#which lo and behold is not how mental illness works

[revvetha]

oh man today is bad bad lol

[hyperfixation-fix]

Aight so.

Just reblogged a post that mentioned Nico canonically having depression (totally agree), but I wanted to talk about my other headcanons around Nico's mental health AND MORE IMPORTANTLY his recovery journey.

(AN IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm very wary of talking about headcanons involving mental illness, bc it can easily cross the line into romanticising mental illness. I grew up in that kind of online space, and it's toxic af and makes recovery almost impossible. So I want to emphasise, especially for younger fans who read this - Nico gets better, canonically and in my headcanons. So did I. So will you. It takes work, and often it's not a painless or pretty process, but it's so much better than letting yourself rot away in the dark. Romanticise being well, being happy, and getting better.)

In my head, Nico is autistic. But I think he's been so traumatised and so dissociated for so long that he doesn't even really realise how much things affect him, how much easier things could be if he gave himself permission to be the way he is.

FOR EXAMPLE. I think he is specifically very sensory-sensitive, but he's so disconnected from his body and brain that he doesn't really realise it. He just always feels Bad™️ and has never been safe enough to figure out why. So then, once he gets comfortable at CHB and really starts to finally feel safe and present, he starts to slowly untangle things bit by bit. Will is a big part of this - he's very intuitive and notices stress queues in Nico before Nico even realises he's stressed.

It starts off with Will noticing Nico avoiding crowds, which isn't necessarily weird for a kid who spent the last several years with ghosts, but then he realises it's not actually the people that bother him. It's the noise. Like, Nico avoids the Apollo Cabin as much as possible, even when it's completely empty except for Will, bc it's constantly got music playing a little too loud. Nico doesn't even really know why he doesn't like it and doesn't really bother thinking much about it, but Will is like "huh that's interesting". And, as he gets closer with Nico, that pattern becomes more and more apparent - in noisy places, Nico becomes tense and guarded, but in quiet places he's more relaxed. Then Will notices Nico's sensitivity to textures. Some clothes are consistently "grumpy Nico clothes" and some are "happy Nico clothes".

Will decides to run little experiments, making subtle changes around Nico and taking note of Nico's reaction. For example, suggesting Nico change clothes before a date because "I like the black jeans better" ie "the black jeans are a softer denim and stiff denim makes you grumpy". Or swapping out Nico's sheets bc "whoops my bad, I was practicing wound cleaning and spilled supplies all over them! But don't worry, I've replaced them with a new set so it's all good," ie "your sheets were cheapass 100% cotton and rough af and that's why you haven't had a good night's sleep like, ever, so here's a high-quality satin (or whatever, idk fabrics) set that probably won't bother you as much." And lo and behold, Nico sleeps like a baby every night after that. Or orchestrating a whole plan to get Nico into the Apollo Cabin when it's quiet (music gets turned low, siblings are threatened with weeks of dish duty if they don't keep it down), and seeing if he's less on edge. AND HE IS.

And eventually Nico picks up on Will's increasingly elaborate accommodation experiments (Will is simply having way too much fun at this point - he feels super sneaky, finds it hilarious that Nico still isn't noticing, and also just loves seeing Nico less stressed out) and is like "Solace I know you're up to something, out with it or else." And at that point Will is like "ok bet" and pulls out a fucking spreadsheet (Annabeth taught him how to use excel (yeh I know demigods don't vibe with tech but this is my headcannon so deal with it) with great joy and little-to-no interest in why he actually wanted to learn) with a bunch of Nico's triggers and sensitivities and the success rates of different accommodations. Nico is like "I'm actually going to kill you, you've been fucking with my brain for months????" but is barely containing how curious he is and how sweet he actually finds it that Will has thought so much about how to make Nico happy. But Will knows, especially when Nico, even while grumbling, takes the spreadsheet with him.

The next day Will presents Nico with a present he was saving for the final big-reveal: some loop earplugs or something similar. Discrete and practical 😌 Will just leaves them next to Nico's bed with a cute lil sticky note that says "Before you orchestrate my untimely demise as promised, give these a go. Consider it the last request of a dead man walking ;) love you Neeks x".

And that's that. The earplugs make a massive difference, much to Nico's surprise and Will's smug satisfaction, and from then on Nico starts to reconnect with himself and gets better and better at recognising things that make him more comfortable, and using them. Will considers his experiment over (a resounding success, of course), but is unwaveringly supportive and helpful as Nico figures stuff out.

Lol that became very long sorry, but it made me happy to write it out hehehe

[ambrosykim]

four years

pairing: ambrose kim x f!button (alex wiseman <3) words, rating: 932, gen, sickfic, fluff summary: inspired by this ask. alex's different approaches to rosy being sick, with a four year time difference. oh how much has changed in those four years... a/n: twc b3 is nearly here and i'm writing a mind blind fanfic, that's the hold rosy's got on me <3 but! lo and behold my second piece of fanfiction !

she's never seen rosy sick before. granted, it's only been a few months since she's been at aeon, but the cold months were in full swing, bringing cold and darkness, that settle in one's chest. (meaning, alex has already had her first round of seasonal cold, which cost her about two weeks of sniffling and more peppermint tea than she remembers ever drinking. though, after enough tea, the cold got the hint that she wasn't gonna give up and finally got lost.)

but now, it seems that rosy is currently battling a bad cold, a fact he does not hide well. she saw him on the corridor, before class, and he was already looking like someone ate the last piece of chocolate he was saving for later. (alex might be projecting her own feelings about nick stealing from her hidden chocolate stash.) he's prowling about aeon as if he's looking for his next murder victim, because that glare indicates at least, what, three people already dead? in any case, alex is not willing to risk getting caught in what would either be actual murder or, god forbid, a stern lecture about everything she's done wrong in the past week. no matter what, it would definitely not end well for her well being, be it physically or mentally.

in class, it isn't any better. here, she can't even escape; asking to go to the restroom is absolutely out of the question – she won't risk talking to him any more than she has to, in case he gets even more irritated. he's pairing them up and giving them tasks with as few actual words as possible, communicating in mostly grunts. these, alex can figure out the fastest, she quickly translates to her classmates and they end up in the formation rosy wanted them to be, without managing to anger him. alex watches him throughout the lesson; while trying to perform well is important, she wants to know how she could help him. if she told him to take a few days off to recover, would he listen to her? probably not. in the end, alex only looks at him wistfully as the class is over and she slowly exits the room, leaving rosy to combat his illness alone.

now, alex is more prepared. not only that, she's also more confident that ambrose might actually listen to her. she couldn't convince him at home, which ended up in him leaving for work in the sorry state he was in, out of – what alex suspect might have been – spite. it's true, maybe trying to restrain him by laying on top of him might not have been the best idea, but when she heard his quiet sniffling (muffled, so as to not let alex know he's sick), what else was she supposed to do? the only thing left to do now, is to actually get ambrose to come home and let alex take care of him.

she knows not to approach him in the corridors of aeon, he would definitely try not to show any weakness, lest one of his students sees them. she decides to ambush ambrose in his office, where she knows she has a better chance of seeing him without his usual mask of indifference.

the moment she opens the door to his office – without knocking of course –, he immediately tries to compose himself in his chair, as if his head wasn't in his hands just moments ago. when he catches sight of alex, he drops his hand back in one hand, while propping his elbow on his table – a pose very unsuited to ambrose, usually.

'i should've known you'd come to check on me,' he murmurs, voice hardly carrying, even in the silence of the room.

alex steps closer to the desk, careful to be as quiet as possible.

'you know i was worried about you,' she finally reaches him, 'and yet you still chose to come to work. i think it would've been weird if i didn't come to check on you.' she stand next to the desk, next to him, and slowly leans on the desk. he silently detaches his head from his hand and looks up at her from where he's sitting.

'so, please, would you finally quit the act and come home? i already know you're super tough,' alex says with a small smile, putting an exaggerated emphasis on "super", as she starts stroking ambrose's hair slowly. she can't help teasing him, even in this state, but she knows not to make him uncomfortable with her excessive jokes, especially now.

as a response, ambrose reaches out the arm not on the table, and cautiously rests it on the side of alex's thigh, trapping alex and making sure she can't get away from the desk, from him, even if she tried. (not that she would want to anyway, but he doesn't need to know that.) (he knows anyway.)

'...fine, i'll go home with you,' he murmurs while slowly moving his head forward, ending up with his forehead against alex's thigh. he makes sure to move slowly enough that alex could still continue caressing her hair, even though her ministrations are starting to leave his usually immaculate hair messy.

'just... let me rest like this for a few minutes,' he was clearly in a bad state if he needed rest just to stand up, so alex hummed in agreement, while continuing stroking his hair with her fingers.

'let me know when you're ready. we'll go home and i'll take care of you for as long as you need me to.'

[starrywill]

Hello this may be awkward but I’m trying to inform myself on the personality disorders so I better understand it! Could you maybe give some stuff about how you deal with it?/nf

Hopefully this isn’t awkward

This is such a strange ask on multiple levels. On one hand, I want to be nice, as you're clearly asking in good faith, but on the other hand, I'm not an expert or therapist and I don't have anything but my personal experiences to go off of. Of course, I also don't owe you, a stranger, anything, but I'm feeling nice, so I will give you a basic and then much more personal rundown, regardless.

First, there are three different clusters of personality disorders: A, which includes:

Paranoid personality disorder (PPD)

Schizoid personality disorder (SPD)

Schizotypal personality disorder (STPD)

B, which includes:

Antisocial personality disorder (ASPD)

Borderline personality disorder (BPD)

Histrionic personality disorder (HPD)

Narcissistic personality disorder (NPD)

C, which includes:

Avoidant personality disorder (AVPD)

Dependent personality disorder (DPD)

Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder (OCDPD, not to be confused with OCD)

It's best to do your own research on any and all disorders you wish to learn about, as describing each is not my place, is frankly a lot to handle, and is much easier than reaching out to strangers online, especially those who only fit within a single cluster. I have HPD and BPD personally, so I fall within cluster B, as do... all of our headmates, because that's usually how the brain works, although every system has the capacity to be different in many, often surprising ways. HPD is often characterized by:

Constantly seeking attention

Excessively emotional, dramatic, or sexually provocative to gain attention

Speaks dramatically with strong opinions, but few facts or details to back them up

Easily influenced by others

Shallow, rapidly changing emotions

Excessive concern with physical appearance

Thinks relationships with others are closer than they really are

while BPD is often characterized by:

Impulsive and risky behavior, such as having unsafe sex, gambling, or binge eating

Unstable or fragile self-image

Unstable and intense relationships

Up and down moods, often as a reaction to interpersonal stress

Suicidal behavior or threats of self-injury

Intense fear of being alone or abandoned

Ongoing feelings of emptiness

Frequent, intense displays of anger

Stress-related paranoia that comes and goes

We actually fit with all of these descriptors perfectly, though you don't need to fit with all of them, or at least outwardly express all of these traits to have these. The same goes for any other personality disorder, mental illness, deficit, disorder, and the like. You also cannot be diagnosed if the symptoms you're experiencing aren't an active detriment to your life, as in keeping you from doing school or holding a job, or generally being adequately distressing to go through on a fairly often basis. This, again, goes for any mental illness, deficits, disorders, and the like. The biggest way we have to deal with BPD and HPD is through mood stabilizers. Sometimes we can semi-voluntarily shut down our emotions, like refreshing a page, but when we do feel emotions, we feel them hard. It hits you all at once like a bullet train and it hurts, even if it's a good emotion. You feel as if you're stuck that way, and you forget that this, too, shall pass. You feel like you're going to feel that way forever. And then, lo and behold, you don't. You've grayed so many hairs, and for what? How stupid must you be to have a breakdown because you can't figure out how to tie a tie? That's how it feels. It feels like the world is going to end and you just want love and validation but you also want to scream and cry and rip everything to shreds. We've learned to keep suicidal thoughts, feelings, and ideations to ourselves because we know they'll be gone right after we calm down. We've learned to not threaten suicide. We're obsessed with the relationships we have now, and that can come to our detriment because we have to bottle up mentions of suicidal behavior, so as not to harm someone very dear to us, who happens to be traumatized by that same behavior from an ex. I impulsively stabbed my pillow the other night in frustration. Twice. A pillow we love and hold onto very tight every night. Things are hard. Without our mood stabilizers, they could be much harder. Without them, our "obsession" turns into a pure, volatile kind of obsession. We have a "yandere" blog to log these feelings in a healthy way now. Things suck. But they could suck so much worse. And I'm glad to not only have found love (you should research "favorite person" or "fp" a common symptom in those with BPD. Others in cluster B have similar titles for their person or people of choice, however, as far as I can tell, they are community terms with little to no posts anywhere online about them specifically, let alone medical and/or scientific papers mentioning it), but I'm glad to have all these people for me. Even if we need exorbitant amounts of attention. Even if we get overly emotional over very small things. Even when we get paranoid and need constant reassurance You, nor anyone who thinks these thoughts or feels these ways are broken, and there's no such thing as a thought crime. You're as good of a person as you want to be, though that's no excuse for choosing not to improve, of course. ...That's a weird thing for an old child murderer to say, ha! Of course, I'm no longer that man, but it's still humorous to me, nonetheless.

I hope any of this helps at all. Keep in mind that this is all very much a personal account, and, as such, it might not apply to others... Although I hope it does in some way, otherwise that would be strange.

[fox-under-the-willow-tree]

Book Review - Girl, Interrupted

Summary:

Susanna tells in a wonderful 158 pages what life was like in a medium security psychiatric ward in the late 60s. Short summary, but then again, there is no real plot. It's just her experiences in the psychiatric facility with some thoughts sprinkled in on mental health.

Review:

You know, I read this book exactly the day I finished My Year of Rest and Relaxation by Ottessa Moshfegh. And boy, did I overestimate that book. You see, I've been feeling melancholic lately, looking for my inner Sylvia Plath and I suddenly felt the need to find comfort. I searched up book recommendations and lo and behold, My Year of Rest and Relaxation appeared from the depths of Booktube. An appealing cover, an entrancing title, and wonderful reviews, some called it a mix between American Psycho by Ellis and Bukowski? I was curious and picked it up.

And... it was fine? I've written a post about it discussing the book in detail and yeah, what else can I say? It was fine.

But dammit, there was this yearning itch for complex female characters, unhinged, burning with passion and chaos; someone I could relate to and who could explain my own flashes of anxiety, my shortness of breathe and misunderstanding of others.

Susanna, where have you been all my life? You came to me right at the moment I needed you the most. What an amazing novel, how relatable and descriptive, yet minimalist. The story is tragic and yet comforting. It shows the pain of a woman who shares the complexities of mental illness, as well as the position she holds towards herself and society and the view society has about her.

Coincidentally I watched the Virgin Suicides the night before I started reading and it had put me in a sombre mood, one in which heartache is welcome in all its indigo shades of darkness. This novel is like drinking a cup of tea on a dark winter night with the lights turned off, while looking over your balcony into that vast society which seems to work its inner mechanisms so well. And you...? You can only hint at them.

And you what? That's fine. Susanna described it beautifully in her novel: maybe some of us are not made to function in this society. All we can do is try our best to find solace in the writing and art of like-minded women who try to give meaning to life without pushing away the sadness that swells up every now and then.

5/5 stars

[dysnomic-absolution]

forgot playlists actually convey emotion. was switching and just generally felt like SHIT for reasons i can’t put into words fully, and then we both (this alter and i) sit down to make a playlist and. lo and behold. i can sort a majority of the many songs in my big main playlist into something that i describe as “ghosting”. it’s depersonalization mixed with missing someone mixed with heavy fatigue mixed with feeling insubstantial physically. makes sense why i can’t put this into words. because it’s fucking complicated and specific. but now i have a grounding tool for when i feel like this. which is more often than i think i’m aware of. it’s not a bad thing to indulge these emotions—because if i feed them enough, they’re satisfied and the parts feeling them are heard and i can stabilize to the point of feeling better. because it’s a convoluted dance of passive influence and alters and triggered shit and all of this fucking CRAP that i need to take fifteen steps around to make sense of.

it also kind of got that heaviness more evenly distributed. i still don’t feel good. my eyes are like hollows in my skull. but that’s okay. i’m allowed to take my time with it—with everything. might make a list or something. usually this helps. also will be good for not forgetting stuff i have to do while i’m out of my fucking skull with dissociation, LMAO.

still not doing well, though. i need to sleep but i also have other tasks. and it’s hard to reconcile both of these realities. i’m so fucking tired. i forgot that this drags itself out—the missing, i mean. ever since i started dating Partner, i’ve been suffering horrible withdrawals. not because of a mental illness thing—though that makes it a lot fucking worse—but just because i only get to see P rarely. and the little contact we do have isn’t during Daylight Hours. so i miss them. and i forgot it was so terrible, because i would’ve been seeing them right around tomorrow if there weren’t circumstances preventing this and prolonging our being apart. which is dumb. i’ve got one of their sweaters. it’s saved for when i’m in dire straights in the coming while, because it smells like them. bundled away. i don’t think either of us are going to do well being unable to touch. or see each other. i hope i’m not like this the whole time. otherwise i really don’t want to do this again—the being apart. i don’t think they will either, whatever happens. it just hurts too much.

also i’m about to do something really new to me and it’s not something i can escape from. i’m in it until it’s done. and that’s a lot of pressure, especially since the dates were mixed up and two days ago i thought i’d be Doing The Thing, but now it’s tomorrow and so all of my plans are mangled. but they’re really not—it’s just. autism. going insane. over everything. but i managed to get things into containers and sorted it all neatly and i’m 90% done with all of the stuff i need to have ready for this Endeavor. i don’t want to leave anything behind and i’m scared to be alone, except alone is rarely the problem. it’s the people that come when you’re alone.

opportunists.

but if everything’s charged (two earbud cases charging) and i have all of my docs and books and i’m ready. i’m actually ready. crazy how that works. i’m just so fucking sleepy. probably because i took a 6:30am shift at 12am. from a panicked coworker. who i love very much and and hold no ill will towards. but oh my god. i got to bed at one or TWO AM. probably. and then was up at 5am. to leave by 6am. and so this is alan’s sleep dep driving my dark chariot, so to speak.

my cat is being very cute, though. so very adorable and sweet.

hard to be so fucking depressed when she’s here. tail flapping as she’s flopped down next to me.

i drew today. that’s weird. don’t do that often. but i’d like to do it more.

anyway essay over i’m switching again and i need to Do Stuff.

[thebaepatricia]

Week's Recap: June 12-18, 2023 🍞🌿🐦

Hello! Welcome to my first ever week's recap series and what inspired it.

I had a crappy start to the week. I attempted to make a pie for the first time, which turned out to be a complete failure. I was so upset, I wrote it on my digital planner to prove that *my anger was valid*.

Lo and behold, by the end of the week, I had a whopping 17 items under "things that felt nice" vs 5 items under the shitty list.

It humbled me, really. I realized how much I can magnify ill feelings when I'm not being reasonable - likewise, that I can easily overlook good things when I'm not paying attention.

So, with all that said, I present to you, the lists ✍🏼

Positive

- Regular period again (4th month, so far) - Discovered the toggle list on Notion 🤯 (why did I explore this just now?!) - Made sponge cake (surprisingly edible) - Discussed with Dani how to adjust training to my schedule - Avocado shake (for ref: 1 whole pc = good for 500 ml) - Experienced J&T parcel pick-up (just schedule, prepare items and payment - they will take care of the pouch and waybill) - Started *Thank You For Listening* by Julia Whelan on Kindle - Tried Larsen Bench Press *and* Cluster Training for the first time - Morning walk - Discovered pink noise background for working 🤔 - Realized I could set up for deadlift without moving out everything - so much more efficient! - The Diplomat series on Netflix!!!! - Had a whole workout session to myself + Netflix (save for a quick call from Dan but I told him I wanted to train alone) - Laing by mama - Good stool level for a few days now - Great squat + bench press session. Up to 52.5kg on front squat and 45kg on bench press - Made pandesal - huge improvement from the last time - Front squat tutorial from YouTube - Prepared digital planner for next week and improved my Notion templates - Cleaned birdcage

Negative

- Failed calamansi pie recipe - Did cluster sets that didn’t feel mentally stimulating - Monthly argument with Dan over training - Krispy kreme donuts ruined my appetite and made my teeth feel starchy 🫠 - Didn’t get a solid rest day 😟

[1eos]

hi kendra i saw you read the silent patient recently…… i finished the audiobook two minutes ago and i would love to know your thoughts.

omg ty for asking you just reminded me i still havent finished my goodreads review of it. lmao. ill put it under the cut so i can get spoilery~

soooooooo in short i enjoyed it! not a super deep read and kinda slow setting up but once the investigation got going i was absorbed! i was entertained! like she did her job.

when i read other reviews for it a lot of veteran thriller fans rated it as mid and i can definitely see why bc the book had a bunch of flaws. you could tell it was more twist driven rather than character driven. the main character had some depth tho he was annoying but it was the kind of annoying that benefited the story. i never found myself rooting for theo and lo and behold he was the main creep so it works out! i really liked how the cracks in his good boy facade would leak thru every once in a while nd tip you off like when he was thinking abt killing the guy his wife was sleeping with with a rock. like ummm *nervous laughter*

most of the other characters were kinda 2d but bc we were so locked into theos perspective nd he gave such unreliable narrator vibes i didnt mind as much? i'll repeat that a lot like a lot of things i normally wouldnt like in a book i find interesting bc the narrator is so obviously biased it almost feels like a purposeful writing trick. although i wonder if im giving the writer too much credit agjajjag

didnt really feel anything for alicia or get her hype. everyone was obsessed with her one way or another but she wasn't interesting at all other than her paintings. again the hyping up of alicia most of it is something else that feels ok bc theo was obvs obsessed with her and you could say oh he's just PROJECTING that onto other characters. like his mistrust of the gallery guy felt correct considering they were both obsessed with this girl. but that's something else i feel like i might be giving the author too much credit

loved the twist loved how that played out it gave me a very nice 'WAIT' moment but the lead up to that was messy as hell. WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY too many loose strings that went no where. obvs you need red herrings esp when the protagonist is the culprit but the set up would be so interesting then just go nowhere. i think the suspicion with the rival psychiatrist was done well but he threw in yuri selling drugs randomly at the end. and all that shit abt alicia's cousin was?????????????? literally what was the point of even doing all that digging into her life beyond that 'he killed me moment' which...fell flat lmao.

OH MY GOD SPEAKING OF. allllllllll the mental health shit w alicia fell flat. the bitch just. stopped talking bc she didnt have anything to say then when she started talking it was.........nothing. like there was so much build up abt her but it was all just mad underwhelming. they drew out the 'why is she like this plotline?' just for it to be her dad saying god i wish u were dead presented in a way that had 0 emotional impact. like what???????? nd i cannot excuse this with the unreliable narrator.

so overall? slow set ups but intriguing. loved the twist loved poking holes in theo's good guy vibe as the book went on. LOVED the cheating bits like i really enjoyed seeing theo miserable. didnt see the hype in alicia or her backstory. too many abandoned plot points nd the book couldve done w some stuff being gone altogether but the last 5-6 chapters made the experience a reading experience i dont regret

[mechawaka]

Spring in Derdriu

A commission for @artsytardis​

Words: 11.7k

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Claude/Byleth

Rating: Teen

Mood music: Roses & Revolutions - Dancing in a Daydream

Summary: Five years after the war, Claude is the king of Almyra and Byleth is the queen of United Fodlan - but neither of them had the courage to propose at the Goddess Tower. When Byleth comes down with a sudden fever, they might have another chance.

---

They couldn’t possibly name Derdriu the new capital of United Fodlan, Lorenz had declared the very day after Byleth’s coronation. It would ‘imply things,’ he’d said, aghast that she would even suggest it.

Lo and behold, Ferdinand and Sylvain had expressed similar worries about Enbarr and Fhirdiad, respectively, and what ‘things’ their hosting would ‘imply.’

And Garreg Mach was also out of the question. Archbishop Seteth, recently crowned himself, wanted to keep the reformed Church of Seiros as far removed from political power as possible. Byleth couldn’t make her capital there, he’d insisted. The implications!

So which will it be? her newly appointed cabinet - four representatives from each geographical region, with twelve in total - had prodded, each sect adamant that theirs couldn’t possibly be the permanent home of the new government.

And Byleth, already exhausted despite only being in charge for a grand total of one moon, had replied:

All of them, then.

That day, United Fodlan’s migrating government, colloquially known as the Wandering Court, had been born. Byleth spent one season in each capital - spring in Derdriu, summer in Fhirdiad (on which she was insistent), and winter in Enbarr. In the fall, she and the entire cabinet gathered at neutral Garreg Mach to conduct any business which required everyone’s presence at once.

For five years, the system had worked perfectly. There had been some inevitable pushback at first, mostly from anti-Imperial factions who were upset that Byleth had adopted the old Empire’s ministerial structure, but they had gradually quieted down as the continental economy stabilized and flourished under its guidance.

Moreover, Byleth liked being on the road. She was raised in tents and on horseback, always moving between destinations, and the frequent travel helped soften long days of paperwork and political debate. 

It also let her document certain supply and infrastructure problems firsthand; to this day, Byleth fondly remembered a tiny village on the Rhodos Coast whose inhabitants had sent in an official request for a new bridge - and had been shocked senseless when the queen herself, in transit from Fhirdiad to Garreg Mach, had shown up to build it.

(Petra had put her personal stamp of approval on that one; you only rule what you can see and touch, she’d written of the event.)

Today, though - this season, this cursed spring - the system was not working.

Oh, it had started normally enough. Byleth, once settled in the palace at Derdriu, had taken up her usual duty of hearing the cases which had passed since her last time in residence and breaking any tied votes. 

It wasn’t until her ministers were tying up the season’s work that a heavy rain swelled the Airmid, causing flooding in four different territories and knocking out a siege-battered section of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Suddenly, they were swamped with petitions: drowned fields, lost livestock, choked roads. All with less than a moon remaining before the court’s transition to Fhirdiad.

In short, Byleth hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours.

Her head was a splitting fissure of tectonic activity, rumbling in the background of every meeting, every hearing, and roaring to life at random intervals that left her gritting her teeth and glaring at Lorenz, wherever he was in the room.

Oh, we simply can’t stay in Derdriu permanently, she mocked him mentally as, again, a searing wave of pain spiked behind her drooping eyes. It would ruin everything, or whatever.

“- and with that in mind, the Merchants’ Association asked us to move the boundary twenty feet down the riverfront,” Marianne recited from an open ledger. She, like all the other ministers, was dressed in a smartly cut, floor-length robe of office that bore the seal of United Fodlan, with her hair gathered neatly at the back of her neck.

“Ministers Victor and Goneril voted in favor of the merchants, while Minister Gloucester and I voted in favor of the fisheries. How do you rule?” Marianne looked up from her record and across their round discussion table. Her eyes were bright and serious at first, but they creased with worry upon taking in Byleth’s pinched expression. 

“Are you feeling ill, Your Majesty?”

This garnered the other ministers’ attention as well. Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose to study her better, staring in that perceptive, sympathetic way that said he’d already identified all the faults in her appearance. 

Hilda, who’d been twirling a quill pen between her fingers, glanced up and gave Byleth a detachedly brutal once-over, indicating with an arched, sculpted eyebrow that she disliked her findings.

Lorenz, meanwhile, simply regarded his queen with a dry, ‘I told you so’ stare.

“No, no. I’m fine,” Byleth asserted, avoiding everyone’s concerned faces, and especially Lorenz’s. He had warned her against overworking only a week prior, and here she was zoning out like a bored student. She’d get an earful from him later, no doubt, about a ruler’s responsibility to their subjects extending to self-care and time management.

“My apologies. Minister Edmund, please recount the case again.” Byleth pushed herself up, ignoring the pounding rhythm inside her brain. She often paced the length of the room for difficult petitions, anyway, and maybe movement would help ease the pain - but she took one step and the world went sideways.

She swayed dangerously on her feet, catching herself on the edge of the throne. Her legs were soft and wobbly as a dessert jelly; her vision swam with blots of darkness and intense color at random. 

In a hushed, grave voice, she whispered, “Oh, that’s not good.”

“Quite,” Lorenz agreed curtly, having materialized at her elbow to aid in stabilization. He turned to the others, lips pursed and demeanor supremely unamused. “I believe Her Majesty is finished hearing cases for the day. All in agreement?”

Byleth barely registered the other ministers’ responses; her ears were suddenly full of cotton, dampening all incoming sound. Even Lorenz’s voice, so close at her side, was fuzzy and jumbled. She could only nod and follow him out of the throne room, vaguely aware that Marianne had joined them.

When had her headache gotten this bad? It must have been a slow progression, she reasoned as the trio headed toward her chambers, building in intensity during the meeting. She vaguely recalled an old medical lecture of Manuela’s about blood vessels in the brain, and how moving suddenly after a stationary period could cause...something. Something bad, probably.

Not for the first time, nor even for the hundredth, she wished she’d paid closer attention to the other teachers’ seminars back at Garreg Mach.

Lorenz politely turned around while Marianne helped Byleth out of her heavy court mantle and into her gigantic bed, busying himself by preparing a teapot at the dresser.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow,” Byleth professed as she collapsed onto her mattress, allowing Marianne’s white magic to flow over her in a soothing current. “We can re-convene at first light.”

With his back still turned, Lorenz scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right,” Marianne corroborated, ceasing her spell and pressing the back of one hand to Byleth’s forehead. “You have harvest fever; you’ll need to rest for at least a week to let it run its course.”

“A week?” Byleth demanded, sitting straight up again. “But I leave for Fhirdiad in two!”

Lorenz brought the teapot over on a wheeled cart, putting his hands on either side and warming it magically. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t have taxed yourself to infirmity, hmm?”

At that, Byleth shot him an impotent - and, in all likelihood, given her state, pathetic - glare, but the mere action of tensing her forehead muscles worsened her headache and she fell back onto her pillows, defeated. He was right, damn him.

“Byleth,” he continued, exasperated, dropping all formality as he always did in the absence of prying ears. “Just rest. We designed this government to run in your absence - let us handle things from here.”

Marianne echoed the sentiment with a soft smile, pouring some strong-smelling medicinal tea from the pot. “We’ll see that Ordelia and Hrym are well cared for,” she said, holding out the teacup like a peace offering.

Byleth grudgingly took it.

---

Lorenz squinted down at Byleth’s sleeping form, sprawled and content amongst her blankets, and sighed. No one had ever prepared her for a life of leadership and politics, but she’d risen to the challenge admirably in the last five years. Perhaps too admirably, if situations like this were any judge.

Her problem, he’d decided long ago - and informed her whenever the chance presented itself - was moderation. Temperance. Byleth Eisner tackled every problem with a single-minded determination that, while remarkably efficient during the war, had tended to cause a variety of problems in peacetime.

In that regard, she was quite similar to him. To Claude. And speaking of Claude -

“We had two guards and a trio of footmen at our assembly today,” Marianne observed, keeping her eyes on the bed, but her message was clear.

“Indeed.” Lorenz tapped the heels of his polished boots restlessly against the floor. He could practically hear the wagging tongues from here; he could picture the story of their fainting monarch billowing out from the palace like blood in water, ripe for scenting - and there was one particular green-eyed shark always circling for a whiff.

He forced a long, resigned breath out through his nose, and said dismally, “I’ll direct the staff to prepare the guest wing at once.”

---

Thanks to whatever was in that tea, Byleth slept straight through the next few days. Even when she woke, she was groggy and mostly insensate to the world around her; she recalled Marianne’s visits to administer medicine or urge a few sips of water, but other than that - nothing. Only light and color and sound, all indistinct and running together.

The fever itself wasn’t so bad. She was being treated by the most studied healer in the region, and the rest was good for her, as much as she resisted the notion.

No, what had her itching for freedom, for an escape, had nothing to do with the sickness and everything to do with her own shoddy mental compartmentalization. Byleth had a single unbreakable rule, and it had kept her safe and stable for most of her life: don’t slow down.

Her friends - formerly students, and now United Fodlan’s new ministers - had always struggled to understand what went on in her head, and Byleth had to confess that it was often a confusing place for her, too. That was why she spent as little time there as possible. If she was solving governmental disputes or plotting a route through the Oghmas, she wasn’t thinking about her problems - and for someone that had attended the Jeralt Eisner school of “don’t confront your problems until they literally confront you first” coping strategy, that suited her just fine.

But these hours cooped up in her bedchamber were slow, and Lorenz had taken great strides to ensure that nary a tax report breached its threshold. And when there was no work to do, no roadblock for her mind to chew on, it drifted to contemplation, to nostalgia, and then, inevitably, to Claude.

What would he think of the stalemate between the merchants and the fisheries? That one was easy. He’d find a third option, something neither of the institutions had proposed but that benefited both, and dazzle them with its presentation. He’d find a way to spin the conflict so that it wasn’t about competing guilds, but about the betterment of the city as a whole.

She wondered if he looked different now compared to when she’d seen him last, at the Alliance Founding Day celebration the previous Horsebow. They only ever saw each other in formal wear these days, painted and decorated and utterly without privacy. Had he let his hair grow over the winter like she had? Was it curling near the base of his neck, thick and wild?

Oh, here we go, she thought, rolling her eyes and then squeezing them shut. This was why she kept herself preoccupied; any lapse in activity brought these sorts of ideas to the forefront, and they always turned to indulgent fantasy. Only Claude brought out that side of Byleth - and it made her so paradoxically angry, and afraid, and lonely.

Angry because she hadn’t intended to let him in; he was just there one day, snugly by her side, a few months after she’d joined the faculty at Garreg Mach (and she would always lament, at least a little, that Rhea hadn’t put her with the students instead). Even after he’d admitted his ulterior motives in getting close to her, Byleth never had the heart to be mad at him for it. He was so damn endearing.

Afraid because, as easily as he’d attached himself to her, he’d un-attached. Byleth could admit to herself, alone in her darkened bedroom, that most of her mental evasion strategies centered around one specific memory: that early morning conversation they’d had right before her coronation, in which Claude had spontaneously announced his departure from Fodlan.

(“There’s something I need to do,” he’d said up at the Goddess Tower, and she had been so sure he’d wanted to say more, but instead he’d just...left.)

Lonely because their friendship had never been the same after that. They were both so busy, now, and with so much responsibility - and she missed him. Missed their easy conversation and matching drive; missed the academic dissections of famous battles and the late nights spent comparing various cultures’ names for the constellations. 

Her remaining friends were certainly a balm, and she wouldn’t trade them for the world, but none of them were him. She’d never filled that spot at her side. Couldn’t fill it. Nothing and no one else fit there.

But she also couldn’t ask him back. He was the king of Almyra now, fulfilling everything he’d wanted and worked for and talked about with stars in his eyes - and Byleth could never begrudge him his lofty and admirable goals. Never. Instead, she’d had to accept the possibility that the grand arc of his ambitions no longer included her in its trajectory.

She sprawled out sideways on her bed, letting the warring emotions flood her body. Maybe this was good for her. Maybe, like the fever, she just needed to let them run their course. Maybe these were the natural consequences of escapism and denial.

And it wasn’t like she’d be able to get away from herself any time soon.

---

“Of all the - absolutely not,” Lorenz stated, planting himself in the center of the hall that led to Byleth’s bedroom. “There are procedures, Claude. Royal protocol. You know this!”

But Claude had already danced around him, utilizing that foot speed the mages never needed to master. “Come on, Lorenz, I’m not some Srengan diplomat - we’ve all seen each other covered in mud and guts. What’s a little illness between friends?”

To his credit, Lorenz didn’t ask how Claude had come by that knowledge. Nor were his protestations very vigorous, as if the man had foreseen this exact scenario - and for that, Claude was proud of him. 

That pride wouldn’t keep him from his goal, however. He’d saddled up his wyvern as soon as the words “queen” and “sick” had left his spymaster’s mouth.

“She’s not well. You’ll be interrupting her convalescence - Claude,” Lorenz said sternly, holding his friend by the elbow and fixing him with a soul-searching gaze. “She cannot receive visitors in this state. What’s gotten into you?”

For an instant, Claude’s happy-go-lucky mask slipped. He’d been too pushy, so much so that even Lorenz got a glimpse of the panic underneath - the cold terror that had driven him across the continent and still gripped his heart. He knew it wouldn’t let up until he could confirm Byleth’s condition.

But he was a consummate faker, and so the mask slotted deftly back into place. “Why don’t you go ask her, hmm? I’m sure she’ll be positively overjoyed.”

---

When Lorenz walked in, Byleth was still in the same position, all spread out and despondent. 

“How are you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked pointedly, and his use of her title - coupled with his formal position near the door - should have clued her in to what he was really asking, but Byleth was far too addled for nuance.

She tilted her head in his direction and flatly, shamelessly said, “Fine.”

Lorenz’s disciplined expression soured a fraction. “Well, that is wonderful news -” his ironic lilt suggested that this news was anything but wonderful, “- because you have a visitor.”

He stepped back to clear the doorway, giving Byleth a look that said she deserved everything that was about to happen. “May I present King Khalid ibn Riegan of Almyra.”

Claude poked his head in much too casually for Lorenz’s theatrical introduction. “Byleth! I brought you some -”

He paused, staring at her depressed-starfish pose. Byleth, in the blink of an eye, sobered completely and experienced all the stages of grief in quick succession.

“- fruit,” Claude finished lamely. Behind him, Lorenz pinched the bridge of his nose.

---

“Claude,” Byleth intoned, dredging up her ‘serious teacher’ voice for the occasion. She’d bathed and changed her clothes since his impromptu arrival - Byleth had never possessed a single modest bone in her body, but, again, he just incomprehensibly brought it out in her - and now she sat on the edge of her bed while he occupied the bedside armchair.

“It was so nice of you to drop in,” she continued, folding her arms across her chest.

Claude laughed anxiously, holding a woven basket full of fruit in his lap half like a shield and half like an offering to an angry deity. “Okay, why do I get the feeling you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Byleth said icily. It wasn’t a lie; it was more like she was mad around him - mad at the space surrounding his stupid, handsome head - mad that he’d shown up, as if summoned, right when she was feeling so sorry for herself about him.

But that was far too complicated to explain, so instead she asked, “What’s your business in the city?”

He brightened a bit, perhaps relieved to divert the topic. “Thought I’d tour the Goldroad - see what travel is really like there outside the official inspection dates.”

Byleth cocked her head to the side, staring out her west-facing window. He referred to the winding trade route that now spanned the Throat, starting at the Locket and ending at a similarly sized fort across the border in Almyra - but that was over a day’s travel from Derdriu.

Following the path of her eyes, Claude went on quickly, “And, you know, I was in the area, so why not visit my very best friend?”

She wasn’t sure she’d classify a seventeen hour wyvern flight as ‘in the area.’ Byleth narrowed her eyes, looking from his rigid smile, to his posture, to the basket he carried, then back to his face, waiting for the actual answer.

“- All right,” he confessed, exhaling deeply. “My spies said you were sick, so I came to check on you - how are you still so good at that?”

She smiled despite herself and pointed at the basket, which he promptly handed over. Popping a dried date into her mouth, she asked coyly, “At what?”

Claude laughed heartily, reaching over to get one for himself, and that simple action propelled them effortlessly into a comfortable, familiar rhythm, dispelling their outer veneers of royalty. 

They traded stories about travel, about new friends, about insufferable opposition; Claude told her about one of his subordinate satraps - which served a similar function to Byleth’s ministers, but with more concentrated local authority - who had threatened to raise an army in his territory over the price of grain, and then panicked when Claude had called his bluff and negotiated a lower price.

(“Did he even have an army?” she asked, completely absorbed in the story and eating sour cherries by the handful.

Claude, with a wide, gleeful grin, replied, “Not a chance.”)

In return, Byleth told him about last year’s failed rebellion in eastern Faerghus, in which a group of Blaiddyd royalists had tried to rally the region’s former aristocracy under the banner of House Fraldarius - and how Felix himself had ridden out to personally disband them.

(“Oof. Embarrassing,” Claude commented, making a face like someone had punched him in the gut. “What did he say to make them listen?”

Byleth snorted and modulated her voice to match the prickly swordsman’s. “‘This is not happening. Leave.’”)

As the afternoon wore on, servants brought in tea service and then dinner - and Byleth’s temporary surge in vitality upon seeing her dear friend started to fade, replaced by the fever-aches she’d come to know so well. Her movements grew slower and her answers shorter, overcast by brain fog.

Claude watched this change in her with considerable worry, helping her back under her blankets after they’d finished eating and re-situating the pillows around her head.

“Oh, stop it,” she chided, swatting away his hands. “I’m not completely helpless.”

He backed off, smiling easily, but stayed within range to aid her again if needed. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “You know what they say about people who catch colds in the summer.”

“It’s spring,” she insisted, wrinkling her nose, but he didn’t laugh. In fact, there were no traces of mirth left anywhere on his face.

Byleth sat up straighter. “Claude, it’s only harvest fever. Marianne said it should clear up in a few days.”

He dropped back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees so he could bridge part of the gap. “But what if it’s not, though?”

A nearby Church of Seiros’s evening bells rang out across the palace grounds. The brassy sounds changed with each echo, reaching her bedchamber as ghostly distortions.

“What, you think Marianne got it wrong?” Byleth asked, pulling her blanket up subconsciously.

“No, just -” Claude ran a hand back through his hair, pushing it even further out of its usual style, “- what if it’s related to...whatever Sothis did to you after the siege?”

He’d spoken so quietly that Byleth had to lean forward and slow her own breath in order to hear it. The concern in his tone - the restraint in his clasped hands; the uncertainty in his eyes - made her take a second pass over everything.

She no longer saw a casual check-in made by a concerned friend. Claude had traveled here with speed and intent, and now she knew why; just like their parting words at Garreg Mach had stuck with her, her long and mysterious slumber had probably stuck with him.

(The realization, while illuminating, didn’t hit her as hard as it should have. She thought some version of that truth, formless and undefined, must have been swimming around in the back of her mind for a while. It explained so succinctly why Marianne had insisted on treating Byleth herself, and why Lorenz stood vigil so often outside her room, even though the two had comparably little free time.)

Now that she thought about it, the long-term consequences of merging with a goddess should probably be a bigger concern of hers, too.

“I haven’t heard Sothis’s voice, nor felt her presence, in six years,” Byleth explained calmly, striving for an affect that would put him at ease. “And I’ve been in perfect health, besides.”

Claude gave her a long, lingering look - one that took in not only her face, but her long, mint-green braid and her customary wardrobe, unchanged from her days at the monastery - as if he wanted to commit her current state to memory. Byleth returned it with a confused frown, ready to comment on the odd behavior, but then his usual smile returned in a flash.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced with a little shrug, standing and straightening his riding harness. “It’s probably nothing serious. A few days, you said?”

Byleth’s confusion skewed into suspicion. Claude never let anything go that easily. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, searching his face for signs of duplicity. “Marianne said I’m already over the worst of it.”

“That’s great,” Claude enthused in the exact manner he’d use to win over his enemies, and Byleth’s misgivings quadrupled. “You should get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He was out the door in a flourish of his royal half-cape, paying no mind to the official etiquette of departure. (Byleth didn’t care about such things, but Lorenz was surely fuming about it in the hall.)

She let herself fall, warily, back onto her bed, pondering what Claude could possibly be up to - because he was up to something. It was only after she’d started to drift off, her head nestled warmly in one of about a dozen pillows, that the implications of his parting words struck her.

---

Ignatz rushed down the administerial wing’s main corridor, clutching a stack of accounting ledgers in one arm and several sheaves of operational business licenses in the other. Sunlight was just starting to peek through the hall’s windows, painting slowly elongating bars of yellow on the opposite walls; nobody would be in their offices yet, but if he could deliver his cargo before breakfast, he’d be able to get a head start on his own day’s work -

Thus distracted, he pushed his slipping glasses back up the bridge of his nose - using an occupied hand. Fifty business licenses, previously sorted alphabetically and geographically, drifted to the ground in a fluttering cloud of failure.

“Oh, no,” Ignatz muttered, dropping to his knees and gathering up the papers as best as he could without dropping the ledgers. If he didn’t deliver his cargo before breakfast, that would delay all of his tasks by at least an hour, thereby pushing back tomorrow’s tasks as well, to say nothing of his meeting with the merchants’ guild - 

A head of shaggy brown hair and a pair of leather-gloved hands bent to organize the papers into a messy but holdable pile, then helped to situate it more snugly in Ignatz’s grasp.

In his haste and immeasurable relief, Ignatz threw a grateful, “Thanks, Claude!” over his shoulder as he resumed his flight down the corridor.

At the threshold of Hilda’s office, though, while balancing both stacks with one hand so he could turn the doorknob, he froze and shouted back the way he’d come, “Claude?!”

---

Instead of the usual morning sounds - like the rustling of Marianne’s skirts or the trundling of a breakfast cart - Byleth woke to singing. It originated somewhere to her right, winding and unhurried, and she knew this gentle melody; Claude had taught it to her during the war.

So he really was still here, then. He’d really stayed. 

She opened her eyes just a hair, hoping for a chance to observe him before he noticed that she was awake.

It was still early. All the curtains were tied back and the windows cracked, letting in pale, diffused light and a sea-salt breeze off the bay. Claude stood at her personal writing desk, which Marianne had turned into a makeshift apothecary, weighing a small pile of freshly ground coriander. He was dressed more casually today, having discarded his courtly attire and riding leathers in favor of a belted Almyran-style tunic; his hair was bound in a simple but flattering tie at the nape of his neck.

Byleth watched him work - watched him thoughtfully consider the ratio of coriander to ginger to water, his hand hovering over each as he deliberated. All the while he sang that soft tune, so beautifully laden with memory and affection. 

When he’d finally settled on a mixture, he reached into a pouch at his belt and uncorked a vial of honey, adding a spoonful to the mug. She tried her best to hold it in, but a tiny, breathless laugh escaped her; that rich wildflower honey was a signature of Claude’s home-brews - a sweetener to make his questionable concoctions more palatable.

He jumped and whirled at the sound, his cheeks darkening somewhat at being caught unawares, but Byleth just shook her head slowly, reassuringly, and hummed the next few bars of his song. At once, his embarrassment morphed into a wide, slanted smile, and he turned back to put the finishing touches on his creation.

“What are you still doing here?” Byleth asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her hair must have been a mess, but she had to settle for a quick smooth-down.

Claude chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, holding out the mug of steaming medicinal tea. “Really? No ‘Good morning, Claude, and thank you for taking such good care of me?’”

She took the cup and shot him a faux-scowl. “Who’s running your country, though?”

“Oh, it basically runs itself.” He waved a flippant hand, staring out a window in the direction of the Throat. “Our scholars say, ‘A king is a great ship’s rudder.’ It just so happens that my ‘great ship’ has a good heading right now.”

Byleth regarded him doubtfully. She knew this proverb, and its wisdom was definitely not intended to excuse literal flights of fancy.

“What?” he asked, rolling his head to the side playfully. “If anything happens, Nader knows where I am. Besides, aren’t you happy to see me?”

Her stern facade - only performative, anyway, since Claude never failed to disarm her - softened. “I’m always happy to see you,” she said quietly, hiding her vulnerability with a big sip from her mug. (It was delicious, of course, after being assembled so skillfully.)

The curious look he gave her in response lasted a little too long, probed a little too deep for comfort, so she followed it up with a nervous, “Where’s - where’s Marianne?”

Claude, ever-insightful, let the moment pass without remark. “She allowed me to perform her caretaking duties in exchange for a little, ah...discretion...on my part.”

That was easy to imagine. Her ministers had enough on their legislative plates without the obligatory fanfare that would accompany an ‘official’ royal visitation - so the last thing they needed was King Khalid, the former leader of the Alliance, showing his highly recognizable face all over Derdriu.

“We’re both locked up, then,” Byleth said plainly. That explained his wardrobe; a casual observer might think him no more than a member of the staff. As long as he didn’t linger in unfamiliar company, he could move freely about the palace.

“Yep.” Claude smiled contentedly, like he’d gotten the best possible end of this deal. (Byleth begged to disagree.)

In a comically professional, woefully unconvincing physician’s voice, he asked, “So, how are you feeling today, my liege?”

Byleth choked on a sip of her tea, cough-laughing and beating her chest to clear her airways. “Much better, doctor,” she spluttered, setting down her mug to prevent any spasm-related accidents. It was true; her head and body aches had been fading with each passing day, and the fever was low enough that she didn’t feel like a boiling crab leg anymore.

“Good, good,” he mused, looking far too pleased with himself. “Then what do you say to a bit of chess on the balcony?”

She gave her sternum a few more good thumps to really get all the spicy ginger out of her lungs, using the extra time to examine Claude more closely. He knew he couldn’t beat her at chess; what was this about? And was it related to - to whatever inscrutable scheme he was currently enacting?

“Sure,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t give up his plans if asked. (Not until the most dramatically poignant moment, anyway.) If she was going to figure it out on her own, she’d need more opportunities for candid observation, and chess should do nicely.

His face split into a grin immediately. “I saw a board in Lorenz’s office. Meet you back here after lunch?”

“Yeah, it’s a date,” she agreed lightly, and didn’t miss the way it tripped him up on the way out. 

---

“You’re still here,” Lorenz observed with the same sort of weary derision one might direct at a persistent rug stain. He stood in the doorway to his office, holding a tea tray and projecting an aura of disappointment.

Claude, who was currently inside said office and in the midst of burgling a marble chess board, hastily clicked all its pieces back down and clasped his hands behind his back. “I am! Very astute of you to notice.”

Lorenz’s eyes flicked pointedly from his uninvited guest to his now-askew board, then he calmly strode around both to reach his polished mahogany desk. “Well, then. Would you join me for tea, Your Majesty?”

The way he gestured to the opposite chair spoke clearly of interrogation, but Claude sat anyway. It wouldn’t be polite to steal a man’s gaming paraphernalia and refuse his company.

“Why, thank you, Minister,” he answered, exaggerating his friend’s formal air, “we are simply delighted by your invitation.”

Lorenz’s poker face had improved over the years, but Claude still caught the subtle tightening of a jaw and the slightest arch of a brow; dead giveaways that he’d still snap at a piece of bait like a Brigidian piranha. Good to know.

“All right,” Lorenz said, clipped, like he’d come to a decision at the end of a long internal debate. “What are you doing here, Claude?”

Claude blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of the question. “Uh, well, Marianne and I -”

“I quite understand the generous arrangement which Marianne has afforded you,” Lorenz cut in quickly, pouring out two cups of tea. He handed one over the desk with the gravitas of a commander handing down orders. “What, precisely, are you here to do?”

Faking affrontation would be a moot point here, Claude thought. Lorenz was chasing down a specific answer, and from the set of his brow, he’d probably figured out most of it.

And that was fair. Despite their rocky interactions, Lorenz was one of the few people that Claude would say he trusted, and he knew that Lorenz felt the same (even though he had a peculiar way of showing it).

However, while Lorenz looked confident in the answer to his question, Claude didn’t even know where to start. How could he sum up this whirlwind?

Should he begin with the primal fear of hearing that Byleth had collapsed? With the breakneck flight to Derdriu, imagining all the worst possibilities in his head? (The mild shock in her eyes as she toppled backward into the chasm; her ensuing five-year absence, silent and absolute.)

Or at the boundless relief - the sheer, joyful knowledge that she had not, in fact, been re-afflicted with Sothis’s ancient sleeping sickness?

Or, should he skip straight to the certainty that he wouldn’t survive another such scare, and the unwillingness to be apart from her for even a second more, political repercussions be damned? 

In the end, holding a steaming, fragrant cup of bergamot, Claude - in one of only a handful of occasions thus far in his life - couldn’t find the right words.

Luckily, Lorenz, who must have witnessed his friend’s rapid expression shifts, found one instead. Gently, and with more sympathy than expected, he asked, “Still?”

Ah, so he had figured it out.

Claude raised his teacup in a silent toast. “Still,” he confirmed, then downed it in one gulp.

“Hm.” Lorenz paused to serve out refills and scones, and Claude knew exactly what his friend was remembering.

(For five years during the war, Claude had periodically returned to Garreg Mach, even though everyone else had given up the search for Byleth. As the visits persisted in the face of increasing danger, one by one, and with varying levels of understanding and acceptance, his friends had all come to the same conclusion: their leader was in love with their former professor.)

“I can’t say that I’m surprised,” Lorenz said curtly, but not unkindly. “You have a plan, then? - Oh, what am I saying? Of course you do. The Master Tactician wouldn’t have shown up without a plan.”

Claude, who had been trying to decide if Lorenz was mocking him or not, visibly fumbled his cranberry scone at that final comment.

Instantaneously, Lorenz’s face went from invested concern to mortification. “Goddess above - you don’t have a plan.”

Claude didn’t have the heart to say that his “plans” often sprung from gut feelings like this; that, very often, he was building a bridge to his goals and walking it simultaneously, trusting that there would be another plank when he reached back for one.

In this particular instance, his bridge took the form of an impromptu and extended stay at the palace while he figured out the world’s most diplomatically sensitive marriage proposal. He wanted to tell Lorenz that, actually, he had several possible scaffolds in place, he just hadn’t chosen one yet - but Claude could see the foundational flaws in all of them, and still hovered at the juncture, unsure where to lay the next plank.

“- No, I don’t,” he finally admitted, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I’m taking suggestions, though, if you have any?”

Lorenz took a slow, calculated sip of his tea, giving Claude one of his patented ‘how did you manage to become the leader of anything’ looks. “Marianne assures me that Byleth will recover in a matter of days -”

“I know,” Claude interjected miserably. His timetable was tragically inadequate.

“- And, while your presence here is temporarily acceptable on the basis of friendship, it will become much harder to justify after the palace returns to its normal operations -”

“I know, Lorenz,” Claude said, letting his forehead fall onto the points of his fingers. The pain, he thought, was well-deserved. “Sheesh, you don’t have to rub my nose in it…”

Lorenz laughed softly. “Apologies. I’m simply savoring the moment; it isn’t often you need my strategic input.”

With his face downturned and concealed, Claude grimaced. He supposed he’d deserved that, too.

“But,” Lorenz went on, “I do have a suggestion. Given your limited available time and lack of direction, we should enlist outside support.”

Claude raised his head incredulously. “Your solution is to have more people laugh at me?”

“Yes. Hilda and Marianne, to be precise.” Lorenz smirked and crossed his legs. “And they won’t laugh - in fact, Hilda will be delighted.”

His tone of voice was too amused for the answer to be anything good, but Claude still asked cautiously, “Why?”

“Oh, because I owe her quite a bit of gold, naturally - I thought it would take you and Byleth far longer to act on your feelings, and my money was on her acting first.”

---

Byleth loved the balcony off her bedchamber. It was on the same side of the palace as the throne room, only higher, with a wider perspective of the canal below and a down-angle view of the opposite block. Sitting on it and looking out, with the stone railing acting as an artificial horizon, she really felt as if she were floating above Derdriu; the city sprawled off endlessly to her right, while its great network of canals spilled into the bay on her left, all set in miniature from this height.

A tangy sea breeze teased through her hair, rustling the many and vibrant plants - in pots, hanging from the roof, and mounted in window boxes - that scattered the area. They were in perfect health, she noticed, despite the rarity of her visits, and Byleth wondered if it was some palace staffer’s entire job to maintain luxurious spaces like these, even though some busy official might seldom use them. 

She privately resolved to appreciate the balcony more often.

It didn’t take long for Claude to come whistling through her chambers, bearing a chess board like a server delivering a high-end meal. He put it down on a small, circular table where Byleth’s own board was already set up, then carefully aligned their edges to create a double-long playing field.

(They’d invented this game early on at Garreg Mach after discovering that neither of them felt challenged enough by the base rules. It had gone through several name changes before they’d agreed to just keep the original; after all, if either of them ever mentioned the game to the other, they both understood which (clearly superior) version was being referenced.)

“So, you managed to get Lorenz to part with it,” Byleth commented as he arranged his pieces and sat down opposite her. “What’d it cost you?”

Claude made a face like he’d just licked a lemon. “Oh, nothing much. Just my reputation and dignity.” He laughed it off, but there was a distinct, hollow ring of truth to his words. “Anyway. Sixty-point game?”

She cocked her head, intrigued. Their special rules allowed for custom “armies” to be built from the standard chess units, each with an individual point cost. Byleth personally liked to run an army without pawns - high risk, high reward (usually reward).

“Not forty?” she asked mildly, picking out her standard array plus an extra frontline of knights. Claude would regret handing her such an aggressive opener. “Are you trying out a new strategy?”

He grinned and laid out his own army, which seemed to focus around his sovereigns - and, as usual, contained a robust line-and-a-half of pawns. What he sacrificed in speed, he made up for in defensive surface area.

“I am. I think you’ll really like this one,” he said, playing his first (highly predictable) move. 

That was the thing about Claude, though. Byleth thought his move was predictable right now, at the beginning, but he was a highly intelligent improviser. The long field between armies meant that most of the game was based on ranged path speculation. 

Was a cluster of pieces actually heading toward her left flank, or would it divert to threaten other units at the last second? She’d have to put a metaphorical shield in place for the first possibility, and a sword for the other - and with Claude, it was impossible to tell ahead of time which he would actually pick. 

But, despite the chaos his playstyle caused, its spontaneity was also what made him such a compelling opponent. The tactical element never got stale.

“It’s bound to be more exciting than your rook phalanx idea,” Byleth teased, starting her knights off on their long journey.

Claude gasped like she’d just insulted his mother. “Hey, that was not my fault - it was a good attack pattern in theory!”

She made a tiny sound of agreement to humor him, but remained privately unconvinced.

As usual, they lapsed into silence for the first phase of the game, each trying to dissect the other’s overall strategy. Of course, at this stage, it was largely conjecture; there would be many, many reactive and counter-reactive moves before any two units actually engaged.

The quiet was nice, though. Ships’ bells echoed in from the piers, mingling with street noise rabble and the shrill cries of bay gulls. There was no one to demand her ear or her time - a rare commodity. She could tell Claude enjoyed it, too, by his easy smiles and relaxed posture.

Why had they ever stopped doing this? It dawned on Byleth that it had been years since their last game.

“- Hey, Claude,” she said at the thirty-turn mark.

He didn’t look up from his spread. “Hm?” “What in the world are you doing?”

His green eyes, which had been bouncing between forward pawns, flicked up to her face. “Setting up my midgame?” he half-asked, gesturing to his formation like the answer was obvious. “Why, what are you doing?”

Byleth narrowed her eyes at the board. He’d split his pawns into two staggered ranks with his sovereigns in the middle, like some sort of sandwiched convoy, and the outer ring of mid-tier pieces looked to be guards.

“Your brilliant new strategy is to hand-deliver your king to my army?” she contended, tracing his column’s trek down the board with her hands, then opening them wide, fingers hooked, to mime the pieces being eaten by a sharp-toothed monster.

Claude laughed confidently. “You’ll see. The king and queen together are unstoppable.”

It was certainly an unconventional approach. By virtue of its novelty, it tripped Byleth up several times in the early game - one might even say, around turn sixty, that her opponent had the advantage. But the sheer speed and maneuverability of her knightly vanguard eventually prevailed, and by turn ninety, she had his entire escort block surrounded. 

“Multi-point threat,” Byleth declared, moving in on his rear line. “This was an interesting idea, but I do believe your king is in mortal peril.”

Claude, who’d been standing for the last dozen turns, paced to the other side of the table. (He loved to do that - to see the situation from all angles, like he would in a real conflict. Unfortunately, that expanded perspective could do little for him here.)

“No, I think - listen - he still has his queen.”

Byleth examined the setup again. “Uh-huh, he sure does,” she drawled, trying to understand how that might change their fates.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, crouching so that he could view the board at eye level. “Look how far they’ve already come. Look at all they’ve been through together - it’s not like a little opposition could stop them now, right?”

She crossed her arms, a bewildered smile tugging at her mouth. “Are you seriously trying to Nemesis me right now? My bishops have them both in four.”

Claude gave a frustrated sigh. “No, this isn’t a scheme - well,” he amended, scratching pensively at his chin scruff, “okay, it is a scheme, but -”

I knew it, she thought, vindicated, and grinned accordingly.

“Ugh, forget it.” Claude toppled his king. “You’re right, it was an ill-fated venture that clearly needs outside support.”

Byleth frowned. “What? I didn’t say that.”

He waved his arms like he was dispelling the entire conversation. “Never mind. We’ve still got plenty of light - how about another game?”

---

Later that night, after Byleth and most of the palace had retired, Hilda’s raucous laughter rang out through the entire administerial wing.

“You tried to tell her with chess?!”

She, Claude, Marianne, and Lorenz all sat around a table in one of the meeting rooms, passing around a bottle of strong Faerghan whiskey.

“No wonder she didn’t get it,” Hilda continued, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes (in a delicate manner that spared her makeup). “You know how Byleth is!”

Lorenz refilled his glass, nodding emphatically. “Agreed. Subtlety will get you nowhere in that arena, my friend.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Marianne disclosed quietly.

Claude propped his feet up on an unused chair and dipped his chin gratefully. “Thank you. I also thought it would be sweet. And successful.”

He took a long swig straight from the bottle, much to Hilda’s amusement. “But you were right, Lorenz, okay? So -” he slapped the tabletop in invitation, “- go on. Advise me.”

Perhaps sensing that their friend was already punishing himself enough, no one pushed the teasing any further. Lorenz and Hilda shared a look - one that said they’d already discussed the matter privately - and then everyone got straight down to business.

“First of all, we should discuss the legal ramifications of your union,” Lorenz said, indicating the palace walls. “It’s true that anti-Almyran sentiment has died down greatly since the war, especially here in Leicester, but I fear widespread confusion - how much power would the king of Almyra suddenly have over their territories? Their livelihoods?”

Claude recoiled from the intensity. “Whoa! She hasn’t even said yes - aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves, here?”

(In truth, he had the same worries about his own homeland; it wasn’t like xenophobia was exclusive to Fodlan. His current plan - if she agreed - was to introduce her presence like he’d introduced his own: aggressively and unapologetically, with hopes that the Almyran public would regard it with the same eventual respect.)

The other three gave him bland looks.

“You really, honestly think she’ll turn you down?” Hilda asked in angry disbelief.

Claude gritted his teeth. “I don’t know - I mean, that’s Byleth’s whole deal, right? Unbeatable strategist? You never know what she’s thinking?”

“Oh, Claude,” Marianne said, patting him on the arm. “You should have more confidence in yourself.”

Hilda snorted into her tumbler.

“- Regardless, I don’t want to discuss the politics without her. If she says yes,” Claude emphasized with a stern glance around the table. “I have to get to the actual question first, okay? Lorenz. Ideas. Go.”

The man in question raised his eyebrows. “All right - well, Leonie proposed to me during a horseback ride. She’d painted all of her mounted archery targets with one word each, and in order they spelled out a question...oh, it was very romantic,” he said, his tone warming as he spoke. He then promptly cleared his throat. “But, ah, Byleth isn’t in a physical state for riding, hmm?”

Hilda propped her elbows up on the table and cradled her chin in her hands, recounting dreamily, “Marianne took me deep into the forest at night and professed her love under the light of the full moon. How could I have ever said no to that?”

Marianne hid behind her glass, her face beet-red. “I don’t, uhm, think there are any full moons coming up soon, though,” she managed to squeak out.

“Yeah, you have to do something quick.” Hilda pointed at him with her glass. “Let’s see - we already know it can’t involve winning something, so that’s out.”

Claude laughed sarcastically into the bottle.

“A grand display would not be diplomatically feasible, either,” Lorenz added.

Yeah, that made sense, Claude thought. A single plant in the throne room had brought word of Byleth’s illness to him in under three days - and he wasn’t the only one with eyes here. 

“You should do something that’s meaningful to both of you,” Marianne suggested, her face returning to its usual pallid shade. “Something simple but significant. Byleth would appreciate that, I think.”

Simple but significant.

Claude swirled the idea around in his head at the same time he swirled the contents of his bottle. Significant he could do - had been doing - but simple was another story. Maybe that was his problem; maybe he just needed to go back to the basics.

“And don’t get her a ring,” Hilda said. “I never see her wearing jewelry unless the tailors insist.”

He chewed on all of that, taking slow, measured sips of whiskey. Something meaningful to both him and to Byleth - something memorable, but uncomplicated. No rings, he added mentally. That was fine; as an archer, he disliked having obstructions around his hands, anyway. (And while they were out here breaking traditions, who cared if it was one or one hundred?)

“Hey,” he began, doing some quick calculations around wyverns’ seasonal nesting habits. “How quickly could I get something down the Goldroad?”

Lorenz’s brows knit together. “From the capital to here, I presume, and with the use of your royal seal? Within the week. Why? What do you need?”

Claude grinned, luxuriating in the rush of a good plan coming together. “All right, listen to this -”

---

If she could’ve had her way, Byleth would have chosen to remain in those last days of her fever forever. Her symptoms were mild and unobtrusive, she didn’t have to do any paperwork, and Claude was there; simply put, it was the ideal situation.

They spent four whole days together playing games, mixing various drinks, going for (short and supervised) walks around the garden, and reminiscing about old times - but Marianne’s medicines were effective and all things, even good things, must end.

On the morning of the fifth day, she knew she was cured. Her mind was clear and her body strong, if a little feeble from the bed rest. Everyone else must have been on the same page, too, because Marianne came to greet her after breakfast in Claude’s stead.

“So that’s the end of the arrangement, then?” Byleth asked, trying to keep her voice even and normal.

Marianne smiled softly and pressed the back of her hand to Byleth’s forehead. “Yes. Claude will be returning home this evening, as I’m sure he has many decisions waiting for him there.”

That makes two of us, Byleth thought dejectedly.

“Your temperature is perfectly normal,” Marianne reported. “Do you have any lingering fatigue? Dizziness?”

“Nope. Nothing,” Byleth said, heaving a reluctant sigh. “I suppose I should head down to the audience chambers.”

She really, truly hadn’t meant to sound like a pouting toddler bound for punishment, but that was exactly how it had come out.

Marianne laughed. “Yes, you should - tomorrow.” To answer Byleth’s questioning stare, she pointed across the room. “I think you’ll be too busy today.”

Right on cue, something large impacted outside the windows with a dull, cracking thud. Without thinking, Byleth whirled, ready for some sort of threat - (her sword belt was hanging next to her bed, easily accessible for such emergencies) - but it was only Claude on the balcony.

Rather, it was his massive white wyvern, Sahar. She’d perched on the railing, her sharp claws gouging long scrapes in the stone, and he was mounted on her back.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pay for that!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Good morning! Care for a ride?”

Byleth burst out in surprised laughter, too endeared to be mad about the property damage. She looked back, confused and curious, but Marianne just shook her head.

“Go,” she said, gesturing outward. “Have fun. You have my official medical clearance.”

That was all the permission Byleth needed to throw open the doors and run out, barefoot and grinning, to leap at Sahar’s saddle. The seaside wind blasted her hair back and Claude opened his arms for her arrival, bracing in his stirrups to absorb the impact.

They’d performed this maneuver many times during the war; since Byleth preferred to do her fighting on foot, Claude would often sweep down to reposition her more quickly. Even after five years without practice, they executed the pick-up without a hitch: she landed knees-first at the front of the saddle and Claude anchored her, wrapping both arms around her midsection.

In combat, the move had been utilitarian - the fastest way to mount up. Right now, though, it felt more intimate; with no armor, no weapons, and no urgency, they were basically just hugging on wyvern-back.

Byleth quickly turned herself around, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush rising up her neck. 

“That eager to get out of there, huh?” he teased, helping her get situated.

She rolled her eyes and cinched a pair of flight straps around her waist. The fit was snugly familiar, securing her to both the saddle and her fellow rider.

“You know the answer to that,” she replied, glancing down the tall outer walls of the palace. A few people in the canal-side gardens had looked up at the spectacle; they were too far away to see much detail, but this was clearly the queen’s bedchamber. “This isn’t the most discreet escape, is it?”

Claude scoffed, turning his mount skyward with a nudge. “Oh, it’s fine. Not many Fodlanese know about the white wyvern thing. Besides,” he said mischievously, testing the knots on her straps, “didn’t Marianne tell you? Our arrangement is done.”

With that, they were off. Sahar spread her massive wings - leathery and smooth, delicate and powerful all at once - to catch the current, pushing herself off into it and raining stone chips and dust in her wake.

Byleth yelped at the sudden lurch, falling back against Claude, who gladly supported her while they gained rapid altitude in the midday sky. Sahar’s rhythmic wing beats took them high above the notice of anyone in the city, down the palace’s canal and out into the bay.

She watched it all fall away as they climbed. The great trade ships shrank to the sizes of beetles in their lanes; the flocks of gulls that chased them, to mere specks. The ocean itself became an undulating cobalt tapestry, shot through with threads of white and gray.

When they leveled off and the wind died down in their ears, Claude spoke, “Remember when I taught you to fly?”

A series of images flashed in her mind: wrangling a saddle onto an impatient wyvern; losing straps and buckles under flapping wings; falling before she could even take off - so, so much falling.

“I remember when you tried to, sure,” she said, cringing at the memories. Even Leonie, who never gave up on anything, had declared Byleth’s flying skills unsalvageable. “Why?”

Claude laughed a little too hard, like he was recalling the very same foibles. “Nah. You just needed more time - we couldn’t spare any in the war. But now?”

“Are you suggesting,” Byleth said, throwing him a flat look over her shoulder, “that I fall on my ass repeatedly in front of the entire court? It was bad enough when it was just jeering students.”

“No, no, my point is -” Claude directed her attention back to their view of the bay, “- you could come out here whenever you wanted. Get away from it all.”

So he’d noticed her restlessness. Well, of course he did, Byleth admonished herself. He’s Claude.

“That would be...nice,” she admitted, giving him a half-smile. “It’s different, isn’t it? Leading during peacetime?”

He relaxed his hold on the reins and let Sahar go where she would in the open sky; she took full advantage of the freedom, floating into various air currents and skirting low, wispy clouds.

“Yeah, it is.” Claude’s tone was sober and diminished. He prodded gently, “How have you really been, Bee?”

The nickname brought unexpected tears to her eyes; he hadn’t used it since they parted at Garreg Mach five years ago. She’d forgotten how fond and welcoming it sounded - how warm - coming from his mouth.

Byleth faced straight ahead, glad he couldn’t see her expression. It must have been just as regretful and conflicted as her mind.

“I never expected to be here,” she murmured, and in her heart she finished the thought: without you. Her voice barely carried over the wind, but she knew Claude had heard it; he scooted closer to her in the saddle, whether consciously or not. “Everyone around me is so certain of their place, and I’m...not.”

Her thoughts strayed to Edelgard and Dimitri, to their twin drives that - even misguided and corrupted as they were - strove for a better world at their roots. Byleth, who held no grand vision for the future, couldn’t help but feel unfit for the mantles they’d left behind.

(Truthfully, that was one of many reasons why Derdriu was her favorite capital, and spring her favorite season. Fhirdiad’s and Enbarr’s thrones still felt like someone else’s seats to her - someone else’s dreams.)

“I don’t think anyone expected to be where they are now,” Claude said, matching her volume. When Byleth shot him another ‘quit your bullshit’ look, he chuckled and corrected himself, “Okay. Maybe I did, but nobody else did.”

“Lorenz thought he’d be leading the Alliance, hitched to some noble lady. Hilda didn’t think she’d be doing anything.” Claude put up one finger for each example. “Marianne wanted to keep her head down. Ignatz thought he’d be barred from his passions.”

He rested his chin on the top of Byleth’s head. “Expectations and reality don’t always match up. Are you unhappy with where you are, Your Majesty?”

I’m exceedingly happy where I am, she thought, easing herself back to rest against him. And that’s the problem.

“No,” she answered simply. “I’m not.”

Claude, perhaps sensing the dishonesty in her words, hummed doubtfully. The sound rumbled deep in her chest. “Well - if you ever were unhappy, you know I’d help, right? No matter what it was.”

“I know,” she said, tilting her head to smile up at him. “And - I think you’re right.”

He shifted to accommodate her better, crossing his arms over her lap to grip the saddlehorn. “Oh? About expectations?”

“No, about flying.” She settled into their pseudo-embrace, resolving to enjoy it while it lasted. “I should learn.”

Claude made a small, happy noise in his throat. “I’ll teach you. It’ll be great.”

They drifted down the Edmund coastline in a comfortable quiet after that. If not for the Throat looming in the distance - a constant reminder of the hourglass hanging over their flight - Byleth would’ve been perfectly content. The longer they went, the more she wished he would just keep flying straight over the mountains - but the sun continued on its inexorable path through the heavens, and all things, even good things, must end.

Still, though, when he wheeled them around and began the journey back, Byleth thought she detected a resonant note of hesitation in him.

By the time they’d reached the bay of Derdriu, the sun hung low and the sky had turned to vibrant oranges and indigos; the frothy crests of waves, the metal fixtures on ships’ masts, and even the scaly tips of Sahar’s wings shone golden in the rich evening light. 

The palace’s white marble exterior reflected sunset-colors onto the streets and canal below. In any other instance, she’d find it beautiful, but right now it was no different than the Throat: an ominous, prohibitive barrier.

Claude guided Sahar to the balcony again, wincing as her claws ground fresh holes into the railing.

“- I’ll pay for that,” he reiterated sheepishly, then hopped down to offer Byleth a hand.

She took it, letting him assume her weight while she scrambled much less gracefully to the ground. The stone tiles, quickly cooling with the onset of night, chilled her bare feet on contact; she shivered, looking back wistfully at the evening sky. 

When she turned around again, Claude was watching her intently. Unreadably. 

“Did you enjoy the ride?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you.” She tried to match his tone, to hide her sadness - to appreciate the time they’d had together instead of mourning its conclusion. “I suppose you need to get going, then?”

“Mm, not quite yet,” he replied with a secretive smile, wrapping Sahar’s reins around her saddlehorn. He muttered a phrase to her in Almyran, to which the great wyvern nuzzled into his hand and took off in the direction of the aviary.

“Let’s get you warmed up, first.” He strode past her to the open balcony doors, jerking his head toward it encouragingly when she didn’t immediately follow. “Come on, it’s okay - I have time.”

Byleth trailed after him, instantly suspicious. He was using his ‘false sense of security’ voice again, like he had on the first night. “Claude, what are you planning?” she called out warily, stepping into her darkened bedchamber.

A spark struck in the hearth, setting the tinder inside ablaze and silhouetting Claude in a red-orange halo. “Why do I have to be planning something?” he countered, overly defensive, as he stoked the fire. “- You looked cold, is all.”

She gave him a skeptical once-over, then turned to grab a cloak from her wardrobe - and there on her dresser, shining in the firelight, was a lacquered ebony box the length of her arm.

It was decorated with glittering gold leaf along its edges, clearly meant to hold something valuable. Byleth whipped around to fix Claude with an accusing glare, but he just shrugged innocently and motioned for her to open it.

He had a long history of bequeathing strange gifts to his friends, always seeming to enjoy the reactions a little too much. Byleth wasn’t aware of any current holidays, though, either in Fodlan or Almyra.

She sighed and lifted the lid. “I swear, if this is another apron -” 

The breath caught in her throat. It most definitely was not an apron.

Nestled in a bed of burgundy velvet, only slightly smaller than the box itself, laid a porcelain-white wyvern egg dotted with flecks of pearlescent ivory. 

This time when she glanced back, it was in affectionate curiosity. “So this is why you were pushing flight training,” she said, gingerly touching the warm shell. “But - aren’t white wyverns only given to members of the royal family?”

Claude moved to stand next to her, drained of all his earlier mirth and bravado. In its place was a tense energy she hadn’t sensed in him since they’d last met at the Goddess Tower.

“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I was hoping you’d, uh, well - I wanted to ask you, since -”

He stopped and grunted, looking disgusted with himself. “Let me start over.”

Byleth nodded, absolutely baffled. What in Sothis’s name was he trying to say?

Claude ran a hand back through his hair and took a deep, steadying breath. “We both didn’t have the best experiences with family growing up. I mean, you had Jeralt and I had my mom, and they were great, but other than that it was…”

“Lonely,” she offered. They’d discussed their respective childhoods many times before - commiserated in the shared wounds of alienation and neglect.

Delicately, he took her hand and squeezed it. “Yeah. Lonely. And if I’m reading this correctly, so were the last five years, right?”

Byleth swallowed a lump in her throat and nodded again.

“Yeah,” Claude repeated softly. “For me, too. So, I thought - maybe neither of us has to be lonely anymore.”

His meaning dawned on her like a sunrise, blooming heat high in her cheeks. Her embarrassment fueled his, in turn, and they were left staring at one another in stunned silence; from an outside perspective, they must have looked - fittingly - like a pair of panicked deer.

“Claude,” she pronounced thickly, needing to verify her theory, “are you asking me to…?”

“Mhm,” he confirmed, a portion of his usual confidence flickering back to life in his smile. He tipped her chin upward with his index finger. “I want to be your family. I want you to be my family.”

Byleth had spent the first part of her life without adequate modes of expression. Before meeting Claude, she’d gotten by on curt gestures and a flat affect - and now, in the face of overwhelming emotion, she regressed right back to that state.

All she could do to communicate her answer was to jump and reach for him, just like she was leaping onto his wyvern - and, predictably, protectively, his arms closed around her. Anchored her.

Like always, she thought. A perfect catch.

“Woah - I’ll take that as a yes, then?” Claude asked, tentatively hopeful, laughing and stepping backward from the unexpected force.

Byleth buried her face in his shoulder and nodded, unable to speak; hot tears spilled from her eyes, soaking into Claude’s tunic collar, and her wrists trembled where they were clasped at his neck. Her heart had never beat, yet now it was overflowing, filling her chest with something happy and potent and home that she’d never dared to covet before.

In the glow of the hearth, to the crackling of logs and the faint rush of a sea breeze outside, Claude rocked them back and forth at a measured, soothing pace. He kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with his thumb and whispering in a shaky voice, “It’s okay, Bee. We’re going to be so happy, I promise. I promise.”

---Epilogue---

Lorenz understood the severity of the Airmid flooding - really, he did - but he did not understand why it needed to translate into a six-in-the-morning assembly. Anything the ministers discussed there could be handled just as easily, and with more lucidity, during their regular working hours.

Still, he trudged diligently up the stairs to the meeting rooms. If there were emergency measures to enact, then, by the goddess, he’d see them enacted. The peoples of Hrym and Ordelia had already suffered enough for several lifetimes.

He was just inside the threshold, blinking and stifling a yawn, when he saw them: Byleth and Claude, seated side by side at the head of the meeting table, the former digging into a plate of food and the latter grinning like a madman.

Lorenz’s yawn cut off abruptly; his jaw snapped shut with a click.

“You’re still here,” he grumbled, sliding into a chair on an empty side. “Somehow I doubt this is about the floods.”

Hilda and Marianne, who were sitting opposite him, giggled quietly together, their hands clasped on the tabletop. (Frankly, it made him jealous. Leonie hadn’t wanted to touch the office of royal minister with a ten-foot lance.)

“Nope,” Byleth said, pointing at Claude with her fork. “This is about the legality of our marriage.”

Hilda clapped frantically with excitement. “Congratulations! Ooh, this is going to be the biggest wedding ever - can you imagine the guest list? We’ll be curating it for months.”

“I think I’ll exclude my paternal cousins,” Claude mused. “Just to watch them squirm.”

Marianne nodded. “They deserve it.”

“Wait. Hold.” Lorenz slapped his daily ledger down on the table like a judge calling for order, and it worked just the same. The rabble died down, all eyes turning to him. “First of all: congratulations, you two. You’ve made me a marginally poorer man.”

Hilda snickered triumphantly.

“Second: this is going to be a legislative nightmare - and don’t you tell me differently, Claude von Riegan,” he added, holding up a finger when it looked like Claude would cut in. 

“I’ll abdicate,” Byleth suggested, stabbing into a sausage.

“No -!” all three ministers shouted in unison - even Marianne, who’d also half-stood from her chair, hands braced on the table.

(Meanwhile, Claude simply watched his new fiancee with moon-eyed adoration; Lorenz was sure he’d humor anything she said right now.)

“That - that won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said, clearing his throat and smoothing down his ascot. “I only mean that it will take time and collaboration. Claude, I insist that you stay another week while we draft something for you to take home. I’ll write to Nader.”

Byleth let out a rare exuberant gasp; beside her, Claude glanced down the table and gave Lorenz a sly, conspiratorial wink. 

“- Oh, try to act professionally about this, would you?” he insisted, but an infectious smile was already spreading across his own face. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author’s Notes

candidates for game names:

byleth: better chess (rejected - judgmental)

claude: long chess (rejected - misleading)

hilda: chess 2 (considered but ultimately rejected - legality)

lorenz: tactician’s chess (rejected - boring)

[saejinws]

let’s get it! it’s chey ( she/her ), bringing you wishbone’s act #2, paksae. he’s an indie artist with heavy influence from the bedroom pop & chillwave micro-genres, as you can gather from his three official singles at the moment: cassette, karma & late night movie. if discord is more convenient for you, you can add me there ( stream do or not#1490 ), but otherwise, i’m usually reachable in ims! here are saejin’s links : career / stats / plots / pinterest, and hopefully all the other information you need will be found below.

the story.

saejin was lucky enough to be born into a relatively happy family, albeit a small one. both parents are only children, so he didn’t have aunts, uncles or cousins, and only his maternal grandparents were heavily involved with the family, but it was alright! lower middle class, mom who made him watch bird documentaries, dad who had a face made out of stone, but there was still a lot of love. it was nice.

the first big change happened when his little sister ( saebyeol ) was born. her existence put a tragic end to his legacy as the park family’s number one baby, considering she’s a whole eight years younger than him.

in the next year, his mom was diagnosed with a chronic illness; one that would see her rapidly going in and out of hospitals for years to come, so the days of naïve happiness were over for saejin. from that point on, it was about “cherishing every moment” and “living life to the fullest” and “not wasting breath on things that can’t be changed”.

aka his mom’s circumstances meant that he was constantly getting scolded by doctors, rns, family friends, his dad, whoever for displaying negative emotions. was shut down a lot, told that he was being a hassle and that he needed to make things easier for his mom. learned to suppress his emotions unless they were positive.

but while most adults in his life were trying to teach him how to be realistic and approach life with an understanding that nothing is easy, his mom worked hard to do the exact opposite. constantly pushed him to chase his dreams because life is so short, and when he decided that he was going to pursue music, she was the first person to tell him to go for it and give it his all.

got his first guitar at age 14, which is when he started writing his own songs and messing around with editing software, but it wasn’t until 2015 that he started playing his music for people. started in coffee shops ( at this point, his songs were entirely acoustic ), then started playing in clubs in hongdae, which is when he started experimenting with his sound. struggled to gain attention. can’t think of what it’s called rn, but there’s a set amount of tickets that opening acts have to sell to earn their spot in a lineup; saejin’s parents and close friends usually bought a tonnn to help him out because strangers wouldn’t give him the time of day. a nobody. hung out after his sets to meet people, but nobody wanted to meet him. pain.

popularity steadily grew over time, and by late 2019, he was in talks with wishbone records. by the new year, he was a signed artist.

assumed that having a record deal guaranteed International Stardom, so you can imagine his surprise when his first music video hardly gained 5k views in the entire debut week... it was an eye-opening experience for him. realized that the grind was, in fact, not over yet. 

his popularity is on a steady incline, but he still isn’t anywhere close to being a household name. very lowkey. he pretends that he doesn’t care, but it eats away at him. spends most of his time in his studio nowadays, trying to create a song that will pull him into the charts. becoming more distant from his parents because he’s so caught up in work, so that’ll probably come back around to bite him in the ass eventually but yk... oh well.

saebyeol is the only family member whom he couldn’t distance himself from if she tried because she’s a parasite. always at his apartment or blowing up his phone, which drives him absolutely crazy because her favorite pastime is ruthlessly bullying him. she’s a little demon.

the character.

park saejin, aka PAKSAE. ‘97. seoulite. soloist.

social introvert. he prefers to spend time alone and usually doesn’t seek company, but if he’s approached first, he’s a relatively open book. forms bonds quickly.

gets unreasonably attached to his friends in short periods of time, so he tries to keep his circle small. he can only deal with wondering why three people aren’t texting him back in a single day: any more than that and he spirals.

pretty optimistic view of life, i think. could’ve become jaded due to his mom’s situation, but she’s made huge efforts to keep his worries minimal and be the best role model she can be in her circumstances. has tried to instill a “life is short, so embrace every moment with open arms” mentality in both of her kids, which saejin picked up on a whole lot more than his little sister has. you probably wouldn’t assume this by listening to his Pity Party Songs ( as saebyeol puts it ), but he’s a happy guy!

on the topic of his pity party songs, all three of his singles so far are a bit sad/melancholic, detailing looking back on the ending of something. he rarely expresses sadness or regret in his day-to-day life, but he considers music to be an outlet. the one place he can be as real as he wants without being criticized. ( that’s what he thought before, anyway. nowadays, he’s constantly getting comments about how nobody wants to listen to him cry about his breakups. fair enough. )

his appearance contradicts his personality. on the outside, he seems like a very loud, expressive person: vibrant colors, unusual materials ( silk chiffon, organza, velvet, etc ), lots of accessories such as gaudy rings, y2k-style beaded necklaces & polymer clay earrings that he probably buys from etsy. but he’s really, really chill & soft-spoken, tries to blend in even though it’s... impossible when he looks the way that he does.

gets most of his social interaction through the sporadic gigs that he plays. on stage, he’s highly expressive and interactive with his fans. when i think of his stage presence, i think of artists like lauv & troye sivan: he utilizes all of his stage space, even when performing more mellow songs. doesn’t want to just stand around and bore his audience. but nowadays, he rarely waits around to meet people because he’s become even more introverted than he was before. in his day-to-day life, there are only about three people whom he contacts frequently and always shows up for. otherwise, his connections are situational: associates the people in his life with certain places, things or activities and rarely meets up with them outside those situations. prefers to communicate through texts or social media messages if he can, but even then, if you aren’t one of his three closest friends, it’s difficult to reach him unless he needs or wants something.

but even tho he’s SUCH a loner... he’s what i like to call a serial romantic. not on a dating ban and also not that popular anyway, so he goes on a lot of dates. blind dates, tinder dates, whatever. texting his friends like “i think i’m in love” twice a month but he’s never talking about the same person. wears a heart-shaped rose quartz pendant to try to manifest meeting his soulmate but he doesn’t want to be clowned for believing in the power of crystals/stones ( or for being so obsessed with love even though it’s OBVIOUS if you listen to his music ) so he says he just wears it ‘cause it’s nice to look at. 

his stage name, 박새, is a type of bird. it’s usually stylized as paksae, so most people don’t question it much, but eventually his intl fanbase got curious about what it means and popped the hangul into a translator: lo and behold, he’s now “affectionately” referred to by fans in english-speaking regions as tit. it isn’t saebyeol’s fault but he’s definitely found a way to blame her for it.

if you go to any of his music videos, you will find numerous comments from paksaeanti05. that’s saebyeol. usually she’s hating on him, but if anyone ELSE tries to hate on him, she turns into a keyboard warrior. she’s his biggest critic and his most loyal supporter.

[eyeless-cunt]

Prompt idea: Eyeless Jack stumbled upon a victims house to find them chained up, covered in wounds and bruises, and obviously poorly treated. EJ is about to nope tf out but she reaches out to him with t h e l o o k. So he has to help her escape. AND THEN LO AND BEHOLD THE RAT BOY (or whoever) APPEARS AND TURNS OUT SHE'S HIS HOSTAGE. -Cat eyes

PART 1: HEALING FIC

PROMT 11

alright listen— ill bite. but we’re gonna change this a lil.

🔪—————————————————————————🌸

word count: 3.5 k

summary: Ej is hundreds of years into his immortal life, the human population has run into their cities and left the woods to the dogs. Ej finds someone in his woods with something to hide, and then finds the hidden

nsfw: no just angst and trying to heal

warnings: gore, blood, violence, mentions of sexual abuse/sexual violence/hintings of rape, kidnapped reader, sensory deprivation, spitting on corpses that deserve it

READ PART TWO HERE

🌸—————————————————————————🔪

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. But then again, it didn’t exactly start out the way it was supposed to either.

I was just hungry. That’s it. I hadn’t eaten in a while, i’m still not sure how long I went without food. That’s not important. I was just hungry. They were just standing there. I didn’t question why they were in the woods, why they were bloody. I didn’t question why I had never seen this cabin before, why someone was in my woods, why he had blood all over him, blood that wasn’t his own.

I was just hungry.

If I didn’t eat soon then another part of me would surface. I needed food. He was my food, and I didnt give him time to blink. I pounced as soon as I saw him, teeth sunk into his throat faster than lightning, to ensure a quick death and the inability to fight me back. I didn’t want a half assed human’s struggle, I wanted food.

I was done with him in less than thirty minutes, I had practically picked him from the bone. My hunger was sated, but my new curiosity in the wake of getting my sense back was not. Why was he in my woods, so far from human civilization. Who’s blood was covering him? I was so hungry I hadn’t stopped to taste him, I hadn’t noticed the difference between that blood and his. I doubt I would find any of it now in the wake of what I had done to him.

I smelt for a trail. What direction had he come from? West. I left him, there was no one else around to see him anyways. He had no use anymore. For some reason, I didn’t think anyone would miss him. I followed his scent trail, it didn’t stay to the path. I went through my woods, I hadn’t been to this area in a long ass time. Years maybe ? Not sure. I had lived too long. It could have been easily twenty years since I’d last visited this area and I would have no idea.

I’m not sure how long it was, I don’t keep time well, I came across a medium cabin. It looked like it’d been added to a few times. It was ugly. I wanted to burn it. Why the fuck was this in my woods? How did the little shit stain even get here? Slender needed work on his cloaking skills, it seemed. I walked around it, Listening keenly. I heard movement. Faint. I could hear things clearly from extreme distances, so why was this sound faint? A basement? That still wouldn’t do much. A sound proof room? Why would he have one of those?

My curiosity peeked, and I found myself trying to open the front door, only to find it locked. I smirked and rolled my eyes. What a weak door. Humans could be cute sometimes too. I delivered one kick to it, and the hinges completely gave out. I scoffed at how brittle it was, and continued inside the cabin. No lights were on, but that was fine. I could see perfectly fine, eyes or not.

I searched all the rooms—nothing to be found in any of them. So it was a basement then. I pulled up all the rugs in the cabin—nothing. What was he trying to hide so badly? I tried listening once again, but could hear nothing of what I had heard before. I smelt around and caught the scent of fresh blood. I followed it to what seemed to be his bedroom, and into his closet. I rummaged around his clothes and lo and behold— a wide wooden board too out of place to be natural. I tugged it and it stayed in place. If i couldn’t move it then how would he? I tugged a bit harder and it came undone in a splintering mess. If I hadn’t been wearing gloves then I would have gotten my hands dirty. This place was a mess.

It was a dark hole. Straight down with a rusty ladder. I definitely had not been in this area for a longer time than I had previously thought. I ignored the ladder and jumped down, hitting the ground about eight feet down. I looked around the space I had jumped into. One room. One door. I tried opening the door only to find a digital lock. I broke it with my fist and tried again. Still wouldn’t budge. I sighed and kicked the door. Why did he need such a thick metal door? How much porn was he hiding down here, hm?

I kicked it harder, once again, harder and again, and eventually it caved in on the side. I grabbed the part that I kicked in and tried pulling it my way, no dice. I moved backwards and stood two feet away from the door, then ramming my shoulder into it hard enough to send the door crashing into the opposite wall, making a loud crashing noise that reverberated through the room. My bad. I looked inside to find it bright, artificially lit, obviously. I almost walked right back out again after seeing what I saw.

In the corner was a slumped figure. She had bandages covering her eyes, arms chained above her and her feet in heavy shackles. Plugs in her ears, rag in her mouth, and gook stuffed in her nose. She couldn’t hear, see, or smell me. He was torturing a girl down here. I couldn’t tell her age or anything, but she definitely felt the tremors I had caused with the door— seeing as she had her head turning every which way and was pressing herself against the wall.

No wonder he had so much to hide. I walked over to her, and took the rag out of her mouth. What do I do with her? Do I set her free? What if she sends the cops to my woods? Slenderman’s cloaking only does so much. She immediately took a deep breath, and started choking on the air. Her chest moved up and down sporadically and she hung limp in her chains. She said nothing.

I took out the ear plugs and waited again. She said nothing. I couldn’t see her facial expression behind her bandages. i took the corner of her shirt and wiped the gook out of her nose as best as I could. She was patient and didn’t put up a fight. How long had she been down here? How long had she been kicked into submission? I was hesitant to remove the bandages, was she injured?

“What’s wrong with your face.”

She immediately halted any movement, then started to struggle. She didn’t recognize my voice and immediately figured I was a threat, it seemed. She just pulled against her chains, her mouth slightly open and her lungs laboring harshly. She obviously was a harsh breather. I didn’t know how long she had been here. How much of her stamina had been sapped away?

“Calm down. What’s wrong with your face?”

She didn’t say anything, just kept breathing harshly. She stilled immediately though. Obviously she knew english.

“If you don’t answer i’ll take the bandages off myself.”

She pressed further into the wall, and started shaking like a leaf when I cut a bandage with my nail, after removing a glove and sticking it in my pocket. I tugged at it and unwrapped her face, now in full view after a few moments. I didn’t see anything wrong with her. Normal. She however, started to cry as soon as the bandage hit the floor, reaching for it as hard as she could. She shook her head at me, willing me to go away.

“Do you want to be free?”

She only cried harder, grasping at her chains and pushing away from me, gasping for air.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Her sobs racked her entire body, as if she was expecting something that she couldn’t stop. I took her left arm chain into my hands and crushed it. It took more force then I was expecting, yet I did a leg one next, trying not to crush her leg in the process. She was probably scared out of her mind watching me crush her restraints with one hand like it was nothing, so I didn’t look up to see her reaction. I went to the next leg chain and then her arm. When I was done I expected her to run, hit me, scream, freeze up.

Nothing. The clasps of the chains that were now detached from the actual chains were still dangling from her limbs. I wouldn’t be able to crush those without hurting her fatally. She only stood there, swaying, and she looked immensely confused. I didn’t blame her. Where do we go from here? I settled on getting her out of this room.

“Can you make your way out by yourself?”

Nothing. I was starting to get annoyed. I was all for peace and quiet but this kinda pissed me off.

“Answer.”

I felt bad about growling like that, it was deep and could probably make a child cry. She flinched back and hit the wall, her lip trembled. Still nothing.

I wasn’t all too patient at this moment, I was still recovering from who knows how long of hunger. I wasn’t in my normal mental state. I was harsher, meaner, louder, easier to anger.

So I grabbed her arm. Maybe a little too hard. I hadn’t been gentle with something in a long time. I had forgotten how much my strength had increased over the years. This immortal body had forgotten how to be soft. She whimpered and winced, but never pulled away.

I dragged her to the ladder and made her to grab the rungs. Forced her up the ladder and out of the closet. She hit the ground at her knees when I released her. I noticed the blueish purple marks on her, where I had been. Shit. It looked almost mangled. Why didn’t she pull away? How long had she been down here?

I tried again. I tried to be softer. This human wasn’t for eating right now. I tried to remember that when I hoisted her up onto my back, her arms hanging limply over my shoulders, her head pressing softly against my back. Small, fragile. Just like all humans. Even smaller than that man in the woods. It didn’t matter their size, gender, strength— they were all small and fragile prey to me. Something caught my eye. Something I hadn’t noticed before. I set her on the couch, practically dropping her there. She stayed put, didn’t move an inch.

Something that no human would notice, a thin crack in the wall. I pulled at it and it came undone quite easily. A simple hidden door behind water rotted wallpaper. Simple, easy, no one would look here. I entered cautiously, was there another human here?

No. Just a video camera and a computer. Set up at a desk in the corner of the room. I turned it on, it blarring to life loudly. Human technology had grown in the years, and apparently gotten louder with the years as well. I looked around the screen, everything was labeled with dates. The earliest one was two days ago. I clicked on it only to freeze for a moment. Pictures of her. Pictures of his hand at her throat, fingers in her mouth, a picture of him digging his nails into her left breast.

I clicked through them, there was easily fifty of them. Disgusted, I clicked out of them to try to find the earliest ones. sixteen years ago. I hesitated, then clicked. A video.

The screen was dark for a few seconds, then someone picked up the camera and suddenly the soundproof room wall was visible. The man holding the camera sniffed a bit and turned the camera to face empty restaints on the wall. They were different from the rough chains she had previously been trapped in.

“Alright, well, here they are! I think they should hold my little pet fairly well. They’re pretty sturdy and adjustable. God she’s such a thrasher, so I hope these hold as well as the guy who made them said they would. Not like she’d be able to leave the room anyways but... well I’d still rather her be restrained,” he sniffed again, and his hand made it’s way onto camera, reaching out to hold the brown straps and mess with them.

“I’m sure she’ll love this room much better than the previous one. That one was so dark, I know she’s afraid of the dark so I felt kinda bad. Hearing her cry in the middle of the night was so annoying. Made me wanna hit her upside the head and knock her out. Aha, yeah, but,” another sniff, “I really should go grab her and get her into this. bye now.”

The video ended. The next one was two hours later. I clicked it and once again there was a dark screen for just a few seconds.

When the camera got pulled up however it showed not a wall but her instead. She was so much smaller, so worn and bruised. She was glaring at the camera, tugging at her restraints. She seemed so tired, like fighting back and pulling constantly was starting to hurt her arms. She seemed to be in a lot of pain.

“Tell the camera your name. Come on now.”

Her lip trembled, then she started to thrash harder, letting out a scream. He growled and grabbed her by the throat, shoving her head back against the wall.

“Tell. The. Camera. Your fucking name. Now.”

She whimpered and stopped struggling. Tears had pooled in her eyes and her lips trembled harder. He pushed against her throat again when he got no response.

“y/n.”

She said it quietly, but he seemed satisfied. He released her throat and delivered a soft hand on her head, patting there gently. She tried to cower away from his hand but he still followed.

“And how old are you, y/n ?”

She started to cry, a hiccup hitting the air. He moved his hand to her throat again but she didn’t need the warning this time.

“Si-si-six,” followed by another hiccup and sob.

He cooed at her, asking her things like what her favorite color was and her favorite song. She cried through the whole thing, her cries gradually getting louder. The video ended panned on her face, her eyes cast downward and tears streaks down her face.

I was grossed out, disgusted. I had the thought that maybe I should have dealt with him in a slower, crueler way. I searched through the pictures, looking for another video. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe it was the need to understand what she’d been through. It didn’t matter, I just needed to see more.

It panned directly on her face now. She was full out sobbing and thrashing, her cries bordering on screaming. He had a hand at her throat and a hand on the camera. He got up and set the camera down on a nearby surface. He walked into view, and changed tha angle so you could see her full body in the restaints. I got a sick feeling in my stomach, but continued to watch, wondering where this was going. The bandages were now on her face. I looked at the date of the video, july 27th, seven years after the first video. She would be thirteen at this point. Still so young. He walked into the view of the camera, a wild smile on his face. Sure enough, it was the man in my woods.

“Y/n... do you want to be free?”

She sobbed louder, gasping and screaming, “No! Stop! I don’t want to do this again! I hate it! It hurts! Its disgu—

He delivered a swift slap to her face, causing her to whince and cry more. She stopped speaking but continued sobbing. He glared at her, even though she couldn’t see it with the bandages on.

“You know not to talk like that. Especially on camera. And it’s not disgusting! So don’t ever say that. It’s an act of love, you useless and spineless whore. It means I love you.”

He continued insulting her, spitting out insults and praising himself, telling her how much he loved her, how lucky she was to be here with him, ect. It was disgusting to watch. He started to grope her all over, her body shaking. She was scared. She was terrified. He took her face in his hands and upwrapped the bandages, dropping them on the floor. Her facial expression was heartbreaking. She looked so beaten and broken down.

“I’ll ask again, do you want to be free?”

“NO!”

“Wrong answer,” she sobbed harder, her head limp and slouched over as her cries took over her body, “Of course you want to be free, and i’ll show you how to be. Just relax. It’s fine.”

I was sick to my stoumach at this point. The events that transpired next I won’t explain, they were too vile and disgusting to explain in full detail. I didn’t end up finishing that video. I turned off the computer, and walked out the door and back into the living room where I had set her. She was still there. Looking at her after seeing those videos, those pictures, those memories— I still felt sick. She had gone through that in my woods. I had neglected patrolling my woods for so long, and this had happened as a result. I had become lazy, I had relied on slender and his cloaking. That decision had allowed this to occur. It was my fault that she had endured this pain for sixteen years. It was up to me to make it up to her, even though I knew it was impossible to make up for that amount of crushing hurt. I knew it, but I still tried.

I approached her slowly, then kneeling down to her face level where she laid on the couch. She starred at me, but said nothing. She was confused. I didn’t blame her.

“Can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you? If you don’t answer i’ll assume you want to be carried, and I won’t blame you. You probably have no leg strength left.”

She said nothing once again, and so I picked her up, more gently than I had before, more fitting of thin and expensive decorative glass. Her arms swayed limply as I carried her princess style out of the cabin and into my woods. I walked through the trees and stopped a few meters away from the man’s body. I felt that she needed justice, she needed to know she was safe. He was gone. I just didn’t know how to go about it. So I did so cautiously.

“The man who kidnapped you,” she froze in my arms, “he’s gone. Forever. He’s dead. Do you want to see? It’s gross, bloody, a disgusting display. You won’t even recognize him. He’s practically bones and slop now. If you don’t say anything i’ll assume you don’t want to see and we won’t continue in this direction. He’s just past those trees. So, do you want to see what’s left of your captor?”

I waited for a minute, but she didn’t say anything. I took that as my answer and turned around, ready to go in another direction. Her harsh grip on my sweatshirt stopped me. I looked down to see her lip quivering.

“I want to see it.”

She said it so soft, but I heard it. I nodded and turned back towards the trees, steadily making my way there. When I got there I stopped three feet from his body. She looked towards him, face turned away from me. I couldn’t see her expression. She started to cry, harshly and loudly. She went limp in my arms, so I kneeled down on the ground gently, setting her down and moving her so that she leaned against me. She cried for a good amount of time, I didn’t mind. When she stopped, she waited for a minute, then got up, me helping her. She took steps towards him, and when she was a foot away, she spit right on his skull. I almost smiled under my mask.

“Are you ready to go?”

She nodded and I picked her up once again, then making my way to my place. I wondered where to go from here. How much physical rehabilitation would she need to be able to move freely without my help? How much mental help? Did she have a home to go back to? Could I send her back? Would I keep her with me until she died? Humans had such short life spans, it wouldn’t be that long for me. Would she even want to stay with me? And what happens when I accidentally get too hungry and go feral, or on the verge of feral?

Would I kill her?

[jasonspezzas]

I usually agree with you, but I’ve gotta say I think you’re really off about the Campbell praising. He’s praised because he a) has never been a starting goalie and is doing a decent job of it, and b) is making big saves when they need him to. Yeah, he let in a soft goal! And he made those two blunders against the Sens. But he doesn’t do the big blunders often, at all, whereas recently Fred has been making bad decisions. I love him. But he’s hurt, and he’s been playing hurt. And making decisions hurt. It’s not “an ugly look” to give a back up goalie — who now has the net (because of what seems to be a bad injury for our starter) — some love and praise. He is currently playing better than Fred, mistakes or not. It’s not unreasonable to give him more slack than we gave Fred. As I mentioned, he’s never been a starting goalie. And when Fred is back he’ll get his net back! So what is the harm in praising our back up when he does well? Or at least does decently? Fred recently has let in goals near the end of games when the team needs a big save... Campbell saved a big one last night near the end off McDavid. I feel like you’re missing a lot of nuance.

I hear you and you’re allowed to disagree with me but I actually think this is an over simplified view of my criticism here. I would never say we shouldn’t celebrate a back up goalie playing well, that just doesn’t make sense. I also think you may be seeing something different than I am if that’s all you think is going on. 

what I’ve seen is people writing off mistakes or even celebrating jack for things that those same people have berated and disparaged freddie for (when healthy jack has an .850 game it’s not his fault but when injured freddie does he’s garbage, washed, old, lazy, etc), I’ve seen people celebrating freddie’s injuries and hoping he’ll be off long term, speculating that he’s battling a mental illness or that he’s faking his injury because the fans have been mean to him. I’ve seen people say that because freddie doesn’t self flagellate in the media after every mistake the way jack does that that means that he’s arrogant or somehow that correlates to him blaming his teammates for all his mistakes (something he’s absolutely never done) and that jack by comparison is so humble and doesn’t deserve any heat for his mistakes (which he’s human as well, we shouldn’t be so hard on any of them wtf). I’ve seen people suggest that the fact that the team plays a more defensively responsible game in front of jack than they do in front of him should be read as some sort of indictment of freddie as a person and how the team hates him and loves jack. I’ve seen disrespectful comments about his personality, his work ethic, and his personal relationships, many of those comments comparing him directly to how jack is perceived in comparison (as if jack isn’t also obsessed with freddie but ok). that’s the nuance i’m referring to when i’m talking about it being an “ugly look”

beyond the vitriolic though I’ve seen legitimate play criticism that doesn’t make sense. there’s been quite a lot of side by side comparison of their playing as if it’s apples to apples which I take a lot of issue with. they are roughly the same age, they were drafted and started playing at the same time, they’ve both had periods of injury, but they’ve been handled with some massive differences. since 2017 freddie has statistically played more than any other goalie except connor hellebuyck (arguably the best goalie in the league). he has been ridden out year after year behind what has been an embarrassingly poor defence, a young forward core who is only now learning to play both ways, and with limited back up support. he has been ridden into the ground and is very rarely allowed proper time to rest and recover when he’s injured or even just banged up. rather he is expected to play through and takes the heat when he isn’t able to continue to carry the team through those periods without complaint. look at this last few months as a perfect example. freddie was injured in february in a game against montreal, and jack had been hurt in january against calgary. jack was allowed the time to rest and recover and lo and behold he looked solid when he returned. freddie wasn’t extended that courtesy but we’re still seeing the flood of arguments made that freddie “lost the net” because jack was allowed to recover and freddie was expected to play when anyone with eyes could see his range of motion and reactionary speed were impacted. and i’ve even seen people criticize freddie for this too. suggesting that it was him pushing to keep playing and it’s his fault as though a) freddie hasn’t been more than willing to pull himself or take time to recover in the past when something wasn’t right (he has), or b) it’s not literally a coach’s job to manage that type of thing because players don’t have the ability to be objective

folks talk about freddie not making “big saves” and that’s just not true. you specifically mention jack making a late save against mcdavid, well freddie actually stole the leafs a point earlier in the season in a game they had no business being even close on by making a last minute “big save” against mcdavid. but i get it, who cares, what have you done for me lately right? and you know what? i guess in a really sick way it makes sense. why not handle the goalie you have on contract for one more year but care and respect and just ride the one on the expiring deal into dust. jack has had a good track record in the 70 games he’s been able to play since 2013, freddie similarly has a good track record in the almost 400 he’s played in the same time period. of course freddie has made more mistakes, he’s played exponentially more games and if you were to base his performance off of 70 games well spread out over his career I think you would find a much more favourable view of his performance. 

so yea all that to say there’s nothing wrong with being happy that jack is doing well, but it’s naive to think that’s all that’s happening here. if you don’t believe me I invite you to google either of their names, search twitter for a few minutes, listen to any leafs focused broadcast or podcast, look at their own instagram comments and see that it’s so much more insidious than just celebrating a back up performing well. 

[duhragonball]

‘21

Amidst all the popular hype for seeing the end of 2020, it didn’t hit me until about lunchtime what the real highlight is that I’ve been waiting for: For the first time since 1999, the year finally ends in “numberty-number” again.    It low-key irritated me that we had to call it “two thousand three” and I was relieved when “twenty-thirteen” caught on, but it still wasn’t right because it was too short, and now we’re back in the sweet spot, and I should be safely dead by 2100, so that’s one less thing I gotta deal with.

Really, even “numberty hundred” rings true to me.    “Nineteen hundred” sounds like a year.    “Twenty-one-oh-six” sounds like a futur-y year, which is even cooler.   So did “Two thousand five”, until I was actually living in it, and it sounds even worse now that it was a long time ago and adults will talk about their childhood happening in that year.    Daniel Witwicky would be old enough to get married and grow a fancier beard than me.    That’s nuts.    My point is that, honestly, it’s the year 3000-3019 that I have to worry about, so if I ever decide to go vampire, those will be the years I hide in the ocean or force society to reset the calendar, whichever’s easier.  

I spent New Year’s Eve finishing Superliminal, which I bought on Steam after I watched Vegeta play it on YouTube.  It has a similar look and feel to the Stanley Parable, so if you liked one you’d probably enjoy the other, although Superliminal has a different theme.  I kept hoping I’d find some secret passage that I wasn’t supposed to take, and a narrator would scold me for finding the “Chickenbutt Ending”, but it doesn’t work that way.    Superliminal’s all about puzzles and awesome visuals, but it does have the same soothing design aesthetics as TSP.   Honestly, I enjoyed just wandering around in Stanley’s office, and Superliminal does the same thing with a hotel and several other settings.   It’s nice.

This got me thinking about how I kind of did everything there was to do in The Stanley Parable, and I sort of wished they would add new stuff to the game, but I’m not sure there would be much point to that.    I could play the older version, but it presents the same message, just with different assets.   The Boss’s Office would look different, but it’d be the same game.   And this got me thinking about various “secret chapters” in pop culture.  Secrets behind the cut.

I first heard about this idea in the 2000′s, when fans invented this notion that there was a secret chapter of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.    I read a website that tried to explain the concept, and of course it lauded J.K. Rowling with all this gushing praise for working an Easter egg into the book, a literary work of “well, magic.”  

That pretty well sums up my distaste for Harry Potter, by the way.    These days, JKR has thoroughly crapped all over her reputation and legacy, but in the 2000′s it felt like half the planet was in a mad rush to canonize her as a writing goddess, to the point where fans were congratulating her for writing secret chapters that didn’t actually exist.   The idea was based on lore from the books about Neville Longbottom’s parents.    They were patients in a mental hospital, and he’d go to visit them, and they would give him bubble gum wrappers, intended to demonstrate how far remove they’ve become from reality.   The secret chapter lies in those wrappers, which all read “Droobles Best Blowing Gum” or some such.    What if Neville’s parents were only pretending to be mentally ill, so as to throw off their enemies?   Naturally, they would want to stay in contact with their son, so the bubble gum wrappers would have to contain coded messages.    Said code involves unscrambling the letters on the wrappers to make new words, like “goblin” or “sword” or “Muggle” or “Dumbledore”.    The problem is that you can also use it to make other words like “booger” or “drool” or “booobbiess.”   Play with it enough, and you can make the code say anything you want it to say, which means it’s no code at all.   

But the idea was that the not-yet-published sixth HP book would reveal all of this gum wrapper nonsense, and Neville would decode the messages and discover all of his parents’ super-cool adventures.   I’m not sure why we needed a secret chapter if Book 6 was going to explain all of this anyway in several not-secret chapters, but that was the whole point.   Fans didn’t have Book 6 yet, and they were so desperate to read it that they started trying to extrapolate what would happen next based on “clues” from the previous five.    That’s like trying to figure out what Majin Buu looks like by watching the Androids Saga.   I guess some wiseguy would have guessed that he’d resemble #19, but that’d just be blind luck.  

And when you get down to it, this whole secret chapter business is really just a conspiracy.   This is literally how Qanon works.   Some anonymous jackass posted vague “hints” on an imageboard, and people went goofy trying to interpret them and figure out what would happen in the future.   They call it “research” because they spend a ton of time on this, but there’s no basis to any of it.    It took me a few minutes to figure out that you can spell “Muggle” with the words in “Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum”, but that’s not research and it doesn’t prove anything.   But all these guys keep looking for “Hilary Clinton goes to jail next week” and lo and behold that’s all they ever find.   

In the same vein, the gum wrapper thing was really a complaint disguised as a conspiracy, disguised as a “magical secret chapter”.   At least a few fans wanted to see more Neville in their Harry Potter books, they wanted Neville’s parents, or someone like them, to have cool spy adventures or whatever else.   The point is, they clearly weren’t getting what they wanted out of the printed works, but they didn’t want to turn against their Dear Beloved Author, so they started casting about for an alternative reality, one where J.K. Rowling wrote a cooler story and hid it in the pages of the one that actually went to press.    So instead of just saying “Hey, Order of the Phoenix was kind of a letdown, I hope there’s more ninjas in the next book,” they said “Rowling is a genius because I wanted ninjas and she’s definitely going to give them to me, I have the gum wrappers to prove it.”

The same thing happened all over again when the BBC Sherlock show took a turn for the nonsensical.    I don’t know from BBC Sherlock, but I watched the fascinating video critique by Hbomberguy, and it sounds like the show did tons of plot twists until it stopped making sense altogether in the fourth season.    If you skip to 1:09:00 in the video, you’ll hear about fan theories that suggested that season four was supposed to be crappy, as part of a secret meta-narrative plan that would be paid off in a secret, unannounced episode that would not only explain everything, but retroactively justify the crappy episodes that came before.    But it’s been a few years and it never came to pass, so I think we can call this myth busted. 

Most recently, I think we’ve all seen a lot of talk about the final season of Supernatural, where I guess Destiel sort of became canon but only one guy does the love confession and the other doesn’t respond.   But I guess he does say “I love you too”  in the Spanish dub, which means the English language version was edited for whatever reason.    It’s not exactly a secret episode, but the implication is that there’s more to this than what made it to the screen.    So the questions turn to what the screenplay said, what the writers and actors wanted to do, etc. etc.    My general impression is that SPN fans are a bit more used to crushing disappointment, so they’re not quite as delusional about this show being unquestionable genius, like Sherlock and Harry Potter.     Maybe this is an Anglophile thing?   Like, if you suck at something with a British accent, people will accept it more unconditionally?   

I had seen something on Twitter about how there should have been a secret Seinfeld episode in the 90′s.    Someone suggested it at the time, they tape a whole episode, then wait until 2020 to air it, because by then it would be worth a fortune.    But they didn’t do it, because it costs a lot of money to make a TV episode, and if you don’t air the show right away, you aren’t making that money back any time soon.    Yeah, you might recoup a fortune someday, but Seinfeld was making a ton of money then.    It exposes the fannish nature of the idea.    A fan would love to discover a cool secret chapter, but a content creator isn’t necessarily keen on making a cool thing and then hiding it where few people would find it.  

I thought about doing this myself recently.   Maybe Supernatural gave me the bug, but I thought “I’m writing this big-ass story, so what if I wrote me a secret chapter for it?   Wouldn’t that be cool?”     But no, it wouldn’t be cool, because it’d be the same work as writing a regular chapter, and the same stress I feel when I hold off on publishing it.    Except I’d just never publish it, I’d put it in some secret hole on the internet and hope that some superfan who might not even exist can decode whatever clues I leave.  

I mean, it’d be awesome if it got discovered and everyone loved it.    “Hey, I found this hidden chapter!   Mike’s done it again!”   And I could bask in the glory.   But what if no one finds it?  Then I just wasted my time, right?   I want people to read my work.   My monkey brain needs the sweet, sweet validation of those kudos and comments, folks.   Once I realized that, I understood why no one else would want to do a secret chapter either.    Easter eggs are one thing, but the bigger bonus features they put on DVDs were pretty easy to find, and with good reason.

I think that’s what made the Stanley Parable so appealing to play, because it teases you with the idea that you can “break” the game and find some extra content that you weren’t supposed to see, but as you go exploring all those hidden areas, it gradually becomes clear that this is just part of the game; you were meant to find all these things, and that’s why they were put here.      It’s hidden, but he secret aspect of it is just pretend.   

I suppose that what I like about games like TSP and Superliminal is the illusion of secrets more than the secrets themselves.    I like roaming through the hallways, having no idea what I might find ahead.    I kind of wish I could open all the doors, and not just the ones the game designers put stuff behind, but the reality is that there’s nothing on the other side.    I used a cheat code once  to explore the unused doors in TSP and it’s just a bright white field on the other side.   Interesting to look at, but not much of a reveal.   Honestly, the doors themselves are more appealing than anything that could lay behind them.  

And that’s probably what makes secrets so fun.   They could be almost anything, but once you open the present, the number of possibilities drops to one.   If they had ever made that Secret BBC Sherlock Episode, I doubt it would have lived up to expectations, but fans could amuse themselves by imagining what could have been in it.    In the end, though, things usually don’t justify the hype.  For every Undertaker debut at Survivor Series 1990, there’s a Gobbledygooker debut at Survivor Series 1990.   It’s impossible to manufacture a secret with a guaranteed payoff.   

[cafenzie]

I'm annoyed. Again.

So I'm making the morning rounds on YT with coffee and lo' and behold what pops up on my feed but a video titled "Fat Activist Tess Holiday Diagnosed with Anorexia??" Already I got a bad feeling, but I have to make sure, and what do you know, only a few minutes in pisses me off more than I thought it would.

Why do people use fatphobia to insist that people who are fat, who are overweight, who are of different shapes and sizes, just...have eating disorders? It's just, no no it can't be possible because they're fat. This man goes on to say that it's "insulting to people with eating disorders"; that Tess Holiday, a fat woman (who he also claims to be a fat activist which...I have issues with but separate topic), being diagnosed with anorexia and coming forward about a very real and harmful eating disorder, is an "insult". Show me how it makes sense because this shit isn't adding up.

Let me just say this: you people like this, who think this same way, are absolute fucking hypocrites. Not only do you hate on people who are fat for being fat, but then when they try and lose weight whether by using healthy methods, or unfortunately other harmful alternatives like eating disorders, you still shame them. You make fun of fat people working out and you laugh when they eat anything. You tell them that "they can't have an eating disorder" because they don't "look like it". What you've done is create a standard for what eating disorders look like, and guess what: it makes it all worse. Remember circa 2013 Tumblr era? Yeah, the Tumblr that romanticized mental illness/disorders especially eating disorders with all the "thinspo" that went around like wildfire? Same thing.

By stating that there's a certain way that people with eating disorders have to look not only invalidates those with them (extremely dangerous, makes it worse no matter what), but you're also enforcing yet another form of a beauty standard that only spits back at them that they have to look a certain way. You're creating fucking criteria for a mental illness and eating disorder. Not only that, but doing so is denying those with ED the help and support they need to let them know that the behavior they're exhibiting is extremely harmful; instead, you're just enforcing it more. We've seen the extreme opposite also happen all the time, with skinnier or thin people be denied that they can have eating disorders because they "fit the mold". Both are extremely harmful, but with fatphobic comments like this, it's always different because you're denying that they can ever fit the mold, and otherwise you'll mock them for trying.

Everyone can have an eating disorder, and people like you are sick and the reason why so many continue down that path thinking nothing of it. You really want to tell me, at 12 years old starving myself every day that I'm an "insult" to people with "real" ED?

This also applies past hypocrites allowed internet access like this, too; it's healthcare workers especially. I've seen and heard stories of plenty of fat people who admitted and confided with professionals that they had an ED or clearly exhibited symptoms of it, but instead of helping as those healthcare professionals should, they deny it the same way you are denying it. How does a system backed by lousy healthcare help anyone like that?

I'm done. I'm royally pissed off, but I'm done for now. I'm sick of people like this who only are actually encouraging ED by promoting ignorance like this.

[obsessionsposts]

🔪Yan! 2p Italy hc's🥀:

T.W : Heavy description of tortures /non-con use of drugs / implied non-con / Dead dove: Do not eat / abuse/ Brainwashing / mental illness < I do not romanticize nor degrade it, if portrayed incorrectly I'll fix it > neglect / obsessive behavior / unhealthy behavior / Luciano himself / generally really really dark shit not for feint of heart.

X - First sighting: In a Nightclub, which was hosted by a rival mafia. His goal was to take care of his enemy,lest he ruins his "business".

Yet, He didn't find his prey. Frustrated and vexed, Luciano strode hurriedly pushing anyone in his way. However, He didn't expected to be called out by.... ,at first he thought a measle, a divine lady such as you.

At least, this failed ploy brought him a new bird for his enjoyment ; that will be inserted into a cage that she will never ever leave.

X- Infatuation: Her figure burned in his mind, Her fragrance stung his nose, Her sharp arched eyes haunts his dreams, and.......her mellifluous voice along with her gallant actions has attracted him so so badly.

Luciano hadn't an ounce of sleep since then,but was preoccupied planning to cage his only one. Smirking and laughing dauntly at the idea of possessing an angel, or much preferable a songbird that will sing a song of praise and adoration for him. Only him.

Yandere type: Possessive,Sadistic,Controlling.

Luciano values power above anything else , and that extend to his s/o. Anything that cements him power over his s/o , i.e. : marriage, is granted to happen whether the s/o has a choice is up to debate.

Another thing, he will nitpick his s/o willpower; so he could relish his power through this torment.

Speaking of torments, by god any misconduct - small or big - will be chastised through many forms of tortures.

Luciano is a major sadist (Not the worst,but bad enough to declare him as the second worst) and he gets off from the cries,screams, and begging from his pretty little pet ~ .

If anything, he anticipate her disobedience; so he could see the terrific fear running amok in her irises. Oh~ such a turn on and mark of possession.

Prepare to be dictated by a tyrant charismatic man who does see you as an object to fulfil his megalomanic fantasies cherishes and adore you to a degree that you're not aware enough; so much that he will buy the world for your whims .From your everyday clothes to your behaviour will fit his sick visionary criteria of an exhilarating trapped prisoner lady.

But, worry not you're irreplaceable to him. Aren't you happy to receive the recognition and courtesy of a man with high calibre as Luciano. You deserve only the best, and he is the best for you. Luciano will make sure of it.

X- Method of stalking and frequency of it ? Frankly, he is most likely to be busy, so he'll send his men to 'observe' you. However, if otherwise he will come and play on your fears giving you the false sense of security. Then he will take you out into a new world,where you'll be spoiled as long as you don't disobey him.

X- How do they treat their s/o ?

More of an object, where he can project all his desire on. But, that doesn't mean he doesn't care for you. If anything he truly does, however not in the conventional sense. More so the s/o is obedient, Luciano will mellow down and be much less paranoid and fanatical.

On these day, he will be much courteous and kind enough to let his darling out on a picnic,library, museums,etc....... . Also, they will drown in his wealth,company, and anything they wished for as long as she submits herself completely to him as he did to her.

+ Nickname for their s/o?

Anything that indicates possession over s/o and elegant names that suits his glorious s/o. Ex: My nightingale - My songbird - Mio amore- My dove - My Juliet, My bitch, mockingbird,etc....

Punishments:

Little Nightingale has been naughty! that simply won't do. Well, you forced his hands for what's going to occur to you now. However, Luciano is delighted to put both his best loved in action ; that is his expertise in torment and his treasure.

Most of his torture consists of physical, psychological, and slight sexual. However, he specializes and adores psychological because it relish his power and gives a boost to his narcasstic ego along with that the gorgeous cascade that runs from your engaging pupils and shrilling voice of a weeping angel.

Ego Fragmenting: This method consist of killling identity of oneself, usually by psychedelic drugs. Also, known as ego death. A process Luciano will make his darling undertake by forcing drugs that will eat slowly at her neurotransmitter such as: DMT,LSD,MDMA,and similar drugs. As it will alter her perception of reality making her valnurable - leaving her in a transcendence state- and in need of his assistant. Plus it's a sure way to kill a rebellious mockingbird.

Learned Helplessness: The process above will lead to this one which is another process,but worse.Learned helplessness is behavior exhibited by a subject after enduring repeated aversive stimuli beyond their control. After the s/o is subjected to different mindfucks and drugs she'll become more accepting and apathetic of what's happening to her rendering her from thinking of treason escape.

Classical Brainwashing: After his work of art is done. Luciano will start mending and twisting his s/o to make the greatest masterpiece of all. 'Now be a good little girl for me and sit in my lap and please me~. I know you in and out disobeying me will make me upset and you don't want that do you ~ ?'

Cat O' Nine: Luciano isn't above using this if you persist (somehow, by a will of a damn saint) even more and if you tried to escape. He'll beat out the common sense out of you until a rivulets of ruby-like substance come out of you. Lo and behold Such a wonderful sight ! (What a prick! If you ask me :/)

Degradation/non-con: By God, if s/o pissed him (mind you, he is short tempered. So, dont tread on thin ice)off beyond the breaking point...well...you're pretty fucked literally and figuratively. At this point, he pretty much take you without the consideration-no lubrication either-of your feeling because in the end you'll eat it like the fucking whore you are and you're his belonging whether you like or not. At this point, Luciano is self-indulgent and impulsive. (Basically, a sociopathic piece of shit. Good luck on escaping cause' you'll need it.) It is horrid as it is that he is paranoid enough that he locks his darling in a huge-ass bird cage and will deprive the comforts inside as punishment.

In Conclusion:

There is a saying that the apple never falls far from the tree. Well in this case, it true. The sadism and machiavellianism manifested form his grandfather,Titus, neglect and borderline-abusive parenting. As years grown, his condition got worse until he committed his first offence senicide to protect his brother and to gain the absolute power he always looked up for.

Despite the power he has, Luciano is much a coward when he lack his assists as he usually abuses his authority and sacrifice his pawns to gain whatever he want(instead of doing it himself). To put it simply a treacherous man-child throwing tempers.

His obessison for power and beauty stem from the poverty he and his brother suffered from his monster of a guardian. That's why his s/o boldness and that....enticing bodice brought the attention of a hungry-driven beast to a fierce doe.

Chances of escaping is low to diminished unless you're clever enough to trick the trickster himself. If by any miracle chance you did expect a multiple deaths in the area you're living and be arrested for a crime you've never committed. Plus, a raving monster the next day. Wonderful ! Is it not?!

He has a huge libidos, so good luck satisfying it. Most of the time,Luciano will take your consent apart from when he is in tantrums. In addition, before he have s/o, he used to have a flings and that stopped when he saw his beauty.

One of the most paranoid and fanatical yandere brought to you by detrimental childhood and not getting help™.

Unlike other yandere, Luciano lets his s/o come to him not the other way around by luring her into his heavenly trap. Also, Luciano is an excellent actor as he can hide his lecherous rage with his charming flirtatious attitude that is used as a mean to gain s/o before unveil how much of.... a bastard he is. A smooth bastard.

A behaving darling keeps the demon away ™.

"Then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams"

~ Monster by

Meg & Dia

A/n: I am sorry for the delay. Writer block is just horrendous. But, here you go hope you like it. Like usual pic doesn't belong to me.

[ninjasmart]

When I was little maybe 10 or 11years old I had a couple of out of body experiences. I had completely forgot about this but I now suddenly remembered it. I was walking down the corridor at school and suddenly I was looking down on myself walking it was a really odd experience it happens 2 or 3 times. I told my teacher about it but she thought I needed to talk to the school psychologist like I was crazy, I said no, I haven't talked about it since. Do you know how and why this happened? Thanks

Please take this the most positive and caring way possible. Out of body experience can be a symptom. The term for that is dissociation. This could be because of trauma, because of complex PTSD, could be an indication of a mental illness that is starting to develop, could be an indication of spiritual experience. 

If I were you I would not go to the psychologist either. Many are, sadly, well read and with little to no experience in the real world. There is this thing called confirmation bias - if you believe that an out of body experience means mental health issue, then this is what you’re going to look for. And this is what could have happened to you. 

Couple of questions to think about: 

Do you daydream or when things are bad do you just shift in your mind to a better place where life is beautiful? (I still do that from time to time but I blame it on the psychologist they were sending me to when I was a kid and who was teaching me to relax before bed and think of my happy place where everything is perfect.) 

Do you have magical thinking? For example - do you think you know what others are thinking or doing? Do you think that something happened because you did something else, a ritual for good luck or you stepped outside with the wrong foot or something similar?

Have you had a traumatic event happen to you - something that could have left you in a state of shock? In such cases splitting and dissociation happen as defense mechanism. 

After 10-12 years old, have you had other experiences that were out of the ordinary? For example, I know a guy who can see your soul’s tune and draw it. I know a lady who is 10 times more powerful than me with blessings and curses and I have seen with my own eyes what happens in the lives of people who have gone against her or have tried to smear her name publicly because of her practice of magic. They can both see a lot more than is available to the naked eye. To even think  that they are crazy is not ok. They are not. They are both connected to dimensions that we don’t see. 

My personal approach to things in life is to start with the basics and try to explain things in the most ordinary way. First look if there’s some vitamins and minerals that can be the cause of what you experienced. Vitamin B6 to be exact. An example here is - I have a Vitamin D deficiency. I’ve always had it. Pre-covid it was never an issue because I love the sun and the sea and get a lot of it. If I were to not deal with this deficiency now and then go to a psychologist, I’ll definitely get a: You’re depressed, here are some pills. But this is not the reality. The reality is Vitamin D deficiency which can be regulated so easily. 

Then, check if there is a psychological explanation for what you’re going through. Check with different specialists to see what is exactly going on. Even if they diagnose you with something, it’s better to know what you’re dealing with because this way you can work on getting better or managing better. For example, I have anxiety. I feel lucky about it because most of the people with my autoimmune condition are with depression and I have only anxiety and vit D deficiency. Had I not known what kind of “issue” I have I know I would have believed one pseudo therapist when she told me that I need therapy every week. That pseudo therapist is in a relationship with her therapist so ... maybe she speaks from experience when she talks about needing therapy that much.    

If all and I mean all else fails, then accept it is supernatural. 

I’ll tell you an interesting experience. Once I had this weird conversation with a lake. It was totally my fault because I was experimenting and I opened its akasha and wanted to say “in person” that I find it really beautiful. It was a she. The lake was telling me that she doesn’t like to be disturbed, she’s taking a good care of the babies and does not want that done to her. Again, super weird. So I asked the guide, I was on a trip, I asked the guide: Tell me about the babies and this lake... You know, dumb tourists asking dumb questions. Lo and behold, turns out that in this place on Earth they have this weird tradition to “return” the babies who died very young to mother nature by leaving it in the lake and since this was one of the big lakes in the region, this was the lake with most babies. I could not believe what I had heard. The tour guide seriously thought I had prior interest in their practices but no.. I just had a talk with the lake.