#to clarify its not like he's disabled or anything

[moonsandmobilityaids]

The Plan

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: It's the boys' turn to enact their plan. Warnings: Chronic pain, smut Series Masterlist | Part 1

"Now that you've had your fun," he murmurs, lips brushing against your jawline, "can we proceed with our plan?"

The question stirs a flutter of anticipation within you, but also a sense of unease. You furrow your brow, considering the implications of his words.

"Your plan?" Your voice is barely a whisper, taut with both curiosity and apprehension. "What are you planning?"

You ask, though part of you fears the answer, another part yearns for the promise of change, of hope. Sirius's grin doesn't waver, only widens, revealing the reckless edge that always seems to accompany his bravado.

"Just lie back and let us take care of you," he suggests, the twinkle in his eye belying the gravity of what he implies.

"That doesn't exactly clarify anything," you retort, and James chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you as if you're intimately connected.

"Do you trust us?" James's question hangs in the air, heavy with implications, as he begins to loosen your jeans. His gaze never leaves yours, a silent challenge that quickens your pulse.

"Yes." The word slips from your lips before you can fully comprehend the gravity of what you're saying, but James appears satisfied. A small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he nods, acknowledging your consent. His thumb traces slow circles on your lower abdomen, just above the waistband of your jeans, and you shiver under the feather-light touch.

"We want to take care of you," James murmurs, the words a soft promise against your skin. His fingers deftly unbutton your jeans, the action slow and deliberate, his touch lingering even as he moves to pull them down. All the while, Sirius watches, his eyes never leaving the sight of James's hands on you.

Your breath hitches as James hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, pulling them down in a smooth motion that leaves you bare to their gazes. He follows the path with kisses, each one burning into your skin as he descends to kneel between your spread thighs. Remus leans against the wall, his eyes locked onto yours as his hand moves rhythmically his cock, stroking himself back to being hard. His hair is tousled, lips slightly parted as he watches you, and the sight of him so undone by desire sends a jolt of anticipation through you.

The air is thick with want, each breath you take filled with the scent of them—of sweat and cologne and something distinctly male. Sirius leans down to capture your lips once more, and the world tilts on its axis. His tongue explores your mouth, possessive and demanding, stoking the fire within you until you're certain you'll be consumed by it.

"Impatient, are we?" you manage to breathe out when he pulls back, his eyes darkened by a hunger that mirrors your own.

"Always," he whispers, the warmth of his breath dancing across your skin. His fingers trace a path down your side, edging beneath the lace waistband of your underwear. The rough pads of his knuckles glide against your sensitive flesh, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you as your hips instinctively buck towards him. You yearn for more—more contact, more friction—to quell the fire that's been ignited within.

But Sirius doesn't yield to your silent plea just yet. He teases, his fingertips ghosting along the edge of your underwear, tantalisingly close to where you need him most. His lips move with yours in a deepening kiss, his tongue pressing forward as if seeking answers to unspoken questions. But then you feel it—a firm hand, not Sirius's, pushing his away from your underwear. James's fingers curl around the lace, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as he tugs them down slowly, exposing you completely. Your clit pulses with anticipation, aching for the touch that has been promised.

The wait becomes unbearable as James leaves you hanging, his gaze fixated on your bare form like a predator eyeing its prey. You let out a frustrated whine, earning a soft chuckle from Remus who leans against the wall, his eyes never leaving the scene before him. The sound of his low laughter only stokes the fire within you, fuelled further by Sirius's lips marking your neck.

Finally, the torment ends—or rather, it takes a different form. James's fingers find their way back to you, tracing slow circles around your outer folds. He's achingly close to your swollen clit but never quite touching it, the promise of contact making you whimper in need.

"Please," you gasp, the desperation clear in your voice. You no longer care how needy you sound—the desire coursing through your veins demands satisfaction, and you're past the point of denying it.

Your hips rise off the bed, seeking his touch once more, but he pulls back, leaving you bereft. A whimper escapes your lips, a sound of pure frustration.

"James," you breathe, not caring how desperate you sound. His expression is unreadable, and it only serves to increase your confusion. How can he be so aloof when there's so much desire between you?

"Please," you plead, unable to keep the quiver from your voice. "Touch me."

A low chuckle rumbles from Remus' direction, drawing your gaze to him. He's watching, his eyes filled with amusement and something darker, something that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.

"Stop teasing her, Prongs," Remus says, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "It's almost cruel."

"I just want to see her beg," James replies, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he meets your gaze. There's a cruel satisfaction in his eyes, one that makes your stomach flutter with anticipation and dread.

Sirius lets out a low sigh and reaches between your legs himself. His fingers find your clit, and you gasp as he applies a gentle pressure. He circles the sensitive nub with a firm touch, coaxing a moan from your lips. The relief is immediate, sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body, making your head spin.

But then Sirius pulls away, leaving you hanging on the precipice. You whimper at the loss, your hips bucking up in silent plea. "You're so needy," he whispers against your skin, his warm breath raising goosebumps along your flesh.

"God, Sirius," you gasp, trying to sound stern but failing as your voice breaks with desperation. "Don't tease."

"But begging looks so good on you." James's voice is a low growl, resonating with primal desire. He continues his ministrations unabated, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your sensitive skin, stoking the fire within.

Desire flares within you, hot and urgent, making you curse the traitorous way your body yearns for their touch. Sirius lowers his head, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and you cry out as he bites down gently. Pleasure spikes through you, sharp and sweet, before he soothes the sting with languid strokes of his tongue.

James' thumb finds your clit, slick with lube. He circles it slowly, his touch light but insistent. The pleasure builds in you like a wave gathering strength, each stroke pushing you toward the crest.

The heat of his hand against your bare skin contrasts sharply with the cool air of the room, every point of contact a flare of sensation. His fingers dance over your folds, tracing paths that have your breath hitching.

"Fuck," you groan, hips lifting to meet his touch as he changes the rhythm. Now his strokes are purposeful, no longer teasing but intent on driving you toward release. His thumb presses down harder on your clit, and a shudder racks your body.

But he doesn't relent. Instead, his movements become more deliberate, alternating between firm pressure and feather-light caresses that leave you writhing beneath him. Your fingers dig into the sheets, grasping for something solid as James continues to play your body like a finely tuned instrument.

His hand trails lower, fingers teasing at your entrance while his mouth finds your clit. Before you can draw a full breath, he's sucking there, hot and wet, and it's almost too much. His tongue flicks against the sensitive bud as he slides a finger inside you. You feel the pressure building, your inner walls clamping down on him instinctively.

You want to move against his hand and mouth, but each shift sends a jolt of pain shooting through your hips. It's a stark reminder of reality, grounding you amidst the sea of desire that threatens to pull you under.

"Love, are you alright?" Remus' voice cuts through the haze, concern lacing his words as he watches your face contort with both pleasure and pain.

"Yes," you manage to choke out, though it comes out more like a whimper. "Just... need a moment."

James pulls back immediately, ceasing his ministrations. His fingers, slick with your arousal, retreat and instead, draw soothing circles along your inner thigh. "What hurts?"

"My hips," you manage to say, wincing as you try to adjust your position.

"Let's try this," Sirius suggests, his hands carefully guiding you onto your side. The change in position brings some relief, the pressure on your lower back lessening slightly. His grey eyes meet yours, mirroring the same concern that lingers in Remus'. "Better?" he asks, and you nod, if only a little.

"Yes," you breathe out, the word barely more than a whisper. A small smile tugs at the corners of Sirius' mouth, not one of amusement but of relief. He brushes a stray lock of hair away from your forehead, his touch feather-light against your skin.

James moves to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intent on your exposed centre. There's an unmistakable hunger in his eyes, even now, when pleasure is secondary to the potential for pain. He reaches out, his thumb tracing along the curve of your lips before pressing gently, parting them with a reverence that belies his usual bravado.

"You're beautiful," James murmurs, his voice a mere whisper against the backdrop of pounding heartbeats and shallow breaths. His eyes rake over your body, lingering on the sheen of perspiration that clings to your skin, the flush spreading across your cheeks, your breasts rising and falling with each ragged inhale. He can feel the heat radiating from your core, a testament to your desire for not just one, but all three men who now lay claim to your pleasure.

And they crave you with equal fervor. Remus continues his steady strokes, the sight of you spread before them too much to resist. James and Sirius are both achingly hard, and at some point, they’d shed their clothes, but they pay no mind to their own arousal. All their attention is focused on you, watching as your body responds to their every touch.

Your hand moves to reciprocate, reaching for Sirius's arousal, but he captures your wrist in his firm grasp. "Not now, baby," he breathes into your ear, his voice a soft growl that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers lower, finding the sensitive nub at your apex. He begins circling it with a slow, steady rhythm that has you arching against him. "Tonight is about you."

You whimper in response, your head falling back onto the pillow as pleasure curls within your belly. Your body reacts to their touches, aching and yearning for more of their attention. You give a small nod, consenting to their ministrations.

Sirius continues his gentle assault on your clit as James pushes two fingers inside you. The stretch burns, your body adjusting to the intrusion, but the discomfort soon gives way to pure pleasure. Your hips shift, seeking more contact, more pressure and James obliges, his fingers curling within you.

"Fuck," you gasp out, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. Every brush of Sirius's fingers against your clit sends jolts of electricity coursing through you, each one stronger than the last. James's fingers move in time with Sirius's strokes, a symphony of sensation that leaves you writhing beneath them.

Your voice is a broken whisper, your plea barely more than a breath. You lift your gaze to meet his, your eyes half-closed with need, and the smirk on his face says he knows just how desperate you are. James adds a third finger inside you, stretching you further as his thumb takes over from Sirius on your clit. He rubs it in slow circles, applying just enough pressure to keep the pleasure mounting.

His thumb continues its steady pace over your clit, each stroke sending shocks of pleasure through you that make your toes curl. The knot in your body tightens with every pass, wound up and ready to snap. As James shifts his fingers inside you, the sensation changes, hitting an angle that steals your breath away. When he curls them just right, striking that elusive spot, your vision swims.

"Ah—!" You gasp, your back arching. The pressure builds, your body on the precipice of something monumental.

"That's it," Sirius murmurs into your ear, teeth grazing your neck. "Let us make you feel good."

The roughness of his voice sends shivers down your spine, your body responding to his command before your mind can catch up. Your hips buck against James's hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. "Yes," you breathe out, the word barely a whisper.

"You like that, baby?" Sirius asks, his hot breath fanning over your skin. He bites down gently on your neck, marking you as his, and you respond with a nod, too lost in the sensations to form words.

The bite sends another jolt of desire coursing through you, adding fuel to the already roaring fire within. Every touch, every whisper, every look from them adds another layer to this exquisite torture, pushing you further and further towards the edge until you're teetering, ready to fall.

"Please," you gasp, the word barely a breath, your hips grinding against the rhythm of his fingers. Your body arches, pressing into James's touch, seeking more—a deeper, harder friction.

His fingers move faster inside you, their pads rough against your slick walls. The pressure builds as he curls them, hitting that spot deep within you over and over. Sirius’s mouth finds your neck, biting gently at the tender skin, his hands exploring the curves of your body with an almost reverent touch.

Across the room, Remus watches, his eyes dark with desire. He strokes himself slowly, savouring the sight of you writhing between the boys. Your soft moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure that stirs his arousal, yet he remains where he is, watching and waiting for you to beckon him closer.

James's thumb circles your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, driving you closer to the edge with each calculated movement. Your legs tremble, muscles tightening around him as your body threatens to unravel.

You sense Remus stepping closer, his body radiating heat as he moves to the edge of the bed. His hand still strokes himself, his gaze locked on the scene unfolding before him. You can see the desire in his eyes, matching the intensity of James and Sirius's attention. It's intoxicating, the way they all focus on you, their every action designed to coax pleasure from your trembling form. But it's also disorienting, the room spinning slightly as you fight to keep yourself grounded. You want them to feel this too, to experience the ecstasy they're bringing you. They deserve that much.

James's thumb finds your clit again, pressing down in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers inside you. Each stroke sends a jolt through your body, heightening the sensations coursing through your veins. It's almost too much, the pleasure bordering on pain as you struggle to keep up. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your mind reeling from the onslaught of sensation. You lose yourself in it, letting the feeling consume you until there's nothing left but raw, primal need. It's so intense that you nearly forget about the burning desire to reach climax, to find release from the tension building within you.

Almost, but not quite. The frustration simmers below the surface, a tight knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel no matter how hard you try. You can feel it there, just out of reach, taunting you with its elusive promise of relief. The more you chase it, the further it seems to recede, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

The next touch comes from Sirius, his mouth closing over your nipple with a sureness that sends sparks shooting through your veins. He suckles with an intensity that has you gasping, arching into the sensation as pleasure sharpens into something bordering on pain.

Remus shifts to the other side of the bed, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is both an apology and a promise. His hand mirrors Sirius's actions, teasing your other breast until your skin is alive with want. You taste your moans on his tongue, hear them echoed in the low growl that vibrates against your chest.

It's too much and not enough, all at once. The room spins with the intoxicating mix of sensations, yet you crave more—more of their touch, their taste, their presence pressing in on all sides.

You feel each stroke of Sirius's tongue like a brand, every squeeze of Remus's fingers like they're moulding you anew. James's hand delves lower, tracing paths across your stomach that make your hips buck, seeking friction against nothing but air. Your breaths come in shallow pants, your heart pounding a desperate rhythm against your ribs.

The pressure mounts, each touch a promise of the release you crave. But as your body strains towards its peak, something holds you back. The climax you yearn for remains elusive, an echo of pleasure that dances just out of reach.

"Fuck," you gasp, the word torn from your lips by frustration and need. "I can't... I need..."

James pulls away abruptly, leaving you bereft and aching, your body thrumming with unfulfilled desire. His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that mirrors your own, but there's a calculating edge to his gaze.

"No," you protest, voice hoarse. "Don't stop. Please."

A wicked smile plays on his lips, but it's not satisfaction that fuels it—it's anticipation. "We're not stopping, love. Far from it."

Relief washes over you, followed by a fresh wave of confusion. If they're not stopping, then what are they doing? You look to James for answers, but he only watches you, drinking in the sight of your flushed skin and heaving chest.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, tracing a finger along the curve of your hip. "So desperate, so needy. You'd take anything we give you, wouldn't you?" His words aren't really a question—they're a challenge, and despite the rawness of your body, you find yourself nodding, eager for whatever they have planned.

"Maybe it's time we give her what she wants," Remus suggests, his voice velvet over steel. He leans in closer, his lips hovering just beside your ear. The warmth of his breath fans across your cheek, making you shiver. "We each have an idea of how to make you cum. So who do you want first?"

"I can't," you breathe out, the edges of your vision blurring as the pleasure continues to build. "I can't choose."

"Then let's go from least likely to most likely," James decides. He reaches for his wand and Sirius reluctantly pulls away, allowing James to slide in beside you. You wrap a leg around his waist, drawing him closer. He grips the base of his cock and strokes it a few times, eyes never leaving yours.

"What are you going to do?" you ask, breathless as he reaches for the bottle of lube.

He glances over his shoulder at Remus and Sirius before looking back at you. "I'm going to fuck you," he says, voice low and full of promise. "And while I do, I'm going to cast a spell that heightens your sensations."

Your heart hammers in your chest as he begins to lube up his cock. The thought of what's to come sends a thrill of anticipation through you. Three men, each with their own unique approach to pleasure, ready to claim you in turn.

"But it doesn't stop there," James continues, his eyes never leaving yours. "Once I've finished, Sirius will take my place. He'll use a different spell, one that acts like a muggle vibrator."

A whimper escapes your lips at the thought, your body already aching for more. You can't imagine what this spell will feel like, how it could possibly enhance what you're already experiencing. But you trust James, trust them all, and so you nod, giving him permission to continue.

"Good girl," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss you once more. His lips move against yours, a soothing balm to the storm of desire raging within you. "And after Sirius... Remus is going to use a toy on you, a suction one, right on your clit while he fucks you. It'll be... intense."

"God," you moan, the word barely a whisper as heat floods your core. The idea of it all, the promise of what's to come, has your head spinning. But even amidst the whirlwind of sensation, one thing is clear: you want this. You want them, all three of them, and everything they have to offer.

A thrill of anticipation shivers through you as James murmurs a warming charm, his fingers deftly tracing a path over your clit. The magic sends a rush of heat to your core and your thighs quiver in response, the pleasure building with every gentle stroke.

"Fuck," you gasp, your back arching off the bed as the warmth intensifies, each pulse more potent than the last. Your vision blurs with the intensity of it, the world narrowing down to the sensation between your legs.

Then, with an incantation you don't recognise, he amplifies your sensitivity even further, making you acutely aware of every tiny movement, every breath that fans across your skin.

The soft whimper that escapes your lips is involuntary when he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your folds. You're wet and ready for him, but the need to feel him inside you is so overwhelming that your hips lift involuntarily, seeking contact.

James doesn't make you wait any longer; with a low groan, he pushes forward, sinking into you. His eyes slip shut, and you can almost taste his pleasure in the way his muscles tense and relax as he begins to move. The creak of the bed beneath you is drowned out by your own moans, each one a testament to how good he feels inside you.

Every nerve ending in your body is alight with sensation, but you barely register the way your fingernails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, deeper. He fills you completely, and the friction of his cock against your walls is just right—enough to keep you teetering on the edge, but not enough to send you over.

"Fuck," James breathes, a swear that's half groan and half prayer. His hand tightens on your hip, fingers pressing into the tender flesh as he moves, slow and measured within you. The warmth around your clit is almost unbearable, amplified by the rhythm of his body against yours. Each stroke sends tremors through you, waves lapping at the shore of your senses before receding, only to return with even greater intensity.

Your breath hitches in your throat, a gasp that's swallowed by the night. Your muscles clench around him, a silent plea for more. He answers with a low growl, his pace quickening. Heat flares along your skin, the friction between your bodies sparking a fire that threatens to consume you both.

James' grip on your hips is unyielding, each thrust driving him deeper, harder. Anticipation coils tight within you, a spring wound up to its breaking point. And then, with one final, devastating push, he breaches the last barrier of your restraint, sending you hurtling over the edge into ecstasy.

Remus and Sirius watch in rapt attention as James begins to move against you, the rhythm slow but unyielding. His moans fill the room, a testament to the pleasure coursing through him, but they are only a backdrop to the symphony of your own rising desire.

Their gazes burn into your skin, sending shivers down your spine even as James's hands explore your body. You can see the shared need reflected in their eyes, the hunger that mirrors your own. It's intoxicating, this dance of desire, made all the more potent by the presence of those who share it with you.

Sirius reaches out, his hand closing around one of your breasts with an urgency that matches the rhythm of your bodies. The unexpected touch sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and you arch your back, a low moan escaping your lips. Your nipples harden under his touch, each flick of his thumb sending waves of pleasure radiating through your chest.

But despite the mounting tension within you, release remains just out of reach. It's infuriating and exhilarating all at once, the promise of climax hanging in the air like an unspoken vow. You dig your fingers into James's shoulders as he thrusts into you, the friction between your bodies sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.

Sweat beads on your skin, the heat between you both intense and unrelenting. It slickens the movement, each slide of James's body against yours sending shudders through you both. He maintains a steady pace, the rhythm familiar yet overwhelming, each push coaxing another moan from your throat.

His breath is hot on your neck, the sound of it a steady whisper in your ear. One of his hands leaves your hip to trail down your body, fingers seeking out the source of your pleasure. When he finds it, you gasp, lifting your hips to meet his touch. Your body reacts instinctively, craving the contact that promises to tip you over the edge.

Your eyes flutter shut, a whimper escaping your lips as you bite down on the soft flesh of your bottom lip to stifle the scream threatening to break free. The additional stimulation is almost too much, pushing you closer to the edge, but still not enough to send you over.

James's thumb moves in slow circles around your sensitised pearl, his smirk one of pure satisfaction as he watches you unravel. Desperate for more, you grind your hips into his hand, seeking the friction that will tip you over the edge, but James simply holds you steady, his rhythm unyielding as he plunges into you again and again.

Leaning in, Sirius captures your lips with his own, drawing you into a dizzying kiss that makes your head tilt back to offer him better access. His breath is hot against your skin, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before delving deeper, his pace matching James's. You moan into his mouth, the added sensation amplifying everything until you're on the brink once more, squirming beneath their touch.

You push your hips harder against James's hand, but his fingers falter, the sudden pause in his rhythm leaving you gasping, the need for release becoming unbearable. Your body tenses, and a whine of frustration escapes your throat, the pent-up pleasure begging for release.

"Fuck!" You gasp, breaking the kiss with Sirius to look at James with eyes that plead for mercy. "Please, James, I need...just...ugh!"

The tension inside you feels unbearable, and every time you think you're close to finding release, it slips away. Frustration builds into a low growl against Sirius's lips, and he doesn't laugh at your desperation this time.

"Shh, I know, love. Just relax," James murmurs against your ear, still moving inside you with a control that's maddening in its precision. Then, almost simultaneously, Sirius's thumb begins to circle your clit while James mutters a spell under his breath. The sensation on your nipples intensifies, making them ache with a sudden sharpness that steals your breath.

The combination is heady, a symphony of pleasure that lights sparks from your breasts to your core. You can't help but arch into their touches, the enchanted heat winding tighter within you. Yet despite the crescendo of sensations, release remains tantalisingly out of reach.

"Please," you gasp, voice rough with need. "I... I can't..."

You writhe, hips undulating against Sirius's insistent touch, seeking the relief that dangles just beyond your grasp. But they don't relent, the intensity building until you're certain you'll shatter.

"Ah," James groans, the sensation of your hardened nipples brushing against his chest only adding to the delicious friction. "You are going to cum for us. We won't stop until we've done that, but I... Merlin... I may not last much longer."

His confession sends a thrill through you, as if his impending release is another form of control he's surrendering to you. You feel him throb inside you, the pulsating rhythm matching the frantic beat of your heart.

"I don't know how much more I can..."

"Cum for me, James." Your voice is no more than a breathless whisper in his ear, yet it carries the weight of command. Your legs wrap tighter around him, drawing him deeper still. "Please. I want you to cum."

And with that, he shatters. His thrusts become erratic, his grip on you tightening as if you are the only tether to reality. The pulsing heat of him sends waves of pleasure through your core, but it's not enough to tip you over the edge.

"Fuck," he gasps out, chest heaving as he collapses beside you. His body is slick with sweat, muscles twitching from the aftershocks of release. You smile at the ceiling, reaching up to push damp strands of hair from your forehead.

"That's good," you murmur, turning onto your side to face him. His eyes are half-lidded, clouded with satiation and something warmer, softer. You lean in, pressing a slow kiss to his lips, savouring the taste of him—salt and sweetness, desire and relief.

When you finally pull away, his smile is lazy, the flush on his cheeks deepening under your scrutiny. The corners of his mouth lift in a satisfied grin, one that speaks volumes of the pleasure he's just experienced. But his satisfaction is short-lived because there's still unfinished business between the sheets—you've yet to find your own release.

Sirius's eyes flicker with anticipation as he shifts, positioning himself between your spread thighs. They're slick with James's release and lube, and now, they're ready for more. Sirius guides himself, sliding the head of his cock up and down your folds, spreading the mixture of fluids around.

James passes the wand to Sirius, who takes it with a knowing smirk. "Let me help you with that," he says, his voice low and full of promise. He angles the wand just right, directing its tip towards your clit. As he utters the incantation, a pulse of magic surges from the wand, sending waves of vibration through your body. You gasp, your back arching as pleasure radiates from your core. Your hips jerk instinctively, seeking more of the sensation that threatens to consume you.

"Patience, love," Sirius says, his voice a teasing caress that matches the rhythm of the wand. He moves to position himself at your entrance, replacing James's absence with his own girth.

The stretch is more noticeable with Sirius, his thickness a contrast to James's length. Yet there's an odd sense of completion as he fills you, as though each man offers something different yet equally satisfying.

Sirius sets a rhythm, steady and deep, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches every reaction. Your pleasure is mirrored in the depths of his grey gaze, the firelight flickering across them, casting shadows that only add to the intimate atmosphere.

"Talk to me," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Tell me how it feels."

The words are barely a whisper, lost in the space between your bodies. "It's... incredible." You arch into him, chasing the sensation as he thrusts deeper, hitting just the right spot. A moan escapes your lips, unbidden but entirely warranted given the circumstances.

"You're perfect," Sirius grunts, the strain evident in his voice. The charm continues its relentless assault on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you each time he moves. The dual sensations are almost too much to bear, blurring the line between pain and pleasure until all that exists is this moment.

Your head falls back, your body arching instinctively towards the source of your pleasure. Sirius follows your movements, adjusting his angle to hit that sweet spot inside you over and over again. Each thrust sends stars bursting behind your closed eyelids, the world narrowing down to the feel of him inside you, the sound of your ragged breaths filling the room.

You're barely aware of the lips that trace a path along the back of your neck, the warmth of breath on your ear a stark contrast to the slight roughness of stubble against your skin. The hands on your hips are firm, holding you steady as Sirius continues to ravage your senses from the front. His fingers dance across your skin, every touch igniting tiny sparks under the surface, and you can't help but arch into his touch, seeking more.

Remus's voice is low, almost a growl, as he leans in closer, his body a wall of heat behind you. "Beautiful," he murmurs, the word barely audible above the sound of your own ragged breathing. He's watching you, you realise, taking in every reaction, every shiver and gasp that passes your lips.

The praise sends a thrill through you, stoking the fire within until it threatens to consume you completely. You're teetering on the edge, the world narrowing down to the feel of their hands on your body, their voices in your ears. There's an urgency now, a need that claws at your insides, demanding to be sated.

"Good girl," Remus whispers, his words a lifeline as you drown in sensation. "So good for us."

But despite their efforts, the release you crave remains just out of reach. The pleasure is intense, overwhelming, yet something holds you back from the edge. Sirius can sense it, feel your frustration mirroring his own as he drives into you harder, faster, desperate to tip you over into bliss. He's close too, so close, his breathing erratic and strained as he urges you on.

"Please," he growls, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Just let go, love. You're so close... I can feel it..."

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hips, anchoring him to you as he seeks his own release. But it's your pleasure he craves, the sight of you undone beneath him that will send him spiralling into ecstasy. He can feel it building within you, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust, each moan that escapes your lips.

"Sirius," you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. "Please..."

Your nails drag down his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The sharp sting only spurs him on, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He's losing control, and the thought sends a jolt of arousal through you, intensifying the pleasure that threatens to consume you both.

The pressure of Remus' hands against your hips is a grounding presence, anchoring you when every nerve ending screams for release. His fingers dig into your skin, holding you steady as Sirius continues to thrust, the rhythm unrelenting. The vibrating spell on your clit hums with an intensity that borders on too much, threatening to rip you apart at the seams.

"Fuck," you gasp, head falling back against Remus' shoulder. Your eyes flutter shut, the room spinning as pleasure coalesces into a single point of blinding light. It dances just out of reach, tantalising and maddening in equal measure.

Sirius doesn't let up, his movements growing rougher, more desperate. The bed creaks under the weight of your tangled bodies, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and sex and magic.

Every fibre of your being is wound tight, strung taut between the promise of release and the fear of losing control. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sensation so intense it's almost painful. And then, as if sensing your struggle, Remus' voice cuts through the fog of pleasure once more.

"Trust us," he whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "We've got you."

But you remain stubbornly stuck on that precipice, teetering on the edge, unable to fall into the delicious abyss that awaits below.

"Fuck, I—" Sirius's words cut off with a growl, his teeth gritted against the onslaught of sensation. One final, powerful thrust and he stills, his body taut as a bowstring. You can feel him pulsing inside you, each throb sending ripples through your senses, even as your own climax remains frustratingly out of reach.

Sirius’s lips find your collarbone, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of your throat before his tongue traces a path upwards to your ear. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, the words a rough caress against your skin. His voice is thick with desire, the darkness in it hinting at promises yet unfulfilled.

The sensation of Sirius pulling out is almost too much to bear, a keen sense of loss chasing the echoes of pleasure. The magic that had been dancing on your clit ceases, leaving you bereft and whining softly in the hollow stillness.

"Don’t worry, we're not finished," Remus's voice is a soothing balm, his hands warm and reassuring as they trace patterns on your skin, igniting the path for what's to come. He pulls you back towards him, your hips meeting his in a rhythm that promises more pleasure—different this time.

"Are you ready for something new?" His words are heavy with anticipation, a soft growl that makes your stomach flutter in response.

Before you can answer, he presses a small device against your clit, a different form of magic buzzing to life. It's not like the vibrating spell—this one feels more... suction-like—and you let out a low whine at the unexpected sensation. Your clit is already sensitive from the earlier spell, throbbing with need, but you don't care about the overstimulation. You're teetering on the edge, desperate for release.

"That's it... Let yourself feel everything." His breath fans across your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "You sound so beautiful when you lose control."

His fingers slip between your folds once more, gathering your arousal before he replaces them with the tip of his hardened length. He presses in slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size before he starts moving inside you. The sensation is almost too much—his cock filling you whilst the toy continues its relentless pressure on your clit.

"Fuck," Remus groans as he enters you fully, his hand gripping your hip tightly. He sets a slow, deliberate pace, thrusting into you while keeping the toy firmly against your clit. But it's not enough—you need more, your hips pushing back to meet him, seeking the intensity that only he can give.

"Easy, love," he breathes against your skin, placing a tender kiss on your shoulder blade. His control is slipping, and you can sense it—feel it—in every stroke.

But you're past reason now, desperate for release. "I can't, Remus... I need..." Your voice trails off, unable to articulate the urgency coursing through your veins.

A low hum grows louder as the toy increases its pace, the suction pulling at your sensitive bud in a rhythm designed to drive you mad. Each pulse sends a jolt through your body, drawing gasps from your lips and leaving you writhing against the bed.

"Please," you whimper, the word barely audible over the sounds of your own pleasure. "Please..."

The slow drag of Remus's cock within you is nothing short of exquisite torture, each thrust calculated to keep you teetering on the edge of release without granting you the sweet relief you crave. Your hips buck into his, seeking more contact, more friction, but he maintains his relentless pace, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still.

A gasp rips from your throat as the toy buzzes against a particularly sensitive spot, your eyes rolling back as you arch into the sensation. A smirk pulls at Remus's lips, his thumb swiping over the controls to increase the intensity. The sudden change has your breath hitching, your body tightening as pleasure edges you closer to release.

"Fuck," you breathe, your hands clenching in the sheets as your body writhes under the onslaught of sensations. "Remus, I can't..."

But your plea falls on deaf ears—or perhaps it is simply ignored. Either way, the toy against your clit is relentless, pushing you ever closer to the precipice you're not sure you're ready to tumble over.

"Please," you whimper again, your voice barely above a whisper, but the desperation behind it is palpable. It's a plea for mercy, for release, for him to take you there—and yet, he doesn't relent.

Instead, his movements become more purposeful, more forceful. His hips meet yours with each thrust, driving him deeper inside you. Each time he hits that spot within, a jolt of pleasure courses through you and converges with the relentless rhythm of the toy against your clit. It's too much—too intense—but it's also not enough, leaving you teetering on the brink, desperate for the release that is just out of reach.

You've never felt this close, and Remus knows it by the way you're tightening around him. His lips quirk in a satisfied smirk as he keeps the toy pressed firmly against your clit. The suction sends waves of pleasure through you, making your hips buck back against him, despite his attempt to hold you still so he can continue. Your breaths come fast and desperate, each one sounding more strained than the last.

The ache inside you pulses intensely, and your clit is so sensitive it borders on pain. You're swamped with sensation, focused entirely on that single, all-consuming point of desire.

Remus's grip on your hips tightens, his own breath hitching as he feels you clenching around him. He knows you're teetering on the edge, and there's an undeniable sense of relief for both of you as this intense build-up finally nears its peak.

The sounds of James and Sirius are there too, their breaths hitching, their groans intermingling with your own. But it's Remus's moans that float above the rest, a low growl that vibrates against your skin. His hips move with purpose, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge.

"Remus," you whimper, your fingers curling into the sheets as you feel your climax building, coiling tight within your core. You're so close, teetering on the brink of release. You can taste it, the sweet promise of ecstasy that awaits just out of reach.

The tempo shifts, a sudden urgency replacing the steady rhythm. Remus is a force of nature, his movements as unpredictable and thrilling as a storm at sea. His breath gusts hot against your ear, the words he whispers there lost in the swell of sensation that threatens to drown you.

His grip tightens on the wand, the pressure against your sensitive flesh increasing until the vibrations become an irresistible pulse. It resonates within you, an echo of your own heartbeat that drives you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please," you whimper, the word barely more than a breath, yet it carries the weight of your desperation. "Please."

"Let go for me," he whispers, his voice rough with shared need. It's a plea, a command wrapped in velvet tones that hits you like a tidal wave, resonating in the very core of your being.

And with those words, the dam breaks. A rush of pleasure so intense it borders on pain sweeps through you. It starts from the epicentre of your desire, radiating outwards until every nerve ending is ablaze with sensation. Your vision whites out, replaced by a burst of stars behind your eyelids as you cry out, your voice echoing off the walls.

Your body convulses, wracked by waves of ecstasy that leave no room for thought or reason. All that exists is the here and now, the overwhelming fullness of him inside you, and the relentless surge of pleasure that seems to go on forever.

Remus' length pulses as he finds his own release, hands splayed wide on your hips, grounding him to reality. His body tenses, a silent exclamation of climax before relaxing into a boneless heap, his movements slowing but not ceasing, drawing out your pleasure until you're left trembling in the aftermath.

Finally, when your muscles have stopped clenching around him and your breaths come in shallow gasps, Remus pulls away. You're left feeling empty yet fulfilled, your body humming with satisfaction even as exhaustion begins to take hold. Every limb feels heavy, yet you're weightless, floating on the remnants of shared ecstasy.

With a final shudder, you roll onto your back, chest heaving. Remus pulls the toy away from your overstimulated clit and you gasp, both relief and loss echoing through you. Your body feels like a battleground—exhausted yet humming with residual energy, muscles relaxed but also tensed as if bracing for an aftershock.

Every nerve ending feels raw, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower abdomen. You're distantly aware of James and Sirius moving around in the bathroom, the sounds of water running and low voices discussing something you can't quite make out.

But it's Remus' voice that draws your attention back to the present.

"You alright, love?" he asks, concern lacing his words.

You turn your head towards him, blinking slowly as you take in the sight of his worried gaze. You manage a weak smile, lifting a shaky hand to brush away a lock of hair sticking to your forehead.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice hoarse. "I... I didn't know it could be like that. Thank you."

Remus's smile is warm as he shifts next to you, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your damp forehead. "It's our pleasure, love. Always."

The door creaks open again, and Sirius steps back into the room, now clad in a pair of loose boxers. His eyes, usually so full of mischief, are clouded with concern. "Are you in any pain? Your hips were hurting earlier." His voice is gruff, laced with an undercurrent of something akin to fear.

You pause. Your joints were aching before you’d even got started, and there's a residual ache in your muscles, a tenderness that wasn't there before, but it's a good sort of soreness, a testament to the pleasure they'd coaxed from every fibre of your being. You nod, just once. "A bit, but that's to be expected."

A frown etches itself onto Remus's face as he processes your words, but he nods, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Alright, love," he murmurs, his voice softer now, like a balm to your frayed nerves. "How about a bath? It might help ease the tension in your muscles, and... well, you need to get clean."

You nod, surrendering to the idea. The thought of warm water enveloping your aching body brings a small measure of relief.

"We'll help you," James interjects, his voice steady despite the worry that lingers in his gaze. He moves towards you with calculated steps, testing the strength left in your limbs. His arms slide under you, careful not to jostle you too much, and he lifts you from the bed with a gentleness that belies his strength.

You don't protest, too tired to assert independence you're not sure you possess right now. You let him carry you, your body limp against his chest, as he navigates through the corridors toward the bathroom. The door swings open to reveal a tub filled with steamy water, bubbles clinging to the surface.

The water's warmth seeps into your muscles, loosening the painful knots that have formed over time. You let out a sigh, the first hint of relief washing over you. Remus hands you a washcloth, and you accept it with a nod of gratitude, cleaning yourself up.

For a few moments, all is quiet except for the gentle lapping of water against porcelain. You lean back against the tub, allowing the heat to work its magic on your body. Another sigh escapes your lips, this one less pained, more relieved.

"Feeling any better?" James' voice is soft, cautious, as if he's afraid to shatter the fragile peace that has fallen over the bathroom.

You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "Yes," you whisper, "much better, thank you."

A silent exchange passes between you and James—a moment of understanding, an acknowledgement of the bond you share. You close your eyes again, leaning back against the tub's porcelain curve. The water's warmth seeps into your tired muscles, sapping the last vestiges of tension from your body.

"Okay, you're going to drown if you stay in there any longer," Remus jests, unplugging the drain. The water gurgles away, leaving a faint chill in its absence. You shift, suddenly aware of how refreshed your body feels—cleaned of sweat and grime, but also of some intangible weight.

James steps forward, offering a hand to steady you as you rise, muscles still weak from exertion. He wraps a towel around you, the plush fabric a stark contrast against your skin, still shivering despite the warmth of the room. Gently, he guides you to sit on the dry shower stool.

"Dry her off," Remus instructs James and Sirius, retreating to your bedroom for a moment. When he returns, he carries an armful of soft clothes—nothing fancy, just simple garments designed for comfort rather than style.

James and Sirius move with care, patting the towel against your skin with a gentleness that belies their earlier intensity. Every brush of cotton feels like a promise, a vow to keep you safe even from the smallest discomforts. You can't help but lean into their touch, finding solace in this unexpected tenderness.

The warmth of the towel envelops you as James helps you dry off, careful not to aggravate your injuries. Then he assists you in slipping on the fresh clothes Remus brought—a soft cotton shirt and lounge pants that feel like a balm to your battered skin. He lifts you up once more, carrying you back to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

As he lays you down, the soft pillows cradle your head, offering a comfort you haven't felt in what seems like forever. Sirius and Remus take their places on either side of you, their bodies a reassuring presence as they lay down with you on the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Remus asks, his voice low and soothing. His hand reaches out, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. His eyes, so full of concern and something deeper, never leave yours.

"Better," you admit, offering him a small but sincere smile. The warmth of the water has seeped into your aching muscles, coaxing them into reluctant relaxation. And their presence brings a sense of calm you always crave.

A soft touch traces the curve of your arm, raising goosebumps on your skin. Sirius's fingers lightly dance up and down, his movements almost reverent. "Just rest," he murmurs, the playful edge to his voice belying the gravity in his storm-grey eyes. "We'll take care of you."

James's hand finds yours, his strong fingers lacing with your own. The connection sends a current through you—subtle, reassuring. "We'll see to it," he says, his confidence a steady anchor amidst the roiling sea of uncertainty. "Whatever you need."

Emotion wells up within you, a mix of gratitude and affection that threatens to spill over. Without uttering a single word, your fingers tighten around James's hand, and your body leans instinctively into the steadiness of Remus beside you. Your head finds a resting place on his shoulder, and he responds with a comforting arm draped protectively around you. Sirius shifts closer, his presence a silent vow that no harm will come to you while they're here.

With them surrounding you, their bodies a living barrier against the chill of fear, you let your eyes drift shut. The rhythm of their breathing—steady, sure—becomes a lullaby to your frayed nerves. Their heartbeats, once distinct, now merge into a single, reassuring thrum that vibrates gently against your skin, grounding you in the reality of their care.

This is safety, you realize—a sanctuary woven from the threads of their commitment to you and each other. This is where you are cherished, not as an object to be possessed but as a person to be loved and respected. You draw in a deep breath, taking in the subtle scents that are uniquely theirs, and release it slowly, surrendering to the tranquillity that has settled around you.

[npdclaraoswald]

I simply think that given that we have an elderly dog who can't be left without constant supervision lest she hurt herself or go potty on the floor, the responsibility of watching her should fall to the roommate who is unemployed and does nothing but smoke weed and watch half naked girls dance on twitch all day.

I was planning on using my day off to go donate plasma, something that would have earned me $50. But no, I have to watch the dog until it's too late to feasibly do so because "we don't want to make him mad by asking him to wake up """early""" [read as: anytime prior to 2pm] to do it." Because he is exactly the brand of jackass who will get angry and make it the entire rest of the household's problem if he is asked to do literally anything other than sit on his ass.

I know I haven't literally lost $50, but I've lost $50 for no reason other than that both of the women I live with are in love with this piece of shit for some unfathomable reason and would in a heartbeat kick me out instead of him if I tried to push back against any of his bullshit

[dizzybevvie]

No bc Warrior Cats genuinely couldve done something with Starclan and generational trauma and romanticising "old times" and the warrior code because Starclan arent deities theyre just dead people but instead we get another 6 books of Will They/Wont They with a TigerStar clone

[crabs-nonsense]

Something I love is my mom's romantic relationship. Like her partner and the ways they interact are both so wholesome and amazing. So you guys are gonna unlock some lore here.

Over two years ago my dad cheated on my mom and she said their relationship was over, because that was a rule she's always had for herself, once a cheater always a cheater. After that she started dating her current partner in a long distance relationship. They are an enby who lives in Norway and the two of them met on tiktok because they both cosplay the marauders era from Harry Potter.

In the two years they've been together my mother has gone and spent several months visiting them and meeting their family twice, once for summer and once for winter. Their family loves her and regularly invites her to things even though she can't attend. They video chat pretty much daily and text constantly. They've seen eachother at their highs and lows and been there through it all. An extremely funny fact is that my mom started learning Norwegian from a 6yr old with a very specific dialect and a speech impediment, because her partners son mostly speaks Norwegian with a bit of English.

Anyways the reason I was thinking about this is that yesterday I was in a voice chat with my bsd cosplay friends and my mom was across from me talking about the paperwork for getting citizenship through marriage with her partner. And I'd said she doesn't have to be engaged for a long time before getting married, which very much confused my friends and I had to explain. So it's been on my mind lol.

I love that they've talked about the steps needed for all of us the get citizenship, and how to get my sister and I onto disability there. And they even told my mom they might get a bigger house just so we can all still live together. They also send us Norwegian candy from time to time (sending things to the US is super expensive so it's not very often). They also send all her kids presents both randomly and for birthdays and Christmas. I have a crocheted pokemon plushie from them that I absolutely adore.

But yeah despite my mom being completely done with my dad he spent a year and a half trying to "win her back" but in like a really semi toxic roundabout way that all of us could see would never work except for him. And he only this year finally moved out of the house. Divorce papers FINALLY got filed and we all know he's going to drag it out and fight for full custody just to spite her. So because of that my mom and her partner are only dating, but mom has said the moment the divorce goes through she wants to take a small trip to Norway so we can all meet them in person and she wants to propose in person. Her partners son (again he's six) insists he's planning their wedding (they've never said anything about getting married to him), and he collects rocks and shells every time they go to the beach to use as center pieces for the tables.

Another thing is that with the safety of trans people quickly fading here they've also talked about how if things get bad enough that we are in danger here, we can all go to Norway. Like they told my mom if she suddenly said hey we're getting on a plane and will be there at x time, they will get their family together to get large enough transportation and housing for us (I have 4 siblings so there's 6 of us in all).

And and and!!! They are also disabled and have been since they were a kid. They don't have the same issues my sister and I do but they do have joint problems and chronic pain just like us so its been amazing to be getting first hand advice for a lot of things. They are so amazing i can't wait to meet them in person and give them a hug honestly.

[tonkatsubowl]

shenanigans.

satoru gojo x fem!reader

➽ this dumb bitch pranked you.

you and satoru started living together a while ago. you were used to his absence already, since being a special grade sorcerer and all... well, to clarify, the strongest sorcerer, you expected your lover to be gone at random times. sometimes he wouldn't even tell you that he had to leave that day, but most of the time, this loser would send you a text while you slept next to him. you always told satoru to wake you up so you can give him a goodbye kiss, but he always wanted you to catch up on sleep.

so, today was just an ordinary day. satoru was gone once again, and today he had made sure to tell you that he had to go send his students off on a training mission... and he had to monitor them, too.

you were home alone, showering, enjoying the silence to yourself. you couldn't help but miss satoru's presence sometimes. where he'd often come home randomly in the goofiest of ways, giving you a few gifts here and there when he had returned... but he was gone longer than expected. you had faith and trust that satoru would come home safe, especially when the man was practically... well, the strongest.

but you let the hot water of your shower try to relax you instead. you were anxious, but you had faith he would come home.

...just when you heard the restroom door open. there was a soft creak, and your eyes perk up towards the ceiling. if satoru was home, he would call out "i'm home, y/n!"... but... he didn't.

... or was it satoru?

"...sat?" you called out to his nickname as you slowly turned off the shower. you were a sorcerer as well, capable of defending yourself from curses and other people. however, you couldn't help but feel... tense. you couldn't sense anyone nearby.

was it just the wind? no—don't think of horror movie lines, now. all the windows were always closed, and you know for a fact that the door had opened... on its own?

the shower curtain had a small peak, allowing you to look towards the smallest glimpse of a mirror. there was nobody.

engulfing your hand with cursed energy, you waited in silence... for something. for something to tell you it wasn't anything, whether it was a stray cat that randomly got in here... or your instincts telling you otherwise... but your mind was screaming at you.

...just when you were expecting some sort of perverted intruder, you were met with a sudden splash of icey cold water being dumped upon you from above!

you let out a loud scream, feeling the cold water pierce against your skin, and hearing satoru's little shit eating giggle, "hehe... ehehe—!"

"gojo satoru!" you raise your voice angrily as you grabbed the towel that was hanging off the curtain pole, wrapping it around your body before kicking through the curtains. you find your lover running away comically as he laughed like a clown, trotting away to the other room.

you chase after him, eventually—where he disabled his little infinity barrier—kicking him down with your leg which had stored cursed energy. satoru did this on purpose so he'd have his naked girlfriend on top of him. classic.

"ehehehe! ehe—aaaa—!" satoru lets out a comical laugh as you collapse above him, not realizing the towel slipped off of you. gojo lifts his blindfold, peeking at your exposed bosom before his tongue licked the corner of his lips. "oh, my. are we already about to have sex again? talk about high drive, huh, y/—"

"you— you poured cold water on me! and i'm shivering! i'm cold! and you didn't even get to tell me that you were home! you, you... you fucking idiot! you clown! you absolute fucking menace!"

you breathed, panting from the yelling you just did.

... but you paused, suddenly laughing, realizing how much of a stupid prank that was, and how much you missed satoru. snuggling your face into the crook of his neck, you embrace him, whining a bit, rubbing your unwashed soap and water into his clothes.

"ah, ah! wait, wait! pleaase, you're super cold!" satoru exclaimed sarcastically as you continued to rub all over him, but you ignored his cries.

"shut up. now i'm," you pull him up by his hand, letting the towel fall to your feet, exposing your nude body towards your lover, "taking you for a shower."

satoru grinned.

"y'know... we haven't done it in the shower before...~" he purred, running his hands all over your body as he leaned in. "lead the way, y/n."

[leviafin]

Hey! Over here!

Hello, and welcome. You're free to call me Fin, or Sebastian if that suits you more. Or make something up, I don't care, do whatever. I'm a fictive within the Interstellar System--a DID system of over 400 members, with a vast majority of us being alterhuman or something along those lines. I use he/him pronouns exclusively, though I might test the waters, so to speak, with something else later.

This'll be my personal blog, which will probably have a bunch of alterhumanity and a lot of queer stuff on it. Adult content (which will just be words and such if anything) will be tagged with "tw: adult content". Jokes that might be slightly adult content will just be tagged with "adult jokes".

| Ask link | Our Website | Trigger Warning Tags | | Collective System Blog | Ocean dividers by Plum98 |

Identity:

I'm a multifictive, aka I have multiple sources. I'm a noncanon avatar of The Vast + The Hunt (The Magnus Archives), and a Sebastian Solace (Roblox: Pressure) fictive. I may call Sebastian a kintype occasionally due to the nature of how I learned I was him--to me that identity is both fictionkin and fictive.

Disabled, neurodivergent, and mad--deal with it.

Queer as fuck, deal with that too.

Terrorpunk--aka, if I scare you or ick you with my identity? Good. Not my problem.

Anyway, onto the boundaries and whatnot.

Overall, I am inclusive of everyone (including endogenics, factkin, mspecs, etc), as long as you act in good faith and nonharmfully. I don't care about microlabel discourse or anything of the sort.

I will be blocking queerphobes, racists, ableists and anyone else of those sorts. Hell, I might block you just because I don't want you interacting, so don't take it too personally. The button is there for a reason.

That being said, while I'm listing my stances here, I don't have a DNI, and probably won't read yours before I like or reblog from you. Large bodies of text can be incredibly inaccessible, especially buried 10 pages deep in a carrd, and I'd rather someone just hit the block button on me. As was its intended function, really--one click and I'm gone, no stress about it!

I might sound snappy depending on the day--I deal with chronic pain, have the kind of autism where I don't know what socialising is, and use sarcasm heavily. Those do not mix well. Genuinely, ask me to clarify if you don't understand something I've said, or if you think I'm snappy for no reason. Unless you're someone like an anti-endo or transphobe, I probably don't know how my tone sounds.

Tags I use:

Aside from the trigger warning tags I included up above, this list is mostly for personal organisation.

Organisational Tags:

#op - Original posts by yours truly.

#rb - Reblogs.

#srb - Self-reblogs from any of our blogs.

#ask - Asks that have been answered.

#ask game - Self explanatory.

Alterhuman Tags:

#alterhuman - Self explanatory.

#otherkin, #plural, #fictionkin, etc - More self explanatory tags.

#sourceposting - Posts about my sources--usually fandom related, but not always.

#leviafin real - Art of me specifically. Not source fanart, me as a fictive.

#oceanic - Ocean or water related posts, probably aesthetic.

#sebastian solace - Posts about Sebastian Solace, probably fandom related.

#the hunt - Tag for The Hunt, probably fandom or aesthetic related.

#the vast - Tag for The Vast, probably fandom or aesthetic related.

Other Tags:

#aesthetic - Pretty things.

#art - You know. Created stuff.

#creatureposting - Posts about our wonderful little critter companions that live inside our house.

#disability - Disability posting.

#queer - Queer stuff.

#terrorpunk - Terrorpunk stuff.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Disabled Billy and Steve Week

Day 3- special interests

My prompt: Harringrove- Shared Special Interest

-•-•-•-

One month. Billy and Steve have been living together for one month.

In that time they’ve discovered a lot about each other, things they never expected. Things like Steve hanging his jackets and sweaters in rainbow order in the closet, or Billy placing the cups in diagonal lines in the cabinet.

Only one thing had caused a disagreement, and that was about furniture covers. Billy’s ocd wanted them to avoid touching “sofa stank ass,” but Steve’s autism hated the texture of sitting on fabric on top of fabric.

Their solution was two separate chairs instead of one couch. Close enough to hold hands constantly, but separate enough to enforce their individual boundaries. Sure, it means cuddles are limited to their bed, but Billy’s on bedrest with full body aches and bouts of fibro fog usually once a week, so it works.

However, by far the most exciting tidbit they’d discovered was that they share a special interest. Games.

Video games, board games, sports- they’ve both explored the history, researched the best strategies, and played thousands upon thousands of games. DND had brought them together through mutual friendship with Eddie, while Super Mario kept their relationship on its toes.

Tonight, their choice was a little unconventional for them, a big dusty box fished from the very back of the closet. An inherited, smoke stained edition of Scrabble. If either of them and their dyslexia had realized that making a goal to play every game in the house would mean playing a spelling game, they might not have made that promise.

But, Steve already was dead set on doing it, and his dedication was not to be messed with. They were going to play that game, no matter how long it took.

Currently almost two hours and half a bag of letter chips in, it’s Steve’s turn again.

“Uhhh, I’ll spell… sunset! S-U-N.. S-E-T.”

Every chip is placed carefully, and they both double check it with the help of their Scrabble approved dictionary. At first, he’d placed them in the wrong spot, connected to a D instead of the S on the end that he meant to use, but they fixed it quickly instead of dwelling on the mistake. Billy knows Steve might cry of embarrassment if they keep the focus on his mistake for too long.

But now it’s time for Billy to have yet another go, as Steve reminds him in case he forgot again, “Your turn, Bubs! Got anything good?”

“Honestly? I have no ideas. These letters suck.” Billy grumbles, pushing the small tray that holds the letter chips away.

“You can look it up.” Steve suggests, the only way they ever agreed to go along with this game being shortcuts and technical cheats.

But Billy shakes his head, in deep concentration, “No. No, I wanna do it on my own.”

Steve gives an encouraging smile, “Take your time. I’m watching the TV over your shoulder.”

Something about the way Billy snorts says he doesn’t see that as encouragement, but instead sounds hurt, “I’m that boring, huh?”

Regretting the way he’d put it so bluntly, Steve makes sure to promise kindly, “Nope! I just like the game shows!”

It’s true too. He likes learning new words in a way that doesn’t make his brain feel like it’s on fire. And watching other people fail and struggle, even the best of the best, makes him feel a lot better about playing mostly two or three lettered words in this here game of Scrabble.

Billy’s shoulders relax with ease, satisfied that Steve isn’t annoyed with him. He does, however, quip sarcastically, “We’re so old.”

“Thirty isn’t old.” Steve hums, actually happy to be growing older instead of being trapped in the misery of his teens forever.

Growing up meant growing out of his intense self-deprecation, after leaving behind all the pain and the tragedy he’d gone through. Now in California, playing board games with the love of his life, nothing else matters.

Billy clarifies his meaning, showing to Steve that he feels the same way, and was just using an expression, “I’m not talking about literally, baby. And stop rounding up, I’m only 26.”

It’s lighthearted and they both smile, but something keeps nagging in Steve’s head. One of those old fears of his rising up despite his insistence that they don’t bother him anymore.

“We can do young people stuff.” He offers, sounding kind of upset though he doesn’t mean to let it show, “I mean, I just thought this was fun...”

Even though they’ve got a game set up, Billy leans over the small table on his elbows, and holds Steve’s hands, “Stevie. It’s great. I love these slow days with you. They make me happier than anything. I was just kidding.”

Instant relief floods Steve’s nervously twisted stomach, but just in case he asks, “You’re sure? ‘Cause we can do something else.”

It’s his fault they’re doing this. He said it would be okay. Fun even. He said they can do anything they want.

“I want to keep playing.” Billy promises, and then a real pleased look crosses his face, “I just thought of a word even.”

“What is it?” Steve brightens up immediately, leaning forward in interest.

Billy uses an ‘O’ chip already on the board to spell- “Love.”

Picking up from the look on Billy’s face, it’s not a coincidence that he’s taken to flirting through a board game. Steve blushes like they haven’t already been together for eight years. These slow times between them can be relaxing, but they’re usually days where they check in on their romance too. Rekindling the passion over a goddamn spelling game, that should, by all means, have caused Steve to panic ages ago.

It’s sweet, and it only gets better.

An adjacent ‘S’ in line with Billy’s ‘O’ and an ‘M’ further down the board makes it so Steve can spell the biggest word he’s ever played in this game, “Oh! I can use that to spell Soulmate!!”

“You got that right. I’m yours, and you’re mine.” Billy says all suavely. Steve’s literally giggling and kicking his feet, only to be shown once again through the next move just how much of a romantic Billy is.

“Matter of fact, I can use that new M to spell- Marry.”

For a moment, Steve just stares.

He’s not sure if it’s genuine or just a strategy, until Billy produces a tiny box from his pocket. It’s wooden, looks hand carved. Inside is a ring with a small ruby in a heart shape attached to a band, one he recognizes as being Billy’s mothers.

“Billy-“ He chokes. The words he’d been doing so good at freeze up. He’s used his brain so much today and now it’s failing him?

Billy is patient though, leaving the box propped open on the table so he doesn’t have to hold it and lock his wrist up, “Stevie.”

Steve swallows down his nerves as best he can, and starts to ask, “Are you..?”

“I am.” Billy finishes for him, so Steve doesn’t get too frustrated. It’s then that he starts to look nervous too. He chews his lip, a stim Steve recognizes as being an anxious one. Like he’s done something wrong by asking for something so big, “Do you want to?”

But this, this couldn’t be more perfect. A proposal through their shared special interest, a lifelong passion channeled into their love. Of course Steve wants that too. Really, he’s wanted it ever since they were teenagers, but now that they’re in their twenties, they’re finally ready for that dream to become a reality.

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!”

~~~~~~

For todays disability organization spotlight, let’s talk about the National Fibromyalgia Association.

The NFA is a site which provides health information and resources about Fibromyalgia, a condition that is under researched and often disregarded by medical professionals as not even existing.

The information on their site ranges from self care guides, science explaining chronic pain, COVID precautions for our disorder, medication and treatment suggestions, and emotional assistance for fibromyalgia patients, among other things.

Run by doctors and fibromyalgia patients alike, the websites main goal is to spread awareness and make research accessible for everyone. When I finally received my diagnosis, I spent a lot of time here learning about little things I could do for myself to manage my symptoms. Now I use mobility aids and am in physical therapy, and my symptoms are much more managed than before.

Because fibromyalgia is such a disregarded disability, so are our foundations. The NFA is currently asking for donations, either direct monetary donations or through buying their merchandise in the online shop.

If you would like to learn more about this organization or access their information guides, you can click here to visit the site.

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 3 Chapter 6 - Genuine (Part 2)

My brain as I was translating this: what is bro yapping about

also please don't ask me to clarify anything that happened in this chapter, i also have no idea. i'm pretty sure only the author knows 😂all i know is that they were definitely doing kyudo.

TW: suicide mention

Glossary here

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

A saijiki is an almanac of Japanese seasonal terms used for poetry

Asahina's name (朝日奈) contains the characters for morning sun

Adults (成人) and saints (聖人) have the same reading (seijin)

A box-like structure where rain shutters are stored when not in use

Previous | Next

Masa-san, there’s something I want to tell you.

Don’t laugh and just listen to me.

The competitors from both schools met face to face at the prefectural finals. The sky began preparations to show off its triumphant end.

Asahina and Minato faced each other.

“Looks like ‘Minahead’ worked. Thanks.”

“Please don’t make surprise attacks like you did the other day.”

“Hahaha, sorry. The protection around you was strong, so that was the best I could do.”

Eddie pushed up his hair. “We have no need for superstition anymore.”

“That’s right, partner.”

Asahina and Eddie bumped elbows. They were like children who played a secret prank on their parents.

Haneina’s coach, Tsucchi, and Masa-san faced off.

“My archers are in top form. We’re going to win.”

“I don’t know about that. Kazemai can use the wind, after all.”

“I don’t want any funny tricks. Show us what you can do.”

“Go easy on us.”

The archers from both schools entered the shajo with orange and yellow-green headbands tied around their heads.

Haneina High School had Eddie, Matsuda, Kanuma, Igarashi, and Asahina.

Kazemai High School had Kaito, Ryouhei, Seiya, Nanao, and Minato.

They each stepped onto the shooting line and spread their legs.

The oomae of Haneina was Eddie. His golden hair fluttered in the sun. Spreading his white wings, the archangel descended upon the land of the east. The eccentric was an assumed figure, and the truth was revealed.

He objected to the strange land of Japan, where everyone wore matching outfits to find jobs. Who told them to wear black? Was it because it wouldn’t stand out even if they settled down in a graveyard? Those who prepared loyalty tests for the company would have been promoted and given a nice apartment. Ceasing to think for yourself was what politicians wanted you to do. Misguided servility made the conceited even more fattened. If you were going to dance the same dance, then dance in your own colors.

The arrow was aimed at the demon’s heart. But Eddie and Kaito hit the center.

Next was Matsuda on the second target. One day, a house party was held. The servants, who were usually unsmiling, broke out into big smiles as soon as the host appeared in the room. Before he knew it, everyone in the room had smiles pasted onto their faces. “Supporting the disabled is my purpose in life. We are very concerned about you. With this product, you can reduce your anxiety about your future,” they whispered, but the bow made no distinction between the disabled and the able-bodied. The love that asked for nothing in return was always there.

The released arrow shattered the window glass. Ryouhei followed as well.

Kanuma on the third target opened his haiku saijiki. (1) Beautiful phrases that reflected Japan’s weather, astronomy, geography, and human affairs were lined up side by side. The finely honed senses of their ancestors that resided in each phrase hadn’t faded away even now.

Words were twisted, woven, knitted, and tied together. Weaving brocade was the living wisdom and culture of creatures without fur. The clothes we wore revealed our environment and thoughts. Those who could manipulate words and know the hidden power of words could transcend the concept of time and fly to the moment at any time. Right now, Kanuma has composed a song.

Kanuma and Seiya summoned tsurune.

Brain, be deceived. Make a miracle happen.

Taking the sound of the matooto as a signal, Igarashi raised his bow. Anyone could step into his flower garden. Flowers such as bellflowers, gentians, and campanulas were preferred, and the bells rang when the wind blew. Bees and butterflies frolicked amidst the flowers, grass lizards and rainbow-colored lizards lay in the grass, and red-flanked blue tails rested on the branches. He picked the withered flowers and thinned out overcrowded foliage. A garden that took time to grow was a treasure. Igarashi applied that image to his own bow. He slept every night holding his bow, of which only one existed in this world.

As Igarashi and Nanao’s arrows flew, flowers bloomed along the path.

In the stands, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo gasped. Since there were a lot of hits in quick succession, they braced themselves so they wouldn’t miss the chance to cheer.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful.”

“Both schools are sparkling.”

“This is exactly what ‘brilliance’ is.”

The ochi Asahina, as his name suggested, was the embodiment of the sun. (2) His red hair burned in the twilight.

Fire.

Fire knew what you had done.

It also knew the name and face of your accomplice.

If you wanted to purify yourself, go to the sea. If you wanted power, go to the mountains. Whichever path you chose, he would be a torchbearer and a guide. Heaven watched the deeds of those who lived on earth. Three children were born out of the fire. At any given time, there existed something that recorded the events on earth. Memories that were passed down became stories.

Asahina and Minato released their arrows.

For the second shot, nobody missed.

For the third short, the sound of the matooto didn’t cease.

The wind blew through the kyudojo, where conversation and even breathing were taboo.

Where was the wind going? Who was it bringing with it?

A memory of a day he spent with Masa-san flashed through Minato’s mind.

Yata Forest, where the crescent moon hang in the deep blue sky. The sound of rustling leaves sounded like the trees were welcoming them as the two walked along the white path illuminated by moonlight.

“Masa-san, there’s something I want to tell you. I had a strange experience a long time ago. I haven’t even told Seiya and Ryouhei about it. They’ll probably think I’m crazy or just laugh at me and say I was dreaming. Will you listen to me?”

“I will.”

“You won’t laugh?”

“I won’t.”

Minato took a deep breath.

“I was a bit out of it that day, and when people told me that it was Setsubun today, I was like, ‘Huh?’ It seemed like I got the date wrong by a day, and I had no memory of the day before Setsubun.”

“Hmm.”

“After scattering the beans, I slept like usual, and the next thing I knew, I was paralyzed. My arms and legs were numb, and I couldn’t move my body at all. While I was panicking, I heard three sounds. It kind of sounded like something used in an old sci-fi movie. Then, all of a sudden, a beam of light hit me from right above my head to my feet with a ker-wham. Just as I was thinking Oh crap, what do I do, I heard the three sounds again, and then I was hit on the top of my head with a wham. I still couldn’t move my body, so I was thinking about reciting the Heart Sutra when my dad woke me up. Apparently I was crying out in my sleep.”

Masa-san’s eyes widened. He burst into laughter.

“So you laughed at me after all. I’m a chuunibyou even in my dreams.”

“No, I was laughing at the onomatopoeia. I wasn’t laughing at what you said.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“I had a similar experience. I never told anyone about it, so it’s a secret.”

Masa-san began speaking.

I’ve told you before that when I was in my third year of high school, I got target panic and my master gave up on me. I’ve also told you that in my first year in university, my father sent me a notification of my brother’s death, but actually, when I was nineteen, I got into an argument with my master. I declared that I will never forgive the person who made my brother disappear and that I will take revenge, but my master just lectured me in the usual way, saying that revenge was a foolish thing and that my anger will burn me to death. I asked him why he had been ignoring it until now, and why is it that you, my own family, didn’t understand me. I showered my master with the hateful words that should have been directed towards my father. That ended up being our final conversation.

When I was twenty, in my second year of university, my master passed away. I overcame my target panic and received invitations from several kyudo schools to join them, but I had lost sight of the significance of drawing the bow. I kept asking myself why I was drawing a bow—and then I realized it. No, I finally admitted it. I wanted to be acknowledged as an archer by my “master Yasaka,” no one else. And that will never come true.

In the spring of my third year, I completed shooting a hundred arrows, but all I felt was a sense of emptiness. My father casually sent us letters, as if he was unaware of the despair and threat he posed to us. Was it okay to just do nothing? Would I have no choice but to take these negative feelings with me to the grave?

As summer approached, I began to deeply regret the last words I spoke to my master. Every time I entered the kyudojo, my body became stiff, and I found it hard to breathe. Before I knew it, I couldn’t sleep soundly, and the doctor’s comforting words and medicine didn’t make me feel better. My mother, unable to just watch, took me to a temple in Shikoku.

The chief priest was a quiet person. He read sutras in the morning and sat in front of the Buddha at noon and night. He would visit me from time to time, and we would talk about casual everyday things before going home. During that time, I remained lying on my bed.

Several choruses of cicadas passed by. Everything that lived was covered in shame, and I longed to disappear, but I couldn’t commit suicide for the sake of the family I would be leaving behind. At night, I closed my eyes, hoping that I would never wake up again. If I could at least forget everything, I could live.

I closed my mouth in the morning and laid down on the ground during the day and night.

Sleepless days. I couldn’t escape the memories that replayed over and over again.

One night, as I was looking back on my life and regretting every detail, I heard a voice coming from the upper left corner of my head. Just a single “Good.”

The two looked at each other and smiled.

It was a strange feeling of empathy with each other.

Ah, that’s right. Someday, when the time was right, I can tell others about this day. When the truth dwells in Minato’s words.

When Masa-san finished, he grinned.

This was a secret between master and disciple.

“Good.”

“Good.”

The sixth voice was heard.

With three scales, arrows of light descended from the heavens and pierced through Minato’s body. His whole body went numb and his head became hazy.

The sounds came again.

When he decided to “come,” the arrows passed through his body and spread from the soles of his feet to the ground.

Meigen. That was the sound of the dawn.

Three sounds and arrows of light fell from the sky.

The arrows of light pierced my body.

The ultimate goal of kyudo was “the true, the good, and the beautiful.” True archery didn’t lie, deceive, or betray.

Truth in archery was proven by the brilliance of the bow, the tsurune, and hitting the target. What was true was beautiful, and what was good was also beautiful. Once you met the genuine article, you would never be confused again.

Hayake—Yips was a state in which the body became warped due to accumulated fatigue and stress, and the brain ends up malfunctioning. That was why beginners didn’t get target panic. It occurred when the brain remembered the experience of failure so strongly that it issued an emergency alert every time those memories replayed. This became a regular occurrence, and if proper treatment wasn’t taken, it would only get worse. In archery, hayake was called “target panic,” and it was an accurate description of this sickness.

The solution was to regulate one’s breathing. It was to get rid of the distortions in one’s body and allow the brain and body to rest.

There were actually very few people who could maintain a natural and comfortable posture. Regulating the autonomic nervous system and improving the functioning of the central nervous system was the key to good health. The autonomic nervous system referred to the nerves that were responsible for unconscious processes such as pulse, breathing, and digestion. The sympathetic nervous system was dominant during the day, and the parasympathetic nervous system was dominant when sleeping at night. The central nervous system were the nerves that acted like a command center, issuing commands to various parts of the body.

Anxiety and fear were a kind of self-protective instinct. Once living things experienced something scary or painful, they tried to avoid it next time. When it was overreacted to, they became stuck in the memories of the past, worried about the future, and unable to take even a step forward.

When you drove a car, you got too scared to drive if you thought about what would happen if you caused an accident. You made sure you were in good physical condition and inspected your vehicle before driving. Even so, if you caused an accident, you would have to pay for it for the rest of your life. If you were willing to accept all of that, everything else would become possible.

Cars run on gasoline or electricity, but what did the human body need to move? Oxygen. Oxygen produced heat. “Breathing” was an important way to obtain oxygen efficiently. Because modern people breathed with their chests, they were unaware that they were about to drown due to the lack of oxygen in their brains.

Let’s slowly take a deep breath.

You could see what you couldn’t see before.

You could touch what you couldn’t touch before.

The days I spent with you.

The days I will spend with you from now on.

Who should I thank for this happiness?

Right now, I’m breathing.

Blessed are the creatures that shed their fur.

They have rented lodgings on earth and eaten many lives.

Now, I offer a moment of silence.

The fourth shot began. The ten’s heartbeats grated.

Gradually, slowly, the surroundings were dyed in green, like vines were creeping around. This place, with its spreading leaves and blooming orange flowers, was just like the earth after humans have left.

Those who gathered in the Land of the Rising Sun. Kaito, who had just been born, let out a single cry. The roar that announced the joy of birth hit right in the middle of the target.

Ryouhei also raised his voice. What beautiful stars, what delightful companions. Now, let’s set off. Let’s row the boat. What kind of place would the new continent be? What kind of encounters await us?

Seiya followed suit. I knew you were worried about me. I was taking advantage of your kindness. Thank you for being by my side. Thank you for getting angry.

Nanao was enjoying himself, happy, and sun—. The place I belong is where I draw my bow. I want it, I want it, I want it. But it didn’t come true. I got an abode that I should have given up sometime ago. Someone whispered to me that it’s okay to stay here, that there’s no need to leave so quickly. When he blew a whistle, the matooto resounded at the azuchi.

Minato was standing on the earth.

We are temporary residents who are renting a part of the earth.

His memory flew back to a few weeks ago, to something Saionji had said with blooming azaleas behind him.

“Narumiya-kun, please try to explain the ‘Heart Sutra’ to me.”

“Yes. The universe is emptiness. If you think something exists, it exists. If you don’t think it exists, it doesn’t exist. You can see it if you try to see it, and you can’t see it if you don’t try. It’s dyed in every color, and it’s not dyed in any color. The mind is emptiness. The mind is the body, and the body is the mind. Although they are considered different things, they used to be one and the same. The ‘box’ that is me contains all the necessary software. Now, recite the password called an incantation and open the box. The box will then start up normally.”

“That’s a bold interpretation. It’s very interesting. Continuing studying in that vein.”

“Thank you very much.”

“It’s not about right or wrong, it’s about how you feel. That is the answer of the current you. Religion was originally meant to be a guidebook to help you live a better life.”

The mind and body were the same person.

The heart was responsible for pumping blood, the stomach was responsible for digesting food, and the brain was responsible for thinking. All were functions of internal organs, and each had a role. It was just that the roles were divided, and it didn’t mean that the brain was the best and the others weren’t. Confusion arose because only the brain was viewed as special.

Humans tended to rely on vision when obtaining information, and were creatures who liked to take things apart before observing them. However, if you were too short-sighted, you would lose sight of the true essence. If you take a step back, you could see the whole thing. Man and woman, good and evil, the surface and below, real and imaginary numbers, joy and anger, sadness and healing, health and illness, life and death, meetings and partings. Dualism was just one classification method, and the classification depended on the time and situation.

The two couldn’t be separated. They were intertwined from the start.

They were one from the beginning.

A spell was a mysterious word that went beyond human comprehension. Although words could be shown to have special power, the basis for the current phenomenon couldn’t be explained. Because it was “power beyond human understanding,” it was difficult for ordinary people to understand, much less put into words. Just because you couldn’t see, hear, or quantify it doesn’t mean that it “didn’t exist.” It was only latent, not yet manifested.

A text that had been simplified by an expert in the field by only extracting the important points was, on the contrary, even more difficult for beginners to understand. Rewording the text into concrete episodes, in other words, accumulating stories, helps to deepen understanding. Stories were the perfect tool to convey something. It was hoped that someday, someone would explain it in an easy-to-understand text.

Minato and Asahina’s arrows pierced their targets.

Ten people. Forty perfect hits.

This was in the exact region of a hundred shots and a hundred hits.

Viewing this amazing scene, there was a standing ovation in the spectators’ seats.

Ren, who was watching in the stands, squeezed his hands. Seiya’s brother Gaku hugged himself.

“It looks cold. How long will this continue?”

“…I hope it doesn’t end like this.”

No winner was decided, so it became a shoot-out. Each archer released a shot, and the school with the most hits won. If it couldn’t be determined in one round, it was repeated until the ranking was decided.

The oomae had begun to raise their bows.

Roaring bows. Arrows that cut through the wind. Summoning thunderclouds, colorful dragons swam through the archery range.

Dizzingly clear paths of light bounce, dance, and splashed. Legendary creatures ran to the end without turning around or stopping. The “insect” contained in the kanji for “wind” and “rainbow” meant dragon, and although they were feared as gods in the East and monsters in the West, they weren’t influenced by human expectations. Each went their own way. Their colors and speeds were different, but they all arrived at one place—somewhere bright.

Once more, everyone hit.

The people watching the ten, who never missed, felt a thirst in their throats. What were they witnessing? Did something like this truly exist? Were they becoming witnesses to history?

Kaito, Ryouhei, Seiya, Nanao, and Minato faced the target.

The five melted into one and returned to that day. They were hearing Greensleeves.

Minato was talking to his mother in a dream.

“This song is about the moment when a disciple told their master the answer to a problem, right? I think the moment the master heard this, they smiled with joy.”

Greensleeves was a “Song of Naru.”

After completing his trials, the boy became an adult.

It was a rite of passage, an initiation.

Farewells and encounters were one and the same. On the winter solstice, the sun died and was reborn. Rather than having two sides, rather than being parallel, it was a chaotic thing that blended and mixed together. Today was like yesterday, and tomorrow was like today. Time didn’t exist there.

“Goodbye” was a magic word. It was devised from the beginning.

The sound of knocking on the door. A ringing sound.

Yearning, chasing, wishing.

Cowering, struggling, being doubted, despised.

Raging, despairing, cursing.

When you repent, mourn, accept death…

And give up.

Bow your head, love, and forgive. The door finally opens.

With a “welcome.”

Love meant forgiving yourself and others.

Could you embrace the person in front of you who you hated so much that you wanted to kill?

Those who cleared this final task were called “adults (saints)”. (3)

Admiration for the opposite sex and affection between parents and children were biological desires based on the perpetuation of descendants, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to love someone who had been kind to you. True friendship was rare and beautiful. Those who walked on the same path, master and disciple and friends. The two would be on a journey that would never end. The only difference was whether one went first or went later.

Even if one, two, three, or even four people finished, the match wasn’t decided.

The fifth, Asahina and Minato, began to raise their bows. They opened their chests wide and stretched their limbs in all directions. Two crosses emerged in the shajo dyed by the sunset. The boys flew into the sky. Migratory birds passed between the clouds, rivers meandering across the land, and cows grazing. A dragonfly rested its wings on the tip of an ear of wheat and flew away, seemingly uninterested in human activity.

A beautiful bow with a length unparalleled in the world. That was a divine implement. The sacred instrument inherited by archers chose its user. It looked for those with clear, unclouded eyes. The sun was a form of unconditional love. An existence that shined on everyone, both good or bad, without distinction. The Japanese called that star Amaterasu Oomikami.

When Minato’s arrow was sucked into its target, Asahina gently brought down his bow.

It was at that moment that Kazemai High School’s victory was decided.

Exclamations and screams arose at the long battle. The applause and cheers were deafening. In the stands, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, Seo, and Gaku were crying.

Kaito and Eddie, Ryouhei and Matsuda, Seiya and Kanuma, Nanao and Igarashi, and Minato and Asahina bumped gloves.

Asahina laughed. “That was so much fun. Let’s do it again.”

“Yeah, I had fun too.”

After they finished leaving the shajo, the first years Kanbayashi and Himuro ran up to them, and the members of Kazemai High School’s kyudo club hugged each other’s shoulders.

Minato and Kaito were screaming.

“Woooooooo!”

“Yeaaaaaah!”

“You don’t have to do your yagoe here. You’re hurting my ears,” Seiya chided them, but made no move to remove their hands from his shoulders. Ryouhei put his weight on them, causing the seven to lose their balance and collapse to the ground.

Nanao’s eyes were wet with emotion. It was not a little frustrating for him to be left out of the lineup in the preliminaries. He didn’t want to admit that he was frustrated, not wanting to show such an uncool part of himself, and unconsciously tried to keep up appearances. The other members all noticed this. They had the same feelings. Kaito, Seiya, Minato, Ryouhei, and even Himuro and Kanbayashi patted Nanao on the head. Nanao did the same thing back to them. Tommy-sensei watched the seven boys with a smile as they seemed to return to their childhood. Masa-san picked Nanao up and walked around with him. “Pick me up too!” Ryouhei badgered him.

The appearance of the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club was deeply etched into people’s memories.

After the awards ceremony, Kazemai prepared to go home. The support group that brought the cars walked ahead, followed by the club members. The championship cup was held by the president, Seiya.

The feeling of elation couldn’t be contained. The scenery they usually saw was more color saturated and lacked a sense of reality. On the stage of the finals, all five of them achieved six shots without missing. This was exactly a dream came true.

As they were leaving the kyudojo, the Kirisaki members came to congratulate them. The Young Prince’s eyes were more melancholic than usual.

Ryouhei put his arms around Kaito and Nanao’s shoulders.

“Ah, I’m still excited. I feel like running.”

“Alright, let’s run home.”

“You guys are gonna get wiped out if you do that,” Kaito said, but he couldn’t remain still either and started walking faster.

Minato, Kanbayashi, and Himuro formed the tail end of the group. After the match, they walked slowly from exhaustion.

“I’ve been inspired. I’m going to become an archer like Narumiya-senpai.”

“You’re making too much of me. I’m not even close to Masa-san or Shuu.”

“All three of you are amazing.”

Himuro nodded wordlessly.

“Kyah, I’m sorry!”

Someone appeared, interrupting Minato and the others’ conversation. A girl passing by bumped into him when he wasn’t looking, it seemed. The contents of the plastic bottle she was holding spilled onto Minato, and he wiped the liquid with his sleeve.

“Your collar got soaked. Do you want to change?”

“Some of it got into my mouth, but it seems to be just water. It’ll dry right away.”

By the time they finished loading their bags into the car, Minato felt sluggish. He felt nauseous, and his whole body was itching. When he looked at the inside of his arm, he saw that a rash had broken out.

“What’s wrong with me? I feel itchy, and kinda sick…”

“Your neck is turning red! Should I call Takehaya-senpai? He might have some medicine.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I’ll wait until we get back.”

But soon, Minato was crouching down in a corner of the parking lot. Seiya, noticing that Minato and the others were acting strange, rushed over. Minato was clutching his throat as he crouched.

“What’s wrong, Minato!?”

“…I don’t know, but I feel sick and lightheaded.”

“Could it be heatstroke? Do you have a fever? How’s your stomach?”

“It’s hard to breathe…my throat…”

His voice was raspy and his breathes came in short gasps. Nanao rubbed Minato’s back, and the other members formed a human barricade to guard him. From Seiya’s perspective, he was experiencing system symptoms such as nausea, sweating, dizziness, rashes, and shivering. What was going on?

Seiya’s brother Gaku, who had gotten into the car earlier, also ran over and put his nose on the back of Minato’s neck.

“Seiya, wait. It’s really faint, but he smells different than usual. …It’s an unpleasant smell. What is this, ginkgo fruit?”

Seiya and Ryouhei looked at each other.

“Minato’s allergic to ginkgo!”

“That’s right. A long time ago, when our families went to pick ginkgo fruits, we were shocked when Minato got a rash even though he never touched them with his bare hands.”

“But there aren’t any ginkgo fruits this time of year,” Gaku murmured. “Are these symptoms of anaphylactic shock?”

Seiya’s expression froze.

Anaphylactic shock was a condition in which an allergic reaction to food or other allergens caused a drop in blood pressure and deterioration of consciousness.

Masa-san pushed through the human barricade and went to Minato. He was lying limp in the laps of Kanbayashi and Himuro. His face was chalk white.

“Sorry about this, Minato.”

Masa-san suddenly lifted up Minato’s hakama and pushed something that looked like a thick pen into his thigh. There was a click sound. Seiya widened his eyes, and Kanbayashi blinked rapidly.

“It’s a self-injection of adrenaline. I’m allergic to wasp poison, so I carry it around with me.”

Gaku got out his phone. “Coach Takigawa, thank goodness. Don’t worry, I’ll get him to the hospital right away.”

The injection seemed to have worked, and after a while Minato was able to sit up on his own. His breathing had settled down, and it seemed that his life was no longer in danger. Minato was escorted to the hospital by the Takehaya brothers.

Afterwards, the dashcam in one of the parents’ cars parked in the parking lot showed the girl who was holding the bottle. Despite repeated appeals that the water in the bottle was suspicious, the case was shelved without much investigation, as it was assumed that Minato had just accidentally ingested food that he was allergic to.

Seiya had a pained expression on his face.

“I know someone whose hobbies include hacking into surveillance camera data and using AI to analyze internet articles. The girl from the dashcam is a Kuon devotee. We also confirmed contact between a detective and a Kuon family servant. Apparently, the detective got their hands on ginkgo fruits from a university lab. It seems like there are all sorts of people at Kuon’s house.”

“Why Minato?” Ryouhei asked.

“It’s probably jealousy. The Young Prince only has one brother disciple. No one can take Minato’s place.”

Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo stamped on the ground in frustration.

“I can’t believe we can’t do anything even though we know that much.”

“It’s frustrating.”

“Yeah, I feel you. But wouldn’t it also be bad if the hacking is discovered?”

Masa-san, who had been listening silently until then, rubbed his cheek.

“We have to punish him hard for this.”

Kuon was spending the weekend at the villa.

“Has that woman’s identity been exposed? How useless. Hmm, no need to bother with a orthopedic surgeon’s son and a bunch of commoners.”

His phone rang, and the screen displayed a certain person’s name.

It was Fujiwara Shuu.

“Kuon Takumi, will you apologize to Minato?”

Perhaps it was because he was calling from somewhere far away, but there was so much noise in the background that it was hard to hear.

“What are you talking about? I’m on vacation right now. Do you mind if I ask you to refrain from calling?”

“He’s heading your way right now. I’m not going to be able to stop him.”

“He?”

Asahina and Eddie had pinpointed Kuon’s location. He was in a richly decorated mansion deep in the mountains. The heavy doors opened.

Masa-san leisurely walked from the central entrance to the front stairwell. A female servant of the mansion, suspicious of the smiling, cheerfully walking stranger, called out to him.

“Excuse me, sir? Are you a guest?”

“Hey there, young lady. I’m glad you seem to be doing well.”

“I’m afraid that I cannot let you through to the next room.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m very close to Takumi-kun.”

Masa-san smiled softly, and the servant felt cold air blowing on the back of her neck. Contrary to his words, his quiet anger was something that couldn’t be hidden no matter how hard he tried.

The woman screamed. “Takumi-sama, there’s a suspicious person here! Somebody help!”

Kuon sensed the man’s impending presence and hurried outside.

Masa-san got behind the men guarding Kuon and slammed his fist into the back of his liver. He dodged another man’s kick, and when he fell to the ground with a heavy thud, Masa-san jumped over the stair railing.

All the while, Kuon was running at full speed. His pursuer closed the distance in the blink of an eye, and Kuon, panicking, tripped on the grass and fell. Despite this, he still crawled on the ground, trying to escape, but couldn’t move forward.

Masa-san grabbed Kuon by the nape of his neck.

“Swear that you’ll never lay a finger on Kazemai’s students again.”

“O-Okay. I swear, so let me go first.”

When Masa-san loosened his grip, Kuon raised himself up and faced him directly. Immediately after, he saw the shadow of a muscular man behind Masa-san. Masa-san punched him in the face without looking back.

Kuon clutched at the soil.

“Who the hell are you!? There’s no way an ordinary person can do that!”

“I’m sure you know that I’m Kazemai’s coach. A long time ago, I learned self-defense. You don’t seem to realize what you’ve done.”

“Isn’t it just a little bit of itchiness? A long time ago, I had a classmate who got itchy after eating eggs, but it cleared up after a week. Isn’t this just a child’s adorable prank?”

“Don’t tell me that you’ve done the same thing in the past? Allergies can be life-threatening if you don’t take care of them properly. What you did was equivalent to poisoning him. Lately, I haven’t been able to control myself…whatever will I do?”

Masa-san put his hand in the inside pocket of his jacket. He took out a permanent marker, and after removing the cap, he placed the tip of the pen on Kuon’s cheek.

Approximately ten seconds later, Kuon’s face was covered with the same pattern as the one on the powder container Masa-san had received from his master. Yes, depending on how you looked at it, it looked like a bikini.

The look in Kuon’s eyes changed when he saw Masa-san turn on his phone.

“No way, you’re going to take a photo?”

“A souvenir. I borrowed the pen from Kazemai’s president, and it turned out to be a very tasteful picture, if I do say so myself.”

“You lowly citizen! I’ll call Father!”

“As you requested, I’ve already called him. ‘My foolish son has wronged your friend. Please scold him on my behalf,’ he said and invited me to this villa. Now that I’ve taken some pictures, I think I’ll send them to the Kirisaki twins.”

“Father would never… S-Stop it! Doesn’t Buddhism tell you to not take revenge even when something is done to you? Your real job is being a monk, isn’t it?”

“Everyone keeps calling me a monk, monk, monk. I’m not a monk, I’m a priest!”

As Masa-san’s finger was about to slide across his phone’s screen, the wind created by a helicopter made the leaves and branches of the mountains shake. It was a tremendous amount of dust. When he looked up, the door of the low-flying aircraft opened.

Shuu jumped down. His pale eyelashes were swaying.

“Kuon, if you’re going to use the power of your family, I won’t hesitate to borrow the power of my family as well. Have you forgotten my name?”

“…Fujiwara-senpai.”

Minato also peeked out from the helicopter.

“Masa-san, stop! Don’t do anything more than that! I haven’t learned pro wrestling yet.”

“Good grief, my disciples are always too soft!”

Masa-san and Shuu stood in front of Kuon, who bowed his head in resignation.

Young leaves danced in the sky.

Members of the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club gathered at the Yata no Mori Kyudojo.

A fleeting time of overnight practice. The warm sunlight that poured down upon them made them sleepy.

“Oh, what happened to the boys?” Tommy-sensei asked Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo.

“They went to see the dormouse.”

Masa-san pressed his hand to his forehead. “They got too much power, don’t they? Let’s get started on dinner.”

“Yes.”

Minato and his friends were in the forest. They were standing in front of an old mountain hut.

Nanao pointed to the door of the hut.

“At dawn, I volunteered to go look for Miyama stag beetles. Then, I saw it there.”

“Wow, that early morning walk was all about collecting bugs? I’m glad I didn’t go,” Ryouhei said, patting his chest.

Minato asked him to let him sit on his shoulders and peered through the gaps in the tobukuro.* It was a nostalgic scene for Seiya, who was watching them from the side as he waited for his turn to sit on Ryouhei’s shoulders.

“You guys are way too big to do little kid stuff like this,” Kaito said to Seiya.

“You don’t have to look, Kaito.”

“…I guess it’s fine to take just one look.”

Keyaki and Kanbayashi were searching around for new discoveries, and Himuro was listening to the voice of the forest’s master.

The mountains were shining.

The mountains were singing.

By the time the owl woke up from its sleep, Minato and the others had dinner.

Previous | Next

[seandwalsh]

I would like you to give me some clarifications(if you can, of course) - I follow you on Reddit(and also the Mario verse project)*recently*; I noticed a post that was making fun of this project and I went to the comments section, and in one of the first comments to appear, these are the replies to it(yeah, I don't agree with his mindset about the series). I took some screenshots before they were disabled, and if you *could* clarify them for me(who is still a beginner in Mario Lore), I would be grateful.

I would be happy to clarify! I’m not trying to cause drama with this, but given there is a minor history here I should explain a couple of things. Just for context on the sort of source Slade Lucas is; They’re someone I’ve interacted with quite a few times and they generally tend to deny basic facts based on what they personally like or dislike. For example, they refused to acknowledge that the Mario Kart 8 Deluxe - Booster Course Pass courses were ported from Mario Kart Tour. This also generally applies to their perspective on Mario lore. They write off any evidence they don’t like completely arbitrarily, constantly move the goalposts in any conversation and make up pseudo-arguments that don’t really mean anything when you try to inquire about them further (“Toad himself is a character that they try to use in so many ways that he alone breaks the idea of there being a consistent canon.”, anyone can see that this is ridiculous).

This is not an attack on their character, but similarly to when I used to respond to MatPat it’s important to understand why people make these types of flawed arguments. In any case, I’m going to debunk them piece by piece.

“But just because they bring something back and it is canon to one game, it doesn't mean it is canon to all games.”

Perhaps I’m missing some context but I’m not quite sure what they’re trying to say here. Obviously when a game references another game, those games are intended to share a canon - and every Mario game references other Mario games, prompting a web which connects essentially every Nintendo-published Mario game to each other. This is what Mario fans use as the basis for canon.

Not everyone is interested enough in or pays enough attention to the Mario games to see the patterns and lore they’re building, but to deny its existence outright entirely is incredibly silly.

Mario, of course, has been from the Mushroom Kingdom and grew up in what we now call New Donk City since at least the mid-90s with Donkey Kong (Game Boy) and Super Mario World 2: Yoshi’s Island. He had no officially disclosed backstory within the canon before that point and was certainly never stated to be from any real world country in the games themselves.

Captain Toad is obviously not Toad and never has been. Captain Toad first appeared in Super Mario Galaxy, while the main Toad first appeared in Super Mario Bros. (and was first singled-out in Super Mario Bros. 2 (USA)). There are several developer statements that prove this, as well as several descriptions.

That's right. We've made use of the technology cultivated through Super Mario Galaxy, and characters like Rosalina and Captain Toad, who came about through those games play a new role.

[Source: Yoshiaki Koizumi, Director of Super Mario Galaxy and Producer of Super Mario 3D World, Iwata Asks, November 2013]

Taking a cue from Mario Galaxy, there are games called "Captain Toad's Adventure," in which Captain Toad appears with his memorable little tune that goes "ta-dada-da-, ta-dada-da-".

[Source: Koichi Hayashida, Director of Super Mario 3D World, Iwata Asks, November 2013]

What is he Captain of, exactly…? Have you played Super Mario Galaxy™ on the Wii™ console? Well, during the events of that game the Toad Brigade was founded, with Captain Toad as its leader. Rumours that Captain Toad is the least reliable of the bunch are completely unfounded!

[Source: What They Say about Captain Toad, Page 5, Digital Manual of Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker, December 2014]

By the way, Captain Toad is actually not the same Toad as the Toad who's playable in games like Super Mario Bros. 2 and Wario's Woods.

[Source: Koichi Hayashida, Producer of Captain Toad: Treasure Tracker, Miiverse, December 2014]

[Super Mario Galaxy is the] First appearance of Captain Toad!

[Source: Super Mario Galaxy Fabulous Firsts, Official American Super Mario 3D All-Stars website, September 2020]

iJustine

…I was wondering, is Captain Toad the same Toad from the original Super Mario Bros.? How many Toads are there?

Shigeru Miyamoto

[…] So Captain Toad, y’know, appeared in Super Mario Galaxy and there were other Toads in that game too, but I think maybe Captain Toad is just a normal Toad who just happens to be wearing those captain-type clothes. (laughs)

[Source: An exchange between Shigeru Miyamoto and iJustine, Director of Super Mario Bros. and YouTuber, respectively, YouTube, December 2014]

Illumination did whatever they wanted with the story of The Super Mario Bros. Movie. Characters were merged or otherwise completely altered left and right, such as Donkey Kong the First and the modern Donkey being treated as one and the same despite having always been different characters in the games.

The main Toad has appeared in Super Mario Bros., Super Mario Bros. 2, Super Mario 64, Super Mario 3D World and Super Mario Run. He’s also mentioned in the manual of Super Mario Bros. 3, with several other potential appearances in main series games. That’s a better track record in the main series than a lot of characters, and with his appearances in spin-offs such as sports games, Mario Party games and RPGs Toad is a prolific and well-defined character. He’s a brave hero through and through, he’s selfless and he’s a long-time friend of Mario. While his spots are sometimes blue, they’re usually red and he consistently wears a blue vest.

Captain Toad is almost the complete opposite in terms of characterisation. He’s cowardly, he’s motivated primarily by his own greed and he barely knew Mario (if at all) before Super Mario Galaxy. He always wore red, separating his design from the main Toad’s.

Space Junk Galaxy does have an atmosphere, as does every Galaxy in the Super Mario Galaxy games as well as the moon in Super Mario Odyssey and Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door. As Slade Lucas point out, Super Mario Galaxy and Super Mario Odyssey, have breath meters, clearly demonstrating that Mario needs air and therefore has air in the areas he visits throughout those games. The atmosphere might be a little thinner in certain areas, but it’s definitely present. Mario cannot breathe in the void of space as shown in Super Paper Mario and even with things like the REXA Toads in Mario Kart 8. This is just wasn’t thought through on Lucas’ part.

Whether or not Mario has an air meter in any given game is simply a matter of gameplay and says nothing about whether Mario can or needs to breathe in-universe. We know Mario needs oxygen and holds his breath while underwater thanks to dialogue and animations. In older titles, it was not possible to implement an air meter for underwater levels. This has been carried over into many newer linear titles to allow for more simple level design. In-universe, however, Mario can never breathe underwater. In fact in Super Mario 3D World we can clearly see Mario and the others holding their breaths when underwater despite the lack of an air meter. A game deciding to not have an air meter for the sake of fun and accessible gameplay says nothing about in-universe lore or canon. Nobody in their right mind would consider that a lore inconsistency, especially not a game developer.

Koopa Troopas walk on all fours and can learn to walk on two legs, as is stated in Mario Superstar Baseball (translated from Japanese):

[Koopa Troopa is] A member of the Koopa clan, familiar to the Mario series. He can protect himself by putting his hands and feet inside his shell. Long ago, he couldn't even stand up wearing shoes, but after hard work, he's gone as far as being able to play baseball. He can do anything with skill, but since he's a turtle, he's slow on his feet.

We’ve seen Koopas who walk on all fours stand up in Mario Bros. and Game & Watch: Super Mario Bros. artwork. It appears shoes help Koopas stand upright, which explains why whenever we see them waking on all fours they aren’t wearing them. Clearly this isn't an inconsistency but rather a feature of the worldbuilding.

The Koopalings were retconned. Many people do not like this change, but that’s not an inconsistency. It’s not something they’ve gone back and forth on, it was a change they made a couple of decades ago to allow them to exist while considering newer lore. Explicit retcons like this are made for the sake of consistency and only prove that they’re considering an overarching narrative that needs consistent worldbuilding throughout these games.

In short, Slade Lucas bases their “inconsistencies” on personal bias, a lack of knowledge, gameplay mechanics and things literally done to make things consistent. Their arguments do not hold up whatsoever. Thank you for bringing your concerns to me, and I hope you found this response helpful!

[decepti-thots]

my personal opinion- especially having now read the notebooks which, hm, i'd say clarify some things in terms of Roberts' extremely early intentions here*- is that the later re-framing of Rung as having in-universe issues with his practice is a kind of attempt at an authors' saving throw, after Roberts realised he fucked some stuff up early on. and the early stuff doesn't feel to me like the comic feels Rung is in any way compromised or untrustworthy, which does indeed make it relevant to how the comic frames disability because he becomes a lens through which it is "authoritatively" presented to us as readers.

this creates a situation where looking back on it retroactively you can, as a reader, construct a kind of "okay, the reason this weirdness is here regarding stuff like Whirl being talked about this uncomfortable way is maybe because Rung is unreliable!" explanation, but the text read on its own at the time doesn't actually indicate anything of the sort, and frankly doesn't really work if you take this approach IMO. let me get into a compare-and-contrast actually, i'll cut for length.

this seems notable to me, because there is a difference in how certain characters are framed where Rung is used as a kind of "viewport-character" into ones the comic doesn't seem to assume a reader will relate to. take the oft-compared treatment of Chromedome and Red Alert, both characters whose suicide attempts are depicted early on. Chromedome is presented as a character the audience might directly relate to, and his experiences are framed by his narration, his direct relating of what happens, and there's room there for a reader to identify with him. (#12) it doesn't assume everyone will, but to me, that emphasis on inhabiting his viewpoint as a reader suggests that the text accommodates it as a likely possibility.

but by contrast, Red Alert is narrated to us through Rung a lot more when his mental health struggles come up (#5), which tells me something about an assumption the text makes about who its assumed readership will "relate to". namely: it finds that harder to believe than Chromedome. we hear Rung's inner monologue explaining his experiences of giving Red Alert therapy, learning about Red's experiences of delusions and paranoia through an external source, not his own words. his "progress" is charted to the reader not through Red's own thoughts about the experience, but Rung relating (as an authority figure the audience is assumed to trust the judgement of) his experience being Red's therapist.

this feels, to me, like a kind of dichotomy is being established on some level between experiences of mental illness and suicidality some people in the assumed readerbase might relate to (Chromedome, who has experience of some form of clinical depression directly related to acute circumstance, and who has a suicide attempt he engages in as a pre-mediated response to it) and those it is implicitly assumed most readers will see as unrelatable, if potentially sympathetic (Red Alert, who has… probably a form of paranoid personality disorder(?) that is suggested to include psychotic features(?? maybe?), whose suicide attempt is more spontaneous). the obvious discussion to be had is about forms of more or less stigmatized mental illness in society.

see also: Red's actual attempt at suicide largely being revealed to the reader and processed through other characters standing around talking about it, and at one point being presented as Basically A Good Thing, For Now because oh well, some mental illnesses are bad enough to warrant it, probably? (versus uh, I don't think the comic would suggest CD being comatose after a nearly-succesful suicide attempt was better than living with and processing his clinical depression!)

Rung exists in these kinds of scenes to provide an entry point to "understand" and sympathize with (but not directly relate to) Red Alert. we also see this when Fort Max is acting "crazy" in Interiors, for example, where the narrative follows external observers during his breakdown, not Max himself. this approach does not function on a basic level if Rung is fundamentally suspect as a narrator at this point, regarding his role as a therapist; it leaves us as readers totally unmoored. when Rung responds to patients in ways that read as suspect, that to me therefore suggests the text is assuming things about its audience's perspectives, experiences, and opinions on the matter, ones I perhaps disagree with, rather than anything about Rung as a person.

the text's opinions on some things evolve slightly over time, however, which means later on there has to be a kind of course-correction with things Rung does and says that now feel increasingly out of step, hence the very weird and utterly unforeshadowed "reveal" that Rung is disbarred because of unethical practices (except we never get confirmation this is real and not Froid making it up, because the story can't actually sustain Rung having been unethical the entire time: see above)

in short: i do think it's very relevant, yes, and the changing of Rung's role over time is observable in how the comic is responding to (at times very strong) criticism from various readers, to the point i'd say it's metatextual on some level. but it's only really noticeable when you take a step out-of-universe and look at the comic as a comic, IMO, so starting from Rung's characterization is not very productive in this specific discussion.

(* namely, that he has to (at least once) put a justifiably embarrassed present day note in that he clearly didn't know what the fuck he was talking about when it came to certain mental illnesses, which he now acknowledges.)

[communistkenobi]

There’s a popular sentiment in political discourse that right wing extremist beliefs - shit like Qanon, but also often just like, antisemitism in general - are indicative of mental illness, or that these beliefs are pathological in origin. There are a lot of arguments against this, but a common one I see in progressive spaces is that this is an ableist argument to make (which is a reasonable response!). However, I don’t think this is persuasive enough on its own to convince people to stop framing it as a mental illness thing (or even why it’s ableist to begin with). I also don’t think people fully understand why it’s a factually incorrect claim, even if they know it’s a problematic framing of the issue. And so I want to attempt to give an explanation for why that framework is wrong, and why believing it will lead you to poor conclusions about political beliefs generally.

This is going to be a long post, so it’ll be going under a cut. If anything doesn’t make sense or people want shit clarified feel free to send me an ask/reply etc. This is primarily aimed at people who might know that it’s wrong to call Nazis or Qanon people mentally ill (even jokingly) but don’t understand why. This is not meant to be an exhaustive explanation, but I want to make a strong case for why it’s shitty to talk about ring wing views in this way.

I’m gonna first talk about disability and mental illness, and then talk a little bit about right wing beliefs - the goal here is to fully explain why it’s ableist, and then move into why it’s an incorrect argument more broadly. The primary sources for this discussion will be two books: one called Absent Citizens, which is a book about disability politics in Canada, and a book called The Authoritarian Personality, which is about a massive research project conducted in America after WWII with the aim of understanding the content and origin of fascistic beliefs. This isn’t going to be an academic essay or whatever, but I do want to draw on academic sources to frame this discussion. I think this is a complex topic that involves a lot of complicated shit and I want to hopefully clarify some of the dimensions of this issue.

why this argument sucks

To begin, I want to break down the argument that people who believe absurd things - like bleach as a cure for covid, for example - are mentally ill. There are a lot of hidden assumptions built into that claim that I don’t think people realize are there. I also think people react to and argue against those hidden assumptions, but they still often go unstated in discourse about the topic.

You often see this claim made against celebrities - Kanye is the most recent example, but Trump is a really common one too. And whatever actual diagnosed mental health issues they have, I’m going to set those aside for the moment, because I don’t think that popular discourse about them being mentally ill is actually about their specific, diagnosed mental illnesses. Kanye would still be antisemitic even if he did not have BPD, but the fact that he does have BPD provides people with a very handy rationalization to explain his horrific views. And if he didn’t have any diagnosed mental illnesses, I doubt that would stop people from claiming he’s mentally ill anyway (which I’ll talk about later).

So, this argument has a couple different assumptions built into it. First, it takes for granted the idea that there is a social and political orthodoxy which is normal, and to fall outside of that orthodoxy means your beliefs are pathological. Views deemed sensible and reasonable (generally centre right to centre left) are equated with mental well-being, and views that are deemed unreasonable are equated with mental illness. What this does is medicalize all political beliefs. Sufficient deviance from the societal norm is therefore a sign of mental instability.

What this also does is medicalize mental illness, which is to say it individualizes it. To make the claim that absurd or dangerous political views are a sign of mental illness is to make the argument that the origins of these views come from an individual, medical deficiency within a person. It ignores the social, economic, cultural, and historical circumstances for why someone may come to believe right wing conspiracy theories (I will explain this in more detail a bit later, so just bracket this for now).

And if you frame the problem of right wing conspiracy in this way, it informs political solutions for how to get rid of these conspiratorial views in society - if antisemitism is a mental illness, then mandated mental health tests that measure political deviancy, or the invention of new mental health diagnoses for right wing extremism, would be a viable solution, right? To take this claim seriously, it would mean inventing a new class of disability, a new type of pathologized person. And once you’ve created this category and placed people into it, what do you do with them? If their beliefs are a matter of neurological deficiency, does that mean they are incapable of being de-radicalized? Should they be put on special medication? Are they even responsible for their own beliefs if there is something wrong with their brain?

And like, this line of argumentation is bad! It’s a defeatist attitude (some people are just bad and there is nothing to be done about it), it makes political beliefs biological (some people are inherently good and others inherently bad), it ignores broader forces that may lead to someone believing these things, and it prescribes policy solutions that are eugenic in nature. If we just get rid of all the bad mentally ill people, society will be fixed. Which means we are now in a very similar political position to right wing beliefs about trans people, jewish people, people of colour, and, of course, disabled people.

The second issue is that it equates “normal” political views with mental fitness, which is often a (hidden) shorthand for moral fitness. This creates a view of society as something that is naturally good, a moral yardstick to measure everyone else by. People with absurd beliefs that shock the public are just not following the rules that will make them a good person. It leaves no room for a critique of those societal norms. Is the current political orthodoxy good? Is it a good yardstick to measure other people by? Is the current state of the world a morally and socially healthy society? What if you think it isn’t? Does that make you mentally ill too?

disability & mental health

I remember right after the 2016 American election there was a very intense focus in the media on Trump being mentally ill. He was charged with infecting the body politic with his mental instability. What this did was place him outside of history, positioning him as an alien invader on an otherwise healthy society. It did not account for the social and economic forces that led to him becoming a key political figure in American politics. It was an abdication of responsibility from mostly liberal people who did not want to confront the problems in society that existed far before Trump got into power, and indeed, allowed him to get there. If you could prove Trump was mentally ill, then that would mean the problem was just that - illness. So, to go back to an earlier point, when people point to Kanye’s bipolar disorder as a reason for his antisemitism, they are not making a medical diagnosis; they are removing his political beliefs from public discourse and placing them in the realm of mental pathology. It is a refusal to meet his beliefs as they exist, and instead insist that they exist outside of society. It also robs him of agency. Something outside of his control is making him do this; you can’t really blame him. It frames bigotry as something a person does without their knowledge or even consent. This external problem is to blame.

And finally, to synthesize these points, the idea that right wing bigotry is a symptom of of mental illness is making the argument that mental illness, and disability more broadly, are medical in nature. This is also a problem! Disability has for decades been seen by activists and academics alike as something that is not biological, or at least not completely. Since around the 70s or 80s, disability activism began pushing the social model of disability, which was in direct opposition to the biological (or medical) model of disability. The social model argues that disability is the product of an unfair and discriminatory society. Disabled people are not biologically broken; society purposefully excludes them.

I think a really instructive example to use to illustrate this is the built environment. Staircases are not naturally occurring phenomena; human societies build them, and there are certain assumptions that go into building stairs as opposed to ramps, or tiered walkways, or other configurations. The inability to climb a set of stairs does not indicate a biological deficit in a human being, the social model argues; it indicates that society is building a world that excludes disabled people from fully participating in it. Framing it this way, the solution to the problem isn’t to force everyone to use the stairs, it is to alter the environment so that it is accessible to everyone. Disability can either be exacerbated or minimized through social change. In the same way, there are a lot of social norms that exclude certain groups of people. Autistic people for example can find a lot of social norms to be confusing and difficult to navigate. It’s worth considering whether these social norms are useful to everyone, and whether it would be better to alter them the same way we might want to alter a staircase to include more people in public life. It’s not that these people are broken or incorrect, it’s that historical institutions, from social values to urban architecture, prescribe certain modes of travel, certain social relationships, that can be more or less harmful to certain groups of people. The same critiques can be made through a feminist lens, or an anti-racist one. What the social model of disability does is introduce the idea of disability as a social category, one that is not a biological destiny but a historically contingent position in society that can be improved through social change.

And more broadly, mental illness has a similar disadvantage. It’s framed as a medical issue, a problem that arises within individual people. Society isn’t the cause of social dysfunction, or depression, or personality disorders; your brain is just broken, and you need to learn how to fit into society better.

And so going back to the original claim, what you’re doing when you make that argument is A) medicalizing political beliefs, and B) accepting that an individualized medical view of mental illness is inherently correct and useful for understanding political conflict.

So that’s one reason why this framework is harmful. It also leads into the other major reason why this view is harmful - it prevents a structural analysis of right wing beliefs. If Kanye West’s antisemitism is a manifestation of his mental illness, this means that antisemitism is itself a medical condition. It comes from nowhere, or to be more charitable, it’s someone pathologically indulging in bigotry. In this framework, the source of the bigotry isn’t the problem; the person being too extreme about it is.

fascism

I’m going to talk about fascism now in a more theoretical way. I think even if you’re on board with everything I’ve said up to this point, it’s still hard to watch someone say something completely absurd and not think there is something mentally wrong with them. Like, who the fuck actually believes that giving your kids bleach or horse heart de-wormer will cure covid? How can bigots keep making claims about jewish people or trans people that are easily proven false every single time? You have to be mentally ill in some way to ignore reality that hard, right? But I want to caution people against framing this as mental illness, even if it’s difficult to find another explanation.

Fascism is a product of history. What I mean by this is that fascism is a response to large social forces, and when fascist movements are successful, they reinforce a lot of those existing social forces. Fascism often takes the form of political ambitions, such as the desire to take over a democratic government, but it goes deeper than that. In The Authoritarian Personality, Adorno (one of the authors) makes the argument that fascism is a particular response people have to the contradictions of capitalism - those contradictions being that you are supposedly this free agent able to make your own choices, yet are constantly crushed under the weight of the ruling class. Human beings are told they are free and yet are constantly alienated from other people as a result of class conflict. The book explores this claim at multiple scales, down to the level of individual families all the way up to society as a whole. We know, for example, that children in abusive households sometimes become abusive people themselves. Not always, or even often, but they sometimes do. Abuse also causes a lot of other, non-abusive social and emotional problems for children who grow up in these environments, often following them into adulthood. This is a particularly horrific environment that people respond in different ways to, and it produces a wide range of issues that people have to grapple with for the rest of their lives. In the same way, harmful societal forces illicit different responses in people, and sometimes, that response is a turn towards fascism.

Adorno describes fascism as an ideology of irrationality. A fascist is someone who embraces the contradictions of capitalism and makes contradiction a core component of their belief system. Or rather, fascism is a belief system that fully accommodates contradiction because of its irrational character. Fascism is often difficult to describe precisely because of this irrationality - in order to make sense of it you need to place it in a rational context, which runs the risk of over-intellectualizing or rationalizing it. This even came up in the methodology section of the book. The researchers couldn’t go around asking people if they were racist or antisemitic, for example, because a bunch of people would say no, even if they were explicitly racist and antisemitic people. In several of the interviews the researchers did, fascistic people would assert that they were not racist and then, in the literal next sentence, would say something horribly racist. And they found that fascistic people would repeat this pattern for many areas of their lives - deny a behaviour, even a trivial one, and then do that exact behaviour a few minutes later. This contradiction is so deeply embedded that it makes investigating what fascists actually believe difficult.

However, to try to give a broad overview, fascism is a singular fixation with power. The way power is distributed in society is along in-group/out-group lines. If you are part of the in-group (white, Christian, able-bodied, cishet, etc) you are deserving of power; if you’re not, then you must be dominated or destroyed. In order to realize this goal of white supremacist power, any belief or behaviour that will further this goal is advantageous, regardless of how truthful it is. This is part of the reason why a lot of right wing conspiracies sound so ridiculous - truth is not a quality that is valuable to them because it could interfere with the pursuit of power. In this framework, Qanon people asserting that ivermectin will cure covid are not making a factual medical claim; what they are doing is saying that the medical establishment cannot be trusted, that a deadly disease killing millions of people can be stopped with an over the counter remedy. Because if covid isn’t real, or is as mild as a seasonal flu, then the current government in power is making illegitimate demands on people to socially distance and wear masks, and therefore the only moral response is to overthrow them and install someone who will stop making those demands. You have to view all right wing conspiratorial claims not as factual but as strategic; you need to evaluate their claims based on what the proposed solution to the problem they’re presenting you with will be. If they’re claiming trans people are grooming children or assaulting people in bathrooms, then the obvious policy response is to bar trans people from any space that contains children or public bathrooms (ie, all public spaces). If Jewish people have undue influence in government, the obvious response is to remove all Jewish people from positions of power. And these are short term solutions - if these minorities are so disgusting that you need to shut them out of public life, the only real solution is to get rid of them entirely. It doesn’t matter that these accusations are demonstrably false; they are “true” to a fascist because they further their political and ideological goals. They have to be true for their power to be realized, and so by virtue of that they are effectively true to a fascist. (This is also why disproving their claims with facts don’t work; they aren’t interested in the truth of any of their claims, because truth is not something they value in their vision of society).

And they don’t even need to be dyed in the wool explicit fascists to be saying this shit! A good portion of this discussion has been about hidden assumptions in discourse. I do things without realizing the full consequences of my behaviour sometimes. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m “doing” something at all because it’s so embedded and normalized in society that it feels natural. I try to catch myself as much as I can to make sure I’m not doing something harmful, but everyone does it. Fascists are just as capable of this. And like, racism and bigotry are part of normal everyday society. The dedicated well-read fascists who know what they’re doing and the shallow incurious racists who just want to be assholes both peddle the same shit and it does the same harm; doing it unintentionally doesn’t make you mentally ill, and being mentally ill doesn’t mean you’re being racist through some kind of medical accident. These people are enacting their political beliefs through their words and behaviour, whether they know the full scope of those beliefs or not, and you should not diminish that agency by arguing that they’re misguided mentally ill people.

It’s also part of the reason why they will deny charges of bigotry. They aren’t necessarily lying to themselves, but they are attempting to exclude types of discourse that would harm their political goals. I’m not racist because racism is bad and what I want isn’t bad. I’m not racist because racism is undue bigotry against racial minorities and mine is fully justified. You can’t trust what they say, but you can trust their intentions, and their intentions are bad.

This post is extremely long already so I’ll wrap it up here. When you see people making outlandish, false, ridiculous claims about a minority group, remember that these people are not expressing mental illness. They are expressing dangerous political views and need to be shut down for political reasons. The status of their mental health is not relevant to solving the problem of bigotry. Laying the blame at the feet of mental illness is an error of both scope and origin; bigotry does not come from illness, it comes from a desire for power, and that is the thing that needs to be stopped.

[theyareweird]

Nurturing Beastman – Chapter 15

Mate Stealer

“Okay, I didn’t want to say anything, but I have to ask,” Onica began, staring at Kianna with concern. “Why on earth are you covered in burns, cuts and whip marks?!” They sternly cried.

Kianna sighed in defeat. She normally wouldn’t tell people about her past, but she trusted Onica. In the end, they offered a compassionate shoulder for Kianna to confide in. “Wow. That’s horrible…” Onica gasped. “My parents pretended like they never had a child once I turned five, but they never physically abused me. I was simply ignored and neglected. I was too sick and disabled for them to really care about me.” They bluntly stated.

“I’m sorry…” Kianna said, frowning.

“It’s not your fault. It seems like we both came from bad homes.” Onica concluded.

Meanwhile, Veronica was planning on hunting a chicken for the nurturers to eat; however, she had something else on her mind. Leaving the area, the python approached Nayuki at the market. “I know we didn’t have the best first impression, but have you noticed your mate’s scars?” She asked with her arms crossed.

Nayuki narrowed his eyes at Veronica and said, “They were hard to miss.”

“You can’t tell me you don’t think our mates are hiding something from us.” Veronica clarified.

Nayuki averted his eyes from the python. “Kianna obviously lied earlier when I confronted her about the scars.” He sighed.

“Onica and Kianna seem a little too attached to each other.” Veronica pointed out. “Even for non-feral siblings, that’s not normal.” She added.

“What should we do?” Nayuki questioned.

“For now, keep pursuing Kianna. The closer we both become with our mates the more they’ll trust us and eventually open up about their pasts.” Veronica instructed.

Nayuki nodded in agreement. Later, he and Veronica prepared lunch for their mates. Onica had instructed them to grill the poultry on a washed stone slab by the fire. There, the chicken breasts and legs were rubbed with seasonings from the clinic tree. At this point, Onica always made sure to at least retrieve salt from the doctor to add flavor to their meals.

As the four of them ate, the heavenly smell of charred meat attracted other tribe members. “What is that wonderful smell?” Kyle sighed through a smile.

“Chicken.” Kianna replied.

Tora then walked up beside Kyle and touched an index finger to her chin. “Really? Poultry doesn’t usually smell this good, even when cooked.” She gawked, her curious eyes landing on the food.

“I think you’re smelling the parsley and garlic rub we put on it.” Onica pointed out though a prideful grin. Although the food wasn’t anything special or detailed, they felt as though they helped make a decent meal if others were taking an interest in it.

“It doesn’t matter. None of you can have any, scram!” Veronica hissed. Her presence suddenly created a threatening aura which struck fear towards those around Onica and Kianna.

Kyle and Tora then shrunk away, stepping back in the direction from where they came. Unfortunately, Trevor stomped through the area to see what all the commotion was about. At first, he seemed to be practically drooling over the food Onica and Kianna were devouring. Then, Nayuki stepped forward and the young man began drooling over something else.

Trevor then ran a hand through his ginger locks. He strutted over to Nayuki with his shoulders back and chest puffed out. “Hello, Nayuki.” Trevor greeted in a flirtatious manner.

Onica’s mouth fell open. “They know each other?” They gasped in question to Kianna as if she had an answer. More than anything, Onica wanted to see some kind of facial expression from their friend to indicate what she was feeling about the situation unfolding in front of her. However, Kianna simply stared blankly at Nayuki from the picnic table.

Trevir’s medium beige skin appeared to be kissed by the sun under its rays as he placed a hand on Nayuki’s chest. “As long as you’re willing, I’ll reproduce with you and we’ll have a whole litter of kittens.” He said through a cocky smirk.

“What?! Why do you have to make babies with him?!” All five of Trevor’s female mates screeched in response.

Onica then began whipping their head back and forth between Kianna’s unfazed expression to the scandalous scene before them. They wanted Kianna to say something since she accepted Nayuki as her mate, but their friend’s eyes only refused to look away from the drama instead. In addition, it was tragic to hear the desperate cries of these nature beastman. They all have to wait in line to reproduce according to how much their spouse likes them.

Nayuki then took a step back and gently shooed away Trevor’s arm from touching him further. “I appreciate the offer, but I already have a partner.” Nayuki calmly dismissed him. Despite his collected demeanor, the bengal cat’s green eyes were sharp as fangs.

Trevor then turned away, forming crocodile tears in his eyes. “I was certain you would finally take me as your mate now that you have had more time to mentally mature.” He sobbed.

“That was three years ago.” Nayuki grumbled.

“What is he talking about?” Kianna finally spoke up.

“Nayuki assaulted me while I was bathing in a lake. It was due to this that I decided to accept him as my mate since I had never been handled like that before.” Trevor cried.

Onica then clasped their hands onto the sides of their skull. “What is happening right now?!” They gasped in horror.

“Why are we watching this?” Veronica mumbled to Onica. “It doesn’t concern us…” She said in dismissal.

“I was only thirteen. Nayuki had reached maturity early and I imagine his hormones were out of control.” Trevor explained.

Onica then turned to Veronica and asked, “How old are nature beastman usually when they’ve reached maturity?”

“Eighteen.” Veronica replied. After having their answer, Onica determined Nayuki is still quite a powerful beastman for one with only two marks if he managed to mature five years early. From there, Veronica, Onica and Kianna redirected their attention back onto the drama.

“Liar.” Nayuki hissed. “Gaining my anthropoid form had nothing to do with the situation. You were screaming you couldn’t swim so I jumped in to save you. I paddled you to shore in my true form, too.” He argued.

Trevor then gestured towards his twin sister and said, “I speak the truth! Tora was there!”

“I was around, but I didn’t see the event.” Tora shrugged. “I was too busy playing with butterflies.” She admitted.

Nayuki then growled in his throat. “You only want me because I automatically became a bi-marked beastman once I matured.”

Trevor then grit his teeth at the losing battle. “How is she better than me?!” He yelled. Trevor then turned around and pointed a finger at Kianna. “Look at her, she doesn’t have a single beast mark!” He exclaimed. “She’s probably a rejected female because she didn’t mature properly to have a uterus cycle.” Trevor said with a scornful look across his face.

“Kianna is still young. It’s not strange she doesn’t have a mark yet.” Nayuki stated in her defense.

Trevor then crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, really? Any nurturer who can’t reproduce will never be loved because they can’t care for the children their nature was designed for.” Trevor confidently stated.

“I would still love Kianna even if she was infertile.” Nayuki hissed. “A nurturer’s ability to love and express compassion doesn’t just extend to their children, but their mates too.”

By this point, Kianna had enough. She then rose from the wooden bench and said, “Trevor, I may not be better than you, but you should respect your partners’ more. They all love you, yet you still want to have children with someone else. If I were them… I would rather be single my whole life.”

Trevor’s fiery eyes then landed on all his wives. Each of them were awestruck at Kianna’s passionate words. Their flushed cheeks and starry eyes told him a part of them were wishing Kianna was their mate instead. “You are just saying that to appease them!” Trevor snapped.

“You can think whatever you want, Trevor, but leave. You’re in my front yard and are no longer welcome.” Kianna dismissed him.

Trevor clenched his fists at his sides. He was seething with rage at how Kianna not only showed him up in front of everyone, but she also stole the man he was pursuing. Before Trevor could protest, his spouses flocked around him. “She’s right. This is the nurturer’s territory. We can’t trespass if she wants us gone.” One of Trevor’s wives reminded. “Let’s go before the chief has to be summoned.” Another one of Trevor’s spouses urged.

With that, everyone disbursed. The second the crowd was gone, Nayuki approached Kianna and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Kianna do you believe I touched Trevor inappropriately?” He asked, resting his head on her shoulder.

“No. It was obvious he was trying to claim you because you’re strong.” Kianna mumbled. “Now finish eating before it becomes dinner.” She jokingly teased, rubbing Nayuki’s head. Despite being thrusted into an unfamiliar world, Kianna was glad Nayuki stood up for her.

“Good.” Nayuki purred, planting a kiss on Kianna’s cheek.

Kianna Komori OC by: @nunezs-stuff

[tigger8900]

The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store, by James McBride

⭐⭐⭐⭐ 1/2

In 1930s America, Chicken Hill was a community of immigrants, with recent Jewish arrivals living and working side-by-side with the Black descendants of slaves taken from Africa a hundred years ago or more. Most residents would agree that the heart of the community was the grocery store run by a Jewish woman named Chona. But when Chona intervenes to protect a deaf black boy from institutionalization, a series of events are set in motion that would lead to the discovery, 40 years into the future, of human remains at the bottom of an abandoned well. The question of whose body it is and how it got down there can only be answered by tracing the actions of the entire community, as they come together in response to crisis.

This was the first book by James McBride that I've ever read, and if the rest of his books are anything like this one, I understand why he's so popular. This is a story that takes its time, circling repeatedly around the same events to examine them from multiple perspectives, before moving swiftly to cinch the plot tightly around the conclusion. But through all of the plot circling I never felt bored with it, because it was fascinating to get to know the community through the eyes of so many different individuals. I wouldn't go so far as to say the pacing is off, but you will need to bring patience for the slow build-up. It pays off in the final quarter of the story, but it's a journey to get there.

It's worth mentioning that, despite the dark elements in the story — and there are many — this book has a sharp sense of humor. It has to, because if we'd had to read through all of that heavy, grim subject matter without the tension breaking with a chuckle now and again, it would have been too much. That said, the dark parts are incredibly dark. Aside from the obvious racism and white supremacy present throughout, there's some not-so-obvious content, so I encourage readers to check warnings. Despite the negative attitudes expressed by many of the characters, I found the various groups depicted — Black people, Jewish people, and people with disabilities — to be treated with respect by the author.

Despite all the good, there were a few things I wasn't a huge fan of. First, there were some dangling plot elements that seemed to be set up and then forgotten about. For example, there was an ominous deal made out of the half of the note that Fatty dropped, but it ultimately seemed like it didn't matter. And there was also a recurring character who seemed to be set up for a big role in the events, but ultimately he re-entered the plot just before the climax kicked off only to chill off-screen. Don't get me wrong, the matter of who wound up down the well and why was answered in a completely satisfactory manner. But I got the vibe that some additional clarifying scenes had been cut, leaving me with lingering questions about some of the background action.

The other thing that stuck out to me were the occasional preachy asides, where McBride nudges aside the fourth wall to speak directly to the reader on some matter or another. I can't decide if I thought they added to or detracted from the narration. As much as I feel like the story's message should stand on its own without needing to be explained to the reader, I do realize that sometimes we have to hammer the point a bit more obviously to make sure it lands. So I'm conflicted on this.

Ultimately, this was a very good book that deserves every best-of spot it's been landing itself on. I went into it expecting a book about a combined Jewish and Black community standing up against white supremacy, but found a story about the power of community to come together when it matters to take care of each other, regardless of ethnicity or ability.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

For autism awareness month, I’ll be talking about my autism. I have a complicated relationship with it. I’ll readily admit that it’s my autism that makes me a bit too much of a Zelda fan, a bit too much of a Pokémon fan, etc.. Whenever I get into a new thing, I go in neck deep and it consumes my thoughts. On the one hand, I get to micro analyze the thing and appreciate it for all its worth. On the other, I sometimes wish I could just like multiple things at once and give me other things to talk about when I’m with my friends, instead of turning to the internet and ranting into the void. I created this blog almost six years ago because at the time I only had one friend who also liked Zelda, and I knew it would be cruel to unload all my autistic Zelda ramblings on him. Same reason I made the Pokémon side blog.

Effective communication does not come easily for me. I’m sometimes unaware of the tone I’m speaking in, and I have very poor control over my facial expressions. Basically I can’t hide my emotions for shit, which can be bad in some scenarios. I miss some nonverbal cues. On the flip side, this has made me work incredibly hard to become an effective communicator. I know that if things are left unsaid, they may go uncommunicated. I know to say what I mean and clarify everything that needs to be. I hate that I over analyze everything I say and hear said to me, but oh well.

As a white, cishet man, I need to be aware of the power dynamics in my relationships. I need to be cognizant of the ways my words and actions can be perceived differently by women, minorities, and other people with whom there is some imbalance of power. I think this is how all people in my position should approach things, but for me and my autism, this is especially difficult. So I verbally acknowledge it with the person so they know I’m trying.

For example, a good friend of mine used to only know me as the author of Oops! All Links. He looked up to me as a writer and put me on a pedestal, which I understand and is completely natural as a parasocial relationship. He is also seven whole years younger than me. At the time, I was 21 and he was 14. When we started to DM and actually become friends, I told him explicitly that I recognized the power imbalance in our friendship, and he should feel absolutely no obligation to do anything that I say or ask of him, and to also tell me immediately if something I say or do makes him uncomfortable. I never had and still never do have any ill intent in this friendship, but the last thing I want is to unintentionally take advantage of him.

Sometimes, I wish things could be different. Compounded with my bipolar disorder and ADHD, my autism makes my life harder. My brain is crosswired and I need to work harder to achieve the things that I want than do neurotypical people. Getting through college has been an ordeal and it’s honestly a miracle that I’m almost finished with it. If I could do away with just the ways my autism my life worse, I would in a heartbeat.

My autism also makes me who I am, though. It defines my personality and the way I interact with the world. I wouldn’t be such an effective verbal communicator, I wouldn’t have the same passions, and I wouldn’t have the same relationships. It’s part of what makes me,,, me. And ya know what? I like me.

I still hate some things about myself. I hate the ways that my disabilities and disorders make my life harder. I sometimes wish I could just whisk it all away so I don’t have to struggle like I do. But there are some good things that come along with it. If I got to choose whether to get rid of the autism and everything it entails… I don’t know. I just don’t know if I would. But I don’t have that choice. For better or for worse, reality has already made the decision for me.

[fentrashcat]

Tourettes Awareness Month, day 8!

I forgot how time works and let days 6 and 7 pass wo a post 😅

Today I think I'm just going to talk about my family and how they react to my Tourette's.

Soft TW for some ableism, but it was from ignorance not malice.

⚠️Everyone who has TS or tic disorders will have different experiences, this is just mine.

Grandma

I want to preface this with the fact that my grandma didn't mean anything by this but it was kind of hurtful right after I got diagnosed. When she found out she said "oh I know what that is! There's this guy who comes to the shops and stomps around and chants dirt words under his breath, [grandma's friend] said he has that. Does this mean you're going to start cursing all the time now?"

Now I cursed like a sailor already, but never around my family, ESPECIALLY never around my grandma, and as a newly diagnosed 17yo, that made me really anxious.

Later one when I developed my "duck-duck" tic the first time she heard it she asked "was that what I think it was" and I clarified it was DUCK not FUCK. For the next week or so afterwards, anytime she heard it she'd be like "oh its still good, okay". I made some kind of comment (I don't remember it now, but knowing me I made a joke of it) about how I'd be upset if my happy tic was vulgar, and she stopped mentioning it.

Also when she found out sudden loud noises trigger tics (and saw me ticcing myself dizzy bc thunder), she would always tell me to come over if storms were too much for me, since we live nearby, or she'd text to make sure I was okay in big storms.

Grandpa

So my grandpa has had a lot of growth in the past few years regarding mental health and disabilities, and a lot of it is because he's been around me more. He was often the one to drive me home when I had tic attacks at work. He used to pressure me a lot about not being able to drive, but after seeing how twitchy I get with bad drivers, he kind of dropped it 😅.

I also ended up talking to him about the trouble I had trying to get disability, and later that day he sent me some resources. He also started asking and trying to learn more about my TS, although his timing wasn't always great as he'd ask me during an attack so I usually couldn't answer right away.

Also when I mentioned that I had a good day while at the disability evaluation and should've gone on a bad day he said something like "Yeah, sitting here talking to you like this I'd never know, but I've seen it when it get bad, and it's rough".

Mom

My mom isn't diagnosed but gets tics, it's usually either echolalia, or a response to mine. She mimics the generic Samsung text tone (but hasn't changed it), and will answer some of my tics with something kind of related. A "duck-duck" from me might get a "goose" from her, my "ding" causes her to "dong", my "bing" gets her to "bong".

Whenever I get ticcy around her she tries to help, either distracting me, getting me somewhere I can calm down, or reminding me I don't need to apologize or suppress if she notices me doing that.

I'm running out of energy so just doing these ones for now, might do a part 2 with my Aunt, Cousin, and Baby Cousin. For now though thank you for reading, and feel free to leave an ask if you have any questions 😊

Also forgot to mention if you check out the fentics tag below there's more stuff on tics and Tourettes that I've posted or reblogged.

[lastwave]

i get all the stuff about jean being biased against addicts/the unhoused/disabled people, but i have no clue where the idea that he's biased against queer ppl comes from. like i dont remember him ever being homophobic in the actual game - is there an example?

ahh hi! there's not really an overt example and its more of an inference on my part based on other aspects of jean's politics than anything (probably should have clarified that but i was also stoned)

the bit where jean complains about no one in revachol getting married to me, reads like a typical right wing "the libs are destroying the nuclear family" talking point to me

there's also the like. mini rant he goes on when you wear the piss jacket and then talk to him

this could be read a few ways, but suggestion's rebuttal makes me think that jean is less bothered by the implication of a cop walking around with a homophobic slur on his back, and More bothered by the fact that it would be bad press.

DE also makes it a point to point out that cop culture is really bigoted in many ways including like, a very... testosterone misogyny bro kind of way, so with most cop characters in de save kim and harry, my blanket assumption is that they are at best ambivalent on the subject of gay rights

hope this helped! /gen