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astaroth1357 · 4 years

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"Hi kinda new. I don't know if this is where requests go, but if you haven't done it yet can I request an MC sneaking into the boys beds?" ~irenethehotdog

The MC Sneaks Into the Brothers' Beds While They're Asleep

@irenethehotdog don’t worry, I found ya anyway. 😁 Sooo there was a kind of tender way I could have played this… but then there was a funny way. I hope you're alright that I went with the funny way. 😅 I got two bed requests that are kind of similar-ish but how I’m interpreting them makes them just different enough to warrant two different asks. Here's the first one!

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Warning: Comical nudity? Is that NSFW-ish?

Intro:

Sometimes everybody needs a little comfort, especially in the middle of the night. Any number of things could have drawn the MC out of their bed: bad dreams, nagging thoughts, just general fear of the darkness of Hell that surrounded them, but they decided to try to soothe their unease with the company of their demonic housemates! Wonder how that turned out for them..?

Lucifer

I mean, if you’re feeling a little alone at night, maybe a little scared, it would only be natural to want to seek solace with the strongest person in the nearest vicinity, right? ...Right?

To say it was maybe ill-advised to just climb into bed with Lucifer would be an understatement… Frankly, if the enchantments he had on his door weren’t specifically meant for Mammon then they might have ended up in a very compromised position. But somehow, they managed to infiltrate the demon’s private sanctuary and get right up to his bed.

Now, Lucifer is not a heavy sleeper. Not at all. He’s grown pretty accustomed to waking up at all hours of the night because of his brother’s antics, so he felt the shifting weight on his mattress almost instantly.

They probably weren’t expecting him to suddenly jerk upright and spin towards them, fireball in hand ready to lob at their face... but that’s what they got.

After realizing that it was just the human and not Mammon coming in to take his stuff again, he made them sit down in front of his fireplace while he gave them a looong lecture about personal boundaries and how it’s really not smart to sneak up on demons like that…

But he was still sympathetic to their sleep-deprived state so he offered them some tea and Devildom sleep remedies in hopes of getting them back to bed. ...Just not his. Back to your bed with you, MC.

Mammon

Mammon was their “babysitter.” Their protector. Their guardian. So why wouldn’t they want to go to him on a difficult night?

Getting into Mammon’s bed was hardly a challenge, sure they had to tiptoe through the garbage heap that made up his bedroom floor but it wasn’t Mission Impossible or anything…

What did catch them off guard was just how… not clothed he felt after they slid in under his covers. Like, pretty much wearing nothing at all. Not even a pair of courtesy boxers. 😓

It was their squeal as they flung themselves out of the bed that actually woke Mammon up. They had him ripping the covers off, ready to leap into action and everything, which definitely didn’t help matters. (Or maybe it did, depending on your point of view 🤷‍♀️).

Both parties pretty much turned into a cursing/blushing mess as he shot them embarrassed, rapid-fire questions while desperately trying to pull on some sweats. Meanwhile the MC stayed plastered up against the wall of his bedroom, answering him in equally defensive shouts.

Eventually, their fuss woke up Lucifer who was quick to send both of them back to their respective beds. The House teased them mercilessly for weeks… How were they supposed to know Mammon slept naked??

Leviathan

Levi might be a… strange choice for bedmate at first glance (he doesn’t really even sleep in bed, but a tub hardly meant for two people). However, there’s a certain level of approachability to him, isn’t there? Considering his own struggles with anxiety, maybe they thought he could relate…?

They tried knocking on his door first, thinking he might have been gaming, but there was no answer. When they walked in and found the otaku actually asleep for once, it seemed like their wishes might have actually been granted!

...But then came the actual trouble of trying to get into bed with Levi to start with. There wasn’t really an easy way to squeeze their body in past his because the tub was so dang narrow…

Any rational person might have just given up on the venture, but not MC. Whatever's possessed them to want to sleep with this awkward shut-in has a pretty good hold on them yet.

Lack of sleep might have been what gave them the bright idea to just try and lay on top of Levi veeerrry sooooftlllly…. Which is how the poor demon woke up to them halfway straddling his waist in the middle of the night.

His remarkably high-pitched scream woke up the whole dang House and the sheer amount of force he used when trying to jerk out of the tub toppled it over… Even after many apologies (and a trip to go buy a new tub), Levi still double locks his door at night to this day… 😓

Satan

Really an odd choice there, not going to lie. They’re well aware of the possibility that they could accidentally wake him and he maaaay not be the best waker (what being Wrath and all) but if it’s irrational worries that got you down, why not go to the most rational person in the House? Sounds like a perfectly logical decision, right?

That might have been what their half-baked disillusions were telling them on the way to Satan's bedroom but actually standing in front of the sleeping man was a whole other story. They felt crazy, genuinely crazy… But they still slipped in under the covers anyway.

Satan stirred almost immediately and turned to face them… but his eyes could hardly keep focus and the look of dopey confusion on his face could have honestly made the perfect screen background. "Huuuuuh…? MC…? What're you doin' 'ere…?"

They kind of had to hold in a laugh while they explained that they just wanted to sleep next to him that night. Satan beamed them an oddly serene smile and just nodded. "Okaaay…" With that he seemed to roll over to go back to sleep… but his mind caught back up with him before his drowsiness did.

"Wait a minute..." Ah shit….

Like Lucifer, Satan ended up giving them a pretty good lecture on boundaries and the like when he finally snapped out of his stupor. Thankfully he wasn't mad, just a little embarrassed that they had seen him like that. He offered them a good book or two to pass the time if they couldn't sleep, but sent them back to bed all the same.

Asmodeus

Asmo probably doesn’t get people coming into his bed with completely chaste intentions very often, but he’s by far the most emotionally in-tuned demon in the House. If they're after a little sympathy, best just go to Asmo right?

They weren't really sure what to expect when they walked into his room... Does Asmo sleep like a Disney Princess, hair and makeup done perfectly in defiance of all laws of beauty?

Does he sleep like a '60s housewife, with curlers in his hair and leftover chips of mud mask on his face?

Does he sleep like the god of all sex that he is, sculpted chest for the eyes to see and everything underneath laid bare like a honeypot of temptation??

The MC doesn't really get to know, because when they pulled back the covers to climb inside they were met by the sight of someone else's very naked ass taking up the spot where they thought Asmo should be.

They go back to their room willingly, dejected and maybe a little scarred... Apparently they were just too late to the party...

Beelzebub

Okay, everything about Beel screams “Hello! I’m a warm comforting teddy bear!”...aside from the hungry parts. It’s really not hard to see why they’d want to go to him if they’re feeling a little vulnerable.

They didn't worry too much about being quiet when they walked into the twins' room. Belphie could sleep through a rock concert and Beel wasn't too far behind him (as long as he wasn't hungry).

They figured that the tall twin wouldn't mind too much if they just crawled into bed with him… He had make a similar request of them before, it was only fair right?

As they were preparing their tired body for a good night's sleep, they gently pulled the covers back next to Beel but they probably weren't expecting to find so many food wrappers surrounding him… or bags of chips… or packages of cookies… or-

Apparently Beel had yet another sleep-eating run and this time he seemed to have brought the whole kitchen back with him. There was hardly enough room left for Beel anymore, let alone the MC!

Considering their options were to either wedge themselves between a havoc roast and a bag of jerky or just brave one more night on their own, they cut their losses early and went back to their own bed...

Belphegor

They didn’t have to know Belphie since Day One of being there to pick up on how hard he slept. The man was pretty much in a coma for most of the day and that included his nightly rests too. Would he even notice if they… per say… slipped into bed with him to get a little comfort from their nightmares? Surely, he’d stay asleep, right?

When they didn't see his sleeping form in the room he shared with Beel, the MC eventually found Belphie up in the attic room. His little hideaway with a plush-ass bed to boot.

They didn’t bother being quiet at all. They figured that Belphie could have stayed under for anything short of banging pots and pans in his ears so why try to mask their footsteps?

They never expected him to be awake. 😰

The moment they lifted the covers, Belphie struck like some kind of blanket crocodile! He grabbed them by the waist and dragged them into the spot of the bed right under him with a impish grin on his face.

Turns out they weren't the only ones having sleeping problems that night and as they felt the full weight of his worn out body settle in nicely up against theirs they knew that maybe, finally, they'd get a good night's sleep… 🤭

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me requests #obey me scenarios

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wordsnstuff · 3 years

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10 Mistakes to Avoid When Writing About Mental Illness

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Reinforcing Stereotypes

This goes without saying, but neurodivergent people (and characters) each experience and cope with their mental illnesses differently. Schizophrenia is not simply hallucinations. Depression is not simply feeling suicidal. Anxiety is not simply consistent fear or unease. Your character, depending on what causes/triggers their symptoms, will present their mental illnesses differently, both on the inside and outside. A person’s experience of mental illness is affected by their environment, their background, their priorities, their personality, and their other struggles. Reflect this in their story, rather than reading a long list of general symptoms and checking them off in your draft.

1 Symptom Sally

Mental illness affects every aspect of an individual’s life. It’s more complicated and far-reaching than simply “having a harder time than everyone else”. Depression, for instance, is frequently portrayed with an acute emphasis on the symptoms of fatigue, lack of motivation, and sadness. However, depression has a lot of symptoms that many aren’t aware are connected to the illness, such as executive dysfunction, irritability, and sickness. Even those with a general diagnosis of a mental illness aren’t going to have that diagnosis just because they feel sad a lot of the time. There must be more, and it must be shown.

Romanticizing Suicide

There’s a delicate balance between depicting the reality and gravity of suicidal thoughts/ideation and making it sound appealing. If you’re reading a story, narrated by a character who has suicidal tendencies, it’s inevitable that their thought process will justify or rationalize those thoughts. Approach this with care, and remember that as a writer, you have influence over your readers (whether intentionally or not), and you should prioritize the responsibility you have to avoid romanticizing suicide over the task of portraying it accurately. Some things simply hurt more than they help.

Generalizing Experiences

Mental illness is inconsistent. Some people display two or three symptoms that are easily recognized, but some experience symptoms most don’t even associate with those illnesses at all. For example, generalized anxiety disorder can present in individuals with a more physically debilitating set of effects, rather than primarily manifesting in feelings of fear or unease. Yes, anxiety is the state of being anxious, but it can also be sensory overload, executive dysfunction, flu-like illness, and fatigue. Every mental illness is unique to the individual who struggles with it, so be aware that your characters should be representing that reality as well.

Ignoring Coping Mechanisms

Most people who have a mental illness that has progressed to the point of seeking a diagnosis and perhaps treatment have established various levels of coping mechanisms. These can be things like substance abuse or self harm, but they can also be more subtle, like hyper-fixation on media they like or excessive reliance on friends or family. If you’re going to write a character with a mental illness, you should know what they have to do to get through the day. What exercises have they adopted to adapt to their situation? What effect have these mechanisms had on their lifestyle and relationships?

Illnesses Having No Effect On Relationships

Mental illness, especially after having struggled with them for a long period, affects who we are, how we behave and interact, and changes our priorities and thought process. It’s inevitable that it will impact our relationships with other people. In order to accurately depict this experience, you have to also know the characters on the other side, who are maintaining a relationship with your neurodivergent character. What are their thoughts on mental health? How well do they understand what your character is experiencing? Are they more likely to want to be there for or distance themselves from the character because of their mental illness? Strain on relationships can be a very distinct part of a neurodivergent person’s experience with mental illness, and it’s important to represent that. The stigma is still very real and shows up regularly, even in little ways, and in a more accommodating world.

Extreme Cases Only

Some people experience mental illness on a chronic level, others do not. There’s Seasonal Affective Disorder, which tends to only present symptoms in certain periods of the year for various reasons, for example. It could be classified as a “less severe” form of depression, and it’s very common. Not all depression is the same, and it doesn’t always result in severe cases of suicidal ideation or self harm. If you only depict characters in the most extreme cases, who experience their symptoms at the highest level at all times, you may be reinforcing stereotypes about neurodivergence that have taken decades to dismantle. Not everyone with mental illness has an extreme case, and pretending they do can reinforce the idea that all neurodivergent people are “crazy”.

Good Days vs. Bad Days

Neurodivergent individuals usually experience their symptoms on a wide spectrum of severity. There are good and bad days, and everything in between. Sure, some days, one may experience virtually no symptoms and be very happy and productive, and be totally unable to maintain their composure on others. However, the majority of the time is occupied by a middle ground. Days where a person isn’t constantly on the verge of a panic attack, but they struggle to accomplish their typical agenda, and they feel a variety of symptoms at noticeable, but more manageable level. Symptoms can also intensify steadily and endure for variable periods of time.

Curing Mental Illness With Romance

Let me say this clearly, and insist you don’t argue: mental illness cannot be cured by a relationship. I admit that new relationships or positive attention can offset symptoms, but if a character’s mental illness (such as depression or anxiety) miraculously resolves because a new partner comes into their life, they either weren’t mentally ill in the first place, or you have misunderstood mental illness. There can be months or even years where someone can go without experiencing their symptoms at a noticeable level, but they will always be neurodivergent, and a new partner isn’t going to change that. That portrayal minimizes the experience of mental illness and trivializes symptoms people suffer with every single day. Do not do this. Please. Just don’t. You can say your character has prolonged period of sadness, but you cannot slap the word “depression” on them, then have all their symptoms disappear because they’ve got a hot date.

Not Every Illness Is Caused By Trauma

This is simply a point of knowledge more writers should have a grasp of. Mental illness can be caused by genetics, chemical imbalances, deficiencies, severe and prolonged stress, longterm health conditions, social isolation or loneliness, etc. It’s natural that in a fictional story where mental illness may be an important aspect, that trauma is one of the more sensational causes to apply to your character, but if you have a cast with diverse experiences of neurodivergence, it’s unlikely that all of them will have a basis in trauma. Neurodivergence is not a one-size-fits-all.

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mearcatsreturns · 3 years

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Okay, so you KNOW I'm now inevitably forced to ask for the actual fic prompt of Ivan trying to give his boss romantic advice, casual-like. (No need to confine yourself to 100 words. I mean what.)

I thought I could just write a thousand words of jokes, but then all these fools came and had the audacity to put feelings up in here. *Ivan voice* Disgusting.

Initially I was going to have this all as one chapter, but it was getting crazy long and I wanted to publish it tonight, so you get chapter 1 of 2, with the rest to follow in the next day or two.

Without further ado, Ivan, Interrupted:

Looking back, he should have seen the signs. The Sun Summoner is trouble and has been from day one.

He called that one, at least.

It’s not his fault. How is he supposed to recognize the stupidity of heterosexuals? He and Fedyor fell in love as young teens and haven’t parted in anger since. They look out for each other and try to spoil each other in all the small ways the other enjoys.

The General and Alina Starkov are a different story.

&&&

Ivan is there when the oprichniki drag Alina into General Kirigan’s tent in Kribirsk. She looks all for the world like the otkazat’sya he’s fought near the border of Shu Han. He can’t hold it against her, though; he knows better than anyone that appearances can deceive.

What he can hold against her is her denial. Even after twice showing that she can indeed summon sunlight, the little fool somehow believes she’s not Grisha. General Kirigan, a human amplifier and probably the most powerful Grisha on the planet, touches her and confirms it, and she still clings to her past. Ivan can’t understand why someone would want to deny something so intrinsic.

More worryingly, he sees his commander’s face as he tries to figure out the Starkov girl. It’s not a look he’s ever seen on Kirigan’s face, and it fills him with dread. The bemusement at her reply to his questioning about what she is turns to something...joyous and darkly yearning, in the General’s understated way.

People consider Ivan stoic and difficult to read, but he learned from the best, and his boss is the best.

Ivan is very discomfited to see Kirigan showing signs of experiencing emotions.

&&&

His unease only grows when Kirigan commands him and Fedyor to escort the Sun Summoner to Os Alta.

“Ivan, I need you and Fedyor to accompany Miss Starkov to the Little Palace. Make haste, and use all your formidable talents to keep harm from coming to her.”

“But the mission to West Ravka—”

“Will have to wait. Everyone in a twenty-mile radius saw her light show, and that may well include some of Ravka’s enemies. She—this—is more important than anybody knows. Keep her safe, and I’ll keep you and Fedyor off the front lines for six months.”

Ivan clears his throat.

“Yes?” Kirigan asks with a lift of his brow.

“Will you be staying, or do you need me to send word ahead that you’ll be arriving as well, sir?”

The General’s face smooths into its usual mask of power and calm. “No, I imagine I may well arrive before you all, as you’ll be taking my carriage.”

“As you say, General.”

Kirigan dismisses him, and he stomps off to find Fedyor so they can leave posthaste.

Ivan’s exasperation only grows when the Starkov tries, of all things, to stay and find some tracker friend of hers, tries to deny who she is. She even questions the General’s judgment, something not even Ivan dares to do.

(Privately, he agrees that this whole endeavor is a mistake. Alina Starkov is trouble, and he has an uncomfortable feeling that all their lives are about to change in ways no one can predict).

He hauls her into the carriage, plopping her on the seat across from the one he shares with Fedyor. Perhaps one of them ought to sit next to her to make sure she doesn’t get into any further foolishness, but Ivan’s crabby enough he wants to sit next to his husband.

Once they get out of Kribirsk and on the Vy, she settles down a bit, but she radiates nervous energy and it puts him on edge.

Fedyor, bless him, does his best to put the Sun Summoner at ease. But she’s resentful and afraid, and it irritates Ivan. He knows he should try to be understanding, but with all the fear and resentment he’s put up with from the otkazat’sya—his own family, even—he struggles to find the patience to explain why she should trust in the General and the Grisha. Nonetheless, he tries to soothe her the only way he knows how: by reminding her of the power she now holds.

Ivan’s thoughts drift to what might await them all in Os Alta, but his ruminations are interrupted by the shouts of the oprichniki warning them of a blockage in the road.

The dread he was feeling dissipates in the face of the familiar. He’s ready to fight against an ambush by Ravka’s enemies. He’s not ready to confront the existential questions Alina Starkov brings.

And fighting side-by-side with Fedyor never grows old. His blood sings, his heart pounds with the fierce excitement of a fight with his beloved at his side.

The fucking Fjerdans. Ivan hates the drüskelle for their hatred of the Grisha, and that fire burns hotter when Fedyor is hit in the leg. Fear twists in his belly as he examines Fedyor’s wound, though he claims it’s fine. Ivan, the most feared heartrender in Ravka, can’t concentrate enough to tell how many their enemies number, so he delegates it to Katya. He remembers the Summoner in the carriage, and issues a command for one of the other Grisha to protect her, but the screams fade into the background of his mind as he does his best to heal Fedyor.

Then he senses the shadows that accompany Kirigan—the reason the people mutter in fear, call him the Darkling—and the Fjerdans melt back into the wood. Shame mixes with his fear for Fedyor, and Ivan swears to himself when, after a few moments he hears the General speak to one of the Etherealki who’ve made it back to the carriage.

“Tend to the wounded. Then tell Ivan to make sure everyone gets back to Little Palace as quickly as possible and report to me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shit. He had one job, and she’s now riding off in the General’s arms.

Alina Starkov is definitely trouble.

&&&

They finally arrive back at the Little Palace late that night. Once everyone, the Grisha and the horses, are all seen to, Ivan makes his way to General Kirigan’s rooms. The oprichniki guarding the door nod at him and make way for him to knock. The General calls out in that even tone of his for Ivan to enter. He does so, anxiety and defiance mixing in his chest.

Nonetheless, Ivan is deferential. “Sir.”

Those dark eyes sweep over him from head to toe, and where there’s normally amusement or quiet affability, he’s unreadable as he is when meeting with the tsar and tsaritsa. “I see you’ve made it back. Are you well?”

“Yes, sir.” Ivan begins to sweat under the woollen collar of his kefta.

“And Fedyor?”

“Much better. He’s recovering.”

“Good,” the General says, pausing for a long, uncomfortable moment before continuing, “now, perhaps you could explain why you disregarded my clear, express orders to guard Alina.”

Alina, he notes. Not “Miss Starkov” or “the Sun Summoner.”

Ivan’s jaw tenses. “My apologies, moi soverennyi. Fedyor was shot while we were attempting to protect the carriage. I thought we’d be better able to protect her with both our powers.”

The Darkling—for that’s who he is at this moment—turns to face the windows. It’s black as pitch outside, but it wouldn’t surprise Ivan if Kirigan could see through the shadows of the night. “I don’t want excuses, Ivan. Had I not been nearby, Alina would have been lost, and Ravka would have lost its greatest hope in centuries.”

Ivan waits, knowing there’s little he can say.

Kirigan turns back. “See that it doesn’t happen again, or I will see to it that you and Fedyor are put on different assignments for the foreseeable future.”

Anger rises in his throat, but Ivan stomps it down. It will do him no favors to argue. The only thing he can do is go to bed, hold Fedyor close, and hope things settle soon. “Yes, General.”

&&&

The next day, a contingent of the Grisha accompany General Kirigan and Alina to the Big Palace. Ivan is used to walking by the General’s side, but Alina is there instead. With Fedyor still recovering in their rooms under the care of the healers, Ivan is alone, distant from the group. He feels a pang of melancholy so fierce it threatens to overwhelm him.

The Sun Summoner looks much better today than she had when he last saw her, and it seems Kirigan thinks so too. After he greets the King and Queen, he can hardly take his eyes off the girl, that same awed, wondering look in his eyes again.

Through the shadows his boss conjures, Ivan sees the way he looks at her, the way he leans over to whisper in his ear, the gesture nearly a caress. The Summoner lights up the darkness, and Ivan can’t take his eyes off the two of them. Alina Starkov smiles at Kirigan, and instead of the polite, unknowable smile he’d normally return to a courtier or even one of his rare mistresses, Kirigan looks back at her like she’s his every dream come true.

After the display is over, the King tries to bumble his way through negotiating over Alina’s training. And in front of the entire court and a good number of the Grisha,the General claims Alina. She will stay in the Little Palace with him, Kirigan states, his tone brooking no argument, not even from the sovereign ruler of Ravka.

Kirigan takes Alina’s hand and leads her away from the throne, and the two pause to speak in quiet tones. Ivan can’t hear them, but Alina’s eyes glow with admiration and the General is looking back at her with...warmth.

It’s not right, Ivan thinks, even as the General departs and the Grisha welcome Alina. This situation is getting more and more troublesome.

&&&

When Ivan arrives back in their room, he’s relieved to see Fedyor awake, though he’s lying in bed with a book. Fedyor sets the book on the bedside table and smiles at him, and Ivan feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt away.

“Why so grumpy, my love?”

“Not grumpy, Fedya. Worried.” He takes off his boots, middle of the day be damned, and climbs into the bed next to his husband.

Fedyor opens his arms, and Ivan goes to him, snuggling in and leaning his head against his shoulder. “About what, Vanya?”

He shrugs as best as he can while in his favorite person’s embrace. “The Sun Summoner is dangerous.”

“So are all of us Grisha, and even the otkazat’sya with training.”

“Not like that. I mean...I-I think General Kirigan has feelings.”

Fedyor had been running his hand through Ivan’s hair, but he pauses. “In general? Or for Alina?”

“For Alina. Fedyor, it was very strange. He looked warm and like he wanted to kiss her, in front of all those people. And then he held her hand.” The Darkling has had lovers, and Ivan is very aware of this, but he’s never seen him act this way around any of them.

With a huff that might be a laugh, Fedyor says, “He deserves a chance at love, too, especially after he’s been so good to us. He tried to help us when we were younger and more foolish.”

That’s true; Kirigan has been nothing but supportive of them when not everyone else has. He even tried to advise Ivan when he was sorting out his feelings for Fedya more than a decade ago. It hadn’t been good advice, but an attempt had been made, at least.

“He seems...lonely,” Fedyor continues.

Ivan nods. “There is no one like him, no one at his level, so who could stand beside him?”

“Maybe Alina.”

Fedyor seems to like the girl, but Ivan isn’t convinced. Is she strong enough to stand next to their leader who has done so much for not just the Grisha, but for Ivan and his beloved?

&&&

The next day, Ivan joins the rest of the Grisha for dinner. Kirigan is off doing something statecrafty and Ivan has the place of honor at his boss’ right hand, so he is ostensibly in charge of the gathering in the General’s absence.

Except he knows Alina was given the choice to sit in Kirigan’s seat in his absence, or to sit at his side were he here. Instead, the girl chose to sit with the other Etherealki. She’s there laughing with Marie and Nadia, indulging in this opulent meal provided for the Sun Summoner, because apparently their usual hearty peasant fare wasn’t good enough.

Resentment curdles in his stomach as he reads out the casualty list, staring down Alina the entire time. She looks stricken, but her concern seems to be more for the otkazat’sya than her fellow Grisha.

Something in him snaps. “Why are you here eating figs? Hmm? You should be training every waking moment to tear down the Fold.”

But when he sees her face, hurt and downcast, he feels a pang of regret for how he handled this.

Kirigan will not be pleased.

&&&

It turns out that Fedyor isn’t pleased either. He had accompanied the General to the dinner he’d gone to, as Fedyor is far more diplomatic than most of the senior Grisha. It’s because of that diplomacy and open friendliness that it takes him less than three hours to hear about Ivan’s outburst.

Ivan is sitting in his chair in front of the fire, doing his best to wind down after the day. Fedyor enters the room, closing the door behind him.

“How was dinner and politics?”

Fedyor scowls at him, and his heart sinks. “Don’t try to be cute and solicitous. I heard about what you did to that poor girl. Badly done, Vanya, badly done.”

“Can we go back to the part about me being cute, please?” Ivan rubs his hands over his face. He and Fedyor rarely disagree, so when they do…

“No. Alina Starkov just found out days ago she’s Grisha, and she’s been pulled away from the only life she’s known, from her friends and comrades. She’s fended off the volcra, almost been murdered by the drüskelle, and has had to get used to a new training regimen for skills she barely knew she had, to say nothing of the high stakes of her every move now.”

“She’s an orphan of Keramzin. How is this not better than anything she’s ever known?”

Fedyor stops pacing for a moment. “Ivan, that’s why we should be kind. She’s never known the love of a family beyond that of the First Army. And you know what they whisper about the Grisha. We were children when we got here, and our families sent us here out of love. It was easier for us to adjust. She’s grown up her whole life hearing the lies most of the otkazat’sya believe about us. She needs time and understanding.”

“But we don’t have that much time. Zlatan is agitating in West Ravka, Fjerda is worse than ever, and Shu Han is causing as many problems as ever. Why can’t she see that unless she is at her best and soon, Ravka is in danger? The Grisha are in danger?” Ivan is furious, but more than that, he’s exhausted.

At that, Fedyor softens. “Ah, my love. You carry a heavy burden. But she’ll have to bear an even heavier one soon,” he says, coming over and placing a warm hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan reaches up, placing his hand over Fedyor’s. “I just want her to be ready.”

“She will be.”

With a sigh, Ivan pulls Fedyor into his lap, nuzzling his neck. He’s ready to make up.

“Ivan?”

“Hmm?”

“You do realize that people also have to eat in order to be able to train, don’t you?”

&&&

He knows he should, but Ivan can’t bring himself to apologize to Alina. He does try, however, to be more understanding of the enormity of what she faces, the pressure on her to succeed. He tries to be kinder, less abrupt. But he can’t change who he is.

Fortunately, General Kirigan seems more amused than anything else at Ivan’s dinner outburst. It’s a week or so later, and Kirigan is ready to dismiss Ivan for his next couple of days off. “I would tell you to enjoy your time with Fedyor, but maybe you’ll be training instead, since that’s apparently what we all must be doing every waking moment.”

Ivan shoots him a panicked look, but calms down when he catches the amusement in the General’s eyes.

“Indeed. We will train ceaselessly and closely, moi soverennyi.” Somehow, he manages to keep a straight face.

Kirigan just snorts, and Ivan is extremely disgruntled when he mutters under his breath about needing some of that kind of training of his own.

#sab #sab ff #shadow and bone #heartrender husbands #darklina #darklinadaily #darklinaweek2021 #ivan #fedyor kaminsky #the darkling #aleksander morozova #general kirigan #alina starkov #ivan x fedyor #to be clear I don't think Alina or the Darkling or straight #but I think Ivan thinks they are #my fanfic #missing moments

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light-yaers · 3 years

Text

No Saints: Chapter One

This content is explicit and is 18+

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, violence, implied effects of PTSD, death and explicit language.

Read on Ao3 here | Fic Masterpost

A/N: Hey everyone! So, after some consideration, I’ve also decided to post each No Saints chapter on individual Tumblr posts, as well as Ao3. I know some people like reading things on Tumblr and it must just seem easier if there are actual chapters uploaded to here as well. I’ll be posting them all over the next few days and then we’ll be all caught up!

This also means that I can now have a TAG LIST, so if you’d like to be notified for when Chapter Nine comes out, then please tell me and I’ll tag you when I update next.

Once again please excuse any small spelling or grammar mistakes. No beta we die like men.

Word Count - 7.3k

Chapter One

Working as a mechanic on Nevarro didn’t often gift you the visual of friendly faces, and that was no different with the Mandalorian—he never showed his face. You wouldn’t know his smile even if he decided to wake up one day without slotting Beskar all over his body.

But you knew his stance, the broadness of his shoulders, his preference for short range blasters with the safety close enough for his index finger to reach before firing at will. You didn’t really know people on Nevarro, but you knew their weapon of choice.

It was knowledge that had ended up being valuable, both to your survival, and to that of the Mandalorian.

“I’ll pay you for this information,” He offered bluntly. He never begged, nor did he show his true emotions within his modulated voice very often. The only vague emotion you’d seen him give off was anger—seething and insatiable— the first time he’d ever approached you for a repair.

“What good will this information give you?” You asked, genuinely. “I don’t know their names, this is hunter country. No one ever gives away their identity,”

“A weapon needs someone doing the firing,” He replied simply.

You agreed to his terms, partly from the initial fear that he would harm you, think you to be working against the Guild, but also from the generous sum he was willing to give you for every piece of information you passed onto him.

And thus, began a sort-of partnership that you’d never expected.

You were no saint. You knew the damage done by the goods you willingly sold to trained killers, assassins, Guild members. You saw the bodies dragged from their ships to the Guild, you saw the bounties that went out, kicking and screaming and spitting at their captors—

You saw the blood and dirt and flakes of flesh with every weapon upgrade or repair, but now, you didn’t bat an eye. It was business, it was your livelihood, and it was good money, thanks this this agreement with the Mandalorian that you’d made a while back.

Mando arrived back on Nevarro every few weeks. His condition was always subject to review; sometimes he flowed through your doors, ready for a quick exchange; other times, he took his time with it, sitting opposite you as you went through the recent repair logs, discussing the types of people that came through your doors.

Over the months, however, he always ended up sticking around for longer periods of time. Whether it was from earlier exhaustion, or the normalcy of having a conversation that didn’t end in bloodshed, you didn’t mind. He was the only constant in your life, splitting up your weeks and months when, before, honest interaction had basically been at zero.

“Are you not worried?” He asked one evening. It was late, and your shop was technically closed. You’d awoken to the subtle clicks of your entrance being lockpicked, hoisting yourself out of bed in nothing but your nightwear and grabbing the blaster you kept by your pillow.

You’d rushed to the shop front, aiming your blaster right at his chrome covered head. He’d raised his hands immediately, not once going for his own weapon. The feeling in the pit of your stomach as you lowered your weapon hadn’t been one of anxiety, but of warmth—he trusted you enough not to grab his weapon, not to even incline that he was going to shoot you.

“Worried about what?” You replied, flicking through the logbook.

“A bounty escaping, knowing that you shared this information,” You stopped flicking through the pages, freezing slightly where you sat opposite him. You sensed his sudden unease, deciding to look up directly into his visor.

“Tell me this, Mando,” You began. “What’s my name?”

He looked at you blankly, but you liked to imagine what facial expression he pulled beneath his helmet. In this moment, you imagined he was almost panicking, trying desperately to think back at what your name could be. It’d been over six months, yet names were never properly discussed. His silence proved that he’d just realised this.

“See? You don’t know it. My face is somewhat known here, sure, but my name? I try not to share it as much as you try not to show your face,” You sent him a raised brow smirk. Innately, you felt you had a responsibility to come across stronger than you looked, which is why you shoved down those subtle flickers of anxiety that arose from his question.

Sure, you had those doubts, anyone would. But living on Nevarro, doing what you did, it was an element of the job that you simply had to expect. You suspected Mando also knew that feeling well.

“You’re single-handedly keeping me in business, Mando,” You chuffed, almost sadly, but kept up an unbothered attitude. “I wasn’t going to turn this down and all these months down the line, no matter the danger, wouldn’t change that.” You ended, and you could have sworn you heard him breathe out, almost as if he was relieved that you knew these conditions from the beginning.

You kept flicking through the logbook, until you finally stumbled across a repair. “Here it is,” You perked up, shuffling yourself round so Mando could see the book over your shoulder. Your index finger grazed the page, just underneath the line he was looking for. “Repaired his blaster pistol last month. He didn’t look like a hunter, more like a scared blurrg, from what I can recall,”

“Young? Old?” Mando questioned.

“On the young side, definitely. Looked more like a runaway than anything else,” You added, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest. Usually, you divulged the weapon information of other hunters gone rogue, wanted by the Guild; assassins and thieves, or whatever other dirt washed up on Nevarro and in your shop.

This, however—you remembered him. He was young, he was scared, shaking like a newly born calf when he’d bumbled into your shop.

“That fits the bill,” Mando stated, before rising from his seat. You followed suit, making your way back round your front work desk and slotting the logbook beneath it. You tried to keep your expression blunt when you turned back to him, but you couldn’t help the wave of overthinking that landed in your brain.

You stared at him, leaning against the desk until your shoulders rose to cover your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a sigh, but evidently that was enough for you to get the Mandalorian’s attention.

“What?” He spoke harshly, in the same old modulated boom you were used to hearing. You forced yourself to stay still, trying desperately to find his eyes beneath the abyss of his dark visor, but of course it was no use.

“Don’t break into my shop next time,” You diverted your emotions. “Just knock if it’s after hours,”

Mando nodded once, the moonlight gleaming off the chrome that surrounded his face for just a second, before disappearing once more. He shuffled a leather gloved hand through his satchel for just a few seconds, before approaching you at the work desk.

Unceremoniously, he placed your pay in front of you, each credit dropping with a small ping against the metal surface.

“See you,” Mando said bluntly. You nodded in return, before the Beskar covered man left your shop swiftly, shutting your door gently on his way out. You stared at the credits disapprovingly, before going to relock the door behind him.

You forced yourself to shuffle through your pay, counting the credits so you could note them in your budget, but you furrowed your brows as you finished rounding them up. You must have counted them wrong—there were an extra five hundred credits than what you’d agreed with the Mandalorian all those months ago.

Shaking your head, you went about recounting them, only to get to the same exact outcome. Was it an honest mistake in his counting, or had he overpaid you? Tipped you, helped you, heard the way your voice had almost faltered when you’d told him he was keeping you afloat?

You were awash with a new type of conflict—somewhere between thanks and extreme anger. The thanks were certain; he’d listened, and he hadn’t needed to do that, but he’d done it anyway. The anger; this implied you owed him now. As much as you’d come to enjoy his occasional visits every few weeks, the man was still an utter mystery to you. You didn’t want him to have the option of springing up in here and asking for a favour, knowing that he’d done one for you prior.

But there was still a warmth—it came subtly and out of the blue often, when you were around him. You could have slapped yourself at how fast it came this time round, taking you by surprise and speeding your heart rate up beneath your ribs.

He’s a bounty hunter. Get over it.

You placed your usual cut in your savings bundle, in the safe by your bed, but the extra five hundred stayed out of that bag. You shuffled back into bed with no indication of tiredness flooding over you again. All you saw in the static darkness of your grimy bedroom was the outline of that damn helmet—

And the wonder of what lay beneath.

The next week and a half was long and soul-crushingly slow. You’d had about three repair requests total, completing them all in a matter of hours, not making more than a few thousand credits from the sales. Nevarro had seemed restless recently, with less hunters returning to the Guild for more pucks. Maybe it was just a slow week.

Mando arrived back in the evening again, after you closed your doors early for the weekend. The sunlight trickled over Nevarro sparsely, but that evening was particularly warm, so you decided to have some fun.

Your shop had a back courtyard, nothing major, but you’d transformed it into a mini-firing range a year or so back. You were firing a classic blaster when you heard him approach from behind you—you jumped out of your skin at the sight of him, blaster raised, defensive stance donned.

“I told you to knock, Mando,” You boomed out, clutching your heart and switching the safety on your blaster immediately. Mando raised his arms in subtle apology, but you could have sworn you saw the subtle shake of his shoulders beneath the Beskar.

“You sounded... busy,” He spoke, and you squinted at him, feeling your cheeks flushing. The bastard was laughing. He was silently giggling beneath his helmet, the only indication of his lapse of stoicism being from the tiniest movement of his chest and shoulders, almost indecipherable.

You shot him an amused scowl. “Did you—,”

“I locked it,” He replied, already knowing what you were asking. You gulped down surprise at his immediate response, turning back to your makeshift firing range and trying desperately to calm yourself down.

Now, you were a strong woman, that was no question. But the constant mystery of the last six months in Mando’s presence had provided you with more than you’d bargained for. Was it a reflex to suddenly feel invested in this guy’s life after a while? To want to know his backstory, his missions, his favourite breakfast food or blaster style?

The extra credits from your previous trade had only increased these feelings. What was it about a man in a mask? Or, more specifically, what was it about Mando?

And now, as you awkwardly struggled with the safety on a blaster you’d been firing since you were twelve fucking years old, all you could think about was the tone of his voice as he’d said I locked it.

“You shoot?” Mando questioned, moving round to stand next to you. You shot him a smirk, trying to conceal the thoughts within your head.

“I don’t just repair blasters, if that’s what you mean,” You could have cringed at how cocky you’d sounded, but it was too late.

“Show me,” He spoke. He didn’t demand it, but the way his voice arched it was as if he could make anyone do anything he said, just from the steadiness of that modulated drawl.

You did as you were told. You shook off your limbs subtly, before flicking off the safety and aiming at the targets you’d made. In flashes of green, you hit one, two, three targets with ease, right in the centre of their bullseye.

You changed it up, feeling a surge of confidence, or perhaps the want to impress this stoic man. Skilfully, you flipped the blaster in your hands until it had transferred to your other hand, firing another three times on the same targets and hitting them dead centre once more.

Your index finger clicked the safety on, before you stood in place, admiring the shots you’d fired.

“Try this one,” He said beside you, before he plucked the blaster from your hand and replaced it with this own weapon. You looked it over as it slotted into your grasp. It was heavier than yours, bigger, with a more distanced safety, probably because of the hand width that the Mandalorian possessed.

You furrowed your brows at his blaster, smiling at the way the steel glinted. It was well cared for, polished and gleaming, but slightly worn away around the trigger. Well-used. His own personalised weapon.

You raised the blaster towards the targets, all too aware of the way that chrome helmet was tilted towards you. You steadied your arm, applying just the right amount of pressure against the trigger, before it fired in quick succession—

You analysed the blast fire, the weight, the wind, fixing your trajectory upon impact with the trigger in a matter of milliseconds. When you stopped firing, overseeing the new collection of burning holes in the targets, you realised you’d hit them all dead centre again.

To your delight, or to your utter amazement, Mando let out a low, long whistle from beneath his Beskar.

“That’s a custom weapon,” He spoke afterwards, moving to stand before you. “Not many people could change their shooting style like that to fit the blast radius,” It was the closest thing to a compliment that you’d ever heard him offer.

You stayed silent as he replaced his blaster with your own once more, sheathing his weapon before his visor looked straight into your soul. It was shameful, how you realised you could probably stand there and analyse the chiselled and curved edges of his helmet for hours, how if you focused strongly, you could see him breathing beneath his heavy armour.

You forced yourself to step back, looking back towards the shop. “Right—business,” You said, heading inside immediately with Mando following on your tail.

You dropped your blaster on your work desk, grabbing the logbook and getting ready to flick through it once more, before Mando spoke up.

“I seek no information today,” He revealed. You froze, before slotting the logbook back beneath the desk slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his reason for visiting you.

“Okay,” You said, upon rising from beneath the desk once more. All of a sudden, you remembered his money—burning a hole in the safe in your room. You perked up, slapping your hands on the desk for lack of what the fuck to even do before getting round to almost scolding this man. “Then, I have a bone to pick with you,”

Mando dropped himself onto his usual stool, flicking his cape behind him and leaning back in subtle comfort. You swallowed, trying not to interpret anything from his clearly at ease behaviour, before heading to your bedroom quickly.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” He spoke up from the shop floor, and your heart skipped. Was that an attempt at a joke? At some comedy? You had to stop yourself, as you got to the floor and riffled through your safe for his overpaid credits, from allowing a warmth to spread through your gut.

You wanted to curse, as loud as you could. Had it really been that long that you were getting flustered over words from a Mandalorian? Undoubtedly the most hostile and unwelcoming people the galaxy had?

Or, was it just Mando himself that had you overthinking every sentence, every visit?

Credits secured in your fist, you made your way back out to the shop, dropping yourself opposite him and grabbing his arm suddenly, not stopping to think that this man could probably break you in half with his bare hands.

You dropped the credits in his gloved hand, sitting back as he stared at the pellets he now cradled in his palm.

“Not what we agreed,” Is all you said in explanation, picking up a tankard of water and sipping some down your throat, for lack of knowing how to cover up your neon cheeks after the exchange. The weather. It’s just the heat.

“I upped your pay,” He retorted.

“Bullshit, Mando,” You retaliated, allowing a few chuckles to escape your lips. Your face softened then, as you looked over to him, sitting awkwardly, still not knowing what to do with the returned credits. “Your money is your money, Mando. I’m fine with what we agreed,”

His fingers finally clasped around the credits, as his body went back to relax against the wall once more.

“Your shop,” Mando began. “You said I keep you in business,”

“That doesn’t mean I want more of your credits. Owning a washed-up weapons repair shop on kriffing Nevarro isn’t ideal, but neither is being a bounty hunter,”

“You’d earn more as a hunter with the way you shoot,” Mando replied instantly. You perked your brow, sending him a small smile.

“Are you saying I’m not a good weapons mechanic?”

You almost burst out laughing with the way Mando straightened himself, immediately being on edge. His fists tightened, almost as if he was suddenly overthinking if he’d insulted you or not.

“N-no,” He partially stuttered out, but you couldn’t keep your laughter contained. You burst out in giggles, overseeing his complete lack of sarcastic understanding. It was endearing; it made him appear more human.

“Joke, Mando. It was a joke,”

He relaxed after that once more, albeit more hesitantly. He went to slot the credits back in his bag placed on the floor, and as he did so, you allowed yourself to indulge. Beskar gleamed as he leant down, showing the twist of his torso and outlining strong triceps on the small amount of him that was unarmoured.

His neck was slender, compared to the size of his helmet. You wondered how the hell he wore that thing constantly. It didn’t look light, nor did you expect it to be all that comfortable.

If he saw you gawking when he rose once more, he didn’t make any indication of noticing. To avoid revealing what you’d been doing, you moved to cross your legs as a save. “So, why’re you here?” You finally asked, remembering that he had no reason to have visited you.

Mando tensed up slightly at your question, but not enough to come across as surprised. He’d already admitted to not needing information from you today.

“Habit,” He replied honestly. His one-word answer cut through you like a knife, striking your core and filling it with that warmth one again. It wasn’t often that you felt exposed, but sat opposite him, in your home, hearing him be so unapologetically honest had simply made those thoughts rise to the forefront of your mind once more.

You wanted to know him, but you also knew that asking him these things would result in nothing good.

You forced yourself to swallow down these rising wants, to push them away completely, before putting on a small smile. “That’s a funny way of saying that I’m your only friend,”

All effort to force those feelings away dissolved, as soon as you heard the low, modulated chuckles from beneath his helmet. They floated through the room, along with the image of his shaking shoulders and tight chest as his laughter tumbled to the floor.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately, knowing that it would be a noticeable blush. You grabbed your tankard, bringing it to your lips as you continued to indulge in looking at him, as he calmed down from the small burst of laughter that he allowed himself to show you.

There was something pulsing within you that you simply couldn’t contain; that want; that desire, after so long without knowing anyone on this godforsaken planet. Before you could stop yourself, words were already tumbling from your mouth.

“I don’t see many people on this planet, besides you,” You admitted. Mando slowly turned his visor to you, making it known that you had his full attention.

You immediately felt too vulnerable, resulting in you standing from your seat and heading round to your work desk, slamming the tankard down on the top. “It’s... well, it’s nice. I hope that, even if you don’t need information, you continue to come by,”

You held your breath as soon as you stopped talking, too afraid that you’d overstepped a line. Not that this transaction with him had ever been professional, but you knew Mandalorian’s were inherently focused on their job, and their job only.

When he didn’t reply, or move, or do anything, you started to panic. You played it off as best as you could, by downing the rest of the water in your tankard and averting your gaze to beneath your work desk, like you had the immediate need to start taking inventory.

Mando rose a few moments later, grabbing his satchel and placing it over his shoulder. The breath caught in your throat as he approached your desk. You almost gasped as a gloved hand reached for your forearm, dragging it out to hover in front of him.

He dropped the five hundred credits into your palm as your eyes flicked over his helmet at light speed. He stepped back, removing his grip from you and placing his visor upon your face one last time, before turning on his heels and heading for the door.

He unlocked it, but didn’t open it. You felt your pounding heartbeat as he cleared his throat.

“It is,” He let out lowly. “Nice.”

The door swooped open and shut behind him gently before you could say anything in return.

He didn’t come back the next week. You wondered if you’d scared him off, if your tiny confession of enjoying his company was too much.

You thought back to the way he’d said the word— Nice— as if it wasn’t something that was often spoken in his vocabulary. For a man of little words, you were increasingly amazed at how he managed to convey things with his body alone, being weighed down and covered up by Beskar at all times.

The credits still weighed on you. You’d given them back to him, you’d made yourself clear, but then he’d given them back and left without a trace.

You prayed to some god out there that it wasn’t a Mandalorian way of saying goodbye. From what you knew of Mandalore, which was very little, you knew they weren’t the gift giving types, but it still made you think.

Yet all that he’d done, despite the deal, the trade of information and the abrupt middle of the night awakenings, those small attempts at light-hearted banter and void visits had given you just a shred of hope.

People on Nevarro were cut-throat, you knew that better than most after making your home there for so long. That’s why this shook you to your core, sparking this unlikely partnership with someone such as Mando.

Stars, you missed him. It sounded ridiculous when you said it in your head, but you did. Contact was little to none on this planet.

You didn’t speak more than a sentence to people needing repairs. You didn’t sit down and talk, and fuck, the loneliness was something you were used to— yet six months of regular meetings, even just to trade information, had offered you a warmth you hadn’t realised you’d missed—

Until he was gone.

It wasn’t until three weeks later that you ventured out of the shop, certain that you were going mad. You hardly frequented the bar at the entrance of the city, choosing to stay safe and locked away in your small isolation inside the shop, but the absence of people was sucking you dry.

You entered the bar, making sure not to seem out of place. It was still an odd feeling, seeing people sitting around and drinking. You knew a lot of the locals— returning customers for repairs, all of which were hunters.

Perhaps there was some unspoken understanding that you weren’t to be touched, as the small nods of hunters hit you when you accidentally met their eyes. It almost made you feel known, but at the same time you hadn’t felt much since that last conversation with the Beskar clad hunter.

You were heading towards the bar when a voice rang out behind you. “Miss!” You swivelled on your heels, hitting his eyes.

It was Greef Karga. You knew him, everyone on Nevarro did. He was the Guild contact here, the one that most hunters got their pucks from for the next job.

“Karga, hello,” You replied, not politely, but not harshly. Being polite got you nowhere on Nevarro, and you knew that despite his smiles and willingness to be friendly, Karga was a snake in the grass.

“Drink?” He questioned, and you found yourself accepting his offer. You made your way to his booth, slotting yourself in opposite him. He grabbed a bottle of blue liquor from the floor by his feet, clicking at the droid behind the bar for glasses. “What brings you here? You don’t usually venture from your establishment,”

You regarded him, all too aware of the blaster on your hip for safety.

“Slow few weeks. Fancied a change of scenery,” You replied bluntly.

“Ah yes, business is slower than usual currently,” He admitted. A droid placed two shot glasses on your table, scuttling back to the bar. Karga swiped them towards him, uncorking the bottle and filling up both glasses. “But your repairs are stellar, and I hear your custom blasters are best sellers,”

He dragged a glass towards you, which you took once he’d taken his hand away. You swilled the liquid around, trying not to look too despondent.

“Parts are sparse,” You admitted. “Fewer hunters need new gear. I’m starting to think there’s someone better than me on Nevarro,”

Karga let out a coarse laugh, which you first mistook for a chesty cough. His smile was indication enough, however, of the funniness he obviously though that required.

“No, my dear, there’s no one better,” He replied. You chose to ignore him calling you dear. Opposite you he raised his glass to the sky, prompting you to do the same. “To good business in future,”

You nodded at him in response, before downing the blue liquor in one gulp. It burned as it slinked down your throat, hitting your stomach and causing a warmth to spread through your gut. Nothing like the small conversations the Mandalorian gave you, but it made you feel something— and that was in short supply around here.

Karga sighed in refreshment after slamming his glass back on the table, but his gaze fixed on something behind you as you deposited your glass back down. “Ah, Mando!” He exclaimed.

Your heart stopped.

You stayed utterly frozen in place, feeling a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline surge through you.

“That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you back for another few days at least,” Karga continued.

You tried not to let the hurt surge through you. So, he had been back since your last meeting. He’d been back, and he hadn’t come to visit. You tried to rationalise your hurt— he held no obligation to stop by the shop, he held no responsibility, yet— you wished—

You wished he would have.

“I trust you know our resident weapons mechanic,” Karga continued, gesturing to you. You forced yourself to turn round and look at him— face to face. His helmet stared at you blankly in response, and you wondered what expression he held beneath.

Maybe it was annoyance, thinking he was finally rid of a nobody mechanic from the inner city.

Maybe it was surprise, or hurt, or pain. You knew that despite the immense effort you were putting in to keep your stare blunt, he’d see right through you.

“Yes,” Mando replied after what seemed like hours. You turned back to Karga, pushing your glass to the middle of the table in dismissal.

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going,” You got up swiftly, standing in front of Mando after leaving the booth. He looked down at you, chrome visor focusing on your eyeline. You found yourself flicking your eyes from the left and right, as if you could see the placement of his eyes beneath the helmet—

Then you looked away.

You sauntered out of the bar, ignoring exclaimed farewells from Karga as you booked it out of the bar, heading straight back to the shop. Your strides were fierce, your heart pounded painfully beneath your ribs and you couldn’t stop yourself from balling your fists.

You felt like screaming, but you kept your mouth shut and your jaw tense. You felt like punching, kicking, pounding something, but you didn’t, instead opting to breathe it out as you entered your shop and slammed the door shut behind you.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You yelled at yourself to calm down, to accept that it was nothing. God forbid, you’d gotten worked up over the smallest indication of human interaction, from a man whose face you’d never fucking seen, no less.

It was stupid. You’d long grown out of enjoying fairy tales, and this wasn’t one. You were a grown woman, hyper-fixating over a six-month long dodgy deal with a bounty hunter that you didn’t fucking know— not really, anyway.

In a frenzy, you unsheathed your blaster, heading out to your courtyard. You fired at will, not stopping to aim your blaster or even try to hit the targets. When that got dull, you actually started to try—you positioned your feet parallel to your shoulders, straightening your spine and extending your neck—

You fired, hitting the targets dead centre every time, just like normal.

You fired until your trigger finger began to ache, until the incessant anger and hurt in your chest had dissipated to a low roar that you could manage in other ways—with the bottle of Coruscant whiskey that you only saved for special occasions; big deals, good months, and, evidently, to feel something other than red, hot and seething anger.

You went to sheath your blaster, when the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up—

You turned swiftly, raising your gun and keeping your eyes wide open. You faltered when you saw the familiar glint of moon rays on chrome. Mando stood in the courtyard doorway, just as he’d done the last time you’d seen him.

Your elbow buckled, dropping the blaster to your side as you kept yourself composed. You stared him down like you were unbothered to see him. You had a feeling he knew that wasn’t the case, though, and if he’d been there for a few minutes before then your incessant firing would have proven otherwise.

“Mando,” You spoke first, keeping your voice steady. “What information do you need this time?” You kept it professional, not wanting to think back about the way you’d been so blatantly vulnerable to him before. He probably thought you to be childish, over-emotional, idiotic.

You’d rather he thought you to be that, than weak.

“What were you doing with Karga?” He demanded it this time. His voice was low, lower than usual, despite the modulator. You sheathed your pistol, stepping towards him once. He didn’t move aside.

“Drinking,” You stated the obvious. You made a move to try and get past him, but a Beskar covered forearm leant up against the doorframe, stopping you even more so.

“He’s bad news,” He continued. You let out an annoyed scoff.

“I know who Karga is. Kriff—I live here,” You accidentally let your annoyance travel through your words, making it exceptionally clear that you were pissed, if it hadn’t been obvious before.

You grabbed his forearm, tugging it away from the doorframe and pushing your way inside. He let you pass eventually, watching as you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from beneath your work desk. You jumped up onto the desk, letting your legs droop over the side as you uncorked the bottle.

It was silent. You could tell he was trying to find something to say, to bring up the obvious tension, but you also got the sense that Mando didn’t often apologise.

Why should he? He didn’t promise to come back.

He hadn’t promised. You had no idea why you were so ticked off, yet there you were—seething, angry, hurt, perhaps on the brink of tears, but possibly relishing in the fact he’d come to the shop after your little encounter. You felt sick at your own feelings.

“Are you... mad at me?” He spoke finally. The breath caught in the back of your throat. His hesitation made it clear; he didn’t often delve into the workings of others. He was being kind by even asking you about this.

You felt like a dick. All of a sudden, you could see even more so that you were being incredibly irrational. Weeks of zero contact had turned you into a moron. A lonely, overthinking moron.

You glanced up at him, holding the whiskey between your thighs. You let out a sigh.

“No,” You let out. “I’m sorry. It’s been... a strange, few weeks,” You chuckled slightly after speaking, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a small gulp. “Loneliness is a disease, Mandalorian,” You added, taking another sip and slotting the bottle back between your thighs.

Mando moved from the doorway, striding towards you slowly. You stayed in place, focusing on the warmth that the whiskey provided you with. You finally looked up when he stood before you, not close enough to slot between your hips, but close enough for your knees to graze against Beskar.

He reached out for the bottle, grabbing it from between your thighs and making his way around to the main shop. You went to turn, but the leather of his gloved hand slotted itself between your jaw and your neck, pushing your gaze to the back of the shop.

“Don’t look,” He told you, warningly.

You did as you were told, all the while counting your shallow breaths as they quietly shook from within your body. You heard the subtle glug of the bottle, the drip as the liquid sloshed around within the glass, and then the bottle was being slotted back between your thighs from behind.

Mando’s arm wrapped itself around you as he made sure it was back in place, his glove grazing over the top of your thigh and skimming your waist as he retracted his arm back. You’d be lying if you didn’t relish in those small touches.

They set your skin alight, despite there being no skin-to-skin contact involved. It was the closest he’d ever come to you, allowing the gentler side of himself to appear. You’d never see him this way; guard down, a softness to his voice and his unknowing gaze.

You knew that he’d just raised his helmet to take a sip of whiskey—that was enough to make you gulp back the desires within your gut. You couldn’t believe he’d felt comfortable enough to do that around you. You hesitantly turned, waiting to see if it was allowed, but fully turned to him when he didn’t push your gaze away like before.

You swivelled on the top of the desk, bringing your legs round to droop over the other side, while Mando grabbed his usual stool and dragged it closer to you.

He sat, sighing slightly as he did so, before looking up at you sat before him.

“Solitude,” He spoke. “I prefer that word,” His voice was soft. You knew he was tired just from the way he spoke; he was exhausted.

“Solitude implies a sense of peace,” You replied, stepping carefully over your words. “Do you feel peace in your ship, all alone?”

“Do you feel peace in this shop?” He hit back with, avoiding your question completely. You were about to say no, but you stopped yourself. This shop was all you had, all you knew. Your choice of loneliness, over solitude, was an obvious indication of the way it made you feel, and you wanted to bet that Mando knew that, but—

Without this life, you didn’t know where you’d be.

“It’s all I have,” You admitted, finally. He nodded subtly, not moving his visor from your face.

“And this,” He said, gesturing to the Beskar he donned. “Is all I know. This is the Way,”

You looked down, swinging your legs back and forth for lack of what to do. You wanted to know more—you always wanted to know more about Mando, that was a given. But right now, you wanted to ask him everything.

“Is that why you stopped coming here?” The words trickled from your lips pitifully, but you had no choice but to accept that you’d spoken them.

Mando was silent for a few moments, but he made no indication of looking away from you. You wondered if, beneath the helmet, he was actually looking at you. Maybe he was zoning out, or was focused on the wall behind your head instead.

“I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break,”

There it was—that warmth. It erupted within your gut, winding its way up your spine and neck, circling down your limbs and to the spot between your legs that you always chose to ignore. You tensed up immediately, forgetting about the whiskey bottle between your thighs as the sensation only increased the wobble of your upper thighs.

“Like you said,” Mando continued, and you could have sworn that his voice sounded strained. Like he was holding back, like his body was almost forcing him to stay quiet. He stood suddenly, causing a small gasp to leave your lips involuntarily, as he strode forward to slot himself partially between your legs. “Loneliness is a disease,”

You went jelloid when a hesitant hand was placed on your thigh—

Stars, it’s been a while.

You were slowly beginning to unwind, as Mando placed his other hand on the opposing thigh, slotting himself further between your legs. As much as you wanted to speed this up, to feel skin touch skin, you didn’t know if that was actually possible for the Mandalorian.

“M-Mando,” You stuttered out, but it only made his grip tighten around your plump skin. You instinctively raised your hands to his chest, feeling the smoothness of his Beskar. “Just— wait,” You managed out, despite all of your senses not wanting him to stop what he was doing. His visor shot to your face quickly and his hands fluttered away from your thighs.

You wanted to cry— that’s not what you’d meant—

You swiped your hands across his Beskar chest plate, reaching down for his large forearms. You heard the breath hitch in the back of his throat, as a small moan escaped his modulator.

You placed his arms back on your legs slowly, but he still looked on his guard, wondering what you had to say.

“Loneliness is a disease,” You spluttered out. Your cheeks were flushed a neon red, and you could feel the rapid heartbeat erupting from beneath your ribs. “It’s— overwhelming,”

When he didn’t move or speak, you wanted to kick yourself. Had you done it again? Revealed something that was too much and reduced yourself to a vulnerable mess? For a moment, you thought Mando could smell the weakness within you, but even you didn’t realise you’d unwind this fast at the most subtle of touches from the Mandalorian.

You froze when he raised a gloved hand to pinch your chin. His thumb was firm but gentle, his other fingers curled just beneath your jaw, and his stare was unwavering.

Stars, your whole body throbbed at his touch. You wanted more, but you also didn’t want it to end as quickly as it had started, and you’d meant what you’d said— overwhelming. It was a red, hot heat that you hadn’t felt in years, it was something that you’d have to get used to again, and from the fumbling touches that Mando gave you, you felt he might be in the same boat.

His thumb slowly made its way to your mouth, gliding back and forth over your bottom lip. You were positively glowing, feeling the intimate touch of the hunter for the first time after what seemed like months of fantasy—

You’d had dreams of him, falling asleep to the image of his helmet or the way he slumped on your stool every so often, so desperate to see what lay beneath his armour.

“You’re overwhelmed?” He needlessly questioned. The way his voice trickled all over you was enough to make your body surge towards his once more. You had to stop yourself from reaching for his waistband, overcome with a hunger that you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s okay. We have time,”

With five simple words you could have collapsed to the floor right there. All too soon, his touch vanished from your skin. You leant forward has he removed himself from you, stepping back while you tried desperately to get his touch back.

The whiskey bottle between your legs slipped suddenly, toppling from its place between your thighs as you realised you’d started to open your legs wider where he’d stood between your hips. You grappled at air to try and stop it falling, but it fell from the desk—

Right into a skilful gloved hand. Mando gripped the bottle with a ferocity that you knew he’d wanted to grip you with, before stepping forward once more. He slotted the bottle between your thighs once more, but right in the nook of your upper thighs—

You shivered uncontrollably as both hands came to cradle your thighs, pushing them together to keep the bottle in place.

You watched, defeated, as he picked up his satchel from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, staring at you atop the desk when he was ready to leave.

“If I see you drinking with Karga again, I won’t be as gentle,” Despite his efforts to keep his voice strong, you heard the breathy way he spoke.

It filled you with a confidence that had disappeared as soon as he’d first placed the bottle back between your legs.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” You challenged. You couldn’t stop yourself from sending a smirk his way, and it had the desired effect—

Mando dropped his helmet to the floor as the most subtle of groans escaped his lips. He swivelled and turned, heading for the door immediately afterwards.

He opened it, letting in the cold Nevarro air. You watched as he slinked out of the door, pulling it shut from the outside—

And then there was silence. You breathed out a shaky breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding, grabbing the whiskey and taking a large gulp as you tried to regain your composure fully.

You went to bed that night utterly elated, his chrome visor appearing behind your eyes all the same.

Feel free to send things to my ask box or message me!

#din djarin x reader #no saints #no saints fic #din djarin #pedro pascal #star wars #star wars fic #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #smut and fluff #smut and angst #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut #fanfiction #ao3 #wattpad

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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A Yandere!Lucifer/Reader commission for the very lovely, very creative @pyrokittyowo, with just a couple hints of Yandere!Diavolo. I really do love writing for him, if only because he’s got all the time and resources in the world to make everyone’s life a living *hell*, and nothing better to do than put his heart into it. What else could you ask for in a man?

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: (Minor) Physical Violence, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, and Dehumanization.

Diavolo couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy feeling superior.

It was an odd sensation. He was a demon, for all intents and purposes, but it was hard to feel like one, regardless of how often he tried to do so. It was the disorientation that came from being the strongest of your kind but still living so far below the next step, more powerful than those that surrounded you but unable to reach another level, one where he’d certainly be eclipsed by monsters who didn’t carry the same regard demons did for other living, breathing creatures. Diavolo didn’t think of himself as above the average creature, but the idea would arise in his subconscious from time to time, nagging and irritating and refusing to drown until it was acknowledged, even if dismissal always followed his admission. He was strong, and he was powerful and he was capable, but he never let it affect his ego, not when doing so would only push him further away from his subjects, as it had with his father and every ruler before him. Still, he knew the limits of his control, and he was keenly aware of all the many beasts and brutes went about their never-ending lives within those limits.

With this in mind, Diavolo’s annoyance upon seeing one of his most obedient pets start to walk along the edge of that boundary was understandable.

Diavolo had always prided himself on not having to keep Lucifer on a tight leash. The man was loyal to a fault, the reason behind his dedication long-since having become more of an excuse than a binding contract. Lucifer didn’t have to be given orders, anymore, there wasn’t a need for threats of discipline or the poorly veiled warnings that’d dominated the early stages of their relationship, not when he seemed to think of paperwork and politics as a hobby to be enjoyed rather than a responsibility to be dreaded. He was useful, hell, he was one of the few people Diavolo might call an equal, but this wasn’t the time to get sentimental. Not when Lucifer’s attention seemed to wander more and more with each passing day.

Even now, he seemed distracted, his eyes only ever occasionally meeting Diavolo’s. Instead, they darted around the ballroom anxiously, first to the flute of champagne in his hand, then to the tiled floor then a nearby staircase then anything, as long as he didn’t have to linger on it for more than a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be uncomfortable during Diavolo’s parties, his guests and all their many fangs and talons caused more than enough unease for the average visitor, but it was unheard of for Lucifer to fall into a similar discontent. His feathers were beginning to ruffle unconsciously, his secondary wings already curling towards his chest, and his posture was no better, too rigid to mean anything good. If it’d been anyone else, Diavolo might’ve shrugged it off and suffered through a one-sided conversation, but it was Lucifer, his confidante, his willing servant, his friend. If something was bothering him, Diavolo was sure he wanted to know.

So, he glanced in the general direction of Lucifer’s temporary focus, clicked his tongue, and frowned knowingly. “You’d tell me if Mammon got his hands on the key to my vault again, wouldn’t you?” He asked, flatly, aiming to keep his tone as serious as possible. “I’d hate to have to find another of my treasures ‘relocated’ to the House of Lamentation, especially after the fuss it caused.”

Lucifer jumped to alertness, shoulders squaring defensively and his gaze sharpening to a glare as he stuttered out something incomprehensible, stopping to compose himself before giving a coherent response. “We had a talk about that, last time,” Lucifer assured, his fingers flexing around his glass’ neck. “He won’t try anything, this time, I’ve made sure of it. As long as he values having the same number of limbs he had this morning, I mean.”

“And I’m sure your methods were effective, as always.” Diavolo gave Lucifer a minute to flush and fluster, but he pulled his companion out of his stupor with a hearty laugh, Diavolo nudging him gently with his elbow as Lucifer took to sulking. “But something is bothering you,” He confirmed, only pausing for a brief moment to allow Lucifer the courtesy of a nod. “Might as well tell me, Luci’. You know I’m not going to let it go until you do.”

Lucifer let out a long, labored sigh, but didn’t struggle before giving in. Silently, his concentration shifted, turning towards the ballroom’s center, where assorted couples were dancing and talking and doing whatever couples chose to do when music and drinks were in abundance. It took him a second or two to settle, his eyes eventually landing on you, already in the arms of one of Lucifer’s brothers, completely unaware of the agony you were causing him.

Diavolo couldn’t say he saw Lucifer’s reasoning. If he was a pet, you were a bug, something insignificant and defenseless in the grand scheme of things. With all the trouble you got yourself into, you should’ve been caught under someone’s heel and crushed months ago, but Diavolo was never one to refuse entertainment. And yet, if he was to trust the fury suddenly smeared across Lucifer’s expression, he would’ve thought you were the most unignorable pest across the three realms. “The exchange student?” He asked, absentmindedly. “You’re not going to tell me you let a human drive you into such a state, are you?”

“It’s an… unfortunate affliction.” As Lucifer’s eyes followed you, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He twitched when you smiled, flinched when you laughed, and when you pulled away from your partner, curtsying with an unsteady grace, Lucifer’s hold on his glass grew tighter, tighter, tighter, the flute eventually cracking and splintering, shards digging into Lucifer’s gloved hand and the translucent fluid beginning to leak out. If he noticed, though, he didn’t intend to show it, only gritting his teeth and giving an explanation. “It’s… It’s annoying, when she insists on lowering herself to their standards. I love my brothers, I do, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head and scoffing, as if he was still trying to dismiss whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. “Am I supposed to watch this? It’s disgusting, it’s infuriating, it makes me want to do something unpleasant, My Lord.”

Although Diavolo doubted the sincerity of Lucifer’s declaration, he recognized that tone, that foolish, irrational anger. The awareness of power and the willingness to put it on display, the desire to use it on something smaller and weaker than himself. Diavolo felt his grin broaden, a solution to more than one of his problems arising. He could only chuckle, resting his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder as his open wounds began to drip and bleed.

“I know exactly how you feel, my friend.”

“He’s been acting strange, lately. I was just wondering if you’d noticed.”

You were no more impressive in person. When Diavolo approached you, your reactions had been so pitifully predictable, your demeanor vulnerable and unsuspecting, prey in every sense of the word. You’d been assigned to clean your homeroom after hours, a fortunate coincidence on Diavolo’s part, and he’d sent Lucifer off on some trivial, time-consuming task he wouldn’t be done with any time soon. When he finally addressed his concerns, you were all wide-eyes and parted lips, curling around the broom in your hands whenever he mentioned your companion’s name. But, if you considered Diavolo a threat, you were smart enough not to say it. A wise decision, really. He wanted this to go as smoothly as you did.

“No stranger than usual,” You said, tossing the wooden handle from hand to hand. You didn’t try to hide your anxiety. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. He’s never been normal, to me.”

Diavolo knew what you were talking about. He’d bandaged Lucifer’s hand the night before while being thoroughly educated on just how not normal the relationship between you and Lucifer happened to be. He simply pursed his lips, letting his gaze bore into you as he replied. “What do you mean? You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you, (Y/n)?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders dropping in some personal show of complacency. “I know how close you two are, but he scares me,” You admitted, your reluctance only momentary. “He loses control of himself, sometimes, I get it, but it’s not just when he’s in a rage. Ever since we made our pact, he’s been touching me more often, and saying these... these things. I can’t really explain it, but whenever he looks at me-” You stopped without warning, cutting yourself off. As if the only words you were capable of using were those you’d already convinced yourself not to speak aloud. “He’s controlling. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s like he gets off on backing me into a corner and making me beg to be left alone.”

You looked towards him when you finished, searching for any traces of sympathy you could get, and Diavolo did his best to indulge you. He was still trying to figure out how he felt about your… dynamic, with Lucifer. He understood the temptation. Even now, alone and standing in front of a man you didn’t trust, you made no effort to protect yourself, exposed to any demonic being that wandered in and helpless, despite how adamantly you insisted you weren’t. With someone as stifling as Lucifer, such negligence must’ve been intolerable. But, he wasn’t Lucifer, and for now, you were more of a distraction than a pastime. Something that needed to be dealt with promptly and played with later on.

“I can take care of that. He goes through a rebellious phase, every now and then, but it’s nothing he can’t be snapped out of.” He smiled, delicately, putting on a grin not unlike the one he’d used with your counterpart.

“But, it’ll be much easier for both of us if you lend me a hand.”

Diavolo was the only one speaking.

The conversation was tense, at first, but existent. In the cramped walls of his office, both you and Lucifer had done your best to give suitable (albeit bland) responses whenever they were called for, more Lucifer than yourself. Your voice had been smothered by Lucifer’s gaze, intense and burning into you until you were rendered quiet, and his own words becoming less and less as more of his focus was dedicated to drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair and biting at his bottom lip and growing more impatient. You’d lied to him, to get here, promised that you were going back to the House of Lamentation and insisted that you’d never think of trying to run around behind his back, which was, evidently, untrue. You weren’t sure which he found more maddening, the violation of his control or your willingness to break out of it. You weren’t sure which he’d you punish you for more violently.

It didn’t matter, honestly.

You’d have scars for both, tomorrow morning.

So consumed by your own demise, you didn’t notice when Diavolo’s voice went quiet, too, leaving the room in a tense, frigid silence, as purposeful as it was terrible. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it might as well’ve been years with the anxiety suddenly racking over your nerves. Luckily, Diavolo didn’t let it go on for very long, breaking the stillness with a crisp, defined knock to his desk, a familiar grin stretching across his lips. You rose, right on cue, suddenly more uncomfortable in your own skin than you’d ever been before. It didn’t feel any better to take your place on his side, separated from Lucifer by a mahogany desk and a small mountain of paperwork, but you were glad to be standing. It was part of a plan, and plans meant security. They meant you knew what was going to happen next.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be surprised when that security was ripped away, as fast and as carelessly as any time before.

Diavolo was supposed to confront Lucifer about his treatment of a valued exchange student. He was supposed to be professional, and strict, and move you into an empty dorm in Purgatory Hall, just to show that he could distance you from Lucifer, if he deemed it necessary. Lucifer was supposed to pout and argue and agree, and that was supposed to be it, that’s all that was supposed to happen. Still, your shock was muted as a strong arm looped around your waist, pulling you effortlessly into Diavolo’s lap, holding you there when the reflex to push yourself away and struggle took over. You threw your elbow into his chest, taking hold of his bicep and attempting to drag yourself away, but your efforts were made in vain, Diavolo only laughing and bringing his free hand up, letting it come to rest on your shoulder. A nail, a talon, really, sharp and pointed and blood-thirsty, tapped twice against your jugular, and you froze, not wanting to find out how easy it would be for him to drive them through your flesh.

Lucifer’s reaction was instantaneous. His mouth opened, something hushed and vile slipping out, and he clambered out of his chair with a shameless desperation, but haulted as soon as he was on his feet. A mix of instinct and common sense fueled him, his anger, his self-restraint. The overwhelming desire to stop someone else from putting their hands on something he so obviously considered his, but the prevailing knowledge that trying to take you back by force would only lead to hands too broken to do so. You couldn’t imagine how many times he’d been through this, with Diavolo. He certainly seemed experienced, when it came to holding himself back.

“Why?” He spat, the question blunt, but dripping with something venomous. He took a step forward, slowly, moving to edge around the obscuring desk. Diavolo didn’t stop him, his grin only turning towards a smirk as he watched Lucifer make his cautious approach. “I’m not going to let your hurt--”

“I won’t have to hurt her.” Your breath hitched in your lungs as the hand on your shoulder slipped downwards, trailing over the shape of your collarbone before trailing its way to your neck, rubbing an apologetic circle into the edge of your jaw before taking your throat in a vice-grip, not choking but ready to. You were suddenly made aware of just how small you were, compared to both men, Diavolo’s palm pressing against the length of your throat and his fingers struggling to fit without forcing your head back. You didn’t doubt a thoughtless movement or jerk too sudden would be enough to crush anything vital. “I don’t want to hurt her, but you’re not giving me a choice.” He paused, pouting, tilting his head to the side and drawing attention to just how badly you’d started to shake. “It’d be a shame if I had to do something drastic to some poor human because of your actions.”

Lucifer locked his jaw into place, his fists clenching at his sides. “I haven’t taken action, yet. If I’ve done something to offend you, I apologize, but my feelings for (Y/n) aren’t…” He bit his own tongue, running a hand through his hair, searching for a distraction that refused to make itself apparent. “She doesn’t have anything to do with us. You understand that, don’t you? (Y/n) doesn’t have anything to do with any of this.”

“I’d like to believe you.” He let out a ragged exhale, as if the thought had been weighing on him. He wasn’t the one with claws pressed against his skin, though, a thin, red line slowly forming along the side of your neck as Diavolo dragged his thumb lazily over your skin, leaving a muted, stinging pain in its wake. “I worry about you, sometimes, Lucifer. You’re so helpful, and I’d hate to lose you to some uncontrolled obsession. But, I fear you’d come to resent me if I deprived you of your vices completely.” Another squeeze, this one testing, teasing. As if you and him were in on a joke, some parody of a bastardized friendly scheme. “That’s why (Y/n) is going to fall under my protection, from now on. When I’m confident in your loyalty, you can carry on with your little courting ritual. I’ll even give you two a room in my estate, somewhere more private. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Privacy?”

Lucifer only glowered. “And if I don’t agree?”

At this, Diavolo chuckled. He chuckled, then he laughed, then he took you by the throat, lifting you off his lap and letting you sputter and cough and suffocate as he held you in place, ignoring your attempts to loosen his grip. Lucifer moved to lunge forward, to tear you away and take solace in whatever survived, but Diavolo just shook his head, something in your neck cracking as he clenched down. “I don’t take kindly to defiance. You should know that better than anyone, and you should know how little I care for being challenged. Either you get down on your knees and bow, or-” He dropped you, abruptly, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you’d gotten a decent breath in, fingers were entangled in your hair, jerking you upward and forcing a meek, pathetic whimper through your lips. You couldn’t tell whether Lucifer was concerned for your wellbeing, or jealous that he hadn’t been the one to elicit such a pitiful sound. “Or, I break your favorite toy and no one gets to play. It’d be a shame to give something so disobedient an easy way out, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make, if it means you step into line.”

He released you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look, to move, to do anything but catch your breath and hide, your face soon buried in his coat. You heard rustling, the thud of something solid hitting the wooden floor, but those noises were distant, drowned out by something dark and dominant, as overpowering as it was oppressing.

You wondered if you’d ever be able to hear something other than Diavolo’s laughter again.

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missskzbiased · 3 years

Text

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Lose You (5)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Han X OC

WC: ~ 5,3K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness (?)

Notes: This chapter is a little bit more angsty. I’d say this is the most angst of the one I’ve written until now (11 chap), from here it will take a lighter turn. Kind of.

It contains a description of an anxiety attack. Though I already warned about it, I think I should do it again. The way I described the anxiety attack and the bipolarity of MC’s mother has to do with my own experiences and none of it necessarily reflects all kinds of manifestations of those above.

Feedbacks are always appreciated.

REMINDER: I’m neither a psychologist nor a psychology student.

Updates: I’ll update it once a week [Tuesdays] because I still have to write the chapters to come and review the ones I already wrote

///

Hyunjin came into the classroom with wide steps, graceful as always, and you burst out laughing.

He waved friendly to Paris before blushing ─ flustered with your outburst ─ and averting his eyes, walking quickly to his seat as all of you waited for Professor Lee. He sat down next to Paris, making sure he didn’t look your way; eyes focusing straight ahead before Paris turned to him smiling, talking about something you didn’t pay attention.

Last night came back to your mind.

The last thing you expected when you came into your place was to see Paris and Hyunjin sitting on the couch holding ice cream pots ─ both of them with their knees to their chin, a spoon hanging from their mouth as their eyes focused on the screen ─, completely taken aback by something that happened on a movie. Therefore, after you came into your dorm complaining about your day, exhausted by your classes and your work, to witness this scene, you could only stop in your tracks, mouth agape as you watched both of them distracted.

You giggled, eyeing them before muffling your laugh with your hand, shaking your head in disbelief.

You wished you had filmed them.

You could remember clearly how Hyunjin widened his eyes when he saw you dumbfounded, holding the doorframe; his knees straightened abruptly, letting the pot fall from his hand to the floor, the spoon falling to the couch as his mouth opened and closed a bunch of times. He cursed under his breath as he picked up the pot, bashfully trying to fix his mess and avert his eyes, floundering as he mumbled, excusing himself because it was already too late and he had classes in the morning.

“—Don’t you think, Y/N?” Paris turned to you, smiling brightly, and you nodded ─ even though you didn’t hear a thing ─, frowning as you heard Hyunjin gasp, clearly surprised by your answer, making you wonder what you got yourself into this time “So that’s it! We’re going to a party this Friday” She decided and you choked, coughing to recompose yourself.

“We’re doing what?!” Hyunjin muffled a laugh, looking amused at you as you widen your eyes, surprised “You know we have to finish our project! We can’t just go partying!” You whined, making Paris roll her eyes at you as she mouthed something silently, mocking you “Hey!” You nudged her “I mean it! We have work to do!” You insisted but this time Hyunjin spoke up.

“Would you be writing something Friday night?” His face showed he knew you wouldn’t, looking at you with a smug expression that made you poke your tongue against your cheek, bothered “Exactly!” He smiled at himself, proud you didn’t answer him, taking it as a victory.

“But I would write on Saturday! So if we party on Friday it’ll disturb our work on Saturday” You retorted, making him roll his eyes “What? Not everyone is unoccupied like you! I work every day, remember?” You scoffed, and Paris sighed.

“Come on? For me?” She looked at you with puppy eyes “It’s been ages since you came to a party with me! We could even invite Han and Chan! It will be fun” her eyes twinkled as she clasped her hands, waiting for your answer.

“Okay… Why invite him though?” You tsked before muttering, resting your cheek on your hand, your elbow on the desk as you watched Mr.Lee finally arriving. Paris chuckled and shrugged before opening her notebook and looking ahead too.

“I think you two should hang out a little bit, know each other so we can make a good project! Don’t you want to ace this?” She smiled triumphantly, knowing you would never turn down a chance to ace anything. You narrowed your eyes at her, scoffing.

“You’re a sly one, I see…” She laughed, turning her attention to Mr.Lee, who was clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.

The classes didn’t have anything too different this time, few discussions now and then, some people complaining about the project… The usual. When the bell finally rang, you turned your head to Paris as you wiped everything inside your bag, watching her doing the same, ready to get up and meet up with Han.

“Do you want to eat with us?” She asked Hyunjin, a friendly smile on her face “We’ll be eating with Han today” She added, waiting for his answer. Your eyes darted to Hyunjin, who shifted his weight, an unease frown on his face. You realized he would probably be uncomfortable to come along with you considering he fought with Han.

“Maybe next time? Han mentioned he wanted to talk to us” You lied, noticing how he seemed to relax, looking in your eyes, puzzled. He probably didn’t understand why you jumped in to help him. It wasn’t really about helping him though, it was about making sure your lunch would go smoothly, a peaceful day ahead of you.

“Yeah, next time” He nodded “I’m going to meet Chan today anyway, so… Yeah” You arched your brow; sure he was lying as well. Paris didn’t seem to notice anything, so she just waved goodbye and followed you to the halls, meeting an anxious Han out there. He eyed you both, smiling awkwardly when his eyes stopped on you.

“Hey?” He said in a high pitch, making you narrow your eyes “So… You’re okay?” You tilted your head, confused, nodding to him. What the hell was that about? You three made your way to the stairs, chatting up, and you couldn’t help but notice Han was acting really weird for now. You got on the line ─ each one of you choosing something different to eat so you could share ─, before finally sitting down, looking at your friend as he focused on his food, pretending not to notice you.

“Okay, what’s the deal?” You sighed, resting your fork on the plate, the tinkling sound getting Paris and Han's attention “You’re acting weird! If this is about Hyunjin, I already know you punched him, you don’t need to hide it or whatever” He shot his brows up, clearly surprised by the reveal, but not as much as Paris.

“You did what?!” She dropped her fork on her plate, mouth agape “Why would you hit him? Can’t you be expelled or… I don’t know, I don’t understand your sports things!” Her eyes were worried and alert, unlike her usual attitude, and Han swallowed his food, weighing his words.

“You see… No, I wasn’t expelled because no one is really talking about it… I didn’t do much, it was only two punches and he didn’t make a scene either” He explained “Yeah, I know it was irresponsible, I could have lost my chance in this match, I know” He rolled his eyes before Paris could speak up “I just… When I saw you crying, I was so sure he had played you!” He looked at you, ashamed, and you snorted.

“You thought what?” Your voice was high pitched, amused by his delusional self “Han, I don’t like him! I told you a million times, for lord’s sake! I was watching him that day because I was curious, man… I told you! I don’t have a crush and I will never have a crush on Hyunjin, you have to get this on your brain” You whined, making him laugh.

“Wait! You thought Hyunjin had hurt her feelings and you just went straight to him and punched him?! Han, you could have lost your chance!” Paris scolded, far more serious than you and him. She was upset, the frown on her face made it pretty clear; her clenched jaw didn’t let much doubt either.

“She’s right! You shouldn’t even have thought about getting in a fight, in the first place! It’s ridiculous” You were fast to agree with her “What did you think? That you were going to defend my honor or something? Also, you didn’t even explain yourself! He’s thinking you were mad because of a random girl!” He frowned at this, confused.

“No, he knows exactly why I punched him” He tilted his head, a lost expression on his face “I said that he deserved it for making you cry… Chan even scolded me after this and…” He eyed Paris, unsure “And told me it was a family issue” He decided to state, searching any signs of anger on your eyes for what he just said.

You were dumbfounded.

“Wait… He knew you hit him because of me?” You asked surprised. You had a clear memory of him saying Han should have done it because he was jealous of his face. You weren’t crazy. Also, Chan knew it? If Chan scolded him, he surely was close to the fight… He even told Han it was a family issue? So why the hell he didn’t expose Hyunjin?

Then it struck you.

“I can’t believe it! He lied to me” You rested your back on the chair, arms falling to your sides as you looked taken aback “I mean, he’s a liar, okay!” Paris snorted at that, tilting her head as she looked at you, curious about what you were thinking “Hyunjin lied to me but he knew I would discover Han knew I had a family issue” You explained, your thoughts running fast around the place “So I think he lied to protect something important from me! It couldn’t be about Chan telling Han about it, because He knew one of them would talk about this sometime… It can only mean he knows it too and he was trying to hide it?” You grabbed your chin, pensive.

“Well, I don’t know if Chan talked about it with him… He talked to me in private” Han pointed out “He could be mocking me just because he’s an asshole” You considered his statement, wondering if he would do something like this.

Yeah, He would.

“I don’t think so” Paris interjected “He’s not as bad as he seems! I don’t think he would mock Han behind his back like this without a reason… It’s not like it would upset you that much either” She looked at you, and you nodded “I mean, of course, you wouldn’t like him badmouthing your friend but he didn’t insist on it, right?”

“Yeah, he just said and dropped it. It’s not like him… Usually, he likes to bug me a lot more” You agreed “So He was actually worried about me?” You gasped “What the hell?!”

“I’m saying it!” Paris whined “He’s not as bad as he seems… I think you two would get along if you weren’t so settled on hating him” She shrugged “I think he knew you would feel awkward, so he just lied to cover it up” You nodded, flabbergasted.

“I would never guess he had some decency in him” You admitted, making Paris laugh.

“So now we like him?” Han spat, mad “He’s still an asshole! He has been teasing you for years and he’s a fuckboy! He’s just being nice because… Actually, why were you together?” He asked suspiciously. You rolled your eyes. Paris chuckled, resuming to her eating, her eyes attentive on both of you as she ate.

“We have a project together” You clarified “The three of us” You pointed to Paris as well “Why are you so afraid I’m hanging out with him? Do you think I will fall for him and be crushed? It would be easier for me to crush him” You snorted but he remained serious.

“That’s probably exactly what all the girls he dumped thought too” He picked up his fork, bringing food to his mouth, averting his eyes from yours “I just don’t want you to get hurt… There are tons of guys out there for you” He said shyly. Paris hummed, like she knew something, before looking at you mischievously.

“He’s worrying too much” She assured “I think Hyunjin can be a fine guy, he just needs some love… I’m his psychologist, I would know” She joked, and you laughed along with her.

////

Paris waited for you on the couch, her notebook on her lap.

You sighed as you closed the door, expecting it to happen since you needed to do your project and could only discuss things with Paris at night, after work. She looked at you sympathetically, knowing that even though you suggested doing it like this, it would be hard on you. You sat down across her, cross-legged, dropping your bag to the floor and resting your elbows on your knees, your face burying into your hands as you let out a huff of air, tired.

“So, let’s start this shit?” You asked, raising your head to meet her eyes.

“So… I read your essay…” She began awkwardly, eyeing you worried “And I think we should begin from your… Hm…” You snorted, pitying the way she seemed concerned to hurt you. Paris had been worried about you since your outburst on Friday ─ when you explained to her a lot of your problems with your mother and your father─ and you couldn’t blame her. You weren’t the one to cry, so she was probably really concerned about it.

“You can say it, Paris” You reassured her “I have abandonment issues, I know” You chuckled. She seemed relieved that you had said it, sighing as if you took away all the weight from her shoulders, adjusting her notebook on her lap, and nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, and I think we should talk about this” She stated, looking in your eyes “So, tell me about your father” She asked, and although you found the situation amusing ─ Paris looking like a psychologist waiting for you to talk about your inner thoughts ─, you couldn’t smile when you spoke up.

“Well, He left me alone with my mother because He didn’t know how to deal with her illness…” You shrugged “My mother is bipolar and she wasn’t diagnosed correctly in the beginning… They said to us that she was depressed, so she treated her depression, and my father took care of her when she was depressed” You tightened your lips, pausing for a moment before a bitter smile took over your features “Then she got normal again… And then she got maniac” You scoffed, hand trailed to your hair; fingers sweeping it with no need, trying to dissipate the distress “She wasn’t the same woman that he met and loved” You spat, remembering clearly the way he said those words to her.

“So he couldn’t deal with her illness and abandoned you” Paris concluded, noting something down. You laughed humorlessly, head turning to the side for a moment, a habit you had when you were feeling overwhelmed.

When you needed to look away from something that bothered you.

“He abandoned us” You agreed bitterly “He left his ten years old daughter behind with a madwoman!” You raised your voice, anger filling you again before you felt your eyes stinging “He left me there to take care of her all by myself! I don’t want and I won’t forgive him!” Your hands turned into fists, your nails digging deep into your palms “He can’t just come back and say he loves me! He can’t expect me to love him back! He shouldn’t have left me behind!” Paris got silent, attentive as you got things out of your chest.

“Would you prefer if he took you with him and left your mother all by herself?” She asked; no bad intentions on her voice but it still hurt you. You chewed your lip, averting your eyes, ashamed “Is that why you think you abandoned her now?” She asked, referring to your previous rant on Friday, and your eyes darted to hers.

“It’s not that I would prefer he took me with him… I wanted… I wanted someone, okay? I wanted someone” You sighed “How did he think I felt then? She wasn’t the mother that I knew! She wasn’t loving, she was uncontrollable! She was mean, she was… She was a monster” You hid your face behind your hand, feeling the tears coming to your eyes “And then she got depressed again” You choked when you scoffed, holding down your tears as you could “Because he left us… Because she didn’t want to live without him…”

“Did she try to…” Paris didn’t dare to ask, so you shook your head.

“No, we got her on her pills again. This time the doctor knew for sure what she had, so it was a little bit better” You explained “Every time she got a little bit excited though, I thought she could be ill again at any time… We didn’t have enough to all the expenses, so we had to move out. I started to work as soon as I could, and it took all my time… School, work, and take care of her. That was all I had. That was all I was” Paris grimaced, pity written all over her face “Don’t” You said sharply.

“I know how it is to not be able to do the things you want… It’s hard to be closed up in a world you don’t want to belong” She admitted “But in the end I got someone, and I think you do too” She smiled at you, reassuringly.

“Don’t you dare say to me that my father is back and now he loves and cares for me! It’s not the same! Your mother always tried to protect you! He didn’t give a shit!” You slammed your fist against the couch, wrathful. Paris sighed, shaking her head.

“That’s not what I meant… You have Chan and me now, Y/N” She reminded, a small smile on her face “You have Han and maybe even Hyunjin…” She risked, checking your reaction. You snorted, your fingers brushing your hair again before you rested your cheek on your hand, looking at her, discouraged.

“What is it with you? Why do you want me to befriend him?” You felt gloomy, the anger fading away with the sudden change of the subject, the curiosity taking your best “You invited him to a party, you invited him to our lunch, and now you’re trying to make me think he can be our friend?” You tilted your head, widening your eyes in realization as you detached your cheeks from your palms, lifting your head “Do you like him?” You asked surprised.

“What? No!” She looked at you as if you were dumb, grimacing and moving her head backward, getting a double-chin “I think you guys should talk, okay? I read both of your essays and I just think you guys would click! Both of you have a mom issue and abandonment problems” She clarified, widening her eyes as she realized what she had just said, “Don’t tell him I said it!” She pleaded quickly.

“Oh? Does he have mom issues? What a surprise!” You sneered “That explains a lot, actually… So he’s just a needy guy who hides behind a fuckboy facade” You hummed “Disappointing but not surprising if you wanna know my opinion” You chuckled “He just keeps dumping girls around because he has some kind of abandonment issues… I can’t believe I was so curious about him for this” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not following you… Why are you so against him? ‘Cause I can’t believe you despise him so much because he’s needy and has some problems that you also have” She tightened her grip on her notebook, probably expecting you to say something mind blowing for her writing, expectant.

“It’s just that he doesn’t take responsibility! He just hurt people around him and he doesn’t want to face the consequences!” Paris narrowed her eyes, tilting her head, pensive.

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” She moved her hand, pencil hovering over the notebook, eyes focused on you, apparently following an interesting trail of thoughts in her mind. You frowned, voicing your confusion, not quite getting what she wanted from you “What you said just now. Why you don’t like him” She repeated, eyes unwavering.

“He’s irresponsible…” You repeated warily “He can’t stop hurting people around him, and he doesn’t want to face the kind of person that he is” Paris nodded, noting things down, reading those few words, again and again, going back a page and comparing something, humming in the end.

“Now tell me again why you’re hating on yourself” She asked calmly.

“I don’t hate myself” You countered right away.

“Interesting... Because my notes disagree with you” She pointed out “You clearly blame yourself for leaving your mom to come to college” She tapped her pencil twice on the page, eyeing you. You nodded, seeing no point in denying something you had verbalized to her before “I know I’m not a psychologist but as a Music Major and as a future lyricist I noticed some things about your writing and your speech… Never once you wrote you abandoned your mom to come to college but you said it twice to me” She looked like she had just discovered something incredible.

“So what?” You blurted, completely confused about what was so revealing about it.

“You also presented in detail a lot of things about your father… How he abandoned you and obviously how you hate him because of this” Your eyes lit in understanding, letting out a scoff “See? You’re also in denial” She smirked, proud of herself.

“Look, I blame myself because I don’t want to be like him… It doesn’t mean I hate myself, okay?” You spoke as if she was a kid “I never wrote that I abandoned her because I don’t like this word and—“ She interrupted you promptly.

“Because you’re in denial” She added, still proud of herself.

“I’m not in denial” You retorted, fuming “I just don’t want to be like him, so I didn’t phrase it like…” Paris eyed you knowingly and you shut your mouth, defeated “I’m in denial…” You realized, eyes widening. Great, that was all you needed! Not only you sucked but you also didn’t want to admit it.

“I know you’ll get angry now… But listen to me, okay?” Paris licked her lips, eyes analyzing you briefly before she decided to speak up again “You also said your father was irresponsible for leaving a child behind to take care of another human being… And you kinda were hurt by him… And you may think he doesn’t acknowledge his mistakes and stuff like this…” You bit your lips, nodding.

“I get it, I’m projecting my father on Hyunjin” You concluded, sighing, the conversation was making you worn out “I can’t believe it… All those years thinking he was a jerk and it turned out I’m the jerk after all” You whistle, taken aback by all your talking. You should have known it before… It was obvious you didn’t give a shit about his grades or the fact he seemed to have everything in the palm of his hands… Chan wasn’t exactly a humble boy and you were best friends with him.

“If I may say it, I think you’re not only projecting your father on him but also your self-hatred” She confessed, shifting her weight in her chair and biting her lips, clearly uncomfortable “I mean, you’re in denial, right? You also didn’t acknowledge in your essay the consequences of your acts… You said you left your mom with your father, and I know you think you’re being like him by doing it but… That was it” You looked at her in wonder, thinking about what she was saying.

“You mean I’m not facing the consequences of my acts” You decided to clarify, eyes narrowing “Just like my father” You added, scoffing. You never felt so disappointed in yourself, the shame washed over you, disgust filling every fiber of your body “I mean… I never thought I hated myself before… I work hard, I study hard, I do everything I can to be perfect and more than enough… I always thought it made me better than him” You sighed “Sometimes I thought it made me better than other people too” You confessed, embarrassed.

“I don’t think you’re like him, Y/N… I think you have to stop overlooking what you really feel” She looked at you sympathetically, eyes filled with pity “You overwork yourself and I think you do this because you can’t stand being alone with your own mind” You shut your eyes, all the things she said sinking into your mind slowly.

It hurt you.

“You’re right… I hate myself” You agreed, voice faltering. You could feel the pang in your heart, the shattering feeling that consumed you “I hate that I’m turning into someone I always despised… What is my excuse for hating him now? He abandoned my mom and so did I, Paris” You felt the tears coming to your eyes, each broken piece you tried so much to ignore and hold together falling apart “He lived his life without a care and I’m living mine now… The first chance I got to run away… I just did it… And I keep telling myself that I left her with him, that I wouldn’t leave her alone… But what if he didn’t come back, Paris?” You let the tears roll freely, the last string that held you back snapped just like this.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You curled yourself, fingers fisting your hair, pulling it as you rocked your body back and forth; heart aching on your chest like a thousand hooks were stinging and dragging it against your will. You were so determined to bring your focus back that you didn’t even hear her getting out of her chair, hand on your back startling you more than helping.

She rubbed circles there, trying to calm you down. The gentle touch was just one of the things your mind had to face right now, wild thoughts spreading everywhere, making you unable to focus on just one of them. Your mind sounded like a riot, thousands of thoughts and voices trying to make their way to your brain ─ trying to make a point ─ and you couldn’t hear any of them, although they were all you could hear right now. Somehow her voice made its way to your brain, a gentle tone in contrast with all the chaos on your mind.

The gentleness was strange.

Unwelcomed.

Like it didn’t belong there.

Like you didn’t deserve it.

“I’m a monster, Paris” You managed to say, voice cracking, fragile “I’m just like him! Just like him!” You spat, pulling your hair harder, trying to focus yourself back with the pain you felt on your scalp “I would abandon her just like him… I would leave her all by herself, Paris, all alone! And now he’s here… He’s here and he’s taking my place! He’s taking care of her and she’s forgetting me, Paris! She hates me! She thinks I’m the reason why they broke up!” You rocked your body faster, hyperventilating, your grasps for air didn’t seem enough to fill your lungs and for a moment here you felt like this was it, you were going to die.

You couldn’t discern what you were saying, what was true and what wasn’t.

You just voiced it.

Everything your mind could bring up.

You grasped for some air, desperate, one of your hands shot to your throat, groping it, trying to feel something you weren’t sure what was. Maybe you wanted to feel the air going through your throat. Maybe you wanted to make sure you were breathing; that you weren’t really suffocating, that you were going to make through it. Maybe you just wanted to feel your veins and arteries, the soft throbbing as a concrete sign that you were indeed alive, even though it felt like your heart was going to burst any second now.

“Y/N, listen to me! Listen to me” Her tone was firm but as hard as you tried to lift your head to look at her, all you could concentrate was on your heart drumming inside your chest and your lungs burning inside your thorax. You breathed deeper, harder, faster, trying the best you could to get some air, feeling suffocated. Your thoughts weren’t behind; they tried to suffocate you, giving you no space to think, no time to breath, making you unable to focus on her voice.

You were sure she was repeating it over and over again but you couldn’t hear it.

Her voice was a soft scratch in the back of your mind.

“She’s right… It was my fault! My fault!” You blurted, watching as your tears wetted your pants “I should have made him stay, Paris… I shouldn’t have let him go!” You choked on your own gasp, coughing while trying to catch your breath, your fingers leaving your throat to hold your face, nails digging into your cheek as you tried to recover some control of your mind, the pain being the only way you could think of.

Then you suddenly did it.

Your heart started to slow down, the loud bang on your head still present; your gasps started to be enough to fill your lungs, tears starting to dry on your eyes, throat hurting from your crying and grip, body trembling as you felt you could uncurl yourself, scalp hurting and head clouded.

“Breathe” She said, frightened by your outburst; watching as you embraced yourself, small on the couch “Are you better? Do you want some water? Nevermind, you’ll drink water” She got up from the couch, getting a bottle on the minibar and coming back, handling it to you “Drink, you have to calm down… Oh my god, you startled me” She sighed, relieved it had ended “Y/N… You’re not a monster for following your dreams, you know that, right? You didn’t leave her behind, she’s with your father now” She reminded you.

“What if she wasn’t?” You asked again, drinking the water eagerly “I know… I know it wasn’t my fault that he left… I’m… I mean, I was a child, I couldn’t make him stay” You sighed “I know that, It’s just… She thinks that I’m the one to blame and… Well, I took care of her all this time, Paris. I literally did everything I could, I left everything I could have behind just to take care of her… And she thinks I destroyed her life”

“She doesn’t think that” She assured promptly “Y/N, she’s ill. She’s in a crisis. Right now, when you said you were the one at fault you didn’t mean it, right?” You shook your head, and she grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it “See? You weren’t in your best state of mind and you said things that you don’t believe… Whatever she’s saying now, she doesn’t mean it”

“She… Well, she used to say that she loved me” You muttered, embarrassed “When she was okay… She said she loved me… She thanked me once” You didn’t know why you felt the urge to say it but it seemed right when Paris smiled at you, encouraging “It still doesn’t change the fact that I would leave her if I could” You sighed and her smile dropped.

“You know you would do something about it… Chan could have helped you… You could bring her to live closer, live with her… You wouldn’t leave her behind because you’re not a monster, Y/N, you never were and you will never be” She reassured, and you smiled weakly at her “I never saw a monster helping someone as you did, okay? There’s no way you’re a monster”

“I… Thank you, Paris” You said sincerely, looking at her, grateful you had her by your side, “I think I needed to hear that”

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cryde-donovan-vlogs · 4 years

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Clyde’s Livestream - 12/3/2020

[ Content Warning: illness & small mention of blood ]

Since Thanksgiving, Clyde’s mental and physical health had been on a steady decline. He was stressed. His body ached with a constant burning in his chest. Apart from small, easily digestible meals, he couldn’t maintain an appetite or find the will to eat. The most calories he would get in a day was at 2 AM when he woke up with a fire in his belly that could only be momentarily extinquished by chugging milk. Fitful sleep came in small increments.

All of this left the jock in a bad state. His skin and eyes had dulled, bags were starting to form under his lower lashes, it was a mental battle to stay engaged.

Even with the obvious signs that something was wrong, he was too stressed to figure it out. It was easier to ignore the red flags and work. He felt like a failure in nearly every other aspect of his life, this was all he had left. The channel he’d grown and built from the ground up, his biggest ongoing achievement.

Clyde felt obligated to give his fans what he promised, a strict upload and streaming schedule. He was still going to go live tonight, it would just be from the comfort of his couch in his PJ’s while swaddled in blankets. The lighting was kept low for a chill atmosphere, to secretly mask how awful he felt and looked. A bucket sat at his feet, out of frame, just in case-- he’d been feeling increasingly nauseous.

6 PM, time to go live.

The stream started just like any other before it. Mostly general chatting and memeing while watching stupid videos with his commentary. Trying to be fun and talkative for hours was draining when he felt this bad but he managed. It wasn’t until a small army of people joined his stream at once, questions and gossip at the ready like drawn swords, did everything take a turn for the worse.

Sk8FastEatAss: Bri sent meeeeeee ✨✨✨

PoggerChamp69: hey bebe said u like a boy lol ur gay?? No wonder bri broke up wit u

Taytay45: Ayyyy Bri squad! Hey that blonde from ur channel said u like a boy?? Spill siss! ☕💅

TheBigNUT: lmao is this legit? 🙄

The chat quickly got out of control. Clyde’s expression fell and his stomach churned with unease as strangers speculated his sexuality (and the legitimacy of it), current crush theories, and Bri.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

A series of texts. Sweat began to bead on his cold body. He didn’t know who they were from but he had an idea and that brought with it a sinking feeling.

Clyde flipped his phone over and dared to peek at the screen-- it wasn’t Bri, it was Bebe. Apologizing.

[Text from: Strawbebe 🍓] I’m sorry.

[Text from: Strawbebe 🍓] My stupid brain let it slip and I’m really sorry. I don’t have an excuse.

[Text from: Strawbebe 🍓] I have to go clean up what Bri left me. I’m so so so so so so sorry. 😔

Oh god. Bri had harassed Bebe and she’d let something slip while live. It was hard to focus, words messily tumbled out of his mouth as he struggled to form coherent responses to all the questions overloading the chat.

Keep cool, Donovan. This isn’t a big deal. It’s okay.

Except it wasn’t.

His vision blurred and words no longer held any meaning. Even after reading the same sentence over and over again, he had no idea what it was about. He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t actually reading. Worry about Bebe and what Bri had done to her had a stranglehold on his thoughts. Was she okay? What did Bri do? Why were people so caught up about his sexuality?

It was too much. It broke him.

A pathetic whimper of pain slipped past pursed lips as he hunched over and buried his face into his knees. His body had enough. It wanted to dispel the toxins in his body, figuratively and literally.

Clyde didn’t have the mental fortitude to keep up the façade for another second. With what little energy he had left there was enough foresight to grab the bucket so he could throw himself off-screen and let himself be sick. The viewers were spared from the sight but not the sound of retching. A sound he was sadly all too familiar with. His biggest fear, losing face while live, being sick in front of others; it triggered a spike in his anxiety. This was something he never wanted anyone to know or see and now the internet had it.

His eyes, throat, and chest burned as he pulled back after a final heave. With a pitiful sniff he wiped at his mouth. A stark smudge of red smeared over his knuckles grabbed his attention as his hand fell from his face. Fear ran through his veins like ice. He shakily checked the bucket to see more red. Blood and stomach acid.

Panic sunk its talons into the streamer. Clyde leapt to his feet and instantly regretted it. The living room spun and while his vision darkened, sending him to the floor and off-camera.

Clyde was tired. So tired.

He fought shallow breaths as his chest felt too heavy to fully inhale.

The chat went crazy staring at an empty couch after watching the streamer plummet out of sight. Clyde was left crumpled on the floor, face pressed into the carpet as he slipped into unconsciousness.

STREAM STATUS: LIVE

#live streaming : ic

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henryobsessed · 4 years

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The Widow and the Witcher Chapter 10

Summary: Will Julia make the same Mistake when Geralt makes his choice

Word Count: 2700

Warning: Angst and well I can’t call it smut - I tried but I think I will leave that for when it really counts.

Chapter 10

Geralt didn't sleep well, tossing and turning with the conversations from last night running through his mind. The Look in Julia's eyes as she said "I understand if you feel you need to go. It's your job and they need you" but her eyes betrayed her true feeling of fear, as unshed tears shimmered as she spoke. Even as they said goodnight, she had lingered in his arms seeming to not want to let go. It broken his heart closing the door and not following her back to her room. Turning for the final frustrating time Geralt sat up. He could hear Ciri's gentle deep breathing and decided to go for a ride to clear his head.

Walking out to the stables Geralt started to saddle up Rose. The beautiful horse reminded him so much of Roach that he fell into his natural compulsion to talk about his problems with her. Leaning his forehead against roses neck he spoke "What am I going to do Rose? I want to stay but I know that if I don't go more people will be killed." Sensing her friend's discomfort Rose neighed as if trying to comfort him. Pulling himself into the saddle Geralt headed off as the sun started to peek over the trees.

It had been a long day for Julia, once again she stood looking out at the garden the sun streaking through the clouds as it headed to bed. Geralt had been noticeably absent at breakfast and she had not seen him since. Even though she wanted to drop everything and go searching for him she had responsibilities. Renee sensing her friends unease came and sat near Julia, not sure what to say she just waited for her to speak.

Still staring out at the garden Julia whispered "I am going to have to let him go again, Renee. I don't want to; I want to pull rank and tell him he can't go. But then I will be in the same place I was 4 years ago. I need him to go knowing that he is supported and will be welcomed home." she shifted to look at Renee, her anxiety and fear bringing tears to her eyes. Renee seeing her friends anguish pulled her into a hug. She could not imagine having to say goodbye to Tobias especially now. She had a secret she wanted to share with Julia but in her current state, Renee felt it was not the right time.

Dinner was once again a quiet affair, Tobias was absent attending to a dispute that had arisen between two of the new servants and he was yet to return. His abilities to calm situations and help resolve conflict were a great asset to her estate especially when Julia herself was being more and more preoccupied. So, it was just the girls here tonight. Julia worried about Geralt's absence, she had an unsettling feeling that he had left already. She hoped that this was just an irrational thought that he would let them know before he left. Even so, Julia could not shake the feeling that it occupied her thoughts that she would lose him forever.

Their evening dragged by slowly, Ciri went to bed at 9 pm, the poor girl was also worried about Geralt but could not keep her eyes open, so Renee took her to bed. Julia unable to concentrate on anything just stared into the fire. Every few minutes she looked at the clock on the mantel as the hands ticked by the knot of dred tightened in her stomach. Both Tobias and Renee noticed her fretting, Julia was wringing her hands in her skirt, her eyes darting between the fire and the clock. However, no amount of attempts to engage her in conversation seem to work. At 11 pm they bid her goodnight and left hoping that Geralt was not gone but just detained somewhere.

Geralt arrived late, the house was dark, swearing himself all kinds of a fool at letting the night get so late. He first went to make sure Ciri was in bed, after making sure she was tucked in safe he went to find Julia. The library was cold the fire long put out; the healing room was dark. Realising that the only place she could be was in bed he stood at her door. It had been weeks since they had spent the night together, knowing he needed to see her, to let her know what had happened, he slipped into the room. The moon illuminated the bed, he could see that Julia's face was tear-streaked.

He hoped that it was not him that had caused the tears. Sadly, he sensed that it was more than likely his absence, and stupidity of not communicating where he was going that morning that had caused them. Slipping off his sandals and outer garments Geralt slipped into the sheets and pulled Julia into his arms.

Rather than the resistance he was expecting she turned to towards him, her hand reaching up to the side of his face. The look in her eyes was one of disbelief, then relief and then something else. Her soft hands caressing his cheek reached up behind his neck and pulled him towards her. Her lip sought his softly at first as if to determine they were truly there. Then she increased her intensity her lips opening, their tongues dancing in a heated display, desperate to find each other. Her desperation spilling into every movement of her body as she sought out his touch. Clinging to him as if he would disappear if she let go. Geralt taken by surprise by her passionate response. He let go of his resolve and responded in kind, all the anxiety of the day, the worry and indecision disappeared. Right now the only thought left was the feel of this passionate woman in his arms. All boundary's, all restraint, all disappeared, as they sort assurance, acceptance, and comfort in pleasure.

Moonlight softly caressed Geralt's face as Julia silently studied his sleeping form. When Geralt had slipped into her bed that night she had been so sure he had already left. His arms around hers had knocked down the last of her defenses. Every bit of self-restraint she had disappeared into the deep fear of losing him. However, as the haze of pleasure lifted from her brain, reality hit of what she had just done. Would he lose his respect for her now? Would she be able to forgive herself? All sense of peace she once had seemed to be replaced with a tight knot in her middle. A different fear.

It was not Geralt's fault he didn't live by the same code she did. Yes, she knew he had understood her need to take it slow, but she had never talked with him about her need to keep lovemaking as something special between a committed couple. That for her had always meant marriage. Last night had been different, her body had remembered the steps of the dance. Her mind had given up restraint and instead of the sweet lovemaking she remembered with Wilfred this had felt desperate and left her feeling hollow inside. For there was no promise of tomorrow, no certainty that he would return instead just an empty place now filling her heart. Unable to sleep, Julia feeling a need to prepare for his departure silently left the room. With an ache in her heart she moved to what she knew best, the comfort of her herbs and elixirs in the healing room.

Geralt awoke to an empty bed. The sun was just peering over the tops of the trees in the garden, a warm glow streaking across the sky. However, Geralt felt cold. Somehow, he knew even in the heat of passion that he should have stopped, but he just could not. His own need to tell her how much he wanted her, needed her, overtook his resolve. Geralt berated himself, he knew even if she didn't verbalise it how much that act was precious to her. Groaning Geralt got out of bed, he had committed to the villager that he would go with him this morning. He had every intention of talking it through with Julia when he got home but...... groaning again and running his hand over his face Geralt went in search of the one person he needed to see before he left.

Geralt found Julia in the healing room, she was seated at one of her desks, bottles, and books scattered in front of her. He walked up and placed a hand on her shoulder, she didn't shrink from his touch, but she didn't relax into it either. Pulling a chair up next to her Geralt sat down and decided small talk would be a good start "what are you researching?"

Julia didn't look up at him but spoke while she mixed the potions and read "I'm preparing your elixirs for your battle with the Bruxa. I've already put together the general healing herbs and elixirs, I have this book passed to me by my mother, it had been given to her by an old man many years ago on his death bed, it explains the Witcher's elixirs. This says you need black blood if you're going to have any defense against a Bruxa. Is that right? It says it acts like poison if she drinks your blood."

Geralt was shocked into silence. The potions and elixirs that the Witcher's used were a trade secret never shared outside the guild. The old man must have been an old Witcher who seeing Julia's mothers art of healing and not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands entrusted it to her. Responding with a shocked voice he said "Yes, that's right but you must know this book is rare. You must keep it safe and not show it to anyone else." His voice must have held some authority as it caused Julia to look up at him with surprise.

Julia already feeling upset over last night faced Geralt. She could see in his eyes, his voice when speaking about the book held an edge as if she was in trouble for even daring to read it. She responded in frustration "You are the only reason I ever looked at it or used it. It's the reason you healed as quickly as you did on arrival here Geralt" feeling cross that he would speak to her like he had, she closed the book and returned it to its hiding place. "Don't worry I won't use it again" she had already completed what he would need and the last one, black blood she had just finished.

Something was wrong; Julia had never spoken to Geralt in such a cross tone and Geralt had never spoken to Julia in such a gruff way. Sensing it had to do with last night Geralt decided to speak directly. Time was running out, and he needed to leave knowing she was going to be ok. Standing he moved to her and taking her hand silently pulled her to the bay window day bed. Had it only been weeks since he had knelt before her here declaring that he might be falling in love with her, and sharing their first kiss? It had seemed a lifetime ago, and now he needed to let her know again, but was Julia the someone he could make the ultimate commitment to? Was he ready for that?

Julia allowed herself to be led by Geralt, she sensed their time was short and even though she was cross with him she did not want to repeat history. Geralt sat turned towards her on the day bed, and taking her hand he began to explain what had happened the day before "I'm sorry I disappeared yesterday, I could not shake the information from the letter and went for an early morning ride to clear my head. By the time I could make some sense of what I needed to do I found myself in the village. Realising I needed to talk to the man I went to the tavern and the publican who was serving breakfast introduced me. The villager's son was the latest victim, his grief was fueling his resolve and desperation to find me. We talked for hours and when I realised that my mind was made up, I set about getting preparations for the trip. I went and saw the local leather smith who is making me a new set of Armor. I also went and saw the merchant who made my steal sward. He is making me a silver one. Both agreed in the urgency and said they would have them ready for me by mid-morning today. After the final preparations were made I headed back to the Tavern and had dinner with the villager as we finalised our travel plans. I didn't mean to return so late last night." Geralt's eyes pleaded with Julia to understand.

Geralt waited, knowing the next part was the hardest. He could sense Julia's discomfort. Softening his voice, he continued, "All I wanted to do was talk with you, to share what had happened and I could not find you. It became apparent that you had gone to bed. I needed to see you, to tell you why I made the decision I did. I could see you had been crying and all I wanted to do was soothe you, I....." at this point Julia stopped him reaching up a hand to his face.

Softly she spoke "I'm sorry Geralt, it was not your fault. I never set a clear boundary. I never spoke to you about what my convictions were. Last night I went to bed with such a strong sense that you were gone that when I felt your arms around me, I lost all control. I knew you were leaving. I didn't give you any signal to stop. Can you ever forgive me Geralt?" at this last statement Geralt pulled Julia into his arms and held her tight. Never in his life had he known someone to be so selfless, to hold such strong convictions, or to have such a hold over his heart. He vowed to himself at that moment if he survived this next journey, he would never leave her again. Pulling back, he leaned his forehead on hers "Yes Julia I forgive you, and will you forgive me for not protecting you? For not being strong for you as you asked me too all those months ago?" at this Julia, tears streaming down her cheeks breathed a yes.

Wiping her tears away Geralt regretfully moved away from her, he had to get moving. People were waiting for him. The following moments were filled with quite as they packed the elixirs and herbs into a travel bag. Julia organised food for his trip with Nessie and then met Geralt and Ciri in the stables. On entering the stables, she saw Ciri and Geralt in deep conversation heads lowered speaking in a hushed tone. When they were finished, they hugged and Ciri looked up and saw Julia. Julia saw the look in Ciri's eyes they echoed her own pain of saying goodbye. Handing Geralt the food Julia turned to Rose and spoke firmly to the horse "now you take good care of Geralt" the horse whinnied back in response as if to say "Of course mistress" this set the sober trio to laughing.

Geralt hugged Julia and kissed her softly on the lips. Julia then stepped back next to Ciri putting her arm around her and pulling her close as Geralt mounted. He gazed at both Julia and Ciri with a softness as he said "I love you" then nudging rose set off in a gallop towards the Village. Julia and Ciri looked after Geralt until he had disappeared from sight. The somber pair turned together and headed into the house neither speaking, but both thinking that was the first time he had ever said those three words.

Previous Chapter Nine Next Chapter Eleven

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rhetoricandlogic · 3 years

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Angelmaker by Nick Harkaway – review Nick Harkaway's second novel is a riotous fantasy involving automaton monks, East End villains and a plot to end the world. The real miracle is that it hangs together so brilliantly

Nick Harkaway is a hyphen-novelist. A tragical-comical-historical-pastoral novelist, if you like; or – more precisely in the case of this second book – a fantasy-gangster-espionage-romance novelist. The Gone-Away World, Harkaway's well-received debut, was a slightly overfilled post-apocalyptic pick-and-mix of genres. Just as blithe in its disregard of verisimilitude and generic constraint, Angelmaker flits between old-fashioned villains in London's East End and covert action in 1940s south Asia, arranging its whistlestop plot around the modern-day discovery of a weapon of mass destruction in the unlikely form of a skepful of clockwork bees. It's an ambitious, crowded, restless caper, cleverly told and utterly immune to precis.

The novel's rather dishevelled hero is Joshua Joseph Spork, son and reluctant heir of the late Mathew Spork, formerly the dandified king of the London underworld. In search of a quieter life, Joe has left his father's gangster circles behind to take up his grandfather's trade, crafting and repairing clocks and automata in a dilapidated warehouse on the Thames. Now, though, Joe has run into the usual dissatisfactions of a single Londoner in his mid-30s, and – through a mixture of genetic predisposition and sheer bad luck – has unwittingly entangled himself in the quest for an apian superweapon.

Also chasing the secret of the clockwork doomsday machine are the "Ruskinites", a sort of monastic pre-Raphaelite secret service now in the pay of the evil "Opium Khan" – an all-round pantomime villain known as Shem-Shem Tsien. And on it goes, beyond summarisation, making Don Quixote look sedentary. The octogenarian lady spy and the secret military prison, the serial killer and the guild of undertakers, the bumptious civil servants and the chairman of the Royal and Ancient..… A stingier novelist could find material here for a decade's output, but Harkaway is anything but stingy. The miracle is that it all hangs together so well.

Once or twice the wider sweep of the narrative snags on local oddities: among Harkaway's many enthusiasms is an attachment to the recherché, or just the slightly odd. So he will pause, rather breathlessly, to run through the bluffer's guide to Cartesian scepticism or the thermodynamics of free will. The word "actinic" – which seems to have something important to do with electromagnetic radiation – appears about twice too often, even for a novel as long as this one.

This is, no doubt, a hyperactive bit of storytelling, but despite all the hybridity and genre-bending, Angelmaker doesn't feel gimmicky. On the contrary, it feels agreeably old-fashioned. There is some well-managed Dickensian plotting, for one thing, including a tense scene in which the discovery of a body is presaged by a mess of misrecognised remains, and which owes a good deal to the discovery of the combusted Mr Krook in Bleak House. (On the other hand, there's also a throwaway reference to poor old "Miss Haversham", who seems destined to be abandoned by proof-readers as well as by her fiancé.)

What's more, for all the clockwork and locomotion, the thermodynamics and the Babbage technobabble, Harkaway can't be said to have hitched his bandwagon to the runaway engine of steampunk. In fact, with its lovingly hand-made "Ruskinite" technology, there's something in Angelmaker that sets it apart from steampunk's usual fetishisation of industrial Victoriana. From its frantic oscillation between plausibility and fantasy emerges an odd, unique composite that deserves its own moniker. Arts-and-crafts picaresque, perhaps.

And yet none of this quite does justice to the book. For over and above the clockwork bees, the automaton monks, the mad scientist, the Fu Manchu supervillain and the black-market army, Angelmaker turns out to be a very timely novel about belatedness. Joe, as he himself muses early on, "is the man who arrives too late. Too late for clockwork in its prime, too late to know his grandmother. Too late to be admitted to the secret places, too late to be a gentleman crook…" And it must be said that this interest in belatedness raises questions which are, for the admiring reviewer at least, a bit awkward. It's no secret that Harkaway is the son of the novelist John Le Carré. (Indeed, when The Gone-Away World was published, he wrote a very sane and self-deprecating newspaper piece about the difficulties of entering the family business.) Equally, there's no doubt that he is a very different kind of novelist. His magpie approach to genre and the unkempt exuberance of the prose build up into something so distinctive that it seems rather tactless to raise the family connection at all.

But here is Angelmaker: a novel about complicated heredities; about the relationship between a famous father and a cerebral, conflicted son; about the mythic past of the heroic rogue and the tedious present of the white-collar crook; about trying to tell a new story in a way that hasn't been exhausted and worked over by previous generations.

That's not to say that Harkaway's novel should be read with one eye on the family tree. Far from it. But it might help to direct attention to what may be the most interesting thing about Angelmaker, namely how, in the midst of all this boisterous errancy, Harkaway finds a way both to acknowledge the particular circumstances of his own writing, and to reflect on a wider contemporary sense of generational unease. "Story of my life," Joe thinks towards the end of the book: "Don't make a fuss. You don't want to be noticed. Pay on time, work to order, play by the rules. Don't misbehave. Do as you're told, and you'll be all right.

"Except I did, and I'm not."

Skilled, dependable, law-abiding: despite his background in gangland royalty, Joe is in one sense a 21st-century everyman, indebted to a previous generation, disenfranchised by a conspiratorial state.

In the end, for all its old-new, serio-comic hyphenation, Angelmaker turns out to be a solid work of modern fantasy fiction, coupling credit-crunch anxiety with an understandable nostalgia for the mythical days of "good, wholesome, old-fashioned British crime".

#nick harkaway #Angelmaker #mahreviews #long post

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newstfionline · 3 years

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Tuesday, February 2, 2021

Difficult Times for Flight Attendants (NYT) One flight attendant needed medical attention for a crippling migraine brought on by confronting a passenger who refused to wear a mask. Aviation safety officials have received dozens of confidential complaints in the past year from attendants trying to enforce mask safety rules. The reports, filed in the Aviation Safety Reporting System database, at times describe a chaotic, unhinged workplace where passengers regularly abuse airline employees. The coronavirus pandemic and political divisions of the past year have caused fear, economic pain, and social and family rifts around the country, but for airline workers, and flight attendants in particular, the unease and tension have often converged in a tiny cabin space. The tension is at a level flight attendants have not seen before, said Paul Hartshorn Jr., a veteran attendant and a spokesman for the Association of Professional Flight Attendants union. “I think we’re pretty well trained on how to handle a disruptive passenger,” said Mr. Hartshorn, 46. “What we’re not trained to do and what we shouldn’t be dealing with is large groups of passengers inciting a riot with another group of passengers [over political differences].” “It’s insane,” he added.

Fight The Man: What GameStop’s surge says about online mobs (AP) It’s a fable for our times: Small-time investors band together to take down greedy Wall Street hedge funds using the stock of a troubled video-game store. But the revolt of online stock-traders suggests much more. The internet is shifting society’s balance of power in unanticipated ways. In the world of pseudonymous internet message boards, pranks-gone-wild and logic turned upside down amid a global pandemic, revolts come in all shapes, sizes and aims. Last week they gave us the Great GameStop Stock Uprising. Who knows what this week will bring. “The internet can democratize access, upsetting power dynamics between the people and traditional institutions,” tweeted Tiffany C. Li, a law professor and tech attorney focusing on privacy and technology platform governance. With GameStop, she added in an interview Friday, the goal was to upset the interests of a few large hedge funds. “But in other places the goal can be more nefarious. Online spaces are being used to radicalize people toward extremism, to plan hate crimes and attacks,” she said. “The internet isn’t really the villain or the hero.”

Pandemic Pushes More Parents to Go All-In for Home Schooling (WSJ) As parents grow increasingly frustrated with remote learning during the pandemic, some are deciding to pull their children out of school and try teaching on their own. In North Carolina, the state’s home-school monitoring website crashed on the first day of enrollment, and more than 18,800 families filed to operate a home-school from July 1 to Jan. 22—more than double the school-year before, according to the state Division of Non-Public Education. In Connecticut, the number of students who left public schools to be home-schooled jumped fivefold this school year, to 3,500. In Nebraska, the number of home-schooled students jumped 56%, to 13,426, according to state education officials. “The vast majority [of parents] are saying, ‘We’ve been really trying to do what the schools are asking us to do, but we just can’t do this anymore,’ “ said J. Allen Weston, executive director of the National Home School Association, which has been fielding inquiries on the topic. Vanderbilt University’s Joseph Murphy, who studies home schooling, said “We are in a major shift from how we thought about teaching children and running schools for 100 years. Parents have shifted to the place where they feel they need more direct involvement and greater responsibility for what happens with their children.”

Vaccine skepticism lurks in town famous for syphilis study (AP) Lucenia Dunn spent the early days of the coronavirus pandemic encouraging people to wear masks and keep a safe distance from each other in Tuskegee, a mostly Black city where the government once used unsuspecting African American men as guinea pigs in a study of a sexually transmitted disease. Now, the onetime mayor of the town immortalized as the home of the infamous “Tuskegee syphilis study” is wary of getting inoculated against COVID-19. Among other things, she’s suspicious of the government promoting a vaccine that was developed in record time when it can’t seem to conduct adequate virus testing or consistently provide quality rural health care. “I’m not doing this vaccine right now. That doesn’t mean I’m never going to do it. But I know enough to withhold getting it until we see all that is involved,” said Dunn, who is Black. The coronavirus immunization campaign is off to a shaky start in Tuskegee and other parts of Macon County. Area leaders point to a resistance among residents spurred by a distrust of government promises and decades of failed health programs. Tuskegee is not a complete outlier. A recent survey conducted by the communications firm Edelman revealed that as of November, only 59% of people in the U.S. were willing to get vaccinated within a year with just 33% happy to do so as soon as possible. Health experts have stressed both the vaccines’ safety and efficacy.

As Biden prays for healing, Catholics clash over president’s faith (GMA) On his quest to heal a divided America, Joe Biden may first have to confront bitter division over his presidency from within his own church. Since his inauguration two weeks ago as the nation’s second Catholic president, Biden’s devout Christian faith has become a new flashpoint within the church. While millions of Catholics have celebrated the ascension of one of their own to the White House, some have been publicly questioning whether Biden should be considered a model of their faith. Many Catholic clergy and faithful are passionately fixated on Biden’s support for abortion rights, which the church staunchly opposes and considers an issue of “preeminent” importance. Biden opposes abortion as a personal matter, but wrote in his 2007 memoir that he doesn’t “have a right to impose my view on the rest of society.” One in five Americans identifies as Roman Catholic, the largest Christian denomination in the U.S., according to Pew Research Center. While the faithful have long been divided in matters of theology and politics, Catholic values aren’t exclusively red or blue.

Russia Protesters Defy Vast Police Operation as Signs of Kremlin Anxiety Mount (NYT) The Kremlin mounted Russia’s most fearsome nationwide police operation in recent memory on Sunday, seeking to overwhelm a protest movement backing the jailed opposition leader Aleksei A. Navalny that swept across the country for a second weekend in a row. But the show of force—including closed subway stations, thousands of arrests and often brutal tactics—failed to smother the unrest. By late Sunday evening in Moscow, more than 5,000 people had been detained in at least 85 cities across Russia, an activist group reported, though many were later released. Previously unseen numbers of riot police officers in black helmets, camouflage and body armor essentially locked down the center of the metropolis of 13 million people, stopping passers-by miles from the protest to check their documents and ask what they were doing outside. “I don’t understand what they’re afraid of,” a protester named Anastasia Kuzmina, a 25-year-old account manager at an advertising agency, said of the police. Referring to the peak year of Stalin’s mass repression, she added, “It’s like we’re slipping into 1937.” The large-scale police response signaled anxiety in the Kremlin over Mr. Navalny’s ability to unite Russia’s disparate critics of President Vladimir V. Putin, from nationalists to liberals to many with no particular ideology at all.

In Myanmar coup, Suu Kyi’s ouster heralds return to military rule (Washington Post) Aung San Suu Kyi defended Myanmar’s generals against genocide charges at The Hague. She praised soldiers as they unleashed artillery against ethnic minority settlements. She took only modest steps toward democratic changes that would chip away at the army’s political power. It wasn’t enough. On Monday, Myanmar’s military seized power in a coup, detaining Suu Kyi, elected ministers from her National League for Democracy (NLD) party and others in a predawn raid. Though condemned internationally for defending the military and its campaign against the Rohingya minority, the Nobel Peace Prize laureate who spent 15 years under house arrest until 2010 now finds herself again at the generals’ mercy. The coup underscored the fragility of Myanmar’s decade-old, quasi-democratic transition that many assumed, despite imperfections, would continue with Suu Kyi as head of the civilian government and still-entrenched powers for the military, led by Min Aung Hlaing. But the military was never comfortable with its enduring unpopularity and Suu Kyi’s godlike status among ordinary Burmese, analysts said, despite its role in engineering the country’s opening after half a century of isolationist rule.

Survivors of Beirut’s explosion endure psychological scars (AP) Joana Dagher lay unconscious and hemorrhaging under a pile of rubble in her apartment after the massive Beirut port blast in August, on the brink of death. She survived because of the courage of her husband who got her out, the kindness of a stranger who transported her in his damaged car and the help of her sisters during the chaos at the overwhelmed hospital. But Dagher doesn’t remember any of that: The 33-year-old mother of two lost her memory for two full months from the trauma she suffered in the explosion, including a cerebral contusion and brain lesions. “I lost my life on August 4,” Dagher said. “I lost my house, I lost my memory, I lost two friends,” she added, referring to neighbors killed in the explosion. “I lost my mental health, and so I lost everything.” The Beirut explosion, which killed more than 200 people and injured more than 6,000, caused wounds on an even wider scale on the mental health of those who lived through it. Even in a country that has seen many wars and bombings, never had so many people—tens of thousands—directly experienced the same traumatizing event at the same time. It came on top of the stress that Lebanese were already feeling from multiple crises, including an unprecedented economic meltdown, the coronavirus pandemic and a feeling of helplessness after nationwide protests against corruption that failed to achieve their goals. “There are very high levels of anxiety and worry across the population,” said Mia Atwi, psychologist and president of Embrace, an organization working on mental health awareness and support. “There is a low mood bordering on clinical depression for the majority of the population.”

#headlines #news

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caiminnent · 4 years

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your hand, my knife [kylux, rated T]

Prompt: insomnia (@badthingshappenbingo, 4/25)

Summary: On the nights his skin feels stretched thin over his bones and the voices in his head sound truer than his own, Kylo comes to Hux for comfort. It will be the downfall of them both.

Fandom: Star Wars

Tags: Post-The Last Jedi, Non-TROS Compliant, Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Non-Sexual Intimacy

3K || Also on AO3.

On the nights his skin feels stretched thin over his bones and the voices in his head sound truer than his own, he wanders.

Technically, there’s no night on a ship. It’s all cycles this and shifts that, systems built strictly to make the well-oiled machine that is the First Order even more efficient. Even the layout is designed specifically to direct rotations through the routes where they would be most valuable, not a square inch left unmanned in any given moment.

Not a square inch to fucking breathe is what that truly means.

He doesn’t realize there was purpose in his stride until he finds himself at that door. Third time this week—Hux will revoke his access again. This time for good. His palms are already sweating in his gloves at the thought of being locked out here with half a dozen officers still mulling around, their consciousnesses threatening to seep in through the cracks of his failing mental barrier—

That’s absurd. He’s the Supreme Leader. He has nothing to fear from an access panel; he could blast it into a million pieces if he so wished.

Ripping his glove off, he presses a thumb on the panel. It beeps, blinking green once before the locks disengage with a hiss that hides his sigh.

Past the narrow entrance hiding the rooms from the immediate gaze, Hux is—

Hux is sprawled across that awful couch in his robe with a datapad in hand, petting a sleeping Millicent on his lap with his other, strands of damp hair framing his face. The sight is… soft, almost, impossible to reconcile with the vicious, ruthless face of the First Order prowling the bridge. General Hux wouldn’t be caught dead looking halfway human, let alone at home.

Armitage might, though.

Unease rolls off Hux, a low wave that sends Kylo’s skin crawling. His fingers tingle with the need to soothe it away—he’s not here to leech off Hux’s comfort, only to find some of his own—but Hux would sooner throw him out than accept the peace offering. The marks around his neck, down his side that he wore like a fuck you for weeks were proof enough.

Kylo hates everything. Especially himself.

Hux lowers the datapad and slowly sits up, keeping a hand on Millicent. “Supreme Leader,” he says smoothly, nothing in his tone betraying his anxiety. “Pardon my state of undress; I wasn’t expecting company at this hour.”

Of course he wasn’t. No one dares disturb the General for anything short of an emergency during his off time—no one but Kylo.

“Don’t call me that,” he rasps, heart high in his throat. “Not here.” He never comes here as the Supreme Leader. He doesn’t even look supreme right now—in a single glove and the first clothes he’d found on his floor, cape forgotten in his hurry to get out, he feels more like a giant shit stain on the pristine rugs.

Hux’s assessing glance says as much as he scans Kylo from head to toe, trying to pinpoint what broke him this time. “Very well,” he says with a small dip of his head. “Ghosts?”

“Yes,” Kylo lies. Ghosts. Demons. Nightmares. All good reasons to excuse away why his feet won’t stop carrying him here. Simple. Dismissible.

He’s worn them thin by now, though. Hux must not be looking closely to miss how see-through they’ve become. Maybe he stopped caring about it, for all he still asks; what does the reason matter when they all mean Kylo is here to ruin his night?

Releasing a put-upon sigh, Hux glances at his datapad like it pains him to part with it. “I used to get so much work done during rest cycles.”

The knot in his stomach unfolds. “Sorry.”

Hux only rolls his eyes, stretching to the side table to put the datapad away—nearly tips his caf over before Kylo steadies the half-full mug with the Force.

Millicent jerks her head up, tail and ears prickling up as she scans the area. Hux smiles at her—a warm, lopsided little thing that takes ten years out of him, a new gleam to his eyes. Kylo is struck by an image he’s never seen: Hux half-naked in his bed, blinking sleep out of soft, blue-green eyes, his lips curling into that sweet smile for Kylo.

Pathetic.

Scratching between Millicent’s ears, who settled on Kylo as the source of curiosity, “Stop staring and go get cleaned up,” Hux says, a note of amusement lingering in his tone. He turns to Kylo and it disappears. “I’ll be a moment.”

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

Cleaning up is the part Kylo dislikes the most.

He’s not a beast, like Hux likes to insinuate often; he knows how to clean himself—but Hux has him wash with scented soaps until his skin is red and his scalp is hurting before allowing him into the bed. Punishment for all that he’s done to Hux on Crait—or power play, Hux exerting his will where he’s allowed to.

Or maybe, whispers that voice at the back of his head, he simply doesn’t want your smell on his sheets. He doesn’t want to remember that you’ve been there.

The thought cuts deeper than it has any right to.

Once he’s up to Hux’s standards, he steps out and into his old clothes—on second thought, takes the shirt off again and hides it at the bottom of the hamper for a cleaning droid to find. Hux will have a fit when he finds it neatly folded among his uniforms.

Part of him hopes Hux has already fallen asleep, so that Kylo can skip to the comfort of lying next to someone already, but the energy in the dim space is too off for that. He follows it to the bedroom, where Hux is enjoying a cigarra on the steps leading down to the full-height viewport, the pretentious bastard. The smoke detectors overhead are conspicuously passive.

Watching Hux watch the galaxy out there is far from a new experience. Kylo has seen that particular shine of red against the backdrop of stars a thousand times by now; the novelty has long worn off. The weight in his chest, the aching desire to card his fingers through that silky hair and slip the shoulder of the robe just that much lower have no place between Hux and him.

None at all.

Too tired for more games, he drops his gloves on the dresser and gets into the bed without waiting for express permission, burying himself under the plush duvet. The shower wasn’t enough to stave off the chill in his bones, nor is the wasteful warmth of Hux’s rooms. Nor will the duvet be, but Hux makes no move to even acknowledge him, let alone join him, so it will have to do.

Sleep hasn’t been a part of Kylo’s nights for quite some time. He stopped expecting it to be, trying to be content with drifting on the edge long enough to keep his head during the day. Still, irritation spikes in him when he’s drawn back from his rest, Hux’s barely considerable weight shifting the mattress underneath.

“Oh, hush,” Hux says even though Kylo didn’t make a sound, sliding under the covers. He’s dressed again, in a dark shirt that looks too big on him and matching pants. Kylo is already missing the robe. “Turn around.”

Kylo faces the viewport and closes his eyes, his body already growing lax in anticipation. No matter his words, Hux’s touch is always gentle as he combs the strands falling on Kylo’s face away, the lingering reek of smoke on his fingers sharp enough to sting.

Kylo grimaces. “Did you have to smoke the entire pack?”

The grip in his hair tightens in warning, not enough to hurt. “Do you or do you not want this, Ren?”

Kylo presses closer in answer.

Confusion and surprise rise in Hux like dust kicked off the ground, leaving a bitter taste in Kylo’s mouth. So Kylo is needy tonight, big deal. He’s not about to apologize for it. Shouldn’t Hux be glad to have more to throw in his face?

Hux carefully, almost experimentally, runs his fingers over Kylo’s scalp, through his hair, down a shoulder blade—pulls away at the shiver that elicits. Shame spreads through him, sudden and burning. Hux’s hands never really warm up, no matter the temperature of his surroundings or how long he keeps them under hot water. Poor circulation. Can’t do even that right. Weak, thin, useless—

It’s not Kylo’s thought.

Heart hammering in his chest, Kylo rolls over. Startled, Hux scuttles away, fear flashing over his face before his expression shutters into a guarded mask. The shame that coats Kylo’s insides is all his own this time.

Doing his best to pitch his voice low and soothing, “Give me your hands,” Kylo asks, extending his own with the palms up. Trustful. Open.

Hux frowns, eyes flitting down at Kylo’s hands on the duvet. “What—”

“Your hands,” Kylo repeats, trying to hold onto the thin threads of patience he’s never had for anything. He has to comfort Hux—doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how, but all his instincts are screaming at him to do something and by stars, he will. “Please.”

He doesn’t need the Force to sense the mix of distrust and curiosity oozing out of Hux as Hux cautiously places his hands on Kylo’s, allowing him to take them under the covers. Kylo tucks them against his chest and starts rubbing Hux’s wrists, palms, each finger—moving back up.

There are easier ways to do this. He could use the Force to help redirect Hux’s blood flow, no touching necessary unless Hux wanted it. He won’t ask, though. The trust Hux is—has been—placing in him is still fragile, tentative; it wouldn’t do to risk it by stirring up bad memories.

Hux’s eyes are trained where he can’t see their hands under the duvet. “What are you doing?” he asks on a low, bemused laugh.

“Warming you up,” Kylo says simply, starting on Hux’s forearms under the sleeves. The skin is smoother here, not calloused or scarred like his palms or fingertips, save for where his blade usually sits. “I hear I’m a human furnace. Might as well put it to good use.”

“Right. Can’t let your security blanket become an ice block.”

A security blanket. That’s what Hux believes himself to be. A kriffing child’s kriffing comfort toy.

Which one of them does Hux intend to insult?

Either way, Kylo’s not going to rise to the bait. “Something like that,” he says, shrugging his free shoulder. Humor drains from Hux’s face.

He makes his way down from Hux’s elbows, following the long, angular marks with his thumbs—Hux takes his hands away before he can get to the wrists. Kylo lets him, feeling oddly emptied in his guts—robbed of something he doesn’t even own.

“That’s quite enough,” Hux bites out, pulling his sleeves down sharply. “Let’s put your good work to test, shall we?”

Kylo grudgingly turns again, not bothering with the duvet. The backs of Hux’s fingers are only marginally warmer, but Kylo manages to suppress the shiver this time as they slide down his nape, between his shoulder blades, to the middle of his back and back up—like soothing an agitated animal. Soon enough, his eyes are drooping low despite himself, tension he hadn’t realized he carried slipping from his shoulders, his forehead.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” he mumbles, too boneless for more—stiffens again when his brain catches up to his mouth. Pillow talk. He’s trying to have pillow talk with Hux. As if Hux would ever tolerate that.

The hand has stilled on the curve of his spine. Kylo bites his tongue to keep from saying never mind. Hux might run this show, but he doesn’t call all the shots; Kylo can ask a stupid question without wanting to kick himself for it. He’s allowed to.

Hux takes a long breath, his touch caressing up Kylo’s body again. “Medbay,” he says on the exhale. Kylo wills himself into a statue, lest he do anything that makes Hux reconsider. “During my first years on the Finalizer—before I made it into High Command—I often had… causes, for extended stays. I couldn’t fall asleep in such an exposed, accessible place, however, nor would I accept sleeping aid for fear that I might grow dependent on them. This was a… tolerable solution, at the time.”

Kylo’s head is buzzing. Why had Hux had to spend so much time in the medbay? Do any of the personnel at the time remain on board, so that he can reward them and then banish them to a backwater planet for having touched Hux so intimately? Does Hux ever think back on those nights when he can’t sleep and wish for someone to soothe him like that?

Might Hux ever consider Kylo for the task?

The questions are like beetles in his lungs, scratching at him to get out—Hux radiating anticipation and regret behind him. Before, Kylo would push on regardless, stealing the answers from Hux’s mind if he has to, the urge to sate his curiosity winning over the risk of having Hux retreat back into his shell.

He doesn’t even remember when before was.

Swallowing hard against the words trying to crawl up, “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers. Maybe, in some far, unlikely future, Hux will tell him the full story—willingly. Maybe Hux will want to share things with him.

Until then, Kylo will hold his tongue.

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

He’s fallen asleep without intending to, he finds when he wakes up to an arm circling his waist and warm breath tickling his nape, Millicent at their feet.

He’s never felt safer in his entire life.

Closing his eyes, he allows himself to pretend, just for a bit. To imagine that this is just a regular morning in their shared quarters, nothing he hasn’t experienced before, nothing out of the ordinary. That Hux won’t be displeased to see Kylo has lingered past his welcome.

The alarm blaring from the side table shatters the dream.

For all his no-nonsense efficiency in everything, Hux wakes up slowly. Kylo can feel every shift against his back as Hux’s body resists wakefulness—sends a prayer to every deity he can think of that Hux can’t feel his heartbeat in return, evening out his breathing to feign deep sleep.

Hux’s whole body stiffens against his, that chalk-dust feeling rising again.

Instead of jerking back in horror, Hux pauses as he takes in the situation, the gears in his head turning almost audibly. He’s probably making that face, with the pinched mouth and lines cutting across his forehead. Kylo’s memorized it over countless simulations and battle plans, strategy meetings he only attended to appease the General.

Hux tends to radiate murderous intent by the end of those, though, not—not fucking contentment.

The thought sinks into his stomach like a hot stone.

The temptation to look into Hux’s mind and see for himself is overwhelming. He must be wrong. There’s no other explanation; he must be reading things wrong or—or the Force must have anchored on someone else passing in the hallway, in other quarters—hell, Millicent. Hux isn’t capable of feeling anything but contempt and dissatisfaction.

A thumb brushes against Kylo’s stomach and his heart skips a beat.

Hux pulls away. The alarm shuts off a moment later, followed by the refresher door.

Kylo rolls onto his back as if pulled in by gravity, staring at the ceiling. The room looks exactly the same as last night. As it should. He’s the one thrown off-kilter between then and now—the one with stupid, dangerous desires that will only see him dethroned, if not killed. The one that gets undone by a stray brush of skin.

Swallowing against the lump at the base of his throat, he pushes himself up and out of the bed, reaching for his boots in the corner. He doesn’t know what Hux’s morning routine entails, but Hux must want some alone time for it, to put on his uniform and his general face and the stick up his ass. Kylo’s already pushing his luck; he should leave before Hux comes back and kicks him out.

Hux appears before Kylo can get to the second boot. Kylo keeps his eyes on the task, not eager to face the General’s displeasure full-on.

Pausing in the doorway, “Oh,” Hux says mildly. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” Kylo says, trying to tug the boot up. He should’ve just used the Force and be done with it, but that would have woken Millicent up again. “I was just leaving.”

“Don’t.”

Kylo looks up sharply enough to hurt his neck—catches only a flash of Hux’s expression before Hux moves briskly past to the closet. Nothing but rows and rows of regulation clothing, jackets hanging without a speck of dust visible on them.

“Everyone is already awake,” Hux points out as he pulls out his clothes. “You will only raise heads in your… current state. My job is difficult enough without having to snuff out rumors that I’m fucking you for my position.”

Right. This is where they stand: Supreme Leader and his devious pet general. General Hux and the attack dog he’s trying to keep on a leash. Two monsters vying for power—nothing more, nothing less.

Kylo would do well to remember that.

Hux glances over his shoulder with the stack of clothes in his hands, raising a brow. “Some privacy, if you will.”

“Yeah.” Kylo nods, already picking up his gloves and the boot he’s knocked over. “Sure, of course.”

Hux watches as Kylo limps back into the main area to wait out the morning crowd, closing the door behind Kylo. All surfaces are cleared out of anything remotely personal again, the robe nowhere to be seen. If it weren’t for that ice blue couch, Kylo could have been in anyone’s rooms.

The door opens again. “And Ren?”

Kylo turns, almost tripping over his feet in his hurry.

“I’m keeping my end of the bargain,” General Hux says, nodding at the unmade bed. “Make sure to keep yours.”

#kylux #Armitage Hux #Kylo Ren #Star Wars #Bad Things Happen Bingo #finished fics #Cai does words #here we go #I've been breathing this fic for a week straight #this has been a ride #hopefully formatting won't fail me this time #your hand my knife

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littlemisssquiggles · 5 years

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RWBY Musings #80: Trust in Love: How far will Ruby’s deception go and how much will it affect her bond with Oscar?

miki-13 asked “ I remember you making a headcanon or two of Ruby getting a wolf-faunus boyfriend and well... Marrow is based on Boy who Cried Wolf, he has green hair and eyes and he wears white clothes, all which contrast Ruby's red/black hair and outfit. Not to mention the distance Ruby's lying put between her and Oscar, and possibly her team... maybe Ruby will try to find someone outside of her circle for comfort?”

explodingcarr0t asked “ From what I’ve seen of screenshots and gifs of the newest episode, it seems like Oscar is sad/disappointed when Ruby lies to Ironwood and when Ironwood gives her the relic back. I really he calls her out on that especially since Qrow told her “we’re better than that”. Part of me wants it for Rose Garden stuff and (more importantly) that team RWBYJNRO for once don’t all agree on something.”

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Squiggles Answers:

@miki-13 @explodingcarr0t

‘Sup Miki-chan! ‘Sup Carrot! Sorry for the delay in answering both of you, fam. I decided to turn my responses to your questions into a new musing post for this week since I was considering discussing my thoughts and theories on a certain moment we all know of from V7CH2 and you guys provided me more incentive to talk about it. So without further ado, let’s get into it, shall we?

[Spoilers Ahead! Nuff said!]

One thing this squiggle meister is very curious about with Ruby’s arc for V7 is just how far are the CRWBY Writers going to have her continue to be dishonest to Ironwood and his inner circle of confidantes for the sake of covering her tracks.

Because the thing about lies and half-truths is that, while they may start off small and harmless at first, eventually they start to build up after some point the more times you do it. You tell one lie to cover up the first one and then you tell another to cover up the last one and so on and so forth until before you know it, you’re sitting on a mountain of lies where you’re left unclear of what’s actually the truth anymore. And essentially you end up lying even to yourself so you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of your own deceit or worse, the potential emotional impact your duplicity has on the people you deceived. This is my concern for Ruby.

Are the lies just going to stop at her not disclosing the truth about Oz and the Relic of Knowledge to Ironwood or will there be more to come from that?

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Down, Down the Rabbit Hole

Because already Ruby has told two very significant lies. The first untruth was about Ozpin’s sudden disappearance while the second one was regarding the true status of the Relic of Knowledge in order to plug up the holes in the first lie.

As an audience member, I understood Ruby’s motives for choosing to not disclose the whole truth to the General. On one end, she probably did it out of her own slight mistrust of Ironwood given how he and the military initially treated the heroes upon their arrival in Atlas; not to mention all the odd stuff she’s heard about him regarding his disregard of the plight of the People of Mantle under his leadership.

I recognize that Ruby probably felt it best to not reveal everything they learnt back in Argus to Ironwood ---at least not yet, maybe---considering he might not be in the best frame of mind to absorb said new info especially the part about Salem’s invulnerability due to her immortality curse. I also wish to believe that another reason as to why Ruby was quick to lie about Ozpin’s sudden disappearance was due in part to her, once again, looking out for Oscar’s well-being. Ruby must’ve acknowledged Oscar’s anxiety after the General approached him and started probing him about Oz.

Not to mention that let’s not forget that the last time someone heard the truth about Salem, it didn’t exactly end very well on Oscar’s part. Qrow straight up socked Ozpin in the jaw with little regard for the physical repercussions it might have on Oscar afterwards. Same for Jaune who downright slammed Oscar against the wall at the Cotta-Arc residence spitting accusations about Ozpin in the poor kid’s face. Thus far, apart from becoming his successor, Oscar has additionally become the proverbial punching bag for all of Ozpin’s past mistakes.

So one could only imagine how Ironwood might react to the news; especially in light of his current paranoia, according to what Pietro pointed out in the first episode.

So yeah, given all that, I would say that Ruby had a solid good rationale to lie. That still doesn’t stop me from disliking it as much as the next viewer given the potential circumstances that can come from it. And that’s the point of my unease. I’m worried that Ruby may have low-key written herself into the same trap Oz once placed himself in. Sure she may have told one half-truth and one little white lie, repeating Ozpin, but who’s to say that it’ll stop just there?

As I said, once you’ve told one lie, it’s very easy for it to spin into a web of lies especially when your previous lie starts to crack and leave glaring holes in your last alibi leading to you telling more lies to cover up it up before it stirs more problems for you. This is the danger of the predicament Ruby has placed herself and the heroes in with Ironwood.

Ruby told Ironwood that Oz disappeared after the Argus train crash, correct? So at this moment, James must assume that Oscar’s problem with Oz must have something to do with his soul or something. As evidenced by the V7 Opening, Oscar is expected to be training, possibly privately with Ironwood, for this season. Ironwood also promised to work with Oscar on bringing Ozpin back.

Who’s to say that Ironwood wouldn’t start probing Oscar with questions on his predicament, hoping to hear a proper explanation from his mouth?

After all, Ruby was the one who answered on Oscar’s behalf for a problem relating to his soul. I’m sure this is going to lead into Ironwood prompting Oscar with the same said question and more in order to have Oscar’s answers correlate with what Ruby first told him.

I doubt Ruby is going to be in the same room as Oscar all the time to answer for him. I mean, she can try. Like imagine how awfully suspicious it’s going to look if Ruby always accompanied Oscar on his training lessons with Ironwood; for proclaimed morale support; only each time Ironwood asks Oscar regarding Ozpin, he’d either stammer or Ruby will jump up immediately to answer for him again.

After all, if Oscar answers incorrectly, it could potentially poke holes in Ruby’s lie which can lead to Ironwood becoming suspicious of the two and the heroes---especially in his current paranoid state. With Oscar sharing moments alone with the General, this could potentially lead to the farm boy also sharing moments with Ruby---not really for the sake of them bonding but more so that the two can correlate stories and Ruby can ensure that whatever Oscar says doesn’t contradict anything she said.

Because that’s another thing about lies, right? They have all the durability of a severed ball of yarn left to roll aimlessly on the floor. At some point, the lies will start to fall apart and unravel with the threat of the truth being exposed. We saw that clearly with what transpired back during the aftermath of Argus Limited train crash with Ozpin.

If things unravelled so quickly and heavily back then, it’s going to happen again with possibly far worse consequences for the hero team especially depending on how long they continue to withhold the truth from Ironwood. And here in lies another great concern I have going forward into the season--- how will Ruby’s deception affect her budding friendship with Oscar and how much will it dampen his overall trust in her?

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Love and Lies

Alrighty! Time to finally tackle the Mammoth Grimm in the room. Oscar was clearly NOT happy with Ruby lying to Ironwood.

Some Pineheads claimed he appeared annoyed with Ruby in that moment; hence her sort of guilty glance at him as he looked away from her.

Others said he was disappointed. For me, while I can’t exactly put a name to what Oscar’s expression meant; I’d say it’s more disappointment with a tinge of gloom rather than annoyance, in my opinion.

As a matter of fact, Oscar’s face in V7CH2 reminded me of the same depressed look me made back in V6CH4, after he had commented to Ruby about him being ‘just another one of his---meaning Ozma or Ozpin’s---lives’ only for Ruby to respond reassuringly that he was his own person. Only for the comforting moment to then be ruined by Qrow commenting dryly:

“…Don’t lie to him, Ruby. We’re better than that.”

It’s the same face. By Oscar’s impression of her, Ruby is supposed to be a better person than this. Someone who is above lies and keeping secrets from their allies, especially following their last adventure in Argus. May I remind everyone that the events of V6 took place over the course of four days with the finale and first two episodes of V7 relatively being the same day.

So technically, in terms of the RWBY timeline, it was only two days ago when Ozpin disappeared into Oscar’s mind and left the group on their own in the wilderness of Anima’s Northern coastline, eventually leading to them taking temporary refuge on Brunswick Farms.

Two days ago, the whole truth came out and the heroes were understandably very displeased with Ozpin for withholding such important information from them for so long especially the part about Salem being indestructible and Ozpin not having an actual plan to stop her; not even after all these centuries and lifetimes of fighting to keep her at bay.

Two days ago, the heroes were rightfully upset with Ozpin for keeping secrets from them especially since they were supposed to be on the same side, fighting for the same cause. What was it that Yang told Ozpin back in V6CH2?

“…Look we’re supposed to be in this together. You can trust us. We’re not going to turn on backs on you…”

…This was later followed up by the heroes turning their backs on Ozpin after the truth was forced out.

Two days ago, the heroes fed Ozpin to the dogs for choosing secrecy over trust despite the fact that they were all supposedly allies and now here were are, two days later with our gaggle of heroes pulling the same stunt that Ozpin pulled with them.

Ironwood and his Inner Circle---Penny 2.0, Winter and the Ace Ops---are allies to our heroes. It’s like what Ace Ops member: Marrow Amin said to them in the same episode.

“…We’re on the same team now…”

They’re on the same team yet one side still chose to withhold not one, but two important pieces of information from the other. The same side that just the other day called out their previous leader for pulling the same stunt they’re doing now. The same stunt that ultimately caused his isolation and placed him in the doghouse with his own team of huntsmen and huntresses.

Do you see why this is problematic?

Don’t get me wrong; narratively I’m enjoying this direction that the CRWBY Writers chose to take Ruby and Ozpin’s hero team. I’m anticipating that it will lead into the group finally understanding why Oz chose to handle things the way he did in the first place by letting them stand in his shoes for a few more episodes; eventually culminating with our heroes properly reconciling with Oz on better terms. While it doesn’t erase or excuse the prolonged impacts of his past actions and mistakes, at least this rounds the group will have a better understanding for why Oz is the way he is; y’know what I’m saying?

After all, Ozpin did explain back in V6 that the basis for his conduct was backed by experience and those experiences---good, bad and/or indifferent---moulded him into the very wise and heavily cautious man he came to be.

“…Do you really think Leo was the first? That he didn’t say those exact same words to me? I’m sorry but you have to understand that my behaviours are backed by experience. I’m not saying that I have reason to think you will betray me, I’m saying that I have reasons for the things that I do, the secrets I keep…”

And I’d like to think that by the end of V6, the heroes come to have a better relationship with Oz having gone through a somewhat similar experience that lead to them adopting the same mind-set as Oz. So story-wise, this is great as a future plot development.

However; on the flipside to this; morally---this move also makes Ruby and the heroes look like a bunch of hypocrites; sadly to point out.

It looks bad any way you spin it.

You didn’t hesitate to call out Ozpin for his deceit and put him and Oscar through the ringer because of it but here you are casually doing the exact same thing. I hope for the love of Oum that Ruby doesn’t believe that what she did was the right call.

As a matter of fact, this squiggle meister is very interested in hearing what Ruby’s validation for choosing to lie to Ironwood and their Atlesian allies is going to be; meaning that I’m curious to hear what she tells Oscar in the aftermath of V7CH2.

I think we can all assume that Oscar is definitely going to pull Ruby aside and confront her on her actions in Ironwood’s office. He’s not going to roughly accost her or anything. Like I said, I don’t think Oscar is as mad at Ruby as people believe. If anything, I’m expecting Oscar to approach Ruby very calmly about this subject and granted that she’s able to explain her reasons, he’ll be quite understandable.

This is also where I expect Ruby’s quote from the V7 Trailer to come in:

“…I’m trying to do what I think it’s best but I really can’t tell if what’s best is what’s right…”

She’ll probably say this during a talk with Oscar to help him understand where she was coming from with her decision; which Oscar will most likely respect. Like I said, if Ruby is able to help Oscar understand then he most likely will since he trusts Ruby and trusts her judgement.

Hooooooooooweeevvvvvevr…

That doesn’t meant that Oscar is going to be 100% okay with Ruby lying to the General. He’ll probably let it slide the first time on the grounds that the truth must come out at some point. Possibly before the completion of Amity Tower before it’s hauled into space and before Ironwood could make his global broadcast to all of Remnant.

The truth has to come out. Right now, Ironwood is operating only on the belief that he thinks Salem can still be stopped. He still believes there’s a chance.

I mean what’s Ironwood gonna think telling the rest of Remnant about the existence Salem is going to achieve? Does he believe it’ll rally the People of Remnant against Salem by decreasing her chances of wooing others to her side if they knew of her presence? I mean sure, that’s not a bad thought. However Ironwood is missing the major miscalculation in his plan.

Right now, as far we know, the rest of Remnant hates Atlas. Let’s not forget what Cordovin said back in V6:

“…You’re just like the rest of these Argus ingrates! This city wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for our Atlesian ancestors and what do we get in return? The entire world is ready to put a knife to our throats!”

“The General is no coward. Atlas is strong! If all the kingdoms plan to make us our enemy then so be it! Atlas will prevail!”

If that wasn’t a huge red flag and a mega foreshadow for the spark of a second Great War with the remaining kingdoms turning heels and deciding to wage war against Atlas then I don’t know what is.

If Atlas reveals the truth about Salem to all of Remnant, not only will it cause the whole world to descend into chaos bringing forth the Grimm but it’ll also make Atlas appear even more treacherous to the remaining three kingdoms.

“So that’s why you withdrew your troops. To handle the panic that will break out in Atlas.” “Yes. Panic is inevitable and panic brings Grimm. But I believe we are ready. Once Atlas has comes to grips with the fight ahead, I’ll use Amity Tower to spread the message to all of Remnant. “

“But everything will fall apart. Grimm will be everywhere!”

“You’re right. But Atlas is willing and prepared to assist.”

“Trying to hide the truth from the world will eventually kill us all.”

… And suddenly dropping the truth on the world will only serve to quicken the process of humanity’s destruction.

At least hiding the truth brought you some time to try and figure out a better alternative with possibly less chaos; which I’m assuming is what Ozma and the rest of the Wizards have been trying to do wisely for many, many, years.

Bold of Winter to assume that the rest of the world will be willing to cooperate with Atlas against the Grimm once this word gets out. Also foolish of Ironwood to not consider that this might just be want the enemy wants. What Salem and her forces are expecting and banking on. As a matter of fact, that’s the game plan, isn’t it?

What Ironwood said in V7CH2 is starting to make sense of breadcrumbs left behind from V6 regarding Salem and her schemes. Once upon a time, I made a hunch where I gave my impression of what I believe might be Salem’s ultimate goal.

Do you remember what the God of Light told Ozma in the Lost Fable?

“…We have chosen to depart this world, but in our absence, I would like to offer you the chance to return to it.”

“I…don’t understand.”

“Mankind is no more yet your world remains; and in time, your kind will grow to walk its face again. However, without our presence, they will be but a fraction of what they once were.

Creation, destruction, choice and knowledge were the ideals upon which humanity was made. Now I leave them behind with the hope that you may learn to remake yourselves.

If brought together, these four Relics will summon my brother and I back to your world and humanity will be judged.

If your kind has learned to live in harmony with one another and set aside their differences, then we shall once again live among you and humanity will be made whole again.

But if your kind is unchanged, if you demand our blessings while still fighting amongst yourselves, then man will be found irredeemable and your world will be wiped from existence. Until your task is complete, you will reincarnate but in a manner that ensures that you are never alone…”

Salem wants to bring about both mankind and Remnant’s destruction. She wants the world to fall to chaos and war so that by the time, she and her minions successfully gather all four Relics and summon the Brother Gods back to Remnant, the Brothers will have no choice but to wipe both man and Remnant from existence as they said they would after arriving to find it going through yet another Great War.

This is what will happen if Ironwood goes forward with his plan and this is exactly what Salem wants. Don’t you see? Now a lot of details are starting to add up. This is why Watts and Tyrian were sent to Atlas for. Not just to stir problems for its military but to ensure that Ironwood goes forward with Amity Tower.

This is also why Ruby needs to come clean to Ironwood before construction on Amity Tower is complete.

But she doesn’t have to do it alone. Oscar also has his own part in stopping Ironwood too by figuring out a way to bring Ozpin back.

This isn’t just about burying the hatchet anymore. The heroes need Oz because, according to Watts in V6, Ozpin is the only person who can talk sense into Ironwood and make him see the astronomical sized flaw in his master plan (supposedly).

If Oz returns, he’ll be able to level with Ironwood and persuade him from moving forward with the broadcast. Ironwood is clearly forgetting that his plan for Amity Tower is nothing but a rehash of the Vytal Festival on a much global scale.

Last time, Ironwood wanted to bring his army to Vale for the Vytal Festival but Oz was heavily against this plan out of fear that the Military’s presence may spark uncertainty and anxiety within the public bringing forth negative emotions which will then bring forth the Grimm.

Following the Attack in Central Vale, Ironwood then went behind Ozpin’s back to the Council of Vale and got them to side with him, forcing Ozpin’s hand in the matter. Against his friend’s better judgement and advice, Ironwood got his way and his forces were brought to Vale; thus playing right into the villain’s hand.

And how did that go? It brought forth pandemonium because Arthur Watts hacked their security code, took over the entire Atlesian Army and contributed to the calamity that resulted in the Fall of Beacon.

Ironwood is pulling the exact same plan he pulled in Vale. Only this time, instead of being isolated to one kingdom, it’s going to affect the rest of the world.

How much do you want to bet that Watts’ will hack into Amity Tower and rig Ironwood’s first broadcast to Atlas so that the rest of the world is audience to what he reveals firstly to his kingdom?

How much do you want to bet that Watts will spin this in a way that once again humiliates Ironwood and the so-called strength of his kingdom and army? How much do you want to bet that Watts is going to spin this in a way that once again make Atlas look like traitors to the rest of Remnant?

After all, isn’t Watts not Atlesian and currently working with Salem? What’s stopping him from spinning it to look like Atlas has sided with Salem and has been working alongside her to cause war and trouble in the other kingdoms? Think about that.

Finally, what’s stopping Watts from taking full control of Amity Tower and rigging it to fall out of the sky and plummet towards Remnant with Vacuo as its targeted crash site? Thus making it appear as if Atlas has now waged an attack on Vacuo, all the while the rest of the world observes with baited breath?

I say Vacuo could be the next target for this staged attack by Atlas because of something Tyrian said back in V6CH9. Remember what he told Emerald and Mercury before his and Watts’ departure?

“…There’s been a change in plans. Your grace must act swiftly if we are to prevail. If General Ironwood comes to senses and calls upon aid from Vacuo, all may be lost for us. So the Good Doctor and I are being sent to Atlas to prepare…”

Last season, I shared a musing post where I depicted the possibility of the villains manipulating Ironwood to have Atlas wage war against Vacuo. Now looking at evidence provided by this season, I think I might’ve been onto something back then. Atlas is going to wage an attack on Vacuo…at least, that’s what the villains plan on making it look like.

Right now, Atlas already has two strikes against it. One for what transpired in Vale for the Vytal Festival and two for what happened in Argus with Caroline Cordovin and the awakening of the Leviathan.

There is no doubt in my mind that that event isn’t going to have severe repercussions for Atlas with the Mistral Council. Though they’ve been less of a vocal presence as the Council of Vale back in V2, it wouldn’t surprise me if word got back to them about what happened in their northern city.

And while our heroes left Argus with Cordovin and her military forces handling the remaining army of Manticore and Sphinx, mind you we never got to learn the aftermath of that; both with the People of Argus and the rest of Mistral.

As I’ve said many times before---Cordovin’s stunt in Atlas---with her bringing out the mechazord and proclaiming to all of Argus about the awesome might of Atlas and to consider her stunt of reminder of that---that’s definitely going to come back and it’s going to bite Atlas so hard in their metal behinds.

I can probably sit here and predict the events to come for the remainder of the Atlas Arc but I’m not gonna---that will probably be its own separate post.

Bottom-line, shit is going to hit the fan if the truth doesn’t come out and Ironwood isn’t brought to his senses. But before all of that can come to pass, let’s get back on track with what I was saying about the Rosebud friendship.

I feel like Ruby’s little white lie can potentially spell some emotionally heavy discourse between her and Oscar. One scenario that I’m hoping doesn’t happen but at the same time am worried could happen, is the truth being threatened to be forced out.

It’s like what Ironwood said. Panic is inevitable. Trying to avoid it may prolong the process but at the same time it only makes things worse in the long run. It’s no different than this.

Imagine you’re a kid in kindergarten on the school playground. You do something wrong but rather than tell your teacher the truth, you tell a lie. However unbeknownst to you, another student saw you do the bad thing.

Which do you think would have the worse ramification? If you were upfront with your teacher about the mistake you made and were at least shown to be honest in letting them hear the truth from your mouth…or…have someone else tattle on you making your actions appear twice as bad because on top of doing something wrong, you also lied about it.

With Ozpin, the truth was practically forced out of him because he basically brought himself to that point. I may have been one of the population of Ozpinheads who defended him last season and while I still stand in Oz’s court, I’m not going to deny the fact that Oz did put himself in that horrible position in V6CH2.

That I will admit here since, let’s be fair, Oz had several opportunities between Mistral and Argus (at least three chances from the time he and Oscar first reunited with Qrow at the bar) to come clean to the team and tell them everything which, at the end of the day, is all they wanted. No more lies and half-truths, right?

Instead of being upfront from the get-go and confronting the negative results of his actions from the truth then and there with his team, Oz chose to prolong it ---prolong the evitable panic like Ironwood said---which in turn made the situation look far worse for himself when the truth is brought out. Not through Oz but through Jinn because Ruby asked her to tell the truth since Oz wouldn’t. .

I’m not saying that things would’ve been different if Oz had just come clean. Anger and alarm probably would’ve happened either way.

I’m more saying things might’ve had a much better outcome if the truth had come from Oz instead of Jinn. Instead of having Ruby using Jinn, imagine how it would’ve been if Oz had revealed, by his own words, that Salem can’t be killed and that he’s been searching for years to find a way to stop her but to no avail thus far.

Imagine if Oz had just straight up said that the only thing he’s been successful in doing is keeping Salem at bay and preventing the world from falling into chaos again because he knows that’s what Salem wants because she wishes to gather the Relics to summon the Gods who would’ve then wiped humanity from existence because of the chaos.

Imagine if Oz had just told the team all of this new-news and then backed it all up by then summoning Jinn himself from the lamp and having her show the group everything from the time Ozma first met Salem to when he first learnt that she couldn’t be killed in his lifetime as Norman.

The Lost Fable made sense of so many actions and so-called mistakes that Oz had taken to prevent Salem from harming humanity. The terrible part was that the only way the team could’ve learnt this is by having Jinn reveal it. Not Oz. Like I said, the truth was forced out and we saw how bad that looked.

This is my concern for Ruby and Oscar. I’m worried that Ruby will desire to prolong revealing the truth to Ironwood for her own reasons backed by her experiences on the matter whereas Oscar will wish to come clean since it’ll be better for the comradery of everyone if they were just straight with each other from the start. No more lies, no more half-truths---just pure trust because trusting in each other will help them work better together to find a proper solution---or at least a better one than having the world fall to ruin.

Do you know what would be so funny but ironic? If Ruby is the one who ends up becoming more like Ozpin in this scenario whereas Oscar becomes more like her and Ruby ultimately sees more of herself in Oscar than Ozpin.

That can actually be potentially great for Oscar and Ruby’s friendship. Having that complete role reversal right there. This way it can help Ruby understand Ozpin (and thus use that spark of hers to get the others to understand Ozpin as well) while simultaneously strengthening the bond and growing trust she shares with Oscar.

So on one hand, I do want this kind of development to happen. But on the other hand, I fear it eventually happening because I know it will lead into a moment where Ruby and Oscar constantly butt heads on their differing ideologies and choices, leading to one big fight that could potentially destroy their bond.

It doesn’t though, obviously but it does hurt them both especially Oscar’s perception of Ruby since he’s seeing her become like Ozpin---telling the same lies he told, making the same mistakes he made--- and he knows fully well, more than anyone, that that’s a crooked path that doesn’t end well.

I can see Oscar having a potential Iroh moment with Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender. The small farm boy turned little barn prince isn’t mad at his rose. He’s more scared that she might lose her way and deviate from the person he knows her to be. Just as how Oz deviated from the man he once was given his past experience with Salem.

“…What Professor Lionheart did was reprehensible; I am not here to argue differently. But does one lapse in judgement truly negate all of his good? Do we not all have regrets? You may met Professor Lionheart, but you never met the man he was before Salem found him…”

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The Little Prince and his Rose

My fear is as this season progresses, Ruby will continue to tell more lies that deceive Ironwood and withhold the truth about Salem from him and his forces, similar to how Ozpin did with the heroes.

This in turn will cause her and Oscar to often clash. My hunch is that since Oscar will be training with Ironwood while simultaneously working to figure out a way to bring Ozpin back, this interaction will cause Oscar to chum up to Ironwood, built a sense of trust between them that feels genuine to his eyes. This will then lead to Oscar desiring more and more to reveal the truth to Ironwood but he doesn’t wish to do that since it will mean breaking his trust with Ruby.

So instead Oscar tries more and more to convince Ruby to tell the truth herself since this all started with her and it would be better that the truth come from her instead of anyone else.

My theory is that Ruby will make promises to Oscar to tell the truth to their Atlesian allies but over their time in Atlas, those promises will be broken to the point that Ruby even starts to lie to Oscar.

…Or at least she tries to. But as we know, Oscar will see right through Ruby’s deceit---as evidenced by V5CH5 in the Dojo scene where Ruby tried to hide the truth about her repressed grief over the Fall of Beacon and the loss of her friends only for Oscar to call her out on it.

I fear that this will happen again. Ruby will continue to follow the same path as Ozpin, even to the point of lying to Oscar---one of her closest allies (as Oz did with Qrow and essentially Ironwood) and just like in the Dojo Scene, he’s going to call her out on it.

This could then potentially lead into Ruby and Oscar having a big fight. And do you know what would be interesting?

What if…Ruby and Oscar have a big fight over their disagreements of trusting their Atlesian allies only for Oscar to threaten Ruby with taking the Relic of Knowledge from her and using the last question to force the truth to come out in the same fashion as what happened with Ozpin.

I’m not saying this could potentially happen. But I am askinh what if it did?

Imagine if…this even leads to a moment where Oscar leaves and our heroes return to discover that he was gone again.

Like let’s say Oscar has been rooming with JNR in their dorm room for the majority of V7 only to disappear later with all his belongings cleared out of the JNR dorm. Not because Oscar ran away like in Argus but left to go maybe stay with Ironwood wherever he lives up in Atlas.

Like imagine JNR_RWBY freaking out about Oscar disappearing on them a second time---doubt he went shopping this time, am I right?---only for Atlas Academy Employee of the Month Penny 2.0 to jubilantly inform them that Oscar has gone to stay with the General at his quarters, much to everyone’s shock especially Ruby’s.

In the Little Prince story, the Prince eventually left his home planet because of the Rose. I believe the story was that the Prince grew tired of the Rose not reciprocating his feelings despite all that he did for her (because she was naïve and vain) so he left her to explore the rest of cosmos.

Picture…something like that with the Rosebuds where Oscar, tired of Ruby’s continued deceit and mistrust of their Atlesian allies and even him, loses trust in Ruby all together and leaves the hero team to side with Ironwood?

That could be an interesting plot point for V7, right? Similar to how the Rose from the Little Prince didn’t realize she loved him until he left, it can be a similar scenario for Ruby with Oscar only substitute love for trust. Or see it as one in the same if you will. Trust in love, right?

You can even say that trust and love go hand in hand. Because trust enables the heart to open up and it is only with the heart, that one can see rightly what essentially is invisible to the eye. Love. See what I did there, right?

What if… similar to her counterpart from the Little Prince, Ruby doesn’t realize how much she trusts Oscar and valued his trust in her until he eventually left her out of fear that he couldn’t trust her anymore and the belief that she doesn’t trust him entirely.

Technically the idea is that Ozpin isn’t trusted anymore by the team. Ozpin is a part of Oscar and the narrative belief is that Oscar is meant to become Ozpin. The team trusts Oscar. Ruby trusts Oscar. However Ozpin is the other half of Oscar. The team can’t trust Oscar and not Ozpin. They can’t trust only half of him because what happens when Oscar and Ozpin become one whole person.

Will the group retain their trust in Oscar or remain distrustful of Ozpin? Basically I think it’s going to boil down to Oscar thinking that he isn’t trusted entirely by the group, particularly Ruby (as the proclaimed leader of the rag-tag) due to Ozpin.

I think this is what will also lead to Oscar’s departure. His fight with Ruby could potentially lead to Ruby dropping the ball that she’s still distrustful of Oz, which, by Oscar’s understanding means she doesn’t trust him either.

She might as well be saying that she doesn’t trust Oscar since technically; she can’t trust half of him, right?

I can see this as an opportune moment for Oscar to show his support of Oz by saying Oz is a part of him just as much as he is a part of Oz.

Oz’s responsibilities are his responsibilities. His burdens are Oscar’s burdens. His past mistakes and all the consequences of them are Oscar’s and it’s his duty to rectify them in a sense. Thus justifying my theory of Oscar challenging Ruby on deceiving their Atlesian allies as well as my Pinehead headcanon of Oscar wishing to mend the bond between Oz and the heroes.

Oscar and Oz may be two minds in one body but at their core, they are one man (and that man’s name was Ozma---ESPECIALLY if my other Pinehead headcanon about Oscar being the one true Ozma as the younger reincarnated version of his original body in Modern Day Remnant is true).

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The Wolf Who Helped the Rose

Before I conclude my Rosebuds theory, let me just deviate to touch base on your question about Marrow and Ruby @miki-13.

While I still like my Ruby’s Big Bad Boyfriend Lil Red headcanon (and thank you so much for remembering it), I don't think I can actually pair Marrow up with Ruby. At least, I don’t think so? Let me double check.

Well, I'm assuming that Aces are all graduates from Atlas Academy, right? Clover did address our hero team as students which gave me the impression that he and his own rag-tag of teammates have already finished school since they’re currently working with the military and it was stated in the Atlas Academy ad that graduates from the academy eventually go onto join the military with a chance of joining their special operatives division.

It was also mentioned briefly by Ozpin back in V1 that upcoming huntsmen train in the academies for four years from the age of 17 before graduating to become certified huntsman and huntresses who go on to serve their kingdoms. That being said, if I had to guess the ages of the Ace Op members, I’m assuming they’re all in their 20s since they would’ve been at least 21 years old by the time they finished the academy, right?

So right now, it’s safe to assume that Marrow is probably at least four years senior to Ruby. He doesn’t look a day over 21 (unless he lies about his age, eyyy!)

A 21-year-old working graduate dating a 17-year-old student technically in her second year of huntsmen training? People already crucify Rosegarden for the measly two year age difference between Ruby and Oscar. Imagine how much trouble a potential Big Bad (Ruby x Marrow) ship could stir?

Nevertheless, I do like the concept of Marrow having a kind of flirtatious exchange with Ruby. Since my key Marrow ship is Bunny Bites with him and Harriet, I can totally picture Marrow pulling a Neptune and kind of flirting with Ruby but only to make Harriet jealous because that’s their thing. Like I can picture Marrow secretly having the biggest crush on Harriet (which is reciprocated by her interest in him) but due to Harriet’s competitive nature with him on the battlefield and Marrow’s habit of lying, Marrow often pretends he doesn’t like Harriet that way by flirting with other girls in front of her.

It’s like Marrow totally likes Harriet a lot but doesn’t want her to know that he likes her that way; y’know what I’m saying? So basically he’s a big ole tsundere. Still a good boy though.

Anyways, in terms of Ruby turning to Marrow for comfort when her relationship with Oscar goes sour, you actually might be onto something there, Miki.

Imagine…Ruby being depressed after Oscar left home to stay with Ironwood (going back to my theory). She goes for a walk alone to clear her head and bumps into who else but Marrow, of all people. Imagine Ruby confiding in him about hurting Oscar with the whole lying thing and in a surprising twist, Marrow helps her out and actually offers some good advice.

Imagine how ironic it would sound if the Boy Who Cried Wolf taught Ruby about the consequences of lying too often. As a matter of fact, that could be the morale that Marrow imparts on Ruby in relation to the lesson that was the basis of the original Aesop Fable he’s based on.

That’s actually pretty brilliant when you think about it. So it fits excellently especially when I add it to the events of my Rosegardening Rosebuds headcanon:

Ruby lies to Ironwood. Continues to lie and keep secrets from the Atlas Crew following in Oz’s footsteps (maybe it might even make Ruby think back to the lesson that Oz imparted on her with the burden of leadership from V1). Her continued deceit hurts her friendship with Oscar leading to them fighting and Oscar leaving his home with their team.

Ruby grows sad because of this. Meets a Good Boy (Marrow) who imparts an important lesson onto her by probably telling her a story---a fable if you will---inspired by his life.

This inspires Ruby to make things right with everyone. So on the day Amity Arena is complete, with Ironwood possibly planning to make the broadcast later that same day---Ruby comes clean. All the right people are already present---Ironwood, Winter, Penny, Qrow, the Ace Ops, JNR_WBY and of course Oscar.

Ruby takes the floor and goes into making the big reveal. But before she does that, she gives a heartfelt speech where she apologizes to everyone for lying to them---including Oscar but she does it in a manner where she doesn’t outright come out and apologize to Oscar (cause she’s giving her big ole trademark Ruby speech) but it is heavily implied in her words and subtle glances in Oscar’s direction.

So Ruby drops the ball that Salem can’t be destroyed. Naturally, the Atlesians react in shock and immediate disbelief of this. So to further emphasize her point, Ruby summons Jinn before their very eyes.

Since Ruby told Ironwood that the lamp has already been used up, I think Ruby summoning Jinn could be a nice way to get her point across. I also considered the idea of Ruby using the last question to have Jinn show the truth of Ozma’s past and everything the heroes saw back in Argus to Ironwood and his forces.

I can see that as another way to further get the point across. But at the same time, it wouldn’t surprise me if the lamp isn’t used for V7 just in case the CRWBY Writers planned on savouring the last question for later.

But overall, my point is that in the end Ruby pulls herself from making the same mistake as Oz did. However this experience also helps Ruby to better understand Oz as well which leads to her apologizing to him just as much as Oscar.

So Ruby’s trust in Oz is renewed and the same can be said for her trust in Oscar. I can see a potential plot development like this being used to strengthen Ruby and Oscar’s bond through strengthening their trust in each other.

Though they may have had their fair share of doubts, especially about the other beforehand, by the end, there is no more reservations. Only trust in its purest of forms thus opening the door to love.

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So to conclude…

Trust love. Trust in love. Love and trust, you can say it whatever way you’d like, it means the same in the end.

These two sentiments often go hand in hand and it wouldn’t surprise me if our pair of Rosegardening Rosebuds learning to completely trust one another essentially opens the door for them to fall in love with each other. Who knows? It could happen for this season given the breadcrumbs dropped by these last two episodes.

As always, these are only my thoughts and theories and as expected, my assumptions could be wrong in the end. But either way, I would actually love to see some of the headcanons I shared in this post come to fruition in the canon. Particular the one where Ruby’s continued deception of Ironwood and their Atlesian allies causes her and Oscar to ‘break up’ and Oscar leaves the team because of it. I like it since it harkens back to the Little Prince and you guys know much this squiggle meister loves seeing those fairytale parallels, however big or small, within the RWBY canon.

Besides, sometimes things need to fall apart just so they could be brought back together stronger than ever. I can see this happening for Ruby and Oscar’s arc for this season. If I’m correct in V7 being the closest we’ve ever seen these two together along with the hunches I’ve shared in this musing post then brace yourself fellow Pineheads, Rosegardeners and Rosegardening Pineheads, we may be in for a wild ride with these two smaller, more honest souls for this season. But we shall see.

In the meantime, I hope you all enjoyed the new musing. As for Miki and Carrot, I hope I best answered your questions. Let me know what you guys think about my theories shared here if you can.

Until then, I’ll see you all in the next RWBY Musing. Cheerios FNDM fam!

More Squiggles’ RWBY Content

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#miki-13 #squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #oscar and ruby #rwby rosegarden #rwby theories #rwby volume 7 theories #rwby volume 7 spoilers #rwby volume 7 #rwby musings

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imanimaureen · 4 years

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BREATHE. Everything Will Be Okay.

Anxiety. A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome. Anxiety is something that a lot of people suffer from on a day to day basis. According to ADAA.ord, anxiety disorders are some of the most common mental health conditions within the United States. These disorders can affect anyone at any age, race, etc. It’s important to really pinpoint what kind of anxiety you or your love one may have, and help them to get treated.

I’ve suffered from anxiety since I was around the age of 2 years old. My mom signed me up for a therapy session with my current therapist, and ever since then, she’s been helping me cope with my anxiety. It’s hard to really feel calm in certain situations nowadays, but by taking the right steps and surrounding myself with my support system, I am able to take on my anxious thoughts and move forward…

A positive outlook is that anxiety is treatable, and there are numerous ways to cope with it. Here are a few steps you could take to manage your anxiety:

Take some time for yourself.

Putting yourself first before others when it comes to your mental state is so important. You need to be able to look after your well being before anyone else. This used to be one of the hardest steps for me. If you know me, I’m the type of person to always put the needs of others first before my own, and I never take my own advice. Fortunately, I’ve been able to reflect on myself and recognize that it’s okay to be selfish every once in a while for yourself.

Speak to someone.

Opening up to someone can be very hard-trust me, I know. But it’s better to be real with yourself about the issues you are facing at this moment, and give yourself time to heal. Even if it’s talking to a family member, a friend, a teacher, or someone you trust in general; talk to them. Allow them to be there for you during your time of need.

If you think therapy may be the answer for you, here are a few sites that assist you in finding the right therapist:

- Get Help

- Cast Centers

- Other

Figure out what triggers your anxiety.

For some people, certain things can trigger an anxiety attack. It may be helpful to really think about what you’re feeling in such an anxious moment, and try to make it visible in your mind. Thinking logically and realizing that you being worried may not be as tragic as you think could benefit one.

Engage in some fun activities! AKA distract yourself.

When in doubt, distract yourself. I engage in this coping skill many times whenever I feel distressed. Sometimes taking your mind off of your problems will help you ground yourself once more. While it is important to fully experience the agony you’re feeling, sometimes pushing it back until you’re ready to really deal with it can be helpful in certain situations.

These are just a few of the many ways to cope with your anxiety that has helped me. You can also visit https://adaa.org/tips for a more in-depth understanding of anxiety, and resources to help you get through it. If you feel in any danger of yourself, please don’t hesitate to contact the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at (800)273-8255 or https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

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mister-maiden · 4 years

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What Is Scary?

We all know the delightful feeling of the hairs on our necks pricking to a sudden fright of a sound or image. An exasperated gasp of air leaving the lips as that chill pats our back with a strong grip on our spine. Your heart thumps and presses against your chest like a jackhammer going off on concrete. I personally love the feeling of fear, which is irony since fear is the human body's way of screaming about danger and the unknown. Of course this doesn't mean I can't feel fear just because I love it. It's a thrill that is impossible to be found anywhere else, like a kick start to the heart on a dull day. It wakes the senses and braces the body for a new experience! It lets us experience something that is impossible to really view in the real world! The question is, what constitutes as scary?

I believe scary can be anything that is alien to the senses. It's vague and completely dependent on whoever is in the area. For example, some people are afraid of spiders while others love them. It's this strange area of perception that causes some people to go absolutely insane in some cases, and forces people to become stronger in others. It's a barrier that defines who a person is and how they act towards the environment around them that defines their everyday interactions. It's this switch in the brain that forces the individual to try and avoid the situation since it is too different. We don't see ghosts and zombies in our lives which makes it interesting to see how they interact with the world and how the protagonist interacts with them. People generally seem to get this feeling of scare and uneasiness mixed up, so I wish to express the difference between fear and anxiety.

Anxiety is more of a feeling of unease. It's a horrible feeling of nervousness that grips the muscles and forces the fingers to go numb from the anguish of not knowing what's to happen. It isn't helpful to ever feel anxiety and is simply a burden on the mind to keep it. Perhaps it is helpful for letting people know what is important, but I cannot stress enough that this is not fear, or at-least it isn't the fear I wish to explore in stories. The fear I enjoy is beneficial. Now why do we fear it when we play games, even though these games shouldn't affect the real world?

It's the level of interaction you have with a fake world. This artificial construct of code and numbers is only as real as a person wants it to be. People who participate in MMORPGs can spend years of their lives in a game and hardly notice a downside, so why can't people who play horror games or watch movies be the same? It's the level of investment someone puts in their role as a consumer when experiencing a medium. I believe it's connected with the level of empathy we all feel towards one another. One with high empathy can connect with the protagonist and their companions, effectively being placed in their shoes and truly realizing what is at stake for them, while someone who can't do the same really can't get that feeling. In my experience, when I'm told someone doesn't like horror movies because they aren't scary, I don't believe they are really "trying" to be placed in the situation and just look at it as a story rather than try to experience it. It could be something else, but I just don't believe someone wouldn't find movies like It or The Thing scary. Then again, as stated before, it's all a point of perspective and what others can deem as scary. So why do horror fans watch these visual stories or read about them?

We want something different from what's in front of us and we want it to help us feel something different. We never feel fear in everyday life which makes it a commodity to really feel the heart pound against the chest in a situation where exercise isn't involved. It's a way to just experience a thrill every once and a while...Of course some people may not want this type of experience and that's completely understandable. The stress of fear is something someone needs to get used to as it can turn the hair white. I was introduced to horror at a young age and I slowly liked the feeling it gave me every time some horrific thing happened on screen which I was never able to see anywhere else.

No where on planet Earth could I read about a blob of assimilating flesh eating others. No where would I ever see in the newspapers about a vampire epidemic wiping out New York leaving one sole survivor. These scenarios- no, these stories are what make fear interesting! It's something that's new and amazing to think about what could happen! We don't know as the audience what's going to happen to Will Smith's character in I am Legend as vampiric hoards decent upon his mansion. We don't know who is the fake person in films such as The Thing or Body Snatchers or Pandemic. It's this fresh nuance of narrative that drives fear and I just absolutely love it. I love all the stories that can come out of the unknown and it's just interesting how developers, writers, and directors are able to produce these things that were previously unknown to us onto a medium that we have experienced so many times. It's this freshness I crave and thrive on every time a new horror experience comes out; however, with mediums becoming overdone, and certain tropes becoming out of date, it's only up to time for some fears to become mere annoyances as it occurs more and more on screen.

We all know in horror films that long hallways are bad. Bathroom mirrors are basically an invitation to spirits to appear behind the character once they look down. Long hallways are a death sentence. So much of it has been done before and it's saddening to watch this fresh medium become so overdone! We get it, upside down crosses are evil, pop up screams make someone jump, ghosts are gonna get you, oh nooooo...It gets so repetitive. It's hard these days to really make a story to scare an audience because everything has been done, (not everything, but you get the point). Fear is the lack of knowing, but what's the point if you're expecting for the unexpected to happen? It's a sad paradox that slowly has been consuming scary mediums...but has also lead to great innovation. Things that we have never thought about have come from this giant influx of the fear trope that have sparked new creations into the hearts of craftsman. Nosferatu was inspired by Stoker's Dracula which went on to inspire 30 Days of Night which went onto Let the Right One in and you get the picture. Everything comes from inspiration these days, and I think it's up to the creator to make it their own, unique spin on the genre which is what gives it freshness these days.

I am sure there are more discussions to be had on the topic and we can go much further into depth in how we all perceive fear. This was simply my observations of what I thought fear to be and how it has been changing thanks to the genre being over saturated. I love being scared because it helps me feel something different from mundane everyday life. Perhaps it's simply apathy gripping at my shoulders like a demon feeding on a milkshake, but I will always love a good scare here and there. I hope you have a wonderful day, my friends.

#Scary #Horror #Discussion #Cultists #Cultist #Occult #Cult Chief #Spooky #What is Scary

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meditativeyoga · 4 years

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Teaching Yoga: Working with Chronic Pain

As a yoga educator, it is not uncommon to locate yourself showing individuals who are in a certain quantity of pain. This can be befuddling, particularly if you are brand-new to mentor. There is always an anxiety you might make things even worse, that you do not understand sufficient composition which you are inadequate in some means to deal with these kind of problems.

Note: I am chatting right here regarding bone and joint discomfort that has been checked out with no genuine adequate option given. It may have been offered a name yet not a service. To help navigate these circumstances, some things are beneficial to remember.

Tissue Damage and Pain

The first point to bear in mind is the truth that our bodies heal. What should occur, and typically does occur, when we hurt ourselves, is that the body lets us know.

We experience a level of pain about proportionate with the quantity of damages we have done to ourselves, and also gradually, as the body heals, the pain ebbs away. If it is simply a bumped knee or arm, the pain may decrease in a matter of mins, and the only reminder we are left with is a little swelling. On the other hand, if we break a bone, the pain might be extreme, and it might take weeks for the discomfort to subside and also a few more weeks prior to typical function is restored.

If the discomfort does not diminish, nevertheless, we require to ask ourselves initially whether we are doing anything that may be worsening the injury-- something in our everyday life, or perhaps something we are performing in yoga exercise. Sometimes in yoga, we can get involved in the routine of stretching right into a discomfort reasoning we are "reaching it." We could define a "wonderful pain," but usually we are just pulling on an item of cells that is already damaged, it may give us short-term relief due to the fact that it transforms the sensory input, but the pain after that comes back, and if we maintain doing this the injury doesn't have a possibility to recover as well as may also get worse.

While it is real that we need to maintain relocating after injury, to keep some variety of activity and maintain the area "mapped" in our brains, it is necessary that we find a balance between the remediation of function and also the avoidance of re-injury. A great deal of the understanding we have to do below is to pay attention very carefully to what we truly feel in our body, as opposed to impose on it what we think we should do and also attempt to be person while our body recovers.

Try to remember that after an injury, particularly one that has reduced our task for some weeks, our tissues-- be they ligaments, tendons, muscular tissues or fascia-- will certainly have damaged and also be less resistant to the movements they are included in. It will certainly take additional weeks of gradual recovery prior to they are back to normal.

Pain Without Tissue Damage

The 2nd thing we need to remember when checking out pain is a little counterintuitive. It could be that there is no more any damage to our cells. They may have healed, yet we are still suffering. This is often the case in long-term discomfort or what is often called "chronic discomfort." This type of discomfort has puzzled medical professionals throughout background, however just recently there have been great strides made in our understanding of how this sort of discomfort comes about.

And it's fascinating ... It used to be believed that we have discomfort nerves and also that if we damaged ourselves, a signal would travel up the discomfort nerve and ring the pain bell in our brain to allow us know we have actually harmed ourselves, and just how bad it is. Currently it's thought that we do not have pain nerves in any way, only the nociceptors defined below, which lug details that obtains modified.

However, a moment's reflection will certainly signal us to the reality that this "damages as well as signaling" pattern is not always present when it pertains to discomfort. Some examples of back discomfort as well as poor frustrations show that extreme pain can exist with very little, if any, tissue damages. These seem specifically meaningless sorts of discomfort, with the signaling being out of proportion to the problem.

There are various other times when our attention is absorbed in something, as well as we injured ourselves yet don't actually notice up until a huge swelling shows up the next day. Thus, our ability to overlook pain, to mute such signals, suggests that discomfort is in some ways much more similar to feelings than it is to senses such as sight or hearing.

Another sensation that has been extensively examined in recent times is "phantom arm or leg" discomfort. People that have actually shed an arm or leg, either through mishap or disease, might grumble of an extremely specific pain really felt in the amputated arm or leg. The discomfort might be accurately referred to as sharp or boring, hurting or itching. It looks like other somatic pains in nearly every method, other than, of training course, there are no tissues there.

So where is the pain coming from? What factors are causing pain in instances such as this?

Blurring the Pain Signal

When we hurt ourselves, specific nerves, called nociceptors, pass info to the brain from the area of damages, informing it that damages has actually occurred. However, on the means up to the mind, the signal is changed by other components of the brain. These adjustments to the signal will be based on previous experience, on expectation, on one's general state of anxiety and on that person's basic sense of wellbeing (or feeling of unease).

So, if we stub our toe, something we have actually most likely done often times, the details passed to the mind will know, yet it might harm more if we are cool and also unpleasant, as well as less so if we are delighted and also fired up. The very same information will have been modified by one's current mindset either to amplify or to downscale the sensation.

Now picture exactly how a person in their 40s or 50s with knee pain or neck and back pain could respond if she or he goes to a wellness specialist that tells them that their knee or back joints are obtaining old and also worn. Nearly certainly, that individual will certainly often tend to believe it will not obtain much better, that they are simply degenerating. They will certainly adapt as well as prepare themselves mentally for "seniority" and also all the beliefs we have regarding aging.

This common belief in the link in between deterioration and also discomfort might well be driven deeper right into our psyche by an x-ray or MRI scan that illustrates the "damages." Currently any signal we obtain from a pressure in the knee or back will be changed on its trip to the mind with all those concerns as well as stress and anxieties that have actually lodged into a person's awareness. This is exactly how chronic discomfort typically begins.

Now I'm fairly sure if you are reviewing this, you may well be claiming to yourself, "However surely we understand arthritis triggers pain, or damaged knee cartilage triggers pain or a disc that has actually herniated reasons discomfort." Well, to some degree you are appropriate: when these things first occur, pain and also discomfort are commonly felt. What is much less well understood is that offered time, in many situations the body heals as well as we overcome it. We will certainly be entrusted some physical changes-- the disc may still extend, the cartilage will still show damage and the arthritic joint will certainly reveal bony change, yet it will not be accompanied by pain.

Here are some data that may amaze you: MRI research studies of healthy adults and also elders revealed that 98% of them had arthritic changes in their cervical spine, without any going along with discomfort. Some 50% of adults were revealed to have rotator cuff tears that they did not understand around, 85% of asymptomatic adults had arthritic adjustments in their knees, 48% of them had actually harmed cartilage material as well.

There are lots of other comparable stats. We ought to not think of things like scoliosis, kyphosis, as well as lordosis as reasons of pain. It is now relatively well recognized that persistent pain is much better associated with stress and anxiety, anxiety, and worry that it is to much more structural problems like joint inflammation, disc problems, scoliosis and a host of other physical "conditions."

Bodies are remarkably versatile if they are provided time to adapt, and also although there are unquestionably some individuals who endure when a condition transcends a factor of restructuring itself, there will certainly be numerous other individuals with comparable conditions that do not have discomfort. In the last couple of years, this relationship between architectural problems as well as discomfort has been liquifying, as well as better explanations for pain are now being placed forward.

Teaching Yoga to Students with Chronic Pain

As yoga exercise instructors, what are we to construct from all this? It is really essential is to make certain we don't accidentally increase a pupil's level of stress and anxiety by showing indications of concern ourselves. The language we utilize must be guaranteeing instead of over-cautious. As well as when we ask them to relocate via some asanas there is something else to keep in mind with individuals in chronic pain: it is not allow them experiment "distracting" discomfort-- i.e., discomfort that maintains requiring their attention.

This is because of something that has been explained by the professional scientist Teacher Lorimer Moseley as "neuro-tagging." If I move in a certain method and also it triggers pain, and also I maintain duplicating the same move regardless and keep obtaining the very same pain, my mind will start to connect the two points until it comes to be difficult to relocate without pain, also once the tissues have actually totally healed. In many cases, this labeling becomes severe up until nearly any motion hurts as well as we pull away right into immobility, which intensifies the trouble further.

How do we get out of this? Well, there are two or three things that can help. We look for a means of taking on the movement that does not injured. So, for circumstances, if rounding the back to pick something up off the floor harms, see if the student can discover a way of rounding the back that doesn't hurt, explore Marjarasana (Cat Pose) or Balasana (Kid's Pose), as an example. It is essential to register the reality that it is not just rounding the back that is the trouble, however the context in which you round the back. This way, you start to damage the web link in between the movement as well as pain.

As the student gains confidence, obtain them to see just how much they can round the back while standing, without prompting discomfort, possibly by softening the knees or placing the hands on the knees to help take the weight, anything to damage the link in between both events (i.e., rounding the back as well as pain). It would certainly be similar with knee flexing. If bending in one certain scenario harms, obtain them to try it in an additional scenario as well as slowly munch away at the association in between the pain as well as the movement.

Another thing we can do as educators is to suggest various other experiences to focus on throughout the activity: the body's call with the floor, as an example, or sensations of softening or stiffening in the body, or the sensation of the breath as well as the moving of weight as we relocate. All these things will help to progressively lead people far from mentally mosting likely to their discomfort and also help them experience themselves a lot more effectively.

Body Mapping

One various other thing that can be helpful is to think about the means we map motion in our mind. Movements that we perform frequently are "mapped" on our sensorimotor cortex. The even more focus we offer to a movement, as well as the much more on a regular basis we execute an action, the more thorough the "map" becomes.

To make this more clear, consider the mastery you have in your fingers compared to your toes. The relative stupidness of your toes is due to the fact that we do not utilize them in any significant way, so they lose their mapping. If you are born with no arms, your feet can come to be as active as fingers.

So how does this associate with discomfort? There is some proof to sustain the theory that chronic pain is linked with bodies that are improperly mapped. Or rather persistent pain seems to trigger a "smudging" of the injured component of our body's representation in the mind. It appears that when we harm ourselves, nerve cells that adjoin the location of the mind that stands for the injured component are hired right into the map, to highlight what has happened, so we can "feel it a lot more."

This is ideal, and also as we recover, those hired nerve cells should go back to resuming their normal obligations. If, nonetheless, we come to be distressed about the injury, if we stop moving it, as well as if we provide it excessive uneasy focus after that those neurons, rather than resuming typical tasks, might hire also extra nerve cells to assist the area we are protecting.

Soon the mind map of the broken area will have expanded beyond its regular limits. This is called "neuro-smudging" a term created by discomfort researcher David Butler, and also it is connected with changes in experience and also persistent pain.

Yoga can assist in three major ways: First, it can minimize anxiety about the discomfort for all the factors mentioned above, possibly mainly showing that after some weeks it's extremely not likely that there is still tissue damages. Second, it can assist redefine the mind map of the broken area by putting it via attentive and varying motions, and as confidence rises, gradually enhancing the variety of activity up until it is back to normal feature. And also third, we can help people grade their exposure to the movements that hurt them by reducing their motions down and also helping them observe at what point things come to be fretting for them. Enabling them to alleviate towards as well as away from the movement up until they develop some self-confidence as well as can increase their variety of movement.

#asana #Yoga #Yoga Weight Loss

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