I would like to vent/rant for a second, if you don't mind. Feel free to ignore or delete if you want.
I hate the whole outing thing and how it's not explored properly and just used as a way to get them out. How easy Shane and Ilya forgive Hayden, how rr brushes past it to show them in the same team as if that fixed everything.
I cannot claim to have been in their situation, but I was outed when I was young, and that shit sticks with you. I was around twelve or thirteen, literally just finishing elementary school, and suddenly everyone looks at me like there is something wrong with me. Friends that I had known for years, whose parents I knew and had met at their house multiple times, all very obviously avoiding my gaze and trying to be as far as possible from me. I was confused for hours until a loyal and kind friend told me what had happened. I felt filthy and stupid for years.
And throughout all that, not only did I barely understand my queer identity (because I was twelve, I only understood I liked a girl), but also I was still in the closet outside my school. So while I was isolated and ignored at school, I still couldn't say anything gay in fear of my family suspecting.
But then I came out (not even as queer, just an oversimplified version of my identity)... And the anxiety of years of being inside the closet did not disappear. The mere mention of anything queer around my family makes me nauseous. My dad has watched movies and series with gay people in them, but the idea of expleaning a gay show/book without making the genders vague is impossible to me. And my aunt is in a relationship with another woman, but I cannot even say outloud thay getting married to a woman would be kinda nice! (Sometimes it feels like I'll always be the weird kid that no one wanted to hang out with and that fit nowhere, the one that just quite never clicked in groups, that couldn't relate to its peers, that will always feel anxious at the mention of gay people, that will never feel quite like a real person).
Idk what I meant to say with this, but I simply hate many of the things rr does with queer experiences and stuff (and of course everything else you've talked about before) as someone that has had a complicated experience being queer (and I mean queer as in weird, as in "my identity goes against established ideas about gender, sexuality, relationships and what it means to be a person") (added with a lot of other stuff, like mental health, possibly some undiagnosed things, and complicated family situations). It feels careless and ignorant, which seems to fit the rest of her writing actually.
Sorry, vent/rant over. I really enjoy your analysis of tlg and role model, you are very insightful and smart.
You don't have to be sorry. I mean, the reason I find this book offensive isn't at the end of the day about Shane, because Shane is not real. Reid hasn't actually hurt Shane because Shane can't actually be hurt. If it was just about that, I would still find everything Reid writes very telling of her own personal beliefs, and I would still disagree with those beliefs, and still dislike her as a person, but the reason it all makes me so angry, the reason I'm so offended, the reason I can spend literally months raging over this book, is because the way Reid treats Shane narratively is an insult to real life people who share identities or experiences with Shane. And it is entirely obvious that Reid was not thinking about those people while she wrote this book, and that she doesn't remotely grasp how traumatic what she put Shane through would be to him. It suggests a truly impressive lack of empathy. Reid is only not queerphobic in the most literal sense, as in she doesn't literally hate queer people - but it is obvious that she doesn't empathize with anything they have to face for being queer. She doesn't even understand that there is anything to empathize with. It is all silly and inconsequential to her. I'm always thinking about her husband, who is actually bi, and I can't imagine how he can be married to her, how he can stand her books - he's, I suppose, as baffling to me as Tierney. There are just so many queer people reading these books who either have internalized queerphobia themselves or just don't ever expect better from writing about queer people, I don't know. But I also think about the queer people who have been outed reading these books, the queer people who are closeted because they can't safely come out, the queer relationships who are suffering because of queerphobia and it all just makes me so sad that they ever opened these books. It makes me so sad these books exist at all in the form they do.
I wonder how long it took for the first human/turian relationship to happen
Like which turian was like "damn it sucks about the relay- I mean first contact war but you're cute, your waist is supportive, do you wanna go out sometime?" And which human responded with "yes" embarrassingly quickly?
The first human/turian relationship (or human/alien for the matter) to happen undoubtedly occurred during the first contact war amidst the laser bullets, invasions, and warships.
As brutal as war tend to be, the people in it stay people. Capable of empathy, of love, of untimely attachments. You don't get to choose when your heart beats or for whom it does, you can try to deny your feelings but they'll always find their way out eventually.
Could be a guard/war prisoner situation
Could be two enemy soldiers stranded and forgotten by their unit, the forced proximity of a small space making them work together and cooperate
Could be two nobodies who were never really soldiers but civilians at the wrong time and place, who crossed paths and bonded over their shared experience
And that's just the "offical" relationship status, while the first instance of a human falling head over heels for a turian happened much earlier, even before the invention of galactic translators, back when turians were viewed as screeching space dinosaurs with a freaky exoskeleton.
Back when the first turian soldier was apprehended, the human whose mission was to escort it to a secure cell and wait until the scientists requested an examination.
Back when the human made the mistake of looking into the turian's eyes, an unspoken yet familiar feelings washing over you. You understood those primal emotions of fear, confusion, and deep betrayal swirling in those dark eyes.
And you couldn't help... but feel sorry for it.
You didn't even know its gender or name at the time. You couldn't understand a single word it said. But you treated it with gentlness all the same, despite all the things you heard about the cruel and brutal species it came from in the reports.
And it turn, the turian seemed... almost grateful for your consideration. Those werid metallic feathers on its head wouldn't puff out around you as much as it did when your superiors came to question it to no avail, the mandibles on its cheek would click in an almost pleasent rhyme as you adjusted the borderline-painful cuffs on its limbs, loosening them to a more comfortable degree.
What confused you the most was how surprised the turian themselves seemed to be at their bodily reactions. Or maybe it was that they were having those reactions around you—a fleshy creature with headfur belonging to a barbaric bloodthirsty species—that made his stomach sink in the first place.
He tries to treat you with some resemblance of dignity, the very same you've shown him. Never really screeching at you, more akin to a deep chirping or growl.
You're curious; you keep staring at different parts of him, and the white sclera of your eyes is making it extremely obvious. If he wasn't concerned for his life and possibly impending doom right now, he might have found it a little endearing.
You have a name... he thinks. The very same melody notes those other humans keep calling you by. He tries to mimick it at one point but can't seem to get the notes right, to add insult to injury, the sound that come out are so gurgled that you think he's choking for a second and rush to him with water, the sterilised kind. At least your species gauged the dextro structure of turian genetics by now.
He repeats his own name to you from time to time. Lucky for him, human seem to have an innate understanding when you want them to repeat a sound back to you. The more he makes the same noise for you in succession, the more inclined you are to mimick it back at him.
He's not sure why he does it... it's not like you'll know its meaning. But he can't deny how much he longs to leave you something to remember him by. This war can't last forever. Eventually, he'll be returned to his planet and unit, either by his species decimating your own or by the galactic council stepping in and doing their diplomacy magic. He was never one for politics.
But on the very off chance that both of you survive... that both of you get out of here alive. Maybe, just maybe you'll remember his name and seek him out. At the very least, he'd like to properly thank you for the small kindness you've shown him. Preferably when he's not in chains, and when you're not being scrutinised under your superiors' steel gaze for daring to show mercy to an alien.
Trey's past was rewritten for the EN adaptation of the game: in the original game Trey recounts a time that Riddle’s mother went over to his house and lectured his entire family for five hours straight.
While recreated faithfully in the manga, this was rewritten on EN so that Trey alone was lectured by his family, not by Riddle’s mother.
This is an interesting change made to Riddle and Trey’s history together as (on EN) Trey is no longer the one character who has personally experienced that part of Riddle's home life.
This also indirectly contributes to Riddle's overblot (in the original game), as having witnessed what Riddle suffers at the hands of his mother leads to Trey refusing to scold Riddle like she did, no matter what he does.
(The line "I just can't scold him" was changed to "I don't think the situation calls for it" on EN)
EN-Trey has also been rewritten into a family that will lecture him for five hours as punishment for playing with another child, which has never actually happened.
Trey has also never referred to Riddle’s unique magic as a weapon.
Original Trey: Doodle Suit (Paint the Roses)
EN Trey: Sleight of Hand
There are many rumors about where this mistake came from, and I have recently started wondering if it was a fluke of the localization process: Trey is the only character whose unique magic on EN was translated from the meaning behind his spell, but in the original screenshot the meaning isn’t written out, just the sound of it.
So maybe somewhere along the process of translation / proofreading / final checks someone decided that “Doodle Suit hasn’t been written anywhere on EN, so let’s come up with an EN-friendly equivalent” and they landed on “sleight of hand,” possibly forgetting that Doodle Suit = 薔薇を塗ろう = Let’s Paint the Roses?
We may never know, but for the curious this was, originally, not a new spell! Trey is using his usual “Paint the Roses” unique magic.
Original Cater: Your whole “not saying what you think” thing is really not good.
EN Cater: I should have learned by now that seeing your feelings on the DL is not a great idea.
While Cater is originally admonishing Trey for not saying what he thinks (which was a signifiant influence to Riddle’s overblot and thus the entire drama of Book 1), his line was rewritten for EN to Cater admonishing himself.
The EN adaptation will sometimes have people referring to Trey as “mom”, while originally the characters generally refer to him as “dad."
Cater never calls Trey a “nerd;” this insult was added to his dialogue in the EN adaptation.
Similarly, Trey never says that he is closer to Riddle than he is to Trey. His original line is closer to saying that he is close to both of them.
EN has some pronoun confusion where Trey says he made fun of Deuce for crying for his mother.
If you thought that this doesn't seem like something Trey would do, you are correct! He was talking about Sebek, in a scene we saw on screen.
Original Trey: I’m not doing so on purpose.
EN Trey: (removed)
Original Trey: Boys in particular are too embarrassed to...
EN Trey: A lot of people are too embarrassed to...
(It is insinuated that Trey may have hang-ups about gender roles, much like Epel, and much like Epel’s lines this was softened for EN)
Obey Me you say ?? Oh HECK yeah, I’ve been thinking of a bunch of stuff ! Feel free to just respond to ones you enjoy, and I wish I had a preference of the brothers or others but that’s also really just up to you! The gender neutral pronouns are amazing, thank you !!! Now that that is out of the way, on to thoughts and questions!
How do you feel the brothers or others would react to a very blunt and honest MC? Like one that is nice as heck, but will not hesitate to tell you their actual thoughts on things- for example the constant bashing on Mammon or maybe helping Solomon out in the kitchen with friendly suggestions kinda vibe !
How do
Oh I love this one! A part of me thinks that the brothers truly need a blunt MC in their lives, especially with how they treat Mammon and such sometimes LOL Because there is no preference, I decided to only do the brothers for now. But I do feel bad, because my Asmodeus, Beel, and Belphie ones appear to be much shorter… Thank you for the request though, I really hope you enjoy the answer 💗
How the boys react to blunt MC
Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, and Belphegor
Reader: gn!reader
Warnings: none :)
Lucifer
I think it’s well known that Lucifer is not the softest guy when it comes to words.
Not only does he say whatever is on his mind, no matter how harsh it may be, but he also doesn’t care at all whose feelings he hurts in doing so. And yet there has never been anyone else to try and voice their opinions fullheartedly towards him.
So when he first begins spending time with you, truly, he was lowkey shocked at how blunt and honest you were.
Especially when it was towards him.
“Lucifer, did you just hang Mammon from the banister… again??” you ask, barging into his office without knocking. He was quite used to this however, and the demon had long since given up trying to scold you for it; it was no use, you would just keep doing it.
It’s not like he minded though. In fact, your presence made his head feel light after the many hours of paperwork he was going at.
“Yes, I did actually. Why do you ask?” he replied, glancing up to see you situated in front of his desk. You had your hands on your hips, obviously looking displeased. For a second, he thought your irritation was directed towards him.
“Why do I ask?” you replied back, no hesitation in your voice. “This is the third time this week. Mammon clearly hasn’t learned to fix his behavior after the first few times, and it’s obvious that hurting him won’t solve a thing!”
Oh… your irritation was directed towards him
Lucifer blinked up at you, his red eyes trying to read your face. No one ever had a problem with him punishing Mammon in the creative ways he could find; in fact, his younger brothers appeared to love watching Mammon suffer.
Apparently… you had not.
“Y/N, I-” Lucifer sighed, hell bent on just straight up telling you that Mammon will never learn.
“No. Stop doing it. He doesn’t deserve that.” You cut him off, the frustration still showing on your face. And before the demon could reply, you had turned around to whisk yourself out of his office.
The only thing left in the room was him and his thoughts--- and the sound of his pen slipping from his fingers to bounce onto the desk.
Ohhh boy, Lucifer had never had someone stand up to him like that. It wasn’t even like you were trying to be mean, or be the more ‘dominant’ one… you were just saying what was on your mind. And Lucifer wasn’t blind.. He knew how much his other brothers meant to you, so for you to care so much as to voice your opinion to the very avatar of pride himself--- maybe, just maybe, he could give Mammon a break from punishments.
Even though people like to portray Lucifer as someone who is super strict and would want to be around I guess more ‘submissive’ people who would obey him, I think he would certainly not like an MC who allows people to walk all over them. You are the perfect balance between kindness and honesty, making you a trustworthy companion.
And a good ol’ honest comment could never truly hurt Lucifer’s feelings. His skin was as thick as bone, so to finally be around someone who isn’t intimidated to speak their mind around him… it’s almost relieving
I guess you could even say he finds it attractive….
Mammon
Mammon had always enjoyed spending time with you
From the moment he met you, you had always given off a fun and compassionate aura, and so the demon was ecstatic to finally have a partner-in-crime!
Ehhhh… it wasn’t like that though
Although you found humor and joy in going along with his harmless schemes, there were some where you put your foot down without a grain of hesitation.
When you first voiced your opinion on how bad of an idea it was to try and snap a picture of Lucifer when he was sleeping, he instantly thought you were a debby downer with a goody-goody type of attitude. Mammon had groaned out in frustration as if he was a 3-year-old child.
“Oh come on! It’ll be fun! It’s not like Lucifer will even see ya coming,” he responded, pulling out his phone to text Satan and Asmodeus his plans.
You had stared at him after that for a solid minute, your arms crossed and your eyebrows furrowed as if you were thinking. It wouldn’t take a genius to recognize how bad of an idea that was.
“Mammon, you’ll probably be punished again. Respect Lucifer’s privacy please. Besides, I think it’ll be more fun if we watched a movie tonight! What do you say we rewatch the TSL series together?” you had brought up an alternate solution to keep him out of Lucifer’s wrath, hands folded together and eyes wide as you hoped he would agree and listen to you. Mammon was just confused though, looking at you as if you were crazy.
You’d rather watch that series all over again instead of trying to cause trouble for Lucifer??
Ugh… but look at your expecting face… he couldn’t just let you down.
Surprisingly, and begrudgingly though, he had agreed.
And guess who wasn’t thrown from the banister that night?? Mammon.
Your honesty doesn’t just stop there though.
As the family punching bag, Mammon was so used to taking the hits for his stupidity and then moving on. He never fought back. So when you decided to voice out how ridiculous it was that he was being called “stupid” and how ironic it was that Asmodeus was calling Mammon an “attention-seeker” or that Satan was referring to Mammon as an “asshole”, he was whole-heartedly surprised.
Apparently so were his other brothers.
Everyone just sort of sat there in silence as you shot comments back at them, scolding them for treating Mammon like he was dirt. It wasn’t just one instance either; Every. Single. Time. You told them to knock it off.
And just like that, the harsh insults towards Mammon began to disappear, especially whenever you were around.
The avatar of greed never had anyone to stand up for him in the ways that you had. And he feels his heart swell up with warmth as you berate Lucifer of all people for hanging Mammon upside; the fall causing his sunglasses to slip and break, much to his disappointment.
Mammon made it a goal to always be near you when he voiced his opinion around others; because not only would you acknowledge what he said, but you also made sure the others wouldn’t shoot him down for simply being himself
It was like he could breathe when he was around you. Like every single thing he said wasn’t nitpicked apart and thrown away as a stupid thing. You were different. You told him what was wrong and gave him constructive criticism.
BUT-- that honestly doesn’t protect him from himself
No one is safe from your blunt persona, not even Mammon.
I think this is what he truly needs in his life though; because I believe honesty and bluntness comes from a place of love and comfort. You are blunt because you want Mammon to be the best that he can be, you are blunt because you want to see Mammon succeed, you are blunt because you care about him.
Every honest thing you say about him is to protect him.
So whenever Mammon sneaks into Leviathan’s room at night for a limited edition figurine, or slips down Diavolo’s corridors to try and snatch a vintage portrait that could make him some potential money… he always pauses to think of your reaction to his late night greedy urges. So that when he hesitantly puts down the portrait, he can sleep comfortably knowing that you’d be proud of him.
Leviathan
To be honest… I think it would make him very nervous when he observed that you were an honest person
Even though his brothers are equally as harsh to him-- for example, they don’t hesitate to call him a nerd, or a weeb and otaku-- he doesn’t seem to mind it anyways, since Leviathan has fully absorbed and accepted his otaku persona.
But this situation is a bit different… because even though Leviathan is used to his brothers being honest with him, it’s a whole different thing when Y/N does it.
Someone out of his family circle telling him that he’s a weirdo??
Yikes, he doesn’t think his heart could handle that.
So to cope he’ll at first just stay in his room… far away from you… so he could get to his usual activities.
He is already so used to being locked up in his room away from prying eyes and others’ opinions, so as soon as he takes notice of your blunt tendencies (especially when you had first voiced your thoughts to Lucifer), Leviathan shies away from being close to a normie like you. Besides, he doesn’t even need to leave, right? He has an emergency built stash of food for when he needs to eat, and he could just do school work on his own computer.
He has this whole imaginary field of comfort that he had built up for years and years; a room full of figures and merchandise-- his own personal utopia.
Leviathan doesn’t want you to judge him; he doesn’t want you to think that he’s weird or a loser. His poor introverted otaku heart couldn’t handle it
Clearly, he didn’t understand you at all...
That doesn’t stop you from hanging around him either. You insist he shouldn’t have to wait up all night alone for tickets on Zaramela’s new worldwide tour, and you had dragged Mammon along with you to give Leviathan some company.
He felt cornered, deciding to let you in to stay up late with him. And while Mammon had fallen asleep (much to Levi’s anxiety), he was left to try and entertain you to the best of his ability.
Leviathan hesitantly hopped onto his gaming console, turning on a classic favorite of his. It was simple, it was easy, and he was very familiar with it, especially considering he had played it and completed it over 25 times.
Perhaps his movements will be more shaky and unsure, however. When you sat down to watch him play his video games, he may mess up more often, to his dismay. Your distance to him was decent enough, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him begin to get absorbed into the game.
“You know, you’re very good at the game…” you mutter, looking down at his fingers flying across the controller. You wonder for a moment how Leviathan can even stare at the bright screen for so long without any permanent eye damage.
Apparently he took your comment as a sarcastic one, lightly scoffing. “Okay I get it… we can do something else… like uhh..” his eyes flitted down to a random CD he had discarded on his floor a while ago. “We could watch The Girl Whose Grandparents Travelled Back in Time to Tell Her She Was a Princess,” he casually brought up airily; already in the process of turning off his video game. He reached over to grab the CD, realizing too late that this was one of the animes he didn’t really like...
You were a bit confused at the offer though. “Um no thanks. It’s a total rip off of The Girl Whose Parents Time Travelled To the Past to Tell Her She Was a Princess.” Your response was automatic, looking at the CD as if you were bored.
Leviathan paused. “What?! Y-You noticed that too??” he questioned, tossing the CD back onto the ground where it originally was. “Finally someone who understands!! The heroine was almost a complete carbon copy, I can’t believe the studio got away with that!”
You nodded your head, a serious expression on your face. “What a let down. Besides, the original had a better soundtrack 100%.”
Leviathan almost jumped on you with excitement.
Apparently not even Leviathan knew how harsh of a critic he himself was. All that harsh judgement he does on animes and video games… Perhaps you being just as blunt would be new to him. You were somehow both one in the same.
All in all, Leviathan didn’t understand how much of a blessing having an honest person in his life could be. Especially as someone who doesn’t judge; your honesty never crossed the line into personal territory.
Instead, you gave him an opportunity to gain feedback on animes that you two binge watch together
And for the first time in forever, Leviathan felt like he had someone to indulge in.
Satan
He really really enjoys this
Satan pegs me as the type of guy that would find humor in hearing your honest opinions--- and you notice that whenever you speak your mind towards Lucifer, you can briefly hear a quiet chuckle escaping Satan’s lips.
Of course, as mature as Satan is, it’s not that he actually finds what you say humorous; he just never thought he’d see the day where some mortal human would stand up to a group of demons as intimidating as they could be.
You remind him of himself in some ways… both of you unafraid to speak your minds and both of you able to stand up for what you truly believe in.
And because of this, he registers the fact that instead of going to Solomon or Asmodeus for opinions on his books or feedback for his many essays, he goes to you.
Especially when Satan needs proper and honest feedback from someone who wouldn’t sugarcoat it. And unlike Leviathan, Satan relishes in some proper assessments.
Satan feels more drawn to you than the rest of his brothers, coming up to you for some of his more diabolical actions--- like the many pranks he kept under his sleeve for Lucifer
“Do you think Lucifer will see this one coming?” he asked you casually, sliding you a piece of paper containing a scribbled down--- yet well thought-out and detailed scheme to cause trouble yet again.
You quirk up an eyebrow, glancing away from your phone and down towards the sheet of paper. With a small sigh, you decided to give in and at least entertain the idea. He just didn’t give up, huh?
“Hmmm… didn’t you try a plan like this similar to before?” you replied, eyes raking through the pencil marks.
“Have I?” he mumbled, leaning in to feign involvement. “Yes,” you answered, dropping the paper and acting like you didn’t need to see any more.
“And it didn’t work that time. I don’t think it’ll work this time either Satan. Sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry,” he grinned.
It’s not like it was just Satan who enjoyed your presence; you would grow increasingly more and more comfortable about voicing your opinions around him. There’s only one thing better than a straightforward honest person--- and that is someone who can actually appreciate the honesty
After you recognized that Satan truly does not get bothered by whatever is on the tip of your tongue, things only got better.
I can imagine late nights where you and Satan would stay up until your eyelids became like lead and you couldn’t continue without sleep. Those nights were filled with honesty and intelligence. He thought you had a beautiful mind. He wanted to hear every opinion that popped up in your head
Asmodeus
Hmmm… Asmodeus is a bit trickier.
As an outward and bubbly extrovert, Asmodeus was bound to hear all types of opinions from all types of different people. And judging by his insane amount of confidence, he doesn’t let any of that negative energy affect him (He says it’s bad for his skin).
It’s not like you’d say anything mean to him to begin with, especially purposefully--- but I feel everyone takes criticism differently, and some take it to heart more than others
Considering you don’t fall for Asmodeus’s mind-controlling charm, your honest and blunt nature just adds the cherry to the cake on what kind of person you are. This just makes you more natural and pleasant to be around.
So instead, he makes his use of it, making sure to drag you along with every one of his shopping sprees around town.
You wouldn’t suck up to him, or brush off his hyper enthusiasm by simply saying ‘yes’ to everything--- much like his brothers do to him
“Y/N, Y/N, do you think this color will look good on me??” Asmodeus excitedly asks, holding up a beige scarf to his neck. Both of you couldn’t care less about the wandering eyes that followed trailed towards the loud demon of lust. “I think this color looks good on me, but definitely not with the outfit I’m wearing currently.”
You smile at his animated gestures, nodding your head in agreement.
“I do think the color suits you, but didn’t you get a beige outfit a week ago? Maybe a cream color will look better,” you mention, shifting through the scarves on the rack.
Asmodeus pauses to pose in the mirror that was conveniently placed on the store wall. “You could be right~ I heard cream is more in style right now anyways. Thank you darling 💗.”
Beelzebub
Beelzebub doesn’t even notice you’re more blunt and honest; like, he doesn’t isolate that as your special quality
Instead, he just thinks that that is how you were as a person.
Honestly, it’s quite cute.
Whenever he eats off of the plates of others, or realizes that he just vacuumed down the cookies that you were supposed to deliver to Luke, you don’t hesitate to voice your disapproval.
“Beel, please don’t eat other people’s food. It’s not nice,” you reprimand gently, noticing that no other brother on the table was going to say anything to reprimand him.
He quietly gulps down the rest of the food that he had finished chewing in time. “Oh… sorry,” Beel mumbled, wiping the remaining crumbs of the cookies that he knew you worked on for Luke.
He didn’t even realize he reached over to take the food.. One moment his stomach grumbled hungrily, and then the next moment he smelled the cookies you had spent all morning baking.
Whenever he ate his brothers’ food, they would always sigh and complain to Lucifer about it---which in turn caused Lucifer to tell them to just grab some more.
He really really didn’t mean it…
You sighed quietly, grabbing a napkin off of the table to aid in ridding the crumbs all over his shirt. “It’s okay Beel. Try not to do it again, kay?” It looks like you needed to throw together another batch of cookies in order to get them delivered to Luke before it got too late.
You glanced behind you, watching as Beel followed you to the kitchen again. The redhead noticed your questioning glance, and he only grinned in reply.
“I’m going to help you make more. It’s the least I can do…” he said.
The gesture must have made you happy, because he could see you return the grin instantly.
Beelzebub also happens to be lowkey blunt in his own way, because while he may hold back in speaking a lot of the time, much of what he does say (besides things food-related) is actually quite honest. He isn’t afraid to tell people what he thinks about them, but on a much lower scale than you.
I think this mixture of two similar people is wonderful---
Remember how I said some people take honesty and criticism to heart more than others?? Well… Beel takes to heart what you say and attempts to fix anything he can within his power.
Belphegor
Ha ha ha… ahhh Belphegor. Okay correct me if I’m wrong, but he’d totally be the type to purposefully do things that would make you snap at him or cause you to be more blunt.
He always knew you were kind-- I mean, you were the one to help get him out of the miserable attic. You were also the one willing to deal with Mammon, so… ya know.
But his level of respect for you rose when the demon took note that you were no welcome mat.
No one could step all over you, and for a human, that was damn impressive to him.
For example, the first time he had fallen asleep in a weird position in front of you was when you, Beel, and Belphie decided it would be fun to bake some muffins for everyone. He was assigned the role of mixing together the mix and well… he fell asleep.
While standing…
You quickly snapped him out of it, voicing your opinion on how it was not the time to be sleeping--- especially if these muffins were to be done before dinner
He liked getting your attention in that way though
Belphegor was another demon with thick skin, and yet another demon who also happens to be blunt and honest (probably one the most in the family)
“You look like shit,” he mumbled into his pillow, watching you trudge into the room tiredly. You had dark under eye circles, probably due to the lack of sleep you had within the past two days, and your hair was unkempt. The strands thrown about your head like a cyclone just hit you. Belphegor had heard that you were taking extra magic lessons with Satan and Solomon, and he only assumed this was a result.
You grunted, flopping down onto the bed right next to him.
“Well, you don’t look too good yourself. But I guess that’s what 10 hours of sleep will do to you,” you bit back, the words were a bit slurred and muffled due to your face plant on the bed.
He chuckled lightly, scooching over to toss his blanket over you.
Belphegor would ask about your little magic experience later on; the loads of opinions you probably had would make due for an interesting listen.
— synopsis :: katsuki hates the way you make him feel.
— note :: this is my first time writing bnha, let alone bakugou, I hope I do it justice… if you read this, thank you, I hope you like it! :)
katsuki swears he hates you.
to be honest, he’d rather hate you, than feel like… this about you.
he’s convinced you’re messing with him. your quirk must make it so, because there’s no other reason why he feels his body heat up, his heart beat quicker somewhere deep in his chest, every time he thinks of you. you’re definitely doing it on purpose.
it’s that damned shopping trip to blame.
the girls had dragged everyone out to have some bonding time, which is the shittiest excuse katsuki has ever heard for splurging and buying pretty dessert that clogs up arteries. he’d have skipped out on it, but raccoon eyes begged kirishima, who in turn begged katsuki.
that’s another thing that pisses him off; remembering exactly how the other boy had convinced him. really, he couldn’t give less of a shit about something like romance, but of course the extras are going out of their mind about how popular they are with their preferred gender, and of course they had to drag him into it.
no, he doesn’t care at all, but it hurts his ego pride to entertain the idea that he might not be #1 at something even as petty as that.
hell, he doesn’t even care about being #1, as long as he’s doing better than deku.
but he’s not blind. cheeks is obsessed with the green haired idiot, her heart probably having a taste of her own quirk and shooting off into the universe fluttering madly every time she looks at him.
it’s like the world is out to get him, because not only did he have to accompany all the losers to their stupid trip, but he also had to, under duress, with that goal in mind? really? grade schoolers, the whole lot of them.
what he hates most about the whole thing is you, though.
and you’re doing exactly the things he hates.
ever since you stumbled across deku during that trip, tapped him on the shoulder and smiled at him, it’s like you punched katsuki in the gut. he can’t forget the way you’d looked so meek, but still somehow comfortable around deku, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t hate that.
and for the life of him, he can’t recall ever seeing you during his days in middle school. you claimed that you’d been classmates with deku – and by extension, katsuki – for an entire year, and deku sure seems to recognise you. but katsuki doesn’t. deku lights up like a stupid bulb, but katsuki does not.
he hadn’t needed to know details about any of the dumb extras that had infested middle school, more so any of them who didn’t already seem to know that he is the best. that must’ve been why he didn’t know you. there weren’t too many people who didn’t believe in his worth, but the ones who didn’t… they weren’t special enough for him to remember. they could never prove him wrong, after all. they were nothing.
but you.
he hates you. he strongly dislikes you. he can’t stand you.
and you seem to love that shitty deku.
no, it’s not the same kind of emotion that uraraka holds for him.
you absolutely adore that girl too, and she treats you nicely enough despite the wary look in her eyes initially, when she thought she was being subtle while hovering around deku.
no, katsuki hasn’t been observing. especially not because he’s interested. he is literally just looking out for himself, because he doesn’t want to be blindsided just because he wasn’t careful of some scheming pest.
the pest in question being you.
you’re already wreaking havoc on his mind, full of nothing but thoughts of you, other than being #1. he would never give up on that, no matter how much you make his heart pound and palms sweat.
you’re kinda helpful for his quirk, actually, and that’s the only reason he hasn’t already blasted you off into nothingness. the accelerated heart rate does wonders for him. but he doesn’t want to credit you either for something he could achieve with his own hard work.
he can definitely credit you for being the most annoying idiot that he knows, though. your quirk is painful, because late at night when he’s alone, he’s hit by images of your face. you hang out so much with his classmates now, he can’t help it. he can’t even sleep peacefully, because when he does fall asleep, his often dreamless nights are swapped out for stupid sequences produced by his subconscious involving you, because of your silly little quirk that you think katsuki is unaware of.
it gets worse.
he finds out you’re quirkless.
he storms up to you when he’s had enough. not only do you go to a school quite near theirs, but you also always have time to meet up, and isn’t that super convenient for whatever grand scheme you’ve concocted in order to try and take down bakugou katsuki.
it’s a half-growled and half-whispered, threat-filled one-sided conversation between him and you when he asks you to stop whatever you’re trying to do. you, being the infuriating person that you are, just tilt your head and stare at him in confusion. in the name of all might, that should not make his heart skip a beat, because he doesn’t have any intention of using his quirk right now. he just wants you to stop using yours. that’s all he’s there for.
but then you just shrug slightly, that damned nervous smile plastered on your face that you’ve barely been showing anymore, now that you’re comfortable with the extras. you shake your head when he asks you, as nicely as he can, to stop whatever messed up thing you like doing to him.
“this your way of trying to win against me? you can’t,” he grits through his teeth, fingers itching to create little explosions. he’s not going to show his off when asking you to call yours off. he won’t—
you tell him you have no idea what he’s talking about, because you’re as quirkless as they come.
with all the strength that he can muster within himself to not have an outburst, he asks you to repeat yourself.
you do. “i’m quirkless.”
in the end, he can’t help himself, and sets off a series of minute explosions that have you hopping back, out of his arm’s reach. as if he’d harm you with them, he thinks while glaring at you.
katsuki would like to say that he got over it quickly, but it takes a while, truthfully. at first he can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you’re quirkless, because then every thought of you that’s haunted him the past few months is without explanation.
you being quirkless literally opens up so many other questions. if you’re quirkless, then who’s to blame for everything happening to him? is it someone else at fault? are you just stupid and oblivious and unaware of your own quirk? did it manifest late? did someone grant it to you? there are so many questions, and things are still the same, if not worse. he barely thinks of anything else.
at least he can write it off in the name of being better at defending himself from stray quirks affecting him.
he hates it, but he asks kirishima, very subtly, if he’s heard of anyone whose quirk has the effects katsuki hates suffering from. the stupid redhead simply looks him dead in the eye and says that it sounds like the case of a bad crush quirk, something out of cheap romance novels which might be quite dangerous in practice, before proceeding to ask katsuki why he’s curious about it. bless his stupid soul, sometimes, because he completely buys the lie katsuki feeds him.
he didn’t want to have to convince kirishima that he doesn’t have a crush. because he doesn’t want to even entertain the idea of having a crush on stupid little you.
especially when you barely even give him the time of day anymore.
well, you’ve never really been the closest to him, nor does he want that, thank you very much! but it seems like the only time you and him ever had a proper conversation was when he asked you about your quirk, and that too ended badly, with barely any words exchanged. but at least you used to smile at him. not that he liked it or anything, but it was better than you giving him the cold shoulder.
are the extras actually more interesting to you than katsuki is? he’s a little miffed if that’s the case. but whenever he talks, you hear him, sometimes even respond to him, so perhaps it’s not a matter of ignoring him.
it’s just one thing you do.
you avoid his eyes.
it’s subtle enough that no one else notices, and the first few times he sees you look away when your eyes meet his, his breath catches in his throat and he’s almost too shocked to breathe in.
he knows that he’s not done anything to warrant that reaction from you. perhaps you’re simply realising after a long time that he’s the one you should be paying attention to, rather than all the extras. and perhaps it’s easier for you to pay attention to him with your ears rather than your eyes. he can understand that. your eyes seem to have that effect on him too; it’s entirely possible that this way is easier for you to focus on him.
maybe he makes you nervous.
there are so many maybes, but that thought still makes a grin tug at his lips, seeing which kirishima almost gets nervous. yeah, he’s getting cocky.
but that’s fine. he doesn’t plan on approaching you yet.
after all, if you’re into him, you should be brave enough to tell him.
…
honestly, it’s completely the electric eel’s fault. really, it’s 100% his fault because he thinks it’s fun to talk about stupid shit around katsuki. stupid shit like you possibly having a crush on deku, even though all signs say otherwise.
katsuki was willing to overlook that, but then raccoon eyes decided to encourage that hypothesis, and soon the idiots around him were talking in hushed whispers about deku’s supposed fanclub. such a situation definitely warranted katsuki blowing up their asses during training.
katsuki hates training with deku with a burning passion, but such a situation also warranted going up to him and demanding that he train with katsuki. if only he’d had enough mind to notice that the class was ending. if only he’d not run his mouth—
“they’ll never even look at you.”
deku doesn’t know shit about what katsuki just said, looking at him like he grew another head – which pisses him off even more – but kirishima and the rest of them know—
they know that katsuki is still hung up over that stupid conversation from days back, and they also know something’s up, and katsuki hates himself for being an idiot.
they corner him, as impossible as that sounds. katsuki would’ve blasted them off into outer space but they literally pile up onto him, clinging and refusing to let go of him even when he threatens to beat their ass again. curse sero’s tape.
katsuki would like to say that he fends them all off and throws them off his case. unfortunately, that does not happen. they find out a few things that day. thankfully, the only things they do find out are: you really get on katsuki’s nerves, and you also have a silly little crush on him.
“for real? are you sure?” ashido asks, eyebrows knit together like it’s something particularly unbelievable, and kaminari nods along uncertainly.
katsuki scoffs. “no other reason why they can’t look me in the eye.”
“i mean, you are kinda scary…” sero starts, but one glare from the scary person in question has him trailing off.
kirishima politely provides, “he’s manly!” and the conversation ends there.
…
oh, but the scheming doesn’t end.
kaminari is a bloody idiot, and encouraged by the equally idiotic sero, both of them come up with various scenarios wherein you and katsuki could stumble into each other, completely coincidentally, as if katsuki can’t hear them gossiping right behind him.
he ends up having to intervene when they get increasingly creative, which only means disaster in katsuki’s book.
“i’ll just wait.” he simply shrugs, watching the idiots get confused.
“fun to watch them squirm when they think they’re being subtle,” he offers further, and kirishima gives him a disapproving look, mumbling something about sadists.
“bakugou,” ashido stares at him critically, opening and shutting her mouth many times before eventually asking, “do you like them?”
after several more explosions, katsuki’s heart beating too fast in his chest, the sweat beading at his temples written off as part of his quirk, he’s able to dispel the idea from her mind.
he’ll never like someone like you.
and he’s still wary of you in the secret corner of his mind, not sure why he reacts the way he does to you. he’s not stupid, he knows what a crush is and how it works, but he really can’t see himself being attracted to you at all.
it has to be something someone concocted to get him weak, but they’re not going to succeed.
even if not having your eyes on him pisses him off more, making him feel irrational and prone to dangerous stunts and outbursts. even if not seeing you around much makes him feel like there’s not much to show off to. even if he really doesn’t feel like there’s anything worth showing off when he spies poor little you hanging around his classmates, quirkless and gentle.
gross.
…
katsuki hates being wrong.
katsuki hates knowing he’s wrong.
katsuki barely ever is wrong.
but when he is, he messes up completely.
if he were to possess the ability to correct one thing, he’d just lock up the idiots who call themselves his friends, and not let them near you.
they notice your little mannerisms too, of course they do when katsuki himself told them that you like him. they notice that you don’t meet his eyes and prefer staying away from him, but still respond to him whenever he talks. they notice that you don’t seem to fear him like some people do; almost as if you’re comfortable with him.
and they also notice things he wishes they didn’t notice, like the way his skin reddens imperceptibly when he sees you, and the way he makes an effort to not blast things up too much in your vicinity.
(it’s not really much use anymore, unfortunately.)
it’s definitely kaminari who is to blame; he always is for everything. katsuki doesn’t need any more reason to want to absolutely pummel him, because with the tape idiot’s encouragement, he bounces up to you one day and asks the dreaded question.
“what do you think of bakugou?” the blond asks, grinning from ear to ear as if he’s done something wonderful, but the way your eyebrow creases in confusion makes katsuki’s heart skip a beat. erratic. he doesn’t know what to make of the expression on your face. and no, he’s not waiting for your response, dammit. he’s 100% busy ignoring everyone. he can’t let you know all of his attention is on him, especially when you’re about to turn your head to look in his direction.
“he’s okay,” the words eventually leave your mouth, and he almost snorts. just okay? are you stupid, or just pretending to be? he knows your vocabulary is bigger than that.
“don’t you…” kaminari leans in dramatically, and katsuki has to strain his ears to hear—
“don’t you like him?”
well, hell. guess someone missed the tact memo.
that’s fine, though, katsuki’s okay with that. maybe letting you shyly avoid him isn’t the best course of action when you refuse to make a move.
you let out a non-committal noise, prompting another round of questions. the way you further get confused and respond with questions of your own makes something nag at the back of katsuki’s mind.
there’s something steadily sinking, and said sinking feeling grows the longer you talk to the electric idiot. by this point, katsuki has realised he’s missing something, but he’s still confident that it’s nothing he can’t overlook at this crucial moment when you spill the beans.
“my dear, sweet y/n, don’t you like bakugou?!” kaminari finally exclaims, possibly frustrated, and katsuki internally wheezes. he’s preoccupied with what you’ll say next, so laughing at the idiot’s expense takes a back seat.
he has to hand it to you; you’re really hard to crack, and it’s almost annoying. katsuki’s tempted to just burst his way over to you and demand a clear confession.
the answer isn’t something he’s expecting.
“not that he’s not, y’know, nice and all,” you babble, clearly stalling. you exhale at the same time as katsuki inhaling, and he holds his breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. really, maybe kaminari isn’t so bad if he can actually weasel the truth out of you with his stupid self.
“it’s just… he’s kind of scary. i try not to get in his way.”
kaminari seems just as stumped as katsuki feels in that moment.
“but… the way you act around him…”
well said, pikachu.
“oh.” that single word feels a bit like a gunshot. “oh, oh, i see. oh, no.” you need to stop saying ‘oh’ so many times, as if that changes anything.
“i’m sure he’s a good guy, but nope, i’m not interested in him romantically. i only act so awkward around him because that’s exactly how he makes me feel. i don’t even know him that well.”
can you stop twisting the knife?
“bakugou noticed,” kaminari mumbles, loud enough that katsuki hears. the words sound like they’re laced with pity. katsuki hates it, but what he hates more is how the idiot’s voice lowers to a whisper to say something to you that he really can’t hear from the distance.
katsuki also hates how your lips part and understanding dawns on your face.
he hates how your eyes meet his, head-on, because he completely forgot to look busy and has been gawking at you for the past few minutes. he hates how your eyes widen before a wary expression crosses your face.
katsuki hates the way you make him feel.
“is that what he’s passing it off as?” you ask, loud enough that he can hear. you’re not making an effort to lower your voice either.
kaminari does not respond to you, and you let out a short laugh, no doubt incredulous.
katsuki feels something within himself snap.
he leaves the room.
— note :: feedback is appreciated! :) I like this open ending because there’s a lot that can happen with it, let me know if anyone wants to see more of this! thanks for reading! :) ETA: if you’re interested in a continuation, you can read “honey”! :)
On your comments about Jack: ye-es, in the sense that Jack is a character who definitely deserved better than he was treated by the characters. The way Dean especially treats him reflects very badly on Dean, no question. But, speaking as a viewer, I think the perspective needs to shift a little bit.
To me, Jack is Dawn from Buffy, or Scrappy Doo. He’s an (in my opinion) irritating kid who is introduced out of nowhere to be both super vulnerable and super OP, and the jeopardy is centered around him in a way that has nothing to do with his actual character or relationships. He’s mostly around to be cute and to solve or create problems — he never has any firm character arcs or goals of his own, nor any deeper purpose in the meta narrative. In this way, he’s a miss for SPN, which focuses heavily on conflicts as metaphors for real life.
Mary fits so much better in that framework, and introducing her as a developed, flawed person works really well with the narrative. It is easy for us to care about Mary, both as the dead perfect mother on the pedestal and as the flawed, human woman who could not live up to her sons’ expectations. That connection is built into the core of SPN, and was developed over years, even before she was a character. When she was added, she was given depth and nuance organically, and treated as a flawed, complex character rather than as a plot device or a contrivance. She was given a voice and independence, and became a powerful metaphor for developing new understandings of our parents in adulthood, as well as an interesting and well-rounded character. You care that she’s dead, not just because Sam and Dean are sad, but for the loss of her development and the potential she offered. So, in that sense, I think a lot of people were frustrated that she died essentially fridged for a second time, and especially in service of the arc of a weaker character.
And like, you’re right, no one can figure out if Jack is a toddler or a teenager. He’s both and he’s neither, because he’s never anything consistently and his character arc is always “whatever the plot needs it to be.” Every episode is different. Is he Dean’s sunny opportunity to be a parent and make up for his dad’s shitty parenting? Yes! Is he also Dean’s worst failure and a reminder that he has done many horrible things, including to “innocent” children? Yes! Is he Cas’s child? Yes! Is he Dean’s child? Yes! But also, no! Is he Sam’s child? Yes! Is he a lonely teenager who does terrible things? Yes! Is he a totally innocent little lamb who doesn’t get why what he is doing is wrong? Yes! Is he the most powerful being in the universe? Yes! Does he need everyone to take care of him? Yes! Is he just along for the ride? Yes! Is he responsible for his actions? Kinda??? Sometimes??? What is he???
Mary as a character is narratively cohesive and fleshed-out. Jack is a mishmash of confusing whatever’s that all add up to a frustrating plot device with no consistent traits to latch on to. Everything that fans like about him (cute outfits, gender play, well-developed parental bonds with the characters) is fanon. So, yes, the narrative prioritizes Mary. Many fans prioritize Mary, at least enough that Dean’s most heinous acts barely register. To the narrative (not to Cas, which is a totally different situation), Jack is only barely more of a character than Emma Winchester, who Sam killed without uproar seasons earlier. He’s been around longer, but he’s equally not really real.
I debated on responding to this because, to tell the truth, I think we fundamentally disagree on a number of subjects and, as they say, true insanity is arguing with anyone on the internet. However, you spent a lot of time on the above and I feel it's only fair to say my thoughts, even if I don't believe it will sway you any more than what you said changed my opinions.
I'm assuming this was in response to this post regarding how Jack's accidental killing of Mary was treated so severely by the brothers, particularly Dean, because it was Mary and, had it been a random character like the security guard in 13x06, it would have been treated far differently. However, then the argument becomes less about the reaction of the Winchester brothers to this incident and more the value of Jack or Mary to the audience.
I believe we need to first admit that both characters are inherently archetypes—Mary as the Madonna character initially then, later, as a metaphor for how imperfect and truly human our parents are compared to the idol we have as children, and Jack as the overpowered child who is a Jesus allegory by the end. Both have a function within the story to serve the Winchester brothers, through whose lens and with whose biases we are meant to view the show's events. We also need to admit that the writers didn't think more than a season ahead for either character, especially since it wasn't initially supposed to be Mary that came back at the end of season 11 but John, and they only wrote enough for Jack in season 13 to gauge whether or not the audience would want him to continue on or if he needed to be killed off by the end of the season. Now, I know we curate our own experiences online which leads to us being in our own fandom echo chambers, however it is important to note that the character was immediately successful enough with the general audience that, after his first episode or two, he was basically guaranteed a longer future on the show.
I have to admit, I’m not entirely sure why the perspective of how his character is processed by some audience members versus others has any bearing on the argument that he deserved to be treated better overall by the other characters especially when taking their own previous actions in mind. I’m not going to tell you that your opinion is wrong regarding your feelings for Jack. It’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it, it harms no one to have it and express it. My feelings on Jack are clearly very different from your own, but this is really just two different people who processed a fictional person in different ways. I personally believe he has a purpose in the Winchesters’ story, including Castiel’s, as he reflects certain aspects of all of them, gives them a way to explore their own histories through a different perspective, and changes the overall dynamic of Team Free Will from “soldiers in arms” to a family (Misha’s words). In the beginning he allows Sam to work through his past as the “freak” and powerful, dangerous boy wonder destined to bring hell on earth. With Dean, his presence lets Dean work through his issues with John and asks whether he will let history repeat itself or if he’ll work to break the cycle. Regarding Cas, in my opinion he helps the angel reach his “final form” of a father, member of a family, lover and protector of humanity, rebellious son, and the true show of free will.
From strictly the story, he has several arcs that work within themes explored in Supernatural, such as the argument of nature versus nurture, the question of what we’re willing to give up in order to protect something or someone else and how ends justify the means, and the struggle between feeling helpless and powerless versus the corruptive nature of having too much power and the dangerous lack of a moral compass. His goals are mentioned and on display throughout his stint on the show, ones that are truly relatable to some viewers: the strong desire to belong—the need for family and what you’ll do to find and keep it.
With Mary, we first need to establish whether the two versions of her were a writing flaw due to the constant change in who was dictating her story and her relationship to the boys, which goes against the idea that her characterization was cohesive and fleshed-out but, rather, put together when needed for convenience, or if they both exist because, as stated above, we are seeing the show primarily through the biased lens of the Winchester brothers and come to face facts about the true Mary as they do. Like I said in my previous post, I don’t dislike Mary and I don’t blame her for her death (either one). However, I do have a hard time seeing her as a more nuanced, fleshed-out character than Jack. True, a lot of her problems are more adult in nature considering she has to struggle with losing her sons’ formative years and meeting them as whole adults she knows almost nothing about, all because of a choice she made before they were born.
However, her personal struggles being more “mature” in nature (as they center primarily on parental battles) doesn’t necessarily mean her story has layers and Jack’s does not. They are entirely different but sometimes interconnected in a way that adds to both of their arcs, like Mary taking Jack on as an adoptive son which gives her the moments of parenting she lost with Sam and Dean, and Jack having Mary as a parental figure who understands and supports him gives him that sense of belonging he had just been struggling with to the point of running away while he is also given the chance to show “even monsters can do good”.
I’d also argue that Jack being many ages at once isn’t poor writing so much as a metaphor for how, even if you’re forced to grow up fast, that doesn’t mean you’re a fully equipped adult. I don’t want to speak for anyone else, but I believe Jack simultaneously taking a lot of responsibility and constantly trying to prove to others he’s useful while having childish moments is relatable to some who were forced to play an adult role at a young age. He proves a number of times that he doesn’t need everyone to take care of him, but he also has limited life experience and, as such, will make some mistakes while he’s also being a valuable member of the group. Jack constantly exists on a fine line in multiple respects. Some may see that as a writing flaw but it is who the character was conceived to be: the balance between nature or nurture, between good and evil, between savior and devil.
Now, I was also frustrated Mary was “fridged” for a second time. It really provided no other purpose than to give the brothers more man pain to further the plot along. However, this can exist while also acknowledging that the way it happened and the subsequent fallout for Jack was also unnecessary and a sign of blatant hypocrisy from Dean, primarily, and Sam.
And, yes, Jack can be different things at once because, I mean, can’t we all? If Mary can be both the perfect mother and the flawed, independent, distant parent, can’t Jack be the sweet kid who helps his father-figures process their own feelings on fatherhood while also being a lost young-adult forcing them to face their failures? Both characters contain multitudes because, I mean, we all do.
I can provide articles or posts on Jack’s characterization and popularity along with Mary’s if needed, but for now I think this is a long enough ramble on my thoughts and feelings. I’m happy to discuss more, my messenger is always open for (polite) discussion. Until then, I’m going to leave it at we maybe agree to disagree.
CW: Panic attack, child of recovering adult whumpee, anger as trauma response, referenced noncon kissing and touching (nonsexual), childhood bullying, referenced past domestic and child abuse, some gendered and ableist insults (kid to kid and nothing too intense - just fair warning)
Izzy, at nine years old, has been free with her family for almost five years now, and her mother has been in prison on a life sentence for two. With attention, affection, and therapy, she has blossomed into a quiet kid who nearly always has her nose in a book.
When two classmates try to put her in the center of a storm, Izzy finds something inside herself that she has pushed down for so long she had nearly forgotten she ever had it.
Izzy finds her father’s anger.
Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission.
---
Izzy sits at her desk, perfectly still, reading a book while the teacher’s out of the room speaking with another teacher in low voices, just in the hallway. The sun shines in the windows that line the wall, lighting the pages of her book, and one of Izzy’s hands rubs repeatedly over the seam down the side of her uniform skirt, the only movement she makes beyond her eyes.
Around her, the others are whispering, passing notes and giggling (except for Noah, who has his own book open, and Jack, who is drawing his story about giant killer robots in a notebook, and Sarah, Jack’s twin sister who is trying to build a tower of pencils and paper), but Izzy barely notices them.
When the teacher comes back in, Izzy will not be whispering, or giggling, or doing anything that might bother her. When the teacher comes back, Izzy will be quiet, and good, and put her book back into her desk and look up with her hands in her lap. She’s the quietest kid in class, she heard the teacher say so.
At home, she’s not always quiet anymore, but at school she still holds a balance, protecting herself and keeping herself safe in the best and truest way she knows - by simply being exactly what the adults need her to be, and keeping all her real feelings and thoughts inside her head.
Still, while the teacher’s out of the room, she takes a few minutes to read while she has the chance. Her heart beats cold and heavy in her chest as she scans over the words on the page, biting down on her lower lip, worrying at a bit of chapped skin. Her left hand settles over the soft texture of pages nearly yellowed with time spent in the school library being held by hundreds of small hands. The fingers on her right hand feel over the seam of her skirt, right along the outside of her leg, again and again.
Fierce anxiety, and a little fear, swirl inside her for the characters that exist only in ink and her imagination.
Two Earthmen entered, but instead of advancing into the room, they placed themselves one on each side of the door, and bowed deeply. They were followed immediately by the last person whom anyone had expected or wished to see: the Lady of the Green Kirtle, the Queen of Underland. She stood dead still in the doorway, and they could see her eyes moving as she took in the whole situation—the three strangers, the silver chair destroyed, and the Prince free, with his sword in his hand.
“I think I like Karissa,” Henry Fitzgerald, who sits at her left, says to his best friend Kevin Magden - not to be confused with Kevin Michaelson, and didn’t the teacher sigh over that sometimes. He has to speak over and around Izzy’s head.
“Like, like like her?” Kevin Magden asks, sounding half-horrified, half-fascinated. Izzy fights not to roll her eyes, and tries to focus back on her book, on the entrance of the Queen, on the Prince freed but faced with great danger.
The Queen of the Underland, the lady who held the Prince in the dark for ten whole years, that’s older than Izzy even is. Coming into the room to find the children and the Prince, and her having no control any longer.
She turned very white; but Jill thought it was the sort of whiteness that comes over some people's faces not when they are frightened but when they are angry. For a moment the Witch fixed her eyes on the Prince, and there was murder in them. Then she seemed to change her mind.
“Run,” Izzy whispers, to the children, to Puddleglum the strange marsh creature, to the freed Prince. “Don’t talk to her, just run. Don’t listen to whatever she says, don’t.”
“What are you even saying, Izzy?” Kevin Magden says.
“She’s all in her book like always,” Henry Fitzgerald says, shrugging. He makes some sort of gesture - Izzy doesn’t look up to see it - and the two of them laugh. She doesn’t care about that. The story is far, far more important than they are anyway. “Anyway, Kev, I like-... yeah, I think I like like her. I’m gonna tell her at break.”
“Gross,” Kevin says, but he sounds fascinated. “What if she says she doesn’t like-like you back?”
Henry shrugs again - Izzy can see the movement from the corner of her eye. “Dunno. Maybe kiss her.”
“Gross,” Kevin repeats, much more emphatically.
Izzy tries to keep her mind on the page, but shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She closes her eyes briefly, thinking of the Queen of the Underland, standing in the doorway. She imagines her with very white skin and dark, long fingernails, wearing a long dress that brushes the earthen floor, making a soft swish-swish sound as she walks. In her mind, the Queen of the Underland has very bright blue eyes and lots of curly, dark brown hair that is threaded with silver down her back, wild and uncontrolled, like it can reach out and grab you and drag you into the dark with her.
She feels like the Queen is not a stranger to her, and not hard to picture at all. Try as she might, she can’t make the Queen in her imagination look like the description of the Queen in the book. She only ever looks one way - beautiful and wicked, deceptively soft, eyes brilliant and shining too bright when the Prince is in pain.
Will she hurt him, while the children have to stand and watch and can’t save him at all?
"Leave us," she said to the two Earthmen. "And let none disturb us till I call, on pain of death." The gnomes padded away obediently, and the Witch-queen shut and locked the door.
"How now, my lord Prince," she said. "Has your nightly fit not yet come upon you, or is it over so soon? Why stand you here unbound? Who are these aliens? And is it they who have destroyed the chair which was your only safety?"
Izzy can hear the Queen’s voice, musical lilt, simpering sweet and dangerous. Why are you leaving me? How dare you. Come back here, Jax, you can’t leave, you’re mine.
Kevin and Henry are still talking, but Izzy doesn’t hear them any longer. She’s lost in the panic rising inside of her. Run, she thinks, in a scream, a shout in her mind. It isn’t that she doesn’t understand it’s just a book, but that she is still scared, frightened for the prince whose father had grown older while he was gone, whose family must have missed him so much. She is frightened for the children who do not understand the witch or how to fight her. She’s frightened even for Puddleglum, who only wants to help, to do the right thing. Don’t talk to her, don’t give her the chance, just run. She’ll make you hers again. She swallows - it feels like her heart beats itself right up into her throat, like she is swallowing around it - and keeps reading.
Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:
“I’ll kiss her even if she doesn’t like me back, anyway.”
Izzy’s breath catches, and she blinks, feeling like she has been pulled out of a spell herself. She looks up, glancing sidelong at Henry, who isn’t looking at her at all, just talking to Kevin. “Hen-... Henry-... what did you say?”
“None of your business,” Henry replies, voice harsh and loud enough to get some of the others to look over at them, and Izzy’s shoulders creep up towards her chin, face burning red. She hates when everyone looks at her, hates it more than anything. Henry looks back at Kevin. “At break, I will. I’ll tell her, and I’ll kiss her, whether she wants to or not.”
Izzy looks back down, but the words on the page run together, she can’t see them any longer, they’re just squiggles, meaningless little lines. What I want just matters more, whispers a nightmare she can never quite feel woken up from. She tries, she really does, to focus again on the book but she sees secondly, she took out a musical instrument-
Izzy slams the little paperback shut, sticks it back in her desk, and says in a thin voice, “You can’t do that if someone doesn’t want you to, it’s wrong.”
“It’s not a big deal, Izzy, geez.” Kevin on her other side speaks up now, and between them she feels like she’s being battered, tossed on a sea, shoved down, locked in the dark. Izzy stares down at her desk, then, letting her eyes lose focus on the wavy colors in the polished wood. Light brown, almost auburn, and darker brown, almost a chocolate color, very like the hair on Izzy’s own head, clipped short and spiky.
Very very like the wavy, thick curls that ran down her mother’s back, that smothered Izzy in the smell of her shampoo and perfume.
“It is a big deal,” Izzy whispers. “It’s wrong, to make someone kiss you. It’s wrong. It-... it hurts them. It matters what they want, too.”
“Ugh. It's just a kiss. You’re bonkers, you know that?" Henry leans over, almost in her space, and Izzy sits back as far as she can until she presses her back hard into her chair, enough to hurt. “Absolutely mad.”
“No, I’m not,” Izzy mumbles, but panic twists even worse inside her. Is she? Her mom is. Isn’t she? Don’t you have to be, to be evil? Dr. Marty says no, that those two things are totally separate and people are just bad at understanding that people can be really, really, really bad and still be sane - that bad people almost always are - and Dr. Marty knows everything about crazy and not-crazy, that’s his whole job, and she’s not like her mother anyway, she’s not.
“Are so,” Henry taunts, falling easily into the familiar cadence of mockery, and Izzy’s face burns brighter and hotter as the room begins to fall quiet, other conversations falling away as the others realize there might be some entertainment now. Her breath comes faster, and she closes her hands into fists at her side, fighting to control the way the fear and a new rise of anger start to twist around inside her stomach, making it flip, making her feel sick. “You’re bonkers for sure, Izzy Gallagher.”
“I-I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not! It’s not right to kiss people who you don’t know if they want to or not! It’s not!”
The room feels suddenly too small, and too big - she can’t escape Henry’s bean-breath and she can’t run far enough to get to the door, she can’t run at all. Some small voice inside her demands she stay still, shut her mouth, never talk again. She should have just finished her book, seen how the Prince would escape the Queen of the Underland, seen if the children help him or just weigh him down, one more bit of stone tying him to Underland and maybe he wishes he could just leave them behind, if they bother him, if they’re no good-
“Ewwwww, who would want to kiss Izzy?” A girl near her wrinkles her nose - Lindsey Smith, Izzy’s brain supplies, in an airless dizzy spin of details that aren’t important but she can’t stop circling around. “She looks like a boy.”
“Hey, back off.” Izzy, surprised, glances over her shoulder to find Noah Hawkins looking up from his own book, eyes narrowed. “Izzy’s hair is cool, and it’s cooler than yours anyway, Lindsey-kins. You just wish you looked as good as she does.”
“Shut up! You just say that because you’re a boy, of course you think boy hair looks cool.” Lindsey sticks her tongue out, crossing her arms in front of herself. She has big poofy hair like Izzy’s would be if she didn’t have her dad cut it so short, held back with a clip. Hers is red, though.
“There’s no such thing,” Sarah says from over by the window. “As boy or girl hair, I mean. There’s no such thing. It’s all just hair. Izzy’s hair does look cool. You all should leave it alone, Mrs. Brent is going to be back inside any second and we’ll all get in trouble if there’s fighting.”
“Yeah, Izzy,” Henry hisses at her, leaning in close. Too close. She forgets how to breathe. “Stop causing trouble, Izzy.”
“I’m not,” Izzy whispers. Her face feels like it might light on fire. Her fingernails dig into her palms, until she feels flashes of pain, creating crescents that could take hours to fully fade if she did it hard enough. “I was-... I was just-”
“Just butting in where you don’t belong,” Henry finishes for her. “It’s not your business.”
“It’s-... but, but I just-” Her voice is fading fast, airy and breathless, barely a whisper. Quiet little Izzy Gallagher, who never stands up for herself, who lets everyone talk to her like this, who never says a word she isn’t asked to say. Her fear batters her with wings inside her chest, but beneath it is something else entirely, trying to rise up and take over her mind and mouth. Anger. She and Dr. Marty had talked about it, about how it was a normal feeling to feel, but every swell of it within her was met by the rising tide of fear in response.
She never lets herself be angry. That would make her like her mother, who was angry so much, and she’s not like that, she’s not.
She doesn’t think, in the moment, that her mother isn’t the only parent who knows how to be angry.
The thoughts are not conscious. They aren’t driven by any kind of logic, they loop and swirl around each other. They flash bright like light in the back of her mind. She thinks about the story, the book inside her desk, the way the Prince fell upon the silver chair, how he swung his sword in dim light.
She thinks about the prince walking out the hotel doors with a baby in one arm and a little girl on his hip, a backpack heavy against his back, into the sunlight outside. She can remember the way he breathed quick and shallow against her hair, the racing of his heart as he asked her to be very quiet, and very brave. She didn’t know he was scared, he didn’t say it, he was just the Prince, shining in the sunlight, asking for directions to the train station and going in a suit to court later and the silver gave way before the sword’s edge like string, and in a moment a few twisted fragments, shining on the floor, were all that was left of the chair.
“But-but-but-but, I just-” Henry is still going, and Izzy’s eyes burn as hot as her face, lips pulling back from her teeth in a grimace like a snarl. “Just shut up, Izzy Gallagher, nobody cares what you think.”
“Don’t be a dick, I care,” Noah says, from the back of the room, his voice getting louder, now. Other students whoop and go ooooh, Noah likes Izzy, but Noah ignores them, and he doesn’t turn even a little bit red. “Izzy hasn’t done anything wrong to you.” She barely knows Noah, he’s in her class but they don’t talk or anything. This is the first time he’s done more than help her with a math problem, this is the first time she’s heard him even talk in class without the teacher calling on him.
But it feels good to have somebody else stand up for her.
“She’s butting in!” Henry protests, hands up like he’s the innocent one. “Kevin and I were just talking-”
“About kissing Karissa Bellweather!” Izzy half-shouts. “From the other class! You were talking about kissing someone even if she doesn’t want to! You said you would even if she said no! That’s not right!”
“Ew,” Someone says, Izzy doesn’t know who. Her blood is rushing in her ears almost too loud to hear. “Do you like-like Karissa Bellweather, Henry?”
“No! I don’t!” Henry looks stricken. He hadn’t expected her to just say it out loud like that to everybody. “Gallagher’s lying! She’s a liar!”
“I’m not! I’m not a fucking liar!” Her voice is too loud and she claps her hands over her mouth. Don’t cry, she thinks to herself, and her own thought-voice twists into her mother’s sharper edges. Her palms ache and she wonders if her nails have broken skin, but the wonder is faint, and faded. She feels a hand pressed against the back of her neck, the Queen of the Underland’s voice beside her ear. Don’t cry, Bella. You’re so ugly when you cry. Jax, get her out of my sight.
“Fuck off,” Izzy says, voice trembling. She isn’t really talking to Henry, not anymore. “Leave-... leave me alone.”
“Oooh, what’re you gonna do, huh? Gonna throw some punches?” Kevin is too close on the other side, now. They’re both too close. Izzy’s heart beats all out of time, and when she goes to breathe, it… it doesn’t work. Her breath is stuck in her throat, halfway down. The air just… sits there, and she can’t hitch it in or exhale it. It feels like her throat is closing up, she’ll choke on nothing, black out and fall down. “Bonkers Izzy Gallagher, gonna fight us, are you?”
“I-I could-” Her voice is a whimper, and Izzy closes her eyes.
“Could not,” Henry mocks, from his side of her. “You’re weak as a puppy. What are you gonna do?”
“Stop-... stop you from talking anymore,” Izzy says, and pushes her chair back with a loud scrape, getting to her feet. She should tell Dr. Marty about the book, she thinks, about the Queen of the Underland. She should tell her father about the Prince tied to the chair, and how he chopped the chair to bits, and she should tell them all about it, nice and safe and quiet at home, and not do what she’s afraid she’s going to do instead.
“How, gonna use something you learned from your mam in prison?” Henry asks, and Izzy remembers, all at once, how to breathe - but it’s all poison. She gulps in air, fear sparking up, her nerves feel like a hundred thousand tiny lightning strikes. She wants to run but she’s at school and there isn’t anywhere to go.
“Wh-what?”
“My dad says your mam’s famous in the States for being in prison,” Henry says, leaping on this new tactic as the blood drains from Izzy’s face. He’s like animals on the nature shows that James likes to watch at home with their snack, circling a calf all alone. She’s a wounded baby calf, she’s weighing the herd down, she’s not strong or brave enough, she never was. “Did she teach you how to prison-fight? Ooooh, did she show you how to make a-” He jabs at the air, fist closed empty around an imaginary knife. “A prison-blade?”
“Shiv,” Kevin supplies helpfully.
“Right, that. Did your mam show you how to shank someone?”
“I don’t-... I don’t talk to my mom,” Izzy says, half-strangled by her own words. Her head is spinning. Her backpack is so far away. “We don’t-... we don’t have contact-... she doesn’t talk to me, isn’t allowed-”
“Oh, ew.” Henry sits back, and his face lights up with the simple cruelty of wounding someone who looks unable to fight back, of regaining his own stability and distracting everyone from his embarrassment by bringing up Izzy’s shame instead. “Are you so awful even your mam doesn’t want to talk to you?”
No. She doesn’t. Izzy’s lip trembles. She can’t bring herself to try and respond. She doesn’t, she doesn’t want to know anything about me at all. The last thing my mom ever said to me was yelling at me not to look so scared all the time and Dad said she never asked about me when he talked to her during the trial she never asked she never-
“Hey, Henry,” Someone says. “This is super gross stuff to say, isn’t it?” Izzy can’t see anything but Henry’s face, everything else is white noise and his words ringing through her, settling too deeply inside, meeting her own thoughts that match them, sometimes, on hard days. She never asked about me, she doesn’t even care that I hate her. Your mam is supposed to care if you hate her. You’re so awful your mom doesn’t even care about you. Your mam is supposed to-
“Yeah, Henry. That’s too far, that’s really mean.”
“She can’t help who her mam is, Hen.”
“Yeah, it’s not like she went to the mam shop and picked a rubbish one.”
“My dad was away for a while, Iz, I get it. My mam says it doesn’t say anything about us. People make bad choices is all.”
“I haven’t even seen my dad since I was five, Izzy, it’s okay, don’t be sad.”
“Yeah, it’s okay, Izzy, don’t be sad, Henry’s just being awful.”
“Hey, she was awful first!”
“Go run up a pole, Henry. I like you, Izzy,” Sarah says, from the window, and moves in her direction. “Henry’s being a jerk, don’t listen to him. Don’t be sad. It’s okay.”
“I like you, too, you’re fun at break, you always have good ideas for games.” That’s Amira, using that certain kind of tone you use when you are trying to comfort an upset person, and Izzy feels some of the ice closing around her heart starting to warm up, to melt, to crack apart.
Even Lindsey says, almost grudging, “Don’t be sad because of Henry, Izzy. He’s really mean sometimes.”
“I think you’re really cool,” Noah says, in a quieter voice. “Please don’t be sad. Want to play monsters at break?”
They don’t all hate her, they don’t. Someone puts a hand at her back, and she flinches, and they pull the hand away, but they don’t hate her for pulling away, they don’t hate her voice or her hair and they don’t hate her for speaking up, they don’t.
Henry hasn’t given up, not yet. “Your mam’s in prison for being a shit to your dad, isn’t she?”
Izzy doesn’t look at him, leaning down to pull the book out of her desk, trying to think. She can pull her backpack out and go the nurse, say she’s feeling sick, and maybe her dad will come get her and take her home. They can call Dr. Marty and she can tell him what happened and Dr. Marty will know what to tell her and her dad to work on for the next time. She can tell him that there were good things, too, like that Noah said he thinks she’s cool, and Amira likes her game ideas, and not everybody hates her because she has the wrong mom, and it’s going to be okay.
It’s going to be okay.
“Henry, stop it,” She says, in a half-whisper. “Please stop.”
She can go to the nurse. Say she’s sick, it’s not a lie, her stomach is all twisted up in knots. It’ll be true, she’s not going to feel better. She has sweat on her forehead drying cold, making her shiver a little. It’s not a lie, being scared makes her sick, it’s a real sick, it’s not a lie. She gets sick a lot from being scared, Dr. Marty says it’s normal for kids who have anxiety, she has exercises to do, she can picture all her hurting thoughts and move them away, and…
“That’s what my dad said.” Henry’s voice cuts in. “He said your mam’s a piece of fucking work and probably made your dad one, too-”
“Don’t talk about my dad!” She rounds on him, then, book clutched to her chest. “Don’t you dare, you don’t-... you don’t have any right! You don’t know what happened, you don’t know us, you don’t know anything! My dad is better than yours ever could be! And, and stronger, and braver, too!”
Izzy Gallagher, quiet as a mouse, teacher’s pet from sheer terrified inaction, who always sits still and listens carefully and takes direction so well and is just an absolute pleasure to have in class, Mr. Gallagher, an absolute pleasure, is shouting and doesn’t realize it until the words have left her mouth.
She should stop, some part of her brain begs her to stop, but the anger is suddenly larger than the fear and she is a little girl with a sword. Where they came from, and what she and her father and her little brother have survived, is a silver chair she will hack to bits until all that’s left shines like jewelry when held up to the light.
Henry’s eyes widen, they are big saucers, and they are very bright and very blue.
“My dad is amazing.” She can’t stop shouting. She’s not even trying to stop any longer. “He lived through really bad stuff and he still got us away from it! Even though it would have been easier to go by himself and leave us, he didn’t, and my mom is evil, and I’m not, because you don’t have to be what your mom is and I’m not ever going to be like that, but you are evil, Henry Fitzgerald, and you don’t even have an excuse! You’re-... you’re mean for no reason, and I hope Karissa spits in your face and kicks you between your legs as hard as she fucking can! You are an asshole, Henry Fitzgerald, and you can go fuck yourself all the way home!”
“Isabella Gallagher!” Mrs. Brent’s voice is shocked, and the words die in Izzy’s throat, as she slowly turns to see the teacher standing in the doorway, staring at her like she’d grown three heads and all of them have fangs.
Izzy feels like she has fangs, too. And claws, like she is a monster herself. She should be scared, or sad, or ashamed of herself, but all she feels is anger burning bright and hot and good in her veins, louder than fear. Angry feels safer than scared. She feels proud of herself, a feeling so unfamiliar it seems like it must be someone else’s. Sarah, close to her now, whispers, go Izzy, in a soft impressed voice, and Izzy feels her eyes burn again, more than before, but for a different reason.
They don’t hate her, and Henry isn’t saying bad things about her dad any longer, because of her. They don’t hate her.
“You might be even cooler now,” Amira says, and the teacher shushes all of them and points Izzy out, telling her to go see the Head Teacher. Any other Izzy would slink out with her shoulders hunched, full of fear, but this Izzy feels the buzz of standing up for herself running through her and warming all the cold, chasing the heavy hand on her neck away. This Izzy walks with her chin up and her shoulders back.
Some of the warm feeling goes away when the Head Teacher calls her dad to come get her, and says in her stern hard voice that Izzy was yelling and cursing at another student. The Head Teacher doesn’t say that she had a reason, and makes it sound like Izzy just stood up and started cursing for no reason at all. That’s… that’s not fair. Grown-ups always do that, make it seem like kids just go off for no reason, and Izzy can’t hear what her dad says back to the Head Teacher, but a lot of the warm feeling goes away, then. Her heart feels cold and scared again.
What if he’s mad at her?
What if she can’t be sorry enough to fix it?
Izzy sits in a hard wooden chair that is shaped all wrong for kids and makes her legs hurt after a while, waiting for him to come get her with a racing heart, her book open in her lap.
There’s some brown-y red smeared on the cover, drying. She made her palms bleed when she was scared and didn’t even notice. She’ll ask her dad to buy the school library a new one. She wants to keep this one for herself.
"I have come," said a deep voice behind them. They turned and saw the Lion himself, so bright and real and strong that everything else began at once to look pale and shadowy compared with him. And in less time than it takes to breathe Jill forgot about the dead King of Narnia and remembered only how she had made Eustace fall over the cliff, and how she had helped to muff nearly all the signs, and about all the snappings and quarrellings. And she wanted to say "I'm sorry" but she could not speak. Then the Lion drew them towards him with his eyes, and bent down and touched their pale faces with his tongue, and said:
"Think of that no more. I will not always be scolding. You have done the work for which I sent you into Narnia."
"Please, Aslan," said Jill, "may we go home now?"
"Yes. I have come to bring you Home," said Aslan.
A flash of gray, worn jeans in her vision brings her slowly into awareness of the world around her, but it’s the voice that breaks her completely from the story’s spell.
“Talk to me, kiddo.”
Izzy looks up to meet her father’s eyes, surprised - she hadn’t even heard him come up. But they’re quiet movers, the Gallaghers - except for Jamie, who never had to learn to move so quiet she couldn’t hear him, who never had to push down all his sounds so deep inside himself he could go whole days without making any at all.
Her dad drops into a crouch in front of her, and his knees crack a little, but if it bothers him he doesn’t show it. He looks up at her, from this angle, and he doesn’t look mad.
He almost never looks mad at her.
“I got a call that you were fighting in class.” He looks like he’s trying not to twitch a smile at the corner of his mouth. “And using some pretty creative language.”
“Can’t imagine where I learned to curse,” Izzy says gravely, and there - that was definitely a smile on his face that he has to hide as fast as it shows. She lives for her father’s smile. Still, she closes her book, and folds her hands on top of the stain on the cover so he won’t see it. “I only yelled a little. Henry Fitzgerald was mean to me, and he was going to-... he was going to kiss a girl who didn’t want him to kiss her, even if she didn’t want him to. He said it didn’t matter if she wanted to or not.”
“Ah.” It’s all he says, at first. His face doesn’t show much, now. Her nervous heart starts to beat fast again.
“It’s, that was, um, that was before he got mean. He got mean when I told him that it’s wrong to do that and… I kind of… told everybody in class he was going to.”
Her father’s eyebrows raise, a little. “You did, did you?”
“Yes. Then he said his dad told him my mom’s in prison and that-” She stops herself, closing her hands tightly over the book, before her voice can start to shake again. She takes deep breaths, strong ones, fills her whole lungs up. Her dad waits for her, he always waits for Izzy when she needs him to. “He said, it was just, it was a stupid thing, but it made me really angry.”
Her dad’s face hasn’t changed, but Izzy knows when emotions change in a room, even without anyone’s face moving at all. She can feel that something has shifted inside him, something he’s not showing her. “What did he say?”
“That I must be awful if my mom doesn’t even want to talk to me.” She says it flat, like it doesn’t bother her at all to hear it. No big deal, it’s normal to have a mother who hates you for stealing your father even though it didn’t happen that way. “Then he said mean stuff about you, and… I was already upset, so… I kind of went off on him. I’m sorry you got called and had to come get me.”
“But you’re not sorry you did it,” He says, and it’s not a question.
She presses her lips tightly together, and shakes her head. “I’m… I’m not. He needed to be yelled at. I’m not sorry, Dad. I mean, I am sorry that you have to do anything, but, I’m not-... sorry for calling him all those names and I will put my money from my birthday in the swear jar if you want, I’ll skip tea for a week and put all my chocolates in there, but I still won’t be sorry for yelling when he was mean about you.”
He huffs a sound like quiet laughter and offers her his hands. “Izzy… I don’t care what a year three kid - or his dad - says about me. But clearly it was important to you. Let me go in there and talk to the Head Teacher about it, and we’ll talk out what happens next on our way home. Okay?”
No anger, or threatening punishments, no mention of discipline ever leaves his slightly smiling lips. Izzy is never taught through making her afraid, not anymore. But he waits, seriously, for her to acknowledge what he’s said.
“Okay, Dad. We’ll talk about what I need to do. And-... can we call Dr. Marty when we get home? I-... want to talk to Dr. Marty about what happened.”
He looks surprised, but not unhappy about it, and nods. “Yeah, kiddo. Good plan. I’ll be back out in just a bit.” When he turns to walk into the Head Teacher’s office, she thinks that even with everything, he looks very like a grown-up prince, and the rings in his ears look like shredded silver.
She lifts a hand to touch the shell of her own ear, on her left side.
Izzy opens her book, to the murmur of their voices as they talk about her. She decides to finish it later, and instead she flips back to read again the bit where the prince takes his sword to the chair that kept him under the spell and tells the evil Queen of Underland that he isn’t hers any longer.
He will go home, to his family, to be freed of her entirely, even if she still shows up in bad dreams… bad dreams are the only place she can come to, now. He’ll wake up and someone will tell him that she’s gone and she can’t come back, and it will be true. They’ll tell him, again and again, until he believes it.
Izzy will tell her dad, until he believes it.
Jax will tell her, until she believes it, too.
But first…
Prince Rilian shivered as she spoke to him. And no wonder: it is not easy to throw off in half an hour an enchantment which has made one a slave for ten years. Then, speaking with a great effort, he said:
"Madam, there will be no more need of that chair. And you, who have told me a hundred times how deeply you pitied me for the sorceries by which I was bound, will doubtless hear with joy that they are now ended for ever. There was, it seems, some small error in your Ladyship's way of treating them. These, my true friends, have delivered me. I am now in my right mind, and there are two things I will say to you…”
“Go fuck yourself,” Izzy whispers with a smile on her face and the thrill of forbidden words up her spine. She isn’t talking to Henry Fitzgerald this time, either. She never really was. “And I’m not sorry you’re not Queen anymore at all.”
I have lots of elven OCs, both city elves and Dalish elves, with names of varying degrees of "elfiness." When I first named most of my OCs, I had not given a lot of thought to their names beyond the given names they use every day. But as I have expanded my additions to BioWare's worldbuilding and added my own OC Dalish clans, I've decided I want to have a more standardized method of naming my characters beyond throwing darts at the wall and declaring "sure!". This headcanon is cobbled together from canon names, my own OC names, what we know of Dalish culture, and what I've added on top of it myself. While most of the elven words used here are from the games/the wiki, the ways I've parsed them out of longer sentences or words may not be how they were intended, and that's okay!
This also does not follow all thoughts given by BioWare writers outside of the games and other actual canon works (ie, this ignores Mary Kirby's tweets about Talas and Mahariel being additional Emerald Knights who helped found Clan Sabrae). While that's certainly one great way to conceive of Dalish names, I like the idea of more of the Dalish having more than just a given name, so I've decided to take this headcanon in a different direction.
Also, there are many other fans who have created naming customs for their own Dalish OCs and their own worldbuilding. That's great, and I love reading about those possibilities. These are simply my thoughts, informed by my own experiences!
Now, to the actual thoughts on Dalish naming customs!
Names are important to most Dalish clans to varying degrees, denoting belonging within the clan and with the larger Dalish and Elvhen world. While many humans and city elves will not have the opportunity to learn the entirety of any Dalish elf's name, most Dalish are proud to carry their names and use them in everyday conversation with other Dalish.
Commonly, Dalish names come in three parts: a given name, a parental name, and a clan name. The word for name is amelin, extrapolated from a conversation between Solas and Abelas, and different parts of the name have more specific words.
Given Name - Las'amelin
While different clans choose given names in different ways, a personal given name is a constant between clans. Known as the las'amelin (literally gift-name) and usually chosen by the parents or grandparents of a child and sometimes by the Keeper or Hahren of a clan, the given name is the primary way to identify an individual. Revealed on the ninth day of a child's life, after one day has been lived to honor each of the Creators, the las'amelin is often used to evoke a value the parents hope a child embodies or the hopes the parents have for their child.
My OC Emmalien's name is derived from the word emma, meaning within (especially within the heart), and a variation of len, child. Having a child was difficult for Emmalien's parents, who very much wanted her, and her name reflects how important her birth was to her parents.
Many clans have rules about what names can be used as given names. For some clans, naming after people who are still living is forbidden, relating to worries that such a practice may shorten the original bearer's life. In other clans, naming after living relatives is common as a method of honoring certain family members or hoping for a closer connection between people. Other clans have lists of names that are commonly used for children of the clan, others tend to name their children after known historical names, and still others have other traditions. Even within clans there are many variations on the traditions, and some parents will choose a different method of naming their children.
My Dalish Warden, Eirwen, has the same las'amelin as their father. It is common in Clan Sabrae to name children after relatives who have recently passed away to honor their memory, and Eirwen carrying their father's name was their mother's choice when they were born.
One of Clan Lavellan's hunters, Ranae, is named after the Emerald Knight Lindiranae, both to honor an elven protector and to profess a hope for Ranae's future.
Parental Name - Vallas'amelin
A common method of denoting direct lineage is the use of a patronymic (father's name) or matronymic (mother's name), known as the vallas'amelin (lit. blood-name). The continuation of the Dalish people is extremely important to most clans, and establishing whose you are is an important step in establishing who you are. While the use of at least one of these parental names is common, different clans have different methods of determining which parent's name is used, whether additional names such as grandparents' names are included, and how the relationship is denoted.
Some clans use the suffix "-iel" on the respective parent's name, which is a corruption of the word len (child/child of). This leads to parental names such as Mahariel (child of Mahar) and Istimaethoriel (child of Istimaethor). This suffix may appear in given names as well, such as Variel, either because a vallas'amelin became used as a las'amelin or because of a quirk of spelling (such as the English name Jason). Other clans simply use the parent's given name, listing it after the child's given name. Such is the case for Marethari Talas, whose mother's las'amelin was Talas.
Different clans also have different methods of determining which parent's name is passed on to a child. In some clans, all parental names are matronymics; in others they are all patronymics. Others use the name of the same-gender or cross-gender parent, and still others use both. Some also will generally use patronymics but use matronymics in situations where the child's father dies before the child's birth. When couples of the same gender have or adopt children or polyamorous families have children, the possibilities become even more complicated. Oftentimes in these cases the name of the parent who gave birth is used, even if this does not follow the standard pattern of the clan. In the case of adoption, the parents may choose of their own volition whose name to use.
My OC Ishren's name is Ishren Ghilaniel, indicating that her father's name is Ghilan, as her clan (Lavellan) traditionally uses the father's name for a child's vallas'amelin.
Every so often, multiple naming styles will appear within the same clan for other reasons as well. This can occur when someone from a different clan marries into the clan, and their children may carry the naming tradition of their parent's origin clan rather than their own origin clan. This is done to indicate that while customs may differ, all Dalish are Dalish and are welcome within each clan. This is why Mahariel and Marethari have different styles of vallas'amelin despite being from the same clan - while both clans use matronymics, Clan Sabrae simply uses the mother's given name (ie, Talas), while the clan Mahariel's mother was originally from used the -iel suffix.
Using a person's vallas'amelin to refer to them, rather than their own personal name, is a mark of respect and high esteem. This is most notable with how even other members of Clan Sabrae begin to refer to the Dalish Hero of Ferelden as Mahariel, rather than using their las'amelin. Keepers and Hahrens of clans are sometimes also given this respect, especially when referred to by those from outside their own clan. It is a mark of saying "while you are not my Keeper, you are a Keeper, and that is worthy of respect." Similarly, Keeper Deshanna of Clan Lavellan signs letters to the human Inquisition with her vallas'amelin, Istimaethoriel, rather than her las'amelin, as a mark both of requiring respect and of distancing herself from human politics.
The vallas'amelin is also used to distinguish between members of a clan who have the same given name. There may be many named Neria or Tamlen in a clan, and the lineage of the vallas'amelin helps differentiate.
While my OC Viranni Lavellan is Second to the Keeper, and as such would likely be the assumed Viranni if no other identifiers were given, she can also distinguish herself from others with the same las'amelin by identifying herself as Viranni Ghilaniel. She and Ishren, mentioned above, are sisters, so they share the same vallas'amelin.
When city elves, who do not have a vallas'amelin in the same sense as those born Dalish, join a clan, they are given a spiritual vallas'amelin when they formally become part of the clan. Oftentimes this references the Keeper of the clan when they join, as the Keeper is the one who teaches the newcomer about Dalish life and determines when they are ready to be considered an adult in Dalish eyes and receive vallaslin.
My elven Hawke, Mihrisel, joins Clan Briathos after the Inquisition. Once she is accepted into the clan, she is given the vallas'amelin Roshaniel, after Clan Briathos's Keeper.
Clan Name - Vhen'amelin
Clan names are not the same as shemlen surnames, but many Dalish elves who travel among humans will use them that way to reduce confusion and avoid humans prying into their business. Called the vhen'amelin (lit. belonging-name or people-name), this name is carried by all members of a clan regardless of bloodline. Many clan names have been passed down since the fall of the Dales from clan founders, who were often nobility or otherwise held in high esteem.
While many people will have the same vhen'amelin their whole life, many others will have more than one. People who marry into other clans, are adopted or traded between clans, or change clans for another reason will usually adopt the vhen'amelin of their new clan.
My OC Elaniel Lavellan was not born of Clan Lavellan, but of Clan Arathorn. Once they were traded as a child when Lavellan needed new mages, they began to use the vhen'amelin Lavellan rather than Arathorn.
Those who leave their clan under fraught circumstances, such as Merrill or Arianni, may not continue to use their clan name because of the heavy association of its use with the idea of belonging. Others may, to mark themselves as Dalish among humans and city elves or simply out of habit. Still others who left a clan for less fraught reasons may also differ greatly in whether they use their clan name among non-Dalish people.
Nataliya Lavellan, my city elf Inquisitor, was never fully part of Clan Lavellan and returned to the city of Rialto before receiving vallaslin. However, she uses the clan name Lavellan as a replacement for a shem surname in human and city elf spaces because she did not previously have one.
Clan names are a source of great pride for most Dalish elves, as they are a direct link to revered elves of the past and to kin of today.
Clan Records - Vhen'lin
While names are of course important for daily life, names also hold a secondary purpose in Dalish culture - that of preserving the clan and wider Dalish culture. Most clans keep extensive written records, meticulously curated by the Keeper and their Second, who serves mainly as an archivist for the clan rather than as a potential successor to the Keeper. Called vhen'lin (lit. people-writing), the clan records are an integral part of a clan’s story and history.
Even in clans that do not include grandparents' names in the everyday vallas'amelin used for identifying oneself, each member of the clan is recorded with their las'amelin and vallas'amelin for three generations (parent, grandparent, and great-grandparent). This ensures easy tracking of family lines, which reduces the possibility of accidentally marrying family members and ensures continuity of Dalish culture.
My OC Emmalien has two children, Aihris and Astith. They are of Clan Briathos, which uses the same-gender parent's name and the -iel suffix for vallas'amelin. The children are therefore listed in the clan records as Aihris Emmalieniel Lioriel Rasheliel Briathos and Astith Arathasiel Ithrieniel Calamariel Briathos.
When members who were not born into the clan join for whatever reason, they are also added to the clan's records. Their las'amelin and all vallas'amelin are recorded, and their previous vhen'amelin is prefixed with inan (was) and their new clan name prefixed with sahlin (now). City elves are recorded as inan'banal (lit. was nothing) and their new clan name is recorded with sahlin as well.
Elaniel Lavellan, the OC traded to Clan Lavellan as a child, is written in Clan Lavellan's records as Elaniel Amaris Sorin Illana inan'Arathorn sahlin'Lavellan, because their birth clan Arathorn does not use the -iel suffix for the vallas'amelin, and they have left Arathorn and become part of Lavellan.
Mihrisel Hawke, the city elf Champion who joined Clan Briathos, is recorded as Mihrisel Roshaniel inan'banal sahlin'Briathos, because she takes her vallas'amelin from Keeper Roshan, was not originally Dalish, and has joined Clan Briathos.
Reciting lineage, especially of notable people such as Keepers, is also an important part of Dalish oral tradition. Keeper lineages may be recited back farther than three generations, and individual families may be able to recite their own genealogies as well.
Many physical clan records are fragmented, especially older ones, and some have been lost due to clashes with humans over the years. Most clans are extremely protective of their records, sometimes allowing only the Keeper and Second access to them most of the time. The oral tradition is a way to ensure that the records are kept in some form even if the physical copy is lost, and even if not everyone is able to access those physical copies at all times.
Dalish names are like a map - used to orient a person in how they relate to their family, their clan, and themself, and how that interrelates with everyone else.
