#I WAS READY TO TEAR MY HAIR OUT

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 09: Obsession

"Pin me up on your wall just to keep me out of trouble"

2898 Words; Spiritshipping AU

TW for mentioned death, mentioned suicide

AO3 ver

There was a new ghost in the Cursed Realm.

Not that that was anything noteworthy—new ghosts popped up, well, not exactly often, since most of them went to the Departed Realm or got stuck wherever they died—but it wasn’t just the violent and the damned who ended up here, either. Any ghost with enough turmoil in their hearts was barred from the Departed Realm, and if they weren’t strong enough to stick around in the land of the living, they ended up here. Of course, warriors that fell in battle had a tendency to go to the Underworld and become Skulkins instead, but those souls never became ghosts and the Cursed Realm did not accept Skulkins.

Whatever. The point was that Morro normally didn’t care who ended up in the Cursed Realm—he wasn’t the warden or the nanny or whatever. He had his group, and he had better things to do than greet the newly dead.

But the Mother had pointed out this new ghost to him, and while she hadn’t actually compelled Morro to go find this new ghost just pointing them out was enough of a hint. So here Morro was, picking through the wastes where new ghosts tended to show up, because it wasn’t like there was much else he could do. There was no way out of the Cursed Realm—

(Yet, the Mother had crooned, tendrils creeping through Morro’s soul like breezes flitting through trees—)

And Morro was one of the few spirits here not locked in some kind of eternal suffering, so he had time to kill.

Time he wouldn’t have had if he had never gone in that cave and twisted his ankle—

Morro shook his head. It was fine. So what if destiny had turned its back on him? He wouldn’t be bound to it.

There.

Morro followed the pull of the Mother’s voice, his gaze tracking to the ghost sitting down in a dip in the ground, leaning against what might have been a rock in a realm that wasn’t the Cursed Realm.

They were smaller than Morro expected, curled up against the rock. Quieter, too. Most ghosts tended to freak out when they first arrived—either at realizing they had died or where they ended up—but this one was just… sitting there.

Morro frowned. Why would the Mother point this out to him? He knew she was leading him to a conclusion or action, but what was she trying to lead him to?

Morro came to a stop next to the figure, his feet grazing the ground before he landed fully. They—no, wait, it looked like a he, and the tiny bit of the Mother still lingering in Morro’s chest seemed to agree—didn’t do anything to acknowledge Morro’s presence, so Morro took a moment to just… look at him. He was young, his build bulkier than Morro’s, dark hair falling over his eyes in a way that looked unkempt. Morro couldn’t see any signs of what had killed him—was it something that didn’t leave an obvious mark, or had he figured out how to hide it already? Morro didn’t recognize his clothes—it looked like a school uniform, maybe?

Ugh—enough standing around! Morro kicked out, not quite hitting the boy with his foot while the wind picked up to ruffle his hair. “Hey, newbie.”

The boy’s gaze slid over to Morro, though his expression didn’t change. He grunted, which Morro figured was as close to a greeting as he’d get.

“Why’re you just sitting around?” Morro scoffed, “Is the Cursed Realm not exciting enough for you?” He leaned in and poked the other ghost in the side.

“Go away.” The boy mumbled, burying his face in his knees. Not that that really did anything, when Morro could still see the glow of his eyes through his knees.

Morro scoffed, leaning in closer—

Patience, sweet Zephyr.

Morro scowled, but pulled back. The Mother knew what she was doing.

“Fine, then.” He muttered, turning around. “Stay and rot here, for all I care.” With that, he left. It didn’t matter to him what some random ghost was doing—he’d find something else to do.

+=+=+=+=+

The ghost boy was still sitting there when Morro returned later—had he moved at all? Probably not. He didn’t exactly have a body—sitting in one place for eternity couldn’t hurt him anymore.

Morro landed beside him, and the boy’s gaze tracked over to him. That was the only greeting Morro was offered, though.

“Soooo are you ever gonna do anything interesting?” Morro asked, scuffing his feet on the ground.

No response. Morro rolled his eyes, hopping up into the air to float over the kid. Fine then, he could wait. The Mother insisted that this ghost was important, so here Morro was, waiting for something interesting to happen.

But the boy remained still—

(Still, like the golden weapons Wu had all but promised would glow in Morro’s presence, because he was meant to be the Green Ninja—up until destiny decided fuck Morro and Wu nodded his head and went along with it. Still, like the stagnant air of the Caves of Despair, too heavy and cut off to carry Morro’s attempts to free himself—because oh, yeah, fuck Morro!)

Morro scowled. He rolled over, lying face up in the air, resolutely ignoring the ghost sitting below him. The ghost ignored him back; Morro had half a mind to just leave.

Patience, sweet Zephyr.

Yeah yeah, Morro flicked his hand, eddies of wind ruffling his clothes and hair. The Mother wanted him to stick around? Fine. It wasn’t like he was needed somewhere else.

They continued to ignore each other for a long while.

+=+=+=+=+

Morro was laying on the ground, his head behind the other ghost’s back. Dust floated above his fingers, dancing in the air spiraling around Morro’s hands. Thoughts floated through his head—mostly memories about his life leading up to his death. Frustration ground its heel against his sternum as Wu’s face flashed through his mind—he’d done everything the old man had asked of him, he’d conquered every challenge and test in a way that no other student could, he’d so clearly been the one—

And yet destiny had still turned her back on him. And so had Wu, the coward—

(But Wu had given Morro clothes and shelter and food and training, he had lead Morro through the motions and taught him so much—)

Morro groaned, covering his face with his hands and slamming his heels against the dirt. After a moment, he turned his head to look at the other ghost, sitting up so he could poke the other ghost in the back. “Hey.”

Morro needed a distraction. He needed something to do—and hadn’t the Mother told him to talk to this lameass ghost? So he might as well start talking. “Heyyy.” Another poke. The other ghost’s shoulders hunched slightly.

“Oh, yeah,” Morro had never really… introduced himself, had he? “I’m Morro, by the way. The Green Ninja.” And the Master of Wind, but that probably wouldn’t mean anything to the other ghost.

Silence.

Morro huffed. “Okay, whatever, keep ignoring me.” He glared at the back of the ghost’s head. “Rude.”

“Cole.” The other ghost said softly. “My name’s Cole.”

“What, like the rock?” This kid’s parents must have hated him; coal was dirty and dark and dusty. Or maybe the kid didn’t have parents, like Morro, and had picked his name himself when he was young and stupid enough to think it sounded cool.

Cole turned to stare at Morro—his whole upper body twisting around, arm unhooking from his knees to rest on the ground as he stared over his shoulder at Morro, brows drawn. “No, like the name.” He said, sounding horribly unimpressed.

It was the most animated Morro had seen him. “So you can move,” he pointed out, feeling smug. He’d done that! He’d gotten this useless brick to say something more than a few grumbles! Because of course he did—it didn’t matter what it was, Morro would never settle for anything less than being the best.

Cole continued to stare at him, expression unchanging. “Ugh, whatever.” He turned back around, leaning against the rock, but his hand remained on the ground instead of pulling back to wrap around his legs. “Just leave me alone.”

Do not do that, Zephyr.

The Mother’s response was so immediate, crawling over Morro like so many buzzing flies. His shoulders hunched. He wasn’t going to, dammit, but thanks for the reminder.

The silence stretched on.

+=+=+=+=+

“What do you even want from me, anyway?” Cole asked, having turned so that his back was leaning against the not-quite-a-rock, legs still folded in front of him.

“Depends.” Morro replied breezily, from where he was floating in the air, arms folded back behind his head as he reclined. “You got anything to give?”

Cole stared at him for a long moment. The marks around his eyes resembled tear tracks, Morro had noticed. Which probably explained why he spent most of his time sitting around like a very morose rock. Then, “Probably not.” His chin rested on his knees, head tilting as he regarded Morro. “Unless you like theatre.”

Oooo, that was a lot of words. Progress! Morro sat up, still floating, criss-crossing his legs and putting his hands on his knees. “You’re an actor?” Was that why the Mother was so insistent on Morro talking to him? Because he could lie convincingly? Pssh, Morro could definitely lie way better.

Cole snorted. “Dancer, actually.” His expression darkened. “Well, I used to be.”

Morro shrugged. “Ghosts don’t lose the skills they’ve learned in life, you know.” He pointed out. “Part of the whole dead and unchanging thing. You can still dance.”

“Don’t wanna.” Cole muttered, bringing his arms up to wrap around his legs.

He needs to dance, Zephyr.

Morro could think of a few ways to force Cole to “dance.” None of them were what the Mother was talking about, though. He floated down, thinking hard. Was Cole meant to have been some great dancer, only to have it all cut short? Did destiny turn her back on him, too?

“Were you any good?” Morro asked, more to fill the silence than anything.

Cole stared at him. “Everyone else said so.” He said, which probably said a lot about whatever he’d had going on in life that Morro was too disinterested to really think about.

Well, Morro did need to get Cole to dance. “I bet you’re terrible.” Morro challenged. “I bet you’re so bad that you died from embarrassment.”

Cole glared at Morro, unimpressed.

“Go ahead, then, and prove me wrong.” Morro offered, smirking. “Unless you can’t, because you really are terrible—”

“You’re really blatant, you know that?” Cole’s voice was sharp, sharper than Morro had heard from him. Blank green eyes bored into Morro, face pinched in frustration. “I’m not going to dance for you just because you said some pretty words, dumbass—I’m not dancing ever again!” He slumped back, all of the prior energy leaving him as he buried his face in his knees with a sound bordering on a sob.

“Just leave me alone.” Cole urged, face still buried. “What do you even want from me.”

“I’m really only here because the Mother told me you’d be important.” Morro admitted. He couldn’t care less if some new ghost decided they wanted to spend eternity rotting in their memories.

Cole lifted his head and stared blankly.

“You know, the Mother?” Morro swept his arm back to gesture roughly in the direction of the center of the realm. “The giant primordial preeminent holding this whole realm together?” He crossed his arms. “I know she’s been talking to you, too, I can feel it.”

“Oh.” Recognition flashed in Cole’s eyes. “That.”

He didn’t say anything else, despite Morro’s efforts.

+=+=+=+=+

“So why are you even in the Cursed Realm anyway?” Morro asked. He didn’t quite care how rude it was, to allude to another ghost’s death—it wasn’t like he owed Cole any politeness, anyway. “We don’t usually get,” he gestured vaguely towards Cole, searching for the right word before settling on, “dancers.”

Cole stared at Morro for a long moment. “Because I killed myself?” He asked, voice dry and blunt as a rock.

“You—huh.” Well. That would explain why Cole was in the Cursed Realm. “So you were so embarrassed by your awful dancing that you died.” Morro said—only to immediately regret it. Really?

Zephyr…

Even the Mother felt disappointed, rot creeping along Morro’s arm.

“Whatever.” Cole mumbled, curling in on himself. “Think whatever you want, Morro. I don’t care.”

Okay. Morro called the wind to his hands, using it to scoop up some dust and dirt from the ground to tumble between his hands. Well, that certainly explained why Cole had barely moved at all. Morro thought to his own death, to the slow decay of his own body as he was still in it. He had managed to stave off dehydration for a few days thanks to water trickling down the cave walls—

But death had still come for him in the end. His nonexistent stomach hurt at the memory of starvation clawing at his body.

But Morro had tried so hard—he had never meant to die. He’d wanted to live, because he needed to get out of those caves alive and find the First Master’s tomb if he wanted to prove destiny wrong, prove that he was worthy—

Morro swung his hand around, flinging a sharp gale at the ground to his side. The rush of air blasted a divot into the ground.

Destiny had turned her back on Morro, casting him away from all that he had rightfully deserved and worked so hard for—

But destiny hadn’t turned her back on Cole. No, Cole had turned his back on her. That was cool as hell, actually. Morro said as much, and Cole stared at him, eyes wide with quiet disbelief.

“So I doomed myself to being stuck with you.” Cole groused. “Great.”

Morro barked out a laugh. “I’m not having fun babysitting you, either!” He giggled, “You threw away your destiny and doomed us both to an eternity of sitting here while you rot!” There was nothing funny about this, about Morro sitting here waiting for Cole to stop being useless—but Morro laughed anyway, winds swirling around him.

Cole stood so suddenly that Morro floated backwards in surprise. “Then why don’t you just leave?” He snarled, swinging a hand around as though he was about to punch Morro—

A bit of the ground broke off and smacked Morro right in the face. Cole faltered, surprised, as Morro tumbled backwards and down onto the ground.

“Oh.” Morro said weakly. He’d only met her briefly, before setting out to prove himself in the wake of destiny’s rejection. She had been a girl, then, one of Wu’s newest students, young and rowdy and flinging mud and rocks how she pleased. Though even if he hadn’t met Lilly, Morro still knew about the other elements, about the all-important Elements of Creation. Wu rarely hid anything from Morro in his lessons. “I get it.”

“I…” Cole was staring at his hands like he’d never seen them before. “Did I do that?”

Morro sat up. “Of course you did, dumbass.” He stood, grabbing Cole’s hands to look at them. “You’re an elemental master.” Apparently. “Fuck, you look like her, how didn’t I notice that?” Sure, he had only known Lilly for a few days, but the resemblance was strong—she and Cole were definitely related. How, Morro didn’t know or care—what mattered was that Cole was—or was going to be—the latest Master of Earth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Cole yanked his hands back. “I look like who?” His whole posture screamed defensive, and Morro scowled.

“Lilly.” If that was actually her name and Morro wasn’t misremembering it. “You look like one of the students my master took in before I—” He swallowed, suddenly very aware of how much a lot of his memories stung— “left.”

Cole backed up, eyebrow raised. “You did not meet my mother.” He accused. His shoulders hunched, and Morro felt something shift beneath his feet.

“Yeah I did.” Morro shot back, “barely.” He added.

The Mother must have spoken, then, because all of Cole’s vitriol melted away suddenly, shock and something sickeningly close to hope replacing the disbelief. “You—” He cut himself off.

“Look.” Morro stepped forwards, offering his hand before thinking better of it. “We don’t like each other. We barely know each other! But the Mother wants us to work together,” He almost slung his arm around Cole’s shoulders before pulling back, “And you’ve got nothing better to do. So why don’t you quit all this useless moping, and let me,” he summoned the winds to emphasize his point, swirling them and the dust they carried around his hands, “show you what being an elemental master is all about.”

Cole looked at Morro’s hand dubiously, arms crossed. “And what do you get out of it?”

Morro smirked. “Something more interesting than watching you rot.”

Cole snorted. He stared at Morro’s hand for a long moment—Morro made the winds swirl in intricate knotted loops, the dust outlining the complex path—then sighed. “I’ve got nothing left to lose.” He said, reaching out his own hand.

Morro dispelled the winds and took Cole’s hand. “Welcome to the Cursed Realm, newbie.”

[genderqueerpond]

tell me you only listen to extremely mainstream music without telling me you only listen to extremely mainstream music -- i asked someone to put a specific song on and they typed less than half of the title into spotify and started scrolling through the results

[inkskinned]

there are a lot of posts out there that are positive and healthy coping mechanisms for handling the holidays. this is not one of them :)

i think there's like. going to be times in your life you will be stuck in a social situation that you cannot escape from gracefully. i do not know why the internet doesn't believe these times exist. it's not always just that your physical safety is at risk - sometimes it's legit like "i just don't currently have the energy or time to put in the effort of responding to this." sometimes it's a coworker you hate so much. sometimes it's just like, fine, you know? like you know you can handle your aunt when she's cheerily horrible, but if you actually set a boundary around her, it's going to be weeks of fallout with your father.

i don't know why people think the answer is always just "cut them out!" or "don't let them get away with that!" because ... the real world is tricky and complicated. i think kind of a lot of us have an internal "radiation poisoning" meter for certain people. like - i'm talking about the ones who are absolutely giving you gradual ick damage. like, you can handle them, but you'll be exhausted.

and yes. you absolutely should listen to your therapist and the good posts about handling others and set good boundaries and take care of yourself. prioritize peace.

HOWEVER :) ...... since im often in a situation with a Gradual Sense of Ick person i cannot just "cut out" of my life (without losing someone else precious to me) - i have sort of developed the most. maladaptive form of mischief possible. because like, if i'm going to have to listen to this shit again, i like to have a little bit of private fun with it.

now! again, i am physically safe, just mentally drained by this man. you should only do this with people you are not in danger with. which leads me to my suggestions for when your Unfortunate Acquaintance shows up and says oh everyone pay attention to me.

my favorite word is "maybe!" said as brightly and happily as possible. whenever the Horrible Person starts in on a topic you do not want to go further with, particularly if they make a claim that you know to be inaccurate, do not respond to it. you and i have both tried to actually argue with this person, and it hasn't gone well, because this person just wants the drama of an argument. however, "maybe!" gives them literally nothing to go on. it is incredibly disarming. they are used to people having some response. they know they can't prove what they're saying, and maybe! treats them like the child they are. it dismisses them in the politest way possible.

i like to say maybe! and then, in their stunned silence, immediately change the subject. this is because i have adhd and i will have something unrelated to talk about, but if you can't think of topics fast enough, i recommend just pointing to something and saying, "isn't that lovely?" because fuck you let's bring in some positivity.

by the way. that second trick - of pointing to something and stating an opinion about it? - that just works on its own, like, 70% of the time. i picked it up from teaching preschoolers. it's an intentional "redirect". it stops children crying and it also stops grown adults from finishing their explanation on why women belong in kitchens. dual wielding!

keep it silly for yourself. i absolutely do not care if people think i'm fucking stupid (it's more fun if they do) and as a result i will purposefully misunderstand things just to see how long it takes them to realize i've completely removed them from the subject at hand. when they say "women aren't funny" i get to be like. "which women." "all women." "all women in america?" "no in the world." "like the mole people? the people in the world?" "what? no. like, alive." "oh are we not counting the mole people?" "what the fuck are you talking about." "you don't believe in the mole people?"

similarly, i play a personal game called "one up me." my Evil Acquaintance literally knows this game exists (my family & friends caught onto it and now also play it) and it always fucking gets him. i don't know why. you have to be willing to be a little free-spirited on this one, though. the trick is that when they make one of those horrible little bigoted or annoying comments they are always making, you need to go one unit weirder. not more intense, mind you - just more weird. "you don't look good in that dress." "yeah, actually, my other dress was covered in squid ink due to a mishap at the soup store." "you shouldn't wear such revealing clothes." "wait, what? oh shit. sorry, your son tears off strips when no one is looking and eats them. i swear it was longer before we left the building."

the point of "one up me" is to completely upend this person's narrative. we both know this person likes setting up situations where you cannot "win" and then they really like telling other people how badly you handled it. in a usual situation, if you respond "please don't say something that rude", you're a bitch. but if you let it happen, you're letting yourself be debased. they are not usually expecting door number three: unflappably odd. because what are they going to say when they're telling everyone how badly you behaved? "she said my son eats her dresses" ".... okay?"

if you can, form an allyship with someone whomst you can tagteam with. where they can pick up on your weird "soup store" story and run with it.

the following phrase is amazing and can be deployed for any situation: "oh, be nice :) it's the holidays!" i do not know why this works as often as it does. i'll say it for the most random shit. i think this is bc most of the time these people know they're being impolite, they just like to fight.

godbless. when in doubt, remember that you could always start stealing their pens.

the whole point of this is - if you can't escape. maybe see how long you can just be. like. a horrible little menace.

[skunkes]

[loganswdc]

david coulthard they could never make me like you . i swear to god this man finds every opportunity to hate on logan , even coming up with absolute bull claims just to humiliate him on live tv . like how this past weekend he showed a white car , claimed it to be logan's , and said he's still "making contact without even being on track" and then laughing about it . and guess what ? that car wasn't even logan's !! it was his teammate's , alex albon's car !!!!!!!

this guy genuinely seems to hold so much hatred in his heart for logan considering how often he says shit about him and it absolutely infuriates me . and the fact he went so far as to humiliate him on live tv by saying something like that with the car is so messed up in my eyes ? i swear he pulls what he says about logan out of his ass and it's getting on my nerves .

i know and understand that its commentators' job to , well , commentate -- but they often say things about some drivers that exerts such hatred towards them . and in my opinion , that is not a sign of good commentating: it shows lack of morals , insecurity , and indicates a person who is unable to come up with comments about an athlete that criticize them fairly yet kindly . david coulthard has not done any of the sort to logan . he has consistently showed him hate , saying he doesn't belong in f1 , humiliating him on live tv with clips like this , amongst other things .

as a commentator and former formula 1 driver with a lot of influence , he should use his experience and prominence in motorsport to provide logan with constructive criticism . he should give him advice about what he thinks logan could do to improve even if he's in a bad car rather than consistently spread hate and talk crap about him . david coulthard is meant to be a role model figure in motorsports . instead , he acts like a bully towards a driver who is clearly struggling and needs to be shown a helping , guiding hand to learn about what he can do to improve his odds .

it's frustrating how often people in positions of power and who are highly respected in motorsports because of their career use their popularity and position of power to spread hate . i understand , this is a sport ! there will always be individuals who are assholes towards athletes , whether they are former athletes themselves or people sitting behind a screen who have nothing better to do and are upset about the trajectory of their own lives . the difference here , however , is that people who sit behind the screen often do not hold much power , while someone like david coulthard has hundreds of thousands , if not millions , of people listening to what he says and agreeing with him .

the car parking debacle may not seem like a huge problem , but when it is used as ammunition by haters to be rude to logan because a respected individual in motorsports spat on him too , then it is a problem . hate in general is a problem . it may have seemed like a simple joke , something to laugh at and giggle about . when you take into consideration how logan has been treated since he joined f1 , though , it's not a funny thing . it's just sad .

and the thing is that even though we now know it wasn't logan's car , people will still use it to hate on him . they'll ignore that fact . they'll pretend like it's still his car that was parked that way and they'll continue to joke and laugh and taunt logan . because that's just how haters are . it's a "harmless joke" in the moment , but in the long run it can be insanely damaging in numerous ways . that goes not just for jokes about logan , but about all the drivers , about all motorsports athletes , and about all people .

here's a video confirming it was NOT logan's car that was parked in a way that it was hitting the pole !

via kym illman on youtube

[stick-ball]

My takes on some of this fandoms most controversial issues lately:

• you can criticize and dislike whatever but you should never be rude and threatening about it??? This is going both to nora haters and to other fans haters

• Omfg sometimes characters don't get development because the narrator who's pov we are reading couldn't care less about their issues? Rings any bells? Seriously

• I get it you come from the anime trenches but just because there's a lot of fetishism of gay boys by women there, doesn't mean women can't enjoy queer books with men protagonists anymore wtf. Kinda sexist. Live and let live.

• yeah Kevin uses alcohol as an escape but that doesn't yet qualify as alcoholism. Alcoholism is a severe condition, seriously. That's like saying someone who's in a bad mood is suicidal immediately.

• I saw several complaints on goodreads that TSC should have had sensitivity readers bcs they dont like how Jean's trauma has been approached. 1. How do you know it didn't have sensitivity readers? 2. You complain when it's not even something you're sensitive to, so let me assure you as someone with shared trauma. It's accurate as heck get lost seriously.

• I'm worried we are glorifying Jean as gentle when in fact half of it is him trying to behave in a way that means he won't be punished for breaking any written or non written rules.

• I do not accept papasan chair slander. Meet me behind Waffle House at the witching hour.

Anyway, Have a winning day! 🌞🥰

[iammatthewfritz]

Since TikTok and Instagram hated the original audio to this edit, I had to switch things up so here- have a Chappell Roan version:

💌 buy me a coffee (if you want/can) 💌

my edit accounts

tiktok: fritz._.editz

instagram: fritz._.editz

[littleplantfreak]

Umemiya looks like a snorer…real honk shew kinda guy

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

if this work doesn't kill me it's over for y'all /j

[killanyone4you]

give it up. i can't wait no more

i am stuck on your bedroom floor

with the thought that i may not be

as great as those who came before

[cursedcola]

Idia Shroud the bastard NEET that you are (affectionate™)

[hinamie]

happy to announce tht after a year of being a fake fan and putting it off due 2 illogical mental funk i have now finally finished jjks2 smile :3

[devil-in-hiding]

my son is still awake

[skunkes]

Cant find the ask anymore but whoever suggested Gritty Ink Brush on csp assets when i was looking for brush suggestions THANK YUUUUU its a real winner

[pastafossa]

pasta i'm gonna have a STROKE this chapter was so good

I'm so happy you enjoyed it! 😭 It gave me such hell last week until I nudged things around so I'm glad to hear it worked out, especially since it sets up some of the stuff that's coming!

[imwritesometimes]

I'm meeting my brother's GF in a couple hours and I'm nervous lol help 🙃