#but always always with the intent to return them to their true selves

[lineffability]

What do you think of azira and Crowley becoming human at some point in the show? I feel like most people really don’t want this to happen but I think it would be sooo sooo thematically relevant to them and their relationship.

I'm also not a fan of that, unfortunately:/ I see the appeal so I understand why some people want it, but it's always made me feel a bit iffy. I haven't found the right words yet but fortunately this fandom has so many wonderful people who've been able to express the sentiment quite well, like @bornonthesavage in their post, or @queerfables who literally just reblogged the post from me with these succinct tags that mirror my feelings exactly:

having an ending where they turn human would, to me, feel a bit like the death of them, I guess? (sth about 'i would die for you' - 'thats too easy. would you live for me?') (sth about them having to give up who they are to be able to be together? I prefer for them to suck out all the marrow of life, elbow to elbow, arms on the same table, forever hungry and forever satisfied)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Q's Relevance and Parallels to Double Black

I had a sudden brainwave of thoughts (read: I only got three hours of sleep last night) and needed to share. I've thought this for awhile but I really think Q will be returning to the series at some point.

First of all, there's just too much ambiguity there and I want to know more about Q in general. What happened to Q to spawn an ability like that? Why does Dazai speak about them like they're the devil incarnate? What was the incident that led to so many Mafia deaths in an effort to lock Q up? Is there any significance to Q's unusual eyes (remember that most characters tend to have fairly normal eyes, and this is a series where the eyes carry symbolic weight)? What's with Q being strung up in this position that is eerily similar to a crucifixion, shortly before Steinbeck has a conversation about God existing but not loving them?

There's a lot there. I've spoken about this before in the meta I did about Dazai's change in approach after the Q chapter, which was genuinely an unexpected event he did not anticipate. But there's something fascinating about the way Chuuya reacts to Q as well. In fact, both Dazai and Chuuya are almost uncharacteristically murderous towards this kid, and that's real interesting, seeing as many aspects of Q mirror aspects of their younger selves.

Now I understand you might be thinking: uncharacteristically murderous? Story, they have both literally killed many, many people before. Yes, but context is important here.

Dazai doesn't have strong violent urges - not even in the Mafia, where he was considered terrifying more so due to his apathy in killing than anything. I can't remember a scene where Dazai is described as radiating bloodlust like Kyouka or Mori. Dazai is scary because of his indifferent hollowness at his worst points. Odasaku was described similarly in Untold Origins - there was no real desire to kill, just a listless cold follow-through. Dazai's sadistic methods, brought up by Higuchi in Chapter 25, are acknowledged as a means to an end, a method, not something done out of any strong desire or enjoyment. So when Dazai makes death threats or appears visibly angered - that's something worth taking note of. For him to make a promise to Q to pluck out their heart - holy shit. That is not typical Dazai behaviour. He doesn't even make that kind of threat towards Fyodor. Whatever happened in the past clearly shook him, enough for this moment to change his approach in the series and send him back to using darker methods again.

As for Chuuya, while he has and does kill quite readily, this is mostly in the heat of a fight. For him to give the go-ahead for murdering an unconscious child - it's unusually cold-blooded for him, and I can't think of another instance where he's down with lethal intent outside of combat and direct orders. I've seen some people talk about his reaction to Dazai suggesting he'll kill Q as proof that he's gotten darker since we saw him last in Stormbringer, from someone who would plead for the lives of the Sheep to be spared ("They're just kids") to being ready and willing to kill a defenseless child. While I think it's likely true that he's gone darker since that point - Chuuya appears to be more cynical in the present as well as having darker eyes with a smaller central pinprick of light than in Fifteen and Stormbringer - that's not the only thing going on here.

Thing is, Chuuya has always been fairly ruthless. He’s a very vengeance oriented character, right down to his fighting style (rebounding attacks and bullets). Hurt him or someone he cares about and he hurts back - and that threat will be destroyed. Parallel to this is how he is seemingly unable to turn his back on people who have helped him. Help him and he will remain loyal and protective even if that person goes on to stab him in the back. He has a very “give and take” mentality. Chuuya operates on the reciprocity principle.

So, about Q, here’s the thing: Q is a part of the Mafia, that's true. But Q has never helped them, only hurt indiscriminately. Mafia philosophy says “protect your own and follow the boss' wishes no matter what”. But Chuuya’s philosophy is saying “neutralize the threat”. And interestingly, Chuuya’s philosophy won here. If Dazai had've killed Q, Chuuya would’ve defied Mori’s orders in favour of his own judgement, which is extra intriguing because it emphasizes Chuuya’s loyalty to the people within the Mafia, not the Mafia as an organization itself. This is in full contrast to people like Tachihara and Hirotsu, who prioritize the organization and orders above all.

And about Q being a child: I don’t think this is such a big change in his character if I'm being honest. Chuuya knows full well how dangerous a child can be - he was that dangerous child. People underestimated him as a teenager and paid for it dearly; do you really think he'd make that same mistake? He also has a very warped view on the responsibilities and ways a child should be treated… while I do believe he probably is protective of those younger than him, he also equally understands that a child can be just as much of a threat as anyone else. For Chuuya, it’s always a matter of what wins out: the person or the threat? In this case, it was the latter.

The thing is, it's interesting the way they react when you look at the way Q eerily parallels aspects of their younger selves - as well as some things that carry over to the present.

Dazai and Q share central themes of control.

Q's mind control ability is actually referenced by Dazai as being essentially the worst kind of ability there is, and I know I've mentioned before how he seems to react poorly to those people who attempt to mentally control others, placing them on a heightened level of danger (think Fyodor, Mori). I don't think I need to get into Dazai's control freak tendencies - and what's more, after Q's introduction, after he says that mind control is the worst kind of ability there is - he ramps up his masterminding and enacts as much control as he can over the proceedings of the events that follow. Q's ability is interesting in the sense that it allows them control over others, implying Q came from a background of little control. I have also hypothesized that Dazai, with his need for situational control, similarly came from a background of little control. It's also likely they both were hurt by others - Q's ability turns any pain inflicted on them back around, giving them a way to fight back, while Dazai can level the playing field of any unfair advantages by nullifying abilities.

Q's small segment in Fifteen is also interesting: they're near completely zoned out, just staring off into the distance without responding to their environment until Dazai gets directly in their face. Then Q suddenly flips a switch and becomes all cheerful and playful. It reminds me of young Dazai's quick switches between faux cheerfulness and emptiness earlier in that same book.

They also both have quite interesting relations to pain. Q wonders why cruel things always hurt them, but Q makes this a foregone conclusion by purposely arranging others to hurt them so they have an excuse to hurt those people back. Q's pain becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy: they hate it, but the only means of control they know in interactions with others requires it. Dazai similarly hates pain - his pain loop, however, is more emotional than physical. Dazai feels isolated and alienated from others, but his attempts to exert control require him to distance himself and rely on his mind over all else. He also leans into his inhuman side when it becomes apparent pain is unavoidable (I think often of his reactions throughout Dark Era to Ango's betrayal) - again, this becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. He will not find anything. He will continue to be separate from humanity if this cycle continues. That was why it was imperative that Odasaku break him out of it. Self-sabotage behaviours and unhealthy cycles, physical and emotional, are apparent with these two.

For bonus points: both have injured right arms.

On a more superficial level too, Q and Dazai both have "creepy child" energy, with emphasis on the child part - they are both legitimately disturbing at times but also have moments where they show childlike interest and behaviour. (I encourage people to check out Q's mayoi cards for this - I know it's not super canon or anything but it emphasizes their "kiddishness".)

Also I'm unsure if this is significant, but there's this detail too:

Q has a very unusual right eye with a star in the center. The right eye is also the one Dazai kept covered in the Mafia. Notably also, Q's right eye is frequently obscured by their hair in key scenes.

...Does it mean something? I have no idea. But it's potentially interesting so I thought I'd add it.

Meanwhile, Chuuya and Q share themes of loss of control.

For Q, this is quite obvious. They are literally locked up; imprisoned within the Mafia and unable to exert control over their circumstances. For Chuuya, it's a little more subtle but still present, I believe: I invite people to look at his character song and mayoi (particularly aquarium) for direct references to feelings of being trapped. However, looking at Fifteen and Stormbringer, there are a few mentions of freedom that are intriguing in relation to Chuuya's character. In Fifteen, both Dazai and Shirase mention Chuuya's "freedom"... but this is almost a mockery of what's really going on. A party to celebrate Chuuya's freedom is really an elaborate set up for a trap. Shirase telling Chuuya that he should have the freedom to act on his own wishes is really a cover up for a betrayal. In both instances, Chuuya's freedom is a lie. Stormbringer, at the very least, instates a sense of agency where he at least has the freedom to make choices about his own actions - that's the whole point of his hat; it's a symbol of autonomy (also anti-mind control; more on that in a bit). However, Stormbringer also systematically strips away the start of any alternate path Chuuya could've taken - he cannot be the child he was, he never got to hear the pitch on living in the light. He feels genuine gratitude towards those in the Mafia - they have his back, which is more than he could say before, but at the same time, the Mafia is kind of the last option available there if he wants not to be alone... and Chuuya does not want to be alone. (Seriously. His character song. Please look at it. Also Stormbringer.)

Now, onto their abilities, which also parallel in the sense that they are both used to "get back" at people. Chuuya rebounds attacks - bullets shot at him ricochet back at the people who fired, and Q hurts people who hurt them. There's a very reciprocal relation to the way they use their abilities, and it is absolutely to induce fear and intimidation in others, but there's a key difference. Namely, Chuuya fights only against enemies or people who strike first. Q, on the other hand, intentionally makes "enemies" out of even innocent bystanders just to have a reason to hurt them back. A lot of this is due to Q's misanthropic nature - I doubt Q has ever had a positive bond with another person, and so Q sees the whole world as their enemy - a world which, to them, does not want them in it. Chuuya, on the other hand, has had people who care about him, and he cares about them in turn. He's a bit jaded but he doesn't hate humanity, far from it.

In that sense, Q parallels Verlaine in a sense, right down to being kept in a special secret room in the Mafia, hehe. Though again, there's differences. Verlaine chooses to stay in that room, first of all, while Q doesn't have a choice. Verlaine's angst is internal identity based while Q's is more external situation based. In response to their pain, Verlaine chooses to relinquish control of himself (Brutalization), and Q chooses to have everyone else lose control of themselves (Dogra Magra). Verlaine says "look at how monstrous I am and how I hate and hurt because of it" and Q says "look at how monstrous you all are and how I hate and hurt because of it".

Chuuya is not so far on either extreme that he emulates this - but he could've ended up like Verlaine, and he admits it in Stormbringer. He could've maybe ended up something like Q too, if he'd remained trapped as a lab rat. But see here's the key with Chuuya: his hat makes it so the choice to lose control of himself is his alone, and moreover, that losing control doesn't mean he goes out of control. He trusts that he can lose control for a bit, place it in someone else's hands for awhile before it goes too far. Trusts that the choice to lose himself will be followed by the keeping of a promise to bring him back to himself. Chuuya has bonds, and that's the key difference.

But uh. Going back to parallels... about the scene where Q gets tortured... and the scene where Chuuya gets tortured...

Is this significant...?

...is... is this...

...

.............

Um. I may be delusional. But. Well. *gestures at all of this*

So, where does this leave us? Well, we have Dazai, who sees a manipulative, mind-controlling kid that he calls a "walking disaster", and we have Chuuya, who sees a dangerous ability user that is too big of a potential threat to not be dealt with, so the two decide the best course of action is to kill them about it. The reason Dazai did not follow through is likely a mix of his stated reason (the Mafia cannot harm Dazai so long as he is needed to stop Q), and probably also that he isn't really supposed to be directly killing anymore.

Nice, guys. Really clear and consciously held self-concepts you got there.

Considering everything, it's maddening that all we have on the dynamic between these three is: Q joins in Fifteen at the same time as the other two and is assigned to Dazai since he can stop their ability. Mori doesn't know what it is at that point but assumes whatever it is will be manageable because Dazai can just nullify it. It... clearly wasn't.

I feel like there has to be something here and that we're going to be coming back to it. Q, the old Boss, how Mori got so close as an underground physician in such a short time... there's so much about the Mafia we don't know so I'm assuming the story will shift to focus on these points again... someday. Hopefully.

[angellayercake]

Last Bow

NSFW

Sister Imperator x Reader

AO3

Some Sister Angst/Smut for you @onedaughterofman​

She was still covered in traces of blood when she exited the room, closing the door softly behind her before leaning against it and meeting your eyes where you stood waiting. Like a fool. Probably. You had lost track of time a while ago, it could have been five minutes or five hours since you had discreetly followed her as she dragged him off. To seal the deal as she had been instructed. He was needed, valuable to the cause, Lucifer’s chosen and she was to do whatever it took to secure his loyalty, including fucking him senseless apparently. 

A smirk pulled at her lips but the expression didn’t meet her eyes. She played her part well, you thought. Too well sometimes. She swore to you that you were the only one who knew her, truly knew her but you weren’t sure. Since you were young she had had a lust for power, an often underestimated willpower and an unwavering loyalty to the Old One.

It didn’t stop you from loving her though. You would question her sometimes even disapprove but if she asked then you would do anything for her in spite of your reservations. Which was how you ended up here you supposed, watching her seduce that idiot man across the party and lurking in corridors as she cried out in performed pleasure. 

‘Good was he?’ You had aimed for a joke but the bitterness inside you sours it, makes it fall flat and her eyes go blank even as the smirk stays fixed on her lips.

‘Why are you jealous?’ It digs in under your ribs like a knife and suddenly you are pressing her against the door aggressively kissing the look off of her face as her nails dig into the skin of your shoulders. 

‘I should make you come right here. So he knows what you sound like when some one fucks you properly.’ You are gripping her waist too hard as you trail your lips down her neck determined to leave your own mark over the top of the one he had left. She just laughs weaving her fingers through your hair keeping you in place.

‘Come on,’ she whispers as her grip tightens, pulling you up to meet her eyes. There is still a hard edge, there always is, but some of her spark has started to return. The spark that makes you incapable of denying her anything. ‘Make me forget about him?’ You can only nod in response as she slides her fingers out of your hair and takes your hand leading you away from that room to the only place the two of you are free to be your true selves. 

As soon as the door closes you are back on her but your intention now is to worship rather than mark her as your own. You kiss her like you are trying to communicate all those things you can never quite bring yourself to say. The sweet things, the sad things, the desperate things, the angry things. Anything that could disrupt the tightrope of feelings the two of you have been walking for as long as you can remember. She sighs into your mouth as you work to free her from the tight dress she had been wearing and in turn freeing her from the last sign of her obligations for the night. She had done her duty, this was your time now. 

You peel the dress down her body following your progress as her marked skin is revealed to you. You can’t suppress the possessive growl that escapes when you see the black marks he had left across her breasts. You rub your thumb over them smudging until they lose the distinct shape of his mouth. You sense her watching you but you can’t face her so you pinch her nipples between your fingers instead and listen for her tell-tale gasp before soothing them with your tongue, first one then the other until they are pebbled and over sensitive. 

You finally meet her wide dark eyes as you sink down to your knees in front of her. You work the dress down her legs and she rests her hand on your shoulder as she steps out of it leaving her bare but for her shoes and stockings and a pulse of heat burns through you as you trail your fingers over her. You grasp her hips, your fingertips not quite able to line up with the faint bruises blooming on her skin and ease her to lean against the door behind her. You place a kiss on the jut of her hip bones doing your best to ignore the growing reminder of his touch before smoothing your hands down her thighs and encouraging her legs apart so you can get exactly where you want, no need to be. 

You would usually spend more time on her kissing up her thighs, lavishing her in attention. The ticklish spot inside her knee, the place on her inner thigh that makes her shake and her mound that if you grazed with your teeth made her tighten her thighs, trapping you against her. But not this time. You licked from her entrance to her clit, a hard broad stroke of your tongue and she groans above you. You can taste him on her, it should sicken you, you think. Instead you take a perverse pleasure in it. He may have had her but he would never please her as you do. 

Her fingers weave through your hair guiding your movements as she grinds down against your face. When she directs you to her clit you suck and lap at it dutifully. Perfectly attuned to her sounds and movements you let them guide you to exactly how she needs you to pleasure her until her legs start to give out and you have to press her hips into the door to help her stay upright. You slide two fingers into her and shiver as she clenches around you and hope he didn’t make her do that. Curving your fingers up you hone in on her sensitive spot stimulating her with every thrust as you simultaneously continue sucking and stroking her clit with your tongue. 

She is close you know as her fingers tighten in your hair, preventing you from pulling away, as if you would. Her breathing is quick and shallow, from your position you can see the muscles in her stomach jumping as you bring her closer and closer but the only sounds from her are choked off moans and whimpers. She never begs to come. Never implores you not to stop. Always certain that you will do exactly as she wants. And you do, not stopping until she has finished clenching and grinding against you, until she loosens her death grip on your hair, until her muscles unclench and she is able to stand without you pressing her against the door. 

‘Make yourself come for me.’ It comes out a whisper but you feel the order down to your core. You are so close already as you slide your fingers, still wet from her orgasm into your soaked slit. There is no resistance as you push at your entrance and grind your clit against your palm. Her fingers tighten in your hair once again forcing you to look up at her as you frantically grind against your own hand. ‘Come for me.’ Her voice is stronger now and brokers no argument and with two more rolls of your hips your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you a shuddering panting mess at her feet.   

You rest your head against her thigh as you both fight to catch your breath. As the urgency fades in the afterglow reality sets back in. The floor is hard and unforgiving on your knees but you can’t bring yourself to move just yet. Tonight had just been the start of what the Clergy had planned for their new Papa. And what you knew of what was to come held Sister Imperator at the centre. The whispers of Prime Mover and the intention to summon the Antichrist had even reached your ears. You choke down a sob as the implications begin to crash around you. She slides down the door until she is sat there with you and able to envelope you in her arms. You let the tears fall while accepting the comfort she offers trying not to acknowledge that this may be the last time.

[thewolfisawake]

Ceilidh had returned to the library to find it was not empty. She prepared to start her spiel as to how she could assist. However the words halted when she noticed the visitor in full.

He was reading from the history section. Though it was flitting, she was sure he was actually reading them. Amusement seemed to grace his features. Ceilidh normally wouldn't mind someone that wanted to browse the library...since it was ever rare that anyone bothered with it. But is it not a little strange for the Unseelie king to be wandering the Seelie library?

"Your Majesty, welcome to the Alcove of Prose," Ceiliidh greeted with a curtsy, "I apologize, I was not made privy to your desire to visit here. I would have prepared properly."

"So formal, dinnae pay me any mind," he said, "but ah tend tae be intent on learning no matter where ah gan. Yet ah widnae ask Camhlaidh tae extend himself further fir the sake of a visit. Shattered lad, innit he? So ah wandered doon myself."

"Unattended?"

"Och aye, my generals dae hae interests outside of me," he chuckled. Risteard likely off negotiating his poisons. Solanine seeking whatever pretty things strike her fancy. And his Bheinnan, he deserved his rest, "but Ceilidh if I recall correctly, dae you tend tae this place yourself?"

"There are those that do physical maintenance but for the most part it does fall on the Scribe to maintain the Alcove, yes," Ceilidh said, "so I can recommend some Seelie literature if is so pleases you. However, I would like to ask for permission from His Majesty on allowing you to peruse the historical records."

Balmoral raised a brow, "Haw, so reading aboot the fun you a' goat into is off-limits? Fir wye?"

Saying 'because you could be an enemy' would not be the move to make. However, she couldn't prove that the man would do anything with the history. It likely held no advantage to him but if he wanted it, Ceilidh had reason to be unsure. Part of her wondered why should she care, it wasn't as though her king cared about what she was up to. Nor had he asked her of anything unlike his gentry. But yet she straightened as she said:

"......I have yet to finish transliterating our records. So they are incomplete and thus not acceptable to show to our guests. Especially an esteemed one such as yourself, Your Majesty, I am terribly sorry."

Canny lass, Balmoral thought. At least Camhlaidh has some interesting characters to surround himself, "Course, though when you finish ah would hope tae hae a chance tae read. Your prose is quite beautiful yet mensely informative."

Ceilidh flushed. No one had ever complimented her work before. Much less encapsulate her intent so easily. She stuttered, "You f-flatter me. I...I simply try my best."

"And your best is quite the feat. Of course ah cannae check a'thing within your collection...but the few historical records ah was able tae read, you are wan responsible fir its continued legacy. And ah bet if ah checked much of em, they're penned by your loving haun," Balmoral remarked.

He met the gaze of the Scribe as he informed, "Ah'm interested in an archivist like you, Ceilidh. While my haun with the kingdom is young, ah hope tae have it endure much like the Seelie has. But because of the conflicts much of our pasts are scattered. And it's better tae have a record fir despite our long-lived selves, the mind does nae always remain so keen and unfortunately with some in the Unseelie, they do nae last as long as they like to believe."

"Including yourself, Your Majesty?" Ceilidh questioned. Maybe he was trying to get someone to write nicely about his reign? She didn't like the idea of that and found it brazen of him if he did. However she wanted to get a read on his intention. Yet not once so far has he stalled or stuttered from the draw of a lie. So he had to be speaking something true in all this speak...but she wanted to know if he'd spill a little more.

"Noo you've goat it," he grinned, "ah'm nae so arrogant tae believe ah can rule fir eternity but ah aim tae build something thon'll last thon long. In whatever form ah can manage. A' this blether to simply say: if ever it interests you, the Unseelie does have a place fir you. And while ah dinnae necessarily have gentry tae begin with, as ah said, your best is quite a feat. And ah prize highly--and reward highly--those thon are good at whit they dae."

He placed the book back in its proper place as he said, "Of course, if you are content here. If you are happy here, then ah widnae force you tae leave. But ah would like tae put forward thon you have options, Ceilidh Ìomharach. Ah hope you might be able tae visit the Unseelie tae see if it suits your tastes. Consider it willnae ya?"

With that, Balmoral moved past the stunned woman. She was not expecting that. Were the Unseelie all as strange as him? Or was there some kind of game she hadn't caught onto? Either way...she'd just been given a job offer. Oh, her father would have a fit...and it was something she'd have to bring up to His Majesty.......joy.

[bluerose5]

Behind Closed Doors

Word Count: 3,593

Summary: When Anders requested his aid in finding those "outlandish" ingredients of his, Garrett had a feeling that something was off about the situation.

Taking matters into his own hands, he searched for answers.

~~~

Anders was terrible at lying.

From all the years they spent together, Garrett knew that to be true. Perhaps he could bullshit his way around others, but around Garrett? No such luck.

Living together made it even more obvious when one of them was acting differently. Turns out, after spending hours upon hours with each other every day, it became easy to pinpoint when they weren't their usual selves.

Who would've guessed?

So, when Anders asked to speak with him privately at his clinic, Garrett instantly knew that something was up.

Of course, the last thing he expected was for Anders to suggest separating from Justice.

Garrett felt as if he had been punched in the gut, all of the air knocked free from his lungs, leaving him breathless.

For so long, he had thought…

"I thought we were past this," Garrett said, his brow furrowed in concern. "Is there something wrong? Did something happen?"

Anders blinked owlishly at that.

"What do you—" He swallowed thickly, averting his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Why are you suddenly so intent on splitting from Justice?" Garrett asked.

Anders scowled.

"Is it not enough that separating is what I want?" he countered. "Why must there be something wrong to come to that sort of conclusion?"

"Well, you have to admit, this is a bit out of the blue." Garrett pursed his lips. "I thought things were going fine. I thought that we —as in the three of us— were fine." Garrett paused, hesitant to give voice to his doubts. "Is Justice no longer happy? Are you no longer happy?"

“Garrett!” Anders admonished, taken aback.

“What?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t tell you the last time you laughed with me around. Maker’s breath, the last time I actually saw you smile was when we helped Nathaniel out.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, yes, it is. Don’t patronize me by insinuating otherwise,” Garrett snapped. The temperature flared around them in response to his ire. “But, by all means, remind me, Anders. When was the last time I said ‘I love you,’ and you didn’t immediately respond by changing the subject?”

Anders opened his mouth, then closed it, deep in thought as he grimaced.

All Garrett got in return was a deafening silence, but it was answer enough for him.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed. “You know, there was a time when I was the one struggling to say those words back to you.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters. You’ll always have my support. I’ll respect your wishes regardless of what you decide to do with Justice. I just want you to be certain, though. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing either of you.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Tell me. Is Justice on board with this?”

“Justice is on board with whatever helps our cause,” Anders replied. His words were deliberate, careful.

“Of course he is.” As if Garrett expected anything less. “Well, if you are certain, if this is what you truly desire, then you know I’ll help however I can.”

Even if something about the situation didn’t sit right with him.

Anders watched him closely. Eventually, his expression shifted, soft and tender.

“I knew you’d stand behind me in this. Even if…” He trailed off.

How quickly that gentle expression fell.

“What?” Garrett asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

Anders glanced away again, thoughtful, then said, “Nothing.”

Yeah, as if Garrett believed that for a single second.

However, before he could press the issue, Anders continued, “I’ve gathered most of what I need, but there are some… outlandish ingredients I was hoping you’d help me collect.”

As he went on to describe where they could find both the drakestone and the sela petrae, Garrett listened and responded accordingly. The drakestone didn’t sound too bad.

The sela petrae, on the other hand…

Let it never be said that Garrett Hawke wasn’t willing to do anything for the man that he loved.

But that didn’t mean that he had to follow him blindly.

If Garrett was going to help, then he wouldn’t do so under false pretenses.

When he told Anders that he needed to meet up with a business partner before they got started, Anders readily agreed, much too preoccupied with his own preparations to even detect the half-truth for what it was.

After they agreed to meet back up at the estate, Garrett departed.

As much as he despised going there, he rushed straight to the Gallows.

For the most part, he kept his head down and his eyes forward when he arrived. He didn’t want to see how many more mages were made Tranquil, compared to his last visit. He didn’t want to focus on the sounds of mages being beaten, day in and day out. He didn’t want to watch as his own people cowered in fear yet stared after him with envy, all because he was free to come and go as he pleased.

He didn’t want to go there, only to leave his fellow mages to the mercy of the templars, over and over again.

But he had a purpose for being there. One that he needed to tend to, and fast.

Ignoring the eyes trained on him, from both mages and templars alike, Garrett approached Solivitus with his best attempt at an easygoing grin.

Not that the herbalist bought the act, his responding smile strained, skin stretched tight around the edges.

“Sol!” Garrett enthused. “Great to see you, as always.”

“Likewise, Champion.” Solivitus stood tall, nodding in greeting. “Care to see what I have in stock today?”

He waved a hand over his collection of potions, spread out on display.

“As a matter of fact,” Garrett said, “I’d love to.” Casting a glance towards his neighboring Tranquil, out selling her goods as well, Garrett kept his voice calm and collected. “Although, you know me. I’m hardly an expert when it comes to this sort of thing, so I might have some questions.”

Solivitus didn’t miss a beat.

“But of course,” he replied, serene as could be, given the circumstances. “Now, let’s see, let’s see…” Trailing off for a moment, he hummed in contemplation, tapping a finger against his chin. “Aha! What about this beauty?”

He picked up a brand new flask, filled to the brim with a glistening, purple liquid. He cradled the container with care, leaning in close to speak to Garrett under his breath, as if reverent, awestruck.

“This is my latest addition,” he explained. “A fine blend of various strains of elfroot and spindleweed, meant to protect an individual from even the most fatal blows. Its regenerative abilities are second to none, capable of bringing one back from the brink of death.”

“Really?” Garrett asked, playing along for the time being. “With all of the unique ingredients you handle, all it takes to make something so powerful is a handful of elfroot and spindleweed, and that’s it?”

Garrett scoffed, incredulous, but leaned in closer, as if to get a better look.

“What?” he mumbled, careful with his words, even when he was certain that no one else could hear. He mimicked his joking tone from earlier, echoed what he said to Anders with a rather specific twist. “No virgins’ blood or eye of newt?” They locked gazes with a pointed look passing between them. “No concentrated manure or tongue of a hanged man?”

Again, Solivitus took the comment in stride, even as his expression lit up with both curiosity and understanding.

“Ha!” Sol laughed, scrunching up his nose at Garrett. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t handle ingredients that are quite that exciting. Although, funny you should mention it. During my early days at the Circle in Ostwick, I did know a rather unusual fellow who was so convinced that you could draw forth power from piles of poo. Bloody idiot, he was.”

“You’re kidding,” Garrett snorted.

Solivitus grumbled, continuing on about this imaginary youngster from his childhood.

“If only. One of his ventures to use the chamberpot was rather… explosive, to say the least.” Solivitus shuddered, his acting as impeccable as always. “Damn fool thought it was a sign from the Maker or some other nonsense, a blessing bestowed upon him so that he could ‘unlock true power.’” Solivitus shook his head in disdain. “He cast a single lightning spell and had us cleaning his waste from the walls for the next week.”

“Ew.” Garrett grimaced, taking note of where Sol added emphasis.

An explosive, huh? Was that what Anders was dealing with?

Given Sol’s extensive knowledge of rare and unusual ingredients, Garrett had no reason to doubt him.

It brought to mind what Anders said earlier.

“No, no ritual. Just mix the ingredients up and… boom. Justice and I are free.”

That sly bastard. He had the gall to fucking joke about it to Garrett's face while lying through his teeth?

Before he could get too upset, Solivitus nudged him gently in the side, a not-so-subtle reminder of where he was.

“Yeah,” Sol agreed, his eyebrow raised in question. “I would not recommend replicating his experiments.”

“No kidding,” Garrett said, now cautious for an entirely different reason. He needed to get home, lest he slip up and risk this somehow getting traced back to Anders. "I think I'll just stick with the elfroot and spindleweed for now."

"A wise choice."

After coin changed hands, Garrett strolled out of the Gallows with his newly-acquired potion, appearing as confident as he was when he first arrived.

Only, once he was out of sight and well beyond those prison walls, he nearly slumped over from exhaustion —physical, mental, emotional.

The walk through Hightown was filled with forced pleasantries and tense smiles as everyone and their mother stopped what they were doing to greet the Champion.

By the time he made it to the estate, Bodahn informed him that Anders was waiting for him in the library.

"Whatever he's working on, he's really focused," Bodahn remarked. "I thought it best not to bother him, so I left him to his own devices."

"Thank you for that," Garrett said, taking the time to rub at the back of his neck. "Listen, I have an important matter to discuss with him. Do you mind taking Sandal and Orana out to the markets for the next hour or two? Here." He reached towards his belt and unfastened a coinpurse, taking it and setting it into Bodahn's hand. "On me."

"Messere," Bodahn gasped, "this is mighty generous of you, but surely this is too much."

"I insist." When he tried to return the pouch, Garrett gently pushed it back towards him, closing his hands over it once more. "You've all done a lot for this family over the years. Let me repay the kindness that you've shown me."

Bodahn stared up at him, then nodded in resignation.

"As you wish then. Give us a moment, and we'll clear out."

Garrett nodded in turn. As soon as they were ready, he saw them off out the door.

Before he could even think about searching for Anders, he had to make sure that their home was secure. Setting aside Sol’s potion, he checked that the locks to the estate were properly latched into place, but even that was not enough to put his mind at ease.

Garrett set up several wards to ensure that no one would be getting in or out of the estate without his say-so. While he drew the curtains closed, he had Barkspawn run a sweep over the estate.

One burglar in his wardrobe had been one too many for his liking.

Call him paranoid, but the conversation he and Anders needed to have should be for their ears and their ears alone.

By the time Barkspawn returned, barking his approval, Garrett spared him a few treats from his pack, along with a heaping pile of praise.

When he left to stand guard at the entrance, as Garrett directed, Garrett finally sought out his beloved apostate.

There, in the library, Anders poured over a tome with a burning intensity, ultimately unaware of his surroundings.

He jolted when Garrett cleared his throat, turning to greet him with a small smile.

One look at Garrett’s face, however, and his smile vanished.

“Are you okay?” Anders said, approaching him cautiously. “Are you ready to head out?”

“We can leave soon,” Garrett promised, lips pursed. “But first, I would like to speak with you in private.” He gestured out towards the main living area. “Up in our room, perhaps?”

“Okay…” Anders said, the word drawn out in confusion. “But we really should be leaving soon. The quicker we get this done, the better.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Garrett muttered. “I assure you, though. This will only take a moment.”

Hesitant, Anders considered what would be his best course of action in this scenario, eventually nodding along in agreement.

Together, they climbed the stairs to their room in silence.

Once they were safely inside, Garrett searched the room yet again. He peeked out the window behind the curtains, confirming that no one lingered in the streets below. With that being cleared, he turned to rummage through the wardrobe, and then glanced underneath the bed with a keen eye.

Anders watched him, dumbfounded.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Instead of immediately answering, Garrett added two layers of wards to both the door and the windows.

The first was to repel anyone who tried entering without permission.

The second was to muffle any and all noise from within.

Garrett turned to Anders after he was finished, clenching his jaw.

“I’m trying to make sure that we won’t be interrupted,” he explained, “and that we don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing us.” His frown deepened. “We need to talk.”

“I gathered as much,” Anders stated, suddenly on edge. “Garrett, seriously, we don’t have time for th—”

“Then, make time,” Garrett retorted, lowering his voice when Anders winced.

Even with the wards in place, they remained quiet, careful not to raise their voices too much.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Garrett put some distance between them, taking a seat on the edge of the bed while he stared into the crackling flames of the fireplace.

“Were you—” He shook his head, exasperated by this turn of events. “Anders, were either of you going to tell me the truth?”

A spark of light flashed across his skin, but it quickly dimmed, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, but the fact that he couldn’t look Garrett in the eye told him all that he needed to know.

“Right,” Garrett deadpanned, “so I guess the whole ‘making an explosive’ thing is something that I’m imagining. Great, so now I’m crazy?” Anders stiffened, and Garrett knew that he had him. “Oh, yes, dear, I know. I might not know your whole plan, but I know enough.”

Anders turned his back to him, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, as if to keep himself from falling apart.

“How did you find out?” he asked, his tone hollow and empty.

Garrett figured that, if anything, the time for honesty was now.

“I paid Solivitus a visit.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

Anders’ head snapped in his direction. A bright glow surged to the surface of his skin, forming veins of blue light, reminiscent of lyrium.

His eyes —once a warm, honey brown— were consumed in a blinding storm of blue.

He and Justice spoke together as one, the spirit’s voice reverberating through his host’s.

“You went to the Gallows?” they snarled. “Alone?”

“Don’t try to turn this around on me,” Garrett spat. “I can take care of myself. I covered my tracks.”

“Are you okay?” they asked. “Did anyone hurt you?” Before Garrett could respond, they stormed over to stand in front of him. They took his face in hand, turning it this way and that as they looked him over from head to toe, their movements frantic. Garrett allowed them to continue with their poking and prodding, knowing that they needed to be certain that he returned unscathed. “We swear, if any of them so much as laid a finger on you…”

“I’m fine,” Garrett assured them, taking trembling hands into his own. He gave them a firm squeeze, his touch lingering. “But I hope you realize that I wouldn’t have had to resort to going there, if only you two had been honest with me in the first place.”

They shook their head, snatched their hands away, but Garrett insisted on his side being heard.

“Back at your clinic, I could tell that something was bothering you, that you were hiding this big secret of yours. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“We never meant to imply that you were.”

“If that wasn’t your intent, then stop coddling me,” Garrett said. Getting to his feet, he faced them and refused to back down. “Stop treating me like a child.”

“We were just trying to protect you!”

“By lying to me! By making me believe that we were going to lose Justice!” Frustrated, Garrett threw his hands up into the air. “As if I would rejoice in knowing such a thing.”

Their light flared, as did the neighboring fire, the room glowing brighter as their combined whirlwind of emotions stoked the roaring flames.

“We didn’t want to involve you any more than necessary,” Justice and Anders explained. “We don’t want you to have to pay the price for our crimes.”

“That might not be up to you,” Garrett told them. “That should be my decision.” He jabbed a finger into his own chest for emphasis. “The mages are my people, too. How often you seem to forget that.”

“We wouldn’t expect you to give up everything you have built.”

“Everything I built?” Garrett barked out a laugh, bordering on hysterical as he combed his fingers through unruly curls. “What exactly is keeping me tied down to Kirkwall anymore, if not you? If not the idea that we could help the mages here? Had it not been for that, I would have left as soon as Mother died. This place—”

Garrett struggled for breath, finally giving voice to the darkness that had been eating at him for years.

“It’s killing me, Anders.” Garrett’s vision blurred. His heart raced. Every gasp of air felt like too little and too much, all at once. “Everywhere I look, there is death and pain and suffering. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my friends. I love all of the adventures and excitement we get caught up in, but it’s not worth it. Staying here is slowly chipping away at everything I am, and I’m just so worried about what’s going to be left of me when all of this is over.”

His hands shook, magic flaring, uncontrollable.

Tears burned at his eyes, spilled down his cheeks.

When Anders and Justice reached out for him, Garrett didn’t even hesitate, burying himself into their arms, his head tucked underneath their chin.

They squeezed him close, refusing to let go.

This time, they were keeping him from falling apart.

“I want to do something right for a change. I knew that this was coming. You warned me yourself,” Garrett murmured, his words but a ghost of a whisper against their throat. “‘No small change would address the injustices that mages face.’”

Garrett pulled away, only far enough to cup their cheeks.

They leaned their forehead against his, noses brushing ever so softly.

“You always mention how I have the potential to become a leader to our people, so I’m asking you to trust me now to do what is right by them, no matter how difficult it might be.” Wrapping his arms around their waist, he rested his head upon their shoulder. “Trust me to help you. To support you through this. To make whatever sacrifices are necessary. And perhaps, one day, our children and our children’s children will live in a world where mages’ talents are to be celebrated, rather than feared.”

Anders scoffed, but their heart warmed at the thought nonetheless.

“You truly expect such change to happen in our lifetime?”

“Heh, call me optimistic.” Garrett smirked. “One of us has to be.”

Snorting, Anders leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

“You know that we’ll be fugitives after this, right?” They sighed. “There is no turning back from that.”

“Good, because I had no plans to,” Garrett stated. “The majority of my life before Kirkwall was spent on the run, hopping from place to place. I kind of miss it. The spontaneity of it, not knowing what the next day will bring.” His grin spread. “Plus, it will be nice to get an actual change of scenery.”

“What?” Anders joked. “The annual trip to the Bone Pit not up to your standards anymore?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” He paused, considering. “In all seriousness, though, if it meant building a better future for you and all other mages, then I will gladly throw away everything left of my life in Kirkwall. The house, the title, the money… We’ll make do without it, I swear. So long as we’re together, we’ll get through anything.”

“Garrett,” they breathed, nothing short of reverent.

“Yes?”

“We’re sorry,” they said, “for ever doubting you, but we’ll make it up to you now. We’ll finish this. Together.”

“No more secrets?”

“No more secrets,” they promised.

[heathermartinez]

How the stars aligning inform how I design my offerings

Like most artists, I flutter from idea to idea.

But when it comes to offering classes at Let’s Letter Together! I have a very different approach. I have been planning, setting intentions, harvesting, and sharing the abundance on an annual cyclical basis.

By Winter Solstice of each year, I plant my seeds of intention for the coming year. I let the fertile ground of my intentions help my ideas grow.

By Summer Solstice, my ideas are fully formed and ready to share.

This year I delivered: • Lettering with Pencils • Finding Your Signature Style

Then the real fun begins: Lammas/Harvest allows me to see and share with abundance. This year delivered a bumper crop. As I was planning to announce:

Dancing in the Dark with Sharon Zeugin

When The BigOne! Blowout happened:

BigOne Duet with Brandy Agerbeck

Let’s go BIG Together! (a free class on Neuland markers)

BIG Fun! with the BigOne! With Mike Gold

Not to eclipse my efforts with Sharon, these BigOne sessions have come together quite easily—inspired by a retrograding Venus transiting over my natal sun in Leo and the Venus Cazimi. While Dancing in the Dark has been in slow development for over a year—with good purpose.

Starting on the Fall Equinox when the light and dark are equal, we will begin Dancing with the Dark with Roman Capitals on black paper. Together we will dance with Sharon through a series of prompts and end our time together at Samhain, at a time when the veil is the thinnest, and we will be equipped to let go of what no longer serves us in order to step into the selves we need to become next.

From Sharon… "Let's use this time to emphasize connecting the lettering with personal feeling and one’s own words—a meaningful mantra or something fun to write. This is an opportunity for experimenting with improvisation in terms of writing words and designing as you go.   We’ll start simply and grow from there, always rooted in the knowledge and experience of the forms—and variations on their rhythm, spacing, and proportions."

This launching of ideas and completing them by November 1 aligns perfectly with the Deer Walks I am doing with Cassandra Leoncini (http://www.twoeaglesastrology.com). This is the restart after a 7-year cycle since my first Deer Walks when I lived in DC and needed an integrated Vision Quest in order to leave so I may return to the Southwest.

And it’s after that time that I take all of the ideas I have gathered during this harvest season for 2024 and let them reveal their true selves.

Will I be collaborating more with master calligraphers to give our shared audiences what they need, want, and desire?

Will I both: return to the basics by offering more handwriting classes all WHILE helping visual practitioners Level Up so the important work they are doing is supported?

Will there be another European Lettering Tour? Since 2018 I have taught hundreds of VPs in over 10 different countries in-person. With so many more entering the field, do they need me in-person or will virtual learning continue to grow?

I read a quote on Instagram the other day that said:

“Set goals so high that they demand an entirely different version of you.”

I know where I want to put my focus in 2024:

Appreciative Inquiry,

Lettering,

Tech hosting and building curriculums to support trauma-informed communities

But will the stars align?

Only time will tell. As will my health and well-being in support of these efforts. Both my willingness to grow and the external forces outside of my control will determine what version of me will come next.

What future self are you currently developing?

[flovverworks]

sunflower etude ch5-10...;_;

Faust: It’s my fault that she turned into a cursed mana stone. If anything happens, please protect the children. If I am taken by the curse, take the children with you and run. Figaro should turn me to stone.

unreal things to say pt918723

Nero: .......... Haha.... Guess I can never win. Faust: What? Nero: So you’re also the type of guy who pushes his limits at the risk of his own life, huh. Man, I keep drawing the short straw.

UNWELL

scratching my head at faust & figaros convo. figaro thinks faust was the one who left him.......'you can rely on me' i also would have been pissed off faust LOLLLLLL 'i wont abandon u' FIGARRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (with the intention of violence) oh the first time figaro changes to a more serious expression rather than a smile in that convo is when he tells faust to trust him,,,,

Faust: Do I look unfortunate now?

PART TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.....oh im gonna be ill actually. 'do i need you if im unfortunate?' oh this. oh i. ? uargh. figaro.........part two figaro......i forgot this convo happened too... 10/10 conversation. exellent. can not explain my feelings on it further

I recall Lennox’s words. "I think the current Sir Faust would be better off with a role of some kind." At times, we can be crushed by the weight of our duties. But perhaps there are people who become their true selves only by taking on a role. Watching the Faust before my eyes makes me think that.

akira initially hesitating toward agreeing with lenos words to thinking this way..T_T rly glad... faust is ssoooooo cool in these parts, i lov leader faust........

Nero drops a handful of still-warm sunflower seeds into my hands. I carry my palm to my face and stuff my cheeks with the seeds. Nero laughs teasingly at the crisp sounds I make as I bite away. Nero: Ahaha. You’re like a squirrel.

THIS IS UNFAAAAAIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Rutile: Mitile, are you hungry? Do you want some of mine? Lennox: You can have mine too...... Akira: And mine....... Mitile: Th-that’s not it!

STTOOPPPPPP LOLLLLL mitile & the ppl happily giving away their food for his sake.... rly like mitile & shinos relation....(but also mitile holding a lil grudge about how shino said mean stuff about southern wizards vs shino who did Not care further LOLLL) + the voiced line for mitile saying 'i dont have parents either' sounds ssooo defiant im so fond of that voice direction. nero & lennox saying they lived a safe life but also both of them saying the other doesnt look like they have..ohhh i need more of these two interacting yesterday......

Figaro: I’m always serious. But my wish will never come true, so I pretend I’m joking around. Faust: For what purpose? Figaro: Because I don’t want to get hurt. It’s the same reason I left your side.

head in hands. no comment.

actually this entire convo...........??? ill probably return to it later cuz what the hell.............anyway the way faust continuously has angry voice lines when talking to figaro. i get it. the end part of this ch is...@_@ figaro.........................................guy whos teachers are snow & white who have e/o...................

uu the eastern wizards;-; 'lets work together, even though we're people who can't be together'........

LENNOX CALLS AKIRA BY NAME IN THIS EVENT? <-FORGOT

Before I know it, tears have begun to flow from my eyes.

;-; akira....... also the repetition of hearing a womans laugh throughout the sentences is so good..........bianca.................(started ch10) BIANCAAAAAAAAAAA oh this event is so good...........faust hugging the sunflower.........bianca......its soooo beautifully written. its such a strong early event, like its truly 'this is mhyk' to me.....sets the mood & themes of what to expect of future events so greatly.

Akira: ....Yes, I think I have it. Um.... Will something scary happen if I mess up....? I ask, timidly. Faust laughs in the rain. Faust: I am a curseworker. If that ever happens, I’ll help you out.

the way fausts voiceline is voiced..T_T the lil laugh...

me thinking i only teared up this time:) didnt cry:) bam bianca is voiced. I CANT DO THIS..............TEARS....

Faust sees the stole around my neck and pauses mid-sentence. He smiles without saying a word, then reaches out towards me and adjusts the stole.

EMERGENCY MEETING. COLLAPSING. ough his following voice line is soooo soft too............

anyway. thumbs up emoji. reread was excellent. etudes being voiced is 15/10. had a lovely time with it, lots of great voice lines in there (nero was consistently a favorite). very well worth the time. i truly do love this event with all of my heart. i dont have a lot of further thoughts about it, its just. rly rly good. love how they have the characters interact

[visualpractitioner]

How the stars aligning inform how I design my offerings

Like most artists, I flutter from idea to idea.

But when it comes to offering classes at Let’s Letter Together! I have a very different approach. I have been planning, setting intentions, harvesting, and sharing the abundance on an annual cyclical basis.

By Winter Solstice of each year, I plant my seeds of intention for the coming year. I let the fertile ground of my intentions help my ideas grow.

By Summer Solstice, my ideas are fully formed and ready to share.

This year I delivered: • Lettering with Pencils • Finding Your Signature Style

Then the real fun begins: Lammas/Harvest allows me to see and share with abundance. This year delivered a bumper crop. As I was planning to announce:

Dancing in the Dark with Sharon Zeugin

When The BigOne! Blowout happened:

BigOne Duet with Brandy Agerbeck

Let’s go BIG Together! (a free class on Neuland markers)

BIG Fun! with the BigOne! With Mike Gold

Not to eclipse my efforts with Sharon, these BigOne sessions have come together quite easily—inspired by a retrograding Venus transiting over my natal sun in Leo and the Venus Cazimi. While Dancing in the Dark has been in slow development for over a year—with good purpose.

Starting on the Fall Equinox when the light and dark are equal, we will begin Dancing with the Dark with Roman Capitals on black paper. Together we will dance with Sharon through a series of prompts and end our time together at Samhain, at a time when the veil is the thinnest, and we will be equipped to let go of what no longer serves us in order to step into the selves we need to become next.

From Sharon... "Let's use this time to emphasize connecting the lettering with personal feeling and one’s own words—a meaningful mantra or something fun to write. This is an opportunity for experimenting with improvisation in terms of writing words and designing as you go.   We’ll start simply and grow from there, always rooted in the knowledge and experience of the forms—and variations on their rhythm, spacing, and proportions."

This launching of ideas and completing them by November 1 aligns perfectly with the Deer Walks I am doing with Cassandra Leoncini (http://www.twoeaglesastrology.com). This is the restart after a 7-year cycle since my first Deer Walks when I lived in DC and needed an integrated Vision Quest in order to leave so I may return to the Southwest.

And it’s after that time that I take all of the ideas I have gathered during this harvest season for 2024 and let them reveal their true selves.

Will I be collaborating more with master calligraphers to give our shared audiences what they need, want, and desire?

Will I both: return to the basics by offering more handwriting classes all WHILE helping visual practitioners Level Up so the important work they are doing is supported?

Will there be another European Lettering Tour? Since 2018 I have taught hundreds of VPs in over 10 different countries in-person. With so many more entering the field, do they need me in-person or will virtual learning continue to grow?

I read a quote on Instagram the other day that said:

“Set goals so high that they demand an entirely different version of you.”

I know where I want to put my focus in 2024:

Appreciative Inquiry,

Lettering,

Tech hosting and building curriculums to support trauma-informed communities

But will the stars align?

Only time will tell. As will my health and well-being in support of these efforts. Both my willingness to grow and the external forces outside of my control will determine what version of me will come next.

What future self are you currently developing?

[ghostwriter-kin]

What Good Is Sorry?

Word count: 971

Apology

Definition: a regretful acknowledgement of an offence or failure.

Key word being, regretful.

As children we are taught to apologize.

However, people fail to grasp one simple fact;

if you force a child to apologize, they don't genuinely mean it.

In doing so we are reinforcing something very dark and cruel. The belief that, as long as we've apologized, it’s okay.

In an ideal world we wouldn't have to apologize, because we wouldn't hurt people.

But values don't always align, and boundaries are trampled.

This is natural.

What isn't natural, is the normalized response to hurting someone.

We may feel sorry for harming someone and give a genuine apology, but the reality is,

we don't always.

When we don't, we do something even more unforgivable than whatever pain we inflicted;

We effectively devalue the other person's emotions. Their hurt and pain. Their anger and frustration.

If we don't mean our “sorries” or our “forgive me's”, why do we apologize?

We apologize for one of two reasons.

1) It is what’s expected of us; this is pride.

2) We do not want to take responsibility for our wrongs and wish things would return to how they used to be; this is ego.

Regardless of which two paths of ingenuity you find yourself stumbling down, understand this: both of these come from yourself.

They are about you and for you.

Pride: we apologize because we don't want to look bad in front of another person.

We have appearances to keep up and a reputation to maintain. If we make a mistake we know is damaging to either one, or both, we apologize, to clear the air.

“Look how great I am, I've apologized”.

We take attention away from our blunder and twist the situation to favour us.

The path of pride also stems from disrespect. Both for yourself and others.

We are willing to lie to ourselves and everybody else, all to clear our name.

We may forget. In time others may forget. But do not underestimate for how long the soul will remember.

If we lie our way through an apology, we are breaking our own trust.

It's hard to trust a liar, isn't it? And the more they lie, the less inclined we are to trust them.

This remains true for our own selves. We lose faith in ourselves, and deep down we will no longer depend on ourselves.

It damages self-confidence.

Ego: we apologize because we do not want to deal with the consequences of our mistakes.

We take advantage of the guilt and the shame people are conditioned to feel if they reject our apology.

We use apology, not as an act of repentance and humbling, but as a tool, to force the other person passed their anger and hurt, to push them into moving on, so our lives can return to the cushy state it was in before we messed up.

This is manipulation.

If we apologize with no remorse in mind and we do it with only our own self-interest at heart, specifically to better the outcome and suit ourselves, we are manipulating the people we've hurt.

From a manipulative standpoint then, what is actually hiding behind the words “I'm sorry”?:

“I've apologized, you can't be mad at me.” You are devaluing someone’s full right to be upset with you. >>> “Your pain doesn't matter to me.”

“I've apologized, now you have to forgive and forget.” You don't want to deal with the full weight of someone's righteous anger, so you use “I'm sorry” as a shield, to protect yourself until theyhopefully forget. >>> “I'm not willing to take responsibility for what I've done to you so let's just forget it.”

“I've apologized, you have to be happy with me now.” You treat a person’s forgiveness as if it's something they owe you automatically, once you've apologized. >>> “I deserve your forgiveness because I've said these two words, I need to do nothing else.”

It's about intention.

“I'm sorry” should not be an apology.

“I'm sorry”, should be a promise.

Once we've apologized, it indicates something to the other person;

not only have we chosen to acknowledge how we treated them, but we also intend to work on this part of our selves, and better it, so we don't hurt them the same way again.

If someone hears the words “I'm sorry”, it’s the promise they hear and they feel reassured.

And so they wait. And they wait. And they're still waiting.

Right up until the moment we commit our next fault. Then, they forget about our old offense, and fixate on the current one.

We apologize, and the cycle continues.

Our loved ones becomes trapped in a constant downhill tuck and roll.

They trust less and less, and their love wanes.

But not for us, that's the irony of it.

It’s their trust and love for themselves, that’s affected.

As they allow us to continue our toxic, manipulative behaviour, bad treatment followed by a pretty bow-tied apology, internally they lose respect for themselves, and they slowly arrive at a place where they no longer value themselves at all.

When we notice they’ve arrived at this place, we will blame them.

They've changed, they're the cause.

The problem.

But if we ceased lying to ourselves for a single solitary second and looked back, we'd notice, actually it was us.

We changed them. We destroyed them.

And we alone, are responsible for this broken thing they've become.

A heartless, soulless and mindless apology will do a person very little harm.

But administer it again and again and again, and it will kill the person we once claimed to love.

All this darkness and pain, simply because as children we were taught;

it’s all right to be insincere in your apology, as long as you’ve said;

“I'm sorry”.

Kin🐌

[gnomeniche]

Any thoughts on Ducks voice always being at least a little bit autotuned? It's like that all throughout the web series. The tv show gave him a less processed, normal voice but then the autotune comes back it "electricity". I thought it was kinda fascinating.

duck’s autotune fascinates and vexes me! i do have non-diegetic opinions and it’s that i think it was a good choice to take it away for most of the tv series. i personally like his voice without it and i could see it being distracting. but that then means it was Very Intentional to have it come back in “electricity.”

(whoa this got long!)

i think i saw someone note once that the autotune only returns once he gets electrocuted while playing the guitar during the song? and i think that’s correct. but i HAVE also noticed that it disappears during the blackout, which is when all the other artifices of the show-world kind of shut off as well. listening as hard as i can, i cannot hear it during any of his dialogue in those sections (including the fridge scene bc i know some of you are wondering).

i saw someone else note earlier that it sounds like he has the autotune when he’s trying to take yellow’s batteries. i would need to go back and confirm for myself, but if that’s so, then it means he’s missing it throughout the blackout but it returns once the light and music come back in. it seems to me like the autotune might, at least in the tv series, represent him being subject to the artifice of the show. autotune does lend one’s voice a rather robotic tone, after all.

but in the tv series, it only becomes apparent when he’s supercharged with electricity, which creates… interesting implications. we know that yellow is powered by electricity, and the world is itself electric, as shown by the house dissolving and all of the characters save the students shutting down or malfunctioning without power. and my favorite theory about the three students’ true natures is that, though they have seemingly gained their own sentience that is being repressed, they were all originally constructs of the world.

that might be a point in that theory’s favor; duck sounds more robotic when he’s filled with more electricity than normal, which has that effect on his voice bc he is already partially electric. and if we believe this, the fact that he, who clearly has a connection to electricity, can still function in the blackout is yet another point in favor of the theory. being able to function without electricity might represent how the personhood they’ve grown allows them to act without the world programming and determining their actions.

+ if you like to connect the webseries and the tv series like i do, you could even say that the webseries characters are at an earlier iteration of their selves, so they have yet to grow as much personhood as the tv characters, which is why he’s way more autotune-y there.

idk! this stopped being about Duck Alone but those are all the thoughts and theories i have relating to the possible significance of the autotune. thanks for the question! it was fun to hash all of this out and i hope this was interesting.

[nvrcmplt]

Movement of layered fabric, tugged over step after step, the halls shimmering in a glow of soft sunlight as he passed through. Gaze hidden beneath veil, talons clicking with soft intent and the bells upon his thin ankles shimmered like rain to the eardrums. His movement were slow, measured with each performative step. Arms neat upon his upper stomach, holding nothing but themselves and the fabric that covered them just as pristine.

Though, the trail he left behind him - the fabrics of gold and rose-shades alike, his feathers beneath it all shimmered with heat. Stroking over rugs with smoke rising from the temperature and friction of feather and faux fur. The sunlight from within in the building danced... whilst the outside wavered in dark hues and the moon’s kiss.

As Jiyuna pressed onward, his footsteps settled before a closed door - the door locked, but he didn’t do much but lower his head and blow the gentlest of breathes upon bronze and watched it melt with a muted thud of molten metal. The doors too charred, burning in a polite halo of his presence and fell open to allow his gaze to pass through fabric curtain and his captures to bare witness to just what it was they tried to douse in water, to lock with chain and key and touch with animalistic lust.

Jiyuna could still feel their mouths on his thighs, their liquor stains breath on his neck, their hips between his own. Hair snagged and jaw squeezed, but it mattered not now. As his gaze hardened upon their cowering selves. After all, they finally understood what they were holding - the warnings of a violent sun amidst it all... Now, they understood, as wooden halls creaked in protest, bending pillars of stone turning orange and red, folding and bending in ungodly shapes under its own weight.

Staring, watching, waiting --- they scrambled for sword and gun. They bellow war cries as if the Gods where still upon their sides. Amusing, really --- as he was too, once a God that listened to his worshippers. Now though? Ah... he could care less. Humans did nothing but lie... Nothing but selfish. So he cared not upon gently easing his fabric layers from his body - one, two, three, five, eight --- ten layers, removed and within ease, did his nudity remain hidden between large wings curved close around his torso. But it wasn’t his wings that pulled the eyes of his captures. No --- it was the tail feathers, Jiyuna preened and loved with his everything.

As they raise from the floor, thrice his size - and shimmer with wavering bones pulling them into true display. The sun, the very sun in the sky often playing clouds and storms. Was here, and with ease --- did the humans in his presence ignite. Sweating and pulling at smouldering clothing - skin blistering, popping and melt. Their screams a delight, as swords fold and bend, as guns go off in their own hands as powders are sparked with flint of their own doing. Hands lost, bodies falling - throats parched and hair charred away in the blaze of heat. It took moments, always did when he allowed his element to freely shine.

Thus when he stepped forwards, ash shifted under his footfalls, his tail feathers shimmering in display before folding back together and remain hovering from the ashen floor - not wishing to get burnt human on his divine tips. Instead his gaze lowered to the several small chests - a gathering of items for his fellow being. Gathering them with twists of flames, he moved back to his clothing to redress - prim and proper, exiting the manor as it burned and folded in on itself in his absence. Trailing through grass and tree, he settles before the larger of them both. Staring upon pink coat and then shade covered features before he returned the smirking expression.

He didn’t speak more, only motioned the chests upon flames forwards to rest before the man on the floor. Though Jiyuna did pick up the smallest, to hold it up for him to open himself. “A done deal, Doflamingo-dono.” Within it, devil fruits - shimmering in mint condition. Oddly shaped, big and small, multitudes of colours. Closing the chest, Jiyuna settled it back onto the ground and stepped aside, moving to pass them by to greet his small carers with soft caresses of sleeves to their cheeks. “Those are yours. I got the revenge I so desired.” Thanks to Doflamingo’s connections, Jiyuna found them - the captures that abused himself and many of his carers, no matter how young. 

“Let us return home, little ones.”

[tenthgrove]

hi! could i request some platonic la squadra with a team member who's autistic and mainly stims by repeating short phrases (echolalia but idk how to phrase it) and has/had a hard time unmasking around them? feel free to take as many liberties as you need to, your writing is so fun to read! <33

La Squadra Says Autism Rights

La Squadra x Reader (GN), Platonic, SFW

(A/N: I just wanted to say a particular thank you to this requester because I've been itching to write autistic reader headcanons for months and this finally gave me the right prompt to do it. I definitely want to write more in the future.)

Formaggio- He might be neurotypical, but autism runs in his family (and his social circle as an adult) so he's learned a fair bit how best to interact with you people. He knows his loudness and teasing can be an issue for autistic people with sensory issues or trouble with sarcasm, so he'll drop it around you if that's the case. As far as he's concerned your vocal stim is a non-issue because 'some people just do that, it doesn't hurt anyone' and he doesn't comment on it unless you're using it to show happiness, in which case he always acts chuffed. He behaves sympathetically to your troubles with masking, and makes a point of acting laid-back so it's easy for you to turn down the pressure on yourself. To Formaggio, not being able to be yourself would be one of the worst fates imaginable, so he wants to do what he can to make it easier for you to let loose.

Illuso- You might expect Illuso's understanding to be low, but at this point with so much of the team being neurodivergent themselves Illuso doesn't bat an eyelid. Repeating short phrases is certainly a new one, but nothing he can't put up with. Sometimes, he might ask you what your murmurings mean, but he doesn't mean it in a judgy way. Now, as for your masking, you would be surprised how much he can relate. Illuso's self esteem is secretly down the gutter, and he often feels like the confident persona he puts on is secretly an act. When you tell him you feel like you're putting a show every day of your life, he feels you. The two of you have a lot of heartfelt conversations when you're alone, confessing how you really feel about yourselves away from the act you're performing. It's not something Illuso does often, be this honest even with a friend. But he can't help but find that it's... therapeutic.

Prosciutto- Like with anything a friend of his may be insecure about, Prosciutto very much looks at autism through the lens of identifying positives. This by no means says that he ignores your difficulties or tries to creative positives that aren't there, only that he takes note of your strengths no matter how much you try to deny them and makes sure you remember you have them. He doesn't try to 'fix' your echolalia because he knows it's better to work with an autistic person's traits than erase them, but he does teach you mental diversion techniques to help you tone the stim down when you need to (e.g. when you're trying to be stealthy). Regarding your masking, he can somewhat admire it as a useful skill to have- it's possible you could turn it into the skills of an excellent actor while under cover, but he also appreciates the impact this must be having on your self-esteem to have to hide yourself 24/7, so he wants to help you learn to cut it down. This, of course, is done through plenty of praise and reminding of your strengths. You are a wonderful addition to the team, even without your mask, and he won't let you think any less.

Pesci- When Pesci gets stressed it affects him a lot too. Sometimes he does things like fiddle with random items in his hands until they break or bounce his leg so hard the table shakes, which always get him strange looks. He appreciates the rationale of your stimming and would never judge you for it. If you're in a situation where you absolutely need to stop stimming, for instance if a team is visiting who isn't on good terms with La Squadra, he is a good bet for subtly and respectfully helping you be aware of when you're starting to do it so you can quickly stop. Just a gentle nudge to your arm when you start to whisper is all it takes. He also has a lot of empathy for the fact you has to mask, since he imagines it to be like a more extreme version of how he had to invent this whole 'tough guy' personality after he got involved in the gang. He found that really hard too, so he can imagine what it must be life to do that sort of thing your whole life. At least with him, you feel less of a pressure to put on an act.

Melone- There's a certain intellectual curiosity in Melone towards the various neurodivergent conditions, compounded by a strong personal empathy now he has so many friends who have them. He is saddened by the failure of the common consensus to understand such individuals, and wants to do what he can to help them appreciate their full, unique potentials. Melone is quick to recognise your behaviour as stimming, and hence understands that the stress of being called out on it would only make it worse. He is sympathetic to your plight with masking, and has a few ideas you could try if you want to start reducing it in safe circumstances. He has heard that one barrier to unmasking can be trouble identifying the 'true self' you have to go back to, so to remedy this he asks non-critical questions that help you explore your real, unmasked personality and be comfortable in it. Whenever you go off-script and talk to him as your true-self, he praises you for it and assures you that you are just as wonderful a person to him like this.

Ghiaccio- We arrive at the first member on the list who (in my headcanon) is autistic himself. Although the mangling of verbal speech is typically annoying to him, Ghiaccio would never become angry at someone who did it because of their neurodivergence. After all, if he didn't respect the effects of your autism, what reason do you have to return the favour? Ghiaccio makes a point of not hurrying you along when you start to repeat yourself as a stimming technique, and it goes a long way with helping you be calm around him. The masking however, is a different matter. He's not going to be angry at you per say, since he knows from experience the pressure you must be facing to put on an act this way, but he very much prefers it when people are their authentic selves around him. After all, he has enough issues knowing their true intentions as it is. He won't get angry, but he will gently encourage you to open up about him, even if it's something as little as stating what you really want point-blank when you're nervous too. He is very understanding about how hard this is, however.

Risotto- Another autistic individual himself, Risotto is also perfectly empathetic to your behaviour. As an adult, he doesn't really stim, rather just faze out entirely, but at the end of the day that still gets him a lot of strange looks so he can appreciate the range of feelings you may have about your own stim. What's really great about Risotto is that he learns pretty quickly how to differentiate between your happy-stims and your stress-stims, to an extent nobody else on the team is able to. He always seems very content to see you happy-stim, warmed by the knowledge that you are feeling good right now. As for your stress-stims, he is quick to help you escape from the situation if at all possible, and hold your hand comfortingly if not. And the whole masking thing? He understands painfully well. Risotto's masking game on-point, but it irks him greatly to keep it up, not to mention that he hates the paralysing anxiety that hits him whenever he tries to unmask. Even when he wants to, he can't always be himself in front of the team. He may not have a solution for you, but he at least has his full empathy.

Sorbet and Gelato- While Sorbet is, as far as he's aware, neurotypical, Gelato is very much autistic as well. He's also got ADHD to boot, so he's well versed in the neurodivergent experience. His stim is quite similar to yours, in that he makes quiet, high-pitched, almost chirp-like noises, so he sees your echolalia as something he has in common with you. Gelato doesn't really bother with masking any more, the only exception being people who could quite literally kill him if he offended them. Though he encourages you to let go and be yourself, consequences be damned, he of course completely understands the pressure to keep masking. Sorbet, despite being neurotypical, is at this point more surrounded by autistics than not. He's been married to Gelato for the best part of the decade, his closest friend is Risotto, and he's practically Ghiaccio's dad at this point. Adding one more neurodivergent to the mix is hardly a big step, and he is very well-versed in your behaviours and how to interact with them.

[enapouyou]

My little stone guardian

(Sorry if there are spelling mistakes, english isn’t my language. The story is translated from French )

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

He had succeeded.

Well, almost...

Puddles of paint littered the floor, their various colours contrasting with the black that was slowly taking over the place. The gentle warmth of the universe gave way to a cold, icy wind, making the bones of those who dared not move tremble. But was it really the cold that made them tremble... ?

A thud broke the silence, the sound of a heavy object falling to the ground. Then came the sound of footsteps, slow, uncertain. They seemed to go on forever, as if the goal to be reached was constantly receding. And finally, a scream, a howl, tearing apart the time that seemed to have stopped. A scream, a single word, a single name...

- DREAM !!!!!!!!!

Frozen in the middle of what used to be their battlefield, amidst bones stuck in the ground, paint soaked into the grass, blasters that had come to rest, the guardian of positivity had returned to a state no one thought possible.

Arriving first at his side, Ink's hands were shaking, slowly coming to rest on the cheeks of a stone statue, feeling a few tears slide down the cold surface. Behind him, Blue stood still, replaying the events, trying to understand how this umpteenth battle against the bads sanses could have ended this way.

On the other side, a laugh finally rang out. That of the brother of the new stone statue. Nightmare hadn't planned this, wanting instead to kill his brother to get the golden apple, but... Now that he thought about it, it had taken his brother two hundred years to come out of the stone the first time. So he had plenty of time to plunge the world into chaos. Plenty of time to create a world full of negative feelings. Plenty of time to prepare to welcome his brother back and come up with a plan to finally catch that apple that was currently trapped in the stone as well.

Beside him, his three faithful henchmen were also staring at the scene, exchanging a few glances. They too did not think that this time their fight would surely be the last. They were pulled out of their thoughts when Nightmare snapped his fingers, looking at them with a huge grin before opening a portal to DreamTale, inviting them home to celebrate. Dust and Horror did not hesitate, passing through the portal with their boss, but Killer remained still for a moment. He watched as Blue joined Ink and mourned their friend's condition. Within him, the feelings were quite contradictory as he looked at the guardian of the golden apple, frozen with his arms open and that sweet smile on his face despite the tears, having tried to reason with his brother again... Without success... A call from the portal snapped him out of his thoughts, turning to Nightmare who was staring at him, ordering him to return with a single dark look. Killer felt his soul clench, taking one last look at the stone statue before rejoining the gang, the portal closing just as he passed, the sound of Ink's threat of revenge.

~

In the distance, he watched his colleagues fighting. Once again, their mission was to go and fill a universe with negative feelings and once again, stars sanses had come to try and stop them. It was becoming a habit, a game... But a dangerous game. The attacks were real and their intentions were to really hurt them... But still, stars sanses continued to just want to reason with them, only attacking in case of major force and always with the aim of immobilizing them, with the least damage possible. And he knew that it was Dream who asked them to do this... Because Dream really believed he could save them.

- Don't you fight, Killer?

The voice had sounded behind him and without even turning around, the madman knew that the guardian of positive feelings had arrived behind him.

- I don't feel like it. He replied calmly. I already know how it's going to end. It's getting boring.

Not detecting any aggression in the skeleton with empty eye sockets, Dream approached to level with him, observing in turn the four others fighting nearby.

- Why do you keep obeying Nightmare then? Dream tried.

Beside him, Killer remained silent for a long time, his gaze fixed on his colleagues.

- Because he saved me. I owe him, whether you like it or not, little Guardian. Maybe if you'd been the first to come for me that day, I'd be with you.

He turned his gaze on the golden-pupilled skeleton, who felt no dominant emotions. He seemed neither happy nor sad that Nightmare was the first to take him out of his world when he wanted to RESET him by erasing himself from his own world.

- This war is none of your business... Dream whispered. This is between Nightmare and me... You should be neutral to all this, but he had to make you feel like he saved you to get you on his side...

Deep down, Dream blamed himself for not being the first to find them. That he couldn't have saved them otherwise. But while he was lost in his thoughts, Killer laughed beside him.

- You're wrong, little Guardian. We don't just do this out of debt. We love it too.

Dream remained silent for a moment, watching Killer with a feeling of contradiction. He felt nothing, not even a little joy. His voice was neutral, tired, without much conviction.

- Is it true?

- Of course it is. Look in front of you. Dust and Horror take pleasure in knocking you off your feet.

- No, Killer. I was asking for you. Are you really enjoying this?

~

Time seemed to be getting longer and longer. Each day was repetitive, boring. Since Dream had become a stone statue again, the days were boring. Nightmare was at full strength, making Ink and Blue's fight almost futile.

They beat them every time, watching the last two stars retreat to avoid serious injury. And that was every time they crossed paths. It had no interest, no flavour anymore...

But on the other hand, as Killer watched his colleagues, he saw himself as the only one who found the moments boring. Nightmare was getting stronger all the time, Dust loved to go out and attack universes, and Horror was happy to have more time to go hunting for food. But Killer was bored... Taking no pleasure in attacking others. He just wanted to get away from those darned repetitive days.

Many universes had sunk into fear, hatred, the inhabitants no longer having any remorse to fight to maintain an illusion of security for their families. Bads sanses were names that made more and more people tremble, causing chaos and terror. And despite Ink and Blue's best efforts, the number of universes controlled by fear grew steadily, as if hope had vanished.

Everything was too easy.

Sitting on the bed in his room, Killer played with his dagger, twirling it on his knuckle before throwing it to catch it by the handle. He let out a long sigh, beginning to lose interest. The missions had no flavor anymore, Ink and Blue were a shadow of their former selves, too weakened by their search to save their friend.

Eventually the madman dropped his knife and got up to grab his jacket, slinging it over his shoulders and walking out of his room. As he moved through the corridors, he dodged the Papyrus of corruption that were the servants and that were growing in number, witnessing the growing power of their master. These lifeless puppets did not interest Killer either. He was too bland, far from being able to fill his boredom.

Through the window, the round-souled skeleton could see the red sky of DreamTale growing stronger and stronger. The shadows were also taking more ground, turning the place a little more into a universe where negativity was king.

He had won...

Eventually exiting the castle, Killer opened a gate, wanting to take a moment to wander off. Yet, while he was sure he had no idea, as he passed through the gate, his gaze fell on the stone statue.

Dream had not moved. Too heavy but at the same time too fragile to be handled by Ink and Blue. Even Nightmare didn't want to break it, fearing he would lose the golden apple if he killed Dream like that. So he stood there with his arms open and a welcoming smile on his face. Only his tears had disappeared since that famous day.

Killer stood still for a moment, staring at this being trapped in the stone. The images of the fight of that day came back to him. He could hear Dream's pleas for peace, for change. Then came the attack, sharp, almost invisible. No one had seen it, but the sound of stone beginning to freeze Dream had stopped everyone. The guardian had first looked at his feet and then straightened his face towards his brother, holding out his arms and smiling at him despite the tears.

Killer had to give him that. Dream was strong, much stronger than they were. He hadn't been afraid, not for a moment. And even as he turned to stone, he continued to hold out his arms, his hand. The same hand that Killer had gently agreed to take from time to time, when Nightmare wasn't looking.

And he'd discovered an entirely different Dream. A guardian consumed with worry, fear, but not of dying, no... Fear of losing those around him. Even those enemies.

~

- Why do you want to help us?

Killer sat atop a hill in a nearly destroyed universe. His legs dangled in the air as he watched the last of the survivors being pulled out by Ink and Core!Frisk. Behind him, Dream had sensed his presence and had joined the madman, knowing full well that he was not responsible for the state of this universe. For once, it was only the game's fault.

The question posed by the madman had caught the little guard off guard. How had he guessed that he had come for this? Wasn't it because Dream was talking to Killer more and more and Killer was getting to know him well.

- Is it because we're destroying the world you want to protect? Killer continued. You think it's better to save us than to destroy us, don't you?

Once again, Dream remained silent, unsure of how to respond. But he finally sighed, slowly coming to sit beside the madman, looking in the same direction as him.

- Of course I don't want to destroy you. Because that's not my role.

- So what is your role, little guardian?

-Bringing joy... Just being there and letting people be happy with my presence.

For the first time, Killer had sensed sadness in the guard's voice, but also deep resignation. He had not done this for himself for years. Had he ever done it for himself...

- And what would you like to do?

This time, Killer had turned his head, looking at the smaller man next to him. The latter lowered his head a little, as if unable to answer. At least, unable to answer without thinking, without searching for words.

- I don't know... I would just like to find my brother... Not to have to fight him anymore because he wants to kill me and not to have to face him because the inhabitants of the universes are waiting for us to come and save them.

Slowly, Dream lifted her head, planting her golden pupils in the madman's eyes.

- I would like more moments like this... More moments where we can talk without having to fight... I'm sure we have a lot in common that we could share.

~

Killer had finally approached the statue, his gaze lost in front of those hands stretched out before him. He knew they weren't meant for him, but he really wanted to take them...

He was right... They had a lot to share. Much more than he had expected. How many times had they found themselves away from the fight, talking about their common weariness to fight. How many times had they ended up talking about something else, slowly opening up to each other. How many times had they lowered their weapons in front of each other, refusing to fight the one who brought them a little novelty in these repetitive confrontations.

Far too many times... And yet, now that he was facing this stone friend, Killer regretted never having told him how happy he was to have spent so much time with him.

~

- Did you know that Nightmare loved to tell stories when we were kids?

- For real? Then again, I once heard him talking to himself at night in his room. Like he was actually telling something. Of course, he flatly denied it when I asked him what he was doing.

~

The sound of their laughter filled his memories, prompting him to come a little closer to the statue, placing a hand on the outstretched one. The coolness of it contrasted with the usual warm hand, but Killer had no desire to let go of it now.

~

- Yesterday I saw a cat near the castle. I would have kept it, but Nightmare doesn't allow animals...

- It's a shame, I'm sure you'd take good care of it. And even if Dust and Horror are your friends, having a furry friend could be good for you.

~

Slowly, Killer curled his knuckles against the stone one, looking at it sadly. Thoughts raced through his mind, reminding him of all the sweet moments that had seemed timeless. Like a little moment just for them, away from everything.

~

- Killer... Your soul... It has taken on the shape of an inverted heart!

- ...I haven't seen it like this in a long time.

~

He placed his second hand on the guard's, passing his empty gaze from one hand to the other. It had been so long since he'd had a moment with him... In addition to his petrification, which must have lasted for the better part of a year, Killer had been distant with him for the past few months. He had felt a real change coming on with Dream and he had been afraid that Nightmare would eventually see them. So he had distanced himself, but in the end, now that he was facing that stone statue, he regretted it.

But what he didn't know was that far away, someone else was regretting this situation too. Not for the same reasons, but for a lot of things that everyone else didn't know. For many things that he kept locked up, refusing even to admit to himself. But this doubt, however small, was present in his heart and for a moment the spell wavered.

Unaware of this, Killer let his hands slip from the stone guardian's, his gaze dropping to the ground. His arms fell limply to his sides, drained of all energy, filled with the weariness and remorse he could no longer change. Slowly he turned, preparing to leave, telling himself that he would come back tomorrow and praying that he would not tire of coming here either.

- You're leaving already... ? a voice whispered behind him.

For a moment, Killer felt the voice come from his mind and he shook his head, needing only to speak, even to a hallucination.

- There's nothing more I can do... I could have prevented this... I should have prevented this. He didn't deserve this...

- I already told you, Killer. The voice continued. You didn't have to get involved in this war, so you're not responsible for what's happening.

The madman took a long breath, really feeling that the voice was real, but he knew it... Nightmare's spell was powerful enough to last for centuries... But even if it was fake, hearing that voice did him a lot of good. Much more than he thought it would, and he couldn't help but say:

- I miss you...

The voice seemed to have disappeared, and Killer felt his soul clench. Not even a hallucination seemed to believe him. What would happen if he told the real Dream? He didn't even want to imagine that.

Yet, as he was about to leave, he felt two arms go around his waist, squeezing him gently as a head rested on his back. The presence startled him and he was ready to attack. Until he looked at the two arms, seeing the two yellow gloves with their jade bracelets. His soul stopped beating for a moment, not daring to believe that this could be possible.

- At least have the courage to say it to my face, Killer.

Against him, the arms tightened a little more, pushing him to turn around, to see for himself that it wasn't a bad dream. And it wasn't... When he turned, his gaze met the golden one, making his soul purr softly.

- I... I missed you... Killer repeated.

Gradually, a smile came over the guard's face. A sincere smile, far from the many, many fake smiles he had taken in his life. And that smile was contagious, causing Killer to return it as he put his arms around the body that was slowly regaining its warmth.

- I missed you Dream... Killer whispered again, wanting to anchor that sentence to show her how serious he was.

Small black tears rolled down his cheeks, but soon he felt Dream's thumbs come to caress his cheekbones, banishing the worry that had been eating away at the madman. Killer closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment, feeling the little guardian's body snuggle and warm against him. Then when he opened them again, one of his empty eye sockets had regained a small gleam of a white pupil, gently confronting the golden one that wouldn't let go.

They were so happy to be together again, but no more words came to them. Gestures were enough. There was no need for more, they understood each other perfectly. So much so that when Killer felt the hands on his cheeks gently tugging at his face, he let himself go. Without needing a single word, they brought their faces closer together, granting each other something they had dreamed of on the other side but never dared to speak. But this time they knew they could, and in sweet silence their teeth sealed together, stopping time around them, making their souls beat as they had never felt before.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity, but also too short for them. The closeness of their bodies made them feel how sincere the other was and they couldn't help but blush when they looked at each other again.

But this moment was short-lived. The guardian's awakening had taken its toll and they were soon separated by the sound of portals opening. Behind Dream, Ink and Blue had just arrived, while behind Killer, Nightmare had arrived.

The two sanses stars grabbed their friend, coming to hide him behind them as they began to insult Nightmare, the latter growling that his spell hadn't lasted long enough. But Dream and Killer didn't seem to care about the quarrel, not taking their eyes off each other, smiling at each other.

The guard was then grabbed by the arm by Ink, wanting to take him to rest, and he didn't object, following his friends to the portal. Nightmare had also summoned a portal, shouting at Killer to return, as the war was about to start again.

But before leaving, Dream and Killer took one last look at each other. They were looking forward to the next battle. They were looking forward to the next battle, looking forward to slipping away like before, even though from now on their time together would have a completely different flavor.

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

English is not my language and if you understand French, I encourage you to read the story in its original language : here 

I hope you liked the story

[1rintooru]

Same Old Explosive Love

Pairing: post-timeskip Semi Eita x fem!reader

Themes: angst and some fluff in the end

Word count:  2273 - one-shot

Warnings: mention of alcohol and breaking up, swearing

Summary: You don’t know anyone that can fight like you and Semi. The rise of his music career has put a strain on your relationship and end up arguing over the same old things. Neither of you can let go of the other and so the cycle continues. 

It always surprised you when you remembered how low Semi’s alcohol tolerance was. To his credit, he didn’t look like someone who couldn’t handle their liqueur. He was a member of an up-and-coming band that was rapidly gaining popularity across the globe. After months of being on the road, Semi had finally returned home where you, him and all of your friends celebrated the release of his latest single. You’d always thought that the lifestyle would have hardened him up, but as you watched him struggle to open the front door of your shared apartment, you knew nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Here, let me help,” you were already reaching for his keys before he pulled his hand away.

“Babe, I’ve got this,” he giggled as tried his luck once more. You heard the satisfactory sound of the key twist in the lock on cue with his words. You both stagger into the apartment and you couldn’t help but laugh. You were convinced that if anyone would have seen you two, they would have thought you were teen lovers caught up in a whirlwind romance. It didn’t matter how ungraceful you both looked or how loud you spoke or even how heavy Semi felt as he leaned on you for support. If it were up to you, this could go on forever.

You kicked off your heels, letting out a small gasp at the immediate relief you felt and watched as Semi clumsily tried to hang his coat. You giggled seeing him visibly deflate and grumble as the coat slid off its hanger and crumpled to the floor. He bent down to pick his coat up but the familiar jingle of his ringtone stopped him. He fished his phone out of his pocket with ease and glanced at the caller-ID before quickly sending you an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta take this. I promise I’ll make this quick; I’ll be back before you even know it.”

He didn’t wait for your response, instead giving you a swift peck on the cheek and disappearing into the bedroom to answer the call. To you, it felt like the room had gotten hotter; In reality you were actually seething. He hadn’t told you who had called him – he didn’t need to. Semi had given most of his contacts a specialized ringtone, so after a while you knew exactly who was on the other line before he would even answer. This particular jingle was one that you were only all too well acquainted with.

It was his manager.

You let out a terse sigh. While he promised he would be quick, you had come to learn the opposite to be true. Of course you were supportive of his career; you loved seeing Semi completely unravel on stage and make his dreams come into fruition. However, you’d slowly come to resent how accessible he needed to be even during his time off, whether it was for his bandmates, his producers, the fans or especially his manager.

You snuggled yourself onto the couch, engulfing yourself in a blanket. You were tired but too angry to sleep. Hearing Semi occasionally exclaim excitedly from the other room only cemented what you already believed. Even if their manager wasn’t around physically, he had still begun to feel like a third-party in your relationship. You were convinced that Semi mentioned their manager more than he even said your name.

This was also the core reason why you and Semi would fight. The couple of weeks you did spend together always came and went in the blink of an eye. It didn’t compensate for the months of separation, missed calls due to time zones or bad connection. It didn’t make up for all the nasty things you read online, whether from journalists or his own fans. Sometimes it felt like it was his world and you were just living in it.  On the surface you and Semi had an idyllic relationship that most people coveted, little did anyone know that with you, Semi had finally met his match. The screaming matches you had, were fiery and explosive – you both shared a prideful stubbornness that only worked as gasoline to an already massive flame. Thankfully the fights were infrequent and would end as quickly as they started; neither Semi nor you held onto a grudge and you’d both quickly return to your gentle and chipper selves.

“Oh, you’re in here.” Semi’s gentle voice tore you out of your thoughts. You were so busy brooding that you hadn't noticed him leaning on the doorframe of the living room. His hair was more disheveled than usual, a lazy smile replaced his usual scowl and his cheeks were still flushed pink from the shots earlier. He’d even changed into a pair of comfier clothes. He stared at you intently with relaxed eyes before finally continuing, “Do you want to watch a movie or…” he paused briefly, “We can do something else.” There was a teasing lilt in his voice.

“No, not anymore,” you huffed. Your words were cutting and you were glad – you wanted them to be. Semi raised an eyebrow, his features quickly tensed up as concern replaced his formerly relaxed expression.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No Semi you didn’t do anything. I’m fine, really,” you patronized, freeing yourself from the blanket with an aggressive yank. A little too aggressive.  

The jig was up.

“You’re clearly not.”

He already started to sound irritated – he hated to play these guessing games with you. You jumped off the couch, stopping abruptly in front of him as you held your phone up to his face, completely ignoring his accusation.

“What’s the time, Semi?”

His eyes flickered to the screen, then locked onto yours again. The grooves between his furrowed brows just seemed to get deeper and deeper.

“4:02”

You hummed agreeingly, turning around and flicking the television on with the remote. It was petulant, you knew that, but you felt like pressing every one of Semi’s buttons. Usually, infomercials would play at this hour – it didn’t matter though, anything was better than seeing him glare holes through you.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t infomercials that were playing, instead the clear voice of the weather lady sounded through the room as she delivered the weather report for the following day.

“Y/N!”

You continued to ignore him, dialing the audio up until the bass made the walls tremor.

“Dammit Y/N, we have neighbors!”

He snatched the remote from your hands and quickly shut the TV off. The two of you now stood face to face. The light buzz you felt from earlier was completely gone and you could tell that Semi had sobered up as well. He was trying his hardest to stay composed; you could tell by how he was breathing – slow and deliberate.

“What is going on? You were fine just earlier.”

His face softened slightly, almost as if to plead with you. You hesitated for a moment before finally relenting. You didn’t even try to conceal the bitterness that was wrapped around every single word you spoke.

“Hmm, I don’t know Semi, maybe ask your manager since you spend so much time with him.”  

His eyes widened for a brief moment, shocked by the coolness of your tone. “I didn’t think the call would drag on for that long – I can’t just not answer!”

You opened your mouth but Semi quickly cut you off, “Are we really doing this? Are we really going to fight about this again?”

“You answer his calls more than you answer mine!” you snapped back, “maybe we wouldn’t fight about this if you weren’t always working.”

“Oh my god,” he ran his hands through his hair, the clamminess of his palms made tufts of hair stand upright. If the two of you weren’t fighting, you probably would have laughed because of how odd it looked. But seeing him with his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes filled with a seething rage was no laughing matter. He continued, his voice a low growl, “this is my job, Y/N. Actually no, fuck that, it’s my dream. It’s been my dream since I was a kid!”

“I know that,” you hissed, “But you’re the one always complaining about you and the band being overworked. That one time you almost collapsed due to exhaustion, yet as soon as you get time off you start working from home. Make it make sense!”

He smiled at you – a wicked and deceitful smile – as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. You were reminded again of just how tall and imposing Semi could be. “Well then babe, tell me,” his tone was condescending, “what do you expect me to do? Ignore my manager? Ignore our producer? Maybe even block my bandmates from contacting me?”

“That’s not what I said Semi and you know it,” your words came out as pure venom.

Your body relaxed once he took a couple of steps back. But if you had learnt anything from all the other times you’ve fought, it was that that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. It only meant he was going to get louder. You breathed deeply, frantically trying to organize your thoughts. No, you didn’t actually want to fight with him. You loved Semi, after all.

“I wish that you would actually take me into consideration for fucking once, Semi. It’s always about you, but when the hell was it ever about us? I only get a couple of weeks to spend with you and you’d rather spend it with anyone but me.”

“Well maybe if you stopped bitching all the time, I would actually want to spend time with you.”

“You treat me like I’m an afterthought!” You screamed. At least, that was what you wanted to do. Your voice came out more like a shallow squeak compared to Semi’s wall-shaking shouts. The lump in your throat grew; no matter how much you tried to swallow it down, it wouldn’t go away. You realized that the warmth radiating off your face wasn’t from the alcohol, nor was it from the anger; you hadn’t even noticed how your hot tears rolled off your face, staining your cheeks. He shook his head, almost as if to physically shake off your remarks.

“Don’t come with that shit now. Why do you think I work so much? I’m the only one that works around here. I’ve paid for the TV, for the couch – for every single piece of furniture. I pay the bills, I pay your bills and I paid for this goddamn apartment,” he jerkily motioned to the space around him as he shouted this, making you flinch. His whole body had started to shake in anger.

“Did you already forget who paid for your university tuition fees?” He sneered. “Without me, you’d be nothing and you know it. So don’t fucking tell me to work less when it’s your life on the line too!”

“Well, maybe I should leave since I’m such an inconvenience to you!”

There was a pause. The tension in the air was suffocating as your words seemed to echo through the room. Semi cleared his throat, cutting through the deafening silence.

“Then leave. Just don’t come back.”

“You’re the worst,” is all you managed to utter as you quickly brushed passed him, avoiding his death glare as you escaped into the solace of your bedroom. You crumbled onto the floor once you heard the door slam, desperately stifling your cries into the fabric of your shirt.

He left.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed once your eyes fluttered open. Based on the bright light that was cascading in from the window, you could only assume it was midday. The confusion you felt when you saw yourself on the floor quickly dissipated as you felt the pain in your throat and the swollenness of your eyes.  Your chest ached just thinking about what happened hours earlier.

You gingerly got up off the ground and opened the door and paused. You could faintly hear the sound of a guitar. You recognized the song, making your heart race and you instinctively followed the sound of the music, it finally leading you to a separate room. You didn’t even think twice before opening the door and what you saw inside made your heart leap.

His hair was still disheveled and much like you, he was wearing the same clothes from before. His face was relaxed, his eyebrows furrowed just slightly as he focused on hitting the notes and his mouth had dropped into a small ‘o’. There was something incredibly enamoring about seeing him like this and it was a stark contrast to the Semi you’d experienced earlier. You liked this side of him more.

His eyes darted to yours and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards upon realizing it was you. He nodded at the empty space next to him, inviting you to sit down and you happily complied. The song you recognized was one that Semi had written for you – a confession of his love essentially. He knew, even back then, how straining his job was on the relationship and he wanted to give you something that would remind you he was always there. The words that he failed to find to describe how he felt got poured into his music. He never apologized to you for all the things he said and as you listened to him hum alongside the melody that sounded from the guitar, you knew he didn’t have to, either. You knew exactly what he meant.

You and Semi were going to be ok.

[hopinglimelight]

Afterglow (C.B)

A/N: There are many definitions for the word “Afterglow” but the one I used was “good feelings remaining after a pleasurable or successful experience.” Yes this is based on the Ed Sheeran Song. Bold sentences are song lyrics and italics are flashbacks/ memories. Please enjoy :D

A/N 2: just an fyi this is my first time writing in third person like this so tell me what you think about it please and thank you (:

Allison looked herself over in the mirror multiple times, checking to see if you could still see the tear tracts from when she broke down earlier. Corbyn was out, and wouldn’t be returning for a few hours so now was her chance. Her chance to pack all of her belongings and leave. She felt bad that it had to happen this way, but she needed to do it.

She opened the door, took a few steps, and went into the kitchen. The happy kitchen where most of her favorite memories were made.

“Stop the clocks, it's amazing.”

“What are you talking about Corbyn?”

“You should see the way the light dances off your head.”

She ran her fingers through her hair as Corbyn walked closer to her, the biggest smile on his face. She quickly set down her coffee as he brought her into a hug.

“A million colors of hazel, golden, and red.”

We stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together as we silently basked in each other’s company.

Alli separated their heads, looking at the time as she grabbed her cup of coffee. “Saturday morning is fading.”

“The sun's reflected by the coffee in your hand.” He countered, trying to prove they still had time to laze off and enjoy their time alone with each other.

She looked back over at him and slowly let out a sigh, looking at his eyes, “My eyes are caught in your gaze all over again.”

She smiled softly at that day last fall. They didn’t expect to be locked up together during the winter and spring for a pandemic. It put so much strain on their relationship, being with each other all day, every day, for 5 months. She began to feel another memory coming into her mind as she walked over to where she kept her suitcase.

“The weather outside's changing” He smiled, trying to make my day better.

“How so?” I sarcastically asked.

“The leaves are buried under six inches of white” He loved the snow, and couldn’t even enjoy it this year.

“Can we listen to music or something?”

“Yeah how about… oh wow. The radio is playing Iron & Wine.”

“I don't even know who that is,” She laughed. “Oh well it’s better than nothing.”

“This is a new dimension.”

“Yeah you could say that about the year so far.” She shrugged.

“This is a level where we're losing track of time.” He smiled as she scoffed.

“Yeah… where we are both going insane.”

He shyly looked back at me. “I'm holding nothing against it, except you and I.”

He walked back over to the couch where he dove and began tickling Alli.

And by that time she was already halfway done packing her clothes. She laughed at the tears that she could see on the shirt she was holding. She shook her head and continued to put stuff into the suitcase.

She was done packing within the hour. She went and laid down on the couch, just one last time. She was about to get up and leave… but then the door opened.

“Allie? I’m home early.”

She quickly sat up, watching as his eyes immediately cast their way over to the packed suitcase and travel bag when he turned around from shutting the door.

“Where are you off too?”

“Corbyn… I didn't know how to tell you. I’m sorry.”

“You didn't… cheat on me, did you?” He nervously asked.

“No!” She shouted. “You know I'd never do that to you. 

“Then where are you-”

“I’m leaving, Corbyn.”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my mom’s house. I’m sorry I was gonna write you a note or, or text you or something but I just had to get out of here.”

“So this is your way of telling me we’re breaking up?”

“Yeah,” She breathed out. “I’m really sorry I didn't want you to find out this way.”

“Oh.”

He tried to smile, but then a tear started rolling down his cheek.

“No, please. You can’t leave.”

“I have to, Corbyn. We both weren’t ready for this relationship and you know it. We were love drunk, waiting on a miracle. When it didn’t come we both gave up and you know it!” She snapped.

“I’m sorry Alli! Maybe it could have been different if we wouldn’t have been quarantined together?”

“No, we were tryna find ourselves in the winter snow. We did, Corbs. We found our true selves and we don’t work together. You’re so alone in love like the world had disappeared.”

“No, please Alli.”

“I’m sorry.” Allison cried, standing up to give him a quick hug before she gathered her bags and left.

Corbyn’s loud sobs rang through the small apartment.

“Corbyn, shh it will be alright. Just let me go, please.”

“Oh, I won't be silent and I won't let go. I will hold on tighter 'til the afterglow.”

The small word made her falter a bit.

“I will hold on to the afterglow.”

“Hm? What did you say, babe?”

“I will hold on to the afterglow.” He softly mumbled into her neck, making her giggle slightly.

“What does that mean?”

OC turned around and faced him, smiling at his sleepy face.

“It’s the good feelings remaining after a pleasurable or successful experience. Being your boyfriend is exactly an amazing experience. Whether we get married, breakup or tragically die-”

“You better not be dying and this is your way of telling me, Corbyn Matthew” She cut him off sharply, but he smiled at her good intentions.

“No, I’m not dying, I promise.” He gave her a reassuring kiss as he continued on. “I guess what I’m trying to say is no matter what happens with us and our relationship, I’ll always be there for you.

“But what if we do ever break up or get separated?” She asked, looking into his eyes. Alli could spend days looking at his eyes.

“We’ll probably never forget each other-”

“I’d never be able to forget you, Corbyn.” She cut him off. He continued what he was saying with a smile.

“And we'll burn so bright 'til the darkness softly clears,” Corbyn mumbled to himself, remembering the same night she did. With one last look at each other, Allison gathered her bags, opened the door and left without a second glance, leaving them both alone with their memories  of each other forever.

taglist: @chilling-seavey @hiya-its-amber @jocelyntheduckie @randomlimelightxxx @stuffofseaveyy @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

[gills-corn]

Once there was a boy and a butterfly.

It wasn't a butterfly at first, of course - the boy picked up a lone caterpillar one scorching May morning and nursed it to adulthood. As it molted and grew wings and learned to fly, the boy played under the sun, showering in the sunshine and the summer rains.

The butterfly flew away, right out of a window and to the sky. The boy was outside, running around with a group of children his age, playing whatever their heart desired. He didn't even had the chance to say good-bye.

He cried himself to sleep that night, inconsolable. The next day, he's back on his feet after a friend gave him a cone of ice cream, as fickle as the summer day that shined down upon him.

He became just a boy, with no butterfly, but a boy who knows more about leaving and losing than the day ago.

The next years repeated the same way - a boy, alone in the universe, but bodies still orbited around him, people he knew loved him but he couldn't quite comprehend why or how. He had long forgotten is butterfly. People came and went - friends, classmates, family members - and he had learned how to cope. He had learned about the importance of them arriving, of them leaving, of them tracing a solitary mark on his life.

Still, the idea of having something you value so dearly, so tenderly is lost on him. But what does he know? He's sixteen and miserable and alone, not entirely friendless or lonely, but there's still a vacuum around him, warping around his from like a black hole.

"I don't think I'm capable of love," he had mentioned to his friend once, in the throes of drunkenness. There's a sad smile on his face, reminiscent of a boyhood not-so-lost but drifting away.

"You are. Everyone is," his friend answered, his eyes fluttering shut. He rested his head on the other boy's shoulder.

The silence rang through the boy's ears as other bodies slept around him, his friends that fancied themselves as rebels but didn't do more than sneak a few bottles of beers. He examined his friend's face and returned to his drink, his body thrumming.

He was nearly seventeen, crying in the bathroom, his heart threatening to burst out of his tight chest. A boy with no butterfly, no love to give, no best friend to hold onto, whether they're drinking, laughing, or exploring the blissful tragedy of teenage-hood.

He thought he knew how to say good-bye. He had practiced this all of his life - see you soon, hope you'll be okay and, in times of death, I'm so sorry for your loss. This was worse than death itself - it was something that was torn out of his life, like a page from a book, except the page was inked with memories he could never forget and things he wished he had said.

First there was sadness.

Then there was anger.

He tore out fistfuls of hair from his head. He threw away comic books they once shared, mixtapes they made for each other, notes passed around class, naughty and mischieveous and immature. He kicked his door and teared up because he stubbed his toe. He tore his curtains down and immediately repaired them, not wanting his mother to be more worried than she already is.

Finally, it was the numbness, the calm.

Everyone was too worried about him, too careful about the words they said. The hurricane had soon departed, he thought to himself, but everyone was afraid to start another one. He did not have the energy nor the time for it anymore. He had wasted enough time as it is. He had school to focus on, friendships he wanted to revive, apologies he had to give out.

He was trying to be a better person. But why did it feel like he's only making himself worse?

"He told me you thought you didn't know how to love," a friend told him. She blew a gust of smoke on his face from the cigarette she'd been smoking.

Something wrenches behind his ribcage. "Yeah."

"I'd say you were wrong," she replied. "You acted out because you love him. And you can't bear to see him leave."

"I know," he murmured. He raised his head. The familiar warmth of his friend's eyes, the slope of her nose, the crookedness of her teeth were all a gentle reminder of a childhood diminished but he hoped to cling onto it as much as he can. He tried to stop his voice from cracking as he added, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be. We're all upset. And sad. He's our friend since, like, forever. But the world goes on. If you don't catch up, you might just get left behind."

That was the thing he liked about this friend. She was never too gentle.

He was able to move onto seventeen without a hitch. His remaining friends helped him celebrate, throw a party, down a few shots. He made him realize that was able to love and he had been loving them since he knew them. And he knew they loved him back.

Seventeen felt new, fragile. Maybe he was just being overdramatic but he was getting closer to adulthood. He wasn't much of a child anymore, with overgrown limbs, unwanted hair and things he was not able to control, but the thought of moving to adulthood was too daunting. Sometimes, your past selves are the ones who leave and you must still know how to depart from them properly.

The universe goes on and he moves on. Slowly. But he's getting there. School was ending. The number of summers of spending with his friends was dwindling. Soon, there'd be university, jobs, apartments. A few years later, relationships, marriages, children would start to appear in his life and rubbed on his nose, whether he liked it or not. The future was vast, terrifying, like the expanse of the wide, deep space. He decided that he'd take on his last summer as a child, even though he had lost the title years ago.

He knew things left. He didn't always expected them to come back.

Everyone rejoiced at his best friend returning for the summer - everyone, that is, only his friends. They all were planning for their last hurrah before departing their own ways after the next school year. He didn't know how everyone just became happy and fun and excited as if his friend's loss didn't rip out a piece of his soul.

Summer was ruined. He should have known that days of fingers sticky with melted ice cream, skin smelling just like sunshine and jumps into creeks and pools were long gone. He stayed in his bedroom for as long as he can. He knew that with him coming back, he'd be leaving again.

"Are you avoiding me?" his friend asked him, lying side by side as they stared on the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

He was not able to get out of the end-of-summer sleepover. He did not want to disappoint his other friends and their powers of convincing were straight out of an telemarketer.

He breathes out, his heart rattling. "What do you think?"

"I'm sorry. I - I know you're still upset with me leaving."

"Well. That answers your question now, doesn't it."

"You can't hide from me forever. I can't handle it."

"Do you think I knew how to handle it when you walked away from my life?" he shot back.

Tears clawed at his throat and he felt something hot behind his eyes. He closes them, hoping to get out o this nightmare.

"I didn't have a choice. My dad got a promotion, my mom's unhappy with her job here - "

"You could have told me," he replied. His voice was quiet, pinched. "At least I could have prepared myself."

"Can we talk outside?" his friend whispered urgently.

The two of them stood up. They were both the same height now, all awkward limbs and unharnessed strength. His friend gleamed under the glow of the silver moon outside, his tears glossing on the tops of his cheekbones. He stretched his hand, beckoning him to come closer.

He had no choice but to take it.

That summer night was cold but everything else was bright. If they were seven years younger, they would have howled at the full moon and ecstatic that they had managed to be awake past midnight. Nostalgia gnawed through his heart like an unwanted termite. He clasped his chest as his friend sat on the grass, not minding the stains on his white pajamas. He sat beside him, listening intently to the silence.

"Do you still think you can't love anyone?" his friend answered.

"No, not anymore." He smiled. A little. "I realized that I actually love all of you. My parents. Even my little sister. I was just drunk and melodramatic."

His friend laughed quietly but in a way that was still distinctly his. "I get what you meant, though. Sometimes, I - I feel like there's just something missing and it makes you all hollow inside."

"But you still loved, right?"

"Yeah," his friend replied. "I have never felt more love. That was cheesy but it's true."

"You're right. Maybe truth is a little cheesy. Maybe we need a little cheese in our life."

"I am so, so sorry. I can't - I did not know what to tell you, really, that I was going to go."

"But you told Tom - "

"No, I meant you. It's just - just the thought of saying good-bye to you hurts. Hell, even physically. I did not want to lose you. Or anyone. But especially you."

"Well, you tend to lose people in your life. That's sort of how it works."

"But then I wouldn't know how to live."

"Don't say that. Losing people does not mean losing yourself, too."

His friend sighs. "I know. What I'm trying to say is - I didn't want to make you upset, disappointed, sad or whatever. I know what I did probably made you more like those things and I apologize. Really. It was selfish of me. I didn't want to think about you not being there right by my side."

"You were right." He sat up straighter. "I - I didn't know what to do with myself when you left. Losing people means losing a part of you, I know, but I never seemed to realize that you were such a large part in my life that it made me crumble."

"Remember the first time I gave you ice cream? We were like eight or whatever. It was from my savings from school. I wasn't actually full that time. You were just so sad and you loved ice cream so. . . I gave you a cone."

His eyes crinkled as he gazed upon his friend's open and vulnerable face. "My butterfly left the day before. Of course I was sad. But why did you do that?"

"You know how I always get you ice cream, right? You, only you. Always vanilla and chocolate in a wafer cone. Whenever you want one or whenever you're miserable, I give you an ice cream cone. Sometimes, there wasn't even any reason. I just gave you one."

"Yeah, but Kay and Rachel are lactose intolerant and - "

"I'm trying to say that you're special. To me. Ever since we met. And I can't - I did not know how to say good-bye. Especially to my favorite person."

They were grasping hands, sweat intermingling.

"I know. But we all have to, right? Eventually. But seems like I still need to learn that lesson."

"Why?"

"You're my favorite person as well and I - I can't bid you farewell for the second time."

"Well. We don't have to think about saying good-bye right now, you know. We can think of what we should be doing now."

"Like what? Sleep?"

"No." A beat passes, like a flap of a butterfly's wings. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

As their lips meet, bittersweet yet refreshing, filled with shed tears, unfurled emotion and whispered love confessions, they say hello and bid good-bye to each other again and again, like two butterflies floating in the air.