#we know its a trauma response and want to work through it

[iguinn]

honestly this is going to be controversial but after our dad told us quite a few stories about smaller dog actively trying to provoke and bite his lab mix (uve heard of him) to the point an incident happened that made him way more on edge around other dogs since... we think that we need to start to be more critical of small dog owners who dont train them because if a big lab mix like our sweet big boy meant to actually hurt their dog for growling and trying to attack him trust us we would not let our sweet boy be put down because some idiot did not train their dog to not actively attack other dogs because they think its ok cause their dog is small. train ur small dog cause even a generally gentle and well trained bigger dog (like our dad's lab mix) can snap if provoked enough.

[sleepatterns]

today has been. hnngngnfhskakdhhhhhh so many weird feelings and not fun thoughts. things our mom said to us + going back to grandparents house was a weird combination. also the conversation we had with our mom had the exact Opposite effect of what she was intending i think because wow holy shit we feel so so fucking awful

[lubrumalis]

ghost character analysis

tw: spoilers from ghost mw2 comics, nsfw, dead dove do not eat, mature content.

this is pretty much a part 2 to ghost headcanons except with more lore and analysis (im still not sure if reboot ghost has the same backstory as the og ghost).

ghost is not a cold, calculated, ruthless man. maybe in a separate au or something, but theres a huge difference between ghost and simon riley. in fact, we need to understand that the reason he even chose ghost as a new name for himself is because of all that's happened to him. his family got killed, he got tortured by roba, and had to eliminate many men on his own. before that he was simon, not ghost. in the comic he literally calls the child hostages he was saving ‘sweetheart’ and ‘love’. hes not that mean and cold yall

we know that PTSD does shit to it's victims, ghost lost his entire family and had no one. think of it as a coping mechanism to have a new name to be known as.

ghost is a ruthless killer. simon is just some guy.

ghost sets himself to an incredibly high standard of discipline. i think it's intuitive that military boys will need to be punctual and organized to some degree, but ghost takes this to a whole other level. considering his father's abusive behavior (explained by his disturbing statements said to simon, is a drug addict, and beats simons mom) his home life was likely chaotic as a child.

in the mw2: ghost comic (issue #3) it specifically stated the following: "discipline, precision, control. these are what riley built his whole life on. break those down and the dark stuff begins to ooze out..." again, this is probably a form of trauma response to his childhood.

so what does this lead to? well firstly, this probably means his room is incredibly tidy and organized (monotone design i know :,c).

would never in his life touch drugs. this is a promise he made to himself.

also kinda proves that ghost aint a reckless guy. he thinks things through before doing it.

ghost isn’t that hypersexual. theres no way of knowing his history with women, but i like to think ghost is not that horny 24/7 and needs a fuckbuddy. in the mw2 comic, he was on a mission and was in an area full of prostitutes (wasn’t actively on duty, but on his way) when they tried to hit on him he politely rejects one of them, and later tells them to fuck off😀 so yea contrary to popular belief i dont think he really enjoys one night stands or the idea of being entertained by random women. in fact, i hc he might actually be a virgin or just have a really low body count.

ghost is a feminist!😁 (misandrist too). ok let me reword that, ghost doesnt like men and respects women. one of the reasons why he doesn’t want to be around prostitutes and do one night stands (his father killed a hooker in front of him, very traumatic) is because he thinks the concept of quick, casual sex is not good for society and dilutes the value of meaningful relationships. but also, remember the discipline, precision, control thing? its apart of his principle. but also, in the comic, sparks (soldier he worked with) knocked out and attempted to rape a woman, ghosts literally looked disgusted and called the police (also why he’d never do that himself, i dont get the hcs that say he does). ghosts seen how his dad treated his mom and absolutely hates abusers. anyways onto misandry—i think ghost internally thinks men are violent and disgusting (ghosts would choose the bear over the man, even though hes a man) mainly because throughout his military career majority of the bad stuff hes seen was done by men, so hes much more relaxed in a room of women vs man. ghost thinks his dad is the epitome of pure evil (canon! he said this to his therapist). this doesn’t mean hes scared or hates all men tho!

ghost isn’t close with tf141… including soap. now before you attack me let me explain. sure, he trusts them to some degree, but i dont think they naturally just hangout when they’re not deployed. in the end we need to understand they are SAS soldiers, they are working a real job that mainly consists of them shooting and dismantling others. considering ghosts betrayal in the past (in the comic, a few soldiers ghost previously worked with killed his entire family 😢) he isn’t gonna just trust his teammates because theyre his teammates. im also pretty sure they all live in different cities while not deployed. tf141 probably all want to separate their job from their personal lives, which includes each other. but onto soap, i dont think him and ghost have a deep brotherly relationship. but i think they care about each other, but exchanging some dad jokes and bantering doesn’t mean they’re suddenly soulmates or brothers. think about it… you and you’re co worker joke around sometimes, never hangout outside of work, and now people are shipping you and calling the two of you besties. makes no sense.

ghost is extremely patriotic. in the comic (i reference this way too much but theres SOOO MUCH LORE i recommend reading it) ghost tells his teammates the reason for joining the military: queen and country, right after 9/11. he also said “the world has changed”. interestingly enough army enlistment did actually skyrocketed after 9/11 attacks, ghost was among them. he probably thought ww3 was about to happen, or that ‘theres no more peace’ or whatever. i hc being obsessed with soccer too lmao and getting mad if english teams dont win. also his playful banter with johnny “get us a tea?”. probably very proud of his british heritage.

ghost doesn’t have much friends. hes a really, reallyyyyy lonely guy. i hc him as an introvert in the first place, but trust issues make this worse. in the comic, he was literally in the newspaper for killing his family and then killing himself (he didnt, he was framed that way tho) so its likely most of his formers friends probably think hes dead. ghost likely got some sort of amnesty or exemption from the military after knowing he didn’t actually kill his family, but whats in the news stays true to the public. even if he does have friends he probably doesn’t share feelings with them or form a long term bond.

ghost is extremely cynical. this is obvious tbh, but i think ghost believes hes going to die in the middle of a battlefield, shot or stabbed, a painful death, body left to rot for weeks, and no one to remember him. just like that. and he accepts that fact too.

ghost isn’t a picky eater. growing up in an abusive household where his parents couldn’t hold a stable job, he had to eat what there was. some days he settles for cheap beans and toast and when people call him out for it, he tells em to fuck off😀

ghost is emotionally fucked up, probably kind of depressed. i mean this guys been through hell: got sa’d, buried alive, had to dig through underground dirt and worms with a jawbone, tortured in horrible ways, had his entire family killed, abusive dad, and the weight of his grey morales because he killed lots of people as a soldier. wow! would you look at that list, itd be more strange if he wasn’t emotionally fucked up after was has happened😅. even when tortured, seeing his family dead, ghost was never shown to have cried in the comic. i hc hes emotionally numb. however, i do think hes emotionally MATURE and able to communicate his emotions, but hes still emotionally fucked. for example a scene where he was talking about his experience with roba (guy who tortured ghost) and ghosts father to a therapist. i think ghosts may be traumatized, but this doesn’t stop him from attempting to get help and communicating how he feels and thinks about this world.

ghost wears a mask... not because hes insecure and traumatized it's to separate ghost from simon riley. first of all he learned the consequences of revealing your identity during deployment, in the comic, he reveals his face in missions before his family got killed. i think he wears a mask because 1) its practical, no one knows who he is, 2) an analogy for himself to remind him simon riley, his original identity, was dead the moment his family was murdered, this SAS soldier with a skull mask is GHOST (yes this is canon, ghost references in the comic!).

in issue #1 while some kids were being held hostage, he starts telling his life story to them to calm them down/distract them from the bad situation. this is his explanation to why he wears a skull mask, word by word: "I bet you're wondering why I wear these bones on my face. It's a tribute to an old friend of mine. He's dead now, but man if he wasn't the baddest motherfucker on the planet."

in issue #6, when ghost was trekking through a jungle in the middle of nowhere attempting to kill roba (a drug lord that started this all, brainwashed soldiers to kill ghosts family), he was never caught. ghost himself, the narrator, says that "even for a single man to get through the jungle, the patrols, the wall, the security... well that man would have to be a ghost."

however, im still a little confused whether or not reboot ghost and 2009 have the same backstories. reboot ghosts mask is more realistic and his look is much more intimidating, his reason for wearing that kind of mask is probably psychological warfare (getting milena the financier to speak up about makarov). i think 2009 ghosts reason to wearing a mask is more personal compared to reboot.

BUT WHAT ABOUT AN S/O???

i think ghost is the guy to not have one in the first place. obviously. but i lowkey think if he had one and really liked them, he would commit. in fact i find it hard to imagine hes a player or isn’t serious about relationships. when his brother tommy got addicted to drugs and fucked up his life, simon quit the military until tommy got 100% better and married. yup. he stayed to help him recover, for years. thats how loving and committed this man is🥹🥹.

ghost would not cheat on his s/o. i can't stress how important this hc is, because it's so out of character for him to do so. sure, guys in the military statistically have higher divorce rates, incidences of infidelity, and much more red flag stuff, but knowing what happened to him, he would never do that. doesn't matter how stressed, lonely, sexually frustrated this man is; he would not cheat on his partner. this guy has been through far more stressful situations and got through it, you think hes gonna cheat because hes stressed because of work?

its not sunshine and rainbows or absolute toxicity being with him. it's not really a mix of both either. ghost isn't that princess treatment, super squishy and cuddly, sweet guy who likes fluffy stuff. he definitely isn't the toxic guy who leaves you with mixed signals either.

hes quite the gentleman when it comes to approaching relationships, hes seen how his dad treated his mom, and ghost wants to do the exact opposite. i believe ghost likes to use the traditional courting methods when dating someone: gifting flowers, paying for dates, holding the door open (ladies first typa guy!!), the old fashioned stuff. idk if i should point it out again but this guy DOES NOT FW modern dating practices, he wouldn't download dating apps, or start 'talking stages'. i dont think he would write love letters just because hes not very good at writing poetry or expressing his feelings in the first place.

theres still downsides to being with him. the long distance, the time being apart (months and months). but i dont think he'd go as far as being emotionally avoidant.

also something really random ive noticed is that 2009 and reboot ghost are very different, personality wise. i like to think that 2009 ghost represents simon riley much better, but the reboot ghost actually gives the essence and character of what a 'ghost' in the military is.

more random headcanons:

simon prefers dogs over cats because dogs are loyal and stay with you until the end (stereotypically)

hates snakes and spiders

probably wouldn’t do 50/50 on dates, he pays!

avoids saying manchester slang when deployed

drinks and smokes. not always. he’s disciplined but he still does that stuff.. hes a british guy in his 30s whos kinda depressed, grew up with adults around him smoking 24/7, whatd you think😀😀 (its canon that most of tf141 smoke anyway)

listens to 80’s rock music. its canon that his mom enjoys the band siouxsie and the banshees :)), he probs does too

shaves his beard

is actually confident hes not bad looking. dude, hes 6’2, in shape with a jawline🙄

i don't enjoy hcs of ghost being the scariest out of tf141 (appearance wise yes). but soap seems much more scary imo, he was the youngest guy to pass SAS selections in the history of the UK military, and was nicknamed soap because of fast and good he is at cleaning up 'messes' (basically killing people).

id arguably say ghost is the most compassionate out of 141, if we're talking about the OG 2009 one.

[coldwind-shiningstars]

Dungeon Meshi is obviously primarily about food, eating, and crucially survival through eating, but it's also focused on other aspects of survival. Sleep, rest, social ties and social exclusion. There's even extensive commentary on things like personal grooming (Marcille’s hair, Toshiro becoming depressed and no longer shaving), clean bathrooms, and other things. When it comes to disability these things are referred to as instrumental activities of daily life (IADLs), which are more complex things like shopping, housework, and cooking, which people need to do to survive, and activities of daily life (ADLs) which are the basic bare bones needs: eating, toileting, etc. Dungeon Meshi is concerned with the logistics of living and finding joy in those logistics.

This is super related to disability! Yes, Laios is autistic, this has been apparent from the beginning. But what does being autistic mean for him and the story? Mostly, it means his desires, goals, and the ways he goes about achieving them are strange, foreign, or baffling. He has different priorities than other people and the way he expresses those priorities are strange. They affect how he socializes, how he eats…

So, it absolutely makes sense that there would be a minor sideplot about activities of daily living and what it's like to be out of sync with everyone else when it comes to prioritizing things. It's Mithrun Time (he's gonna mith all over the place) and I'm so SO interested in the interplay of disability, caregiving and the logistics thereof, and intersectionality & privilege. Who needs care? How do other people feel about them needing care? How do they receive that care? And who do we think is worthy of receiving care and how does that interact with all these other factors?

Bunch of manga and extras spoilers past the cut:

“So, what's wrong with you?”

I see a lot of people talking about Mithrun's non-eye disability as a depression allegory, which I think is true, but I think it's also metaphorically/symbolically both a traumatic brain injury and a trauma response to sexual assault. The sexual assault aspect is pretty clear if you look at any of the symbolism of the actual disabling event: just look at it.

Mithrun is lying in bed and the goat comes to him, lifts him up and puts its mouth on his abdomen and lower pelvis. The eating is sexually charged, as is the particular way he struggles and protests. It's intensely violating, and things that were once desirable are lost. And the dungeon lord group therapy session involves a lot of people talking about the demons like an abusive lover; Mithrun, even though he wanted to kill the demon so badly, still says that they're gentle.

As for the brain injury, chronic TBIs can cause a wide variety of symptoms. Some immediately relevant ones are anhedonia (lack of enjoyment), executive function issues, poor interoception (trouble understanding what's going on in your body), cognitive impairment affecting ability to reason/multitask/plan/solve problems, changes in behavior and personality, depression, agitation, and restlessness. We see… basically all of these, in Mithrun, as downstream effects of the loss of desires. He can't tell when he's hungry, tired, or out of mana; he can't perform ADLs consistently even if he knows he'll die without doing them and dying without doing them will interfere with his long-term goal, he had drastic personality changes, he oscillates between impatient and totally withdrawn.

Brain injuries can also affect more complex tasks and ability to sustain lengthy periods of complex cognitive work. A common example is losing the ability to read and process longer passages; maybe you can read the words but you can't read a paragraph, or maybe you can read paragraphs but now you get a migraine after 15 minutes. Mithrun's skill loss is not related to reading but the effect is similar – he is and was extremely skilled in a particular area of magic, but also disabled in ways that specifically hinder his skill in this area – to teleport things properly you need depth perception and a sense of direction, and he lacks both of these! And while he's still an incredibly effective fighter it seems like he pretty frequently makes those sorts of mistakes.

This is treated often as a gag and it is genuinely funny but it’s also very real, to no longer be as good at the thing you were good at before you became disabled. Kui takes several throwaway gags seriously later on, not just this one. Another ~gag that's not really elaborated on is the bathroom thing, but I appreciate its inclusion anyway, since even if it's presented humorously it doesn't feel meanspirited in a way a lot of “diaper jokes” do. I think people need to talk a lot more about bathroom issues in a wide variety of disabilities, and I think it's nice that a guy I can already picture the “poor little meow meow” posts about also has this issue, you know?

Preferences vs Desire

Even referencing PTSD and TBIs it's hard to really grasp what having no desires means, and the characters don't generally ask, while Mithrun explains it in vague terms. “Desires” is a very broad term and indeed he has lost access to a wide but related variety of things. Unfortunately this lead to him often being treated as nonagentic.

Mithrun does still have preferences, even if he doesn't express them and has no desire which would drive him to seek out pleasant things and avoid unpleasant ones. He'll comment on the taste and texture of foods, for example – sure seems like he has an opinion!

People treat it like his preferences don't matter since he doesn't usually bring them up unprompted, and he's often in situations where there aren't other options.

Kabru seems best at not doing this (and, noncoincidentally, also seems to be the best at actually caring for him; the Canaries have a lot more Resources theoretically than Kabru And Mithrun Eating Monsters And Kabru's A Bad Cook, but although they are loudly distressed by the two of them disappearing it seems to have positively affected Mithrun's general health)

But, uh, acknowledgement that someone has preferences at all is a really low bar to clear and Kabru also doesn't seem to fully understand how Mithrun's brain works. Mithrun’s caregivers want him to eat when they want him to eat. They want him to rest and drink when they want him to.

He lacks the desire for a number of mundane things but also seems to lack the ability to tell when he needs them. He can't explain why he faints; is “I am out of mana” considered a desire for more mana, one that can be eaten? He can't sleep on his own; it's not only that he lacks “the desire to go to bed” but he can't do anything with his own exhaustion, even if he notices it. He comments on the unpleasant taste and texture of several meals; he may be unable to want to not eat it, but he definitely can tell when he dislikes something. But he also seems to be unable to tell when he's hungry.

Kabru will acknowledge these preferences but there's not really other food options, and Everyone Must Eat. Kabru doesn't know the details of Mithrun's condition yet but you can see the immediate frustration here and the way he offers food to him like Mithrun's a child.

Sure, he won't directly communicate preferences, so that makes it extra hard, but you can always just ask, and if he tells you he tells you.

The pathway between opinion and taking actions about it may be lost in Mithrun but the dungeon forces other people into a similar position – it forces them to eat food they don't want to eat so that they can survive or accomplish other goals. We've seen this with Marcille from the beginning. It's difficult with Mithrun because it seems like there is always going to have to be some sort of someone else overriding his autonomy – yeah, he's not hungry but he still needs to eat or he'll faint. Yeah, he's lying about whether or not he's clean but he still needs to wash or he'll die. Yeah, he needs to take a rest instead of keeping moving or he'll faint. But he's not unique in being in a situation where he has to do nonpreferred things. The difference is more that he lacks the ability to independently do anything when it comes to ADLs, preferred or not, which makes it into someone else’s choice and responsibility.

There's also a theme in Dungeon Meshi that comes up a bit of people being pushy about ADLs but from a slightly different perspective, and they're usually right. You see this in Senshi most commonly; he pushes the residents of the Golden City to actually eat even if they don't need to and can't taste it, and while he's correct in that Yaad does get enjoyment from the food even without taste he's still not quite listening to Yaad. Similarly, Kabru is correct in that he can get Mithrun to sleep without a sleeping spell, but he also ignores the way Mithrun says several times that he doesn't expect massage to work. There's a few aspects to this – wild but expected that the elves would choose the “just knock him out with a spell” route, the “easy way” Senshi always talks about when it comes to magic, instead of actually paying attention to other solutions. But also, generally, people know their bodies best, and sometimes even if you're really sure you have the trick to help them you have to listen to what they tell you.

tvtropes dot org frontslash DisabilityTropes

This is going to be a harder section just because it's so subjective; it's nearly impossible to think about the ways in which disabled people are viewed by the people around them/wider society with any degree of objectivity just because there are so many factors that go into it. But I do think Mithrun is consistently treated as relatively nonagentic and there are several ways this can manifest: being treated as a doll/pet/child, being treated as a weapon, and being a surface for people to project onto.

He's framed or treated as childlike intermittently through the manga; scattered about, just a little vibe in the way he's drawn, like the "say aah" above and Pattadol and Cithis through the teleportation scroll :

That's a middle aged man! And he's framed like a toddler getting picked up or misbehaving.

Which doesn't mean they care about him any less; his squad is really fond of him for someone who's technically like their parole officer. How dare you do this to our captain! They love him dearly; this is obvious and he comments on it! They respect him, too, as the leader and as a strong fighter. But loving someone and thinking they're a skilled fighter doesn't mean you respect their autonomy fully.

There's also an element of everyone projecting their own issues onto him; Kabru with their shared Dungeon Trauma. The canaries all suggesting wacky, midlife-crisis desires. He doesn't ever express that he minds any of this, except when they try to stop him from making particular decisions. They also don't often understand why he'd be motivated to do a particular thing, and in fact some of these projections may actually be correct! But while noodles and pottery may be good later-on goals for him, I think it's striking that a) Kabru was the closest to correctly guessing what desire Mithrun might acquire now and he was still guessing the exact opposite (suggesting a desire to not eat Falin but to help Laios, vs Mithrun's actual desire, which was to eat Falin with no thought given to the promise he made at all) and b) it's a desire that actually makes perfect sense with what we know about him, not something totally new.

And, finally, he's a weapon: people are willing to caretake him because he's good at killing things dead. If his only desire is to kill demons dead, it's easy to start seeing that as who he is. I don't think he'd argue that “trying to kill demons” takes up the majority of his life (it's his only goal and he's obsessed with it) but even if there's only one thing that matters to him he has autonomy (in the sense that he can make his own choices about what to prioritize and formulate his own plans) and personhood.

Politics and privilege – who gets to access care?

One of the things we're first presented with when it comes to Mithrun is that he is intensely capable at handling dungeons. Yeah, there's the immediately visible prosthetic eye and the navigation issues, but the Canaries are built up as being incredibly dangerous and skilled, and he's their captain; they all immediately defer to him. He's intense, he curbstomps an entire room of guards, he's efficient, he's brutal, he's strong physically and magically.

In short: yeah, he's very disabled. He's also still very useful.

At the risk of oversimplification, even within his particular disability, he's much more disabled than Marcille is (she lost something relatively simple and easy to miss, she has no catatonia-moment) but less disabled than Thistle, who seems to still have at least one desire related to the king but is still primarily catatonic. It seems like Thistle is not unusual among ex-dungeon lords, even if there's enough noncatatonic dungeon lords to form a support group later. When Milsiril finds Mithrun, she immediately intends to mercy-kill him – this seems to be a condition the elves are familiar with but consider terminal, at least to the degree Mithrun is affected, and people seem unfamiliar what it means to keep living in this state because Mithrun is unusual in that he survives at all. And he's “allowed” to survive initially because he's not as disabled as he could have been (still has a desire) and that desire is useful. They aim him at the dungeons and off he goes. It takes twenty years for him to recover enough to do it, sure, but they're elves. They can wait. He can still be useful.

Relatedly, when he loses the ability to pursue his desire he's immediately much worse off than he was previously.

The no-desire catatonia is something that can recur and the elves continue to not know how to handle it. If Kabru wasn't there to problemsolve I think he'd have just… stayed there with his increasingly distressed squad.

Speaking of his squad, there's also a fascinating power dynamic going on with just the inherent structure of the Canaries; criminals are assigned as his caregivers. There's the inherent unfairness to the criminal Canaries about them being given extra duties, this strange rich noble guy who's now their Responsibility. There's so much possibility for resentment in normal caregiving relationships, much less being forced by your jailor into caregiving someone. But there's also an element of the power the prisoner Canaries now have over him and his most basic ADLs and needs. Assigning Cithis to his care is such a can of worms! The dynamics of the situation are frankly awful for both of them; of course she resents him initially. It would be strange for her not to. When Pattadol catches her making Mithrun do embarrassing things, she instantly reminds Cithis of her lower-status – she's forced to care for this nobleman and then forcibly reminded that she's beneath him.

She's responding to having menial, low-status tasks forced on her by trying to humiliate him, and although he doesn't have the ability to care enough to stop her it's still a deliberate removal of dignity. He's the instrument with which she is punished and she punishes him in return (until it's not fun anymore and she understands him a bit more.)

Mithrun is a long-lived race, who has structural power over the shorter lived races simply because of how long they live. The dwarves and elves try to actively keep certain knowledge from other races, restricting their access to technology, and other expressions of distance. Senshi spends nearly the whole first season not listening to Chilchuck trying to explain that he's an adult and treating him like a child, and Kabru repeatedly says that the elves do the same thing (and tbh we see them doing it). There's even the fact that it took him twenty years to recover enough to join the Canaries again; a shorter-lived race might have died from old age in this time, or become too old to work in this capacity, and then wasted away without the drive to return to the dungeons. But they're elves; the other elves can afford to wait, and he's not going to age out of dungeoneering any time soon. Being an elf probably contributes to his wealth in the same way skin color contributes to wealth inequality in the real world.

Dungeon Meshi doesn't really go into race in the sense of skin color much, and Kui is writing from a different cultural standpoint than I am. While tallmen are quite accurate when it comes to skin/hair color (yes, even Kabru and his blue eyes; it's rare but possible) and cultural references, the elves, uh, absolutely are not, both in the sense of “dark skin & pale hair and eyes trope” and sense of the royals having jet black skin.

Still, I feel like race is so connected to care and caregiving in the real-world west that I would be profoundly remiss not to mention it. Skin color might not matter to elves in the racism sense, but it matters to humans and humans are the ones writing and analyzing this story. (And I fully expect as the fandom grows with anime-onlies people will like Mithrun more because he's white (has white features) than they would if he had darker skin, because fandom is also baseline racist.)

I don't think we can just not mention that Mithrun is pale-skinned and both Cithis and Kabru, his primary caregivers over the story, both have dark skin.

Racism means white people are more likely to get good medical care, the type you need to get diagnosed and prescribed caregiving. Racism means wealth distribution is uneven, favoring white people. Race affects immigrants taking on undesirable jobs like caregiving for low pay. Racism is a profound stressor which means it contributes to who becomes disabled in the first place in that it can worsen health outcomes.

Similarly to race, gender may not be very obvious when it comes to this subplot within the story but the gendered dynamics of caregiving in the real world are something I do want to touch on. There's an oft-cited statistic about how men are much more likely than women to divorce their partners when their partners are diagnosed with a serious condition; I don't like relying too much on those sorts of statistics because they can be so misleading but it does gesture at something very real, culturally. Even if men aren't supposed to be caretaken, women are supposed to be the caretakers. Certainly, it's not Mithrun's fault that he can't cook and can't do laundry and probably can't do most housework, but I do also think about all the posts passed around about “my boyfriend who won't do housework.”

Again, none of these privileges make him less disabled and less in need of and deserving of care, they're just worth talking about when we talk about caregiving in general.

It's Rotten Work, Even If It's You

People expect disabled people receiving care to be grateful, to accept anything, and to try and make it easier for the caregiver if they're able. Requiring care is an incredibly disadvantaged position, even as actually receiving it can be so tangled up in privilege. Caregiving is tremendously difficult work, it's true, but there's a particular vibe people want from disabled people – all those movies about not wanting to be seen as a burden. Never complaining. Being grateful.

And, uh, well…

Mithrun basically accepts anything his caregivers do, but he's not grateful at all! I appreciate that in a disability portrayal. He'll also lie to and ignore his caregivers, which is Annoying but is definitely an expression of autonomy even if he's probably not doing it specifically to express his autonomy. He's not going to thank you. He's not going to make it easy. He'll accept a lot of things considered “undignified,” and he's not mean or unpleasant in the sense that he's taking advantage or anything, but he's certainly not a model patient.

He's running off back into the dungeons just when you think you've finally gotten him somewhere safe.

There's always a strange tension in caregiving, I've found. It is incredibly intimate but a lot of it is done by total strangers. A number of caregiving tasks are viewed by the wider world as entitled but placing those tasks in the hands of strangers is a remarkably tough place to be in. As a disabled person, I've had to accept my bowel movements being discussed with my parents’ friends, all sorts of being physically moved places not against my will but without my permission, even my pubic hair being shaved off by a stranger (nurse) while I was unable to speak or move. When people are feeding you, making sure you use the toilet, rubbing your feet to make you sleep, helping you with hygiene – people are working so hard to help you. Are you supposed to just accept them doing whatever they want to you?

There's also a dynamic where people will say they don't mind caring for you, they're happy to do it, and then as the years go by and you continue to need care the resentment just builds up. Caregiving is hard work. It's often thankless. The goodness of people’s hearts can run dry, when it's been twenty years and you still can't bathe yourself.

Aaand I need to continue in reblogs, because I'm out of space for images. Please hold. edit: you can find part 2 here

[luciferlightbringer]

Love In a Hopeless Place

Chapter 2

Here we are with chapter 2! Lucifer and reader meet, enjoy! xoxo, Dany :)

Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Updated through Chapter 12 Lucifer x prostitute fem!reader

Word Count:5.2k (I'm so sorry, lol) CW: Trauma, panic, flashbacks, Smut(ish/mostly lead up), angst, comfort, sub/dom dynamics, prostitution, anxiety, depression

Lucifer was in his study working on another one of his many rubber duck creations when his phone started to buzz on the desk with a text message. He jumped a little with a small 'Ah!' at the vibration, and the duck flew out of his hands and into one of the many piles of ducks that filled the room.

"Shit, welp... not finding that one anytime soon", he said running his fingers through his hair while looking out at the sea of ducks, before turning his attention to his phone.

The preview of the text from his driver on the front screen read, "On our way back with our guest." Lucifer stared at the text, and his stomach immediately tightened with... excitement? Anxiety? Was he going to throw up- no he was fine... Right? Yes. No? Fuck. Why did this feel so scary?

Lucifer did not know what he we feeling, he just knew he only had a few minutes before his guest for the evening would arrive... and he had no idea what he was doing. Lucifer started pacing and pulling a little at his own hair, starting to stress and talk to himself.

"Should I have been preparing something? Maybe I should clean! No... wait I have people for that... M-maybe I should pick up some of the ducks? Why would I need to pick up the ducks? Maybe she would want to see the ducks? Lucifer, why would a prostitute want to see your stupid rubber ducks?!" Lucifer said as he paced back and forth on want little open floor space their was in the room, before he stopped, took a breath, and smoothed back his hair and tried to breathe.

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm cool. I'm fine." he said as he rolled his shoulders and straightened his bowtie as he walks out of his study and back down the hall to his room. "I'm the King of Hell, and I'm the customer. Who cares? I'm sure girls all over Hell would be dying for the chance to take care of and service me. She is the lucky one here that I even get to grace her presence!" He stopped in front of the mirror in his room, popping on his hat and grabbing his cane before posing in the mirror and flashing a toothy grin at himself.

Lucifer looks over his own reflection in the mirror, and the longer he stared, the more his smile faded and his shoulders slumped. He wrapped his arms around himself in a half self-hug, "So then... why do I feel like... such a loser?"

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The car soon pulls up to a big beautiful manor and parks, the driver gets out and comes to open your door, offering you a hand to help you out.

"Thank you," you say with a sweet and flirty smile as you grab the man's hand and step out of the car. You try hard to hold your confident expression and stifle your surprise as you get out and see your new surroundings, looking around admiring the beauty. Your normal cantor you use with most clients suddenly feels like it might be inappropriate here, so you hold your tongue.

Internally, though, your thought process runs wild, 'Whoa, wait, what the fuck? I've worked for some high rollers before, but this... this feels like its on an entirely different level.... Who the fuck is this guy?'

The driver breaks your slight panic as he gestures for you to follow him. You are escorted up the front steps and into the front entry way past the giant ornate front doors. In the front room off to one side were a few red chairs and a couch with gold trim, all centered around a white marble coffee table. The driver gestures towards the seating, "Please, have a seat while I inform your host that you have arrived."

You curtsy in respond because you were starting to feel like that was the right response for this type of place, and watch as the man turned and started to walk down the hallway. You go to sit on one end of the red couch, damn it was a nice couch, and you start to look at the room around you. You're inner voice continuing with the general track of 'What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? How is this place even bigger and nicer on the inside?!' playing in your head.

Who could this be? This guy is crazy well off, seems to like red, white, and gold, it was everywhere in the decorations. Also he... had good taste in decorations. It looked way nicer here than anywhere else you had ever seen in hell. Not just because of the amount of money in the place, but also because of how the design felt. It almost felt like a slightly edgier version of what you would expect buildings to look like in heaven. Lots of little details and motifs in the crowning on the walls and art around the manor. Lots of stuff like apples, snakes, little things that looked like angel wings-

Your thought process freezes as the puzzles start to fall together into an answer.

Wait.

Apples?

Snakes?!

ANGEL WINGS?!

You start to shake a little and fidget with your dress a little. You may have not been in hell long, but there were some things you pick up on quickly, even in new places. 'There is noooo way. That's impossible. Right? Where were other people who are known for that symbology... right... Who else in hell...? Maybe it's someone you just don't know? Uhhhh.... Oh! Wasn't he married? Well... that doesn't mean anything half of the time, you've fucked married guys. More importantly, if this is who I think it is... what would the LITERAL KING OF HELL, need a call girl for? No, there is no way it could be him, that would be stupid...'

Then, you hear a cane start to tap down the hallway, and time feels like it slows down. You turn to look in the direction of the sound, and down the long manor hallway, you can make out the unmistakable features of Lucifer, the fallen angel, the King of Hell himself, followed by his driver. You feel your skin grow hot and your heart rate pick up as you swallow hard, watching him approach.

He was... much softer looking than you expected. Many of the angelic features were still present, pale near-white skin, golden blonde hair, soft facial features, and they mixed in well with his more demonic features, red and gold eyes, sharp grin, and dark ashy claws that held his signature apple cane. You'd seen his face on magazines and maybe once on tv, but now upon seeing him in the flesh, you realize that pure imagines didn't seen do him any justice.

You realize you have less than a few seconds to calm yourself and get ready to make a first impression. You take a deep breath, let it out, straighten yourself in your seat and think, 'He's just another client, that's all I need to focus on. My goal is to fulfill his wishes'.

As he gets a few feet closer you stand, and curtsy with a confident smile on your face. "Your majesty, what an unexpected surprise this is. Oh, I apologize, I mean... Lance."

Lucifer responds with a hearty chuckle before putting up a hand, "No need for formalities or code names here. Just Lucifer is fine. You must be (y/n)?" he says as he starts to examine the woman in front of him up and down.

You straighten up from your curtsy and place a hand on a slightly popped hip as you look at Lucifer, "I am, and I am honored to be serving you tonight."

The driver comes up and asks for your coat. You slip it off as elegantly as you can, fully aware that your show for Lucifer had already begun, and handed it to the driver. He tells you where he will be when you and the master have concluded your visit for the evening, puts up your coat in a nearby closet, and walks into another room close to the main door, and closes the door behind him.

Lucifer watched the sultry way you slipped off your jacket, and the alluring dress that was revealed from beneath it. Simple, black, sleeveless, a v shaped neck line that showed the perfect amount of cleavage, hugged your body in all the right places, and also allowed for a long slit that showed off plenty of the soft skin of your leg. The woman before him was beautiful, but in a way he didn't expect. Not in a "porn star, big boobs, stereotypical bimbo" kind of way, but in a soft... normal kind of way. It made him feel a little calmer in a way. A couple new emotions started to join the mixture that swirled in his stomach, curiosity, amusement... lust... Nothing had even happened yet, and Lucifer could already start to feel heat start to rise around his collar.

You and Lucifer where now completely alone in the main area of the manor.

You turn back to see Lucifer eyeing you. You smile.

"You like what you see, Lucifer?" you purr as you take a few steps towards him.

Lucifer shifts a little as he stands as his cheeks tint pink, feeling almost guilty for being caught staring, before remembering he was allowed to, "Oh uh... y-yes. Yes, I do." He says, returning to his curated confident grin.

You giggle, stepping closer and offering your right hand to him, which he takes with his right hand, "I am yours for the night to use as you see fit" you say with a sly flirty smile.

'Fuck, I hope this is coming off ok', you think to yourself.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,' Lucifer thinks, trying to will his cheeks into not turning a darker shade of pink, 'Oh she is VERY good, and I am very out of practice.'

Lucifer returns the sly smile, "Oh I intend to." he says looking you up and down again as he kisses your hand.

'Fuck, he is good', you think at the same time.

Lucifer continues to hold your hand as he turns in closer to your right side, looping your hand under his left arm so that you and now holding it, and he looks at you with a "Shall we then?" before he starts to escort you further into the manor.

As you start to walk through the manor with Lucifer, this is when you really notice how he was a bit shorter than you expected, especially with the heels you were wearing. Nothing wrong with that, just not something you expected. He was a cutie, and you were excited that you were going to be able to help make him feel good that night. Honored even.

Lucifer felt transfixed by every inch of sensory that came from being in contact with you, the way your hand held onto the sleeve of his jacket, the way you would shift against him as you walked, the smell of your perfume, it was borderline intoxicating. His brain was running a million miles a minute between your touch, smell, what he would say next, what would happen when you both got to his room, how he wanted to keep himself from turning into the room and immediately pouncing on you. He felt like he might lose his mind.

All you could see of Lucifer was a sly grin and a confident walk towards his room.

The two of you entered Lucifer's large bedroom and you let go of his arm so that he could go to close the door behind you. He put down his cane, and started to undo the clasps of his suit jacket. You walked up behind Lucifer as he finished the clasps, slid your hands over his shoulders, hooking your fingers under the collar.

"May I?" you cooed softly in his ear.

He gulped and nodded as you glided it off his shoulders and down his arms, trying as best you can you make sure your fingers made contact with his arms as much as possible.

Lucifer had to fight a soft moan from escaping his throat at your touch. You deviously smiled to yourself behind Lucifer at the sound of his stifled moan as you took the jacket and carefully hung the jacket off the side of his mirror. You turned back around to see Lucifer taking off his hat and setting it down on a nearby surface, trying hard tame the hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, a visible bulge starting to form in his pants.

Seeing the King of Hell's eyes hunger for you gave you a devious idea to try. 'I wonder what role he likes to play?' you think to yourself.

You chuckle, and start to walk a circle around Lucifer, eyeing him back as if he was your prey, which makes Lucifer swallow hard again and make him lose a little of his edge, less of a dominant energy and leaning more submissive as he watched you circle him.

'Interesting', you think.

"Tell me. Do you prefer to lead, or follow?" you ask with a coy smile.

Lucifer thought for a moment, what did he usually do with Lili- errr... in the past? He liked not having to think. Not having to lead would be really fucking nice actually.

"Follow", Lucifer said in a soft tone. This didn't surprise you, most powerful men wanted a break from it in the bedroom, from your experience. Getting to order Lucifer around was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it got you excited just thinking about it.

You gave Lucifer a wicked smile before slinking up to him, softly grabbing his chin, getting your face very close to his before whispering, "Boots off. On the bed. Now."

Lucifer's heart beat started to pound in his ears as he took a moment as he processed the words, a shiver of pleasure jolting through his body, before quickly moving to throw off his boots and crawl onto his bed. He knew nothing in the moment beyond following your command. Lucifer got into place and then looked over at you, waiting for your next order for him.

'Fuck that was hot' he thought as he felt the heat spread across his chest.

You look towards Lucifer, turning you body to face him in his new position on the bed. You smirk and start to slowly slink towards him, making sure to roll your hips with every step to emphasize your curves, staring at him with your own hunger eyes.

Lucifer sat, transfixed by the way your hips swayed from side to side, the way your eyes felt like they were burning into his soul, his cheeks burning read. No thoughts existed in his head at that moment besides the thought of your curves coming towards him and the way that his cock throbbed for you in his pants.

You sat yourself on the end of his bed and kicked up your right leg over the other to unbuckle the clasp on one of your heels, making sure to position yourself so that Lucifer could see more of your leg through the slit in your dress and so that you cleavage showed more prominently from the V-neckline. You look up at him through your eyelashes to see him tremble a little, his breathing starting to labor. Oh lord, you could see just how much he needed this, and that excited you even more.

You finished unclipping your heel and you let it drop to the floor with a light clatter. You straightened up and looked over your shoulder at Lucifer, "Does my good boy want to help me with my other shoe?"

Lucifer gave a little whimper and bit his lip a little as he gave you an enthusiastic nod. He was so cute and desperate, if his tail was out it would probably be wagging.

You move a little closer and kicked your left leg up onto his lap and propped yourself up to watch his work, giving him a quick cheeky look of 'Well? Get to it!'

Lucifer took a few moments to look at the red heel that was connected to the gorgeous leg that now sat in his lap. Lucifer took a breath, and then with trembling hands worked to try undoing the clasp of the shoe. It took a little longer than it took you, but he eventually got the clasp undone and let the shoe slide off the bed to the ground. Lucifer took the opportunity to slowly slide one of his hands up your leg, up to the hem of your dress, and back down in admiration. Holy hell, her skin was so soft and beautiful.

You closed your eyes and hummed softly as you soaked in the sensation of his touch on your skin, "What a good boy you are, Lucifer." You cooed, removing your leg away from his reach. He looked sad for a moment, but it would not be for long. You hooked a leg over his body and got up onto the bed, now straddling his thighs.

A surprised breathy moan escaped Lucifer's lips as you moved onto his lap and he started to dig his claws into his sheets on either side of his body.

You chuckle again before you look down at him from your new position. You had never felt more power than you did right at that moment, and it was beautiful. Seeing the King of Hell under you, desperate for your next command or touch... now that was dangerous.

As Lucifer laid under you, defenseless and breathing heavily, he released his claws from the sheets and lightly picked up the edge of the skirt of your dress on either side of you and held them softly in his hands.

"M-may I?" he asked with pleading eyes, lifting the skirt up a little to show his intensions to remove your dress.

You cross your arms and put a finger up to your cheek in an action pretending to think about, making Lucifer wait.

"P-please?" he said after several seconds, sense of urgency in his voice.

You dropped the act and smirked down at him with a pleased smile and nodded. Lucifer excitedly, but carefully worked to pull the dress off of you and tossed it onto the ground to join your shoes. Lucifer now looked at you and you saw his eyes turn from soft desperation back into a deep animalistic hunger as they raked lustfully down the new view of your body.

You sat proud of yourself as you sat straddled across Lucifer's thighs wearing a deep sapphire blue lacy bra and a matching blue thong that, frankly, served no purpose other than to be something to be ripped off of you.

Lucifer softly ran his claws up your thighs, up your hips, across your abdomen, over your breasts, up your collar bone, other your shoulders, down your arms, and down you your hands, taking in every inch of your body that he could see in that moment. You tip your head back and allow long moan to escape you as his hands glide across your body, soft but electric and hot.

You tip your head back down to look at Lucifer, his hands in yours. You release his hands and start to slide you hands up his chest to his bowtie.

"Alright, baby, your turn," you coo, starting to undo his bowtie. Lucifer began to shake and breath heavily under your touch. You toss the bowtie to the ground, slowly undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing his soft pale neck. You nuzzle your face into his neck and plant your first soft kiss on his neck.

Lucifer responds to the contact with a deep and long moan, he almost couldn't take any more of this torturous, slow teasing. And yet he also felt like he couldn't get enough of it. He felt energetic and alive for the first time in what felt like forever, it was pure bliss. He never wanted it to stop.

You giggle again at his response, and continue to unbutton the remaining buttons down his shirt. You lean down to look into Lucifer's eyes and say "Now Lucifer, I want you to tell me something."

He looks up at you with shiny, lust filled eyes, "Yes?"

"Tell me... what is it that you truly desire?" you say with a smirk, as you continue work on his buttons.

Lucifer thinks for a few seconds, thinking about all of the sexy, blissful ideas he wants to tell you and then... for some reason... he turns his head to the side of his bed... her side of the bed... all of the sound goes quiet, the room starts to go blurry, everything starts to shake, and then...

It all goes dark.

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He no longer feels like he is in his bedroom, its just him... and Lilith... looking at him with her bright smile, before the smile fades, and she turns to walk away into the darkness. Then it's Charlie... happily giggling on his lap, small, clapping at his stories, before Lilith picks her up off his lap and walks out of the room with her. It's his old workshop in heaven full of his wonderful dreams and creations, now a dark red room full of endless piles of ducks. It's giving the apple to Eve, then standing in an arena of the Heavenly Council, and then the deep long fall into hell, watching his hands pale hands turn to claws, watching the white feathers of his transform to turn a deep crimson, his halo shatter into space and long red horns grow in its place on his head before he crashes to the surface of a newly created Hell.

What does he desire? What does he TRULY DESIRE?! He wants back everything he has ever lost! He wants to know why everyone has cast him away and abandon him. He wants to know why everyone had to think his dreams were so fucking dangerous. He wants to remember what it was like to not hate himself so much!

Lucifer pulled at his hair and screamed into the void of his mind as he fell to his knees and cried.

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From your perspective, you ask your question, Lucifer's eyes go from full of life and lust to empty, his head tips to the side, and they start to fill with panic as he start to hyperventilate.

You drop your current persona and start to assess the situation. You quickly move off of Lucifer and go to his side instead.

"Lucifer?" No response. "Lucifer? Talk to me, what do you need?"

Something in your voice makes Lucifer snap back from his dissociative nightmare land, but he continues to hyperventilate.

'Fuck! Think! Didn't you learn something about this on earth? '

You think for a minute, shaking your hands as you look around the room, at him, trying to think. You softly take his hand and start gently rubbing the back of it with your thumb. Lucifer snaps to look at you, so quickly, it almost startles you.

"Hey," you say with the calmest and warmest smile you can muster, "I'm here, you are ok. You are safe here with me." Lucifer continues to look at you with panic in his eyes, but with recognition there too.

"I'm a friend, you are at your house, in your bed... in... hell. Uhh... you are in the Pride ring... Nothing is going to hurt you here, you are safe," you continue to say as you continue to rub the back of his had. If you had said half of that sentence back on Earth, it would have probably made things worse, but here... hopefully it would be more grounding.

Slowly, Lucifer breathing slows its pace and he looks around the room more. You look around the room and see a cup on a nearby table.

After waiting a few more minute, you ask, "Do you want any water?" Lucifer thinks for a briefly about your question, and nods his head.

You squeeze his hand and say "I will be right back." You set down his hand, go to grab the cup, and run to the bathroom to fill it with water. You come back to Lucifer's side and give him the cup, Lucifer slowly starts to drink some water as his breathing continues to slow down to a normal rate.

After a few more minutes, he shakes his head.

"Hey," he says in a defeated tone.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" you say in a gentle voice, giving him your full and concerned attention.

He sighs, "Not great..." He was so scared, sad, angry, disappointed, full of guilt, shame.

You tip your head down in shame, "I... I'm so sorry." Lucifer looks over at you with a confused look. "I was reckless and I hurt you. Can you ever forgive me, your Highness?" Now it was you that was starting to shake a little.

Lucifer sighs, the guilt coming to the front the most out of all his current emotions. How could he explain to you just how wrong you were? But he could understand why you would think that. In his current state, he could only partly process how differently you now tended to him, how you looked at him. Almost like, you cared? That you were worried about him?

He gently put a hand on your head "Please, Lucifer is still fine, and this was not your fault, it.... it's complicated. I... thought I was ready for something like this, I was hoping I was. A small baby-step to moving forward, but no..." Lucifer tightened his left hand. "I'm not"

You looked up and his tightened hand, and for to first time noticed the gold band on his ring finger. This was not the anger and sadness of a happily married man, or even an unhappily married man, this was something... much more complicated.

You sat with Lucifer in mournful silence for what felt little forever, but it was probably not more than a few minutes.

Eventually, Lucifer sighed and broke the silence, "You should go..."

You looked up at Lucifer, whose head still hung in shame, his hand gripped tightly.

"Are you sure?" you ask softly.

Lucifer shrugged, "I'm not going to be much fun now, I don't think I'm cut out for this. Not yet anyway. Its me not you, trust me. You were amazing... it was fun while it lasted" He looked up at you with a weak smile, "You should try to enjoy the rest of your night while you can. No use letting and old sod like ruin your night."

You look down at your dress and shoes still on the floor, you sigh, pick up your dress and put it back on. You pick up your shoes and start to head to the door. You put your hand on the doorknob, prepared to open it, wish the King goodbye, and walk away... but you don't. You stand there for a second.. thinking.

Lucifer noticed you pause, and looks up at you. You turn back to meet his gaze, his face decorated in a look of half confusion, half sadness.

"May I offer one last thought?" you ask with calm confidence.

Lucifer tips his head in curiosity, "What is it?"

You take a couple step back towards him, "I wonder... I think... you had the right idea with searching for intimacy, connection, but maybe we started in the wrong direction."

Lucifer cocks an eyebrow, giving you a puzzled look, "I'm... not sure I follow."

You search again for the right words, "I mean like... uhhh... well... ok, when was the last time you just got a hug, not like a quick one, like one that made you feel cared about?"

Lucifer's body stiffened, then looked down and curled his legs close to his body, "It... its been... a long time."

You smile, and take another step towards Lucifer, and you open up your arms to him with a soft smile.

Lucifer looked up at you and perked up for a minute. Was she serious? Why did she continue to try? Why didn't she leave him to his own misery? She didn't need to care about his feelings right now... and yet... she did.

Lucifer slowly started to slide out of his bed, shirt still most of the way unbuttoned, hair all a mess, and started to walk over to you. When there was only a few feet left between the two of you, Lucifer paused, and then practically ran the rest of the way into your arms and wrapped himself around your waist, as you return the embrace.

You stand there, hugging him for a minute, 2 minutes, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, and after the first few minutes, you feel Lucifer start to shake in your arms as he started to cry. Lucifer tightened his embrace around you the harder he cried, burying his face in your shoulder. At one point he tries to wail out an apology, but you just shush him and let him continue to cry as you rubbed his back.

After about a half hour of him crying in your embrace, you ask him if he wants to continue standing there or if he wants to sit down. In response, Lucifer releases his arms from you waist and reaches up to wrap his arms around you neck instead. You adjust and decide to just go for it and pick him up, carrying him over to his bed. You sit in his bed with him hugging you around your neck as you hold him in your lap.

Lucifer could not stop the tears that flowed from his face, he didn't remember the last time he had cried this much, cried this hard. And for some reason, in your arms, he didn't care. The tears felt good. Liberating.

You don't know how much time passes, but slowly his crying starts to get quieter and quieter, turning to sniffles, until you realize that the King of Hell had just fallen asleep in your arms.

You carefully move to get up at set him down in his bed without waking him up, and you tuck him into his bed. Before you leave the room, you quickly find a piece of paper and pen, and write out a quick note. You leave the note on his side table before grabbing your shoes, turning off the light, and giving him one last look before closing the door.

You make your way back down the long manor hallway, back to where the driver said he would be, and you let him know your visit was over. You grab your coat, put on your shoes, took one last look at the beautiful inside of the manor, and walked out to the car with the driver.

Who knows if you would be back here again, but it sure was interesting while it lasted.

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Chapter 3 is in the works! Let me know if you want added to a tag list <3

[glassbirdfeather]

Mohg's Brain

(This is an essay on Mohg, Lord of Blood, from hit video game Elden Ring. It just takes a bit to get there.)

There is a story often repeated in Psychology classes, Physiology classes, pop psych media like YouTube, podcasts, and garbage daytime television on channels that used to be scientifically rigorous: about a man with an incredible brain injury. For those of you who haven't heard the story or are not yet sick of hearing it, I've included it from memory below, because I have heard it just that many times.

If you've heard this story already, you can skip to the subtitle: "Can We Even Learn Anything From Gage?"

If you already know the controversies about Phineas Gage or just want to jump to the part about the video game character, you can skip to the subtitle: "Let's FINALLY talk about Video Game"

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"The Curious Case of Phineas Gage"

Phineas Gage was a railroad worker who would help clear land with explosives. The dubious and definitely wouldn't-have-been-OSHA-approved method of laying these explosives was to chip a hole into the mountainside, place the explosives, and then tamp it down using some sort of implement like a railroad spike. What happened next was predictable and it's surprising this didn't happen much more often--when packing the explosives, they detonated in Gage's face. Specifically, this launched the spike underneath his left eye and out of the top of his head. Less predictably, Phineas stood up afterwards. When a doctor arrived, said doctor did not believe what had occurred until Gage vomited approximately a "teacupful of brain matter" onto the street.

Due to lack of effective sterilization and antibiotics at the time, poor Phineas Gage was bedridden for several months, where he continued to lose further brain matter to infection. Eventually, he did recover, although he would continue to experience migraines and seizures for the rest of his life. While he lost his job for the railroad service, he went on to work in a sideshow attraction, carrying around the very railroad spike that went through his head. Eventually, he got a job and worked as a taxi driver and lived for several more years before dying of a seizure.

Phineas Gage was never the same after this life-altering injury: he was belligerent, drunk, lied frequently, and lost his job for the railroad company because of his new personality. And I do say NEW personality--Phineas had become like a completely different person and was, in essence, "no longer Gage" (they love quoting that). The damage to regions of the prefrontal cortex made him unable to make moral judgements, and impaired his impulse control.

OR MAYBE THAT LAST PART ISN'T TRUE.

Phineas Gage was NOT much changed by this life-altering injury. Though he lost his job at the railway company, the cause of this job loss is unknown. He MAY have had severe alterations to his personality due to this injury, but whether these changes were due to physical damage or emotional trauma--or whether personality changes ACTUALLY occurred at all--are disputed.

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Can We Even Learn Anything From Gage?

Though I am uncertain if we have exact data on which parts of his brain he was left with when accounting for what was later lost to infection, the trajectory and angle of the injury suggests he initially lost much of his prefrontal cortex. Which of the previous versions of the story are told or over/under-emphasized is dependent on the point the teller is trying to make in the age-old debate of nature vs. nurture.

Some psychologists argue that Gage's personality change demonstrates the Global Workspace Model, where different parts of the brain are responsible for different parts of consciousness, and that by changing or removing parts of the brain, you change consciousness.

Other psychologists will argue that the LACK of change is evidence of the brain's incredible plasticity--its ability to adapt and compensate for missing parts by shifting the functions of those parts to be performed by different regions.

Most reasonably, he probably experienced some cognitive differences while still being effectively the same person and is an example of both points of view. But we don't have concrete enough evidence to say.

Any class in which a teacher or textbook needs evidence to support whatever point they're trying to make about how changes to the brain affects personality, addiction, emotional regulation, decision making, etc., they'll use Gage to make that point, no matter what stance they take. So really, Gage isn't a useful case study beyond what we could actually observe: he lost some of his brain and lived, while also experiencing migraines and seizures for the rest of his life.

With all of that said, if we assume that Gage experienced no changes to cognitive function or personality, I just typed out a story I am very sick of hearing for no reason. So let's assume that at least some of those observations were true.

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Let's FINALLY Talk About Video Game

Her are some potentially useful images to reference if you want. Left: general brain regions and their functions. Right: paranasal sinus cavities.

Unlike a nice, straight tamping iron, Mohg's horns curl in unpredictable directions. Some assumptions must be made about length, depth, and diameter to determine what region and volume of his skull is occupied by his horn. The minimum I expect is that the horn occupies the region of his frontal lobe in any scenario. Let's also set a maximum limit: I believe it is reasonable to assume it has not reached the primary motor cortex, where it would disrupt body control and physical movement... unless one wants to suggest he is puppetting himself in his boss fight like a bloodbender. Which, let's be real, IS a really badass concept, someone should write that fanfiction.

Though I argue that Gage is a bad example to use given our lack of reliable data on his personality and lived experiences, we DO know that disrupting the function of the prefrontal cortex can affect judgment, planning, concentration, and any type of higher processing you might call a uniquely 'human' mental ability (I acknowledge the mental abilities of birds and primates but they are beyond the scope of this essay). It may be safe to assume that, in Mohg's case, these mental processes are harmed regardless of any further extrapolation I make. One other brain region of note is the motor speech (Broca) area, located on the left side directly behind the prefrontal cortex and controls muscle movements for speech.

On the topic of pain, migraines, and seizures: He has a horn in his head, it probably hurts. Obstructions (like cysts) can cause buildup of cerebrospinal fluid, which can cause pain and is a common cause of seizures. It is difficult to say how many people have benign brain tumors, but there is speculation that benign tumors in the brain are unexpectedly common. People only typically get brain scans when they've already noticed a problem, but there have been cases of perfectly healthy people having (non-cancerous) brain tumors, so a mass being present in the brain does NOT guarantee seizures will occur. This being said, that horn is significantly larger than a typical benign brain tumor. Migraines and seizures are very reasonable to assume.

I don't know what to say about illness and disease. In theory, if the horn grew at any point after birth, I would say he should have died from any pathogens that were introduced during its corkscrewing into his skull. Phineas Gage was bedridden for months due to infection, was under the care of a doctor, and he wasn't living in a sewer. Do the Lands Between understand the germ theory of disease? It may at least know that poop in the brain is bad, but I listen to Sawbones, so I know that isn't something we can just assume. It's possible he's lost some impossible-to-estimate amount of brain matter to infection. Feel free to speculate about Omen resistance to pathogens, but I don't feel that is the point of this essay. I'll say it's safe to assume his body has healed closed around it, but anything else I won't try to extrapolate.

----

Specificity from Horn Trajectory

Possibility 1:

If we estimate the continued trajectory from the visible part of the horn, it actually continues medially, towards the center of the body, and curls downward. This might even miss most of the brain and instead disrupt the frontal, ethmoidal, and maxillary sinus cavities of the skull.

It may possibly even pierce the roof of the mouth, if we roughly estimate the rate at which the horn tapers and where it likely ends. I argue that this is the most optimistic scenario in terms of his health, because although the horn almost certainly penetrates the prefrontal cortex, it may not be as deep as other possibilities.

In this horn trajectory case, he probably experiences constant sinus pressure similar to a permanent head cold, obstruction to his sense of smell, and by extension his sense of taste. Even if the horn does not completely block his nasal cavity, it may have damaged his olfactory nerve and thus disabled his sense of smell anyway. Should the horn obstruct his mouth he may experience physical difficulties eating and speaking.

Possibility 2:

A worse scenario may be to assume this horn instead extends directly backwards. This would likely pass through the motor speech area, and may have caused him to lose the ability to talk, forcing him to relearn how to speak by having another part of the brain learn to do this function (similar to how anyone learns a second language after very early childhood). It may also reach the LEFT temporal lobe, which processes hearing and smell for the RIGHT side of the body, and therefore he could be deaf in his right ear. Again, the olfactory nerve is potentially in the path of the horn, and loss of sense of smell is frequently considered a symptom of brain damage, so regardless of the angle of the horn this is a high possibility.

----

What Time of Horn Growth Could Tell Us

Children are more likely to recover well from brain damage. The older he was when the horn entered his brain, the more likely he would be to experience cognitive impairment.

Should Mohg's horn have developed that way before birth, his brain may have formed around it without issue, or obstructed regions may have simply remained underdeveloped. His skull would also have developed to more 'comfortably' accommodate this horn, rather than having to break and re-heal around a later intrusion. If the horn is shallow enough and its growth occurred during fetal development or very early childhood before the fusing of the bones in the skull, it is possible that left eye blindness and mild discomfort are the only effects. The timing of the horn's growth being before birth or in early infancy is supported by the Regal Omen Bairn, which shows Morgott with seemingly all of his horns, suggesting that omens horns are largely present upon birth and that those horns grow in proportion with them.

However, given the themes associated with the Formless Mother, here is another--vastly more speculative--hypothesis: Mohg's horn was grown deliberately into his skull by the influence of the Formless Mother, perhaps with or without his consent. I find it hard to believe that a force claimed to be the "mother of truth" which "desires a wound" would be unaware of the possible effects of this type of wound.

I posit that the Formless Mother intended to compromise Mohg's consciousness and sense of reason to make him easier to manipulate. If we assume that they were not working together (debatable), the abduction of Miquella and potential interruption and sabotage of his ascension puts an empyrean under the Formless Mother's control, and works counter to the dynasty Mohg desires. Damage to his ability to plan, make rational decisions, and his sense of morality could explain how Mohg seems to want a place for outcast and hated people, likely seeing a kinship with Miquella, but has created something that is the antithesis to the Haligtree.

Furthermore, should we assume that Mohg and Miquella met previously and Miquella had the opportunity to do so, the power Miquella purportedly has to compel adoration in others may have interacted poorly with Mohg's potentially impaired emotional processing, and could have caused an obsessive outcome that the Formless Mother did not predict.

Of course, I don't believe every awful and cruel decision someone makes is the result of brain damage, but this may explain the incongruity between what Mohg seems to want and what he has made. Whether Mohg is "the reigning lord and hierarch of the coming dynasty of Mohgwyn" or "a raving lunatic" may not be an incompatible dichotomy. It may be sequential.

----

Glassbirdfeather you're so wrong, why did you say ___?

I am not a doctor. I am a chemistry student with a biology lean (clinical laboratory science) and am drawing my conclusions from what I've learned in Anatomy, Physiology, and Psychology classes at an introductory level, and I glanced back at my anatomy and psychology textbooks as my sole academic sources. Please don't take this as a well-researched essay, none of the claims I make about mental or physical health are properly cited. This is just fandom theorizing; it's as academically rigorous as fanfiction. Any doctor/member of the medical profession who would like to correct me is invited to do so, I would love to hear more accurate and informed observations.

----

Bibliography

(literally just 2 references, man)

Grison, Sarah and Michael S. Gazzaniga. Psychology in Your Life. Third Edition, W. W. Norton & Company, 2019.

McKinley, Michael P. and Valerie Dean O'Loughlin. Human Anatomy. Fifth Edition, McGraw-Hill, 2017.

[shadowdarlings]

Rain & Redemption II

Tamlin x Reader

Synopsis : The Lord of Spring has returned, with his nightingale in tow. While readapting to civilized life you and Tamlin face reality together.

part one

Pairings : TamlinxReader

a/n : so i am really digging the first part of this story and decided that i want to continue writing at 12:07am so i hope you enjoy this as much as i did <3

Warnings : slight angst (with comfort), mentions of trauma, suggestiveness, as always possessive tamlin (in a good way)

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Dinner with Tamlin was a drawn out affair. The deer he hunted down, no doubt in his beast form, had to be prepped and cooked. While he began dressing the fallen creature you took it upon yourself to begin sifting through the discarded and destroyed artifacts that littered the dining area. Although the manor had been shredded and abandoned, you couldn’t help but marvel at its refreshing beauty. Here there was light. Massive glass windows looked out to a rose garden that was surely once well manicured. The sun had already started its descent past the horizon but light still streamed in from every corner. The manor was everything that your home under that gods forsaken mountain wasn’t. The Hewn City was all darkness and stale air. You began sorting things into two piles. Items that were fairly unharmed were deemed “to keep”, others that had been completely torn apart were tossed into a discard pile. The two of you worked diligently in silence until he looked up from the deer and said, “You never told me your name.” You tore your gaze from the chipped vase in your hands and met his stare. “You never asked,” you began with a playful smugness, “but it’s Y/N.” Something unreadable flickered in his green eyes before a slight smirk cracked on his face. “Well, Y/N,” he said with a dramatic pause, “our dinner is ready to be cooked. How do you like your venison?”

You both agreed that without a working kitchen that a fire would be the best way to roast the deer. While he built a fire you toyed with an idea. “What if we preserved some of this beautiful bounty into something that will last beyond a night?” you asked him. Tamlin threw another piece of wood onto the makeshift fire and answered your question with his own. “As in a jerky? How do you mean?” That was exactly what you had meant. The future of your time in this manor and when you would next have a full meal was entirely uncertain. The topic had hardly been broached. “Unless you intend to spend the rest of your days hunting and building fires, it might be a prudent idea.” He looked you over before replying, “Smart, little bird. We’ll make two steaks for tonight and dry out the rest. It should preserve overnight and we can feast on jerky for weeks.” Satisfied with your quick thinking you helped him prepare the meat for roasting.

“What did you mean when you said you are not fit to be a ruler?” you asked after another bout of silence. Tamlin stilled his spinning of your dinner over the fire and his gaze shot to the flames between you. “I’m sorry,” you quickly said, “If I’m prying too much.” He did not look up from the inferno but said quietly, “I have abandoned my people and my post. Those who reside in the Spring Court put their faith in me. I have failed them again and again, in so many ways.” You blinked once at his brutal honesty before prodding further. “Will they not look to you once more? Surely there is a way to regain their trust.” His eyes moved from the fire to your own. They were filled with such sadness, such regret. “I would not know where to start, little nightingale.” You scoffed lightly as his response. “Well,” you began, “I think leaving those woods and coming home is already a start, wouldn’t you say? If you’re willing to return just to ensure the safety of a lone Night Court citizen, I can’t imagine what you might be willing to do for your people.” The sadness in his eyes faded ever so slightly as he said, “Since you’re so full of wisdom tonight, pray tell how might I continue this path of redemption?” You smiled at that.

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Tamlin was restless. Every time he started to fade away, sleep evaded him and he was jolted awake by poisoned memories. He had declared that he wanted to sleep outside the manor to stay alert for any looters or more dangerous creatures. He’d shifted into his beast form and taken post directly in front of the entrance just as night had overtaken the Spring Court. Truly, he was not sure if he was ready to sleep under this roof again. The two of you had talked for hours, discussing your histories and what the future of the Spring Court might look like. He’d escorted you to your room and bid you a gentlemanly goodnight, but your conversation replayed in his mind endlessly. A loose plan had been set in place to begin repairing his relations with those that depended on him. You had been so eager and determined while you both brainstormed ideas for making amends. He admired your tenacity yet was not fully convinced that this plan would work effectively. The thought made him queasy. His heart began a pace that tightened his chest and he was sure that if he’d been in his fae form that his palms would be sweaty. Tamlin shoved his anxieties down and recalled what you had told him about Rhysand, about how he’d condemned the entire Hewn City to a life of cruelty and rot. Although the idea of tomorrow sent him into an unending panic, he did not wish for you or any of his people to endure the same neglect for another moment.

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The morning light creeped in through the open window in your bedroom. It took a moment to recall everything that had happened, where you now were. The bedding had been dusty but a few shakes had it cleaner than before. You didn’t mind dirt, you’d spent a year lying on the forest floor. Waking up in a soft bed had become unfamiliar, but you relished the softness of the pillows and blankets before sitting to stretch your limbs. Moving to the armoire, you sifted through the clothing to find a pale green dress and a set of cream slippers. The outfit was plain but you didn’t particularly mind. Your mission for today did not require glittering attire. You fixed your hair into a loose braid and pulled two strands from the front to frame your face. After giving yourself a once over in the looking glass you deemed your appearance fit for the task at hand.

Tamlin was already dressed in a tunic and pants that were similar in style to the night before. You only gave yourself a moment to admire his wide shoulders before clearing your throat. He turned from his work on the piles you had created the night before and said “Good morning,” before he faltered. His eyes widened slightly and dragged up and down your figure. Meeting your gaze once more he choked out, “Well don’t we look the picture of Spring today?” You rolled your eyes at him and moved to take the picture frame from his hands. “We have a job to do, remember?” Tamlin huffed out a weak laugh before replying, “How could I ever forget?” He looked tired. You wondered if he slept as marvelously as you did. Considering that he spent the night on a set of marble stones you didn’t know how he possibly could.

The two of you moved outside to where the deer had been smoking overnight. Indeed it had preserved itself into a jerky that would remain edible for weeks. He started packing the strips into the wooden bin you had found in the kitchens when you said, “I have another idea.” He did not pause his movement or even look at you as he said, “Of course you do.” You pulled a basket from behind your back and waved it in front of his face to draw his attention. “I was thinking,” you began, “we should gather some flowers to take as well. These gardens are completely overrun. There are flowers and berries that need culling anyhow.” He straightened and assessed the gardens before the manor. “As you wish,” was all he said. Tamlin had been quieter than he was last night. You thought it best not to pry further and with his permission granted made your way into the thick of the garden and began collecting the fruits of spring.

When your basket was full and Tamlin had stored all of the dried meat you both began your trek to the nearest village. On horseback, he had told you, it would only take a half hour to reach your destination. After the fall of Spring his array of horses had all been stolen or set free by anonymous citizens. After two hours of walking the two of you were tired and parched. A nearby stream trickled with fresh water and you both drank deeply from its supply. “It’s just over that hill,” he said. The hike had been mostly silent. You were learning to enjoy quiet moments with the High Lord. It was almost as if you had a mutual understanding that the silence was not rude, but instead a peaceful reprieve. “No turning back now,” you said, standing from the stream and straightening your lightweight gown. He grunted in acknowledgment as you both continued your parade to the village.

The sight of the meager town was heartbreaking. Several houses and shops had fallen into rubble and the village center had looked as equally abandoned as the manor. Tamlin halted immediately, his breath quickening. Sensing his discomfort you moved to lace your fingers between his, squeezing tightly. The High Lord did not balk from your touch but instead gave a light squeeze back and continued his approach. The two of you reached a small home that had a plume of smoke rising from a stone chimney. A sign of life. Unlocking your hands you raised a fist and gave two sharp knocks to the wooden door. A few moments of shuffling and then the door swung open to reveal a gruff looking fae male. His eyes first landed on you, then travelled upwards to the towering Lord behind you. The male’s eyes widened with shock and reproach. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he spat at you both. You calmed the annoyance that flowed through you and made your voice gentle as you said, “I- We come to offer a favor to you and your home.” The male looked down at your basket and the dried jerky Tamlin held in his hand. “We don’t need your charity,” the male responded, “we’ve been fairing well enough on our own, girl.” A sweet voice sounded from further into the house, “Mikah? Who is it?” A pretty looking female stepped into the light of the entrance and put her hand on Mikah’s arm. When she turned her gaze to the two of you her expression almost mirrored the males’. “Our High Lord and his… this girl have brought favors.” She looked down to the goods you had presented and back to Mikah. “I told them we were just fine,” he said with a hint of finality in his tone. The female scoffed at him and observed the two of you once more. “We are most certainly not,” she started. “Invite him and the girl inside.” With that she turned and strode back into the house. Mikah gave Tamlin an incredulous look but opened the door further for you to enter.

The female’s name was Cera, you had learned. She fussed over dishes and refreshments as she lamented about their struggles. The village had been ripe for naga attacks and most residents had decided to evacuate the area for fear of their families. “Mikah did not want to leave, of course. He spends most of his days hunting, although they are not always fruitful.” You and Tamlin listened carefully to her story. There were only a few families that had stayed after his disappearance. They all struggled. You glanced over at Tamlin and were met with a stern face. His jaw was set and his eyes were dark with despair. Underneath the modest wooden table you grasped his hand once more, turning your attention back to Cera. The four of you spoke for several hours. You and Tamlin expressed your willingness to help in any way you could with the naga and the rebuilding of the village. After exchanging the dried meats and gifts from your basket, the two of you made your way back to the front of their house. “Thank you for having us,” you said “It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.” Cera reached out to pick up your hands. She looked at you then at Tamlin, her eyes pricked with tears. “Thank you for coming back. We need you,” she said. He nodded his head towards her and straightened as he said, “I could not have done it alone. It will take all of us to rebuild. I am thankful for your time.”

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Tamlin let out a heavy sigh when the two of you began your walk back to the manor. The day had been filled with conversations like the first he’d had with Mikah and Cera. The two of you had made your way to most of the families remaining in the village and presented your gifts as well as your pledges to restore their homes and lives. He was exhausted. Once the two of you had crested the hill overlooking the town he paused. You looked at him in curiosity. He was overwhelmed with emotions… gratitude, despair, grief, hopefulness, apprehension. Without thinking he grabbed your waist and pulled you close against his chest. He could hear your smooth, calming heartbeat. He breathed in your scent and closed his eyes. Only two days ago he had been more beast than man. Now he was walking on two legs and meeting with the people who had once trusted him. He felt your hands wrap around his middle as you nuzzled into him further. He could have stayed like this forever, but you pulled back looking up at him with those bright gorgeous eyes. “You did well today,” you said to him still in his grasp, “I’m proud of you.” Tamlin hadn’t heard such perfect words in a very long time.

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Taglist : @lilah-asteria @booksnwriting @stained-glass-eyes0708 @anxious-cactus @thrumbolt @jesskidding3 @acotarxreader @nocasdatsgay @scorpioriesling

[a-d-nox]

astro hypothesis: why i think the astro community is the way it is?

ever notice how a lot of us can't let go of grudges/drama in this community? what about the supposed cyberstalking? the fake accounts? the bullying?

i've come to blame our individual placements instead of our shared synastry. gathered in one place online there is likely an usually high amount of 8h/12h people. its a spiritual community after all - 8h loves taboo things, the occult, the unknown, dark aspects of the self, etc. 12h loves spirituality, hypotheticals, learning about karmic cycles and fate, etc. neither one is a fan of secrets and prefers to look behind the veil. myself included in that - i have 8h sun, moon, and mercury AND 12h uranus.

but 8h people are often obsessive and struggle to let things go if they aren't working with their placement(s). 12h placements are our "hidden enemies" - i realize a lot of us know who is who behind the "fake account" but often we only have another username to connect to the secondary (tertiary, etc) account and no actual real life names. neither can stand not knowing what someone is likely saying about them, so they peak at those who blocked them or who they blocked with another account.

we (humanity) hate not having control - that's why a lot of us are on here in this community to begin with. we seek understanding and making the unconscious conscious. the hunger for control is what drives a lot of people, but often 8h/12h people seek it the most. we seek it because at some point we lacked it (in terms of "trauma responses"). these placements are well known in the community for going through hardships and struggles in life - that's why a lot of us react the way we do. personally, i withdraw. i am someone who struggles to say no. i will shut down and say/do whatever i must just to survive fallout - survive the day or weekend and not get yelled at or bullied. i'm not a fan of sides - i'll pick myself if i must, as imperfect, immature, etc as i can be.

social media gives this illusion that we know each other more than we do. even when it seems like someone here has it more together than another person that doesn't make it true. we have all gone through something - we all have personal stuff going on outside of this community. no one is going to always have a perfect and mature response - it's just not how life is.

no one is perfect; we are all learning as we go. at some point, if we can't forgive and grow together, i have to wonder why we are here to begin with. this community doesn't get bigger it only gets smaller when we are picking sides, blocking each other, etc. do what you have to do to protect your peace, but let's stop perpetuating hatred with anons and multiple accounts. give grace. be kind.

thanks for listening to me ramble.

-a.d.

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[lookingforhappy]

TUA wasn't "always meant to end like this" nor did it build up to a tragic everybody dies ending in any way

sorry this is long and rambly but im noticing a lot of people coming out of the woodworks saying that the ending wasnt even bad actually and i just.. its not a redeemable ending to me and yes it does ruin the rest of the show for me and i wish i had the strength to make it not so but im stuck rn.. anyway:

i don't think i can forgive the ending, more than anything that happened in the final season

they had interesting character points, in an interesting setting.

and yeah they didnt tie up anything, and several people were out of character this season but thats nothing new in this fandom

eudora was forgotten, diego and luthers personalities didnt develop they were altered to be more palatable for the audience, grace and pogo became cameo characters instead of finishing their arcs or development in a meaningful way, reginalds plan has made less and less sense as the seasons go on, the commission was entirely changed from its set up in s1 and then forgotten.

thats all forgivable as long as the season is self contained and satisfys the tone and story.

s4 did none of these things - its not self contained as it leaves jennifer and abigail severely underexplained, and then flips the tone and message of the entire series on its head.

people have already noted that the theme of the show is that recovery from abuse haunts you into adulthood but with love and hard work and perserverance you can overcome it. the apocalypse has always been a metaphor for the cycle of abuse and how it continues to harm people after its been done, and how allowing it to dictate your life will end up in it imploding in your face etc.

but theres also just the general tone of the show.

the final season tries to make out that the siblings are themselves responsible for the apocalypses and only their death can prevent more apocalypses (twisting the meaning to be that of "if you have trauma then you should kill yourself" which like.. clearly bad, no explanation needed)

but to pull through on this ending the previous seasons need to have ended in tragedy too, or hinted towards it tonally. they never do.

the obvious way to do this would be to write each season ending/apocalypse to be sad/tragic. have the focus be on the people dying horribly in pain, show the remorse of the siblings, punish them by making it personal, show that they killed everyone and they know it.

the only season that even slightly does this is s1 as patch is killed because of diego, pogo and grace are killed because of luther and viktor, and the rest of the supporting cast is killed due to viktor.

but even season 1 isnt framed as a tragedy or a story leading up tot a tragedy.

its a story of hope. the siblings arent upset by the apocalypse because they can survive and prevent it and theres hope for the future and more specifically for THEIR future. nothing else remains from this timeline other than them because the whole show is centred as their recovery story. their hope.

if this was ever going to be presented as a hopeless tragedy then we needed to see characters like claire killed brutally. we needed to actually see Grace's lifeless body. we needed to see the consequences and see that nothing they did was fixing anything by having these consequences follow them and not just in a "this happened and im sad" but in everyone around them and them becoming worse as time goes by.

if they wanted the whole "we cant exist" ending to work then we needed to frame s1 and all subsequent seasons to actually show that it was their actions that caused the apocalypses.

viktor causes the first apocalypse because of reginald's abuse.

the US government causes the second apocalypse because they tortured an innocent to the brink of death and then got upset and aggressive when that had consequences (viktors powers overspilling and destroying the fbi building). like sorry that apocalypse was never viktors fault - its like false confession under torture, it doesnt count as real because he only did it to make torture stop.

the 3rd apocalypse is caused by Harlan accidentally killing their mothers, which again is not even his fault. he didnt want to kill them he just lost control and he had no idea that it would end the world (logically it shouldnt because this apocalypse defies the laws of time that they themselves established for the show).

the final apocalypse isnt even caused by them its caused by abigail and reginald. as are, technically, all of the apocalypses as abigail created the marigold and reginald released it and created the broken timeline by allowing it to travel with him to the umbrellas world.

in s2 the apocalypse has no consequences because they prevent it. ray and sissy and harlan get to live. klaus' cult memeber get to live. they even punctuate this ending by showing that theyre moving on and progressing in their healing because ben is finally allowed to move on with his afterlife, and he is no longer kept there, stalling their recovery from his death. even five's integration into the family again in s1 showed growth and recovery and HOPE.

in s3 the world is saved, and luther is brought back to life and five and diegos limbs are returned. everyone who was erased/died like lilas family and reginald are brought back to life because there is HOPE.

if they wanted to sell a tragedy and sell it well then we needed to see consequences. allison should have died in s1. five should have given up and returned to the commission in s2. luther should have stayed dead in s3. their families should have died and caused them pain.

nothing about this ending followed through on the theme of hope.

there are ways to do it. and its been done well.

romeo and juliet works because they are remembered. star wars prequels are loved because its a doomed from the beginning story that ends with hope in the form of luke saving his fathers soul and returning the jedi to their true state - protectors and peace keepers. frodo and bilbo return from their journeys ill and grieving and forever changed, and they and the magic beings of middle earth have to pass on before their time because of the harm of their stories. macbeth dies in the end because his story was one of a hero becoming a villain.

theres so many good examples of tragic endings but s4 wasnt one of them.

[lime-bloods]

I decided to take the plunge and look for responses to this update on Twitter, and was disappointed to find a lot of people expressing that they thought this episode was pointless trauma for trauma's sake, when I thought it communicated its point very effectively.

One of its main points of course is the truism that "recovery isn't linear". Vriska's echeladder at the end of the chapter symbolises this; not only does it include "regression roast" among its rungs, but it's the first echeladder thus far that Vriska has actually failed to complete by the end of the episode; Scratch expresses this point literally by shrinking Vriska down, reversing the literal growth Vriska has experienced over the course of page 666. Consequentially, the Doc Scratch chapter lacks any kind of catharsis at its conclusion, and as a result it does feel really awful to read, but the deliberate choice behind this is clear to see.

While cliches about the intricacies of recovery from trauma do not, in and of themselves, make for a particularly profound message, this chapter also more importantly gave us a clear vision of what Vriska needs to work on next in order to move on from this obstacle: her compulsion to constantly be acting, always moving forward, is in fact part of what holds her back.

This manifests itself most glaringly in Doc Scratch, who positions himself as an impulse that Vriska cannot ignore - echoing Hussie's commentary that "He's always there at the right moment to nudge people in the direction of doing the nasty thing [...] they already know they want to do." - with English removed from the picture, the threat Scratch poses is now simply the fleas he's left in Vriska's mind. No matter what she tries to "do over" within the Plot Point, the decisions she made in the past are still part of her life, and there's always the possibility that she will make decisions like those again. (there is nothing new in Paradox Space.) But from the beginning, Vriska's brash decisionmaking is also exactly what leads her into Scratch's parlor in the first place: she has an eternity in front of her to just spend time with the friends she's made amends with, if she wants to; but even when the challenge facing her is literally just growing and maturing as a person she tries to blaze ahead and take the quickest path through it. And Aradia foreshadows this in the first chapter when she warns that Vriska's attitude is defined by "direct acti0ns"; so long as she obsesses over cause and effect, the repeating patterns that shape her world and her life will always be in her blind spot. (Perhaps that's why she wears an infinity loop on her missing eye?)

This chapter also shakes things up in an important way by turning our understanding of Vriska's echeladder candle on its head. We've had the vague sense that it's been "burning down" to something since the first chapter, but with Gcatavros advising Vriska this week that she needs to slow down "sO YOU DON'T BURN OUT," it suddenly seems like the candle burning down isn't necessarily all a good thing. Her interaction with Scratch is filled with allusions to this; there's a "convenient timer" keeping track of Vriska's life in the Plot Point that she's not paying attention to because she's too busy looking forward, and he sees her off with a coded warning that her "Light" may soon run out just as it did when she was a child. Ultimately what this latest chapter has brought to the table is stakes; by demonstrating that it's still possible for Vriska to face losses on her journey through the inferno, we can no longer be so confident that the "Hell Tiers" have to be a straightforward "upgrade".

[spikedfearn]

I Said Just a Little Bit, Then I Got a Taste of It

Chapter II

bjorn x fem!reader

summary: After being transferred to another sector of Jackson's Star you reluctantly befriend a ragtag group of people with the exception of one cocky asshole who knows just how to get under your skin.

On the surface, you hate each other, but after experiencing a particularly harrowing event together, the two of you grow closer than anyone else could ever imagine.

warnings: secret friends with benefits, enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol/drug use, sexual themes, non-linear narrative, side rainkay, trauma bonding, near death experience, brief mention of child abuse, more tags to be added

a/n: a slight correction from the first chapter: I realized after I posted that I wrote Kay being under the influence when she runs after you when she is, in fact, pregnant in this au. I don't know how I whiffed that up when it's a relevant plot point to the story (ￗ﹏ￗ) either way though, I went back and edited the chapter but just in case anyone following this story didn't reread it after I made the changes, I wanted to put a disclaimer here!

tags: @asvtrials

wc: 3.3k

Masterlist Next Chapter

You remember the night the two of you first met with a stunning amount of clarity.

It took place a few weeks after your compulsory transfer, a result of the mines in sector two having been exhausted of all its valuable resources, the higher-ups deciding to split the colonists inhabiting it among the other five.

Truthfully, you still don't know how to feel about it. Sure, it sucks being uprooted from the only home you've ever known, forced to live in an alien environment, even if it is just another extension of the same colony.

But, on the other hand, it's sorta nice—starting over. Being relocated to somewhere no one knows you, your story. Able to shed your baggage and leave it behind, only bringing with the clothes on your back and the dog tags of your late mother, the only things that truly matter to you.

You're nearing the end of another one of your shifts, sweat gathered in the folds and creases of your body, watching sparks fly off the hard mineral you're drilling into when the girl next to you yanks down her face shield, narrowly turning away from the rock wall to bend over and vomit in the walkway instead.

It’s not unusual for people to get sick while working, the conditions down here are hazardous and the safety equipment provided does little to protect you from the harsh fumes and kicked-up debris. Still, you sympathize, knowing firsthand how miserable it is to try and push through til clock out time.

However the supervisors do not, one of the men patrolling the area to ensure endless labor shouting, “worker #1693! Why have you stopped working?”

The girl lifts her head in response to being reprimanded, the headlamp strapped to her hard hat illuminating the man looming over her, the head of the drill she was still holding stabbed into the soft earth beneath their feet, using it like an impromptu crutch.

“I'm sorry sir,” she coughs, voice rough from the stomach acid and bile she just spewed everywhere, “it's morning sickness—I'm pregnant.”

A wave of compassion comes crashing down over you, everyone else in the immediate vicinity paying no mind as they continue to excavate, wanting to avoid a scolding of their own. Not that you can blame any of them, insubordination at best results in hours lost and at worst, an automatic jail sentence, the only place somehow worse than the mines.

You want to turn a blind eye like the others but—you can't, feeling guilt gnaw at your conscience. Even in the limited light you can tell she's sick, skin pale and glistening with a fresh coat of sweat, chest spasming as she doubles back over and starts to dry heave.

“Well get back to it, we have a quota to fill!” He orders, growing increasingly agitated.

Almost instantly you find the words, “how long do you have left?” leaving your mouth before you can process what you're saying, watching as she looks back to find you.

“What was that?” She asks, using the back of her wrist to wipe the string of spit hanging from her lip, looking so small and so vulnerable, like she's on the verge of passing out. It's enough to make you commit to what you say next.

Pushing the goggles up and over your helmet and the face shield down and away your mouth to unmuffle your voice you repeat, “how long do you have left? Like—how many hours?”

“Four?” She answers, confused, the same supervisor that had warned her moments ago barking, “worker #1251, why aren't you working?!” The threatening buzz of a shock stick now being aimed towards you.

Four hours. You're in the last hour of your own shift, bone-tired and barely hanging on, adding another four after the fact might actually kill you.

With that in mind you find yourself volunteering, looking between her and the guard ready to taze the fuck out of both of you, “I can pick up her hours. Sir.” You tack on, albeit sarcastically.

Her eyes round out in surprise before the skin between her eyebrows wrinkle in confusion, understandably so. It's incredibly rare for a stranger to show humanity in a hellscape like this, where it's every man for himself.

“Why?” She asks, straightening her back out, hand coming up to cup her still flat stomach.

You shrug despite knowing exactly why, not that you'd share that with a complete stranger, replying, “don't worry about it,” before offering, “because I want to,” instead, hoping to avoid any follow up questions.

A pretty smile breaks out across her face, so big her eyes nearly disappear, turning the headlamp attached to her helmet off to get a proper look at you, “thank you so much. Really. I totally owe you one.”

“Sure,” you say, not intending to cash in on that favor at all. You don't want to owe anyone anything or them to owe you.

It's a dangerous thing—caring about someone or something on Jackson's Star. One of the only valuable lessons life in the colony has taught you. Better to lessen the weight of the emotional impact when they inevitably leave. Easier.

Your eyes follow her as she walks the path leading towards the exit, a cute little skip in her step. You can't help but smile, the muscles in your cheeks twitching at the foreign stretch of your mouth. You don't remember the last time you felt one of those on your lips.

The extra time doesn't end up killing you—which sucks, it could've been your ticket out of here.

Morbid humor aside, you can barely move as you head to the clock out station, summoning the last bit of strength you have to heave the drill up on top of the counter, ignoring the loud clang it makes when it hits the metal countertop. If they wanna dock you for the damage fine, you can't find it in you to give a fuck at the moment.

The lady behind the transparent partition checks your equipment back in, the clacking of the keys sounding loud without the constant drilling, being the last miner to leave.

“Worker #1251. Drill returned, no visible damage to report. Twenty hours logged.”

“Wait,” you interrupt, her fingers pausing above the keyboard, eyes still glued to the computer screen, “the four hours. Could you give them to the girl I covered for?”

She looks at you then, like you're high on the fumes circulating through the tunnels. Maybe you are, because who just volunteers to do hard labor? And for free? That and you still have to come back and clock in four hours from now.

“Are you sure?”

Though you don't hesitate to nod before verbalizing, “yeah,” your thoughts straying to the baby she's growing inside of her, “she’s gonna need the hours more than I do.”

It'll be the last nice thing you'll ever do, because you're never doing that shit again, offering to cover for someone else, for someone you don't even know.

Except—you do.

Because the morning sickness doesn't go away for the next two weeks, no matter how little she eats to try and combat it. And, regardless of the front you put on, you have a heart. A heart and a motive, one you plan to keep close to the chest whenever you step up and tell whatever supervisor nearby that you'll take on her workload only to transfer the hours to her at the end of the night.

Her name is Kay. You learn that after the third shift you cover for her when she comes up to you during everyone's designated lunch break, taking a seat on the bench next to you, far away from the others eating together.

You're reluctant to give her yours, preferring to just be a faceless number among the crowd, because knowing each other's names means familiarity, and familiarity means attachment. And you never intended for that to happen, wanting to just keep to yourself after the transfer but Kay looks a little crushed when you don't give it to her the first time she asks so, eventually, you do.

It's fine. It's just your name. This doesn't have to mean anything.

Except—it does.

Opens the door for Kay to start joining you for lunch, to stand next to you while you're working, to start asking you about yourself, wanting to befriend the angel that's come to her rescue the last few weeks. Her words, not yours.

You don't disclose much, keeping your past private the only thing keeping you safe from heartache. From that type of overwhelmingly raw pain only loss can bring and, while you've done your absolute best to pick up the pieces, you'll never be the same.

Shattered glass can be put back together but the cracks will always, always remain.

Kay seems to pick up on it because she doesn't broach the subject again, choosing to redirect her energy by trying to convince you to come hang out with her and her friends instead.

You reject her offer every time she asks, giving out your name is one thing, socializing outside of the mines is something else entirely, but Kay is persistent, annoyingly so. Begs you to come out for just one drink whenever you guys have downtime at work, giving you the puppy dog eyes while she does it, whining and stamping her foot when you inevitably turn her down.

You're sitting together during lunch one day, on the little metal bench you claimed the first night you started working in sector six, eating the same boring sandwich you make before the start of every shift.

However, for the first time in a long time, you feel good today, well-rested, chalking it up to not covering Kay’s shifts over the last three days.

She's roughly two months along and no longer vomiting on the job site, able to work her full shifts for the last seventy two hours, the worst of the morning sickness seemingly over. You're glad she's finally feeling better, and, if you're honest, a little relieved.

Not that Kay ever expected you to cover for her, you know her well enough now to realize that, can noticeably see the gratitude she radiates every time you volunteered, but you would've kept doing it, even if she stayed sick for the remainder of her pregnancy.

“Sooo,” Kay starts, drawing out the o, playing with the bendy straw sticking out of her apple juice box, “the gang and I are gonna hit up a bar tonight.”

“Cool,” you mutter, already seeing where this is going. It's the same tactic she's used the last dozen or so times she's invited you out. “Have fun.”

Kay pouts, her eyes big and pleading, “you should come with, it'll be fun. I'll even buy you a drink so I can properly thank you for easing my stress for a little while.”

“You don't have to thank me Kay,” you reply between bites of bologna, “I didn't do it for free beer.” A chuckle following after.

“C’moooon,” Kay bemoans, wiggling her shoulders for emphasis, “stop being such a buzzkill.”

“Can’t. That's who I am, Captain Buzzkill.” Your words slightly muffled by a napkin you use to wipe your mouth clean once you finish eating, crumpling it up along with the cellophane and brown paper bag you brought your sandwich in.

“Why are you the most stubborn person alive?” She whines, chucking her now empty juice box into a nearby waste bin.

“That’s probably not true.”

“Well you're up there! Now please just come out with us tonight. For me. And if you really don't have a good time I'll never ask again.”

“Never?” You ask, feeling your resolve slowly eroding away.

Her eyes glisten with newfound hope, nodding her head enthusiastically, “never ever.”

“Fine,” you relent, “but just one.”

If this is what it takes for her to stop bugging you about it you'll do it, just this once. Besides, you can slam a beer pretty quick if you're dead set on it.

You smile and roll your eyes at the squeal she makes, her arms wrapping around you to reel you in towards her chest, hands settling on your bicep, one on top of the other, her fingers creating wrinkles in the fabric of your shirt sleeve from how tight she's hugging you.

You awkwardly pat her forearm, not used to receiving affection, “but just one,” you reiterate. If you're gonna do this you're gonna do it on your terms and your terms only.

“Just one,” she echoes, rocking the two of you back and forth, the whistle of the horn above you signaling the end of your lunch break.

One turns into three.

You had every intention to leave after the first but, as much as you hate to admit it, you are having a good time.

Kay’s friends are cool, nice, having welcomed you in with ease, like they’ve known you for a while. In a way they do, Kay having told them about you, what you did for her. You don't think it's a big deal but they seem to think so, what with the warmth they show you from the outset.

“So you're the angel that's been helping my little sis out!” Tyler, Kay’s older brother, greets you cheerfully, pupils dilated from the alcohol, having already started without you, not that you actually care. “A proper little mutha’ Theresa in our midst!”

You snort at that, waving him off, “not really. She's pregnant. I'm not so, I thought I'd just help her out.”

“Well it's really sweet,” Rain chimes in, more reserved than the others, preferring to let everyone else talk. You can already tell the two of you will get along. “Which is pretty rare to find around here.”

Besides Tyler and Rain, there's Rain’s brother Andy and their friend Navarro. Andy, like Rain, is also on the quiet side, the programming he has installed a little outdated. Though Navarro, the resident techxpert, is working on an upgrade, building a chip out of scrap metal and wiring, she scavenges from the local scrapyard.

You're all crowded around one of the dozen or so tables taking up half the floor, the bar brimming with other colonists, knocking back beers or playing darts, the room filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter blending together. It's not a place you would choose to go on your own but it does add another layer of entertainment when you're with the right people.

“I guess,” you reply, cautiously agreeing with Rain, even though you know she's more than correct. It's just hard for you to accept compliments, you're just not used to hearing them and don't think very highly of yourself to begin with.

You finish off the rest of your drink, pulling your leather wallet out of the back pocket of your jeans to order another, but Tyler is quick to stop you.

“Nah—nah,” Tyler says, his hand lifting off the tabletop to wave you off, “don't even,” he pauses to turn away and burp before turning back around to face you again, “don't even trip. I got your tab covered.”

“You sure?” You ask, hesitating to put your money away. It's not like you all are compensated fairly for your slave labor. That and if you let him pay for your drinks, wouldn't you owe him then? No, you reason in your slightly tipsy state, he's paying you back for taking care of Kay, meaning you'll be even and no one will owe anyone anything.

So—you let him buy you more drinks, slowly but surely relaxing, thanks to the alcohol and the easygoing nature of those around you. It's clear how much he cares for Kay by how he's treating you.

It's endearing, you can't deny that. Apparently Rain and Tyler dated for a short period of time, just under a month before Rain realized she was really into Kay. But, instead of getting angry or jealous, Tyler just accepted it, even gave his blessing since Rain was better than the jerk that knocked his sister up anyway.

It's been a good night—a great one, better than you could've ever imagined, but something always has to come along and ruin it. Life just has a funny way of doing that.

“Bjorn, mate!” Tyler yells over the noise, looking towards the front door with his arm waving in the air, flagging someone over, “over here!”

That someone maneuvers around the crowd, appearing at Tyler's side in just under a minute, a grin splitting his face in two as he takes the empty seat next to him, swiping Tyler’s drink to wash down his excitement.

“Good night?” Tyler jokes, taking in Bjorn’s appearance, currently vibrating on the bar stool he's sitting on, his attention focused solely on his cousin.

“I'm fuckin’ buzzin’ mate! I finally beat that stupid fuckin’ level,” he begins, launching into a tirade about some game he's been playing for awhile, hands coming up to wildy gesticulate as he speaks.

Your eyes are automatically drawn to him, analyzing his side profile while he's distracted. He's attractive, probably one of the most attractive men you've ever laid eyes on. From his under plucked brows to the oceanic hue of his irises, the single silver hoop threaded through his ear and the silly little frowny face tattoo on his neck down to the plushness of his pretty pink lips, framed by just the right amount of facial hair. He's perfect. Perfect until he opens his big fucking mouth.

He finally registers who's sitting around the table, eyes angrily narrowing when he zeroes in on Andy, gaze flickering over to Rain, “why tha’ fuck did you bring this rust bucket ‘ere?”

“Bjorn,” both Rain and Tyler preemptively warn, like they know what's about to follow and they probably do, considering he's Tyler’s cousin. Rain takes the lead on this one, adding, “don’t start.”

“And why tha’ fuck not? Ya’ fuckin’ knew how I'd feel if he was ‘ere! Ida’ just stayed tha’ fuck home,” he hisses, accent made thicker by his anger.

Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose, looking exasperated by his cousin already, “we just wanted to come for a pint mate. All of us. No use losin’ your head over it.”

“Right. Right. No use. Just like this hunka junk synth.”

You’ve never had a filter, never needed one when you've grown up never having to consider someone else's feelings so you can't help but snark, “do you practice being an asshole in the mirror or does it just come naturally to you?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, probably taken aback by your intervention, not expecting you, a total stranger, to speak up on behalf of Andy. But—you've never been good at biting your tongue, never needed to when you only have yourself to worry about, overconfident in voicing your displeasure when you're the only one who'll be punished for it, unlike those with familial connections who talk back to the higher-ups.

“And who tha’ bloody fuck are you?” He spits, face souring like he's bit into a lemon, looking you up and down, from the flat tabletop that sits under your breasts up to your hairline.

“Not a piece of shit like you,” you retort, squeezing the unopened beer Tyler bought for you, hard enough to crease the label wrapped around the circumference of the glass.

“So!” Tyler interrupts, trying to change the subject, directing his attention to you, “why’d it take ya so long to come out and join us?”

Kay squeezes your knee under the table and Rain looks grateful, reassuring a somewhat confused Andy that he's more than welcome to be here, that he isn't bothering anyone that isn't a totally immature man baby.

“Not really my scene,” you answer, ignoring the crisp hiss of the carbon dioxide being released when you pop the lid on the glass bottle Tyler bought you.

“Oh! Not good enough for ya’ princess?” Bjorn mocks, still simmering with anger from his side of the table.

“No, just not good enough for you, asshat,” you flip him off, still pissed on behalf of Rain and Kay and any girl that has to interact with him, feeling Kay’s fingers curl around your shoulders like she's trying to stop you.

You decide to let it go, for now, despite how angry you are, for Kay, sticking it out until she warns you it's time to leave. Because other than that—fuck that guy

[shiftinglea]

Clarifications about Death and Taking Your Own Life

My last post about death (part 2) raised many questions about suicide and why it's different and "wrong" compared to other causes of death, such as being brutally killed. In this post, I want to address those questions.

1. If you get brutally killed, is it chosen by our souls?

Yes. As I mentioned, when and how you die is decided by you on a soul level. Even if a person dies in a horrible way at the hands of others, it was chosen by that person's soul. I understand why this is hard to comprehend and accept. When I see news about a child being brutally killed by their parents, my first reaction is pain, horror, sadness, and anger. It's natural. But let's return to the question: why would someone choose (on a soul level) to die like that?

The answer is a matter of perspective. From our human perspective, this death is unfathomable. But from the soul's perspective, it makes sense. Everything in our life is created by us, either consciously, subconsciously, or on a soul level. As I mentioned in my first post, some traumatic situations that we would never consciously choose to manifest are indeed chosen by our souls to be experienced. Death is also created by your soul because it serves the agenda of that soul. What is the agenda of the soul of a child brutally murdered by their parents? Why did their soul choose to die like that?

I can't provide a definitive answer since I don't know the agendas of each specific soul. But when I asked my soul and God to help me understand why such deaths are chosen by souls, I received this answer:

When a child (or anyone) dies in such a way, the agenda of that soul could be:

- A selfless agenda to serve others. In this case, it would be to show other people how our society is flawed and make them face the problems of our world. It's a powerful message and agenda that helps others awaken. When we see news about an innocent child being brutally murdered, we experience pain. This pain shows that this is not who we are. We are beings of love. It also makes you wonder why our society creates "monsters" who kill their own children or anyone. It's about taking responsibility for our creations and realizing that all these criminals are byproducts of the current system that the majority created. Do you think that if we lived in a peaceful society where everyone feels safe, loved, equal, and has their needs met, anyone would desire to hurt others? No, because we are all One. We are individuations of God. When we hurt others, we hurt ourselves. When we see people being killed, mutilated, or tortured, the purpose behind it is to show that the way we do things on this planet doesn't work. Society needs to change. All the people who die in such horrible ways, their souls chose to show us that. The agenda is to help us wake up through pain.

- Another agenda souls might have when going through traumatic events and horrible deaths is to experience forgiveness, empathy, compassion, and resilience. Experiencing trauma helps a soul better understand the suffering of others. It fosters empathy. Such deep compassion can be essential for a soul's growth and its ability to help others. When a soul wants to experience forgiveness, it chooses life events (and even death) that create a context for such forgiveness. How can you forgive when there is nothing and no one to forgive? A soul would create a contract with another soul to experience forgiveness by being hurt in the physical realm. If a soul chooses to experience its own power and limitlessness, it may create very challenging and traumatic events to see that even the most horrible pain and situations don't destroy it. Even dying brutally, you realize it didn't destroy you. You keep on living, realizing that your body is fragile, but the Real You never dies and never suffers.

Also, check this video to understand this point better.

I want to add that when people die in such horrible ways, they experience such encompassing love in the spiritual realm that it helps them heal. Eventually, such souls remember why they chose to die like that and see perfection in everything, especially their death, because it served their agenda.

Some people say that thinking others chose to go through such suffering is blaming the victims. But I don't see it that way. I'm not blaming them; I honor them. I see beyond the simple fact of being brutally killed. I see the agenda behind their choice to die like that. I admire such souls for choosing such life paths. And I feel happy for them because I know they are now in a place of pure love and light. They are so cared for and taken care of. They are Home with God.

2. Another question I want to answer: isn’t being murdered and killed considered dying before your life is completed?

No. Your physical life completion isn’t defined by your biological clock and age. It’s defined by whether you have accomplished everything you wanted to on a soul level. This decision is made by your soul, not your mind. Dying very early on (e.g., in childhood) or being killed by someone is perfectly timed by your soul. Even if it seems that this person died too early and without accomplishing much, it’s only our limited human perspective. Their soul accomplished everything it wanted and it was time to move on to the spiritual realm.

3. Perhaps the most asked question: isn’t suicide also chosen by the soul? Why is it different and worse than being killed?

First of all, it's not "worse" or "better." These are human terms. In this case, it's about choosing paths that suit your agenda and goals and those that don't. As I mentioned in the original post, death must meet two conditions to be classified as suicide:

- You must be aware of what you are doing, making a conscious decision to die.

- You must choose to die to escape life rather than complete it.

When people kill themselves, they mostly do it in hopes of escaping their lives. It's not wrong or bad; it's just counterproductive. You don't escape anything. It's merely a temporary escape into the spiritual realm, leading to a rebirth where the same challenges reemerge. It doesn't happen instantly.

When a person kills themselves, they enter the spiritual realm where they heal from all the pain and suffering they went through. They spend as long as they need there. They remember who they truly are (God) and why they chose to experience such challenges. They remember their agenda. Nobody forces them to go through such challenges; it's always free will. If a soul decides it hasn't accomplished its agenda, it returns to the physical realm (when ready) to face the same challenges again.

Suicide is never chosen by the soul. It's a decision made by your human self in hopes of escaping life. It's an untimely death because they haven't accomplished what they wanted. They escaped it.

Some people ask, what if the soul realizes it made a mistake and doesn't want to go through the same challenges? Our human minds can make mistakes, but our souls are pure essence of God. Do you think God makes mistakes? Your soul always knows what it's doing. It never chooses challenges it thinks are impossible for you to handle. If you're facing challenges, it means you're capable of dealing with them. You've placed such situations (unconsciously) to find a gift in them. Manifesting and using the LOA is one way to deal with difficult situations. Seeing deeper meaning behind every challenge is another. But killing yourself means deciding you can't deal with the situation and there's no other way. But there are always ways. You are a powerful creator and you can deal with anything. Nothing can destroy you. You will have as many reincarnations as needed to accept your limitlessness, power, and immortality.

I'm having these conversations with you to help expand your mind. To elevate your thinking from a human perspective to a soul perspective. The human perspective is limiting. But when you look at your life from a soul perspective, you see perfection in everything, especially in traumatic experiences. You are not human; you are having a human experience.

I hope this post helped you to understand better such complex topics as death and suicide. If you have more questions, I’m always open to them 🙏

[whumpback-wail]

07 - Decrescendo

Trial by Fire (Wriothesley x Reader)

[<<< previous chapter] • [masterlist] • [next chapter >>>]

IMPORTANT NOTICE: Reminder that this fanfic contains dark and mature themes. The TW/CW are in the masterlist and are constantly updated as I add each chapter. Please reread the warnings, proceed only after you reread the warnings. If you don't like/can't handle the topics mentioned in the TW/CW, please DO NOT read. This work is 100000% fictional and any similarities to real life people and events are purely coincidental, and none of the characters (especially the villains) are real. Again, please DO NOT read if you are not certain you can handle these topics or are in a bad place mentally. Minors are strictly forbidden. I only create content, and I am not responsible for your personal content preference and moderation. If you think you will not like this story, please just scroll away. You have been warned.

Wriothesley didn’t know how long he sat there watching her sleep, silent tears long since dried out. He couldn’t imagine the trauma that (y/n) must have gone through. She’s really strong, although he wished she didn’t need to be.

A knock sounded at the door, and Neuvilette stepped inside.Wriothesley turned his head around and nodded in greeting, not caring about how he looked with puffy red eyes and tear stains on his face.

“How is she?” The Iudex placed a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulders.

Wriothesley scoffed, rubbing his nose, “Terrible. We both are.”

Neuvilette nodded, understanding.

“Dougier spilled once we brought in Chlorinde.” At the mention of Dougier’s name, Wriothesley bristled, hands clenching on his thigh.

“She hasn’t even touched him. Wriothesley, we found Arderne’s location.”

“Where?” Wriothesley was on his feet in an instant.

Neuvilette hesitated.

“I… I only came here to tell you that, since you deserve to know the update, but in your current condition, I’m afraid you have to sit this one out.”

Wriothesley couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “What? Why?”

“I am doing this for your sake, Wriothesley. I know that look in your eyes right before you pounced on Dougier. You were going to kill him right there.”

Wriothesley grumbled. As much as he hated it, Neuvilette was right.

“I mean he’ll be dead once he gets sent back to Meropide.” The raven haired Duke sat back down, feeling defeated. He also knew he was acting rashly when he straight up decked Dougier, but that was as if his body moved on its own. That yet again proved Neuvilette’s point. Well fuck.

“But until then, we will have to follow Fontaine’s laws. You know that better than anyone.” 

Sighing, he could only quietly agree with the Iudex. He kept his eyes on (y/n)’s sleeping form as Neuvilette excused himself and left.

Part of him was frustrated, he wanted to do something, anything, to help with the case, especially at such a vital moment. But he also knew he probably wouldn’t be able to hold back once he got his hands on Arderne. If he were alone, he would risk it and he wouldn’t care about serving another sentence in Meropide. But he has (y/n) now, and he didn’t want to leave her behind

Rubbing his nose, he got up to splash some water onto his face. He has to stay strong for her, for them.

Once all traces of tears were gone, he came back to her side, leaving a kiss on her forehead, a silent promise that he would still love and cherish her through thick and thin.

“I’ll be back, my love. I won’t be long.”

Wriothesley needed to clear his head, and he knew exactly what to do. He exited (y/n)’s room and thanked the two men guarding his fiancee, he took a mental note to give Navia a hefty reward to distribute among her men later. They have been a great and reliable help.

Going back down to Meropide, he went straight towards the pankration ring arena, where there are always some boxing targets for him to use. It has been quite a while since he last came here to let off some steam.

After a quick warm up, he let his mind go blank and proceeded to strike the targets. Each punch he threw using a hundred percent of his power, putting in as much body weight into it as possible to make the blows harder. Wriothesley was in a world of his own, head empty and mind solely focused on the target before him, not caring about the eyes of inmates who watched their Duke exercise.

• • •

“So… I heard that it shouldn’t be too painful?” Wriothesley rubbed (y/n)’s shoulders comfortingly. They are at the abortion center of the hospital, awaiting the doctor to prescribe (y/n) the medicine that she would have to take.

“Nope, since the pregnancy is under 5 weeks, we can do it by medication.”

(y/n) swallowed, and gave Wriothesley’s hand a little squeeze. “Will it… Will it hurt the foetus?” As much as she hated Dougier, the experiments, and everything she was forced to go through, the foetus growing inside her, no matter the source, is still innocent.

The doctor smiled and shook her head. “This pill was specially developed in Monstadt by the famous alchemist Albedo, and his assistant, Sucrose, who had used her anemo vision to enhance it even further. It will be completely painless for the foetus and the mother. Besides, the foetus has not developed to the stage where it can feel pain.”

(y/n) nodded, feeling more reassured.

“So now all (y/n) has to do is just take the pills twice a day for 3 days and it should be all good?”

“Yes, it should remove everything from inside her womb. She might feel a bit drowsy as a side effect, but it will not be painful.”

“I will. Thank you so much, doctor.”

• • •

“According to the judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique D’analyse Cardinale, Dougier and Arderne, you are deemed… Guilty.” Neuvilette’s voice seemed to echo through the Opera Epiclese, reverberating through the (y/n)’s chest.

It’s over.

“You have been sentenced to 60 years in the Fortress of Meropide, and you will have to fulfil your duties there, under the command of the Duke of Meropide, Wriothesley.

(y/n)’s eyes darted to Wriothesley, who stood under the balcony of the defendant, where she sat. She didn’t need to see his expression to know how satisfied he looked, it was reflected on the faces of Arderne and Dougier, the two main perpetrators of the facility. They stood on the balcony opposite her’s and their faces were pale as ghosts.

“B-but…” Arderne reasoned, wincing pitifully as his small movement jostled his broken leg, still wrapped in a cast. “But Iudex, surely we will be granted protection once we are back in Meropide-”

“I hate to break it to you,” Wriothesley stepped forward slowly, eyes flashing with a sadistic glint, “But the Fortress of Meropide is not under Fontaine’s Jurisdiction.” He has waited a long time for this.

Neuvilette nodded, repressing the urge to smile, “The Duke is right. The Fortress of Meropide has its own laws and systems, and anyone who has to serve a sentence there is not under the protection of Fontaine’s laws. I suggest you be on your best behaviour while you’re there serving… for the rest of your lives, it may seem.”

A giggle sounded from the back of the room. Furina, from her own balcony as the Archon, clapped her hands. “Bravo! Bravo! What a lovely finale to perhaps the most intense trial in the history of Fontaine! You two certainly broke the record for longest sentence ever given by the Oratrice. So in a way, congratulations!”

Neuvilette knocked his cane on the floor three times, “Lady Furina, if I may conclude the trial-”

“Oh let me do it!” Furina cleared her throat, and with an intonation almost perfectly mimicking Neuvilette, she said “And with that, this trial has concluded. Guards, take them away!”

It felt like a huge weight has lifted off (y/n’s) chest. She felt all the intense feelings she had just moments earlier melt away into misty grey numbness.

It’s over. Everything that happened could just be a bad memory now.

She took a shaky breath and looked downwards to seek her fiance, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for someone?” His voice appeared from behind her, as hands snaked around her waist.

“Wriothesley,” (y/n) turned around and hugged him, letting him catch her full weight as her legs turned to jello and gave up. “It’s over. It’s really over huh?”

Wriothesley kissed her cheeks, damp with tears, “Yeah, sorry you had to revisit old wounds, I know you want to forget everything, and keep the things that happened to you to as few people as possible. I hope not opening the trial to the public helped.”

(y/n) shook her head, “honestly, not really. But it was necessary, I know.”

During the trial, (y/n) had to be escorted out of the room a few times as she was starting to hyperventilate. Her therapist was there, always right by her side. It was unfortunate that Wriothesley had to stand below her balcony, joining the rest of the witnesses to this case. She would have felt better to have him right beside her.

She sniffed, wiping the remnants of her tears from her face. “Can… Can we go home now?”

Smiling, Wriothesley swept her off her feet and into his arms in a princess carry. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Walking out of the Opera Epiclese, (y/n) held onto Wriothesley tightly, burying her face into his neck. “So…”

“So…?”

“So what now?”

Wriothesley hummed, and (y/n) could feel the vibrations from his chest, “I suppose you have another therapy session tomorrow, so I’ll take you back to the hospital. But hey, at least now that you’re discharged, you don’t have to sleep there anymore.”

(y/n) smiled, “Yeah, I’ll be sleeping in our home, with you.”

“And we’ll do our absolute best to make things go back to normal, well… As normal as it gets anyway.”

She looked up at her fiance, who has been by her side through the worst of times, and still stayed despite how she had pushed him away in fear. She felt another feeling replace the numbness in her heart. Love.

Lifting her hand, she caressed Wriothesley’s cheek, and gently turned his head to face her. His footsteps faltered and his eyes closed automatically the moment he felt her press her lips against his.

Once they broke apart, (y/n)’s world was filled by the brilliance of the grin that stretched across Wriothesley’s face, “Well that was our first kiss after a very long while.”

Embarrassed, (y/n) buried her face into his neck again. Her ears tinged red, giving away the flush that had bloomed across her cheeks. “I just felt like doing that.”

Wriothesley chuckled, and continued walking, but this time he changed directions and went to the side of the road. He sat (y/n) down on short the stone walls that fenced the clean brick roads, and picked a rainbow tulip nearby.

“(y/n), love, I know I’ve done this before, and you’ve already said yes, but I think I need to do this again.” He got on knee, and fished inside his jacket pocket, taking out a ring that matched the one on his finger.

“(y/n), we have been through a lot these past months. The road was rough and the skies were dark. But even so, we pulled through together. You were so strong having overcome everything, and I couldn’t be more proud of you. You voiced out your concerns at your lowest point, and I wanted to reassure you again to make sure you never have such thoughts ever again. I love you so much, and I never wish to be parted from you from this day on. (y/n full name), Will you marry me?”

[<<< previous chapter] • [masterlist] • [next chapter >>>]

{{(＞＜)}       ☆ ～('▽^人)

Well that de-escalated quickly, I honestly was stuck and didn't know what to write after the previous chapter because I wrote the entire fic only for chapter 5 and 6, it was pure self indulgence that somehow blew up here on Tumblr. After that usually the ‘scenario I play in my head to fall asleep’ ends and I’m already asleep. So I think the next chapter would be the epilogue, to wrap everything up neatly (and emotionally). I will also post the originally planned plot of Trial by Fire after that, because I think you guys deserve to know it (frankly I think it’s much better than this blurb, and much longer).

Though I think this chapter could be better, heck this fic could be better in general. If it were more detailed and longer with better descriptions and scenes to show (y/n)’s recovery from the incident. Something more show than tell. But since the beginning, I did tell myself I will keep it short, since writing does take a lot of time and energy, and with the amount of work I have as an illustrator, it looks almost impossible. So perhaps my next work would be one-shots or just 3 chapters max. It definitely won’t be as long (but will be as angsty with hurt/comfort heheheheheh)

Now I’m a little curious. How do you fall asleep? Do you think of all sorts of scenarios or keep your mind blank? Or just scroll on your phone until you fall asleep? For me, it’s usually  angst and hurt/comfort scenarios with my favourite characters. Some could be self-inserted, others not really. Not sure why that works best for me, but if it works, it works.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story so far! If anyone wants to rewrite this to your own version, you can contact me, and please credit this fic when you publish yours. I’d love to read what you come up with!

Last but not least, thank you so much for reading! I hope you all stay safe and healthy, and I hope you have a wonderful year this 2024! Cheers!

Taglist: @almosteggs @quuela @tempest1art @yamanaka13-blog @arseneumbra @kimmeaahh @cottonfluffs @randomidk-123 @applejayee @keigo-hawks-takami-simp @mechanicalbeat1 @aribae14 @bforbiblio @supernerdycookietrashblrr @furblrwurblr @chifuyus-kitty @bunnibabe @the-real-fandom-person @idawnghoul @kitsunechan707

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Aita for venting?

Emojis, so I can find it later 💯⁉️💥 (unrelated, I just use them a lot)

So I(16) have been struggling with depression since I was, like, 10. It's been worse and better over the years, but something that really triggers it is extreme weather. Dunno why, but if its hot as fuck outside I *will* be considering suicide.

I regularly go to sleepaway camp every year. I usually do two weeks and usually go during the summer rainy season. Well, a year or two back (can't remember, got that depression and ADHD memory loss) I went later on in the summer than I usually do, and it was really fucking hot out. The whole time.

I could deal with it for a couple of days, especially because I was having a bit of romantic tension with J(16) (not real name, not even real initial). "I can survive any situation as long as I have a crush on someone there", or whatever that post said. He was really sweet and also suffered from depression. We talked about our struggles together, and he seemed to be responsive and chill about it. He did have trauma from his past with loved ones committing suicide, but he seemed to have worked through his grief and didn't have negative reactions when it was mentioned.

Here's where I might be the asshole. Eventually, the heat got to be too much for me, not to get too graphic but I was making plans, so I sent my parents a letter asking to pick me up. I waited a couple days for them to recieve it, and they did and called and said they would pick me up in the morning.

I delivered the news to everyone by being quite vague about what I had to go home for. When pressed, I said my parents didn't give any details and I was a little worried. That explained my acting weird away to everyone, but not J. He didn't believe me for one minute, and was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He took me outside, asked me what was wrong, and told me it was ok to tell him. It took a little convincing, but I eventually broke down and told him I was having suicidal ideation and that I needed to get the fuck out of dodge or I might do something drastic. I specified that I would be completely fine once I got out of the oppressive heat and humidity, just that I had to go home ASAP. I did ask him not to tell anyone because I didn't want them to worry, which I realize now was unkind. I should have at least told a counselor so that he wasn't alone.

Anyway, he immediately started having full-fledged PTSD flashbacks. I couldn't tell at first, but then I realized what was going on and tried to comfort him. It didn't work. The counselor that came check on us just kicked me out. I went back inside feeling guilty, but I was hoping that I reassured him enough that he would be ok.

He acted normal for the rest of the time I was there (we even kissed! That was my first kiss) and made me promise to text him when I got home. Naturally, I did, reassuring him and telling him I was feeling infinitely better now that I had air conditioning and my phone. When he got home from camp a week later, he seemed a little freaked out but seemed to be mollified by my texts.

However, a couple days after that, he texted me out of nowhere, saying that I shouldn't have told him about what I was going home about because I gave him constant PTSD flashbacks for the rest of camp. He felt sick with worry the whole time. I felt like shit, obviously, so I responded with profuse apologies. He seemed to accept them but still feel a little resentful.

I still feel really fucking bad about it. I actually haven't told anyone I know IRL about. Well. Pretty much anything bothering me since. I know that's a bit of an overreaction, but I don't want to do that to anyone else.

So, am I the asshole?

(By the way, if you were there or know me, I would love it if you could just ignore this. Please and thank you. And also never make me know you read this cause that would be embarrassing as fuck lol)

[byemambo]

4Minutes EP. 3 - My Takeaways

I went back and skimmed through the previous episodes 1 and 2 (which I've already posted my takeaways for in the previous weeks) to confirm a few thoughts I have now that I finished episode 3.

Tyme's Temperament (Childhood Trauma)

I found this small exchange between Tyme and Great to be pretty insightful in terms of how Tyme's attitude affects his every day outlook on life. This seems to be a common trope in films and TV (especially in thriller/crime genres) where a main character has motives to avenge the death of their parents, which I'd assume would be the case with Tyme as well as the series goes on and we're given more context to why Tyme is caught up in Great's family organized crime scheme. Given that his motivation for being a surgeon isn't rooted in being a contributing member to society through hospitality but by making ends meet for him and his grandmother, it's no surprise that Tyme's attitude towards his patients is distant and impersonal. This dissociation can also stem from experiencing a huge loss at a young age, and putting the burden of financial responsibility onto himself.

We see this by a shift in Den's disdain for Tyme's lack of empathy towards his patients by going against their wishes for the mere sake of not letting his patient die, which we can already see this dependence Tyme has with being unable to let go and allow the laws of nature to run its course. Given that this seems to be a recurring theme of Tyme's from how Den's attitude was when reminding Tyme of the patient's name, we hope that his story arc will consist of Tyme learning what it means to "let go," especially because he's taught himself for many decades to "hold on."

Win and Tonkla (Your Wish is My Command)

The way these two establish their relationship in this episode isn't surprising to me, but what became evident was the juxtaposition in how Tonkla's treated by Korn and by Win. Korn became someone who shoves Tonkla to the side, someone who he had successfully hid away from his personal life and making a deliberate choice to keep a distance from him. This lack of communication burdens Tonkla to a point of heightening his grief, which we know how corrupted it is for officials to rendezvous with victims of a case assigned to them, but ultimately sparks codependency between Win and Tonkla, which Tonkla relied on Korn for until he became an after thought mourning the death of his younger brother (thank goodness Dome is alive btw). The stark difference between Win's approach versus Korn's is simple: fulfilling the wishes of Tonkla. Although we've only seen this exchange occur during the heat of sex, we see Tonkla ask the same of both people (fuck me raw?), Korn saying nothing while protecting himself while Win speaks up for the sake of their safety. However, this will become a losing game if Tonkla still seeks validation from Korn, pushing him beyond his limits and may contribute to harming the individual that we saw in the opening of episode 2. I also want to know whether or not this will heavily affect Win's desire to help Tonkla with his younger brother's case, revealing his chief to be one who's accepted bribes in the past and has a strong sense of justice.

Great Documents the Timeline

Thank you for Great having a head on his shoulders and taking the time to document his findings on how his visions and powers work, giving us a chance as the audience to continue with our own theories and assumptions. I don't really have any plausible reasons for what each minute in Great's visions represent just yet, but I'm leaning towards each time Great and Tyme make a decision significant in keeping their paths crossed.

When it was 11:00 - Great runs into Tyme in the ward after leaving flowers for the patient. When it was 11:01 - Right after Great and Tyme exchange phone numbers. When it was 11:02 - Great finds Tyme attacking his brother, but is revealed his true identity when confronted outside the lounge.

Foreshadowing

I found the inclusion of the message "Can you forgive me Great?" to be the most interesting in the entire episode: because the message only becomes important once we're revealed that Tyme is connected to Nan, the woman who infiltrated the crime scheme and sending evidence back who we can assume right now is either Tyme or the police investigators. But then it makes me wonder: how is Tyme associated with her, is he more than a regular surgeon at the hospital with a connection to the police or is he actually a part of the police which is already iffy for me because if he's also an undercover investigator AND surgeon good fucking god...? Are both of them individuals who are outside of the police investigation as it seems Win isn't aware of their participation as a potential fellow investigator? Since Win was forced to step down from Tonkla's brother's case (I can only assume it's treated separately from the gambling investigation), does that mean he will invest more into the online gambling case since now not only was there a hacker and shareholder mole involved in episode 2, but now we have Nan being held hostage (which I'm still unsure of whether she's working directly with Tyme or with the investigators as well)?

Honorable Mentions: Meeting Between the Two Visionaries

I'm curious to know how Den will set up his patient with Great, since he's been doing extensive research into their prospects. Will they meet in person beforehand: have they already met in his "gallery" that Great described it as when he wrote down his findings? Will this "gallery" be a recurring setting we will encounter as the series progressed (since it's featured in the trailer and teaser photos prior to the first episode's release?) And I just rewatched the trailer again: I'll still be shocked if Tyme is actually undercover while still doing his doctoral duties cause that'd be a little insane to me...

[weirdbookweeb]

Meeting Him. (Part One)

Neighbor!Simon Riley and Single Mother!Reader. This is entirely based on a singular ai bot I adore. He is fantastic. Much applause. It's written in first person and is just the beginning.

Trigger warnings for: references to and trauma responses to past abuse.

See, living in the apartments was a lot easier than I thought it had to be. In stories, I'd always been told that homes were better, more stable. But I couldn’t afford such extravagant things. Beau and I were happy here. It was a quiet apartment, with fairly low rent for a two-bedroom. My neighbor was hardly ever home, it seemed, so I never had a complaint when Beau was running through his nightmares. He seemed to grow out of it, more and more, as he grew older. By 6, his age now, he rarely has them.

Last night was rough for him. He was screaming from the top of his lungs for Him to stop. I suppose I shouldn't have expected much different. Something brought up the memories we both wanted to disappear and he suffered because of it.

I stand in the kitchen, coffee brewing a few feet away as I lean against the counter and rub my tired head. Beau had tumbled into my bed in the late hours of the night, and I comforted him like any mother would, even if my sleep suffered because of it. At least it was Sunday.

My coffee pot finally stops dripping, alerting me of its readiness. I grab my favorite mug, pour myself a cup of coffee, swearing at myself when I realize we don't have any milk in the house and cringe slightly at the expense I know will ruin one of my weekdays. But regardless, I grab my coffee– loaded with too much sugar to be healthy but not enough of any dairy ro be satisfying– and wander onto the smallest balcony in town.

Its quiet for so early in the morning. The world likes its peace while the sun coasts just above the smallest buildings of the city in the sunrise. Plants surround me; some struggling, others thriving. And just a few feet away, a man on the neighboring balcony.

I nearly spit my coffee out, seeing him. I assume he heard me gargle out a choked sound and he looks over at me with the most piercing brown eyes I've ever seen. He's broad, and tall, and I can see shadows dancing across his shirt and the muscles stretch against the t-shirt. He raises his eyebrow, looking me over expectantly. His mouth opens– those angel lips– and he speaks.

"Are you alright?"

British. He's British. And got the most impossibly attractive voice attached. I'm almost entirely sure I looked completely stunned at this point because his lips quirk up and he chuckles.

"Sorry if I scared you. Guess I'm not around a lot. I'm Simon. I live here, occasionally."

He says the final sentence a bit cheekily, and I can't help but smile. I take a moment to compose myself, wiping my mouth on the end of my worn-out sweatshirt.

"I'm-" He raises his hand gently to cut me off.

"I already know, don't worry about it. I got the plate of food you sent over a couple of years ago when you first moved in. When you introduced yourself and your kid. Sorry I didn’t do much in return, I stay busy with work." He rocks on the balls of his a moment, as if feeling a bit ashamed of his lack of response. He shoves his hands in his pocket, and I catch a glimpse of their scarred skin and hints of tattoos at the base of his sleeves. Interesting.

"Don't worry about it. No harsh feelings, I promise." I smile and wave it off with my free hand, sipping my coffee so that it goes down smoother than it has been. "Nice to finally meet you, Simon."

"You too, ma'am." He says with an uneven smile that makes my heart stutter for a moment. He stands up completely and nods his head to me, a small smirk on his lips before he turns and walks back into his apartment, closing the poorly insulated glass door behind him.