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redchestnut · 3 years ago

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We can be Heroes (just for one day)

Summary:

At the end of the 1960s, the resistance took to the streets of Paradis demanding justice and the fall of the wall Maria.

Loving is a revolutionary act.

AO3 link here

TW: Police Brutality/Gun Violence

(I'm an idiot and completely forgot that it was supposed to be fluff until I was almost finished writing it. The ending is happy though, I promise.)

Written for Levihan Drabble Week (@levihan-drabbles).

Prompt: "Don't you have a country to run?" "My favorite person is in the hospital, the country can wait" "I don't think it works like that." "I run the country, so it does."

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“I can remember

Standing by the wall

And the guns shot above our heads

And we kissed as though nothing could fall”

David Bowie - Heroes

"Don't you have a country to run?"

"My favorite person is in the hospital, the country can wait," replied the man, stubbing out his cigarette and standing from his elegant desk.

"I don't think it works like that," she replied. Her biting tone could barely hide the jealousy that she knew she couldn't feel.

"I run the country, so it does," he spat as he pulled on his jacket.

The woman stopped looking at him and went to the window that covered an entire wall of the large office. “The resistance is gathering strength, Goldwick. The international gaze is on you," she insisted.

"The resistance is nothing more than a bunch of idealists who do not know their place in society and would rather be starving, like the parasites on the other side. And the international union is a joke. They will not get involved unless it suits them." The man paused before opening the door. "And Catt," he called out to her, causing her to turn around, "don't forget that you are only my assistant, not my advisor. You do your job. The police will take care of the radicals. And I'm going to meet my newborn son." The man left slamming the door and leaving her alone. On the other side of the window, the landscape of the Shiganshina square was invaded by smoke. Despite not being able to hear anything, she could imagine the sound of screams of the protest and police sirens. In the background, the wall was imposing. Catt knew it was nothing more than a symbol: the barrier that would prevent ideas from the other side of the world from reaching here. The barrier that would protect the supposed freedom of Paradis from the enemy.

* * *

“We’re born free. All of us. Free. Some don’t believe it, some try to take it away. To hell with them!” The surrounding crowd cheered and shouted.

"Isn't he too young? All of them?" Hange asked Erwin next to her, as they watched Eren who was still speaking through the megaphone. “If they are friends with Levi's cousin, that means none of them have finished school yet.”

"You're right. They are young. But that doesn't mean they don't realize the truth."

"I agree, Erwin, but it's still dangerous. You know the police won't care if they catch them."

Before Erwin could respond, Levi appeared at their side. "The pigs are one block away. They have us surrounded." He said catching his breath.

"But we are hundreds of thousands, what are they planning to do?" Hange asked, annoyance beginning to appear in her voice.

"We will stay." Erwin said without looking at them, making Levi and Hange turn to see him. "We will stay here and wait for what they do. We're both hoping for the same thing. To settle it here once and for all." Levi and Hange looked at each other. Erwin had been the leader of the university movement from the beginning. They both trusted his judgment.

"I'll see if I can find Moblit on the next corner. Maybe we can put up a barricade. Slow down their advance." Hange said, before pushing her way through the crowd. She had barely advanced a few feet when she felt a grip on her arm. She turned around.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Levi asked her without letting go of her arm. Her heart melted. "I promise you, Levi. You too. Don't let them catch you. Okay?" He just nodded once and let her go.

Hange was studying medicine, yet she was mobilized by social justice. This is how she ended up in one of the meetings that Erwin, a senior history student, secretly organized each week.

In the months after, and with the constant arrival of new young people interested in the events and reality of Paradis, Erwin convinced Levi, a young man from the poorest neighborhoods of the capital, to join the movement. Their relationship had been strange from the moment Erwin introduced them. But just like the revolution, the emotions between Levi and Hange exploded suddenly and without warning. In the walks home after the meetings. The quick kisses while they stuck pamphlets on the walls in the dark. The nights of wine and forbidden records that made them forget their reality for a couple of hours. However, no bottle of wine or record lasts forever. They soon discovered that there was no room for relationships and love in the midst of the people's struggle and pain, so they decided to put down their little personal revolution.

The other corner of the big Shiganshina Square was much more crowded than the one next to the wall. Hange searched all directions for the image of her friend and classmate but he was nowhere to be found. She screamed his name, but her voice was lost among the people's chants of "bring down the wall" and the sound of clubs being struck against the shields of the police. It was a warning: chaos would start soon. She could feel it in the air.

"Hange!" Someone pushed her to the ground just before hearing a deafening noise. She turned around and found Moblit's panicked face staring behind her. Someone had thrown a Molotov cocktail just a few feet from her. The police had reacted quickly and were now running into their direction. "Shit. It's already started." Moblit took her hand and started running in the opposite direction.

* * *

Levi froze. The sound of the explosion came from where Hange was supposed to be.

"I should probably get over-there-" the blurry image of something flying past him cut him off immediately. He turned quickly to meet Zeke's gaze across the street. Despite his helmet, he could perfectly identify his hideous beard. In his hands, a riot gun.

"Isn't that your brother? When were you going to tell us he was a cop?" he heard one of his cousin's friends screaming.

"Half-brother," he heard Eren reply. The anger evident in his voice.

"Ah well, my mistake. That doesn't change that he's shooting at us!"

The discussion stopped immediately. A smoke bomb fell just a few meters from them. The crowd started running scared in different directions. Some groups advanced to the front, determined to fight the police, including Eren.

"Mikasa!" Levi screamed as he watched her run after the brat. Another bomb fell near them. This time it was tear gas. Levi started coughing. "Mikasa, come here! Shit" His throat itched so much that it was difficult for him to breathe. The smoke from the previous bomb had mixed with the smoke from the barricades and it was difficult to see around. Everywhere people ran.

"I'll go with them, Levi." Erwin suddenly appeared beside him, his mouth covered by a cloth.

"Fine, but if the police catch them, you go with them too. Forget being the hero of the rebellion."

"I leave that role to you" Erwin replied, uncovering his face only to reveal a small smile. “Go find Hange!”

"Tsk," Levi complained as he watched Erwin climb onto a bench and start haranguing people about devoting their hearts to the cause and resisting. It worked, anyway. More and more people covered their faces and ran to confront the police with rocks and whatever they found at hand.

Levi took the cravat around his neck and covered his mouth. The crowds and chaos in the center of Shiganshina square forced him to advance along the side of the wall. Where the hell is she? The anxiety in his chest made him speed up until he was almost running. His heart was pounding. The sound of gunfire came from the other corner of the square. Fuck . Now he was running.

And between the panic, the worry for his cousin and his friend, the uncertainty of the future, the danger of the situation, the pain in his muscles and the adrenaline, he thought of her eyes.

And he thought of her hair and her hands and her lips.

And he realized that he had never told her that he loved her.

And he realized that they might never get justice despite fighting their whole life. That perhaps the dictator could never be defeated. Perhaps the system was like that. That maybe the poor would always be poor. And that life was cruel.

And he realized that somehow he could accept all of that. But he could not accept, under any conditions, give up what he felt for her.

His legs stopped. In the distance, Hange was on her knees helping a woman covering her face with a handkerchief, and urging her to calm her breathing.

Levi yelled her name. She turned quickly and her eyes met his. Levi saw her speaking to Moblit, who took her place assisting the woman.

Hange got up and stared at him. In the distance the sound of two explosions filled the air. The smoke increased more and more. People kept running. The screams were mixed with the sound of the sirens and the shots did not stop on either front. Despite that, Levi thought the image was beautiful. Hange shrugged and gave him a resigned half smile. Levi's heart raced again before advancing on her. Hange did the same until they finally met halfway.

"I was so worried about you-" Hange was immediately interrupted by Levi, who grabbed her hair and pulled her close to his face. The kiss they shared seemed to slow down everything around them. The chaos was suddenly nothing more than a slow motion nebula.

"I love you!" Levi screamed once they parted, amid all the noise. "Did you hear me, Hange? I want you to know that I fucking love you!"

Before she could answer, a stream of water soaked them. A water cannon had reached the center of the square and was trying to disperse the crowd.

Hange laughed out loud as Levi brushed his wet hair from his face. "I love you too, Levi Ackerman!" she shouted out before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately.

* * *

In the distance, Catt could see a young couple kissing next to the wall amid the chaos. In her hand, a fax said that General Goldwick, president of Paradis, had just been forced to abdicate, calling for early elections. Parliament, for its part, had announced the demolition of the wall.

Despite sharing different ideals, she smiled.

"To be young and not a revolutionary is a biological contradiction"

Salvador Allende (1908-1973)

#Levihan #levihan fanfiction #Levihan Drabble Week

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nanoland · 3 years ago

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new chapter (supernatural fic)

(Also on AO3.)

Clean Hands, part 5

Crowley/Dean Winchester/Castiel

Warning: SPACE GORE

“I understand you and Dean have fallen out,” said Castiel. “Again. But this is important. The Winchesters are in danger, Crowley. They badly need our help.”

Ten thick leashes in hand, Crowley walked on nothing, his Armani coat billowing in a non-existent breeze for stylistic purposes. Ordinarily, he was loathe to keep the hounds in check via such brutal methods – his clever, clever darlings were the best-behaved babies in the world, always attentive and alert, instantly responding to his every whistle and command. Leashes, he felt, insulted them.

But today, to his sorrow, it was necessary. Brilliant, gorgeous beasts that they were, they weren’t accustomed to hunting the damned in zero gravity. If he didn’t keep them tethered, they were inclined to float away.

“What’s in it for me?” Crowley asked, without deigning to glance in Castiel’s direction.

Unlike him, Castiel had left his meat suit on Earth. Crowley wasn’t sure why. Keeping them operational in the freezing vacuum of space took a bit of work, a bit of concentration, but should hardly tax an angel’s resources.

Maybe he’d just wanted an excuse to stretch his wings.

And oh, how they stretched.

‘Wings’ was a barely accurate description. They were to wings what the Carina Nebula was to a puff of cigarette smoke.

Crowley felt that if the lens through which he viewed angels hadn’t been hammered into shape by early modern European Christianity, he’d sooner have thought ‘frills’ – like Jurassic Park’s inaccurate take on a Dilophosaurus, the nasty bugger that had spat acid in the fat bloke’s eyes. Huge sheets of brightly coloured whatever-material-they-made-dinosaur-puppets-from exploding out of its neck, reminiscent of an opening umbrella. That was far closer to what Crowley could see of Castiel without getting a headache than ‘wings’.

Of course, in order for the comparison to be even remotely accurate, the puppet would need to have been a mile long and accidentally warping the space-time continuum with its very presence. A meteor innocently rolled by; when it came within twenty metres of Castiel’s trunk, it flickered in and out of existence, turned to ice, turned to magma, and then reappeared on the other side of Castiel, continuing on its way as if nothing had happened.

“Crowley,” Castiel huffed, “I don’t have time to banter or bargain with you. Not today. What’s ‘in it for you’ is Dean and Sam’s continued existence – and gratitude.”

Crowley laughed.

“And my gratitude,” Castiel amended. “I will be in your debt. Not that I believe that’s even necessary. I’m quite certain you’ve already made up your mind to help. But if it makes you feel better or appeases your vanity, you can pretend you’re doing it because it will give you leverage.”

“You think a favour from you counts as ‘leverage’, kitten? The last favour you did me ended with you ascending to godhood while I hid in a methhead’s trailer listening to Nancy Sinatra for three days. You, my fine feathered friend, are a celestial fucking monkey’s paw.”

They were now close enough to the wreckage that the hounds were beginning to whine with excitement. Crowley requested patience with a click of his tongue.

“You’re absorbing too much radiation,” Castiel muttered.

“Sort it out, then.”

If Castiel had been wearing Jimmy Novak, he’d doubtless have donned that delightful scowl – maybe even graced Crowley with a pout. As it was, he merely rearranged his wings so that Crowley was shielded from the worst of the cosmic poison.

Juliet misinterpreted the movement and started growling.

“Shh, shh, sweetheart,” Crowley cooed, stroking her scales. “Daddy’s not in any danger from silly old Uncle Castiel.”

Castiel growled back at her. Sound, of course, did not carry in space, for which reason they’d been communicating telepathically; if it had, he’d have blown eardrums back at the ISS. As it was, the only result was that the mangled spacecraft tumbling through Mars’ orbit a short distance away threw off sparks.

Whimpering, Juliet tried to hide behind Crowley’s legs.

“Stop bullying her, you arse. She’s a guard dog. She’s doing her job,” he snapped, untangling the leash.

“I don’t like your pets.”

“I don’t like yours, but you’re still here, asking me to stick my neck out for them. By the way, is there a reason they haven’t summoned me themselves?”

“I…”

“Do they even know about this? Ooh – Cas, are you being naughty? Mm? Sneaking around behind their backs, again?”

Castiel reared up, a thousand luminous antennae bristling, and boomed, “Demon, I have overseen a war in Heaven. I have lead divine squadrons into Hell. I am a veteran and a commander and I am not obliged to beg permission from Dean or Sam before approaching you or any of our other allies. I – why are you aroused? This is not arousing! Stop it!”

“Make me, big boy,” Crowley husked, rapidly reviewing the logistics of getting rage-fucked by an oil-tanker-sized pillar of light and strange matter.

Juliet gave her signature ‘target locked’ bark and Crowley was forced to return his attention to the task at hand.

A figure in an untethered spacesuit had drifted from the wreckage. Still alive, Crowley could smell that much, but panicking; probably only had a few minutes of oxygen left.

He wouldn’t be needing them. Crowley snapped his fingers and let go of the leashes.

“And that,” he said, smugly, watching Juliet crack open the helmet with one bite, “is what happens to people who don’t hold up their end of the bargain.”

In zero gravity, guts didn’t so much spill from a man’s ruptured stomach as they did soar. It was really rather beautiful to watch.

“Untrue. I didn’t hold up my end of our bargain and I never faced any such consequences,” observed Castiel.

“Yes, you did. I’ve ruined you, Cassie. Haven’t you noticed? Over a hundred times now I’ve had you in my bed, arse up or legs wrapped around my shoulders, befouling that sparkling grace of yours. Dirtying you up. All day long, I catch other demons sniffing the air in my presence and I know what they’re sniffing for are the traces you leave on me. All Hell knows what we get up to, every monster and magistrate. So that’s your reputation gone as well, I’m afraid. Consequences, ducky.”

Castiel said nothing until the hounds had finished their meal and what remained of Hell’s wayward client were but a few red droplets dancing through the total blackness.

Then, slowly, in his older-than-hydrogen voice, he said, “You are… you are actually trying to tell me that all the times you’ve pleasured me – all the times I’ve pleasured you – all the times you’ve spent hours reverently touching my penis and buttocks – all the times I’ve made you orgasm so hard you start speaking Gaelic – all that was just part of your cunning plan to take revenge by corrupting me? That’s your claim? That’s the best ruse you can come up with? Ah-hah. Hah. Hah! Hahahahahahaha-…”

Angels shimmered when they laughed. Crowley suspected he was one of the only non-angels in existence who knew that. Even Dean probably didn’t.

“Piss off,” Crowley grumbled, adamantly refusing to allow his meat suit’s cheeks to redden. He clicked his tongue again and the hounds returned to his side, happy and sated.

“When you offer the Winchesters your aid, please don’t tell them I spoke to you first,” said Castiel after he’d calmed down. “It would… complicate things. Say you heard about their dilemma from some other source.”

“Oh, good. So now I can look forward to Dean getting up on his high horse and accusing me of spying on them. Thanks.”

“Crowley, you do spy on them. We both do. Constantly. The only people we spy on more frequently are one another. It – hmm. Your dog is urinating on my thorax.”

“Juliet! Naughty girl.”

#supernatural #crowstiel #castiel #crowley #dean winchester #drowley #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

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mononoavvare · 6 years ago

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trickster spirits don’t get to have names.

ONE FOR SORROW,

the sparrow is nine years old when it cuts down its brother.

the old man says, fly. it leaps. he says, kill, and it gives chase. all it takes is one. one hour, chasing him down like a dog, one shaky, it’s okay. you can live, one neat slice of a blade. one head, delivered like a trophy.

they call this a graduation. it feels the noose tighten.

TWO FOR JOY,

it learns:

i. the roar of the wind in freefall, delirious from the force of it pushing the air from its lungs, the adrenaline rush. a high it doesn’t want to come down from, even as it’s caught in still clumsily drawn ink-claws, thrown once more only to be caught on its creation’s back instead. the sparrow doesn’t return to the earth for hours, until its chakra whittled to nearly nothing. nobody asks where it has been.

ii. for hours it watches a troupe of children dance one afternoon, the waves of laughter and music lulling it into some kind of contentment. it pulls out the scroll, the brush, and inks their forms down in quick sketches. so it doesn’t forget. late at night, it animates them, tries to copy the movements from memory, adds its own twists and hops, dances with the tiny ink forms into the small hours of the morning.

THREE FOR A GIRL,

she isn’t right.

the old man calls her, my dear, and his hand in her hair is a farce, an impersonation of tenderness, and still she leans into it. he is grizzled, and frail, but his hands do not shake when they reach out to her. she thinks, maybe, she hates him. she knows she would die for him.

little bird, the swordswoman calls her, knocking her down with the flat of her blade. this is a kindness rarely afforded -- most of the instructors aim to hurt, to cut deep, claim they learn better that way. the swordswoman teaches her to flay flesh from bone with one neat stroke, the advantage of speed, of silence. she tells her, you are a little killer, sneaks her bits, and odds, and ends, the occasional treat. she disappears one day, and no one mentions her again.

he calls her sweetling. his hand is on her knee. she will be glad to kill him later, feels satisfied at the gaping hole where his tongue used to be. she’s never taken pleasure in a mission before now.

FOUR FOR A BOY,

he cuts his hair. few things change, but it’s a start.

it looks ugly, patchy, cropped so close to his head, like an ugly case of mange. he can’t stop running his fingers over the spots where he’d cut too close to his scalp with the kunai, the scabs take forever to heal. he feels lighter.

the recipients of the message he brings call him ‘it’. they call him an ugly little monster, his face hidden. on his return, his fingers shake when they touch the bare spots on his scalp. he asks his bunk mate to even it out for him.

handsome little devil, aren’t you? the old woman says it at least once a day, ruffling his hair. he never speaks, but he supposes she doesn’t need him to. she thinks she has pulled a feral little stray in from the cold, perhaps believes he will speak in his own time, doesn’t mind it taking a while as long as he eats the food she cooks him (too rich, it makes him sick at first) and helps her into town to do old lady things. she doesn’t know he’s here to kill her. he doesn’t understand why he has to. she is old, she cannot be a threat. he has not seen her move faster than a snail’s pace at anything other than knitting. he tells them so, and they want him to kill her anyway. he says no, but still she dies. he does too.

when he is sixteen, they send him for another undercover assignment. the first thing he does is steal a bottle of oil, scented like dragon’s blood. he never uses it, but he keeps it on a shelf, hidden behind some books. sometimes he takes it out just to hold it, or to twist off the cap and smell it.

FIVE FOR SILVER,

under the pale light of the moon, he sees.

the team is out late, and the chill of winter is creeping in. the captain had dropped a cloak on his shoulders when he’d started to shiver, and he thinks the clouds from their breathless laughter glitter brightly in the night like their own stars, nebulas forming in front of them from the sheer force of their joy. he tugs the cloak closer, if only to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

the healer with the scarred knuckles sweeps her hair back one night and the moonlight catches on a glint hanging her ear, shaped like a teardrop. he cannot tear his eyes away, leans closer, and her hands are gentle when she cups his face and holds him there. she tells him they were her grandmother’s, that she only wears them when she’s sure they’re safe. he tells her they’re beautiful, earnest in the face of her honesty, and he cannot say for sure, but he thinks she blushes.

he and the hunter with the lightning blood spend a long night in tense silence sitting next to a hospital bed. they only speak in the small hours, the older man not looking away from the slow rise and fall of the chest occupying the bed, and he cannot look away from the way he blends perfectly with the rest of the monochrome of the hospital. the hunter says, if you pick up this habit of being a self sacrificing idiot, i’ll make the rest of your short life extremely painful. he says, yes sensei.

the hero, a man bursting with determination enough to be considered a human sun, pulls his shirt off with a muttered curse. his hair, the whites of his eyes, the eyeteeth that poke out from the edge of a smile are all washed with the same shade, seemingly glowing. the creature that is no longer a sparrow catches a glimpse of a silver chain, leans forward to follow the trail to the pendant at the end of it. his hand settles, palm flat against the warm skin of his chest, pinning it between them. the hero puts his hand over his, closes his eyes, and sighs out the weight of the world.

he bums a cigarette off the captain once -- catches him chainsmoking outside a bar, placid like an inland lake, tells him the healer would be pissed if she knew. only shuts up when he decides to share. the moon is full, but the night is clouded, leaving only the faintest light for them to see by. he thinks the captain looks tired. the smoke slips from their mouths like the breath of a dragon, dissipating in the darkness. they finish the last two in the pack in silence. he says, these are nasty, gets a gentle swat on the back of the head, and a laugh, and they go their separate ways.

SIX FOR GOLD,

in the burning, inescapable light of the sun, he loves.

he sits up one night with a name on his lips, dead longer than he has lived. shakes himself apart, sweating and grey until the first light peeks through his window, creeping across his bed like fingers, reaching, stretching. he shuts his eyes against it, but the light reminds him he has places to be.

in the heat of the day, he lays in the grass, bruised to the core and panting. the fighter is humming, kneeling forest-green and bubbling next to him, fingers working out of sight. when he finally sits up, a crown of dandelions is bequeathed to him, and he takes it with great dignity, and places it on his head. the answering smile is stunning.

the malady haloed in purple pulls him from his desk at midday, linking their arms and insisting he take the rest of the day off. once is all it takes before he’s convinced, but he pretends to think about it, if only to hear the other man come up with increasingly outlandish and hilarious bribes. they were going somewhere, but between point a and point b they get distracted, end up tangled in one another in a park under a bridge, kissing the day away like a couple of horny teenagers, touching each other’s faces, stealing each other’s breath.

several hours pass with them lounging in the shade of a massive willow tree. the virgin mumbles things, sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don’t, and sometimes he responds. his head rests on the man’s thigh, their fingers tangle together, and for a while they know peace.

it’s evening, the summer sunset leaving the wolf washed in all the colors of the dying light. they’re pressed close for warmth on the edge of the roof, kicking feet hanging over the edge, chopsticks waving wildly in the air for emphasis. every burst of laughter is a victory, every soft brush of their shoulders weathering away the burrs on his soul. they are kin. they know one another.

the quiet hours of the morning leave him perched in the dragon’s lap, nose to nose with him, sharing breath, and secrets, electrifying kisses. he presses the man into the bed and leaves him breathless, again, and again, and again. he wants the moment to last forever, can’t look away from him for fear of missing a single, perfect detail, for fear he is blowing smoke.

SEVEN FOR A SECRET, NEVER TO BE TOLD.

there are things he holds close to his heart, things he will not let go.

i. he will never heal,

ii. all their tender hearts

iii. there is no such thing as freedom

iv. they all deserve a little bit of faith, forgiveness, redemption

v. love is only a weakness if you let it be so

vi. the sway of hips to an imagined tune

vii. he loves them all.

EIGHT FOR A WISH,

it takes him a while to get the hang of things.

when the sun sets, he imagines a light in the darkness to guide him. he has been wandering so long, and he thinks, perhaps, it is time for him to find a home.

on an assignment to the land of grass, he spends a majority of his watch one night observing a band of coyotes nip at each other as they rip apart the carcass of a deer, until there are nothing but scraps. in the dawn, the crows descend upon the rest.

an ancient crone with milky blue eyes grabs him by the wrist one day, her grip so strong it feels like his bones are being crushed into dust. she beseeches him to remember what he is, and no one around him reacts at all.

he walks until his feet bleed, once. just to see how far he can go, ends up somewhere in the land of whirlpools, sits at the edge of a cliff over a raging sea just to feel the spray, and then walks back. there isn’t a single comment on his absence, and eventually the scabs turn to scars, and then those fade too.

a stray dog follows him home one night, nothing but skin and bone. it vomits up any food it receives, curls up and dies in his lap some time in the night. he can feel it when the ribs stop shifting, but he doesn’t stop stroking its nicked ears until well after the sun has risen, just because he doesn’t know what else to do.

there is a duck pond a few minutes’ walk from his place, and he spends an hour there every morning for three months, just to see what it’s like. the ducks start to know him, he feeds them rice, and chopped lettuce, tiny, carefully sliced grapes. he goes on a mission for three weeks, and when he comes back they are weary of him once more. he doesn’t go back.

he ages.

it seems like death lurks around every corner, her bony fingers lingering in his peripheral vision. he is no stranger to being hunted. he is not afraid. he just doesn’t want to go. and so he will not go easy.

NINE FOR A KISS,

there are some things that matter, even if he doesn’t remember all of them.

his mother, in an uncharacteristic fit of tenderness, lays a kiss upon his brow before he is pulled from her grasp. she dies quietly, a hand stretched out for him, the knife that had been used to cut his umbilical cord buried in her throat.

his tiny body is dying of a fever, shaking apart at the seams in the cramped ROOT dormitory. most of the children hiss curses at him, and these are the ones that survive. a girl with blood red hair holds his hand, and a boy with a halo of silver brushes sticky black strands back and kisses his crown gently. confesses it’s something his mother had done, once, he swears he remembers it.

he’s eleven when he’s roaming the streets. slipped his leash, so to speak, and the crowds are bustling. he bumps into a girl half his size, knocks her to the ground, freezes when she shows him her bleeding hand. you have to kiss it better, she says, so imperiously that he can’t not obey. he returns to the compound with a tiny smear of blood on his cheek, but he manages to swipe it away before anyone notices.

there are blonde strands between his fingers, a familiar smart mouth pressed to his own, leaving the skin he touches aflame. it’s something terrible, possessive, wild. it’s a promise neither of them are sure they can (or want,) to keep.

she’s pulled her gloves off, puts her hand over his mouth to see if he’s breathing. he blinks his eyes open, blearily, opens his mouth to make another smart comment. her hand clamps down even as she laughs, and she doesn’t pull away when he licks her hand, just leans down to peck a kiss on the corner of his eye.

this one is a fight, the gnashing of teeth, bloodied lips and harsh breath, the hot slide of fingers between his legs, and then a tongue. there’s nothing gentle about it, and it leaves something howling and cold and aching in his chest. he takes as much as he can get.

there’s a predator laying kisses on his eyelids. he’s laughing about it, and that is his life.

there are several, bone breaking blows landed on his torso. his heart stutters, but does not restart. lips brush his, salty with tears, coppery with blood, desperate because they love him. his lungs inflate, and deflate, and his body remains still. rinse. repeat. it doesn’t work.

a pale hand settles over cold stone. his name would be engraved here, if he had one. the granite will not take the one they called him, remaining smooth and polished no matter how many chisels try to break it. lips brush the crest, a sentimental gesture that brings no comfort. they leave white lillies in the grass in front of the headstone, and they do not return to the empty grave.

TEN FOR A BIRD, YOU MUST NOT MISS.

when he goes, he goes hard. clawing, snarling, bleeding and cursing.

it hardly comes as a surprise to him. his days have been numbered since he came into this world, blue in the face, umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. he can only put death off for so long, dodging her cold, skeletal fingers with nothing more than a little grit, and determination. he is freezing, and he is alone, until he is not.

he loves you. he’s sorry.

#content warning /#hi this is the one that i said would take me a few days! it's been four hours. im going to bed.#// drabbles

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thegooddoctorsthoughts · 5 years ago

Text

Tales Of The Clocktower: A War In Heaven

From all corners of this map, my clockwork soldiers clawed their way from beneath the earth and began marching in lockstep towards the Tower, cutting down any trace of the Cancer they happened across. Quickly a perimeter was formed around the Tower by the automatons, their functions simple on their own but the more of them in proximity to each other the more coordinated they become. A makeshift phalanx formed around the base of the Tower facing out into the forest, a firing line of bayonet tipped rifles in the place of spears resting on a groove cut into the corner of the tower shields some of the automatons were equipped with. Behind it, sapper variations bent the earth to their will and quickly cut trenches into the soil and constructed fortifications of various shapes and sizes.

I leaned against the edge of the war table, a cigarette between my lips and clockwork racing through my mind. Much of me had fallen away and left only Tyrant standing, a balanced engine of war, a fragment of a man but a perfected one. Taller and Slimmer than I was in reality, my eyes two glass spheres of liquid twilight, a maelstrom of reds, blues and purples shifting warping like droplets of oil set into water. The suit and dress shoes less of a shade of black and more a weave of a starless night, a void with only the faintest hint of light coming from unseen solar titans. Around my neck, shining on against the void a tie comprised of starlight, a dull distant glow, occasionally particles would drift from its surface tiny pinpricks of dull starlight, fizzling out and vanishing. Tyrant was a thing built not of this earth but of the heavens, his core forged within the fires of the local star, the metals mined from the shattered remains of the moon, his clothes knitted together by nebulae and flesh weaved by the fundamental forces of this place.

He was a tiny part of me which I had perfected long ago, built with no intention of ever using, a last resort of sorts, a thing which existed only for the destruction of parts of my self and the protection of this place. I stood in his place and yet also slept upon my throne, a part of me given free rein to protect me by whatever means necessary. Grey towered behind me burning like a star bent into the form of a human, her hands ran through my hair, down along my cheeks and rested on my shoulders; my hands rested on the edge of the table as I drank in the heat burning into me. There were no people around this table anymore, only twisted shades of the human beings which once walked through the halls of mind, twisted aberrations, caricatures of themselves. A Dragon, a walking oil painting, a Spider, a Blackened Angel, and countless others sat upon their thrones and awaited some kind of instruction.

“Find it, kill it, destroy whatever stands in your path” I paused for a moment and felt the weight of the smoke fill my lungs, her warmth washing over me with each beat of The Heart, taking just a moment to enjoy how calm I felt while like this. “Including each other, if necessary” The room erupted into a flurry of commotion as each Shade bent some part of this world to their will and went about finding wherever this Cancer had taken root and cutting it out. I turned on my heel, confident the Tower would be purged of whatever Cancer happened to have infiltrated it already and its perimeter would remain secure for as long as was necessary. A set eldritch eyes peered back at me from a Promethean solar skull “I don’t care how much of this place you have to tear apart find that thing, kill it”. She nodded at me, placing a single hand to my cheek she leaned in and pressed her forehead to mine. She raised her sword above her head and her voice rang out through the room like thunder rolling through the pews of a cathedral.

LEAVE NOTHING IN YOUR WAKE

With a single beat of her mothlike wings, she disappeared through the shattered clock face and sent herself hurtling to the shoreline below. It would only be a matter of minutes before The Cancer clashed with the outer defenses of the Tower, the intricacies of the battle itself would be left to the Shades, while I set about disassembling this place. I returned to the Control Panel and stepped out onto the walkway of idle gears, walking right up to the edge and plummeted from my perch. The distant groan of the Clockwork God strained against the anchored walls of my mind, the fabric of reality unraveling around me, space and time straining against each other and then suddenly snapping beneath the pressure, becoming unwound. My body shattered against the rocks below and yet did not.

I awoke drowned beneath uncountable fathoms of pressure, my lungs filled with water, my body floating beneath unseen waves staring down a god. Mechanical tendrils reached out from the inky blackness, drawing me closer to its gaze. My body was little more than a puppet, awaiting for my strings to breathe life into me. I stared down the monument to my sins with little in the way of fear or any real emotion to speak of. The pressure straining to crush my body beneath it, my mind similarly refusing to give out under the vacuum which the Clockwork God imposed. My body refusing to break and shatter under the pressure, willing me to compress into little more than a single point. My mind being pulled in every direction, the vacuum desperately attempting to strip away whatever it could, to rip me apart, leaving nothing but a drifting nebula of fundamental particles. I refused to give in to its demands, I would fix this myself and I would continue to move forward with myself, I would bend it to my will and free myself of the shackles I placed upon myself.

I came to a rest at the edge of its form, my feet resting on the metal gracefully and then suddenly animation returning to my form on contact. I stared up into its eyes, straining against every urge to look away, like a surgical drill burrowing its way through my skull. I felt it speak, no words or anything of the sort, a will, thoughts manifesting themselves across +my mind like a pen writing them into my Greymatter.

THIS CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE

There sat a silence between us for a moment and I knew it would put a stop to all of this itself if I couldn’t. This, however, was the last resort, it would obliterate everything without reason or cause, it would shatter the Tower and rend the earth itself asunder. Self-preservation was paramount and it would not allow another god, another monster to manifest as they had in the past, to threaten its dominion of this place. I stared it down with an unblinking stare, I looked up at it and yet also down at my minuscule form, torn between my own perception and its. A single faultline would have damned me, a single imperfection. However, this state, this mind, this fraction of myself had been perfected with this expressed purpose. I took a single step forward and the vacuum my mind had rested within lifted and a cool breeze washed over me. I knelt down and placed my palm against its exoskeleton, a moment later I felt the water all around me rush away as the Clockwork God began its slow ascent to the surface. Bones broke and tendons snapped, my body ripped asunder beneath the waves as the millions of liters of water rushed over me.

I struggled to my feet, willing myself to stand against the raging current, taking one slow and deliberate step forward. My right foot raised and collided with the ground with enough force to snap it in two. Everything was stripped from me, cloth, then flesh, muscle and sinew. I was laid bare against the world, washed away by rushing tides. A skeletal figure rose to Their feet, rags of cloth still clinging to them, humanoid yes, but there was something alien and otherworldly about Their structure. Longer and more slender, a cracked halo of bleached bone hovering above Their head, long pointed fingers; everything bolted together with sinews of metal. Their spine and base of Their skull either encased or built of that same twilight metal. Here was something new, someone new. I slowly collected myself, knitting myself around Their spine in a kind of embrace I couldn’t quite define. Something discordant and broken, shattered while apart, but once united were made whole, perfected, refined and balanced.

Monolith stood, I stood, alone and made whole, three beings intertwined in an impossible way, balanced and unified in all Their glory and all Their horror. The heart shattered and let run free, Gods walking this earth once again, the shackles I had placed upon myself long ago render down to little more than slag. I was free, we were free, whole and with purpose, a single purpose in mind, United and made whole; Jack Magnus Whyte walked, one of The Mayeflye, The Last Monolith.

A mortal casts aside all that shackled them to Their past,

They were no longer a child afraid of Their own shadows,

Change was afoot, Poetry and Power sang through the air,

This world heard The Immortal speak for the first time,

This world heard the first decree of the only true god left in this place,

This world heard as Monolith spoke,

“You will bring down the heavens wrath”

There was no rage or grandeur in Their voice, a clear and simple statement was made.

The earth was split asunder and The Cancer made its presence known, it knew it could not hide any longer, there was no more time to bide. Bursting from beneath the charred husk of a house I once called home, a place once at the centre of my little world, now confined to the edge of my thoughts, distant and removed, yet still ever present. A history I cannot answer to scattered to the winds, pieces of it landing in all corners of my mind, forced to the surface.

They stood atop a mantled god, They could feel the fear of The Cancer, the respect of The Clockwork God. I had vanished into the ocean of Their soul, scattered and dispersed within, the three of us all together again properly, whole and without barriers, unable to tell where we began and the other ended. We became ourselves again, even if only for a little while, we remembered who we are, who we were and who we will be. We faced our doubt as one, as the person we could never hope to be, Monolith stood in our place, built by us, yet not any of us. Human and monstrosity, great and terrible, there was nothing like this left, nobody like Monolith and nor should there ever be again. I vanished, Jack and Magnus vanished, all of us dissolved into those quite and calm tides

They were sad, They were lonely, They were without compromise and it hurt them. They had fled to this place, from everyone and everything, They did not want to face any of this, They fled and left us in Their place. Now here we stood, with the will to face thing again, just brave enough to look in the mirror again and accept how things are. We were tired, so very tired, we had done our job and now we could rest, if only for a little while. It would take time, but one day They would wake up and would never vanish again, one day, we would sleep, deep beneath the tides of time and rest easy knowing our job was done.

A deep sigh left Their lips, it had been a long time since They had opened Their weary eyes, it had been a long time since this world had seen Their soul against the backdrop of this place. They lifted an arm began to rub the sleep from Their eyes. Grey landed behind them with a cacoughanous clang, bloodied but not injured. She went to speak but was quickly silenced with a wave of Their hand. The warmth radiating from her grew colder, the fire dimmer. Ice grew from where They stood, snow falling from unseen clouds, an odd cold surrounded them. It was not unwelcoming, like the dry cold of winter snow setting in. They didn’t look at her, they simply spoke.

I can’t remember what They said, truth be told I cannot remember what Their voice sounds like anymore. She left, disappearing into the sky above, without a word but with a single crystalline tear wept by our unseen solar titan. With a snap of Their fingers the twilight sky burned as a human supernova lost her composure. They would burn away Their guilt, Their anger, everything, burn away this Cancer. She burned her memories into the fabric of this place, as space and time buckled above Them. She burned away, so much of her, all of the lies and all of the anger, she was free, if only for a little while. She fell, a star burned high above Them, a titanic thing of unimaginable rage and ferocity, burning silver against the twilight sky. It burned unlike anything They had ever seen before, she fell from it like a droplet falling from a glass. They did not move to catch her or even face her, They look out across waves towards the Cancer writhing against the oncoming assault.

She collided with a metal plate which formed part of the exoskeleton of The Clockwork God. The remnants of her body vanished as the fire was snuffed out from within her armor. Her armor charred black, cracked, bent and broken by the gravity of her long distant star. They finally turned to face what remained of her, a human form lay in the remnants of her armor. They stood over her broken and hollow form, staring down at someone new, someone old, someone They had been forgotten.

“Hello Lily”

Lily said nothing, she looked up at her long forgotten friend, and smiled at them.

“It’s been a long time old friend”

They offered her a hand, her peculiar form not too dissimilar to Theirs.

The two of them stood side by side, watching as slowly the Cancer began to burn up.

Two old friends stood side by side for one last time, casting each other side, freeing each other from their shared past.

Some time later,

Two figures were seen dancing barefoot in the sand,

Singing a song that was heard at all corners of reality,

Two old friends laughed and cried and sang by starlight,

And I can’t forget it,

As we stood tall together,

As we all stood side by side,

All my friends,

Who helped me let go,

Who made everything okay,

Who helped me put Them back together again,

Who sang by the shoreline with me,

End of Chapter 4

Chapter 5: By The Shoreline

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pushspacetocontinue · 6 years ago

Text

Russell DC/Arkham Verse Profile

It was about time I got this one done as well.

Name: Russell Tolbert

Nickname: Professor Giggles, Stutters, Doormat

Age: 27

Birthday: 9th October 1991 (Star sign: Libra)

Gender: Cis Male (he/him/his pronouns)

Sexual Orientation: Homosexual.

Species: Metahuman

Abilities: He is able to partially turn himself into a Cheetah (ears, tail, claws, teeth, change in facial structure, his feet, and he gets a light covering of spotted fur) and completely into a Giant Leopard Moth. He’s a nit miffed that he can’t change into a full cheetah.

He hides these powers. He knows that Metahumans tend to get a bad rep, even when they’re not out to cause any trouble. Changing into a part-Cheetah also has the risk of stretching or tearing his clothes.

He also seems to have more speed and agility than the average human.

Ethnicity: White

Current Residence: Gotham, New Jersey (apparently, Gotham is in New Jersey, correct me if I am wrong.)

Former Residence: Boston, Massachusetts

Nationality: French-American (French Father, American Mother).

Mother: Cassandra Anderson (now deceased). She was a nasty old crone to him and the rest of his brothers while he was growing up. She was especially so to him when she found out that he was essentially a ‘monster’ in her eyes. When he was an adult, she made plans with a scientist who was looking for someone ‘like him’ and essentially sold him off after he was tricked into believing he was simply taking on a job that would take him far from home (and therefore away from her).

Father: Currently unknown. Was only told that he has the surname ‘Tolbert’ and changed it to that as a ‘fuck you’ to his mother.

Siblings: He has seven older brothers in total. Lewis (deceased), Martin (still living at their now-dead mother’s house but planning to move), Truman (living in California), Simon (lives as a hermit in an apartment of his own), Bradley (actually living a fairly normal life with his wife, three daughters and his son), David (trying to get his life back on track) and Travis (currently in prison, but has promised to get his shit together once he gets out.) - He’s partially back in contact with them.

Height: 5'8"

Weight: 126lbs

Body Type: Thin but athletic.

Hair: Dirty-blonde.

Eyes: Blue

Languages: English, French, and American Sign Language (ASL). Knows some German because of his old neighbour Freyde as well.

Distinguishing features:

A water colour tattoo of a Luna moth on his back. A sleeve tattoo of a nebula on his left arm. Scar tissue on his right arm, shoulder and part of his chest because of a car accident. Deep scratch marks (from fingernails) on his left shoulder. A couple of cigarette burns behind his right ear (hidden by his hair). A small birthmark on his abdomen that he shares with his father.

He stammers and has a awkward chuckle that comes out whenever he’s particularly uncomfortable about something. He also has insomnia. However, he has a concern over taking pills for it and so hasn’t tried to yet.

Far-sighted so he wears glasses to read, play games, and other close-up tasks,

Hobbies and Interests: Parkour and running, reading, space, videogames, mythology, steampunk, vaporwave, and drumming.

Occupation: Currently working as a security guard for Arkham Asylum.

Personality: Quiet and rather shy. He’s a bit of a doormat and finds it hard to speak up about a lot of things. But he’s also very kind and helpful whenever he can be, and has a lot of empathy and compassion for other people.

However, this sadly can lead him into getting mixed up with the wrong kind of people. He also has some basic fighting ability and will fight dirty if he has to, as much as he would rather not. He’s incredibly loyal to any friends he makes as well, willing to put himself between them and any danger that might come their way, even at a risk to his own life. He also has a slight temper, particularly when frustrated or when he’s allowed negative feelings to build up inside for too long. He does his best to keep that reined in.

Basic Backstory: He didn’t have the best childhood due to his mother being the awful woman that she was. She would act manipulative, lock her sons outside as a punishment, become violent, physically, verbally, and emotionally lashing out at them and other horrible things. She also knew about Russell’s abilities and taunted him about them, digging into the fact that he could only ‘turn into the insect he really was’. She also told him that she could squash him at any time, human or bug.

He left home at seventeen and lived paycheck by paycheck, never really staying in one place for two long. At twenty-four, he saw a job application for Arkham. He applied, packed his bags, and went there.

At the moment, three years later, that’s what he’s still doing. He’s surprised to live this long since first joining up. He’s hoping he can make it to thirty at least. He’s starting to doubt that thought.

He’s also debating blowing the whistle, despite the severe risks that could come with it.

#ooc #RussellMod is a butt #About damn time I wrote this

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thetickingmonolith · 5 years ago

Text

Tales Of The Clocktower: A War In Heaven

LEAVE NOTHING IN YOUR WAKE

THIS CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO CONTINUE

A mortal casts aside all that shackled them to Their past,

They were no longer a child afraid of Their own shadows,

Change was afoot, Poetry and Power sang through the air,

This world heard The Immortal speak for the first time,

This world heard the first decree of the only true god left in this place,

This world heard as Monolith spoke,

“You will bring down the heavens wrath”

There was no rage or grandeur in Their voice, a clear and simple statement was made.

“Hello Lily”

Lily said nothing, she looked up at her long forgotten friend, and smiled at them.

“It’s been a long time old friend”

They offered her a hand, her peculiar form not too dissimilar to Theirs.

The two of them stood side by side, watching as slowly the Cancer began to burn up.

Two old friends stood side by side for one last time, casting each other side, freeing each other from their shared past.

Some time later,

Two figures were seen dancing barefoot in the sand,

Singing a song that was heard at all corners of reality,

Two old friends laughed and cried and sang by starlight,

And I can’t forget it,

As we stood tall together,

As we all stood side by side,

All my friends,

Who helped me let go,

Who made everything okay,

Who helped me put Them back together again,

Who sang by the shoreline with me,

End of Chapter 4

Chapter 5: By The Shoreline

0 notes

exscurus · 6 years ago

Text

i could really do with some distractions right now. please dm me to plot or. send memes or something? or. something.

#he hides behind his cigarette. (nebula speaks.)

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exscurus · 6 years ago

Note

DO EM ALL! DO EM ALL

get to know me, i guess? | @letaunloved

oh gOSH YOU,,, OKAY I’LL DO EM ALL BUT DANG

1. the meaning behind my url

To be honest, the meaning behind my url is layered. A big part is the “ex” at the beginning. Exscurus embodies my hopes for Credence in a way. I want him to be able to put being an obscurus behind him. I want him to be able to heal to the point that being fragmented, so fragmented that it threatens his life and in a sense traps him in fear and unhappiness, is no longer necessary for him to survive. So in essence, I want him to find acceptance. I want him to find love so he’s an ex obscurus. Dumbledore has implied that’s possible and I want it to happen more than anything. I went through a lot of url ideas before I found one that both sounded cool to me and actually had a lot of meaning to me, and I feel like this one really hits the nail on the head.

2. a picture of me

Please forgive my face but boy do I love a good suit…

3. tattoos i have

Shamefully? No tattoos. Not yet, at least. I’m working on that, though

4. last time i cried and why

Oh, god. I think the last time I cried was at work on Friday. So I work in a gas station that also has a kitchen (thankfully I’m a cashier, I can’t handle kitchen work with my anxiety), and we’ve been having some extremely serious staffing issues recently. On Thursday, the team lead (who admittedly never does her job to the fullest capacity, and most of the time doesn’t do it at all) straight up didn’t come in - didn’t call, and didn’t bother showing up. So that night I spent the entire shift running registers essentially by myself while the two kitchen workers took turns occasionally popping out of the kitchen to help me out. That’s fine, I can survive that.On Friday it was way worse than that, though. That same lead had the nerve to actually bother to call off that day, and then because when we’d gotten off work in the morning the managers had said something about us not doing enough, another coworker called off because she was upset. (How the hell could we do more when there were only three of us??) Then, my third coworker stayed for only three hours of the shift and left. The help who stayed past her shift left maybe thirty minutes later.I ended up completely alone for four hours and I had to turn people away from our kitchen because I couldn’t run registers and kitchen at the same time. A few people got angry because I haven’t been trained to give refunds for online orders, either, so when those went through despite everything else in the kitchen being shut down, that was also a nightmare. Oh and someone came in with what the security guard was 99% sure was a gun and asked for one of my coworkers and left when he found out he wasn’t there. Overall that night was horrific and I cried like three times.

5. piercings i have

I have the tops of my ears pierced. I think that’s my only piercing now, honestly, though I used to have a septum piercing and I very briefly had my tongue pierced - though fun fact that one almost killed me.

6. favorite band

Hands down Panic! at the Disco. I’m actually going to a concert on the 30th in Cleveland, OH with one of my best friends. I am ready to ruin my throat scream singing.

7. biggest turn off(s)

Uhhh. Belly buttons. Do not touch me there. Don’t. Doooon’t. Don’t ask me to touch you there. Do not. I am absolutely repulsed by every form of belly button there is out there. I don’t know why but I just… No. No no no. I’m also much more mildly turned off by anatomy mistakes people make with me because I’m trans.

8. top 5 books

Harry Potter (obviously), Eragon, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Inkheart, Chronicles of Narnia

9. tattoos i want

I’m getting this soon, but! I’m getting a tattoo of Panic! lyrics from the newest album on my hip along with the album symbol underneath. This tattoo may be one of like two that I really want that’ll have some pretty deep emotional significance beyond “wow lol this is cool”. The lyrics are “Mama said don’t give up, it’s a little complicated.”

10. biggest turn on(s)

To be completely honest, there’s a lot of little things that get to me. I’m weak in general to attractive people and even more weak when it comes to attractive men because I have… a preference, but. People with intense looks. Really beautiful eyes. People who are incredibly tactile in a casual setting but don’t make me uncomfortable with it. I’m trying to stay safe for work here ahaha.

11. age

I’m 23, but I’ll be 24 in March.

12. ideas of a perfect date

My favorite date idea that I’ve never had a chance to put into practice is…Going out together to the downtown area of a city where there’s a lot of things to do and a lot of restaurants and just going on an adventure. Stopping in little shops that look interesting and when we get hungry stopping in a little hole in the wall restaurant neither of us has heard of or been to before. New experiences and new memories with a person I like just sounds… Great? But I’m a huge romantic, so.

13. life goal(s)

I want to be a childhood therapist or maybe a social worker. I want to make sure children don’t grow up the way I did, or at the very least have the support they need to grow up and feel like they have the tools to survive after everything’s already been said and done. I also want a house of my own - maybe a tree house? A super functional tree house full of lots of fantasy books. Also with internet and video games. And someone who loves me.

14. piercings i want

I want dermal hip piercings. I have. A thing for hips.

15. relationship status

Single. My last relationship was kind of garbage and it put me in a position for a long time where I was not emotionally healthy enough to enter into a new one. I feel like I’m okay now, but. I don’t want to rush things.

16. favorite movie

Anastasia (1997)

17. a fact about my life

I have lived in a total of seven states in my entire life. Five of those I’ve moved around to and from since I turned eighteen. I moved around a lot when I first moved out on my own.

18. phobia

Nyctophobia. I’m afraid of the dark. Deathly afraid of the dark. I don’t like not being able to see. Though if I were to go into more depth, It’s more.. Scotomaphobia, which is a fear of going blind or visual disturbances in field of view. I have full blown panic attacks when I’m unable to see, and because I’m night-blind, I can’t see in the dark. I have really terrible vision and I’m really afraid of it escalating to a point where I can’t see because the majority of the things I enjoy in life rely on my vision.

19. middle name

Tracey. Y’all don’t even know my first name but there’s that. Ya boi’s middle name.

20. anything you want to ask

I did them all and I feel like a windbag but afkhdsgdjh AAAAAA

#letaunloved #he hides behind his cigarette. (nebula speaks.)

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