#but this one is. SO common. and apparently SO ingrained

[mishy-mashy]

*COUGH*

The Resistance has PTSD of AFO using Cynthia's piano theme

*COUGH*

[crescenthistory]

slight air and purging fire

Pairing: Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: He's your person and, apparently, you're his flame. Your more-than-a-best-friend spends the evening with you when Regulus needs a break, and you're both happy for the excuse.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: gn!reader, no use of y/n, pyromaniac!barty, best friends to lovers, undiscussed relationship, just sweet fluff, physical affection, barty is always a bit suggestive, vague references to barty's mental state/trauma, cuddling, banter, implied autistic!regulus, background bsf!moonwater

Note: i haven't written a full barty fic since december, this was so cathartic<33 i still have some small drabbles from my celebration to release but wanted to share this with you before. and yes the title is from shakespeare even though i reference woolf in this, sue me. much love xx

It wasn’t an as common occurrence anymore, as Regulus had become more grounded the closer he got to Remus, but it was an ingrained habit regardless – every now and again, the dark haired boy would come to pull at your sleeve and give you a look.

A desperate exhausted look that clearly read “come get your beast under control”.

Over the years of sharing a dorm with Barty, Regulus had grown not only passionately loyal and affectionate towards him, but also rather sensorially detached. Meaning that most days, he was able to just tune his best friend’s antics out when they were too overstimulating or in his face. When Barty either talked a mile a minute for too many minutes, couldn’t sit still or couldn’t help from physically engaging with Regulus in some capacity, causing him to switch his brain off to deal with all the inputs. However, even the best soldier occasionally needs backup, and lucky for all the boys in their dormitory, said backup waltzed into their lives in year three and had been the only one fully able to quiet and anchor the hotheaded boy.

Your friendship with Barty came as naturally as a sunrise when you were paired together for a Potions project – you were his first desk partner that could thread the balance of stopping him from blowing up your cauldron and still having fun. 

He adored you for it.

You found he wasn’t half bad either.

The nature of your relationship and dynamic changed over the years as you grew up side by side, but the overall sentiment remained the same; you were each other’s person. Barty managed to catch every aspect of you both metaphorically and physically, and with you, Barty could move at a regular pace without losing himself.

You became Regulus’ secret weapon rather quickly when you were integrated fully into their friend group. 

“How do you do it? Why is he… like that with you?” Regulus asked you once in fourth year when Barty had fallen asleep with his head in your lap after three days of refusing to sleep. 

His legs were hanging over each side of the sofa, one shoe mysteriously missing, but he seemed perfectly at peace in your lap. You carded your fingers gently through his hair, separating the green and brown strands with a small smile on your face. “Like what?”

“It’s like he goes quiet.”

You snorted. “Barty is never quiet, even when I’m around.”

Regulus gave you a so-so shrug. “Not literally – but he kind of is, though. He will always be Barty, but it’s like he’s more… at peace. With you.”

You didn’t know why at the time, but you couldn’t meet Regulus’ gaze since he started this line of questioning. “I don’t know. If he is, I’m grateful for it, though. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

It was probably never fully platonic between you and Barty, you recognise now. Laying on your stomach in your dorm while reading a book only half-focussed with your mind straying away to silver piercings, canine-grins and that laugh. 

He was the best friend you could have, but more so in the same way a dog is or, you’d hope, a husband would be. You shook the thought from your head.

It was a slow development – while you became inseparable friends within a week, the journey away towards a spoken, outlined romantic relationship was a long one. Not in the same way a queue is long, though, more so a cross-country roadtrip with, well, your best friend. 

Barty hugged you properly for the first time a year into your friendship. He cried in front of you for the first time in fourth year, and held your hand in fifth year. Last year, he kissed you for the first time. 

It had been quiet in that complex way Regulus had tried to put into words, where it was very clearly Barty so it was far from calm, but there was a certain peace hanging over the moment anyway. He had been having nightmares the last few weeks of term, so the two of you had taken to co-sleeping in the Room of Requirement, with your dearest prefect Regulus covering for you. Originally, Barty had conjured up two beds, but you swiftly pushed them together and charmed the gap away, giving him some snarky comment about “be sensible, Junior” that he laughed loudly at. 

There was no suggestive intent behind it, not really, just an insatiable desire for closeness. The same desire that had Barty at your side like a magnet from all the way back in third year, the same desire that flared in you each time his father or his pain came near, as if you could protect him with an embrace. 

He would have told you that you could.

It wasn’t clear to you anymore how it began, how one thing led to another. All you knew was that several days into your arrangement, you were still acting like small kids at a sleepover, staying up late because you couldn’t help but giggle. You had been in a half-cuddle but far enough apart to laugh with your entire bodies – one moment you made eye contact with your faces close to each other, your giggles spilling out across his face, the next he was trying to swallow your sounds with his smiling lips. 

There had been a lot of kisses since then, and not too many words about it. 

You would have thought it would tear you apart to live like this, having crossed the boundary over from best friends to something more without outlining it – but as with everything else, this was Barty. There had been no real boundary to cross, it was just waves in water, hand in hand. You knew inexplicably that you were safe in his hands, heart included. 

The oddest aspect of it was discovering that you had discovered a new level of comfort when you thought those had already been exhausted. Lips on lips, lips on skin, air on skin, clothes wherever, hands everywhere. 

With your finger caressing the page, a smile was still faint on your lips, and so was his touch. 

You were brought out of your idyllic mental landscapes by a physical tug on your sleeve. 

Your eyes darted down to the fabric on your left arm, seeing the jumper ruffle as if someone pinched it and be dragged out, as if you were being pulled out of your bed. The sound that escaped you were equal parts laugh and sigh, endlessly endeared by Regulus’ determination to avoid social or overstimulating situations – going to the extent of crafting spells specifically to save him. 

You slapped absentmindedly on your arm, hoping it would notify him with the energy of “okay, okay, I’m on my way”, as you rolled out of bed and made for the stairs.

The development of your relationship with Barty hadn’t come up with your friends yet. Or, you hadn’t let it, always steering the conversation away when Dorcas gave you knowing looks or Regulus whispered with you. This once, you indulged yourself to be selfish and keep him to yourself for just a bit longer.

Which is part of the reason why you leaned over the railing overlooking the common room, whistling as you spotted your group of friends around their favourite fireplace.

Regulus sat in Remus’ lap on the edge of a settee, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, looking picturesque in a way that made your heart ache with happiness for him. Evan was draped across the other side of the settee, feeding grapes to Pandora sat cross-legged on the floor with Emmeline’s head in her lap. Dorcas was absent, likely out training with Marlene, which was a totally normal thing to do with your quidditch rival, shut up you guys.

Your dearest Barty was currently laying balanced on the back of the same settee his friends were in, casting sparkling spells above him, likely to entertain himself in the calm atmosphere.

You understood why Regulus called on you. 

At the sound of your whistle, your friends’ heads whipped around to look at you, recognising the specific tune you only used for them – them being mostly Barty. You got a few greeting cheers from Barty, Evan and Emmeline, but it was the former’s grin that made your own spread.

“B!” you yelled. “Come read with me.”

You could have gone down to sit with them, but the comfort of your dorm was too overpowering tonight. Plus Regulus really really hated when Barty played with physical fire, so you figured you were doing him a double favour, too.

Anyone else making the same request – or rather, demand – to Barty would have received a scoff or a pout, but for you, Barty simply rolled off of the back of the sofa and used the momentum of his fall to run towards the stairs. He ruffled Evan’s hair on the way who flipped him off without looking up.

“Later, losers, love ya,” Barty called as he made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

He took them two at a time and before you knew it he was in front of you, placing his hand right beside yours on the railing as he looked at you with a lop-sided grin. “Thought you’d resigned for the evening.”

You bumped your fingertips into his. “Sort of. Got bored, though.”

His grin widened as he pushed off the railing to walk backwards towards your vacant dorm. “Can’t have that, can we, darling?”

You shook your head with a smile and followed after him, leaving just enough time to look over your shoulder and lock eyes with Regulus, pointing two fingers from your own eyes to his before intertwining them in a symbol of friendship. Regulus rolled his eyes at you with a smile, but Remus – his clearly better half – blew you a kiss. 

When you moved your attention back on the short walk to your dorm, you caught just the end of Barty jogging ahead so he could open your door for you with a theatrical flourish. You paid it little mind, kissing his cheek in thanks as you moved in past him, not waiting to see his reaction, if there was one.

“Where’s your roomies tonight?” Barty’s tone was half-mocking, referring to the endless saga of your two constantly absent dormmates. They were lovely people but so scattered, always either with their various partners or at events or simply just missing somehow.

Though you could hardly criticise as you do guess this is a saga of three, considering how you occasionally would stay over at Barty’s or even the Room of Requirement. You three were a perfect match. 

“Don’t know honestly,” you replied as you made to lay back down on your bed, keeping slightly to the left side. “Something about a breakup for one of them, so either partaking in a good cry session with a friend or making up once again.”

Just a year or two ago, Barty would have transfigured your small dorm bed to extend so he could sprawl out across it to his heart’s content, but to your heart’s content, he didn’t this time – he just laid down on top of your duvet with you, turned over on his side and propping his head up on his hand. “Or maybe making out with someone else, if they know what’s right for them.” Barty knew all about your dormmate’s turbulent relationships from the nights he stayed over while they were there, ranting to the both of you.  

“Oh you know all about what’s right for them, do you?” Your voice was teasing as you got more comfortable on the bed, laying your book on your bedside table.

Barty scoffed, as if to say duh. “Weren’t you going to read to me, sweetheart?” He nodded his head towards the book your fingertips were still lingering on.

The smile that spread across your face was outside your control, but you still maintained an air of sarcasm. “I believe I asked you to come read with me, I didn’t say I would read to you,” you clarified with a raised brow. “And I didn’t think you actually would.”

Barty leaned across from you and nipped the book off the table to hand over to you, the small paperback and his hand barely fitting between you two given the cramped space. “I want to hear you read.” 

He said it matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and you supposed it was. You would occasionally read to Barty when he needed help falling asleep, memories that though born from a bad situation rested fondly in your heart.

You took the book from him, opening it to the right page with one hand before looking up at him with appled cheeks. As soon as his hand was off the book, it settled on your hip instead, fingertips sliding beneath your jumper to rest against your skin there.

“Please,” he added when you didn’t reply right away. 

“Whatever my boy wants, right?” Your tone wound up being more affectionate than teasing. “Do you want it read softly or theatrically?”

When he tilted his head sideways to read the book’s spine, some of his hair fell into his eyes, which you promptly pushed back. “Is it possible to read Virginia Woolf theatrically?” he asked with a humoured tone.

“Oh, you have no idea. Obviously I have to do it theatrically now.”

Barty squeezed your hip as he all-but giggled. “Alright, show me the ropes then.”

He folded his arm to lay his head down to rest as his gaze fixated on your face as you read to him. Perhaps you would have felt self-conscious in any other situation, but with Barty’s legs tangling with yours, the scent of his shampoo filling your nose and his hums of approval, you were everything but. 

As you read, Barty pushed your jumper further up so that your side was exposed, enabling him to trace various patterns there while you read. Whether there was any sense to the chaos you wouldn’t know, eyes focussed on the page to give him the most proper experience of how theatrical Virginia Woolf truly could be. 

With Barty, time trickled by in an odd way. You felt as if you were spending centuries together without any of it wearing you down – in the sense that time passed quick but the minutes always carried more meaning when together. You got through two chapters, interrupted by long bouts of laughter when Woolf’s comedy struck through or when your attempt at one of the character’s accents thoroughly failed, before you began to tire out. 

His hand never left your side as you read, and when you laughed, Barty seemed to tackle you in a hug so he could feel every vibration of your laughter run through his own body. 

As you finished up the second chapter, a shiver ran down your spine for reasons you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Barty propped himself back up on his elbow to grab his wand from the nightstand and bring the duvet you were laying on to spread out over you without disturbing your position.

“Want to give that beautiful voice a break, darling?” Even as Barty asked, he was already gently – almost disproportionately so – taking the book from your hands and putting your water bottle into them instead.

You nodded as you put the bottle to your lips, swallowing greedy mouthfuls of water, though not regretting the activity in the slightest. Barty’s eyes followed the movement of your throat, eventually letting them trail up to meet your own as he took your bottle and placed it beside the bed with ease.

When you laid back down against your small mountain of pillows, Barty scooted closer to you and pushed your jumper back up where it had fallen down. He stared at his own fingers’ movements as he dragged just the tips over the curve of your hip, swirling around near your ribs before making the journey back down. He looked hypnotised by the movement, but your own eyes never left his face.

You heaved a large sigh, the one that drags itself from your lungs when you’re completely relaxed after a long day.

Without looking up, Barty asked, “Okay?” You were unsure if he was asking if you were okay, if his touching you were okay or something else entirely. 

Either way, the answer was: “Yes, love.”

At the term of endearment, Barty looked up at you at last, his teeth flashing as he smiled. He let his fingertips trail up the side of your body to your face as his eyes flitted across it, seeming increasingly content with what he found.

The silence was comfortable as you let him trace the lines of your face – your jaw up to your ear, cheekbones, browbones, forehead, nose, lips.

You almost wondered if you could have fallen asleep like this, safe and comfortable in this atmosphere he created that you almost dared call reverent, until he spoke again.

“My flame.” 

He said it absentmindedly as he caressed your face, almost as if he didn’t even notice he said it. His hand couldn’t stay still, using its quest on your face as a form of stimming, sensory seeking in his affection.

“Your what?” you asked quietly, humour laced into your voice that automatically tugged on the corners of his lips. 

“Flame,” he clarified, as if it was obvious. 

When he didn’t elaborate, you poked him teasingly in the ribs – simultaneously taking the opportunity to slip your hand up beneath his shirt to splay across his bare back.

“Just thinking about something Evans told me in Muggle Studies.” His smile grew slowly as he recalled more and more of the memory.

“Since when do you pay attention in Muggle Studies?” When you laughed, your face moved too much for him to trace, and he moved his fingers back into your hair until it evened out again.

He huffed in faux offense for only a second before relenting with a smile and an eye roll. “Only when Evans tells me weird fun facts. She understands what I find entertaining. None of that rain-wear bullshit – I want to know about the crazies.”

“Understandable. Game recognises game.”

Barty pinched your cheek lightly and stuck his tongue out at you. “Is that why we’re friends?”

“You tell me.” Your smile had an undertone he didn’t seem to miss as his expression turned just a fraction more bashful. You pressed your hand more flat against his back in encouragement. “What did Lily tell you about?”

“Oh, nothing.” He looked past you for a second with an absent yet pleased gaze before returning it to your awaiting expression. “Just about how some muggles believe in something called twin flames. It’s basically the same soulmate crap as everything else, divine connections and whatnot. Just people finding another way to explain their love. But I liked the name.”

His eyebrows moved emphatically as he spoke in quintessential Barty fashion. It filled you with a sensation only eased by moving your free hand to wedge beneath his cheek, resting there as a makeshift pillow, thumb brushing across his cheek. “Did you now?” 

He hummed in the affirmative. “I like flames.”

You snorted at that, which made his eyes light up and crinkle.

“No, I mean it–”

“I know you do.”

Barty rolled his eyes but his teeth were still on full display. “Do you want to hear my reasoning or not?”

You pressed your lips together to keep from continuing the banter and nodded. You wanted to see where this would go.

“I like flames. I like how they look, their warmth, how they make me feel. I’m always just itching to see one, to light something on fire or see sparks fly. But not when I’m with you.” 

His expression had neutralised as he kept studying you with an observant gaze – it felt like every twitch or movement held grand meaning to him. You felt like poking fun, but your voice came out almost as reverent as his. “Is this you saying you’re not bored when you’re with me?”

“This is me saying I’m not insane when you’re with me.”

Your smile instantly softened, hand on his back increasing pressure as it slid further up to rest over his heart. “You’re never insane, B,” you whispered. “Not actually, regardless of if I’m there or not.”

His eyes crinkled as if he was smiling, but his lips were pressed together, as if in thought. It wasn’t often you saw him thinking over his words before opening his mouth.

“This is me saying I love you.” His brows twitched into a furrow as he tilted his head sideways into your palm. “I don’t need that… that distraction when I’m with you. My flame.”

Your lips parted momentarily, as an oh died on them. Your eyes moved across his face rapidly, drinking in the expression, committing every open window into his soul to memory. He seemingly let you, a soft smile resting on his lips, though it was more vulnerable than you thought you had seen it.

“Love ya” was common in your friend group after Pandora went on a mission to normalise it between you. Elaborate practical jokes about proposing to one another or being secret lovers were a longstanding tradition. Your special bond with Barty was a given to you.

This, though, this was new – yet it did not feel like uncharted territory as you moved to respond.

Your face gravitated closer and closer to his as your gaze flickered between his lips and his eyes. “Then you might forgive me for saying I love you too, then?”

Barty’s breath hitched, but the sound was quickly taken over by a soft laugh as he leaned his forehead forward the last few centimetres that separated it from yours. “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t forgive you for, darling. Though it might mean you’re more insane than I am.”

You shook your head softly. “Again, you’re not insane, B. That is an oversimplification made solely for jokes – same as how Regulus isn’t actually boring, even when you joke he is.”

Barty furrowed his brows deeply. “Who told you those were jokes?”

Your hand beneath his shirt pinched him, drawing a yelp from him followed by a deep giggle that you happily mirrored.

“No, I know, I know,” he said through a laugh, locking gaze with you through his lashes. “But I do feel crazy without you. That’s how I know.”

You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. You looked down between you for a moment as you could not contain your smile. A comfortable warmth began to spread through your body, as if something was carved in stone with each touch, each smile.

“I do suppose it’s safer you entertain yourself with me rather than light fire to innocent structures and civilians.”

Barty hummed appreciatively as he took on a theatrically wolfish expression. “And Salazar, do I know how to entertain myself with you.”

This time you pinched him harder as a scandalous bark of laughter escaped you – both of which seemingly triggered Barty to roll his body forward and over you, winding up on the very edge of the bed with you now held flush against him, laughing together like the kids in love you were.

You shrieked as he manhandled you into the chaotic embrace, laughing against his neck as you held onto him tighter. “You beast!”

“Your beast,” he corrected, pressing his forehead back against yours while his palm cupped your cheek fondly. “Right?”

You weren’t ashamed to admit you melted into him; your expression surely lovestruck. “Right.” You nodded, dazed. “Mine.”

His smile twitched repeatedly as he maintained eye contact. “My flame?”

“Yours.”

There was a certain glossiness to his gaze as he pressed his lips together and nodded faux matter-of-factly. “Sounds like a fair arrangement?” 

You had never been more grateful to be fluent in Barty. It made that one sentence hold so much more sentimental worth in your heart.

“I reckon that’s fair, yeah.”

You didn’t wait for Barty to kiss you before you closed the distance between you with enough force to push him off his side onto his back – nearly off of the bed.

Just like the first time, you were laughing against each other’s lips, swallowing more and more of the sounds as you devoured the other, heart and soul.

Unlike the first time, when you intertwined your fingers beside his head and squeezed, there was no question in your heart left in your heart.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hey!! I really love ur blog and how u write Harry. U have made me fall in love with him all over again.💞

I wanted to know that do u hc Harry having any addictions due to his trauma?

Thank u ❤️

Thank you! ❤️

Like, I'm partial to giving a post-war Harry a bit of a vice for alcohol due to how we see alcohol treated in the Wizarding World.

It seems alcohol is the go-to when it comes to mental health solutions in the Wizarding World. And, it kind of used to be irl. I don't know if you ever read Victorian recipes for medicine, but alcohol solves everything in them (it would be funny if the recipes didn't include very questionable practices). Nightshade poisoning? Try Brandy. Got a cold? Try this Rum and lemon-juice mix. Fever? Mix up some wine, powdered nitrogen, and Potassium Carbonate, and you're good to go. Fainting fits? Some Brandy mixed with warm water should do it.

In the books, we see characters drinking quite a bit, on their own and around children. Characters under stress or in a bad mental state more so than others — Sirius, Winkey, Trelawney at times, etc.

We see Sirius drink quite a bit in Grimmauld as his mental state deteriorates, and as I said, I think that's not an uncommon coping mechanism in the WW:

Sirius was hurrying toward them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him.

(OotP, Ch22)

(Though, I'll give him credit for not drinking in front of Harry or the other kids and only ever offering them Butterbeer. Sirius is more responsible about his alcoholism than the Hogwarts staff. I'm talking about Trelawney and Hagrid specifically)

We see that drinking is a very ingrained part of their culture. Even children drink alcohol in the form of butterbeer:

“Winky is getting through six bottles a day now,” Dobby whispered to Harry. “Well, it’s not strong, that stuff,” Harry said. But Dobby shook his head. “ ’Tis strong for a house-elf, sir,” he said.

(GoF, Ch28)

And older students are offered alcohol quite casually:

“Don’t mention it, m’boy, don’t mention it,” said Slughorn, as Ron collapsed into a nearby armchair, looking devastated. “Pick-me-up, that’s what he needs,” Slughorn continued, now bustling over to a table loaded with drinks. “I’ve got butterbeer, I’ve got wine, I’ve got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead . . . hmm . . .

(HBP, Ch18)

“One for Harry . . .” said Slughorn, dividing a second bottle between two mugs, “. . . and one for me. Well” — he raised his mug high — “to Aragog.” “Aragog,” said Harry and Hagrid together. Both Slughorn and Hagrid drank deeply.

(HBP, Ch21)

And have teachers get drunk in front of students regularly and casually.

Harry watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry’s amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.

(PS, Ch12) - both Hagrid and McGonagall are a little drunk here.

Trelawney is also drunk on the regular:

Harry thought that Professor Trelawney might soon crack under the strain; several times he passed her in the corridors (in itself a very unusual occurrence as she generally remained in her tower room), muttering wildly to herself, wringing her hands, and shooting terrified glances over her shoulder, all the time giving off a powerful smell of cooking sherry.

(OotP, Ch25)

As does the Fat Lady:

...password. Abstinence.” “Precisely,” said the Fat Lady in a feeble voice, and swung forward to reveal the portrait hole. “What’s up with her?” asked Harry. “Overindulged over Christmas, apparently,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes as she led the way into the packed common room. “She and her friend Violet drank their way through all the wine in that picture of drunk monks down by the Charms corridor. Anyway . . .”

(HBP, Ch17)

The above showcases the attitude towards alcohol overindulgence is just rolling your eyes, because "oh, they're being silly again". Not that every overindulgence is alcoholism, it's not. Overindulging here and there on a holiday, the way the Fat-Lady and McGonagall seem to do is not alcoholism. What it is, is unprofessional since they are around students.

Now, I'm not sure if Gillywater is an alcoholic drink or not. Personally, I think it is, but low on alcohol like Butterbeer:

“Hi, Harry!” said Romilda Vane, the moment he had climbed through the portrait hole. “Fancy a gillywater?”

(HBP, Ch15)

No one stops Romilda, who's a fourth year in HBP, from bringing Gillywater into the school (That being said, sneaking anything into Hogwarts is ridiculously easy) like Butterbeer (which has alcohol). McGonagall also orders it in PoA when their table orders drinks, and we see McGonagall drink around students before, so it possibly has alcohol:

“A small gillywater —” “Mine,” said Professor McGonagall’s voice. “Four pints of mulled mead —” “Ta, Rosmerta,” said Hagrid. “A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella —” “Mmm!” said Professor Flitwick, smacking his lips. “So you’ll be the red currant rum, Minister.” “Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” said Fudge’s voice.

(PoA, Ch10)

In that conversation in PoA you again have teachers drinking in front of students (except Flitwick, he's a designated driver, apparently). It's just normal in their culture.

If something's wrong and you're in a bad state mentally (or a good one), you turn to alcohol.

So, I think Alcohol would be the most accessible and easiest addiction to fall into in the WW. Even if you're overindulging in public, most people aren't going to notice or comment on it. Alcoholism is seen as a character quirk more than an actual issue in British wizarding culture (Mandungus, Hagrid, and Trelawney are examples of characters with an alcoholism "quirk").

It seems possible to me that Harry could stumble into an alcohol addiction if he doesn't manage to find a different coping mechanism. And there will be some not-super-healthy coping mechanisms because the Wizarding World has no concept of therapy/mental health (talked about more here), and I don't see Harry willingly going to see a muggle (or even squib) therapist.

[changenameno]

My Own (Chapter 10)

Summary:

Geralt finds himself once more on the path, gloomily looking at what lies ahead.
And you? You had no one, no home and certainly no coin. Well that’d be something you had in common. No coin. You two are surely off to a great start…


Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Fem. Nymph Reader

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, Geralt feeling guilty, teasing, pet names, oral sex (fem. receiving), size kink, breeding kink, biting, rough sex, p in v, brattyness, possessiveness, happy & fluffy ending

 Wordcount: 4.2K

 

A/N: Can’t believe this is the last chapter. Hope you’ll like it…As always any mistake is my own. Appreciate every reblog and comment. Thank you and most importantly enjoy ;) ❤️✨

!The Witcher characters and world are not mine!

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(In case you’ve missed CHAPTER 9)

 

CHAPTER 10

You had to walk, because riding on Roach would hurt worse than going by foot. So you and Geralt trudged side by side through the forest.

 

Again, you were the first to speak up, after an hour of silence, “You know that it wasn’t your fault, right?”

 

 

Geralt turned to watch you for a moment, trying to guess, why or how you could possibly know, he felt guilty. But you gave nothing away, so he simply assumed it had to do with your nature, being a nymph and all.

Though in truth, he just wasn’t as mysterious as he thought. You had seen how his jaw kept working, tightening every few steps, so you assumed he was tense, and the only explanation you could come up with was, that he must have something on his mind, so you’d guessed. Apparently quite accurately, going by his astonished expression.

After a while he finally answered,” It was my fault, if I had been quicker with my sword. None of that,” he gestured to your injured side, “would have happened.”

 

 

Thinking about his words, you waited a bit before replying,” You know what wouldn’t have happened also?”

 

“Hmm, what?”

 

“That werewolf, actually no, that man, would have died. He never would have been able to return home to his wife, to his two children. And now he won’t have to ever turn again. So technically speaking, you not only saved his life but any future being from getting mauled or killed by a werewolf, as well.”

 

 

Geralt couldn’t believe what he was experiencing, never before had someone so quickly been able to change his mind, though he had one last but,” Alright I get what you mean and I agree to some extent. But you were the one saving future victims from getting in harm’s way with your charm and neckless and all.

 

You only hummed and nodded.

 

 

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

 

It took you longer than you had anticipated to reach the waterfall. It was already late afternoon, when your eyes landed on the lake.

 

 

The body of water sparkled invitingly, surface gently rippling from the constant stream of the waterfall.

 

Your feet automatically lead you closer, then you exclaimed, “So beautiful!”

 

 

While Geralt had to agree the scenery was stunning, he found it had nothing on you. As you stood there, carefully removing your shoes to feel the water on your bare feet, he thought you looked more beautiful than anything or anyone he’d ever seen. The comparison to a flower, filling his mind again. Though a feisty one…

 

 

Feeling the cooling water on your skin was heaven, you just knew it would do wonders for the wound and all the other aches still deeply ingrained in your muscle memory. But you also knew, to have the full effect you had to be completely submerged in the water.

Turning back around, you found Geralt already looking at you, “I…I have to get in. Could you…could you turn around?”

 

 

His eyes crinkled in mirth as he answered, while stepping closer, “I could.”

Though he didn’t show the slightest inclination of doing so, he only continued to come closer.

 

 

When he came to a halt not even an arms length between you, he whispered, “Or…I could join you.”

 

Before you could gasp, he had gently pulled you against him, hand resting on your nape, pressing his lips to yours, this kiss for once uninterrupted. His soft, deep moan into your mouth had butterflies dancing in your belly, heat rapidly began to pool between your thighs.

 

 

You pushed against his shoulder, breaking the kiss, “Gotta do something first.”

 

And with that, you kneeled down. Not giving two shits about your clothes getting wet in the process. His sharp eyes rested upon you as you closed yours, beginning the complicated spell.

 

 

Your hands looked like they were dancing through the water, more ripples forming on the surface, as you began to utter your incantation. His gaze transfixed when the water started climbing, snaking up your thighs, like a vine, until your dark blouse lifted slightly so it could continue upwards.

 

 

The cool water was a relief against your burning wound, you sighed when you felt it prickling across your skin. Once you had spoken the last few words of your spell a white light shone from beneath the fabric of your blouse. Then the water-vine dropped and the only rippling of water was on the other side, where the waterfall met the lake. Finally all your pain was gone.

 

Upon opening your eyes, you were surprised to find Geralt kneeling in front of you. He reached out, carefully lifting your blouse, making a content noise in the back of his throat when he saw your skin unmarred once more. He let one of his rough fingers gently glide over your ribs, making sure the wound was really gone.

 

 

You smiled cheekily at him, taking his wrist, to pull it, and the fabric further up. He got the notion and gently removed your blouse all the way.

 

 

Groaning when he could now see your erect nipples standing at attention.

“Oh fuck, look at you.”

 

You coyly bit your lip, teasing him, “Actually I’d like you to do more than just looking…”

 

 

He growled, “Little brat all the way, huh?”

 

Though he didn’t wait for another cheeky answer, he pulled you onto his lap. Your thighs having to part, to accommodate him in-between them, whimpering when you felt his bulge press against you.

 

 

He grinned meanly, nibbling on your earlobe while grunting,” That’s right, you’ll take…Every. Last. Inch.” Each word underlined by a tender bite to your neck.

 

 

It made you squeal in delight, picturing how he’d fill and pound into you, in any and every possible way.

 

The only warning you got, “Hold on tight,” before he effortlessly stood up with you in his arms. What surprised you even more was, that he sat you down again, so that you had to stand on your own feet.

 

He couldn’t stop his hand from reaching out, he let his thumb tease across your nipple, tweaking it for good measure, which earned him the most wonderful mewl from you.

His smirk grew even more predatory as he commanded, “Undress.”

 

You complied immediately.

 

Standing now naked in front of him, even though he was still completely dressed, made you feel vulnerable, but in the best of ways.

The black fabric of his breeches pulled taunt over the enormous tent that had formed.

But you deemed it unfair, that he still had all his clothes on, so you didn’t let his eyes roam about your bared body for long. Gracefully you spun around, quickly wading deeper into the water, despite its coolness, until you couldn’t stand anymore.

 

 

Geralt watched you retreat into the lake, every one of your steps making your ass bounce deliciously. But he growled frustratingly, because now he was unable to reach you. Though he had every intention to remedy that, and quickly.

 

 

You laughed a little when his angry growl reached your ears, swimming a bit further into the lake. When there was a loud splash, your head whipped around. But the witcher was gone, only a heap of his clothes left on shore. He had dived into the water and now you couldn’t see him anymore.

 

You turned this way and that, but couldn’t spot him, so you called out, “Ah come on, you’ve had your fun. Where are you?”

 

Suddenly big arms hugged you close, wet lips against your sensitive ear-shell, “I’m here, you little minx.”

 

His warm body pressed into your back, making a shiver run up your spine. “And I have every intention on staying here,” whispering the last part, “for as long as you permit me to.”

 

 

This time, he felt your shiver and easily turned onto his back, swimming closer towards shore with just one arm, until his feet could touch the lake’s ground and he could stand.

 

 

Only now could you feel his stiffness poking into your lower back, filling you with the lewdest thoughts. His arm squished your breasts harder, therefore pressing you further into his broad chest. You tilted your head back, placing your lips against his jawline and nibbling lightly, causing him to growl again. Certain you had just felt his member twitch.

 

“Careful there. I will bite back.”

 

You couldn’t stop behaving like a brat apparently, as you mocked,” Hmm. Oh no, wouldn’t want the big, bad wolf to come out, now would we?”

 

 

That earned you an even tighter grip around your torso and a hand at your throat, squeezing once in warning.

 

“Won’t be able to hold back, if you continue to antagonising me.”

Though that only fuelled the desire, spreading through your body. Cunt clenching uncontrollably around nothing.

 

 

With his hand around your throat, you could only breathe back,” I don’t want you to hold back. Want. Every. Last. Inch.”

 

 

In your position you couldn’t see his face contort into a hungry grimace, but you felt the growl rip from his lips as it reverberated inside his chest and therefore against your back.

 

 

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

 

And with that he started walking to shore, the minute the grassy ground was close enough, he unceremoniously dropped you. You were about to complain, but he roughly manhandled you into his desired position. Taking your breath away, when he ripped your thighs apart to create enough space for him to kneel there.

 

He glowered down at you, tilting his head slightly, as his eyes slowly began roaming your body. Stopping at your tits to admire the soft flesh of your breasts, before continuing to move downwards.

 

 

You began panting, as you were now able to see his wild expression, full of hunger and desire as he stared at your dripping pussy. A little overwhelmed by his heated glare, you unconsciously tried to close your legs, but his steel like grip prevented you from doing so.

 

 

Suddenly his intense eyes snapped back up to your face, shaking his head, “None of that, little pup. That right there, “he nodded to your pulsing centre, “is mine. MINE. Do you understand?!”

 

Pathetically aroused by his possessiveness and the pet name, you whimpered and nodded.

 

 

Geralt knew exactly what his words did to you, smirking evilly when he continued, “Oh will you look at that, I thought you hated being called pup.”

And as if on cue, your treacherous cunt started clenching.

 

“And yet, here’s your little pussy, completely drenched for me when I call you pup.”

 

 

When only another whimper escaped your mouth, Geralt chuckled darkly, “That’s right. My little puppy, aren’t you?”

 

 

He didn’t wait for your answer, not that you would have been able to reply anyhow, before he sunk down further. Hot ragged breath against your most intimate place, big hands digging into your soft thighs, holding you open for him.

 

 

When his nose pressed into your clit, your back bowed of the ground and he grinned up at you, clearly enjoying teasing you mercilessly.

 

As Geralt gazed at your scrunched up face, pleasure written all over your features, his grip tightened even more. He needed to taste you and now. So he dove in, tongue slithering through your wet folds like a serpent.

 

He managed to have you mewling for him in seconds, hips trying to ride his face because his slow pace was driving you absolutely insane.

 

“Ge-geralt…”

 

His name moaned from your lips, sounded like the finest tune in his ears. Without removing his face from your centre, he replied, “Yes, pup? Tell me what it is you need.”

 

 

You wished you could, but with every swipe of his fat tongue, he erased all your thoughts and with that, the hope to formulate a decent sentence.

 

You could feel his groans against your core, when a long finger suddenly started to push inside, “Fuck, you’re so tight, might actually not fit.”

 

 

“Ah mhmm.”

 

 

His finger was now all the way inside, knuckles brushing against your hole, “What was that? Fucked the thoughts right out of you, with just one finger, huh?”

 

 

You would have slapped him, if he didn’t make you feel this amazing, so instead you reached down, pulling his still wet hair and therefore face harder against your pussy.

He more than complied, as he started to eat out your cunt with vigor, enjoying the slightly painful pull on his scalp and every sweet moan from your lips. He was quickly able to add another finger, beginning to spread you in preparation for a much larger intrusion. His own cock was raging painfully, and he had to stop himself from humping the grass like a pitiful virgin wanting to get his dick wet for the first time. Your whimpers drove him to the brink of insanity, but he knew he had to make you come at least once before you could take him. Impatient he doubled his efforts, two fingers pistoling in and out, while he circled your clit with his tongue.

 

 

“Ah… there right there…soo close,” you nearly screamed, when Geralt hit your g-spot every time he plunged his fingers inside.

 

 

It didn’t take long for him to get you off, growling when he felt your imminent orgasm. He couldn’t spread his fingers any longer as your cunt bore so tightly down around them. With a last clever bite to your little nub, you were flung over the edge, so suddenly all you could feel was total ecstasy flooding your body.

 

“Yes that’s it come for me. Come on my fingers, just like that.”

 

 

You hummed quietly once your breath had calmed down enough, both hands reaching down trying to pull the witcher up by his shoulders. Reluctantly he finally let your poor cunt rest, pulling his fingers and tongue away, to crawl up, completely covering your body with his. Elbows supporting his weight so he wouldn’t crush you beneath him.

 

 

Even though he just made you come so hard you were seeing stars, your pussy felt terribly empty, wanting something to fill the space again. His wild eyes rested on your face, searching for something, and finding it when you smiled at him wickedly.

 

“There’s my wild, little pup.”

 

Your hands were still resting on his shoulders, pulling him down into a sensual kiss. Though it quickly grew more heated, teeth clashing and loud groaning, every bit the wild animal you had just witnessed between your legs.

 

 

Then it slipped out, without your mind’s consent, “Need you… need you to breed me…”

 

 

Geralt stopped all motion, staring down at your equally surprised face. Though he recovered a lot quicker than you did, “Say that again.”

 

 

When you only continued to stare at him wide eyed, still a little shocked by your own words, he glared at you.

 

 

Without warning, he jumped up, taking you with him. You swiftly wrapped your arms and legs around his body for more stability, as he snarled directly into your ear, “Say. That. Again!”

 

 

Only when he bit down where your neck met your shoulder, were you finally able to pull free of the stupor you had been in, “Fuck. Please, Geralt breed me. Need…need.”

 

He bit you again, this time harder, making you shriek, when he roared, “What do you need?!”

 

 

“Need your…your cock to breed me. Please! Ger-alt!”

 

 

His sharp teeth sunk into your skin, not letting go. Then you felt it, the wide tip of his cock dividing your lower lips. You hadn’t had time to really look at his cock before, but you didn’t have to, to know he was every bit as thick as he had said.

 

 

Having your warm, wet folds spread around his tip felt heavenly already. One hand squeezing your ass, easily holding you above his heavy cock. Geralt’s other hand gripping his base, positioning himself perfectly beneath your hole.

 

 

Removing his teeth from your shoulder made you hiss with anticipation. Excitement cursing through you. He let the hand at your arse wonder upwards, settling on your upper back, so he could lean you back a little bit and look at your face. After all, he wanted to see every micro expression when he’d enter you for the first time.

 

 

And just like that, be began pushing his tip in, both of you moaning when it wholly popped inside. The head was already so wide you had to try to relax, knowing there was much more to come.

 

 

His hips twitched involuntary, pushing more of his length inside, making you yelp. “There, there pup. You can take it.”

 

 

Your walls were strangling him, he had difficulty breathing, especially combined with the bruising grip you had on his shoulders and the little noises escaping the back of your throat.

 

 

He kept on pulling you down, on his cock inch by inch, eyes fixed on your scrunched up face, so he could see when to stop in case it’d be too much for you.

 

 

It was right on the edge of too painful, as your cunt was spread wide open to accommodate his insane girth. After moments of taking deep breaths, Geralt began placing small kisses on your face, succeeding in relaxing you and making you sink lower still.

 

 

“Halfway there, just a little bit more.”

 

 

That made your eyes fly open, “Halfway?!”

 

 

His smug chuckle, did nothing to sooth you as you stammered, “Can’t…no that’s too much. Doesn’t fit…”

 

 

He had the audacity to taunt you, with your earlier words no less, “Thought, you’d take every last inch of me? Bit more off than you can chew, pup?”

 

 

There it was again, that damned pet name, making your cunt pulse and him chuckle more as he felt every little movement around his stupidly, big cock.

 

 

You hissed, “Well that was before…”

 

 

“Before what?”

 

 

God did you hate him right now. Him and his smug grin.

“Before…before I knew how big you w…,” interrupting yourself with a loud whine.

 

 

Geralt amused by your bratty remarks, had tilted his hips, knowingly pushing against your special spot and shutting you right up.

His plan was to make you relax, else you really wouldn’t be able to take him, so he sneaked one hand down between your bodies and pressed the heel of his palm into your clit. Your reaction was instant, lips forming a big o, though no sound left them, too stunned by the electric current strumming through your body at the touch.

 

 

“Think I really have to fuck the brattiness out of you, hmm?”

 

 

You keen lowly, feeling how you were sinking down on his shaft, this time without pain despite his massive length spearing you open. You threw your head back, as the final inch passed through your hole, filling you up so much you were sure he reached past your navel.

 

 

He rumbled darkly, “See, told you, I’d fit…fuck, there you go.”

 

 

Emboldened by his words, you carefully circled your hips against his, testing the waters. You were sure, he must be splitting you down the middle. But because his palm was still pressed against you, the little pain you actually felt, soon made room for bliss.

 

 

Geralt’s mouth roamed your throat, biting here and there, waiting, growing increasingly impatient. Your walls enclosed him so tightly he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to move.

 

 

Finally you had eased up on your death grip a little. And your next words ended the sweet hell of his immobility, “Please, Geralt mo-move.”

 

It was barely there, so caught up in your own bliss you weren’t able to raise your voice above a whisper. But it had instantly broken the spell the witcher had been under, making him roar when he lifted you up, only to let you fall back down onto his cock.

 

 

He didn’t ease you into it, an insane pace from the start. And every single fall, was met by such a powerful thrust upwards, you were sure you’d be incapable of walking, come morning.

 

 

Your channel squeezed him tighter with every harsh pound inside your cunt, walls fluttering around him.

“Ah fu-uck Geralt,” you cried out after an especially brutal thrust.

 

 

“Yeah, feel good? That what you wanted, pup?!”

 

You could only screech in respond as he repeatedly stole your breath away, when he bottomed out with every forceful shove into your quivering pussy.

 

 

Not knowing how he did it, but not complaining either, he ever increased his pace, fat cock bullying your cervix mercilessly. You were losing yourself completely in pleasure, moan after moan spilling out, followed by equally loud growls from him.

Each drop and motion against him, made a loud squelching sound, that would have you hiding your face away in embarrassment, if you still had the capacity to be ashamed. But Geralt had truly fucked out any decent thought, no longer caring if anyone would hear your loud cries.

 

 

The witcher drilled into you without abandon, cursing as he felt himself growing closer to the finish line, though he knew you weren’t far behind.

 

“Yeah, ready to be filled? Gonna come so deep inside, you’ll drip my cum for days!”

 

 

His filthy words, tipped you right over, whole body spasming in his hold as you came. The sound you made so pathetic and purely animal, Geralt’s own orgasm was ripped from him. His pace did not slow for another few pumps, until you’d truly milked him to completion. You felt his hot cum adding to the pressure inside your belly.

 

Still buried deep inside, he panted, “Fuck pup. Took it so well. Did so good f’r me.” Nuzzling your neck lovingly and breathing in your scent, now more mouth-watering than before.

 

 

You let your fingers card through his white hair, enjoying the closeness.

 

 

Once you both were ready, Geralt pulled out, making his spent dribble down your legs. Slowly he set you down, until you managed to stand on your own. When you walked into the water to clean yourself, you heard him laughing behind you. You turned around, eyebrow raised in accusation, “What are you laughing at?!”

 

 

He grinned, when he answered, “You’re wobbling around like a new born fawn.”

 

 

Your glare intensified as you grumbled back, “And whose fault is that?!!”

 

He swiftly joined you in the water, pressing his chest against your back like, before he replied lowly, “Mine.”

Though he didn’t sound apologetic, if you didn’t know any better he actually sounded quite proud of himself.

 

 

Then he helped you clean, gentle hands roving up and down your body, even softly kneading your muscles until you were pliant in his hold. He led you back outside and with a lazy wave of your hand you were both dried off.

The both of you quickly getting dressed, as the chill of the evening had begun to catch up to you.

 

 

Geralt watched your breasts vanish under your blouse, and when you caught him staring, you teased, “See something you like?”

 

 

As a serious expression overtook his face, you grew nervous, thinking maybe you had teased him too much and he had grown tired of your banter.

 

 

Though the opposite was the case. He unhurriedly approached, pulling you down with him, until you sat comfortably astride his thighs.

 

“Actually no, I didn’t see something I like,” he paused, gazing into your fearful eyes, though a faint smile was growing on his lips, “I saw something…I love.”

 

 

You gaped at him, shocked by his admission and at the same time beyond happy he felt that way.

 

 

“I meant it earlier, you know?” You stared at him quizzically.

 

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me, pup. I love you.”

 

 

You couldn’t help yourself, so overcome by emotion you took his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his lips, before beaming up at his crinkling amber eyes.

 

“Hmm that could be a long while though. Because I’m not going to let you go, master witcher.”

 

He chuckled, hugging you closer to his warm body, “Well you’d better. I don’t intend to let you go either. As I said, you are mine.”

 

 

Geralt let himself fall backwards, until he lay on his back, with you sprawled over his torso like a weighted blanket, ready to fall asleep when you piped up again,” Geralt?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You know this goes both ways, right?”

 

“What does?”

 

Holding your breath, before letting the words tumble out, “I love you, too. And you belong to me, just as much as I to you.”

 

After a beat of silence, he shifted so he could see you face, “Of course. I’m yours and you are mine.” To your chagrin, he added, “My own, little puppy.”

 

You huffed indignantly, hitting him on the shoulder, “Hush. Look at you, not even needing Jaskier to ruin the romantic moment, apparently you are plenty capable yourself.”

 

His belly rumbled with laughter, his happiness so contagious you had to join in, giggling alongside his deep chuckles.

 

 

“Sorry, my love. I promise solemnly to get better.” His eyes still twinkled with mirth.

 

You simply ignored his amusement, too content with just lying here, so you snuggled closer into his chest for more warmth.

 

He lifted one of your arms, pulling you up, so your head lay just below his jaw. Then he placed a kiss on your palm, mumbling, “I love you. Sleep well, my little pup.”

 

You breathed back, “Love you too. Good ‘ight.”

 

 

Geralt had never felt this content and happy before. Certain, sleep would come easy tonight, and every night thereafter, as long as you’d be safely tucked away in his arms. Knowing that, he finally began to relax.

He listened to your slow, rhythmic heartbeat, until he was lulled to sleep himself. Though no dream of his could be better than the reality of knowing, you loved him too.

THE END

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

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[dropthedemiurge]

Boys Be Brave [EP.5] // Translation notes

I'm back with my - I guess?? - already weekly analysis of something Gaga subs might've missed in this show. Because apparently, the silly show got deeper and I'm staying here until the very end :D

First of all, I was curious and checked whether there is anything about Kiseob's illness, and there is! There are two diagnoses:

상세불명의 심실중격결손 상세불명의 심방중격결손 Unspecified Ventricular Septal Defect, Unspecified Atrial Septal Defect

I am not a doctor definitely, but quick googling told me it's a heart defect (also called as 'a hole in the heart') which can have symptoms of heart malfunctioning. Which would! Explain even more! Why Kiseob has wrist watch that always measures his pulse and why on several occasions he was wondering why his heart was beating so fast next to Jinwoo (well, one for obvious reasons and another one is this).

And it's something you have since birth so he's been dealing with medication his entire life. Which would also explain further - after the scene with his sister - why the urge to be a people pleaser is so serious and so ingrained in him.

Another interesting language detail I noticed in this scene. Kiseob says "That's why I just agree to anything" but it doesn't translate well to english, because the verb 좋아/좋아해 can mean "I like" (eating medicine) and "I like (the idea)/I agree". So first he started lying that yes, he likes taking medicine, and that transferred to him saying that yes, he likes this, he agrees with this (whatever that is, anything he is proposed with)

"I cannot like anyone, right?" "Why not? You're a bastard with a lot of money"

This phrase references all the previous phrases that other people used to describe Kiseob, but Balgeum doesn't sense the real problem of his friend because the phrasing is general, it can also mean 'I have no chance of loving someone', and that's why Balegum thinks it's just Kiseob having low self-esteem or something. And also to him having money = being able to love, letting himself confess and date the one he loves, so of course, that's his answer. Kiseob has a lot of money, why wouldn't he confess to Jinwoo if he likes him?

But Kiseob can't because he doesn't even know his own feelings, and everyone around tells him he doesn't have the ability to love someone.

"Giving me (toilet paper) as if I moved to a new house"

Now, I cannot be the only one thinking years ago why the hell Koreans give each other huge packages of toilet paper when they visit someone xD But this is also a cultural thing!

When your friends move to a new house, you are supposed to come with gifts and usually with very practical ones, like toilet paper (very common gift). Rich friends can give you coffee machines or humidifiers or something like that. In my country, when you visit friends (not moving houses but still), you usually bring some desserts or food to have with tea. So for some countries, toilet paper is a norm :D

Balgeum has been living in his small apartment for a long time but it's the first time Inho visits his house so he's giving it a gesture of respect (but still an awkward one).

[Interrupting my broadcast to scream about cuteness and awkwardness of Balgeum x Inho AAAAAHHHHH Now back to the schedule]

...No, we will definitely focus on scribbling over Jung Kiseob's name for 100th time, absolutely distracted from any historical knowledge going in the background ^^

Oh! By the way! I remember being surprised that, apparently, some people on social media were uncomfortable with Kiseob seemingly 'feminizing' himself to be likeable by Jinwoo. Let me tell you that no, Kiseob doesn't do that at all!

There is nothing truly that indicated that he wants to be a ideal girl for Jinwoo (who has non-gendered perfect type list as I mentioned in my previous translation notes post!). He doesn't even use typical school-girl aegyo on Jinwoo (aka acting cute), maybe a tiny bit but it's not typical and it's not usually in his language at all. He talks gently and softly a lot! But he doesn't add typical cuteness in the way he talks (like there's no pouting, mumbling words and ending sentences with -ung).

I talked about dress = one-piece = jumper suit being the same in Korean but Kiseob literally only follows what Jinwoo wrote about a person he likes (not girl). As I described it, "he's using loopholes in Jinwoo's specific list in a true himbo way" :D He doesn't really do anything girly and doesn't pretend to be a girl as I can sense.

And I don't think I need to clarify another time, but falling in love during first snow/first sight is one of Jinwoo's list. Which Kiseob already fulfilled but he doesn't know that, and he just saw Jinwoo being with Hyejin witnessing first snow, which was the last straw for him to admit his failure and give up pursuing Jinwoo.

By the way, Koreans really think the first snowfall is a romantic event, like there are saying you'll fall in love with/be happy dating with someone you'll be with during first snow^^ It comes up in many Kdramas.

[chromaticleaf]

Can't get Murder Drones out of my head. Almost like some eldritch code has taken root inside my brain. It's probably fine.

Anyway, headcanons for what the murder trio were before Tessa got them:

J was almost certainly in some corporate position. I like to think she was involved in marketing, since she has all those buzzwords ingrained in her lexicon. Maybe they even had her working with graphic design with her art skills. I also imagine she kinda hates corporate structure. "Bootlicker J" jokes aside, I can't imagine even she would have fun as a (literal) corporate slave, and she definitely enjoys freely speaking her mind: not something that flies very well in corporate and marketing contexts. Maybe she got dumped during some convoluted office politics, maybe she was dumped due to random downsizing, who knows.

N's a bit trickier. We see a lot of dexterity and showmanship from him in the manor. He's quite flashy with the glassware at a few points. He also likes drawing, but is lacking in technical skill, especially compared to J. He's also quite personable and friendly, and also seems to truly admire J in some capacity. As a bonus, Cyn mimics a lot of N's mannerisms, and one of her defining traits is her acting, even specifically playing at "improv" while rebuilding J. Therefore, I think N was in theater/entertainment.

He wasn't necessarily an actor himself: still a robot slave after all. But he likely assisted with a lot of setup. Rehearsals, testing stunts, watching over pets/kids (whether those of actors or actors themselves), etc. He enjoys fancy costumes as well, and he's pretty genre aware. He's probably had his fair share of experience with horror movies/stories. Maybe he got dumped pissing off the wrong famous person, maybe some stunt went wrong and they didn't want to bother repairing him, maybe they just wanted the newest model.

V is tough to decide. She seems to enjoy fighting the most out of all of them, but none of them are really slouches in combat, so I don't think that says much about her past. We don't see much of her in the manor, but the impression she gives is a bit more shy and demure. We see her playing chess in the credits, but one hobby doesn't mean much on its own, especially since chess is a common game to put on computers: probably all of them have chess programs built-in.

With that little to go off of, and her tendency to both act out in outrageous ways and keep herself closed-off, I'm thinking she was probably a menial worker beforehand. Minimal freedom, in a position where she'd best keep her head down. Follow the rules closely in order to keep what little she has. "Do your job and I leave you and N alone" was probably a pretty good deal to V because it was as good or better than her previous work arrangements.

Could be a lot of jobs like that for a robo-slave. But let's have fun with it and extrapolate from her usage of "narc" and her apparent desensitization to violence: she was used by a criminal organization for clean-up duty, and got dumped after being confiscated by authorities.

[theladyofshalott1989]

You’re My Medicine for Melancholy (I Want to Take You In) // Sebastian Sallow x m!MC Fluff

I took the day off today to "take a break from work," which apparently means write a fluffy one-shot. I tried, folks. I really did try.

Anywho, enjoy!

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,297

[ AO3 Link ]

Summary: In which Sebastian reflects on everything that led to this moment: waking up as a married man beside the love of his life, with a future full of endless possibilities stretching before them.

Waking up to Damien on this first day of the rest of their lives together felt like a gift—different somehow, even though Sebastian and Damien had been inseparable since they were boys, having spent countless hours entwined together in beds across various locales: the Evans estate, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw common rooms, their cottage in the beach vivarium in the Room of Requirement, a rented room at The Three Broomsticks, and now, here in their home in Hogsmeade, as a married couple. 

Sebastian had long established the fact that Damien was his and he was Damien’s, but now it was official. He was Sebastian Evans-Sallow, and it had a delightful ring to it. A tender smile spread across Sebastian’s face as he studied his husband, still peacefully asleep beside him, his expression serene, his mouth slightly ajar. Even in sleep, even drooling into his pillow, he was a beautiful specimen of a man. Sebastian knew that one day, waking up to Damien might become as familiar as an old tune, but today was not that day.

And Sebastian would never say it out loud, but he had to be honest with himself—Damien was in a different class altogether. Better-looking—if only slightly, yes, but still true—wealthy to an almost absurd degree, more forgiving, and certainly more romantic. It was quite ridiculous if he thought too hard about it. Sebastian hadn’t the foggiest idea how he managed to win the favor of someone so far above his station. Damien had somehow picked him, and Sebastian wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. No, sir. 

The memories of their wedding the day before were still firmly ingrained in his head, swirling around like thoughts in a Pensieve. Damien’s vows had been impeccable: honest, sincere, and deeply affecting. When he said, “With you, I’ve found a home in every moment, no matter where we are,” Sebastian felt a lump form in his throat. He’d even teared up, wiping away at his eyes as he squinted into the sun, hoping everyone would just assume it was the sunlight that made his eyes glisten. It didn’t fool Damien. He’d reached out for Sebastian’s hands and given them a light squeeze for the second time that day, his own eyes welling up in return. When all was said and done, in an attempt to prevent himself from blubbering, Sebastian joked, “Well, that will be hard to top,” eliciting laughs from the crowd of their family and friends, sitting in rows before them in the middle of Hogsmeade Square. Sebastian’s vows paled in comparison to Damien’s, but he hoped his message was clear: Damien was his light, guiding him through the darkest shadows, even when the path ahead was hidden from view. Or something like that. Not to be too sentimental. 

As the memories of the day before lingered in his mind, Sebastian found himself studying Damien’s face with a renewed intensity. Everything faded into the background, leaving him alone with the man who had become his everything. 

Sebastian soaked in every detail, wanting to remember this moment forever and always. Damien’s thick eyelashes, as blond as his hair, the beginnings of crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which Sebastian knew would deepen with time, even a smile line that had already begun to form on the right corner of his mouth, but not the left, perhaps a result of Damien’s lopsided grin. 

He had been so intent on analyzing his new husband’s face that he didn’t even realize that Damien had opened his eyes. “Good morning to you, too,” Damien said through a light chuckle. 

Sebastian jolted out of his careful examination, making Damien laugh all the more. 

“See something you like?” Damien teased, nudging closer to wrap his long arms around Sebastian. His laughter trailed off, his breath warm against the crook of Sebastian’s neck.

Sebastian tensed, his whole body awakening as Damien's body pressed against his, especially since they’d fallen asleep last night bare—as one would expect on one’s wedding night. Damien must have just remembered this fact too as he stiffened a heartbeat after Sebastian. “No,” Damien said, shaking his head and releasing his firm grip on Sebastian’s torso. He scooched back, a stubborn hand’s-width of distance now separating them from each other. “We can’t right now.” Sebastian quirked a brow. “Are you talking to yourself or to me?”

“Hard to say,” Damien replied. He scrambled up, then ducked down to grab his trousers from the floor, where Sebastian had tossed them last night. 

“And why can’t we?” Sebastian punctuated his question with a pout. 

“We have breakfast with Anne and Ominis,” Damien said, pulling up his trousers. He grabbed his wristwatch from the nightstand, giving it a casual glance, then blanched. “Get up, Sebastian, or we’ll be late!” Sebastian rubbed his eyes. “You’re worried about being late? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” He sat up against the headboard and tousled his wavy hair. 

“Bash, I’m serious! We can’t be late.” Damien grabbed a wrinkled shirt draped across the chair in the corner of the room and tossed it on haphazardly, buttoning it with careless abandon. “Anne said she would bake us her special scones. The ones with currants! We don’t want them to be cold when we arrive.”

“Perish the thought,” Sebastian sighed. “You choose scones over a delightful morning wake-up? Well, I never!” He was only half joking. In fact, he was rather put-out by this unfortunate turn of events. 

Damien trudged over to Sebastian’s side of the bed and held out his hands for him to take. Sebastian reluctantly obliged and Damien yanked him out of bed, nearly pulling off his arms in the process.

“Steady now,” Sebastian chided. “We still have our weekend trip to Edinburgh to enjoy. Let’s not break me before then.”

Damien barked out a laugh, then shoved Sebastian toward his clothing, which was laying in a pile on the floor. Not Sebastian’s usual style, being the more cleanly of the two, but last night was the exception to the rule. “Hurry!” Damien said. “A moment.” Damien had missed a button on his shirt, so Sebastian remedied that, then rose up slightly on his tiptoes and pecked Damien on the forehead. He was still very naked, so his erect cock trailed lightly up Damien’s body, as he intended. 

Damien inhaled sharply. “Don’t. Tempt. Me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Tempt you? Little old me?” Sebastian reached for Damien’s generous cock with his right hand, the stubborn fabric of his trousers in the way, and grasped it firmly. 

“Sebastian!” 

Sebastian smirked, his hand still cradling his husband’s privates. He could get used to this. “It will have to do for now, I suppose.” He released his grip and leaned down to the floor to pick up his clothing. He had hoped his scandalous display would work, but it seemed not. Alas. At first, Damien stood stock-still beside him. He didn’t appear to move a muscle. But then, faster than the blink of an eye, he stripped off all his clothing. Trousers flew over Sebastian’s head as he stood back up. 

“I changed my mind,” Damien said, raking a hand through his long hair which fell in effortless waves just past his shoulders. 

Sebastian dropped the pile of clothing he’d been holding at his feet and leaped forward. He murmured, “I thought you might,” before his lips collided with Damien’s. He maneuvered Damien as gracefully as he could manage in his aroused state to the bed, where he fully intended to ravage him until all thoughts of baked goods fled from Damien’s pretty little head.

Someone clearly needed to sort out his priorities. And that someone wasn’t Sebastian. 

[anistarrose]

I saw a post where a person was defending generalized statements, and I'm not going to do that thing from the meme where I generalize by saying "generalized statements are ALL terrible," but the post's reasoning didn't sit right with me, and their example really illuminated why. Let me explain.

Their argument was that generalized statements are fine, and tagging on exceptions is just "deflecting," if the exceptions are so obvious, uncontroversial, and universally agreed upon that no one would interpret them as the subject of the statement to begin with. Seems reasonable enough, put like this — but do you want to know what their example was, for a statement like this where the exceptions are apparently so obvious?

"Everyone should exercise, because it makes you healthier."

This person claimed that obviously, no one would interpret this statement as being about people who can't exercise. In their claim, no one would say this to a "wheelchair user." This was their quintessential "justified" generalized statement, and their reasoning behind it. And to that, I say:

Do you know how many disabled people I know who can't exercise, who have communicated that they can't exercise, and still get told to exercise by their doctors?

I'll tell you this — it's too many. And that raises an urgent question:

If literal medical professionals can't see the "obvious," common-sense exception to that generalization, then is it really such a harmless generalized statement? Does the "uncontroversial exception" heuristic hold any merit for evaluating generalized statements?

I argue it does not. In the exercise case, this is not some superficial mistreatment, for the record — it's a frighteningly widespread manifestation of ableism (and often, also fatphobia), which directly harms people who are denied real, attainable treatments under the "you just need exercise" excuse. Not everyone who has made that generalization has ableist intentions, of course — but I hope we can agree when I propose:

If the exceptions to a generalization are treated poorly because they are the exceptions, then the generalization is a harmful generalization. We should make a reasonable best effort not to propagate, or otherwise societally ingrain, these harmful generalizations.

But, as you may notice — "generalizations are bad when they hurt people" and "generalizations are fine when the exceptions seem too obvious to bother specifying" are the two statements we're comparing here, yet they do not inherently contradict each other. And if we recall the post that I'm criticizing... that's actually part of the problem, in my opinion. An exception that seems obvious to one person can be glossed over by another person, and in doing so, hurt whoever lies in that exception.

To be clear, I'm sure the person who wrote that post has no desire to reinforce, or handwave away, any mistreatment of people who can't exercise. But I also doubt that they, personally, know very many disabled people who can't exercise, or have spent much time listening to disabled activists speak out about medical ableism. And this is because, at admittable risk of generalizing... we're all people who have lived in a complicated world, for a finite amount of time.

We do not all have lived experience, or even robust secondhand experience, with every axis of oppression. We are poor judges of when a generalization can harm its exceptions, alongside and sometimes because of, how we also poorly judge when the exceptions are really agreed upon.

We have implicit biases, and often, they come in the form of blind spots. Experiences we're not familiar with. But a good tool for mitigating your blind spots, not to mention the insensitive things you might say as a result, is to be cognizant of the fact that those gaps in your knowledge exist. To be open to learning... and, in parallel, to maybe just possibly cut back on the generalizing.

I made generalized statements in this post, of course. Sometimes, they're just efficient, if not downright instinctual. But I would still encourage people to exercise more caution around generalizations, and especially generalizations of certain types, where either the explicit text or the implication comes in forms like "All human beings do X," or "All human beings benefit from Y." Things like "love/sex makes us human," I'm looking at you, for example. If you don't lie in the exception, you might not realize there are exceptions, or at least not realize the harm that that generalization can cause to those who are.

When you only have a particular finite number of experiences, other people's experiences you haven't considered will hide in the margins. We can't become experts of intricacies of everyone's lives and marginalizations overnight, but we should be willing to learn — and the first step of being willing to learn is accepting the gaps in your knowledge. Which, of course, generally isn't helped or practiced by generalizing.

[jessisnotnormal]

Chapter 10: Test

Masterlist

<- Chapter 9

There was a definite spring to her step as Jada entered Gaius’ quarters the next morning. Over on the stairs by the window, Merlin looked up from some pages he was bent over, an easy smile greeting her as she bid him good morning.

            “What do you think?” she asked, giving her new dress a twirl.

            His eyes examined the dress, before he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Looks good.”

            “Thanks. I wasn’t sure blue was really my colour, but I don’t think I look too bad, to be honest.” She’d quite liked the way Gwen’s colour choice had made her eyes seem more blue than grey—it was almost like some kind of magic in itself.

            Apparently Merlin had noticed the difference, too. “No, no. It makes- eyes- um…” He gestured awkwardly to his own eyes, his cheeks turning a little pink.

            Jada laughed. “I’m going to assume that was an attempt at a compliment?”

            Merlin’s laugh was more nervous. “Yeah. Sorry.”

            She laughed again, crossing over to see the pages he had been looking at. “Thanks, then. What’s all this?”

            “It’s tablature.” He sat back, picking up the lute that leant against the step beside him. “You said you wanted to learn?”

            “Aren’t you in work today?” Jada asked, sitting next to him.

            “Not until later. Arthur gave me the morning off while he checks in with Lancelot.” He turned more towards her. “If you still want to learn, I can try to teach you the basics?”

            She smiled. “That’d be great, thanks.”

            Learning the lute proved to be significantly more challenging than Jada had imagined. Despite appearances, it had very little in common with the guitar, and going against most of what was already ingrained in her brain turned out to be quite a struggle. Nevertheless, Merlin was a patient teacher, taking the time to answer each one of her questions and helping her reposition her hands whenever she strayed back into ‘guitar mode’.

            The plucking sequences were the hardest for her to get a handle on, but Merlin guided her through it slowly, until the notes she played gradually started to become less of a disjointed mess.

            “You’re getting the hang of it,” he commented, reaching over to readjust her right hand slightly. “Just remember to keep this in position.”

            “But the position feels so wrooong!” Jada whined dramatically, before sombering again. “Thank you, though. I’m sure you must have wanted to bash your head against something at least once by now.”

            One corner of his mouth lifted. “You really don’t have to thank me so much, you know.”

            She frowned. “What do you mean?”

            He shrugged. “You say it so often. I’m hardly doing anything.”

            “You’re helping me, aren’t you? Why wouldn’t I thank you for that?”

            He seemed almost surprised as he looked back up at her. “Well…”

            At that moment, the sound of bells clanging somewhere in the castle rang out, startling the two of them. Merlin jumped swiftly to his feet.

            “It’s the warning bells…” he frowned, but quickly spun on his heel at the sound of screaming coming from the window behind them.

            Jada also shot to her feet now. “Oh my God…” she gasped, then turned to Merlin. “What’s happening?”

            “I don’t know,” he replied. “But I’m going to find out.”

            He took off running, and Jada followed him out of the castle and into the streets of Camelot. There were dozens of people heading towards them, all wearing ragged clothing as they made for the castle. Some of them were bleeding, some wearing make-shift bandages, and some could only hobble wearily over the cobbles, but all of them had a haunted look in their faces as they passed by.

            Merlin quickly sprang into action, hurrying to the aid of a younger woman as she made her way tentatively through the gates. He guided her over to where Gaius was tending to an older woman as Jada moved to follow his example with the other refugees.

            “You’re safe now, I promise,” she heard Merlin reassure the woman, before he nodded towards Gaius’ patient. “How is she?”

            “Okay,” Gaius replied, dabbing at the woman’s head wound.

            Just then, Lancelot came racing over, his expression equally as panicked as Jada felt. “What happened to these people?”

            Gaius turned to him gravely. “Their village was attacked by a winged monster.”

            Merlin shared a look with Lancelot, then Jada. Could it be the same creature that had attacked them? It had to be, didn’t it? How many other winged creatures could plague Camelot?

            “The knights’ll take care of it, won’t they? Isn’t that what they do?” Even as she asked, she saw the dismay in each of the others’ faces.

            “I fear so,” Gaius replied.

            “But how could they prevail?” Lancelot asked. “I struck the creature squarely, yet it was unhurt.”

            Jada wondered how she could have missed that, but when she thought back to their encounter with the beast, she recalled that her attention had mostly been on Merlin at the time.

            Gaius gave Merlin a meaningful look, before replying gravely. “I’m afraid I do not know.”

            The rest of the day was spent helping as many of the displaced villagers as possible, and it seemed as though most of the castle’s staff had turned out to give what aid they could. By nightfall, Jada was so exhausted that she quickly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

            In the morning she was due to train with Lancelot again, so she dressed in Ubi’s old (now thankfully clean) shirt and trousers and headed out of the castle grounds. Lancelot greeted her warmly, but before they’d gotten very far into their training session he seemed to become distracted.

            “Is everything all right?” Jada asked, dropping her sword arm for a moment. “Lance?”

            He refocused on her, giving a short laugh at the nickname. “Lance?”

            She shrugged. “I can keep Lancelot if you want. It’s kind of a mouthful, but…”

            “No, no,” he smiled. “I don’t mind Lance.”

            “Lance it is, then,” she grinned. “What’s up, anyway?” She pushed her wooden sword tip into the ground, leaning on it slightly.

            “Prince Arthur has moved my test forward. I’m to face him in the morning.”

            “Really?” Jada felt her eyebrows raise. “How come?”

            “I believe he wants as many knights as possible to stand against the creature. He even changed their training regime this morning.”

            “You mean you have to go up against that thing again?” she frowned. There had to be some way of defeating it, right?

            “If I pass the test, it would appear so.”

            “Do they know how to beat it yet?”

            “Not that I have heard.” His eyes were worried. “Gaius was researching the creature last night, but I do not know if his search was successful.”

            Jada rocked thoughtfully on her sword. There had to be something they were overlooking, but every time she tried to figure out what it could be, she came up empty.

            “Well, at least your first task is only to defeat Arthur,” she tried, hoping to reassure him. “You’ve already faced the creature once, how hard can an arrogant prince be compared to that?”

            Lancelot chuckled, his eyes lighting mischievously. “Well, you certainly could not defeat him.”

            “Hey!” Jada protested, pulling her sword up again to tap him on the arm.

            Lance dodged to the side, blocking her with a cheeky grin, before whirling round to knock her on the back with his own sword. Jada giggled, swinging clumsily at him again as he danced lithely backwards out of the reach of each blow.

            On the fourth, he blocked her again with a teasing smirk. “You definitely need more training.”

            The threat of the creature attacking hung over the city, growing heavier as the day drew on. Its people were kept busy preparing for such an incident, so much so that Jada found herself with little to do and no-one to visit. She ended up heading down to Gaius’ quarters again—though he was incredibly busy with all the extra patients that had arrived from the village—and borrowing Merlin’s lute to practise with. Uther had yet to request her presence for anything, but she thought she’d better be as prepared as she could be for whenever that day came.

            When the morning arrived, bringing Lancelot’s test with it, she joined both Merlin and Gwen in accompanying him to the training ground. They stood to the side once again, slightly apart from the knights that had paused their training to observe also. Lancelot and Arthur stood in the centre of the circle that had formed, both outfitted completely in protective mail. This was no light training session; Lancelot would have to fight as though his life depended on it.

            “Well, here we are,” Arthur announced, echoing his speech from his fight with Grimond. Jada wondered if Lancelot would come to the same fate. “Your final challenge. Succeed and you join the elite. Fail and your journey ends here. Lancelot, fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria…”—He turned, nodding to a man holding a sand timer, who flipped it over at the prince’s signal—“Your time starts now.”

            People around the circle began to clap, and Jada joined in enthusiastically. Lancelot had to win. He had to. It was how things were meant to be.

            The two donned their helmets, and Arthur twirled his sword confidently as they approached each other. Lancelot darted forwards first, slicing his sword right and left expertly, but Arthur managed to dodge or block each blow that was aimed towards him. Nevertheless, it was Lancelot who got the first hit, striking Arthur full-force in the face and sending the prince staggering backwards.

            Merlin and Gwen cheered beside Jada, the pair of them grinning, and Merlin even punched the air excitedly as Lancelot surged forwards again. Arthur recovered quickly, his sword flashing up to meet Lancelot’s with a clash of steel, and then they were just a flurry of silver as they swung and blocked and sidestepped one another.

            Lancelot went for a second hit, but this time Arthur managed to step back out of his reach. Gwen gasped, her hand flying out to grasp Merlin’s jacket beside her and making him jump. He glanced down at her hand in surprise before turning to her in confusion.

            “I’m sorry,” Gwen breathed awkwardly, releasing him and turning back to the fray. Jada felt a small pang of pity for her.

            Her attention was quickly drawn back to Lancelot, however, who seemed to be dominating the battle now from her inexperienced perspective. Arthur seemed barely able to make any aggressive swings, having only enough time to block Lancelot’s manoeuvres as he advanced.

            The tide changed in less than a moment. Arthur swung his blade low, forcing Lancelot to block it, before swinging his fist at his opponent’s face. It connected with a sickening crack and Lancelot was knocked backwards, landing on his back once again as his helmet flew off to roll beside him. Jada felt both Merlin and Gwen deflate in the same moment that she did.

            There was some disappointed clapping from the other knights, apparently signalling the end of the fight, and Arthur stabbed his sword into the ground to remove his helmet.

            “Shame,” he said, standing over Lancelot and bending to remove his sash.

            As Arthur took hold of the fabric however, Lancelot suddenly sprang to life once again, flipping Arthur onto his back and standing above him.

            “Do you submit, sire?” he asked, holding his sword to the prince’s chest. Jada wished she could see Arthur’s face.

            The elation she felt was quickly cut short however, as two guards strode up and seized Lancelot by the arms. Arthur got back to his feet, yanking his sword out of the ground in anger.

            “On your knees,” he growled, and the guards forced Lancelot to obey. Arthur pointed his blade at Lancelot’s chest, holding it there while he fumed.

            Jada sent a worried glance to Merlin. “What’s going on? He won, didn’t he?”

            Merlin shrugged helplessly, seeming just as concerned. Then his face lit up in a smile, his eyes now back on the two men. Jada turned to look too, finding Arthur offering a hand to Lancelot and helping him to his feet.

            “He’s passed,” Merlin murmured. “They’re going to make him a knight.”

            Jada was pleased for Lancelot—she was, really—but she quickly found herself wishing that his knighting ceremony could come at a later date. As it turned out, such a ceremony was to be followed by a royal celebration, during which Uther expected his Royal Bard to perform some sort of tribute to the general nobility of knights. She had until the following evening to prepare, and was now well and truly panicked.

            Lancelot himself seemed to find her stress fairly amusing, chuckling as she flew into Gaius’ quarters past him, the physician, and Merlin to seize the lute and try to come up with something that wouldn’t get her fired on her first job.

            She was certainly no composer, that much she knew, so her best bet was just to learn a suitable song that Merlin already had the tablature for. It was a difficult task for her inexperienced fingers, but after a short while Merlin came to sit beside her and offer what help he could. Together they managed to produce something that seemed passable, and now she just had to practise it.

            Merlin stayed up as long as he could with her, but eventually Gaius declared that it was time they all went to bed. Jada took the hint and bid them goodnight, but Merlin was kind enough to let her take his lute with her to practise with in the morning.

            She was not permitted to attend Lancelot’s knighting ceremony the following morning, due to her only recently holding a position in the royal household, so she continued to practise her song. By the time she looked up from the tablature she and Merlin had transcribed, it was dark out and the braziers in the courtyard were being lit.

            She was going to be late.

            She hadn’t even given any thought to what she was supposed to wear until that moment, but she quickly decided that the dress Gwen had made for her would have to do as nothing else she owned looked even remotely suitable for a royal affair. She threw it on, pausing only to try and make her hair appear more presentable, before quickly deciding to just plait it back and hope it stayed somewhat neat. Grabbing the lute, she sped out the door and headed for the banquet hall.

            It was already full when she arrived, though she was grateful to see that people were mostly milling about with plates and tankards in their hands, laughing with each other as the jovial music played. She’d been expecting a formal sit-down meal at the term ‘banquet’, but was glad to find that this was not the case.

            Her first scan of the room found the other musicians, who were gathered together underneath the great stain-glass windows that covered the length of one wall. Jada moved towards them, set her lute down against the wall, and scanned again.

            Now, she spotted Lancelot, who was sat with Arthur on one of the tables chatting. Both of them had a tankard of ale in their hand, seeming completely at ease as the party went on around them.

            At last her gaze found the dark hair that she’d been searching for. She joined Merlin and Gaius, the last of her jittery adrenaline beginning to subside as Merlin gave her a relaxed smile in greeting.

            “Are you all right?” he asked, taking in her expression. “You look like you might pass out.”

            “Nervous,” Jada replied. “Thought I was going to be late. I’m still not sure I’ve practised enough.”

            Merlin grinned at her in reassurance. “You’ll be fine. And if anything does go wrong, just act like it was meant to happen. They won’t know the difference.”

            She nodded, trying to relax with a sigh. As she did so, her gaze dropped to the plate he was holding in his hands and she frowned. “Merlin, why do you have a giant heap of grapes on your plate?”

            Confusion passed over his face, before he looked down too. Then he shrugged. “I just like them. We don’t get a lot of fancy food like this in my village. Want some? I’ve got some bread here, too…”

            The bread in question was mostly hidden under all the grapes, which Jada was pretty certain was more than any normal human would ever need in their life. She shook her head as he offered it to her, barely holding back her laughter. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

            At that moment, they heard Lancelot’s laugh ring out over the crowd, and looked over to find him and Arthur grinning at something between themselves.

            “Look at him, Gaius,” Merlin said, apparently continuing some other conversation that Jada had not been a part of. “Does Lancelot not deserve this moment?”

            “I never said he didn’t,” Gaius replied. “But destiny and desserts are not the same thing. You played God, Merlin. You set him on a path of your choosing. Tonight you brought him triumph, but who knows what the future may hold?”

            “Oh, trust me,” Jada interjected. “Lancelot is destined to be a knight.”

            “Yeah, I don’t know what it said on your invitation,” Merlin added with a cheeky smile, “But on mine, it said ‘celebration’.”

            Gaius chuckled, beginning to turn away. “Point taken. Don’t come back too late.”

            “All right,” Merlin grinned, inclining his head for Jada to follow him further into the crowd. They made their way closer to the centre of the room, where Merlin exchanged his plate of grapes for a tankard of mead. He picked one up for Jada, too, and she examined it hesitantly. It smelled surprisingly sweet, and to her surprise tasted just as good. She could hardly even taste the alcohol.

            Gwen joined them while Jada was examining the drink, giving her a curious look as she sipped it warily.

            “We don’t have this back at home,” Jada explained. “All our alcohol tastes pretty foul.”

            Merlin seemed to be paying attention to something entirely different, however, and turned to Gwen with a smirk playing on his lips.

            “You know what?” He licked his lips, clearly enjoying whatever little secret he was about to reveal. “I think our Sir Lancelot might have eyes for you, Gwen.”

            Gwen gave a short laugh in disbelief. “Don’t be silly.”

            “What? So what if he did? Would that really be so bad?”

            Gwen gave an exasperated sigh. “He’s not really my type.”

            “Oh, well there’s a surprise,” Merlin replied. “Sometimes, Guinevere, I wonder if you’d know what your type was if he was standing right next to you.”

            Poor girl, Jada couldn’t help but think, to have a crush on someone so oblivious. She must have the patience of a saint.

            Gwen seemed to take it in good humour, proving Jada’s theory. “You’re probably right.”

            Merlin swapped his tankard for a full one, leaving Jada to wonder just how much alcohol was in it since he’d downed it so fast.

            “So, come on,” he continued after thanking the server. “Just for the sake of argument, if you had to, Arthur or Lancelot?”

            Jada choked on her mead, making an undignified snorting sound as she tried to swallow back her surprise.

            “Are you all right?” Gwen asked, her eyes wide with concern.

            “Fine,” Jada croaked, getting control of herself. She didn’t need to explain that legend to them.

            “So, who would you pick?” Merlin asked again, apparently satisfied Jada wasn’t going to choke to death now.

            Gwen scoffed, replying in a sing-song voice. “But I don’t have to and I never will.”

            Jada was lucky enough not to be taking a swig this time, and managed to disguise her shock as a cough.

            Merlin was still unsatisfied. “Oh, you are no fun, Gwen. What about you, Jada?”

            Jada eyed the two men still sat on the table. She’d only really seen Arthur a handful of times; one of those he’d been rescuing her from her own stupidity, and the others he seemed to be a bit of a spoiled arse. But all the women of legend that had fallen in love with Lancelot seemed to have come to some horrible end. Then again, most of the women of legend full stop seemed to have come to some horrible end.

            “I guess Lancelot?” she answered. “I’m not sure I’d fancy being a queen." Now it was her turn to give Merlin a mischievous grin. “What about you?”

            Before Merlin could answer, Arthur started banging on the table, drawing all the attention to himself as he rose to his feet.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a toast to our new recruit-” He pulled Lancelot to his feet beside him with a grin. “Our new knight of Camelot, Sir Lancelot.”

            He raised his tankard, and the room broke out into cheers and applause. Lancelot was beaming.

            “Well, that’s my cue,” Jada said, handing her tankard to Merlin. “Don’t drink it all before I get back.”

            She headed over to the other musicians, picking up her lute and facing the crowd. Stay calm, she told herself. You’ve got this. Drawing a steadying breath, she began to play, the other musicians joining in with their drums and fiddles and flutes right on cue to the familiar tune. Her shaking fingers soon grew more comfortable, and by the time it came to her to sing she was even enjoying herself. Before she knew it, the song was over and she was free to go.

            “Well done,” Merlin congratulated her as she returned, handing her back her mead.

            “Thanks,” she replied. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this. Now I can eat.”

            He laughed as she headed off to hunt down some food, turning to continue chatting to Gwen. Jada breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t messed everything up. Now she could really concentrate on celebrating.

Chapter 11 ->

[mewos-laptop]

No it's okay! We don't mind the word dump. I'm absolutely horrible at retaining memories and what people have just told me though, apparently /lh, nbr, info

For us, we've been ah, fat for awhile, bodily. Years maybe? We can't really lose weight (I believe due to PCOS but I could be wrong). A lot of our internalized fatphobia actually stems from my parents fatshaming me, and with Richard (our dad, he doesn't deserve that title) it was hypocritical because he was much heavier than me /nav

I've slowly learned how to accept everything but there's still some stumps, and some personal preferences with headmates. Admittedly, Pearl can't imagine herself as any thing but emaciated, but she's by no means fatphobic and it actually triggers her OCD intrusive thoughts when people say shit regarding that. But she's also very disconnected with the body, which is completely fine, considering I'm the one taking care of it ^^"

I think it's done us wonders to mostly unlearn that internalised fatphobia. I feel so much happier with our body after doing that

Yeah, it's rlly common in PCOS to have a rlly hard time losing weight. It's probably smth to do with hormones but we don't know exactly

We're very lucky to have had supportive and not weird abt food parents, but honestly just living and going through life can give you some fucked up views on food. We genuinely have no clue where or how we picked up the fatphobic ideas we had abt ourself, but tbh fatphobia is just that ingrained in society a lot of the time that it just sorta.... happens and you don't realize ig. We're sure you're alr aware of that, ofc tho /gen

Tbh constantly worrying abt your body in any capacity is EXHAUSTING, and takes a lot out of you mentally. It's so freeing to let go of that obsession and just focus on what you want to do and eat. Food is so many things to so many folks, and it rlly brings people together, and I think that's rlly cool. Food is such a staple in every species and throughout every history, esp within species that like to live in groups

And obv (internalized) fatphobia isn't just abt food, but it's a big component in life and community and whatnot, and I think that's rlly important and rlly cool

[danvolodar]

Pathologic and the Town's Russianness: 4

This part will deal with a relatively major topic in Pathologic - religion. Or, well, with the major discrepancy between religion in the Town and in historical Russian Empire.

Most of this post will be about the denizens of the Town, but let's briefly mention the Kin. They have a pretty clear-cut pagan religion, with multiple personified deities: Bos Turokh, Boddho, Suok (the difference with historical religions, of course, being the fact that the magic actually works in the Steppe). The state's apparent non-interference with them practicing their religion fits well enough into the Imperial policies of the early XX century. What doesn't is the lack of control. The Empire was very much a bureaucratic behemoth, it sought to control anyone who influenced the minds of its citizens. The Interiour Ministry had a Department of Spiritual Affairs, and its officials had their fingers in every pie, demanding the right to veto religious leader assignments in the local communities, paying state wages to those of these leaders who played nice, etcetera. However, apparently, the historical Department was chronically understaffed (to the point of its aforementioned veto rights being unenforceable), and the game is very reductive when it comes to the official state apparatus in general, so all in all, the way the Capital-based civilization treats the Kin religion is a passable fit for the Russian Empire.

Quite a different story with the majority religion. In the Russian Empire, Orthodoxy was de-facto a state religion. While ethnic minorities were allowed to practice their religions undisturbed (by early XX century, mind, that hadn't exactly been that way throughout the entire Imperial history), ethnic Russians were mandated by law to be Orthodox Christians. Not being a practicing Orthodox was literally a felony.

Historical precedent showed that even for a scion of one of the Empire's most noble families a single religious misstep could lead to fatal consequences: in the 1730ies, Mikhail Alekseyevich Golitsyn was forced to become a court jester for secretly converting to Catholicism to marry a German, his marriage was dissolved and he was ordered to remarry another jester.

Of course, quite some time had passed since that incident, yet the Church remained intimately intertwined with the state. The semi-independent Patriarchate was replaced as its governing body with the Most Holy Synod, a state organ with mixed clergy and layman membership, during Peter I's reforms, which factually made the Church a part of the state apparatus. Ever since then, caesaropapism remained the norm. The Church had multiple functions that nowadays would only be expected of the state, such as birth registrations or running primary schools. A church was an essential part of any settlement, the presence of one differentiating a small hamlet (деревня, derevnya) from a village (село, selo). Vital events such as marriages or burials could only be done through the Church (and since the Old Believers could not participate in the Nikonian rituals, bribes from them sometimes formed a large part of parish incomes). The Church as an institution - much like the other parts of the Imperial state machine, - was facing a crisis of confidence by the early XX century, but common folk were still expected to regularly come to service, confess and receive communion. The faith became so ingrained into the language that even the Soviet militant atheists could not remove all the "thank god"s and "help god"s on every occasion from it (starting right with thanking someone: the word for "thanks" in Russian is spasibo - спасибо, literally means "god sav[e you]") .

None of that is present in Pathologic. There is not a single church in the Town, apparently - not even family chapels. References are sometimes made to religion, and that implied baseline seems to be Orthodox Christianity, but nothing indicates anyone in the Town is an active, practicing believer. The game actually takes it to a hilarious degree: in the Diurnal ending, when Saburov tells Artemy that Katherina is going to bring Cathedral back to life, he shoots back: "Just tell me she's not religious. Anything's better. Even a second plague".

To be fair, the educated class being fashionably atheist matches the late Empire well enough - both because of the aforementioned crisis of confidence in the Church, and because of the general naïve positivism of the era. Dankovsky is pretty stereotypical in that regard (and his talk of angels does not really contradict that atheism, or even hints at him being brought up a Christian, to begin with, given that there are of course angels in Judaism).

However, just like the Soviets, IPL apparently haven't been able to get rid of Orthodox sentiments altogether. A remarkable example is a dialog snippet with Big Vlad, when he's in the Termitary and Capella is dead (if memory serves). The only thing he says to Artemy, essentially, is "forgive me if I have ever wronged you": a very Christian repentance before death. One of Artemy's dialog options then is even more so. In the English translation it's "God is merciful", the Russian original is literally "God will forgive": a characteristic non-answer which sounds like a blessing, but actually means something like "God will forgive [you, but I will not, despite you asking, because Lord's mercy is without limit, while mine isn't]".

Finally, time to mention the elephant... well, animal... steppe creature... in the room - Clara and her sainthood. Ironically, that is the most Orthodox plotline in the game. Just like the other Christian denominations, Orthodoxy recognizes multiple modalities of sainthood, which of course has to do with it being, like Catholicism also, two different religious practices in one coat: one for the monks, the other for the laymen and the clergy who have not taken up the vows. Saints can come from both parts of the divide, they just need a feat for the betterment of the faith and the humanity at large: a martyrdom, or converting a large number of non-believers, or protecting the Orthodox flock from depredations... The Changeling, however, can be understood as a yurodivy - an Orthodox saint that is a fool for Christ, that is, operates outside the usual societal norms on direct divine inspiration. Usually coming from laymen stock, such saints don't earn their veneration by following the canons of monastic or even layman life, but rather, submit themselves to God immediately. Clara's "God reveals himself to people by my hands" is a 100% hit on that modality: it's not her performing miracles by God, but God revealing himself to the world through her. It is, in a way, like the Sufi mystics seeking to suppress the nafs (ego) to reach communion with God.

Then, of course, comes the blood sacrifice. Well, I don't think there's a long explanation needed here on why this is not an Orthodox Christian idea. Yes, the sacrifice of Jesus redeemed the Original sin, but Jesus is God. One cannot be saved by another man's sacrifice in Orthodoxy, much less by turning another man into blood sausage. Yes, repentance is commendable (based on Luke 15:7), and sacrificing yourself for others' sake, too (John 15:13) - so the Humbles themselves can be seen as repentant sinners; but there can be no justification for these who slaughter them. Worse still, establish a process of slaughtering them, requiring ever more victims. That, naturally, runs against the foundations of Orthodox Christianity (the sixth commandment).

So, to sum this part up. The way the Capital treats the religion of the Kin passably resembles what the Russian Empire could've done; the atheist educated class also fits the mold. But the rest of the game's setting, particularly the lack of day-to-day organized Church presence in the Town, could not be any further from the historic Imperial society. Similarly, Clara's sainthood in itself fits into the religious life of the Empire well enough; but the Humbles ending absolutely destroys it.

[sonicasura]

This was the second Transformers timeline—the one where they arrived early enough to save Cliffjumper, menaced Airachnid plus MECH, and helped repair Breakdown. Him, Knockout, and Starscream technically joining this version of the Inertia faction still blew their mind. All they said back before the Terrorcons hit was that the three should remove their Decepticon symbols so no one mistook them still.

Knockout and Breakdown “joined” a little after the Omnitrix User helped to restore Cybertron as a way to pay back a life debt. (Or spark debt apparently.) The seeker—self-imposed true leader of the Decepticons in every other timeline—had officially joined weeks after. As in, swore on ceremony and all. Dart barely had time to process that because it was during one of their shorter visits to check on the Vehicons.

He was the main one out of the three that they knew the least about when it came to simply interacting with him. Starscream was a scientist, so they had kinda dumped a few offhand projects on him to tinker with. How does Cyber Matter react when it’s made with non-Predacon DNA, very very brief tests into accessing the shadow dimension—

“No, Starscream. We do not use live test subjects. By the Omniverse, start with an unintelligent drone or something to make sure the access point’s stable.”

The Seeker was by far the more troublesome of the three former Decepticons yet never on purpose. Dart had to force themself to be very calm even when he flinched away after making a mistake many times in the beginning. Always, always inform him if they were going to be in their Predacon form. (Crest not being given the opportunity to exist in this timeline was a slight low blow. But, Shockwave was arrested so…)

Bygone’s mech mode reminded him too much of Megatron evidently—if the warlord hadn’t already deactivated… He would have been.

—————————

Verbal slip-ups were far more common.

Over four million years of existing and being partially robotically autonomous had a way of ingraining habits. Frankly, they were called and even thought of worse things to be addressed by than Starscream’s accidental slip-ups.

They were severely questioning what a pre and post Dark Energon infected Megatron was thinking as the Seeker started addressing him as “Master”. He seemed embarrassed every time he made that particular mistake toward Dart. Most of the time it was when something scared him, but the rarer slips were when he was working on something and said it without thinking of the present.

His wings drooped whenever he realized.

—————————

The Omnitrix user was under no illusions that Starscream or the other Decepticons were any shade of innocent. But, they were the type to give other beings a chance to atone for their past deeds. Rotting away in prison or being given the death penalty would insure no further harm was caused… Yet it also made sure no good could come from the offenders.

(Always find out what led them to this. Was it a mental health thing that never was given the care it deserved, did small things eventually snowball into escalation, were they hurt?

Always easier to solve others problems.)

.

.

.

Soundwave was not someone they thought they would extend that effort too.

—ROB’d Anon.

This is why Dart rarely mentions the second Transformers timeline. It was incredibly awkward in the beginning to get used to being around a former Decepticon Starscream. Again, the shapeshifter does visit “offscreen”.

Looks like we're back to the second timeline. Even though the Decepticons aren't wholly innocent, you couldn't help but feel bad for them as Megatron is not only an awful leader but an abusive liar too.

[flcnnerys]

*/ You built up a world of magic.

Chase was a notoriously horrible liar; but he was excellent at playing pretend.

It was easy, like second nature almost, for a kid who grew up with an overly creative streak to just start inventing things in his head. Some online gurus called it "manifesting", Chase called it bullshitting around. But when imagination started getting preferable to what was out there in the real world... well, it was the equivalent to a pot of water boiling over, no?

The pendulum always swung back.

With siblings older than him to the point that when he was ready to play make believe with his toys, to build a cardboard rocketship to fly around the house in, to tell scary stories by flashlight under the covers while Mom and Dad went to bed... he was alone. The girls were older, they wanted to get sleep before exams, or go out to the mall with their friends. It would have been lonely for most, but it wasn't something he realized at the time. The Star Wars reenactments-by-figurines had to continue, the shows must have gone one.

Maybe that's why he got into theater when he was older - he could play make believe, again, with other people. It always frustrated his parents, his mother specifically, the older that he got, when he still had those fantastical tendencies. Her parents weren't from this country, and when they arrived, they had to work their tails off to make ends meet. That logical thinking of practicality was ingrained in her, and she passed on that kind of working ethic at least to her daughters. Chase, too, in his own way, but it wasn't in a tangible way. The fridge was notably empty of A+ report cards from him, or trophies on the mantle for being a prized member of any sports team, a medal from a science fair. It always made it difficult for the two to relate to each other, and butting heads was common.

But it was easy then to just... pretend. Rethink over the fights they had where it ended with compassion, instead of disregard. He was his mother's son, though, and that spiteful sense of I'm right, and you're wrong, was too strong for either of them to overcome.

When he moved back home after school, the disappointment was palpable in the air. Of course it was - he did lie to them about what he was doing the whole time. And he wasn't completely stupid; college was expensive, and unless someone else was footing the bill, Chase had no interest both in wasting his time and money on something he didn't want to do in the first place. His dad was a bit more sympathetic, a quiet nudge in the directions of auditioning and getting his son away from the grungy music scene, the one that had led him to pierce his face and dye his hair green. With his mother, they were merely quiet observers of each other, a relationship one could expect with an animal at the zoo.

So it surprised him thoroughly when, a few weeks before all his good news hit at once, his mother asked if he would accompany her to a local diner for breakfast. It was this crepe place that went real fancy with it, and served humongous teacups of hot chocolate (to which Chase had two, extra whipped cream thank-you-very-much). Looking back, it was really the first time she tried to understand what it was that he enjoyed so much, why he liked theater, and the music, and all of it. Apparently she had heard him rehearsing in his room one night, when he thought he was alone in the house. Knowing that this conversation was on a thin tightrope to spiraling into the kinds of arguments they'd had about this subject in the past, Chase nevertheless gave her a chance, and explained. It was fun to lose sight of yourself and pretend for a little while - you could make up for the fact that you didn't have a lot of long term friends, or worthwhile partners. Or that you didn't always do the thing that your parents wanted you to be, that you couldn't live up the repeated greatness of your sisters. That you could be Seymour Krelborn, or Happy Loman, or Pierrepont Finch and deal with their own inadequacies for awhile - or, for that matter, to be a reflection of others', when singing on stage. It was addicting.

It felt like a breakthrough for this dynamic, one that Chase could not remember an equivalent to in recent memory. Of course, he left out the recreational substance use and made a point to never show her the tattoos he had collected over the years, neglected to tell her how many more he wanted - the piercings sent her through the roof enough the first time around. It ended with her carefully informing him that she still wanted him to be practical, that a backup plan didn't mean it was what he had to stick with - he just needed that reassurance that he could fall back on something else.

And Chase took that as an insult, as he always did. Didn't she see how talented he was? The band recorded an album! Of course, it wasn't her kind of music so why would she ever listen, past being his parent, and maybe it was just in the bassist's soundproofed basement, but still! People were listening to it on their pages! It was progress, why couldn't she see that? Disappointed and refusing to hear further about how she was just trying to look out for him, he went home, burying his head into everything else he was doing.

When the time for good news came, he didn't even tell her what was weighing on him. Nobody really knew. Two incredible prospects and his parents would have to think he disappeared to run away from it all - an insult to memory. He thought about that a lot, imagining how different things could have been. When he played his guitar here, singing the songs he knew even if no one was listening out of fear he would forget them all, his mind drifted. The leaves on the ground could be faceless people shouting for his name. The wind in the trees were the roaring applause. The sunlight too bright above was a spotlight.

This sucked.

He tried to remain as unaffected by this place as possible, but he wasn't sleeping very well. He was always a light sleeper, so hearing voices outside never helped. Even when he claimed the empty attic as a room, moving to higher altitude still didn't shut them up. Normally, he'd shout back obscenities, but he lived with other people and something told him whatever he had to say wouldn't do much. His reality was too persistent to do much escaping from it, like black smoke weaving its way through his body and reminding him not to drift too fair into his imagination, lest he be disappointed when he returned.

His dreams, typically vivid and full of outlandish premises, were filled with that black smoke. He opened his eyes to darkness, and the pins and needles feeling up and down his arms. It was cold, it was scary, and he couldn't move his hands away - looking up, they were chained up with thick handcuffs around a pole, or beam or something of the sort. Chase had done a lot of exploring of Arcadia since he'd been here, but he couldn't ever remember seeing anything like this.

Was this a payback punishment of sorts from when he threw that rock threw the police station window? It was boarded up now and he didn't even throw it with that specific direction, that's just where it ended. Or maybe it was from mowing down that guard on his skateboard when he lost control, and crude hand gestures he made in their direction when they tried to correctly give him shit for it. But, if that was all the case, why would his mother be beside him? He couldn't see her, but he could feel her presence, knowing it was her in a way only a child would know to their parent. Her perpetually even tone that always used to irritate him was soothing this time, reciting a poem. It startled him so much that it woke him up - Michelle Flannery was not a woman of literary value, he had never seen her read anything fiction in her life.

He brushed it off, including the feeling of how those pins and needles feelings wouldn't leave his arms, not for the whole day, and returned as he drifted back to sleep. Chase found himself in the room again, this time, in pain. His fingertips burned, and when he flexed them above his head, he felt it even more. In front of him was his mom, filing her nails like she usually did when she was attempting to be patient, her punctuality always thwarted by the perpetual lateness the Flannery children inherited from their father.

"I grow until the day I die. You've seen me once, if you don't see me now, you won't survive."

Yeah, yeah, you need your mother to get by in life, she used to say that sort of thing anytime anything good happened to any of them, as if she was taking credit for any success by virtue of being the one to give them birth. Chase and his sisters used to exchange sighs and eyerolls at it, and now was no different. "Is this you doing your mom-guilting thing again?" This was just a very... lyrical way of phrasing it, out of place for her. The faint smile she wore on her face, the look of love he didn't think he was often on the other side of across from him, was just as unnerving. He never thought he was very well deserving of that sort of thing. Briefly, he had the wherewithal to remember their last conversation, the one at that crepe place. That he would need a backup plan, that he couldn't rely on fantasy for the rest of his life to get by.

That irritation spurned him from sleep, and the burning sensation in his fingers returned tenfold. On each of his ten digits, there was a clean slice perpendicular to his nails, starting on the fleshy pad of fingertip and running all the way until they were stopped by his nails, interrupting the hardened skin from guitar strings. How was he supposed to play? That was his escape, that was his sole entertainment here-

Oh.

Then, as if waiting for his realization, his guitar - that had been carefully leaned against the corner of the room, fell forward, a loud and off key bang on the wood floors. Chase rushed over to examine, and though it was fine, testing his fingers against the strings led to a hurt he couldn't ignore. His tried and true method of staying sane here, gone until his body healed itself. He brushed frustrated tears from his eyes at the thought, catching himself in the mirror, catching his mother in the mirror. Behind him, a gentle hand on his shoulder mirroring the touch he felt over his t-shirt.

He knew she wasn't there, not really, and it gave him a sinking feeling of longing when it settled into realization that he was alone again. But he could imagine it so, a comfort every time he looked in any reflection, to pretend that maybe that touch he felt was real. He could imagine she was only trying to help, do what she always said she was trying to do, to set him on the straight and narrow, with a backup plan, just in case. To help.

Maybe fantasy was the backup plan. Or maybe, this was just the pendulum swinging him back to reality.

[gatekeeper-watchman]

It Seems

I readily recognize I don’t know everything, and I don’t pretend to, the thoughts of my critics notwithstanding; but it seems to me that, in their mismanagement, our government is treading a perilous path in these difficult times, rapidly approaching a line in the sand; which, if they cross, will lead us beyond a point of no return.

You might correct me on this, but I believe our country and our people are different from those of other nations. We are different, if for no other reason because we were born free. Personal freedom is ingrained in the minds of every one of us from the very beginning of our great nation–the Revolutionary War; and that inner subconscious belief continues with us to this very day–whether we were born here or immigrated. Freedom is ingrained in our culture–freedom of speech, freedom of thought, and freedom of action limited only by that of others, i.e., my freedom ends where yours begins.

In the beginning, our Constitution approved in 1789, was written and approved behind closed doors by the power elite of the time and given to us, the people, for our approval, effectively telling us we were free. Subsequently, the Bill of Rights (the first ten amendments) was added, again increasing our freedom. Further along in history, we decided that the people would elect members of the Senate, once again increasing our freedom. Then, in 1865, slavery was abolished, followed one hundred years later by the Civil Rights Act of 1965. As a nation, freedom is all we know–this is the color of all our glasses.

I mentioned earlier that our government is treading a perilous path. A government of the people exists for only one purpose–only one. That is to manage the affairs of our nation. As the Preamble to the Constitution says, “To form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general Welfare, and secure the blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity…..”. Managing the affairs of our nation, in my opinion, does not constitute playing chess with party politics at the expense of the people. I heard former Senator Tom Daschle say on Washington Journal this morning, to the effect that, what our government needs is a good dose of bipartisanship. I contend that what it requires is a good dose of patriotism–patriotism for our nation’s affairs. Rather than the one and one-half days per week, they are now working (they go home on Thursdays and return on Tuesdays), we require them to take care of business and relieve us from our overwhelming stresses, and you can believe–they are overwhelming to all of us. We can use a bit of that Tranquility right now.

Now, having provided the groundwork, I’ll get down to it. Our nation and our people are under immense stress right now. I’ve pointed it out over and over in my several postings to this blog, but I’ll briefly do it again:

1.     We have approximately thirty million people either unemployed–looking for work, employed part-time, or who have given up looking. Our recession may be over, but we are still in depression.

2.     Many, if not millions (I don’t know how many, but too many) are living in cars, under bridges, on the streets, or in homeless shelters. They are living on welfare, securing food from food banks, eating out of dumpsters and food kitchens, or whatever.

3.     Since the 1970s, and more so since the 1980s, the income and wealth of our middle and under classes have steadily decreased right along with their standard of living. The rich have gotten much richer and the poor have become poorer.

4.     As a result of the burst of the housing bubble and the financial collapse of the financial markets in 2008. Millions of our people have lost their homes, are underwater with their home mortgages, and over their heads in personal debt with no apparent way out.

5.     Large corporations (long-standing members of the power elite, our Shadow Government), to increase their profits, have been outsourcing jobs to slave labor abroad, exacerbating unemployment and reducing tax revenues. You call it what you want, but a rose is a rose is a rose. I call it slave labor. Not all, to be sure, but many of our slaves in 1865 lived better than those to whom we are now outsourcing.

6.     On top of all of the above, our nation is saddled with a national debt of $17 Trillion, accumulated over a short period of thirty-three years. A debt so huge that our ability to manage the nation's fiscal policy has been seriously constricted.

7.     Now comes the Affordable Care Act, aka Obama Care. This nation severely needs a healthcare system. Every thinking person knows that. We require a new system to improve the health of our people; and we require a new system to reduce costs (and, therefore, our deficit). The way this system is designed, however, presents severe hardships to far too many of our people who live from one paycheck to another (if they are employed, that is) and employers.

8.     I’m sure there are more sources of stress for our people at this time, but I’ll name one more and conclude this post. There is the stress of the NSA, our National Security Agency. This is a big thing, folks. If you don’t think so, why do you think they kept it a secret? Have you heard the news today? They are even monitoring many of our conversations as we walk down the street. Let’s cut this to the quick. Suppose our government can monitor us this closely. In that case, they are only half an inch away from having the ability to dominate and control us, just as many dictators have done throughout history. Adolph Hitler and Joseph Goebbels would have loved to have some of our security systems. Are you a Democrat? Are you a Republican? Mmmmm……

Now, folks, tell me. Isn’t this more than enough stress and uncertainty? I submit to you that these problems are and/or can be simpler to solve than our government, Democrats and Republicans alike, are making them. They are simple, but they are significant, however. It has to be obvious to all that our people are in turmoil and under heavy stress. It’s a known fact, also, that our people are armed to the teeth, just as is our Department of Homeland Security, which has been buying ammunition for billions of dollars for quite some time. There is a lot of political propaganda on the website, but so also is such with Fox News, MSNBC, etc.–You can sort out the truth from fiction). My point is that, surely, our government doesn’t want to continue its present governance, introducing even more stress points upon our people. Trust in government is the lowest in many years. We don’t want it to go even lower, so let us not let Pandora out of the box. Once she is out, it will be a long time before she gets back in, if ever. Once the first shot is fired, what little democracy we have left will be gone, I believe, forever.

[tears-that-heal]

Last day of January 2024……

Red Flag Symbols for Christians #4 1/2

I thought it'll be good to extend on this topic for one more post. 😊

Astrology is an unspoken trend that is only building up in popularity. At grocery stores, you can easy spot booklets next cash registers along side many other magazines. Bookstores have an official section titled "New Age" with shelves fulled with books of Astrology, Zodiac Signs, Horoscopes and the list goes on. The way of thinking and living has been unconsciously woven into the modern day American.

As you can see in the image (above), the classic symbols or sign for the astrology zodiac are based on ancient ruins. Most likely Greek, as do to the illustrations on the image (below) of each zodiac sign. Theses symbols are connect to star constellations that were originally created to map out the sky. Sailors is ancient does days didn't have Google Maps to navigate, some didn't have a compass either. They used the stars to guide their way around the world.

The North Star, or also known as Polaris, aided sailors in knowing what direction was north. "Polaris is a star in the northern circumpolar constellation of Ursa Minor. It is designated α Ursae Minoris and is commonly called the North Star or Pole Star. With an apparent magnitude that fluctuates around 1.98, it is the brightest star in the constellation and is readily visible to the naked eye at night." (wikipedia)

So as you can tell, these symbols were ingrain the lifestyle of the ancient geeks and other civilizations of the time. Now common man doesn't really rely so heavily on such knowledge, of course it would depend on one's occupation. Still speaking of the cosmos, the greeks known for their desire to gain knowledge and understanding on the world around them, were aware of our solar system. Greek mythology has gods and goddess tired to a specific planets in our system. EX: Apollo is the Sun god, Aries is of Mars, Aphrodite to Venus and etc. The same concept is applied to the zodiac signs, as well.

I'd to share some insight the Lord has revealed to me through my own personal experience after dabbling in new age, witchcraft and divination as young adult. Horoscopes are just another tool invented by man to make individuals feel they're in control of their lives. Yep, not sugar-coating here! Of course, this isn't a conscious deception on man's part. It's just one idea apart of a numerous amount others to explain our existence on this earth and everything the dwells around us. It's both spiritual and tribal in nature. Humanity knows we are spiritual (part-spirit/soul) and everything around us is spiritual as well. With man's vivid imagination, we created our own reasons to how things in our human lives were and are. All this "reasoning" doesn't include God. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. The Great "I AM".

Basically, horoscopes influence the human mind on a psychological level. In our human nature to be "in control", we gravity to the possibility of learning our futures. With horoscopes and other fortune-telling means, we receive a possible upcoming outcome. If the fortune is "positive" or "in our favor", we main not realize that we that good fortune out and see it to fulfillment. The same effect happens when we may get a "negative" or "undesirable" fortune, we actually go out of our way to make sure it doesn't come to pass. So yeah, it's all a major illusion of control. 😕

As Christians, we need to see this truth for ourselves because it's just another trending distraction for us to forget in trusting our lives with our God. I highly recommend if you have anything in your life related to zodiac symbols or divination/fortune-telling items, please remove and cut ties with them. They have no place your lives as a Christ-Followers. I ask the Lord to grant my brothers and sisters in your Son's name; your strength, wisdom and protection. Everywhere these tools of deception are flooding our cities and towns. So easy to take up and become addicted to feeding our sinful-natures. May your wisdom and understanding be shared with your children. God, You are Truth, and truth prevails all! The Truth sets us Free from spiritual bondage! Continue to grant us your knowledge and discernment, dear Lord. You are so Good to Us, your church!!! In Jesus name, AMEN.

[felixantares]

Could I ask you for 54, 91, and 2? Please and thank you! 😊

hehehe thank you for the ask! 💚

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

oh god, okay so in my rough draft for Shrines I was writing the first day back to Hogwarts, just after the sorting ceremony, and Harry’s walking with the first years back to the Slytherin common room (acting like he has no idea where it is) and Astoria Greengrass just fully inserted herself into my fic??? I think I had been coming up with a few of the firsties that would’ve been sorted during Harry’s third year a little while before that and was like “oh cool Astoria’s in this year, that’s cool— hey why is she talking to him??” and so I had to edit my outline to include her because apparently she’s here now and I don’t get a say in this.

54. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

Ooo, so it’s not super common or like a typical writing tip (I don’t think anyway), but whenever I’m writing a scene I run through a mental checklist of the 5 senses — like what can my POV character hear, see, smell, etc and then try to make a mention or one or two of those things. I’m really bad about forgetting description in my writing, so it helps me to include a bit of atmosphere in my fics lol I’m sure there’s other things but I think they’re just so ingrained at this point I don’t think about doing them as much.

91. how has your writing style changed over the years?

hmmmm I don’t actually know what’s changed. I know it’s gotten better, but mostly my technical skills and not so much my style. I’m really really bad about recognizing other authors’ styles, like if I guess an anon fic right it’s usually based on tags or like over abundance of em-dashes than anything in the writing itself, and the same applies to my own writing. If you erased my knowledge of my fic and handed me three and made me guess which one was my own, I probably wouldn’t be able to do it. Maybe my style’s changed but I don’t think I’d be able to recognize how unless someone pointed it out to me.