#some times i feel like i grieve over for particular reasons

[istherewifiinhell]

A introspection. On a thrusday morning. For free? And we're talking death in fiction and out of it. Something like the distance between grieving and just regular living.

If you'd like to skip this one the summary is basically "girls when you don't let them engage with their silent rituals of respect in fiction" and you know the image. With the violence. Yeah.

I have always taken fictional death, fairly seriously, somberly I would say. Like no I'm not immune to laughing as a villain gets their comupance, (particular via dinosaur) or even enjoying schlocky slasher or something. But there also times were I can hardly watch, like any media with space fights, cause the as the squad calls in and gets wittled down. It's not just the narrative tool that recreates danger for our hero. Those characters, fictional yes but, suddenly and in this moment of firey demise. People too. People fighting for the same cause as the hero. People with lives and loves. People who new the danger they were in and went anyway.

And pick open that feeling and of course, there's fear in it. If I related strongly to media I don't get to pick and choose: only the parts that are pleasant for myself, please! Pain and terror find their way too. But even the past the bombastic spectacle, in the long stretch or simple loss, or a peaceful passing that slides gracefully into it. I feel it too. The grief of the mourners and solemnity of the dead.

And to clearly delineate this as an introspection and not a media analysis from an over personal view. I wonder to connect it to, or even contrast with my own life. How I react to death in real life. In the moment's I recall hearing about a death. From pets, to mostly distant figures. I woman I thought was quite nice and friendly, when in school, once.

Well it's this isn't it. Muted tone, a little philosophy, and a bit more, and a bit of a whole body stop, a brain that both lags behind and speeds ahead. I see strong reaction all around me. That's strange, I don't have that. (It will take a few hours or days for me to have that, if I do at all).

In many ways I am used to having to subdue emotion, to have it in private. Of my own volition and of outside pressure. And I have no framework. No culture passed to me for how we deal with the dead (cultural christianity is of little use in these matters. I've never been to any service, funerary or otherwise. And vague metaphors of waterbugs who assend to heaven are more an object to examine in the context of children and society I think)

So I've got what I've always got. A conversation with myself, and the universe, in some moments a thought asking to be overheard, and others, just the part of it that within myself. So with these thoughts. I touch soft earth and think towards the dead. Rarely those I knew. Mostly memorial plaques, a street shrine, couple of marked stones where I walk, and graveyard, very occasionally, speeding past a window.

And I feel there's nothing for but to acknowledge them, rest a hand, a simple thought, a greeting even. A wild flower from one leg of the journey left to another. The mere act of lingering, in the end.

So fiction? Yeah. In these moments the fictional dead rest in the same place of these departed strangers. So a peace of fiction at that's lets me create that linger is well liked, one that has it built in is everything, in that moment. And in so much, it is the tradition I have made, in the lack of all others. And the way I engage. The more trivial result: all narrative deaths have meaning for me. Or they start at a base of meaning and the writers really have to cock it up for me to say "fuck you that's manipulative". And the more pointed purpose, the catalyst of what started this introspection. If the media gives me that linger, even though it's all fiction. This abstraction of my abstraction of ritual. I really cannot deal with its interupption. Anything from the media itself, of course, I would have feelings about. Would probably be weighing it on a grand scale of is the felt violation in purpose to a narrative that isn't just here to shock, to disrespect. And. In the matter of other people, the real ones, the living, interacting within the media. Not having this time-place of respect. It anything from confuses me, to pisses me off, to out right makes me think I should not engage in shared media experience with them possible ever. Depending on the levels of disregard for the difference in experience.

#some shit #i seriously encourage you to skip if you have any need to avoid the topic. no matter the reason #take care of yourselves! i get it! #futher content note that theres nothing graphic. only causes of death mentioned are fictional and in passing. and additional the mentions #of real death are abstract and not overly personal #mostly about ritual in grieving. i leave the why unsaid cause well. tis to be human. a lot of the time. not always. #the writing itself might be more intersecting than the conclusion which is really just that thing were #im very particular about fiction. which isnt weird on tumblr dot com but you. is weird to people in real life sometimes and it makes #my brain feel itchy #im not talking about DE but of course. its about DE. watch the jacob geller video on autospy if u want the media anaylsis vibe im here to #over share on the internet #smth smth always concepts i could spin into like. more thougjt out things. but i often prefer blogging

[naughtystiel]

It wasn’t raining.

For some reason whenever Dean thought of this day, he imagined the sky to be covered with heavy dark clouds. Clearly this wasn’t the case. Instead, everything seemed so lively. Spring brought chirping birds, vividly coloured flowers began to bloom and the sun shone brightly high in the sky. The few people gathered around wore light jackets so it really had to be a beautiful day. He wished he could feel the warmth on his skin too.

A priest stood on the opposite end of the deep hole and Dean grimaced. He had never been a religious man and he wasn’t going to listen to anything that was coming out of the priest’s mouth now either. Meandering between people, he walked further away. Yeah, Lord have mercy and rest in peace o’wayward son.

So, where did he go from here?

“Hello.” Somebody said next to him, but Dean didn’t even bother to look. They weren’t talking to him anyway. They couldn’t be. With arms loosely crossed over his chest, he looked skywards. It was a beautiful day.

“Dean?”

Dean looked to the side, an eyebrow raised. A man in his thirties observed him, hands tucked in his dress pants. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

The man nodded his chin towards the priest, “Heard him mention a Dean, so I’m guessing that must be you. Nice suit.” He smiled and Dean looked down at his outfit. Suits weren’t exactly his thing, but he didn’t really think to make a will and they shoved him in this. Did they even bury people in plaids? Probably.

“That would be me, indeed.” Dean tilted his head to the side and scanned the graveyard. Interesting. “Are you dead too? I guess you gotta be.”

The man hummed, “Mmm, you could say so.”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. Was that a yes or a no? “So, is it just you and me or is anybody else here with us?”

“Nah, they moved on.”

“And you?"

“In the process.”

“I see.”

They both stood in silence, watching the ceremony. A few roses got dropped into the hole. A nice gesture, but it was a waste of money. They could at least put it on top once the casket was actually covered with dirt.

Low rumble disrupted the quiet. “How are you feeling?”

Dean splayed his arms and shrugged. “I mean, I’m dead. I don’t really know.”

The man turned his head towards Dean. “Okay, lemme ask you this - what’s on your mind? Anything particular?”

Now that was a good question. Nothing. A lot. First thing that came to mind was that he wouldn’t be able to see that new Indiana Jones movie he was so looking forward to. But that was just stupid, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he be thinking of his regrets? Unfinished business? “I wish I could feel the sun on my cheeks.”

“Ah, that I can agree with. The sunset kind. Not too sharp, soft like a gentle veil that droops over your face.” The man gave him a small smile and Dean nodded.

“You see that tall guy there? The tallest of them all. My brother. Last time I saw him we argued.” Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I guess it kinda bothers me that this is how he’s gonna remember me now.”

“Probably not. Usually when a person dies you remember the good things. Unless of course the bad outweighed the good which I don’t think is the case here.” The man scuffed the tip of his polished shoe in the dirt. “Grieving is complicated, it messes with your head. I bet you heard about how it usually progresses but personally I think it’s more like jumping back and forth between the steps. It does pass though.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

The man shrugged, his dark lock tousled by gentle breeze. He kept his gaze down, chewing on his bottom lip. “Only stating the facts. Anything else bothering you?”

just a snippet of "the art of moving on" which i might work on more in the future. and if i do, it wont be very long but i think itd be worth exploring :)

#spn #destiel #drabble.txt #vin.txt

[hyperlexichypatia]

In the 15 or so years that I’ve been actively involved in neurodivergent/Mad/disabled liberation, my perspective on “overdiagnosis” or “broadening the category of mental illness” has shifted a few times. 

At first, I uncritically agreed with what might be called the “mainstream, mad-lite” perspective that “broadening the category of mental illness” was a real thing worth objecting to – that doctors and schools were pathologizing emotions, traits, and behaviors that should rightfully fall under the range of “normal.” How terrible to pathologize grief, we said, when feeling pain and sadness at the loss of a loved one is perfectly normal! 

But by 2015, when the New York Times ran an article on pathologizing women’s emotions, I was sharply critical. I wrote this: 

This is the kind of thing I would've celebrated a few years ago as a baby neurodiversity activist. But now, please count me as completely over faux-revolutionary assertions that one, specific, particular group of people should not be pathologized. The argument essentially boils down to "Neurotypical women shouldn't be pathologized for being upset, because they have legitimate reason for being upset, unlike all those other hysterical, overreacting people who are upset for no good reason, who really need to be pathologized." I regard this the same way I do the endless spate of "ADHD isn't a real disease; it's just a label for people who are creative and misunderstood!" articles. No, ADHD isn't a disease, and no, ADHD-type people shouldn't be pathologized, but the emphasis on "isn't a REAL disease" implies "unlike those other neurological differences, which ARE real diseases." These articles and ideas are not inclusive or neurodiversity-positive. "The line between pathologized and non-pathologized people should be drawn in a different place" is not a radical argument. It serves to throw other pathologized people -- the so-called "actually disordered" or "seriously mentally ill" or "low-functioning" people from whom these arguments are so anxious to distance their subjects -- further under the bus. Furthermore, because the medical model conflates pathologization with entitlement to services, these arguments often actually throw even the people they argue to depathologize under the bus as well. Extreme emotional states shouldn't be pathologized in women (or in anyone), but many people who experience extreme emotional states choose to use medications or other medical services to manage them -- a choice that should be their right. Depathologization should not be used to deprive them of access to that choice. "You're not defective, so we know what's best for you" isn't actually that big an improvement over "You are defective, so we know what's best for you."

Now, 9 years later in 2024, I still stand by what I said in 2015. Arguing about where to draw the line between pathological and nonpathological, or how wide to make the circle of accepted normalcy, is a pointless and ultimately harmful argument. I have no interest in arguing “This group of people, specifically, shouldn’t be pathologized, because they’re not like that group of people, who should be pathologized.” No one should be pathologized – not the otherwise-neurotypical woman grieving a loss, and not the visibly neurodivergent person responding to stimuli no one else can perceive. We should settle for no less than acceptance for all; pathologization for none. 

But I also didn’t quite predict how far pathologization would reach in the following decade. 

I was thinking about this because, in a context completely unrelated to disability rights, I was thinking that liberalism as a mainstream ideology barely exists in the U.S. anymore. I expressed some of that concern here. “Freedom of speech, freedom of conscience, and bodily autonomy are generally, in and of themselves, good” is not a particularly mainstream idea. 

“But,” you might be thinking, “Aren’t you always saying that liberals who profess to believe those things don’t really believe them, and never have, because they don’t apply them to disabled people, poor people, young people, and other marginalized people?” And yes, I am always saying that. Universal liberalism – truly universal – has never been mainstream in the U.S., or anywhere in the world. As I said here, if you ask people “Should people have the right to…?” you will get a lot of “Yes, of course” answers, but if you ask “What about a child? What about an intellectually disabled person? What about an unmedicated-by-choice schizophrenic person?” the answer will switch to “I don’t mean them” or “That’s an exception.” There are Normal People who deserve basic human rights, and Pathologized People, who don’t. 

The trend I’m seeing now, though, is that the “normal” non-pathologized subject doesn’t exist. Everyone is some degree of pathologized. Neurotypical privilege is still very much in effect, and there is still a vast difference between those who are perceived as relatively neurotypical and those who don’t. “Everyone is a little bit [whatever]” or “No one is really normal” are ways of erasing and minimizing the very real neurotypical privilege, and corresponding neurodivergent oppression, that some people experience and some people don’t. Nevertheless, I’m seeing a real shift from “‘People’ by default means ‘normal’ neurotypical people, who deserve acceptance and freedom, but there are those ‘other’ people who don’t” to “No one is ever really ‘mentally healthy,’ so no one ever really deserves acceptance and freedom.” 

I talked a bit here about the premise that “Everyone needs therapy,” but I’m trying to think of the last time I actually saw that premise questioned. I’m thinking back trying to remember the last time I heard someone expressing the opinion “No, I don’t think you need therapy; I think that’s a normal thing, not a pathological thing.” 

I’m not saying a dividing line between pathologized and non-pathologized people was better! Not at all. And it was never absolute; non-pathologized people were always at risk of slipping into the pathologized category if they ever let their social conformity slip. As long as anyone is pathologized, everyone is at risk of being pathologized. 

But I’m saying that looking around, it feels like I wished for society to stop differentiating pathologized people from non-pathologized people, and the monkey’s paw gave me my wish. The argument “[Pathologized trait] isn’t that different from [non-pathologized trait]” isn’t effective, because there are no non-pathologized traits. Who, exactly, is considered “mentally healthy” or “emotionally mature” enough to be allowed to make decisions? Is anyone? If not, who is supposed to be in charge of us? Anybody with an audience who can successfully convince us that we’re “unhealthy” and need to be fixed, like the salesmen who convinced us that we all have a specific “attachment style”? I don’t know. I don’t know what the long-term effects of this cultural norm will be. Not good, to say the least. I know that it reminds me of certain strict, punitive strains of Christianity, with “trauma” taking the place of “original sin.” All have fallen short of the glory of Healing. But those people over there, they have fallen especially short. They need to be locked up. I know that the emphasis on relationships and interactions being “healthy” rather than respectful, consensual, and happy has pathologized a lot of respectful, consensual, happy relationships while allowing wildly disrespectful people to escape criticism because they’re “healthy.” I have no idea where universal-pathologization-culture is going, but I hope it’s not too late to turn it around. 

#mad pride #neurodiversity #liberation #disability rights #pathologization #mad liberation

[multiplicity-positivity]

Dormancy: Coping with the temporary loss of a headmate

So we have a post on how to help a headmate post-dormancy, and we thought it was about time to write a post on helping yourself when one of your headmates goes dormant.

What is dormancy?

Dormancy is when a headmate or alter becomes temporarily inactive or seemingly disappears from their system for a length of time. This is a relatively common experience that affects systems of many different backgrounds and origins.

Why do headmates go dormant?

Headmates may go dormant for a wide variety of reasons, including, but not limited to:

- the system feeling overwhelmed

- a scary or traumatic life event

- their presence being no longer needed in their system

- the system being too overcrowded

- the system functioning through cycles of different headmate groups

- and many more! There is no clear-cut set of reasons for a headmate going dormant.

Will my dormant headmate ever come back?

Chances are, yes! Headmates and alters don’t die in systems, and if a headmate goes dormant there is a huge chance that they will return one day. It may take weeks, months, years, or even decades for a headmate to be awakened from dormancy. Even if it’s been many years since a particular headmate went dormant, that in no way means they’ll never be coming back!

Can I force my headmate out of dormancy?

For some systems, it is possible to contact a dormant headmate or even pull them out of dormancy before that headmate is ready. However, if your system does not already have a pre-established member capable of contacting dormant headmates, it’s probably for the best to not fret over forcibly removing them from dormancy. Rather, it’s best to have patience and accept that, while it may be a long time before you see your dormant headmate again, being dormant does not mean they’re lost forever.

I miss my dormant headmate! How can I cope with the loss?

It’s totally understandable to be hurt, confused, frustrated, anxious, or distraught when a headmate becomes dormant, especially if it was a member you are close to. We’ve found that the best way to handle coping with the loss of a headmate to dormancy is through trusting your feelings and allowing yourself to grieve.

Here are some things you can try to help you and your system properly mourn the (most likely temporary) loss of your headmate:

1) Remember there are no wrong feelings

There’s nothing wrong with missing your headmate! There’s nothing wrong with feeling angry that they left, or worried that you may never see them again. What matters more than our feelings is how we choose to act on them. You can’t control your feelings, but you can try to control how you react to them. So try to treat yourself and your system with kindness, patience, and understanding, in spite of feeling upset or overwhelmed! Don’t

2) Journal

Keeping a journal can allow you and your headmates to vent, process your emotions, and grieve in a safe environment. You can write out how you feel, reminisce about times spent with your dormant headmate, or anything that helps you and your system in the face of this loss. Your journal can be just for you, or it can be for any headmate who wishes to write in it! Journalling can be so useful for those who are grieving or going through difficult times, and this includes those who are missing a dormant headmate!

3) Keep their memory alive

Just because your headmate is dormant doesn’t mean you’re doomed to forget about them. You can create a shrine or memorial in your living space or even in your system’s headspace (if you have one) in order to honor your dormant headmate. You can keep pictures of them and hold onto their projects, personal items, or things they were interested in. You can create a playlist of songs that they loved or that remind you of them. You can do things like engage in their favorite activity or make a food they love in order to feel close to them. You can spend time with your headmates sharing your favorite stories and fond memories of your dormant headmate. Collaborate with your system to find ways of keeping your dormant headmate’s memory alive, and leaving a space for them if and when they do return to your system!

4) Seek support

If your system is still struggling after regularly journalling, attempting to process your emotions, and memorializing your dormant headmate, it may be time to seek outside support. Of course, if another member of your system feels equipped to support those who are struggling, y’all should feel welcome to support and care for each other however you can! However, if everyone in your system is having difficulties dealing with your headmate’s dormancy, it may be time to seek some outside help.

This is where friends, loved ones, therapists, and other people who your system trusts come in! If you’re out about your system to anyone in your life, and trust them to be understanding and treat you and your headmates with kindness, it may be a good idea to reach out to them and let them know what’s going on. Sometimes just talking about your troubles with someone who cares can be incredibly cathartic and beneficial!

Hopefully, these suggestions can help bring your system closure while understanding that, while your dormant headmates aren’t gone forever, it’s okay to miss them and to grieve their absence in your lives!

My headmate has returned from dormancy! How can I help them readjust to life?

We actually already wrote a post on how to help headmates post-dormancy! You can check it out below - there might be some repeat information in both of these posts!

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Feel free to reach out if you have any further questions or comments regarding dormancy. The post linked above ^ has some links to outside articles and resources on dormancy which may be useful! We hope this helps those who are struggling with the loss of a headmate due to dormancy.

Please try to take care of yourselves, and have a great day!

(Image ID:) A pale orange userbox with a cluster of multicolored flowers for the userbox image. The border and text are both dark orange, and the text reads “all plurals can interact with this post!” (End ID.)

#multiplicity #plurality #pluralgang #actuallyplural #dormancy #long post

[snake-cabin]

Hi I love your blog i was wodering if you could do number 15 with Undertaker,thank you in advance💓🥰

hi! i recognize your url haha, i’d love to do number 15 with undertaker for you 💕

prompt: watching their oblivious s/o lovingly

character: undertaker (kuroshitsuji)

words: 1900+

content warning: reader’s family was killed in an accident and has some survivors guilt, i put a little more “plot” in this than i originally intended so i hope you don’t mind lol, sorry if this is sad.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The funeral home is bathed in shimmering, golden light as wisps of sunset stream in through the latticed windows, sun dust dancing in the beams that cast a buttery veil over the surface of shiny caskets strewn about the floor and catching in the bright glint of the glass bottles and jars lined up along the shelves.

A few of the candles are already lit, tiny flames flickering as they hover on the end of charred wicks, rivulets of thick wax making their slow descent towards the silver basins they’re perched in below.

You’ve come to love this place— a place that, at one point in time, had filled you with dread, reminded you of your own fragile mortality— as it now brought you peace.

Maybe it was because you’d become so acquainted with death yourself, had felt its lips ghost over yours with a near-fatal kiss when you’d been on the verge of leaving the living world.

You’d been the lucky one, they’d all told you, because you’d survived.

However, the rest of your family— both your parents and your two other siblings— hadn’t been as fortunate when the carriage had crashed over the cliff side, tumbling down the steep hill into the sea of pine below.

You still wondered why you’d survived while they’d all been claimed by whatever was waiting on the other side of life, but at least there had been one saving grace through all that hell.

Because, if you hadn’t had reason to seek out mortuary services all on your own, you would’ve never met him.

“Undertaker” was the only name he’d given you, still refused to tell you anything other than that title whenever you tried to press him, so, even though his insisted mystery at something as simple as a name sometimes irked you, you’d more or less accepted it.

In the beginning, you’d been wary of him, unable to look him in the face and carful to keep your distance.

But as time went on, as you grieved, as you recovered, and, at last, once your family was put to rest six feet under the ground, you’d found you’d warmed up to him.

Because it hadn’t just been the singular occasion of seeking out his business’s services that had pulled you into his orbit, or the inevitable return after the funeral to pay him what was due and thank him for all his hard work and consideration.

Undertaker had seen your pain plain as day from the very second you stepped through those doors and into his grim domain. He’d seen the fear and the loneliness and the mourning. The guilt and regret one often wears when they can’t help but think, if only I hadn’t made this one decision on that particular day, everything would’ve turned out differently.

So he’d comforted you. He’d helped you feel not so alone and, unlike the other more familiar faces that seemed to pop up to surround you at every turn, offering rehearsed condolences that were so sickly sweet they bordered on condescending, bringing an endless array of casseroles and roasts and all kinds of other deep-dished dinners that most nights had just ended up in the trash because you could barely bring yourself to eat in those first few months after your loss…

Unlike all the others who said what they thought you wanted to hear, did what they thought would help you instead of asking what it was you actually needed, Undertaker had treated you like he understood perfectly right from the start.

You figured he knew the intricate, silent language of death and mourning better than anyone, given that his day to day for who knew how many decades had revolved around it. But you’d expected him to be emotionally uninvested and purely professional when you’d first prepared to speak with a funeral director. So it very much caught you off guard when he’d been the complete opposite.

He’d treated you with compassion, patience, and, above all else, respect. He didn’t pity you, and gave no coddling words about how your deceased family was “in a better place now” or calculated coos making promises that you could ask him for “anything you might need, at any time” like the others who’d learned of your loss when you knew they had their own busy lives to jump right back into once they’d filed out of the funeral and the babbling brook of black clothes and tear-streaked cheeks had dispersed.

It made you wonder who he’d lost in his life, though you were never brave enough to ask.

So you’d found yourself returning to him, drawn back into his somber chamber of half-constructed coffins and gleaming silver instruments strewn about. You’d accepted his invitation to stay for tea and biscuits and felt grateful when he just let you talk about what had happened and how you felt, not feeling the need to interject or give you advice on the proper way to grieve.

Undertaker had sat across from you, secretly studying the distinct features of your face and your innate little mannerisms from behind his curtain of silver fringe, the scar cutting across his face just barely peeking through, and listened.

It was less than any of your other friends or family would’ve considered they’d done for you, but that simple gesture meant more than anything back then.

So when he’d offered you a position as his assistant, promising fair wages and adequate training, though you felt some apprehension at such a serious and, as you could imagine, having been on the other side of it, sorrowful task, you’d ultimately agreed without much hesitation.

Because there was something about being around him that had helped— was still helping— to heal you.

It certainly helped that, the more you two had gotten to know each other, the more comfortable he’d gotten about cracking jokes or making humorous little comments here or there.

Undertaker had a strange sense of humor, a dark one for sure, but as time went on you found that so did you.

You’d since lost count of how many times you’d both ended up laughing so hard you were practically wheezing, arms wrapped around your middle as you clutched the stitch in your side, entire body shaking with the kind of carefree joy that only comes from a good, hearty, unexpected laugh.

“Laughter is the best medicine,” he’d once told you, after you’d suddenly burst into tears after enjoying such a jovial moment, reminded how you’d never get to laugh like that with your family ever again. “Even in the darkest of times, just allowing yourself to experience small joys can help cure what ails you, even if only for a moment.”

You remembered his words often, whenever you were missing your lost loved ones. Undertaker had taught you to laugh more often even if for the sole purpose that they couldn’t anymore, and sometimes that fact alone was enough for you to at least smile.

“Because life is for the living,” he’d also taught you. “You must experience the things that they won’t get to and know that they would’ve wanted you to have a full life.”

So now, as you finished cleaning up and organizing everything in the shop for the day, humming a melancholy little tune quietly to yourself as you moved about, Undertaker leaned in the doorway and silently watched you, his silhouette a tall, billowy shadow as his dark robes draped over his svelte form.

His brilliant chartreuse eyes broke through the cracks in that curtain of silver meant to hide them, and he couldn’t help but grin to himself as he thought how lucky he was— after so many years of solitude— to finally have someone who brought real joy to his life.

Even sweeping the concrete floors, the dusty skirts of your dress swaying about your feet in rhythmic, graceful motions, Undertaker found you beautiful, his delicate, earnest little human.

You were careful around the one coffin he’d strictly told you never to open or disturb, doing a half-turned dance to maneuver the currently cramped space with all that littered the floor, but to Undertaker, you appeared as elegant as if you were the belle of a ball, slowly waltzing about the macabre dancehall.

He’d found new purpose in the life-after-his-afterlife in having you learn from him, in teaching you his trade, witnessing you succeed and fail and succeed again.

You were going to make one hell of an undertaker yourself one day, if and when his jig was finally up and he had to flee this place tucked into the darkest, dingiest corner of London.

Sometimes he thought you didn’t belong here only for the fact that, as he’d half flirted, half joked to you on your very first encounter, “Someone so pretty doesn’t belong somewhere so grim.”

Still though, he was glad you’d chosen to stay on your own accord. Glad that you had a reason to return to him every day, allowing him to bask in your presence, the only ray of light amidst his world of shadows and decay.

When you finally turned and looked over, you jolted a bit as Undertaker’s unexpected appearance startled you, and after letting out a gentle yelp and clutching your heart you found yourself smiling at him.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked, abandoning your broom as you migrated closer to where he leaned in the doorway. “I thought you went home already. I told you I’d close up.”

Humming out a lilting, fleeting note, Undertaker carefully reached a pale, slender hand over to brush some stray, flyaway strands of hair that had come loose from your braid throughout the day back behind your ear, delighting in the fact that you still blushed a little at the gesture even after he’d done it so many times by now.

“I got caught up with something in the back,” he informed you, his voice low and tender, nearly a murmur in the stillness of the room. “I thought I’d stay and walk you home. Make sure you got back safely.”

Undertaker was usually at the shop until long after sundown, sometimes so late you swore he must sleep here sometimes, only resting for a couple of hours before morning peeked above the horizon and tolled the bell on a new day, more work always to be done. (The phrase “you can rest when you’re dead” had taken on a slightly different, more morbid meaning now). In fact, you knew he’d often pull all-nighters, though if he had any bags under his eyes to tell of it you didn’t know. That part of him was still mostly a mystery to you, other than the few times you’d caught accidental glances of such iridescent emerald while you two were working in close proximity.

He’d offered to walk you home a few times before, but you’d usually refused, assuring him it wasn’t far and you could always call for a carriage along the way if you wished. He never pressed you or insisted too much, but tonight, perhaps it was because you were catching a glimpse of those unearthly eyes of his again, reading what you could swear was complete devotion in them, you accepted his invitation to escort you back.

The walk was mostly silent, though you took it more for the fact that the two of you had been working tirelessly these past few days than anything else. However, Undertaker used the window of comfortable quiet as yet another opportunity to gaze upon you.

Oh, how he’d miss you terribly when he finally had to go, and it hurt him even more so to know there was a possibility it would be without warning if he was found out before he could catch onto it.

But he’d spent too much time running from the past and trying to predict the future. All he really needed right now was to allow himself to enjoy the present he shared with you.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

from this prompt list. requests are now closed, thank you to everyone who participated 💕

#undertaker #undertaker x reader #undertaker x you #undertaker x y/n #black butler #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #black butler x you #black butler x y/n #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji x you #kuroshitsuji x y/n #black butler undertaker #kuroshitsuji undertaker #black butler fanfiction #undertaker kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #black butler fanfic #kuroshitsuji fanfic #kodis requests

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Hi! I'm wondering if there's a fic like this?

(cql) fight where lwj lunges with his sword, and wwx doesn’t move, not thinking lwj would actually hurt, but lwj accidentally hurts him? @karinasnowwwx

Regrets by antebunny (G, 38k, wangxian, miscommunication, misundersandings, time travel fix-it, temporary character death, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort)

Give Me What I Want by Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 60k, WangXian, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Canon Divergence, Episode Related, Angst with a Happy Ending, Burial Mounds, fuck or die aftermath, Angst) the third fic in the series "Give what you like" has a scene like this

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2. hi!! i'd like to request fics that are similar to rather cruelly used and rather reserved by x_los.

i saw someone mention that they'd like specifics for these types of asks; i don't have something in particular in mind (i'd love to get any recs at all!), but some examples could be: this type of back-and-forth conversational humor; the sort of poetic way the prose is written; wwx grieving a-yuan before finding out he's alive; and/or how the confession/relationship is portrayed.

i especially liked the lines where wwx asks if lwj knew wwx loved him and lwj responds "sometimes, i knew," so fics where lwj or wwx sort of. suspect each other likes them/they sort of fall together naturally are also super welcome!

i know this is a lot but i tried to be as helpful as possible. no rec has to accomplish all of these, i just really liked that fic lol @kisskissgotohell

and having a marvelous time by varnes (E, 108k, WangXian, Yúnmèng Siblings, Sound of Music AU, (i know!!! i know. stay with me on this.), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Family Feels, spies to lovers???, Protective Siblings, Sometimes You Just Want Your Dads To Admit They’re Your Dads, Angst with a Happy Ending)

threadfic by saltyfeathers (Not rated, 49k, wangxian, chapters tagged individually)

Works by Vamillepudding

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3. so I've seen a lot of fics with variations of 'Xiao xingchen and song Lan join and/or ally with (while still being rogues) the YilingWei sect'. But what about fics where wwx ends up joining the sect Xiao xingchen and song Lan had planned to found? (And not in a 'wwx raised by another sect' type way, but like a diverging au).

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4. ITMF canonverse fics where Wangxian have to deal with prejudice over their relationship. Hey, I love a good everyone-is-super-supportive-except-for-YZY fic because they deserve it. But MZY's treatment alone makes it clear that homosexuality is looked down on & the lack of any pushback can get boring. I don't want anything that stops them getting together, but I want to read something where they have to deal with negative reactions, whether it's sneers & gossip or having to leave their sects @thispatternismine

Just As Much by Gemiblu (E, 23k, WangXian, Jealousy, Boys In Love, Homophobia, demonic cultivation bondage, Power Bottom WWX, Cockblocking, Semi-Public Sex, Crying During Sex, Intimacy, New World, Female Characters, Casual Intimacy, mentions of non-canon character death, description of violent acts, post marriage, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, Affection, supportive married couple, Pet Names, YLLZ WWX)

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5. can i request some xiyao fics? i recently got into that ship and i'd like to read some of yalls favorites :) preferably no lxc/jgy/nmj unless there's a focus on lxc/jgy, and no abo/mpreg/porn without plot please!

Meng Yao vs. the Board of the Homeowner's Association Series by Ariaste (M/T, 119k, WIP, XiYao, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, xiyao and wangxian are both already married, Family Feels, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Slice of Life, Discussions of Past Trauma, wwx's canonical kinks, HOAverse) there's a reason it's recced all the time!

save the bees (ride a beekeeper) by Ariaste (T, 4k, LXC/JGY, modern, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute, Bees, Flirting)

ask until your heart gets it right by Stratisphyre (G, 6k, JYL/JZX, JZX & JGY, implied LXC/JGY, Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Unreliable Narrator JZX, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, Meng Shi's canonically shitty situation, Minor surprise pairing at the end, Fix-It, Everyone Lives au)

a micro utopia born as the overture plays by tardigradeschool (T, 18k, JGY/LXC, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Marriage, Fluff, Scheming, Everyone Lives au, Kid Fic, Spanish translation by  finisterre12)

Marriage Principles series by Fahye (E, 38k, wangxian, LXC/JGY, canon divergence, arranged betrothal) LXC/JGY on the second part

Aftermath by KouriArashi (T, 57k, JYL/JZX, wangxian, LXC/JGY, JZX & JGY, JYL & WXX, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Everybody Lives, Romance, Developing Relationship, Family, Sibling Bonding, Light Angst, Politics, Attempted Sexual Assault, some murder on occasion, People talking about their feelings, processing their trauma, The good shit)

Whispers in My Ears by tabulaxrasa (T, 3k, wangxian, implied LXC/JGY, Canon Divergence, LWJ stays at the Burial Mounds, Gossip, JGS is the worst, they have a son, Everyone lives, Podfic Available)

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6. Hey, thanks for your work as always! For the next in the mood for I'd love a compilation of high energy fics, just writing that is high spirited and fun or high energy and super engaging.

live from new york by varnes (E, 87k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, SNL AU, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, and they were ROOMMATES, Frottage, Light Bondage, could not be lighter or gentler bondage)

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

kiss with a fist by daltoneering (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Secret Agents, Enemies to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Enemies With Benefits, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Action & Romance, Action movie-typical violence, A HEIST, james bond inspired, Blood and Injury, Shooting Guns, please read a/n for further warnings!, (this is meant to be fun though I promise!))

Meng Yao vs. the Board of the Homeowner's Association Series by Ariaste (M/T, 119k, WIP, XiYao, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, xiyao and wangxian are both already married, Family Feels, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Slice of Life, Discussions of Past Trauma, wwx's canonical kinks, HOAverse) (link in #5)

ID Bro Saga Series by Bowandtie (T, 39k, WangXian, Modern AU, dating app, Liberal use of emoji, 3zuns as bad friends forever, Slow Burn, super slow it's practically sous vide, Crack) Please read first!: Hey mods I suggested a fic (ID bro series) for no 6 for recent IMTF , I read this series a long time ago and was revisiting it and I found it had some (not much ) humor that is insensitive (like chapter 3 has a joke about Auschwitz). The author is clearly not a native english speaker and might be unaware, though they didn’t correct it though a comment kindly suggested it. I wanted to apologise, I must have overlooked. I don’t want to promote anything that is insensitive or might hurt anyone.

10 RMB lucky chickens by Raitelzen (T, 25k, XiCheng, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Neighbors, Chickens, mafia, Motorbike, Pathology Students, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Relationship) Last one is crack fic

ridiculous future bullshit Series by sami (T, 61k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Future Fic, in theory it follows on from an au, specifically The Same Moon Shines Series, in actuality I'm not committing to this that hard, Humour, immortals through history, Modern AU, Sort Of, University, outsider pov, Pride, Chaos Gremlin WWX)

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7. Hi! Looking for a fics where LWJ died, but WWX hasn't. Doesn't matter what caused his death - punishment, accident, or protecting someone - anything is okay. I wanna read sth about WWX's feelings about it. LWJ'S resurrection after years would be great too

In the new dawn by ballofstring (E, 9k, XiXian, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence) warning: it's wwx/lxc pairing.

Moonlight by lunarvelle (E, 14k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega Verse, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, LWJ Has a YLLZ Kink, Submissive LWJ, Horror, Case Fic, Pining LWJ, Whump, Dark WWX, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, LWJ Whump)

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8. #itmf a fic similar to "after all i drifted ashore" by lingering_song, as in wwx does exactly what the cultivation world wants: give up the yin hufu and dissappear with his wen army and heretic powers; when the jins become the next wen sect, reign over all the others just as he said, and they come asking for help once again. i sincerely would prefer if wwx isnt forgiving to the ones that hunted him down after he down and betrayed him buy trying to lead a siege against him.

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9. hello!! could you please rec fics with the "secretly virgin wei ying lying about how amazing he is in bed and then getting fucked by lan zhan" trope?? or anything similar to it! i've been craving it so much but idk exactly how to find those through ao3 tags *cries*

thankyou so so much! hope you have a lovely day/night <3

Teach Me The Ways by likeafox (E, 58k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, The Porn Is the Plot)

Straight at the Sun by diamondbruise (E, 33k, WangXian, Canon Universe, no war though, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Misunderstandings, First Time, Anal Sex, wwx desperately wants lwj's attention, lwj desperately wants to marry wwx, Miscommunication, Jealousy, in abundance, Happy Ending)

Lead Me On Through by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 54k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Practice Kissing, practice other things, horny boys in love, questionable logic, Questionable Choices, they're dumb but cute, but dumb, but really cute, slight knives, Happy Ending) I think this one also fits but I can't remember exactly. Has similar wwx you clown vibes though

Wei Laoshi, Poonslayer by FeelsForBreakfast (E, 6k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, POV LWJ, straight boy wwx, Loss of Virginity, Getting Together) op might want to check the sbwy tag, I feel that is where you would find that trope the most cause its Wei ying talking /lying abt being with girls lol

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10. Was rereading Beast of Gusu series, and as much as I love Foxxian/Dragonji fics (or any other combination of animals), can I get some more recs where only one half of WX is a shapshifter/non-human/etc? I've also read the tiger fic, the one where LWJ is cursed as a plant, and the one where everyone in the Burial Mounds is cursed as a monster, so you can skip those! Please and thank you!!

You are what you eat by deliciousblizzardshark (E, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Eldritch WWX, Horny LWJ, Body Horror, Possessionof a sort, Cannibalism, kind of, Mild Gore, Teeth, Fluff and Humor, Smut, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Monster sex, Switching, Light BDSM, Rimming, Self-Lubrication, Seriousness treated Crackily, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dead WWX) eldritch horror creatures wwx but honestly a puppy really Also there's a shapeshifter comp as well! It includes more than just foxxian :)

find some comfort here by ScarlettStorm (E, 38k, WangXian, Modern AU with Magic, Fox WWX, animal rescuer lwj, Pacific Northwest setting, Adhd wwx, Established Relationship, Comedy, Smut, not just fox wwx but also foxboy wwx, to his own extreme horror, petting, both platonic and sexual, Scent Kink, Like a lot of scent kink, mildly telepathic sex, Blowjobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Some A/B/O Dynamics, but in a non a/b/o world, No mpreg, yes self-lubrication, switch rights, Emotional Hurt/Comfort) WWX is a shapeshifter, LWJ is not

Uh, where can I find the LWJ is a plant mentioned in #10???

What We Grew in this Forsaken Place by Admiranda (T, 27k, wangxian, modern cultivation, shapeshifter LWJ, WWX has a fear of dogs, bunny crimes, genius WWX, unexpected pet owner WWX)

The Sun Will Rise series by vespertineflora (E, 129k, wangxian, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale au, Fairy Tale Elements, Human/Monster Romance, Tentacle Monsters, Plant Monsters, Tentacle Sex, vine sex, Vines, Monster LWJ, Human WWX, Mildly Dubious Consent Consensual Non-Con, Eventual Romance, Slow Romance, Happy Ending, Groping, Edgeplay, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Prostate Massage, First Time, Multiple Orgasms, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Homesickness, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Canon-Typical Violence, WWX Has a Rape/Non-Con Kink, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Overstimulation, BAMF WWX, Stabbing, Near Death, Poisoning, Protective LWJ, Seduction Aphrodisiacs, OFCs, Snow and Ice, Snowball Fight, Lost Love, Falling In Love, Drunken Kissing, Sex Pollen, Submission, Subspace, Multiple Penetration, Love Confessions, full body restraint, Emotional Sex, Reincarnation) OP from #10 here, someone asked for the Plant!LWJ fic I mentioned? It was this series

blossoms at the roadside by bleuett (T, 12k, WangXian, Different First Meeting, Getting Together, Tenderness, Gardens & Gardening, Happy Ending, a little sprinkle of touch starvation, wangxian going 0 to 100 in seconds, Hand Feeding) In the process of finding the other, there was also this one I remembered, and thought, why not include both?

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11. hello! i'm looking for established relationship modern au wangxian fics, please! bottom wwx/lwj top only 🙏🏽💖

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12. Itmf fics where wwx got good or excellent reputation!! @whateverweilanlovechild

It's so sad that there are no fics where Wei Ying got good reputation 😭. I'm changing my itmf, please do one on fics where Wei Wuxian is loved by a collective people, like people of yunmeng or people of yilling. Something like that?

❤️ The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (T, 20k, wangxian, In-Universe RPF, Romance Novel, Post-Canon Fix-It, primarily drama-canon with cameos from novel-canon, The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea))

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13. Sorry I just put in a request but I started thinking about wen ning, which made me sad soooo do you have anything wen ning centric? Thank you so much, have a good day @twlaei

Truth, Like an Arrow by Nahiel (T, 3k, WangXian, Technically this is a death fic, but I don't think it's sad, Time Travel Fix-It, POV Outsider, Sort Of, I don't know this fic is weird, assisted second death, but i still don't think it's sad, wn thinks poorly of himself, the author doesn't share this opinion, CQL Verse) Short Wen Ning-centric time travel fix it

do not go gentle by RoseThorne (G, <1k, WN & WQ, WWX & WQ, LSZ & WQ, major character death, Canonical Character Death, Spirits, Ghosts, LWJ Plays Inquiry, Song: Inquiry, Protectiveness, Grief/Mourning, Love, Acceptance, Family, Angst, Podfic Welcome, Post-Canon, POV Third Person, POV WN)

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14. Hii I'm wondering if there are fics where wangxian gain some sort of power that changes events in canon? @karinasnowwwx

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15. hi <3 i'd love to ask if there are any new-ish fics about the core transfer going wrong? it's been a couple of years since i went looking, for stuff like 'impossible remains' by jengabears etc (could be much less angsty like the transfer simply not working ahaha)

Drowning in the Sun by Zelos (T, 8k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Transfer, Canon-Typical Violence, Brotherly Love, Sunshot Campaign, Family Dynamics, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, [Podfic] Drowning in the Sun by flamingwell) I hope this meets what you're looking for. The transfer succeeds and everybody is alive, but Jiang Cheng was aware and paralyzed the whole time…

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16. Hello everyone, I’m in the mood for heartbreaking and saddest wangxian fics you know.

I want it to be wangxian centric, no yunmeng bros or JC focus and I don’t care if it’s canon compliant or au. I’m ok with omegaverse but not with omega LWJ.

Thank you all in advance and for all your hard work @kanrax-blog

Wei Wuxian Makes a Wish series by natcat5 (M, 119k, wangxian, major character death, underage, madoka magica au, modern w/ magic, time travel, high school au, body horror, self-harm, angst w/ bittersweet ending, time loop, mental instability, suicidal thoughts)

Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 78k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Only WWX Could Have an Empress to Farmer Pipeline, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, LWJ will grovel to the ends of the earth to make it up to WWX don't worry, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan, not LWJ friendly)

the heartlines on our hands by occultings (microcomets) (E, 47k, WangXian, Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, First Time, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death)

in wild plums and river willows by SnowshadowAO3 (T, 17k, WangXian, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Canon Universe, Grief/Mourning, descriptions of physical pain, alcohol mention, Fatherhood, The importance of legacy, Living for your dead love's semi-adopted child, Hurt/Comfort, Hallucinations vs. ghosts and not fully knowing the difference because you're grieving, Canon Temporary Character Death, Grief and love as inherent bedfellows)

总有一天; a place to hide (can’t find one near) by yiqie (E, 76k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pianist, Getting Together, Mental Health Issues, Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Hospitals, Overdosing, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Warnings In Author's Note) mind the tags on this one

both are cathartic-sad

When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (G, 7k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending)

New Perspective by mrcformoso (T, 8k, WangXian, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Fatherhood, Regrets, Flashbacks, POV LWJ, LWJ-centric, Canonical Character Death - WWX, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ Needs a Hug, Character Development, Dead WWX, Introspection, Feelings, LWJ is Bad at Feelings, Character Study, Regretful LWJ, Breaking Toxic Cycles, Canon Compliant, LWJ in Seclusion, Post-LWJ, in Seclusion, Child LSZ)

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17. Hello to you all! My semester just ended and now I'm free for a week probably? I do have hundreds of fics downloaded but yk it, it's never enough >ᴗ< so ITMF Nie Mingjue - Lan Xichen - Wei WuXian friendship. Well WWX's friendship with either of them is fine as well. It doesn't matter if it's older or younger WWX. Both canonverse as well as modern era fics are welcome ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა @tinyfoxpeach

Tumblr Fic by @shanastoryteller

Been There, Done That by FlautistsandPeonies (G, 34k, wangxian, NMJ & WWX & LXC, WN & WWX & WQ, LWJ & LXC & LQR, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Not Everyone Dies au, WWX Canon Genius, Single Father WWX, Father-Son Relationship, NMJ/WWX/LXC Sworn Brotherhood, Sunshot Campaign, jc canon characteristics, YLLZ WWX, WIP)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

[shini--chan]

Could I ask Charon and Guanyin for Yan!Canda and America? You could also just chose one, thank you.

It shall be both of them.

Yandere NA Brothers - Fouled Harvest 

Charon - How would they deal with your death/departure?

America would have his own special ways of dealing with your death. In the beginning that would mean that he wouldn’t really deal with your death. Reality would only really kick in when he buries you. Part of this comes from his own experiences with death, as in death is usually very temporary for him. That is why he might just sit beside your cooled body for hours at a time, waiting for you to return to the land of the living. Death isn’t in his end game of a happily ever after, so he is in denial for as long as possible. Then the fact that you’re dead and never coming back hits him like an IBM and he finds himself overwhelmed with all the emotions that come crashing down on him. 

Maybe he goes on a drinking binge, or fishes out the hard stuff he has hidden at the very back of the top shelf in the pantry. He goes on long walks, maybe dies himself because he is high and picks a fight with a grizzly or gets bitten by a rattlesnake. It really depends on where he is living at the moment. Then the tides turn, and a steely determination takes over and he launches himself with new found fevrour in various projects. Death is the final frontier and it is time to conquer it. 

If you would just have departed and be out of his reach, then matters would look slightly different. Alfred would constantly be looking for you, at times more invested in the search and other times he would be distracted by other matters. If for some reason, he can’t get you back, he’ll be constantly looking for loopholes in order to do so. However, he considers himself above the laws of men and gods, so he might as well break a few treaties and bypass organisation structures and ignore reprimands if it means getting you back. 

Should it not be in his power or abilities to get you back, then matters become dangerous. No matter how many times his politicians explain to him that it is not within the realm of possibility to get you back, that they don’t have the power or the mean, he simply won’t listen to them. He is bound to become impulsive in such a state, and do something very stupid. 

Canada would have a far more sombre and realistic approach to the situation. It would also take a bit for the gravity of the matter to dawn on him, but not as long as it would take his brother. He'd store you in a cool space, and provide to clean up the property. Vacuum clean, and then wax the floors. Shake out every carpet, and prune and weed the garden, wash and polish the car, sort out old clothing. Your things wouldn't be packed away - he'll occasionally take a dress or suit of yours out and cuddle with it as he falls asleep. Perhaps he'll brush his teeth with your toothbrush when he is feeling down, or use the soap you preferred on himself. 

Eventually you are buried in the garden. Beforehand, he'll perform the usual duties of a coroner, of washing and dressing the deceased. He wants you to look pretty for your own burial, so he might lay the make-up thick. It would be staged like the usual funeral, only he is playing all the parts. It would also be the only time he would allow himself to fully and truly grieve your passing. Afterwards, that particular door will be closed again. 

Should you be alive and he just can't reach you, then he might just resort to waiting. It would bug him to no end, but he'll still do it. Matthew could get you to relax your guard and then he'll strike. Perhaps if he is patient enough you'll come back of your own accord. Or he'll track your every movement, stating himself temporarily by watching you. But in the long run, it wouldn't be enough. 

Guanyin - What would cause them to feel regret for their actions? Do they know what they are doing is wrong?

It would take a lot to make Alfred regret his mistakes. A lot of the time, he is just so caught up in his own hype and so called heroism that he isn't able to be cognisant of his own wrong doings. He is the ultimate good guy, and he doesn't like getting called out on his own bs. The person who does that is either a villain or envious of him and his awesomeness. There would have to be black-on-white consequences to his actions, consequences that affect him greatly and negatively for reality to start to dawn. Even then, it would take a bit for it all to sink in. Only then would he regret his actions and vow to do better. 

He might come to the conclusion that he is wrong in some aspects, and even try to make amends, but he would never go all the way. Alfred would be hard pressed to admit it aloud, and it wouldn't be for your sake. At the end of the day, he just wants to see himself as the good guy. You are just there to fulfil his wants and desires, so you as a person, as an individual with your own dreams, don't matter that much to him. If you have your own sway over the situation, or if you can even walk away if he crosses red lines, then he might push himself to make concessions. But it is a big "if".

Matthew would be more inclined to see the errors of his ways and the guilt would eat at him. However, he would decide to take a leaf out of his brother's book and be a bit selfish. The shame would always be there and even when he'd do his best to play cold and standoffish, he would still care deeply about your opinions. That way, you might be able to guilt him into doing things your way. You pointing out his wrongs and mistakes, would pain him - but that doesn't mean he'll act on the pain and automatically strive to make amends.

#yandere hetalia #yandere america #yandere canada #yandere alphabet #x reader #yandere

[batsvnte]

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 • 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

Pairing(s): Blade

Sypnosis: The experiences that the two of you went through never slips his mind. Not during months of hiding away after the day of your death

Warning(s): mentions of scars/blood/death, slight yandere Blade, angst (?), ooc maybe, not proofread

Song used: Paris, Texas by Lana Del Rey feat. SYML

Word Count: 1.8K

Notes: black fem!reader (she/her pronouns) with probably the most ooc Blade ever- this is more of a Drabble that i put together because my minds been everywhere. Idk much about him except with some key factors about his personality so this is gonna be messy hHhH-

When everyone’s stars bright

They say there are five stages a grief.

Nobody knew it was gonna happen. It took them by surprise. One of the sides had low thoughts about the event that took place, figuring that it was one less hunter to deal with, but held some sympathy to the ones that knew her. Another side grieving silently among themselves. Knowing that it was gonna happen one of the days of being afflicted with them. Someone who was a less known but considered an wanted criminal with nothing else to show of themselves. The one side though was in a mixture of emotions. All of them were foreign to him.

Blade didn’t know what to do. The events repeating in his head over and over again in his hand like a never ending cycle. It didn’t take him long to realize what has happened to you. He figured it out to quickly. Frozen in his spot as the news of your death finally became official. Staring with his cold eyes at nothing in particular. The hunters he was close to could tell what he was feeling at that moment. Despite his emotionless nature he strangely couldn’t control what his mind was taking him through.

Brighter than you are

Denial.

The missions were progressively getting quicker. He would’ve set a record for the hunters for how fast he would complete the mission. No words being said, only Kafka’s voice being heard through the ear piece he wore. Every now and then Silver Wolf would say a remark, but neither heard any snarky remark come from Blade. Only a hum of agreement or disagreement. Or nothing at all. They would be use to the silence he gave before but now he won’t utter a single word to them.

No matter Kafka’s words about you, he can’t bring himself to leave sleek black helmet that you left behind. Finding it on the ground in the midst of the chaos was the only thing left of you that he can keep ahold of. Blade carried it back to the hideout as if it was the last thing he could ever hold onto. Aware that at some day it could be stolen away from him for whatever reason there may be. Might that day ever come to, Blade would track down the person who had stolen it. If he were to find a single scratch on it he would make sure the person would be dealt with thoroughly.

It’s gotten to where it was locked away into his room. Leaving it on a place where he can have a full view of the helmet. He could never bring himself to rid of it. He could never bring himself to let anyone else in your room that was quickly abandoned. Any new recruit would be met with the sharp end of his sword threatening to slice through their neck. Being given no explanation as to why they can’t enter the room.

They either walk away unscathed with no answers, or find themselves bleeding on the floor drawing their last breaths.

It’s time to go

Anger.

It was confusing to tell who it was directed to. On occasions during the mission he would relentlessly fight the ones who stand in his way. Leaving nothing but the dark crimson of their blood to be left of them. Taking his rage out on the world around him for taking away the one person, who dare say this, stole his heart. He might even snap at his own teammates for bringing your name out of their mouths.

What reason do they have to be speaking about you. Don’t they know that he’s grieving too?

But he was also angry at himself. Angry that he couldn’t have the time to get to know you better. Angry that he didn’t hold onto you to get you back. Why else would he be destroying the empty room in a fit of rage once he’s reminded of what happened that day. Blade couldn’t forgive himself for letting you slip away from his grasp. Your warmth he so desperately held onto to escaping his hands.

No matter how many people have fallen to his sword he could never satisfy the rage that clawed at his mind ruthlessly.

And you’re the only one left

Bargaining.

Moments when he’s alone Blade would be in your room. Viewing the items in your room that he never got to ask questions about. The tech that you kept hidden from everyone else that at first made them suspicious, but have grown fond of the type of ideas you have to improve their weapons.

Blade wouldn’t be so accepting finding that his sword is enough but lingers to hear what you have to say for Kafka’s guns. Making sure that they weren’t jammed for the mission and fixing them up if she ever got into a mishap.

He wouldn’t deny it to himself that he hopes that you miraculously come back to the hideout. Walking around with the light steps you take that you instinctively gotten use to having in order to surprise him once he turns the corner. Though you earned no reaction to what your scheme was directed to him, there would be a conversation following up to it. Blade is always reminded of the things he has said to you. The things he wished he had asked sooner.

What makes you so confident to go on this mission with me?

Why are you so fond of me?

Why did I have to let go of you?

Why couldn’t I save you sooner.

Dancing while they’re on the floor

Depression.

Blade hides his face from the world during the midst of the nights. Running to different planets and using disguises to go about his day never ceases to slow him down. It never felt the same ever since that day. The hopes that somehow you survived. Lingering around for the chance to run back to the hideout and return back into his arms is what he longs for. Blade’s aware that it wouldn’t happen.

He can’t look back on the memories he has with you. The black helmet that sits in his room is a reminder about one thing about you. He’s never gotten a single glimpse of your face. None of the hunters have except Elio. Another part of why they were suspicious of you from the beginning. One might think it would add onto the fact that you didn’t want to be recognized out in public and chased on the spot. Blade took the chance to ask this one question about you though.

“Why do you wear a mask everywhere you go?”

There was a short pause on the conversation at hand. Blade’s eyes were locked onto you regardless, waiting for an answer to his question.

“..I have a scar going across the right side of my face,” you blurted out suddenly. “I just found it better to just have a mask on. Besides, I don’t want to be hunted down the moment I walk out of a store.”’

‘I dont see the point of that when you’re hiding a face that’s beautiful’

How he wished he would say that to you. Finding it impossible to view every moment he had with you with no clear vision of your face. A blank canvas that he wished to have engraved in his mind to see your smile. The moment he learned about the scar on your face, he wondered how you got the scar.

Who was stupid enough to hurt you and forced yourself to hide your face from the world?

How could they bare enough courage to hurt someone like you?

Though wasn’t fully sure if the scar you mentioned came from an accident that was caused, or by someone with the intent of hurting you. He couldn’t tell. Blade never saw what you looked like, not even on that day that you died.

Time to go

Acceptance.

Was this something he could live with? Every day is an never ending cycle for him. He is always reminded of what happened, which ends with him holding the helmet in his hands or being in your room in the middle of the night staring at all the items that filled the room. He could tell right away that the others have moved on. Was he the only one still holding onto what remains of you. Being the fact that he always found some sort of way to remember you.

Blade knew he needed to move on. Accept that you were gone and that you may never return. But something kept holding him back.

Maybe it was the lingering stares he would get once he’s out in public in his disguise. Figuring that it might be a guard from the planet he is hiding out in for a mission that might have suspicion of him. He could never find the eyes that looked at his direction. Blade often find himself taking quick glances towards a particular individual who’s back was always turned. Head casted downwards as she held something in her hands. His mind going concluding that she might’ve recognized who he was or had an feeling about his identity. He could only sneer lowly at those thoughts as he turns away from her, walking the opposite way to avoid any other direct confrontation.

Or maybe it was the little words spoken to him in the forms of apologies. Accidentally bumping into the same person not even an few hours later in the midst of a busy crowd. He swore he could barely hear what she had to say but pieced together what came out of her mouth.

“Sorry.”

It was just a small apology. That was all that it was. Why couldn’t Blade help but stare at her as she disappears from his sight and into the crowd. Why couldn’t he move from his spot to get to where he needs to be. Why did he want to go after that person who ran into him. All of these questions filled his mind to the very brim. He couldn’t explain why he has the urge to go find whoever it was that bumped into him. Blade’s mind was occupied with the thoughts of the one who he subtly met.

He was gonna make sure that whoever it was, he wasn’t going to let them go.

Never have I ever written an entire thing like this and finished it in one day dayum—

Wanted to contribute the to HSR content so I got some Blade going through the four five stages a grief so I hoped you enjoyed reading this

#ghouul #ghouul writings #blade hsr x reader #blade x you #honkai star rail #hsr blade #blade x reader #blade hsr #hsr x reader #hsr drabbles #hsr oneshot

[y-rhywbeth2]

I love how Bane is an absolute prick even by the Dead Three's standards.

Like Myrkul is too deep in this plot to back out (and is also a selfish prick, let's be real) but he has a positive relationship with Bhaal, grieves his death, and stabbing him in the back as part of Bane's plan was the breaking point in this alliance (it wasn't just the betrayal, it was Bane being an idiot several times over, and Myrkul having to sabotage his own interests, but it's still entertaining to read it this way)... and then Bane makes fun of him for it: "Oh no, Bhaal will be mad at you for this, won't he?" :)

Meanwhile Myrkul has zero fond feelings for Bane and considers dropping him down a ravine, for some strange reason.

I'm so sad I don't get to see Bane and Bhaal interact (Bane is mouthy and loud, Bhaal is laconic), but judging by his wording that he was happy to see Bane dead after Bane kills his followers, Bhaal didn't even have any particular vendetta with Bane until this point! (And seriously, how bad does your murder plot have to be that the god of murder won't touch it?)

Also, this is just hilarious to me: Myrkul stopped returning Bane's calls:

“I am intrigued, Myrkul,” the Black Lord said as he paced back and forth. “As you have delighted in reminding me, our last collaboration was hardly a crashing success. Still, after my battle with Mystra, when I asked for your assistance, you all but laughed. I, on the other hand, am polite enough to answer your summons in the middle of the night.”

-

“I need to take care of a problem in Tantras. I’ll be taking some of my fleet and-“ The God of the Dead smiled a rictus grin, showing a row of rotting teeth. “And I am to have a part to play in the battle,” he noted flatly. “I need the power you gave me in Shadowdale, the soul energies of the dead,” Bane said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Can you do it?” “I need a large number of people to die at once in order to empower that spell,” Myrkul said suspiciously, rubbing his chin. “You sacrificed your troops in Shadowdale. Who will pay this time for the increased power I can give you?” [...] “The assassins,” Bane whispered through an evil smile. “The assassins have failed me time and again since the night of Arrival. They failed me in Spiderhaunt Woods, in Scardale, and now in Tantras. For this, all the assassins in the Realms must die to give me the power I need!”

Bane logic: my Banite assassins specifically failed me, so every single assassin on the planet must be punished.

The God of the Dead laughed. “You’ve become as mad as your assistant. The assassins are valuable to me.” “Are they?” Bane asked, arching one eyebrow. “Why?” The God of the Dead frowned, and as he did, his cheekbones protruded through his decaying skin. “They provide my kingdom with souls. There is a pressing need-“ “Ah, yes… the Realm of the Dead,” Bane said dryly. “Have you been there lately?” Myrkul was silent for a moment. When he spoke, there was no trace of amusement in his rasping, hollow voice. “I have not come here to listen to you state the obvious. We are, of course, both barred from our kingdoms.” [...] Bane tried to act confident. With a shrug, he noted, “I had no doubt that you would aid me.” “You had every doubt,” Myrkul rasped harshly. “That is the only reason I chose to help you. I am pleased to note that you are no longer blindly stumbling into situations that you know nothing about.” The God of the Dead paused and fixed Bane with an icy stare. “But there is one thing you must consider: You may not have my assistance the next time you need it, Lord Bane.” The God of Strife nodded, dismissing Myrkul’s threat as so much pointless rhetoric. Then the Black Lord mocked a look of concern and noted, “Bhaal will not be pleased if you kill all his worshipers.” “I will deal with the Lord of Murder,” Myrkul said, rubbing his hand across his decaying chin once more. “I will contact you when all is in readiness.” The Lord of Bones paused for a moment then added, “Have you given thought to what form you will use to hold the soul energy my spell will channel to you?” Bane said nothing. Rage danced in Myrkul’s eyes.

(The answer is no. No, Bane does not have a plan; he just does things and assumes they'll work out because they're his plans, and unlike Bhaal he doesn't know how to cooperate and Myrkul is going to choke him one day.)

#The fact that Myrkul is the one who has to pacify Bhaal when he's mad... #And the fact that Bane is like “he's gonna be so mad at you” #Meanwhile Bhaal is mad at *Bane* not Myrkul #the idiot three #babbling #long post

[janearts]

Overall, I liked it. I've written another goddamn essay under the cut and tagged it as spoilers just in case, but if you've already played EA, then this'll be nothing new to you.

Based on what's currently available in EA, I thought the premise of the romance was well executed. Gale felt a romantic connection with Mystra, was unceremoniously dumped by the Goddess of Magic, and is still pining after her. And he mourns not just the relationship, but grieves his own deeply human error and the loss of the power he once held as a result of his goddess' favour.

I really love Gale's backstory because it reminds me of a lot of mythological stories where a mortal strives to equal a supernatural creature and/or crosses a line ("Don't do this." → Proceeds to open that box, fly that high, etc.) and is punished for their hubris. His romance storyline begs the question, "Well now, where do we go from here?"

While I liked this set up to Gale's romantic storyline and enjoyed romancing him this playthrough, I am not sure he would be a good romantic choice for my canon playthrough with Roisia (I say, completely seriously, as if they were real and I was some sort of matchmaker). There are two things that make me think maybe Roisia wouldn't choose him or, if she did initially, would not choose him again if the opportunity arose. One reason is character-driven and is not the fault of the devs and the other is more about how Gale's romance was written, which falls within the realm of the devs.

Reason the First: The Character

The first is that Gale is extraordinarily slow to open up even when you have high approval with him. Gale is not vulnerable with the PC; he demands vulnerability before showing vulnerability in return. For example, Gale asks the PC to swear to help him no questions asked. Only when the PC swears to assist Gale does he reveal he is, essentially, a ticking time bomb without the sustenance of magical artefacts. (Great, now you have TWO vampires in the party.) And even though the PC should be vaguely aware of Gale's relationship with Mystra, his grief over his loss of favour, etc., he does not reveal the whole story explicitly until after the PC has sex with him.

Now I clearly classify sex as an act that requires some degree of vulnerability and my character would likewise think that sex requires her to be physically and emotionally vulnerable with another, but I should acknowledge that this isn't a universal view nor does it apply to everyone under the sun (or moon, to include types like Astarion). So for Roisia, I think she would find this burgeoning relationship frustrating in that Gale takes before he gives. Usually there is simultaneous giving and taking in a relationship, but the start of this particular relationship feels heavily weighted towards Gale taking and Roisia giving.

That being said, I'm not convinced Gale's guardedness is a good enough reason to avoid romancing him in my canon playthrough because I wonder if this dynamic applies to all of the burgeoning relationships in Act I. I.e., are all the romances in Act I largely framed as your PC meeting the romanceable NPC's emotional/physical/whatever needs?

In any case, regardless of whether Gale would suit as the "canon romance" for my first playthrough, I'm super curious as to how Gale's romance plays out in later acts and down the line! So even if I'm like "Roisia would not choose this for herself", I'll do a playthrough of his romance just to see what it's like.

Reason the Second: The Writing

The second is that much of Gale's romantic story hinges on the fact that he was once a powerful wizard and you are not. So I'm guessing the Weave Scene would feel more magical and more intimate if you are playing a character who has no connection to Mystra or the Weave. Gale is inviting you into his world and, in doing so, showing you who he is and what is important to him.

As a wizard, however, you're already fuckin' there. Roisia may not be as high-and-mighty as Gale was under Mystra's favour, but she is powerful in her own right and in her own ways. And the game acknowledges this: the movements, the incantations, etc. are described as easy peasy in the game dialogue and when Gale asks the PC how they feel, the Wizard-tagged option is "The same as it always does." This can make Gale's whole "Follow my lead" shtick feel condescending and patronising. Where the fuck is the romance in that, Larian???

A Gale/Wizard romance has the opportunity to be a beautiful meeting of the minds and have that contribute to the spark of romance. I love the idea that Gale would write a Wizard PC off as not-good-enough upon their first meeting, only to be continually surprised at their ability and surprised again at their combined ability during the Weave Scene. (E.g., Maybe Gale felt weak after Mystra deserted him, but with you? Together you're a force of nature.) I would've much rather the gestures, incantations, etc. have been described as strange and obscure for your Wizard character, rather than run-of-the-mill-did-this-last-Tuesday. I felt like the devs did Wizard characters a disservice during that portion of the romance.

TL;DR: All-in-all, really enjoyed myself. Not sure if this romance would be right for Roisia in the end, but I'd like to try it out for a playthrough simply because I'm interested in Gale's story and I love him to bits as a character.

#replies #ayensawa #BG3 #BG3 Spoilers #BG3 Roisia #Gale #BG3 Gale #Gale of Waterdeep #will i ever answer a simple question in a straightforward manner? #only time will tell

[lightning-chicken]

Unfamiliar, Familiar Dances

(tags from this post, via @finn-m-corvex)

i like how you think, finn! in fact, i liked it so much that i went ahead and wrote this:

(set during s13 ep1, ao3 version here)

“What? What happened? Someone’s located the Teapot of Tyrahn? Uh, Pythor’s back? My father’s been found? What?”

The postman only chuckled in response to Lloyd’s questions. “Heh, you got an invitation. To Shintaro!” 

“Shintaro?” Lloyd echoed.

“Mm-hmm, the Ivory City!” Satisfaction and pride at a job well done beamed from the postman. “You don’t deliver one of these every day. No siree.”

As the others chattered away, Nya glanced at Jay to gauge how much of Lloyd’s anxious speculation he picked up.

Someone’s located the Teapot of Tyrahn?

The only reason why the rest of the ninja knew that particular object existed was because of a precaution. Neither Nya nor Jay had been keen on the idea of revealing the alternate turn of events that had upended their lives; though it would’ve been nice to lift some of the burden off of their chests, the questions and confusion that would follow would be too much to deal with. Just the idea of an alternate timeline would concern the other ninja, and that wasn’t even including everything that happened during it. FSM, how would Kai react if he found out she’d—

Not now, Nya.

Through an unspoken agreement, Nya and Jay had decided to keep those events to themselves. Small details, like the Teapot of Tyrahn, could be mentioned in passing as objects of interest, but nothing more than that. Everything else—all of the festering guilt and old hopes and moments that Nya pretended didn’t bother her—got shoved away in that little locked box where Nya kept all the essential, pointless things that got in the way. 

(She knew it was one of her old, bad habits, and she was working on prying that lock open and dealing with every little thing one at a time, but sometimes it was simply so much easier to deal with things later. If laterever came around.)

If they ever needed to talk about it, they could talk to each other.

Not that they did that often.

All the ninja had a particular manner of tiptoeing their way around all the unpleasant things they’d experienced in their years as Ninjago’s protectors. They addressed things by not addressing them at all. Something catastrophic would happen, but nothing would change except for deeper layers under ordinary actions: How are you doings were expressed in breakfast offers, sorrys were layered in lingering hugs, I love yous were lent in borrowed clothes. None of it was ever really said aloud; saying it aloud would be an admission that something was wrong in the first place. Instead, they all attempted to return to the safety of normal. Over the years of grieving and ignoring almost-failures and almost-tragedies, the ninja had perfected this uncomfortably familiar dance. The steps were memorised.

At first, Nya had loathed this dance. The ninja’s determination to awkwardly skirt around any mention of sensitive topics infuriated her to no end. She couldn’t see why they didn’t just get any bothersome feelings out in the open and move on. They were ninja, for FSM’s sake—the city needed a set of strong elemental masters, not a group of damaged teenagers.

Then she learned what dying felt like, and she realised that one was a result of the other.

In all honesty, they’d gotten better at coping with things over the years. Weekly sleepovers were established, with pillow forts and fierce competition over who got to choose the movie for the evening. And when the lights dimmed and eyes lulled closed, sometimes one of them would let slip a disquieting thought that’d been bugging them, and that was okay.

They would be okay.

What wasn’t okay, though, was how Nya and Jay had dealt with the events that had happened but also didn’t happen. At the start, they hadn’t talked about it at all, preferring to pretend that everything was (that they were) normal. 

All that had come crashing down when Nya caught Jay in the middle of a nightmare, tears dripping down his face when she woke him up, both their hearts pounding too fast to ever be considered normal.

Now they had settled into their own version of the dance. Jay was there to grab her hand when he caught it absentmindedly rubbing her chest where the venom had been, or when she stared at a white dress in horrified rapture. In return, Nya was there to soothe him when someone moved in a certain way and he flinched, or when he spiralled into a panic over details that meant nothing to other people but meant so many things to him. And they were both there to check on the other when often-innocent mentions of that timeline caught them unawares.

Like now.

Someone’s located the Teapot of Tyrahn?

Turning to face her yang, Nya studied him for any kind of reaction. Jay—who she would usually catch doing the same thing—didn’t seem to notice. At all. He was fully engaged in the conversation, oohing and ahhing over the fancy envelope along with the other ninja. Maybe he hadn’t heard it?

No, he definitely did. He always did.

Gently grabbing his wrist, Nya steers Jay away from the others. They’re all too busy talking about Shintaro (whatever that was, she wasn’t really paying attention) to pick up Nya’s murmured, “You okay?”

A sweetly bemused smile bloomed on his face; it was an expression he’d been adopting more frequently than usual. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Nya knew Jay. She’d known him through years of winning and losing, through years of fighting and surviving, and through the best and worst years of their lives—in some cases, she could even say she knew too muchabout him. 

(Jay had never quite mastered the art of knowing when some information was too much information.)

She knew about his tendency to ramble when he was nervous, about the way he fidgeted with his fingers when he was flustered, about how his eyes would light up with a blue too bright to be normal when he got an idea. Nya knew what made Jay… well, Jay. 

When Jay spoke, there wasn’t any rush to the words, or forced cheerfulness she’d learned to discern from his usual upbeat tone, or tell-tale tremble under his voice. In short, there were none of the things that usually indicated Jay was hiding something.

None.

Nya didn’t know what worried her more: the possibility that Jay had suddenly gotten very, very good at lying; or the idea that he genuinely didn’t know what she was talking about.

Because the Jay she knew wouldn’t—couldn’t—have been so calm about it.

Of course, there was the possibility that he’d finally moved on from it. They hadn’t had to talk about it for months, after all. Maybe she was the one with the leftover baggage.

Still, Nya couldn’t shake off her lingering doubts.

It didn’t make sense. After they both got trapped inside Prime Empire, and after she… disappeared, she would’ve thought that he’d be more aware of the last time something like that had happened, not less. Even Nya was still frazzled by it; for a moment, she’d been…

Death didn’t feel like it did the first time.

Losing her last life in Prime Empire had been quick. Painless. No permeating chill, no agony of drowning in your own body, no dimming view of the person she’d realised that she’d loved all along.

And she’d come back! 

She was fine.

Everything was fine.

Jay tilted his head, catching her attention. Judging by his quizzical look, she’d been quiet for far too long. Nya gripped his hand and squeezed it, ignoring how it didn’t fit against hers like it used to. “Nothing, nothing. Just making sure you’re alright.”

Jay hummed.

Usually, when Nya shut down his questions like that, he’d give her space at first, but later approach her just to make sure she was okay.  Now, he rejoined the conversation with ease, and she already knew there wasn’t going to be any check-up later.

Inexplicable dread crept up her spine.

Whilst the others started making plans, Kai glanced at Nya for her opinions, only to realise that she wasn’t with the rest of the group anymore. After making his way over to her, he leaned his arm on her shoulder in the older-brotherly way she’d always associated with him. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Kai must’ve noticed the way her eyes had flicked from him to Jay, because the next thing he asked was, “Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

“What? No. No, he hasn’t done anything.”

And that was the problem. 

But what kind of problem was that?

A coil of unease tightened around her stomach.

“You sure?” Kai didn’t sound convinced. But Kai was sceptical of a lot of things; it was in his nature, since the early days when the Smith family became two instead of four. Maybe it was in her nature, too.

The coil began to unwind.

Maybe Jay really hadn’t heard what Lloyd said. Maybe she was extrapolating things out of control, trying to connect dots that didn’t exist. Maybe she shouldn’t be doubting Jay: her yang, one of the people she cared about most in the world.

“I’m sure.”

Her stupid line of reasoning didn’t make sense anyway. So what if Jay had changed? Everyone did. People got older. Trying to stop it would be futile, and so would be trying to deny it.

What Nya couldn’t deny was the incessant fact that this Jay wasn’t the same person as her old Jay. Somewhere in the middle of the past few years or months (she couldn’t pinpoint it exactly), her Jay had changed.

There was nothing she could do about that.

Even so, she couldn’t help but wonder why.

#this is the quickest i’ve ever written something #ninjago #jay walker #nya smith #lloyd garmadon #kai smith #ns12 #ns13 #prime empire #master of the mountain #jay ninjago #ninjago jay #nya ninjago #ninjago nya #key’s fics #key’s aus #key’s conversations #digital reflections au

[whinlatter]

Heyyy just wanted to know your opinion on this coz I feel your analysis of Hinny is the best one I've ever read. Do u feel if one of them dies at some point, the other would move on and go out with other people? Or do you think they would feel like they're replacing the other and might not commit to someone else ever?

Anon, are you determined to prise that Friday feeling out of my hands by making me think about Harry and Ginny’s deaths ☹️

…jk you know I live for this 🤸🏻‍♀️ thank you so much anon! (important to say that so much of my Hinny analysis comes thinking about and benefiting from other people’s writing and work, so definitely want to acknowledge that)

Honestly I think… no, not after what they went through in the war. There are a few reasons:

- I think that, given the intensity of what Harry and Ginny went through to get to each other after DH, and how close they know they both came to losing the other person, neither person would want to seek out happiness in another long-term romantic relationship. From Ginny’s perspective, one of the things I thought a lot about when writing this meta on the significance of their kiss in DH, is that I think Ginny starts to brace herself to grieve Harry beginning in summer 1997. She does a lot of the work of having to imagine her life without him, as a very young person. Then he does come back. I think we can’t underestimate how much that extreme experience would shape her sense that Harry is it, for her. From Harry’s perspective, he spends all of DH thinking of her as his singular source of comfort and respite from the enormity of his situation. I think once you’ve died thinking of a person, you’d struggle to ever be able to go on a date with someone new. (Imagine explaining that over appetisers. Imagine getting into that over some calamari.)

- I also think they’d struggle to trust new people who don’t share their life experiences. Love is contextual, and our life experiences shape the people we are, and the people we look for. Had the war not happened, maybe Harry and Ginny would be more open to bringing new people into their lives who have different childhoods and life experiences to theirs. But the war did happen, and I think that would drastically limit the number of people both Harry and Gin can relate to and be open with. I suspect Harry and Ginny would spend most of their time in an already insular group of family, ex Order people and the DA who were in the trenches together, so to speak.

- Both have some sense of belief in a form of life after death. (This is most obvious in Harry’s case, given what he goes through in the Forest and after, but see meta above on Ginny, death and the veil). I do think this is quite particular to them as characters, but I think their mutual belief in some kind of afterlife would shape their willingness to entertain building new romantic relationships in this life. They would be holding hope for a reunion, in some way. Both are, by the end the series, two people who are bereaved. They both know that you can’t replace people you’ve lost, and I don’t think their particular ways of coping with loss would lead them to try and fill the void left by the death of the love of their life with a new long-term relationship.

- They have kids very young, and both would struggle with the idea of introducing a new parental figure to their children. Again, I think this is very particular to these two characters, but I think their instinctive protectiveness and tendency towards familial insularity would mean they wouldn’t be looking to bring someone new in to their children’s lives.

- At heart… both are certified lover boys/girls™️. Ginny Weasley is ride or die; Harry Potter is the wife guy of wife guys. These kids are saps (and I say this as a committed sap). I think it would be a bit of a joke among their mates, like how boringly and singularly all for each other Harry and Ginny are. I think it would be widely acknowledged in their circle of friends that Harry and Ginny are not swapping anyone else in if the other kicks the bucket.

#those two losers just really really love each other #to be fair to harry #i wouldn’t get over ginny weasley either #harry x ginny #hinny #meta #ginny weasley

[chthonic-cassandra]

no pressure to answer, of course, but has there ever been a point in your life where therapy did not seem to be helping? what did you do at that time?

I appreciate the gentleness of this question, and the out that you gave me; I've taken some time to consider whether I do want to answer and decided that I do, though with some tenuousness.

One of the reasons this is a difficult question to approach is because, as I've alluded here in the past, my own long-term therapy ended a little over two years ago under very much not ideal circumstances; there are parts of how that unfolded then and subsequently which I still am very deeply hurt by, and will likely still be grieving for a long time.

When I was in therapy (of my own choice; I am excluding for the purposes of this question my experiences of being brought to therapy not by my choosing as a child, as that's a very different dynamic and not what I think you're asking about here), I don't think there was ever a time when I felt therapy to straight up not be helping at all, but there were certainly a lot of times where something felt stuck in the therapy, or when there were certain things I was struggling with that did not seem to be shifting.

When that happened, I typically tried to do the thing that one is supposed to do and which I certainly would recommend others do if it's safe to do so, which is raise those concerns directly with my therapist. Sometimes this helped, though direct processing of our therapeutic relationship was never something that my therapist was very active in with me, despite efforts on both our parts (which was a big part of why everything went so wrong surrounding our ending, but that's another story).

Sometimes what helped was reflecting within myself on something that I was holding back or not bringing to that space, and making the choice to push myself on it and take the risk; doing this led to me being able to talk in therapy about some things that I never expected to talk about there (such as my religious faith, and some of my nonconsensus reality experiences); that ended up being hugely important for me, and pivotal for me ability to talk about those experiences in other parts of my life later.

Other times, the thing that wasn't working never was fully resolved, and I had to do the work on that part of my experience somewhere else; for whatever reason, the therapeutic relationship couldn't hold it, or couldn't directly affect it. I have a lot of thoughts about what this happened with and why which are very specific to my particular relationship with my particular therapist. But I ended up finding other ways and places to address those things.

Eating disorder recovery (a piece about which, by the way, I have never be able to figure out the reason why it couldn't fit into my therapy, but anyway) I've done with a combination of a lot of online resources and very active support from my partner. Addressing sexuality stuff (an area still very much in process for me) has happened through writing + playing with and reflecting on nightmare/fantasy edges + again, very active support from my partner + reading (Lynda Hart did exponentially more to lessen my shame and self hatred around sexuality than therapy ever did).

Sometimes I could do a piece of the work in therapy, but other parts have had to come together with it. For example it's not that I didn't focus on traumatic bonding stuff in therapy; I talked about it all the fucking time. And there were important things that happened around that there which might not have happened anywhere else. But there were also dynamics in the relationship with my therapist which developed over many years and came from both her and I that held us back, and that I couldn't recognize fully until I was out of it.

I don't know if any of this feels relevant or illuminating to you. More generally, I will say that I do think it's possible for a course of therapeutic work to shift in a different direction if you decide you want it to; I also think it's okay for there to be some pieces that can't be done with a particular therapist, or in therapy at all. I am not in therapy now, and I don't know if or when I ever will be again, for many reasons. That doesn't mean that I've stopped actively working on my healing. I do that in a lot of ways: by talking through things with my partner; by processing the parts of my own experience that my work brings up with my clinical supervisor; by writing stories about vampires and concubines; by doing crazy bootleg parts work on myself that resembles nothing that I actually did while I was in therapy myself; in dozens of other ways. I don't think, even when therapy is at its best (and I do believe that therapy at its best can be pretty damned good, or I wouldn't do the job I do), that it's ever enough for any of us; we always need other things too.

#personal #finalgirlfall #trauma

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Foxtrot Alpha Alpha - Chapter 28

Pairing: Hangman x Female OC

Word Count: 2642

Warnings: Talk of death

Summary: Hangman learned his lesson a long time ago to never show his true feelings when someone's words or actions hurt him. To do so showed weakness that could be exploited, and Seresin men couldn't show weakness. Of course, there was an exception to every rule, and Jake's always came in the form of women, three in particular: his mom, Juliette Kazansky, and the girl whose name he could no longer bring himself to speak. She was the girl that got away; she was his biggest 'what if' and his biggest regret; she would forever be the ghost that haunted his dreams. Jake believed that's where she'd stay, for he would surely never see her again after what he did.

Or so he thought.

Notes: This is the sequel to India Lima Yankee; I'm using the same callsign for the Female OC as in Ghost Story because I just really like it, but they are different characters; chapters in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: I Could Use A Love Song Sad Beautiful Tragic

****

Ghost

The ocean breeze caressed Ghost's tear-stained face while she walked mindlessly to a destination unknown. She should've headed to her apartment, but the last thing she wanted to do was be alone in a place her dad had helped her find, even if it had been remotely. No, Ghost ached to be home, but she'd learned quickly whenever she thought of the place, the road led to Hangman, and she could not go back there. He'd had his chance to explain and had thrown it away for some unexplainable reason. Hangman had been close, so close, to telling her. Ghost had seen the desire in his eyes, but something stopped him, and whatever it was had a stronger hold on him than his love and respect for her, so she had to make the call. 

She tried to ignore the ghost of his lips on hers and the phantom hands tracing the trail of where Hangman's had traveled. Ghost attempted to ignore the painful knot in her throat, which threatened to burst at the slightest inconvenience. She had to keep it together until she had peace and quiet, when no one could see her break and mourn the loss of not only her father, but now her best friend for a second time. The last time she'd been this bad off, she'd ended up getting smashed and sleeping with Rooster, but Ghost had no interest in doing anything remotely similar tonight.

She thought of calling Juliette but hated to disturb her friend this late, even though she was probably up. Ghost considered calling Javy but decided against dragging him into the middle of the fallout. He'd been friends with Hangman before her, and as upset with Jake as she was, Ghost was aware enough that he would need a friend to help him through this. She could've reached out to Jackie but figured her sister had bigger fish to fry with her divorce. She could've called her mom but hated to bring up her problems when Charlotte Blackwood grieved over her late husband. Ghost came to the dismal realization that she was on her own tonight.

So she continued walking.

And walking.

And walking.

Ghost walked even when her feet screamed at her in pain, even when the knot in her throat begged her to release it, even when the rain began splattering onto her bare skin, even when the wind whispered her name and called for her to stop. She ignored it all, continuing her trudge through the cool sand and refusing to stop until her body decided to physically give out.

Someone gently grasped her arm, jarring Ghost out of her melancholy. She yanked back, already planning to go on the attack, but froze when she recognized the person under the umbrella. She blinked, perplexed. How had he found her? "Captain Mitchell?"

His green eyes roamed her face, taking in her bedraggled, distraught appearance. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was calling for you, but you weren't answering. What happened?"

The pure shock of seeing him temporarily erased her sadness. "I-I had a fight with Hangman. What are you doing here?"

Maverick shifted closer so the umbrella covered both of them from the slowly intensifying rain. "Jules and Rooster sent me. They would've come, but Jules is currently hurling her guts out, and Rooster didn't want to leave her, but they also didn't want to leave you. Why don't I take you to them or-"

"Why did they want to come get me?"

"Uh, Hangman texted them, I think."

Why is he trying to take care of me? I don't need him now. Ghost lied to herself. She would always need Hangman, but she couldn't admit it. Not again. Not when it came with the risk that he would let her down again so horrendously. "Oh..."

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, but let's get you out of the rain."

Ghost debated on protesting against his wishes, but the fatherly concern in his green eyes weakened her resolve. She gave in and followed him to the Jeep. He opened the door for her, and Ghost slid into the warm car, immediately feeling guilty when she realized her clothes were soaking wet and that she sat on the bare leather without any barrier protecting it. 

"Do you have a blanket or towel? I don't want ruin your seats," Ghost said, twisting around to scan the backseat for such an item.

"Don't worry about it," Maverick replied as he pulled onto the main road. "Here, take my jacket, though. You're shivering."

He shrugged it off and handed it to her. Ghost gratefully took it, savoring the warmth radiating off of it. "Thank you for giving me a ride, sir."

"I'm just glad I found you. Where were you heading?"

"No idea," Ghost confessed, her fingers curling tightly into his jacket. "I didn't have a car when I left Hangman's, and I didn't want to subject an Uber driver to my emotional state, so I started walking."

"Were you heading to your apartment?"

Ghost shook her head. "No. I don't know where I was headed, but it wasn't there. I don't want to be there right now."

"How come? Is everything okay?"

"It makes me think of my dad... he helped me find the place, even if it wasn't in person, and he was so excited that I got a decent place out here. Hangman offered to let me stay the night at his because I didn't want to be at mine with my dad having passed away a few days ago, but-"

"Your dad just passed away?" Maverick asked in surprise, head swiveling to look at her.

It dawned on Ghost she hadn't told anyone outside of Juliette and Rooster - with the exception of Hangman, of course - about her dad and that Juliette had recognized Ghost's desire for privacy in the first few days of his passing, whether Ghost realized she'd needed it or not. "Yes, sir. A heart attack. Hit him so suddenly that he never had a chance..."

"I'm so sorry, Ghost," Maverick said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. The gesture nearly broke her. 

"Thank you, sir. The grief comes in waves." She wiped a stray tear from her cheek and sniffled. "I think my fight with Hangman temporarily distracted me from it."

"What did you and Hangman fight about?" Ghost bit her lip, hesitating to answer. Maverick treated Hangman like a son, and in return, Hangman saw Maverick as a father figure. She had no right to drag the captain into their issues. As if sensing her reluctance, Maverick said, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Why don't I bring you to someone who does, though? I know Juliette's worried about you."

"No, no, I can't do- she and Rooster have enough to worry about as it is with her pregnancy and its complications. I'm not going to burden them with my issues."

"I doubt they would see it that way. You're family to both of them and the way Juliette puts it, you're the sister she never had. She wouldn't mind at all."

"I know, but the last thing she needs is to be dragged further into the shitshow Hangman and I created for ourselves." Ghost swiftly mulled over her options: the Bradshaw's was out of the question. Coyote was a possibility, but Ghost figured he'd want to check on Hangman the moment he found out about their fight, and Ghost wanted Hangman to have someone because, despite their fallout, she had seen the pain in his eyes. Whatever truth he withheld from her, it was anything but pleasant. Ghost considered Phoenix, but the female aviator would demand an explanation, and Ghost couldn't bring herself to even consider the idea of bringing it up with her. She was hardly close enough with the other Daggers to reach out for a helping hand, causing Ghost an epiphany: she was well and truly on her own tonight. She had no choice. She had to stay in her apartment.

"If you're not ready to go home," Maverick began hesitantly, "you're welcome to stay at mine and Penny's. We have a spare room that all the Daggers have used at some point. We have clean clothes that you can use and a healthy amount of midnight snacks in the nightstand drawer. What do you say?"

The offer was tempting, but Ghost hardly knew Maverick outside of dogfight football and the occasional conversation at the Hard Deck. But maybe staying there for a few hours wouldn't hurt...

"As long as I'm not intruding," Ghost said weakly, "and as long as I'm not disturbing y'all."

Maverick shook his head. "Penny's still at the bar and Amelia's spending the night with a friend. Even if they were home, I assure you, they've had much rowdier wakeups due to the Daggers."

A smile tugged on Ghost's lips, but she made no response. Instead, she rested her head on the window and stared out through the rain-streaked window. 

Upon arriving at the quaint Benjamin household, the pair hurried inside and out of the now-torrential downpour. Maverick escorted her to a cozy guest room at the end of the hall and showed her where the spare clothes were. Ghost thanked him profusely, unsure of what she'd done to deserve such kindness but grateful for it nonetheless.

"I'm going to let Juliette and Rooster know you're safe. I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready," Maverick told her. Giving her an affectionate pat on the shoulder, he left Ghost to her own devices. She wasted no time stepping into the bathroom and stripping out of her drenched clothes. The warm water soothed her frayed nerves and warmed her body from the bone-deep chill caused by the rain. For those ten minutes, Ghost allowed the shower to wash away all her emotions.

When she stepped out, she towel-dried her hair and threw a pink sweater and a pair of black leggings. Ghost then shuffled to the kitchen, stopping hesitantly in the entryway. Maverick, who stood at the counter waiting for the kettle to boil, must've heard her silent footsteps because he turned around. 

"I'm making tea. Figured you could use it. Chai?" He said, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard. 

Ghost nodded. "Yes, please. That's my favorite."

"It was your mom's too. At least, it was the last time I saw her."

"It still is. How did you-" Ghost stopped herself, a story she learned back in high school- "Right. You two dated for a bit."

"Twice, although the second time was only for a couple weeks, and-" Maverick handed her cup of tea and sat with her at the table- "we were both going through a rough time. I'd broken up with Penny again, and your mom and dad were taking a break."

"I didn't know she saw you again after the first breakup," Ghost remarked, adding the milk and sugar to her drink.

"It was so brief that it barely counts, but yes, we did. I learned about you from Bradley's mom, who occasionally stayed in touch with Charlie. I reached out to congratulate her, but she didn't pick up. Guess she didn't want to talk to her fling around her husband."

Ghost choked on her tea. "You two had a fling?!"

"Like I said, we were both going through a rough time."

When did they have the fling? How long was I born after it? It was the year before I was born, so there is a slim possibility... I need to talk to Jackie about this. Maybe she could help me look into it. Careful to keep a neutral face, Ghost replied, "It's so weird that I knew of Rooster's mom and kind of knew of him and Juliette but never met them until by chance on my own. Of all the eighty-six legacies, I only knew Wolfie."

"He's just like his dad," Maverick mused, smiling to himself. "It was good to see him after all these years. Same with Sunrise and Diva. Can't remember the last time I saw them. They might've still been wearing diapers."

"Did you have any kids of-"

The door opened, cutting Ghost off. Penny appeared a second later, running a hand through her wavy brown hair. Her green eyes landed on the pair of aviators, confusion flickering in them, but she smiled. "Ghost! What are you doing here?"

"Juliette and Rooster asked Captain Mitchell to check on me. It's... been a rough few days," Ghost admitted shyly, not wanting to dive too deep into her issues. She already felt like an imposition to Maverick; the last thing she wanted to do was burden Penny with her problems, too.

Seeming to sense Ghost's reluctance, Penny simply replied, "Well, you're welcome to stay however long you'd like. Our house is your house."

"What are you doing home so early?" Maverick inquired as Penny came to stand beside Ghost.

"Rooster called to see if I could bring Gatorade to Juliette after work. Since it was a slow night, Tom offered to finish the shift by himself so I could get it to them sooner rather than later."

Ghost stood and finished her tea before setting the empty mug on the table. "How is she feeling?"

"Rough. Worried about you." Penny's face softened. "She told me about your dad. I'm so sorry, Annalise."

Whatever control Ghost had on emotions evaporated, and her head bowed instinctively to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Penny's arms enveloped her immediately, pulling her into a comforting, motherly hug. A firm hand clasped her shoulder while she silently sobbed into Penny's shoulder, the wave of grief she'd been holding off finally breaking past her defenses. 

Penny and Maverick dutifully stood there, allowing her to get the tears out until they ran dry. Once Ghost managed to gather her composure, she wiped the remnants of tears off her cheeks and apologized.

"What are you sorry for?" Penny asked gently.

For breaking down on you when you barely know me? For burdening you with my problems when you didn't ask? For imposing my presence when you probably hoped for a quiet night? For throwing a wrench in any plans you had with Maverick tonight? "I don't know."

Penny smiled understandingly. "Come on. Why don't you go dry your hair and then get to bed? I think some rest will do you good."

Ghost silently agreed, and tugging the sleeves over her fists, she said, "Thank you for letting me stay tonight. And thank you for picking me up, Captain Mitchell. I really appreciate all the hospitality."

Maverick nodded. "Like Penny said, our house is your house. And please, call me Maverick. All my kids do."

All my kids do. His words warmed her heart. Even though Ghost knew most others called Captain Mitchell by his callsign, hearing him say "all my kids do" to her, of all people, made it sound like he considered her one of them, one of his so-called kids.

Penny escorted Ghost to her room and, after one more hug, left the pilot to get ready for bed. With a quick blow dry- the job already half done from letting her hair air dry- and a swift brush of the teeth, Ghost crawled into bed. She texted Juliette and Rooster to thank them for sending Maverick and to check how Jules was feeling, if the vomiting had ceased. After setting her alarm, Ghost started to set her phone down, but it buzzed with an incoming text message. Expecting it to be from one of the Bradshaws, she opened it without hesitation, only to discover it had been from someone else entirely. Fresh tears blurred her vision as she read: I'm sorry. Forever and always.

****

Tags: @lgg5989 @shanimallina87 @polikszena @summ3rlotus @icemansgirl1999 @supernaturaldawning @thedarkinmansfield @lyannaforpresident @lapilark @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth @simpofthecentury @shadeops21 @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @double-j @bradshawsandbridgetons @catsandgeekyandnerd @peachiicherries @multifandomcnova @fandomsstolemylife00 @bookloverhorses @mak-32 @midnightmagpiemama @luckyladycreator2 @ellamae021 @kmc1989

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#top gun #top gun fic #maverick #rooster #hangman #phoenix #bradley bradshaw #iceman #bob #jake seresin #coyote #payback #fanboy #omaha #yale #halo #fritz #harvard #tg2 #tgm #top gun maverick #fanfic #jake seresin X oc #pregnancy #grief #foxtrot #alpha

[alcorian]

Not sure if you still want headcanons or ideas for OpBee (and sorry about your father) but here are some stuff I guess?:

Let's assume those are like mix of continuities

•Since Bee is in special forces and well a spy I feel like he would be very good at hiding his emotions, at least more better then what people give him credit for. OP is also very good at it but he also has his tells that Bee probably noticed over the centuries. Probably like his movement of his OP dials or mini expressions around his eyes like when they widen in surprise or crease in amusement or worry.

• I feel like Bee would rather scrub the whole ark with human toothbrush rather then confess, like at all. He is good bad at hiding his emotions about Optimus and he feels comfortable he yearns to be in this limbo of not knowing. He tends to fall fast and usually it ends up in heartbreak or painful rejection and hey we speaking of Optimus prime here.

•Optimus would fall slower but harder. He is used to not showing his true feelings so maybe he mistakes the slowly growing romantic affection for something else? Depends if we wanna ANGSTY route or fun route so inma go for ambiguous one.

•The first time Bee gets injured (like extended med stay injured) under Optimus command, he thinks he made a mistake allowing Bee out in the battle BC (insert angsty reason) untill he finds out the only reason bee was injured was because his cover was blown as he rescued a comrade from certain doom.

•From that a lot of feelings started to grow, constant worry over Bee health in particular which makes Optimus feel guilty BC he has a whole army to think about, not just Bee. But there is also pride whenever Bee manages to accomplish something great like obtaining crucial information or managing to twart decepticon plans. There is also frustration whenever Bee gets Infront of unnecessary danger like taking a shot for him that he could have easily take on.

•Different love languages!!! I feel like whilst Optimus love language would be acts of service Bee would be verbal. Optimus can't just act like he blatantly favorites Bee so he finds different ways to show his love like spending his short free time with bee or even doing paperwork in the same room. Leaving small gifts that Bee offhandedly mentioned or doing what he can to make Bee happy.

Bee on the other hand would find words be just a tad more meaningful. For me it's like, he is a spy he needs to be showed he is loved through action but he feels that if he tried reciprocate it would came as less genuine. So he speaks and speaks and finds words to say Optimus about what he loves how he loves. He lets himself be himself in those moments.

If he looses his voice around this time it would be even more devastating as he lost his main way to show love. Sure he can give gifts and show his love in different ways but his main way was taken away from him. He still grieves it.

•They probably share quality time as shared loved language.

I'm not sure about character limit in asks so inma end it here and hope those helps in any way!!! I'm more then happy to send some more :D

sorry for spelling mistakes I tried to catch them but screen be blurry dbdhdh

-@);-- R anon

thank you so much!! its good to keep my mind off my family situation right now. and i loooove all these headcanons.

i love bee and optimus slowly learning to read each other better than most of their peers... slowly picking up on each others feelings.

i also think bee could really easily view himself as "not worthy" because, i mean, its a prime. he might view his crush on op as something that would be insulting or even blasphemous if optimus were to find out.

meanwhile, optimus thinks his feelings are wrong because of the power he holds as a prime--he thinks that if he confesses, bee will say yes just to please him. so he keeps those feelings very close to his spark. he also probably worries about responsibility and impartiality as a commanding officer. (irl, in the military, your commanding officer often cannot be your partner due to the bias it can cause in decision-making)

such good angst ideas in here, i am eating it up.

#askbox #Anonymous #opbee #optimus prime #bumblebee #transformers

[mega-ringsandthings-world]

I know we’ve talked about this via messages, but I wanted to ask again about health issues (mental aside) they’ll have to deal with from being tortured for two and a half years straight.

Not just that, but also the scars they accumulate—do those cause issues? Is part of their bedtime routine putting on scar cream so the skin can move less stiffly through out that day? Is it a ritual every night that they try to perform without fail? Does Mihawk let Shanks get his back? Does Shanks let Mihawk treat his Haki burns?

Are some of their joints messed up from being dislocated so many times? Do they hate cold weather and winter islands most of all? Can they feel an oncoming storm or the weather patterns just from the aches in old broken bones?

Are some days so bad for Mihawk's hands, which are scarred and broken to hell and back, that his fingers just shake all day? Does Shanks get crippling migraines from all the times he was punched in the head?

Do they take medication? For the pain or for their mental illnesses? Now I’m just imagining them dragging themselves miserably to Drum Island for a checkup to make sure nothing’s going to kill them physically or have long-term effects from their captivity, and Dr. Kureha just taking one look at these two miserable kids absolutely riddled with PTSD and going, "Okay, whack that shit out," and prescribing them Lexapro.

Not to mention the stress probably rewired their brains, and the brain damage from getting beaten around so many times. What about their immune systems? High stress and lack of proper nutrition can mess that up forever. Oh, and weight gain is going to be different as well as bone density and muscle loss. They are going to be a mess.

There's also the grief that comes with the loss of bodily autonomy in this way. They had a bright future and young, healthy bodies that have been traumatized. Now, not only will they live with the mental scarring but also the physical scarring that will affect them in fights, breathing, or just being for the rest of their lives. Think of Mihawk just staring at himself in the mirror, grieving the health he had before, how he's scared he’ll never be the world's greatest swordsman, that they taken that away from him like so much else. Think of Shanks crying over the thought he might not get to explore the world because of his migraines.

But at least they have each other! Hopefully, they also learn to lean on each other when shit gets bad and take up accommodations for their issue. I don't know; Mihawk is headstrong but more about efficiency, and if wearing a brace or taking a certain med means he'd be at his peak, then I can see this Mihawk swallowing his pride and doing it. Shanks, on the other hand... I don't know, maybe?

Ooh, more logistics. Bodily logistics, that it. The severest issues come from the initial healing process, like the scar on Mihawk's leg which keeps him bedridden for months. When they heal, it falls to the people who are treating them to maintain continuing treatment for the scars that are left, because they won't be in a fit state to do that at first. But yeah, they get into a routine of care for themselves as they get better mentally, Mihawk especially. And while he wouldn't let Shanks near the scars on his back for quite a while, he'd insist on treating Shanks. The Haki burns are going to be something he's guilty about, naturally. Hm, Shanks' left arm was fractured at the elbow and the burns on Mihawk's knuckles would have damaged the tendons there, and they both have dislocated a shoulder/wrist/rib/knee numerous times. Cold weather/pressure drops/high humidity all exacerbate injuries, so yeah, they'd avoid all of those if it could be helped. Shanks spends a lot of time slumming on beaches for that very reason. Mihawk would probably like cold better than he does heat, so his preferred basking spot is Kuraigana, which was picked for its atmosphere. Yes to them sensing storms. Shanks in particular actually finds that useful. So, dislocated wrists, damage to the nerves/tendons from the burns on Mihawk's knuckles would cause tremors even if his hands were never broken outright, and those mixed with stress/anxiety/sleep depravation can get nasty. Shanks develops migraines due to the head trauma, that come in varying levels of severity. Suffice to say, there's days when neither of them are in any state to do any daily tasks, or much of anything. (they still push themselves to, though) Pain meds, mostly, Mihawk self-medicates on Haki, Shanks alcohol. Sedatives in the early days, when they need to be calmed down. They do get taken to Drum Island at some point, and they'll get a cocktail that takes them off the edge. More on that later. (Kureha would have stock of Lexapro somewhere lol) Speaking of which, they might need short-term anxiety medication and help mitigating (they won't go away) the stress responses they've developed. They amount of head trauma would probably mean permanent damage in real life, but memory issues here, probably. They're kept marginally well-fed, seeing as how they need to be kept alive, and they get enough that their growth isn't stunted to the extreme, but it's not the nutrition that's up to par for two-young men. They'll grow up leaner, having to work to put on muscle definition. Their on and off EDs don't help, and neither does getting sick more frequently until their immune systems regain full health. It looks hopeless to them at the very start of their recovery. Looking into the mirror at every flaw and bleeding wound, feeling utterly weak in every cell, it'll be hard for them to imagine returning to even a shadow of their former selves, let alone advancing past that. Which brings it's own mental issues, of course. And the horror of having to be so weak in front of each other. Which makes them reluctant to have a hand on each other's recovery, at least up until the need to be with each other takes over. After a while Mihawk treats the accommodations he needs as just another thing he needs to do to stay on top, like exercising, doing sword drills, sparring. In canon Mihawk obviously takes care of himself and it's the same here (mostly). He adds it (braces, pain meds, exercises) into his meticulous routine and that's that. Shanks, on the other hand, tends to lean more towards curing the issue than preventing the issue, he'll wait until something can't be ignored to do something about it, out of his own pride. And then it's fuck it we ball and washing down pain meds with liquor, which always gets Mihawk pissed at him.

#one piece #op #opla #dracule mihawk #akagami no shanks #hawkeye mihawk #red haired shanks #mihawk one piece #shanks one piece #mishanks #mihawk x shanks #op marines #loguetown au