#excerpt from a story ill never tell

[insanity-created-the-angel]

There was a time when your name made my ears perk up like a dog waiting to go outside…

As if your name, like church bells, rang on a Sunday morning

Never has happiness made me feel so light on my toes

Now your initials make me sick to my stomach, my heart screams every time you are mentioned.

No longer will your anchor keep me hostage in this sea of regret

- it’s 1:11am and suddenly it’s like you never existed

[chososdiscordkitten]

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 10

pt 9 here

Content: direct cont of last chapter, just more unshamed flirting, uncanon hcs on how he grew up, MENTIONED of Choso seeing reader as untouched (?), small time skip for my own sanity. Choso is an ex smoker- ill circle back to that, talk of exes, not so much stalking- again, next chap will have that dw, some excerpts from Winnie the Pooh- another hc of mine, its happening guys. Word Count: 6.8k

(a.n) wow, a whole month and im barely posting, (sorry) new writing style too👍🏽 the lil .𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚⊹⋆ ⁺   . guys mean a different scene btw.

Taglist: @eristi @sunaumi @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @1arminsimp @hannas16 @chosowhore @tojicvmslut @ofalcaodacolinablue @thesharkcollector @mochipip @hotvillianapologist @ziklope @saeline @morinuu @b3llair3 @24hrnanami

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Looking at you, Choso felt the sudden urge to tell you just how much he loved you. Sitting in his shabby apartment- not caring for the mess or how dingey it was. Still- you cared enough to go see him. He knew it was you- and it will always be you. Be it the dissolving cold medicine in his tummy- or if he really felt this way. In that moment, Choso was so sure he loved you, issues and all. “This is what happens when you spend more time outside than inside.” you hummed, being able to hear his ragged breathing from the chair.

“I hardly get sick.” he coughed, making you perch your eyebrows, all but saying ‘be real.’ He gulped, feeling his sore throat make it difficult to swallow.

“It's true.” he huffed, looking at you seriously. “You strike me as someone with a…” you hesitated, trying to find the correct word. Making him look at you with curious eyes, “-with a wavering immune system.” You grinned, making him nod his head in agreement. “You don't get sick?” he asked, tone sincere. “I never get sick.” you hummed, flaunting your health in his face. “It's been 3 years since I had a cold so-” you laughed, “I can truly say- I don't get sick.” he looked at you with believing eyes. 

“You're right though- I do have a sucky immune system,” he sighed, twiddling with his thumbs in his lap, you hummed with a smile. “Too much of what growing up?” you asked, sensing it was caused by something from his upbringing. Choso grimaced, not wanting to admit it. Mind flashing back to the instagram story you posted at the beginning of the semester. Something about ‘why smoke when so many things are trying to kill you-’

You twitched your head, waiting for him to answer. He inhaled, looking away from you as though you were already scolding him. “I used to be a heavy-” he started, lowering his tone. “...smoker.” he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut- waiting for you to start speaking. You sighed, making him turn his head over to look at you again, eyes squinted and arms crossed. Nodding your head ‘no’ disapprovingly. “Not anymore though-” he defended, not wanting to upset you. Face churned with worry that this was something you'd never forgive.

You gave him a half laugh, “Choso- I don't care if you used to smoke-” you furrowed your eyebrows, not knowing why he thought he had to defend himself to you. “I mean-” you started, seeing his face fall. “I obviously care if you do- but this was before you knew me.” You smiled, making him exhale the breath he held in his chest. “And besides, who am I to scold you on a bad habit?” you hummed, making him open his mouth to speak. “It doesn't bother you?” he leaned onto his hand planted on the bed, intrigued to hear your answer.

“It would bother me in a- ‘want you to be healthy’ way.” you droned, looking away from his face- being able to see small glimmers form in his eyes at your words. “But if it's your choice, and you want to do it. Don't let my opinions base your choices.” you assured, making him rest back onto his bed in ease. Pressing the back of his head onto the wall in thought. Even if you told him not to- he'd still use your words to make his life choices. ‘Because it is only you who I am trying to impress.’

Inhaling sharply at the feeling of heavy tension in the air, looking to his nightstand and scanning a small stack of books. Noticing he had some of the same ones you had on your nightstand. “Winnie The Pooh?” you asked, looking at his blushed cheeks and pinched eyebrows at your observation. “I uh- I used to read it to my brothers.” He mumbled, seeing your delicate hands pick up the green cover, flipping through the well cared for pages with a smile.

“I brought it with me knowing if I left it, they'd find a way to destroy it.” he laughed. You looked back to him as you gently flipped through the pages, smiling when you saw the small rips and folds from how long he had it. Noticing his slow blinks and how he was manually breathing now-

“All the years I spent repeating those pages and I don't remember a single thing from them.” he muttered, looking down at his hands- almost sad. You blinked back to look at him, “Why’s that?” you hummed with a small smile, secretly elated that he was finally opening up a little, instead of asking about you. “I never focused on the words.” he muttered, looking at the tearing corners of the green cloth cover.

“I think it's because I always tried to make sure they were entertained- that they enjoyed what I read.” he mumbled, seeing you carefully flip the pages. Knowing it held sentimental value, Choso looked at your gentle grasp on the books as though you were holding his heart in your hands. Using all the care in the world as you examined it. “How old were you?” you asked, closing the cover and placing it on your lap. Scanning his soft expression at your question. 

“When you first read it to them?” You clarified making him bat his eyes down to his hands, unable to withstand the burning gaze you held to his skin. “Eight- maybe nine.” he mumbled, unpleasant memories flooding into his mind again. “Before your mom-?” you pressed, seeing his eyebrows furrow. With a small nod, he exhaled, “I picked it up one day. Not knowing I'd reread it for the next 13 years.” Choso scoffed Remembering the last time he read it to Yuuji, a bittersweet smile on his lips. “Sad huh?” he looked back at you, seeing your eyebrows curled up with sad eyes below them.

You inhaled, placing your hand flat against the book on your lap, “No, Choso. It's not sad.” You grinned, “It's actually really sweet.”, letting out a half laugh from your nose. Holding up your thumb and pointer finger, pinching the air “A tiny bit sad-” you whispered, making him let out a half laugh from his chest. “But sweet.” you assured.

Choso gave you a few slow blinks, feeling his throat dry. Closing his eyes in an attempt to blink, but keeping them closed. “M’tired.” he mumbled, making your shoulders tense- coming to the realization that you infiltrated his space uninvited. You widened your eyes, “Shit- sorry-” you whispered, placing the book on his night stand before going to stand up. Choso’s eyes flashed open, reaching for your wrist. Being able to fully wrap his fingers around it. Looking up at you with panicked eyes, a stare you hadn’t seen before.

“Stay.” he whispered, looking down at him with wide eyes, his grip on your wrist wasn't firm- showing you just how tired he was. “Please.” Soft tone making you blink down at him. It's not as though you needed any convincing. 

You smiled, pressing your other hand onto his knuckles. Soothing his nerves, “Okay.” you whispered, sitting back down. “I'll stay.” you murmured, his shoulders easing as his cheeks blushed at the embarrassment. “Lay down.” you instructed, reaching for the book again. Furrowing your eyebrows when you saw him slowly easing into his own bed. Almost uncomfortably. 

Choso looked over to you, resting his head lightly on the pillows to avoid the embarrassment of his bed frame collapsing. He huffed a pained laugh from his chest seeing your expression, “If I move too quickly- it'll break.” he explained, making you nod your head with a smile. “Now I know what to get you for your birthday.” you murmured to yourself, making him let out a weak ‘haha’, as his eyes threatened to close. His grip on your hand tightening, to be sure you wouldn't leave if he went to sleep.

Scooching the rolling chair closer to the bed, side of your thigh pressed against his mattress and you faced him. “I think it's your turn to be read to.” you mumbled, pulling your hand from his briefly and placing the book back on your lap, cracking it open, placing the spine between your closed thighs and holding onto his hand again. 

Thumb brushing gently against his knuckles, as your fingers flipped the pages. Tender gaze staring at you as though this was the first time he was ever taken care of. As though this was a marvel.

Making sure to keep your tone soft- inhaling softly before you started, “Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now-” the words fell from your lips in whispers, gracing his ears as he looked at the afternoon sun peaking through. His eyes scanning your features- the way the sun peeked through your eyelashes, how you smiled reading the childish words. When you looked back to him to see if he was still with you, and how gentle you were. Holding his calloused hand as though he was made of lace.

Eternally grateful for the universe putting you here. “Isn’t it funny how a bear likes honey?” you spoke gently, fingers grazing the edge of the old page.

Being able to see every unique characteristic that graced your skin thanks to the warm sun. “It's a very funny thought that if bears were Bees, They'd build their nests at the bottom of trees.” you smiled at the silly rhyme, cheekbones glowing when you grinned. Unaware of how badly he yearned for you. How he missed you even if you were sitting inches away from him.

“How sweet to be a cloud, floating in the blue. Every little cloud always sings aloud.” hazy eyes looking at you through his eyelashes, parting his lips that threatened to speak before his mind caught up. ‘It’s you.’ he thought, feeling his lips move, the words at the tip of his tongue as you flipped the page.

Looking up at him from the book, making him close his lips, “It makes him very proud to be a little cloud.” you smiled at him. “Are you proud to be a little cloud Choso?” you hummed with a sappy smile, making him close his eyes and nod, “Only if you're a cloud with me.” he croaked quietly, making you tighten your grip on his hand before continuing to read.

Choso looked at you with a content smile on his lips, heart beating strongly in his chest. Blinks become longer and longer as you flip the page. Your words become mumbles in his mind as his blinking halted. His hand slowly went limp in yours as you continued reading softly. 

Hearing soft inhales and exhales from him as you closed the book. Soft eyes scanning his expression, finding it adorable how quick he fell asleep. But the adoration churned to sadness- not knowing precisely why he was never read to as a child. But knowing he grew up always taking care of everyone but himself, you saw it in the way he spoke to you. In the way he tried sparing your feelings anytime he'd say something out of turn, and most of all you tasted it in the way he cooked for you.

Thinking how crazy it was that even if you had been friends with him only for a few weeks- you still felt sad for him. You felt. For him. Which was more than you could say for anyone else you had met in that place. 

You huffed with a smile, looking away from him as you derailed your own train of thought. Now taking the chance to look around his apartment- at the walls, at the broken blinds, at the small kitchen. You looked back down to the hand that softly held yours, taking the time to admire them now that he wasn't awake to catch you. 

Calloused- but they were warm. Tender. Brutish knuckles that you knew held power behind them, softly scanning the scars he told you stories about. Slowly pulling your hand from his grasp, grazing the tips of your fingers on his painted nails. Admiring how well you painted them. 

Snapping yourself out of the daze you put yourself in, suddenly feeling very creepy for staring at your friend who was innocently sleeping. You nodded your head at your wandering thoughts, god. Here he was practically dying of the plague and you were being skeevy. With a sigh you pressed your hand to your forehead, trying to think on what to do now. You didn't want to leave- but it seemed even weirder to stay. You inhaled, pushing the chairs' wheels back with your feet, standing up and looking down to him.

All but saying it since it was smeared on your expression, thankful he was sleeping or else he'd see it. Here he was- man who you put so much effort into flirting with. You see, with most men- they were easy. One little bat of the eye and a sweet smile and they'd do anything to take you home. But with him- he'd offer to take you home, without any ulterior motives.. Walk you up to your doorstep to be sure you are safe. Which only made the kindness you had easier to give. 

So there you were, disguising your snooping as being kind. Taking quiet steps around his apartment. Not daring to actually open anything- but it was tempting. Hands behind your back as you looked at the small crack of his closet door. Squinting at it before looking to his kitchen, making sure to step quietly on the creaky wood floors. Looking back at him anytime a creak was a little too noisy. 

Curious as to what was in his fridge- as good as he cooked he must have more than enough ingredients in his fridge, right? 

Staring into Choso’s fridge, furrowed eyebrows staring at one old lime and a single bottle of ketchup. It looked sadder than the one at your own house did. You closed the white door and opened the freezer- nothing. You expected at least liquor- any college student with a fridge has at least a bottle to fall back on. 

You looked back at Choso, almost scolding him in your mind. And with the sight of his sleeping face- the marvelous idea popped into your mind. Taking a few steps to stand above his desk, taking the pink post-it stack and a black pen before writing a small note. Smiling as you wrote the stupid words. 

Placing the pink post- it on his night stand, smiling before looking down to his peaceful expression. Inhaling quickly before walking back to the entryway, coat in hand as you look back once more before opening the door- making sure not to lock it for when you'd be back.

Even in his sleep Choso heard the door close, but that's not what woke him. What woke him was his neighbor slamming their front door shut. Making him jolt awake in his own bed. Panicked eyes scanning the four walls of his apartment expecting to see you, only for you not to greet him when he woke. Choso felt a little disappointed. Mainly with himself for thinking you'd be here when he woke. That you'd wait for him. 

He sighed, sitting up slowly and trying to blink away his exhaustion. Looking to his nightstand and seeing a misplaced post-it, small smile forming on his ill lips as he read your writing. ‘Had to go get a few things. be good and take ur medicine! I'll be back soon :) - the best nurse you will ever have,’ he smiled reading your initials at the bottom of the note.

 And as you instructed, Choso took the medicine you placed on his side table, noticing his throat wasn't as achy as it was before you got there.

There was a hint of panic in his breaths, anxiety and trailing thoughts scared that you snooped. That you found something that you shouldn't have. Even if he hid everything- there was still the fear that he forgot something. Choso sighed and looked over to where he tossed his phone, faced down and silent. He picked it up and saw way too many notifications from his brother, with a sigh he returned his call. 

Closing his eyes as the dial rang through his ear. Hearing the receiver click- ‘hello?’ He heard his brother's voice in his ear. “You called?” he huffed, knowing his voice sounded a bit groggy. 

‘I was trying to cockblock you.’ Yuuji laughed, making Choso scoff and roll his eyes. Leaning an arm on the bed, knowing not to take his jokes too seriously. “You'd do that to your big brother?” taking a sarcastic tone, as he felt his brain pound against his skull.

Choso heard a quiet snicker come from the phone, ‘How are you feeling?’ Yuuji asked, Choso gave an exasperated sigh. “Better. I feel better. I think the worst is over.” Choso grumbled, hearing his brother let out agreeing hums.

‘Is your ‘friend’ still there?’ Yuuji asked in an accusatory tone, “No. No, they left.” Choso exhaled, flashing his eyes to that vent he hid his shame in. ‘Good thing or a bad thing?’ he asked knowing his big brother had a tendency to overcomplicate his own feelings. “I have-” he exhaled, staring at the door of his apartment, “No idea Yuuji.” he closed his eyes, feeling the confusion and those complicated feelings eat away at the illness.

He gave a strained laugh from his chest in disbelief, “I have no clue what I'm doing.” closing his eyes and remembering all the times you've tried to make a step forward. Only for Choso to take 3 back. “I’m fucking this up Yuuji.” he huffed, his baby brother was silent on the other line, hearing the worries spill from his mouth. 

‘How?’ Yuuji asked, only wanting to gauge how to go about this. “I came here for you guys. To be better. For you all to be comfortable and happy.” he started, hearing Yuuji sigh through the phone, ‘I've told you a million times- you don't have to worry about us.’ His brother had assured him of this plenty of times. Choso felt small whenever he tried to talk about it but the day came when he felt a wisp of resentment in his heart. And he knew he had to talk about it or else he'd grow angry towards the reason he was put on this planet.

And it was true, Choso eased off a little. After a lengthy conversation with Eso about how it feels to be plagued with being the oldest- his brother assured him he was put on this planet with no purpose. He didn't have to live just for them.

Then came the tattoos and the piercings, trying to find himself in the body mutilation. Somewhere in his heart he knew he came to college to find himself too. Just like you did.

‘You like this person?’ Yuuji spoke up, throwing Choso out of his thoughts. It was a thought he didn't want to think, in his mind he loved you. It felt like true love when he was with you. But actually saying it- telling his brother that you, a person he didn't know a few months ago, had invaded his goal of being better for his family. It was a hard thing to say, and to think.

That he wasn't there just for his family and himself anymore, he was here for you now too. 

“I do Yuuji.” he scoffed, hearing the smile form on his brother's face through the phone. ‘In a ‘this persons pretty cool’ or like how I feel about that actress from the hunger games?’ Yuuji joked, making Choso lean his elbows on his knees and smile, “Neither-” Choso scoffed, “In a way I feel consumed by them.” he mumbled, hearing pensative noises coming from the phone, ‘Maybe m’not the best person to speak to this about-’ he laughed, ‘I've never felt ‘consumed’ by how much I liked someone before.’ he admitted, making Choso nod his head disapprovingly.

Hearing footsteps darken his doorway- along with the brass doorknob turning, frightened that it was someone other than you. Only it was you- stepping into his apartment as though it was your own. Your shocked eyes looking at Choso’s face, not expecting to see him awake. “Sorry-” you grinned with a whisper, stepping in fully and softly closing the door behind you. Seeing he was on the phone.

‘Did they come back?!’ Yuuji blurted, “I'll call you later.” he mumbled into the phone, seeing you place handfuls of groceries onto the kitchen counter. Making his cheeks blush at how domestic this whole thing was starting to feel. His brother started yapping a million questions before Choso pulled the phone from his ear, “Later. Yuuji.” taking a stern tone as he clicked the red button on the screen.

In Choso’s heart he felt guilt- guilty for even thinking about questioning his devotion towards you. All he needed to see was that sweet smile grace your lips to remember how he felt. 

“I didn't know what to bring- so I brought it all.” you huffed with a smile, unpacking the groceries from the plastic bags. Choso looked at you baffled at the unnecessary act of kindness. Looking at him with sweet eyes, “You look better.” You smiled with closed lips, Choso’s cheeks tingled at the tone you took. “Do I?” he muttered, pushing a few stray strands of hair behind his ear. 

“Your color came back- Before I left you looked like a ghost.” You joked, turning around and placing a few bags of vegetables in his fridge, making Choso cringe knowing you had seen the sad contents of his fridge. “My uh-” he shifted on his bed, watching as you put away the various items you bought for him. “-brothers tell me I look like a ghost most of the time.” he smiled, hearing your shoes thump on the vinyl flooring. 

You scoffed, looking at his face once more, tilting your head as you examined his features. Choso couldnt help but squirm feeling your eyes on him. You let out a small giggle, looking away from him before opening a bag of bread. “You do.” he sighed in defeat, watching your nodding head as you pulled out two slices from the thin bag. 

“Shit-” you mouthed, looking up at him as you held the bread in your hands, “Can I… borrow your stove?” you grimaced, scanning his confused expression. “I'm starving.” you reiterated, noticing he made that face he made when his mind would run a million miles a minute as he thought.

What confused him wasn't the question- more like ‘You've already made yourself at home- why ask to use my stove? What's mine is yours.’ but what stuttered from his lips was, “Yeah- go for it.” as you reached into a cupboard, pulling out a charred skillet as though you were the one who put it there, your delicate hands turning the metal knobs on the stove. 

Choso watched you from a distance- as though if he got too close you'd fade away. Watching as you buttered both sides of each slice before placing them on the skillet, “You want one?” you hummed, unwrapping the yellow squares of cheese and placing them onto the toasting bread.

Choso smiled, “I thought you didn't cook?” he spouted sarcastically, watching as you plucked a plastic spatula from the utensil holder, “Two pieces of bread and a slice of cheese is not cooking.” you retorted with a smile, flipping the toasted slices of bread. “Your opportunity for a grilled cheese made with love is waning, Choso.” you teased, seeing his face fall at the sudden words. 

Nodding his head quickly once he processed your choice of words, “Plates?” you asked, even from a distance you were able to see his pupils dilate. He smiled, seeing your lips form a smile along with him. “How mad would you be if I told you I don't have any…?” he grinned, making you suck your teeth harshly, a snide comment forming on your tongue but holding it back. 

Plucking two white kitchen napkins from the stray roll he had on the counter, placing the well toasted grilled cheese onto it before scooping it in your hands. Taking a few paces towards him, looking down at your feet as you stopped right before him. “You need plates.” you practically scolded, making him look up at you with a bashful grin. “I know.” he whispered, taking the napkin plate from your hands- his fingertips grazing against the back of your palm. 

The feeling of shock from touching you diminishes with every purposeful graze from his hands. You irked your head, shaking off the goosebumps that formed on your arms as you walked back to the stove, flashing a few stares to him as you buttered the sides of your own grilled cheese. 

Placing the toasted bread onto your own napkin plate, tying a small knot onto the bread bag, cleaning up after yourself as Choso held the sandwich in his hands. Waiting for you to finish so he could eat. 

You looked up from the counter, huffing with a small chuckle, “Choso you can eat.” You flashed him a toothy smile as you turned off the stove, “M’waiting for you.” he spoke with all the honesty he could muster.

'I will always wait for you.’ he thought, a glimmer shining in his eyes as he bounced his knee slowly. 

“Don't wait for me Choso.��� you muttered, as though you read his mind, picking up your makeshift plate and walking over to him, sitting back onto his rolling chair as he watched you with a grin. 

Nodding your head- practically having to give him permission to eat, raising the sandwich to his mouth and taking a bite. Following what he did as you both chewed in silence. 

“Why'd you bring me groceries?” he spat, almost as though his mouth spoke before he could think about it. You thought about it- not having any real reason other than it felt like it was the right thing to do. “No man should have to live with an empty fridge.” you settled on that being a decent response, Choso nodded his head, agreeing with what you said. 

“I'll pay you back-” he declared, seeing your face glow with a cheerful smile, “You don't have to.” you scoffed, holding the crumbly bread in your hands. “S’what…friends do for each other.” there- you did it again. You hesitated before calling him your friend. Choso noticed this since you tried to present him to your roommates friends.

“Why're you so nice to me?” he breathed, avoiding your eyes as he looked down to the sandwich. “Were back on this again?” you kidded seeing his smile fall- actually thinking on why you were being kind, “If we're being honest- you brought this up first.” He defended coyly, “Choso.” you called his name seriously, making his eyes bat up to look at you with a hung head, “I’m nice to you because I like you.” You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at him. 

“You're nice to everyone though-” he retorted quietly, trying his best to not let the blatant jealousy show through his tone. “I pretend to be nice to everyone, yeah-” you smiled, “But I have never been- this. Nice to anyone before.” You assured, your cheeks warming from his borderline possessive words. 

Choso looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, all but asking ‘Really?’ nodding your head in response. “I promise.” Those words meant more to Choso than you'd ever know, it was as though you swore on the thing closest to your heart to him. Placing the sandwich onto the napkin atop your thighs, holding out a childish pinkie and looking at him with soft eyes, ‘Promise.’ you mouthed, Choso raised a hesitant hand, holding out his pinkie as he looked into your eyes.

Interlocking your pinkies as he felt the difference in size, “And I don't like anyone enough to be this nice.” You pulled your pinkie from his, seeing his expression show he wasn't fully convinced on the idea. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” you hushed, seeing his eyes peek up and look at you through thick eyelashes. 

Nodding his head earnestly, leaning in a little bit more, “I hate everyone in the world except you right now.” 

The words you meant in a joking way- only saying them to make him lighten up. It wasn't as though they didn't have some truth- right now everyone sucked and he was the only one who cared enough to make things better.

But to him, those words were all but a confession- a confession that all this time he wasn't a crazed stalker who embedded himself in your life. Those words made his doubts of what he was doing disappear almost entirely. 

“You mean that?” he spoke with avoidant eyes and blushing pink cheeks. You exhaled, earning Choso to look back to your eyes, “I do.” 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ .  ₊˚⊹⋆ ⁺   .

After that illuminating morning spent with you, he made sure to be more cautious with what he'd say- how he'd act towards you. But his attempts at caution only made his slip ups more apparent. 

The last week of January passed by in seconds to Choso, having you sitting next to him in the classes you had together made life easier. Classes spent drawing on his pale skin to pass the time, and he'd let you- Choso would try his very best to control the warmth that he was sure made his ears turn a shade of pink. But it's not like he had to hide his shamed blushes from you anymore. 

Little by little your touch became a constant in his life- your soft hands pulling the rings from his calloused ones, fiddling with them in class as the professor spoke. Turning them while they were still on his fingers as his knee bounced nervously. Being able to smell your perfume- even able to feel your nails graze against his skin as you toyed with his jewelry. 

The habit of him walking you home slowly diminished in the first week of February, now walking to his apartment to spend more time together more often than not. Playing kids board games on his apartment floor after he told you that- “I never really played them.” when you asked if he's ever gone through an entire game of monopoly, “I only ever over saw as my brothers played-” he smiled, seeing you look at him bewildered. “Y'know. To make sure no one cheated.” 

To which you responded with ‘borrowing’ the board games from your house, bringing them to his apartment. Seeing it as an opportunity to get to know him better through the childrens games. What he liked most about the time spent playing the games was that you'd leave your phone on his kitchen counter, on do not disturb and faced down. He liked that there wasn't anything to distract you from him.

The topic of exes was brought up hesitantly by you- unsure if you wanted to know about his past in that aspect. 

Sitting on the floor of his apartment, knees crossed as you faced each other, “Any past lovers I should expect on my doorstep?” You hummed casually, placing a green uno card onto the small stack, “Not that I know of. No.” he smiled to himself, “That you know of?” you asked sarcastically, seeing him place a card into the pile with a scoff. 

“No. Don't expect any ‘ex lovers’ at your door-” he called your name almost in a scolding tone. You nodded mockingly, “Any at all?” you examined your cards as you plucked one from your stack. Choso looked at you- unsure of what you were getting at. “No?” 

“No girlfriends- or boyfriends- or partne-” you were interrupted by Choso’s shoulders slumping with furrowed eyebrows. Silencing your question as he placed a card onto the pile, “...Can I ask why?” You chirped, seeing his low eyes look up from the colorful cards and think about it. 

“There was just never time.” he sighed, feeling embarrassed by your curiosity. Making you nod your head in agreement. Choso didn't even want to think about your exes, how many there were or if you loved any of them. He liked picturing you as an untouched, pristine, glass statue- only to be held by him. And thinking that you will only ever love him. 

“Even when you came here?” you pressed, his lips forcing a smile- “Nope.” his response was curt- waiting for you to place a card onto the pile. “Why?” your tone was accusatory- almost as though you were trying to dance around the real reason you were asking these questions. “S’your turn.” he mumbled, looking up from his cards and looking at you, “..What?” you asked confused as to what he was saying.

“It's your turn-” he spoke your name- flashing his eyes down to your cards as you inhaled, understanding what he meant. Picking a random card and placing it onto the stack, Choso looked at your parting lips- daring to keep pressing the question.

Even if he was starting to feel a sliver of irritation- he found it adorable that you were curious about that part of his life. “Choso.” you spoke, earning his eyebrow to arch before he responded with your name in the same tone you used. You sighed in defeat, making him tilt his head to the side. Thinking very hard as he skimmed through the distant memories of anyone he had a crush on growing up. 

“Uh- there was my neighbor in the second grade- then in the fourth grade there was this girl who I used to chase around the playground- and then in middle school I started exploring the world of people I could like- then in my freshman year I got my first-” he babbled, oversharing the meaningless information that you asked for with a sarcastic tone, trying to prove a point. “Okay-okay. I get it.” you interrupted with a laugh “I don't see the point in talking about the past when it does nothing for us.” he spoke as he arranged the cards in his hands. 

‘Us- I’m already calling me nd you,‘us’ he thought as you spoke “It helps me get to know you.” You defended, “You ever have a question- ask me it directly, please.” he smiled, “Don't dance around it-” 

“Have you ever loved anyone?” you interrupted, Choso looked at you with tender eyes. “Like- love, love?” you clarified, only your question didn't need any clarification, Choso knew what you were talking about. 

He nodded his head no, “No I haven't.” he admitted, looking down to his cards before picking one and placing it in the growing pile. “Have you ever loved anyone?” he repeated your question, for once, you were left scrambling for words. “N-no.” You admitted almost in defense, “There were times I thought I was in love.” you started, mentally Choso was cursing whatever person you loved before him. 

“But I was just a kid. So no, I've never loved anyone.” you finished, placing a card on the useless pile, and gathering the cards since neither of you were really playing the game anymore.

The salty conversation ended right there, Choso didn't want to hear of your past relationships- and you didn't want to embarrass him further by asking again. But the tension in the air was gone the next time you saw him, bringing up how you were thinking of moving out of your house. 

Choso’s hands picking upa stack of playing cards and shuffling them with his hands, “Why?” he asked, scanning your irritated expression as you thought about the roommates waiting for you. “People just- suck.” you smiled, seeing his hands carefully put away the  cards in the torn up box. Standing up and walking towards the kitchen counter, eyeing your phone as his back faced you.

Knowing you wouldn't be able to see if he took a peek- just one peek. 

Pretending to keep idle hands as he feigned looking at the game boards, “Your roommates again?” he asked as his hand inched towards your phone. Hearing you let out an exaggerated sigh, “Yes, they've been extra annoying recently.” you closed your eyes, waiting for him to come back with a new game. 

Choso gulped, his fingers flipping the side of your phone quietly, “Why's that?” he mindlessly replied as your phone screen light up. Seeing you kept the family picture of him and his brothers as your background, “They've been nagging and nagging about how I don't do my ‘chores’-” you complained, “I'm not even there as much anymore.” you continued.

Choso’s eyes scanned the growing list of notifications- squinting his eyes as he saw a text from a contact named ‘asshole’. You sighed, defeated by the growing list of issues awaiting you at that house. “And I'm broke.” You closed your eyes, leaning on your palms as you leaned your head back. “Broke huh?” he muttered, scrolling as he smiled at your claim. 

“Yup. No more sugar daddy money left- which is unfortunate.” You whispered to yourself. Choso heard it- but to protect his peace and not pick a fight over your choice of words. He ignored that little comment.

“Scrabble?” he mindlessly asked, “Nah s’too much thinking for me right now.” 

‘See you later today’ the message read with a heart, Choso couldn't help but think that you were being lured into something from that message, “How about-” he trailed on, placing your phone back onto the counter quietly as you sighed, “Connect 4?” he picked up the battered box and heard an agreeing ‘okay’ from your lips.

Walking back to the dedicated ‘board game’ spot at the center of his apartment, sitting down and placing the box between you. “Y'know- I looked at these apartments before I chose to live in that house.” you smiled as he slid the lid off the box, Choso’s face fell- thinking of how cruel the world was for taking away the opportunity of having you as a neighbor.

“You didn't like it here?” he joked, making you let out a small chortle as he set up the blue plastic. “I just didn’t wanna be alone.” you admitted, seeing Choso hold up his hands- a red chip in one and a yellow chip in the other, taking the red chip from his hand before he pushed your chips to your side of the grid.

“And you're thinking of moving into a unit?” he scoffed almost sarcastically, waiting for you to decide where to put your first chip. “I mean- even if they're constantly freezing. I just might.” you admitted honestly, seeing Choso’s fingers hover above the slot. Staring at you as he pictured you being his neighbor. 

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, “You don't like that idea?” you scoffed, seeing him nod his head ‘no’ before dropping a yellow chip into one of the slots, “You're probably thinking, ‘gee why not just move into my apartment while you're at it.” You giggled, dropping a red chip into the grid without thinking too hard, Choso titled his head- almost as though that's exactly what he was thinking.

“M’kidding. Choso.” You clarified, making him exhale at how flustered he was starting to feel. “It wouldn't be any different than it is now though-” you smiled, seeing his shaky hand drop a chip into the game- almost purposefully avoiding the ones you previously dropped, “I'm already here everyday.” you scoffed, unknowing your words were only making Choso’s ears burn below his hair.

“S-speaking of-” he found an opening of asking you the question that had been heavy in his mind ever since you brought it up, “I was thinking about- uh-” he struggled to find the words, “The uh….date?” he stuttered, blinking his eyes down to his chips and back at you. 

“You remember that?” you smiled, if he was being honest- the words hit him like a ton of bricks aimed directly to his heart. “...You don't?” he asked- pained and saddened. “Of course I do- I just,” you grimaced, “Didn't expect you to remember.” you admitted, “Y’know, since you were dying of bubonic plague.” you joked as you dropped a red chip into the game. 

“It was a small cold-” he defended, “And I do remember.” he continued, scanning your lax expression as he tried stepping through the seemingly difficult conversation.

“I wasn't gonna hold it against you-” you smiled, “You were feverish and on the brink of death-” you bantered, “I was not.” he defended himself, “You wanna take me out on a date Choso?” you asked teasingly- already knowing the answer but wanting to hear it from him again. 

“Will you let me?” he blushed, you looked at him surprised by his quick quip. With a smug smile, you were thinking things that should not be thought of at that moment.

-

pt 11 here

IM SOOOO SORRY FOR TAKING SOO LONG, PT 11 WILL BE POSTED ON VALENTINES DAY..... HEHEHEHE... (when can I start writing about the intimate things ;-;)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

[jessource]

prompts:　random quotes + excerpts.

“ you are so vulnerably haunting; your eeriness is terrifying irresistible. ” “ we’re not that different, you and i. ” “ you are a child of the cosmos, a ruler of the skies. ” “ you’re just becoming more of what you’ve always been. ” “ i’m not changing, none of us are changing. everything is fine. lets have a picnic. ” “ my father had the kind of anger all fathers do – loud and terrible. it lingers for your whole life. ” “ girlhood rots between my teeth, a sickness so sweet it aches. ” “ i wished so badly to have my own life, but you wouldn’t let me. ” “ parts of me died in the house i grew up in and i visit them in dreams. ” “ today i heard your name and my hands started shaking. please make it stop, make it stop. ” “ i wasn’t even allowed to cry over any of it, anyway! i wish the only thing that i spilled in my life was milk. ” “ this is not fun! it’s just scary! ” “ but if i hadn't fallen, i wouldn't have met you. ” “ have you let go of the ails that anchor you yet? ” “ have you let this marvelous spinning earth pull you into its arms and sweep you off your feet yet? ” “ i dream, i dream, i keep dreaming. one word in my mouth crystallises like sugar: hope. ” “ the nights get heavy like they always do. ” “ heavy wind, cold rain, and yes the stars. ” “ drifting apart always seems to hurt more as it happens. ” “ i am trying to say: look at me. ‘i am weightless. you make my heart grow light.’ ” “ right now, everything without you is almost sticky-sweet. it tastes like nectar. ” “ can you accept help or are you the eldest daughter? ” “ i swallow a bee for each ill deed done. i am a hive walking. i strain to hear you over the regret. ” “ i knew that it was cruel to be so optimistic, but, in my solitude, i couldn't resist the urge and spent entire days basking in idiotic fantasies, sometime verging on prayer. ” “ grief is not a feeling, but a neighbourhood. this is where i come from. everyone i love still lives there. ” “ there is a certain clinical satisfaction in seeing just how bad things can get. ” “ i was once very close to getting out of here. ” “ there is no moving on. only running away. ” “ i don’t love anyone. well, maybe my sister. ” “ i am infatuated with the private life, and with anonymity; perhaps even invisibility. ” “ sometimes you just need someone to tell you you're not as terrible as you think you are. ” “ i opened my mouth, almost said something. almost. the rest of my life might have turned out differently if i had. but i didn't. ” “ she is still inside of me. i carry her with me wherever i go. ” “ being a confessional human being for me is like a defense mechanism. if i can tell you the flaw before you see the flaw, then maybe it's okay. ” “ being a person didn't come naturally to me the way it seemed to for others. people who were sure of themselves awed me. i studied them and tried to mimic their ease. ” “look back at the mess you've made. try your best to pick up the pieces. ” “ not only had my brother disappeared, but– and bear with me here–a part of my very being had gone with him. ” “ i kinda wish i was buried six feet under ground. but oh god i also wish i was buried in your arms. ” “ we tell our stories differently, don’t we, you and i? ” “ you poor thing. sweet, mourning lamb. there’s nothing you can do. ” “ a golden cage is still just a cage. ” “ although i may not be yours. i can never be another’s. ” “ my mother didn't foresee what was going to become of us as a result of witnessing her despair. ”

[destielaureversebb]

Coming soon for the @destielaureversebb: “Genius Loci” 

Author: @mrbotanyb Artist: @universalcas

Rating: Mature Archive warnings: None Length: 11,000 Tags:  University AU, Dark Academia, Mental Illness, Friends to Lovers Relationships: Dean/Castiel, Castiel/Daphne Allen (previous)

Summary:  Three years ago, Dean walked away from his half-done PhD because his father needed him. Now he's back and hoping to pick up where he left off — that, and see Cas again. Dean missed his friendship with his (older, straight, engaged) professor, which of course means he's never ever going to tell Cas about the crush he's harbored for years.

But there's something very weird going on — his old advisor may be missing, Cas is a shadow of the man he used to be, and there may or may not be ghosts haunting the campus. This is a story about academic arguments, terrible adjunct professor salaries, and the power of stories. And terrible, terrible architecture.

Excerpt: 

Dean had just left Cas's house after a slow, drawn-out dinner that had left him with a mixture of hope and discomfort. They had spent hours talking, and Dean had tried his best to reconnect with the man who had once been his mentor, his friend. But Cas... Cas wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the warm, enthusiastic professor who would dive into conversation about literature or history with fervor. No, this Cas was withdrawn, distant, and seemed... lost, as if his passion had been drained away over the years. Dean had hoped their dinner would rekindle the closeness they once had, but instead, it only highlighted how much had changed.

And it wasn’t just Cas’s apathy that troubled Dean; it was something more personal. As they sat together at the table, Dean had felt the stirrings of an old emotion — something deep and unspoken, something he’d buried for years. He had tried to convince himself that it was just nostalgia, that it was just the ghost of a long-lost friendship he was clinging to, but the truth was undeniable: he still had feelings for Cas. Those feelings hadn’t faded.

Walking through the misty campus now, Dean couldn’t shake the sense that things were slipping out of his control. His heart ached for the man Cas had once been — the curious, passionate person who had inspired him to pursue his own research, to think bigger. He had wanted to believe that they could rebuild their friendship, that things could go back to the way they were, but now it felt more like trying to revive something that had already died. Cas’s detachment had left Dean feeling unsure of what to do. Was it just that Cas was going through a rough patch? Or had the man he used to admire completely faded away?

As Dean turned the corner near the main library, he froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something. A strange shadow that seemed to float across the lawn ahead of him. For a brief moment, it appeared to move, as though it were alive, slipping in and out of the mist like a wisp of smoke, then it disappeared, leaving the darkened campus in silence. Dean stood still, his breath caught in his chest. His heart rate spiked. Maybe it was just the fog playing tricks on him, his mind tired and distracted. The shadow could have been nothing.

Posting date:  February 11, 2025

[rjzimmerman]

Anthony Fauci: A Mosquito in My Backyard Made Me the Sickest I’ve Ever Been. (New York Times)

Excerpt from this New York Times Op-Ed by Anthony Fauci:

There is no treatment for West Nile virus disease, and I was left to deal with its toll on my body. It was terrifying. I could not swing my legs over the side of the bed to sit up without help from my wife and three daughters. I could not stand up without assistance and certainly could not walk. A very scary part of the ordeal was the effect on my cognition. I was disoriented, unable to remember certain words, asking questions of my family that I should have known the answers to. I was afraid that I would never recover and return to normal.

Fortunately, over a period of a few weeks slow improvement began. I was able to walk with a walker and then without any assistance. Now I can walk a few miles per day with only minimal fatigue, and my cognitive issues have completely resolved. I am on my way to a total recovery, but it has been a harrowing experience.

I tell my story because West Nile virus is a disease that, for many people, can have devastating and permanent consequences. At my age of 83, I was at risk of permanent neurological impairment and even death. Yet the public may be unaware of the danger of this disease and that it continues to spread across the United States; it has been identified in 46 states this year. Unfortunately, very little is being done about it from scientific and public awareness perspectives.

West Nile virus belongs to the family of flaviviruses that also includes yellow fever and dengue viruses. It was first detected in the United States in the New York City area in 1999, most likely introduced from the Middle East or parts of Africa where it is prevalent. Mosquitoes get the virus from infected birds, and then pass the virus on to humans by a bite. West Nile virus infection is by far the most common mosquito-borne disease in the United States: Since 1999, about 60,000 cases have been reported. The actual number of infections is surely higher, no doubt in the millions, since many cases are not reported because infections are often asymptomatic or are confused with other common maladies such as flu. Among the reported cases in the United States, more than 30,000 have had neurological symptoms like mine, resulting in about 23,000 hospitalizations and close to 3,000 deaths.

As climate change makes it easier for mosquitoes to proliferate in many places, West Nile virus disease as well as other mosquito-borne illnesses are emerging as greater threats in this country and elsewhere. Yet, efforts to develop a vaccine or treatment for this illness are modest compared with those for other diseases of public health importance.

So, how do we address this emerging public health threat? Vaccine development must go forward; however, to be successful, clinical trials must be international and include countries with a consistent and large number of cases each year. The pathway to a vaccine cannot be in the United States alone. Global public-private partnerships between the N.I.H. and the drug industry have historically proved successful in the development of a number of important vaccines such as those against hepatitis B and Covid. There is no reason this shouldn’t also be the case for a West Nile virus vaccine.

The same holds true for the development of antiviral drugs. There is no insurmountable scientific obstacle to developing safe and effective antiviral drugs for West Nile virus infection. The pharmaceutical industry in collaboration with the N.I.H. and other partners had remarkable success in developing effective drugs for other emerging viral infections. Examples include lifesaving drugs for H.I.V. infection, therapies for hepatitis C infection and useful drugs for Covid-19 and influenza. With international research partnerships and political will spurred by an engaged activist community such as we have seen with H.I.V. and now long Covid, West Nile virus treatments and prevention tools should be within our grasp.

[romirola]

Teaser Tuesday

Hiya, Redacted Fandom! The most wonderful @ejunkiet and @pinksparkl tagged me to share a snippet of a WIP awhile ago, but due to some scheduling difficulties coupled with a surprise power outage, my brother's wedding, and then a rough migraine attack (all one after the other), I had to wait to share something. Thank you for the tag! Because this is so late, I'll say that this is an open invitation for anyone to share a snippet of any kind of WIP.

Below is an excerpt from a oneshot I'm working on written in David's POV. The story chronicles David helping Angel through their mother's recent death, reflecting on the similarities and differences of their experiences losing a parent.

The days since had been a bit of a blur. I helped Angel handle the arrangements and affairs, fighting the flashbacks of how haphazard and confused I had been when I had done the same thing for my father. I wanted to support them as much as I could, though I knew it was important that they feel in control, or at least as in control as possible, when it came to the details of their mother’s final resting place and the way they marked the end of her life.  The whole ordeal echoed my father’s death, but at the same time, it was so different.  I knew what it was to grieve a parent’s death. I had no idea what it was like to watch a parent die.  I was too young to ever remember my father taking care of my mother when she had gotten sick. My dad must’ve done all of this, though. And he did it all while taking care of an infant son, too. As I thought back on the memories of Mom he shared with me over the years, I realized none of them took place during the time of her illness. I wish I had thought to ask him about how he handled that whole experience. Had it made him too sad to talk about with me? Or was he sparing me the details of the truth?  Dad always tried to shield me from darkness and to find the light in everything. I wished he were here now. He’d know what to say to Angel.  I didn’t.  Not for the first time since learning of Angel’s caretaking, I wondered what it might’ve been like to see my dad decline from old age. To see him lose his sense of self to dementia and frailty. I imagined how my dad might’ve morphed from the strong, solid alpha I’d always known him to be into a weak, confused old man. I would watch helplessly as he aged, note how both his wolf and human form would betray him.  Would I have had it in me to learn how to help him shower and shave? Would I have been able to balance my responsibility to the pack with my responsibility of counting out my father’s pills for the week? Would I have patiently endured my father screaming awful things at me, simply because he was confused and frustrated and unable to express himself any other way? Would I have had the strength to tell my father that it was okay to die?  I hoped so, but I supposed I’d never really know for sure.  Angel did all of those things for their mom. And more. 

[teler-of-gallifrey]

Little excerpt of something that came to me. It's a bit rough, but the dialogue's good.

Daniel sat numbly in his chair. He felt terrible. His chest felt ugly and tight, his throat was clamming up, his eye's felt heavy with water. His dad sat on his right, running his hand gently up and down his back. Ell clutched his left hand, chilling him to the bone. He gripped her back tighter, squeezing as much like a vice as his twelve year old hands could manage. He stared dully forward at Martin as he lay on the hospital bed, motionless.

"Do you see Death?" Ell whispered in his ear, gently rubbing her thumb over his hand.

"What?" He croaked out.

"When I was your age, I was told a story about a man with a special gift: He could see Death. And so, whenever someone was ill and dying, people would bring him to the dying persons bed. And if Death stood at the foot of the bed, the man would produce his magic goblet, which had been given to him by a demon. And he would sprinkle the water from the goblet onto the ill person, and they would recover. But if Death sat at the head of the bed, the person would die, and there was nothing that could be done about it" She said. "So if you see Death, watch where he stands." She finished.

"Wh" he choked on his tears as he tried to whisper back "What do we do if Death is at the head of the bed?" Ell shook her head.

"There is nothing you can do. Death is not a fairy or a demon. You cannot reason with Death. You cannot bargain or barter with it. You cannot trick it. Death comes for everyone, in it's own time, whether you will or no... Not that that's ever stopped her trying"

"But I don't want him to die... He's... He's... He's my..." Daniel didn't know what to call him. Dad was Dad, and Papa was Papa. Martin had never pressed for a title. "Birth parent" he'd introduced himself as, when they first found out. That was all. He'd always just been Martin. And now he was dying, and Daniel would never get to find out what he'd want to be called, and he'd never be able to tell him about all the things he liked, and he'd never get to see him again, and he couldn't stop crying, and...

"Hey now" Dad said, cutting through his thoughts as he pulled Daniel into his lap. "It's going to be alright." He shushed softly. "He's going to be alright". Daniels sobs subsided as he was cradled, and he heard Bel talking, loud and desperate. He blinked, and saw her standing, her neck craned around like she was trying to talk with someone who stood in front of her, with their back towards her.

"Please! Please, he is my son! Please!" She begged. Daniel blinked again and saw who she was pleading at, stopped as he stood, one hand resting on the hospital bed, as though he had been walking before the ghost began to entreat him. The robe was not airy or light, but a real, warm cloak, like one might wear for actual clothing. The scythe was not a dread weapon, great and sharp and with a wicked point at it's tip, but a humble tool, sharp yes, but only that it might preform it's function. The hood did not conceal a inky blackness, but obscured very little of the wearers face, showing the skull, which did not betray any pleasure or malice, or any other emotion.

"All men that die are somebodies son. They die, nonetheless" Death said, with a voice gentle and whispery, like a soft wind.

"Please. Please, he has a son! He's only just found him again! They deserve to be together!" Bel sobbed, gesturing at Daniel. Death turned to look at him, and Daniel felt dread well up inside him for a moment, before his gaze turned back to the wailing ghost.

"Many who die have sons. They die regardless. If he dies, he will return to you. You will be together again; do you not desire this?" Death stated.

"I don't want him back with me, I want him to be happy!" Bel cried, gripping the reapers robes as she shook. "How could he be happy, knowing that he left Daniel behind?"

"Many who die leave those they love sooner then they would like. Did she" Death pointed at Ell, who still held Daniels hand "Did she not die young, leaving you, her lover, and he, her son, alone? Leaving you to raise him alone? Did you not die, were you not ripped away from your family sooner then you would have liked, leaving your son and your grandchild? Leaving your son to grieve your loss and the loss of his child alone? Leaving your grandchild to be taken away in secret by strangers?" Death replied, one hand still on the bed, the other on his scythe.

"Please" Bel begged, dropping to her knees "Please"

"I will do what I came hear to do. Nothing else" The reaper replied, reaching down to help her off the floor. "When he dies, I will take him. until then, I will watch" He said, and returned to his vigil over the bed.

[wangxianficrecs]

Rest is Revolution by MarbleGlove

Rest is Revolution

by MarbleGlove

G, Series, 32k, Wangxian & Xuanli

Summary: The Elders of the four Great Sects: Jiang, Nie, Jin, and Lan. (for some definition of "Elder") Sometimes, you just have to know when to stop pushing so hard. Work smarter, not harder, etc.

Kay's comments: Was going through my bookmarks and delighted to find out that there was a sequel to "Elder, an Aesthetic", a story, in which Wei Wuxian decides to get himself declared an elder of the sect post-Sunshot Campaign to solve his problems. He's no longer expected to train the disciples, he can use a walking stick to soothe his aches and he manages to convince everybody that he's not actually young and instead already an elder that should be respected. He manages to use his new position in his favour, gets attendants and saves the Wens without Wen Ning dying. The other works in the series explore other characters deciding that becoming an elder like this is probably not a bad idea: Nie Mingjue learns to ask for help. Jin Zixuan - to his dismay - needs to step up as sect leader Jin early. Lan Wangji learns that only an elder can marry an elder and intends to do something about it. The last part of the series also has some pretty dark Madam Lan backstory in it, which explores dark Madam Lan in a way I haven't seen before.

Excerpt: The next day, he made sure to dress the part. An old fashioned training robe that one of the Elders from his time as a student had worn, still stored away in the laundry storage rooms, which had survived the massacre when the Elder himself had not. The robes included extra layers for padding and warmth that felt so good and comfortable to him too. Then he went out to the training yard where he never went despite all of Jiang Cheng’s commands and pleas, and started training the new disciples the way an Elder trained disciples, not the way a first disciple did. He watched and gave critique and told the best of them to lead the others and when he needed to show an example he did so with his walking stick. About half of them were older than him, some of them old enough to be his father, but he was the one with the old fashioned robes and the walking stick and cultivation affected the appearance of age anyway. They knew who he was, of course. They knew he was Jiang Cheng’s brother, was considered Shijie’s little brother. But they were all so new—so new to Lotus Pier, to new to being disciples of a great sect, so new to living in peace, or at least not living day to day with pitched battles—that they didn’t have the experience to know when something was truly unusual. And whatever else Wei Wuxian was, he was still more knowledgeable and experienced than they were. At the midday meal he started telling them stories that started with "Back in my day," and it felt so good. Good to acknowledge that time from before the Wen came. Good to acknowledge that that time was in the past, never to be truly recreated, but also never to be forgotten.

pov multiple, series, chronic pain, chronic illness, post-sunshot campaign, canon-divergence, fix-it, everybody lives, good sibling jiang cheng, comedy, crack treated seriously, the untamed canon, single parent wei wuxian, bamf jiang yanli, cultivation sect politics, madam lan backstory, dark madam lan, bad person madam lan, the cloud recesses rabbits, wen remnants live, getting together, love confessions, xuanli

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[seekforwarmth]

Annual Writing Self-Evaluation

thanks to @allwaswell16 for tagging me! i enjoyed reading your answers a lot! 1. List of works published this year:

ready for a war

Devoted

fuck around, find out

seven, seven

the embers are new

bet on it

Harmony

Cold Spring

two languages, one love

could start a cult

must be love

don’t let the fire die

2. Work you are most proud of (and why): i’m proud of all of them for different reasons, this is very hard to choose. i’m going to say Harmony bc it was the first time i made a collab with an artist.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why): not necessarily a work but i’m not proud that i couldn’t meet my writing goals set for this year (writing a fic longer than 20k words, finishing a wip i’ve had for three years).

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing: from fuck around, find out

“Everything looks lovely but please, call me Louis. What was your inspiration for the menu, Chef Styles?” Louis asks, beaming. Harry lets out a laugh, refocusing his gaze to the dining area. “I’ll call you Louis if you call me Harry, can we agree on that?” Once he gets a nod of confirmation, he continues. “When Oli mentioned you wanted to retribute to the people working for the movie, and that you wanted it to feel personal, it immediately made me think of the time I arrived in New York. I was a youngster, with no family in the city and only a promise of a job that I wasn’t sure I was talented enough to fulfill,” Harry tells, remembering the nerve-wracking feeling of accepting the sous chef position when he was so young and with not much expertise. “Uh, an old lady by the name of Vittoria welcomed me to her house. She was like a second mother to me, sharing with me not only her home but her culture as well. She came to the States with her parents when she was just a toddler but grew up surrounded by the Italian community. We used to have gatherings every weekend with all her family—and I mean all the family, children, grandchildren, neighbors…I learned a lot from her, from all of them. And I used that as an inspiration for today. You’ll see three courses of my version of some of the food I had the pleasure to share with Vittoria and her family. Just wait until you try the tiramisù…it’s to die for,” he ends with a sigh. When he looks back at Louis, he notices something on his face. Fondness, maybe?

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received: i love getting comments, and there are so many that i keep in my heart that it’s hard to choose. i love especially the ones under my rare pair fics bc it’s when ppl usually tell me that they don’t read rare pairs but they gave it a chance bc of me. it means more than words can express when someone trusts you like that.

6. A time when writing was really, really hard: when i was ill around july and i kept changing and changing my blff prompt. i was very close to drop out bc i thought i wouldn’t make it. fortunately i did and i finished my second fic on time.

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: writing Pedro Pascal surprised me a lot lol like i’ve obviously read Louis/Pedro fics before but i had never entertained the idea of writing one myself and it was a nice surprise. also, writing Louis/OMC wasn’t on my plans either but i welcomed it.

8. How did you grow as a writer this year: i personally don’t see any growth.

9. How do you hope to grow next year: i just hope to finish the ideas that i have. i don’t expect for them to be masterpieces, i just need them to be finished.

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): definitely my friends, the ones that read pairings or tropes they don’t like only bc it’s me writing them, the ones that hype my fics even if they don’t know if the story is good yet, the ones that offer their help and their advice to help me improve.

thank you to Anitra @allwaswell16 for being so supportive all this year, for betaing my works and offering your advice, and for encouraging me to keep going.

thank you to Emma @alltheselights who always reads my fics and leaves gorgeous comments under them, your support means a lot to me.

there’s three fics that wouldn’t exist without Mar @sunbellylou so thank you so much, my love, for being an inspiration to write the filthiest things.

thank you to Kenny @luviebaybie for being the most supportive even when life gets busier and busier. thanks for taking the time to beta for me, i appreciate it a lot!

thank you to Andy @outropeace for inspiring me to write abt Louis and the bodyguard, and for teaching me how to write a smau.

thank you to @linhuine, @smittenwithlouis, @nooradeservedbetter, @lemelous, @punkpillowprincess, @voulezloux, @disgruntledkittenface, @tokyolou, for your constant support and your friendship.

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: fortunately nothing bc i write romantic stories, no sad stories 🤭

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: joining fic fests is not only an opportunity for you to shine, it’s a chance to build community so pls support works from the other authors in the fest, that’s what a fest is about.

also, hide your stats from ao3. there’s a lot of freedom in not knowing if your fic has hits and kudos or if it doesn’t.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: YES! i’m only working on two projects and i’m so excited abt them. the first one it’s a collab between me and @lemelous so expect a lot of gorgeous art, and the second one is a Louis/SebStan wip i couldn’t finish this year.

14. Tag three writers whose answers you’d like to read. ;)@voulezloux, @nooradeservedbetter, @disgruntledkittenface if you haven’t done this already.

*All answers should be about works published in 2023

[vynegar]

marius 3rd birthday card excerpt

happy birthday marius!!! this excerpt includes the (HEARTBREAKING!!) flashback scene as well as a short scene that continued that storyline of the von Hagen family. i really loved this card and i hope you’ll enjoy this excerpt of it too!

disclaimer: this is a fan translation and i am not fluent in chinese, so keep in mind that there will be mistakes. feel free to let me know if you have questions, concerns, or comments.

do not repost without explicit permission. if you want to quote this or reference parts of the translation, credit and link back to me.

check my masterlist for more translations.

timestamps go along with the card video here. it’s not mine, please support the uploader Hikari Sherry Gaming by liking/commenting/subscribing.

Title: Fireflies and Darkness (萤影同归)

Context:

Lately, Marius has been busy at Pax with a project that Giann had been planning before he disappeared. Meanwhile, MC is planning Marius’s birthday celebration and wants to do it the way he would celebrate when he was a child. Marius describes how they would celebrate privately as a family at the von Hagen estate. Also, every year Giann would fill up a room with fireflies, which he said represented their mother celebrating Marius’s birthday. MC suggests they go to von Hagen estate to celebrate his birthday.

At the estate, MC and Marius end up cleaning out a study room. MC finds a box of Marius’s old exams, but among all the scores of 100, a 59 stands out. Giann’s name is signed at the top of the paper [where the parent/guardian is supposed to sign the exam, to show that they’ve seen the score and most likely went over it with their child]. All the answers would be correct though, they’re just off by one question. Marius eventually explains:

[16:23]

Marius smiled as he took the yellowed midterm exam from my hands. Nostalgically, he traced his finger over the unsightly number.

Marius: Before I talk about this exam, let me first tell you a story about a foolish little brother who protected his older brother in a childish way.

MC: ...

Marius: A long time ago, there was a family of a father and two sons. The matriarch of the family passed away when the younger brother was born. As a result, they were especially loving toward this younger brother who had never had a mother, and always reserved the best things for him.

MC: (This story...)

Marius: When the little brother was seven, the father transferred all of the assets left behind by the mother to the boy’s name. This sparked widespread discussion from the outside world, as they believed the marriage between the boy's parents was a dirty transaction. Otherwise, how could they force the mother to give birth to him while she was severely ill? Everyone could see that the young brother was more similar to his father, in both appearance and personality. For a short time, practically everyone believed that the father would leave the role of heir to the younger brother. Even though the younger brother thought that was ridiculous, the rumors still impacted his older brother.

MC: How could that happen...

Marius gently squeezed my hand in reassurance, indicating that I should continue listening to his story.

Marius: The younger brother noticed how much pressure his older brother was under at that time, how he often had sleepless nights. So the boy wanted to disqualify himself from becoming heir. That way, his older brother would be his father's only option.

He looked up and smiled, as if thinking it were funny, but my heart couldn't help but ache. The younger brother in the story was probably Marius himself. He was only seven years old, yet he had to deal with this kind of situation...

MC: So your silly solution was to get the questions wrong on purpose, to make everyone think you were dumb and unqualified to be his heir?

Marius knew that I guessed who the story was about. He smiled and pinched my cheek, nodding.

Marius: Yeah. But my brother was smart enough to catch on immediately.

MC: What did he do when he realized?

Marius: Well, he was angry of course. When we got home, he furiously dragged me into the study to ask me why.

As Marius recounted the story, it was as if I returned to that past along with him...

[flashback]

... and saw the seventeen-year-old older brother drag his seven-year-old younger brother through the long hallway, slam open the door, and "confront" him in the study. The misunderstood boy was forced in front of the table by his still-adolescent older brother, who was holding the exam paper and questioning him.

Giann: Marius, why did you answer the questions wrong on purpose?

Marius: ...

The boy gripped his sleeves and clenched his teeth – silent, as if that could let the incident pass by quietly. In reponse, Giann knelt down so he was eye-level with Marius, then sighed helplessly.

Giann: Marius*, as a child of the von Hagen family, grades have never been the number one priority. But there's a difference between not being gifted at something and getting it wrong on purpose. I know you're smart, and you got all the right answers. Something must have happened to make you do this. Am I right?

Marius: ...

Giann: Tell your big brother why you did this. If you just stay silent, I'll worry.

When Giann was angry, little Marius was able to hold back his tears. But when he was softly comforting him, the boy's tears finally overflowed.

The tears poured out before Marius might have even realized it. He hurriedly wiped them away, but the more he did that, the more the tears came. In that moment, all the fear and worries that he had been enduring during that time burst out.

Marius: I'm sorry, Giann... *sob*... I'm sorry...

Giann: ...

Marius: I made things so hard for you. It's my fault... that they won't let you be heir. I... I don't want those shares, I just want you and Dad... *sob*...

Marius stuttered out the feelings that he had been holding inside the whole time.

Giann: Marius...

Possibly because he had never seen Marius cry so grievously before, Giann hesitated when he reached out to wipe away Marius's tears... Then, he finally gave an aching sigh. Having grown up in the von Hagen family, he quickly guessed what Marius had experienced. And this was only the beginning. In the future, they would encounter more situations like this, which was burden they had to bear. But as long as their family trusted in each other, no rumor could shake the strength of their relationship.

Giann: Marius, Dad actually asked me for my opinion before giving the Pax shares to you.

Marius: You... already knew?

Giann: Yeah. And I agreed.

Marius: But... why?

Giann: Obviously because... my little brother is the best little brother in the world. And… you've never had Mom to take care of you. The funds used to establish Pax Capital** all came from Mom. So transferring the shares to you was probably Dad's way of making up for Mom not being there to protect you.

Giann thought that his words would make Marius stop crying, but didn't realize that it would make him sob even harder.

Giann: Huh? W-why... why are you crying even harder now...? Marius... Don't cry... Is it because I was mad at you earlier? Hey, I was just pretending, how could I actually be mad at you...

Seeing his brother's self-reproach, Marius shook his head while wiping his tears.

Marius: I've... always felt like I was the one who killed Mom. Because of me, Dad was misunderstood, and you've had such a hard time. It's all my fault... Giann, should I have never been born?

Marius gazed tearfully at his brother as he spoke his greatest fear aloud. His young mind didn't even know what answer he wanted to hear, but his doubts over his life had made him unable to endure it any longer.

[END PART TWO]

[PART THREE]

[22:29] Study

Giann pulled Marius into a hug. The boy's small body shook uncontrollably as he sobbed in his brother's arms.

Giann: What kind of a silly idea is that? You have no idea how much Mom was looking forward to you back then. She even made me promise that no matter what happened in the future, I would always protect you, so that you could grow up happy and healthy.

Marius: R-really?

Marius sniffled, like he still had his doubts. After all, the role of "Mom" had always been empty in his life. Giann, understanding how his brother felt, let go of Marius, turned and gripped Marius by the shoulders, then nodded his head seriously.

Giann: Yes, really. Do you remember the fireflies that are there for your birthday every year?

Marius: ...Yeah...

Giann: That was Mom's idea.

Marius: Why?

Giann: She said that if you can see the fireflies, then that was her celebrating your birthday.

Marius: ...

Giann: So Marius , you don't need to blame yourself. You're my precious little brother. No matter what happens, your big brother will do everything he can to protect you. Got it?

Marius: Got it.

[end flashback]

Marius: My brother always kept his promise to our mother to protect me. Even if he was pressured or wronged, he would always prioritize me.

The memory of the exam paper reminded Marius of Giann's disappearance and the stalled project. No matter how well he hid it, I could still sense his worry and disappointment. I hugged him gently. He stiffened for a moment, then patted my back like nothing had happened.

Marius: You don't need to feel bad for me. Yes, there were things I didn’t have before I met you, but I was well protected too. In a way, I really did grow up happy and healthy like my mother wanted. That's how I became the excellent person that you met.

MC: Yes, thank you for becoming so excellent.

[…]

[jump to 36:01, at the von Hagen Estate]

As for the remaining time, I shifted my focus to preparing for Marius's birthday. Everything was pretty much ready, and all that remained was the last step: the devices for attracting fireflies. I found many methods online that were simple and harmless for the fireflies, but...

MC: (Where do I go to find fireflies? Maybe I should ask Mr. Payton. After all, he's familiar with the von Hagen Estate.)

Just as I was about to look for Mr. Payton, I saw him return from the garden.

MC: Mr. Payton, you're back! I happen to have something to ask you.

Payton: By all means, what can I help you with?

MC: Do you still remember when Marius was a kid, how every year there would be fireflies on his birthday?

Payton: The fireflies? Yes, I remember. Those were a surprise that Master Giann would prepare for Master Marius.

MC: Do you know where the fireflies were from?

Payton: They live in the small forest behind the von Hagen Estate.

MC: Whoa, they're that close?

I had a feeling that the fireflies wouldn't be too far away, but I didn't think they'd be right at von Hagen estate.

Payton: It’s because those fireflies were all personally raised by Sir and Master Giann. Back then, Sir put quite a bit of effort into hiding it from Master Marius.

MC: So you mean, Uncle Austin knows about that story too?

Payton: Yes. When his mother departed, Master Giann was still just a child. He couldn't have done all of that by himself.

It turned out that everyone had put in so much work in order to protect Marius. However, growing up in such a loving environment was what allowed him to become who he was today.

MC: Are those fireflies still there?

Payton: They are. This ritual has been on pause ever since Master Marius left to study abroad, but Sir and Master Giann still work hard every year to maintain the forest and ensure the fireflies can survive.

MC: ...

Mr. Payton's words made me realize that it had been a long time since Marius celebrated his birthday at home. He went abroad at a young age, leaving his home to pursue the path of an artist, and then returned to bear his responsibilities when his brother disappeared... He was forced to grow up from a doted-on young master to an independent acting CEO. He protected his family members in his own way, but always forgot to protect himself.

Well, I could protect him.

MC: Mr. Payton, I want to recreate this birthday ritual. Could you help me?

Payton: Of course.

 * Translation note: Giann uses 小和, which is a way of making a nickname out of Marius’s name. I originally had it as “Mar” but changed it for consistency with “Will of the Trees” SSR.

** Pax Capital is Pax’s investment firm. We actually already knew that it was their mother’s legacy; this was the branch of Pax that we saw right at the end of chapter one (1-17), when Marius (still without a full face and name) chewed out the managers for investing in a shady business with his mother’s legacy. So with this card, it seems like our first glimpse of Marius was of him protecting the first piece of Pax that he ever got.

[pebblewritesj]

Pretty Hippie

George met a girl once.

The last they saw each other, they had a one night stand and spent the whole week together, until one day she had to leave. Years later, she finally gets to him again. Though things have changed, their hearts are still in the same place.

An excerpt from my upcoming story, 'Norwegian Wood', where a roadie, Courtney Lindsay, meets The Beatles while working for The Rolling Stones on tour. She and George Harrison hit it off, quickly finding themselves closer than most.

——

"You're back.”

George stared in awe at the woman who stood before him at the front door, watching with wide eyes was she smiled and nodded, "I am." she confirmed.

She wore a pretty long sundress, one he hadn't seen before, the shoes she was wearing made her taller but he couldn't see them due to the length of the dress. She looked the same as when they last saw each other, there was only little things different about her. New freckles on her face that hadn't been there before, maybe she'd been spending some time out in the sun. God knew what she was doing these days.

He stared for a moment longer before finally lunging towards her, pulling her into a tight embrace, "You're really back, I thought I'd never see you again." he said, his voice horse.

Courtney laughed, returning the gesture as he swayed their bodies left and right, finally pulling back and inviting her in, moving to the side, "Come in." he nodded.

She smiled and walked inside, he closed the door and followed her to the living room, "What have you been doing?" he asked, sitting down on the couch next to her as she looked around the new environment. He stared at her from behind, looking over the open back of her dress, she'd cut her hair.

"Aren't you gonna ask how I found you?" She asked, he laughed and nodded, "I guess that would be the better question."

She laughed, "The papers tell a lot these days." she said, George nodding, "I know, it's scary."

A second of silence passed before George continued, "Do you want anything? I could get you a cuppa, I--"

She interrupted him, shaking her head, "No, I'm fine."

He chuckled, laying back in his seat and taking a moment to process things. It was really her. It must've been three years, maybe longer, but he still remembered everything like it was yesterday.

"It's good you came today, I leave on tour in a few days." He said, his voice cracking several times as he spoke. Courtney's eyebrows furrowed, "Are you ill?" she asked, George thinking before nodding in response.

"Laryngitis." He said, she nodded, "I've had that before, hurts like hell."

He nodded in agreement, "Hurts even worse when you have to make a whole album with it, and then the critics talk about how you sounded like some sort of smoking priest."

Courtney laughed, "I thought you did very well. I didn't think it was too preachy, did they?"

He shook his head, "It's all they talked about, they hate that sort of talk." he waved off with a shrug, "I don't care, really."

Courtney nodded, "They're all talk, they wouldn't be able to do any of the things you have." she said, George pursing his lips and looking away as he listened to her words, her voice was so nice to hear after so long.

"I feel like it's been so long since I last saw you." Courtney said, breaking the silence. George pursed his lips, "It has, far too long. Longer than you said it'd be." He said, the last few words having a certain bitterness to them.

"Things came up." She said, avoiding eye contact with him out of pure shame. He continued to watch her, trying to read her mind, figure out what was bothering her other than the obvious guilt tapping at her brain. He wondered how many events in each others life they must've missed, if he knew how differently he was living compared to the last time they saw each other.

"Things came up? Do you know how many times I tried to call? How many times I tried to find you?" He said, shaking his head with a face of disbelief, "It's hard to be angry, too. It's like now that you're here, everything's just like it was years go."

She chuckled dryly, "Well it's not, and yes, things came up." she paused, leaning closer to him, "It'll never be the same. You'd never even begin to guess the things I've been through since then.”

George looked over her expression, his eyes looking over every part of her. She felt vulnerable under his gaze, though she looked at him just the same as she sat back in her spot, "You're brave, coming here. You know Pattie doesn't like you." he told her, she shrugged, "I don't care."

"You know I hate when you two talk, as well." he said, leaning his head forward as she nodded, "I don't care if she calls me ugly, Geo, I care that it's her man that I'm after. That's not something I'm proud of. It is ugly."

She was taken aback when he began to chuckle, shaking his head, "She's been going off with some other man. She can't say anything about it anymore."

He watched as Courtney's eyes widened, "Who?" she asked, he shrugged, "I've been having suspicions of Clapton for about a year now."

He couldn't help but chuckle as her eyes got even wider, "Holy shit, you're joking." she said, watching as he shook his head, "Don't go spreading that around." he told her. She shook her head, facial expression still the same as she put her hand over her heart, "I would never, I know better, but you're being serious? You're not playing me?"

George shook his head again, "I don't play around like this, Court, you know that."

Courtney sat still before adjusting her position, "Christ, meanwhile you're going out with some old nobody. How's it feel?"

He laughed, shaking his head, "That's not how I feel, it feels more Dylan and Sedgwick to me." he said, watching as she laughed and shook her head, "I'm no Edie, I wish I looked like her."

He rolled his eyes at her words, "You're beautiful, always have been, since the first time I saw you I thought you were one of the most beautiful girls I'd ever seen." he praised. She pursed her lips, looking away as her face turned a deep shade of red.

"I never did like cliches, you know." She said, he nodded, holding eye contact as she finally looked back at him.

He nodded, "I know. That's what I love about you, you're so simple, but so complicated. I still haven't got you figured out." he said, inching closer to her as he adjusted his position next to her, "A simple way to put it; I can never figure out what the hell is wrong with you." he chuckled, she laughed along with him.

"You look so good." She said, looking over his faced after a bit of silence had passed, "The mustache really suits you. The hair, too." she observed, the man trying to overcome his common nerves as she looked over his features.

"You too, though you haven't changed at all. Only your hair got shorter." He observed, bravely moving his left hand behind her band to feel at the ends of her hair. She blushed, nodding, she could feel the cold of his wedding ring brush against her back, "I had to cut it. People don't like hippies anymore, they just call you dirty.”

He chuckled, "You were such a pretty hippie." he said, moving his hand back to his side as she snickered along with him.

"You are a pretty hippie." She laughed, putting emphasis on 'are'.

The two laughed together on the sofa, going silent for a bit, "Do you still like me?" Courtney asked, "Like, as a person."

He sat in silence, his lips parting as he looked down at the glistening wedding ring on his fingers. She followed his gaze, taking his hand to observe the band, "It's pretty, you know. I've never really looked at it before."

"I could take a guess as to why. Are you trying to make yourself feel better? It doesn't make me feel better." He said, she shook her head, "No, I'll never feel good about it. I just want to know if you still like me, Geo."

He shook his head, "Of course I still like you. I love you, remember?" he said, his words quiet but clear. The two sat back on the couch, slowly realizing amidst the silence just how close they were to one another.

That's when she kissed him.

George immediately kissed back, running his hands through her hair and pulling her closer. She did the same, he let out an involuntary groan as she tugged at his hair, she chuckled through the kiss. He took his right hand out of her hair, moving it to her back, before finally pulling away for air.

"Go lock the front door."

***

[renawriter]

Green (Short Story Excerpt)

The end of the world happened slowly; as most things do. The plants began to disappear—one by one becoming extinct—too gradually for the general public to take seriously. When they did notice, humanity shrugged it off as the natural cycle of things.

And then it was the animals. That was harder to ignore.

It was the pollinators first, of course. Without their help, much of the flora could not proliferate as they once had. The lack of sunlight, of fertile soil, of bees or butterflies or hummingbirds were the beginnings of the end. Grassy meadows became barren deserts and lush forests became wasteland littered with twigs and branches—the corpses of once-mighty trees. Green became a lost color.

There weren’t many humans left when Zoe found hope and began her journey. The last human interaction she had was years ago to a man dying of smoke sickness; a common story for the few still alive. The ever-smoking towers brought industry, jobs, prosperity for a while…before they brought illness and death.

Over time, the smog and ash the towers spewed blocked out the sun, displaced the air, and changed the color of the world. Those who inhaled too much of the toxic fumes died slow deaths. Many grew up breathing it, assured by charismatic politicians that it was not harmful. They didn’t want to see past the lies; humans were an optimistic species after all.

Zoe walked past one of the many ever-smoking towers—still spewing death into the air—and took a moment to gaze at the darkened sky. She wondered what the sun might have looked like; what it still might look like hiding behind that veil of black and gray. There were stories, of course, but she liked to imagine that the sun was green.

With one hand, she adjusted the breather that sat over her nose and mouth, clutching a small egg-shaped container in the other before continuing her stroll, stopping at at a flickering metal box that matched her in height. An oxygen vending machine.

She had stopped by every O vendor she had come across in her years-long journey. Air was something she could not afford to let run low. Her expedition was a long one and she didn’t even have a notion of when it would end. It was better to refill her breather as often as possible before there would be nothing left; when soon—she assumed—there would be a large stretch where there would be no more O vendors to provide breathable air. She didn’t know when or where, but she knew it was inevitable. There were only so many O vendors that could have been put up before the smoke sickness claimed too many lives to justify the expense and many were already running low on supply.

She inserted a plastic card into the machine and fresh air was pumped into her mask. She breathed it in appreciatively, taking in the slight chemical smell of the original container and wondered what air from plants smelled like as she crossed empty streets and passed more ever-smoking towers.

Her destination was far but she was almost there; or so she hoped. Just a little farther, she kept telling herself, repeating it every so often. Her personal mantra.

She held the little container close to her, afraid that she might lose it; that it might slip and tumble down somewhere she could never hope to reach; that it might wither before she got to the one place in the world the sun was said to touch. The Sunpatch she had been seeking since she had found the egg-shaped thing—her hope—that she carried with her.

She had walked for so long with no direction save for the little information she had managed to gather after so much research on the Sunpatch. Much of it were rumors that lead to dead ends, others were educated guesses when information was obviously incomplete. She hoped to the hidden sun that the one she followed now wasn’t another dead end. It was her last lead and she was so old and so tired.

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

You can read the rest on my site: HERE

[tragicallyuncreative]

Chapter 5 Excerpt + Little Author's Note/ Ramble!

Two-Bit moved closer and reached into the gift bag. “Got somethin’ for ya, man.” He tossed the stuffed horse to him, clearly expecting him to catch it. I snagged it midair, knowing he didn’t have the coordination to, and handed it to him. He just stared at it, perplexed. 

“A pony for the Ponykid!” Two-Bit teased, winking at him. 

Ponyboy tried to scowl but failed miserably. “You’re ridiculous. But he’s real soft.” He ran a hand over the velvety fur. “I’m namin’ him Newman.” 

Steve scoffed. “Like Paul Newman? What kind of a name is that?” 

“Well, it’s my horse so I can name it whatever the fuck I want!” He said it so gleefully that Darry couldn’t even scold him, he was laughing too hard. 

The next half hour was spent with Ponyboy cheerfully chattering on about nothing and everything, from the book he was reading to his track buddy who’d just been dumped by his long-term girlfriend to his take on current events and politics. I was relieved he was so drugged up that he clearly not only couldn’t feel any pain, but was happy and keeping the atmosphere light without even trying. He finally got to drink the water he’d asked for so urgently, then promptly scowled and asked for a Pepsi instead. Dallas, who had ducked in and out, looking more and more uneasy, gratefully ventured to get one for him. He cracked the cap for Pony on return and smacked him on the back of the head lightly. “I’m sorry, Pone,” I heard him mutter as he bent down to hand it to him. “You’re one tough kid.”

-At The End Of The Road, Chapter 5

✨Just wanted to be sappy for a minute and profusely thank everyone for all the love chapter 5 has received so far. This is so much more than a story to me, and its intention is so much more than to write what would be considered a typical “Sickfic” for entertainment. Certainly not knocking anyone’s stories, but personally for my writing I’ve never wanted to give the blanket label of “Sickfic”/ a plotless story making a character suffer for the sake of entertainment (again, no hate- I love me a good plotless story!). The dynamics of people’s thoughts, relationships, and outlooks on life change drastically when someone is seriously ill, particularly a child, and The Curtis brothers have always fascinated me with their relationship and I wanted to explore my take on how it could evolve. I have so many other plots and storylines that don’t center around his illness at all, but don’t know how to make full length stories or one-shots out of them. So, this story certainly will have so much going on plot wise outside of this main storyline and I’m so looking forward to exploring it. I get such a sense of comfort writing and continuing to world-build for The Outsiders universe and deviate from the devestating canon plot (thanks S. E.)- no Johnny and Dallas dying today! Or ever 🤣

I tend to ramble incoherently but again, very happy people are learning from my works. The majority is info that I know/ have seen in my experience that I research to verify. I love explaining things in simple terms (hence me writing the medical glossary myself because pasting a bunch of wordy definitions would confuse people more). I’m so happy hearing from other peds healthcare workers/ people in the field, as well as people interested in healthcare who say they learn from my story. That is my #1 intention with this and truly so delighted every time people tell me this. Will be getting around to answering all reviews/ messages next week, just wanted to express my gratitude!! I never thought that an inaccurate little fanfic my young teenage self started would become such an important hobby and way to share my professional knowledge 12 years later and am truly grateful for those who encouraged me to pick it back up. Stay Gold, friends 😘🌇

[heresmyfiddlestick]

and here are some other bits of interest {{esquivalience}}, from your resident linguist

Solresol is a constructed language, devised by Francois Sudre in the early 19th century (and published in a slightly altered way by a different guy in the 20th); you'd be hard pressed to call it a dead or endangered language because it has never had native speakers. it's based on a principle that was popular with language-makers at the time, which was to categorise concepts analytically, represented by a sequence of musical notes: eg words beginning with the note sol refer to artistic concepts, unless they have a repeated syllable in them, in which case they refer to illness

Linear D is not something that exists for real, but is a reference to extant writing systems found in early Cretan archaeological sites, Linear A and Linear B (there is also a proposed Linear C, descendant of Linear A). As of this writing, Linear B has been deciphered and connected to the Mycenean Greek language, but Linear A has not been firmly deciphered. This fits with The Book of the Linear D being incomplete.

Wrendiar Ply's language is unclear, but of course Wrendiar Ply was first mentioned in the fan audio Re-Mind of the Hodiac (2022), directed by Cowan, which is a re-adaptation of RTD's story that Big Finish adapted into The Mind of the Hodiac (2022), a 6/Mel story. Re-Mind features 13 re-telling the story to the fam, as well as an old lady telling her granddaughter a story, which infiltrates the TARDIS. The Doctor's personal narrative is unwritten and overwritten. Telling and re-telling, narrative as a narrative force.

"domhantarraingt" is genuinely just the Irish word for "gravity" with no alteration. Whereas the other "mavity" words from English, French, and Italian all have the m-anomaly, Irish hasn't been affected.

Post-technoweb Krulvan is subject to "the dot-and-bubble effect" where phrases have been abbreviated to the point of obscurity. the KLA examples "Kal'at lur amoi" and "Kal'ati Lepr'en Acrumpsal" are obscure, but...

"D'Arvit", an expletive in "another language" is a reference to Artemis Fowl, where it's ostensibly the Gnommish word for some extreme expletive. the Artemis Fowl wiki tells me there's a theory that it comes from Irish "Dh'ábhoit", which Google Translate tells me is Irish for "it happened" (as in "shit happens" haha)

"Bleno" is obscure

English (18th to 25th Century) is, I admit, a bit of a weird way to delineate the history of English, but I guess you could consider 18th C to be the start of "modern" as opposed to "early modern" English. Regardless, what is interesting about the reference to English in {{esquivalience}} is that the last bit of "The Movement" before the "Postlude" is an excerpt from The Book of English (fourth to fifth billionth century), which is certainly an odd way to delineate the history of English, considering the earlier theory of Old English's beginning as a distinct language from the earlier Germanic languages puts it around 450 CE, and that language looks nothing like the one I'm writing in now. So that is an interesting effect of The Unravel, or of ______'s usurping the previous Head D.C., stretching English out to span billions of centuries, unchanging. Removing its history?

quipu are knotted strings that represent linguistic data, made by the Inca. as far as i know, most of them are for keeping track of stores and quantities of things rather than like, telling stories. but it's literally a language of rope!

[dross-the-fish]

Trying to upload this again. While I wait for an invite for Ao3 so I can start posting the fic here’s an excerpt from the first chapter of my crossover au ...

It was a chilly autumn afternoon when Doctor John Watson heard a knock at his door. Three hesitant taps, followed by a long pause and two firmer knocks. He knew the latter meant that whoever it was, their trouble was urgent, enough so that it was unlikely they’d simply leave if he didn’t answer. With a deep sigh he put down his badly crumpled newspaper, nearly three months old and worried almost to tearing by anxious hands, yet still unread save for the blaring headline:

“STRING OF GRUSOME MURDERS IN SMALL VILLIAGE. SHERLOCK HOLMES INVESTIGATING CLAIMS OF VAMPIRISM AND OCCULT ACTIVITY IN KENT.“

Smoothing down his thinning hair and shaking a wrinkle from his dressing gown in an effort to look presentable, Watson prepared himself to deliver a speech he’d already given more times than he could count. No, Sherlock Holmes is not here. No we are not taking further cases.  No I don’t know when he’ll be back I’m sorry but you’ll have to enlist help elsewhere.

The words never made it out of his mouth, as he opened the door he saw before him two young men who barely looked into their twenties. One, a pleasant-faced stocky man with round glasses and dark curls and the other, a thin, willowy fellow with deep circles under his eyes and the most harrowed look Watson had ever seen on another human being. It was the lean man who piqued his interest for Watson recognized the tell tale signs of an individual broken down by a long strain of illness. Perhaps it wasn’t a detective they were looking for at all…perhaps it was simply the aid of a doctor they needed.

The bespectacled young man spoke first, “Are you Dr. Watson?” he asked hopefully.

“I am. What can I do for you two? Is your friend ill?” Watson asked, already leaning forward to get a closer look. The thin man leaned away; his eyes fixed to the ground as though he were silently asking the earth to swallow him up.

“Yes, he is… it’s a long story,” the stocky boy held out his hand for Watson to shake, “My name is Quincey Harker and this is my friend, Lawrence Talbot.”

“Lawrence Talbot? I see, I’m sorry about your parents. I read about them in the newspaper, horrible tragedy. I hear they haven’t found the killer yet” Watson said, his heart sinking as Lawrence’s face crumpled. He hated to turn away a grieving young man, but without Holmes there was little chance of success and Watson was no longer young or brash enough to take on his own cases without his partner. The kindest thing would be to turn them away now rather than drag out the rejection, “You’ll have to forgive me. Detective Holmes hasn’t returned and I don’t know when he will, I’m afraid I’m no use to you. There is a chap who lives not far from here who might be able to help you. Little fellow, Belgian and a bit of a fusspot but I hear he’s very successful. You ought to try him.”

Lawrence’s friend, Quincey, shook his head, “No good, he wouldn’t take our case. He refused to entertain any consideration of the…supernatural nature of our problem. Listen, Doctor, we know Sherlock Holmes is still missing and, contrary to what you believe, we’re not looking for the, erm, person who killed Larry’s parents.”

The corners of Watson’s mustache dropped in tandem with his thick eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise, “You’re not? What are you looking for then?”

“A cure for lycanthropy,” Larry blurted and Watson winced at the weak, raspy sound of a voice strained by frequent harsh sobbing.

“Lycanthropy,” Watson’s frown deepened as he slowly repeated the word, “Surely, I don’t look like some superstitious backwater hag? I am a medical doctor; I do not deal in curses and witchcraft. I’m sorry for your loss, boys, but I have my own matters to attend to and no time for chasing after werewolves. Good day!” before he could close the door Quincey stuck his foot across the threshold.

“We can prove it!” he insisted, “If you’ll just wait until nightfall, we can prove we’re telling the truth. Just come back with us to Talbot manor and see for yourself.”

“Even if I did,” Watson rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation, “What do you expect that I could even do if he really is a werewolf?”

Quincey dug around in his coat and, after a moment of frantic rummaging, produced a battered, plain, leatherbound journal. He shoved the volume into Watson’s hands with such enthusiasm that he nearly dropped it.

“We’re hoping you can find someone for us…someone who may be able to create a cure. Please, Doctor, we’re out of options! You’re the only hope we have left.”

Watson knew the moment he took the journal in hand that he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He knew it was a terrible idea to get involved in a case this bizarre without Holmes. He also knew, the minute he cracked open the journal and read the steadily more frantic and messy entries, that this was the kind of case that Sherlock would have jumped into feet first and though more tempered in nature than his partner, John Watson was no more immune to the allure of the strange and mysterious. As he skimmed the pages with increasing interest a particular passage caught his eye…

“…I had learned to dwell with pleasure as a beloved daydream on the thought of the separation of these elements. If each I told myself could be housed in separate identities life would be relieved of all that was unbearable the unjust might go his way delivered from the aspirations and remorse of his more upright twin and the just could walk steadfastly and securely on his upward path doing the good things in which he found his pleasure and no longer exposed to disgrace and penitence by the hands of this extraneous evil…”

“I’ve heard of this case; Dr. Henry Jekyll took his own life following some kind of failed experiment?” Watson asked, finding himself eager to know how this could possibly connect to Lawrence’s alleged werewolfism.

“Supposedly he did, but there was no body and no one has any idea where he’s buried. Larry and I think he may have faked his death. In any case, he managed to develop a serum that can separate man’s evil nature from it’s good and we’re hoping, if he can be found, he can find a way to separate the man from the beast in Larry,” Quincey gave Watson a pleading look, “It’s a long shot and I know all of this sounds very strange but please! We need help and we don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

Watson couldn’t help himself but to be moved to pity, though he was still skeptical. It was obvious that both young men were desperate and the Talbot boy in particular, clearly needed some kind of help. Against his better judgement he tentatively offered: “Alright, I’ll go with you tonight and see this werewolf transformation with my own eyes. If you’re telling me the truth we’ll discuss more about tracking down this Jekyll fellow.”

Quincey whooped and grabbed Lawrence in a full-bodied hug, “Do you hear that, Lar? He said ‘yes’! What’d I tell you? That cure’s as good as found!”

Larry gave him a strained smile and patted his back, “Tone it down, Quin, he hasn’t taken the case yet,” he disentangled his long limbs from Quincey’s grip.

“But he will! He just needs to see that were telling the truth and he will! Won’t you Dr. Watson?”

Watson wasn’t eager to make promises but something about this case was drawing him in. With all the rumors of occult activities cropping up he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some connection between this matter of the werewolf and the claims of a killer vampire that Holmes had been pursuing. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to the world than either of them had anticipated. He could practically hear Sherlock’s voice in his ear, encouraging him: Come on, Watson. Be bold! You were born to be a man of action. Your instinct is always to do something energetic, seize the moment.

“If Mr. Talbot really is, as you say, a lycanthrope, then I will take the case. We may not have the benefit of my partner’s genius but I will give you my best efforts and with luck they will prove fruitful. Allow me a few moments to make myself presentable and I’ll accompany you back to the Talbot estate.”

[delta-queerdrant]

in a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways (Cold Fire, s2 e10)

Around the time I watched “Cold Fire,” I read an excerpt from poet Maggie Smith’s memoir, which chronicled how, as a writer and primary caregiver to her kids, she found professional success incompatible with the survival of her marriage. “Please don’t,” she tells a friend who wants to send Smith's husband a picture of the line at her book signing. “It’ll just make everything worse.”

The piece made me so sad, the same sadness I feel every time I’m reminded that our culture is terrified of powerful women. We see this in our popular culture, with its recurring tropes of ungovernable female villains, and perhaps more insidiously, female heroes whose own power is their greatest threat. Men and boys are tasked to defeat external obstacles, but women are always struggling against ourselves. 

“Cold Fire” simultaneously evokes and dodges these themes of dangerous female power in a way that feels very squishy and contradictory. Kes gains access to “dark” Ocampan powers and has to overcome them, but the episode makes the empathetic choice to portray her journey as universal rather than as evidence of a personal failing. “Do not fear your negative thoughts,” Tuvok, Zen master, tells her in the final scene. “They are part of you. They are part of every living being, even Vulcans.” Even Neelix is on board with her self-discovery, earning a stamp in his underutilized “good boyfriend” passport for being genuinely excited about her personal growth.

As the episode opens, Tuvok is leading Kes through a frankly creepy telepathy session (aren’t there mindreading ethics?), when Voyager stumbles on a Caretaker-like array populated by Ocampa. Kes gets to play diplomat to the colony, a fun expansion of her skillset.

Suspiria, the female Caretaker, reinforces the “lawful male / chaotic female” vibe of the episode - while the Caretaker we’re familiar with played divine patriarch to Kes’s people, Suspiria has settled the Ocampa in her own array and gifted them with psionic powers. The whereabouts of the second Caretaker has been one of the chief ongoing mysteries of the show, but Suspiria is frankly very boring - a vengeful, irrational goddess who takes form as a little girl. (Star Trek seems to have a penchant for “tiny blond girls as otherworldly aliens.”) The episode closes with her return being teased, but of course we never see her again.

Under the tutelage of Tanis, who serves as emissary of Suspiria’s tower of Babel, Kes nearly kills Tuvok with her developing psychic powers. Soon after, she nukes the contents of the airponics bay and, doing so, discovers the joy of wielding death and destruction. This is where the episode veers into silliness for me. Jennifer Lien is a great actor, but I can’t buy her performance, because the script doesn't feel, to me, rooted in character.

Parables about power often make this mistake: “it’s intoxicating!” “It’s like a drug!” But people chase power (and intoxication) for extremely personal reasons. Kes is a character driven by intellectual curiosity, and while she’s totally capable of leaving her friends behind for a sufficiently compelling adventure, I can’t see her being tempted to align herself with an amoral weirdo like Tanis. If people are going to write stories about dangerous women, they should at least take a moment to ask why a woman might want to be dangerous.

Happily, Kes doesn’t have to give up her powers; she uses them to save the day and resolves to find balance under Tuvok’s guidance. But I’m not sure this show ever finds the plot when it comes to Kes’s abilities and what they mean to her. At the end of the day, it’s just kinda an incoherent mess. 

2.5/5 dark impulses.