#and the scar was left intentionally- just like every other old injury on their body

[diredeliverance]

In hindsight one reason I am glad I did not go through with the icepick lobotomy is that it would have been very unfortunate for Kas to lose that eye a second time

[priceofblindeye]

TW: the following content will feature animal mistreatment, traumatic experiences such as starvation, drug usage, self harm, and injuries by animals. Reader discretion is advised.

This is my official request that you all stop trying to erase edwards trauma.

They were always better together than apart.

That was what Edward Nashton had taken note of when glaring through those heavy prescription lenses at the screaming vermin that stuck their noses through the bars of that cheap, old cage. The rodents, feeder rats that weren’t meant to last long in this world, had been looking at him in distress. There’s always a bigger fish, right? That’s how the saying went?

Edward was the fish.

He still had the markings. Keloid scarring littering his fingers, his knuckles. Mostly, near his fingernails. He’d still wake up with reeling screams, mind spinning because he still remembered the pain of those creatures eating into him. What could possibly be starving rats? Well, the orphanage had massive ceilings to serve as ideal nesting space, but it even have enough food to leave crumbs for the rats. Not anymore.

If the children were starving, what could there possibly be for a starving critter like rats? Nothing, except the idle bodies of warmth, covered sweat, so deep into sleep because their bodies were shutting down. Nothing.

Edward wasn’t the only one to suffer, and he was sure that if he’d not made the decision to burn down that orphanage, he wouldn’t have been the last.

He hated rats. 

Sometimes, he’d see one skittering its little claws and bolting across the ground of the alley just outside his work. It always sent him into a panic. He'd scratch at his skin, so lost in traumatic recallings that he's scratch his skin till he drew blood.

He’d see rats chewing at the dropheads that were so high they were nodding out. Edward once had been burdened by the aftermath of a bite. Weighed down by a fever, body aches, chills, and horrible swelling. He had nearly died from the infection because he hadn’t treated it well enough. No, he was too focused on the younger kids who were left with bleeding bites all over their tiny fingers to care about properly cleaning his own. Whenever he witnessed a senseless husk of a drophead with bloody fingers, he would know.

He was sure the dropheads would endure the same fate.

How something so small, and inconvenient can leave such an affect on humanity, it was only fitting that Edward made the connection between these rodents, and the men, and women who’d ruined his life. Greedy, no good scumbags who’d sabotaged all chances he’d have to have a decent life.

Yet, just like the fever, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him. He wouldn’t let it. This was his revenge.

“Two birds, one stone.” He hummed to himself, exhaling a laugh through his nose with tight lips lifting into a smile. His fingers fiddled with a syringe. His key to the golden gates. An important instrument for his master plan.

Edward couldn’t blame every rat. He’d never have been able to handle the Feeders without his girls. He'd taken to exposing himself to the creatures only a year ago, using a practice he had learned from the brief therapy sessions he'd had when he was younger. What was it again?

"Take it a step at a time." He'd done his own studies on the method. The more you intentionally trigger your traumas, the weaker its influence becomes. A book had further shared its secrets with Edward once he'd been yanked from his sessions by his insurance, or lack of.

He had remembered reading about how the brain mistakes the past mental wound as an ongoing struggle, and therefore continues to inflict pain over specific ties to a traumatic moment and put the body in fight or flight. It doesnt register that it's happened in the past and no longer is affecting the person. So exposing yourself, while it is mentally draining, does process it and eventually it is registered as a past issue.

Some things couldn't be processed. Else, Edward would have dealt with many other issues which seem to get a rise out of him. The only thing he could do was conquer this fear, and he was motivated by the devious plans he'd made.

Eds attention was drawn over to a better, more well done cage. This one, well..

“Echo..” he whispered, “Query.”

Two snouts popped out of one of his old shirts, which had been stuffed and adjusted to cater to two rats. One, albino, the other, gray hooded and curious. They were much older, well fed, and the wiggling noses showed they were familiar with the man. 

He’d very hesitantly undo the latch of their cage, and the two would stretch, yawn, and approach together. The sniff of his hand would earn some gentle scratches behind their ears. Then, he’d retract. The feeling of nausea was only subsided by the bruxing of their teeth. The display of joy had helped his fearful fight or flight response that he'd tried to suppress. He still had the tremors in his hands when he'd been in close contact with rats. The unconscious paranoia of these two turning on him suddenly had been flickering in and out. Some days, it was intense, others, it was dead.

Thanks to his girls, he can enact his perfectly poetic and morbid plans on the ones that deserve it. He didn't fall into a hyperventilating fit. He didn't scratch at his skin, or even see the memories of his time in the orphanage flashing across his eyes like a subways windows. Did that mean he wouldn't have flashbacks? Feel dread? No, they still very much burdened him. 

However, his girls taught him that rats were truly just stupid creatures, dependent on the citizens to survive. It played into his poetic, and overdramatic view of his role in the city.

To him, it told him that he was on the right path. That maybe things were going the right direction. Maybe, he was meant to do this. Maybe, he was meant to execute his plan. After all, the process of it was healing his wounds. He did not feel fear like he used to. He did not feel like a fish swimming upstream. He was making real, genuine progress.

The screams had pulled him from his thoughts, and he'd turned away from the girls to look over the cage again.��Departing from Echo, and Query, he'd approached the Feeders once more.

They were starving.

It was time.

Edward slammed his hand into the cage and a few of the feeder rats fell off the bars from the impact. They scrambled away, and he couldn't help his cackling as he paced over to his desk. 

"Let's go and get you guys your last meal." He whispered, most directly to himself. 

It was kind of funny how he'd call them feeder rats. Feeder rats feeding on a rat. Poison tainting their tummies till they keel over and die. He'd thought over it as he left his apartment with his mask, and coat tucked into a bag which he'd sling over his shoulder.

Wounds were healed, that was certain, scars are forever. 

[renegadeofmacedon]

Some injury headcanons for Minerva below: with warnings for mention of imprisonment, torture, and of course, Minerva’s really bad mindset when it comes to herself, her training, and her ideals. I also have attached a visual reference for scarring, nothing graphic - just important ones location-wise. Anywho, here we go :)

Minerva's time in captivity nearly did her in; had she not been rescued by Michalis when she was, she most certainly would have died. Minerva's physical injuries fall into two categories - old (chronic, permanent) and new.

Her very first injuries were from when she originally was a pegasus knight. While she did eventually release her pegasus into the forests of Macedon, the two had a rocky relationship at first; Minerva struggling to find her own personal sense of balance, and Mirnatius (the pegasus) not liking her attitude. Minerva still has some old bite marks on her hands, fingers and arms that have long-since healed over and don't bug her anymore, but once she learned how to preen Mirnatius properly, their relationship improved from there.

Minerva's relationship with Zelcher (her wyvern), on the other hand, was smooth from the start. Her main injuries, especially in her initial training, was simply getting adjusted to each other and fighting atop wyvernback, which are not visible. Zelcher in every sense is Minerva's partner, and each are likewise upset if they injure each other in any way. The very few bites which Minerva has from Zelcher were primarily from small accidents, or putting herself in the way of another, and they healed rather quickly. (Zelcher likes to bite as a greeting, a result of with how closely he was raised alongside Minerva).

Training injuries... Are the most prominent, by far. Large slashes, small cuts, old, gnarled scars - they litter Minerva's body, primarily below the neck.

In her efforts to try and keep up with Michalis, Minerva pushed herself more often than not way too far in her own training, and at the hands of others with their growing expectations. Minerva's self discipline is notoriously harsh, even in retirement from leadership. Those habits will never leave, and she can only hope she passed on the best of it to her Whitewings, and left behind the worst of it for herself and herself only. It’s what she thinks she deserves, for failing so horribly.

As for new injuries? From the time she was forced to act as General for Maria's sake, she found herself having to bodily put herself in harm's way to protect the innocent getting preyed upon by rogue soldiers. (She is thankful for Hardin's unexpected help every day, as even that small intervention helped ease that burden).

Minerva developed severe migraines due to the amount of responsibility and stress she found herself with, and with that came many sleepless nights. While she wouldn't intentionally miss meetings, there were quite a few times where she had to delegate tasks in that period she was trying to rebuild Macedon because her headaches took her out of commission. (There were more than a few rumors that her headaches were punishment from the gods for deposing her brother, when that couldn't be farther from the truth. Osmond...)

Her duel with Michalis left her with many scars - the largest of which running down her chest, from the right-side of collarbone to just below the left side of her stomach, below her belly button. It was done in a split second, her armor getting momentarily dislodged, but the damage was done - with as much as her heart was hurting fighting her brother, she counts that scar as a testament to her skill, and a reminder that her conviction was truly justified.

Minerva's time in captivity is something she is still actively recovering from. Her wrists, feet, and back all still bear scarring from being bound so tightly and for so long, alongside malnourishment and injuries from torture. There was no purpose to it other than to humiliate her, as Minerva had nothing else to lose... Isolated as she was, she had all but resigned herself to death alone.

Minerva doesn't deliberately cover her scars with her armor and high necks and sleeves, as even during her time in Lena's monastery did she wear flowing robes - they were for her own personal comfort, nothing more. Minerva has always been uncomfortable with attention, and she relished the rare time she had an excuse to wear a dress rather than her armor, as the novelty of it usually brought out several smiles.

[reoflite]

Why Forrest Gump is the movie we need

I wanted to step away from the more serious posts I’ve made recently to talk about a movie that I love. Sadly, it took several years for me to appreciate this film for what it is. As a child, I remember hearing my grandmother say it was a “stupid” movie. I carried this with me until early adulthood, when I began developing my own opinion about things. While I’m disappointed that it took me so long to see the film, it doesn’t take away from the impact it left on me. 

I found that I had a lot to say about a movie that’s flirting with 26. Tom Hanks is...well, he’s just downright incredible. I am going to do my best to segment this post in a way that isn't overwhelming. 

Tom Hanks: Let’s start with the obvious. His performance in this movie is something to be remembered. His 1995 Oscar win for his work in Forrest Gump confirms this. He nails everything, from the body language, down to the overall language of Forrest. At times, I forgot I was watching Tom Hanks. He made Forrest real for me. I recognize this section might look short to some, but he offers such a performance that you would need to see it play out on screen. 

Jenny: A lot of people don’t like her character. She’s hard to digest, I get it. But then, consider all that we see her go through. She suffers horrific sexual abuse at the hands of her father, thus destroying any sense of trust she can ever hope to build with another human being. This person, in theory, should have been the one person that was made to protect her. Instead, he scars her for life. She copes by falling in and out of toxic relationships. She abuses drugs (they try to use this alongside the idea that it was the 60′s/70′s, and it’s what everyone was doing, but I disagree). When we experience her drug use, although maybe a bit more subtle, it’s used as a tool to numb, to free. Eventually, she gets her shit together. Carrying a part of Forrest propels her to a healthier and more fulfilling life, though it’s short. Jenny, in my mind, is the saddest part about this story. 

Jenny and Forrest, together: A lot of people hate the idea. Again, I get it. You can make the argument that Jenny treats Forrest poorly. She is what I call a semi-colon in his life for a while. There isn’t any finality in her presence for most of the movie. She’s there one minute, then gone the next to continue another part of her journey. Forrest loves her unconditionally, despite her leaving him when she feels too pulled in. We see the push-and-pull of their relationship at various points; Forrest declaring his love for her in an authentic but simple way. It requires no show or elaborate moment, because it’s simple: He loves her. It’s very likely she loves him throughout the film, but she’s doing what she thinks is best by staying away from him. She sees herself as a black hole, waiting to suck in whoever comes near her. She doesn’t want that to happen to him. 

Understanding the complexities of childhood sexual abuse and the impact it has on forming meaningful relationships isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s worth exploring when looking at this film. Jenny is a damaged soul. Forrest is a pure soul, one that has a lasting impact on those he comes across. I don’t believe in the idea of anyone needing to “fix” anyone in a relationship; that’s unhealthy. Instead, I think Forrest offers her the balance love - true love - she has missed for most of her life. Up until their final few scenes together, Jenny’s motto has been to run when things get scary. In Forrest, she finally finds someone she doesn’t have to run from. 

Forrest himself: We are introduced to Forrest when he’s a child. He has trouble walking. He’s a little slow. As much as I hate using that term, I think it’s OK here. Still, he’s inquisitive. He possesses an eagerness to understand those around him. His childlike naivety in the earlier parts of the film is charming. 

He has given an undesirable set of circumstances in the beginning. Everyone around him acknowledges this as fact except Forrest. He doesn’t view his seeming lack of intelligence as a burden. Instead, he maintains a sense of positivity through it all. He uses his talent of speed to enroll in college. He seems to be up for the adventure of the Army following college; and yet, there isn’t a sense that he is without direction. The opportunity presented itself and he took it because...why not? 

It’s here that he meets Bubba, someone that he finds brotherhood in. They are not the same. They come from completely different walks of life. Still, they relate on a level that’s difficult to achieve for characters that are literally written to end up together (as friends or something more). 

Following his completion of basic training, we see he and Jenny cross paths. We are led to believe this is their first time meeting after graduating high school and college. This particular scene is great for both characters. Forrest “rescues” Jenny from the stage - men harassing her - and she establishes clear boundaries. It is, perhaps, the first and only time we see Jenny establish these boundaries in the entire film. There is a comfort with them that she is able to do this, even if it’s not in favor of Forrest during this particular time. 

Perhaps one of the best lines in the film: “Forrest, you don’t know what love is.” This line sets the tone for the rest of the movie. Whether Forrest does so intentionally is unclear, but it’s done with such a subtlety that I did not initially catch it as a younger watcher.

Forrest and...everyone else: Going back to, “You don’t know what love is.” Let’s look at the events following this line, shall we?

Forrest saves his brothers during the raid in Vietnam, even after suffering injury himself. Ultimately, he’s looking to save Bubba, but we can’t talk about this scene without acknowledging that he saves everyone in his platoon that he can. He risks life and limb without a second thought

Lt. Dan treated Forrest poorly, for a lot of reasons. Like Jenny, he was damaged, but in a different way. His ego and “stolen destiny” prevent him from forming a heartwarming bond with Forrest, but Forrest doesn’t seem to let this stop him from helping him when he can. The bond of brotherhood from combat motivates him. Let us not forget that Forrest is just a decent human being, and Lt. Dan is in a position where he needs friendship. Forrest recognizes this at some level and offers his friendship throughout the film. One of my favorite scenes is when one of Lt. Dan’s friends (the two women from the bar) calls Forrest stupid. Lt. Dan immediately steps in and defends him. Later in the film, Forrest offers him a job on the boat he bought. Why? Because he promised him he would

Forrest’s relationship with his mother isn’t shown enough, in my opinion. At the beginning of the movie, we see her defend him. She does things for him that many might judge, but ultimately, she wants him to have the best life possible. It’s what mothers do! Eventually, she succumbs to old age. It’s unclear how old she is when she dies, but he cares for her. He pauses his life to give her a comfortable end to her life. We literally see him jump out of a boat to go be with his mother for her final days. This boils down to a mother-child bond that is difficult to break, but one that I find to be very touching

Back to Bubba. Sweet, dear Bubba. He doesn’t make it to the other side of the war, despite Forrest’s best efforts. His family is left reeling. Bubba’s mother has worked as a servant, much like her mother, and her mother’s mother. After Forrest invests in Apple, he hits it big. In keeping his promise to Bubba, Forrest gives Bubba’s mother and siblings half of his earnings from his fishing business, and money from his investment in Apple. He helps build a new church for Bubba’s family to worship. His attachment to Bubba doesn’t die with him; rather, it’s strengthened after his untimely death

Back to Jenny. As mentioned before, she’s in and out of the film. Her impact on Forrest is noted throughout the film, however. He writes to her almost every day (even though his letters are returned). They go for a long time without seeing each other. Following his return from service, Jenny is in an abusive relationship. Forrest sees her boyfriend hit her. This is perhaps the only “negative” side of Forrest we see throughout the film. Of course, I’m referring to Forrest beating the living daylights out of her boyfriend (whose name I don't care enough to remember). I think most of us would act similarly.  (Side note: “Sorry I had a fight in the middle of your Black Panther party,” might be my favorite quote from anything ever.) They separate once more, and Forrest continues on with his life. He offers her a safe space when she visits him. More importantly, toward the end of her life, he offers her the comfort of a loving and fulfilling relationship

Truthfully, I could expand on a number of other reasons why I love this movie so much, but I think I highlighted some of the more profound moments here. Honorable mentions include Gary Sinise’s performance. I am less attached to his character, but I admire the positive steps he took in his life to become a better person. Forrest’s mother has a profound impact on Forrest, but in my opinion, this isn’t expanded on enough. 

I’d be curious to hear your opinions on the movie. 

[myherorp]

THE QUIRK DATABASE HAS BEEN UPDATED !

incoming information on villain, red.

get to know them !

faceclaim: lee taemin 

name: jo kioh

villain name: red

gender & pronouns: male, he/him

age: 26

association: none

occupation: thief, informant

reputation: he’s not all too well known, but that’s something kioh’s tried hard to do. he doesn’t really find satisfaction in infamy. it just seems like a lot of work, but then again, it’s not like his power is incredibly useful. find the right circles, and they might have something to say about red. annoying, with a hood pulled up and half-hiding, too nosey for his own good and with a mouth on him. it’s only when he talks too much, knows too much, and that’s when it’s learned that he’s got a quirk. it doesn’t matter how much you try and rearrange him, he’ll go and put everything back in the right order. it only crosses the line into dangerous if he knows too much about you. and that’s the good part of blending in, nobody cares about telling things to someone they think is unimportant. one might liken him to a rat, and kioh would likely shrug and agree.

the quirk !

quirk name: regenerative healing

quirk description: this mutation allows for kioh to heal rapidly from any physical injury or ailment due to cellular regeneration. it allows for him to recreate lost organs or appendages (such as limbs) without leaving behind a trace of injury (scarring). due to the fact that the mutation is constantly working to regenerate itself if something is wrong or broken, it means that kioh is usually in top physical condition as he is constantly in the process of reverting back to a healthy state.

abilities:

self repair: all physical injuries are repaired through regeneration of cells. time may vary depending on the severity of the wound or injury.

inexhaustible stamina: since the body is repaired within moments of being broken down, it is near impossible for him to overexert himself or to put strain on himself in a way that would cause fatigue. however, it is possible for kioh to essentially ‘run out of fuel’ and pass out due to the body attempting to repair itself with he does not have enough in way of energy to do so while he is still physically moving.

disease immunity: due to the mutation constantly regenerating and repairing cells, a disease would not have enough time to take effect on the host.

weaknesses: 

while kioh obtains the ability to heal himself, he cannot suppress his pain and so he is still vulnerable to inflicted attacks despite being able to heal from them. though he does seem to have a somewhat amplified pain tolerance.

the larger the injury, the longer it takes for kioh to heal himself. while a cut may only take a few moments, for a limb to reattach or re-grow it would take a considerably longer amount of time.

despite immunity against diseases, drugs or poisons can still have an effect ( such as pain ) and will not be broken down due to regeneration. however, if said drugs cause damage to his organs, the damage would then be repaired.

while the regeneration keeps him in optimal physical condition, it cannot halt or slow the aging process on his body as a whole.

the regeneration applies only to physical ailments, and not to mental conditions or diseases.

since the mutation took over and replaced his own immune system, if depowered for an extended period of time he is incredibly vulnerable to infectious diseases as he has no way of dealing with them.

regeneration increases his nutrition requirements, and as a result has an incredibly fast metabolism that he has to keep tabs on in order to attempt to maintain his weight.

the history !

triggers: bullying, violence/injury, pain as a coping mechanism

january, 5 —

when he sticks his hands into the snow, they burn. cold searing in past the skin and biting sharp like mice teeth. kioh hisses, curls his fingers, retracts his hands, then repeats the motion. he’s five and doesn’t entirely understand the concept of a coldness like this, or how it can ache like fire. he just thinks it’s pretty when the sun scatters across ice fragments — wants to dip his hands in and roll it into a ball. so he withstands that pain, digs teeth into his lower lip and ignores the wind curling up and under the hem of the ill-fitting jacket sliding down one shoulder. claws out his handfuls of snow.

he’s disappointed later, when it all melts into puddles that leave him bone-soaked and shivering. ignores that gut kick of an impulse to cry over it all while his mother scolds him in the kitchen for making a mess while she tries to scrub warmth back into his hands through the pilled fabric of an old kitchen towel.

it’s the first winter kioh ever remembers.

he doesn’t like the season much anymore.

may, 13 —

his parents fight like it’s their hobby, so kioh decides he likes it too. not in the way of fists and violence, but with his mouth. antagonism pools like acid under his tongue, and it’s around the time of middle school that kioh can’t help but spit it out.

it doesn’t match him well; too gangly with colt limbs and an inability to hold his ground. but he can’t help himself. he can’t just take it with his head tipped down until boredom replaces that sadistic glee of that underdeveloped empathy of middle schoolers.

there’s no bite past his bark, and his status in the classroom matches this revelation. it tuns him into something of a pariah, circling with his sharp-toothed intentions, his classmates drifting off and away. there’s no real blame there, for not wanting to associate. for not wanting to invite that treatment on themselves. for sticking next to the kid inviting in antagonism from boys twice his size.

he was never blameless.

but he was always lonely.

august, 15 —

his house feels hollow.

his parents coexist within the walls of their cramped apartment, but that seems too understanding a term.

it’s always cold, even trapped in the humid swells of summer. they hate interacting, kioh can read it in their posture. stiff at the shoulders and something chilling in their eyes. sometimes it’s tipped out onto him, spills out across the room and drowns out whatever intentions he’d once had of fixing it.

he thinks they regret. they regret each other, they regret their lives, they likely regret him too. sometimes it feels like they’re all acting out a make-believe role to another reality. one where they’re all fractured apart, strangers dropped into the same building.

he sneaks into the kitchen at half past two and eats the rest of the cereal hunched over the sink like it’s a sin. ignores his father and the way he knows he’s drinking soju by the bottle from the smell alone. main characters of their own droll plays, and kioh doesn’t want to disrupt the pointedly settled stagnation that’s grown over their lives.

he feels like if he breaks it, it’ll topple. a ripple effect and finally everyone will pin the blame on him.

so he drifts along like a ghost instead. sneaks out and pretends like his parents might care if they find his bed empty at four in the morning. if they find the liquor stashed in his closet.

it never comes up as an issue.

september, 16 —

there’s something comforting in the way a bruise blooms across his skin. unfurls in petals of black-blue-green; like an imprint of reality. scars are similar, moments left scattered across his body that he can’t forget. proof of existence. and he’s developed this sort of dependency on it, morphed violence into this sense of satisfaction.

the reaction’s better, kioh thinks, when he’s doubled over in pain with a laugh trapped up in a wheeze, tripping over empty lungs on the way out. there’s a sort of bewilderment found there, the way they might forget to grab at his backpack, dig through it to see if he has money or smokes they can take.

he likes that sharp pull of focus, and the endorphins that fizz their way up his spine and explode white and blinding in his head.

he doesn’t really talk about it to anyone. how he intentionally walks himself into situations that leave their marks across his body. doesn’t really talk about how he’s decided it makes him feel more settled, less lost.

and anyway, who does he have to talk about it with?

march, 17 —

and then his self-made reality fades away.

kioh half hates it, his quirk. his skin is too pretty now. entirely smoothed out. can press a bruise into his shin and watch it fade before it has time to form.

it feels like a loss of control at first.

and then he turns reckless with it. like the beating of wings against this proverbial cage, but it doesn’t matter if those bones snap anymore. they just revert. he learns this too as he pushes the limits farther and farther. the sharp, blinding pain of cracked bones before they knit their way whole again. half a day later and kioh’s fine.

a split lip, a gash, landing wrong on a pipe and walking home with a limp. it didn’t seem to matter, his body would just fix itself back up again. like proving a point, that kioh couldn’t even lord over himself. at the whim of something improbable.

was it really a surprise he never grew into a hero?

november, 20 —

at first he tries. his quirk isn’t obvious, and it’s easy to skate under the surface. presumed normal in near-every situation. his family doesn’t have a lot of money, nor the care needed to push kioh into a better sort of life than they had.

he tries to study, ends up at a part time job for a while. then he moves out and into a half-basement apartment for dirt cheap, peeling wallpaper and poorly-covered mold growing near the ceiling. not that he has to worry about his lungs.

he spends too much money on cigarettes and convenience mart food and somehow remains the same despite his penchant to overeat.

it’s when he fails out of his third semester and gets his hours cut that it all starts to tremble, the threat of reality over his good intentions.

and he starts to think.

it’s not like it would matter, really, if someone hurt him on the tail end of a robbery.

it’s not like his body wouldn’t fix itself. put everything back into the right place.

he could deal with the pain. he always had.

december, 24 —

kioh considers himself to be something of a freelancer. willing to walk himself into dangerous situations for a price, and he doesn’t really care what the reason is. money or information or something stolen.

sometimes it’s his own selfish interest. wants money, mostly. isn’t that what it boils down to in the end?

he can pretend like he’s an alright person. might not target someone who looks like they’re in a similar position to himself. but what’s it matter if he lifts an expensive watch off daytrader? pulls a wallet off a man dressed head to toe in a designer fit?

he’s got a decent knack of falling under the radar. as long as the police don’t pick him up, it doesn’t matter too much. the threat of violence poses little deterrent for him. like a cockroach, kioh is able to bounce back, slide himself in through the cracks, insistent and undying.

it’s probably in his own favor. he’d never lost that inclination to use his mouth.

july, 26 —

kioh tries not to make a name for himself.

technically, he’s terrible. the antithesis of a hero, and he doesn’t want to be one. seeks out enough money to make rent on an apartment that’s not a whole lot better than his first. keep his abilities as hushed as he can.

but it’s hard so many years in, despite his best efforts.

more annoying than anything, the boy who refuses to both die and shut up.

he becomes a threat when he starts to get nosy. stows too much information in his head that they can’t knock out of him.

but what’s kioh to do other than turn it into the next best enterprise? finding intel and selling it off to whoever promises to foot the bill.

dead men tell no tales, sure. but that hasn’t been applicable to kioh now for years.

all you have to do is pay him.

the personality !

scavenging for information he can put to good use. the problem with this containment is that it leaves him lonely. residually; something that has spanned and stretched out taffy-thick throughout his life. he’s not so sure he can recall what it feels like to welcomed, wanted, some word lodged in between. everything has been left hollowed out and drafty. and with that came a peculiar sort of coldness. a desire to freeze people out; scathing and biting and bruising in order to keep himself in his hollowed out space of nothingness.

he’s vindictive, and won’t leave things well enough alone. talks too much, and he says it’s because it doesn’t matter, because if someone hits him for it everything will settle back into place. leaving him looking unaffected enough, just an off-kilter smile and red-stained teeth. he seeks it out though, that pain. even if he doesn’t really admit it to himself. uses it like a tool - a way to cope, or some sort of self-punishment. like he’s proving to the world that he doesn’t like himself all that much, either.

so what if nobody else does too?

so what if it’s left him a villain?

at the core of it all, he’s tired. but he’s twisted up so caustic and near-cruel that it’s nearly impossible to wring the admission out of him.

self-defense mechanisms at their finest, and a desperation to keep all the pieces of himself in place.

[claudes-therapy-center]

*runs and slides in* Sweet and doting characters you say?? 👀 Kaze may not be super doting but he is a giant sweetheart and imaginehimdevotinghimselftobecomingClaude'sretainerwhenhelearnsClaudedoesnthaveone

This one got long and #angsty so strap in

Kaze stretched his arms as he stirred awake in his seat. He had taken a position next to Claude’s hospital bed, watching over him, and attending to his medical needs. He had sustained a grievous injury in his right shoulder during the previous months mission. His house had been tasked with driving a group of thieves out of the countryside, and Kaze had agreed to join them. He watched the incident as it occurred. A thief had ambushed him from the air, and before he could draw his bow, a dagger was imbedded into his shoulder. If Kaze wasn’t there to throw a couple of well placed shuriken, Claude would have met his end. That’s what troubled him the most. 

No one came to his aid at his most dire moment, and he found that to be unacceptable. The man was a noble after all, and in his country, the nobles have retainers that lurk in the dark, and strike down any danger that comes near their lord. The fact that someone got close to Claude was appaling on its own, let alone that he suffered a potentially fatal injury that should have been prevented. As he was running, carrying the passed out lord off the battlefield, he wondered where his backup was. Why they weren’t watching over their master and protecting him like they should. He naturally assumed that Hilda was his retainer, as the two spend the most time together. He confronted her after she returned from battle, only to find out that she wasn’t responsible for him at all. She was just a close friend, and a noble herself. She also revealed that he didn’t have a bodyguard at all, which he found shocking, considering the other house leaders had someone to look after them. Which made him beg the question, ‘why on earth didn’t Claude?’ His concern for the young lord only deepened as he looked after his wound. The shirt he was wearing had to be discarded, as it was completely ruined, covered in blood. So Kaze was able to see the multitude of scars that covered his chest and arms. He had a few that looked like grazes. Short little cuts that healed quickly, but deep enough to leave their mark. Others were long and jagged, varying in color from dark brown to almost pure white. The most notable one ran from his left shoulder, across his collar bone, barely missing the jugular, and continued onward until it reached the other side of his ribcage. It was about one quarter of an inch in diameter, and off-white in color. Kaze could tell that the injury was fairly old, which worried him. Claude had turned eighteen just a few months ago, so what had he done as a child to get such a mark? In his mind, this many scars on someone who had only seen battle just a few times, was incredibly horrifying. Which caused him to wonder what went on during his childhood.

So, he waited by his bedside, hopefully to get his answers when Claude finally woke up. Manuela had offered to take shifts with him, an offer that he kindly refused. He felt very personally about the situation, and wanted to see it through to the end. He wanted to get his answers and put his fears about the lord to rest.

And as he shifted in his seat and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes, he could feel a warm pressure on his knee. Claude was finally awake, and even though he had been asleep for three days, looked exhausted and dazed. 

“Where am I? What happened with the thieves?” He asked. His voice sounded scratchy and hoarse, and he coughed violently upon finishing his sentence. Kaze wasted no time and poured him a cup of water, from a pitcher that Manuela had kindly been refilling for him. He took it in his hands and nearly dropped it. Kaze quickly reached out and supported the cup, slowly easing it towards his mouth.

“Your class took care of them. You received that injury mid battle, and I carried you off the field. Do you remember anything?” Kaze took the glass when Claude finished drinking, and set it on the side table. 

“I think I remember someone coming at me with a knife, then I felt this sharp pain in my shoulder. I don’t recall much after that, it’s mostly just a blur. I know you were there, but I never saw you. Just your shuriken flying out of nowhere,” he yawned and pushed his hair back, which had become unruly due to not being brushed for three days, “Thanks for saving my neck by the way. I really owe it to you now,” he finished with a weak smile.

“That’s what I’ve been waiting to talk to you about,” Kaze brought his chair closer and linked his hand under his chin to rest his head, “Why don’t you have a retainer?”

Claude averted his gaze, his expression falling into an uncharacteristic frown, “It’s… difficult to keep trustworthy people around.”

“What do you mean?” Kaze’s brow furrowed as he leaned forward, the uncomfortable pit in his stomach growing with each passing second. He could sense that something was about to be said that he wouldn’t like.

He chuckled softly, his mouth twisting into a pained smile, “I mean not a lot of people want to be around me. Especially due to my ‘reputation’. I’ve heard many things said about me, most just stemming from misunderstanding. But, every now and then… people get intentionally malicious,” he looked back at the older man with an almost unreadable expression. He wasn’t at his best right now, so he wasn’t able to successfully keep up his carefree facade. What little emotion that was able to seep through the cracks, Kaze took notice. He could tell Claude was hurting, and it made his blood boil.

“Claude, what’s going on? What have you been dealing with?” upon asking, the young lord looked away again, and Kaze chased his gaze refusing to break eye contact, “You don’t have to suffer through this alone. You’ll find no judgement from me, I swear it,” he rested a hand on his unaffected shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, “Please, tell me so I can understand. Let me help you.”

It took him almost a full minute of silence to give in, accepting the fact that his caretaker wasn’t going to go without an answer. He took a deep, shaky breath and started talking in a hushed whisper. Almost as if he was afraid that someone else was listening, “Ever since I’ve been proclaimed as the heir of house Riegan, some of the nobles have stopped at nothing to slander my name. I didn’t care about what they were saying for awhile. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before. They called me a trickster, a washed up nobody, things of that nature. But lately…” his voice got caught in his throat, and he put a hand against his chest in an attempt to calm down, “They have started attacking my character. I thought it was only miscommunication at first. Someone misheard what was said and exaggerated it. Until, I had someone actually approach me and ask if I lie to everyone I talk to,” he laughed quietly, but his eyes started getting watery, “Of course that isn’t true, i’m just a private person. But they were so convinced that they wouldn’t even listen to what I had to say. It has only gotten worse. I have been called everything from a cheat to a conniving bastard. I even heard that the only thing I'm good at is manipulating people into doing my bidding, like some sort of twisted demon,” he brought his hands to his face, crying softly into them. His whole body shook as weeks worth of stress started to pour out of him.

Kaze couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’s had time to become acquainted with Claude for almost a year now, and he knew none of what was said was true. He had come to the monastery without any prior knowledge of the lords, and found himself liking the Golden Deer leader the most. Their first conversation had left him with a lot of good impressions. He treated everyone with respect, regardless of where they came from. That much he gained just from the way he approached him. Not a hint of suspicion in his eyes, only curiosity. He was very charismatic in nature, playful even, telling a few jokes within fifteen minutes of their first meeting. He was also clever. By the Gods he was so incredibly clever. A heated discussion of battle tactics proved that much, and it was further solidified by an equally spirited battle of wits, which Kaze lost. Above all, Claude was also kind. In the time that he’s known him, Kaze never heard anything hurtful come out of his mouth. Even if he liked to tease sometimes.

The strength of his character was also proven on the battlefield. The had to route some bandits the first month they were at the monastery, and the young lord had come to his aid during battle. He had defended him from the blade of an axe. One well placed arrow was all it took to stop the bandit from slicing through his back. Kaze wasn’t even from the alliance, and didn’t consider himself worth defending, but he still received aid from the young man, who was a noble no less. That was something he would never forget.

So to hear that people were attacking someone, who has only shown him respect and friendliness, made his teeth itch, “and these rumors are keeping you from hiring a retainer?” he questioned, trying to hide the rage in his voice.

“Oh, it goes much further than that,” Claude managed to say through choked gasps, “I have never had a retainer. Haven’t even considered the possibility. I grew up hated, even had to fight off assassins, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with hate here but-”

“I’m sorry, you had to fight off what?” Kaze interrupted a little too harshly. Claude’s eyes suddenly went wide, realizing what he just said.

“I didn’t mean to say that. Please, just ignore it-”

“I can’t!” Kaze yelled, causing the younger man to jump. He breathed in deep, in an attempt to calm himself, “I can’t just ignore it. I have been watching over you for three days now. You think I wouldn’t notice your scars? Especially this one?” he pointed at the white streak spanning his shoulder and ribcage, “I was going to ask you regardless of your comfort level. I hoped that you got them from animals, a carriage accident, or literally anything else. But you were attacked by assassins on multiple occasions, and no one offered to help you, a child at the time?” He could feel the sharpness of his voice as he talked, and he tried to keep it in, but the prospect of a defenseless child having to outmaneuver assassins instead of living out his childhood enraged him. The despondent look on Claude’s face just further fueled his fire.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can you just forget everything I said, and maybe we can go on with our lives with some normalcy?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be forgetting anytime soon. That’s why I have made my decision,” He took Claude’s hands in his own and slid off his chair, dropping to his knees, “Please, let me be your retainer. I’m willing to make the arrangement to switch houses, even be scorned by my countrymen, but I can’t see you like this for much longer. I want to defend you, even if it costs me my life."

"Why?"the word was uttered so softly, he would have missed it had he not trained his ears to pick up the sound of a pin dropping. He looked up at the younger man, whose eyes had started to swell with tears again. He resisted the urge to reach up and wipe them away. Instead, he resigned to listening to what he had to say, "Why do you want to help me so much? How do I know you're not just asking because it's what you were trained to do? Do you even know what you're saying? Do you really think I would let anyone die for me?" The words shook Kaze to his core. He didn't realize how the words would impact him, but they were the truth. He would do anything for his friend. Claude pressed their hands to his forehead and wept, "If you are really doing this because you care, not just because of some noble obligation, then you have to promise me something."

"Anything you want, just say the word."

"You have to live." 

He sat there shocked for a moment. His line of work called for the possibility of his death, and yet he had to promise to live. It was absurd, impossible even, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to say no. He nodded once, and tightened his grip on his hands “I will live for you. From now until the end of your days, I will always have your back.”

“No exceptions? You will run if I tell you to? Leave me behind if I ask?” 

He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his lord behind in the midst of battle, but seeing him relax just a little and stop crying, was enough to resign himself to it, “I will,” he responded. 

“Alright,” he dropped his hands and settled back against his pillow, breathing deep sighs of relief. Kaze got back in his chair, and reached for the bandages on the table.

“It’s about time I changed your wraps. I have been keeping a close eye on your injury, and want to keep it from getting infected, will you allow me to change them?”

“I’m not going to stop you. Just be gentle, alright?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Claude laughed when Kaze addressed him as ‘his lord’, “Already starting with the formalities are we? And you haven’t switched houses yet.”

He smiled and started unwrapping the bloody bandages, “It’s best to start as soon as possible to get used to it,” he tossed the soiled linen into the trash bin, and grabbed rubbing alcohol and a rag, “I hope you don’t mind.”

Claude hissed as the rag was applied to the stab wound, leftover tears trailed down his cheeks upon impact, “I don’t mind at all, as long as you understand that it doesn’t mean we’re not friends anymore. I’m still going to tease you sometimes, and I hope that you’re still willing to spar with me.”

Kaze wiped his thumb under Claude’s eye, wiping away the last of the tears, before wrapping new bandages on his arm, “We can spar all you want as soon as you’re healed. As for your teasing, I am used to it by now. I’ll think something’s wrong if you suddenly stop,” he laughed.

“Yeah,” his lord responded mid yawn. He lazily shut his eyes and pressed deeper into his pillow, “Thanks again...for everything…”

He watched Claude fall asleep looking fully peaceful, as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders, “It is no problem, my lord,” he said to himself. He brought a hand to his chest, lost in the sudden realization that he finally had someone to look after. It wasn’t too long ago that he had given up on the search for someone to serve, but now he had someone worth looking after. Someone who had come to mean so much in such a short amount of time.  He took a deep breath, and grinned, “My lord…” he repeated. He took one last look at Claude, before slinking back into his chair, and falling asleep as well.

-Mod Bambi  🦌

(I’m so sorry it’s so long but I started getting into the groove after the first paragraph and I couldn’t stop lmao. hope ya’ll enjoy.)

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Scars Remind Me

Requested by: @rizamendoza808

Summary: Soulmate AU – injuries that one soulmate receives show up on the other.

Words: 1,415

           Two. You had two permanent scars from your soulmate. You’d had a lot more scrapes and bruises, but hey, everyone was clumsy sometimes. Other than the scar underneath your arm, you had another, slightly larger one right underneath your knee. That one was so old you couldn’t remember for sure how old you had been when it turned up on you.

           On your part, you had given yourself plenty of injuries – scraped knees, cut fingers, a couple broken bones and sprained ankles – but luckily, only one had caused permanent damage. At seventeen, you had tripped while carrying a bottle and the glass had cut deeply into your palm. The doctors told you it looked worse than it was, and you definitely believed that, because there was blood all over and you were crying at the time. An hour and some stitches later, you were calmed down, but you felt bad that your soulmate was going to have a scar on his hand, too.

           When Danny Brooks was seven years old and trying to fit in, playing with bikes and skate boards and rollerblades, he fell really hard on uneven asphalt. Ellen took him to the emergency room, where they disinfected and cleaned his knee, but then he had to have stitches and wore a brace for a week so he didn’t rip them out. Once he could go outside and play, he appreciated the scar that was left behind. It was something he could share with his future best friend, and it was proof that he was strong enough to try again, even though he fell down the first time.

           Neal had gotten the scar on the heel of his palm when he was twenty-three. He noticed it right away. He had always liked his hands. He liked being an artist, someone who created. Many people had spots and callouses and scars on their hands from hard labor. Neal had never been someone who put in a lot of labor when there was an easier way around it. Instead, he had earned callouses on his fingers from holding pencils and paintbrushes.

           Having a scar from his soulmate was long overdue. It was almost a relief. If she didn’t give him something permanent to prove she was real, then he could almost convince himself that a bruised elbow or scratched arm was from his own actions; that he’d bumped himself without noticing. He would have noticed an injury that bad on his hands.

           He liked his hands even more after that.

           You had a scar on the underside of your arm. It was very small, and you didn’t know when, exactly, it had showed up. One day you were in the shower, shaving, and you just saw it – less than an inch long, only as thick as a quarter. It wasn’t a scar you’d given yourself, and you wondered what happened to create it. It wasn’t a complete mystery – you knew something had happened to your soulmate.

           You tried to imagine what caused it sometimes. When you couldn’t sleep, you’d lift your right arm up over your head and look at the raised tissue on the soft, sensitive side of your arm and wonder about it – how it had happened, if it was an accident, how much it had hurt, how long it would take for your soulmate to heal. The deeper tissue damage was done to your flesh the moment it had been done to his, but he still had superficial healing to do and you hoped for his sake that it would be quick.

           It wasn’t his most graceful escape ever. Going over the fence had left some parts stinging, but he hadn’t realized how deeply the tip of the wire had dug into his arm until he and Alex split ways, Alex for a hospital. He was luckier than she was on the failed job and bolted to a safehouse.

           In his own hotel room, checked in under a false name with his poor and limited Danish, he stripped off his suit, left the pieces on the floor of the bathroom, and stepped underneath the hot shower spray to wash off the sweat, the failure, the guilt. Neal regretted that it went wrong, that his accomplice was hurt (although Alex was never really just his accomplice, was she?). He dimly realized the water was running pink and checked under his arm. It was still fresh, throbbing around the site but clotting already. He wondered if it would scar, and then he mumbled a soft apology to his soulmate, the words of which were drowned by the water.

           The first thing you said in the hospital was that your period had never been that bad before.

           It turned out that you were wrong, and you hadn’t just been having cramps. You accidentally stood up dinner plans with your best friend when you slept through the timer on your phone, so she came to check on you and found you passed out, sweating bullets, pale as a sheet, and called an ambulance. The prognosis came quickly: ruptured appendix.

           The surgery was a success, and you were up and walking around in just a few days. Less than a week after the operation, you went back to the hospital and had your stitches taken out. A wicked scar was left along the right side of your abdomen, still all fresh and ugly. You very gently touched it and wished for it to heal faster. You wanted to know what it would look like for the rest of your life; what you and your soulmate were stuck with. You felt bad for this one, too.

           Moz still wasn’t sure that he trusted Peter with Neal’s best interests, but Neal was certain that Peter wouldn’t throw him under the bus. That wasn’t the kind of man Agent Burke was, and if anyone was going to know, it would be the criminal who got away from him for so long.

           “It’s thirty minutes, in and out, and their boss won’t even see my face.” Neal shrugged a little while peeling his shirt off to don one with a better color. This particular alias he was going to use liked purple.

           “It doesn’t take thirty minutes to commit murder and stuff a body in a trunk,” Moz grumbled while staring at a chess board, playing himself.

           Neal stopped still with the purple shirt in his hands and gave his friend a scowl. “Thanks a lot for that reassurance,” he snapped.

           Mozzie sighed and looked up. “I’m sorry. All I mean is – whoa, when did that happen?”

           “What?” Neal looked down at himself, and that was when he saw the long scar across his right side. He moved his hand down and splayed it flat against the new scar, turning to look at it in the full-body mirror beside the wardrobe. “This is new.”

           He stared at his reflection – more accurately, the spot where it looked like he had been sliced open – and a chill went up his spine.

           A couple days passed. He managed to keep everyone from noticing that something was on his mind – everyone, that is, except for Mozzie, who had seen with his own eyes, and Peter, who knew him better than Neal would ever admit out loud. Every night, before he slept, his eyes lingered on the newer scar, hoping that when he woke up, there wouldn’t be another, Y-shaped one carved across his chest.

           Two weeks after your surgery, you really wished that you had a way to communicate with your soulmate. The scar just looked awful, and if you suddenly had something like that on your body, you would be terrified of what might have happened. Appendectomies were not that uncommon, but when soulmates were on the mind, most people couldn’t help but worry.

           “Please don’t worry,” you said out loud, gingerly rubbing some cream onto your stomach. It was supposed to help you heal and minimize the garishness factor of your scar. “I’m okay.”

           Days turned to weeks and finally, Neal stood up from his desk at work only to suddenly be plagued by another bruise, which Jones pointed out to him with concern. Neal wrote it off, mentioned how his soulmate seemed a little clumsy, and the agent appeared to buy it. The lack of attention meant Neal could sit back down and smile at his keyboard without seeming insane.

           Another bruise meant you were okay. Whatever had happened, you were okay.

A/N: I wrote this in a bit of a different way than I normally do, but I hope you like it! I also intentionally left it a little bit open at the end so that I could do a part two at some time in the future if inspiration struck.

[wellingtongoose]

Unravelling the Dumbledores

Albus Dumbledore’s backstory in the Deathly Hallows was both convoluted and illogical, exactly what you would expect of a story where everyone tries to avoid mentioning the metaphorical elephant in the room.

The elephant is of course: Arianna Dumbledore.

Although we hear a great deal about her from Alberforth, his explanations for what happened to her are vague and confused. Not to mention the fact that he never tackled the true question of just what was wrong with Arianna.

Palaeontology

 Trying to piece together Ariana’s story is like putting together a new species of dinosaur from only a few scraps of fossilised bone that you are not even sure belong together.

The only person to give us an account of what happened to Ariana as a child is Aberforth.

“When my sister was six years old, she was attacked, by three Muggle boys. They’d seen her doing magic, spying through the back garden hedge: She was a kid, she couldn’t control it, no witch or wizard can at that age. What they saw, scared them, I expect. They forced their way through the hedge, and when she couldn’t show them the trick, they got a bit carried away trying to stop the little freak doing it.”

This account is both vague and contradictory. If the muggle children had been frightened of Ariana, why would they force their way into the yard instead of running away? Children do not tend to attack things they are frightened of, if they have the option of running. The hedges were so tall the children had to look through them, suggesting that it would have been quite an effort on their part to get into the yard.  

Why, if muggle children can walk so close to the property, did Percival Dumbledore not made his house and yard invisible and impenetrable to muggles? The Dumbledores were a magical family with three young children. If they were normal sensible people, they would have made it impossible for muggles to see or enter their premises.

The account raises more questions than it answers, but it does give us a clue about Ariana. She wasn’t a magical prodigy on the order of Tom Riddle or Lily Evans, who could intentionally control their magic from an early age. Nor was she like Harry or Neville, who when threatened could produce spontaneous bursts of unintentional but specifically targeted magic to save themselves.

What Ariana was doing in the yard was out of her control and it was so spectacular that it was visible from over the tall hedges to the passing muggle children. I do not buy Aberforth’s account that the muggle children were scared by the spectacle. If anything it attracted them. It was probably something on the order of a bright colour light display. The children must have been intrigued enough to spend sufficient time peeping through the hedge in order for them to realise the source of the spectacle was Ariana.

So why did the children then attack Ariana? The most likely explanation is that the nature of Ariana’s outburst must have changed. Most likely because Ariana had become aware of the boys’ intrusion. The boys probably didn’t have time to climb back through the hedge, with the choice of flight gone they probably attacked her to save themselves, which only made the situation worse.

The episode must have happened very quickly because when Percival came onto the scene the boys were mutilated corpses.

A Curse from the Gods

 The most interesting and telling thing about the Dumbledores is their reaction in the aftermath of this tragedy.

It appears on the surface that Percival willingly took the blame and went to Azakaban, rather than tell the Ministry the truth. Even the Ministry at its most arbitrary, would not send a 6 year old to Azakaban for producing  accidental magic and defending herself against a violent assault. Therefore, there is no logical reason for Percival to hide the truth, unless there was a very good reason why he didn’t want the Ministry anywhere near his daughter.

Whatever was wrong with Ariana didn’t start with the assault from the muggle boys, it must have already been there. It was secret that Percival was willing to sacrifice his life to protect. According to Aunt Muriel and Rita Skeeter, Kendra Dumbledore then made every possible effort to isolate her daughter from the outside world.

This suggests Ariana’s condition must have had serious implications for not just her but the wider society as whole and we know it did not get better with time or age. Most of the problem hinges on Ariana’s lack of control of her magic. As children grow older and understand cause/effect, intent and logic, their control of magic tends to also improves. Ariana’s problem therefore must be partially cognitive in nature.

Many possible problems have been postulated. Red Hen suggests that Ariana had autism, and cognitive delay with mood swings as a result. However Ariana’s outburst seemed to be discrete and episodic. In between she must have been able to live with her mother with some semblance of peace. 

I think it is more likely that Ariana was epileptic.

I can only interpret symptoms from a mundane view of a muggle physician. Arianna could have suffered from a purely magical disorder unheard of in the muggle world, but then there would be no point in speculating at all. Secondly we have been fed a convoluted tale of Arianna from extremely biased secondary and tertiary sources; there are actually very few object facts to work with.

What we do know:

1.      Arianna has unpredictable magical outbursts

2.      During these episodes she loses control of her magic and she does not appear to be aware of what she is doing

3.      The last episode contributed or possibly caused her death

What we are left to speculate about:

1.      When the episodes started – there is no conclusive clause in the canon text that states she only started to have these problems after she was attacked.

2.      What triggered them – the last fatal outburst appeared to have been triggered by an argument between her brothers and Grindelwald

3.      Her cognitive ability

4.      How the magical outburst killed her but left everyone else apparently unscathed

Arianna’s symptoms do have much in common with what muggle epileptics suffer from: episodes that occur without a set pattern, triggered by stress leading to loss of bodily control and loss of awareness. I speculate that as the use of magic is direct by the brain, abhorrent electrical activity that can cause you to lose control of your body can just as easily cause you lose control of your magic. In the same way as standing too close to someone having a violent tonic clonic seizure can lead to physical injury, being within the radius of the concurrent magical outburst would be dangerous for people and objects.

Muggle epileptics also suffer from something called the post ictal state after the seizures during which they are dazed, confused, general sluggishness of movement. This may last about 15-20 minutes but in people who have frequent uncontrolled seizures they may spend most of their day in a post ictal state. In the modern era we have effective drugs to counteract epilepsy, frequent seizures should not occur but seen as Arianna was never treated by St. Mungo’s or a mundane physician she probably had frequent seizures.

Therefore Arianna’s condition meant that she was a danger not just to herself, but also to wizarding society as whole because her lack of control and unpredictability meant that she could cause a catastrophe at any point. It is likely that the Ministry proactively isolates magical children with violent epilepsy if they find them. Kendra and Percival clearly decided that this was a fate worse than Azakaban.

 The Fly in the Ointment

 There are several problems with the theory that Arianna was having a violent magical seizure in the yard when the boys barged in. Firstly, if the outburst was violent it would hardly have attracted that boys. Secondly, how could they get close enough to her to assault her in the first place?

I propose that Arianna had epilepsy but her form of epilepsy initially was mild and non-violent. However we know that Ariana’s condition got worse not better. Her outbreaks increased in violence. I believe that although Ariana had epilepsy before the attack by the muggle children, the episode clearly worsened her fits.

There are several different kinds of seizures, though we have discussed tonic clonic (the violent jerking kind), there are partial seizures where the patient is conscious throughout and experience instead visual or auditory hallucinations. Another type of seizure is the absence seizures where the patient simply zones out and no other signs are visible.

I believe that Ariana initially had a non-violent type of seizure, most likely a partial seizure which means that despite having the seizure she was aware of the boys breaking into her yard, which gave her a fright, and aware when they started attacking her. It may be that the type of partial seizure that Ariana had was also magically non-violent. Perhaps its effects on her magic were merely to project the hallucinations that she saw.

However clearly after the boy’s attack, Ariana’s epilepsy produced more violent and damaging magical outbursts enough to kill herself. It is likely that Ariana sustained traumatic head injury, and the ensuing scarring of the brain matter meant that she developed a new kind of epilepsy. Instead of just affecting one part of her brain in a partial seizure, the new scarring must have caused violent tonic clonic fits. One of which eventually killed her.

 Runs in the Family

 “If Arianna had a medical problem, why didn’t Kendra take her daughter to the doctors?” appears to the question everyone is hung up about. Most people agree it was because she found it shameful or was afraid her child would be locked away forever. Both those reactions are sane and rational for a woman living in the 19th century.

 However I propose something different. Epilepsy has a strong hereditary component, this does not mean that it is directly inherited as a gene or set of genes but the predisposition to epilepsy (including childhood epilepsy) is multifactorial. >50% of patients have a strong family history of epilepsy: 1 or more 1st/2nd degree relatives suffer from the disease. It is not farfetched that Kendra would have a relative with epilepsy or maybe suffered it herself as a child.

 Kendra did manage to attend Hogwarts and control her magic because like many children she grew out of having seizures. I speculate that Kendra has mild absence seizures as a child. Others would probably think she wasn’t really paying attention but it would be very clear to Kendra that something was definitely wrong with her mind. However she likely kept this information to herself, and passed off any magical outbursts as a child as normal for her age. If she was muggleborn, her parents probably would have been none the wiser.

 As Kendra learned more about the magical world, she must have realised that she was very lucky to have grown out of her seizures by the time she entered the wizarding world. Kendra didn’t take her daughter to St. Mungo’s because she knew there was no treatment for epilepsy. In the 19th century all seizures were uncontrolled and I somewhat doubt the wizarding world to date has developed drugs to control epilepsy such as carbamazepine given that in a magical population of 3000 epilepsy is not a great public health concern. Perhaps Kendra simply hoped her daughter would grow out of her fits in the same way that Kendra managed to do.

 I find it incredibly tragic that Kendra might have pinned false hope on the fact that Arianna would one day get better and she was correct, if Arianna had not been assault by the muggle boys. Permanent brain scarring from a traumatic injury meant that Arianna could never grow out of her epilepsy.

Post Mortem

 We know that Arianna never attended Hogwarts and never lived independently. It is likely that with her frequent violent tonic clonic seizures she may have sustained hypoxic brain damage – leading to cognitive problems in her adolescence. Alternatively, the traumatic head injuries sustained from the boys’ assault lead to her cognitive problems.

We will never know exactly what happened in the room between Albus, Gellert and Arianna. One theory is that Arianna’s violent seizure reached a point whereby it ended up killing her. People do die from epileptic fits, especially if they enter Status Epilepticus – which is continuous non-stop seizure activity. This is a medical emergency and can often be fatal. However we cannot discount the presence in the same room of two very powerful, well trained young wizards, who were already duelling at the time of the seizure.

Is it possible that in response to Ariana’s violent seizure Gellert tried to defend himself by killing her? Or perhaps even more tragically, it was one of her brother’s spells that ended up killing her in the midst of all the chaos?

I think that in the end even Albus Dumbledore never discovered who’s spell killed his sister, but he clearly chose to believe that it was his fault.

[murphydreamswarriors]

Territories

GENERAL

The territories are shaped roughly like a rhombus and split into four pieces.

Northclan resides in the northern slice, EastClan in eastern slice, etc.

Gatherings are held in the Mooncopse on WestClan territory, though it is still close to the center.

NORTHCLAN TERRITORY

NorthClan’s territory is primarily rocky outcroppings and plains. It is colder in their territory than others, but not significantly. NorthClan’s border with EastClan is marked by an outcropping of rocks that commonly harbors snakes. NorthClan’s border with WestClan is marked by a large meadow.

Prey: Lizards, lemmings, mice, small birds, moles, voles, rabbits

Predators: Birds of prey, venomous snakes

LANDMARKS

•Basking Rocks: A collection of large rocks that sit out in the sun. In the right temperatures, warriors can lounge around on them comfortably.

•The Meadow: The meadow is a huge stretch of grass bordering the WestClan border. It is commonly trespassed on, accidentally and intentionally, and is a great spot for hunting.

•The Cliffs: The cliffs are, well, cliffs that mark the northeastern border NorthClan shares with no other clan. Below them rages a wild and unpredictable river, and apprentices are warned away from that part of the territory until they are older and calmer.

CAMP

The NorthClan camp is circled by jagged rocks that take practice and knowledge to pass by without injury. The rocks near the back of the camp are much taller and more unsurpassable than the smaller ones near the entrance. The entrance is a gap between two rocks leaning against one another, and the fresh-kill pile is to the left of the apprentices’ den. Cats usually share tongues and lounge to the right of the warriors’ and apprentices’ den.

The elder’s den is in the back of camp, and was created by a huge tree falling that has since decayed to a log. The log is propped up by one of the outer rocks and the leader’s den, making a shelter under the lifted trunk. The outer rock is taller than the leader’s den, causing the trunk to sit at a slant. Plants have been hung from the log to make a curtain protecting the entrance from the elements.

The leader’s den is in a rock hollowed out by generations of rain. The same plants shielding the elder’s den cover the open side of the rock. Announcements are spoken by the leader from the end of the trunk that is tipped upwards.

The warriors’ den is directly in front of the entrance and only a couple tail lengths back. This way, warriors can meet any intruders coming in head on. The den itself is a large bush with high branches, allowing cats room to rest and hang out underneath. The branches curve downward, so that only the paws of cats inside are visible.

The apprentice’s den is attached to the back of the warriors’ den and is also a bush, but is slightly smaller. There is a gap in the wall between the two dens that allows warriors to enter the apprentices’ den directly from the warriors’ and vice versa.

The nursery is a cave made by rocks falling into just the right places. It’s big enough to fit several cats at a time and is to the right of the leader’s den. The entrance is uncovered, but small enough to be overlooked. There’s a hole in the ceiling a tail length wide at the top to let in light.

The medicine den is technically outside of the camp. It’s an old badger set that hasn’t been touched for generations upon generations. The entrance is inside the camp next to the fresh-kill pile, but it stretches to just outside of the rock border underground. The original tunnel has been widened out so that the entire space outside of the camp is as open as a normal den.

TRADITIONS

NorthClan celebrates their resilience and pure blood more strongly than any other clan. They throw hunting and fighting competitions on the first snow, first orange, first bright, and first rain of every year.

Battle scars are badges of honor and are considered attractive in NorthClan. The most scarred and respected warriors’ nests are decorated with the bones of prey and rare stones.

It is common for prey- the bigger and more dangerous the better- and skulls to be exchanged between mates during both courtship and relationship. It is uncommon for friends to exchange such personal gifts (sharing food is different than gifting it). It is also, sadly, not rare for warriors to die attempting to bring down deadly prey to court a mate.

EASTCLAN TERRITORY

EastClan territory is half plains and meadows and half pine trees. There is a stream that marks the border between EastClan and SouthClan, and an outcropping of rocks infested with snakes marks the border between EastClan and NorthClan.

Prey: Squirrels, mice, moles, birds, water voles, rabbits

Predators: Foxes, badgers, birds of prey

LANDMARKS

•The Burrows: The burrows are a field a large rabbit warren resides in. It’s a great place to hunt for multiple predators, making it dangerous as well.

•The Eagle Tree: The eagle tree is a huge pine tree towards the northern end of the territory. A family of eagles has made their home there, making it a very dangerous area from cats.

•The Pond: The pond is a small meadow near the southern part of the territory. A pond scattered with lilypads sits in the middle, making it a popular place for dates as well as hunting.

CAMP

The EastClan camp is located in the shelves and cracks of a short, slanted cliff. The ground falls away at an angle, causing the edge of the cliff to jut out further than the base. Cracks that lead into larger caverns and protruding rocks litter the cliff face. The camp is hidden to the untrained eye due to the tall pine trees in this part of the territory shielding the dips in the cliff from view. The freshkill is stored in the highest and smallest crevice a couple tail lengths down from the top. Warriors share tongues in unclaimed spaces in the cliff. The leader makes announcements from a sharp ledge arcing just above the leader’s den.

The leader’s den is just below the freshkill pile. It also has the smallest entrance, but is still accessible to any cat. The crack widens out into a space that is four tail lengths wide and slightly longer than it is wide.

The medicine cat den is directly to the left of the leader’s den. It is around the same size and contains a small pool of water in the back corner that filled when it rained back when the clans first moved in. The leak has since been patched up, but the water has remained.

The warriors’ den is the largest and the closest to the bottom, only a tail length above the ground. It can easily fit around thirty cats, though there have never been that many cats in one single clan. The den is accessed through a ragged hole rather than a crack.

The apprentices’ den is only a kitstep above the warriors’ den. The space inside is also less than half the size of the warriors’ den, although it still provides plenty of space.

The nursery is below the leader’s den but above the apprentices’ den. It also is nearly as big as the warriors’ den to give new kits space to run around in. A clear path made by rocks jutting out provides an easier way up and down than from the other dens.

The elders’ den is directly next to the nursery, though the chambers aren’t attached. It is medium in size because, unfortunately, most cats don’t live to be elders.

TRADITIONS

EastClan cats celebrate agility and dexterity. Long legs and willowy bodies are the pinnacle of beauty, and tall, slender cats are admired. However, cats who aren’t slender and graceful looking but are agile and swift anyways are valued just as much.

EastClan cats hold climbing contests and races every half moon. It is not uncommon for apprentices to be injured trying to show off. Consisten winners and respected warriors have feathers tucked in their fur and their nests decorated with the like.

Birds and bird feathers are common gifts exchanged between mates. Bird feathers are more common during courtship and special occasions, and prey itself is more common once cats are already mates. The bigger and more vibrant the bird or feather, the better.

SOUTHCLAN TERRITORY

SouthClan territory is primarily pine forest, but a portion of a huge lake takes up 1/4 of the territory in the southernmost corner. A stream marks the border between SouthClan and EastClan, and a strange flimsy twoleg fence made from trees marks the border between SouthClan and WestClan.

Prey: Fish, frogs, toads, squirrels, moles, rats, water voles

Predators: Sharks, rats

LANDMARKS

The Beach: The beach is a stretch of sand preceding the lake. The sand is pleasantly warm in the right weather and apprentices enjoy chasing around the crabs and prancing in the shallows.

Methuselah: Methusaleh is an incredibly giant pine tree near the center of SouthClan territory. Its trunk could fit multiple warriors if it were hollowed out. Apprentices and young warriors dare each other to climb it, but rarely can any of them reach even the second branch.

The Ghostplace: The ghostplace is a mysterious, abandoned house close to the EastClan border. It’s rumored that dead cats who don’t walk with StarClan haunt the area.

CAMP

The SouthClan camp is a small island a few tail lengths from the shore of the lake. The fresh-kill pile is stored in a hollowed out tree trunk, and cats share tongues in the clearing encircled by the dens. The leader makes announcements from a straggly tree overlooking the camp.

The leader’s den is at the back of camp and is made up of large, thick ferns that create a canopy and surround the edges of the camp. It sits at the base of the tree announcements are made on.

The medicine cat den is on a peninsula to the left of the leader’s den. The den itself is at the end and is a huge hollowed out tree trunk that still stands a few tail lengths tall. Some say that it was once the ancestor of Methuselah.

The warriors’ den is under a very fluffy, high-branched bush with huge leaves that lays closest to shore. While the branches themselves don’t curve downwards, the leaves are so large that they disguise the cats inside anyway.

The apprentices sleep outside except in cases of severe weather to acclimate themselves to nature. They usually sleep in the center of camp in a tight ball- it is common for SouthClan members to be especially bonded together during training.

The nursery is to the immediate right of the leader’s den, as it is common for the leader to take a special interest in kits and spend time visiting. It is formed by a thick wall of foliage that grows in a loose circle. The ceiling is flimsy but generally waterproof.

The elders’ den is to the left of the medicine den. It is a long, hollowed out log that has ragged holes scattered about to let in light and fresh air. Despite having a den, many elders prefer to sleep outside when the weather isn’t bad.

TRADITIONS

SouthClan values closeness and independence. Personality is valued more than anything else, despite the leader and the deputy’s nasty attitudes. Kind, friendly cats who are popular with the clan often have their nests decorated with various eyes of prey, as SouthClan believes the eyes are the windows to the soul.

SouthClan cats are regularly trained and tested in swimming because they must swim to leave camp. All elders and apprentices must be helped across the water to shore if they wish to leave. Being water oriented, the first rain and snow of every season is celebrated with a feast and the chumming of water to attract sharks. While no doubt incredibly dangerous, they are a sight to see.

Common gifts between friends are crab claws, and competitions are held occasionally to see who can find the biggest one. Gifts exchanged between mates and during courtship are seashells and teeth- specifically shark teeth.

WESTCLAN TERRITORY

WestClan territory is filled with skinny birch trees and thick, towering oaks. There are a few clearings scattered about, but it is primarily thick woodland. A u-shaped stream trickles through the middle and meets the lake outside of the territories. A flimsy twoleg fence marks the SouthClan border, and a meadow that is admittedly often crossed is the NorthClan border.

Prey: Squirrels, water voles, mice, small birds, moles

Predators: Badgers, foxes

LANDMARKS

The Mooncopse: The Mooncopse is a pond surrounded by birch trees that are always orange and yellow. When the moon hits just right, the leaves and water turn silver. This is where cats exchange dreams with StarClan.

The Stream: The stream serves little to no purpose, since WestClan cats are not too great at fishing. However, it still serves as a pretty and scenic spot for dates.

Whistling: Whistling is an eery cave on the border WestClan shares with no other clan. When the wind hits just right, the cave is filled with strange sounds.

CAMP

The WestClan camp sits just inside the bend of the stream. It’s in a strange twoleg house built into a huge tree. NorthClan especially believes they are strange for living in a twoleg structure and compares them to kittypets, though WestClan pay no mind. The leader makes announcements from the roof and the freshkill is kept in the corner of the largest room in the house, which is where cats share tongues as well.

The leader’s den is the smallest chamber out of the five in the delapidated structure. It is the first to the left from the entrance. Long vines and plants have been hung from all of the walls to create curtains to provide more privacy than the open gaps previously offered.

The medicine den is at the base of the tree itself. The thick, long roots make for great shelter and strong walls.

The warriors enjoy sleeping in the sprawling branches of the great tree. In events of extreme weather, they will shelter in the sharing tongues chamber.

The apprentices’ den is next to the warriors’ den and is significantly smaller, though it still provides plenty of space. The walls are more splintered than any other chamber, but it is still generally secure.

The nursery is all the way in the back and is the second largest den. It is also thoroughly patched with foliage and brambles to insulate it and protect it from rain and snow.

The elders’ den is the third largest chamber. It is directly to the right of the nursery. The roof has been patched with moss to prevent leaks, but the chips in the walls let in too much windchill at times, which the elders have no qualms with complaining about.

TRADITIONS

WestClan is stereotyped as shallow and superstitious. Odd numbered litters are watched with a close eye, and shifts in the clouds set the clan at unease. However, unlike the other clans, they have no unfair beauty standards. Cats are decorated both for being good cats and fine warriors. No body type is preferred over another. Nests of respected cats are usually decorated with leaves from the mooncopse, fish scales, and feathers.

WestClan celebrates new life fervently, and the birth of kits is always celebrated with a feast. WestClan also pride themselves on being a well rounded clan. They teach aporentices climbing, swimming, hunting and fighting. They may not be as good at any one skill as the other clans, but their knowledge and ability to do everything gives them an advantage.

WestClan celebrates love more than any other clan, and the first sunshine day of every year is essentially Valentine’s day for them. Gifts exchanged between mates aren’t set in stone and are often creative, as are public proposals. It is rare for couples in WestClan to separate.

[fullfestearthquake-blog]

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