#some of these things ARE bodily autonomy and some of them very much are not and the POINT is

[scoobydoodean]

Me if I talked about Dean like some people talk about Sam:

Sam forcing Dean to stop being a demon was a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam locking Dean up numerous times in season 8, 9, and 10 was a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam tricking Dean into seeing a faith healer then dragging him into the tent when he was too weak to fight back was a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Dean can't say no to Sam, so any time Sam says anything and Dean agrees, Sam has violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Removing the Mark of Cain without Dean's permission violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Punching Dean for wanting to jump into the ocean in a box violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Always saying no when Dean wanted to take a break leading up to season 3 violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Throwing Dean against a wall and trying to choke Dean to death violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Ordering Dean to go and stay with Lisa as his dying wish violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Trying to kill Benny and telling Dean he couldn't be friends with Benny anymore violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam killed two different people over the course of the show to save Dean, violating Dean's principles, and his agency and bodily autonomy.

Guilting Dean into keeping Michael locked up in his head violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Trying to force Dean to be his mommy violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Guilting and shaming Dean into a parenting role with Jack violated Dean's bodily autonomy.

Being referred to as a dog who needed to be leashed by demons who wanted Sam to take control of Dean is a reflection of Dean's lack of bodily autonomy.

Sam lying to Dean about things that concern Dean's life is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam not letting Dean die whenever Dean is suicidal is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy

Sam lying by promising to survive The Trials just so he can do them instead is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam letting Dean get turned into a vampire so he can use him to get into a nest is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam being perfectly comfortable with using Dean as bait is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam showing clear disapproval of various sexual partners Dean has is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam trying to kill Crowley is a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy.

Sam not looking for Dean when he was in Purgatory was a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy, but also if Sam had looked for him, that would also be a violation of Dean's bodily autonomy because he doesn't know what Dean would want.

[girlmadeofclockwork]

I think the potential hilarity of Durge/Karlach is not capitalized on enough, cause imagine being Gortash, the subordinate you sold to the devil ten years ago is back foiling your methodically laid out plans and out to kill you in vengeance for what you did, and then just to add insult to injury she stole your murder-girlfriend as well. L’s up on L’s for this man.

[transmascissues]

god, stuff like this is such a punch to the gut. i usually don’t feel that emotionally affected by comments like this other than being angry at them, but it’s so different when it’s someone i genuinely really respect, who seems to be very conscious of these things, who’s making a point of being a vocal ally, and they still just don’t see how people really treat us.

so much of the current legislation against trans healthcare (i would argue the vast majority of it, if not literally all of it) is founded upon denial of our bodily autonomy and fearmongering about our transitions. people call us predators and abusers for having and feeding our children. a huge number of people pretty recently jumped on a singular incidence of violence as “proof” that testosterone turns us all into evil monsters. people talk about how we’re stealing our bodies from them and say that if they could just grope us or have sex with us, we’d see that we’re really women. we ask for something as simple as the use of language that includes us so that we can better access the healthcare we need, and even that is asking too much.

but sure, people don’t really have a problem with us being men, so everyone can just stop bothering with affirming that we are who we say we are because clearly people are already on board with that idea, right?

and of course, it’s upsetting on a personal (one might say parasocial) level because it just sucks to see someone you respect openly state that they don’t think the things happening to your community are really happening. that was the initial reaction i had — i know this is one person, a fallible person, who i have no true relationship with, but it still feels like a betrayal of some sort to read that.

the thing that really gets me, though, is that there are a lot of people who trust him (whether rightly or not) to be a good source of info, and a lot of those people are going to see this and just take it at face value. they’re not going to look into it, they’re just going to accept that people really don’t have a problem with us and they’re going to feel empowered to look the other way when we’re under attack. i’m sure he wouldn’t want people to take the things he says at face value without fact-checking them, but the fact remains that most people will do just that and will proceed to not give a shit about us because they don’t think they have to.

it’s one thing to see this coming from some random person. it’s another entirely when it’s someone you already liked and respected, and who has a large audience who are likely to trust the things they say.

and it just…would’ve been so easy to not say it, to just say “they’re men!” and let that message stand without immediately undermining its importance.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

Vash and Femininity: Trigun Stampede and its Themes of Bodily Autonomy, Exploitation, and Vague Gender Fuckery

alright sit the fuck down. we're gonna talk about THEMES

I was on Twitter- terrible idea usually, but a couple people I follow made some tweets that got me thinking about Trigun's overall themes, and here we are. So let's talk about some themes in Tristamp! And I'll take a couple looks at Trimax as well, just for fun :3

Let's look at how the showrunners utilize gender roles and exploitation of feminine characters to show how unhealthy Knives' obsession with his ideal of Vash is, and how horrific his exploitation of Vash and the Plants is.

Vash, from the beginning of Tristamp, is someone who cares about people's choices. When people kill others in front of him, he reiterates that whether someone lives or dies is not another person's choice to make. This is something he learned from Rem (a prominent female figure in his life). He refuses to kill people because that is not his choice to make. To kill someone is the ultimate removal of their bodily autonomy. They can no longer make any choices at all; they're dead.

Vash is also someone who has almost no choice in what path his life takes. He's constantly dragged around by outside forces, namely situations that are caused by Knives (which we'll get into later). Vash doesn't make things happen, things happen to Vash. The majority of events that occur are not his fault. He's pushed and pulled in a thousand different directions. His entire life is completely out of his control.

This can be seen as early on in his life as the Fall, something he had no control over and had no idea he even had a part in. Even later, in the ship with Luida and Brad, after he's been rescued from the desert, he's kept in handcuffs right up until he's shown to be of use to them and the Plant on their ship. After that, he could theoretically say "no, I don't want to go to other ships and heal their plants," but he doesn't. He's Vash. He's helpful and nurturing at his core, and these people have done so much for him just by letting him stay, so he'll do whatever they ask, no question.

This carries over into his adulthood. At Jeneora Rock, he goes to look at their Plant at one simple request, doesn't protest when he's dragged into a duel-- he doesn't take initiative unless someone's life is immediately at stake. He lets people tell him what to do and lets himself get dragged around by the wrist. He doesn't even pretend to have control over his life like Trimax Vash does, which I mean. Fair. Why pretend to have a grip on your existence when it's impossible to do anything without a gun pointed at your head?

Vash is a very passive character. He's nurturing, kind, gentle- he's a guy that fits a lot of very typical feminine character stereotypes. If you wrote this same story but made him a woman, I wouldn't bat an eye (but I would definitely be looking at it a lot more critically, what with the amount of stereotypically nurturing/motherly female characters in media already.)

This contrasts directly with Knives. He makes a decision and carries through no matter what stands in his way. He takes initiative. If Vash is a passive character, Knives is an active character. Wherever he goes, he leaves a lasting imprint. He makes shit happen! If outside forces make things happen to him, he'll go out of his way to make sure that particular force doesn't affect him again.

These two tweets I saw are what got me thinking about this originally. I just feel like here's a good place to put them as a segue into talking about episode 11.

Episode 11 is where a lot of this feminine imagery really just. Explodes in your face. IT'S RIGHT THERE. You can't dance around it if you try. And it kind of reaches a peak when the connection reaches 100%, the gate opens, and. well. THIS happens to the Plants.

Plants, in both Trimax and Tristamp, are almost always typically feminine-looking. Knives and Vash are the only two who are male or even masculine at all. Knives, as the most masculine out of all of them, is the one trying to take charge, and mould the world as he sees fit, to a degree that is detrimental to both him and everyone else. And Vash-- passive, feminine, kind and nurturing, whose Angel Arm in the manga always sprouts decidedly feminine-looking Plant parts-- is the one being exploited for Knives' plans. It's no mistake that they made the giant plant formation at the end of ep 11 look like a giant woman that almost resembles Rem.

Vash wants people to make their own choices and keep their autonomy when it comes to their bodies and lives. Knives is the exact opposite. He wants all Plants to become independent and he uses Vash to achieve that goal, without asking what Vash wants or even knowing what the Plants themselves would prefer. He exploits Vash for the soul purpose of trying to make these Plants have Independent Plant babies. He's completely incapable of seeing that his choices are not for the greater good! He thinks he's saving them, but none of his actions are for the good of anyone but himself. He’s just violating them for his own gain.

They're really leaning into gender roles for these guys, but in a way that screams "HEY, LOOK AT THIS! ISN'T IT FUCKED UP? LOOK AT HOW FUCKED UP THAT IS. LOOK AT THIS, AND BE UNCOMFORTABLE, AND KNOW THAT IT IS FUCKED UP."

Because it is! It's so extremely fucked up. They're using this imagery and these roles, something that makes most of us intrinsically uncomfortable, to drive home how unhealthy Knives relationship with his ideal of Vash is. That's the point. We're supposed to be uncomfortable with this.

Now of course there's some nuance to it. Like, you could see Knives as somewhat of a feminine and/or queer-coded figure as well, ESPECIALLY if you look at some of his panels in the manga, which could in turn lead to themes about infighting and control within marginalized communities, but that might be something for another post. :3

And there's definitely different ways you could take this! Vash, with all this feminine imagery, could be either transfem or transmasc coded, depending on what way you'd rather see it, which could lead into themes of how people outside the norm constantly face a lack of bodily autonomy and are exploited for purposes outside their boundaries. We could also look at Wolfwood and his lack of choice over joining the Eye of Michael and becoming the Punisher, and how masculine men (particularly men of colour) are often forced into violent roles against their will. If we look at Trimax, the exact same could be said for Livio/Razlo and people with disorders such as DID/OSDD.

There are many different ways you could spin these themes, some of which I don't feel personally qualified to discuss. If anyone who is qualified to talk about Wolfwood or Livio/Razlo or even other characters related to these themes, then god PLEASE add onto this post or make a post and tag me or something. I would love to read it!

Anyway, in conclusion: Vash is a feminine figure constantly taken advantage of and exploited and and he's so incredibly trans/nonbinary-coded that it drives me insane. Thank you

[cheeseburgersinparadise]

Why is death feederism ok? It is objectively self harm, as one is doing something that will result in them hurting themselves and eventually dying (as fetishized). I just can’t understand it… I am someone in this space that likes being stuffed and full, and doesn’t mind a little biy of wg… but I just don’t understand why gaining until death is encouraged so much when it’s so extreme and life ruining.

Like if there was a feeder and feedee couple that were into it… what would happen if the feeder had issues and couldn’t help the feedee that is reliant on their feeder? What happens if they break up and the feedee is dependent enough where they need family or something to help?? I mean it’s just… they could literally die if they were so dependent and forced to live on their own.. encouraging people to ruin their lives because it makes their private part excited is encouraging self harm.

This is my opinion and I seriously want to know what you have to say… I brought this up to someone else and their response was to block me and say “I think death feeding women think more critically about the fetish🤔” without response. And just so you know this isn’t fatphobic, i never once said I find fat people gross or anything, I just find the idea of fetishizing self harm gross. It’s fetishizing being disabled and or dead.

TW for death feedism, kink talk, self harm/suicide

so general disclaimer - I am not a death feedist and so I don’t know that I’m a good representative to speak on this topic but I’ll share some brief thoughts.

I think it’s okay to look at extreme fetishes and feel uncomfortable with them, so I’m not going to try and tell you that you can’t feel the way you do. I was very critical of people who practiced this fetish in ways I personally didn’t like and this community helped me realize it’s not my business to do that. There is no moral superiority in kink.

The thing is though - in order to be sex positive and an ally to our fellow feedists (yes, even the ones we disagree with or don’t like how they practice the fetish) we have to respect their bodily autonomy and allow them to make whatever decisions they think is best for them. It’s not our job nor our place to tell folks what they can and can’t do.

I would maybe agree that it’s a slippery slope and in a very extreme case, you could argue that this line of thinking would allow us to excuse a suicide fetish, for example (unsure if that’s a real thing). But there ARE disability fetishes and a fetish isn’t inherently bad as long as there are informed consenting parties and you are practicing RACK.

I don’t know if that line of thinking is even worth arguing because it could only serve to slip the other way up the slope back to overt purity culture. I want to validate your thoughts and questions because its important to critically analyze things and i want to believe you are coming from a place of good faith (and I have it in me to try and discuss this).

Regarding the statement of “death feedists think more critically about the fetish” could be true, as realizing you’re a death feedist DOES require reflection and understanding of yourself and of fatphobia in general. I haven’t had at length discussions with folks about this but the death feedists on my dash that post about fat lib seem to know their shit.

At the end of the day, why death feedists enjoy that aspect of the fetish is not for me to debate with or without them present. It’s not for me to tell them what they can and can’t do with their bodies. That aspect of the fetish isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean I have the right to tell others what they should get off to. I also think death feedists are a smaller portion of the community and it’s easy to block the tags they use if you don’t want to see their content. I know a few death feedists and I like them (at least their online persona) and they are probably more equipped to discuss this if they want to. So please feel free to add some comments if you’d like, death feedist friends.

My advice is practice radical acceptance. It feels uncomfortable but I think ultimately it makes you a better person when dealing with things you think are weird or gross or bad.

[perpetual-ash]

the consistent backlash against the possibility of reading john as a perpetrator of sexual assault, as though the gravitas behind that sort of language is offputting in a way the language used to describe him as an imperialist and war criminal isn't, is an excellent example of how actual incidence of sexual assault is exceptionalised and rendered such a taboo subject that those who've been sexuallt abused are barred from sharing their experiences or seeing them portrayed in fiction. the people who rally against reading john's actions as allegorical for grooming and sexual assault can freely recognise his repeated violations of bodily autonomy, agency, and self-determination committed both within the houses and outside, both directly and via proxy, but they refuse to acknowledge that these actions could be equitable because rape is an unimaginable evil that doesn't happen unless the perpetrator is a deviant of some kind. it's a perspective that refuses to grapple with the nature of imperialism and the violence that the reproduction of its social structures is dependent on because it's easier to look at the horror of a system doing what it is designed to do and say that was the exception, not the rule—to say bad things are done by intrinsically bad people rather than people who were born into systems that make bad things commonplace.

something else about this perspective is that it assumes people reading john this way are trying to incite a paradigm shift and outspoken condemnation of him, but it's the opposite: the resistance to the framing of his behaviour as allegorically predatory and exploitative is born out of a perspective that exceptionalises that, while the perspective that identifies that reading is one that understands this is not an individual issue, but instead one born out of the material conditions of john's time, with the focus instead being on examining why john can justify his actions to himself. by refusing to acknowledge this potential dimension of his character that is well rooted in the text those of the former perspective do very much reduce him in the process, out of the belief that ceding that john does exhibit predatory behaviour would mean he is thus rendered irredeemable—because, again, he would then be a deviant and exceptional individual rather than a person raised in our times and in accordance with imperial social structures that he would later reproduce while forming his empire. the only indictment sought by people highlighting the valid reading of john as a perpetrator of sexual assault is one against the world that moulded him into being able to justify that kind of violation. if you think that reading is somehow fundamentally incompatible with john being a nuanced and three dimensional character then you're part of the problem, in that you think the violence necessary to uphold the status quo cannot be sexual in nature or perpetrated by men that are apparent progressives.

[zombie-bait]

CW: consent issues, bodily autonomy, SA, Astarion lore

ok so the Astarion act 2 hug scene in my playthrough was delightful but watching a vid of the other outcomes afterwards absolutely DESTROYED me!!!! I feel like I haven’t seen a lot of references to these lines of dialogue (for obvious reasons, I don’t think a lot of ppl pick that line of questioning cuz its very cruel) but maybe they are discussed frequently and I’m just not super active in the fandom on here. Either way, Neil’s delivery of this was heartbreaking and I can’t stop thinking about it

These lines really work to re-contextualize so much of his behaviour up to that point, I would argue more than some of the sweet ones do if you respond positively to him. There’s a terrifying amount of honesty in some of these lines. He’s just told you how fucked up his relationship with sexuality has been for the past 2 centuries and it’s almost like he’s battling between still trying to appease you and going “but didn’t you just hear what I said? This isn’t want I want” and trying to explain himself further because maybe then someone will finally get it.

And the scene you can possibly get afterwards where you pressure him into sex is brutal. I’m so glad the game recognizes this as a really fucked up thing to do and if you pressure him then no matter what he’ll break up with you the morning after because he’s tired of being used. It’s definitely the saddest and quietest Astarion is up to that point in the game and it’s such a huge contrast to his normal performative personality.

Astarion just sitting silently after having spent an entire night disassociating while being pressured for sex IMMEDIATELY after explaining how uncomfortable that makes him to the first person he kinda cared about in 200 years is insane and I almost can’t believe that’s a possible outcome in the game. All my screenshots were from this very helpful youtube clip btw:

I highly recommend scrolling through that video if you want extra insight on him as a character, I feel there are a lot of important and emotional pieces of dialogue for Astarion that are hidden behind cruel/shitty Tav choices so a lot of ppl may not end up seeing them. I love BG3 but this is one of the first cutscenes that’s really effected me emotionally, both the normal gentle version I got to see in my own playthrough and the cold cruel versions you can find on youtube.

[oct0bra1ns]

I wanna make yan!zombie cry so badddd😭😭 what are the things that darling has done to make zombie cry?

POOR YANDERE ZOMBIE PLS😭 In canon as of yet, not really anything BUT i can give you small scenario as compensation.

For as long as Yandere Zombie had been turned, you had always accepted how clingy they were towards you, perhaps it was the sudden change of losing their bodily autonomy that made them cling to something or anything that was familiar. That something was of course, you.

But as of lately, their clinginess was getting to you, you tried, as much as you could to try and just deal with it, not wanting to hurt your partner. You were never a calm and collected person, the both of you knew that, but you promised them at the very start of the relationship, never once would you ever raise your voice at them, you knew first hand the kind of damage it brought, growing up seeing your parents hurl profanities at each other and taking the rest of their anger out on you. You would never want to inflict that pain upon them, you are better than your parents.

or at least you thought you were.

You watched Yandere Zombie as they stumbled back, eyes widening as they processed what just happened, for the you pushed them away, you..you hurt them, you of all people, you who swore to never hurt them was glaring at them.

"For once I want to be left alone! Ever since you turned, you've been so incredible clingy. I'm tired of it, I have other things I need to do, I can't have you chasing me like a lost puppy. If it weren't for the fact that you had some semblance of your humanity, I would have let you to rot ages ago." You seethed, slamming the door as you left.

Tears streamed down Yandere zombies eyes. They clutched their chest, trying to keep their sobs quiet, what if you thought of them as incapable, even more than you already thought them to be.

The room seemed to close in on them. They crumpled to the floor, knees giving way beneath the overwhelming tide of emotions. A guttural wail escaped their lips, a raw expression of the pain etched into their soul.

[cripplecharacters]

Hi! So my main character is a woman whose leg has been crippled in a car accident; she struggles a lot with the pain and with the cane she uses to walk. One day she gets surgery for an unrelated issue, and while she's under anesthesia her partner, the surgeon, realizes he can also heal her leg during the same procedure, and he does, without consulting her because a) she's sleeping AND b) he suspects she wouldn't accept out of pride. I'd like to know whether this behaviour could be considered toxic regarding her disability specifically? He does it out of love, because he wants to make her life easier, but apart from the lack of consent, I'm afraid there is something wrong about him trying to heal a disability. Thank you very much!

Hello,

So, first of all, it's probably not the greatest stylistic choice to refer to her leg as crippled unless you as the writer are also physically disabled. It is still a slur and it's best not to use it unless you know exactly what it means.

And second, it's just not good of him to do that. Physically disabled people do often have our bodily autonomy denied in real life, and it's a huge problem that's only recently kind of being acknowledged as a bad thing. This is something that may resonate with some readers and if it's portrayed as a good, romantic thing, it could trigger them. It can also give abled readers the idea that this is an okay thing to do, maybe even that it's a thing that should be done, and that's not a good thing.

Also, from a disability perspective, it's also not great that he went and cut her open to try and fix her disability. Procedures to do stuff like that, especially at the hip or spine, where a surgery for something like this would likely be, come with a massive risk for complications. There's a very real chance that now she's still disabled, just in a different way. I'll use an example of knee replacements. Yeah, people need their knees replaced sometimes to prevent, mitigate, or end a disability, but it's a major procedure on a weight-bearing limb and it's pretty complex, so a lot can go wrong. When things go wrong, these people are now left with an entirely different disability, sometimes a new disability joining the one they already had. That's the risk of a knee replacement surgery and patients are to be informed of the potential complications before they agree to the surgery. It's called risk-aware informed consent and it's extremely important. Doing something major without informing the patient of the risks means operating them without their informed consent and causing the patient great risk, maybe even doing undue harm. The Hippocratic Oath is to do no harm, and he will have his ability to practice taken away if he does this.

If you're going to do this, don't portray it as a good, romantic thing. It's not.

Mod Aaron

[nekropsii]

♤crotuna is double awful to me as a mituna liker and also guy who is obsesessed with troll society. like thats not how kismessitude works its a rivalry you cant just put to people who dont like each other together and call it pitch. can anyone hear me. its so dark in here.

ALSO when people act like cronus couldnt abuse mituna if they were in spades... KILLING YOU WITH MY MIND. did everyone just forget about terezi and gsmzee???

Pitch is Rivalry, yeah. Competitive Self Betterment. A lot of people seem to forget some genuine affection is necessary for BlackRom to work out and that there's clear distinction between "BlackRom" and "Just Hating Someone". The reason they can get so intense is because you care about the other party. It's a hell of a lot easier to get mad at something if you care about it, either because you love that thing or because it's negatively impacting something you love. It's why politics get people so up in arms. Politics inherently spell out who you do and do not care for the lives and rights of, and if that steps on groups that represent people that others care about a lot, they're going to get angry. Because... Duh.

Abusive Kismesissitudes are real and extremely possible, and I hate when people act like "Abuse" and "Kismesissitude" are either synonymous or completely exclusive of each other. Gamzee and Terezi were directly addressed as being in an Abusive Kismesissitude. There was a whole damn arc about it. Confronting the fact that it was an Abusive Kismesissitude was done in plain terms and on screen. It's pretty clearly spelled out.

So, yeah, fully agree. Pitch CroTuna is not fucking real and it never will be, because Cronus does not love Mituna and Mituna does not love him, and they're not in a god damned Quadrant. Cronus is explicitly just Mituna's abuser, and while this does involve Cronus sexually assaulting him, the mere presence of Mituna getting assaulted does not at all equate to either of them having feelings for each other, and if you so much as imply anything near contrary to that point, you are a sick fuck and should get hit by a car. Cronus does not care about Mituna. He cares about the fact that he can take advantage of the fact that he's a very vulnerable target that people will not listen to if he tries to speak up about the fact that he is getting abused. Cronus says that directly. He admits to it, in plain terms!

This is not shipping material, this is explicitly, textually someone experiencing extreme violence and bigotry at the hands of a man who does not care for the rights, happiness, consent, lives, and bodily autonomy of other people. This is explicitly someone getting intentionally targeted and abused because they are a vulnerable, oppressed minority group and the abuser feels confident they can get away with the abuse. Cronus has openly admitted to wishing that "culling meant what it should mean on Beforus", meaning making Alternian Culling methods - which is literal eugenics - the standard, so that he could kill Mituna for the crime of being disabled and get away with it. Nothing Cronus has ever said to Mituna even verges on Pitch Flirting. Not even close. It's just raw, unfiltered violent abuse and hatred.

If one is going to fetishize or romanticize abuse, at least own up to it. Don't try to warp canon just to soften and blur the edges. Don't get coy. Be straightforward and tag + talk about it appropriately, like an adult. Because if you're pairing Cronus and Mituna together, you are not writing a Pitch Relationship, you are writing Extreme Abuse. This shit isn't consensual, and the playing field is NOT even. Do not pretend like it is. Do not get coy. Be honest.

[gallusrostromegalus]

ok so re: sternritter i gotta ask, whats the plan for my girl gigi? she's a horrible awful gremlin baby but i cannot help but love her immortal tgirl swag.

also, are there any sternritter who got incredibly underused in the story that you've significantly rewritten so far?

As it stands, Gigi gets to live, but she is going to have to sit through a VERY unpleasant lecture about how yes, Gender is Fake, Political Organizations are Fake, and to an extent the 'Line' between living and dead is fake but Bodily Autonomy and Informed Consent are VERY, VERY REAL and you will *fucking* respect them because the Gotei-13 is the home of monsters.

For better or for worse, the person she's getting the lecture from is Tama Nikuya

---

Tama: Sure, you're a Monster too, Miss Gewelle -that's why I like you so much and am even extending you this offer- but I promise there are much worse things serving in the Guard than were dreamt of in your philosophy. Horrors, artificial and natural alike, well within the comprehension of your intellect regardless of gender, but no less awful. Worse, perhaps, because you understand what's going to happen if you put one drop of blood out of line-

Gigi, twitching: Urrgh!

Tama: Don't gurgle at me in that tone! Tama: You do understand, don't you?

(warning for body horror, parasitism, mind/body control, discussions of violence, transphobia and abuse under the cut) (Bleach is a pretty dark series and the Fic is E-rated accordingly)

Gigi, shaking her head as much as she can: Nglk!

Tama: What part don't you understand?

Gigi: Thzzg-? ThhZomg-!?

Tama, head cocked sideways, squinting as she tries to make sense of what Gigi is saying: 'the zog-'? The Zombie? Oh for fucks sake Gigi, we're well past that.

Gigi: Bugh-? Haaauuuu?

Tama: Alright alright, if it will help. The Zombie relies on some of your blood reaching my brain, or replacing a large portion of my own blood with yours, through which you exert your reiki, and thus control my body, right?

Gigi, Blinking Slowly: ... Gigi: Haugh- Haugh gid you vigure thad oud??

Tama, taking a deep, disappointed sigh: Babygirl, it's not that hard. That's very basic Spiritual Dominion magic. Don't get me wrong, you're very good at it and the sheer number of targets you can control is really impressive but as far as techniques go, it's not terribly complex or hard to counter.

Tama, Gestuting at where Gigi is awkwardly kneeling on the floor, paralyzed: Take the thing you've got- that's an enhanced strain of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis- you've heard of Cordyceps, I'm sure- that I've worked with to function inside humans- REAL pain in the ass by the way, Humans are insanely immune to infection and parasitism compared to most organisms-

Akon, holding an extremely large laser gun, not currently cocked but still at the ready: This is your requested reminder to stay on topic, Sir.

Tama: What? Oh, thanks- but Cordyceps is fun because instead of bothering to control the half-assed mess that is a mammal's neural system, it straight-up structurally takes over the large muscle groups! Just suppress the autoimmune response enough by giving the fungus an antihistamine release function too, and that sucker can crawl into every major support structure you have in under a week!

Akon: Yeah, I'm not sure 'Fun' is the right word here.

Tama: Don't knock it until you've tried it!

Akon, debating becoming the server technician for the 9th again: I'll take your word for it, Sir.

Tama, poking Gigi's arm just below where a long spire of the fungus is sprouting out of her shoulder, one of several growing out of her body and impacting her ability to move, including speaking: I'd say you're about 40% Fungus by weight right now, mostly your skeletal muscles, and those do what I say, which is why you're sitting down and listening while I try to change your mind. Tama, giving Gigi an encouraging thumbs up: -And why you still have a mind for me to change! Tama, giving Gigi a comforting pat on the shoulder next to the fungal spire: I have a lot of faith in your ability to make the right choices when presented with all the information, Miss Gewelle. If I thought I had to change your mind for you, I'd have pulled out the Hypomyces lactifluorum!

Gigi, watching Akon visibly shudder behind Tama: ...uhh. Gigi: Bugh. The Zomgee..?

Tama: Oh, right, The Zombie. Yes, yes- Reiki Domination is pretty tough to resist, especially from someone in your spiritual weight class, but, ah- Well, you've run into two big problems here Gigi.

Tama, sitting down on the floor next to Gigi: First problem is the use of blood as an infection mechanism. Tama, cheerfully, as though giving constructive criticism in an introductory art class: Honestly? Not a bad choice! Blood-bourne infections are some of the hardest to resist, and Forigen Reiki is a PAIN to purge from the bloodstream unless you flush the entire system. Most people, as you have seen, are doomed!

Tama, wincing: ...But I'm not most people. Tama, pondering: ... Come to think of it "People" might be a more correct term for what I am, but my situation is pretty radically different from "most" people!

Gigi, still defiant: Whad- Whaddafug ARE yu?

Tama, gesturing to indicate the situation is about as clear as mud, or morphology-based taxonomy: I- Well. It's long and not really all that funny story, but I got stuck on the wrong side of a a version of the Kodoku Bug Thunderdome curse- you know, the inside- for over eight hundred years with a whole mess of Hollows, Obake, and other nasty things and I went to some pretty extreme measures to survive. Tama, with a sad sigh: To make a long story short- I don't have blood anymore. Or a brain. Tama, frowning in contemplation: ...Or I'm ALL brain, it sort of depends on your definition of 'brain'-

Akon: Topic, Sir.

Tama: Thanks Akon! -But from my perspective, your blood is just another snack with a little bit of Reiki spice on top! Which brings me to your other problem.

Tama: You hit hard Gigi! Real hard! And you really should be proud of the degree of concentration you have! But like I said, the Gotei-13 is the home of monsters, and there wasn't exactly a burger joint or an opportunity to farm inside the Kodoku. ...I survived because I kind of literally ate things like you for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

[There is a long moment of silence as Gigi processes that statement, it's earlier compainion statement about what Gigi's blood was like for Tama, and the general implication of those on Gigi's circumstances]

Gigi: ...Gid I daste gud?

Tama, ears flicking up to listen better: What's that?

Gigi: Uck! Gigi, wide eyed with terror but somehow this situation has not ended in catastrophe yet, and she might be riding the adrenaline as far as it will go: ...Gid I datse good?

Tama: HAH!

Akon, turning around because he can't face this at 7AM without coffee: NO!!

Tama, teasing: Yes, you do taste very good, or at least the aperitif of blood you threw in the thing I use as a face did!

Gigi, giggling a bit in fear like a Hyena: Oh! Dhad'z Good! Gigi, stopping as the rest of the sentence catches up with her: Waid. Gigi: Whad Do you MEANg, 'ting you uze az a fage'? Gigi, with increasing horror: Whag- Whag ARE You?

Tama, giving Gigi a light, encouraging punch in the shoulder: You're a smart girl Gigi! You can figure it out if you put your mind to it! Tama, counting off the datapoints on her paw-pads: I don't have blood, or a brain, I lived underground with nothing but corpses to eat for a few centuries and my go-to restraint method is a parasitic...

Gigi, a horrible new world of possibilities opening to her like the lid coming off a tub of very expired sour cream: ...Mu-Mushgroom?

Tama, giving her two thumbs up: You got it! Tama: "Mushroom" is probably more specific than you intended, but you're not wrong! The part of me standing here lecturing you is more or less the organ I use for sex and sometimes paperwork!

Akon: Speaking of, the division W-2's still need to go out-

Tama: Akon, we're in the middle of an apocalypse. If the council tries to make everyone pay taxes on time this year, the Old Man won't have the chance to burn the government chambers down before the peasants do it for him. Chillax.

Tama, returning her attention to Gigi: It's probably why I'm so cheerful and down to party too! You know. Because I'm a *Fungi*!

Gigi, staring blankly: ...

Tama, wilting a bit: -A. Fun? Guy? A Fungi?

Gigi, starting to cry big, ugly genuine tears: Uh-uh-uuuuuhhhnnn...

Tama, trying to console Gigi with a hug that definitely makes things worse: ...You're right it'd probably be funnier if you didn't have a parasitic fungus rapidly taking over your person and forcing you to sit still and listen to a genuine freak of science tell you about Cannibalism. Tama, giving Gigi a little shake of encouragement: But you see how this makes my point, right? This isn't very fun for you, is it?

Gigi, suddenly locking up like a badly taxidermied fox: ...

Tama, staring blankly: ..? Tama, ears slowly rising as understanding dawns on her face: Oh?

Gigi, face rapidly alternating vivid shades of pink and white as her emotions battle for dominance, before settling on 'Scaroused': -Uh...

Tama, delighted: OH!

Akon, enraged: OH. MY GOD.

Tama, pointing at him and hissing: You are the LAST person who gets to kinkshame anyone young man! Tama, pointing back at Gigi: At least SHE knows how to have fun!

Akon: I'm gonna transfer to the Ninth and never, ever leave the server room again.

Tama: If you think you can withstand the emotional toil of leaving the mass spectrometer in my hands, be my guest.

Akon: :(

Gigi: Uh?

Tama: He's spiritually bonded to a particularly finicky piece of lab equipment that hates me, like how some tween girls become spiritually bonded to giant murderous equines, which also tend to hate me. Don't worry about it. Tama: Back on topic, this does explain a few things. You DO understand that your feelings about this situation are unusual and given that most humans and their spiritually powerful derivatives experience pain and fear from having their autonomy restricted and bodies invaded by parasites, How do you think being made into a Zombie feels for other people?

Gigi: ...Bahd?

Tama, nodding enthusiastically and making her ears flop in agreement: That's right! Bad! Tama, settling down a bit more to explain things carefully to Gigi: See, the thing is- even monsters like us need to get along with other people. Tama: I know a lot, but nowhere near enough to enjoy the benefits of civilization all on my own- I don't know how to fix a toilet, or fill out grant applications or stand in the same room as the mass spectrometer without breaking it, so it's really, really good I've got people Akon over there, who like me, who can, and more importantly are willing to do those things for me!

Gigi, annoyed: Gyou woulgnd AVV to-

Tama: hang on, hang on-

[Tama pokes a few points on Gigi's face and throat, using Reiki to disconnect some of the Cordyceps parasite, then pulls the spire that was developing under Gigi's tongue out. It's much larger than it looked, and makes Gigi's throat wiggle as she removes it.]

Tama: Oh hell, that shouldn't have been there. How were you even talking around that thing girl?

[Tama tosses the fungal spire aside and offers Gigi a water bottle. Gigi takes a few sips before nodding and Tama puts it away.

Tama: Okay, try again-

Gigi: Ugh- You wouldn't HAVE to get along with tall, drak and grumpy back there if he was a zombie!

Tama, disappointed: ... Tama, taking another deep sigh: ...Okay, let's say I zombify Akon-

[Akon cocks and aims the Laer Gun, which whines ominously as it charges]

Tama: WHICH I AM NOT GOING TO DO FOR REASONS I'M ABOUT TO ELABORATE ON, PUT THAT DOWN-

[Akon turns off and lowers the lazer gun, still glaring.]

Tama: Thank you. Tama: I know you're still getting used to how most people have conversations, but that was a normal way to discuss a theoretical scenario and not me about to turn you into a Zombie. Do you understand?

Akon: ...Ues, Sir.

Tama: He used to work for an Evil Clown, don't worry about it- Alright, Let's say I was a micromanaging-type moron, and I decided to zombify Akon instead of just getting along with him. I'd lose all his expertise immediately. No more functioning mass spectrometer or bathrooms.

Gigi, haughty: Mine do.

Tama: Pardon?

Gigi: My zombies keep. most of their skills and personality. At least the ones I make out of corpses. Gigi: Akon could still fix the mass-thingie and if you zombify the Grant Committee you don't even have to ASK for funding.

Tama, intrigued: ...Do they? That's good to know, I'll want to hear more about that later-but that still supports my point.

Tama: Alright, HYPOTHETICALLY I Zombify Akon, and the Grant Committee- well now, the person who's choosing when the mass spectrometer gets fixed and who gets grant money I don't need is ME, and I already have WAY too much work to do, I don't have initiative to spare for them! I got stuff I want to do! I can't micromanage everyone, everywhere all the time! Tama: It's literally easier, more efficient and frankly, way, WAY less stressful to just get along with people and live in a society than to try to DIY one out of corpses.

Gigi: ...I guess.

Tama: So that's my question Gigi. Tama: Are you capable of respecting people's bodily autonomy and personal space to get along with them?

Gigi, frowning and biting her lip: ...

Akon: That doesn't sound like a 'Yes'.

Gigi: It's not though. It's not less stressful to just get along with people. Gigi: That's- That's WHY I learned how to make zombies in the first place. I'd. I'd TRY to get along, dammit! But any time I let people make choices, they chose to get up my ass about my name, or cut off all my hair, or send me off to 'camp', or beat the shit out of me, or- or lock me in the mausoleum and leave me to starve instead of just call me my name or admit they had a daughter- Gigi: ... Gigi: So it was- Gigi: -It was easier with bodies. Gigi: Bodies don't insist you're a boy or call you a freak or take you to a 'private institution' to 'help you get better' where they strap electric paddles to your head and run a million volts through you- Gigi: Dead people are SO MUCH EASIER to get along with! They don't think you're a creep! They don't think at all! Gigi: I mean, why should I-? Why should I try to get along with people who have already made up their minds that they're never, ever gonna get along with me??

Akon: ... Akon: ...I mean, you are kind of a creep-

Tama: -AKON!

Akon: Hang on I'm not done! You are a bit of a creep, but it's not the girl thing, it's the zombie thing!

Gigi: Oh, just because you're scared of a dead body-!

Akon: GIRLIE I'VE BEEN DISSECTING CORPSES SINCE BEFORE I COULD TALK I AIN'T FUCKIN' SCARED AND I AIN'T DISAGREEING WITH YOU- YEAH. IT IS EASIER TO TALK TO A CORPSE THAN A PERSON. I SPENT PRETTY MUCH ALL MY ADOLESCENCE IN THE 12TH DIVISION'S MORGUE BECAUSE TALKIN' TO LIVE PEOPLE SCARED THE FUCK OUTTA ME!!

Gigi: WIMP! YOU HAVE NO IDEA-

Akon: NO, I THINK I FUCKIN' DO! Akon: YOU KNOW WHERE URAHARA HIRED ME OUT OF? Akon: PRISON. Akon: I GOT THROWN IN PRISON WHEN I STILL HAD ALL MY BABY TEETH, *JUST* BECAUSE I WAS SO CURIOUS ABOUT BODIES. JUST BECAUSE I MADE PEOPLE UNCOMFORTABLE! PRISON-PRISON! THE MAGGOT'S NEST, WHERE THEY KEEP WAR CRIMINALS AND WORSE! Akon: YEAH, TALKIN' TO LIVE PEOPLE SCARED THE SHIT OUTTA ME, BECAUSE THE LAST TIME I TALKED TO SOMEONE, I LITERALLY GOT SENT TO HELL!

Gigi: -!

Akon: Captain Nikuya is RIGHT, the Gotei-13 is the home of Monsters- and the twelfth has got some of the most freakish and frightening ones of the whole guard! Akon: But I'll take the self-vivisecting, species-transgressing, only-barely-human Monsters any day of the week over the maggot's nest because we're all shamelessly, gloriously monstrous together, and the ONE damn rule of the monster's ball is to ASK before you fuck around with someone's stuff, especially their body. Akon: Not "Don't mess with someone's body", Not "Don't be weird", Not "try to be normal". It's "Be freaks and monsters, but also friends."

Akon: God help me if Nemuri ever finds out, but that's why Mayuri is still in that flask. Most of us have a pretty good idea how to isolate his consciousness again, but they way he- I'd have killed him the week after he took over if I had any idea how.

Akon: That's the rule Gigi. No violating anyone's right to live as they are. Akon: That's the difference between a monster- someone people are scared of just for being how they are- and the kind of FILTH that needs to be scrubbed off the earth. Akon: Do you understand Gigi? Nobody gives a shit if you're a girl on purpose or whatever- Fuck, I can think of a few colleagues who'd put themselves on a list for you to reanimate them when they die no matter how much of them actually comes back. It's overwritin' people's minds and controlling bodies BY FORCE. Akon, putting down the gun and patting his coat for his cigarettes: If I understood you right, that's more or less what people tried to do to you, isn't it? Tell you how to act, who you were, by whatever means necessary?

Gigi: ...fuck you.

Akon: Fuck me yourself, you coward.

Gigi: ... Gigi: So what am I supposed to do when someone gets up in my face again? Smile and play nice? Roll over so they can kick my guts out?

Tama: Oh, no- If they violate the "Don't mess with other people's autonomy" rule, all bets are off! That's why when you tried to murder me and Akon a few minutes ago, I was right to infect you with a parasitic fungus to protect myself and stop you! Tama: In fact, the sooner and harder you react to that shit, the less people will try to cross that line, so if anyone tries to fuck with you, you absolutely can and should make an example of them!

Akon, holding up his cigarette to ask if it's alright, and wating for Tama's nod: -If anyone tried that shit with me I'd absolutely turn them into a living educational exhibit on why people need to have skin, but genuinely? Nobody in soul society gives a shit what's in your pants unless they're your doc or fuckin' you.

Gigi, rolling her eyes: Sure, sure-

Tama, laughing: No! Really! It was a surprise for me too.

Gigi: You're lying to me.

Tama, shrugging: Okay, don't believe me, believe your eyes- Tama, ticking people off on her paw-pads: You saw the peacock earlier, he's a seated officer and Baldy is his Husband. Tama: Their boss is the most rampantly bisexual slut I've ever had the pleasure of meeting and the primary load-bearing member of the captainacy polycule-

Akon, starting to giggle: -Yeah I bet he can bear a lot of loads-

Tama, casually plucking off another fungal spire to half-heartedly throw at him: Oh, and the guy who had this job before me IS pregnant with his second child!

Gigi, incredulous: ...The guy with the stupid hat that looks like off-brand Shaggy from Scooby-Doo? That looks more a beer belly.

[Akon: Loud, Snorting Laughter]

Tama: Okay, you're right, it looks more like a beer gut than a baby right now, but PLEASE don't tell him that- He's in the weepy mood swings phase right now, and won't get his sense of humor back until the third trimester. Tama: We' re all placing bets on when Baby Kegger is gonna be born if you want in on the action.

Gigi, Biting her lip and grimacing: I- I don't-

Tama, taking Gigi's hand: -You know firsthand how weird my body is. I'm not properly male or female- I've got at least 21,837 sexes within me because of the insane way I have to metabolically regulate my body. Tama, shrugging: I'm just female in conversation because language hasn't evolved the 12th-dimensional pronouns I'd need yet. But when I brought this up at a meeting, the only question I got from the old man was if my uniform would need altering. Tama: I mean. It did, but that's because I'm 4'6" and i get all my clothes in the children's section, but I'm still amused that that was the captain-general's polite way of asking if I'd need any accomodations.

Gigi: ...Promise it'll be okay?

Tama: I don't know how the war is going to turn out, but if you help us and stop making zombies, I promise I'll do everything I can to make it okay.

[Gigi manages a weak smile]

Akon, wheezing, and doing a terrible Scooby-Doo impresson: Ruh-roh! Rhe Rexperiments Breached Containment, And Raggy's rust Whadder broke!

[Gigi, snorting and giggling in spite of everything}

Tama: See? Now you're laughing. When was the last time a Zombie made you laugh?

Gigi, sniffling a bit as she giggles: ...never.

Tama: So, are you ready to give an alliance a shot?

Gigi: I- I guess?

Tama: You guess? I can't go to the captain-general with a mere hypothesis.

Gigi: ...Yes. Yes, I'm ready.

Tama, grinning: So you're going to be a good girl and keep your bodily fluids to yourself unless asked?

Gigi, turning bright pink: Y-yes!

Tama: Yes, what?

Gigi, going even redder: Yes, sir!

Tama, patting her head and releasing the hold on the Cordyceps, at least for now: ...Very good girl.

Akon, rolling his eyes: Uuuugh....

Tama, helping Gigi up: Hey! You know damn well that positive re-enforcement-

Akon, hefting his Lazer-Gun back onto his shoulder: -is an important part of interpersonal communication, reward the behavior you want to see yeah, yeah-

[Akon is about to turn to leave when a thought occurs to him and he stops and glares at Gigi]

Akon: ...You DO hit like a fuckin' truck.

Gigi, blushing and twirling her hair: Well, I mean-

Akon, pointing accusingly at Tama: I KNEW IT! YOU'RE NOT RECRUITING HER FOR THE WAR, YOU'RE RECRUITING HER FOR THE SHINIGAMI WOMEN'S ASSOCIATION INTRAMURAL CRICKET TEAM!!

Gigi: -the what?

Tama: And what if I am? It doesn't matter to you- The Shinigami Men's Association couldn't keep their wickets up if their lives depended on it!

Akon: -Call me when Matsumoto-taicho can bat out of the pitch!

Tama: Yeah, the fact that Rangiku and Hiyori both suck at it and you STILL lost by 203 points to us is not actually helping your case here.

Gigi: Is. Is cricket a sport?

Akon: SPORT? Cricket is an entire EVENT! It's a Way of Life! It's the philosphical ideal of-

Tama: Yes. Tama: It's a very silly sport, and his team sucks at it.

Gigi: Ooh! If we all live through this, I can be a cheerleader!

Tama, causing problems on purpose: Yeah!

Akon, sputtering with fury: I- That's- CRICKET DOESN'T HAVE CHEERLEADERS!!

Gigi, pouting with her index fingers pressed together, rocking her hips: -But I wanted to cheer for YOU Mr. Akon!

Akon, freezing like a deer in front of an oncoming 18-wheeler: -! Akon, turning ever-so-slightly-pinkish about the ears: ...I'll think about it.

Gigi, grabbing onto Akon's arm: Yay! Gigi, hanging off Akon and babbling: What are the team colors? Do you think like Majorette uniforms are cuter or something more like a miniskirt and halter-top?

Tama, letting them get a bit ahead of her as she dials the main camp: Anyone on the horn? It's Nikuya.

Nanao, on the other end of the communicator: Status report?

Tama: Good news! I've eliminated an enemy, found us an ally AND a new batter for the team if we all live to see spring training.

[leohtttbriar]

what actually is so jarring about the kira-"pregnancy" plot is that it is very much a narrative version of the violin-player argument in judith jarvis thompson's philosophical defense of abortion. it's an argument that is about how abortion is one thread of legality and personal freedom in the full framework of securing bodily autonomy, so a lot of the argument is not explicitly even about abortion. it posits: "what if one day you wake up and you're connected, with medical tubes and so on, to a violin player (a full adult, with a career and a fully realized person) and the only way this violin player can survive is if you remain connected to them for a month?" then it asks: what if you chose to be connected to this violin player but now you don't want to or you have mixed feelings about it? what if you knew it was a risk from another choice you made? what if halfway through the month you don't want to stay connected? what if it was only an hour? what if was nine months? ultimately, the ethical claim remains: your body is your own. you own your body.

and this is not only important, but it is also interesting. it's the kind of plot star trek writers could write since interrogating the competing values regarding bodily autonomy is a common theme within science-fiction (often treated as a source of the Horrific, but sometimes it's different (see the entirety of octavia butler's oeuvre)). and it would've been especially relevant given that one of the main characters in ds9 is from a society where it is a high honor to take onto the body an entirely other being, and the placement of this other being permanently affects the body such that their removal results in swift death. the enormously complex claims all being made on kira for taking on keiko's pregnancy (from miles and keiko to her own body and person, the threat of death, the threat of connection to the fetus, the treatment she would now receive from others, the treatment she would've received had she refused to take the pregnancy, etc.) should've been talked about, narratively or in dialogue in depth, instead of the vague gestures to the unspoken complexity of the plot and the inside-jokes within production--all of which sort of added up to a weird underlying claim about the exchangability of uteruses across alien-species, as if some mythic universal-womb exists in all "female" persons, and only this magic womb can gestate a fetus despite the whacky technobabble impossible hijinks otherwise present in the star trek narrative reality.

and only jadzia says a single thing about kira having a right to her own body. and it's in a tone-deaf light-hearted scene, where once again the male writers get to indulge in some expression of misogyny by revealing an aspect of ferengi culture that isn't actually that alien to the human world they were writing in (or the plot with kira they were writing), even in that pre-dobbs, mid-90s, ear-plugging left-of-center culture.

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant/Marc Spector x Reader [3]

description: With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward. word count: 9.4k trigger warnings: GORE, blood, Dove absolutely wrecks the jackals I won't lie. Very explicit imagery used for their deaths. Swearing. Layla thinks Dove is the mistress and is angry, talks of dove not owning her body anymore, talks of having bodily autonomy taken away. Quick hint at Dove's dark past. main masterlist | series masterlist

authors note: I hate writing action scenes so if this seems rushed or bad I'm sorry, action is not my strongest point!

Please reblog and comment for your authors!

She watched as Steven was led in cuffs to the black BMW that gave away no hint at being a real police car, eager to scramble back into his apartment from off the moss covered rooftop that had her second death of the week written all over it. 

Layla was quick to hop back inside behind her, nearly shoving her out the way to get to her backpack. 

“They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Marc said-” The younger woman started, trailing after Layla like a lost dog. This was way out of her depth. The way Marc had described it made it seem like he had it under control. About as under control as Egyptian Gods and resurrecting dead people goes, that is. He had said nothing about his ex-wife showing up or Steven being taken hostage by police impersonators. 

Layla stopped at the sound of her husband’s name leaving the girl’s lips. 

“Mention Marc one more time and you are walking to wherever Harrow is taking him, you hear me?” Layla seethed, looking at her with eyes cold as ice despite being a beautiful, warm brown. 

Dove choked on her words for a moment, swallowing whatever she was going to come back with and instead choosing to nod once. 

“Yes- Sorry-” 

“Good,” The woman hissed, turning on her heel and heading for the front door. “And remember what I said about talking,”

“Gotcha- right,” She stammered in reply. Layla was more intimidating than Marc had been, more than Donna even. He was annoyed when they’d spoken, sure. Cold? Absolutely. But to Layla, she was actively a pest. A bug. A rodent that had crawled into her marriage bed and weaselled her way into her husband’s life. Which wasn’t true of course. But she understood that Layla had more than enough reason to be upset with her. 

Heading after the woman, hot on her heels, she bit her tongue the entire minute they spent in the elevator, neither of them willing to start a conversation with the other. Whether it be pride (Layla) or sheer wanting to avoid getting punched in the stomach (Dove), the two women stayed silent until the metal box dinged and released them from the horribly tense atmosphere. 

Layla set off for her moped that she’d parked on the road, unlatching the red leather seat upwards to reveal a spare helmet in the cubby. Shoving the smooth, maroon hard hat into the younger woman’s arms, Layla strapped her own onto her head and swung a leg over the caboose. 

Dove followed suit, hopping onto the back, her arms faltering slightly as she looked for some kind of handle to hold onto. 

“What now?” The driver’s annoyed voice snapped as she caught on to the fussing from behind her. 

“Where do I put my arms?” Said a quiet tone, hating the helplessness in her voice yet the embarrassment was too much for her to have asked otherwise. Layla rolled her eyes, grabbing the woman’s hands and bringing them around her waist.

“Just hold on,” She ordered, a hum of energy blasting into the engine as she kicked off the curb and set off. The motor jumped to life, and the two women were speeding after the fraudulent fed car in no time. She clutched onto the front woman for dear life; she had always hated amusement park rides, and she was sure Layla was at least somewhat tempted to stage an accident with the way their morning had gone. 

“I’m really not sleeping with Marc, you know,” She braved to speak, gripping tighter in fear the single comment would tip her counterpart over the edge. 

“What did I say about-”

“I know! I know!” She called, loud enough for Layla to hear her over the bustle of London traffic, “I just wanted you to believe me. You’re more than right to be unhappy with him. Truth be told, the one time I’ve met him, he’s not exactly been a charmer.”

That seemed to perk up his ex wife’s ears. “You’ve only met once?”

“Yes. Like I said, I work with Steven at the museum. I only met Marc this morning when he told me-” She cut herself off, unsure of just how much he would want Layla knowing. How much she already knew. She didn’t even know he had a dissociative disorder, it wouldn’t be wrong for her to assume his wife wasn’t privy to other things too.

Maybe that was why they were divorcing? But that was none of her business. 

“Told you what?” Layla pushed, which only caused the girl at the rear to sigh heavily. Layla didn’t need to know much. And besides, it was her burden to bear now, not Marc’s. She could tell her if she wished. Hell, perhaps Layla could even help her seeing as she already knew so much about the scarab. 

“He told me,” She paused, coming to terms with how insane she was about to sound if Layla didn’t know much about her husband’s second, well third, life. “He said I died being chased by one of Harrow’s jackals, and the only way for him to save me was to give my body up to Setekh in exchange for becoming his avatar,”

Layla was quiet for a moment, the car Steven was in not too far ahead of them as she hung back to avoid suspicion. 

And then, after a few seconds, she laughed. 

Loud and bitter, but laughed at her nonetheless. 

“I just told you I fucking died, and you’re laughing?” Her passenger asked, aghast, which only made Layla laugh again. “Well, fuck you too,”

“No, sorry, it’s just,” The woman shook her head, taking a semi sharp right in order to stay on their tail, “Trust Marc to meddle in someone’s life and end up keeping her around because he feels guilty,” 

Her face warmed. So Layla really did know her husband then. 

“His meddling saved my life,” She tried to protest, the image of Marc’s eyes softening slightly when she’d grabbed his hand that same morning flashing in her mind. Without Marc, she wouldn’t be here. She tried to pretend the idea he was only keeping her around because he felt responsible for her now didn’t sting. 

At least Steven wanted her around. For now, that is.

“Did it?” Layla asked, all remnants of humour gone, replaced with a cold seriousness. Not mean like she had been all day, moreso a sobering tone of reality, “My father told me every story there was about Seth.”

“He’s a historian?” Dove asked, curiosity winning over her bitterness that the woman had laughed at her. She thought now maybe it was out of disbelief, maybe even pessimism at hearing the nefarious god’s name.

“No, an archeologist,” Layla replied, “He said Setekh was once worshipped as a way of protecting crops and villages from the storms he created. He said it was thought because he was the god of foreigners he was responsible for all the oppressors attacking the people. He became the one who caused all the bloodshed, the evil, the barbarity. Every bit of chaos and violence was down to his hand,” The woman said, speaking with a passion for her country it was clear she had lived, slept and breathed everything her father taught her, “It was said while Anubis was the first God of the Dead, Osiris took the role during the later centuries. And when his brother, Seth, slaughtered him and scattered him in pieces around the world, he took on the title of God of the Dead,” 

“Glad I’m not invited to that family reunion, then,” The other girl muttered from her place at the rear of the bike. Layla smirked to herself, not willing to let the younger woman know she’d drawn a small smile from her.

“They were always at each other's throats. And when they weren’t, they were usually marrying their sisters.” To which Dove recoiled in horror. The BMW started slowing down ahead of them, which they were both quick to notice as it took a right hand turn into a less populated area. The sky had been quick to overcast shadows, the April air turning cold and darker fast. As if someone up there knew what was coming. 

“Lovely,” She mused, “Well, my family doesn’t talk to me anymore so I’m sure we’ll be okay as far as incest marriages go,”

Layla’s expression faltered. She hadn’t expected the quiet mouse of a girl to drop something so heavy, yet it was clear from her widened gaze she didn’t quite mean to say that so bluntly. To set off such a bomb on their already awkward ride. The striking woman wheeled up onto a curb around the corner from the narrow street the car had pulled into, trying to avoid the gazes of the few people they saw communing there. 

Cutting the engine and hopping off the seat, Layla held the bike steady as the other woman did the same, all but falling off the back of the moped with a newborn fawn-like grace. 

The two women looked at one another, the younger one handing the helmet over sheepishly. “Look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Dove murmured, unable to quite meet the beautiful woman’s eyes, Layla’s lips neither drawn into a sneer nor a smile. More a mix between pity and as if she were still weighing up the girl who picked at the loose skin around her nails anxiously.

“It’s alright,” Layla said with a long huff, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “Marc tends to leave people to deal with the shit he gets them into,”

The girl bit her tongue, pleased that she didn’t seem to be on Layla’s hit list anymore. They had bigger things to worry about now, like the fact Steven was essentially kidnapped or that they had yet to find somewhere to keep the scarab hidden. 

She felt it burning in her pocket, as if it were buzzing with the glory of being what everyone had their sights set on; of being such a harbinger of trouble. 

“Maybe so,” She said, handing the jewelled bug over to Layla to keep it safe, “But trusting him is the only hope I’ve got right now. Marc said Seth will be coming for me any day now,”

Layla looked at her for a moment, dark eyes raking over her forlorn figure some few years younger than her. The girl's eyes were soft, new to the world and the shit storm that was about to hit her, but her hands were what gave away her condition. The slightest touch of her fingers to her own where she handed her the scarab and Layla was able to feel just how cold her skin had become. Dead. Corpse like. As if the life truly had been drained out of her ten times over.

She wondered how her younger accomplice would fare as an avatar. Though Layla had swore that once those papers were signed this was not her fight anymore, she couldn’t help worrying just how badly her ex had seemed to mess up this young girl’s life in the space of one evening.

Seth was not a god you wanted to upset. Nor was he one you wanted to be of interest to. If everything that Abdallah El-Faouly had told his sweet daughter was correct, then that girl, barely mid twenties as she was, was in for a lifetime of torment and pain.

“Well, if that’s true, I hate to be the one to tell you to run and hide as soon as you can,” Layla said, her voice empty of emotion but her eyes genuine, “If Seth is the one looking for you, I can guarantee you’ll wish Marc had left you for the jackals,”

“Where is the scarab?” Harrow and his followers cornered Steven, still as lost and dazed as he had been all day. He just hoped that wherever Dove was, she was safe and far away from this mess that his other self had dragged her into. 

“We have it.” Steven’s head whipped around at the sound of Layla’s voice, clear and commanding and filling the abandoned building. 

And sure enough, his sweet friend stood next to her, eyes wide and clearly thrown off by the El-Faouly woman’s plan to draw attention to them. 

“What the hell are you doing?” She whisper-yelled as the two women trailed through the crowd of Ammit’s followers, both of them watching carefully for anyone getting ready to attack them. 

“I’m drawing their attention, Marc will deal with them easily,” Layla replied under her breath as they neared the two men in the centre of the room. It seemed Harrow and his followers had renovated some kind of church or antique building to become a communal hall. Community food lay out on tables around, a projector playing an old documentary on the dusty wall. 

Harrow’s followers didn’t seem to have anything particularly off about them. In fact, they seemed like regular citizens you would see around the streets of London. Nothing about them screamed evil, yet that only served to make them more menacing. They could be anyone, anywhere.

Dove knew all too well villains and monsters didn’t look like Ancient Egyptian mummies or jackals. They looked like regular people, like the man sitting next to you on the train. Like your family friend. Like your milkman. Or your school teacher. Or the shop clerk. Or young, female gift-shoppists that had a hopeless crush on their seemingly married co-worker. 

It didn’t matter who they were, what they looked like, they were tainted to their core. 

“That’s a great plan, except he’s not Marc, he’s Steven,” The young girl hissed, as Harrow stared at her with a smug twinkle in his eye, holding out his rough hand to Layla. 

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding. Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe,” Harrow asked calmly, though it was clear with the way his focus trained on the jewel that he wasn’t quite so relaxed as he was making believe. 

He was clever with his words, manipulative. Making himself seem honest and responsible to anyone who didn’t understand the scarab. But Layla did. She wasn’t like the ordinary woman Harrow took her for. She was smart beyond belief, and knew more about the legends than Arthur could ever learn from seeing into people’s souls.

“Summon the suit,” Layla ordered under her breath as they reached Steven’s shaken figure. Her almond eyes scoured around the building for the nearest way out as her younger accomplice shook her head in despair and picked at her nails with furrowed brows. 

“Sorry what?” Steven asked, just as Dove had suspected. He had no clue what any of this meant. 

Layla’s brown gaze cut to his, chagrin mixed with a hint of fear boiling up in her expression. “Summon the suit,” She said again, stepping closer to the man who gawked at her with a lost look.

“‘Summon the soup’? What are you saying?” 

“The suit,” She said again, shoving the scarab into his chest, before turning to where Harrow was reaching for his staff. “And keep this safe,” 

“So be it,” Harrow said tiredly. Deciding they were in too thick to continue this little joke of Marc’s, she reached behind her for the younger woman, dragging her towards the only available exit she saw. 

Layla’s frantic brain caught sight of a flight of stairs that led to the first floor: a wide ledge that overlooked the rest of the room and had tiny archways where passageways wove into the sandstone walls, scaffolding and more of the plastic tarp scattered over and around the steps. 

A quick loop around the top of the stairs took them to a second set of steps that led only to an upper ledge and a large arched hallway with natural light coming from the end of it. A fire escape maybe? An open window? Bingo. 

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Layla hurried, grabbing Steven on the way as one of the men lunged at her. She was quick to rip his hand off her arm, shoving him into a table so hard he went tumbling over the edge and knocking into another of his men. 

Forcing Dove ahead of her, Layla directed the young girl towards the first flight of stairs, ducking around the scaffolding that lead to the first floor seemingly still mid-renovation. Steven trailed behind them quickly with a gasp as he dodged another of Harrow’s men. 

Practically swinging around the railing on one hand, Dove felt her tired legs ache as she ascended quickly, the only thing keeping her from stopping being the two people behind her breathing down her neck, relying on her to keep going. The temporary staircase wobbled for a moment as the floor shook, small chunks of brick crumbling free from the delicate wall at the movement. A flash of amethyst purple light reflected around the building, filling the space with something odd; something tense that crawled up her spine, like a foreboding that cut her right through her gut. 

Reaching the first level, she was quick to stop in her tracks as a man ducked out from one of the tiny corridors woven into the stone walls, and lunged for her. She felt Layla dart behind her and start scaling the second flight of stairs to the open door that hopefully spelled freedom. The man was quick enough to grab her wrists, but Steven's arm was swiftly wrapped around her waist, holding her from being thrown off the edge of the barrierless ledge. 

She kicked at the man a few times, desperate for him to let her go. That is until she got one of her hands free and was able to grab him by the collar of his coat. 

Remembering how tightly she had been able to grip Marc’s arm that morning, she found it unnaturally easy enough to lift the man a solid few inches off the ground, the stitches of his clothes ready to give way at his body weight. The menacing look on his face dropped when he realised with a cold slap to the face that no amount of holding onto her arms could do anything seeing as she had him scruffed and held like a little dog that was misbehaving. 

He let out a sharp squeal as she threw him with ease over the edge and down the ten foot drop, not enough to kill but enough to hear a loud crack from his ribs and legs.

“How on earth did you do that?” Steven asked, his baffled breath rolling over her neck in a way that had her stomach churning up a storm. His arm still held her tight to him as he guided her the way Layla had taken off to, the warmth of his hand alone seeping through her top and onto her bare skin underneath that was still as cold as a cadaver. 

His touch gave her a taste of life again, of humanity.  Like she didn’t exist again in this world until he touched her. As if his hand alone could find her in the afterlife and pluck her back to mortality.

Which technically he had. 

“Come on,” She brushed off his question, urging him towards where Layla was now pummeling the shit out of another assailant that had tried to make a grab for her. She made equally quick work of the attacker, shoving him off the same way the other woman had and sending him flying off the building frame and into a pile of wood that cracked easily with his weight. 

Grabbing both their arms, Layla led the two stunned watchers through the open archway that luckily expanded into a long corridor. Tarp lay around the bottom of the huge windows, moonlight filtering in through the surprisingly clear glass panes being the only thing allowing them to see their way. 

The three sets of footsteps pounded down the stone hallway, Harrow’s chants chasing them through an echo, spoken in Coptic the younger woman had surmised. It seemed her degree in Ancient Languages wasn’t entirely a waste. She was able to grasp at bits and pieces of what he was saying despite the rushing of blood in her ears from her running. 

Something about Ammit’s wrath, eradicating enemies. Calling on the ancient goddess to help him carry out her justice. 

Then came the shriek. Familiar at this point, the vengeful growl that reverberated down the hall and harmonising with Harrow’s hex. 

Summoning pure evil. She caught that part easily as they skidded around the corner awaiting them at the end of the hallway, coming to a set of huge, varnished wood doors. She threw her shoulder into the left one, hearing it give a small creak of protest before it gave way and slowly swung open. 

Her heart dropped as she quickly realised they were at a dead end. It felt almost de ja vu like as they entered the room, her eyes frantic to take in any way out as Layla and Steven rushed to block the entrance off. A thick, brick wall complete with an old fireplace on the right, and two huge windows in front and to her left. By all means it was a beautiful room, but it was an enclosure. A trap. A casket. 

“Here. Bolt the door,” Layla ordered, heaving a metal bar through the handles to give them some sort of protection of whatever it was Harrow was conjuring. 

More tarp over the floors and piles of bricks, dust and building tools, the windows reaching higher than even the ceiling to the museum. Sarcophaguses piled around the room, some fake but most seeming authentic, as ancient as the exhibits she walked past regularly at work, yet they were just thrown to the sides of the abandoned room as if they were not priceless objects. 

A dirty mirror lay to her right leaning against the fireplace, white plastic wrap draped over half of the looking glass, ridden with dust and a deep crack that made it unusable, no doubt why it was dumped here with the rest of the pieces of history they deemed rubbish. 

Layla and her rushed to the windows, Layla taking the one on the left and her heading for the one opposite the door, each attempting to jiggle the bottom of the panes, looking for a latch they could flick open to give them an escape. But the glass was thick. Taking up an entire wall, meant only to let light in and keep air firmly out. Meaning there was no movement from any of the panes. The lit up buildings across the street laughed at her attempts in a silent mocking, the block of flats watching the desperate women struggle. 

“Oh my god,” Steven said with a tone of utter despair, “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave,”

She would have laughed. Any other day and his words would have cracked her up. But she barely heard him over the desperate way she tugged at the white, chipped frames, urging the damn thing to come loose, her nails splinting painfully at the force she used to try peel the rusted metal from their seals.

It would be no use anyway, she realised. Looking down she realised they were up high, on the third floor to be exact, and the only way down was a long fall onto solid concrete. Seeing Layla turn away from the other window, she guessed she had no luck with that either, and cursed under her breath. 

Layla stalked towards Steven’s piteous frame, grabbing him roughly by the arms. “No-no. Hey, listen to me,” She started in a panicked voice, though it was clear she was attempting to be kind to him. The three of them turned to the door as the sound of scratching signalled that something big was out there, waiting for them. Long, sharp knife-like claws raked down the old wood, carving out channels in the barrier, the pieces of timber creaking with the weight of it, like a dog begging to come into the sitting room. 

A moment of silence, before the doors began shaking in their hinges with loud thumps. The animal threw itself against the doors, the metal bar jittering in its place at the sheer weight of it. 

“Your name is Marc,” Layla said calmly, holding onto his shoulders to keep his attention on her, “There’s a suit, I’ve seen you use it. You bring it out,” Her dark eyes pierced him with something cold and scared hidden in them, as his face flustered and his breathing picked up. 

“No,” He mumbled, shaking his head that dripped with sweat, feeling his chest constricting as she grabbed him harder. 

“Where are you? We need you to fight!” She yelled, shaking him now as if to hope to snap him back into his senses. 

“Let me in, Steven!” Marc’s voice came from the abandoned mirror, his reflection twisted into a cruel sneer as Marc watched him freeze in place, Steven’s bright eyes lost and scared. 

It was too much for Steven. He was expected to be something, someone, that he had no idea existed until a few days ago. This was no longer about waking up late or funny dreams, or sand around his bed and tape on his door. This was real. Real consequences. Two very real women depending on him to become this hero and save the day. 

They needed him to be Marc. But he wasn’t. He was Steven Grant. And that was all he’d ever be. 

“No, I can’t please. Stop it both of you,” Steven’s voice snapped Dove out of her focus on the outside, her fingers sore with where they gripped the window frames distraughtly. 

She saw his overwhelmed figure. The way Layla held him in an iron grip, her voice raising in distress as she kept asking him to snap out of it, to bring out ‘the suit’. She saw the way Steven’s eyes flicked between the woman and the mirror, his voice clogging up with unshed tears. 

Finally giving up on the windows as an option, she stormed over to where the two of them stood, grabbing Steven by the shoulder and pulling his arms away from Layla’s desperate grip.

“Cut it out, you’re scaring him,” She growled, feeling Steven make a grab for her hand as she confronted the woman. 

“He should be scared! If he doesn’t get the suit the three of us are going to die, do you not get that?” Layla’s voice raised, but even the younger woman could see her face was rigid with fear. It was fear causing her to be so harsh, not malice. Layla was only human after all. The memory of that thing that had chased her through the museum resurfaced painfully, a phantom stab blooming over her stomach that seemed entirely healed, as if it hadn’t practically ripped her guts through her soft flesh and spilled them onto the marble floor.

“Shouting at him isn’t going to fix that, it’s not his fault. We just find another way out, okay?” Dove snipped, shutting down any other argument Layla could give her, and turned to Steven with a soft expression, “Okay?” She asked gently.

Steven stayed quiet, but he nodded, tears welled in his eyes, his face just as scared as she felt inside. She was shitting herself, her muscles tensing up with every grunt that came from the creature on the other side of the door. But cornering Steven and asking so much of him when neither of them truly understood what was happening was only doing harm. 

“Alright,” Layla mumbled in defeat, her lush brows drawn into a frown, despair lingering in her hazelnut eyes as she headed back to the smaller, side window and peered out to the building below, “I can see a fire escape on this roof-”

But no sooner had the woman come to terms with the fact there was no hero coming to save them from this mess, the barricade had given way with a loud pop as the metal bar split clean in two. 

A single breath, a moment of pure silence where Layla’s head whipped from her fraught attempt at seeking an escape route, where Steven and Dove clutched onto each other just that bit tighter. The doors swung wide on their hinges, smacking into the walls with the force and crumbling the bricks into piles of red dust on the already dirty floors.  

A figure stood in the entrance. She could only think to describe it as a tall man trying to wear a dog’s body. Its limbs were gangly, skinny, mottled and rotted skin stretching thinly over them. Four feet at the end of boney elbows carried dagger like claws, thin wisps of white hairs poking from its spine. Its face was that of a possessed wolf, skeletal and gaunt, its mouth opening into a roaring snarl with two yellow-green eyes staring back at them with a haunting glow. 

The air escaped Dove’s lungs the second it let out a familiar hum of hunger. This was the thing that had attacked her. That had killed her last night. This was the thing that had plunged its hand into her stomach with no remorse, tearing her organs to shreds in a single swipe.

The creature, the jackal, looked ahead at the two of them, holding onto each other for damn near life, her nails digging into his toned arm at her sheer trepidation. Its jaws fell open, saliva dripping from its dead lips as it gathered its legs up and prepared to lunge. 

“Jackal, J-JACKAL” Steven yelled, his hands beginning to shake as he pointed at the creature. 

“Oh my god- Oh my-” His friend could barely get out her words, panic constricting around her heart that thudded through her ribs hard enough to have her choking on her sentence and stay quiet, mouth agape in disbelief at the sight of the thing. 

She much preferred when she couldn’t see the damn thing. 

The Jackal took a breath, and the girl set in its sights could have sworn she heard it laugh, before it bolted at them.

The two of them screamed, Steven shoving her to the floor as its lithe body made contact and sent both their bodies flying through the glass, falling, falling, falling down all three levels and onto the hard concrete. 

“Oh my GOD!” Layla shrieked, her eyes trained on the huge gap in the wall where her ex-husband had been thrown through by some invisible force, before they lowered to where his not-mistress was cowering on the floor after being manhandled away from the danger. She caressed her scraped elbow silently, her gaze also locked on the broken glass.

Realising the girl was in shock, Layla leaned down to a pile of bricks, grabbing one and promptly raising it above her head, bringing it down onto the side window harshly. The glass cracked slightly, before she hit it again a few more times and it gave way completely, scattering across the tiled roof on the other side. Throwing her jacket over the broken glass, she hopped over the window ledge and onto the slanted roof, careful not to skid on the smooth stone. Whipping back to the girl that had seemed to come to her senses and was now looking at her bewildered, Layla yelled a single “Come on!” through the gap in the window, before turning and heading towards the fire escape alone.

Steven. Not Steven, please not him. Steven’s gone. Steven’s dead, or at least he will be soon, no doubt his body crumpled on the floor, practically laid out as a buffet for that monster. 

He’d thrown her out of the way, given his own life for one so undeserving as her own. 

A man so kind and gentle, good, shouldn’t have rescued her, someone entirely not that.

Being dragged out of her daze at Layla’s yell, her head snapped to where she’d managed to create an escape, the woman looking at her expectantly before she turned and headed towards the edge of the roof. 

Steven could still be alive, she told herself, he could be okay. 

Holding that hope close to her chest, she pushed herself to her feet and ran towards the exit Layla had taken. 

Please be okay. Please be okay. I’ll give every life I have to give if it means you’re safe. 

Her hand was seconds from gracing Layla’s jacket when she heard it. Another growl. 

No, not a growl. A chuckle. Dark, deep and rolling, an amused laugh from a thick chest that was loud enough to fill the entire room with its timbre. 

And she knew. She didn’t understand how, but she knew. She knew who waited for her to turn around. To meet his black, inky gaze with fright. 

But she was frozen. Despite her body being cold for the past day, the chill that ran through her spine was enough to have every single one of her hairs stand on end. Her voice was gone, her chest tight, her throat closed up. 

“I know you’ve been waiting for me, my little monster,” 

His voice was a rumble, though a smile laced his words. His every syllable sent a thrum of horror through her veins, her body going numb. As if she weren’t here. She was watching a movie through her eyes, and the villain was coming, the story was ending. The credits were about to start rolling. 

She said nothing. Didn’t dare move an inch, praying to anyone listening that she could become as invisible as that jackal had been. Yet she felt him getting closer. His feet made no sound, but she felt him draw near. The same way a person feels they’re not alone in a haunted house. Like seeing shadows in the corner of your eye. Like feeling something watching you from the darkness when you wake from a nightmare.

A hand trailed down her loose hair, running long, slim fingers through her locks, he gave a growl of praise. “I’ve been waiting for you too,” 

She started crying. Her face got hot, her eyes stinging as she tried to hold the tears back, only for them to scorch her cheeks as they rolled down, her expression pulling into an ugly whimper. 

Closing her eyes, she told herself if she couldn’t see him he was just a voice in her head. If she didn’t look him in the eye he had no control over her. It was just a bad dream. A side effect of the stress. An auditory halluc-

“Oh, don’t cry,” A cold knuckle dragged over her cheek, swiping away a tear. His finger alone took up half her jaw. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to save you, little beasty,” His voice was dark, but gentle. As if he cared. As if he didn’t want her afraid. “Think of what we could do to Harrow, together,” 

She didn’t doubt he had ideas for what torture he wanted to rain down on the man. But that wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be feared, or to hurt people, or to kill. She didn’t want to be bad. Or to feel even more so that there was something crawling out of her soul, a demon that showed everyone just who she really was. What she really was. 

“No,” She whispered, shaking her head and taking a small step away from him. 

“No?” He asked, a deadly calm washing over his voice. “People have taken from you your whole life. Taken and taken for their own selfish needs,” Seth cooed, circling her with his behemoth frame as more tears flowed over her cheeks, her eyes squeezed shut with a frown, “I see your anger, your need for vengeance. To make them hurt the way they hurt you-” 

“NO,” She yelled this time, her hands coming up to grab at her hair, her body giving in to his words. He knew her. He knew her like an old friend, like he knew himself. Like she knew him. Like he’d been there for every bad thing that had happened to her. Like he was there for the whole of that time, he was there that day. 

That day. That body. What she’d done to him. 

“You hurt, little beasty,” Seth said, coming to stand in front of her. She felt his two huge hands hold onto her shoulders, one coming to her chin to tip it up to his face. 

If she opened her eyes now she’d see his sable black eyes looking down at her in an aching hunger. As if he revelled in the fact she was so pliant to his touch, that he could snap her neck within a flick of his finger and she could do nothing about it. She clamped her eyes shut harder, desperate to not fall for his gentle words, or the familiarity that came with his touch. No, he wanted this, he wanted her to concede, to trust him. To give into him.

No. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I see the way you hurt. I see the fear in you that came long before I did. That they’ll all see you as I do,” He said, caressing her jaw with his sharp claws, a single ounce of pressure too much and her skin would be slashed open. 

“Stop,” She begged, her face wet with tears, her throat closing with a sob that drew out her request like a child. 

“Stop?” Seth’s voice was different now. The semblance of kindness that had been there in a fleeting moment was gone, replaced again with a thunderclap of a laugh, “You poor sweet morning lamb. We’ve not even begun,” 

Her eyes opened for a split second when she felt her body tense up, the feeling as close to rigour mortis as she could imagine, as a dark flash of movement, a row of sharp teeth, and insidious black eyes were all she saw as he took over every part of her body. 

Death took her body for the second time, though this time she felt everything. 

Layla watched its jaws open as its head flicked to her, its deep grunt of annoyance echoing through the empty street, before it's long, slim arms were thrust outwards and grabbed the two of them by the jugular, boney, rough fingers wrapping around their throats and squeezing. 

Steven was lifted off the ground, Layla suffering the same fate after she had thrown an empty beer bottle at the demon’s head, the tiny shards of refracted light bouncing off the glass like a mirrorball and outlining the head of a monstrous creature. 

Layla felt the brick smack harshly against her spine as the thing threw her to the wall, the same way Steven was tossed against a parked car, the passenger window cracking from the pressure and the alarm wailing in protest. 

They both stood up again immediately, Layla’s eyes scanning the floor for anything to use as a weapon, before her almond eyes fell on the neck of the bottle she’d thrown, the jagged edge of broken glass sharp and fatal. Diving for the shiv, she swiped at the area she thought the creature could be stood, though her attempt only proved futile as her wrist was grabbed almost too easily and the weapon was ripped out of her hands. 

The woman made a sound somewhere between a yelp and a cry as she was tossed to the hard ground like a ragdoll, Steven being thrown next to her as he made a move to grab the monster as well.

The two of them gasped as the hands seemed to swipe them to the ground harshly, like a cat toying with its meal, dragging the torture out as long as possible before they gave up and submitted to being ravaged. The two of them looked at each other in alarm, Steven’s eyes a bright white behind the suit, as they felt the jackal grab their ankles and drag. Their bodies scraped against the pavement, the two of them kicking and squealing, writhing to get out of the monster's grip, only to be yanked into the air once more, the blood rushing to their skulls the second they were pulled from the concrete earth. 

“Steven, do something!” Layla wailed, her cheeks pooling a purple colour the longer they were held, though she never relented in her hits, her arms and free leg waving around for any soft tissue she could get at. 

“Marc’s the one who fights these shits, not me!” Steven called back, trying desperately to reach for his batons to inflict any damage he could. 

Layla felt her head building with pressure, her eyes becoming painful to shut as she blinked slowly, the darkened streets turned upside down in her mind. Her thick, dark brows furrowed, her eyes locking in on a figure standing at the other end of the wide street, unrecognisable to her dazed eyesight. 

“Steven?” Layla murmured drunkenly, her hand coming up to grab his arm that was still flailing around. 

“What?”

“Who is that?” The woman asked, pointing to the dark silhouette that stood and watched them.

Steven’s illuminated eyes followed her finger to see the figure still with statue-like grace, silent yet never relenting their dark stare.

His eyes trailed from their body, muscled and in a wide, casual stance, their arms resting at their sides. Their entire body seemed to be in some kind of black, chestplated one piece suit, pads of armour on their vulnerable parts, thin spindles of gold wrapping around the suit in a skeletal fashion. The armour spread over the backs of their hands, opening out into golden claw-like razors at the tips of their fingers that didn’t so much as twitch with fright at the sight of two strangers suspended in the mid air. 

A black muzzle wound its way over their mouth just above where the suit ended at their jaw, their hair falling over the back of their shoulders to reveal more of the golden weaves that fell around their neck and over their breastplate, accentuating the woman’s curves whilst also giving off the look they were wearing a set of bones on their armour. 

Two six-inch shells of armour protruded from their headpiece, curved yet in lithe points, like long dog ears, like a Whippet’s, high and alert. 

“I-I don’t know,” Steven murmured, though he found himself unable to take his eyes off the shadowed figure. He wasn’t even sure they were breathing at the way they were frozen solid, their head tilted slightly as if intrigued by the scene in front of them. 

It was then that it seemed the Jackal realised they had company. But this jackal wasn’t alone. It had brought friends too. 

The figure seemed to cut out of their daze as another of the behemoth beasts came stalking out of the darkness, as if to have been waiting for the scraps of the kill. But it had prey of its own now. This mystery woman. 

Steven’s heart fell into his mouth, which wasn’t too hard seeing as he was still being held upside down by the creature. 

“Run!” Steven called to her, though she seemed to take no notice of his cries, “Get out of here!” 

But the woman stood still, head snapping to where the jackal walked forward, slowly and with a hungry grin on its face as a deep growl rumbled from deep within its chest. This thing was going to rip her to pieces, Steven thought numbly. And it was going to be all his fault for not giving the body back to Marc. 

“Marc,” Steven said with a panic as the thing stepped closer to her still, her head tilting more at the sound of its approach, though that was the only inch she moved, “Marc- take the body- Marc- MARC-”

But he was too late. Steven winced as the jackal lunged towards her, jaws wide open and large enough to swallow her entire skull with one bite. He wanted to look away but his eyes couldn’t tear themselves off the scene, though he knew a blood bath was coming. He felt the bile rise already at the idea of it, though maybe that was the gravity talking.

But Steven’s heart practically stopped when his eyes caught another slight flicker of movement from the woman and he realised exactly what he was seeing. 

The Jackal’s jaws were pried open, stuck in the moment the creature had leapt forward. It took Steven a second to realise the woman’s hands were the ones holding them ajar, her sharp nails latching into its snout and chin, blood already running down her hands at the sheer vigour at which she held onto the dead flesh. The beast gave a whine, its body jolting forward as it tried to overpower her, only to have no luck. She didn’t budge a single hair's width. 

Steven’s eyes widened, the beams of light engrossed with the scene before his eyes. Who on earth was that? How could she see the jackals like he could, let alone wrestle one? 

“Steven, give me the body,” Marc demanded from inside his head, though Steven caught the trace of nerves that rang at his voice like a church bell on a silent morning. 

“Who is that, Marc?” Steven asked, his eyes widening when he saw the figure forcing the jackal to back down a step as she forced herself towards the creature, clearly stronger than the monster twice her size. 

“Steven, I will explain everything later, just please give me the body or she’s gonna get hurt,” Marc said with the same edge to his voice that he had before. The way Marc dodged his question had sirens wailing in Steven’s chest, louder than anything else the American man inside him had said. 

Steven’s voice cut out when he watched the figure grab the beast's jaws even tighter, yanking them apart with a sickening crunch as the joints popped out of their place. She didn’t stop there, not even as the creature gagged and squirmed, a yawp of pain echoing around the street as it scrambled to get out of her grip. But she was relentless. She tugged apart the lower mandible even wider, wider than could ever be natural, and a gut wrenching rip came next. 

The creature stopped moving. Stopped crying. Stopped everything. It slumped to the ground in defeat, the woman standing over its body with no mercy as she held the wad of flesh in her hand, blood running from her fingertips as smooth as water. 

The creature's lower jaw was thrown to the ground, its face a mush of exposed muscle, its throat torn cleanly open. It was then her gaze set onto the other jackal with a slow turn of her head and a low growl echoed through Steven’s bones.

It took him a second to realise it wasn’t the creature that held him that was making the sound. It was coming from her. 

Layla and Steven were dropped to the ground as she approached the creature, the two of them gasping for air, their heads spinning with the blood crashing around their brains. 

The jackal set its sights on her too, eager to avenge its fallen companion, the two of them circling one another for a moment. She made the first move, her black boots near silent against the cobbled street as she leapt with cat-like grace to tackle it to the ground. 

She was able to get her arms around its neck as it met her in the air, her muscled arms quick to begin choking the thing, squeezing until they heard the sound of its shoulder popping out of place. The jackal gave a yelp similar to the other one, only it dragged out into an angry snarl as its huge clawed hand grabbed onto her by the scruff of her neck. 

It threw her away from itself, desperate to get her strong hands off its body, and tossed her a good ten feet away, into the middle of a busy road where she bounced over the bonnet of a car and smashed its left headlight in. 

Steven was quick to jump to his feet as the monster’s head flicked away from the woman, back to where he and Layla stood. 

“Steven, you’re being dumb. Don’t do this, you can’t do this-” Marc protested, though Steven felt whatever bravery he had left collecting together as he clenched his hand together in a tight fist. 

“I think- I think I can,” He replied, the Jackal stalking closer to him with its three good legs. It stepped forward, its confidence shaken by the woman that was now getting back up and pacing her way over to the two of them much too calmly for someone who had been thrown so harshly. “You want some more do you, you mangy, Macedonian mutt?” Steven tried to taunt, though he could feel the tinge of fear still quelling at his chest at the sheer brute size of the thing even when wounded. 

The creature roared in response, gathering its hind legs up to lunge again, as Steven drew back his arm to swing. 

But he was too late. The woman had returned with a silent agility. Steven saw nothing but a flash of black and gold as she dived for the jackal’s throat, clawing and snarling at its chest as she took the thing down with her in one swoop. Steven watched with an agape jaw as she lifted the creature up as if it were nothing more than a sack of grain, and threw the jackal into the same parked car already cracked from where Steven had hit it, the opposite window getting the brunt of the attack as it smashed and the door caved easily. 

The creature lay still for a while, giving Steven time to confront the woman who had helped him, and hopefully answer the questions that Marc had dodged. 

“Oh my god,” Steven started, approaching the woman from behind where she was stood, barely out of breath for what had just occurred, “Excuse me, who exactly are you, you’re just bloody amazing-”

Raising his hand to touch the woman's shoulder gently, Steven practically had the wind knocked out of him as she turned on her heel in less than a blink of his two white eyes, and threw him to the ground as easily as she had the creature. Kneeling over him, his body mushy underneath her sadistic strength, he felt his knees go weak as she grabbed him by his collar and brought him to her face where her eyes trailed over his own face, a horrifically deep snarl emanated from her chest, shaking his lungs with its power. 

“WOAH, Woah wait. I’m not going to hurt you, though I supposed I should be more worried  about you hurting me-” It was then that he actually took in what he could see of her face. 

The colour of the hair that fell around her face as she leant over him, the shape of her face that wasn’t covered by the black muzzle that wrapped around her mouth and over her nose, thin and metallic and yet making her sounds all the more terrifying. Her eyes, the iris gone and replaced by inky black pits of darkness that blinked down at him with famine. 

But that face. He would know that face anywhere, he would know it in the thickest of fogs, the darkest of Winters. He could find her in any crowd, in any life. And if he was to go blind by morning, he’d know her by the way she breathed alone. 

And he did. Despite the fact her breath was laden with grunts, he knew her. He knew her. 

“Dove?” Steven muttered, hands coming to hold her face gently, his brows furrowed with confusion, “Dove, what happened to you-”

His hand had all but brushed her cheek, a gentle action that normally would have had her preening to his touch, had her snapping at the bit, and Steven was sure she would have taken his hand clean off had she not been muzzled like a rabid dog. 

Steven jumped back as she came closer to him, an even louder rumble of fury damn near bursting his ear drums as she warned him off of touching her. She was not his dove. Not the girl he knew. Not the girl he loved. She was a feral beast untamed and wild, eager to hurt him as much as she had attacked the jackal were he to get too close. 

“Dove?” Steven asked one more time, though he kept his hands in surrender as she manhandled him, pushing him to the floor more as she pinned him down, her black eyes empty and raw as she stared at him, “It’s me, Steven. Your Steven,” 

Nothing. He gained no reaction from her, not so much as a blink. This was not her. This was a savage creature that knew no such thing as gentle touches and loving words. 

She did nothing but stare at him, waiting for him to make a move out of line so she could tear him to shreds. And yet, Steven lay there as if to submit his body to her if she wanted to do such a thing. He couldn’t hurt her, couldn’t fight back. Could never lay an unkind hand on her even if it came to his last moments on the earth. He could die by her hands and he would still consider himself lucky to have been touched by such a creature. 

She raised a clawed hand up to bring down on his masked face, a strength in the hit strong enough to tear clean through the ceremonial armour and likely leave him disfigured, if not cleave his skull in two on the spot. But she didn’t get a chance to strike. No sooner had she raised herself up to end it all, the Jackal launched its beaten body at her crouching form, the two of them tumbling away from Steven’s shaking body and rolling amongst one another in a flurry of wails and growls. 

She flew off him spitting and yowling like a feral street cat, a sound no normal human should make as the creature bit down on her arm hard. 

Steven felt two arms dragging him upwards and away from the scene, Layla could only imagine what was going on as the mystery woman’s arm sprayed her own blood over the concrete with every swipe of her claws. 

“What is that?” Layla asked breathlessly, practically yanking Steven away as he trembled under her hands. She froze when Steven said her name, her name, the name of the girl she had left in that room to make her own way out. “What? Is this Harrow’s doing? Turning her into some crazy dog-woman?”

“I don’t know,” Steven said with a defeated tone, his chest aching at the way she had looked at him with no recognition of who he was. “I think…” Steven thought for a moment, “I think Marc will know how to help her,” 

Layla nodded at him, her eyes taking in his broken expression, patting him on the arm gently, “Okay. Okay, bring him out,”

Steven turned away from her, sparing a small glance to the woman who held his life so closely in her hands, who had been seconds away from ending it, who he gave himself to entirely were it to be that he saw her in his last few moments of living. She scrapped with the jackal, two wild beasts gaining on eachother, drawing blood whenever and wherever they could. 

“Marc,” Steven said, his eyes never leaving her blank face, spots of blood now sprayed over her nose like freckles. He felt his alter perk up at the name, his body already tensing up as Marc clawed at the reigns to take over now.

“Yeah, buddy?” Marc asked, though he could see everything Steven was seeing, and his heart already sunk at the unrecognisable thousand mile stare she had. 

This was it. Seth had her now. “Save her,”

authors note: I used an AI to create what I think Dove looks like in her suit and-

These are the vibes we’re going for! Please feel free to imagine her as ANY shape, ANY ethnicity and ANY height however, these were just what the AI generated!

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[am-i-interrupting]

How Autism Effects Them

For Me. Hi, I’m autistic and I write these specific characters with autism in mind. Here’s how it effects my writing of them.

Alastor

Alastor is a sensory avoidant autistic with the PDA profile.

He avoids touch unless specifically initiated by him or someone he trusts.

He cannot stand any type of soft touch and is much more receptive to strong grips.

Part of the reason he employed Niffty is because of her obsessive cleaning and his need for things to be orderly but lack of willpower or energy to clean.

He has a specific way of organizing things and Niffty quickly caught on and adopted those same values.

He avoids going certain places due to sounds which may occur. Specifically retaining to music.

He enjoys Jazz, swing, classical, and blues. That is it.

Being sensory avoidant, does not mean, however, that he never seeks sensory stimulation. It is just something he does not do often.

One of the biggest ways he seeks some sort of new experience, sensory or emotion wise, is actually through his planned chaos like with the Hotel. A situation he has some control over and sway in how it goes.

The main stimulation he will look for is the feeling of blood between his teeth and fingers or the best of his favorite songs. Though, he also enjoys the smells and tastes of various spices.

(Personally, I am of the belief that dancing is a stim that he participates in because it’s socially acceptable.)

He is very in touch with his needs and what his body communicates to him even if he doesn’t always have words to describe them.

The PDA profile of autism is known as Pathological Demand Avoidance or, preferred by many PDA-era, Persistent Drive for Autonomy. This often shows up as feeling like anything perceived as a demand is a threat and reacting accordingly.

This results in despite him knowing what his body needs, he refuses to give in to it.

How dare his body tell him to sleep, he is in the middle of very important things that he does not want to stop doing and will stay up even longer to spite his body.

How dare Charlie and Vaggie insist he use video when his radio station is perfectly available, he will mess it up out of spite.

His special interests are actually radio and body anatomy. This fueled both his career choices.

Lucifer

Lucifer is a depressed, anxiety ridden AuDHD king.

He hyperfixates on his projects and forgets to eat, drink, even go to the bathroom.

He struggles with keeping relationships.

You send him a message, he forgets to reply, remembers to reply two weeks later, spends another week debating whether or not it’s too late to reply before finally replying or just starting a new conversation.

He is easily overwhelmed in social situations and cannot maintain multiple conversations at once.

He will fixate on one person and only reply to them.

Just barges in on conversations and chimes in when initiated at inappropriate times.

He bounces between needing complete silence, a specific noise, or an amount of noise that would overwhelm others constantly.

Vaggie

Vaggie is an autistic who has alexthymia.

She’s very monotoned and doesn’t know how to express her emotions because frankly, she doesn’t always know what they are.

It’s like there’s some disconnect between her thoughts and her body.

She’s not very good at articulating what she feels or connecting what her body is experiencing to her emotions.

She actually has a journal filled with bodily descriptions and how they connect to what she thinks she should be feeling. It helps her describe them to you better.

She doesn’t just have a disconnect with her feelings but her body as a whole.

She does not process things that should be painful as painful.

Her brain doesn’t always compute what signals her body is giving her so she can often forget to eat, drink, go to the bathroom, sleep.

She has certain rituals she does in order to try to connect better with her body and understand what it needs.

Every morning while she’s getting ready, she needs complete silence so she can connect.

She goes through the motions of brushing her hair and takes note of how it feels before and after. She does the same with brushing her teeth.

A couple times every day, she just has to stop everything, find a quiet place, and try to understand what her body is telling her.

Vox

Vox has the PDA profile of autism, is sensory seeking, and has OCD-like tendencies.

See Alastor, point 13 for definition of PDA.

His PDA comes up in a much more controlling way than Alastor’s. Or at least obviously controlling.

He needs everything to go a specific way and gets very disregulated when it doesn’t.

I feel like this also makes his RSD (rejection sensitivity dysphoria) worse.

Not only does he have the disappointment and feeling of failure when he is rejected or dismissed but he also has the emotional disregulation of his PDA which makes him feel like he’s been threatened and in danger to deal with on top of this.

His PDA often results in his use of manipulation and hypnosis over the general populace to ensure a favorable outcome for him.

If he is told to do something and there’s no way out of doing it, he will coerce the situation into something that at least feels like he has control over it.

However, if he does have a way out of it. He simply won’t do it or will purposefully do it wrong.

If you ask him to do something that he was already doing, he will walk away and come back to do it later when you’re gone.

His sensory seeking behavior is often like how we were introduced to him, plugging himself into his systems and being bombarded with the sounds of people.

He does this to regulate.

It’s cathartic to him in the same way blasting loud music when you’re upset is.

His main source of stimulation is through noise and sight.

He finds things like bright lights a calming thing as well.

He is a bit sensory avoidant though but it shows up very differently to Alastor’s.

It shows up in the form of constant cleanliness, yes, but Alastor finds cleanliness soft, unstained rugs and polished wooden desks whereas Vox finds it in a much more modern style.

Counters that don’t have a single finger print on them. Floors that are tile and shining, always looking freshly waxed.

Alastor’s version of clean is warm and homely. Vox’s version of clean is cold and slick.

This also plays into his OCD-like tendencies.

For Alastor it’s an annoyance when these things get out of place. For Vox it’ll ruin his entire day and he has to rearrange his schedule in order to fix it.

Another sensory experience he avoids would be strong smells. He cannot cope with them as they overwhelm him, along with taste.

His part of the tower is very pristine and actually very cold temperature wise not only because he enjoys colder temperatures but they also prevent him from overheating when he’s upset or just feeling strong emotions.

Going to the other parts of the tower are not something he enjoys.

Velvette’s normally smells of strong perfumes and Valentino’s smells of a combination of perfume and sex.

[sonik-kun]

Reminder that WWX did use a homophobic slur (cutsleeve) before he found out he was, in fact, a "cutsleeve" himself.

I'd also argue that him taking advantage of MXY's body and the rumours associated with him by acting as a "stereotypical gay" to get out of situations was a form of homophobia in itself.

He assumed this was how crazy, gay people act - like sexual deviants. He used that stereotype on top of the rumours about MXY just to get out of sticky situations and avoid being captured.

Whilst this isn't aggressive homophobia, nor would I consider him a raging homophobe myself, he still took advantage of the world view he was raised in, which, in modern terms, was problematic in itself.

Think the harmful, stereotypical, predatory gay trope in anime that a lot of anime fans have taken issue with. That's the stereotype WWX was trying to perpetuate and brush off as a silly joke which is bordering that harmful stereotype territory mentioned above. And yet I don't see the moral "holier than thou" crowd talking about that in their analysis on "fictional characters in an ancient Chinese setting."

(Note before I get jumped on: I don't think WWX was being cruel or malicious when he did this. Nor do I think he purposely intended to sully poor MXY's image further. And I ofc don't think that WWX is a terrible person for doing so either. The guy was desperate and needed to pull tricks to avoid capture. But that still doesn't make things right by modern standards. Even if said stereotype was used to goad a load of "homophobes." Would also like to add that even after coming out, WWX didn't really challenge the societal standard or think ill of anyone who thought like that. It's not like he toured the CW with LWJ, promoting gay rights. He'd be very extraordinary for doing that and brave, too. But he didn't. Instead, he just got up to sexy times with his husband daily and lazed about living the good life. Which is valid of him, tbh, giving the shit he went through. But my point still stands. The social norm persists.)

Also, bare in mind, WWX was heavily in denial about his own sexuality at first and struggled to come to terms with it in the beginning due to the societal norms back then, anyway.

Homophobia was the norm. Stop denying that when you know most of the characters found it bizarre.

By their standards being gay was, unfortunate as it is, unusual and to them, perhaps even immoral in its own right.

By modern standards, we know now that it is wrong. And the moral consensus is that being gay is normal and should not be vilified (even then, not all cultures today have reached that consensus and LGBT rights still have a long way to go).

With this in mind and the notion of what morality meant to people back then, you mustn't hold the characters to modern standards because that was simply the world view. What was "right" back then.

You cannot say with certainty that you wouldn't be homophobic back then, in a world where people called it strange and immoral. As much as I'd like to believe that I would be one of the few who find it wrong to treat gay people poorly, most of us probably would find homosexuality strange because that was the moral consensus of that time. As such, it is unfair to hold characters like JC, JL, and JGY to modern standards for that reason. That's the point we've all been trying to make here.

(Even then, JC and JL both watched as WWX left with his hubby into the sunset and didn't speak illy of their relationship again, nor consider them social outcasts like the Jins and Mos treated MXY. It's almost as if people can change their world views entirely (or to some extent) after things become normalised. Hmm. 🧐

Furthermore, MXTX herself said that JC wasn't a bad person. She wouldn't say that if he's the "aggressive homophobe, incapable of change" like you all seem to imply he is.)

You all make this point about historical context when us JC fans criticise WWX for his clear breach of bodily autonomy with the core transfer and his own war crimes. You should apply that logic to the period typical homophobia too. Because as I have said before, you cannot say for certain that the characters would be homophobic had this taken place in a society where being gay was the norm whilst homophobia was frowned upon. Let's use some logic and context when talking about characters from an ancient time period, shall we?

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #53: Healing Right

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, (past) vampire whumper, broken bones, past loss of bodily autonomy, offscreen surgery, emotional whump

Whumpmas in July Day 18: Ache

back to this guy :)

-

Jim rubbed at the bump on his arm where the bone didn't heal quite right, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. The bone on his forearm went at an angle, up and up, before suddenly dropping off where it met misaligned with the rest of it going to his elbow. Bones, they'd told him there were two, but it was easier to just think of it as one.

It hurt, but it wasn't a bad hurt. Jim knew bad hurt. It was a dull ache he'd gotten used to over the past two years. It didn't hurt like the snap when Kane cracked Jim's arm open with his bare hands anymore, and he had pain meds now anyway. He'd tried to get on some stronger ones, but Liz had told him it wasn't a good idea, that he'd get hooked. Jim wasn't very good at disagreeing with people anymore, so he just took her word for it.

But he'd get some now for sure. Even Liz said it was okay this time. Because he had to get his arm re-broken.

Every day as the operation got closer, the dread grew more and more. He knew it wouldn't be like the first time. He'd be conked out, and he'd be allowed pain meds, real pain meds. It wasn't a punishment, and if all went well, his arm would be fixed. No reminder of Kane every time he looked at it. Probably no dull ache. It was even his own choice.

They couldn't fix the scar on his neck, neither the mark or the pain, so this was the best he could do to scrub off any lasting reminders Kane had left on his body. Liz's friend Laken had suggested a tattoo to cover it, but the idea of a needle going into his neck was so horrifying that the thought made him want to throw up.

But he could do this, at least. Even if breaking his arm again would be scary, he needed to claw his body back for himself. He needed to know it was his again, not Kane's. No matter how much it would hurt.

“I don’t belong to anyone. My body is mine. I’m out," Jim whispered to his reflection. Afraid to say it any louder, like Kane would be able to hear and swiftly correct him.

He got dressed, hiding his neck and arm under a turtleneck. He'd started dressing in them every day, though he knew he would need to take it off for the surgery. One more thing to dread about it, but he told himself it was worth it.

"You ready?" Liz asked as he came downstairs.

Jim shrugged. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

-

The operation was a success. If there was anything at all to thank Kane for, it would be that he'd made a relatively clean break.

Jim's arm hurt like hell when he woke, but he knew it wasn't as bad as it would be without the meds. He had a cast this time, and a real sling, not one he had to make himself. His friends kept wanting to sign the cast, but something about it made him wildly uncomfortable in a way he couldn't explain.

He knew the old him would have jumped at the chance to have all his friends sign it. Probably would have given out points for who could draw the best doodle. He was practically a social butterfly when he was nineteen, before Kane got to him, but now it just seemed like he kept finding more and more disconnects with his old friends. They had jobs and babies and memories of the past five years together, and all he had were Kane and panic attacks.

Even though his friends kept reaching out and inviting him to stuff, he was too neurotic to act like his old self. It felt like putting on an act, it felt wrong. And being his real self was even worse: he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want them to know.

His cast remained unmarked.

-

He woke with a scream a week after his surgery, his arm exploding with pain, far worse than it'd been during his recovery.

Jim looked around wildly, but couldn't see the source of the pain in the dark of his room. He sobbed, clutching his arm protectively to his chest. He'd been so badly-behaved lately that he couldn't even pinpoint what it was he was being punished for.

He flinched back into the headboard with a whimper as the door flew open. "Please don't," he begged, trembling.

"It's okay, it's just me," Liz soothed. She sat down next to him. "Nightmare again?"

"No, I don't- I don't think so?" Jim struggled to catch himself back up to reality, but with the haze of sleep leaving his mind and Liz's presence grounding him, he came to the conclusion it wasn't a punishment at all. "I hit my arm in my sleep," he realized. "Sorry for waking you. Didn't mean to."

"You're all good," Liz assured him. "I wasn't even asleep. Getting myself back on schedule for when I go back to work."

Jim's stomach turned at the thought, even though it was no surprise. "What if something happens to you?"

"Someone's gotta protect people from 'em. Plus, I know we live in the cheapest place in the country, but I've gotta get back to work," she pointed out.

"There's other jobs. I'll get one again too, once I'm better. You could just... not go back." As much as Jim hated living by the border, the fact that it was so cheap to live here at least gave them some leeway. At least they didn't have to worry about rent, even though selling the house was nearly impossible if they ever wanted to move.

Liz patted him on the back. "Not for me, there isn't. It'll be okay. I won't be alone, and I've been doing this for years with no issues."

"What about that?" Jim pointed to the scars on her face, faded claw-marks running dangerously close to her throat.

"That barely even counts. You should've seen the other guy. Dead, for what it's worth. Most vampires won't even fight us, they just decide it's not worth the trouble and run back home. It's gonna be fine." She gave him a quick hug. "You gonna be okay to go back to bed?"

"Yeah. Just... be safe. I can't lose you again," Jim said quietly.

Liz gave him a sad smile. "I know how you feel. I'll be as safe as I can. Just go back to sleep."

True to his disobedient streak, Jim couldn't manage to fall back asleep, mind racing with fear. Liz getting taken by vampires, subjected to the same hell as him, or having her mind stolen from her entirely. Kane showing back up to steal him away in the night while Liz is off fighting other vampires, arriving home too late to help. Jim reached a shaking hand under his pillow and took his stake- a real one this time- and held it close as he sobbed, trying to be quiet and not disturb Liz again.

He could only hope his arm would heal better than he was.

-

i'll be putting out two one-shots next! one about a fairy whumpee on friday, and one about an alien whumpee on monday. after that, more Jim in Distress!

event: @whumpmasinjuly

taglist in reblog!