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djemsostylist · 3 years

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Djem's Legion Thoughts

About three years ago my brother joking suggested I read the Horus Heresy, knowing literally nothing about Warhammer. (Literally nothing. I just thought Space Marines were big dudes in armor and I had never heard of Primarchs and I still know nothing of 40k. Have no idea how the Heresy ends--I'm spoiler free babes.) Anyway, what follows are my feelings on each Legion at the following times:

As of midway through Fulgrim

At the end of First Heretic

At the start of the Master of Mankind

Halfway through the Siege

This is very long. I'm not sorry.

Dark Angels

idk I haven’t met them yet, but their name tells me they are either going to be amazing or fucking awful

Um I still dk

God I fucking love these stupid idiots. Like, they are stupid, for sure, but I dunno, I dig their bizarre sort of pseudosecrecy thing. Plus, aesthetically I’m all about weird monk orders. Also, nothing kills me quite like Farith Redloss having anxiety attacks over trying to figure out Lion.

Corswain showing up like the living embodiment of the dude with the pizza where the apartment is on fire is just so deeply on brand for these chucklefucks like, Lion is all “I’m deeply uncomfortable where Imperial Secundus is concerned so instead I’ll just go ahead and attack home planets because that will demoralize the traitors and then I’m Doing My Part” like fam, pretty much all the traitors sans Perturabo are actual literal demons rn and they all had zero qualms betraying their immediate brothers and also the emperor (and Perturabo already fucked over his own) why in the livid fuck would you think this is in any way helpful, but this is Classic Lion and I love him now on account of that one time when he hugged Roboute because he was proud of him and also because he calls all of his sons “Little Brother” bc he is afraid of being a dad and also because I too am deeply avoidant of issues I don’t want to deal with.

Emperor's Children

mostly wonderful, because they are fabulous and also extremely extra, but they have the most ginourmous fuckwad as a Lord Commander, BUT they have a very good boy as another one, so idk really. Plus the whole betrayal thing and the fucking lodges, but they are purple and fabulous, so, +1?

These are the saddest boys ever in the whole world, and they didn’t deserve what happened to them. I loved them all except for Eidolon and they didn’t deserve anything bad to happen to them ever bc they were precious and I loved them. Also Fabius because he was bugnuts and he hurt my boys.

Jesus, I’m so fucking over them all

Honestly I’m so tired

Iron Warriors

I totally confused them with the Iron Hands. Idk even, boring? But Perturabo (while he has a fucking terrible name) also hates Horus so +15

I still know nothing about them, but I think they are buttholes because of the whole Isstvan V thing. Dick move guys, dick move.

I literally can’t. Like, their entire shtick is besieging and being besieged, and then being pissy bc it is what they are good at???? Like, they are literally traitoring bc their dad got a hair up his ass bc he wasn’t a good independent thinker and didn’t think he was allowed to build castles or whatever? Idk they are exhausting except for the ones that aren’t

I still don’t really get them at all except like 99% of them who aren’t named Barabas Dantioch are asshats and are not independent thinkers who are literally still traitoring for reasons unknown except to stick it to the emperor like?? Get an actual culture??? Just literally stop???

White Scars

I dunno, haven’t met them, but since no one else talks about them, I’m gonna guess, boring?

I dunno but they are worried about them hooking up with the Rout so I guess they are cool?

Oh bless your tiny little souls. They are so sweet, and so, so dumb. But sweet.

They are very, very good boys. They don’t have a ton of range per say but their simplicity is sort of the point I think. They are what space marines are supposed to be, and I love them for that

Space Wolves

ehm, oh, I’m sorry, The Rout. Whateverthefuck, they’re boring, over-the-top fuckheads who are giant fucking hypocrites who suck and probably don’t ever shower. Honestly, they rival the Emperor’s Children in extraness, and not in the loveable way. Fucking awful, 0/10.

Okay, honestly, not as awful as some. I mean, hella extra and I hate what they did at Prospero, but in a world full of awful things, we gotta pick and choose.

They are just so, so...Space Wolfy. Bless them they try, and some of them legit crack me up. I’m just not about their aesthetic, you know?

Much like the other fuckups amongst the Loyalists, they are a blunt instrument used for a specific purpose and do better with like...direct instruction. I’m saying they are not the kind to do well with metaphor and also a lack of like, a dad. They need TE:BBA is what I’m saying.

Imperial Fists

Literally only met them briefly, but they seem a good sort. I like their Primarch? -3 tho cause damn that color scheme.

Still good boys.

Omg I love you all, you precious little bbs. They are just so calm and stoic and honestly even though yellow is a hideous color they are literally like Templars and that is fantastic?????

Listen, the amount of love that I have in my heart for these precious, perfect boys is rivaled only by my love for Rogal Dorn, who might possibly be, and I don’t wanna sound dramatic here, be the love of my life but anyway.

Night Lords

idk but their name sounds sick.

Right, these guys are also dicks. I hate them on principle.

Every time I think of them all I can think of is that one video of the goths dancing under the bridge. They are so. Fucking. Extra. Christ alive, get a hobby that isn’t fucking skinning people.

Yeah idk they still mostly suck and to be perfectly honest I’m still not entirely sure what their point was, even pre-heresy? Like what role did psychopaths play in TE:BBA’s plan for a glorious human empire, someone explain

Blood Angels

I dunno cause I’ve only ever met their First Captain (who was consorting with fuckheads) but Sanguinius is literally Top Tier Fabulous, like Prince Extra, so I hope they don’t let me down

I’m still holding out hope. Don’t let me down boys.

OH. MY. GOD. Honestly, kill me, I love them so, so, so, so, so much, it’s a lot. And I suspect something terrible will happen with them but I don’t care because they are perfect. All of them. Wonderful, perfect, lovely, caring boys who love their dad and I love them. Sweet, loving, precious little bbs who occasionally suffer from tragic vampiric tendencies but I don’t love them any less. They better stay perfect forever. If I could, I would be like Sangy and just take them all everywhere with me so that they could always be safe <3 On a less gushy note, I think one of the most important aspects of the Blood Angels (and of their primarch) is that while they acknowledge their differences from unmodified humans, they also love humanity, deeply. They see them as worth fighting for and protecting, and acknowledge that their abilities allow them to create a universe that is safe for the common man to live in. There is a sort of profound love and tenderness that they have for humanity, and I think it really does make a difference in their legion. (That scene is Master of Mankind with the Blood Angel and the Custodian really highlights what I’m saying here.)

Listen, this may sound dramatic, and I don’t wanna like, go over the top, but I would literally die for them, which would seem counterproductive since that is what they do for humanity but the amount of love of I have for this entire legion and one Angel is too big to contain in my heart okay

Iron Hands

I don’t know them well yet, but they seem like good boys overall. I’m sure one of them is bound to be a crazy fucker tho.

They are good boys. I don’t know them very well, but my favorite moment is when Ferrus had to thank Lorgar for his help so he made him a crozius and then threw it at him because he didn’t want to have to talk awkwardly.

Poor sad bbs

No, but really, poor sad bbs

World Eaters

literally terrible people, but I guess when your Dad is bugnuts….

Definitely should have been put down. As in to death. They should have been killed. Probably.

Still fucking crazy. But I love Kharn, and honestly Lotara (who I know isn’t technically a World Eater but close enough.)

No but they probably should have all been just euthanized? I mean not Kharn bc I love him but also like--they are not viable. Long term? Tbh still not entirely sure what TE:BBA’s plan was here with them and Angron (I’m gonna assume something along the lines of ignore it and hope it goes away, since that is mostly his plan for everything)

Ultramarines

probably enormous squares, but tbh in a galaxy with World Eaters and the Rout, we could do with some squares.

Honestly, I have no issues with them. They do their duty, they are loyal. I hope to love them though. They actually believe in colors.

HOLY FUCK DO I LOVE THEM. ALL 200,000 OF THEM. (Which is probably what Roboute thinks tbh.) Like, I literally haven’t met a single one that I don’t adore and love with my whole soul and entire being. They are precious, soft, beautiful bbs who I adore with my whole heart. And who will make great leaders of the world someday I’m so proud. On a less gushy note, much like the Blood Angels, the Ultramarines really have a sort of profound feeling of protection and duty towards humans. They may not always like dealing with them, but Roboute is of the firm belief that they must understand what they are truly fighting for. Saving humanity is not enough, you have to fight for the humans who live there. (See, the one short story where they find a baby and I died.)

No but what you don’t quite get is that I literally love them. Every single individual solitary one of them, and while some may say “But Djem such a thing is impossible you haven’t met every Ultramarine” I need you to understand that the depth of my love for them and their Primarch is such that I know, in my bones, that I don’t need to meet them all to love them okay bc I already do.

Death Guard

Okay, so honestly I wanted to hate them (because BETRAYAL) but tbh its only the First and Second Captains who suck a lot and idk really the rest are sort of tragically precious??

Seriously, what is Mortarion’s issue?

No, seriously, what the fuck is their problem? Get the fuck over it.

Okay, I do feel bad. For Mortarian. Of all the traitors, him I understand the most. However, that being said, while I can understand his issues, I feel like giving yourself over to demons, turning into actual demons, and also turning on and killing your brothers who refused to become said demons makes you terrible awful people who really need to like, die.

Thousand Sons

okay, I fucking love these lame Warrior Monk Priest Wizards who live in a literal glass city with restaurants and teach random people Tai Chi in the park or whatever. Overall 10/10

I am v. worried that they are going to do something dumb like join the rebellion in order to affect change from the inside and then like, adopt demons or something. Pls don’t be dumb boys.

I don’t even fucking--look, I’m just tired okay?

What the fuck Azhek. No seriously, ⅞ is good enough? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Sons of Horus? Luna Wolves? who the fuck knows

my precious sons. You did not deserve what was done to you. This is why we don’t do frats. I believed in you and you failed me. D:

I love my precious sons. The Sons of Horus however, can go die.

I just--why are you the way you are?

I think the best thing about these absolute morons is that half the legion isn’t even demon fuckers, they just woke up one day and Horus told them to kill their brothers and they went “sure okay” and then just did. They are so fucking pretentious and stupid, fucking speartip, honestly die. I take it back. You all deserved exactly what you got, you dumb fucks.

Word Bearers

look, I haven’t met the rest of these dudes yet, but Erebus is a terrible fucking ambassador. -60/10 for not controlling their boy

HOLY LORD. I cannot--there are not actually words to describe how much I loathe these ignorant dumbasses. Like, seriously. Honestly, the ones who were purged were probably lucky, because the rest of them fucking suck.

God, eat a fucking landmine. Except, that would probably turn them on or something. Fucking assholes.

Just--imagine being such a fuckup that even when you were the first to the “become a demon, save the world” thing you still somehow ended up last. I hope the Ultramarines put down every. Single. One.

Salamanders

idk but this name is dumb. Salamanders are cute and slimy, and while Astartes are fucking adorable, they are not slimy. -1 for the dumb name

They are loyal, which is cool, and they seem like chill bros.

I just, like, they are sweet, but good lord are they simple.

I’m not sure? What they are doing? With their lives? Guys, idk if anyone told you but like, um. There is a war. And I get they’ve had it rough but also the loyalists could use their hope so maybe, idk. Do something? I mean I know there are like, 50 of you left and also you think your dad is dad and I feel you but like-

Raven Guard

idk but I like Ravens and Black, plus their Primarch’s name is Corvus? 11/10 they better not suck.

OMG I love Corvus?? Flies with a giant jetpack and tried to gut Lorgar? Yeah, he’s wonderful. Plus, their Captain seemed cool before he was fucking murdered.

I love them all, bless. They are sweet and simple and kind of stupid, but they make me feel things in my heart, so like, idk, stay precious.

Look, I cried over Branne fucking Nev, I don’t wanna talk about it rn

Alpha Legion

seriously? Lame.

Fuck these guys. What is their deal?

I can’t even really. I really, truly can’t. Nothing has ever satisfied me the way I was satisfied when Alpharius literally lost his head. God, that was beautiful.

Or Omegon? It was actually Omegon? I don’t even know anymore man

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collectorscorner · 3 years

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a-crimson-lion · 4 years

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Katsuki Bakugo And Minoru Mineta Are Funny For All The Wrong Reasons

In this essay I will

No, but seriously, this is a problem. Spoilers and all that jazz. Let's start with the obvious.

Minoru Mineta

Minoru is the poster child for this topic. He's a complete scumbag, but is kept around because he's funny, when in reality he'd probably be expelled somewhere down the line.

While he does have some funny moments, there's only a small amount that don't come from his perversions, which is highly concerning.

His brand of humor isn't particularly inspired either. Let's go through some of his moments.

Hero Costumes

Minoru flashes his thumbs up when he looks at Ochako's uniform, stating that he loves the school. This is less funny and more unsettling, but it gets a pass 'cause Minoru is still relatively new to viewers.

USJ

Minoru grapples onto Tsuyu's breasts twice. He gets dunked on the first time. He gets nearly drowned the second time. We laugh... but it's not because Minoru is funny. Seriously, dark humor is one thing, but Minoru's actions are just plain creepy and borderline sexual harrassment. The fact that he nearly has to die to get us laughing doesn't help matters (he's scum, but scum should face long lasting consequences, not temporary bouts of comedic violence).

Changing Rooms

Almost forgot about this one. Minoru tries to peep on the girls. Kyoka notices and skewers his eye. We laugh. Not because Minoru's funny, but because we're suppose to enjoy his suffering. Imagine if everyone DIDN'T bash him upside the head! (There would probably be content apathy if there wasn't at least a small outcry for reprimands, to be honest.)

Obstacle Course

Minoru clasps onto Momo's gym uniform to pass the Obstacle Course, and he has a nosebleed. Momo calls him the worst. Again, relying on the fact that "Minoru sux" in order to get a laugh. That's sad.

Class Rankings

Mina says it best: guys like Minoru are only endearing when they're stupid, or something along those lines. If they're stupid, that lowkey implies that he has the potential to learn better. But Minoru already knows a lot, which os MORE unsettling than the alternative. Now, common sense doesn't equal intelligence, but the fact that Minoru is considered smart when he continually makes the stupid decision to try and get some in horrible ways is just... the worst.

Swimming Pool

Minoru and Denki collaborate on getting a view of the girls in swimsuits. (Before you bring it up, yes, Denki is also a perv character, but unlike Minoru, he actually has more going for his personality instead of just having a running gag joke define 90% of his character. And the most Denki's done on his own is attempting (and failing) to flirt with other girls.) Denki and Minoru are shocked when the rest of the boys show up, and Denki is disheartened to find that the girls are wearing school-issued swimsuits. Minoru, of course, finds the scene nice nonetheless. This is less of a "HAHA!" moment and more of a "*groan*" moment.

Hot Springs

Minoru tries to violate the girls' privacy just so he can see them naked. Luckily Kota is there to stop him. He swats Minoru off the wall, leading him to fall pathetically back to Earth. And we never speak of it again. You see a pattern with his stunts yet? Also, Tenya did not deserve what he got at the end of that scene.

Provisional License Exam

Granted, this is where Minoru is at his least perverted, but he still finds a way to be annoying. "The hierarchy is falling!" Oh gee, it's not like you had a tragic backstory and underwent actual character growth which helped you grow as a person, Minoru. You being smug is doing nothing to help your character.

Before The Interview

In the anime exclusive season premiere of Season 4, Minoru starts creepily talking about a potential female reporters breasts, before he gets restrained by Mr. Aizawa. While most of us thank him for stopping the pervert's actions, keep in mind that this is the one of the few times Mr. Aizawa ever tries to actually do anything to curb Minoru's behavior. Then again, since Horikoshi likes Minoru and Katsuki, they basically get immunity from Mr. Aizawa's actual character.

Joint Training Arc Aftermath

Sometime during the JTA, Minoru ricochets off of Mina's chest. Mina (rightfully) calls him out at this, and we're later treated to a scene with Minoru in a straightjacket with his eyes forced open while Mina keeps an eye on him. Physical punishment will do nothing to Minoru; at this rate he'll develop an immunity. What he needs are concrete consequences that will actually get him to think about not being perverted.

Izuocha Reaction

This moment is... admittedly tame. After Izuku and Ochako share a fist bump in Chapter 256, Minoru makes this weird gremlin face while asking himself what's going on. It's harmless at first... until you remember that Minoru is a shameless pervert who has a vain physical infatuation with most girls, Ochako inclued. Minoru's reaction is basically an entitled Lv. 1 gamer looking at an experienced Lv. 50 and going, "Why the hell isn't that me?"

Of course, there are other moments where Minoru is perverted, but it isn't funny, a la he hopes to see Eri again in 10 years or something like that. I've heard he's been mellowing out a bit more in recent chapters, but I'll remain cautiously optimistic for now. The fact that his main shtick is that we should despise him, and therefore laugh at his karma, is... kinda sad. That type of thing could work for a villain or a really unlikable character, but the fact that Minoru is a supporting character who we see progress with his classmates with very little growth in his character? What a waste... Moving on, then.

Katsuki Bakugo

Ah, King Explosion Murder. Most of you will know how I despise him. And unfortunately, part of the reason is similar to why I don't like Minoru:

His AnGeRy BoI tantrums get old really quick. Let me explain.

Catchphrases

"DIE!" "I'LL KILL YOU!" "EXTRA!" If you've been paying attention to Katsuki, he says these things s lot. He's been letting go of "extra" recently, but he'll still spew the first two comments without hesitation. He probably doesn't mean it literally, but that doesn't warrant his excessive aggression. It's one of the worst character traits I've seen in a while to be honest, and it's heavily concerning that a 15 (now 16) year-old has this kind of mindset. The fact that it's played for laughs ("DIE!" or "GO TO HELL!" while Izuku states deadpan off to the side) isn't any more assuring.

Gremlin Face

Katsuki will do this for a multitude of reasons. His base appearance treads a fine line between pretty boy and disgruntled madman, but when Katsuki gets more pissed then usual, he goes full gremlin. The faces are somewhat funny out of context, but they're kind of petty in context.

Bus Ride

The kids call out Katsuki on the bus ride to the USJ. This is basically a way to tell the readers that Katsuki isn't much of a big shot anymore, but the fact that it ultimately holds no water later down the line is... disappointing. Within several chapters, people will be flocking to him, regardless of his garbage personality.

Eijiro's Analysis

Eijiro brings up how Katsuki should be all "DIE! DIE! DIE!" while they're fighting villains, to which Katsuki ironically responds in kind. It's a "Bakugo sux LOL" moment, but the fact that this is how likely most students see him and they STILL flock to him is just... wut? Plus, Eijiro was originally skeptical of Katsuki after the Battle Trial, and his sudden support of Katsuki here is... half-heartedly executed. And while Katsuki has shown that he treasures the relationship he has with Eijiro to a degree, it's pretty clear that Eijiro holds it in a much higher regard.

Less Than The Best

Gremlin face returns when Katsuki gets 3rd (and therefore not 1st) in the Sports Festival's Obstacle Course. Katsuki screams when he gets 2nd (and therefore not 1st) in the Cavalry Battle. It's "funny" now, but I fear for the day when this guy has to regularly do interviews and doesn't get the Number One Hero spot for the first few months (if he ever gets it at all).

Sore Winner

This is probably the one joke I can say is the least funny. Everybody remembers the whole Katsuki in bindings and acting like an animal bit, right? Yeah, no one is sane in this universe... And even if Katsuki's desire to reject the first place medal is understandable, he isn't exactly cordial about the whole thing (I mean, I'd be miffed if someone had be bound like that, but I doubt more growling is gonna get him out... the teachers need help). And then we still see him with the medal in his mouth sometime later, and Gremlin face show up when the class is talking internships. Where's the therapist again?

Teeth

Katsuki telling the germs in his mouth to die as he's brushing his teeth. It's only funny because of the absurdity of the notion. In reality, telling microscopic organisms to straight up die in such a threatening manner is hella concerning. See "Catchphrases" for why I still don't think this is okay.

Knife

One of the more tame jokes. Katsuki's good with knives, Ochako brings it up, Katsuki is offended. Honestly, I'd prefer more of this type of humor compared to... whatever Katsuki's doing right now.

I'll Kill Him

It's an exam, Katsuki, AN EXAM! This moment during the Provisional License Exam is only funny for a moment, because when you think about it, the purple dude has a point (even if he's still a stuck-up elitist) and Katsuki would have failed if Eijiro and Denki didn't follow after him. Still, does he think he can get away with saying he'll kill villains in the actual Hero world? Good gravy...

Stop Being Nice

This is a trend we've seen post-Deku vs. Kacchan 2. Izuku complements Katsuki or makes a remark about him. Katsuki proceeds to tell him to back off in some or fashion. If it's his winter costume, Katsuki will chew the speech bubble. He'll reflexively tell Izuku to get out of his way. When Izuku mentions Katsuki's technique, Katsuki will tell Izuku to stay away from him. I know some of Izuku's habits are borderline-stalking, but he's not being overtly creepy. And in a narrative where Izuku and Katsuki are supposed to be "good friends," this does a poor job of showing it.

Ninja Star

Katsuki looses his temper when Izuku brings up Blackwhip, and throws one of his head pieces at Izuku like a ninja star. Izuku gets injured, but the entire thing is played off like a nice joke. Except it isn't. Izuku wasn't about to spill anything about OFA when he talked about Black Whip; Katsuki's just stupidly jealous and annoyed when anyone like Izuku talks for too long about their achievements. It's basically telling readers that Izuku's gonna get shoved around for having pride in himself. That sucks...

I Win

The latest incarnation of Gremlin face, and Katsuki's stupid winner's complex in general. I've already talked about it in this post, but Katsuki's assertions in Chapter 257 were highly immature and disrespectful. All Might tells the boys about the OFA users and their short lives, how they weren't chosen ones but were still entrusted with the Quirk, hoping to pass it on and hoping to beat AFO. What does Katsuki say about them? They had lame Quirks; they were a bunch of nobodies. He goes out of his way to tell Izuku he'll lag behind while mastering the next Quirk while Katsuki ensures his victory. All if that "character development" and he still pulls stuff like this. How do I put this?

A few steps forward followed by long periods of regression is not character development, that's bad writing.

Katsuki's seemingly humorous outbursts would be terrifying in the real world. He's got serious issues and he needs help. His anger is no laughing matter. It'll hurt him, or rather, continue to hurt him. It's already hurt other people, and continues to do so.

TL;DR Katsuki and Minoru's one note humor is damaging to the narrative and to their characters, and unless it's properly addressed, it will continue to do so. Thank you for your time.

-Crimson Lion (19 January 2020)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugou #minoru mineta #character analysis #meta #rant #vent #long post #anti bakugo #anti bakugou #anti minoru #anti minoru mineta

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shadedrose01 · 3 years

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Equilibrium

Spoilers for Sidekicks (aka issues #1-6 of the Young Avengers comics)!!

Read on ao3 here!

After coming back, everything feels... weird. Off kilter, as if someone had tipped a perfectly balanced scale and it was teetering back and forth, trying its best to find equilibrium again.

Wrong, like his atoms and molecules had been shaped back together in the wrong spots, in the wrong places, still making Billy but not quite right, not quite normal (or, maybe usual, nothing about Billy is normal).

He just feels weird, okay? Its not like human beings are supposed to fade out of existence and then reappear back into it, even if those humans are mostly superpowered and/or mutants.

And when he realizes that Iron Lad is gone, seemingly gone back to his own time to fulfill his unforgiving destiny (or not, because they still remember him? Even though they weren't supposed to?), and when the Avengers (when Captain America, Steven Rogers himself) tells them to never put on the suits again or else, Billy just feels worse. Even more wrong.

A team isn't supposed to break up like some boy band (even if they are one person down now), they aren't- they've been through so much together, and now it's all just... going to go away?

He sees Eli walk away, trailing off towards the subway, sees Kate watching them with sad, methodical eyes, like she's trying to figure something out, holds onto Cassies hand as he pulls her up into the hoverboard thing he made with his magic, refuses to look at Teddy, refuses to acknowledge that particular ache in his chest right now, and wonders... is this it? How can this be it?

"It won't be," Cassie huffs as she jumps back down to the ground in front of her house, pushing her hair out of her eyes to glance back up at the two boys. When her gaze meets Billy's, it softens slightly, still determined, still ready. "We'll figure it out, okay? Keep in touch!"

"We will," They both promise, Teddy sounding much more assured than Billy could gather in himself, before they're both flying away, back towards the upper west side, where they both live (a couple of blocks away from each other, they can walk to each others houses, already have a few times while figuring out their powers, when Teddy had scouted out his moms old self help books and they had read them, leaning against each other as they laughed, looking at each other for a little too long before looking away, with rosy cheeks and burning ear tips and-)

When they get to the building that houses Teddy's apartment, Billy lowers them both gently to the ground as the power hoverboard disappears, and then they're just standing there, shuffling, avoiding each others gaze, avoiding a goodbye, avoiding the inevitable-

"Billy-"

"I don't know what I'm going to do." Billy blurts, interrupting accidentally and wincing, glancing up at Teddy (at his messy blond hair falling in front of his baby blues eyes, his perfect cheekbones and jaw oh gosh) in an unspoken apology before looking back to the concrete below him, cracked almost like their team, playing with the ends of his red cape. "These times- this team was all I had, and I thought- I thought we would be friends forever, or at least for a while, and now-"

"We will be," Now its Teddy interrupting, voice calm and gentle like waves crashing against the beach, a hand easing its way onto Billy's arm like its meant to be there, reassuring and soft even as it sends a spark down Billy's back. "Even if we can't-" Teddy glances around, spots people walking past them, and lowers his voice to a whisper, leaning closer. "Even if we can't be superheros anymore, we'll still be friends. We'll always be friends, Billy. Even Captain America can't get rid of that."

Billy looks up again, at Teddy's twinkling gaze and upturned lips, and gives him a faint smile back, even as he longs to take the word "friend" out of Teddy's mouth and smash it into pieces. "And Iron Man? Jessica Jones, the Jewel herself?"

"They don't stand a chance." He promises easily, squeezing Billy's shoulder, and Billy can't help the faint laugh of relief that spills from his lips, before he bites his bottom one and gives him a look.

"I don't know what I'd do without the team." And then, cautiously, his heart beating out of his chest (Is he really going to do this?), as he steps a little closer, their noses almost brushing now. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Teddys eyes widen, his pupils growing as they flicker between Billy's, and then downwards, towards his lips (wait, is this actually happening, does he-), and then back up, a hand gently (gentle gentle Teddy is always gentle, he loves it about him) grabbing onto his hip as he murmurs shakily, "Please tell me I'm not reading this wrong."

Oh my god, this is happening. "You aren't." Billy breaths back, his hand clenching and unclenching into fists, before he decides screw it, and grabs onto the collar of Teddy's shirt that he shape-shifted into somehow. This is happening. "Am I?"

"No. Can I kiss you?"

"Please do."

Then, they are. And it isn't the sparks flying, tingling, butterflies in his stomach sensation that he thought it would be, that he read about in stories and comics and fanfiction, but its warm, its safe, it's real, and it feels so unbelievably right.

In Teddy's arms, slotted together like they were made for each other, everything shifts back into place.

#young avengers #billy kaplan #teddy altman #wicling #billy kaplan/teddy altman #just a small little drabble i wrote while rereading ya lmaoo

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drpepperhateblog · 4 years

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TV Series I’ve Watched so far on Netflix, (Relatively) Spoiler Free Description

Dark + Well planned plot, no plot holes in sight, more and more makes sense when you rewatch. + Some of the best casting I’ve seen in a TV series. + Gets a third season soon that will complete the series. - May feel slow sometimes and have some scenes that seem filler-y, but the payoff is worth it. Score: 10/10 (so far)

Insatiable + A surprisingly deep examination into binge eating disorder and body dysmorphia covered up by camp, black comedy, and a plot that twists all over. + Subverts your expectations in the best ways possible. + Despite being a goddamn comedy show it actually has a great explanation of sexuality that other shows are lacking. - A character inconsistency in the second season affected my enjoyment negatively. I can’t say how much it might affect yours. - Ends on sort of a cliffhanger as the show was cancelled, but it works anyway and answers questions you had while watching the first season. Score: 8/10

Iron Fist - Awful Season 1. Absolutely horrendous. + While Season 1 is one of the worst things I’ve ever seen on television, Season 2 tries its best to pick up the pieces and work with the mess Season 1 gave it. The second season brings some great acting, gets into the characters’ psyche and introduces a fascinating character that I’m sad we won’t get to see again. - Unfortunately ends on a cliffhanger as the show was cancelled. Season 1 Score: 1/10 Season 2 Score: 6/10

Jessica Jones + Good from start to finish. The show was cancelled but the ending is quite open, works as an ending but also works as the start of another season. + Well executed villain arcs and moral complexity, examination of heroism, what it means. +/- Close examination of sexism. My friend felt it was a tad too much. I thought it was a reasonable amount. Your mileage may vary on this issue. - Starts a little slow, the second half of each season is always the best. Although, in my opinion a good ending is more important than a good beginning. Score: 10/10

Pretty Little Liars + The drama, the mystery! You get hooked and excuse the terrible because you’re convinced it all pays off. - ... It doesn’t. Countless plot holes, timeline inconsistencies, a perfect example of how not to write a mystery. - A bizarre romanticization of statutory rape. + Janel Parrish is a great actress and nearly carried the whole show on her back. Score: 5/10

Sex Education + Some great characters that keep you watching. By that I’m not referring to the main ones. + Fun drama, albeit predictable at times. - Inconsistent characterization for some of the main characters. - Plenty of rushed character arcs and out-of-nowhere plotlines that appear to have been added for fan service. Characters discover things about themselves that have had no hints at all in previous episodes or even seasons. Score: 3/10

The Defenders NOTE: Watch Daredevil Season 1-2, Jessica Jones Season 1, Luke Cage Season 1, and Iron Fist Season 1 before watching this or nothing will make sense. + I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show before where I’ve been so happy to just rewatch scenes of characters talking. Screw the action, what was interesting was seeing the characters we had watched grow in their separate shows come together and play off each other’s personalities. + Makes a certain character that was insufferable in their own show one of the bright points of this series, a breath of fresh air that the others really needed. - Some of the villains are weak and motivations aren’t clear. - The flashing lights in early episodes are so annoying. Score: 7/10

The Witcher + Have you seen the main character? Hot. + Great actors. + Nice special effects, brings in many of the fantasy elements other more “realistic fantasy” series neglect. + Positive treatment of women without becoming too preachy. - One of the main characters’ plotline moves at the speed of a snail, but hopefully it pays off when the second season is released. Score: 9/10

#dark #netflix dark #dark netflix #insatiable season 1 #insatiable season 2 #netflix insatiable #insatiable netflix #iron fist #jessica jones #pretty little liars #sex education #sex education netflix #netflix sex education #the defenders #the witcher #witcher #netflix

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agentsokka · 5 years

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Nott’s Conflicting Narratives

[[Spoilers for Campaign 2 up to Episode 75]]

Man. D’you ever get the need to talk about how much you love your favorite character? Because I am feeling PASSIONATE for a specific little goblin girl right now.

I love Nott. She’s the peanut butter to my jam, the sugar to my spice, the awkward green butterball mushing around in my heart. She’s my absolute FAVORITE character of the cast and one of my all-time favorite characters in general. So, of course, I feel the need to bend over backwards, snap my spine into a pretzel, and projectile vomit my absolute love for this woman all over your dashes.

In this piece, I wanted to talk about her personal growth over the story and how she’s evolved from what viewers believed was merely a skittish, oddball of a green powder monkey klepto into an equally odd but emotionally resonant mother desperate to reclaim her life and family.

In my opinion, Nott’s overarching story revolves around a mother attempting to recapture her personal narrative from a world that has tried to tear it away from her.

Let’s first establish Nott’s position as the “mother” of the Mighty Nein.

Time for a recap.

As we discover in episode 49, Nott is a little goblin girl, who was once a young halfling woman, who was once a halfling child. In her desperate dash to protect her family from goblin kidnappers, the halfling woman known as Veth Brenatto is recaptured and put to death. Her corpse is then reanimated into the flesh puppet goblin suit we know and love today. In this process, her skin, body, and even mind are reconstructed to be more goblin-esque – a situation which Veth vehemently despises. To put distance between herself and her former life, she renames herself “Nott the Brave,” an anagram of Veth Brenatto.

“They made me everything… that I thought I was. Not pretty…not good. Just not.”

This event is significant for a multitude of reasons, primarily of which revolve around Nott’s relationship with motherhood.

In her essay The Symbolic Annihilation of Mothers in Popular Culture, Berit Astrӧm (2015) observes that mother characters are routinely devalued in popular culture via what she terms “symbolic annihilation.” Gaye Tuchman (1978) originally coined the phrase to describe the way in which media trivializes, condemns, or outright excludes mothers, but Astrӧm extends it to include the removal of mothers from narratives entirely.

We’ve seen this play out time and time again: for example, how many times have we questioned “what happened to the mother” in Disney movies? Often, we see that their exclusions leave little impact on the story and characters, with many media franchises unceremoniously minimizing the mother’s very existence as if it held no more meaning than an ironically titled paperweight.

Now, how does this apply to Nott?

Nott’s character is an inversion of this trope. Although she is killed by the goblins as per the trope’s wont, the narrative does not revolve around her son or husband trying to cope with her loss. Instead, the narrative remains centered on she the mother as this little goblin girl punches a fist through the earth and screams NOT TODAY SATAN. Her story revolves around her identity as a mother, and it takes shape in a plethora of different ways.

Nott exhibits many atypical characteristics that are not commonly associated with the idealized form of “motherhood.” She’s loud, she’s boisterous, she’s mischievous. She’s self-admittedly “strange” and eccentric. She saw it suit to dump a pitcher of cucumbers and proceed to eat them off the ground. Absolutely no one can convince me that this a goblin-specific trait and not just Nott being her weird little self.

And yet, Nott exhibits many typically feminine/motherly traits as well. In spite of her vulgarities, she’s gentle and kind towards Caleb, and it takes some time for their relationship to evolve beyond that. She likes dresses! She likes feeling pretty even though the situation rarely allows her to be. She likes to collect buttons and baubles and cutesy trinkets. And most of all, Nott expresses love. Beau’s the first person in the group to say it to someone else, but Nott is the first of anyone to emphatically express her love for this ragtag group of misfits they’ve wrangled together.

“I know we have things to do, and I want to do them, but the reason I want to find these people and rescue them is not to use them, or not because we’ve invested time in them. But it’s because… I love them.”

Nott is very much “the Heart” of the Mighty Nein, in spite of her idiosyncrasies and eccentricities. In this sense, she views herself as their mother – not just as Caleb’s parental figure, but the entirety of the group. It’s not just a meme, with adoption papers scrawled across a series of barbeque-stained napkins in chicken scratch. Over time, she’s genuinely adopted the M9 as her own, welcoming them under her stubby wings. Nott has said as much several times, but most significantly in episode 76, when she told Caleb that she wanted to protect everyone on their own individual quests.

“I protected you so that you could go on your journey and find yourself and fulfill your quest. I feel like I’ve got to do that for everyone now because, I don’t know, deep down inside it feels like my quest might not be done till everyone else has figured out who they are and what they want in this world. Everyone’s seeking something, you know?”

This protection – this overwhelming need to shield, to safeguard, to provide security and aegis – is crucial to recognizing what Nott is as a parent. A protector. A defender. Nott firmly believes that protection is representative of parenthood, its indistinguishable mirror image.

How do I know this? Nott confirmed it word-for-word in episode 13, when she explained her relationship with Caleb to the rest of the M9.

“Caleb and I have a very special…relationship. And it’s that of a parent and a child. But I am the parent, you do understand that, correct? I protect him. He’s my boy, and I keep him safe. … It’s my job to protect him, because I love him, and I am his protector.”

Nott clearly associates parenthood with protection. She reiterates it again and again. If you fall under her protection, you are her child. It doesn’t matter how old you are, how strong you are, how quick you are – she will protect you to the very last inch of her life. And over the course of the campaign, many, many times over, she’s nearly given said life to ensure the protection of others. An early example is when Nott threw her body over Caleb’s to shield him from attack. In 45, she drew the blue dragon’s attack to save Jester, shaving her hit points down to 1.

Nott again establishes this in 76.

“So I feel like, I need to be there to protect you all. To rescue you when there’s a dragon about to kill you and use my body as a shield; or to pull Beauregard out of the mouth of a worm; or to catch you when someone falls with a feather fall spell.”

This is a fundamental aspect of her character, and explains the majority of her actions. Even though she’s anxious and scared, Nott powers through her fears to protect her loved ones at any cost necessary – with a few nips to soothe her nerves, of course.

And as sweet as this gremlin of a goblin is, she doesn’t extend her protection to everyone she meets – she’s self-sacrificial, but only to her proverbial children, after they’ve spent more than enough time becoming comfortable with one another. In episode 75, for example, Nott suggested that Reani was expendable and thus should go first when facing the dragon. She likes Reani, sure, but if it came down to her and the M9? The outsider would be the first to go.

This further lends itself to the idea that Nott perceives protection as parenthood, self-sacrifice as motherly duty – she’s not just a nice gal throwing down her life in order to ensure the welfare of others, but only for the select few she deems in need of her protection.

However, Nott isn’t just a mother, which comes to the crux of this post. For the majority of the campaign, Nott has primarily identified as a mother figure – to Luc, to Caleb, to the M9 at large. But over time, she’s steadily developed into wanting to be more than just a mother. At the very least, she’s expressed her desires more openly over the course of the show as time has gone on. This development intersects with her identity issues as Nott struggles to reconcile two conflicting lives.

Throughout her short life – and I do mean short, she’s only about 25 (I’m turning 25 this month and the extent to which this little goblin has pushed herself through sends me into anxiety just by association) – Nott’s life has followed a very, shall we say, standard route. She’s always been someone’s daughter – someone’s wife – someone’s mother. Veth Brenatto grew up the small town of Felderwin with very few expectations of their people beyond the usual sort, assuming that said small town followed real-world small-town culture. As such, Veth traversed domestic paths in life, not straying far from those expectations. In spite of her intelligence and capabilities, Veth remained a housewife essentially, assisting Yeza when need be and taking care of Luc. This narrative held steady for some time.

And everything changed when the Fire Nation goblins attacked.

Veth’s narrative as a mother, as a wife, as a little halfling from the little hovel hole of Felderwin, was abruptly disrupted when she became Nott. Her narrative was stolen from her, manipulated and perverted into something she deemed grotesque. Forced to co-exist with the tribe, Nott becomes the torturer’s assistant – the absolute antithesis to motherhood in the representative forebearer of violence, depravity, and death. Her desire to nurture and protect is met with oppression and bloodshed.

It’s no wonder Nott detests the narrative the goblins thrust upon her. Her goblin exterior fundamentally represents a life forced upon her, a narrative chosen without her consent.

“I just don't like how I feel when I see my hands or my feet. They just feel wrong. I want to be different.”

“I'll be honest. I've started forgetting what it feels like to be a halfling, to be me. I don't remember everything any more. I feel like every day I'm more and more goblin. I don't like it at all. I don't like myself at all.”

“There's still something that's not right about this. This is not my body. It's just not me. And people liking you is nice, and people accepting you is nice. But if you feel wrong inside your own skin, then, well, you can't be a good mother or a good wife, or a good anything, really.”

Upon escaping, her narrative again changes: she’s no longer anyone’s assistant, but existing for herself. And only herself. Before she meets Caleb, she’s alone, unwanted by the populace at large and unable to return to Felderwin. She’s no longer a mother – just detested vermin looking to steal and connive, so people would believe.

That is partially why, in my opinion, she adopts Caleb as her own so quickly. Of course, Nott sees him as a means to an end in the beginning, as does he. They both admit that they had ‘other intentions’ in staying together than purely out of goodness of their hearts. However, it is evident that well before the campaign started, these two forged a bond that went beyond that of convenience. Nott fills the hole in her heart, the hole in her very narrative, by becoming Caleb’s adoptive mother, assisting him in his ventures and protecting him whenever need be. By doing this, she is able to choose for herself, to differentiate herself from the goblin’s narrative of pain and misery. She is no longer just “not,” she is Nott, Nott the Brave.

As was aforementioned, Nott’s motherhood narrative grows to include the rest of the M9. However, with time, she reaches a conflict within herself: while she hates being a goblin, she enjoys her new lifestyle. Is she afraid? She’s fucking petrified. Yet like the rest of the group, she’s fallen in love with adventuring, the highs and lows that demonstrate the extent of her capabilities. Nott isn’t just an assistant anymore – she can do magic! She can fight, she can pick locks, she can adapt firearms and create explosive weaponry. Hell, she can wield a crossbow with the dexterity of an Olympic gymnast and liquidate giant spiders into bloody pastes on the wall. With the M9, she’s seeing the world, far beyond the borders of Felderwin and her small-town life.

And suddenly, Veth’s narrative as a stay-at-home mom isn’t so appealing anymore.

Is there a problem inherent to existing as a housewife and full-time mother? No, of course not. Nevertheless, Nott has found herself in a strange position – she longs for her old life and family, ripped away from her by the gnarled claws of fate, yet remains enthralled by the wonders this new narrative can offer her.

In 36, Nott reveals to Cadeuceus that she believes the M9 could be representative of a new life for her – a new narrative.

“I’m not a religious lady, but I will tell you that, for me, this journey with the group has been a bit of a sign. … A sign that there could be, for all of us, another chapter.”

It’s a new chapter, a new narrative, a new life for Nott. One she could never have imagined possible for her in the confines of her small town. And by god, does she want to live it. Nott expressed this desire to live this life to its fullest, to live this new narrative to its fullest, in 27 after Molly’s death.

“Mollymauk was a rainbow man who represented life at its fullest. And. That’s what I want, even more than… even more than what we’re going for before. Together, we’re sort of living life now, aren’t we? And before, we were… in the darkness, so. … I want to find them so we don’t go back to the way it was, when we were hiding in the shadows and, and ducking into alleys to get away from people. We were safe, but we weren’t really alive, right? With these people, we’re having fun and winning contests. And. And killing bad guys, and rescuing children…it’s amazing.”

I’m of the opinion that Nott’s speech is reflective of both her experiences with Caleb as well as her own in Felderwin. She was living before – and she enjoyed it, yes! She obviously loves Yeza and Luc. But now, she’s seeing what life can be like when lived to its fullest, seeing what life can be like when she spearheads her own narrative. She gleans inspiration from Mollymauk, who decided to head his own narrative and remain unrepentantly unconcerned with what his past might have been like. With his death, Nott becomes convinced that she needs to truly lead this life, lead this newfound narrative with this family she’s amassed.

But with that realization comes conflict once the dredges of Nott’s previous life begin seeping into her narrative. This is especially once Nott reunites with Yeza in Xhorhas.

“Caleb, I’m feeling uneasy. … I, because. What the fuck am I doing here? I just was reunited with my husband, and I’ve – I -- we were given a chance to go on an adventure and I jumped at it like that. Am I a bad person? I just left him, I ditched my husband in a den of monsters to go adventuring with you.”

Rather than hold down the fort with her newly reunited husband, Nott instinctively leaps at the chance for adventure, the chance to go out and see more of the world. She doesn’t even think about it, it’s just oh? A side quest? Well fuck me rosy, time to knock my crossbow. Because that’s what Nott would do, not Veth. And once she realizes what she’s done, Nott begins wondering if she’s a terrible person for living her life. She begins questioning her intentions, wondering whether her actions are the ploy of some subconscious desire to remain free, remain independent of her responsibilities.

“You don’t think I’m just…delaying the inevitable? Scared of going back to my old life, or anything?”

Nott further recognizes the disparity between her two lives and how wide the gulf between them yawns.

“It’s just, I just don’t know like. Is he gonna…even like me anymore, I’m so different. Not just physically, I do different things now. … Will I like it? I’ve gotten a taste of adventure and, and seeing the world, and now I’ve gotta go back and be a…a housewife again?”

Nott doesn’t even know if she wants to be called Veth anymore. Not by people who have come into her life since Veth’s apparent demise. When Caleb asks her in 59, she dismisses the question and asserts that they should just go with Nott for now.

She asks Caleb to tell her what she should do, in a desperate plea for someone else to give her direction in life. Because driving your own narrative is hard. It’s a painful, painful process, full of ups and downs and mistakes and setbacks. But Caleb fundamentally cannot decide her narrative for her -- it’s Nott’s narrative, not his. He can help her along and support her, but he will never be able to direct it. She has to do it for herself.

(As a side note: I love, love, love how far Nott and Caleb’s relationship has come. Prior to the Xhorhas arc, Nott never bothered him with her problems, drudging on ahead as she didn’t want to “distract” him from his personal quest. She’s exactly like a mother, masking her insecurities and fears from her young child so that they won’t worry about what they can’t control. And now, as her child has grown up and become more aware of his mother’s struggles, she’s leaning on him more and more for support. It truly mirrors parent-child relationships and is representative of how far these characters have grown over time.)

With these conversations, it becomes evident that Nott is seeking more than family, more than the life of a housewife. And yet, simultaneously, she embodies the narrative of a mother, loves being a mother, and loves the people in both her immediate and found families. To merge these narratives will be an almost insurmountable task, from her perspective -- how can you raise a family when you’re constantly adventuring? You can’t endanger their lives. Conversely, is it responsible of a parent to endanger their own life, potentially risking everything for adventure’s sake? To widow your husband and orphan your child if something goes horribly wrong? If she becomes a housewife again, how long can she keep up the charade pretending she’s a halfling? If she stays, will she forever remain uncomfortable in her own skin? How long will she even live? Nott is juggling so many plates, and dropping even one could result in the partial devastation of these narratives she’s cultivated.

And she’s scared. She’s really, really scared. Nott is petrified of what comes next -- she knows it’s inevitable that she’s going to have to face these conflicting narratives in the future. She knows she can’t ignore it forever. And that prospect terrifies her. She says this explicitly in episode 69.

“I'm just scared, that's all. I'm scared of...I'm scared of what happens next. You know? I don't know what's going to happen after this. I found my husband. I found my son. And I want to go back with them so much. ... But I'm worried that if I go back, that'll be it.”

This overwhelming, paralyzing sense of fear has driven Nott to drink. Even more so than usual. Over the course of the show, Nott has made no secret of her drinking habits. She’s a drunkard -- she knows it, the M9 knows it. You, me, and the NSA agent watching you behind the screen know it. But it’s no accident the M9 has begun commenting more and more on her habitual intoxication. She simply is more intoxicated than usual. She’s depending more and more on her alcoholism to get through each day.

Nott is of course afraid of enemies, of secret dangers lurking behind every corner. She’s a perpetually anxious person, constantly filled with frenetic energy. But these anxieties have worsened ten-fold with the inclusion of her intersecting narratives and responsibilities. And honestly? With all that going on in her brain, Nott just flat out doesn’t want to think about it. She wants to live in the moment -- not in the past, not in the future, but the present.

“I'm thinking about things. And I don't want to think about things. I don't want to think about anything. I just want to be on an adventure with you guys and that's all I want and I don't want to think about anything else past that.”

And so, she turns to drinking. As she tells Caleb, drinking is her own form of self-care. While she may protect others, she herself needs protection too -- from her own thoughts, fears, and inner demons. From the physical dangers that manifest in front of her very person.

“I know you all have my back, I know you all care for me, but no one has my front. So this flask that I drink from, it’s not for fun, I’m not taking nips because I’m looking for fun. If I wanted fun I’d be in Nicodranus with my family. This flask is my shield. It allows me to do these things, to go forward and to protect all of you.”

Nott needs to shield herself from fears that she may not come back to her family. She needs to shield herself from fears that she won’t find a remedy to her situation, that she won’t ever be Veth again. She needs to shield herself from fears that these conflicting narratives will never reconcile, thereby isolating her from either family she’s come to love as her own.

All in all, Nott is currently torn between two lives -- one whose existence is linked to traditional motherhood, and another whose fate is yet undecided. And yet, by continuing with the M9, Nott has found herself on the path towards potential self-realization. This route she treads has the potential to shed the narrative the goblins thrust upon her and totally make one anew, one that is her own. In that sense, it’s representative of what this narrative means as a whole: Nott is more than just a mother. She’s a mother with autonomy. A mother with hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Unlike Berit Astrӧm’s (2015) analysis of symbolic annihilation, she is more than just a paper cutout of idealized motherhood left to be abandoned.

Indeed, Nott can be a mother without being the mother archetype.

Nott will certainly struggle to reconcile these narratives. She loves being a mother, but she clearly wants to love herself too. She wants to be more than just a mother, and thus she quests to recapture her personal narrative -- one where she can be both a mother and retain her personal autonomy.

I love the nuance and complexity Sam has demonstrated with this character, and I’m sure we’re only going to see more in the future.

#Critical Role #Nott #Nott the Brave

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ephemeral-afterlight · 5 years

Text

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic!

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block.

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that!

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.

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mischief-lies-and-stories · 4 months

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Reacting to Contemporary Comics (Without Context) 7/?

Okay, let's skip 3 issues. So technically still out of context comics.

Spoilers for Iron Fist issue 5, probably references to issue 1, and other referenced comics.

K, so I'm only a few pages from the end and Loki hasn't shown up yet. This is gonna be a short one.

Is this about to be the print equivalent of clickbait?

Shang-chi name drop

There he is. Fucking finally.

So confusingly, this issue came out before the issue I posted about yesterday. I hate this.

NEXT: Back to the Asgardians

BUT FIRST: A brief change of pace

#loki #loki comics #marvel comics #iron fist issue 5 #iron fist issue 5 spoilers #marvel comics spoilers #these posts must be so frustrating to people who read these with context #i'm sorry

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befuddledpanda · 3 years

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ARRP: Iron Gold

This review is for Iron Gold by Pierce Brown (author of The Red Rising Saga). It is the FOURTH book in the saga and was published in 2018.

Premise:

Since this is the FOURTH book in the series, I won’t go into the details about the premise. I keep the review as spoiler free as possible.

Review:

I have a confession. I started reading Iron Gold in 2019...According to Goodreads, I started reading it on August 1, 2019. I finished reading it on November 17, 2020. Life things happened (including a move) and I put Iron Gold down for a while. I got to around the 200 page mark at the end of September 2019 and didn’t pick it back up until the tail end of August 2020. Here’s the thing, Iron Gold is not a book meant to be binge-read. Pierce Brown himself acknowledged this. And I took it to heart apparently. :P

Anyway, with that out of the way, I enjoyed Iron Gold. It was more expansive than the original trilogy and I loved seeing Pierce Brown grow as a writer. Instead of a single perspective, we got 4 different POVs. There’s one POV that I didn’t enjoy as much but I appreciated the depth the character provided to the overall story. I acknowledge that my choppy reading experience of Iron Gold contributes to how I feel about the book. I want to re-read it (and do so in a shorter timeframe) when we know the release date of book 6 and I can plan my re-read of the series. Alright, let’s get to the breakdown of my review:

Characters - I didn’t get enough of the characters that I loved from the original trilogy. But I love a couple of the new characters we were introduced to. Those new characters have me very excited for the rest of the series. I really enjoyed the multiple POVs and the depth of characters we got to see. Brown is good at creating morally grey characters and I love to read them. There was one POV that I found to be a bit too depressing for me. I understand why the character is the way they are but I also wanted to slap them in the face a few too many times. So my rating for characters is a 2.5.

Worldbuilding - With the multiple POVs, we got to see more of the world Brown started building in the original trilogy. I really enjoyed the expansion. I didn’t find any of the new stuff mind-blowing but it was fun to see more details of some places that I cannot say because spoilers. I’d say that the characters are stronger than the world. So my rating for worldbuilding is a 2.5.

Storytelling / Writing Style - This book had Pierce Brown written all over it. There’s was just more of it than the previous books. There’s the pattern of Action, info / setup, action, lull, psych, omg. It was an emotional roller coaster ride. I found myself not wanting to binge read the whole thing and sometimes, I needed to force myself to pick up the book. I ended up using the audiobook to help me keep up momentum to read more of it. It’s weird. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy the book but I also wasn’t itching to pick it up or read it in one go like I did with the previous books. Pierce Brown himself acknowledged Iron Gold isn’t one to rush through. It’s to be savored. I heartily agree. It is a different pace and having the multiple POVs switch the way they did contributed to that. I think having some longer chapters for each POV would have helped the pacing be more even - especially when he had back to back chapters for the same POV. For this category, I give a rating of 2.

Logic - Upon my first reading, I didn’t have any major problems with the logic. I can’t say it is perfect but I didn’t have any major issues (that I can remember...). So with that, I give the logic a rating of 2.5.

Enjoyment - I enjoyed the book when I was reading it. But I did have to take it in small bites. It was like nibbling on rich, bitter, dark chocolate and savoring the small piece as it melted on my tongue. Can’t have too much at once. My rating for enjoyment is a 2.25.

Conclusion:

Iron Gold was recommended to me by the LibraryThing. My averaged rating for this book is 2.35. I knew going in that this book was going to be a bit different from the original trilogy. I also had been putting off starting it for a while and then put it down and didn’t pick it back up for almost a year. This was not the ideal reading experience of a book I was anticipating to read. But it is what it is. I’m glad I stuck with it and finished it. I am looking forward to reading Dark Age and knowing it will punch me in the gut, break my heart several times over, and have me jumping up and down shaking my fist at the ceiling. But I will also very likely love it. I’m not going to start Dark Age until I know when book 6 is coming though. :P I can’t handle that stress.

#algorithm reading recs #book review #booklr #reading #pierce brown #iron gold #red rising saga #howlers #librarything #befuddledpanda

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

Magic & Mysteries [2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 [Finale] | The Sequel Oneshot

➜ Words: 10.8k

➜ Genres: 95% Fluff, 5% Angst, Adventure, Witch!AU, Familiar!AU, Hybrid!AU

➜ Summary: Everything’s okay....EVERYTHING’S OKAY, YOU’RE FINE. Look, you just have one tiny problem. It’s an itty-bitty issue. Not that big of a deal. So what if you don’t have a familiar and you’re about to take on the ENTIRE family business. Oh, you have a name to uphold? Everyone’s depending on you? Great. That’s just fantastic. But it’s fine. You’ll get your familiar and you’ll run the best damn potion shop the world has ever seen. Everything will be fine, right?

Spoiler alert: everything was NOT fine.

You’re running for your life. Feet moving faster than your body can register, heaving breaths tearing from parted lips, you sprint with all your might. You’re a thunderbolt darting down the street, slipping through the crowds. Every so often, you glance over your shoulder like a fugitive or a criminal. But no. You’ve done nothing wrong. Yet, you’re being chased. “Stop it, Y/N!” A stern voice echos into your mind. “Get out of my head!” You scream, grabbing fistfuls of your hair, making strangers move out of the way and shoot you odd looks. There’s a long, exhausted sigh. “You’re going to trip and fall.” Like he says, you tumble, nearly falling flat on your face when your shoe hits a rock. But you catch yourself, hurling your body forward. Forward. Once you reach the shop, you throw the door open. It crashes against the wall. Mr. Lee is at the counter, in the middle of a conversation with a customer. Both magical folks regard you with wide eyes and you throw yourself at the counter. “Y/N?!” Hyperventilating and moving a strand of hair away from your face, you spit it out, “I-I’m so sorry! I know this is so rude, but I’m going to need my paycheck. Right now.” He blinks. “What’s the matter?” “I’m leaving town.” You look over your shoulder, harshly whispering as if he can hear you, “I need it right now.” “What?” The old man’s brows furrow, confused, though he slowly follows with your desperate request. “Is there something the matter? Something you need help with, dear?” “I’ll explain it later by pigeon. I’m so….so sorry!” Mr. Lee opens his cash register, counting the bills and slipping them in the white envelope. “Well, I only have half of your paycheck with me at the moment. I haven’t had time to withdraw from the bank ye—” “It’s good for now! Thank you!” You take it, stuffing it in your satchel. “I’ll see you soon!” There aren’t any proper goodbyes. You can’t bid farewell to all the people you met, talk to Taehyung one last time or even return the key to the innkeeper. Though you’re sure the latter doesn’t mind — she’ll be pissed when she realizes you haven’t come back, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Though the worse part is that you’ve left behind your most prized possessions. Your broomstick is still in the room. Dammit. You turn in the alleyway and he appears in front of you, an apparition materializing in the air, particles stitching together to form his body. The man is unimpressed, brow lifted as he skims you from head to toe with his eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?” You scream, backing up and running the other way. But where are you even supposed to go? No matter what corner you turn, he’ll materialize. He shouldn’t be able to. His magical abilities shouldn’t be so extensive. But he’s not just a mere familiar. He’s a wizard. Jimin manifests himself in front of a crowd, arms crossed and sighing. “You can keep running, but you’re exhausting yourself, y’know.” “Go away!” you shout and finally, it’s enough to catch people’s attention. You run in the opposite direction, not wasting a moment. “Y/N!” Before he can catch you, he’s stopped by several concerned bystanders. “Are you bothering her?” “No!” He exhales, dragging a hand over his face. “I’m her familiar!” Bated breath held in your throat, you collect yourself. You’ve found a hiding spot. A bush. A decorative bush on the side of the road, meant to make the town look pretty. The fern leaves are high, covering the top of your head and finally with a moment to breathe, you calculate what you can do. You could catch a ferry out of this place. There’s a possibility you could sneak past him and onto the pier, but then there’s a chance he can transport himself on the boat. There would be no escape then. Considering you’re the worst swimmer in the family, if you jumped ship, you’d drown and die. You could go to the police station for protection, but at the end of the day, he’s done nothing wrong. He hasn’t broken any law and you highly doubt any officer would believe you even if you told them what was going on. But if there was one thing that you were good at… You could run back to the inn, grab your broomstick and book it out of here. He would never be able to catch up if you’re constantly up in the air. You’re also confident about your flying skills. But you don’t know if you can make it back to your room in the first place. “Y/N?” Jimin brushes past you. He’s clothed, wearing your robes that are much too short on him and all too tight everywhere. He looks ridiculous, especially with your messenger cap, hiding the ears on his head. But with one glance at him, you hunch down more into the bushes. A shadow looms over your figure. “Mommy….why is there a witch in the bushes?” You cringe, trying to shoo the kid away in whispers, “go away, go away!” But the five-year old girl is much too curious. She looks down at you, cheeks rosy and eyes rounded. “What are you doing?” Luckily, her mom takes her hand and drags her off. “Rose, what did I tell you about talking to weirdos?” Maybe you can just transport yourself elsewhere. You’re not good at this kind of magic, but it wouldn’t try to hurt. You inhale, shutting your eyes tight, squeezing your hands into tight fists. You murmur the memorized incantation over and over again. Please, please, please. You envision a tropical beach, painting a beautiful picture of somewhere far, far away from here. Oceans crashing against the shore, the sea salt mist kissing upon your warmed cheeks. Seagulls swooping above you. Laughter and giggles of children. Humans around you, basking in the sunlight. You print the picture onto the forefront of your mind. You imagine a honeymoon destination, a vacation spot. And you can feel your body beginning to slip. Like you’re falling into a dream, your mind moves, fingertips to your toes tingling. Almost there…. But then a shadow looms over your figure. And it’s not the girl. “There you are!” Your collar is grabbed, entire body picked up. Your concentration is broken, body unable to materialize where you want it to go. “No! No!” He drags you. “Let me explain myself, stupid girl!” “Get away from me!” “Y/N-! Ow!” His grip loosens when you stomp on his toes. Chaos ensues. You slip away. Jimin shouts your name, running after you. But you don’t stop, destination already in mind. The inn’s door smashes open and you run past the counter, up the stairs. The innkeeper grimaces. “No running allowed!” You ignore her. Luckily enough, the room is still as you left it, unlocked. You shut it once you’re inside, broomstick in the corner. Grabbing it, you open the window, positioning the broom in between your legs and you’re already halfway out, leg hanging out the window— “Y/N!” The door slams open. “Bindora!” He shouts the spell. Instantaneously, you are paralyzed. It’s as if your limbs have been bound together with invisible rope and you scream, falling over, back into the room. The broomstick clatters to the floor. The man is gasping, pushing away his blonde strands from his sweaty face. He shuts the door and then steps over your body, falling onto the mattress. He catches his breath and sits up, looking down at you. “Are you done?” You roll over to face him. “W-what do you want from me?” “At least let me explain,” Jimin sighs and slumps to the ground, sitting on the floor with you. His arm rests on his propped up knee, lips pressed in a tight line. You’re still bounded, unable to move. It’s pathetic and you begin to squirm, discreetly wiggling around. “Do you think I’m blind?” He lifts his gaze, scoffing with a playful glint in his eyes. “Stop trying to roll away from me.” You roll again to face him. “What is there to explain?” He remains straightforward and blunt. “Aren’t you curious about how I became a dog?” You decide to go the same route too. “No. Frankly, I’m not. I want to leave.” “What don’t you understand? You can’t run from me!” He sighs in frustration. “I literally can smell you from a mile away! I’m still part dog!” Jimin throws off his hat and true to his words, there are black pointed ears on the top of his head. You stare at them for an extended moment before your pupils flicker down to meet his half-lidded eyes. “Okay, I’ll admit I’m a bit curious.” The corner of his mouth tugs. It makes you unsettled at how handsome he is, like the perfect exterior is a trap for the trouble-making interior. “I was turned into a dog about a year ago. Some witches hexed me or voodooed me or some shit. I just woke up one morning and I was a dog.” “Why would they do something like that?” You feel like a worm, struggling pathetically on the floor until you manage to sit yourself up, leaning against the dirty wall. “I...I may or may not have had relations with a few witches…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, between his ears, slicking it back. “At the same time.” “Oh.” “Yeah. Oh.” He chuckles lifelessly. “They must’ve found out, got pissed, and turned me into this.” It makes sense. If he’s as flirtatious as he says he is and he had multiple affairs then it’s kind of ironic that they turned him into what he was: a dog. Even if it’s outlandish, you believe him. Some witches weren’t to be messed with and their rage was to be feared — your cousins proved that sentiment. “That…..really sucks.” “Yup. I ended up in a hundred of places — wandering from town to town, a circus, a pound, a pet shop….until I was put into a familiar adoption center.” You connect the pieces. “Where I found you.” Jimin nods. “I overheard that you were supposed to run a potion shop and your grandma once turned a wizard from a bird back to his human form. I thought you could cure me.” You grimace. “That was my grandma. Not me.” He scoffs. “Obviously.” It hurts to be insulted and tears are brought to your eyes, but you force them away, pouting at him instead. “Okay. I get it and that sounds horrible, but can you let me go now?” You struggle against your invisible restraints, still feeling like you’ve been rolled up in a blanket. Jimin quirks his head to the side. “Do you really think I don’t know you, Y/N? We’ve spent every single day together for the past three months. The moment I let you free, you’re going to run for it. Again.” You huff out, annoyed that he’s right. You might or might not have a habit of running away when there’s trouble on the horizon. It’s not your fault you’re a class A coward — it’s just who you are. “Then what do you want from me?” “I want you to get rid of this.” He points to his ears. He’s still a half-dog, half-human. You wonder if he has a tail. “Fix me.” You fight against your bindings, glaring at the wizard. “Why should I?” The bastard smirks slyly, coming to his feet. Jimin’s arm extends and he grabs the collar of your dress, pulling you up. You freeze up when he leans in close, hot breath skimming against your lips as he lowly whispers, “because I’m still your familiar.” // You’re sulking. How could you not? You’ve been lied to. Your cute puppy is gone. And now the tables have turned — you’re the one following after him like you’re a lovesick dog. You’re trailing behind his shadow, noticing his tall height and how broad his back side is. It’s strange. You can barely wrap your mind around it and you’re overwhelmed. At the bank, Jimin merely says his name and reads out his memorized identification number. Apparently, he’s loaded and two sacks of coins are immediately withdrawn from his account. The bastard smirks at you as he throws and catches the sack in one hand. “Tell me what you need to buy and I’ll pay for it. You don’t need to buy anymore hand-me-downs or worry about finances.” “.......thanks.” Your pouty glare only earns a stupid grin from him. The two of you go on a shopping spree, or rather, Jimin drags you everywhere on his journey. He searches for proper clothes, purchasing cloaks and pajamas, robes and sweaters. He also finds himself a wand, spending a full hour in the store searching for the right one, excruciatingly picky. By afternoon, you’ve sighed hundreds of times. But as you’re standing by a book stand waiting for him, your eyes stray off. They fall onto a brightly covered guide. Dog Training 101 for Dummies. Your pupils immediately flicker upwards to the vendor. “How much is this?” “Three gold coins.” “I’ll take it.” You smile, exchanging the few coins you have for the book and stuffing it in your satchel. “Y/N!” Right on time, Jimin turns around with a blazing smile. At the market booth, he holds up two sweaters for you to see. “Which one do you like better? Blue or red?” You pause, approaching slowly. “Blue.” “I’ll take both,” he says to the lady who wraps it up. Your eyes are lifeless, expression blank. “If you already decided, then why do you bother asking me.” “Because I care about your opinion.” Jimin takes the bag, handing over the right amount of coins and then he passes it to you without a second thought. You feel like a maid, carrying tens of his bags on each of your arms, more or less a servant in his merciless rule. The two of you walk off as you struggle with the weight of his purchases, teetering from side to side. “Where did you get all this money?” The man smirks. “You’re not the only famous one.” There’s an extended silence. Then, Jimin twists on his heel, and his hand lifts. He flicks your forehead, making you whine. “Ow! What was that for?” “I know what you’re thinking,” he deadpans. “Stop reading my mind!” “I’m not, idiot.” The corner of his mouth slyly tugs again. “I can see it on your face. You’re an open book. And no, I’m not famous for sleeping with witches and women or being a casanova; although, I have created a name for myself in that arena.” You can’t even bring your hand up to rub at the spot he flicked. “Then what are you famous for?” “I’m a spell-specialized wizard,” he simply comments and then stops in his tracks, pointing to the left where they’re selling traveling sets of potions at a open stand. “Pick one.” They remind you of first-aid kits. There are basic and advanced sets, each of them carrying different kinds of materials and tools to brew necessary potions on the go. As you sweep your vision across the table, you begin to break a sweat. You swallow hard, palms clammy, skin cold. To cure Jimin of his half-dog state, you need to make a potion. Even if you didn’t want to and decided to run again, the both of you are connected via a familiar and witch bond, making you practically married to each other. And you’re also sure he could track you down with that damn nose of his or with his powers. Either way, you’ve been cornered with zero escape. Jimin’s arm comes to drape over your shoulder, chin propping on it as he leans down, breaking you out of your trance. You jolt, not used to being touched and you tense up. He can probably feel it, but he isn’t deterred. After all, you’ve held him much more intimately before. But you don’t dwell on those thoughts, instead coming to side-glare him. “If you’re a spell-specialized wizard, can’t you fix yourself?” “If I could, I wouldn’t be asking you,” he mutters. “I traveled with you for the past three months and went on my own for a year — there’s nothing on the market that I can buy that will fix me. A customized, antidote potion is the only thing that can cure me.” A bumbling man behind the stand approaches. “How can I help you?” You point to the slim, white box. “I’ll...take the basic kit.” Jimin stands straight, his arm still around your shoulders as he motions to the black kit instead, overriding your decision. “We’ll take the advanced set.” You sigh. Again. Carrying all his bags, Jimin eventually finishes his shopping spree at the markets and boutiques. The pair of you stop for a nice lunch at a cafe. He spends his money lavishly and without much thought, not caring if something is expensive or not. But as luxurious as it is, you are tense the entire time, unable to enjoy yourself. He’s too familiar and comfortable with you while you aren’t. Jimin has his arm hooked around your shoulder, unabashed with his public displays of affection, gaining the envious glances from strangers and sweet smiles of older married couples. It makes you unsettled. “Y’know…” His breath is on your ear, sending a sea of goosebumps all over your arms. “You don’t have to be so afraid of me.” “I’m not.” “You’re stiff. And you can’t even look at me properly.” He sounds almost a bit sad. You steal a glance at him, freezing when you realize his brown rounded eyes have been gazing deeply into your own irises, and you quickly look away. “I’m just not used to it.” “That’s understandable,” he hums lowly, “but you do know I’m still the same as your precious Chimmy, right? Y’know, the one you hugged and slept with, the one you always kiss, the one you love so damn much….” Embarrassment eats at you. Your face burns up at the numerous memories. You’ve changed in front of him, hugged him and pushed him to your chest, slept beside him, kissed him, declared your love for him. God. You want the ground to swallow you whole, but you don’t know what kind of magic you’d use and knowing your abilities, you’d mess up and then you’d be the one to swallow up the ground. “That’s…..different.” “Is it?” “You were a dog then and now…” His brow quirks, having too much fun teasing you to death. “Now I’m a man?” You exhale, throwing his arm off of you. “You lied to me.” “I didn’t. It’s not like I could communicate to you that I wasn’t a damn dog and a wizard instead. If I could, I would’ve. Trust me.” A sigh releases between your parted lips and you stomp away, putting more distance between both your bodies as he laughs. From the outside, it looks like a lover’s spat and it doesn’t help that he yells out after you— “Didn’t you tell me you love me?!” You fully understand why those witches hexed him. // The both of you enter with the innkeeper giving you the stink eye. If she knows Jimin is staying for good, she might bring up your rates. But for now, by the look on her face, you know she thinks he’s just a guest you invited back or...someone you hired for a night of pleasure. The latter assumption horrifies you, so you brush it away. Entering the room, you groan, putting down all the heavy bags. Jimin walks over, falling on the mattress while you take out the portable potion set. There’s an array of ingredients inside the case, a small stone cauldron as well, enough materials for one dosage of whatever you want to make. You stare at the materials in front of you. “Think you can whip something up?” Jimin lays on his side, propping himself up by an arm, head rested in his hand. “Will you leave me alone if I do?” “Yup. This potion is your ticket to freedom.” His words make you feel somber somehow, but you shrug them off, focusing. You examine the ingredients and the tiny beaker they provide. A good place to start is with a basic healing potion. Technically, you’ve already reversed the curse halfway with that other potion. Maybe you could modify it and possibly find a cure. But as you pick up the glass test tube, your hand suddenly begins to tremble. You put it down before it slips and shatters on the ground. An inhale is taken, then an exhale. You swallow hard, pushing down the thick lump in your throat. But it doesn’t help, and the world is beginning to swirl in your vision. You’re dizzy, sick to your stomach, nauseous. You can’t. “Are you going to start?” His brows are lifted as he watches. “What’s taking so long?’ “You don’t understand.” You’re frustrated, not knowing why he’s making you do this. It’s too much pressure. “It’s not so simple. I can’t just cook something up! There’s no recipe for this sort of thing.” “What about your grandma’s?” “She didn’t write anything down! And it’s not like I can go to the graveyard and ask her now!” “Just do what you did last time then!” Jimin is equally frustrated, trying to use his rationale to understand your hysteria. “But make it stronger. You already cured me halfway.” “That’s not how it works. It’s not the same! You obviously don’t know anything about potions.” “You just don’t want to do this, do you?” He sits up, voice threatening. “Want me to stick around longer?” “No! But I just can’t! Stop it.” The pressure and panic has you nearly bursting into tears. “Y/N.” You have a phobia of potions. “I think I’m going to be sick.” “Is this because of what happened?” “I don’t want to talk about it.” The ‘incident’ swirls at the forefront of your mind. The memory you had been trying to suppress for so long comes as fresh as if it occurred yesterday. Jimin is exasperated. “Just get over.” There it is — your limit. You’ve been shoved to the brink. You’re tired of being pushed around by him. “Fuck off!” you scream at the top of your lungs. “Go away!” But Jimin stays in the same spot, wide-eyed, ears perking. You burst into tears, sobbing into your arms, weeping and wailing pathetically on the floor. He is uncomfortable, though he never moves, staring at you and letting you cry your soul out. // After you bawl your eyes out and you’re left in a hiccuping state, he asks if you’re okay. You nod and hold yourself up in the washroom, cleaning yourself up and waiting for your swollen eyes to go down. When you’ve calmed down and regained your sanity, you open the door and he’s...gone. Jimin is nowhere to be found in the tiny bedroom, not in his human form or as a dog. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe you’ve annoyed him to no end and he’s abandoned you. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but your answer comes when you sniffle, nearly crying again— The door opens. “Oh, hey.” The man has a soft smile, eyes kind, and he lifts up a bag in his hands. “I thought we would eat-in tonight, so I bought food.” You nod in silence and the pair of you settle on the floor again, pulling out the take-out of noodles and eating to your heart's content. You fill your cheeks, tummy feeling warm, and you bask in the peacefulness. But when you look up, you find Jimin gazing at you. He never mentions the incident, potions, or your mental breakdown again. “I’m sorry,” you mutter and Jimin glances at you again. “I didn't mean to swear at you. I love—” You catch yourself, tripping over your own tongue. “You love me,” Jimin finishes with a timid smile. “It’s okay, you can say it. You’ve said it to me many times before.” His head downcasts, concentrating on swirling his fork in his cream pasta. “It’s nice to hear it, you know. I’m used to people swearing at me and telling me they hate my guts.” You scoff before it morphs into a laugh. “Why did you go out with so many witches at once? You can’t really blame them for doing what they did.” “Hey, for the record, just because I see someone once or twice….or three times does not mean we’re an item. It’s their problem for jumping to so many conclusions. I don’t date. I don’t do romance. They should know that. Instead, they assume I’m a cheating, lying douchebag when I go see someone that’s not them.” Your lips smack together. “You’re…” “An asshole,” he finishes and shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the first time I heard that. But what can I say? It’s boring to be tied down to one person. Don’t you get tired being with someone constantly? Could you imagine being tied down? It sounds like a punishment. Shouldn’t we live having fun?” The food is suddenly made unappetizing and you play with it. “I...guess…” “I know our lifestyles don’t match. So all the more reason to quickly make that antidote so we can separate, right?” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry for being an ass when you’re already helping me. And I know why you might be traumatized, so asking you to get over it doesn’t really help. So by all means, take as much time as you need. I can wait patiently.” You nod. “Thanks.” The corners of his mouth tilt, eyes slightly crinkled. “I’m just surprised you’re not sick of me.” “Oh, trust me,” you mutter mid-chew, “I am.” “Then why were you looking for me?” He giggles, adorable laughter bubbling from his chest and unable to stop. As cold as Jimin can look with his sharp features and emotionless expression, when he laughs, his face seems to soften, eyes crinkling and nose wrinkling slightly. “You looked like you were going to cry when I wasn’t here.” “I-no!” “Uh, yes.” The tinkling sound of his laughter fills the room again, triangular ears quirking, and you relish in the company you didn’t know you missed. “You’re cute, you know.” You scoff lightly. Those buttered words won’t work on you. // Night falls faster than anticipated. You brush your teeth, disgusted when he uses your own toothbrush afterwards. But when he takes a much needed shower, finally cleaning himself up and you get the chance to take the book out from your satchel. You rip off the cover, making the front blank so he won’t catch you, and you begin the first chapter on negative and positive reinforcement. You make it away to the entire chapter of the guide before he comes out and you stash the book away. “What’s our sleeping arrangement?” He towels off the light blonde strands of his hair, relishing in the scent of your soap he stole, and he brushes his strands with your hairbrush. Jimin, dressed clad in his cotton pajamas, scoffs at your question. “What do you mean?” “Well…..the bed’s small.” You swallow hard. “I can remove the first sheet and set something up on the floor for you if you want….” “Yeah, right.” He drops the towel on the ground and flops onto the mattress, diving front first and inhaling the covers. It smells like you and he nestles in the blankets, relishing in your scent. He rolls over. “We can share.” “W-what?” “There’s plenty of room. Come on.” He pats the spot beside him and slyly winks. “I don’t bite….at least, I’ll make sure it feels good.” Your face heats like a furnace and you approach in hesitation, gawking at the tiny space left on the bed. “Can’t you turn back into a dog?” Jimin laughs in your face. “You’re going to have to kill me to make me go back into my dog form. I haven’t slept as a human in over a year.” He stretches out his limbs, moaning as he takes out all the aches and kinks in his bones, more like a cat than a dog. “Then I-I’ll just sleep on the floor.” “Tch.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “You don’t listen, do you?” Jimin takes your arm and pulls you forward, grinning at your squeal. You fall onto the bed, head buried in his chest. He snaps his fingers and immediately the light above you dies off, allowing the golden moonlight to pierce through the window. He wraps his legs around yours, arms over your shoulder and waist, cuddling you in a secure hug. He nuzzles happily into your hair and you can’t pull away, bound by his iron grip and strong limbs. “Jimin…” You pout, wiggling around. “Why can’t you just rent another room?” “Don’t wanna,” he answers childishly, all too affectionate. It’s times like these that you’re reminded Jimin is definitely Chimmy — stubborn, pretentious, but also clingy when he feels particularly needy. You remember all those nights when he curled up in your lap and made you pet him incessantly, growling if you stopped. “I like it like this. Plus, you’re cold at night, aren’t you? I can finally keep you warm.” You’re warm alright. Your face is aflame. “They give you the shittiest blanket here,” he mumbles against your hair. “We should file a formal complaint.” You sigh. “Can you at least let me go a bit? I can’t breathe.” “Do you think I’m an idiot?” His voice suddenly drops an octave, rumbling from his chest, threatening. “You’re going to try to run in the middle of the night.” Suddenly, you’re wide awake. Your eyes open. How did he know? It’s like he’s casted a spell and tapped into your mind again, except he hasn’t. “That’s how we ran from your home, didn’t we?” You shift around uncomfortably before melting into his embrace. If you weren’t lying to yourself, then you’d even say you were comfortable in his arms. It was warm and you didn’t have to curl up to conserve heat. You even feel...safe. “I’m not going to run.” “Liar.” Jimin smiles gently and you can feel it on your skin. “But you couldn’t even if you tried. I won’t let you.” You’re his walking antidote, the key to solving his issue. He won’t let you escape so easily when you’re the solution to his predicament. He’s not done with you yet. Jimin’s fingertips come down and the pad of his finger presses against the sensitive spot between your shoulder and neck. “And I know your scent well.” Despite him being in his human form, Jimin still retains dog-like qualities, like his strong sense of smell. Your suspicions are confirmed when he says, “I can smell you from miles away.” Without you knowing, Jimin rubs his nose into your hair, making you smell like him, fulfilling an urge he has deep within. You squirm, feeling ticklish from his tender touches. “You’re annoying.” “So are you.” He smiles. Eventually, soft breaths emit from his parted lips, exhausted from the entire day. You crane your neck, trying to look up and see if he’s fallen asleep. But then Jimin tightens his grip on you, hugging you like you’re his comfort toy, and he sleepily murmurs, “don’t go.” Maybe he’s dreaming, delirious between the boundary of consciousness and slumber, but you hear every word of his loud and clear. “We’re a team, aren’t we?” Your frown eases. That’s right. You and him. It doesn’t matter if he’s a dog or a wizard. It certainly doesn’t change the fact that you’ve spent the last three months together and that you love him dearly. You’ve made an oath to protect him as his witch. … .. In the middle of the night, Jimin’s grip on you loosens. He rolls over and you’re released from his binding arms and iron grip. But your feet never touch the ground. You don’t grab your satchel, slipping from the room and taking flight with your broomstick far away where he would only be able to take in the lingering scent of your perfume, never strong enough to know where you are. You don’t go. Instead, your arm extends and you touch his soft ears. They’re fluffy, velvet to the touch. As you rub, feeling the outline of the triangular shape, he leans into your hand. Jimin doesn’t wake up, unconsciously coming closer and relishing in your affections. You choose to stay. // It becomes less and less hard to admit that his company is pleasant and enjoyable. You’re not talking to yourself anymore. Your companion has merely transformed into a large being that you can interact with on a higher level, hold conversations, banter back and forth. It’s nice. But sometimes, you wish he would just turn back into a dog. All Jimin does is complain, complain, and complain. If he’s not complaining, then he’s whining and annoying you to death. He’s dragging down your own morale, less of a wizard or a pet, more like a black raining cloud constantly over your head. “Why do we have to deliver these dumb packages?” he knocks his head back, moaning tiredly to the sky. “I already told you I have more than enough money to support the both of us.” “And what happens when you’re gone?” You’re struggling with the heavy weight of the package and he never once reaches out to help. “Where will I get my money then? I have to be responsible and save up.” “I’ll give you a handsome payment if you can cure me,” he says curtly with a lifted brow. “Did you really think you would fix me for free? I’m not that much of a cheapskate.” “Uh-huh.” His hands are in his trouser pockets, dark robes adorned on his body, luxurious from head to toe. He’s always wearing a hat on his head, hiding his unusual ears from the rest of the world. “You should use a levitation spell so you don’t have to carry that.” “No.” You sigh. “I’m just going to do it how I’ve always been doing it.” Or more like you have zero confidence in spell-casting and you don’t want him to show off with his own abilities. It already irritates you enough that he’s arrogantly strolling around like he owns the entire place. “I always thought this job is stupid. Your plant was even more stupid,” he mutters and you purse your lips, anger being poked at with the reminder of your poor tickly-wickly plant. “Can I just go sit somewhere and we can meet up later?”

“No. You’re going to accompany me,” you respond in a firm voice. “It’s what a familiar should do.” Jimin groans and rolls his eyes to the back of his skull. “But I’m not a dog!” You ignore him, entering the greenhouse to deliver the package in your arms. Greeting the familiar lady, she asks about the tickly-wickly and you disheartenedly brush off by saying that plants weren’t for you. Discreetly, she asks if Jimin is your boyfriend and you tell her no, that you’re just babysitting. It confuses her, but it isn’t far from the truth either. “Why are you walking so slow?” You turn around, feeling even more tired with having to drag him everywhere and convince him it's worthwhile. Jimin is kicking the rocks, obviously sulking with his bottom lips slightly jutted out, reminiscent of a puppy not wanting to go to the vet. “I don’t want to keep going. This is fucking dumb. I have better things to do.” You grit your teeth, but take a deep breath to compose yourself. This morning, you knocked out another chapter from the training guide. It’s time to put the things you’ve learnt into action. This time, you stand your ground, unyielding, and you open up your palm. “Jimin. Hand.” “What?” “Jimin,” you repeat. “Hand.” He approaches and with a sly smirk, pretends to spit in your palm. The bastard grins, but you’re unimpressed with his mischievous antics. “Bad. That’s bad. Give me your hand.” He glares. You glare. It’s a fight for dominance. Your stares and locked eyes nearly spark with electricity, both your magic abilities releasing into the air and in between each other. It’s a full ten seconds with held breaths and thundering heartbeats before Jimin reluctantly lifts his arm, putting his hand in yours. You also know he’s following your instructions from curiosity and not obedience. But it’s still a win for you. Immediately, a smile spreads into your features and you tilt your head to the side, actively expressing your happiness with his behaviour. “Good. I don’t want you to fall behind, m'kay?” You hold his hand that fits perfectly in yours, bringing him along. His skin is softer than expected and you relish in his warmth. Jimin is pouty, but much quieter than before. “It's not like I would get lost…..” For the next little while, you train him. You finish reading the entire book, addicted to the words and pages, soaking up all the information. Though it’s much more difficult to implement the techniques in real life than to simply read about it. At first, Jimin fully revolts. He’s a stubborn bastard who refuses to listen to anyone, but you make sure to keep calm and he seems to feed on your praise and compliments. Slowly, but surely, he becomes obedient, even if he still whines and complains occasionally. “Sit. Sit here and don’t move, okay?” “Where are you going?” He looks down at you with big eyes, blinking a few times. You swallow hard, maintaining a stern expression. “Just sit and stay.” Unknowingly, Jimin follows your will, taking a seat on the wooden bench. He’s confused, though it’s a good start to teaching him a new command. “You’re not leaving, right?” “No. Just stay.” You begin to back away, carefully and cautiously. “Good, good.” When the time is right, you turn around to walk into the grocery store. You stride down the aisle, quickly finding what you’re looking for. In the next minute, you’re slapping a yellow pack onto the counter, making your purchase. To your pleasant surprise, Jimin is still on the bench when you walk out. His hands are in his lap, looking around curiously at the butterflies and birds, as well as other magic folks that pass by. He’s cute….and you realize, still very much like a dog, despite being in a human form. But if he knew you were training him, he would probably spit and piss on you. There’s no doubt about it. “You’re back!” Jimin grins when you get closer, face lighting up before he catches himself and tries to play it off as nothing. “I was getting bored, that’s all.” “Thank you for staying.” You make sure to praise him, smiling widely and in approval. “I had to go to the store to buy some stuff.” “What?” He’s interested and you catch his hat shifting slightly, ears perking beneath. “Just some candy I used to have as a kid.” The plastic package rustles in your hand and you open it. “I was craving it. Want some?” “Sure.” The wrapping is clear, ends twisted off and making it look like traditional candy. You can see the soft pink hue of the jelly. Your mouth waters, remembering the gummy texture and sweet flavour, but it’s not for you to eat — you bought it for a reason. You hand it to him and he pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His brows lift and he hums. “It’s good!” “I know.” You grin, extending your palm forward. “Hand.” “Where are we going now?” Jimin puts his hand in yours without thinking twice and you give him another candy. He smiles and throws it into his mouth. “You’ll see.” You’re discreet enough that he doesn’t really catch on. With Jimin listening to you, life becomes a lot easier. His presence is a lot more bearable and he’s not wildly pulling you along or making you surrender into his crazy antics. Mr. Lee becomes well acquainted with Jimin as well. He asks where your familiar is, the one you adore so much, and you merely say he’s running an errand. But as a whole, things seem to be running smoothly… Except, another wrench is thrown in your life when Mr. Lee gives you your last paycheck. “Did….did I do a bad job, sir? Is there a reason why—” “Oh, no, no.” He waves you off, absurd at the idea. “You are one of the best messengers I’ve ever had. It’s just that I’m going on vacation with my wife. We decided on that place I was talking about last week. It was spontaneous, but I finally bought the tickets yesterday evening.” A sigh of relief leaves your lungs. “I thought you were firing me.” “No, no. I would never. I just thought it was time to treat myself and my wife. As they say, happy wife, happy life.” The old man looks at Jimin with twinkling eyes. “Right?” “Uh….sure..” he responds with an awkward smile; the two of you are unsure of what he’s implying. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you sooner.” “It’s quite alright.” You ease him with a smile. “I hope you have lots of fun.” “I will.” He nods. “My wife’s so excited that she’s already packed. We’ll probably be back in a month. We’re thinking of visiting family on the way home since we’ll be nearby. Will you be okay?” “Don’t worry about me.” You rock from your heel to your toes. “I always do well no matter what happens.” “That’s the spirit!” Except it’s a complete lie. You can already feel Jimin’s piercing gaze on your backside. The pressure on your shoulders. The strain in the air. It makes it hard to breathe and you’re tempted to run off, but he would be able to catch you without blinking. To Jimin, you are a prey and he is the predator. Now that you’re jobless, there’s truly nothing for you to do. There are no more excuses. Of course, he wouldn’t care even if you were fully employed. Understandably, to Jimin, his predicament is the most urgent matter. “Y/N….Y/N….” He calls you insistently and you halt, spinning around. “What is it?” He continues walking and you match his slow pace. “I know I told you to take your time….” he begins, hesitant, but patience run thin. “And?” “And at this rate, I think it’s going to take years.” Jimin decides to lay it on straight, blunt in his words, and you look at each other. “You love running away from your issues and problems.” “I do not.” He ignores your weak defense. “When are you planning to make an antidote?” You don’t answer. “Do you even have any plans? If...if it’s too difficult, why don’t we enlist more help? You made a potion before with that boy a few weeks ago. But do you even know where to begin?” You continue walking, looking straight ahead. Jimin gets ticked off at your lack of responses and raises his voice, quickening his walking pace. “It’s not like your first experiment will work on me. This will take time, so why don’t we start now? How long do you plan on waiting? How long do you want me to be like this?” “I don’t know,” you spit out in annoyance before commanding him, “be quiet.” Jimin scoffs, being blatantly disobedient. “No. I’m asking you something and you’re not answering me. How long do you want this to go on?” “I don’t know!” you repeat in frustration. His expectations are burdensome and you hate that he’s relying on you. Deep down you have zero faith that you can restore him to his fully human state and you feel suffocated by his confidence in you. “Will you please stop pressuring me?!” “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so wishy-washy and indecisive! Do you really think you can accomplish anything by sitting around? Do you think you can be anyone great if you keep procrastinating?! You’ve done nothing! You’ve been going from place to place trying to search for what magic suits you when news flash, Y/N, you’re a potions-specialized witch whether you like it or not!” “I’m helping you out of the goodness of my own heart, okay? I don’t appreciate this tone!” You stomp your foot indignantly. “Stop demanding things from me!” Jimin scoffs, arms crossed and completely unsympathetic to you. “What a joke. You’re not helping me out of the ‘goodness of your heart’. You have to help me — I’m your familiar.” “You’re right.” The two of you finally stop in your tracks, in the middle of the street bickering to one another. “You’re my familiar, so you have to obey me.” His eyes narrow. “I’m not your servant.” “Turn back into a dog,” you yell. “I liked you better that way!” “You can’t make me.” The man’s teeth grits down, jaw clenching. “I can. I am your witch and I demand you turn back into your dog state.” The words are spoken into the world. Within three seconds, there’s a yellow poof. A cloud has appeared, mist thick and causing you to cough. You wave it away, watching the shadow shifting into a smaller frame. When the smoke dissipates, you look down and it’s the dog that you know and love. He’s cute and adorable, darker ears with its hue fading off into the golden and fluffy coat, except now you know who he truly is inside. He barks and howls, wailing a million gripes and whining with a high-pitched voice. You glare into his rounded eyes. “I absolutely will never. ever. do potions again, do you understand me?” You don’t want to die. You don’t want him to die either. Jimin continues to whine and complain, howling and shrieking at the top of his lungs like there’s a full moon up in the sky. It occurs to you that he can’t turn back into a human if you’ve commanded him to stay like this — if he could, he’d probably slap you and bring you back to your senses. But you’re tired from all this arguing, exhausted from his disobedience and chaoticness. Maybe you should’ve run when you had the chance… “You should go find someone else,” you tell him in a softer and gentler voice, squatting down to lock your eyes with his. You’ve long given up on yourself. He should too. “Someone who can actually help you. Not me. Don’t put so much of your trust in me. I don’t deserve it. I can’t help you. You and I both know how bad I am at magic. I’m terrible at magic.” He howls and barks again, even yelping this time. But you can’t understand him. “I’m sorry.” You rise to your feet, turning around and walking away. Jimin must’ve changed tactics because instead of those horrific howls like he’s screaming at you, now he’s pitifully whimpering. But you shut your eyes, trying your best to ignore it all. One day you’ll see him again — you’ll run into each other and he’ll be all healed up and maybe you could even be good friends. For now, you leave him behind. But then you begin to hear paws padding on the ground, clumsy steps taken, stubby legs struggling to keep up with your hasty strides. Jimin barks, catching up to your side. “Go away.” He growls, barks, whimpers, as if pleading for you to stop. Jimin goes as far as biting at your shoe, allowing himself to be dragged three steps before you stop and withdraw harshly. He yelps despite you not causing injury to him, but it still sends guilt straight through your chest. “I-I told you to go away!” It doesn’t matter that he’s your familiar and that you’re bonded together. He still has the ability to leave. As painful as this is, it just has to be done. No matter how much it hurts you, it’s better to be alone. That way, you only disappoint yourself in the end. “Ummm….excuse me, Miss.” There’s a tap on your shoulder and you shift. “Yes?” “Is that your puppy?” The stranger points across the dirt street and there he is — sitting obediently, staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. His brown irises glimmering, stars practically inside his orbs, and he looks like he’s about to cry. Jimin has his tail and ears down, having been following you quietly for an hour. “I think he’s waiting for you.” “H-he’s not mine.” “Really?” The female frowns and glances at the dog. “Poor puppy. Maybe I should bring him to a shelter.” “N-no…..I...I can.” You walk away again and the girl doesn’t say anything as Jimin follows you. But this time, you pace slower, glancing over your shoulder. Jimin has his head downcasted, sad and apologetic. It makes your chest ache. A thousand flashbacks begin playing in your mind of all your adventures together, your wild journey thus far. It was a bad idea to turn him back into a dog. You’re weak for all animals. “Mommy, mommy, look!” A small boy, no more than four-years old lets go of his parent’s hand. “It’s a doggy!” “Yes, it is.” He looks up at his mom. “Can I pet it?” “You should ask the owner first, sweetheart. We don’t know whose dog that is.” The child turns his head towards you, the closest person to the small animal. “Is this your doggy?” “Ummm…..ummmm….” You’re not sure how to answer, but the kid is waiting expectantly and you end up smiling meekly. “You can pet him.” The mother nods thankfully at you and keeps an eye on him while continuing her conversation with her friend. The boy hops off the sidewalk, going towards him and patting him on the head with vigor, but not hard enough to hurt. Jimin allows himself to be pet, though his ears and tail are still down. His eyes are flickered up to you as if to get your approval. “What’s his name?” “Chi-...Jimin….his name is Jimin.” “Jimin!” The boy giggles and then moves onto lightly scratching the top of his head. “Is he your familiar or a normal dog? My mommy has a cat at home, but it’s her familiar. He’s super smart!” “Jimin….is a normal dog.” You smirk, lowering yourself down like the kid. “He’s an annoying mutt. Do you want him?” He blinks and pouts. “I don’t think mommy will let me.” “Yeah.” You sigh, elbow propped on your knee and chin rested in your palm. “He’s a handful too. I don’t think anyone can handle him.” “He’s a good boy!” The four-year old grins and continues to pat Jimin. You hum, a slight smile slipping on your lips before you sigh wistfully. It seems as though you’ve finally found someone more stubborn and unyielding than you are. He’s defeated you yet again. You allow Jimin to walk alongside you silently. He doesn’t make a sound either. The innkeeper glares when you enter and brush past, but you’re not affected anymore. It’s like that’s her own way of greeting you. You enter the room and shut the door. “Change back.” The world hears the command spoken and he transforms into his human form. You’re forced to look away when the light is blinding. He takes shape, growing taller and leaner, fur becoming skin, though his ears morph into a triangular shape, staying stuck to the top of his skull. The tips of your fingers are tingling. To a certain extent, witches can tell their familiars what to do and make requests, but the responsibility of that power makes you uncomfortable. It’s awfully burdensome. Jimin lolls his head to the side, wearing an unimpressed expression. His tongue rolls inside his cheek, half-lidded eyes staring into yours. He runs a hand through the blonde strands of his hair, pushing it away from his brows. “Were you really going to abandon me in that form?” “No…..” Your voice is small. “I’m sorry.” “I’m not leaving you,” he reiterates firmly. “And I’m not letting you leave either.” “Why?” Your question is left unanswered and maybe because he doesn’t know himself why he’s so adamant about this. It would certainly be simpler to leave you and seek help elsewhere. Though Jimin doesn’t exactly care for being logical at the moment. “Look, what you did back then wasn’t your fault.” Immediately, you know what he’s alluding to and your blood runs cold. You turn around like a petulant child, vision diverted elsewhere, arms crossed in defense. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Well, too bad. I’m not letting you run away. This stupid ‘incident’ or at least that’s what you like to refer it to — it wasn’t your fault.” “Yes, it is!” you shout and as much as you hate arguing, Jimin keeps pushing you. “I almost killed us!” “But you didn’t!” He tries to reason, “You got me out there before the whole place burnt down.” “Barely!” You slump to the ground, wanting to curl up and hide away. “What kind of witch blows up their entire house?!” “It was just a failed experiment.” “It was a basic recipe I was following,” you correct with a groan, holding your head in your hands and tempted to cover up your ears and obnoxiously sing to drown him out. “But I couldn’t even do that. And….and the next day, I was supposed to do the grand opening of the store and pretend nothing happened?! I would’ve ruined my family’s name! God, my cousins were right. My entire family was right.” The night before the opening of the store, you burnt down your entire house to the ground in an experiment. You barely got out there alive with Jimin in your arms. Someone would’ve thought that a stranger had a vengeance and torched your house, not that you did it yourself on accident. When you close your eyes, you can still see the searing flames from that night, the green fumes leaving your chimney, the way your precious cottage exploded in front of you. Your house became a bonfire. And then you ran away in humiliation. You’re an idiot. Dumb. Bad at magic. “No, they’re not,” Jimin expresses in frustration, closing the proximity between your bodies. “You’re a brilliant witch.” “Stop saying that so you can get me to make you an antidote!” “I’m not just saying it for that! I mean it!” “Well, I can’t help you!” The decision is final. You’re not changing your mind. “No matter what you say — I can’t and I won’t.” There is silence and a muscle in his cheek twitches at how much of a brat you are. For good measure, you add on, “so you should go find another way instead of waiting for me since it’s never going to happen.” “Fine.” “Fine!” “But I won’t leave without getting our bond removed.” Jimin points to the ground, stubborn and as childish as you are. He’s annoyed to no end and is one minute away from strangling you. “I don’t want to be connected to you in any way.” Your bottom lip is trembling, but you stand your ground as well. “Fine by me! I would rather have no familiar than a familiar like you!” “Perfect then!” Not only are you a terrible witch who’s bad at magic, you’re a coward — a coward who lies and is too afraid of facing the truth. // The pair of you march up to city hall as if you’re about to lead a protest and overthrow the government. There’s conviction in your steps, strides firm, eyes set forward and fists clenched together. Behind you, Jimin follows at a distance. And in reality, you’re both less like leaders of the new world and more like an old couple tired of each other’s shit and filing for divorce. “Hi.” The lady behind the booth slowly lifts her head, but her eyes are still glued onto her computer screen. It seems to take an eternity before she slowly peels her eyeballs away from the damn monitor to lazily look up at you. There are purple bags under the witch’s eyes, undeniably tired. “How can I help you?” Your jaw is clenched and your jutted finger pokes at the granite counter. “I’d like to break ties with my familiar.” “Identification, please.” You dig into your pockets, luckily finding the rectangular card and you slide it over in the small hole between the counter and glass wall. The female witch looks on both sides of the card and types your number into the system. She clicks and then pauses and then clicks again. It takes a full minute of you standing there, awkwardly. The woman finally hums, pulling up Chimmy’s profile and the past paperwork filled out. “Where’s your familiar now?” “He….He’s behind me.” The witch rolls to the side with her swivel chair, looking over your body and tilting her head. A frown mars her blank expression. Jimin smiles and lifts his hand. “Hi.” She glances back at you, too exhausted to be outright shocked. “How is your familiar a human?” “I’m actually a wizard,” Jimin adds on, but no one particularly cares. You don’t know how to clarify this bizarre situation. If only she knew you were as baffled as she was. “It’s…….complicated.” “Al-...right….then….I’ll admit, this is my first.” She quirks her head to the side, not smiling or laughing when you reply with ‘me too’. The woman behind the booth types on her keyboard, clicking a few more times as if she was merely messaging her husband what’s for dinner. “It’s quite a feat. Bonds are difficult to create….” And even more difficult to break. You know the saying and it makes you all the more unsettled. The woman’s fingers continue to flurry over the keys and then she stops. You blink twice, waiting patiently before she turns her monitor towards you and Jimin. The both of you crowd next to each other, cheeks nearly squished together, eyes wide, staring. “I’m sorry, I can’t dissolve your relationship.” “What?” “Why not?” The administration witch exhales in tiredness and slumps forward. She clicks something and pulls up a line graph, showing you certain dips and rises with the back of her pen. It’s complicated, hundreds of numbers and lines filling the screen, intersecting each other and colour coded, reminding you of paperwork for filling out your taxes or graphs on the stock market. It makes your eyes and brain hurt. “As you can see, your relationship has never dipped below the line to break your bond. The lower the graph dips, the more successful the ritual of breaking your ties would be. But the trends in your relationship has remained relatively constant. In order to get rid of the familiar and witch link, there has to be a large enough emotional disruption.” “There is a large emotional disruption!” Your hands are open, showing the figure beside you. “He’s a human!” She sits back, shrugging. “Well, looks like it wasn’t a large enough disruption.” You’re baffled, but also aware this isn’t just some dumb government regulation or law that witches and wizards created. It’s always been like this since the dawn of time, part of the natural world. The graph merely shows the facts, but it doesn’t make it any less ridiculous. Jimin steps in, concerned. “How does the system know? What if it’s wrong?” “It isn’t. Our magic analyzes all bonds and magical links the moment you step into a government building. It’s a pretty advanced system that automatically updates. Impressive, huh?” You and Jimin look at each other, exchanging expressions of distress and dismay. A staggering exhale leaves the seams of your lips and you shift back towards the lady. “Is….is there really no way for us to separate?” “A witch and familiar tie is difficult to establish. Both parties must be intrinsically compatible, complimenting each other’s strengths and making up for one another’s weaknesses. They have to both agree and go through the proper procedures too.” She explains it to you like you’re a child who should’ve learnt this a long time ago, but you already know all of this. The woman is rubbing salt all over your wounds. “Breaking the tie is even more difficult. You can’t sever them so easily unless there is cause for it, deep enough that your bond has pretty much dissolved on its own.” She glances at your graph and spins her monitor back around. “Now you can go try to get it professionally removed anyhow and go through the ritual, but the likelihood of it being successful is extremely low. It probably wouldn’t work in this case. Actually, your relationship is better than normal, I’d say.” She looks at you one last time. “Come back when it’s worse.” When you leave, your mind is boggled. You’re having an out-of-body experience without using advanced magic. It seems like your muscles are moving and your brain is delayed. What just happened? “I don’t know.” Jimin sighs and you realize you said it aloud. You turn on your feet once you get down the city hall steps and you stare straight into Jimin’s warm brown irises. “Slap me.” “What?” The wizard-familiar is appalled, jaw becoming slack. “No!” “We need a large emotional disruption, right? So, slap me!” You lean forward, putting your face out for him and even tipping to show him your cheek. “C’mon, Chim, I know you wanna slap me hard! You feel annoyed by my existence, right? Hit me! Hit me hard! I want it! Smack me, you dirty dog!” He glances around, for once being the one to feel embarrassed. There are horrified expressions from strangers passing by. You wince when his arms raise, but instead of striking you across the face, there’s a gentle touch on your shoulders. Jimin lightly pushes you away. “Stop. I’m not going to hit you, Y/N. I’m not a monster.” “But you have my full permission!” You huff out, unknowingly pouting at him. Though after a second, you collect your senses again. “No, I get it. You don’t want to get your hands dirty, so use your magic on me! No. Wait. I have an even better idea! Let’s duel!” “What?” He’s distraught over your absurdity, wrinkles between his brows probably creasing permanently. “I’m not going to duel you! You don’t even know how to do a proper levitation spell!” “Exactly!” Dueling with Jimin would pretty much be the equivalent of getting stabbed with a blunt knife. But if it’ll break your bond, you’ll do it. If it’s what he wants, you’ll do it. “Just duel me and win. Hurt me — not enough for me to die, but enough to send me to the hospital! We’ll be all good! I won’t hold it against you, promise!” “I’m not going to do that,” Jimin deadpans, tired of you and your suggestions, and walking away, unable to handle the ridiculousness. You’re frustrated, screaming after him, “Then what are we supposed to do?!” “You could go back to the cauldron!” He turns on his heel, shouting back at you. At once, your blood runs cold, expression falling. Jimin sighs again and his hand itches to run a hand through the blonde strands of his hair. But he remembers that he’s wearing a hat, that he has ears. So instead, he pinches the bridge of his nose, and then approaches closer. His plump lips are parted, apologies tumbling off from his tongue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” A murmur leaves your throat, “You did.” “Come with me,” Jimin whispers and you lift your head, locking your gaze with his. “I think...I know one of the people who might’ve cursed me. If we find her, then maybe we can release my curse somehow and our bond will naturally dissolve after that.” He stares at you, eyes kinder than before, even endeared. “I promise I won’t pressure you anymore.” Pathetically enough, there’s no beat of hesitation in your answer. “Okay.”

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jimin fanfic #jimin fluff #jimin scenario #LET'S GOO #BTS JIMIN AS A DOG.#OC...as a hot mess.

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