#am i all alone out here is someone else with me

[peachdues]

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! Have some love!!

“I’m always in that dungeon. Always in the dark. I can’t see my way out.”

You say it so casually, as though you’re simply commenting on the state of the weather or the strength of your untouched tea.

Obanai’s stomach curdles.

A quick glance to you reveals passive features, as neutral as the cadence of your voice. And yet, despite the pleasant set of your mouth, your eyes are vacant; fixed upon some distant point in the garden, but not seeing anything at all.

You are not here; you’ve wandered off, gone someplace far beyond the safety of the Butterfly Mansion. Far away from him.

Despite the coolness of the early spring air, Obanai suddenly finds himself sticky; hot. He sets his own cup down to wipe his damp palm against the front of his trousers.

“In the beginning, I dreamed of one day seeing the sun; the trees. Watching the light filter through the leaves. I thought it would help me endure, but it only trapped me even more. Because I forgot what trees and leaves looked like. And that left me only knowing darkness.” You tilt your head, eyes narrowing as though in thought. “This is all a dream. And I am still there.”

The wilted bandages sticking to his skin skin threaten to slip down his chin, to choke him off around his throat. Already, it feels difficult to breathe, and his fingers shake when he tries to pry them away from his mouth.

“You’re not dreaming.” Obanai forces out a croak. “This is real. You’re out. You’re free — safe.”

“But, I never left. I don’t think I ever will.” Finally, your gaze shifts to him, though it remains empty. “What is it that I did, do you think? To be punished like that?”

Obanai cannot answer you; his lungs his shriveled in his chest. There is no more air to breathe.

“Was I that bad?” And this time, a tiny fissure snakes its way through your voice. “I must have been, to have deserved that.”

The lock is broken; you are cracking wide open and he cannot stop you. And yet, the selfish part of him wants you to pick open this shallow scab. Obanai is desperate and he’s in love, and he wants you to remember so you can remember why you need to despise him; remember the depth of his betrayal, and cast him aside for good.

“Maybe…maybe it was because of someone else.”

It’s as close as he can get to admitting the awful truth of it all, because the truth, won’t mean anything to you. It would only matter if you were still you and he was still Obanai. But it doesn’t mean anything, now. Not when he’s your stranger.

You frown. “I must have harmed them badly, for them to despise me so.”

No, he thinks desperately. I could never despise you. I could hate all the world and still never hate you.

But, Obanai is a coward, and so, he does not tell you this. Instead, he swallows hard, and he clings to his pretenses. “Maybe it was to hurt someone else. Someone who held you dear.”

“No one loved me that way. I would’ve remembered if they had — if not the person, then the feeling.”

Oh, but he did. He does. Even a coward can be brave when left alone.

—

BONUS

You pick at a loose thread on your hospital gown. “You must have loved them a lot.”

“I did.” I do.

The corner of your mouth tilts up in something like a smile; sad and pitying, and the closest thing to the old you he’s seen in months. “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

It takes everything in him to remember how to breathe — how to try. “Me, too.”

[applestorms]

trying to break down beyond more so here's some random thoughts:

he's very particular about the ways in which he's unhinged/insane, and oddly conscious about every weird thing he does. everything is meant to one-up L: excess sugar (jam + coffee sludge), uncomfortable body movements, presenting as a Genius Detective to hide his own crimes, etc. his weirdness is unnatural and, at least in the ways he specifically tries to replicate L, not innate to him specifically. there's a version of beyond, perhaps pre-L, who is weird in his own unique way.

for a serial killer, he has very little interest in the killings themselves. despite executing all these violent murders, even one of a 13 year old girl, every one of his victims is killed only after they're drugged to unconscious and the mutilation of their bodies is all post-death, for the sake of his puzzles alone. seemingly the only reason why he bothers with murder is because that is what L focuses on, and because his eyes make him so intimate w/ death.

his motives are clearly focused around L, perhaps both as a reaction to L and as an attempt at initiating some kind of interaction? iirc mello claims near the end of the story that his sole purpose is to give L some kind of unsolvable case, but clearly some of his behaviors must be done to antagonize L specifically, since almost nobody else (other than the meta audience) knows who he's presenting himself as/clowning on.

ultimately, it's his ego that gets him. he underestimates naomi's abilities often throughout the story, feeding her clues to ensure that his own puzzles get solved-- perhaps out of a lack of respect for her intelligence, but also to present himself as even more capable? to brag as much as he can?

the congenital shinigami eyes is honestly one of the most fascinating ideas any death note side story has ever presented. there are so so so many questions you can ask here-- is beyond genetically part shinigami? is he or his birth family somehow connected to a death note? how can he read the lifespans? mello describes beyond's shinigami eyes as follows:

Killing people was, for him, normal. Killing people who were fated to die anyway was no effort at all. Mmm, I guess I should explain the idea of the eyes of a shinigami. The phrase is only too familiar to me, but if I don't explain it, some of you will cry foul. The eyes of a shinigami. These eyes could be given out by any shinigami in return for half the recipient's remaining life. Normally contact with a shinigami was a prerequisite for acquisition, but Beyond Birthday had traded nothing--he had seen the world through those eyes since before he could remember. He knew your name before you said it. He knew the time of death of every person he met. ...I hardly need to explain just what effect this would have one his personality. You might think they would hardly be useful without a Death Note, but that is simply not the case. The ability to see someone's remaining life is the ability to see death. Death, death, death. Beyond Birthday lived his life unceasingly reminded that all humans would eventually die. From the time he was born he knew the day his father would be attacked by a thug and die, knew the day his mother would die in a train crash. He had these eyes before he was born, which is why he called himself Beyond Birthday. Which is why a child as strange as him was taking in by our home, sweet home--Wammy's House. (pg. 94-95)

it's unclear exactly how much of this story mello heard from L and how much is him interpreting/theorizing w/ his own ideas. the potentially biased narration is a fantastic layer in this story.

he is the second known wammy's kid to overtly attempt suicide, though his attempt is of course incomplete. we have no idea about the circumstances surrounding A's suicide, though i find it notable that A is mentioned at all as their presence makes this a pattern. this also seems important in conjunction w/ mello's infamous opening line: "I am your narrator, your navigator, your storyteller. For anyone else but [Near and Kira], my identity may be of no interest, but I am the old world's runner-up, the best dresser that died like a dog, Mihael Keehl. I once called myself Mello and was addressed by that name, but that was a long time ago. Good memories and nightmares." (pg. 12)

sidenote: love his use of "the old world," in that quote, i wonder what the original japanese is... fits well w/ the whole idea of L as the god of the old world. anyway,

his relationship with naomi is also Fascinating to me, particularly since it really doesn't seem like either of them have a speck of respect for the other. lmfao. i should really fic write for those two sometime... i really just need to do a proper character study on both of those bitches. lol.

edit: almost immediately upon posting this i open back the damn book back up to this quote:

If he attacked her with intent to kill, he would absolutely fail. He knew that he would. Ensuring his path of escape was far more critical. Naomi Misora was nothing more than L's servant, and if she died there would be dozens of replacements-- from the FBI, the CIA, and the NSA-- even Secret Service. So he had only been testing her. Seeing if Naomi Misora was capable of being L's substitute. "Hmmm...mmmm...hmmm...Huh huh huh huh...no, hee hee hee? I could go with ho ho ho ho, but that's a little too jolly...anyway. Oh, Naomi Misora-- you are pretty good. A shame to waste someone like you in the FBI." She had passed the test, so far. (pg. 95-96)

so. shit, idk. i guess he does still have some respect for her, albeit tempered by that classic death note sexism. shrug.

the beyond vs. KIRA comparison has a lot to consider, particularly when it comes to their egos and how they choose to cover up their crimes. L's reaction to either of them is also intriguing-- as much as i like to point out L's lack of respect for beyond he does admittedly take on the case even when it doesn't quite fit his usual standards (10+ deaths and/or 1 million dollars). he's at least somewhat aware of what his legacy is setting up, though how much he actually gives a shit about any of those kids is somewhat debatable...

[the-universal-sun]

little!stan crying for his mama on hanukkah with cg ford and/or fidds?

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and Happy First Day of Hanukkah! I set this to post at 8 am but it looks like I set it wrong, my apologies! Thank you so much to this lovely anon for the idea of Stan crying over his mother, this helped me form the direction of the drabble-the part that kept stumping me and to @thehessianslady for the sweater idea! I enjoyed writing this so much, and I hope you all enjoy reading this!

I hope you guys had a lovely holiday/will have a lovely holiday, but to any who are struggling or are feeling alone right now, know that I am always in your corner. I will always believe in you and I will always be proud of any of your accomplishments, little or small, nothing is insignificant. I am always open to talk if you need someone, for anything. To vent, rant, or to just chat so you have something to do! I am always here for you guys, and I thank you all for giving me so much love and support!

I truly AM sending all of you all the Love in the entire world!

XOXO

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

     The winter air was crisp and freezing outside the Shack, wind howling against the windows, promising frostbite for any who dared to venture out unprepared. Inside, however, was warm and cozy, the scent of cinnamon mixing in an oddly delightful way with the scent of potatoes. The soft glow of twinkling lights and flickering candles lit up the living room of the Shack-a fun mix of Christmas and Hanukkah decorating the space. Stan sat on the floor, bundled in a sweater two sizes too big for him, a homemade gift by Fiddleford. It was matching Ford's, both sweaters reminiscent of their childhood Dreidal sweater, but softer and with snowflakes adorning the ends. Stan had begged and begged for his twin to wear the sweater, giving him his patented Puppy Dog Eyes and wobbling his lips for added effect. It worked like a charm, Ford being weak to Stan when he was feeling small. Too bad Fidds didn't want to wear his special sweater that he picked out himself. Stan smiled widely and giggled as he built and knocked over his new blocks, Poindexter sat next to him and his new friend, an Oppossum he named "Shanklin 2". He woke up to so many presents for him; presents for when he's small and presents for when he's big! Stan thinks he loves Christmas if he's getting gifts just for being good. And he got to play with his new toys all day long, neither Sixer or Fidds telling him to grow up or anything. He felt free-free to play and to indulge in his fuzzy mindset, the holiday spirit soothing him and wrapping around him like a warm blanket. The only thing that's missing is an ugly sweater on Fidds and his Ma'. Except he can't talk to his Ma', not now when he knows the old man's home, surrounded by the super annoying aunties and uncles who were probably told to shun him back when he was kicked out. His head's too fuzzy and small to talk to her now anyways, his tongue not wanting to move to speak right, if he managed to say anything, he'd probably sound like a baby. Or drunk.

     Stan shakes his head to get rid of those sad and grown-up thoughts, grabbing his sippy cup half full of warmed cocoa-he can't stand to wait for hot drinks to cool down, burning his tongue too many times but never learning his lesson-and trying to focus on everything else. The pretty lights and ornaments in their tree-he's never had a Christmas tree before, Stan got to help decorate it and he even was allowed to put the star on! The Menora and the first two candles, the flames looking super pretty against the rainbow-colored Christmas Lights. He let it all wash over him, feeling his head get fuzzier and fuzzier, feeling even smaller than before. He chews on the straw of his sippy before a six-fingered hand replaces it with a pacifier; he giggles when the fingers tickle his chin before ruffling his hair. Stan feels so warm and happy right now, happier than he's been in forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Merry Christmas, Fidds," Ford said, clinking his glass of cooled-down hot chocolate-he can never wait for drinks to cool down-against Fiddleford's piping hot glass. He had never felt so peaceful this time of year, always surrounded by fast-moving and loud noises during the season, family he hadn't seen in a year pinching his cheeks and giving him wet kisses. And when he left for college, he stopped celebrating entirely-aside from that one Krampus incident with Fidds a few years back-having no desire to surround himself with noisy relatives, to sit beside an empty chair. But this year is different, he's with his friend and Lee, and it's just the three of them in their little shack, it's peaceful and nice. Being here and in the moment with the two closest people in his life, fills him up with such a fiery warmth that his heart aches and his breath gets caught in his chest; he can't stop smiling and laughing, even when all that's happening is Lee staring at the lights, that's how all-encompassing his happiness is. Ford couldn't ask for a better first Christmas.

     "Happy Hanukkah, Ford, Lee." It was the first night of Hanukkah, a holiday Fiddleford's never celebrated, growing up Southern Baptist and all, so the traditions are all a bit new to him. Thankfully, as Ford and Stan both told him, it's just the three of them so there's no nosy fourth cousins to tell him he's not lighting the candles at the right angle or saying the Shehecheyanu wrong. He sat up, going to the kitchen to bring out the little gift he's been making for Ford and Stan; Sufganiyot. He's been working on the recipe he found in Ford's things-their mother's recipe he reckons-for a week now, and Fiddleford believes this batch to be a success. He knows neither of the men have had it for over a decade, but with how they're establishing all these new traditions in the house, he thinks it'd be nice to have an old one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Stan, who's been watching to doorway since Fidds left, perks up when he returns. He wiggles in his spot, hoping he's bringing another present or another tasty treat. He's been eating lots of them today, Latkes and gingerbread cookies and cinnamon pancakes, but he can't help but want more-Fidds' cooking was so good! Better than Ford's at least. He clapped lightly when Fidds came back in with a plate full of something he couldn't see from the floor. He gets to his feet, grabbing Poindexter and Shanklin 2, and walks towards Fidds, but Ford guides him to the couch instead, ignoring his pout and hand rubbing his stomach so desperately. Stan's starving, he deserves to have first dibs on the food!

     "Don't give me that look, Lee, you just had dinner an hour ago, you can wait a few more seconds before you have dessert." Ford takes his pacifier and taps the corners of his lips, getting a smile and giggle out of Stan. Ford laughs too, slinging a warm arm over his shoulder and pulling him in for a big and warm hug. Ford's hugs always make Stan melt, he feels so safe and protected, like nothing can come and get him and hurt him or scare him, not with his brother there to protect him from the outside world. It brings nice squiggly feelings to Stan's tummy, Ford's hugs, and sometimes those feelings make Stan wiggle in place from how nice they are. Like now, he relishes in Ford's and Fidds' breathy laughs as he wiggles under Ford's arm. The wiggles intensify when Fidds brings the plate closer to them, getting a good look at the delicious morsel he made them. Stan gasps with excitement. He made Suf-Sufgina-

     "Fiddleford, you made Sufganiyot?! Where'd you even find a recipe for that?" Yeah, that word Sixer said! Ma' made it all the time back-back in Jersey. How did Fidds know to make it for Hanukkah? Stan thinks he must be psychic or something, how else would he know and find a recipe?

     "Well, m'a bit ashamed t'say that I found it riflin' through your stuff. I assumed your mom must've sent it, so I'm sorry if it tastes piss poor in comparison." Fiddleford blushes, rubbing a foot on the ground and looking down, not meeting their eyes. Stan just giggles, Fidds said "piss".

     "Nonsense, F, I'm sure it's fine. If this is what you've spent all week in that kitchen working on, then they'll be great. Right, Lee?" Stan nods absentmindedly, almost drooling over the plate of Suf-goodies. They smelled so good, he needed to eat one right at this very moment. He looked pleadingly at Ford, pouting and whining, ignoring his and Fidds' conversation. He dives right in when he gets simultaneous nods, scrambling for the powdered-sugar-coated goodness. He takes one and shoves it in his mouth, doing happy wiggles at the taste. Fidds was so good at cooking, it tasted just like Mama's! Stan hasn't tasted this in ages, he forgot how good they were! He knows if Mama were here now she'd be fussing at him for being messy, wiping the powdered sugar off his cheeks with a wink. Sometimes Sixer does that, mostly Fidds, but it's not the same as when Mama did it. She'd probably get on to them about the wrapping paper still in the living room, making them clean it up before getting dessert. He misses her, now more than ever. Phone calls every month or so can only do so much. Stan feels his lips quivering, he hasn't cried over her in years, but something about this day, about tasting her recipe, he can't help it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     "Lee, are you alright? You're crying. Is-is something the matter?" Ford's looking back and forth between Stan and the dessert, glaring at the Sufganiyot as if it was personally responsible for making Stan cry. Both he and Fidds startle when Stan gives a hiccup, his crying-silent up to now-beginning to have noise, sniffling, hiccups, and sobs emanating from Stan-the dessert plate having been moved from his lap at some point-as he curls over his lap, fisted hands rubbing his eyes. "Lee, come on. What's the matter, you were fine just a moment ago," here Ford pauses, hands hovering over Stan as he thinks. This is the first holiday they've celebrated together in over 12 years, a decade of holidays Stan spent alone and probably cold. Taking a deep breath, still unused to emotional talk, Ford asked, "Was it a bad thought, Lee? Some nasty thought ringing around in there?" Ford softened his voice like Fiddleford does, bringing a hand up to rub Stan's back, patting it to help dislodge a cough or two. He's not good at talking about emotions, at not being dismissive of emotions, but he's getting better. And these are Stan's emotions, not his, he's more open when it comes to helping his brother than he is when confronting his own issues.

     "Ma'..." Stan whimpered between sobs, his small and croaking voice cracking Ford's heart. He's missing their mother...It's understandable, really, Stan may have talked to her a few dozen times over the years, but he hasn't seen her since he was kicked out, hasn't had the nerve to, not with their father still kicking around up there. And with Fiddleford making her dessert while Stan was in his headspace during this holiday, all these big emotions must have collided with each other, causing Stan's tears. Ford goes to quickly console Fiddleford, to tell him that it wasn't his fault, because if he still knows his friend, he knows that he'd blame himself. He was right, Fiddleford looks absolutely downtrodden, his lips and brow furled down into the deepest frown Ford has ever seen on the man-rivaling his expression when he's furious.

     "Oh, St-Stan I'm so sorry-"

     "Nope. This is not your fault, Fiddleford, and it's not yours either, Stanley. We are not playing the blame game, not on Hanukkah. Fidds, Stan misses our mother, he hasn't seen her since he was 17, there was always a possibility that he'd cry today given the timing and his headspace-I should have accounted for that." Ford quickly assures Fiddleford, needing him to know how much it is not his fault. He turns back to face Stan, who's still crying but at least is looking up at him, "Stanley, it is completely okay to cry over missing Ma', it's been years since you've seen her and you're in a more sensitive headspace right now. So please don't call your tears stupid," here Ford wipes a tear trailing down Stan's face away, "they never are. I'll tell you what, first thing tomorrow morning, I'll call Ma' to get her alone, maybe to a pay phone, and then I'll put you on, feeling small or not, and we'll explain to her that we've made up and are living together, sound good?" Ford may be rushing this whole "consoling" business, but they've been having such a good day all day, which is a rarity with the three of them, and he wants to keep the good mood going. Usually, this would be Fiddleford's job, but Ford figures he can, in the spirit of the season and his friend's own feelings of guilt, be the uplifting and guiding person today. He wipes more of Stan's tears, bopping his nose to earn a smile out of him-that action always does-and brushing his hair back.

     "Now," Fiddleford's weak voice came a few minutes later from his place kneeling in front of Stan, "Is there anything we-anything I can do to cheer you up, Sugar Plum?" Ford knew that was the worst question to ask as soon as he saw Stan's lips curl, tears drying on his face but slowly stopping with the comfort of his caregivers. Ford knew this smirk well-it was the type reminiscent of the old Grinch movie they watched as children. It promised mischief. That look soon transformed into a teary eyes and a begging look, his brother even clasping his hands together with a pout. Ford had to give it to Stan, small or not, he knew how to play Fidds for a sucker. He burst out laughing as soon as he hears Stan voice, his tone quiet and childish but adorable, his request.

     "The sweater." Fiddleford's face dropped dramatically, but he was no match to Stan's puppy eyes. With a distraught look towards Ford, he heaved himself up and trudged off to his bedroom.

     Ford's suddenly glad to be wearing a matching sweater with Stan because Fiddleford comes out a moment later dressed in the ugliest sweater Ford had ever seen. It had lights, some form of discombobulated configuration of what he believes to be Rudolph, and a "HU HU HU" sewn into it over a dozen times. It physically hurt him to see. It physically hurt Fidds to wear, if the pained and cringing grimace was anything to go by, the wool looked incredibly itchy.

     But Stan was happy, smiling and clapping, wiggling around in what Ford and Fidds have deemed his "happy dance", so Fiddleford can suck it up. In the spirit of the holiday season.

[dykefever]

coming out as a the secret history not-enjoyer . i didn’t hate it but i think there are a lot of things that well. make it not five stars

[shaadowmilkcookie]

Let’s take another stab at it. I think I’m getting somewhere!

[thechosenthree]

[skunkes]

the bad: i have been raised without much warmth from my parents in childhood, but also pressured to conform to familial authority, doubt myself always, and value familial connections above all else (<- failed at this, and feel guilt about it.)

but also in experiencing this i have been so isolated from the entire rest of the world and others, that it will be nearly impossible to create my own "family" -> find safety and comfort in anybody else once my family is Gone. despite dis i find it really difficult to break away from the familiar, disobey and disappoint, because, well, why are my wishes more important than anybody else's. why would I cause upset and distress in anybody, and exert so much effort into my doubt filled half decisions, for my meaningless little Wishes. being away would also mean less time with these people who I'll never see again once they're gone. being raised this way is definitely paying off for those who did so.

the good: yaaaay adjacent inspiration for writing talon lore

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control

[mashmouths]

missed an important deadline bc my stupid bitch of a brain decided that checking the cutoff date (or just fucking doing it when i found out it was due) was too stressful so instead it's been looming, lurking, etc in the back of my mind for WEEKS and i just now managed to get nauseous and nervous and overstimulated enough to force myself into productive manic panic energy mode and i'm sooooo fucking tired of needing to force myself into productive manic panic energy mode to do literally anything the least bit stressful. what do you mean i need to hype myself up for weeks to open a website to check a single date be so fucking for real right nowwwwww

[phagodyke]

was gonna say smth else but this turned into a vent sorry everyone just ignore. typical weekend post on this blog u know how it is here we go👍

[moneygoblin04]

This week kinda fucking sucks

[saesins]

it's suicide prevention month, so here's a reminder that you can reach out to me if you need to. that it's ok to feel terrible after making the right decision. that it's okay to cry. that you're worth it. that I love you. that your feelings and emotions are valid.

I know these things may seem like they mean nothing, but one that I and a lot of people may need to hear right now is that it's okay to feel bad. but stick to what you think is right regardless of that feeling.

I myself am suicidal, so I know how it is. I know that it may feel like nothing is worth living for anymore. and even tho I'm not there myself yet, I know there is something that's gonna make it all worth it. you just need to give it time to find you. and i know sometimes when it's in the moment, it's hard to stop yourself, but just breathe. remember that you're still here. that it's not your time to go yet. if you ever try to die by your own hand, it's not time.

I love you all, and I'm proud of you for making it this far, please keep going. see what's waiting for you in the future. I love you💗

[anthromimicry]

sorry, halsey — hopeless fountain kingdom.

[ronanlynchbf]

hell day today and i'm only two hours into my EIGHT HOUR SHIFT

[no-one-hears-me]

I've spent too much time on the verge of suicide to be here today

[lotuseatingstone]

i hope we get to hang out with yugiri and hien again because this is literally my favorite genre of screenshot to take