#Medical Properties Trust

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When private equity destroys your hospital

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 9-10), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!

As someone who writes a lot of fiction about corporate crime, I naturally end up spending a lot of time being angry about corporate crime. It's pretty goddamned enraging. But the fiction writer in me is especially upset at how cartoonishly evil the perps are – routinely doing things that I couldn't ever get away with putting in a novel.

Beyond a doubt, the most cartoonishly evil characters are the private equity looters. And the most cartoonishly evil private equity looters are the ones who get involved in health care.

(Buckle up.)

Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tcacik details a national scandal: the collapse of PE-backed hospital chain Steward Health, a company that bought and looted hospitals up and down the country, starving them of everything from heart valves to prescription paper, ripping off suppliers, doctors and nurses, and callously exposing patients to deadly risk:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-02-27-scenes-from-bat-cave-steward-health-florida/

Steward occupies a very special place in the private equity looting cycle. Private equity companies arrange themselves on a continuum of indiscriminate depravity. At the start of the continuum are PE funds that buy productive and useful firms (everything from hospitals to car-washes) using "leveraged buyouts." That means that they borrow money to buy the company and use the company itself as collateral: it's like you getting a bank-loan to buy your neighbor's mortgage out from under them, and using your neighbor's house as collateral for that loan.

Once the buyout is done, the PE fund pays itself a "special dividend" (stealing money the business needs to survive) and then starts charging the business a "management fee" for the PE fund's expertise. To pay for all this, the PE bosses start to hack away at the company. Quality declines. So do wages. Prices go up. The company changes suppliers, opting for cheaper alternatives, often stiffing the old company. There are mass layoffs. The remaining employees end up doing three peoples' jobs, for lower wages, with fewer materials of lower quality.

Eventually, that top-feeding PE company finds a more desperate, more ham-fisted PE company to unload the business onto. That middle-feeding company also does a leveraged buyout, pays itself another special dividend, cuts wages, staffing and quality even further. They switch to even worse suppliers and stiff the last batch. Prices go up even higher.

Then – you guessed it – the middle-feeding PE company finds an even more awful PE bottom-feeder to unload the company onto. That bottom feeder does it all again, without even pretending to leave the business in condition to do its job. The company is a shambling zombie at this point, often producing literal garbage in place of the products that made its reputation. Employees' paychecks bounce, or don't show up at all. The company stops bothering to pay the lawyers that have been fending off its creditors. Those lawyers sue the company, too.

That's the kind of PE company Steward Health was, and, as the name suggests, Steward Health is in the business of stripping away the very last residue of value from community hospitals. As you might imagine, this gets pretty fucking ugly.

Steward owns 32 hospitals up and down the country, though its holdings are dwindling as the company walks away from its debt-burdened holdings, after years of neglect that have rendered them unfit for use as health facilities – or for any other purpose. Tcacik's piece offers a snapshot of one such hospital: Florida's Rockledge Regional Medical Center, just eight miles from Cape Canaveral.

Rockledge is a disaster. The fifth floor was, at one point, home to 5,000 bats.

Five.

Thousand.

Bats.

(Rockledge stiffed the exterminators.)

The bats were just the beginning. One of the internal sewage pipes ruptured. Whole sections of the hospital were literally full of shit, oozing out of the walls and ceiling, slopping over medical equipment.

That's an urgent situation for any hospital, but for Rockledge, it's catastrophic, because Rockledge is a hospital without any hospital supplies. Steward has stiffed the companies that supply "heart valves, urology lasers, Impella catheters, cardiac catheterization balloons, slings for lifting heavier patients, blood and urine test reagents, and most recently, prescription paper." Key medical equipment has been repossessed. So have the Pepsi machines. The hospital cafeteria had its supply of cold cuts repossessed:

https://www.reddit.com/r/massachusetts/comments/1agc1j4/comment/kolicqo/

It's not just Steward's nonpayments that reek of impending doom. Its payments also bear the hallmarks of a scam artist on the brink of blowing off the con. The company recently paid off a vendor with five separate checks for $1m, each drawn on "a random hospital in Utah" (Steward recently walked away from its Utah hospitals; its partners there are suing it for stealing $18m on their way out the door).

This company – which owns 32 hospitals! – has resorted to gambits like sending photos of fake checks to doctors it hasn't paid in months as "proof" that the money was coming (the checks arrived 22 days later).

Steward owes so much money to its employees – $1.66m to just one doctors' group. But the medical staff keep doing their jobs, and are reluctant to speak on the record, thanks to Steward's reputation for vicious retaliation. Those health workers keep showing up to take care of patients, even as the hospital crumbles around them. One clinician told Tcacik: "I watched a bed collapse underneath a [patient] who had just undergone hip surgery."

Rockledge has nine elevators, but only five of them work – the other four have been broken for a year. The hospital's fourth floor has been converted to "a graveyard of broken beds." The sinks are clogged, or filled with foul gunk. There's black mold. Nurses have noted on the maintenance tags that the repair service refuses to attend the hospital until their overdue bills are paid. The fifteen-person on-site maintenance team was cut to just two workers.

Steward is just the latest looting owner of Rockledge. After the Great Financial Crisis, private equity consultants helped sell it to Health Management Associates. The hospital's CEO took home a $10m bonus for that sale and exited; Health Management Associates then quickly became embroiled in a Medicare fraud and kickback scandal. Soon after, Rockledge was passed on to Community Health Systems, who then sold it on to Rockledge.

Steward, meanwhile, was at that time owned by an even bigger private equity giant, Cerberus, which then sold Steward off. That deal was performatively complex and hid all kinds of mischief. Prior to Cerberus's sell-off of Steward, they sold off Steward's real-estate. The buyer was Medical Properties Trust, who gave Cerberus $1.25b for the real-estate: three hospitals in Florida and three more in Ohio. Steward then contracted to operate these hospitals on MPT's behalf, and pay MPT rent for the real-estate.

This complex arrangement was key to siphoning value out of the hospital and to keeping angry creditors at bay – if you can't figure out who owes you money, it's a lot harder to collect on the debt. The scheme was masterminded by Steward founder/CEO Ralph de la Torre. De la Torre is notorious for taking a massive dividend out of the company while it owed $1.4b to its creditors. He bought a $40m yacht with the money.

De la Torre was once feted as a business genius who would "disrupt" healthcare. But as Steward's private jet hops around "Corfu, Santorini, St. Maarten and Antigua" as its hospitals literally crumble, he's becoming less popular. In Massachusetts, politicians have railed against Steward and de la Torre (Governor Healey wants the company to leave the state "as soon as possible").

Florida, by contrast, is much more friendly to Steward. The state Health and Human Services Committee chair Randy Fine is an ardent admirer of hospital privatization and is currently campaigning to sell off the last community hospital in Brevard County. The state inspectors are likewise remarkably tolerant of Steward's little peccadillos. The quasi-governmental agency that inspects hospitals has awarded this shit-and-bat-filled, elevator-free, understaffed rotting hulk "A" grades for quality.

These inspectors jointly represent a mismatched assortment of private and public agencies, dominated by a nonprofit called Leapfrog, the brainchild of Harvard public-health prof Lucian Leape, who founded it in 2000. Leapfrog likes to tout its "transparent" assessment criteria, and Steward are experts at hitting those criteria, spending the exact minimum to tick every box that Leapfrog inspectors use as proxies for overall quality and safety.

This is a pretty great example of Goodhart's Law: "every measurement eventually becomes a target, whereupon it ceases to be a good measurement":

https://xkcd.com/2899/

But despite Steward's increasingly furious creditors and its decaying facilities, the company remains bullish on its ability to continue operations. Medical Properties Trust – the real estate investment trust that is nominally a separate company from Steward – recently hosted a conference call to reassure Wall Street investors that it would be a going concern. When a Bank of America analyst asked MPT's CFO how this could possibly be, given the facility's dire condition and Steward's degraded state, the CFO blithely assured him that the company would get bailouts: "We own hospitals no one wants to see closed."

That's the thing about PE and health-care. The looters who buy out every health-care facility in a region understand that this makes them too big to fail: no matter how dangerous the companies they drain become, local governments will continue to prop them up. Look at dialysis, a market that's been cornered by private equity rollups. Today, if you need this lifesaving therapy, there's a good chance that every accessible facility is owned by a private equity fund that has fired all its qualified staff and ceased sterilizing its needles. Otherwise healthy people who visit these clinics sometimes die due to operator error. But they chug along, because no dialysis clinics is worse that "dialysis clinics where unqualified sadists sometimes kill you with dirty needles":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-dirty-business-of-clean-blood

The bad news is that private equity has thoroughly colonized the entire medical system. They took hospitals, fired the doctors, then took over the doctors' groups that provided outsource staff to the hospital:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets

It's illegal for private equity companies to own doctors' practices (doctors have to own these), but they obfuscated the crime with a paper-thin pretext that they got away with despite its obvious bullshittery:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

The financier who decides whether you live or die depends on an algorithm that literally sets a tolerable level of preventable deaths for the patients trapped in the practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

Private equity also took over emergency rooms and boobytrapped them with "surprise billing" – junk fees that ran to thousands of dollars that you had to pay even if the hospital was in network with your insurer. They made billions from this, and spent a many millions from that booty keeping the scam alive with scare ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

The whole health stack is colonized by private equity-backed monopolies. Even your hospital bed!

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

Then there's residential care. Private equity cornered many regional markets on nursing homes and turned them into slaughterhouses, places where you go to die, not live:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

The palliative care sector is also captured by private equity. PE bosses hire vast teams of fast-talking salespeople who con vulnerable older people into entering an end-of-life system before they are ready to die. Thanks to loose regulation, the nation is filled with fake hospices that can rake in millions from Medicare while denying all care to their patients (hospice patients don't get life-extending medication or procedures, by definition):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

If you survive this long enough, Medicare eventually tells the hospice that you're clearly not dying and you get kicked off their rolls. Now you have to go through the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare of convincing the system – which was previously informed that you were at death's door – that you are actually viable and need to start getting care again (good luck with that).

If that kills you, guess what? Private equity has rolled up funeral homes up and down the country, and they will scam your survivors just as hard as the medical system that killed you did:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori

The PE sector spent more than a trillion dollars over the past decade buying up healthcare companies, and it has trillions more in "dry powder" allocated for further medical acquisitions. Why not? As the CFO of Medical Properties Trust told that Bank of America analyst last week, when you "own hospitals no one wants to see closed." you literally can't fail, no matter how many people you murder.

The PE sector is a reminder that the crimes people commit for money far outstrip the crimes they commit for ideology. Even the most ideological killers are horrified by the murders their profit-motivated colleagues commit.

Last year, Tkacic wrote about the history of IG Farben, the German company that built Monowitz, a private slave-labor camp up the road from Auschwitz to make the materiel it was gouging Hitler's Wehrmacht on:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Farben bought the cheapest possible slaves from Auschwitz, preferentially sourcing women and children. These slaves were worked to death at a rate that put Auschwitz's wholesale murder in the shade. Farben's slaves died an average of just three months after starting work at Monowitz. The situation was so abominable, so unconscionable, that the SS officers who provided outsource guard-labor to Monowitz actually wrote to Berlin to complain about the cruelty.

The Nuremberg trials are famous for the Nazi officers who insisted that they were "just following order" but were nonetheless executed for their crimes. 24 Farben executives were also tried at Nuremberg, where they offered a very different defense: "We had a fiduciary duty to our shareholders to maximize our profits." 19 of the 24 were acquitted on that basis.

PE is committed to an ideology that is far worse than any form of racial animus or other bias. As a sector, it is committed to profit above all other values. As a result, its brutality knows no bounds, no decency, no compassion. Even the worst crimes we commit for hate are nothing compared to the crimes we commit for greed.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/retaliation#charnel-house

#pluralistic #Rockledge Regional Medical Center #private equity #looting #Steward Health #ponzis #maureen tcacik #Medical Properties Trust #Ralph de la Torre #Massachusetts #florida #Cerberus #too big to fail #pe #guillotine watch

[dunkledog]

Heavy and medic kiss? ❤️

so this may or may not surprise you but i dont draw people kissing often... so here is my. best attempt? yes. here you go 👍

#response #tf2 #team fortress 2 #medic tf2 #heavy tf2 #heavymedic #red oktoberfest #when i say thumbs up emoji i mean that one image of pyro #i need to get out of my own head and just hit the post button #sasha and the medigun are not paid actors #spin off series where sasha and the medigun go on a date #valve can trust me with their creative properties nothing bad will happen if they trust me with their creative properties #heeheehoohoohoo

[thewritetofreespeech]

May I request Alucard (Castlevania) getting a massage from his s/o that starts out innocent only for it to turn slightly intimate?

Alucard x reader + massage

Alucard winced again as he stretched his shoulders.

He might have incredible healing from his vampire side, but the trials he has had to go through over the past few months have taken their toll. It seemed every day he woke up there was some new kind of sore or twinge of pain in his body. Invisible battle scars.

“Are you alright?” [Y/N] asked as they seemed to notice his fleeting discomfort.

“It’s nothing.” Alucard replied quickly. Going back to his tasks.

“It didn’t look like ‘nothing’. Are you hurt? From the other night?”

“No. Well…not really.” He wanted to just leave it at the ‘no’ but he could never lie to [Y/N]. Even white lies, or omission of the truth. “It’s my back. It’s just a little sore.”

“Well, you went through a wall.” They told him. “That’s understandable.”

They go back to their respective chores, but Alucard winced again, so [Y/N] spoke up. “It’s really bothering you eh? Why don’t you let me give you a massage?”

“A massage?” Alucard repeated with an arched brow. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Come on. It’s not like that.” They insisted. “Massage has actual therapeutic properties to it. It’s as legitimate as any other non-invasive medical practice. Just…people use it for other things.” There was a slight blush to their cheeks. “In any case, it might help. Get the kinks out. Trust me. You’ll feel better.”

Alucard was still skeptical, but even the suggestion of relief seemed to make his back tense up in excitement of finally being free. So he gave in. “Fine. Lead on.”

They headed back through the castle towards his bed chamber and [Y/N] told him to strip and lay down on the bed. “Whatever level of undressed you feel comfortable with.” He wanted to tell them that his level of comfort with nudity meant that he would need to be fully clothed under the covers, but he realized that was not helpful. So he just took his shirt off.

“Do you still have that lavender oil blend Sypha gave you when you weren’t sleeping?”

“What? Oh…it’s in the box on the dresser.” He forgot about that. Seemed there was no shortage of ailments to his person these days.

They seem to find it quickly and head over to the bed to straddle him from behind across his lower back. “You need to relax.” They told him.

“I’m trying.” This was all very new to him. Being close to people. Being touched. His instincts, honed from the past few months, badgering him about being ‘pinned’ from behind. He felt their fingers run through his long hair, combing it a little as they moved it out of the way, and he took a deep breath as that seemed to help.

The air was suddenly flooded with the scent of lavender and other calming herbs. Alucard suddenly remembered how strong the scent was, and probably why he only used it a few times. He flinched when the cool oil touched his back and tried to relax again when he felt [Y/N]’s hands spread it across his back. “Is this ok?”

Alucard nodded into the pillow. Not sure if he should talk or if that would ruin the moment and ‘relaxation’ he was working on. Their hands then moved up to his shoulders and gripped them with a little more pressure than before. He instantly let out a groan.

“Sorry. Is that a good noise or a bad noise?”

“It…it’s fine…”

The hands on his shoulders were slowly kneading out all the stress. It was a little uncomfortable, at first, but his muscles were definitely giving way to their ministrations. He took another deep breath and sunk further into the bed.

This continued for a while. Alucard wasn’t sure how long. He lost track of time and nearly everything but the hands on his back. Moving in a coordinator effort from one muscle group to the next. It was like he was in a daze by the time they were finished. Barely registering the question of, “do you feel better?” to which he was only able to nod.

[Y/N] smiled down at him and leaned down to give him a kiss. He lifted up his head a little to meet them, and what was properly meant as just a quick peck soon turned into a lazy, soft, open mouth kiss on top of him. “Wow. You must be feeling better.”

“Yes. I…” Alucard suddenly realized that, although his back wasn’t stiff anymore, something else was. “I…I think I feel a little too much better.”

[Y/N] seemed confused for a minute, but they were a clever person and quickly caught on. “Oh! Do you…” Alucard surely looked about as embarrassed as he felt. So [Y/N] dropped it. “I’ll get back downstairs then. If you….well…take all the time you need.”

They climbed off of him and Alucard just laid there for a moment. Willing his erection down. It went back down soon enough, and he sat up from the bed pain free for the first time in months. He would have to thank [Y/N] properly when he went downstairs. Or maybe tonight. With perhaps a less legitimate massage.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers) #alucard castlevania #castlevania alucard #castlevania #castlevania scenarios #castlevania imagine #alucard x reader #castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania x reader #imagine #scenarios #castlevania imagines #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes

[m-12-7-jo]

"Anytime you seek help from the police, you're inviting them into your community and putting people who are already vulnerable into dangerous situations.

But we can build trusted networks of mutual aid that allow us to better handle conflicts ourselves and move towards forms of transformative justice [...]."

"Don't feel obligated to defend property – especially corporate "private" property. [...] ask yourself if anyone is being hurt or endangered by property "theft" or damage. If the answer is no, then let it be."

"If something of yours is stolen and you need to file a report for insurance or othe purposes, consider going to the police station instead of bringing cops into your community."

"If you observe someone exhibiting behavior that seems "odd" to you, don't assume that they are publicly intoxicated. Ask if they are OK, if they have a medical condition, and if they need assistance."

"If you see someone pulled over with car trouble, stop and ask if they need help or if you can call a tow truck for them."

"Keep a contact list of community resources like suicide hotlines. [...] people with mental illness are sixteen times more likely to be killed by cops than those without mental health challenges."

"Check your impulse to call the police on someone you believe looks or is acting 'suspicious'. Is their race, gender, ethnicity, class, or housing situation influencing your choice?"

"[...] create a culture of taking care of each other and not unwittingly putting people in harm's way." As in, encourage others to avoid inviting police into community and public spaces, including rallies and demonstrations.

"If your neighbor is having a party and the noise is bothering you, go over and talk to them. Getting to know your neighbors [...] is a good way to make asking them to quiet down a little less uncomfortable."

"If you see someone peeing in public, just look away!"

"Hold and attend de-escalation, conflict resolution, first aid, volunteer medic, and self-defense workshops in you neighborhood, school, workplace, or community organization."

"Don't report graffiti and other street art[tists]. If you see work that includes fascist or hate speech, paint over it yourself or with friends."

"Remember, you can support friends and neighbors who are being victimized by abusers by offering them a place to stay, a ride to a safe location, or to watch their children. Utilize community resources like safe houses and hotlines." (You could also offer to store money for them in a safe location if they need that)

Source: 12 Things to Do Intead of Calling The Cops.

#leftist theory #things we can do #community organizing #advice #safety tips #police violence #tags to get the notes out #my notes.

[leiloc]

💣Astrology observations #7💣

DISCLAIMER : All the observations written below are from my research and DO NOT copy my work

I am apologizing for my absence so y'all are getting an observation now ♥❗❗

💥I noticed that a lot of people with taurus moon have most normal parents like I would sell my soul for that kind 👀

💥12th house can really tell about past life dominant sign. Ex. Taurus 12th house can mean that you were possessive of your belongings (either Taurus, 2nd house, Venus or 2nd house ruler dominant in past life)

💥Meeting people with sun in your 12th house reflects the person you were back in the past life. That's why you can find them either similar or you feel the energy A LOT

This can also mean that you might have had past life connections with them

💥Eris (136199) asteroid is where you feel lack of a specific aspect in your life depending on which house it lays and asteroid Sedna (90377) is betrayal from men (all depends from house to house)

💥Eris in 11th house means lack of social life, in 10th house little to no reputation, 7th house lack of partnerships (either love, coworkers, etc.)

💥Sedna in 7th house can mean betrayal from men who are your lover, coworker or smth like that, in 8th house they can betray your trust and your hidden self, in 2nd house it can mean loss of property because of them

I reccomend reading the stories about the name of those asteroids, it can make a lot of sense.

💥South node conjunct uranus can mean that the person can predict the things going on and they can be all random. It depends on house placement and aspects to those how is it performed

💥South node conjunct Neptune/SN in 12th house... That must be pain dreaming a lot about your past life or living in it still. Same for Uranus - SN, you SEE things happening

💥I don't know if i have written this before but asteroid Eros (433) conjunct personal placements in synastry can result in instant attraction

💥6th house indicates daily routine, medical problems and pets bur for now I will focus on medical problems. Having a sign in that house can indicate a problem with specific body part.

The list of body parts associated with zodiac signs will be posted soon and a lot of astrology - medicine associations will be posted

For now that's it and I hope you enjoyed this post and stay safe y'all ♥

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #astro #astrology observations #astrology tumblr #astrology blog

[lightwise]

“Remain calm. Cooperate. And you might survive.”

A character study on Dr. Emerie Karr

I’ve had a post about Emerie wandering around the back of my mind all season, but haven’t really been able to pull anything together yet that I felt would do her character justice. In addition, I believe there are other people who can speak to some of her position and experiences in a cult-like environment where she has been raised with bounded choices and lack of agency better than I can, but I will still touch on those things here a bit.

Many people have been frustrated at Emerie’s character, even going so far as to say they hate her for not acting in ways we wish she would and for working in the Empire, conducting horrific experiments, and going along with Hemlock’s plans. While I understand the frustrations, there is nothing that Emerie has done that truly exceeds anything that Crosshair or Cody or Wolffe ever did under the Empire, especially when considering that her actions and choices are all very firmly rooted in a very chaotic, traumatizing, and lacking environment that she was raised in. She may not have had a chip (we don’t know), but regardless, she has not been given the amount of free will and expansive thinking that her clone brothers and Omega experienced during the war and after. Even still, her Jango Fett genes are showing through, with a natural affinity and compassion for children tugging on her latent moral compass the more and more she is around them. 

“Remain calm. Cooperate. And you might survive.” We first meet Emerie in season 2, when Crosshair is transferred to Tantiss after killing Lt. Nolan. She notably uses his name immediately, and seems to have a slightly more caring nature to her than any of the other medical assistants (like Dr. Scalder) that we have seen on Tantiss. She is focused and seems content and dedicated to her work, but wants Crosshair to survive and not be harmed more than is necessary. She seems to have traces of both Tech and Dr. Hemlock in her, with a dedication to science and the tasks assigned to her, and a mind that is obviously adept and capable of accomplishing various procedures. While she follows all of Dr. Hemlock’s orders completely, she shows traces of compassion to Crosshair along the way, and begs him not to try and escape. At this point, her own access card doesn’t even allow her to get outside, and we’ve never seen her on any of the landing platforms. She seems to have an intimate knowledge of how impossible it is to escape the facility (has she tried to herself?)

“She is a clone. And therefore Imperial property.”  Hemlock is talking about Omega here, but the camera pans to include Emerie standing beside him, looking at him. This cinematography choice will occur several times, where dialogue from Hemlock or Omega is overlaid with a shot of Emerie’s face to show that comments about freedom and clones and specimens and choice all have double meanings that include Emerie, even if she has the supposed station and respect of a doctor’s position. At this point it is unclear whether she fully understands how she is just as much a prisoner inside these walls as Crosshair and the other clones are. 

“A prisoner? You are no such thing. It is far safer in here than it is out there.” This is but one of many times that Emerie uses the word “safe” in regard to being on Mt. Tantiss, following the rules, and doing what is expected. She comes to retrieve Omega every morning, mostly chipper and focused on including her in her tasks for the day. She shows care for Omega but is fully absorbed in her duties and what to her is normal daily life. An empty room that locks from the outside is probably the norm for her. For Omega, it is decidedly not, and Omega’s curious but justice-oriented nature begins to tilt the axis of Emerie’s perceptions. When first meeting her, Emerie acknowledges her as her sister and wants her to trust her. It’s clear that she maybe knew of Omega at some point, even though Omega had never heard of her until now. We get a slight glimpse of why that would be, when Emerie tells Omega that she was on Kamino initially but was “sent elsewhere until Dr. Hemlock took me under his wing.” There is a LOT embedded in that sentence. Sent away by Nala Se? Why? What was her initial purpose in being created? Why was she discarded? Was Omega a “better” version of her? Where did she go, and how and why did Hemlock find her and bring her up as his medical assistant, seeing “potential” in her. It’s obvious Emerie’s sense of self-worth, while relatively strong, also hinges on following Hemlock’s orders. All of this screams abandonment and grooming even if not of a sexual nature, and Emerie certainly seems to show the submissive, trusting, and yet fearful disposition one might expect from someone whose life has been defined by those circumstances. 

 “You don’t know she won’t survive. She deserves a chance.”  A conversation about letting a domesticated Lurca hound out into the wild to fend for herself is clearly paralleled with Emerie’s fate. Emerie tries to act as a mediator between Hemlock and Omega, hoping that the girl won’t be hurt or punished. Hemlock scoffs at Omega’s decision to let Batcher go, and her impassioned statement above. He sneers “the flawed logic of an idealistic child. Emotion and sentiment have no place within these walls. You would do well to remember that.” Emotion and sentiment have seemingly been lacking in Emerie’s upbringing, yet they continue to have an influence on her impulses and actions more and more. A testament to this is the fact that she keeps Omega’s straw Lula doll after it is found during a midnight room inspection, and eventually gives it back to her even though it breaks protocol. She will later keep this doll hidden after Omega escapes, and give it to one of the Vault “specimens”, Eva, in an attempt to comfort her. In that initial confrontation with Omega, Hemlock had added a final warning: “Actions always have consequences. Sometimes not in the ways we imagine.” What will this mean in the future for both him and Emerie? Their choices until recently have seemed in line and coherent, but they are diverging more and more.  

“It’s best not to ask questions.”  Emerie once again demonstrates the dichotomy of her perspectives as she affirms the authority and deference that she believes she owes Dr. Hemlock, while also being attentive to Omega’s shift in mood after being told by Nala Se that she must escape. Emerie tells Omega to get some rest, thinking she isn’t feeling well. There is no reason for her to do this other than the fact that she cares about Omega, as against protocol as those feelings are.  

“You’re not thinking clearly. Escape is not possible. This is for your own good.”  After finding Crosshair and Omega ready to escape through the Lurca hound tunnels, she begs both of them to see what to her is reason and sense. She doesn’t want either of them to get in trouble or be hurt, and would have covered for them if they would simply surrender and return to their cells. She affirms again that escape is not possible, from her perspective, and that what is best is quiet acquiescence. We see this continued struggle between her own budding moral compass, her sense of duty, her fear, her belief that it is safer to stay and to be quiet and to stay small. After they escape the facility, she finds out that Omega’s blood is the binder they have been looking for all along, and partly out of scientific duty, and partly knowing that this knowledge is the only thing that will save Crosshair and Omega’s escaping ship from being shot down, she informs Dr. Hemlock. 

“Do you trust me? I’ve spent years working by your side. I could be more useful.”  Before Omega is recaptured, we get an entire episode from Emerie’s POV (which also establishes her as a very important character for the remainder of the season). Here we begin to see more of her conflicted moral compass, and also her budding sense of self esteem. “You wish to be the new chief scientist Dr. Karr?” “I believe I’ve earned it.” This fully encapsulates the dynamic that these two “doctors” have shared over the years. Emerie knows that Hemlock only values things that are useful, and probably only sees her own value in the light of what she can contribute, due to how she was raised and the circumstances she has been trapped in. Hemlock’s tone of voice implies that he has never considered her as being the new chief scientist, and yet he acquiesces quite quickly, almost as though he’s just too busy to think about it and if it means things are brought back up to production standard then he’s fine with her taking Nala Se’s place. His utter disregard for Emerie as an actual human and someone with merit is disgusting, but to Emerie it comes across as respectful benevolence (as long as she follows the rules). It is good to see her start to stand up for herself, although she has no idea what she is getting herself into.  

“You’re safe SP-32.”  Emerie’s experiences watching over the children in the vault begin to chip away HARD at the beliefs she has grown up with and the perspectives she has kept herself sheltered behind. She initially tries to connect with one of the children, Eva, but Hemlock quickly stops her and tries to force his perspective that these are simply “scientific assets. Specimens.” The children defy this characterization at every turn. Eva compliments Emerie’s glasses, shares her name. Jax reiterates that his number is not his name when he tries to escape, and Emerie spends the entire sequence of him trying to escape torn, worried for him, and disgruntled at how violently Scorch and the other commandos treat him. Her conflict continues to grow as Eva asks how Jax is after the escape attempt, and she has to face her duplicity in telling Eva everything would be fine, when it is not. 

“They’re children. Like I was. Was your plan to discard them too?” Finally, Emerie confronts Nala Se, and we get more of a glimpse into the circumstances of her childhood. Emerie obviously carries enormous bitterness and resentment for however Nala Se treated her and the choice to abandon her in favor of Omega, and she throws this back in Nala Se’s face asking why the rest of the children in the Vault haven’t been protected either. “The Empire will keep them in order to control them” — once again a layered statement that includes Emerie’s own position. “They don’t belong in here” — Omega’s hopeful and determined perspective has gotten through to her on some level, just as it did with Crosshair. However, despite her growing sense of guilt and remorse, Emerie still feels powerless and at the mercy of her environment. “I don’t have that kind of power.” But Nala Se challenges her that she does, and that her choices going forward will need to be hers and hers alone. 

“And where did this child come from?”  Emerie starts to take small steps towards more independent choices when she insists on accompanying Scorch to pick up the next force sensitive child. Whether her plan was to try and fudge the results so he could be returned to his home, or just find out more information about how these children are procured and how many are being kidnapped, she can’t change the outcome of Bayrn being brought in. But her dismay at how young he is and how much worse this situation keeps getting is evident. Just as telling is Hemlock’s misinterpretation of her hesitation of taking in another “specimen.” He thinks she’s afraid of them harming her in an escape attempt. He doesn’t see that her personal convictions have started to become louder in her mind and heart than his commands and manipulation. She continues to take steps toward autonomy by comforting Eva, using the girl’s name, and bringing her Omega’s straw toy, that she had kept against orders. The situation is wearing on her more and more. But there’s hope for her yet.

“Emerie, you don’t have to do this.” Once Omega is back on Tantiss, Emerie retreats back into her shell a bit as Hemlock orders her to test Omega’s blood again. She knows what will happen and where Omega will be taken when the sample comes through, and she looks utterly defeated and cornered, sighing, her shoulders slumped like Crosshair’s when he was still imprisoned. Yet even as far as she’s come, she can’t see a way around completing this task. “I’m sorry, but I do.” She tries to soften the blow with “for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re safe.” But Omega is not having it. “Am I??” Emerie knows she’s not, sighing in fear and resignation again as Hemlock takes Omega away to the vault. She tries to console herself by giving the children better games to keep their minds engaged, and pointedly asserts her rank and decision to keep Omega in contact with the other children even when Dr. Scalder disagrees with her choice. Her confidence is still growing. Her sense of right and wrong is slowly becoming more and more defined. She is now starting to show a split front between her attempts to placate Omega vs. the questions and doubts that have been festering inside her. Will she finally be able to push through her fears and use her influence and position to help the children, the clones, Omega, and the Batch escape by the end? Or will she remain trapped in a life that she didn’t choose but that she has long since begun to question and pull away from?

Just like the rotating dial of test vials that she oversees every day, Emerie’s moral compass continues to inch closer and closer toward a resolution, until hopefully it will click fully into place. And when it does, Hemlock will (hopefully) regret every ounce of trust he’s ever placed in her. And Omega will hopefully be fully justified in the trust, pleas, and examples that she has been giving Emerie, her big sister, this whole time. Emerie’s sense of identity, justice, and conviction hang in the balance. She can be an agent of change for everyone’s fates, if she chooses to step into her own.  

✨ Tag List ✨

@drafthorsemath @freesia-writes @sunshinesdaydream @ladyzirkonia @jedizhi @the-little-moment @the-bad-batch-baroness @heyclickadee @burningfieldof-clover @dreamless-daydreamer

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #star wars #the bad batch spoilers #tbb emerie #dr hemlock #omega #tbb omega #tbb hemlock #emerie karr #dr emerie karr #tbb emerie karr #bad batch emerie

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part seventeen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

-

The lifeblood of Shinra is power in its many forms - Mako, money, military, medical... - but its nervous system is intelligence.

Shinra controls all the major print media, radio and television stations and has its own, not entirely public, publicity arm that makes sure that those things stay in line. It works from within the Public Service Department, of course, and it has its fingers in everything from print houses to public libraries to theatres and cinema. Very few things go out into the world without Shinra Public Service's stamp on it.

And the Department has, always, an ear to the ground for rumours. Everything from a Department head's illicit indulgences to lowly janitor voicing work-related complaints at a bar, Turks are often the first to know about. Some of those rumours could be ignored, others had to be suppressed, some were given a megaphone, and the rest… were dealt with according to procedure. 

Whenever there's anything at all noticeable out in the wilds, the Turks notice. And when SOLDIER First Class takes a leave of absence, it's noticeable.

When it's Sephiroth, it's a potential disaster - PR, or otherwise. And the fact that he cited Shinra Medical Research Department as his reason….

Sephiroth doesn't take time off. He gets it assigned in the form of downtime, which he then uses to train, but he never requests it. He never takes any form of sick leave either - he doesn't get sick. And he rarely, if ever, cites the Medical Research Department in any way in written form.

The man has a… notably awkward relationship with the department, what with it being run by his father. Who is, by all accounts, one of the most abusing and manipulative men in Turk records. Hm.

"First signs of a little rebellion from our Silver General," Reno suggests, lounging casually back on Tseng's office couch. "Or the first cracks in the ice?"

Tseng hums, leafing through Sephiroth's file. It's a lengthy one - even the unclassified folder is thicker than any other SOLDIERs - but has remarkably little about Sephiroth's psychology. It was considered a non-issue, because Sephiroth was classified more as company property, rather than as an employee. Employees need to be managed - property is used or stored.

It makes it difficult to estimate, or even guesstimate his potential reaction - or the eventual fallout.

"They accidentally killed him with an injection," Rude comments, sitting across from Reno. "It's reasonable cause."

"Reasonable cause to lose his shit and go crazy sword killer on us all," Reno says, crossing one leg over the other. "Like that guy, what's his face - went whacko on a mission and slaughtered his whole squad in Wutai."

"No such incident occurred," Tseng says, inflectionless.

"Yes, yes, and that particular jungle burned down to the ground completely by coincidence," Reno snorts. "Just saying - that guy went through only a fraction of what Sephiroth's gone through. If the Elite among Elite is cracking, I'd like to know what happened the last time SOLDIER lost their marbles. You know, for reference."

Though a fair point, it's not a good point of reference for Sephiroth though - Sephiroth is on a whole different level of dangerous.

Lowering the folder, Tseng rests his elbows on his desk and steeples his hands. "SOLDIER look after their own," he comments, more to himself than to his underlings.

"And thank fuck for that," Reno agrees heartily. "But again, it's Sephiroth."

In previous cases of SOLDIER showing especial signs of stress, they were taken care of by other SOLDIERs. They even did a decent enough job covering up the usual issues that plagued SOLDIERs thanks to Mako injections - the side effects of memory loss were something of an open secret, but as long as it didn't affect SOLDIER effectiveness, it was being overlooked.

Usually Turks could trust SOLDIER to clean up their own messes… but sometimes a jungle had to burn. Tseng didn't really want to go poking around SOLDIER, but…

Sephiroth is more than a potential incident with massive casualties they might need to take care of. He's the face of Wutai War - and the company's second most valuable asset, right after Mako extraction technology itself. An incident simply isn't permissible, when Sephiroth is concerned. However… it might not be preventable, either.

Sephiroth is the only member of Shinra military that cannot be swept under the rug if he becomes an issue. Nor is there much anything they can do to control the man. Sephiroth answers to Lazard and through him to Heidegger… but he's owned by Hojo. And Hojo barely answers to the president.

How troublesome.

"I want a full, detailed accounting of everything Sephiroth has done post-op, and everything he will do going forward, until we can safely classify him as no longer a concern," he decides. It's barely an effort to maintain control, he knows, but there's not much else that can go, with a VIP target like this.

Hopefully being watched would make the man exercise self-control - rather than make him feel controlled and all the more stressed. 

"And if he loses it and starts slicing and dicing everything that moves?" Reno asks. "Because, no offence, boss, you don't pay me near enough to get in the way of that." Rude hums in agreement.

"I pay you enough to make sure no one important does either," Tseng says, giving him a look. "Distract, divert and minimise loss of valuable company assets. Which includes Sephiroth himself."

"What fun that will be," Reno decides and rolls to his feet with all the grace of an alleyway cat. "Alright. Off I go to poke my nose where it doesn't belong."

Rude hums and stands up, pushing his glasses higher up on his nose. "What's the operating procedure concerning information leakage? Sephiroth is a public figure."

"Standard OP. Suppress anything that might bring trouble to the company," Tseng says and leans back. "Nothing has changed, for now, so let's concentrate on getting Sephiroth quickly and smoothly back to Wutai." Where any incidents would be much easier to suppress.

"Here's hoping our famous Elite First won't make that impossible," Reno says. "Like, by very publicly going Tonberry on someone's ass."

Tseng sighs. "Reno…"

"I'm going, I'm going," Reno cackles. "Coming, Rude?"

"Mn," Rude hums and nods to Tseng. "Sir."

Tseng waits until they're out of the office before leaning back with a sigh.

The SOLDIER program has made one hell of a difference for Shinra, both in military power and in terms of publicity. Now if only Medical Research stopped treating them like disposable lab rats… 

Running a hand down his face, Tseng shakes his head. Not his department. With that thought he turns to his computer and on to what is his department - and begins writing a report on what it would take to neutralise Sephiroth, if it ever became necessary. 

-

No personal privacy in this company. SY would really like for people to stop being concerned about him now, please and thank you.

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #svsss #tseng of the turks #reno of the turks #rude of the turks

[copperbadge]

Hi! I suspect this question may sound sarcastic or asshole-ish, but I promise it's sincere. And I realize that you're not a doctor, so feel free to ignore or tell me to DMOR, but you seem to have looked into this pretty extensively, so I thought you might have some thoughts. If you take ADHD meds and they work (that is, you don't feel any different but you can actually Do Things, which maybe gives you really positive feelings, which is not how you usually feel about yourself), how do you know that it's actually ADHD and not that normally you're just lazy, but now you took meth and you're hyper and euphoric or whatever it is that it does to non-ADHD people? Asking for a friend.

I...hm, layers to this one. First, thank you for offering a tone note because on the one hand, without it I definitely would have felt a bit hostile, but on the other hand it's very difficult to ask a question like this without sounding like you're trying to get a rise, when you really are just trying to get information. I'd struggle with that too. So thank you! I believe you are in earnest :)

I'm going to try to dig through this by levels rather than go through the question chronologically, that might cause the least amount of confusion and crosstalk. This is going to get long and quite rough and I’m going to address a lot of tender subjects including drug use, addiction, and self-esteem issues, so please read with care for yourselves. 

(I’ve tried to add in bolded topic headers so if you have ADHD and get bored of reading about one thing you can skip to the next!) 

So to start with -- and this isn’t particularly satisfying as an answer, but well...I know I have ADHD because I’ve been evaluated for it, twice now, and the doctors said I did. 

I fit a lot of the classic symptoms on the usual checklists, and while I’m smart enough to game those checklists, I tried to answer as honestly as I could. I wasn’t especially interested in getting Adderall for its intoxicant properties, since I’ve got plenty of access to other, arguably much easier to obtain intoxicants. I also, because I know myself to be someone who enjoys gaming tests for the game’s sake, made sure that at least one of the evaluations had cognitive tests that were harder to fuck with, like tangrams and memory tests and such. On the very top level, I know I’m medicating my ADHD because the tests say I have ADHD. 

But say we don’t trust the tests, or say I’m not as honest as I claim. On the next level down, but still quite near the surface, let's talk about "how do you know you're medicated and not high?" 

I've been in several kinds of altered state -- concussed, runner's high, stoned on weed or opiates, drunk -- and very occasionally I’ve been around people on coke or meth, though I’ve never done those myself. It's usually not difficult to tell that you are not functional on a normal level. It's difficult to describe how to someone who hasn’t experienced it, but for me being in an altered state like that is very evident. The first time I got a runner's high I was absolutely terrified because I knew something was wrong with me cognitively, but not why it had happened. When I woke up concussed, I knew immediately that something was wrong, but it was all I could do to get dressed and go across the street to a clinic, I was so fucked up. If you’re in an altered state and suddenly need to do something complicated, you're aware you would very much like not to be in that state anymore.

I've described Adderall as being like the most functional high you've ever had, but there are differences. If I've had, say, a weed edible, I feel calmer and happier and I'm also aware I'm stupid. I'm impaired and I can tell that. If I've taken an Adderall, I feel calmer and happier but not nearly to the same level, and there's no impairment to my intellect. Part of the calm is that if I think of something I need to do, I can immediately get up and do it, competently -- or I can decide not to. I control my impulses and actions. With street meth -- which I should note is much, much more potent than a low-dose Adderall -- compulsive behavior and lack of control are much more evident. Even if you are getting a lot done while on meth, you’re not necessarily in control of what, or how many times you have to do it to get it right. I'm told this is also often how people who don't have ADHD react to Adderall -- they’re not efficient as much as they are manic, particularly at stronger doses, which is why a) a good test of “do I have ADHD” is “How do I react to Adderall” and b) they start you on a super low dose.

When my psychiatrist and I meet to discuss how the medication is going, he asks me stuff like, do you feel you're in control of yourself? Are you having hallucinations? Do you find yourself craving a dose even when you know it would be detrimental? Do you feel your performance at work has improved, remained the same, or fallen? Do you find yourself able to focus but not able to control what you focus on?

On Adderall I do feel like I'm in control of myself, I do better work, and while I'm still learning to aim that focus, I am capable of doing so. I don't take it after 1pm because I know that'll fuck up my sleep schedule, and truthfully I don't want to. The one time I’ve taken Adderall after 3pm was because I was going to an art museum and I wanted to see how that would alter my experience, being able to focus more fully on the art and the person I was going with. And while I did have a great time, I wouldn’t make a habit of either taking the drug late in the day or taking it purely so I could have An Experience while on it. It’s fine, it’s fun, but it’s not so much fun I’m willing to mess with my sleep over it. 

I also have zero desire to drink (for the best, given alcohol and stimulants are a no-no) and a much decreased desire to get high. I don't need to self-medicate because I am actually medicated. I wasn't doing a shitload of self-medication before, but I was undoubtedly doing some, and more during the pandemic, and I can see how it would have become unhealthy had I continued. Do I still occasionally take an edible in the evening to unwind? Yes. Do I do it at the level I was doing it earlier this year? Fuck no. And I take half the amount I used to when I do, making sure I’m doing it well after any Adderall has worn off.

The question of "medicated or high" can still be a little difficult. What I said above is also what a lot of addicts say. They believe they are in control, they are better when they're on their intoxicant of choice, etc etc. "I can stop anytime I want" is like, the number one way to quietly tell someone that you, in fact, can't. Addiction's simplest definition is "loss of control over behavior" and addicts will do a lot to convince you that they haven't lost control over their behavior. (For more on this, Caustic Soda has a great episode about addiction in which Dr. Rob discusses how addiction and physical dependence differ.) All I can really say in response to this is that Adderall improves my quality of life in ways external to my emotional state -- yes, it helps emotionally, but that’s small potatoes compared to say, weed or opioids (opioids -- now there’s a drug I could get into trouble over) and weed’s way easier to get these days than Adderall. Weed does not, however, help me cook healthful meals and clean the bathroom. Adderall does.

So let's talk about the deepest part of this -- "How do you know you're not just lazy?"

Increasingly we are coming to an understanding of human behavior that informs us that laziness doesn't exist. What we think of as laziness can be caused by a number of factors: failure of executive function, fear of failure, exhaustion, avoidance of the unpleasant. Humans want to experience pleasure, it's a fairly strong primal drive, and we do not experience pleasure purely through inaction. If you should be doing something but aren't, that's not pleasurable, it’s stressful and boring. Lots of people will tell you “I fucking love to sleep, sleep is the best thing” and I’m sure they truly feel that way, but it’s not because they’re lazy, it’s because they have a sleep debt they’re banking against or paying back. There’s a lot of debate about laziness right now, but even as I refer to myself as one of the laziest people on the planet, I know laziness doesn’t exist in the way we conceive of it. When I call myself lazy, I’m using it as shorthand to say “I will find the most low-energy way to achieve something.” Because I am tired, because I have ADHD. (And also because I’m not twenty anymore.)

With exquisite timing, @thebibliosphere has very recently written an essay on this situation called “But You’re So Successful Without It”. Joy can’t take any of the medications available for ADHD, and the essay talks about what it feels like to have ADHD and to burn out because of it, which is where I was about to hit earlier this year. There is no way to call Joy lazy and absolutely no way to hear what she has to say and think that she would choose to go through what she has if she had an alternative. Nobody with any compassion would force her to. 

And here’s how I know I am not actually lazy: like Joy, I want to be doing the thing. If I need to do dishes and laundry so I’m not eating with my hands and wearing smelly clothing, but I’m not doing them, that’s not laziness. I know that my life is less pleasurable, indeed very unpleasant, if I don’t do those things. If I’m still incapable of doing them, it’s not because I Don’t Wanna. It’s because I am too tired, because I don’t feel like I can deal with unpleasant sensations on top of forcing myself to do something, or because my executive function isn’t functioning. If you aren’t doing something you should be doing, there’s usually a reason beyond “I’m just lazy” and it’s helpful, in breaking out of the mindset of “I’m a lazy (and therefore bad) person”, to ask yourself why. 

If there’s a reason you’re not doing it, even if that reason is simply “I’m so tired”, then you’re not lazy. You’re tired. If it’s because it’s unpleasant, then you’re not lazy, you’re avoiding pain. If you want to and just simply can’t, you’re dealing with a loss of executive function. 

Sometimes there are nonmedical workarounds. I wear gloves to do the dishes, I bought a cordless stick vac so my back wouldn’t hurt because I was constantly holding the vacuum cord in one hand, I blast podcasts when I’m doing something boring so my mind is elsewhere. I used to run at 3am because at any other time I was too fucking tired and I hate being out in public around strangers.

But, well, the best workaround for wonky executive function for me is Adderall. It’s not for everyone, it’s not an option for some, but for me it is one more tool -- admittedly a pretty spectacular one -- to manage a difficult life. 

All that said, the idea of being a Bad Person for Not Doing A Thing is a knot that it takes a long time to unpick. It is very freeing, and certainly less stressful, to both acknowledge that some things are beyond us, and receive help that brings them back into the realm of our ability to do. But it’s a process, and nobody can hustle anyone down that path faster than they are capable of going. So, all I can do is offer my personal experience. 

Even if this shit does kill me eventually, I’d rather have thirty more years where I am the person I’ve been in the last two months, than have fifty more years where I am the person I was in 2021. And even if I eventually have to go off it, what I’ve learned will help me not to hurt myself for something beyond my control. 

#sam has adhd #adderall #drug use #addiction #self-esteem

[twstfanblog]

*~Period Drama~* Saturday

A/N: So I sneezed, which is why this is out before the RSA series chapter lol. But I'm gonna have a lot of fun with this series I can feel it. Word Count: 4.7K (Wow, around the same as the last part) Warnings: Period mentions, Blood mentions (Drawing blood) She/They OC Pronouns Pairings: Azul/Reader (Poly), Jamil/Reader (Poly), Platonic relationships with Floyd, Jade, Ortho, and Crewel. Enjoy! Start, Part 2 (Here), Part 3 (Heartslabyul), Part 4 (Savanaclaw), Part 4.5 (Diasomnia pt.1), Part 5 (Diasomnia pt.2)

Jamil, Azul, Jade, Floyd, Grim, Ace, and Deuce stood outside of ramshackle, some of them sitting on the wooden steps. Waiting as patiently as they could for Crewel to give them a final order. No more than twenty minutes had passed before Crewel opened the front door. He looked their group over, coming to some sort of choice before he smacked the palm of his hand with his crop, “Octavinelle pups, you stay. The rest of you go on with your day.” “Wait, what!?”

“Sensei!”

“Why does he-”

Crewel smacks his palm again. The crack somehow perfectly balanced with the harsh shush he gives them, quieting the protesting group instantly. His glare softens at seeing their crestfallen faces, “Yuu will be in contact. I need to gather up the needed potions and resource materials. But for now, They’re resting and it would be best to have someone in the house with them. Both to get them whatever they need and to keep unwanteds out. Ergo, the Octavinelle mutts.”

Jamil frowns but doesn’t speak up. He knew that he would probably have damage control to do in Scarabia. Najma most likely called Kalim in confusion from his call, not entertaining the thought of actually waiting on him to explain his bizarre question. Kalim would have only half the story and no context which was worrying enough, so he was clearly panicking and amassing the other Scarabia students for a witch hunt. He should stop at Scarbia before going back to basketball practice…

Deuce steps forward, imaginary puppy ears drooping as he mutters out, “Is Yuu at least okay? I didn’t see much, but it looked like a lot of blood…”

Sighing, Crewel walked down the stairs, gently patting Deuce on the head as he passed, “They’re fine, pup. I’m going to gather the Shroud boy and then prepare a proper medical report. As far as we should be concerned, this is completely natural for Yuu, if a bit painful.” He reached into his coat, pulled out his pipe kit and started to fill it as he walked away, “But for now, Azul, Floyd, and Jade are to look after them until I come back. You other pups are to return to your scheduled activities and tell no one about this.”

Ace looked to the side nervously, thankfully unseen by anyone before he nodded and started to make his way down the path behind Crewel. Deuce sighs but nods, calmed by the info that Yuu was okay at least. He jogs down the path after Ace, none of them are really surprised when muffled yelling could be heard a little down the way.

Azul looked out of the corner of his eye, catching Jamil giving him an intense glare. He knew Jamil was upset at the turn of events, the very fact Azul was picked over him would be enough to anger the Scarabian student. Let alone being picked by their lover’s pseudo-father figure as their keeper. He turns entirely to him, smiling and opening his mouth to pacify his lover-in-law before Jamil interrupts him.

Jamil turned his back on Azul, walking down the path to get back to campus. He quickly scooped Grim into his arms, ignoring the monster hissing and fighting his grip, “Just make sure they eat something high in iron.” That was all he said before he was also gone from view, walking past the row of trees acting as a fence of the property.

Silence passes the three students before Azul squeals, smiling wide and pumping his fist, “YES! He trusts me! You both saw that! He gave me his faith that I would tend to our lover. It’s only a matter of time before I can talk him into transferring!”

Floyd rolls his eyes, walking back into the house with a snickering Jade behind him, “Either you take care of my Shrimpy or they’ll kill you themselves…” he mutters under his breath, pout turning into a frown as the scent of blood hits him harder inside.

Jade’s own mirth decreases at the smell. He hums looking around the dorm. Yuu wouldn’t want the windows open, not to mention the smell would simply travel over the campus. The last thing they needed was Malleus smelling Yuu’s blood in the air. Seven could only think of the disaster that would bring. He looks up the stairs, only half listening as Azul enters the dorm to bicker with Floyd.

“-fact you would insinuate I wouldn’t take care of my pearl is insult enough, Floyd.”

“Ehe~? I just said Shrimpy wouldn’t let you slide with shitty service. You scared of a little blood Azul~?”

“I will dock your pay-”

“I’ll go sit with Yuu, keep them company.” Jade smiled over his shoulder, already walking up the stairs. He pauses halfway up the stairs, tilting his head at their stares, “Unless I’m allowed free range of their meal?”

Floyd instantly perked up, rushing to the kitchen whining with a glare at his brother, “No way! You’ll make some weird mushroom thing that’ll make Shrimpy even sicker!”

Azul stays for only a moment before he follows Floyd, giving Jade one last look, “Do make sure my pearl is in good condition. If you can wake them up, ask if they would like a bath.”

“Will do.” 

Jade parts with Azul, walking onto the second floor and toward Yuu’s room. He rested his hand on the doorknob and breathed in deep. Yuu’s blood was interesting, he’s always found it to be since he first smelled that foreign flora that no one could place. But that didn’t mean he wanted to smell it so strongly. He took in another deep breath in hope if he smelled it thoroughly enough the tightness of worry would loosen in his chest. Once calm he creaked the door open, knocking on it gently as he peaked his head in, “Yuu, I’m coming in.”

A simple groan answers him. That was acceptance of entry enough for him. He closes the door behind him and walks to sit in the armchair, moving it just a foot or so closer to the bed. Yuu had rotated since he last saw them. Now lying on their front with the blanket uncovered to their calves, arms wrapped around a pillow and eyes closed. If it wasn’t for the brief moments of their eyebrows creasing in pain, Jade would think they were perfectly fine.

A few minutes pass before Yuu opens their eyes, vision slightly hazy from pain, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Jade smiles, leaning forward to poke their cheek in greeting, “I’m guessing whatever is going on is quite painful?”

“Very much, yes.” They groan, snuggling into their pillow, “Periods are a bitch.”

“Azul said something about that. ‘Period’. That’s what it’s called?” When Yuu confirms, he leans back into the chair, humming under his breath. Now that things had calmed down, Jade couldn't help but call the whole scenario interesting. Finding differences in biology was always a fascinating venture, “Tell me about it.”

“Are you sure? It’s kinda gross and like…as you saw, pretty bloody.”

Jade chuckles, raising a hand to cover his mouth coyly, “I already said I want to know! Please don’t tease me in such a way!” He preens, feeling a small wave of pride at hearing Yuu laugh.

“You’re so weird…Alright.” Yuu angled herself to look over to Jade, raising an eyebrow, “What do you wanna know?”

“Is the bleeding just the first step of it? Do you gain internal injuries to produce the blood? Is the pain a result of-”

“I’m gonna just…stop you right there…” Yuu took a moment, trying to not laugh again, not wanting to change their towels yet, “So…Periods are weird because I feel like I'm injured but it’s all natural because of hormones are whatever.”

“Your hormones make your internal organs stimulate injuring themselves?” he takes a moment to look around the room. Standing up to grab a notepad and pencil from Yuu’s desk before returning to the armchair, "We have basic health classes in middle school. But I've never heard of hormones causing internal bleeding."

“Eh…more like the hormones jumpstart a refreshing process? Not so much internal bleeding.” 

Jade smiled wide, his pencil poised to write down every word they said, "Do tell.”

Azul texted Crewel to bring an iron supplement potion along with the pain potions. Yuu didn’t have any food besides snacks and her childish cereals, how Floyd managed to find enough items for a seafood alfredo was nothing short of a miracle by Azul’s standards. Sure it wasn’t high in iron like Yuu needed, but it would be warm and something for her to eat.

They were still worried. How could they not be? Their dear friend was a floor above them basically bleeding out from an intimate area that shouldn’t be bleeding. Crewel’s behavior had calmed most of their nerves, Yuu strangely wouldn’t lie to Crewel nearly as much as she would any other teacher. And Crewel wouldn’t be half as calm if something had actually happened. But as Floyd had said to him, ‘It still felt gross’. All of them forced to twiddle their thumbs and wait for Crewel or Yuu to give them all the facts instead of just dismissing their horrific theories.

Floyd scooped the pasta dish into a bowl, as Yuu preferred it, shoving a fork in it and walked past Azul. He didn’t bother to listen to Azul tell him to stop and wait for Yuu to get up from her nap or call for them. He didn’t want to. The only reason he cooked instead of Jade was because his brother couldn’t be trusted in a kitchen alone without shoving mushrooms into something. At least not while Azul was as distracted as he was. But he was just as worried as the others, Yuu was his Shrimpy. He’d share with his brother and Azul. But as far as he was concerned he was doing just that, sharing. Shrimpy was his to look after for as long as she hung around him. And he was already in a bad mood from earlier thinking he had failed her.

“Floyd, Yuu might still be sleeping, we shouldn’t bother them.” Azul scolded him, trying to keep his voice down while making sure it carried a harshness.

“Don’t care. I wanna check on Shrimpy…”

Azul kept quiet before he sighed. He pulled out his handkerchief, if Yuu was still sleeping he could cover the bowl so they could eat later. It would be lukewarm at best, but it’d be clean and ready for Yuu when they woke up, “Fine. Let’s go check on them…”

Floyd didn’t bother to knock, opening the door one-handed and ignoring Azul’s groan behind him, “Shrimpy~, you awake?”

Yuu rolled over, smiling with an edge of weariness, and waved, “Hi Floyd~.”

“Shrimpy!” Floyd nearly dropped the bowl onto the bed sheets, moving to hug and squeeze his best friend. The scent of blood was still strong but just knowing that his friend was okay was enough to keep him in a positive mood. Pulling away, he passes the bowl properly to them, “You doing alright?”

Yuu smiles as Azul moves quickly to place his handkerchief onto her lap, a small comment on the bowl being hot. She kept eye contact with the cecaelian until Azul turned away with a blush. But, she does place the bowl on her lower stomach, the heat helping more than the boys knew, “Thank you for the food. And no, I’m in pain.”

Floyd’s relaxed expression instantly changes, dropping into a frown and downward brows, “Why? What happened to make you bleed like this Shrimpy? If we were in the ocean you’d be a chum magnet…”

Jade looked up from his notes, “Muscle tension.”

“Huh?” Both Azul and Floyd turned to him in confusion.

Jade taps at the notepad, showing the lines of neat handwriting with various questions sprinkled around it, “Yuu’s body is physically pushing the blood out by contracting their pelvic muscles. The involuntary spasms are causing some intense muscle cramps.”

Azul frowns, his hand moving to press on their stomach, almost trying to feel the sensation, “When will it stop? Losing this much blood can’t be good for you…”

Jade looked over his notes, sighing at his findings, “Yuu says this lasts four days normally for them.”

“Four days?” Both Azul and Floyd exclaimed, worry evident in their voices.

Yuu smiled, leaning against their pillows, “Seven is the standard.”

Azul whips his head back to Yuu, eyes wide and glasses nearly falling off his face, “Seven!?”

“How do you stop it?” Floyd looked the most distressed out of all of them, simply looking at Yuu’s lap with poorly veiled concern.

“Oh, Azul, you’ll love this.” Jade beamed, eyes reading over his writing, “This is apparently happening because Yuu didn’t get pregnant.”

…

Floyd turned to look at Azul, voice deadpan, “Azul, hurry up and knock Shrimpy up so we don’t have to deal with this.”

The scandalized look on Azul’s face makes Yuu burst into laughter, blood be damned. The cecaelian stuttered out a rambled form of scolding and excuses on how he couldn't 'Knock Them Up' and how it was no one’s business what he and his lover did in the bedroom. He only grew more flustered seeing the smiles on the twins' faces, knowing they were internally mocking him and his distressed state.

He snaps his fingers, a golden contract appearing beside him. Gripping it fiercely, he points to the four names signed at the bottom, "In any case! Per our official ‘Quad Agreement’, only Draconia is allowed to impregnate Yuu and that's not even in effect until they’ve both graduated!" With another snap, the scroll was gone, leaving Azul huffing and crossing his arms.

Yuu quiets their laughter, reaching out a hand to hold Azul’s, " Aw~. Are you mad you can't give me an octo baby?"

"I'm mad because you're in pain and the one way to stop this is something we can't do for years!" Azul does loosen his arms, both hands coming to cradle their outstretched one, "You've been acting odd all week before this whole bleeding mess even started. We were worried…"

Floyd pouts, resting his head on Yuu's shoulder, uncaring of how far he had to bend, "You punched me for trying to give you a piggyback ride, Shrimpy. Really hurt my feelings."

"You had seemed quite lethargic the past few days." Jade gave a worried smile, tone clear in just how concerned the past events had made him.

Yuu looked at all of them in shock, looking at the slowly cooling bowl of pasta before they covered their mouth. The room was silent until Yuu closed their eyes and tried to fight back the whimper threatening to leave their throat.

"...Yuu-"

"You guys care so much about me…so much…" Yuu lets go of the bowl, both hands fanning at their face as their eyes well up with tears, "And I've been such a bitch to you." Their voice cracked and slid into a high-pitched wail as the tears started to fall.

Jade’s eyes widened, his mouth opening in a silent gasp as he quickly shared a panicked look with Azul, " O-oh, oh no."

The cecaelian babbled, stuttering under his breath and hovering his hands over Yuu’s body. He wasn’t sure if Yuu wanted to be physically comforted, or even touched, “Yuu? What’s wrong, are you in more pain? Do you need me to call Crewel!?”

Floyd hesitantly pats at Yuu’s head, not wanting a repeat of being sucker punched in the face the last time he touched an upset Yuu, “There, there Shrimpy. Just eat your food…”

Still crying, taking shaky breaths while gathering a collection of noodles and seafood on their fork, “You guys are so nice to me. And I’m a bad friend…”

Jade was subtly leaning away, pressing his back deeper into the chair as he eyed Yuu with mild suspension, “No…You’re a perfectly good friend to us, Yuu.” Hormonal changes would explain Floyd’s notice of Yuu’s scent being 'off'. He assumed the different levels had only affected their body as they had stated. But it seemed their emotions were also being affected. A moody Floyd is something he grew up with, he knew every tell Floyd could give. A hormonally moody Yuu was new and dangerous territory as far as Jade was concerned.

Even with their reassurance, Yuu’s tears wouldn’t stop. The three males grew more uneasy, simply watching their friend bleed on her bed and eat lukewarm pasta while she softly cried. They shared a look between the three of them before Azul stepped forward, a nervous smile on his face while he gently caressed her hair.

“It’s…it’s ok my pearl.”

Yuu looked up, sniffling pitifully before pressing her head into his hand, “I’m sorry I’m so mean to you…”

Azul chuckles, pressing a kiss to their cheek before pulling away, “It’s ok. I will admit, I do like when you’re a bitch.”

The sweet air was gone in a second. Yuu’s crying stopping as though a switch was flipped. They glared up at Azul, “Did you just call me a bitch!?”

“...” Azul looked to the side then back to her, pulling his hand back, “I-”

“So you think I’m a bitch!?”

“No?” The confusion in his voice was clear. He looked at the twins who were just as puzzled, the two eel-mers quickly shrugging at his silent question as to what he did. 

They also had no clue how to proceed. Yuu would normally either let them in on, or at least make their goal clear when they toyed with Azul. But this sort of rapid-fire mood change was not in their MO. It was even more so than Floyd could keep up with.

Yuu turned back to their pasta, tears coming back full force as their anger disappeared, “You’re lying to me…”

“...Would you feel better if I thought you were a bitch?”

“What is that supposed to mean!?”

Hours later, Floyd opened the door, disheveled and pouting at Crewel and Ortho, “Knifejaw…Hurry up and fix Shrimpy. They’re really mean like this and I’m sick of it.”

Crewel raised an eyebrow, walking into the dorm and waving a hand to send Ortho up before him, “Are they? More so than normal?” He said it with a jovial air, teasing his student since his own moods were the things of nightmares.

“Yes. If I felt like it, I would beg. I can’t handle them like this…”

“...”

Well, that was concerning… Floyd followed Crewel back up the stairs. Opening Yuu’s bedroom he realized that Floyd wasn’t kidding. Next to a standing Ortho Yuu sat on the bed, now cocooned in one of their blankets in Azul’s lap. Tear tracks on their cheeks and angrily sniffling between hand-fed forkfuls of pasta. Azul was sweating, oozing a nervous energy as though he were defusing a bomb and not feeding his lover. Jade sat in the far corner, chair pressed against the wall as far back as it could be and furiously writing notes.

Ortho beeped, eyes showing he was smiling under his mask, “Body scan complete! No external injuries are to be found!” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Yuu and resting his head on them, “I’m so glad you’re ok, Prefect Yuu!”

Floyd huffs from the doorway, glaring at the display, “Oh, he can hug you but I get punched if I try?”

Yuu glares, eyes just peaking through Ortho’s flaming hair, “I could never hit Ortho, he’s baby.”

“Prefect Yuu is right, I am baby.” the smug tone was just barely heard through Ortho’s normal frequency of cheer. Looking up his bright yellow eyes meet Yuu’s, “Oh! Just so you know, Ace told the rest of us what was going on in our group chat. Though Crewel-Sensei told me that no one was supposed to know. In his defense though, the timestamps show Ace gave the information before Crewel-Sensei gave the order to not tell anyone.” 

Yuu looks over to their phone on the nightstand, groaning at the wall of texts they’re sure is waiting for them, “God damn it.”

Sighing, Crewel waved his hand, “This is very cute, but Ortho you’re here for medical purposes. Let’s not get distracted.”

“Right!” Ortho stands up straight, holding out a hand as his other arm morphs to produce a syringe. “Prefect Yuu, may I have your arm to take a blood sample?”

Even though it looked like that was the last thing Yuu wanted to do, they managed to remove their arm from the blanket cocoon to place in Ortho’s waiting hand. Looking away while Ortho set to work finding a vein.

Crewel walked to the bed, grabbing a potion from his coat and uncorking it in one fluid movement, “How are you feeling, pup?”

“Like I’m in pain. The same as two hours ago. What kind of fucking question-” A fork full of pasta and sauce was shoved into their mouth, cutting them off from cussing out their teacher/father. Azul smiled timidly when Yuu’s glare snapped to him. Muttering through their food as they chewed, “Don’t you ever fucking try to silence me with pasta, again.”

Waiting until Yuu had swallowed and taken a breath, Crewel shoved the opening of the potion bottle to Yuu’s mouth and forcibly made them drink it, taking care to not justle their arm while Ortho drew blood. He adored his pup. But he was not going to sit idle and let them bark at him like they had the right, “That’s nice sweetie. Take your medicine, you’ll feel better.”

He only let up once the flask was empty, pulling away and placing the glass back into his coat. Yuu’s glare slowly softens, tense body finally relaxing in Azul’s nervous hold. They sigh, dropping their head into the crook of Azul’s neck, nosing into the flushed skin before pulling away to rest their cheek on his shoulder, “Sorry…about threatening your life and stuff. Forgot how bad cramps were…”

Azul, slowly wrapped his arms around them, nuzzling into their hair, “It’s…ok? So long as you’re feeling better now. Were you truly in that much pain?”

Floyd hums from the doorway, folding his arms, “I guess I can give you a pass then. I don’t like being in pain either, it’d make me just as crabby as you’ve been…”

Jade nodded from his corner, but made no move to come closer, “And it’s been nearly 6 hours since the supposed start of all of this. Does the pain really last the whole cycle?”

Yuu nods, “Yeah…I normally take pain meds when I realize it’s started so I don’t feel the worst of it. I take another dose either daily or just when I feel the first dose wearing off. But I didn’t have any potions in the house so I was gonna nap it off until Sam got my order.”

“All done!” Ortho spoke up, the vial of blood being placed in a secondary pouch for safety. Morphing his hand back, he placed his hands on Yuu’s lower stomach, tingles of something pulsing from Ortho’s fingers as he performed another scan, “In the most scientific phrasing you can, tell me what’s going on so I can add it to your file.”

Without missing a beat, Yuu answered, “My vagina is internally peeling and the liquidated lining is being pushed out.”

…

Ortho closed his eyes and stood up straight, arms resting at his sides. Turning around he walked out of the room, brushing past Floyd and closing the door behind him.

“...” Azul looked at Yuu, the horror from earlier that day returning to his face full force, “Your what is what now!?”

The sound of Jade’s pencil scratching at the notepad starts up again, muttering under his breath about needing more paper. Rushing to the desk and flipping through notebooks for a clean page.

Floyd simply looked sick by the door, the visual refusing to leave his mind.

“You know…” Crewel chuckled under his breath, more annoyed than mirthful, “That would have been a wonderful nugget of knowledge to have two hours ago.”

“I would have loved to not be in pain for half the day, but we don’t all get the raisin butter, do we?”

“Yuu.”

“It is really that different here?”

“Does blood come gushing out of female anatomy for a week? No, no it doesn’t. Yes, it’s different, puppy.”

Yuu sat quietly, looking down before raising their gaze back to Crewel, “I should probably learn more about the biology of this place…”

Crewel shook his head, annoyance clear in his expression while he pulled out folders from his bag, “Yeah you really should.” muttering under his breath about a ‘Dumb adorable dog’ as he slapped the papers on the bedspread, “So to start, there is a similar process-”

Floyd, opens the door, “Yeah, I’m leaving I’m bored and kinda freaked out.”

“Bye, Floyd! Sorry for punching you again.”

“Bye, Shrimpy~! Don’t bleed out!” He slammed the door behind him.

Jade sighed, standing from the armchair, “I should make sure he’s not doing anything too destructive. Best of luck to yourself, Yuu.”

Yuu waves to him while he leaves the room. They look to Azul, raising an eyebrow in question, “You wanna leave too?”

Azul mused for a moment. Female health classes weren’t something he was required to know, nor wanted to know. Anatomy in the Coral Sea was extensive enough, adding on surface world versions couldn’t be too different in hindsight. He might need the info later on in his life, maybe for a deal. Maybe to use it for a creative writing class, would Yuu find it distasteful if he wrote about their period in a horror setting?

“Azul?”

“I’ll stay.”

“Fine.” Crewel smacked his crop in his hand, twirling it to make the papers float and act as a PowerPoint, “Since you scared away the Shroud boy, I’ll have to do it this way.” Pointing toward a digraph of a uterus he spoke, “Luckily enough everything seems to be the same hardware-wise if your previous medical scans are anything to go by. Though, because you don’t have magic in your world, your bodies evolved a more… physical process.”

“Are you seriously telling me you bitches don’t get periods because you have magic?”

Azul slowly lifted a forkful of food to Yuu’s mouth, shakingly offering it like a sacrifice. He found that food was an easy way to calm their seemingly blind rage. He’d have to ask Jade for his notes later since he was too busy trying to keep Yuu and Floyd from fighting each other. He softly breathes a sigh of relief when Yuu lets him stuff the food into their mouth.

Crewel watched the exchange silently before continuing, “Yes…The process here is done normally after a day at most. The body’s natural magic will flare up and revitalize the uterus lining instead of…removing it.” He waved his crop, a photo of a body and various systems replacing the first example, “As I’ve told you before, everyone in Twisted Wonderland has magic naturally in their body’s cells simply from the magical byproduct of our world. So even if someone can not do magic, their body can still store magic to perform such cycles. It’s why scarring is so rare. Seeing how with modern medicine and the body’s cell restorative magic, healing has reached an almost perfect standard.”

Yuu was quiet, looking over the visual examples as Crewel continued his impromptu lecture. Leaning forward, they sighed out for so long it had morphed into a cry. They simply pushed away from Azul, ignoring him when he tried to comfort them. Turning away, they landed face first into the mattress and cried into their pillow. Through their sobs, muffled by the cushion they yelled, “This fucking sucks! I can’t even bitch with anyone else about how much this hurts!”

Azul looked at them in worry, barely noticing the red smears on his pants, “My pearl? Do you want pasta? Pasta makes it better right?”

“Azul, I’m getting real tired of you trying to feed me. I’m not a fucking wild horse you can soothe with delightful seafood pasta!”

…

Crewel raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the offered bowl in Azul’s shaking hands, “So do you not want the pasta-”

“Yes, I want the fucking pasta!”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #yuu oc #twst wonderland #twst azul #azul ashengrotto #twst floyd #floyd leech #twst jade #jade leech #octavinelle #papa crewel #twst crewel #divus crewel #twst ortho #ortho shroud

[darkbluekies]

What would your OC’s do if their s/o cheated on them

Warnings: cutting, carving name into skin, death, isolation, very toxic, unhealthy relationships, beheading, degradation

Silas:

Basement. Immediately. You've betrayed his trust and taken his rare love for granted. He'll feel stupid and want you to realize your mistake. He'll also not hesitate in getting rid of the person who managed to steal you away from him in the worst ways possible. From now on, you'll never see anyone else. At all.

"Now, Y/N. Don't you dare look away from me. You better get used to seeing my face from now on. It'll be the only living thing I'll allow you to see. You'll stay down here until you've learned your righteous place. I own you, I love you. And I'll make sure you understand that."

Dr Kry:

Since you're not a couple, you can't technically cheat on him. But he won't care. You're his and people should know that. Dr Kry can never blame you for stuff, you're not well! How can he put the blame on someone who doesn't even know what's best for themselves? The person he saw you kiss will be wiped off the earth one way or another and you'll get even more drugs and medication to keep you bed bound.

"If I'm mad? Why, of course I am. Why did you kiss that person? What do they have that I don't? I literally care for you 24/7! No one else even cares about you as much as I do. And this is how you repay me? Y/N, please. You don't understand how much this hurts me and I don't blame you for that. You're just naive. That's why I have to make sure you don't leave your bed. We can't let this happen again."

King Edmund:

Edmund is extremely hypocritical. If he wanted to, he could choose anyone to be with for the night, but he never does that because he loves you. You don't have that choice however and when you take that thing for granted to piss him off, all hell will break loose. People will be executed, he'll start war, he'll separate families and burn down cities.

"See what you made me do! Why do you let other people suffer thanks to you, Y/N? All you needed to do was to obey me. You promised to be loyal in our wedding vowels. Traitor. I'll make sure you never dare to cheat on me again. From now on, every person you glance at will get beheaded with a butter knife, got it?"

Jerry:

Her friends will have alerted her and she'll catch you right in the act. The moment the door swings open, Jerry will start to laugh. She doesn't know if it's out of shock or the fact that she now can punish you. Before you have the time to "explain", she'll have shot the other person dead and made her way over to you.

"My stupid, silly little bitch. You're really dumb, aren't you? Were you trying to make me jealous? Well, I don't get jealous, baby. I get territorial. And you're my property. I'm going to carve my name into every inch of your skin and force you to look at it every fucking day. Sooner or later that empty head of yours will get it."

Hedwig:

You can't keep anything secret from Hedwig. She knows everything. When you come over to her house one day she tells you that she has something for you in a tone that frightens you. Down in the basement, your fling is tied to a chair, gagged with a handkerchief and bruised all over. Hedwig’s sobs will bring you back to reality.

"You think I didn't know?! How could you, Y/N? I worship the ground you walk on. Isn't that enough for you? What do you want me to do? How could you do this to me? I could give you everything you ever wanted. This is not fair. But don't worry. We're not breaking up. I'm giving you another chance. I'm sure we can repair our relationship. I love you so much, honey. If you do this again, I'll have no other choice but to keep you locked in my room. If you don't want that, you better keep all of your attention on me."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere mafia #yandere oc x you #yandere king #yandere doctor #yandere female #yandere thoughts #yandere headcanon

[standfucker]

If I have read your pinned post correctly, your requests are open! (If I've read it incorrectly please ignore this (HAPPY BIRTHDAY MONTH) ).

I would love a Marco x afab they/them vibes either bullet point or drabble as you see fit based off this prompt:

You stow away on The Moby Dick –and get discovered. You stowed away because your island was going to sacrifice you!

Thank you very much if you decide to write it 🥰SFW or NSFW is fine, however the words take you =3

(hides word count) I'm not biased, I'm not biased Dx Working on this during a particularly bad day was very therapeutic. That's my reasoning for it being so long, and not because I'm obsessed with Marco.

Stowing Away to Save Yourself - Marco x Reader

CW: mentions of ritual sacrifice, questions of self-worth

The weather changes abruptly in the New World. It’s only been half a day since the Whitebeard Pirates sailed from the last island they stopped at, a cheerful summer island, and since then the snow has been falling for a few hours now. Despite the chilly wind, Marco’s in a good mood; the island natives had been friendly and let the crew participate in their harvest festival.

Whistling to himself, Marco goes to retrieve medical supplies from a crate. His tune dies as he finds you hiding inside, huddled down on a stack of boxes. Wearing practically nothing, just thin clothing that appears ceremonial, your skin is ashy and dry from exposure, and the snot is frozen to your upper lip. You’re shivering badly, one arm wrapped around your knees, the other clutching a scalpel you’ve scavenged. You point it at him, eyes wide with fear, teeth chattering.

“Oh,” is all he says at first, caught off-guard. Stowaways just don’t happen on the Moby Dick–no one would dare. But Marco quickly pushes past his surprise and analyzes the situation. Your breathing is slow and shallow despite your visible alarm; he recognizes that you’re approaching hypothermia, if not already there. He shrugs off his coat, the icy wind immediately cutting through his light clothing beneath and making the hairs on his arms stand up. “You need to get warmed up, yoi. How about we trade? That scalpel for my coat?”

You flinch when he holds his coat out to you, then eye the garment. Slowly, you scoot forward, glancing between the coat and him, like you’re waiting for him to grab you. You reach out–then snatch his coat and retreat, still gripping the scalpel. Marco watches as you hold the scalpel between your teeth while you struggle to get the coat on, then go back to pointing it his way with both hands. Oh boy. He needs to handle this delicately, as you clearly don’t trust him, which is fair enough. You likely know which ship it is you’re on, after all.

“You need to get warmed up,” he repeats. “You’re going to freeze to death. Come with me, yoi. I can find you proper clothing.” When you don’t move, he adds, “you can keep holding onto that scalpel, if you’d like.”

Marco offers you a hand. You stare at it for a second, then at him. Slowly, you try to get up, but don’t quite manage it. “I…I c-c-can’t stand up…” you say, words slurring slightly.

The slurring is a bad sign. He needs to act quickly without freaking you out. Marco holds up his hands in a passive gesture. “I’m going to come closer and pick you up, yoi,” he explains. “I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m a doctor.”

He takes a step, and you don’t flinch this time. Now confident, he closes the distance and bends down to lift you. Your skin has no warmth to it, and up close, he can see the ice forming at your tear ducts.

Marco carries you like one would carry an infant, an arm tucked under your bottom and another supporting your back. You cling to his shoulder, shivering. He emits healing flames from his body to jumpstart the rewarming process, and you make a small noise of shock, grip on him tightening.

“It’s okay. They aren’t burning you, see? I ate the Bird-Bird Fruit: Phoenix Model. My flames have healing properties,” he says.

The whole way back to the infirmary, he can feel the freezing metal of the scalpel pressed against the back of his neck, but he doesn’t take it personally. You must be panicking inside, you’re just too cold to show it. He describes what’s going to happen as he walks, both to break the silence and to help keep you calm.

“I’m going to call some nurses, and they’re going to use the infirmary shower to get you warmed up. They’ll strip you, but they’re all women,” he says. “In the meantime, I’ll get something hot for you to eat. You’re going to be okay, so just hold on a bit longer, yoi.”

Once he’s reached the infirmary and set you down, he uses the emergency transponder snail to notify Tate, the head nurse. Then he takes your temperature while you both wait for them to arrive. It’s far too low for you to even be conscious, which is impressive–you must be holding on through sheer will. Marco rests one hand on the back of your neck to continue to apply healing flames. The other, he holds out to you expectantly.

“Sorry, but you can’t have the scalpel around the nurses, yoi. They’re not pirates like the rest of us, though. You’ll be safe with them.” To his surprise, you hand him the scalpel without any fuss. He smiles. “Thank you, miss…?”

You give him your name, and he repeats it before introducing himself.

Three nurses burst into the room, making you jump. They already know the situation, so Marco reassures you. “They’re here to help. The infirmary shower is over there,” he points, “I’m going to step out now. Is that okay?”

You nod, and Marco leaves you in their capable hands.

The news of a stowaway has already spread like wildfire, his crewmates continuing to stop him to ask about it as he walks down the hall, and Marco continuing to tell them he’ll update them later. Thatch has a bowl of piping-hot soup waiting for him by the time he reaches the galley, and Marco can’t help but feel proud of the crew’s efficiency.

Meanwhile, the nurses have you under a stream of warm water, slowly bringing your temperature back up. Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are drifting through molasses. They gradually float faster as your core temperature increases. It’s probably better that way, you think. If you tried to process everything you’d just escaped at once, you’re pretty sure your head would explode. You don’t even want to think about your island, your people, and how awful they seem right now. Instead, you focus on everything else: the kind doctor, who spoke soothingly and moved slowly, who smiled at you instead of throwing you overboard. The nurses, who were fussing over you and monitoring the thermometer in your mouth. The ship, which seemed like a potential death trap, but was still the better alternative than certain doom.

Once the nurses are happy with your temp, you’re dried and dressed in borrowed clothing. You tell the nurses they can throw your old clothes away, that you never want to see “those rags” again. When you come out of the shower, Marco’s waiting for you with a tray of food. He has you sit in a patient bed and sets the tray down on the extendable table, double-checking your temperature for himself. One of the nurses gripes at him for doing so, he sheepishly apologizes, and then they leave the two of you alone.

Your first sip of the soup is cautious, but once you taste it, you lift the bowl directly to your mouth and chug, nearly burning your mouth in the process. Marco smiles.

“Our ship’s cook does good work, doesn’t he?” he says. “Eat as much as you’d like. There’s plenty more, yoi.”

You don’t reply. Now that you’re all warmed up, your thoughts are moving a mile a minute, and you’d rather stuff your face than dwell on any of them.

Marco perks slightly when he hears you sniffle. You should be warm now, but–oh. You’re tearing up as you eat, hands quivering just a little bit. He leans his head on his fist, watching you.

“I suppose the only reason you’d escape that beautiful island of yours is if you had no choice,” he guesses. “Still, you’re brave to stow away on an Emperor’s ship–”

“I’m not,” you cut him off, swallowing hard. The tears begin to run down your cheeks. “I’m a coward and a disgrace.”

“What makes you say that?”

You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and look down. “...I was supposed to be a sacrifice.”

Marco’s eyes widen. Such practices are exceptionally rare nowadays, and the island had seemed so peaceful and prosperous, all the villagers kindly and energetic.

“We always have a bountiful harvest after,” you explain, eyes distant. “It happens on the last night of the festival. I was chosen as the next virgin maiden sacrifice. I’m not even a maiden! It’s…It’s not fair…” Your bottom lip quivers. “I didn’t want to die.”

“There’s certainly nothing wrong with that, yoi,” Marco says, shocked.

“There is! Now my family will be shamed, and they’re just going to kill someone else,” you covered your face, your next words coming out through sobs. “I couldn’t do it and someone else is going to die in my place. I’m such a coward! Such a coward…”

“Hey now, hey,” he says softly, unable to stop himself from reaching out to you. He rests his hands on your shoulders, bending down to your level. “It’s okay. You were right to run. It’s okay.”

Rather than flinching, you lean toward him, desperate for any sort of comfort, and he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly and letting you cry and blubber on about how sorry you are.

“Don’t worry about your village anymore,” he says, rubbing your back, “you’re safe now, and that’s what matters. You did the right thing, and now you get to have your whole life ahead of you, yoi.”

“But I…” you hiccup.

Marco cradles your face in his hands and gently lifts it so you’re looking at him. “Defying one’s fate is the bravest thing that anyone can do.”

You stare back into his eyes. Somehow, despite having just met him, you know that he means what he says. To not hang onto his words is impossible, and to not be a little taken with him from then on is even more so.

At first you don’t muster up the courage to leave the infirmary, even though you’re given the all-clear to move about. You do puzzles and draw venting, angry pictures with the things Marco provides you with. Eventually, he manages to convince you to come out with a little coaxing and reassurance. You stay glued to his side, trusting no one else, and stay firmly behind him when meeting new crewmates, peering out from his arm with a death grip on his jacket. Your legs shake when you meet Whitebeard.

The crew is friendly enough, and once Whitebeard learns your story, he gruffly reassures you that you can sail with them. You slowly begin to relax, though you still don’t leave Marco alone. He’s frequently busy, so you follow him around as he goes about his day. He doesn’t seem to mind, even teasingly calling you “duckling” for it. The only place you leave him be are in his own quarters, letting him have his privacy. You sleep in the womens’ quarters with the nurses, having decided it’s the least intimidating option.

As each day goes by, you gain more confidence. You start letting Marco out of your sight for periods of time, opting to stay by the people he hangs out with the most instead. Anyone he seems to have a high regard for, you’re willing to be around–he trusts them, so you begin to trust them, too. Each of them finds some common ground with you. For example, Thatch asks you about the food customs on your home island, though he quickly notices it’s a sore subject and changes the topic. The galley is under operation 24-7 to feed such a large crew, so he doesn’t mind letting you help out to give you something to do. When he has the time, he shows you some knife techniques and tricks. You try to mimic a complex trick, flipping the knife between your fingers, and end up slicing your index finger. When you tell Marco about it that night, he asks to see.

“It’s not bad,” you say as he peels off the bandage. “Just a little cut. Thatch said I need to take it slow...He’s nice.”

“Don’t let his charm fool you. He can be a real wiseass,” Marco chuckles, inspecting the thin scab. “Do you like to learn new things, yoi?”

“Mhm. Back home, I hadn’t picked out a trade to learn yet, because I couldn’t decide. So I just worked.”

He places his index finger over the scab, and a small, blue flame flickers out from the point of contact. It lights up the surrounding darkness with soft, cobalt light. You’re transfixed, having not seen his ability since you first met him a few weeks ago. You start to feel funny in your chest, and aren’t sure if it’s a side-effect of his ability, or if it’s because he’s holding your hand so very gently right now. His hands are warm.

“What did you do?” Marco asks.

“Farming stuff, mostly. Harvesting the fields. Sometimes I watched my neighbor’s kids, or helped out at the local market. I tried to do what I was supposed to, which was experiment and figure out a path. But I guess my problem is that I didn’t know what I wanted, even at my age. I stagnated…” you voice lowers. “That’s why…”

“Don’t think about it like that,” Marco interrupts. “I can’t say I know what your elders’ decision-making process is. But there’s never a good reason to take a life, and definitely not because it helps everyone else prosper, yoi. You deserve better.”

“They’re not bad people,” you say, sighing. “They’re… I don’t know. I don’t know why they would do that. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“I don’t blame you for feeling conflicted. They treated you well until then, I assume.”

You nod, feeling your throat get a bit tight. “Yeah.”

Marco lifts his hand from yours, and to your amazement, the cut is gone, not even a scar left in its place. You gasp, having never actually seen his powers work in such a tangible way.

“It’s healed!” you say, rubbing at the spot as if it would dispel the illusion. “No way! Marco, you’re amazing!”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Aw, shucks. It was nothing, yoi.”

“What a wonderful devil fruit! I was always told they’re bad news, but that can’t be true for all of them.”

“It’s more that the people who eat them are usually the ambitious, power-seeking type.”

“That doesn’t sound like you. Why did you eat it?”

Marco looks up at the stars for a moment, reminiscing. “My home island was in shambles. Couldn’t pay the heavenly tax, so it was complete chaos. When I came across the fruit, I didn’t know what type it was…but I hoped it could give me a better life, somehow.”

“Did it?”

He smiled sadly. “No, but Pops docked at my island not long after, and forcibly adopted me…And my power helps my brothers, so I can’t say I regret it, yoi!”

You smile. “Well, I’m glad you were the one who ate it. To help others…it suits someone like you. You deserve that devil fruit.”

A faint tinge of pink colors Marco’s cheeks, and he awkwardly thanks you for the comment, rubbing the back of his neck again.

The days pass by, and you see less of Marco as you spend more time with the crew. Ace immediately takes to treating you like a brother, and decides to teach you how to defend yourself, showing you how to handle a dagger. The crewmates watching all give their input on which weapon you should learn to use (theirs, usually) until Vista says a dagger makes the most sense for you and quiets them down. Though his towering size is a bit intimidating at first, Vista is just as warm and open as most of them, and he becomes the third person after Marco and Whitebeard in which you divulge your story.

“What a daring escape!” is his response, which warms you up to him right away.

Vista lets you sit on his shoulder to look out over the sea. So does Jozu, who shows off his devil fruit power afterward just to enjoy your marveling. Jozu insists that you try and stab him while he’s all “rocked out,” and laughs when your borrowed dagger glances harmlessly off his diamond hide. Right after his demonstration, Blamenco insists that his power is even more astounding: Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when he pulls a comically large hammer out of his own body. And once one crewmate starts showing off, they all want in, and that afternoon is spent with various displays of weaponry, skill showcasing, and a lot of posturing. The crew bickers as easily as they laugh together.

Marco stops by to see what the commotion is, and finds you laughing, too, in the middle of the crowd. He smiles to himself.

“Everyone’s so much fun,” you tell him that night, huddled next to him in the crow’s nest. It’s your first time being there, having braved the climb with Marco’s encouragement that he could fly down and catch you if you slipped. Now that you’re within it, you’re not as tense, but the height makes you nervous, so you sit right against Marco.  “Crazy, but fun. I didn’t know pirates could be like this. Especially not an Emperor’s crew.”

“Life is funny like that, isn’t it?” he responds. “You can never be sure about anything in this world.”

“I’m sure that you have a great crew.”

He chuckles. “I think so too.”

“I really thought you guys were gonna kill me, you know? I only stowed away on the small chance I could hide away until the next island.”

“Better for you that your plan fell through, yoi. Speaking of which… We’re due to arrive at another island soon to restock.” He tilts his head at you. “What do you want to do?”

You think about it for a minute. “I’m not sure…I guess I have to disembark, right?” You’ve helped around the ship where you could, your practical skills coming in handy for many small jobs. If you weren’t cleaning, you were helping the cooks in the galley, or making repairs to weapons and armor, or doing maintenance on the ship. “To be honest, I still don’t know what I want to do.”

“Nothing wrong with that. That just means you can keep on trying new things.”

“You’re pretty optimistic.”

He pauses, looking at you. “Was your indecision looked down upon before?”

“Shouldn’t it be?” you ask. “It’s healthy to have a path in life.”

“Is that a saying from your home village?”

“It is.”

He smiles wryly. “Coming from a place that makes ritual sacrifices, I’d question their wisdom, yoi. Wouldn’t you?”

You blink, a bit stunned by his words. You’d never really thought about it like that. “...They’re not bad people.”

“So you’ve said. But I wouldn’t want you going back there, myself. Good people can make bad decisions.”

“I…” you fall quiet. After a minute, he looks at you and is surprised to see you tearing up. “Sorry. I’m just…I’m so relieved.”

“Don’t apologize, yoi.” Marco drapes an arm over your shoulders. With his other hand, he wipes away your tears. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your heartbeat picks up from the contact. “Um! No. I mean, yes?” You avoid his gaze, looking guilty. “I kind of…I kind of miss them. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“Of course not. It’s still your home.”

A few more tears run down your cheeks, and you giggle nervously when he wipes those away, too. “S-Stop that. I can wipe my own face.”

“Ah, let me fuss, yoi,” he says, pinching your cheek. “It’s good for you.”

“What is?” You bat his hand away. 

“Being taken care of. I take it you’re not used to that, either.”

You shrug. “I’m an adult…I’m usually the one taking care of others. Especially since I’m unmarried.”

“You mentioned not being a ‘maiden’ once. Is that why you remained single?”

“Kind of. It’s not normal to be…like that where I’m from. I was expected to get married and have children, and if not, then to at least choose a trade to work in. But since I couldn’t do even that, I, uh…” you laugh awkwardly, avoiding his gaze, “I’m kind of considered useless…”

Marco doesn’t respond. After a minute, you glance his way nervously. He’s staring off, and there’s a dark look in his eyes. “You were chosen for that reason, then. It wasn’t random.”

“Yeah.”

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?” you say, and he looks at you intently.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Suddenly your throat gets dry, and the tears come straight back. Overwhelmed with feeling, you lean your head against his shoulder. “Thanks.”

Marco tilts your chin up to look at him. “I know this is all unfamiliar. The crew is rowdy and rambunctious, and the ship is crowded. You’re both brave and resilient to have endured it thus far, and I’m proud of you for getting along with everyone.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “It’s really not so bad,” you say. His gaze is intense, so you look up at the sky instead. “At least the stars are familiar, even if our constellations are different.”

He nudges you. “Tell me about them.”

You point up at the night sky, explaining how the northern section of stars form a constellation of a great bird. The Crow, it’s called.

“That one, above the cloud?” Marco points, and you shake your head. Taking his hand, you point it to the correct star, moving his hand to trace out the imaginary line between them. Below that one is the Farmer, eternally on the lookout for the Crow, and next to her, the Plow, and the Oxen that pull it…

The ship rocks gently, the night air cool and comfortable, and Marco is warm against your side. You name constellations until your eyelids grow heavy and your hand drifts down. Marco asks you about the next one, but you no longer respond. Looking down, he sees that you’ve fallen asleep.

That night, you dream of being carried by the Crow, made of soft blue starlight, descending from the heavens to carry you in its talons, and gently drop you into bed.

The rest of the week flies by, and soon, the Whitebeard Pirates dock at the next island. It’s one of Whitebeard’s territories, so everyone is relaxed and upbeat. You sit on the railing and watch crewmates go to and from the ship with boxes of supplies.

“It seems like a nice place,” you tell Marco, who looks up from his checklist. “I have to make a decision now. Figure out where I go from here…”

“Do you want to stay longer?” Marco asks bluntly, making you gape at him.

“Is that even allowed?”

“I doubt anyone would oppose it, but you still have to ask Pops.” The thought of asking Whitebeard is scary enough to make you hesitate, and Marco chuckles. “I can go with you, if you’d like.”

“No,” you say, surprising him. “I'll do it myself.”

At Marco’s suggestion, you wait until after dinner, by which time Whitebeard’s had a few enormous mugs of beer in him. Still, you have to resist the urge to shake in your boots. Whitebeard hasn’t talked to you much in the month you’ve been on board, and while he’s never been cruel, he is loud, brash, and seems to take up even more space than he already does with the grand aura that hangs about him.

“What do you want, squirt?” he asks before you can even say anything, brows drawn together like he’s read your mind and already made a decision.

“Uh…Um, I…” you stammer.

“Speak up.”

You swallow and raise your voice. “I…I wanna…Um…”

“Louder. My ears aren’t what they used to be.”

You step forward, close your eyes, and shout, “Pops, can I sail with you a while longer?!”

The deck is silent. Not a single crewmate makes a peep. Whitebeard’s eyebrows raise, and slowly, the corner of his lips curl up, just a little.

“You may,” is all he says, but you nearly fall over in relief, all your tension lifted in a second.

You turn away, but go rigid when he adds, “What do you say?”

“T-Thank you!” you bow to Whitebeard, who grunts and waves a hand dismissively.

You get to know more people as time passes. Jiru and Kingdew teach you the basics of working the rigging to haul in sails, and with some direction and careful observation, let you help out the crew in hoisting them one day. It's a strenuous activity made easier by many hands, but you still work up a sweat. They both pat you on the back after. “As you get stronger, it gets easier,” Jiru says.

You do get stronger over the weeks. Faster, too. Ace has gone from teaching you to handle a weapon to straight-up teaching you how to handle yourself in a fight. You get a lot of physical activity on the ship, and always fall asleep easily as a result. You rest well…most of the time. Your escape from your island still eats at you on occasion, crawling up your back at night to linger at the edges of your mind. During the day, you’re too distracted by action and others to think much of it, but there’s no stopping it when you’re alone with your thoughts.

One night, Marco finds himself unable to sleep. Rather than fighting it, he gets up to go for a nighttime flight. He finds that the freedom of the sky sets his mind at ease–perhaps it has to do with his zoan instincts. He perches on the railing of the ship, transforms, and spreads his wings, letting the wind catch him and lift him up. With no heat in the night air, he has to flap hard to gain some altitude, but once he gets up higher, he’s able to soar beneath the stars, the wind whipping his crest and tail feathers.

Though the crew’s used to him in this shape, he still doesn’t fully transform all that often, so some crewmates working the night shift stop to watch for a while. He doesn’t mind, angling his wings to fly in a wide circle around the ship. It’s then that he notices who’s in the crow’s nest–Rakuyo, and huddled up next to him, you. Rakuyo’s flask is in your hand, you’re holding onto his arm, and with Marco’s sharp zoan vision, he can see the tear streaks on your cheeks. He’s immediately concerned, and a bit bothered. You’re not normally touchy with anyone but him, and while he trusts Rakuyo, Marco isn’t fond of how his drinking habits can cloud his judgment–and yours.

Marco tilts his wings and cuts a sharp, neat curve, landing gracefully on the edge of the crow’s nest. You stare at him, eyes huge, and he can’t help feeling a bit conceited at your obvious wonder.

“Hey, Marco,” Rakuyo greets him.

“Rakuyo,” he nods. “Y/n. Is everything okay, yoi?”

You sniffle and nod.

“They couldn’t sleep,” Rakuyo says. “Had a bad dream.”

“Is that right?” Marco can’t help the annoyance in his tone, and Rakuyo notices, looking suddenly uncertain.

“Nip of whiskey always helps put me back to sleep,” Rakuyo explains quickly.

“And how did you plan on getting them back down the mast afterward?” Marco tilts his head, eyes narrowed.

“Uh…Well, I could carry them?”

“You’re drinking too, yoi.”

“Er…”

You speak up then, still wide-eyed. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Marco doesn’t know if phoenixes can blush, but he feels the heat rise to his cheeks all the same. Rakuyo glances at you, his grimace flipping into a grin. “Okay, maybe they’ve had enough.”

Marco transforms most of his body back, leaving his wings out for a moment just to watch your awestruck expression. He hops into the crow’s nest.

“Well, if you’re here, I’ll leave them to you,” Rakuyo says, plucking his flask from your hands. He pats your shoulder and stands up fast, eager to avoid Marco’s ire. “Chin up, kiddo,” he says to you, then hurries away down the mast, leaving you two alone.

You hiccup.

Marco sighs, sitting down next to you. “Bad dream, huh?”

“Yeah.” You look up at him with those big, sad eyes, and Marco feels his heart clench. “What about you?”

“Just restless, yoi.”

“But you work so hard.”

“Heh, thanks for noticing. I can’t say why I’m unable to sleep right now.” He reaches to wipe your tears away, and you let him, leaning your head on his shoulder afterward.

“You felt my pain and came out. Now you’re here.” You close your eyes. “You’re such a good doctor…”

Marco laughs. “I think you need some water, yoi.” He pats your head, and you look up at him. “If I go get you some, will you be okay up here by yourself?”

You nod. “I won’t be scared. Well…maybe a little…but I’ll be okay!”

“That’s my little duckling,” he smiles. “I’ll be quick.”

A few minutes later, Marco’s back with a canteen. He settles back next to you as you drink.

“Do you want to talk about it, yoi?” he asks.

“Talk about what?”

“You dream.”

Your face falls, and you seem to deflate a little. “...Yeah,” you say. “Even after that whiskey, I couldn’t forget it.”

“I’m all ears.”

You chug some more water and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “I had a dream that my friend was sacrificed in my place.” You sink even lower, curling up.

“Oh, love.”

“I know a sacrifice was made after I left. Some poor girl, who had no idea her time was suddenly up. And I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Like if only I accepted my fate, things would be better for everyone.”

Marco drapes an arm around your shoulders and hugs you to his side. “Do you really believe that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to believe it.” You settle against him. “Everyone here is so…so content. So free. So sure of themselves.”

“Maybe on the surface, yoi.” He rubs your arm. “Nobody’s perfect.”

You look up at him. “Do you really think I’m brave?”

“Do you really think I deserve my devil fruit?”

The question catches you off guard. “Oh. Well, yeah, of course. I’ve always believed that, since I’ve met you.”

“I feel the same way. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve ever met, yoi.” He smiles softly. “It’s no easy feat to go against the wishes of your entire village.”

You drop your head to hide your smile. Marco reminds you to keep drinking, and you do so, sipping at the canteen until the water’s almost gone.

“Marco?”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me about the constellations you grew up learning?”

Marco points up to the sky. “You see the Crow up there, like you showed me a while ago? Take the star forming the tip of the wing, and go south…”

“There?” You point.

“Close.” This time, Marco takes your hand, guiding you to the correct star. “That triangle of stars that connects to that square–back home, we called it the Forge. And that one, the one your people called the Farmer? We called the same formation the Hunter.”

With a gentle voice and a gentler touch, Marco points out a few more constellations. The Unicorn. The Sickle. The Loom. As he points out the last star forming the Chariot, you both fall silent. He doesn’t let go of your wrist. Slowly, he slides his hand up your wrist to hold your own, interlacing your fingers together.

Your heart skips in your chest. The both of you lower your intertwined hands, until you’re just sitting there holding hands. You look at each other. Marco’s blushing.

Carefully, gradually, Marco lowers his head, and softly presses his lips to yours.

The ship rocks gently, the night air cool and comfortable, Marco is warm against you, and you know right then there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be.

Breaking the kiss, Marco cups your cheek and presses his forehead gently to yours.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

#marco x reader #x reader #marco one piece #zen writes #replies #finished requests #quinloki

[booksandwitchery]

Personal Correspondences

After studying witchcraft for about 18 months now, I am finally getting around to recording my list of personal correspondences. If you ever feel like you're getting witch imposter syndrome, remember that witchcraft, paganism, and occultism in general are so multifaceted and multidisciplinary. You can be heavily immersed in your path for a long time and still not have the basics down. I'm not necessarily saying that personal correspondences are basic, but I sure feel silly that I am just now taking time to establish these for myself.

I've always had a hard time with Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences and similar literature because of the pure subjectivity of everything in life. For example, I am not partial to the color purple because of bad memories from my childhood. Many other people will feel that the color purple is calming, welcoming, or friendly. If humans are all so unique and diverse (and we are), I can't agree that any list of magical correspondences is universal or should be trusted at the sacrifice of personal experience and/or intuition. I must say that this of course excludes medical or evidence-based properties of plants, herbs, chemicals, and so on.

This is just the unfinished flower section, but I've covered a lot of ground (crystals, herbs and spices, plants, trees, metals, scents, animals, etc.) and I'm excited to keep chiseling away at this master list.

I'm interested to know if any of you have made a list of personal correspondences, or if you're cool with the books just spelling them out for you. Let me know!

#paganism #witchcraft #witch #just witchy things #pagan #neopaganism #witches of tumblr #nature #secular witchcraft #chaos magick #magick #witchblr #babywitch #beginner witch #correspondences #magical correspondences #nature worship #psychological magic #sass witchcraft #sass witch

[soapyghostie]

Thanks for the compliment! I'm glad to know you're having a good time, and I'll make sure to keep the requests coming! (Fair warning, a lot of these are going to be Texas Chainsaw related. Like right now!)

Drayton, Nubbins, and Bubba reacting to Reader killing a victim for the first time, specifically to protect the man in question? To set the stage a little, while they've never opposed the Sawyers.. diet, they generally stayed out of everyone's way when victims showed up. Until now, that is. -☎️

Ah! No worries Anon! Texas Chainsaw Massacre is such a great movie and I love the Sawyer family. I have no problem writing for them. Well, I hope you enjoy!

Drayton Sawyer

Drayton was never the one to get directly involved with actually killing the victims. His role was always gaining their trust, kidnapping them, and cooking. 

When you came along, you openly opposed helping his brothers kill anyone who walked on their property. Well, if that’s the case, you can help him cook. You know that everyone has a role to play in the Sawyer household right? Drayton isn’t going to let you lallygag around. 

 One day, while you and Drayton were brewing up some chili for dinner, a victim escaped their chains and crawled out of the basement. You guys didn’t hear them come into the kitchen because the next thing you know the victim is holding Drayton hostage with a knife to his throat, spitting out slurs and crying to let them leave. 

You were panicking on the inside. You knew you couldn’t let them go or they’d go to the police. However, you didn’t want them to kill Drayton; he was the love of your life. You decided to do the only option left to you… 

You backed up slowly, while saying words of comfort to the victim, until your back was against the counter where you could grab a knife without alarming them. Once you got the knife, you quickly lunged and stabbed the victim in the neck. Drayton got free and you continued to stab the victim to clarify the victim’s death. 

You felt awful for taking a life, but the Sawyers were important to you, especially Drayton. If you had to, you’d kill for them, again. 

Nubbins Sawyer

Nubbins likes to stab things. I definitely said it. You name it: people, animals, carcasses, trees. Literally everything and anything! Stabby stabby makes him happy. 

When you guys first started dating and you told him you weren’t into killing people, he got very sad. ☹️ He just wants to do some stabbing with his s/o, but he understands. You can just do some chores around the house; you can’t just do nothing around here or Drayton will get onto you. 

Well, there was this one particular day where you were doing some yard work, you saw Nubbins toying with an injured victim running around the property. You brushed it off and continued to do what you were doing until you heard Nubbins’ cries. You turned your head so fast that you almost got whiplash and there you saw it… 

You saw Nubbins on the ground with his leg split open, bleeding an awful amount. The victim was standing above him with an ax. Idk how they got ahold of that ax, but they did. 🤷‍♀️ 

You looked around and saw a shotgun on the porch; it was fully loaded. You didn’t think twice. You pointed that sucker at the back of the victim’s head, pulled the trigger and their brains went everywhere. 

You went into the house and grabbed a medical bag. After grabbing the medical bag, you examined Nubbins’ injury and patched him up to the best of your ability. You just killed someone, but you’d do it again if you had to, for Nubbins. 

Bubba Sawyer

We all know that Bubba is the butcher of the family; the one with the chainsaw; the one who makes sure there is meat on the table for the whole family. 

After you told him you were opposed to getting involved with the family’s schemes, he supported your decision. Besides, it’s dangerous business; he doesn’t want you to get hurt. This sweet boy always wants you safe. He’ll get Drayton to only give you chores inside the house as it’s safer. You'll be least likely to cross paths with a victim that way. That can only last so long, sadly… 

You were doing some tidying up around the house, listening to chainsaws going off in the distance. Just the usual. You were used to the chainsaw noises by now. However, you heard squeals of pain and you knew that something happened to your Bubba. Your instincts kicked in. You knew there was a spare chainsaw Bubba kept in the basement; you grabbed it and went outside to a horrifying sight… 

There in front of you, Bubba with one of his arms cut clean off his body while the victim had his chainsaw raised above their head, ready to give the final blow to Bubba’s skull. 

You rushed forward. You got in front of Bubba and raised your chainsaw to meet the other, blade on blade. For a long time, the quiet Texas homefront was filled with chainsaw roars and clashing blades until you got a clear opening to drill your chainsaw straight into the heart of the victim.  

You made sure they were shredded to pieces before you checked on Bubba. Once the victim was taken care of, you took Bubba inside for special aid. Hopefully that was the first and last time you would kill someone, but you never know. 🤷‍♀️

#slashers #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by deadlight #horror #dbd killer #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #nubbins sawyer #nubbins sawyer x reader #drayton sawyer #drayton sawyer x reader #tcm #texas chainsaw massacre #sophi ghostie writes #slasher

[lassieposting]

Anyway, fucking obsessed with the implied Kirigan/Ivan friendship, so have some headcanons

- So Ivan is one of a relatively small group of survivors old enough to remember the previous Darkling - Aleksander's last identity. He's a military brat and the only Grisha in an all-otkazat'sya family, so he lost a lot of family members very young. Aleksander has always refused to have First Army emissaries coming onto Little Palace property with hostile attitudes and condescension to traumatise baby Grisha, so when a student loses a First Army family member, he tends to break the news himself; it's the least he can do given none of them asked to be forcibly enlisted in a war they didn't start. Ivan, whose family were virtually all First Army, got pulled out of classes for a sombre talk with "Kirigan Sr" a few times, and developed a lot of respect for him.

- At some point, while Ivan is still young, the old Darkling retires to the family estate, citing age-related health concerns; even Grisha get old eventually. He completes the rest of his service via correspondence, and sends "his son" Aleksander into the Second Army to train to replace him.

- This is a habit of Aleksander's - when he changes identity, he starts back at the bottom and works his way back up through the ranks. A General needs a lot of things to do his job effectively: a network of loyal, trustworthy lieutenants to delegate to, a history of proven military experience, and the trust of the monarch he serves. Changing identities essentially means he loses all that, and the best way to build it back is to rejoin the army. His old guard - who not only remain loyal to his old way of doing things but also could potentially figure out his ruse - can be respectfully grandfathered out to less strenuous positions, replaced with new underlings loyal to his new self, who served with or under him on the front lines. By the time he takes over at court again, he's gained a whole new military history, and the king has met him several times already, to pin medals on a very promising young officer. It's easier to just have a new military career than to come in unproven and deal with the consequences at court.

- When Ivan is old enough to fight, he ends up serving under then-Captain Aleksander Kirigan. He has no idea that his new CO is the same old man who patted his shoulder while he bawled into his kefta over his dead father and brothers, but Aleksander remembers Ivan, and earmarks him for future leadership roles. There's always a superior/underling professional boundary there, but over the years Ivan and Kirigan become quite close, and eventually Ivan becomes his de facto #2. As someone who has no one, this relationship is incredibly meaningful to Ivan, and he responds with the kind of gruff affection and trustworthiness that Aleksander hasn't had in a long time. So while he'd never admit it, Ivan's friendship is very important to him too.

- Ivan's period of compulsory service ends. He has options, limited though they are, to leave the Second Army; he could take a research postgraduate place at the Little Palace, or become a teacher for small Grisha, or find paid work in a noble house somewhere. He refuses all of them. What he wants - what he's always wanted - is to be a career soldier.

- So when he's medically discharged from service, he's devastated. It's battle-shock, they tell him, and it makes him a danger to himself and others on the front lines. Kirigan takes a bullet dragging him, frozen, out of the way of advancing Fjerdans with repeating rifles. He's not fit to fight.

- And suddenly, he's utterly lost. Fighting is all he's ever known, the only thing he's good at, the only future he ever saw himself having. He makes a few comments to friends that leave them seriously concerned, and one of them goes to the newly-minted General. Aleksander pulls some strings on Ivan's behalf to stave off a complete discharge. Instead of being booted out of the army completely, he's shunted sideways into a new job as Kirigan's aide-de-camp - basically a personal assistant to run his life for him while he focuses on Military Things.

- It's not what Ivan saw in his future, but he's incredibly grateful not to be sent home to rot. He throws himself into his new role with everything he's got, determined not to make Kirigan regret it. He makes sure correspondence is sent on time, he makes sure the General gets where he needs to be when he needs to be there, he manages supplies and personal requests and bodyguarding. He's still Kirigan's right hand man, just in a different sphere. And over time, as the pressure of chessmastering two wars ramps up, he takes on more and more little tasks and becomes increasingly indispensable until Aleksander really isn't sure how he used to function without Ivan. There's a kind of symbiosis there, eventually. Ivan is Pepper Potts to Kirigan's Tony Stark: he usually knows what his boss needs before Kirigan asks for it, he knows a lot more about Kirigan than he'd ever let on, and Kirigan would be far less effective and put-together without him.

- One day, Ivan meets Fedyor Kaminsky. Ivan proceeds to spend the next few years pining over Fedyor Kaminsky, because he is emotionally inept, sharp-tempered and struggles to endear himself to anyone that isn't also a gruff, hardened war veteran. Fedyor is young and idealistic and still believes in things like hope and heroism. He's still in active service, but he's thinking of maybe leaving after the compulsory term to teach. He's good with the little Grisha.

- This crush shocks fucking everyone who knows Ivan, because at this point it's basically a running joke among the Little Palace's higher-ups that he'll never marry - he's too devoted to the General to have room in his life for romance. Fedyor is not what anyone - Ivan included - expected Ivan to like, but hey, opposites attract. Kirigan tolerates several years of long-distance Yearning™ with good grace.

- Fedyor and Ivan court for quite a while, and figure out how they fit a) together and b) into each other's lives. Fedyor has a long hard think about whether he can see himself marrying a man like Ivan - he knows Ivan is pretty codependent with General Kirigan, knows how traumatised he is, knows how dedicated he is to his job, knows he's uncertain about ever wanting children, knows that their marriage would essentially be "This is my husband Ivan and Ivan's boss, General Kirigan." And eventually, he decides he can deal with that; Ivan is worth it. He stays in the army rather than leave, to be close to Ivan.

- Ivan brings up the wedding to Aleksander precisely once, to tell him that he'd be honoured if Aleksander would officiate. The way he says it is offhand, low expectations, because a General has more important things to do than go to an employee's wedding. Aleksander hmms, not even taking his eyes off the report he's reading, and says, "Give me a date when you have one and I'll see if I can spare the time."

- He makes the time. Ivan usually manages his schedule, but he damn well makes sure that day is free personally, because he knows Ivan won't prioritise his wedding over a meeting with the king, or whatever, and nope. He's unavailable for meetings that day. He has somewhere to be.

- He marries them. And wrangles a whole three weeks off for Ivan, so they can have a honeymoon.

- However. Going on a honeymoon means leaving Kirigan unattended, so Ivan coming back from his honeymoon is basically this:

- And like, it's not that Aleksander can't look after himself. It's just that Ivan has been doing so much for him for so fucking long that he's forgotten he needs to do those things. He's so used to Ivan Handling It, that it's only when it comes back to bite him in the ass that he's like oh, yeah, Ivan is on leave. Ivan has literally never seen Kirigan this openly glad to see him, please fix his calendar he has four meetings today in four different places and they're all at the same time, never leave again.

- Fedyor becomes bodyguard #2 after a brief blip in their marriage where he and Ivan spend a lot of time rowing over how little they see each other. He feels neglected, and he's second-guessing whether he can tolerate the Ivan-Kirigan codependence issue. Ivan and Aleksander are not the type to have deep conversations about their feelings - they bully each other into self-care once it starts affecting their ability to do their jobs. Ivan bullies Aleksander into eating or sleeping or getting fresh air, and Aleksander bullies Ivan into admitting he's having marital issues. His solve is to offer Fedyor a job - that way, he and Ivan will get to spend most of their time together. Sharing his duties with Fedyor also frees up a fair amount of Ivan's time, which is hard for him at first, but good for their relationship in the long run.

- Fedyor develops his own relationship with Kirigan, over time. Sometimes, his softly-softly approach can get results out of a stressed-out sleep-deprived General where Ivan's no-bullshit confrontational style would cause a row. They respect each other, and like each other as boss/underling, but there's not the friendship there that there is with Ivan. The professional barrier is a lot more pronounced - Ivan can get away with calling Aleksander "Kirigan" at times - when he's being particularly vexing, mostly - but Fedyor could not.

- By canon, they've settled nicely into their You, Me & The General Makes Three marriage. It's become an in-joke between them that Kirigan is, in turns, the third spouse, the kid, or the dog:

("Fedya, I don't know if I'll ever be ready to be a father. I have no idea how to look after a child."

"Oh, nonsense, darling, you do a wonderful job every day with General Kirigan.")

("Beloved, you should go rescue your other husband. The Kerch ambassador has him cornered by the punch fountain.")

- Genya also gets in on this vein of in-joke from time to time - but only with Fedyor, never with Ivan.

("So if you two ever divorce, who gets custody?"

"Of the General? Oh, he does. It'd be cruel to separate them, you know? They'd pine.")

- They are all under the impression that the General is completely unaware of these jokes, because they're unprofessional and he'd surely disapprove. They have no idea that when Aleksander enters a room without Ivan half a step behind him, half the time Nikolai still thinks it's funny to ask, "Where's the rest of you?"

- And despite everything, they still both refuse to admit they see each other as anything more than, basically, boss and devoted servant. The last ~150 years? Entirely professional.

But. Yeah. Nah. Friends.

#aleksander kirigan #ivan kaminsky #fedyor kaminsky #fivan #darkolai #sab headcanons #also gonna tag this as #sab d3 #because all my headcanons are d3-inspired #sab

[pixydustworld]

The war began on a Thursday, but if you asked Hermione Granger, the war had begun their first year. Eleven years old, knobby knees shaking as they faced Voldemort in the school dungeons.

A lifetime of fighting.

Everything after that blurred together, the gore of it all. Broken limbs and bleeding bodies — the screams of the dying, the weariness of the realization that the war was their new reality. That nothing would ever change. That the life they had before, was lost forever.

Child soldiers, fighting a war that wasn’t even their own, not really. Even Harry was part of a big picture, his role decided for him long before he was born. Defending a world that didn’t want her; the fighting was monotonous.

And then one morning, Hermione found Draco Malfoy’s broken body just beyond their property line, and that, in itself, was something new.

Something different.

She stood over him for a long time, watching as his chest struggled to breathe shallow breaths. In her mind, he hadn’t changed. She remembered him untouched by the war, a boy sneering in the school hallways.

That wasn’t the man who stared back at her.

He was frozen under her stare. Maybe he was shocked to see how she looked, too. Remembered her differently, didn’t remember her at all. Couldn’t believe that out of everyone, he’d had the terrible luck to be found by her.

Now, he’d never be free of her.

“Why are you here?” Unflinching. It was war, after all. And he was the enemy. She'd seen him on the other side of the battlefield too many times to convince herself of his innocence.

“Luna.” He gritted out. “She told me to come here if I ever changed my mind.” The snow beneath his body was stained with his blood, ruining the pristine surface. Dirtying it.

“Change your mind?”

“This is never going to end.” Malfoy said softly, “Not the with the way your people are fighting. I can help.”

“Help?” She felt like a broken children’s toy, repeating all of his words.

“Yes.” He said flatly. “Are you going to repeat that, too?”

“No.” Hermione snapped. “Why would Luna tell you to come here?”

He shrugged, looking perfect, even as he bled out in the snow. “Family has to stick together.”

Cousins, so similar, yet different. Same upturned nose, same white hair and pale skin, same glittering eyes — same blood, running through their veins. Hermione wondered if Malfoy had her smile, wondered if they both took their tea with 4 sugars.

Wondered if, maybe, they had been friends, once. Eager to see the other during the holidays, hours spent together, giggling over nothing and everything. Wondered, if perhaps, Luna Lovegood had unintentionally turned the tide in the war, granting them safe passage through the storm.

“This won’t be easy for you.” Hermione said, not to be cruel, but just to be honest, “Trust is earned, not given.”

As it turned out, it was easy for him.

Harry partnered with him on missions, their skills together in battle annoyingly good — Ron, who Hermione had once considered an impenetrable fortress of hatred against Malfoy, relented like an eager puppy (desperate for belly pats) and played Wizard Chess with him every evening.

He helped Neville in the garden, he laughed with Ginny while they made potions, he listened intently to Cho’s strategy meetings, asking the questions that were already on the tip of Hermione’s tongue.

Once, Hermione had overheard a conversation in the medical tent that made her head spin. “Malfoy, you’re such a good healer,” Padma had said,“I’m so glad you defected. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you.”

“I think Granger was taking care of the lot of you, just fine on her own.” Had been his terrifying reply.

“Oh, yes!” Padma had rushed to say, “No, Hermione is brilliant.”

“She is.” Malfoy had said, not sounding afraid to admit it.

She wasn’t sure how to categorize her feelings for him, they were overpowering and heavy; she wanted to hold him close, she wanted to set him on fire. Hermione wanted, desperately wanted, a reason to not trust him — to prove to everyone that he hadn’t changed.

But, because the world was cruel, and Hermione was supremely unlucky, these opportunities never seemed arise.

Instead, Malfoy seemed to only further prove himself as a trusted member of the order, and Hermione was beginning to miserably feel as if she was the only person in the world who saw him for who he had been once, not who he was now.

“Maybe you should give him a break.” Ron said one evening, “He’s changed a lot.”

Ron, Ron was telling her to be nice to Malfoy — to find peace, to let everything go. Ron, who once had fashioned a dartboard with Malfoy’s face as the bullseye. Ron, who on more occasions than Hermione could count, had talked in great length and detail about what hexes he’d like to use on Malfoy, if given the opportunity.

“He hasn’t changed at all.” Hermione had replied.

It sounded like a lie, even to her own forgiving ears.

But the worst part was seeing him with Luna.

It seemed as if everything melted away in her presence, stripped down to the bones; Luna made him human, thawing the ice that had grown for years across his skin. Hermione often found them together, whispering over the fire — making up for wasted time, perhaps. Falling back in to their easy routine from their childhood.

He did have her smile, but he also had her laugh; a loud noise, cracking through the air.

He should laugh more often, Hermione found herself thinking. And then: Or he should never laugh at all.

She hoped his influence on everyone would fade, a temporary effect, but it only seemed to grow, evolving into something more as time passed. A part of them that she had to learn to accept.

In her worst moments, Hermione reminded herself of all the terrifying things she’d already done in her life: fought in a war, flown a dragon, lived in a tent with two teenage boys — facing Malfoy should be easy, in comparison.

Her breaking point came when he was chosen to lead a mission.

“You’re leaving me behind?”

He didn't look up from the map. “You’re too important for a simple raiding mission.”

“You don’t get to decide what I’m too important for.” Didn’t he understand? This was the only thing she was good at, fighting was the only thing she knew how to do anymore. If he took that away, Hermione would have nothing — and then, everyone would see that. See her for what she really was.

A smile, barely there. “I do.” He said, “As the leader. Deciding things is in the job description.”

“Fuck you,” Hermione spit. “You’re just doing this to control me.” He still wouldn’t look at her, which was infuriating. Malfoy was always looking at her, watching her every move — but now, in this moment, when she was so desperate for it, he refused to meet her eyes.

“I don’t think anyone could control you,” Malfoy sighed, looking tired. Perhaps his leadership role was taking time away from his beauty sleep, “Least of all me.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“I understand that you hate me.” Malfoy continued, finally looking at her, “I get that. It’s a miracle that you even stand to breathe the same air as me. I was never good, not like you. But I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Hermione said.

He rewarded her with a smile, then, wide and all encompassing. “You see everything so clearly, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Hm.” He said, “Perhaps you should take a step back. You are the brightest thing I’ve ever seen, more powerful than any god I can think of, and you’re upset that I’m not bringing you on a pointless mission? Why would I force you to be near me? To trust me? To put your life in my hands?”

“That is not the point — ” She wanted to scream that she wanted to be near him, wanted to be by his side, wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Hermione survived because she understood, and it was terrifying, the way she didn’t understand him.

“That is the point I’m making, actually. You should see yourself the way others do. The way I do.” His eyes were glassy. “Golden. You’re untouchable.”

Hermione didn't feel that way, dirtied by the terribleness of the war, gaping wounds of loneliness littered across her skin; she felt like a poor imitation of herself, like someone had tried to draw her from memory. But here was Draco Malfoy of all people, seeing her clearly.

As if it was easy for him, simple, like breathing.

Maybe, there was truth in his words. She hated the nickname, felt like it was a cruel joke; but perhaps, it was given to her for a reason. See yourself the way others see you, the wind seemed to sigh. See yourself the way he sees you.

“I might not get a happy ending,” he was saying, “No one will build a statue in my honor. And that’s perfectly fine. My reward is here, in this moment. In the light in your eyes. In the realization that you’re brighter than all of us.”

She thought of how he’d changed, whether she liked to admit it or not; how she felt warm whenever he was near. A feeling she often confused with anger, but perhaps, it was something else, something new.

Something different.

And then, everything made sense, all at once.

A horrifying realization, but at least, it seemed, she wasn’t alone in this. Whatever rolling feeling she felt for him, he felt for her, too.

“Do you know why I came here?” Malfoy asked, voice soft, like she was a wounded animal that needed soothing. Maybe she was.

“For Luna.” Hermione said, that sharp edge she’d grown so familiar with lacking from her voice. “You told me when I found you.”

Malfoy grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought I had died. I’d been wondering the woods for hours when you found me. Luna, she told me where to find the camp, but not how to get in. I’ve never been lucky.” He said, “It seemed a fitting fate for me, to die an inch away from salvation — but then, you found me. And I thought to myself: How lucky am I, to get a glimpse of happiness, before my suffering begins?”

The strange look on his face, how he’d looked so lost — frozen on the ground. Hermione had found him in the snow and everything had been set in motion.

“But then, you let me in,” he continued, “You hated me, but you let me in.”

Hermione was silent, watching as he ripped apart her memory, rearranging it to his version of events — she’d been prepared for a fight, but nothing could have prepared her for whatever this was.

“Luna told me to come when I was ready, but I didn’t come for her.”

“Who?” Hermione’s voice was stronger than she expected, unwavering. “Say it.”

“I came for you.” He said. “To be near you, that would be enough.”

“You never talked to me — ” Hermione’s head was spinning. The lengths that he’d gone to avoid her, to give her space to snarl at him, to hate him, were incomprehensible. He felt so deeply, yet seemed content to sit in his misery. To live through the pain.

Pain, that Hermione was beginning to recognize, as something familiar. Something she felt, too. Without even noticing it.

“I’m not a fool,” Malfoy said, eyes colder than a moment before, “I know how you feel about me. I wouldn’t subject you to my feelings, knowing you don’t reciprocate them.” He took a deep breath. “Being near you,” he repeated, “is enough.”

“What if it isn’t enough for me?”

The question left her chest without permission, bursting from its cage, hanging in the air between them. In the background, Hermione heard people moving about — heard Ron’s laugh, heard Harry’s voice in the cacophony; but in the tent, time seemed to slow.

Malfoy was very still. Watching her with sharp eyes, flickering across her face, looking for cracks to slip between.

Hadn’t she once been brave? A few minutes ago, even. When she’d stormed into his tent, ready for a fight? Where was that version of herself now?

“Your feelings aren’t completely unreciprocated.” Was the only thing that came out of Hermione’s mouth. She could feel the blush overtaking her face, splotching down her neck, could feel the way his eyes tracked over it.

Malfoy nodded. “I see.” He said quietly. And then, he was touching her. A gentle brush of fingers across her arm, warmth tracing after his touch. So soft, a juxtaposition to his dark uniform, the sharp knife strapped to his leg, wand holster on his arm.

His fingers trailed upwards, until they danced across her throat, pausing at her trembling pulse. “I will take whatever you give me.” He breathed, “I’ll never ask for more. I’ll be grateful for what I’m given, and I’ll know I’m not worthy enough for more.”

It sounded like a speech he’d rehearsed in the mirror — and perhaps it was. A mantra he repeated to himself, over and over. Remnant of his old life; one he’d effortlessly left behind.

For her, she realized. For the chance to be near her, to exist in the same place.

In the end, Hermione’s hand made the choice for her — reaching up to his, fingers sliding easily along his flesh. Feeling his pulse jumping on the inside of his wrist, a pattern she would soon know by heart.

“You can have everything.”

#dhr #dramione fanfic #dramione ficlet #dramione drabble #dramione #dhr fanfiction #dhrtwt #dhr fanfic #dhr drabble #draco x hermione #hermione granger #draco malfoy #hermione x draco #draco malfoy and hermione granger #harry potter #dhr fic #dramione fic #dramione angst #war time fic #pixydustworld #dhr fandom #hermione/draco #draco/hermione #hermione: confused #draco: vulnerable #me: tired

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Walked into my cousin’s house (he’s a firefighter) to find everyone trying to find out what it means when the firemen say, “A Collyer’s Mansion Situation.” No need to look, I knew it referred to the Collyer Brothers of New York City- the code for fire in a hoarder’s house. The picture above is of the police knocking down their door w/an axe. 

It usually means it’s not safe to enter the building. In 1947, it took police 5 hours to plow thru the junk and find the first brother’s body. It took them 3 weeks to find the 2nd brother just 10 feet away, buried under a collapsed junk tunnel.

History’s worst hoarders, the tragic but fascinating tale of the Collyer brothers can speak to anyone with a penchant for collecting or thrifting. How did 2 prominent members of society end up sealing themselves off from the outside world, fiercely reclusive and entombed by over 140 tons of collected items?

Homer and Langley were both educated at Columbia University. Homer had a degree in law and Langley studied engineering and also became an accomplished concert pianist who performed at Carnegie Hall.

They had a normal childhood. They never married or lived on their own, & chose to remain at the family’s Harlem brownstone with their mother. When their parents died, everything was left to them.. 

In 1933, Homer went blind from eye hemorrhages. His younger brother quit his job to care for him full-time, which is when their withdrawal from society began. Langley began keeping years of newspapers so his brother could read them when his sight was restored.

In the midst of the Great Depression, the brothers became increasingly fearful of their own neighborhood, which was shifting from the upper-class area they had known to an area synonymous with poverty and crime.

People became curious, local kids threw rocks at the windows, increasing their paranoia. Langley boarded up the windows, removed the doorbell and wired the doors shut.

Several people attempted to burgle the home, which prompted Langley to construct booby traps and elaborate tunnel systems made of junk all around the house.

Langley ventured out only after midnight for food runs. He would collect countless unwanted and abandoned items on the street that caught his eye along the way.

When Homer became paralyzed due to rheumatism, the brothers refused to seek medical treatment. Even though their father was a Dr., they didn’t trust them. Instead, they decided to use their fathers medical library in the house.

Langley believed his brother’s sight could be restored with a diet high in vitamin C so he fed Homer 100 oranges a week. He adapted a Model T Ford to generate electricity after their power was cut off, along with their water and gas, due to unpaid bills.

When the bank came to evict them, police found Langley in a clearing he had made in the walls of junk. Without a word, he wrote a check for the equivalent of nearly $100,000 today to pay off the mortgage and ordered everyone off the property.

The next time authorities returned, it would be to search for the bodies of the Collyers. To enter the sealed brownstone, an officer broke a window on the second floor and climbed through.

Unable to get past the solid walls of junk, a squad of men began making their way through the debris by throwing out everything blocking their way onto the street. The spectacle drew a crowd of thousands.

After several hours, they found Homer’s body. Medical examiners later determined he had died of starvation and heart disease.

When they couldn’t find Langley, they thought he fled and launched a search. Finally, a workman found his decomposing body. He was buried in one of his 2ft. wide tunnels lined with rusty bed springs and a chest of drawers. He had died of asphyxiation after he accidentally tripped one of the booby traps and was crushed. Police believe that he was bringing food to his brother. 

The house was deemed an unsafe fire hazard and was razed later that month in 1947. Some of their stuff went to museums and the rest was sold at auction.  Since the 1960s, the site of the former Collyer house has been a pocket park, named for them.

messynesschic.com

#collyer brothers #famous hoarders #hoarding #historical hoarders #long post