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petrichor-idyllic · 1 year

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aaaa this might be a really lame request, but would it be possible for a minho x reader where she splits up with him when brenda and thomas go back and instead of brenda getting bitten by a crank it was the reader (maybe she got bitten saving brenda) and how he reacts to seeing her get ill / recover? 🥲 seeing an active tmr blog the delivers such good content in 2023 actually made me gasp so like even if you don’t write this, i will be actively reading anything you write!

Oooo I actually really like this idea, of course I'll write it :))

Also I appreciate your continued support, you guys are the best.

Inaccurate dialogue to the films because I'm too busy to watch the movies for reference, but you get the jist.

IN ADVANCE OF GRIEF

MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: See above. Fem! Reader x Minho. Movie based fic. You came up with Teresa.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, you nearly die (again)(there's becoming a theme with my Minho fics)(I'm really putting this man through it), the Flare works differently in the movie vers. and all we get are the visual symptoms so I'm making this shit up, WICKED being WCKD because movie.

This wasn't meant to happen.

You just went after Thomas when he ran after Brenda - you couldn't leave him alone with a stranger.

And look where your kindness has gotten you. Biten by a Crank.

You're not really sure how it happened, but when that psycho tried to attack Brenda, you were the one to dive to her rescue. It's a blur, but once that glass broke and Thomas managed to catch Brenda, and you narrowly avoided death- you didn't even notice the pain in your leg.

It's fine.

It's no big deal.

You're probably immune.

You were in the Maze, after all.

The memories of waking up with an unconscious Teresa next to you are only from a few days ago, but now it feels like an eternity.

Though, you thought you were all immune. And look what happened to Winston.

You managed to hide it from your companions, only checking the injury when they weren't looking. But Brenda seemed to catch onto something not being quite right.

You lose Thomas and Brenda in the daze of a party you accidentally got dragged into, though you're pretty sure you see them kiss, (and Brenda get rejected,) before your body hits the floor.

"Rise and shine, shank," Minho gently pushes you awake as your eyes flicker up to meet his. He smiles at you.

Minho.

You don't really know when your feelings for him started, especially since you don't think you've ever actually stood still. But whilst Teresa was unconscious and you were having some kind of mental breakdown, Minho made time to make sure you were alright - even with his ventures into the Maze.

Newt had his hands full running the place with Alby out of commission and Gally was throwing a paddy because Thomas had achieved the impossible. So, Minho and the Medjacks were the only ones around to keep you sane.

Maybe if you arrived at a different point, things would be different.

But they're not.

Thomas and Brenda are already awake. Brenda is sitting in a chair, looking forlorn and anxiously glancing at you. Thomas is talking to Teresa, which is also a bitter sight for Brenda.

"What happened?" You grumble, pushing yourself up on your elbows. You've been lying on a pile of cushions on the floor.

"You got wasted at some Crank party, passed out - the klunk you took was stronger than Gally's special brew," he snickers, offering you a hand to pull yourself up. Your eyes flicker up to his face and you smile.

He yanks you up and you stumble slightly. "Woah, easy, girly," he chuckles, placing his hand on the small of your back, stabilising you.

Your head feels foggy from the drugs, but your main concern is the throbbing sensation in your ankle. It stings and pulses, like something is living under your skin.

Minho notices your hesitance as your stomach drops.

You're not immune.

If you were, your whole leg would feel like it's covered in cobwebs and on fire.

Shit. What do you do now?

You don't want to worry your friends, they have enough on their plate. And maybe your body will take more time to fight the infection. Maybe it's too soon to tell.

You're lying to yourself, but it's all you can do.

"Hey, you feeling okay?" You force yourself to smile at him.

"Yeah, yeah, just a bit shucked up - where are we?" You look around the room as Minho lets go of you. There's a man tied to a chair in the middle of the room as Jorge yells at him.

"We found Marcus," Minho says simply.

"That's Marcus?" You and Thomas say in unison.

It's the same guy that spiked you earlier.

You step forward, a jolt of pain slicing you in two, making your leg twist awkwardly and your stomach flip.

"Shuck-! Christ, (Y/N)," Minho jumps to catch you before you manage to catch yourself. "Are you sure you're good?"

"Y-yeah," you try to push out a chuckle, but it comes out as pained. "Think I twisted my ankle before - nothin' I can't handle."

Minho looks unsure, his eyes flickering to your leg and then back up to your face. He can't show how much he cares.

How much he wants to say fuck this and just figure out a way to survive in the Scorch with you. You were gone for one night and now something's wrong - he knows it's wrong but he can't quite put his finger on what.

He's tired of fighting, of running, of everything.

But he figured things would be alright because he had you now.

Brenda moves to let you sit down in the armchair. She's seen it before, and if it were her in your situation, she wouldn't want everyone knowing either. And you proceed to completely zone out.

Too many thoughts swarm your head. Minho. The Flare. The state of your immunity. Who this guy is and how the fuck you're going to actually find the Right Arm.

That's a lot of ground to cover.

So, obviously, you steal a car. Marcus' car, to be more precise.

Bastard deserved it.

You all squeeze in the car, and you're stuck between Minho and Aris. Normally, being this close to Minho would send your brain foggy and have you blushing, but your body is literally rotting from the inside out.

The sickness set in pretty early into the car ride. Then the sweating and fever followed. You're struggling to keep your head up, which is less than ideal when you're trying to act completely normal.

But at least you're not walking.

So, you're less than pleased when you have to stop due to a pile of cars in the road.

You try your best to keep going, but everything everyone's saying is like static in your ears. Everything hurts, and it's a good thing Minho is paying attention when the gunshots start.

He yanks you behind a car with him and Newt - and he's not the only one noticing your state as Newt looks at you.

"What's wrong with her?" Newt asks, like you're not even there despite the current circumstances of being shot at.

"I don't know." Minho says bluntly, eyes scanning you as you lean back against the vehicle.

"You don't think-"

"Slim it, Newt," Minho snaps, "I don't wanna think."

"I'm fine," you say, adjusting yourself. "Just shucked up my ankle, that's all."

"Come on, get up! Up!" You jump out of your skin at the voices of two girls breaking your static state.

Who apparently knows Aris.

Small world, I guess.

Sonya and Harriet lead you through the mountains, shoving you into another set of vehicles and leading you to the Right Arm base camp.

By this point, the world is a blur and direction doesn't matter to you. You're just absent mindedly stumbling in the direction of sound and blurred images of your friends.

You hear Minho say something, touching your wrist but you yank yourself away as it feels like you've been burnt.

Harriet and Sonya introduce you to Vince, whose name you don't even catch.

He gives some speech about checking for infection and how he doesn't trust you all.

And that's when your body caves in and you hit the floor.

"Shit! (Y/N)!" Minho snaps, diving forward to catch you. His knees hit the floor, pulling your upper half onto his lap. He moves strands of hair out of your face - your eyes are sunken, and your face is sweaty, your eyes involuntarily rolling back into their sockets repeatedly as you desperately try to regain soke kind of control.

His heart sinks into his stomach. He knew. He knew something was wrong, and he just let it slide because you said so. And now look at you, crumpled on the floor, unable to breathe. You're seriously ill, and he did nothing to help.

"What's wrong with her?" Vince asks as the Gladers swarm you.

"What's wrong?" Frypan asks. "Minho? What happened?"

"I-I, I don't know," Minho stutters out, "I don't know."

The Gladers repeat your name and the world spirals around you. You look up at the boy who's cradling you.

This is it. This is how you die.

Minho's looking at someone else, his blurred face trying to make sense of everything. You reach out, your fingers brushing against his face - which is easier said than done with the awkward angle and your weak arms.

"Thanks, Minho," you whisper as he looks down at you. "You were always my favourite."

"Shit!" Vince snaps, making Minho jump out of his skin. Vince has moved the piece of cloth from your ankle, revealing the bite in your leg. "She's infected!"

The crowd swarms away as Vince pulls a gun out. Minho tries to shield you, shouting something you can't make out.

He's yanked away by some Right Arm members, fanatically trying to break free.

The Gladers, along with Brenda and Jorge beg for your life.

"Please," Thomas begs, "we can do something- can't you help her?"

"Yeah, I can put her out of her misery," Vince points the gun at your dying body.

"No!" Minho screeches. "Don't! Please! Don't!"

"Stop!" An unfamiliar voice says. "Let him go! Now. What's going on here?"

A woman, Mary, walks over, forcing the men to let Minho free.

"She's infected - we can't help her." Vince explains.

"No, but he can," she smiles at the boy, "hello, Thomas."

Everyone is left confused, but Minho is too busy on the floor by your body again.

Mary explains how she knows Thomas, and that he can make you better again, even just for a little while.

"Get your girlfriend up," she says to Minho, "come on, we'll help her."

"She's not my girlfriend," Minho huffs, slipping his arms under yours and pulling you up, before picking you up bridle style.

Mary looks at him, smirking. "Are you sure?"

He looks at Thomas who simply shrugs.

They follow Mary into the medical tent, Minho lays you on the bed, taking a seat on the far side as he gently plays with your hand. She sets up her equipment and takes blood from Thomas.

"Minho's also from the Maze - couldn't you take his blood?" The boy asks.

Mary sighs. "Well, I'm sure you know by now that not everyone from the Mazes was immune. And I don't know the status of your friends. But I know you are because we used to work closely. Minho's blood might work, but I'm not willing to risk waiting."

It makes sense, and Minho doesn't care about that.

She injects your arm with the serum. She rubs Minho's shoulder. "She should be awake soon. We'll leave you be." She gives him a reassuring smile. "Come on, Thomas. Let's give them some space."

She walks out the tent, but Thomas lingers for a second.

"Did you know?" Minho asks. "Did you know she got bit?"

Thomas simply shakes his head. "No, but I think Brenda did. She didn't seem as shocked." Minho doesn't bother looking at his friend, he just stares at you. "She's gonna be alright, yanno."

"Yeah, but for how long? It doesn't last forever." (Little does he know)

Thomas settles into a silence before sucking in a deep breath. "You love her."

"What?" Minho snaps to finally look at his friend.

"You love her, don't you?"

Minho's jaw tightens, his eyelids fluttering. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, so he rubs his face with his hands instead.

"You love Teresa," Minho retorts, taking the pressure off himself.

Thomas scoffs. "Yeah - but at least I can admit it."

Minho presses his lips into a thin line. He doesn't exactly like being called out like that.

Thomas exits the tent, leaving him with you.

He looks at you. "He's right, yanno," he mumbles to himself. "I do shuckin' love you. How shucked is that? I've known you for less than a week, and I..." He trails off, not really sure how to put it into words, even just to himself.

So, instead, he leans forward, placing a kiss to your forehead.

Though, he did not expect your eyes to be open when he pulled back. Your eyes flutter, looking up at him. You smile.

"Hi."

"Hey," he chuckles, sitting back in his seat. "You scared the klunk outta me, yanno that?"

"I didn't mean to." You groan, trying to sit up. Your body still feels messed up and groggy, but it's still a massive relief.

"Woah, hey," he shakes his head, pushing you back down. "Take it easy, shank. You nearly died today."

"Yeah, well, it's not like that's anything new."

He glares at you, and you chuckle.

"What did you mean earlier?" He asks after a brief pause.

"Hm?"

"You said I was your favourite," you cringe at that detail. "And you said thank you. For what?"

"For everything," you respond simply. "You looked out for me, so..."

"That wasn't anything special."

"It was to me."

You turn on your side, resting on your arm as you look at him. There's something behind Minho's expression that you can't quite read as be stares at you. It fades as quickly as it came though when he resorts back to his sarcastic ways.

"So, am I really your favourite? Because you seem to like Frypan's food a bit too much."

"What? Fry's cooking is good - you shanks just act too high-and-mighty to appreciate his hard work." Minho fiegns offence, dramatically gasping and putting his hand to his chest.

"Hm, I don't know, there's definitely some favouritism going on there-"

"Slim it," you snort, before dropping your gaze and suddenly becoming serious. "You're my favourite, Minho. You always have been."

He struggles to fight the smirk that crosses his face. "But, I guess I'm yours too, eh?" You grin. "Since you love me, and all."

Minho freezes completely, his face dropping. He blankly stares at you for a good few seconds.

"Ah, shuck," you burst out laughing as his face turns red, his hands coming to cover himself and his embarrassment. "So, you heard me..?"

"Yep, I heard."

"Right, yep, cool - shucking brilliant."

You smile. You've just had a near death experience, so an accidental love confession really isn't fazing you at all. Sitting up, it hurts but you don't care as you throw your legs over the side so you're sitting directly in front of him.

You pull his hands away from his face, taking them in your own. His eyes meet yours and you smile at him. Leaning in, you kiss him on the cheek.

"I love you, too," you mutter, almost into him as you only pull away a bit. He scoffs, and it looks like he's about to say something but his words fail him.

So, he decides to do something else instead. He presses his lips to yours and you immediately kiss him back.

It's short and sweet, and you're both smiling as you part.

"I'm so relieved you're okay," he mumbles.

"I'm always gonna be okay," you kiss the tip of his nose. "I've got you looking after me."

Another cute piece for my main boy.

Requests might be lacking for a bit since I'm away for the next few days but I'm gonna see what I can do.

I hope you enjoyed :))

#🌿 petri writes tmr #🌿 petri writes #🍃 petri tmr #🌿 petri tmr minho #tmr fanfiction #tmr imagines #tmr minho #minho the maze runner #minho tmr #minho maze runner #minho tmr x reader #the maze runner

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space-station-collective · 8 months

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some of the less pretty parts of plurality

we talk a lot on this blog about the funny or nice parts of being plural, but there's also a lot of bad shit that can come with it. it's not all good, just like it's not all bad. it just is! sometimes, seeing posts like this makes us feel a little better, knowing we aren't alone in these struggles and seeing other people who have come through it, so, here's this

this is going to require a lot of me being vulnerable on the internet lmao

everything is going under a cut, and i'm marking applicable TW and CWs here as well as in the tags. i tried to keep it as light as possible (if there's any tags i missed, PLEASE do let me know and i'll add them ASAP /gen)

(this is also quite a long post, under the cut the word count is: 437)

WARNINGS: addiction mentions, physical illness, exotrauma mentions

-) developing an addiction/dependency that everyone has to manage, due to one headmate's actions

-) trying to collectively recover from addiction when not everyone wants to, and some headmates actively working against the progress and goals

-) more specifically, having to maintain a clean streak for everyone, not just one individual. not just yourself. we have an agreement- we stick together with this stuff

-) headmates who actively dislike people we know, and generally collectively like, and having to manage and ignore secondhand emotions towards those people when the headmates in question are around (not to say, ignoring how those headmates feel about people, but moreso not letting the emotions bleed through into our own interactions)

-) panicking because your job directly relates to helping other headmates, and despite your best efforts, things keep getting worse (not directly applicable to me who is writing this -host)

-) having to agree with headmates, who have done nothing wrong, that they can't be around front, because they're symptom holders, and the body is ill enough all the time that we physically can't handle them fronting

-) fighting. constant fighting. i can't think of a day since our syscovery that there hasn't been some sort of fight, argument, breakdown, violence, some sort of incident internally

-) so many headmates with so much exotrauma. some of their triggers have bled into our collective triggers, and holy shit is it hard to explain thost to people who don't understand exomemories, or even who don't know about the system

-) having to watch littles who are far too young for any of this experience this whole ordeal

-) "Atlantis" by Seafret. it's about an extremely different topic, but the lyrics hit home. "i can't save us, my atlantis, we fall. we built this town on shaky ground." because holy fuck, it feels that way sometimes

several of these things are now managed, several are not. being human is a weird, messy, fucked up experience, and when you shove a bunch of consciousnesses into one human body, it gets even more convoluted

whoever you are, whatever reason you might have for reading this: i love you. you are not alone in your struggles. you have support from so many places, and you will get through whatever you're currently experiencing, be it so simple as your favourite pencil breaking, all the way to personal tragedy. you are loved

-the host (he/they), expressing thoughts of the collective

(scheduling this to post outside of the queue because our content is usually much more lighthearted than this and i don't want to take up a spot for that)

#spacestationcollective #sysblr #system #plurality #plural #plural system #osddid #plural community #dissociative system #serious post #addiction mention #addiction #cw addiction mention #cw addiction #tw addiction #tw addiction mention #addiction cw #addiction tw #<- i know thats a lot but i want to be SO thorough for this

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accidentalmistress · 11 months

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Accidental Mistress - This Feeling

Apologies for being a day late, but the fic is finally here. This one follows directly after the events of Broken, so it might be a good idea to read that first if you haven't.

(For more Accidental Mistress content, check out the Master Post.)

Title: This Feeling

Word Count: 8,531

Content and Warnings: snz (F, N-B, mention of male snz), illness, caretaking

In which Oraion must learn to adapt to a situation he's never experienced in his long life - being responsible for a sick human.

--------------------

Even without looking, he could feel those golden eyes boring into him. He always hated that unnerving, probing gaze that seemed to strip him bare despite the layers of his robes, so he kept his gaze ahead as they walked and he tried to process the words being spoken to him.

"I am sorry. It brings me no pleasure to bear this news. I know how much you care for her."

He took a breath and attempted, with great effort, to keep his voice calm.

"There has to be another way."

"Oraion." The man placed a firm hand on his arm, stopping him, but his tone softened a moment later. "There is not. Believe me, I have done everything within my power to find another path, but… there is none. The process has already begun; her fate cannot be changed. Not even by me. One way or another, she will die—"

He shut his own eyes. "No—!"

"Nothing can change that now. The only thing we can do is to ensure that it happens while she is still herself." He sighed and his touch vanished from Oraion’s arm. “I… would like to offer you the opportunity. I understand if you cannot do it, but it seemed wrong not to ask you first.”

At last Oraion turned to the man beside him, the absurdity of those words drawing him to seek some hint of alternate meaning in the other’s face. He shuddered when those eyes met his, unable to suppress the motion. One look told him everything he needed to know.

"You want me to…? Are you seriously asking me to kill her?!"

"I am not going to force you. We will find another to—"

"No! I do not wish for her to die!"

The other man lifted his chin, those horrible eyes growing narrow and cold.

"I believe I made it clear that you do not have a say in the matter. The only reason you and I are even having this conversation is out of respect for your aeons of faithful service. Her sacrifice will forestall disaster and spare countless lives. Surely you understand that. I do not make this decision lightly, but the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few. Or do you intend to oppose the will of the gods?"

Oraion awoke.

Morning. He reached a hand up to his face and traced a lingering trail of wetness with his fingers.

"... a memory?"

It had been quite some time since he had dreamed of that day, and longer still back to the time it had occurred. Ages ago, literally.

As he sat up in bed and cast about with bleary eyes, the demon realized he was not in his own room, but Noelle’s. A moment later the events of the previous evening came rushing back to him in a fresh torrent of emotion and flashes of memory. Noelle coming home bloody and bruised, her breakdown in the front hall, the bath he had given her, tucking her into bed, brewing her the tea that lulled her to sleep, and then…

He couldn’t tell her what he’d done. She didn’t want him to seek retribution for her. Yet old habits died hard, it seemed. Besides, he hadn’t killed the young men who had beaten her—he only visited upon them the same level of pain they had inflicted upon his Mistress. An eye for an eye, as they say.

His gaze fell upon her next to him in the bed, still fast asleep. She moaned a little and turned over, her expression tense. Oraion knew well that her sleep was often plagued by nightmares, but this morning her face was unusually flush. A lock of hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and as Oraion went to gently brush the hair out of her face he was surprised at how warm her skin felt. Her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked up at him.

“Mmh… Oraion?”

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Are you all right? You feel oddly warm.”

“Do I?” As she sat up, her chest spasmed with several harsh coughs. “Ugh, I hope I don't have a cold.”

“What? Are you… cold?”

Her brown eyes flicked to the side, hesitant. “Oh… Um, i-it’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”

She tried to get up out of the bed, wincing, and Oraion was on his feet and by her side in an instant. She gave him a sheepish smile.

“I guess I am a bit sore in a few places.”

“Your ankle—are you certain you should be walking on it?”

“It actually feels much better today, thanks to that bath. As long as I’m careful it’ll be all right.”

“Mistress, perhaps you should stay in bed and rest…”

Noelle grimaced and shook her head. “I can’t just lie around all day; I’ll only feel like a bother, and I’ve had quite enough of that. Really, I’m fine, Oraion…”

A sort of distracted look came over her face before she suddenly put her hands over her nose and mouth as her eyes squeezed shut.

“Ishoo! Ishoo! Oh gosh…”

Despite his concern, Oraion couldn’t help but think how cute she was when she sneezed. Gods, she really was rubbing off on him, wasn’t she? Well, his only real experience with sneezing had thus far been in an almost entirely sexual context, so could anyone really blame him for the association?

“Bless you, dear. You were sneezing last night, too.”

She sniffled as her cheeks turned a bit pink. “I-I know. I, uh… It- It was so chilly out last night, y-you know? I, um, guess it got me a bit sniffly.”

Oraion pursed his lips. He had the distinct feeling that Noelle was hiding something, but what it could possibly be, he had no idea. After her ordeal last night, however, he was reluctant to press the issue. Surely she would open up to him when she was ready.

“Is there anything I can do for you, then?”

“Um… Would you make me some more tea? If you don’t mind. I think I’ll just go wash up a bit—I’m so sweaty.”

Oraion nodded, glad to have a clear task to focus on. He made his way down to the kitchen and set about preparing the tea. He was embarrassed to admit it, but it occurred that he should probably learn to make proper food. He’d never needed to, not before he was a Demon Lord, and certainly not since. It always felt beneath him, but whenever he watched Noelle do it there seemed to be a sort of simple joy in it that he’d never bothered to take notice of before. More memories of the previous night came back to him.

“You could always, um, stay here with me. We can just… live like this.”

Could he actually stay here with her? Live like a mortal with her until…

Until she died.

Death. It was what made mortals mortal. It would happen to her one day, hopefully many years from now, but it would happen all the same. So many years had already passed Oraion by; the span of a mortal life was but a fraction of his own. Was he really going to put himself through the pain of staying with her, only to lose her when her time ran out? What was he thinking? He wasn’t thinking, he was letting his emotions rule him, just as he had back then.

Oraion closed his eyes and sighed. How had he gotten in so deep in a single year? Was it this contract that bound him to her? Was it influencing his mind? Making him care for her? Or were these feelings real? Did he… love her? Gods, it had certainly felt like it the night before.

He could still feel the heat of rage that seethed just below the surface, even after giving those thugs the thrashing they deserved. He knew, though, that much of the rage that remained was self-directed. He had failed to protect her, ostensibly his most important duty as her Servant, a role he had come to accept, even enjoy. At first he only felt distaste towards the very idea of being anyone’s “servant”, but Noelle never treated him like an inferior, never enforced a typical Master/Servant relationship. She had always treated him as an equal, a partner…

How did she feel about him? Did she harbor similar feelings as he did?

The demon took both hands and rubbed them up and down his face with a groan.

“Ugh… fuck. I really need to get a grip on myself and make this damned tea instead of having an existential crisis in the kitchen.”

Once the drink was ready, he carried it carefully upstairs. Noelle wasn’t back in her room yet, so he set the tea down next to the bed. Should he check on her? Or was he being overprotective? Caring for her had felt so natural last night, but now he couldn’t help but second-guess his every move. He’d certainly done an excellent job of confusing himself, that was the only thing he was certain about at this point.

He approached the bathroom door and stood outside it for a moment, hesitating, before he steeled himself and rapped on the door.

“Mistress? Are you all right?”

No answer, only the sound of running water. He knocked again.

“… Mistress?”

When silence remained the only answer he grabbed the handle and opened the door, anxiety snaking through his stomach before it dropped as though it fell through the entire tower.

Noelle was lying on the floor, unmoving.

Oraion didn’t even remember crossing the distance before he was at her side, cradling her in his arms.

“Noelle?!”

He lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bedroom, placing her gently on the bed before checking her over. She was breathing and he could sense her heartbeat, but she remained senseless no matter how many times he called her name. Her body felt even hotter than it had before, like she was burning up.

Wait, was this what humans called a “fever”? Her odd behavior, the sneezing and coughing, it all clicked into place.

Noelle was sick.

Oraion racked his brain, trying to remember anything he knew about human illnesses. It had been so long since he’d needed to concern himself with such things, though—at least a thousand years, if not more. Sickness had not even occurred to him as a possibility. What was a simple fact of life for humans was a foreign concept to demons, who were no more familiar with getting sick than they were with growing old: it simply did not happen.

He vaguely recalled something about humans becoming ill if you left them cold and wet for too long. Noelle had been awfully cold when she’d arrived home, and her clothes were soaked through. Was that what she meant when she said she might “have a cold”? Another reason those hooligans deserved what they’d gotten. It was their fault his Mistress was now ill.

Let’s see, what do I know about fevers…? There was that one village back in Shinchuro Province, about three thousand years ago, I think. A fever swept through and they begged for a cure because so many were dying.

He looked back to Noelle with renewed alarm. Were fevers really so deadly to humans? He began to pace, his tail lashing. Had he his full power, he could cure her in an instant with but a touch, but now… His hands balled into fists, enraged at his own impotence. He was only just beginning to untangle his own feelings for her—would the gods really take her from him now? Hadn’t he suffered enough for them?

No, there had to be something he could do. She’d only just fallen ill, so perhaps there was a way to stop the disease from progressing before it was too late. How was he supposed to figure out what that was, though? Most of Oraion’s knowledge of healing herbs was related to their properties on wounds and other physical injuries, not illnesses. Was there anyone he could turn to for help?

His pacing came to an abrupt stop. There was one person he could think of…

* * *

“Hyah!”

Metal bit into wood with a thunk as sword struck training dummy, shaving a chunk off of what would have been an actual person’s shoulder. Quinns wiped a sleeve across their brow: even in the crisp air of an autumn morning they were working up quite a sweat. A number of other members of the Knights honed their skills on other wooden or straw opponents and sparred against each other. Quinns stepped back and shook their shoulders loose, lining up for another go. A shoulder shot wouldn’t take down a truly dangerous opponent. They needed to do better.

They tightened their grip on their sword, assumed a fighting stance, pushed off with their back foot, and—

“Quinns!”

“Hhhgk?!”

Their strike went wide, missing the training dummy altogether. They stumbled as their sword met nothing but empty air, their shoulder protesting as they bounced off the training dummy and fell backwards, landing on their backside.

“Whoa! You okay there, Shaw?”

They heard several snickers and felt everyone’s eyes on them as they climbed back to their feet. The guy who’d called out to them wore a grin they dearly wished they could wipe off his smug face. Instead they took a deep breath and kept their voice even as they wiped the dirt off their uniform.

“I’m fine. Just lost my footing. I’m taking a break.”

Without another word Quinns sheathed their sword and went off to the side of the training grounds before sitting on a low wall.

“What the hell was that? It almost sounded like—”

“Like Oraion? Yes, hello, it is me.”

Quinns blinked as their mouth dropped open, barely stopping themself from swearing aloud.

“What. The. Fuck. Are you seriously inside my fucking head?!”

“Mm, yes and no. I’m not in your head to the point where I can read your thoughts or anything, but I am speaking directly into your mind.”

“What?! Why? HOW?”

“With great effort, and it’s only working because you’re relatively close by. Now, I don’t have time for a lesson in psionics: I need your help.”

“... What did you do now?”

“Nothing! Why do you always—? Ugh, never mind. Listen: Noelle is sick, and… I don’t know what to do.”

“Sick? Sick how?”

“I, uh, I think she has a fever? Her body is very warm. She said it wasn’t anything serious, but then she fainted. That’s- That’s not normal, right? I mean, is she going to wake up? What if she doesn’t? I-I don’t know anything about caring for sick humans. What if I do something wrong and make things worse? Gods, I can't even cook! I—”

“Whoa, slow down. Does she have any other symptoms?”

“Er, she was sneezing and coughing a bit last night and this morning.”

“Okay. Yes, it is a little concerning that she fainted, but it might just be a cold.”

“Yes, yes, she said that as well, but I don’t know what that is!”

“Oh… Uh, a cold is a pretty minor disease that humans get. It usually affects the nose and throat—coughing, sneezing, runny nose, sore throat, that kind of thing. It’s kind of like if you had an allergy attack for a week straight, and you were also tired and achy. It’s not fun, but it usually resolves itself on its own, and it’s rarely serious.”

“Then… she’s not dying?”

Quinns did not exactly trust Noelle’s pet demon, but there was no mistaking the note of hope and relief that colored his pseudo-voice in Quinns’s head. Maybe he wasn’t all bad…

“I doubt it. If she’s got a fever and she’s sweating a lot, then she might be dehydrated on top of feeling sick, so that may be why she passed out. Make sure she gets some water when she wakes up. If she doesn’t wake up after a few minutes, though…” They chewed on their bottom lip as several trains of thought fought for dominance in their mind. “Give me some time to get ready, and then I’ll come over to help. I’ll bring some medicine and food.”

They heard Oraion sigh in their mind, which was thoroughly weird.

“Thank you, Quinns. I don’t—”

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Noelle.”

“I know, but still… Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get out of my head already, would you? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Very well.”

Quinns waited for a few seconds but didn’t hear anything else in their head. Had the demon actually gone?

“... You still there?”

When no response came, there was a moment where Quinns wondered if they had just hallucinated the entire conversation. Noelle’s tower was several miles away—was Oraion actually able to find where Quinns was and speak to them over that distance?

They shook their head in an effort to clear it. If they dismissed Oraion’s message as a trick or hallucination, and Noelle really was in trouble, then they’d be abandoning their friend when she needed them most. If they showed up at her tower and nothing was amiss, then they could figure out what was actually going on after they knew Noelle was safe. They had to assume it was real, and that Noelle needed their help.

They made a stop at their personal quarters for the medicine—a trip to the infirmary could raise too many questions about what they needed the medicine for. Unlike the Order, the Knights of the Midnight Falcon recruited on a volunteer basis, which meant that the number of healers in their ranks was never consistent. Add to that the fact that most Knights were, like Quinns, knights errant, and the chances of a healer who could prepare medicines being at headquarters were middling at best. As such, medical supplies were carefully rationed and kept track of.

Food they could procure more easily and with fewer questions, so they went to the kitchen and started loading a basket with supplies for making soup. They may not be the best cook, but they could make some simple dishes. That was leagues better than Oraion, who even went so far as to admit he couldn't cook. Besides, how hard could soup be? You just threw a bunch of stuff into boiling water and let it sit for a while, right? Quinns grabbed some fresh meat and a bunch of different vegetables. Spices they could get from Noelle’s pantry—she always kept that well-stocked since she used the herbs for both cooking and magic.

“Oh, hey Quinns! What’re you up to?”

Quinns swore internally. There could not be a worse time for this. They blew out a breath and spoke without turning around as they tucked the last of the ingredients into the basket and covered it.

“Hey Ollie. Just grabbing a few things. I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re not in my way. I was just gonna get something to eat.” He let out a warm chuckle. “I kinda overslept and, uh, missed breakfast with everyone.”

“I see. Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I have some things to take care of—”

Quinns picked up the basket and turned around to find Oliver standing right behind them. For being such a big klutz he sure moved as quietly as a cat sometimes. Quinns took a step back with a start.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Oliver rubbed the back of his neck with an apologetic smile and took a step back of his own. Oliver Dietrich had a fluffy, orange cat tail that swayed behind him, while the orange-furred ears that poked out of his light blonde hair flicked. “I forget you’re allergic to me sometimes.”

“N-no, it’s, uh, it’s fine… Well, I gotta go, so, uh…”

Even having taken a step back, Oliver was still blocking Quinns from leaving the kitchen. The younger Knight showed no indication of moving out of the way, either, and instead tilted his head to one side.

“What’s the basket for? Are you having a picnic?”

“What? No, I’m just… getting some ingredients for something.”

“For what?”

“Look, it’s nothing, okay? Can I please leave?”

Oliver crossed his arms and didn’t budge. “Well, is it something or nothing?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing. I don’t have time for this, Ollie!”

“If it’s nothing, then it shouldn’t be a problem for me to see, right? So show me what’s in the basket.”

“No.”

“Show me or I’ll hug you.”

Quinns physically recoiled. They were already starting to feel itchy just being this close to him.

“What?!”

“Kidding! I’m kidding! Sorry, it’s just- agh, I’m so curious! Can’t I see what you have? Or at least tell me what you’re making! Pleeease?”

With his pleading eyes and the way his tail lashed, Oliver gave Quinns the impression of an excitable golden retriever rather than a cat.

“Oh my gods, will you go away if I do?”

“Yes! On my honor as a Knight!”

Quinns sighed and opened the basket, showing Oliver the contents. “Fine. I’m making soup, okay?”

The time Oliver spent staring silently into the basket with his brow furrowed started to border on uncomfortable.

“Uh… Can I go now?”

“You said you’re making soup?”

“Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

“No, no, it’s just that…” He looked like he was struggling with some sort of internal dilemma. Or maybe he had indigestion. “Well, um, you’re not gonna be able to make a very good soup with this stuff.”

Quinns blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve only got chicken breast meat: you should really have a whole carcass if you want to get a flavorful broth. You need the bones and stuff. And these beans should really be soaked overnight before you cook them. You’d do better with rice or pasta as a starch if you’re planning to make and serve the soup right away. You’ve got some good veggies, but if you put them all in at the same time you’re either gonna end up with half of them undercooked or half of them cooked into oblivion.”

For a few moments Quinns just stood there, stunned, but then they froze up for a different reason.

“Uh… Quinns?”

Damn it, this always happened. They couldn’t move or speak, they just had to wait until—

“Etchoo!”

“Oh no! I’m sorry! I got too close!” Oliver finally backed off to the other side of the kitchen with a guilty look. His tanned skin gained an embarrassed flush.

“Whatever. -snf- It’s fine… I, uh, I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Oh, yeah. I have a bunch of younger brothers and sisters, and both my parents work a lot, so I often cooked for everybody. Soup is a great way to feed a crowd: it’s warm and comforting, and you can really stretch it with the right ingredients. And whenever somebody got sick, I always made ‘em chicken soup.”

Quinns frowned. Oliver was a little naive, impulsive, clumsy, dense, and irresponsible… but he wasn’t a bad guy. In fact, Oliver was quite possibly the kindest person Quinns knew in the Knights. For all of his faults, he was also loyal and surprisingly discreet, a fact that Quinns had recently discovered after Oliver had walked in on them in the shower.

“Hey, Ollie… Can I tell you something?”

* * *

It wasn’t long after Oraion finished speaking with Quinns that Noelle stirred. In all she'd been unconscious for perhaps a couple of minutes, but to the demon it felt like centuries may well have passed.

“Oh no… I fainted didn’t I?”

Oraion sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his as he softly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Yes. I came upstairs and found you lying on the floor of the bath.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I must have worried you.”

“It did give me a bit of a fright, yes.”

“I-I’m not sure what happened. I was just running some hot water to wash up, but then I, um, started to feel dizzy. Maybe- Maybe it was the steam?”

Trying to hide it, even now? Oraion shook his head with a little sigh before looking Noelle in the eye. “Why didn’t you tell me you were ill?”

She gave a guilty start and looked away, her voice going quiet.

“I… I didn’t want you to worry even more than you already have… but I suppose it’s too late for that. I’m sorry.”

“Mistress…” Oraion leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Taking care of you is never a bother for me, all right?”

“A-all right…”

When he leaned back, it was difficult to tell if the red in her face was from blushing or fever. A slight smirk graced his lips, then he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. A cup with water appeared on the bedside table.

“Here. Quinns said you might be dehydrated, so you should drink some water now that you’re awake.”

She took the cup from his hand and propped herself up enough to take a few sips. “Oh, thank you… Wait, Quinns is here?”

“Ah, no, not yet. But they’ll be on their way soon.”

“Then… how did you talk to them already?”

“Oh, I spoke to them telepathically. When you collapsed, I…” He looked away and swallowed something harsh in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t understand what was happening. I don’t know how to care for a sick human. I-I didn’t even realize you were sick until that point. I’m sorry, I should have asked you to explain what was wrong, but after last night… I thought it best not to press you.” He took another shaky breath and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I knew that I needed help, and Quinns was the only person I could think of, so I reached out to them through their mind. Fortunately they were close enough for me to reach.”

“Telepathy… You can do that?”

He looked back at his Mistress—even in her sickbed, her eyes were sparkling with interest at the prospect of learning something new. Another smile tugged his lips, one that held more warmth than he’d felt all day.

“Not easily and not for long. Not as I am now, anyway. It takes a lot of energy to maintain, especially in the Mortal Realm.”

“Why is that?”

“Mm, because there’s less ambient mana around, I think. In the Demon Realm, damn near everything is magic to one degree or another. So if you need power, you simply snatch it out of the air or the ground or what have you and shape it to your will. Here, there is far less of that energy around, so I need to rely mostly on my own reserves and whatever I can find to supplement that. Of course, my power is not insignificant, so it is sufficient for most workings, but truthfully the lack of mana within the Mortal Realm puts me at a fraction of my power, even without this damned collar.”

“Can you teach me how to use telepathy?”

“Heh. Maybe.” He took the cup of water from her and picked up the tea he had brought up earlier. “How about this: if you’re a good girl and drink your tea, I’ll start teaching you about it.”

“Ooh, I like this bargain.” She sat up further, wincing, and put a hand to her forehead. “Ugh…”

He leaned in, as though a magnet drew him to her. “What is it? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, no. I’m only a bit dizzy. Just, um, give me a moment.”

Oraion reached out with his free hand and touched her arm to steady her.

“Take as much time as you need. I’m right here.”

“Thanks, Oraion. I—”

She was cut off by a series of hacking coughs, crackly and phlegmy things that made him wince to hear.

“Oh, I-I’m sorry- I- uh-oh… eh-hishoo! ehshoo! Ugh, oh gosh, I’m so sorry Oraion. -sniff- I-I don’t want to get you sick. Maybe- maybe you, um, shouldn’t stay in here.”

“Oh, nonsense. Demons don’t get sick.”

She looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

He smiled and handed her the tea. “Mistress, I am very, very old, and I have never once in my life come down with an illness. I don’t think I’m going to start now.”

Noelle looked down into the teacup, concern still writ on her face. “But… you’d never had allergies before either. How do we know for certain that you can’t, um, can’t get s-sick now too? eh-hishiih!”

Her sneezes made her hair fall forward again, so Oraion reached out and tucked it behind her ear once more. “I think you’re worrying too much, my dear Mistress, though I appreciate your concern. I will be fine, I promise.”

“Okay…” Noelle sighed and took a sip of the tea, then made a face. “Oh, it’s so bitter!”

“Right, sorry,” Oraion chuckled, “I ought to have warned you first. This blend is a little more medicinal, I’m afraid. I may not know much about human illnesses, but I do know some herbs that fight inflammation and have astringent properties, so I thought that might help. The only thing is that they are rather bitter.”

“Blech, what is in it?”

“Well, the base is black tea, then I added witch hazel, turmeric, yarrow, and, uh, lavender.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I must have sneezed a dozen times while making it, I’ll have you know.”

Noelle’s cheeks reddened considerably as she lifted the cup to her lips like she was hiding behind it. “Oh, I, um… thank you.”

Gods, she was adorable when she blushed. Oraion leaned in towards her with a smirk.

“Bet you’re sad you missed that, eh?”

Her cheeks grew even redder. “Um, m-maybe.”

“Heh. Well, next time you’ll just have to come watch me.” He gave her another quick kiss on the forehead before sitting back up. “The black tea already has a bit of bitterness, and the witch hazel and yarrow are both bitter herbs as well. Don’t force yourself to finish it if you don’t want to.”

“But I have to! I want you to teach me about telepathy!”

Oraion barked a laugh. “I only said you had to drink it, I never said you had to finish it.”

“Oh… um, I still want to, though. You made it for me, so…” Suddenly she waved a hand in front of her face. “Uh, s-sorry, I need to- nx’kishiu! Ugh, ow…”

Concern drew his brows together. “That sounded like it hurt.”

Noelle nodded with a hand on her throat. “My throat is getting sore. Ugh, that’s always the thing I hate most about being sick.”

“Hmm. I’ll see if I can figure out a remedy that might help.”

“Thank you.” Noelle pulled the blankets closer around herself with a shiver. “My, it’s chilly, isn’t it?”

“Er, I honestly find it quite pleasant. Is this why you call it a ‘cold’? Because it makes you feel cold?”

Noelle laughed. “Ah, no, you don’t always feel cold when you have a cold. Sometimes it’s unbearably hot. Right now, though, I’m freezing…” She looked down shyly as her cheeks got red again. “Um… do you think… you could hold me?”

With a gentle smile Oraion took the teacup from her shaking hands and placed it on the bedside table, then he climbed into the bed behind her and pulled her in close. Her body still felt so warm, poor thing. She snuggled into him, her back spasming against his chest with more wet coughs followed by another painful-sounding sneeze. He rubbed her shoulder as she whimpered from the abuse to her raw throat.

Even so, before long she had fallen asleep. Being ill must be awfully tiring, Oraion surmised. Her slumber seemed more restful now, at least. The demon carefully slipped out of the bed and headed back down to the ground level to wait for Quinns.

He was not surprised that they did not knock when they arrived. Quinns was never in the habit of doing so when they visited. What did surprise Oraion, however, was that the Knight had brought a new face with them. Behind Noelle’s slim, androgynous friend came a taller, broader fellow with tanned skin and an innocent bearing, as well as the orange-furred ears and tail of a cat. Quinns knew that Noelle wanted to keep the location of her tower a secret, so why was this unknown person, who also wore the uniform of a Knight, here in the first place?

Wary indignation smoldered in Oraion’s chest as he crossed his arms and straightened to his full height. “Who is this?”

The cat boy looked at him with wide eyes, which Oraion noted were of different colors: one gold, one greenish-blue.

“Whoa. Is that the guy?”

“Yeah. Oraion, this is a friend of mine, Oliver. Oliver, this is Oraion, the demon I told you about.”

“Wow, he is really hot…”

Oraion raised an eyebrow as Quinns’s cheeks colored.

“I didn’t say—! Ugh, whatever. Look, he’s trustworthy, okay?”

“Are you saying that to me or to him?” Oraion asked, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“Both. We’re all going to have to get along right now. I know it was risky to bring someone else here, but Oliver is a good guy and he knows how to keep a secret. Most importantly, he can cook.”

Oliver’s face lit up in an excited grin. “Quinns said their witch friend is sick, so I’m gonna make soup!” He strolled up to Oraion as though they were already fast friends and held out his hand. The cat boy was only shorter than he was by a few inches. “They already told me you’re not bad guys, so it’s nice to meet you! I’m Oliver Dietrich, First-Rank Knight of the Midnight Falcon.”

Oraion looked down at the young man’s hand for several seconds before slowly reaching out to take it in his own. “You do know it’s usually your job to hunt creatures like myself, right?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not always so black and white, y’know? It’s one thing when a Devourer is terrorizing a trade route, but you’re just here trying to live your life, right? You’re not hurting anybody. Far as I’m concerned, no one back at headquarters needs to know about you guys.”

“How do you know we haven’t hurt anyone? You’ve only just met me, and you haven’t even met my Mistress.”

He beamed. “Because you’re Quinns’s friends, of course! I trust them, so I know I can trust you.”

“I see. How… refreshingly forthright.”

Despite his mistrust of the newcomer, Oraion felt a twinge of guilt. Would the young Knight still think the same if he knew what Oraion had done to those men from the village only the previous night? Even if they deserved it…

“Oh hey, you have a tail too! All right, welcome to the Tail Club! Man, yours is way bigger than mine.”

Quinns pinched the bridge of their nose, and Oraion heard them mutter. “Oh my gods…” They then raised their voice to full volume. “Okay, I think that’s enough with the pleasantries. Where’s Noelle? Did she wake up?”

“She did, fortunately. Now she's resting in her room.”

They nodded and lifted a basket they carried. “I brought some medicine, so I’ll go ahead and take that up to her.��

Oraion stepped in front of them and held out a hand. “Allow me. You can show our new friend here to the kitchen.”

“Uh, why don’t you show him the kitchen? You live here, you know where everything is.”

Oraion’s eyebrow twitched. “Oh, it’s not very difficult to figure out. Besides, I hardly touch the cooking equipment, so I can’t say I really know my way around.”

A scowl crossed Quinns’s face. “Yeah, well, I know more about administering medicine than you, since you outright admitted that you don’t know how to care for sick people, so I should be the one to take it to her.”

Oraion took a step closer to them. “You know, it occurs to me that Noelle had only just fallen asleep when I left the room. We should probably let her rest. So, why don’t you just tell me how to use the medicine and leave it with me, and I’ll make sure she gets it when she wakes up.”

Quinns stepped closer in turn. “Now listen: Oliver and I came all this way to—” They cut off suddenly mid-sentence and looked around the room with an expression of mild but increasing alarm. “Uh… Where’s Oliver?”

* * *

Elegant music swept through a pillared hall lit by glimmering crystal chandeliers. Dancers in splendid finery spun and twirled in time with the tune. Usually Noelle would feel out of place at such a lavish event, but now she was dressed in an exquisite gown of blush pink, the full skirt trailing behind her in a train embroidered with hundreds of flowers. The trailing sleeves hung off her bare shoulders, and, with the plunging neckline, created the perfect canvas for showing off her beautiful necklace of sparkling diamonds. Her hair was done up in perfect ringlets instead of her usual messy curls, set with a glittering hairpiece. She felt just like a princess, and lo: there, on the balcony that overlooked the dance floor, stood the Prince.

He gazed out over the hall of dancers with crimson eyes, his blood red hair pulled back in a high ponytail that trailed past his shoulders. He was just as she imagined him, dressed in a fine coat of burgundy and gold over a lovely silk shirt and vest in ivory. As though drawn by some unknown force, his alluring eyes turned to her, locking with her own, and widened in amazement at her beauty. His full lips turned up in a radiant smile, and he extended his hand, beckoning her to come to him.

Elation filled her breast as she lifted her skirt and crossed the hall of dancers, still spinning and twirling like so many clockwork dolls. She began to ascend the stairs to the balcony where the Prince awaited her, when her path was abruptly blocked by a large, orange cat. It regarded her with strange eyes of different colors, one a sort of teal and the other yellow, as it lashed its fluffy tail at her. The motion snared her attention. That tail looked awfully soft and fluffy…

She reached out and touched the cat’s tail, running her fingers through its fur, which to her delight was just as soft as she’d hoped. There was something she was supposed to be doing, wasn’t there? The cat was so soft and warm, though.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you and all, but could you let go of my tail?”

“Huh?”

Did the cat just talk to her?

“I-it’s just that it’s kind of, uh, sensitive…?”

Noelle blinked her sleep-gummed eyes as the vision of the ballroom faded away, to be replaced by the far more ordinary sight of her bedroom, bathed in the sunlight of early afternoon. What was not ordinary, however, was the strange young man in Knight attire standing next to her bed with a bright red blush on his cheeks. Indeed, he did have cat ears and a fluffy, orange tail attached to him as well, the latter of which was currently clutched in her hand.

She shrieked and dropped the man’s tail before crawling as far back as she could in the bed without falling on the floor.

“Wh-who are you?! Wh-what– What are you doing in my bedroom?!”

“Oliver!”

Quinns came bursting into the room with Oraion fast at their heels. The demon grabbed the cat-eared man by the shoulder and wrenched him away from the side of Noelle’s bed with a snarl before placing himself between them. He even went so far as to spread his wings.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing, coming in here?”

“I-I’m sorry! I just- I wanted to- to check on her! That’s all, I swear!”

“Damn it, Ollie! Why did you go off on your own?” Quinns stepped in front of him, Oliver apparently, and guided him back another step a bit more gently than Oraion had. Their voice, though quieter, was no less irate, however. “I took a big risk bringing you here, and I vouched for you. Do you know how this makes me look?”

“I said I’m sorry! I-I promise I wasn’t gonna do anything bad! I was just…” He sighed. “I was really, really curious. I’ve never met a witch before, and… Well, then you two started arguing about who was gonna come up with the medicine, and I figured, y’know, somebody should go check on her. Besides, I… I didn’t wanna lose my chance.”

Quinns made an exasperated sound. “Lose your chance? What are you– Wait, do you mean to meet Noelle? Why would that even happen?”

“I-I don’t know… If you didn’t get to bring the medicine up, I guess I thought… maybe I wouldn’t get to come up either.” He looked down at the floor and scuffed it with the toe of his boot, cat ears drooping. “I’m so, so sorry. I know it was a stupid thing to do.”

“You certainly have the right of it there, Cat Boy,” Oraion snapped as his wings folded and vanished once more, “Now get out, before I throw you out.”

Quinns held up a hand. “All right, calm down. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Oh, really? And how do you know he isn’t simply playing dumb? How do you know he hasn’t been planning all along to sneak up here for the chance to take out a witch?”

Oliver looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Noelle recalled his appearance when she had first woken up, with his blushing face and the way he had politely asked her to let go of his tail.

“It’s all right, Oraion. I don’t think he was going to hurt me.”

Her Servant turned to her with an incredulous look.

“You can’t be serious. You’re all right with a man barging into your bedroom like that?”

“Well, n-no, but he apologized, and, um, I believe he’s sincere. I would appreciate it, though, if someone could explain to me what he’s doing here.”

“I brought him, Noelle.” Quinns took a step towards her with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry—I know you don’t want people to know where you live, but I swear, all of this nonsense aside, Oliver really is a good guy. He’s just… a little naive and impulsive sometimes. I brought him along because, um, I really wanted to bring you some soup, but… I-I don’t know how to make it, and… he does.”

With all of them crowded in her bedroom, and between Quinns looking chagrined, Oraion’s incensed protectiveness, and Oliver’s crestfallen, drooping cat ears and tail, Noelle couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Of course that just led her to start coughing again.

“Oh, right, the medicine.” Quinns shoved the basket they were holding into Oliver’s arms. “Take this down to the ground floor and into the kitchen, okay? And wait for me there—don’t wander off again, please.”

The other Knight nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you down there. And, um, I’m sorry again, Miss Noelle. It was nice to meet you.”

“Er, likewise?” She gave him a little wave as Oliver left the room.

Quinns reached into their belt pouch and produced a little bundle wrapped in cloth, which they then handed to Oraion. The demon looked at the bundle in his hands as though he was not expecting to receive it.

“Here: these are the medicines. They were prepared by our own healers in the Knights, so they should be pretty effective. Go ahead and open it, and I’ll explain what each one is.”

“Ah. Right…”

As Oraion unwound the tie that held the wrappings in place, Quinns turned to Noelle.

“Noelle, you’ll probably want to listen to this too…” They squinted. “What happened to your lip?”

“Huh? Oh…” Her hand went to the split on her lip, which had scabbed over but was still rather swollen. “Um, I must have hurt it when I fell earlier.”

“Huh. I see…” They did not seem convinced, but they didn’t press the issue, to Noelle’s relief. They didn't need to know about the men who attacked her.

They instructed Oraion and Noelle on when and how each medicine was to be administered. There was a pill for fever that should be taken twice a day, morning and night; a tincture that would speed the healing process that could only be taken once per day or else it could cause unpleasant side effects as the body tried to heal itself too rapidly (the worst of which, Quinns explained with their usual grim decorum, was coughing up blood because your body produced too much). Lastly, there was an oil that could be applied to the neck and chest, which contained a number of pungent-smelling botanicals that worked to clear a stuffy head. One whiff immediately set Oraion sneezing, of course.

Once they had finished going over the medicines and ensured Noelle got her first doses, Quinns and Oraion both left her room and headed back down towards the first floor to meet up with Oliver.

“So…” Quinns spoke up from behind Oraion as they passed the library. “Do you want to tell me what happened to Noelle’s lip?”

Oraion’s hands briefly formed fists at his sides, the knuckles popping.

“Some loathsome bullies in town happened to her.”

Quinns voice rose in alarm. “What?”

Oraion sighed. “She went to town on her own. I know I should have accompanied her, but… I had something I needed to take care of here. When she returned, it was clear she’d been beaten, and she confirmed as much.”

“Did she say who it was? What they looked like?”

“No, but I…”

A moment of tense silence passed before Quinns spoke, their voice already turning accusatory. “You what?”

“I found them later.”

Quinns grabbed Oraion by the arm, stopping him.

“What do you mean you ‘found them’? What did you do?”

Oraion lifted his chin. “I didn’t kill them, if that’s what you’re asking. But I did ensure they would regret their actions.”

Quinns pressed their lips together and took a deep breath. “Look: I understand, and I don’t necessarily disagree with what you did, but please tell me that you did it in your human form and not looking like, well, a demon.”

Oraion wrenched his arm away. “I felt the message would be more effective if I used my true form. “

“Shit… Oraion, you…” They sighed. “I really, really hope that doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass, man. I truly do, because if the Inquisition gets wind of a demon around here, then there won’t be anything I, or anyone else, can do to stop them from coming looking for you.”

Oraion scoffed. “I think I can handle a few humans coming after us. Besides, you know how well-hidden this place is. They’ll be lucky to even find us here.”

“Yeah… Well. Let’s hope that’s true.”

They shook their head once and pushed past him on the stairs. With great effort, Oraion managed not to roll his eyes as he followed them down. Quinns worried overmuch at the best of times, and this was no exception. No mortal could stand against a Demon Lord. Let anyone try to harm his mistress again; they would be shown the error of their ways with swift and terrible judgment.

Once the soup had been prepared, Quinns had the good sense to escort themself and Oliver out, to the latter’s obvious disappointment. He was calling back to Oraion even as Quinns was pushing him out the door.

“Um, it was really nice to meet you! Thanks for having me over! A-and I really hope Miss Noelle feels better soon!”

The door closed behind them both with a heavy thud, and Oraion shook his head. Something was not right with that boy.

When he arrived back upstairs with a steaming bowl of soup, he found Noelle nodding off while sitting up in bed. Her head popped up with a start when she heard him enter, and Oraion couldn’t help but chuckle. She was too cute, with her flushed cheeks and slow, sleepy blinking.

“Oh, um, is that the soup?”

“It is.” Oraion placed the bowl down on the bedside table and flashed Noelle a smirk. “Shall I feed it to you?”

The deepening of her blush drew his smirk into a grin as she frantically waved her hands in front of her.

“Ah, n-no! No, no, no! That’s- that’s quite all right. I can, um, feed myself. Thank you.”

“Heh. As you wish.”

She must have been hungry, for though she started eating the soup slowly, she soon made short work of the rest. Oraion sat on the edge of the bed and watched her silently, resting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. He must make time to study mortal diseases. Humans were such fragile creatures. This time it was a minor ailment, but what if one day she contracted a more serious affliction?

She finally noticed him looking and gave an awkward laugh.

“What, do I have something on my face?”

“No. I’m simply admiring how lovely you are.”

“Oh, stop it. I’m certain I look awful.”

“Never. You’re always lovely to me.”

She hid her face behind her hands with a sound that was part groan, part giggle.

“Stop! You’re making me blush!”

“I know. It’s delightful.”

“Ugh, you!”

Noelle gave him a little shove with another peal of laughter, which quickly turned into a fit of coughing. Oraion’s smug grin faltered, and he reached out to rub her back with an anxious touch.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No- no, I- hh’kchiuh! htshhiuh! Ooh… I-I think I just need to rest.”

“Then… allow me to keep you company, at least.”

He climbed into bed next to her, enfolding her in his embrace and holding her tight against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and basked in her scent, in her closeness. Noelle Violette. His Mistress. He cared about her. He could admit that much. To himself, anyway. But whether that feeling was a result of their contract or genuine affection… He wasn’t certain, and he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that the woman in his arms made him happy, and he wanted to do everything in his power to do the same for her.

If that was love, well… perhaps that wouldn’t be so terrible, after all.

#accidental mistress #oraion the allergic incubus #noelle the awkward witch #knight errant quinns #cat boy ollie #snzblr #snz #snz kink #snz ocs #sneeze kink #snzfic #sickfic #snzfucker #snezblr

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sibyl-of-space · 6 months

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ok sorry i swear im about to go to bed for real and ill stop being insane on here for the night. but i had kind of a realization on the ole private twitter that this is the Exact Specific Kind of weirdass breakdown that i have, like, somewhat regularly.

i get these evenings where i physically cannot do anything except obsessively go back through my own past creations/works/achievements. For Hours And Hours. i have been trying to get myself to sleep for the past 3 hours but instead i have been re-reading a (really fucking magnificent) document i wrote last year about the Tales of the Abyss ROM's audio contents, or listening to my old compositions on my website, or screaming about my transcription of To Zanarkand. this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened and it won't be the last.

but it's happened enough that i can now identify what, I think, the actual cause is. I think this happens when I've been really overwhelmed with a MASSIVE list of things I Need To Do and feeling like I can't keep up. I think it's a sort of brain failsafe against me going "I'm not GOOD ENOUGH" by just completely shutting down and ob-sessively immersing myself in my own past achievements for an entire fucking evening.

the good news is it's great at boosting my ego and fending off impostor syndrome! the bad news is, as i have mentioned, i have been trying to get myself to go to bed for the past 3 hours

#personal #just because i have now identified it #doesnt mean i can stop it #jfkdlsjfksa

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brightgnosis · 8 months

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Instagram Repost: June 26, 2022

It's been ~7 years since I published my first "Pagan Book", but today no one actually associates me with it. Indeed, most people, while they adore my old partner and she's making waves now, don't even know I exist at all; no one knows I was ever involved with the original version of the book- nor that without it, and my admin-esque work on it, she likely wouldn't be where she is now.

Or it may've taken significantly longer, at least; good or bad, it was my art, CreateSpace experience, & editing / formatting that made the original TSG (and then later TWC) possible and finally allowed her to break into publishing like she'd always dreamed of doing. And I'm so happy to have helped give her that chance.

I actually wanted it that way, however, when we initially dissolved our partnership on both books. That was the entire point of dissolving things the way we did; I wanted to fade back into the obscurity that I'd slowly slipped into as a "BNP" ... Sometimes I think it was a mistake to do that. But other times- a lot of the time- I'm glad I did it when I walked away. There was just so much going on in my life at that point in time. I couldn't keep up with it all anymore (and plus, doing all of the taxes sucked).

Discovering who I actually was without the abuse of others (+ all the fumbles / mistakes that entailed); getting engaged, then married; renovating a house, then moving in (+ always more and more renovating); the work towards opening our Orchard (which fell through); so many mental breakdowns as I finally cut my abusive family out of my life for good and took my first steps towards healing the life of abuse I'd lived through; then eventually the first waves of my disabilities really settling into place finally instead of only being on the periphery ... Developing PTSD after a near-miss with a Tornado was the last straw that finally broke me.

Looking back, however, I realize that even if it's exactly what I wanted- and potentially even needed- in that particular moment in time? For good or ill, this was really the start of the agoraphobia that I ended up developing; the significant worsening of the social anxiety that I'd always carried with me, and my near-complete pulling away from the world ... A level of traumatization I inflicted upon myself that I'm now having to work fiercely to undo. And in a way I hate that- just like I hate this book now for a variety of reasons.

Mostly I hate the poor job I did writing and designing it + all the others I wrote during this time in my life, and many more unnamed ... And in truth, I don't even know why I wrote it to begin with- and I now disagree with nearly everything I did say in it (as little as that wound up being; I may have done the work, but it was Bree who carried the book in regards to the content). I wasn't even practicing that style of magic at the time anymore to begin with! At that point I was already well on my way out the door; it was a nice idea, and we did our best. But looking back on it, it was well overhyped in many ways.

But we learn, and we grow, and a part of that growth is that ultimately that we must accept that the past's an inseparable part of who we are as we move forward; all of our mistakes we make are integral lessons we can learn from in order to be better selves in the future- no matter how much we hate the many mistakes we made ... Regret and wallowing only ever holds us back. It never allows us to move forward towards better things.

#Instagram Reposts #2022 #The Sisters Grimmoire #Alphabet Soup #Oklahoma #Personal

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luciusbuildzz · 2 years

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youtube

Home

By Lucius Liu

Almost fully recovering from a cold has reminded me of the importance of something that I usually take for granted: my health. The overall clarity and contentment that I am now enjoying, albeit yet marked by colored discharge from slightly congested sinuses, are a huge improvement from my condition for the past week, characterized by an overbearing dullness and irritability from the effects of my body’s immune response against the germs trying to infect my upper respiratory system. Nevertheless, my small personal celebration is measured as the URI was not a random, seasonal illness but an inevitability given the amount of energy I have put forth towards my training for Force Recon selection. Indeed, I was burned out for days after pushing past my limit during a pick-up soccer game at the end of which I must have been running in the cold of winter for at least half an hour with drenched Under Armor and T-shirt under my windbreaker. There is no way around this part of the training-breakdown-renewal cycle. One must endure during this healing phase, not seeking to escape pain by counterproductive distractions. Given that I needed to keep my commitment to my labor-intensive job making pizzas at this time, I must reiterate the importance of sincerity as to taking heavy sacrifices head-on - Marines call this walking the line, or standing your post. With this, I introduce the series on chores and general home maintenance, as there is nothing closer to a man’s heart than his home. Herein, you may ask, what would motivate someone to leave his home to join a unit active in the most dangerous combat zones in the world? This is a contradiction that may take a lifetime to resolve for I do not come from a vanilla background but a broken home. Before I saw the grim realities of the world, I saw conflict at home which pushed me farther and farther away from what I know now to be a necessity to every person: family. I was blessed to have found love on the road, through my late mentor Sean, for it is a stark truth that people have little love for themselves and therefore little love to offer others. Every notch of my chef’s knife is a tribute to the memory of our time building upon ideas and how to make them into song. Before I go any further, I’d like to arm you with this armor as to life’s most crushing blow - the passing of a loved one: it is not in the rage you feel at having been robbed of something you cherish that you find closure, but in passing forward the good service that enabled your heart to open to theirs. I encourage you to learn as much as possible about taking care of yourself and others, making sure the issues that plague you are put to rest, from a local to global level.

#Youtube

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hisui-blog · 2 years

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Being the exact opposite of myself

Before I was diagnosed, I was actually the exact opposite of who I am now. Back then, I like being alone, other people's thoughts about me doesn't bother me. I am confident, I love myself and I like who I am.

Now it's the exact opposite.

I feel like right now, I am slowly learning how to get back to myself and at the same time, learning and growing through life. It's a bit hard to separate what I learned in life and the effects of trauma in me. But I'm getting there.

It's weird to have the exact opposite personality of my illness. One minute I'd be triggered for the little things, wanting to die for hours. Feel horrible for days. I just don't see a will to live. And dying just seems too easy, it's like getting a cup of water and all your thirst disappear. Just like killing yourself and all that hurting inside will disappear. I just felt like there's no point of being alive if I feel horrible about myself. It just feels like I'm bullying my own self. I don't love myself, if I say to other people what I've been telling myself I'm sure that would be bullying. So yeah, it's just like I'm bullying my own self. All that thoughts that I'm never good at anything, I don't have a purpose, can't do anything, have no confidence at all.

And then you're gonna have that breakdown. You just sit curling yourself and hugging your legs. Rocking back and forth trying to keep that silent cry. And then you ask yourself.. "Why am I like this? Why am I so pathetic?" And then you're gonna let out that loud cry.

"Why am I even crying? What am I even sad for? This feeling of hurting, it feels like a heartbreak but I have no reason at all. I don't like this feeling. If I die I won't have to feel this sadness anymore." And for me, that defines depression.

I had this episodes so many times that I'm so familiar of the phase. Sometimes I hear myself at the back of my mind "It's okay self. After a few hours, this shall pass. You just have to wait. Release it for now. Let it torture you for now. Try to control yourself to keep you from killing yourself. Just sit there and wait for a while."

I've been so used to breakdowns that I've became selfaware.

After a few hours, my mind will stop thinking, my body feels numb. I will stare at thin air for minutes. Just thinking nothing. I will start to feel my tears drying up, the pain in my chest slowly disappearing. I try to keep those dark thoughts at bay. I wipe my tears and stand up. That's right. Another episode and I made through it.

After a few weeks, I will eat a dessert and will be happy for the very little things. It's just like nothing happened. I love myself, I'm confident, I feel like everything will go exactly as I planned it to be. I think about the time I was having a breakdown and I just laugh it off like wtf? Why did I even cry for? I have no reason at all and yet I'm so depressed. I shrugged it off and continue living my happy, peaceful and contented life. After a few weeks I will became so hyper I'll have impulsive decisions that I will soon regret. And that is mania.

This is the cycle of having a bipolar disorder.

#personal #depression #mania #bipolar #journey #writing #journal #myself

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lesbian-roguefort · 2 years

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i am going deranged and sick in the head. roguefort has VIOLENTLY shoved my oc brainrot away and now i have Mental Illness,, please consider that in the context of my thoughts on them,,, the phantom raven costume is rougefort at their highest. absorbed in the fame, being the shining beacon of the party and charming all with a glance. stealing jewels and hearts and being completely absorbed in it. i would pull out the lines and such but i,,, Don't have the costume and they aren't on the wiki so. but yeah you can tell they're living their best life [their fursuit order of their birdsona came thru guys /j] in contrast, pursuit of lost time is their absolute lowest point. [opens crob and realizes i forgot to do my dailies] FUCK. anyways, a lot of their lines are far more blunt ["i am pursuing an heirloom watch", "changing the past will not change the present", "my household's heirlooms require no authentification", etc]. hell. some of them even sound manic/desperate, ["your time is in my hands!", "i must check something once i find that watch"]. they still have some more charming lines but, hey, it's rougefort, of course they're trying to keep up appearances. and,,, the question rises,,, why didn't they ever go after the watch before, even if they're implied to have been phantom bleu for a fair while before this??? if anything, that would be one of the first things they chased down. that's why i think they must have had SOME break, realizing how lonely they are and will be if things stay this way spiraling into a huge breakdown and then DESPERATION, beleiving they are unable to claw themself out of the mess phantom bleu has left them in. so off they go, with a grandios change of outfit *and* modus operendai idk just some thoughts. it popped into my head and i think the contrast is,,, Interesting.

OKOK I FINALLY HAVE THE TIME AND ENERGY TO RESPOND TO THIS ASK !!!! HELLO!!!!!!!

FIRST OF ALL you are so positively absolutely CORRECT about roguefort's costumes being them at their highest and lowest points!!!! i was actually doing that thing where i walk around my house talking to myself earlier and i started thinking about this ask and went ballistic

phantom raven IS them absorbed in the euphoria of their performance. theyre so caught up in the glamour and the beauty of it all, so tangled in their desire to charm others, to make a big impression. it's intoxicating, addicting to them. and they LOVE IT. those precious moments before they take off the disguise and are forced to cede it all, all the connection, all the charmed, enamored love, all that energy replaced by conflicting admiration, shock, love for the performance and the character but hatred for the actor... mwah yea i love it

and pursuit of lost time is just so COMPLETELY fucked up like that's a whole other BALLPARK of fucked up shit bro. you make a lot of REALLYYYYY GOOD observations with their tone that i had not noticed beforehand. all of which you are exactly right about. so triple props to you on that. i think that to answer your question on why they didnt go after the watch sooner. i was actually studying into this a while back (not using directly canon content, but just my own observations) and i think they just slowly succumbed to their lonely fate. over time that realization that they're going to be alone forever just rots worse and worse, until they hit a breaking point and become desperate for their old life back. keeping that mask up the whole time. and then the watch gets auctioned away and they snap. so very similar to you!!! i especially liked what you said abt "believing they are unable to claw themself out of the mess phantom bleu has left them in." bc yea!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so fucking insane i love this cookie the cheese

#hat answers #hat posts about cr #skybristle #LOVE THIS COOKIE.................. SO MUCH!!!!!

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ptergwen · 3 years

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could you write about actress!reader getting stressed, anxious because of a movie she’s filming or something like that and tom taking care of her <33

yeahhhh aw 🥺 i love this so it actually ended up being a lil long

you’ve been filming quite possibly the biggest movie of your career so far, and it’s going wonderfully. you get on well with your costars, your director is lovely, and the crew even took a few suggestions you made into account.

today is the day you lose all the confidence you gained. there’s a huge breakdown scene for your character being filmed. screaming, crying, breaking everything around you and collapsing into a ball on the floor. you aren’t sure you can pull this off.

you’re portraying a girl battling mental illnesses, who ignores them until they eventually consume her in the end. the content of the film is heavy, no shit. what’s kept you sane is your supportive friends and extremely supportive boyfriend. he’s insisted on being there for the shoot because he knows you’re worried and wants to get you through it.

you’re in hair and makeup with tom seated next to you. he scrolls through instagram, holding your hand and brushing his thumb over the back of it. you watch in the mirror as your makeup artist paints on dark circles under your eyes.

at this point in the movie, your character hasn’t slept in days. her mom calls her out on it. she cries about how she wants her to get help, but you refuse because you’re in denial of your situation, and you spiral into the breakdown.

“look up for me,” your makeup artist requests, you switching your gaze to the ceiling of the trailer. you go over your blocking for the scene in your head. walk downstairs for school, go to the front door, open it, wait until “don’t bother. i’m taking you to the doctor.” run for the stairs again... or is it the kitchen? fuck, goddamnit.

you’re due on set in fifteen minutes. you can’t be forgetting such a major part of the scene this close to call time. you grip tom’s hand tighter, like that will magically put the blocking back into your mind. he notices and shoves his phone in his pocket with a knowing smile.

“nervous?” tom asks you, your makeup artist finishing up on your eye bags. she prepares what she needs to make your lips look chapped next. when you look over at tom, your eyes hold more than nerves. they hold fear. he drops his smile for furrowed eyebrows. “love, what’s wrong? you’ll be amazing. you-“

“i don’t remember what to do,” you admit in a hushed tone. tom is silent for a moment, deciding if you’re playing around or not. the way your lip wobbles, and the way you bite down on it, tells him you aren’t. “what do you mean?” he speaks at the same volume. “i forgot... i forgot my blocking for, like, half the scene.” you’re now bouncing your leg up and down.

tom being the pro he is already has a solution for you. “alright, so we’ll look at your script. i’m sure it’s written in there,” he says completely calm, you pulling your hand from his to rest your head in it. your entire body hunches forward. “it’s more than that. i can’t do it. i can’t do the scene,” you murmur into your lap. tom frowns at your sulking figure and gets up.

he taps your makeup artist on the shoulder. she hums for him to talk. “um, can you give us a minute alone?” he asks her politely, and softly so you don’t hear. he averts his eyes over to you as an explanation. after seeing the state you’re in, your makeup artist nods, her lips in a line the same as tom’s. “we’ll finish on set, y/n/n,” she says, putting a hand on your arm as she passes you on her way out.

you don’t thank her like you usually do. you only press your palm harder into your forehead, tears filling your eyes. it would be awful if you cried off the makeup she just put on you. another way to ruin the scene.

“love, darling,” tom coos and gets onto his knees so he’s kneeling in front of you. he moves your hand away from your face, once again linking it with his own. “what is it? tell me what’s bothering you.” you tilt your head up carefully, not wanting your tears to smudge the makeup. your voice comes out as a whine.

“i don’t think i’m ready for something like this. i look at- at everyone else, other actors, and i can’t convince people like they do,” you cry out, tom’s wide eyes meeting your glossy ones. he’s been in your place. taking on a role bigger than he thought he could handle, giving in to the pressure. it kills him to see his absolute love going through the same thing. he learned how to ignore the doubts, though.

“y/n, they chose you for the part, right?” tom questions, a certainty to his voice that makes you feel silly about this. you’re having an actual breakdown before the fake one. “yeah,” you whimper out. tom uses his free hand to tilt your chin up slightly. his thumb and index finger hold your face as he speaks. “then, they know you have it in you. i know, too.”

you don’t respond right away, considering the information. tom keeps going and now uses his thumb to dab at the corners of your eyes. “i’ve seen what you’ve done already in this film. i think you actually really care about your character. you can definitely get into her head enough for this scene.” his words are so genuine and honest. he’s always honest with you. you give him a weak smile.

“what if i can’t cry on cue?” tom breathes a laugh out of his nose. “you’re crying now. should i get the director?” he succeeds in making you laugh along with him. you thread your fingers properly through his and sniffle. “thank you for believing in me, tom. you’re one of the best, so i trust you.” “aw, y/n/n,” he pouts at you, bringing your connected hands to his lips, where he leaves a quick kiss on yours.

he then gets off the floor and back onto his feet. “are you ready to go? or, do you wanna look over your script one more time?” you exhale out of your mouth, standing up in front of him. “i’m okay. i was too freaked out to remember before, but now i’m good.” tom nods, arms going around you for a hug, which you instantly reciprocate.

he rub circles on your back, then pulls away. his hands stay on either side of your waist. “i’ll take you over.” “can you stay for the scene? i feel better when you’re there,” you mumble, shifting on your feet. you’re still a bit anxious about the whole thing. you’d prefer having tom around to get you out of your head. his arms circle your middle for another hug.

“sure, darling. anything for the star.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker fluff

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moomingitz · 3 years

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It’s... interesting looking back at the Jak and Daxter series, because when the second and third games first came out during my edgy teen years my mindset for them was mostly, “OMG Jak is now a buff and rugged edgy boi, he’s saying curse words, and has a literal edgy dark side to him. And Daxter is a big playboi who doesn’t hide his love for bewbs. Jak and Daxter is no longer for babies but for mature big kids like me!”

But looking at the series now; Holy shit, Jak has had it rough. Where do I even begin? This is going to be long, so get comfortable:

First, Jak was ripped away from his father at a very young age due to an insurrection. Then he was kidnapped by one of the people who was responsible for it, with the intention of being used to awaken some ancient Precursor technology, but luckily he somehow escaped and then was taken in by a rebellion group.

Then he was sent back into the past to be raised by Samos, the Sage of Green Eco. While that was a good thing for Jak, since he was able to grow up in a loving and supportive environment, what happened to him before that is something that would still be traumatic to a little kid especially in the form of something like Separation Anxiety. While this goes into headcanon territory, I can’t help but wonder if that had a lot to do with why Jak was the mostly silent type before the events of the second game. But thankfully he was lucky to grow up with two best friends like Daxter and Keira.

Surely you think that would be the end of misfortune Jak would have to go through. Wrong!

Fast forward to where he’s now 15 years old and everything seems all good and exciting after he and Daxter saved the world from Dee Snider and his twisted sister. Sure they didn’t accomplish what they set out for by turning Daxter back into his old humanoid self, by Daxter is content staying as a furry anyway. At least they saved the world and found some ancient Precursor technology. But hold up! Turns out it was some kind of rift gate and the moment they activated it some giant bug monster pops out and they’re all separated and thrown into some new place they’ve never seen.

Literal seconds later, before Jak or Daxter have any time to react or process what exactly just happened and where they ended up, Jak is immediately arrested and knocked unconscious, despite doing nothing wrong. He’s then tortured and experimented on for the next two years, in hopes of turning him into a living weapon by pumping Dark Eco into him. Keep in mind Jak was only 15-16 years old during those nightmarish two years of his life. But his BFF Daxter never gave up looking for him and eventually rescued Jak.

Upon busting out Jak has no damn idea where exactly he is, and when he does it turns out him and Daxter are now in a totalitarian, police state of a hellhole where never ending propaganda is blared everywhere you go, and where Jak’s only crime is just existing. Oh, and there’s currently an ongoing war between this police state regime ruling the city and some species called Metal Heads, so the territory outside the city is near inhospitable. So just simply leaving Haven City isn’t really an option. It’s either deal with the Krimson Gaurd who will get on you for just sneezing in the wrong direction, or claw your way for survival outside the city walls.

Until finding Samos and Kiera much later, Daxter is the only familiar and welcoming face Jak still had until then(the only exception being Sig in the “welcoming face” department).

Oh, and it turns out those Dark Eco experiments gave JAk some dark Hulk like form that he has trouble controlling(at least that’s what the game tells us). Oh, and they eventually learn that this shithole place they found themselves in is actually their home 500 years into the future. Oh, and it turns that this little kid they’ve been having to protect from both the Krimson Guard and the Metal Head army is actually Jak’s younger self.

Despite all that, the rebellion group and many of the criminals they had to work with eventually warm up and even become their friends, the authoritarian regime eventually crumbles, and they kill the Metal Head leader. Even though Jak doesn’t go back to his childhood home in the past, Keira, Samos, and Daxter choose to stay with him in the future, so he’s definitely not alone in the end. Happy ending earned, and that should be the end of all the bad stuff to happen in Jak’s life, right?...

Of course that wouldn’t be the end of bad traumatic shit to happen to Jak!

Right after the events of the second game, Jak is not only blamed for the fallout of the Praxis regime falling and the Metal Head army’s demise, but he’s outright banished to the Wasteland, no thanks to some weasely council member, Veger.

But ya boi Daxter snuck out to join Jak in his exile, so at least Jak still has his best friend with him. Jak now has to survive in a Mad Max esque land after proving himself worthy to Damas, the leader of some refuge village. But it’s kind of good because he slowly gets on this guy’s good graces.

Oh, but later on it turns out this Damas guy is actually the very father Jak was forcibly separated from during his very early childhood. But, Jak only figured that out just as Damas was dying, and he didn’t have a chance to tell Damas that he was his son that’s he’s been wanting to find for years.

It also turns out this Veger douchebag was one of the people aside from Baron Praxis who was responsible for Jak being separated from Dadmas, and was the guy who kidnapped him in an attempt use him to obtain that ancient Precursor technology.

Of course everything works out in the end. But yeah... You see what I mean? Jak was put through the wringer during the events of this whole trilogy! He's done nothing wrong! Yet starting from a very young age he’s either been targeted or dragged into other’s messes for just existing, or for something he had no choice to do in order to survive. The only real thing he did wrong was dragging Daxter over to Misty Island, which led to him being accidentally transformed into an ottsel in the first place. But the events of the first games was all a lighthearted adventure anyway. Aside from that it’s been one unfortunate or traumatic event after another for Jak.

When letting everything Jak went through really sink in, there’s guaranteed trauma and the resulting PTSD this poor guy is going to have to address or else it will inevitably manifest itself in some way later on. Acting gruff and blase' will only work for so long. I know some people get tired with pieces of fiction being compared to Steven Universe, but Steven’s eventual mental breakdown seriously came to mind. And some people will say, “It’s just a vidya game, stop thinking too much into it.”, but there was a conscious decision to take this series into a more dark and mature direction after the first game. So, it’s a bit hard not to think about more possible unpleasant implications based on what happened in the sequels, especially when looking at the events of the games through the lenses of today.

Taking all of this into consideration is also why I think Daxter is seriously the “MVP” of the series.

Daxter grew up being Jak’s best friend, which I’m sure helped Jak a lot after being separated from his father and taken to a literal place in time completely different and unfamiliar to him. I’m very sure his time growing up in Sandover Village and hanging out with Daxter was the best period of Jak’s life. Even after Jak dragged him to Misty Island, accidentally causing him to be transformed into an ottsel, and sacrificing his chance to be turned back to normal in order to save the world, Daxter showed no hard feelings towards Jak and he even learns to like being an ottsel.

He spent two years trying to find out where Jak was being held prisoner in Haven City, and infiltrated the place once he did and helped Jak escape.

And despite not having any fingers pointed towards him for the fallout after the events of the second game, Daxter still chooses to join Jak in exile in the Wasteland.

Daxter has never shown any ill will towards Jak despite him being the one responsible for being turned into an ottsel, and he’s never really abandoned him even when he is given many chances to or a way to get himself out of really bad situations. Despite everything, Daxter is still the same quippy, upbeat dork of a friend Jak has grown up with.

I really believe Daxter helped a lot with keeping Jak’s sanity intact during all of the hell he was put through and beyond. If there was a guaranteed way for someone to sign their own death warrant with Jak, I think harming or outright killing Daxter would be it.

#Jak and Daxter #Jak II #Jak 3 #Daxter #Damas

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winterandwords · 2 years

Text

It looks like my brain is taking some time off doing things with words. This honestly almost never happens. I'm ✨obsessive✨ about writing to the point where it often sometimes becomes A Problem™

So, this used to drive me crazy with frustration. I'm a very push-through-it kind of person. This is also A Problem™ and one that I'm actively working on for reasons of physical and mental health. Before, I would admonish myself for not trying hard enough, force myself to do the thing, be utterly miserable, and ultimately end up despising every fucking word I wrote when my mind and my heart weren't in it.

Now I'm trying this new thing where I don't do that and I think about how I got here. I've been working on Project Frequency non-stop for a while, even though I didn't fully intend to get stuck into it just yet. I published a short fiction collection on my website. I finished the last revision on Project Storm way sooner than planned after it came back from my editing folks (still needs proofread, but sooooooon!).

Within the last few weeks, I also started creating regular writing-related content for Instagram, which has included making artsy fartsy microfiction videos where I read things with my own fucking voice OMG. This is legit one of my favourite forms of creative expression right now and I'm learning so much. I gathered three years' worth of microfiction into categories for future posts. And I completely overhauled my entire website.

My mental health has been not amazing. OK, that's a massive understatement. My mental health has been an explosive catastrophic disaster because of stuff relating to serious trauma that I don't want to talk about here. I fell apart in a full-on breakdown kind of way, which is not something I do very often because I live in a perpetual state of denial and dissociation and like to pretend I don't because it makes me feel like I've got my shit together better than I really do.

I contacted a trauma support centre that specialises in the very specific context of my trauma. I realised I wasn't ready to go through that whole process yet and cancelled the initial outreach assessment. Then I felt like a weak piece of shit and hated myself a bit. Then my close family and a very good friend helped me understand that this was an act of self-care and boundary setting and sometimes first steps have to be taken a number of times. So it's OK. Sort of. And I'm doing way better at dealing with the mess in my head with the support of people who love me. And I'm extremely lucky to have those people.

My chronic illness/disability stuff has been a pile of fuckery too, but the more manageable kind of fuckery. Except I've been really struggling with mobility aids lately because I'm basically going in cycles of fucking up my lower body by not using them, then fucking up my upper body by using them. So I found a truly epic rollator/wheelchair hybrid (swear to god, this thing is cyberpunk AF) that is everything I need and actually possible for me to operate even when my stupid hands are being stupid, and now we're trying to work out how to afford it and hopefully I'll be able to get it within the next few months.

Now that I type all that out, I'm not quite so much like "Why am I not feeling creative right now? It's a mystery!" I am burned the fuck out and profoundly exhausted on every level. And I'm doing that new thing I mentioned at the top of this post. I'm accepting it. And I'm letting myself rest. And I think it's good.

Anyway, I just wanted to check in and say hi and I miss you all and I'm still lurking even if I'm not posting as much. Love love love. PS. Sorry if I've missed any tags lately. Please keep tagging me. I don't usually suck this bad at keeping up <3

#the shit in my head #chronic illness #disability #mental health #writeblr #writeblr community #writer #writers #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #writers community #writing #am writing #writing community

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hematomes · 3 years

Note

Yeah, and I'm honestly very worried about that..

I have also heard about the Xiao situation and I think the same kinda happened with Kazuha? I do remember seeing some posts about people sending horrible stuff to those who obtained him but not as bad as Xiao.

I just hope people won't lose their minds but I know a lot are probably gonna lose it, unfortunately. I know a LOOOOT of people love Scaramouche and don't get me wrong, I like him a lot as well, I think he is a very interesting character but I'm scared of what people are gonna do.

If he doesn't come out and it's maybe the same with the whole Signora thing or he just disappears or literally anything, people are gonna be extremely upset and if he does come out, I'm worried about the people that will get him, I just hope they don't receive horrible threats and so much more.

Co-Op is gonna be hell for sure, I'll just be quietly watching what will happen, let's hope the fandom won't go crazy and do anything stupid..

Sorry if this came out as rude or anything, feel free to rant about anything that is on your mind.

Have a wonderful day. ❤️

yeah kazuha received a lot of hate from the 'meta slaves' (almost everyone regretted skipping him afterwards tho lmao) and kazuha havers were resented by those who lost the 50/50 and stuff. i myself received some rather spicy anon asks but i tend to just block and delete without a thought so yk zkdkzk

i wanted to keep the ramble to a minimum but it turned out long in the end so uh utc!!

honest the community is quite uh... filled to the brim with loud, toxic people. it's still a minority, but it's really, really loud and it's hard to ignore most of the time. i love scaramouche too, his lore is insane, his charadesign is gorgeous and his japanese voice actor was the one voicing my first ever crush (natsu.... what a time) so im kinda attached to him but not to the point where i'd handwrite his name **1,200 times** or have a breakdown bc he might not fit the idealized version of him i crafted over the year. this one i genuinely don't understand, i think most of the scara fandom has kinda correctly depicted him psychology-wise, he's a villain and shit, but you have to take into account that if he's playable, it most likely means redemption act, or at least a good reason for him joining our party and stop trying to kill us (in some degree at least, bc childe still wants to fight us lmao). and just because he has some depth and nuances doesn't mean he's ruined, just that he's more human than wr thought. i like the idea of playable scaramouche bc not only will we get his lore (hopefully more than with kokomi, ngl her story content is EMPTY) but also we'll get to know the character better. for now we have snippets, bits of a man with so much potential it's kind of insane. but the thing is, when i see how they act, i feel almost ashamed lmao bc i don't want to be associated with this sort of crowd. just like the xiao mains when his banner came out, it was a shitshow and players came into my world just to insult me bc i got him day one?? like,,, i don't understand

let's hope it doesn't go downhill when/if he becomes playable!! and know that if anything ill keep this blog absolutely safe, if you wanna ramble about anything hehe

it came off as anything but rude omg don't worry i love hearing ppl's thoughts!! kinda used the opportunity to go overboard anyway- and a wonderful day to you too <333

#answered #stormflypirateskin! 🤍

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spicycreativity · 3 years

Text

Intertwined - Chapter 1

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: It's a hanahaki fic, so. Mild body horror, blood, respiratory illness. (Starts at Ch 3 and gets worse from there).

Characters: All

Pairing: Moceit

Additional Notes: This one was supposed to be Darker and Longer, but turns out I'm not in the headspace to write angst atm, so it ends up moving p fast. Swaps between Janus and Patton's POVs. Post-PoF, light angst. Not whump. They both get hanahaki, but there is absolutely no version of Moceit in my mind where Janus isn't the one who falls first. My AO3 username is WizatdGlick.

Summary: The story of how Janus and Patton find each other at rock bottom and fall in love anyway.

A gentle knock on Janus' door drew him out of his thoughts. He donned a mask of triumph as he rose to open it, straightening his hat as he went. It couldn't be Remus; Remus never knocked so softly, which meant that Janus had to perform. He slid into the role with difficulty, struggling to find the edges of this gloating persona when all he felt was numb and tired and lost.

It was Patton at the door, and Janus felt everything slip, and Patton's eyes lit up with recognition, and all of Janus' resolve fell away in the face of that beseeching gaze.

"Come for another debate?" Janus asked in a low voice, making no effort to hide his ironical smile.

Patton smiled too, though he dropped it a moment too soon. Janus got the distinct impression that Patton was also far too wrung-out to put on any kind of act tonight. "Just came to check on you."

It would be as natural as breathing for Janus to draw back, place his fingertips delicately to his chest, widen his eyes. ' Check on me?' he would say, all faux-innocence, ' Please, Patton, I'm not a child. I don't need your pity.'

But he didn't.

Here was Patton, reaching out, and hadn't that been what Janus had wanted all along? That tiny, fervent flame that he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge, that smallest ember of hope that someone might just give him what he was convinced he had to take.

The seconds stretched out until the silence verged on awkward, and Janus' pride stood up to do what his cunning would not: "I'm fine." He was fine, strangely. Not happy, as he perhaps should have been, but nothing hurt.

Patton's brow furrowed. "Am I supposed to believe that?" he asked gently.

Something warm and soft and dangerous bloomed in Janus' chest at Patton's look of confusion. He had freckles on his nose, scattered like spilled cinnamon: a trait assigned by Thomas’ subconscious. "Patton," Janus said, flicking his gaze upwards to meet Patton's eyes. "Would you like to come in?"

"To your room ?" Patton asked, eyes widening. He looked past Janus' shoulder and Janus fought not to move and block Patton's gaze with his body. He had just invited Patton in; there was no point getting shy now. "Won't that, y'know, do something to me?"

"It's just a matter of self-control," Janus said, hoping to get a smile out of Patton.

Sure enough, Patton did smile. "What color is my shirt?"

Janus said, "True blue," and stepped backwards to let Patton in.

It was a risk to bring someone into his room like this, but he felt unusually clear-headed tonight, calm and strangely secure despite the fact he had just let a known enemy past his defenses, and despite the exhaustion that made every breath feel heavy.

"Warm in here," Patton remarked, looking around.

Janus motioned him over to a set of armchairs. To be seen was to be judged, and he wasn't sure what he would do if Patton found him lacking again . "I have a question for you, Patton."

In the low light, the tear tracks on Patton's cheeks glimmered when he tilted his head inquisitively. "You do?"

Janus nodded, slow and calculated. He was sure he already knew the answer to the question, and preemptive anger bubbled thick and hot in his veins. "Who," he said, unable to keep from glaring, "came to check on you?"

"Well," said Patton, "Ah… They don't-- Everyone's upset right now--"

"And you're not?" Janus demanded. "And don't you dare tell me that you're fine." His emotions were running too hot; he needed to check himself, but seeing Patton make excuses filled him with a passion he'd only ever felt on Thomas' behalf.

"I am--"

"Don't."

"But I have to be," Patton whispered. "I can't-- I know they told me… They said it was okay for me to be sad, but--"

"If you fall apart, there's no one there to pick up the pieces," Janus guessed. "Sure, you can be sad, as long as it doesn't interfere with your role."

"Don't be mad at them," Patton pleaded, and Janus realized with a jolt that he would get into no one's good graces by slinging around insults.

"It's just hard," Janus said plainly, only half-noticing the words coming out of his mouth. He had just become aware of a keen and sickening new desire, borne on the back of a newfound respect for Patton that he had even lasted this long without having some sort of spectacular breakdown. Janus' whole chest ached with it, that and the equally sickening knowledge that he had just become horrifically vulnerable, that he had fallen under a spell he could never hope to break.

He saw it in his mind's eye: he saw himself stand and lean over, take Patton's jaw in his hands, kiss him long and deep and slow. He saw himself lay his body and soul bare before Patton, getting on his knees to forgive Patton all his perceived flaws. He meant well, after all. He only ever meant well, and it wasn't really his fault that those good intentions were capable of morphing into a cruel and deadly weapon.

But he would plunge that weapon straight into Janus' heart before their lips could ever even meet. Janus could see it now, Patton pulling away in confusion and disgust. His tenuous patience would give out then and there, and Janus would have no hope of acceptance ever again. Same for Remus, probably. They would remain Dark Sides forever, damned to be eternal outcasts. All thanks to Janus' pathetic inability to control himself.

"Why do you care so much about…" Patton hesitated for a moment and gave a shallow sigh. "Well, about me?"

And now Janus found himself walking a chasm’s edge. His instinct was to lean hard into the opposite of the truth and insult Patton so deeply that he left and never came back. Eliminate the threat. But that wasn't an option now of all times. No, he had to maintain a friendship with Patton, somehow. He had to keep himself under control. How fun. "You're a part of Thomas," Janus said. He paused.

"So are the others."

"You've earned my respect."

"Oh," said Patton. "Wow, um. Gosh, that's…" His lower lip trembled. "I should go," he said in a broken voice.

Janus surveyed him in silent agony, teetering on the precipice of a lie. With a monumental effort, he pulled himself away from it and opened his arms. "Come here."

The floodgates opened. Patton fell into Janus' lap, already sobbing. Janus held him, all his muscles stiff and awkward. He was much smaller in the mindscape than he was in Thomas’ eyes and it was difficult to support Patton’s much larger frame. A sharp pain flared in Janus’ collarbone where Patton had buried his forehead and his tears were already starting to seep through Janus' clothes. He cringed at himself and the absurdity of the situation, wishing he had some way to make it better. He should have had words for this, all the right words to soothe away Patton's worries and set him right again. But he was so tired.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Patton said through shuddering sobs that dug his forehead harder into Janus' clavicle.

"It's okay," Janus said, concentrating hard on keeping the effects of his room at bay.

"Are you--" Patton sniffled " --sure you're okay?"

A rush of affection melted Janus' heart and he sighed and held Patton closer despite the shooting pain in his collarbone and the ache in his arms. Even in the midst of a post-breakdown breakdown, Patton was self-sacrificing (self- destructive) enough to check in on him. "You don't have a selfish bone in your body, do you?" Janus sighed, lamenting Patton’s bleeding heart. For some reason, this only made Patton cry harder. Janus cast his mind back to the last time Remus was this upset, found nothing, had to speculate. He and Remus and Virgil were self-sufficient, secretive. When it came to personal crises, they weathered them alone and bore the aftermath in stoicism. "Do you want me to play with your hair?"

"I don't know," Patton sobbed into Janus' chest.

Janus sighed and began to run his fingers through Patton's honey-colored hair, grateful that the thick material of his gloves kept their skin from touching. It was better this way, and a good reminder for Janus. He guarded his heart so closely for a reason.

Janus, despite the discomfort from the awkward weight distribution and the clammy feeling of cooled tears on his shirt, was half-asleep in the chair by the time Patton stopped crying.

"Sorry," Patton said, pulling away, and even with snot and tears all over his flushed cheeks, even with his eyes all red and puffy behind his fogged-up glasses and his hair standing up at strange diagonals from Janus' attempts at comfort, he was radiant.

"For having feelings?" Janus asked, gently imaging himself into a new, dry shirt.

"For making them your problem." Patton took his glasses off and began to polish them on the hem of his own shirt.

"Patton, I need you to know this." Janus waited until Patton looked at him before continuing, "I owe you nothing. If I had wanted you to leave, I would have asked you to leave and thought nothing of it."

Patton nodded and went back to polishing his glasses. They were silent for a long moment, during which Janus found himself unable to suppress a series of yawns. It must have been around 4:00 in the morning by this point. They had to have been the only ones awake.

"Hey, Janus," Patton said, finally putting his glasses back on. "You know The Breakfast Club?"

"Yes," Janus said distractedly, trying to figure out where Patton was going with this.

"This wasn't our version of that, was it?"

"What do you mean?"

"When tomorrow comes and we're back to, to some sort of normal… You'll still be my friend, right?"

Now here was a situation Janus had never once envisioned for himself. He had pictured winning over Roman, had pictured gaining Thomas' support. Never once had he expected real friendship with any of them, let alone Patton. "Yes," he said, feeling sick at the irony of it. He had been comfortable as Patton's enemy, was now yearning for his kiss… How could he be friends with Patton when he burned like this for Patton's wholehearted affection? Was he really just supposed to endure it?

Patton smiled, so sweet and earnest that Janus had to bite down on his tongue. "Good," he said. "Speaking of, do you wanna have breakfast with me?"

"Not right now, I hope," Janus teased.

"No, no, not right now." Patton muffled a yawn into his sleeve. "I guess I'd better go."

Janus nodded. "See you in the morning?"

"Um," said Patton, who didn't appear to have been listening. "Thank you, Janus. You didn't have to-- Well, thank you."

He sank out without another word.

Janus imagined himself into his pajamas, imagined the lights off and threw himself onto his bed. "Fuck."

Frigid air seeped from the hallway seeped under the crack where Janus' door stopped just short of the carpet. He didn't allow himself to notice, and continued to put his outfit on piece by agonizing piece. The cold air made his joints slow and achy, and he struggled to get the clasps done up. It was just as well that he hadn't put on his gloves yet. He had become quite adept at handling things while wearing them, but for this task, the bulky fabric would only get in the way. After all, just like his singular snake fang, his gloves were for aesthetics, not function.

Finally, he donned his hat and faced the door, forced to confront that fatal truth: He could never have what he wanted. The moment he had achieved his goal of Thomas’ acceptance, the triumph had slipped away in his hands to be replaced with a truly unattainable goal.

Memories from last night, the phantom sensation of Patton in his arms, teased him until he had to sneer at himself. Pathetic. He was acting pathetic. Falling for Patton was strategically inadvisable, even if he couldn’t help it, but actively pursuing him was out of the question. It was all-risk, no reward. Still, his treacherous heart fluttered, teasing him with the thought of Patton’s lips on his own, Patton’s hands on his body, sharing heat, deepening the kiss--

“All risk,” Janus said out loud to himself, “no reward.” A mantra to see him through. He opened his door, his gloved hand slipping a little on the polished brass of his doorknob, and nearly walked straight into Remus as he passed by with an armful of dismembered dolls.

“Well,” said Janus, tilting his head to better examine the pile of plastic limbs and bodies in Remus’ arms, “I won’t ask what you’re up to.” He stifled a yawn behind his hand, visualizing a piping hot cup of coffee. A shudder wrecked his concentration and he frowned. “Are you the reason it’s so cold in here?”

Remus ignored the question, his feverish eyes darting from Janus’ mouth to his hand to his face. “I knew you were up late last night. That’s why I came this way.” He gave a crooked but strangely boyish grin. “I wanted to know where you’d gotten off to. Or who you’d gotten off with. ”

Janus, to his horror, blushed. Fragmented images flashed through his head-- What if he had kissed Patton? And Patton had kissed back? Mask, mask, mask! “I was spreading the Gospel.”

“You were spreading something , though, weren’t you?” Remus shifted the dolls in his arms and held up a masculine torso. “I know I heard Big Daddy’s voice. Play a little game of Patton- Snake , did you?”

Janus swore he could hear porcelain cracking as his heart began to race. “In all seriousness, Remus, we did reach an agreement.”

“Sounds like you reached more than that.” Remus waggled his tongue.

God, he was relentless when he was on the scent of something. Janus hid his face behind his hands, realizing a moment too late that this display of shame would only add fuel to the fire. So he took the only option left and muttered, “Boundaries,” into his palms.

“Oh,” said Remus, leaning back on his heels. “ Oh. Janus, you didn’t .”

“Of course we didn't!” Janus hissed, dropping his hands.

"But you wanted to?"

“How much did you hear yesterday, anyway?”

“Oh, I heard the whole debacle, including that heartwarming little moment at the end,” Remus said, rocking forward onto his toes. “Thanks for putting in a good word for me, by the way.”

They fell into an awkward silence as Janus once again reached for words that simply weren’t there. “I didn’t mean it,” he said finally, cursing himself.

“No?” said Remus. “Not even a teeny tiny little bit?” He poked Janus in the chest with the plastic torso, still clenched in his left hand. “Right here?”

“You,” said Janus, “are just as evil as I am.”

Remus backed off with a grin, leaving Janus in doubt that he had ever even been angry in the first place. “So where are you off to now? Roman’s got this place awfully cold; gonna go warm Patton’s snake?”

“You already made a ‘Patton snake’ joke,” Janus said, slamming another mask onto his face to hide his blush. “But to answer your question, he asked me to join him for breakfast.”

“Aww.” Remus wiped fake tears from his cheeks. “You better not start spending too much time with him or I’m going to get jealous.”

#moceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sorry if this shows up in the tag and catfishes the whumpers but i just wanted to say:#i specified that this isnt whump specifically because i DIDNT want to catfish y'all lmao #i just don't have it in me to hurt my babies that bad skhsjshf #anyway no judgement just not what this is #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

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lonelier-version-of-you · 3 years

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That... was pretty mediocre for an anniversary episode? Although 35th anniversaries aren’t usually very big anyway, so. I suppose that’s justified. It was better than last week’s ep (to be fair, that’s a VERY low bar, it would’ve been pretty much impossible for it to be worse than last week), but the show is still on shaky ground for me. I honestly don’t know if I’ll keep watching past this point. If I do keep watching, it’ll just be for Jade, ‘cause she’s brilliant.

Anyway.

I only tuned in tonight to see Noel one last time, and in that respect, I’m pretty satisfied. I know a lot of people were saying the same about Cal, but I’m not particularly familiar with Cal, I started watching a few months after his death and haven’t seen that many older episodes with him. It was nice to see him again, though. But my focus really was on Noel.

He actually got more screentime than I expected, and it was lovely, if also painful, to be reminded of what a great character he was. To see his compassion, the way he went above and beyond for the patients and relatives in the ED, even though he was only the receptionist. To see him laughing with Big Mac, showing off his friendliness and sense of humour.

And then there was the “grandpa Noel” line. OW. Casualty got me right through the heart with that one.

I miss Noel so much. But I’m glad his final scenes got to be here, rather than in the COVID episode, which pretended to be about him but was actually just about Connie and her feelings. (I love Connie. You know I do. But it did Noel a disservice, focusing his death episode on how Connie felt about it.) And he’ll forever live on in my heart. Noel, my beloved. <3

Indeed, the flashback scenes in general were probably the best part of the ep. They did a very good job making it really feel like 2016 Casualty - to the point my mom, while watching the episode with me, commented “This is just making me think ‘Oh, it was so much better in the old days!’. I don’t think that’s what they’re going for.” For once, my mom is right and she should say it, lol.

I particularly loved how Jade was tied into the flashback. I wasn’t expecting that at all, and I was very pleasantly surprised. If you all haven’t figured it out yet, I really love Jade. She’s one of the very best characters Casualty has at the moment, and she has to be one of my personal favourite fictional characters ever. The more screentime and storylines she gets, the more I enjoy an episode.

Poor, poor Ethan, eh? His life just really, really sucks. His brother was brutally murdered. He has a terminal illness that will eventually rob him of his ability to be a doctor. He’s lost both his biological and adoptive mothers. Now he’s lost the woman he loved, on the day they were supposed to get married. Now he’s been left as a single parent, knowing that, even in the most optimistic scenario, even if his condition can be managed for a long time, he’s still not going to live long enough to see his son become an adult and start a career and have kids. God, that poor man. No wonder he’s having a breakdown.

And now Stevie is about to cause more trouble for him. I like Stevie so far, and find her an interesting character. I am curious about how the storyline with her sister is going to play out. But oof, her arrival sucks for Ethan, given she blames him for what’s happened to Emma. And she’s definitely a very flawed character. (And please, fandom, stop hating on her this soon and let her be flawed. You’re allowed to dislike her, but you can’t deny she’d be getting a lot more interest and sympathy if she were a male character behaving in exactly the same ways. There are plenty of male characters on this show who aren’t very good people but we love them anyway.)

Anyway, speaking of Stevie, we’re all agreed that she’s definitely not straight or neurotypical, right? She just gives off strong sapphic vibes, she’s probably bi. And she hasn’t been around long enough and doesn’t have a defined enough personality yet for me to figure out quite what I think is going on in her brain, but she’s definitely some kind of neurodivergent. My first thought, being me, was autism - I’ve seen other people suggest ADHD or bipolar. I guess we’ll have to see how her character develops, in order to see what fits best.

And Stevie is also polyamorous!!! That one’s canon!!! Okay, the line about her going out with 3 different guys with the same name at once could mean she was cheating on all of them. But I’m taking it to mean she’s polyamorous! And no one can stop me! :D

Uhhh, what else is there to talk about... oh yeah, I like Theodore so far (even if he - and the other paramedic from the trailer - does look about 12, lol), I literally don’t care about Charlie or Robyn or Paul, we got some good Dylan content tonight, and last but not least I have no sympathy for Faith. Sorry not sorry, she treated Lev like shit. I don’t care about how she feels now that he’s dead.

#BBC Casualty #Casualty spoilers

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

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