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oh also ! i’m back ! low activity, but i watched the latest season all the way through and it was a TIME.

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as a tv-only fan, am i super weirded out that large parts of my zahid canon were just klaus canon all along apparently ?? yes.... i am either a genius or a moron or both and that frankly put me in a STATE

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brief life update: things are okay on my end ! i graduated, and life’s been busy with work. i’m dating a guy who wants to be a professor someday. (is he as nerdy as zahid? close.) i’m moving again soon, and i’m hoping to have more time to write. i’ll definitely be back by the release of s3 of tua and you can always reach me @wonwars <3

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it’s two a.m. on a friday, and he’ll be damned, he should be fast asleep. but as so often happens, time has an odd way of moving past midnight, rambling and crawling. zahid is no stranger to late nights, with his habit of taking work home coupled with a special talent for wasting time. he’ll call it a night.

slogging it to the hall, he’s just about to go brush his teeth when he spots a shadow, its exaggerated shape altogether too human, stretching to meet his on the ground. white light blazes unapologetically from his kitchen. his steps feathery and his back to the wall, zahid inches towards whoever’s out there. bracing himself, he steps out, ready for anything - well, almost anything.

and then he can only stop and stare because it’s simply not possible. furrowing his brow, he can’t keep himself from blurting out, “ five ? ”

for @boyancient​, volume ?, chapter 1

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“I have always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions.”

— Herman Hesse, Siddhartha (via the-book-diaries)

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i told my prof, and he’s decided that he really likes this comparison, so we’re gonna unofficially become sesame street. his wife informed him that he should be big bird, and now he wants us to suggest what the other prof should be and pick muppets for ourselves.

today was my first day as a TA and i literally had a student tell me, “ i like how fast-paced class is ! it’s like sesame street ! ” is this what zahid saw when he was a TA and in grad school

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today was my first day as a TA and i literally had a student tell me, “ i like how fast-paced class is ! it’s like sesame street ! ” is this what zahid saw when he was a TA and in grad school

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it’s weird how british people say “lift” instead of “elevator” and how my dad says “you are a disappointment” instead of “i love you”

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Riz Ahmed

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when u get close to someone n u just think ‘i wonder when they will leave’ and ‘it’s gonna rly hurt when they do’

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he knows what’s being asked of him before klaus even speaks – and the answer has always, always been the same.

“ yeah. ”

crouching beside klaus, he lays a gentle hand on his brother’s forehead. beneath his palm, as he eases the pounding in his head, he feels the frenetic energy of klaus’ body struggling to relearn itself, to find a way to stand up and fight without poison in its tank.

he heaves a hell of a sigh. how many headaches must klaus have had like this ? how many without zahid there to take away the pain ? in a low voice, edged with a doubt he’s kept sheathed for so long, he asks, “ you’re serious about beating it this time? ”

he doesn’t do this anymore. he doesn’t save people because individuals are disappointing: humans are fragile and break in a million different ways. no matter how well he fixes someone in that moment, there’s never any guarantee that it’ll last. he’s seen it too many times. there’s something selfish in him that holds him back because he’s not ready to add klaus to that long list of people he couldn’t save.

“ i can’t just make it go away. addiction is complicated, ” he cautions, his hand dropping to rest tentatively on klaus’ forearm. “ i can fix the physical part, but the mental part is going to have to stay for now. that’s on you. ”

a few heartbeats pass - he knows it, hearing the rhythms of his heartbeat and klaus’, out of sync, each with their own tempo, but nonetheless the same instrument - before he speaks again and there’s a new resolve, despite the uncertainty. “ so are we doing this ? ”

and he’s sure now: if klaus will walk this road with him, zahid won’t make him do it alone. they’ll share it, the way they shared everything ( both good and bad ) when they were kids.

@heheals​ sent: “ sometimes , before it gets better , the darkness gets bigger . ”

     His brother’s voice is nothing more than a distant whisper, drowned out by the violent waves of bloodflow surging to his head with each painful pulse. Trembling hands rub over his face, pressing  a HELLO and GOODBYE pressing into his sockets in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure behind his eyes as he sits hunched over on the floor. He’s been through withdrawal enough times to know that he’s in the worst of it now, and like his brother so kindly points out, it will only get worse before it gets better. 

     He knows all this, and yet, he feels more shattered, more raw and completely hopeless than he’s ever felt before. Perhaps it’s because his body’s not what it used to be (he did die, after all), or perhaps it’s the impossibly heavy emotional baggage of trying to get clean while he’s back at the epicenter of his childhood trauma, where the ghosts are always the loudest.

     “I know.” He eventually croaks, head rolling to the side as he stares at Zahid with big, glassy eyes. 

      It should be noted that Klaus Hargreeves does not ask for help. Like the rest of his siblings, Klaus was raised to be the hero, the one that swoops in to save the day, not another common damsel in distress. And despite his reputation as a shameless beggar, a manipulative junkie only leeching money so that he can get his next fix, Klaus knows the real reason he’s never asked is because he doesn’t deserve it.  He was never meant for salvation, and he’d made his peace with that long ago. With nothing but the clothes on his back, he might as well go out with a shred of dignity. All in all, Klaus Hargreeves is too proud, too independent and self-serving to ever ask for help. 

     And yet. 

     “Please, can you just…can you…”

     The question goes unfinished but he knows his brother knows the rest. Heal me, please, make me whole, take away the pain, help me remember what it feels like to exist without misery. 

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Anyone get that “my childhood was stolen and it’s not fair” kind of angry

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in the past 24 hours i have: - accidentally bumped into a close childhood friend who i haven’t seen in 4+ years - met this random guy for the second time ( i apparently knew him 7 years ago but i don’t remember him and i’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember me lol )

it’s been a very kind day to me in terms of old faces.

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here’s a twitter thread of charities related to colon cancer that you can donate to in honor of chadwick boseman (x)

here’s a suicide hotline for if any of you are in need of immediate support (x)

please take care of yourselves and your friends tonight everyone

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“                PLEASE, 

𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞,

                                                 will you  ?             

                                                                                               ”

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once, when he was a kid, zahid wanted to be a doctor. with his ability to heal, some of the difficulties that plagued the job would be trivial. he would never lose a patient, and there would never be anything he couldn’t treat. 

it had felt like a calling.

but like everyone else, he’d been made to grow up, and that dream lost its sheen before he took his first steps into adulthood. the reality of his power is its chief limitation: what good is it to be able to cure only such a small, finite number of people ? he chose to go into science to bring healing to as many people as possible, to make it beyond himself.

and yet here he stands, like the bleeding heart that he is, in an unfamiliar hallway filled with warm, yellow light. his gaze flits over framed pictures, most of them featuring a blond little boy, his smile cheeky and bright as he rides his father’s shoulders and rides his tricycle. shifting his weight, he turns to the man next to him. with his arms crossed, he asks quietly, “ why am i here, dmitry ? ”

for @russicnrat​ from a starter call

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