#anyways. life goes on ig

[bisexualsoup]

i really wish i was like. enough for people to want to have in their lives. like actually and actively want. but like idk where to begin or even if that’s possible for me. like i think something’s just fundamentally wrong with me 🤷‍♀️

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

not me immediately getting jude from this

who did you guys get? 👀

[reesescuffs]

Whiteboard fox doodle s from earlier....

I swear they canon have multiple eyes 🙏🙏

[lavander-galaxy]

Shoutout to the curly hair alastor enjoyers out there this one is for you 🗣️🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[zebratimw]

[forgottenarthur]

@forgottensebastian "Please don't do this." Sebastian x Arthur

Flashback

It happened every few years. A son displeased his father and, in penance, that son was hurled into the fighting wherever it was most vicious to sink or to swim. It had all been a mistake, seemingly small, but Roderick perceived it as injurious to himself, for there was no action in the House of Varmont that could truly be measured as weightless. Arthur knew that he was expected by many to die. But he did not mean to lose. He meant to return in triumph. But his mother feared he would not return at all.

He was alone, now, preparing for war, ready to ride in the span of mere moments. His father had sent him away in shame. There was to be no one to see him off.

"Please don't do this," sounded the familiar voice of his brother, coming quickly into the room.

Arthur paused, his hand resting upon the hilt of his longblade. For a moment, they were poised there, caught in the moment. Arthur stood silhouetted against the window at his side, a beam of brilliant light illuminating the gloom, with Sebastian standing behind him, and his sword lying flat upon the table before him: a tableau of heartache and doom thwarted by four words.

Yet, the moment was broken. Arthur bowed his head and, squaring his shoulders, he lifted the blade in one hand, sheathing it at his waist with the other. "What choice do I have?" Slowly, he turned to face Sebastian and, sighing, he clapped his arm. "I'll come back all right," he said. "I always do."

"You can't know that."

Arthur sucked in a breath, inviting air deep into his lungs. "I know this, little brother: I can't do otherwise." He shook his head. "I've already disappointed father enough."

"He'll regret it."

Arthur turned away, laughing as he pulled on his jacket. "He won't. He never does."

"If something happens--"

"Don't." Arthur shook his head. "There's no point." Dawn edged around the distant gleaming mountaintops in shades of violet, and Arthur exhaled slowly. "It's convenient, really," he commented, off-hand, brilliant eyes drinking in the farflung horizon. "Always having a war somewhere to which you can readily send errant sons to fight. I am glad. I'd hate to inconvenience him."

A pause. He closed the shutter with his swordhand, and turned to face his brother once again. "Just," he began, resting his hand upon his shoulder. "Two things, Sebastian: first, learn from my mistakes, won't you? Second...whatever happens--"

"Arthur--"

"Look after our mother and sister, won't you?" He cracked a grin. "Edmund and Guin can look out for themselves. God knows they've enough experience by now, hey?"

"I'll speak to him, Arthur. Mother and I, both. He'll come around."

"Maybe so, but I'll be long gone by then. Don't trouble yourself. I wouldn't have his wrath fall on you, not on my account. Now, you best stay here. It'll go better for you if no one knows we spoke. And father will be watching from the window to ensure no one else sees me off."

"It's cruel--"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't think so. You see, it's intimate: he's seeing me off, isn't he, even if he doesn't wish to."

"You forgive him too easily."

Arthur laughed. "If only it were a family trait. Goodbye, Sebastian. Tell Cassandra I'll bring her something back."

Despite himself, Sebastian chuckled. "Then I know you're coming back, because if you don't, I daresay she'd follow you to the Underworld for whatever you've promised her."

Arthur laughed brightly, pulling his brother into an embrace. "Call it insurance, then, brother. I'll be back before you know it."

[throwing-summers-at-the-walls]

John is so capable of violence, has seen and endured and caused so much violence, has learned so well how to hurt. He has rage inside of him. Against abusers. Against himself.

But he is still so gentle and nice and comforting and he smiles and the numbers hug him and he tells Megan with tears in his eyes how you lose a part of yourself when you kill someone. He wants to help.

And. He wants to die but then. Why not live to help people. Then. Why not live because it's nice.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

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this is kubosai core to me, idk how to explain it though,, i just think,, they are Beach boyfriends,,,

[pandora15]

life is cruel.

it's tragic, horrific, and unfair. it gives us the worst of things, causes us to feel and experience things that are so unspeakably painful that sometimes I can't even. I can't even.

and it seems even more cruel in those moments of pain and grief and loss when you see something beautiful, like fall colors, or the color of the sky at sunset, or how the holidays typically are meant to bring joy to people but all you can think about now is that every year when this time of year comes, you'll just think about how tragic it is.

and cruel.

and horrific.

and unfair.

and beautiful.

[selfinflictedgunshotwound]

having twin peaks thoughts & theories bc i just started watching the return (i know spoilers ofc) and i have literally nowhere else to put my thoughts so i'm just gonna dump them here.

obviously i don't every single thing about twin peaks was meant to just be like... One Thing and that's it. i think there's room for interpretation for a reason butttt the one thing i just keep going back to about the show is just that. like. it's about the corruption of innocence and the perversion of family. of cycles of violence and abuse. children being sexually taken advantage of by "trusted" adults. teenage prostitution rings. barely a single relationship in the town wherein people aren't cheating on someone/cheated in the past. bob being "the evil that men do" (tbf this is technically just albert's theory but i choose to believe it) and now this weird thing with judy/the experiment (are they the same thing? idk yet) being the thing that CREATED bob? there's this weird thing i get with the black lodge/waiting room like... good people can't survive there without disappearing completely (nonexistence) or being permanently changed (in the case of annie, ig)

and then ofc you have the tormented souls being trapped there (laura, maddy, caroline(tbh idk what was going on w her doppelganger being there?), leland(he was originally a victim too, i'm getting there)) because of the things that were done TO them. i was thinking like. in regards to the frogmoth that crawled into sarah's mouth (when she was a child) and everything that's going on w/ her in the return (watching insanely violent things on tv, "eating" men, etc.) ... compounded with leland's story about bob "I was just a boy. I saw him in my dreams. He said he - he wanted to play. He opened me and I invited him and he came inside me." ... mr. c's introduction song being a twisted version of "american woman" (i've heard this is also related to diane's doppelganger, as well. makes sense) w/ the stand-out lyrics (aka the backwards ones) being "all my headstrong women... don't let em put you in a corner. make em salute you like a flag on the fourth of july." and sarah palmer having a shortened and remixed version of "good man" blaring in her house that just repeats the lyrics "i'm a good man. i'm having fun." like. there's smth to this i'm not insane...

anyways to go even FURTHER... there being specific emphasis on being in the right time and the right place. opposites (giant and dwarf, young and old, black and white, etc.) and the planets jupiter and saturn.

the experiment violently killing that couple that was watching the glass box bc they were having sex? or because they were(n't) watching? or both? the experiment very obviously being the thing inside of sarah but it pulling off it's own face within sarah and revealing a smile that looks eerily similar to laura's (even if not exact... ppl are such pedants about things being exact in this show where literally everything is drenched in like 8 metaphors at any given time) AND the laura in the black lodge/waiting room removing her own face in the exact same way. it's weird that in this instance, laura's dialectical opposite or opposing force is her own mother who she claims she has so much in common with. but this goes even a step further because when the experiment spawned in the glass box, it has a gold orb (or smth like it) like the one laura's like... spirit? was born from? AND APPARENTLY there's a little clip of what sounds like sheryl lee's voice saying "gone" or "the one" or something like that while the experiment is flying towards them (not unlike an owl) to kill them... hm. not to mention the experiment has a proboscis-like knife that comes out of its mouth that it uses to kill the guy sexually harrassing sarah at the bar... and carrie page has a dead guy in her motel room that has a hole in his head... could obviously def just be a bullet-wound LMAO but idk let's have fun w it!

i do think there's a crazy connection between sarah, laura, and the experiment/judy/whatever. "the room seems different... and men are coming. something happened to me. i don't feel good..." obviously, i will be able to make more connections and add to this theory as i watch more but from what i've seen i think there's a huge connection to children and how easily it is for them to be taken advantage of (literally every member of the palmer family was taken advantage of as a child when an evil entity entered them. i mean. how more on the nose can you be!!) or for their innocence to get stolen (prostitution, drugs, murder, becoming child brides to abusive older men... the list goes on). and there's obvious themes of intense sexual violence and dreams and blahhhh. it's like 5:30am and i'm theorizing about a show that will never have an actual answer LMAO... to be fair though it's not ABOUT actually "solving" it for me. i think most media works well when you get what you want or need from it and just kind of make that The Point and, for me, twin peaks will always be about the tragedy of laura palmer before it's about anything else!

i really do like that theory that dale cooper is just like. an entity that laura dreamed up to save her originally but in the end, after she had finally escaped being laura palmer and that life and that house and her trauma, he ended up bringing her right back to it. it's like. how does that not make people insane?

[phantajam]

my hot take about descendants is that NONE of the core four were ready for a relationship until maybe like, the third movie (rant in tags)

[fiendishartist2]

reading my own oc lore and being gagged as if i didnt write it

[drifloonz]

one day ill be annoying ab my selfship again . although i enjoy that ppl enjoy my writing most of this is entirely self indulgent, projection, and for me . being so real .

[eggscaffolding]

My biggest most secret confession go:

I knew nothing about Supernatural. I was eleven-ish when I was looking through Netflix and I found it, wow!!

I was pretty sheltered so I had no idea it was insanely popular, I just went “wowoahh monster killing fun”

However, my mom was iffy on horror/monster-y things (see above about being sheltered) so I felt as if this was the eighth deadly sin, and hid the fact I was watching it like I would be sent to the stocks or something

Here’s where it actually kicks in.

A while later, I’m still enjoying Supernatural (still unaware of its popularity) and my mom has gotten way more chill

My mother, brother, and I tended to watch an episode or two of a show together as a family each Friday night or something

You might know where this is going

SO IMAGINE MY 11/12 YEAR OLD SURPRISE WHEN

I hear the DREADED, the FEARED, the MOST AWFUL THING POSSIBLE

“Oh this looks fun” and I LOOK UP TO SEE SUPERNATURAL (my mom was ALSO like “woah!!!! killing monsters! Fun!!)

So I’m freaking out but I stay calm

I was built for this

I had years of drama camp under my belt and I was ready to put on the act of my life

And like any logical person, instead of saying ANYTHING about the fact I know it, or even know it exists, I go “yeah sure seems cool” when they ask if we should watch it

THEN

For the next like… FOUR OR FIVE SEASONS??? I watch with them SLOWLY and the ENTIRE TIME I am pretending I have NEVER seen ANY of it and went “oh wow I hope he makes it (😰)” and stuff for the WHOLE TIME

then after a point, I got tired of hiding the fact my Netflix account (which was very much able to be seen by them) was like three seasons ahead, so I told them I just watched ahead on my own account because I wanted to find out what happened next

And THAT is how I explained that away

But wait

It gets BETTER (maybe)

To this day, they still have NO clue that this happened. I have never told them that we did not discover Supernatural as a family, I will never tell them just found it and watched it in secret.

It’s too late to go back and this will be kept to my grave.

[lildoodlecat]

The new blanket I got is purple with glow in the dark stars and constellations but unfortunately I sleep with a lamp on to keep the suffocating weight of the darkness away