and you almost pull a muscle; they are so heavy you can’t believe he’s working in these every day. You wouldn’t be able to lift them if you wouldn’t have gone through your uncle’s training when you were a teen.

“Let’s clean you up a little bit before you sit in, okay?” You take a cloth from the cupboard and wet it, slowly stroking the hero’s upper body to rid him of the black soot. He doesn’t say anything but his frown deepens, like he’s ashamed of being in this state, which honestly, it’s quite understandable. As the soot disappears you find quite a lot of scars, they aren’t bleeding anymore but they definitely sting but he doesn’t even flinch when you touch them with the wet towel. You decide to leave then untreated for now and do that after the bath when hopefully, Eijirou will have more mental energy to actually communicate. They are really small compared to the usual hero injuries but for a normal person, these would be enough to end up in a hospital for at least a day. This is one of the things that makes you mad about the hero world… how they are treated differently even though they are just humans, like everyone else. All these old scars on his body wouldn’t be there if they would have been treated properly, but they weren’t; because it’s just a “scratch”, too small for the medic team to care about in the chaos but injuries like that still leave a scar afterwards but apparently that doesn’t matter because heroes aren’t supposed to be pretty, they are nothing but a living-breathing weapon, even in this day and age. It got a little bit better since pro hero Deku and his gang took over the top charts but there’s still a long way to go before the heroes can get the right treatment.

Eijirou’s muscles bounce under your hands, the skin alternating between soft and rough, depending on the area; for instance, the area where his gauntlets is full of callouses, angry and red, probably from the constant friction. You drop the wet towel into the sink to trace them with your fingers, but Eijirou catches your wrist after a few tentative strokes.

“Hurts.” He mumbles. “Ugly.”

It breaks your heart how he can’t even make a full sentence properly right now. He’s a shadow of himself, a dark blob in the well-lit bathroom.

“It’s not.” Is all you say and decide to approach the situation in a different way; you move into Eijirou’s space and start leaving tiny kisses around the area, slowly moving closer to the calluses and leaving feather light pecks all over the reddish area. “It’s beautiful because it’s you.”

Eijirou doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes. He starts to sob loudly, pulling you closer by your waist as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, body flush against yours. Your heart thrashes in your chest and you are quite sure he can feel the heavy bangs against his chest but instead of feeling ashamed you just feel… happy. Happy to be able to show him how much he means to you in ways he knows you can’t fake. “I really like you, Eijirou.”

“I love you. So much.” His hand grips your hair at your nape and you almost moan from the sudden pleasure. Your scalp was always really sensitive so you hated when people ruffled your hair in a friendly gesture but this… this is perfect. It’s more than perfect when it’s Eijirou who’s doing it.

“Let me take care of you, Ei.” He doesn’t say anything to that just lets you pull him towards the bath full of bubbles. “Can I get rid of your trousers? Underwear can stay.” He nods again and you get to work, trying not to think about about how suggestive this whole situation is. It’s not the right time for that. You already made the situation weird by enjoying the hair pulling a bit too much so it’s time for you take a deep breath and take your mind out of the gutter. He needs you.

Eijirou plops into the bath like a good boy after that but doesn’t do anything else; he just sits there with an empty gaze, staring at the shower gel bottle in the corner as though he’s having a silent conversation with it. And maybe he does. Who knows.

He doesn’t let your hand go, he holds it tight even as his body slowly relaxes; by the look of it, he won’t do anything for the next few minutes so you try to reach the shampoo bottle on the other end but Eijirou suddenly pulls your hand and you end up falling into the bath tub, your head thankfully landing on his chest and not somewhere dangerous. You look at your wet clothing and sigh, a tiny hint of a smile hiding in the corner of your mouth.

“Ei. If you wanted me to join you you should’ve just said so.” You giggle as you try to rid yourself from the disgustingly wet shirt and your trousers, probably hitting the poor guy with your elbows quite a few times but he doesn’t comment on it. You end up in your panties and your bra which is basically the same as wearing a swimsuit even though the padded bra feels really uncomfortable on your skin but there is no fucking way you’ll take that off right now for obvious reasons.

You really need to tell yourself AGAIN that this is NOT a romantic situation. Don’t think about what are you sitting on right now. Do not.

You wait a few seconds to give him time to answer but it doesn’t seem like he will so you finally take the shampoo in your hand and and give it to the redhead while you take the the shower head in your hand and start spraying his hair, straddling the guy’s hips while you do so. As the red gets brighter you can’t help but notice his roots; there is a tiny bit of black peeking out from his scalp, so tiny you wouldn’t even see it if you are not up close.

You are not surprised about it per se, you had a hunch his hair isn’t natural but it still baffles you a little bit.

“I can’t imagine you with black hair.” You mumble and the hero tenses under you. “Hey, it’s just hair. Don’t act like I just realized you are an alien.” You leave a tiny kiss on the top of his head to calm him down and thankfully, it works wonders; his body relaxes again, soft and pliant under your touch. “Mine is dyed too. I know, shocker.”

Eijirou looks up at you like he’s seeing you for the first time.

“And Uncle Riot?”

You can’t help but laugh loudly at that.

“Of course that’s your first question.” You mumble as you lather the shampoo into his hair. “His hair color is natural. He’s the only one in the family with that shade. Don’t ask, why, because we have no idea. My dad used to tease him about being adopted, they were terrible to each other. Typical brothers, really.”

“I don’t have any siblings.” Eijirou admits with a shy look on his pretty flushed face.

“Me neither. Thank god for that, I’m enough of a menace alone, we don’t need another one of me in the family.” You slowly wash the soap away, ready to put the conditioner on. He lets you do it in silence, he just closes his eyes and enjoys how your fingers scratch his scalp in the process. “You like this, Ei? Feeling better?” You scratch behind his ear like he’s a dog but by the look of it, Ei likes it so it doesn’t end up being as weird as you thought it would be.

“Uhum. I’m… I’m back. Kinda.” He admits sheepishly.

“Still okay with me being here with you? Do you want me to get out?” You ask, just in case; you don’t want him to be uncomfortable and you absolutely understand if he feels like it’s too much now.

“Can I wash your back?” Is the answer you get and your cheeks flush heavily from the words.

 You leave the conditioner on his head to do its thing and sit between his legs, ready to be washed. Now it’s really starting to sink in how… close you two are right now. It’s extremely intimate, way too intimate for two people who’s been dating for less than a month but somehow, it just feels… right. Perfect. Like it’s how it’s supposed to be.

Eijirou moves towards the shower gel, pumps the liquid into his hands and starts washing your back; his hands are so careful yet so deliberate, it almost feels like a massage and you can feel the goosebumps appearing on your skin from the pleasure. You sigh contentedly, feeling the urge to lay back on his chest and instead of pushing you back to your original position he lets you lean on him, his hands snaking around your waist to pull you close. His chin ends up on your shoulder then he takes a deep breath and finally, he starts talking.

“Katsuki and his fiancé are on a holiday. They went to see her family abroad so they’re not in town. Stupid fuckers realized the number two hero is away and started to do all kind of shit in our patrol area, hoping they can get away with it but needless to say, it’s all in vain but they don’t give up. It’s constant. They are easy jobs but… I’m tired. I haven’t slept for a week. Izuku and Shouto tries to help as much as they can but they have their own agency to run as well as helping ours and we are missing the two strongest heroes in our agency so… yeah.”

“You know it’s not your fault, right? You know you are strong enough, this is just way too much for a person fueled by coffee and energy drinks? You are just a human, Eijirou. Give yourself a break. I’m quite sure your friends can keep an eye on your agency for one day.” You interlace your fingers with his, squeezing the hand resting on your belly affectionately. “Stay with me today, Eijirou. Have a nap, then we can watch a movie in the afternoon and go to sleep early.”

“Is it a date?” Eijirou teases as he leaves a tiny kiss on the top of your head.

“It’s better than that. It’s our first day living together. It’s the practice round.”

“Stop teasing me.” Eijirou pouts and you can’t help but leave a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not. I promise.” You murmur as you turn back to him to continue cleaning him.

You could get used to this, it’s actually terrifying how normal it feels like to share a bath with this man you’ve only known for a few months. There’s no awkwardness the air and you don’t even feel shy for being almost naked, skin touching skin as you shimmy into him after the both of you are fresh and clean. It’s so easy to forget how young your relationship is as you cuddle in the hot bath tub, cheeks ruddy from the heat. He’s so beautiful with his wet hair framing his face, the locks soft and shiny for the conditioner.

You already see a future routine in front of you; sharing a coffee in the coffee shop in the morning then in the afternoon, cooking lunch, sharing a meal, enjoying each other’s company while lounging on the couch, cuddled close while a silly super hero movie with an unnecessary romantic plot plays in the background, having a bath together then sharing the bed and making love until it’s time to sleep. Maybe you two could train on your free days, spar until you both end up tangled on the mat, kissing the living shit out of the other. You could have dinners at your uncle’s house and just stare at your perfect fiancé fanboying over everything in the house like he’s not about to be a part of this family himself in a few months. Fuck, it would be perfect. So fucking perfect.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything.” Eijirou mutters into your ear, pulling you close.

“There’s nothing to thank me for. You need to rest and I just want you all to myself for a day. It’s a win-win.”

“… Always teasing me…” he says and you leave it to him; maybe it’s the best if he thinks it’s all just a joke for now. Your true feelings might suffocate him. It’s too much too soon, but it’s the truth. You already have your whole life planned out with him as weird as it sounds.

You can’t wait for all your dreams to become reality one day; but today, you need to take a deep breath - so you just do exactly that.

You can wait forever for him if that’s what he needs. It doesn’t matter because he’s worth it.

~•🪨•~

“What do I need to say for you to stay with me?” Eijirou mutters with a red face, staring out from your bedroom window, tucked in into your sheets like a little kid at bedtime. You are definitely going overboard with your actions right now, but you can’t help but worry about this silly little sensitive man in front of you.

He really reminds you of your uncle sometimes. You were way too young to understand his constant battle with mental health when he was still a hero but once you were eighteen your uncle started to open up about his old struggles and he had the same look on his face when he told you his stories as the one on Eijirou’s face right now and it breaks your heart. You don’t want to see him like this but it’s the part of the job as cruel as it sounds and you need to respect that; just because you were able to be selfish and leave all that behind, that doesn’t mean it was the right choice and you know that. Of course, it’s amazing to live carefree but the amount of people you couldn’t save because you’ve left the field haunts you to this day and sometimes it makes you wonder if all the pain is actually worth it for the lives you could save.

You thought that love is something unachievable when you are in this line of work and seeing Eijirou’s mopey little face clearly tells you that it’s not an easy task to be successful in love and at your job at the same time, and not everyone would have the patience to take care of you in time of need but… maybe, it’s all about surrounding yourself with the right people. You also have a feeling that you would’ve met Eijirou anyway, even if you’d never work in your uncle’s coffee shop because you two are connected by fate and no one can change your mind about that.

“This is my flat, silly, I’m not going anywhere.” You give the redhead a fond smile, but apparently, that’s not what the said redhead wanted to hear because he shakes his head vigorously, his face even more red than before. He takes your hand in his tentatively, stroking your knuckles with his thumb as he mumbles something inaudible. He pulls your hand closer and that’s when it clicks; he wants you to stay with him… in the bed. While he naps. Your heart almost jumps out of your chest from the sudden happiness that washes over you.

“You just need to say please. But before you do, I must warn you I might kiss you for real. I’m at my limits, puppy dog.”

You are quite sure you are as red as him by now but you try to keep your cheeky smile on, hoping it’s dark enough in the room for him to not see how flustered you are. It’s just not on brand, you know. You are the one teasing, not the other way around! Damn, the tables have turned.

“I… I can take that risk any day.” He mutters back; you make a silly noise in your throat, a high pitched little yelp you hope he can’t hear as you slowly let him pull you into the bed, cuddling you right away as you lay down next to him.

Okay, the tables DEFINITELY have turned. “Is this too much? I feel like your heart is yelling at me to go away.” He sighs with his face hidden in your chest. “So aggressive.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” You whisper into his ear while your arm snakes around his middle to initiate an actual cuddle. “It beats like that every time you come through the coffee shop door. It has been doing that for a while.”

“Am I scary?”

… This guy is an actual idiot. Do you really need to spell it out?

“Ei, look at me.” Slowly, Eijirou moves his head from your chest and he looks so terrified, you can’t stop yourself anymore; you stroke his chin while you look into his eyes fondly, moving closer and closer, giving him enough time to move away, but he… doesn’t. Finally, your lips collide in a warm, chaste kiss, one that’s barely there but it’s just enough to make a point. “Do I look scared of you, silly?”

Suddenly, Eijirou pushes himself up to his elbows and stares into your eyes. He’s still close, much closer than you’ve even been to him, his breath fans your lips and you feel goosebumps going down your spine from the thrill of it.

“If I say you do, will you do that again?” For the first time today, he almost looks like himself again; his eyes are full of wonder, he bites his bottom lip to stop it from wobbling, he’s so fucking precious you want to put him in your pocket and keep him there for the hard days and for the good ones, just have him with you every day because fuck, you really do love this fucking himbo.

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

And he does.

But…

This is not what you were expecting.

Eijirou pecks your lips once, twice, then a third time, but then he moves to your cheeks and leaves tiny little kisses all over until he gets bored of the area and goes back to your lips, pecks them again, but even as you try to give him a proper kiss, he moves away and keeps peppering you with these small, almost friendly kisses and you are so fucking confused but also kinda excited for finally not being the one doing all the work.

You have no idea how to tell him you want… well.. more. You feel selfish for not appreciating this properly and you feel like this is not the time for you to speak up about if; maybe, this is what he needs now, just… love and affection but not in a suggestive way. You take a deep breath and try to do the same, just peppering kisses on his cheeks and lips, counting fucking sheep to calm yourself down before you devour the man on top of you. Small kisses. You can do this.

You gently change your positions to let Eijirou lay on the bed and rest. He makes a tiny yelp from the sudden change but he let’s you be in charge; you straddle his hips but you make sure you don’t touch in inappropriate places because while you would absolutely love to take this further, he’s clearly not in the mood for that yet. Maybe he’s the “no heavy making out” before marriage kinda guy. It would make a lot of sense to be fair, with the whole “proposal on the first date” thing he’d pulled.

You really need to sit down and talk, this is getting ridiculous. You haven’t even talked about being a couple properly. Obviously, you are not stupid, you know you are… well… something, maybe even more than just a couple at this point but it all happened so quickly it would be nice to know you two are on the same page about this.

You sweep this thought under the rug for a few more days; now you have a mission to finish, which is to make Eijirou happy enough to be able to take a proper nap. You leave tiny kisses on his cheeks, then one cheeky peck on his mouth, your thumb caressing his cheekbone soothingly as you keep kissing him, slow and careful until Eijirou looks like he’s ready to doze off; when the time is right, you lay down next to him, your fingers drawing circles into his naked chest until finally, his breathing evens out and he’s out like a light, a tiny smile ghosting his face as he sleeps peacefully, unconsciously cuddling into your side.

Needless to say, you can’t fall asleep. Your heart is thrashing in your chest, begging for attention, begging for that deep kiss you’ve been dreaming about for eternity.

“You’ll be the death of me, himbo.” You mumble silently as you close your eyes and pretend to sleep for the next couple of hours.

It’s fine. You have your whole life to take those steps forward. There is no need to rush this. Maybe, if you tell that to yourself a couple more times you’ll actually believe it.

… to be continued!

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Potato ramble:

- Thank you very much for your kind words under my last personal update. I’m sorry for not replying. I read them all and they made me really happy I’m just… well… having troubles communicating with anyone right now. Thank you very much for being so kind and patient with me, I hope this surprise chapter makes your day a bit better 💜

- Tell me what you think of this chapter! Tell me what you think will happen in the next! I might not respond but I’ll definitely enjoy reading your conspiracies! 💜

TL: @porusuniverse @sixxze @unofficialmuilover @cheesenmax @readingfan @sammmm29 @pwinglez1 @happydragonfrog @magicalhandsherringclam @lovingnightharmony @theequeenofcurses @kirishima-eijirock @nerinefy @selfindulgenthoe @fierysplash213 @woofwoofwolf @touyasprettydoll @confused-smol-fan @themultifandomgirl @dark-witch-bitch @lotusstarr

[rthstewart]

So is John Pevensie still an antagonist in Stone Gryphon? (Am I asking this because I love Helen and Mrs. Godwin? Yes. I am also asking because I love a furiously protective person and John seemed like that in the snippets from his perspective)

@becauseforoncethisisme asked:

So is John Pevensie still an antagonist in Stone Gryphon? (Am I asking this because I love Helen and Mrs. Godwin? Yes. I am also asking because I love a furiously protective person and John seemed like that in the snippets from his perspective)

First, thanks so much for reading and reaching out about the first chapters of Heart and Crow Make The Peace.

Ware below for LONG meta/history/ruth stewart blather

For many years, the first and last look readers had of John Pevensie was a scene in the posted Apostolic Way.  It’s a disastrous dinner at the Rainbow Room in New York City, where Col. Walker-Smythe has brought Edmund to America to work as his aide and batman.  John is, as presented in the story, a writer and editor, recruited by the SOE, to work on the generation of pro-British propaganda.  He is a serial philanderer, is bitterly disappointed that it is Edmund, rather than Peter, who has come to America, and the dinner is excruciatingly painful as John’s memories of his children are several years old and certainly pre-Narnia, leaving Edmund to, once again, be far kinder than his father deserves and Walker-Smythe is furious.  It’s made worse by numerous women who have obviously enjoyed John’s attentions in the past stopping by the table to say hello.  

Meanwhile, Helen Pevensie is back in London, and true to what was more common in 1943 than it was in 2020, has been in a sexual relationship with Mrs. Beatrice Goodwin, the widow next door.  

I was probably too successful in the scene as John can come across as a craven and cruel person. Readers’ sympathies (and mine) have always tilted to Helen.

With the reposted story, I slightly tweaked the previous version of the Rainbow Room scene and have introduced in text that a part of John’s issue is untreated PTSD. So, is this signaling a change of heart for me in John's role? and what about Mrs. Goodwin and Helen?

John's untreated illness is an explanation, in part, but not a justification to be sure.

I’ve always intended for Helen and Beatrice to go their separate ways.  As broad-minded as the Four are, it's different when your parents are involved and I’m finding it hard to push myself to writing that as a resolution or where it’s all just one big happy polyamory.  From discussions with readers, I could see Beatrice moving to a small market town for economy, meeting another widow with young children and you know, there are only 2 bedrooms in the cottage, so of course….   Post-war England was filled with these kinds of relationships of economy and convenience and, presumably, potential romance amongst widows.

As a writer, I also want John and Helen to both put some work in and try to rebuild their relationship.  This is something millions of people had to do post-War and I’m interested in how and whether couples can overcome infidelity.  I’m not sure I could, personally (I’ve been married for over 30 years!) and I’m interested in developing it.  TSG itself presents numerous different takes on bonding and infidelity which, while true to the time period, is also intended as a contrast to Edmund and Lucy’s  own sense of loss for their partners.  Something I’ve not decided is whether Morgan and Aidan, respectively, went on to have their own relationships some period of time later.  

There’s another reason for introducing John’s PTSD.  TSG was originally supposed to be a two-fer, Peter-centric story.  I was going to do a time-skip after the conclusion of Ox 1942 and jump to post war, with Peter starting an affair with Mary, dropping out of uni, finally finding his path, and then everyone dying, with Susan left behind (I had this about half-written, even). I never, EVER wanted to touch the 1940s UK educational systems or Peter’s potential service in the military as I deemed bothway beyond my storytelling skill.

[TQSiT was never in the cards – that’s the fault of an early reader, Miniver on ff dot net long since gone, who asked, Well, given these adventures for Peter, and Lucy and Edmund off on the Dawn Treader, surely Susan is up to something exciting in America, which coincided with me reading a WaPo review Connant’s The Irregulars.  Oops.]

So to avoid having to write Peter in the service, from the very beginning, back in Ox 1942, I wrote that Peter’s parents are opposed to his service and he’s willing to go along with it because he thinks he’s an insubordination risk.  I never explained why they are opposed which is really not especially consistent with the patriotism of the time.  

So, in the story I’ve picked up again 12 years later, John’s trauma at Dunkirk as now part of the reason for that opposition.  He goes to War to protect his family and early on is deeply traumatized by the failures to evacuate soldiers on the beaches; he hears the screams of men and ships going down in his dreams.  In his own protective misguided way, he wants to protect his family from that horror. And when he finds out that Aslan plucked his children out of England and turned them into warriors, he is going to be PISSED.  

 Oops.

Thanks so much   @becauseforoncethisisme!!

[gatheringbones]

[“Terry’s hair was long & thick, bleached blond, perhaps because she wanted to be a princess in a fairy tale instead of real. We wrote letters to one another, passionately declaring our eternal love, which the technicians stole. One night when she was sitting on my bed in the dorm after lights out, as I brushed her hair, they threw on the lights in a frenzy of disgust & separated us for being lesbians. We were too drugged and too frightened to do more than hold hands. The head nurse was a lesbian, who called Terry’s mother, who came the next day to take her home to her psychiatrist father, to whom she had not spoken in over four years. I was sent to the old women’s ward for punishment, where my job was to feed the bed-bound ladies, some of them in restraints all the time. The stench of urine & untreated cancer was overwhelming. I wrote long, intense letters to Terry, which I could not send, hiding them under my green plastic mattress. Terry’s stars are deep burgundy, & I bleed into the other colors when I mourn that we never made love.

Then Maggie was dragged onto our ward, in hot pink tights & purple smock, her teeth glittering with mischief Far from being depressed by the surroundings, she sang bawdy songs to the old ladies she fed, opening our misery with laughter. She was from a wealthy Marin family who sent her there to straighten her up & scare her into agreeing to marry the man they wanted to sell her off to, although they wouldn’t say it like that (she did). Somehow her wedding veil was among her belongings. She liked to wear it to the vast dining barrack because it annoyed the nurses so much. It was very beautiful, expensive lace which she trailed behind her like indifference. One day Maggie & I decided to get married. The guy who thought he was jesus was happy to perform our ceremony, held in the courtyard of our adjoining wards, surrounded by hundreds of old glass windows barred with iron grates. I wore Maggie’s veil & my Napa State Hospital white cardigan tied to make a train. We both carried huge bouquets of lilacs, which were blooming wildly in that hot, dry country. All our patient guests cheered & clapped so loudly that we couldn’t hear what jesus was saying. We only got to stroll down the sidewalk, showered with rice that Edith had filched from the kitchen where she was one of the cooks, before our union was rudely interrupted by burly male guards straining with anger in their white uniforms.

Everyone was locked down, some of us in solitary, & the bells went off for riot alert. Maggie’s poor veil was ripped apart by their feet & rage & arms. The head nurse (another lesbian) called Maggie’s mother that night, & before I had a chance to kiss her hello & goodbye, Maggie was driven away the next morning in her father’s limp-dick limo (her words again), as we ate our powdered eggs, silently depressed.

However, Maggie was a very sneaky & smart girl. She calmly arrived the following day in her VW bug (custom-painted purple, as are her stars) & said she had come back to collect her belongings, which no one had thought to pack up. Her mother, a master materialist (probably hoping for the veil), was very understanding. The hospital wanted to be accommodating in hope of future funds. So Maggie surprised me by returning to busily pack up not very much. We weren’t allowed to talk, & the nurses were watching us sharply until Ursula, understanding our need, threw her tennis shoe at the TV, screaming. Maggie palmed me a note to meet her by the lilac hedge behind the building, where she had conveniently parked. I left as though going to my new job at the dairy (cow shit apparently being a step up from human shit). The other women realized Ursula’s intentions & took off their keds, too. My last sight of that day room (where I had been declared incurably schizophrenic) was of flying sneakers, screaming technicians, breaking glass, & laughing patients—a really lovely melee. Because, of course, Maggie had returned to rescue me. We pulled out the backseat of her bug & I lay down across the battery. She laid a Mexican blanket over me, while I tried to project looking like a backseat. She piled her boxes, mostly empty, on top of me. The guards at the main gate were distracted by another call from the ward where the women who weren’t strapped down could not be contained. Maggie smiled, they gave her back her driver’s license, & off we went. On the other side of town, Maggie freed me from my seat charade & I tasted the wind in my hair for the first time in more than a year. She drove me to Big Sur, where I’d never been & they wouldn’t look for me (I had seven previous escapes, which is why I was on the violent ward so often, a curious juxtaposition—is freedom indeed violence, for lesbians?). In her trunk she had a sleeping bag, some food, money, & clothes that didn’t say Napa State on them for me. She dropped me near an overpass under which fellow fugitives of all kinds were camped, driving back to Marin, where perhaps she did escape marrying him. My belongings & three cartons of writing may still be in a dusty storage room at Napa. I guess I’m AWOL. Freedom’s worth the loss. If not for Maggie, I’d still be in the loony bin, incurable & terrified, not allowed to be a lesbian except with technicians. But I ripped that nurse out of the quilt.

Big Sur was rich with empty summer houses we raided for canned goods as a gang of teenage runaways, Vietnam War deserters, Rez escapees & drug dealers. We caught and roasted a wild pig. We hid out from the park rangers. We flirted with soldiers from the base for bags of potato chips, Hostess lemon pies, & chocolate bars. It was my theory we wouldn’t get scurvy if we ate the pies. We dropped acid & had orgies & stole into the mud baths at night. I was in a fog & detoxing from the nuthouse drugs, until one dusk when my eyes became diamond sharp at the sight of a thin young guy getting out of a hitchhiking ride at the convenience store near the campgrounds. He had black wavy hair cut in a DA falling forward over his face, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket that oozed sex. Our eyes caught across the parking lot & I fell in love like slamming into earth. I walked over, offering my open bag of BBQ pork rinds. Her reaching hand made me laugh & I blurted out, “I thought you were a guy.” She looked me up & down intensely, startled me by stroking my crotch with a quick secret movement, & growled, “Good.”]

chrystos, from cherry picker, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[vaguely-concerned]

A short comic about the night Sophia Amell became Irving's apprentice.

CW: Suicide attempt, self harm, blood

*

And this is why for a large section of her life, Sophia would do pretty much anything for Irving without hesitation lol. He was exactly the adult she needed in the exact moment she needed him to be, and that kind of thing puts down deep roots in a person. More context/headcanon stuff behind the read-more! It mentions some mental illness stuff but nothing too in-depth.

Sophia was always a talented student, but as she closed in on her teens and started to come into her magical power truly, some stuff started going very, very wrong inside her. (She’s around thirteen in this comic.) Part of that was down to purely mundane untreated mental illness setting in, as it is wont to do and especially in one’s teens, and also the day-to-day fuckery of living in an environment like the Circle system. But a big component of it was also the relentless and seemingly unending way her magical potential kept unfolding, until there seemed to be no room left inside her for anything but the electrical storm intensity suffusing everything in her mind and her life. It became almost impossible to focus on anything else through the sound and fury of it. None of the techniques she’d been taught were enough to keep her centered or stop her from dissolving into the violence of potential screaming out through every cell of her body. The Bad Times were here and they meant to stay.  

Whatever stuff our souls are made of, hers naturally conducts magic like a motherfucker, helplessly, without pause or relief. She’s a relentlessly humming live wire of magic with no off switch. The Fade is constantly like ‘wow. Wish I could fucking live directly inside of her bloodstream that’d be neat too bad about this Veil thing getting in the way’. This is significantly less cool and more shitty than it sounds like to live with day to day, and doubly so in the Circle — on one hand potential phenomenal cosmic power, sure, on the other: congrats, you are an unceasing whole-person wandering magical tension headache from trying to contain said phenomenal cosmic power (which will absolutely wreck you and everyone around you if you lose control of it for a moment btw). and also there are Templars watching your every step. Don’t slip up ahaha. 

(Aside from any political or image reasons (and initially some deep seated respectability politics too lol), I think this is partially why Sophia has next to no interest in blood magic — Maker help her, her trouble does not lie in a lack of available power haha, it’s in trying to keep her act-of-god levels of available power focused and contained enough to not get fucking blown away by the recoil and leave nothing but a miserably smoking crater around her.) 

She was a straight As, teacher’s pet, never any problem to anyone student, which spelled exactly as much catastrophe for her as you’d suspect. Her only friend was Jowan, whose oblivious self-absorption would be almost cruel if it weren’t so hilariously real and unstudied lmao. (There’s some lingering if largely one-sided in that dimension resentment in that relationship all the way into DA:O. Catastrophic sibling event long before Jowan even realized it lol) No one could see what was happening, and even if she could have found the right words to do so she was so scared of telling anyone that she felt like she was losing control — she’s been told all her life that that’s the Worst sin a mage can commit, and she internalized that good and proper and was so ashamed that she was falling short. 

As these things do in the dark, her desperation and loneliness festered into true despair and hopelessness, which culminated in the night of this comic, hidden away in the most isolated and out of the way corner of the tower she could find. Thank the Maker for Irving, or there would have been no Hero of Ferelden in this timeline.

After he’d stopped the bleeding and covered up the blood well enough that they wouldn’t be stopped if spotted in the hallways, Irving brought her to his office — she was still half-sure she was in soooo much fucking trouble, but actually once they were sat down he just went ‘For formality’s sake I had thought to hold off on this until next year so you might finish your basic studies first. Under the circumstances, though, I think it better to broach the subject now’ and asked her to become his apprentice. 

(When Alistair asks her about it eventually, having spotted the very faint scar that remains on her arm when the light fell just right to reveal it, Sophia tells him: “I was… very confused that night, and he was very kind. I owe him everything you owe Duncan, and more,” and that is basically how she thinks about it for a long time. Irving’s side of that is slightly different, as I’ve tried to outline elsewhere — he doesn’t think she owes him anything, if anything I think he still feels awful he didn’t see how bad it was back then until it was almost too late and is still making up for that in any way he can — but the parental love is very much there on his side too. The way he keeps pushing his luck before Amell/Surana’s Harrowing to give them all the advice and support Greagoir will let him get away with??? Yeah. That’s his baby.)

With Irving’s direct guidance and support and attention to stabilize her, she found better ways to cope and learned to channel her magic into small, practical purposes when it felt like it would brim over in her veins and tear her apart. (When stressed out or agitated, she’ll still reflexively and methodically trace out glyphs to calm herself down haha.)

While all those strategies helped take the worst edge off and left her more or less functioning, I think Irving saw that long-term it wouldn’t be enough, and thus… his plan to send her to the Grey Wardens, where she regularly gets to go off like a live grenade at the one target that’s universally deemed morally and socially acceptable (i.e. the darkspawn). Irving you son of a bitch you did it, you got that girl to adulthood and beyond not only alive but still some definition of sane… and, eventually, even happy. You pulled it off again you machiavellian old fox (too bad about the jowan-shaped collateral damage along the way I suppose but hey. Eggs and omelets right. right.) 

(If the Wardens didn’t come along as conveniently as they did, he might have tried to get her into the King’s army instead, probably. Anything to get her out of the tower, because he — probably rightfully — thinks staying cooped up there really might have killed her in the end. And he’s her dad and can’t accept that.) 

Anyway Sophia is partially my way of playing around with the in-game dynamics of just how wildly, unreasonably OP a mage warden can be by the end of the game, especially through awakening. She was a gifted child, near-fatally so, and from whence most of her character springs. What more can I say. Also wow. Apologies for the parenthesis bonanza, that’s just where my brain is at right now I canot chancge this fhdskja

[genesisvirus]

Id really like to know what ideas or thoughts you have for simon in your sprunki interpretation bc honestly you are cooking and im eating it uppp (if thats cool w you ofc!)

AAAA OFC OFC I'M COOL WITH IT!! i like talking!! AND I LOVE SIMON SO MUCH OFC I'LL RAMBLE ABOUT HIM

-he likes saying he's an alien, in reality he has a mix of bug (thinking ant but it could be a generic bug) and horse traits.

-he's the "main character", he's typically the problem solver or the guy to hang out with whoever. he's quite popular as a result, although ofc not everyone likes him. him and raddy butt heads alot after all, mostly raddy finding his upbeat attitude annoying.

-his best friends are brud and oren, the latter having an almost brother-like relationship with him. he also likes hanging out with durple, as long as he's not busy.

-he has untreated ADHD. while he struggles with focus and attention, he is rather creative as a result, which is reflected in his unique music.

-he is vegetarian, and his favorite food is chocolate.

-while he doesn't fully understand gray, he does tries his best to make sure he isn't left out of activities, which may or may not be appreciated by the introvert.

-he doesn't exactly get along with OWAKCX or jevin, but mostly becuz he gets too overstimulating for them, which confuses him sometimes.

-when blackhat started corrupting him, he first affected him mentally, along with his senses. his sense of smell and taste were heightened, and certain stimuli relating to those gave more of an euphoric feeling than normal. as a result simon started acting odd well before being fully corrupted, usually getting especially clingy with people and getting way too close physically. not to mention eating things he usually wouldn't eat, even inedible stuff.

-once everything was turning for the worst was when he corrupted physically. he is entirely blind, however can still hunt just fine with his sense of smell and hearing. he can also still stand on two legs, however his behavior is more feral and so he ends up on all fours when walking or running.

-he attacked brud, eating parts of him. he also attacked raddy and ate his lower half, before wenda got to the rest of him.

-any resemblance of his original personality is pushed to the very very back of his mind, in place of something more feral and hungry. he has no clue what he's doing anymore, he's completely unaware of reality and what he's being forced to do. at most all that he knows is he's hungry.

-he does not attack the "dead" due to the smell they emit deterring him, however blackhat does mess with his senses sometimes to get him to attack them, whenever blackhat gets bored.

-he's still capable of speech.

[pokemoncenter]

On fire sacs

This post will be frequently discussing urination in Pokemon with flame organs, and so I will be placing it under this cut.

Did you know that no two Arcanine have exactly the same fire? Humans cannot tell the difference, but many Pokemon can. This gives every Arcanine a distinct scent to their fire, and their droppings, which they use in the wild to mark their territory.

I spoke before that Arcanine need a great deal of water every day, but I did not get deeply into the details. Most, though not all, Pokemon capable of emitting fire have a special organ in their body in which the fire is created.

It is more accurate to say that the organ creates a heated pyrophoric gas. Specifically, a special phosphoric compound that has yet to be recreated out of a Pokemon's biology, which in its gaseous state has a temperature of over 120 degrees Celsius. These compounds ignite upon exposure to the air, and so a Pokemon breathing flames is actually exhaling this gas through a special epliglottal cover, with an extra sphincter that prevents any air from getting back in.

However, temperatures that high could be hazardous to the Pokemon's other organs, and so it is kept insulated through a two-layer system. On the inside, a layer of fat, and on the outside, a special bladder filled with waste water. The water in this bladder acts as a heat sink, absorbing excess heat through the fat, which is then excreted. In other words, the Pokemon urinates out water that has become too hot, and must replenish it. This means that their urine possesses traces of the phosphoric compounds, though dissembled such that they no longer ignite.

Most Pokemon with a flame sac will operate under similar mechanisms. Torchic, Fletchinder, and similar avian Pokemon who do not urinate, instead have the waste mixed in with their feces. This removes the heat from their body, and the head below them can offer an updraft to allow them to take off easier.

A Pokemon with a flame sac who marks its territory with urine (Arcanine, Typhlosion, etc) will have the aforementioned dissembled compounds in their urine. This provides a unique scent to each Pokemon, acting as a fingerprint of sorts, to warn off competition from their territory. But this is also necessary to cool themselves.

If you find a Fire-type Pokemon is having difficulty with its urination, or urinating too much, or if it has runny feces, this can often mean it is having difficulty maintaining its insulation. Check the amount of water, and make sure it has enough. Furthermore, check your local neighborhood. Sometimes, if a Pokemon smells the scent left by one of the same species whose scent is stronger, they will not wish to urinate at all, as they will feel afraid and do not wish to invade the territory of another. This will cause a whole host of health problems if left untreated.

There is a whole host more to say, but this is already a very long post on a very niche subject. Still, I have but one point to make.

Make sure your Pokemon drink enough water. I have treated so many dehydrated Fire-types who were about to cook their own organs because their owner believed that 'a weakness to water' meant they should not drink as much. Type does not matter. Your Pokemon need water, and often a greater amount of it than you believe.

And, for that matter, so do you. Stay hydrated.