#so unhelpful and honestly kind of dismissive.

[themetalvirus]

[gothhabiba]

hi i just saw some of ur posts on anti-psychiatry and then kept reading more on ur blog about what it is. for the most part i agree with what you've said about how capitalism uses psychiatry to designate people who are bad/abnormal and how it aligns itself w/ misogyny, racism, and so on. with that said i think i have some similar concerns/questions as another asker about what this means for those who do/would suffer even in a non-capitalist society, even if we didn't ascribe a specific label to X symptoms. if we are opposed to psychiatry, what are the options for people today who are suffering and want help? are you opposed to psychopharmaceuticals and therapy? i dont mean to ask this in a confrontational/accusatory way, i'm just new to this and genuinely curious

There are a few different parts to your question & so there are a few different angles to approach it from—

are you opposed to psychopharmaceuticals and therapy?

If this means "are anti-psych writers and activists opposed to individuals seeking treatment that they personally find helpful," then, no—a couple posts in my psychiatry tag do clarify this.

If it means "are there anti-psych critiques of psychopharmaceuticals and therapy," then, yes. Keep in mind that I'm not a neurobiologist or otherwise an expert on medications marketed as treatments for mental illnesses, but:

The evidence for the effectiveness of SSRIs in particular is sort of non-existent—even many psychiatrists who promote the biomedical model of mental illness doubt their efficacy, and refer to the "chemical imbalance" theory that enforces their usage as "an outmoded way of thinking" or "a kind of urban legend—never a theory seriously propounded by well-informed psychiatrists." But promoting SSRIs (and corresponding "serotonin deficiency" theory of depression, despite the fact that no solid evidence links depression to low serotonin) is very profitable for pharmaceutical companies. Despite the fact that direct-to-consumer advertisements are nominally regulated in the U.S., the FDA doesn't challenge these claims.

Other psychotropic drugs, such as "antipsychotics" or "antianxiety" medication, shouldn't really be called e.g. "antipsychotics" as if they specifically targeted the biological source of psychosis. No biological cause of any specific psychiatric diagnosis has been found (p. 851, section 5.1). In fact, rather than "act[ing] against neurochemical substrates of disorders or symptoms," these medications "produc[e] altered, drug induced states"—but despite the fact that they "produce global alterations in brain functioning," they are marketed as if they had "specific efficacy in reducing psychotic symptoms." Reactions to these medications that don't have to do with psychosis or anxiety (blunted affect, akathisia) are dismissed as "side effects," as though they don't arise from the same global alteration in brain function that produces the "desirable" antianxiety/antipsychotic effect. This doesn't mean "psychiatric medication turns you into a zombie so you shouldn't take it"—it means that these medications should be marketed honestly, as things that alter brain function as a whole, rather than marketed as if they target specific symptoms in a way that they cannot do, in accordance with a biomedical model of mental illness the accuracy of which has never been substantiated.

Psychiatrised people also point out that meds are used as a tool for furthering and maintaining psychiatrists' control: meds that patients are hesitant about or do not want are pushed on them, while patients who desire medication are "drug-seeking" or trying to take on the role of clinician or something and will routinely be denied care. Psychiatrised people who refuse medications are "noncompliant" and prone to psychiatric incarceration, re-incarceration, or continued/lengthened incarceration.

As for therapy: there are critiques of certain therapies (e.g. CBT, DBT) as unhelpful, status-quo-enforcing, forcing compliance, retraumatising &c. There are also critiques of therapy as representing a capitalist outsourcing of emotional closeness and emotional work away from community systems that people largely don't have in place; therapy as existing within a psychiatric system that constrains how therapists, however well-intentioned, are able to behave (e.g. mandatory reporting laws); psychotherapy forced on psychiatrised people as a matter of state control; therapists as being in a dangerous amount of power over psychiatrised people and being hailed as neutral despite the fact that their emotions and politics can and do get in the way of them being helpful. The wealth divide in terms of access to therapy is also commonly talked about; insurance (in the U.S.) or the NHS (in England) may only pay for pre-formulated group workbook types of therapy such as DBT, while more long-form, free-form, relationship-focused talk therapy may only be accessible to those who can pay 100-something an hour for it.

None of these critiques make it unethical or something for someone to get treatment that they find helpful. It's also worth noting that some of these critiques may be coming from "anti-psych" people who criticise the sources of psychiatric power, and some of them may come from people who think of themselves as advocating for reform of some of the most egregious effects of psychiatric power.

if we are opposed to psychiatry, what are the options for people today who are suffering and want help?

This looks like a few different things at a few different levels. At its most narrow and individual, it involves opting out of and resisting calls for psychiatrisation and involuntary institutionalisation of individuals—not calling the cops on people who are acting strange in public, breaking mandatory reporting laws and guidelines where we think them likely to cause harm. It involves sharing information—information about antipsychiatry critiques of psychiatric institutions, advice about how to manage therapists' and psychiatrists' egos, advice about which psychiatrists to avoid—so that people do not blame themselves if they find their encounters with psychiatry unhelpful or traumatising.

At the most broad, it's the same question as the question of how to build dual power and resist the power of capitalism writ large—building communal structures that present meaningful alternatives to psychiatry as an institution. I think there's much to be learned here from prison abolitionists and from popular movements that seek to protect people from deportation. You might also look into R. D. Laing's Kingsley Hall experiment.

what does this mean for those who would suffer even in a non-capitalist society, even if we didn't ascribe a specific label to X symptoms?

It means that people need access to honest, reliable information about what psychotropic medications do, and the right to chuse whether or not to take these medications without the threat of a psychiatrist pulling a lever that immediately restricts or removes their autonomy. It means that people need to be connected to each other in communities with planned, free resources that ensure that everyone, including severely disabled people whom no one particularly likes as individuals, has access to basic resources. It means that people need to be free to make their own choices regarding their minds and their health, even if other people may view those decisions as disastrous. There is simply no defensible way to revoke people's basic autonomy on the basis of "mental illness" (here I'm not talking about e.g. prison abolitionist rehabilitative justice types of things, which must restrict autonomy to be effective).

Also, I've mostly left the idea of who this would actually be untouched, since my central argument ("psychiatry as it currently exists is part of the biomedical arm of capitalism and the state, and the epistemologies it produces and employs and the power it exerts are thus in the service of capitalism and the state") doesn't really rest on delineating who would and wouldn't suffer from whatever mental differences they have regardless of what society they're in. But it's worth mentioning that the category of "people who are going to suffer (to whatever degree) no matter what" may be narrower than some would think—psychosis, for instance, is sometimes experienced very differently by people in societies that don't stigmatise it. I see people objecting to (their interpretations of) antipsych arguments with things along the lines of "well maybe depression and anxiety are caused by capitalism, but I'm schizophrenic so this doesn't apply to me"—as though hallucinations are perforce more physically "real," more "biological," more "extra-cultural" in nature than something like depression. But the point is that positing a specific neurobiological etiology for any psychiatric diagnosis is unsubstantiated, and that capitalist society affects how every "mental illness" is read and experienced (though no one is arguing that e.g. hallucinations wouldn't always exist in some form).

[thepupperino]

Hiiii, Keely! It’s been a while since I’ve found myself in the inbox of my mutuals with a thoughtful question about our boys. However, we’re preparing for the hurricane down this way and I’m looking for something to keep me occupied — like talking to all of my beautiful lovely friends!!

So what I want to discuss today is the love language of our boys. What love language(s) do you think they each excel at and which one(s) do they struggle with the most? Do you think their love language(s) have changed since the beginning? Do you think they still excel or struggle with a certain one(s)?

I would also like to pick your brain on your thoughts of how they protect one another — how they protect one another physically, how they protect one another’s peace, how they protect each other mentally, etc! 🩵

— Much love, Chey

Hi I almost accidentally deleted this instead of answering and my life flashed before my eyes

Anyway THANK YOU for asking this was very fun 😈

So I feel like it’s pretty universally believed that Mickey’s a big acts of service guy, but…can I be honest? I know the man loves a grand gesture, but I think that’s different than acts of service. Honestly the grand gestures almost feel like gift giving to me? Plus I love believing that Mickey grabs a Kind bar for Ian every time he stops at a gas station. I don’t know, especially growing up poor, it changes the way you think about material possessions, and I think he’d want to give everything he can to Ian

I think Mickey probably struggles with words of affirmation—at least receiving it. Like he’s probably more comfortable with it now, but I think for a long time he felt weird about Ian saying nice things to him and was pretty dismissive of any compliments

I 100% believe Ian is a physical touch man—he’s ALWAYS touching Mickey (hand on knee my beloved). I think he just loves being close to him. Plus obviously their sex life has always been…fulfilling and Ian was down bad from the start so I think that plays into it

I also love thinking of him as a words of affirmation guy because I really latch onto the fact that he tested out of English so I KNOW he’s good with words and I know he writes the cutest, sweetest little cards for Mickey on his birthday or their anniversary

Hmm what does Ian struggle with…? Ironically I think he might be a little resistant to gift giving because I think he’s the saver in the relationship, so Mickey keeps getting him these little “I’m thinking of you” gifts and Ian’s like stressing about rent (but also he loves it because that’s his HUSBAND and he’s thinking about him 🥹)

And I don’t know if love languages have changed since the beginning per se, but they’ve obviously both become more comfortable with expressions of love throughout their relationship and I’m having a lot of feelings about that

PROTECTION?! Well physically they will literally kill for each other if push comes to shove I am very confident in that. For some reason I like to think that Ian always tries to walk closer to the road so Mickey won’t get hit if a car swerves or something and Mickey thinks he’s dumb but lets him do it anyway. And Mickey wants to be facing the door on dates and stuff so he can size people up and assess any threats

Protecting each other’s peace I think they’re both willing to be the bad guy if they need an out. Like if Ian just can’t handle being around his family for some reason, Mickey’s like “tell ‘em I’m not in the mood”

MENTALLY I have a lot of feelings 😭 obviously canonically Mickey is great with Ian’s bipolar (we pretend Hall of Shame doesn’t exist) and I think that continues and grows (“I gotta worry, you’re my husband” my beloved). I think he’s VERY aware of potential triggers and warning signs and I think he’s supportive AND gives Ian space when he needs it because he likes his autonomy and independence

I think Mickey has a lot of unresolved trauma and I’m not like his therapist or anything but I’d want to assess for PTSD and generally unhelpful cognitions, and I love the idea that he goes to therapy some day (honestly I’d love if they both did), but I think Ian is really good at holding space for him to share what he’s thinking about AND I think he’s eventually willing to do that

Anyway I hope that answered your questions and PLEASE feel free to send me more, I love thinking about them

[kitkatopinions]

I'm with the people who say that they definitely don't want a second season of the Ever After as-is and I literally was one of the people going "I'll be happy if they're out of this fairy tale land in two episodes" buuuut with that being said, I can't help but feel like almost everything that's been happening so far would be way better if a lot more time could be spent on it instead of rushing through every plot point even faster it feels like than we did with volume 8.

Like, the girls falling, finding each other, actually talking about what happened on screen and with Ruby not passed out, the auction that takes like five minutes in canon, the chess game, them getting confronted with questions about what they are (which needed to be way better and different anyway,) the attack on the market which they barely seemed to try to fight (seriously they had a harder time fighting the Nevermore in the like fourth ep than they had with the enlarged Jabberwalker,) seeing Jaune for the first time, the punderstorm where only Blake and Yang were forced to work through a problem... I feel like all of these things could've been improved if they'd been given more room to breathe and were treated more seriously as opportunities for all the rwby girls to grow.

But specifically since it's the ep that just came out, I'm thinking about the Paper Pleaser town.

Thinking about how the girls showed like no interest in helping the town and instantly dismissed Jaune as unhinged and unreliable and instantly were just like 'oh guess these little paper stars trying to destroy themselves is fine because Ascension was described as a good thing here,' and then instantly it was revealed to Jaune that they didn't think he was reliable (I will point out, I could be wrong since I only watched the ep once, but Ruby seemed pretty not involved in any of that conversation so it feels less 'the girls did all that' and more like 'wby did all that,' but that's just a side note.) And I don't know, I just feel like this would be way better if we got to see Ruby at least acting kind of relieved to leave the work of finding a way out to Jaune while she throws herself into trying to follow the clearly laid out schedule and WBY are kind of being unhelpful (like they have been almost all season,) and Ruby starts acting a bit more frustrated with them, but maybe starts rethinking the things the Cat said and realizing that the Paper Pleasers are acting unhappy which WBY are realizing too, and they could also be noticing that despite Jaune going out every day looking for a solution, he isn't finding one and while one of the girls (Yang or Blake maybe) could start worrying a bit about how Jaune is doing and trying to reach out to him, one of the other girls (Weiss or Blake maybe) could start kind of pushing Ruby about time running out and how they need to find a solution and one of the other girls (Weiss or Yang maybe) could start actually doubting Jaune and getting a bit suspicious and all four of them could hear the Paper Pleasers take on Ascension. And honestly the Cat could show up again and talk to Ruby and she could get 'answers' out of it concerning ascension and more details about Alyx but still not be sure who to trust and grapple with the emotions of never knowing who to trust anymore and how her friends rely on her and tbh maybe she goes to tell her team about talking to the Cat but they react badly so she keeps it to herself (hello Oz parallels.) Then Jaune could overhear the girls talking about whether or not he's right about ascension or if Ruby should be the one actually looking for a way out because he doesn't seem to be doing much, and then that could actually turn into a real conversation where it's put on Ruby again to find a solution and fix things and talk to Jaune and find a way out and should they try and find the Cat again and what does Ruby think about Alyx and Lewis and how much should they be taking the book into account - but before Ruby can do much more than say 'I don't know' Neo's Jabberwalkers show up.

It could be so much better if we had time to actually TRY and figure things out. If we got more information about Ascension - what happened to the Caterpillar, if the Red King got worse what does that mean, how does the Ever After even work - then it wouldn't feel as questionable or confusing when the Afterans all destroy themselves in their effort to ascend. If the girls (Ruby particularly) did let Jaune try to find a way out for a bit before starting to question his reliability, they wouldn't look like jackwagons who don't want to do tasks they consider menial (WBY particularly.) If the girls had gotten to know the Paper Pleasers a bit more, they'd feel more justified in accepting their words over Jaune's (even though he does seem biased to me.) If at least one of them had tried to reach out to Jaune about his mental health, they'd feel a little less judgmental. If Ruby had tried to find answers and listen to different perspectives, it'd feel like good solid growth to me of her not just accepting anyone's words at random, but instead struggling because she doesn't know what the truth is. If Ruby was given good reason to think that Ascension was better than Jaune makes it out to be it'd make more sense and be less dismissive of her to take a jab at his 'mourning' (though don't get me wrong it'd still be harsh heroes can be flawed.) If Ruby had been shown to be relieved to hand the reins of leadership and responsibility over to someone else only to have her team continue to act like she has to make every choice and must come up with every solution, it would feel a bit more reasonable when she says her 'why are you asking me' piece (although I'll say that I think it would've been better if instead of saying 'why do I have to be the leader' she said 'we're supposed to be a team' because imo Ruby hasn't exactly been open to others outside RWBYJNOR leading and has made a lot of choices that put her where she is but her team has been 100% over-relying on her in very unfair ways.)

Idk, I just feel like some of this stuff needs more time, it can't all be one thing after another all the time in your face. There could be so much more depth to this show if they gave things the proper amount of focus and let their audience sit with things. Idk, maybe they know that the majority of their fandom myself included will just write metas and fanfics that do all that for them so they don't have to actually do more than Thor Ragnarok in terms of depth and emotion.

[centaurianthropology]

Classic Who Rewatch: An Unearthly Child and a Rocky Beginning

In order to dig into Doctor Who, particularly classic Who, it’s important to actually discuss what it was originally intended to be rather than what it later became.  Premiering in 1963, the show was designed to be semi-educational, particularly about history, while still being entertaining.  Its ideas of education were … interesting, and often feel very dated.  Because the era of the First Doctor hewed most closely to this original concept, it suffers the most from feeling extremely dated.  The concepts of ‘civilized’ vs ‘uncivilized’ people gets brought up often, and this is not exactly a show that was originally progressive in its depiction of minorities or other cultures.

Because of this, the William Hartnell era can often be fairly difficult to watch.  Add in the writing which tends to be dry and heavily expository, and some grand old bad Shakespeare acting, and it’s easily the most difficult era of Doctor Who to get through for a modern viewer.  Even by the Second Doctor things feel infinitely more kind, more modern, and less painfully outdated.  

It’s clear that the show doesn’t quite know what it wants to be during these early days, but some concepts are established that remain true throughout the entirety of classic Who.  The Doctor is there, though not quite the rather inspiring, mischevous, dangerous and kind character he will be even by his second incarnation.  He also comes complete with companions, though they too will undergo something of a revolution from very unwilling sort-of-kidnapped humans to best friends.  

The structure of the show, however, does not change at all.  Classic ‘Doctor Who’ functions as serial storytelling rather than episodic, with multiple half-hour episodes coming together to tell a longer story.  I honestly like the format, as it allows for more in-depth storytelling.  The shortest adventure is about 2 episodes, and the longest (hello ‘War Games’) is 10. Most are about 4 episodes long, or about 2 hours.  For the good adventures, it gives the story time to breathe and really go in-depth.  For the less amazing adventures, that means a lot of padding and unneccessary bits to fill out the time.

‘An Unearthly Child’ exemplifies some of the less amazing parts of the Hartnell era, from a selfish and deeply unhelpful Doctor to some incredibly iffy writing after the initial, solid episode.  

The story begins fairly well, with the first episode setting up a mystery: history teacher Barbara Wright and science teacher Ian Chesterton are lamenting their oddball problem student, Susan Foreman, a fifteen-year-old genius who could teach Ian’s classes, constantly contradicts Barbara, and seems to know certain things perfectly while not knowing other things like how money works. She’s eerie, friendly but very strange. And Barbara is worried that she might be homeless or being mistreated by her mysterious grandfather.  Barbara went to her address, hoping to talk to her about her homework, but found that Susan’s claimed address was a junkyard.  Following her leads, the two of them return to the junkyard to find an old blue police box and an old man.  This old man seems superior and dismissive of them and their concerns about Susan’s wellbeing, which eventually leads to Ian and Barbara breaking into the box when Susan herself opens it to discover what’s taking her grandfather so long to rejoin her.

And so we get our first view of the TARDIS.  Even at this early in the run of the show it has an alien beauty to it, played up in its stark whiteness that really stands out in the black-and-white presentation.  Susan and her grandfather reveal that they’re alien (the term Time Lord has not yet been invented), and it’s almost impressive how insistent Barbara is that Susan is making up the space she’s standing directly in.  Ian, meanwhile, doesn’t so much deny what’s happening as have a nervous breakdown over it.

The Doctor, for the old man is the Doctor, joins them and decides that they���ve stayed too long on Earth and that it was a mistake to let Susan go and attend school.  He’s paranoid, and it’s unclear if he has good reason or not.  He does reveal that he and Susan are outcasts of their home planet, unable to return home, though it seems that at this point the Doctor very much wishes to go home.  He seems regretful that he decided to run away, and confused about how to raise a child as young as his granddaughter, who he loves but very clearly doesn’t understand.  It was she who insisted on going to school and trying to blend in.  He seems much more interested in hiding and avoiding humanity and interfering as much as possible.  

There are so many questions at this point: what are these aliens, for they are aliens, and where do they come from?  Why can’t they go back when it’s clear that they’ve hit a point they want to.  The Doctor does not seem interested in adventure or discovery, although his natural curiosity does tend to get piqued and he’ll wander off to explore, so not all of his drive to learn and understand has been destroyed at this point in his obviously long first life.  

But mostly he’s afraid.  He and Susan are running, and Ian and Barbara are risks to their safety, so he decides to kidnap these two schoolteachers rather than let them go tell ... someone ... about a blue box that’s bigger on the inside.  This early Doctor is not yet the genius he will be in later incarnations.  He honestly seems human, not any brighter than Barbara or Ian, except he has access to and an understanding of the TARDIS.  But his conclusions and decisions often seem deeply ill advised.

So Ian and Barbara become the first human companions in the TARDIS, entirely unwillingly.  The ship takes off, it’s obvious the Doctor is terrible at controlling it, and they land … somewhere.

It’s honestly a good first episode.  It sets up a lot of mystery, makes Ian and Barbara ordinary contrasts to the obvious strangeness of the Doctor and Susan.  The lead cast is solid across the board, though I think that special props in this episode go to Carole Ann Ford as Susan, who gets a real chance to show how inhuman she is, while still being recognizably a child and both desperate to please and fascinated by the world around her.  Ian and Barbara are both played very well, though they’re given less to do, and this is one of William Hartnell’s best performances in the show.  He’s particularly good when highlighting his wonder and reverence of being ‘wanderers in the Fourth Dimension’, and gives the same alien vibe that Susan does with great aplomb.

And then comes the rest of the adventure.  Oof.

After they leave, there are several episodes about cavemen.  I have watched this adventure multiple times and I still can’t tell you what the plot was for this bunch of episodes, except it has to do with fire, and its mysogynistic as shit (this will unfortunately be a recurring theme in Hartnell’s episodes especially.  It gets better in Troughton’s episodes, and even better by Pertwee’s).  

But yeah, there’s a whole thing about cavemen, and it’s bad.  The writing is stilted in the way only 1960s tv writing could be, half-bad-Shakespeare-knockoff, half-ham-handed-exposition.  Think the worst of the TOS Star Trek episodes.  It’s tough to get through between the bad caveman acting and the constant screaming of Susan and Barbara, who had a lot of their cleverness and level-headedness promptly stripped away (this is another recurring problem in early Who that most female companions promptly get screamy).  Ian acquits himself a bit better than the rest, and the Doctor doesn’t have much to do at all.

Honestly, most of the adventure is a complete mess.  Not a good start at all.  The very first episode is a solid foundation, but as soon as the party starts traveling it gets awkward fast.  The actors are trying to carry the ball of a simply bad script.  The Doctor in these early episodes is fairly insufferable, mostly wanting to be left alone and to not interfere and definitely not interested in saving people.  It’s a good character arc for him to grow into someone more compassionate and willing to risk himself to save others, but it’s one that was inevitably going to have a rocky start.  Add that to a weak first adventure and it’s almost a wonder that the show survived.

But survive it did.  And there are glimmers of why.  When Hartnell decides to play up the mystery and power of the Doctor, when he talks about traveling in time and their homeworld, he really is wonderful.  Both he and Susan do feel alien, particularly in the first episode.  Ian and Barbara, as unwilling as they are, are both given moments to be clever and resourceful, and the actors, William Russell and Jacqueline Hill, have very good chemistry and play off one another well.  William Russell especially is good at naturalistic acting, and brings out quite a lot of good in his scene partners.  But the writing was bad, the cavemen were terrible, and I am amazed that this pilot ended up becoming the media juggernaut that it did.

As I said at the beginning, ‘Doctor Who’ had a rough start.  There are good reasons to start with the Pertwee era rather than Hartnell, but there is still some gold to be mined here.  It’s just that we have to dig through a fair amount of shit to find it.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Two Sides of The Same Coin - Chapter 3: "Ready For It?"

"Let the games begin..."

“Face it, Bucky." Sam smugly smiles. "You’ve met your match.”

And with Sam’s words ringing in his ears, for the next two months, Bucky spends every single moment he's with you and Sam trying to prove Sam wrong. Trying to prove that throughout all the missions, all the triumphs, and times you’ve saved each other’s lives, that he’s not attached.

Every mission he keeps his distance, pretending he’s not looking at you. When you do catch him looking, all you see is a scowl. And still you only offer him a kind smile in return. It only annoys him that much more.

And yet, he can’t bring himself to tell Sam he’s done sneaking off the compound for these secret missions.

Tonight is a special kind of mission, at least according to Sam. All he told Bucky was that he needed to wear something a little nicer than normal. 

“Is she going to wear her lucky yellow shirt again?” Bucky sneers, sitting on the couch as the two of them wait for you to leave your room. Both Sam and Bucky are dressed in their nightclub appropriate attire with the plan of attack for the evening already prepared. 

“Don’t worry, I got her something appropriate.”

“You went shopping?” Bucky snickers.

Sam rolls his eyes. “No, I asked Nat to borrow something.”

“I thought they didn’t know about her.”

“They don’t. Unless you told someone something?” Sam probes.

“I haven’t said a word.”

Sam stops for a moment, confusion appearing on his expression. “Now that I think about it, I don’t know what’s worse: that I had to ask Nat for a dress without telling her what for or the fact that she didn’t even question it.”

“It’s Nat, she probably knows,” Bucky reconciles.

“I don’t know,” Sam mutters. “Fury was pretty top-secret about this whole thing.”

“Speaking of, when are you going to introduce her? I don’t want the team to think we’re friends or anything.”

“The words you say hurt. They hurt, Bucky,” Sam remarks, clutching his chest.

Now Bucky's the one rolling his eyes to dismiss Sam. “Yeah, whatever, anytime soon?”

“I’m not sure. Soon, but not too soon.”

“That couldn’t have been more unhelpful.”

“I’m sorry, do you have a handbook on how to properly integrate a person who didn’t get to see the light of day for the entirety of her life?” Sam sarcastically asks. 

Bucky pauses for a moment, a little shocked at Sam’s slip up. That’s more information than he’s gotten out of either of you in the last two months. He wants more than anything to just outright ask, but he stops himself, not wanting to give Sam any more reason to think that he’s all that interested, so instead he says, “Steve and I did it well enough.”

“That’s not the same and you know it,” Sam points out, his tone becoming slightly more defensive.

“How is it not the same?”

“You both got a ‘before’, she doesn’t have that, no frame of reference, no family, no childhood, nothing.”

“You make it sound like Steve and I are lucky.”

“I’m not going to compare and contrast trauma. I’m just stating facts,” Sam shrugs. “Can you stop being so hostile and just admit that she’s wearing you down?”

“Wearing me down? Sam, honestly,” Bucky scoffs, side-eyeing Sam.

“Fine, don’t admit it, but I know there’s a reason you’re hard on her. You wouldn’t be if you didn’t care.”

“Let me get this straight, first you think that we’re ‘two sides of the same coin’, that I somehow became attached to her after one mission, and now you think that I’m hard on her because I care? Do you ever think that maybe, I don’t know, she bothers me?”

“Deny it then. Say it. Say that you don’t care.”

“I-” But he stops, the lie tasting foul in his mouth, his traitorous brain refusing to form the words.

“That’s what I thought,” Sam huffs triumphantly.

“Shut up. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” Sam says, his voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“Sam,” you call from your room, interrupting their conversation. “Is the person you borrowed this dress from shorter than me or something?”

“No,” he calls, still eyeing Bucky. “Why?”

“It’s just a little shorter than I’m used to. That’s all.”

“How short?”

“Uh…short.”

“Nat’s not taller than her, right?” Sam whispers to Bucky. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t know.”

“Put your arms to your side," Sam instructs you. "Does it pass your fingertips?”

“Yes,” you respond.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sam replies.

“Alright!”

The two men stand as they hear your door open. Even with his enhanced hearing, Bucky doesn’t hear you as you make your way down the hall to the living room. But he is the first one that sees you as you round the corner. You’re wearing a simple little black dress paired with some flats. You’d spent quite some time watching tutorials online to fix your hair along with some simple makeup, and it was safe to say that you’d completely impressed both men.

“Wow,” Sam exclaims. “You look…”

“Gorgeous,” Bucky quietly finishes for him.

“What?” you ask, not quite hearing him.

Bucky clears his throat. “I said, you look fine.”

“Oh,” you slightly frown. “Thank you.”

“You are so rude,” Sam quietly scolds him.

“Can we just go?” Bucky groans.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “I’m very excited, I’ve never been in a nightclub before.”

“Do you need us to walk you through the plan again?” Sam asks.

“No,” you sigh, pulling on your jacket. “You got a tip about a bad guy wanting to buy something from another bad guy. We’re going to stop them. You’re going after bad guy 1 and James is going after bad guy 2, I’m the backup. As always.”

“You're not always the back up,” Sam corrects. “Besides, tonight should be an easy night."

"You know whenever you say that it never turns out to be an easy night," Bucky points out.

Sam continues, acting as if he hadn't heard Bucky, "And don’t drink anything anyone hands you, anything you didn’t see poured- you know what, just don’t drink anything at all.”

“And don’t drink anything,” you repeat, playfully rolling your eyes.

“Then let’s go.”

And then you all found yourself in your positions inside the nightclub, Bucky inside, Sam in the back, hoping to intercept the vials, and you at the edge of the dance floor- the backup that they didn't need. Sam was right, you weren't always the backup, but Bucky was always looking for ways to push you out of missions. You were never the first one in, you never went alone, in fact, he always made up some excuse about why you weren't allowed to do anything, even if it meant that he had to do way more work to compensate.

“They’re both here. It’s too late, deal’s probably done,” Sam announces over the comms. You sigh still standing awkwardly as the music thumped in the club, drunk people dancing all around you. 

“Shit,” Bucky hisses.

You turn around to leave when you catch a familiar face in the corner of your eye and do a double take, and lo and behold, the buyer was still at the club. You take a few steps closer to the section, squinting and craning your neck to make sure that it was the same man as the one in the pictures Sam showed you earlier. Even over the dark atmosphere and flashing lights, you're sure it's him. “Guys, bad guy #2- eh, the buyer he’s still here. What do I do?”

“Walk away,” Bucky orders.

“But if he's here, then that means the vials might still be here. I can stall him and you two can go and get the vials back.”

“And what about you?” Bucky snarls.

“I can take care of myself, James,” you insist.

“Get out of there. Right now,” Bucky seethes.

“Too late,” you quip, smiling at the man and padding over to the booth where he was sitting with quite a few other woman.

“Sam…” Bucky warns. 

“Bucky’s right. Get out of there.” But all their warnings go unanswered, until they hear a faint male voice in the background of your comms.

"Hi." They hear you greet the man.

“Damn it. Do you have eyes on her?” Bucky asks, frantically making his way over to where he'd left you. 

“No, you go find her. I’m going around the building, maybe we’ll catch a lucky break.”

When he finally gets a visual on you, it drives him absolutely insane. You’re leaning into the sleazy man, trying to laugh off just how uncomfortably forward he’s being. The glass shatters in Bucky’s hand when he sees the man lay his hand a little too high up on your thigh.

“Stop clenching your jaw, Bucky, you’ll break your teeth,” Sam chuckles, though they can’t see each other from their respective positions, Sam can picture the face Bucky’s making right now: his eyes narrowed, a deep scowl, the muscle in his jaw twitching, not to mention the fact that he heard the glass Bucky shattered in his hand. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Bucky grits, ignoring the way the people around him are staring at him.

“I got the briefcase, we should get out of here before they notice.”

The man’s grip on your thigh tightens as Sam speaks, “A SHIELD agent, right under my nose.”

You chuckle uncomfortably. “Me? SHIELD?”

“How many are here? There’s the man in the leather jacket that hasn’t taken his eyes off you, your boyfriend perhaps?” he whispers in your ear. 

“He’s noticed,” Bucky snarls, storming through the dance floor to get to you.

“Uh, I have to go,” you awkwardly state. 

The man’s hand wraps around your wrist, his vice-like grip tightening even more. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Oh! Look over there,” you exclaim, pointing with your other hand in the other direction.

“Do you honestly think that would work?” the man sneers, flexing his grip around your wrist again. 

“Um…ow,” you enunciate, eyes flickering to the his grip on your wrist.

“Oh my God,” one of the other patrons in the booth exclaimed. “Fire! Fire!”

Bad Guy #2 finally looks over, releasing your wrist in shock. You’d meant it to be a small fire, nothing major, but apparently Sam was onto something when he told you to limit the use of your powers in public.

Because apparently those gaudy drapes behind the booth were very flammable.

You bolt the second the attention isn’t on you anymore, right into a furious Bucky. He glowers at you, but wastes no time in grabbing your other arm and dragging you out of the club. He holds on tightly as the fire alarms go off and the unruly crowds begin to scurry out of the club.

It isn’t until you’re out of the club, reunited with Sam that you wrench your arm out of Bucky’s grip. The three of you stand far enough away from the club that you’re no longer in sight, but close enough to watch the absolute chaos that you caused. “Can you stop treating me like I’m a baby? I can take care of myself. Sam, can you please tell him that I was fine?”

“Really?” Bucky scoffs, eyes wild with anger. You'd actually never seen Bucky like this- normally his anger was cold, distant. At it's worst, some snarky remarks and criticism, but he'd never had this emotional, fiery rage-filled look in his eye. “Because it looked like you were about 30 seconds about getting thrown into the back of that guy’s car, never to be seen again.”

“I had it under control,” you seethe, taking another step toward Bucky- this time refusing to back down and deescalate the situation. 

“Maybe if you weren’t too busy flirting with the guy, you’d have seen that you didn’t!”

“I wasn’t flirting, I was being nice! And we got the stupid vials, didn’t we?”

“What the hell are you trying to prove, huh?” he glowers. 

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” you fume.

“Didn’t seem like that to me! Seems like you’re so interested in playing the hero that you’re willing to recklessly endanger your own life.”

“I was doing what either one of you would have done,” you snap, finally fed up with the way Bucky had been treating you.

“Sam?” Bucky urges.

“Oh, are you two done?” Sam absently asks. “It’s not like we have a mission to finish or anything.”

“You really have nothing to say?” Bucky growls.

“Yes, I do actually: Pot meet kettle,” Sam remarks, gesturing between the two of you. 

“That’s not funny,” Bucky snarks.

“I’m not laughing. You two can fight it out all you want- tomorrow. But I’m tired and the stupid briefcase still needs to be dropped off.”

So the three of you get in the car, the tension palpable as you drive the drop-off location. 

“You two stay,” Sam orders as he steps out of the car. “And don’t kill each other.”

“I had it under control,” you murmur, staring out the window of the front passenger seat. “It was fine. And we got the vials back anyway.”

“At what cost?” Bucky grumbles, noting the way you're clutching your clearly injured wrist. “What cost are you willing to pay for one insignificant mission?”

“Why do you even care?” you quietly counter, still staring out the window.

“What?” Bucky asks, slightly dumbfounded.

“Why do you care so much?” you repeat. “I don't know what I did to make you hate me so much, but I do I know what you think of me, James. I’m not dumb, I know you don’t want me around. And as much as I don’t like that, I try to respect it.”

"I don't hate you."

"You certainly don't like me," you quietly chuckle.

"I'm just not a people person."

"I know. And that's why I try to give you your space, I'm not trying to force you to be my friend."

"You want to be my friend?"

You chortle, finally turning to look at Bucky who’s sitting in the backseat. “Of course I do. I like you, I trust you.”

“You do?” he asks lamely. It didn't make sense, he hadn't made a single attempt to be nice, even cordial to you and you still trusted him. You still wanted to be his friend- it didn't make sense to him. “But I’ve been asshole this entire time.”

“You have," you agree. "So why don't we start over... Friends?” 

“Friends,” he begrudgingly replies. “I guess.”

Previous Chapter ⏐ Next Chapter

"Two Sides Of The Same Coin" Chapter List AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

[robininthelabyrinth]

A prompt for you (though honestly I'll read anything you write because it is always excellent): Wen Ning never dies, but somehow still ends up becoming Wei Wuxian's most feared subordinate...

ao3

Untamed

“Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Cheng said, hurrying after the other man, who stopped and turned with a welcoming expression on his face even though Jiang Cheng knew he was in a hurry after everything they’d just planned. After Nie Mingjue had volunteered to go into the Nightless City himself, a reckless charge to try to kill Wen Ruohan, while the rest of them attacked directly - a final strike, if they could only manage it. “I just…”

He trailed off, unable to complete the sentence.

He didn’t even know what he was doing here.

Nie Mingjue didn’t call him out on it, though, only stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your support,” he said, voice a little gentler than usual. Like he was trying to comfort Jiang Cheng or something.

Like he wasn’t the one volunteering to go die.

(Just like Jiang Cheng’s mother, and father, and - )

Oh. That’s why he came here.

“I’ll be there,” Jiang Cheng said suddenly, and Nie Mingjue blinked. “At – at the Nightless City. After you kill him, after we take the city…I’ll come find you, to make sure you’re all right.”

That was stupid, he thought to himself as soon as he said it. Nie Mingjue had an entire sect, and friends, and all that – he didn’t need Jiang Cheng hounding him with his insecurities, his worries, his fear that Nie Mingjue would die, too, die and leave him behind just like all the others. Why should he be the exception?

But Nie Mingjue smiled. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed and nodded. “It’s a deal, then,” he said, and watched as Nie Mingjue strode away.

He promised himself that he’d do as he said he would.

Even if all he found was Nie Mingjue’s corpse.

-

It ended up not being Nie Mingjue who killed Wen Ruohan, but rather a combination of Wei Wuxian’s new cultivation style and Meng Yao, who’d apparently been working as a double agent or – something.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t really clear on the details.

He rushed over to Wei Wuxian’s side at once, checking him over as best as he could, yelling at him over…he wasn’t even sure what, it wasn’t really important. Recklessness, probably. Wei Wuxian seemed to understand what he meant, though, grinning at him with bloodless lips.

“You worry too much,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep for – a week. Maybe more. Let’s go back to camp, and I’ll do just that.”

Jiang Cheng was about to agree when he remembered his promise.

(Nie Mingjue hadn’t been there at the final fight, although Wen Ruohan hadn’t been at his full power, either. Had he sacrificed himself to wear down their enemy?)

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked, noticing.

“Chifeng-zun,” Jiang Cheng said. “I didn’t – see him.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “You think…? Oh, poor Nie Huaisang..!”

Jiang Cheng wondered for a moment why Wei Wuxian’s first thought was of Nie Huaisang, then remembered that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been there for all those months of working as Nie Mingjue’s lieutenants, him and Lan Wangji and even Jin Zixuan. He wouldn’t have that personal connection with the man, beyond the brief meeting they’d had with him before the indoctrination camp - he wouldn’t have experience with his reliable competence and his talented leadership, his compassion or the gruff praise that he gave sparingly but sincerely and which made Jiang Cheng feel for once in his life like he was every bit as good as Wei Wuxian.

“I want to…” He was going to sound dumb. No, he was a sect leader, as Nie Mingjue often (gently) reminded him; he had to decide for himself what he was going to do, and have faith that his decisions were the right ones - and act accordingly. “We’re not leaving yet. We’re going to go further in, see if we can find him. Do you think you can hold up a little longer?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said, straightening up. “I’ll be fine for a while yet. Let’s go.”

“You’ll tell me if you –”

“Yes, Jiang Cheng. Stop nagging. Now are we going or not?”

-

Unexpectedly, Nie Mingjue was alive.

Alive, and also extremely pissed off.

“I’ll take him back,” Jiang Cheng said to Lan Xichen, who looked relieved: he was protecting Meng Yao from Nie Mingjue for some reason. “Better to go separately.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen said.

Jiang Cheng saluted and went over to Nie Mingjue, who was leaning on Wei Wuxian – a case of the injured helping the injured, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, and he glared at his disciples until they ran over to assist them both.

Wei Wuxian was frowning, he noted. “What is it?” he asked, and Wei Wuxian shook his head, refusing to talk and inclining his head meaningfully down towards Nie Mingjue, who looked more tired than anything else. Exhausted, injured, even half-dead…“We should go.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue croaked. “There are probably – prisoners.”

“It can wait until we’re back at camp, surely?” Jiang Cheng asked. “We lost a lot of people in that battle. We could get reinforcements, then come back and do a full sweep when we’re less exhausted.”

“They might be injured, though,” Wei Wuxian put in, though he looked tired, too. “It’d be a pity for any person to die in Wen Ruohan’s custody right after we finally defeated him.”

It was a good point, Jiang Cheng thought, and although he was pretty exhausted himself, he forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go sweep the place, look for prisoners. But you two are going straight back to camp, okay? No exceptions, no heroism, nothing! If I get back and I hear that you two took a left turn and fell face-first off a cliff into a pile of magma because you thought there was a baby bird that needed rescuing, I will personally resurrect and stab you both!”

Both Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian were grinning at him in a suspiciously indulgent (and almost identical) sort of way, Jiang Cheng noticed, but they also agreed solemnly to make no detours, not even if it was the most heartrending of baby birds, and Jiang Cheng supposed he had to be happy with that.

They staggered off together as he turned to go further in, and as he did, he thought he heard Wei Wuxian say, “Tell me more about what Meng Yao said to you –”

-

“Sect Leader Jiang!” one of Jiang Cheng’s subordinates said, rushing over and saluting. “I found another cell!”

Jiang Cheng ran his hand over his eyes, wanting nothing more but to sleep. “Show me where,” he ordered instead.

He’d already dispatched one of his disciples to act as a runner to Lan Xichen, asking for him to send more disciples from his Lan sect and the Nie sect (which he’d been helping coordinate in Nie Mingjue’s absence) to help get all the prisoners out – there were so many of them, and many of them were, as predicted, in poor health. He would’ve preferred to ask someone else, since the Lan and Nie sects had suffered as many injuries as his Jiang sect, but the small sects were focused on themselves right now and the Jin sect…well, they’d done so little in the war up till now that he’d almost forgotten that they were an option until one of his subordinates had suggested them, and then he’d dismissed the suggestion, too.

If the Jin sect were here, he thought ungraciously, they were probably busy trying to find the treasury.

At least the Lan and Nie sects had managed to confiscate the Yin metal first.

At some point, they’d have to find a way to destroy it…

Distracted by thoughts of politics, Jiang Cheng followed his subordinate down a twisting hallway to yet another set of cells, dark and dank but not quite as close to the place where the Yin metal had been used to refine ghost puppets, and there were men and women chained to the wall here. Unrecognizable, most of them, beaten and starved. They were probably the scions of small cultivation clans…

“Wen Ning?” he blurted out, surprised to recognize the kind-looking face of one of them. To barely recognize: Wen Ning had circles under his eyes, bruises on his face, and his usually round cheeks were thin. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s been here for weeks and weeks,” one of the other prisoners said at once. “He’s not – one of those Wens.”

Wen Ning could still blush, Jiang Cheng noticed, and as much as he would have said he hated all those surnamed Wen – well, that wasn’t quite true, was it? Wen Ning had been there with Wen Qing, when they’d helped them. Jiang Cheng had rescued and released her, giving her that comb as a keepsake…it would be manifestly unjust to make the exception for one and not the other.

His disciples were looking at him.

“What are you waiting for?” Jiang Cheng snapped at them. “He’s a prisoner, he’s hurt. Treat him as you would any of the other prisoners we’ve rescued.”

That would be his story, he thought, if anyone later came knocking at his door to ask what he was thinking, letting a Wen go free.

-

Maybe it was his fault, Jiang Cheng reflected. He shouldn’t have thought ‘go free’.

Go free implied that Wen Ning would go somewhere else, rather than following him and Wei Wuxian around like an imprinted puppy. It only got worse when Wei Wuxian spontaneously declared that he would help him find Wen Qing to make sure she was safe – without asking Jiang Cheng first, which was unhelpful.

“We can’t be seen as being partial to the Wen sect,” he groaned, head in hands. “Not even the distant branches, but much less someone adopted by Sect Leader Wen himself…no offense meant, Wen Ning.”

“None taken,” Wen Ning said.

“But they helped us,” Wei Wuxian argued, clearly choosing to take the offense on Wen Ning’s part. “It would be unjust for us to turn on them now, when we have the power and they don’t, when they took risks on our behalf in the past.”

Jiang Cheng squinted at him. “Is this related to your weird thing about Lianfeng-zun?” he asked. Wei Wuxian had taken a firm stance against the man recently, and had spoken of it incessantly.

“No! Or, I mean – I would’ve done it anyway, okay? Listen, I really don’t like that guy.”

“No,” Jiang Cheng gasped dramatically. “You, Wei Wuxian, don’t like Lianfeng-zun? Wen Ning, did you hear that? Can you believe it?”

Wen Ning was hiding his face behind his sleeve – a Jiang sect outfit, one of Jiang Cheng’s own spares, since that was what they had, but the dark purple suited him rather well. Better than the red ever had.

His shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“Traitor,” Wei Wuxian told him.

“Sorry, Wei-gongzi!” Wen Ning giggled.

(Jiang Cheng did not think that Wen Ning was cute when he laughed, nor did he wish to see it happen again, to be the cause of it again. He was the leader of a sect, with an obligation to have heirs to carry on his parents’ legacy – he could think Wen Qing was pretty, even if she wasn’t exactly an advantageous match, but he was not allowed to think the same about Wen Ning.)

Wei Wuxian sighed and flopped down. “His conduct is questionable,” he grumbled. “Lan Zhan agrees with me…Anyway, why are we talking about Lianfeng-zun again? I thought we were talking about finding Wen Qing, and the rest of Wen Ning’s family?”

Jiang Cheng groaned again. “I can try to raise it at the meeting in Lanling,” he said, even though they’d all agreed that it made the most sense for the Jin sect to be the ones to resettle any prisoners of war, mostly on account of them having the money, the manpower, and the time, being the only sect that didn’t have significant work to do rebuilding after Wen sect aggression. “Provided you behave. Okay?”

-

Wei Wuxian, predictably, did not behave.

“Sect Leader Jiang?” Nie Mingjue unexpectedly said from the doorway to the room Jiang Cheng was staying in, and Jiang Cheng spun to stare at him in horror that someone was seeing him in this state. The other sect leader stepped inside, ignoring the mess of things on the floor from Jiang Cheng’s temper tantrum, and closed the door behind him. “Are you all right?”

Jiang Cheng opened his mouth to say something – something confident and self-assured, something that would help brush away Wei Wuxian’s atrocious behavior and his own as nothing to worry about, something befitting the sect leader of the Jiang sect – but the words stuck in his throat and, instead, to his absolute disgust, he burst into tears.

He expected Nie Mingjue to make a hasty exit at that point, appalled by the rampant display of emotionality, and that he’d have to apologize later for disgracing himself in such a fashion. That had been the way it had always gone with his parents, his father who hated sadness and his mother who hated weakness, and so he wasn’t expecting it at all when Nie Mingjue stepped forward and pulled him into his arms. Into a hug.

It was terrible: there was absolutely no way Jiang Cheng would be able to get ahold of himself now that he was feeling warm and protected and like someone gave one single damn about him.

Nie Mingjue didn’t let go of him, not even when he tearfully apologized for making a display – “It’s not wrong to have feelings, Jiang Wanyin, and it’s not harming me to be here while you let them out.” – or even when, in broken unfinished unpolitical sentences, Jiang Cheng started stuttering his way through…he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

Possibly a rendition of all the bitterness and resentment he’d ever had in his life.

When it was done, after he’d wept all the tears he’d hidden inside of him, Nie Mingjue said only: “Feeling better?”

Jiang Cheng swiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “…yes,” he said, realizing that he did. “I’m sorry –”

“Do not apologize for having emotions like any other human being. Or for being a burden on me, which you are not.”

Jiang Cheng wished it didn’t feel so good when Nie Mingjue – stiff, stern, harsh Nie Mingjue, who rarely said kind words and never said anything just for the sake of saying it – said things like that. It would make it far easier to keep his dignity intact.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, instead. “It wasn’t to hear me talk about Wei Wuxian.”

At least, not the lifelong story of how Jiang Cheng had always been second to him even before he’d shown up – how his birthday was only a few days later, his skill a little bit less, his temperament inferior, his life inferior; how Jiang Cheng could ignore all of that if only Wei Wuxian were his brother the way he was his, the way he’d promised to be, and yet more and more nowadays it felt as if it were slipping out of reach.

“It was,” Nie Mingjue said. “He’s been coming around rather a lot to discuss Lianfeng-zun. It was his vehemence on the issue that reassured me that I wasn’t overreacting to the unnecessary death of my sect cultivators at Lianfeng-zun’s hands –”

The what?

Maybe Jiang Cheng should have listed a bit more when Wei Wuxian started ranting about how untrustworthy he thought Lianfeng-zun was.

“– and you have always had the strongest confidence in his sense of righteousness, even after he switched over to using demonic cultivation. Based on that, I thought there might be some reason behind his actions.”

Wei Wuxian’s actions: kidnapping an entire cohort of Wen sect cultivators from a Jin sect resettlement camp, assaulting several guards, running away, bringing shame on the Jiang sect by association…

“If I knew anything, I would tell you,” Jiang Cheng said bitterly. “But that would require Wei Wuxian telling me. Anything. At all.”

Nie Mingjue nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think he acted maliciously?”

“What? No,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “Of course not.”

“Do you think his thinking was affected by his demonic cultivation?”

“I almost wish it was, but no. He’s always been – like this. Reckless and over-confident, never thinking of consequences.”

“So you still have faith in him?”

“Of course!”

“That’s good enough for me,” Nie Mingjue said, as if Jiang Cheng hadn’t spent half a shichen crying on his shoulder about how all of his problems and how he couldn’t do anything right. “Let’s go ask him.”

“What, now?”

“Are you doing anything else?”

-

Fair was fair, but politics were politics: “If you’d gone about it the right way, perhaps the Jin sect wouldn’t have a claim,” Nie Mingjue said, pacing around the Burial Mounds with a scowl. “But as it stands now, it’s your word against theirs – and yours will be considered impaired on account of your demonic cultivation.”

“What about the testimony of the victims?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Wen sect,” Jiang Cheng put in, and shrugged when Wei Wuxian glared at him. “It’s true! Like it or not, their surname is Wen, and for Wen Qing and Wen Ning in particular, they were Sect Leader Wen’s wards.”

“It was not our choice,” Wen Qing said. Her voice was cold, and she’d tried to return the comb to him, earlier, though he’d refused – why he refused he didn’t know, since her decision to approach Wei Wuxian to seek help in rescuing the rest of her family rather than him had cut off any hope of anything between them. Even if she eventually understood his perspective, or even apologized for judging him unfit or unwilling to help her, he didn’t think he could live the rest of his life with a woman who had picked Wei Wuxian first.

“That isn’t what’s important, though,” Wen Ning said unexpectedly, and they all looked at him. He ducked his head, picking at his sleeve. “It isn’t. Sect Leader Jiang’s right: our surname is Wen. It’s reasonable for people to assume that we’re loyal to the Wen sect, and to treat us accordingly.”

“We never fought against anyone! We’ve never –”

“It doesn’t matter what we did, jiejie,” Wen Ning said. “Whether or not we fought for our sect, we would’ve benefited if they won, right? You rise when your clan rises, and fall when it falls. Why should we be an exception?”

“Well said,” Nie Mingjue said, and Wen Ning abruptly turned bright red – Jiang Cheng shot him a sympathetic look; he entirely understood the issue there. “Your testimony will be deemed self-interested, and even asking for it will only undercut Wei Wuxian’s position. Not to mention the Jiang sect’s.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “Then just kick me out of the Jiang sect,” he said.

“What?” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and even Nie Mingjue looked startled. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not? Isn’t the whole point that the Jiang sect is being dragged down by me and my new cultivation? Kick me out, and the problem’s solved.”

“I could cut off your head, and that of everyone else here,” Nie Mingjue said. “That would also solve the problem, but for some reason I’m not suggesting it. Can anyone tell me why?”

“…because it’s a bad idea?” Wen Ning volunteered.

“Because it’s a stupid idea,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

“It is a stupid idea,” Jiang Cheng growled. “Even putting aside that I don’t want to cast you out, do you really think people will stop blaming the Jiang sect for your actions just because you’re formally not aligned with us?”

“There isn’t another option,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not giving up the Wen sect, I’m not changing my cultivation style, I’m not giving up the Tiger Seal – and I’m not dragging the Jiang sect down with me, not if I can help it.”

-

“Are they really calling me ‘Ghost General’?” Wen Ning asked on one of his visits to the Lotus Pier to pick up supplies for the Yiling Burial Mounds.

Since Wei Wuxian had been so set on splitting from the Jiang sect, they’d eventually reached a compromise, of sorts. Wei Wuxian’s actions in rescuing the Wen sect remnants was – not endorsed, per se, as it was clearly wrongful, but Nie Mingjue announced that he had examined the Wen in question and found evidence suggestive of malnutrition and abuse, which indicated at minimum some negligence on the part of the Jin sect in not supervising the guards better. Accordingly, the Wen sect would be removed from the Jin sect’s custody and permitted to set up camp in Yiling under Wei Wuxian, but as punishment for his reckless and unsanctioned behavior, Wei Wuxian was to be expelled from the Jiang sect.

Since the expulsion was mandated by external forces, rather than being a result of his own decision, Jiang Cheng was able to give Wei Wuxian a sizeable settlement as a gift for his separation – the cultivation world gossiped about it, but most people seemed to think he was just trying to get his own back at Nie Mingjue for supposedly forcing the decision to expel Wei Wuxian down his throat – and to set up something of a trade agreement to send them more, although exactly what the Jiang sect was getting out of their side of the ‘trade’ was still up in the air.

Despite these outward signs of remaining support, several small sects had made attempts on the Burial Mounds, growing more reckless once they realized that Jiang Cheng really hadn’t left any forces behind to protect it – stupid of them, of course, since the reason he hadn’t left anyone behind was because he didn’t need to.

Wei Wuxian could handle himself perfectly well.

As could Wen Ning, apparently – he was a truly excellent archer, it turned out, and capable of waiting in all sorts of strange places with perfect patience, even if sometimes he had strange ideas about painting his face with mud to better blend in. It’d been one of those incidents that had given rise to the rumor that he was actually dead, having been resurrected by Wei Wuxian…

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng said. “Sorry about that. I tried to tell them to stop, but…”

“It made it worse?”

“It made it so much worse,” Jiang Cheng sighed. “Anyway, would you like to drink?”

“…do you mean tea?”

“No.”

“Yes please,” Wen Ning said. “I have been – so stressed. You wouldn’t…actually, you probably would believe it.”

“I grew up with Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng said grimly. “I believe anything.”

-

“It would be good to bring a representative of Yiling Wei sect to the conference, even if it can’t be Wei Wuxian himself,” Nie Mingjue remarked, looking down at the plans Jiang Cheng had laid out for the first discussion conference to be held in the Lotus Pier since the war. “You’re on good terms with Wen Qionglin, aren’t you? Ask him –”

“No!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, then realized he was being suspicious and cleared his throat. “Maybe someone else should invite them.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him over the table. “…has something happened?” he asked.

Jiang Cheng stared down at the plans and hoped he wasn’t blushing. “Nothing important,” he said, and his voice cracked on the last sound – embarrassing.

Still not as embarrassing as that time he cried into Nie Mingjue’s arms, no, but still…embarrassing.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue said. “You slept with him.”

“How can you tell?” Jiang Cheng hissed, mortified beyond all belief. “Is it – written on my face –”

“According to Huaisang, it’s always a safe guess,” Nie Mingjue said, and shrugged when Jiang Cheng gaped at him. “Either they admit that that’s the case, as you just did, or they get all up in arms and explain what it really was while denying it.”

“That’s –” Really useful and Jiang Cheng will have to put it into effect immediately. “– terrible.”

“Works, though. Why the embarrassment? I didn’t think the Jiang sect cared about cut sleeves.”

“We don’t,” Jiang Cheng said, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “But I’m sect leader –”

“You had sex, it’s not like you got married.”

“I used to have a thing for his sister.”

“Awkward, I suppose, but it never went anywhere, did it? One can hardly hold your past inclinations against you –”

“We were both thinking about you,” Jiang Cheng blurted out, and then promptly wanted to die. He could have just not said that. He could have said anything else but that. He could stab himself right now and maybe Nie Mingjue would be so distracted by the bleeding and screaming that he would just forget what Jiang Cheng had just said…

“You could always just ask,” Nie Mingjue said.

Jiang Cheng looked up through his fingers. “…are you serious?”

Nie Mingjue looked at him with arched eyebrows. “Are you asking me if I’d be flattered by being propositioned by two extremely beautiful and deadly cultivators?”

“I wouldn’t rank those two as equally desirable traits in a lover,” Jiang Cheng said, and it was almost not a lie, “but…yes?”

He thought for a moment.

“If I did invite Wen Ning to the Discussion Conference…”

-

“Well,” Wen Ning said. “This wasn’t how I was expecting to end up.”

“Me, either,” Jiang Cheng said. He was staring up at the ceiling and thinking about not moving again for – possibly ever.

“Same for me,” Nie Mingjue, on his other side, agreed. “But I have no objections to how it worked out. There aren’t two other cultivators I’d rather be with.”

“There’d better not be,” Jiang Cheng said on automatic, then considered bashing his head in – luckily both Wen Ning and Nie Mingjue reached over and put their hands under his head so he couldn’t, which made him feel warm and happy in a way subtly different from the way the sex had. “I mean, who else would it be? Zewu-jun and Lianfeng-zun?”

“Wei-gongzi still thinks Lianfeng-zun is trying to kill you, you know,” Wen Ning said to Nie Mingjue, who looked long-suffering. “He’s got this idea –”

“He can’t be trying to kill me,” Nie Mingjue argued. “He’s just offered to help Xichen play calming music for me –”

“Wei-gongzi said that maybe he’s trying to kill you through the music –”

“I’m going to sleep,” Jiang Cheng announced. “When I wake up, we can discuss the political implications of letting there be rumors about us sleeping together, which will make it both convenient for us to do this again and also maybe using the potential threat of a Yiling Wei-Yunmeng Jiang-Qinghe Nie alliance to force the Jin sect to take action so we can figure out once and for all if Lianfeng-zun is actually planning to do something. But for the moment, I am going to sleep.”

“…seems fair,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “Communication and straightforwardness is important in relationships like these.”

“Uh,” Wen Ning said, glancing at Jiang Cheng. “About that…if, theoretically, I were to know something about someone…”

[lulu-zodiac]

I feel stupid for this but the prequel really bothers me. Not only are they trying to glorify an abuser (my dad had a lot of similarities with John) but they are once again trying to push this heteronormative love story.

trigger warning: abuse

oh man do I feel this. sending you lots of hugs <3

your feelings about this are SO valid. the stuff with j*hn has always bothered me too because, like you, my dad has a LOT of similarities with him (definitely one of the reasons I've always identified with dean so much, but that's another ted talk).

if they do glorify an abusive parent in the prequel, I will be so upset about it.

BUT I don't think that has to automatically be the outcome just because they're writing about the relationship with j*hn and mary.

in film and media, I feel like abusers are often portrayed as evil, one-dimensional characters and this can actually be counterproductive for victims of abuse, because the reality of it is often more complex than that. I think it would genuinely be helpful to have more exploration in film/tv of the fact that abusers aren't always abusive all the time in every situation, but that they're also complex, often charming, intelligent etc and this is part of what makes them so dangerous.

the popular idea in the media that abusers are just terrible people always doing terrible things is, I think, damaging and unhelpful, as it frequently dismisses the experiences of victims. most victims know their abuser well (e.g. a parent, partner, sibling), and therefore are probably just as familiar with the charming/seemingly positive qualities of their abusers as the negative ones. in portraying abusers as one dimensional villains (as hollywood often does), many victims may feel that the abuse they suffer isn't "bad enough" because their abuser isn't always this evil villain, and may often show moments of love, regret, or understanding towards them.

so yeah. I think this very common portrayal of abusers is just super unhelpful because it doesn't help victims recognise some of the most common types of emotional and physical abuse (e.g. love-bombing combined with emotional/physical violence, parents caring for you while also being abusive), and might go so far as to actually dismiss victims suffering from these experiences. also, significantly, it doesn't help us better understand why people abuse, and therefore how we can help them stop abusing.

I think, from what jensen has said before, and his nuanced portrayal of dean and dean's trauma, that he has the potential to create a show that explores all these important issues in a really interesting way. to explore the different sides of abusive people, how they interact in different relationships, their red flags, and ultimately why they choose to behave the way they do.

that's just my take on it at the moment, I'm trying to be hopeful!

also, just to clarify, because I feel like it's super important to be clear about a topic like this: I am absolutely NOT justifying any kind of abuse. I just think humanising abusers (whilst also recognising how awful, damaging and inexcusable their abuse is) ultimately helps victims more than othering them. but that's just my personal opinion, I'm sure there are plenty of people who have had similar experiences to me who would think totally differently on this, and that's equally valid.

as for it being a heteronormative love story... if that ends up being true, I'll be disappointed, because the media is FULL of heteronormative love stories and honestly? I'd love some better representation. BUT again, it's jensen and danneel, and, as their chaos machine productions logo shows, they are very much a part of the LGBT+ community, so who knows where they'll go with it... (I'm rooting for bi mary, and appearances from cas)

sorry this ended up being such a long-winded answer, portrayal of abusers in the media is just something I feel really strongly about (obviously lol).

I really relate to you struggling with this, I honestly felt pretty triggered by it when I first heard about the prequel, but I feel a little better having had some time to think and organise my thoughts on it all. really hope you're okay, please take the time to look after yourself <3

also, if you ever need someone to talk to about any of this stuff, my asks and my dms are always open, so please don't hesitate to reach out <3

[vickyvicarious]

Parker: "Teach me to like stuff."

.

Okay, so. I have some thoughts about The French Connection Job's Parker+Eliot subplot. And I think I wanna approach it separately, scene by scene from each of their perspectives, because we have a couple different things going on here. It's still a little more of a Parker meta than an Eliot meta, but I have enough to talk about on both sides, and they're connected enough not to be in separate metas, that I am going to do it this way.

Also going to put this under a cut because it gets long.

Parker

This whole subplot comes on the heels of the last episode, in which there was a lot of banter throughout about Hardison and Parker's dates, and him wanting to branch out into other things than just bungee jumping or whatever. We have seen hints of this throughout S5 so far, even though we're only a few episodes in at this point. They went on a world tour that was pretty much just jumping off of stuff, Hardison said something about them figuring things out. We saw a cute domestic scene of the aftermath of them watching a movie together, except Parker 'fell asleep again' and missed most of it, and Hardison eventually went off to work on his laptop. Parker tried to comfort him last episode about dust mites and ended up freaking him out instead. She talked about how she liked fire and Hardison complained she was missing the point of his offer for a candlelit picnic. They did end on a very romantic note with her still making the effort to make it happen but getting rained out, and him recognizing her effort and listening to him, and projecting the stars around the dark room then having the picnic inside. They are clearly very happy together and both making the effort to meet in the middle, but there are still some disconnects. Which makes sense this early on anyway, but it's not out of place for Parker to start getting worried about her limited interests here given the context of them contrasting Hardison's more widespread interests.

Starting right off the bat - there's a picture limit so I can't show these early moments, but throughout the first part of the episode we see Parker looking visibly upset/pensive. Hardison notices and asks her what's wrong, but is immediately distracted by his package arriving, and then the team gets into the briefing and he doesn't get to talk to her again. (Sidenote that this is pretty OOC for Hardison, and I have to assume he would at the very least come back to her later, but they were clearly trying to get Parker talking with someone else this episode and apparently couldn't come up with a better way to do it. His writing outside of the kitchen stuff was kinda off this whole episode anyway, what with the whole tip thing.) She was about to open up to him, however, which is important. There's also a scene shortly afterwards where she confides in Nate, again after he notices her being upset and asks what's bothering her. She claims everyone but her has 'a thing', and names a few of them. He asks her what she thinks when she sees Michelangelo's David, and when her answer is an immediate assessment of how it's guarded and what she'd have to do to steal it, he kind of hesitates and then goes right back to running the con. He basically gives up on helping her with this once it becomes clear that a quick sentence or two isn't gonna cut it.

So after those brief, unhelpful conversations, that's when she makes a move. She was responding to others before, but this time she comes up to Eliot, clearly nervous. And she asks him to help her feel something.

(I find it very interesting that she doesn't ask Sophie. Sophie is the person who she would usually go to for something like this, after all. But, aside from this being an Eliot-centric episode and just like them sidelining Hardison's possible assistance earlier the writers want Parker to talk with Eliot not Sophie, I think there are maybe a couple reasons why she might go to him here. First, just distance. Eliot is right downstairs, meanwhile at the moment Sophie is however far across town at her theater. Certainly not saying she wouldn't go to Sophie eventually, but maybe that's why not first. Second, she and Eliot have an understanding, one that's been explicitly acknowledged since the start of S4. They are similar in a way entirely unlike the rest of the crew. So while Sophie may understand emotions best, Eliot is the one most likely to know what Parker is talking about when she says she just isn't feeling anything. Which by the way I'm gonna get more into later on. Thirdly they're in love but that's not actually relevant here since all of the team love one another.)

Eliot

On Eliot's side, she approaches him when he's busy in the kitchen. This whole job is stirring up a lot of old feelings in him right from the start. Toby was someone who 'kept him from falling all the way down', and Eliot is deeply concerned for him. At the same time, the way they are running this con is allowing Eliot to take on the role of teacher. Even though his students aren't anything like the eager students Toby has just had taken away from him, Eliot wants so badly to take advantage of this opportunity to teach them - maybe even all the more because they're resistant. He's being given a very rare opportunity to indulge his belief that food is life and to share it on a larger scale. To use the knife to create, not just destroy. Leverage often walks a line between doing both (taking down the bad guys and helping people) but Eliot doesn't often just straight up get to just do the 'creating' part. (I mean, he loves the destruction too, he genuinely loves beating people up and taking down bad guys, but this is a rarer pleasure.) So he's pretty preoccupied with that at first, and initially dismisses Parker just like the other two guys did.

But when she just looks quietly disappointed at his response, he goes still and watches her. We cut away from them here so we don't see his actual response, but it's immediately clear that he's realizing this is actually something deeply important to Parker, and well worth his time.

On to the next part of this scene below.

.

[Eliot sets a dish down in front of Parker]

Parker: "...It's just food."

Eliot: "It's not just food! Alright, some people could look at it and just see food, but not me. I see art. When I'm in the kitchen I'm, I'm creating something outta nothing, you know what I mean? And sometimes I crush it, sometimes it's crap, but either way - it makes me feel something."

Parker: "Feel what?"

Eliot: "Just... feel."

Parker: [murmuring] "Feel... okay." [looks down at the food and hesitates]

Eliot: "You know, I didn't feel anything for a long time. Then Toby taught me how to cook, and after he did, I started to feel stuff again. That's why I share it through my food - this is my art. This is my art, Parker." [Parker nods, looking worried] "It's like lettin' a stranger in your head, just for a second. And you allow them to feel what you're feeling." [pause] "Look again." [he pushes the plate a little closer to her. Parker takes a deep breath and slowly sets her elbows down on the counter as she stares down at the plate. Eliot watches her closely.]

Parker

At this point I want to talk a little about what Parker means when she says "feel something" and talks about "having a thing." Because we've seen her have interests outside of straightforward thievery before. Sure, most of her hobbies revolves around stealing - casing local banks for fun, for example. But she clearly has a deep love for Christmas and for chocolate. So why doesn't she count those kinds of things as 'feeling something'?

I think it comes down to what Eliot's talking about here. It's a sense of art. Not even necessarily making it yourself, although that certainly applies. Parker likes sweet things like chocolate and donuts, but although she really really likes them they don't make her feel any truly deep emotion. It's more tactile than anything else, just a pleasant flavor. Her love of Christmas isn't the same either in her eyes because it's not uniquely hers. It's something she loves to celebrate but she can't do so all year round, and plenty of other people like Christmas too. This one comes a lot closer, because it definitely seems to be tied up more in community and family for her than something like enjoying chocolate and piñatas, but it still doesn't belong to her in the same way that cooking does to Eliot or theater does to Sophie. And while theoretically her love of base jumping and so on could maybe count, it is still so tied up in her thieving that it doesn't feel separate. She's really good at drawing but only thinks of it as a useful skill, not a creative outlet - this is similar to that.

She has been branching out into a lot of new experiences and emotions lately, and while she's struck out deep into uncharted waters with her relationship with Hardison, once there she's only seeing more and more things that she just... doesn't get. She loves spending time with him, and enjoys what they do together, but she doesn't understand all of those things. Not on a deeper level. She wants to feel that sense of connection to something, wants to feel deeply emotionally moved by something.

And honestly? I think she's way up in her head about it. I'm not trying to dismiss her struggle here at all, but I do think she is stressing herself out about having something uniquely her own. About having a huge interest that speaks so strongly to her personally. And those are amazing to have, but it's really not necessary. She doesn't need a strong secondary passion so much as she needs to let go of trying so hard to force herself into something.

And what's happening in this scene in particular is that Parker is trying so so hard to force herself to feel something. It's evident in her face throughout the whole scene, in her body language. And she is so terrified that it's not going to work that honestly, I'm not surprised at all that it doesn't.

Eliot

On Eliot's side of this scene, he feels like he recognizes where Parker is. This entire job has him remembering how it was to feel nothing. Her phrasing got to him deeply. He wants to reach out and teach her to see something more, just like Toby taught him.

He knew a bit about how to cook before Toby. But it was only seeing Toby's passion that struck something in him, that awoke a part of himself he might've never known before. For Eliot specifically, cooking being an art isn't just something he likes. It's something that brings him hope.

Eliot doesn't believe in redemption. But he believes in actions. And what Toby did, by teaching him to cook, was to teach him that his actions can be good. That he can create, not just destroy. That all is not lost - not 'for' him necessarily, so much as 'in' him. There is a deep empty place inside himself that he can enter so so easily. The difficulty is crawling back out again. Cooking was his rope out of there. He still finds it difficult to express his emotions very often, particularly verbally, but when he makes someone a meal he puts a part of himself into it. And yet doing so doesn't take anything from him, it just adds more.

This is all very vague and figurative and may make no sense, but the takeaway I want to have is that Eliot is opening up to Parker on a very deep level here. He feels like he recognizes what she's talking about, and it was a very bad place for him. (Again, I don't think she is quite that badly off at this point in canon, but I digress.) And while making food allows him to feel that he is demonstrating his love for someone, that he is sharing a part of himself with them, he recognizes that she isn't receiving that. What she's getting, is just a plate of food. Tasty food maybe, but nothing more than that. And so Eliot verbalizes everything to her in a way he rarely does.

And then he keeps trying. This scene obviously doesn't end up making her feel something, and we don't get to see the immediate aftermath of that, but we can glean a little about how they feel based on their reactions. And Eliot is deeply determined to help Parker feel something from his food. He insists that she play the food critic; even speaks directly to her and reminds her to consider what they talked about.

.

In the restaurant, we start out with Parker dutifully playing her role but feeling nothing much beyond just the role. Eliot checks in with Parker, she acknowledges that the food is good but doesn't make her feel anything, and he makes improvements based on her feedback. Then something abruptly changes.

Parker: "I can taste garlic, and mushrooms... and something else that makes me feel different."

Hardison: "Wait, was that for me, cause I-I don't get it."

Parker: "No, it's the food. I get it." [smiles] "I feel something."

+

Parker: "Mmm! These black noodles are amazing!

Eliot: "Parker, it's tagliolini nero con gamberi."

Parker: "Mmm." [eats a huge forkful] "Mmm. Mmmm. These are really good."

Parker

What just happened here? Last we saw from Parker, she'd failed to feel something from the meal Eliot made especially for her in the brewpub, and she was clearly disheartened. She felt it as a failure, very much in the sense of a disappointment. She didn't want to try again, didn't think it would work, and tried to protest when Eliot said she would be the food critic. Even once she got to the restaurant, nothing was happening for her.

The difference wasn't in the flavor of the food. The moment Parker started to feel something was right after she said she felt nothing and Eliot, instead of being disappointed or giving up, took it as a challenge. He changed his recipe, he improved it specifically to better reach out to her. He kept trying.

And yeah, maybe the bone broth helped it taste better. But that wasn't the point, not really. The point is that Parker had gotten herself stuck in a hole, trapped herself in this cycle of not understanding how things make you feel and then believing that she just couldn't. She wanted something of her own and she didn't have it and she didn't immediately get anyone else's thing either, and that was it. She just wasn't capable. She was other. This is an old old fear of Parkers, dating back to Archie or even before. Something in her just isn't capable of being like other people. She wasn't worthy of being in Archie's real family, and she's not able to feel passion for anything outside of stealing. (Setting aside the fact that she loves her team, that all she needed was the right family. That you don't have to be a creator to feel passion, and you don't need to be passionate about any particular thing in order to feel deeply and find beauty in the world.) Parker has empathized deeply with people, has felt so intensely before and is constantly trying to learn more and new ways to be. But because she is noticing her teams' passions now, she has this ideal that she wants to reach, and none of that is good enough for her. She doesn't even know exactly what her ideal involves, but she can't get to it.

But when Eliot doesn't give up, that gets to her. If he views his food as sharing himself with others, Parker finally gets what he's been trying to give all along. It's all about him trying again and again, changing his approach to match her better. That's what she feels, that's what she enjoys.

And once she starts, the floodgates open. She loves the black noodles. She is so happy, she is relieved. There was this huge resistance that she couldn't get past before, but Eliot persisting helped her to break past that and now that she is out of her head about it she can enjoy the food in a way she never has before. Because she feels his love for her in it.

Eliot

Eliot is trying so hard to connect to Parker. It's not really different from what I said in the last Eliot section, and basically the same as what I just said in that Parker section, but I want to emphasize a little more just how much this is about love on his end.

Eliot loves Parker. He loves her, and he wants so much to help her. It doesn't honestly matter that he does this with food, except for the fact that food is what matters so deeply to Eliot himself. He can't reach out to her in the same way through any other medium. And we don't get to see his reaction to Parker's moment of realization. But I think it would be such a deep sense of joy. This is as fulfilling for Eliot as it is for Parker. It's exactly what Eliot has been hoping for this whole episode, to teach someone else to see food in the same way he does. It doesn't matter if it only lasts for a moment or a single meal. That's enough. He has been the support Parker needed through this time of self-doubt. And it is all the more meaningful to him because this isn't just a random student, this is Parker.

He told her he loves her through his food, again and again, and she eventually felt it. She understood. That must mean so much to him.

.

I wanna end with one more brief note on Parker. Does she get her own "thing" this episode? No. No she does not, and this scene shows us that. Parker is not suddenly interested in food or cooking. The importance of that meal was purely derived from Eliot on the other end of it, focused on her and trying his best to reach out to her.

And I don't think this is something only Eliot could have done for her either, not really. The difference between him and the others this episode is mostly in persistence. However, it's also about her mentality. Hardison has built/done things for Parker before and she felt them just as deeply - but the context was different. She wasn't looking for a sense of beauty or art in the world at large then, and so even though she felt the love in the gift just as much, it didn't make her feel like she could find that kind of emotion in other things. She just wasn't looking for it. Also, it was made easier for Eliot to reach out because there's that connection Parker has with him, that understanding that they are on the same level somehow. She doesn't feel that with Hardison - and she loves him all the more for him being different from her, but he also I think can intimidate her with how good and open he is, with how much he can feel in so many different directions. It's part of why she got so worried about herself not being able to do so this episode.

Like, the team has scolded Nate for not having a life or interests of his own outside the job not too terribly long ago! And Parker has had her own joys before! But she isn't seeing that this episode, too caught up in this fear about not having her own 'thing', not feeling anything that way. So while anyone could have helped her through this, it was easiest for her to let Eliot do so + for him to understand what she needed from him. (Hardison in particular was rudely robbed the opportunity, but they all love and support her and could have reached her. Not to detract from Eliot doing so, but also I don't wanna sound like no other method of reaching out would've worked.)

But as soon as she feels something once with Eliot's help, that relaxes those fears. And then Parker is free to look in other places. She remembers Nate's comment about art, and maybe even tells him what she plans based on him knowing where she is at the end of the episode. And then she goes to visit this statue. In her own way which means breaking in, but without any goal of taking it. She just goes to look at the art. And she feels something again.

Parker doesn't gain some big passion at the end of this episode. She doesn't need to. She never did. She just learns how to let herself relax from that restrictive frame of mind. To simply be in the moment and enjoy things for the sake of what they are. To feel - not really in any way she was incapable of before, but intentionally now. It's a quiet victory, in the end. It doesn't mean she's going to get a new hobby or change her lifestyle at all really. But she's let go of a fear and is now intentionally seeking out new connections with the world beyond her once-limited parameters.

[andypantsx3]

ab intra | 1 | ab initio

pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi / Reader

length: 18,811 words / 6 chapters

summary: When a wave of disturbing crimes sweep the city, underground hero Hitoshi Shinsou is assigned to work the case with you. What’s even more frustrating than his obnoxious personality is the fact no one will tell you why he’s involved. Things only get more suspicious from there.

tags: romance, thriller, misunderstandings, pro hero AU, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, suicide mentions, brainwashing, consensual mind control, some violence

ab intra [ ahb in-trah ] — adverb, Latin — from inside; from within.

The victims couldn’t remember anything. The ones who had been left alive, anyway.

You sighed, tapping a fingertip idly against your desktop as you stared blankly at the notes on your computer screen. The fact that no one could remember who the perpetrator was, what they looked like, or even anything that had happened during that window of time was extremely unhelpful, and gave you almost no leads to go on.

You’d spent the better part of last week combing through CCTV footage surrounding both the museum and the bank, but nothing had proved decisive. There had been crowds of thousands going in and out of the museum, eager to see a new exhibit on historical wedding jewels, and as far as you could tell, everyone who had entered the grounds was accounted for, either dead or alive. It was much the same for the bank.

Footage from inside both buildings had been summarily destroyed, so there was no telling what had happened inside either. All you knew was that at both locations on two different days, it had been business as usual. Then the buildings had been robbed, five people had turned up dead, and scores more had lost upwards of thirty minutes.

The people who had died all appeared to have committed suicide--one leaping out a window from the top of the museum exhibit hall, another choking himself to death with his tie. There were no fingerprints, no weapons, no memories, nothing you could work off of.

It all pointed to a mind-altering quirk.

You’d pulled as many records as you could, spent the entire weekend scurrying around the courts in order to get as many restrictions lifted as possible, and ended up with a list of only twenty people, when you knew there were hundreds more. It was nearly impossible to get access to information on people’s quirks, even more so to get access to files on those who possessed abilities like this, due to the sensitive nature of their powers.

It made sense, given the kind of discrimination that could take place based on that information alone, but it was still infuriating, knowing the culprit could be in any one of those hundreds of files you’d been unable to get ahold of.

You’d done your best to follow up on what you had been able to get, however, researching the background of every person whose documents you'd been allowed access to. You’d been in the middle of one of the few files, nursing a coffee and something like a migraine, when a manila folder slapped you in the back.

“Captain wants you in his office,” your coworker Aya said, chuckling when you startled and spilled coffee onto your keyboard.

You whipped around in your chair to stare at her accusingly. “You did that on purpose.”

She flashed you a cheeky grin. “You’ve been wandering around the precinct like a zombie for days. You need some livening up.”

You honestly just wanted some livening down, for this case to solve itself and for you to be able to sleep for a week. But you didn’t say as much, digging a box of kleenex out of your file cabinet and sopping up the rivers of dark coffee pooling in between your keys.

“Captain was in a mood, so I recommend you pick up the pace,” she said, and you sighed, climbing out of your chair and throwing on your jacket. The captain always kept his office at a temperature only a polar ice cap might find suitable, and you needed to be properly equipped if this turned out to be more than a quick chat.

Aya’s theory was that he kept it so cold in there to dampen the burning hatefire of rage within him. You just thought his alien species preferred an icy freeze like that of space.

You hurried into the stairwell and down a fluorescent hall, stopping just outside a tall oak door with a little carved plaque that read Noriyasu Nagumo, Captain. You tapped twice, and the door opened inward immediately like someone had been waiting for you just on the other side.

Which, you discovered as you stepped inside, they had been.

A man with unruly indigo hair stood just inside the door, looking you over with a somewhat indifferent expression. He was tall, nearly lean, strapped with sleek muscle that was almost imperceptible through the black of his jumpsuit, and he wore a long scarf and dark, mask-like device at his neck. His eyes were an even deeper purple than his hair, giving his appearance an almost fey quality, and they were bright with a keen watchfulness that felt at odds with his disinterested look.

He was very striking, and you might have thought him handsome if it weren’t for the deep shadows beneath his eyes, or the strange sensation that washed over you as you looked at him, a prickle of feeling that told you there was something more to him than was plainly visible.

A sense of foreboding settled in your stomach as you registered his black jumpsuit, boots, and the strangeness of the items around his neck. It all screamed hero costume, and your mood immediately took a nose dive. You'd worked with heroes before, and it was hardly an experience you wanted to repeat.

At the other end of the room, your captain sat behind his heavy desk, a dark eyebrow raised and a stern look on his weathered features.

“You’re late,” he said by way of a greeting.

You glanced between the two men in question. “I came as fast as I could. Am I interrupting a meeting?”

The captain shook his head, gesturing both you and the purple-haired man to the chairs in front of his desk.

You took a seat, scooting imperceptibly farther from the man when he sat down next to you. Something about him raised your hackles, an aura of subtle command that made you feel like a cat whose fur had been brushed backwards. Coupled with his dismissive expression, you could already sense he was bad news.

“This is Hitoshi Shinsou,” the captain said, indicating the purple-haired man. “Shinsou is a hero on loan from the Public Safety Commission.”

You gave him a cursory once over. You’d never heard of him.

“Shinsou, this is Y/N, one of my investigators,” he continued. “She’s working on the museum and bank heist case we discussed earlier.”

This put you on edge. “What does he have to do with my case?” you asked warily. You’d been on at least three investigations with heroes before, and you knew all too well how things went. You didn’t need some asshole to contribute absolutely nothing to the case and swoop in at the last second to grab all the credit.

“Shinsou is being added as a resource to this case,” Captain Nagumo said. “You will operate as if he were co-lead on this investigation.”

Oh hell no. This case was especially complex and the last thing you needed was to slow down and onboard some random hero, just so he could muck about and up his credentials. People's actual lives were at stake here.

Your nails bit into your palms, and Shinsou smirked as if he knew what you were thinking. “Captain, with all due respect, there is nothing that indicates the need for a secondary lead on this assignment.”

The captain fixed you with a disinterested look. “And yet here you have one. Now that I’ve made introductions, please get Shinsou up to speed on your progress.”

"I can work faster on this alone," you argued. "How about we call Shinsou in when I've found something and he can help with the apprehension?"

Captain Nagumo's face went still. "This is not a request. Shinsou will be working this case with you."

You opened your mouth to argue, but the captain’s look shifted into something angrier and your teeth clacked together. There was a reason Aya spoke so openly about his inner hatefire--his temper was the stuff of legend. At least once a day the hallways echoed with the sound of his screaming, and you swore you'd once caught him suspending an officer for looking at him the wrong way. You’d gotten off easy with him so far, buoyed by your excellent track record, but the look he was giving you told you that could quickly change.

Shinsou leaned forward, and your eye darted to him quickly. “Why don’t you bring me to your desk and show me what you were working on?”

His voice was low, smooth, and strangely compelling. You found yourself entirely distracted from the captain's darkening mood, opening your mouth to reply before you could think better of it.

“I--,” you began. There was a small pause, then your temper caught back up with you. You exhaled through your nose. “Fine,” you said, climbing to your feet and heading for the door without a look backwards. “If you don’t want to get left behind, let’s go.”

You heard the scrape of a chair as Shinsou stood to follow you, a murmur as he bade farewell to the captain. Then he exited the office after you and shut the door quietly behind himself. You turned down the hall, walking briskly, like with any luck you could leave him in your dust, but he caught up easily enough, keeping pace with his long legs.

“How much did Captain Nagumo tell you about the case already?” you asked as you led the way up the stairs, taking a calming breath to soothe yourself. Professional, you could be professional. You'd managed it with all the heroes before.

“Not too much,” Shinsou replied in his low drawl. “Just that there had been break ins, multiple suicides, and a lot of missing memories.”

You pushed open the door to your floor and gestured him through, then stalked over to your desk. It had previously been a point of pride for you that your workspace was clean, devoid of the mountains of paperwork that cluttered everyone else’s because you knew how to keep on top of your reports, but in the last week, your desk had slowly started to amass a small tower of files not unlike those on the surrounding desks.

You shoved a bunch of files over and dragged over a chair from the staff conference table. “Sit and let’s chat, then.”

He dropped into the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, and you sat across from him.

“So why did they send you?” you asked.

Those purple eyes flicked over you. “To help.”

You suppressed an eye roll. Very informative. Some huge help this guy was already proving to be. “Obviously, but why you? What interest does the Public Safety Commission have in this case?”

He rolled a shoulder. “Dozens of people show up without their memories, and you think the police force can handle this without help? I'm here to provide support.”

He had a point but that still answered like zero of your questions. “So why you, specifically? What are you bringing to this case?”

A slow smirk made its way across his mouth. “My good looks and big brain.”

Your headache from earlier made a brief showing at your temples, and your small puddle of patience began to dry up. So this was how it was going to be.

“Fascinating. Well that will be a huge help, no doubt. Good thing they sent you.”

Shinsou's smile widened. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

You eyed him irritably. “Listen, I don't mean to disrespect your profession. Heroes are great and totally needed for patrols and raids. When it comes to investigations, though, you slow things down, and I don't have time for you to hold things up.”

As you spoke, there was a sudden, small tug at the back of your mind, like a thought on the edge of resurfacing. You stopped short, brow furrowing. Had you forgotten something urgent?

Shinsou raised a dark eyebrow, pulling your attention back to him. “Is that so?” he asked.

Something like dry amusement layered in his tone, and the rest of your patience vanished. Was his quirk raising blood to a boil? If so, he wielded it with unparalleled skill and dexterity.

“What’s your background?" you demanded. "And your quirk? I’m assuming they didn't add you to this case for your charm and social grace.”

He smirked again. “I’m afraid that’s above your clearance level.”

Your stared at him in disbelief. Above your clearance level? He had the gall to waltz in here and insert himself into your case, and then refused to give you any basic information like why he was here at all or what your expectations should be for his partnership? Christ, he was even worse than the other heroes you’d worked with. They, at least, had pretended at being friendly when stepping in to work with you. Shinsou was something else completely.

You felt your hand curl into a fist under your desk. “Fine then, let me guess. You're an emitter type -- astounding levels of absolute bullshit.”

He let out a surprised laugh and leaned forward, like you’d suddenly sparked his interest. “You’ve got quite the set of claws for such a little kitten.”

You didn’t know how it was possible to be getting this angry, but it was happening. “Then I suggest you work with me here, if you don’t want to get stuck with them, Shinsou.”

His eyes darkened and he considered you for a long moment. There was that gentle brush in your thoughts again, like you'd forgotten something, and your brow wrinkled. Before you could focus on it, however, the feeling was gone, and Shinsou was slowly leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I’ll work with you, kitten, but you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Try me,” you ground out.

“I’m here on behalf of the Commission,” he said firmly, “and my reasons for being here, my background, and my quirk are all information that is well above your security clearance. I work for the Commission, not you or your captain, and I will not be answering to you, operating on your orders, or sharing any information just because you think you deserve to know it.”

You stared at him. You could feel the little half moons your nails were leaving in your own skin but you couldn’t unclench your fist.

"You seem to think that heroes do nothing but stand around until they can grab the credit, which makes me think that you will try to hide elements of this case from me. I'll tell you just this once that you will cooperate with me to the best of your ability, or I will make sure you are taken off this case entirely," he said.

“Great,” you said, gritting your teeth. “Glad that I have a partner who I can know nothing about, can’t ask questions of, and can’t trust to give me the same courtesy I have to give them. I can’t think of any partnership set up for more success than this one.”

A wry smile curled the edge of his mouth. “Good. Glad we’re on the same page, then.”

You glared at him over the top of your files but he just stared back, unaffected.

Eventually you gave up, huffing, and shoved a file at him. “Fucking fine. We’ll start here. I’ll walk you through my theories and then you can read over the case files for the details.”

Shinsou took the folder from you in a slender, long-fingered hand. “Generous of you, kitten.”

You fixed him with a baleful gaze. “Don’t call me that.”

He said nothing, but the look on his face told you that you might as well be speaking to a brick wall for all the good it was going to do. He flipped open the cover of the folder and gave it a cursory inspection.

You rolled your eyes. Fine.

“We think it’s some kind of mind quirk,” you said, pointing to a line in the folder. “Either that or a team including some time-based quirk. The details are light, however, as no one can remember what’s happened to them in the time they’ve lost. The suicides make me think that even if there’s a time freeze quirk involved, there’s somebody else with some amount of mental manipulation in on the operation, since none of the people who died had anything other than self-imposed wounds.”

Shinsou nodded, his eyes skimming the page. “A lot of mind quirks could influence memory in different ways.”

You inclined your head in agreement. “I’ve been trying to track down people with mind-related quirks to see which types could be involved, but the courts are impossible to get around. I only have data on like twenty people who’ve previously been in trouble with the law, and none of them seem related to this case.”

Shinsou hummed low in his throat. “Why don’t you walk me through the details of each of the break ins, and then we can talk about what other avenues we might be able to take.”

You nodded again, and launched into an explanation. Over the next few hours you talked him through both the museum and the bank robberies, meticulously detailing all of the timelines, the victims, key witnesses, and locations. You covered all of the floor plans, the CCTV footage, the documents you’d collected, and the crime scene photos. Shinsou listened attentively and--surprisingly--asked intelligent follow up questions, your conversation taking you deep into the evening until your shift was almost over.

Eventually, Shinsou’s phone vibrated, and the rustle of the other investigators’ jackets brought you out of your bubble.

Shinsou stood, glancing at his phone. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then, kitten,” he said.

You eyed him sourly, bad mood returning. “If my prayers go unanswered, then yes.”

He chuckled and pocketed his cell, lifting a vague hand at you in farewell. Then he was out the door, leaving you to stare after him in resentment.

Aya popped up at your elbow as soon as he'd gone, letting out a low whistle. “Who was that, Y/N? He was pretty cute.”

You scoffed, turning to your desk to gather up your things to head out to the train. “If you think demons plumbed from the depths of hell are cute, then sure. He's going to be hell to work with.”

Aya laughed, giving you a conspiratorial look. “I don’t know. I’d let him plumb my depths, if he wanted.”

You choked, and Aya chuckled again before waving herself off. “You should think about yours as well,” she called as she disappeared through the doorway. Her cackle echoed down the hall behind her.

You gawked after her, headache finally settling in behind your eyelids.

This was going to be a very, very long case.

[kinetic-elaboration]

April 14: 2x15 The Trouble with Tribbles

Back to watching TOS on Wednesdays! We’ll see if I can keep this up because I do prefer it to Fridays.

Today’s episode: the Classic (tm) Trouble with Tribbles.

Starting out with a little test for Chekov lol. Just Chekov, his mentor, and his mentor-in-law.

My mom called Chekov “Kirk and Spock’s little project,” which I think is hilarious but also probably true. Only 22 years old and on the bridge crew? Private quiz by the top two people on the ship? Legit interpretation.

“It was just a little joke.” / “Extremely little, Ensign.” Classic Spock burn.

The Organian Peace Treaty--from Errand of Mercy??

I really do feel like Kirk is genuinely amused by Chekov.

You would never guess from this intro about tense diplomatic situations and number-one-top-priority-triple-red-alerts that this was going to be a crack-y episode about space bunnies.

Oh no, a fake red alert! Kirk is really angry now.

Kirk and Spock are very Married today.

STORAGE COMPARTMENTS?? StOrAgE cOmPaRtmEnTs?

WHEAT??

Do not try to imply that Spock doesn’t know things; he is contractually obligated to show off.

Canadian wheat.

Honestly, just let Kirk call it wheat.

Spock is using diplomacy to reign Kirk in. Sarek would be proud. And Spock would be insulted that Sarek is proud.

Kirk is very Sassy today.

Omg the waitresses have little wings.

Spock taking the wheat from behind his back and giving it to Kirk like a magician’s assistant.

I feel like Kirk is bitter about the wheat because it’s the one (1) thing he’s not a nerd about. And he’s from Iowa too!! He should know!

Uhura listening to the salesman; well she IS here to shop, after all.

Is it alive? Is it cute? Oh who am I kidding, I can see it’s cute!

Oh no the tribble is eating the grain.

Uhura is truly adorable.

I can’t believe she just made a joke about never getting any shore leave and here she is, back at her station again.

Can you even imagine AOS Kirk being tasked with protecting a bunch of grain? HE would make Iowa jokes.

And Spock is trying so hard not to laugh.

Tbh I have a real soft spot for these frustrated Kirk episodes. Poor, long-suffering Kirk. So much more serious than all of the nonsense going on around him.

I like this space station design.

Klingons on shore leave. They just want to have some fun. No bowling alleys on their ships!

Technical journal time for Scotty!

“I am immune to their effect....” Sure. What’s funny to me is that Kirk actually is immune to their effect. Truly at no point does he seem charmed or amused by or even interested in the tribbles, except in their capacity as Klingon detectors at the end

“I think they’re old enough [to be adopted].” Lol how can you tell?

One look from Spock reigns Kirk in. #spacehusbands

Oh, you noticed there are 11 tribbles instead of 1? How astute.

“What do you get when you feed a tribble too much?” / “A fat tribble.” This is ACTUAL DIALOGUE. Oh, Kirk.

Honestly McCoy is a medical doctor, so it kind of would make more sense for Spock to be doing these tribble experiments but he has his hands full with Kirk

Kirk is awfully insistent upon Scotty taking shore leave when he should very well remember what happened last time

“You’d think he’d be a vodka man.” And he is!

Klingons don’t understand Kirk at all. He IS a little soft <3

Where’s that post that’s like ‘the AOS writers just listened to this one Klingon speech about Kirk and wrote his character based on that?” I mean... not totally inaccurate.

Actually it is a potentially interesting speech. Is this really how his enemies see him based on his reputation? Or is it just, like, a bunch of generic insults you could apply to pretty much any captain of a group you didn’t like?

Poor Kirk, missing out on this fight scene.

Lol the drink joke. Does it make sense? No, but it’s funny all the same.

“Captain’s log: I am forced to cancel shore leave.”

Angry Daddy!Kirk and his unhelpful children. You’re ALL grounded!!

“No this is not off the record!” Not even gonna debate that Scotty.

This whole Kirk and Scotty scene deserves an Emmy.

Spones + Tribbles

The extra hilarious thing about Spock talking about the uselessness of the tribbles and Bones defending their cuteness as being an end in and of itself is that Spock DOES canonically like soft, pleasing animals. Even in this episode!!

The tribble wants to be captain.

Kirk collecting tribbles lmao.

“Don’t look at me, it’s the tribbles that are breeding.”

The tribbles are bisexual. Just like Captain Kirk. (Yes this is two different uses of the term that mean totally different things and I do NOT care I just like hearing the word “bisexual” in DeForest Kelley’s voice.)

I feel like Uhura must be so lonely.. Trying to talk to Spock about the moon. Meeting shape shifting aliens who become native Swahili speakers just for her. Trying to buy love in the form of small, cute animals.

The tribbles have been taken from their predator-filled environment. I am VERY curious about their native environment now. What eats tribbles?

“It’s you I take lightly.” Honestly this level of sass almost makes AOS Kirk seem IC.

“Licensed asteroid locator and prospector.” Brb changing careers.

“But he is after my grain!”

Kirk saying “au revoir” is funny on its face for how he echoes Cyrano what’s-his-face but also because it reminds me of Shatner saying “I’m from Canada, so I speak French.”

No, the tribbles got in his food! That is the last straw.

It’s hard to tell because it’s covered in tribbles, but Spock appears to have a very odd looking salad. (Or that large piece of fruit is a tribble, really hard to tell.)

Spock’s “fascinating” was so quiet.

“They’re into the machinery all right.” First, lol, and second, isn’t Scotty supposed to be in his room thinking about what he’s done?

You can really see that missing finger.

Gonna beam down some tribbles too.

And now to top off this bad day: the indignity of having a bunch of dead tribbles fall on his head. To wacky music.

“Gorged? On my grain?” It’s more likely than you think.

And like........you realize someone off set is just continuing to throw little puff balls at Shatner's head at regular intervals during this whole scene? One just bounced right off it.

And the answer to the tribble problem is literally “stop feeding them” which is so obvious that I assumed it was just harder than one would think not to feed a tribble. Since no one fed them. And they continued to eat.

I also love how Bones comes into his best friend literally buried in tribbles and doesn’t even blink.

Whereas Spock’s here with his mouth this thinnest possible line, trying not to laugh.

They like Vulcans! They have good taste.

Spock is definitely that type that has secret low self esteem so he builds himself up with confident comments at every opportunity.

“He’s a Klingon, Jim.”

Kirk REALLY likes threatening the Klingons with tribbles.

I feel like leaving Cyrano to single-handedly clean up the tribbles over 17 years is not a punishment that makes sense because like... must the station live with the tribbles until then? Also, where is he to put them?

I think they should be returned to their native habitat to be eaten by predators according to the natural cycle of life.

Are we to understand that SPOCK suggested beaming the tribbles on to the Klingon ship? Perhaps I have underestimated his prank war abilities.

I’ll be honest, this ep is very entertaining and for that reason one of my favorites, but I don’t know that it paints the Enterprise, and Kirk in particular, in the best light.

Like... I am really torn on Kirk’s treatment of the undersecretary. I know he often doesn’t much like administrators and diplomats and other people who don’t seem to have much RL experience, and certainly this Federation official got on his bad side immediately and understandably by misusing the red alert.

But... Kirk isn’t at all subtle about not liking him. I mean he literally says “I don’t like you” and that’s just objectively unprofessional, which he is not. The sassiness was way unsubtle, which could be funny, but it just didn’t seem IC.

I can almost justify it because of the red alert mix up--that’s everything Kirk hates: violating regulations, showing disrespect to him and his crew, uncalled for manipulation--and I think he has the right to be upset about it. But he continues holding this grudge for a long time. It feels like it’s just as much about not personally caring about the grain as about anything else. Like he’s dismissive about the grain because he personally has never heard of it. So obviously it’s not important.

That’s too much that conventional-wisdom arrogant, dumb Kirk for me.

I guess I just don’t understand, why so much hatred for the undersecretary? Because his two biggest sins were the red alert and employing a Klingon. But as I already said, I think Kirk’s ire is disproportionate to the first offense and no one knew about the Klingon until the end--because a tribble, not Kirk specifically, found him out.

Otherwise..this guy was right! The grain was important, losing it or having it sabotaged would have very bad consequences for the Federation, it is Kirk’s job to guard it, and he should do it well. He was also right that the Klingon threat was real!! He’d brought in the Klingon threat but he was still right about it existing. The Klingons did in fact sabotage the grain! And although we hear at the end that there was magically more grain out there... I don’t get how or from where.

Furthermore, he used the red alert specifically because he seemed to think Kirk wouldn’t rush over to protect the grain otherwise, and Kirk is so dismissive of this “just wheat” that he kinda proves the guy right!

Anyway, I can see the grains of this Kirk (lol pun not intended) in his general characterization, but it’s too over the top, to the point where it’s OOC. He does take his job, including the diplomatic aspects of it, very seriously, and I think an IC Kirk would protect the grain, and maybe be only occasionally, subtly sassy to the undersecretary.

But this was such a crack-y episode overall... it was like everyone was turned up to 11 and pushed slightly to the side.

It was a fun ep though with a lot of very classic scenes, and it’s another reminder that Spock likes soft, adorable animals.

I will admit that I actually do not think the tribbles are particularly cute. They kind of weird me out. They’re just lumps of fur.

Next is The Gamesters of Triskelion, which I vaguely remember as a decent but not great episode.

[potatopossums]

Thinking positive thoughts is hard because it feels inauthentic when I'm so used to depression.

It feels like trying to change my thought process is just fake sometimes. It doesn't feel like I actually think those things. That's why me and lot of other ppl hate depression / overwhelm / anxiety advice that says "think positive thoughts!"

Like yeah if it was that simple, do you honestly think I'd be here? I'm here because I tried to think positive thoughts so I could drown out the "negative" or "shameful" ones. I thought what I was doing was good.

So we really can't just use absolutist positive thoughts as some kind of general, easy bandaid fix for problems that have more to do with long-term environmental conditioning than just one-off bad thoughts. It is a long term problem and the solution must be more than long term. It must be actively long term.

My thoughts are cultivated by my environment just as much as I create them. It doesn't mean either side of things is in the wrong necessarily, but it does need more addressal than just "you need to change your thinking."

Especially as someone who would define their childhood as a sheltered, fear-mongering, unquestioning, superstitious, suspicious, scarcity-mindset-driven upbringing, I find it absolutely insulting to be told to "change my thoughts." I sincerely want my thoughts to be my own. I want my voice to be heard. I need my thoughts to be validated, otherwise my anxiety and depression and overwhelm will only grow. Do I need help? Yes. Am I unhealthy? Yes. But calling me crazy and giving me dismissive, disconnected, uninterested advice is wildly unhelpful and entirely counterproductive.

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #39)

(cw: fire) ----------

01/31/88  1:37 PM

Hey.

I know that in the last entry, I told you that I’d found answers in the memories I recovered.

That was true. I knew, then, what happened to you. I knew what I’d done to try to save you, and that I failed. The timeline of events in my head that had once been knotted up was suddenly untied and mostly flat. I can’t really say that the clarity felt good or that it was a relief, but it was certainly a release. I felt lighter, but I also felt hollow. And inside me echoed some of the questions that should have been answered, but only took on newer meaning when my amnesia was cured.

Had I only failed to save you from the fire, or had I failed to save you from yourself? What could I have done to prevent you from going down the path you did? What sort of friend had I been, to have let you spiral so hard right under my nose? And perhaps the most torturous question of all: Did I really have solid, concrete proof that you were dead? I never saw your body. The dying code I felt could have just been from your car. 

Is there even the slightest chance that you survived?

But all of these questions, I’ve found, are useless. Unhelpful. Rooted in either guilt or wishful thinking. I couldn’t let myself go down that path again. I’d just end up getting hurt and hurting others all over again. Besides, if you really were alive, you’d have come back for me by now.

You promised.

All of these things played in my head like cold, dreary whispers while I waited for Felix to return. After healing my burns and broken bones, he had left me outside while he hurried off to fight the flames I’d set. He also tasked Mary with fetching a blanket for me, which she did. She did not linger, however. She was nice enough about it, but I could tell that she still saw me as a bomb that might have gone off at any moment, like all the Nicelanders did. She, and the rest of them, gave me a ridiculously wide berth, practically hiding around the corner. I didn’t really care. It wasn’t their job to keep me company. That responsibility fell on Wreck-it, who watched me from his bricks a good distance away, with his brows knit together as if I were tiny letters in a distant book. I’m sure he was trying to figure me out without having to actually talk to me. We were still not on the best of terms by that point. 

I didn’t offer him anything. I just sat in the grass with my back against the burning building, the undersized blanket pulled around my shoulders. I barely had it in me to raise my hanging head enough to look at him.

Once the fires were out, the grateful Nicelanders were allowed back into the building and Wreck-it was dismissed from his brief guard duty. He clomped back over a mound of bricks and out of sight, and Felix cautiously sat beside me against the wall, giving ample respect to my personal space for once. 

Neither of us spoke at first. I didn’t even look at him. I just hugged the blanket tight around me and stared at my bent knees. Felix reeked of smoke and ash, which I really didn’t need. It made me feel sick.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him use a kerchief to wipe the black soot from his skin. He sneezed occasionally, excusing himself and not quite looking my way. Part of me wondered if he was actually mad at me for bombing his apartment. Which would have been fair. Really. But I think he was just anxious. Or confused. Or... sad. Maybe all at once. 

Also fair.

When he did eventually look at me, he looked for a good long while. I couldn’t see his expression in my peripheral, but he sat very still. Finally, he broke the silence gently.

“Mavy… what on Earth happened?”

I turned my head away a bit. I hated how I kept ending up in that position -- Felix trying to look after me after I’d done something massively stupid. He’s my cousin, not my father. Why was he so inescapable? For better or worse, in this crazy, spiraling mess of events, he had always been constant. Even when I doubted him. Even when he doubted me. I remembered the night I was attacked, and the huge fight we had. I remembered how betrayed I’d felt when he bought into rumors of me being dangerous. Seemed like all I’d done since then was confirm those rumors.

How could he even stand to sit next to me after all that? 

Just the thought of it weighed me down, and I lowered my temple to my bent knee.

“Felix,” I said quietly, barely recognizing my own exhausted voice.

“Yes?” he replied softly.

“Am I really the kind of family you want?”

He was quiet for a moment. Saying the ‘f’ word still made me deeply uncomfortable, so I sort of dreaded his answer. I don’t know what I wanted him to say. 

“Of course,” he said, a twinge of pain in his voice.

“Why? Why would you ever want any of--” I shrugged, “--this?”

He went silent again. I heard him shifting around a bit while he sorted out his answer. Eventually, he began slowly, “Mavis… I’ll tell you, but you’ll have to stick with me and let me finish. Okay?”

I nodded, staring at a nearby flowerbed and feebly praying that his answer would make any kind of sense to me.

“Okay…” he paused. “Mavy… I know family’s a tough thing for us to talk about. I’m sure that sometimes… hopefully not all the time… you wish we weren’t family at all. You n’ me, we’re not exactly peanut butter and jelly. We don’t make a whole lot of sense as a pair, it’s true. You didn’t choose me, and, well, I didn’t choose you either. And… I think it’s safe to say that if they let us pick family when we got plugged in, y’know, way back then… I probably wouldn’t have picked you if I had the option.”

I considered that. I won’t say that it didn’t hurt a bit to hear, but that in itself caught my attention. It was different from anything he’d ever told me. I furrowed my brow, still refusing to look. “So, you admit that you’re just stuck with me.”

“Uh,” he laughed nervously a bit, “I mean… yeah. But… darn it all, I’m so grateful for it.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’d been allowed to choose,” he sighed, and I could hear him smiling a bit, “I’d have missed out on a pretty incredible cousin.”

My ears went hot, but I let him continue.

“I won’t say you’re not challenging, Mavy,” he said, “but I really appreciate that about you. Because no one can grow without challenges. I’ll be honest -- I don’t get challenged a lot as a Good Guy. Without you, who would tell me ‘no’? Without you, how would I learn to love a sprite so different from me? How would I learn that love isn’t always easy? I wouldn’t be the man I am today without you keeping me on my toes. And you’re-- you’re vibrant and exciting and funny and so many more things you’re not giving yourself credit for. You bring so much color into my life. Even if you were the-- the so-called ‘maniac’ you seem to think you are, I’d still be glad you’re my cousin. We’re family, Mavis. No matter what.”

My chest felt so tight. I didn’t know what to say. Normally, I’d crack some mean-spirited joke and find the first excuse to leave. But for once, I didn’t want to do either of those things. I wanted to get it right. Meet him halfway. I felt so cold and small after my visions in the fire, and in ways I never have before, I craved closeness. I craved connection. I wanted to react like a good cousin.

But I just didn’t know if I was there yet.

“Well, that’s…” I muttered, searching for anything coherent. “Those are nice… words. But… they’re just words. What really makes us family? What does ‘family’ even really mean to you?”

Felix laughed once, affectionately, through his nose. “Oh, Mavy, I’m sure you know,” he said warmly. “When a sprite is family, you’re there for them no matter what. You’re tied together by an unbreakable bond. And they probably drive you crazy, but you love them anyway.”

“Even when they blow up your house?”

He laughed again. “Yes. Exactly.”

It all... made sense to me. I was not expecting it to. But the thing is, It made too much sense. I knew the feeling he was describing. But the last time I’d felt that about anyone, well…

“And what do you do,” I said quietly, “if they die?”

He was silent for a moment, just long enough to be reverent. “Oh, Mavy…” he sighed softly, his tone deeply sympathetic. “That… I do not know. I’m lucky, you know, because everyone who has ever been dear to me is still living. A lot of them are right here in this game. I… really can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, because… you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do if you ever… left us. Believe me, Mavy, I’ve lost a lot of sleep over the thought of it, the past couple months…”

“I know…” I muttered, my heart growing ever heavier. “I… wouldn’t wish any of this on you. It’s… it’s just a nightmare. So much that I just… I can’t really stomach the idea of having family. Having anyone that close. Not when this can just… happen. I can’t go through this again. So I...”

He didn’t respond, so I finished slowly.

“I… can’t promise I’ll ever feel the same about you as you feel about me.”

I heard him sigh steadily in a resigned sort of way. “I know,” he muttered. “I’ve made my peace with that.”

“But…” I interjected, suddenly falling short of words, unsure how to proceed with the strange, foreign thoughts finally taking form after swirling around my head like smoke for the whole conversation. What I said was true; I couldn’t fathom letting anyone nearly as close as I let you again. But that craving for closeness, that cold loneliness, it had me feeling… untethered. Lost in the dark with no ground beneath my feet. I didn’t want to hold onto anyone so tightly again, but… maybe I could keep someone just close enough to see them. Someone to stand on the ground so that I at least knew where it was.

I didn’t want it all. I just wanted something.

But before I could even think about improving my relationship with my cousin, there was something that had to come first. Something that, honestly, had been a long time coming. It only took my whole world blowing up for me to finally say it.

He prompted, “...But?”

“Felix,” I said.

“Mavy?”

I took a deep breath and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t reply at first. I didn’t expect him to. I knew it would take a moment to sink in, and I was too tired to be impatient. I just turned my head so my forehead was pushing against my knees, and I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. I found him staring at me. Rigid. Stunned. Mouth slightly agape. Looking like his appropriate response was loading… slowly.

Eventually, he managed to breathe, “For… for what, exactly?”

I scoffed. “I’unno. Pick something,” I shrugged, speaking slowly, like I barely had the strength to drag the words out. “I blew up your damn apartment, for one. And… I’ve been an absolute pain in the ass over the course of this… disaster. Not that I wasn’t a pain in the ass before it. All you’ve ever done is try to help me, and I’ve just… slammed the door in your face again and again. All over some stupid grudge that probably shouldn’t even matter anymore… or maybe that’s just been an excuse. I don’t know. I don’t quite understand why I do the things I do.”

He was quiet. My insides were quivering as I looked at the paint that still stained my glove and the bare skin of my arm, my whole body burning hot with embarrassment and shame.

I sighed, closed my eyes, and groaned lowly, “Let’s just… Let’s just say I’m sorry for the whole damn relationship up to this point. That’s probably right.”

I didn’t bother opening my eyes. But I still heard him sniff a bit. “Okay,” he finally said. “Th-thank you, Mavy, for saying that.”

I nodded. “Maybe I… can’t be the family you want. Or the one you… the one you deserve, more like. But, y’know, we…” I shrugged, letting out a rough sigh, “...I’m sick of feeling like this. I’m sick of things the way they are. I want something to change. So, family or not… maybe we can try to… fix... some of this. Some of this stupid, dramatic dance we’ve been doing for years. I, uh… hope any of that made sense.”

“Really?” he asked, his caution just barely shading the bright hope in his voice. “Mavy, you… you really want to try to patch things up?”

I took another moment to seriously ponder it, but I nodded. “Yeah. ‘Try’ being the key word here, but… I do.”

“Golly…I-- Oh, dear--” he sniffed wetly, and I heard him blow his nose, probably into the soot-stained handkerchief. “Beg pardon. I don’t wanna embarrass you, Mavy. I’m-- I’m just so happy to hear that. I’ve been-- I’ve just been hoping for this for so long…”

“Hmm,” I grunted.

It was embarrassing. I couldn’t match his enthusiasm. But I didn’t fight him on it. If he wanted to be happy, he could be happy. I wasn’t about to begrudge him that, especially not after I literally blew up his home.

We were both quiet for a really long time. I don’t think either of us knew just how we wanted to proceed. I think he was hesitant to initiate anything out of curiosity for what I might have been about to say. I couldn’t blame him. But I found myself thinking of you again. 

‘Family’ was never a word I considered using for you. I never liked using the word at all. But from the way Felix described it… you truly were family to me. A… very particular kind of family, I suppose, but… still. Thoughts of you filled my head. My family. My family that I… may have failed in horrible ways. I was still so unsure about so many things. But then I wondered, since Felix seemed to understand family more clearly than I did, what would he think?

I finally lifted my head, but I just stared straight ahead, at the brick pile across the grass.

“Felix… I wanna ask you something.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice still a bit stuffy with tears. “Of course. What is it?”

Trying not to hear myself, I just spoke. “Do you… think I could have saved Turbo?”

He didn’t answer right away. I heard him sigh, and I felt the slightest touch on my shoulder before he caught himself and pulled away. Then he told me, barely above a whisper, “Mavy, you can’t blame yourself. It… It was too much. The wreck, the fire… you were burned within an inch of your life. You gave it everything you had.”

I was still in such a raw, sensitive state after remembering all that, and just being reminded of it was enough to put hot pressure behind my eyes. With all the physical strength I could muster, I held the tears back. 

“No…” I shook my head. “Not that. I mean… could I have helped him…? Could I have stopped him from…? Was there… was there anything I did wrong?”

“Mavis, stop,” he said a bit more firmly. “Don’t do this to yourself. You can’t put all this on--”

My stomach burned a bit, and a couple tears escaped my eyes. “Answer the question,” I reminded him. “Please.”

“Well…” he took a long pause. “...I don’t know.”

Despair sapped the strength out of me, and I once more hung my head over my knees, my jaw tight from the pain in my heart. 

“But,” he continued, “I know it’s awful hard to help someone if they don’t let you do it. If he didn’t let you in… then there’s nothing more you could’ve done. You can’t blame yourself. Please don’t.”

The words hurt, but I tried to muster the emotional energy to consider them fully. He may have been right. I think I wanted him to be right. I wondered, then, if you had actually been trying to let me in, and I was too emotionally inarticulate to notice. That thought boiled painfully in my stomach. I wanted to believe that I’d done all I could have. But I think part of me blamed myself so that I could believe such awful things were preventable. I couldn’t make sense of your death being out of my control. That something so horrible could just happen. 

I didn’t know which line of thinking I preferred.

But there was at least one clear truth in what Felix had told me. One that I knew he had learned through experience with me. And I know he had been trying to tell me as much for so long… but hearing it from him then, it rang differently. 

‘It’s hard to help someone if they don’t let you do it.’

I remembered telling him that I didn’t know how to accept his help… but if I didn’t even try, then I’d be doing exactly what you did. Exactly what I wish so badly you hadn’t done. Maybe I still didn’t know how, but… I had no excuse not to try, other than pure fear.

And fear is not my color. Not anymore.

“Felix.”

“Mavy?” I crossed my arms over my knees, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “If what you’re saying is true, and… and T-Turbo didn’t let me help him, then… Well… I wish to the Devs that he had. Maybe if he did, then none of this would’ve…” I sighed. “I told you before that I… didn’t know how to accept your help. Not without it being forced upon me by… circumstances. That much is still true. But if I don’t even try, then… who knows what might happen to me. I don’t want things to end up like that. I’ve just-- I guess I’ve just always figured I’m-- I’m too much. That you couldn’t handle me, and you’d give up on me, and you’d just end up dropping me again, and Devs, it would not be worth it to go through that again--”

I heard him try to interject, but I couldn’t stop talking.

“--but you know what? I don’t think anything’s ever gonna hurt as bad as this. Losing him-- I mean, that’s… that was my worst fear. And it happened already.”

Silence fell for a moment. I took a couple slow, steady breaths, trying to put out the fire that I’d stoked in my belly. Felix waited patiently.

“So…” I sighed, “what’s there to be afraid of anymore?”

Felix took a moment, but he said carefully, “Boy, Mavy, I wish we’d arrived here in a less horrible way. But I’m still here for you. And I’m so glad to be here for you, you know that?”

I nodded, feeling a bit of a quake in my bones. “Yeah… Yeah.”

“And… I know I can’t change the past, but… Mavy, I’m still so sorry I ever let you down. It just eats me up inside. I may not always do the right thing, but I swear I will never turn my back on you. You’ll never be too much. You’ll always be family to me, Mavy. Above all else.”

Unable to look at him, I squeezed my already shut eyes even tighter, forcing a few more tears out. My stomach muscles were quivering, but I managed to keep my breathing even.

“And I’m ready to help you however you need it…” he said. “I know times are crazy right now, and I don’t wanna step on any of your toes. But I’m here, day or night. You just tell me what you need, and I’m there.”

“Uh,” I stammered, opening my eyes, but not looking his way, “I’m not-- I’m not really sure what I need right now...”

“That’s fine. No rush at all. You set the pace, okay?”

I glanced at him. His goodness radiated off of him so brightly, it almost hurt my little goblin eyes. I’ve been known to resent that about him, but really… it’s not so bad. In fact, I sort of realized just how often I had taken his goodness for granted. Or… just him in general. And upon realizing that, I thought about the lesson you had left me with, that anyone can just disappear without warning and be gone forever. I contemplated that as I looked at him. If I knew he was going to die the very next day, what would I want to do with him?

The answer came to me simply and sadly. A favor, in return for all he’d done for me.

“I think… I should help you clean your apartment.”

A splatter of emotions colored his face for a moment -- surprise, delight, and a twinge of unease. “Oh, what? No, no, that’s fine, I mean--” he swallowed, “--do you really want to?”

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s uh… it’s for therapy. I have to be nice to someone I’ve been a jerk to.”

I wasn’t on that step, but he didn’t need to know that. He was thrilled enough -- I figured if he knew I was helping him out of my own free will, he might be sobbing until the arcade opened again. Or just corrupt on the spot from confusion. Either way, unpleasant.

At that point, we went inside. We rode the elevator up to his floor, during which Felix finally made a comment on the rainbow of paint smeared over every inch of my exposed skin. He suggested that we clean the bathroom first so that I could have a shower, but I said it didn’t matter. Being slathered in color was the only thing that felt correct about that whole situation.

I wasn’t prepared for just how wrong everything else was about to feel.

Even just walking up to his door, I could smell the ghost of the fire. In the hallway, black powdery smears reached out on the floor and the walls. The door itself was perfectly intact, but it was hard to say for sure what it might have looked like before Felix presumably fixed it. He opened said door, and immediately, I felt sick. A horrible, miserable, quiet sick that settled deep in my code.

Everything had been fixed already. The window, the oven, all the furniture, seemed perfectly whole, not an inch out of place. But everything, from top to bottom, looked… diseased. Toxic, as if a noxious black mold was festering over every surface. Particles of ash drifted slowly through the air like spores. And the smell, oh, the smell. 

I don’t need to tell you just how torturous that smell was to me. 

But I made no comment. I couldn’t manage it. Felix didn’t question that at all. He didn’t even let me step into the apartment until he had run in, kicking up grey dust clouds as he went, and returned with two dust masks and two pairs of eye-protecting goggles. Carpenter stuff.

Once we both donned our gear, we stepped inside fully. I waited, taking in the haunting sights while he fetched a huge bucket of soapy water and a couple sponges, as well as some spray bottles of who knows what. I spoke only once, to ask him just what he wanted me to do. Cleaning doesn’t really come naturally to me, which he was wise enough to not be surprised by. It was pretty straightforward -- just scrubbing and wiping. He set to work in the bathroom, but since that’s kind of small for the two of us to work comfortably in, he told me to start wherever I wanted. I picked the window.

The glass was actually mostly clean, but the sill and the surrounding wall were stained black. As I half-heartedly cleaned, I stared out the window absent-mindedly. I watched the dump, not thinking at all about the sight of it. My head was just quiet, as if it was too upset to speak to me.

At some point I did notice Wreck-it. He had probably been there all along, partially blanketed in bricks. I think I only took notice of him once I realized he was watching me, way out there. I paused in my cleaning, and we maintained very distant eye contact. Living on opposite sides of the game from each other, it was an exchange we had shared on many occasions. But this time was different. We didn’t make faces, rude gestures or even wave. We just looked at each other.

I’m not... entirely sure why.

I only looked away when I heard a gaggle of Nicelanders, led by Mary, enter the apartment, all carrying their own cleaning equipment and wearing their own masks (some of which were just bandanas or tea towels). They cheerfully informed Felix of the obvious -- they had come to help. Felix welcomed them gratefully, and they immediately set to work.

The job was hard work, but it moved along much faster once all those additional little hands joined in. Some went to scrub the kitchen, others began to fight with the stained upholstery, and someone even brought in a little vacuum, carving clean squares out of the ash in the carpet. I was glad to have their help, really. I was more glad to have Nicelanders around than I had probably ever been before. But even so, it was all too busy for me. I didn’t want to be alone, but I needed some semblance of space. So I drifted away from the scene until I had wandered into Felix’s bedroom.

His room was not quite as burnt as the living room, but even so, I was surprised by just how much the fire had left its mark there. His bed looked like it was ancient and dusty from disuse, with how much grey ash had covered it. The sight brought an old, unpleasant memory back into my head -- lying in that bed and retching up ash on the day you died. I paused for just a moment, but tried to put it out of my mind and busy myself by scrubbing the walls.

Not a few moments passed before someone else appeared in the room. It was Mary. I thought for a moment that she might have followed me, but I couldn’t fathom why a Nicelander would willingly place themselves closer to me.

She looked around the room, a weird sponge-mop hybrid in hand, clicking her tongue a bit at the mess.

“In here, too? My, my,” she shook her head, not really speaking directly to me. Then she shrugged and said, “Oh well!”

And just like that, without ever fully acknowledging me, she took to the opposite wall with her mop thing. I watched her for quite a while, letting a fair bit of soapy water just drip down the wall from where I held the sponge. She never looked at me. She showed no sign of an ulterior motive.

Whatever, I thought. I was too dreary to think too hard on it.

Once I turned back to my work, however, I felt… stuck. I was working, but I was just stiffly scrubbing the same spot long after it was clean. There was something about the sight of it that took a silent, forceful hold of my mind. Memories of that first night without you had begun to flood my head. I thought about the violent cough I had for weeks after, how I would taste ash on the breath of every hacking wheeze. It was like I’d been burned from the inside out that day, thanks to you.

Just then, I wondered if the inside of my lungs had looked like the very room I stood in.

And there I was, finally washing the burns away.

Moving on from the nightmare.

Without you.

Something inside of me broke just then. Whatever dam that was holding my emotions back cracked, split, and burst, and it all came crashing down. The sponge slipped from my hand and fell into the bucket with a splash, and the strength in my legs gave way. I sank to my knees, curled over myself and just… bawled.

I cried so hard, I could barely breathe. Everything was just exploding out of me. I didn’t even try to stop it. It hurt terribly, but… I needed it. I needed it like I need air to breathe, like I need electricity to exist. It was nourishing, unlike any tears I had ever shed before.

The onslaught only slowed when I was startled by a wet slap next to me. I looked up and saw that weird mop thing scrubbing away at the wall, and Mary beneath it. Willingly standing close to me.

“Wh-What…?” I breathed.

She glanced at me just once, a sort of sheepish smile in her eyes. She just said with a lighthearted shrug, “Many hands make light work.”

I stared at her for some time… but ultimately, I nodded, picked up my sponge again, and resumed work, regardless of the tears still pouring down my cheeks.

[hyperionswrath--archived]

@onepartbrave​

Gaze innately drawn to the weapon still grasped in his former rival’s hand, Squall felt his brows raise at watching the aforementioned disappear. Well… wasn’t that a neat trick? He’d heard of the way the Glaives could summon forth an artillery from thin air but witnessing it first-hand was mystifying in sense. Almost surreal. If he didn’t already live in a world filled with profound magic and enchanted beasts, he’d have questioned his sanity. Alas, his rationality was sound as was his physical form once again… thanks to Seifer. Head tilting as the fact bounced around internally, he wondered on why it felt almost too strange to him. Like an obscure dream.

Shrugging away the counterproductive reflections, his attention was snatched up by the abrupt change in demeanour of the blond. Gone was the cocky persona he’d expected and in its place was… frustration? Huh? Yup. The burning in those green eyes indicated enmity and it was directed at him. Concern popped to the forefront of his mind—for the man, not himself—and he was about to voice the worry but was beaten to it. What the fuck was he thinking?

Jokes on you, even I don’t know.

Consciously ignoring the unhelpful jibe in his head, Squall failed to respond in quick succession. In fact, he failed to do anything except appear as unhelpful as he felt. Face creased into a prominent frown, he tried to piece together what had gotten Seifer so peeved at him (honestly, it didn’t take much) but faltered when the blond inched closer. Aptitude drew his bewildered eyes down when the other’s hand moved to and his body tensed from muscle memory, prepared to defend should a hit come sailing his way. As it were, nothing did. The Glaive’s intended path was cut short and Squall’s weary gaze returned to the blond’s face, surprised to see it turn away and glare metaphorical daggers at an unfortunate chair.

…Why did he feel as though he was to blame for this, too?

Chewing inwardly on his cheek, Squall mindlessly took a few steps forward, closing more of the distance left between. Safety concerns were thrown out of the window for now, he wanted to know what was ailing Seifer. Because, correct him if he was wrong… but he swore that was genuine concern he’d discerned. For him. Getting shot was a good enough reason for anyone to fret over another person, but Seifer too had been wounded but hardly seemed to care? Had it… been because he’d picked up on the fact Squall had no remedies? Ugh. Another one he owed the guy.

“…I wasn’t thinking,” Squall offered cautiously, head cocking a little to try and bring Seifer’s line of sight back to his own. “I acted irrationally. I just…” He sighed, feeling regret and shame pool in the pit of his stomach. Seifer got injured on his behalf and he hadn’t even the necessities to right that wrong. “I slipped up. It’s not a common occurrence so…” What? Don’t worry? D’you wanna patronise the guy and get decked? Just—shut up. “Forget it,” he said in substitute, a little too snappy for its intention. “I’ll make it up to you. Drinks on me in another place?”

Perhaps his olive branch would settle any debt. He hoped so. Last thing he needed was to be owing anyone. Hands clenching in and out of nervous fists at his side, he scowled lightly when noticing and jammed them harshly in his pockets instead. The less he embarrassed himself in the aftermath, the better. Although, when examining the aftermath properly, a little light in place now with temporary lanterns being set around, he winced on the inside. This might be a pricey fix…

As though hearing his plea for something to distract him, Squall’s phone began vibrating. Scrambling to grab it, he yanked it out of his pocket with unnecessary force, nearly dropping it with a fumble of fingers. Pushing the button to answer the private number, he said a rushed, “Yeah?” before grimacing at who he answered. Listening attentively despite the abrupt drop in his already abysmal mood, he waited with wavering patience as the tone on the other end delivered a short, sharp set of instructions amidst a bunch of reprimands. In the end, he was hung up on and his face was set in stone, looking like he’d swallowed a lemon.

Switching off the display, he rehoused his device and ground his teeth together. If the night couldn’t get any worse… “My team will clean up,” he relayed in a toneless drone, thoroughly fed up with the day and wanting it to end, “and we’ll cover any costs. I’m—bye.”

About facing, Squall rudely didn’t wait for any response as he headed for the exit. God, he was in dire need of some fresh air and distance from the absolute nightmare of a mission end. …And no, he wasn’t running from Seifer, thank you very much.

If there hadn't been this inherent boiling under his surface, Seifer might have caught the glance of curious eyes watching as the amiger took his weapon in. For him, too, it had been a rather strange experience when he witnessed it for the first time. More so even as he learned he would be able to connect Hyperion with the powers he was able to dip in to once he was sworn to the King of Lucis. If anything, it was able to give him a certain edge in any fight, sometimes even granting him the upper hand, but only if he played his cards right. As it were, he still could feel more words dance on the tip of his tongue at this moment, only partly aware that he in some way must have flustered the brunet with his outburst. Yet if he had been after exactly this kind of emotional display before to file it away or even better, take jabs at it, he didn't seem to care that much about their usual bickering this very moment.

Of course he hadn't missed the way Squall had reclined, ready to defend himself as soon as his hand had risen just about an inch, maybe reason for him to halt his move in the end and let his arm fall to his side again. A hum rolled from his lips, surprised in its tonation, as Seifer registered the other one step closer towards him instead of bringing more distance between them. His gaze flitted to the corners of his eyes to perceive the man, muscles on his jaw twitching slightly as the brunet set to speak. And what he heard... it was enough to make his face turn towards Squall again, his expression softening just so. Again, the muscles around his mouth tensed as he seemed to rephrase whatever wanted to slip out of it before he let out a huff. "Doesn't sound like you at all...", he quietly admitted, lips pressed thin now. He didn't like the way the brunet acted at all, because for all he knew, something was very off about it. The famed Lion was no one who did not think, or slipped up, or acted irrationally for that matter. All those years of consequently pestering the guy to harden him for the world out there and this was what came of it?

In just that brief moment of reflection and honesty Squall directed at him, Seifer felt he could sense a whole range of emotion and, most notable, words coming from the other than he had ever witnessed before, in such a way it only helped to deepen his concern. Nope, he didn't like this shit one bit. At all. ‘Forget it’, he said, as if that was even possible if you knew Squall Leonhart for as long as he had. Shit, not even his friends would be able to let what had happened here go. "Sure.", he said nonetheless, letting just enough sarcasm drip into his voice to leave it up to the brunet if he really meant to forget about it or not.

Again, unexpected words came following up just mere moments later, rising Seifer's brows in astonishment. He actually wanted to spend more time? Together? Now, that really wasn't what he had expected when they ran into each other this evening, battles and a destroyed Glaive Bar aside. "I could just sneak out a bottle or two.", he commented helpfully with a nonchalant shrug, trying to get his bearings again and sound as much as his usual, cocky self. Vocalization maybe playing along, his eyes didn't, still shooting probing looks at the man. "But yeah, sure. Could use a drink or ten now." he agreed, knowing full well that good old Squall certainly wouldn't approve of stealing pricey alcohol from a bar they had just smashed to smithereens. At least he was slowly able to calm down again, the rush of the fight driven out of him leaving him only with the afterglow of sore muscles and a faint sting in his shoulder that would pass in time. Thus, he glanced the nervously clenching fists of his former rival, just a mere second before the clever boy hid them inside his jacket. The mere move was enough to tug at his lips. He was just opening his mouth to say something when the brunet's phone rang, shutting him up, but not stopping him from laughing, to his surprise rather softly, at the fumbling that commenced as Squall tried to take his call.  Fuck, if someone had told him he would ever in his life be able to see the famed Lion so beside himself and that all it would cost was to take a bullet for him, shit, he'd done it sooner.

Turning his body just a little to grant Squall some privacy, he leaned down to pick up his glove he left on the floor, slowly slipping it back over his hand. From the corners of his eyes he could see enough to grasp that whatever this call was about, it wasn't Rinoa whispering sweet nothings. Well, if anything, someone else was having a shit day with their superiors, so maybe he could feel a little less sorry about himself now. Rubbing his chin at the thought, he lifted a brow when he detected the sour expression on Squall's face. "Bad call?", he asked then, an air of sympathy in his voice. Damn didn't he know what a pain in the ass people in charge could be? But instead of an answer he received a pretty curt dismissal and, as if the brunet didn't know better, he left Seifer standing. Back to ignoring him again was it now?

Biting on his tongue to not call out to his former rival, he instead stayed behind for a moment, trying to grasp what the fuck had just happened here. "Ungrateful shit.", he muttered, steering resolute steps toward the bar and waving off Glaives trying to initiate a conversation with him about the attack they had just faced, not understanding where it had even come from. That he would take care of tomorrow. Tonight, however... Swiftly he ducked behind the bar counter, already knowing his poison and unceremoniously fetching a new bottle of Galahdian Whiskey from a shelf before turning to the exit himself. Sauntering down the flight of stairs, the cool night air brushing his face, he flicked the bottle open swiftly, taking a deep swig.

[cloudbattrolls]

The Woods, Interrupted

Running from Rhyssa hadn’t lasted long.

Rather, it had apparently lasted a week or so after fleeing from her the first time, during which they’d apparently they’d suppressed the memory of the encounter. Unhelpful in practice, though at least for once their brain had tried to do them a favor. 

Sadly it had all come rushing back in a jolt of pure adrenaline as they had attempted to book it from her swarms of wasps, tearing through branches and becoming riddled with splinters for their trouble.

They looked up at her now from a pile of leaves they’d collapsed on, too weary to run more. God, they could drain a whole person dry right now and have room for several pints of another. Their head rested on their knees as they huddled over.

“What do you want.” the worm drinker groaned.

She looked at them (or did she look? She still wore that bandanna over her eyes, and a hat on her head that would’ve shaded her view, yet clearly she could see somehow) and knelt down next to them.

Every part of them ached, worms protesting from hunger and disappointment that the woman next to them was anything but prey. Their clothes were damp and dirty from nights in the forest and they wanted to go home.

Home. There was no home, not anymore.

Their cavern would never be theirs again, and they wandered for a reason: after leaving OLSC, staying in one place too long was just asking for the empire to snatch them up a third time.

“I just wanna talk, honey. Ain’t you even a little curious about what we got in common?”

Tuuya looked away from her, ears down and twitching in irritation.

“No. Bugger off. Just because we’re both made of bloodsucking parasites doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends.”

Or siblings.

The freshly remembered word cut through their head like a rusty knife, slow pain mixed with disbelief. It couldn’t be true; they’d never seen Rhyssa before in their life. Their worm was artificial anyway, a product of their ancestor’s science; if her wasps were (god forbid) natural, there was no way they could be related.

She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Well dang, you treat everyone who wants to get to know you this way? Doesn’t seem like much of a way to make pals.”

“I don’t associate with other undead.” They snapped, plucking off a leaf stuck one of their horn tines and crunching it up in their hands with rather more malice than it deserved. “You make for terrible company.”

They thought of Tiijah and brushed the thought aside. They hadn’t spoken with her in ages, nor Shiver, or Matcha. They’d probably never see that ridiculous mediculler boy again either. None of them counted.

Besides, did the fool think they’d somehow forgotten about her town? Perhaps she’d been doing it so long she’d forgotten it was messed up to make people your willing blood bags, but Tuuya was all too aware. Their dozen cavern trolls had been bad enough, let alone a couple hundred people who were clearly only the latest of what had probably been thousands over the sweeps.

Rhyssa laughed, and if they’d had any more energy than it took to keep their face out of the dirt, they’d have hurled another smoke bomb at her out of spite.

“Well, who in tarnation do you shoot the shit with? Living trolls are fine for a wheeze and all, but you turn around and they’re dead or ascended or too old to have fun with anymore.”

The worm monster scowled as they looked back at her, hoping they were staring directly into her eyes. Arrogant prick.

“Here’s a thought: why don’t you leave me alone, and I leave you alone, and we both forget this ever happened.”

Hardly. But figuring out how to kill her and deal with her brainwashed horde would take time.

She sat properly and bit her lip as if considering it, then shook her head.

“Back in my town, did you think you were protecting my folks? You thought I was gonna drain them dry?”

They snorted.

“I didn’t know what you were going to do, I just knew I didn’t like it. We have nothing more to discuss, because if you haven’t noticed, I hate you. Have a terrible night.”

“Why?” She said, blunt and frustrated, hands spread out in what was probably meant to be a placating gesture. “Look - sorry for ripping at ya before, I didn’t realize you were my kind. Thought you were one of the little wriggler drinkers, trying to swipe blood. I woulda never done that if I’d known.”

They closed their eyes, giving a hard sigh in irritation.

“Thanks. That changes nothing. Goodbye.”

It was difficult to tell what she was thinking, but the woman shifted, hands crunching leaves in her fists as the weak moonlight filtering through the treetops.

“You don’t even care about who you are?”

“I find my life much improved by behaving like I’m a person instead of a disgusting hell swarm. Weird take, I know, but that’s why you and I have zero common ground and never will.”

She parted her lips and wasps flew out. The worm monster flinched back, and Rhyssa smiled and put a finger to her mouth.

The insects flew around before settling on Tuuya’s arms, faceted eyes gleaming as their antennae twitched. The younger drinker went rigid, expecting pain.

“Well? If you’re going to attack me, get it over with.” They half-snapped, a quaver to their voice as their bright jade pupils flitted back and forth between the white creatures and Rhyssa’s face.

“Hush up a moment and listen.”

They felt the buzz more than heard it. It spread through them like a wave of electricity, not painful, instead oddly invigorating. Every part of their body vibrated from the wasps’ noise, their worms yearning to come out, to...communicate, somehow.

Instinctually, they cut the back of their hand and released the pale invertebrates. The creatures wriggled up their arms, their shoulders - and the wasps didn’t hurt them.

They fluttered around the worms delicately, lightly brushing them with their wings...almost as if with affection. The worms docilely waved in the air as if to track the insects’ progress, even though they had no eyes.

Tuuya looked up to see Rhyssa grinning even wider.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” 

Her voice was all innocence.

“Smiling. It’s annoying.”

“Nah, you ain’t gonna ruin this. I knew it. I knew you were the real worm. I always hoped you’d survived somehow...I was right.”

The jade rolled their eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and care less. Their reactions don’t speak for me. I have a troll thinkpan, even if the rest of me is them.”

Yet despite their dry words, the drinker felt a sense of recognition. It was nothing they could explain. Alternian Standard didn’t have the language for it, for a sensation that went beyond the five senses, a flickering of belonging that was alien and yet terrifyingly familiar.

Why? Why did they feel that way?

“That doesn’t make a lick of sense, sweetie. They are you. Can’t you feel it? Even if you don’t remember - ”

They snapped to attention, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t remember what?”

Rhyssa waved a hand in a gesture that tried to be casually dismissive but failed as her wrist trembled a little.

“Nothin’, sugar cube, don’t fret about that right now.”

They retracted their worms back into their body and folded their arms.

“Does this have anything to do with whatever you called me when you first saw me? That was a name, wasn’t it?”

Hlayos, or so it had sounded like. It had been kind of hard to hear precisely when they’d been trying to put themself back together from those godawful stingers.

The woman sighed and blew air out of her dead lungs, running her fingers through the grass.

“Look, I don’t wanna go into all that just yet, okay? I still need to figure out what I’m gonna do. This is great, but...”

The wavy-haired undead leaned back as Rhyssa trailed off wistfully, apparently staring into space. Their mouth pulled into displeased slash and their ears angled likewise.

“Can I go, then? Without you sending your horrid beasts after me?”

She sniffed in a way that indicated Tuuya had been rude, which honestly was the funniest thing they’d heard all night.

“Whatcha in such a hurry for anyway?”

“Oh, I’ve got a meeting with the empress and her personal tea server.” They remarked, snide. “If I’m late I have to dance the macarena and wear mittens on my horns.”

Claire’s forest wasn’t too far from this one, now that they remembered where they were. Selfish as it was, all they wanted right now was a hot cup of her own hivemade tea and to hear Irisma and Moelle play, or Talula shriek in delight as she stacked blocks. Maybe they could listen to Elziah and Aduya practice their music, ask Wueyah to show them her art, or - not that they’d ever admit it - toss Herbie some snacks.

Then they realize what they want even more: to sit with Uunive lying in their lap like she did when she was small and her horns hadn’t reached their full growth, when she still wanted to play Sailor Moon and they ran dungeons and dragons every week.

God, they missed her. How was she doing with her cavern duties? Did she have a matesprit now, that girl she talked about before? Had she made more bread? Above all, was she still safe?

Useless thoughts, every one of them, highly ridiculous and inappropriate. They hadn’t been made to be sentimental.

They had been meant to be like Rhyssa.

“Now why don’t you wanna tell me?” The wasp monster mused.

They barked a laugh, managing to push themself up after a long enough rest.

“Could it be because I don’t trust you? I don’t know how many barbs I have to throw before one sinks in, but here’s a flat fact: I would rather be literally anywhere else right now.”

Bizarrely, her mouth turned down in an injured pout.

“What’s so great about where you’re goin’ anyway? You don’t seem the party type, so it ain’t that. Pfft, no, wait - you got a living quad, I bet. Shoot, you would, you seem so young and goofy.”

They got up, ignoring her, ignoring their hunger, and pointedly walked away silently (well, more like with periodic sullen leaf crunches, but they did their best).

“Is it that little cluster in the woods over yonder?”

Tuuya kept walking despite the pit of dread that had opened up inside them. If they didn’t react, she had nothing to go on. She could just be taking shots in the dark.

“Is it that maroon who walks round with that dragon-lookin’ thing?”

Keep walking. Keep walking. Don’t show her anything.

“Gosh, guess I could pay them a visit myself. See what makes their company so preferable. Course, question is, should I let them live at the end? Maroons die in a blink anyway. I’d be doin’ you a favor.”

The buzzing sounded again and they couldn’t help it, they whirled around to see Rhyssa’s swarm buzzing around her.

The wasps weren’t fluttering gently now.

Their throat went dry, drier even than it was, and their eyes widened in fear they can’t conceal.

“No.” They whispered. Even with Claire’s powers to reckon with, the wasps were fast and deadly enough to seriously injure or kill the others before she could help them.

“Please, no. Don’t do it.”

“Why?” She said again, this time almost indifferent in her tone, her relaxed shoulders, hands on her hips. She was annoyed at most; there was no hate in her voice, not even any arrogance. These trolls were just an obstacle to her. The receiving end of her petty spite.

Spite they were helpless to stop.

“Because...they don’t deserve to die. They’re decent people, decent as anyone can be on Alternia. They don’t deserve to die just for knowing me.” Tuuya croaked, hands shaking.

“Aaaaaah.” Rhyssa breathed, satisfaction and ire in her voice. “Thought I smelled you in those trees. That’s what took me so long, thinking you were there instead of here...now I get it. But that’s an awful weak argument, sugar. Put some fire into it! Same stuff you showed me when you were defending my folk, and you barely knew them. What makes these little snacks so important that they’re worth keeping alive, hm?”

The tailor’s mouth opened and closed, then they found their voice.

“They - they are very talented, artistically, and I assist them with clothing and such, and - ”

The situation would’ve been ridiculous if it hadn’t been so terrifying. Firebird had been a menace, dangerously delusional, nothing but a misguided fool in the end, but she had never threatened their...their circle.

The wasps rose higher in the air, primed to attack.

No. They all had so much to live for. They deserved so much better -

They began to fly.

The worm monster flung an arm out as they yelled, voice weak and cracking as they trembled in fear, ears flat against their head.

“Don’t hurt them, because I...I love them.”

Tuuya slapped a hand to their mouth. Idiot. What a stupid thing to say. As if they had the right. 

If Claire ever found out...never mind, absolutely no energy to worry about that right now, save it for later.

The wasps spiraled down and back into Rhyssa, who chuckled gently as the other drinker went weak in relief.

“Aw, that’s cute. Dumb, but cute. Well...if ya really do like ‘em so much, I guess I wanna meet ‘em!”

They stared at her blankly.

“What.”

“I mean I could drink ‘em instead, but your call - ”

“Fine! Fine, I’ll take you.”

Not as if they had a choice. 

But damned if they’d ever let her touch them. Damned if Claire and her family would ever suffer because of Tuuya and the trouble they’d accidentally brought with them.

As Rhyssa walked ahead, their bright yellow and jade eyes narrowed.

They’d kill her somehow. For the sake of their circle. For the sake of her captive town. 

And most of all, because she was bloody irritating. 

END

[unwoundvisions]

Macayla Laurence Info Dump 7

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?

The first time she saw Laurie be praised by his friends for his more carefree nature threw her for a loop because she was always judged or scolded for it. That and many of the other hypocrisies when face made her feel helpless for a really long time. It also led to her not really being herself around most people.

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

She doesn’t wear many things with pockets and is envious that men just naturally get to have pockets. Honestly, if she did have them she would probably just have sweets in them. 

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

She doesn’t really dream which disappoints her because she would really like to. If she ever remembers a dream, it’s usually a nightmare that feel so vivid she has trouble going back to sleep after.  

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?

Oh yes, quite often. Her grandfather taught her how to use a gun when she was around 13. He wished for her to join them on those big hunting parties they often had but she had no intentions on doing so. Still, she had a genuine interest in target practice and became the best shot in the family. Granted, she’s only ever fired at stationary targets but her shot is usually more accurate than Laurie’s or her grandfather’s.  

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Not really. Her father did denounce a lot of the family’s money when he married her mother. Still, her mother made pretty good money as a musician and she can’t recall them ever struggling. After their death, she and Laurie grew accustom to the wealth their grandfather had. 

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?

She is much more comfortable in less clothing but rarely ever gets to wear something comfortable. The noble fashion usually involves lots of layers and that’s just dreadful for her. 

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?

The time a man attempted to have his way with her. He had seemed like a very nice man and she had never expected him to do such a thing. She had dismissed his advances and assumed he’d give up like everyone else but the second she turned her back, he grabbed her. It was terrifying but thankfully she was loud enough to get help before anything serious could happen. 

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?

She was shockingly calm with Rachel’s crew for a while. Not exactly happy or thrilled to be hostage but she felt at ease with them. She felt safe to a certain extent. 

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?

Not really. If anything, it triggers something in her to do something. She usually tries to help whoever is bleeding any way she can.

Does your character remember names or faces easier?

She can easily remember faces. She can remember names too but not as well. 

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?

Not really. She of course has both but it’s not something she feels like she needs to be happy. She only wishes to use her wealth to help others. 

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

Happiness and she still holds out for happiness despite always being urged to make compromises in her life.

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?

She admires both a great deal but ambition is something she admires a lot because she considers herself to be slightly ambitious.

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

She’s never really had a romantic relationship before. However, some of biggest flaws would most likely is that she is hesitant to say how she truly feels until she is sure the other person is serious about her. Her other flaw is her insecurity. She struggles with her confidence sometimes. Not all the time but there are days where she doubts everything about herself and her appearance. She also gets anxious and often overthinks things. She’s also very emotional which isn’t exactly a flaw but could make arguments harder.

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?

She is guilty of comparing herself to others but whenever she notices that she’s doing that, she can usually stop herself because deep down she knows that comparing yourself to anyone is pointless. 

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?

It sort of depends on what happened. She doesn’t like to point the blame at other people unless it’s absolutely necessary. She’s more likely to blame herself but she really doesn’t even do that unless she feels personally responsible. 

What does your character like in other people?

She can like a lot about people but generally likes if they are determined, brave, funny or kind. As long as they are a good person, she’ll probably like them.

What does your character dislike in other people?

Overall, she dislikes people who look down on others. Judgmental people. Hateful or cruel people. 

How quick is your character to trust someone else?

She is very hesitant to trust people given how gossipy nobles are. She’s always hesitant about revealing too much of her true self.

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?

She will suspect others pretty quickly because she’s been betrayed by “friends” far too many times for not behaving enough like a lady. However, if she is close to someone, she will most likely never suspect them because they’ve earned her loyalty and trust. 

How does your character behave around children?

She’s always liked children and genuinely enjoys entertaining them. She’s also never minded taking care of them. Because she is a older sister, she’s always sort of had a maternal instinct and she’s always seen herself being a mother at some point in her future. 

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?

She is going to cry. No way around it, she will eventually start crying. She always tries to hold her own and but if the person is being a bit too harsh or speaking a little too loud, she’ll cry. She can’t help it. Hell, she’ll cry if she feels like she’s not being understood. Truly, the crying is most likely unavoidable. She can be furious and crying at the same time. It’s a mess honestly. 

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?

She’s not really a violent person. It truly takes someone else attacking her first, or attacking the people she loves first to draw a physical reaction from her.

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?

When she was younger, her mother really influenced her more creative passions. She used to dream of being a singer or actress. She kept dreaming of that for a while until she and Laurie came into their Grandfather’s care where that dream got pushed aside as she grew up. 

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?

She truly can’t stand any kind of any kind of bigotry, sexism or anything hateful like that.  Whenever people are cruel or abusive is awful to her as well. 

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

She is at her most comfortable when she feels as if she can truly be herself. Usually late at nights with Laurie where she doesn’t have to worry about carrying herself properly all the time. 

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.

Usually at parties because she is usually crowded by potential husbands. She doesn’t like being sought after by so many people as if she’s nothing but a trinket. She’s not very comfortable around men in general because far too many of them have talked down to her, tried to touch her or other inappropriate things. 

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

It depends. If the person giving them criticism is genuinely trying to help her improve, she’ll try to take the criticism and improve. However, if someone is offering unhelpful criticism, she will probably get upset and defensive.

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?

She will immediately try another method if it did not work the first time. She’d rather find a way that does work than waste time a method that didn’t. 

How does your character behave around people they like?

If she likes them, that must mean she trusts them. If that is the case, she is a lot more carefree and herself. She’s happier, relaxed and eager to have fun. She’s not at all worried about keeping up appearances or behaving properly. She’s a lot more confident and sure of herself. 

How does your character behave around people they dislike?

Very cold and ridged. If she does not like the person, she’ll most likely say as little as possible because she does not want to engage with them what so ever. If they do try to engage her, she’ll try to be civil but her irritation will probably be evident.  

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?

Defending her honor for sure. She’s done everything under the sun to ensure the family’s status is protected but if someone were to question her honor, she’d prioritize that.

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?

It sort of depends on the situation. If it’s possible to avoid the threat/problem, she will because that most likely means a horrible situation can be avoided. However, if it’s unavoidable she’d rather face the threat/problem head on. 

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?

She was actually bitten by a dog when she was a baby. Thankfully, she was so young that she can’t remember it. She doesn’t have a fear of dogs, she actually loves them. It did leave her with a small scar near her mouth though. 

How does your character treat people in service jobs?

Given that her home is staffed with people working for them, she’s always treated them very well. Her grandfather always taught her and Laurie to be respectful to those waiting on others. 

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?

Not at all. She knows everything she has is simply because she was born into a wealthy family and thinks there are people far more deserving of it than her. 

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

Not really, she and Laurie have always had their grandfather. 

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

Not really. There have been several people who helped take care of her and Laurie when they were growing up such as nannies, tutors, ect but they always had their grandfather. 

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

Saying it to her family is very easy to her. Saying it to friends is easy as well. She’s never told a person she loves them in a romantic sense. She’d be very hesitant to do that though because she has a fear of rejection. She can’t really imagine saying the words without meaning them. 

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

She does believe in an afterlife but doesn’t think it’s exactly what people imagine it to be like. She assumes it’s nice but just not exactly as it’s described. However, just because she believes in afterlife, that doesn’t mean she does not fear death. She fears death and will always fear dying which is why she wants to live her life to the fullest.