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miwsolovely · 3 months

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—WALLS AND HAZE

pairing: outlaw!farmer!141 x fem!reader

series masterlist taglist (closed.) next

contains: implication of abuse + rape, sexism, cheater husband, rumors about reader are being spread, (implications that) reader is called mean things here :( (whore, brothel woman), husband is an asshole.

summary: meal for a king.

wc: 4.3k

a/n: u guys were hungry huh

a/n 2: this is an outlaw 141 set in the 1800s, which i was not born in so mind the inaccuracies ! ( reader is so oblivious in here im crying but shes so cute )

a/n 3: firm believer that simon n johnny look like this in this series🫶🏾

You wished the walls could talk.

Wished they were one big spiderweb of networks, all connected, so that they would see what was happening to you and tell the world.

Wished people cared like you wished the walls would. Coming to your aid and mending you, body and soul. Holding you up when you can’t hold yourself.

But the walks can’t talk. They can only stay silent and watch. Feel your pain and sorrow and the feeling of your body being pushed against the way, beaten, bruised, broken, taken.

And the walls don’t care. No matter how much you wail and stain the floor with your never ending tears, tears so abundant and filled with grief, the clouds cry for you whenever you can’t. Eyes too red and dried out to do anything but watch and feel as your heart, your bones, your soul breaks.

The walls can listen too. Listen to your cries as you beg to be free, listen to your frustrations, your pains. But no words of comfort come from them. No kiss goodnight, no hugs overflowing with love or kindness. Just silence.

The man who you’re married to, the man who lifted your veil and said your vows, “for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

That man was asleep in your bed with another woman.

Asleep dreaming of her, kissing her, making love to her.

When it was supposed to be you. He’s married to you, she’s supposed to be the other woman. Not you. Not you indeed, the one with the ring, the ring he used kissed each night before bed, on your finger.

But he made it very clear that it was indeed you, who is the other woman. Letting her wear your clothes, clothes that he bought for you wrapped in colorful paper and sealed with fake words of love and promises.

You overheard some talk about him buying her a ring as well.

Heard him going over a trip for them to New York.

Planned for the day of your anniversary.

In all honesty, you just wanted out of this God forsaken house, this town.

So you decide it’s time to look for a new house.

But you can’t. The world is as cruel as your husband and women can’t buy or own anything unless their husband buys it.

Women can’t do anything, unless their husband is there with them.

The only thing you can do is sit on your loveseat and realize why women kill.

The man selling meat seemed nice.

He was rough though, you could tell by the way he looked and the way he carried himself. He was a big man as well. Easily towering over the mini crowd of women fawning over him.

You try your best to, gently but firmly, push through the crowd of women to get to the front counter where the man was cutting meat for a customer.

“Excuse me,” You mummer trying to walk around the woman shamelessly showing off her cleavage to the man as she leans on the counter.

She turns around at the sound of your voice and her elbow jams against your ribcage with how fast she did the action.

You flinched and held your middle, the corset you were wearing doing nothing but causing you more pain. The woman looked at you as if you stained the bottom of her shoes. “Be patient and wait in line.” She scoffs. She was about to turn back around to the man still chopping the meat on the counter, his eyes slightly raised to meet yours then anothers’ behind you, but another voice, accented and heavy, interrupted her.

“If Ye’re not gonnae buy anythin’, leave.”

You turn and almost crash face first with a hard chest. You look up and meet crystalline eyes. A color you’d never seen before outside the sky. The sea you’d yet to see but if you had, the waves would roar with jealousy.

The man gives you a wink and starts to walk by you towards the man behind the counter, completely ignoring the woman trying to seduce them both now, but stops midway and looks back at you, as if urging you to follow him.

You pause and were about to follow, but then, you notice the multiple pairs of eyes on you.

The women point and whisper at you. Likely spreading more false accusations against you.

“Look, it’s Mrs. Fitzroy. Shouldn’t she be tending to that husband of hers?”

“I heard she was trying to change her surname.”

“I heard she’s sleeping with the man selling apples at the market.”

“Good heavens! I thought she was sleeping with the fletcher down at Browns?”

“An’ I coulda sworn I saw ye spreadin’ yer legs for that blacksmith off on Hickory?” The man said. Lifting a finger to the woman who accused you of sleeping with a man you’ve never met, the fletcher, pointing her out.

A small smile, you notice, lifts the man behind the counter’s eyes, revealing his crows feet.

One of the women scoff. “A man so beautiful, yet such an ugly mouth…”

A cleaver comes down heavily, and startles the women still around the counter. “You women are so bratty,” He stares them down. His brown eyes turning black with… hate? “you lot make your own children jealous.”

Gasps of offense can be heard from ten miles down. The women act hurt as if their mothers mother were insulted, and one by one they file out the butcher’s shop after giving the two men their best glares.

You follow them with your eyes. And then, silence fills the room like a void expanding, swallowing up sound and leaving only a hushed stillness in its wake.

“Thought they were never gonnae leave.” The man with the blue eyes says. He scratches his stubble and faces you again, a smile lifting his face. “What do ye need lass? Or did ye come ‘ere jus’ for a peek at us?”

You feel your face grow hot as he flirts with you. When was the last time a man flirted with you, you couldn’t remember.

“I, well — I came to ask if you had, or have, Sirloin..?” You ask.

You noticed, that the moment you opened your mouth, the man with the rich brown eyes stopped his cutting of the meat in favor of looking at you, though it looked like he was looking through you at times, into your soul, and the man with the unique but beautiful accent had his eyes trained on you, as if drinking you in.

“Sirloin?” The man behind the counter questioned. He raised a scarred eyebrow. “Trying to make a feast fit for a king, lovie?” His voice is rough and deep, suits him well, you think.

You took a steadying breath. “No, no just dinner for my, husband. Our um — anniversary is in a few days.” You admit. Though you think you sounded sad, you didn’t mind it. You could tell the two men saw through you and noticed your unhappiness as well. Seven years with a monster will do that to you.

The man with the blue eyes hummed, something deep and rich that made you feel unsteady on your feet. “Congrats lass,” He nods his head at you. “Name’s John, this bloke ‘ere is Simon.” He nods his head and points a lone, thick finger towards the man behind the counter.

You offer them a timid smile and bow your head, your fingers finding and fixing invisible wrinkles on your dress.

“It’s nice to meet you both.” You say. You tell them your name and hide your shiver when the man behind the counter, Simon, says your name as if tasting it. It comes of his tongue like a melted honey similar to his eyes.

“Sirloin, yeah?” He looks up at you as he cleans the blood off his knife, dyeing the white handkerchief in his large hand red. When you nod after shifting your attention to his eyes, he continues. “Give me a second then, love.”

With that, he disappears through a door adjacent to the counter he was previously behind, most likely the meat locker, leaving you and John alone.

“Those women give you trouble all the time lass?”

You startle with how close his voice sounds to your ear. You turn to your side and look up to see him nearly standing chest to chest with you.

“Oh—no, no only when I see them or, or the other way around…” You say with a nervous smile. Looking down at his broad chest rather than his eyes after seeing how he looked at you with something akin to longing. When you take a step back nervously, his warm, large hand finds home on your waist, keeping you in place.

“Well if they give ye any trouble,” John says, lifting a finger to your chin and raising it so your eyes met his. “Ye’ll let us know then, hm?”

Will you? Will you let these strange, men help you when you need it? It was tempting, it is tempting, but again, these are strangers. Walking around the town with unknown men at your hips will raise even more rumors about you and your private life. People in the town will speak and words travel fast in your small town.

You want to say no, that you can handle yourself, but this man, he’s leading you into a field of roses that tempt you into his awaiting hands.

What you couldn’t see, was that behind the rose colored glasses, was a field of rot and sorrow that would follow if you obliged.

However the smell of roses and pine led you further and further into him and after a few minutes, you found yourself nodding, your words dying on your tongue.

John smiles at you, and his smile only grows wider when you step away from him as is burned when you hear Simon’s heavy footsteps.

When he opens the door, you notice the big sack he’s carrying over his shoulders, though almost the size of his broad shoulders, he makes it look like he’s carrying a feather.

You also notice that it looks bigger than what you ordered.

Simon places the sack on the counter and double checks the rope knotted at the top, making sure it's sturdy and won’t open. "Made sure to double the sack so it wouldn't leak," He says. When he looks at you, he notices the expression on your face. "Somethin' wrong lovie?"

John, still next to you pipes up. "Looks alrigh’ to me." You step up to the counter and run your fingers up your arm, a calming sensation to you. "Well, that's — It just, looks, more than what I ordered?"

Simon blinks. John smiles wider.

“Consider it an apology for dealing with those, women.” Simon drawls. He picks up the sack and walks the length of the counter to stand before you and John.

“An’ a thank ye for dealin’ with ‘im.” John says throwing a wink your way.

“I—” You sigh. “Fine, then how much do I owe you?” You start the motion of reaching for your wallet in your satchel. About to open it, John’s hand stops you midway.

“Consider it on the house hen, couldnae let a pretty lass like ye pay after what ye jus’ went through.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—please, the meat’s expensive and, and you gave me more than what I asked—not that that’s a bad thing but still—” You worry, and in the midst of that worry you don’t see the sweet smile rising on Simon’s face as he looks at you. The way John’s hand hovered over the curve of your waist, the lightest of touches just barely enough to satisfy him, but enough to keep your veil covering your eyes.

“Jus’ let us take you home love.” Simon says while stepping closer to you, caging you in between him and John whose hand now pressed against your waist, firm. “Can’t let a lady like you dirty her hands carryin’ this now, hm?” He says, shrugging his shoulders to prove his point, the sack already moistening with the blood of the meat inside.

Your hand, you realize, is still captured in John’s warm grip, calloused and rough, but gentle all the same.

You open your mouth, about to object, but John’s hand moved to and grew firm on your waist, urging you to obey, daring you to say no.

So you sigh, nod your head, and tell them your address.

The drive there is, pleasant. John sat in the back with you as Simon drove, the sack holding the meat sat next to him in the passenger seat. The scent of the meat was close to nothing, as Simon did say he doubled the sack. You’ll make sure to thank him later.

By the time you arrived at your house, it was close to eight o’clock. Around the time your husband would come home from work. If he even bothered to come home at all.

“Here I am.” You say eyeing the house. Stained with years of pain and sadness.

“Beautiful house you have here darlin’” Simon says as you unlock the front door, allowing them in.

Your heart beats faster and you feel as if this is a mistake.

“Thank you, Simon.” You offer a small smile. “Oh, you can put that in the freezer in the cellar. Here let me—”

“It’s alrigh’ bonnie, let ‘im handle it.” John says. His hand, once again, finding the curve of your waist.

“Ah, okay. . .” You say, and when you look in his eyes, you realize the haze you’re feeling right now, the haze these men are creating, you forget where you are, who’s last name you’re carrying.

“Would you—” You take a deep breath and you’re sure John can feel it. “Would you like something to drink John? Water or?” You say already walking to your fridge in your kitchen, already missing the warmth of his hand.

“Water’s fine bun, An’ call me Johnny, ‘John’ makes me feel as old as Price.” John, Johnny, says, following you to the kitchen and accepting the water bottle you offer him.

“Price?” You tilt your head in confusion. “Who’s that?”

John shakes his head with a smile. “No one, ye’ll meet him soon.”

If that sentence was supposed to quell your curiosity, it only fed the beast. “What is that supposed to—”

“All done.”

Simons voice, his deep voice, causes you to jump. You turn to face him and find him staring at Johnny, an unreadable expression on his face.

You clear your throat, feeling the tension. “Thank you, Simon. I really appreciate your help.” Whatever conversation Simon and Johnny were having, in a language only they know, it seemed to snap Simon back into reality and he looked down to meet your eyes, his own immediately softening.

“It’s not a problem love.” He says. And when he turns his face to the side with his hand rubbing at his neck, probably embarrassed, you notice a pink tint to his cheeks.

“Ach, an’ where’s my “thank you”? I did more than this wee bairn.” Johnny whines. You notice he looks more like a puppy than a man, pouting and all.

You laugh and hide your mouth with your fingers. “Thank you, Johnny.” You say.

Johnny, while feeling appreciated now, noticed you hiding your pretty lips when you laughed or smiled.

He’d change that. They all would.

Five minutes turned into fifteen, fifteen turned into hours, hours turned into talking while trying to act like everything was normal, like you weren’t sandwiched between two men you invited in your house, all to deliver meat to be cooked for your anniversary.

You were still in the kitchen, sitting on a stool that accompanied the island and Simon and Johnny occupied the seats to the left and right of yours.

You were all talking about nothing and everything. Your favorite foods, what you liked and disliked, you, you, you.

You tried to shift the conversation to them, tried to ask them a question, but all they gave you were either blunt, vague answers or an excuse saying “our lives aren’t as exciting.”

As if you could call yours that. Years spent behind these four walls, cooking, cleaning, having to endure your husband’s verbal and unfortunately physical abuse, the townspeople, it was anything but exciting. Anything but everything bad.

But these men, they clung onto every word that escaped your lips as if you were a God. Their eyes never left your form, and their hands touched you as if you were made of glass.

You felt Simon’s hand brush against yours and you knew and felt Johnnys' eyes and hands on you constantly, as if past your face, your eyes, your skull they were picking away at your brain, peering into your memories and cradling your heart in theirs.

Your body felt hot. Overwhelmingly so, but also in a way that you'd only felt once upon a dream with your husband; before everything went to shit, before your hands seemed to taint everything it touched in his eyes, before the withering flowers and declarations of false love. You don’t know what to do anymore, don’t want to become the woman the entire town believed you to be, an impure lady, the type of woman who belongs in a brothel, a whore. It's not what you were, not what you are.

The sound of a car, your husbands' car, pulling into the driveway almost halted their movements.

Almost because even when you walked away from the kitchen, from them, to wait and greet your husband when he enters through the door, their touches and eyes still lingered, still left a warm phantom touch on your skin.

Your trance broke when you heard the key in the lock of the front door, the sound of your husband’s voice cursing when he realized it was the wrong key before he tried again.

You heard Simon and Johnny standing and you were glad because they were acting as if they were just about to leave. You looked back at them and saw Johnny raising his pointer finger to his lips and sending another wink to you, Simon’s eyes smiling at you, piercing your heart.

You fight the heat rising to your cheeks and turned to smile at your husband, who just entered the house.

He paid you no mind however, taking his coat off and throwing it into your arms, his briefcase hitting your foot and toppling on the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room.

He marched up to the men, the intruders, in his mind, and stood chest to chest with Simon, locking eyes with Johnny and looking at him with disgust, he turned and met the hard, charcoal eyes of Simon and matched his glare.

“And who the fuck are you?”

- please do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms !

- likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3 !!

©miwsolovely

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roseworth · 1 year

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do you think jason was fridged? i see a lot of people talk about it and i wanna know what you think

the boring answer is no, he was not fridged because the term was created in reference to female characters and jason isnt a female character

but that answer sucks. so lets look more into it!!! (trigger warning for screenshots of alex dewitt & barbara gordon's respective fridgings under the cut, also screenshots from death in the family but none of the graphic ones)

i make jokes about jason getting fridged all the time bc there is definitely an argument for it but i think my answer is. no but with feeling

i can definitely see where people who think he was fridged are coming from. jasons death was entirely used to further bruce's grief and joker killed robin just to get back at batman, not to mention starlin was writing jason out of character so he could have an excuse to kill him. then ofc after jasons death there was the glass case & the fact that he was only brought up with things like "jason died because he didnt take it seriously" or whatever so the case for fridging is there

but the reason i dont consider it fridging is that he had a good amount of agency in death in the family. the story was ABOUT him, and he made choices in the story that led to his death in the way that other fridged characters didnt

ofc we have to look to Miss Refrigerator herself alex dewitt <3

alex was attacked because of kyle, she didnt do anything to cause major force to attack her, she was a character that was killed just so kyle could be upset about it. she had no agency in the story, and he killed her so hard they had to make a new word for it

then ofc there was the same thing with barbara

the only agency she had in this moment was that she chose to answer the door and. thats it. she wasnt even shot for being batgirl, she was shot because she was jim's daughter and it was entirely intended as a way for joker to use her injury to hurt jim

jason on the other hand! the story was about him (as much as it could be for a side character) and before i get into this i want to clarify that i am NOT saying that he deserved it because of his choices. that is not at all true. all im saying is that he had agency in the story and it was about him in a way that it wasnt about alex or babs

in death in the family, jason had plenty of agency. his death was about finding his mom and saving her. he died after he chose to protect her instead of listening to bruce

also?? bruce isnt mentioned once in the scene where joker beats jason until its already done and joker doesnt want batman to find out

so overall its not really a fridging!! he has a lot to do and a lot of focus within the story, and he was killed during his effort to save someone :( once again thats not to say his death was his fault, but he had a lot to do in the context of his death that it was still about him up until he died

his death was because of bruce because joker wouldnt have gone after him if it werent to get back at batman, but jason still had a lot to do in the story and it kinda goes against the whole point of the fridging trope. fridging isnt "side characters getting killed is bad" its "established characters getting no agency in their own death is bad (especially when said characters are women or minorities)"

#im sorry fridge truthers </3 i understand your argument but alas i dont agree #i hope this all makes sense i am so fucking awful at putting thoughts into words #jason todd #dc

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quirkle2 · 7 days

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love your mogami arc thoughts… do you think there’s a parallel between the irrationality of mogami’s actions and how ritsu acts in big cleanup arc? Like neither of them make sense really but it doesn’t have to because it’s an expression of deep seated stress and guilt

[context]

it took a couple of watches for me to actually Get cleanup arc, but i do think clean up arc makes sense. maybe not from a logical point of view, but given ritsu's history of trauma and perfectionism, pressure to never act out or upset his brother for obvious reasons, and desperation for control in his own life, i think ritsu's actions made sense. they were Terrible actions, and they definitely go against the logic and hindsight of an outsider's perspective, but it was all the result of that stress and guilt and secretive hatred toward an aspect of his brother that caused it, and maybe a little bit of grief for a sibling relationship he wishes was still intact

u make a rly interesting point tho, bc Yeah, on your first watch, neither of these guys make sense to you. at least they didn't for me. i understood part of ritsu's reasonings at the beginning, but it sorta delved into... quoting ritsu, "violence for the sake of violence." and honestly??? i don't know Why ritsu's arc is sm more compelling to me than mogami's, bc rly, they're very similar in that way

at least it seems that way? im,,, honestly convinced the exposition for mogami arc was just,, rushed, or incomplete for whatever reason, bc it feels So Close to making sense, but it's just missing a couple of pieces. ritsu's arc has more substance to it, i think. i believe the biggest difference here is that mogami blamed other people for his misfortune, and didn't see anything wrong w what he was doing. ritsu made no such excuses. he Knew what he was doing was wrong, and he kept doing it. and that, to me, is Fascinating

even ritsu's "violence for the sake of violence" motive makes some sort of sense to me. he said it himself: "i was just tired of being myself. maybe i wanted to find out what it would feel like to be a fool." when u break it down, it's him exploring.... other options. until 7th division arc, he's of the mindset that if he had psychic powers he'd be Better, in all aspects, that he's nothing without psychic powers. he puts his entire identity and self-worth on having the abilities of an ESPer

now that he has them, he feels limitless, he feels unstoppable. he's so tired of being himself, of being perfect, of being the well-behaved younger brother w perfect grades and perfect attitude (bc let's face it, he's definitely a gifted kid, and gifted kids tend to develop habits of perfectionism, and eventually become exhausted). so he switches tactics, to find out what it would feel like to be a fool.

i honestly think cutting mogami's messy backstory and making him "evil" for the sake of being "evil" woulda been better. im sure not everyone agrees w me on that, and i can absolutely see why, but sometimes simple is "better" (imo). an underdeveloped villain is better, to Me, than a villain that is trying too hard to have a compelling motive. mogami's character feels like it is trying too hard, and branching out in too many directions, and it ends up just feeling,, stretched thin

i like shimazaki more than mogami. hell, i like shimazaki more than Any of the villains, and we all Know it's not because he has a good backstory (or one at all). he's not even very compelling to me, i just think he's cool, and i'll forever be stoked about how they let a character use teleportation powers right for once. sometimes simple is better

i'm not a fan of any of mob psycho's other villains, but they serve their purpose, and yaknow what, mogami serves his. i think seeing him as an "unreliable narrator" instead is a rly fun way of looking at it

#qktalks #uselessundertalefacts #mob psycho 100 #mob psycho #mp100 #keiji mogami #ritsu kageyama

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002yb · 9 months

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I was reading all your dickjay posts and im very fond of the ones where damians in (and i also read the one damijon with jon coming back and AHHHHH)

So i was wondering, what if Damian got hurt at patrón or at school and they call jaydick and these two idiot parents rush back to the manor just to find Jon taking care of Damian and are very endeared but also???? Thats their baby and jon and him have this aura of hearts fluttering around and noooo damian is too young (damian us very much embarrased but doesnt wan jon to leave)

Alright, my first and foremost thought is this being aged-up!Jon with Damian. ANd Dick reaches critical hypocrite levels with the extent in which he's (ʘ言ʘ╬) because he loves Jon, they're cool, but really? Fawning over Dick's son brother? To which Jon would make an awkward quip about Dick fawning after Dick's brother and Dick shifts to Σ(ಠิωಠิ|||) because oh damn, Jon got him there.

Beforehand though, it was a stupid happening on a mission and Damian insists he's fine although he's battered and bruised, but Jon still flies him home and helps Alfred look after him.

Jon and Damian only having all of like, twenty minutes to get cozy with each other before Dick and Jason both burst into the room and Damian clicks his tongue in annoyance because ffs

It's only because of Jon's hearing that Jon leaned back enough that they both look innocent. Which they were. Are. Still, Jon is sat on Damian's bedside and Damian is more bandage than boy at this point and it's a lot for Dick to process.

Jason doesn't bother processing the same things. He's more than aware of Damian's crush on Jon - it's whatever. Who is Jason to judge over 'inappropriate' love interests; it's a complicated situation also it's whatever he raised this boy right he's fine

Anyway, at any and every opportunity, in situations like this Jason will shove Dick out of his way. Nothing will get between a mother nanny brother and his son charge brother.

So Dick goes flying off into a wall while Jason races right on over to Damian.

Jon gets similar treatment. Despite being fully capable of being an immovable object to someone like Jason - Jon still gets sent flying. His strength is nothing compared to that of a fretting mother nanny brother.

Jon catches himself, floating back towards Dick to watch from a distance as Jason nags and frets in that way he does. Gruff, but kind. A very Damian characteristic that Jon wonders sometimes if it was influenced by Jason.

But yeah, Jon watching them with fondness.

Which Dick does, too. Until he realizes Jon is doing the same and Dick's protective tendencies come about.

That Dick recognizes he'll have to apologize to Bruce for forcing him to experience similar feelings of petulance and grief is something he's not looking forward to, but Dick gets it now; he wasn't prepared!

Dick and Jon bonding over how smitten they are for their respective ornery firecrackers though.

And Dick being very intimidating before letting Jon return to Damian's side - just a friendly clap on the shoulder and smile before giving the reminder that Damian is .𖥔 ݁ ˖𝒯𝒽ℯ ℬ𝒶𝒷𝓎.𖥔 ݁ ˖, behave (◠‿◠✿)

Dick has been Jon before don't think he can outsmart Dick for a second; Dick has pulled all the plays he knows (◠‿◠✿)

Damian sinking into his pillows because ffs something strike him down stop it immediately grayson; todd, make him stop

Which Jason does. He beckons Dick over and Dick will never not answer a call from Jason or Damian, so he goes and they sit together and check over Damian's injuries and make sure he's fine/if he needs anything/etc.

But yeah then Jason picks up on Damian wanting to be with his friend/crush, so he excuses Dick and him. Which Dick is affronted at, but Jason scoffs and makes it happen.

There are threats about the door being left open though

Then both Dick and Jason do that eye pointing thing to Jon as they slink out and Damian is composed, but so exasperated and embarrassed in his own way

And Jon adores them regardless of their protective threats and shenanigans. He adores them for how they love Damian, for how they look after and treat him.

He takes his spot beside Damian on Damian's bed again and it's easy, even after all of that.

Until Jon shudders because he feels a foreboding presence he hadn't sensed before? When he suddenly turns his head -- Dick. Peering in through the shadow of the door and Jon actually gets jumpscared and it's soft, but Jon hears it, the quiet huff of Damian's laugh.

#damijon #dickjay #dick grayson and jason todd are damian's parents #dick is an embarrassingly protective dad #forgot to write in a big thank you for reading my stuff ahhhhh I’m glad you enjoyed the damijon thing they’re so cute 🥰

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tuesday-teyz · 10 months

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omg wait one more thing. this is rlly funny i think im the only one who does this but i imagine the esempi kingdom as like the USA of the butterfly reign world. it used to be a beautiful land, its very military based & constantly on war with the antarctic empire, very loud & proud about how they survived the reign of king schlatt & had to make a whole ass symbol of freedom with their masks... and based on how dream talks abt the esempi back in chapter 23 tommy knows he likes to brag about his kingdom etc etc. its giving "MY PRONOUNS ARE ES/EM/PI" 🦅🦅💯🔥🔥🔥. do they have their own version of independence day after schlatt's reign & are they rlly patriotic that they sing their national anthem every minute. am i right about this or am i completely wrong LMAOOOOOO

LMAOOOO United States of esempi for real

Jokes aside, while I love the comparisons I don't think it's entirely applicable. Esempi's masks are actually an old fae tradition refurbished for symbolics of the persecution and harassment Puffy and her children had to face during Schlatt's reign... or is it? Maybe it's an excuse to hide a completely different secret. I wouldn't know. After all, I'm just the author.

One more reason why it doesn't really fit is the recentness of tbe event. It's only been a little over ten years since they won the war so I don't really blame them for taking pride in it, especially since they're still rebuilding from the devastation that the war brought. Almost everybody in Esempi lost a parent, a sibling, a child, a friend or a neighbour, so the grief of it still fresh in their minds.

As for br!Dream... Yup he loves his country very much, and I think that's fine, you know? He tends to be impulsive and irrational, and although he's more protective of his close ones more than anything else, he cares deeply about the greater good of the nation. He loves the islands that he spent the most of his childhood in, he loves the history and the traditions because as a high-content fae himself, which were outlawed during Schlatt's time, did not get a lot of opportunities to connect to that side of his legacy. I think these are sort of feelings are something that some of us third-worlders can relate to very much

#br asks

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ashanimus · 1 year

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Ash Liveblogs MTMTE #31

Oh neat a horror episode

What the dick is quantum foam. Sounds like something you'd find at Lowes.

OKAY BUT THIS HAS BEEN BOTHERING ME. Megatron is a poet, obviously there are playwrights and artists and shit, we know that functionalism is very very stupid, like Owl House Coven levels of stupid. But were there ever art bots. Poet bots. Is anyone's alt a typewriter. Or is it like in humans, where artistic expression like song, dance and art are behaviors that everyone can do.

"Anything can be replaced"

Yknow, one of the things I have enjoyed immensely about this comic is that the big ideological issues theyre having problems with are ridiculous. In a lot of media there's this "justified" oppression trope that @fernacular has a lot more interesting thoughts on--but the idea is more or less that sometimes the analogy the writers are trying to get at fails because the oppression is rooted in some kind of Real Reason. In Zootopia there is history between predators and prey in that predators DID used to eat prey. In DA, baby mages can explode into village eating nightmare demons at random, which justifies the local's fear of magic in general.

Here? All the stuff about constructed cold, forged, MTOs, functionalism--its as stupid as real-life racism, in that it's a made up story that is contradicted by reality. Here, its like, God made you a car or whatever, or a helicopter. You can't be anything else. In fact, it is a SIN to try to be!

And yET. ANYTHING can be replaced! And all of these bastards are so old, they've Ship of Theseus'ed themselves to hell and back. Anyone still alive. Its stupid on its face and thats with intention. Like the Horrors of War, this comic takes a grindingly real approach to concepts of the sacred, the profane, and the self.

I was talking to @polyhexian on the way to work today and another thing that popped up in this respect was the relationship these bots have to their sense of who they are. "Their bodies are so transitional. Anything can be replaced". And this is also a comic that, incredibly, about near mono gender asexual robots has a ton to say about things like rape, the sacred nature of the body vs its condition as worthless garbage--with both of those things being held in contention alongside each other.

Just like humans.

AFDLSJFKASJG OH COME ON YOU PEOPLE LIVE FOR MILLION OF YEARS--

Also, same though Nightbeat, Im always asking questions like this a;dsfjd;slgk

OH GOD OH SHIT OH GOD

WELL. SPEAKING OF IDENTITY AND THE SACRED--

This shit is breaking my heart T m T

ALKDFJLDKJASG

WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS--

QUE THE FUCK??? EXCUSE??

I am unwell with the amount of like, soul breaking, bone dusting profound shit that this comic is packed with. Every time I have a moment to breathe from grief or awe or tender feelings they just throw out shit like this

Also, gotta love this is the bad episode where we see everyone's murdered bodies and also get lore--OH JEsus GOD

TARN IS GETTING SLOPPY YOU SAY okay youve crunched all my faves PUT THEM BAAACK

REWIND??? REWIND?? WHAT IN THE GOD DAMN

#ash liveblogs mtmte #transformers #mtmte #fernacular #polyhexian

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kaatiba · 1 year

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reflections (a very long post)

i was looking through some old journals, ranging from 2018 to now and while it was interesting to see my journalling style shift, and to feel the tide of old memories that washed over me—i could vividly remember the particular warmth of sunlight, or jokes, or foods, or the grass and the way it prickled, or sand in my shoes, or the noises of my city in july—and while there was some nostalgia, the lingering feeling i came away with was...a tired sort of grief for my past self.

i was (am) so sad and angry and full of shame and trying anyway. i was always trying. looking back at those journals was a revelation of how much i kept (keep) trying. to be better or to do better or, mostly, to not succumb to the weight of everything. to not give up and not despair and to keep hoping things would be better. that i would make or find the life that would fulfill me and allow me to thrive. that my friendships would deepen and remain true and encouraging. (they didn’t. mostly they fell apart, and it was so strange to track it happening when my past self was so bewildered and hurt and trying not to be, as her friends continually left her or let her down).

that happened a lot. new opportunities or people would come my way, and i would be so hopeful, so eager, would reach out my hand to it all and think, ‘now, this time, maybe, is when i—’ and then it would just be struggle after struggle after struggle. with plenty of good bits sprinkled in, true, but it didn’t—doesn’t—seem enough, or balanced. and it just kept going like that. a glimmer of hope and then so much hurt and struggle and exhaustion. and i would continually excuse my hurt or the failings of others, but never my own.

nobody meant to hurt me. im not perfect myself. i need to forgive. i need to expect less. i need to communicate more. i need to want less. i need to try harder. i need to be more grateful. etc ad infinitum.

my poor past self. she needed a hug so badly. she still needs a hug. she was hard on herself, rightfully in some things, and wrongfully in others, but hard on herself mostly in this one specific way: she rarely allowed herself the right to be upset or tired or sad or angry. she would always justify or excuse or rationalize and try and forgive and get up and try again, when really maybe she just needed to sit in her feelings and acknowledge them and feel them. fair or not, she’s allowed to feel her feelings. she wasn’t inflicting them on anyone. she just kept pushing them aside, to fester and linger. no wonder she felt and continues to feel so burned out and stretched thin and resentful.

but i came away with a few realizations from this excursion down memory lane.

i. my expectations really are making me unhappier. everyone says it’s not fair to expect too much of others, but i never before thought my expectations were too much. but they are, i get that now. and i think i have to stop looking for or at other people to be life companions. that’s what i really want in a friend. that’s my definition of a good and real friend. that isn’t most others, not really, because they don’t act on that definition. and i just won’t get that.

my favourite memories, the ones that haven’t soured over time even if they were lovely in the moment, are the times when i went and had fun by myself, with myself, listening to myself. what did i want to do and eat, when did i want to explore or linger, how slow or fast i went, all of it. living in the moment was really about listening to what i really wanted right then, and going with it, rather than what i should or shouldn’t do or what the ‘best’ use of my time was, for whatever definition of ‘best’ even was.

i can’t tell anyone any of this without sounding bitter, or without seeming lonely. i am not lonely for anything that i’ve had. (but it’s ok. it’ll take time to unlearn, but i really don’t need anyone’s approval or agreement in this, and me writing this post is for expressing it all rather than any comments or reads i may or may not get. anything anyone believes, assumes, or interprets about all of this has nothing to do with me, and won’t impact me if i don’t let it.)

what i’m lonely for is for something i’ve never had: a really good friend. but i can be and have been—as lame and trite and cliche as it sounds—a really excellent friend to myself. and i don’t need anyone else. so i will stop looking for anyone else. i am not kicking anyone out of my life. i just...won’t hold on either. won’t chase them. i'll let it all flow like water, or the tide. let them come in and out as they like.

my treatment of other people aligns with what i think is right and good, regardless. i will always try to do my best by others, independent of how i am treated or engaged with in return, but i will now try and be less afraid of their disliking me or disapproving me, and letting that guide how i am with them. sometimes i’ll do better than other times, but i don’t think i’ll look to people anymore for comfort or encouragement or uplifting or support or even a really good chat and a really good laugh. they may provide that anyway, but i won’t be seeking it anymore, waiting for it anymore, or trying to ‘earn’ that anymore.

ii. i need to start taking the things i want sooner rather than later. i was laughing at myself, reading my journals, and seeing the list of things i wanted to buy myself and didn’t because...i couldn’t justify the expense. not that i couldn’t afford it, i could! it just felt wasteful. but then, nine times out of ten, i’d end up buying the thing a year or two years later. that taught me a few things: the things i want i really want enough to still get them all that time later. the delay just gave me less time to enjoy or use the thing. i rarely regret buying the thing, but i always regret how long it took me to enrich my life with the thing (or experience).

iii. my life can be rich if i make it rich. i have limitations, but mostly they’re self imposed. for example, i can afford to move out, if i rely on my credit card and give up saving and get a full time or second job. but i don’t want to do any of that. so instead of railing at the situation, i need to just. own that. own the decisions i’ve made to live the way i want to live.

iv. there will always be people disapproving of my choices. always. i keep expecting to have at least someone in my corner, and sometimes i do, but there’s always more people disapproving than approving. and its only daunting and limiting because i let it be. let them disapprove! they are not (usually) physically stopping me. i just dont want a fight, most of the time. but i need to own my choices, to either do what makes people happy, or do what makes me happy. and for the most part, i should only do what makes me happy. like really and properly, beyond the moment’s impulse. long term. i have good standards and belief systems, and once past the hedonistic momentary impulse, i regret indulging in it, so what makes me happy long term is the only choices worth making, and sometimes that ends up being what makes people happy, if they share my belief system and standards, and if they don’t, then their opinion is irrelevant. let people be upset. i am allowed to have my feelings, reasonable or not, and so are they.

v. my hands are only tied because i’m tying them up. i am as free as i let myself be. if i am going to be hurt and alone and let down repeatedly by people, i really might as well stop living by whatever i think other people expect of me. if i am going to be let down by my friends, i might as well stop trying to be a faultless paragon of friendship, and let myself be as faulty as they are, and they either extend me the same grace i extend them, or they leave, and that’s on them. same with followers and readers and everything else.

i’ll have to remind myself of all this again and again and again. probably for the rest of my life. but at least i’ve learnt what it is i need to learn. now to implement it.

#kaatiba.speaks #to keep

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masonsystem · 2 months

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complaining abt how the women were written in aa3

my aa3 verdict is that it was Weird About Women actually.. like very weird and a weaker game for it. i already went over this in my godot post but seriously, it was so weird how this game was more about what godot thought of mia, than it was about mia herself.. like i find it extremely weird that a conversation between mia and godot didnt happen at any point like what was with that, godot kept talking abt mia mia mia and its like... why didnt mia get to say anything to him?? like... shes not dead dead, we get to chitchat with her every other case. why was mia reduced to an abstraction whenever godot was around like what... and like yeah that moment where phoenix and mia's spirit pointed fingers at godot was pretty cool but it was also like.. mia was just here with us?? a little while ago...??? speaking abt "her spirit lives on through you" like no she lives on thru maya and pearl actually. i get to chat with her every other month. why... why doesnt she get to speak for herself at any point??

and i cant believe maya our good friend maya didnt have more focus like Whattt. why is everything abt maya so so subtle.. why is her grief abt mia and her mother and her aunt and having to be the Master not more upfront? same with pearl, shes just learned that she had older sisters this whole time, why doesnt her feelings on tht get explored... vice versa with iris' feelings on pearl! and brah iris.. like i dont mind ambiguity in writing and i dont need every little thing to be explored, but seeing as the final trial went on and on abt "Putting An End to Things" aka putting an end to everyone's (mia's godot's and phoenix's) troubles with dahlia.. it was weird that iris' own troubles with dahlia werent explored more? like what role did iris actually play in the faked kidnapping plot all those years ago? or how did iris actually feel abt dahlia?? how did she feel abt the fact that her sister was executed, and how was it like for her to see her again at the sacred cavern?? when it comes to dahlia, iris should be a pretty important character, and yet she almost felt more like a footnote?? it almost felt like it was more important tht iris was phoenix's love interest than she was dahlia's twin??

speaking of dahlia, it was really weird that she was lauded as this terrible demon for planning tht fake kidnapping all those years ago, but its weird how neither valerie or iris received as much flack for the role they played in it. and while yes it is terrible that dahlia then killed valerie, its VERY WEIRD that terry fawles wasnt properly admonished at any point?? he was 20 years old dating dahlia who was 14 like.... yeah theres nothing to say, thats just very fucking weird. ace attorney can be very awful sometimes. and for everyone ingame to hate dahlia for causing his death like... bro, if u look at this another way, this is a women freeing herself from her abuser. im just very weirded out by how dahlia was framed as this terribly perfect villain, despite having been implied to have been abused by her parents and then terry. obvs that doesnt excuse the things she did but its like, iykyk; im not a fan of how a woman who tried to escape the fey's legacy was effectively demonized and not afforded more nuance, even when we as the players are very intimately aware of how fucked up this family is. pearl and iris, the other children of morgan, are afforded nuance, godot is afforded nuance despite also being a killer, so its like... hm!

and this game being weird w women of course extends beyond the final case... that moment with maya and the waitress uniform was really fucking weird! and the fact that mia is just ok with phoenix doing that really shows that this game was written by a man -_- also i made jokes early in my playthru abt godot giving off gay vibes, and my basis for that was bc it kinda seemed like he was flirting with Every male witness, but looking back at it whats crazy is that well... excluding dahlia, there were no female witness in the entire game until 3-5?? which is so weird... yes theres at least some women involved in each case, we had desiree and violetta and the computer lady, but when looking at the past 2 games, its just kinda weird that women played such minor roles in this game's cases? like in the past two games we had so many female defendants, female witnesses, female accomplices, female comedic relief... but in this game, nearly every female character was tied up in a way to a man, either as a love interest or a man's point of honor. dahlia / iris were phoenix's love interest, desiree delite was ron's wife, violetta was tigre's kinda girlfriend, maggey was gumshoe's love interest, like.. compared to the first game which barely had any female love interests (angel starr and april may are arguably the only love interests), and the second game where the only "love interest" was really regina (which is still gross but not the point), its kinda a crazy comparison.. like there was such a wide variety of female characters with various motives in the past 2 games, while in this one most of them act as a love interest to a man. even our good friend mia became a love interest to a man in this game!

but yeah um... this game was weird with the way it handled its women. female characters became a point of pride for characters like phoenix and godot, it was a matter of their pride whether they could protect them or not. rather than looking at iris' relation with dahlia, the game concluded with iris actually being phoenix's lover all along. maya's and mia's and pearl's grief became a sort of footnote, misty was dispensable for the sake of godot's pride, various female characters were love interests and lacked the more compelling motives that we saw in the past 2 games... yeah..... not great :[

#aa lb

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raincamp · 10 months

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08 05 2023

shall i talk about the dreaded intake appointment from thursday? the one i spent weeks avoiding? the one that's been the catalyst for my intense feelings of grief and rage for the past month?

uneventful, absolutely nothing happened, there was no fucking justifiable reason why i was so adamantly against it, why i made myself go through so much pain just to avoid doing it. my paranoia got the best of me again

the dude's fine and has made no effort to piss me off so far. he graciously took the third-chair in my treatment team, and refers to my primary therapist as if she's the one he's reporting to— because he is— and i really appreciate his recognition of the hierarchy here.

he said something like "i totally understand that you dont want to be here and you're just here to tick a box so you can get back to work with [primary therapist]," after i expressed my disinterest in his treatment plans. like. thank you for acknowledging the fact that i dont want to work with you, at all, and am here against my will.

he does IFS which I didn't know beforehand, i've actually always wanted to try IFS but prioritized DBT because i know that it works for me already. so im excited to try that? surprisingly? or at least just learn more about it. im a therapy nerd what can i say? i could talk about it for hours. i have talked about it for hours before, i have spent entire sessions talking meta about therapy.

idk why but i was kind of paranoid he would try to replace my PT but he hasnt made any effort to do so. i was able to talk about her, and mention superficially how my relationship with her has been a trigger for my cough dependence cough and like, it was kind of weird talking to a therapist about my sessions with another therapist? but he was totally chill with it, didn't say anything like "maybe you two aren't a good fit" (we are though) like the people at the hospital did. it was refreshing to say the least

hes very Christian though, went to my dad's rival Catholic highschool, has mentioned me doing 12 step, im a bit hesitant to trust for these reasons. he mentioned how he thinks addiction is a lack of spiritual completion or whatever, i think thats total absolute bullshit and i'm gonna tell him that the next session that i don't spend 76% of the time dissociating while he talks

hes a lot more personable than im used to, he started the intake by spending 8 minutes self-disclosing information about himself, which was such a weird experience to me. he told me he has a family and children and a wife, i have literally never had a therapist tell me about their home life before unless it was in context of my treatment.

another thing thats annoying me is lack of admistrative coordination. i was supposed to get emailed an ROI for my PT yesterday (still haven't) and a signed excuse note so that i can actually go to my session with my PT next week, and if I don't get those im fucked. like. i'm actually going to be so mad if his lack of organization prevents me from being able to see her. i am going to stab him.

he also has a lot less boundaries than im used to which i feel like might be a recipe for disaster considering the fact that im borderline. he mentioned in detail how he doesn't like the power imbalance between therapists and clients and how he thinks it should be more like we're on equal ground. he described this visually with his fingers interlacing. and like, i get it, but also, i need that seperation there. i need therapists to recognise that i cannot keep myself from becoming attached, and create that distance between us, and keep those little boundaries stable and reinforced so that i don't get triggered or somehow fuck up the relationship with my symptoms. yk?

like we can have a close therapeutic relationship without making it so that we're on equal ground or enmeshed with each other as per interlacing-finger-visual-description.

the lack of boundaries just worries me. like he just gave me his phone number and was like "text me if you need me" like do you realize that if there ever comes a time that my PT has abandoned me and i need help, you have now opened yourself up to me spam texting and/or splitting on you over the phone? i already abuse my phone coaching privileges and annoy the fuck out of my PT, if there weren't by-the-book boundaries in place with DBT our therapeutic relationship would have gone to shit by now. he also kept me 15 minutes over time even though he had another client after me? if i were that client I would've split on him and left. its giving unprofessionalism.

im definitely going to have to make him set clear boundaries with me, for saving my own dignity.

i dont hate him rn tho i think thats the most important thing

- andrew

#actually bpd #bpd #im not mentally stable #actually mentally ill #borderline #bpd stuff #borderline personality disorder #bpd struggles #mental illness #tumblr diary

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danagoestorehab · 1 year

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5 stages of grief

w momentarily i’m definitely in the anger stage of three whole grieving this. like fuck this fuck them FUCK the universe i deserve everything i deserve nothing this is all somebody else’s fault but mostly my own and life isn’t fair and it should be and why the fuck should poor me have to deal w this shit again and i’m really sick of listening to the same taylor swift song on repeat but im also too antsy to focus on anything else and i want vengeance or something BIG and definitely should download a voice changer app on my phone or post their number on a weird thread on craigslist but also maybe i should be more angry at myself because i fuck things up but then being melodramatic and doing all of the shit i usually do would definitely prove them right but maybe also make them feel guilty so i reckon im probably in the right frame of mind and not at all being a covert-narcissist-disguised-as-altruist to actually commit to my PHD out OF spite and do all those big plans i always talk about doing but never get around to and then i can hand in the genius ramblings of a doctorate probably and publically blame them in my acknowledgments because that sounds like the only sane and semi reasonable solution rn

but then i’m also in the sad girlie part of grief where it feels like i’ve lost something really big and i could spend all day replaying out how things SHOULD have gone but the nice nurses from the one flew over the cuckoos nest placey reminded me that should is a no no word and i should use COULD instead to not feel guilty so maybe i could cry about the fact that this is shitty and it’s probably okay to feel shitty and i’m probably gonna be sad about being sad for a while and that’s okay too. but it’s also sad to think about being sad and being okay with it when girlies very aware her track history of being okay with things isn’t very great. and my sadness doesn’t always look the same like sometimes it’s very clear sadness and i’m all snotty in bed listening to the sane lorde ‘liability’ track as if i’m actually the antagonist in some some shitty novel and that’s my theme track. as if romanticising the ways in which everything’s gone wrong might make it hurt less and then i don’t have to think about my sadness as always being there or how things will be more sad before they’re less sad. or sometimes my sadness looks like a normal girl wearing clothes having a conversation with people downstairs or outside and feeling okay before they say something and i realise they have their own lives are their own lives aren’t broken in the same way as mine is and my okayness is a short term pretence and that’s even sadder so i quietly excuse myself and go back to my room and sit with these feelings of being an egomaniac w no one to talk to as i hear laughter from different places around my flat whilst i look at the same for corners of my room

the guilt bits really hard too because i already feel so guilty about everything all the time. And if people ever think i don’t hold myself accountable for my actions because they see someone so clearly not giving a fuck about everything as she pours it all down the drain, then i want to remind them or maybe myself that my guilt bothers me. famously, so often to the point where i can’t really function and find refuge in the solace of my local psychiatric ward. how i feel guilty towards my sisters or friends or the things which could have been or you for having to listen to yet another one of my long winded rants. or that how really i know my guilt is just self serving and i find myself feeling guilty for lives i never lived which i probably could have. where i had gone off and done good things and been nicer to others and lived properly instead of spending another night sitting in my room. i feel guilty to all of the people i assured that i would get better and i feel guilty that this final time never got to happen itself into existence. i feel guilty that a lot of people expected this situation and probably aren’t entirely surprised. i feel guilty for lorna after spending four hours of not sleeping and deciding to contact the local ombudsman at 4 in the morning. i feel guilty for all of the things i’ve ever felt guilt for and all of the things i know i’m going to have to feel guilty about in the short term future. i feel guiltier than most of the criminals i see on the defence stand of the shows i watch to try and distract myself from how guilty i feel about everything. i feel guilty for taking up your phone space and i feel guilty for even putting other people in a situation in which they have to witness my guilt as it also invites them to be culpable

denial? can’t really relate to that one cal they’re probably going to feel really really guilty very shortly for the way they’ve treated me and send me an email offering me the penthouse suite and bestest person award at the rehab in all honesty. jesus christ. i’m sure the ombudsman will arrange me some nice travel there. that’s probably the only reason i haven’t written bad reviews about them on google yet cal. because when they do let me in very shortly and we willl have a laugh about this then i won’t have to answer for that haha

waiting to be able to talk about that one

#spilled ink #spilled poetry #mental health #5 stages of grief #spilled ink writing #spilled thoughts #grief #rehab

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levmada · 2 years

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Canal pt.1: Monster or Man

work summary » You think the greatest feat of your career is upon you when a mythical creature is stolen from the sea and thrust into your life—then, stubbornly, into your heart.

You both learn there is more to each other than circumstances, and appearances, let on—until an accident threatens to tear you apart. Soon, both of your fates depend on defending everything you’ve worked to build, or setting him free.

ch.summary: The opportunity of a lifetime is upon you, not only for the sake of your career, present and future—but your hero. Whether you can handle a vicious merman comes into severe question, but it soon becomes obvious that "vicious" is far too harsh a word.

content/warnings: chaotic+lovable Hange, themes of grief (past loss of a parent), kind of a meet-cute, very vague description of injury/blood, crippling perfectionism issues, anesthesia awareness, Levi is secretly adorable

wc: ~8.1k

a/n: hi hi! i feel like i wrote a chapter of smth at reasonable length for once, unfortunately there's some exposition (3 parts is 3 parts), so it's a good thing removing unnecessary scenes makes part 2 halfway done!

no way im finishing this before the end of mermay tho

also, im trying to write in past tense for the first time so pls excuse mistakes.

work masterpost・next part

Leading to your own little world, Sector 3, was a long, trailing hallway Hange (Dr. Zöe, you should refer to them as) referred to as the ��canal’. You could, and you often did scoff at their unprofessionalism, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree.

In the mouth of its sealed sliding door, you slipped on your sticky gloves and plastic face shield—tasks you used to agonize over, years and years ago. These days it was more like putting on a second skin.

Today, Berner didn’t lecture you on why in the world you kept in your jingly earrings after all these years if you were forced to remove them every time you step into your own sector; that was your guarantee that Hange hadn’t exaggerated—that today was not only special, but extraordinary.

They always kept a perpetual bounce in their step, but today it was hard to keep up with them. Above you the floodlights buzzed. Berner could only try to keep up as they fidgeted, bounced, and rambled: “Oh, don’t be a party-pooper. I want to keep it a surprise. You’ve never seen anything like this, I guarantee it, and, ah!—I’m so excited I can’t wait.”

You chuckled. “Do you know how unprofessional you sound?”

“If I haven’t changed after 10 years, don’t expect a change yet!”

“You know I don’t like surprises.” You tuck your hair behind your ear. “Please? I’m even saying please. I’d like to know about the goings-on in my own sector.”

“D’awe, you’re so cute.”

Scoffing, you shake your head. You feel red. “Erwin loves to talk, but he just called this urgent, which could mean anything, knowing him.”

They burst into more giggles as Berner made a pained noise behind you both. Directly beneath the overhead floodlight at the very end of the hallway, Hange stopped dead, causing Moblit to smack right into them. They promptly ignored them, and then, with a resounding sigh, they swiped three crinkled photographs from the endless depths of their lab coat.

You stared at them like you’ve just been offered a handful of dope. “And where did you get these?”

“Not by following protocol,” they murmured mischievously, “that’s for sure.”

“Dr. Zöe—” Moblit tried, but the crisp photos, recently printed, were already in your hands. You inspected the backs first for additional information, but there wasn’t much: today’s date and a serial number, which identified any boat on any and all expeditions; these were taken on an ordinary fishing boat.

You whistled severely, as if surveying a bad crime scene, which you might as well have been. At first, you think you were staring at some gutted, red fish, but it was blood—bright red upon bright red upon a glossy white boat deck; parts looked like someone dipped a red paintbrush and flicked it at a clean canvas, but it was all smeared severely, like someone tried to mop it up and gave up.

Hange was jabbering something, but you weren’t listening. The next one was the deck again, but with four severe gouges taken out of the glossy teak—a synthetic material that didn’t scratch easy. This was the work of a very strong, pissed off animal.

Moblit shook you both. “We’re going to be late, you two.”

“It’s just like Nessie, or the colossal squid! A real-life mermaid, but a man! With the tail of a fish!” Hange was whispering, more like hissing, into your ear. At that moment Director Erwin, donning scrubs for once, appeared at the end of the canal. He parted the rubber flaps and called for you all, expectantly.

You cursed under your breath. Moblit abruptly cut in front of you as you both moved on side-by-side.

While trying to process what they just said, you scrambled for the last photo. “Say again, Hans?”

The last one—the image blurred by the shaking photographer—carried weapons. You were able to make out a few, mainly spears; one was split in half like a pencil, but all were painted in blood.

Their big brown eyes sparkled. “A man. With a fish tail. I heard all this secondhand but apparently there were three—but he was the only one who made it. Poor thing fought as hard as he could, and in the end it took five shots to tranquilize him. Can you believe it?”

“Hange—”

“Oh, I know it’s gory, but—” they throw their hands up, “—isn’t this incredible!?” they cry out. Your colleagues—including Mike and Nanaba, heads of their own sectors—now swarmed you two, and winced at the sound.

Information was on a need-to-know basis only, you found out: the Director, of course, was the only person who knew anything about him; the only exception was Hange, who got what they could through more illicit methods. You get the feeling they spoke to Armin—the overseer of the marina itself—who spoke to someone, or someones, who saw this supposed ‘merman’ firsthand.

You believed them, though. Sector 3 specialized in large sea-mammals, the bigger the better.

A merman, you thought. Hope pounded in your chest. This better be true.

The doorway was only welcoming for one person, so you were forced to cram to get in, but the crowd parted for you, first. Your reputation demanded it.

Erwin, formal and confident as always, already stood waiting beside a towering metal cylinder as wide as two double-doors. He nodded knowingly, and you nodded in return.

You forced a straight face; you couldn’t let yourself get too excited in case you were let down. Usually, aquariums like these were used as incubation tanks for pregnant orcas. Thus the glass wrapping around was thick, not to mention the sleek metal casing itself; they were also specially fashioned to allow more oxygen to circulate than any given tank a creature was kept in.

Thrill washed over your belly. An extraordinary day, indeed.

Once the few select personnel besides you, Mike, Nanaba and Hange were gathered, Director Erwin spoke frankly. Unfortunately, he gave the same report Hange had given you earlier, just reworded. Your interest only climbed, like balancing atop a high cliff, so high the sea was no more than a blue floor, preparing to jump.

You thumbed at the photographs now tucked away in your pocket as Erwin nodded to Hange, who clapped their hands once, bright and loud. They grandly presented the tank with both their arms thrown out to the side.

“Well then—doctor? Ready to take a look?” Hange asked, sounding genuinely seductive. “Up close and personal?”

You wanted to leap at the chance. Only briefly, lips slightly parted and eyes round, you shared a cautionary look with Erwin, who smiled and gave you a look that read, ‘Well? It’s up to you.’

Now that you were making the leap you crossed your arms, finally grinning and nodded for Hange to continue. On cue, your colleagues tensed and the air became like oil; no matter that your team was present, as well as the heads of each sector for that matter.

Hange fiddled with the keypad etched into the side of the dome. With a cheerful beeping noise, the metal casing began its steady slide open, like two walls crawling away from each other.

Even your jaw fell slack at the sight before you. At first, and brief glance, what you saw is an unconscious man suspended in still, distilled water—coated in rolls upon rolls of thick bandages, but a man nonetheless—following one hell of a fight. Now the photographs made sense.

So taken by his face, you studied the webbed curve of his ears before the obvious; what looked to be regular cartilage bled into a warm blue color, so you craned your neck to get a better look. You then had a front row seat to the gills which gently contracted just a tad below one of his ears—just as a normal fish has.

The man wore an uncannily neat haircut too: short, chopped, and a color so dark it could rival midnight. Your eyes raked his midsection, and even beneath the bandages it was plain to see he was well-built.

Not to mention—

A shocked breath fell off your lips as nervous chatter bubbled up around you. Moblit confirmed his height as just over 5 feet, but the long, hulking length of his tail made him look enormous. The tail .

You caught the end of a sentence behind you: “—a sea monster.”

The appendage was not simply one boring shade of blue; if you could’ve put this beast under a microscope, you still wouldn’t have been able to fully capture its speckled azure, its milky blues, the dashes of midnight, some the hue of rich jewels, the ocean at sunrise, a clean afternoon sky…

Like scattered pebbles, scales erupted in random spots where his hipbones should’ve been, and swallowed the entire lower half of his body in a fish’s tail where there ought to have been legs—if this was a man.

Webbed tailfins, similar to his ears, flared gently, wading in the water on either side of his waist.

You felt like Hange at that moment. You wanted to press your face to the glass to ogle the powerful fin kissing the flat metal bottom of the tank, but Hange beat you to it.

In their excitement—as always, never mind what Moblit told them—they did something outrageous and dangerous. They planted their palms down dead in the center and gawked up at his sleeping face. Hungrily.

“Zöe!”

That was Erwin, but it was too late: they launched up on their tiptoes, and as if he had been waiting for this moment, he came alive inside the tank, thrusting his fists out in the direction of Hange’s face with such force the tank shook—helped by the whips of his powerful tail.

Hange shouted a curse and launched back in Mike. Everyone froze for a moment; it was the kind of pause that erupts when a car explodes in a crowded street before the chaos begins.

He, it, snarled at all of you, bubbles streaming up from his mouth. The sound could only be compared to a drowning bear.

You were the first to pounce on the keypad, thrusting the thick metal halves back the way they were so all that remained was the twist in his venomous expression, the murder in his eyes; his sharpened talons made a horrible screech, like nails on a chalkboard. The glass would be scarred.

You looked on in frightened awe. There was no chance of him making even a dent in it, and yet he pushed on anyway. Fear or excitement—primal, burnt, unmistakable—pounded through your head and ran thick in your veins.

“That’s enough!” Erwin barked. He wrangled the situation, mostly those who bore witness—especially a red-faced Hange. It was the first time in a long time when, after they pulled a stunt like this, they shared your expression of bewildered fear.

No one stayed behind except you, Hange, and Erwin—but he stayed the same. The square window made his face perfectly visible; his curled lip displayed teeth like a human’s, a daggered glower holding gunmetal eyes like a human’s, and the murderous rage plenty of humans are capable of.

You wondered who those other two were that were like him, those who died. If he was capable of attachment, of relation, then who were they? Family? Friends?

Erwin was busy laying into Hange, so you were the only one left staring up wide-eyed while he kept that same hate-ridden expression. Either brave or stupid, you didn’t care.

Eventually, he seemed to realize his efforts—Could he have possibly waited for the perfect moment to break the glass? To terrify us? —were futile. The pounding stopped, but his lips remained curled in a snarl, sharp eyes tearing through you from above. He waited for your next move.

Behind your forced neutral expression, you felt in your blood that behind his eyes lied cold, hard intelligence. Monster or man, you couldn’t show your fear if you wanted any hope to communicate effectively in the future. It was that simple to you.

Two voices strained and rose behind you; Hange’s was the first to fall for obvious reasons. Their outright genius, and your good word, had saved them their job from the brink many times in the past.

“It will not happen again,” Hange repeated after Erwin. “I had no idea he was capable of planning!”

The creature (Could he have a name? Likely, if he was found with others) antagonized you still. It never weakened, never relented.

You wondered how, and why, and where; you held no concrete questions, only a special yearning sprouted from plain ignorance. What if he could talk? Where had he come from?

No matter the challenge, you wanted to figure him out—all the way from the deep dark depths of his past to this very moment in time.

Then Erwin called your name, and the spell was abruptly broken. “I want to speak to you in private. Dr. Zöe, you’re dismissed.”

Hange faltered. “You don’t mean dismissed, dismissed, correct?”

“No,” Erwin sighed, tired, but no longer angry.

After you nodded them away, you asked him, “Are you worried he can understand us?”

Erwin put on one of his trademark smiles, the one that dripped wit. “I’d be worried if it didn’t, after all the sacrifices that were made to capture it.”

As he spoke, you followed him through another pair of sliding metal double-doors. “You and Dr. Zöe are the only ones that call it ‘he’. Did you notice?”

You smirk, just a little. “Yes, well—appearances don’t make the man, don’t you think?”

He chuckled. “I have to agree.”

You and the Director shared a long, winding history all the way back to graduate school where he had taught, and even had coached you on your dissertation. Even though you were no longer a long-running teacher’s pet—even in high school, when you hadn’t been proud of it—years later your back-and-forth with him remained the same.

The room you stood in now was standard use for security, crammed with monitors and control consoles that gave eyes to every corner of Sector 3; yours out of the five the facility holds. It’s the perfect place for sensitive discussion.

Erwin explained everything he knew: A fisherman had been the one who spotted the three of them, and he had also been the one who had called others to aid him in throwing out a blanketed, barbed net without consulting facility staff. They had had no way of knowing what they were dealing with.

But by then it had been too late, and three creatures just like him had gone on the offensive; one, for her size and shape, had seemed to be a young female.

“None except the female were affected by what tranquilizers were on board, but by the time it was over, it had already succumbed to its wounds,” he tells you gravely. “The other male died as well.”

You hummed, short and stressed. Only so much information can be gathered from, for lack of a better word, dead bodies. “It’s hard to believe deadly force was necessary.”

Erwin’s expression grew tight. “Three fishermen and two researchers died, four of those fatalities due to, well, the man. Those on the deck had no choice, but even if they did, neither of us were there to change their minds.”

You were stunned into silence. No wonder everyone had been afraid, but would it have made you a bad person that that information intrigued you further?

“Did they speak a language?”

“Not on the ship,” Erwin replied. He smiled again. “You’re still interested in this case, then.”

You huffed a laugh and looked away. If it were anyone else (excluding Hange, you imagine), you’d be called heartless for your persistence. You’d be a fool not to be wary of a creature like this, but his potential spoke to you louder than your fear.

Yes, you were interested.

“If he doesn’t have a name, then I’ll assign him a number,” you mused. “Is this your way of assigning him to me, Director?”

That trademark smile. “It is."

Your first three encounters with the subject (despite what you had told Erwin, you decided not to assign him a name or number until you knew for certain whether he was capable of giving one) reminded you more of autopsies than appointments: he was too volatile to be kept conscious around the staff at first.

On the first day, a couple more after he was captured, you tugged on your rubber gloves beside two of your most trusted assistants beside you: Nifa and Petra.

Together you collected blood and hair samples, as well as a clipping from one of his nails. They were more like talons, but you opted not to trim the rest while you were at it—the procedure was invasive enough already.

And, if you angered him, it’d be harder to earn his trust.

While Petra scooted the cart along containing the samples, you further popped open the plexiglass domed top until it gaped open.

Inside what would serve as his home for the foreseeable future, he idled on his back with his arms pinned by his sides, unconscious and restrained. Enough heated salt water circulated from the tank’s various tubes and pipes that when you lowered your hands to turn his head towards the ceiling, a few ripples kissed his chin.

Your mind wasn’t so narrow to assume the tank was anything more than a drop of water compared to that endless blue sea. It was tragic, but good intentions always shined on most (injured, disabled, or sick) animals the facility took in—just not in this case, arguably.

Your opinion? This would no doubt be worth it in the end.

You sighed silently as you skirted your gloved pointer finger across the delicate, almost iridescent scales decorating his high cheekbones. They were very thin, indistinguishable from the ones decorating his hips.

Now that you could examine him more closely, you dove right in.

His wounds healed quickly, certainly inhumanly so. There was no more need for bandages after day five. Incredible.

His tail, that brilliant cacophony of blues, began its wide slope where his hipbones didn’t exist. Long fins, firm yet slippery, decorated each side. You imagined he used these to maneuver easier in the water.

Further down his tail, just before it unfurls into a tough, flexible clam shell, was thick enough to rival your forearm.

What a wild, beautiful creature. Silently you marveled, a smile pinching your cheeks without your realizing.

Now onto your least favorite part: his face—not because he was hard to look at in any way, but because it was the opposite. For a sea creature, he was uncannily handsome. Strong, yet feminine facial structure, and soft features.

It was creepy.

Carefully you carded his bangs away, keeping an eye on the display to your left showing rows of colored lines: his vitals.

It was imperative he didn’t wake up during this exam: besides the trauma, and the aches and pains that would be the first to greet him, the sticky pads on his chest and clipped to his fingertips gave you the readings; if he broke free, which you wouldn’t put past him, the paperwork for damaged equipment would be a bitch to fill out.

Your own safety was pointless to worry about. Thick glaring restraints bridged not only his wrists, but his neck and the dead-center of his tail.

Regardless, you walked a precarious tightrope here. Not only were the stakes high, but you had given him a limited dose of anesthesia. His x-rays showed that—despite all his human characteristics—his lungs are much larger than a humans to subsist underwater for unimaginable stretches of time.

Supplying him with a constant dose was too big of a risk. He was too special.

With a clinical touch, you examined beneath his eyelids for more abnormalities, beside yourself with interest. There were so many possibilities: light-sensitivity, maybe he was nocturnal and perhaps even colorblind like most sea animals.

You half expected him to snap to life again, biting, thrashing, chomping—but he remained as still as ever inside the tank.

His iris was a gloomy pool of gunmetal and dark waters, but you didn’t pause to ogle. You recorded down your findings as usual, set down the clipboard with a small clatter, before charging ahead. With his jaw cradled in both hands, you parted his lips slightly, but you didn’t even get that far.

Your attention snapped to the monitor. The endless stream of lines, his heartrate, spiked aggressively in kind with the rising beep-beep-beep.

You hissed a curse and snatched the oxygen mask by your side. More anesthesia.

Heart pounding, you struggled to snap the buckles around his head with his head swaying from side to side the way it was.

When his eyes pinched tight and you were still one buckle short, you knew it was too late and ripped the mask off. It was your fault he lurched to life with that awful a gagging sound, caused by his binds buckling on their screws.

His eyes flew open, expression twisted into deadly surprise. The rest was a mystery; you were too busy rounding the tank. Your lab coat billowed wildly behind you as you lurched it up before it slammed shut like a cement block slamming into concrete.

Somehow, he fought hard enough to rock the water to the domed top. Your equipment, shredded. The tank, wobbled by the wild flopping of that fierce tail. No wonder it had taken five men to overpower him on that boat.

But the fight drained from him quickly. You watched from the sidelines, fingering with your lanyard; clipped on was a fat yellow button that would alert security, but the anxiety evaporated now that there was no need.

His chest heaved hard and his back bowed back sluggishly to escape the restraints. It was useless, which made it that much harder to watch.

At least dropping restraints was procedure for these types of things. You thumbed the control panel until they shot back, but there was no pounding on the walls. The tank was still.

You waited on bated breath. The look on his face, you could have only compared it to a hurt turtle as he pawed at the glass. Left in his wake were pale, jutting lines from his nails.

You knew there wasn’t a crumb of comfort he would accept from the person at the scene of the crime, so you turned your back for the door.

Painkillers would be perfect—the tanks of which weren’t on hand in that room. You knew how to install them yourself.

Only, right as the sliding door whooshed open, you smacked right into Nifa, who—thank god—wasn’t carrying anything important. An orange crate crammed with protective equipment clattered to the floor.

You told her what you needed in a flurry of sentences, but she easily peered past your shoulder to get an eyeful of the disaster ensuing behind you. Your stomach dropped like a stone in a lake.

“What—?” She brushed past you a few paces, looking on in exasperated devastation. What she saw was his face twisted into a grimace, his fists flexed hard over his chest.

She whirled around. “W-Why medicate it? We should just anesthetize it again, there’s so much left to do—”

“He’s in no condition to keep going,” you argued, and stepped forward. “Waking up from anesthesia in the middle of a procedure is traumatic enough, just as it is for any other animal.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then jabs a finger in his direction helplessly. “I have to disagree, doctor. With how precious—”

“Exactly,” you interrupted. “He’s precious, which is half the reason you’ll do what I tell you. The other half is because I told you to do it.”

His eyes had gone wide and afraid now, having noticed Nifa. Whining plastic tore through the air as he clawed and snarled, a low and dangerous sound. His ears, shockingly blue, flared out wide.

It was his only option, you knew. He was only acting out out of desperation—and that made you snap.

“Go, Nifa!” you barked, and mimicked her by pointing at the door. “Now! Not another word.”

Tearfully, she did. You breathed hard, hands shaking on the knobs of the control pad as you set about making him more comfortable.

You had a habit of muttering under pressure, and now you murmured, “Just one second, I’ve got it, I’ve got it it’s almost over…”

The water tank broke into a chugging noise, which only served to startle him more: his head shot about wildly in search for the source of the noise, hissing at nothing.

You rounded the tank, standing none too close to him, and put your hands up in surrender.

“It’s okay!” you said, in as reassuring a tone you were capable of. “I’m warming the water, so it’s gonna circulate faster for a minute. The air is also decompressing, so you can breathe.”

A sound rumbled in his chest, brow sunken in defiance as the water inside the tank swelled. What you said didn’t register, that much was clear—but you couldn’t be wrong about him.

So, you put it in simpler terms instead.

To your relief, he relented a little. Where he was curled up as far away from you as he could get, he curled up a little more, his tail bumping the glass, and finally laid his head down.

Being half-submerged didn’t bother him of course. His expression didn’t change, but the day had clearly caught up with him.

“Good. No more,” you told him, and you meant it. You may have been ambitious, but you knew when to stop. “We’re done.”

This is exactly what you told Nifa and Petra later, after taking the canisters the former retrieved. After Petra helped you set them down by the tank, looking apprehensive, you excused them both to other jobs. You wouldn’t forget Nifa’s insubordination—not by a long shot.

Then it was back to work. He fought sleep in hard blinks as he peered over the edge at your crouched form, installing the hulking white tanks.

“Painkillers,” you offered, feeling his mild suspicion. You didn’t look up. Out of a lack of response, you over-explained when only a muffled scoff broke the air: what was going to happen, and how it would make him feel.

Once it was all said and done, you stood, swiping your forehead of a thin sheen of sweat.

His blue-greys, opened into slits, watched you without faltering. You stared back in case words left his half-parted lips, but you knew he could tell what you wanted; he snapped his jaw shut.

A little closer. He inched back, but didn’t snarl.

“Did you hear what I told my assistant earlier? The woman that was here?”

After several beats, he nodded and made a light clicking sound. That meant that he was content, from your experience with dolphins.

He of course wasn’t a dolphin, but you took what you could get.

And it was the truth. Your humane techniques were a big reason you headed the sector for exotic sea animals in the first place.

You tried to explain that part to him too. When it came to ‘humane techniques’, his brow only knitted in sour confusion, but he knew 'truth'. No smiles, but you were satisfied.

You cleared your throat. “I’ll remain—” you recalled his limited understanding of your language, “I’ll be here for the next hour, for you. Then I have to go. You can sleep, if you want. You should.”

He said nothing, as usual; there was only a disconcerted little him. As you had for the entirety of this nightmare, you settled for the bare minimum.

Only when you were seated on the nearby stool—pivoting its wheels from one spot in the room to another to wrap your research up and contact the Director on this development—did he finally move.

His sneaky shifting reminded you of a mime who froze when he was being looked at, and came alive when he wasn’t. Light water swished in the tank as he maneuvered onto his other side; that massive tail curled with his frame, unable to bend completely.

To your surprise, he didn’t so much as shut his eyes for longer than a long blink for the whole hour. The painkillers couldn’t put an elephant to sleep, but they were always effective. That dose was ordinary for creatures almost twice his size.

He didn’t trust you, but could you blame him? Did you have a right for frustration to roil beneath your skin?

How could you slip up, making such a disastrous mistake? You were too lenient in the anesthesia; at the same time, you were tearing down the path blind. Nobody even knew something like him existed before a couple days ago.

Still inexcusable, you settled on.

At the end of the hour, you only briefly cracked open the tank. You needed to retrieve the oximeter and untangle the cords that had gotten twisted around in all that thrashing—which you prefaced before you acted.

You felt ridiculous asking for consent from a sea creature, even more so when he frowned, unimpressed, before shoving the bundle of tangling down, then away, like it burned to the touch.

“Ah,” you muttered dumbly. “Well, thank you.”

He locked up like a vice as you reached your hand in, but the chore was painless, in the end.

When that was done, you double-checked his habitat conditions.

Good. But then, open endless deliberation, you held down a fat orange button; it extended the size of the tank from one perfect for a pregnant orca—which was so small for him that his tail fins had to stay pinned to his sides—to one comfortable for an overweight male one.

That was as freeing as it got.

He blinked, curiously, then ducked around to the small round pipe dispensing the water, and plugged it with his palm, then letting it go. It looked like he was experimenting with it.

You craned your neck to watch despite the wince on your face for your action. This was a total insult to procedure. It wasn’t routine, it wasn’t right, a yellow puzzle piece in a totally blue picture—but neither was he.

He plugged it for over five seconds, brow furrowed, and then when he popped his hand away, a load of water spurted from the pipe and blasted in his face.

A laugh escaped you before you could help it. You clapped your hand over your mouth as he lurched back, shaking his head like a puppy after a bath.

Surprisingly he seemed entertained by this, snorting, rubbery ears twitching. He only sent you a single dirty look before scraping his bangs off his forehead and starting all over again.

It was rather… cute.

You let your eyes fall shut for just a moment, sighing from the bottom of your lungs.

You’re done for the day.

However, your mistake followed you into the next day, and the day after that. What you did, and didn’t do, ate away at you. Aggressively. Constantly.

In your career, you’d never made such a drastic mistake. It didn’t matter that you knew next to nothing about him, it didn’t matter that it was the worst-case scenario: waking up during surgery; that you, nor him, were brutalized in any way—you didn’t make mistakes, period.

During your degree, you’d recalculated entire strings of statistics if you got even an inkling that one decimal was off. If the vitals on an animal had been a few notches off, you had examined it and adjusted until all was right. In your final dissertation for your PhD, you had skipped out on life and rewrote it twice to make certain it was golden, and you had graduated valedictorian in your class for it.

Now, in the dead of night bordering on morning, you held your speech for the next day pinched between both hands. It was imperative (in your mind) to review it for mistakes, but only squiggles and jumbled lines stared back at you.

You had an important seminar tomorrow afternoon. Distractions would be troublesome, especially self-hating ones, which this one was. That pained madness etched across his sharp features was all you could see when you closed your eyes.

You had Hange check on him throughout the workday instead of your own team, because you trusted them more than anyone else, even your team. They were a wild card no doubt, but they cared for you.

Your explicit instruction was to do no more than bring him food. It was a simple task you couldn’t bring yourself to do. What if you’d already set yourself up for failure? Despite the treasure trove of data now at your disposal, it was not in its entirety, and what the hell was it worth if he continued lashing out in the future. Or worse?

For once, you found yourself at a loss. It wasn’t in you to treat your animals, much less one as precious as him, as a simple lab rat. That, more or less, was procedure—you worked in a lab after all.

As a result, you’d dropped a brick wall between you and Hange (and Erwin for that matter, even though he wasn’t what you called few people: a friend) the past couple days.

The brick wall was a pretty common occurrence for times like these, so Hange hasn’t badgered you too much. Yet.

They would, no doubt, even though you weren’t as close as you were before what happened three months ago. You’ve been stuck together since your college days.

Thinking back on it opened a pit in your stomach.

You let your burning eyes drift shut as you massaged a crick in your neck. Letting the frames from that night flash in your mind felt like snaps of a whip. You should’ve just talked about it, but you haven’t, and you haven’t been back to the houseboat since then, either.

Narrowing your focus, that was what you should do. Until it was over, the seminar tomorrow was all that existed. He could wait.

You’d share your findings—on a completely different subject, no less: global warming’s effects on wave currents—and reap what you could of praise and opportunity, if it happened that way.

Erwin always insisted it would, which is what always ended up happening, but it was never guaranteed in your mind.

If you got confident, you got complacent. And if you got complacent, you got sloppy; a mantra that was hammered into your brain when you were a kid.

You’d become a charlatan, and that wasn’t what your father would’ve wanted for you.

There was a tiny part of you that whispered that this way of thinking wasn’t sustainable, but that way of thinking only grew into a scream after your father passed away. He had meant well, always.

This phenomenal discovery was everything he had yearned for before his sudden death, and you’d be a fool not to pursue this once in a lifetime opportunity with everything you had.

This was your chance. You had to get it right.

Thick grey light stretched through your curtains before you were happy with your speech, so you made a choice: liquid adrenaline over sleep.

Nothing new. Not lately.

The concert hall was packed, from the most brilliant minds in zoology to the young people crowded near the rear isles, taking notes like their lives depended on it.

As a skill you’ve refined over the years, it was easy to mask this big ugly mishmash of issues of yours and carry on. The applause following your final words made your head spin.

Afterwards Hange tackled you in a tight hug, and Mike congratulated you in his own reserved, bundle of sunshine way.

A dinner sponsored by the concert hall itself followed thereafter, so despite how just the smell of your sweetened tea made nausea squirm in your stomach, you chowed down on a meal just like the rest that circled your table: Mike, Nanaba, and of course, Hange.

The topic of work was unavoidable, especially at an event like this. You could only nod and ask Hange to elaborate on their current research for so long before the specificities grew microscopic. Your coworkers clamored to learn more about your new “project”—the merman. Vagueness in the public eye was essential.

“Well …” You fiddled with the napkin knotted between your fingers. This would be the first time you’ve spoken about specifics to any capacity; the only exception being the Director. “…I may or may not have hit a roadblock.”

“Oh?” A smirk crept onto Hange’s face. “Do tell.”

Then, like popping off a cork, you rapidly launched into an explanation of your experiences with the subject so far—which, by the end of your retelling with the anesthesia, morphed into a frustrated rant.

You were afraid to move forward due to your past mistakes. He was already extremely volatile to anyone and everyone, let alone a person who harmed him. The road ahead held similar procedures, more invasive experiments.

As confident you were that he could speak, this wall meant that he was more likely to shut down completely. You’d get nowhere, and you would have failed not only yourself, but your father’s aspirations (the second detail you chose not to mention).

If you could only hit a breakthrough, you could gather all the knowledge you needed to complete your study, and as an added benefit, you’d be rolling in the highest success of your career (as high as it would reach, you concluded).

Then, your subject would be out of your hands. It was unlikely in this specific case he would ever see the ocean again, but you’d never have to agonize over him again.

Mike had one fist propped up beneath his chin by the end of your speech. Hange looked positively pensive. They were analyzing, which reassured you. You admired their mind most of all.

“Well—” they stalled, “—we all know you’re bad at the people thing, right?”

Your lips parted, then snapped shut. “I'm... I’m not ”

Mike hummed skeptically as you glared at Nanaba, who was snickering behind her hand.

Mike began. “In my opinion, you’re overthinking it. You said it yourself—he, it, communicates differently from us. It seems like he behaves more like a seal than a person—”

“I’d say a dolphin,” Nanaba cut in. “He played with the piping, right? Maybe he likes trinkets.”

She worked in animal intelligence.

“That’s not the point,” Mike sighed.

Hange pouted, having been cut-off. They tapped the table impatiently.

“Anyway, he sure as hell looks different, too. You should retrace your steps entirely and treat him like what he is: an animal. He’s a test subject, not some wayward sailor.”

You groaned. “No, there has to be some other way.”

“I kind of agree with both of you,” Hange said, tapping their cheek as the gears in their head turned. “How about treating him gently, like a feral kitten, you know?”

Nanaba laughed at this. She was totally ambivalent. “We know this: he’s an incredible creature. Maybe you could,” she gestures vaguely, “grow some sort of attachment? Maybe he’s capable.”

“No,” you stated, hard enough to leave no room for argument. No attachments.

Hange. “As I was saying, I think you’re on the right path. Coddle him, domesticate him even. He’s an adult, as far as you know, right? It’ll take time, but his awareness of people is obviously limited. No attachment needed.”

You hummed thoughtfully. Like gradually training a fostered feral cat not to hiss and bite when you pet it before giving it to another home.

They smiled. “Ah, yes, you’re agreeing! How about this: Talk about something he really cares about—I don’t know what, but you should—but only bring it up gradually, in a totally indirect way.” Then they lean back fully in their seat “Whaddya think?”

Your heart glowed. “ I think… that you’re full of brilliant ideas.”

Hange grinned.

One week before everything changed, there was a catalyst that would shoot your relationship with the merman into foggy, yet beautiful skies.

You had forgotten your lanyard at the lab and checked back in to retrieve it late. Very late.

You chastised yourself; not just for forgetting it, but with it you had access to a special private coastline, the owner being an old friend of your father’s. Every year you dropped by to pick bright daylilies and wide open gaillardia flowers—for your father, of course.

It would be five years since you lost him.

Only, while passing down a certain hall that included a certain room with a certain new specimen, you froze mid-step, not even daring to breathe. Just beyond the door, you could hear something softer than even a murmur, but you heard it.

With a furrowed brow, you crept in close. There wasn’t a chance any staff were still working at this hour, let alone with clearance to see him without your permission.

It must have been him. You squeezed your eyes shut, lungs burning and tight.

The smooth metal was a chilling slap to your cheek; even it felt like it impaired your hearing.

But what was he saying? Your heart throbbed in your ears, too loud. He was repeating something, softly, reverently.

It was no prayer, but the fact alone that he was speaking had you beside yourself with the ceaseless mania of being proven correct.

Your feet felt like cinder blocks by the time you thought you had it. No wonder you didn’t recognize the words, because they were names.

Isabel... Farlan. Isabel, Farlan.

“Hey doc, why’re you still here?”

You jumped off the door, and whirled around. “Jesus, Eren! You scared the crap out of me.”

His brow shot up as he held up his hands in surrender. Distantly, staticky feedback was fed into his ear by the headpiece he wore. He murmured into it while you collected yourself.

Eren was the head of security detail. Technically, part of his job was sneaking up on people, and he was damn good at it. It was also his responsibility to patrol after hours, especially in your Sector, whose research is considered “delicate” (top-secret).

Your moment had ended. If you were to try again, you knew you wouldn’t hear a thing, so you swiped a pen from your slacks and scribbled the names on your sleeve while also tugging Eren along down the hallway.

He went willingly. He had always reminded you of one of those humble old dogs that sometimes lied beyond a decrepit property sporting the sign, BEWARE OF DOG below a menacing sketch of a vicious rottweiler.

When you were finished, you asked him if he had ever overheard anything similar to what you did just now, and he shook his head, looking torn.

“That room has always been quiet. Damn.” He leaned against the wall casually, looking bummed. His job was usually only as exciting as watching a dolphin jump over water on video surveillance.

You shook your head, mustering a small smile. “Well, not tonight.”

Since you knew the merman heard you shout, and that he would undoubtedly remember it and resent you (possibly further) for eavesdropping, you made a choice. After jamming your key into the lock on his door, you stepped inside to find him wide awake.

You’d never seen him asleep naturally, and that night was certainly no exception.

He didn’t look up. The way he simply floated, tense, yet lifeless, reminded you of a crisp autumn leaf idling on lakewater.

You cleared your throat, but still nothing.

Words would be useless. Instead you turned your attention to the untouched bowl of tuna on the shelf inside the chamber, and approached calmly.

Even as close enough to notice the little scales dusting his cheeks shimmer, as close enough to hear his muffled breathing, he pretended as if you were a ghost.

But you were relentless, and eventually his gaze darted to you only for a split-second before he turned his head, arms crossed tight. Wisps of midnight hair danced in the water.

Despite yourself, you couldn’t conjure anything to say. At the module attached to his enclosure, you stretched it wider again. At some point, it had been reverted to its tinier size.

As the machine whired, “I couldn’t tell what you were saying. Don’t worry.”

He craned his neck back and shrewdly glared at you upside down. The result made it seem like he was smiling, which made you snort. At least that wasn’t a deception.

It weakened a little.

“I’ve been gone the past couple days, you probably noticed,” you began, terribly awkward somehow. “I felt—horrible about what happened. I don’t usually make a mistake like that.”

A grunt.

“But I’m still assigned to you, and I’m going to oversee you.” Even if you hadn’t been for some reason, you would have fought to. “I don’t think there’s any need for anesthesia in the future. What, what made you sleep.”

There’s a gentle sound as you round the module, like air hissing out of a balloon. Those sharp blue eyes were back on you, but he looked rather placated.

“Are you relieved?” you asked. He could speak, you knew for certain now, but you only received a long blink in return.

Again, the bare minimum with him. You put on a blank face and slid your rolling stool until you met his side at eye-level. Ever so often, the water would circulate, causing him to bob ever so slightly.

“Do you not eat meat?” you go on, nodding to the tuna.

Old myth says that mermaids possessed a siren call that would lure sailors to their deaths, torn apart by talons and razored teeth. When you explained that much, he showed the most emotion yet: his lips parted in disgusted disbelief.

“Plants, then?” you quipped, and hesitantly, he nodded.

The strange… innocence of the conversation warmed you.

Part of you didn’t think he was capable of that. For as long as he has refused to speak, it was always exceptionally clear what he wanted to communicate.

You observed him, an anxious kind of fascinated, as he reached up—there was no need to restrain him with the enclosure locked—and braced his hands on the round dome of the tank.

With that, he could dunk his head under the water. Air bubbled up before he surfaced, and, like you weren’t even there, he combed his hair back, made a whistling sound, and rolled onto your side, powerful tail swishing below him.

“Are you grooming yourself?” you asked, fascinated. By then you were resigned to the fact that you wouldn’t get a verbal answer; what you got was a throaty snort, like it was obvious.

You went on. “Can you eat clam shells? Barnacles? Algae?”

His lip curled in disgust. It contrasted wildly from the way he rested his head on his crossed arms, gills flexing under the water.

“Okay… How about seaweed?”

This caught his attention. His eyes grew a touch wide before he blinked rapidly, abruptly glaring at you; before anything else, he wanted it made clear that he didn’t trust you.

All he’s been fed so far was fish meat. No wonder. You had to physically bite the inside of your cheek not to smile to yourself.

“I’ll change your diet then. I’ll get some. Would you like that?”

It was funny. He turned away from you so half his face was submerged in the bubbly water before nodding.

Inwardly, you completely deflated in relief. Since he arrived here bandaged within an inch of his life, biting and snarling, you had concluded he would never cooperate like this.

Then again, you’d been kind to him back then.

You decided that it was in your best interests to stay a little longer that night in hopes of learning more. Sleep could wait.

It was almost heartbreaking. In your next report, you wanted, and you had to describe in detail what you heard: his voice, those names; likely belonging to the merpeople whom he was found with; along with questions. Why was he speaking them? Could he be spiritual? How did they even come to have names?—Were there parents?

So not only would you be lying to him, but deceiving him too.

But it had to be done. Mike was at least partly right: this merman wasn’t a human being.

Your priorities were crystal clear—or they would be for the following week. Little did you know, everything, especially your priorities, was about to come crumbling down.

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

#levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman #levi x y/n #levi x you #levi x reader #shingeki no kyoujin levi #aot levi #snk #captain levi ackerman #levi ackermann x reader #levi ackerman x reader #mermay #canal #levi x mc #levi x gender neutral reader #g.scribe

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agwellbelove · 4 years

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im back on my doctor who bullshit and so mad skdjf. also lmao at me thinking anyone is going to read these long tags im just Venting its one am and im experiencing some thoughts idk why

#i literally am fuming and i don't know why sksjdj #i LIKE jodie whittaker #i was really excited when she became the doctor i still love her portrayal shes doing hHER BEST with what she was given #but chibnall seems to just like..... want to contradict a bunch of things that have already been established and i just??? his writing is #average at best #it just feels very different #i love the actors and certainly do enjoy it i just think that the timeless child thing is stupid #like?? i might be wrong but it seems to be saying that time lords werre created by giving regenerations to the shobogans but like.... werent #time lords made by years of exposure to the time vortex #thats literally the entire river song plot #im so confused???#FURTHERMORE lmao i hate the whole gallifrey comes back then gets destroyed again thing i hated the gallifrey comes back from the start #i think it writes off a lot of the doctors grief and character development from that #and also i have Thoughts about clara and her ending but thats a whole different thing.... i never liked her much she was given the #personality of a slab of butter for most of her run time on the show i liked her more towards the end #whatever it literally isnt that deep ik i just think that the writers need to take the previous important storylines and overall messaging #of the show into account before they do anything because i think its been lost #i like it anyway and i like jodie whittaker i just wish she was given better material to work with #so that the fanboys cant use these admittedly poor seasons (DUE TO THE WRITING !!) as an excuse to not have further diversity in the show

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 3 years

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Dream SMP Recap (June 2/2021) - Self-Care and Reconciliation

Fundy tries some speedy self-care to follow Quackity’s directions of “finding himself.”

Foolish finds out about the supreme fridge and isn’t pleased.

Antfrost seeks out Foolish, Bad and Puffy to find peace and make amends after what happened with the Egg.

---

VOD LINKS:

Philza

Tubbo

Fundy

Foolish

Eret

Captain Puffy

Antfrost

Michaelmcchill

---

- Phil works on the basement some more

- Tubbo works on his outpost

- Tubbo comes over to the Arctic and visits Phil in his basement to “spy” on him

- They go to Tubbo’s outpost and Tubbo asks if Phil would like to make a TNT canon with him. Phil sees Las Nevadas

- Tubbo’s a changed person since he tried to kill Phil’s friend, and now he and Phil are on good terms!

- Tubbo and Phil start attempting to wrangle a Ghast together for the outpost

- A few days ago, Quackity told Fundy that he could have a plot of land in Las Nevadas under certain circumstances, and Fundy has a choice to join the nation or not

- When he and Quackity spoke, Quackity said that this plot of land can be his if Fundy can find himself. Fundy needs to fix what’s broken

- Living in the middle of nowhere away from other people isn’t good, so today, Fundy wants to take care of himself and become a better person

- Fundy’s snow fox is outside, but Fundy decides to let him roam for the time being

- Fundy goes outside and creates a board with signs:

FUNDY’S PLAN TO BECOME BETTER MAN:

Healthy diet! fish, steak, vegetables, fruit, dary, grains

Take care of himself. be able to cut down tree fast

mine diamonds

be able to accept therapy say “im okay with therapy”

good friends, get 3 people to say im a friend

sleep

take care of pet :)

learn to count

- He sets up a timer to do these eight things, and once it starts, he immediately runs off to fix his diet

- Fundy fetches some cod from the sea and spots Tubbo’s outpost in the distance. Curious, he goes over -- if someone lives there, that can go towards his friend goal

- Seeing that Tubbo isn’t online, Fundy messages Phil instead. He asks if they are friends, and Phil just asks what he wants. After a lot more pressing, Phil says they are friends! Fundy is his grandson, after all

- Phil asks if Fundy is safe. Fundy is overjoyed that he cares about his safety, and counts that as two friends! Fundy says he should come by to play cards sometimes, and Phil likes the idea

- To himself, Fundy whispers: “You are a friend and you are appreciated and worth something. You are cool. You are special. You are loved.”

He counts this as the final friend, and has now completed one goal!

- He creates a small patch of dirt and plants wheat, then goes mining for diamonds

- Fundy chops some trees and returns to his house

- On his bed, he psyches himself up and musters up the courage to say something

Fundy: “I...accept...and am okay...with...”

(he struggles to say the last word)

Fundy: “I accept and am okay with...therapy. I accept and am okay with THERAPY!”

- He then goes outside and learns to count by killing zombies

- After that, he has to go find his pet snow fox. He asks a nearby Enderman where he is

- Fundy and the Enderman go searching together

- Fundy can’t find the fox. He keeps searching around the forest, until he comes back towards his house and finally finds the fox sleeping on a nearby hill

- With all his other goals done, there is only one remaining: sleep.

- He goes to his bed, hesitates...

...and sleeps.

(This is a set up for next stream)

- Foolish returns to his summer home from Las Nevadas and finds the WAR sign, confused. He then notices the disappearance of the supreme fridge

- He reads the war note left in the chest for Ponk and is outraged. That fridge was his gift! Of all the buildings that have been built here, the fridge was the one thing he allowed

- There will be consequences, but as Foolish will be gone for a bit, he can’t do anything now.

- Foolish begins to go through the stages of grief, mourning the fridge, before leaving a note:

---

You destroyed my fridge. It was my gift from Ponk. The one structure that was built for me on this server was destroyed. Once I go through the 5 stages of grief...I will then add on a bonus stage.......REVENGE

---

- He kills one of the L’Sandburg citizen llamas to send a message

- Foolish goes to the main area and visits Eret’s fortress, noticing the totem statue Eret made in mourning. He changes the sign to simply say “in honor of Foolish” instead

- While working on his pyramid some more at the summer home, Foolish notices Antfrost just over the hill. Ant comes over, seeking to apologize for killing Foolish

Foolish: Listen Ant. From the very start I blamed the egg. And I don’t believe the REAL Antfrost killed me. Nice to see some blue eyes as well

Ant: but we didn’t listen to your warnings, we had our chances and we betrayed you and our friends. I wouldn’t blame you if you killed me right here

- Foolish doesn’t. He tells Ant that he’s moving on.

- Ant asks if there’s any way to make it up to him, and Foolish says he could use some help gathering sand (Antfrost finds sand tasty, but Foolish doesn’t eat sand. It has too many calories)

- The two gather sand together

Foolish: I hold nothing against you

Ant: thank you

Foolish: Honestly I think the banquet has changed me for the better

Ant: how so

Foolish: It has given me new found strength. Basically from here on out...I’ll be less timid to take action

Ant: well at least something good came out of it

Foolish: So how about you Antfrost, what’s next for the old sly cat

Ant: I need to talk to Puffy and Bad and Sam and everyone I’ve wronged

- Ant asks if Foolish has seen Puffy anywhere, whether there’s something he can give her as a peace offering. She likes llamas

- Foolish thanks Ant for his help. Ant says if Foolish needs anything, to let him know. Foolish looks forward to happier times

- Puffy comes on later and finds the book Foolish left in the chest. She reads it, but she still thinks getting rid of the fridge was better for the aesthetic, and she had to get back at Ponk

- She writes another letter, this time to Foolish, titled “To my sharkyson”:

---

Dear Foolish!

It was not my intention to make you sad or angry! I didn’t know you cared so much for the fridge as well. it was kinda ugly and it stood out so much from the rest of the builds! But I assure you I’m not allied with Bad, my whole goal behind L’llamaburg was to keep an eye on Bad so he didn’t build any further on your land or cause you more problems.

Once Bad was gone I fully intended to disband l’llamaburg and tear it down!

Sorry for any sadness I may of caused.. you don’t need a fridge though to be reminded of how Supreme you are!

---

- Ant is at the animal sanctuary. Everything’s been destroyed, but at least Floof is still alive

- He saves Asshole the fish from suffocating out of the water and puts the fish back in the aquarium

- Ant goes looking for Bad. They need to talk

- They meet at the Community House. Bad hasn’t seen Ant in a while, he hasn’t been around. Bad asks if Ant is okay, and Ant doesn’t know. He died

- Ant asks what happened. Bad says things didn’t work out according to plan. Ant remembers Quackity coming in at the Banquet...

Ant: “Bad, what did we do? I killed Foolish...”

- Bad says stuff happens and he doesn’t think anyone would blame Ant

Ant: “Bad, I killed him! What do you mean you don’t think anyone blames -- Bad, we’re monsters! Do you know what we did?”

Bad: “W-well, I try not to think about it!”

Ant: “Well you can’t just ignore -- you can’t act like we didn’t do -- Bad, I killed Foolish, we were gonna kill E-- oh my god, Eret’s on the server too.”

- Bad thinks it’s fine, Foolish will recover and Puffy killed Ant but it was one for one. Ant remembers all the horrible things he said to Puffy before he killed Foolish and asks where Bad went afterwards

- Bad had no choice but to run. He couldn’t save Ant, they were outnumbered

Ant: “...Do you not feel bad about anything? Bad, we’re...we’re mon-- we did horrible things!”

Bad: “Well I mean, yeah, you did do some horrible stuff...”

Ant: “No, YOU! You did some horrible stuff! Who pushed Skeppy into lava, Bad? Who betrayed their friends? We betrayed Sam, Bad!”

Bad: “Okay, we did some horrible stuff -- hey, no! Okay, but -- there were good reasons at the time, or we felt like there was!”

Ant: “No! No no, Bad, we let the Egg control us! No! Did the Egg give you what it promised?”

Bad: “No, ‘cause...we never completed the plan...whatever it was. Ant, I can’t remember exactly...it’s not -- look, it’s -- I don’t know...”

- Ant asks if he’s talked to Sam and Puffy yet. Bad’s trying not to think about it, but Ant says they can’t ignore this. They’re friends, they should make amends

- Ant asks if Bad’s been back down there, but Bad’s steered clear. Ant is feeling normal again

Ant: “I...Bad, do you not...We’re fucked up! We did horrible things! Our friends tried to stop us, and we didn’t listen! We didn’t do anything!”

Bad: “There’s a lot of ‘we’ going on here...”

- Bad points out Ant didn’t really say anything. Ant accuses him of blaming him

Bad: “No, I’m just saying that...if the collar fits!”

- Ant says they both did horrible things, they dragged Hannah in, Punz too and Ponk. Bad hasn’t checked up on those three since. It doesn’t seem like Bad feels bad. Ant’s been gone because he felt ashamed

- If there’s anybody that they’ve hurt the most, it’s Sam. They were the Badlands

- Bad says they were brainwashed. He knows it’s not an excuse, that they should still own up to it even if they weren’t fully to blame

- They both killed one person each. Ant accuses Bad of putting the blame on him again and says that Bad killing Skeppy was worse because they’re platonic soulmates

- Ant wants an apology for letting him die and leaving him. Bad didn’t do anything, he just watched Ant die. Bad was caught off guard. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing that Ant died, since otherwise they would’ve killed more people

- Ant says they should own up. Bad apologizes for letting Puffy kill Ant. He should have protected Ant, not just from Puffy but from the Egg too. Ant forgives Bad and says sorry for not protecting Bad from the Egg either

- Seeing as Puffy’s online, Ant suggests they go look for her. Bad says he’ll talk to Puffy later. Ant asks about Skeppy -- Bad talked to Skeppy right after what happened, but he hasn’t seen Skeppy since. They had a bit of a confrontation

- Ant wonders if Sam will forgive them. The Badlands wouldn’t be the same without him. He leaves Bad

- Puffy comes down the Prime Path and meets Antfrost face-to-face. The two have a bit of an awkward greeting

- Puffy reminds him of what happened. He doesn’t know how to apologize, but he says sorry. For saying awful things, for killing Foolish. He doesn’t expect her to forgive him, but he apologizes for what he did

- Puffy says it wasn’t right that she killed him, even though she was acting defensively, and she apologizes as well. Ant didn’t deserve to die either, he was blinded by the Egg. She holds Bad more to blame -- Antfrost talked to him recently

- Puffy forgives Ant. She asks how Bad handled it, and Antfrost says Bad is full of guilt and is hoping he can just forget about it

- Bad hasn’t apologized to Puffy, but Ant says he’ll get around to talking to everyone. Puffy made a burner Twitter account to hate on Badboyhalo and if she doesn’t get an apology, she might have to use it

- About L’Sandburg, Ant says he was there for like five minutes, but he doesn’t know what’s been happening since

Puffy: “Ant, you have to be your own person, Ant. He always uses you as his little pet to do things for you, and you murdered a man now because of it, because of Bad.”

Bad uses Antfrost to do things. Why didn’t Bad kill Foolish himself? Why was Antfrost thrown under the bus?

- She tells Ant that he needs to stand up for himself. She had to watch so many “RIP that pussy” and “Why’d you have to kill my cat” edits, it was the worst timing

- Puffy messages Bad asking if he’s apologized to Ant. They spot Bad nearby and walk over to confront him. He’s selling arrows

- Bad says he said sorry for letting Ant die, but Ant wants an apology for Bad making him do everything. Bad says they were both just following the Egg’s orders, that Ant had a grudge against Foolish -- but Ant says he didn’t, that Bad said he had to kill people

- Bad says sorry, but the Egg just wanted it that way. They accuse him of making excuses. Bad apologizes to Antfrost for making him kill Foolish, and the two hug

- Bad and Skeppy had a disagreement after the Red Banquet, and he has to check up with him to make sure he’s okay

- Bad says sorry to Puffy for what they did while under the Egg’s influence. Puffy was told that they were turning a new leaf, letting bygones be bygones so many times that if she took a shot every time she was told that, she would get alcohol poisoning

- Bad says sorry for everything to both of them, from the bottom of his heart. Puffy accepts to be the bigger person. They’ve always been a trio, always been friends, and now that the Egg’s no longer here, she’ll let it slide

- They do a group hug

- After some chatting, Puffy accuses Bad of having a Wattpad account to write Skephalo fanfiction and they continue talking about Skeppy’s merch boxes

- Michael joins the call! They all hang out together

- Later on, Eret and Foolish join in as well!

- A while after, they all go over to Ponk’s stairway to heaven to finally destroy it

(The build dates back to at least early July, possibly June, of 2020)

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

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ravysu · 3 years

Text

Sannin headcanons and thoughts

The last thing I would like to post for the sannin week. It is still 24.04 here! :D @sannin-central

This is long. Spoiler alert. Mostly Orochimaru, some Tsunade, a little of Jiraiya (because his story is pretty clear and spoken and idk what I can add). Also I recommend to read this meta about Orochimaru, it has influenced me a lot and has some good points. Sorry for any posible grammar mistakes. Also I really should put here a lot of references to the manga or anime but it was something that was piling up for a year and I'm soooooooo lazy. After all, those are just headcanons. Also: Im not excusing Oro's bad stuff here, Im trying to understand the reasons.

Ive already posted some hcs, here, here and here.

1. First if all, the chronology pic of sannin lifetime based on the info i found on naruto wiki and also some statements about wars from this post. It was tough considering what a mess naruto’s chronology is.

2. Sannin story shows what it cost to be a legend. They're like Team 7 but more realistic. Tsunade literally carried the war but left with nothing and developed a ptsd and have problems to just live on. Also anger control issues. I think she can be pretty bossy and stubborn which is not always nice. Jiraiya is the hero of the day but also very idealistic and can ignore some important details in the real word whether its the fight (he always injured during flashbacks maybe because each time he took too much to handle and on the one hand it's heroistic but on the other is a mistake that can lead your team to situations like in that Iwa cave) or your friends issues (I bet he saw what's going on but thought it's fine until Oro actually got red handed and left). He lives in his world and may have problems to get out to see it through someone else's shoes. As for Orochimaru, it seems like he was a normal guy for 20+ years (I mean, he didn't do crazy criminal shit and had something good in him and it was stated somewhere that it was his teammates influence. It is obvious they considered him as a friend, I don't thinks it was for nothing) but we mostly know his darkest side. Despite being a moster he is a human that have empathy and some ordinary human traits (man just decorates every bit of an environment he is in lol).

3. Tsunade was the leader of team Hiruzen.

4. Tsunade sometimes hit Jiraiya for some stupid things he did or said but never touches Orochimaru even if he did something same. Jiraiya complained about it once and almost got another hit.

5. Jiraiya had problematic parents that didn't care about him much and a lot of time he was wandering in the streets.

6. Judging by the look of Oro bangs and hair, he sometimes cut it off. A stress relief huh? And the fact that he doesn't do it now in Boruto..

7. It was shown that Tsunade and Orochimaru was acknowledged before they become a team. Maybe they did just before, or maybe some longer time before. I prefer the second option and hc that they met because both had no real friends - Orochimaru seemed weird and scary for everyone and Tsunade was Senju so everyone wanted to hang out with her but didn't really care. They weren't seen as what they were - people put the labels on them. But they didn't care about each other's labels and actually saw each other in true lights.

8. Tsunade knew it was an accident and it's not right but still she blamed Orochimaru for Nawaki's death for some time. It was something that seriously damaged their friendship and the team. Orochimaru was mad but also guilty, after all, he was responsible at least as a shinobi since Nawaki was under his watch. So he started to act cold and emotionless and was trying to distance himself from his teammates.

9. Jiraiya was in Ame while Dan died.

10. The whole his orphans mission was a bit irresponsible tbh. They already fought Hanzo and as he stated the conflict between Konoha and Ame is going to an end with Konoha's win. It's weird to stay here for three years in the middle of the war while there were other lands to fight. He left his teammates for some idea. Maybe that caused another crack in their team friendship.

11. If Tsunade would have find a way to live on with her trauma and follow the will of fire and stuff it would affect Orochimaru as well just as her grief affected him. It's like he would get an example that you can live on with this pain. So death isn't above human capability and we are not just the slaves of mortality (sounds stupid but i dont know how else to describe sorry). But as we know what he actually saw is that it broke her crucially to the point she couldnt be herself again. And so the death is above everything.

12. Oro wasn’t just acting as a cold pragmatic bitch in that cave but also tried to save Tsunade. Jiraiya knew it and that’s why he showed this sign to him like "I see what youre doing here" and that stunned Oro because he would prefer to look rather like a cold pragmatic bitch hehe

13. Just a thought. People in the village probably treated Oro as a foreigner or just wouldnt accept him because he looked so differently and had a weird attitude. That's why he sometimes didn't feel that Konoha is his home. After the wars where people were treated as means and tools, even the children, he himself developed this view on people - he dehumanized them and used as the means to his goals, just as his village did. Funny thing some people were straightly dehumanizing him too like Ibiki thought that he was a demon (tho he was a child). And he probably weren't the only one. Anyways the point is that it's logical that Orochimaru don't care about anybody but some few people, he's the product of his era. He's like Naruto that would chose the hatred way. But naruto had some good and understanding people around him and.. Orochimaru had them too, but match how Iruka treated Naruto and this Hiruzen's "I sAw tHe mAliCe in This cHiLd fRoM tHe BegGinNinG". And oro didn't even have a big ass evil fox in him. sry i hate hiruzen

ANYWAYS the moral of the story is not "go criminal if they hurt you" but always treat people like people. Waving my hand to Kant.

14. The reason why Orochimaru didn't pick some good morals to stick with through the hard times no matter what (like, idk, Jiraiya or Naruto) is because 1) I think he is/was pretty depending on people around him 2) the war fucked him and his friends up too much (Nawaki incident + Tsunade) 3) twisted addictions (though I don't think he's that sadistic, we never saw him torturing randoms just for fun, it was always some science experimental shit. He tends to get fun out of cruelty only when it's personal) that maybe developed as a way to sublimate anger and sadness caused by his parents loss (that's what they share with sasuke - unlicke naruto, they knew their parents and it's other kind of pain. Sasuke developed a revenge issue and Orochimaru - cruelty pleasure which... is kinda the same but less epic and more occasional lol).

15. Speaking of that, Orochimaru cared for Sasuke because he saw himself in him.

16. Oro hold grudges against Hiruzen for not choosing him to be Hokage not only because he was ambitious and/or egoistic, but also because Hiruzen was some kind of a father figure for him and his approval was important tho i doubt he was aware of that. He also probably could tell that Hiruzen was suspicios about him when he was a child and that led to many conflicts and was hurting as well.

17. Tsunade knew things weren't pretty with Orochimaru after the wars but she never expected them to be this bad. During the week that she was given in her arc she thought not only about how much she wants to see Nawaki and Dan again despite how wrong would it be but also was trying to bury all the good memories she had left of Orochimaru so it would be easier to kill him.

18. She poisoned Jiraiya exactly because she knew he would not let her do it. Jiraiya was always hesitant to kill and inclined to forgiveness, while Tsunade, as mentioned by Orochimaru, could be merciless (so much so that he was not surprised when Kabuto suggested that she wanted to use Jira for Edo Tensei).

19. That was one of her traits that scared Jiraiya and fascinated Orochimaru.

20. Remember how Oro grabbed Jiraiya's neck when the latter was trying to cover with hair jutsu? On the snake, in Tsnade's arc. Orochimaru could have easily kill Jiraiya by pulling the sword out of the mouth (arteries are right there) but he didn't. As well as he could kill Tsunade when she was still shaking - just aim for the neck or the heart. Instead, he just injured her lung and kicked her which is not a big deal for the kind of shinoby like her at all.. Also he helped Anko not accidentally kill herself but it would be way much profitable to let her do it. "Orochimaru has no feelings".

21. The reason he suddenly wanted to kill Tsunade instead of forcing her to heal his arms as it was planned (which is weird since it will not going to get him heals and he kinda said that he wouldn't want to kill her just minutes ago) is that not only she refused to help him (he thought he could work it out) but she also prefered the village over him (from his point of view). Out if everyone she was the closest to being able to understand him since the village caused her painful losses too but nevertheless she agreed to be on it's side.

22. He wasn't fighting her back in the end partly because he thought he deserved that. Somewhere deep inside hahah.

23. Tsunade got a fear to develop deep bonds so they probably weren't very close with Shizune (also the way she knocked her down in this hotel.. oh).

24. Orochimaru will be here when she'll die.

25. Orochimaru's eng dub to Tsunade: "I often wondered what it would be like to ring that pretty neck yours". No comments.

26. Orochimaru is either bi/pan or ace. Anything or nothing lmao

27. Hiruzen knew about at least some of the Oro’s illegal experiments and was okay just as he was okay with the Foundation all the time. Because it’s useful. Then he has discovered he went too far OR he knew everything and oro just became too inconvenient because of his methods. The way Orochimaru tells Sasuke about reasons they are well treated as the criminals is based on in his experience with Hiruzen.

28. As you may know the lyrics in Orochimaru’s music theme goes “don’t talk with the silence of the heart”. It was taken from one Indian song that also had lines like “don’t question life too much”, ”pain arose somewhere in the chest”, “don’t speak to the wounds of the heart”. Though I’m not sure 100% because I was translating it with some hindi dictionary with like zero knowledge of hindi

29. I like to think that this “silence of the heart” theme and the fact that he called his village a hidden sound village are somehow connected. The hidden sound is the possible explanation of all things waiting to be listened to but the truth is silent and you know it deep in your heart and it bothers you. The world is silent just like the life is meaningless but people can only hear. *Sigh* anyways

30. Orochimaru’s journey is the one about accepting death. When he saw Karin released her chains while was trying to get to Sasuke he understood that the death is a part of human’s strength.

Can’t wait to feel that everything I wrote is wrong or not enough or stupid and obvious lol. Anyways, it’s something that I wanted to share until I move to some other fandom.

#sannin week 2021 #orochimaru #tsunade #jiraiya #sannin #naruto #naruto headcanons

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