#VERY stream of consciousness but i wanted to get his main thoughts down before i do pt 2 stuff!!

[darkenforcer]

homecoming pt 1

oh, this return trip came... sooner than he'd expected.

yuri's starting to think he's had enough of all of this inter-worldly travel-- this is his, what, fourth go at it? and it's still thrown him way off kilter! the least those damn stars can do is choose a place and stick to it... which brings him to his current dilemma: where the hell have they decided to drop him off now?

luckily, it only takes a quick (and admittedly dizzy) glance to gather all he needs to know. it's exactly where he'd left off. castle zaphias, at the foot of the commandant's window.

...and there, sitting at his desk with pen in hand, is sir commandant flynn himself, peering over at him with a funny little scrunch in his brow. poor guy's gotta be annoyed, having been torn away from his oh-so-very important boring duty of signing dozens of documents on the daily, only to find yuri looking at him like he's the one out of place in his own office.

psh, now imagine how crazy i'd look if i started explaining where i've been all this time-- hold on. where... i've been...?

that can't be right; he isn't supposed to remember, is he? then, that island... why does he remember that island? he isn't supposed to, if his last trip back-and-forth is anything to go by. he seeks out repede for confirmation and the dog beside him stares right back, sighing past the pipe in his mouth. 

he remembers, too.

are their retained memories a screw-up on the stars' part, or...? well, he supposes the exact reason doesn't matter-- he's home. that's the glaring reality he's woken up to, regardless of whatever they'd left in his head. there's the familiar set of fluttering curtains over the windows, the cool, crisp zaphias air caressing his cheeks... and flynn in the midst of it all, going about his bureaucratic business per usual. this isn't like the mist and its phony replicas, this is as real as it gets.

"um... yuri? are you alright?"

"huh?" yuri freezes at the sound of his childhood friend's voice, the pause before his own response just a touch too long to be considered casual, "am i alright? you're the one looking at me funny. your face'll get stuck like that, yknow."

an indignant scoff escapes flynn's throat, but the crease doesn't disappear-- if anything, it deepens. fortunately, it doesn't seem like he feels compelled enough to push the issue. either that, or he really needs to get those documents sorted.

as flynn resumes his work and the room is left in silence, yuri tries not to think back to the recent reunions he'd had in spirale-- break's tackle and frye's outburst, or eiden and indigo's excitement upon seeing him. it all trickles into a pool of guilt he doesn't want to -- or rather can't -- acknowledge, for his sake. he's where he's meant to be. there's no reason to complicate his return with memories of people he can't visit unless some higher power deems him to. he knows them well enough; they'll be fine, with or without him.

pretty cruel of the stars, though. it must've been easier last time when he hadn't had those experiences on his mind, and he could go back to life as if it'd never happened. it's not like he won't move on, of course, nor does he have any regrets, but it's... weird.

a whine pulls him from his thoughts, repede's wet snout bumping into his hand. attentive as always...

"seriously," flynn pipes up again, accompanied by the sound of his chair scratching across the floor. great, now his chronic inability to mind his own business is kicking in. "by now you would've been trying -- and succeeding -- to make it impossible for me to get anything done. what happened?"

"i've got no idea what you're talking abou-- wh-- hey, knock it off!" yuri protests when the back of the other man's hand presses against his forehead, likely checking for a fever. sure, he probably looks a little woozy, but he's not sick, dammit!

flynn huffs with a specific brand of testiness that's only ever been reserved for the vigilante himself, "i can tell something's on your mind, yuri, why're you being so difficult? you were the one who barged in here, remember?" 

he did barge in, huh? before his life got flipped upside-down by the stars again. of course he remembers. he remembers that and much, much more than flynn realizes. 

but the blond's reaction -- his worry -- isn't wholly unjustified; yuri's back on terca lumireis, home to the lower quarter, to brave vesperia, to estelle and rita and patty... hell, even raven. he should be celebrating!

so why does he feel off? underneath that very-real sense of relief, he still feels... expectant. what's his intuition trying to tell him...?

yuri turns away in order to shut the office window (or to avoid his friend's piercing blue gaze, at least to some extent), and the lock's click rings out in the large, sparsely-decorated room.

"dunno, just taking it all in... it's nice to be home again," he finally offers flynn something that isn't complete b.s., plopping down on the windowsill with an expertly-handled nonchalance.

"that's it...? you always visit the capital between guild work."

"hah. what's with the interrogation, commandant?" yuri parries the question as he stares out over his shoulder, past the glass, "i got a newfound appreciation for this place, that's all."

that earns him a laugh, disbelieving, yet underlined by a hint of warmth, "who are you and what've you done to the real yuri?"

flynn's unintentionally ironic jab is left hanging in the air, unanswered. yuri doesn't even know where to begin on everything that's happened to the "real him" right now, so he instead chooses to occupy himself with the city below, a hand running rhythmically through repede's fur.

...that's funny. never noticed you can see my old room at the comet from up here... been a while, hasn't it? 'bout time i paid the owners a visit. hanks and ted, too.

[feralfangirll]

Ask her, dunceface.

This is my first time writing a one-shot ever so please be brutal and hurt my feelings in the comments so I can get better! I love Denki sm and shy nervous Denki is one of my favorites. I didn't proofread this, it's honestly just stream of consciousness lol

CW: not much? maybe a little cussing, jealousy, a little lusty Denki but that's not new!

Just thinking about a nervous Denki when he finally works up the courage to ask you out. Sure he’s asked out almost every 1st year girl at UA… but this is different. 

*****************

Denki has had a crush on you from the first time he saw your big, bright eyes glance over him when Mr. Aizawa introduced you as Class 1-A’s very own transfer student. He remembered the blush that painted your cheeks as you stated your name, sounding more like a song leaving your pouty pink lips than a real honorific; the way your hands wrung the sleeves of the oversized UA sweater that was definitely out of dress code to wear as large as you did; your too short skirt just peaking out of the hem of the green fleece monstrosity that was swallowing your little frame; the fresh, white Converse sneakers you’d styled perfectly with the ugly uniform- even your hair made these ugly digs seem appealing.

He gulped hard as his eyes raked your body over and over, taking advantage of the few seconds he’d been blessed with to ogle you, free of repercussions. 

**********************

Denki had asked many girls out before (and been turned down most of the time) but he’d never felt nervous like this. He had to work up the courage to ask if you needed a pencil for your test after you’d stared at the “pencil only” note written across the top of the page for 10 minutes, tapping a pen to your lips. 

“Oh… thank you. We were only allowed to use pens at my old school…” You say with a sweet smile, taking the new yellow pencil from his clammy hands. He doesn’t know what to say in the face of such beauty so he just nods and hopes his face doesn’t look too short-circuited right now. He makes a mental note to get that pencil back another day, hoping you’ll forget it’s his and tap it to your lips mindlessly too.

**********************

Denki had asked out so many girls before this, so why was sitting across from you at the lunch table trying to make small talk like an Olympic sport? Kirishima noted the little charm hanging from your bag, “Hey, is that from that one Anime?” You lit up at the question and began spewing about your love of the manga, but you didn’t become a reader until you’d watched this one anime…

“Her character is just so confident and powerful… I couldn’t help but obsess over her!” You giggle and his heart explodes.

He knows that manga… he’d jerked it to the main character a couple of times, hey you kind of look like her… He only says the second part out loud thankfully, which earns him another giggle and a bright smile.

“You think so? I always loved her hair so I tried copying the style…” You beam, running your fingers through your hair and scrunching up your cute little nose. Speaking of noses, is his bleeding? He feels lightheaded but he doesn’t dare take his eyes away from you as you go on and on about the show. “ You’ve only ever read the manga? We should watch the show together, I’ve been wanting to do a rewatch.” You conclude and all he can do is nod stupidly.

***********************

Denki had gotten used to rejection, so why did his entire body sweat profusely and his heart sink at the thought of you turning him down when he asks if you want to be a part of his team for quirk training? Your quirks were compatible, so why not? When you agree, he has a hard time not shocking everyone on the training floor to death. 

**********************

Denki was used to being the crusher and not the crush, so why does his entire world stop turning when Bakugo welcomes you to the training team with open arms and flirty, heavy-lidded eyes? And why does time stand still when you give Bakugo the same sweet smile you’d previously reserved for him?

He didn’t even think to ask Bakugo if adding you to the squad was ok, but when Bakugo lets it slide so easily he feels suspicion creep in. You’d talked to other people, you’d made friends these past few months, so was it wrong for you to have become close with the yappy blonde boy? Was it wrong for that yappy blonde boy to flash smiles reserved for very few people every time you did something cute? Was it wrong for that yappy blonde boy to watch your movements the same way Denki did? 

You bend over, hoisting a human-weight dummy over your shoulder before crossing the obstacle course first and Bakugo’s hand moves to his nose… is it bleeding? Is Denki’s heart this loud to anyone else right now? Is the room turning red? Can anyone else feel how hot his blood is boiling as you turn and smile back at the stupidly handsome, talented, blonde, yappy piece of shit boy ogling you in only the way Denki should? Did he wait too long?

*********************

Denki had asked out so many girls he could probably play the alphabet game with just the rejections he’d gotten his first year at UA alone, so why is he so terrified as he walks next to you down the school hall to your next class like he always does? Because there's a question weighing heavy on his mind. Just ask her, dunceface...

He was not going to let Bakugo beat him to asking you first, even if he was turned down. He was determined to get the words out so when he stops you, hands on your shoulders, sparks coming off his shaking frame, eyes wide and full of nerves, and the question practically falls from his mouth, he’s not expecting much. To his surprise, you don’t laugh, you don’t turn away, you don’t gut punch him and rip his heart out with your manicured nails… you smile sweetly and release a breathy huff like you’d been holding your breath for this exact question for months.

“I would love to be your date to the dance, Denki…” You beam and he has to release your shoulders, for fear of crushing them, or electrocuting you, or crying tears of joy… “I was hoping you’d ask me.”

[kvetchinglyneurotic]

ok i just finished season 1 of daredevil and i will have articulate things to say about it at some point but for now here's the stream of consciousness notes i took while i was watching:

-I like Jack Murdock as a portrayal of a loving but flawed parent — like he clearly cares for Matt so much and he’s doing his best but there’s some parts of a “normal” childhood he just doesn’t really have the resources to provide. That being said being stupidly self-sacrificial clearly runs in the family. Just take the dive and collect your money my guy 

-“you shouldn’t be sneaking around at night you could get hurt”/ “we need to do this within the legal system” Matthew you fucking hypocrite (affectionate)

-weirdly fascinated by the way Fisk & co. translate for their sketchy group meeting that always seem to take place in abandoned parking garages, especially with how Wesley gives the general idea of what they’re saying instead of a direct translation — ok update i suspected this was because Fisk actually understood what everyone was saying and I was right!

-I like Foggy but I disagree with him about the purpose of a defense attorney — he wants to represent people who aren’t guilty/were justified in what they did but everyone deserves representation even if they 100% did the thing and were 100% wrong in doing so 

-Honestly probably worked out better for Matt that Stick was only around for a couple of years at the most. Also symbolic that he left before teaching Matt to use knives — Matt never fully goes down the road of lethal force (I mean some of the things he does definitely would kill people in real life but in real life he’d also be dead so it evens out) or fully cuts off the people he cares about. Also are they implying that the reason Matt doesn’t permanently have broken ribs and/or major blood loss that he meditates? I mean suspension of disbelief obviously but that is. very funny 

-Fisk is, on the one hand, very detail-oriented, but he’s also impulsive and emotionally reactive, so he has to come up with plans to cover for it. Also I feel like his and Wesley’s relationship is going to implode at some point. Or one of them (probably Wesley since Fisk is like. the main villain) is going to die

-are they sponsored by Dell 

-obviously I know why they do this for cinematic reasons but it’s very funny that in-universe Fisk gives his entire speech in 1x08 without actually saying his name until he dramatically announces at the end. Although maybe that’s just for dramatic effect and in-universe he's just repeating it? Also don’t throw your computer Matt you have no money 

-Matt’s smug little smile when Karen says the man in the mask looks badass flipping around :3 

-“the whole wounded, handsome duck thing” 

-i love how much they dwell on the actual implications of finding out your friend is secretly a vigilante/has had superpowers the entire time you’ve known each other, and that knowing they go out at night to beat people up, even if it’s for the “right” reasons, would still be alarming 

-actually not bad on the nighttime colour-grading front! I can see what’s happening which is better than most shows 

-I appreciate that there’s an actual plot about/explanation of how Matt gets his body armour 

-Wow who could have guessed leaving the gun in the middle of the table was a bad idea. I kind of liked Wesley but honestly what a dumbass way to die. Do admire the bluff though “you don’t really believe I’d put a loaded gun where you could reach it?” 

-love the approach to superhero realism here — not necessarily in the abilities or the way the plot is constructed (although that’s good, too) but in the characters’ reactions (Foggy finding out about Matt; Karen when she kills Wesley, Fisk when he finds out Wesley is dead) 

-“I thought your days of being relevant were past” ouch 

-reasons Wilson Fisk is evil: murder, drug dealing, doesn’t like cat videos 

-I do like that Fisk kind of gets the power of friendship thing though? But like it makes him worse 

-I’m very much not the most qualified to make this judgement and I’d want to check what people who actually *are* in a position to judge have to say about it, but I feel like this show has a bit of an… orientalism problem, I guess? But orientalism that also includes Russians, and also I know this is partly an extension of her being a very minor character but Doris (Ben Urich’s wife) is the only character who seems like she’s *only* there to like. encourage others through her wise words and doesn’t have much of an internal life of her own (besides the priest I guess but I feel like with priests that’s kind of their job) 

-Did Foggy not go to Ben’s funeral? 

-Fisk is also going to kill Leland. Maybe stop killing all your allies Fisk 

-I think it’s cute that Matt still holds onto Foggy’s arm when they’re walking even when it’s just the two of them and Foggy already knows that he doesn’t need to do it 

-Why does Marvel keep naming wise mentor figures who die Ben? Matt and Peter Parker should make a club (is Ben Urich in the comics? I haven't read the comics)

-“while actively being arrested” has got to win some sort of award for worst marriage proposal but I guess I admire that he just went for it? 

-Ominously large number of minutes left in this episode after the seeming resolution 

-Matt’s dumbass little horns <3

-Fisk: “You think one man in a silly little costume will make a difference?” bro *you* thought one man in a silly little costume would make a difference when you were the one man. Also I hope the silly little costume protects Matt from blunt force trauma 

-I’m honestly still not entirely sure how/if Nelson & Murdock actually made any money

-I feel like that bit near the beginning where Karen and Matt both have secrets and Foggy’s like “I wish I had a secret” describes their dynamic basically

[midnighthybrid1]

Who do you thinks gonna end up abstracting?

Well this is a bit of an old question buuuuut:

Hm.... honestly, I'm not sure! There's a case that could be made for literally any of them abstracting, especially with the episodes all slowly revealing more and more canon things about each character's mental state. Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly?) I think the least likely ones to abstract would be Pomni, Zooble, and Kinger mostly. Kinger because he's just so crazy most of the time that- well- he can't exactly give into the abstraction, while Pomni and Zooble just seem to be doing the 'best' mentally, even if they do have their own mental hang ups. It does make some sense, if you consider the fact that those two have been there the least amount of time compared to everyone else.

But back to the previous question- that leavesss Ragatha, Jax, and Gangle to possibly abstract. If we're going by just the players, I would guess that Ragatha would be the first of those three to fully give into the abstraction. Gangle is obviously not doing the best, but she has more of a support system to fall back on than either Jax or Ragatha do. Jax, meanwhile, has somewhat fallen into a mindset that he doesn't necessarily care what the others think of him, and that he can do whatever he wants in the digital world without consequence. As long as nothing breaks this attitude of his- which I could see happening, but thus far has only sort of happened in this latest Spudsy's episode- I think he'd be fine. Ragatha, meanwhile, is liked in the circus. She, however, hates upsetting people, and does not have much of a real support system to fall back onto. She masks most of her opinions on things, and would probably mask when she's feeling genuinely upset about bigger things. Her rambling in the very first episode also makes me wonder how close to her 'breaking point' she really is.

Here's a bit of a plot twist, though- I actually think Caine is more likely to crash out or get close to it BEFORE any of the main cast abstract. The third episode had him slowly start bugging out as Zooble told him off about his adventures, and then right after Gangle left him in his office in the most recent episode he began to bug out as well. Goose has also hinted that there will be some 'Caine angst' during the show as well, which leads me to believe that his glitching and the breaking down of the system will only get worse with the episodes to come. Whether this is a good thing for the players- where he breaks down and their minds are maaagically taken back to their bodies at the cost of his life- or a bad thing for them- where he breaks down, the system breaks down, and then they either end up dead or forever trapped in this endless Void with nothing to distract them from the nothingness of this world- I am unsure. I could see it going either way.

TLDR: So far I could see Ragatha abstracting first of the main cast, but Caine might get close to or ACTUALLY break down before that.

I'm sure everything I've said up to this point will be proven WRONG in the future, but for now those are my thoughts! Apologies this got super long, I kind of just let myself type my stream of consciousness here haha. Thank you for the question!

[m1d-45]

Hi,um this is my first time so I'm sorry if the requests are close.So I read a few genshin sagau and what would happen if the reader get smaller if they don't receive love?Like,they turn younger and younger.And 1 of the character found them but instead if the so called imposter, they find a child?What would happen

Again,im sorry.If the requests are close,then pls ignore me.im more scared of getting a reply😭

the young

a/n: requests are open, don’t worry! personally, i don’t plan on ever properly ‘closing’ them, only delaying / putting them on second priority for whatever reason. thank you for sending in a request, and if this isn’t what you wanted, then feel free to ask again!

word count: ~1.3k

-> warnings: unedited stream of consciousness, but not much else! imposter au. slight mention of addiction, probably obsessive behavior / thoughts… rip to klee / diona / dori / sayu / qiqi mains. mad respect though.

-> lowercase intended!

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky

at first, you didn’t notice.

teyvat, in its loving kindness, had kept you safe after you’d been run out of the city. boars made sure nobody got too close, cranes kept watch, birds fluttered around your small campsite during the night. your loyal guard, always there, inhuman to some but a blessing to you. the people may not believe you, they may run you out and shout for your capture, but teyvat would always be there.

it would lower the boughs on trees as you mumbled about not being able to reach the fruit, it would send smaller companions as you jumped at the size of a crow, it would lead you to areas with smaller and smaller wildlife, all in the hopes that if it made you happy enough, you would stop shrinking.

when you did notice, you were afraid.

you were sitting on a rock, absentmindedly braiding wildflowers together. they seemed larger than usual in your palms, but so did everything else! your mind told you it was just because teyvat’s plants and animals were bigger than the ones in your world, but you didn’t really believe it.

a large raven carefully landed on the rock besides you, eyes peering at your creation. it was huge, the size of a puppy at least.

…a dog, you correct yourself. no puppy is that large.

the bird hops closer, talons clicking on the stone, beady eyes still watching the wildflowers in your hands. it’s large, unnervingly so, and you swallow before turning back to braiding.

when you reach for another flower, it takes more strength than it should to pull it up.

grass bends under determined shoes, eyes scanning the undergrowth. ferns part, your main ducking under surprisingly low branches. they’d heard from the locals that the imposter was spotted around here, and they needed to be the one to find you.

they couldn’t let down their god. they couldn’t let them down, not when they’d already been punished by being deprived of their aura. they didn’t know what they did, they didn’t receive an answer no matter how hard they begged, but they were certain this could fix it. after all, they were still the favorite, right? they still had their weapon, and their artifacts that had taken ages to collect, and they could still sweep away enemies with the same strength.

all that was missing was the precious aura of being close to the creator, a feeling they would do anything to get back.

the memory spurred them on, even as the thicket grew denser. they did their best to push through, the golden shimmer of their weapon being summoned making up for the lack of light filtering through the leaves, but it’s like the very earth didn’t want them going here.

the thought made them pause, but only momentarily. if the earth didn’t want them there, then that meant it was dangerous, a threat to the people nearby. at the very least, they had to see whatever it was to ensure they could bring the proper amount of backup.

as they cut through the leaves and bushes—doing their best to preserve as much as they could, unwilling to destroy what their god had so lovingly created—they began to feel the same thrill in their bones that came from being near their god. when they first noticed they had to stop their progress, leaning against a tree to mumble a prayer of thanks.

they’d missed this. they’d missed it so deeply, a hole in their soul that nothing could ever fill. from being surrounded by it daily, in and out of battle and other errands, to being stranded without it for months… it could only be compared to an addiction.

when they got their wits about them, they shakily drew their weapon once more. this had to be a reward, right? for going out of their way to protect the people? this had to be a sign, acknowledgment from the only one they truly cared about, and it only reinforced their actions. cutting through the brush was hard, a task of which progress seemed slower and slower with every breath, but this made it worth it.

with a final use of their skill—carefully aimed, as they were well aware of how their hands trembled—the foliage gave way, opening into a beautiful meadow. birds chirped and called, butterflies landed on flowers, and a creek bubbled through the center, emptying into a pool on one side. it was beautiful, an area certainly blessed by their god’s love, and they took a moment to look in awe.

“hello?”

the call of a child snapped them from their thoughts, the feeling of a divine aura pulsing in their veins, and they turned to the source.

a small child was sitting in the grass near the edge of the clearing, butterflies and birds surrounding them like a personal guard. in their hands was a braid of flowers, their clothes stained with dirt and grass.

“hello.”

the favored rushed to try and rationalize the situation, thoughts slowed to a drip of honey by the bliss in the air. this… child had to be the reason they were being blessed, right? their god wanted them to save them from whatever the earth didn’t want them to see, right? perhaps the child was one of their vessels as well? though rare, it wasn’t unheard of..

the child stood from the grass, setting down the flowers and attempting to brush some of the dirt off their clothes. it didn’t work as well as they might have hoped.

they cleared their throat, catching the child’s attention. “you should come with me.”

one of the birds besides the child cawed loudly in protest, flapping its wings. neither payed any mind.

“why?”

‘why’ indeed. they couldn’t exactly explain the entire concept of divinity to somebody so young, and it would surely only give whatever monster lied in wait more time to return. if they were a villager’s kid, they would have heard of them being missing, but they didn’t, so no chance of using the ‘your parent sent me for you’ line…

“somebody very important is looking for you,” they settled, taking a step towards them. “and they’ve sent me to come find you.”

please say yes. please just come with me. i can’t hurt a child. i need you to come with me.

i need their favor once more.

to their relief, the child walked closer to them, and they crouched to meet their eyes. the blessing of their god thudded alongside their own heartbeat, their vision swimming at the edges. this is what they were meant to do. they had to bring this kid to their god. this is how they would be forgiven.

the child said something, something along the lines of trust and belief, but they fell on deaf ears. in an easy motion, the favored picked up the child and stood, walking for where they had entered the meadow.

the kid squirmed in their arms, making themself comfortable, but they didn’t stop marching. exiting was far easier than entering, the leaves no longer seeming to fight them—not that it mattered. they had the key to their god’s favor in their arms, and their blessing in their veins. nothing would stop them from returning to their former position, to where they belonged.

nothing would stop them from returning to their god’s side.

[peachdelta]

did anything inspire the emmetropia au?

i kept seeing people draw emmet beating the fuck out of volo and while they were VERY funny the sephiroth-obsessed part of my brain was like “hmm but many of these make volo look like a pathetic wet cat…which he is, but also i like him as a competent antagonist as well” so i made the first comic. then it blew up and i got more and more ideas

my writing is heavily inspired both by my own humour, trying to keep in line with the traditional levity of pokemon’s tone to a certain point— but eventually my major writing inspirations come into play here. specifically, the works of kitty horrorshow and the book house of leaves. i’m gonna talk a lot about the third page in part 5 which i talked about on my twitter but its easier to save things here

i’m gonna preface this by saying emmet =/= the main character of house of leaves. he is not supposed to parallel johnny truant in any sense whatsoever, due to johnny being highly flawed in ways that are absolutely fascinating to examine and analyze but (in my opinion) extremely morally reprehensible, so i don’t want people to think that i’m trying to directly compare the two. rather, i’m just using a similar literary concept that’s used in the book, and getting some inspiration not from johnny’s character himself, but from the process of johnny’s deterioration

if you haven’t read house of leaves (it’s very good but it’s highly nsfw and i don’t recommend going into it blind if you suffer from delusions / paranoia / psychosis, please be careful) i won’t say anything about the plot specifically, BUT it’s important to note that it has three separate narrators. there’s an initial story, which is written as some kind of analysis of a movie that doesn’t exist. the story is interspersed with comments from the second narrator (johnny), as he reads the story and gives commentary and translations, stuff like that. the third narrator is very infrequent but will occasionally leave notes specifically commentating on johnny’s notes, not usually on the story itself. not important to understand my thought process here

basically, johnny occasionally talks about himself or what he did that day, but sometimes as the narrative progresses he visibly starts to deteriorate and break down mentally, as he loses his identity and mind and ego to fear and paranoia because of this story that he’s been reading and commentating on.

these initially short off-handed comments that he leaves in the footnotes will suddenly start extending so long and be so heavy with text that a single SENTENCE can take up two entire pages, a dizzying and overwhelming beast of a paragraph that’s genuinely horrifying to even find when you flip the page, much less read it specifically— there seems to be some kind of point to it, he has a thought, yeah, but it’s a literal stream of consciousness. he can’t filter himself even though he’s actively typing it out, it’s just COMING OUT OF HIM and he can’t control the rate that it’s expelled out of him.

and then, what i find FASCINATING: if the previous page is empty enough of text, you can literally see it coming when johnny is about to dump that stream of consciousness on the next page. the paper is thin enough that you can’t read the words, but you can see the vague shapes of a huge block of text, and it’s genuinely chilling when you notice it. it feels like there’s a monster creeping around the corner, right in your required path, and you know it’s there, and it knows you know, but you have to keep going down that path because you have to know what happens next!

it’s an absolutely genius way to utilize PAPER THICKNESS of all things if that was intentional, and i really wanted to try something similar. i can’t do the same ineffable shape through paper, but on twitter you can vaguely see that “oh, that’s a huge hunk of just text” in the preview before you click, and on tumblr you’d expect there to be an image when you scroll, but the further you scroll the more it dawns on you that it’s just text. it’s just a huge paragraph. it’s just his thoughts, unfiltered and breaking down. i don’t know if i was able to capture anything remotely similar to that thing in house of leaves, but i hope i at least captured something vaguely similar

ok thanks :) house of leaves and kitty horrorshow are big inspos for me for horror writing. i came up with the comic idea bc i like sephiroth so i liked volo in a very similar way so i wanted to make content for what i like

[legendssaga]

The Sacrifices we made

I wrote this for @jainadurron, and we both want the people who keep saying that "Han wasn't as sad about Anakin as he was about Chewie" to take a hint and understand this very basic concept of his character that Denning established in Star by Star. Now sit down and read what might be, admittedly, my very last fic on the "Solos grieving Anakin" trope.

27 ABY  - Before

Bad. Mentally, Han Solo prepared for the worst. It surely hadn’t been the first time Anakin got injured on an adventure - he could still vividly recall the horror he had experienced when Luke mentioned the boy had come face to face with a Krayt Dragon, and yet, this time it was different. This time he came face to face with enemies even trained Jedi Master Luke has had trouble defeating. Enemies he, the twins, and a bunch of other Jedi trainees tried defeating in their home arena, with help and support outside the small strike team virtually nonexistent - and he had seen in the solemn expressions of the other Jedi that the strike team had already faced several losses within the first day of their mission.

He wondered how the twins were faring at this very moment. The three of them together, supporting and protecting one another, was what kept Han remotely sane: as long as they had each other, they would make it out somehow, because they always had. 

Nonetheless, he was undoubtedly on edge, readying his ship for - he didn’t know what for, but he was preparing for any sort of potential crazy maneuver, even though he rationally knew the kids had to fight their way back - it had been in a one way trip, and any rescue from an outside-point would only get the wanna-be supporters killed.

He heard a tiny voice in his mind whisper “then why did you let them go?” and gritted his teeth. "Because I know they’ll come back." 

Or did he? He’d thought the same about Chewbacca, yet here he was - with Leia as his copilot, and a hole in his heart that could never be filled.

He refused to think about how much deeper a loss of his children would cut, as even just the existing possibility rendered him paralyzed from terror, and he didn’t like the thought.

Parents don’t outlive their children, especially not their Jedi children.

Han Solo might not trust the Force, but he decided to trust his gut on this.

27 ABY - After

Han found himself appreciating and regretting his previous naivety all at once. He looked down, finding Leia curled up at his side, where persistent tear streaks had wettened the fabric of the blanket he’d wrapped her in. Their evening had been horrendous, to say the least, and the only thing that had eased Leia’s anguish and made her calm enough to take the first proper breath in hours, was the medication the medical droid had eventually slipped her. Meanwhile, Lando had offered to take care of little Ben for the time being, and Han appreciated the sentiment, although it did have the nasty side effect of leaving him alone with his thoughts and feelings - or the lack thereof, with an ache so incomprehensibly deep and scarring that it didn’t quite fully reach his consciousness. Instead, ever since he’d settled Leia to sleep, the most solid evidence of his heartache was the void growing inside him, and the tears that streamed down his face no matter how much he had tried blinking them away. Eventually, he just let them be, realizing the act was in vain.

He pulled himself up, stumbling from their sleeping quarters down into the main area to look for something to drink, overcome by a sudden urge to simply down a bottle of Lando’s finest brandy until he could just forget - spent another precious minutes with the hopeful thought of reunification with Anakin, and the cocky security that as long as the kids had each other, everything would be fine.

But then, the sight of the bottle left him nauseated and mortified. Each and everything had started with his wish to drown the truth. Maybe, if he hadn’t done it, if he’d acted like the adult he was supposed to be - maybe Anakin wouldn’t have been so eager to settle things himself, make amends for his failures- failures which had never existed, which had only ever been imprinted on him by Han’s utter inability to handle his pain.

And Anakin had paid the price.

Noticing his vision blurr, Han barely managed to reach for the sink, spending the next few minutes trying to catch his own breath between sobs. It was apparent that the universe had made a mistake, and he had no idea how to fix it. He couldn’t go back, not to Sernpidal, not even a few days back, pending the votes in favor of a reckless mission. A reckless mission that could cost not just Anakin’s, but the twins’ life, too, because he knew no matter how much they might fight, and how preoccupied they’d been in recent days with other things, the twins had always loved and feverishly protected their little brother. He didn’t dare imagining the kind of scenario that could’ve ever led to this gruesome twist of destiny. 

Catching a break when his thoughts started swirling so violently that he failed to make sense of them any longer, Han found himself mindlessly filling a cup of water, drinking it, and then drowning in a mixture of a sob and a laugh when he reflected that the empty cup was a perfect representation of how he felt inside.

He filled it once more, then managed to settle on the couch, fingers tracing the rim of the glass. It reminded him dearly of the time when the kids were young, hidden away on Anoth on one of Luke’s very many hunches that turned out to be a well-considered but needless measure of protection, robbing him and Leia of precious hours with them. Would Luke have made the suggestion if he had known how little time they actually had? How many good-night stories had been delivered by Winter or Threepio, rather than him and Leia? How many chances of snuggling on the couch and watching a silly holo-drama? It was nothing he ever dreamed of wanting, and now his mind itched to have relaxed family nights in an ordinary home among ordinary people over an adventure on any day. They had pulled the kids into this, hadn’t they? By the way they had been brought up, he should’ve expected them to be roaming around digging their head into one mess at a time. Just that he, Leia and Luke, however bruised, injured or frozen they’d ended up, always clawed their way back to life. He never saw the glass flying, but he surely heard the impact when it shattered on the durasteel wall, breaking into a dozen little pieces. Some of them he knew he could repair. Some of them were large enough to be picked up and perhaps, with enough time and effort, be pieced back together. Others, however, smaller pieces, those that had shattered into crystalline fragments, invisible to the naked eye, would forever remain imprinted in the material, virtually lost to the world, a reminder of a present that had ceased existing.

Somehow, Han found it within himself to get up and look for Leia, scolding himself for how his grief-driven rage could’ve woken her up - she deserved the bliss of night for a little longer, even if the heartache would return as early as the new morning, when a happy dream would be ripped apart by reality. He leaned against the doorframe, wiping his eyes, marveling at the strength with which she had carried herself through her whole life, and how she’d managed to carry him through shared pain after they had lost Chewie, as if the weight had lasted any less on her own shoulders.

This was his burden to carry now, and he knew of the price he was paying. He knew of the holo-journalists and passerbys, old friends and acquaintances, maybe people closer to him, those who should know better, who hopefully would know better… better than to assume he swallowed his grief because he ached any less than his wife. He swallowed it, for it threatened to consume him otherwise, and Leia couldn’t handle yet another loss. Their relationship and marriage had started on the wrong foot, and he aimed to get the record straight, even if that meant suffering his loss in silence for as long as it would need to pick up all the lost pieces, and rebuilt something that resembled an ironic, misfortunate new “normalcy”, while he’d always yearn for what was lost in the process. There was one soothing thing about it, at least: from the bottom of his heart right to the top, Han knew it’s what Anakin would have wanted him to do. And that was motivation enough to keep going. But not tonight.

Tonight, he’d sit on the old couch in utter darkness and silence, contemplating all everything that was meant to be and never took place. Questioning whether the twins were alright, whether they’d return home to them. Questioning whether Anakin had to suffer in his final moments, or if at least, with a cynical gruesomeness, the Force had granted him some mercy. There was no way of knowing. There was only hope.

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Writing Snippet #10

O Positive

Part 2

Ok so @im-a-wonderling had a FANTASTIC idea for a snippet, but I’m putting the ask below to not cause spoilers lol:)

Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling as well for the beta read, edits, suggestions, and expert medical knowledge to help make this way more realistic than my original draft! You’re amazing!!!

—————————————————

Hero shifted from side to side as she stood in line, fingers clutching a bottle of orange juice.

“Well you’re prepared.” Hero’s head shot up as the attendant waved her forward. “Normally people wait until after to go for the juice.”

She chuckled nervously. “That’s me... prepared.”

“ID?” She scrambled through her wallet, making sure she didn’t grab either of the two aliases she’d already used at different locations that morning.

She would have used the same ID, but last time she’d tried to explain that she healed super fast- a result of her powers- and could donate more, the resulting argument had lasted nearly an hour, with nurses questioning whether her “magic blood” could even be used at all (it was perfectly normal blood thank you very much), and they’d still only let her donate the normal amount.

She handed him the correct ID, and he shoved a clipboard full of paperwork at her. A phlebotomist led her to a reclining chair. Even though she’d filled out the information twice that morning, it still took approximately twelve years to finish the stack of forms. The phlebotomist returned, and began asking her an equally long list of questions. She only half paid attention to the stream of questions.

Have you received any blood transfusions?

No.

Have you traveled in the last 6 months?

No.

Are you free of HIV or any other blood diseases?

Yes.

Have you ever been pregnant?

Yes.

Wait! No!

The phlebotomist chuckled as she snapped on a pair of gloves. “Ok let’s see that arm.” Hero held out her mark-free arm. After the first donation that morning, the needle mark and resulting bruise had been gone in a matter of minutes. After the second, she’d had to wait over thirty minutes before the signs of her deception to fade. The phlebotomist wrapped a tourniquet above her elbow before consulting her paperwork.

“It says here you’d like to do a double donation?”

“Yes.”

“You have to be 150lbs in order to donate that much sweetie.” The older woman eyed Hero dubiously.

Her throat went dry. “I know. I am.”

“I’m just going to take one bag today; you’re looking a little pale, honey.”

“But the other phlebotomist let me—”She cut off and cleared her throat. “I mean, last time I donated. It was fine.”

The phlebotomist shook her head as she felt the inside of Hero’s arm for the vein.

Hero forced a cheery smile. “This is important. I’ll be fine.”

By tomorrow, she added silently. Or the day after that...

Last time she’d only been able to get in one regular and one double donation before she’d gotten called into help with a work emergency. She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, but had woken up fine the next morning. Of course, that was only half the amount of blood...

The woman narrowed her eyes before shaking her head.

“The shortage is the worst it’s been in years, but I’m only going to take one bag today.”

“But—”

“Unless you’d like to go stand on that scale over there?”

Hero blanched, then mutely shook her head.

The woman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I thought not,’ before raising her voice to a normal volume. “And make sure to take it easy and drink that orange juice you’ve got there.” She nodded at the bottle in Hero’s hand as she swabbed her arm with an alcohol wipe and picked up a needle.

“I will.”

————— 30 minutes (or so) later —————

Hero made it ten steps out of the building before she collapsed against the wall, head swimming. She peeled the tape and cotton ball off her arm. Blood immediately began to trickle down her forearm.

She struggled to unscrew the cap of her juice, hands shaking. Finally, she succeeded, the cap slipping through her fingers and bouncing against the sidewalk. She brought the bottle to her lips, but only managed a few sips before her stomach revolted. She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, willing herself not to throw up.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the curious stares from pedestrians on the crowded downtown street.

She needed to get home.

A quaking boom shook the ground, and Hero cracked open her eyes to see a plume of smoke a few blocks over.

Most likely the bank on main. Or the diamond store next door.

She took a step towards the plume of smoke, but the ground was still rocking, and she had a feeling it wasn’t from the explosion. She closed her eyes as panicked civilians began running to and fro.

Her phone rang out in a pealing tone, sending her a foot into the air, her orange juice falling to the ground with a sticky splash.

The emergency line.

Groaning, she accepted the call.

“Hero! Villain just set off a bomb on Main Street.”

“Diamonds or bank vault?”

“BOTH! You need to get over there now!”

Hero covered her eyes. She wanted to, she really did. If only the ground would stop moving.

“It’s my day off. Send Other Hero.” She cringed at her seemingly callous words, but she didn’t think the Hero Agency would exactly condone what she’d just done.

Even if she was just trying to save lives.

“Other Hero is undercover spying on Supervillain. Your phone shows you are six blocks away. That will take you 12 seconds to get your speedy butt over there.”

A second explosion rocked the ground.

Oh he didn’t. Hero growled, pushing off the wall and taking a hesitant step forward.

The ground was finally still. Much better. She pulled out the spare mask she always kept in her purse and fitted it across her eyes.

12 seconds, she scoffed.

————— 9 (and a half) seconds later————

Hero skidded to a halt in front of the shattered front windows of Pristine Diamonds.

The windows of the bank next door were in a similar condition. She rested a hand against the ash stained wall, gasping as the world spun.

She forced her head up, scanning the scene. A gaping hole had been blown in the wall connecting the two businesses, and smoke was still pouring out of both buildings. She darted into the diamond store, moving without her super speed through the black air. She made it to the back of the store, where the massive safe stood empty, the door hanging drunkenly off one hinge.

She cursed and made her way to the jagged hole. She was halfway across the bank lobby when a figure leapt from the smoke and she was thrown to the side.

She scrambled to her feet as Villain faded back into the smoke. His laughter echoed around her as she spun in desperate circles. The smoke thickened until it was nearly solid around her.

“You’re slow today, Hero.” The voice rang out behind her, and she whirled around, but there was nothing but smoke.

Her vision was truly swimming now. She swiped at her eyes. “And you’re extravagant. You can create smoke from nothing, you didn’t actually need to set off a bomb.”

“I was creating a passage between the businesses. They should thank me.” The voice was to her right, and she spun again. There was no point in super speed if she couldn’t see. Her head was starting to pound.

“And that outfit.” The whisper brushed against her neck, and she whirled around again, only to see the smoke curling in around the place where Villain had just stood.

She glanced down self-consciously at her pink shorts and baggy tie-dye T-shirt.

“You already ruined my day off. There’s no need to mock my clothes as well.” She huffed, taking determined strides in the direction she hoped was the door.

“Who said I was mocking?”

She sensed him behind her the instant before he attacked. She spun. He hit. She flew. Across the room. To the floor. Over chunks of rubble. And into a brick wall.

Her back cracked against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs.

Smoke swirled through the air as Villain emerged, the dark tendrils receding to lap at his heels.

He looked surprised; he’d never actually managed to land a blow that direct before.

Hero forced herself off the ground. It was time to retreat. She summoned her powers, but between her swimming head and the sharp pain in her leg, she made it only a few feet before sinking back to the ground with a quiet whimper of pain.

She forced her blurry gaze up to Villain, who was regarding her with a strange expression on his face.

“I thought you healed as fast as you can run.”

She blinked, and realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at her leg.

She looked down. Blood seeped from a long shallow gash on the outside of her calf, no doubt from a sharp piece of rubble.

Smaller cuts and bruises covered the rest of her body, and none of them were healing.

“That’s strange.” She wiped clumsily at the cut.

Villain’s eyes narrowed. “You seem oddly off your game, Hero. You haven’t lost that much blood.”

She mustered the energy to glare at Villain. “I did tell you this was my day off.”

“I wonder if it’s from the blood earlier.” She mused, floating on a hazy cloud.

The tendrils of smoke scattered as Villain knelt down beside her.

“What blood? You came to fight me when you were already injured?”

His voice sounded as though he was speaking through a tunnel.

“There’s a national blood shortage. Worst it’s been in years.”

“So?”

“So, I donated.”

Villain scoffed as he produced a cloth from somewhere and began wrapping it around her leg. “You have regenerative healing powers, a pint of blood wouldn’t have made you this weak.”

Hero shook her head and weakly held up five fingers.

Villain froze. “FIVE PINTS OF BLOOD!” He roared, smoke dancing angrily around them. “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY INSANE!? YOU SHOULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW!”

Her head throbbed with every word, and she flinched away.

“I heal fast.” It was barely a whisper, but his fiery eyes met hers.

“I don’t care how fast you heal. No one can survive losing half their blood.” At least now his rage was contained to a low snarl. He grabbed Hero’s hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Your hands are freezing! What were you thinking!? Why would you face me after donating that much blood?!? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He continued to seethe as he swept Hero into his arms and strode through the bank. He paused only to swing a bulging duffle bag onto one shoulder before he swept out through a second gaping hole into a back alley. A dark SUV was waiting in the shadows. He tossed the bag into the back and slid Hero into the passenger seat.

She curled against the warm leather.

“I was just trying to help.” She mumbled, her voice muffled as she spoke into the headrest.

“I know.” A hand ran down her hair. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

She forced her eyes wider, remembering. “I can’t. I have a job to do.”

Villain shut her door and rounded the car to the driver’s side. Slipping into place, he started the engine.

“Not today.” He managed a small smile even as his eyes crinkled in concern.

“It’s your day off, remember?”

Original request from @im-a-wonderling:

“I started thinking about a story where the hero donates blood and then the villain does something that the hero has to go and face them. The villain notices the hero is off their game, but assumes they’re just tired or something. Then, the hero gets injured. The injury is really minor in terms of blood loss, but the hero is pale and sickly and can’t stand up and the villain gets all protective like “WHY would you come and FACE ME if you DONATED BLOOD today?!” And the hero mumbles “They’re having a blood shortage.” And the villain is ready to wring the hero’s neck for not taking care of themselves. So they just scoop the hero up in their arms and brings them back to their lair to feed them and let them sleep.”

Again thanks so much for the request!! I hope I did it justice:)

[tribblesoup]

"Star Trek: Discovery." I really have a love-hate relationship with this show.

I love the world-building, and most of the characters. The pacing and storylines are my main issue.

My personal grievances about "Discovery" boil down to one thing: the writers seem to be taking advice from fanfiction.

I love fanfiction, but the same thing that's fine for a fanfic doesn't automatically work for a real show.

Cases in point...

Michael is treated like a fanfic OC.

My character is the adopted sister of a famous canon character, and the whole story is told from her POV. But aside from her unique situation, she's yet another Human, with an American name.

It's the story everyone wants to write, but not everyone wants to read. I for one miss ensemble cast storytelling in "Star Trek."

Ash Tyler was just a walking angst fetish.

When we first met him, I thought, "Ooo, me like! 😍" That wore off very quickly when they dove right into having him angst and suffer for every scene, before we even got to know him. His entire arc felt like an AOOO story. Torture, PTSD, insanity, amnesia, turning evil, a surprise baby, Ash had it all. Bucky Barnes and Tony Stark had nothing on Ash Tyler.

Except being interesting characters.

See, the reason fanfics can dive into the angst right away is because we already know the character in question. If "Iron Man" had just opened with Tony getting waterboarded before we got to know him a little bit, I'd have just said "who is this fucker abd why should I care?"

Obviously if it was a real person I'd care. But since it's not, fiction needs to work to get readers or viewers invested in a character. Sorry not sorry.

They at least seemed to learn this lesson with Ash, and did things right with Book. We got to know and like Book for a bit, before his world got turned upside down. (Well, blown up.)

Most of the queer characters are regulated to domestic fluff

For the record no, I'm not a member of the LGBT community. But that doesn't change the fact that the gay and trans characters of "Discovery" are the best damn characters on the show, and they're being done dirty.

Paul and Hugh are both brilliant scientists in their time, now thrust into a century where all of their knowledge and experience is considered ancient. There's an interesting story to be told there.

Adira is the first Human successfully joined to a Trill symbiont; Tal's most recent host was the current host's dead boyfriend; said past host somehow persists as his own separate consciousnes. Said consciousness is uploaded into a synthetic body, and is now training to be a Trill telepathic Guardian. Kahless's balls, I have so many questions! And im intrigued as hell!

...But all of those storylines seem to take a back seat to domestic fluff. Most of the scenes between any of the four characters feel like a "Superfamily" ficlett. It seriously feels like the writers came here, to Tumblr, and looked up Safe-for-Work slash fanfics of the Avengers, to learn how to write LGBT characters.

I'm fine with these characters being a family, but can they be characters first? And I like emotion to compliment a storyline, but not the substitute for it.

Like I said, I'm not in the community myself. But I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that people who are would prefer inclusive representation, that treats these characters to the same quality of stories and development that the other characters get.

In any case, I'm frustrated as a viewer that the most interesting characters are being used in the most boring way.

Outlining? Editing? Bitch this is fanfiction serialized TV!

Ok, this one is probably just a result of modern streaming formats. But even so, its similarities to a fanfiction are noticeable.

The story's premise and main character both abruptly change drastically halfway through the saga. Story arcs are full of padding, because regular updates are demanded. The writers seem to have no more idea where this is going than the audience. Or at least not much more of an idea.

Yes, "the Orville" is an even more blatant "Star Trek" fanfiction.

And it suffers similar issues with pacing, as well as a lack of originality.

The show was marketed as a "parody," but really it was just Seth McFarland living out the typical Trekkie's fantasy. Not in a sleezy incel way, but in the sense that the show basically revolves around what we all used to talk about doing if we were onboard the Enterprise or Voyager.

"I'd play D&D on the holodeck!" "I'd show the aliens 'Seinfeld' and Kermit the frog, instead of just Shakespeare or jazz." "I just wish Picard or Janeway would drop an F-bomb, or have drunk karaoke or something." "I'd drink soda at the helm and use the viewscreen as a TV."

With few exceptions, most of the serious storylines and characters are carbon copies of ones from "Star Trek," with very little added other than the modern styled humor and dialogue.

And like "Discovery," "Orville" seems to lack a cutting floor. Seth McFarland is less interested in angst than "Discovery," but every bit as in love with indulging unnecessary mundane details. If there's a wedding, funeral, or friendly conversation, we see the whole thing.

An entire story outlining your OTP's wedding, from the clichéd ring proposal to trying on bridal dresses to the entire ceremony, is commonplace for a fanfic, but it doesn't make for great TV viewing.

I like both "the Orville" and "Discovery," but I have the same complaint for both: they're both too often written like fanfiction.

[appleflavoredkitkats]

Bad is More Powerful Against the Egg than You Think He is

This essay would mostly be half-assed, but it’s something I’ve been wondering about ever since they’ve established the Egg’s capabilities in the Tales from the SMP’s masquerade episode. 

First thing to establish: the Egg is capable of mind controlling any person of choice at will. If Sir Billiam (Techno) hosted the masquerade to find other people to feed to the Egg, and none of the characters were aware of the egg’s presence at all, then that means those the Egg has chosen to become murderers have been infected by the egg the instant the lights flickered and the Egg chose them to do its bidding.

[more under the cut]

The Egg’s influence is instant. The moment the lights flickered, those chosen immediately unconsciously does what the Egg wants them to do. The Egg is also capable of stripping away its influence in an instant too- we can see that with especially with Loria (Niki) and Oliver (Fundy)’s characters as in one instance, they murder others, but as soon as the lights turn on, they genuinely think they’re innocent or have done nothing.

Secondly, those who have been infected by the Egg and is aware of its existence tend to be mindlessly enamored by the Egg. It doesn’t need to have a purpose- like what Sir Billiam said in reply to Karl when he asked what the Egg was, “Ah, the Egg. What questions are there to ask? It’s just- it’s just the Egg.” 

Those heavily infected by the egg and are aware of its presence seem to just worship it without thought. They’re all just brainwashed by how ethereal they believe the egg to be. There’s no purpose, no reason. They’re completely apathetic to anything else that isn’t the egg, only showcasing immense admiration for the Egg’s beauty.

Now, where do we see this in modern-day Dream SMP?

The Egg in the Dream SMP is undoubtedly weaker than the Egg seen in Sir Billiam’s mansion. I feel like the main reasoning for this is that Sir Billiam provides it nourishment via feeding it dead, human bodies, while Bad has mostly has given it rotten flesh while the rest of its followers just seem to act as servants that do its bidding. 

With that being said, I see similarities between those infected in the masquerade with Punz and Ant the most. Both members of the Eggpire seem apathetic to a fault, Ant especially. While they did need a few streams to warm up completely to the Egg, I think the reasoning behind this is because, again, the Egg was weaker than it was before, and so its power is not as strong. Even then, these two eventually began mindlessly serving the Egg. While both may have been motivated by power at first, their purpose for serving the Egg eventually gets muddled when they just continuously worship it with no other thoughts but praise praise and more praise going through their heads. Their intellect has been practically stripped off of them, their consciousness has been stripped off of them, and now they’re just husks of themselves with no other purpose but to serve the Egg.

Basically, they’re apathetic to everything else besides the Egg, they automatically defend the Egg when provoked, and they’ve lost touch to who they truly were in the past.

Now, what about Bad?

In my opinion, it’s interesting that Bad seems to be the only one infected differently by the Egg because he’s the only character who is aware of it brainwashing and infecting him. The entire stream where he argued with Quackity about the Egg and his reasons for worshipping the Egg showed that he had other purposes to serving the Egg outside of serving it mindlessly. The reason he serves the Egg isn’t just because he desires to serve the Egg mindlessly, but because he wants to save Skeppy. He also believes worshipping the Egg can grant whatever wish you have in mind, and he wants others to find happiness through that. Bad may still be slightly enamored by the Egg, but his praise towards it is controlled and very much conscious.

We don’t know why Bad’s special amongst the rest- but this has to connect to him eventually being the solution to the entire Egg problem. He can fight the Egg’s influence if he really wanted to, but it all depends on circumstance.

tldr; The Egg can control people at an instant, making its followers apathetic and mindlessly enamored by the Egg. While its powers are less severe in the modern-day Dream SMP, it still can take effect if people are exposed to it for too long. Bad seems to be the only exception though as he actively admits he’s being infected, and has other purposes to serving the Egg other than him wanting to just serve it for serving’s sake. The Egg’s influence over Bad is controlled, and if given the opportunity and the right circumstance, Bad may be the real hero of the Egg plot if it comes down to it.

[caramelcal]

her favorite protector

summary: its been weeks since Luke and Bambi last spoke after their argument at the club, and everything seems bleak. things take a turn for the worst for bambi, but it seems only luke can save her from this one. 

word count: 3.25k

requests: Anonymous asked:Hope your doing well and Omg you cannot leave us like that with his favorite club :( my heart is breaking. We need more!! We need cute fluffiness where Luke can change some of those controlling ways. Maybe a kidnapping or something? His worst nightmare coming true that his rivalry is using Bambi to hurt him?

Anonymous asked:For the next part of bambi and Luke, maybe while bambi is at Anna’s, a rival of Luke finds her and she’s really scared and even though they aren’t on the best terms Luke somehow finds her and rescue her

this gif...wow. he’s so pretty <3

ALSO?? LUKE IS ENGAGED TO SIERRA??? I FOUND OUT AND SCREAMED FR AHDFGHBNJHGFD IM SO HAPPY FOR THEM OMG

ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ- ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ғɪᴄs ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ. ɪ ᴏʙᴠɪᴏᴜsʟʏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴏᴡɴ ʟᴜᴋᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏ ᴅɪsʀᴇsᴘᴇxᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ғɪᴄs, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ sɪᴍᴘʟʏ ғᴏʀ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋʏᴏᴜ <3

Bambi hadn’t had a particularly great few weeks. She needed space, she knew that, and she knew that time away from Luke would do her the world of good. Anna had been nothing but kind to her, hospitable, not asking too many questions about why she was there and why Luke hadn’t shown up. Anna knew of Luke’s more controlling ways, so it baffled her that he hadn’t even acknowledged the girl being away for so long.

From what Anna had observed previously, Luke could barely breathe without the girl by his side; couldn’t rest easy. Neither could his girlfriend...if they could even call each other that anymore.

Anna, in all honestly, just wanted to know what the hell happened. She knew her best friend well, and she hadn’t stopped looking like you had kicked a puppy right in front of her. Hardly even speaking, barely going out, a very small and almost unnoticeable frown on her face.

It was a miracle that Anna had managed to get her out to the club last night. Sure, the smaller girl didn’t have the best time, but it was far better than any plans that she had at the weekend. All she planned on doing was sitting around and moping, the girl was miserable.

Maybe it was selfish, but she really wanted Luke to text her. She wanted some sort of proof that he still cared for her, and compared to his normal overprotective nature, this was so...different. It was almost as if he didn’t care for her anymore, maybe he moved on. Bambi didn’t know. What she did know of, however, was that Luke had a history of sleeping around. What if he didn’t bother coming back for her and just went back to his old ways instead?

It made her feel sick.

Maybe that’s why she barely got through the first round of shots before she was telling Anna she was going to head home, not wanting to be too much of a damper on her best friend’s night.

It seemed that the plan had worked. By the next morning, Anna was nursing an awful migraine due to her hangover and was sporting many new bruises that she didn’t know where they were from. At some point during the night, she had broken a heel off of her shoes, the discarded heel nowhere to be seen.

Anna still demanded they were going out to run errands the day after, dismissing her hangover but demanding that the smaller girl drove her. Surprisingly, she had gotten used to driving after so long of not even having her hands on a steering wheel. It wasn’t her fault that Luke had always preferred that he or Jacob drove her.

Granted, the girl didn’t have a car yet, but Anna was chill about her using hers.

“Anna,” The girl called out from the room, putting her converse on and tying them up, awaiting her friend to reply to her shout.

However, her reply never came, making the girl sigh. Maybe the girl had fallen asleep or just didn’t want to shout back due to her headache. She quickly picked up her purse and walked into the hallway leading into the main front room, “When are we leaving for-”

The smaller girl cut herself off, looking up towards where Anna should have been by herself but instead was pulled against a man’s chest, tears streaming from her eyes, absolutely horrified. A gun was pointed at Anna’s head, making Bambi still in fear.

“One bad move and this bullet goes into her brain, kid,” One of the men’s gruff voices warned, making fear hit the small girl like a wave. She didn’t know what to do, she wasn’t exactly prepared for it.

Bambi stilled, eyes traveling up to meet the older man in front of her, he looked powerful, must have been their leader. He was older than her, but couldn’t have been much older than 30. Small pieces of stubble decorating his jawline and a black shirt covering his muscles, stretching across his wide chest.

“Good move, princess. You’re coming with us,” The next thing the small girl knew was that the gun was no longer pointed towards Anna, instead, it was directly facing her. One pulling of the trigger and a bullet was going to lodge its way between her eyes.

Bambi didn’t have any time to react or notice the person behind her before their cloth-covered hand was covering her mouth. She was pulled against their body, restricted, unable to scream. Her mouth was dry with fear, the strong smell of chemicals hitting her nostrils as she breathed in. Chloroform.

Bambi’s eyes meet Anna’s tear-filled ones, her figure shaking lightly with terror. Anna was pressed down against the counter now, cheek against the marble, hands behind her back, and gun pressing against her temple. She could only watch, helpless, as her best friend was being manhandled out of the house.

Bambi couldn’t do anything either -weaponless- defenseless against these guys but she knew exactly why they were there. They were there to get her, to use her as a bargaining chip against Luke, just about the biggest cliché in the book. The small girl couldn’t help but wonder what they would do to her once they found out that she was useless, and no longer affiliated with the tall Australian. Would they put a bullet in her brain? Send her in a bag to the bottom of a lake?

However, the girl didn’t get much time to question or worry about this as the chloroform from the cloth weakened her as she was about the be thrown in the car, slumping against the man behind her, eyes closed, legs collapsing from beneath her, her consciousness slowly ebbing away into nothingness.

  By the time that the girl had woken up, her vision was blurry, and she was tied to a chair, her arms behind her, legs tied to an individual leg of said chair. She was in a warehouse that looked to be completely abandoned, a hole in the roof allowing cold air to waft about. It was freezing.

“Looks like sleeping beauty had woken up,” A scratchy masculine voice taunted at the small girl, standing tall in front of her, blocking her from seeing anything.

“What do you want from me?” Her voice was also scratchy, maybe from the chloroform, she wasn’t entirely sure. She still felt disorientated, barely keeping herself from staying upright as she looked at the man who stood above her, a sinister grin on his face.

“We don’t want anything from you, kid. We want your boyfriend’s head blown off his body.”

“I don’t,” Bambi cut herself off for a moment, coughing, “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

The man above her scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked back down at the girl again, “Don’t act like I’m stupid, princess. All you gotta do is phone him, and Hemmings will come rushing to save his little girlfriend.”

Tears gather in the girl’s eyes as the reality of the situation kicks in. It isn’t a dream, this was her real life. She didn’t want to be trapped like this, in this chair or this life. Luke didn’t care for her anymore, he hadn’t talked to her in weeks, why would he come and save her?

“He won’t come.”

“Don’t play me, princess. I’ve never seen Hemmings ever with a girl twice until you,” He pointed towards the girl, sneering ever so slightly, “You are the key to us getting his gang wiped off of the map. starting with Hemmings, then Clifford, then Hood and Irwin.”

Tears choked up the girl’s throat, her mouth opening as she thought of the fight that she had with him, then the weeks of not talking. The loneliness, the discord. Luke hadn’t bothered to reach out to her, to check that she was ok. Her head shook slightly as the strong emotions continued to arise, “He doesn’t love me anymore, it’s useless.”

The man’s hand gripped the edge of Bambi’s shirt lightly, his jaw clenching as he spoke harshly, spit flying out of his mouth as he threatened the young girl. The gun, which had loosely been held in the man’s hand was now pointed at her once more, “Didn’t ask for your fucking sob story, kid. Open your fucking phone and call him.”

Bambi was frozen in fear, it felt like ice was going through her veins as her phone was thrashed harshly into her shaking hand. At her hesitance to call him, the gun was pressed harshly into the skin of her ribcage as the man ordered again, this time with his words even more clipped, “Now.”

She knew the man wasn’t asking, it wasn’t even an order, it was a threat. This man was dangerous, and she was defenseless against him, if she even wanted a chance of survival she had to comply and hope that he prayed mercy on her and let her go when she realizes she isn’t of use. Shakily, the girl found Luke’s contact, swallowing back her tears, she pressed the call button.

It was silent in the big room in the warehouse other than the few rings the phone made out as the man made her put the phone on speaker. Surprisingly, only a few moments of the phone ringing, it stopped, connecting onto the call with the tall Australian himself.

“Hello?” Luke’s voice sounded out and the girl felt the tears begin to roll down her cheeks at the sound of his voice. It was familiar, it felt like home but at the same time, she felt her stomach clench. His voice was surprisingly soft, the only indication that Luke knew that it was his Bambi calling.

She knew that he had been expecting her to call most likely. She just wished it hadn’t happened like this. She opened her mouth to talk, but the words didn’t form as the tears fell harder, his voice sounding through once more, this time sounding more concerned, “Bambi? What is it?”

“Luke I-” She cut herself off, forcing her sobs to stay silent as she felt the man press the gun against her in annoyance, rolling his eyes before stealing the phone out of the girl’s hand.

“Hemmings, you know when I found out you had a new girlfriend I didn’t think she’d be quite as soft as this,” The man taunted as he stared down at the girl in front of him, “She’s not your usual type, is she? Where’d you find this one?”

“What do you want, Andrews?”

“I want you to meet me at the warehouse, you know the one I’m sure,” The man had rolled his eyes, not that Luke could have seen and a smirk rose to his face, “I’d tell you to come alone without any weapons but I won’t. Bring Hood, Clifford, Irwin, I don’t care. I can just wipe out you all at the same time.”

It was silent for a moment, “What makes you think I will?”

“Because if you don’t I’ll make sure the next time you see your little love she’ll have a bullet in her head. Wouldn’t want me to mess up her pretty little face, would you?” He looked back at the smaller girl again, sending her a malicious smile that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, “You have an hour, Hemmings.”

With that, the man hung up, tossing the girl’s phone to the floor and crushing it swiftly with the heel of his shoe.

The next hour was taunting for the small girl. The man didn’t leave her side, almost as if he was afraid that she would escape. At that time, she tried to distract herself with anything, but the cold warehouse was bare apart from the chair she was stuck to and the clock that stood high on the wall in front of her, taunting her almost.

The time slowly went by, and the girl lost hope. Luke wasn’t coming for her. Soon enough, the clock struck the time that would have been an hour past the phone call. Then another ten minutes passed. Another five.

“He isn’t coming,” The girl had spoken up to the man, which most definitely wasn’t the smartest thing.

The man continued to look straight forward, scoffing, “Shut up girl. He will.”

He seemed so assured of himself, of Luke. For a man that hated Luke so much, he seemed to have a lot of faith in him. The silence, which had yet again filled up the room was broken by the sound of someone talking through the radio, yet it was too broken up to hear.

The man took the radio off of the side of his pants, holding it up to his face, “Jason? Tyson? Can anyone hear me?”

Only more crackling sounds were heard until it faded off into silence. The man’s face twisted into a scowl as he cursed under his breath, getting his gun out and marching towards the door. He wasn’t very smart, clearly, leaving the girl unguarded and alone; she was all of the leverage he had against Luke.

The sound of gunshots made the girl flinch, eyes screwing shut as she began to shake. She didn’t want to be here. She just wanted to be home, in her bed. Not Anna’s guest bedroom, but her own. She couldn’t deal with this anymore.

The fighting got louder and louder until she heard someone battering right against the walls of the room she was in. The door heaved open, but she couldn’t find it in herself to open her eyes, too petrified of who could be there if she did. Hands pressed against her skin as she jumped, trying to fight them away but to no avail as they untied her bound legs.

“Bambi,” The man breathed out, and suddenly the smell of a familiar cologne clung to Bambi’s nostrils, her tears going thicker.

Her eyes opened to find Luke in front of her, crouched down, throwing the rope away that she had been tied to. She threw herself into his arms, hands going around his neck, one hand in his curls. He held onto her like he was scared she was going to evaporate right between his arms, holding her close against his body.

“It’s alright dove, I’ve got you,” He whispered, trying his best to comfort the sobbing girl in his arms. His eyes were closed, thankful to have the girl back in his embrace, and had no plan to let go of her anytime soon, “I got you.”

Calum, Ashton, and Michael had covered his back, successfully eliminating all of the threats as he had raced to get his girl, to have her safe with him once more. They had entered the room to see their best friend crouched down, practically encasing the smaller girl in his arms as she cried, him comforting her. They deserved their privacy, even after everything that had gone on, but they knew they needed to get out of here soon.

The girl’s tears subsided for a moment as she pulled away from the man, eyes darting around and voice panicky, “You need to find Anna, she was-”

“I know, she called me. She’s safe. We’ve been trying to figure out a plan to get you back for three hours now baby,” After his reassurance, he used the hand that was on the back of her head to push her towards him slightly, kissing her forehead as he played with her hair.

Soon enough, he has his leather jacket off, leaving him in only his black button-up, splaying the jacket across her shoulders to keep her warm. The drive back to their condo is silent, but that’s exactly how it should be. Luke doesn’t take his hand away from Bambi for the entire ride, despite how dangerous it could be. He just wants to remind himself that she’s there; back in his arms.

Luke had to admit, the condo felt warmer now that she was back in it. She sat on the counter in the bathroom, hand holding onto Luke’s as if it was her lifeline as he ran them both a bath, helping her strip down and get into the bath before sliding in behind her, pulling her against him.

Bambi basked in the warmth that both the water and the person behind her gave her. They barely talked for the first ten minutes, enjoying the comfort that the silence brings with it.

“I love you,” Luke murmured, pressing a kiss against her shoulder, stubbly beard itching her shoulder.

“I love you too, Lu,” The girl twisted around to face the man, pressing her lips against his, bubble-covered hand getting bubbles on his face. She doesn’t mention the beard, far too tired to make unnecessary conversation. She, however, noticed the guilty and solemn expression on her boyfriend’s face, quietly stating, “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“I should’ve protected you,” He whispered, hand reaching up to cradle her cheek, softly tracing patterns on her cheek with his thumb.

“No, you were giving me space, as I wanted. You were being respectful of my boundaries, and I love you for that.”

“It put you in danger, Bambi,” His hand that was around her waist pulled her closer when he said that, “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll protect you.”

“No, Lu. You can’t protect me forever,” The girl said, kissing him on the cheek before speaking again, eyes never moving from the gaze that she held with the blue-eyed man, “I wanna drive, go out by myself without Jacob. I wanna go to the club-”

“Absolutely not,” Luke scoffed, shaking his head, his protective side of the smaller girl coming out.

“Luke,”

She looked up at him, head tilted slightly to the side with an eyebrow raised. He stared down at her, holding his ground before he looked away, letting out a slightly exasperated and breathy laugh, “Fine. But you only go to the club with me and you never leave my side. And you’re taking boxing classes. MMA, whatever. I’m teaching you how to fight. You need to tell me where you’re going at all times and sometimes let Jacob drive you but you still need to leave when low-level gang members are here-”

“Luke.”

“Fine. But you need to keep your distance from them, ok?”

The girl smiled beamingly, kissing him on the lips. She knew that from a protective boyfriend like Luke, that was the best that she was going to get, “Thanks babe, love you!”

Luke grumbled something lightly that sounded like ‘yeah, love you too’ as he rolled his eyes, the girl starting to clamber out of the bath. Her hands were starting to wrinkle due to the water, showing her that she needed to get out. However, she nearly slipped, thankfully being held back by her boyfriend, who helped her get out safely.

Slipping a towel over her body, she sent her boyfriend a sheepish smile, “How’re you expected to defend yourself at the club if you can’t even get out the bath, Bambi?”

“Oh shut it, Lu,” The girl laughed, making the blond’s face crack out into a small smile, “You coming or what?”

“Yeah yeah, give me a minute,” With that, the girl left, leaving the man to shake his head with a smile on his face. They were both back, with each other, where they belonged.

[hearts-hunger]

ciryc ca’tra (cold night sky): chapter one || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Series Summary: When you crash-land on a frozen planet on your way to Trask, you and Din work together to keep the Crest afloat and keep your little family safe under the cold night sky. || Part One of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: Tensions run high as the magnitude of your situation begins to dawn on both you and Din, but you both know the only way out is to work together.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, fluff, angst

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: None!

A/N: I wanted to see how this episode would go if Din had a loving partner by his side who needed protection but also gave invaluable support and encouragement. Here’s what I came up with. Enjoy! ♡

You came to consciousness with a jolt, hands shaking and head pounding as you tried to orient yourself. You were in the cockpit of the Crest - you knew that much. It was cold - freezing - and much too quiet; electricity sparked and alarms warbled with blinking lights all over the instrument panels. 

“Din,” you said weakly. You closed your eyes for a moment as a wave of dizziness overcame you.

You heard the turn of the pilot’s chair, felt Din’s gloved hands on your face. “Cyar’ika. I'm here.”

You opened your eyes and his helm came into focus; you leaned forward and rested your head against his for a moment.

“What happened?” you asked.

He shook his head. “We fell through the ice. I think I passed out when I hit the dash - I don’t know how long it’s been since - ”

A feeble groan came from the opposite side of the cockpit, and both you and Din looked over. 

“Oh, Din,” you said, needlessly urging him to help. The frog lady had fallen; Din helped her back into her chair, nodding at her urgent croaking.

“I’ll find your eggs, don’t worry,” he assured her, knowing despite the language barrier what she was worried about. You felt a sudden wave of panic and guilt - where was your baby?

You stood, a little too quickly - you had to brace yourself on the instrument panel for a second as the dizziness passed. 

“Easy, cyare,” Din said, reaching a hand out to steady you. “I think you hit your head when we fell.”

That would explain the dull pounding, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care what had happened to you.

“Din, the baby,” you said, looking up at him.

“I know,” he said, assuring you that he was just as aware and just as worried. He opened the cockpit door and jumped down to the second level. You followed down the ladder a little more carefully, and you felt his hands on your waist as he helped you down.

At the bottom of the ladder, both of you stood stunned, in utter disbelief at the wreckage of your home. Snow and icy wind were streaming in through the hole punched clean through the side of the ship; everything that had been stowed neatly was strewn across the floor, broken, covered in snow. Cut wires sparked and hung menacingly over it all.

“Damn it,” he said quietly.

Grief seemed to settle heavy on your shoulders, and you took your husband’s hand. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, trying to comfort you, to say all the things that both of you couldn’t bear to voice. He turned to press the access button for your bunk; as the door slid open, you scanned the entirety of the small space looking for the baby.

“Where is he, Din?” you asked, icy fear gripping you when you couldn’t find him. You had worried he might have fallen from his hammock, but for him to be gone - 

“Stay here,” Din said, briefly touching his hand to your torso to make you stay put. The frog lady’s worried pleas echoed from the cockpit, and Din looked upwards.

“Hang on, I’m looking for your eggs,” he called. He carefully made his way through the wreckage, looking this way and that for any sign of the eggs or the baby.

He lifted a tarp, and you saw the tension bleed out of him and heard a little coo of protest. You put a hand to your chest reflexively, willing your pulse to slow now that you knew where your foundling was.

“No!” Din said, in his scolding voice. You watched as he picked up the frog lady’s eggs and looked back down at the baby. “I told you not to do that.”

You gave him a questioning look, but before he could answer, the frog lady called again.

“Found them!” Din said. He looked back at the baby. “How many did you eat?”

Oh, not again, you thought. Din scooped the baby up and brought him over to you, and you held him tight and kissed his ears despite Din’s recent scolding.

“You’re ok, ad’ika,” you said soothingly, more for yourself than for him. He cuddled close to you for warmth and looked up at his father with a cautious gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Din said. He pointed to the eggs in the chamber. “I told you no. No more.”

The baby gave a disappointed coo. Satisfied he’d made his point for now, Din sighed and patted the baby’s head.

“Stay here with mom, and be good.” He looked at you. “I’m going to take these up to her, and then try to patch up down here. You should stay in the bunk to keep warm.”

You fished one of the blankets out and handed it to him. “Bring that up to her.”

He nodded and tossed it over his arm, his free hand hovering protectively as you climbed into the bunk with the baby. You wrapped both of you in a blanket, holding him close to your chest; you leaned your head against the side of the bunk to try and ease some of the ache on the cool metal.

The baby babbled in greeting when Din came back down, and Din offered a small wave hello as he went searching through the mess for his toolbox. You could tell he was getting increasingly more frustrated with every upturned box and sparking cable; his body language said as much, and a clipped, quiet curse would come through the modulator every so often.

Eventually he found what he was looking for, and he tacked up a tarp over the hole in the siding. That at least stopped the wind from blowing snow in with every gust, but it was still cold; your breaths came in little clouds as you watched Din try to set the ship to rights again, at least on the inside. You asked if he needed help, feeling guilty for staying in the bunk while he was doing all the work, but he assured you he would rather you rest and stay with the baby.

For his part, the baby fell asleep, too cold for his usual wandering. You started to feel restless as your headache subsided and the full magnitude of your situation weighed on you. You carefully laid the baby on the bunk, wrapping him up in the blanket that still held your warmth, and closed the hatch.

Din looked up from his tinkering. “You should be resting, cyare.”

You shook your head and minded the low-hanging cables as you came over to him, resting your hands on his shoulders. He’d been kneeling on the unforgiving metal floor for half an hour, hunched over a panel on the carbonite system. You kneaded your hands into his tense muscles; you knew it wouldn’t do much, through the fabric of his cloak and the straps of his breastplate, but he sighed and relaxed a little nonetheless.

“It’s leaking fluid,” he said, gesturing to the carbonite system. “Which isn’t that pressing, all things considered, but it’s the only thing I know how to fix right now.”

You leaned to press a kiss to his helm. “I know, honey,” you said. You knew he was frustrated and overwhelmed with all the work to be done, and you also knew he was doing his very best to fix things. 

He leaned back on his heels. “I can’t do anything on the outside yet,” he continued, the words tumbling out of him like he’d been trying to come up with an explanation or justification for why things weren’t fixed yet. “I don’t think the ice has settled, and I don’t want to make us sink further. The generator and acceleration chamber are probably the worst hit, but I can’t even find the right tools in all this mess.”

“Hey,” you said, draping your arms over his shoulders. “You’re doing the best you can, Din. Nobody could ask more of you.”

He stood, a little abruptly, and you stepped back to give him space. He turned but didn’t say anything for a moment.

“We’re stranded on a frozen planet,” he said finally, his voice flat. “I have none of the tools I need to make a proper repair of the Crest. I have you and the baby to think of, not to mention another passenger and her babies, which can probably survive less of the cold than we can. It’s only going to get colder when night falls, and there’s nothing I can do to generate heat with the main power drive out.”

You felt more discouraged with each of the problems he listed, but you didn’t like his tone. You’d known him to tend towards pessimism, but this defeatist attitude certainly wasn’t going to help anything.

“I know all that,” you said, looking up at his visor with what little defiance you could muster. “You don’t have to lecture me, Din. I’m an adult, and I can see for myself that we’re in a tight spot.”

“I’m not lecturing you,” he said, irritated. “I’m trying to make you understand that we’re not getting out of this with a little luck and elbow grease. I can’t even start looking at what needs to be repaired until morning.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, cold and defensive. “Fine,” you said, painfully aware of how quickly your nerves and tempers were fraying with each other. “You’ve made me understand. Check that off your list.”

“That’s not - ” He gave a frustrated huff. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I didn’t come over here to fight, Din. I was trying to be nice, and you - ”

“I don’t need nice right now, cyare,” he shot back.

You flinched a little at the way he’d flung the name back at you. “Don’t call me that when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry,” he insisted, though it wasn’t very convincing. “I just wish you’d - ”

“What?” you demanded. “Wish I would what? Help? Fine.”

You felt your own guilt at not helping earlier resurface, and you started in on the pile of disorganized storage and little pieces of wreckage that he’d pushed to the side earlier to clear space. It was a mess, and much of it was broken; you reached your hand into a smaller pile of debris and felt a sharp pain in your ring finger.

“Dank farrik,” you bit out, quickly snatching your hand back and seeing a bright rivulet of blood down the length of your finger. You stuck it in your mouth and avoided looking at your husband.

“Let me see,” he said, sticking his hand out. You reluctantly placed your hand in his, wincing a little when he turned your hand to see better, even as gentle as his touch was.

“Sorry,” he said. He studied the cut for a moment. “It doesn’t look too bad. Let me get a bandage.”

He rifled around until he found a med-kit; he took off his gloves and let you rest your hand on his open palm while he dabbed antiseptic on the cut and wrapped a small bandage around it.

“There,” he said. He ran his thumb over your palm in a gesture of tenderness, and you felt the sting of tears.

“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you,” he said gently. “I was frustrated, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. Please forgive me.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, but you couldn’t stop a few tears from falling. You tried to brush them away before he noticed, but Din was nothing if not observant.

“Hey, cyar’ika,” he said, worried. “Does it hurt that bad?”

“No,” you said honestly, quickly brushing the tears from your face. “I’m just...” 

You were embarrassed by your outburst and the stupid way you’d hurt yourself; you were tired and achy and worried, and fighting with Din had been the worst part of it all.

“Of course I forgive you,” you said, your voice a little wobbly. “I’m sorry too.”

He sighed and rested his helm against your head for a moment, a brief kiss. “The only way we’re going to get out of here is if we work together.”

You nodded. “What do you need me to do? How can I help?”

He released your hands to put his gloves back on. “I need you to watch the baby and make sure our friend has everything she needs, for her and her eggs. Food, too - it probably got thrown all over storage, but we’ll need something to eat.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “I can do that. What are you going to do?”

He sighed. “I’m going to try and patch up the holes in the hull, just so we don’t freeze to death before we even get started on the major repairs. Then maybe take a look at the cockpit and see if anything still turns on.”

As if to punctuate his point about freezing to death, a sudden shiver went through you; he reached out to rub his hands up and down your arms to create a little heat.

“Get my spare cloak for yourself, cyare,” he said. “And try and find some extra blankets, if you can.”

You lightly kissed his visor, then rubbed it with your sleeve so it wasn’t blurry. His laugh came through the modulator and made you smile.

“Did I just hear Din Djarin laugh?” you teased. “Maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

He gave a hum of agreement and brushed his thumb over your cheek. “Only because you’re here.”

He touched a hand to the bottom of his visor, a shorthand he’d come up with when you first started courting, like blowing you a kiss. He went up the second level to check the hull; you unearthed the chest of your clothes from underneath the debris, careful of any more broken objects, and found his spare cloak to wrap around your shoulders.

After you’d found the extra blankets and given one to the frog lady, for which she croaked her thanks, you set yourself to the task of organizing the wrecked storage room. It was on the second level, past the carbonite storage area, and you were glad you didn’t have to walk past any grisly frozen figures to get to it. You’d endured plenty during Din’s bounty hunter days, and you often found yourself grateful that those were over.

You found enough food for a meal or two, more if you stretched. You had been intending to resupply when you reached Trask, and you didn’t know now how long it would take to get there. You prepared something simple for dinner - with no power, you couldn’t make much use of your little kitchenette on the wall of the storage room - and took it back downstairs, asking the frog lady to join you.

You could hear the baby talking to himself when you came back down, and after handing your guest her food, you opened the door to the bunk and were greeted by a toothy smile.

“Hello, my love,” you cooed. He gave you uppy arms and you scooped him up, holding him close; he gently tugged on a clawful of your hair and babbled happily at you.

“Yes, I know,” you said. “You’re so happy after your nap, aren’t you? Are you hungry?”

He cast a longing look at the glass chamber holding the eggs, and you frowned.

“No,” you said. “You remember daddy said no. Besides, I made you some dinner you’ll like very much.”

You set him down on a storage box and handed him his little plate of food; he gave a happy coo and contentedly had his dinner. Satisfied he would stay put, you went back up to look for Din.

It didn’t take long to find him; a steady stream of Mandalorian curses were coming from behind the cockpit doors. You felt sympathetic for his frustration and amused at his language, which he usually rarely indulged in, and opened the doors to find your husband flipping every switch on the panels trying to get something to work.

“Osik’la skanah,” he growled, jamming a button with a little more force than necessary.

“I’m guessing that’s not a phrase I should use talking to any other Mandalorians,” you said. 

He turned in the pilot’s chair, cocking his head at you. He sighed. 

“No, probably not,” he admitted.

“Tell me what it means, though.” You leaned in conspiratorially. “I like to learn new ways to curse.”

He gave a dry laugh. “It’s not really a curse. More like - junk. Useless, messed up junk.”

You grimaced. “That good, huh?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what I expected. We took damage when we hit the ice shelf, and then we took even worse damage when we fell through the ice. I can’t get anything but the filtration system and emergency lights to come on.”

You sighed. “Well, those are both things we need, and they would be very hard to go without. We can be thankful we have those.”

He shook his head. “I know you’re right, but I can’t see past all the other damage. I have no idea how I’m going to fix the Crest with what I have.”

You put a hand on his arm, trying to comfort him. “You know more about this ship than anyone, Din. And you know more about spaceship mechanics than most technicians. You’ll figure something out. I have complete confidence in you.”

His shoulders fell. “Thank you, cyare,” he said sincerely. “That... means a lot. Really.”

You smiled, pleased you had encouraged him, at least a little bit. 

“Come on,” you said, taking his hand and pulling him out of the cockpit before he got fed up with any more switches or buttons. “There’s dinner, and your son’s probably trying to use his powers to get into the tank of eggs for dessert.” 

Read chapter two!

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[vanchlo]

Beside

Main Masterlist / Word Count: 4.6k / Warnings: Is angst considered one? Is sadness? Excess fluff?  / Song: Beside You by 5SOS, ofc

Premise: You had been his first fan, before anybody else, arguably. Perhaps, that had been what had made it hurt the worst when he had forgotten you, amongst so many other things. How could you ever tell him that, if you were given the chance?

Pairing: Harry x Reader

“He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”

- Unknown

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it looked any different. Sure, the addition of the few cardboard boxes and elliptical could maybe chalk up to that. But, the lie fell away before it was even really thought when a memory was sparked by every item your eyes fell on. What was different about it was how it felt, and how it felt more than different, if there was even a word for that. You were rather sure that there were never words good enough for your feelings after everything that had happened over the years.

You hadn’t even been sure if you could make it this far. That started with the drive, the worst part being driving past his. You thought that nothing could trump that until you opened the door and the multitudes of memories came flying at you. Long ago, you had taken down the pictures tacked to cork boards and shown in frames, but somehow, they had reappeared. Thanks to your mum, you thought. It felt like knives in the back of your eyes when you saw them, reminded for the hundredth time of how much things had changed. You weren’t sure if the reminders would ever stop, seeing as how they had been coming for the last nine years. Although they had dwindled over time, according to your proximity and whereabouts, they still never ceased. They never stopped hurting, or stirred up ‘what if’s inside of you.

*

Tears streamed angrily down your cheeks as the cotton fabric of the curtains left your hands. You had checked maybe twice now, three if you were telling yourself the truth. The thing was, you hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately, but you had needed it right in that moment as his curtains remained still. Then, there were yours, yanked to the side in a blush pink crumple. The images stared back at you, making your head hurt more than it already did. You weren’t sure how that was even a possibility.

“You rang?” a voice nearly demands. “Hullo?” you still don’t know what to do or how to say it, until you do.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reckon it took ya long enough. Now, why’re you cryin’ over Maths? Don’t think it deserves that much attention, don’t you agree?” he replies, making the pages in front of you blur all the more when your bed dips from his weight. “God, remind me again why we’re takin’ Geometry t’gether when we could’ve done somethin’ easier?”

“I dunno. I thought it was your idea,” you answer sheepishly, finding his shoulder with your head.

“Beats me. Whatever helps me avoid mo’ Maths down tha road,” he suggests, and you find yourself humming along in agreement. His fingers calloused from trying to learn guitar are felt on your forearm. “What d’ya say we take a break from this t’ bake some cookies?”

“But I want to finish it now,” you protest, meeting his eyes for the first time. They’re green as ever, and softer than you predicted after the argument you had had last night.

“Ya, and yer not gonna get anythin’ done if yer upset. I think doin’ somethin’ fun, like bakin’ fer a bit will be jus’ tha trick. C’mon,” he almost cooed, shutting the textbook and then tugging on your hand. They had ended up burnt, but the both of you ignored it when you later ate them on your bed as he explained tangents, cosines, and the like.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he answered with enough confidence in his voice that you thought maybe you’d ask for some. You thought to yourself, isn’t that what you had been doing all of this time? Regardless of how many times you had asked that question, the same answer never made you feel any better. You nodded, just like every other time, assuring him you believe him, but you didn’t. How could you?

“You really won’t forget me if you make it big on the show, Harry?”

“Truth or lie, bubs?”

“Don’t tell me,” you whisper.

“‘Course not, love. How could I forget me bestest friend in tha whole wide world, huh? ‘ve known you since we were in nappies, ya don’t f’get that kind o’ rubbish,” and then, you were laughing.

Every time you’d think of that memory, you’d chide yourself for how you’d left it at that. The way that you let him leave you, but more importantly, how he let himself leave you.

*

That was one of the last times things had been so normal, and the last of burning cookies in the oven. There weren’t any more food fights in your kitchen, splashing hot, sudsy water at the other, or snapping tea towels at the other’s bum. A few weeks after the burnt cookies, you’d found the last one at the bottom of the cookie jar, amazed that any were left after his greedy hands. With an emptiness in your chest, you dropped it in the trash bin hurriedly, and escaped to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time, and you hoped, somehow and in some way, it would be the last.

Without knowing it, you had started a bad habit of lying to yourself, right then and there. As you stood at the window, pinning the curtains to the side in your secret S.O.S message, you waited. It wasn’t nearly as long as a few days before when your legs had ached for being there so long, but you still waited, too long. He didn’t come or pull his curtains aside. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that he never would come to your rescue ever again.

*

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had came home since moving out that a visit hadn’t been marred by the memory of him. Then again, when you thought hard on it, you were sure that there had never been a time where it wasn’t. Even if it had been nine years since things had changed, your eyes still strayed to his window at every visit. Sometimes, you even thought you saw his outline behind his curtains, or in the near dark, on your bed waiting for you. He never was there waiting, and unbeknownst to him, you could never help it but be waiting. It was what you had done best, and worst, for the last near decade.

It was difficult for you to remember the last time you had been home, stretching your thoughts until you figured it was last Christmas. Another one where he left you waiting, seeming as if that was the thing he was best at himself. Leaving you waiting for a text from him, but regardless of the bittersweetness, they came. On Christmas. Your birthday. Random days. The day you graduated with all of your classmates and without him. Then, when you had graduated uni, unable to stop wishing that he had been there, just like he was supposed to at all of the big moments. Most of all, when your mums told him to text you and the other way around, which you think hurt you the worst.

*

The house was quiet after a busy day cooking with your mum for a Sunday lunch. It always had confused you how so much fuss and work could be made just for a meal that lasted shy of twenty minutes. Tick tocking, the clock above the tap was the only sound in the house later that night. A mild summer heat still clung in the air outside, but you had chosen to stay in. You tried not to register the traditional disappointment on your mother’s face when she had asked you to join her to go next door for dinner. After several times of obliging, sitting at his family’s table with memories splashed all around, you found it unbearable to do it ever again. Worst of all, it made you doubt yourself when you’d remember the way your eyes gravitated towards the door, wondering if he’d walk in. It happened every time, even if you knew he was on the other side of the world at the moment. You couldn’t do it again, not just that, but so many other things.

At the memory of fingerpainting on the sliding glass door, much to your mum’s horror at your mere ages of three, you retreated to your bedroom recalling how you had insisted it was his idea. You didn’t believe him when he pulled the same thing then, and certainly you didn’t now, when a Peter Pan like scene waited before your eyes.

Your blink was long and purposeful, but no matter how many times you repeated it, it failed to do its job. It was still there when you opened your eyes, leading you to have a hard time believing them. At first, you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe them. If you were going to lie to yourself, you’d tell them that you wished it was a mirage of sorts just like all of the other times. You wishfully thought that it’ll go away with a blink, but it doesn’t.

If you weren’t lying to yourself? You’d tell them that you should be a lot of things, including wanting it to be imagined, but you couldn’t change the fact that it was not. Deep inside of yourself, you knew like black and white that you wouldn’t ever want to change it. If you thought with your brain, that’d be another story. You should be mad, but you weren’t. For once, you hoped that the good feeling would outweigh all of the bad ones for just enough time so that you could have a good visit. You had wanted that, and so much more, for so many years, more than anything at all, that it could be like old times. That dream had yet to come true, and you had buried it long ago.

Swallowing against a dry throat, you decide with your hand that you’ve been ready for years for this to happen, and the light flickers to life at your fingertips.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t just leave yer window open. A burglar or someone dodgy like that may very well take advantage o’ it. ‘s quite dangerous.”

Were you lying to yourself right now? No, you weren’t, and so you saw how he had changed. His chocolate curls were longer now, but still cropped around his ears. More rings claimed his fingers, and so did the ink all over his observable body. Self consciously, you wondered if the little train in his noggin was running on the same tracks.

“Reckon it’s also dangerous to just help yourselves into a girl’s window,” your reply sounds anything but firm like your words had implied, but you don’t. It’s a tie between whose lips begin to curl first, but secretly you hope it’s his, so that it means you’re closer to seeing those trademark dimples. “Harry,” it falls before you have the chance to reel it back in. In succession, your name drops from his pair. The ones you had always dreamt of, and according to your mums whenever they got the chance, you had kissed once or twice when the two of you were little. You couldn’t blame yourself, if you were telling the truth.

“Ya didn’t use t’ mind it,” he defends. Only now, do you allow your eyes to stray from that face you weren’t sure was real. Your prior wish is nudged at when you realize that he’s sitting in the same spot he always had been when you found him like this. Whether it was after school, when the moon was high in the sky, or after you’d ripped the curtains to the side, it was always the end of your bed where he sat.

You can’t help it, and you say something that you’ve been trying to for too long.

“Hare, that was almost ten years ago.”

It catches him off guard, just like the words had done in your mind, unspoken for so very long. On your one hand, you could count the number of times you had seen him since he walked on to that stage. Each one was less personal and more unfulfilling than the last, and you hoped undyingly with every fiber of your being that this time wouldn’t be. For once, you didn’t want him to disappoint you, but you couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. If you tried and if you didn’t lie, you could think of one long ago, you could think of so many. You wanted this time to be different, and at the same time, you didn’t want him to be. No, you wanted him to be him. Your Harry.

“What do you want, twerp? Why are you breaking into my childhood bedroom at nine o’clock at night?” your questioning lips deal. No matter the itch you have, you can’t get your feet to move in his direction.

The fact couldn’t be more of a truth when you hear what he says, “Mum told me ‘bout yer engagement.” Without you knowing, your feet wander across the room and away from him. On your vanity, sits the gold band with diamonds of all sizes set into it. It was the very reason you had come home, but if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t the only one. No, that one was sitting behind you on your bed. The biggest one of all, for so very long. “‘m sorry.”

“What could you be sorry for?” your voice is still and rather quiet, but the feelings inside of you are the least bit that.

“Loads. That I didn’t congratulate you earlier, that I didn’t know ‘til now. You should’ve told me, ‘m really happy fer you. Congratulations t’ tha both o’ you, ‘d love t’ meet tha lucky man.”

All at once, words and emotions are flying at you, and you’re unable to make sense of them. First, you want to be mad. Then, you want to be sad. Is there a middle ground or a combination?, you wonder. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because I’m not getting married,” it had been the third time you had said a version of these words out loud. The bloke in question, of course, your mum, and now, Harry. You hadn’t thought that this was how it would be playing out.

“What?” hasty questions are riddled in his one breath. The images pass before your eyes until you tear them from the ring, but it doesn’t make them go away. Out of sight and out of mind didn’t really work for this one, you had found, or with this one over there, either. He had been in your mind more than he had ever been in your sight, you think. “Love, why not?”

“Well, Harry, marriage doesn’t really seem to be in the cards for me. I dunno why I ever thought it had,” you confess gently, as if you need to soften the blow for him, of all people. You weren’t sure if he deserved it anymore, even.

“What d’ya mean? That’s all you could jabber ‘bout when we were kids, and teenagers too. It was all ‘bout walkin’ down tha aisle and bein’ a mum . . havin’ four bloody kids, and no less. What were tha names, again? Avery, Margot, Henley, and . .”

“Jones,” your lips decide for you. “I’m surprised you could remember all of those.”

“‘s not hard when you’d already decided our kids’ names when we were only five, bubs,” he wheezes, a nostalgic happiness dripping off of his words, likened to honey. “You’d always insisted you’d marry me one day, and not let anybody else have me.”

The tears had come and went over the last few days, and once again, they had made their fateful return. Sometimes, you had wished that he could know how many multitudes you had shed because of him. For him. At others, if you thought with your heart, you knew that he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I remember it being the other way around. You said I’d be your wife one day, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“A truth or a lie, love?” the saying brings your actions to a halt, making your eyes freeze on the bottle of contact solution just within reach.

“Truth.”

“I was sad t’ hear you’d broken yer promise t’ me when Mum had told me you’d gotten engaged,” this time, you’re not sure if his words are imaginary or actual. The feelings bubbling inside of you, demanding to be felt and then spoken, feel quite like the latter.

It was never ‘my mum’ between the two of you, because growing up it was as if the both of you had had two mums and a dad, or for Harry, two. Since the day he went away, she had never stopped being your mum either, and she reminded you with every card and text checking up on you. Sometimes, you’d wished she would just stop, but you didn’t know how to do that. You feared not knowing how to accept that if she had even agreed, if asked. She had spent countless times stroking your hair when you found your way onto her sofa, another sob on your lips from missing her son.

“‘s it shitty o’ me t’ say ‘m tha least bit relieved?” his next words come, and you can hear the sheepish tone in them.

“No, join the club.”

“Did he cheat on you? ‘Cuz if he did, I swear t’ high heavens that I-,” you stop him when his words become unnecessary, but after the ‘stop’ you utter, your lips falter.

How do you tell him that he’s the reason? The very one that led you to end the engagement with a man that was everything you had wanted and more, and yet, he wasn’t. Because, he wasn’t the man who stands behind you now. The exact one who at one time in your lives would walk around your gardens in nappies with you and nothing else. The boy you took baths with as a child, took naps with fighting over who got the Mickey Mouse blankey and the next day who got the Scooby Doo one. Try as you might, you couldn’t find a way or a time to tell your fiancée any of that, in all of the years you had been together, or even just the other day when he wrapped the ring back in your hand with wet eyes.

If you were even able to tell Harry that, how could you ever bring yourself to tell him what you’ve been holding inside of you for all of these years? You had tried again and again to forgive him for what he had done, but each time it had failed sooner than the last. What was to say that even if he was there in front of you, that one more try would work? How could you tell your lifelong best friend who wasn’t really your best friend anymore, who hadn’t been almost longer than he had, that you had never stopped loving him, but never stopped hating him for leaving you?

“No, he didn’t cheat on me. He was perfect . . but not for me.”

“‘m really sorry ‘bout that, love. Mum had good things t’ say ‘bout him afta meetin’ him and I trusted her.”

“Harry, like you ever approved of my boyfriends when we were in school,” you argue with a smile, not realizing you’re facing him until well, you are. His lips are smiling at you until they’re not, and it’s the furthest thing from your own, too. “You never liked any of them, and always were mean to them.”

“I rememba. Only gave ‘em a hard time ‘cuz there wasn’t one who treated you good enough, like you’d deserved,” if he sees the wetness collecting on your cheeks, he doesn’t mention it. His lips don’t, but his eyes do all of the talking, and more.

“Why are you saying all of this now, Harry?” it had been years in the making and there was no stopping it now. You couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No, not with the tears in your voice could you mask another one fed to his ears.

“Truth . . or lie?”

“I’m done playing games with you, Harry! We’re bloody twenty five years old, we’re supposed to always tell the truth. You promised all those years ago that you wouldn’t lie to me, and you did just that, Harry! How could you?” you feel the words swell inside of you, and you’re past trying to figure out how to get them to stop. He stares back at you with a face devoid of any inkling of understanding, telling you what you had always known, despite the lies you’d told yourself. “You left me, Harry! You forgot about me! Y-You went on that tv show and I didn’t exist anymore. How could you do that to me? We were the bestest of friends, ever since we were babies! I cheered you on, Harry. I was your biggest fan before anybody else, listening to your made up songs on guitar before we even started school. We wrote our own songs and we had our own band, The Brunette Bunch, with you on guitar and me on the keyboard . . I always knew you were a rockstar, because you were my favorite person in the entire world, Hare. But, you were there one day, and then you were gone. My best friend never came back after that . . I couldn’t count the hundreds of times that I’d hate myself for wishing that you’d never went on that show.”

“You were never very good at sharing me from tha start,” his words are sugar, perhaps the spice, and everything nice. So many still wait inside of you, left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it, Hare. I couldn’t marry him, because of it.”

“Bubs, you left him ‘cuz o’ me?” his astonishment is vivid in your eyes and his, as well.

“You never did do that great in Lit, trying to make out what the books were trying to say,” your attempt is measly at a laugh, but amongst the glassiness in his eyes, you see an echo of it. “Twenty years later and I still can’t help but want nobody else to marry you.”

The dimples are home again and they make the same word resound inside of you, too. His steps are quiet but they speak volumes in your skull, and in your chest.

“Seems it was yest’day ‘d find you scribblin’ ‘Mrs. Harry Styles’ over and over in yer Comp journal, ‘stead o’ practicin’ cursive.”

“Oh, I was practicing my cursive still, just the important stuff,” this time, it’s the closest thing to a real laugh you've shared in days. It’s been years and more since the last time you’d heard one spill from his own, until now.

“Sure,” he titters. The soft padding of his Vans on the carpeted floor stops, but your heart tells you that it never will. There had been a lot of never’s that took up rent in your heart for too long now, but another one seemed to be turning to dust in front of your eyes. “Could never tell you how sorry I am fer leavin’ you behind, love. Never could, but I never fo’got you. Ev’ry time I called home I asked Mum how you were and what you were doin.’ At first, I couldn’t take the truth, and Mum didn’t want me t’ know, but I told her t.’ Y’know how she’d hug you ev’ry time you saw her? That was from me, told her t’ give you a hug from me ev’ry time I called, ‘cuz I hated that I couldn’t give you one . . I know ‘s no excuse and that it wasn’t anythin’ compared t’ yers, but it hurt too much afta awhile t’ see you when I came home. I wanted things t’ be the same again, but I couldn’t, knowin’ I was to leave again. But, y’know what, I never stopped. I asked Mum each and every call ‘bout you and made sure she told me ev’rythin.’ Saw photos o’ you graduate school without me, uni too, yer fiancée, passin’ yer driver’s test, movin’ t’ London, and at last, I got t’ send her one o’ when you came t’ that concert o’ ours a few back and saw me backstage. I never fo’got you, or stopped worryin’ ‘bout you, knowin’ how bad ‘d fucked things up. Just didn’t know tha first thing t’ do or say t’ fix ‘em.”

If you were dreaming all of this, you realized, you hoped that you wouldn’t wake up for a while still. You needed this to be real for just a bit more, maybe longer. Definitely, more.

“Truth or lie, Hare?” is all that your lips can utter at this point. You think that you made the right call when his lips sing with a laugh.

“Truth. Always, bubs.”

“Can I give you that kiss I’ve been sitting on for a good ten years, now?” it had been so long since your lips had curled with happiness because of him. Within moments, it feels like mere minutes since the days with your heads resting on each other’s shoulders with textbooks and Red Vines in your laps. Not much further, walking home with scraped knees reading Dr. Seuss to each other, either.

But, when his lips touch yours, it could feel like a million miles away, too. For the first time amongst your own lies and truths, you’re telling yourself the truth when you think that you’re glad that you’re here. Cradled against his chest and with his arm around your waist, you’re at last happy where you are, because it’s finally with him beside you again.

“Can I have a truth, bubs?”

“Sure, Hare. What is it?” you yawn, your forehead nudging against the sandpaper feel of his face. Quickly, you’d realized there were so many things you had to learn about him. You couldn’t be more excited to annoy his ears with questions.

“How set are you on that ‘never gettin’ married’ thing?”

With warmed cheeks and heart, at last, just the same, your smiling lips deal an answer you’ve held for too long.

“I’m still set on not letting anybody else marry you, if that tells you anything.”

In that moment, it had been the easiest it’d ever been to let yourself tell the truth. He’d changed and so had you, but he still smelled the same and felt the same and he was your same Harry, and your heart did too. It greeted him again as his lips did the same to your own, giggles shared underneath the covers like you’d been doing for years with him beside you.

[silvysartfulness]

xiao xingchen's mental state is So Terrible

Request: Can we see Xiao Xingchen’s thoughts on near suicide? Abandonment? Betrayal? He’s defined himself by other people for most of his life - his master, his totally-not-soulmate Song Lan, and his murder-soulmate Xue Yang. To be left by one person and then to be betrayed by another must be … a lot. Does Xingchen think he betrayed Song Lan because Xue Yang killed Song Lan’s people?  He hasn’t had any time to deal with it, because he’s been playing babysitter… and then saving his pet murderer, too.  Because I’ve put a lot of thought into this, but my writing skills are about 0, and you are so good at angst.

Okay! I’ll just… stream of consciousness on this. Because there is a lot to say about Xiao Xingchen’s mental state, his sacrifices, his losses and his choices.

There’s definitely a lot of touching on these issues currently in Heaven Has A Road. The callback to Xiao Xingchen’s suicide, and the way both Xue Yang and Song Lan fear the worst when he takes off on his own.

The kicker is that Xiao Xingchen himself doesn’t realize. Doesn’t realize that they worry about that, or why they would. He may still be very much prone to self-sacrificial and reckless decisions for the sake of others, but he’s not actively suicidal or seeking to self-harm now, at least not in such a direct and physical way.

But of course it’s a theme very much hanging in the air.

To look back at canon; Xiao Xingchen is, I think, naive even by Celestial Mountain standards. The previous two of Baoshan Sanren’s disciples who left the mountain either went dark (it’s just vaguely hinted at, but clearly it Was Not Pretty) or was a rather mischievous trickster (shaving off Lan Qiren’s beard for being a rule-obsessed square).

There is a spiritual concept of “going into the world” or “leaving the world” respectively - leaving is what Baoshan Sanren did, letting go of attachment to worldly matters to retreat to her unnamed mountain and cultivate immortality. What Xiao Xingchen does is the opposite - he chooses to “enter the world”, to leave that detached existence behind to get involved in earthly matters - beautifully alluded to by the “chen” in his name, meaning (worldly) dust. (That choice is what Xue Yang curses him for during their confrontation that last day - “If you don’t understand the world, you shouldn’t have come! Why didn’t you stay on your mountain?!” )

But he makes that choice. He wants to help people, make a difference, and so he leaves his family behind, makes that sacrifice even knowing that it means he won’t ever see his home again, and descends into the world.

Xiao Xingchen is described as gentle but determined, not only physically fighting and vanquishing evil, but helping people with any ”difficult matter” they bring before him, never refusing anyone. He wants to do good; what’s good for any humble person, not just the mighty few. And for all that he is naive, Xiao Xingchen is also self-assured and uncompromising. He knows what he is striving for, and he doesn’t hesitate when it comes to putting thought into action.

And down in the world, he finds someone else who puts those ideals over the blood ties of the mighty clans - Song Lan. Zichen. They grow close, they talk about starting a sect together – between the lines that means spending the rest of their lives together, living for those shared ideals. They grow so close, people always mention them together.

And then Xue Yang happens. Something so corrupted and grisly, it shakes even this extremely powerful young cultivator.

Whether you go by novel or series canon, the way the rest of the world handles the aftermath of the Chang massacre, it clearly dents Xiao Xingchen’s trust in the sects, in society and its concept of ”justice” quite badly.

And then Baixue happens, as a direct consequence of them capturing and making enemies with Xue Yang. Xue Yang specifically tells Song Lan, ”Tell Xiao Xingchen this is a gift for him!”

So yes, I think Xiao Xingchen takes the full blame of the Baixue massacre upon himself, because Xue Yang was out to hurt him. But because he and his immortal master were out of reach, Baixue paid the price. Song Lan paid the price.

So he broke his vow never to return home, and he gave up his eyes, in a hopeless bid to repair some modicum of the damage he’d caused, to at least give Song Lan his sight back, if not his home, his family, his ideals and beliefs and and hope.

At some point in that aftermath, Song Lan did blame Xiao Xingchen and told him they should never meet again, and he took that to heart, too. Of course Song Lan wouldn’t want to see him again – what is he now, but a reminder of those losses? The losses his own hubris caused?

So he wrapped up Shuanghua and went nameless into the world, avoiding attachments, described as wandering aimlessly from place to place to offer help and then move on, to make sure no one else would be hurt because of him. (That Xue Yang wouldn’t hurt anyone else because of him.)

I wrote a passage about him thinking back on this in an upcoming chapter;

I tried being no one, he thought, unbecomingly bitter and hurting. To make sure people wouldn’t get hurt because of me again. I thought I succeeded, but I ended up hurting people, killing people with my own hands instead.

He studiously tried tuning out the somewhat uneven footfalls behind them, focused wholly on the hand in his.

I tried being nothing, after that, after learning the truth.

But people had died because of him all the same, even then, even with him gone. The last survivors of the Chang, the people of Yi City, all those nameless victims whose blood had paid for the spells to drag him back into the world of the living… A-Qing.

I won’t hide away again, he thought, setting his jaw. I have to try… Try to be something. To do something. To leave a legacy better than this. To make it all worth it, make sure all this suffering wasn’t for nothing.

It was a bitterness that his hopes of doing that, the chance to realize the purpose he so desperately clung to… came at the hands of the man whose shadow had haunted him into nameless exile and caused all that grief and death in the first place.

How much time Xiao Xingchen had to think about all this varies wildly between CQL-canon and MDZS-canon – in the novel, not a whole lot of time passes between the Baixue massacre and Xiao Xingchen meeting a-Qing and eventually Xue Yang. But in CQL, the Baixue massacre takes place before Sunshot, before Yiling Laozu claims the Burial Mounds, before Nightless City and Wei Wuxian’s death… it’s been years of wandering alone before Xiao Xingchen meets a-Qing, and then Xue Yang. I’m not sure if it’s stated how long the Sunshot war is in CQL-canon, but even only going by the things we do know – Yanli having a child, Wei Wuxian having been dead for 16 years at the end of the Yi City arc where the main events took place 10 years ago, it’s anywhere between seven to some ten years.

So I think he has had a lot of time to reflect on all that grief from the past, but that it’s really just been spirals of hopelessness, never really processing or moving on from it. Shuanghua is still wrapped up when he meets a-Qing. He doesn’t introduce himself by name. It’s her shameless happiness, her choice to seek out his company – oh, how he’s ached for connection! - that finally gets him smiling again.

And once he makes friends with the odd stranger whose life he saves… He smiles. He laughs. They all build a home together. Shuanghua is no longer hidden. At the market, the stranger casually calls him by his name.

I think it’s only once they settle down in Yi City that he really begins healing from the horrors of the past. Dares start to build something new, in a tiny little backwater at the very edge of the map. Surely Xue Yang’s shadow won’t reach him, and this humble little existence he’s building here?

So of course it utterly breaks him when the truth comes out. Not just one, but awful truth after awful truth, tearing apart everything he’s built, everything he thought he had – everything he’s done.

A-Qing lied to him about being blind. His ”friend” was Xue Yang all along. He’s been tricked into killing people. He was tricked into killing Song Lan.

The character songs of the Yi City arc lean very heavily into Buddhist rather than Daoist themes – which is super interesting! - but especially the concept of karmic justice. No matter how unaware Xiao Xingchen was of it, he has killed. Not only did he turn away from cultivating immortality a long time ago – his soul is tainted forever. Gu Cheng speaks of ”debts” that can’t be repaid, falling into karmic sin. This isn’t just about tricking him into doing nasty things which leaves him horrified – he has been spiritually destroyed, and he didn’t even know.

The line of Gu Cheng that cuts the deepest is perhaps ”it was not your fault”/ ”The guilt doesn’t lie with you.”

Because that, I think, is at the core of things when Xiao Xingchen reaches for Shuanghua that day in Yi City - that he feels that it does. That it’s all his fault.

He has lost everything. He let down and/or was betrayed by everyone he knew. Killed his beloved soulmate. He himself is tainted and ruined beyond all salvation, because of what he’s done. And so he doesn’t just kill himself, he destroys himself, kills his body and shatters his soul, beyond all hope for reincarnation and rebirth. He utterly and completely ends himself, ends everything that is and was Xiao Xingchen.

Which is heartbreaking beyond words, and also why Heaven Has A Road clearly needed to happen. D:

…

I hope this was at least in the ballpark of the kind of rambling you were hoping for. XD

[musingsofanunorgainizedmind]

Supernatural: Unpopular Opinions

This is mostly a stream of consciousness cause I’ve seen a lot of strong opinions and some I agree with and some I disagree with. I don’t know if anyone will agree with any of these opinions, but I just wanted to get them out there in case anyone does. If you disagree, that’s totally fine! I mean no disrespect to anyone who sees things differently :)

1. Both Bisexual Dean and Straight Dean are valid interpretations of the text. Believing that Dean is straight does not automatically make you homophobic. Believing that Dean is bisexual doesn’t make you delusional. Personally? I think he’s bisexual. Either way, jumping onto anyone’s post with the sole purpose of invalidating their reading of the text or name-calling is rude.

2. My own personal headcanon? I think Jensen Ackles take on the character is genuinely that Dean’s feelings for Castiel are “open to interpretation”. My belief is that even Dean doesn’t even know the nature of his own feelings in regards to Castiel. It’s not something he’s ever really looked at too closely, you know? I think the confession probably shook him, but he figures it doesn’t matter now anyway. Regardless of the nature of his feelings for Castiel, I still think he would have immediately looked for Cas in heaven. He’s still his best friend. 

3. John Winchester is one of my favorite characters. Top five, definitely. However, I believe that “Lebanon” and “Carry On” gave him far too much credit. John is far from perfect. But he’s not a monster either. It’s his complexity and nuance that makes him so interesting. On the one hand, he’s a terrible father. He treats his sons like soldiers, does a number on both their psyches, and can be very narrow-minded. On the other hand, he only ever did what he thought was best for his sons, he was a “righteous man” and a hero, and he was working through a lot of trauma himself. He’s very flawed, but he’s not actively malicious. He loves his sons, but he makes a lot of mistakes. He’s a complicated character and I both love and hate him simultaneously. That’s what makes him such a good character. 

4. Carver Era is my least favorite Era. I don’t hate it and there are a lot of great episodes in that time. But this was the Era where I almost quit the show and got so bored that I had to force myself through the episodes. It wasn’t until they brought back Lucifer that I started getting excited again and it wasn’t until “Don’t Call Me Shurley” that I actually started enjoying the show again. 

5. Chuck Shurley is another one of my top five characters (the other three being Dean, Castiel, and Gabriel). I love dorky prophet Chuck, I love absent father Chuck, and I love evil maniacal Chuck. The writing is inconsistent, but they’re all so compelling to watch and interesting for different reasons. Honestly, I just think Rob Benedict is a really great actor and deserves major props for playing three separate characters for the price of one. I still think it’s a shame that they weren’t able to pull off a wrathful antagonistic (but not fully evil) Chuck. I love the meta of the character’s defeating the writer, but how cool would a disappointed and tired Chuck finally losing his patience with humanity and going all Noah’s Arc/Sodom and Gomorrah on Earth have been???

6. I believe Sam’s ending is just as tragic as Castiel and Dean’s. Castiel was never told he was loved and Dean never got to live his life. But the ending I cried the most about was Sam’s. Sam had to watch as all of his hunting friends and surrogate family disappeared before his eyes. He lost Eileen again. We have no idea whether he ever reunited with any of them or not. He lost his best friend and wasn’t even there to say goodbye to him. His son flew the coop. Not too long after, he lost his brother. Sam lost everyone he loved. Sam then spends the next forty years mourning all those who he’s lost and tries to live the life he thinks they’d want for him so that their sacrifices were worth it. It’s just so...depressing.

7. I ship Destiel, Saileen, Dean/Jo, Megstiel, and Sabriel. I feel like these ships can all coexist since they all existed at different times in the story. They don’t have to be in competition with each other. They all had potential and they all ended tragically. 

8. Rufus was the best part of the finale. The fact that the only characters (outside of Sam and Dean) who were mentioned were Bobby, Castiel, Jack, John, Mary, Donna, and Rufus is so funny to me. I mean, I know why, but still. There are so many unanswered questions and emotional arcs left unresolved, but at least we know Rufus is in Dean and Sam’s heaven. Also my favorite headcanon from the DeanCas wedding is that Rufus taught them the Hora and that they did the chair lift because I imagine Dean would hate every second of it and Castiel would spend the whole time trying to calm him down and assuring him that he won’t fall off the chair. 

9. None of the main actors deserve any hate. They’ve all said and done stupid things, but they all seem like overall good people. They’re all friends with each other. Trying to compare their friendships, put certain actors on pedestals, and demonize other actors is just....pointless and immature. We don’t know these people.

10. Canon ends when Chuck is defeated and the author is rendered powerless. Anything after the beach scene is subjective and you can choose your own ending. Does Jack become the new God? Does Dean die on a hunt a few weeks later? Five years later? Does Dean save Cas from the empty? Does Sam marry Eileen? Do Dean and Cas reunite in heaven? Does Sam start a hunting network? Does Sam quit hunting? Does his son get into the hunting life or does he have a normal life? Is the purgatory and empty situation resolved? It’s all up to your interpretation. 

[mslynnwrites]

touches 42 for jmart

#42: braiding the other’s hair

This is such a good one. I wrote way more than I should've. I literally need to go get groceries but all I can do is be sad and gay on main lmao.

CW: panic attack, discussions of trauma

Jon had incredibly lovely hair. It was one of the first things Martin had noticed about him. Even now, with him going apeshit over the smallest things, it remained silky and luxuriant. It looked very soft, and Martin had a very hard time not imagining running his hands through it.

Today, he had it pinned up in a very loose, very messy bun. Thick strands escaped the band, draping around his face like an illusory helmet. Even a placebo of protection must have been nice, Martin supposed, though he wished Jon would open up and tell him what was really going on in his head. He missed their talks.

They hadn’t really spoken much since Martin revealed how he lied on his CV. He still wasn’t really sure why it relieved Jon as much as it did, but it was at least nice to catch a shy smile from him when he thought he wasn’t looking. He hadn’t quite determined if Jon had a crush on him yet, but...well, he was pretty sure that’s what it was. He hoped that’s what it was, although he was perfectly fine just being friends with the man. Still...he always was a bit of a romantic, and now Jon was aware how close in age they actually were…

He shook his head and ran a hand down his face, accidentally smudging his glasses. He couldn’t keep thinking about Jon like this; it wasn’t healthy, and Jon was in no state to handle a relationship with him. Neither of them were. Not to mention that Jon was still his superior! No matter how close he felt to him, there was still a severe conflict of interest. And if Tim was right about not being able to quit, he doubted Jon would be able to move him to another department.

Tim shot him a smirk from the other desk. “Pining again?” he snorted.

“Shut up, Tim,” Martin muttered. As if his crush on his boss wasn’t bad enough, apparently it was also painfully obvious.

“You seriously need to get a better taste in men.”

“Yes, yes. And you need to cut me some slack,” Martin said. “It’s not my fault he’s pretty!”

“Who’s pretty?”

Martin’s face turned hot, and he knew he was beet red. Jon hovered in the doorway to his office, his own cheeks a bit flushed, though it’s possible Martin was just imagining that. He had a bit of a pout going, too, and Martin tried very hard not to look absolutely smitten.

“Oh look,” Tim sneered, “the hermit emerged from his lair for once.”

Now Jon was definitely blushing. “I-I leave all the time!”

“Yeah? When was the last time you actually went home instead of, oh y’know, taking a snooze at your desk, staking out your employees’ homes—”

“I’m not—!”

Tim stood up abruptly and sauntered off. “Fuck this noise,” he spat as he went. “I’m taking my lunch.”

Martin gulped and felt his face get impossibly hotter. His palms were quite slick all of a sudden.

Jon sighed. “I...Martin, have you seen Sasha lately?”

Oh good, a non-prying question. Just a totally mundane, normal thing for someone to ask. “Um...I think she’s still on her lunch, actually. Pretty sure she was meeting up with that new boyfriend of hers. Tom? I think?”

Jon nodded slowly, still looking off distantly at the door Tim had left through. It was rare to see him so openly upset. It was strange. “Right...well, when she um...when she gets back, could you let her know I need her follow-up notes on the Russo case?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replied. He swallowed back a wave of anxiety. “Are um...are you okay? You seem a bit...off, today.”

Jon’s shoulders raised a bit with tension. “I’m fine,” he answered flatly. “I’ll be in my office.”

He turned and practically fled before Martin could get another word in. Martin sighed. Hopeless crush, indeed.

He didn’t see Jon again until later that night as he was preparing to leave. The faint glow of his office light cut through the dark Archives like butter. He frowned. It was—he checked his watch—half seven. Late for Martin, at any rate. Yet Jon was still holed up in there.

He breathed out slowly. If anyone could get him to go home, it was...probably him. At any rate, he felt like he was the only one who cared if he did nowadays. He knocked lightly and pushed the door in ever so slightly.

Jon was lying draped over his desk, arms held over his head protectively. He was shaking, and deep red marks covered the back of his neck. He was muttering something so quiet it was unintelligible.

Martin’s heart broke a bit, seeing him like that. He chewed on the inside of his cheek—a nasty habit, he knew—and knocked a bit louder.

Jon lurched out of his seat, a terrified shriek slipping out of his mouth so loud it seemed impossible to have come from him. He landed hard on the floor, limps splayed out, face pinched in shock and terror.

Without thinking, Martin rushed to his side and took hold of his arm, his other hand supporting his back. A seemingly endless stream of “oh my God I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to scare you are you all right are you hurt oh God” flowed out of him as he pulled Jon into a sitting position.

Jon’s breath was panicked, coming in shallow gasps. Martin stared into his eyes, desperate for any clue as to what he should do. Jon’s eyes were distant and unfocused, and a bit watery. Very slowly, Martin began to rub circles into his back, moving his other hand to hold Jon’s in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

It took a few minutes, but Jon’s breathing eventually evened out. Martin watched his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow before he nodded at him to stop. He withdrew his hand from Jon’s back, but kept holding his hand with the other.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin said. “I-I swear I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Jon drew in a shaky breath. “I-it’s not your fault. Just um...the statement I read earlier really uh...it didn’t do good things to me.”

“Do...do you want to talk about it?”

He ripped at a few strands of his hair that had escaped from his bun. “It...no. No, I don’t.”

Martin gently clasped Jon’s other twitching, tearing hand and drew it away from his neck. “You’ve scratched the hell out of yourself,” he murmured. Blood spots and raised bruises coated the back of his neck.

Jon shuddered. “Kept feeling like...like there were s-spiders,” he rasped. “I couldn’t...I couldn’t stop myself.”

“There’s no spiders, Jon.”

“I know!” he spat. “I just- it itches and that Goddamn statement, it—” he sucked in a breath. “It’s because of my hair,” he muttered. “Just...little strands tickling the back of my neck, feelin like t-tiny legs and I just...I couldn’t stop.”

Martin sighed and brushed away some of the wayward strands, letting his palm sit over the back of Jon’s neck. He tensed in surprise, but quickly relaxed back, leaning into it.

“At this point, I should probably just cut it,” he said. “I just...can’t bring myself to do it.”

“I could braid it, if you’d like,” Martin said before registering that that’s what he was saying. His eyes widened with horror, and his face burned. “I-I mean- well, only if you want me to. I-I wouldn’t want to—”

“I think I’d like that, actually,” Jon murmured, averting his eyes. “It...it might help.”

Martin stared at him, genuinely shocked. “A-are you sure?”

“If the offer still stands, yes.”

He blinked. “R-right. Right. Um...well let’s at least get off the floor.”

“All right.”

Martin helped him to his feet. Jon still wouldn’t meet his gaze. It’s late, we’re probably the only ones still in the building, and he’s going to let me braid his hair. There was no way this could be happening. It was a prank, right? Or a dream?

Jon rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “Would the breakroom work best, do you think?”

“Probably, yeah,” Martin replied, trying to reel himself back in. This was fine; it was just like the times when he’d been living in Document Storage and Jon had stayed late to keep him company. This was fine. Everything was just fine.

He drifted out of the office after Jon, following him down the hall, into the breakroom. He was fine.

“Let’s um,” he started, “let’s wet it first, then I’ll braid it, okay? That way you um...you shouldn’t have any flyaways.”

“Sounds good,” Jon said. He sounded hesitant. Nervous.

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

Jon nodded. “It’s...I know you won’t hurt me,” he said, strained.

“Of course I wouldn’t!”

“I-I know. That- that’s why it’s okay. I wouldn’t...I can’t trust anyone else.”

He bit his tongue. There were so many things he wanted to say—that he should say. How he was grateful Jon trusted him. How he was worried that Jon trusted only him. How he wanted to help him, and protect him, and hold him tight until he wasn’t afraid anymore.

How he wanted to love him. How he hoped Jon wanted him to love him.

But he didn’t say any of that, because it would take too many words, too many emotions, too many fears. Instead, he led Jon over to the sink and gently undid the ruined bun while the water heated to a decent temperature. Then, he reverently ran his fingers through Jon’s hair, just as he had wanted to for so long. Jon closed his eyes and sighed, leaning against him for support from the odd angle he had to be in to get his head in the sink. Definitely no other reason he would lean against him. None.

After a few moments, Martin shut the water off and wrung out the hair as best he could. Then he led Jon over to one of the seats before settling down behind him.

Jon was silent for a long while, making no noise even when Martin was sure he had just ripped out a hair or two by accident, or when he pulled a bit too hard on one of the cords. His shoulders actually relaxed, for the first time in a very, very long time.

“Thank you,” he murmured, sounding almost in a daze.

“Of course,” Martin replied, doing his best not to let his hands shake and praying the wetness on his hands was just water.

“I mean it! I…” He paused. “No one’s wanted to do this for me in a long time.”

Not for the first time, Martin was struck with the fact that he may well be Jon’s only friend. “All you have to do is ask,” he said.

Jon fell silent again for a few more beats. “The statement was about an experiment gone wrong,” he said. “One involving spiders.”

Martin worked through a stubborn knot. “Oh?” he asked softly.

“It...well...it hit a bit too close to home, I guess.”

“I’m sorry.”

“A-and as much as- as I hate them, I-I can’t stop once I’ve started reading a statement, no matter how revolted or terrified it makes me feel.” Jon gasped, his body trembling once more. “Like...like I have no control over my actions anymore. All I can do is read on.”

The knot finally gave way, and Martin continued threading the thick braid. “Like a puppet on a string,” he murmured.

Jon jolted up, whipping around to face him. “Exactly!” he cried. “A-and no matter what I do, I-I keep losing myself in them, and they’re awful, and- and—” He broke off, his eyes gaining that panicked glaze once again. Martin took his hands in his own, ignoring the fact that he was going to have to rebraid everything again. Jon needed him.

It took him another minute or two to calm back down. Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I read a Leitner, once,” he said in a low voice. “It did the same thing to me.”

Martin felt his chest go tight with worry and fear. “What?”

“It...I couldn’t stop reading, and it made me move, walk toward...toward what was certain death. I’m only alive because someone took the book away from me.”

There were tears in his eyes. “And now the statements...it’s the same thing all over again. But...this time, I don’t know that anyone would be able to save me before it’s too late.”

Martin squeezed his hands tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know.”

“No one would believe me,” Jon sniffed. “They’d think I was mad.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re different.”

Oh. He reached up and brushed away a tear from Jon’s cheek. “You know I’m here for you,” he murmured.

Jon brought his own hand up and held Martin’s against his face, taking a shuddering breath. “I know.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for caring.”

Martin moved closer and brought Jon’s head against his chest. Always, he thought. Always.