#unless I'm incapable of continuing
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A cold male voice rang across the courtroom.
“You’re late.”
Harry considered his response as he stepped farther into the room, head tipping up to take in the fifty some-odd witches and wizards that made up the Wizengamot. They were all watching him keenly, some with open derision and others with curiosity. His head pulsed faintly at the weight of the attention on him, their emotions eagerly battering his Occlumency shields. Harry worked to think through the sensation even as he reinforced his mental defences. He could already tell by the sweat beading on his back that this would be a trying experience. The fact that this section of the Ministry was deep enough to obstruct the weight of all other presences did not make up for the fact that he was in front of fifty people rather than the expected four to six. He hasn't practised for this, has had no means to.
Fudge sat in the middle of the first row, and the smugness he and the witch to his right were emanating made it rather easy to pinpoint who had been responsible for the sudden change in the time of his trial.
"Am I?" Harry asked, and the jolt of astonishment, annoyance and fury that swept through various members of the court almost had him gritting his teeth. Harry imagined that Fudge's anger and embarrassment would have been obvious to him even without his abilities. The man had turned faintly red at the question, face pinching.
"You were sent notice of the change in time this morning," the Minister barked out. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault you are late. Now sit down."
Harry allowed his eyebrow to quirk, slow and incredulous. This version of Cornelius Fudge was far different from the one he had met two years ago.
“While I would hardly blame the Wizengamot as a whole, it sounds as if whoever is charged with correspondence is at fault. Per a standing law written in 1839, all changes in time and venue must be completed in excess of twenty four hours prior to a trial's start time. Said correspondence must have been confirmed as seen by the person or persons on trial and their representatives at least sixteen hours before the scheduled start time.”
“That is for an official trial,” the Minister returned, voice sharp despite the fluster and anxiety Harry could sense beneath it.
“Apologies for my presumption, then,” Harry said dryly. “I assumed that any trial which our entire governance presided over would be considered official.”
“Besides which, there is no such specificity to that law,” A broad, square-jawed witch to the left of Fudge said, giving the Minister a quelling look.
The Minister did not respond to the implied reprimand, instead puffing himself up a bit and saying, “Now that we’re all here, let’s begin. Are you ready?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry was surprised to see Percy Weasley, horn-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he stared down at a piece of parchment, quill poised to write. Unlike most everyone else in the room, his attention did not seem to find sole focus on Harry. Harry didn’t expend any effort to attempt to see how Percy felt about the entire situation, his focus drawn to an approaching presence. It was a whirlwind of concern, faint annoyance, and a dash of enjoyment.
“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” said Fudge in a ringing voice, emphasising the word hearing, and Percy began taking notes at once, “into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.”
Fudge continued on, listing interrogators, and Harry’s attention was distracted from Fudge’s words, the approaching presence, and his Occlumency shields by a jolt of glee and greed. His gaze flickered up to meet the icy grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy. The realisation dawns quickly that the Dursleys address was now a matter of public record. Harry had already decided he wouldn't go back, and this only provided more incentive.
He hesitates around the thought of whether the Dursleys will be targeted. Whether he should warn somebody that they need to be moved. Whether he cares enough to, after so many years of their oppressive hatred.
Behind him, the door presses open.
“—Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Dumbledore’s voice isn’t projected like Fudge’s, but there is no doubt that he is heard. The press of the Wizengamot’s emotions is momentarily overwhelming: annoyance, bemusement, fear, anger, respect, deference, joy… Harry’s own anger is hardly a blip amongst the cacophony.
When he strides into Harry’s view Dumbledore's expression is serene, but Harry can feel his spiteful enjoyment at the reception his disruption has created. He looked up at Fudge through the half-moon spectacles that rested halfway down his crooked nose.
A few of the Wizengamot members muttered to one another, but most were quiet, eyes locked on Dumbledore.
While Harry’s presence had invoked interest and curiosity, the reactions to Dumbledore were far more substantive. Perhaps it was that the Headmaster had interacted with all of these people personally, socially, and they knew him by more than reputation. They had personal feelings and opinions fully developed about Dumbledore, while Harry was still, largely, an unknown.
“Ah,” said Fudge, thoroughly disconcerted and flustered by Dumbledore’s presence. “Dumbledore. Yes. You—er—got our—er—message that the time and—er—place of the hearing had been changed, then?”
“I must have missed it,” said Dumbledore cheerfully. “However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours early, so no harm done.”
It was a lie, Harry recognized, and one the Headmaster took a good deal of amusement in stating. Some of Dumbledore’s lingering frustration seemed to melt the longer he watched Fudge, the genial cast to his face a farce. He took joy in Fudge being wrong-footed, and the longer he fumbled, the more Dumbledore’s contentment with the situation grew.
“Yes—well—I suppose we’ll need another chair—I—Weasley, could you—?”
“Not to worry, not to worry,” said Dumbledore pleasantly; he took out his wand, gave it a little flick, and a squashy chintz armchair appeared out of nowhere next to Harry. Dumbledore sat down, put the tips of his long fingers together, and looked at Fudge over them with an expression of polite interest.
Harry had never thought of Dumbledore as anything approaching petty before, and perhaps he typically was not, but there was no denying that he was fond of making Fudge feel foolish. Well, his name had been dragged through the Prophet by the Minister's word; Harry couldn’t be surprised by a grudge. Seemingly omniscient or not, Dumbledore was only human.
The Wizengamot was still muttering and fidgeting restlessly; only when Fudge spoke again did they settle down.
“Yes,” said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. “Well, then. So. The charges. Yes.” He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read, “The charges against the accused are as follows: That he did knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on August the second at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under section thirteen of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy.”
“You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment.
“Yes,” Harry agreed, not looking at Malfoy this time.
“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?”
“Yes, but—”
“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?” interrupted Fudge. Harry felt his vindictive pleasure at cutting him off—even with Dumbledore here, he was finding his footing—but as Harry failed to answer this question, his irritation rose to overtake it.
“You are expected to answer,” the witch to the left of Fudge said, raising a brow at him. She had been the same woman to defend the law he had parrotted.
Harry lets his silence linger for a moment, feeling the anticipation of the Wizengamot build, before returning, “Will I be allowed to do so in full?”
His voice is perfectly respectful, but Fudge’s outrage still blooms. Dumbledore, a glance away, feels of surprise-concern-suspicion, and it makes the hairs on Harry’s nape stand at attention.
“Yes,” the woman gave the Minister yet another quelling look, “of course you will.”
“Thank you. To your last question, Minister, I did receive an official warning three years ago. The warning was,” it took a moment for Harry to recall the right term, said by three other representatives in three other trials, but the momentary pause has the interesting effect of focusing attention on him all the more, “improperly dispersed. The magic that triggered it came from a visiting House Elf. Being the only known magical in Little Whinging and without the supervision of an adult witch or wizard, the charms used to enforce the Statute of Secrecy were triggered. If anybody would like to see a memory of the event in question, I would be more than happy to provide it, assuming there is a pensive available.”
“There is no pensive,” a man with dark hair and an austere demeanour said, then emphasised again, “This is no trial.”
“Isn’t it?” Harry asked, eyebrows raising as he glanced tellingly down at the chair in which he sat, wrapped in chains. “Very well.”
“Either way, it is rather late to be blaming your troubled past on elf magic,” Fudge dismissed, and let out a short laugh, as if he expected others to join him in it. At his side, the woman still cloaked in shadows let out a titter. “A unique and unprecedented excuse, as, I suppose, we should have expected from a young man trying to squirm out of trouble.”
It is Fudge’s tone, a mix of condescension and chiding, even as his emotions are anything but, that does it. Behind his Occlumency and building headache, Harry realises that he's angry. He is disgruntled, disgusted and dissatisfied. He had accessed the public records available, he had pulled transcripts from previous underage trials, and this—this is a farce.
This is Fudge, afraid to believe that Lord Voldemort is alive and smearing Harry’s name because he can. Because Harry has nobody looking out for him, and he’s been fair game since nobody stepped in the first time Rita did it. Beside him, Dumbledore is perfectly silent.
Harry is a symbol, but he's also fifteen, and it's an odd thought that reeks of his Godfather.
“You're fifteen, pup,” Sirius had insisted mere days ago, like it meant something, like it mattered. “You deserve the chance to be a boy without all of this added pressure.”
The glimmer in his eyes had been just as telling as the mingled pain-grief-exhaustion-despair. He was speaking from experience, Harry had thought, throat tight. It made Harry want to fight for his Godfather, for the boy that he once was. Where, then, was that impulse to fight for himself?
“You matter, Harry. What you want matters.”
Harry does not want to play their games, though he has already begun to. He does not want to use the information he's researched, as he sits in a chair with chains, and struggles through polite phrasings. He won't let his research go to waste, though. He knows something for once, and he'll use that knowledge.
The look he levels to Fudge, then, is faux-concerned. “I understand you've had no reason to research this, Minister,” he says, voice kind in a way that is mockery and can not be called such, “but I take the threat of having my wand snapped very seriously. According to public records, the Statute of Secrecy charms have been proven defective in the exact scenario I've discussed once before, in the case of Richard Pike, who’s classmate had an elf deliver things on multiple occasions until he was brought between a five-panel jury to plead his case.”
“Mind you, the Ministry hadn't been running a campaign to discredit Richard Pike,” Harry added casually. The reaction from a simple remark didn't disappoint; Fudge spluttered, the woman beside him leaned out of the shadows, revealing an overwhelmingly pink ensemble, and someone burst out, “Now see here, young man—!” before being abruptly silenced. “He was fifteen, too, but he actually had adults willing to advocate on his behalf.”
Dumbledore’s concern is growing beside him, but Harry doesn't turn to meet the man's eyes, and Dumbledore does not speak out, despite Harry’s accusation.
Harry’s rage is bubbling at the back of his throat, and he wants to shout, but he had learned about the ineffectiveness of screaming his ire long ago. That lesson had only been reinforced after his outburst at Ron and Hermione, and he is more than willing to try something else now.
He takes a moment to consider his approach, and then goes with something that feels natural, a release that will keep his shouts in check; Harry laughs.
“Something funny, Mr. Potter?” A cold voice comes.
“Not really, Something is ridiculous, though, and I’m sure you’d all rather I laugh than deal with a moody teenager's temper tantrum.” He lets his smile go a little sharper, and feels the good his reminder does. There is a particularly keen sense of culpability from a woman he faintly recognizes from his research; Head of the Panel for Underaged Sourcery, Irena Covey. Is the guilt for allowing this to spiral so out of hand, into a room meant for criminal proceedings, or something else?
“I have before me the entire government of magical Britain, wasting their time at a hearing for underaged magic which is typically handled by an empaneled jury of four. We are in the bowels of the Ministry, in a room that has not been used for anything but trials of the most dangerous criminals, and yet this is not a trial, but a hearing to decide disciplinary methods, as if there is no doubt of my guilt and I must be punished.”
“My ‘crime,’” he uses the air quotes readily, “is using the Patronus Charm to protect myself and my cousin from a dementor. My cousin, who knows about magic and does not count as a breach in the Statute. If you'd like to see the memory of the encounter, I give full permission to have it pulled from my head. If you'd like to give me veritaserum—well, I have no parent to consent to the use of a regulated substance, but that's never stopped anybody before. I’ll submit myself willingly to that as well. And if,” he smiles sharply, “you'd like to handle this especially quickly, and get back to your doubtlessly busy lives, I will swear upon my magic that I'm telling the truth. How's that?”
It’s nothing that can be compelled or asked for, not ever, but the offer is a powerful thing. Vows on your magic can be taken as irrefutable testimony, and are rarely given, as they rely on objective rather than subjective fact, a twist that always leaves one with the slightest chance of turning squib.
He feels the shift in the air, the reconsideration of biases, the sharpening curiosity.
“I find your tone disrespectful, boy,” says a man with the longest straw-coloured hair Harry has ever seen. It lies in neat curls, soft and touchable, but the man’s face is cold and his tone hard, and Harry can’t pinpoint his intention with so many other people in the room.
“Perfectly understandable, sir. I find this entire theatrical display disrespectful. You are all very important and busy people, so I can understand that you are frustrated with having your time wasted. However I hope you'll forgive if my frustration outweighs your own, as I am being treated like a war criminal rather than an underaged child due to a bewildering grudge that our Minister seems to be harbouring.”
“You want to snap my wand?” Harry asked the Minister if Magic, eyes blazing but posture relaxed, “Then you can be certain I will put up a fight.”
He let his eyes trail over the rest of his jury, the heady, odd feel of their captivated attention allowing his shoulders to relax into something looser and more confident.
“Magic is the only thing I have of my mother and father. So forgive this fifteen year old orphan for his sentimentality,” Harry bared his teeth, “but I plan on keeping it. Especially considering that I have broken no laws, and there are clear caveats in place that allow an underaged witch or wizard to use magic when in fear for their life.”
He let his gaze slide over the Wizengamot and paused to meet every set of eyes that were not looking away. His point has been well and truly made. Dumbledore is surprised by his outburst, or perhaps by its effectiveness, and faintly suspicious for some reason.
“Strong words prove nothing,” a man larger than Harry’s uncle says when Harry’s gaze lands on him, and he doesn't believe Harry, but he is used to that.
Harry thinks back to the books on magical vows he had studied during the tournament, and the book in the Black Library that he had read two days ago. He thinks of the vow that he had carefully drafted, under Sirius’ supervision. His godfather has emphasised the importance of his wording, so that there could be no mistake.
“Harry, wait.” Dumbledore’s order comes curt and harsh, but Harry pays it no attention. He knows what has caught the Headmaster’s attention; the golden glow that had encapsulated Harry the moment he chose his words. It hazes around his form, and Harry looks down at his hand with interest and curiosity.
There is a sudden murmuring from his audience as they catch on.
“I, Harry James Potter, vow on my magic that on the night of August 2 I used a patronus charm to ward off dementors in Little Whinging, Surrey, in fear of losing my soul.”
The golden glow retreats. Several people gasp at the act, but it is no mere dramatics; the shock he feels pulsing through the room is genuine. He allowed the pause to linger for a moment before saying, “I would cast a spell to prove my claim, but this is a disciplinary hearing for underaged magic.”
Dumbledore cleared his throat, but before he could speak a worn voice sounded from the top tier of the gallery. “I vote an exception be made. Raise your wands if you are in agreement.”
It was nearly unanimous, and Fudge’s expression was taut. His emotions were hard to pinpoint, though multiple people were radiating fear, stomach-churning and vile. Madame Bones glanced around the gallery, expectant. “Mr. Potter, if you would?”
Obediently, Harry drew his wand and murmured a spell under his breath. It was a rather cheeky choice, but Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. His patronus burst into existence and lifted its head regally, sightless eyes fixed on the Wizengamot. After a moment it turned to Harry and met his gaze before bowing its head. Harry bowed his head back in respect, tension lessening as he felt the warmth and serenity his patronus gave to him, deeply soothing. It took a step forward and pressed its head to his chest, and Harry smiled.
“Fantastic,” Madam Bones murmured. “Very impressive.”
She said it, but Harry could feel it radiating from all around the room; respect, wariness, keen interest. A couple of people even seemed amused by his gall, which, he supposed, was better than offended. Fear was regulated to an undertone in the room, pervasive but not overpowering.
Harry’s patronus raises its head, a huff ruffling his hair. He raised a hand to brush over its snout, feeling the warm, welcoming peace it emanated more than its fur. It stares into his eyes for a long moment, grounding Harry, before lowering its head one last time and glimmering out of existence, purpose served.
“Well then,” the shift in the room was abrupt. With two words the attention of the Wizengnot had been captured by a dark-haired woman, whose brown eyes were cataloguing Harry. The abrupt pull and shift of emotions might have been startling had his patronus not left him so balanced. “I might have agreed that all of our time was wasted on this day, Mr. Potter, if not for this exquisite demonstration of a mastered patronus. That it is tactile as well as spiritually corporeal is a rare and impressive feat, especially given your age.”
Beneath her intrigue and open interest, the turn of her emotions had an odd chill to them. Her fascination is detached and clinical. Her regard had the effect of sharpening the interest towards Harry all the more. Dumbledore’s emotions pulsed behind him, an odd mix of wary, vexed and rueful.
“Perhaps, Lady Laurier, it would be most appropriate to turn our attention to how a dementor managed to make its way to Little Whinging in the first place.” Dumbledore said pleasantly.
Bones clears her throat. “That is certainly a matter that needs attention. First, however, Mr. Potter’s verdict.”
“I believe that Mr. Potter’s vow constitutes irrefutable proof, and this tria—hearing should be closed.” Covey spoke up, her slip made all the more apparent by its correction.
“So it shall be,” agreed Bones. “As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I accept into the record Harry Potter's magical vow. In combination with his subsequent proof of magic, this vow is considered irrefutable evidence. As such, all charges against the accused are dismissed with the Ministry's sincere apologies. I put forward my professional recommendation that future cases of underaged sorcery are dealt with by the bench traditionally empaneled.” She added pointedly.
#my writing#Empath Harry#I'm desperate to start writing this story again#but as in love as I am with the premise I've set up and other scenes that've been written#writing this is like pulling teeth#Harrymort#unless I'm incapable of continuing
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"This show is SO good, you should watch it!!"
I gotta be honest. If I look at a character list on Wikipedia and get five characters down without seeing a single woman, it's probably not for me.
#I have no patience for 'there is exactly one woman in the main/supporting cast' anymore#unless the writing is INCREDIBLE and the themes are explored with a type of depth and nuance I can't get anywhere else (like shiki)#(daily media plug for shiki)#then I just. probably will not vibe with it. if there are no women. (also shiki DOES have interesting female characters in it)#and this isn't to say that like. things involving men or talking about men or that have a male protagonist are Not Worth#My Time that is NOT what I'm saying at all. I just want like. several women. who show up and affect the story. like LITERALLY that is all I#am asking for. I feel like that's just. the bare minimum. but alas.#mel screams about fictional ladies again#there are plenty of things that are male-character-focused that I enjoy and even genuinely think are good! but I do want people to#ask themselves why they aren't willing to go to bat for media that DOES have more women in the cast than men.#(I mean. the answer is misogyny. but I want people to be. aware of that. and evaluate accordingly)#(evaluate meaning 'acknowledge I have some biases I need to continue deconstructing' not 'drop interest in everything tumblr#user musical-chick-13 personally doesn't like')#I feel like so many times we get trapped in this space between overcorrection via 'don't like ANYTHING that's pRoBLeMaTiC in ANY way'#and people taking the 'it's fiction it's not that deep' to the conclusion of 'because I cannot actually hurt fictional characters because#they're not real that means I am incapable of hurting irl people when they talk about those characters'#like there is. nuance here. there is a middle ground. and most people have NO interest in finding it lmao#and like...if you carry your biases from irl (which EVERYONE HAS. INCLUDING ME. COURTESY OF LIVING IN A PREJUDICED SOCIETY.) into a#direct and one-to-one evaluation of stories or characters that allow you to exercise those biased ideas. then that reinforces those biases#like. no hating...for example every anime lady isn't the same as structural misogyny like the pay gap or anti-women violence#but if you automatically associate the idea of 'female character' with 'lesser-than' it strengthens the already-present societal idea that#women are not as important or dynamic or worthy of support and attention as their male peers. if you are willing to see every (white)#fictional man as having interiority and depth but struggle to see that in any fictional woman then it adds to the things society is already#telling us about women. it creates an association of 'women' with 'inferiority' and uh. that's what misogyny is.#it is not the same as misogynistic crimes against irl women but it IS a reflection of the rhetoric and societal impulses that lead to them#and even if it's a reflection and not the actual thing. it's still important to break down and examine and reevaluate because#if we don't examine our OWN biases. then even if we tear down the greater oppressive structure we'll just end up building it back up again#no your thousands of words of m/m fanfiction or liking late 2000s shonen anime isn't responsible for misogyny nor are these things#inherently misogynistic. I just want like. some acknowledgement that something being 'for fun' doesn't automatically mean that bias/#prejudice is nowhere to be found
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How they react when you're jealous
Ft. Wanderer (Scaramouche); Xiao; Zhongli; Childe; Venti; Albedo; Tighnari
(gender neutral reader but Childe refers to them as "princess"/"prince" once)
⭐ Wanderer
+ This man is actually insufferable, good-fucking-luck
+ He acts so smug 'cause of course you'd be jealous, he's revered and worshipped by the masses!! (he's not)
+ Will probably cockily tell you you'll just have to get used to it, he's a god afterall so it's expected that he'll have many loyal fans all vying for his attention—
+ It's all a farce
+ In reality, he's kind of in shock that you'd really be jealous over him, the useless puppet discarded by his own mother—but that's his unresolved insecurity and mommy issues talking
+ He'll keep up the façade and tease you for a while until he realizes you're genuinely upset—then he'll find some roundabout way to tell you that you have nothing to worry about, he only has eyes for you...of course he'll never directly admit that, though
"Hah, you're jealous? What a foolish human emotion—of course I'll be adored by thousands..."
The Wanderer cuts himself off as he takes in your tense form, brows furrowed and eyes looking anywhere but him as you quietly seethe. His chest clenches in that weird way it only seems to do when you're involved.
"Wait...don't tell me you're actually angry...?"
You don't show any signs you even heard his question and the Wanderer sighs dramatically, averting his own gaze to hide his reddening cheeks as he mumbles his next words.
"You have nothing to worry about, idiot...you're way above any of those other weaklings anyway."
⭐ Xiao
+ I'm sorry but he literally is incapable of understanding that you're jealous
+ Like...he can barely even process that you like him, let alone recognize the advances of another random human who is interested in him. The time he even spends with others is extremely limited unless you're involved so there aren't many chances for anyone to talk to him
+ If it's something like another adepti or half-adepti, like Ganyu, who he's been spending a lot more time with lately training, you might feel insecure by your own mortality, which Xiao can somewhat understand but still doesn't get the jealousy part
+ Tries his best to try to comfort you though, even if it means shyly asking Zhongli or Verr Goldet
+ Surprisingly ends up coming to the best solution—spending more time with you
You nearly jump out of your skin when you turn to find the figure of your boyfriend standing behind you on the balcony of Wangshu Inn. You're certain he wasn't there just five minutes ago.
"Huh? Shouldn't you be training Ganyu today...?" You ask, feeling slightly sick at the mention of the pretty half-adeptus girl. She was a sweetheart and a great friend but you can't help but to think about how much time she's been spending with Xiao. You're sure she doesn't have any ulterior motives but you can't help but to think about how much prettier and stronger she is compared to you. Surely Xiao sees it too...
"We agreed to take a break for today," Xiao immediately answers, slowly stepping forward until his cheat is nearly touching the back of your arm, so close you can smell the faint traces of his natural scent—something fresh and crisp like the mountain air.
"Instead...I want to spend some time with you—if you'll allow it." He says softly. You momentarily freeze, not used to Xiao initiating dates. Unperturbed, he continues speaking.
"I thought we could do that mortal activity you told me about before. I think it was called...a picnic?"
⭐ Zhongli
+ The god who has ruled over humans for over 2,000 years—of course he's familiar with such a common emotion like jealousy. Even if he himself has yet to experience it
+ He would never assume you were jealous unless you openly tell him about it
+ But then he's quick to assuage your worries and maybe even propose some sort of compromise that can satisfy you both
+ Spends a night absolutely spoiling you until you hardly remember you were ever jealous in the first place, if that's what you so desire
"Ah, it seems you may have misunderstood my relationship with the funeral director, I apologize if I caused you any discomfort," Zhongli tells you earnestly, gently holding your hands in his own, much larger ones and holding your gaze so intensely you find it impossible to look away.
"Now tell me, my dear, how may I settle your worries? Perhaps we should take some time away, just the two of us?"
⭐ Childe
+ Idk how you even got jealous in the first place cause this man is glued to your hip
+ Slightly flattered when he recognizes your signs of jealousy cause he just sees it as proof of how much you care about him
+ It may feel a bit demeaning at first but he will not take your jealousy seriously. He baby talks, pinches your cheeks, and teases you but will not show any genuine concern—not because he doesn't care about your feelings, but because he's so sure that he only has eyes for you that he thinks your jealously is completely unreasonable in the first place
+ As a big fan of PDA, he takes the advantage to be more touchy and affectionate with you in public under the guise of "showing everyone he's yours"
+ If anything, he's the one whose always jealous when another person takes so much as a second of your attention—but you don't need to know that
"Aww, is my prince/ss pouting now? Ahaha, don't look at me like that!" Childe effortlessly dodges the elbow you aim at his ribs after he pinches at the fat of your cheek for the third time today.
Not perturbed in the least, Childe sticks himself to your side and continues to grin down at you, uncaring of the strangers who glance at you two with strange looks as you make your way through the busy streets of Liyur Harbor.
"Here, how about I make it up to you and we go on a lunch date? My treat!"
⭐ Venti
+ Another one who doesn't take your concerns seriously
+ However, unlike most of the other men, it's pretty reasonable to be jealous with how Venti talks to everyone
+ He's naturally romantic and seems to possess no clear boundaries, leading to him saying things that could be construed as flirtatious without him even realizing it
+ When he's tipsy on dandelion wine, it's not unusual to see him belting out ballads and serenading anyone nearby willing to give him the time of day—though, in reality, his love songs are all actually written about you
"Oh, my windblume is feeling a bit jealous?"
You don't bother providing a response but Venti doesn't seem to need one.
"Ehehe, so cute," he coos, shamelessly wrapping his arms around you. Any feelings of jealousy you hold are quickly being replaced with embarrassment at how other patrons in the crowded bar frequently glance at you and your loud boyfriend.
"No worries, my love, this poor bard's heart only beats for you! I'll even prove it with this song I wrote..."
⭐ Albedo
+ It's Sucrose, isn't it?
+ They spend all those hours locked up in a small lab room in the depths of Dragonspine—its only natural that you'd feel suspicious right?
+ Wrong
+ When he's not with you, Albedo literally only thinks about his experiemnts or drawing. In fact, the times you and Albedo are together are really the only time anyone ever sees Albedo actually listen to someone outside of the Knights of Favonius and talk about things that aren't directly related to alchemy
+ As the so-called "chalk prince," it's not that uncommon for people to find him physically attractive and try their luck—but any deeper feelings usually vanish when they realize he has no interest in them. That and his blank stares can get rather unsettling...
+ If you do get jealous about Albedo being around anyone, it will eventually go away on its own as you realize this man is literally incapable of recognizing flirting
+ (Also, Sucrose is literally an angel and would never jeopardize your relationship. Like, she actively ships you guys together, pls—)
"...which is a particularly unique property for this chemical given it's electronegativity. In fact—oh, [Name], what are you doing here?"
You try very hard not to laugh at the relieved expression the woman Albedo was previously lecturing shoots you. She wastes no time slipping out of the lab while Albedo is distracted, his ocean deep eyes staring at you with a mix of surprise and quiet adoration.
"Ah, it's about lunch time and I don't have any commissions today so I thought we could go get something to eat together. Sorry if I'm disturbing you—"
"Not at all," Albedo interrupts, quickly putting away the glass vial he previously held and removing his latex gloves.
"A visit from you is never a disturbance," Albedo admits plainly, oblivious to the way his words make your chest squeeze.
"Now let's go. If we hurry, we might be able to make it to that place you like before they get crowded."
⭐ Tighnari
+ Lmao what are you jealous of, a flower?
+ This is another Science Man™️ who literally sees nothing but his work. Unless there's a rare sentient species of seductive mushrooms in Sumeru with it's sights set on fennec fox boys, you have nothing to worry about
+ Collei sees him as something akin to an older brother figure and Tighnari is too sassy for anyone else to get close unless they're interested in joining the forest watchers
+ If you tell him you're jealous, he's probably going to call you an idiot for even thinking he's interested in anyone else
Tighnari looks almost annoyed at your confession, glancing up from his journal only to shoot you a glare.
"Hah? Did you accidentally eat some hallucinogenic mushrooms again? I don't have enough time entertain things like that. What a ridiculous accusation."
Annoyance bubbles up inside you but, before you can act on it, Tighnari is already standing from his desk, striding over to you quickly to gently pull you along with him.
"Now come with me. I found an interesting flower on the outskirts of camp I think you'd like."
The proud grin highlighted by the sparkle in his eyes as he looks up at you quickly cuts off any protests you were going to make.
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#xiao x reader#zhongli x reader#albedo x reader#Tighnari x reader#venti x reader#childe x reader#genshin scenario#genshin imagine#genshin hcs#genshin fluff
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weird question, but is there a reason why humans with rabies don't become as mindlessly aggressive as animals with rabies? like, how come people with rabies aren't running around biting everyone?
If I'd hazard a guess, it probably cooks us before we progress that far. Additionally, it also likely has something to do with natural instinct- humans with rabies while they are still able to talk report feeling intense fear and pain while experiencing hallucinations.
Most humans actively don't want to hurt other people- I have a schizophrenic aunt and even in her worst delusions and hallucinations where she may be screaming threats, she's never actually followed through on any of them because she genuinely doesn't want to hurt anyone when she's capable of processing situations logically. Similarly, I have a friend-of-a-friend who is also severely mentally ill, and the only times he's ever hurt someone are when he gets grabbed while he's hallucinating that someone is trying to hurt him. Those he's lashed out at in this state get shoved or kicked or punched before he continues to try to get away from them (they also forgive him immediately because they are his caretakers and understand his mental state very well).
When we started using tools as a species, we also stopped reaching for "biting you" as a defensive response unless there is truly no other choice. Even in the grips of intense fear and panic and pain and delusion and hallucination and paranoia, humans are more likely to choose literally any other option than teeth unless that's their last line of defense. We probably did bite each other back when we were no different than our great ape cousins.
More or less, I'm not entirely convinced that rabies sends signals for "bite" specifically, and is more sending signals for "attack", and humans don't really reach for "bite" when attacking as a general rule unlike other animals. Humans who are restrained in their hospital beds are significantly more likely to bite their caregivers- shoving, kicking, and punching are out of the question when you're tied down. That is true regardless of if they have rabies or not.
Additionally, the virus seems to only progress so far before it stagnates at a specific stage in certain animals. Bats are significantly more likely to have "dumb rabies" than "furious rabies". This could be due to a number of things ranging from "dumb rabies makes them incapable of flight and fucks up their sonar [true!] and so they starve to death before symptoms can progress past that [theory!] since they have fast metabolisms and missing even a single night's meal is devastating to their health [true!]" to "bats show some resistance to rabies as a whole [true!] and thus it may take much longer for symptoms to progress in the usual manner and so the bat generally dies before it can go any further [theory!]" Bats CAN progress to the furious stage, but we don't tend to see it as often.
There has never been a recorded instance of rabies passing from human to human so my money's on a combo of the two theories. It's very possible that Grug The Caveman got rabies from the wolves he was trying to tame and then wiped out his entire society by zombie-biting the fuck out of everyone who tried to help him. But we weren't writing things down at that point, so we have no way of knowing.
Rabies' first documentation is 4000 years ago- but it's very possible it existed before that, since the writing just states that the owner of a rabid dog needs to take provisions against it biting anyone, meaning we knew by then what rabies was and that the bite was dangerous. It's very possible this disease has followed us around since before humans harnessed fire and invented the wheel. That's a decent amount of un-accounted-for time for humans to have hulked out and started zombie-biting.
We have so many folkstory monsters in nearly every culture on the planet that boil down to "had contact with an animal that was acting strangly, turned me into a savage monster that tries to kill everything I see less than a month later, btw my monster disease is super contagious and I spread it by biting the fuck out of you" that predate any modern science knowledge of how the virus works, which makes me think that it probably did happen back in the caveman days and it's ancestrial memory that has us clinging to these concepts to this day.
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Forever thinking about that moment in which I was watching dps with my parents and couldn't stop sobbing after neil's death, distraught that they'd given him no other choice. And my parents looked at me concerned and said "of course he had other options. he could've ran away. he could've defied them" and I was shaking my head desperately like no, no, no, you don't understand, you don't understand that he was given direct orders and he could not for the life of him disobey them once they'd been set in stone before his eyes. when those who made the laws looked at him and prohibited him from continuing with the one thing he loved. because he absolutely could not fathom the idea of directly disobeying them, but also couldn't live without the one thing that made him feel at home. and he couldn't leave them. he needed to be a good son, he desperately needed to be good, and his parents were the law, the one thing he could never defy because it just wasn't an option, it wasn't a possibility that could ever cross his mind. and when he was told by his dad that he'd never be an actor, he saw that path being severed, like a limb, incapable of being brought back because it didn't occur to him that it was an option. and when he saw the only path left to follow—to never act, to never be himself again—he couldn't bear it. willfully going against his parents wishes was unthinkable, horrifying in his mind. living without theater? that was just as horrifying. and no, it wasn't more. if the balance had been tilted just a bit, he would've chosen differently. those two were just as unbearable to him. two hells, identical in their horror. and his parents were the ones putting him through both of them, telling him to voluntarily step into a hell and endure life with grief and horror of tremendous dimensions. like asking him to get in the water when he could see that the water was on fire. and since it was a demand....he couldn't disobey, not unless he wasn't there anymore to take their punishment.
"he had other options," my parents tried to reassure me. I couldn't stop crying. Because no, he absolutely did not have another option. His dad made sure of it.
"no he didn't. no he didn't."
And like two months later I was diagnosed with autism AND depression so like. I'm not sure which one to headcanon Neil as lmao. I remember relating so much to him and then going "oooooh. that's why"
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Here's How Shrimp Trooper Theory Can Still Win
This is as fringe as it gets folks.
I've done my very serious Tech lives essay now it's time for my actual wild theory. Plus @katara-stan-club wanted the shrimp trooper essay and I will take any opportunity to yammer. Please don't take this extremely seriously as it is just something that I'm spinning up for entertainment and is almost certainly not true. (Unless!)
So the opening to Confined is... Odd to me. I've mentioned this in a post before but just to recap, it is definitely the odd man out of the three season starters.
Season one of course we intro with Caleb, who then leads us directly to meet the batch and get our first character appearances, along with convenient introductions. A fun, action packed little scene before things immediately go to hell.
Season two we intro with the batch in the middle of a job, which gives us another fun action scene that shows us how much Omega has grown, as well as the current status of the batch itself.
Season three though? Season three starts us off with a ship going down in a lightning storm and all the stormtroopers inside assumed to be eaten by the giant monsters that lurk in Tantiss' jungles. (Going by Omega's tally marks later in the episode, we're about 20 days post plan 99.) Nothing to do with the batch at all, though we do get a glance at what's in the jungle, and a tiny bit more of Hemlock being a bastard of course.
Now, seemingly, this scene is the set up for episode three, when they make their escape and head for the downed ship.
Except it's completely unnecessary. When they get to the ship, it turns on but it's incapable of flight and the comms are still down and non functioning. The ship they end up taking and using to escape is the ship that came in pursuit of them. The plot would have gone down exactly the same if they had just picked a direction and fled without the downed ship. It's a complete red herring for how they ultimately end up escaping.
So why is it important enough to open the season on if the ship essentially functions as nothing more than a destination point?
Enter Shrimp Trooper Theory.
Going back to the stormtroopers. We have four of them inside the ship, the pilot and three others. We're going to be focusing on our boy on the far right of the second picture.
The pilot speaks before the ship goes down so we can confirm he's a rando. Our fellow in the middle speaks next, identifying himself as TK-343, another rando. The one on the far left talks about wild beasts proving himself, you guessed it, a third rando. But our boy on the far right doesn't talk at all through this whole scene, leaving his identity up in the air.
So we'll take a closer look at him and brighten the scene up a bit.
Now, seeing this guy hobble his way out of the ship, I thought that he looked somewhat familiar. Specifically.
That shitty ass posture. (Forgive the sloppiness of the edit I did this comparison once before and I am not remaking it)
We do not actually see the troopers all get eaten, we cut to the interior of Tantiss before it happens. Theoretically there is nothing stopping this shrimp shaped man from being Tech.
The timeline of shrimp trooper theory:
Tech falls from the rail car and manages to survive the landing but he's severely injured. He crawls away/gets scraped off the ground by Saw.
Roughly 3 weeks pass in which he is recovering and healing yet unable to comm out as, per episode 4 of season 3, Imperial planets monitor long range communications. But, he is able to gather information from the flights going in and out of Eriadu to determine which ones are being assigned to Hemlock's secretive lab. Once he is able to confirm this, he steals some stormtrooper armor and boards.
Ship goes down because gravity hates him in particular and he is almost eaten by a Beast.
Now stranded in the jungle on Tantiss, Tech finds his infiltration plan foiled by the fact that he is being continually hounded by even more Beasts.
Several months later, Batcher is released and for some reason goes straight for the wrecked ship. Somehow she survives out here, but we're not sure how - potentially she had help?
Tech IS the mystery clone X that we see but rather than being brainwashed he has finally managed to get inside Tantiss and yet again begins to Steal Clothing from others.
Crosshair and Omega immediately break out without him leaving him stranded in Tantiss where he presumably still is, attempting to avoid detection and continue to gather information that will aid in the eventual liberation of the other clones.
Is this unlikely? Yes! Is it overly complicated? Absolutely! Am I endlessly entertained by it anyway? You bet!
Benefits of Shrimp Trooper Theory include, but are not limited to:
A living, non brainwashed Tech! The most important feature one could have!
An extremely ridiculous Only In Star Wars series of events!
Retroactive explanation for why the ship going down was an important scene to start on.
Hemlock ruining his own life by not sending someone out to recover the team and just assuming they'd totally be taken care of by the wildlife.
More giant monsters than Wrecker could shake a stick at.
The possibility of Tech and Batcher offscreen shenanigans.
Tech thinking he's finally found Crosshair and making plans to retrieve him when, SURPRISE, OMEGA'S HERE TOO AND THEY'RE ESCAPING. RIGHT NOW.
Seriously just imagine the epic sigh Tech would let out as they flew away completely unaware of his presence. His life is a series of difficulties.
He can simply turn up with the coordinates to Tantiss because god knows how else they're going to manage to get them.
This is my conspiracy theory that I'm allowing myself to believe in as a treat. It will almost certainly not be what occurs but the thought of it makes me happy.
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"all lesbian rep is always femme" it's not, actually. i literally never look on the screen and see femmes. we get hallmark channel blondes who look exactly like every other straight woman on tv. actual femmes are so beyond what's considered acceptable or normal for lesbians - in fact characters i would call femme are usually very pointedly straight and usually shamed/demonized, with their appearance a pointed commentary on why they're bad people, from slutshaming to the selfish material girl trope, unless it treads into the "weird" category for straight people, in which case they're always oddball lonely cat ladies nobody likes.
but even then, the distinct things that i recognize in femmes (queercoding, if you will,) are always absent, because they are deviations from the male gaze. femininity is expected to be a performance for the male gaze, femininity embraced by lesbians is literally the opposite. guess what we see on tv?
and i don't say this to be like "ooh femmephobia is real!" rather, my point is that media just hates lesbians. and i dislike when people say "all we see for lesbian rep is femmes," because we don't see femmes, we see feminine people playing a lesbian based on a straight interpretation of what femme and the female gaze is. they literally don't understand it. there is no gender nonconformity, no actual femme coding on any of these characters; what you mean by "femme" is they wear makeup and maybe high heels.
media hates lesbians. butch rep is utterly abysmal, and I'm begging y'all to reframe how you look at what rep we do have, because continuing to call what they give us "femme" is a disservice to lesbians. straight people do not understand that there are different ways to be a woman or perform femininity, so all we get for lesbian rep are straight women and straight interpretations of lesbians, not femmes. please don't disrespect lesbians by acting like any of what we get qualifies as rep for butches and femmes, because it doesn't, and it won't without direct queer involvement because straight people are incapable of understanding what we are or even look like.
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The brothers with an MC that has Dysautonomia (POTS)
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Hi! So… this is kind of a self indulgent post? I just wanted to think about the brothers taking care of MC when they have no spoons or just are having a crisis 🤧 I never have anyone to help when I'm on my worst health days so yeah!
Warnings: mentions of chronic illness, cursing
Characters: Seven demon brothers
Category: Shortfic, bulleted… whatever that thing’s name is
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Humans are complex yet fragile creatures. Their body works in complicated and fascinating ways, almost being too perfect. Yet, illnesses exist. Humanity has always lived with diseases, from things like the common flu to terrible plagues that threatened to wipe out half of a continent. Modern medicine has worked hard to mantain the population's health, treating and curing any disease that installs itself in the host’s body.
That is, unless it’s a chronic illness.
Oh, humans. Such intelligent yet incapable creatures.
When you arrived to Devildom, you didn't even think about how life would be there while dealing with your “problem”, as how you used to refer to it. However, as time passed by it became increasingly obvious to you that the weather and the lack of your medication were making it really difficult for you to continue living and ignoring your symptoms.
The first months were hell (heh) for you, as you weren't as close to the brothers nor the other exchange students to ask for help or to talk to them about your health. As time passed by and your relationships started getting stronger, you started pondering about the possibility of telling them. Would that affect the way they treated you? You weren’t sure you actually would want that.
One day, you had to be practically dragged out of bed by an angry Lucifer; you were running late. A pounding migraine made itself present and made you groan in pain, but surely you could handle it. Lazily, you dressed yourself with the uniform and walked slowly to the dining room; your head felt funny and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. It definitely was a bad day.
— Hurry up or you won't be able to eat before going to RAD, MC. —Lucifer spoke and you just nodded while you sat down.
Your stomach growled and your nose wrinkled in disgust. You definitely felt like you were going to throw up. Actually, was it cold or was it just you? Lord, you were even trembling.
— I’m sorry… —You tried to excuse yourself— I think I'm not feeling too good…
But you stood up too quickly and your legs gave up on you as your vision went dark for a few seconds just to come back unfocused and blurry.
Lucifer immediately stood up and ran up to you, crouching by your side. He gently cradled you in his arms and was surprised by your corporal temperature. It wasn't normal for a human to be so cold, right? Surely blue lips weren't a good sign either. This situation was something he didn't know how to manage, and that really stressed him.
— MC? —he called out to you as he softly slapped your cheek just to check if you really were conscious. You groaned as your eyes darted all around the room. You could feel a strong body holding you and six distinct voices yelling and panicking.
— Lucifer! What’s wrong with them!?
— Hey, human!!!! Doncha dare die on me!!!!
— MC, please hang in there!!
Even Satan, the smartest one, and Belphie, the one who knew the most about humans, were amiss. What was going on with their human? Were you going to die?
— Legs… —You said, covering your eyes with a trembling hand.— Help me raise my legs…
— What?
— They're telling you to raise your legs! what are you, deaf!?
And finally, after you recovered of your sudden crisis, you were taken to your room so you could rest. At least after arguing with seven worried demons that insisted on rushing you to a human hospital. You knew that wasn't strictly necessary, but certainly having a blood pressure monitor would come in very handy.
Laying down on the matress, an exhausted sigh left your lips; your head was starting to hurt. Lucifer had to make sure his brothers didn't bother you (mainly Mammon and Asmodeus, who nearly had a heart attack when they saw you suddenly collapsing), but Satan wasn't going to just leave you alone after that. The door quietly creaked as it opened and the blond man stepped inside the room.
— How are you feeling? —He gently closed the door behing him and walked up to your bed, sitting on it.
— I’m fine —You answered.— Just a bit tired… —You extended your arms towards him, asking for a hug.
He nodded and scooped closer to you, laying down beside your tired form and softly passing an arm over your shoulders. You closed your eyes and rested your head against him.
— Care to explain what was that about?
— Hmm…
— MC?
— I didn't want to worry you… —neither did you want them to feel sorry for you.— I know I should've told you sooner, but I thought I could manage by myself like before-…
— This has happened before? —The demon inspected you with his gaze
— Yeah, I have dysautonomia
…
— What?
Right. Human chronic illnesses surely aren't known in the Devildom; why would they need to know them anyway? You sigh and stay quiet for a few seconds before trying to explain to the blond demon your health condition.
— You mean one of the main things that keeps you alive is not working!? —Satan was practically yelling now.
— Okay, Satan, let's calm down, I’m not dying-…
— Well it sounds like you are!
And before you can stop him, he's already sprinting out of your room to tell his brothers.
Lucifer
WHAT!?
MC is DYING!?
You have to take him away from his now stunned brothers in order to clearly explain to him that you are, in fact, not dying
It sounds like your body just gave up on keeping you alive, and you know it
But you're okay!
You only need medicine to help your heart regulate itself!
And probably having a blood pressure monitor in the HoL would be nice too
Overall, he is quick to catch on after the initial panic passes
He will now make sure you have all your needs covered
Still freaks out whenever you have a bad day or faint, but overall is very reliable and helpful
Mammon
Definitely wants to cry
When you come back after Satan he's the first one to throw himself at you
You can't die again!
You really need to try and calm him down before successfully explaining to him that you were going to be okay
He is very upset about you having to deal with something like that for your entire life
Believe it or not, now he sticks to you even more
Panics whenever you start feeling funny and tries to help
It’s the thought that counts
Leviathan
Henry!!! You can't die!!!!
He is one that definitely DOES cry along Asmodeus
Sitting down with them in the living room to explain is the best option
He isn't sure if your explanation made him feel better or more nervous
But you’re not going to die! That's good!!
He will actually offer to buy anything you need from Akuzon
He prefers to help you by buying anything you need rather than tending to you
Don't get him wrong, he loves you
But it will be two unconscious individuals if he gets too overwhelmed
Satan
Sit down, Sherlock
It’s actually quite hard to convince him you're gonna be okay
Although calmer, he’ll now proceed to investigate everything he can about it and how it affects you
He definitely will basically become an expert in a very short time
Another one that is very reliable and helpful
Less busy than Lucifer, so he can actually make sure to take care of you until you are back to a 100%
Asmodeus
NO!!
His dear MC can’t be sick! They look so healthy!!!
He, like Levi, is crying
Someone give him tissues please
Baths, massages and everything that can remotely help you feel better will never not be an option with him around
If you thought he pampered too much before, buckle up
He too panicks if you faint, but he doesn't freeze in place
Beelzebub
Actually VERY worried
His frown gives it away despite his naturally stoic face
Sits beside Belphie and in front of you while you're explaining them everything
He shakes his head after hearing you, not quite being okay with you being sick
It also takes a lot of reassurance with him to help him be at ease
He will be the first to catch you if you fall! Or to carry you if you need so
You can count on him too
He just wants to protect you
Belphegor
At first thought you just fell asleep (no Belphie, MC isn't you)
Huh? Fainted?
MC's sick!?
He's angry before being sad
Calms down almost at the same time that Beel does
Probably won't be helpful since he’s always asleep
But he definitely will help when sleeping is difficult for you
Probably will carry an extra pillow around to cushion your fall
Please don't expect him to actually catch you if you collapse
#obey me!#om!#obey me! shall we date#om! asmodeus#om! beelzebub#om! belphegor#om! leviathan#om! lucifer#om! mammon#obey me mammon#obey me satan#obey me x reader#obey me! mammon#obey me lucifer#obey me leviathan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#fanfic#obey me fanfic#om! fanfic#om! satan#om! mc#obey me mc#obey me! fanfic
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K so fun fact: I'm brazilian and we are people who are extremely affectionate with each other. We greet each other with hugs and kisses and physical touch is the norm for just about every type of relationship other than complete stranger. Due to this, the one emotion we are never able to properly hide no matter how hard we try is how much we love someone. It's the basis for every sort of positive relationship a standard brazilian will have. Even when it's just acquaintances, we're still guided by the love and respect we feel for our fellow man.
What does this have to do with Jamil? Simple: give him an s/o who is incapable of fully hiding how much they adore him.
Like they'll be subtle, they'll be discreet, but they will never be able to fully hide it. Secret relationship? Sure but it's not gonna stop their eyes from always discreetly wandering over to him. No PDA? Whatever you say dear, but it ain't stopping them from sticking close and brushing up against him.
As soon as they're alone, Jamil is going to be absolutely smothered. Always touching him one way or another, balantly looking at him with heart eyes, and bluntly replying to teases about how they feel towards him (cue blushy Jamil). Even when he's not feeling up to it, they still let their feelings out through acts of service (Kalim sitting, helping with chores, reminding him to rest, making dinner, drawing a bath, etc).
There is also the fact that while the s/o is able to lie, their capability to do so goes out the window when it comes to Jamil. Their able to give vaugue or ambiguous answers, but never outright lie. The reader will also go out of their way to manipulate conversations so it never lands on the topic of their relationship with Jamil.
If someone were to point blank as them if they love Jamil, they would be completely incapable of saying no.
Now the reader themselves doesn't particularly care, but always keep Jamil's wishes in mind. Which is why they respect his boundaries very well. But even then, their affection tends to spill over one way or another.
Which brings us to the comedy:
Kalim, post-CH4 and awakening his Scarabia powers, has noticed that the reader never gives definitive answers when it comes to their opinions on Jamil. Combined with the fact that they always seem to be physically close to him and always looking his way, things are a little confusing for our resident sunshine.
So he bluntly asks and there are two routes for this.
Route 1: the reader just replies: you want the short or long version?
Short version: simple "I love him" that takes less than 10 secs
Long version: 30+ minutes of every single little thing they absolutely adore about Jamil *fangirl style*
Point is that now Kalim is aware that reader is head over heels tumbling down a hill and he's somewhat sure that Jamil is at least interested (even tho the snake is tumbling right after). But he does not know the two have already crashed at the bottom of the Mariana Trench and are already dating.
Cue wacky Kalim shenanigans as he tries to get his two besties together.
Route 2: reader continues to be vague and says something like "It's not really that simple"
Kalim interprets this as you two having a bad relationship/hating each other. The cherry on top of his guilt sundae is the assumption that reader and Jamil are only tolerating each other for Kalim's sake.
Cue paniking sunshine and enter wacky hijinks of Kalim trying to get Jamil and the reader to be friends (not possible unless they break up but at least his heart is in the right place).
Both routes include Kalim learning the truth and duck taping his loud mouth shut, a poor long suffering Jamil, and a very amused reader who is just laughing at the situation while cooing over their flustered boyfriend.
As a Finn I have a feeling we might be quite close to opposite ends of the spectrum here when it comes to showing affection, especially physically 😅
I do love the idea of an s/o who can’t quite hold back their feelings despite their best attempts. It feels very real, too. Like, of course you’re gonna look after the person you care about, and can’t help showing concern if something seems to be going wrong, for example. Like, they seem to get hurt? Of course you’re gonna look worried. They look happy? Of course you’re gonna be happy for them too.
(Also ngl I do try not to lie if I can help it but do sometimes make sure to set my words carefully so yeah I can feel those ambiguous answers for sure.)
Hasdfs oh Kalim you dear sunshine. I can just see Jamil’s confusion at first when he realizes what Kalim is doing, looking at his s/o with a “do you have something to do with this” look. Jamil’s surprise turning into exasperation when it just keeps on happening, and weighing in the options of if it’s less of a hassle for Kalim to know what’s going on after all.
“cooing over their flustered boyfriend” tho. Yes. Totally. Always love this for Jamil. (tho I’d certainly feel awkward too trying to sidestep / calm down Kalim’s antics)
#twisted wonderland#jamil viper#jamil viper x reader#ner talks#chatting with folks#lex752#oh kalim you sweetheart#so much for jamil trying to have some peace by keeping things quiet
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Many are speculating about a K&W divorce...Since the announcement of Kate's operation, your readings about them have been quite worrying. William weak and incapable and about to resign. Kate walks away... distances herself.I'm starting to wonder if the French psychic I listened to recently isn't right about W and K...unfortunately. Sad.
I will use this question to summarize my readings over the last 1 year or so.
I have not seen the divorce paper (because the court card or contract or effective bond did not come)
but yes there is a break (not emotional) but rather conceptual.
After the death of Prince Philip, Catherine starts to appear as empress (stronger than a queen) when the queen died, Catherine continued to come as empress but William still comes as chariot = cancer = william or prince.
He never appeared as Emperor. It's Charles.
William has a psychological problem currently and he needs to treat it.
The problem is that William doesn't know how (I'm not talking about professional) but he doesn't really have an entourage. He did not set up a real cabinet like Charles and Reine.
He takes collaborators but not people from the wake of royalty.
William is afraid of power and his role.
Except Catherine embraced her role!!!!
Catherine grew spiritually but William did not.
William is truly lost psychologically.
He must review part of his royal life, he cannot avoid otherwise he will simply give up (Beatrice will make a very good queen)
There is a real rift between them.
Catherine is quite angry with him and William is disappointed in Catherine. There is a lot of misunderstanding between them.
William is currently avoiding work in the name of Catherine's illness. Unless Catherien is better… she tells him to go back to work because it's his duty.
I'M GOING TO READ THE BRF AND THE COUPLE AND CHARLES
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Bit late to Grumbo Month (not to mention that I'm writing for drawing prompts) but I'm still going to do it, even if it's all a bit later than expected. @grow-bettah created the prompts and the event, so check out his blog too!
Day 1: Handholding
The constant messages were common, at this point. Mumbo would’ve been more worried if he didn’t get new messages from Grian at least once every day. His friend wrote in the messiest scrawl, asking simple questions that were almost too easy to answer. He typically wrote out the response and sent the cart back without a second thought.
Except, Grian hadn’t sent a message for a few days.
Mumbo checked for new messages every so often, hoping for the dingy minecart to be there, a message from Grian patiently waiting for a reply.
No such luck.
It only took a few more days before Mumbo sent a message of his own, crafting a new minecart for the express purpose of checking on Grian. He wanted to run through the tunnel and check for himself, but a message was probably a more acceptable response.
His hands slid over the untarnished edge of the freshly crafted minecart. He wasn’t being irrational, was he? Something was surely wrong.
Mumbo set the minecart up on the track, message in hand. It was a bit longer than the typical messages they sent to each other, but it had been a few days. Almost a week, even! So, understandably, Mumbo was in the right to send a longer message.
Maybe a message wouldn’t be enough? Surely Grian could understand Mumbo’s concern. He would understand if Mumbo just popped by to say hello, right?
The book and quill dropped to the floor with a heavy thud as Mumbo tucked himself into the minecart. He wasn’t overreacting. He just missed his friend. That was all this was, right?
Mumbo ignored the warmth spreading across his face as he rode through the tunnel. He didn’t realize that Grian had come back to detail the stupid thing. No one was ever meant to see the tunnel, after all. What was the point of decorating a secret?
Unless he meant for me to visit someday, Mumbo thought to himself. He shook his head. That couldn’t be the case. There were plenty of other reasonable ways to travel, most of which included being aboveground.
Mumbo mused to himself a bit more, marveling at the absurdity of it all. He was traveling through a messaging system on his way to check on Grian. On Grian! The avian who seemed incapable of leaving Mumbo alone for more than a few hours!
I feel like a piece of paper, he thought as the tunnel finally came up near the sound of an aggravating bell. Startled, Mumbo jumped out of the minecart early. The minecart continued without him, crashing into something as it reached Grian’s base.
What on earth? Mumbo hurried to catch up, and he realized the issue. The minecart had crashed into another minecart. The original minecart. Mumbo’s shoulders sank.
Grian wasn’t here. The dust on the ground around Mumbo was more than enough to suggest that, even without the unread message sitting in the minecart.
Glumly, he picked up both minecarts, trying not to feel too upset. Grian was probably just busy with something elsewhere. He probably had a shop in the shopping district to stock, resources to collect. There was a reasonable explanation for this. There had to be.
Mumbo stepped out into the jungle, feeling quite small. It didn’t feel as fun now that he was looking for Grian. How could one find an avian in the jungle? His lips quivered, but he straightened his shoulders. This was nothing. Hermits could do anything if they set themselves to the task. It was just another goal to reach. He would find Grian.
Grian hadn’t meant to get so invested in resource collecting. But the base he had in mind needed a lot of resources, resources that he couldn’t collect easily.
So, he’d gone mining. And he’d created a shop. And maybe he hadn’t been home in a few days, but that wasn’t the biggest deal. Hermits were allowed to vanish into the wilderness for long periods of time. It was almost expected, really.
Grian smiled as he landed in the tree next to his starter base. He would get started on his new base in a few days, but he was ready to rest. Already, he could feel the exhaustion weighing down his wings.
Mumbo walked out of his base right before he could jump down. Grian’s eyebrows scrunched with curiosity as he looked at his friend. What was Mumbo doing here? Grian hadn’t been home, so surely he wasn’t visiting.
The expression on Mumbo’s face was not a happy one. Grian felt his wings twitch with concern. What happened? Did Mumbo need his help with something? Was Mumbo crying?
That wouldn’t do. Even as Grian saw Mumbo’s resolve strengthening for whatever task he was setting himself to, he found himself flying down.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Grian reached out gently.
Mumbo froze, staring at his face. He seemed to be looking for something, but Grian couldn’t guess at what it was. “Grian?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
Mumbo pulled him forward abruptly, hugging him so tightly Grian could feel feathers bending. “Woah, hey, easy on the wings, Mumbo.”
“Sorry.” Mumbo let him go, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable, you know.”
“What did I do this time?” Grian started to relax, seeing how Mumbo seemed a little more at ease.
“You can’t just send me a message asking if we should start a shop together and then not continue the conversation!”
“Ah.” Grian had done that, hadn’t he. “Oops?”
“You had me very worried for a while there,” Mumbo shook his head again. “But nothing was wrong. Nothing at all! You just went… resource-gathering?” He picked flint out of Grian’s hair. “At least, I hope you were resource-gathering. Suffocating doesn’t sound very pleasant if I’m honest.”
“Ah yes, I went to swim in a gravel pit. Of course I was resource-gathering!”
“Mmm…” Mumbo wrinkled his nose. “You still could’ve told me before you ran off!”
“We need permission to be independent suddenly?” Grian challenged, pleased by the way Mumbo’s face flushed pink.
“Well, that’s not-“
“You were worried about me for no reason. Silly Mumbo.”
“I did wait a few days before investigating! I gave you that much, but since you couldn’t even be bothered to read my message-“
“Wait, you took back the message?” Grian strained his ears. No bell ringing. “You took the minecart?”
“I saw dust on the floor. You clearly weren’t checking your mail.” Mumbo sounded affronted. “What did you expect me to do when you disappeared for a week?”
“It’s been five days.” Grian shook his head. “Right, we’re not done with this conversation yet.”
“Where are you going?”
“To take a nap. I’ve been gathering gravel, stone, sand, amongst other things for the past five days. I’m tired, Mumbo.” Almost without thinking, Grian slipped his hand into Mumbo’s.
Startled, Mumbo followed, clasping Grian’s hand securely in his own. “Did you want me to stay here while you nap?”
Grian stopped. Did he want that? He shrugged. “Well, seeing as you came all this way, it’d be rude to send you home without hashing this out. So, yeah, stay if you want.”
Mumbo squeezed his hand. “I’ll stay if you’d have me.”
Grian briefly realized he’d never grabbed Mumbo’s hand like this before. Completely stationary, he looked down at their hands. Mumbo held his hand like it would slip away if he gripped any looser. Looking at his own dirty hand in Mumbo’s significantly cleaner one, Grian felt a little disoriented.
He was a builder. Mess was constant as he gathered materials and placed and broke blocks. Mumbo built things on occasion, but never to the extent that Grian did. Never to the extent that there was sand under his nails and gravel in his hair. Never to the extent that green stained his fingertips.
No, Mumbo was not a builder. But it didn’t mean that the stains on Mumbo’s hands were any less prominent. Redstone was almost worse than sand with how it stuck everywhere. Mumbo had mentioned once that he was always cleaning it up, just in case he walked too close to one of his machines. It burned the skin when activated.
Grian brushed his thumb against the smooth skin of Mumbo’s hand. Slowly, he looked up at Mumbo. Faintly, he heard Mumbo say something. Grian blinked at him.
Shaking his head yet again, Mumbo squeezed his hand and tugged him away from the doorway. Grian followed, if only to keep Mumbo’s hand securely in his own.
It just felt right.
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I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |
Part Seventeen
A/n: IT'S BEEN A WHILE! Hi, I'm very sorry for the wait! But even so, I hope this next part will have been worth it, there's a lot going on here and it jumps around a bit but it is longer! Enjoy? x
Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.
The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.
Warnings: Lots happening!! Mentions of food, body issues, bouts of sadness and struggles with both physical and mental health (dw, there's still a healthy amount of fluff, im not that evil)
Masterlist
--
“Excited, darling?”
Matty’s enlivened voice startled me from the messy thoughts which swarmed my mind, I glanced up and out of my daze to find him walking over. I hummed back in soft confusion.
“I mean, you’re finally getting out of this shit-hole and your face only continues to look like that of a slapped arse,” Matty snorted as he dropped down onto the bed beside me, though he did nudge my shoulder to soften the blow.
Still, my eyes narrowed as I wrinkled my nose up at him in retort.
“This do you any better?” I goaded, getting into his space.
I watched his mouth pull up into a lopsided grin, it stayed there even as he rolled his eyes at me and proceeded to shove my face away from his.
“Tons." Matty blew out, "But come on, darling, what’s been going on, eh? Figured you’d be bouncing off the walls by now, been planning an escape ever since you first opened your eyes.”
I quirked a brow at him. “Erm I’d quite like to remind you, Healy, that I am currently incapable of bouncing from foot to foot at this very moment in time, let alone any walls. Also, I’m pretty sure that Dr Mann would rescind my release papers if I even made an attempt.”
With a shrug, I shot him a braggart smile.
“Yeah, alright Einstein.” Matty drawled with another roll of his eyes. “That still doesn’t answer my question though, does it?”
His gaze drifted downwards then to where I held my phone tightly in my good hand. Its shattered screen tended to draw the eye- but I figured I’d get it fixed soon enough, when I had a bit of money to spare instead of taking up the guys’ offer of just getting me a new one altogether. They were utter idiots if they thought for one second that I’d ever agree to an offer like that. Though, it had been rather sweet.
But in truth, I only had my phone on me because I’d been waiting on a text. Or a call. Or any sort of notification that would let me know that George hadn’t just gone and disappeared off of the face of the Earth- again.
Though it seemed to be an ongoing thing with him, something of a hobby now that I’d actually thought about it...
See, after the events that had transpired during his last visit, it was safe to say that I hadn’t heard from him again since he’d left. Which, in itself, had been quite the dramatic exit.
What with Hann having gone off at him whilst the rest of us had been too fucking shell-shocked to try and sort things out between ourselves. George had taken his opportunity and ran with it, darted the second fate had given him the chance. Which had actually been in the arrival of the day-nurse with my breakfast, who’d been awfully surprised by the audience of people, as well as the very tense atmosphere we’d created.
The lads, well mainly just Ross, had reassured me a few times since then that they’d let George know about my discharge from the hospital, but there hadn’t been any sort of response from him. Not anything of worth at least, unless you considered him blocking me on every social media platform.
Yeah, that’d hurt.
“Love.” Matty called out again with a huffed laugh, gently knocking me sideways.
I blinked out of my stupor and over towards him, “Sorry, what?”
With an exaggerated groan, Matty rolled his eyes at me and fell back onto the bed in a strop. “You know… when they listed off what the fuck was wrong with you, I don’t remember them ever bringing up amnesia.”
“Oh, piss off.” I scowled and tried to swat at him, but I couldn’t hide my slight smile, especially when I carefully lowered myself down to join him, the two of us just sprawled there, sidewards on the sheets. I kicked at his ankle childishly and his legs locked around mine in retaliation.
“Almost wish I’d been given amnesia if it meant I’d be free of you.” I mumbled, hoping he’d take the bait.
And he did. Matty gasped brightly and I could only laugh at the indignant expression that overwhelmed his face.
“You prick, take that back!” He practically shouted, slapping the back of his hand against my hip.
“Sorry, no can do, Healy. Lying’s a sin and all that gobshite.”
I received a derisive snort in return but when I glanced over at him, Matty was wearing a fond sort of grin. “Our little atheist, glad to have you back.”
I shook my head in mock exasperation, fighting off a wider smile, and then proceeded to shove at him when he tried to rope me into an awkward sort of hug due to our position. “Oh sod off, would you!”
“Nah, at least not until you say you love me!” He quipped back, burying his chin in my hair.
“Matty!” I groaned, but ultimately resigned myself to the fact we’d probably be stuck here a while. “You’re actually such a stubborn prat.”
My head reeled back as best as it could into the mattress when Matty’s face suddenly popped into view above me. “Pot, meet kettle.”
Helplessly, I groaned again.
“Knob.”
—
Knock. Knock.
I looked up from where I’d lazily been packing at the soft sound and smiled when I saw Lee stood in the doorway waiting for me. “Hey.” I greeted him with a soft grin and he returned the sentiment just as easily.
“You got everything?” Lee asked me whilst he made his way over, eyeing what little items remained on the bed.
“This is the last of it.” I told him, tucking away a folded t-shirt. “Why, you gonna miss me or something?” I questioned with a sly smile, feeling very smug when he laughed and gave me a feeble nod.
“‘Course I will. Besides, you know you’re my favourite patient, what am I going to do without you and all your chaotic fuss?” He quipped and I had to chuckle, feigning a halfhearted glare even as I pointed towards him.
“You say that now, but you’ll be glad for the peace.”
Lee shook his head, wearing a smile that was only ever made for sorrowful goodbyes, and I had to tut at him before I started getting all misty eyed too. I stepped forwards and threw my one good arm round his neck to tug him in.
“‘M gonna miss you.” I mumbled into his shoulder, silently cursing the tears that had started to prickle behind my eyes. He only hugged me tighter at the admission before we finally parted ways, and I watched as he tried to brave a real smile for me.
“I’m gonna miss you, too. Reckon everyone here will,” Lee sniffed, “You and your boys have made this ward into a VIP lounge of sorts.”
We both snorted at that, knowing it to be all too true. Everyone had been aiming to get a bed in our unit, what with the band coming and going, Matty and all his theatrics. Just thinking about it, it was a massive surprise to suddenly realise that there had been a real lack of paps.
Or maybe, I’d just been shielded from it… I made a mental note to ask one of the lads later on.
“I’ll come visit.” I assured Lee before my face fell into an anxious sort of frown, thinking it over. “Wait, that’s alright, ain’t it? Me stopping by?”
With a simple mirth filled laugh, Lee pulled me into another long hug, “I’m counting on it.”
I hid my smile in the collar of his scrubs.
—
“Oi.” Ross said to me, nudging my knee with his free hand from where he sat in the driver’s seat, it broke me from where I’d previously been watching the world outside pass by. “Was talkin’ to you.” He added.
My brows lifted and I blinked as I turned away from the window.
“Sorry, just strange being outside again. Feels weird.” I told him honestly, fingers tapping away on the door handle.
The giant snorted in turn and moved to shift gears. “Like when you get back off holiday weird? Or you’ve been frozen and just woken up, sort of weird?”
“Second. Futurama type shit.” I nodded decisively, eyes skittering over everything we drove by so that I could take it all in. The gossamer sky and its many clouds. The dozens of contradicting faces. Those with their frowns and them with their laughter. Even the postbox got its fair share of gawking. But then I had to shake my head and peer back over at him, “What were you saying anyway? Before.”
Ross blew a soft exhale out of his nose and I watched one side of his mouth quirk upwards slightly. “I asked if you were gonna be alright, camping out at Matty’s place and whatnot. Figured you might’ve finally had enough of the daft idiot.”
I laughed softly and shook my head at him in turn. “Nah, we’ll be alright. Besides, Doctor's said I needed to have someone close by whilst I’m still recovering, didn’t they? And Matty, he offered.” I shrugged, playing with a loose thread on my jeans. “Well, I say offered, he just sort of decided- but I was just grateful for it all the same. I mean, who else would’ve put me up for so long? Not like I could just head on up to my mum’s if I wanted, or have my boyfriend wait on me hand and foot.”
I snorted at the very thought, but it died the second I saw the hardened eyes Ross wore- even with them casted out towards the road. I knuckled his shoulder in hopes to ease his sudden solemn mood.
“Awh, what’s wrong, MacDonald? Sad you didn't get the chance to house me for a couple weeks, ey?”
Ross cracked a smile at that just as the car made a right, he glanced over at me. “Yeah actually. Could’ve had a right laugh me and you together. Plus, nursing you back to health would’ve given me the chance to get out of a couple of these upcoming meetings we’ve got going on.”
My mouth dropped open at the revelation and I flicked his upper arm in retaliation. “Oi, I’m not some helpless pawn you can use!”
With an amused roll of his eyes, Ross flashed me a toothy grin. “I know that- still, would’ve been a win, win though.”
I simply shook my head at his wind up attempt and left the topic to rest.
Trying not to move too much in my seat, despite my discomfort, I let my head loll back against the headrest. “What time did Matty say he’d be back anyway?”
Said prat had gone and dipped out of the ward a little over an hour before I’d been set for release, claiming he had ‘shit to sort out’.
Ross had originally offered to bum us both a lift but in the end Matty had decided on getting himself an Uber after having given the bassist strict instructions on where to collect the rest of my medication and how to get me home. ‘Safe and sound?’ Ross had assumed, but no. Matty had given him quite the detailed description- having already accounted for the journey and its flow of traffic when we'd first received the news- but he’d also had another rant prepared for what would occur if those points were not met.
It’d been a laugh. For me, at least. Ross not so much.
“Uh,” I watched as Ross’s eyes flickered to the dashboard of his swanky motor before he answered me, “Probably be back about the time we are, could already be there.”
His phone dinged then and we both shared a look when a couple more rapidly followed.
“Guess you’re a psychic, MacDonald.” I told him, then chuckled to myself when Ross winced and moved to turn the radio up, mainly in hopes to drown out the many messages from Matty on his pinging phone.
By the time we pulled up to Matty’s, both Ross and I were rather thankful for the fact that the frontman had seemingly made it back before us, seeing as he’d gone and left the front gate wide open so that the car could graze up the driveway.
I peered as best as I could through the windscreen at the house as I unclipped my seatbelt and Ross turned off the engine. It looked far too still, which always through me off whenever I came over, but even more so than usual. The hospital had been severely overcrowded though, and so it was incredibly bizarre to be welcomed by something so polar-opposite.
“You good?”
Absentmindedly, I nodded at Ross's question and the man took it for what it was, hopping out so that he could grab my things for me. The car was eerily quiet for a brief moment before the boot opened and the sound of rustling and the birds that had nested in the nearby oak tree flooded in. I tried not to focus too hard on the faint buzz that’d started up, deafening my left ear, and instead moved to follow.
“He reckons he left the front door unlocked for us, so just head on in, yeah? I’ll grab this lot.” Ross told me, catching my attention once I’d finally managed to slam the car door shut behind me.
“You sure?” I questioned him, eyes squinted as they got used to the full force of the sun. Even with its sly chill this time of year, London always came with a harsh glare.
“‘Course, go on. I’ll just be a sec.”
I nodded to myself and paced the rest of the way up to the stoop. Luckily, Ross’d been right and the handle gave way with just a gentle push, allowing me to step inside.
“Matty?” I called out, peering my head around the hallway’s first corner to see if he was in the living-room or kitchen. “Matt?” I said again, this time a little louder.
“Yeah! 'M up here!” I heard him shout back, voice muffled and a way away. I frowned but found myself already making a beeline for the stairs.
“What the fuck are you even doing up there?” I asked out loud as I slowly edged my way to the top. “You better not be on the shitter, Matthew! I’ve been there, done that, and would very much not like to relive it.”
I grimaced at the vivid reminder my mind then gifted me. It was safe to say that it hadn’t been the most gracious of days for either one of us.
See, the tour bus flu was indeed very much real and also a huge fucking menace. Six hours stuck in a moving metal bin fitted with one singular toilet in a bathroom no bigger than a coffin was actual hell when you were yoshing and another person had the shits.
Matty and I hadn’t been able to look one another in the eye for a good while after that. Only forgetting about it when Hann had gone and gotten himself shitfaced after a show and nearly sliced himself in half climbing up the bus’s steps. It had taken us a bit to finally find the humour in it though, still it was not something I’d like to experience again.
“Oh, shove off, you’re dying to catch another glimpse of this arse!” Matty replied and I had to roll my eyes whilst I took a second to catch my breath on the landing. Though it wasn’t too long before I was wandering down towards where I’d heard him shout.
“If I wanted so see something flat and pasty then I’d-”
The words I’d been about to speak were ripped from my lips the second I bypassed one of the many doors Matty’s house had to offer, completely taken aback.
I could hardly blink, let alone fathom it, as I tried to take the entire room in whilst Matty jumped up from where he’d been putting something together down on the floor so that he could flaunt his way over to me.
“Like it?” He questioned me with a sly grin, but I couldn’t find the right response to give him, especially with my jaw hanging by my feet.
It was an absolute contrast to everything the room usually offered. Gone were the beige covered concrete walls that decorated the rest of the house, replaced by a calming white that had been paired with a beautifully muted sage feature wall. The bedsheets had been revived by a lovely floral pattern but softened by a plethora of blankets and pretty pillows.
The expected wooden dresser and side tables had also disappeared and in their place now stood antiques coloured the same as the green wall, with brass handles and etchings. Then by the window there was a large collage of pictures, practically an album plastered there in a spiral which stretched from the window to the far corner. I couldn’t quite get myself to move towards it because I'd been stunned to actual tears.
When I finally looked back to Matty, he wore an anxious sort of smile, one of which was almost a smirk but tinged with a little insecurity.
“Matty, I-” I blew out a breath and glanced around again. “You did this? All this?”
He scratched the back of his neck, gaze skitting about the room with mine. “Yes, no? Dunno, not sure if those tears are a good sign or not, so if they’re bad, it was all Ross, yeah?”
With a soft snort, I gifted him a far too fond smile. “First of all, I’m not crying. And second, why would any of this upset me?”
“Oh yeah, ‘course, how stupid of me. Too cool to show emotion us, eh?” Matty feigned as he dipped his head a couple times and pursed his lips, playing along. “You actually like it then? ‘Cause I sort of came up with it on the spot the other day- picked it all out myself as well. Had Ross and Hann put the dresser and shit together though, then paid some guy to paint for me, 'cause fuck that.”
He shrugged it all off, acting as though the gesture was nothing. But I could tell he was proud, that of his work or my reaction I didn’t know, but it was probably both though knowing him. I had to grin.
“Thank you.” I whispered with conviction before finally enveloping him in an overdue hug.
“Ah, take it you liked the surprise then?” I heard Ross say as he waltzed in behind us, dropping my stuff just outside the door.
I pulled away from Matty to watch him walk further inside.
“Even set up the steps! Knew you could do it, mate.” He continued, clapping his curly haired mate on the shoulder as he gestured over towards the right side of the bed.
My forehead pinched as I rounded the two to get a better look at what he meant. “What steps?”
Matty was back to looking a little sheepish again and he trailed on over to where a small set of wooden steps resided. He toed at the structure lightly, “Figured you still had a hard time with he hospital beds and this one, well it’s a lot higher. Reckon these will make it a lot easier, innit?”
Wow.
I couldn’t even get past my fish-mouthing before Ross was intervening again. “Go on then, have you tested them out yet?”
Matty’s eyes widened slightly before he laughed and shook his head. “No, man. Finished just up as she walked in.”
So that’s what he’d been doing.
“Well then, best make sure they’re stable enough for her majesty.” Ross cajoled, wearing the slightest hint of a smirk whilst he prodded at Matty’s shoulder. “Can’t be having any more injuries, can we?”
I rolled my eyes, but not even Ross being his usual twattish self could dim my mood.
Matty’s wary gaze darted over to me and I had to hold back a laugh, “Come on, do as the man says.”
I was met with a petulant scowl before Matty finally relented and shimmied his way over towards the steps in a huff. “Why am I always the one getting fucked?” He mumbled under his breath and I had to hide my smile in the cuff of Ross’s shirt when he moved to throw an arm over my shoulders.
“Ah, come on, Healy. Be a good sport, won't you.”
“Yeah, I mean I’d do it but imagine what Dr Mann would say if I’m already in A&E before the days out?”
Matty glared at the pair of us but didn’t comment, instead he put a courageous but cautious foot on the first step. Ross and I stood there with baited breath, waiting in anticipation whilst Matty drew in a shaky lungful of air before finally allowing the step to take the brunt of his weight.
His eyes had been glued shut but when nothing happened he slowly pried one open, the other soon followed when a prideful grin threatened to overwhelm his face. Ross and I cheered loudly in congratulations (and sheer shock), before Matty, in turn, did a silly little bow for us shortly followed by an odd dance.
“Alright, Louie Spence. Calm down before you really do hurt yourself.” I chuckled and took his outstretched hand in mine when he motioned for a bit of help back down.
“And you said I’d fuck it all up.” Matty beamed like the cat who got the cream back at Ross. “Pay up, dickhead.”
I glanced between the pair in rising amusement and observed the way Ross scoffed before he ultimately dug his hand into his back pocket.
“How much did you bet?” I couldn’t help but ask them.
“50 quid said I’d get the ump and give up. 100 if I paid someone else to do it for me. 200 if it broke.” Matty relayed, happily counting the extra notes he’d been handed.
I laughed at Ross’s prominent scowl before the giant tackled his bandmate onto my freshly made bed.
“No, not the clean sheets!" I gasped, shooing the two. "Get your dirty shoes off my pillows, MacDonald! Oh for fucks sake.”
I should’ve known better than to try and stop them, because even with a broken body they still somehow managed to rope me into their antics.
“Guys!!”
—
Recovery felt much different outside of the ward I'd decided.
There was no proper routine here at Matty’s. And although I was forever grateful to him, for everything he’d done in the build up to my release and for letting me shack up with him for a few weeks, it was also very hard.
I was still in pain. More so, sometimes. There was no Lee here to rely on, and I couldn’t find it in me to burden Matty any further than I already had. Everything felt like a task to me. From sitting up to showering. Or even going to the loo and drinking a glass of water.
I mean don’t get me wrong, the first couple days had been heaven sent. The peace and the quiet. But then the peace had quickly grown tense and the quiet too loud. And I was left stuck here in my own head for hours at a time.
Being out of hospital meant life getting back to normal. It meant days passing without much fuss, friends stopping in but never for too long, meetings and calls and messages- all of which only ever concerned Matty, seeing as Delia had threatened to sack me if I even thought about doing any work whilst I was supposed to be resting. Which meant no emails, or designing.
But the band meetings Ross had previously mentioned a couple days prior appeared to drag on for hours, and Matty would be holed up in his office or the studio for most of the day. Not that I had much room to complain, he had a lively hood and actual shit to do. I couldn't keep interfering with that.
It was just hard. Hard being alone. Hard feeling so isolated.
Hann was busy with Carly and work, and when he had the time to spare it was mostly spent with us just talking about the new album or how I’d been getting on. Which was nice enough, but I hated lying to him, to everyone really.
Ross had been back and forth, he’d annoy me for a couple hours whilst Matty was busy and then he’d disappear for a couple days and I’d hear nothing. Maybe a vague text here or a tag on Twitter there, but that was it.
And me, I was slowly abandoning what little sense of reality I still held onto.
Things with George hadn’t gotten any easier.
In fact, I started to ignore everything and anything to do with him.
The guys they never mentioned him, not even in passing. But I knew when he’d been around. I could always tell. Ross wouldn’t look me in the eye. Matty told too many jokes. And Hann would give me this pitying expression that made me want to hit him.
I avoided all mentions of him and the band on social media as best I could and had started listening to podcasts through headphones whenever Matty’s music echoed through the house.
It was difficult. Everything felt difficult at the moment. Life did.
And so, almost subconsciously, I’d taken to hiding myself away for longer periods of time. The room Matty had made for me was a safe haven, it made me feel more at home than I would’ve in my own bed. But it was also isolating, being at Matty’s cut me off from the outside world. He had no real neighbours, no local parks or trails to wander, and the only scheduled visitor he had was the cleaner who came in every Wednesday.
My body and I were also on the outs. A little like George and I, I supposed.
It was an evident struggle having to relearn parts of myself. To acknowledge these new scars I had and the thing that came with them. It was still a shock to me each morning to wake up and be reminded of the damage to my ear. To my head. The throbbing migraines that followed, as well as the ringing and the utter silence too.
Most days, I just wanted to scream. Others I wanted to disappear altogether.
—
“Looks to be healing rather nicely. Though I’d be a bit wary about the wound on the back of your head, it seems to be taking a little longer than the rest.” The doctor told me and I simply nodded in return, wanting this whole charade to be over and actively avoiding the tiny mirror adhered to the wall opposite from where I was sat on the bed.
It was just another checkup, I told myself in hopes to calm the nerves. I’d had two in the time I’d been out, and this was just the third.
“What- it isn’t infected is it?”
That was Matty, he’d joined me as per usual.
In my peripheral, I saw the doctor shake her head in response to his question. “No, but I would suggest keeping an eye out for any abnormalities that might arise. Oozing liquids, light throbbing, heat and what not.”
Matty hummed and then proceeded to ask another rapid fire of questions whilst I just stood up and dipped back behind the curtain to change out of the gown they’d given me.
“How long until the cast can come off?” I overheard him say.
“Three weeks, hopefully. Though we’d probably recommend a splint after that. At least until she’s in physio.”
I kept on breathing. In and out. Out then in. Ignoring the muted whispers that followed.
I tugged on the large hoodie Ross had leant me, one that actually covered my cast, then stepped back out. “Are we all done?” I questioned and the woman turned to me with a polite smile, clipboard in hand.
“All good to go. Your prescription should be ready at the front desk, you only need to head to the pharmacy.”
I nodded and quietly thanked her, slipping out of the office and then the unit altogether as quick as my feet would let me. Unaware of the troubled gaze which followed behind me.
—ROSS’S POV—
With a quiet huff and a flick of his wrist, Ross waved off George’s silent question as he tried to pay attention to what Matty had been saying on the other side of the phone.
The two of them had been holed up in the studio since the early hours of the morning- mostly because he’d been shafted with ‘G Duty’ (a glorified name for babysitting the walking self-destruct button they all called a mate basically)- because the knob hadn’t been sleeping as of late and so he'd decided to come in and work through some things. Not that it’d helped much. They'd gotten fuck all done.
“Say that again, mate. Didn’t quiet catch it.” He murmured into the phone, listening intently even whilst George decided to take a seat near him instead of heading back behind the deck.
“Just- I don’t know what to do, man! She’s been- I don’t know! It’s like she’s turned into a zombie or summat! Lifeless. Dead, almost.” Matty hissed through the speaker, and Ross could practically visualise his turmoil, the way he’d be scrubbing at his face or anxiously tapping his foot.
He sighed heavily to himself. It seemed they’d known one another for far too long.
“She won’t eat, and if she does then it’s only ever in her room. She comes down in the middle of the night and I hear her puttering about down here, she’ll make a tea or something then she’s gone before I can even see her, and I won’t hear a peep til the next evening- that's if I’m lucky.” Matty went on to say, describing to him what the last week or so had been like for the pair of them.
“I’ve tried everything, mate. She doesn’t want to come on a walk, or go to the shops. Even step into the garden, for fucks sake!” He was whispering harshly now and Ross could easily pick up on the stress which lined his tone. “Gimme a sec.” Matty told him after a tense pause had passed and so Ross listened to him faintly pad about his house before a door soon opened.
“You alright?” Ross asked him with a furrowed brow, only glancing up when George shifted slightly beside him. He ignored it for the time being.
“Yeah, yeah.” Matty assured him, albeit a little breathlessly. “Just had to step outside for a fag. Didn’t want her to hear me either.”
“She there?”
Ross could almost hear him shake his head. George shifted again too and so he shot him a dark look in hopes he'd fuck off.
“Nah, in her room." Matty replied, "But I don’t know. Rather not chance it, you know?”
Ross hummed in reply, then inhaled slowly. “How did the check up go yesterday?”
“Fine, I ‘spose. Doctor said her cast could come off soon, so that was a plus. But they're still a little iffy about everything else though, her ear especially…”
“Still can’t hear a thing?” Ross asked, picking at a long thread in the studio’s sofa.
“Nope. Ringing sometimes, she's said. But otherwise nothing. Sometimes I’ll be talking to her about random shit and I’ll see her turn her whole body just so her good ear’s facing me. I dunno if she even notices it.”
“I know, I’ve seen it too.” Ross mentioned gruffly, his chest growing uncomfortable at the thought of it. At the thought of having to see her go through even more heartache. “Did she say anything?”
“Barely spoke a word to me on the way home, mate. Picked up her favourite too.”
“Five Guys.” They both said simultaneously, and Ross’s mouth quirked upwards when he heard Matty’s airy chuckle titter out.
“Yeah, got her usual. But she mentioned having a shower when we first got in and so I left it for her to heat up and went to sort out some crap, but I came down later it was still on the side. And that was hours after we’d got back, man.”
Ross chewed on a loose thumbnail, lost in his own head.
“I just, I don’t know, what if she’s like depressed or something? I mean, I get it. More than fucking most. But her? Seeing her like that... Ross man, it’s killing me.”
“I know, mate. I know. You just gotta hold out, yeah? She’ll bounce back. She always does.” He attempted to reassure, but he was fucking fretting over it all too. How much could a single person suffer through before they just caved in?
“Ross.” Matty paused after he'd said it though and so Ross waited. He listened to his mate work through his tangent of worries, heard his shaky breaths, and just waited.
“What if she doesn’t?” And the tone Matty used was one he’d only ever heard once before, the morning that he’d decided he needed to get clean.
Ross hadn’t even realised that his jaw was wrenched shut by the grit of his teeth before he went to reply. “Then we be there for her. Like she was for us. Like she’s always been.”
“Right.”
Ross didn’t say anything for a long while and it almost sounded as though the line had gone dead before a loud trembling exhale ripped him from the tension.
“Look, mate. I’ll head on over tonight, alright? Surprise her.” He decided, “Bring dinner or dessert. Fucking whatever. You can go out for a bit. Clear your head. I’ll try and see if I can get her to talk.”
Whilst he listened to Matty ramble away in return, asking if it was a good idea, if he was sure, Ross caught George’s eye from across the sofa before the drummer quickly startled away. Ross watched him closely after that, but still found himself mulling things over. Wondering how he could possibly fix this apocalyptic mess that'd been created. If anyone even could.
But then he decided in that next moment, he at least had to try.
If not for his own sanity, then for her's.
Part eighteen>
#the 1975#george daniel#george daniel the 1975#george daniel fic#george 1975#george daniel x reader#matty#matty healy#george daniel x you#1975#best friend matty#the 1975 band#fic#adam hann#ross macdonald#carly holt#1975 band#matty 1975#series#work#exes to lovers#y/n#reader#multi part fic#x you#x reader#angst#fluff#humour#drama
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Ok but HaiKaveh temple massages
Because I imagine wearing those headphones all the time would probably kinda hurt after a long day. And you can have your angst headcanons and that's fine but I'm here for these two assholes being casually affectionate while continuing to bicker about the stupidest shit.
Like, Alhaitham's just stretched out on the couch reading while Kaveh's got his head in his lap, handling him the way other people handle their cats. Just absentmindedly rubbing and scritching and contemplatively being like, "I could rip your head off like this, you know."
And Alhaitham's just as idly, "Unless you have the grip strength of a Rishboland tiger's jaws, that is not happening."
"Hm. You're making me want to develop a proof of concept." /rubrub
Just. Doing stupidly domestic stuff while arguing. Completely relaxed. If they run out of concrete stuff to bicker over, they just make shit up.
Like Kaveh, without preamble, "...the argument in that passage is bullshit."
"You've been sorting my hair according to gradient for the past half hour, you didn't even glance at the book."
"Wh– You can't prove I did that!"
"I'm not hearing a denial either."
"I'm a master of multitasking, I'll have you know."
"No, you're not. Humans are physically incapable of multitasking. Also, still not hearing a denial."
"...Shut up and go back to your dumb book." /rubrub
#haikaveh#kavetham#i'm just here for them bickering while doing ridiculously domestic shit#headcanon cannon
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Tell me about your Furina trans allegory idea, I love hearing about people finding queer allegories in media
I'm very annoyed because I was trying to do this on mobile, and of course it got eaten as I was working on it. So I am probably going to forget half of what I originally typed.
The first interaction with Furina that we have, it is made very clear that she is a performer. Every action she takes is for others. She lives under a spotlight. Spoilers ahead, obviously.
Furina confronts us in the manner expected of the Hydro Archon. But even in that first interaction, it is made clear that she is uncomfortable in this role, and lacks confidence in what she is doing. She looks around for constant reassurance that "Yes, that is what the Hydro Archon would do here."
We then see her in the courtroom. What is supposed to be her supreme realm. And still, she is unsure. She puts on a facade, keeps a mask, but it is clear that it does not fit.
Then, in Acts 3 and 4, while our interaction is limited to one event at the end, our suspicions that she is not the Archon are given continued evidence from The Knave.
This all leads to the climax in Act 5. The pressure of the prophecy has reached its peak. Furina's mask is pulling ever tighter, and she still can not be the Hydro Archon, no matter how much she tries. Finally, she is presented with an unimaginable, impossible, choice. She decides that the facade is more important then her life, and plunges her hand into the waters from the Primordial Sea, knowing that they will kill her.
Luckily, she survives. But it does not matter. The mask has broken. The world knows that she is not the Hydro Archon.
We then dive into her memories. We see the moment she is made the "Hydro Archon". We have to make a choice between being true to herself, or being what the world expects of the Hydro Archon. We literally can not move forward unless Furina abandons her true self for what society expects of her.
We then jump over to Neuvilette and Focalors. Focalors finally frees her most important part, her human self Furina, from the chains that bind her.
Furina is now left, shattered and maskless. She had to pretend to be something she wasn't for 500 years. Furina is free. But to do what? She must now figure out who she is in the aftermath of her entire identity being destroyed.
The connections to being queer are personally quite visible.
-Constantly looking around and making sure you are performing your role as you should be.
-Constantly alone, you try to find solace and company in moments of peace. (Furina only able to feel comfortable with the stray cat, incapable of judging her.)
-That moment of life or death, where many people feel trapped. They must destroy who they were if they wish to move forward. And, unfortunately, many don't survive.
-Making it through that deadly moment, and realizing that you left behind, well, everything. Who are you now? You aren't letting everyone else tell you, but you don't really know yourself.
That is just my thought on everything. I loved Furina from the moment we met, and I love what Inori Minase has done with the character voice.
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Also she is an actress, and everyone knows that stage people are all queer as hell.
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[Q1-2024] A RI47 Heavy Industries Not-Quite Quarterly Report: The Power of Paranoid Thinking
So let's do a quick summary to avoid scaring anyone: Ri47's fine, Rin's (hello!) health isn't really any worse than it usually is, no major projects have been cancelled besides a standalone short story, we have a new mascot, and we're staring down the barrel of several simultaneous releases. 2024, god willing, if all goes to plan, is set to be a busy year... but a normal year.
That's it! You can scurry along now if that covered most of what you were curious about. It's rambles past here.
I promised I'd put something together like this, and since I've set aside the time today, when better to make some announcements and clarify some things going on under the bonnet. It's nothing especially massive, but radio silence felt less ideal as an indicator of the fact I'm hard at work
Without further ado, let's get into the thick of it
A New Face
You might have caught that there's a new face around here. The girl in the black hat is named Łucja (/ˈwu.t͡sja/) and she'll be taking over as the actual mascot for Ri47 Heavy Industries going forward!
There were a lot of motivations around making Łucja, but it can mostly be boiled down to wanting a design to represent the creative side of Ri47 which also doesn't appear as a character in any of the works proper. As much as Pagan is a dear character to me, she's just not an excellent mascot (or author mouthpiece, given that she's an awful person lmao)
She's entirely monochrome, she's got a distinct funny hat, and her outfit is partially stolen from a band I enjoy. Perfect.
Additionally, Łucja is entirely incapable of death, although it still doesn't feel great. It's probably best not to bother her with that sort of thing.
What's up with VesalBlood?
The next chapter of ALTERNE: Diesem Fernen Traum is nearing its release (about 80% done), so if you've been following that series, I hope that's welcome news!
VesalBlood's releases slowed down a bit in the final months of 2023 and the early months of 2024. I wish I could say it was because I was working on something more impressive, but the actual reason is that money is money and I needed to work on projects which produced that sort of thing
There is no actual hiatus on VesalBlood besides my usual glacial pace, but I'd be lying if I said that my work hasn't been eating into my ability to write at the pace I'd like. It's neither here nor there, but it simply is
In a perfect world, I'd probably devote all my time to finishing one long-term project at a time, but that's just not a viable way to be a working artist of my type under any economic system at the moment. The Kishar System setting survived the latter years of my schooling, so rest assured it's not going anywhere unless I go somewhere as well
There may be a few surprising announcements relating to VesalBlood coming at some point in the next few months, but there also might not. To keep a little transparency here, it largely depends on whether I get some calls back
What's up with Armored Blade Jetkaiser?
Armored Blade Jetkaiser continues apace, albeit I've had to delay it a bit as well, due to some surprise complications necessitating the reworking of some key aspects of the combat system
I'm still weighing whether I want to release the first pre-release editions without the dogfighting ruleset to get it out the door faster, but it feels like that'd be a bit of a betrayal. Maybe I'll put it up to a poll soon? Who knows.
At any rate, Armored Blade Jetkaiser is Armored Blade Jetkaiser, and that means it's a solo project that I'm working on in my second layer of free time (what I do after I do the things I do in my free time) so it was always bound to be a little extra slow
What's up with OMEN/CONSTANCE?
OMEN/CONSTANCE is coming. No delays are expected, because I didn't actually set a release date. At any rate, it's coming about as fast as expected!
It should be entering the final stage of work soon, since we're only a song or two short of release. Look forward to it! There might be a few surprises on this one
RI47? In My Project?
While I'm not at liberty to discuss the specifics of it quite yet, I'm going to be featuring on a few projects! Watch out! Or don't! I'll be here, regardless. I'll make a point of saying more once I can.
As it stands, the projects are game-related, and I don't have to actually make the games for once
Lovely! Lovely!!
Wrapping Up?
Mostly! Before I forget, I'll probably throw Chivalry Without Honour on Bandcamp as a single at some point in the next few days. If you enjoy that track, you can pick it up, probably!
Also, I've finally worked out the ideal portion of salt to cut the burnt taste from my instant coffee! I won't write it down here, because discovering that is an important (and personal!) milestone in every frugal caffeine addict's life, kinda like learning which brand of inexpensive vodka won't make you sick.
You've really gotta learn it for yourself! But it's worth it!
See you soon!
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oh my goodness your dios.. what a delight to see someone so fully invested in phantom blood dio wow. i am very happy. i love your 3D dios. really makes me want to sculpt him as well
Do it... clay is cheap bake it in the oven paint with 10 dollar set of acrylics your life will never be better. I adore phantom blood Dio so very much... years ago saw someone coin the term “phantom blood purist” and it's so funny I think about it literally every time I enter a Dio cycle. There are many aspects that go into this preference of course, and upon a great amount of time pondering i can say confidently that this is because mainly that:
1) I love history (especially the fin de siècle) and I love thinking about him in relation to Victorian values/etiquette/sociology in general... there's something so special about a society that enabled such a gross disparity of wealth&poverty while being so inherently pretentious that its asinine etiquette rules would completely elude you unless you were raised in an aristocratic family or had access to etiquette books. Dio absolutely read a great amount of these before going to the Joestar mansion btw, even before his father snuffed it I think. God help him he would not be doomed to look like a slovenly ill-bred gamin if and when he needed to manipulate the upper classes. I really can't think of a way for him to have developed these skills enough to outclass Jonathan otherwise. god and like thinking about him as a barrister too with his profligate fashion sense you just KNOW he gets drawn that way into all of the court sketches that go in all the newspapers since everyone loved to read about crime and there were a million papers for this in England alone... he'd get caricatured so bad sometimes and he is NOT happy about this.
2) You can probably tell from my indifference to the rest of the parts (except sbr; I call this the "diego rule") that I'm not the biggest fan of fantastical elements and I'm much more interested in interpersonal conflict/relationships in general... PB is extremely unique to the rest of the series because for five WHOLE chapters absolutely nothing abnormal happens and we just get to see Dio harassing Jonathan and his girlfriend until Jonathan snaps and humiliates him so bad in beating him up that he makes Dio cry. and then Dio kills his dog. Like it's literally just some impoverished child abuse victim bullying a spoiled rich kid who wanted to be his friend because lalala sunshine daisies only knows what "poverty" is from reading Oliver Twist and has no conceptual understanding of what the real-world implications of that are. That was the character development that needed multiple chapters to develop it's so fucking awesome. like yeah I'd read an entire novel of just this alone happening and how it impacts their relationship as adults no vampirism needed. I reread "dio the invader" so frequently I'm surprised the spine of my jojonium copy isn't cracked at the exact endpoint of it. I just adore him interacting with Jonathan so much it's hard to remove him from that… that's his FOIL... all the stories (some "AUs") I make with Dio involve the way he and Jonathan gravitate each other to some degree. we get the clearest view of who he is in the face of someone who is the polar opposite of himself. 🤯
2) This iteration of him is the closest degree of separation he has from his "humanity" (childhood), thus
3) I find him to be the most interesting, endearing, etc., version of him walking around, given that... well. behaviors stem from somewhere... the thematic & active severance of himself from a species he is fundamentally incapable of connecting with due to the way he adapted to help him tolerate his childhood... from his point of view I can't imagine that there is one convincing reason for him to continue being human after given the opportunity to deviate from it (despite likely still being inebriated when he vamped himself — very much an impulsive decision since he had, what, an hour or two to think that through? drunk?). If everyone's underneath him, yes, after the fact the choice seems extremely fitting. Maybe he'll cultivate a vast swathe of worshippers and disciples that obey his every command. Maybe he'll rule the world. And then, maybe, he will start to feel genuinely content for the first time in his life. But probably not. That's the drawback of having something fundamentally missing from within you.
4) He lacks a certain type of introspective awareness that 100 years alone in a box might enable him to develop... he's very animalistic to me and possesses a precarious/immature/nonexistent grasp on his emotions just given the fact that he exhibits enraged outbursts from perceived ego wounds (in both childhood and adulthood) + struggles with alcoholism due to an incapacity to self-soothe any sort of negative emotion that makes it past the self-aggrandizing filter he can't help but see life through; he really isn't in conscious control of anything happening inside of him despite needing control over everything and everyone so he can get exactly what he wants, and deserves, always. PB paints a very dim and pathetic view of his character by allowing us to see when he's most "vulnerable", which is the thing he likely hates being the most, so getting to see scenes where he's walking around publicly intoxicated and disparaging himself for acting like his father (implied: again), who he hates, and attacking men with a wine bottle for evoking the concept of his mother, who he also kind of hates but lacks the cognizant cogency to dissolve whatever cognitive dissonance is causing this mental incongruence, rules. he rules
tl;dr SDC dio is "iconic" but I feel like he misses a lot of the charm he had in part one, removed from the context of the society that had such rigid social boundaries and rules of decorum, in addition to his maladaptive approach to interpersonal relationships, his substance abuse issues, his humbling foil... he's too "cool" for me. In the end SDC dio is simply not my Dio... he is someone else's Dio. And that's okay.
#lucy art#dio brando#ask#jjba#I've said this elsewhere but somewhere out there exists my dio-obsessed doppelganger who only likes him in parts 3/6 and dislikes PB dio +#how he looks in the first part too and if we ever made physical contact the universe would implode like matter on antimatter#though I haven't actually read sdc in many years. which may be part of the problem. but also... I don't need it... jonathan isn't there...!#I did however reread the ending the other day and I forgot that jotaro gives him brain damage so bad he couldn't walk. I almost cried#soooo cute... I wish something similar happened when he was shot in the head before being burned alive#well no I don't because the narrative point was to showcase wow oohhh wow vampire powers wowwww and it worked very well#but araki retconned this in the best way possible so basically life is perfect#(acting really approachable as I dip my toe into a fandom of something I've cherished for years) have you considered dio getting more TBIs?
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