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ckret2 · 9 months ago

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Chapter 72 of human Bill Cipher being 50% the prisoner & 50% the weird guest of the Mystery Shack:

Soos makes a deeply significant moral decision. To redecorate!

If you're seeing this picture, it's because I either didn't have enough time to draw a better one before the queue spat out this chapter, or I decided that nothing else I could draw would be half as funny.

####

Whenever Soos faced something difficult, he talked to Abuelita. And Bill was nothing if not something difficult.

Soos laid out the situation to her in the living room as she watched her telenovelas—she didn't mind the distraction, she far preferred real life drama over anything they put on TV. He told her about the confiscated canes, the daily injuries, the bargaining for food, the threat of forced showers, the bruises and burns and blood Bill said nothing about. He told her about Bill's door trick and how he'd only used it to talk to a teen about life and tuck a kid into bed. Once he'd told Abuelita all his thoughts, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed to the TV screen; and for the moment, said nothing.

The doctor on TV confirmed the tearful new mother's suspicions that her husband had cheated (DNA tests confirmed the baby was another woman's), and Abuelita muted the show as it went to a commercial break. Soos waited as she collected her thoughts to render her judgment.

"I have been talking to Mr. Cipher for the last month or so. He keeps me company while I cook so I do not poison him again," she said. "I think he is ruthless, manipulative, and self-centered."

Soos winced, but nodded. "That's true."

Abuelita went on, "I like him. He is self-confident. He's blunt in a way you only get when you're old and cynical. I think he is a bad person; but, many bad people are good company."

"That's also true." Soos nodded again thoughtfully. Like whenever a comic book had a young idealistic superhero team up with an old jaded ex-villain who played by his own rules, and they ended up best friends, in spite of their glaring ethical and political differences.

"But, more importantly than whether he is a good person or a bad person," Abuelita said, "he is a person. And if you do not like a person, there are three ways you can deal with him." She counted off on her fingers, "You can kill him; you can avoid him; or you can set your feelings aside, and treat him with decency. Yes, get rid of the people who are bad for you—but no matter how terrible a person is, you must treat him like a person."

Soos's eyes lit up. "Oh, like with grandpa!"

Abuelita nodded slowly. "Yes. Just like grandpa."

"Yeah but—what if treating him decently is, you know... dangerous? Like if he uses any privileges we give him to do bad stuff? The Pines think he will. And I think he might be secretly talking to his cultists or whatever? Who miiight wanna destroy the world? But what if they can't destroy the world actually, and if I tell about the people he's talking to, he gets treated even worse..."

"Without his devil powers, he couldn't destroy a bookclub," Abuelita said. "But, if he is so dangerous, are you going to kill him?"

"No. I actually don't think we can anymore?"

"Are you going to avoid him?"

Soos let out a heavy sigh. "I can't as long as he lives here."

Abuelita shrugged, as if to say there you have it. "You are a good, kind man, mijo. I am sure you will figure out the right thing to do."

####

He took Melody out for lunch. They went through a drive-thru so they could park and talk privately in the truck.

She took a firmer stance on it than Abuelita. "I do not want to be stuck with Bill forever," she said. "I could put up with it this long because I thought the Pines would get rid of him as soon as possible! Now that he's staying here indefinitely...?" She shook her head. "I really don't like it, Soos."

Soos wasn't surprised. "Do... you think they should have 'gotten rid' of him?"

Melody paused, then shook her head again. "This whole thing is such a bizarre situation. Like, I can get why it makes sense to execute the guy that can end the world, but... I just don't think that's a decision two random guys with a big gun should be allowed to make," she said. "Honestly? I think we should call some federal agency and put him in jail somewhere. You know I've been iffy on Ford's 'only we can contain Bill' thing from the start."

"Yeah. I know." Soos agreed with Ford—he was the Bill expert, he would know—but he couldn't say Melody was wrong, either.

"Our wedding's scheduled for the end of summer," Melody said. "And... I'm sorry, Soos, but I just can't live under the same roof as the guy that turned me into a statue. We'll still get married—"

"—Oh, phew, almost had a heart attack there—"

"—pff, sorry. But if Bill's still in the shack after the summer, then... then I'll keep staying with my aunt, or we could move into your old house and just visit the shack for work, or something... but I can't move into the shack permanently until he moves out."

"Okay. I accept that." Even if the rest of them had sorta gotten used to living with Bill, Soos thought not wanting to live with a former torturer/conqueror/dictator was a pretty reasonable boundary. "I dunno what we'll do long-term just yet, but—we'll decide on something before the wedding."

Melody let out a long, nervous sigh. "Okay," she said. "Okay. Thanks, Soos." She reached across the truck's center console.

Soos took her hand. "But, how do you think we should handle Bill until then?"

Melody stared out the window at the gray sky. The rain had dried up before dawn, but the sky was still hazy. "If we keep guarding him ourselves instead of getting law enforcement involved... personally? I wouldn't give him any kind of special treatment at all. He tried to end the world! He stuck the whole town in a throne! He can just keep sleeping on the floor and being miserable, and I'd be fine with it."

Soos winced. "I see."

Melody squeezed his hand. "But—the fact that you're kinder than that is one of the things I love about you. Even when the creep you're being kind to doesn't deserve it." She gave him a resigned smile. "Do whatever you feel is right."

He considered that. Then he nodded. "I will."

####

Bill kept Soos's Abuelita company while she cooked, and gossiped with her in Spanish better than Soos's about people Bill had never even met. Bill liked watching cartoons, sports where people got hurt, and weirdly intellectual movies Soos didn't get, and he heckled historical documentaries and the news. Bill was offended by white rice and had incredibly strong opinions about salsas for a guy who'd only started eating them a month ago. Bill hadn't taken his friendship bracelet off once since Mabel gave it to him. Bill might not have been a human; but he was a person.

It was high time they start treating him like one.

####

Soos came home late in the afternoon with his truck laden down with supplies. Stan's car was gone, and when Soos came in with an armload of wooden boards he didn't see anybody around except Abuelita, napping in the living room, and Dipper, laying on the living room floor watching TV. "Hey dude," Soos whispered. "Where's everybody else?"

Dipper whispered back, "Hey Soos. Stan and Ford are at McGucket's mansion." He didn't look up from the TV. He was watching a rerun of Ghost Harassers on mute. "Mabel's with Bill in the floor room. He's in a bad mood about something so they've been doing karaoke all day."

"Huh." Soos could faintly hear someone playing his electric piano. It sounded like it was on the organ setting. "I didn't know he plays piano."

"He's alright," Dipper said. "His singing's terrible, though."

Soos shuddered. He could imagine.

Well, at least it meant Bill was out of the way. Soos began his first of many trips upstairs.

####

"What's all this racket?" Stan trudged upstairs to inspect Soos's noises—and abruptly stopped at the top of the stairs as he almost ran into a wooden beam. "What the—?"

"Oh, hey Mr. Pines!" Soos hooked his hammer on his tool belt. He'd put up wall framing to section off the corner of the attic floor that included the window seat.

Stan circled around the framing, inspecting it in bafflement. "Soos, what the heck is this?"

"So, remember at the beginning of summer, when I said that me and Melody were thinking about putting in a gaming room-slash-guest room in the attic? And Ford said not to bother until Bill was gone because he wouldn't be here long enough for me to finish? Welp! Sounds like he's gonna be here long enough for me to finish now! So I thought, hey, might as well, right? No reason not to!" He shrugged. "By the way, do you think I should put the door in front of the stairs, or on the long side of the room opposite the window? If it's in front of the stairs, you can just walk right in the room when you come up, and we'd be able to put a big screen on the long wall; but when you're walking out of the room it'd be really easy to forget the stairs are there and fall, and uh, we already have enough of a problem with that—"

Stan finally got his dropped jaw working again. "But this is where the demon sleeps! Where are we supposed to put him now?!"

"Oh, it's fine! Bill can keep sleeping in here. I'll put up a curtain instead of a door for now. This way the room's ready for gaming once Bill's gone." Soos planted his hands on his hips and surveyed his handiwork with pride.

"Are you crazy? You're giving Bill his own room?! No way! He could do anything in private. We can't trust him with that—"

"Listen." Soos gave Stan a serious look. "Mr. Pines, I respect you, and I love you like the dad I never had except technically I do have a dad but he's off being a deadbeat in Florida or something so he doesn't count."

He pointed at the floor. "But this is my house now. My name might not be on the deed, but my butt is in the master bedroom! And nobody under my roof is living like—like—like some kind of starving hobo sleeping on a bench under a newspaper, you know what I'm talking about? The Mystery Shack is a happy place! Where people come to see dreams come true and have their imaginations expanded! And I won't see it turned into some sad one-man prison!"

Stan stared at Soos, speechless.

"So." Soos took a deep breath. "With all due respect—I'm building a gaming room, and it'll have walls, and Bill gets to sleep in it. Because he's a person! And we're gonna treat him like one!"

Stan slowly looked from Soos to the wall framing, to the boxes of supplies he'd bought for the room and pushed against a wall to wait—to the pathetic couch cushion bed still sitting on the floor in front of the window. "All right. That's—that's fine. I'll let Ford know."

Soos's shoulders relaxed. "Thanks, Mr. Pines."

Stan clapped a hand on Soos's shoulder; looked for a moment like he wanted to say something; then just shook his head and said instead, "Knock off the hammering before the kids go to bed, all right?"

"No problem! I've gotta set up some furniture and stuff in here anyway." He got back to work as Stan went downstairs.

####

Soos paused his work when he overheard Bill's voice: "Hey Stanford. Figured out the kitchen situation yet?"

Soos had to strain to hear Ford (jeez, Bill was loud) as he said, "We haven't had a chance yet. For now, we can at least leave one of the counter cabinets open."

"Huh." It didn't sound like an impressed huh. "And will this open cabinet have any of the foods you put in the cabinet to hide from me? Or just more of the junk I've already been scavenging."

Ford was silent long enough to provide the answer.

"Right."

"I went by the grocery store," Ford offered. "I got avocados."

"Uh huh."

"And several pepper varieties."

"Ooh." Bill sounded intrigued in spite of himself.

"And protein drinks. They're nutritious, at least," Ford said. "But—I know that's not adequate. Stan and I will have something permanent figured out by the end of the week."

"I guess it's fine as an emergency measure," Bill said, "but you know how the phrase goes! Give a triangle a protein drink, and it'll eat for a day. Teach a triangle to open the fridge, and it'll eat for the rest of its life. If you lift that curse..."

"We'll talk. But don't get your hopes up. Neither of us likes the thought of giving you the power to come in our bedroom and smother us in our sleep the next time we have an argument."

"Fine." Bill's voice had hardened again. "You've got to the end of the week. But don't forget! If I don't like your offer, I don't have to take it! You can't keep me in this rickety barn anymore."

"I haven't forgotten."

The conversation seemed to be over and Soos didn't hear anyone coming up the stairs. He got back to work.

He felt good. He was doing the right thing.

####

When Mabel came up to bed, she stared in confusion at the modified attic floor, squealed in excitement when she realized what she was looking at, surprised Soos with a hug, and gushed about how great it was; and then she let Soos know Dipper and Ford were out tonight investigating weird stuff and went on to bed herself.

The first notification Soos had that Bill had come upstairs was a flat, offended, "What."

"Oh, hey!" Soos ducked out of the opening he'd left for the doorway—which he'd ultimately decided to put straight across from the window, to let a little light back into the attic. (He'd have to add more lighting in the main attic now that the window was blocked off.) Bill was standing at the corner of the new room, surveying the work with an expression of deep suspicion.

Soos said, "I was just getting started on this gaming room Melody and me wanted to put in—it's okay though, you can keep using it, we'll just turn it into a gaming room, uhhh... lllater. Whenever, it's cool!"

Bill turned his suspicious look on Soos; but when Soos gestured for Bill to follow him into the room, he reluctantly followed.

"Yeah, I got up the framing," Soos said, "but I couldn't get to the drywall today, so I just stapled up some tarps to be walls for now. But, look!" He gestured grandly. "I brought up the old orange sofa and chaise thingy that used to be in Abuelita's room! They've been in storage for like a year. I bet we could sit, like, six people on it for game nights. It turns out the sofa's a daybed, so we can use it as an extra guest bed for visitors, we do not have enough beds for visitors in the shack, haha. And, check it—" Soos flipped up the lid on a chest he'd placed in front of the right end of the sofa like a footrest. "I put in one of those top-down chest fridges for gaming snacks! It uh, the top of it swings up, that makes it a lid instead of a door, right? Sooo I guess you can use it too, right? You can just, put whatever you want on the weekly grocery list, and we'll put it in here. Oh, and!" He pointed at the ancient TV console table he'd hauled up from the cellar, "I set up a hot plate here, too! So you can cook stuff in the attic! For—for normal legitimate gaming room purposes."

Bill's gaze followed where Soos pointed, from the ancient orange sofa to the fridge chest to the hot plate. He didn't say anything. His expression was completely unreadable.

Soos swallowed. "Oh, and, by the way, speaking of home improvements, I took out the doorknob on the main bathroom, and put in one of those, like, little slidy dealies like public bathroom stalls? Plus I gave the door those swinging hinges—like the kind on saloon doors in the movies, o-or, say, the door into the gift shop—"

Bill whipped around to face Soos.

Soos jumped. He laughed nervously and tried to remember what point he was making. "S-so, um... there's no latch now, so it doesn't latch, which means there's no way to accidentally get locked in—or out, of the bathroom, and... and I don't actually know how much of that you understood, due to the whole curse thing? Just forget everything I just said, I guess, the important thing is you can use that bathroom without asking someone else now! Cool, right?"

He had to turn away from Bill's intense gaze, pointing back at the gaming room's doorway. "Anyway since the room isn't finished yet and you're probably gonna use it for a while, I hung up a curtain instead of a door. And I added that cool zodiac spell blanket thing Mabel gave me inside the curtain! Since you said you liked it so much when you first got here. And like... having it in our room kinda creeps Melody out, I think it might be giving her nightmares? So I thought you might like it better. Anyway I've still gotta do some other stuff, like add power outlets in here, and air conditioning, and... a-and..." He petered out weakly.

Bill was giving Soos the most venomous look he'd ever seen.

"Sure. Terrific." Bill crossed his arms, seething. "I've slept on the floor, I can cope with sleeping in the middle of a construction zone too. No big deal! I'll make do."

"Oh," Soos said. "Uh... if it bothers you, I could try to get the walls finished tomorrow? Shack's closed tomorrow too, so, I was already planning to keep—"

Teeth grit, Bill snarled, "Don't put yourself out on my behalf."

Soos froze. "Oookay! Uh... well, I'll be getting ready for bed if you need... yeah, no, you—you probably don't need anything. Bye." He ducked out into the attic, letting out a whoosh of a sigh as soon as the curtain swung shut behind him.

Bill had looked like he was two seconds from ripping out Soos's throat. Why? Had he liked sleeping on the floor? He'd never seemed like he had. Maybe he'd preferred the attic's open flooring? Maybe he hated extremely 70's orange upholstery? Was this a mistake...?

Bill watched through the tarp until Soos was down the stairs. Then he lunged over the sofa, hanging over the back by his waist, to reach the attic window seat. He groped for the corner of the seat cushion where he'd hidden Journal 4.

He sighed in relief when he felt the familiar rectangular block in the cushion. He pulled it free: there was Journal 4, along with his two stubby crayons. As well as two marker pens, black and red, with a sticky note wrapped around them that said, "Thought these might be useful, dude!"

Bill's hands trembled with fury.

####

Soos was brushing his teeth when someone pounded on the bathroom door, making him drop his brush. The door swung open a couple of inches; Soos heard Bill mutter a confused, "What?" before it swung shut again.

Soos opened the door. "Bill? What's..."

Bill's face was completely flushed. It was hauntingly reminiscent of the look he'd had last year right before trying to murder Soos and the kids in Stan's mind. His rage had shot past "apoplectic" and landed on "apocalyptic." Soos understood how Pompeii had felt when the rumbling began. He took a few steps back.

Bill stalked into the bathroom.

He slapped the red pen down on the counter.

And, avoiding eye contact, he muttered, "Fine-tip yellow highlighter would be better. If you've got it."

"Oh," Soos said. "Sure, I... I think I have some skinny highlighters in my office. Just... lemme finish brushing my teeth."

####

Bill leaned in the office doorway, arms crossed tight, waiting. As Soos rummaged through his desk supplies, back to the door, he got the uneasy feeling that maybe Bill had lured him here to stab him in the back or something. He seemed mad enough. And the office was narrow; if Bill came up right behind him, there'd be nowhere for Soos to dodge...

When he found a new highlighter and turned around, Bill was glowering inches behind him.

Soos jumped. "Dude! You freaked me out."

Bill didn't condescend to respond. He just snatched the highlighter out of Soos's hand and stormed from the room. A moment later, Soos could hear him stomping up the stairs (and stumbling on one step. Soos really needed to figure out how to make the stairs more safe).

For the life of him, Soos didn't know how he'd offended Bill.

####

The contraband supplies Bill had hidden behind a loose board in the wall still appeared to be undisturbed. He could only hope Soos hadn't found them during his snooping. For tonight, he could hide Journal 4 there; tomorrow he'd have to find a new, more secure hiding spot that kept it close enough to where Bill slept.

He turned around the hanging zodiac blanket and curtain so Bill's watchful triangular face was guarding the new attic hallway rather than staring into the room.

He surveyed his atrocious new sofa. If he'd known he would be plagued with this thing in the future, he would have found a way to make Ford get rid of it thirty years ago. Would Ford have thrown it out if his blessed Muse had told him it looked hideous? Maybe, but that would've put a ding in Bill's benevolent image. He could've said the sofa would lead Ford to doom? No, too implausible. Ford had always wanted a nice set of leather furniture; maybe if Bill had claimed the cost of leather furniture was about to skyrocket, and if Ford ever wanted to build his dream sophisticated gentleman's den then he should buy as soon as possible—maybe sell his current sofa to recoup costs and free up space... Yeah, Ford would've eaten that up, he'd have been so grateful Bill was thoughtful enough to care about his silly little life dreams and look out for his financial future. He shoulda done that. Hindsight.

So. What did he have here? A daybed; personal fridge; mini-stove; walls (tarp); two pillows; throw blanket; two markers; a lamp (unplugged); a clock radio (unplugged); a low console table with two shelves, onto which Soos had emptied the contents of Bill's cardboard box of clothes; and an implicit promise to keep a pile of secrets.

How humiliating.

He considered sleeping on the bare floor in protest; but, his back still hurt. Once again, subject to the tyranny of an organic body. He sighed, pulled his bedsheet from the console table, and curled up on the sofa.

The moment he lay down, a scent soaked into the seat cushion made his heart leap into his throat. He was sure he could smell home. Familiar and comforting and right—and for a moment the evidence of his other six senses didn't matter: he had his power back, he was in his kingdom, and all was right with the world. It took a moment to figure out what about the scent had so strongly disoriented him: he was smelling the atmosphere of the Nightmare Realm.

And then took another moment to work out that it wasn't really the Nightmare Realm, but a very similar scent—sulfurous, organic, burning. Burnt hair.

The cushion still smelled like Ford.

Bill groaned in frustration, rolled off the sofa, and flopped to the floor.

After permitting himself a moment of rage at the injustices of the multiverse, Bill crawled up onto the chaise lounge on the left end of the sofa, avoiding the part of the sofa where Ford used to sleep.

The chaise was smaller than his floor cushion bed used to be; but he'd make do.

####

(I know we're all busy going insane over the website but i'd love a comment when y'all read this chapter lol)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(so how we feeling today on thisisnotawebsitedotcom day? good? everyone feeling good? we all having fun?)#(Dec 12 edit: chapter has been renumbered)

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solsticehymns · 2 months ago

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written in the stars: oneshot

sirius black x f!reader / flangst / whimsical!reader

summary: He has spent his life running from the name they gave him. But under the stars, with you beside him, Sirius Black finally stops to listen.

a/n: this was heavily inspired after reading @bartonomy's lovely work a glimpse between the veil, so i wanted to tag her here as thanks for writing that one in the first place! i love the whimsical!reader trope and i've always been an astrology girlie myself i really do believe (and call me crazy but) the stars do have an influence on how we feel, our moods, our lives. okay done rambling, hope you like it!!! <333 xoxo, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1849

The stars have always been watching.

The moon watches too, thrumming with an unseen pulse. She spills her thin, silvery light over the earth, seeping into the spaces between breaths and between thoughts, a quiet witness to the night. You can feel the traces of something ancient, felt by every wanderer who has ever turned their face to the sky. The grass is damp beneath your legs, blades curling gently, as if the earth itself is holding you in place. Overhead, the sky stretches indefinitely, a great cosmic sea where stars drift like scattered embers, still burning long after their fire has gone.

You breathe it in, slow and deep, letting the night fill your lungs. The moonlight seeps into your being, turning your limbs ethereal, half-real, as if you, too, might dissolve into the constellations above. You are at peace here, in this liminal space between night and morning, between earth and sky.

And so, without thinking, you begin to speak.

You tell him about the constellations the way one tells old stories by a fire, familiar and worn at the edges, but no less magical. Your fingers trace invisible lines between the stars, connecting them into shapes, into myths, your voice weaving pictures into the darkness.

"That’s Orion," you say, arm outstretched, your fingertip drawing the belt in the air. "A mighty hunter, cursed to chase his prey forever across the sky. He thought he was unstoppable. Then the gods decided otherwise."

Sirius follows your gaze, his eyes tracing the constellations as you map them with effortless certainty. He watches the way your lips shape each name, each legend, as though they belong to you, as though you are the one weaving them into the night.

"And Cassiopeia?" you continue, shifting slightly so that your shoulder brushes against his. "She was too proud. Too vain. Thought she was more beautiful than the sea nymphs, so Poseidon made sure she’d never look at her reflection the same way again. He chained her upside down in the sky, just to remind her."

You pause, tilting your head toward him, a knowing smile playing at your lips. "Strange, isn't it? The stars don’t tell these stories—we do. We named them, shaped them into hunters and queens and fleeing sisters. We gave them meaning because we needed them to mean something. Because our ancestors looked up at the same sky and whispered their fears, their hopes, their warnings into the dark, and the stars have been listening ever since."

He doesn't answer, but he doesn’t look away, either.

Encouraged, you shift onto your side, propping your head on your hand. Your other hand lifts, fingers tracing another invisible line. "That one—there. The cluster? That’s the Pleiades. Seven sisters, running from a love they never asked for. They were so desperate to be free that the gods pitied them, lifted them from the earth, and set them here—far from grasp, far from harm. A sanctuary in the sky."

You let the words hang, let the weight of them settle. "Such a contrast," you continue, voice lower now, more measured. "One woman, bound to the stars as punishment. The Pleiades, seven sisters, cast into them as an escape. One sentenced. One spared. Both still written into the heavens."

Sirius exhales, a slow, quiet breath, his gaze locked on the vast sprawl above. His fingers twitch against the dewy grass, restless, as if they might catch on something unseen. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but there’s a tension beneath it, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. He doesn’t know whether the sky is a tether or a noose, if its vastness offers escape or only makes him feel smaller.

His eyes flicker to you, thoughtful, hesitant. He never believed in fate. But right now, he believes in the way your voice bends around the stories, in the way your fingers move through the air, slow and deliberate, as though you are shaping the constellations yourself.

Sirius doesn't believe in fate. He doesn’t believe in divine intervention, or cosmic prophecy, or the nonsense his mother used to whisper over candle flames and tea leaves. He doesn’t believe in signs, doesn’t believe in destiny, doesn’t believe in anything that claims to know him better than he knows himself.

But he listens when you speak.

You lie beside him, arms outstretched, fingers gliding through the night as if plucking melodies from the stars. Your voice is quiet but assured, each word carrying the weight of something ancient. The stories of the stars are not just myths—they are memories, stitched into the sky by those who feared being forgotten.

“They named you after the brightest star in the sky,” you murmur, your breath warm against the night air. Your voice is different now, softer, as if the words are heavy with meaning, not just meant to be spoken but entrusted. “Did you know that?”

Sirius exhales sharply through his nose, turns his head just enough to glance at you, but he doesn’t respond right away. The mood has shifted, the playful storytelling dissolving into something heavier, yet somehow more fragile.

“Yeah,” he says at last, but his voice is shrouded behind something guarded. Careful. “I know.”

Your gaze stays on the sky, on the vast darkness where his name burns, distant but unwavering. “Sirius is a guiding star,” you continue, your voice carrying the slow reverence of a secret. “Sailors used it for centuries to find their way home.” Your fingers dance between the stars, drawing invisible maps in the air, tracing a path that has existed for millennia.

His eyes follow the movement of your hand, but his expression remains unreadable.

You press on. “It’s part of Canis Major. The Great Dog.” There’s a pause, just long enough for the words to linger. “A loyal companion.”

His laugh is abrupt, cutting through the quiet. But it isn’t real, not really. The sound is empty, edged with something bitter.

“Loyalty,” he repeats, tasting the word, like one might taste wine to test if it's spoiled. And indeed, it lies bitter and pungent on his tongue. He shakes his head, a slow, almost imperceptible movement. “Funny.”

You don’t flinch, or argue, or try to tell him he’s wrong. You just let the silence settle, let the sky breathe between you. And then, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it, you ask, “What do you think it means?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Because the truth is, he doesn’t know. He’s spent his whole life running from the name they gave him, the weight of it pressing into his bones, the chains of his bloodline clanking at his heels. The Black family had always spoken of the stars with reverence, with hushed voices and heads bowed as if they were sacred, as if their fates were written in them before they were even born.

But he doesn’t want to be written into anything. Doesn’t want to be another Black, another link in the chain, another name in a long list of cruel men with cold hands and empty hearts.

“They named me after the brightest star in the sky.” He pauses, just for a moment, as if weighing the words in his mouth, feeling their weight settle into his bones. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost resigned. “But they never wanted me to shine.”

The words hang there between you, fragile as gossamer, trembling under the weight of the truth. The night swallows them whole, but they don’t disappear. They linger, stretching out between the space of his ribs, curling in the back of his throat like smoke from a fire long extinguished.

You don’t speak right away. You let the silence settle, let the night air breathe around you. There’s no rush. No demand. Just time. Just the quiet hum of something unspoken threading between you, waiting to be understood.

Sirius swallows hard, tilting his head back toward the stars, searching their endless sprawl as if they might hold an answer he’s never been able to find.

“I wonder,” you say eventually, voice softer than before, contemplative. Your breath catches, just slightly, before you continue, “if stars ever get tired of burning.”

His eyes flick toward you, sharp but thoughtful, considering your words the way he considers so few things.

You continue, tracing slow, delicate patterns against the sky. “They burn for centuries. Millennia. Pouring their light into the universe, unraveling themselves in the process, until there is nothing left but the faint remnants of their glow. But eventually, even the brightest ones collapse.”

A pause. Then, softer, “Even the ones that guide people home.”

Sirius exhales, long and quiet, the breath leaving him like something unraveling, like a tether slipping free. His fingers twitch against the dewy grass, restless, as if they might catch on something unseen. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, but there’s a tension beneath it, a thread pulled taut, waiting to snap. He feels as if you’ve reached into the hollow of his chest and found a feeling he had locked away, hidden in the quiet corners of himself.

Then you turn to look at him, and your eyes are burning with an emotion he can’t quite name—wild, consuming, stretching beyond reach, reflecting the infinite sprawl of the cosmos.

“But,” you murmur, your voice carrying the weight of a truth so delicate it feels as if it might shatter if spoken too loudly, “they don’t really disappear, do they?”

His breath catches.

You watch him carefully, as if measuring each second that passes, as if willing him to believe you. “Even after they’re gone, their light travels. We still see them. Still follow them. They don’t stop shining just because they aren’t there anymore.”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say to that. Because no one has ever told him that before. No one has ever spoken of him like a presence that lingers, a light refusing to dim.

You shift closer, just enough for your shoulder to brush his, a steadying presence against the weight of his thoughts. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t speak. But the tension in his jaw eases, just slightly, as if the closeness anchors him to something real, something here.

“Sirius,” you say, like it’s a vow unspoken, a promise woven between the stars. “You are burning brighter than they ever will.”

For the first time, the words land with weight, pressing into his chest, firm and steady, an anchor against the pull of everything he’s been running from. They don’t scatter into the night, don’t vanish before he can hold onto them. They stay. They linger, heavy and certain, settling into the spaces he’s long believed to be hollow. A quiet warmth stirs in his chest, like embers coaxed back to life. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t disturb the stillness that has wrapped itself around the two of you. He allows it to exist, lets the night cradle the silence, and leaves none but the stars to bear witness.

And for once, he doesn’t feel the need to disappear.

☀️🌻 masterlist

#sirius black x reader #sirius orion black #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black #marauders fic #fanfic #sirius x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fic #sirius black x oc #mauraders #the marauders #dead wizards from the 70s

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 1 month ago

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◇ SWINDLED 2 [TFA Swindle/Reader]

crack being treated seriously, a bit OOC(?), you can take this to be any version of Swindle if you want to!

setting: Pre-Decepticons Losing, during somewhere at the start of the war, Swindle hasn't become a huge business mech yet

warning: scummy boyfriends, angst (kinda funny though), break ups, an indefinite part three.

"Oh, please, sweetspark, try to understand!"

Merely hearing his pleasing tone again made the energon in your lines boil. He's been folowing you to give out a half assed apology when you unfortunately fell in his peripheral vision, you figure. You honestly just wanted to get to your hab and take a nice, long stasis nap. The ignominy your 'lover' has brought upon you in that restaurant was unforgivable; not only did YOU, one of Lord Megatron's personal guards, get abandoned in a high end energon bar by their date but other bots saw that.

And you know damn well they're going to have a field day with this.

You resist the urge to grit your denta at the memory as the shorter mech continues to pursue you while you walk away, not as much as sparing Swindle a glance or a word. The night in the Decepticon capital was buzzing for once, there were a lot of bots enjoying the city life which the war had now turned into a luxury; the effect of a temporary ceasefire so they don't need to worry about bombs falling from the sky, until Megatron feels like breaking the treaty at least.

"Ah, the silent treatment... how typical." The yellow and purple mech sighs out, making you slightly turn your helm to him which was a mistake because he noticed; helm perking up upon the realization that he had your attention. Stroking the flames of your anger to draw out your optics onto him and he can see how absolutely angry you are, it makes him a bit nervous. Taking a moment to phrase his words right.

"Listen, I know you're upset-"

"Upset isn't enough of a word, Swindle." You hiss out, turning around completely to face him. Sneering down at him, hypnotic optics he could stare into forever narrowing at him. Swindle would be lying if he said he didn't think it was kind of hot but he had a sinking relationship to save, how else could he flex to the other Combaticons?

"I know and I'm so, so sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you! I just had an important-"

"Do you think I'm an idiot, Swindle?" You snarl out, more than well aware he was just trying to make you pay off his debts. Swindle tenses a little almost as if he's surprised you saw through his obvious lie.

You don't know if you should laugh or feel insulted at that.

"Oh Primus, you do.." You turn around and walk away, faster. Trying to avoid him in the crowd. Your anger wilting away to pave the way for sadness, you're definitely not used to this sort of spark-break given the war left such little time for such things. Taking a sharp turn, his optics glued to your frame. Swindle snaps out of being startled. Mentally cursing himself.

"N-No! I don't! I just- Wait!" He should've just been honest, Swindle realizes he's making this worse with every word he's saying.Why can't he just smooth talk you like he does with his customers? Only if advertising techniques worked for personal matters too...

To his surprise you do wait. Some cosmic interference he's undeserving of has been graced it's kindness and he's grateful. Purple optics meet into yours with an underlying desperation as he stands before you— an imperceptible softness in your gaze blooming at the sight but you were not going to let him off the hook so easily. Though, the desperation did make him look somewhat pathetic to you.

"I... made a huge mistake and it was no accident." He hesitantly gives out an admission, taking accountability for his actions instead of the usual excuses. It was new. Swindle did have to swallow his pride, he never thought he'd come across the day he had to apologize to someone. Your gaze continues to scrutinize him, he knows he's smaller than you but he has never felt so small in his entire life.

"Go on." You want to see what else he has to say. Servos folded over your chassis.

"...I'm sorry for leaving you with the bill back at that energon bar." He can tell you're not really satisfied; after all, an apology is the bare minimum and you're the last person to applaud the bare minimum.

"I will never do such a thing again. I don't have the sort of shanix on me to pay for such a high-end place so I... selfishly left you there."

"Didn't stop you from having a ridiculous tab there..." You mutter with a small frown and it makes him grimace a bit at the mention. Deserved. You lost at least a month's pay you were saving up.

"Well, yes but I was planning on paying them off.. someday." One of his servos reach for the back of his neck supports, gently holding onto it as nervousness creeps up again.

"Someday in the next five million years..." That hurt more than it was supposed to but Swindle takes the hit. He deserved to take every comment from you, he knew that.

"Forget about the bar!" Swindle exclaims with frustration as you dwell on the topic, optics offlining momentarily. His frame letting out a long ex-vent as his optics online to your faceplates that remain as ambiguous as ever, taking in his words. Swindle can't tell a thing of what you feel and it's unsettling him, frustrating him.

"The point is," He starts off, purple optics scanning you for any sort of emotion he could exploit appeal to. "One day," He is hoping and praying to every diety he could name from the top of his helm that you were listening to what he had to say. "I'm going to hit big. Real big. And when I do, I could buy you that bar if you asked." There's a determination in his tone, as if he really does mean it.

And how could he not? You've done a lot for him. Sure he first wanted you because you had a nice frame and solid shanix but it's been cycles since then! He's grown as a bot, its not just about flexing off to the other Combaticons now. Swindle isn't that shallow anymore. From helping him fund his arms business to being a supporting pillar, Swindle isn't sure if he can do it without you. The desperation he would never admit is making his tanks churn and he knows damn well he could never buy you.

The blank look and your lack of a response is breaking his confidence slowly, every passing second you remain silent feels like a minute.

"You expect me to hold on to a promise?" You scoff, rolling your optics. He winces, that was actually the most honest he's been in a long time. Swindle tries his level best to not get frustrated as you downplay his grand fantasies.

"No.. I want you to understand what I'm willing to do for you, the effort I'm willing to put-"

"Believe me, Swindle. You won't have to put any effort here on forth because you and me are done."

Swindle always thought the whole idea of 'your spark falling into your tanks' was just an exaggeration until this moment; it was, infact, a very real feeling. Purple optics looking up at you, wide with flickers of vulnerability.

You on the other hand feel no sympathy or regret, only a bitterness at the fact that it had to end this way out of all the outcomes. He was pathetic and while you initially found it charming, it's gotten old. A bunch of bots warned you about him but unfortunately, you really didn't think too much about it. Truthfully, you never meant to fall for him as hard as you did, aware he was most likely only using you.

"Goodbye." You turn around to take your leave from where a spark-broken Swindle stands. A painful farewell.

But that wouldn't be the last you'll see of him because the very next solarcycle, there were numerous gifts on your doorstep. Of course you took them in knowing it was from your now ex, why should you decline when you could take them just to throw them away? Or even better, take them and not bother to think of him. It's very easy to avoid him, the notifications set on mute on your communicator. Loads of unread messages piled up on the channel with Swindle.

You can feel a strong gaze on you when Lord Megatron goes to speak with the Combaticons, as his guard, it was merely custom for you to be there while Lord Megatron had a discussion with Onslaught. You can feel the longing in Swindle's optics as he stands behind his leader, peering over Lord Megatron's shoulder plating to catch a glimpse of you. How flattering. But you pay no mind to it.

And soon enough, his desperation slips through as days go by. Eventually coming to this, you just got back from another one of Megatron's diplomatic meetings, managing the security and such. You were tired so the knock on the metal door of your happy little private space did frustrate you.

"What." You're caught off-guard to meet Onslaught's visor, his demeanor is as if he's here for business. The Combaticons, unbeknownst to you, were having their own troubles with their sparkbroken con-mech.

"We need to talk." Onslaught's gruff voice betrays a hint of.. worry? You're not sure. The tactician and his team were odd even by Decepticon intelligence standards.

"...did Swindle send you here?" You sigh, he was really desperate if he sent his team to help him out. You almost feel bad. Almost. Onslaught seems a bit frustrated by the mention of his designation, a sentiment you relate to.

"Uh, no, actually we're here for..." Vortex tries to lie and fails miserably.

"We are here for the whole thing between you and Swindle but that cheat did not send us. Don't get the wrong idea!" Brawl fills in aggresively where Vortex struggles to explain, the helicopter mech's helm looking at his companion almost annoyed, as if Brawl stole his spotlight.

"This is something we need to discuss privately, can we come in?"

Well, they were being.. nice and polite-ish for once. But you're surprised it's Blast-Off who asked.

Might as well.

"Fine." You make way for the four to enter, signaling them to take a seat on the couch and the four of them do so. Vortex squirming a bit as he's jammed between Brawl and Onslaught, ceasing as Onslaught shoots him a glare. Vortex mutters. Meanwhile, Blast-Off sits comfortably. Taking a lot of space.

You take a chair and sit across them.

"What did you want to discuss?" You ask, curious almost. All of them tense for a moment, as if they're trying to find the words. But Brawl is quick to vocalize his woes.

"Do you have any fraggin' idea how hard it is to combine with a sparkbroken, brooding, lovesick mech!?" Brawl yells out. The other three look at him. The way he said it doesn't really catch you off-guard but it's what he saying that does.

"Yes.. It's beyond unpleasant to feel all of that." Blast-Off grimaces as he agrees. You look absolutely confused but Onslaught saves you from the embarrassment of asking.

"When we combine, it's not just our frames that merge. Our minds do as well, to an extent. So we get to feel what Swindle feels." Onslaught explains, exasperated. Exhausted, almost.

You can't help but feel like you want to laugh, swallowing it.

"You're really sadistic.." Vortex mumbles out, hearing the soft laugh you failed to hold back entirely. The four of them looking very frustrated.

"Sorry... Sorry.." Your controlled laughs die out.

"Do you have any idea how tiring it is to constantly hear and feel his self loathing and moping and..." Blast-Off shudders between his rant. "...longing." The others seem to have a similar reaction. Now you really want to laugh out loud.

"No. But I can tell you're enjoying it." You can't help but crack a smile, this is hilarious. None of them has probably never really had a serious, committed relationship— you assume. They seem very uncomfortable when it comes to talking about feelings.

"You're evil." Vortex states bluntly. But there's a hidden admiration for your unwavering demeanor.

"Yeah! Why punish us when he's the one that was scummy? Why do we have to feel his suffering? Do you know how embarrassing it is when Bruticus starts calling out the name of a bot that idiot hasn't even met midway through a fight?" Brawn huffs out, a little more calm. Grimacing and cringing at the memory.

So that's why they're so frustrated.

But you honestly don't give a damn.

"If you think I'm going to let him back with me just because the four of you aren't comfortable with intense emotions, you're insane." You scoff, it's getting on their circuits and you can see that but in a honesty, they can understand the sentiment. Swindle told them what happened and Onslaught has not seen a fumble so terribly gutwrenching since the Decepticons lost Polyhex to the Autobots.

"Listen, we're not asking you to coddle him or anything but for the sake of the Decepticons, I'm begging you. At least stop avoiding him." Onslaught has never been so polite and humble his whole functioning and it makes you feel sort of smug in all honesty. But you're not going to show that off yet.

"Yeah. Just... talk to him. Even a 'Hi' might make him feel better." Blast-Off adds on.

"Just please don't break his spark anymore." Vortex pleads, he does not want to continue feeling... this. He doesn't even have a word to explain it. It's the feeling he's certain Lord Megatron would feel if his favourite fusion cannon blew up in flames.

"...or else, I swear I'll punch you cause I've had enough of this lovey-dovey nonsense.." Brawl mumbles out, servos crossed on his chassis.

You sigh as you look at the four mechs on your couch. This was sort of cute, how they came here because of their teammate.

"Fine. I'll consider."

He really was desperate. Swindle was delighted when you just waved at him across the hall the next solarcycle after that discussion with the other Combaticons and you thought it was cute. Though, now the two of you are just friends.

But that doesn't stop Swindle from trying an advance every now and then. He really does want to be more than friends. Badly. But you brush him off as politely as a Decepticon can be.

After all, the Combaticons are way happier.

Primus, the things you do for the Decepticons.

#cybertronian reader #transformers #transformers x reader #transformers animated #swindle x reader #tf swindle

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 month ago

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Malleus said near the end of his backstory "is this how my life will be for what feels like eternity? All alone until the day I return to the stars?" Then Lilia to Malleus' said that not even fairies can survive fairytales, not even Malleus' magic can stop the passage of time. Could this be some kinda death flag or foreshadowing? Book 7 was a rough ride so there's so many things I'm wondering about 💀

Well 💦 I don’t think Twst will ever fully commit to killing a playable character in the main cast. It’s just not economical for a gacha game to do. You kill off a character permanently? That equates to no more screen time (or at least way less screen time + new content) for that dead character, which directly translates into less merch and less banner sales. NPCs (like some of the parents and generic background characters) are disposable because it does not impact revenue at the end of the day. Main cast members? They have plot armor.

Lilia was heavily foreshadowed to die in book 6 (the conversation with Malleus about seeing the stars aligning, the end-of-book char about the importance of bonds) + early book 7 (losing his magic, and wanting to retire, Silver talking about his dad dying in a foreign land), but Twst spontaneously brought him back with the power of love and wishing hard enough to conjure a miracle. (Ironically, many also worried that Malleus would die at the end of book 7, since there were “death flags” hovering around him, like us being told his UM could only be dispelled if he died or willingly removed it himself.) If any future main cast “deaths” occur, I’d imagine that they’d pull out a similar convenient explanation to revive them.

Things like the ending bit of Malleus’s post-OB flashback and Lilia saying not even fairies can survive fairy tales/not even Malleus’s magic can stop the passage of time, I don’t really see as foreshadowing a character death?? I interpret these lines as more of the narrative trying to drive home 1) Malleus’s livelong isolation and loneliness (which was the central theme of his flashback) and 2) how change is inevitable. It all feeds into the idea that Malleus, powerful as he is, cannot ignore his own troubles and continue living in a happy present with his magic. Unpleasant things will happen, fairies (long lived as they are) are not around for forever, because time doesn’t discriminate. Things can’t stay unchanging forever, and that’s what Malleus has to learn if he’s to mature.

Book 7 repeatedly uses fairy tales and fantasy as a parallel to the characters’ circumstances, and it’s not in a manner that suggests death, but change. For example, Malleus’s virtual pet Gao-Gao Draco-kun lives in a perpetual cycle, going from egg to fully grown dragon and then leaving behind an egg to start the cycle anew every month. Malleus laments having to see Gao-Gao go, and wishes that there was some way his lifespan were not finite. “It's a fairy-tale game, designed to comfort people. Perhaps there's no harm in indulging in its fantasy—one where people live on indefinitely, so long as you take care of them,” Lilia suggests. This draws an obvious parallel with Malleus, who would later go on to use his UM to force Sage’s Island into deceptive, happy dreams.

When Lilia later speaks of fairy tales again, it’s in reference to how quickly humans are making advancements. “No matter how hard we struggle, there's no stopping the advancement of [human] civilization.” He worried that far will be lost to time because of that. “Eventually, we fae will become relics of the past... We'll be forgotten and regarded as creatures from storybooks. But [Malleus] is going to be born and live on for an eternity. I don't want you to be relegated to the protagonist of a fairy tale.” (At this point, Malleus has not hatched. Lilia is expressing that he doesn’t want Malleus to die inside the eggshell and forgotten, only remembered in legends.)

Late in book 7, Idia seizes control of Malleus’s dream world(s) by constructing a fantasy of his own: a gacha game. The power has been shifted from Malleus to his classmates, who all seek to rebel against him. They once despaired at the impossible odds of fighting—and defeating—Malleus, but Idia’s cheat tool grants them power and hope.

So!! 💦 Yeah, I don’t think we have to worry about this?? But I understand why people might be feeling on edge after book 7’s release ending and how nail-biting it was building up to be (which doesn’t bode well for book 8, which may be even more dire).

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #question #notes from the writing raven #book 7 spoilers #Idia Shroud #Lilia Vanrouge #Malleus Draconia #book 6 spoilers

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yanoverload · 1 month ago

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Indefinitely Hiatus.

I know this is super sudden to you guys. I apologize profusely.

It's upsetting to write this, but I have a tendency to ghost chatting about things that make me nervous, and I don't think it's fair for those that are so so nice and caring towards the blog.

I hit a very hard block recently. I was thinking of taking a hiatus before I even released wave 2 but I carried on thinking it would pass. It didn't.

I'm not sure if it is because I ended up shooting myself in the foot because of how overwhelmed I got with all the characters or I'm just in a rut. I have also been upset with how stagnant my real life has been, but I never push to change it.

Don't get me wrong. I love the babies. But I felt like they started to mush together in my brain and I don't make them yandere enough. Sure we have the "they kill people for you" and "are obsessed" lines but I hate telling and not showing. That's how I've felt as I was directing the blog recently.

I don't want to leave the blog forever because I could regret it later, but I'm also very dead inside about it.

I'm so so sorry for those that love the charas and I'm sorry for upsetting you for doing this. You guys lit my days in a very dark patch of my life. And I have nothing I could say that would equate to: I'm sorry.

That is to say, I WON'T DELETE THE BLOG NO MATTER WHAT. It will forever be up for you guys to enjoy. And you are all SUPER welcome to draw, write or think about my ocs in general! You are free to fantasize and ship with them. I made them so you guys could have them anyways. You don't have to tag me, but it would make me happy to see your creations :)

I also allowed my bestie pookie wookie @yanderefarm to write about them if he so desires. But please, remember Bunny has lovely characters that need to be highlighted themselves, so do not overwhelm him with mine.

I will try to get my life on the line, and get ahold of the things I wanted to do but haven't yet. I want to start commissions, I want to get another degree, I want to learn japanese. I want to get a stable job.

If, for some reason I ever come back, in this blog or in another one, please know I will forever hold you, YOU in my heart.

I will answer the asks I currently have inbox, but then I will close it, I apologize again for that.

I will still possibly be active on my dms or in the main blog, because I love this site, as cursed as it is, with all my heart.

Bunny, Sally, Tarkan, 🍒 anon, 🦄 anon, 🪼 anon and many other friends I've made here that will take forever to list. I wish you all the best. Crow will forever be rooting for you :)

Come to Brazil.

#samhain talks

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maleyanderecafe · 4 months ago

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The Yandere CEO (Visual Novel)

Created by: Phantom Tea

Genre: Romance

This game is pretty short and stops really fast, but older yanderes are always rare in these cases so I might as well write about it just in case. I do think that they could have maybe put in a bit more characterization for him, but for a short game, it's good as it is.

The story starts out with the MC working at a new job in the office and they're a bit scared given that his reputation is of a ruthless CEO. However, when the CEO, William, comes up to greet them, he reveals that he's very friendly. As the story goes on, the MC finds that William is constantly watching them too much, smiling too much and being way too attentive. One day he brings you to his office and talks about the plans for the marketing campaign. Although the MC wants to focus more on the work at hand, William insists that the best is to keep the MC by his side- to work together and to be together forever. He then tells the MC that he won't give them up for anyone else and that the two will be together forever.

Submitting to him will make him happy, confirming that there is no way for you to escape before he locks the office door. He decides to protect them forever and from everyone else. The MC is trapped inside of William's office indefinitely as he showers the MC with gifts and attention.

Trying to escape will have William slam them to the ground, and he chokes them until they pass out. Upon waking up, the MC finds themselves in the hospital, and it seems that William has escaped and disappeared. Despite this the MC still feels paranoid knowing that he's watching them and waiting to come back.

Trying to talk to him will simply lead him to denying their words, repeating his obsessions to them, seemingly trapping them in a more doll house like state.

So like I said, it's a very short game. It's kind of unfortunate we don't really get to know that much about William because he has a pretty nice design that's simple but knows where to draw the right people. The story itself is very point to point, getting to the gist very easily. The MC joins a company, is immediately chosen by William to be the lover (though whether or not this is the first time he's seen the MC has yet to be determined). Personally I think everything runs way too quickly for William to grow obsessed and the fact that he repeats a lot of lines that yanderes typically do (possessive likes like "You're mine and I won't let you leave") in succession is kind of, well, strange. But again, I don't think I can really complain that much. The fact that William was somehow able to lock the MC in his office for months without anyone noticing is WILD though- does nobody come to talk to him in his office because he's the CEO? Does the janitor not find the MC? It's not really a huge deal but I did think it was kind of funny.

Anyways, very short game, but the artstyle is nice. I don't know if there's too much to say about it at the moment, but I do hope that the creator will be able to make more yandere games, either about William or about another yandere character.

#The Yandere CEO #yandere #male yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #visual novel

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frankenfran · 18 days ago

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sometimes the ephemeral nature of cooking can make me feel a bit... listless? maybe? today i was on my feet almost all day cooking and prepping and cleaning dishes. i made us a pork shoulder noodle soup for lunch with the leftovers from last night, chopped the remaining pork finely to use for gyoza or something else, made kimchi, and fried up some ma hua for the first time. i was extremely "productive" but ultimately the end result is that all of that will be eaten, as is the point.

there's no meaningful way to stretch a food out forever that doesn't either render it inedible (permanently frozen or preserved in acrylic) or get into ship of theseus territory. a sourdough starter is close i suppose. if taken care of properly you can keep feeding it and using it to make bread indefinitely, and a perpetual jar of pao cai is similar. i saw a video recently on instagram where a woman was talking about how she inherited her family's heirloom pickles that (i think) went at least 100 years back. obviously there's not 100 year old cabbage scraps in there and im sure if you did somehow manage to date the contents the oldest it would get is maybe a couple years? im not entirely sure to be honest. im still getting into picking myself and i have to admit it feels really nice to have kimchi i made a month or so ago still around. there's still a couple servings left from my last batch and by now it's so perfectly fermented and tasty that it's almost a shame to see her go.

i guess it's kind of a... well, im not sure if it's the right word but somewhat materialistic mindset? to want to preserve something you've made with your own hands. i grew up drawing and even just taking a pencil to paper was less ephemeral. somewhere out there you can find increasingly worn and faded drawings i made in elementary school of original characters and other things and just recently i discovered a couple extremely low-res and borderline inscrutable drawings i made in 2008 and back in my old photobucket account. in a couple years some of those drawings will be 20. there was a period when those old drawings might have made me cringe but, much like a pickled vegetable, they've only gotten better with time. at least in my heart.

i don't have much of a point that im getting at. i love cooking and ive been thinking a lot about things like passion and creativity and drive lately. i think to some my life might seem dull. i spend a lot of time cooking and thinking about food and cleaning up after myself. because of the ephemeral nature of cooking it's easy to feel like im not doing much at the end of the day despite the effort that goes into it. im not drawing or programming or playing an instrument or anything like that and i cook so much that it might even look so effortless as to be trivial... maybe? you can always go back and read your own writing or look at your own art but unless you take a photo or REALLY leave an impression you can't really do that with cooking.

i guess it's not that i necessarily feel like im taken for granted. i live for the satisfied noises my girls make when they really enjoy a meal and that alone makes it worth it. frankly when im on my own im even less motivated to make something nice and often resort to really lazy meals. i just spend most of my time doing something that ultimately ends up being shat out and it's kind of funny that way i suppose.

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regal-bones · 2 years ago

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REGAL BONES COMMISSION SHEET

ANIMATED MAGIC ITEMS: £100

Non animated, non coloured, and non shaded versions are available for a cheaper price! All payments through paypal. Items with moving parts (like the butterfly knife) may cost more as they can be more technically challenging. If you are planning on using your commission for a commercial use, there is a +50% commercial fee You can DM me here or on Twitter if you’d like to get in contact about a commission!

WAITING TIMES (PLEASE READ)

Thanks to the amazing support of my Patrons, I no longer need to do commissions to sustain myself for bare essentials like rent and food. But that means that I am now only working on commission work if I need extra money. This means that waiting times can be very long, and should be considered indefinite! Even when I was working on commissions as my full time job, waiting times were up to 11 months long! This is now going to increase, and if you aren’t already on the waiting list please factor a wait of at least 2 years. This kinda sucks, but as an artist I don’t really want to be working on commissions forever and being able to spend more time on my own work is very fulfilling! My commissions work on a waitlist system. Moving forward, if I am in a position where I need to work on commissions I will work slowly through my waiting list. If I message you and you are no longer financially in a place to work get something like this done, no stress! I’ll keep your spot at the top and anytime you have the money I can fit you into my schedule and get to work :)

If you are a patron of mine, please let me know when you are placing your order! As a patron you’ll skip half the waiting list ❤️

As of today (04/10/2023), my waiting list is 35 slots long!

That being said, I can be motivated with money! If you want your item here and now, I offer priority slots for £200 where I will drop everything and work on your item! I know that is a high price, but as mentioned I am very busy with my own projects! I am always focusing on making money so that I can make art - not the other way around. I only hold 3 priority slots at a time.

I also draw stuff besides magic items! Characters, creatures, environment work - check out my archive if that interests you! These prices can be negotiable depending on the project, but anything that isn’t an item starts pricing at £250

Thank you so much! This is a huge change in how my commissions work, and this level of creative freedom wouldn’t be possible without support from people who like my art, and especially my patrons! (You guys rock!!!) I hope you have a lovely day, and let’s make some fun stuff together

#👑💀

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topazadine · 8 months ago

Text

How I Am Kicking Agoraphobia's Ass

With a little help from Horse, of course

I have struggled with agoraphobia since 2017, when I was sexually assaulted. This is a common cause of agoraphobia, and it is more likely to develop in people who have CPTSD (ding ding guess who).

Anyway, I got so fucking sick of people telling me to "just go outside" as if it's so easy-peasy. Maybe for someone without agoraphobia, it feels seamless to stroll out to your car, but it's not so simple when your brain tells you that Bad Things happen when you leave the house. What are those Bad Things? idk, brain never told me. Just Bad Things.

I organized my life around my agoraphobia for many years; it's the reason I have a remote job. And the "just go outside" advice never, ever helped. The best I could do was leave the house with an Emotional Support Human (or dog), but rarely, if ever, alone.

Now I'm leaving the house at least four times a week! Voluntarily! ALONE! Without getting scared!

And sometimes I even spontaneously decide to leave the house and go to big events where there are dozens of people. Just because I feel like it.

This is momentous. If you have agoraphobia, you know how intense that is.

So what did I do? What can you do?

It's actually so simple and I have no idea why no one told me to do this years ago.

Schedule a regular event that is so exciting that you simply cannot afford to miss it.

Something you care about. Something that's so insanely tempting that you would walk over hot coals to do it. Think about something you used to care about before you became housebound, or something you've always wanted to try. For me, it was (and still is) horseback riding.

But! It must meet these conditions:

It has to happen on a regular basis at a scheduled time. Say, 6 pm every Friday. If it's just "whenever" or "once every few months," you probably won't agree to go to it every time.

There has to be a cost to missing it so your Sunk Cost Theory is triggered. Ideally, there will be multiple costs: that could be disappointing someone who has agreed to go with you every time, and that you have already prepaid for it so you'd lose money.

It has to be something that makes you happy and is just for you, not an obligation. So, therapy doesn't count. Going to the gym also doesn't count if you feel like you have to do it for social reasons or health reasons.

If you want to make this an ironclad thing, it should ideally meet these conditions too:

You learn something while there, which develops a sense of efficacy and confidence.

It's a social activity where you will make friends.

It is a physical activity that releases endorphins. (Again, pick something fun, not just going to the gym if it's not fun for you.)

There are no costs to failing. If I screw up at horseback riding or rock climbing, I'm not going to miss out on a promotion or whatever. I might be mad at myself, but I don't really lose anything by not doing it.

It has an indefinite end date; ie, this is something you could theoretically do every week forever if you want to. So if it's a class you want to take, make sure it's one where you can sign up for more classes if you feel like it.

So how do you find your thing??

Think back to a time before you suffered from agoraphobia. Might be hard if you've struggled with it for most of your life, but you might have glimmers of what you liked before.

What did you enjoy doing, or what did you want to do but couldn't? For me, I got to horseback ride as a little kid but then had to stop for money reasons. Now I can afford to do it because I'm an adult with my own adult money.

Find classes or groups in your area that cater to Thing. If they don't exist or are out of your budget, go back to the drawing board and workshop a new Thing.

Sign up for the class ahead of time. Pick a time that is within the next two weeks but preferably within the next week so you have time to prepare yourself.

If it's a paid class, pay your deposit before you get there.

Tell people you are going - as many people as you can. Now you have social and financial pressure that will make you commit.

Now, the most important part.

Research the particular place you will be going during the time between when you sign up and when you go. Learn what to expect when you get there.

Read reviews. Look at pictures online. Analyze the Google Street View. Practice driving or walking there with directions.

If you're trying a new activity, read up on it. Get beginner tips for what to expect in your first session. Watch videos of other people doing it, and read other peoples' experiences trying it out. Visualize what it will feel like to be there and what you will be doing.

This is mental rehearsal and it makes it less scary to actually step into the place for the first time. You will feel more confident when you arrive because you know what you are doing, where you are going, and what to expect as soon as you arrive.

The climbing gym I go to had a "What to Expect On Your First Visit" page that helped me a lot, and then I watched a lot of rock climbing videos and learned about the techniques so I wouldn't feel stupid. I even looked up what climbing shoes look like and how harnesses feel so I wasn't scared when I put them on.

I can't promise it will help you, but I encourage you to give it a try.

Having something to look forward on a regular basis will make it less and less scary to leave the house because, after a while, you won't even think about how unnerving the transition from Safe Space to Unsafe Space is. More and more places will become Safe, and less places will become Unsafe (within reason).

The route you take will become familiar, as will what to expect when you get there. You'll be able to practice and perfect the technique of psyching yourself up to leave home until you no longer need to; it becomes automatic.

And, most importantly, you'll see that your home isn't the only place in the world where you can exist comfortably. Everything's out there waiting for you, and you deserve to be there, too!

#agoraphobia #actually agoraphobic #social anxiety #mental health #panic attacks #panic disorder #mental illness #actually mentally ill #ptsd #c ptsd #complex ptsd #post traumatic stress disorder #post traumatic growth #trauma survivor #trauma #mental wellness #mental health support #mental health matters

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hardyshoe · 5 months ago

Text

Sonnenblumen - Chapter four: Camellias, for longing.

Masterlist.

Also posted on AO3 - here

⚘⚘⚘

How much of something bad can someone bear if the suffering is indefinite? If the promise of liberty and love is pulled ever-further from one’s reach, is there a point where the wanting overwhelms? Could you endure grey solitude forever if there was even a slight chance that you may, one day, be bathed in the warm sunlight of everything you have ever yearned for in the private crevices of your unspoken mind?

Perhaps these are not the questions to ask.

Your dreams had always been vague and blurred, scuffed at the edges like someone were shaking them about inside of you. Yet they were resolute. With time, pigment bled deeper into the ciné-reel of places you find the names of in books and magazines and songs whose provenance are so very far from the limited scope of your world that you cannot fill the middle in; it is not the journey that matters in dreams, merely the destination.

You have never taken a train, not even seen more of one than the steam billowing past the treeline in the distance of the far fields. The nearest station is not close, mostly serving the school from where it lies on the far side. There is normally just one a day, if that, pulled without haste by a striking red locomotive that sparks like embers through the gaps in the trees. On its way back south, it draws briefly close enough to the village that you can smell the smoke as it eats itself in the air behind the departing train. It has always smelled like mocking exclusion.

You haven't seen a plane since you were very young, only ever the one-man planes of the war as they flew across to air bases some miles away. You cannot say you miss the streaking lines of white fog in the sky, nor the ominous dread they left in their wake. You have seen commercial airliners in shining magazines, grainy photographs of mechanical raptors ferrying those of importance and money from one excitement to another. Images of life which bear no resemblance to your own.

So when you think of your leaving, you can only picture the destination. The cobbled-together collage of photographs of continental streets, the beds of artistic movements and human revolutions, the stories which take place there. All that commands so much of you that you have never given much thought to getting there.

A vision of the bright boy who is beginning to consume so much of you swims forth as you look at the clippings of magazines on your walls. In truth, you have not stopped thinking of him since he left you, a flame of white-hot heat in the frost. However, it is one of the central cuttings that evokes him so strongly that you squeeze your index finger down with your thumb until it clicks, leaving your knuckle aching.

A sun faded print of Gustav Klimt’s Sonnenblume. His sunflower. You gave it prime retail when you first put it up, a border of reverence in the form of naked green-blue wallpaper. You know if you took it down there would be an unbleached visage of it left behind, imprinted as permanently on the wall as it is in your mind.

He could not have known the coincidence of his name for you but it brings you back to that first time you had seen the painting. The resonance you had felt in the lonely flower, standing by itself amid a blur of homogeneous sameness. When you look now, the background is still imposing in that familiar, almost comforting way, but the foreground is changed. It is Aegon you see in the small buds that climb the base of the title-piece, his hair in the white blossoms, his eyes in the curling lilac petals and his skin in the pinkness, raw and new. The yellow heads that peek through are so blinding in their likeness to him, how they shine through the encroaching commonality of the green foliage.

As the buds climb the sunflower, you dream of a destination you cannot put name to. It is hazy in the way so many of your dreams used to be, when they were new and unexplored, however one feature stands starkly clear through the fog. You are not alone.

⚘⚘⚘

Marlene is flushed and jolly, her glass of wine cradled funnily against her chest where she has her hand almost all the way around it. Her eyes are bright and she looks so happy.

She has left Elsie with her husband, dragging Barbara and Joan with her for a night at the pub. Your parents send you out from behind the bar as soon as the group piles in, shedding jackets and scarves in colourful layers onto the coat rack. They are warmed by the fire, pulling you into their fold as though it had always been done. You are silenced by the comfort of the huddle for a moment and you push back that old intrusive claustrophobia. They are making an effort and you will do the same for them.

Joan and Marlene lean further into each other the later the hours get, Marlene is tipsy and Joan is not far behind. Marlene’s fine golden curls are weaving between the mousy ends of the latter’s bob, it reflects their entwined hands. They are beaming.

“I suppose I am looking after them again,” Barbara leans over and says to you, not low enough though as the other two perk up in offence.

“You are too sensible for your own good, maybe you ought to get truly soused one day and make them return all your years of service.” You joke, turning slightly to catch that small smile of Barbara’s in the corner of your eyes. It is all light in the face of the fondness in her eyes.

Barbara herself seems strangely adrift too, you feel the kinship between you and her like an unknown bond. She looks to the side from time to time, to the chair on their quiz table where Mary Crillen had sat and her absence seems to hover in Barbara’s vision like a ghost. When she had opened her black leather purse, you had seen the back of a postcard, every visible inch covered in scratching blue ink save for the corner stained pink with a lipstick kiss.

“You two need to catch up,” Marlene asserts, Joan nodding sagely beside her, “On my rare night out I demand a good time.”

“Are we not good enough company?” Barabra asks, wry in her way.

Marlene narrows her eyes and glares at her, “That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“Besides,” Joan chirps in, swishing her glass precariously through the air as she points the rim at you, “this is the first time we have had this one out with us since we were sixteen, it has to be special.”

The sentiment is touching and you share an appreciative look with her, it breaks when Marlene jabs her in the side for spilling wine on her skirt.

“Exactly!” Marlene near shouts latently hearing Joan’s words, hand abandoning where it had been scrubbing at the drops of red on the blue of her skirt to point at you. “Tell us something good.”

You point at yourself and feign confusion.

Barbara chuckles beside you, “Don’t think we don’t know exactly what you’ve been up to lately.”

“Oh you traitor!” you yelp, she just sips her vodka tonic with a devious little smirk behind the glass.

Joan and Marlene chorus a round of giggles and demands for more information. Your cheeks heat at the knowledge that they have been discussing you behind your back but you know, at least, that it is not in malice.

“Go on!” Marlene urges, “tell us more, tell us more.”

Joan joins the chant, the two of them relishing in your burning face, bouncing up and down to the beat they have created. You attempt to quell them but when Barbara starts copying them you know all hope is lost.

“Fine! Fine, have it your way,” they cheer and you send them all pretend daggers, they take no notice. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Joan claps her hands together quickly with excitement.

“Are you going steady?” Marlene asks as she leans forward in her seat.

Joan pipes up again, “Have you kissed him yet?”

“Joan!” Barbara balks, scandalised. When you don't she whips her head to you, “Wait, have you?”

“Just once,” you say hesitantly.

Even Barbara yells this time.

They devolve into a gaggle of hounding questions once more, Joan and Marlene looking between each other with open mouths between harried talking.

“I don’t want you thinking I go around doing that normally though,” you say, they hush at the evident insecurity in your tone, “He’s…”

The strange afterglow of laughter lingers in the air as they look at you, ears ringing from the sudden lapse into quiet.

It’s Barbara who breaks the cast, speaking for you yet knowing exactly what you had failed to say, “He is important to you.”

You just nod. Marlene leans over to squeeze your hand and Joan smiles in what looks a bit like an apology.

“I’ve never done anything like this before,” you say, “I don’t know how to make sense of it all.”

“Make sense of what, love?” Marlene asks, her eyes open and kind. All traces of hysteria ebbed away, leaving that maternal kindness of hers behind.

“I cannot take him out of my life now he is in it,” you say. It isn't an answer to her question but it feels easier to start with something you do know, however mad, and work towards the ball of knotted and tangled mess that pulls more and more of you into its fray as time passes. “I feel as though-”

You cut yourself off abruptly as the thought shutters into sharp focus like blinking morning sleep from your eyes, an intangible distance between the limitless unconscious and the firm clarity of daylight. Awareness sweeps through you like that crystalline lucidity of being alive.

“If I lived the rest of my life without seeing him again, I would still find him in everything I saw, every sound I heard and-”

“My fingers would compare every sensation to the softness of your skin.” The words come as a whisper in your ear and you are so taken with listening that you forget to be shocked by his presence. You can feel his lips on your ear and the heat of his chest warms your back in a curving line as though you were sitting against a stove.

The voices of the girls are a distant hum as you turn to him, not with the franticity that the preluding conversation had held but with the hopeful slowness that wishes not to break a dream.

He is there, half-crouched with his hair falling over his face to play with his cheekbones.. Something in you tips over an edge and you are changed both momentarily and permanently by the meeting of your eyes. You think that, unless someone were to intervene, the contact would be held forever.

His smile carves a mirror on your lips. “Hello, my sunflower.”

The greeting feels so insignificant against the confrontation of what has just passed. And yet-

“Hello Aegon.”

-it is everything.

⚘⚘⚘

It is odd how something can feel like an extension of yourself simply through your awareness of it.

You can feel the back leg of Aegon’s chair against your own every time he moves and, it’s Aegon, he is shifting constantly. In the brief moments of stillness from him, his presence hums through the wood to claw at your spine where it is half pressed against the back of the chair. It is utterly maddening.

“-too loud for me, besides,” you tune back into the conversation on the tail end of Aegon answering a question from one of the girls. You aren't sure which “Two hours is far too long to sit in the dark for, no matter how good the show is.”

“Oh, but isn’t it so exciting?” Marlene asks, her newly filled wine perched on an invisible ledge between her mouth and her knee. “Sitting in the darkness like that, watching a picture from a far off land, with an amor…”

He swings one leg over the other and the knuckles of his left hand ghost across your back as he adjusts in his seat. The way they stay there, drawing the fabric of your jumper a fraction tighter between their hold before falling back away, speaks of deliberation.

“You’re such a romantic Marlene,” Barbara sounds long suffering from her seat by the fire. She had shuffled her chair further from you to allow Aegon to wiggle the front legs of his own between yours and hers.

“Of course I am!” She has moved steadily further from sobriety, growing more resolute in her fantastical ideals as the frost draws its sheath higher on the windows. “I don’t understand how anyone could be anything but.”

“Me neither,” Joan says, to the surprise of no one.

“I don’t know,” begins Aegon from behind you, leading you to turn enough to watch him talk, “I have seen some pretty unromantic things.”

Joan and Marlene frown and Barbara asks him to go in with her beckoning, “Oh?”

His demeanour takes on that curling self-conscience which has him pushing a finger under the leather band of his unmoving watch. “All I’m saying is that perhaps some people are beyond love.”

“I don’t think that's true of anyone,” you say before you can think.

“Never a lost cause to you,” Joan says and, though you can feel the affection in her tone, you still feel she has misunderstood you.

“I don’t believe in lost causes, only causes that are lost to me. I am not saying that there is someone for everyone, that is too idealistic in my mind, I am only saying that-” you twist back to face Aegon as you finish, finding his face as open as the sky. The shining pink of the scars on his knuckles catch in the light as he scrubs a hand up his neck. “I do not think anyone is beyond love, especially not those who think that they are.”

Marlene says something and one of the other girls respond, the lower cadences of their voices becoming indistinguishable from one another when Aegon looks at you with his lips pursed, like he is muddling through what you are saying. He reaches out to graze his nail through the knit of your jumper, tracing the pattern as he draws a line from your elbow, up to the middle of your forearm. You want to scratch at the skin beneath it until it burns pink and raw, if only to dispel the sensitivity of the sensation.

“I think you think too highly of those people,” he says, quiet enough to not draw the attention of the other girls from their conversation as it moves away from the topic at hand.

“I think you underestimate the human capacity for love.”

He simply looks at you for a minute, smiling in that funny little way of his that you are coming to understand to mean that he is fiddling around with his thoughts, confirming or dispelling something or other.

“Not yours.”

His finger slips between the weave of wool and you feel it on your bare skin like the low hum of exposed electricity. You both look down, then back up.

Another moment passes, the gravity of feeling dropping heavier over your shoulders, not like a burden but like the staying power of magnetism.

The flowers climb higher on the base of the sunflower, you see now that they are not consuming it at all. It is an embrace.

From there, the conversation is dominated by Marlene and Aegon. She takes an instant liking to him, their boundless giddy energy matching up perfectly. She ruffles his hair when he goes to the bathroom and he blushes like a little boy.

When he lets slip that he lives in London, Joan fires a barrage of long unanswered questions at him. Even the rapidly moving Aegon’s eyes go wide at the speed with which she talks. She takes no notice of his expression, barrelling on with demands about Oxford Street and Kensington but, above all, Buckingham Palace.

“Have you ever seen one of the royals, in the flesh?” Her pupils are so wide it is almost as though her eyes have no colour at all, the brown fully eclipsed by black. You can almost see her collection of coronation and wedding tea cups and plates panning before her eyes.

He barks a laugh, “Not recently, very thankfully.”

Joan gapes. “So, you have before?”

“Not in months, the last of the Mountbatten cousins finished last year and I have been avoiding the insipid things mother is invited along to for years, everyone got so serious when Elizabeth was crowned.”

“Marlene.”

“Yes, Joan?”

“Pinch me, very hard.”

He continues, oblivious to Joan’s near hysterical crisis. “Honestly, they are all painfully dull. The problem is that I have been ill so many times I fear there is no chance of missing whatever Christmas do they throw this year.”

He looks downright green at the prospect and you poke him decisively in the arm. “Don’t ruin the illusion.”

He puts his hands up in surrender but leans close to you to whisper under his breath, “Bunch of boring bastards.”

You cannot help but laugh.

Barbara changes the topic, hoping to deescalate Joan before she falls from her chair. “Why are you at school all the way up here then? Why not somewhere nearer to home?”

He shrugs, “My father was sent here, along with his brother. It's tradition now I suppose. I think he hoped that I would follow in his footsteps and become head boy but apparently they don't give it to no-good miscreants.”

He looks at you in a pretence of surprise at the fact and you would smile at his humour if it wasn't for the twinge you see in his eyes when he turns back to the group.

Marlene says something in his defence and he shakes his head. Your heart crackles when you catch the beginnings of that old familiar smile of fault pulls his eyes unbiddenly wide and vulnerable. A mask covered in cracks.

You can feel the blame he is shouldering through his jaunty tone. Yet another way that he fails to match up to the idea that someone else has sculpted who he ought to be.

“It’s fine,” he says, quickly. Too quickly. “They will give it to my brother when he is old enough, they were always going to. He’s right for it and it shows ability to overcome, good for image.”

He speaks like he is reading from a script of someone else's devising, but you are too caught up in another part of what he is said to focus on that.

“Overcome what?” you ask, holding back what you want to say about Aegon himself having ‘overcome’ a great deal more than any boy his age should have had to.

He seems to piece together that you are missing a bit of the story and shakes his head, gesturing with his chin in a jerky movement towards the girls. “I’ll tell you another time, it’s not exactly a story for a pleasant evening.”

You don’t quite know what to make of that. You hear Marlene protesting at being labelled a delicate flower like a low ringing in your ears while you reconcile the darkness of his tone and the way he is smiling to himself. Like he is resigned to a fate you are yet to see a glimpse of.

When the clock chimes half ten, Marlene gives a comically exaggerated sigh and rises clumsily from her seat, half dragging an outcrying Joan up with her. Barbara scoops her friend from Marlene’s arm and ushers the two girls towards the door. She smiles at you over her shoulder, glancing briefly towards the back of Aegon’s head then back to you before nodding.

Joan laments the end of the night, loudly. “But I never got to ask him about Princess Margaret.”

Barbara just groans and pushes her through the door in Marlene’s wake.

“Sorry about that,” you say as he moves to sit across from you in one of the newly freed seats.

The skin on your arms feels foreign where his fingertip has left it cold, the wool of your jumper is too rough by comparison. However, when he sits and kicks one of his legs out to align the bones of his ankle with yours in a bruising surfacing of nerves, you find you dont mind so much.

“Sorry about what?” He seems genuinely confused.

“The interrogation,” you clarify, rolling your eyes with affection, “Joan’s fanatic royalism.”

He laughs, shaking his head slightly. You get swept up for a moment in the way the ends of his hair flutter over the peaks of her shoulders. “I don’t mind, I like them. I just struggle to talk of London like I have anything good to say about it.”

That strikes you unexpectedly. You had known he didn’t really feel he fitted in at his home after coming back and leaving Davey but when he speaks now you get the impression that he hardly views it as deserving of the word at all.

Did he have somewhere to go back to? Was there anywhere that he genuinely felt had a space in it for him? You are reminded of the way he spoke of that overcrowded Poplar kitchen and the smile he had for his long lost brother.

As much as you long for another place, your home is a home, the pub an extension of it. It was everything else that felt like something you didn’t belong to. To feel so very transient must be exhausting and ever so isolating. You twist your ankle further around his until the loops of his boots catch on your laces, anchoring yourself to him.

“Where would you go then, if you had all the freedom in the world?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” he says, elaborating before you can ask him to. “I was going to go to Australia when I was fifteen on one of those £10 tickets, after…everything it seemed a fine idea. I made it all the way to the East end.”

“Why didn’t you go?” You ask through the faltering at your heart, the bare presentation of how different things could have been sending you spinning a little.

His mouth pinches to the side like he is thinking about it for the first time in a while, or maybe, just looking at it differently. “I thought I fancied an odyssey but a part of me realised, when i was on the dock and standing in the queue for the boat with everything that mattered to me in one of my mother’s suitcases that, despite all my practice, I’m not very good at being alone.”

Somehow, he manages once again to test how tiny the fragments of your shattered heart can be. By now they feel as fine as sand.

“I was so excited, I had all these grand plans for what I was going to do, who I could be somewhere no one knew me, where I hadn’t made any mistakes yet and fucked it all up yet.”

He has this faraway look in his eyes, like he can hear the seagulls echoing in his ears and the way the water had slapped against the metal of the ship.

“But then, Otto found me, saw right through all of it and he took my suitcase away and dragged me back to the house. I fought him of course, it didn’t matter in the moment how pointless I knew it was.”

His hand is trembling slightly when he brings it to his forehead to pull back the fringing wisps of hair as they fall over his forehead. He runs his pointer over the scar that runs from the middle of his right eyebrow diagonally back towards his hairline.

“I cracked my head on the car window when he tried to put me inside, shattered the thing completely. It bled like mad. He was so angry.” he drags a hand down the side of his face sharply, as though he were wiping still flowing blood from his eye. “And I thought ‘good’, at least now he knows how I feel.”

You couldn’t have found a word to say if you had a dictionary in your hands. The only sounds that register are the ragged intakes of Aegon’s breathing.

“Then he said to me, ‘just because they don't know you doesn’t mean they won’t be able to tell exactly how much of a waste of space you are, Aegon. Like he could read my fucking mind.”

He spits his own name like a curse, shaking his head until the scar is covered again by his cascading hair. His hand moves to wiggle a finger under the band of his watch, leg bouncing under him.

“I stopped fighting after that.”

The thorny shadow of Aegon’s mother gains a companion in the faceless Otto. His rosy binds draw tight around his body until his stony exterior starts to pinch, white and bloodless.

Your vitriolic silence spurs his fidgeting onwards and shifts to remove something from his pocket, the tarnished metal gleaming in the light of the fire. When he opens it with a nail slid down the seam, you realise that it is a cigarette case. Though inside, the elastic straps hold two finely packed stacks of scraps instead of fags. He looses a wad from one side and fans them shakily over the table in a blur of coloured paper and faded lettering.

When his fingers still on one of the pieces, so does his entire body. For a single, terrifying moment, Aegon is rendered as still as a block of alabaster. It is frightening. He slides it over to you and it quivers like a leaf in the wind between your forefingers.

The black ink has faded into a ridged vein over the crease in the middle, you can see the light through the middle where it has been double folded. You can still read the words printed damningly clearly between the pink boxes that must have been red once.

15th August 1951. One way. London to Adelaide. Youth. Aegon Targaryen.

The way he stares at it is almost unwatchable. He wears the stolen chance like a crown of thorns.

“He made me watch the boat leave before we left. I could hear the horn going in my mind all night for weeks, it was like it was rattling around in my bones.”

“Would you go now, if you could?” You cannot help but ask.

He takes back the ticket like he is lifting a baby bird from your hands. He stares at it for a while before refolding it into the mad kaleidoscope of sentimentality in the little case. You want to know what every single piece means to him.

“There’s no use. I’m still me wherever I go. It’s always been the same, why should it be any different there?”

“You’re still you here, Aegon,” you point out gently and his face falls, almost imperceptible through his attempt to hide it but you catch the drop nonetheless. You rush to correct yourself. “I have never met anyone like you, I don’t think such a person exists.”

You pause to gather what you are trying to say. “Aegon when you aren’t around it is like the world is losing its colour.”

“You don’t mean that, you can’t.”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t?”

He just shrugs, brushing over the small section of untarnished brass. A shiny golden fingerprint right under the carved A.

“Every time you tell me about what has been done to you and how you have been treated, and I see the look in yours eyes like you truly believe that you could ever deserve any of it,” he isn't blinking as he watches you take a harsh breath, “I get so angry I feel like my skin is going to burn off.”

“You don’t know all of it yet,” he says, shaking his head.

“So tell me,” you urge, voice bordering on full desperation.

He smiles, almost placating. “I will,” and you can tell that he means it, too. “But I am going to be selfish for just a little while longer.”

⚘⚘⚘

After he has kissed you again, left you searing and bruised and alive, you agree to his wild plan, to go back with him in the dead of the night. He tells you he will come for you the next night, that you should stay up and pack your toothbrush. The anticipation runs down your tendons and twitches under the fine skin of your hands and feet. You feel like you're sitting on a wire.

In the darkness of your room, you look to the wall covered in clippings and strain your eyes to see. The vague outline of the sunflower looks back at you and you copy an approximation of the climbing buds with your finger on the sheet underneath you.

Perhaps the question to ask is this: When you are revealed by someone, as you inevitably will be if someone who cares enough to draw back your skin until the gristle of your sinew is exposed to the air comes along, can you bear an existence in which you are looked at in such a state by anyone, who is not them?

You want the world to see Aegon for every beauty and flaw but you are unsure whether that is something he can give when his life has been mired in abuse and rejection for those very things which are so fundamental to him.

You cannot change the world but you can try to adjust his perspective, give him a world which does not shoulder him like a burden.

⚘⚘⚘

Welcome back my dear readers! I hope you are all well and that you enjoyed this chapter, I have so been looking forward to diving deeper into the characters that surround our sunflower and giving them a bit more life. I hope you like them as I do, I really am a little too fond of my original characters. As always, comments and love are so appreciated you cannot begin to understand how much! All my love, SlaginSecret xxx

@neithriddle

#aegon ii fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon the second #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader

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