#there's this literal turning point in how you perceive them like if a stone was lodged in your chest your whole life and suddenly it falls

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

If I told my mom that something was wrong with me and I needed help and she came back with "nothing's wrong with you, you're just half god" .... I would not have been anywhere near as chill as Percy is.

[vicsy]

Losing my last marbles over the shift in the narrative between Fernando and Lance cause I'm pretty sure would could have spend even more months speculating how it's gonna go and still none of us could expect this.

I don't think it's an exaggeration but there is that new layer to Fernando's innate villainry everyone is so used to. He's very aware of how people perceive him and he openly revels in it, laughs in the face of people who always say he's too much, you know? It's really hard to find anyone who has racing running through their blood the way Fernando does. Not only does he love it with all his heart, but his approach is also incredibly smart.

And Fernando has this immeasurable hunger for winning, to the point where it's meant to an end. He'll get what he wants. He'll claw his way to victory, step on the heads and hands of other people, and terrorize his teammates for days on end. We've seen it happen for years and, like, we can joke about age, times changing, and other stuff, but he's so different with Lance.

I always say that both Lance and Fernando are two ends of the same spectrum that finally met in the middle and fucking sparkles flew. Whatever they have going is blossoming and flourishing wonderfully under the eyes of the people who rarely had anything good to say about Lance and often painted Fernando as someone he isn't.

It's in that way they both act around each other and you know, you know it's not for show. Cause Lance is just himself all the time, he literally doesn't waste his energy on putting up a facade, and Fernando never bent under the pressure, staying true to what makes him a race car driver.

Which makes it all more interesting is how literally everyone was expecting Fernando to wage psychological warfare against Lance, bite his head off two races into the season but instead, he's just nice. Joke all you want but my fucking god I am not coping well with the unexpected tenderness between them. The radio messages from Baku? Incredible.

When you look at Fernando you see this man who perseveres through everything life throws at him, who has no shame in getting what he wants, and what he wants is to win, always, but. He's in a great car, on the rise, tearing through competition and something in Lance turned the stone chains around his heart into dust and Fernando wants even more now. And that thing he wants, the thing Fernando didn't know he was looking for, that something that was missing from the narrative — he found it in Lance. Even if it hasn't really dawned on him why he wants to see Lance smile just for him, why he'll go out of his way to help him out; why he started to care so much about him in his own unhinged way.

Fernando sacrifices himself fully to the race, it's the love of his life. But his heart cracked and made space for someone else who couldn't be more different than Fernando himself and yet he fits there perfectly, like he belongs. So he just follows this new feeling that Lance brought to Fernando like a gift, follows that longing to not just win but share it with someone. Turn his head to the side and not see an empty space next to him; fend off the hollowness that follows hard-earned victories at times.

After all, it always gets lonely at the top.

[the-nysh]

I love what amai did this chapter it kind of shows Amai Mask abandoning his idea of a pillar of justice and instead kind of adopting Saitama's view of heroes, where everyone who tries to be a hero is valid and trying to inspire new ones. It's such a great development of his character.

Something quite moving/miraculous/extraordinary happened here, for sure. :') Cause here's the same character, now doing a very humble, Saitama-like heroic gesture for a kid in his own unique, heartfelt, pay-it-forward kind of way:

The last time we saw him, Sweet Mask believed himself to be 'too late' (monsterized) past the point of no return before, that he requested Saitama to kill him right there in front of the crowd as the perfect opportunity to take up that 'ideal hero' mantle in his place...only for Saitama to save him (from getting stoned), appeal to his humanity (by telling him he's a 'really cool guy' for the lengths he went thru to genuinely save everyone), and assure him things are only getting started for him instead, cause despite everything, nothing's 'over.' Saitama helps him escape and encourages him that he can still go on to become that ideal hero he seeks, himself.

That was Saitama's last line to him before Sweet Mask's whereabouts were mysteriously left on a cliffhanger. But now?

It seems Sweet Mask really took Saitama's words to heart. :') Cause instead of embracing his fate (to die as a monster), permanently going into hiding, or ceasing his hero activities (what he wants to be! and always has been at his core) altogether, the very first thing we see of him is going out of his way to save a kid and his grandma by embodying that kid's personal ideal image of a hero (becoming his toy come to life) and inspiring him in turn to become the real deal someday too. Like. :')) From then to now!!!!!

The group of neos watching the scene claimed he was only mimicking to trick the kid, but no, SM's actions - choosing to anonymously help people during a literal crisis with no other personal gain to fame, read entirely genuine to me.

The same way he made the fateful decision to sacrifice his entire established identity to save the ungrateful crowd (who could only stone him back in return), because...if he personally sees himself a hero, as human at all (the way Saitama encouraged), then leaving everyone to die just to save his own skin/reputation back then would've been completely unacceptable. Despite everything, despite his monstrous true form and the disastrous personal risks to reveal it, he still chose the selfless path of a hero. Cause at his core, that was something he could not abandon. :'))

And now, after Saitama's help, it's hard to say (without further ch followup) how much his core - his ongoing struggle with monsterization/bloodlust, has safely stabilized, but it's clear in the interim he's found an ingenious way he can still use his powers to continue and actively become more of that 'ideal hero' of his dreams... As someone who chooses to help empower the weak (kids/elderly) with validation and encouragement, inspiring them with hope and reassurance, etc? Cause before, Sweet Mask was motivated by a sense of terminal urgency in his need to find/produce someone else to become that heroic pillar in his place, as his fastest solution to the problem, but without that looming threat (to his own mind and waning humanity alleviated) perhaps this - the services we see of him in the current ch, is more of what he's honestly always wanted to be all along...? (Again, it's hard to say for sure how much comes from his own reformed ideas or a mix inspired/adopted from Saitama's influence without more followup. Cause we never saw how they parted or what else Saitama may have said to help him get back on his feet, which even Genos notes.) But we've seen from ONE how it doesn't matter what's on the outside, or how others perceive/label/judge you, because if you genuinely want to be something (at the core, with your heart in the right place), and choose to take those necessary steps to become it, then you simply are that - a hero. (which Garou's story showed in a similar way.) And in this case, we see how Sweet Mask, a monsterized human struggling thru his own personal demons, can still fully be a hero at heart too. :')

Anyway tl;dr: Sweet Mask, aka Beauto, is one of the wc's best characters.

[landoftheway]

Thoughts on Lisa: The Definitive Edition

Finished all of the new content in both Painful and Joyful, and after giving it some time to sit I’ve got some thoughts about all of it. Below the cut for both length and spoilers:

The Painful

To start with, I love the new campfire scenes. They’re funny, heartwarming, and everything in between, and I actually like that they’re locked behind both the RNG of resting and specific requirements for certain scenes (having enough characters, progressing far enough, either taking or not taking Joy, etc.). It incentivizes people to actually use those rest opportunities instead of just farming mags and resting at an inn.

Brad’s Nightmare scenario is generally very good, but even I think it drags on a little longer than necessary. That said I really like both the fight itself and the lore both before and after it. It really gets across how deep the roots of Brad’s trauma go (a metaphor that I’ll come back to in the Joyful section below), and while ultimately it doesn’t change the outcome of his story it allows for both the audience to get a deeper insight into him and for him to have a moment of genuine reflection on his life, particularly allowing him to think about Lisa as the actual person she was and not the specter of grief and guilt he normally perceives her as. And while it IS possible to cheese the fight without losing anyone, I like the thematic resonance of Brad having to sacrifice the people around him and his connections to them in order to fight his inner-demons; it’s a cool way of tying that theme into a mechanical interaction the player can participate in.

The new sound and music changes are, unfortunately, weaker than the originals all around, but Jorgensen was very direct about the legal reasons they had to be made so there’s not much helping that. In the same way the changes made to the Playstation release are downright silly but also legally necessary for its release on that platform, so I get it.

The gameplay re-balancing seems fine all around. I should note that I did my playthrough on Pain Mode without using any Joy, so I stuck with the classic OP team of Terry, Birdie, and Nern, so for most of the game I had largely the same gameplay experience as my first time through. I do appreciate the inclusion of an EXP share for the party, since it made leveling everyone up at the EWC to get their level 25 abilities much easier and also helped get everyone prepped for the new superboss.

The Joyful

Much like the original release this new content is much more of a mixed bag compared to Painful, but overall I enjoyed it. To start with the least controversial aspect, I like the new Warlord abilities Buddy gets; they’re all both fun and interesting to use and definitely make playing as Buddy more engaging than how she used to be.

On a similar note, the new boss fight she has with apparitions of all the Warlords together is a fun bonus challenge. I particularly like that you can resolve it both by actually fighting them or just defending against them for several turns cause it ties into the ways Buddy is thematically different than Brad. Brad can only conceive of facing his guilt by fighting it due to both his past and having lived long enough for that mentality to become set in stone, but Buddy for all of her faults has at least the potential to see things outside of that dynamic (this being one of the crux’s of her final decision to take the vaccine or not).

The above aspect of Buddy is what ties into the more controversial part of the new content, which is the lead-up to the new ending and that ending itself. It’s worth stating at this point that a lot of this new content is very intentionally vague as to whether it’s literal or metaphorical. For example, the young Rick, Sticky, and Cheeks as well as the Dusty face all speak as ghosts of their adult selves, but in the same weird area we also see a young Bernard and Dusty that are definitely memories of the past. The setting of Olathe has always been one where the supernatural explicitly exists (fireballs, fingerbeams, etc.) and Lisa herself always kinda towed the line between shared hallucination and an actual ghost, so in that respect it’s nothing new for the game but it can definitely make what happens next difficult to parse.

The crux of the new ending is Buddy “planting” Lisa inside herself, which radically alters her dialogue with Buzzo after Yado’s death. Whether this is literal or metaphorical is, again, vague as all hell. On one hand Buddy speaks to Buzzo about things she should ostensibly know little to nothing about and Buzzo accuses her of stealing Lisa away from him, which lends to the idea that this was in some way literal. On the other hand pretty much everything Buddy says to Buzzo are either things she could have feasibly (if a bit improbably) put together or else just things she could have said just to hurt him as much as possible, and Buzzo himself is in the process of becoming a Joy mutant and completely losing his mind, so it’s also possible this is all purely metaphorical. My personal interpretation lies somewhere in the middle but leans more towards the latter; while I think there’s probably some truth to the idea of Lisa as an actual specter/tulpa/whatever, I see most of this new stuff as not things that literally occurred as depicted (i.e. Buddy did not literally collect the items that are part of the puzzle to unlock this ending).

What the metaphor of all this is is pretty plainly stated by Brad in the epilogue, and ties back into the “roots” theming of the new content in Painful. Namely, that a strong and healthy foundation is needed in order for a person to grow into their best self, and that foundation is rooted in love for others and one’s self. Brad compares this to gardening, specifically noting how it requires both healthy soil and constant maintenance, and how a failure to do so can cause weeds already pulled to come back worse than ever. In other words, you need to both connect with and love others as a foundation and find ways to address stuff like pain and guilt regularly, or else they’ll plant their roots in your head and never really go away.

Looking at the new ending through this lens, Buddy “planting” Lisa in herself pretty obviously represents making a connection to her not as a burden of guilt and pain but as a human being. This is reflected in the accusations Buddy throws at Buzzo that for all of his supposed devotion to Lisa he’s still blaming her for driving him to become the man he is now, and how that shows his failure to actually connect to Lisa as a person. Buzzo might claim that he loved her, but it’s abundantly clear he just sees her a justification to direct his pain outwards at the world around him. His accusations of Buddy “stealing” Lisa away from him can thus be viewed as her taking away his ability to think of her and “hear” her as he has up to this point. The final shot of the game is also connected to all of this: the figure holding Buddy could represent a number of specific individuals (the most notable candidates being either Lisa, Lisa and Brad’s mom, or Buddy’s mom), but more importantly it's a visual representation of Buddy having gained the ability to connect to, trust, and love others.

With all of that said, I do have a significant criticism of this new ending: Buddy’s dialogue with Buzzo is, in my opinion, kind of badly written. This was a problem in the original release of Joyful as well in my opinion, namely that the way Buddy talks is weirdly stilted at times compared to her more consistent flow of dialogue in the Painful. The things she’s saying are themselves perfectly fine (as someone who loves to hate Buzzo I particularly enjoyed someone calling him out on what a fucking manchild he is), but her phrasing comes across like it’s waffling between a bitter and blunt way of speech and a more formal and precise tone of voice. So the end result is a sequence with a great essence at its core but a weak execution, which like I said at the start is nothing if not consistent with Joyful’s original release.

TL;DR

Painful DE is great except for the music changes, Joyful DE is weaker but still pretty good which is nothing new, get the game on PC if you haven’t already.

[persephoneandherhades]

You know what? I would love to be a damsel in distress. I would love for literally anyone to try and save me from anything for once in my life. I have taken care of everyone else for my entire life and had to rescue everyone else and when can it be my fucking turn. If I am suddenly perceived as helpless will someone finally treat me as though I weren't bullet proof? I have proven time and time again that nothing will destroy me and I would like someone for once to not take that as a challenge to find a bigger fucking wrecking ball. I want to be treated gently. I want someone to not try and find my breaking point. Why is everyone always trying to find a bigger gun to shoot me with to see if this is finally the one that kills me.

So yeah it would be great to be a damsel in distress. I am in distress and I would love to be saved. I can eventually save myself but I want someone, ANYONE to try for once. Is it too much to ask that I be treated as the human creature I am instead of the indestructible monstrosity I have been forced to become? I was never given the option of being soft. I was tossed into the sea with nothing but my grit and determination to survive and told to sink or swim and then left there.

So yes I know that to everyone I look like the terrifying dragon guarding the tower but they don't know the maiden I'm guarding is myself. If someone could just look past my battle scars and armor they would see the exhausted woman who just wants someone to offer me help. A soft touch instead of an attack. A gentle word. Feathers instead of stones. I'm so tired of being my own knight in shining armor. I would accept the witch's apple at this point just for some relief but she never thinks to offer it to the wreck I have been forced to become. What do I have to do for someone to see me? I don't know how to shed my scales or take off my armor. I have never known a life without them. Will I be forever stuck in the same loop of adversaries when all I want is a partner, a helping hand, a small gesture of kindness.

I am the scarred, scaled, battered creature that everyone is told you must fight to reach the damsel but what I wouldn't give to be literally anyone else.

[twow]

sanji is the most closeted character ever a lot of people hc him as bi which is great and awesome ofc but to me personally he reads so much like a gay man so deeply in the closet that he plays up his "straightness" and masculinity to the extreme. and im not just saying that bc of projection like it is there in the text... like the fact that he fawns over women all the time but literally as soon as a woman shows genuine interest back he is stone-faced does not care does not react. it really reads like a huge performance to demonstrate his masculinity and not actual interest in them and he doesn't know what to do when they like him bc he's not actually interested in them so he plays dumb. ESPECIALLY after growing up in not one but two households with really toxically masculine ideals, one of which he idolizes to this day. he also can seemingly just like. turn off his girl crazy behaviors like when the moment calls for it (WCI as one example) he doesn't do his whole ~ahh woman <3333 thing which further reiterates that fawning over them is not an involuntary lovestruck reaction but an active choice that he makes to play up how straight he is. and like he treats women nicely and fawns over them but never really... pursues them? there's also the fact that every single time a man compliments him or is impressed by him he immediately responds that he doesn't take compliments from men almost like he's so afraid of being perceived in a romantic light with men to the point where he's even nervous to take a simple compliment form them, something that does not bother straight men. being upset over getting a compliment from the same gender is only something that a closeted person afraid of any perceived queerness would do its not normal behavior. plus there's the fact that men get him so riled up that he cannot control his behavior (kinemon literally had him writhing around on the floor in anger lmao) and is constantly picking fights with men since in his mind that's the only way he can be closer to them or get their attention without being perceived as gay. there is soo much more, i could go on and on and on about his + sanji gender studies (okay i'll do a mini rant: he was so fucking happy wearing that dress on momoiro island and it's only when he got a newspaper about his crew that he decided he couldn't wear it anymore. almost like he found happiness as a woman in a place where he was guaranteed acceptance but then was reminded about how his crew would see him and how they would react and freaked out, again due to the toxic masculinity. also further evidence is that it took him literally ONE CONVERSATION to go from "no fucking way im not wearing a dress im not like you people" to "omfg i am a woman i have found myself." if he truly had nothing going on gender-wise it would have taken more convincing) but in conclusion sanji wants everyone to think he likes women so he plays up the simp behavior to the extreme but without any real attraction to them due to the toxic masculinity that's been entrenched in him since childhood and the need to be a "real man." i am sobbing crying throwing up over him give him some estrogen and let him date men. oh also this:

[mae-i-scribble]

it is very late and i am more than tired but i want to type out this thought before it leaves me, orv is amazing in how it develops kdj’s sacrifices across the story. major orv spoilers to come obviously, plus discussion of topics like suicidal tendencies/ideation

Okay so in the beginning kdj’s life ending sacrifices are less a sacrifice to him and more a necessary step. There’s no risk in them- he knows he’ll come back, it’s just the people around him who don’t know so. Then you get to the dark castle arc, where his death is set in stone, and for the first time his sacrifice has risk. obviously kdj is confident that out of him or yjh, He’ll be the one to make it through, but he has no way to be sure. Plus his negotiations nearly fail, if he were not the person he was, kdj would have died permanently. In these first instances, there’s a wide discrepancy i think of how kdj’s actions are perceived by the company vs what his intentions are. kdj isn’t thinking explicitly of how little his life is worth or anything along the lines of guilt, he’s just doing what needs to be done. Sure, it’s worrying as hell that he can throw away his life without much more than a :// “ouch thank god 4th wall is blocking off all my repressed trauma this would suck otherwise. im built different though,” but it isn’t until dark castle that the actions start to have weight put into them from kdj’s side. The dark castle sacrifice isn’t about what needed to be done, it’s about kdj and co being backed into a corner by olympus and kdj stepping up to ensure that the person most likely to survive takes the blow. kdj never wanted to be in this position, he’s furious and sad and consciously acknowledging just how much the people he’s met along the way mean to him (a story more wonderful than ways of survival)

For me though, the first time kdj’s intentions match the company’s perception of the situation is what happens with surya/the demon realm. He sees the inevitable calamity, and his companions ready to die alongside him to try and bring it down, and decides he can’t bear to watch that happen. He doesn’t have a plan unless you count a desperate gamble/plea to sp as a plan, he just knows that he’s going to make sure his companions are safe before doing anything he can to stop the calamity. Even more than the dark castle, this is a sacrifice driven by kdj’s desire to protect his loved ones at all costs, and if his life was worth so little to him in the logical calculations, of course it’ll be collateral in his emotionally based ones.

The war between good and evil is such a huge turning point for kdj. It’s the same situation, essentially, as what happened with surya; a calamity descending upon them, with no plan to stop it after all countermeasures fell apart, but wanting to protect his friends. But for the first time, kdj is able to express his desire to *live,* to be saved in turn. I don’t think this is kdj wanting to live after not wanting to do so before- in every one of his sacrifices it was never about him wanting to die, it was either logical or when there was literally no other way out of it. More than anything, kdj is a character defined by his desire to live, a person who clung onto the first thing he could to try and live on, who found inspiration in a character who pushed forward in the face of the most horrific tragedies. (not that he doesn’t have suicidal thoughts/ideation, but kdj is a person who thinks about suicide and pushes forward because he doesn’t want to die, he just doesn’t want to be hurting). Instead, kdj asking to be saved is about him accepting what his companions asked of him, to stop sacrificing himself while they watch in horror. He’s letting his “selfish” desire to live show through his unselfish desire to protect his loved ones, he trusts them enough to do so.

When kdj nearly becomes an outer god echoes this same sentiment, only this time his desire to protect the forgotten stories is the thing he is throwing himself away to protect, while everything in him wants to return to his companions, enough to risk this contract by being near them, he cannot abandon these stories, as a person who loves stories with all his heart. Also like, if sp wasn’t so dead set on being a bitch about this via his personal issues it’d be different but nooooo. Anyways kdj again wants to be saved, he doesn’t want to lose himself, he just puts his desire to save the forgotten stories above that.

Kdj’s sacrifice in the final scenario is a culmination of all of this. He’s playing the part people know him for while prioritizing everyone’s survival, this time including his own. This “sacrifice” is less of a sacrifice and more in tune with his first deaths, a step he knows he can come back from (only with his companions understanding, with their help, showing his unwavering faith in them), only this time its far less logical and far more emotionally charged.

Now onto the train, and the 49/51 split. Where yet again kdj is backed into a corner. He must become the oldest dream or else the entire world will end and he will lose everything regardless. This is the time where kdj lets his “selfishness” win out the most, by sending away an avatar with his memories. Only, his love for his companions, the same love that has fueled so many of his choices/sacrifices, is enough that he cannot give it all in a 50/50 split- an act he defines as selfish while we describe as tragic.

Throughout all the sacrifices kdj makes in the novel, we can follow his progression as his perspective/situation changes, and just how much his companions change him. While the fandom loves to joke about kdj being a self-sacrificial bastard (myself very much included) past the first 100 chapters none of his deaths were planned, only 2 of his sacrifices were made more on logic rather than emotion, and the dark castle one barely counts for that. ;-; im holding him in my little hands i wish i could voice my thoughts better but thats all i got

[realweezer]

CSH, Identity, & Change (800 words)

A while ago, I saw a post on r/CSHfans asking what it means to write about deeply personal or private things – how that can shape our relationship to someone else’s art and what regrets an artist might have because of this. I came up with this huge response from the lens of a master’s student (read: huge nerd) studying celebrity persona and authenticity, particularly how those components can create community and identification within musical subcultures. I felt like I didn’t really capture the essence of the question – my response sounds more like formal writing than anything else – but I wanted to share here just in case anyone might be interested in my rambling opinion piece.

Car Seat Headrest piqued my interest first because the music is just amazing (what other band would let me listen to a furry monologuing about weird sex for 5 minutes straight), then because I think the relationship between Will Toledo, his personal thoughts and experiences, and the public is an interesting one. The contents of Twin Fantasy are deeply personal; we hear Will sing about an idealized, but ultimately harmful relationship, the fantasy he’s created of his partner, and his struggles with being queer. For a lot of listeners, myself included, his self-disclosure in this album is part of what makes it great. The ideas we gather about who Will is and what he’s gone through guide our own interpretations of the music and form the basis for a fan culture that’s sprung up around CSH (See: Hansen).

But when you reach Will Toledo’s level of fame, it gets more difficult to navigate opening up about your private life. Your experiences are no longer purely your own; they’re left to the interpretation, analysis, and re-imagining of the general public. Will has expressed frustration with how personal narratives in TF have been interpreted, calling out a Rolling Stone writer for disseminating “a weird, gross, inaccurate representation of [his] personal life” (See: New York Times), and seems to be pulling back from the open approach of his earlier albums (the newest CSH drop is literally called Making a Door Less Open).

From an audience perspective, it seems like TF Face-to-Face might’ve been a turning point for Will, as nearly all his original works produced since then (with the exception of MADLO) have been from his jokey EDM side-project, 1 Trait Danger. With three concept albums out to date, the music of 1TD doesn’t follow the personal thoughts or actions of Will, but rather the fictional high-school antics of characters including Stoney Bologna, Cossett the bitcoin-stealing bully, and a derisive caricature of journalist Tim Schenectady. 1TD members Will and Andrew even perform as two of their characters (1 Trait and Stoney Bologna respectively), causing them to walk the line between musicians and character actors.  

You can clearly see the influence of 1TD on CSH’s 2020 album, Making a Door Less Open. I mean, come on – Will performs MADLO as Trait, an extremely recognizable bunny thing wearing a gas mask and neon orange jumpsuit. From the criticisms I’ve seen of MADLO, it seems that some people perceive the lyrical content as vapid or gimmicky, Trait as a redundant alter-ego of Will himself, and the project as a whole as an example of CSH “cannibalizing itself” (see: Pitchfork). But, to relate this to your topic, Toledo has clarified that the contents of MADLO/Trait character are meant to “take the focus off Will Toledo for once.” Even though some MADLO entries can be viewed as autobiographical (“Hollywood”), they just don’t provide the same level of personal disclosure as earlier works.

I think a key takeaway from this is that any deeply personal work of art will be subject to audience dissection, analysis, and at times, horribly incorrect interpretation. Will Toledo – who has essentially built his musical brand as intimate and authentic through CSH’s disclosive lyrics – will never be able to prevent audiences from conflating the ‘real Will’ with the idea of Will derived from his music. Because audiences genuinely believe they have access to the ‘real Will,’ the introduction of the Trait character could’ve been an attempt to form a stronger boundary between Will as himself and Will as Car Seat Headrest.

Obviously, posting these 800-some words of speculation make me no different than the rest. I can’t pretend to understand the motivations behind Trait, or MADLO, or Will’s interest in fursuiting (a different, but related, conversation) any more than any other fan of CSH. I just think it’s interesting to examine how Will might be renegotiating his personal disclosure and public persona as time goes on, particularly from an academic standpoint.

If anybody has any related thoughts, please drop a response or DM. I’m super interested in other perspectives on this topic, or even related thoughts on celebrity and fandom identity.  

[weasleyandweasley]

Gred and Forge / The Sorcerer's Stone

So the point of this post is to discuss the two dorks known as Fred and George Weasley. I like to think about their similarities, their differences, their mind sets, among various other things. They're two characters that are important to me and helped me through a tough time, and Fred became a comfort character. So, I've taken the time to really analyze them and see how I perceive them. It's very important to remember that this is my interpretation of them. Canon events will be discussed and how either I agree with them, disagree with them, and even how I personally think my own portrayal of these two would react and handle situations. I'll most likely even include my own headcanons into the mix as I see fit. So again, do not read this expecting flawless canon. Feel free to like the post, but I would prefer it not to be reblogged.

The very first time we meet the twins literally is the moment we learn one of their shared qualities: they're pranksters. In the book, Molly tells Fred it's his turn to run through the barrier to the train. To this he says, "I'm not Fred, I'm George" (Pg. 92), followed by a line that just makes me laugh cause it sounds like me, "honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?" (Pg. 92). Not only do we see we got these little pranksters on our hands, but I also feel this is a good start of showing their differences. And to add real quick, Ron does say on the train to Harry, "are you really Harry Potter? I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes" (Pg. 98), which just gives us more evidence that these two are dorky pranksters. They live for the laughs. Fred officially started this. He is the oldest twin and technically the more dominant of the two. From what I've gathered, solely for this book/movie, is that he is the instigator. Not that George can't instigate, too, but he usually seems to follow suit. Looking into the dominant and submissive of the twins, Fred fits the dominants twin role in regards to being outgoing, more of the leader whereas George seems to fit the more submissive of the twins were he seems to be more shy and more of a follower. Note: these traits, apparently, can change as the twins age, but for these two we're currently only in book/movie one, and later (around the fourth book, most likely) I'll discuss a different type of dominance and submissive I've gathered from learning the differences in their personalities.

To derail a little into my own thoughts that have become head canon, I wanna say that I can't speak for actual twins, but looking into a little they don't always like being confused for one another. Applying this, a bit, to Fred and George I honestly believe it's dependent on the people and the situations. Newer people and friends in their lives don't really bother them much because they understand they're just learning about them, so they don't expect them to be able to magically tell. However, with close friends, family and significant others it's different. They understand once in a while there could still be some confusion, but with these special people in their lives they do want to be seen as individuals. Yes, they love being a unit (cause we do see they seem to be on the same wavelength - share one brain cell sometimes - since they do occasionally speak in unison) but don't want to constantly be thought of as one person or lumped together. They have similarities but they also have their own interests, dislikes, personality traits, styles to list a few examples. And to add, it does really hurt to be romantically confessed to just to be called the other twin's name. And lastly, yes, sometimes they do like to joke about who is who (and sometimes when they're hurt they may do the same).

Going back, notice how Fred's first lines display the leader, the instigator, well, George's is a bit different. Now, George's actual first line is unwritten dialogue which is "hurry up" (Pg. 92), his first piece of official spoken dialogue is "want a hand" (Pg. 94). So, the hurry up I just take as George literally wanting Fred to move his butt, but the first piece of official spoken dialogue says a lot. Look, as nice as the movie is to switch to George saying the whole "He's not Fred, I am" (not perfectly quoted), I do prefer the book's introduction to them because even though Fred does care about people, we learn that George is the one that has more empathy. George is the one to offer Harry a hand with his bags when they first board the train. He actually has to tell Fred to come and help. I do believe Fred has empathy, but I do feel that George has more (plus, I do believe situations and people can affect where empathy plays a part but do not quote me, I'm no expert on this and have thought a bit about my own in regards to understanding Fred since he is the twin I relate to the most). When I get to OOTP I will give examples about how Fred and George handle dealing with helping people that aren't feeling ok, because they do it different ways. I'm not sure if this should go here, but heck with it.

Something I've noticed about Fred is that he's the more impulsive of the twins. When they first meet Harry, Fred does ask "what's that" (Pg. 95) and I'm sure it's in regards to his scar. He even mentions to Molly that he wonders if Harry remembers you-know-who (a.k.a Voldemort - also can't remember if it indicates it's Fred, but trust me, it's Fred-). There is a chance Fred may have asked Harry about it if not for Molly (or unless George thought to stop him). I do believe Fred doesn't entirely think things through and usually allows the impulse to direct him. However, this is not always the case whether the books and movies prove this or it's my own portrayal because there are times when he does sit there and think about his actions, but I believe it can depend on the situation, the person, his mood even. Just because he reacts one way doesn't mean it'll happen all of the time. And the same can be said for George. George, I believe, is the more calculating of the two. He thinks things through more often, however, it doesn't mean he'll always do so. Again, I do think it can depend on the situation, the person and his mood, as well. And to add to this, Fred may seem scary but he is more the "in the moment scary", whereas George is the "scary overtime". George calculates his attack and prefers it to be something that will affect the person over time (although sometimes he just wants to throw hands). I also think these seem to be trait from their parents cause Molly seems in the moment scary whereas I think Arthur would be over time. So, Fred, to me, takes after Molly in this regard, but George takes after Arthur.

Backtracking a little, I mentioned they're pranksters and two lines that indicate this. But to further prove they're jokesters and like being dorks we have Ron saying, "Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're funny" (Pg. 99). So basically these dorks are the class clowns of their school and have gained some popularity because of it. But also take a moment to realize what else Ron says. He mentions they get good marks. Yes, the twins are bright young wizards. Despite their idiocy, they're actually quite the little geniuses. As you read on through the books, you'll learn they're inventors and have created their own prototypes of things (to be discussed more when it's mentioned in book, and I'll even talk about what I head canon as their first invention). The second line I want to add is when the students are singing the school song. Dumbledore allows them to sing in any key, any tune that they want. The twins, well, "sing the Hogwarts school song to a slow funeral march, which Dumbledore seems to allow" (Pg. 128). Not to mention they're the last ones to finish up singing. Just...do you need anymore to understand these two are dorks? They love comedy, probably even find comfort in it, and it's something that fuels their ambition.

Something else I want to talk about is something I disagree with and it's more so movie wise is how the troll scene plays out when it comes to the twins. Look, I could completely be wrong but this is my own interpretation. We learn that "Hagrid said he spent half his life chasing the twins away from the forest" (Pg. 140) because he know no students are allowed in the forbidden forest. The word forbidden clearly grabs their attention. They're like cats. My cat knows she can't go inside our utility room and it makes her even more determined to get in there. That's the twins. Here's the thing, the twins could always do this just to mess with Hagrid and get attention for doing something they know they shouldn't, but I think they actually do want to go inside. They're curious about what lurks out there. And at a younger age I do think once they got inside they may actually become a bit alarmed like, "Freddie, was this a good idea?" In the movie when Quirrell comes in and mentions the troll, all of the students get up to run, including the twins. Now, look, this is fair because they're allowed to be nervous, anxious, afraid of all of the above. But I just think that if they're trying to break into the forest then they're not just gonna fearfully run from the troll. I kind of think they'd be a stupid brave that wants to get a peak at the troll and then regret it once the troll caught wind of them. This is up for interpretation, but this is my own.

Something that the movie eliminates that really bothers me takes place during the quidditch match where Harry's broom is jinxed. In the movies you just see the players on their brooms flying into view here and there whilst Hermione uses her red (it's suppose to be blue) flames to stop the menace. Now, even though it might not be important to the story truly, and may have just taken more film time then desired (possibly budget), I'm still gonna be salty that the twin's heroics were erased. Fred and George literally try their damnedest to save Harry from falling off his broom and I believe it takes place on page 190. They literally fly towards his broom in order to get him on theirs, but Harry's just keeps raising and raising as they get close, that it isn't possible to save him with that method. So, they hover below him to catch him if he would actually fall off his broom. These two have their flaws but I won't be convinced that they don't care about people. Did they have to try and save Harry? No. Did they, though? Yes. And, no, it's not because they'd get to be in the spotlight and shine for a few minutes or be heroes. It is because Harry is their friend. An important part of their life now. Even if it wasn't Harry, they still would have tried to save the person.

In a deleted scene / possibly one in the extended version, George comes over to Ron and asks if he likes his (Pg. 202), which I believe he is referring to his sweater. Something I've noticed about George is that he gives me more "family guy" vibes. He even tells Percy (same page) that he isn't sitting with the prefects today because Christmas is a time for family. I imagine George really values family traditions, like spending holidays with family members, finding eggs for Easter, giving gifts for Christmas, taking the younger siblings Trick or Treating (I suppose, if Fred and him aren't up to any tricks, or even if they are maybe, lol) to name a few. Whereas, I don't get the same vibe from Fred. I think he does care, in his own way, but not to the extent of George. Fred doesn't seem to ask about the sweaters, or show much interest. For all we know, he put his sweater on because he knew George would make him. Plus, he probably knows how much it means to George. Fred's personality just gives me vibes that he's more relaxed about it and taking part for fun and because I imagine that holiday celebration is normalized in their family.

On a smaller subject, I was discussing this with a close friend and the consensus seems to be that George is the more athletic of the two. I'm pretty sure that it's stated in canon (though I could be wrong on this) that George is actually the better Quidditch player. And while we're on the subject of Quidditch:

A head canon for my twins is that, yes, the boys do just love the sport and have probably learned things from Charlie (not to mention were probably his biggest fans), were not only inspired by Charlie to want to join the team, but someone else as well. Fred's favorite beater is Connolly from the Irish Team we see in Goblet of Fire. Since this is a head canon I have gone with the twins actually getting to meet him before they tried out for their own team.

Something I don't agree with in book is "the rest of the quidditch team would not speak to Harry and would only refer to him as seeker (Pg. 245). In regards to Harry losing a ton of house points, I believe. Maybe I'm biased. Maybe I'm giving them a bit too much credit, but I don't think the twins would do this to Harry. Can't speak for the rest of the team. I don't believe they'd be thrilled, but it's not like they've never lost points for their house. I personally think Fred would be a bit bothered and may have tried to joke about it once or twice. And even if George is bothered I just don't think he'd take it out on Harry. In fact, I almost think he'd try to comfort him a little, especially if he understood why Harry had lost them in the first place.

So, this is just some of what I analyzed about the twins. It's not perfect and as I even reread and go over it in the future, it's bound to be edited a bit.

[pluralismajestatis]

Stuff and things. We haven't been writing in a bit, and I don't know if it's because brain empty no thoughts or because we've been busy otherwise or what, but there's a whole backlog of shit that's tiring and depressing and it's kind of hitting T hard. He seems to be the guy who's hoarding all of the mental illness we had before our DID diagnosis, and I think it's unfair to leave him to deal with it, blaming himself for what's going on with him. He's not bringing us down, we're placing all of the weight of everything the rest of us are blissfully unbothered by on him. And it's a long list, so let's start with something.

First - that fucking Canadian law. Never had a decision made on the literal other end of the globe hit us so hard and make us feel so hopeless on sight. We first heard of it some months ago on Reddit, which is the shittiest place on earth to be first hearing about anything on, mainly because its userbase consists of unrepenting voluntary sociopaths. (Something's climbing the cabin's wall. Sounds like a magpie but might be a squirrel. We're holed away someplace a stone's throw away from the Russian border in the arctic circle. It's atmospheric. Coincidentally also where T first became aware of being here, since I was talking about him earlier. None of this has anything to do with the euthanasia law, but suddenly hearing something scraping against your hut's outside wall is like, okay, cool, WHAT IS THAT?)

So yeah, Reddit. Knee-jerk reaction. Wrote in disbelief; this is unethical. This is not right. Suicidal ideation is such a common symptom in mental illness it's literally right there in most of the diagnostic manual entries. Literally right there, and now you're saying that instead of treating the people who experience common symptoms of mental illness, you're just going to kill them instead? How is that not eugenics? How is that not genocide? (It is.)

Got hit by a wave of forementioned Reddit cynicists. "You're the real monster," we're told. "You're denying people their right to end their suffering."

Brother - and I use this word with the utmost disrespect in my tone - I am these people. You might perceive that from just the way I mostly referred to myself as "we" in the text so far, but let me specify: we have been suffering of treatment-resistant, delibilitating, excruciating severe mental illness since we were children. We were neurodivergent before puberty and that was difficult enough, but by the time we started school, our father had turned into a violent monster who took his anger out on us, a child of 7 years old, while unemployed and our mother worked 8 to 4 every day. Sometimes she was out on business trips that took a week or maybe even two. She'd ask for her friends to babysit us, and they'd ask her why not just trust our father? She told them he had violent rages, they told her they couldn't believe that about such a nice guy, but because they were her friends, they'd do what she needed of them. Nobody ever believed us.

There's more than that, obviously. Not the point of this story. When we turned 11, our homeroom teacher responsible for most of our classes and all education outside of subject classes, had to take leave due to breast cancer. She was replaced by the meanest, most hateful bitch I've ever met. She targeted us because we weren't normal and she could smell it from miles away. By the second half of the semester, we would sit in our dark closet crying and wanting to die. We stopped doing our homework, and once that routine was gone, we could never pick it up again. By 12 years old, though she was gone by then, replaced by a creepy old guy who liked massaging the shoulders of girls while rocking into their desks with his hips and would make "checks" of the girls' showers after gym, we no longer could attend half of the semester at all. That period of unattending became longer and longer with each passing year, to the point where we'd go to school after summer vacation for about one month, and then drop out again.

We got placed in a group home, severing the last remaining friendships and connections we had at home, and leaving us in the middle of people with genuine behavioural issues and frequent clashes with the law, while our only problem was that we were desperate and could not keep up with routine.

We never did get better. A year after that ended, we entered voluntary hospitalisation for two months. The staff proceeded to ignore us, we were never even given our permission slip to exit the ward even though at the point where we were doing so poorly we demanded to cut the stay short, they wanted to act like it had been known all of the time that we didn't have to stay indoors under supervision. Guess what? Our name was not on the permission slip. Our mother made them check. The head psychiatrist of the ward was another insane control freak, I don't want to talk about her. Her deal was humiliation and arrogance, and her parting words to us "I'll see you back in a couple weeks when you're carried back here in an ambulance wearing a straitjacket." (She did not, in fact, see us back ever again.)

We moved out from home at 18, because living with our mother was impossible. She's never understood what mental illness means and cannot stand our neurodivergency. For just short of ten years from there, we were outpatients living on partial everyday assistance; we had an attendee from the social services who'd help us buy groceries, attend our appointments, and occasionally clean up the house though most the time we were too depressed to move a muscle if we didn't have to.

In 2016, we had a psychotic episode that didn't just go away like the prior ones had. I don't actually have much memories from any of our twenties, but they were miserable; we were either constantly in a permanent state of existential fear of our own impending death, or trying to hurry it along through suicidal fits and overdoses and self-harm. We were (mis)diagnosed with BPD around 27, after similar misdiagnoses of bipolar disorder earlier. The gist was that nobody knew what to do with us, and nobody was actually invested enough to figure it out. Our psychiatric contacts - doctors, nurses - dropped us on a yearly basis. The period of establishing trust got longer and longer each time, to the point where when they'd leave, we hadn't started to feel comfortable working with them yet. Constant abandonment, constant giving up, constant "you can't be helped." The years between our 25 and 29 were more or less spent trying to get a consensus on whether insurance would cover "real" talk therapy for us or not; every time one person told us to apply for it, the next person would tell us it was pointless because we were too ill to be approved, and would have to cover the whole cost ourselves, which obviously living on disability payments was not physically possible.

This all ended at the bend of 29 to 30, when we coincidentally met someone we for the first time told about our dissociative symptoms. They urged us to look into it more, which we did, and it immediately became glaringly obvious that the symptoms we'd obsessively protected and never uttered a word about in fear of some catastrophe or divine punishment raining down on us were actually clinically so significant that we needed help not yesterday, but decades ago. As a result, after failing to put us into involuntary care, our clinic kicked us out as untreatable, with nothing but a list of therapists to contact.

None of whom were dissociation specialists, and none of whom were taking patients, and only few of whom were covered by insurance to begin with, that is, if insurance would have ever even covered us to begin with. Again, untreatable. Turning to our mother, we hopped continents, got a trauma/dissociation specialist from the United fucking States of America instead, and with some cooperation between her and our local psychiatric unit (as they were ending our patientship with them) finally reached a consensus on what was actually wrong with us. Not BPD, which was scrapped, but DID.

So, how does any of this relate to Canada, and Canada's eugenics laws? Have you heard already about the patients who are recommended assisted suicide by their "care" teams? Do you see what I'm implying here?

This fucking disaster of a law is a glaring reminder that no matter the fact that we're doing better - marginally, not good enough to be anything but disabled, but still better than ever - we'd still be on the chopping block here? Not only do we have a disorder that the psychiatric world is inherently biased against and fearful towards, that most of it doesn't even want to try to understand, we are and have already been a lost case since childhood. There's no full recovery for us. There's no return to baseline functioning. Even as we are now, we are so vulnerable, teetering on the sharpest of edges, that it would be more of a surprise if, given the opportunity, our health "care" professionals wouldn't try to convince us into "assisted suicide."

It's the starkest of reminders that the world does not care about us, that we're treated and seen as nothing but burdens, that society wants us dead for reasons ranging from saving money to discomfort and embarrasment and fear.

How can you even keep trying to be better with that knowledge? Every time we open up about it, there's some self-appointed devil's advocate ready to ask us if it really wouldn't just be better, if we wouldn't actually be happier if we could just die. Not if they'd be happier if we'd just die, making their world more comfortable to live in as they don't have to contend with the concept of sick and injured people - but if we don't actually, secretly, still just want to be dead. And if we don't want to die then that's selfish; selfish because we're draining society's money, selfish because we're denying other people the right to be murdered by doctors who supposedly swore an oath to never do harm, selfish because we don't let them feel the self-assured comfort of being the good guy who lets the unfit to live take their own lives.

Suicidal ideation used to be a serious symptom that meant the patient was crying for help, crying to be seen, crying out to have people notice and care and show them that they're not alone and that there's always hope, someone who'll take their hand and help them walk forwards.

Now, apparently, this fascist shitshow of a society has decided that it's actually just the patient rationally showing that they agree with the mainstream view of it being better for everybody if they just died off.

And you want me to be okay with this? Just go on like it's fine? Just act like this isn't personal? Just accept that not only should I let other people be killed, but that I, and everyone else in this fucked up little head of mine, would actually be better off dead ourselves?

I have no fucking words left.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 325: Deku VS the Outside of U.A. ~Conclusion~

Previously on BnHA: Ochako was all “dear bloodthirsty mob, this kid you see standing before you has fought harder than anyone and put his life on the line to protect you all, so please chill the fuck out, jesus christ. like, putting aside that he’s humanity’s best hope and so it’s very much in your best interests to let him rest and recover someplace safe so that he can keep fighting for us, are y’all seriously going to turn away an injured and exhausted child in front of his sobbing mother?? seriously?? come on now.” I’m paraphrasing here but that’s basically how it went down. Anyway so then the mob was all, “...” and Deku collapsed to his knees in tears, and Gigantic Fox Lady and Kouta ran over to give him a hug but then the chapter ended.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “FINE, YOU CAN HUG HIM”, which, was that so hard?? The U.A. Clown Mob is all “come to think of it, we’ve kind of been taking the heroes for granted this entire time, maybe we should be less passive in the future. anyway so Deku if it’s not too much to ask, can you please save everyone and fix everything.” Deku is all “I sure can, and by the way I forgive you for swarming around all menacingly two minutes ago and trying to deny me basic shelter and stuff.” Ectoplasm is all, “hey Todogang get a load of this. [walks in a circle].” Hawks is all, “that’s literally the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.” Rat Principal is all, “anyway so that’s what your students did today, hope you’re enjoying your new *~*ROBOT LEG*~*, Aizawa.” Aizawa is all “[lots of exposition about Kurogiri and for some reason, Toga, while being all brooding and sexy].” All Might is all “[standing here right outside of U.A. doing absolutely nothing and being foreboding AF]” and that immediately sucked away all of the warm fuzzy feelings from the hugs, goddammit.

each new week has become a waiting game of “when will Deku finally get to take a bath so people will actually be willing to go near him and give him the hugs he deserves.” the stakes have never been so compelling. I’ve almost forgotten about AFO entirely

lmaoooooo

me: for the love of god will someone please give Deku a hug before I die of old age

Mineta: YOU GOT IT!! --

Iida: [SWIFTLY CUTS HIM OFF] NOT YOU

fucking losing it at Mineta’s crying face. he really wanted to hug him. I legit feel bad but this is also the funniest thing I have seen all week, omg

somehow Kouta, who last week was only a hand’s breadth away from touching Deku’s head, is now twenty miles away from him in this new chapter

can I make a Loki reference here. is this recap a good place to insert a joke about someone using a TVA time-rewinding device to fuck with my poor boy Kouta over here. well anyway there it is

AND NOW HE’S BACK ALL OF A SUDDEN OMG

(ETA: since when is he “niichan” omg?? can’t handle this cuteness.)

BUT THEY’RE STILL NOT HUGGING HIM FFFFKFFFFF. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO. WHO DO I HAVE TO BRIBE AND/OR BLACKMAIL

OH NO KOUTA IS CRYING THAT’S IT I’M DONE FOR

“when I heard that lady I knew that I had to go, but then stop again within inches of actually touching you because you smell like week-old rotten onions.” listen Kouta, I’m not saying I don’t get it, but you all can’t keep doing this to me. it’s the way you guys keep teasing it. like, if you’re gonna hug him, hug him. don’t just stand there with your arms held rigidly out in front of you like a molded action figure

OH MY GOSH BUT HE SAID THE THING

KOUTA SWOOPING IN AT THE LAST MINUTE TO TAKE ALL THE CREDIT FOR FIXING DEKU LIKE THAT ONE KID IN THE GROUP PROJECT WHO DOES ABSOLUTELY NOTHING BUT STILL TAGS HIS NAME ONTO THE REPORT ANYWAY, WHAT A KNAVE

GASP

(  ´͈ ᗨ `͈ )

SHE PICKED HIM UP LIKE A LITTLE BABY OMG?? she just leaned right over and lifted this child like he was a small animal. like a lil baby futon that she was about to hang up to dry. oh my god

-- HEY WHAT

(: well that’s extremely fucked up. though sadly not too surprising given what we just saw these past couple chapters

incidentally, I hope that anyone who was legitimately defending the civilians’ perspective earlier takes note here of how quickly that line of thinking -- “we’re just trying to keep our families safe” and all that-- can lead to straight up bigotry. if you’re willing to deny a child shelter and protection simply because he’s not YOUR child, and because you’ve decided based on Internet rumors (no real-world parallels there, I’m sure) that he might present a threat, it’s really not that much further of a leap to discriminating against entire groups of people simply because you perceive those groups as being dangerous. I’m sure the people who turned Gigantic Fox Lady away also told themselves afterwards that they did it to protect their families. “better safe than sorry.” “she’ll be fine, someone will take her in, but as for us, we can’t afford to take that risk.” people can come up with all kinds of justifications for treating other people as less than human, and the really scary thing about it is how fucking easy it is

one last quick side note, which is that Horikoshi does a great job here of showing how scapegoating works, given that AFO is the one who’s really to blame and who presents the actual threat, and yet Deku is the one who ultimately winds up being the target of the mob’s fear and outrage despite him being as much of a victim as they are. gotta love that irony, which unfortunately plays out far too often in the real world as well.

anyway I’ll get off my soapbox now, sorry about that. let us continue

YES, FINALLY OH MY GOD!!!!

AND THAT’S THE STORY OF HOW GIGANTIC FOX LADY BECAME THE GREATEST HERO. PACK IT ALL UP, WE’RE DONE HERE KIDS

holy shit. the real MVP right there. thanks for getting it done champ

jesus christ I have had it up to here with these people

literally the bar is set so low at this point that I’ll go ahead and take it. helping him because it offers them a tactical advantage is at least one step up from not helping him at all

“WHY NOT SHIKETSU” MOTHERFUCKER I SWEAR TO GOD

-- thank you!!

okay this one guy with the antennae hair is having himself a character development speedrun here

-- okay, but this part?? fucking this part, right here??

can we repeat that again?? the part where this guy acknowledges that the problems of hero society were caused not just by said heroes, but also by said society?? the part where he acknowledges that they treated the heroes like celebrities who were putting on a show for them?? the part where he acknowledges that when push came to shove, the vast majority of those heroes, when faced with a situation that offered no reward, were nonetheless willing to put their lives on the line to protect the very same people who then turned around and blamed them rather than thanking them?? are the civilians of BnHA even allowed to have actual deep thoughts about this stuff. holy shit

bro!!

ANTENNAE HAIR GUY SHOVING KOUTA AND GIGANTIC FOX LADY OUT OF THE WAY TO SLAP HIS NAME ONTO THE END CREDITS AS EXECUTIVE PRODUCER. CONGRATULATIONS SON YOU FIGURED OUT THE CORE PHILOSOPHICAL QUESTION AT THE VERY HEART OF THE MANGA. WAY TO GO BUD

meanwhile, on today’s episode of “one more chapter to go till the big volume cliffhanger, how else can I drag things out let’s see”

it’s a panel. of people’s feet. just a bunch of normal feet. with sneakers and shit

this All Might shirt guy is getting more screentime in this arc than 90% of the class 1-A kids

I guess I’m supposed to feel sorry for this dude now that he’s all “if we let you stay here do you promise to somehow magically fix every single problem that we are now currently facing?” those are some ridiculously exacting standards my dude. come on now

KACCHAN SIGHTING

thank fuck I’m not the only one who’s thoroughly unimpressed by absolutely all of this lol. I feel better now. meanwhile Iida and Kouda and Kiri are ready to run over there and hug them all. you guys are way too forgiving. damn you and your pure hearts

anyway so Deku’s like “yeah, definitely”

(ETA: almost forgot to comment on the “I’m no longer alone” part – he basically corrects the guy and says “sorry, but you’ll need to direct that question towards all of us, not just me, because moving forward we’re a team.” good stuff.)

you know what though, all joking aside... fuck yeah. because perfect victory, right. the strongest guys don’t settle for anything less. so I guess Deku has pretty exacting standards himself

also can you all just take a look at this fucking kid who’s got so much light in his eyes now that I’m gonna need eclipse goggles. hot damn. “you’re welcome” says All Might Shirt Guy as he is frantically interviewed by several local news networks asking him how he daringly managed to save Deku all by himself. “well I guess I’ve just never been the kind of guy who can sit back and let a bunch of rabble-rousers blame a little kid for all of humanity’s problems. someone had to step in and take action, you know?”

oH MY GOD THE SCENE IS FINALLY ENDING

don’t let the door hit you on your way out All Might Shirt Guy

but meanwhile, sudden Tododrama action??

oh shit

there are honestly so many ways in which Ochako’s very moving speech could have wildly backfired that I genuinely have no clue where this is headed lol. how exciting!!

so now Horikoshi is once again stalling for time with random filler panels, but this one is 10x better than the shoes lol omg

(1) was Ectoplasm’s jacket always this oversized. (2) did you guys know that if you go back to chapter 319 you can see that Horikoshi gave us a sneak peak at Enji’s Sad Detective disguise and I in fact made a joke about it in the 319 recap not realizing it was actually the stone cold truth. (3) did Shouto deliberately speed up out of impatience because Hawks was walking so fucking slow and he couldn’t take it any longer. (4) and what, I ask you, is up with these dramatic speedlines. so many mysteries here. what a masterpiece

everyone is acting all shocked about something ahh what’s going on

wait what

what the heck. did they just loop around behind everyone. what was the point of that lol. “anyway, so this is what they look like from the back” well okay, thanks for that Ectoplasm

(ETA: so it seems like they were actually hanging out someplace else away from the crowd this whole time, I guess? here I thought they had more faith in Enji’s disguise. I guess Shouto and Hawks don’t particularly want to attract this crowd’s attention themselves right now either, though.)

I am so fucking confused lmao

speaking of All Might WHERE THE FUCK IS HE lol. but yes, good, OFA brings everyone together, and Hawks is very deeply moved about this out of the blue all of a sudden. you know how it is

aw heck yeah now this is another filler panel I can get behind

Mineta really wants that hug, good lord. I genuinely love this actually. Mineta if you could just stay little and cute and keep crying about how much you love your classmates in a non-gross way for the rest of the series I would be so appreciative. you’re doing great

IIDA IS HOLDING DEKU’S HAND THIS IS NOT A DRILL. ONE TIME WASN’T ENOUGH FOR MY MAN HE’S ADDICTED NOW

what did I tell you. Kiri wants to get all of the mob’s autographs now. Kiri you’re a peach

Shouji having a conversation with another mutant type is a very nice touch! we really need to get to his backstory soon. I feel like that casual remark from GFL earlier was kind of hinting at more to come

is this the first time we’ve ever seen the Yaoyorictionary in action?? never forget that Viz tried to call it the “Yaoyorozu Reference Book” because they hate fun

last but not least, KAMIBAKU IS BACK ON THE MENU, FUCK YEAH. Kaminari trying to spice things up and introduce a little bit of controversy by smacking Kacchan on the back of the head for god knows what. I will be deeply disappointed after this if I can’t find at least one person unironically declaring that KamiBaku is now toxic and abusive

lfkdlWLWK TODODRAMA??

oh my god. Shouto’s face. Enji’s face. the back to “oyaji” again. the blunt, not-taking-no-for-an-answer, “I don’t know how much louder the universe can scream at you that doing things alone is not it, so hopefully you got the point” directness of it. fffdlkslj I’m so ready for this Horikoshi please don’t fuck it up my expectations are so high

HOLY FUCK

I SCROLLED DOWN AND HE WAS ALL “( ❛‿❛)” AND I JUST WASN’T FUCKING EXPECTING THAT OKAY. JESUS CHRIST. GIVE ME A SEC

lol okay moment over and now Enji’s pulling his hat down all dramatically like a world-weary Cowboy

OH MY GOD WERE YOU FACETIMING??

AHHHHHHHHH

(ETA: not to put Iida down or anything, but it’s kind of strange that Aizawa is all “the class rep sure did great” when Ochako is the one that was giving that whole big speech for like twenty minutes just now lol.)

(ETA 2: “thank god Iida stepped in just in the nick of time to keep Mineta from hugging Deku.” sorry Mineta I really do like you lately but it’s still low-hanging fruit lol.)

HE LOOKS SO SAD??! HE LOOKS LIKE HEARTBREAK ITSELF??! I AM BESOUGHT WITH THE URGE TO REACH INTO MY SCREEN AND PULL HIM INTO THE SAFETY OF MY ARMS??? MY GOD, AND I THOUGHT DEKU NEEDED HUGS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH okay I was gonna just hold down the letter H for a full minute and count it out loud but within about ten seconds I realized I needed to chill lol

-- but then again NO, I DON’T NEED TO CHILL, I HAVE ZERO CHILL, ACTUALLY, BECAUSE IT’S AIZAWA WITH A ROBOT LEG AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

COMPLETE WITH ROBOT TOES FOR THAT EXTRA TOUCH OF AUTHENTICITY!! I LIKE HOW HORIKOSHI PUT ALL THIS EXTRA “!!!” EMPHASIS AROUND IT IN CASE WE COULD SOMEHOW POSSIBLY FAIL TO TAKE NOTICE. “REMEMBER, EVERYONE?” SAYS HORIKOSHI HELPFULLY. “REMEMBER THAT TIME AIZAWA CHOPPED OFF HIS OWN LEG?” oh wow now that you mention it we somehow forgot all about that. like who do you take us for

OH NO NOT THE SAD BOYFRIEND ANGST THAT I WAS SECRETLY LOOKING FORWARD TO WITH GLEE

well at least he’s not M.I.A. or back with the villains again like I thought he might be. still, that’s gotta be brutal to know your friend is in there somewhere, but to not be able to reach him again no matter how hard you try. that’s the kind of angst that pays off in final battles just when you most expect it. such is my hope, at any rate

what’s this now??

trying to decide if this is Horikoshi’s way of saying don’t worry about that, or his way of saying definitely worry about that lol

anyway so Aizawa is out here being all irresponsibly handsome once again. when is someone going to do something about him

here for Sexy Robot Leg Eyepatch Aizawa clenching his fists and making speeches about revenge. pretty sure we’re all here for that

WELL, WELL, WELL

IT’S ABOUT FUCKING TIME

I’M VERY GLAD YOU’RE ALIVE AND SEEMINGLY WELL, THOUGH!

BUT WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK THOUGH, ALL MIGHT

ffff. bracing myself for that cliffhanger next week. you’d better not touch one hair on this man’s head Horikoshi. I’m watching you 

[thefirstknife]

Some of the more interesting bits of today's reset and dialogues. I loved this from Mara. She acknowledges her participation in steering Uldren towards his downfall AND she realises that she will have to do better with him in the future. This is from the ending dialogue when you finish the exotic quest for the Ager's Scepter.

I want to mention something from the start of the week because I've seen people get angry (but when do they not when it comes to Mara?)

Long post under read more:

It's about the discussion she and Ikora have at the terminal. Hot take, but both Mara and Ikora are right and wrong in the argument. Transcript:

Mara: "How long have your Hidden been privy to Uldren's resurrection?" Ikora: "Long enough to watch over him in your absence." Mara: "And you didn't direct him home. Why?" Ikora: "There was a concern he'd pick up some old habits." Mara: "You know the Garden made him sick. Riven twisted his mind. Eris would have seen it. She is not so easily deceived by skin-deep tricks." Ikora: "It's true I made mistakes, out of an idea of justice... out of grief. Are you leveling this same scrutiny toward Petra? Wasn't she supposed to be watching his grave?" Mara: "Petra has paid her dues. The Vanguard murdered him and has yet to pay theirs." Ikora: "We both lost family. I am sorry for my part in yours, but... Crow has been treated --" Mara: "My brother is dead. He was exhumed; his body twisted into a caricature. You had your vengeance." Ikora: "Is that what you're after? Cayde... I still feel that grief like a stone caught in my chest. Some days, it's more pronounced than others. Vengeance didn't erode that grief." Mara: "Then tell me. Who am I to blame? Who sent him to Savathun's clutches? Who bludgeoned Uldren into a scared animal and drove him from his home?" Ikora: "You did, Mara. And those Guardians that hurt him, did so out of misguided anger. Don't make the same mistake. Don't make my mistake."

This is some heavy stuff and there's a lot going on. First, I like that Mara doesn't respond at the end. It's uncharacteristic for her. It shows that Ikora's words did something to her. This is evident in the exotic quest later which I've already put at the beginning of the post. She's had time to think and she's admitting the part she played.

I dislike some of Ikora's arguments a lot. First, "concern that he'd pick up some old habits" goes entirely against the Vanguard policy and belief that Guardians are new people. They were only concerned because of bias towards Uldren due to what he's done. And Crow knows this! He said so last week when he wondered why is he the only Guardian judged by his past life. No one else is subjected to the same way of thinking. This is the reason why Guardians aren't supposed to dig around their past lives. Obviously with Crow, there's no way for him to avoid it, but the argument that, if he knew, he'd just magically become Uldren (and not just base!Uldren, but murderer!Uldren who will... I don't know, go after Ikora and Zavala or the innocent people in the City?) really shows how much the Vanguard mistreated Crow.

I also dislike the move to Petra. As Mara says, Petra has paid her dues. She really has. Let's not forget that Uldren was not just some guy to her or just her Prince; he was her friend. She had to watch him spiral out of control due to things she couldn't help him with, she had to make the choice to put him away until Mara comes back and at the end she had to make the choice to kill him. This trauma has shaped her.

The Vanguard hasn't paid any dues. That's kinda the whole point of Mara's questioning. Ikora tries to explain that this was due to grief and losing family, but pray tell Ikora, has Mara not lost family too? Mara mentions this immediately as expected.

Ikora is however right to say that it was ultimately Mara's actions that led to the situation we're currently in. The Vanguard had no say in Awoken royal family affairs. Mara knows this, she said as much in the past few weeks and other lore in general: she spoke at length about the distance she pushed between them out of perceived necessity, the need to shape Uldren in a way to make him less like himself (since she disliked his recklessness and dangerous behaviours), but ultimately that only made things worse. She's aware that his venture into the Black Garden was fuelled by Uldren's need to prove himself. Ironically, in an effort to make him loyal and devoted, Mara pushed him into more recklessness instead of stopping it. She's aware of this. Asking Ikora "who am I to blame" was just waiting to be roasted.

But Mara is also right to ask about how the Vanguard treated both Uldren and Crow. How they washed their hands from killing him "officially" by hiding behind the Guardian, how nobody in the Tower answered for this. Their treatment of Crow as well: forcing him into hiding, isolating him. Excusing all the suffering he felt at the hands of the Guardians as "misguided anger." The torture he endured from Guardians just for showing his face was so much more than just "misguided anger" and Mara is right to feel heated and enraged when she talks about this and when she asks her questions. She expressed similar distaste and anger in a voice line with Glint in regards to how the Spider treated Crow.

I got an interesting dialogue at the end of my Shattered Realm run which also made me really irritated on behalf of both Crow and Mara when it comes to the Vanguard. Ikora asks Crow why didn't he send his latest report and Crow replies that he's had a lot going on and a lot to deal with. Which is true! He's not the Drifter who doesn't send reports out of spite; Crow genuinely wants to help but he's struggling with a lot of things that we can't even begin to unravel. He deserves patience and understanding. However, the following then ensues.

Ikora:

Crow:

Ikora:

This last part is a nice sentiment. But excuse me. Crow has literally been resurrected, isolated, tortured, enslaved and then "rescued" only to be thrust into a cage in the Tower and given "responsibilities." He is not obliged to be the Vanguard's errand boy. It's honestly quite rude from Ikora to tell him that he has to take his responsibilities seriously. The man hasn't lived a single day in his life without anxiety over whether he'll be tortured to death in the street if he shows his face.

I know the Vanguard gave him protection from the Spider and stuff to do (which he enjoys) and accepted him into their ranks. That's all good. But there's very little empathy here that acknowledges the life he's lived. Crow deserves to experience things that aren't isolation, imprisonment and following orders.

And most of all, he deserves to know the truth. Something the Vanguard has denied him for almost a year now. I know Savathun's schemes were involved and specifically, they were involved through impersonating Osiris which made a lot of people turn a blind eye. But now that this is known?

Crow can't share his burdens without knowing the truth. That's the whole problem. Everybody, except him, knows who he was. Everyone looks at him and treats him through that lens. He can't unburden himself without being told half-truths and being denied information. His burdens exist precisely because he doesn't know while everyone else does. So while the sentiment is nice, it reads more like a "that sucks buddy" than a genuine offer to help him with what is really bothering him.

On the other hand, obviously sharing the truth is difficult. His past life is more complicated than for most other Guardians. He's been through things that other Guardians haven't. The situation is complex on every single level and every character has a reason for the choices they've made.

Sometimes those choices are wrong and they are mistakes. And Mara isn't the only one who made the wrong choices and mistakes, consciously and unconsciously. It's a disservice to the complexity of the situation, Ikora, the Vanguard and Uldren to boil everything down to "Mara bad." Doesn't make for a compelling story.

That's what I wanted to address in detail because on the surface, it's easy to just dismiss either of the character you dislike more. And that's just reducing the story to a spectrum of black and white that Destiny really, ironically, isn't about.

[egg-emperor]

I feel like Starline would’ve done a lot better as IDW’s equivalent to Agent Stone, just being the guy who adores Eggman but sort of does his own thing when following him around looking for attention won’t work, and yet always coming back for more. He has live laugh love on his mugs, he used to absolutely adore and idolise Eggman, he had the potential to fill that “assistant that probably deserves better but is just a little bit too in love to see it” role that people love from the movies. I just wish they’d done literally anything else with him honestly, there’s so much wasted potential

Yeah, that's pretty much what all of us wanted way back when Starline was first introduced. :') We prayed that Starline would genuinely stay on Eggman's side without a betrayal, or if there was one it only should've been from Eggman when he decided he was done with Starline. I want more of Eggman using others and discarding them when he's done like the manipulative selfish bastard he is, over him being played as the fool for the hundredth time any day.

But it was yet another thing that was good about Forces that they went back on in IDW, aside from Eggman's portrayal as a whole when it was an excellent example of him being competent, capable, and smart enough to learn from mistakes and plan ahead. No not just that, they also couldn't bear for him to have an assistant/lackey that didn't betray him, which was frustrating to see again after the breath of fresh air of Infinite not trying to betray Eggman.

I also wouldn't have minded if Starline has stuck around being loyal to Eggman and it working out for much longer without Eggman ridding of him though, I'm just saying I would've preferred Eggman to be the first one to have thoughts of betrayal instead of Starline and not have him written OOC if they really wanted a betrayal plot, rather than doing exactly the latter and making it take a turn for the worst that's greatly damaging to Eggman's character to try to make Starline look good.

I loved how Starline was actually willing, not in a similar situation to Snively, not merely because of a deal he could make, but genuinely because he admired and wanted to work with Eggman. It made him a big refresher from the same old, it even made him relatable to the point I once projected onto him hardcore but now we're completely different in how we see Eggman and I dislike him lol. It would've been interesting to see a truly loyal and devoted assistant like that for longer.

But I guess back then, they thought that the idea of Eggman having an assistant that actually stayed loyal and didn't betray him and become their own separate villain that shits on him was something people would find sooo boring because they didn't have the reception of the movies to go off of. No, of course this villain had to realize that Eggman is just sooo dumb and incompetent and that they need to betray him and show him how things are done!

And with that, they made it what's actually boring and predictable as can be, the only difference being that Starline is a delusional fanboy like "I must be better than my idol while making the exact same mistakes I criticized him for", which doesn't make it any better or cause any less harm to how Eggman's character is perceived. I wish they could've realized that what they originally had was something way more interesting, refreshing, and enjoyable.

Starline could've held up as a villain and had significance to the plot as one without having to betray Eggman and try to prove that he's better. Like you said, he could've just done things on his own from time to time, in ways that weren't traitorous because he genuinely had respect for Eggman. And he could've stayed only seeing him as inspiration for his work, rather than someone he needs to surpass. That way he could've actually stayed likeable to me and many others.

I'm not a fan of jimbotnik so I would've enjoyed Starline having a similar role as Stone like that instead, interacting with Eggman as his perfect in character self. It's exactly how it seemed to be shaping up to be at first and his character was set up perfectly for it but they just had to blow it, taking away what was compelling about him and writing Eggman OOC to make it happen. Things could've turned out so differently and I still mourn all the wasted potential.

And the "assistant that probably deserves better but is just a little bit too in love to see it" is pretty much exactly how I wrote Starline in one of my fics before the Sonic movie 1 was revealed because I really dig the concept, and Eggman being aware that he's taking advantage of his admiration, buttering him up, and using him with Starline being all too willing to serve and enthusiastic to see it makes it even better. I really wish it could've stayed that way.

[chasingpj]

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞

“Don’t be snarky with me, little girl.”

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 12,757

warnings: same old brujeria, mentions of potential death, uh, I think that's it

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! this chapter was way overdue! I decided to just post it now because if i continue to edit this, you guys won't get it until the weekend. i hope you guys like it and that the length makes up for the month-long hiatus!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as you jolt up into a seated position. Your eyes scan your surroundings as they adjust to the darkness. Echoes of water dripping in the distance fill in the stillness of the giant cavern ahead of you. You notice the high ceilings and the wall behind you, giving you the only option but to go forward. Gravel digs into your palms as you move to stand, stumbling as your weak legs find the strength to hold you up.

"What? How-?"

"Hello.” A gravelly voice calls with the appearance of a tall, thin figure near the many curved entrances around you. Your pulse thumps loud in your ears, your senses heightening with your adrenaline. What was in front of you vaguely reminded you of Jack Skellington, a black suit and all but with features that attempted to appear human but are uncanny. Its face is long and slim with wide beady bulging eyes. A smile, where the ends of its mouth hike up too high on its cheek, is plastered, quite literally across its face. As its head tilts to the side with a creaky motion, you don’t notice your mouth hanging open, unable to find the words.

This could be no one else but Insammon. Perhaps, his description in the spellbook was empty because he was too creepy to draw, or you consider that no one made it out alive to be able to.

“Why, don’t look so surprised.”

You tense up at the sound of its voice, vaguely masculine, but its gruffness leaves no room for warmth, sends a spike of chills up your spine, and you force yourself to look away from him.

“I just wanted to talk. Perhaps, we can strike a deal.”

You furrow your eyebrows, a deal? A pit in your stomach forms, having a bad feeling about this. Whatever this deal was, you were well aware that you won’t have much say in it. You open your mouth to ask what he wanted, but you’re interrupted.

“You’re probably wondering what I want from you.” The wicked, wide grin remains on his face as if it was stuck while he begins to pace back and forth from the ends of the entrance. “I will be straightforward with you since I’m quite eager to get what I want. Would you like to know what that is?”

You gawk, too distracted at the clunky way he walks to say anything. With a slow nod of your head, he halts, arms crossed over his chest, and he stands taller than before. “I want you to make me a vessel.” Your face scrunches in confusion; your mind too overwhelmed at the situation at hand. “Like a ship?” You ask, that being the first thing that came to mind. Why the hades does he need a ship?

“No, you imbecile!” He hisses, and you jump, his loud voice bouncing off the stone walls and through the empty hallways. “A body! A suit to host my spirit. I’m sick of hiding in the shadows,” he scoffs, shaking his head as his eyes look miles away. “It’s boring.” The sudden softening of his tone took you aback. Was this demon pouting? You didn’t think you’d ever see that. “Boring?” You ask cautiously, his wide grin flipped into a long frown. “Yes, boring! It makes my attack strategy so… limited!” He scoffs and rolls his eyes, which looked more like googly eyes, one eye turning in the opposite direction of the other. “I want slow-burn torture. I want to be perceived as a human, gaining the trust of you naive creatures before I attack,” he sighs, with a dreamy expression on his face.

You shake your head, his suggestion absurd. “I’m not making you a body. I-I’ve never done that before.” “Oh, but you can,” he says confidently, and he steps closer in your direction, your legs instinctively stepping back to maintain the distance. “And you will.” He declares, his eyebrow bone raising, seemingly amused at your retreat.

“You see, you and your siblings weakened me for days after casting that pathetic protection spell. And then you put those awful little sigils all over the place. I couldn’t get in anywhere! I had to stay in that forest and recollect my powers,” he proclaims like a damsel in distress. “You’re more than powerful enough to make me that body, and if you refuse, I will simply take over yours.” “But-” “Though I do prefer more of a masculine appearance,” he sighs, eyes returning to bore into yours. “I could take over your brother’s body, that is, if he survives my presence.” “What do you mean if he survives?” You ask, your heart sinking to your chest. The last thing you wanted was Atticus in trouble. If he were in this situation, you’d be freaking out for sure. You were much too protective of him, and though this situation sucks, you’d rather it be you than him. “If he survives like you are right now,” he clarifies, his eyes looking you up and down with suspicion. “It’s quite impressive. I didn’t expect your fragile human body to be able to host me, but I figured it was worth a shot if I can get what I want.” The crease between your eyebrows deepens as he continues to speak. You consider that you could have easily died if he had overtaken you, but why hadn’t you? You shake your head, pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind. You had more things to worry about right now.

“For something you deem as fragile, you seem quite determined to receive it,” you say through a clenched jaw, trying to remain unphased as he leans forward, his upper body extending like taffy. He halts once his face is inches away from yours, giving you no choice but to look into his bulging eyes as they study you.

He was trying to scare you so that the emotion could fuel his strength. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of scaring you, maintain your emotionless face but the pounding pulse from your neck gave you away.

“Don’t be snarky with me, little girl. Agree to make me a vessel, or I stay in yours. I’m willing to give up a masculine appearance if I can keep your sturdy body.” You take a deep breath, your eyes faltering away from his face as you turn to look to the side. From this close, you notice his ghastly pale skin is like leather pulled tight over the structure of his features and how his grin reveals an empty mouth. “I-” you open your mouth, but you close it. You didn’t want to give in, but what choice did you have? To overpower something like this on your own would be impossible. Besides, it’ll be even more work for Lou and Atticus. You knew if he officially took over your body, you may not survive the process of them casting him out.

Anyway, it was just a body…

You wipe your fidgeting hands on your shorts, your thoughts jumping around, trying to find a way out of this. One-half of you didn’t want to agree. How could you aid an entity like this to allow him to wreak more havoc on his victims? And then another part of you figured it wouldn’t matter to you because if you give in, he’ll leave the camp. “It’s just a body,” Insammon whispers, fueling one side of the argument. He circles you, a bitter cold nipping at your skin as he remains close. Your arms wrap around your frame, and you swallow hard. “Fine,” you utter through a clenched jaw.

“Good choice-” “BUT,” you shout, your posture straightening as you find the courage to face him. If he wants it so bad, perhaps, you could get more out of this deal than him not possessing you. “Only on the promise that you will leave camp and never bother me, my family, or any half-blood ever again.”

A chuckle leaves his lips, standing up tall as if he was mimicking you. “Whatever,” he waves his hand as he begins to pace in front of you. “After I’m human, my pool of people to torture will broaden. I’ll take your silly terms.” “Swear on the River Styx.” “Oh. I guess you’re not as dense as I thought you were. The little girl knows how to make a deal,” he mocks, throwing his head back as he lets out a laugh, the sound so fabricated to sound human to the point where it sounded robotic.

“Swear on it.” Your fist clenches on your side, annoyed at his mocking. “You have to swear to make my body first.” “I have more to lose if I don’t make you the body, so you should go first,” you remark.

The way he lowers his glare and how his eyes manically brighten told you that he was well aware of the dilemma he has put you in. “Fair enough.” He clears his throat. “I swear on the River Styx that I will leave you, your family, and any half-blood at this camp,” he whines obnoxiously in an attempt to mimic your voice, his hands thrown upon his side dramatically. “if you make me my body,” he adds quickly in his normal tone. “Your turn.”

You weren’t sure where the exit to the outside was, but you were still able to hear a roaring of thunder, binding him to his words officially. You swallow hard, a bunch of worries filling your head. You’ve never sworn on the River Styx before. What if you weren’t powerful enough to do the spell? Will you be punished for your lack of ability to fulfill the promise?

Insammon waits for you to speak your promise, his hands making a motion as if to hurry up.

“I swear on the River Styx that I will make you a body,” you mutter, cringing as the thunder rolls again. Now, failing to keep your promise is not an option for you anymore. You may be motivated by false confidence, but you decide that you can and will do the spell. You have to. Faintly, the distant chanting of Atticus and Lou Ellen rings in your head, and you groan, simultaneously crouching forward as Insammon growls.

“That stupid spell,” he snarls, his long fingers rolling into a fist. You blink erratically, your vision suddenly going blurry and your head becoming too heavy on your shoulder. As he approaches you slowly, you whimper, dropping to your hands and knees as the world feels like it's spinning

“When I leave your body, you stop them. Do you understand? If you don’t, I will repossess you,” he articulates carefully, and you can only lift your head just enough to see the fronts of his dress shoes.

The ringing drowned out his voice in your ears, and you felt nauseous as the pressure in your head felt like someone was squeezing your skull.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” You whine, startled at the booming of his voice that sounds over the ringing in your ears with ease. “Yes,” you whisper, your arms giving out on you, and you lay on your back, eyes straight up at the blurry cave ceiling before Insammon hovers over you. The haze of your surroundings turns white, casting a halo around his face and he gives you one last empty mouthed grin. “Good. Now brace yourself, little girl. This is going to hurt.” A cackle leaves his lips before the white overtakes his face, and the ringing in your ears grows incredibly loud.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Percy watches Atticus and Lou Ellen draw a pentagram in the middle of the cabin with salt. Their movements are hasty, words sparse as they eagerly prepare the spell to get this thing out of you. He bites on the skin of his bottom lip; the longer you remain unconscious, the tenser he and your siblings become. Percy had asked if he could help with anything, but Lou and Atticus shook their heads and insisted that he remained at your side, which didn’t make him feel partially useful. But he complied, considering it was best to stay out of the way, and though they didn’t ask him to, his shaky fingers rested gently on the side of your wrist, making sure that your pulse continued to thump against his fingertips.

A grumble from Ambrose catches his attention, and he finds himself looking back at your face. You hadn’t moved at all in the last hour or so, and you started to pale; your shallow breaths and faint pulse are the only sign of life you gave off.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Atticus gulps as he holds a spellbook open in his hand. Lou Ellen exchanges a look with Atticus, the two nodding at each other before she looks over at Percy,

“You should probably stand with us. I don’t know what its choice of departure will be.”

Percy furrowed his eyebrows, unsure what that meant, but he figured he’d find out regardless. He nods, focusing on your pulse one last time. Though shallow, your pulse remained steady. He was no doctor, but he considered that a good sign. After establishing that you were still alive, he stands up, stepping over your body and walking over to Lou and Atticus, who quickly move to stand in front of him.

“Ready?” Atticus croaks with a shaky voice, his eyes glancing over the words of the spell as Lou Ellen stands tall and nods, “Ready.”

It was quiet for a moment, Percy shifting on his feet as Atticus raised one finger at a time until he reached his third. After a deep breath, they chanted, “Exorcizamus te, immundus spiritus, malignus potestas, incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…”

As they got through the first stanza of the spell, Percy could hear the gradual loss of confidence in both Lou Ellen and Atticus’s voices. He could tell from the way her violet aura and Atticus’s blue one had flickered as it shrunk into their bodies.

He wasn’t sure how an actual exorcism worked, but if it was like the movies, he was bracing himself for some floating, a scary voice that isn’t yours to come from your mouth, and some thrashing. But none of that happened as your siblings recited the spell further; you just remained still.

Dread fills Percy’s core, and he frowns, “Come on, y/n,” he mutters to himself, eyes searching for some movement before he found it.

Your eyes flung open, wide and alert, and with a sharp gasp, your back arched as the black vapor escaped from where it had penetrated you in the chest like a thick control stream of smoke. Percy winces as a strained cry of agony leaves your lips, your eyes watering as they’re fixed right at the ceiling.

Atticus’s voice becomes strained, hand flying up to clutch his chest as his heart feels like it’s being wrung out like a towel. The pain is so intense that he can’t even imagine how much you feel, but he persists, keeping his focus on the spell.

Soon, the vapor finally leaves your body, forming the familiar figure in the corner of the room.

You sob, the burning in the chest so potent that your vision still blurred white. You turn to your side, barely able to lift your head from Ambrose's body, let alone your body.

“Stop,” you command weakly, your tears dripping on the floor as you attempt to lift your upper body. The chanting of Atticus and Lou drowns out your voice, the two more focused on casting Insammon away.

Your eyes meet Percy’s as he peers over Lou Ellen’s shoulder to look at you. He couldn’t hear what came out of your mouth, but he could tell you needed to stay something. “Guys,” he calls softly, afraid to interrupt them as the look on your face grows more panicked. He wasn’t sure if they had heard him, but if they did, they didn’t pay any mind.

You needed to get them to stop, Insammon growling even louder, and you try not to sob at the idea of doing this possession thing again. Your pulse thumped erratically in your ears, and you let out a weak breath, gathering the last bit of energy you had left. “STOP!”

Your voice bellowed louder than you had expected, effectively silencing your siblings. You had to blink a few times before you were able to stop seeing six instead of three.

“What do you mean stop?” Atticus snaps, eyebrows furrowed in confusion along with Lou. Your eyes flicker to Insammon standing in the corner of the room before returning to your siblings and Percy. “We…” your shaky arm manages to pull yourself up despite the world still fuzzy around you. “we’ve made a deal,” you croak, moving to stand up from the floor a little too fast.

As you stumble onto your feet, still pale and disoriented, Percy rushes over and grabs your arm, catching you before you tipped over. You groan as you lean your side against him, your eyes closing in hopes that when you open them, everything will be back to normal. “What?” Lou Ellen asks, quickly pulling the chair away from Percy’s desk and placing it behind your knees before you plop down into it. “What deal?” Atticus urges, refusing to sit even though his legs felt weak. You take a second to compose yourself, trying to figure out how you can explain it to them without sounding insane. Just by looking at Lou Ellen’s eager expression, you were expecting her to protest.

“He took my subconscious somewhere, and we spoke…” you say cautiously, focusing on your fiddling hands. “And?”

“He said he’d leave us alone on the agreement that I…” your voice falters, “on the agreement that I build him a body.” “WHAT?” You jump as Atticus and Lou Ellen shout at the same time. “Are you insane?” You just might be.

You snap your gaze, eyes switching between Lou and Atticus. “I had no choice! If I disagreed, he was just going to stay in mine, and… and you know what the chances of surviving an exorcism are,” you point out. Lou Ellen and Atticus freeze, their faces darkening as they run the situation at hand through their heads. Insammon hisses in the corner as if he was laughing, and you roll your eyes, glaring at him, “I’m glad you find this funny.”

“We’ve never made a body before, Y/n and… how are we going to hide that?!” Atticus points over to the amused shadow in the corner, and you frown, noticing his messy hair from running his fingers through it so much as he looks at you with wide eyes, filled with concern. “He’ll lay low in the meantime. He can’t get into any of the cabins because of the sigils. We’ll cleanse Perce’s cabin and put up the sigils on his door, so he’ll have nowhere to go but the forest,” you explain. A knot formed in your throat, neither of them looking convinced.

“In Alabaster’s black magic book, there’s a spell to make a body out of wax…” you turn around, grabbing the book from the desk. Your fingers hastily flip through your pages before landing on the instructions of the spell. You lift it, opening it wide in their direction so that they can see it for themselves. “With all of our powers together, we can do it.” Lou Ellen furrows her eyebrows, her eyes scanning over the Latin quickly. You were sure you had her convinced before she pulls away, tsking softly. “We need a body of water to host it.”

You bite your lip, turning the book to read it for yourself. “We…” your voice falters. Schist. You didn’t think that far. Where are you even going to host the body? It's not like you can grow it in the lake.

After some silence, you grow nervous under the expectant stares of your siblings, your leg bouncing as you rack your mind for possibilities. Maybe you could host it in a tub in the forest. No, that would take too long, and not only would you need the help of a Hephaestus camper, but a monster might also destroy it, or even worse, the nymphs might see it. Too many people involved. In the showers? No. Obviously not.

“The bathtub in the big house,” Percy blurts out, and you snap your gaze over to him. “That… that could work,” your face brightens, feeling a little relieved. Your excitement falters as you glance at Lou Ellen and Atticus’s knitted eyebrows and frowns. Even a groan comes from Ambrose, making you feel even more discouraged. Even your familiar is having doubts. Great.

“That could not work! It’s right in the big house! One person uses that bathroom, and we’re dead!” Lou argues, and you throw your head back and groan. You didn’t think it would be this complicated. “No one uses the bathroom upstairs,” Percy mentions, and you shift, perking up again. At least Percy seemed to be on your side. “Exactly! Everyone only uses the bathroom downstairs. Chiron doesn’t sleep in the big house, and he’s definitely not using the bathroom there, and Mr. D doesn’t use the bathroom at all. He’s a god!” “It’s in plain sight,” Atticus emphasizes, and your shoulders hunch forward, looking for a solution.

“Lou can use the mist,” you propose after some time, half expecting another argument, but as Lou Ellen halts with a half-opened mouth, you know you’ve succeeded. She shifts on her feet, looking down at the floor. “You’ve been practicing, right?” You ask though you already know the answer. She’s been reading about the mist and practicing since the beginning of the summer. Alabaster was teaching her how to hide items, starting small and gradually building her way up. The other day, as a prank to cheer you up, she hid all of Connor’s shoes, sending him into a frantic search for his shoes all morning. It was hilarious watching Connor accusing all of his siblings of taking his sneakers, resulting in them bickering back and forth about how they didn’t have his shoes. All this arguing and almost tearing half of the cabin apart looking for his shoes, just for Lou Ellen to make them reappear as if they were never tampered with. “Yeah, I mean, I can try?” Lou looks down at her feet, her tone unconfident, but you nod, having fate that she’d be able to do it. “Great!” You hop up on your feet, a little too fast for your weakened state. Atticus gives you a disapproving look, holding your arm to keep you standing. You look around at their nervous faces, but you don’t let that discourage you.

Behind Atticus, you notice the yellow hue of the sunrise beginning to seep through Percy’s blue curtains. “Lou, you have to sneak back into the cabin before anyone wakes up. Atticus and I will cleanse Percy’s cabin and put sigils on the doors. We’ll make sure he-” you point over at the expecting figure in the corner, listening attentively to your conversation. “goes into the forest. At breakfast, we’ll tell Chiron we succeeded. We can sneak into the big house after lunch. After doing the spell, Lou Ellen will use the mist to hide the body, and… everything should go smoothly,” you declare, chin high with confidence.

You give them a wide smile, satisfied even if Percy is the only one to return the smile, though it was hesitant and weak. Lou and Atticus exchange a look before Lou scoffs and shakes her head, “This is insane,” she grumbles, and you refrain from frowning. You don’t say anything, helping them gather their materials before Lou Ellen leaves. As you cleanse the cabin while Atticus carves the sigils on the doorframe outside, you look over at Percy sweeping up the salt from the floor. Your eyes unexpectedly meet his as he averts his gaze from the floor, and he frowns, “You really think everything is gonna work out?” He asks the question genuinely. He didn’t know all the ins and outs of what you had to do, and he decides that your opinion is worth more than everything he’s learned from just observing. You bite the inside of your cheek. Things should go as planned. At this point, you weren’t even worried if you three were powerful enough to cast a spell that will hold. It was getting caught that you were the most nervous about.

“Yeah, I think everything will be fine,” you smile softly, concealing the anxiety that’s festering in your core.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The bathroom floor tile is cool under your bare thighs, contrasting the wax that is almost too warm in your hands as you carefully sculpt the figure. The upstairs bathroom of the big house is tidy and untouched, though a little dusty, which proved Percy’s claim of the bathroom being vacant.

“Broad shoulders and tall, he demanded of me,” you roll your eyes, making Atticus and Lou snicker under their breaths.

“Is he serious?” Lou asks as she kneels next to the bathtub, throwing the necessary herbs for the spell into the water. “Yeah, completely serious. He has a list of preferences, as you can see,” you point at the piece of paper laid in front of you filled with the features that he desired to have. “Tall, broad, and blonde,” you recite. “Is Johnny Bravo his inspiration?” Atticus jokes, and you giggle, shaking your head. “I don’t know, but I might make his body proportions the same," you play along, making the two of them laugh as you continue to form his legs.

“Did he ask for a…” Atticus trails off, and you look up, knowing what he had hesitated to say, and you cringe, “Ew. He didn’t, but even if he did, I’m not sculpting that.” The sounds of Lou Ellen and Atticus’ laughter make you crack a smile. It was nice that you guys can joke, easily looking past the mutual anxiety you guys held for the situation. “So he’s going to be flat like a barbie?” Lou sits on the edge of the bath, and you press your lips together and nod, “Yup.”

Atticus snorts, shaking his head as he lays out the spell books in front of you, and you pull away from the wax sculpture you’ve been working on for almost an hour now. You nod, eyes scanning to make sure you didn’t leave out the essentials. Eyes, mouth, ears, and nose? Check. Eyebrows? Check. Two arms and legs and 20 fingers in total? Check. You furrow your eyebrows and hum, “Should I give him… nipples? A belly button?” “Might as well if you aren’t giving him a, you know,” Atticus says as he flips through the book in front of him, and you giggle as Lou cringes. “Might as well,” you agree, grabbing more wax and your sculpting tools to do the last finishing touches. You sigh, your eyes scanning over it one last time before deciding you were satisfied with it, and you hope he’ll be satisfied too. You agreed to make him a body; you never said it would be a perfect one. “Okay, let’s get this thing started. The game could end any minute now."

You get up on your feet, looking over at the window on your left. You peeked through the blinds, double-checking that the camp courtyard was still empty to confirm that everyone was still in the forest playing capture the flag.

You were worried that you wouldn't be excused from the game since you've had a lot of passes this summer, but all it took was a short complaint about being tired from staying up all night and over-exhausting your powers, and you were excused. It wasn’t a complete lie, though. You were still queasy from Insammon leaving your body, and Atticus was still recovering from feeling it as well. Lou Ellen just escaped from the game to join you guys. The Hermes cabin was playing on the same side as the Ares cabin, so it’s not like she was given an important role anyway. They wouldn’t even notice she had left.

You pull away from the window, walking over to the tub, and gently placing the wax figure in the water. The three of you grab each other’s hands, exchanging looks before chanting the spell.

I invoke the power of the elements

I beg, accept our sediment

Air, Fire, Water, Earth

Bring us a great storm of mirth

Our origins; the pillars of vitality

Conjure a suit of mortality

Gift me a figure as alive as the land and sea

So mote it be

Your auras mingle around your intertwined hands, yours and Atticus’s making a cyan color as yours forms a dark brown with Lou Ellen’s. Closing your eyes, the three of you set your intentions on the spell as you chant it in unison three times. You feel that familiar tug in your gut as you channel your energy while repeating it one last time. You open your eyes the same time as Lou and Atticus, and the three of you gawk at the murky crimson of the water that was once clear. “Its blood,” you shift, letting go of their hands. “... at least we know it worked?” Atticus nods slowly, too enthralled at the water to look away. “I think it caught well,” Lou says, rubbing her sweaty palms on her jean shorts. “Everything should thicken and come together in a week, right?”

You nod, “It said it could be earlier if the spell caught on well. We might get lucky and get this over with by the weekend.” You sigh softly, hoping that you guys will get lucky this time. The burden of this promise was starting to weigh heavy on your shoulders.

The shouting of victory from campers as they return to their cabins catches your attention, and you curse under your breath. “Let’s clean up, hide this thing with the mist and go before we get caught,” you instruct, already reaching to collect your materials.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“Do you think we should stay?”

Your eyes flutter open, your hand coming up to shield them from the bright sun hovering overhead. A sigh leaves your lips, turning your head toward Atticus, who’s laid beside you on the sand, and you notice his hopeful expression begins to falter. Last summer, he had mentioned staying all year round, but the both of you had decided otherwise.

“After everything that’s happened this summer. I just want to go home,” you admit, and Atticus frowns, considering your point. This summer was way too eventful for you, and you had found yourself missing your neighborhood and the comfort of your home and your father. The communal showers and sleeping arrangements were things you couldn’t see yourself deal with any longer than you had to.

“Yeah…” Atticus sighs, and you scan his face, feeling the disappointment radiating off of him. You mimic his sad facial expression, reaching over to push his hair out of his eyes. As much as Atticus wants to stay all year round, he wouldn’t stay if you weren’t with him. “Don’t you miss dad? You know how he’ll feel if we stayed all year,” you point out. In the many letters and care packages your father had sent you too, it was clear that he was counting down the days of your return. Without you guys, the house was empty, just him and whatever activity he chose to occupy himself with. “I do miss him! It’s just- I really don’t want to go back to school,” he groans dramatically, and you laugh, nudging the other’s shoulder. “Yeah, because our father, the professor with two Ph.D. 's, is going to let you drop out of school.” Your tone is sarcastic, and you scoff. “You’re right. There’s no point in staying. He would be bang on the borders to get us,” Atticus grunts. “He’s probably bored out of his mind. What do you think he's doing right now?" You shift on your side to face your brother, Atticus smiling as he does the same. His eyes falter to the side as he thinks about the question. After a while, he shrugs,

"Probably, reading?" You laugh, assuming the same thing before Atticus has said so. "Maybe writing another textbook? I don't know. He must be bored out of his mind."

"He for sure is. That's kinda what happens when two 13-year-olds are your only friends," you joke, and Atticus shake his head,

“Dude, Dad needs a girlfriend. He shouldn’t have to depend on us as his main source of entertainment.” A giggle bubbles in your chest, and you agree.

Your father’s life has revolved around you guys and his work for so long. He had a few fellow scholars that he went to dinner with once and a while, and he went to conventions for his specialty often, but that was the extent of his social life. You didn’t think much of it until you noticed your grandmother constantly bickering with him about finding a wife and getting married. Sometimes you wonder if he got lonely.

"We should pray to Aphrodite about that," you suggest, and Atticus gives you a wide grin.

"Good idea. We can make some offerings for her when we get home.” You nod, already devising a plan for it in your head. You don’t get to dwell on it as Atticus speaks again. “Do you think the last time he dated was when he was with mom?"

"Probably. He was in love with her.” Your smile turns sad at the reminder of your mother. She’s so fondly spoken of by your father, and it made you want to meet her even more. Their time was short, about five months, but your father had a lot of stories about her. "It's been 13 years, though; I think it's time to move on."

"Yeah…” Atticus says sadly, and you furrow your eyebrows in concern. “I would like dad to find someone. Sometimes, I-I get worried."

"Why?"

"Because what if something bad happens to us? What would he do?" Your heart sinks in your chest at his question. The possibility of you living long enough to make it past being a teenager was low, and you were well aware of that. But you refrained from thinking about what would happen to your father. You couldn’t imagine the grief he’d go through. A few times, you’ve thought about the reversed situation, and you couldn’t conceptualize how you would be able to handle that much pain.

"I don't know,” you whisper, your brother's expression filled with sorrow. “But I'm sure he's thought about it.”

When you were younger, you didn’t quite understand why your father was always so anxious. You remember the panic in his voice when you wandered to play with the neighbor’s dog down the street instead of being in the front yard where he could see you. Or the time you lost Atticus for a few seconds at the giant Toys R Us in Times Square, only to find him gawking at the massive wall of action figures at the end of the aisle.

“You guys are my gifts.” That’s what he always says with a fond smile. “And when you have a gift so precious like the two of you, you want to protect it.” You could practically feel your father’s fingers patting the top of your head affectionately and the kiss he’d press on you and Atticus’s forehead when he would tuck you guys in bed as young children.

Sometimes you wished you could go back in time and be six again. When the only thing you knew was your father's tender adoration for you and Atticus and none of this goldy parent stuff.

"It's okay, though,” you chime in as you let the memory escape you. “Everything is fine right now, so let's not worry about that, alright?" You give Atticus a soft smile, hoping to lift the mood. Atticus nods, but his expression is still sad.

“Anyways…” You clear your throat, wanting to change the topic. It wasn’t worth dwelling on the future when things were okay now. Well, kind of okay, if you excuse the promise with a demon thing and the betrayal of your siblings. You shake your head as if it would shake those thoughts away too.

“Who are you asking to the party this weekend?”

Atticus sighs, quiet for a moment as if he was debating what to say. "I want to ask Annabeth, but she's probably going to say no.”

You jerk your head back, not expecting him to want to ask her. They barely talked, at least from what you’ve seen. "Annabeth? You like her?"

"... I didn't say I like her. I just said I wanted to ask her to the party,” Atticus stammers a bit, and you squint your eyes. Now it was time for you to call him out using the advantage of feeling his emotions.

"Well, you're asking her because you like her, right?"

"Wrong," Atticus says bluntly, and you press your lips together, amused that he was trying to deny it. Even without feeling his emotions, you were sure you would be able to tell. His crush didn’t surprise you that much.

"Atticus, there's no point in hiding how you feel about her. She's so your type," you turn on your back, feeling Atticus stare at the side of your face.

"As if you know my type," he scoffs and moves to sit up, leaning back on his hands.

"I do."

"Oh, really? what is it?"

"Hermoine Granger," you answer, looking up to see his reaction. You couldn’t see his reaction as he looked out at the lake.

"What?"

"I remember very clearly you saying that if you ever met a girl or guy like Hermoine Granger, you'd want to marry them.” You move to sit up beside him, noticing how his face remains expressionless.

“You cannot tell me, Annabeth isn't exactly like her, besides the magic and the British accent.” The silence that falls between the two of you makes you smile, knowing that you left him without words.

"It doesn't matter! Either way, she's gonna say no," he says, suddenly defensive, and you laugh at his frown.

"You could try?"

"No point. I asked my pendulum if she'd go with me, and it said no. I don't need to be Apollo to know that she's definitely going to reject me," he grumbles, and you sigh, shifting as you fold your legs to cross them.

"Well… we can just hang out together?" You offer, upset that Atticus had felt discouraged. You hadn't thought about the party. It didn’t occur to you that anyone would ask you to go with them either, so you had planned just to drop by and leave early.

Atticus side-eyes you, “just because I'm not asking Annabeth doesn't mean I'm going alone.” His tone was mocking, and your jaw dropped. You can’t believe you just got rejected by your own brother.

"Wow, okay. I'll just go with Lou Ellen then," you stick your tongue out at him, and Atticus smirks,

"Can't. Cecil asked her this morning."

You slouch at the news, and a grunt leaves your lips. You had planned to go alone anyway, so you shrug. "Well then, I'll just go alone.”

"I'm sure someone will ask you. I mean, you're not ugly," Atticus says, not too convincingly, putting his arms up when you narrow your gaze at him. “Wow, thanks.” “Guys!” You glance over at the direction of the call, Lou Ellen holding her sneakers in her hands as she rushes over to you. “You wanted to check on the body today, right? We should go now. Mr. D is at the strawberry fields with Pollux and Castor, and I saw Chiron in the stables,” She whispers once she’s close enough. Right. You momentarily forgot about your last obstacle.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Your tone filled with dread as you stand up, patting the sand off your legs.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“Gross,” Lou Ellen mutters as you close the door slowly behind you. You scrunch your face at the sight before you. The figure has fully grown, but its flesh and hair were missing in chunks.

“I mean, it’s growing…” you point out, looking off at the blue-tiled wall beside you. “Faster than we thought, too,” Atticus adds, gawking at the tub, and he walks over, grimacing at how the red water turned black and thick. “You know, I thought this wasn’t going to work, but we’re actually pulling this off,” he says proudly, and you giggle,

“Don’t speak too soon.”

It was as if the universe had heard your self-praise and decided to pull a joke on you because the moment you finished your sentence, you almost jump out of your skin as the bathroom door swings open, revealing a familiar blonde. You gasp, the three of you lunging from three different corners of the room and huddle close together to block the view of the tub.

Annabeth’s eyes fix on the three of you, not sure what she just saw in the bathtub before you three jump to stand in front of you.

“Hey,” you greet weakly, waving at her, and Annabeth furrows her eyebrows, a look of suspicion taking over her features.

“What is that?” She asks, leaning to the side to try and look past you. You lean to continue blocking her view, along with Atticus and Lou Ellen beside you.

“Nothing! We were just uh, gonna give Harvey a bath!” Atticus says, the ferret squealing on his shoulder as if he was vouching for him. Annabeth doesn’t look convinced, though, your body language telling her that you three were up to something, and she was determined to find out. She steps forward, forcibly cutting through you and Atticus, and you close your eyes in anticipation as you hear her breath get caught at the back of her throat. “What…” she trails off, not exactly sure what she was looking at. She backs away, her vision shifting from the three of you, and she shakes her head, eyes glazed over in disbelief, “CHIR-”

“SHUSH!” You leap over, covering her mouth, Annabeth’s eyes wide before they cloud over. Before she could strike you, Lou Ellen grabs her arms behind her back, binding her wrists and feet with magic while Atticus flicks his fingers to shut the door and locks it with his telekinesis. “I’m so sorry,” you apologize hastily, your hand effectively muffling her string of curses. “Incantare: Labia Sigillum,” you recite as she flails her body, trying to get out of the binds with no success.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“We just need you to listen, okay?” You ask Annabeth as she sits on the toilet lid, glaring at you with stormy eyes. You hope she calms down after you explain everything to her. You actually liked Annabeth; she showed you around camp when you had arrived and helped you pick out your dagger. The last thing you needed was to get on her bad side. Because if you did, you knew she wouldn’t go easy on you like Percy when it came to sword fighting.

Lou paces behind you, biting on her fingernails, “We’re so dead. She’s going to tell Chiron!” Atticus shakes his head, “No, she won’t. Right?” He asks Annabeth. Her persistent glare doesn't make you feel too confident in his assumption. You did not doubt in your mind that Annabeth would go to Chiron if you didn’t have her hostage in the bathroom right now.

“Look, you remember the demon thing we had to cast out of Percy’s cabin… the demon we told Chiron that’s already gone?”

You wait for a response, but you only receive a rolling of her eyes. You take that as a yes, so you continue, “when we tried to cast it away, it possessed me and made me make a deal with him. The deal is if I make him a body, he’ll leave all of us alone; which explains that.” You point to the half wax, half-human sitting up in the tub

Annabeth hesitantly looks over at it before returning her gaze to you. A series of grunts and groans leave her throat as if she’s trying to tell you something. “If I take the spell off of you, do you promise not to call Chiron?” You ask nervously, and though Annabeth nods, you didn’t quite believe her, but you decide to undo it anyway. Maybe, being the child of the wisdom goddess, she could help you out. Perhaps, give some words of advice. “Incantare: Contrarium,” you say softly, pointing at her lips. Her dark stare remains as her lips return to normal, the three of you still as you wait for her to speak. “All of you are idiots,” she snaps after some silence. So much for wise words.

You shift on your feet, opening your mouth to say something, but she cuts you off, “Are you really going to let that thing out into the world?”

“I mean, it’s going to terrorize people regardless,” you trail off as Annabeth gives you a look, telling you you needed to consider everything you’ve been worried about. Of course, you didn’t want to let him loose with a body that opened new possibilities for him. You bite the inside of your cheek as you come to terms with your moral code that’s been bothering you for a few days now.

“I- I can’t back out now! I swore on the River Styx that I’d give him this body,” you tell Annabeth as she shakes her head, the daughter of Athena pondering for a second.

“What did you swear to exactly?”

“I swore that I’d make the body,” you say, and Annabeth squints at you.

“That’s it?”

“Yes...?” You shift under her gaze, her expression unamused and impatient.

“You didn’t promise not to destroy it,” Atticus chimes in, and Annabeth’s eyes flicker over to him.

“Oh, look. He has a brain.” Annabeth smiles sarcastically, and Atticus nods, smiling wide and proud,

“You bet, Goldilocks. I’m actually pretty smart.” The side of your mouth curls at the interaction between the two, finding it funny as Annabeth’s face drops straight.

“Mhm,” Annabeth hums slowly before returning her gaze to you. “Your brother has your solution. Destroy it.”

“But-” you halt, thinking for a second. You couldn’t destroy it now. He’s still in the borders. If he found out that you ruined his body, he’ll quickly take over your body with or without protection. “We’d have to trick him.”

Lou perks up, “we can let him take over the body when it’s ready. We’ll escort him out of camp, and the moment he walks across the border, we can attack him from the other side.”

You turn around, considering her plan, before nodding. “Yeah, yeah! Though it looks like flesh, in its core, it’s still wax. Together we could form a beam of energy hot enough to melt him.”

“And even though his body will be destroyed, he still has to keep his promise,” Atticus adds.

You exchange looks with Lou and Atticus as you smile widely. Though you still held the burden of hiding the body, you felt lighter. At least you didn’t have to keep the guilt of letting him roam free, disguised as a human.

“Congrats! Now, can you let me go?” Annabeth cuts in, and you turn around. “Oh right, but… you promise not to tell Chiron, right?”

“I won’t tell anyone about this; I promise,” Annabeth says sincerely, and you nod, not seeing any reason to make her swear on the River Styx. You undo the binding spell, Annabeth standing up the moment she was free. She sighs, looking at the three of you one last time before she opens the bathroom door.

“You know, I liked you more than your brother, but now you guys are on the same level,” she narrows her eyes at you, and you frown.

“Sorry," you giggle nervously, catching Atticus’s offended expression,

“Hey!” ☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

You look around, making sure there weren’t any wood nymphs watching you. You had seen them at the farm and in the kitchens making dinner for tonight, but you had to double-check for your peace of mind. Insammon had found a small crevice under Zeus’ fist to hang around in the meantime, and he insisted that while he waited for his body, he needed to be fed. It was like having a pet you didn’t ask for. You just hoped that the wood nymphs don’t take inventory because you’ve been taking whole chickens to Insammon almost every day.

Carefully, you approach the back of the fist, dumping raw chicken out of the plastic supermarket bag right in front of the entrance.

“There,” you grimace before Insammon’s long pale fingers with black nails appear from under the rock and snatch the meat under the stones.

“What’s the status?” He whispers.

“It’s almost done. It’s fully grown, but its flesh hasn’t covered the wax completely. It’s in patches.” The sound of gummy chewing of raw meat suddenly stops before his long face sticks out from under the rocks.

“What do you mean it’s in patches,” he snarls. “You said it would be done in four days!” “I said it might be done in four days, but it’ll most likely take a week,” you emphasize, annoyed at his impatience. “You better not be playing games with me, little girl,” he narrows his eyes at you, and your fist clenches at your side.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. Spells like this take time. If I could make this process faster, trust me, I would,” you roll your eyes, looking away for a second. You do a double-take as you catch Connor walking in the distance. You bite your lip, throwing the last bits of raw meat you were carrying, along with the bag at Insammon. He hisses at you as a drumstick bounces off his head, but you disregard his reaction. “Look, I have to go,” you tell him hastily. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Whatever,” Insammon growls, too hungry to argue with you, and he swiftly returns into his little cave to enjoy his lunch. You speed walk away from the rocks, not wanting Insammon to hear if Connor called your name. Once you get a good distance, you stroll through the forest as usual. Just as you expected, Connor notices you, and with a call of your name, he is already jogging in your direction.

“Hey Con,” you smile, shoving your hands in your pockets. You look down at the giant black plastic bags in his hands, and you squint. “You’re sneaking contraband into the camp?” You ask, shaking your head as if you disapproved.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. May I remind you that some of these things are for you?” He teases, pulling out one of the snacks you paid him to get for you.

“Right, I forgot about that," you admit, and Connor chuckles as you take the bag of chips from his hands and open them up.

"You know, I was gonna go look for you," he says, and you tilt your head a little to the side as you munch on the chips in your mouth.

"I'm not pulling another prank with you." You didn't take Connor admitting to looking for you as a good thing. The last thing you wanted was to be a part of his schemes.

Connor laughs, and you’re still wary as he nudges you playfully. "That's not why I was going to look for you.” You squint at him, not too convinced, but as his expression left no traces of his usually mischievous grin, you consider that it was the truth. "I was looking for you because I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to that party with me on Friday."

You freeze, surprised at his question. You didn't think you'd get asked, especially not from Connor, and you weren't exactly sure what this meant. Connor notices your confusion, and he clears his throat, feeling shy all of a sudden.

"As friends!" He suddenly adds, his hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was going to ask someone else, but she had a date already, and Atticus mentioned you didn't have a date yet. So I thought I'd ask you…”

You nod slowly, feeling a little relieved that he had cleared that up. Connor was like a brother to you; you couldn’t see him any other way.

“But I don't want you to feel like a second choice!” He explains hastily, taking your lack of expression as if he offended you. “And you know, I don't see you like that, and we’re just friends. You're not my type… BUT that's not because you're not pretty. You're really pretty, and I'm surprised no one has asked you yet-"

"Connor, I'll go with you," you agree, amused at his rambling. You giggle at his wide eyes as he processes what you said for a moment. He huffs out shakily, cracking a smile at how nervous he suddenly was around you.

“Oh, great!” He perks up, and you reach over, pushing at his shoulder lightly.

"I know you weren't flirting, but if you got that nervous asking me to a party, you must be wreck around a girl you actually like," you tease, watching Connor’s mouth drop open at your assumption.

He scoffs, "I'm very good at flirting, but thanks for your concern.”

"If you say so," you say sarcastically, and you laugh as he jumps at the opportunity to defend himself.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

You switch the sweaty solo cup from one hand to another, sitting on the stone steps of the amphitheater. Social events like these are fun, but after a while, you become drained and eventually need some time to regroup. Ambrose’s head rests on your knee, snorting as you scratch the back of his ear.

“Hm, should we take a walk?” You ask your familiar, placing the solo cup of soda beside you, and you stand up. His wagging tail told you that he didn’t mind a walk right now, so you begin making your way to the exit. Before you leave, you look over and find Connor laughing with his brothers, teasing Travis, who’s talking to Katie Gardner.

Con mentioned that Travis had a little crush on Katie, and you can imagine that he was talking to her now under the persuasion of Connor, of course. You giggle, watching the boys laugh for a moment before turning around and walking with Ambrose.

“Should we go to the docks?” You ask Ambrose, thinking perhaps you could hang out there before you decided to call it a night. The hound beside you barks, and you take that as yes as you change your direction to the water.

Your mind wanders off to what Atticus would say if he saw you ditch the party to sit on the docks. He’d probably tell you that you’re boring.

“Would you really rather stare at water than dance or talk to people?” You could hear his voice asking. To answer that question, yeah, sometimes you would prefer to stare at water than be at a party. Though, it wasn’t like you were miserable. For the first few hours, you were hanging amongst your friends, and you danced with Connor and a few other people, but you eventually went off to sit by yourself as Connor got swept up in the festivities.

When you arrive at the water, you take off your shoes, letting your feet sink in the sand. A cool breeze hits your skin, and you smile, closing your eyes as you take a moment to enjoy it.

You had thought you were alone until you walked along the sand, looking up at seeing Percy sitting at the edge of the dock, eyes fixed at the sky. Your eyes may have lingered at the sight for too long, admiring the way the moonlight illuminates off of Percy’s skin. His lips move as if he was talking to someone, and you assume that he’s praying. You didn’t intend to get his attention, deciding you’d probably sit on the sand for a little before calling it a night. That is until Ambrose barks and rushes over to Percy.

You were just as startled as he was, smiling nervously as his gaze snaps over. As Ambrose’s tail wags erratically, you shake your head amused. Though Ambrose was hostile to Percy at first, it didn’t take long for him to warm up to him, especially after staying over in his cabin. If Ambrose could touch him, he’d probably be all over him, especially as he jumps up only for his paws to go right through Percy’s body.

“Hey, buddy,” you hear Percy say as you walk over, his eyes meeting yours once you step on the dock.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you say playfully, and Percy smiles,

“I’m starting to think you’re following me,” he jokes. Amongst your first meeting, you’ve had a couple of other run-ins with him at night on the docks. There were always coincidences. But you did find yourself hoping that you would see him there on the nights you decided to hang out there.

You giggle and shake your head, sitting beside him at the end of the dock. “You’ve caught me,” you say sarcastically, making a soft chuckle come from Percy. Leaning back on your hands, you look out at the crescent moon in the sky.

“Sorry if Ambrose interrupted anything. He was excited to see you, obviously,” you giggle as Ambrose breathes heavily, his head in between your bodies as he looks at Percy with cheerful eyes.

“It’s okay.” Percy laughs at Ambrose, finding him to be cute after looking past him resembling a baby bear at times. His eyes scan over Ambrose’s features, and he hums, “I wish I could touch him, though.”

“I mean, I could make that happen,” you mention, and Percy perks up with interest. “I just need something from your body to offer it to his soul.”

“Like a shirt?”

“More like blood or hair,” you clarify, Percy’s expression flashing with shock, which sends your chest bubbling with laughter.

“Really?” He gawks at you, not sure if you were joking or not.

“Yeah, it’s a commitment, so you should probably think about it. You shouldn’t give your blood or hair to just anyone, especially not a witch,” you joke, and he scrunches his face.

“You’re scaring me,” he says with a slight smile on his face. “Will you hex me? Make a voodoo doll?”

“Only if you give me a good enough reason to. But in the meantime, I’d just put it on Ambrose’s little altar. After I do, he’ll be able to touch you like a normal dog. It's your choice.”

“I’ll think about it, but I think petting Ambrose would be worth it.” Percy nods, watching Ambrose as the hound lays his head on your shoulder.

“The slobber is a bonus. You’d be crazy to give it up.”

Percy’s eyes glint at your sarcasm. “You’re right. You might get a piece of my hair soon, firefly.”

You smile, head tilting a little to the left as you take notice of the nickname he had given you.

“Firefly?”

“Yeah, when you do magic, you glow. It’s cool,” Percy nudges you, and you scoff. “What? Do you not like it? Are you jealous that it’s more creative than water boy,” he teases.

Your jaw drops open, eyes bright as he insults your nickname for him. His nickname was better than yours, but you couldn’t admit that out loud. “Please, I could come up with a better nickname for you if I wanted to.”

“Oh really? Then what would it be?” He challenges. You’re still for a second as you try to think of another nickname for him. Percy’s amused stare is hard to ignore, his smile so bright you swore it glowed in the moonlight. The longer you’re silent, you press your lips, refusing to give in to how contagious his smile is.

“Puddles,” you blurt out, surprised when Percy bursts into laughter.

“Where did that even come from?” He chokes out, and you shift, suddenly feeling defensive.

“Anything that has to do with water seems like an appropriate nickname for you- why are you laughing?!” Percy’s face turns pink as his laughter echoes into the distance, and you couldn’t help but join him.

“No-nothing! It was just the last thing I’d expect you to say. I thought you were going to say something like Aquaman or Captain Saltwater.” The side of your lip curls into a smirk, and you shrug,

“I mean, I could call you Captain Saltwater.”

“Call me that, and I’ll call you the necromancer,” Percy threatens playfully, and you scrunch your nose, shaking your head at the nickname.

“Fair enough, puddles,” you say, trying not to focus on the butterflies in your stomach as he nods,

“Good choice, firefly.”

“I’m glad that you’re spending time flirting with your boyfriend instead of making my body,” a voice cuts in, and you gasp, turning around and seeing Insammon standing at the beginning of the pier.

“Woah,” Percy mutters, the hair on his arms sticking up as his mind can hardly process Insammon’s exaggerated human features. Ambrose growls, his body alert, and you quickly stand up, Percy doing the same. You move in front of him, annoyed that Insammon would dare to show himself out in the open like this.

“I told you already. Spells like this take time-”

“That was two days ago. I’m bored!” He complains, his bulging eyes roll, and your fist clenches, eyes averting to make sure no one else is around. To your relief, you three were alone.

“Too bad! I need at least another day or two!”

“Two?” Insammon asks with a chuckle, but it wasn’t from amusement. His legs clank as he begins to approach you, Ambrose’s growl grows louder and more threatening. “Listen, little girl.” His tone deepens as he narrows his gaze at you. “I am not a force to be reckoned with. I want that body now or else. Should I remind you what’s at stake?” He asks, not waiting for your answer as black vapor begins to swallow him whole. You feel goosebumps rise on your skin as he surrounds his body and shrinks into a ball as it did the night you tried to cast him away.

“Protego rotundus!” You shout, everything going in slow motion as Insammon contracts in a ball of vapor and shoots himself toward you. A sinking feeling fills your gut, worrying that you had cast the spell too late but the white translucent dome forms around you and Percy fast, deflecting Insammon as it sends him flying backward. The cloud of vapor crashes back where he stood before dispersing and revealing Insammon’s true form again.

A feral snarl leaves his mouth, his eyes bulging so much out of his head that you half expected it to pop out and roll on the floor. You gulp as a shrill laugh come from his lips,

“So quick-witted. I must admit I admire it, but I’m still impatient,” Insammon growls.

“I already told you! It’s not finished!” You argue, holding the dome for as long as you could.

“Fine! Then I’ll need to quench my boredom. Should I perhaps attack one of your friends in the Amphitheater? Most of them don’t have those fancy domes,” he points out before turning around, eyes looking in the direction of the Amphitheater. “... what do you think?”

“You can’t!”

“I can’t?”

“No, you’ll break your promise,” you say, and he furrowed his eyebrows,

“I said I would leave everyone you know alone on the agreement that I get a body from you,” he explains with a clenched jaw.

“No, it was on the agreement that I make a body for you. I’ve already started making it so you’ll be pushing the terms,” you protest, and he squints at you, thinking for a second.

“It’s not completely made yet.”

“It wasn’t specified that you’d keep your promise after it was completely made. But sure, would you like to challenge the terms? You’ll probably only get thrown into Tartarus for a few thousand years.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Who knows? I may have saved you by casting this spell.”

Insammon scoffs, shifting uncomfortably as he considers your point. “Tomorrow. That’s the longest I’m willing to wait.”

“Fine. If you want to walk amongst the mortals with half a face, then who am I to argue?” You watch as his face clouds wickedly, and he points a finger at you.

“You’re pushing it, little girl,” he warns as the vapor takes over his body again, and he disappears right before your eyes.

The white dome retracts, your eyes scanning the area to see if he had left for real. “You know…” You cut through the silence that fell after his departure. “Maybe the necromancer is a good nickname for me,” you comment, looking over at a pale Percy.

“Yeah,” he chuckles nervously, still shaken from what he had seen. “Seems like they like you.”

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean, you don’t like it?!” You shout, Insammon standing in front of the tub with his arms crossed and his face contorts into a pout.

“Dude, it has everything you asked for,” Atticus argues, pointing at the body in the tub.

“I just don’t like it!”

“Well, too bad! Get into it and get out. We don’t have time for this,” Lou Ellen whispers, opening the bathroom door and peeking into the hallway to see if the lights of the big house were still turned off. The three of you cut dinner to take Insammon to the big house while everyone was in the dining pavilion. You had hoped you could get back before anyone noticed you were gone.

“I’ll trap you again to make sure I get a new one,” Insammon proclaims, pointing a finger at you.

You roll your eyes, picking up the clothes you stole from Mr. D’s room off of the counter. “We’ll wait for you outside of the door. Rinse yourself off and put this on.”

“THIS?”

You and Atticus exchange a look before you shove the outfit into Insammon’s chest. “Yes, this!” Insammon makes a sound close to a gag as he holds the outfit away from him as if it were toxic.

“A Hawaiian shirt and… KHAKIS? I’m offended that you dare demand that I put this on!”

“Well, you can change into better clothes when you’re out of here.” You give him a fake smile before grabbing Atticus’s hand. “So hurry up,” you urge before the three of you funnel out of the bathroom and close the door behind you.

Lou Ellen paces in front of the bathroom, and you bite your lip, furrowing your eyebrows at how silent it became in the bathroom. For the past 10 minutes, you heard an array of noises; the water from the shower, some bumps, and bangs as Insammon clumsily washes himself off and figures out how to put his clothes on. You tap your foot, wondering why he was so quiet, and lift your arm to knock on the door before you hear a loud groan.

“Ugh! I look like an American tourist,” he proclaims dramatically, and you roll your eyes, realizing the reason why he was so quiet was because he was checking himself out in the mirror.

“Who knew demons cared so much about self-image,” Lou Ellen grumbles as finally, after what felt like forever, Insammon opens the door, revealing himself with his new body. You preferred this appearance better than his true form.

“You do look like an American tourist,” Atticus snorts, and both you and Lou Ellen send him a glare, making him put his arms up in defense. “He said it first!”

“Just get me out of here. The faster I leave, the sooner I get better clothes. If you can even call these clothes,” he rolls his eyes and pushes past you.

Atticus slaps his hand over his mouth, and you press your lips together as you watch the other walk. The clanky walking turned into a wide step with knees too bent and feet turned out. A whimper leaves Lou Ellen’s throat as she refrains from laughing, especially as he halts at the stairs.

“How do you walk on such a thing?” He asks, pointing at the stairs, and you exchange looks with your siblings, hoping that teaching him how to get down the stairs isn’t going to take too long.

Long story short, Insammon marked a significant milestone as a human: he took his first fall. As his body plummeted down the stairs after missing a step, you, Atticus, and Lou Ellen lost your breath in silent laughter. The three of you had tears in your eyes as you attempted to conceal your laughter as a groaning Insammon clumsily got back on his feet.

“You regret being a human now?” Atticus comments as he walks down the rest of the stairs, you and Lou Ellen following close behind him.

“Shut up,” Insammon snaps. “Get me out of this glorified daycare. I’m tired of being here.”

You roll your eyes, leaning him out of the back door of the big house and making your way straight into the forest. The commute was uncomfortably quiet, the three of you not wanting to be suspicious. Even though you had discussed your plan before he had arrived, you were still nervous about it.

“So, what are your plans once you get out there?” Atticus asks, attempting to make some small talk, and Insammon hums, contemplating his choices now that he was a human.

“I will find new clothing first,” he declares, still bothered at what he was wearing. “But after that, I will find my next target,” he smiles wickedly.

“Sounds like a good time,” Atticus says, and you make eye contact with the other, immediately sensing his anxiety as it added to your own. He smiles softly, though, silently communicating to you that everything will be fine, and you hesitantly return the smile as you eventually arrive at the camp entrance.

Insammon walks across and turns around, looking at the three of you. You, Lou Ellen, and Atticus make sure to remain within the camp borders just as planned. “Well, this is where we leave you. Just keep walking straight, and you’ll reach the road,” you explain while giving him a fake smile.

“I refuse to thank you for your service since you did a horrible job. I will not miss you, nor do I care about you, so I will simply say, hmm, goodbye,” he proclaims, and you press your lips together, nodding your head, “Uh... okay.”

He gives you a satisfied look before facing the rest of the forest. Your pulse thumped loud in your ears, and you grabbed Lou Ellen and Atticus’s hand. Together, you took a deep breath, your auras seeping out of your bodies and fusing into a giant orb right in front of you. You bite your lip, getting the sphere almost as big as Insammon’s body while the other mindlessly walks into the forest, too busy making sure he doesn’t trip over the tree roots and branches. But as the orb grew and the colors swirled wildly amongst themselves, the light illuminated further and further, catching Insammon’s attention right before it was done. “What is this? What are you-?!” “NOW!” You shout, releasing the tug in your core, and with your will, you send the beam right into Insammon. He fails to lunge out of the way in time, his reflexes slow as he’s still unadjusted to his new body. A scream of agony and anger, mostly anger, cuts through the stillness of the night as the heat of your orb engulfs him, melting right into the wax, and soon he topples over, his screams ceasing as the orb of light fades. It was quiet for a moment; the only sound you could hear was your pulse, and you opened your mouth to say something before Insammon suddenly appeared in his true form. “How dare you, you little brat!” He shouts, stomping right to you. “I will possess you again, not to take over your body but to KILL YOU!” You step back, flinching as Insammon collides with the borders of the camp. He growls in frustration, banging on the wall with his lanky arms, a blue ring forming around every hit.

“You’ll die trying,” you remind him. “But if you’re so keen on going to Tartarus, we could send you there ourselves.” You’re unphased at the strained face of anger that flashed over his features. The bulged eyes, the wide mouth, the way his pale skin has turned a tint of pink.

The adrenaline of your success kicks in as your siblings begin to chant the banishing spell, and you chant with them—Insammon, too eager to get to you, kicks and growls against the borders.

You knew he was too weak to shift into his shadow self. He hadn’t fed off anyone’s fears in a week, and possessing that body and yours took a lot of strength. You couldn’t help but smile as you approached the end of your chant, watching as he began to shrink, using his last bit of energy to bang on the borders and yell threats that he’d never be able to fulfill.

“Bye-bye,” you kneel in front of him, your smile genuine this time.

“Curse you,” he strains as your siblings yell the sentence that ends all of your spells.

“So mote it be,” you join, watching as he disperses into ash with one last scream, and you sigh in satisfaction before standing back up.

It was silent for a moment, and you turned to your siblings with a smile on your face. Atticus stretches out both of his arms, and hands clenched into fists, “Pound it!” He shouts, and you and Lou Ellen giggle, pounding your knuckles into his.

“Now that that’s over, let’s go see if Percy saved us food,” Lou giggles, and you nod,

“Gah, I hope so. I’m starving.” Atticus nods in agreement, and you circle your arms around both of them, pulling them close to your side.

“That was pretty awesome,” Atticus says, the three of you beaming now that that whole ordeal was solved.

“Ha! I know! I told you we’d get this sorted out!” Lou Ellen declares.

“Actually, Y/n said everything would work out. You were the pessimistic one,” Atticus points out, and Lou Ellen scoffs,

“I’m not pessimistic! I’m just cautious!”

“You weren’t very cautious when you almost singed my eyebrow hairs when we were practicing our beams earlier this summer!”

“You were in the way!”

“I was behind you! I couldn’t have been more out of your way!”

You giggle as you listen to the two bickers back and forth. While walking with them side by side back to camp, you find your mind faltering to all of your worries a few weeks ago and your grief towards losing your guides in your magic. As you take in Lou Ellen and Atticus, you realize that your fear of being lost had been foolish. The three of you were more than capable, working as one to cast spells that you’ve never done before with ease. And with the relief of getting rid of Insammon comes the comfort of you accepting that you, Lou, and Atticus will be just fine without your brothers.

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[lordoftermites]

You Never Break ⚜ Part Ⅰ

⊰ ☘ ⊱ Cardan's POV: The Queen of Nothing, from the end of Chapter 13 through Chapter 17. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ A massive, pterodactyl-screeching thank you to my dearest punishment @euridce and the bombastic @figonas for dealing with my bullshit and allowing me to subject them to betaing this (and literally everything else), but especially for being my Hype Train Goblin Queens and not letting me lose to my perfectionism. ⊰ ☘ ⊱ { edit: the wordcount actually turned out to be 3,765 because I added more shit after I copypasta'd here but I literally cannot be arsed to change the graphic lol. }

≼ FIC MASTERLIST HERE≽

Contrary to erstwhile thinking, it is not quite as simple a task to travel at any expeditious speed whilst carrying a half-dead goblin through the biting nighttide—whilst also taking care to keep yourself and aforementioned half-dead goblin undiscovered by those who would very much like to lop your kingly head right off of your kingly shoulders.

And, if all of that is not enough of a juggling act, appending the minor detail that you’ve just taken flight on a steed conjured from the ragwort in your pocket, after leaving your wife below (at her behest and your protest) to fend for herself with naught but a magical cloak and her unspoken, mortal promise to do as you say...

Well. There are reasons you are not lauded for your prowess as a jester, just as your Queen is even less admired for her graces of verity.

Yet, surely by some feat of fortuitous magic, Cardan does manage it; the concealing mists part just enough to allow the flying mount and its travelers to slip through.

Braving a glance over his shoulder, he watches as the fog coils and swirls closed like a protective curtain behind them. It's disorienting—very like taking an overconfident step forward, only to find the ground is not quite as close as you first perceived. Even as one often besotted with wine and other such stupefacients, Cardan does not particularly enjoy that feeling.

Sea fret mingles with the haze of preternatural clouds as they begin a descent. It veils his lips, clings to his wool-spun clothing and weighs down his hair. He shakes the dampened curls from his eyes just as the four isles of Elfhame begin to take shape in the darkness beneath him, and lets out an unsteady breath; he wonders, absently, if he's exhaled at all since leaving Jude on the ground.

He cannot help the inglorious relief that the Roach, in his state, does not hear it.

It’s an odd sensation, to observe your kingdom from such a high vantage point. Perhaps, before now, he disallowed himself to feel the full measure of his obligation; the sobering comprehension that this vastness of soil and sapling and stone, along with all its inhabitants, will thrive, or decay, under his governance. Looking down at the land—his land—brings that realization crashing down upon him with as much force as one of Balekin’s punishments.

Cardan tightens his grip on the animal’s leafy mane against a bout of dizziness, abruptly wishing he had something a bit less insubstantial with which to steady himself.

The Crooked Forest rises to meet them, gnarled limbs twisting upward as if to embrace their sovereign. That seems illusionary, though Cardan does note at once the marked shift in the air; while still cool, no longer does each inhale carry an icy jab to his lungs or bite at the tips of his ears. It envelopes him and his company, gently carrying them above the mossy heads of slumbering root men and women. None of them stir, thankfully, but Cardan isn’t altogether sure his arrival goes unnoticed by them, either.

Welcome home, young King, the wind seems to whisper in his ear. Cardan shivers, and it has nothing to do with the weather.

Alighting just at the edge of the hollow hill, Cardan takes a half-breath to think—and reproaches himself for not doing more of that before they had landed; the Roach’s etiolated complexion, rattling breath, and stiffening limbs are not an entirely promising combination. Then, there is yet the matter of finding Liliver, who might not even be in the palace. And even then, there is the very real likelihood that he is already too late, that the deathsweet’s effects may have already reached its peak.

Cardan has to swallow against the bile creeping up his throat at that unsettling thought.

If only Jude had just come with him. Mistress of strategy and scheming, she would have drawn up a clever plan before they even took flight, as well as a surfeit of contingencies. Moreover, she would know better than he whether or not they held the favor of time; her province of poison is concerningly vast, as she had proven when Cardan himself very nearly shuffled off his immortal coil in dissolution.

Jude had known in an instant, merely by tasting the wraithberry that had stained his lips. How she knew its savour, to say nothing of how she knew it so intimately, Cardan knows not and she has yet to divulge. It is but another closely-clutched secret he must tack onto the growing list of queries for things a man really ought to know about his wife.

In the interim, the High King of Elfhame—and, more regrettably, the Roach—must rely entirely on himself.

Not much of a comfort, that.

Keeping a hand on the Roach to prevent his suffering an unnecessary fall from the horse, Cardan swings himself off of the thing’s back. With care, he lifts the inanimate body of his mentor into his arms. A low, distressed groan comes from the Roach at being jostled—the first sign of cognizance he’s shown since they left Grimsen’s forge. As pained as the sound is, it nonetheless gives Cardan a small hope that perhaps he hasn’t been too late after all.

Its magic spent, the ragwort pony dissolves in a puff of yellow perianths; an indolent breeze scatters some of the remnants across the dark hill, while others continue their aimless drifting to pollinate elsewhere on the isles. Cardan watches a lone petal catch in the wiry hair of the Roach’s brow and without thinking, he brushes it away. He justifies this allowance of rare gentleness with the fact that no one is around to bear witness to it.

As friendship goes, Cardan is all too aware he hasn’t known much in the way of loyalty or for reasons beyond selfish gain. His former companions had desired only what they could glean from him, the immunity his sway as a prince that had granted them the ability to carry out whatever deviant fancy they could dream up. Even Nicasia had had her own contrivances for being his lover, until she had ultimately found more excitement in the stories—and bed—of Locke.

He is not experienced in having a friend simply for the sake of it. In having someone—or a few someones, for that matter—enjoy his wit and cleverness and skills. That enjoy him, Cardan Greenbriar, rather than what advantages the crown atop his head can give.

Perhaps it is dangerous territory for a king to have bonds extending beyond those of mere allies. Perhaps the trust that comes with such friendships is a bit like handing over a blade to your enemy, freshly sharpened, and saying, Here you go, this holds all the ways with which to kill me. I’ll just turn my back.

Even so, when all you have known your entire life is the contempt and malignancy of those who ought to love you, it is not an entirely stunning realization that you would hand over that blade so willingly.

And he had done, in earnest; in his naivety with Nicasia. In his camaraderie with the Court of Shadows. In everything with Jude.

This is doubtless the reason Cardan’s feet begin to move now, carrying him and the Roach in his arms to the palace entrance with some new swell of confidence. Perhaps it is a detriment to believe that these new friends would not be so hastened and flippant as the last to betray him, but he believes it nevertheless. He also knows, albeit by way of unfortunate experience, that when the situation had been reversed, they had not wasted an idle moment in saving him.

So on he goes, through the wall and into the brugh, careful to keep the Roach’s pallid face hidden in the crook of his arm and denying any assistance his guards offer with a firm shake of his head. They move to follow, but halt at once and return to their posts when Cardan waves them off. Of the merits that come with being King, Cardan is especially grateful that denying explanations is one of them.

Even more fortuitously, his journey is not further hindered by any member of the Living Council—who have undoubtedly been tearing at their beards and skirts attempting to locate and descend upon their unruly monarch. Cardan imagines even now they are in the war room or assembled in his chambers, pacing and theorizing and crying out in panic. At the thought of the Minister of Keys pounding his fists on the table and cursing his luck for having such an impudent master to serve, the corner of Cardan’s mouth twitches. If only the wizened Randalin had the sense to make himself more difficult to nettle, perhaps Cardan would try to do so less.

Though the hill is yet alive, with lingering revelers still clutching the edges of twilight and servants clearing the remnants of food and drink, the many tricks of sly-footing he has been taught manages to keep him out of sight from any who might notice; it takes no time at all to slip through the hidden passage, into the wine cellar and emerge on the other side of the new Court of Shadows.

Cardan had hoped to show and consult Jude on the plans for these rooms, including the strategy chamber he had in mind for her—of which he was particularly proud: he had designed it himself—after she pardoned herself and returned to him. That hadn’t gone entirely the way he had imagined, and so they had gone on with the rebuilding without her. Cardan resolves that now, he can simply give her a full tour of them, should she come back posthaste. Should she decide to come back at all.

No, he rebuffs that line of thinking. Jude will return, just as she promised. When she comes home, Cardan will lead her through the rebuilt Court, and she will ooh and ahh and find him so ridiculously clever she’ll be too awed to do anything but kiss him for his prodigiousness.

She will forget she had ever been angry with him—or, at the very least, spare him the full measure of her wrath. She will forgive him for his trickery and assure him again that she had not fed his letters to the fire; she will tell him how desperately she missed him, that the mortal world is awful and terrible and nothing worth going back to. He will kiss her hair and tell her they need never be parted again. They will begin their reign as they should have done the moment their vows were made, and all will be just fine and well and as it should be.

These are all of the things Cardan tells himself as he steps into the main chamber.

He chuckles quietly to the darkness, a sudden incredulity sweeping over him; after all his prior distaste for mortals and those little hopeful deceits they allow, to wish away an awful thing or to make that awful thing seem less terrible, he has caught himself doing just that. He wonders what Jude might say, if he said her mortality was rubbing off on him?

Upon entering the main hall, Cardan is met with a collective gasp—either from the sudden, unannounced arrival of the High King or at the state of the Roach, he doesn’t know, nor does he have time to find out; before he can call for her, Liliver is already there, her dark face paled and taut. She does not seem to even notice Cardan, her frantic, wide-eyed gaze fixed on the Roach.

“What happened to him?” The Bomb demands, seeming to realize Cardan’s presence only as an afterthought, though he does nothing to reprimand her for her tone. The current circumstance, along with the raw fear on the rogue’s face, is enough to cast any necessity for formalities into shadow.

"Darts, poisoned with deathsweet," Cardan tells her, elaborating when Liliver's piercing glare flickers up to meet him. "We... misestimated the cleverness of the traps Grimsen set to protect his forge." The Bomb frowns at that, and Cardan is sure he’ll have much more explaining to do before the night is through and she is fully satisfied, but neither of them need reminding of the more important matter at hand. “Let’s—let’s get him to a bed,” Liliver says. Though her voice wavers, her eyes never leave the disturbingly still body of the Roach as she leads them into a small room carved out from the main one.

She steps aside to allow Cardan to enter and lower the Roach onto the single bed, before seating herself on the edge of it. A bundle of tinctures and salves rest in her lap, from where or how she procured them so quickly, Cardan doesn’t know and isn’t inclined to ask. By the deep-set furrow of her brow and the way she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, she is calculating the situation and he wagers any unnecessary queries might hinder—or annoy—her deliberation. So he simply stands there, silent and helpless, watching her work.

The light emitting from the small orbs hanging above their heads does little to illuminate much of the Roach’s features, but it’s bright enough to view the waxen sheen of his skin, the odd way his limbs lie rigid at his side. He looks as close to death as one could appear, and if not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, one could easily believe he had already gone. Cardan swallows and looks away, as if staring instead at the rough stone floor will quash the disquiet he feels.

If the Roach succumbs to the poison, he knows with whom the fault will lie, and there will be none among them to scorn him as much as he will scorn himself.

As Liliver works, sifting through the assortment of small glass bottles in her lap until she picks one filled with a thick, amber solution, Cardan gives her as much detail of the night's emprises as he can in short order: their attempted (and rather unsuccessful) rescue of Jude, of the Roach’s poisoning; of why they had entered the smith’s forge in the first place.

Upon hearing the truth behind the Ghost’s betrayal, the vial slips from her hand and Cardan barely manages to snatch it from the air before it shatters on the ground. The Bomb’s eyes are wide as saucers as she takes back the bottle, but Cardan thinks he catches the smallest glint of hope in them, despite their current predicament.

“You mean, all this time... he was being commanded? Controlled by Locke and Madoc?”

Cardan nods. “Doubtless by my brother as well, though Jude didn’t say one way or another.”

He wouldn’t have considered it debasing of Dain's character to control someone in such totality. In fact, he has no misgivings at all that there was anything, save perhaps a grubworm, that had been beneath his brother. He shakes his head and shrugs, more to his own thoughts than the Bomb's question. “I’ll let her tell us which it is, when she comes home.”

It is too afflictive to imagine she will not, that he has yet again voraciously lapped up a lie she has fed him. He cannot believe that as he waits, Jude is riding off through the air with her sisters back to the mortal world, laughing as she tells them how effortlessly she has fooled the desperate High King of Faerie.

He will have time enough to wallow in his own selfish, agonized reveries; Cardan wills his attention back to the present, back to the Bomb and the Roach, who appears even less on the fortunate side of time since they arrived.

“Will he…” Live, or die. Both words are there on his tongue, but he cannot bring himself to say either and the question lingers, thick and unfinished in the air between the three of them. Liliver doesn’t seem willing—or able to answer, only giving him a small shake of cloud-white curls as she keeps her back to him.

Watching how carefully she wipes the Roach’s forehead with a damp cloth, hearing the hushed, unintelligible things she tells him, the understanding that Cardan perhaps ought not intrude further becomes all too clear. He has completed his task, what he promised Jude he would do. There is nothing more required of him.

With Liliver’s promise that she will send word of any changes, good or ill, Cardan excuses himself from the Court of Shadows.

Cardan spends the remainder of the day in his chambers attempting sleep, because he has proved himself of little use elsewhere, there is nothing else to do, and because if Jude were here she would tell him a High King needs rest if he is to go delegating and answering petitions and doing whatever else there is that good, proper kings are supposed to do.

However, it is precisely because Jude isn’t here that he cannot rest.

Though he does give it an honest effort. He tries lying on his back, drawing forth tiny white blossoms to count as they bloom above his head, aiming to bore himself into a stupor. He counts and counts and counts. The mingling fragrance of several different flowers permeates the room and penetrates his nose. When he reaches six hundred forty-seven for the third time, he gives that up.

Exasperated, Cardan flops onto his side, stretching an arm across the sheets. He stares at the empty space beside him, where Jude had rested the first night they had spent together—the night he had convinced her that becoming Queen of Elfhame, his wife, was the better choice for both of them.

It had all been true, of course: everything Cardan had said to get her to agree. There had been no deception or scheming in his words; he had desired his freedom, as desperately as Jude craved power, and their union had the ability to grant both in absolution.

The Living Council had become insistent on the idea that their King should take a wife anyway, for their own overboring political reasons, and so Cardan had.

The only addendum to all of this, the only detail that he had surreptitiously kept from both the Council and Jude, was that he wanted to marry her. Not Nicasia, as the Council had wanted, as Cardan had once believed he should and could enjoy. Not the hag Mother Marrow’s daughter, who likely would have found some clever way to cause his demise so that she might live on as the sole ruler of Faerie. None of them would have been well-suited for him, nor he well-suited for them. None of them could give him what he wanted, because what he wanted was Jude.

That is all he wants now—to have her home and here in his bed, to fill the space that has been empty since she left. Since he made her leave.

Cardan pushes himself off the bed in a frustrated huff. Deciding he could do with a little less sober thinking, he calls for wine, and when the servant arrives with a fresh decanter and goblet, he fills it to the brim and drinks it to the dregs. After repeating this process a few more times, Cardan rounds the large desk—his father’s desk, he cannot help to remind himself, no matter how many times he sits at it—to continue the speech he’s been writing. He picks up the slip of paper between two fingers and holds it to the guttering candle flame to examine it. It’s already a rather lengthy speech, admittedly, but more important than any he has articulated yet. It is one explaining to Jude that her exile had not been methodically planned, that he thought she would work it out much more expeditiously. He would further explain he had not accounted for the fact she hadn’t worked it out at all, and that he had come to fully regret his own cleverness midway through his second letter.

Of course, Jude had told him she hadn’t received any of those letters.

He cannot help recalling how she looked at him then, the last time they were here in his rooms: skittish and trembling, desperate as a wild animal backed into a corner.

Hardly a fortnight has passed since Madoc had taken her, believing he had heroically rescued her twin from nigh execution. And yet it feels as distant as any half-remembered dream upon waking, blurred on the details and every attempt to grasp the memory only causes it to slip further away. Like a hand waving smoke.

Except a dream is something usually pleasant; smiling faces, a kiss one might yearn for in the waking world and only receive when they close their eyes. Dreams are things of wonderment. Pretty visions and heart’s desires.

No, it had not been like a dream at all—not the way she had looked at him.

That hatred, burning into him like white-hot iron, the fear she could lie away with words but could not conceal from her face, the venom in her voice when she spoke. It was more terrible than any of Cardan’s nightmares.

Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.

He had wanted to reach out to her, to take her hand and tell her his trick had been only that, a hasty plan to keep her out of Orlagh’s grasp. He had wanted to pull her to him and breathe in the comforting scent of her hair, to feel her warmth against his chest. To beg her forgiveness and will away her anger with a kiss.

Then he had seen the glint of the blade in her hand.

Even after Vivi’s flustered explanation of her sister’s capture, after he and the Roach had set out from the mortal world to find her—even after their brief moment in Madoc’s camp just hours ago, when Jude swore she hadn’t thrown in her lot with her betrayer of a foster-father, Cardan cannot rend from his mind the image of her holding that knife.

He passes the paper through the flame and watches it burn until it is nothing but a stain of black ash on the desk.

Waving away the lingering smoke, he rises and goes to dress for the night ahead, without rest, and knowing that no amount of sleep or drink or honeyed words will erase what he has done—or may yet do.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ okAY so this first bit turned out a lot longer than I'd originally intended (legit this whole thing was supposed to just be a oneshot lmfao) but if you made it this far, I'm very sorry but thanks for taking the time to read. I hope you enjoyed it, and as usual—if you didn't, don't tell me about it.

If you want to be added to my tag list, just yeet a reply to this post and I'll add you.

⊰ ☘ ⊱ @euridce @figonas @jurdanhell

[cuntess-carmilla]

On disability and gender

I'm writing this from my perspective as a dyadic TME non-binary lesbian (also mixed but very pale and non-Black, as well as relatively thin). I will group myself with women but like, I'm also not really a woman it's complicated lol. I say this because I can't have first-hand comprehension of all the possible dynamics between gender and disability, and other physically disabled people are very much encouraged to add their own thoughts and perspectives to this post.

I don't feel equipped to speak on how being disabled and intersex impacts gendered experiences because I have too much left to learn, so I'm sorry that I'm not going to go into it. It's not because I don't recognize that struggle, it's because I just don't have the range, so please, if you're an intersex and physically disabled person and you want to expand on this, don't be afraid to do so.

Able-bodieds can reblog but don't speak out of turn.

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For a long time I've been trying to articulate my thoughts and pain on how physical disability impacts our gendered experiences and I think I'm finally starting to get to it.

When you're physically disabled you're immediately stripped of a (willing) gender identity as well as desexualized.

Gender is embodied and performed. You can embody it "incorrectly" and perform it "poorly". Everything regarding the embodiment of physically disabled people is seen as incorrect, and the literal meaning of "disabled" is that we can't perform the same way that able-bodied people can, or at least we can't without severely impacting our wellness.

Disabled men are emasculated. Constructs of ideal manhood are in big part built on things such as physical prowess, never expressing vulnerability, being self-sufficient outside of anything domestic, and conquering women sexually and romantically.

Disabled men are seen as weak, they are seen as pathetic for having visible vulnerabilities or (if their disability isn't immediately visible) for exposing their vulnerabilities instead of "sucking it up". By needing aid, accessibility and carers that do more than what a wife would traditionally do for any man, the sense of self-sufficiency men are supposed to perform is unavailable to disabled men. All disabled people are desexualized and seen as repulsive once our sexualities are acknowledged, and even disabled dyadic cishet men can't escape this. Able-bodied women see them as unfit for any sort of serious romantic or sexual partnership. Not to mention too the traditional role of men as providers and how difficult it is for any disabled person to acquire wealth at all, let alone enough to support more than ourselves alone. The rates of poverty for physically disabled people are fucking astronomical, so most disabled men can't even use that to their advantage in romance and sex to make up for all the other ways in which they're at a disadvantage compared to able-bodied men.

Disabled women fail at embodying and performing every single aspect of traditional womanhood too, but in particular; domestic labor, sexual labor, and beauty standards.

All labor is difficult if not downright impossible when you're disabled. Disabled women who need carers as adults are seen as complete failures because, even as children, but especially as adults, we're the ones who're supposed to be the carers of others, not the other way around. People love to pretend that women are coddled more than men, but nothing breaks that illusion more than being a disabled woman. A woman's needs are supposed to be invisible and self-fulfilled, or else we're whiny spoiled bitches, and guess what that means for disabled women. When we can't perform this pristine role we're immediately marked as failures, we're undesirable and nothing but a parasitic drag in the lives of abled people.

Yes, not all disabled women are straight, plenty of us are bi or lesbians, many are also aro/ace, but the point is that the patriarchy doesn't really give a shit what a woman's sexuality is, because no woman is seen as having sexual agency, so even if we're not straight we're expected to exist to satisfy men sexually. I cannot describe how difficult it is to be sexual, even when you're not ace, if you're physically disabled. Speaking from my own experience, trying to maintain a sex life as someone who experiences chronic fatigue and chronic pain is one of the most frustrating and demoralizing aspects of my disability. I want sex, I want to want sex, to be able to fuck my fiancé, but most of the time I simply can't gather the energy to even feel horny. I feel like such a failure of a lover because of it. Even though my fiancé is patient and understanding with me!

Can you imagine what it is like for disabled women who aren't as "lucky" as me, to have a partner who understands that we simply can't do it all the time even if we do want to? I don't want to go into too much detail about this because it's very painful and triggering to many, but I think you can imagine what happens to a lot of disabled women (and disabled people in general) when we're not satisfying a partner sexually and they get too frustrated by it. Being as vulnerable as we are, nobody cares much what happens to us. More so since, again, physically disabled people are seen as sexually repulsive, so if anyone wants sex with us we're supposed to be "thankful" for it, no matter the circumstances.

As for beauty standards, any woman who doesn't fit traditional beauty standards will know just how badly men treat you when they don't find you physically appealing, and well... Let's just say that a cane or a wheelchair aren't seen by society as particularly attractive, no matter how much the woman using them fits traditional beauty standards otherwise. Then there's female amputees, women with deformities, etc. In my case, I'm a literal mutant. If I don't disguise my tells with corsetry, long sleeves, and so, so much more, my body looks "off", I have been told repeatedly that my body looks "off" my whole life, and I'm one of the least visibly disabled ones! Even regarding body hair it's fucking hell. My collagen is so elastic that when new hair grows it stays ingrown unless I manually break my skin with a needle or a pumice stone (no, gentler ways of exfoliation don't work), but shaving isn't ideal either because my skin is, due to my altered collagen too, literally transparent and you can see the roots of my dark hairs under it even if I shave down to accidentally harming my skin with the blade.

Performing femininity at all is just... It's fucking hell. If it's exhausting for able-bodied women, can you imagine what it is like for us? I can barely manage to shower, by the time I'm done with my hair, makeup and outfit, every bit of my very limited energy is depleted and then I still have the rest of the day to go through. And I LIKE being feminine. I like wearing makeup and wearing the outfits I wear and yet I still dread it when I know I'll have to do more than stay in my pajamas at home.

Also, the perceived fragility of disabled women isn't the type of fragility that is seen as desirable in women. It's not delicacy. Wheelchairs, canes and other mobility aids aren't seen as "delicate" or "demure". Neither is kinesio tape, or compression stockings, or any other sort of medical equipment which, on top of it all, tend to not be very "aesthetic". Our fragility isn't the romanticized type, it's the "wow, you're an useless burden who can't serve me the way I expect you to" type.

When it comes to "binary" disabled trans people (for a lack of a better term) the degendering is even more intense than it already is for their cis counterparts (all that I described above applies to them too). There's a dichotomy of the even heavier denial of their actual genders as men and women due to the combination of their transness and disabilities, contrasting with how even if they were to conform to their assigned genders at birth they'd still be seen as failures at it due to everything I've already stated. There's also the sentiment that their identifying outside of their assigned gender at birth is a sort of consolation prize, something they're going for only because they were failing at being proper cis men and cis women, and thus their actual genders are even more invalidated and effectively pathologized in the most medical sense of the word, which is already a problem for all trans people, but for physically disabled trans people this intensifies the problem even more.

When it comes to non-binary disabled people things get so fucking confusing and infuriating. If binary disabled people get denied their manhood and womanhood, best believe that multigender disabled people (bigender, genderfluid, etc) are denied all aspects of their genders even harder. Not even completely agender disabled people are safe from being seen as failures of their gender identities by people who would perfectly respect the identity of an agender but able-bodied person. The fact that the default gendered status of all disabled people is forcefully degendered makes it so agender disabled people aren't seen as having any agency or self-determination in their (lack of or neutral) gender identity, it's seen as a passive inevitability from their embodiment, so it doesn't really "count", while simultaneously being subjected to the general transphobic bullshit any other agender person would be subjected to.

All of these things already affect white, thin and dyadic physically disabled people. When you add race (especially Blackness and/or being dark skinned), fatness and being intersex into the mix, the ways in which we're degendered and misgendered are off the fucking rails.

We can't fucking win.