#and who never relies on her brother or friends or community for help ever

[comradekatara]

when people say “katara could never be chief of the southern water tribe because she loves exploring the world and meeting new people” like wow..... ur right....... being a political leader means never traveling or engaging with members of other cultures. if she is to be chief she must be at home at all times managing crisis after crisis because it’s clear that her tribe is not a self-sustaining community that values mutual aid over singular leadership anyway. she would never receive help from her family and friends and people, she would be doing everything on her own all by herself, because she really values individualism and never asking for help from anyone ever. the minute she is declared chief, as a mandatory job that she is expected to perform singlehandedly at all times, mind you, and certainly not a title largely dedicated to honoring her integral role in galvanizing, inspiring, and healing her community, she must say to aang, “best friend, light of my life, as much as i’ve enjoyed traveling the world with you since we were kids, i have suddenly been crowned Commander in Agoraphobia and now our field trips must cease forever.” i can’t believe i was so stupid as to not even consider all that. thank you so much for enlightening me <3

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 30

PREVIOUS

Ichirou Moriyama had long been someone Riko had spoken about and therefore someone Kevin knew of.

First reverently as he talked about how someday his brother would come for him and how he’d watch Riko’s games. Then Ichirou never showed up once and the anger set in and mentions of his brother would result in especially bad days.

Kevin’s only saving grace at the Nest near the end was that Ichirou had been as uninterested in him as he was in Riko.

Neil was the one who had handled any communications with the new Master of the Moriyama family and Kevin was grateful for that. His stomach still twists when he found out what it would cost him to have the closest thing he would ever really have to freedom since his mom’s car accident but Kevin could hardly fault Neil since Kevin has no idea if he would have been able to even open his mouth and speak to negotiate with Ichirou. He certainly wouldn’t have thought to bargain for Neil and Jean’s lives.

So he was going to make sure the Neil had the best possible chances to get on a great team not just because he had every faith that Neil could be on the national court but also Kevin wanted him on the national court. Neil was his partner and his friend.

This was his last year that he could help as directly as this so he and Neil were still putting in the hours in their evening practices. It was also the last year that Neil could rely on him to assist in getting everyone up to snuff.

Ichirou Moriyama was going to be stopping by at some point and Kevin had decided that the best way to handle this information was to focus on something life affirming.

“I’m just saying it isn’t an unknown flavor combination.” Kevin argues.

“Kevin there is something very different about vanilla protein powder in chicken stock and Chicken and Waffles.” Aaron says from his spot behind Kevin in Wymack’s car.

“There shouldn’t be! It’s all the same flavors, just liquid!” Kevin turns in his seat to point at Aaron, “You should put on your seatbelt, what if Wymack crashes?” He says for the third time since the car ride had begun.

“That’s my problem, not yours.” Aaron says and his eyes have been locked on the roof of the car since the car ride began which was rude but Kevin had learned to expect nothing less from a Minyard.

“It will be my problem when your corpse breaks my neck as you fly forward!” Kevin hisses.

“Coach, could you do me a favor-“

“I’m not going to crash the car.” Wymack interrupts eyes on the road and hands at 10 and 2.

“God forbid you do something nice for me.” Aaron gripes crossing his arms.

Kevin decides to change his target.

“Coach-“

“Kevin, you’re not putting any protein powder into Smith’s soup. That’s final. Do you want to mess up his Grandma’s hard work to follow the Doctor’s recipe exactly?” Wymack asks.

No.

No Kevin does not wish to mess up Grandma Smith’s hard work.

He just…

A Food pyramid flashes in his mind.

…thinks he knows more than the hospital dietician.

“It’s not that Smith’s Grandma made bad soup.” Kevin says because the woman was a talent in the kitchen even if she might use a bit too much butter. He’d let her know but Nicky refused to translate and she’d smiled so warmly at him and touched his face so gently… “I think she was led astray by bad science and Nicky wouldn’t translate for me.” He says, “If she understood English she would have understood and agreed with me.” He says because he did manage to get her finely chop a bunch of carrots to put into the pasta sauce so that Neil would get some veggies.

She was a reasonable woman who understood the importance of good nutrition.

“I don’t know about that.” Coach says and Kevin wonders what he means by that.

They’re close behind Andrew’s car and Kevin can see two parking spots next to one another near the front except Andrew pulls into the spots in a way that means it is almost impossible for anyone to get into the second spot unless they owned a tiny smart car.

Andrew often parks like that to make sure no one dings the Maserati.

“That little shit.” Wymack grumbles as he continues to drive.

“Aren’t you going to let us out at the entrance?” Kevin asks.

“Who am I, your driver?” Wymack grumbles and does not slow down to let them out  at the hospital entrance. “You’ve been bitching about not getting enough exercise and eating too much fat this weekend, consider this just some of the exercise you’ve been wanting.” He says.

Kevin leans back in the chair.

He does NOT pout. He merely frowns with his lips puffed out and feels as if he has been treated unfairly.

He uses this time wisely.

He thinks about Neil and Andrew’s ‘secret’ conversation.

Kevin still doesn’t know Russian, has no plans to learn it because he does not want to know 80% of what Neil and Andrew say to one another, but Kevin has always been great at understanding tone and it’s not that hard to understand that they were talking about FF when he ‘Kapitan Neil’.

He thinks about what might stress Neil out about FF (never once does he consider that FF being in the hospital with a stab wound may be the thing that stresses Neil out, not when there’s an explanation that involves Exy).

FF might choose to leave.

That would not bode well for Neil.

Kevin has already signed but Neil needs the next few years still to make sure he can follow through on his deal with Ichirou.

FF is a great defensive dealer.

Kevin still doesn’t really understand how he can seemingly just appear on the Court to intercept passes but Kevin has been informed that all of his plans to figure it out are ‘medically unethical’ and ‘likely to get him thrown in prison’.

Nicky patting his face pityingly and saying, “Your face is too pretty for prison.” had been when he stopped looking at how he could buy electrodes.

His follow-up search to find out that no prison in the United States currently had an Exy court as a facility had him drop the outline of his research into his recycle bin and right click to delete permanently.

Since Kevin cannot find a way to replicate that particular talent of FF’s then they just need FF to stay.

He also quite likes the steady freshman. He’s probably not ever going to be National Court level like he and Neil are, but he would be a solid Dealer on a good team. Kevin wouldn’t even mind playing with him professionally.

They park the car far in the back of the lot and Wymack grumbles at a different nice car that is taking up two spots. Kevin climbs out of the car and they start their way towards the hospital.

Kevin considers jogging in circles around Aaron and Wymack as they walk just to burn off more of the lunch they’d just had but decides against it.

Maybe a different nutritionist will be on staff today and will be able to back Kevin up on his plan.

***

Captain Neil and Andrew are quickly followed by Nicky and his Grandma both of whom look nervous but some of that seemed to dissipate when they saw him.

“Are you okay?” Captain Neil asks.

FF goes to open his mouth but a nurse interrupts, “He decided to go on a walk in his current condition. I thought we were quite clear that you needed to stay in bed. Stressing yourself is why you collapsed in the Cafeteria like that.” His main nurse chastises.

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” FF promises because it won’t. He’s planning on asking for a medically induced coma to escape the consequences of his actions so leaving the bed is the last thing he’s going to do. His dad’s trust for him can have money taken out for his medical needs and there has never been a greater medical need in his entire life than right now.

“What happened?” Andrew demands stepping next to Neil.

How does one explain getting a job offer from the Yakuza (Yakuza or Mafia)?

“I wanted to go for a walk.” He answers because he had and that’s easier to explain.

“Why did you meet Ichirou Moriyama?” Andrew asks again in German.

Well dammit.

FF finds himself at a crossroads.

Does he tell the truth? That he’s an idiot and didn’t realize the man was reaching out to Captain Neil? That he went and had an entire conversation with the man who owns Captain Neil, Kevin, and Jean Moreau? That afterward he tried to stand up and fainted which is how he got taken back to his room?

He thinks he has enough lies going on between his own and his grandma’s and he needs to relay something from Ichirou Moriyama.

“Lord Moriyama wanted me to tell you that he no longer needed to speak with you Captain Neil.” He relays just like he said he would and he sees Captain Neil tense.

“Smith.” Andrew says his name.

He also doesn’t want to talk about it any further.

“I’m fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.” FF closes his eyes as he answers back in German. He feels exhausted now and wishes that he had just requested a coma earlier so that he wouldn’t be in this situation. “Captain Neil, you left your phone here and it’s been pinging. Sorry I read one of the texts.” He gestures vaguely to his side table.

None of his guests speak for the next few minutes as the nurses finish reminding him to stay still, that he’s lucky his stitches didn’t break, that he’s on thin ice. He’s tired and he’s hungry so he’s curt with them in a way he’ll regret later but right now it’s just a lot when he can still feel Captain Neil and Andrew’s eyes burning into him.

Then Nicky proves to continue to be the nicest friend he has when the nurses leave and he feels Nicky’s hand take his and squeeze. “Hey, how are you really feeling?” he asks.

FF takes a deep breath, “I have...no idea.” he says. “I’m sorry.” he adds.

Nicky squeezes his hand again, “Hey, Aras made you some soup and we kept it away from Kevin. You’re probably a lil’ cranky because you’re tired, hungry, and in pain. You don’t need to talk about it right now okay?” Nicky says.

He’s really lucky to have Nicky as his friend.

He squeezes Nicky’s hand back and valiantly does not cry. He squeezes his eyes tighter to keep them from slipping out, it’d be embarrassing to cry here like this.

“Thank you.” He says voice quiet but doesn’t open his eyes, knowing what will come out if he does.

His Grandma comes to his side again and strokes his face. Her fingers wipe away the few tears that did slip out despite his best efforts but he thinks she did it so casually that maybe no one noticed.

It hasn’t been a good day, but Grandma’s soup has always been something that makes him feel better. He just wishes he could be alone for a minute with just her to witness the next few minutes.

Nicky, bless him, must sense that because he squeezes his hand tightly before letting go, “C’mon, let’s give Smithy and Aras a moment okay?” He says.

FF doesn’t open his eyes until his Grandma whispers, “My little Rotisserie Chicken, they’ve stepped out.” She says.

“He offered me a job in the Yakuza.” He blubbers immediately. “I don’t even know if they have dental.” He spills one of his lesser concerns.

“Oh honey, let’s eat some soup.” She soothes stroking his face.

***

Neil feels bad.

FF was pale, shaking, sweaty, and despite his grandma’s best efforts Neil had seen a tear slip from his tightly closed eyes.

He looks to his side and sees Andrew’s own hands tightened into fists.

“C’mon, let’s give Smithy and Aras a moment okay?” Nicky says and drags them out of the room through the sheer force of his ire. It’s moment like this that Neil really does understand why it is that FF prefers to spend his free time with Nicky over any other of their group.

They get out of the room and down the hall before Nicky starts in. “You two are the KINGS of not talking about shit so, for now, LEAVE it.” He hisses in German in a bid to keep the conversation private from anyone walking past.

“We need to know what deal he and Ichirou came to.” Andrew says in the same language.

“You’re going to find that out from Ichirou probably once he crazy murders Romero and Jackson in the next couple days!” Nicky cries dramatically, “Smithy probably doesn’t even know the full details because he’s in a lot of pain because he’s been STABBED.” Nicky points a finger at Andrew but wisely does not poke him with it. “Do you think he ACTUALLY went on a walk? Ichirou’s men probably took him since they couldn’t find YOU Neil.” Nicky points at Neil and, again, wisely does not poke him with it.

Neil’s stomach twists.

Maybe Neil should invest in a phone clip like Wymack thought the implication that the Moriyamas came to where his phone was leaves him wanting to skip it like a stone straight into the ocean. Too bad going to a beach still makes his palms sweaty.

“So what WE are going to do,” Nicky does a quick circle to point at the three of them, “is we are going to be good friends and help Smithy because he’s stressed, in pain, and needs friends not INTERROGATORS.” Nicky waves his arms in exasperation.

“Who are Neil and Andrew interrogating?” Aaron asks and Neil looks to the side to see Aaron with Kevin being pulled along by the scruff by Wymack.

“Smithy.” Nicky says.

“Why?” Kevin asks.

“Because Ichirou came and talked to him.” Andrew explains.

Kevin goes pale. “Why? I thought he was going to talk with Neil?” Kevin asks looking at Neil.

“He probably came here following Neil’s phone, which he left. So he grabbed Smithy to talk to him.” Nicky says, “Ichirou seemed impressed and pleased with whatever they talked about but Smithy is a little fragile after all of this so,” Nicky stepped into Kevin’s space, “Leave.” He pokes Kevin’s chest once, “Him.” He pokes Kevin’s chest twice, “Alone.” He pokes Kevin’s chest a third time.

“How would he even have an understanding of who he’s talking to?” Kevin asks looking sick. “No one has mentioned anything about the whole thing with the Moriyamas right?” He looks at the rest of them and Neil knows none of them would mention it.

Nicky rolls his eyes with his entire body.

“Kevin, do you know how many languages Smithy is fluent in?” Nicky asks.

“Uh…quite a few?” Kevin responds looking thrown.

“Yeah, one of those languages is French. Which you KNOW because he’s corrected your pronunciation before.” Nicky reminds Kevin and the Son of Exy blushes slightly.

“What does that have to do with this?!” Kevin squawks.

“Kevin, how many conversations have you had RIGHT in front of Smithy in French as you talked with Jean?” Nicky asks.

“None!” Kevin hisses.

“Can you say that for sure? You know how it can be with Smithy. Aaron over here has basically almost fucked his girlfriend in front of Smithy before because he didn’t realize he was there.” He juts his thumb towards Aaron.

“Hey.” Aaron scowls not happy to be reminded of that. “He needs a damn bell.” Aaron grumbles.

“I’ve talked about it in front of him and you never told us?!” Kevin exclaims.

“It’s Smithy! He’s not going to tell anyone!”  Nicky argues.

Which is very true.

FF is just not that kind of guy.

“So we are ALL going to be good, supportive friends to Smithy and hopefully he gets out of here today despite the whole shit show with Ichirou and we get him back to Abby’s where he can rest up in her guest room with his grandma.” He points at each of them with a frown.

“But-“

“Kevin, leave it for now.” Wymack finally steps in to the conversation. “How’s he looking?” He looks to Neil.

Pale, tired, pained, and trying not to cry either from pain, stress, or fear Neil does not know.

“Bad.” Neil answers.

Wymack sighs, “Stay out here. I’m going to go check.” He says.

They watch as Wymack enters into FF’s room.

Kevin is still spiraling from the realization of all the different conversations he could have possibly had in front of FF thinking French would act as a barrier.

A thought crosses Neil’s mind, “Wait, Smith doesn’t know Russian right?” He looks to Andrew because he and Andrew have said quite a few things to one another when FF was there.

“No, he said he isn’t learning it here.” Andrew shakes his head. “Even if he does learn it Smith would just leave if he was uncomfortable.” Andrew shrugs.

They have all seen a ‘Smith 180°™‘ before when he’s walked in and has seen Aaron and Katelyn or entered a room where Nicky was talking to Erik or Matt was talking to Dan. Neil has even noticed one or two when him and Andrew may have been in a less than private place.

It was nice to have someone who would just see them like that and leave it alone instead of betting on it, trying to take a picture, or gagging like it’s disgusting.

Wymack walks back out after a minute in FF’s hospital room, “Let’s give Smith and his Grandma a couple more minutes.” He says and Neil’s heart sinks.

***

Wymack wasn’t quite sure what he walked into.

Smith’s Grandma was wiping his face and feeding him soup which is about what he expected. What he hadn’t expected was what FF was saying to his Grandma.

“….didn’t even wash his hands Gran. What if none of them wash their hands? I can’t work in that kind of environment!” FF babbles as he takes another spoonful of soup from his Grandma.

Smith’s Grandma looks up and sees that it’s just him at the door before continuing in English, “Sweetie, you don’t need to accept the job offer from the Yakuza.” She soothes.

“What do I even do?! What’s the etiquette? Do I send a letter refusing the job offer? Do I email him thanking him for the interview? Was it an interview?” FF asks.

Wymack shuts the door and he’s sure FF hadn’t even noticed him.

Yeah the kid needs a couple more minutes

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23​ @dreamerking27​ @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust​ @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace​ @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world​ @obscureshipsandchips​ @booklover242​ @whataboutmyfries​ @sahturnos​ @pluto-pepsi​ @dreamerthinker​ @passinhosdetartaruga​ @leftunknownheart​ @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead​ @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme​ @tayspots @nick-scar​ @crazy-fangirl2524​ @blue-jos10​ @stabbyfoxandrew​ @splishsplashyouropinionistrash​ @sammichly​ @the-broken-pen​ @bitchesdoweknowu​ @very-small-flower​ @ghostlyboiii​ @its-a-paxycab​ @bisexual-genderfluid-fan​ @cheesecookie​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @foxsoulcourt​ @blueleys @adverbialstarlight​ @elia-nna​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @nikodiangel​ @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat​ @hallucinatedjosten​ @satanic-foxhole-court​ @vexingcosmos​ @chalilodimun​ @insectsgetcooked​ @angry-kid-with-no-money​ @queer-crows​ @lillyndra​ @themundanemudperson​ @readertodeath​ @apileofpillows​ @mortalsbowbeforeme​ @hellomynameismoo​ @next-level-mess @youreonlylow​ @interstellarfig​ @notprocrastinatingatalltoday​ @percyjacksonfan3​ @queenofcrazy27​ @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares​ @spencellio @adinthedarkroom​ @harpymoth​ @sufferingjustalilbit​ @anxietymoss​ @oddgreyhound​ @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken​ @ken22789​ @atiredvampire​ @isoldescorner​ @not--a--pipedream​ @azure-wing​ @bushbees​  @roonilwazlib-main​ @crumplelush​ @foldedaces-paperbirds​ @thesenseinnonsense​ @let-tyrants-fear​ @ketchupandfries​ @legowerewolf​ @deadlydodos​ @but-we-respect-his-craft​ @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit​ @lesbian-blackbeard​ @lesbiansupernatural​ @silvermasquerade​ @thepeachfuzz​ @minniemariex​ @kazoo-the-demjin​ @gaypomegranate​ @ji-nk-ies​ @neilimfinejosten​ @omgrubelangel​ @itsyouitsmeorpheuseurydice​ @percabethotplove​ @cozyrosykay​ @foxyatlas​ @theoneandonlylostsock​ @cindersapsecrets​ @scornedethnographer​ @hugemotherfuckingnerd​ @givemethedamnflowers​ @our-king-bree​

The  requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few  different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I  promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be  something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 A Guide to Being Just Friends Book Review 🦇

"Sometimes we don't know who we are until we find the right person. The one that helps us see ourselves in a way we never did before."

After a bad breakup, Hailey Sharp throws all of her attention toward her new business, By the Cup. Her quaint salad bar is located on a strip alongside other booming businesses in San Verde, California, though it's not quite drawing a line of hungry customers yet. Next door is an already bustling coffee shop, Baked, where she bumps into Wes Jansen--an investor who assumes Hailey has arrived for a blind date, only for the two of them to initiate an awkward, tense meet-cute instead. Fate throws them back into one another's orbit yet again, and the two become fast friends. While Hailey is focused on growing her business, Wes works alongside his two younger brothers to help their community flourish, even extending his design skills and business acumen to aid By the Cup. Hailey, not wanting to depend on anyone for support, only accepts if she can help Wes in exchange, further driving their ever-growing friendship into something far more.

Sophie Sullivan excels at developing complex, driven, adorable characters that thrive off one another. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't aware that there were two books before this one (featuring Wes' younger brothers and their significant others). Even so, this book can stand beautifully on its own as it delves into Wes and Hailey's friendship. Wes learns how to creatively navigate Hailey's stubborn independence while Hailey encourages Wes to pursue his passions. The slow burn, friends-to-lovers tropes don't feel forced or cliche; you can see Wes and Hailey growing to rely on and trust one another in every passing scene. The secondary characters all have their own rich histories and motivations, and while those details are established in the series' previous books, you don't need to read them to feel the shared love, trust, and respect between the Jansen brothers or their significant others. Both Hailey and Wes rely on their friends and family members as much as they rely on each other, creating a "found family" dynamic that breathes off the page.

However, the transition from friends to more seems rushed. Wes is analytical, pragmatic, nerdy, and a little uptight. Hailey is funny, playful, hard-working, and optimistic. The "opposites attract" vibe that makes them a great match as friends doesn't translate well into their romantic relationship; in fact, it causes them to butt heads. Instead of hitting a moment when the tension between them bursts, the novel transitions into their romantic relationship as if they've always been there; no sweet first date, no payoff, no steam. While romantic comedies don't need steamy scenes, the silent, mutual pining they had as friends doesn't reflect in their newfound relationship. The slow burn as friends is dragged on for so long that their chemistry as a couple seems to flat line.

Overall, I enjoyed A Guide to Being Just Friends as a friends-to-lovers romance with a HEA. This book is a comforting, swoon-worthy, emotional romantic comedy that perfectly balances both sides of a budding relationship. If you're looking for a heartwarming read, this is the book for you!

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.

[pridewon]

anon asked:  No problem, I checked out the list and was wondering if I could get #1,3,4,5,9,10,11,13, 20, and 21 on the random character description list for Leon? 🤭 (characterisation prompts)

how’s the sound of their laugh? (if they laugh, that is!)

leon does laugh, and regularly surprises people who are not very familiar with him with how hearty and wholesome his laugh sounds. schoolmates he doesn’t see often, or club members who are not on the starting roster are more enclined to picture him as a kind, but firm and serious guy; his closest friends and teammates are the ones around whom he allows himself to relax. post-timeskip, two things never fail to have him in stitches: his daughter and her shenanigans, and wakatoshi interacting with children/featuring in any tv ad ever. leon’s laugh is one of those communicative laughs, that seem to make any situation light up a little bit; and it is never, ever mean or mocking. 

how do they act around children?

an absolute champion around children. he has always gotten along pretty well with them, having often babysat his younger brother (and his neighbours’ children on occasions), and he seems to have quite a natural talent with them, commanding natural respect and awe in younger generations. he grows from ‘cool big brother’ to ‘cool dad’ and ‘cool uncle’ - probably because he tends to treat children on what they may perceive as equal foot. he takes them seriously, and they take him seriously in return - treat kids with respect, and they’ll respect you in return, is his philosophy... and so far? he hasn’t been proven wrong. it probably helps that he doesn’t shy away from playing and games, and has a good sense of patience, too. 

do they make eye contact with others look at their feet/somewhere else?

leon makes eye contact in whatever measure is deemed acceptable and respectable. he doesn’t tend to stare intently, and he doesn’t look away when spoken to - although he does look down to a point in the ground when spoken to harshly or scolded by someone he did not intend to disappoint (*cough* coach washijo *cough*). 

how do they act when they cry? (if they ever do it)

like this >:)  leon doesn’t cry often, and tends to be on the more reserved side of things, but he is far from being as undecipherable or barricaded as, say, ushijima. he doesn’t mind his emotions getting the better of him, nor does he mind tear rolling down his face, but... he doesn’t like it happening in public. as much as leon doesn’t mind vulnerability when it comes from others and will always be the first to comfort a distraught teammate or friend, he doesn’t like letting his own shine through. at various stages of his life, leon has been someone others could and would rely on: he is comfortable in the role of the guy who holds it together, and remains steadfast so that other may take a breather or even crumble safely. should leon break and cry in front of others, like after a tough loss... tears will show and roll, but he’ll fight to hold them back and no sob or sound will pass his lips; and they’ll be contained in a matter of seconds.  do they smile with their teeth?

not typically - although there are different flavours to leon’s smiles, as his teammates and friends progressively find out the more they spend time with him. all his smiles look similar: close-lipped, quiet, relaxed, with a hint of contentment... but there is always a subtle something hinting at whatever it is he means to communicate at any given moment, including but not limited to “just happy to be here”, “i have the patience of a saint but i’m still going to call you out on your bullshit”, and the most powerful of all, “i clearly know and think more than i let on but good luck prying it out of me”. friends and teammates quickly learn to decipher the nuances and make the difference between all of them - a useful survival skill, when leon is your vice-captain.

do they stand up with their back straight or slouched?

back straight, even if his posture appears fairly relaxed - deceivingly so. leon radiates a martial and commanding aura (he is benkei, after all) despite his approachability; and it is in part due to his posture. he stands and sits up straight, because it’s better for his back, because he doesn’t like to slouch, because it’s better manners and because it’s what he naturally does.

what do they do when they start getting impatient?

as previously mentioned, leon is not someone who easily lets moments of vulnerability shine through and slip past - including impatience and frazzled moments. he is conscious of other people’s eyes on him, and doesn’t easily let his guard down; most importantly, he likes to remain in control of himself and his emotions. impatience means loss of control - in other words, not acceptable. should impatience creep up on him (during games or in any situation), leon catches himself before he says or does something he might regret and forces himself to take a step back, probably more harshly than necessary. in arguments, this has sometimes led to him walking away from the discussion to regroup and collect himself - with the accidental side effect of giving the impression that he cares less than he actually does, or that he is more unfeeling than he is. it is something he is aware of, and something that he knows has played a part in his separation from his ex-girlfriend. he tries to do better for his daughter; to be more open and to allow himself to be more honest about how he feels, even when things are going awry. are they chatty or reserved?

leon stands in the middle on this spectrum.while not particularly chatty or talkative, he communicates well and has no trouble holding a conversation with pretty much anyone. he easily adjusts to other people’s levels and demands and has a talent for putting people at a relative ease when talking to/with them. he never overshares, is always happy to listen, and while some people end up noticing that leon doesn’t say that much... it never feels like he is actually reserved or quiet. 

what do they do with their hands during a conversation? cross their arms? fidget with something?

true to his benkei nickname and martial posture, leon doesn’t fidget, leon doesn’t move around, and leon always looks poised and relaxed and confident. during conversations, he’ll more often than not keep his hands in the pockets of his jacket, or keep them behind his back with his shoulders open and straight. he sometimes crosses his arms over his chest, but more rarely; his posture is usually more open than closed off. 

[westerlyroleplay]

NAME: Isabella Ramos GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis woman / She/Her AGE & DATE OF BIRTH: 28 years old / September 29th HOMETOWN: Beverly Hills, CA TIME IN WESTERLY: 1 month RESIDENCE: Watch Hill OCCUPATION: Ex-socialite, owner of Brewed Awakening

THAT’S THE THING ABOUT      ——     illicit affairs.

isabella, the only daughter of the ramos family, had always been painted as destined for greatness. born into a wealthy family in beverly hills, she’d never wanted for anything. she, alongside her brothers, had been sent to the best schools in the area, taken music lessons, private tennis lessons, anything they could have ever dreamed of. the idea that there might be something that they couldn’t have, that was out of reach, was entirely foreign to her.

those tendencies didn’t change as she made her way through high school. by simply just being a ramos, she was able to get away with almost anything. it wasn’t something that was lost on her either - she knew just how much she could get away with, how far she could push the boundaries without breaking them, all because her name carried some weight. her father was a big name in the community, a mogul to say the least, and people daren’t get on his bad side - even through his daughter. she felt well and truly untouchable.

isabella didn’t stray far when she went to college - attending ucla meant that the weight that her family name carried in california travelled with her. she was able to become a little bit more independent, while still shrouded in the protection that she’d been used to for her whole life. things were, at least to her, about as perfect as her life could be.

it was while at college that she met the woman who would go on to be her best friend: tiffany. tiffany was kind, sweet, and the kind of down to earth person who kept isabella from entirely relying on the life that had been afforded to her. tiffany became her roommate, and taught her how to cook, how to bake, how to take care of herself in a way that isabella had never had to - purely because she’d always had other people to do it for her. and isabella surprised everyone (and herself) by actually enjoying it.

by the time they graduated, tiffany came complete with the all american boyfriend in tow - calvin. isabella liked calvin, she liked the two of them together, having grown quite protective of tiffany over the years. she was, for all intents and purposes, the equivalent of the metaphorical third wheel for the two of them - none of isabella’s own relationships lasted long enough for them to become fully ingrained into their little group. isabella’s family connections helped tiffany and calvin with their careers of choice: it was the all american dream at work. isabella herself fell straight back into the socialite scene, and all seemed right with the world. isabella could pick and choose to do what she wanted, and the ramos family would be there to make sure she thrived. there was no wrong to be done, in their eyes, when it came to their isabella, for she was the golden girl.

until the face of the head of the ramos family wound up all over the local news. isabella’s father had been caught in a car accident, leaving him unconscious in a hospital nearby. naturally, it rocked the whole family, and they all reached out for those who could support them. it was no surprise that isabella called tiffany and calvin – but tiffany was out of the state on business. that didn’t matter, they were a trio, and there was no reason why calvin couldn’t come and be at her side while they waited for news.

it’s born from just one single glance.

isabella couldn’t tell you how it happened, not the first time at least. calvin had been wiping away tears, perhaps wine had been involved, fueled by the pain of not knowing what might happen with her family. regardless of the circumstances around it, isabella had woken up with calvin in her bed. it was a mistake, that’s what she told herself. a simple slip up, one never to be spoken of again. it never was just once though. she couldn’t even pin it on her father any more - he recovered, continued to support both isabella and her friends in whatever they needed, and isabella continued to feel selfish for going after the one thing she really couldn’t have.

a drug that only worked, the first few hundred times.

isabella wanted to feel guilty, with every clandestine meeting that happened between her and calvin. she could feel herself actually beginning to fall for the man she was having an affair with, the one who was with her best friend. the one who, before she knew it, was engaged. she tried to convince herself that she could live with that, she could stop the affair that by this time had been going on for months. but every time she tried, she found herself right back where she promised she’d never be again.

look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.

it had been no surprise that tiffany had asked isabella to be her maid of honor. and what else was she meant to do except say yes? she couldn’t say no, not without a reason, and she couldn’t tell her first real and genuine friend that she’d been sleeping with her fiance behind her back. wedding showers, bachelorette parties, were all thrown, with no expense spared. throwing money at a problem to try and make it go away, to try and shift the guilt, had always been something that the ramos family had been good at. tiffany was good enough of a friend to be able to see the guilt that was eating away inside of isabella, even if she didn’t know that the root cause was ultimately going to destroy her. perhaps that was why she never actually asked what was bothering her.

the night before the wedding, calvin came to find isabella. isabella tried to explain to calvin that tiffany was in the adjoining room of the hotel they were staying at, but the message didn’t get through before he was pushing himself into the room, certain that they were going to have this discussion. isabella tried to tell him to be quiet, but instead his voice only grew louder, incriminating the both of them. he spoke of not being able to continue the affair, something isabella herself wanted to agree with, but knew that her deepening feelings for calvin would likely stand in the way of it when it came to reality. what had been some sort of prepared speech from the man was interrupted as the adjoining door swung open, a sobbing tiffany stood on the other side. both isabella and calvin were frozen.

look at this idiotic fool that you made me.

unsurprisingly the wedding was off, and the secret that she had been keeping was finally out. she can’t be sure who (she’d like to think it wasn’t tiffany) but someone sold the story to the tabloid, and before she knew it was she was the new town harlot. stories ran filled with lies about the relationship, others ran that danced closer to the truth than she’d care to admit. but the ramos family golden girl was gone, and in her place was the biggest heart breaker beverly hills had seen in a long time (according to one publication, that was). her life was crumbling at the scenes, and her family could hardly look at her in the eyes.

and you know damn well, for you i would ruin myself.

being called for a meeting with her father had never worried her so much. she’d never felt more like a teenager in trouble than she had done at the age of 28. it was in that meeting, that they discussed a plan - that was the ramos way, after all. a way to get through this, because with the gossip magazines talking about the ramos family in any capacity was in no doubt going to impact his business, his pull in the community. and god forbid that ever happen. and so, isabella had to be removed from the situation, at least for the time being (her fathers words, not hers).

he cited the home that they owned in westerly, the one they’d gone to from time to time when they’d needed a break from the world that she was used to. isabella could go there, keep her head down and away from the gossip that was following her around. wait for it to die down, wait for something else to come along and cause as much of a scandal. it was hardly the sort of place she was used to, but she needed something. it wasn’t fair for tiffany to keep seeing their names on the news cycle. she owed her friend that much, at least.

perhaps it was the guilt inside of her that told her that she could open some sort of coffee shop. put to work the skills that she’d been taught by the woman that she’d ultimately gone on to betray. but it sounded like it might work, at least for a short while. yes, a change of scenery, a project, a business venture of her own instead of piggy backing on one of her fathers. she could always come back after someone else bailed her out if it all went wrong, couldn’t she?

Portrayed by CAMILA MENDES, written by EM.

[bugaydoeshistory]

"I don't wish you dead, I wish you well"

On Christmas Day, 2016. My brother and I got into an altercation with my father. There was misunderstanding over something small, what we were gonna cook for Christmas, and my dad quickly escalated his anger to the point that I no longer felt safe. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and I locked myself in my brother's room. I was afraid. Moments before the police arrived, I thought of what I said to my brother moments prior to arriving home:

"Sometimes, I wish Dad was dead."

My brother swiftly responded to my blunt statement with:

"Don't ever wish someone dead. Wish them better."

I carry that with me as I navigate through moments of where I didn't feel safe. Moments where I felt exactly as 21 year old Abby did, bunkered in her brother's room. I carried that unsafe feeling throughout undergrad, I was sleeping on friend's couches in community college because I worried that my dad would attack me in my sleep. I transferred to UC Davis, mainly so I can get out of my house and I can wake up feeling safe. But the unsafe feeling followed me. It followed me in the form of every person I wanted to please, just like my Dad.

I saw it in you, Manang. I wanted you to like me, to be proud of me, to mentor me. I saw the potential of what I could be -- beautiful, confident, a PhD student, a Sailor Moon fan --in you. In a lot of ways I wanted to BE you. Now that I'm older, I realize how strange it must have been to interact with a younger version of myself. I recognize that I was insecure, unsure of myself, neurotic, and the list goes on.

I was also very vulnerable. I had no prior knowledge of how to navigate this world of academia, and you were my sole guide. I relied on your insight, your advice, and I held on to every word to help me through those two years of undergrad. The thesis became this point of contention between us, and I recognize my own display of helplessness as partly to blame for what transpired between us. I didn't have the confidence in myself to believe that I could do it, so I looked to you to get me through it.

Now, I am 28 years old and a lot has happened in my life to make me see the beauty and the power I hold. I had my heart broken many times now to realize what I could have done differently, and how to carry myself. I'm not the 22 year old, mousy, scared, insecure undergraduate student you met up with at Sharetea in October 2018. I'm not "flaky", insecure, non-communicative, or whatever else you framed me as after October 2021. You may not even believe me, but I know I also don't need your validation to know and live in my own truth of who I am.

Let me cut to the chase here -- I was extremely hurt by how you treated me in Seattle. You refused to acknowledge my existence, and when you did, you were unkind. You were yelling at me over the phone, asking me if I "even know how to break down a table", you accused me of stealing in front of Bellarmine Hall, you made me FEEL the tension between us, as if I had horribly wronged you. How this impacted my psyche, you will never understand. You will never know that I stopped eating for 3 days after I touched down at SFO, that I checked into Intensive Outpatient Therapy, that I took leave from my job because I truly didn't want to exist anymore. I think you accomplished what you set out to do when you knew I was coming to Seattle -- to make me feel like shit. To make me feel like I don't belong in History anymore. To give up. To make me realize how worthless I was. To make me feel bad for how our working relationship transpired in October 2021.

It took me YEARS to heal from this interaction, and I would be lying if I told you that I am fully healed now. However, I am at a place where I brought myself back to History as a discipline, against your disdain for my pursuit. It took me years to say this to myself in regards to you as a person: "I wish you well." No, actually, I wish you better. I wish that whatever transpired between you and I never happen to another soul. I am anxious as shit to be a graduate student, to be in your place, because I recognize the power I hold and the responsibility to treat undergrads with respect and care. I'm anxious of fucking it up, of having another person feel what I felt. I'm anxious that I would be perpetuating this intergenerational trauma in academia, especially in women of color. I don't want what happened to you, to happen to me, to happen to the next person and so on and so forth.

Manang, I wish you better. I hope that whatever shit happened to you in graduate school is something you are able to heal from. I wish that whatever happened in your family you are able to work through, that you are able to grow and develop as a healed individual. I pray that you are surrounded by love, because that's what I truly believe will get us all out of this perpetually fucked cycle. I don't hate you. I have no hatred in my heart at all for you. I just wish to coexist in our discipline. I hold you as a scholar, as a historian, as a researcher with respect. All I fucking wish with the deepest hope in my heart, that you would treat me the same.

[prime-adeptus]

BAD IDEA (FORGET ABOUT IT, FORGET ABOUT ME) – QUANXI X READER

It’s a bad idea. You know it is. Even fucking worse now that you realise that you’re no longer doing this for sexual pleasure. You’re doing it for her affection, even if it only comes with her hand around your throat or between your thighs. Or, the one where you’re not lovers, just strangers, and you’re fine with it. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

CONTENT.⠀NSFW; female reader; friends with benefits, unrequited pining, angst, slight power imbalance (quanxi is mc’s superior), alcohol, mentions of medication, unhealthy relationships, hurt/no comfort, original character deaths, mentions of blood. Canon divergent, but takes place after the events of Part 1. ~6.5k words

NOTES.⠀my first fic of 2024 lets gooo baby HAPPY NEW YURI!!!! this is my contribution to my thank u, next collab :) likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! this is the most self-indulgent I’ve ever written but I hope you enjoy regardless;;

also on ao3 | @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @enchantedforest-network @ghostqueue

You never think twice.

It runs in the family, you think. Your father was an insanely reckless devil hunter, your mother was impulsive even in the worst situations, and your brother did things just for the thrill. It’s ironic that for people with a job that relies on survival instinct, they had none at all. Impulsivity runs in your family, and there will soon come a day when it will get you killed the same way it did with them. That’s fine. Death doesn’t scare you, not anymore. He’ll come bearing his scythe when his time comes, taking your soul to where it needs to be, and you’ll let it happen when it does.

Public Safety wasn’t your first option. Being a professional devil hunter wasn’t, either. You wanted to pursue something less violent, like someone who could help improve a community’s welfare. You wanted kids to grow up better than you did. But with devils roaming the streets and the lack of the ‘strong-hearted,’ it came as no surprise that you had to give up on what you’d initially hoped. You’re still pissed about it years later in your career. The younger you wanted to help the world.

In a way, you got what you wanted. It just wasn’t the way you wanted it to happen.

You think you’re more familiar with firearms and blades than you are with flowers and crayons now. Your hands, once soft and delicate, are now scarred and calloused, stained with the blood of those you had to slay and lose in combat. Your heart, once full of hope and kindness, is now cold as ice. The innocence and joy you used to have were cruelly ripped out of your hands and crushed into pieces you can never put together again.

But you don’t have time to miss who you used to be, nor do you have the time to dream anymore. You have to survive in a world where danger lurks in every corner. You will pass the days instead of living them, letting them hurt you and bury misery deep in your bones, but you will survive, if not by sheer determination or instinct.

The drink you’re having burns your throat. Though you weren’t previously a drinker, having seen how it changed people like it did to your father, there’s nothing else you can turn to. You never liked bars either, yet here you are, sitting all by your lonesome. People change, whether it’s out of their volition or against their will. You don’t know where you fall between those categories.

The longer you stare into space, the more you tune out the world around you. You feel as though you aren’t here, but somewhere else. It’s been happening more often than you’d like—zoning out, feeling like you’re not in control of your body, vulnerable. You’re more annoyed by it than you are concerned. You’re a professional devil hunter, bound to an organisation that could dispose of you without a second thought if you fail them. There is no time for weakness. Your training and years of work have taught you that the hard way.

By the time you come back to your senses, your glass is already empty. A frown tugs at the corners of your lips. You’ve half a mind to order another shot to feel something other than perpetual numbness and exhaustion, but ultimately decide against it. Your tolerance isn’t as high as Kishibe’s is, after all. Who knows what will happen if you bite off more than you can chew? You don’t, and more importantly, you don’t want to deal with the consequences.

With a sigh, you leave the bar. The bells above the door chime as the door opens and exposes you to the winter air. A chill runs down your spine, making you shiver involuntarily. You’ve never been fond of the cold. It’s miserable, it makes you lethargic, and it’s a pain to get through without getting sick. You hate the shitty apartment you live in and the equally shitty radiator that came with it too, but this time around, you actually can’t wait to be home. You suppose there are still some things to look forward to, no matter how mundane they may be.

“Hm. Didn’t expect to see anyone out at this hour.”

You turn to see Quanxi leaning against a wall with a cigarette between her lips and the same deadpan expression you’re used to seeing her wear. Instinctively, you bow your head in greeting, though she makes no move to respond to it. Briefly you realise how you’ve never had a proper conversation with her, only good mornings here and there whenever you happen to cross paths. This is the first time she’s properly acknowledged you as something else other than one of Kishibe’s many juniors he ‘babysits,’ as he would say.

The wind blows the nicotine in your direction, causing you to grimace instinctively. In an attempt to cover it, you clear your throat and reply, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I thought you didn’t like being out at night.”

“I don’t,” you say with a wry smile. “Why are you out at this hour, Miss Quanxi?”

“I couldn’t sleep either.” With a sigh, she pushes herself off the wall and finds her place by your side. “I’ll walk you home. I’m going in the same direction anyway.”

You have a feeling she’s not going to take no for an answer, so all you do is nod and go along with her. It puts you on edge, being so close to someone you’ve always held in high regard. It’s also strange, in a good way, to be alone with a woman like her. Up until a few moments ago, you didn’t even know she was aware of you at all. You find that you like having her beside you like this. It makes you feel safe, protected, and in a way you can’t pinpoint why, like you belong.

The apartment building looms overhead and stands among electrical lines and small stores. The lightbulb in front of the elevator flickers before it goes out, leaving the hallway too dim for your liking. Anxiety starts to bubble at the pit of your stomach. You don’t know if it’s because of the dark or if it’s because of how close she’s standing to you. As your finger hovers over the button, you glance at her and blurt out, “Would you like to come in?”

She blinks as if she wasn’t expecting you to say that. She probably wasn’t. Heat rises to your cheeks and paints them with shame. You tend to speak before you think, which has both worked in your favour and against it.

(You never learn.)

“It’s cold outside,” you try to reason. “You could come in for tea, warm up for a bit before you go. I’d feel bad if I let you leave without anything.”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

Your face burns. You should’ve thought she’d say no. You should’ve thought more. Of course, the Quanxi has no reason to stay and chat with you. She’s not the kind of person to do such a thing. She’s stoic, unapproachable, and–

“But if you insist, I’ll come in,” she says, interrupting you just before your brain is about to go into overdrive. “I could use a break anyway.”

She follows you into the cramped elevator without another word. It’s hard to keep your cool as you’re all too slowly taken up the building. With trembling hands, you unlock the door to your apartment. Your nerves are going haywire for reasons you can’t begin to fathom. You ignore them the best you can.

“Tea? Coffee?” you ask. You like to think you’re pretty good at keeping your composure, but you’re not so confident tonight. It’s fine. You’re being considerate, nothing more, so there’s no need to be so nervous. You’re just being a good host.

“Tea is fine.”

“Alright. Um, have a seat. I’ll be done in a minute.”

She takes off her shoes at the doorway before stepping into the living area, glancing around wordlessly. You hope she doesn’t mind the mess on the coffee table, even if it’s only receipts, newspapers and some blister packs you keep forgetting to throw out. Normal, mundane things. You haven’t had the time or drive to organise your place lately. You wish you did. For anything in general, really.

You’re surprised how stable your hands are this time around as you carry the tray towards where she’s sitting on the couch. She takes the mug with a barely audible thanks and you take your own. The couch isn’t small by any means. It’s old, yes, but it’s more than enough to seat two people. For some reason, it feels like it’s smaller. You’re close enough that your knees brush against each other. You try not to think about how this is the closest you’ve ever physically been to someone in years.

You almost want to scoff at that. It’s never occurred to you (or rather, you prefer not to think about it) how deprived you are of warmth and contact. Every day consists of you passively following a monotonous routine. People like you don’t get the chance to be close to someone, physically and emotionally, not when they can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. You should be used to it by now.

You don’t think you can ever be.

“Is it okay?” Your voice is soft, hesitant. “It’s not too sweet?”

“It’s fine.”

You don’t know if Quanxi is one for small talk. You highly doubt it, but still, you find yourself chattering away. You talk about almost forgetting your keys in the morning, about how friendly your neighbours are despite their intimidating appearance, about the dog that greets you every morning and every time you come back.

Self-consciousness suddenly threatens to consume you whole when you catch how much you’ve been rambling in your flustered state. You can’t tell if she’s actually listening or if she’s only humming and nodding along so you’d stop eventually. Maybe you should.

The sudden silence makes her look at you curiously. “What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, nothing.” You shake your head. “I forgot what I was going to say.”

“You were talking about your last mission,” she offers. You’re almost disappointed that she had been listening to you. “The bodyguard one.”

You didn’t expect that.

“Right… I’m sorry, Miss Quanxi. I didn’t realise how long I’ve been keeping you here. Would you like me to see you out?”

“I don’t mind. You sound interesting.” She places the cup down and leans back against the cushions, getting herself comfortable. You aren’t sure if you should take it as a compliment or something. “And Quanxi is fine. I’m not Kishibe.”

“Of course! I’m sorry, Miss—I mean, Quanxi.”

Names have always been important to you; hers isn’t any different. But as her name rolls off your tongue, you find that you like how it feels. Familiar, like you’ve been saying it for years. In the back of your mind, you wonder if she knows your name—she hasn’t uttered it once since she spotted you outside the bar.

Somehow, that makes you sadder than you should be.

“You live alone?” she asks. Your mind goes blank for a moment. Is she interested in you? No, that can’t be. She’s just making conversation. She probably pities you for the fact that you’re the only one doing the talking.

“I do. Have been since I was seventeen,” you say, cutting off your train of thought before it gets worse. “I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

You don’t realise what you’ve blurted out until Quanxi hums curiously.

Why did you say that? Why do you say anything?

“You don’t?”

“No,” you mumble. You avert your gaze to the side, nervousness taking hold of you once more. “Are you… Interested? In me?”

When you finally look back at her, her face is only inches away from yours. You stare at her wide-eyed. A myriad of emotions swirls deep in your chest as you stutter and stammer, your lips parting then closing like a fish out of water.

“Maybe,” she answers, and the apology you were going to say dies on your tongue.

Your heart is threatening to burst out of your chest with how fast it thumps in the confines of your ribcage. Despite the winter outside, it feels hot—you feel hot, like you’re standing by a burning flame. You think you’ve short-circuited when she gently tilts your head up with her fingers and leans in to kiss you with a softness usually reserved for a lover.

And because you never think twice, you don’t hesitate to comply when she urges you to sit on her lap. Your arms wrap around her neck and it doesn’t take long before the kiss turns more heated, before you start grinding against her. Cold digits trail across your skin and crawl between your thighs, smoothly unbuttoning your trousers to reveal what they’re searching for.

Hesitantly, you pull away to catch your breath. You can hardly understand what’s happening, and maybe you don’t have to, but there’s a deep longing to hear it directly from her.

“Miss Quanxi!” Whatever you’re trying to say gets interrupted with a gasp as her fingers dip past the waistband of your panties. “What are you—”

“Helping you relax,” she replies nonchalantly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how tense you’ve been since we got here.”

You’re not sure you can handle seeing how attentively she’s watching your expressions right now, so you squeeze your eyes shut. It doesn’t help, not when you can feel everything at once, from her heated expression to her sinfully adept fingers.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you that this is wrong, unfair, but when she brushes over a spot that has you shivering against her hand, the thought ebbs away like it was never there at all.

You don’t want her to stop.

Maybe the strange heavy feeling within your chest is just anxiety from not being in a situation like this for a long time. Maybe it’s what your classmates used to call ‘butterflies in your stomach’ because you’re with someone you admire. Reason slips out of your reach with every curl of her fingers against your walls, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you’re reaching the edge. The sight of her doing something to you that only lovers do to each other isn’t helping your case, either.

Her name leaves your lips in a pathetic whine. “Quanxi—”

“Let go,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your cheek, “Let me take care of you.”

Your orgasm washes over you like the sea crashes against the shore, rendering you breathless and teary-eyed from how overwhelming everything feels. She doesn’t relent until you weakly wrap your hand around her wrist in a poor attempt to stop her from breaking you any further. She eventually pulls her hand away and brings her fingers up to your mouth, imperceptibly smiling at how you take them in without question. Seemingly satisfied, she withdraws and lets you slump against her body, tuckered out and boneless.

“Look at you,” she coos, her voice dripping with endearment. She’s probably used to saying these things and getting these reactions, and as bitter as you may feel about it, they have your heart racing nonetheless. You’re not used to praise. In your entire life, you’ve only been satisfactory, yet here she is praising you for doing nothing except surrender yourself to her. You part your lips to speak, only to be interrupted.

“Don’t worry about me.”

It’s almost worrisome how she can tell what’s on your mind so effortlessly. With a huff, you bury your face in the crook of her shoulder. You doubt you can look her in the eye without saying or doing something embarrassing.

“But…” you mumble out.

“I can take care of myself.”

You frown, though you don’t argue with the finality in her tone. Your body gradually relaxes as she runs her fingers up and down the length of your spine. It’s getting difficult to stay awake when you feel so sated, so safe. Eventually, without realising it, your blinking slows down and you start to drift off in her arms, growing blissfully unaware of the world around you.

—

You wake up in your bed dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

Quanxi must’ve carried you here before she left. Your vision slowly adjusts to the change in lighting as you look out the window by your side. It seems that people have already gotten their day started, judging from the cars moving down the road and the dogs barking in response to the disturbance they bring. You’re groggy and your thoughts are unclear, leaving you more wearied than you’d normally be. A dull ache rings in your head, growing stronger when you push yourself out of bed and trudge to the bathroom to freshen up.

Your mind feels like it’s shrouded with fog. You’re beginning to think going to the bar yesterday was a mistake. You tend not to dwell too much on the consequences of what you do, only what satisfies you in that moment. It’s a bad habit you can’t seem to get rid of. But it’s far too early to think—in fact, you’d rather not do it at all—so you clumsily grab the shower valve and let the water wash away yesterday’s events. It takes a couple of tries to find it, but you make it nonetheless. A curse escapes you at the unexpected cold that has you jolting awake against your will. You suppose you did need that rude awakening.

The word ‘mistake’ seems to echo in your mind louder and louder as you struggle to properly button up your shirt with sluggish hands. You’re pretty sure one of your socks is mismatched, but you don’t really have the energy to change them. You glance at the bottle of painkillers in your cabinet. You never quite liked taking these things even if they’re supposed to help you. You didn’t like having ‘too much’ in your system. A bit ironic, considering all the supplements and medication you’ve had in your lifetime.

Bitterly, you take them. You can’t have something so inane affect your efficiency at work.

The headquarters is already busy when you arrive. Camaraderie isn’t a thing here, so the atmosphere already feels stiff and awkward. You suppose it’s reasonable, having gone through a few losses yourself. In a world like this, you simply can’t get attached to anyone. You shouldn’t. After all, they can be ripped out of your hands, ripped apart until the only proof of their existence is their blood stained on your skin. It’s not ‘hating the world’ or ‘being unapproachable;’ it’s a way to protect the other person. In a way, it protects you too.

Your mind reels back to last night now that you’re more awake. The way she held you. The way she just knew your body like the back of her hand. The way she kissed you. Only lovers touch each other like that, your mother used to tell you, but you’re not lovers even if it felt like it. The intimate moments you shared threaten to bring tears to your eyes as they play through your mind again like a film reel. The memory of her lips against your skin, of her holding you as if you were made of porcelain. They’re likely nothing to her, but they’re everything to you.

So how are you meant to brush off something like that so easily? When you’ve never had or let anyone touch you in such a way? What is it about her that had you caving in without a second thought? What is it about her that has your emotions going into overdrive?

The coffee nearly burns your tongue and leaves behind a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Now isn’t the time to be thinking about this. And sure, maybe the coffee wasn’t a good idea either, but what does it matter? All you have to do is work, hopefully stay alive, and come back to a boring life after a long day of saving the city. What happened last night was only a one-time thing. There’s no reason to mull over it again.

You unceremoniously toss the paper cup into the trash. Coffee was not a good idea.

The day, although surprisingly uneventful, is spent writing reports and being in the worst mood you’ve ever been in. Thankfully you didn’t need to talk to anyone, save for Kishibe who dropped by earlier to see if you were still alive.’ It was oddly kind of him to do. You’re more used to him being distant or plain merciless like he was to the chainsaw boy and the blood fiend. It’s nice to have someone look for you, think of you, even if it’s for such a grim reason.

You were tidying up for the day when your coworker approached you with a smile on her face. ‘Do you wanna come get drinks with us?’ she had asked. Seeing as you didn’t have plans for the rest of the evening—you never do—you agreed. A couple of drinks won’t hurt.

It’s not that difficult to spot your colleagues and seniors in the izakaya. It’s hard to miss them, actually, when one of them is excitedly calling your name and waving you over. They’re already drunk. You understand them, you think. You generally dislike feeling inebriated and what comes after, but with the current path you’re on, it’s the only source of comfort you have.

You grimace. You really have become your father.

The table is cluttered with beer cans and unfinished plates of snacks. Kishibe sits silently in the corner. He’s opted to bring his own drink this time around and barely acknowledges you with a glance. There are a couple other seniors you don’t recognise. With a bow that feels more perfunctory than it does respectful, you greet them and quietly slide into the booth.

Quanxi sits across from you, calm and collected like always. She doesn’t say hello to you with the same enthusiasm that her colleagues had, though she does nod and subtly raise her glass at you. Flustered, you blink, you purse your lips, and then finally you get it together and smile at her, the same way one would when seeing an old friend. Sure, that isn’t what she is, she’s just your senior, but you’d rather stay on her good side. You’ve seen how she dealt with that Hirofumi boy when they both came back last year. As attractive as you found it, you also don’t want to end up being someone she regards coldly.

You shake your head. Why are you worrying so much about what she’d think of you? All she did was acknowledge your presence. Luckily, one of your colleagues (someone you recognise, thank god) notices you and starts to ask all about your day. It’s enough to keep you busy. It’s also surprising you aren’t drained yet, considering how much more talkative they are compared to you.

“This is why I’m trying to help you out of your shell!” they playfully chide once you trail off, feeling self-conscious. “We want to get to know you better! Don’t be shy. Come on, tell me. What have you been up to?”

“I’ve been—”

Whatever phrase you were thinking of immediately goes forgotten when you feel someone’s foot brush against your ankle. You’re nearly seized with panic before you make eye contact with Quanxi and realise that it’s her doing. Somehow, it doesn’t do much to calm your racing heart. She seems so nonchalant, casually smoking her cigarette as if she isn’t threatening to make a mess of you with something so simple.

They furrow their eyebrows in concern. “You okay?”

“Y-Yeah! Sorry,” you reply sheepishly. “I’ve been… well, busy. There’s a lot of backlog I still need to catch up on.”

Quanxi doesn’t do much after that, something you’re thankful for. Perhaps she took pity on you. Tearing your gaze away from her, you turn back to your colleague with a strained smile. You hope they won’t notice how you’ve tensed up and how your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“W-What about you?”

It’s even more surprising that you can still speak while feeling so tongue-tied. Your conversation partner starts to chatter away, talking about everything and nothing, which you try your best to stay invested in. It makes for quite a good distraction, and Quanxi doesn’t tease you again until your colleagues begin to leave one by one. Until you’re eventually left alone with her.

You bite the inside of your cheek nervously. Her surprising you earlier could’ve been an accident, so nothing is stopping you from going home. You should go home. It’s not like she wants you to stay, right? She’s probably waiting for you to leave so she can do the same thing. You try to think of a polite way to excuse yourself, but nothing comes to mind and the words are stuck in the back of your throat.

“You’re thinking too much.”

You’re sober. Sober enough to be able to function, but not enough to notice that Quanxi has moved to sit next to you with her hand on your thigh. She leans in close to press a kiss to your neck, an invitation. A promise. You watch as her lithe fingers teasingly skim across your inner thigh, dancing dangerously close to your core. Your eyes remain on her hand, how it feels pressed against you, so warm and perfect—

“Not here,” you breathe, “H-Home.”

The night passes by in a blur. Before you know it, she has you on her bed, your cheeks flushed and your clothes torn from your body. Everything feels warmer, stronger, and you don’t know if it’s because you’re tipsy or if it’s because you’re pent up, but it doesn’t matter. You can’t think of anything, not when she keeps taking your breath away time and time again with every roll of her hips. Moans and broken syllables of her name leave your lips, doused in lust and whatever remaining modesty you have left.

Once isn’t enough for her. Your thighs are trembling as she pushes you into the blankets, keeping a tight grip on your shoulder as the sound of her thighs slapping against yours fills the room. The lewd noises leaving your body make your cheeks burn, and you wonder if she can feel how warm they are against her thighs when she finally lets you return the favour with your tongue. You’re sloppy and unpracticed, you know you are, but when she says your name and tells you that you’re so good for her, your heart soars.

Eager to please, you stay for what feels like an hour before she has you on your back and her fingers inside you once again. She doesn’t stop until you’re a teary-eyed, trembling mess beneath her. She doesn’t stop until your voice is hoarse from how loud you’ve been. Sleep comes easy to you that night; once more, you nestle close to her side and drift off, completely spent. The same way you did last night; only this time, she doesn’t hold you.

She’s gone by the time you wake up, and her taste lingers on your tongue as you leave her apartment feeling satiated but hollow.

—

You don’t know when meeting up with Quanxi just to fuck became a regular thing, but it did.

It’s a bad idea. You know it is. Even fucking worse now that you realise that you’re no longer doing this for sexual pleasure. You’re doing it for her affection, even if it only comes with her hand around your throat or between your thighs. You know it’s a bad idea when you always leave her place feeling used. Emotions have never been your strong suit—you’re not made to think, you’re made to do—but the whirlwind and the paradox have set you a few steps back. From what, you don’t know; all you know is that you can’t move on without her, without something more from her.

It bothers you how you both go back to work and act like you don’t know each other. It bothers you how she doesn’t even notice you when you happen to walk by. It bothers you how she feels so distant even though everything you’ve ever done with her has been things only lovers do. It bothers you how much you feel like you need her to satisfy you in more ways than what she’s currently doing. It’s not meant to be something serious. You’ve known that the moment she kissed you.

A distraction is all you are. A vice, like her drinks and her cigarettes and the other women. Something she has readily available to her, and because it’s Quanxi, you let it happen. You think she’s worth the turmoil in your mind. Why wouldn’t she be? She knows your body like the back of her hand, knows what you like, knows what you need. You’ll grin and bear it, accept the love she gives you on sleepless nights, and come whenever she calls.

Work has been busy enough for the past week or two. You were sent on a mission to somewhere in the south, ordered to exterminate a cluster of fiends and granted temporary leave after one of them managed to give you a nearly fatal wound. You don’t think she even knows that you were at the hospital until you had enough blood in your veins to heal again. It’s fine. Of course it is. She’s as busy as you are, if not more, and she has her own things to worry about.

You haven’t seen her in a while. Not at work, not at the bar you frequent. It harrows and relieves you at the same time because you feel her wherever you go. You walk in crowds hoping that she’ll be among them. You stay out hours after the work day ends hoping that you’ll bump into her. You keep your ears open hoping that you’ll hear something about her, or if you’re lucky enough, hear her calling your name. You don’t know how she’s woven her existence into your life this much, nor do you know what you want from her. But it’s not that necessary to put a stop to something you need, is it?

It’s fine if she doesn’t need you for anything else beyond sex. It’s fine that your love (is it even so?) goes unreciprocated. It’s fine if you feel cold in her embrace, and it’s fine that she’ll never be yours the same way you are hers. If this is a ‘bad idea,’ then you’ll make the most out of it—anything to keep you happy, anything to please her.

As long as she still knows your name, and as long as she still wants you, it’s enough.

It’s a particularly rough day when you leave an abandoned building with blood on your sleeves. You know your job isn’t done yet. There are reports you have to write, some civilians you need to check on, but you’re not confident that you can keep your impatience and anger under control. You’re tired, miserable, and you’re wondering if those pills do help you or if you’ve been lied to again. A cold shower and coffee weren’t enough to wake you this morning. The so-called soothing balm did nothing to heal the ache in your neck, and things went downhill insanely quickly. Today’s mission was the worst one you’ve ever had. You couldn’t save your partner in time. Their life was syphoned out of their body as they cried—no, begged you to help them, and all you could do was watch it happen.

The weight of your sword on your back feels heavier when you think of your failure today. A good craftsman never blames his tools. Can you say the same thing about yourself? Your weapon is an extension of you. The blade hasn’t dulled, but you have. It makes you feel even worse to know that you aren’t competent at the one thing you can do. If you were, you could’ve saved your partner, the one before that, and the others you lost along the way. Their blood will always be on your hands no matter how much you clean them. You’re quite sure there’s still a splatter on your shirt, but you are so, so tired. Stains are the least of your concerns.

The path to the bar is more familiar than it should be. You can barely register the worried and fearful glances people send you as you walk by them, exhausted and dishevelled. Hell, the bartender isn’t even shocked when you take a seat. He’s seen you more times than he can count. Not as many while you’re looking this beat up, though he takes it well enough. Wordlessly, he brings you your regular order. He doesn’t bother you again after that.

The burn barely fazes you anymore. You settle down the glass a bit harder than you should’ve, making you wince. You don’t want another thing to go wrong today. Quite frankly, you just want it all to be over, so you can retire, rest and visit the places you’ve always wanted to go to. Maybe get married, have a family, or adopt a pet. What a normal entails isn’t that known anymore. You’ll take anything at this point.

“Rough day?”

Quanxi leans on her side against the counter, running her gaze up and down your form. It should make you feel embarrassed, what with the current state you’re in, but you don’t think you can even care anymore.

You chuckle humorlessly. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

It doesn’t occur to you until moments later that this is your first time seeing her in weeks. A part of you feels relieved to know that she’s fine, she’s here, and another part of you is in disbelief that she still wants to talk to you despite the state you’re in. You can’t decide whether that’s endearing or pitiable.

“Wanna talk about it?”

You’ve already made several bad decisions, what’s another one going to do? You can drink the whole night, or you can do something that’ll make you feel good and forget for a little while. You cut to the chase, staring down into the glass. “My place or yours?”

She blinks, bewildered, then she speaks up again, “You can come to mine.”

The world doesn’t come back to you until you’re in her apartment again, already out of breath as you try to keep up with her hungry kisses. They’re addicting, borderline overwhelming, but you always crave for more, more, more. Her hands are on your hips and tonight she touches you with a gentleness that wasn’t present in your other trysts. Her touches are featherlight, treating your body like it’s made out of glass, and for some reason unknown to you, it’s more than enough to make you break into tears.

You pull her closer, your arms wrapped around her waist as you sob into her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, only rubs soothing circles on your back and lets you cry your heart out. Conflicting feelings make their way into your heart, holding it tight within its suffocating grasp. You want her to say something, but at the same time, you don’t. You want to ignore everything, have her make you forget, but you also don’t want to.

Then you can finally breathe. Your cries turn into sniffles. Your breathing is shakier than it should be, but it gradually calms down. Her collar is stained with your tears, marked with your vulnerability, your weakness. It’s hard to speak. The silence kills you inside, breaks down every wall you’ve put up around you. You crumble before her, your nails lightly digging into her back as she gently lays you down on the bed. You’re still holding on to her when she tries to get up.

“I’ll get you some water,” she says. You think it’s the softest she’s ever sounded. Your hand lingers on hers for a moment before you reluctantly let her go, too worn out to ask or argue.

When she comes back, she crawls into her side of the bed. No words are shared as you curl up close to her. Her heartbeat steadily lulls you to sleep while she pulls you closer with her hand on your back, tucking your head beneath her chin.

And just like last time and the time before that, you wake up alone.

Your head hurts. Your body aches all over, hurting with the smallest movement, but you manage. Some water spills when you drink, which you haphazardly wipe away with the back of your hand. The clock on the wall tells you that you’re late for work, but you’re far too weary to move. Instead, you nestle deeper into the blankets, blankly staring at the nightstand as the city continues to live without you.

She didn’t leave you a note. Why would she? She’s not your lover; she doesn’t have to tell you anything. There’s a sense of urgency in the back of you should leave too. That there’s a busy day ahead of you, there are people and families you need to get in touch with, and there’s some loose ends that you need to tie up. It will get worse the longer you stall, and yet, you can’t bring yourself to care about it.

You don’t feel anything. You want to feel happy, angry, sad, anything, but you just can’t. Not when you’re on your own and the only company you have is the quiet. You don’t feel anything unless you’re in pain. You don’t feel anything unless you drink until you black out. But with Quanxi, you feel alive. With her, you don’t feel like a machine. You don’t feel like a killer, stained in the blood of those you failed to save. You’re someone she likes, at least enough to keep around for as long as she has. You’re someone she looks for when she needs you.

It’s not love. You know it isn’t. You don’t think she’ll ever love you the same way you love her. You’re not that oblivious to ignore what this truly is—pure unadulterated lust and desire, something to relieve stress whenever it arises. Days ago you cried until you had nothing left because you wanted more. Now, you just ignore it all. If it makes you feel good in the moment, makes you feel like you’re worth something, who are you to deny it?

You know you make bad decisions, ones that lead you to consequences you deal with alone like this one. You don’t care anymore. You never think twice. It’s just how you’ve always been.

You never think twice, but as the bed gets colder, you wonder if it’s about time you did.

[revoutionsingingintherain]

Alec and bracelets

idk why, but i can imagine Alec wearing bracelets in his non-dominant hand all the time. Like, he never buys them. They are given to him by people who are important to him, and he chooses to wear them and never take them off.

Robert and Maryse probably won't like them at first, because "Honestly, Alec, it's a girly piece of jewelry! You're a man!" but Alec won't care, because people gave it to him because he meant something to them.

For a pre-teen or a teen Alec, he was always in the shadows of Jace, and he did get used to it, but knowing that his family or friends thought of him when they made or bought their bracelets, made young Alec feel like he mattered to someone.

His first bracelet was given to him when he was seven, by a five year old Izzy. It would be mismatched colors, but strong enough to not break unless sliced by a blade.

"Alec! I made you something!"

"What is it, Izzy?"

She took his hand and slid a mismatched colored bracelet onto his wrist. Alec stared in amazement, a little teary eyed at the thought of his five year old sister making him something.

"It's a sibling bracelet! See!"

"A - a sibling bracelet?"

"Yeah! It's a bond that means that we will never leave each other and always love each other!"

Alec wrapped his younger sister in his arms. He was not used to show a lot of physical affection to anyone. His parents had taught him that it made him look weak, and so, he avoided showing any sort of emotion. But, his sister had made him something, and he was not going to not show his sister that he appreciated it.

"Thank you, Izzy."

His second bracelet was given to him by Jace.

The boys were sitting on Izzy's bed. Isabelle had had a nightmare, and Jace and Alec had promised her to stay with her. Izzy never asked for help. She believed that it made her look like she was not strong enough. But, she knew she could always rely on her brothers.

Jace and Alec were bored. Jace had started messing around with some bands and threads that Izzy had. Alec had stayed quiet, and occasionally closed his eyes, listening to Izzy's breaths, and Jace's irritated sigh, and the creaking of the wood.

"Alec?"

Alec opened his eyes and looked at Jace. Jace avoided looking at Alec in the eye, and for the first time since Alec had met him, Jace looked shy and insecure.

"Yeah?"

"I made you something."

Jace handed him a bracelet made of black and gold threads, woven together. Alec understood that the black represented him because of his hair color, and the gold represented Jace, because of his hair color.

"I just noticed that you wear a bracelet, and Izzy told me that she made it for you when you were young. I just thought, that this could show that you will always be friend and my brother. And I hope that one day, we can be parabatai. I mean, you're the first person who doesn't eat up all the bullshit that I say and -"

"Jace. I like it. Thank you."

The smile that Jace had given Alec that night, had been the widest and most genuine smile he had ever seen on the boy's face.

Max had given him a bracelet before he left for Academy. Alec had been surprised, but forever grateful to have something that his little brother had given him.

"Alec?"

"Yeah?"

Alec was gearing up for a mission, but paused, when his brother had called for him. Wordlessly, Max handed him a bracelet made with a blue that matched their eyes, and a silver that just looked so pure with the blue.

"This is for you. I know that everyone thinks that Jace is my favorite brother, but he's not. Jace has a lot of stories to tell, and is more interesting. But, Alec, you've always been my favorite brother."

Alec had slid the bracelet along with Izzy's and Jace's, and choked out a "thank you". His brother had nodded, and then, ran out in search for his father, or maybe Izzy.

Max's words replayed in his head. You've always been my favorite brother.

It was a few weeks after Clary had come back from the Alternate Dimension, when he got his next bracelet.

"Hey, Alec?"

Alec looked up from his documents, "Yeah?"

Hesitantly, Clary moved forward, and kept a bracelet on his table. The bracelet had threads that were woven in an intricate pattern. It had six colors of thread on them, and he knew it formed the Pride Flag colors. Magnus had introduced him to the LGBTQ+ community.

"The Alec that I met in the Alternate Dimension was openly gay. And everyone around him accepted him for who he was. He was really confident and comfortable. He was happier, Alec."

Alec stared back without a word.

"He was wearing a bracelet like that. I drew it from my memory, and pulled it out, like with the Mortal Cup. I hope that one day, you'll be as happy as that Alec."

Alec stood from his chair, and wrapped Clary in an awkward hug. He had not realized how much it would mean to him to hear that there was a universe out there, where he was accepted for his sexuality and wasn't forced to change himself, until Clary told him.

"Thank you."

Clary smiled and nodded at him, before she turned and left the office. Alec stared at the bracelet for a few seconds, before he slipped it on his wrist, behind Max's and smiled softly at the colors.

Magnus had gotten him one too. It was a few months after Alec had gifted him the omamori charm, that Magnus carried with him everywhere.

Magnus had been so nervous. He did not understand why. This was Alexander! His boyfriend, Alexander!

"Alexander?"

"Hmm?"

"I got you something."

"Is it my birthday?"

"No. I just saw something and I thought of you and I bought it."

"What is it?"

"It's a bracelet. I was with a client today, and he was making these, and it just reminded me of you. So, I asked him if he would make one in Warlock blue and Shadowhunter gold."

Alec took it in his hand delicately, and stared at it.

"He said that he puts these charms or something, that was supposed to bring protection and good fate. You know, a little like the omamori charm that you gave me. And I thought that you could get a little more protection, because I mean, you kill demons for a living, and -"

Alec kissed him. He didn't know how else to shut him up, and show how much he appreciated the gesture at the same time. So, he kissed Magnus, pouring all of his emotions into it, begging Magnus wordlessly to know how thankful he was.

"So, I take it, you liked it?" Magnus asked, when they pulled back. Alec laughed.

Simon had given him a bracelet before Asmodeus took away his memories.

Alec was supporting Magnus, when Simon approached him. Asmodeus was waiting for Simon, ready to take away his memories.

Simon took off the bracelet he wore. His father had given it to him when he was a child. It had three brown threads on it, and the center thread had a silver arrow on it.

Simon handed it to Alec, and said, "My father gave it to me when I was a child. I know that I won't have any memory of any of you, but I know that I will remember that bracelet. If I ever see you guys again, at least, I'll know that I knew you, and that your family - this family - and you were someone important to me. Thank you, Alec."

Izzy and Clary were sobbing behind them. Alec was stunned. Simon and him were never close, but they had a mutual respect for each other.

Asmodeus took Simon away, and the rest of them returned to New York. Alec had added the bracelet to the collection he had on his wrist. Clary had explained to him, that Simon's father had made it for Simon at a fair, and had told him that as long as Simon wore it, his father would always be with him.

Alec had cried that night. He hated to admit it, but he missed the nerd.

It was a few years later when Alec got his next bracelet. Magnus and Alec had adopted their second son, Rafael. It had taken some time for him to warm up to Alec and Magnus.

"Daddy?"

Alec looked up from his work. Rafael was sitting on the couch beside him. He looked at Alec with wide, innocent eyes.

"Yes, Rafe?"

Rafael pulled out a bracelet from his pocket. Alec and Magnus knew what it was. It was the only thing that Rafael had from his biological family. It was a single thread, with one bead on it.

"My real daddy used to wear this. But, now, you're my daddy. So, I want you to wear it."

Alec held out his hand, and Rafael tied it around his wrist, behind all the thin bracelets he wore. When he was done, Alec ruffled his son's hair, and smiled at him. Rafael smiled back, and leaned against his father.

His younger son, Max, had made one for Alec, like Izzy, Jace, and Max had.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Alec laughed, and picked up his three year old son in his arms, throwing him in the arm. Max giggled loudly, and Magnus and Rafael followed Max to where he was greeting Alec at the door.

"Hi, Max! How was your day?"

"I made you something, Daddy!"

"Really? What is it?"

Max held a small black thread with colorful, glittery beads on them. He put it against Alec's neck, and said, "I made you a necklace, Daddy! Like, Bapak has!"

"But, Max! This is so small for my neck! Why don't you tie it around my wrist? With the other ones that I have?"

Max pouted for a moment, before nodded. Alec held out his wrist, and Max tried to tie it around his wrist. Magnus, magically, tied the thread around Alec's wrist. Max beamed at his father, who beamed back at him.

Alec put his son down, and greeted the rest of his family.

But, he won't wear all of them all the time. There were too many of them, and after he would become Consul, he would have to look professional. Eight bracelets won't make him look professional, and he knew that.

So, he would ask Magnus to charm them, that if he ever lost one of them, they would magically return to his pocket.

He would wear the bracelet that Magnus gave him all the time. The others, he would tie them together, and attach it to his set of keys or slide them on his belt, so that they were hidden by his blazer (formal jacket).

Eventually, when he would become an uncle, or a grandfather, he got more and more of them. He would tell anyone who asked how he got the bracelets he had, and who gave it to him. All the little kids would listen to him, with wide eyes and fascination.

And when Alec would die, Magnus would made sure that Alec was wearing all of his bracelets, laughing through teary eyes as he recalled the stories of how he got the ones from his siblings or from Clary, or Simon. Rafael and Max would stand with their Bapak, and would cry with him at the amount of bracelets Alec had gotten from his family, and friends, and nephews and nieces, and grandchildren.

Anyways, it was just an idea that I liked a lot! Thanks for reading this!

[ellitx]

Frailty | Kazuha x Reader

No matter how many times you've run away from your practices, Kazuha is always able to find you.

art belongs to rivaiiwah

word count: 1.8k

           Here you are with the cherry blossoms sprouting from the branches, looking to the casual eye as flowers until they bloom. Who pays attention to their chaotic stems that twist in the joy of new life until they wear colors that soothe the viewer’s perception.

           Then there they are in the air that becomes more welcoming each day, a community of colors, a feast for butterflies and bees. 

           A new beginning. 

           A little pink petal was plucked off from the group, letting it float alone in the air as it landed on your hand. Your eyes peered over the frond and lifted it up to the sunlight to observe the bright colors of it.

           “[Name]-sama, there you are.”

           You whipped your head and smiled at the caller when he approached you. “Kazuha? What brings you here?” You questioned as you fixed your hold on the parasol. His brows scrunched up and let out a sigh as he fixed the sleeve of his outfit. 

           “Ayaka-sama, was looking for you.”

           “Ane? Why’s that?” You questioned.

           He sighed once again and pinched your cheeks a bit harshly. “You need to practice your purification rituals. Your siblings are looking for you again and now they’re worried about you.”

           “Ah— Kazuha, that hurts…!” You grasped his hand to release his hold on your face, but to no avail, he won’t budge. Seconds later, he finally and slowly let go and spared your cheeks from reddening to which you rubbed it to alleviate the sharp pain.

           His gaze went to the blooming flower of cherry blossoms and watched how the wind fluttered the petals. Ruby gems have softened at the sight of the newly sprung tree before focusing on the young princess of Kamisato.

           Your name uttered from his lips making you arch a brow at him in puzzlement. His lips parted slightly and waited for a moment before asking. “I’m just wondering why are you here. There are sakura trees at your residence, though.” He stated as he scratched his cheek with his index finger.

           Your throat hummed and looked at the sky in wonder. “Ah that… I think you already know the answer to that.” He knew for sure he saw your eyes glinted in mischief when you looked at him. 

           That smirk plastered on your face didn’t go unnoticed by him. He was quiet for a minute making you giggle and stifle it with your hand. Kazuha groaned in flicked your head much to your surprise.

           “Ouch!”

           “I’m taking you back to the Kamisato residence whether you like it or not.” 

           “Kazuha!! No please—“

—

           “Oh my, it seems like he already found her.” The young mistress giggled and watched both of you entered through the main gate with the swordsman pushing you inside. You were writhing and shaking your arm, doing your best to escape from him.

           At the sight of your face, your brother’s smile widened, and quickly wore his geta and engulfed you in a bear hug. “[Name], where have you been?! I was worried sick when I saw you weren’t inside your room!” He screeched and cried hysterically before glaring at Kazuha.

           It sent a shiver down his spine before averting his gaze away from Ayato and squared his shoulders. “Hmph, I could’ve found her on my own, but the archon must have graced you to guide my little sister back home.” Your brother grumbled as he patted your head in an assuring manner. You heaved a sigh and mouthed a sorry to your friend which he just waved it off.

           Ayaka reached to where the three of you are and deeply bowed to Kazuha in thanks. “Thank you and sorry for bothering you to look for [Name]. We’ll be sure to compensate you greatly.” She remarked and motioned for him to come inside.

           “It’s fine, Ayaka-sama. I was just happy and relieved to know she didn’t stray too far from here.” He peeked at you from the corner of his eyes before looking back at your older sister.

           “You can drop the formalities. And also, aniki, you’re suffocating [Name].” She respired and pulled you away from Ayato’s loving hugs making you sigh in relief and thank her.

           He pouted and huffed before crossing his arms and narrowly eyed you. His nature quickly changed in a blink and you know for sure you’re in a trouble just the way he lightly frowned at you.

           “[Name].” Your body shivered and avoided looking at him as you cowered behind Kazuha. “Y-yes…?” You muttered softly and tightly gripped on his clothes. 

           “Why did you skipped practicing?” You gulped down your fear and sheepishly smiled at Ayato, trying to think of an excuse. 

           “Well, it’s spring! You know how much I love sakura flowers and watch them bloom before me, aniki!” A peal of tense laughter slipped from your mouth and nudged Kazuha asking for help. Your [eye color] eyes were pleadingly gazed upon his for help as you shook his arm lightly to get him to understand your gestures.

           Sighing for an umpteenth time on this day. He faced Ayato sternly making him pause when he saw Kazuha’s face got darker. A bead of sweat rolled down his temples yet never faltering his stare onto him.

           “Ayato-sama, just lock the door if she ever escapes again.” Kazuha’s eyes returned back to their usual light and grabbed you by your shoulders, placing you in front. His fingers pointed at you and then grinned slyly at you.

           Your eyes widened but before you could open your mouth to speak out, his words made you stopped in your tracks and your face paled while your lips were parted a bit. “If she does run away again, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll make sure she does her practices frequently.”

           The cunning smile glued on his pretty face made you scared. From the other’s perspective he seemed like an innocent and nice teen, but for you, oh you know that smile very well. He didn’t want to indulge in your escapades and he’s going to pay you back with his own mischievousness. 

    —

           “Sein!”

           You threw a talisman onto the dummy as your index and middle finger were stick together and the rest were closed. “Sein?” Kazuha’s brow raised in bewilderment at your chant and stared at the dummy. He was expecting something would happen but sadly there was none.

           It only stood still, remaining unchanging. “[Name], it’s read as sho-shi-tsu.” Ayaka said as she removed the piece of paper on the figurine. “And isn’t sein something you would hear in Mondstadt?” 

           Your lips formed a grin as your optics shined brightly in excitement. “Sein sounds way cooler than shoshitsu!” A strong impact was thrown on your head making you cry in pain and place your hand on it protectively.

           “[Name]-sama, please take this seriously.” Kazuha exhaled through his nose and stretched your cheeks making you whine even more at the increasing pain. Ayaka laughed lightly at the sight of you two as she took the brush from your hands.

           “I guess we can practice next time, is that alright with you? I still have to practice my sword fight with Tohama.” Ayaka awaited your response while she kept the materials back to their rightful place.

           You merely giggled and shoved her playfully. “It’s fine~ Have a nice date with him!” Her face flushed and her silver eyes widened in surprise as she continuously stuttered. 

           “I-it’s not a date!”

           “Right, right.” You pushed her out of the room and gave her a hug before closing the door gently. You leaned your body against it and heaved a sigh at the exhausting purification practices.

           It really tired your mind and body so much. Even though you joke around sometimes to loosen up that stiff body of yours, you know you still need to work hard on it because of your duty as a shrine maiden. 

           Purifications are much needed and required in the Kamisato house. Ayaka has already mastered everything from arts to music and even poetry, and yet here you are, not even having the slightest talent like her to accomplish such things.

          Ayaka is the embodiment of perfection and nobleness, there's no doubt about that. Her form is even more elegant than yours and how she handles tea ceremonies more delicately unlike you who somehow still spills the tea from nervousness no matter how much you've practiced mastering it.

           It really tired you out how they expect so many things for you. 

           Being noble is really hard.

           The anemo-user noticed your destitute appearance and slowly approached you. 

           “[Name]-sama?” 

           You snapped out from your deep thoughts and shakily looked at him. “O-oh, Kazuha. I forgot you were still here…” You coughed and fixed your outfit, giving him a curious glance and asked.

           “Is something the matter?” 

           “I should be the one asking you that. It seems like something’s troubling you.”

                      His brows furrowed in worry and took a closer look at your well-being. “It’s nothing. I’m just glad I don’t have to practice anymore, it really tired me out. Ugh…” You grumbled and rested your hand on your stomach when you felt it rumbled.

           “Do you want to eat outside?” Your ears perked up and nodded eagerly like a child. For a second, you thought you saw him smile before it quickly disappeared. He offered his hand to you which you gladly accepted as he lead you to the exit of the room.

           “Kazuha’s treating me~” You sang joyfully, thinking of the foods from the stalls. Or maybe he’ll treat you to eat at a restaurant? Just thinking of it made your stomach growled even more from hungriness and excitement, imagining that freshly cooked takoyakis or even those crispy golden-brown tempuras.

           Even with all the smiles and laugh you give off, he can’t help but be bothered that you’re hiding something. You always shake off whenever he asks if you’re fine or if you needed anything.

           He wished that you could rely on him and trust him, to tell him all the troubles that have been piling up inside you. He has known you for a long time now, and yet why can’t you open up to him some more?

           If maybe, just maybe— one day he’ll be able to finally tell you how he feels. He’ll even go as far as looking for you if you escaped once more. He hopes you’ll notice the signs he’s been giving that he’s there for you and you don’t have to bottle it up.

           He wants to tell you that it’s alright to cry and feel vulnerable. He’ll love everything about you, even your own imperfections.

           Just the way you accepted and love everything about himself.

did i just write for an unreleased genshin chara? yes, yes i did, and im ready to simp for him

[lululawrence]

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

[the-lone-witch-and-secret-room]

The Blight twins, codependency and fatal communication failure

Recently I talked about “the Blight children and toxic behaviors”, specifically about the tough love fallacy and how their parents get them to target each other rather than backing each other up.

In that post I mentioned wanting to make one specifically on the relationship of the Blight twins, and, well, here we are.

When we think of The Owl House and unhealthy/toxic platonic relationships, we think of the one Amity has with the twins in the earlier episodes, or Eda and Lilith, or the one the Blight kids have with their parents. I’m pretty sure very few people would look at these words and think of Edric and Emira… but it’s true nonetheless. The twins are raised in a very toxic environment that teaches them a lot of unhealthy mechanisms. The heavily codependent relationship the two siblings share is incredibly unhealthy for both of them.

Let’s get into why.

More under cut because hell this got long.

Who am I without you?

The Blight Twins always show up as a unit. They’re a set of two, who share the same track and are involved in the same shenanigans.

We never see them separate from each other in the show. Not a single time.

Their mother picks their matching outfits, according to Dana, because she likes her kids to be “color-coordinated.” They’re supposed to always look similar.

To Amity, they’re a united front—we don’t get to see her relationship to them separate from each other, we only get her relationship with “the twins.”

As far as I’m aware we’ve never gotten art from Dana featuring just one of them. They’re also often treated as a pair by the fandom (outside of their respective ships, that is), showing up together and showcasing very similar behaviors in fics, showing up together in fanart, etc.

We don’t have much content of just one of them with Amity (or anyone else that’s not their romantic partner).

You also don’t generally see them disagreeing a lot in fan content, which is interesting. Despite being two separate characters, they don’t get to actually be separate from each other a ton.

The main difference you see in their portrayal is in Emira being treated as the more responsible older sister, while Edric gets treated as more goofy (and a bit of an idiot), both in the show and fanon content. But that’s essentially it.

The twins are the twins. There’s no “just Edric” or “just Emira”. They don’t seem to exist without each other.

Their united front is both their greatest strength and their weakest link. They likely experienced a similar abuse as the one Amity went through, but they always had each other to lean on instead of enduring it alone. And while it definitely helps them a ton that they have each other, it also results in an unhealthy amount of codependency. Edric and Emira ONLY ever had each other. Their relationship with Amity is pretty bad and outside of that almost nonexistent up until Lost In Language, mostly used to hurt each other. Edric is always with Emira and Emira is always with Edric and there is no one else they can fall back on. Their most important relationship, the one with each other, is simultaneously the only one they have, one that they desperately clung to for a very long time. They don’t have any friends that we’re aware of.

Both Emira’s and Edric’s worst fear is born out of this. Despite being completely opposite fears, they stem from the same basic issue. In Enchanting Grom Fright, when they talk about their worst fears, Edric says “Being alone forever.” while Emira says “Being stuck with you forever.”

There is so much characterization in those two little sentences.

Edric has a fear of being alone because he’s always around Emira. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be alone, and he doesn’t want to find out. He doesn’t know who he is without Emira. This is somewhat subtle in the show, but she’s shown to be the more responsible of the two, preventing her brother from eating snow and being bitten by a bat. Edric looks to Emira for guidance, and his fear of being alone might stem from him not thinking himself capable of taking care of himself. Emira is smart and knows what she’s doing, and so Edric always runs after her. Even just entertaining the thought of being without her, without anyone to guide him, scares him so much that he proclaims it his worst fear. He likely leans on Emira a ton.

His desire to to lean on other people because he thinks himself incapable of handling issues himself comes with the possibility of him opening up easier, to the extent of oversharing, doing it so much that it becomes overbearing for Emira. But even if he can open up about some of the fears he has related to not meeting their parents expectations, he can’t really communicate the issues he has that involve Emira, because open communication about their issues is something they generally struggle with (see the point about lack of communication further below). Edric is under the impression that he needs someone else because he’s never been without Emira and doesn’t know what it’s like to exist without her. And as long as he has someone to lean on, he never has to find out if he’s truly as incapable as he thinks himself to be. His refusal to let go of her fuels his fear further—the tighter he holds on, the scarier the thought of letting go becomes.

Emira doesn’t know who she is without Edric either, and that’s exactly the reason she wants to break out of that dynamic so desperately. She doesn’t want to be nothing but someone’s twin for the rest of her life. She wants to just be herself, not have all her interests linked to her brother, for people to stop mentioning her only in the same sentence as Edric. She’s had enough of the matching. What Emira really wants is independence—from her brother, and, to a larger extent, her parents and their control.

Edric leaning on her as much as he does makes Emira feel responsible for him, and she struggles to let go of that because she doesn’t want to hurt him—but the tighter he holds on because he believes he needs her, the more overwhelmed Emira feels by her brother and the responsibility she holds for both of them.

Emira loves Edric, but she’s his sister, and can’t provide him with emotional support 24/7. Spending all day handling someone else’s issues can be pretty draining, especially when you struggle to share the ones you yourself have.

With Emira’s longing for independence comes a refusal to lean on anyone, especially on Edric, because she can’t at the same time let herself be vulnerable and need his support while also wanting to break out of their current dynamic. So Emira doesn’t talk about her issues, she doesn’t cry, she doesn’t lean on anyone. Emira is independent and strong and she doesn’t need anyone, especially not Edric.

It likely started out as them leaning on each other, but where Edric started to become too dependent on Emira always being there, Emira started growing increasingly overwhelmed and pulling back, catching them in a vicious circle of him trying to hold on tighter in order not to lose her, which causes her to draw back further.

To be clear:

a) Emira is not a terrible person for wanting to be away from Edric. What she said hurt him and came across as callous, but what he said harmed her too, even if the “why” that I just explained isn’t as blatantly obvious in the show. Edric isn’t a terrible person for relying on Emira so much, either. Neither of them are inherently malicious in any way, even if they do hurt each other. That they have to deal with these issues in the first place is rooted in the abuse they experienced, specifically in their parents treating them as a two-part set rather than two separate people their whole life.

b) I think it should be clear now why Edric’s behavior is toxic, but I want to address that Emira’s behavior is also an issue. While her desire for independence in itself is normal and healthy, she’s striving for a toxic kind of independence where she doesn’t need anyone anymore, which wouldn’t be good for her either.

Everyone needs to rely on other people sometimes, and if she doesn’t allow herself to, it’s going to cause some serious damaged in the long run. The most reliable relationship she had, the only support system she has, falls victim to her desire to be away from Edric… and only after she is she’s going to realize just how much she needed him, needed anyone to be there, too.

I think it’s very interesting that Edric’s and Emira’s issues are essentially inverted—they have the same root, but their problems are the exact opposite.

Edric is Emira’s mirror image.

This is also shown visually. With the matching clothes and identical dominant features (eye and hair color), they look extremely similar. Their beauty marks are what makes them into a mirror image rather than just looking identical, because they’re on opposite sides of their face. Emira’s is on her right cheek, Edric’s on his left. If they face each other, the marks mirror each other perfectly.

They had the same thing in the concept art I’ve seen of them too, but it was with identical earrings on opposite sides rather than beauty marks.

Caged Freedom

I couldn’t find a way to somehow smoothly fit this into the overlaying topic, but it’s an important part of the reason for their communication issues I go into below, and also just something that I wanted to go into, so take it or leave it.

The twins appear extremely confident, seem like they always get what they want (Amity even resents them for “getting away with everything”), but they really, really doesn’t. Sneaking out of school is the only way they can have the slightest bit of normalcy and freedom and control over their life, and Edric and Emira cannot be caught or it will come back to bite them—the reason they wanted to punish Amity in the first place is that she told on them for skipping, getting them in trouble.

Even within their “rebellion” against their parents, there’s a set system Emira and Edric have to operate within—matching clothes, perfect scores, not doing anything that could get back to their parents or harm the family reputation. Despite skipping school, they both maintain excellent grades. It’s said in Adventures in the Elements, Amity is even trying to beat their best score on an exam.

It’s a careful, calculated kind of resistance, not one that includes them openly opposing their parents. They do things their parents wouldn’t like, they tread lines, but they’re being smart about it, in hopes it will never get back to their parents. Even their limited freedom is caged in that way.

Despite seeming as confident as they do, they’re too scared to talk back to their parents. They cause exactly the kind of trouble that they know is possible to get away with without putting themselves in harm’s way. Going further, openly calling their parents out for how they’re being treated, would be dangerous, and so they don’t. They operate within the system and follow it as much as they have to in order to be able to push the boundaries even slightly.

Their endless confidence, their apparent fearlessness, is just another illusion of theirs.

They wouldn’t need to get back at Amity for telling on them if their behavior was just a huge “fuck you” to their parents. But they do, because their parents aren’t supposed to know. They’re scared, even if they’d never admit that.

Emira and Edric target Amity as a way to cope with the treatment they receive from their parents, which they to an extent blame on Amity (I’ve gone over this more in-depth in the toxic behaviors post I linked above).

Hurting Amity in hopes she won’t tell on them again seems safe in a way that actively calling out their parents behavior could never be.

Lack of Communication

Edric and Emira both have trouble communicating their feelings in a healthy way, and instead of open communication and talking things through they revert to backhand comments and punishment.

They grown up believing that severe punishments are necessary, “tough love” used to help someone improve as shown (and literally quoted) in Lost In Language in regards to Amity. That’s also something I go into my other Blight sibs post.

Regarding the backhand comments, let’s look at their worst fears in Enchanting Grom Fright again. As explained above, Emira’s “being stuck with you forever”-fear is a shitty attempt at trying to get across that she’s unhappy with never getting to be apart from Edric to just be herself. Edric’s “being alone forever” brings up a huge fear of his, especially of being abandoned by Em, which, regarding her worst fear, is justified.

Both of these fears are extremely understandable, and they don’t necessarily have to be at odds with each other—Emira just wants to not feel overwhelmed by Edric, and figure out who she is, and she doesn’t have to completely abandon him to achieve that, even if it’s something she might think she wants now. Edric has to find a way to be able to rely on himself more because Emira can’t always be around him, but he can still maintain a close, positive relationship with her, and would absolutely be able to make other friends that could support him.

What them voicing these fears is, for both of them, is a desperate cry for help, for change. Edric wouldn’t be bringing this up if there wasn’t a part of him that desperately wants to talk to Emira about this, and in the same way Emira wouldn’t have said her fear if she wouldn’t want it too. But the issue is that the twins don’t actually communicate. They put these huge things out there, validating the other’s worst fear with what they say. And then they don’t talk it out. These sentences just hang in the air between them, and then they move on like nothing happened, both anxious and hurt.

And this is because the Blight family in general doesn’t communicate. As mentioned before, the twins don’t dare to talk back to their parents, they do things behind their backs and hope they won’t get caught. They don’t communicate with Amity, and despite Edric and Emira being the closest person the other has, they don’t really communicate the issues in their relationship with each other either, because they don’t know how. This is not a skill they were ever taught, because talking things through like that requires them to be extremely vulnerable. To acknowledge what their worst fears are and why, that they might have gone too far or might have been wrong about some of the things they said, and therefore admit to not being perfect.

But Blights are required to be perfect, and Blights aren’t wrong—if others don’t see things your way, you make them. If others don’t act the way you want them to, you punish them. Tough love to help them grow and “encourage” them to make the “right” decision.

There’s no room for open communication in an environment that sees vulnerability as a shortcoming, and admitting mistakes as a weakness. If neither party is willing to take the first step, communication withers and dies, and the issues go ignored as they grow. Admitting there’s an issue in the first place, and that it might partially be your fault, is considered backing down. And Blights don’t back down. They can’t.

If you back down in business, let others convince you into a bad contact, you’ll never be successful. Worst case: it might be the end. And so you don’t back down. You never do. Blights don’t lose an argument. The other person has to break and back down first.

But that can’t work when both people involved were raised with that mindset. So Emira doesn’t make the first step, and neither does Edric, and aside from their backhand comments that never lead anywhere, they just suffer silently as their relationship disintegrates without as much as their acknowledgement of it.

For Edric, there’s also the issue that bringing up his fear might possibly drive Emira further away, knowing her fear. He doesn’t want to make her angry, and doesn’t want to fight with her, because it might lead to him losing her, which is exactly what he so desperately wants to prevent.

I can’t remember which post brought it up, but one post I read a while back also addresses how despite admitting that her behavior was wrong, we never hear Amity say “sorry” to Willow. Because if there’s one thing the Blight family does even less than admitting mistakes in the first place, it’s apologizing for them. Open communication is weak. Apologizing is weaker.

In summary: There needs to be a balance between depending on yourself and still being able to ask others for support when you need it, and Emira and Edric are currently sitting on opposite ends of the same issue. Both of them need to move more towards the middle. What one of them so desperately wants is what the other needs to recognize.

Emira realizes that she needs space from Edric, and because Edric doesn’t recognize it, he’s the one that needs space from Emira more. He desperately needs to realize that clinging to each other the way they currently are isn’t healthy.

Edric realizes that he needs support from other people, and that’s something Emira denies for herself that she really needs to realize.

They both have half of the solution to their shared problem, but their difficulties communicating the issues within their relationship properly prevent them from finding a healthy solution together.

For everyone that’s incredibly sad now (myself included): I cover these topics in several of my fics.

Most prominently, Locked Out, where I’m currently beginning to explore the Blight twins and their different mindsets further.

Most recently, Sleight of Hand, a collab fic I did with my friend @lexa-alycia, where, among other things, the twins have a long overdue conversation regarding the things said in Enchanting Grom Fright.

But also 6/8 of my currently posted Owl House fics (not counting another additional two that also do and are done but haven’t been posted yet) give focus to at least one of the Blight twins if not both, so yeah I have plenty of twins content on my profile for anyone that wants XD

Next up, probably (because I just do not want to be done with this apparently): a post regarding Vinem and Jerbric and why these relationships would work and be extremely beneficial for everyone involved.

[lazykcdoodler]

Thoughts on Louie and Della's Relationship + which of the triplets is my vote for Most Likely to hold any sort of longterm grudge against their mom (and why it would be Huey)

I was looking through the Della Duck tag in my blog, when I came across some discourse about the Della-Louie relationship dynamic that I reblogged a while back. I was reading thru the comments and saw someone's HC about how S3 Louie might still hold a small grudge against Della for stealing the Spear of Selene.

And I'm like, no?? If any of the kids in S3 and beyond would hold any sort of substantial grudge against Della for taking the Spear, it would obviously be Huey.

Wait, why did I think that-

Then because Huey's not explored enough, I had to take a step back and think about why I thought of him as the most likely candidate.

First, to work thru my thoughts on Louie and Della's relationship, and why he's less likely to hold a grudge against her in the long run. To start things off, he and Della already had their big clash and make up in the S2 finale. Remember this?

Their small arc in S2 did important things for their character development. That's not to say that they'll never argue again, or that they won't ever have problems. I can certainly see Louie using the Spear as ammunition for a future fight, if things came to that. But Louie and Della have other traits in common, aside from sharp scheminess and their tendency to think that they're the smartest people in any room.

Louie and Della are communicators. Yes, they're both sly and manipulative. But their success in that department comes from their ability to understand people. Dewey might've inherited Della's impulsiveness and natural charisma- but his inclination toward dramatics, his need to be well liked by others, and his desire to stand out among his family and peers, all mean that Dewey is more likely than Louie (but not Huey) to keep secrets and his personal feelings quiet. Della and Louie? Much less so.

It took Louie less than a year to voice his insecurities about his capabilities as an adventurer to Huey. When their mom came back to the Manor, Louie voiced his personal concerns in the very same episode. Louie is a crier. He complains a lot. He's an excellent orator. By far, Louie is the easiest triplet to read as a character, because his thoughts and his intentions are made known to the audience very quickly.

On Della's side of the equation, it's strongly implied throughout the series that she served as the emotional translator between Donald and Scrooge. Don't get me wrong; Scrooge and Donald love each other very much, and they understand each other in a way that very few others do. But when wires get crossed and either of them clam up on their hurt feelings (or fight about other things to avoid the elephant in the room), Della comes in to mediate. She voices whatever the other person won't say out loud. But that deserves its own post.

Regardless of any trouble between Louie and Della, I'm sure of three things. 1) Della and Louie love and care about each other, 2) Della is trying her hardest, Louie doesn't like getting into fights, and he admires passion as a trait in other people, and 3) in spite of everything- despite how agreeable Huey is, or how Dewey's such a momma's boy- out of the boys, Della's relationship with Louie is probably the healthiest in the long run. When it comes to his feelings, Louie is the most emotionally honest triplet. If he beats around the bush, it won't be for long.

While Dewey and Della ride the same wavelength (which causes its own problems), she grounded Louie in Timephoon and said those infamous words because she's been in Louie's place before. She knows what scheming and selfishness got her and her family, and she doesn't want Louie to do the same thing. Because she knows she was harsh- and she knows she might've been too harsh, since she just began learning how to be an authority figure- Della is probably less confident with her ability to handle Louie properly. Which means she's more likely to go to Donald for help with Louie's issues, far more often than she might for Dewey and Huey. Louie will always let Della know where she stands with him. And while she won't take his shit, Della will listen and reciprocate his emotional honesty with her own.

Huey is not good at emotional honesty. Don't get me wrong, he's great at helping other people. But unlike Louie, Huey is as emotionally transparent with his insecurities as a steel bear trap.

So. Why Huey? As I mentioned above, he and Della have stuff in common. They enjoy video games and exploring. They're both outdoorsy. Della is giving this her best shot, and Huey's a kind kid. They get along fine, so obviously things must be fine. Right?

Rrriiiigggghhhhtttt. So, why do I think that Huey's the most likely of the triplets to have any residual resentment toward Della for taking the Spear?

Dewey admired Donald's commitment to his family, but he had to learn to respect him. Louie respected Donald's passion and work ethic, but he had to learn to admire him. Huey never had to learn any of that; Donald has held Huey's respect and admiration from Day 1.

Huey's uncle has a terrible temper. He's easily misunderstood by others. He's the hardest worker on the planet, but he's often underappreciated. Huey can relate. This intrinsic understanding is the root of Huey's longstanding admiration and respect for Donald's character and Donald's efforts. Despite their pre-series financial insecurities, Donald successfully raised three boys on his own while providing them with a relatively middle class lifestyle. Despite everything, Donald is rich in the love of his family and friends.

When it comes to Donald's difficulties with public society, out of his brothers, Huey is the most empathetic to their uncle's plight. He might not be a father of three, but Huey holds the best understanding of the responsibilities that Donald undertook on their behalf.

And therein lies the rub.

Huey Duck is the Responsible One. He works hard, takes his duties as the eldest triplet very seriously, and helps Donald wherever he can. Whether by serving as a vocal translator during a bank transaction, taking charge of his siblings when their uncle is away, or speaking in Donald's defense when his brothers call him boring or lame, Huey tries to makes things easier.

Della probably did some of those things for Donald when they were younger, and vice versa. I'm 99 percent sure that Donald has been teaching her how to AdultTM since she got back from the Moon.

(Because her impulsiveness got her stranded for 10 years).

Huey and Della love each other. They get along great. They have plenty in common. But Huey Duck is by-the-book, and naturally inclined toward hard work- just like his Uncle Donald. Della ripped up the book, took a shortcut, and had to learn to become hardworking the hard way. Huey Duck is the Responsible One. Della had to take a crash course in becoming a Responsible Authority Figure after Louie's scheming almost erased the family from history.

There are many reasons to admire Donald, but his ability to wrangle the three of them is probably near the top of Huey's list. If Donald wasn't responsible before the SOS Incident, he certainly learned to be. Huey has his own lifetime of trouble dealing with Louie's cons, Dewey's impulsiveness, and their collective recklessness and disregard for Huey's work and Huey's passions. They're difficult and infuriating, but Huey tries. And whenever Huey tries, his respect for Donald probably rises. Because Donald isn't their sibling- he's their uncle, their guardian, their first parent since the day the triplets hatched. While the triplets probably had honorary family in their lives long before they met Scrooge (apparently, Mouseton and Duckburg are very close to each other), Donald was HDL's only parent for 10 years.

Because Huey's mom was reckless, and got stranded on the Moon.

At least Huey knows where Louie and Dewey got it from. (It's bad enough, coming from them).

But Huey Duck is the oldest. He needs to be a figure of strength and capability. He needs to be a leader, needs to provide support, needs to be a good role model. His family relies on him for that sort of thing. Mom's been through a lot. Uncle Donald has been through a lot. Huey spent ten years watching his uncle go through a lot. Huey needs to set an example. He's the oldest- which means he needs to extend a hand, make an effort, and bury any proverbial hatchet even if it kills him a little.

(Huey wants things to run smoothly. Huey doesn't want to be a burden for others. Canonically, Huey locks away a lot of his own problems and internal anxieties...until his control slips. Huey hates it when that happens).

Let the record show that I love Della Duck. She's one of my favourite characters. I love how hard she tries, and she's come amazingly far. I'm sure Huey appreciates her efforts.

I'm not saying that canon Huey holds a grudge, or that he secretly resents his mom. I just think that out of all the triplets, he's who I'd pick as the most likely to do so. And unlike Louie and Dewey, Huey knows how to hide certain thoughts and feelings successfully. Huey can be anxious, but he can't be mean (he's already weird and nerdy, he can't afford to be mean). Huey has spent his entire life honing his control over his less...socially acceptable emotions. (Hello, Duke). If Huey has grudges about Della and the Spear or anyone and anything else, I have faith in his ability to hide those negative thoughts for a long, long time.

Until he can't.

[bigskydreaming]

Like......Todd Rice’s mother was a villain and he has mental health problems and grew up having terrible experiences in the foster system and he has shadow-themed superpowers that at times enhance his mental instability and make him viewed with distrust by even many other heroes. Helloooooo, things in common with Jason Todd what?

Courtney Mason was a teenage runaway who left behind her abusive home life and wound up in the hands of a cult who tried to sacrifice her in a weird ritual that ended with her soul-bonded to a supernatural entity that has a voracious appetite for violence and vengeance and occasionally takes her over completely without her having any foreknowledge or memory of what happens when she’s not in control. There’s nothing she and Jason can bond about there.

Ray Terrill grew up physically and psychologically abused by his asshole uncle who convinced him that due to the superpowers he inherited from his dead father, light would be fatal to him, and thus he spent most of his childhood living in complete darkness.....only finding out as a teenager that actually his uncle did this to keep him powerless, because his powers are actually FUELED by light. Again, no common ground with Jason to be found.

Owen Mercer is the embittered son of the first Captain Boomerang, the guy who killed Tim’s father, and despite barely ever even knowing his father and not even knowing who he really was until he was an adult, he’s treated with distrust and suspicion from the get go by others in the hero community, because of his connection to not just his father....but the mother he never knew either, who was a Thawne and the source of his super-speed sprint power. (He’s not a full speedster, he can only speed up for periodic sprints). But his Thawne heritage also happens to make him related to Bart Allen.....hmm, not only relatability in the ‘we both know what its like to be screwed over by our connection to assholes we never asked to be related to’ AND the ‘so apparently nothing I thought knew about my parents was accurate and my whole childhood is a lie’ departments, but ALSO a weird connection to Tim via his dad and Tim’s dad and his mom and one of Tim’s best friends, that could create all kinds of uncomfortable situations between Jason, his younger brother, and one of his best friends and one of his brother’s best friends....all without any of them actually in any way being at fault for said uncomfortableness).

Tom Bronson aka Tomcat is the son of Ted Grant aka Wildcat, a JSA hero and one of the oldest and most respected heroes in the community.....who Tom has a VERY different opinion of due to the fact that in his eyes, Ted is a deadbeat dad who was never there for him. While at the same time, still respecting what his father has done as a hero and wanting to be like him in THAT particular respect, wanting his father’s approval in that particular slice of life BECAUSE of what his father has done for others and the world, and being self-conscious and bitter about still wanting anything from his father at all. Additionally, Tom’s power is that he’s a werepanther, capable of turning into a vicious panther form he tends to lose control of, making him wary of the danger he represents to others due to his lack of control even at the same time as relying on that very power to be the source of his ability to help others. Again....zero common ground with Jason, lol.

Grant Emerson aka Damage is the son of the Golden Age Atom who never knew his biological parents, grew up abused within the foster system and by his biological uncle aka Dr. Polaris, a supervillain. In addition to his issues stemming from his childhood abuse and his lifelong quest to find answers about his biological parents and where he came from and what happened to them, he’s also got the power to blow things up which makes him both regarded and treated warily AND mistrustful of his own temper and stability. Nothing to build on there via a dynamic with Jason either before or after his death.

Cindy Reynolds aka Why Is Her Codename Still Literally A Slur is another hero who started out as a teenage runaway fleeing her abusive home life, before her power to craft illusions led to her eventually joining the Detroit lineup of the JLA.

And every single one of these heroes is canonically several years younger than Dick, with most of them depicted as hovering around Tim’s lineup of Young Justice and Titans without ever fully being part of them due to being a couple years OLDER than Tim and his friends, thus putting them smack dab in Jason’s age range. Incidentally, Todd and Ray are both canonically gay and Courtney is bi, which is very helpful should Jason ever be positioned story-wise as say, coming out as not straight I’M JUST SAYING.

But yeah, like I said. There’s SO many potential relationships out there for Jason with a ton of interesting dynamics to explore and build upon, but nah. DC and Lobdell: Let’s just treat Dick and Jason as interchangeable in their friends’ eyes and histories.

[bittermuire]

A (long) analysis of Azriel,

+ a bit of discussion about Gwynriel vs. Elriel at the end.

Lately I’ve seen much discussion surrounding Azriel, and there seems to be a lot of hazy gray area. We know he has a terrible past, carries a lot of trauma, is both mentally and physically scarred, and has disturbingly possessive habits. But why? That’s the question.

I think most of Azriel’s character can be filtered into three sections: his anger, his possessiveness, and his self-loathing. Altogether I believe these form his crippling sense of emotional immaturity, which ultimately shines through most every action he makes in the books.

So yes, I firmly believe Az is a child in the body of a 500 year old Fae. But is he treated as such? No. No, he is not. In fact, he’s treated as the exact opposite, and that can’t be doing wonders for his mental health (which is already in shambles. Off to a cheery start.)

Let’s take a look at his past. He was both mentally and physically abused for the majority of his childhood. Then he was thrown into an unforgiving culture that both mentally and physically abused him as well. Then he was essentially bullied by Cassian and Rhysand for quite a while... until they randomly decided to like him, which is a choice he didn’t seem to play a hand in. And then he became a professional torturer. All the while falling madly in love and becoming obsessed with a female who can’t love him back. Not to mention he’s been ostracized his entire life.

(One big thing though, that I’m going to reference frequently, is Azriel’s constant chase of “happiness.” Kind of like my friends with ADHD. We squeeze all the serotonin we can get out of one thing and then fall into a listless, depressed haze until we find another. I honestly think Azriel does the same thing with people--he latches onto them and lets his mood swings rely on how much attention they do or do not pay him, and whether it is positive or negative.)

So I’m going to go through his relationships with pivotal characters and try to explain what I think is really going on with Azriel.

Regarding Mor:

He was obsessed with her for most of his life. He was incredibly possessive of her and fell instantly in love upon seeing her. Do I think it was love? No. But does Azriel think it was love? Yes, and that is so important. It shows how desperate he was for human connection.

This “love” spiraled into centuries-long obsession that we’ve all seen play out throughout the series. But why is it obsession, and not love? Well, I’m going to go ahead and say that Azriel doesn’t know how to love. He’s never been shown genuine love and so he doesn’t know how to show it to others in the way he intends. He’s basically a baby.

But right after he falls head over heels, Mor sleeps with Cassian, and then Cassian plays the role of the buffer between the two of them all the way up until the events of ACOSF. This is where I think Azriel’s anger comes into play. He can’t get to Mor. His best friend, his brother, is blocking him from her. He can’t touch her, love her, feel her, and he’s so desperate to. But he literally has no way to communicate it because he doesn’t know how, and so he responds in the one way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. And intense protectiveness that eventually begins to translate as possessiveness.

Again, he lets his happiness rely on Mor because he can’t make himself happy, and so his lack of emotional maturity ends up revealing him as desperate and unable to communicate his feelings of inadequacy and frustration. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, not at all. But I think this could be a decent explanation.

Regarding Cassian and Rhysand:

I mean... I kind of hate the way these two have treated Azriel. They all have their fair share of trauma, but Cassian and Rhys also bullied him and ostracized him, and then basically said, “Oh, we like you now.” Which completely leaves Azriel in the dark as to where he stands with them, and strips him of awareness regarding how his friendships with them will operate.

And then he becomes the head of espionage for the Night Court, which involves lots and lots of torture. What kind of message does that send? You’ve seen dirty things, Az, so you don’t mind doing the rest of the dirty things for us, right? That’s the only real message I can get from this. Which then plants the message in Azriel’s head of: Not only do I do dirty things, I myself am a dirty, disgusting thing. Thus, furthering his already deep-seated sense of self-loathing.

Plus, the IC generally operates with a pack-like mindset. One person’s method of healing is everyone’s method of healing. It worked for one person, so it worked for everyone. It’s a very naive mindset, and very toxic as well, so it’s not surprising that literally everyone in the IC is colossally messed up despite preaching themselves as having overcome their demons.

So Azriel never really gets to understand himself and mature as a person. He’s stuck pretending to be perfectly fine underneath Rhysand’s oh-so-benevolent and compassionate hand. Rhysand and Cassian recognize Az as being a little... odd, by seeming to think things like “he’s the quiet one” and “he’s the serious, scary one.” But do they attempt to understand him? No. They leave him to his own devices and let him figure it out himself.

That’s the issue. He’s not ever going to figure it out himself, so long as he’s surrounded by the people who’ve been unwittingly suffocating him for most of his life.

Regarding Elain:

Azriel’s infatuation with Elain, in my opinion, comes as a direct result of his detachment from Mor. Just like one hyperfixation fades quickly from an all-consuming thing to a passing thought, Azriel has shifted from one obsession to the next, in order to keep his spirits on a high.

But I think his feelings for Elain reveal a lot of what Mor did not. Why does he view Elain as so holy compared to him? Why is he so hesitant to touch her? Why does he put her on such a pedestal? That’s his self-loathing coming through again. He hates himself so much that he has to place her above him.

He wants to touch her and love her, just as he did with Mor, but again he is unable. It's a repeating pattern that he can’t get himself out of.

Let’s also look at the way Elain and Azriel’s friendship/relationship began. He had to take care of her, and treat her with utmost respect. She looked at his scars or his siphons, both monstrous looking things, and called them beautiful. Let’s remember that he’s basically a child who’s rarely known genuine love. The minute he gets a glimpse of it, he’s going to grab it by the neck and crush it to his chest. Plus, the fact that she’s the last sister left unattached and he’s the last brother left unattached is probably even more convincing for him that he and Elain are meant for each other. When he’s denied this love that’s come nearly close enough to grab, he responds in the only way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. Just like he did with Mor.

But moving on, that glimpse of potential love comes from Elain. That’s why he’s able to let go of Mor; a relationship with Elain suddenly becomes possible. He’s terrified of ruining this potential love and is incredibly drawn to her all the same. Best of all? She wants him too.

BUT. Azriel knows how fragile Elain is, so he walks on glass around her, coddling her, putting her first like he’s put everyone else first since being a part of the IC. I think he wants to save her from becoming like him. He essentially plays the role of her white knight, entirely losing his sense of self-preservation (not that he ever had one), and thus loses any chance of letting Elain help him mature in return.

Regarding Gwyn:

Now, Gwyn is a different story.

We know Azriel likes her. Maybe not in a consciously romantic way, but he likes her. She makes him smile and laugh, and he finds her amusing. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around her.

The big thing, I think, is that he doesn’t have to take care of her. At least, I think that’s what makes him so comfortable around her. With Gwyn, he can relax, and he doesn’t have to watch every move he makes. She treats him like a regular person and he treats her similarly.

Now, is it a bad thing that he doesn’t put her on a saint-like pedestal like he does Elain? No. Definitely not. I think this ordinary friendship signals a much healthier relationship than his festering obsession with Elain. Gwyn simply being his friend and not someone that he feels he has to be perfect for is a good foundation for Azriel growing as a person.

Gwynriel vs. Elriel (the necklace):

Honestly, I’m scared for whatever SJM decides to do, because Azriel has a shitload of trauma to move past and years worth of emotional growth needed before he can be a steady partner in a relationship. Both Gwyn and Elain’s character arcs are definitely not finished and so I think that no matter which way his narrative goes, it’s going to be disappointing in some aspect or another, unfortunately. I don’t think that either one of the females’ arcs really fit well with Azriel’s.

But I’m going to take a closer look at the necklace, because I think it’s a telling narrative point.

For Azriel, the necklace for Elain and Gwyn herself, are both “thing[s] of secret, lovely beauty” to him.

By describing the necklace for Elain as such (instead of Elain herself), Azriel unconsciously reveals his more idealistic view of Elain rather than his love for Elain herself. I kind of get the sense of Azriel giving offerings to a goddess, or something like that. He seems to be more preoccupied with appeasing Elain than actually loving her.

Now, this probably comes from, again, his self-loathing and his emotional immaturity. I’m just repeating myself at this point. He doesn’t know how to love himself and he doesn’t know how to love anyone else.

But then he describes Gwyn as such. Gwyn, the person. In my opinion, this demonstrates a potentially much healthier relationship than what he has with Elain. Azriel, instead of wanting to be perfect for Gwyn and wanting to appease her, is simply made happy by the thought of her. It is Gwyn whom he is taken with, not the idea of Gwyn loving him. And so that takes off so much pressure for him, and introduces the hope that he might be able to mature as a person in a friendship or romantic relationship with Gwyn.

Closing thoughts:

Azriel is a blundering, hormonal child desperate for love with no idea of how to get it, in a 500 year old Fae’s body. He’s also surrounded by people who refuse to address his clear issues... his future’s pretty dim, and I think he realizes it. Which is why whoever SJM chooses to be his romantic interest is going to be very important.

In short, I’m scared for what’s to come. But fingers crossed that his incredibly complex character is done justice.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

You wrote your opinions on the Order of the Phoenix, what about the Death Eaters? That's another way of saying Lucius, Bellatrix, and anybody else. I honestly feel that we're running out of HP characters for you to write your opinion and reasoning about, so yeah~

We honestly are. When people start asking me questions about Harry’s nameless and faceless classmates I feel like we’re scraping the bottom of my barrel of Harry Potter opinions.

Though, that said, this is still a very large ask if you want me to analyze very Death Eater ever or even the Death Eaters as a whole (which is worthy of its own post).

So, we’ll compromise, and I’ll just look at the two you name dropped.

Lucius Malfoy

To me, Lucius is by far one of the more intelligent Death Eaters. He’s the guy who makes them almost look classy. I say almost, because Lucius is still a racist domestic terrorist and as the series goes on Tom gleefully drags him into being less classy by the minute (his house becomes a POW camp and housing for the dregs of society, Lucius just sobs, trying to be thankful he’s somehow still alive).

Lucius is rich, sophisticated, and is probably the most politically powerful man in the country. He has a beautiful wife he has... a son (sorry Draco, but you do not live up to your father) the guy has it all.

Which makes it very surprising that he got dragged into this mess. But you see, Lucius is paying for that tragedy we call youth.

Also, as a caveat, I’m about to headcanon hard and will not bother to get into the details of why I think x, y, or z in this post.

Ten years prior to the start of canon, Lucius is a very young man, probably very charismatic, certainly believes he’s intelligent and probably gets decent grades, but nonetheless the kind of stupid you see in men ages 15-25.

He’s likely chafing under his aging father’s strict guidance, knows he’s not going to be Lord Malfoy for years yet, wants to get out there, prove himself, and make a difference for his country. More importantly for Lucius, there’s this hip, exciting, new thing that all his cousins and friends are getting into called “The Death Eaters” (yes, I don’t believe the Knights of Walpurgis/Death Eaters 1.0 ever happened, I think it’s ridiculous that fandom and JKR does, I could go into why but not in this post). 

The Death Eaters are led by the single handedly most beautiful, charismatic, man in Britain. (Yes, I headcanon Tom’s still blindingly attractive at this stage, because it makes much more sense to me but we’re not getting into that here.) A mysterious man by the name of Voldemort, Salazar Slytherin’s long lost heir, who has come to resurrect the wizarding world’s true heritage and purge the land of the muggle stain. (Yes, I do believe that no one, not even Lucius who is later given the diary, knew who Tom really was. I believe Regulus’ had only the vaguest idea, informed mostly by Tom’s use of Kreacher to place the locket.) This is the most exciting thing to have ever happened, the rallies probably consist of rich kids drunk out of their minds and maybe even high on a little wizard cocaine, and Lucius is down for it precisely because his father says “Lucius, this is stupid, please don’t embarrass the family.” WELL LUCIUS IS GOING TO EMBARRASS THE FAMILY, DAD! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT IT?!

And for a while, it looks like Lucius made the right choice. Things are happening, they’re actually going out and killing the mudbloods! Unlike Regulus, Lucius never has that “wait a minute” moment as he realizes that Voldemort’s actually far more efficiently eliminating pureblood families and sowing dissention in what was once a unanimous force among the Wizengamot (the other pureblood lords aren’t necessarily pro muggleborn, per se, but they get a bit queasy at the thought of blowing them up or Merlin forbid actually blowing up their own public venues wizards use). 

And then October 31st, 1981 happens, and it all comes crashing down. Lucius has to desperately lie his ass off, having only the flimsiest lie to rely on, has to hand out a shit ton of bribes, and manages to squeeze his way out of being imprisoned in Azkaban. 

I’m sure Abraxas looked at his son, with his tattoo on his arm that makes him another man’s slave, at the utter destruction of the Black family, and just shook his head going, “Clean up your mess, Dumbass Son”

And Lucius does to the best of his ability. While some will always suspect him of being a Death Eater, while some know it, he’s able to climb very high in influence in their ridiculously tiny community. Granted, I do think he messed up, and could never for example run for minister given everything (if Crouch can’t rerun then Lucius certainly can’t). He also shows us that in some ways he is not above the law, he’s very afraid his house will be searched without warrant in The Chamber of Secrets, and this is in part why he dumps Tom Riddle’s diary off onto Ginny.

However, he wields total control of the Prophet, has a seat on the Wizengamot, has the ear of the current Minister, is on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, and has his hands in pretty much every pie he can.

I imagine during this period Lucius grows up. He brushes the indiscretions of his youth under the carpet, gleefully leaving it all behind him, and the only real friend he maintains contact with from that period is Severus, the least zealot like of all of them. (Crabbe and Goyle Sr aren’t friends, they’re minions). 

Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a racist slime bag, and I don’t think he really regrets the domestic terrorism. He just regrets nearly getting caught and putting his entire family’s security on the line. He witnessed first hand what happened to the Blacks.

And then the worst thing happens: Tom Riddle rises from the dead. He rises, impossibly, from the dead when Lucius has his own hand caught in the cookie jar.

Lucius has been living a life of luxury and influence while his great master, the man he had pledged everything to, was dead. Worse, Lucius took what was described as a treasured item to be protected at all costs, and not only threw it away but sent it to Hogwarts where it caused massive havoc and was ultimately destroyed. 

And Lucius, I imagine, no longer wants to serve a master.

But he has no choice. And so begins Lucius’ descent into misery and hell as he’s given an increasing set of impossible, horrific, tasks in punishment that involve him watching as his wife and son are put through hell.

I believe Tom holds a special place in his cold, black, passive aggressive heart for Lucius Malfoy.

First, Tom makes Lucius’ house his headquarters. Oh, Lucius, you have a very nice, very large, estate? Why don’t you host your beloved, mad, cousin, her equally mad husband and brother-in-law? Oh, Bellatrix threatened to cut off your ear? Well, she’s just so passionate! 

Second, Lucius is told to go get the prophecy. Well, this is easier said than done. He nearly succeeds but then it all turns into the world’s largest clusterfuck that ends in two notable things. First, the prophecy is lost forever, shattered. Second, the government admits that Voldemort is truly resurrected. Both of these things are very bad in Tom’s book. And the blame can easily be put on Lucius’ head.

In response to this, Draco is now given an impossible task that Draco is too stupid to realize is designed to cause him (and his family) as much misery as possible. Draco is to assassinate Dumbledore. 

Likely, Tom was already informed by Snape that Dumbledore was dying. The blackened hand was too obvious a tell coming from too obvious a source for the pair to have hid it. I think trying to hide such information would have immediately blown Snape’s cover. So, Tom knows the man is dying, and doesn’t see fit to tell Draco this.

Instead, he tells Draco, “Kill Dumbledore as soon as possible or I deliver you to Fenrir Grayback.” Draco, however, is young and stupid, so he honestly thinks he is doing this to restore the family honor, earn glory for himself and for the cause, and is expected to do this entirely by himself. As a result, when Narcissa begs Snape to aid Draco, Draco blows them both off and only accepts help from Bellatrix because HE CAN DO THIS ON HIS OWN! DRACO IS A MAN.

This, of course, doesn’t work out either. Draco doesn’t deliver the killing blow, Snape does, but Tom decides to give him a pass.

Instead he moves on to his next plan which is making the Malfoy manor his torture chamber and POW camp. Even Draco, at this point, realizes this all kind of sucks. 

And then Voldemort finally dies a second time, and I’m sure Lucius just stares numbly at his malformed corpse, wondering if it will really take this time.

So that’s Lucius for you, paying always for his mistakes, and pretending he’s just as much of a nutcase as Bellatrix to fit in.

Bellatrix LeStrange

God, compared to the novel that is Lucius’ ridiculous life, I really don’t have much to say about her because I feel like there’s not much too her.

Bellatrix reminds me a lot of the Manson family, she gives off those same vibes. Point being, I think even before Azkaban (while Azkaban certainly didn’t help), she was insane and a little too worshipful of Voldemort.

I guess I can start there, I don’t think Bellamort is a thing, at all. 

Tom may have, probably did, have sex with her before he died but afterwards? In that body? Forget about it.

That said, I’m sure Bellatrix both wanted to have sex and is convinced she did have sex to produce whatever the hell Delphi even is. It just wasn’t with Tom, and probably was Rodolphous with a Halloween mask on his face as they got a little too into role play.

And there we go, I suppose, I can’t take Bellatrix seriously. You often see her portrayed as sexy femme fatale Death Eater, the most competent of all of them, if a bit of a sadist.

Oh she might be a very good duelist but she’s... Bellatrix.

She prances around in corsets, shrieking madly, and just what part of that is supposed to be femme fatale? I literally cannot take her seriously on any level. When I even try to write her seriously, in very serious stories, I end up with lines like the following:

"My lord, if there's anything you need… Anything from me, specifically, as a woman…" 

- Bright Eyes

That was my best attempt. That was the best I could come up with. It’s still something that belongs in a comedy.

So, I don’t think Tom really corrupted her. I think without Voldemort she still probably would have been blowing up Diagon Alley, just in a much less organized manner.

Even in canon she does ridiculous things. For example, Bellatrix, frankly, could have easily avoided prison.

For weeks after the dark lord fell neither she, her husband, Barty, nor her brother-in-law were arrested. Bellatrix in grief and utter disbelief that the dark lord could ever do something so mortal as die, said “remember that other house our lord mentioned, THEY MIGHT HAVE INFORMATION, LET’S GO MURDER THE LONGBOTTOMS!” They torture and kidnap Frank, demanding he tell them where their master is, THEY KNOW HE KNOWS. He doesn’t know. They go too far and torture the man into being a vegetable. “Shit, GET THE WIFE!” They go get the wife, do the same thing, with the same results.

They now have no information on the dark lord, two well regarded aurors tortured into brain damage, and are quickly caught and brought before the court with absolutely no “I was imperiused” excuse they can give out. 

How am I supposed to take her in any way seriously?

I mean, to end your life killed in a duel with Molly Weasley. That just says it all.

[nugnthopkns]

i’ll wait and i’ll listen

word count: 2.1k

warnings: mentions of deafness/hearing loss, cursing, i think that’s it

recommended listening: new song | maggie rogers & del water gap

a/n: hi! first and foremost, i want to say that this is based off my own personal experiences with a deaf father, and it is in no way a reflection of how other people or families with hearing issues operate. this is just how we live and how my dad goes about life. with that out of the way, enjoy some soft nolan content i threw together in 45 minutes. pretty sure i made this gender neutral, but please point out any mistakes!

There’s no legitimate reason for you to be so apprehensive about Nolan meeting your parents.

He’s a great person who is all you could ever ask for in a partner. The two of you get along like peas in a pod, and honestly most of the time your relationship feels like two friends hanging out. Of course there’s a bit more romance involved – but being with Nolan is so easy you barely have to think about it. 

Your parents aren’t the issue either. They’re both incredibly supportive of your relationship, and anything else you do. If it weren’t for them, you never would have left home – they’re the ones who packed the car and drove you all the way to Philadelphia. You never would have met Nolan if they hadn’t practically forced you out of the house and into the world. 

Truthfully, both parties would probably get along great. Your mother is kind and welcoming, and your father has interests similar to Nolan’s. Your younger siblings adore him – they came to visit one weekend and you took them to an afternoon game at Wells Fargo Centre, and afterwards the four of you went out for burgers. Since then they talk to him regularly, and have been begging for you to return home with Nolan. You can tell your parents are getting antsy too – after all, you’ve been with Nolan for nearly two years. 

Yes, Nolan has a busy schedule that doesn’t allow for much travel, but there have been plenty of opportunities over the years for everyone to get together. You’re the one who always comes up with a reason for him not to meet your parents. One time you were ‘sick’, another you were too busy with work to make the trip home. It isn’t that you’re worried they won’t approve or that Nolan will resent them. You’re apprehensive about bringing Nolan around because you’re worried there will be a communication barrier. 

Your dad is deaf, and Nolan doesn’t exactly enunciate his words well. His voice is also exceptionally deep, which doesn’t help much. It isn’t a secret, your father’s hearing issues, and you’ve spoken to Nolan about them numerous times. Most of the time it’s you fretting about it getting worse and he listens intently while you sob into his chest. Since the hearing loss came from years of working around loud machines, it was gradual, which was frustrating for him. You were in high school when he got hearing aides, but eventually they lost their desired effect. Now your dad relies on reading lips and other non-aural markers like hand gestures to fill in the gaps. 

“Babe, I have to meet them at some point,” Nolan says through a mouthful of pasta. “Especially since I plan on sticking around.”

Your mom had called earlier in the afternoon to ask when you were coming home next. The upcoming weekend is free in your schedule, and when you told her she insisted you bring Nolan. He’s out for the season with the migraine related issues so you couldn’t exactly lie and say he was going to be out of town. Instead, you fed her some bullshit excuse and said you’d check to see if he could move some stuff around. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I just don’t want you or my dad getting frustrated if talking doesn’t go smoothly.”

Nolan pushes his chair back from the table and walks to stand behind you. He rubs your shoulders soothingly and leans down to whisper in your ear. “There are a million and ten other ways I can communicate with him Sweetheart. Don’t worry about it.”

Deep down, you know he’s right. There’s no reason the two of them can’t communicate, even if they can’t do it verbally. After discussing it more and ironing out all your doubts, you call your mom back to let her know both you and Nolan will be coming. A small weight lifts from your chest, knowing that you’ll get the first meeting over with, but dread slowly creeps in. There are so many ways it could go wrong. 

☼☼☼☼

You and Nolan stand on the doorstep of your childhood home hand in hand. As if he can sense how nervous you are, Nolan squeezes gently, reminding you of his unwavering presence. 

“Whatever happens isn’t going to change the fact that I love you,” he says, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

To steady yourself from the negative thought swirling in your brain you lean closer to Nolan. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and uses his free hand to knock on the door. Less than two seconds your sister is bounding towards the door and flinging it open. 

“Mom! Y/N and Nolan are here!”

She steps to the side and lets the pair of you in. You shrug off your jacket and hang it on the rack behind the door – Nolan copies. As soon as you’re inside the entryway your mother is wrapping you in a massive hug. 

“I’m so glad you’re home darling,” she says, arms tight around you. “Was the drive okay?”

You go to answer her question but her attention is turned to your very tall boyfriend who is standing beside you like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“You must be Nolan. It’s so nice we could finally meet. Y/N has told me a lot about you.”

Nolan clears his throat before speaking, his deep voice echoing slightly off the ceiling. “All good things I hope,” he laughs, looking to you for reassurance. 

Nodding your head, you join in his laughter. You travel farther into the house, giving your brother a fistbump when you pass him in the hall. When you moved out your parents converted your room into a sophisticated guest bedroom, so there aren’t any embarrassing posters from your teenage years on the walls for Nolan to make fun of. You quickly unpack your suitcase, wanting to get back downstairs and spend time with your family. It’s been a while since you’ve been home, and you missed them more than you thought. 

“Is your dad here?” Nolan asks, hanging the couple of sweaters you guys brought up in the closet. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, you shake your head. “He’ll be home from work just before dinner.” 

The two of you head downstairs to chill with your siblings, but not without sharing a few kisses that make your spine tingle. At your brother’s insistence the four of you head to the basement to partake in an air hockey tournament. Though Nolan can hold his own in the NHL, he’s rather miserable at this iteration of the game. Your sister eliminates him in under five minutes, and after a hard fought battle you defeat your brother. 

Nolan tries to coach you before the gold medal game but you laugh him off. “Nol, you were terrible. I think I can hold my own.”

He breathes out harshly through his nose, but you know he isn’t upset with your teasing. “Fine,” he mumbles, “See if you can win without my all-star advice.”

Your sister manages to win in a shootout. It was a close game, and you challenge her to a rematch after dinner. She accepts, insisting you’ll lose again. Nolan bets he can race her around the property, so you move outside. Your mom lets you know dinner will be ready soon, and you throw her a thumbs up. 

Though your sister is a fast runner, she’s got nothing on Nolan’s six foot frame. He passes her with ease, cheekily throwing her the finger as he rushes by. You’re the finish line and instead of stopping when he reaches you, Nolan throws you over his shoulder and continues running through the yard. 

Your laugh rings out as you kick your feet. “Put me down!” you shriek. When he makes no attempt to prove he listened to your cries, you try again. “Nol, come on, put me down. If you fall it’ll be really bad.”

Knowing you’re right, Nolan stops moving and gingerly places you on the ground. His hands move to cup your face and he plants a warm kiss on your lips. You refuse to let it get too far, but you lean into him slightly and sigh when he pulls away. 

In the distance you hear your mom calling for dinner. “Kids, it’s time to eat,” she says. “Your father just got home.”

Your heart beat rises exponentially, and your steps drag slightly as you get closer to the door. Nolan notices, but doesn’t say anything. Instead he flashes you a smile that’s reserved just for you and makes your heart melt. 

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure I don’t mumble.”

In the dining room, you guide Nolan to sit beside your dad. You figure it’s the spot where he has the best chance of hearing your boyfriend, and no one seems to protest. They give each other a polite nod while the rest of you rush to place everything on the table and serve the food. 

Once everyone is sitting, Nolan takes the initiative to introduce himself. “It’s nice to meet you Sir,” he says a bit slower than his normal speaking voice, making sure to clearly enunciate his words. 

There’s no response from your father, and you suck in a breath. You watched him focus on Nolan’s lips while he spoke, but you fear he still couldn’t quite understand what your boyfriend said. It takes a few more beats for him to process what was spoken, but then your dad is cracking a smile and holding his hand out for Nolan to shake. 

“Glad Y/N isn’t hiding you from us anymore. I thought the first time I’d meet you was at the engagement party.” His voice is a few decibels louder than everyone else’s, due to not being able to hear himself, but Nolan doesn’t seem to mind. 

They slip into an easy conversation about work and hunting, asking each other a million questions. There’s barely room for any one else to contribute but the rest of you don’t mind – it’s been a long time since your dad has been able to go this long without asking someone for assistance. Of course there’s a few bumps in the road – Nolan not speaking clearly or looking elsewhere while telling a story, but that was to be expected. You step in when needed, repeating phrases and recreating scenes with hand actions. Overall, the meal goes swimmingly, and the two men leave the table eagerly to swap stories. 

You spend the time catching up with your mother, and she gushes over how Nolan is handling everything. “He’s doing so well,” she exclaims. “He’s so patient with your dad, waiting to make he understood what was said before continuing, and he doesn’t have an issue repeating himself a few times. You really lucked out Y/N.”

“I know,” you say honestly. “He’s simply the best.”

It’s a few hours later that Nolan finds his way back to you. You arch your brow, wondering what he got up to, and he explains that your dad took him for a walk in the forest to show him the deer he’d been tracking the past couple of weeks. It’s heartwarming that they get along so well, and you feel a little silly for fretting over what would happen. 

☼☼☼☼

“Your dad is nice,” Nolan shrugs as you crawl into bed beside him. “I could hardly tell he was deaf most of the time.”

You tuck yourself into his side and hum. “He does a great job of not letting it define him,” you agree. “But thank you for being so patient with him.”

A small peck is placed to your shoulder blade and you sigh at the contact of Nolan’s lips on your skin. “He did grumble about how my voice is too deep,” he laughs. “Said he could barely hear me. Once I knew that I made sure to speak clearly and let him read my lips.”

You’re speechless. None of your friends or past romantic partners had made that much of an effort to treat your dad like he was a person. They got short with him for needing them to slow down or repeat themselves, and often would refuse to see him again. It’s part of the reason you were so hesitant to introduce Nolan – you wanted to protect him from another person who might treat him differently because he can’t hear.

“I really fucking love you,” you whisper into the darkness. 

You can practically hear the grin in Nolan’s voice as he speaks. “I really fucking love you too.”

The rest of your stay will go just fine, you think as you drift to sleep. There was nothing to worry about, and you can’t wait to watch a friendship blossom between your dad and boyfriend. 

☼☼☼☼

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