#there are no consequences for trying new stuff... you just undo!!

[paperclips09]

"My dreamscape had changed. Gone was the field of flowers that had grown there since I was a child.

Now my safe place was a room in Paris, rendered skeletal.

There was the bed, the sheets turned down, lamps on either side. Some way from it, I lay in shadow. White flowers reached between the floorboards – my poppy anemones, still trying to grow, their petals bleached and translucent. Snow gathered around me, like dust on something left forgotten.

Beyond the distant windows, all I could make out was darkness. Night cupped the safe house in its hands. That was normal for a dreamscape; the pallor on its walls was not. ...

Part of me wanted to get to the bed – surely it was soft and warm – but I sensed it would carry me farther away than I could stand to go. It would throw me to a world of teeth that wanted to rip me to shreds. ...

Between my periods of absence, I thought I strayed towards the bed – thought I felt the sun, heard a voice – but I always ended up back on the floor, as if I had never moved. The flowers wove around my limbs, as if to hold and comfort me."

The Dark Mirror pg. 4

Samantha Shannon

[autumnhortsnort]

Hello coauthor! A Residuum reader here. One thing I really like about your comic is how the consequences of the characters' actions feel so plausible, but what stands out to me the most is the pacing in how they're presented throughout the story. Do you have any tips for structuring a plot? Every time I try to outline mine, it feels a bit incoherent, and the scenes don’t seem to flow well together. I’d appreciate any advice 🐢

best advice? Write the whole outline down as much and as far as you can, doesn't matter if it makes sense, that's for editing you to figure out. Then edit the ever-loving daylights out of it, add in connecting actions, and take out things that don't work. Residuum has had Five different drafts, with major tweaking as we go. The outline is not set in stone.

Also don’t share it outside of friends, that can make you feel pressured to stick to (the previous plot) even when it doesn’t work for how your story has progressed. There’s a reason we didn’t share any of the potential endings when we were still trying to figure out where the story was going. When the first arc was being posted we had an idea of the plot til about halfway through arc 4, but we didn’t actually have a concrete ending.

how we structure a plot (and do pacing)

Write out your main plot points and then write what the characters need to do to make that event happen. We basically do the plot mountain structure, but for each arc (there are 4 of them) we tend to make the climax of each arc into turning points or decisions that the main characters have to make that they cannot undo. here's a good article to read about structuring plots. (Note! This is for the broad spanning major plot beats, each update actually gets written as needed, they aren't written into the outline.)

When it comes to character decisions it’s more about, “what would make the character do this?” rather than, “would the character do this?” You can make characters do things they normally wouldn’t if you give them the right incentive.

For the pacing with residuum, because it’s serialized, we try to have something progress with each update. Either you learn something new, the plot has progressed (aka the status quo has changed), or there's set up/foreshadowing for later, most updates actually have all three. When writing in a serialized format (each chapter getting its own release) it’s a good idea to treat each update as a complete chunk. Try asking yourself: what is the goal for this part? are you using this update for anything actually important? are you conveying anything new and/or important to the plot? Is this something you want to focus on? Are you writing this to meet audience expectations or because you want to? There are parts where residuum gets almost no interaction but, importantly, those parts still meet our individual update rules. If you're writing for audience engagement you are going to get discouraged from writing long spanning plots very quickly. The audience doesn’t know whats coming, so they won’t interact with anything that doesn’t have their current blorbo™, even if it’s plot important.

for how we make the consequences make sense

Make things make logical sense? honestly i don't what to tell you.

We read. a. lot. I used to read 400 books over a school year, beaze has read about 13.6K fanfics on Ao3 over the course of 4 years. plus a ton of manhwa and manga, and that doesn’t include nonfiction, stuff from sites outside of Ao3, course assigned books, reddit fiction, royal road. Most of how we understand and structure plots is instinctual because we fire hosed our brains with them for years.

I'd recommend watching watching Overly Sarcastic Production’s Trope Talks, and reading stuff that's not rise related, as well as researching nonfiction stuff that's relevant to what you want to write we are at a place where we aren’t writing the outline anymore, just editing it if needed. We use the outline structure to make each update because it gives us a objective for the update, and gives us a road map for when to place the set up for future updates. But if you struggle to use outlines you can just… not use them. Garden writing is a valid writing strategy, I use it for one shot AU’s of residuum.

For long spanning stories written garden style the first draft can be your outline. Just edit and flesh it out once you’ve written it.

[arach-tinilith]

Shameless Self Promotion Sunday

Whoops i waited til monday lol

The idea: We make a post and show off, what cool stuff we created over the past week. Art, Screenshots, writing (anything from a questionnaire about your OC to the 100K epos...) anything we do is worth to be seen and to be promoted. And by tagging people, commenting, and reblogging, we share the love and boost ourselves, and other's confidence. No matter what form you choose, whether you reblog your initial post, or create a new one with teasers, you decide!

Tagged by @calcazars tysm!

Lately I've been writing a Kibellah/Judith fic im gonna title The After Party. It takes place the night of their first date and its going to be their first smut fic :3 so far it's actually very cute and sweet and there's no toxicity or betrayal so im a bit shocked im writing it lol but here's a teaser under the cut

Stumbling into the Rogue Trader's quarters, Kibellah could taste the glasses of amasec that Judith drank on her tongue. Feet shuffled as she pulled the ornate coat off of Judith's shoulders, dropping it and her inhibitions at the door.  Kibellah watched as Judith's fingers blindly fumbled with her plate, trying to undo it.  “Let me, Domin.” Kibellah giggled, undoing the latches herself. Judith peeled off the layers of her own clothes until she stood before Kibellah, nude. Judith admired Kibellah's body, her plump skin littered with scars. She wasn't without her own scars, marked with the past of her torment. Seeing them on Kibellah, however, made her feel less broken. Kibellah’s lips took hers again, the amasec having a bit more effect on her then she realized, causing her to fall on the bed in Kibellah's arms. The two lied there, reality sinking in for a moment of what they were about to do. “Have you ever..?” Kibellah asked, hesitant. “Yes. But not with another woman. Have you?” “I'm unfamiliar with everything, Domin.”  “Oh.” Judith sat up, unnerved. She wasn't sure what answer she wanted to hear but that was quite possibly the last thing she was expecting. Kibellah sat up to meet Judith, concerned she had misspoken. “Is everything alright?”  “Yes I just didn't realize that you were… inexperienced.” Judith couldn't quite put her thoughts into words. She wasn't sure why Kibellah's lack of experience bothered her, only that she wasn't sure if it was right to continue.  “As are you, Domin'Judith.” She pointed out, reaching her hand out to Judith's nervously.  Chuckling, Judith squeezed her hand. She realized how silly she was being- that Kibellah's past was of no consequence. What mattered was that they were two women who wanted this now.

And if you're still reading I'm also writing a Minthara/Naadja postgame fic which is ALSO smutty and a bit more playful but also decidedly wholesome but i dont have a teaser because that's still very rough atm!

Okay I'm tagging @foxboyclit @maud-lin @w-low and @majorasnightmare and anyone else who would like to do this!

[pyropsychiccollector]

How would Mukuro be as a Mother? And how many Kids does she have with Naegi?

Honestly, we see glimpses of that in Vergil's Hope Universe... But for the sake of keeping things interesting, I'll answer this from an AIF perspective. ... To give myself and Vergil more data. Need more sou- *cough* data. Need more data. (人◕ω◕)

So what does motherhood look like in a retired soldier? (人◕ω◕) While it's clear that Mukuro is rather sweet and kind now, there are some out there who will immediately jump to per past, ruthless persona that followed orders without question. Muku helped end the world, killed off a whole junior high cuz Junko ordered it. (人◕ω◕) These sins won't go away, and all Muku can do is try to be Better in her new line of work as a rescue worker. Regardless how some people might feel about her continued existence. (人◕ω◕)

But let's drop the usual banter. We've kept bringing that stuff up for years, it's gone rather stale. If you want my honest opinion, Muku may wrestle through PTSD. Repeated checks on the kids every night to make sure they're safe... Scrutinizing them for concealed injuries when they get home from school... As they grow older, she gets anxious the longer they stay out at night... (人◕ω◕)

Mukuro isn't the type to assume her kids will fall into the wrong crowd or try to end the world all over again. After all, they're Makoto's kids, too. (人◕ω◕) But she was rather impulsive growing up, too. Ran away to join the military. Abandoned her sibling. So she's skittish whenever she hears about or sees her two daughters have some bad rows. She knows where those can lead.

But y'know. Muku isn't so paranoid that she tries to micromanage her daughters' lives. (人◕ω◕) Of course she gets nervous about particularly nasty spats. Just, rather than try to control her daughters, Muku listens to Makoto's advice.

As parents, they give their children the tools to succeed. To understand they're not alone. Muku explains her history with Junko, and how she wishes she could go back and undo so many things. Wishes she'd been more firm, wishes she'd help Junko feel more love and to learn to love others in return. As important as it may be to be strong, one must never abuse that power, even if it's for those you love. You should be mindful and aware your actions have consequences.

Muku doesn't expect perfection from her daughters. And they shouldn't either. (人◕ω◕) It's alright to disagree and drift apart. ... Just don't forget that no matter what, you're family. That you have other family to fall back on, too. Sayaka, Taeko, Seiko, and their daughters. Mukuro and Makoto might not have all the free time they like to spoil their children as a rescue worker and principal, but they never let them go neglected and unappreciated. Through the aid of family and friends, Makoto and Muku make the time to attend school events to support their kids, as well as just family outings in general as often as they can. Means working late hours sometimes, cutting back "me" time, but that's fine. Family is very important. (人◕ω◕)

How do the daughters feel about Muku as mom? Well... she's out there. (人◕ω◕) Doesn't know an awful lot about "fun" or "cool" stuff. Muku's out of touch with society, even with retirement from the military and dedicating her life to rescue work. That dedication is part of the problem. She hasn't allowed herself much time to fully integrate as a civvie. It's debatable if she has to sacrifice all her downtime or opportunities to bond with coworkers. Yes, she has much to atone for, but she's not a robot. Her willingness and desire to change and years of commitment arguably give her some wiggle room to be more human. Be more of a person.

Makoto's helped her along with this by the various dogs they've raised over the years. ... Though it's arguable he probably should have put his foot down somewhat cuz Muku has chosen some rather large and intimidating doggies capable of protection... (人◕ω◕);;; And huskies. Um. Huskies are extremely lively creatures, and if you've never had to deal with their shedding... God bless you. Still, it's clear that Muku has mellowed out with her bonds with their dogs, and she's even developed tastes in music because of all the walking she's done with the dogs.

Muku's the orderly type to read instructions and is surprisingly efficient with technology, which is a relief to her kids whenever something goes wrong. Cooking must be left to Makoto and Sayaka and Seiko, and Taeko on the rare occasions, but that's alright. Mukuro's daughters like Sayaka's cookies. (人◕ω◕)

Muku helped the kids learn to ride bikes and fly drones. She's the go-to mum for math homework, and physics/science in general, I suppose. And history. Very much history. (人◕ω◕)(人◕ω◕)(人◕ω◕) But she's not so good with helping them acquire arts and crafts or assembling presentations together.

Muku is usually good for transportation to and from things, but she does sometimes have to drop stuff for rescue work that comes up sporadically. But Sayaka and Taeko and Seiko have a good network for those kind of snafus~ \(人◕ω◕)/

... Don't bother asking what Muku thinks of her girls getting interested in boys as they reach puberty. That's not a landmine to tango with. (人◕ω◕)

[butterflywomanstuff]

Kᴇɴᴊᴀᴋᴜ,Gᴏᴊᴏ,Yᴜᴊɪ, Tʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴛᴏ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ Dʀ sᴛʀᴀʙɢᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴡɪᴇʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ sᴛᴏɴᴇ.

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

• Gojo's eyes widen as he gazes at the sorcerer reader. His own immense power pales in comparison to what he senses from her. The air crackles with energy, and he can practically taste the raw magic swirling around her. "Well, well," he drawls, leaning against a nearby wall. "You're quite the anomaly, aren't you? I've seen a lot of sorcerers, but none like you."

The reader tilts her head, amused. "Anomaly? Is that your way of saying I'm a freak?"

Gojo chuckles. "No, no. Freaks are boring. You're fascinating. Tell me, how did you come by such power?"

She hesitates, fingers tracing the intricate pattern on her necklace—the time stone. "It's a long story. But let's just say I've been through some... interesting dimensions."

He grins. "Interesting, huh? I like interesting. But controlling time? That's a whole new level." His eyes darken. "Can you reverse it? Undo things?"

She nods. "Within limits. The stone has rules. Consequences."

Gojo leans in, his breath warm against her skin. "Show me."

This will be a longg day…

𝐘𝐮𝐣𝐢 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢

• Yuji blinks, then blinks again. The reader stands before him, a shimmering aura of power surrounding her. He's seen curses, but this—this is something else entirely. "Uh, hey," he stammers. "You're not a curse, right?"

She laughs, a sound like tinkling bells. "No, definitely not a curse. I'm a sorcerer. And I have control over time."

His eyes widen. "Time? Like, rewind stuff?"

"Exactly." She holds up the necklace, the time stone glowing softly. "I can undo mistakes, change outcomes. But it's not without consequences."

Yuji scratches his head. "Consequences? Like, bad luck or something?"

"More like... ripples. Every action has a reaction. Sometimes it's small, sometimes..." She glances away. "Sometimes it's catastrophic."

He frowns. "But you can save people, right?"

She nods. "I try. But it's a delicate balance."

Yuji grins. "Well, if you ever need backup, count me in!"

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐮 (𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮)

• Kenjaku studies the sorcerer reader with a calculating gaze. Her power radiates like a supernova, threatening to consume everything around her. "You're dangerous," he says, voice low.

She smirks. "Aren't we all?"

He tilts his head. "True. But controlling time? That's a game-changer. You could alter history, reshape the world."

"Or destroy it," she replies. "The time stone isn't a toy."

Kenjaku steps closer, eyes gleaming. "Tell me, sorcerer, what would you do with such power?"

She hesitates, then meets his gaze. "I'd fix things. Save lives. But carefully."

He chuckles. "Carefully? That's not how power works. Power demands sacrifice."

"Maybe," she says. "But I won't become a monster."

Kenjaku leans in, whispering . "We'll see."

(This is just another random one)

[superman86to99]

Worlds Collide: The Milestone Side, Month 2 (August 1994)

The conclusion to our somewhat messy coverage of this crossover, but to be fair, it was kind of a messy crossover to begin with. RECAP: Worlds are colliding! Fred is getting upset! As in Fred Bentson, the seemingly omnipotent mailman who can travel between the DC Universe and Milestone's Dakotaverse and thinks he's dreaming one or both of those worlds. After being tortured by unscrupulous assholes who were trying to exploit his power, Fred turned himself into a big ugly being called Rift and threw a tantrum, with dire consequences for our heroes (and our villains)...

Hardware #18

At last, the tale of why John Henry Irons was wearing nothing but boxer shorts in Man of Steel #36 can be told! After digging themselves out of the destruction caused by Rift's little temper tantrum, Hardware and his boss/nemesis Edwin Alva (one of the assholes mentioned above) decide to contact their enemy on the DC side, Hazard (the other asshole), so they can work together to save both their worlds. After all, that's where they keep all their stuff.

Hazard suggests recruiting "an inventor of his acquaintance," meaning John/Steel, the guy his lackeys have been trying to kill in the Steel series. Steel agrees to the awkward team up. Meanwhile, Hardware recruits an enemy of his own, some teleporting lady called Transit. In other words, everyone in this comic hates each other.

Thanks to Transit, the gang is able to create an "interdimensional space between the worlds" (don't call it a Pocket Universe). Steel and Hardware get to work on a machine that can contain Rift, and after a while, John tells his lab partner that he's "absolutely brilliant" and he's learned a lot from him. Hardware is like "yes."

That's when Steel notices that Hardware is adding something to the machine that will actually kill Rift instead of just trapping him. Steel isn't willing to do that, but he is willing to kick Hardware's ass to prevent it. Unfortunately, Hardware has the advantage of being a sneaky bastard who plays dirty, so he ends up beating Steel by throwing a "nano acid" at him that eats all of the metal in John's armor. There's no metal in John's undies, though. Hence: boxers.

Despite being powerless, Steel still won't back down and says the whole reason he's a superhero is to prevent his inventions from killing people (even giant, universe-destroying ones). He eventually wears Hardware down and they agree to build a non-lethal trap for Rift... after they make John some new (metal) pants, that is.

Icon #16

After the events of Man of Steel #36, in which Rift tried to force Superman and Icon to fight in Metropolis to determine which one gets to exist in his new continuity, he transports both of them to Dakota and gives them a new deal: if Superman defeats Icon, Rift will undo Lex Luthor's actions from Action #700 and un-destroy Metropolis. He even transports Lex to Dakota for a couple of panels, just to show off his powers. I'm not clear on whether this is an illusion by Rift or if he really gave Lex his hair and body mobility back for a moment, for some reason.

And if Icon wins, Rift will un-destroy his city. Wait, when something happen to Dakota? Right after Rift said that, since he unfreezes that tsunami he'd stopped in Superboy #7 and lets it hit the city.

Now that both heroes are properly motivated, the actual fight begins (with each one thinking they'll help the other once they win). Icon knows that Superman has the upper hand, since he's more powerful and also literally Superman, so he uses the one thing he has to his advantage: his giant Image Comics-style cape.

At one point, Icon says that "Lacking either a supply of kryptonite or the raw power of Jessica Fletcher, I'm forced to resort to other means to deal with you." Is Murder, She Wrote about some sort of powerful lady warrior in the Dakotaverse? Is she still played by Angela Lansbury? I kinda wanna see that version.

Superman and Icon seem pretty even, until Rift stops the fight and says he's realized that perhaps he doesn't have to choose between one world or the other. That sounds pretty good, until we see him grabbing both planets and crashing (or, you know, colliding) them into each other. The cataclysmic results are shown in Steel #7, which is followed by...

Blood Syndicate #17

What with all the cities crashing into each other and the mass casualties and stuff, everyone forgot about the Blood Syndicate, including Rift. So, when he's musing about streamlining his new combined world's continuity and they attack him (having just learned he drowned all of their friends and families), Rift retcons that rowdy bunch into a group of obedient little boys and girls sitting in a classroom. The "obedient" part doesn't last too long, though...

Since they didn't like that corny revamp, Rift turns them into something more EXTREME: the Underappreciated Ex-Gang, a group of muscular superheroes with various ethnic accents who have sworn to protect a world that hates and underappreciates them.

The funniest part is Aquamaria, who seemingly died in Superboy #7, reappearing as a phoenix made of water and giving a dramatic speech until she remembers she doesn't speak English and says "¿Pero qué carajo estoy haciendo aquí?"

The Ex-Blood Syndicate rebels against their retcon once again, so Rift decides there's just no place for them in his continuity and turns them into metal statues, just like the ones the Legion of Super-Heroes has for dead heroes. That similarity is no coincidence, as we'll see in the next issue...

Static #14

This oversized issue serves as the climax for the crossover. Right away, we find out that Rift didn't just revamp the Blood Syndicate: he revamped the entire combined DC/Milestone universe into a futuristic utopia protected by a large group of teenage superheroes. Static (or "Static Lad" as he's called now), being a huge nerd, instantly recognizes the reference: it's all based on the classic League of Superteens comics from the '50s, of course.

(Yes, superheroes in the '90s were very concerned with their hair.)

Static, Rocket ("Rocket Gal"), and Superboy ("Fabulous Boy") don't know where the other heroes are, so Static uses his genre-saviness to find them by consulting the LoST's Mission Monitor, which shows where every member is at any moment. My favorites on the long list are "Mall Hair Girl (on patrol)," "Dough Boy III (ret-conned)," and "Procrastination Lad (late)."

The superteens are able to find everyone except Superman and Icon, because they ended up stuck in the interdimensional void with the anti-Rift trap that Steel and Hardware made. While Rift is distracted forcing the superteens to fight the statues that used to be the Blood Syndicate, the armored geniuses are able to stretch a little portal made by Transit so that Superman, Icon, and the big trap machine can come through, which looks... painful.

Superman and Icon fly the trap towards Rift, and from his perspective it looks just like the freaky nightmare monster that had been haunting him since the start of the crossover (which is a nice bit of foreshadowing). The only problem is that the trap's battery is sort of busted due to the rough trip out of the interdimensional void -- and that's where Static comes in, because this is his comic and he deserves to get the big heroic moment. Static shoots a big burst of electricity into the trap as it catches Rift, and...

We see Superman, Superboy, and Steel back in Metropolis, and everything is back to normal (meaning Metropolis is still destroyed, but at least Superboy's fade cut is back). They lament the fact that their friends in the other universe were obviously not real, while in Dakota, the Milestone heroes think the same thing about them. So, the crossover ends with every single thing that happened in it being undone... except for Rocket kissing Static, since she does it again.

The last page shows Fred Bentson floating in a black void in his pajamas, doing the one thing he wanted to do all those years: sleeping in peace.

According to the DC wiki, Fred has reappeared exactly three times since this crossover: first in Justice League of America #34 (2009) and Milestone Forever #2 (2010), which explain that a mystical dude called Dharma found Rift napping outside of reality and used his powers to stitch the Dakotaverse into the DC Universe and prevent the former's destruction. More recently, in Milestone 30th Anniversary Special (2023), a younger version of Fred appears in the current Milestone earth and causes its heroes to meet their counterparts from the original Dakotaverse, until everything is sorted out thanks to Dharma, the Statics, and the power of group therapy.

This is a weird-ass crossover, mainly due to the "big bad" being a dweeb who seems to change his motivation with every other chapter (from "just leave me alone" to "I wanna be a superhero" to "destroy one universe" to "clean up the continuity"). However, the entire point was to introduce more readers to the Milestone characters and I think it does that pretty well: you get a good sense of who everyone is and what their comic is about. If I'd had the chance as a kid I probably would have continued checking out Static and maybe Blood Syndicate, just because that "Ex-Gang" gag was pretty funny.

Anyway, hope you're not fed up with crossovers starring dozens of characters and multiple realities, because we've got a biggie coming up...

Missed an issue? Looking for an old storyline? Check out our new chronological issue index!

[katyspersonal]

How did you let Shabiri gaslight you?

Oh, to be honest, gaslight is not a right term here! It specifically means manipulation that makes another doubt their own memories and perception, but I have a bad habit of also using it when the person got a (generally) right idea about something and someone makes them doubt this idea in favor of a way more detrimental one. The idea, not one's own ability to analyze and perceive! With that being said, what I mean is that Shabriri pushed me more to the 'bad' side of permanent existential dilemma. His words, and "philosophy" of Frenzied Flame in general, appeals both to the brand of despair contained within Soulsborne games and to my own despair.

We spend a lot of Elden Ring seeing suffering and oppression, consequences of "all that divides and distinguishes". The world is broken fundamentally. Greater Will doesn't know what it wants to do, but sought mortal plane to allow them to give it purpose and order. But no matter who takes up so much power, it will all just eventually lead to more misery and need to be destroyed and replaced with the new thing.. and that thing will also eventually collapse. And so on, and so on.

Yeah, Shabriri is the bad guy, sure. It is said that the FF sickness started with him, and now the world is cursed with the condition where if you get reasonably depressed you get linked with the mindless power that wants to undo the existence itself. But why Shabriri had the power to slander the Nomads to begin with? Who set the oppressive system that punished the "heretics" with being buried alive in motion? Certainly not Shabriri. His crime is a symptom of "all that divides and distinguishes", not the cause of it. And the world would've still be broken even if FF was never unleashed. Other endings are still questionable. Age of Fracture is just keeping the world broken as it is. Age of Duskborn and Age of Despair are effectively "swinging the pendulum the other side" and we all know it is pretty bad resolution, no matter how justified or expected. Age of Stars and Age of Perfecf Order remove the 'authority' over cosmic horrors that took the form of gold-colored magic in this world: Ranni removes it from anyone's reach and Goldmask makes it accessible to everyone equally. The problem is-

Yes, exactly lol Thank you, Brador! Who is to tell that now in this sort of anarchy, people won't again battle each other until new leader, new oppressive system arises and new kind of suffering and injustice is created? In the end, it didn't solve anything. People suffer under a leader, people suffer without a leader.

As for my personal experience? I am just thinking about this stuff a lot. ALL the time. As a neurodivergent person I've been experiencing the sense of any society I enter trying to remove me like a tumor on an otherwise healthy body early. Children and teens are naturally cruel to the 'odd ones', that's true, but did things really improve in adulthood, or just became more elusive, buried under layers of pretenses and lies? However, is not it reasonable?

Are social animals, ALL of them and not just humans, at fault for trying to preserve definition and customs of their community by excluding those that don't fit in it? We often claim that animals are innocent, but social ones do the same thing: they are not kind to those who are weaker, "useless" or just break the "rules". Nature itself is very ruthless: you are born with something off or lose it for reasons you could not control and you will not survive. Humans developed the ways to help disabled to adapt and survive, but somehow trapped themselves in the system where helping everyone is "not efficient". The opposite way to build the society, on the other hand, leads to stagnation and a different sort of oppression. Both capitalism and communism are built to get rid of those that don't fit into it, just different criteria of not fitting, and yet you can't trust humanity with anarchy.

But are those born different at fault for being this way? But hey, why do we live in the world where if someone could choose what way to be born as, they'd be inclined to fit the norm just to avoid more misery? But how community is preserved if there is no bar for who can belong in it? No matter how you are born - different or normal - both options are bad because you either suffer or cause suffering with your very existence. But don't normies also suffer when we "ruin" their experiences, systems and traditions by existing, but don't we cause suffering with our own existence? Trying to accommodate to everyone leaves world in stagnation and suffering and eventually some people get fed up and off to declare and exterminate the "enemy", NOT trying to do that causes misery, loneliness and deaths. Again, with people trying to overthrow it but all it does is makes pendulum swing. Happiness can only exist atop of neglecting and oppressing others, and if you ARE oppressed, your own way to happiness only lays through committing atrocities and learning TO oppress so is it worth it?

The problem is in how mind and feelings of everyone that lives work. There is some fundamental error in them, because they seek to harm each other and self, because freedom is dangerous but all control becomes too rotten and brings too many victims in the end. No matter who you are, being born into this world is on itself a curse. You'd think that civilisation and education would improve things, but have they? So far most of what I've seen humans do with knowledge about justice, decency, 'red flags' and abuse, bigotry and morality is to distort and misuse it to no end. They just invent new enemies and eat their own, there is never enough victims. Bigotry and evil is not rooted in ignorance, but in nature of life. Idiots do not become smarter when given knowledge, they just become dangerous idiots. So, is not evolving and not seeking knowledge and meaning better? But we already figured that animalistic drives are pretty evil and brutal too.

I respect Soulsborne for having all this, and much more, seen. I don't feel satisfied with the answers to this problem I tend to get from people, and I definitely don't believe that God who cursed humans for slipping under 100% control and threatens people with even more pain if they don't offer him their love is anything good to fall back on. But hey, the guy who rebelled against him doesn't have humanity's best interests in mind either! He is just waiting to pry on us, and humanity got no one. Being oppressed with fear or being a food for demons or wandering aimlessly without purpose? Choose your poison, there is no mercy except for death, and death is the one and only thing that makes everyone equal! Neither side cares for us, and not even we ourselves care for us. I am talking about both the games and real thing here, because Soulsborne is basically a big real world reference x)

I can only laugh it all off as "edgy teenager angst" for so long, but I am thinking about things like this every day. This post is just a tip of the iceberg because I can't spill my whole heart even if I want to, there is just.. too much stuff. More than all words in all languages could encapsulate. "Destroy all that divides and distinguishes, may Chaos take the world" however, is a good way to express the sentiment. It feels cathartic to say. Why not just end it all, if it's fundamentally broken? If the world is just a farm of suffering but deceptive with many beautiful things to hide its true ugly meaning? Although there were other characters delivering meaning of FF, Shabriri felt like the real manifestation of it, and fed that despair I already struggled it into winning.

Like I said, the whole 'picking FF ending to save Melina xD' flew completely over my head. For me it was about being convinced that just returning everything into primordial state of Chaos and singularity was better. And, again, conversation with Melina was so meaningful for this reason. Because there are enough of people that still agree to live in this world, even if wretched, and experience whatever they can. I'd argue that maybe wish to live itself is just something programmed in us to not let us avoid our given purpose to suffer and struggle, or cause suffering and struggle.. Still, I don't know that. Whatever I am looking for is not something logic or heart can help me with, because both comprehension and nature are insidious, fundamentally broken to turn on other humans and yourself. It is something that can't be identified and thus reproduced and shared, but whatever Melina said must have been connected with it if it made me stop believing in FF as the good thing. It could be about finding your own way, that can't be shared with others, but this means everyone else has the capacity to find their own way. In the end, no one has the right to take that chance away from them; not to spite God, not to end endless suffering, not for anything.

[touchtranscendslanguage]

*cracks knuckles* Janus dies au, you say? well then:

what would Janus "fixing everything" actually look like?

what are Logan and Pat doing in all this?

does Prince Pride ever face consequences?

how do Janus and Virgil react to being reunited?

Okay, so what you have to understand is that Janus was the glue holding the seelie royal family together. They just didn't realize it until he was gone because they always took him for granted (except Remus).

I'm going to put a cut here because this got long

Janus being the villain is what allows Roman to be the hero and Patton to blissfully believe he's morally good because Janus does all the 'bad' stuff so that they don't have to get their hands dirty and covers for them when they do. Janus pushes good mental health and gets them to communicate when things go wrong. Janus is always in the background manipulating and fixing things. He's so good at it no one's aware of even half of what he does.

And then he dies and suddenly the rock they never spared a second thought is gone when they need it most.

Fae don't handle grief well. It's not something they're built for; not something life prepares them for. Fae almost never die, seelie especially. Even the ones who go into combat have long life expectancies. No one ever thought they would lose a member of the royal family.

When fae mourn (especially seelie) they do it with their whole hearts. Sometimes they subcome to the grief and become one with magic or nature, essentially dying of a broken heart. The other princes don't go so far as to give up on life but they do give up on themselves in a way.

Janus literally smacks them upside their heads and bullies some sense into them. And they listen. What else can they do? They're baby brother who they've been mourning for centuries is back from the dead and he's offended by what they've been doing in his name. Of course they're going to apologize and in exchange help him right their wrongs.

Janus kept Roman's ego in check. Time to rein it in again. Remind him it's okay to be proud but he also must be humble.

Janus kept Remus balanced. He made sure he was heard and accepted for all his eccentricities and got the help he needed. Time to kick his brothers' asses into treating him right again and get him back into therapy. (he's going to send all of them to therapy)

Janus made sure Logan knew it was okay to be both emotional and professional. The emotions don't compromise his well-being. At some point Logan forgot that and became cold and heartless. Time to thaw him back into the spring he is.

Janus helped Patton cope with his depression but he also made sure he knew he wasn't perfect and challenged his world views. With no one to challenge the way he thinks Patton became a purity snob and perfectionist. Time to remind him of reality.

As for the war, Janus can manipulate peace if he wants to. It's difficult and takes time but they get there. After humbling Roman and smacking some sense into him of course. He can't undo what's been done but things will work out in the end.

As for fae politics, the seelie gentry have become horribly corrupt. It's time to clean house. Killing their own people when needed has always been Janus's job and he's damn good at it.

As for Remy and Roman. Well, there's not much he can do about that. He can only encourage Roman to reach out to Remy. Because after everything they still love each other. They're still bonded by the claim. That doesn't mean Remy is willing to forgive Roman. Things will never be the same between them, but Roman can try to build something new from the ashes if Remy lets him. First he has to prove he's changed and is going to put in the work he needs to.

Logan and Patton have been enabling Roman. Losing Janus made them lose parts of themselves and what's left behind isn't pretty.

Prince Pride and Prince Ambition faced the wrath of their father which wasn't pretty, but they deserved worse. King Thomas and King Roman wanted vengeance but didn't know who exactly had tortured and killed Janus and none of the unseelie would fess up. They couldn't risk declaring war on all of them, so nothing was done for some time.

When Janus is resurrected he gets his revenge.

Janus and Virgil's reunion is tooth-rotting sweet.

When a faerie who's claimed someone dies the claimed has an option to either let the faerie's piece of soul die in them and go back to the way they were before dissolving the claim or to keep it and stay claimed to someone who is dead.

Virgil had no reason to keep the claim. He barely knew Janus and he was already immortal on his own. He didn't know about the magical benefits of being claimed

Janus doesn't know what's happened in the centuries he was dead or how Virgil's changed. He never really knew Virgil in the first place. But he knows Virgil went out of his way to be with him in his final hours and he kept the claim.

Virgil knows that Janus saved his life and is basically the same as he was hundreds of years ago. He never really could let go of Janus.

Virgil didn't hesitate to run into Janus's arms. A lot of kissing and cuddling ensued.

[astropithecus]

Like a lot of people that have ADHD and like to draw, it's a passion I discovered while held against my will in an elementary school classroom. I drew a lot up until the time I started working, then it gradually tapered off, and I didn't draw much of anything for a decade or more. I expected - much like my teachers - bosses and coworkers would take doodling as a sign that I wasn't paying attention, and - also like my teachers - would probably be dubious of my assertions that it helps me listen. Consequently I just didn't let myself draw. Once I'd made the decision not to draw while I was supposed to be doing something else, I just sort of stopped drawing altogether (and had a lot more trouble listening).

One of the strategies I've found for overcoming executive dysfunction is "get close to the work." If you can't focus on the work, you get as close to doing it as you can, and sometimes being 'near' it (both physical proximity to where the work is, but also "close to" as in "similar to the actions that would accomplish the thing you're trying to get done") you'll sort of ease into it.

A good example - I couldn't get going on a September layout in my bullet journal. The video in the link is from 2016, I saw it before I was even diagnosed. It made a lot of sense to me - I'd also struggled to maintain any sort of day planner my entire life - you get a new planner, you get it all set up, you get all excited about how it's going to change your life, then you never use it again. The bullet journal clicked, though - this time the planner really did change my life - and I've kept doing it regularly for 7 years now.

Executive dysfunction around my bullet journal is bad news, though. It starts a cascade of things being forgotten, the more things that are forgotten there more "undoing" (fees, fines, apologies, rescheduling, catching up) there is to do, and the more overwhelming ever getting back on track seems. When I was doodling this I was behind on schoolwork, I'd done almost nothing on a major annual work project despite the deadline being a week away, my vehicle registration was expired, and I hadn't brushed my teeth. My very oldest friend in the world had a birthday on September 3rd and I'd forgotten to tell him happy birthday. The old me would've berated myself - "get your shit together, man, this is for real, why are you always like this? quit fucking around and just do the damn thing, goddamn" - instead I decided I'd get close to the work instead.

"Close to the work" in this case looked like "get out the bullet journal and your trusty 0.5mm Uni Kuru Toga, and open it to a blank page, you can do that much."

I only ever feel like drawing when I'm supposed to be doing something else. I decided drawing in my bullet journal was being close to the work - it's open, the pencil is in my hand, I'm marking on the paper - that's very close to the work.

As you might suspect from the elaborate shading, it did not work quickly. But it did work. Eventually I felt like I could draw day numbers as long as I didn't have to put them on the right lines and could start with 13. I didn't feel like I had the brainspace to decide what tasks go on what days, so I just migrated everything from August to the month log. On Monday the 10th I noticed I forgot to box off the weekends like I normally do, so I did.

It's ultimately not a very useful, efficient monthly log. It's more doodle than day planner, and it's only got the barest-minimum-please-god-do-these-things-sometime-this-month stuff on it. But without getting close to the work and then indulging my inclination to draw when I'm supposed to be doing something else, I don't think it would've happened at all. My current struggle is I still can't exactly feel proud of myself for doing it. I can recognize that I used self-awareness and healthy coping mechanisms to overcome a challenge, and that from a rational standpoint that's a thing I should be proud of, but instead I just sort of feel silly that I had to basically trick myself into being able to write a to-do list in a notebook. In other words,

self-portrait by the author

Weirdly, what I can feel proud of is the doodles. You know, the thing I was doing while I was supposed to be doing something else.

These curly banner things are Sailor Jerry/traditional tattoo flash inspired. This one's sort of a joke, the dagger is normally through the heart, here we haven't gotten around to it yet.

Executive Dysfunction is his superhero name. He's a Clark Kent type, everyone sees him as a competent, consummately professional business executive, but his secret identity is a guy with no pants whose life is falling apart. Can you spot both of his shoes?

This is Executive Dysfunction's equivalent of a utility belt. It's a briefcase full of sugar.

This is a neat trick if you can't remember that "30 days hath September" stuff. If I'm working on a monthly layout and I stop to go look at a calendar and see how many days are in the month, I will often get distracted and not finish. So I needed a way to remember on my own, I've used this 'knuckles' method for years.

Starting from your pinky knuckle (on either hand, but I usually start with my right since it's the one holding the pencil) count one month for each knuckle, and each space between knuckles. So January is your pinky, February is the space between your pinky and ring knuckles, March is your ring knuckle, etc. Months on a knuckle (January, March, May, July, August, October, and December) have 31 days, months between knuckles have fewer (30, except February).

Since the U.S. has Presidential elections on leap years, I can remember if it's a leap year or not based on whether or not we're voting for a President this year, so with just my knuckles and the smallest amount of political awareness, I can know how many days each month has without having to put down the bullet journal and pick up a phone or a computer.

If you think that was exciting you should hear how I mentally convert hex to decimal.

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary28

10/2-3/2023

i'm listening to the 1985. they make stupid noise.

today i ate leftovers and recorded vocals, choruses for a song are down now, and i also did vox for one of the new short songs. the bad news is i've gone so long w/o doing vocals (not so long but after getting practiced again and then stopping for like 2 weeks to fix / remaster shit) i've maybe thrown my voice out a little. it's kind of sore, we're gonna see how that is tomorrow, but i should at least be able to do some less intense stuff tomorrow, w/r/t re-recording bits and stuff. and then, i dunno, we'll see, there's at least one song that needs that, and maybe another but i'd probably want to start screeching on the other one, because it's faster.

i've been thinking about fast today a little, a lot of these songs are over 150 bpm, frequently hitting 190, is that a normal bpm for this stuff, is that excessive, some locust songs aren't that fast, should i try a new song where i keep it short and also sit at like, below 150, i dunno. it's stupid anyways. i like 80-ish when i want to go slower, because it's not really slower how i handle it, i just have it at double time mostly so i'm really hitting 160 and then when there's slower ideas i have they feel super slow i guess. but not that slow. really i just like things that are fast and irritating, i talk about that so much.

doing vocals, at least how i was going at it today, was really exhausting even if it's like a bunch of takes on one song and a little less on some parts of another. i felt so lightheaded but i think i'm getting pretty good at just powering through that, which might be stupid but for 40 second long songs it's fine, right. hopefully. and hopefully it doesn't hurt to speak tomorrow.

i also got to write some today, just a little, and i also finally finished this mishima book of short stories i was slowly going through, really good, the last two stories were very strange and the last one especially reminded me of something flannery o'connor might do, someone writing from a place of being obsessed with the consequences of the world as it is, the standard ways of treating people, stuff like that. it's not exactly sympathetic or anything, to the suffering, it doesn't hate them either, it sees the downtrodden as sort of transformed into a force of fate and thus nature, which is not really true outside of the exact kind of character he was writing, an upper middle class person worrying, and her worrying thus transforms them into that, even if she's trying to express empathy, she's already figured that there, beyond her guilt, there is some kind of villain waiting for her, and so there is. the poor are bound to servitude of those psychic fantasies, or something. that feels like what he gets at there, the story prior, is about rich women, and is funny. he really handles the abject's entry/appearance in otherwise "regular" lives very well, as something that can and will meet us all, no matter what, and so the consequences of material reality will always be upon us, even if transformed by our fantasies that freely shape the world (this is the case especially if you are rich).

this isn't some communist reclamation of mishima but i do think even these relatively simplistic stories (the word tales almost seems better (and not all stories in the collection are tales (meaning they aren't quite similar to parables (particularly onnagata and patriotism (interesting that they feel the most tied to his queerness))))) more complex than people would give him credit for. makes me think of what eiko hosoe said when taking photos of mishima, this is a paraphrasing of a translation, it was something about the photos being the destruction of a myth, mishima was always constructing himself and subjecting himself to the elements to return to himself a weathered thing, it felt like, undoing himself as much as possible, because being kept to yourself, subjected to yourself as if it were real, is intolerable. so it makes sense then, to kill yourself theatrically. everyone who tries and succeeds is ultimately a drama queen dealing with this kind of difficulty, probably. i know i am. maybe i just relate too much, and it is different for others. i mean, i know it is, ultimately, but some people are convinced they could wield their suicide as a weapon against life or maybe more so, the eyes that have seen them living and would like to say: this is what you have been. of course, no one really cares that much. people could scarcely hear his speech, because he was cut off from the pa, before he gutted himself, so there he was, humiliated and seen still, at war with himself and putting his sex totally into his final moments, a beautiful man chosen to behead him does so, whatever.

but for some people like me i guess that's an intense thing to know about, it's going to sit in my chest forever and ever i guess.

next i'm going to read gary indiana's gone tomorrow. another gay man. i love rent boy quite a bit, i'm semi worried this one won't give me the same feelings, but that's lame, i shouldn't seek the same things from one artist, what i hope though is his prose is as great as it is in rent boy, loose and sharp all at once, i want to be drawn into the pulse immediately, as i was before. i hear this is a great book from a close friend, so i'm excited.

now, after listening to this 1985 record nerve eighty, and also from thinking earlier in the day, i want a fuckoff annoying trebly guitar, maybe different from the others in some way. sharper, hissier maybe, i'll call it "superhissyfit" if i like it.

before i go do that, i really hope i begin reading more. i think listening to richard hell today and singing along made me feel more literary or something. or maybe it was talking about the birthday party with someone. this record i'm working on started off with me reading rimbaud and baudelaire, at a job on break, and i've read plenty in the interim, but recently it's been missing from my life. i want there to be more. i want everything always though. #stupid.

thinking about "we assume sublime poses deep and true to life"

or whatever the line is.

here's the sound. i've never done this before, but i realized i can, which is fun. i don't know if i'll use any of these riffs here but i like at least 2 and think one unexpectedly works well with another, making something pretty compelling as like, a structure, accidentally. now i have something horrifically annoying that also just does that radio search feedback noise, it sounds just like the noise bits in that first jerome's dream record, a total accident but i like it, it's super irritating and i can put it in / just take it out if i want to. the sound overall has a really compelling tinniness that i think can help out on a couple songs where i'm like, not feeling that enough.

the thing with fake guitars is it gets easier to imitate higher strings, probably because there's less of a range of overtones or whatever, harmonic junk and stuff, that you're hearing. i also really like how this one pitch bends, i guess it was made for that super freakish sound some people make riffs out of, cuz like, why haven't i tried harder to do that, cuz i'm lazy i guess. now i try, and some songs i might go back and fuck around w/ this and throw it in, actually i like that idea for one especially, and the feedback could be filtered in at points in a cool way probably too.

i wonder if there's any other random music stuff to stick in here. right now i'm listening to this record:

it's really good, if you like this kind of thing. shocked honestly a couple times by how good the riffs are, and how this really doesn't fall into the regular "screamo" traps (screamo a delineating line i guess between faster/harder-core things, and stuff like this) but this is good because it veers pretty hardcore, it's never twinkly, it's sometimes really pretty and it uses those really great chords guys at this time became really fond of. idk what they are, they always feel spanish to me, it's fun stumbling into them and seeing their anatomy and not really knowing what to call them. this band also has everything free on their bandcamp, that's sick, the lyrics here are clearly super commie so it's not a surprise, it just also wouldn't be a surprise if they were asking like 5 bux (good enough + i get it (anyone would)).

anyways now i am way tired.

so,

byebye!!

[tobiasdrake]

Finally, it's Yuki's turn.

Yuki facing this Love Triangle plot head-on. Proud of her. Not sure if she's doomed or not. This is an AU so ships don't have to line up with the original but writers often use AU as an excuse to do the same things over again anyway.

Hell, it's possible that she's doomed cosmically. It's ambiguously possible that Haruhi red-stringed Kyon back when she started hanging out with him in the Prime timeline. Yuki remade reality but her feelings for Kyon just sort of happened in the new reality. An unintended consequence of the new context everyone exists in.

If Haruhi did red-string Kyon, then he might still be red-stringed to Haruhi. Because Yuki wouldn't have red-stringed him. Even now, she accepts his right to make his own choices. So there are basically three possible scenarios:

1 - Haruhi did not red-string Kyon. 2 - Haruhi did red-string Kyon, but the new reality erased the string when it was undoing all the supernatural stuff. He now has freedom to make his own choices. 3 - Haruhi did red-string Kyon, and Kyon remains red-stringed to Haruhi even in the new reality.

If we're in scenario 3 then Yuki is doomed.

Still, I'm rooting for her. Altered Haruhi/Kyon is a lot less skeevy than its Prime counterpart but Yuki/Kyon is still the least skeevy option. Kick her ass, Yuki. And if it doesn't work out, there's always Space/Time.

Yeeeeeeeeees

Get him!

Absolute trainwreck of a human being.

I want her to have nice things. She's trying so hard. This is probably the hardest thing she's ever done in her life, and that includes 500 years of time looping.

Haruhi has joined the "Creeping on Yuki to make sure her date goes well" club. However, given that she got here five minutes ago, it's unsurprising that she doesn't know what a dense motherfucker Kyon is.

This boy thought Ryoko wanted to talk to him about the Japanese economy.

Oh shit. Ryoko has a point. Especially because of what a dense motherfucker Kyon is. He legit might interpret this as two pals playing around and enjoying holiday customs.

Yuki. Yuki. You need to use your words.

Come on, Yuki. Use your words. You can do this. You are a woman of so many words; You just need to place them in ord--

Oh he is definitely still red-stringed to Haruhi. There is no excuse for two consecutive interruptions by well-meaning friends right at the moment she's about to say it.

Well, this is a disaster. Better luck with attempt #3, I guess.

I have no faith that it will go any better. The universe does not want Yuki to be with Kyon.

Yep. He interpreted the true feelings chocolate as obligation chocolate. He got both Haruhi and Yuki the same little bundles for White Day.

Mission: Failed.

This is the story of how Kyon got stabbed more times than Caesar. A moment of silence for his dearly departed and deeply stupid ass.

The Disappearance of Nagato Yuki-chan, Episode 5 - Her Melancholy

You know what, that's fair. I'm still mad but that's fair.

Again, I love Haruhi, she is my character, but I want the first thing I see this episode to be Haruhi flung violently out the window. Here we go.

Okay, Yuki probably wouldn't violently fling Haruhi out the window. Running away crying in an anxiety panic is more believable.

But you, Ryoko. You can do this. I believe in you. You are the epitome of Lawful Menace and you can hurl that trespasser through that window. Here we go!

She is holding it. She is holding Yuki's chocolates.

I mean. Reasonably speaking, Haruhi is innocent of any wrongdoing here. She had no idea. She met a boy, wanted to hang out, and hit it off. She barely even knows these people. Haruhi has done nothing wrong.

If she and Yuki were pals and she knew about Yuki's crush, then yes. If Ryoko had done this, then it would be a huge betrayal and personal violation of Yuki's friendship. But Haruhi's under no obligation to hang back and refrain from flirting with guys she meets in case someone else had eyes on them first.

As... bizarre as it is to say given her behavior in the other show, Haruhi is not the Bad Guy (TM) here. Reasonably, Yuki is simply running into the brick wall of "You never made a move". A curse that afflicts many a neurodivergent and anxietous person with their first or even later crushes. She had her chance at the Christmas Party and even tried to shoot her shot, but she took it back and let it pass her by. Now a bolder and more confident person is scooping him up instead.

That is a reasonable assessment of what's happened.

However, I have watched Yuki agonize over her feelings for four episodes so I am not feeling reasonable. I want Haruhi hit by a truck.

For real, though, I do feel for Haruhi here. She has no idea why Ryoko's furious.

This is the kind of character drama where nobody's really in the wrong, and that's always the most heart-wrenching of all. Haruhi was right to take her chance but Ryoko is right to be livid over it.

Oh shit, she wasn't even flirting.

(Opportunity to research Japanese Valentine's Day unlocked. Today I Learned Something!)

Episode 4 even set this up with Mikuru and Tsuruya discussing obligation chocolate. Valentine's Day in Japan is celebrated by the practice of women giving chocolate to men, but there are two different kinds: Inexpensive obligation chocolate and handmade true feelings chocolate, the latter of which can be used as a romantic confession.

Obligation chocolates are given to whatever guys happen to be in your social space. Colleagues, friends, acquaintances, etc. Just to avoid hurting anybody's feelings. Which has come under fire for pressuring women into pacifying men, with many opting in recent years to give friendship chocolate instead to just the people they're close to.

But, in any case, obligation chocolate is what Haruhi was doing here. She was just participating in a holiday custom, whereas Yuki and Ryoko spent the better part of yesterday whipping up heartfelt true feelings chocolate for Kyon.

Awww

Okay she no longer needs to be thrown out the window. They totally faked me out back there.

(Partly because I didn't understand chocolate politics. I did think it was odd that Haruhi was casually handing Kyon what is clearly just a Hershey's bar from the corner store but I figured that was just Haruhi being the type to buy her chocolate rather than make it at home. I did not realize there were actually different cultural meanings to the different gestures.)

Did she know that? She popped by yesterday and Kyon told her, "Yeah, everyone went home so club's cancelled." And then the two of them went off and hung out instead.

How would Haruhi know that Yuki was preparing true feelings chocolate for Kyon?

Lawful Menace is as much of an emotional roller-coaster of First Time Feeling Things as Yuki is. She just hides it better.

Ryoko Asakura is this show's MVP. No question. I like how she cherry-taps her punch because she even at her wit's end, she can't bring herself to attack another person over something she knows, in the rational part of her brain, isn't their fault.

So she takes a moment to just. Break down. And cry. And work through her feelings. This is good. Meanwhile poor Haruhi isn't really consoling her so much as she winds up having to be breakdown adjacent.

Sometimes there's nothing you can say or do. Sometimes you just have to be breakdown adjacent.

Yuki is entirely to blame here. She saw chocolate and had a panic attack. Even though, unlike me, she's lived in this culture for her entire life and would know what obligation chocolate is.

Ryoko needs to throttle Yuki. With love. But also throttling.

There we go. Throttling with love.

She doesn't even realize she dropped the box.

So she didn't have a panic attack and flee. She's just. A disaster.

SHE WAS GIVING HARUHI PRIVACY TO WOO THE BOY SHE LIKES

Yuki. Yuki. Why are you the most precious thing ever to walk on Haruhi's green earth?

Yuki sitting there like, "I'll be okay with it if you like Kyon too."

And Ryoko's face like, "I won't. I'll cut a bitch."

[autisticcassandracain]

Thinking very hard about the Scott and Orion child exchange and I'm just. Confused as to why so many writers are so determined to either frame it as a wholly good or bad choice. Because it's just so obviously neither. Like we can argue back and forth about the morality of sacrifices for ideals or the symbolism in the exchange or whatever, but putting all abstract questions aside, the exchange had the following material consequences:

A child was taken from an abusive environment on Apokolips and put in a safe one

A child was taken from a safe environment on New Genesis and put in an abusive one

A child learned about peace and became dedicated towards it

A child was brainwashed into training for a soldier

A truce in a war was reached, stopping the fighting, allowing both sides of the war to rebuild their societies

In the peace New Genesis' society once again flourished and established its connection to the Source, learning from it

In the peace Darkseid had time to strengthen his grip on Apokolips, rebuilding it more ruthless and powerful than ever, preparing for war

All the good is mirrored in the bad, and vice versa. You cannot say the exchange was wholly bad when it allowed a generation of New Genesis to grow up in peace, allowed the planet of New Genesis to grow, saved Orion from a life of abuse and earned New Genesis a powerful warrior. You cannot say the exchange was wholly good when it allowed Darkseid to strengthen his regime, plan his next strategy for war, condemned Scott to a life of abuse and handed Apokolips a neat way to undo the truce. There is no bad without good, and no good without bad. It was an exchange. That's the point.

I'm just thinking about this because every time a writer says "the exchange was bad because it left Scott to rot" I just think "so we should've left Orion to rot instead?" Like regardless of your opinions on sacrifice or war or whatever. Would it have been moral to let a different child rot on Apokolips? Why? Because it would've been inaction rather than action?

Likewise when people try to make the choice to trade Scott out unequivocally the right one, with stuff like Englehart's assertion that it was actually to toughen Scott up for his own good and all part of some master plan. Like. Is trying to make trading a toddler into hell the indisputable right choice really the hill you want to die on?

Just accept that the exchange wasn't good or bad so much as it was desperate.

[dailyadventureprompts]

I'm excited about your open inbox! First off, love what you do and the content you put out. I'm looking forward to trying to integrate some of your stuff into a game I just started running.

On that note, I would be thrilled to see what you come up with for this: the 6 member 3rd level party is part of an expedition exploring a "new" continent in a very Europeans exploring South America kind of way, so lots of jungle terrain. There is an old stone quarry in the area that was used by the dragonborn nation that once ruled here about 1000 years ago to build some of their temples and/or cities. What manner of creature can you see occupying this place, perhaps turning it into a lair? What else might be living here and how might the dragonborn who still live in the area (reduced to nomadic tribes since the collapse of their civilization) make use of it? That might count as more than one request, so I'm ok if you only respond to one. Thank you so much for whatever you come up with!

Wilderness: Empire of the Eclipse

As long as the sun shines, Gaz-et-te-pulk will rule 

- Translation from a crumbling monument

Setup: Civilization is a delicate thing, balanced on foundations that assume that tomorrow will be just like yesterday, and that disruptions to the status quo are fleeting. When things change, and change violently, then civilizations will either bend of break, and in the case of Gaz-et-te-pulk they broke irrevocably. 

A thriving iron age culture that had mastered the arts of plantlore and aquatecture, the dragonborn of Gaz-et-te-pulk (”The City Everflowing”)  transformed their rugged jungle home into a garden. Sustaining a wide population of warriors, poets, and artisans that spread their culture across the continent. 

No army or crisis seemed to be able to challenge Gaz-et-te-pulk, to unmoor it from its place as a cornerstone of history, at least until an upstart cult-leader with a scheme decided to go and snuff out the sun. It was an ego play, a classic dark-lord scheme with too much pagentry and too little thinking about the consequences, and it ended up plunging Gaz-et-te-pulk and the surrounding continent into a half-millenium of darkness. 

As is recorded in the histories of surrounding cultures, “The Devouring Dark” that settled over the region saw the death of the jungle and all the crops, followed by a mass famine and wars between the surviving cities over what was left. Then the rot set in, a fungal plague that fed off the mass-death of the once green land and poisoned the very air itself.  It took five centuries for someone to find and defeat the cultleader turned demigod, and undo his magic to return the light to the sky above the region. It took five more to see life return to the land, growing over the ruin and rot that had once been a darkness-filled desert 

Adventure Hooks: 

The landscape remains scarred from the calamity of the Devouring Dark, and poses a hazard to any traveler seeking to uncover Gaz-et-te-pulk’s history. Though greenery is resurgent since the sun’s return, the strange fungi that flourished in its absence still blooms in darkened corners, creating spore-storms and parasitized predators to seek out new places to grow. Many of the great cities lay in complete ruin, and those not reduced to rubble are now flooded with no one to maintain the great aqueducts and cisterns that once fed them throughout the year. Most are inhabited only by raiders and sickness bearing insects, but a few are being reclaimed by the diaspora of the Everflowing city, seeking to restore a little of their homeland’s glory. 

Things that love the shadows flourished during the half-century of eternal night, squirming up from the darkness below the earth or making the long pilgrimage to this seeming sunless promised land. Derro, Vampires, creatures born from the shadowfell, all saught to make the bones of Gaz-et-te-pulk their hunting grounds, only to be forced back into the caves and gutters with the sun’s return and the cult’s defeat. 

Stongegiants, once enslaved as beasts of burden by the dragonborn, now roam the expanse of the empire hostile to all they encounter. The memory of stone is long, and most of these beings still bear the boreholes through their rocky flesh where their captors attached their fetters, while some others were remade into living monuments of their captor’s supremacy.. 

Among the ruins the party may encounter an eccentric old hermit, who has much to tell them of the region and its history, and conceals yet more of his role within it. 

Art

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Memories

Summary: When Dean discovers the reader has abilities she’s never told him about, he breaks things off. But when she wanders back into the Winchester’s lives a year later, he starts to realize there’s more to the situation than just a few lies...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Case Fic

Word Count: 8,000ish

Warnings: language, angst, mentioned past abuse/violence, angst, sprinkle of fluff

A/N: Also written for @spndeanbingo​​

_____

Exactly three years and twenty two days after meeting the Winchesters it happened. Two and a half years of dating Dean. Countless nights in motel rooms, in the bunker, on hunts. Cuts, stitches, laughs. Colds and fevers. Being worried sick over one another and nearly dying for each other more than once.

You finally did it.

Dean saw it.

And he was so angry you didn’t even know how to respond.

You didn’t even say a word as he threw a pair of special cuffs on you. You didn’t mention how you weren’t a demon and the cuffs were useless on you. You didn’t put up a fight when you were sat down in the backseat and he drove the two of you back to the bunker.

You were quiet as you got out of the car, Dean not even saying a word as you headed straight for the dungeon without being told. He slammed the door shut after you as you sighed. You took a seat in the chair and slipped out of the cuffs with a little effort, the door opening not long after.

“How did you do that? The cuffs. You’re a demon,” said Dean as he walked straight over to you. 

“I’m not a demon,” you said. “You know it’s me, Y/N. Just-”

“What the hell are you,” he said, narrowing his eyes at you, his hand reaching behind his back and pulling out an angel blade.

“I’m human. I just…” you trailed off as you looked at your lap.

“Just what,” he said, grabbing your chin and lifting your head up.

“Do not treat me like I’m some monster. I saved your life two hours ago. You would be dead if I hadn’t done that. Do not treat me like the bad guy,” you said. He dropped his hand and you saw him hold up the blade.

“Talk.”

“I have certain...abilities,” you said. “One’s I haven’t used in years.”

“So you’ve been lying to me for years then, hm?” he said. 

“It’s not the abilities that pisses you off. It’s that I never told you, isn’t it,” you said. Dean cleared his throat and started to walk away, shoving the blade in his back pocket before he returned with crossed arms. “Dean-”

“You saved me, you get a pass. You have ten minutes to load up your stuff and leave,” he said.

“Dean. I-”

“This isn’t a white lie, Y/N,” he snapped, his face hard as you stood up. “This...this is whatever trust we had being over. If I can’t trust you, I can’t be near you. It’s that simple.”

“I never intended to use those abilities ever again. It’s not something hereditary. It would never have been of any consequence to anyone. I’m human. I didn’t tell you-”

“You didn’t tell me. I told you so much shit,” he said, the hard exterior starting to crack. “I told you about hell. About all the shit I did to souls. About the shit that was done to me. I never told anyone that. No one. That’s just one thing. I told you all of it. Every goddamn second and you...you…”

“It’s a very long story,” you said quietly. “A very long and horrible story that I was too scared to ever tell you. So I lied. I lied about a lot.”

“I don’t even know you,” he said. You reached out to grab his hand but he stepped away.

“Dean, I’m not gonna hurt you,” you said, trying to make your voice as soft as possible.

“You already did,” he said dryly, closing his eyes. “Please go. Don’t come back.”

“I-”

“I’m going out. Be gone by the time I get back.”

One Year Later

“Dean, we got another one,” said Sam. You lifted your head wearily, blinking your eyes open to spot Sam looking down at you. “Y/N?”

“‘ammy,” you mumbled, shutting your eyes again. Within a few seconds you were lifted up in his strong arms. You were drifting in and out, suddenly in the backseat of Baby and then in the infirmary in the bunker. After a little while you opened your eyes and sat up, feeling a bandage on your head. You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, immediately plopping back down.

“Sit,” said Dean. You looked behind yourself, Dean standing at a table, most of the lights in the room dimmed down. He spun around with a bowl in his hands and a tray of supplies. You recognized the needle and he was ripping off the gauze and stitching up your forehead before you knew it.

You hissed and he said nothing.

“Cas should be back in the morning. He can heal you then,” he said.

He worked quietly for a few minutes, new gauze stuck on your head when he was finished. He quickly left and hit off the light. You sat there until you heard footsteps, Sam poking his head in and carrying a tray with grilled cheese and tomato soup.

“Hey,” he said, setting it down on the nightstand.

“Hi, Sam,” you said.

“You were out most of the day. I thought you might be hungry,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Where did you go? You were here and then one day, you were gone. It’s not like you to screw up a hunt like that either.”

“I broke Dean’s trust,” you said. 

“There’s more to it than that,” he said.

“I’m a monster,” you said, laughing dryly when Sam stared at you. “I’m human but I’m a monster.”

“You’re one of the kindest people I know,” said Sam.

“I should go,” you said as you got to your feet. You took a leery step forward and another, Sam grabbing your hand.

“Y/N. What’s going on? You’re not a monster,” he said.

“Yes, I am. Thank you for trying to save me, Sam. But you can’t,” you said. You shrugged out of his grip and took a deep breath. You wound up outside of the bunker, by the bottom of the hill. Your head was spinning but you had enough head start that he wouldn’t find you.

You were staring at the river’s water when you heard a branch snap behind you and a flashlight light up the ground nearby.

“Not a very good hiding spot,” said Dean.

“I thought it was,” you said, closing your eyes, resting your chin on your knees again. “I’m too tired to fight Dean.”

“Good. It means I’ll win then,” he said. He stood next to you, clicking off the flashlight. “You told me about this spot, you know.”

“Once I told you.”

“I used to listen to you,” he said. 

“I don’t care about a scar on my forehead, Dean,” you said. “I’m not going back.”

“Rookie move getting caught on a hunt like that,” he said. “I thought you had super powers.”

“There’s a cost to using them,” you said quietly.

“You never said that before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said.

“What does it cost?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” you whispered.

“Your soul?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “The only thing it ever cost me was you. I’m still a monster and a liar. Using them just reminds me of that.”

“Sammy mentioned you look ill,” said Dean. “I thought you looked scared.”

“You’d be doing me a favor by using that angel blade on me at this point,” you said.

“I’ve never wanted to kill you. I’m not going to kill you. You broke us was all,” he said.

“Yes. I did. So why are you here?” you asked.

“I heard there was a long and horrible story, that it might help me understand,” he said.

“No,” you said. He bumped your shoulder and you looked over at him. He stared and swallowed, glancing out at the water.

“Why not?” he asked.

“The time for that was a year ago. You didn’t want to hear it and I respected that. Respect my decision,” you said.

“Alright,” he said, sliding his hand into your coat pocket. You reached inside and felt the ball shape, narrowing your eyes. “Hex bag. You’re coming back with me.”

“First you tell me to go away. Now you make me come back. Take it out and let me leave, Dean,” you said.

“Not without that story. It’s a dick move, trust me, I know,” he said. You plucked out the hex bag and held it in your hand. It burned up in your hand, Dean wide eyed for a moment. “How…”

“Just let me run away. I won’t bother you ever again,” you said as you walked past him. His hand caught your arm and you closed your eyes, Dean gasping behind you. You heard him fall over as you looked back, his hands tied in front of him along with his feet.

“What…” he asked.

“You can’t get out of that, Dean. It’s the same stuff they use in Hell. When I’m away, I’ll remove it,” you said. You started to walk away and you slapped a piece of the material over his mouth when he shouted. “I’m sorry. It’s for-”

You felt yourself get tackled on the ground, your head knocking back against the paved path. 

“Sammy, don’t hurt her,” Dean said and you glanced over, your hold on him gone as he stood up. You tried to push the two of them away but your head hurt too much. You put your hands on it and curled up in a ball. “Call Cas. Tell him we need him home. Now.”

“Morning sunshine,” said Dean as you flickered open your eyes. You looked around, in a dimly lit old room. You touched your head and sat up, Dean setting down his book at the desk. “Cas healed you up. He said your head was looking like a smoothie in there.”

“Felt like it,” you said.

“You should have died like, back at that house on the hunt,” said Dean.

“I know,” you said.

“Apparently you have a ‘dark energy’ about you,” said Dean.

“Yet I’m not in the dungeon...or the bunker,” you said. Dean sighed and looked over your head, your gaze going up to the ceiling. “What is that?”

“Bit of a pain in the ass for me,” said Dean. “We don’t know what you are and that little trick by the river was pretty impressive but that sigil? Anyone with that symbol carved in them ain’t leaving a one mile square area. Two man minimum.”

“You’re holding me here,” you said.

“In this cabin and the surrounding area. I can’t leave either. Not until that gets removed and Cas is the only one that can undo it,” said Dean. 

“I can make you undo it,” you said. You stared him down, Dean frowning when he saw you tie his hands together in front of him. 

“Go ahead and do that. But I literally can’t undo it. We’re both stuck and Sam and Cas aren’t coming back unless it’s an emergency,” said Dean. You got up from the bed and went down a short hall, Dean following you and out through a front door. The air was chilly and you saw the sun was barely up. You walked and walked and walked until suddenly you bounced off of something. You put a hand against it, Dean sighing behind you. “Unless you’re God level powerful, you ain’t getting out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me. Let me go,” you snapped. Dean held up his hands and you sighed, releasing him before you started to walk around.

“Y/N. Cas carved it into our bones. Rowena put the spell up. We are as stuck here as the day is long,” said Dean. 

“You can’t make me go back inside,” you said as you sat down and leaned back against the invisible wall. 

“I think you’re lying to me again. Something is wrong and you know it. You look sick. You’re weak. You-”

“Go away before I shut your mouth for you,” you said. He nodded and left, going back into the cabin. You sighed and wrapped your arms around your knees. “Castiel if you can hear me, come and take this off of me. Please. I just want to be left alone.”

One Week Later

“What do you want for dinner?” asked Dean as you stared out the window. It’d been raining all day. The cabin was nice and clean, modern and nice. The bathrooms were spa like and you seemed to somehow have internet all the way out in the middle of nowhere.

It would have been a great and peaceful vacation spot if there wasn’t the overwhelming threat in the air that you couldn’t leave.

“Y/N?” asked Dean.

“Whatever you want is fine,” you said quietly, watching the water roll down the panes. Dean walked over and handed you a blanket, running his hand over your head. “You will never get me to talk, Dean.”

“I was angry and I think we both know I had a right to be. But I think we both know I should have given you a chance to explain yourself and I didn’t. We both screwed up. When you’re ready to talk, we will. Until then...we can stay here and learn to be friends again. You’re safe here. You can try to recover from whatever it is that is running you down.”

“You stuck me here so I can’t go on a hunt,” you said. “Didn’t you.”

“That was part of it,” said Dean. 

“I’m not weak.”

“You can kick my ass all on your own. With these abilities you have? Pretty sure you win every time without lifting a finger,” he said. “Maybe you’re strong, way stronger than I’ve ever been. But you are sick. I can see it all over your face. You can recover here until we figure out what to do next.”

“I know what to do next but you won’t let me leave,” you growled. 

“This isn’t up for debate.”

You turned your head, Dean shoving your arm after a few seconds. He pointed at the tie over his mouth and you shrugged.

“You speaking isn’t up for debate,” you said. He rolled his eyes and went back to the kitchen, starting to move some pots around.

An hour later he shoved your arm again.

“What?” you said. Dean pointed at the food on two plates. You stood up and went to the table, sitting down and digging in. Dean took a seat across from you, grunting. You slurped down your pasta and stared at him. He scratched at the tie and you went back to eating, his eyes widening for a moment. “It’s not fun having someone control you, is it? Enjoy your Red Special.”

He narrowed his eyes and stood up, going to the bedroom he’d been using and slamming the door shut. 

After fifteen minutes and a few washed pots later, you went to the room, Dean sitting on the floor, his eyes red and puffy.

“Fuck, Dean,” you said, removing the tie and kneeling down. He wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I-”

“Red Special,” said Dean. “Red Special. That’s the first step in a Red Special and you know that. I told you all about Hell but I never told you the names of certain things so how the fuck do you know the name of it?”

You got up and tried to leave, Dean on his feet and grabbing your wrist quickly.

“Tell me. You owe me for that just now,” he said.

“Because I’ve gone through a Red Special before too,” you whispered. You shut your eyes and felt Dean’s hands on your shoulders, guiding you back into his room. He sat you down on the bed and told you not to move. He left for a few minutes before you opened your eyes, Dean returning with a sandwich and glass of water for himself. He shut the door and sat down at the head of the mattress, eating quietly as you sighed.

“You went to Hell?” he eventually asked.

“No.”

“...You had to. There’s no way you could survive-”

“I don’t want to tell you, Dean. Don’t make me tell you,” you said. He leaned over and took your hand, lacing your fingers together. You swallowed and shut your eyes.

“Were you...were you going to…” he trailed off as you shook your head.

“No. I could never do that to you. I shouldn’t have done what I did. My head just...it gets dark sometimes. It gets dark more often. The longer we stay here, the bigger the odds that I end up hurting you,” you said.

“Do you think it’s these abilities making that happen?” he asked.

“I know it is,” you said, a crack of thunder overhead.

“Then let’s try to take it away. Bare minimum information. Tell me and Sam and Cas the bare minimum you think we need to know and we’ll save the story for someday later,” said Dean. “I promise.”

Your whole body shuddered and he gave you a smile.

“S’okay. It’ll be okay,” said Dean. 

“The torturer’s curse,” you said quietly. Dean tilted his head at you and you gave his hand a squeeze. “It’s called the torturer’s curse. There’s no way to remove it.”

“We’ll find a way. We always do.”

Three Weeks Later

“Hi guys,” you said as Sam, Cas and Rowena walked into the cabin. “I made cookies earlier if you want some.”

“Maybe later. Let’s see if we can get you feeling better first,” said Sam.

“Did you bring the cuffs?” you asked.

“One pair of demonic, witch and curse proof cuffs,” said Cas, pulling them from his pocket. You nodded and tried to relax, shaking your head after a moment. Cas put them on and you saw Dean leave his bedroom, shaking his arms out. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I pissed her off this morning so you know, been fun around here today,” said Dean.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Hey,” he said gently. “We’re gonna get you fixed up and you won’t be feeling any of this bad crap anymore.”

“I hope not,” you said. You took a seat at the table, Rowena and Sam moving around and setting things up. You had to give them some of your blood, the second it was in the bowl your whole body starting to buzz. “Hurry. It doesn’t like that.”

Rowenna threw something in the bowl and a puff of smoke appeared. She said a few words and then looked at you.

“Well?” she asked.

“I don’t feel any…” you said, quickly closing your eyes, everything off. You fell over, passing out for a few seconds.

“Hey, Y/N,” said Dean, shaking your shoulder as you woke up. Your whole body felt lighter. You tried to do something you could before, anything, but none of it seemed to work.

“Hey,” you smiled, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

Cas put a hand on your head and nodded.

“I don’t sense the energy in her anymore,” he said.

“It’s gone?” asked Dean. You nodded and let out a laugh.

“It’s gone. It’s gone,” you said as they helped you sit up.

“How did you get a curse like that in the first place? That’s very, very dark magic,” said Rowenna as Sam took off your cuffs.

“It was a unique situation. It won’t happen again.”

“She won’t talk about what happened,” said Sam that night in the bunker. You were laying in your old bed, the boys talking in hushed whispers outside your room.

“I’m not pushing her. This curse was fucking with her head for a while and she’s had it who knows how long and she needs a little peace and quiet,” said Dean.

“Dean. The curse she had is not normal. It is old. The book we found the cure in...they only use the curse in something called a Hellscape. No one’s ever seen it in action. How the hell did she get it?” 

“I’m guessing she’s been to someplace called Hellscape then, genius. Lay off. She feels like shit. Go find a nice easy hunt for us or something,” said Dean. You heard the door open after a moment and Dean enter, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Need anything sweetheart?”

“Do you ever wish you never existed?” you asked. You felt him move around behind you and lay down, warm arms pulling you into an embrace. “That’s not an answer.”

“Maybe I used to, on bad days sometimes,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here though.”

“I’m not sure what the point is,” you said.

“Of life?” he asked as you nodded. “I think you try to leave this place better than you found it.”

“I don’t think that’s why I’m here,” you said.

“Why do you think you are then?” 

“To be miserable,” you said quietly. “A vast majority of my life has been a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. Then I got out of it when I found you guys and then I fucked that up and I’m back in the nightmare.”

“You’re not,” said Dean, resting his head against your back. “You’re not, I swear.”

“Maybe someday I’ll believe that,” you said as you shut your eyes.

“Y/N. Whatever you’re not telling me...it’s okay. I know it’s big. I’ll be here if you ever decide you want to share it. If not, that’s okay too,” he said.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey,” said Sam the next morning at breakfast. “I found a hunt in Norfolk. It looks like a simple demon hunt if you guys want in.”

“Yeah that sounds good,” said Dean as you nodded. You went back to your eggs, closing your eyes. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Never better.”

“I think it’s that gym teacher. I had a bad feeling about him,” said Sam in the motel later that day. “No demon though.”

“Him and that assistant coach are weirdos,” said Dean. “You see the way they were looking at Y/N?”

“They’re not the person you’re looking for,” you said as you changed out of your fed suit, Sam quickly turning away. 

“How do you know that?” asked Dean. You sighed and slipped on some jeans and t shirt, plopping down on the bed. “Y/N.”

“Because this is my hometown,” you said. They looked at one another and scrunched up their faces. “I’m not from where I said I was. I lied about a lot. I get it. I went to high school with those guys, that’s why they were looking at me like that.”

“Well it has to be a teacher,” said Sam.

“No it doesn’t. It isn’t. I know exactly who it is,” you said, going to your bag and shoving your gun in your jeans.

“Care to share with the class?” asked Dean. 

“It’s my dad.”

“Your what?” he asked. “Your dad is dead.”

“A lie. My mom is but not him.”

“So a demon didn’t kill your parents?” asked Sam. “Or just your mom?”

“I killed my mom,” you said. Both of them shared a look, Dean looking you up and down. “I had my reasons.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Ignoring that bombshell, how do you know it’s your dad?”

“He’s the most evil thing in this town,” you said. 

“They didn’t...you know,” said Sam.

“Hurt me? Oh, I wish all they’d done to me was hurt me,” you said. Sam swallowed and you saw Dean nod. 

“Sammy. Go grab some dinner for us. Please,” said Dean. Sam excused himself but you knew Dean only did it for your benefit. “I’m starting to get the picture.”

“What picture is that.”

“Abusive parents with a kid that ends up having a horrible dark curse on them? I have a feeling you didn’t get that from your hunting days,” he said.

“I’ve had it since I was sixteen. I didn’t turn it on until I used an ability for the first time at eighteen when I got out of here for good. Every time I use them, the darker it got,” you said.

“Your dad do that to you?” he asked. “Curse you?”

“Indirectly. You know who gave me the actual curse,” you said. Dean tilted his head. “Alistair.”

You saw his face go white and you nodded.

“Alistair...you knew…” said Dean.

“I knew him before you did. My parents used to call him Ali when I was little,” you said.

“What?” breathed out Dean. “Don’t tell me...tell me he didn’t go near you as a child. Tell me that psychopath wasn’t near you as a kid.”

“I could but it’d be a lie,” you said. He sat down on the bed and ran his hand over his mouth. “It’s my dad that killed those two girls. I know it. Let’s just go deal with him and move on.”

“We are not ending the conversation there. Alistair? That’s-“

“Minimum information,” you said. “I already told you more than enough.”

“Y/N-“

“You of all people can understand why I don’t want to talk about that.”

“I talked about it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to and I did and you know what? After I did, I felt a little better. I trusted you enough to tell you.”

“Dean,” you said, pacing around the room. “It’s not a trust thing. I’ve never told anyone and if you ever find out the whole truth, not the scraps you know, you’ll never look at me the same. I know I’m broken but you didn’t make me feel like it. You guys never did and I know you’ll see what I really am if you ever hear the truth. I’m sorry but I can’t go through that.”

“So you think I was broken?” asked Dean. You rolled your eyes and he stood up. “Did you lie about that too?”

“Go fuck yourself, Dean,” you said, grabbing your backpack. “I never lied about anything like that. You know what? Thanks for everything but I’m gone.”

You stormed out of there, Dean barely getting to the door by the time you were down the block.

Four Hours Later

“Ouch,” you said as you groaned awake. You were cold and your body instantly recognized the chill. You sat upright, the air leaving your lungs. 

It took a moment to realize you were panicking, breaths coming in little sharp jagged beats. 

“Y/N,” you heard from the dark side of the basement. The voice sang song and you backed up against the cinderblock wall. You could feel the shirt you had on now and the light cotton shorts, feel the band on your ankle as you watched him step into the light. “Y/N. Relax, honey. Don’t work yourself up.”

“I…” you said, remembering sneaking into the house and then it all going dark.

“You promised that someday you’d come back and kill me. I took precautions and now...we can go back to the way things were,” he said as he knelt down.

“Dad, don’t,” you said, burrowing back into the corner.

“Hunters aren’t as invincible as they say. I’ll make you a deal. You be a good girl and let Dad have a bit of blood to sell off every so often since you have that been to hell thing going for you, and I will leave the townsfolk alone. Hm? How’s that sound?” he asked. “Or better yet, you be good and I won’t have to do that thing you don’t like.”

“Alistair is dead,” you said as you finally found your voice.

“I know. But I can fool your mind into believing it’s with him, feeling all of that. I’ve learned a few things since you’ve been gone,” he said. “So. Good girl?”

Your body shook and he smirked.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get back to the way things were soon enough.”

He stood up and pet your head, walking away before he hit the light outside the door and locked it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to use your abilities but they were gone.

The Winchesters were your only hope.

It felt like a day had gone by before the door opened. Your father had already paid you one unpleasant visit and you weren’t ready for another.

“Oh shit,” said Dean as the room filled with light. You covered your eyes before you dared expose them to the brightness, Dean rushing over and cupping your cheeks. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Me too,” he said. “I forgive you, for all of it. I promise. Let’s get you someplace safe.”

“You can’t cut it,” you said. “You need to break the seal.”

“Do you know how to do that?” he asked.

“You got a knife?” you asked. Dean pulled out a knife and handed it to you. You took a deep breath and held the tip to your foot. You dug into the flesh and sighed. You took the blade and cut into the band, the thing snapping open after a moment.

“What is that?” he asked.

“You can’t run that way,” you said. You stood up and Dean went with you. He helped you walk, pausing when you stopped halfway. 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you shakily said, stepping over the midpoint of the room, gritting your teeth as you got to the door. Dean picked you up and carried you past the storage area and up the basement stairs, walking you quietly out to the front step outside.

“Where’s my dad?” you asked. 

“Sammy got him,” said Dean. “He’s in the office. I went looking for you.”

“Go check on Sam for me. I don’t trust my dad,” you said.

“If I see him, he’s getting a bullet,” said Dean. You nodded and Dean shrugged off his jacket, putting it over your shoulders before he headed inside. It was warm and smelled like him and you let yourself curl up in the warm safe feeling for a few minutes before you realized Dean hadn’t come back. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood and looked back at the house. You reached into the pocket of the jacket and pulled out Dean’s spare gun. It wasn’t his normal spare. You looked at it and recognized it as the the other one in the set he’d gotten for you years ago. 

You took that as a sign and slowly limped into the house, gun raised as you headed towards the back.

You turned inside and saw your Dad standing by the fireplace, Dean and Sam both knocked out on the floor.

“Winchesters will sell nicely,” he said. “Pieces of course. You will be punished appropriately.”

“No,” you said quietly, pointing the gun. He glanced at you and the weapon flew out of your hands. You were forced down to the floor and you gasped, staring up at him.

“You lose. You always lose,” he said. He grabbed your arm and started to pull you back towards the hall and presumably down to the basement. You caught Dean lazily staring at you. He poked his left side wearily and you reached into his inner left jacket pocket. 

The sound of a switchblade opening was deafening in the room, your father looking down just as you stabbed it into his thigh. You pulled it out and then scrambled backwards, your Dad stalking over you.

A gunshot rang out and he dropped to the ground. You rolled away, looking back to see Dean pointing his gun. 

“You okay?” he asked.

You got to your feet and walked out of the room, sitting down on the front step. You tucked your head between your knees, a gentle hand on your back a few minutes later.

“You’re alright, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

“Hey,” said Dean the next morning as you finished off your hash brown by the water. “Neat little diner they got around here.”

“S’good pancakes,” you said, popping the last piece in your mouth.

“You uh, didn’t say much last night. Or this morning.”

“Didn’t feel like talking,” you said, swinging your feet from where you sat on the railing. 

“You okay?”

“I feel better but I can’t believe it’s actually over,” you said. “I was always too scared to ever come back here.”

“I get it,” said Dean, leaning back against the railing, staring at the diner. “Talking...helps. Even if you were a pain in the ass about it back then.”

“You know when we met, I was so jealous of you. I really hated you,” you said.

“You did? Must have been my charming personality that won you over,” he chuckled.

“You were so happy and you and Sam...you have someone to love you, always. I know you weren’t happy like most people are but you got to have a little bit, a few moments at least. You guys always had each other and I wanted that so bad. I wish I’d had an older brother like you or a little one or something when I was a kid. You have no idea how screwed up I am, Dean,” you said.

“That’s funny,” he said, turning his head towards your own. “You’re one of the most normal people I know.”

“Dean.”

“I don’t know how or why but you are a good person, Y/N. Your parents from the little I do know were horrible. But you’re good and kind. You’re the opposite of screwed up.”

“I don’t feel like it,” you said.

“You will. Eventually,” he said, smiling softly. “Trust me. I learned from this really hot chick all the best ways to help.”

You glanced down and he moved behind you, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your cheek.

“I should have told you the truth back then,” you said.

“I should have been less of a dick. It’s okay. Nobody’s perfect,” he said.

“My parents made a demon deal,” you said, Dean shifting around to sit beside you. “You saw that house. My parents were nobody’s when they were younger. They wanted money and power and they met with a crossroads demon. They presented a unique deal. My soul for the deal,” you said. “I was almost two at the time I think.”

“That’s not possible,” said Dean.

“I know. The demon started to walk away when my parents got creative. Ten years from then, I’d go away for five years, with a demon. They could do whatever they wanted to me. The demon wasn’t interested at first but Alistair popped up all excited and said he wanted to test out some new stuff or something and then agreed. I spent my childhood knowing it was coming. Then I went away and lived in the Hellscape for five years. It’s like bringing hell to earth. It was basically this hidden away cabin in the woods. Apparently it can only be done every so often and needs a whole bunch of stuff and I was the lucky participant,” you said.

“Five years in hell or five years up here?” asked Dean.

“Up here.”

“Fuck,” he said, closing his eyes. “How many years…”

“If a month is ten years…” you said. “It wasn’t great. I blocked out a lot. I can’t even remember most of it. It was weird. I remember the pain but the duration is like a really crappy month or something. But yeah, I hung out in basically hell for five years before the deal was up. Alistair though, he liked me. He said I took a long time to break. He-”

“How long.”

“Hundred years,” you said, Dean nodding. “Dean...it wasn’t like what you went through. That was hell. This was his playground. Some days I was left alone.”

“Can I hear more?” he asked.

“So when my time was up, Alistair gave me the curse. He told me all about it, told me it would strip away the human emotions so I wouldn’t feel so bad. He encouraged me to rip my parents to shreds,” you said. “I wanted to too but when I got back home, I turned into the scared little girl again. I pretended to be a normal teenager at school and then home was...bad. But I met this boy. This guy was following me after one of the football games when I was walking home and this boy chased him off. Ricky. He was the gearhead kid and I was a stupid cheerleader and he was kind. He reminds me of you actually. We dated, secretly, and I started to open up and Ricky was so smart and it turned out he was a hunter’s kid.”

“Ricky Norris?” asked Dean.

“How do you…” you trailed off, Dean smiling sadly.

“Ricky was my friend when I was a little kid. It was rare to meet other hunter’s with kids. I didn’t see him much but I knew Ricky. I never heard from him after we were like twelve,” said Dean.

“His dad had stopped hunting. He and Ricky tried to help me. They helped me learn that my parents threats about going back to Alistair were lies, that it was a one time only thing. He taught me how to fight and what a safe home was and I was going to runaway, Ricky and I were during senior year. But he never showed up and I found out he’d been killed by my parents. So I went home and I didn’t think twice about killing my mom. She and my dad hurt the one person who ever loved me so I killed her and I told him next time I saw him I’d get rid of him too. Then I ran and I hunted and I got so low and down and I wanted that feeling of being loved so bad and then bam, you and Sam walk into my life and you suffocated me with it and I love you two more than you’ll ever know.”

“We know. It’s this thing called unconditional love. We know, Y/N and you got it too,” said Dean.

“You know Ricky had to explain that to me? I understood it. I saw it with my friends and their families but feeling it wasn’t something I ever got until I met you. Ricky tried, he did, but I was too scared to feel it the way you’re supposed to,” you said. “And he and his dad wound up dead because of me.”

“Hunters help people, sweetheart. If I know Ricky, me and him would have been fighting over the chance to help you out. Nothing that ever happened was you fault. You were a child. Barely a toddler. You did nothing wrong. Life handed you all the crap at once it seems,” he said.

“I couldn’t even sleep in my room upstairs. It was the pretend room. I was always in that basement,” you said, Dean putting an arm over your shoulders. “There’s so much they did.”

“All those people and things that hurt you are dead and I’m not gonna let anything else hurt you again. Neither is Sammy,” he said.

“I know,” you said, looking at your hands. “We lost a year because I wouldn’t tell you all of this.“

“What’s a year? We got this place, we got forever upstairs. Don’t sweat it. It’s okay,” said Dean. He took one of your hands and held it in his lap. “I love you.”

“I’m sorry I-“

“Stop apologizing. Please,” said Dean. “We’re good. It’s all good.”

You nodded and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“How about we take a little break from hunting, get everyone feeling better,” he said.

“I’d like that,” you said quietly.

“Me too, sweetheart.”

“Guys,” you sighed from the backseat a week later. “Why are we driving to some middle of nowhere town?”

“First off, we live in a middle of nowhere town too. Second, it’s a forty minute drive which is nothing. Third, it’s a surprise,” said Dean.

“I wanted to lay in bed and eat junk food,” you whined.

“We have a feeling you’re gonna like this,” said Sam. You sighed and a few minutes later they pulled up outside of a house. You followed them out of the car, Dean pursing his lips as he walked around Baby.

“So we may have been working a case this week without you knowing,” said Dean. “Yours.”

“Mine?” you asked.

“Your Dad said some stuff after you left that office last week. Tried to bargain us into helping him, before we finished him off,” said Sam.

“He said something that me and Sam looked into. It turns out, he was telling the truth,” said Dean.

“What?” you asked quietly.

“See that house?” asked Dean, pointing behind you. 

“Yeah?”

“That’s your house,” said Sam with a big smile.

“I’m not following,” you said.

“That is your house. That is where your parents and brothers live,” said Dean, a smile spreading across his cheeks.

“I don’t…” you said.

“The people you thought were your parents? They stole you at a park to use you for their demon deal. Your real parents are inside,” said Dean. 

“Real…” you said, both of them nodding.

“They’ve looked for decades. They ain’t half bad either. Your Dad had a blurry picture of you from your first Wendigo hunt. A little more resources and they might have eventually found you on your own,” said Sam.

“Did you talk to them?” you asked, staring at the house.

“A little. They didn’t believe us at first. I sent them a picture of you and that sealed the deal. They’re good people, Y/N. Whatever you want to do next is up to you, that’s their words,” said Dean.

You turned and headed for the front door, the boys hanging back by the car.

You swallowed as you rang the doorbell, your heart jumping into your throat when you heard someone on the other side.

An older man opened it, a cautious look on his face that turned into a long stare.

“Hi,” you said. He quickly stepped outside and hugged you, picking you up. “You’re my dad?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m your dad,” he laughed. “I’m your dad, kiddo.”

“Y/N,” said Dean, sitting on the back porch a few hours later. “Your mom makes like one of my top ten pies. Ever.”

“I’ll have to send you kids home with one,” she said as she sat back down next to you in the swing seat, your Dad on the other side.

“So what about school? You wanted to be a doctor when you were little,” he said.

“No she didn't. You were obsessed with trying to be a princess,” said your mom. Dean nearly choked on his pie as he started to laugh. 

“Watch it Winchester,” you teased. “I uh, I left school and got my GED.”

“Y/N had a rough go of it,” said Dean.

“The people that took you...did they treat you okay?” asked your mom.

You glanced at Dean and took a deep breath.

“I found some people along the way that became my real family,” you said.

“Y/N. You don’t have to tell us. We’re just glad to have you back,” said your dad.

“I’m okay,” you said, smiling at Dean. “I can’t believe you had four boys.”

“Well the twins were a surprise,” said your dad. “Never had a girl though aside from you.”

“I don’t mind,” you said, Dean polishing off another piece and looking at your mom.

“Does he want more?” she whispered.

“It’s Dean. He always wants more pie, mom.”

“Hey,” said Dean that night as you wandered into the guest room at your parents house. “Was today good?”

“Very,” you said. “I’m not giving up hunting but knowing I have this is incredible.”

“You’ve had a rough go of it. Sam and I wanted to give you your family back,” said Dean as he sat down on the bed and got down to his boxers.

“Dean,” you said, crawling behind him and giving him a hug. “You gave me a family a long time ago. It just got bigger today is all.”

“We love you. We wanted you to know you have more than us though,” he said.

“The Winchester’s have always been enough. I’m so incredibly lucky I have you,” you said, kissing his cheek. “You gave me so much, Dean. I’m so happy to have met my parents and brothers but I’m a Winchester. I’m always going to be that.”

“You have choices now,” he said.

“Yeah. I know what I pick. Same thing as always,” you said. He smiled and cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss. “Thank you for today and how sweet you’ve been all week. I’ve been pretty awful to you lately and I never took care of you at all.”

“You were cursed and scared. I thought I told you to stop apologizing,” said Dean, brushing his thumb over your face. “I am okay. You can take care of me too but it’s give and take and I’m good with giving right now. You still need to heal. It’s only been a week. So let’s take a few days and get to know your family. Okay?”

“Okay,” you said, Dean swinging his legs up onto the bed and giving you another kiss. “I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, Y/N. So, so much.”

_______

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Freak (One Shot)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Warnings: your writer being a dick about the otp

Word Count: this is the first time that I had to remind a therapist about a session. Usually it was me who would forget about sessions or even booking sessions. But that was also because I was scared. Now I know that in order to get better I need to make a few changes with my way of thinking. Bonus? I did not cry during this PMS cycle.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"...in summary, you touch any of my playthings, you will have to deal with the consequences." Kruge wants to pierce those eyeballs out but he has to stop himself in case he is taken a prisoner for harming the new king of Jotunheim on the very first night. "Understood, your grace," Helbindi gives a little bow and waits for Loki to open the door to his chamber before he lets his fangs out in pure animosity for the God.

Loki makes sure to close the door behind him before he closes his eyes and rests his head on the silver frame with a thud. At least he won't have to keep up the facade of being composed all the time in this room. Did I make the right decision? His thoughts are running at a speed that would be considered normal for Pietro. This is the last place Aellae would invade. He inhales a lungful, his mind addressing a hint of lilac in the cold air. That is if she hadn't already done that. And all the fingers are pointing at Helbindi. I am sure Helbindi has something to d-wait...Lilac?

Those computing brows are suddenly furrowing in curiosity while those eyes open to dart around the room in question. At the other end of this immaculate and massive bedroom, you walk out from the direction of the bath, your wet hair a beautiful mess, your skin glowing in the faint light reflecting off the shining frost, your dark blue pyjama shorts showing off those legs that seemed to have toned a little, thanks to the workout this deadly trip has provided. Out of nowhere, winds are blowing into the bedroom from the balcony to bring Loki more of that lilac scent you are covered in right now. Those teasing soft punches of air are doing their best to tickle your exposed skin while teasing the God with a little bit of peek of some more. He does not realise it but Loki's eyes are stuck on you, his throat trying to gulp down whatever is frozen in there, just not ready to digest the poetry unfolding in front of him. Normally he would have scolded you for putting your used towel on that chair, but right now all his brain can comprehend is you raising your leg on his bed to apply some lotion on it. Your head turns in his direction and he is suddenly finding himself running into the sole vase on his right side. He is Loki- the God of mischief- so, of course, it does not take much time to bring that vibrating vase to a standstill. But he still keeps holding for another moment or two, for the fear that it might move again. Any third person witnessing this can tell it is not exactly the vase he is trying to still. "This painting is nice," he murmurs to himself while looking at a pictureless frame decorating the wall to his side, pointing to it and pretending to appreciate it. His hands, though, cannot seem to find a comfortable position. "You're back?" you ask him, still working on your leg. "Hmm?" He pretends to notice you for the first time, still not ready to lock his eyes with you, instead, playing with his fingers. "Oh, yes. Just...had to give a couple of instruction to the...uhh...boys." "I don't like that Helbindi guy-" you screw your nose and Loki seems to lose a couple of ounces of air- "he gives off bad vibes." "Yeah, yeah he does," he agrees with you, walking slowly and calculatingly towards the bedroom part of the room. Your leg switches. "I'm glad that you have the majority though. That too considering you have been away for a looooong time." You raise your head and he busies himself in the ferns kept at the entrance of the bed-chamber before asking himself what his idiotic ass was trying to do. Finally finding the strength, he looks back up at you and nods with a smile. Walk to the other side of the bed, he is practically giving the basic instructions to his brain now. She isn't going out like this, is she? That one part of his brain clad in some dark crevices questions him. That one simple thought seems to raise multiple silent alarms in his body. "So-" he tries to point at you and the door but fails and instead takes his finger to scratch an itch at the back of his neck- "you're going to sleep in now?" That glowy leg worth months of hair growth suddenly drops on the floor. And so does your face. Loki cannot make out what you're thinking because he is busy waiting for your answer. "You want me to sleep somewhere else?" It's just a softly put question. But your eyes seem to glimmer in sadness as if he just betrayed you some way. "What?" he is more surprised by the fact that you did not think of it as a possibility. Why would she sleep somewhere else? We've been doing it the whole trip! Well, the whole trip did not have rooms like this one, balconies like this one and certainly not a view like this one. Loki breathes, opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out for a good few seconds. He is still trying to make his mind look away from all the stray water droplets falling from your hair inside your clothes. "No-" he blinks, bringing his eyes back to yours, licking his lips, he is soft in his speech- "um, you stay here." Loki, you are a God. With the sudden reminder, he clears his throat, straightens his back and brings back that dominating energy in the room. "You stay here," he orders this time. Your quick smile is already melting that robust core of his. And that quick jump on his bed catalysis the effect. "Cool!" You sit there with your legs folded under you, thighs spread, and that shirt not covering as much as it is supposed to. "Woah!" you snapped him out of his trance as you took a little jump on the bed. The sudden glow in your eyes was sending a tingling sensation down his spine. "Oh," you exclaimed, going up and down on your thighs, "we finally have a hard mattress! God, I'm old!" Loki just stood there, watching you arch your back as you went up and down, testing the bed, and at the same time testing his fortitude. Why-why is she not wearing a bra? Loki smacks his inner self. That's what concerns you right now? "Stop that," he growls. One final jump and you are falling on your back with a long sigh. That tingle seems to have subsided but as it is going back, Loki's gaze cannot seem to come off your body- you lying with your limbs spread out as you groan out loud to remove that fatigue from your lungs. That double chin of yours is quite evident when you raise your head just a little to look for the quilt and bring it closer to you with your feet. Who does she think she is? A part of Loki asks. Beautiful, his inner voice answers without a pause, all dreamy eyes for you and your double chin. "By the Norns, you have to stop," the God growled again, making you pause your leg mid-air with the quilt in between your toes. You drop that quilt just like that and turn to rest your head on your palm. "Stop and...?" that low hoarse tone of your mixed with a wicked glow in your eyes lights up a section inside the God he should not be thinking about. Especially when it has the power to take over his brain.  The next time he opens his eyes, you can witness a change in that usually brooding boy to something more...feral? Those bloody eyes of the only Jotun you know are sending you mixed reverberations. By the time you are trying to figure out what it is behind those eyes, Loki's leg is already on the bed and his body over you within two strides. Your hips are locked in by his thighs and he is looking down at you with a simmering gaze.  You are definitely questioning all your freaky actions tonight. But I thought I would tease him a little! You know, to get his mind off serious stuff going outside that door!! And here you are, lying under Loki, your hands clasped close to your chest while your eyes are trying to figure out his next move, all the while unconsciously biting your lower lip. Not gonna lie, this blue version of him kinda looks sex- Loki's hands go down, right between his legs. You are about to catch your breath and cross your legs when his hands yank out the quilt from between the two of you to lay it over you. Your lips are still apart, mouth gaping, breaths at a pause while Loki flattens the fabric out over you till your neck before tucking it on your either side to the point that you cannot escape it even if you wanted to. Your brows furrow in disappointed confusion. Your hands are making that universal gesture of 'what the fuck???' under that damned sheet whereas Loki is proudly looking at his work. "That should keep you warm." “Dude!” Is all you can let out from your lungs before letting your body struggle to get out of this cosy prison. Loki gets up and away from the bed to undo his coat, looking away from you and smiling at this little achievement. “Don’t waste your breath, darling. I learned it from my mother. You cannot get out of that  hold unless you have calmed down enough to-“ His words disappear when he turns back to witness you already deep in sleep; your lips parted, your head practically drowning in the pillow, and little snores already forming in your nostrils. “How exhausted were you to sleep within seconds?” He whispers, never taking his eyes off. I need to teach her not to sleep with her guard down in suspicious places.

.

The coat lay on the floor along with the familiar pants and shirt. Loki sits on the bed in a nightgown, letting his back rest on the bed frame while his eyes gather some much needed light sleep. The night outside is still if not for the periodic interruptions of crows here and there. The chill of this frozen land comes as a blessing for this Jotun, who is no longer regulating his temperature as per the Midgardian ways. His Jotun form too is breathing fine, even feeling better than before. A true blessing in disguise. “Mmm…no…I don’t like it…” you mumble in your sleep, opening Loki’s eyes before he knows what’s happening. His hand automatically reaches out for you, coming to rest on your forehead before realising he cannot use magic to get rid of any bad dreams. So, instead, he softly pats your head. Your sleep laden crinkled brows seem to find some peace from those soothing pats, going back to dreamless sleep and loud snores. Loki cannot help but burst into a silent laugh at those snores. How can someone so small and comparatively frail snore worse than a giant?! That laugh that crinkles the edge of his eyes seems to be slowly melting into a smile; and not any ordinary smile at that. It is bringing a sweet realisation with it; a realisation about this human. Among seven billion humans, this one seems to have brought him the comfort he never even dared to feel. The past few days spent in this human's company were far lighter and chirpier than the most extravagant days spent as a child in Asgard. There was no anxiety, no restlessness. Whenever he was not able to collect his thoughts, looking at this human used to bring everything to a standstill. Knowing that he is not alone this time brought a certain peace to his soul; brought solutions faster and escape routes quicker than his enemies could calculate.  Is this what it's like to have a friend? To have the want to protect them, fight them, tease them, make their life miserable but never let anyone else lay a finger on them? Is this what friendship means?? As if to answer his question, your snores break into a snort before you wiggle inside your duvet to crawl closer to him in your sleep. Your hand stretches out from under the warm cover, take an elongated sigh till it touches Loki's arm and wraps those toasty fingers around his cold muscle. Loki has paused his existence for a second to make sense of this moment. She feels safe with you, a soothing voice inside him resonates in his core and he is watching you in a new light. Some moisture seems to gather at the edge of his eyes before he blinks it away and slides down to rest his head on the pillow right next to yours. He does not realise it but his arm is frozen in that place for you to hold on to it and there is a slight smile on his lips while his eyes are observing every single detail on your face. The God does not seem to notice a bubble being projected out of the bed to overtake the room with a warmth that is emanating from the celestial being himself. And most of all he does not seem to notice the voice hiding in the dark corner somewhere looking at you with heart eyes. I like this human. She can stay.

[ghostmartyr]

I'd be curious on your take on Jujutsu Kaisen, so I recommend it.

I was wrong, one (1) person did ask me about Jujutsu Kaisen. Don't ask when.

I binged the anime and had a blast. Then I realized that Viz actually has reasonable prices for manga binging, and witnessed the consequences of story progression. I think I need to reread a bunch of chapters because I read them way to quickly for the full emotional response to cultivate (beyond what the fuck and but I don't want a flashback arc).

What I like most about it is that so far it hasn't been moving goalposts much.

I followed Naruto as it was coming out. Same with Bleach. The best parts of Bleach were always, without fail, the start of a new arc. Introducing new characters, new techniques, new character dynamics -- sincerely, I loved the start of most Bleach arcs. They just never managed to go interesting places because they'd get bogged down in the fights, and those fights couldn't keep a good level of engagement up because there was a mix of too much and too little going on. The elemental balance was just off.

Naruto -- oh man. Look. There's emotional resonance there. It has a solid grip on my heart in some places. But for crying out loud, the power creep. I think the Sharingan gets more transformation sequences than Goku does. All of the stuff it started with? Cool. Then it can't help trying to dial everything up to eleven -- again (Bleach does this too, but with Bleach it feels more like "wait let's try this again but better").

I don't mind characters consistently improving, and their challenges growing with them. But I like for the world to feel solid, and that's difficult when you know that around every corner there might be a new twist that no-sells your OP protagonist for reasons of it's not time for the series to be over.

We're told how powerful Sukuna is. We're told how powerful Gojo is.

Punches are not pulled. The big bad tells a minion that if it goes after the big good, it will get fucked up. It gets fucked up. A single finger of Sukuna is horrifying enough to put a teenager to death over. Every single time Sukuna shows up, fucking horrible things happen.

Jujutsu Kaisen has great character dynamics, a nice collection of neat superpowers, and what it tells you about the world is relevant to how that world functions.

It's such a tiny thing, but I really, really like it when stories tell me things and don't go out of their way to find an undo button. The consequences are real.

I might have deeper thoughts when I take some time to go back and read a little more slowly, but for now, I'm just enjoying some stable entertainment.