#and lets not even get into how allot of this behavior could be seen or IS racist microaggressions

[decepticononline]

TFP! Soundwave x Human Female Reader

Summary: Reader has been Soundwave's human captive for a while and has learned he gives out his rewards in the best ways.

Warnings: Tendril sex, double penetration, praise kink, degrading behavior, and Soundwave being Soundwave of course.

You had to rub your eyes a few times just to make sure you weren't dreaming. Like you couldn't believe you'd actually done it, you've always been good with computers but not this damn good... The monitor screen lit up with a variety of different cybertronian letters, all forming a conversation between the autobot medic Ratchet and an autobot named 'Wheeljack' who you've never even heard of before.

You couldn't help but brandish the widest smile on your face as you were proud of your own work. Immediately you eyes darted over to the silent mech that was sitting at a much larger monitor beside you. He wasn't in mass displacement so the sizing between your field of vision and his, vastly differed. You cleared your throat and placed your fingertips on his servo. The comparison of his own servo to your hand never ceased to amaze you. Attached to each servo was a set of freakishly sharp claws or 'digits' as he referred to them. Just with your palm being on his servo you could feel the amount of heat his frame was letting off. Usually you would expect a metal surface to be cold but Soundwave was always surprisingly hot to the touch.

As if you were lost in a trance of comparing the size differences you looked up to notice the mech was staring at you. He hadn't said a word but it was obvious he wanted to know why you were touching him without permission.

"Hey, I t-think I found s-something." You stuttered out before clenching your fists.

You weren't much of a stutterer but Soundwave seemed to have this effect on you that always had you mentally spiraling and it was annoying. The mech tapped his digit on his own monitor and brought up what you were seeing onto his own screen. From there he silently scrolled through the scrambled cybertronian letters that seemed to form as a digital conversation between two autobots.

 You couldn't read their language yet so you had no idea what it said but Soundwave seemed to be extremely interested in your findings.

"Well done." His voice came out as an actual robotic monotone speech.

Soundwave spoke very little but whenever he did speak it gave you goosebumps, as much as you strived for his approval there was always something that made you uncomfortable about his voice. Then again all of the decepticons you've come in contact with have all sounded completely horrifying. They all had a range of extremely deep octaves that never sounded human. Using a clawed digit the black and purple mech began to stroke the top of your head as if you were a pet and you couldn't help but let out a huff of satisfaction from the gesture.

 If other humans had seen you like this they would call you crazy but you couldn't help but take pride in receiving any kind of affection from your 'owner'. This was just your own twisted way of making light out of a bad situation, like he hasn't murdered you yet and you're certainly not in as bad as a position as the human captive that is owned by Starscream so why not find a form of solace. And maybe you were crazy because you knew a job well done for this mech always led to a reward. The last reward that was given to you was Soundwave allowing you to actually go back out into public again.

It had actually been six months before you'd last been in public around other humans. You were only allotted two hours to roam and he was by your side within human holoform the entire time but you'd never forget how good the sun felt on your skin. Soundwave always kept his office darker than other areas on the nemesis so to get to be in such a well lit scene was actually euphoric. You'll never forget how you got to see the face of Soundwave's human holoform visually cringe upon hearing someone drive past the two of you blasting loud rap music. You tried so hard to hold in your laughter but the face he made left you feeling like you just heard the funniest joke of your life.

Still his human holoform was nothing like being around the actual Soundwave, especially a mass displaced Soundwave. Speaking of mass displacement you hadn't even noticed that he must have mass displaced in front of you because when you looked over at him he was now only 8-9 feet taller than you. The first time you saw him do this you felt like you were going to have a brain aneurysm because how could something so huge be able to make itself closer to your size. It took you a while to even mentally process a much smaller Soundwave.

Call it depravity or degeneracy but you knew when he was using his mass displacement module it was for one reason and one reason only... Yes the mech was silent and reserved majority of the time but he clearly still had his needs. He had no issues with indulging on those needs when it was time to reward you.

You bit your lip as a few impure memories resurfaced in your mind of all the previous times he decided to reward you and fulfill his own carnal desires at the same time. You heard a click to your right and noticed it was him remotely checking to see if the electronic sliding door to his habsuite was locked to avoid any interruptions. Soundwave then took a clawed digit parted your lips open, you were tempted to lightly bite him just to be playful but you knew all too well that human teeth against metal was a bad idea. The claw trailed down from your lips to tracing a line between your breasts and down your midsection. The more time you spent around cybertronians the more you learned they were just like humans.

Cybertronian mechs and human men were disturbingly completely alike. Knowing that Soundwave had needs just like any ordinary male made you feel like you were made of gold just to be the only one to be able to see him like this. Everyone else feared the silent mech and wasn't even sure if he was sentient or just a drone but you knew better. His visor peered down at you and you could feel what he was saying without him actually saying it.

As often as this happened you still let out a surprised shriek when you felt a tendril wrap around both of your legs and another around your arms. With a swift motion you were on your back and you shuddered from the tension the constricting tendrils were putting on you. His tendrils always reminded you of snakes from how tight they'd always squeeze you. The tendril restraining your arms pulled your arms above your head and the tendril around your legs was joined by a third one just to spread your legs apart. Soundwave never had to restrain you like this as you never had a problem with willingly offering yourself but you learned this was probably something he fancied during intimate moments like this, he was a decepticon after all meaning he probably had a kink for having all the control.

Another tendril distended from behind his chassis and the surprisingly sharp claspers of it made work of your shirt and pants. He never removed them normally and seemed to enjoy letting a tendril or his own claws slice your clothes open. It wasn't like you didn't wear the same various assortment of clothing all the time since these were given to you upon when they took you captive as they never let your bring any of your clothing with you.

The shirt you were wearing did hold some sentimental value to you as this was the shirt you picked up when he let you go out into the public. You were going to protest about the destruction of your shirt until a fourth tendril appeared and had slipped into your mouth. You never got over the odd taste of the rubbery appendage but you didn't protest while it moved like a snake against your tongue. He watched as it slowly thrusted back and forth in your mouth simulating the lewd act of fellatio just for him. You let out a loud gasp after the tendril emerged from your mouth with a loud pop and you could see the spit trail of saliva still clinging to it.

The appendage then moved down to your breasts and a whine came from your mouth after it began to tease your left nipple. You watched the nipple hardened and perked up from the touch before he moved to the right one. You've always had sensitive nipples and this was pleasurable for you but you hated how he paid attention to everything else other than your dripping wet cunt right now. For someone that barely spoke he sure liked to tease and deny you of what you really wanted.

"Soundwave please." You begged while bucking your hips up to show him where you really needed him.

"Soundwave please." He mocked you by using a recording of your own voice begging for him, this sick bastard.

He knew exactly what he was doing and the effect it had on you. Not wanting to get on his bad side you just laid there and let the tendril do as it pleased with your breasts. It felt like eons before the appendage finally slipped between your thighs and brushed gently across your clit. That motion sent a volt of pleasure through you and you threw your head back while the tendril began to deeply rub your small bundle of nerves in a circle.

If it wasn't for the small 'beep' noise you wouldn't have even know he started recording already. You looked up to his visor to see a red light in the corner and you huffed. You never knew for sure what he did with the footage but almost every time there was intimacy you noticed he would be recording everything happening.

You felt your breath hitch once the tendril slipped between your folds and thrusted tenderly against your walls. The lewd wet noises your hole made while the intruding appendage moved in and out only drove you crazy. The way the tapered head continued to rub against sensitive spot was going to make you scream as if the long line of moans and whines that came from your lips wasn't enough. And there he was just standing there, staring at you menacingly while he literally invaded your sex.

It wasn't like you didn't want this but holy shit did it always surprise you that Soundwave happened to be just as degenerate as you were. Your breath hitched when you felt the tendrils restraining your arms and legs squeeze even tighter, your captor always loved to mix your pleasure with pain.

The tendril that was deep between your folds abruptly pulled out and moved down further just to circle around the entrance to your puckered hole. Since the appendage was slickly coated with your own arousal the entry wasn't as harsh as it should have been and for that you were thankful. This transition left your cunt gaping and begging to be filled once more. As if on cue you heard the familiar hiss of his interface panel sliding off. Your eyes dropped down to the organ that was sitting erect from his frame.

You knew that cybertronians weren't entirely robotic on the inside and that they had their own versions of a squishy protoform anatomy within, yet it always surprised you to see something on Soundwave that wasn't entirely made of metal.

This member that he had once referred to as a 'spike' had an encasement that looked and felt as if it was a material similar to standard silicone. The shaft was a deep purple color that transcended into a bright lilac around his tip. The entire thing curved upward towards his chasis and unlike any human male the tip of his member was shaped with an aeroplane design that made you understand why it was called a spike. This 'spike' of his was about as thick as your wrist and almost as long as your forearm in terms of length.

You'd never say it out loud but you found his spike to actually be fucking beautiful to look at. The way it would erratically twitch while he watched as his tendrils made you a whimpering wet mess. With a swift movement he was down on his stabilizing struts in front of you and you felt the sudden urge to move backward as if something that weighed a thousand pounds just dropped to its knees between your legs.

While one of his tendrils was making work with your bottom anatomy you could feel the heat emanating from his spike against your folds. You knew he was going take his agonizingly slow time with you as Soundwave seemed to be the one that liked to savor his sexual experiences.

His spike was two times as thick as his tendril and the sudden stretch brought out a choked moan from you. The thrusts of his pelvis against your own were much slower than the erratic thrusting of your tendril in your nether-regions. Finding out that male cybertronians got their pleasure the same way human men did from thrusting or pounding into something with their spike always intrigued you.

Being stuffed full like this felt entirely degrading but you'd be a liar if you said you didn't enjoy how utterly pleasurable it felt to have both your holes filled. You just knew you sounded like a total slut with all your pleas and whining but you didn't care, this was your reward after all. Soundwave was eerily silent during this ordeal and the only thing different from this and his silent disposition earlier was how heavy he was venting.

His venting never became this heavy and audible to you unless he was spike deep in your pussy and you just knew that meant he was enjoying this just as much as you were. You were interrupted from your own scrambled thoughts when you felt a knot in your belly forming as the beginning of a long and drawn out orgasm.

Your climax hit you in waves as a stream of pained cries of pleasure fell from your lips while you felt your walls clench down firmly around Soundwave's spike. It felt like your cunt was strangling him, completely choking him, desperate to milk him for every drop of transfluid that he was going to give you.

You felt spurts of the hot liquid of his esctasy seep inside you before he pulled out and was followed by thick ropes of the hot pink liquid being jetted out from his tip and onto your stomach. The thrusting tendril below you seized it's movement and pulled out as well while you watched Soundwave's spike twitch and disperse a few more shots of his climax onto you.

 if you were being totally honest you thought it was utterly hot to watch him come all over you like that as if he knew he was treating you like the whore that you both knew you were.

The mech said nothing while coming down from the high of his intense overload. He truly didn't have to say a word to you knew he was satisfied. The grip the tendrils had around your arms and legs loosened until they finally released you.

The heavy bruising left behind by the appendages was just something you had gotten used to and maybe even perhaps enjoyed being able to show others just exactly who you belonged to. The soreness of both your holes were only just a physical reminder of just how much you loved this mech's approval and rewards that came with it.

[dumbbvnnyboy]

So this is my first yandere fic so allot of is inspired by the amazing @belovedyandere

Warnings:

Manipulation, dr*gging, smut, also kind of a self insert

Today I was finally gonna execute my plan to get y/n, or at least grow a little closer to him.

I'd been Watching him for a while now, taking notes on his new favorite bands and biases, the games he was talking about and playing, i even hacked into his internet history to see what he was doing lately.

Which gave me some great information.

I knew gaming club was today and I'd seen him go to meet up with a couple friends there while I was having practice back in the fall.

I walked in and saw y/n talking to his friend while they played some Xbox game from their phones.

Deciding to sit somewhat close to them and do the same, making sure to specifically pick his new favorite game.

I'd already beaten it, along with all of his other favorite games, and a few I'd thought he'd like so he wouldn't catch on to my copycat behavior.

That's why it took so long for me to talk to him, I had to plan and research throughly.

As soon as I got to a cut scene I'd noticed y/n lifted his head to look at me and my phone screen.

"You like (f/g)!?"

"Ya, it's really immersing."

"How do you feel about (other fave game)"

"It was great, pretty hard but I really loved the graphics"

"Wow, I didn't know a jock could have such good taste."

"Ya, I don't fall in with stereotypes."

"I was wondering why you haven't called anyone here a slur yet."

I laughed and smiled at him again.

"You know if you like (f/g) and (o/f/g) I'd be happy to show you my collection later today, if you wouldn't mind coming over."

He looked towards his friend as they gave him a glare.

"Oh don't be such a pessimist, of course, I can come over today."

I couldn't help the smirk that formed on my face, I knew he was pretty naive which was what grew my fondness of him, but I didn't actually think just asking him would work.

He was almost in the palm of my hand, and if I played my cards right he'd be mine.

"Well whenever you want to go we can."

"Oh ok, just let me get my stuff together here, I'll text you when I get there ok."

He said the last thing to his friend as he swung his bag over his back.

I smiled as we walked out of the school, feeling the cold stare of y/n's friend.

I'm sure they were just protective of him, but that won't be needed anymore, not when he has me.

"Do you want the aux?"

"Well, I don't know if you'll like my music taste."

"Ah I don't judge, all music is pretty good."

"A-alright, this is probably my fave song atm."

He started to play Polaroid love by enhypen as I pulled out of the school lot and drove to my house.

I could tell he had started to become a bit nervous.

"Is everything alright?"

"Ya I just.."

"Your worried I bite aren't you, well I promise I don't, not to hard at least."

I smirked and the rest of the ride was quiet.

We pulled into my driveway as sugar rush by txt played on the radio.

A fitting song for what would entail.

We headed up the stairs to my room as he followed me shyly.

Once he saw the shelf with all the games on it his eyes lit up.

"Woah! Do you mind if I look through these?"

"Not at all."

He started to flip through the cases, pulling some out to look at them as I sat on my bed watching him.

It was adorable how excited he was, making my mind linger on how amazing it would be for me to finally corrupt him the way I'd been planning too.

"Would you like anything to drink?"

"Um alright, what do you have?"

"I think we have coke and Sprite."

"Cokes fine."

I left the room to grab them, making sure to turn up the heat and add something extra to his drink.

I walked in and handed him the glass which he accepted and started to drink.

"Your room is really nice."

"Oh, thank you, I try to keep it as clean as I can."

"Ya.. me t-to."

"Is something wrong y/n?"

"Ya ya, it's just, is it h-hot in here or."

"I feel fine, maybe try taking off your hoodie."

"Maybe I should just go home."

"Oh no darling, I wouldn't want you to get any worse, I'll get you some medicine and you can stay here til it passes."

I grabbed the hem of his hoodie and helped him take it off.

He was like putty in my hands, the aphrodisiac was making him more and more trusting by the second.

I wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to the bed laying him down.

I leaned down to his ear

"Doesn't that feel much better?"

I could practically see the shiver it sent down his spine as he nodded.

"Just let me take care of you, alright?"

"A-alright."

I smirked into his neck starting to kiss and suck at the skin.

He placed his hands on my shoulders, squeezing them every now and then as he whimpered and mewled.

My hands slipped up his shirt, starting to feel around his chest, playing with his nipples.

I started to trail kisses and hickeys further down his body body before I got to the hem of his pants.

I looked up at him waiting for a nod to continue which he did before hiding his face behind his arm embarrassed.

I continued to unbutton his pants and pull them off of him.

I knew he was beautiful, but I never thought he'd look this amazing.

I pulled down his boxers and took him into my mouth making him grab the sheets and moan out.

His body shook, i could tell he'd never experienced this kind of pleasure before.

Sliding my hand back up his body I placed two fingers on his lip.

He opened his mouth quickly starting to suck on them.

After a few seconds I took them out and used my other hand to spread his legs.

I started to stretch him with one finger before adding the second.

He continued to shake and moan as I continued the sensations.

I took my fingers out of him and pulled my mouth off starting to position myself.

"This might hurt a bit, but I promise I'll be gentle."

He looked up at me with glazed eyes and drool spilling from his lips.

I grabbed his chin and rubbed my thumb over his lip.

"My my how pretty."

I leaned down to kiss him as I pushed in.

He moaned into my mouth and I grabbed his hip with my other hand starting with a slow pace.

Y/n grabbed my shoulders again, this time squeezing harder and digging his nails into me.

We disconnected as a Trail of saliva kept us together.

His entire body was flushed, and his face had contorted into one of absolute pleasure and bliss.

He could barely talk or think, all he could do at this point was moan and whimper.

I wrapped my hand around him starting to stroke him with a fast pace and a hard grip making him practically scream and cum all over himself.

"Oh darling, you've made a mess."

I laughed as he whined out, still not letting go or slowing my pace.

"Ah t-too much too-

I grabbed his chin and kissed him again.

He whined into the kiss and his body shook again as I overstimulated it.

Kissing down his chin and sucking more hickeys into his neck I couldn't help the grin on my face.

"You're being such a good boy darling."

I finally had y/n all to myself, and no one would ever get between me and him.

[floralbuckleys]

I just want to mention before you slate anyone for hating on Gabriella Walsh; she's been called out a multitude of times for taking advantage of pretending to be Latinx and for profiteering off Latinx people and culture when she had no Latinx heritage or blood.

She's been asked repeatedly to stop appropriating Latinx culture, roles and appearances and she refuses to acknowledge it or understand that what she is doing is harmful.

It has absolutely nothing to do with misogyny or any ships and everything to do with racial/cultural appropriation.

Just in case you weren't aware or were confused!

Hello anon! I hope you're prepared for a read, because I have quite a few things to say in response to this. I am neither unaware nor confused, and nor by the way are other POC friends I ranted about your ask with.

So let’s get into it.

1) It's interesting this is literally the only thing you choose to address. Not the misogyny or malicious hatred Gabrielle and the other female actresses' on the show get, but simply this. Interesting.

Now, you should ask yourself, why when someone makes a post against malicious hatred and misogyny it is not your FIRST response to agree, but rather try to change the conversation against them.

2) Secondly, please understand that everything I am saying comes from my own experience and point of view as an afro mexican myself and honestly if you are white, I could care less what you think on the issue.

I find it interesting you're so comfortable attacking Gabrielle Walsh for these claims of "taking advantage", "pretending to be latinx", and "profiteering off latinx people."

Such big broad powerful statements to say, when in reality you should NOT be so comfortable attacking a mixed African American woman, or any person of color for Fox's CHOICE to cast Gabrielle Walsh in this ambiguous latinx role.

Why aren't you attacking FOX about their casting choices? Why aren’t you going against networks for choosing to do this, but POC?

Let’s not forget that we all know there are a few other actors you could bring this debate up against, but that doesn't really happen now does it? I wonder why.

3) Tell me, what do you know of the struggles of being a black woman in America or a black woman trying to pursue a career as an actress in America? Any race of color and so on? 

What do you know of what it's like to be a person of color going through a rigorous casting process, and potentially constantly only get casted as latinx because you are mixed and do not have the stereotypically features/attitude the casting wants?

You don't know.

Hell, I don't know either because I've never had to be in Gabrielle Walsh's shoes or any black women trying to get an acting job in America or anywhere in the world.

But, I do know that growing up as an Afro mexican myself in school with a Spanish name, but "ambiguous" features, people have literally sat around me and debated my race before I could speak up or clarify.

"You look black."

"No, you look mexican."

That is such an uncomfortable position to be, and I would imagine Gabrielle. Walsh has felt the same, because it's a feeling a lot of mixed POC can most likely relate to, constantly getting placed in a box by what race they are and what race they're perceived as. POC actors are constantly forced to deal with these issues, while it’s easy for people to attack us for them online.

I can only imagine how many times a white casting director has looked at her and thought, “Well, I know that you’re not latinx, but you certainly look at it, and that’s all we care about.”

Because at the end of the day what does white Hollywood really care about? Trying to get that diversity win.

4) In my opinion, a lot of the hate Gabrielle is even getting is because she's getting in the way of the fandom's favorite ship. Any female who gets in the way of the ship gets hate.

So, is it really your niche to constantly pinpoint POC actors or any actor really who gets cast to play a character of a race they are not? Ambiguous or otherwise. Is it your passion to speak on this issue?

What about sexuality? Straight actors who play LGBTQ+ roles and vice versa? What about religion as well? There are so many angles to look at this from.

Ask yourself seriously, if you are attacking Gabrielle. Walsh because you're genuinely THAT concerned that a mixed black woman is getting cast to play this ambiguous latinx role.. OR if you're just concerned for your ship.

5) Not to mention the amount of issues black and latina women themselves face in the industry and their experiences. Honestly POC actresses and actors are the most hated on in fandoms. People love coming for their necks over nothing and anything, and that’s how it’s been for a long ass time.

6) Now to speak on it from another point of view, I wish Casting Directors did not do this. I wish that people were cast to play the race they are, and that people of color didn’t have to deal with these types of issues.

I wish people of color weren’t placed into boxes by how they appear, and not what they are.

But no, I myself as a afro mexican am NOT offended that Gabrielle. Walsh is being cast to play these roles. Nor would I be offended if the roles were reversed, because you know what? There are so many more important things to be upset about when it comes to the injustice of POC.

People of color have had to fight so hard to even have their place in the entertainment industry and we constantly have to see famous white actors portrayed us our races.

Now, I’d be very interested to know what Gabrielle Walsh herself actually thinks about the issue and her experiences, and what she thinks about all the hate she has received from it.

It’s actually a very deep conversation to have that should be had, and probably because of fear of backlash, we will never see her speak on it.

And genuinely, if other latinx people have an issue with Gabrielle’s role, or any other similar issues to this, I respect their voices and I respect that conversation because we are valid. 

But I do not accept vilifying her for this, especially if it’s coming from a misguided place.

So nah, you ain't about to come into my inbox and try to make her seem like some money hungry culture stealing witch to me. Nah.

Honestly, there's a lot more I could say on this topic, but to summarize, I do not agree with your blind views, and I will not tolerate any hate against this actress on my blog.

Think whatever the heck you want about the character, I am indifferent, but this ain’t it for me.

So if any other Gabrielle haters want to try it, you're simply going to be blocked because I am not dealing with your bullshit.

EDIT: Someone asked my opinion on the interview Gabrielle did and I’ll be frank. I did not like her wording on it, but it is not an odd thing to hear a person of color say in my experience. I’ve heard POC people around me say similar things. Is it a problematic statement? Yes. Should she be informed of that? Yes. Do I think it came from a malicious place? No.

However, I don’t think she took that question very seriously, nor do I think the interviewer was really trying to get to the BOTTOM of her serious thoughts on it.

When I say I would be interested to hear her thoughts on the matter, I’m talking about a deep dive, another POC asking her the serious questions and getting to the root of her thoughts and others on the matter, there and now.

[blueopinions49]

Nancy Wheeler’s MBTI

Introduction 

Hello there this is gonna be kinda of a rant post because I want to start making another series of character breakdowns however im very torn in which one I want to start however I am currently in a dilemma over Nancy’s MBTI. So id like to pose the 2 most likely types of hers and try to map it out. Please let me know of your opinions and your thoughts on all of this. 

the most likely types for Nancy are: ESTJ or ENTJ. However I think its important to look at her enneagram since it affects her functions and such. I personally I believe Nancy’s enneagram is 1w2 sp/so Being an enneagram 1 can give her the look of an Si user too sometimes. Ive seen some people type her as an 3w2 sp/so however I am not fully sure about this since I think it only applies to S1 Nancy rather then her character all throughout the show. 

Small Break down of Each Type 

ESTJ (Te-Si-Ne-Fi)

Im currently leaning the most towards ESTJ I think Nancy displays quite allot of Te all throughout the show and people who type her as an ESFJ are conflating kind behavior with Fe. But thats just a stereotype I get that in media there is this idea of high Te users being incredibly mean and irritable  but not every character is like this and using that metric to type is just bad. Now to her axis I think I can see a bit of Si in Nancy she is very usually very careful and sticks to maintaining step by step solutions. Also she doesn't seem to be working towards long term goals (or maybe im wrong about this) However couldn't everything I just said be traits of enneagram 1? Since I've seen people conflate these two allot look at Princess Leia Organa (ENTJ 8w9 or 1w2) who isn't interested in meticulous processes and details but for some reason we see her get typed as an ESTJ allot. I genuinely don't remember if Nancy was ever interested in details which leads me to another thing about details Se is also a detail oriented function; extroverted sensing details and introverted sensing details are different. One Is based on prior examining things through a subjective sense and the other one is based on objective observation. For example an Si user could understand every part of a clock while an Se user would look at the physical traits of it (color, material, temp etc...) Ive seen people debate that Nancy having a develop Ne is what makes people confuse her Si-Ne with Ni which I guess? However look at Sokka from ATLA (ESTJ 6w7) Even when he fully develops his Ne in Book 3 he still uses his Si allot and constantly narrows solutions with those by exploring those and I personally don't see Nancy interested in exploring all of those solutions in any capacity. Maybe the use of external pattern seeking?? but then again that could be Se? IDK guys let me know. 

ENTJ (Te-Ni-Se-Fi)

Allot of people use the “I know something happen to Barb” line in S1 as an explanation for her Ni however couldn't that just her going to Ne in stress trying to explore a possibility?. Also I do think I see more Ni than Ne I think Nancy does jump to conclusions a bit too fast sometimes. However I also see her step by step process (something an Ni user wouldn't be very fond of) Also she tends to be a bit too careful (but again E1). Also she doesn't seem to be quite as impulsive as an ENTJ would be even some E1 can be quite impulsive such as Light Yagami from death note (but I think thats quite debatable since Light kinda borders the line between impulsive and careful quite allot in the show). Also next to Se I don't see much Se in Nancy she doesn't seem to be that interested in Te-Se processes like other ENTJ would (unless again I missed something) she seems to be quite careful and sturdy with her processes rather than rushing head on like allot of ENTJ do allot the time. However again I could be assuming her Se is well develop same with her Ne. I could see how she tunnel visions allot in the show and how she tends to hyper focused on goals allot of the times making her struggle with her Se but I don't think thats quite enough to type her as an ENTJ how many other charcaters with other types have focused on goals too hard and ended up losing track of themselves?. 

Idk guys sorry for the long rant post I am just very curious to map this out I usually am very certain of a charcaters typing however this one Is just weird maybe I missed something's so please let me know your thoughts below 

[maxmayfieldlaw]

𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐘

WHO: max mayfield & @loverboymontgomery WHAT: after max and cole hop of their walkies, max shows up, heart to hearts are had, and the glimpses of each other in their own behaviors become abundantly apparent (aka colemax mirrors w hints of lumax and richgomery) WHERE: the montgomery residence, july 1st-ish

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 if each of max's friends signed a contract, agreeing to her right to show up at their houses unannounced at any time would sit at number three on the list of stipulations, right below max is always right and max is always vague. she arrived at cole's house after giving him a generous hour and fifteen minutes since their walkie call. she waltzed in through the front door and up to the steps to the door she knew as his room. max gave cole a singular knock of warning before opening it, "i got our favorite." she announced, tossing the lost boys vhs onto his bed. "did you even shower?" she teased, making herself comfortable and climbing right into his bed with him. miserable together and whatnot, right?

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 In the hour and fifteen minutes allotted him by his very generous friend, Cole had indeed showered and halfheartedly cleaned up his room. Mostly, he'd thrown all the empty beer bottles and cans which littered his bedside table and sink into the trash can and shuffled some trash on top of it so she wouldn't readily see his receipts. Exhausted from the effort, Cole had climbed back into bed, pulling on Adam's sweatshirt for effect. When Max walked in, he actually smiled. The Lost Boys was their go-to movie, and if nothing else, it was the perfect thing to throw on while they talked or smoked or drank. As she moved closer, he shook out his wet hair, sending droplets towards her. "Yes, I did." He tossed a pillow at her, making sure to hit her in the face with it. "Good choice," he plucked the VHS off the bed and slipped it into his player. "Need anything? Beer? Joint?"

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 cole's room was a little messy, sure, but most boys had gross rooms, and she didn't clock anything out of the ordinary. she settled comfortably beneath his blankets, only protesting when he shook his wet hair onto her, "ew--fucking--gross!" she wacked him across the chest, then pushed his head away from her, "what are you? a dog?" scowling away her laughter, she watched as cole started the movie, and agreed, "great choice." usually, max would take cole up on his offer, but she wasn't feeling it tonight, or at least not yet at least. bigger tasks at hand than getting fucked up, she figured. yawning, she watched cole carefully as he rejoined her in his bed, and bluntly told him, "you look like shit, honestly." this must've really been tearing him up. lately, she knew the feeling, but liked to think she'd been doing a better job of masking her own romantic disasters. she looked at his sweatshirt and couldn't help but ask, "let me guess, his?" max hadn't seen it before.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 Cole laughed at her protest and gave her his best, albeit halfhearted, puppy dog face. "You asked, pardon me for demonstrating," he said with a pout. A little disappointed by Max's refusal of his offer for a drink or weed, but he pushed it off. Ignored the pang in his stomach reminding him that it'd been a few hours since his last drink. Cole paused halfway to the bed, when Max told him he looked like shit. "Gee, thanks. Sure know how to kick a guy when he's down." With a furrowed brow, he slipped under the sheets and fixed his eyes on the opening credits. If they could make it to the overly-sexual saxophone solo, maybe they could discuss the movie instead of Cole's eyebags. But he knew better than that. At her question, Cole shoved his hands into the sweatshirt sleeves and turned to his friend. "Yeah," he grumbled. With a sigh, he leaned back against the headboard and really looked at her. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a dick." After a pause, he narrowed his eyes. "What's up with you, Mayfield?"

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 "do you want me to baby you, walden?" max asked, brows raised. she already knew the answer was no. if anything, that would only contribute to the feelings of change she was sure he was having in terms of being at odds with adam. okay, maybe she was projecting a little. that sudden and unwelcome realization made max fall back into the headboard shortly before cole, and close her eyes. she gave herself three seconds to get herself together before she jumped back into it, "you're always a dick." max reminded him softly at his apology, then added, "but right now? you're obviously just like, sad." she shrugged, "nothing wrong with that." max still didnt think there was anything to worry about, but if anything, she could hope to help him feel more comfortable with the feeling. as cole asked what was up with her, max briefly looked very guilty, then shrugged, "the usual." she cleared her throat, eyes turning to the movie. it wasn't her smoothest deflection ever, but it wasn't about her right now. "which place is more cursed..." she started, trying to shift the subject, "hawkins or santa carla?"

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 Cole's eyebrows shot up. Max using his government name was something he hadn't earned in a long time. Without thinking, he grabbed his pillow and shoved it into her face. "Walden doesn't live here anymore," he said, revealing an over-exaggerated grumpy frown when he pulled the pillow away from her face. At Max's tonal shift, Cole crossed his arms and studied her. Sad. Maybe he was sad. He wasn't really sure what the gnawing feeling in his stomach was anymore.  "I guess. I'm like... scared, too. To lose him again.. or whatever." Cole hoped that maybe punctuating his feelings with filler words would lessen their emotional impact. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about it, or even what else he would say, but it was nice for it to be out there instead of balled up in his chest cavity. But even the rare moment of introspection could distract Cole from whatever flashed across Max's face. "What was that? What are you hiding from me, Mayfield?" Cole prodded, leaning closer to her face as if he was studying her.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 max turned to look at cole, fully, and openly. if he wanted to delve into this whole situation, she was going to be there to listen. god. she understood that. she understood how scary it was to think about being left, especially right now. max figured she had her dad to thank for that, but there were other times to commiserate about sam mayfield. she didn't have any shiny words to offer cole, especially not when she was still trying to shave that fear away herself, so instead, she offered him all she could, "i get it..." cole wasn't her though, he would figure it out. he'd be okay. that's what max liked to believe. she'd never tell him, but in truth, she found him to be a lot smarter than he was. "just, keep me updated about this shit okay?" max didnt want to say she was worried, but the more they talk, the more concern for cole burrowed it's way into her chest. and unfortunately? the twisting of her gut only got worse as she failed to distract cole, "why would i be hiding something from you?" she asked, defensive. not keen on feeling like a test subject, she smacked her hand over his eyes, "and stop looking at me like that." it was just cole, literally just cole, and yet, she couldn't seem to work up the nerve to tell him how stupid she had been with lucas lately. talk about two people messing up their Good Things...

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 He appreciated Max's attention and her willingness to listen, he really did, but nothing he wanted to say made any sense. And he wasn't ready to admit any of the real shit out loud, like how the only way he can fall asleep now was by getting drunk and the only way he could leave the house was a little high or the sneaking fear that maybe this 'coping' with his fear was the very thing that would make his fear reality. None of those things were fully formed in his brain yet, partially because he didn't give thoughts the room to form. "I don't know." A long pause. "Thanks, Max. Really. Thanks for, like... being here," he twisted his mouth into a half-smile. With the tiniest breath of relief, Cole shoved any thoughts about Adam and whether or not he was losing him to the side. He'd much rather try to figure out the mystery that was Max Mayfield. "I don't know why, but you're making it pretty damn clear that you are," he retorted. He wasn't offended, it was their nature to keep things close to the chest. But in the same way that she saw through him, he saw through her thinly veiled attempt at hiding behind theatrics. Peeling her hands off of his eyes, Cole's mouth twitched at the edge. It was ridiculous that no matter how long they'd been friends, it practically took brain surgery for either of them to come out and say what was on their mind. "I'm not looking at you any weird way. Maybe you feel guilty about something," he suggested, meeting her eyes like it was a challenge.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 "don't mention it." max didn't think life handed her the most amazing deck, but at least it gave her good friends. it wasn't even a thought for her to go check in on cole, spend time with him. the moment she heard a change of tone in his voice, she'd be there for him, no matter how weird their version of emotional support might look to an outsider. (even if she was regretting it a little as he started to scrutinize and prod.) then, there it was, he met her with a challenging look, and max fell easily into the trap. "i don't feel guilty about kissing lucas, cole." oh. there it was. not really sure how to correct that slip, she awkwardly looked back at the tv, hoping she could put off talking about it for a few more seconds at least.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 Cole could tell that he'd worried Max. From the way she spoke to him on the walkie to the way she'd been watching him... like he was going to self-destruct at any moment. And though he, admittedly, wasn't at his best, the last thing Cole wanted was to worry his friends. So he cracked a smile and made a joke, hoping that would be enough to table the conversation for now. "Don't worry, I won't." Eyebrows shot up at Max's declaration, and he swung his pillow at her again. "Excuse me?" he couldn't help the tittering laugh that escaped his lips. This felt normal, and he was more grateful for that than he could express. "Fuck this movie, we've seen it like thirty times. Explain."

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 when cole swung his pillow, max caught it, and chucked it right back into him, "shut the fuck up." she warned as he laughed. she pulled the pillow back from him and buried her face into it, groaning. she wasn't embarrassed that it had happened, but she wasn't feeling the greatest she'd left him alone in bed the second time, or that they had fought. and regardless? she wasn't feeling up to dissecting her very complicated feelings about the whole thing with anyone who's name didn't start with lucas and end in sinclair. eventually, max came to grips with the fact there was no evading cole, and lifted her head from the pillow. "there's not much to explain." understatement. "people kiss." max shrugged, sinking into the bed, "what do you want to know? you get three questions."

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 For a brief moment, Cole considered being the nice guy and assuring Max that they didn't have to talk about it if she didn't want to. But, then that would leave them both "watching" a movie they'd seen too many times already and thinking about their respective romantic lives. And, Cole never claimed to be nice to Max; it wasn't their relationship. He held up one finger, indicating his first question: "Who kissed who?" Second finger: "How did it end?" And third finger: "What are you feeling?" Cole liked Lucas, but he understood that things were never that simple with people like Max, and like him. At least he wasn't alone in that.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 max could have girl talk for hours, she really could, so as soon as cole started sticking out his fingers, she surrendered to the fact that this was happening begrudgingly, she sat up with a roll of her eyes and tugged the pillow fully away from cole so she could hug it into her chest.  "i kissed him first. both times." she answered, that was an easy one. the other two, not so much. she sighed, "i left out his window." that wasn't so hard, was it? now she just had to answer the last and most daunting. "i dont know." she said at first, then thought about it. "scared, confused." max said easily, then admitted, "but i really liked it, cole. like. really." she slumped a little again, "is that all?"

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 Cole couldn't help the audible sigh of relief when Max admitted that she liked it. That they could work with. He grinned at her, suddenly rejuvenated in a way he hadn't been in days. "That's not even close to 'all' and you know it," he chastised her, teasingly. "Okay... explain. You climbed out of his window? Why?" He could relate to being scared and confused, he really could. His and Max's situations were different, though, at least a little-- he hoped that she would be able to talk out her fears with Lucas. "What are you most scared of?" he asked, his tone understanding and tender.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 okay, fine, maybe she deserved that. it wasn't close to all, and cole, as always, wanted all the details. "well i stayed the first time, in his tent." she explained, smiling at the memory. part of her wished she could've been cool about the whole thing, rubbed her eyes and act disaffected, but when she cut out all of the rougher parts, the two memories left her feeling downright giddy. like every part of this situation though, the high only lasted so long before she was brutally yanked back into reality, "and i left the second time because we argued before and i just...didn't want to mess things up more i guess." if there was one thing max knew cole would get, it was feeling at fault, being the one in the wrong. adam was good like lucas was good, and as special as it could make max feel, she had an inkling that cole felt the same way at times -- undeserving, a screw up. she'd been harsh with lucas when she'd crept into his room a couple nights ago, and she hadn't seen him since, but she'd been able to accept that now with some distance and a lot of thinking about it and only it. max squeezed her eyes tightly as she thought about what scared her most, and again, she knew cole would understand when she answered honestly, "losing him. what we already have." 

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 Cole jabbed Max's arm at her dopey smile; he was glad to see her like this-- genuinely happy. He'd only seen it in glimpses, never like this. It made him hopeful that maybe someday they could both be happy, they could share it. At her explanation, he nodded. He wanted to offer her some encouragement, to tell her that he was sure Lucas wanted to work things out despite her not knowing what to say, but it felt too on the nose. "I get it," he said, meeting her eyes. "But... what is there to mess up? If you like each other," he lifted his hands as if to say sometimes it's just that simple. Max's response, though expected, caused Cole to deflate. It brought him back to reality, back to the very real possibility of losing Adam a second time. "He's not like that," Cole said, defending Lucas. "He won "He won't just leave."

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 when cole jabbed her arm, max quickly wrapped her opposite hand around his wrist and warned, "stop that." but her budding smile made it a lot more difficult than usual to take her as threatening. "you get it?" max challenged, then laughed a little at the idea. how could cole possibly get her when it came to this? she fell back down into the bed and sighed at cole's question, "i dont know...there's... everything?" she didn't expect him to understand the innerworkings of a relationship he wasn't part of. somewhat surprised at cole's defensive, "i mean, no." she sat up again, "he won't." deep down she knew that, but her words held more weight. like she knew it wouldn't be easy to lose lucas, she thought cole should also understand he wouldn't lose adam. "but, i don't know, i like, worry that i might do something to push him away...i mean i'm..." actively doing that? felt too heavy to admit for the moment. "he could still go to school." she whispered, then concluded, "and...relationships i don't know, they...." max looked at him as if to say not meaning you, "they're so fragile." i shatter everything., the next downcast look in her eyes said. from her parents, to her mom's relationship with neil, her models in love were pretty hopeless. finding the final words to some it up, she concluded, "there's just so many unpredictable variables, you know?"

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 In moments like this, Cole wanted to laugh at how similar he and Max were. Both played the same role in their relationship-- the one so afraid of fucking everything up that they often did-- and they'd managed to be with two genuinely good, honest people. Opposites attract? He didn't figure it would be helpful to give advice to her situation, since she'd offered such little information, so Cole settled into the bed and looked ahead, placing a hand on her knee and squeezing it. "With Adam, I... I mean, you know. I fell apart when he died. Left, whatever. I self-destructed, I had no reason to live, really-- he was everything." Saying it out loud was chilling, in a way, almost too honest to be out there, unprotected. But he soldiered on. "And now... now, that fear is back. I'm so terrified to fall apart again, to lose him again, that I'm pushing him away, I guess." He didn't think he needed to tell her that he was drinking a lot more than usual and not sleeping and withdrawing. Maybe that was another problem for another day. "But our relationship isn't the problem. Like you said before, it's no big deal-- he's understanding, easy to talk to... I think what's fragile is me." Cole shrugged, looking at his hands. It was true, he felt at any moment he was one thing away from shattering, from never being able to recover. He wasn't sure if it resonated with Max at all, but honestly? It was nice to get it out, at last.

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 max was following what cole was saying, relating to it, until she didn't. they diverged in a few key ways, but none that max pondered in depth. not when he was being so open. grief made people feel...odd. and while max had to bite down on her tongue so she wouldn't physically wince as cole regaled her with the truth of his spiraling when adam had been gone...dead...whatever. they hadn't talked so extensively that she was entirely surprised, but it hurt her to hear, it hurt her to know that he suffered in a way that didn't fit ironically with everything else into the painting of their friendship.  this was the first time cole had explicitly confessed he had struggled with a reason to live, so max felt the need to explicitly tell him, "i'm sorry..." she said without second thought, "that you felt that way. sucks." that particularly nasty aimlessness was one max was all the more intimate with and the realization they were similar in that way too, made max have to lay down. she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. she didn't have a roadmap of solutions for cole, or even any nice sentiments that might make him feel better, but she had her presence, and she could give him that at least. max wouldn't pretend she knew what would happen between cole and adam, now that he had confessed the depths of his fear, she went with the realistic option, something she could promise, "you won't ever push me away." max vowed, smiling sadly in his direction. he wished he didn't feel fragile, she wished she didn't also feel like that was a fault. they might not ever agree on how they saw relationships, but she hoped they could agree on that.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐆𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘 Cole didn't know what he was looking for in being so honest to Max. He knew there were no answers, really, and he didn't want any cheap platitudes. They were the same in that way; all the 'it gets better' bullshit was nothing but a temptation to see how much worse 'it' could get. "Thanks, Max," he said, his eyes still boring into the screen. As she shifted next to him, Cole sunk into the pillows, too. "I'm sorry too. About.. everything. Sorry that people have always left," he said, not looking at her. If he looked at her, she would probably hit him. "This isn't that," he said, firmly-- he suspected he was saying it to himself just as much as he was saying it to her. Tucking an arm behind his head, Cole echoed Max's sad smile. "Me, too," he promised. And he meant it-- whatever happened: college, California, Hawkins... he wanted Max to be a part of it. For a second, he felt the panic of uncertainty in his gut, but Cole shuffled his legs so he could see the screen. Two things were sure: they had each other and The Lost Boys is a perfect film. That was enough for now.

[viridwns]

Can't help but fall in love with you.

Time: present

Paring: Chuuya x f!reader

Characters: Chuuya nakahara, Dazai osamu, Mori ōgai, Fukuzawa yukichi from BSD

Warnings: none ig.

Request from: @trixiegalaxy . I hope you are happy with this!

You were just looking for a job. A simple job.

You really went from being a secretary with mountains of paperwork your boss left you to being in the middle of a truce meeting.

"No illusions this time fukuzawa?"

"It's a truce meeting right? I don't see the use of using my members ability."

You really didn't want to be here. What were you even thinking! The job that you were offered after just moving into this city was to perfect to be true. You knew something was up, but you still accepted it anyway.

When you were asked to come to an important meeting by Dazai, you didn't think any of it. I mean maybe you had to take notes or something. So ofcourse being the good subordinate you were, you said yes.

Curse this handsome looking man. If only you had listened to your guts when he asked you to join him for a double suicide.

You tugged at Dazai's arm wanting to know why in the hell he brought you here. "What the actual fuck Dazai" you whispered at him a frown setteling upon your face. He looked at you with a grin and winked. Wanting nothing more to bash his head in a voice interrupted your thoughts.

"I can see you brought someone new. I've never seen her face here before."

You looked at the mafia boss. He was smiling at you.

Gulping down the lump in your throat you tried to look as brave as possible. Standing up straight with your chin up.

"She's our new secretary. Thought i'd bring her with us for some experience." You heard Dazai say.

Only Dazai, fukuzawa and you were here. On the other side you could see the mafia boss, a man with no eyebrows? And a short, but intimidating man with a fedora.

Yeah you didn't want to get caught up into this.

"I'm gonna quit the next opportunity i get" you muttered. Regretting not listening to your mother to stay in the little village and not moving to the city.

"Knowing you Dazai, she isn't just a secretary. Just tell us what her ability is."

Wait what?

"Hah?" You said without realizing.

First of all how did Dazai know about your ability. Second of all how could it be of any use here?

"Ah you caught me. She indeed has an ability. Up to you to figure it out."

Dazai said, his famous grin plastered on his face.

"Cut the crap mackerel. This is a truce meeting. Stop this shitty act and just tell us why she's here." The man with the fedora stept forward. His gloved hand pointing at you.

Honestly you don't even know anymore why you were here.

"Can we just set our agreement. My schedule is busy and the only way we can stop (bad guy name) is if we work together."

Your boss spoke up. Looking tired as usual.

"Sorry, but it seems like your hiding something from us. Are you going to attack us when we turn around hm?"

The mafia boss looked at him with an amusing smile.

"Stop this nonsense Mori. Just agree to the plan. You know it's the best thing to do."

"Fine. Tomorrow at midnight i'll send Chuuya and you'll send Dazai. Deal?"

"Deal."

----

Why the fuck.

wHY THE FUCKING FUCK WERE YOU HERE.

That chuuya guy and Dazai were supposed to be going on a mission together.

so why in the hell were you here waiting infront of a shed at 12 AM with Dazai at your side.

Simple answer: you fell for his tricks again.

"Isn't the sky pretty y/n."

"Say one more word and i'll make you regret using me for my ability."

An angry scowl was placed on your features as Dazai pouted.

"Ah come one y/n-kun don't be so mean."

You snapped your head to the right to face him.

"Oh i'm mean? You literally send me here to join you for a suicide mission. I'm only going to be dead weight anyway!"

He chuckled

"Oh don't worry, you're going to be a great help for this mission."

Giving him a confused look, you were about to say something when a voice interrupted you.

"And can i ask why she is here?"

You looked to the left to see Chuuya standing there with a hand on his hip.

"Why is everyone so irritated this night. Well i wouldn't expect less from Chuuya, but you are never irritated y/n."

"For everything there's a first time." You said with a sigh.

This was going to be a long night.

"Just shut up you mackerel. I'm not in the mood for your shit."

Chuuya walked closer to the two of you. He was intimidating as ever, but gosh did he have anger issues.

Dazai tried to open his mouth, but knowing him and his passion for annoying people you interrupted him.

"If we go left from here, we'll eventually see the base of the enemy. There's a way in from the left side of the building without being seen. It's our best shot to sneak in."

You finished looking at the two men.

You could see Chuuya staring at you with a certain look in his eyes.

"Is there something on my face?" You asked, your hands wiping your face.

It looked like you suprised him by the sudden startled look on his face.

"N-no Let's just go. The sooner we start, the faster we finish."

Chuuya walked past the two of you. Cursing something under his breath. You could swear you saw a light pink covering his cheeks.

----

"Where the fuck did that maniac go?!"

You sat on the ground covering your ears with your hands. Not wanting to listen to Chuuya's whines anymore.

It all happenend so fast. The three of you broke into the enemy's base and found a good hiding spot, but somehow the three of you got caught. Chuuya and you ran, thinking Dazai was right behind you two, but when you locked yourselves into a lab, he was gone.

Looking at the furious ginger you tried to calm him down.

"It's Dazai we're talking about. C'mon have some faith in your partner."

You smiled lightly, but it soon faded as you were met with an angry scowl.

"He was my partner. I can't even believe he brought you."

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

You didn't know either why he brought you, but he could be atleast a bit nicer about it.

"Well i'm sorry for being here, but thanks to me we could break into this place. Also can you just calm your tits. Your behavior isn't helping the situation."

You stood up to look him in his eyes. Your smile being replaced with a more serious look.

"I-." He tried to say something, but instead moved to the other side of the room.

"You're such a nausionce."

Knowing if you would pick a fight with him now nothing good would come out of it.

"I know, now let's find a way out."

Looking around the room, you could only find some medical suplies and some samples of God knows what.

Chuuya began helping you after sulking for a bit in the corner. He checked all the cabinets and only found food and more medical supplies.

"I found nothing, you?"

You asked the man while sitting down on the large dental like chair in the middle of the room.

"Nothing useful no."

Chuuya leaned at the wall infront of you.

"Going outside is also not an option. There are cameras outside the door. So they'll know our location immediately."

You let out a frustrated sigh. Massaging your temples.

"God i'm so stupid. I should've paid more attention to our location."

The man infront of you scoffed.

"Not going to disagree with you on the first thing, but you couldn't have known where we were and we were all in a state of panic. It makes you forget things."

Being a little shocked that he also could be nice, i mean he did call you stupid indirectly, but the words he said did make you feel better.

"Thanks Chuuya. That means allot to me." You said to him smiling.

"Yeah yeah whatever." The pink hue could be seen again on his cheeks as he looked away.

Giggling softly at his flustered state.

"What are you laughing at brat?!"

Ah there was the angry chihuahua again.

"Nothing, just you."

"You bi-."

Chuuya was cut off by voices on the other side of the door. You jumped of your chair looking at Chuuya with a panicked expression.

He motioned to the closet and you nodded your head. Quickly moving over to the closet, you and Chuuya squeezed yourselves in.

The space was cramped, but it was the only solution for now. Knowing that Chuuya's ability would make to much of a commotion.

Feeling Chuuya's warm breath on your lips, you now noticed how short he actually was. His head not coming above your nose. It was adorable really.

He also smelled like wine, but it wasn't smelly or something. It was quite a pleasant smell and not to mention very attractive.

Blushing at your thoughts you looked up.

'Omg why am i thinking this now. He's so attractive- NO Y/N FOCUSE.' you internally screamed.

"This door is locked kiri, maybe the intruders are in here."

A soft rattling noise was heard and the door knob moved a little.

"Damn i don't got the keys. Let me go get them."

You heart footsteps leave the door, but you knew someone else was waiting infront of it.

Suddenly you could feel a light bulb just pop above your head. You had a plan, but you didn't know if it would work.

"Shit what do we do." You could hear Chuuya mutter.

"I might have an idea." You whispered.

----

"Are you crazy?! You can't just do that y/n!" Chuuya whisper yelled.

You were putting on one of the labcoats hanging in the closet. Your other clothes were in Chuuya's hands.

You were wearing your hair loose with a skintight labcoat flaunting every curve of your body.

"It's the only plan right now. And with my ability it is almost guaranteed it will work." You whispered back. You hated this plan as much as he did, but it was your only chance. And you felt sexy as fuck right now.

"I got them!." You heard a man's voice say. Footsteps getting closer. "Took you long enough, now open the door."

"Jeez okay fine."

"There is no time Chuuya." You said closing the closet doors. You could see Chuuya trying to protest, but he gave up.

Scurrying over to one of the counters pretending you were organizing something the door opened.

You heart starting to beat faster and your hands shaking. 'Calm down y/n. You got this you sexy motherfucker'. Your breathing slowed a little and a voice was heard from the doorway.

"Hey you! Put your hands up!"

You looked up to see two men in trenchcoats with guns pointing at you.

"What's this commotion all about gentleman? I'm just trying to do my job here."

You raised your hands and slowly walked over to the men.

"Stay still! Tell me your name."

Stopping your movements you bit your lip.

"My name is..." should you tell them you're real name? Or just make one up.

"Go on woman, we don't have all night."

Slightly annoyed by his tone, you decided to use your own name.

"L/n, y/n l/n." You said

"Never heard of you. Have you?" The man turned to his colleague.

"No, take her in custody."

Panicking internally, you needed to come up with a lie right now! Your ability won't work unless the men touch you.

"I uhmm. I was waiting for one of the men. He hired me for some private time. If you know what i mean." You winked at the two men. Hoping they would buy your lie.

You could see them blushing slightly.

"Who hired you?"

"Dunno. We do these things anonymous."

You walked over to the chair and slowly crawled on it. Trying to nonegelantly show your ass.

"Hey i said don't move!"

The second man said. Coming closer to you.

"Okay, okay calm down." You sat down and put your hands infront of you.

"I'm just here, because he still got 30 minutes left. Rules from my boss. Can't go away till the time is up." You shrugged and flipped your hair. Leaning on your knee with the other hand.

You really had to stop yourself from cringing.

"Well i got to ask you to leave ma'am." The first guys said, putting his gun down and walking over to you.

"Fine, but if you get a call from my boss, don't blame me."

"Ofcourse. You are just doing you're job." The second guy said with a blush on his face.

'Ugh men.'

"You have to lead me the way tho. The other guy insisted on blind folding me." You seductively bite your lip and winked again.

"Of- ofcourse come with us please."

The second guy cleared his throat and offered his hand. Smiling you took his hand and hopped of the chair.

'Now the other guy.'

'Accidentally' stumbling you fell into the first dudes arms, causing him to catch you.

"Oh shit. Clumsy me. Can't even walk properly."

You gave out a short laugh and the guy brushed his jacket.

"It's okay. Now come o-."

Not being able to finish his sentence, he fell to the ground. His partner following him.

"Yeah that's right you two go to sleep. I'll find my way out from here."

Chuckling at your own humor you snatched their guns.

"Wait how-."

Chuuya stepped out of the closet a blush on his cheeks and a confused expression.

Standing up straight you walked over to him and picked up your clothes from his hands.

"It's my ability  'sweet dreams'. If i touch the person and whisper 'sweet dreams' in the next 5 minutes. The person or persons will fall into a coma. They'll wake up when i fall asleep or when i forget i put them to sleep. So i have to keep thinking about them."

You finished off with a smile. Putting your own shirt on again.

"I can see now why Dazai brought you." He said with a slight smirk on his face.

"It isn't all that fancy and i never really used it before."

"Why come you never joined the port mafia or hell even the ADA."

You sighed a little.

"Well it could be a useful ability, but i don't want to be a hero or villian or other shit. I'm happy as i am now."

Chuuya looks at you with a soft expression.

"That's a shame. Would've loved to see you in action more. Or hell even fight against you."

He looked away from you. His hand behind his head. You laughed a little.

"I would absolutely demolish your ass." You said, crossing your arms with a triumph look on your face.

"Hah you wish princess. You won't be able to even come near me!"

You blushed at the sudden nickname. Your hands falling to your side.

"W-we'll see." You cursed yourself for stuttering.

He walked passed you to the door. Whispering something in you ear.

"I wouldn't mind seeing you try to seduce me like the two men you seduced just now."

Your ears felt hot and you were sure you looked like a tomato right now. Chuuya walked out the door and you just stood there. Coming out of your shocked state you ran out the door to slap him. "Come here you asshole." You whisper yelled. Chuuya almost dying from laughter shushed you. "We don't want the enemy to find us now. Do we. Otherwise you have to put on that outfit again."

Smacking him on the back of his head. You couldn't wait to get this mission done.

----

"Ah what a night. Good thing you guys saved me back there. They were cruel!"

The brunette man was stretching his limbs.

It was 5 in the morning and Chuuya and you were finally able to take the boss out (well Chuuya did that part while you freed Dazai.)

"Oh shut up you damn piece of shit. Thanks to you it took us the whole night to finish this job and most of all you brought y/n in unnecessary danger."

"Hey it's okay. I'm fine. Luckily we all are. Let's just head home go to sleep and go back to enemies in the morning." You quickly said walking inbetween the two men.

Dazai yawned.

"Sounds like a great plan y/n! Altough i thought you were gonna quit the job."

You put your hands around Dazais arm.

"Nah can't do that after such an adventure now can i?"

You and Dazai chuckled while Chuuya just sighed.

"Get a room jeez." He said annoyed.

"Ah c'mon Chuuya. We make a great team! I can't wait for the next truce." You said rather excited for this hour.

Coming at the end of the forest you knew you had to say your goodbye's to the men.

"Well y/n i wish you a pleasant night and i'll see you at work again. Chuuya i hope you get hit by a car."

Dazai smiled and turned around to walk away.

You laughed and waved him goodbye.

"That fucker." Chuuya muttered holding up his middle finger.

"Ah come on Chuuya. He may not show it, but i know he sees you as a friend."

"Pff sure in your dreams."

Sighing you face palmed yourself.

"Well i guess this is it then. Goodnight Chuuya."

You knew it was wrong. He was your enemy and you had to put your feelings aside, but you couldn't stop yourself. You never had so much fun in your whole life and to be frank, you didn't want the night to end here yet.

You kissed him on the cheek and turned around.

"Thank you for this wonderful, but crazy ass night." You gave a sad smile. Although he couldn't see it.

Suddenly you felt someone grab you wrist. Spinning you around. You were met with a flustered Chuuya his eyes fixated on the ground.

Standing there in an awkward silence for a few seconds, he finally spoke up.

"Look. I worked with many people before, but i never had so much fun with someone. And-" he became quiet for a bit. Taking a deep breath he continued: " and i never felt like this before. You give me this warm feeling and i hate it, but i can't get enought of it. When i first saw you at the meeting i just knew you were different. So please let's not end this night just yet."

He tilted his head to look at you a serious expression on his face.

"Chuuya-."

Your voice was cut of when a pair of warm lips crashed your own. They were rough, but soft at the same time. Being a little stunned you forgot to kiss back. Chuuya pulled away again taking a step back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what came over me."

This time you shushed him and kissed him back. His arms finding a way on your hips and your arms grabbing his hair to deepen the kiss.

After a few seconds you both pulled away, out of breath. Your fourheads touching eachother and your noses brushing eachother.

"That was- wow."

You said with a small smile.

Chuuya chuckled lightly.

"I won't go easy on you now if we meet again y/n."

"Oh i'm counting on it."

You grinned. Wanting to make this night last longer. He pulled you in for a kiss again and you let him. Nothing making you happier as you are right now.

Little did you two forbidden lovers know that a brunette man was staring contently as his assumptions were right.

----

Sorry it took so long :,)

[saby-chan]

Fire Lord Ozai: A blood thirsty monster or the less fortunate “Zuko” of his generation?

Hello again and thank you as always for clicking and allotting some of your time to read my humble post! Since I’ve happened to notice quite an increase in posts lately regarding the controversial character and nature of the former Fire Lord, the now imprisoned fallen prince Ozai, and I’ve personally promised in my previous post that I will share my own analysis on him if people asked me to do so (which actually happened), I am here to deliver my own take on this very intriguing man’s character, while also building a potential past for him based on stuff gathered from the show’s cannon.

I would like to start this essay with what I find to be my favorite quote ever: ”Monster’s aren’t born, they are created.” ~ Naruto Uzumaki (Naruto) What I like about this quote soo much and find very inspirational is the truth it holds within its short, yet powerful message. We are often fast to judge a “book by the cover”, to reduce others to what we assume of them by their appearance or latest actions that we’ve seen them do, but never actually take a moment and wonder where they come from, if this person we soo harshly look down upon really has been this way since their very beginning?

I’ve come across many comments on social media related to ATLA, especially on YouTube videos on which people would throw with harsh comments such as “Aang being a coward for choosing to spare the villain just because they saw a dumb baby pic of them” or “Ozai is the essence of evil and even as a baby he’d been a monster”. I can’t help but wonder who hurt these people to make them be so cruel? Like, how messed up must you actually be to say that a baby, a friggin baby, is the embodiment of all evils? Or that a child was a coward for choosing to see his opponent’s last bits of humanity and opted to spare them?

Aang was soo morally conflicted about the idea of killing Ozai not only because it contradicted the morals of his people, but because he himself understood that this man hadn’t always been the cruel beast he came to met in their first and final showdown. It’s important to note here the fact that upon finding that picture, Aang was actually convinced it had to be Zuko as a baby since it looked so innocent and cute and was actually surprised to learn it was Zuko’s father. And that’s the thing, Ozai was born like us all as an innocent and sweet baby. Babies aren’t in any way evil or twisted, they don’t even have the notion of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ defined in their small, still developing minds. In fact, the very choice of the creators to add this picture in the show is meant to tell us this very thing: this man wasn’t always like this. But if he wasn’t always like this, then what happened to make him become this way?

Well, in order to find out the reason, we must go back in time to the very beginning: Ozai’s childhood and upbringing. For this next part I am going to solely focus on the show cannon, as the comics aren’t the products of BryKe and have a lot of inconsistencies to the source’s cannon (you can go and read my other post on why they fail when it comes to Zuko’s character and his family).

 From what we know and can easily deduce by ourselves just from their appearances, Ozai and his brother Iroh have a huge age gap between them (somewhere between 10 and 15 years). This has to be our first red flag: isn’t it soo odd that this family opted to have their children at such a long distance between pregnancies? It almost feels as if Ozai hadn’t actually been part of his father’s actual family planning... In other words, he was a ‘mistake’ child (I actually hate having to use this terminology, but it will become relevant to when we expand on Azulon’s relationship with his sons). Sure, some may argue that Azulon actually decided to have two sons in case something were to happen to his first born, but wouldn’t it have been more logical to have his second born at 2-3 years max distance from his first? Why choose to have your second child when you are much older and thus risk having a baby with issues, if your sole purpose of this child is to serve as an insurance that you don’t ‘run out’ of heirs? It just doesn’t make much sense, so let’s go for the moment with the possibility that Ozai was an unplanned pregnancy.

This perspective actually gives way to another very interesting aspect: remember the infamous “Born lucky...Lucky to be born” quote? What if I tell you that there is a possibility that this quote wasn’t Ozai’s personal wicked invention, but actually something he himself heard from his very own father? It had been puzzling me for a long time why he choose to say “You were lucky to be born” to Zuko, which implies that Zuko wasn’t supposed to exist. I mean, it’s soo odd that Ozai went with something implying that Zuko was an unplanned pregnancy, since Zuko was the first born. So my theory is that maybe Ozai wanted to convey a different message to Zuko when he said that quote, but due to his anger he ended up replicating the same line he received from Azulon at some point in his childhood. We never got the exact flashback when the line was delivered from Ozai to Zuko, so we don’t have the exact context that lead to it (remember, we are excluding Yang’s take on the matter from the comics).

I mean, this feels like something that wicked old Azulon would have said to his least favorite child. Okay, so let’s go with the scenario that Ozai was an unwanted child, to which we could also add the possibility that Ilah’s health deteriorated after the first birth, which makes plausible the family’s initial decision of stopping at 1 kid.

Moving on, we know from the old ATLA character wiki’s that Ozai’s character design was made with Zuko in mind, being meant to be a grown up version of Zuzu, without the scar. An interesting choice indeed and even Iroh’s letter to Zuko on Ozai from one of the ATLA books describes Ozzy in a similar way to teenage Zuko in book 1: stubborn, feisty, determined and with a volcanic personality (easy to anger and competitive), so it means that these were intentional choices to imply that Zuko and his father are more similar than we were led to believe at first glance. Maybe Ozai was the “Zuko” of his generation. Also, in one of the interviews on the royal family, BryKe stated that Ozai worked very hard to get where he is in book 3, referring to his firebending specifically (we all know how Ozzy got the throne, so clearly, he didn’t “work hard” for that), so maybe he wasn’t always the strongest man alive, with the most exceptional firebending skills out there, like Azula who showed ease in her learning, but rather someone closer to Zuko’s weaker performance as a child, building his way to success through endless hard work until he became the prodigy we know today.

Continuing with our theoretical scenario, after his birth, the second child show’s lesser skills compared to his brother Iroh (by that I don’t mean that he wasn’t gifted at all, but that maybe Ozai wasn’t as fast and great of a learner like his big bro), so Azulon opts to just ignore him and continue focusing solely on his golden child. In my headcannon I actually think that Ilah survived the birth and so she was left in charge of the younger child’s education and upbringing. At this point Iroh is already 10 or older, so he is forced to focus on his development, which prevents him from spending time with his lil brother, but just for the sake of being positive, let’s assume that Ozai still had both his mother and his big brother to keep him sheltered from Azulon’s darkness for a small portion of his childhood.

I choose to believe that Ozai had his mother’s love for a small bit of his childhood due to his willingness in the show to allow Ursa (who mind you, as the granddaughter of Roku was considered a treacherous individual) to spend a ton of time with both Zuko and Azula and share her philosophy with the children, as seeing his wife playing with their children probably reminded him of his own bitter-sweet memories he had with Ilah. They also probably spent a lot of their time near the turtle-duck pond since that pond’s existence prolly dates long before Ozai and Ursa married and had their own children.

Unfortunately, Ilah dies and little Ozai remains all alone, to be influenced negatively by his father (and even by his grandpa Sozin, we don’t really know for certain when the old man died, so he prolly was there for a short time when Ozzy was still a child). Azulon most likely blames Ozai for his wife’s death as the second birth might’ve really had a huge toll on Ilah’s already fragile body, bringing her closer to death, so he still neglects and ignores the child, if not straight out bullies and abuses him for not being on par with Iroh. This prolly leads to Ozai becoming jealous of his brother since Iroh has their father’s love, pushing them further apart. I headcannon that this jealousy between the siblings led to Ozai complaining to his dad when he finally had too much of their father’s discrimination (at a similar age to when Zuko prolly did and got the infamous line, if not younger) only to get the “Iroh was born lucky, you were lucky to be born!” line with the sole purpose of hurting him since now the child knows that he was never wanted.

When Azulon scolds very furiously adult Ozai in Zuko’s memories for daring to ask to be named crown prince, he literally says something like “What, you dare ask me to betray MY own son?!” (this is like red flag number two), line that pretty much testifies how Azulon chose to pretty much treat Ozai as if he wasn’t his son too, showcasing how much he despised his second born and favored the first child over him. Since we are on the topic of their last conversation, the punishment Azulon gave to his son alone proves this man’s level of sadism, which leads me to be believe that Ozai’s childhood was full of this type of punishments for bad behaviors that could be easily corrected trough a long serious lecture or a lesser punishment focused more on teaching him an actual lesson. 

The old wikis also mention on the page about the hall with portraits of the previous Fire Lords that it was the place where Ozai chose to spend most of his time in his youth, seeking advice from his ancestors. I mean, seriously now, if he had a good and supportive father and a present brother in his life, would Ozai had chosen to seek guidance from the dead instead of his living family? That piece of information that was easily overlooked by many proves how lonely this man was in his youth.

So for the most part of his life, Ozai grew up under the toxic influence and abuse of his tyrant father who refused to acknowledge him. Yet he managed to grow up still full of determination to one day prove his worth to Azulon and gain his acceptance (just like we saw with Zuko in book 1, who was desperate to regain his honor and be accepted by his father). But unfortunately, no matter how strong he became or how good of a firebender he was, Azulon was unmoved and unphased by his second son’s performance.

From what we could gather from the little info we received in the show, it seems that Ozai was never sent to the battle field to aid his older brother, being kept as a stay home prince, with the only occasion he actually left home being to search for the Avatar (I don’t think Iroh was sent to do his part on searching the Avatar since he strongly believed that there wasn’t going to ever be one, so it’s safe to assume Azulon assigned Ozai with this mission just to get rid of him for a few years) and the only purpose he ever served to his father was to become part of the old man’s genetics experiment in order to create strong unparalleled firebending offspring (which I am pretty sure were meant to be ‘biological war machines’ used by Azulon in the war, as he didn’t really seem to give a shit about Ozai’s children compared to Lu Ten). So just imagine the level of disappointment and dishonor Ozai must’ve felt as a man and young aspiring soldier to find out that he was going to be used like a ‘non-bending daughter’ in a strategical marriage and never get to serve his country in what he’d been taught was the greatest and most important war for their Nation.

All in all, this marriage didn’t really end up that badly because it seems he and Ursa were actually very compatible. The old wiki for Ursa states that she was a noble woman and the perfect match for Ozai, which leads me to believe that show Ursa was intended to be a very strong willed and determined woman who earned his respect. The show never stated that Ozai never wanted his first born or that he was disappointed with Zuko from birth like the comics say, so it’s safe to assume that Ursa and Ozai actually ended up falling in love at some point since they had not one, but two kids with relatively a short time in between pregnancies. 

There are actually many signs in the show that actually prove that these two loved each other and Ozai didn’t abuse his wife: from the fact that they went every year to see Ursa’s favorite play despite Ozai hating the poor performance of the Ember Island Players (I mean, what man would do such a sacrifice as to endure the same torture every single year just to make his wife happy if he never loved her?), Ursa’s undeniable and sincere love for their children (in the show it was never stated that Ursa saw Zuko and Azula as someone else’s children, so if she were indeed an abused woman who was forced to have these children, she wouldn’t have ever loved them to such an extent, especially Zuko who resembled his father the most physically), the fact that Ursa had equal rights in their marriage and raising of their children (her even scolding and grounding Ozai’s favorite child without hesitation), to the most significant scene to the Urzai ship in Zuko’s flashbacks: Ozai sitting troubled all alone in Ursa’s favorite spot by the pond, in a sad and brooding atmosphere, after he lost her, instead of celebrating what had to be the happiest day of his life since he was finally crowned Fire Lord (it’s clear who had more importance in his heart: Ursa meant more to him than the throne, so losing her outshined his achievement). In fact, Ursa must’ve been the only thing that still kept him outside of the darkness that threatened to swallow his heart and once he lost her, Ozai had nothing else to keep him on the right path.

And even as a father, it seems that Ozai wasn’t always cold and distant to his children, as his true self depicted in Zuko’s memories on Ember Island shows him caring for both of his children, even holding Zuko close to him with a protective arm on the boy’s shoulder. Except the Agni Kai, there don’t seem to be any instances in which he was physically violent towards his son before the banishment (Iroh literally let Zuko in to join that faithful war meeting willingly. Would’ve he done that if he knew his brother to be very violent towards his children in case they disobeyed? If yes, then it would make Iroh actually very questionable on a moral standpoint) and even on an emotional level, I don’t really think that he was actually abusive to him (at least while Ursa was there) because from Zuko’s conversation with Zhao, he’s adamant that his father will take him back and even states "You don't know how my father feels about me. You don't know anything!", meaning that the father he used to know showed him a level of respect and genuine affection (if Ozai were to bully Zuko since the boy’s very early childhood, do you think this kid would grow up to be so sure that his father wants him around and would he defend this bully when someone badmouths them in front of him?).

Even with Azula, despite people demonizing her from early childhood and saying that she was manipulated since birth by Ozai to become a war machine, I do believe that she shows genuine love and affection towards her father. I do choose to believe that back in the good times when the family was happy, Ozai spent quality time with his daughter, filling in the gap left by Ursa’s neglect. I theorize that the reason why kid Azula badmouthed her grandpa and uncle was because she was being very protective of her father: since she used to like spying and eavesdropping, it’s safe to assume that she prolly witnessed many instances in which the old man bullied or insulted Ozai, favoring Iroh over him. It’s a bit harder to see it that way since her snarky comments involve dark topics, but since they live in a society governed by power and war, I see them as something similar to if Azula would’ve said “Uncle sucks and he will surely be fired from his job!” or “Grandpa is old and weak, he should leave the family business to dad!”. Even the fact that the only thing capable of shattering her to pieces was her father leaving her proves how much she cared for him. Ty Lee and Mai’s betrayal was a big blow on Azula’s control and sanity, but she didn’t breakdown until Ozai discarded her after his coronation as Phoenix King. There’s nothing more painful in this world than to be left behind by the person you loved the most and was there by your side your whole life, whom you wanted to follow to world’s end and back. That was the moment Azula finally realized that the father she used to know and love was actually gone and had been in fact, long gone for years at this point.

But if Ozai cared for his family what made him change? Easy, it all comes back to the fact that his father never acknowledged him. The throne doesn’t seem to be his ultimate goal in life since Ozai discarded of the Fire Lord title very easily, tossing it to Azula without any remorse or hesitation. It was more about the meaning behind getting the crown: replacing Iroh in the line of succession was the ultimate proof of his father’s acceptance, that he wasn’t only a “mistake” and “failure” in his father’s eyes, but since Azulon ended up saying and doing what he did, backfired Ozai and made him understand that no matter how hard he tried, the old man will never see him for what he is. So yeah, for a proud man like Ozai this was a hard defeat to swallow, which in turn sparked his strong desire of winning the war and becoming the king of the world: if Azulon wouldn’t accept him even in death, then Ozai will prove to the whole world that he was above his father and his “perfect” brother by accomplishing what they never could and even better and no one was going to stop him, not even his own family.

This is what differentiates Ozai from Zuko: while both had similar upbringings, Ozai never broke away from his obsession of gaining his father’s admiration, allowing himself to fall prey to the darkness left by Azulon in his heart and abandon his true self, only to become the copy of his abuser, while Zuko stood up to his dad and chose his own destiny. If Aang were to come back around 20 or 30 years earlier, then he might’ve actually been able to save Ozai just like he saved Zuko, but unfortunately it wasn’t this way.

Do I think that Ozai could still be saved and redeemed even after the events of book 3? Definitely! Since he’s actually a broken man and still has a tiny bit of humanity left within, I think he still has a chance to change his heart. The only thing is that it’d be a long lasting process: first off he needs to spend a long time in solitude and reflect on his life’s choices and his past, understand where he went wrong and that what happened to him in his childhood is called abuse, which he ended up replicating on his own children. After he understands his wrongdoings and becomes willing to rediscover his true self, he needs to understand the truth about the war, that everything he’d known was fake propaganda and that there was nothing glorious in what he, his father and Sozin did under the excuse of “sharing their Nation’s greatness with the rest of the world!”. But most importantly of all, the only remedy that could possibly save him is love. It sound cliche, but by responding to hatred with more hate like Zuko did in the comics would never change the world “for the better” or bring it “to reality”. The only way to save both Azula and Ozai would be trough showing them the power of love, hope and empathy, how they don’t have to struggle alone and push everyone away. And especially by redeeming Azula, she would be a very important piece in Ozai’s redemption: since he had a closer parent-child relationship with Azula and cared for her the most when he did care, realizing how much he made her suffer through his actions, that would probably break Ozai enough to make him admit that he was wrong all along.

So yeah, this is my analysis on Ozai’s character using the cannon information from the show and old wikis and why I think he is just the product of a very bad environment and an abusive parent who never showed him love (if there’s a reason for why Ozai might be uncapable of showing a healthy parental love to his children is because you can’t show what you’ve never learnt yourself), being the Zuko of his generation who never got to experience the positive influence of an “Uncle Iroh” to guide him on the right path. 

You can agree with me or not on this one, but this is what I choose to believe. Maybe I am way too good by choosing to see any potential good in anyone, but I feel it’s a better way than to counter hate with more hate like Yang did in his monstrous portrayal of Ozai in The Search.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and if you agree with anything I’ve said, feel free to leave a like and to reblog this post.

See you next time and stay safe! Bye-Bye!

Saby out.

[yayteaberry]

*SFW* Sunflower (Momo)

In retrospect, you may have had a crush on Momo from the moment you officially met her. That would’ve been your third year of school, when you came to Japan.

You were born in America but the hero programs in any state didn’t compare to UA, so your parents moved to Sakai to pursue your education in the hopes that it’d give you an edge. And that’s how you met Momo, instantly making friends with her as she seemed like she needed one.

Naturally you’ve always been extroverted, Momo being a more reclusive child meant that it was a perfect contrast of excitability to her peacefulness.

For some reason you were enamored with her, you’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked it of you. A strong bond formed that way, that promise to be there for each other goes both ways. Honestly you might be in love with her at this point.

It’d be difficult to say you weren’t, everything she did seemed perfect to you. She’s incredibly smart, adorable near constantly, admirable in her goals, there isn’t a thing you would change even if you could.

Today has gone the usual pace, extremely boring until combat training, and extremely boring after. Taking English seems a little unnecessary to you right now, but you do understand that a large part of marketing depends on western audiences since they’re the ones who tend to go overboard on obsessing over such things.

All in all, you find it worth it since Momo loves the current unit studying the Shakespeare play ‘romeo and juliet’.

“It’s just so romantic!”, Momo gushes before taking a sip of tea, “I can’t stop thinking about that quote, ‘A rose by any name would smell as sweet’.”

You nod, “It really is.”

The both of you are relaxing in the dorms common room, idly watching a show you’ve never seen before on TV. She’s sat next to you on the couch, legs crossed with her plate for her cup resting on her upper thigh, you sitting as unladylike as humanly possible per the usual.

“Roses are romantic in general, I’d hope to encapsulate their atmosphere of love and dedication. Maybe someday I’ll remind someone of one.”, she says wistfully.

You shake your head with a chuckle, “Well you’ve never reminded me of one, I think they’re overrated. You remind me of a sunflower.”

“Is that a crack at my height?”, she quips dryly, putting her cup down with a quiet ‘clink’.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m an inch taller for one,”, you say passively as you sit up, invested in the fight scene playing out, “and for two it’s because of who you are as a person. They’re tall, sure, but nobody really thinks of that first when they think of one.”

“Well what do they think of?” She asks curiously, more focused on you than the TV.

“Warmth. Comfort. Strength. A rose is delicate, they need a specific type of dirt, a specific allotment of water per day or they’ll wilt and die. Sunflowers are resilient and function with anything thrown their way. They root themselves in rocky soil, they withstand hostile wind, it’s common for them to be the only sunflower in that particular spot despite all those aesthetic pictures of ‘em in fields.” You aren’t thinking about what you’re saying, just letting it all flow freely without the usual censoring you do. “They’re a beautiful flower no matter what, but they handle themselves with a composition that roses couldn’t ever hope to achieve. When I think of a rose I think of a borderline sickly and needy little thing, when I think of a sunflower I think of tenacity and adaptability.”

Too absorbed into the show, you don’t see the pink across the bridge of her nose or the way her eyes are wide open, unsure of how she should respond, so she doesn’t. You barely remember you’ve said anything at all, time passing smoothly for you.

Though you lose interest once all the action is over, turning to see what Momo is up to since she’s been quiet for a while. Like she usually does when lost in thought, she’s got her eyebrows knitted together as she stares a hole into the carpet, drumming her fingers along her cup.

“Whatcha thinkin about?”, you ask as you scoot closer to her, breaking her out of her mental labyrinth.

She blinks a few times and offers an odd laugh, “O-Oh! Nothing, just… Nothing! It’s nothing.”

“Okay?”, you say with a drawn out O, “You absolutely sure it’s nothing?” 

With a nod she stands, dropping the cup's plate onto the floor. She swipes it up before you can even bend over for it, hurriedly shuffling off towards the dorm kitchen without another word.

You just sit in place, seriously confused over the abnormal behavior.

… Did what’s playing on TV bother her? Sometimes she thinks about the logistics of certain things too hard but there’s nothing that happened that should upset her like that.

After a solid ten minutes passes and she doesn’t return, you follow her into the kitchen to see if she’s still there.

She is, just as you suspected, leaning against the counter with a hand at the side of her face as she’s gotten lost in thought again.

"Hey?", you say to announce your presence, which doesn't work to get her attention so you stand beside her and give a concerned hum, "Momo?"

That works well enough, her jumping slightly. "Y-yes?"

 "Are you okay? You're not usually like this, what's wrong?", worrying for her well-being leaks into your words, tone drenched with it.

"... It's just...", she pauses to give a frustrated grunt at her inability to express herself how she internally wants, "Just, I can't stop thinking about what you said."

Your heart sinks into your stomach at that, what did you say to her!?

"I guess I didn't see how much I feared that I was fragile, I tend to stiffen up sometimes and I'm more sheltered than others because of my well off background. It means a lot that you said what you did, validates me more than I thought I needed." She smiles and sighs, "More so, I don't understand why it's making me react like this." It's now that you notice how her cheeks are tinted pink, her awkward posture adding to her cute appearance.

"Huh, I'm glad I could help you feel better then.", you say as you force your eyes off of her and onto the coffee pot across the room. 

"Hearing that was nearly hypnotizing, I couldn't stop staring at you!", she giggles as she speaks, "It's like that made me fall in love with you even more!" At first you were going to laugh with her but that second sentence has you frozen, sight locked onto her as you turn bright red. 

She meets your eyes and neither of you can do anything now, locked into a standstill as her words hang in the air. You're looping it over and over in your head already, only able to remember bits and pieces of what you'd said to her earlier despite how desperately you're tugging at your memory.

Does... She feels the same..?

You open your mouth to speak but only huff with a nervous chuckle, rubbing at the back of your neck as your brain turns to mush. A second attempt proves just as successful, until you decide to just go for it. Fuck it, you've been holding back on this for years now.

"Momo," you say tenderly as you take both of her hands into yours, "I think... N-No, it's definite, I know that how I feel about you is concrete."

Her eyes glance down to your lips briefly, tempting you to do the same, finding that it makes you light headed to indulge in thinking about how plush her lips are. She takes care of herself extremely well, her skin is always so ungodly soft and you know those lips have to be the same, it's a guilty pleasure of yours to daydream about what it'd be like.

Here's your chance.

Taking the lead, you lean in close with hesitance, gauging her reaction. Like a deer in headlights she stands in place, though when you stop moving you notice that she'd been leaning in too. Your heart feels like it might pop from the tension, her hands squeezing yours in anticipation.

"Heya, kero.", chirps Tsuyu as she wanders into the kitchen innocently, not noticing the moment she was now a part of because she's making a line straight for the fridge, unaware of the position you're in.

Just as your lips brush against hers you recoil to turn towards your friend, letting go of Momo as you turn tomato red, ears burning with embarrassment.

"Hi!", you nearly shout back with way too much volume, smiling tensely, taking a step away from Momo.

Tsuyu grabs a can of soda and closes the fridge, opening it as she looks directly at you both. "... Is everything okay here?"

"Yes! Perfect! Couldn't be better!", you nearly cut her off with your over-enthusiastic response. You go to spare Momo a glance only to watch as she flees the scene, making you jealous and lonely at the same time.

Tsuyu hums sarcastically, “Sure. Better go say something to her before the moment passes.”

“What moment?” Even you have to admit that you’re a terrible liar.

She rolls her eyes as she pops the tab on her can, calmly walking towards the common room.

You give yourself a second to panic before you lightly jog towards the girls wing, knowing she’s likely smothering herself in her bed right now.

When you get to her door, you find yourself hesitating.

She’s your best friend! You can totally talk to her about this!

… Except that you just confirmed your feelings for her, something you’ve never talked about in any way.

Neither of you have ever discussed having a crush with one another, it just didn’t happen intense enough to merit a conversation. You make a jokes about how you’re likely a lesbian, does that count?

Ah why is this so difficult! She was about to kiss you, she feels the same way you do! Unless she didn’t… Oh god what if she wasn’t doing anything because she wasn’t into it. Oh god! How can you ever be near her again if she actually did mean that comment as a joke?

Is that why she ran off? Does she need time alone? Would you be intruding? Is this crossing a line?

In the middle of your anxiety digging a hole into your brain, her door opens, snapping you out of it.

There she stands, as pink as ever, fidgeting with her hands as she keeps her sight firmly on the floor. You try to say something but your words catch in your throat, rendering both of you useless for the moment.

“I-I think I’m in love with you!”, in blurt-mode you say that at an unacceptable volume for such a phrase, hands balled at your sides to help you force it out. “No one compares to you in my life, t-there’s never been anyone like you that I’ve even heard about! And, and I just, god, Momo I wanna kiss you so bad it’s stupid,”

Like a caveman pouring her heart out, you put it all on the table, awaiting the response of the potential love of your life. She’s not fragile physically but emotionally she really can be, for a moment you contemplate whether you ruined everything by being so upfront.

Though it’s all dismissed when she surprises you by closing the gap and kissing you, grabbing at your forearms to keep balance. Your eyes are wide, secretly enthralled by how determined her expression is, her eyes tightly closed.

When she pulls away you follow closely to give her one of your own, face aching from the continual blushing you’ve done for the last ten minutes. She doesn’t stop you, soft hands cradling your jaw as you wrap your arms around her, her knees going weak prompting you to take a few steps into her room to keep her standing. 

This time you allow her to pull away, heart once again dropping to see that she’s on the verge of tears. “Are you okay?”, you ask as you loosely let go, not moving any.

“Y-Yeah! I um…”, she clears her throat, blinking away at the water blurring her sight, “For so long I’ve been so scared you didn’t feel the same, a-and I got scared I was projecting onto you. But, this is happening, and… It feels really good…”

You’re moved by that, sniffling with a wide smile. “Jeeze, and here I was thinking the exact same thing. Kinda dumb of us both, huh?”

From the doorway Mina laughs, “We’re lesbians, I think it comes with the territory to be stupid.”

“God damn, is every girl here gay? My gay-dar doesn’t work at all.”, you ask yourself with a huff, pinching at the bridge of your nose.

Momo shoves her face into your shoulder and mumbles to herself, “Why can’t we just be alone…”

“Wait! How long have you been there!”, you ask with confusion, turning to look towards your pink friend.

“Like two seconds, I just sensed something happening when I heard yelling and had to come see! I’m so glad you two talked things out, it was so intense waiting for this.”, she says with the usual excitement reserved for a reality show.

“Are - were we that obvious?” Incredulous, you raise your eyebrows as you sift over what this all must’ve looked like from a distance.

“Mhm”, she takes her cellphone out as she talks, “I thought you guys were already dating until I found out you weren’t! Everyone is gonna be psyched!”

“Everyone!?”, both you and Momo exclaim, filled with dread at the prospect of becoming a piece of gossip to be spread around. Well, spread around for the second time apparently.

[lovelylogans]

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, warnings, and notes here!

chapter two: limbic resonance

limbic resonance: the idea that the capacity for sharing deep emotional states arises from the limbic system of the brain. these states include the dopamine circuit-promoted feelings of empathic harmony, and the norepinephrine circuit-originated emotional states of fear, anxiety, and anger.

PATTON

“My best guess, Patton, is that I think you’re just very social, in sensate terms.”

Patton blinks. They’re sitting in his apartment, this time, a variety of writing practice sheets spread out on his carpet that he really should be grading, but Emile had popped in, and, the same way he has for the past five days, Patton immediately turned his attention to him, in hopes of figuring out what’s going on.

“Well,” Patton says, unsure of what to really say, before he just settles on, “that’s not new.”

Emile smiles, reaching over to pat his hand.

“What we’re doing right now, we call visiting,” Emile explains. “Sharing is something you can only do with your cluster; parents of a cluster, like me—”

“And our psychic grandpa Harley?”

“And your psychic grandpa Harley is to me,” Emile agrees, “is a bit more of a fuzzy area. I can share a bit with you, though—” he gestures to the mostly-finished meal he had made for Patton, the dirtied pot, pan, and utensils sitting on a countertop in Patton’s apartment, “so that’s nice! Harley could only share with us a little, memories, mostly. Young sensates, like you and your cluster, tend to have very little control over it at first. It usually comes with practice. You seem to be visiting almost everyone in your cluster.”

“Well, I don’t even know if I’m controlling it,” Patton says. “I just find myself in places sometimes.”

Emile nods in understanding.  “Visiting isn’t like calling or texting someone. It’s not something you make happen, it’s something you let happen.”

“...I’m not sure I understand the difference,” Patton admits.

“It usually takes a while to get,” Emile says affably.

“And I never really stay for long,” Patton says. “I kind of had a conversation with one, I think, but I don’t know how much I imparted hi, I’m one of your psychic partners in life now, you know what I mean? The longest I’ve ever stayed is about five minutes, and I’m pretty sure he was out camping and asleep.”

“You’ve got time to figure it out,” Emile says encouragingly. “And I’m here to help, or explain questions you have, whenever I can. None of that vague you are more than yourself then whoosh, disappearing into thin air thing Harley pulled for our cluster. I want to be a helpful parent, thanks.”

That’s mostly what they’ve been doing over the past five days—Patton’s been trying to figure out what on earth is going on.

He’s already figured out that Emile isn’t a hallucination—his kindergartners had only been too eager to shout “HI MR. T’S AMERICAN FRIEND!!!” into his cellphone, and they’d all heard Emile’s responses back, so the is this really happening or am I seeing things? question has been resoundingly answered.

It’s the whole surprise! You’re not exactly human! thing that’s been tripping him up. Emile’s been trying to explain it in scientific terms, but honestly. Patton is a kindergarten teacher. He has no idea what epigenetic factors means. He just knows that Emile’s been throwing around the term homo sensorium a few times. That sounds like not exactly human to Patton.

“Have you gotten through to anyone else in the cluster like you have with me?” Patton asks Emile, rather than think about that a bit more. All he gets is another headache.

At least the migraine’s fading.

“Not quite,” Emile says, frowning. “You’ll probably connect with them sooner than I will; you have been connecting with them much more than I have. I just see glimpses.”

“So, just to make sure I get it,” Patton says. “I’m now psychically connected through—what’s it called again?”

“Psycellium,” Emile prompts.

“Right. I’m now psychically connected through something called psycellium, a psychic nervous system that we have because we are sensates, or homo sensorium.” 

Emile gives him a thumbs-up.

“Sensates are a species of humans that are telepathically connected to each other. Every sensate is part of a group or cluster of sensates and members of a cluster can connect and communicate with each other wherever they are in the world.”

“Got it in one,” Emile says.

Patton huffs, flopping onto the bed.

“Honestly,” he says. “I’m so glad I’m the one blinking to you most often. I’d hate to try figuring this out without anyone who knows what’s happening.”

LOGAN

It’s been a demonstrably strange past five days. Logan has been keeping notes.

He typically carries around a small notebook as a virtue of his profession—it’s very helpful to jot down things like observations of unusual penguin behaviors, supplies he needed to put in a request for, or potential questions to ask scientists within other disciplines, rather than relying on remembering it all by rote.

He usually does remember it all by rote, but he thinks that’s greatly helped because he bothers to write it all down anyway. Handwriting information has been proven to help send information to the hippocampus, where the decision is made to either store the information long-term or let it go. If he writes something by hand, all that complex sensory information increases the chances the knowledge will be stored for later.

Anyone who happened to crack open his notebook and look at his notes for the past five days would surely think he was going mad.

May 8th—Migraine @ approx. noon; strange man in pajamas @ approx. 4 pm. 

May 9th—tasted savory (meat?) when drinking tea @ 6 am; strange man (codename consideration?) cursing loudly in spanish @ approx 10 am; diff. man on computer pages that should have been locked to him @ 3:21 pm; saw a flash of sunny road @ approx 5 pm; migraine persists.

And so on, and so on. The frequencies have been growing over the past two days; he’s filled up the entire page allotted for usual day-to-day notes with just the strange things he’s been hearing, smelling, tasting.

Seeing.

He’s seeing things. That is rarely a good sign for one’s brain chemistry. And it’s not like there’s a proliferation of therapists, brain surgeons, or MRIs in Antarctica.

Now, he jots down May 12th at the top of the page, adding migraine persists, 6.5/10 pain @ 7 am, which is at least a little bit better than days past. He taps his pen on the desk, wondering if the dream he’d had about sitting on a couch beside a man as he proselytized a cartoon amid couple’s therapy warrants notation. It had all been people he’d never seen before. 

As he taps, he frowns and pauses his movement; then, he gently nudges the notebook aside, in case of shadow.

No. There is a pile of dirt under the notebook.

Logan glances around the barracks, and moves to sweep the dirt off his desk; even as he is trying to be tidy about it, the dirt gets under his fingernails, and Logan scowls down at it. The dirt’s very stubborn. He sweeps at the dirt again, and again, but the pile only seems to grow, and he sweeps and manages to knock his notebook off his desk—

Logan groans, getting down on his knees to retrieve it, And then he puts two hands down, to press himself back up, and—

He looks up. The scent of spices, familiar and yet unplaceable in his mind, is in the air. The sun is beating down on his back. 

Logan’s lips part slightly with surprise; for one thing, he is in Antarctica, and sunny hot days are not something he experiences particularly often there.

For another, a man is staring at him. His lips part, too, his hands in the dirt, fingertips bare centimeters away from Logan’s; it’s as if they’re looking into a mirror.

They stare.

The man is black, his hair freshly cut, by the look of the clean, fresh shave along his sideburns, his hair buzzed short. He has a strong jawline, and thick eyebrows, set into his face to make him look as if he’s perpetually furrowing them. His mouth is set in a thin line as if he’d been pressing his lips together in concentration. 

His skin is clear and glowing in the light. He’s rather handsome, Logan thinks nonsensically, and then firmly attempts to set that thought aside. There’s a slight smudge of white from where he has not rubbed in his sunscreen along his cheekbone. 

His bare hands are buried in the dirt; he’d been planting something before Logan showed up, Logan knows it.

“Where am I?” The man asks, in a language that Logan does not speak and yet still understands; they are back in the barracks in Antarctica, Logan sitting at his desk and the man kneeling on Logan’s bed, and yet simultaneously they are in that sunny garden, fingernails encrusted with dirt. “What is this?”

“Antarctica,” Logan says, confused; if this was a figment of his mind, surely the man would know where he was? “Where are you?”

“Pretoria,” the man says, and they’re kneeling back in the dirt. He looks as confused as Logan feels.

“In South Africa?” Logan says, befuddled. Of all the places his mind could place him—why somewhere he’d thought about studying, but never actually gone?

The man’s eyebrows actually furrow, now. “Do you speak Xhosa?”

Logan shakes his head. He returns, “Do you speak Polish?” 

The man snorts, but he shakes his head too.

“Then how are we understanding each other?” Logan murmurs, and jots down in his notebook, language differential? Research Xhosa.

“I don’t know,” he says.

They stare at each other a bit more. Then:

“Logan,” the man says, suddenly certain with it.

He knows my name, Logan thinks, something in his stomach fluttering with what he’d like to think is unease. It would be much more appropriate if it was unease.

But a hallucination would know his name.

“You drink black tea in the mornings,” he continues. “With raspberry in it.”

Logan blinks rapidly because suddenly he can place the scent of spices in the air—the meat he’d tasted.

“Umngqusho,” Logan says, the word rolling smoothly off his tongue despite never having said it or heard it in his life. And then he recoils, because—

“This cannot be real,” he says, rapidly scrawling it in his notebook, even though he can feel the dirt under his fingernails, see the street filled with people out for walks, smell the dinner’s spices lingering on the air, feel the heat of the sun. 

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to visit my psychologist again,” he agrees gloomily.

Virgil. Virgil agrees gloomily. His name is Virgil.

Fantastic. Now his mind is naming these hallucinations. Isn’t there some saying about not letting children name animals because then they’d get attached? Would there be a similar philosophy with hallucinations?

He notes it anyway—PRETORIA, VIRGIL—and swallows, looking to the door of the barracks. He’d be expected to do some kind of work within the hour, and to get some kind of breakfast before that.

“I don’t understand this,” Logan says, and if that isn’t terrifying, “So, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to assume you are a very vivid hallucination.”

“Sure,” Virgil shrugs, gesturing to the pile of dirt. “I’m busy transferring a new jacaranda tree anyway.”

“Now that’s resolved,” Logan says, heart pounding, “I’m going to resume finishing off these notes and get some tea.”

“Of course.”

“And I’ll be pretending you’re not there.”

“Same,” Virgil says, and he returns his attention to his jacaranda sapling.

Logan swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and adds a starting time to this hallucination before he closes his notebook, gathers his bag, and walks in the direction of the dining hall.

Or, he tries. Because—

There is a fence in his way. Logan scowls, turning to face Virgil, who has turned his attention away from the jacaranda.

“Sorry,” Virgil mutters. “I don’t know how I came here, or how to go back.”

The hall, again, Virgil still crouched, looking suddenly absurd attempting to plant something into the tile. The absolute lack of any sensation to note the transition is more of a surprise than the transition itself.

“Maybe it’s some kind of calling system,” Virgil muses. “Like a subconscious call we can’t control, in case of danger or changes in our environment—like pisum satvum, they communicate stress cues via their roots to allow neighboring unstressed plants to anticipate an abiotic stressor. Falik found that unstressed plants demonstrated the ability to sense and respond to stress cues emitted from the roots of the osmotically stressed plant.”

“Perhaps,” Logan says, then, “You’ve studied this?”

“Well, I’d hope so,” Virgil says. “I just got through defending my thesis for a botany doctorate.”

Logan blinks. “Congratulations.”

Virgil gives him a curt nod, then says, “You’ve got a doctorate too, don’t you? Astronomy.”

“How did you know that?”

“No idea,” Virgil says, examining Logan. “Just did.”

“Well, our respective doctorates aside,” Logan says. “I don’t detect any stresses in my environment apart from this.” He gestures between them.

Virgil frowns at him, before he says, “Have you had a migraine lately?”

“...yes,” Logan admits. “A dreadful one.”

“Well,” Virgil says. “Maybe that’s our stress.”

Logan frowns. “Maybe. I don’t see how that would cause me to start hallucinating someone an ocean away, though. Or sending stress to you. Surely we aren’t the only two people in the world with a migraine at the moment.”

Logan focuses so much on attempting to continue what he usually does in the mornings that he doesn’t notice a woman lingering in the shadow of the dining hall, frowning thoughtfully after Logan.

“Larry, honey?” she says, to what anyone else would see as thin air. “I might have one.”

A pause.

“Well, that’s always the question with these science types, isn’t it.”

JANUS

Janus pulls back from his home PC with a slow exhale, rubbing his fingers along his brow. Well, the migraine hasn’t been solved, but at least this question has been, even if it raises an entirely new one.

Bright side: he’s found a name.

Dark side: Why on earth is a fugitive Mexican murderer blinking in and out of his life?

And a New Zealander, and an American, and an African, but he thinks the murderer should probably be at the top of the list of why on EARTH.

Janus examines the admittedly scant description; no one seems to know what this R.J. Duke person looks like, or even his real name, but Janus does, somehow. He knows that R.J. Duke’s real name is Remus, even if R.J. Duke’s legal name is different from that. He idly toys with the concept of messing about with the Mexican equivalent of the DVLA to swap over his gender to the proper one, but he figures hacking a foreign government and especially hacking a foreign government concerning the information of a wanted murderer even if no one seemed to know that this name listed is the wanted murderer.

That seems quite confusing. Janus turns to the legal notepad on his desk—writing things down longhand is a pain, but even as secure as his home setup is, he doesn’t necessarily trust this information falling into Key’s hands. He doesn’t even trust Key with his normal cell phone number.

REMUS REGIO Trans man—deadname in system hasn’t legally transitioned? Remus=RJ DUKE, no one seems to know?

Janus pauses. He drums his fingers on the table, staring at the latest ID photo of Remus Regio. There are a few notes of juvenile delinquency in his record. He could crack it, if he wanted, to get the full reports. He’s about to when he feels a soft, slight gust of wind; like someone’s walking up behind him.

And then there’s a hand on his desk, someone leaning in to stare at the screen with a look of longing on his face so agonizing it makes Janus look away.

He knows who this is, too: there’s a segment on his notepad labeled ROMAN REGIO, stage name Roman Prince. He looks very similar to Remus, enough that if anyone got them side-by-side the familial resemblance would be undeniable.

Good thing R.J. Duke wasn’t the type to add an about the author section in the dust jackets of his books.

“Are you looking for him?” Roman asks, brusque. He has an accent, one a casting director would request as a “sexy Latin accent.” 

Janus chances a look at Roman; the longing is gone, as if he’d imagined it, replaced by a mask of general indifference, with a slight look of contempt in his eyes at the sight of Janus.

“I suppose,” Janus says. “Are you?”

Roman’s face twists up again.

“You aren’t?!” Janus says. 

“He hasn’t told me where he is, he didn’t bring his phone—” Roman says, anguished.

Janus stares at him.

“Are you stupid?” He says incredulously. “Of course he didn’t bring his phone, it could be tracked.”

“Stcheww-pid,” Roman says, in a frankly ridiculous attempt at mocking Janus's accent.

“Oh, very mature,” Janus huffs. He should have figured an actor would be the bratty, stuck-up type.

Roman sticks out his tongue. Janus rolls his eyes.

“Why am I hallucinating a tiresome family of famous Mexican creatives,” Janus asks the air.

Roman’s face screws up into a scowl. 

“Why am I hallucinating a snobby colonizer?”

He turns, just to be sure. Roman is gone.

“Rude,” Janus says loudly to the suddenly empty air, in case he can still hear him. 

EMILE

Emile carefully folds his top lip over his teeth after years of practice, engaging in his maybe-once-a-month shaving routine. He’s never really been able to grow a beard or mustache, but he does grow stubble, very slowly, which makes him look rather scruffy if he just leaves it.

He taps the razor on the sink to shake off the foam, rinses it, before he returns his attention to the mirror and beams.

The face that isn’t his own meets his eyes a moment later and jumps in fright, before whipping his head around to check if there’s anyone behind him.

It’s not strange to see another face looking out of a mirror at him—honestly, he’s a little surprised Linny hasn’t shown up to make faces at him in the mirror before now, like she usually does—it’s just that this isn’t the face of one of his cluster.

The man frowns, confused, which pinches the scar on his face, which—

“Oh!” Emile says excitedly and puts a hand to the mirror. “Oh! Hello! You’re, um—you’re Janus, yes?”

“What the hell,” the man mutters in a distinctly British accent, and reaches for the edges of the mirror; Emile thinks he’s trying to prise it open, as if to see if there’s some kind of device behind it to project Emile’s image.

“I’m not actually there!” Emile says brightly. “Oh, this is wonderful, this means that you’re all going to start breaking through a bit more—I think, it’s not like there’s a parenting book for this kind of thing. Anyways, you’re not going crazy, or whatever you might think, it’s just that your brain is built a bit differently, and it turns out to be the exact same type of different as five other people, so you’re all psychically connected now!”

There’s a very long pause. Then:

“The fuck?” 

REMUS

“Don’t eat that.”

Remus twitches, which honestly, is the best reaction he’s had to all these weird hallucinations so far. If this is some kind of form of demon retribution from Miguel Contreras, one would think he’d send the demons after his actual murderer who poisoned him, rather than the person who wanted to kill him but didn’t. 

He can imagine the way Roman’s face would twist up if Remus freely admitted to wanting to kill someone, which is how he knows it’s maybe not normal to admit that he wanted to kill someone, outside of the slightly joking, oh, I’ll kill him! thing people say.

But hey. Remus didn’t kill him. The didn’t part has to count for something. Right?

“That’s a hallucinogen,” the man continues.

Remus stares at him. Is that meant to sound like a bad thing? Because going on some kind of mushroom-induced trip would be awesome right now. He slowly raises the plant to consider it.

“It’s an aphrodisiac,” the man adds hastily.

This does not sound like a bad time at all. He brings the plant closer to his mouth.

The man slaps it out of his hand.

“It also might kill you,” he scolds, looking at the plants that Remus has managed to gather. “I’m assuming you’re going to try to eat all of these?”

“Yes,” Remus says.

The man stares at the plants. He nudges one aside with his foot to survey the pile.

“So there’s like a sixty percent chance you would have died if you ate all of this in one sitting,” he says.

“A forty percent chance I would have survived this mind-meltingly great time, though, and I’ve taken worse odds,” Remus points out. 

The man pinches the bridge of his nose as if he has a headache. Remus is very familiar with seeing people perform this gesture at him.

“How do you know all this, anyway?” Remus continues.

“Botanist,” the man says, crouching slightly to press his hands against the dirt, rubbing it between his fingers. “Where are we? Seems like a tropical climate.”

“Mexico,” Remus says, refusing to give a more specific location than that. 

The man gestures vaguely, and Remus looks around—he’s in a dark bedroom, lit only by a desk lamp that’s busy shedding most of its light on a tray full of what Remus thinks are maybe flower saplings.

“South Africa.”

The man rises to his feet, hands planted on his hips.

“Right,” he says decisively. “You’re in a forest environment, it should be easy enough to gather enough edible plants to form some kind of meal. Maybe not an appetizing one, but a meal. C’mon.”

And so begins a very odd day, even by Remus's standards.

The man—Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi, Remus spots a diploma waiting to be framed sitting on his desk—starts teaching Remus about stuff called quelites, which are edible sub-products of other crops, usually vegetables, as well as a variety of edible flowers, which cacti are safe to crack open and use as food, and which plants need to be tossed into a fire and which are fine to eat raw.

All the while, even as they’re hiking through the forest, Virgil occasionally reaches back to his bedroom in South Africa, pulling down thick textbooks to show Remus pictures of the various growth stages of plants, or googling things on his laptop to double and triple-check his knowledge (he does that for literally almost every plant, and somehow Remus knows it’s because Virgil absolutely wants to be sure Remus isn’t poisoned) or just to check on his little flower saplings.

So by the time the sun is setting in Monterrey, and by the time it’s the witching hour in South Africa, Virgil and Remus survey their little pile of plants.

“Do you know if this is a hallucination or not?” Virgil asks him abruptly, a sudden about-face from his day full of somewhat normal behavior.

Remus shrugs, spreading his hands.

“Maybe I ate one of those hallucinogens—”

Virgil winces, almost on instinct, as if the thought of shrugging away concerns and popping a random plant into his mouth is giving him heart palpitations. It probably is.

“—and my brain’s trying to give me a plant expert to, I don’t know,” Remus says, smiling humorlessly. “Get some knowledge about rosary peas. Free me up from that pesky murder charge.”

Virgil turns to him, his jaw dropping.

“That what?!” He says, and then, as if the shock of realizing he’s been educating a fugitive all day is just too much for him, he pops away. Gone.

Remus looks at the plants.

“Thanks for dinner, I guess,” he says to the empty air and goes about sorting all the plants they’d plucked together.

VIRGIL

Murder charge. A murder charge.

Virgil’s mind is spinning even as he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded on his stomach. He is making absolutely no attempt to fall asleep.

Murder charge.

That is not the type of thing someone should just casually drop in the middle of a conversation!

Virgil had, obviously, figured out that this was kind of a strange dude; very specific types of people tended to camp out in caves without in-depth knowledge of the plants around them. Campers who overestimated their hunting capabilities, for instance. Hikers waiting to see rare animals. 

Also, Virgil had just kind of figured that he was in an extended hallucination, and, to quote an American comedian he’d been introduced to in college, he’d been in one of those days where you’re like...this might as well happen?

He’d made an appointment with his psychologist, regardless. So he was a little less stressed about the whole hallucinating strangers thing, if only by the virtue of figuring he’d know what was going on with his brain soon.

And also maybe because the nice Polish scientist in Antarctica had been a strangely settling presence, simply by virtue of how solid he’d seemed, but Virgil’s very carefully not thinking about any feelings that could have been inspired in him at the sight of a Polish man with very nice hair and a deep voice and very blue eyes. Not even the thought of how it had felt like Virgil had been straining to reach something and meeting the scientist felt like some kind of blessed release.

But now this stress has ratcheted up even higher, way past his original stress levels.

Murder charge.

But—wait.

A Mexican accused of murder whose weapon of choice was rosary peas?

Virgil rolls onto his side, knowing before he even stands up to go to his bookshelf that he’s going to be researching all night.

ROMAN

“Honey, I’m home,” Roman calls out wearily, dropping his keys into the bowl on top of the entry table. They clatter against the ceramic and rest side-by-side with their twins.

“Welcome back, beloved!” A much perkier voice calls from their living room, completing the joke. Roman traipses into the room.

Sasha is lying on the floor on her stomach, feet kicked up in the air, eyes narrowed at scripts spread across the floor. 

“Hey,” she says. “My agent says I should probably post something, people have been resorting to pap shots of us to create buzz and I’m trying to pick new projects. I hope I get another slasher film, I’ve wanted to do another one ever since I finished my last one. Scroll through our prepped shots and pick one for me, will you?”

“I can take a selfie and put it on your story, the Roshas loved that last time,” Roman says.

“Mm, repeating ourselves, too close to the last one we did,” Sasha says. “Nah, I think a throwback one would be better. If you wanna do a story, get over here and I can kiss you on the cheek.”

“I’m all gross and sweaty,” Roman says. “Hardly swoon-worthy.”

Sasha mutters something under her breath about that working for some people, but Roman shakes his head. He looks at the floor to peek at a script. He immediately sets it out of her reach.

Sasha raises her eyebrows at him. “No?”

“No,” Roman says, flicking aside the script for good measure. “He almost always writes a homophobic role in there. Early on, I got called in to do stunts for the scene where…” He tilts his head slightly, trying to recall the exact line. “Oh, right. The Hispanic coke dealer is about to give another kind of blow job when he finally gets the bullet he deserves.”

“Jesus,” Sasha says. “Yeah, keep that one far away from me, thanks. Oh, here—”

She unlocks her phone, goes to the photo album she’s entitled Rosha PR Shots and hands it to Roman.

Roman scrolls through. They’re all very posed, but they don’t look like it—a virtue of two actors together, he guesses—shots of them lounging on the couch, shots of Roman and Sasha at a romantic dinner, shots of Sasha fixing his tie before a red carpet.

“This one,�� he says at last, coming across a more candid shot of Roman cooking dinner (for Sasha, it is implied by the candles on the table and the low lighting of the room.) “Nice and romantic. Domestic, even.”

“Perfect,” Sasha says and sends it off to her social media manager to be posted, surely with some kind of caption like dream guy, dream dinner, or something like that. It’ll drive the Roshas crazy, and maybe it’ll help things die down. 

He also knows he’s hoping in vain. They’ve been living together a year and a half, “dating” for another year before that, and it’s never died down. Last time he went to a grocery store he’d seen a tabloid with the pair of them out getting coffee on the front, speculating about what they’d done the night before by the state of Sasha’s hair (they’d eaten only egg rolls for dinner and watched a lot of The Good Place together and she’d fallen asleep on the couch) but the unsettling part was he hadn’t even seen the pap that snapped it.

Roman thought it would die down, but naturally Roman and Sasha have stumbled their way into the nationwide favorite couple. 

Shame the whole nation doesn’t know they’re rooting for roommates bearding for each other.

It’s a mutually beneficial relationship—they have a default red carpet partner in each other, the fact that they share an apartment (Roman’s bedroom is converted into an office whenever a magazine invites themself over for a profile) means they can afford a suitably glitzy place with very good security, and they also don’t get blacklisted from the business for being gay.

People writing fanfiction about them is a bit weird, though. Roman’s all for creativity, and he wrote some back in his day, but reading it about himself is a trip and a half.

Sometimes Roman and Sasha have nights where they drink lots of wine and read particularly graphic paragraphs out to each other. It’s honestly way funnier than any comedy movie they could pick—the concept of either of them would have heterosexual sex alone. Let alone the widely-spread fan theory that Roman has a heart-shaped mole on his ass.

It’s very weird being famous.

“You wanna order in tonight?” She asks him. “That place that does that really nice chicken dish down the street’s running a pretty great deal.”

“Yeah, I’m not up for cooking,” Roman says.

She frowns at him, rising up to put a hand on her forehead, the way she has for days. “Migraine still?”

“Migraine still,” Roman agrees. Her hand feels cool, but not cold, the way it would if he was feverish. 

Sasha sighs. “And you’re sure you don’t know why? No other symptoms?”

Roman feels a little twist of guilt in his stomach.

“No,” he lies.

Sasha believes him at his word, the way she always does because they know everything about each other. He knows about the long-term girlfriend she’d had when she was in college in San Diego and the nasty end; she knows about Roman’s lactose intolerance and how little he heeds it; he knows about her line memorization techniques; she knows about his parents’ messy divorce.

She’s his best friend. They know everything about each other. Everything.

Or, at least, they did, before Roman’s mostly-hermit brother got accused of murder and Roman got a horrible migraine a week later. And the hallucinations.

Sasha would probably send him straight to a hospital if she heard like a good friend would. But he can’t go to a hospital now—not in the middle of a shoot, not when his brother’s on the run, not now. And that’s not even going into what the tabloids would say if he suddenly got shipped off to a hospital because he was seeing things.

Roman rolls over on the couch and smashes his face into a pillow, blocking Sasha’s face from his sight. She’s a good friend, a great friend, the best friend he’s ever had. And he’s lying to her.

Sasha makes a sympathetic noise and pats his ankle. “I’ll grab dinner this time, okay? You go ahead and take a nap.”

It’s very sweet of her to try and make him feel better, but it makes him feel just a little bit worse.

[yukiwrites]

Behavior, Making the Difference

Thank you for the support as always, @xpegasusuniverse! This one was so fun to write, I hope you like it! I love exploring all of these different interactions!

Summary: Ricken, Lysithea and Hayato banded together due to their similar circumstances in their home world. They were now good classmates, who shared the same woes even in another world like Askr: why are they being looked down on, just because they were young?

Commission info HERE and HERE!

__________________________

The amount of Heroes being summoned in Askr grew day by day. The castle alloted to house the Order of Heroes had enough space for them all, yes, but there were some areas that a few groups of like-minded Heroes claimed for themselves.

For example, the western training grounds was now CHOP’s exclusive meeting spot. The eastern forest? Home to Heroes who would rather stay away from people to focus on calming their raging power. There was also a meadow past the southern garden, almost touching the outer wall, where the dragon-shifters liked to gather.

In the same manner, the central library was used as a classroom and gathering spot for the mages. It was big enough that classes could be taken on the second floor while others could quietly do their personal research on the first floor without one being a disturbance to the other.

Every other day, more experienced mages ministered classes on the second floor in favor of the apprentice mages. Merric’s was a particularly popular class due to how Young Merric also participated and asked many questions to his older self, which would extend the lecture for hours upon hours.

After class had finally ended, many of the students had stiff necks and sore legs for sitting up for so long. Be that as it may, one of the most eager students, Ricken, observed how Merric and his younger version interacted. On top of that, he noticed how younger Merric received different treatment whenever he went despite being the very same person who was just at the helm of the class.

Sure, the years of experience made a whole lot of difference, but younger Merric was in no way lacking in comparison to any other mage!

“Maybe it’s just ‘cause Merric’s tall.” Ricken grumbled to his deskmates, Lysithea and Hayato, as he looked up to his intentionally large hat.

Lysithea revised her notes calmly, resting her head on one hand. “At this point in time, young Merric has much more experience than Professor Merric had when he was that age. He’ll grow into a much stronger mage if he keeps up with this hunger for knowledge.”

Hayato nodded beside Lysithea, yawning loudly while he stretched his stiff muscles. “I do not know if it was due to the special summoning or if something different happened in his home world, but this young Merric has outstanding innate magical energy. It’s even larger than Professor Merric’s.”

“See? That’s what I’m saying. He’s much stronger than a lot of the adults, but he’s still treated like he’s not that capable because he’s young. They’re treating him like a little kid in favor of his older self!” Ricken protested with puffy cheeks.

“I do understand the hierarchy that comes with the territory of being a mage, so it’s not like I agree completely with you,” Lysithea pinched in, lifting her gaze to the red-haired young boy, “but I don’t disagree completely, either. They could treat him with the deserved respect of someone who holds that much power.”

“Though the man himself doesn’t seem to mind, unfortunately.” Hayato sat back down after cracking his neck a few times. “He sucks it all up, as though he himself feels unworthy of respect.”

“I suppose seeing how much you’ve grown can do that to people,” Lysithea mused, then mumbled so only herself could hear, “I’d be jealous if I wasn’t in such a hurry.”

Ricken’s cheeks only inflated more and more. Seeing people just like him, full of potential and stacking on accomplishments, being treated as less than they deserved made his blood boil. It reminded him of the constant ‘are-you-alright’s and ‘someone-your-age-should-rest-now’s he received on a daily basis.

“He shouldn’t be treated that way!” Ricken exclaimed, raising both fists up. “It’s the same everywhere! Back home, Chrom and everybody else treated me like a little, helpless kid and never saw how much I could do.”

Hayato crossed his arms, bobbing his head to the sides. “Just blow something in their vicinity; that will shut them up.”

“But I don’t want them to fear me! I want them to respect me! Besides, that’d probably just make them tell me I’m still too reckless for the battlefield.” Ricken’s shoulders dropped as he saw the exact scene being played in his mind, word by word.

“... Ah, you’re part of a specialized task force, right?” Hayato momentarily forgot that although the other two shared the same amount of potential and suffered from being berated by their ages, they weren’t the heirs of their tribes. He could get away with a lot of stuff because the heir was usually the strongest one, but that wasn’t the case with Ricken, who was simply one soldier amidst many.

Ricken sat back down, deflated. “Yeah, and there’s this other boy who got in after I did but no one treats him like they treat me! He’s only older than me by a few months, but everyone already sees him as a man and they never hold him back on doing stuff.”

Lysithea immediately remembered Petra, the princess of another country who studied with her under Byleth. They were both the SAME age, but no one treated Petra like a little kid. “... Is it the height?” She mumbled, though both of them heard it loud and clear.

… Oh.

It was the height.

Ricken took off his hat, then glanced up as though to remember how tall Donnel was compared to him.

… After a moment, he realized Donny was at least a head taller than himself.

“This is ridiculous!” However, Hayato was the one who slammed the table. He, too, was conscious of his height. “Bring it on, I’ll zap him with my magic and we’ll see-”

“Wait, wait, wait! I don’t wanna hurt my allies!” Ricken pulled on Hayato’s sleeve. “Besides, he’s not a mage, he’s- uh, I don’t know what he does exactly, but he’s a villager. Everyone trains with him and gives him tips and puts him on the frontlines without question… It’s unfair! I can hold my own, too!”

“That does seem like special treatment,” Lysithea nodded. “It’s unfair, but that only means that you have to overwhelm everyone with your effort. Study a lot and show them how good you can be to shut them all up.”

“Yeah... It’s my dream to be able to fight side-by-side with Chrom, but it’s not something for the far future. I can do it NOW, but they just don’t acknowledge me! It’s driving me nuts.”

Before the other two could reply, the sound of steps going up the stairs to the second floor interrupted them, which was unusual. It was an unspoken rule to use sound-muffling magic while walking around the library; not to mention that the second floor was commonly used for classes, so there shouldn’t be anyone going up at that moment, as the next class would only happen after dinner.

“C’monnn, up we go, Donny!” A familiar, peppy voice echoed. Soon, the blonde pigtails could be seen before the princess’ body: It was Lissa, Chrom’s sister and princess of Ylisse.

“W-wait, wait, Miss Lissa! I reckon we shouldn’ta be ‘ere now! Aren’t them egghead folks studyin’?” Being pulled by Lissa, Donnel held the pot on his head to hide his face, whispering in an attempt to be quiet.

“Nope, class was over a while ago, so now it’s Professor Lissa time! Take your seat, Donny, and let your big sister here teach you stuff!” She pulled out a monocle from her sleeve and a presentation stick from the other, pointing at the blank blackboard. “Now, todaaay we’ll learn about… Cloud formations!”

Apologetic, Donnel glanced around as he scratched the back of his neck, meeting Ricken’s, Hayato’s and Lysithea’s eyes as he sat down. He bowed to them before turning back to Lissa’s long winded explanation about Stratus clouds.

Lysithea’s expression turned cold as her optimal studying space had been breached. “Aren’t they from your world, Ricken? Don’t they know how this is a place of learning and not of fooling around?”

“Ah, um, yeah. He’s the boy I was talking about, too, but…”

“You said people don’t treat him like a kid, though? But look, even that young princess is making sure to even call him ‘little brother’...” Hayato commented, glancing between Ricken and the other two.

“I’m surprised, too. I only see people praising him and telling him to go to the frontlines more often. Princess Lissa can be annoy-erm, difficult to deal with, especially if you’re younger than her…” Ricken spoke with a jaded voice, as though he had experienced all of that first hand (he did). “I didn’t know Donny also went through that.”

Hayato cracked his fingers. “He doesn’t seem to be much older, just like you said.”

“Yup, I can only imagine they treat him differently because he wields a weapon, not magic. They might think I’m weaker than others just ‘cause I don’t have muscl-”

“That’s ridiculous.” Lysithea interrupted. “Mages are one of the most terrifying pieces of the battlefield. No one has any right to look down on a mage just because they’re more fragile than their weaponized peers.”

As both boys nodded, Ricken clutched his hands. “Yeah, but that’s the only conclusion I can come to, honestly. What IS the difference between us if not that? We’re basically the same age! I refuse to believe it’s because I’m- I… I’m s-shorter than him!”

As the three of them discussed, Donnel raised his hand to ask Lissa a question. “But ‘scuse me, ma’am, it’s the Nimbus kinda cloud tha’s the rainy one! Folks called ‘em that ‘cause no matter how fast you saw ‘em, they’d catch up with ya and wet all your laundry, that it would!”

“Weh? What? No! It’s the Cumulus one, I’m sure of it!” Lissa was bewildered for a moment before stomping her foot stubbornly. “I’m the older one here, so I know best, okay?”

Donnel scratched his head awkwardly. “B-b-buh… But the Cumulus kinda cloud’s the one’s looks likea’ tree, ain’t it? Mighty tasty-looking too, like a pretty treat I saw in one offa those fancy towns we gon ‘bout.”

“Nghhh!” Lissa shook with embarrassment and mortification. That wasn’t the first NOR the second time Donnel corrected her during her ‘classes’. She was the older sister here, darn it all!

In between the three mages, the princess and the villager boy, none of them could truly fathom the reason why people treated Donnel differently, despite their close ages. In other circumstances, perhaps, Lissa would be sitting at the table alongside Ricken, Hayato and Lysithea. However, since that was not the case, the group was fated to observe the duo.

If they had just a little more self-awareness, they might have realized that the simple and obvious reason was only one’s behavior and humility.

But perhaps, they were all still too young to realize...

[purplesurveys]

1273

What was the longest time you’ve had the hiccups for?  Maybe for half an hour? Mine are never that bad.

What type of TV shows are your favourite?  Not a big TV show type of person to begin with since it seems as if my attention span wasn’t built for once-a-week, season-breaks kind of content haha. I do like sitcoms, I guess...bite-sized ones like Friends, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Big Bang Theory, etc. Drama shows I’d bite into if the plot is extremely intriguing to me or relevant to my interests, like The Crown or Breaking Bad.

Have you ever been a complete fangirl/fanboy over anything?  I was before then I wasn’t for a very long time, then I came back just recently with this BTS shit I got myself into.

Do you know anyone who has died in battle?  Hmm. I don’t think so. My great-grandpa lived a few more decades after the war.

When was the last time you went on an adventure?  July. My friends and I spent the whole day driving around and stopping by sooo many spots around the metro. It was a lot of fun and we were fucking b e a t after.

What brand is your vacuum cleaner?  I dunno. My mom mainly uses ours.

Are you good at rapping?  I have a number of songs and verses memorized that I can recite quite okay, but I can’t write any of my own.

Name one world issue that upsets you.  Racism.

How do you feel about tanning?  I never saw the the big deal. I will say tanning beds and salons are such a culture shock to me, though. Are some people really that obsessed with modifying their skin tone?

Have you ever given a public speech? Hmm, just the one time I was entered into a public speaking competition and was given a topic to talk about on the spot. That was honestly a lot of fun and I wish there were more opportunities to do that exact same thing.

Do you read comic books?  No. I tried getting into that whole thing, but didn’t see the appeal.

Do you force your way into conversations in which you are not involved?  Not always but if I’m starting to feel left out or awkward, I will start to ask a question here and there to ease my way into the conversation. But if the topic is clearly none of my business then I do stay out of the way.

Kiss with your eyes open or closed?  Closed.

Do you believe you can change someone?  This isn’t a black and white matter, I think. The idea of changing a person can have a lot of layers; in my org, for instance, I got to pick up a few quirks and behaviors from my friends just by being around them for a long time – in that sense, I changed. But you can also strive to change someone who’s struggling and try to make them become happy, which I tried to do with my ex – which of course I learned the hard way that you can’t change someone if in that context.

How did you react when your first pet died?  I was bummed out but didn’t throw a fit.

Have you ever drawn anime?  No.

Can you use a pogo stick?  I’ve never even seen one in real life. I’m dying to try it out just once.

When’s the next time you’ll see the person that you like?  I don’t like anybodyyy.

Do you like bathing/showering?  I mean...yes? Like I’m not obsessed with showering, but it’s a necessity that I have to regularly do anyway lmao.

Have you ever considered entering a race?  Sure! Just give me a couple of weeks to practice because my endurance and stamina are embarrassing.

Rihanna or Lady Gaga?  Rihanna.

Who was your first good kiss with?  My ex.

What accessory do you want in your bedroom?  SHELVES

What do you take the most pictures of?  My experiences.

What are you always in the mood for?  Starbuuuuuuckssssssss.

What is something that you never turn down?  A day out with friends. I’ll always make time. What is something that you always turn down when offered?  Food, if I’m a guest at someone else’s place.

Name something sexy about your significant other.  I don’t have any.

What is one of your hobbies that you refuse to give up?  Surveys, I guess. I enjoy them too much and have been doing them for nearly a decade.

If you could be a professional in any sport what would it be?  Tennis.

If you could be a professional at any instrument what would it be?  PIANO.

Would you rather be a surgeon or mortician?  Surgeon. I would be too terrified seeing dead people, anyway.

Have you ever been on a subway? Nope.

Are you in love?  No.

Do you like having your lip softly bitten when you’re kissing?  Sure. Softly, roughly...both are fine hahaha.

Do you want to get married when you’re older?  I hope so. I want my turn, too.

What was the last band shirt you wore?  Eh, I don’t own any. I wore a fanmade V-themed shirt yesterday, if that counts.

You can have a milkshake right now. What flavor do you choose?  OMGGGG that sounds so fucking good rn. Chocolate chip cookie dough.

Have you ever given someone flowers?  Mhm, I used to give my ex bouquets whenever it was our anniversary.

What day of the week is usually your busiest day?  Monday like 98% of the time, so I hate them. It ultimately varies, though. Sometimes some days are a hell of a lot more hectic than others.

Do you have any concerts coming up? I mean...obviously not.

Do you like or hate the smell of fish?  Oh yessssssss. The smell of seafood/ocean always makes me fucking drool.

What’s your favorite brand of chips?  Pringles, or this local brand of salted egg chips that I love to get.

Have you ever written a poem and then read it aloud?  Yeah, once. We had to write a poem as our homework and my teacher picked out a couple that he thought were the best-written, and one of them was mine even though I still firmly believe I did a shit job.

Do you like pineapple?  Oh god no. One of the worse fruits I’ve had.

Does your house have a dishwasher?  No. It seems to be just a Western thing.

Do you know anyone who has a flower tattoo?  I probably do, but I just can’t give you a lineup of names. Flower tattoos seem to be trendy these days, especially in the line style.

How many different languages can you say goodbye in?  So I have goodbye, paalam, 안녕히 가세요, adios, auf wiedersehen, sayonara, au revoir...so that’s 7.

Agree or disagree: You like Adam Sandler movies.  Ummmm definitely childish and I can feel that the humor tries so hard sometimes but I do enjoy some of his movies, like 50 First Dates. 

Have you ever had to get a tooth pulled? If so, what for?  Yeah, I mentioned this on a previous survey.

Have you ever dated anyone while they were in jail?  No, I’ve never dated anyone who’s been imprisoned.

If you’ve ever babysat, do you like it?  I ‘babysat,’ but technically all eldest Asian daughters are expected to look out for their younger siblings and cousins anyway. I didn’t actively enjoy it, but sure, it was fun playing with them and it’s always nice to be viewed as responsible.

What is your favorite flavor on sunflower seeds?  I don’t eat sunflower seeds. I don’t dislike them, I just really never seek them out.

Do you get cold easily?  Yes.

Do you get a lot of spiders in your house?  Hmm no. If we do get visited they are almost always too small to be seen.

Do you admire nature?  Yeah, I try to be around it as often as I can.

Name one naughty thing you’ve done.  Had sex while a few people were in the same room. I pay for it now hahaha; those friends who had the misfortune to be in that situation have never let me live it down and it’s one of their go-to stories when I’m being introduced to new friends.

Name two of your favorite things as a child.  I loved everything Bratz. I also liked Play-Doh.

Do you own a Pillow Pet?  No, I’ve never even heard of that.

Do you tend to solve problems with violence?  Never.

Have either of your parents gone to jail?  Nope.

Do you know a hoarder?  I heard my grandma had been one, but I didn’t see traces of it when I used to visit her. I guess she had been when she was younger and stronger. I show traces of hoarding too, but I don’t think it’s at a concerning level; I literally just threw out a bunch of shit in my room I’ve hoarded over the last five or so years.

Do you wax, pluck, or leave your eyebrows?  I don’t touch them; I’m never all that worried about my appearance. On very rare instances, I will shave some of the excess hair off. Do you have any interesting scar stories?  None of them are interesting tbh, just results of my own stupidity.

Do you hate the texture of meatballs?  I don’t hate their texture but I also just don’t enjoy meatballs in general. I find them boring, which has always led me to think if they’re really supposed to be just boring clumps of meat or if I’ve just always been served average meatballs.

Do you get migraines? Yes, I usually get one after work. They’ve decreased in frequency now but one will drop by every now and then to give me a shit time.

Do you like guns?  No.

Are turtles amazing creatures? All animals are. :') < Yes! Except cockroaches.

How much time do you spend taking surveys?  I dedicate an hour or so every weekend. I often wish I can allot more time, but I also have other hobbies and interests I would usually want to catch up on during the weekends. 48 hours is just too short :(

Would you rather visit: The Eiffel Tower or Egyptian Pyramids? Pyramids, in a heartbeat. I wouldn’t even need to think about it.

Would you like to work at a candy shop?  Uh no. If I had to, it would be on the back-end, maybe in the corporate side of things lol.

Do you have feelings for someone?  Nope.

Which one of your guy friends is the best looking?  JM.

Do you have anything to say to your ex bf/gf?  No.

Which band do you have the most of on your iPod/music player?  I don’t use music players anymore but my Spotify always reminds me of how much I listen to BTS whenever they do one of their quirky listening habit reports lol.

Which song describes your mood at the moment?  I want to go with RM’s Bicycle just because I’m feeling quite content and relaxed at the moment.

Which movie(s) do you quote the most?  Eh, I’m not a big movie quoter.

Which one of your best friend’s friends would you most likely date?  I honestly don’t see any of them as date-able.

Would you ever let anybody else drive your car?  Sure. I’ve let Hans and Gab drive it countless times when I’ve had too much to drink. It’s a small car and is fairly easy to use and navigate. I would let Anj use it too at some point, but I want her to perfect her u-turns first hahahaha.

Which one of your friends will be the most successful?  It’s already one of my friends to begin with but I’m not naming names. They come from a privileged background to begin with and their godfather already handed one of his companies down to them, so. They were also told the CEO position is already a sure slot for them.

What store did you last shop at?  I wanna say NCAT, this Korean-themed store that sells trinkets and jewelries and plushies and stuff. They also sell BTS albums so Anj and I dropped by to check out and touch all the albums we can’t afford yet HAHA

Do you think telepathy is real?  No.

When did you last draw something for fun?  Last Saturday when I played an online drawing/guessing game with my uncles and aunts.

Who makes the most in your entire family?  My dad.

Do you like writing essays?  I love essays, it’s my favorite writing piece to make.

Do you think plastic surgery is no big deal?  It turns into one when it gets obsessive, like when people get excessive plastic surgeries specifically to look like another person. I’m looking at you, fucking Oli London.

Do you take your trash to the dump or have it picked up?  It’s picked up.

When you sneeze do you sneeze into your shirt or your hands?  I look away and just sneeze. Sometimes I’ll put up my elbow.

Do you usually have sex in the morning, noon or night time? Erm, I usually had it at night. I only had morning sex when we would spend the night; and I nearly never had noon sex.

Did you ever fail your learners/drivers test?  No.

Would you rather listen to Luke Bryan or Lil Wayne?  Gun to my head, Lil Wayne.

Name someone you’ve become a lot closer to recently:  Reena!!! I’m so grateful Angela introduced us to each other :) We both tend to get shy so we don’t actually actively get chatty when we see each other irl, but I love her presence and I love that she is my friend. I make up for it by being super friendly and wacky in our group chat haha. Does your car have a sunroof?  No. We used to have a car that did, but we had to sell that during the peak of the pandemic.

Are you closer to your mom or your dad?  Dad.

Have you ever had a friend with benefits? No.

Who’s the last person you cuddled with?  My ex.

Are you friends with any of your teachers on Facebook?  Yeup.

[potatopossums]

I'm sure many of us think about our identities a lot, especially in our late teens and throughout our 20s.

I've always found that process to be quite tiring. It feels circular, endless, and often anxiety-inducing in my experience. Although I appreciate the fruits that it eventually bears, it can be frustrating at times when I feel as though my self-work goes unrewarded, or not rewarded well enough. I get upset when certain habits keep resurfacing, or when old anxieties I thought I had finally resolved return stronger once more. It often feels like a whirlwind, and it makes it so easy to want to give up and just be as horrible a human being as I would normally be if I weren't trying so hard.

There are plenty of insights I could give as to how to reframe this issue mentally. I've taken lots of cognitive behavioral therapy; I know the tips and tricks, and I'm not here to knock those. Yes, they can and have worked for me, and have made a noticeable difference in how I feel. That's not my point right now, despite my better therapy'd judgment.

I think many of us grew up not really thinking about our identities. It's not like we didn't think about them at all; of course we did. We understood more or less what it was like to be in relation to others. But we didn't have a full grasp on the complexity of that. And now, many of us have a deeper, more diverse understanding of the world. As adults, we are familiar with so many social concepts. We can even look back on our own childhoods and apply our new knowledge and reframe everything. It should be a step in the right direction, and it is—but sometimes it doesn't feel like it.

That moment, or rather that process, is not one step. The moment you can look back on your own life with a very new perspective is not a simple thing. Doing that can sometimes, rather unexpectedly, cause your entire identity to shift. And that sort of change is transitional. And take it from trans people: although many of our transitions are wonderful, they're also very complicated and life-changing in not solely positive ways. And never, I mean never, are they an easy matter.

Change of any kind is challenging. Absurdly so, in fact. And I think a lot of our stress over it is caused not only by the fact that we need change, but the fact that change is difficult even when we surrender to it. Upon realization and understanding of the need for change, we don't just miraculously glide through growth as a protagonist goes through a classic training montage. Our lives are messier than that. We fuck up way more than a few comical moments for the gag reels. We sweat so hard and it just doesn't pay off sometimes, maybe a lot of the time. And that is so demoralizing.

We can want to be anything. The sky is practically the limit. But becoming that is anything but graceful.

This is not meant to be discouraging. It's meant to be empathetic. If you related at all to this, I want you to remember that sigh of upset relief you might have experienced while reading. I want you to remember that some rando on the internet said something about pain and frustration that resonated with you. I want you to remember how many people liked or reblogged or interacted with this post. Remember that feeling of being heard and seen for exactly where you are. You're in a messy spot right now. You don't want to be there. Neither do I. Neither does anyone else around you. It's okay to be where you are. I won't tell you that you did your best, because sometimes "doing our best" isn't even what we want. Sometimes "doing our best" doesn't represent our true desires, be it for that day, that week, or that year. Sometimes we are genuinely stuck, despite all we've done. Sometimes we don't have the energy to try at all.

So here's what I'll tell you instead. You were a human being today. You tried, or maybe you didn't. Maybe you thought really hard about trying. Maybe you did the bare minimum. Maybe you did absolutely nothing. Maybe you literally got in trouble for doing nothing.

And look, you're still fucking here.

You're alright. Take a breather. A real breather. The kind where you actually do get to forget the world and all your responsibilities for a moment. Really try. I know you've been trying to forget how much stuff you need to do all day anyway, so here's your free pass. Fuck all that stuff for five minutes.

Do something 100% for you right now. Something you can do easily, something you can start basically right this second, something you know you'll like. I don't care how simple or easy or stupid it is, whether it's watching a video or listening to a song, or giving yourself a neck massage, or simply taking a breather, or spacing out and imagining your happy place. Whatever it is that you can do right now, with zero prep. No dawdling, no trying to figure out what to do for the whole time. Gut instinct, there's no wrong answer, just pick something. And do that. For five minutes. Don't look at the clock. I'll wait, and so will the world.

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Check in.

Note your emotions. How your body feels.

Notice that, and let it pass. Perhaps later you'll remember it, and perhaps not. Maybe a mix of both. That's normal.

Comfort is found in repetition. Excitement is found in the new. Make sure you have equal parts of both today, even if you must allot it yourself.

The most beautiful feeling you can have is when you accept that you have earned the right to fully enjoy your rest. That acceptance is just as much internal as it is external.

Thank you for resting today.

[politically-induced-coma]

Pineapple Upside Down Cake

I am a fat kid that loves my cake ...especially this wonderful cake, but I can’t help compare this cake to the state of our country. The countries’ priorities are so upside down and backwards. Every single area needs revision. Let’s talk about one major area:

Schools: Extremely politicized and not interested in true child development. How many adults remember everything they learned in school? How many people use everything they were taught in the 12 years in your day to day life? I am assuming most adults only remember the core education... how to read, write, and basic math. Schools these days are blaming children for not remembering the concepts taught from one year to the next. They are calling for year round school to solve this dilemma.

Here is a concept...let’s really delve into why this is happening. Maybe if we start thinking of children as actual people and not computers or test results we can teach them in a way that they can learn! If you analyze your work environment does everyone act, think and learn the same? NO they do not so why does the education system only support one way of learning? The idea is, listen to me and fill out this assignment if you don’t know what your doing maybe I have two minutes to help you understand but if you still don’t understand don’t worry maybe you will learn with the next assignment. From personal experience and watching my daughter tumble through the education system I know this system doesn’t work for everyone. If my assumptions are correct I don’t think it works for most of the children in the classroom!

Another road block set in place to keep children from really learning is the crazy schedule they impose on the children along with how they teach children even the most basic concepts. For over a year now I have been right in the middle of my child’s education. I have seen what they are learning on a day to day basis and how much time they waste dealing with behavioral problems. When teachers introduce a new concept they give the students maybe two weeks to master it. Once the allotted time is up children are to move on to another new concept or build upon the previous one even if they didn’t completely grasp it.

If instead of rushing our children’s learning we picked 3 or 4 major concepts to address for the whole year we could encourage actual learning in our schools. Maybe if we encouraged children to think for themselves instead of telling them to shut up and keep their hands down, children could actually develop interests in learning/productive hobbies. We could create teenagers that are working towards a life goal instead of focused on being accepted by their peers (don’t even get me started on that!!). Wouldn’t it be great if High School wasn’t a massive waste of time but instead created avenues for teenagers to experience different careers, give them experience to enter a work force that demands experience. Let’s help our children become successful adults.

[the-headbop-wraith]

1_9 Coaled Black

The temperature had dropped considerable since the night before, and as dusk crept through the small town the icy breeze made good time across the roads and buildings.  A low buzz hung on the air as lamps activated by the fading sunlight, blazed through the calm parking lot with their unsavory yellowed-orange drapes coating black tarmac.  On the nearest throughway across from the motel cars zoomed by, bumpers skimming over chilled asphalt in a wild range of pitch and whistles.

Before disembarking the van Vivi took one last scan through the back, searching for any item she couldn’t live without for the evening.  There was the firstaid kit, the small portable container could be stuffed with no problem into her night bag.  It was her personal bag and Arthur’s, along with a provision bag of the usual spiritual wards which she never felt decent going anywhere without.  The laptop went into the work bag and then she shuffled out to join Lewis and Mystery out in the chilly night.  Arthur had yet to awaken, which didn’t tear concern out of Vivi for the time.  Arthur probably needed the rest, and Vivi had seen him with worse head wounds before.  Head wounds bled a lot, that was a fact.

Lewis carried Arthur bridal style, as Vivi went around the van checking to verify all doors were latched proper.  When she returned to the group, Vivi gestured with a hand and lead towards an inner corridor of the motels structure.  It was cheap for the time, until they received a check and Vivi could plan out their next budget crunch.

“We’re upstairs,” Vivi supplied.  When she struggled a bit with Arthur’s bag, Lewis managed to snag it from her shoulder and gripped the strap in a fist propped under Arthur’s backside.  “Thanks.”  It was Lewis’ insistence that they allot Arthur the time to sleep, and he offered to carry the light-weight on up, no problem.  Though in all suggestion of nature Lewis seemed pacified, Vivi remained suspicious.  The subject of conversations between Lewis and Arthur strayed far from her context, and she almost felt the venom over a discussion that involved what had happened in the Cave.  She wasn’t settled to believe that Lewis could forgive and forget by mere word, not after what she had witnessed displayed in the mansion.

The demon from the cave may have augmented Lewis’ actions heavily, but Vivi couldn’t take her eyes off Arthur’s battered arm wrapped in his sling and folded over his chest.

What had swayed Vivi into allowing Arthur to remain at rest was a side agenda.  Lewis could appear almost human, save for the dark emptiness that ebbed at the flames of his eyes – easily remedied with the sunglasses Arthur had offered.  Aside from that, Lewis had not yet deduced how to shrug off his death suit and the glistening ribs protruding from the dark fabric in his sides.  It wasn’t so noticeable with Arthur slumped in Lewis’ arms, and it was not as inconspicuous as a blanket draped over his shoulders.

They hurried up the concrete steps and found their destination, down the open walkway to the door number Vivi checked on the key she held.  Vivi was partially distracted by Lewis’ near gliding movements, as he mirrored her rapid steps.  It was not quite walking but enough that it would fool the oblivious eye, unless someone decided to get down and examine where his feet fell with each step he took.  They arrived at the door, Vivi jiggled the key in the handle and delivered a hard shove with her shoulder to dislodge the door.  The clean scent of linen and cold, somewhat distilled water hovered on the air.  Otherwise, the room was in good order despite its age.  Vivi snapped on the light switch, predictably beside the door frame and slipped aside as Mystery padded in, soon followed by Lewis.  She watched the spirit for his reaction, struggling to decode obscure meaning through the way he carried his ‘steps,’ along with Lewis’ first impression of the rooms layout.

With hardly a glimpse of the room Lewis crossed to the lone bed and set Arthur there, along with the bag set on the opposite corner.  Lewis turned himself when Vivi shut the door, and watched as she moved to adjust the curtains to close the thin gap in the front.

“It’s not too bad,” Vivi said.  “For the price.”  She deposits her bags on the table stationed beside the window, then rummaged through her personal bag for the first aid kit.  “Not as grand as a spooky mansion.”  She looked up when Lewis gave a soft crackle, something like a laugh or grumble.  Vivi felt immensely better when he had moved away from Arthur, and relocated himself to the other side of the room near the still dark bathroom half.

It was different when they were in the van, she reflected.  Vivi had kept herself between Lewis and Arthur, even inadvertently when she was asleep.  There was also the barrier of the bench seat that had put her mind to ease.  But without these walls, these barriers in a way, seeing Lewis and Arthur in the same space together kept drawing up the memories.  The sparse few she had of the Lewis she was introduced to, looming over Arthur as her friend sputtered and cringed under his malicious gaze.

Vivi gave her head a shake.  She didn’t want to think of that.  She sat on the edge of the bed beside Arthur and set the first aid kit on the nightstand beside her knees.  The bed jarred when Mystery sprang up and crept over to Arthur, the dog spun around as dogs do and coiled around himself right beside Arthur’s good shoulder.  Sighing, Vivi reached to the dogs head and gave him a scratch before she returned to the medical kit.

If only they worked like the ones in video games.

“Why a mansion?” Vivi asked.  She pulled the bandage off Arthur’s head and inspected the shallow scrape.  “You never struck me as one for big, glamourous houses.”  She looked up as she wiped a moist towel on the raw patch of skin, then dried the wound with a new pieces of gauze.  Arthur never once twitched in his heavy slumber.  His breath came in shallow wheezes, his chest narrowly moved.

Lewis wasn’t looking at Vivi.  He had absorbed with the secluded interior of the bathroom, eyes gleaming soft magenta in the dark pits behind the shades.  Vivi was about to ask again as Lewis turned his upper half away from her.  “It didn’t start out as a mansion,” Lewis said.  He took a step back from the shadows, retreated almost, but stepped forward again.  “Honestly, I don’t remember.”  Lewis was distracted, holding up his hands and looking from them to the dark half of the room.

Vivi sat for a moment puzzling over his behavior, before it clicked.  She said nothing and was content to sit and watch as Lewis continued to spin in place, look at a spot, retreat, and then return.  It was as if he was afraid of his own shadow, but that couldn’t be it.  Could it?  Vivi remained motionless as Lewis continued to be animate.  She noted he seemed particularly focused on his hands, and the patch up his side stretched and ripped taunt over the ribs.

“It felt safe,” Lewis said.  His movements slowed, and he turned to look at Vivi.  “And, I really didn’t want to be found.  For a while.”  Lewis looked away, thoughtfulness expressed in his knitted brow.  It didn’t come as a surprise to Vivi that Lewis craved seclusion, after all that was a trademark of spirits inherent habits.  But it felt like something more, more than what Lewis could admit, had kept him hidden away with only his ire burning eternally.

Vivi slips off the bed and approached Lewis.  “What do you find so appealing?” she asked, as she flipped on the light.  The light pulsed, as cheap lamps usually do before they go out, and the strobe above the mirror filled the small space with sharp white light.  Vivi froze when she saw the mirror and the reflections it revealed.  “Wow.  I didn’t expect that.”  Now she could appreciate Lewis’ fascination with the mirror.

Where Lewis should be there was a shape, but it rippled and flashed and only held his reflection briefly.

“I don’t like mirrors,” Lewis muttered.

Vivi moved to stand behind him, but her reflection remained dominant and solid.  “Is it because it’s all choppy?” she asked, and leaned out from around his side.  “I think you can make this work.”

Lewis was quiet for a moment.  Feebly, he raised his hands and moved them, out from him and back, then closed his hands into fists.  “You don’t see what I see,” he said.

This made Vivi curious, but she decided to let the vague utterance flutter away.  All that she could make out were the brief snaps of the image as it cleared, when Lewis focused.  He moved back from the mirror, and his reflection held just as solid as Vivi’s reflection did.  It was almost too perfect.

“Okay,” Lewis said, as he turned to Vivi.  “I don’t know what I’m doing, but whatever.  It works.”

“We’ll just keep an eye out,” Vivi said.  “People don’t really like to look into mirrors anyway when they’re out in public.  Did you ever notice that?”

“Yeah.”  Lewis nodded.  “Geez, it’s just a lot to take in.”  He gave himself another twist, checking how his ‘reflection’ moved in the mirror.  Vivi felt that if she gaped between the twin Lewis’ long enough, the one in the mirror would do something weird or out of sync.  This was something that bugged her about movies when a mirror was involved, she always expected something weird from the reflection in movie.

As Vivi returned to Arthur’s side, she waved a hand over her shoulder toward Lewis.  “Humans are masters of coping,” she chimed.

“I’m not human,” Lewis said.  He moved to set himself beside the beds corner and stared at Arthur.  Vivi pulled out a fresh square of gauze from its wrapper and fixed it over the scrape on Arthur’s head.  She winced, feeling the hard knot that formed under the broken skin.  She really hoped Arthur didn’t suffer a serious concussion, though she knew he fainted before he dropped.

“You’re not subhuman, either,” Vivi said.  Talking.  It helped distract her from Arthur’s state, but she couldn’t shake that cold creeping sensation in her shoulders as Lewis observed her cataleptic friend at his most vulnerable.  “Far as I can recall,” Vivi began, “I don’t usually see Arthur sleep this deep.  Of course, he’s been crippled by hefty exhaustion and suffered a mild concussion.”  She wanted to brush some of the darker hairs out of Arthur’s eyes, but she couldn’t read Lewis’ brooding silence.

“What happened to us?”  Vivi asked.  She caught Lewis’ eyes, when he raised his head to meet her gaze.  “I mean, why did we let this happen?”

Lewis evaded her stare and let his sight fall on the floor, pondering the stiff carpet with the colors bent in muggy textures in the sunglasses.  He could only think of pain and fear, then nothing.  The fracture.  The fulcrum.  Lewis reached a hand to his chest and set it on the softly thudding locket, tracing the fine cracks in its curves and surface.  “You,” he began, “should get some rest.”  Lewis turned, nearly gliding to the door.  Vivi sprang up and dashed to him snatching at his solid shoulder.

“No you don’t!” she snapped.  “Where are you going?”  Vivi staggered back as Lewis whirled to her, and set his feet on the floor beneath them.

“I’m just going to stay in the van, for the night,” Lewis said.  He held his hand up, as if Vivi would lunge on him and pummel him down with her fists.  “That’s all.  No wandering, no nothing.’”

“Lewis, you’re welcome to stay here,” Vivi insisted.  “You’re not trying to tell me something you don’t think I wouldn’t understand?  Are you?  You can’t just tiptoe around some intricate, personal history and expect someone with amnesia to just spontaneously understand.  It will never work.”  She stopped when Lewis snatched her wrists from midair and pushed her hands down.

“It’s not that,” he assured.  “I couldn’t want anything more, as long as….” He trailed off as his attention, his focus, went elsewhere.  And briefly, Vivi caught the outline of the skull behind the skin.  “It’s me,” Lewis said, after mild turmoil and hitches in his voice.  He set his bright eyes on Vivi and smirked crookedly.  “I’m not used to being around… places.”

Vivi curled her fingers around the cool palms of Lewis’ hands.  “Oh,” she said.  “Wait, I don’t understand.”

“This is a lot for me to take in,” Lewis explained.  “Really, it’s like my first day back?  Away from quiet woods, my deadbeats – this is the longest I’ve spent in a town.  I need a chance to catch up.”  There was a faint whistle in his tone, his voice breaking.  “If you need me, I’ll be in the van.  Nowhere else.  I just need some time alone.”

There could be more that Lewis struggled with but he refused to say – he needed time to think, he was accustomed to isolation, he felt like he was intruding.  For the most part Vivi could sympathize with his reluctance, and most important Vivi recognized she couldn’t force Lewis into anything if it compromised his comfort zone.  “Fine,” she said, with a nod.  “You need anything, you know where to find us.  I wish you would stay.  We could talk.”

“You need to rest.”  Lewis leaned over and pressed a small kiss to Vivi’s forehead.  She shuddered, but the sensation was invigorating.  Lewis smiled more as he released her hands, and turned to the door.  Lewis stepped out into the night, and Vivi added another note to her abundance of observations.

Lewis opened the door to leave.

__

The air was frigid and silent.  Unparalleled twilight dodged about overhead, but the gnarled and twisted branches of the canopy shielded the forest floor.  Every inch of the grounds remained in perpetual night, teased by the light of a sun shimmering through refracted waters.  Sometimes he glimpsed the odd ray of sun clambering through the dark above, only to be snuffed out by the icy black that tangled into any and all things living and free.

For hours, and then days, and then years he ran through the thicket.  Rocks and gravel crunch underfoot, twigs shriek and snap over his pant legs as he tears through the woods in unrestrained panic.  Aside from the calamity that raises and drapes over the bubble of space he occupies, there are no other sounds.  No birds, no crickets, no wind – the air is absolutely devoid of living presence, save for his strangled breaths.

“Guys!” he yelps.  “Hey!  Where are you?”  His voice is raw, full of copper and acid.  He keeps running, throwing his arms against the branches that snatch at his face and shoulders.  Icy claws rake at his forehead and neck when they breach his defenses, he struggles not to scream through the shivers digging at his spine.  “Answer!  Are you there?  I need a response!  I’m LOST!”  He stops shouting to take in heavy pants that weigh in his lungs like chunks of lead; the obstruction in his lungs melts and runs down his legs to settle in his calves.

He wants to pause where he is and catch his breath, but he can’t.  There is something beyond his peripheral, something lingering and wandering through the undergrowth seeking but not hunting.  That’s its only purpose in the forest, to amble aimlessly until the inevitable.  It searches for him, but he doesn’t know how he knows this or why.  He just knows.  It’s there and whether it wants to or not, if not driven by carnal desire, it will find him.  If he stops running.

They’re not there.  He knows this with no doubt, without craving the forbidden truth.  He doesn’t want to accept the deep fear latching at his shoulders, just as the icy branches snag at his psyche.  His friends are nowhere in this horrible place of congealed doubts.

He was alone.

“Where are you?” he screams.  His voice does not echo.  It’s stale and flat, trapped in his miniscule vicinity.  “C’mon!  I need a sign—” His foot gets snagged on a string of roots and he pitches over.  He tries to raise his arms to break his fall, but he tumbles hard to his left side and onto his ribs.  He groans, the wind twisted somewhere in him, and lays in the dark cold tangles of the gripping foliage and waits for the thing lumbering through the woods to find him.  He doesn’t care, and he doesn’t want to think what it does with those that cross its path – when pain and madness are not enough to rip the soul asunder, the task is left to it.  What frightens him most is its detachment for its victims; a tedious chore to deal with the worthless, the nameless fools that have lost themselves in its domain.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, body wracked with sobs.  “I can’t.  I just can’t….”  He twists his arm, and finds it locked somewhere in his neck.  That’s his good arm, he can tell by the feel of the cold cloth wrapped over his elbow.

Arthur takes a sharp breath and feels the phantom pain in his side, where he fell.  He breathes in the odd cleanliness, the dull odor of ozone from the ‘refrigerated’ air of the cooling unit.  It’s cold despite the lingering ash scent from the warming bulbs when the heater was on, not long enough to dispatch the harsh chill on his skin.  It probably would benefit him if he was under the sheets and not laid out on top, with good arm tangled in his only barrier from the cold, his orange vest and the sling still tied around his neck.  It’s so dark but for the pastel glow over in the corner of the room.  A dark shape stands there with twin flames gleaming in deep black pools.  It only takes Arthur a second to register the familiar shape glaring at him from across the room, an aura of intimidation and threat wafts off its shoulders as it loiters idly until Arthur has roused fully.  The space around it seems to darken and thicken like oil, the temperature plunged sharply until he can see his breath mist in the gloom between his lips.

With a yelp Arthur jars, flopping about like a broken bird until he gets his good arm under him and pushes himself up.  He was on his side, same as how he had fallen in the dream.  Oh… the dream.  Which dream?  He turns to the corner of the far room and sees nothing there.  Through the thick curtains shut over the window beside the table, the timid haze of light swells beyond the windows as if asking permission to enter, but it’s always deterred.  Arthur stares at the curtains for several minutes, as his mind ravels its way back into his present state.  He scarcely remembers what had frightened him so badly, aside from the frigid sensation of loneliness.  Of being forgotten and left behind.  It was such a crime.

When he was left in the hospital.  That’s when it came about.  Arthur’s head throbbed and he leaned to his side, managing to get his prosthetic to hold his weight for a bit as he touched his head.  Ah.  He remembers hospitals.  Forgotten there, in a sense.  Forgotten.  He spun the recollection over and over in his mediations, laying on the uncomfortable hospital mattress and trying to understand.  Trauma was what he decided on, so he never pushed her.  For a long time he was worried that she would give up on him, too.  He never asked her what had happened, for a long time he didn’t know what had happened himself.  It took time to haul the brutalized chunks of his memories back into order, and even longer to accept what he began to comprehend.  The facts he could not change, and would follow him to the end of time forevermore.  Those days of waiting for his body to catch up were the longest.  Damaged, traumatized, ruined.  Arthur was afraid of being left behind.

And in a way he was, after all.

The false arm, unable to hold his weight, gently folds beneath his side.  Soon, Arthur is lying on his stomach and staring at the curtains with the slow progress of the white light breaking through dense fibers.  He could almost count the threads between each poke of sunbeam.  He shivered at the chilled air and twisted his good arm up into the edge of his warm vest.

A subtle shift came at Arthur’s side and a pair of arms wraps tightly around his waist, but he didn’t move. ��He let his mind slink away, as Arthur’s glassy stare tracks the steady rate of the sun’s progress through the sky that still hung somewhere out there.

__

When Vivi did awaken hours later, she opted to let Arthur have the shower first.  Arthur made sure to ask where Lewis was, after he recalled that their friend should be around.  The lack of the spirit had confused and upset Arthur a great deal. Mostly, Arthur didn’t appreciate being left heedless of where Lewis had spirited away to, or where the ghost might appear unexpected.

“In the van,” Vivi said, as she dozed for a bit longer with Mystery trapped in her arms and tolerating it.  Mystery flopped over and fitted his head over Vivi’s neck and shut his eyes.

The bathroom light didn’t work.  Annoyed, Arthur had to locate his bag on the counter beside the clunky TV and rummage through it for his flashlight.  He eyed the folded clothing there beside his travel sack, but forgoes inquiring Vivi about it then.

Not until they had all taken their turns freshening up, and getting packed.  It never took long, and they had a full quarter of an hour before clock out when they needed to turn the keys in.

“Did you do the laundry last night?”  Arthur did ask.  He leaned far to his side and slung his bag over his good shoulder, his dastardly metal arm poking out of the side of his pack.  He had to remove it when he showered due to the damage, and thus opted not to reattach it since it was beginning to ache in his shoulder.

Vivi took one last look inside the room, though they had scoured every inch already for any loose articles.  She shut the door and made certain the door was secure before turning to Arthur and shaking her head.  “I kind of forgot,” she says.  “I went online to check out some new posts, and got sleepy.”  Then, she perks up.  “You had fresh clothing too?”

“Uh… yeah.”  Arthur felt his face heating up.  As a rule, Arthur didn’t like anyone messing with his clothing without his permission.  Sure, he didn’t care if someone wanted to do laundry, but he liked to know about it prior to the fiasco so he could brace for the inexorable inconvenience of missing left socks.  “But so….”  Did he dream, of a shape?  He couldn’t remember.

“He lied to me,” Vivi snapped.  She took Arthur’s good shoulder as he began to daze, and began marching after Mystery who had already taken the lead.  “He said he wasn’t going anywhere last night.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what that was all about.  He just followed Vivi, aware of how delicate their insecurities had become.  It was natural, completely so.  You thought you lost someone that meant the world to you, it was hard to let them out of your sight after that.  Impossible in some aspects.  And by all rational, Lewis had not been lost in the physical sense.  He was gone.  The exact opposite of available, or ever ‘being’ again.  However it could be phrased.

It felt similar to the incident when Arthur had lost his hamster, Galahad.  For a good while Arthur had been accustomed to let his disabled companion wander around, content that the little dude couldn’t get into too much trouble.  That was before Arthur had made the little wheels that allowed the crippled hamster to explore the world, to infinite and beyond, and that sort.

It was hardly an hour later when he realized he couldn’t find Galahad anywhere.  And when he did find Galahad (torn into a bag of bread and munching happily – how he found his way upon a countertop forever remained an unsolved mystery for Arthur), Arthur was more careful and a tad more paranoid about letting the hamster roam too far.  Or, whenever Arthur could manage.  There was no sane way of stopping Galahad from charging off into the sunset if his little hamster heart so desired.  Arthur could run himself ragged worrying about Galahad getting hurt, lost, squished in Arthur’s absence, but Arthur tried not to worry.  He had to have faith his uncle would be able to manage the shop and Galahad, while also permitting his little buddy the freedoms he had been denied as a hamlet.  That’s what love did to people.  Made them stupid, reckless, and made them let go.

No, it wasn’t anything feasibly close to that scenario.  Sane enough, not conventional.  But Arthur preferred to think of it as close enough.  He wanted to accept that.  There was a certain reluctant freedom with it.  There wasn’t a legal book to go over the process of welcoming back a once dead friend.  At the time it might’ve been feasible to raise Lewis with a summon, but the only one that could’ve managed that was Vivi, and it doesn’t work so well with the emotional discrepancies regarding the intricate procedure Arthur was only mildly on the edge of.  Arthur’s profession was mechanics, with a side order of the occult.

Bottom line.  This doesn’t happen.  It was weird, awkward, and scary, and Arthur was completely lost and it wasn’t getting any better.  For him it wasn’t, but that could be due to the fact he didn’t get any coffee or breakfast before they were on their way.

A twinge of regret did ripple through Arthur that he wasn’t driving now.  He settled down in his blanket more and felt that sweet spot where it was warmest.  Mystery squirmed around beside his thigh, poking his head out from under the edge of the blanket to get some fresh air.  Arthur let out a slow breath and saw it mist in front of his face.  That was REALLY disturbing.  His eyes slipped over, catching Vivi as she glanced up into the rear view mirror, checking the interior of the vans back.  The cold didn’t seem to bother her, but she did put a heavier coat on over her usual sweater before she took her place in the driver seat.  Also, she just seemed to take to the colder climates better.

They had returned to the university at the required time, set up by the secretary of their supervisor.  The interaction was interesting, and Arthur wanted to sympathize with the older man that was then contending with Vivi’s unease and impatience.  Some images of a specter peering out a window and some voice recordings seemed remedial, but their supervisor took them regardless and handed over a check.  As with the check came the next assignment, and a deadline.  Plenty of time, Vivi always said.

Plenty of time to get lost, do some side jobs, and get back with the university.  As long as they had money for food, necessities, and batteries.  Batteries were like gold to them.  Arthur should consider making the dampening when they reached his place.

“Do you really think he’s okay?”  Vivi asked.  She had her eyes on Arthur, apprehensive and needing a second opinion to fortify her conclusions.  She swayed between ecstatic and disquiet, and Arthur didn’t blame her.

Arthur nodded.  It felt too good to be sitting in the direct sunlight, but almost unbearable at other times.  Whenever the van shifted and he was out of the bright rays, the cold gnawed deep into his skin as if the source was his own soul.

“I’m no expert,” Arthur began, “But I think he’s fine.”  He shifted, as Mystery snuggled down and the cold tips of the dogs paws poked into his leg.  To put some ease back into Vivi, Arthur twisted enough to look back into the dark interior behind the seats.  With his head raised up over the seat Arthur could pick out the steady thrum, and felt himself transported back to the mansion - deposited in the cold crypt, the dark walls closing in, and the delicate accents of candlelight, never enough to render his surroundings clearly with the soft pinks.  He shuddered.

It would be interesting if they were pulled over for a bogus traffic infraction; because Vivi was the best driver and they were hardly ever pulled over.  The license plate was the usual culprit.

The highway patrol man would get up to the window and would become instantly curious about the big black box half hidden by a blanket, in the vans back.

Arthur ran over the scenario in his mind, despite his own anxiety about the situation he was not the most confident for encountering.  The officer would order them out of the van, and demand they open the back doors.  Then, himself or Vivi would have the delight of trying to explain how, “Yes, it looks like a coffin.  But it isn’t really.”

“If it’s not a coffin,” highway patrol man would say, “then what is it?”  The matter wouldn’t be illegal, but he would need some explanation.

Vivi would say, “It’s just a decorative box.”  Because Vivi is usually professional when she needs to be, and logical only when necessary, and she would not want the officer poking around the box because that would be invasive and rude, and that would be the last thing she wanted from this encounter; though inevitable, given probable circumstance.

And Arthur, being honest and trying to be helpful, would flat out say, “An incubator?”

Since the scenario would go downhill from there, high way man calling out his buddies to this little slice of The Twilight Zone to figure out the mystery of the fucking big black box, with no seams or openings.  What was inside as much a mystery to Arthur and Vivi, and whether it could be vandalized or not a question they did not need answered.

When they had first discovered it secluded in the vans back, Vivi didn’t know what first to make of it.  But Arthur had some notion of what it meant.  He had seen the thing in the mansion and Lewis had emerged from it.  The sun was out warming the metal exterior of the van causing waves to roll into the chilly air as Arthur and Vivi stood there, but within the van the air was icy.  Drained.  From prior experience Arthur half expected the battery of the van to be dead, but the engine started without hitch.  The air was just really cold, even in the front seat where the sunlight blazed through the windshield void of restraint.  So bizarre.

Arthur had pondered aloud the nature of the box, while Vivi closed in on it for examination.  She did nothing too drastic but felt along the sides seeking an opening, only curious, not wanting to intrude.  When no obvious opening or hinge could be located, she gave the surface a firm pat and felt the interior echo.  She set her ear atop the surface, and to Arthur and Mystery awaiting her deduction, Vivi announced she could make out a subtle ‘beating.’

The sound of it wasn’t obnoxious, but it was unnerving to Arthur.  They turned up the radio and tried not to get pulled over for some bogus traffic violation, because they got pinned by those far more than the actual violations.  Vivi was a good driver when she wanted to be.

“I wish he could have warned us.  That would have been nice,” Vivi says.  “I’m more worried that he didn’t.”  She bit her lip as she kept her eyes on the road, trying not to glance up at the mirror and the little boo charm.  “Or maybe he didn’t know?”

Arthur leaned forward and fiddled with the heater vents.  They worked too well only in specific areas.  “I doubt there’s a handbook for the ‘Recently Deceased,’” Arthur said.  He smirked when Vivi giggled.

“Right.  Okay,” she hummed.  “I can deal with a clueless Lewis.”

Arthur chuckled and rubbed at Mystery’s neck.  “Oh yeah.  Mods are asleep.  Time to post pictures of Alpacas.”  He snorted a laugh, and nearly squawked when Vivi gave him a nebulous stare.  Shit, that’s right—

“What about Alpacas?  Why not ponies?” she asked, a mischievous glare in her eye.  Arthur could see her mind working through those magenta glasses.  Vivi was a sharp cookie, and that was one of the many perks of her that he loved so much.

“Well,” Arthur’s smile widened.  It hurt, but the warmth tugging at his heart was more appealing than the regret.  “Lewis likes Alpacas.”  He barely finished when Vivi gave a very girlish squeal.  Arthur kind of wanted to squeal with her, but that wouldn’t be very manly.  Currently, Arthur was tangled up in a very blue blanket, with the heater going full blast.  He did not feel very masculine, and wasn’t wool picking for man points any time soon.

“Really?  Really!”  The way Vivi was giggling, you could hardly envision the ominous black box resting in the vans back.  “You’re lying.”  

Arthur shook his head.  “Nope.”  He could roll with it, if it meant killing off the oppressive rain cloud strapped to the van.

Vivi was still giggling, and trying to drive while wiping the tears out of her eyes.  “Okay,” she sniggered, “What else?  You’re not going to tell me he likes Sailor Moon.”

Arthur felt the color drain from his face.  “Is she being serious?”

Vivi threw her head back.  Forget the black box thudding in the vans back, this was far more horrifying.  “No!  No!” she crowed.  It was pretty fantastic if Arthur was to judge maniacal laughter.  “You are not going to sit there and tell me that scary ghost likes Sailor Moon.  No!  I refuse to believe it.”

“You liked Sailor Moon,” Arthur murmured.

“Everyone liked Sailor Moon and DBZ when they first came out,” Vivi said.  “How about something else?  A hobby?  What’d he do when I wasn’t bossing him around?”

“Hold on,” Arthur said, and he gave it some careful thought.  But was this really okay?  Maybe he should wait and let Lewis talk to her.  That is, if he ever decided to come out of the coffin.  “He can play,” Arthur says.  String instruments were a passion for Lewis, especially the violin.  Arthur remembered late all-nighters stuck on some back road, and Lewis would play to ease the sour mood.  Lewis’ answer to a lot of their problems, kill it with music.  Vivi and Mystery would sit in the back, and Lewis would play for them.  While Arthur isolated himself in the front of the van with the laptop, working to debug Vivi’s crapped out phone.  Eventually, Arthur would have to shut the laptop down, and put it and the phone away on the floorboard before his eyes slipped shut.

“No mercy,” Arthur used to tell Lewis.

“Or, he knows how to violin with skills,” Arthur continued, as the memory slipped away.  “If he had wanted, he could have probably gone professional.  But he wanted to help out at—” Arthur stopped himself there.  No, he couldn’t go on with this.  He snuggled down in the warm blanket between Mystery and the passenger side door, trying not to read too much in Vivi’s fretful gaze.

“Help out?” she asked.  “With us?”

Arthur thumbed at his empty sleeve under the blanket.  Mystery was licking at his fingers, and he moved his hand to stroke the dog.  Arthur really dug himself a ditch, and he still had the shovel.  “That too,” he says, and turns to Vivi trying to hide his discomfort and project a pleading he couldn’t voice with his lips.  “Can you change the radio?”

Vivi gave Arthur a pointed look, but reached over anyway to fiddle with the knobs.  It was an unspoken rule that when in the van, with no capacity to escape in the close quarters, the request to change the radio was equal to, ‘I’m not cool with this.’  And Vivi wouldn’t push Arthur on it.

The van chugged along the highway, from the overgrown woods and into the rising structures of the town.  Vivi slowed and eased in to mingle among the long trail of arriving traffic, all on the same road headed one way in among the growing number of shops and outskirt neighborhoods.  At the back of the van, hidden by a watery splash of shadow and a yellow blanket, the black box bides through time.  A steady pulse comes from the core, keeping pace with those that had risen to greet the day.  It keeps below the octave of the radio while soft rock slips through the steady rattle of the engine, as the occupants of the van move forward into the dawn of yesterday.

[jaws330]

Fatalis

Four men sitting apart from each other in the hull of a ship. Wood creaks as the ship pushes through another swell. None of the men have spoken much to each other since preparing for the trip 2 mornings ago. Marlow hadn’t moved in hours. The groups Palico, Thellow, had brought fish from the upper decks down and encouraged everyone to eat but no one seemed interested in eating. Somehow the journey was worse than many hunts the men had been on.

Jackson and Ike had been hunting wyverns and dragons all over the continent for the last 10 years. Marlow was new. That isn’t to say he was without skill. Jackson and Ike had seen the kid rip a diablos tail clean off with about 5 good slice shots that Ike had bet strongly he wouldn’t be able to make. Marlow had a keen eye, but he didn’t have the same will power the others did. Jackson was worried he wouldn’t be up to par for this hunt.

He didn’t have the greatest tact when talking to others so after a while of contemplation he moved over to Ike and sat down next to him on the floor. The floor creaking more as Jackson’s weight came upon it. The damp wood smell didn’t help lift the mood either. Not that any of them seemed to notice. The simple act of moving towards the pray they had been asked to hunt was harder than any of them expected. Jackson leaned his head over to Ike and whispered, "could you check on Marlow? I don’t think he’s doing well". Ike looked back at Jackson. His eyes were red and the skin under them had sagged. he must have been sobbing without Jacksons notice. Ike gulped and took a deep breath. he was about to say something but couldn’t find the words and just exhaled in despair. The two looked to Marlow who had lifted his head at the new activity. Marlow stared back at his two seniors and within a few moments he broke down and cried out loud. Ike rubbed his eyes and started to compose himself. standing up he walked to Marlow and placed his arm around his shoulders. Comforting him as best he could.

Hans hadn’t said anything or even noticed the energy in the room change. He had been meditating for the last day. The Wyverians had it easy. they could focus their minds and remain steeled even in the worst situations. The rest of the men were only human and could not help but dread the impossible task they had been given. The monster they had been sent to kill was growing more and more confident in its prowess. Each day it seemed like its area of influence had grown. More towns burnt to the ground. More bodies incinerated while running for their life’s. And more hunters burnt, killed, or mutilated beyond recognition. The impression of glory from the hunt had faded from most hunters’ minds. All that was left was the depression of knowing that those who face this creature have forfeit their lives.

Jackson was nervous but had expected a fight like this to come at some point in his career. Ike to, but with less acceptance than Jackson. Marlow had only been an official hunter for 2 years. He showed lots of potential but still had allot to live for. Despite showing strong will in the face of an impossible task, Jackson still had something burning in the back of his mind. He had a song stuck in his head for the last few days since news of the hunt came in. He was surprised by the persistence of his own brain to keep the song running at every waking moment. It was not even a good song. It was only ever sung by kids playing games and Jackson couldn’t remember the last time he had even herd it sung out loud. But in stressful situations the mind can fixate on things. Even things you might not want it to.

 _______________________________________________________________

A few hours later the boat came up to port. "finally," said Ike. He was the first and by far the most eager to get off the boat. Actually getting on with things was probably the best move for everyone. Waiting just let the mind stew and overall wouldn’t help the hunt at all. Hans jumped to shore first and tired down the boat. The others prepared their gear and passed it over one by one. The metal boxes of explosives, ammo, and blades were an awkward shape and heavy for most. Ike jumped on shore as well to help Hans with carrying it over while Jackson and Marlow passed the boxes across. They made extra care not to slip on the wet stone of the port. It had been sleeting rain here for some time and most of the stone and wood was covered in algae or moss. Losing a weapon box here would be not just embarrassing but tragic. Even loosing one weapon would put a huge burden on the rest of the hunt and create even more risks none of the men wanted to take.

Once the supplies were on shore, they set about looking for a place to stay the night. The clouds around Schrade were always thick and dark ever since the beast moved in. The port town down the mountain where they had just landed was a hollow shell of what it had used to be. The towns name had been burned away with its people. Now all that was left was a few streets of wooden shacks. Either black from ash and fire or bleached white from the sea and time. The streets were a coble path of wet granite. Grass and small plants pushing past the stone to reach what little sunlight they could. The group ventured into town and already knew the location of the one building that would give some refuge for the night.

At the end of the main street was a rather well-built stone and oak building used by the towns fire brigade. Suitably it was the only building that was not totally destroyed by fire. The hunter’s guild had already scouted out the area to make the journey a little easier and after the two nights of boating the old abandoned building seemed like a luxury hotel. The metal door swung open easily and inside were a few old sleeping mats, a pile of firewood, and a pile of scrap papers. The group paused after seeing the rather basic and dismal interior. Marlow had been looking forward to a real bed. Hans entered first and moved to the right-hand side of the building. He dropped his bag to the floor, swung around and clapped his hands together. "all right boys, who’s getting the fire started? Thellow crawled in between the hunter’s legs and ran for a pile of old drapes. Rain was not a Palicos friend and scrapes of cloth seemed like a nice reprieve. Marlow, Ike, and Jackson let out probably the first smile in a few days. They needed someone like Hans to take the reins for a bit.

After about an hour Marlow got the fire burning. Thellow had set up a camping grill and was preparing some fish for the group. Hans was thumbing through the scraps of paper while Ike was writing on one of them. "Would you like to write one to, Jackson?" Hans called out from across the fire. Jackson was going through the metal boxes they had brought. Checking everything was where it was meant to be. Some hunters hated how neurotic he got when preparing. However, his policy of triple checking before a hunt meant that no one hunting with Jackson had ever worried about running out of medicine or drugs during the expedition. He had checked the weapons and med packs 12 times since packing. Hans called out again " Jackson, do you want to write something?" finally out of his packing trance Jackson perked his head up and quickly replied "yes, yes, of course I’ll write something. Let me just finish and I’ll come over". Hans rolled his eyes while Ike snickered. They were both a bit sick of this behavior.

Ike stood up and said "I think this will do. If anything happens then at least people will know how cool I was". Hans added Ikes paper to the stack. For a hunt of this caliber it was tradition for hunters to leave a note at base camp. Each hunter would write a bit about themselves and why they were going after monster they were. The Notes would pile up at base camp until someone slayed the monster. Only the winning person or team could take the papers home with them. A symbolic way of carrying the efforts of other hunters with them. Even if hunters did not lose their lives it was still a way of showing respect to others in the field. After another 3 minutes Jackson walked over and took the pen from Ike. He didn’t want to write anything to sentimental or emotional, but considering the monster they were fighting, he tried his best. Thellow was just about done with the first part of dinner. Grilled fish with lemon and mashed potato. It was basic but filling. Marlow and Ike both took the first serving. Hans would probably eat a small amount after everyone was done. He wasn’t the one hunting. Hans was a Recorder and handler for the hunt. It was his job to get the hunters safely to the monster and gather what info he could during the fight.

Jackson put his pen down, satisfied with the dribble about the honor of such a hunt. the song rattling in his head didn’t help. He wrote and scratched out a few parts and the whole thing looked a bit fake. He moved to get the next serving of dinner while Hans started reading Jacksons note. While Jackson filled his mouth with potato mash, Hans snapped at him "is this really what you want to leave? you’re not doing any of these other notes a service by mixing your crap in with them" he gestured to the pile of about 50 or so papers piled on a supply crate. Ike and Marlow both looked at Jackson assuming he had written something dumb about it all been bullshit that they even need to do this. Jackson finished his bite and swallowed "I did really try but I couldn’t find it ya know? It’s kinda hard to think about good things for a hunt that we are been forced into" Ike and Marlow looked back to Hans expecting a well formed argument but surprisingly He nodded in agreement "I know its not the best situation but every day more and more towns are destroyed. The guild can’t get hunters up here on short notice like this" Marlow cut in "if we don’t kill it now then the next closest town is Minegarde. Hans is right, we should knock on its front door rather than let it come knock on ours." They were both right.

the port town of Minegarde was usually rather safe and had a high quantity of hunters ready to take on whatever challenged them. But stories of an elder dragon, Darhen Mohran had drawn most of the town’s skill away to the east. Ike let out a laugh and said "bet you don’t think the Mohran hunt is overrated now Jackson" Jackson laughed and sheepishly said back "yeah I kinda wish I had gone with the rest. Probably would have been a livelier trip" Marlow let out a small smile and Hans chuckled.

Jackson looked back to Hans "would you like to write it for me then? you seem to be better with words than me" Hans shook his head "no this will be fine. I’ll make sure anyone who comes here will know of the great Jackson who thought he had better things to do than hunt an elder dragon”. It was the first time the 4 men had laughed together in days. The joy a simple meal and good conversation can bring to people’s hearts is astounding.

The dinner bolstered the spirit of the party far more than expected, and when armor and skill are stripped away, spirit is all that’s left. An hour later the group had settled in for the night. They all tried to get a good sleep before tomorrow’s hunt. Jackson still struggled to sleep, the song running in his head like a ticking clock. He started thinking about how maybe the song was written by the monster itself, to drive hunters mad before even fighting it. eventually he dozed off.

 _______________________________________________________________

Morning came but day did not. The sky was still dark and only a few rays of sun could pierce the black clouds that loomed over Schrade. They were unnatural. They weren’t from a volcano or storm, but they lingered around the mountain where castle Schrade once stood. The castle had been destroyed hundreds of years ago. The town was a settlement that tried to take advantage of the castles well-built infrastructure. They planned to turn castle Schrade into a hunting hub for the mountain ranges above Minegarde. It would have made a great port town between the western coast and northern town of Pokke. It would have if it wasn’t for the last living resident of castle Schrade.

The group spent the early morning getting ready. Hans helped the men get their heavy armor on while Thellow sorted the packs to make sure everyone had the correct equipment at the ready. Jackson had his armor on first, a nice well-made set from a Brachidios. He had a reputation at the guild for his humorous encounter with it, so he figured it was a good armor to wear for a hunt like this. The Brachadios obsidian hide was naturally fire resistant and considering his roll at the front line, it seemed like it fit both thematically and practically. He cleaned his gun lance one last time while Ike and Marlow were getting ready. Ike was a jack of all trades and enjoyed hunting with whatever he found most suitable for each hunt. For this he chose the matte red Rathalos armor and a great sword. he figured that to kill a big monster he would need a big sword. Marlow would provide cover fire and support from behind with his bow gun. He didn’t usually bring more than a few kinds of ammunition. He liked to keep it simple. As long as he could shoot the monster down then it would be fine. For this hunt he made sure to bring an intense variety of ammunition. Poison, electrical, a few sticky bomb shots. Each of the hunters had prepared an appropriate kit for a fight of this caliber.

Finally, the crew was ready to depart. Hans would be climbing the neighboring mountain to observe and record the encounter. From there he would be able to tell if crew was successful and if anyone or anything survived the fight. Hans grabbed Jackson’s hand and looked straight into his eyes "don’t let this beast be your end Jackson. I will see all of you when you return. legends of the guild" the three waved him goodbye as he started his own journey. The group didn’t waste any time and set out climbing the mountain where castle Schrade sat atop.

The sides of the mountain were a trial in of themselves. They had narrow walkways with sheer drops on one side. For a gun lance user like Jackson this was a bit of a joke. He had Ike and Marlow go before him for the first part of the climb and even tied a rope around his waist just in case the weight of the cannon mounted on his back became too much. Eventually the path came to an end at a plateau. The area was larger than expected at this height. The group could have easily fought the beast here if it were not for the rusted graveyard of old weapons.

Infront of them was about 20 or so old worn out Dragonators. A metal spear a few meters in length designed to drill straight into the hide of even the toughest monster. They were a devastating defense the guild had been employing since its early years and they were a staple of elder dragon defense operations. This pile must have been hundreds of years old. It was hard to tell if the previous occupants of castle Schrade had used this as a close by dump or if they were been hauled to the castle and simply forgotten. Regardless the team climbed over with care. Making sure not to slip and fall onto one of the viscous spikes.

Then the real climb began. A sheer cliff with only a few outcrops for about 100 meters. Jackson and Ike tied their equipment to a rope and would hoist it up after they had made it to the top. They weren’t the best mountain climbers, but they made do. At about halfway up Jackson pulled his head up into a cave that could easily fit the party. He called out to the crew "we should take a rest here" after entering the cave the group lined up and together pulled the weapons and Thellow up the cliff, into the small cave. The Palico made sure the knots stayed firm and the weapons didn’t rock to much while ascending. Ike made snide remark while huffing and pulling on the rope "jeez Thellow how much fish did you eat last night". The Palico meowed loudly from outside the cave as the group pulled the equipment inside.

They each fell to the ground and passed around a water bottle. While Marlow and Ike had a drink, Jackson investigated the back of the cave. Finally, been able to spend more time examining it. It wasn’t very big but at the back was a pile of ash and rusted metal. He walked over to inspect it. Reaching out to wipe the ash away, the whole thing crumbled and exploded into a black cloud. He wiped the black soot from his visor and had the chance to see what remained. It was an empty suit of old armor. It only took a second for Jackson to realize what the ash filling the armor had used to be. He lost focus for a moment. The song was louder than ever. He could even hear and make out the voices of the children singing it now. His heart was pounding, and he felt like it was banging on the metal armor around his chest. "What was that?" Ike asked from behind. It snapped Jackson from his trance, and he swiveled around, quickly replying with "nothing, just some old scrap". Jackson had some water and the group continued up. Another 40 or so meters and Jackson finally put his hand onto the stone base of what once was castle Schrade.

 _______________________________________________________________

They just finished pulling up the last of the weapons. Quickly both Ike and Jackson grabbed their tools. Been un-armed for that long had made them both a little jumpy. Marlow had already started surveying the area. He needed good vantage points and places to move to while gunning. Infront was a large courtyard using stone bricks. On the upper side was a castle wall connected to a stone watch tower. spears and swords lay around it, as if the men they belonged to simply evaporated. It was giving all of them chills.

Behind that was still more of the castle. The entire building was massive and expanded over 2 mountains and across the range in between. This was only the entrance way. It was by far the best place to fight something big. The rest of the castle was to jagged with corridors that would restrict movement to much. The team knew that the monster would almost certainly take advantage of that and blow them to pieces before they even knew it was attacking. Out in the open was the best they could hope for.

Marlow had already started moving to the side wall to get some height. It was a great place to have a gunner and gave a brilliant view of the area. There were a few pieces of old ammunition around. Not much but some ballista and cannon balls might help if given the opportunity. The castle wall even still had one intact Dragonator in it, still unfired. Jackson had already set to work getting a plan ready using what little they had on the castle.

It was only morning but still extremely dark. Not much light could get through the clouds even this high up. It still felt like night was around them. Ike moved over to one of the cannons and started checking the fuses while loading a ball in. Jackson started walking to the eastern side to check if the last cannon had a working fuse. He stopped. frozen in place. The creature appeared out of blackness. As if the clouds that swirled around this mountain were the monster itself. A beam of light shone across it revealing the full size of the dragon.

It was allot bigger than anyone expected. Standing on his back legs it stood easily over the entire watch tower, over 40 meters tall. Its tail was an enormous black chrome whip that stretched the whole length of the beast and more. Its legs were short, but its claws were long. Covered in crusted blood from those who had come before. The spines along its back looked like bladed gravestones. Its scales were a hideous black and blue, as if its entire skin was one giant bruise. The wings on its back stretched out in the air, welcoming the hunters to its roost. Its neck was long and gave it incredible height. At the top was a head full of more teeth than its mouth could hold. Two sets of two horns each side of its head that twisted away from its skull. And its eyes. Its awful eyes. They had black slits like a snake but furious red Iris that looked like a fire storm inside its head.

It hadn’t even made a sound. Jackson wasn’t even sure it was real yet. He didn’t know if Ike or Marlow were even still here. The world paused for a second. The dragons tongue slithered out of its mouth and licked its lips. It stared down at its new guests. Jackson had fought allot of monsters and after fighting enough he could tell why a monster fought by the way it looked. Some were hungry. Others scared. But this was something new. Never had Jackson seen a monster smile back and its combatant. This unholy creature of night didn’t care for food or to defend its home, it just wanted to kill. It was genocidal to the core and wanted nothing more than hunters to die. The dragon was going to enjoy this.

Jackson yelled out to whoever might still be behind him. "Time to show it what were made of!". He flicked the main barrel of his gun lance down and took out his shield. Turning the safety off with a click, he rotated a few shells through the main gun. The dragon let out a bellowing cry that changed from a roar to a shriek. This close, it felt as if his ears were going to bleed just from standing near it. His heart slowed down, and a smile crept into the corner of his mouth. Both the song and his fear had left his mind. Without his fear he felt confident, nothing holding him back from his fate. The song’s lyrics made sense now.

 The Legend of the Black Dragon

When the world is full of wyverns, the legend is revived

meat is eaten, bone is crunched

and blood is sucked up dry

he burns the earth and melts through iron

he boils the rivers and mows down trees

he awakens the winds and lights the inferno

he is called Fatalis, the wyvern of destiny

he is called Fatalis, the wyvern of destruction

call for help, run for your lives

and don’t forget to pray to the skies

he is called Fatalis, the wyvern of destiny

he is called Fatalis, the wyvern of destruction

Fatalis, Fatalis

Heaven and Earth are yours

Fatalis, Fatalis

Heaven and earth are yours

________________________________________________________________

Quick note. i wrote this over a few days after having some dreams about monster hunter. Im not a writer or much of a creative. i work with animals mostly so monster hunter has a good place in my heart. This is very much a first go at writing and im hoping people enjoy it. 

[babbushka]

Ain’t No Such Thing

Clyde Logan x Reader 

Word count: ~1600

                                                     ---------------

“You ready?” One of the guards had asked, handing him his shit.

He hadn’t come into the prison with much; just his clothes, his keys, his wallet.

Mellie had his hand back at the house, had taken it from him right in the courtroom, right as they were getting ready to handcuff him.

He’d never forget your face, how angry you were, when they handcuffed him.

He ain’t some violent criminal! You had shouted, with Mellie holding you back, You don’t gotta do that to him!

He liked how much of a spitfire temper you had, how you always had the words to say what you felt.

Your words bounced around his quiet brain, when he was in there.

Some days, it felt like nothing at all. Like ninety days had zipped by in a flash, like he hadn’t been moppin’ floors and workin’ in the nurse’s office every day. Some days, it felt like Clyde had gone to take a real long nap, and now he was wakin’ up. Didn’t feel like three whole months, didn’t feel that long.

Other days, he felt it. He felt it in the way folks stared at his missin’ hand, at the way he quietly lumbered around. He felt it in the prison fights he’d get into, he’d break up. He felt it in the way the food didn’t hold a candle to your cookin’, not even in the same ballpark. Those days, when he was stuck in his cage of a cell, he felt it.

Havin’ Joe there made things a little easier, a friendly face to talk to.

Havin’ you visit made it even more so.

He wished you coulda visited more, but then again no he didn’t.

This wasn’t the place for soft skinned sweet lipped angels like yerself, this was a prison. Clyde was a prisoner.

He didn’t want you nowhere near there, despite how full his heart felt every time you came.

He made sure to stay on his extra best behavior, because the better he was, the more times he got to see you, the longer they’d let you stay. You were always a ray of sunshine, greeting the guards and officers, trying to make a good impression. You wanted them to take care of your Clyde, you wanted to make this as easy for him as you could.

You hadn’t been in a while, too busy takin’ care of things back home. You called, he spent every single one of his allotted minutes calling. You wired money for the commissary, for both Clyde and Joe. Joe got to eat all the boiled eggs he wanted, with his special salt.

You gave Clyde a list of things to buy from the commissary, a list of things you knew would help.

Small radio, better shoes, nicer hygiene products. Clyde took such good care of his hair, you had always said to everyone, you didn’t want prison makin’ it go lank and limp or nothing like that.

Clyde got them all, and you were right, it did help.

But nothin’ beat hearing your voice, seein’ your smile.

You knew all about the heist, of course. It was the only stipulation for Clyde’s participatin’ in the cauliflower plan; he wasn’t going to lie to you. You had helped, because o’course you helped. O’course. You were one of the people responsible for moving the money around, makin’ sure that nothing was too suspicious. You were real friendly with so many people, people at the bank and the bars and the little places where things could be stashed without any question.

Clyde had spent his ninety days thinking about you, about that money. About what he’d do with it once he was out.

There had been lots of ideas: buy a small house and move you into a neighborhood you deserved, one with a white picket fence and a green lawn Clyde could mow in the mornings. Going to school to study English, that was an idea. Clyde never went to college, but everyone kept sayin’ that it was never too late. He liked to read anyway, read a ton of books in his ninety days.

They were just ideas though. He’d be happy enough just to get you back in his arms again.

Which was shapin’ up to be soon, he realized, in all his day dreaming. Like, in about five minutes kind of soon.

He hadn’t seen you for a while, like you had said, you were keepin’ busy. You were in charge of running the bar while he was gone, that was a challenge all on its own.

“Yep,” Clyde replied to the guard finally, “I’m ready.”

The woman just nodded, and let him out the door.

It was about a five minute walk from the door to the gate, where you’d be standing on the other side, leaning against his car.

In another life, maybe you’d drive for NASCAR, your speedin’ rivaled that of Mellie’s – and that was sayin’ something.

In another life, maybe you’d be doing that right now, instead of picking up your convict boyfriend. He winced at the thought, at the word. Boyfriend. He hoped he’d be proposin’ to you right about now.

He’d be lucky if you still wanted anything to do with him.

Lucky Logan.

Right.

His steps crunched the gravel underneath his feet, there was a slight breeze in the air. He couldn’t help but breathe, take in big breaths, lungfuls of the fresh air. There wasn’t nothin’ like the fresh air of a free man, Clyde thought.

And then his thought process was cut off completely, because there you were, running to him.

Running, at top speed, with your arms outstretched and the biggest fucking smile on your face, until you collided with him and jumped into his arms, jumped up onto him like he was some big tree, wrapped your legs around him.

He couldn’t help but spin you, couldn’t help but crush you to him, ninety days without holding you, ninety days without kissing you, all gone in an instant as he locked an arm around your neck and tugged you down for a kiss like he’d never kissed before.

“Clyde!” You grinned, face flushed from running, hair sticking to the sweat on your forehead because o’course it was damn near a hundred degrees.

You were the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen, the most beautiful. Even with your mascara smudging and your blue jeans and your t-shirt that was definitely his, you were beautiful.

“Hey darlin’.” He said, and something about that made you burst into tears, made you cry and cry and cry.

“Oh Clyde I missed you so much, I thought – well I thought they’d keep you in there forever, it felt like forever.” You were makin’ a whole mess of yourself, but you didn’t care, and neither did Clyde, not when you were kissin’ him like that.

“I’m alright, I’m out now. Just smile, I really need to see you smile right ‘bout now.” He replied, prying your face from his neck where you had buried it, all splotchy faced and racoon-eyed.

You gave him a watery smile, and he kissed you again.

“I’m gonna put ya down now, okay?” He said, hand on your cheek, other arm supporting your ass.

He tried moving his arm away, but you only clung to him harder, grip around his shoulders tightening.

“No! Not okay, you can’t put me down ever.” You shook your head, and for the first time in ninety days, Clyde laughed.

“But I can’t drive with a spider-monkey hangin’ off of me, darlin’.” He tried.

“Sure ya can.” You were having none of it, looking up at him with those big wet eyes of yours, “I bet it’s real easy, why don’t ya try?”

He grinned, shook his head at you.

He opened the door for you, sat you down on the seat inside the truck. You had brought Jimmy’s truck for some reason, wondered where his car was.

“It’s at the house,” You answered his unasked question when he was starin’ at the driver’s seat for too long, “Earl’s been working on fixing it up real good for you while you’ve been away. He wanted it to be a surprise for when you came home, but well. I know you ain’t a big fan of surprises.”

“You’re a surprise, and I’m a real big fan of you.” Clyde said, unable to help a big smile on his face.

“You are?” You asked, a smile of your own.

“Yeah, I am.” He said, before making you shuffle across the bench seat of Jimmy’s truck, climbing on in and starting the engine up.

“Well good, because I’ll have you know I’m mighty in love with ya, and don’t plan on leaving you alone any time soon.” You pressed yourself right against him, laid your head on his shoulder, kissed at his handsome blue button down shirt.

“I love you too much, you know that?” Clyde whispered, leaning down for a smooch, making you laugh.

“Ain’t no such thing.” You said back, big grin on your face.

And as Clyde pulled away from the prison, as those gates disappeared way back into the distance as you rested your hand on his thigh as he pulled away from the prison, he realized you were right.

Nintey days away meant nothin’, when there was no such thing as lovin’ you too much.

taglist: @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @kylo-renne @plomblooms (im sorry i know im forgetting a bunch of people im just very tired and cant think straight lol)