#(but i've been editing it for too long and i've now become numb to it)

[lvlyghost]

Hello do you take requests cause I had this idea in my mind but I suck in writing

how bout a ghost x reader where he had a bad day and takes it out on his beloved reader who he's been in a really long relationship with, by starting an argument and maybe saying some really mean and bad things that break the reader. Like the reader is only a shell of herself and completely ruined by ghosts words and just crying or sitting completely still staring off the wall or just staring at nothing just being numb.

What would be interesting is Simons reaction when he realizes the damage that he's done, maybe he would cry/break down idk when he sees the usually happy reader being so dull and almost lifeless yk

But Pleasee don't do this to our hearts and write some comfort and a happy ending please I couldn't handle too much angst❤️😭

The Weight of the World

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SUMMARY: You promised to always lean on each other but sometimes love isn't enough.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

TW: heavy angst, literally got some mid anxiety writing this🥴 swearing, self-doubt, hurt-comfort and slight fluff towards the end. lmk if i missed any.

A/N: finished this in one sitting lol, also not proofread and poorly edited, i've been having a shitty week so expect more angst lol. meet me in therapy. Enjoy anon!🤍🌟🫶🏻💕

Masterlist✨

You hesitate right outside Simon's studio, the place where he secludes himself from everything and everyone. Ever since he came from his last mission he seemed to be on the edge constantly. The usual softness that he reserved specifically for you was... absent.

Still you wouldn't let that stop you from approaching; having dating him for a few years now let you know so much of that. You knew when he was hurting. When he was sad, angry, jealous or even happy. Little to no people could say that.

Somehow this was different. He wasn't even letting you in, constantly keeping you at arms length and that hurt. How were you supposed to get to him this time? Get him to talk to you?

To look at you again with that same glint in his eyes, the spark that you ignited in him and that won't fade away even years after.

The sound of a chair creaking startles you, the same time the timer in the kitchen goes off. You walk back, turning the oven off, and sticking out the apple pie you so happily baked for both with hopes that you'll get him loosen a bit that dark cloud that's been looming over Simon these past few days.

The door of his studio is yanked open the heavy stomp of his boots resonating across the small apartment you two share, then his bulky frame appears just to grab the keys to his black motorcycle.

"Simon!" You call him, burning your hand in the process. He stills halfway through the living room, waiting for you to say something else. Wetting a cloth hurriedly and wrapping it around the burnt skin.

"I made something for us... maybe," standing behind him you leave a reasonable space between the two. You swallow down hard. "Thought we could have it together and just, you know spend...-"

"I don't have time for that now." His voice is cold and monotone. "Don't wait for me."

"But Si-" he turns on his heels, eyes hard and unyielding. He approaches slowly, making you gulp. "What's gotten into you, Simon?" You fight back the tears, this was the man you loved so dearly, the man you knew loved you back; there was a reason for the golden engagement ring on your left hand. "I..-"

"Fucking hell would you stop that? Please just..." he notices the wetness in your eyes. "I can't do this. Not anymore."

"Whatever it is I promise we can work it out together!" your lips quivered. "Just talk to me!"

"I don't need to talk about anything girl!" He seethes, one finger pointing at you. "Think some cheap counseling with you will make things right? Bloody hell no. Neither some homemade bread, this isn't fucking working and it won't until you learn how the bloody world works."

It breaks your heart into a tiny million pieces, breathing becomes a challenge and the injury in your hand can no longer be felt. Simon's words were worse than any physical pain. Where was the man you loved? The man who used to lift you up and kiss you on the forehead? The man whose hands couldn't stop roaming your body late at night? The man who'd helped you reach out for things he probably put away in the highest shelf so you'd ask for help. That same man that had proposed to you no long ago, right before he was deployed to a special op God knows where. The fabric of his mask moves when he keeps talking but you don't listen. You can't. Just like you can't stop the tears dribbling down your cheeks and the tremble of your hands. Simon's jaw clenched, brows furrowed as he takes a step back and leaves.

You walk sluggishly to where the dessert awaits. It's when your knees buckle that you finally let out a loud cry.

-

Simon knows he isn't a good man. He's done quite questionable things that he could never say out loud. He knows he's fucked in so many ways. But he also knows that there's one thing that kept him from spiraling further down into an abyss of death and self-loathing.

You.

The woman he decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The girl that didn't care about his past, the bad moments and his complicated persona. You who would selflessly love him without asking for something in return. What had you seen in him in first place? Even now after three years he can't wrap his head around the fact that he has someone who waits for him.

Simon knows how much he loves you, but what he doesn't know is how—or in what earth—he deserves every part of you.

You've been avoiding him ever since that horrible night. Words he can't take back. Looks that haunt him every time he closed his eyes. He hears you cry when you go to sleep or when you're taking a shower. Muffled sobs and wails that will come for him until the day he dies.

You avoid him like a plague, when he walks in. After all he's the one to blame. He wanted to ask you to tear him apart maybe that'd feel less painful.

The last remaining of sanity that was left in him came crashing down when he began to notice how you stared off in a haze, numbly looking at the window. He was losing you. Destroyed the one good thing he had. So, a few days later, despite his own demons. Despite the things that broke him all irreparably during the last mission in Moscow, he comes to find you. Sucking in a sharp breath as his eyes set on your left hand.

The engagement ring was gone, forgotten someplace unknown. Simon felt the panic wrenching his guts.

It's all on him.

He whispers your name, calls you softly. Slowly sitting in front of you, the coffee table creaks under his weight. Words get caught in his throat.

"May I take your hand?" He pleads, not getting an answer. Simon sighs, lowering his head as silent reigns yet again. "I don't deserve you." He murmurs, eyes bored into the floor. "I... I ruin everything I touch. Just never thought I'd ruin my girl."

Your eyes flutter shut, wet tears clinging to your eyelashes. Simon watches as you stand and leave without a word, he follows close behind to your shared room.

"Love..."

"Don't call me that!" the hurt in your voice... the resentment in your eyes, he's earned it.

Simon reaches out for your arm, grabbing you firmly but gently, mindful not to harm you.

"Right I deserve that." If there's one thing Simon regrets it's being the reason that your eyes no longer shine. "What I said... what happened I...-"

Shaking your head and biting down your lip.

"You never gave me the chance, I thought we said we'd always find a way."

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry baby." in an instant he's pulling you close, although you want to push him away, scream at him, slap him for the calvary he made you go through. "I'm not good with words, and I'm no good person." You feel his body shaking with anxiety as your eyes widen in shock. "I tried... I can't forgive myself for my mistakes."

"Simon..." he hushed you, cradling your head with his big hand. "I can't sleep knowing I can't protect you from what's out there, couldn't bloody protect that kid in Moscow, or my family."

You guide him to the bed, sitting down side by side and holding onto each other.

"Said I would always be with you Simon, why the hell did you push me away?! Have I not given my everything to you? We promised to always make it work!" He grabs your face staring intently into your eyes. "What happened there?"

He blinks, deciding how much to say. There was no need for you to know the entirety of it. He wanted to shield you from the horrors of this world, and he would as long as he lived.

"A young lad whose life's was cut short because I wasn't there on time. How can I come back to you, be happy when someone else just lost their kid..."

"That wasn't on you! Simon Riley you stop that now." He inhales, cinnamon and vanilla flooding his senses. It's you all of you. "Stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. We do that together, yeah?" Your chest hurts from how hard it's beating. "You've done far so much. You won't lose me."

A rumble in the sky and cars passing by outside your home is all you hear. Brown eyes like honey stare back into your soul.

"You took it off..."

"I burnt my hand, it wasn't healing properly. And you know what?" He quirks a brow. "It wasn't homemade bread. It was an apple pie, you silly."

"You'll never forgive me for that one won't you?" He doesn't chuckle but the air feels lighter.

"No. Probably won't." Simon takes your burnt hand bringing it to his lips, they're soft against the marred skin.

"But we're still getting married, yeah?" He asks.

You smile fondly, humming when he kisses your forehead, tears have now dried.

"Yeah. We're still getting married."

[imherongraystairstrash]

Hii would you ever consider writing a small piece of gabrily comforting Alex after one of the nightmares after what Tatiana did to him? Like them ushering him to bed with them and trying to make him feel better

Helloo! I wish I could write small pieces, but I always have too many ideas! I've been wanting to write this one for a while, but time is scarce these days lol

Anyway, I thankfully found a second in between study sessions to get this written! I don't have time to edit it well, so I hope there aren't too many mistakes:

Late nights

It was nights like these that hurt Cecily the most. The nights when she would suddenly open her eyes, wide awake. At first, the lively feeling that would course through her veins would invoke great confusion, because of how unused to it she was. Then, of course, she would be attacked by an overwhelming flood of memories. Memories that reminded her of why her daily disposition was a fusion between numbness and agony. Why her days were now painted gray; why her heart felt so heavy in her chest; why she was always on the brink of falling apart, as if her life was held up by a single string that was just waiting to become undone. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Though, if Cecily was being perfectly honest, most nights were like these. She turned to steal a glance at Gabriel. He was fast asleep, laying on his stomach, his forearms curled under his pillow. Despite everything, Cecily smiled softly at him, the way it was impossible to not smile at someone who cast a light upon your darkest shadows. Cecily turned on her side, hugging her blankets to her chest. 

“My Gabriel Lightwood,” she whispered quietly, “how long I had been waiting in the darkness for your light.”

That brought more tears to her eyes, because she didn’t know how to compensate for the darkness her darling Christopher’s absence had left. And neither did Gabriel. They were both so incredibly hollow, so filled with grief, it was difficult to imagine how they could possibly recover when there was nothing holding them together.

Cecily thought back to when her parents had died. The way she collapsed into Gabriel’s arms, the way he held her up and stroked her back gently, murmuring sweet words into her ear. Or when Jesse had died, and Gabriel looked to her for comfort. Only now, neither stood on solid enough ground to be able to hold the other up, and they suffered for it. 

Cecily turned her gaze away from Gabriel and instantly felt cold all over once more. She fought the urge to look at him again, knowing that the more she looked, the more she’d want to inch towards him and bury herself in the comfort of his arms. Gabriel would hold her without complaint, but Cecily could never live with herself for being so selfish, disturbing Gabriel from his rare, peaceful slumber, because her heart felt like it was being stabbed with each breath she took.

So she directed her gaze in the opposite direction, to avoid temptation. That’s when she caught sight of two round, dark blue eyes peering at her from the edge of her bed. She gasped, holding a hand to her chest.

“Alexander,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “Bach, I didn’t see you there.”

Alexander looked sheepishly at her. “I’m sorry, Mam. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Cecily shook her head, forcing her lips to curl up in what she hoped was a comforting smile as she sat up and reached for her baby.

She settled him on her lap. From here, she could see the pure terror in his eyes as they darted to and fro, his plaid parlor, the way he trembled in her arms.

“Alex bach,” she said softly, stroking his raven hair, “What is the matter? Did you have a bad dream?” 

Alex blinked rapidly, his eyes filling with unshed tears. Cecily felt her already wounded heart break even further. 

“Oh darling, don’t fret,” She said as she pulled him into a loving embrace, tucking his head under her chin. “I’ll always be here. I’ll always protect you.”

Alex only trembled in her arms. Cecily knew to hold him until the initial shock of his nightmare subsided and she did just that, rubbing his small back as he clung to her.

As she held her son, Cecily thought about how small he was in her arms, how delicate. Ever since Christopher, she couldn’t stop thinking about how fragile life is. How it can slip away from your grasp like water, before you have time to realize it. And here, she had a small, fragile and trembling life wrapped around her arms. So she held him tight, she kissed the top of his head and rocked him back and forth, because she will never know when it’ll be the last time. Because she never got to hold her other baby one last time before saying goodbye, and now she never will. 

Alex’s fear seemed to reseed; Cecily pulled away and looked into his dark blue eyes; the same eyes her mother had had. She brushed a lock of his raven hair away from his face. 

“All better?” She asked with a smile.

Alex nodded quickly, though he still seemed a bit skittish. 

“Mam?” He said in a quiet voice. 

“Yes, bach?” 

“Can you come with me to my room?” he asked, sheepishly. “Only for a tiny bit?”

Cecily smiled at him, “Of course, cariad.”

…

Gabriel’s intuition told him that Cecily wasn’t asleep beside him before he opened his eyes. This, naturally, sent an initial shock of fear coursing through his veins, before he was able to rationalize that it was most likely because she was with Alexander. 

Even so, Gabriel was quick to get out of the bed and make his way down the hall to his son’s room. Sure enough, he heard his wife’s soft voice lulling from their youngest son’s room. Just across from Alexander’s room was Christopher’s. Gabriel lingered by the shut door, pressing his palm against its wooden surface. He closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer for his oldest son before continuing to Alex’s room.

He saw Cecily and Alex laying beside each other, Alex pressed close to Cecy’s side. When they noticed Gabriel’s presence, they both startled and pressed closer to each other.

“Relax,” Gabriel said, holding his hands up in surrender, “It’s only me; I come in peace.”

Cecily snorted. “You can’t sneak up on us like that in the middle of the night. You scare us half to death.” 

“You’re shadowhunters,” Gabriel protested, climbing onto the bed. “You should be prepared for these sorts of things.” he said, winking at Alex, who grinned at his father.

“You should be thankful I wasn’t prepared, Gabriel Lightwood, or you would have a knife lodged in your chest.”

Gabriel frowned at her. They tease each other, but in reality, Gabriel hated to think that neither Alex nor Cecily were able to feel entirely safe in their own home. It sent an unsettling feeling through him. 

Alex interrupted Gabriel’s train of thought with a loud yawn. His blue-eyed gaze was lined with exhaustion from sleepless nights.

“I think it’s well past someone’s bedtime.” Cecily said, her voice falling into the lull of a pronounced Welsh accent, the same one that she’d had when Gabriel had first met her. After years of living in Idris and London, she’d lost most of it, but it did make its occasional reappearance when Cecy was especially tired or when she’d had one too many glasses of wine. “I’ll finish the story and we can…”

She trailed off as she caught sight of Alex who had fallen into a peaceful slumber at some point between that moment and his yawn. 

“It seems he’s one step ahead of you.” Gabriel said pointedly. 

Cecily nodded slowly.

They both watched Alex sleep before Gabriel broke the silence. “We should probably go back to bed.”

Cecily nodded, but made little effort to move, until Gabriel sat up. She slowly detangled Alex from her arm and arranged the blankets over him carefully. Gabriel watched as she went through the motions of a practiced mother tucking her child to sleep. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on the top of his head and paused to look at her son a little longer before moving to join Gabriel. 

He put his arm around her and hugged her tight to his chest as Cecily rested her head against his shoulder.

They both lingered by Alex’s doorway, not quite wanting to leave him alone. 

“He’ll be alright,” Cecily said, firmly. She stepped into the hall, took a sharp intake of breath. “Bother, I forgot my slippers beside Alex’s bed.” 

“I’ll get them.” Gabriel said. 

Cecily seemed like she was about to protest, but was too tired to do so. Gabriel smiled to himself as he bent down to pick up the slippers. When he straightened, he lightly stroked Alex’s raven curls and whispered a goodnight to his son before going back to Cecily. Except, she wasn’t by the doorway anymore. 

As Gabriel left the room, he saw her standing in her white nightgown with her dark, wavy hair tumbling down her back, curling at the tips in front of Christopher’s room.

She must have opened the door; it sent a pang through Gabriel’s chest to see everything exactly as Christopher had left it. As if the room defied time. 

“I keep thinking he’ll come back.” Cecily said as Gabriel came to stand beside her. “That he’s at Charlotte and Henry’s house and he’ll come back at any moment and we’ll say ‘Christopher, where were you? We were worried sick!’ and he’ll say that he was only doing science, and that he wasn’t gone that long, and it’ll be one of those memories that are terrible in the moment, but later become something you recall on a whim and laugh at over dinner.” 

Gabriel blinked, before suddenly feeling the urge to do something before he went crazy. He bent down in front of Cecy, lifting her foot gently to slip on her slipper. Cecily rested a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t look up at her until he’d slipped on the other slipper. 

When he did look up, he was faced with Cecily’s eyes, that always spoke louder than any words.

“Gabriel,” She said, gently. “You don’t have to be strong in front of me. Let yourself be vulnerable.” She put a delicate hand to his cheek. “You can let it all go. You’re safe with me.”

Gabriel took a deep breath and straightened. “I know, Cecy.” He pulled her close to him and kissed her temple. “I know.”

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[newhologram]

10 whole years ago, Cleo died and my world came crashing down. My mental and physical health tanked, with 6 new diagnoses within a year. I dropped out of acting class, and auditions and set work came to a screeching halt for a while. For years, it took me hours each day to get out of bed. I had to navigate disability and illness in young adulthood alone, with those closest to me telling me what a burden I was because I was too sick to work full time and move out. So I forced myself to work multiple jobs even when I was in and out of the ER and constant appointments (like I still am today) when I really should've been resting and taking care of my body. I was in constant burn-out, throwing up in secret at work, because the feeling of shame and being a useless loser being put upon me was so great, I felt like if I didn't "earn" being alive, that I shouldn't be alive at all. I felt completely worthless.

I almost didn’t survive the past 10 years. But I did, and I don’t think any of it made me “stronger." But it did teach me a lot that I'm glad I can use to help others. I'm proud of how far I've come and I like the person I've become. But I don't think suffering in isolation like that or enduring abuse is necessary to make us strong; we should be there for each other, not turning away from another's suffering out of discomfort (that's selective empathy and it kills). This path was like being put through a spiritual meat grinder and it forced me to make a lot of “cuts” to who is allowed access to me. It showed me what my family really thinks of me and which friends were real friends. 4 years ago, on the 6th anniversary of Cleo's death, I brought Ashley and Maxwell home. It was a beautiful way to bring things full circle and that feeling is even stronger now. It's hard to reconcile that 10 years went by because I couldn't see myself living past my 20's in this same sort of situation: at home, disabled, too sick to follow my dreams. I feel like a ghost, or a misplaced collection of memories put into a body and a life that I can't always identify with. Especially after last year, with over a hundred appointments, so many tests, and being monitored for multiple different kinds of cancer while on ketamine therapy... That was a new sort of trauma that has given me a strange mixed sense of numbness and freedom. Somehow I've come back around to a piece of myself that was lost in trying to be "something" or "not a waste/burden" 10 years ago, when this started. Now I can just be. There will always be more that I want to do with myself in this world, dreams that I want to make real, creative ambitions to fulfill. There is so much medical care I need but can't access in this broken country. For me, there will always be depressive or CPTSD relapses to recover from, agonizing chronic illness flare-ups to manage, new medications to try. But ultimately, happiness is simple. It's sitting here on a rainy morning with Maxwell asleep next to me and Ashley running around with her favorite toy. It's taking a nap after editing videos or enduring stressful doctor appointments. It's long baths to help with the pain and playing video games after. The only thing to do is to live. There is no "wasting" when you're having fun, even with these apparent "little things." I'm grateful to Cleo for her love, and for the things I learned losing her as well as losing Opie and Jeremy. I'm grateful to Blue, Ashley, and Maxwell for teaching me again, or maybe for the first time, the simple contentedness of just being alive.

[philosophicalparadox]

Let's have fun with feelings!

Originally I was going to submit this for the 12 days of Casca event, but it just didn't seem to fit most of the prompts, and its really angsty, so eh 🤷

EDIT: it's been updated with what will probably be the final version of this scene, and the official title of the fic. I finally had enough chapters compiled to come up with a fitting title. :) I've also trimmed it down via line break so it's not wall-o-text on my poor followers feed. It's a few character-thought paragraphs longer though I must say.

Anyway, have a scene/chapter from the WIP I keep changing the name of - now officially called Never Sleep Alone. I've tossed around with a title for this for a while but that one's sticking for now. Sums up the theme pretty well. :p

Slightly NSFW; nothing too overtly sexy but there's a hurt/comfort-sex vibe and implications thereof.

Pairing: Griffith x Casca - Almost. :) Underpinnings of Griffith x Guts. Griffith is Confused with a capital C.

Context: this is a Griffith-stops-Guts-from-leaving fic, and this scene happens when Casca seeks Griffith out after events on the hill, before he can get into trouble with Charlotte...or anyone else, in theory. Buuuuut.....well. That's not quite how Griffith works, unfortunately.

NOTE: Braies are the medieval equivalent of underwear.

Enjoy!

Casca knew where he was headed; she didnt have to think as her feet studiously brought her before the Noble-quarters Griffith was staying in whilst in Wyndam on behalf of the king while his own manor received it's reconstruction. It was in a high-brow neighborhood of course, a light reddish tint to the White wash on Griffith's dwelling making it distinct from the other town-homes on either side of it.

Casca moved without much thought or consideration as she went through the motions of inviting herself inside. It had been a long, confusing, emotional evening, and if she was this strung out, she knew Griffith was at least twice as bad.

The housekeep were polite and understanding, though they seemed at once quite unsettled, though she could only guess at why. One of them, a swarthy, sun kissed old woman, did remark briefly that they had heard him "moving things about" upstairs, and that when he had let himself in earlier, he seemed very pensive and hadn't said a word to anyone. Casca wasn't sure she knew what they meant by "moving things around", but she wasn't sure of a lot of things right now, except that Griffith, despite successfully disarming Guts - and nearly taking his leg in the process - had to be hurting right now. In fact, she quite confidently knew he was struggling right now. How he was dealing with it, like so many things tonight, she was not sure of; but she recognised when her instincts were trying to tell her something, and right now they were telling her to go to him, before he did something he would regret.

If there was one thing she knew about Griffith better than anyone, it was his tendency to act out or become some flavor of weird and reclusive when he felt down. Often that manifested as shutting himself in his tent for two days, barely eating a thing; sometimes it meant he would take a long walk by himself or ride away to some unknown place for a few hours. Other times she would come upon him dressed down to his braies, shivering himself into sensibility by letting the cold numb him. She tried not to disturb him too much when he was like this, unless she thought he was hurting himself too badly; and she would have let him alone tonight. But she had a feeling, deep in her gut, that he would end up doing exactly that if she didn't keep an eye on him.

"Griffith?" She called, rapping her knuckles on his bedroom door. "It's Casca. I just...wanted to see how you're doing. Make sure you're okay." She struggled with the words in her mouth as though they were chewed fat, sticky and awkward. A few moments passed, and in the time there was not a sound to be heard from the other side of the door. She went to tap the wood again with the back of her hand, but stopped when he finally responded.

"Come here." He called back quietly, his voice surprisingly even, though he sounded a little raspy. Casca paused, her intuition finding some issue with the invitation. It wasn't the stunning formality she was used to, and though that made her happy on some level, that he would drop the ruse to invite her in, it also heightened her concern. She shook the nerves away and opened the door - to find a sight she'd of better assumed to be the work of a determined house theif than the man before her.

Papers were strewn about everywhere, his desk where they had presumably been settled was wildly ajar, it's fresh-scuffed surface betraying the violence with which it was put into that position, with drawers shuddered open and edges chipped and notched. A simple, long dagger stood glinting from its splintered top, and suddenly the notches and scratches in its leading edge made a cold kind of sense. Even the curtain on his bed was ripped from its stays and had clearly been mutilated by the very same blade. 'Moving things about indeed' she surmised - but the idea was far from amusing. Instead a heavy dread settled into her gut like a stone, recognizing the handiwork of rage and pain that she would have never presumed her commander capable in this disaster of a room; she hated herself for it, but she'd of been lying if she said it didn't intimidate her, on a subconscious level. She'd never seen Griffith lose his temper, not ever, so seeing such a wanton display - accentuated by the dagger, plunged so deep into the wood he'd of had to throw his whole weight atop it - definitely scared her.

"Don't." Griffith broke the stiff, heavy silence with a small plea. "Don't be frightened of me." He looked up at her from where he stood, braced against the window ledge with his hands, his body awkwardly slumpy and clearly tired - it wasn't until then that Casca noticed that, in spite of how level he sounded, he was just as much of a wreck as the room. Young bruises and a few scrapes of blood coloured his knuckles, vivid against his milky skin. He had on his neck the faintest flush of pink and a thin veneer of sweat, and his breathing was more ragged than it sounded. But it was his eyes that truly gave him away - fading signs of bloodshot eyes and a wavering, barely-focused view told her stories of tears that had since dried and retreated from view.

And she understood, in that moment, how deeply she had underestimated his attachment - and maybe affection - to Guts.

Her thoughts were swirling. 'I knew something happened between them. Guts was so determined - and, like it or not, he was always going to win that fight. He was always going to win - you don't have the strength to best him anymore, and you both knew that; hell, if I knew that, then so did you, right? But he didn't win - why? Was it the look in your eyes when he was making the final blow? Did you show him the depth of your feelings? On accident? On purpose? Why?' Casca didn't know. But she understood - and that is what he needed right now.

Someone to understand. Someone who wouldn't judge him for the sin of being in love with the wrong person. Someone who could embrace him in spite of it. Just like before, just like that time in the river after...that, had happened.

Or, at least that's what she thought he needed.

Casca didn't have time to offer words or gesture. "Oof! What? - " she was caught off guard when Griffith suddenly threw himself at her, gathering her tightly in his arms - so tight she could barely breathe. Initially she was frightened - but his embrace was too gentle to hurt her, however hard he was squeezing, and he wasn't making any moves to lay her open or some such.

On one hand, she was pleasantly surprised; but her gut, which had been very talkative this evening, told her something was very wrong here. Griffith never initiated things like this, not with her - not with anyone that she knew of, not even Guts. A slow, semi-painful squeeze forced the air from her lungs completely and distracted her from her thoughts for a moment; but it was over as quick as it started, and he let go of her just enough to lean back and look at her face, searching for something Casca didn't know how to identify. He was always so clandestine. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of that was innate and how much he did it on purpose.

"Please," Griffith pleaded, a vague, distant, and if Casca were guessing right, jaded look in his pale eyes. "Don't be frightened of me. I am far more dangerous to myself right now than you." Casca's heart dropped at the confession, still too breathless to form a response, or even think of one. Her breath then stopped completely, heart flying unceremoniously into her throat, when Griffith's hand trailed feather-light upon her cheek, his eyes taking a darker, more subdued hue. His long, pale lashes glinted in the lamp light, and Casca felt her whole upper body flush with what was no doubt a ruddy blush.

"I want you." He breathed, bringing their faces so close she could have counted the lashes on his half-closed eyes. His hand then rested, open palmed but still so light, so gentle, upon her warming cheek. "I want you to be brave, Casca. Can you do that?" He whispered, leaning toward her other ear. She felt their cheeks brush just barely and couldn't resist a gasp as her lungs gave out from their neglect. "Can you be brave for me?" His voice held an undeniably seductive lilt this time, and Casca abruptly realised the darkish look she hadn't then recognised to be one she'd seen easily a thousand times - just not on his face. Never on his face.

"I don't...understand?" She defended weakly, her breath suddenly returning to her in heavy gasps, pulling away from him on reflex. But his arms held her fast in place, and at once pulled her closer; he then buried his face in her shoulder and neck, breathing deeply. Casca was horribly confused, and habitually a little bit scared, but her reflex to push him away left when she felt him tremble. It was slight, and if she hadn't of been looking for something like that to offer explanation to the situation, she'd of probably missed it. But it was there, a tiny, barely perceptible shaking in his shoulders that shuddered through him to his nose and jaw where he pressed them to her skin.

She didn't fight him when they started moving, a cautious curiosity feeding strange ideas in her mind as he led her to the exposed edge of his bed. When the corner pressed into the back of her thigh, suddenly she felt sparks. Was this happening? She seen him draw back and pause for a moment, before bringing up his hand to guide her face to his, silently asking permission, she presumed. She did not deny him, and met his soft, warm and surprisingly dry mouth with a mixture of elatement and apprehension.

She knew then that he didn't mean her harm, and once that was established, it was like nothing else mattered. Her mind went peacefully blank, offering him whatever it was he was asking from her - she would be his anything if it meant he went back to normal. If it meant she could be helpful. If it made her more than a sticky thorn in his side. She knew - she could sense his annoyance with her at times, could sense the shift in his disposition when he was trying to shield his emotions from her. But this... this was new. This was different. This was Griffith, in his purest, rawest form. And she wasn't going to give him any reason why he shouldn't show her more of this side of him, a side he so desperately needed to share with somebody.

Or, that was the plan, anyway.

He reached down to twine his hands with hers, kissing her neck gently, cautiously. She had no idea where this was meant to be going, but she did not resist. It wasn't worth it to resist - though if it was fear forcing that feeling upon her, it didnt make itself known. She was both calm and restless. She was elated, but also felt defeated, somehow. Like he had just won a fight she had not realised they were having.

The speed at which the kiss escalated surprised but did not disappoint her - she had always wondered why it was men blathered on about the 'taste' of a person, but she kinda understood it now; as did she understand why the previously gross notion of having someone else's tongue in her mouth was such a celebrated win among the rookies. He seemed to have a degree of skill in this endeavor, winding and twining his tongue in hers, though she dare not think how he may have acquired such experience. Their soft tongues tasted and tested each other curiously, and Casca wondered for a moment if all men tasted like this or if it was unique to him. She'd of liked to prefer the latter.

Upon meeting, Casca suddenly felt his possible intention pressing into the hollow of her hip, and a flutter of anxiety struck her like a dull sword in the chest - but it was very swiftly overwhelmed by the excitement growing from below, which roared from a dull possibility into a very different sense of reality, of proximity, as her body seemed to instinctively know what that was and what she wanted it to do to her.

She did not get much longer to ponder though before a much firmer hand than had previously touched her found the crook of her thigh below her butt, and lifted her the short distance onto the bed. It was a jarring experience, enough to break their kiss momentarily, and in nearly the same motion, he gently leaned onto her, using the hand that had been cradling her face and neck to push her back by the waist until she lied down. Before she could mutter an utterance, their lips - and tongues - resumed their business as if there had been no interruption. His hands, freed of the need to prevent her escaping, apparently, now wandered to all but her most sensitive places, tracing gentle, sensual shapes up her sides, tracing dashed lines up and down her outer thigh. It was exhilarating.

He then quite abruptly used both hands on her buttox to move her upward, higher on the bed - bringing his own hips along with, and meeting her own with a small sigh that escaped somehow between them.

She could not resist a soft moan when he moved from her lips finally to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the corner of her jaw as he simultaneously held her arms down gently beside her head, pulling back so he could push his sex into hers, pressing just until the pressure seemed it might tear through their clothes. She reacted with a tremble, sliding her legs up his flanks before entwining them around him, pulling him closer, tighter, asking for something she had, to his knowledge, never known.

He stopped, then. Froze, to be more precise - a stiff statue of his formerly passionate self. Casca looked up at him, bitterly confused, but became concerned instead when she seen the ghost of pain on his face. It wasn't physical pain, though - no, he was still pressing into her, still stiff as wood - no, this was another pain entirely, and Casca honestly understood none of it.

"You don't want this." He said morosely, with a bizzare form of authority. He turned his face away from her then, trying to hide his expression, which nonetheless betrayed the key to this sudden interruption - shame. "You don't want me to treat you like this." He half-whipsered, jaw going tight and arms stiffened from restraint.

Casca was a little dazed. "Wh- yes, I do. I would have stopped you otherwise."

"No, you wouldn't, and we both know it." He said starkly. Those words struck something in her then, sending her heart racing with - what was that? Fear? No. Panic? Why? Because she was losing her chance? Because he was now backing away from her, moving across the room with hanging head to sit as unceremoniously as she'd ever seen him sit onto the chair beside his desk? Because he was rejecting her, again? Because she wasn't good enough, again? Why then? Why offer her a taste if he was just going to rip it away like that? For what? His pride?

"Griffith, I -"

Casca desperately wanted to cry, to scream, to be angry and hurt - and she was. But the words Griffith next spoke offered respite, first in the form of feeling doubly offended, making her anger overshadow her pain for a moment: "You don't want me to treat you like a whore." He said firmly, folding in on himself.

... and then in the form of feeling a wave of regret pass over her for it, for he uttered softly, a moment later, "...I would know."

His bruised and bloody knuckles tightened around his shirt on his upper arms, a familiar coping behavior that Casca immediately recognised - and understood precisely what he meant. And it shattered any resolve she might've had to be angry at him for rejecting her.

"You should go." He interrupted. It was not phrased as a suggestion. "I...need to be alone, for a while."

Casca felt lost. One minute, they were breaths away from taking their clothes off, then she wanted to throttle him, and now he wanted her to leave?

And yet she couldn't argue with his logic, as per usual. After all, what would they have been? A single night tryst made in the throes of a passion that wasn't made for her? A union made from the desperate trappings of greif and longing? For another man, no less. She was hurt - oh, was she hurting. But she couldn't find the will to argue. He was right - maybe it was better this way. He was always right.

But she had never before wanted so, so desperately for him to be wrong.

"Thank you, Casca." Griffith said suddenly. "For checking in on me. Believe it or not, I needed that. All of that." Casca fought off a wince. He gave her a small and tired but surprisingly genuine smile, though his usually clandestine eyes now poorly hid a vicious bitterness that Casca knew was not directed at herself - he would have hid it from her otherwise, or at least tried harder. He was funny like that. In spite of everything, his smile was like a soothing balm upon her temperament, and she managed to collect herself even for just a moment. "If you...need, anything else," she fought the tremble in her voice with all her might, forcing it into her shaking hands instead. "You know where to find me." Casca didn't have the strength to look at him when she said that, turning on her heel and walking out the door without a second glance. And yet, she could almost sense the frown behind her. Almost.

She only made it a few steps before her delicate resolve came undone in rivulets, deep breaths trying to disguise sobs as she prepared to go down the stairs. But the wave of emotions would not be held back this time, and so she resolved to escape as quickly as possible, before she was noticed.

Unbeknownst to her, a young and now very confused housemaiden watched her descend.

Feel free to ask questions or comment with suggestions if you have them. I won't be able to put this whole fic up on Ao3 for a minute yet since all the scenes are out of order still, with bridges yet unwritten, so here's a taste for you. :)

[egg-node]

7, 17, 18?

HELLO THERE

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

i like the editing phase a lot genuinely. once there's a Very Very Rough Draft down, ideally i spend ten million years spitballing new things to add that improve the og draft. whenever i come up with something that i think is a nice detail it makes me go :D!! most of the things in my writing that i would point out to people if they'd let me were added post first draft

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

answered here

last one's under the cut

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

it has been ten million years since i last looked at this piece! but! i think i'm still happiest with this out of any i've written so far (because i did get that ten million year editing period)

It should be chaotic. And it is–there are weapons flashing and bodies pressing and falling around them. The smell of blood and grass trampled underfoot. A distinct hum–a feeling more than a sound–before a spell is launched. It should be chaotic, distracting; too much. 

But instead, it’s easy. It’s so easy. There’s a rhythm here too.

Their sword against another. Metal singing in the air. The moment before an opening, the way time compresses down to an instant. Striking. Again. Again. A quick flick gets the viscera off their sword. Magic washes over them; cuts they didn’t realize they had stitch back numb. 

As natural as a heartbeat, if they had one. As easy as breathing.

this was a memory my dnd character, relic (warforged fighter), has, and is reliving a little as they try to make it through their long rest without giving into their need to move. they have (relatively) recently woken up after a several-centuries long nap (read: was supposed to die, but instead woke up much later) and is readjusting to the new time period (read: was made for war, and fought in the war, and is now in an era of peace, trying to learn in strixhaven).

they have some issue staying still now due to the fact that they woke up, and was covered in plant life, and rust, and could not move until they were found. this is an issue given that warforged's long rest is a period of six hours under which they are immobile, but conscious the entire way (and was the premise of this fic).

aside from this excerpt, i tried to make their narration feels very stilted, and kind of dead. i was very particular about not using literary devices like similes or metaphors etc etc. but here when they relive this battle, and the feeling of combat, i let it become a little more natural. used 'metal singing' and 'magic washes' - a bit more artistic than they would otherwise use.

the idea behind this was to make it clear that this was where relic was most comfortable, and arguably the last time they felt content. they knew what they were doing, back before they "died". and they were good at it, too. even now, at strixhaven, combat remains the easiest thing for them, and the only time where they feel even a little at ease.

that was one of the details i was proud of in this piece. the "omitting literary devices or artistic language purposefully, and then deciding where to put an exception." that was neat

thanks for the ask! twas nice to revisit this one, and it's nice that i still feel like it stands well enough even after time has passed

[caitbalfes]

Lifeline (2/?)

Jamie & Claire | AU | Claire doesn’t have a husband to return to. Jamie doesn’t have a price on his head. Seems like smooth sailing … right? (AO3)

I’d almost forgotten about this story … sorry !! But since there was no new episode yesterday, I decided to get my shit together and give you chapter two (yes, I know this is a poor substitute for THE reunion episode, but this is all I have!) Also thank you all so much for the lovely comments on chapter one!

Aaand a special shoutout to @bonnie-wee-swordsman who helped me with this chapter, she’s a lifesaver !! (or, at least a ficsaver) (It took some restraint though not to add “cue jaws theme” in the fic based on Bonnie’s comments …)

Also tagging @mibasiamille 😘

I. An Escape

II. The First Misstep

There can be danger in the lack of a purpose. When you no longer have something to give your life meaning, it’s awfully easy to throw caution to the wind and embark on a dangerous—and often foolish—journey.

Some people thrive in danger; they are hardwired to seek it out. For those people, the real danger is being idle, for boredom eats away at their very soul. They need a purpose like they need air to breathe, or food to eat.

Frank had said once he feared I loved my patients more than I loved him. He had said it half-jokingly, but he had been right.

I had always had a drive, though I had not always known towards what. But I kept moving forward, knowing I could never be content standing still. I had the tendency to seek out those dangerous environments other people would rather avoid, but I liked to think I didn’t have the fatal foolishness that some did. If I did, I would quite possibly find out soon.

On our way to Castle Leoch, Jamie regaled me with stories. He had told me about his uncles and Clan MacKenzie, after I’d shown quite a bit of enthusiasm for learning more about the place and its inhabitants. In truth, I had been to the castle once before—or would come there once more?—but at that time, it had been merely a ruin, inhabited by no one.

Foolish or not for putting myself in this situation, here I was, and I did think trying to learn something of the place to which I was headed was a good idea. Information would allow me to prepare, and preparation I definitely needed in order to lie effectively about my origin, for no one could know where I truly came from. Such was life for one with the misfortune of being cursed with a face of glass.

Jamie’s tales provided more than information, though. They were entertainment. He certainly had a gift for storytelling, and I enjoyed listening to him. Though his tales had initially unsettled me a bit, they were further confirmation that I truly was in the past—the eighteenth century—something I had realised when I happened upon Captain Randall, but still naïvely hoped to be a dream.

I hadn’t realised it then, but when Jamie asked me to come with him, I had made a decision to stay—for now, at least—in this time. There was little left for me where I came from, save that perilous boredom.

“I have to ask, Sassenach,” Jamie said, suddenly. “Why is it ye were lost in the forest in the first place? It seems unsafe for a lady such as yourself to travel alone, you could easily be—well, you know what could happen.”

I did. My unfortunate encounter with Captain Randall was not one I’d soon forget. It was only luck that had allowed me to get away unscathed. Luck in the form of a dashing rescuer, Jamie Fraser.

I tried to come up with a good explanation as to why I had wandered astray in the forest, but I had none. How could I tell him how I’d ended up here when I barely understood it myself?

I twirled the golden ring on my finger. I had told him I was widowed, mostly because I suspected the term divorced would be frowned upon, considering the times—even in my time, it wasn’t exactly something women would boast about.

I knew I had to tell Jamie something, even if I didn’t think he would force me to reveal something I didn’t wish to. He seemed to be a kind man, a gentle man, maybe even a loving man. He hadn’t talked extensively about his home, but he had mentioned a sister and of her, he’d talked very fondly. Family, it seemed, he valued greatly.

I took a deep breath.

“It’s a long story,” I began slowly, mentally berating myself for the, at best, clichéd opener; at worst, seeming attempt to stall or avoid answering altogether. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you why, but . . . I ran away.” That was partly true. With an ever-revealing face like mine, it was always better to stick closer to the truth than to outright lie.

That’s what I thought, at least, until Jamie, genuinely worried, said, “Are ye in danger? Are ye being chased by someone who wishes to do ye harm?”

His worry both warmed my heart and troubled me. Had he cared less, he would’ve asked fewer questions. It was unlikely that he’d be satisfied until he knew I wasn’t in any danger.

“No,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster, “I promise, no one’s looking for me.”

I couldn’t see his face as we were on horseback, him sitting behind me, but I could imagine the look of concern that refused to leave his face.

“Did you know him?” I asked, eager to change the subject. “Captain Randall, that is.” I had seen how he’d looked at the captain when they fought, something that suggested there was more to his fury than seeing a stranger about to take a woman by force.

“Aye. I ken him.”

I glanced back, startled by the brevity. His gaze was fixed somewhere far off, his posture stiff. Whatever he was looking at, I couldn’t say, but then I thought neither could he. He seemed lost in thought, reliving a memory.

I was undeniably curious and wanted to ask how their paths had crossed before, what Randall had done to make this man hate him so. I didn’t ask, though. Whatever it was, if Jamie’s expression was anything to go by, it was not a pleasant topic of conversation.

While I understood that he might not wish to speak of something that seemed to pain him, I found myself a bit surprised seeing as he’d been so unusually, yet pleasantly, forthcoming with information about himself during our ride.

He had told me a number of things about himself. He had told me that, not too long ago, he had been an outlaw, and only recently had he been pardoned.

He’d said the price on his head had prevented him from returning to Lallybroch, as his ancestral home was called, and that was why he stayed at Leoch. What he hadn’t told me was why he, now a free man, chose to remain there, instead of returning home.

When we arrived at the castle, a woman rushed out to greet—or rather, scold Jamie. She eyed Jamie with disapproval and me with suspicion.

“What do ye mean by disappearing like that, lad? Gone all night! People have been askin’ for ye, not to mention—”

“Mrs Fitz,” said Jamie, as he helped me dismount. “This is—”

“And what do we have here?” asked Mrs Fitz. She surveyed me from top to toe. Her eyes lingered on my once-white dress with particular curiosity and not a little disfavour.

“Claire Beauchamp,” said Jamie. “I brought her here for protection.”

“Is that so?” Her face softened, the initial suspicion towards me subsiding.

“Aye. Would ye make sure she has some proper clothes? I should speak to my uncle.”

“Aye, and then there are other people who’d like to speak to ye as well, as I’m sure ye ken. I wouldna advise ye to wait too long.”

“Wait!” As Jamie was about to walk away, I reached out a hand, putting it gently on his arm, prompting him to stay. “Your wound. Unless you want it to get infected, you should let me clean and dress it properly.”

Having earned Jamie’s trust in my medical abilities after helping him with his shoulder the day before, he agreed without objection.

Mrs Fitz kindly showed us to a room where I could tend to my patient. The room was dark and cold, and the many shelves that adorned the stone walls were crammed with jars that clearly hadn’t been touched in a while; they were covered with dust.

Upon entering, I had turned my questioning gaze to Mrs Fitz, who explained, “’Tis the surgery. It hasena been used in some time, no since Davie Beaton passed.”

The temperature problem was soon remedied by a fire, and Mrs Fitz left us alone.

I hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Jamie’s bare back when he removed his shirt so I could tend to his shoulder. Scars covered the expanse of his back.

“The Redcoats,” Jamie explained. “They flogged me twice in the space of a week. They’d have done it twice the same day, I expect, were they no afraid of killing me. There’s no joy in flogging a dead man.”

“I shouldn’t think anyone would do such a thing for joy.”

“If Randall was not precisely joyous, he was at least very pleased with himself.”

I understood, then. Or, at least I thought I did. His hatred towards Captain Randall, the painful memory he hadn’t wished to speak about. This was it.

Much to my surprise, Jamie did speak of it now though. His earlier reluctance to do so had apparently dissolved. I wondered why. Was it something I’d done to prove myself more trustworthy? Was it that I’d now seen the scars, so I might as well know the story behind them? Perhaps he worried I would misjudge him for his scars if I didn’t know the full story.

He recounted the event whilst I dressed his wound. This was a far less cheerful tale than those he had shared with me on horseback, but his storytelling was vivid as ever.

I met his eyes, trying to show him the same sympathy and understanding he had shown me the day before. Since the moment we met, Jamie had been nothing but kind to me. He had shown more compassion than any man I’d ever met.

I stroked his arm to comfort him, and his lips curved upwards in reply. He looked younger when he smiled; there was something boyish about it. I realised that he must, in fact, be younger. That thought hadn’t occurred to me when he’d acted as my rescuer and protector. While I appreciated his heroic side, what drew me in was the vulnerability he had shown me, sharing his scars.

Hand still lingering on his arm, I leaned in slowly, my eyes not leaving his. I could feel his breath hot against my lips. An inch, and I would touch his lips—

He pulled back.

I didn’t quite know what to feel. Confusion hit me first, followed by shock that was soon replaced by embarrassment.

My eyes sought his, to ask for an explanation, or see if I had misinterpreted the situation, but he turned his head away, hiding his expression.

Mrs Fitz could not have returned at a better time. She helped me escape, as she was to fulfil Jamie’s request that I be given proper attire.

Before our departure she reminded Jamie once more to seek out his uncle Colum.

I followed her to a guest bedroom where she helped me change into a more appropriate dress, and sometime thereafter came a dark-haired man by the name of Murtagh to inform me that The MacKenzie wished to speak to me.

Mrs Fitz gave me an encouraging smile before I departed.

My escort, by contrast, didn’t speak another word to me, let alone smile.

Jamie had told me about Colum MacKenzie, Chief of Clan MacKenzie, but not in great detail. He had had more to say about his other uncle, Dougal, the war chief. Despite our awkward encounter, I found myself wishing Jamie was there by my side as I entered the tower room where the MacKenzie was waiting.

My silent escort was still waiting for me when I exited, but he wasn’t alone. Jamie was with him.

I couldn’t help but smile in relief at the sight.

“What did he say?” Jamie asked at once, excitement in his tone.

“You ask as though you don’t already know! You talked to him about me,” I said, crossing my arms, “you told him I was a healer.”

“Aye, I had to say something so he’d let ye stay, didn’t I? He was verra suspicious at first when I said I’d brought a Sassenach here.”

“I’d say he was still verra suspicious when we spoke,” I said in a poor imitation of his accent. Colum had been suspicious, but he had let me stay nonetheless, thanks to Jamie. He had gifted me the late Davie Beaton’s surgery, in return for my serving as the castle’s new healer, for the duration of my visit.

“He did invite me to the hall tonight, though,” I continued, “there is to be a Welsh singer apparently—”

“JAMIE FRASER!” The voice came from somewhere farther down the stairs. Rapid footsteps that likely belonged to the voice echoed loudly as they neared.

Jamie, having tensed up at the high-pitched shriek, looked over at Murtagh, wordlessly asking for counsel.

Murtagh raised his eyebrows so as to say, “What did I tell you?” making me wonder just what Murtagh had told Jamie and why.

The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and facing us was now a young, round-faced girl with her arms crossed over her chest. Her pale eyes narrowed as they noticed me.

“Jamie Fraser!” she repeated. It was less of a shriek this time, but no less angry. “Where have ye been!?”

Jamie opened his mouth to explain, but the girl cut him off.

“And who is that!?” Her voice was venomous as she jerked her head rudely at me.

“Ah . . . this is Claire Beauchamp,” he said, “she’s a guest of the MacKenzie and the new healer of the castle.” Evidently explaining me was easier than explaining his whereabouts since yesterday afternoon.

The girl was still waiting for further explanation. Jamie sighed and said, “I was out riding.”

“RIDING!? Ye mean to say ye’ve been out riding all night?”

“Laoghaire, perhaps we can have this conversation in private?”

The girl—Laoghaire—muttered something, then turned and started walking down the stairs, Jamie following her.

“Who was that?” I asked Murtagh after they had left.

“That was his wife.”

[kpostedsum]

high | d.m

summary: you find an unhealthy way of coping after draco cheats on you

warnings: drug use (marijuana) angsty¿, cheating, illusions to sex

song: habits - tove lo

a/n: this fic isn’t meant to romanticize drug use in any way. i also know nothing abt weed so LOL and very rushed & not edited

masterlist | taglist

I eat my dinner in my bathtub

Then I go to sexclubs

Watching freaky people gettin' it on

It doesn't make me nervous

If anything I'm restless

Yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all

you had a few minutes left of your charms class which was your last class before the weekend. you wanted nothing more than to get out of here and cuddle up with your boyfriend— who was enjoying his free period right now.

draco was one of the best boyfriends you could ask for, the frequent dates, gifts, and attention— it was more than you could wish for.

“you’re excused. you essays are due at the beginning of next week” snapes monotone voice dragged on as you quickly packed up your things and made your way to the slytherin common room.

I get home, I got the munchies

Binge on all my Twinkies

Throw up in the tub

Then I go to sleep

And I drank up all my money

Days get kinda lonely

entering the slytherin common room your eyes immediately searched for a certain blond boy, yet he was nowhere to be found. you made your way to the boys dorms in hopes of finding him there but you’re quickly interrupted by two familiar voices.

“why hello y/n, marvellous weather we’re having today aren’t we?” theo asked looking towards the ceiling and smiling as if he were outside, blaise blocking your path as he did so.

“i’m not sure what weather you’re talking about since we’re inside but i am okay thank you” you responded with a chuckle, trying to make your way past blaise.

“wait y/n” he stopped you. “can i borrow the astronomy notes? i would ask luna but i can’t find her anywhere” blaise continued.

they both seemed awfully on edge and anxious, you figured it was just quidditch nerves getting to them since there was an upcoming game this week.

“i have yet to finish my astronomy notes, but i did see luna in the great hall if you want her notes. now if you’d excuse me i’d like to see draco” you said trying to push past the two boys who still wouldn’t let you through.

“forget malfoy! let’s do something instead, we’re so much more fun than him, right blaise?” theo said giving blaise a pointed look as he threw his arm around your shoulder.

“right you are nott, let’s go!” blaise continued also throwing his arm around your shoulder and leading you away from the boys dorm.

“what? no, i have plans with draco. now excuse me” you said pushing them both off and heading towards dracos door.

as you get closer to his door you can hear heavy breathing, pants and skin slapping on skin. you’re confused, you figured draco would be taking a nap or running over drills for quidditch practice. the closer you get, the louder the noises become.

“pans, you feel so good”

you recognize that voice anywhere.

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

quickly you turned your head towards blaise and theo who had their heads lowered in shame, refusing to meet your gaze. “is this some kind of sick joke, are you guys pulling a prank or something because this isn’t funny” you said seriously not wanting to believe what you’re hearing from inside of your boyfriends dorm.

“we’re sorry, we tried to convince him not too but he wouldn’t listen” theo muttered silently.

it felt like your world was breaking apart slowly. just not too long ago you were excited to spend a weekend with your boyfriend who you loved so dearly, the same boyfriend who you’ve been dating for years, the same boyfriend who gets jealous about how much time you spend with his mum rather than him.

with shaky fingers you put your hand on the door knob and quickly pushed the door open, already preparing for the worst.

there he was, wrapped up with parkinson in the same bed you two shared not even twenty-four hours ago. her body straddling his naked, just like yours was doing the night before. you stood there frozen, mouth agape— not even knowing what to do with yourself.

“baby, i can explain, just please— y/n please don’t leave” draco said pushing pansy off of him, shuffling on his pants and reaching out towards you.

“dont touch me, malfoy!” you yelled and everyone froze. “you lost the right to touch me the minute you even thought of touching her” you continued sending both him and pansy a glare with tears threatening to slip from your eyes.

“darling please, i can explain—”

“no draco, we’re done just leave me alone, please” your voice cracking at the end as you pushed past blaise and theo rushing towards the girls dormitory.

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe

I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

it’s been days since you last left your room, days since you last saw draco. daphne would come by and check on you but you’d always dismiss her, wanting to be alone. regret is one word to describe how you’ve been feeling— you gave him everything and he threw it away so carelessly for a quick hook up.

you missed waking up against his smooth skin in his embrace, tracing the lines and scars across his porcelain skin as you waited for him to wake up, the way he’d try to kiss you in the morning without brushing his teeth and you wouldn’t let him because of morning breath— but he’d still do it anyways.

you missed him, but he didn’t want you anymore.

maybe it was something you’ve done, you’ve been quite busy with work recently so you haven’t been spending as much time with him as normal. he was probably lonely and trying to seek the attention you lacked to give him.

getting up, you stared at yourself in the mirror picking yourself apart. you were pretty, it was a well known fact around hogwarts, maybe he thought she was prettier. she was the life of the party and always up for some mischief whereas you preferred to do stuff in silence and would rather be with a small group of people. maybe he liked how exciting she was in comparison to you, she probably brought a spark of excitement to his life that you couldn’t.

dreading to feel something you quickly showered and got ready to leave your room hoping to run into a specific set of twins.

Pick up daddies at the playground

How I spend my daytime

Loosen up the frown,

Make them feel alive

I'll make it fast and greasy

I'm on my way to easy

“well what can we do for you today” fred said to you with a cheeky smile plastered across his face.

“do you have any muggle herb left?” you asked in a low voice making sure no one heard you.

“maybe we do, maybe we don’t” george said. “how much are you offering in exchange though” he continued.

“ten galleons for three ounces, is that enough” you said pulling the galleons out of your pockets and placing them in george’s palm.

“it was a pleasure doing business with you” they said in unison as fred placed the tiny baggie in your pocket so no one would see.

once you returned to your dormitory you quickly pulled out the pre-rolled muggle herb, lit it and let yourself forget.

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

Spend my days locked in a haze

Trying to forget you babe

I fall back down

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

you started showing up to class late with red tired eyes, not caring about the looks you got. at this point every one knew what had happened but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

the muggle herb brought you a sense of bliss and freedom, a new feeling you haven’t felt before but something that you now craved.

“are you high right now?” draco said as he sat himself in the seat beside you.

“since when do you care about what i’m doing” you said sharply, not wanting to talk with him.

“love, you don’t smoke. who gave that stuff to you, i’ll kill them—”

“no you won’t.” you said turning towards him. “you won’t do any of that because you don’t own me and i’m not your girlfriend anymore. so mind your business malfoy, i’m sure parkinson’s waiting for you”

the rest of the class you both sat in silence working on potions that draco did most of since you weren’t in the correct mind state and he wasn’t willing to let his mark falter over your slip up.

you find it amazing how even when you’re on drugs he still looks amazing. the way his nose curves perfectly with a slight bump, and the way his hands move with caution as he pours the potion into the waste bucket.

“look, i’m sorry for what happened with pansy. it didn’t mean anything i swear, i don’t know why i did it but i regret it with my life” draco said breaking your thoughts, he looked older than normal and had dark circles underneath his under eyes. you wondered why he looked so distraught when he wasn’t the one who got cheated on.

“a sorry isn’t going to fix this draco” you told him. he knew you were right but he didn’t want to admit it. he hadn’t talked to pansy since the day you walked in on them, the guilt has been eating him up inside. he stayed silent and didn’t bother respond to you, he knew anything he said would have made the situation worst than it already is— but how he wished you were still his sweet y/n.

“now if you excuse me, i have some fun to attend too” you said leaving him alone as you made your way back to your dorm.

Staying in my play pretend

Where the fun, it got no end

Can't go home alone again

Need someone to numb the pain

You're gone and I gotta stay

High all the time

To keep you off my mind

over the last few weeks, you couldn’t remember the last time you were sober. you started skipping classes to smoke and avoiding your friends so they’d stop questioning your habits.

you were forgetting and that’s all that mattered, you didn’t care how it was affecting your health— it made you feel better. sometimes you wished there was another way, another way to forget how he held you at night pressing soft kisses to your skin, another way to forget the way he took pansy the same way he took you. you wonder if he feels as sorry as he looks, he’s the one who cheated so he can’t possibly care that much.

you hear two knocks at your door which quickly break you from your state making you more attentive, cleaning yourself up and opening the door. there stood draco— his eyes red as well, like hes been crying.

“y/n listen, i know what i did was wrong and that i tried to pretend it wasn’t me but please. i didn’t mean too, you mean the world to me. i miss you so much love.” he pleaded with you.

“y’know draco, i miss you too” you admitted. “but i’ve found a way to forget about you, maybe you should do the same”.

Gotta stay high all my life

To forget I'm missing you

-

taglist: @mauvea @teenwolfbitches28 @ilygw @nic0lodean @s1ater @henqtic @justreadingficsdontmindme @i-love-scott-mccall @harmqnia @gwlvr @alishahpotter

[lethargicsunlight]

Dabi XSpookyQuirk!Reader 'No Happy Endings' (Part 16)

First of all, THANK YOU FOR READING!

Due to the shear amount of 'Parts' to this series, I will be doing some overall organizing moving forward.

In short, this will be the last part of this series. (Read all the way to the end to see an epilogue ;) )

I never expected this story to go as far as it has, but I've loved the entire trip of it. It's nice to let loose and just write how I want to and what I want to, and this story in particular is an example of that shear joy. I hope everyone continues to follow along, to see where our SpookyQuirk!Reader ends up! <3

Read the other parts here: LINK

Join the Tag List here: LINK (leave a comment here or there)

WARNINGS: Spicy themes, Spooky vibes, a little fluff, not edited. The usual.

Neither you or the League could have anticipated the consequences soon to come from your appearance in their latest squabble with the pro-heroes of Japan.

The Hero Commission had released statement after statement, making presumptuous claims about your quirk being 'illusionary' 'nightmarish scare tactics'.

But the people of Japan had a different perspective.

Similar to the rise of Stain's cultish followers, the demonstration of your power inspired unlikely questions and investigations among civilians--some of which recognized the ghosts you'd temporarily made corporeal. Names and pictures were compared to the apparitions, staking allegations against the Hero Commission for their attempt of crowd control through manipulating the truth, and not being transparent.

After your 'audience' with All for One, you'd returned to the League's base with a numbness in your chest and glaze over your vision. Dabi, still coping with his dimensional feelings on the matter, stayed in your shadow. Close enough to open doors, provide meals, and ground you to the room--but far away enough that he seemed hesitant to touch. Considering the revelations that seemed to just keep playing on the damn T.V. in the lobby, the two of you had little alone time.

The news had become a constant noise. The lights of the television would dance across Shigaraki's features as he leant in with hands folded over his chin, elbows on his knees, constantly evaluating the public view and figuring out how to manipulate it. He'd task one or two people with something, an errand or espionage, and send them out. Small and inconspicuous things, like listening to rumors in dark places.

But, not you.

"You need to lay low a while." Shigaraki had warned, eyeing you over the back of the couch. "Even other villains are going to seek you out right now. To ask questions, maybe try to use you."

He turns back to the screen, skin a little smoother than usual, his hand apparatus missing from over his face. "We can't let them have you."

You had stared at the back of his head for a while, feeling strange in the air of it all. For once, you really didn't mind being cooped up at the base--the outside felt foreign now. But some kind of hurt tugged at your heart, reminding you that you remained more of an asset than a friend to him and his superior. Though, even if that were to change, you doubted it would be something Shigaraki would verbalize.

Twice had a tendency to linger. Objectively different than Shigaraki, he was both rude and not-rude about wanting to be in your presence for extended lengths of time, and admitted it verbally. Accompanying you and Dabi to the kitchen to eat, sitting nearby in the lobby, offering to fetch things. Compress, Toga, and Spinner too had spent a few mornings discussing everything before going away to work, patting your shoulders awkwardly and expressing delight on how you'd really become 'a part of the League'. (They were also particularly interested in their new resident ghost: Haga, whom now lingered in a cleared out basement of the building. You've promised to decorate it for him, for as long he decided to stay.) The last week had been hectic and moving, filled with strange emotional conversations and observations--mostly to do with you.

However, this particular morning, with your hands wrapped around a beverage, the kitchen is suspiciously empty.

And, you take that time to dwell. To, marinate in everything that had happened all too fast.

It makes you smile.

Not for having changed the public view, not for having expressed your abilities to a large audience and feeling validated in the face of it (though, you won't lie, that's kind of nice too), but for the strange and awkward and wonderful assurances of the League. Of your friends.

Like you, their social skills had suffered in the shadow cast by society--but unlike society, you didn't have to interpret their emotions through verbal or even non-verbal communication. With a flip of a switch, you knew.

And joy was a vibrant yellow.

Something like static over your left shoulder draws you out of your daydreams, followed by a hand grazing your upper arm. Instinctively, you lean into the warmth with your eyes closed and your crown meet's the rivets of Dabi's coat. There's a warm hum that comes from his chest, and the comfort of it is immense.

"Good morning." You say, almost accusing, searching for him as your eyes reopen.

"Mm," is his response, as he dips down to rub his nose into your hair. "Finally, no one's fucking around this morning.."

You grin, a tingle of excitement running down your spine at his closeness. Your eyebrows cinch in, and you lift away to turn towards him proper, examining him. He moves back just enough, expression unreadable.

You want to comment on his hesitancy with you, but you're also afraid to ruin the moment.

"You're looking good." You say, reaching out toward him. He seems to flex a moment with indecision, before leaning in so your index could trace the flesh above the staples in his cheeks.

"Good huh?" He asks, mocking, with a new and steady grin. "You do too, I guess."

You roll your eyes, "I meant, you're healing well. You look amazing."

His eyes light up a little unexpectedly, but his grin begins to fade out. One of his hands chases yours, fingers teasing at your wrist. "Y/n." He says it like he's addressing you, formally. Your heart skips in your chest, though you're unsure why.

He leans forward. Expecting a kiss (long overdue), you close your eyes.

But his face moves to the side, and you can feel the cooled metal of his staples as they graze your brow-bone. Instead, his lips meet your ear, "You don't have to stay.." He whispers, and now his fingers shift up so his thumb is in your palm. He wraps your hand up, pulling it to his chest. "You can still get away from all of this."

Despite how serious his questions were, you chuckle.

He draws back, brows set. "I'm serious." He says, expecting you to freeze.

But you shake your head, "So am I. What gave you the impression I was afraid?"

"You…" His voice drifts, "I didn't mean you were. But this--this situation isn't good for you. I mean, the League and I yeah, but All for One?" He shakes his head, "He's got shit going on in Shiggy's brain that I don't really much care for, especially anything to do with you."

"And how are you different?" You ask, voice level. Even you had been asking those questions, seeking those apprehensions in the past week or so.

"Being different isn't the point. Being in very real danger is the point."

"We've always been in danger; every time we step outside, and it just keeps getting worse." You shrug, "Yes, sure, you're right. I could run away. Hide, you know, like I used to."

He blanches a bit, mouth producing a thin line.

"Or, I could be right here." And you swallow as emotions begin to choke you. "I could be right here, standing for something, being someone. Even if that means I'm 'Necromancer', or whatever, and I'm a big scary villain; just like you."

You move yourself forward, breaking the connection between your hands so your chest is flush with his instead. "I may deal in ghosts Touya, but I've never felt more alive then I do right now."

Brightness returns to his eyes. A boyishness you remember, one night in the street, with flames engulfing the scenery in his anger. The spirit of the fire you dreamed so much about, with smoke in your lungs and embers sizzling in your veins. It's painful, the hurt, the suffering--but pain means you're alive. And though he wouldn't be brave enough to say it right now, you'd managed a similar effect upon him; in resurrecting the perished version of himself, the one lost on the mountain he'd turned to cinders that night so long ago. Touya.

And Touya, the child, had been so deprived of what you offered. Not a night of sin, but a life of care. A life, no matter how short, of your fiery and argumentative spirit that inspired change within him, that forced alternative perspectives and made the world feel bigger, brighter. The selflessness he'd never experienced--that which caused him to contemplate pushing you away so many times--was not exclusive to heroes. It was exclusive to love.

There are no happy endings for villains. You were going to be in danger, just as he was, and though he had yet to fulfill his aspirations--part of him simply didn't care. The world could burn outside that room, and he wouldn't care. Ten minutes of bliss would be worth eternal damnation as far as he was concerned. He just needed to reach out and grab it; be selfish again, with you. Happy, with you.

A grin breaks out across his face, stretching the staples. "You're right." His arms cage you suddenly, pulling in as he steps backwards. You gasp, but laugh with the break in tension. A few more steps back and his arm leaves your waist, going behind him--to lock the kitchen door.

"We are villains. Both of us.." He draws you in tighter, lips catching on your jaw. "So fuck everybody else.."

You shiver, temperature rising to hellishly warm. "Dabi--" He shifts back, a finger going to your mouth. He prods your lower lip, "Touya." He corrects you with one hot breath. "Call me Touya."

Though, he expected this bliss to last much longer than ten minutes; much to the chagrin of anyone who might want a morning coffee.

Epilogue:

"I don't trust him."

You peer at Touya over your shoulder, still crouched behind the ruined brick of an abandoned school building. "What?" You ask, not completely aligned with the topic of his conversation. Your brain was still fuzzy from walking around in your 'spirit form'.

"Hawks."

Oh. At the mention of it, you turn your head to see the League's Pro-hero agent high in the sky, surveying the area. "You think he's playing us?"

"I don't know." He adjusts his coat, rolling up the sleeves to combat the heat. "Crusty trusts him, but--shit he's turning back."

Angling in the air like a falcon, Hawks descends at an alarming speed. He lands somewhere nearby and uses the building's remnants as cover to make his way to the two of you. He does a little wave, a sign everything was clear, and you both stand to approach him.

"Hey you two," He shoves his hands into his pockets, slouching a little. "I got a lay of the land, looks like you're free to roam. I'd take a look due east, I think a lot of the damage took place there."

"Thanks." Touya says quickly, "That all?"

Hawks blinks a few times, "Yeah. That's all. I mean, I would totally keep a look out for you guys--but being gone for too long might get a little suspicious."

"Right, got it. You're free to leave."

Something about Touya's tone hinted he might actually be happier of Hawks did leave.

"Well hold on, let me take a break first," Hawks holds his hands up, then twists to start stretching one of his arms. A wing follows the motion in the opposite direction.

Touya turns away, heading further into the rubble. "Yeah whatever."

"Besides," Hawks continues, eyes drawing towards you. "I want to see what the fuss is all about. I heard you could summon ghosties, right?"

You can hear when Touya's footsteps cease, kicking pebbles up with his boots.

"Uh-" Feeling the air shift, you try to dodge the question. "It's, well--"

"You know, the news really made it sound scary. But you're not really scary at all. I bet it's pretty cool to see--"

"No." Is Touya's resounding answer, to no question in particular, as his hand suddenly braces your arm and starts dragging you away.

[honey-im-hotdog]

When Things Get Tough, Take My Hands Into Yours

George Luz x reader 

Author’s Note: First time writing for Luz/BoB so I hope it’s okay. I haven't written or posted ffs in a hot second so if this is bad, oops! Also there aren’t enough George fics out there so I had to take matters into my own grubby little hands 😤😤 I hope you enjoy this! 

Obviously this is based on the HBO miniseries, no disrespect to the actual guys. 

As always, reader is supposed to be gn+vague, so if you catch any mistakes related to that please let me know.

Word Count: 0.4k (it’s very short, I know, I've got writer’s block, babe send help! 😭)

Warnings: fluff, my bad writing, poor attempt at writing something soft, fuck ton of commas, and I didn’t edit this 14 times like I usually do my other work :) 

Summary: Huddling and hand holding (it’s short I can’t give it all away). 

———————————

It’s cold, beyond cold. You can feel the dry air seeping through every pore of your body. The goosebumps on your left side turned painful so long ago that the numbness is almost welcomed instead.

Your right side, however, is doing much better. You’re pressed against George, not a speck of air’s worth of space between your bodies. You’ve been huddled together in his foxhole for an hour now. It's nighttime, the moon spreading her soft, pale light like a picnic blanket over you and the rest of the company.

It’s become a routine now, telling each other stories from your childhood, or made up ones when home gets too painful to think of. Thigh-to-thigh, shoulder-to-shoulder, heads leaning together. Whispering and quietly laughing. At one point, you almost choke trying to hold in your laughter; George making it his personal mission to kill you happy, you say to him. He throws you an innocent look in return.

Today you feel a little bold. Not much, though. George is friendly to everyone, and while it sometimes seems he’s more than friendly to you—that he’s soft, you still hesitate. This is George. He’s perfect.

You’re sharing a silly story of that one time you fell as a kid. It’s not a special story, it’s borderline boring, really, but the words are just spilling out of your mouth and it's peaceful. Your hands move to his left sleeve, twisting and rubbing the material, the tips of your fingers occasionally caress his bare wrist. You don’t notice, but you’re both watching your fingers absentmindedly work.

You move on to another story, of your first time baking. Neither of you know what could be sweeter: a bowl of frosting, or your thumb fully pressing into his wrist. As you near the end of this tale, your fingers slide into his palm.

It’s his turn to tell you a story. You don’t realize when his right hand joins in, too. The warmth of his hands just feels right, like your hands belong together.

By the time you two manage to fall asleep, after countless tales (some of which are repeats from previous days), your hands are wrapped together as if you both are holding on to the other like a lifeline, and your bodies are shagging into each other in contentment.

The two of you wake up facing each other, the gentle smile he gives you makes you glad you felt a little bold.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #11

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

[AO3]

*edited so the images are better

"... At least until we can get you to your room. You need to wake up before they ring the bell."

'What's goin' on..?' Why was my shoulder shaking?

"Is Mori okay?”

The sound of my nickname snapped me into consciousness. I pushed myself up and hummed in question. When I opened my eyes it took me a moment to adjust to the bright light. Everyone was standing in front of a gate.

"Did you sleep well?"

Why did this world have three suns? Wait. Two were Sinbad's eyes. That checks out.

I nodded with another hum. I wasn't able to form words yet, and even if I could I would have lost access from waking up to such a beautiful sight.

I missed his response since I was still half asleep, but I did hear Ja'far repeating his words from earlier.

"Please, try to stay awake for a little while. When we step through, they will ring the bell to announce Sin's arrival home. We didn't want you waking up from the shock."

I had to repeat his words in my mind to hold onto them.

"Oh. Thank you for waking me."

Even with their best efforts I didn't have enough time to get clear headed before the bell was rang to announce the return of the King. I ended up jolting anyway.

I was glad to still be on Aladdin's flying turban. I couldn't focus if my life depended on it. I had some energy since I had just been resting and I was still mostly numb from sleep so my aches and pains weren't affecting me yet. After being sick for so long, I was in serious need of serotonin, so I couldn't shake the waves of excitement building in me as I realized I really was in Sinbad's Palace. It's one thing to read about something and another to actually experience it. I knew I had said I would see a doctor as soon as I arrived, but I couldn't stop myself from going into full geek mode and just wanting to look around.

In other words, I was a weak, energetic, space cadet without a filter -prime condition to make an idiot and/or nuisance of myself- if I couldn't find something to force me to "sober" up and start masking.

---

~POV Sin~

Horns announced the King's return to his Palace as the group walked through its gate. Many of the guards and civil servants present gave their welcome. The looks of awe on his guests' faces as they walked through the entrance to the court yard boosted Sinbad's already large ego.

Alibaba's and Aladdin's excitement had started to wane after walking so long, but Mori had the same look she wore when she first got on the ship. Now that Sinbad had seen her like that before, he knew better than to try to engage her in something she wasn't already thinking about. It was a lot like dealing with Yamuraiha after the magicians made a breakthrough. But that didn't mean he wouldn't still try to tease her if he had the opportunity; he'd just have to try a different method.

It was a bit of a relief to see Mori so energetic after the previous night. He would still have the doctors sent to her asap though.

Given how important his guests were, Sinbad decided to escort them, himself, to the Green Sagittarius Tower. Placing the 3 kids in the guest tower was a given since they hadn't agreed to any partnerships yet. The Purple Leo Tower was where Sinbad and his most trusted lived; as much as he wanted to move Mori in there with them immediately, Sinbad knew it would be better to wait until the others learned to trust her, so his Prophet was going to have to stay in the Green Sagittarius Tower for now. This would also give them more time to prepare her permanent room.

Ja'far raised his voice slightly to get all of the guests' attention as he explained a little about the Tower. Masrur took his cue to leave. The Fanalis raised his hand in a half hearted wave as he turned away from the group and started to walk away. The King watched one General leave as he heard the other lead his guests into the Tower.

It was his time to head off too. The rest of his Generals that had been left at home would be showing up to greet him -there was a lot to catch up on. As Sinbad had started to leave, the waves encouraged him to look back at the guest tower. Mori was standing watching him instead of following Ja'far. She had her bag in her arms instead of on her back.

"Is something wrong?"

"I know I should go rest and wait for a doctor, but," she looked at him with an odd expression -like she was seeing through him, "the waves keep pointing me that way." She pointed at the direction he was going.

She was right. The waves would have her follow him

instead of Ja'far.

"It's Drakon!" Mori gasped and her eyes grew. She gave a small laugh to herself. "The first Household Member is the first to show up."

Sure enough, the only member of Sinbad's Household that had fully assimilated with his Djinn's power had entered the court yard.

If she had this much energy and the waves wanted her out here then it should be fine. "Would you like to meet him now?"

Mori looked up at him shocked and expectant. "Is that okay???” It was like he was the center of her world in that moment.

"As long as you feel up to it." This was a good feeling.

She squeezed her bag in her arms. Mori seemed to become like a clingy child when she was unwell. If he had told her to go rest would she have begged him to stay and clung to him like she had before?

Her eyes grew determined. "I will have energy for about an hour. I'll go rest when I start to wear out, and I will ask for help if I need it -you don't have to remind me." Was she this direct because she was sick?

Drakon's deep voice came from behind Sinbad. "Welcome home, my friend."

The King turned to face his General. "It's good to be back."

"How did things end in Balbadd? When we heard about you loosing your metal vessels we got a little worried but it looks like you got them back." He laughed at the end. Drakon knew better than most that his King always manages to come out on top no matter what happens to him. He stiffened slightly. "Hmm? Who's this?” The General noticed Mori before Sinbad had a chance to answer his other questions.

Time for introductions then. "Drakon, this is Mori. She's the prophet I told Yam about." The King gestured towards her.

Mori put her bag down and when she stood up she had full composure. She offered a hand to the General. "It's an honor to meet you, Drakon. I read all about you when I read Fate." If Sinbad didn't know any better he would have no idea Mori had nearly died of fever only a few hours ago -she only looked tired. She was much better at acting than he expected. How long could she hide it though?

Drakon looked more dragon than man now making most uneasy around him, yet Mori didn't seem scared of him at all. Was it because she was hiding it or because she had read Fate? Actually, there was a strange glint in her eyes he couldn't place.

"Oh?” Drakon took her up on the handshake she offered. It was rare for someone not to flinch upon seeing him for the first time; Mori was definitely making a good first impression. "I must admit that I'm curious about this ability of yours."

The glint in Mori's eye grew into a full sparkle.

Their handshake didn't sit right with King Sinbad.

When their hands released, Mori put her hands in her pockets like she often did.

"Would you like an example?" Her smile didn't give anything away. "Before you were shipped out to Baal's Dungeon you tried to be noble and charming to Serendine but she responded by talking about how you followed her around 'like a baby duck' when you were little. Then she made you promise not to die." The waves were building around Mori again.

Serendine must have really said that. Drakon might not look human anymore, but Sinbad could still read his friend's expressions plain as day. Drakon was shocked by the first thing she said, and she was only just starting. Mori really was amazing.

"I know! Let me show you what I've got copied down so far" Mori squat down to her bag. She pulled out and opened a scroll, "Yeah. This one." She stood up with the scroll in hand and swayed a bit on the way up -she couldn't hide her condition fully.

Mori stepped between the King and his General, and turned so they were all facing the same direction. She raised the scroll so it would be easier to see. "Honestly, I had some other things to write down before I could start copying down Fate. I didn't start this until getting onto the ship, so please excuse the sloppiness."

Mori's handwriting looked rushed, like she couldn't get all of this out fast enough. Sinbad had barely gotten to start reading before she continued unrolling to reveal a detailed illustration of a family of three.

"That's-!" It was Sinbad and his parents when he was little.

Drakon glanced at his King, "Sin, are those people your parents?"

"Yup." Mori responded without looking up. "He looks a lot like Badrr, doesn't he?"

Back in Balbadd, Mori had said that she had read his life from his birth to his death, but it was different seeing undeniable proof.

She scrolled past more text and past another illustration and didn't stop until she got to a drawing of child Drakon following Serendine just like she had described. Mori continued scrolling through her work, and each image brought on more comments. There was an illustration of Sinbad meeting Yunan which she gratefully skipped past, a few of inside Baal and one from when Sinbad killed the Abare Narwhal in place of-

"Is this one of me? I look so young!!" The Imuchakk towered over all of them.

Mori whipped her head up. "Hinahoho?!" She wobbled from her quick movement. Sinbad placed a hand at her back to steady her; Mori didn't even react to his hand, instead she put all of her weight on it so she could stare up at the man behind them for a moment. That excited smile spread across her face. "Hello! It's nice to meet you. Please call me Mori."

Sinbad had purposefully gestured for Hina to stay quiet when he came up behind them so as not to distract Mori, but this was fine too.

"So this is where you went!" Ja'far came back from getting the three kids settled into their room.

Mori's smile was unwavering as she stood back on her own, unrolled the scroll to the next image and flipped it around for Ja'far to see. "We just got to your entrance. Care to join us?"

"Lady Prophet, I know you slept on your way here, but you were barely able to get off the ship before you had to lay down. Did you forget you're sick??"

Both Generals that had been looking at the scroll murmured questions about Mori's condition while the Prophet said nothing. At least Ja'far's words would have explained who Mori was for Hinahoho.

Ja'far's eyes wandered to the scroll in Mori's hands; his shoulders jolted when he realized what he was looking at. "Is that me??” He stepped closer to get a better look. After studying the image he looked up at the person holding it. "Did you make this?"

"Yes and yes."

The Prophet and the youngest General present watched each other for an opening.

Mori broke their silence. "I will go rest when I finish showing this scroll. We are almost done anyway."

Ja'far sighed. "Fine." He walked up next to Sinbad to join the group. Even if he tried to deny it, he couldn't fully hide his interest. "What is this scroll you've made?"

Mori turned

the scroll back around so the rest were able to see an image of when Ja'far attacked Sinbad in his sleep back when he was still an assassin. "Since I'm Sindria's Prophet now, I am copying down Fate so it will be easier to keep in order than thinking about it. This is just a draft though. After I have everything written down I'll go back and make it better."

That explanation was perfectly timed as two more Generals had join the group from behind -not that Mori seemed to notice.

Next was an image of Hina in a cave being surrounded by insects.

"Hold on. I never told anyone about that."

Mori stopped scrolling at Hinahoho's comment.

"What is this?" Sinbad asked his General.

But it was Mori who answered. "When Hinahoho first entered Valefor's Dungeon he was swarmed by Blooderflies."

"'Blooderflies?'" All six repeated back at her.

"Butterflies that drink blood," she explained confidently. When none of them responded she tensed. Sinbad could see her turn a little pink as she said to herself, "I thought it was a clever name."

"I think it's hilarious!" Pisiti said before breaking into giggles.

Mori jolted, "It's Pisti this time!" and started to look around for the source of the voice. She spotted the Artemyran that was shorter than herself and the man standing behind her. "And Sharkkan!”

Sinbad could see Yamuraiha and Spartos in the distance. As soon as they were all introduced he'd have Mori head to bed -end of the scroll or not; the waves from earlier would be reaching their peak soon and she had almost fell over twice already. Of course, he wouldn't mind catching her again, but he didn't want her pushing herself in her current condition.

The cocky prince had his hands on his hips. "Are you really a Prophet or our biggest fan?"

"Maybe I'm both," Mori answered with a smile. Her face was a little red.

Was she flirting with Sharkkan??

"That so?" Sharkkan smirked and leaned between Drakon and Hinahoho to get a closer look at her. "When they said there was a real prophet I was expecting some old hag, not a cutie like you."

Mori's eyes dilated and she gave a small gasp. Seeing Mori get embarrassed from compliments was something that Sinbad normally enjoyed, but this time it put a bad taste in his mouth. And did Sharkkan have to get so close to her?

Mori clearly agreed since she attempted to step away from the flirtiest of the Eight Generals. She must have forgotten about her own bag though, as she tripped over it and fell backwards right into Sinbad's arms.

Mori didn't try to stand back up at all. She looked up at the King and after a moment she hid her face behind the scroll she was holding. ”I-I am not a klutz!”

"Oh?" Sinbad smiled down at her. This was much better. "Then did you intentionally fall-”

Mori clapped a hand over his mouth. "No! Shut up! I blame you for this!” She pulled the scroll into her chest, but it unrolled anyway. She was doing a poor job of hiding her enjoyment of his teasing.

He laughed into her hand and she went quiet. Her blush started traveling down her neck since her face couldn't contain it all. This was a much stronger reaction than he normally got from her. He was clearly the only one that could pull such cute expressions out of Mori. Sinbad kissed the palm hiding his lips, and when she pulled it back to herself with an "Ah!" he knew he had to tease her more.

"Are you saying you're really swooning for me then, my Beautiful Prophet?"

"I-!" Mori couldn't bring herself to deny it and pulled the scroll back up to her face. She still wasn't trying to stand on her own or leave his arms.

"That's a good atmosphere."

*Whistles*

"You don't think ...?"

"OH MY-!"

See? No one could seduce a woman better than he could.

Mori finally found her rebuttal. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to be surrounded by your waves near constantly??"

He hadn't thought about that. Mori's waves were constantly opening new paths for Fate to flow. They have felt advantageous and that they would help him reach his goals. He wanted to keep her close to see what other changes she would make. And of course he had felt that she was going to live out the rest of her life in Sindria. But what did his waves feel like to her?

She looked up at him as angry as she was embarrassed. "I only slipped on the ramp and just now, and-and fell off of the bowsprit last night, because your waves crashed into me!”

That caught him off guard. "You knew it was me last night?"

"YES!" Mori's voice cracked at the end; she was still recovering so all this talking must have been wearing her out. "You're the only one who's waves feel like this." She broke eye as she got to the end.

Mori could identify him from his waves? There were certain people who's waves stood out to him as well -like hers-, but Sinbad was still not used to anyone else being able to feel the waves. This meant that he had kept quiet for nothing. It also meant that Mori had clung to him knowing who he was -maybe she wouldn't have accepted comfort from just anyone.

Her voice was almost inaudible. "When I realized it was you I was relieved. I've gotten hurt in the past when I was sick because I was alone so, ... thank you for taking care of me."

Just like when he had first learned that Mori could feels the waves, he was happy he was already holding her. He wanted to pull her closer like he had last time as well.

Yam let out a gasp while landing.

"WAIT!" Ja'far had been about to cut in to stop their antics anyway, but this was a completely different issue. "Mori, can you feel the waves of Fate like Sin??"

The King and the Prophet both stared at Ja'far for a few moments before answering in unison, "Yes."

((Hey everybody. Pretty sure you can guess why this chapter took so long. I just really wanted to draw so much of this chapter in comic form UwU Also, a bunch of life things got in the way. Now that everything is opening back up I can't work from home anymore. I'm very sensitive to the heat so I have to rest and cool down after each drive which really cuts into the time I have each day. -_-

Ja'far stared in disbelief at his King. "Sin, you knew?? Are you sure?"

With the mood completely ruined Sinbad helped Mori stand up properly. She grabbed his sleeve to keep herself steady and he left his arm around her waist just in case.

All of Sinbad's Generals -sans Masrur who had already left- were watching him. Mori had many abilities that made her extremely valuable, but they also made her a prime target to any of their enemies. The more her value is known the bigger the target on her will be, and Mori wasn't a fighter. Sinbad had already told all of them that Mori was a Prophet since she had already made that skill known to others, and it was something he wanted to use -there was no way he could hide it. His Generals had kept the fact that he could feel the waves a secret this whole time, so they would be able to keep her secret as well.

"Mori can definitely feel the waves of Fate. But you should know it is different from her ability as a prophet." He figured he should clear that up before they asked. Sinbad didn't know how they were different, but he had enough information to know they were.

Mori's voice was a little horse and on the weak side. "Since King Sinbad and Ja'far eavesdropped on my conversation with Aladdin there's no reason to hide it."

The King and his partner in crime froze. SHE KNEW HE HAD SPIED ON HER. Did his waves give him away?

Mori continued, "I can only read the Fates of realities that I am not currently in. It's not the same as different planets; It's a different universe with different rules." She rolled up the scroll while explaining. "The one I came from doesn't have Rukh, magoi, magic, or Djinn, but we did have 1500 to 2000 more years of scientific development compared to this world-" She was cut off by a short coughing fit.

Sinbad looked down at Mori. She was getting worse by the second. It was most likely fever and not embarrassment making her cheeks red in this moment. "It seems I've pushed you too hard while you are still recovering. My apologies." It was time to send the prophet to bed. He pulled at her waist lightly. "Let's get you to your room so you can rest."

Mori shook her head. "I have one more thing I want to say first."

"Fine." If it wasn't for the look in her eyes he would have refused her.

Mori's voice was getting worse so she had to take breaks in her speech. "I don't know what caused me to slip from my reality into this one, but I'm here now ... I fully intend to use my knowledge to help this world... But since I can't read this world's Fates anymore, I don't know how my changes will affect things..." She gripped the scroll like a life line. "As much as I'd like to answer the questions you all must have now... my voice is really starting to hurt, so I'd like to go rest."

Sinbad sighed. "Of course." It was a tough note to leave on, but her health came first. They'd have plenty of time to talk once she was better.

On a side note, I will be drawing Storpas (lol) in the next chapter. Don't worry, I didn't forget him.

It will probably be another 2 weeks or so before I finish the next chapter since I have less time to work on it now.))

[sienna-writes]

Butterfly Blood // update 1

woo! first writing update on this WIP so far! (Finally!!). Since I don't want to include huge spoilers on this book, as I might one day end up publishing (who knows), I will be splitting these posts into chatting about my process, character development, edits etc. and then include extracts that aren't too spoilery! I think it'll be okay for the first sections of the book, especially as alot of the first few chapters is character building and imagery to set the scene, tone and atmosphere.

Also, the working title of "Bleeding Out" that I HATED with a PASSION is finally gone! My novel is now called Butterfly Blood based on a excerpt way in the future of the story. (Which I'm very excited to share c: )

I wrote the prologue after I’d finished the first chapter, to introduce the book and it’s mystery in a more captivating way than it had initially been introduced.

Frog finds himself underground in the middle of a forest with no knowledge of his surrounds, his past, or his identity. He clings to one certainty, that he is and was raised by frogs. (This book is a bit wack, just roll with it.)

As he crawls into the middle of the road, a truck starts hurtling toward him and careens off the road last minute. The driver drops down and searches for for Frog, but cannot find anyone.

There is no blood, no screaming, no mangled man wailing on the ground. Reluctantly, the driver withdraws from the dark and locks himself in the enclosed cabin of his truck, steadying his breathing.

As the exhaust sputters to life again, and tires tug against the initial friction of the gravel, the disappearance twists the driver’s thoughts.

His passenger clings with sticky tree frog palms to the trucks stomach; well-oiled organs huffing heat and fumes onto his face.

So this book actually began with a very horribly written chapter. The structure was a mess and for some reason I kept bombarding the reader with information about my main character Rowan and really pushing forward the idea that she’s an energetic person... Which was stiff and just poor writing, honestly. (Also, I've changed my ideas since about how I want to characterise her.) But out of the 3000 word (approx) start, there were salvageable aspects, and those went into the first chapter along with a lot more fleshing out of the scenes, setting and character. I also finally decided on a tense and perspective after being super inconsistent with it and unable to make my mind up.

But! We got there in the end, I just thought I’d share my struggle since writing is not a perfect process and there is a lot of rearranging, and sometimes it feels like pulling teeth.

The premise of this chapter is to set the scene of Blackerwick (a fictional, dreary british seaside town), introduce Rowan (our main character), and the complex relationship with her father, who has become insular over the past month before the story starts.

—excerpts;

A little world building and set up!

Everything about the sleepy town Rowan’s family had moved to is soaked in a distinct achromatic despondency. Inland residents slumped and slogged in their routines, never caring to change them, almost afraid of living. It had confused Rowan at first when she’d come here from Ireland at fourteen, how much the dull town contrasted its landscape. It seemed undeserving of such beauty; a tall mountain range to the left of Blackerwick, and beyond it a city; wide stretches of moors headed toward the forests, and beyond the forests—the ocean. It was as if all the world’s natural beauties had congregated here millions of years ago as the earth slid into place, waiting for settlers to enjoy it. They didn’t even seem to notice.

    Fading out of view behind her, a mangle of dark rooftops mesh amongst each other, a severe contrast to the pallidly painted house fronts, and chimneys slice into the sky, puffing endlessly on their pipes.

Hot air is exhaled from the horizon, tugging striking, unruly orange hair from her heavy ponytail as it whistles past her face. She closes her eyes peacefully against the feverish winds, her clothes buffeting and pounding as if fighting it off. Grinning, she leans toward the sea, trusting its breath to hold her weight.

In the course of this chapter Rowan has had an altercation with her teacher and gotten a detention, pushed through the forests toward the beach, and now is returning home. She rouses her dad’s attention by feigning a headache, because he doesn’t bother with her unless he sees she is in pain etc. Now for some quality mild gore!

    Turning, she leans in to hug him when she realises there’s blood gushing from her nose.

    “Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit! Not again!” Rowan scoops shaking hands to her nose, tacky blood spilling over her fingertips. “Dad, Dad!”

    He is already on it, tipping her head back into his cupped palm, holding tissues tightly to her nose. She wheezes and sputters, the world spinning as she lurches toward the sink, clinging to the draining board to keep her balance. Everything red, the four walls of the kitchen, red. Her blurring vision, red. Everything bleeding like her gums beneath grinding teeth as she bites down on the impulse to say something. She wants to scream, or throw up, head swimming as her world tilts upside down. Her skull rests in her father’s strong palm, a fleshy safety net.

Wash your mouth out with soap, ma’am. 

I was considering having Rowan not swear around her father, but her mother is pretty aggressive and her dad (Karmen) swears regularly, so it doesn’t seem too outrageous anymore. (I could never, my mum would flip).

When the bleeding slows finally, and her chin closes in on her neck again she notices her father’s shirt is covered with dried, grubby gore. It looks like he is bleeding out from a deep gash notched into his chest. His heart clawed savagely from its dwelling. 

Karmen being a worried dad is best dad;

     “You said not again.” He says finally, as she gathers herself, filling glass after glass with water and gulping hungrily, throat tilted toward the sky.

    “I’ve been getting more than usual recently.” She replies nonchalantly.

    “That’s shouldn’t be normal.” He says.

     Rowan shrugs, “I’ve always been prone to bleeding and bruising.” As if to defend herself or prove her case, she pulls down her jeans slightly, revealing a black contusion on her hip. It fades into swarthy purple and blue; a gradient discolouring her pale freckled skin; a deep ink blot, as if the flesh had been punctured with a fountain pen.

    Her dad hisses sharply. “How did you do that? I told you not to go into those woods anymore!”

Ok! Enough blood! I really made nosebleeds overly dramatic lol.

Anywho!

the first 2000 ish words of this chapter follow Frog (he's later named Mint), and let me tell you, his perspective came so naturally, and was such an interesting world view to write in. I'm not saying i like him, but I enjoy writing him for sure.

This chapter was initially 2100 words and I intended it to be a brief introduction of mint, but I merged it with the next one because I thought they joined together nicely. The other aspects of this chapter introduce more of the friend group (honestly the only relevent characters within this group are Damian and Jamie, the rest are low-key assholes) and set up later events.

—excerpts;

Mint is wandering in the forest, and hunting.

He slinks into step with the deer as it rises, shaking his head as it shakes its placid mane. Serenity slices the air in two.

     Frog strikes.

    The blade almost glitters in the air as it shoots toward the limpid animal’s vulnerable throat, veins pulsing beneath frosty, translucent fur. Incorporeal beast. A surreptitious streak in the night, headfirst, embedding with a gurgle and a coarse, barbaric scream. Deer’s aren't meant to sound like this. Like a human, like something capable of feeling and hurting. Frog wriggles the blade out of its fleshy sheath and exhales into a whistle. He looks gleefully at the drowned grass damp with blood. Gushing over his squirming toes.

      Its crown tumbles to the soil, antlers embedding deep into the foliage at Frogs feet. He sits beside Stag on the floor laden with pine needles--wreathing its glazed face like christ’s crown-- and strokes the un-bloodied fur of its forehead, holding its unblinking, waxy glare. Frog is the victor.

Frog/Mint is hunting! He kills a stag! Then he brutally dissects it;

      Peeling away at the thick membrane enshrouding Stag's skull, with tender interest, Frog carves muscle and fat from its head, pellucid and opaline, dropping the pale crumbs of carcass onto the ground. The deer’s dense ghost is not yet cold in his crimson tinted hands. 

Rowan feeling numb, because oh boy us writers like to see our characters in pain;

The water is scalding. Rowan breaks out in goose bumps. Catching her reflection in the rippling bathwater she almost doesn’t recognise herself. Flushed, pale cheeks. All sharp edges, cheekbones slicing beneath the eyes, graceful slanting nose scooping down into a slight point. Her lips protrude from her face, full and large, accommodating an easy smile. Rowan pulls her downturned lips into a small grin. The constructed happiness blurs in the water. Holding her breath, she leans into the baths hot grip, filling with her fiery hair.

    The silence smudges in her ears.

I also wrote some banter-y dialogues but I think I'll share them another time... After they've been edited.... a heck ton... There's an over exaggerated smoking description in this chap too but I've shared that before heh :)

I hope you enjoyed this LONG overdue chapter update! So far there are 7 chapters, so I have a lot of updating to catch up on! :)

I don’t have a tag list at the moment, but if you’re interested in this wip and want to be on it, then please send me an ask or a comment and I’ll add you :)

Tag list, ask to be added or removed;

@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Anon a song? How 'bout 3? She Wants Revenge: Red Flags and Long Nights/ These Things/ Tear You Apart (all same band. Darker side of the fic I guess). I've been listening to this album all week andr eading Tianshan fanfic. Also this blog thing of yours (which I found the same day as 19 Days, both through Instagram, a couple of weeks back) and have been obsessed with. Thanks for still updating, you're very insightful. Keepin' me going through isolation! Keep well :)

Hello, dear anon!

Oh, so many things to talk about! First of all, welcome to the 19 Days fandom! 🎉 I don’t know how deep into the fandom you’ve managed to dig in a couple of weeks, but here are some 19 Days blogs I recommend you follow for awesome content:

@yaoi-blcd​ (translations)

@guanshanbabyfox​ (quick chapter/OX updates, Mo Guan Shan/Tianshan enthusiast, the source for all kinds of 19 Days knowledge, edits, reblogs that will introduce you to heaps of content creators in the fandom)

@casually-inlove​ (insightful theories, analyses, and overall thoughts, translations)

@call-me-ala​ (hilarious and amazing fan art, interesting thoughts and theories)

@i-got-these-words​ (probably the best damn edits in this fandom, amazing writer, and overall a very cool person, also reblogs a lot of 19 Days content)

@agapaic​ (probably the best fics I’ve read in this fandom)

@namenamejk​ (brilliant fan art, hilarious chibis and a style unbelievably close to OX’s)

@pierrot-et-colombine​ (gorgeous and so, so soft fan art)

@wwukie​ (very interesting and beautiful fan art)

@sukanne​ (gorgeous fan art with amazing details)

@zhanxixis​ (cute Zhanyi edits and Zhanyi content in general)

@q9won​ (some of the most adorable Tianshan art I’ve seen)

@nightfayre​ (another beautiful 19 Days writer)

@annowol​ (beautiful and interesting fan art)

@ginmayo​ (absolutely beautifully original 19 Days fan art and little comics)

@isou-chan​ (in case the angst gets to you, this artist will always make you laugh, hilarious fan art and beautiful style)

@st-yarema​ (interesting and beautiful fan art)

@19daysmemes​ (will introduce you to a lot of fandom creators via reblogs)

@1154lizz​ (quick translations)

There are, of course, so many others that could be added to that list, but I think those are a good place to start.

Secondly, I’m happy to hear you’ve enjoyed my blog and it has helped you with having to be isolated. I’m glad if I’ve been able to offer some distraction!

“Anon a song? How ‘bout 3?”

For those wondering what’s this about, some time ago I was asked people to send me songs to listen to. I ended up finding a couple of new ones that also fitted the story of 19 Days. Alright, let’s check out those songs! I don’t think I’ve heard of She Wants Revenge before.

Red Flags and Long Nights 

Oh, this was so cool. I really digged the wonky music that had some psychedelic vibes to it and the “effects” on the vocalist’s voice. Some of the lyrics fit my aesthetics of consuming, almost addictive, and dark kind of love:

You can occupy my every sigh You can rent a space inside my mind At least until the price becomes too high […]‘Cause I need red flags and long nights and she can tell

An interesting song, definitely going to add it to my playlist.

These Things

Another interesting and dark one. I liked the vibes of wanting something that’s bad for you or you want to walk away from. “She” and “not a bad man” seem to be in a physical relationship that’s fast and passionate. They don’t have a future together but they also can’t quite resist each other.

The second verse caressed the nihilistic side of me perfectly:

Lovers hold hands to numb the painGripping tightly to something that they’ll never ownAnd those by themselves by choice or by some rewardNo mistakes, only now you’re boredThis is the time of your life but you just can’t tell 

This is all very anti-relationship. Relationships are something we feel like we need in life despite their almost illusion-like nature. We’re “bored” without them, unable to enjoy our lives. We need relationships to distract ourselves, and it’s almost like we’re fooling ourselves from seeing for what we’re using love.

Tear You Apart

This was probably my most favorite! I just loved the contrast the lyrics had, especially the chorus:

I want to hold you closeSkin pressed against me tightLie still, and close your eyes girlSo lovely, it feels so rightI want to hold you closeSoft breasts, beating heartAs I whisper in your earI want to fucking tear you apart

It starts kind of pure and romantic; wanting to hold her close and lay there together with her eyes closed and just the two of them. Then it gets more “carnal”; talking about her breasts and heart, until the climax of wanting to tear her apart.

I was also fascinated by the “he” character in the song and how his crush/like/love was described. It shook him to his core and was almost a violent experience. He needed to even escape the situation. All of that is interesting when it turns out later in the song that it a school crush.

Thank you so much for these! They were wonderfully dark and angsty. Also, no need to worry about sending songs with explicit lyrics. I don’t have a problem with them at all.

“what does 'Don’t Close Mountain’ mean?”

Ah, one of the many nicknames HT has given MGS (ch. 173):

There is actually a wonderful post by @thingsthatfml about the meanings of the boys’ names. “Don’t close mountain” doesn’t really mean anything as such. As far as I know, It’s not an idiom or anything. But I think the characters hold some symbolism for MGS’s character. They’re connected to the overall themes of him not trusting people, keeping up high walls around himself, and making himself difficult to approach on purpose. And HT is working hard at chipping away at all of that and digging out MGS who’s been hiding and distancing himself for a long time.

Thank you for your questions, dear anon!

[sidneycrosbyisawitch]

I've followed your emotions rollercoaster over Sid and Jamie and I kind of wish you could expand on them more, but I know people would take it too seriously and probably jump on you. Just know I've become drawn into your feelings of betrayal/anger toward them and I'm not even sure why anymore.

gosh, none of my grievances towards them hold any kind of legitimacy, it’s just my projected bs tainting my parasocial relationships with them. 

sidney has been my number one boy for a very long time. The Incident at the beginning of the season really put a wrinkle in my complete, unwavering support of him, but i definitely thought that after a month or so of being mad, i would inevitably go back to loving him, and the pens, all my disappointment and frustration aside. i once said i was so sorry for all my other faves because i could never abide anyone other than sid w*nning the c*p... i Do Not feel that way anymore...

i see pics and think “wow, i year ago i would have been in fits of love over this” but i just feel kind of numb. i miss him a lot sometimes, honestly. sid is beautiful and awkward and singleminded and deserves so much.

and yet. maybe it was the combination of The Incident and imprinting on a different metro team. i don’t know. but that g*al against kinkaid might have been a big nail in the coffin. (i say that very rhetorically, i will always love sid; i have spent so much time and energy supporting and defending him.)

the jamie issue really just stems from my nagging belief that jamie Does Not Love tyler seguin Enough. no one could ever love that boy enough to satisfy me, tbh, because he deserves all of jamie’s love all of the time. 

and then jamie threw a little shitfit after a game and got into a scuffle that left tyler cleaning up the mess and my nagging belief went a bit haywire and overprotective and overprojecting. 

tyler has a big empty house and fills it with dogs. he fills his big empty bed with his dogs. radulov has to take care of tyler and manhandle him close and hard so he knows he’s loved. my brain constantly: tyler is sad and jamie isn’t doing anything about it!

tyler posts an innocent pic of a touristy spot in nashville that he obviously wanted to get a picture in front of? i instantly get pissed at jamie for not stepping up and taking the pic of him. how dare jamie be anything less than the perfect instagram husband. 

how dare he let tyler be all alone. how dare he not be exactly what tyler needs at all times. (as if i know anything about what tyler truly needs, but.)

i love jamie; i love what jamie Could Be for tyler. i just don’t think he’s being it right now. 

and thus concludes this edition of the emotional roller coaster.