#i have this horrible scary feeling that something terrible and world shattering is about to happen

[transgaysex]

i got hit with like. nauseating anxiety a couple hours ago and i dont know how to make it stop

[lightcreators]

There were coincidences, were sudden circumstances showed up inside weird timing … and circumstances who looked as good luck instants that ended up unexpected but full of meaning. In some manner, wonderful conversation he had previously with Philip Butler was one of these --- something that sounded within the appareance inside an pleasant coincidence ( where sadly and gratefully the main concerned hadn't showed up in his manor … because who knows what kind of temptation would have exploded … besides to be impossible since circumstances changed inside an nice reunion inside his home walls … and no, best that man was faraway of an main villain he cannot kill himself but in which had the great desire to show sadism ! ) where himself associated further illusions towards an casual conversation and agreement between each other. In the first place, hundreds of years ago, if he ended up with that name, it had been among an coincidence --- the opening, the fatal checkpoint for get what he wanted … who remained accurate especially since the concerned was an witch, an desired result. Sudden appareance of the leprechaun embracing him inside an strange topic, with same desiring gaze he witnessed before, looked like the second case … where he was wondering if this wasn't linked to the first. Mister Butler allow circumstances distortion was part of his function.

Nevertheless, as much he could pretend knowing the chessboard, inside current circumstances where he didn't wanted experiencing repeat of the past, it seemed mysteries was left over. As fast realization could came over something he didn't wanted to touch, as quickly denial could embracing his brain for taming an uncomfortable noise within it. There were implications. They were terrible implications inside what he was currently expressing ! It won't be just being some metaphoric loss he had been holding inside his being for one incarnation, it won't be an matter about just winning that chessboard over --- it would bring him to understand what truly happened to the kind of misery he had been pulled and find the source … Also pondering about the God of the Underground presence, when he was involved, was silent behind him.

By focusing over his last name, he hoped sending the message of the Trancy otherwise. Apparently, it was something more than that. It was another moment where he hadn't been mentally prepared to the title he handled to reach, considering another curse sending by ghost he wanted ressurecting remained anchored regardless how many centuries could pass --- his personal illusions would have to been shattered apart, for becoming containing of all ! He had survived plenty of disillusionment but it seemed that there was still some left … Hence, for staying polite in front of the conversation, he laughed a little awkwardly to the compliment. Ah, he had been trying his best to be scary. Nevertheless, he was more known for being scared, which would be a bit ironic if he were really representing fear when he was horribly frightened ! ❝ Ah, I doubt I'll be as scary as you praise me for, although I try. ❞ If one day, he could manage to feel totally alright in front of Philip Butler without one sensation of uncomfort, here, he would have reach an complete new step about being fearless ! Reintroduction of each other truly had been to impress that man who hoped found amusement about attempt to scare him … Of course, there was temptations he was silenced. Murder someone in Hogwarts with his own hands did crossed his mind, but not for please for Dark Lord, just because he wanted to ! Potter was an playground, in which accidentally, he was searching to triggering something inside of him besides to make work his brain, however, at the moment, it was another pleasant illusion for the world of daylight where another perspective was searched in the world of darkness. ❝ So much fear in someone, it must be something, especially if he is looking for greater things~ ❞ He self-mocked himself, as the end of his sentence was an half-admission.

Terror from his name, terror from his presence. Not the terror brought by an Dark Lord who wanted conquer divinity sphere without think, no, maybe it not that way it worked ? It wasn't something he could easily express neither ! Concerning thoughtfulness mess about future events, he intented to playing a lot with appareances of circumstances. In some manner, he will be an villain. In some manner, he would act for murder someone --- the Dark Lord king … where sensation and impression of the main ressurected concerned just remembering him the last person he ever wanted to cross again, where he HAD to destroy that emperor ! Where he willingly damned himself by the moment he touched his damn family, he could dream about gain whatever power out of them and out of HIM. Thoughts, once more, he pushed behind. Remaining joyful, exposed smile inscreased sightly at the empathy of his comments. ❝ People's expectations are a certain gold mine that can constantly being explored. Yes, they believe what they want to believe.~That is to say that the message that can be passed off is illusory. ❞  It was the most important thing he learned from Lelouch vi Britannia who used it as his credo. He simply decided, politely, to do better than him in an even more sneaky way. Lelouch, back in the day, wanted an result of these expectations, hence illusions created and received illusions, altered his emotionality, where there was remnant of compassion in front of that game. He was cruel on this, since the beginning, since the instant he started playing --- he had no expectations in return, would be destroyed by received illusions, hence have no limit to alter everything … Will have no limits to exploring people expectations and give them false results.

The Dark Lord will becoming his example, as he had no other king, but Potter had been his training. Potter had been the warning all the time before, just before he mean business ! ❝ Sometimes, it's not always an flaw~ You seems to understand with me, it's won't be the case. ❞ He decided to play around playfully once more time, as the topic of the coin returned again. Another laugh. ❝ Unfortunately, I'm a free spirit. I fear the volunteer will seek to domesticate me, although I have been well educated. ❞ He was already in very bad hands. Offering himself and his soul to someone that could crush someone without emotion and without remorse, who giving himself to the Underground as last solution, as it was something who was needed. ❝  Hm, Did you hear some praise from a butler that got you excited to see it yourself ? You have the same look, which flatters me enormously in this morbid curiosity~  ❞  Another laugh. ❝  This probably explains why my gaze has never deigned to rest on the letters placed on this corner just as I know well how to blind myself. Tell me: are you ready to pay the consequences ? Are you ready to take responsibility for showing the whole world that I can be fear and terror ? ❞ Good thing with Butler's name was possibility to play around to reducing to butler's job associated to an demonic nature indirectly, as he reflected words he had been receiving. Of course, he had been ready to pay consequences for his decision. Of course, he would hold responsabilities for his wish, in same manner he will. Philip Butler wanted perceive the fear and terror he could release on the world, for be amused by it. Now his trun to ask to the leprechaun if he wanted that result. In both cases, there will no coming back.

"Well of course the Malfoy name strikes people with fear. That's a bit of a given there, lad. I'm talking about you." the leprechaun mused, his eyes darted off into the distance as he recalled his older cousin's pleading for his help. Why would she need a leprechaun's help of all things with Draco Malfoy? That was simple as rain from a storm cloud. His species was built on mischief and fear ( in a sense ) and who better to have helping the situation that him? Murtogg was more than happy to help the young wizard lad. Help was a tricky word to be using however. The man had a urge to unleash the god of fear amongst the wizarding world. His cousin, Elizabeth Burke would not approve of this. Neither would her husband, nor any of her closest friends. They feared what would happen.

Shifting on his feet, Murtogg adjusted his coat collar and looked down to the young Malfoy. "Nobody would believe us anyways, y'know that right? They only be believing wot they want t'hear." he warned lightly, it was the truth when it came to his species. They had a way to make people question things. All part of his trickster and mischievous nature. A sly grin turned into a more goofy one as he prided himself on being a decent fellow. " -- oh yes. I can tell you all about it, for that coin y'got there. Y'see yer fear itself. Like it or not, lad. You are fear and that holds a nice price t'people. Iffin yer in the wrong hands.."

[grim-faux]

16_The Art of Necessity 

First

  The dreams are unfamiliar scraps of places he never knew, never saw. No, he did know these places. A building full of false children, and a strict teacher. Unpleasant creatures, clacking and springing, snatching at his mask.

 He gripped a bar in his hands and brought it down hard. Fake! Not real!

 They chased him in droves. He climbed onto the lockers, like they did. Before one or more could get a good grip, he’d already shoved the locker out from the wall and smashed three beneath. He took apart the last two with ease. He hated them so much. The pranks. Their snickering. All their traps. The stupid, copied smile they wore.

Fake! FAKE! F̸͝A̵̡K̕҉̨̛E̸̶̛!̵̢͜͞͏ !̡̮̣͔̗̭̩̩͉ͨ͒͑̄͆͒͜͝

 The silence and dark become constricting. It’s no longer a school full of terrible things with horrid ideas. There’s nothing in place of that broiled rage, but the reflections of it humming in his bones. They left that place so long ago, it wasn’t even the worst place. It wasn’t that bad. He just hated it, because they mocked him. Those fakes. He hated them!

 And then what happened?

 Ran away. Kept moving. The cold, the storm. Buildings, and places to visit but deserted. Nothing enduring, always moving. Exhausted, hungry, soaked through, and always never stopping. Should have stopped more, should have done sleep. It was hard, it was scary. No excuse. Not good. They drove onward, relentless. No, he pushed onward, searching for something. Refused to give in, more afraid of the dreams than the thought of collapsing.

 He was stopped now. Wasn’t moving. Where? No idea, not the foggiest. Something happened. Oh… there was a place, he did revisit. He shouldn’t have, he didn’t mean to. The television. Treacherous thing. What happened then?

 Cage. Kids. Yes, that did happen. He left them. Left him. Just like She left him. He ran away, like a coward. Even when he could… did something. It wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. Or, it was too much. Bad. Mistake. Should have left. Shouldn’t have bothered. Cursed.

 He took a deep breath and sighed. Through the air rustled the static, and in his ears, through his bones. He didn’t even care. He shouldn’t. Why should he fight so hard, if he was doomed to fail anyway? The world was against him and not an ounce of what he did mattered.

 His arms were numb from being so tightly wound against his sides. Shifting them, he struggled to feign off the pins and needles buzzing through his wrists. It felt uncannily like the static bristling his nerves, a sensation he normally hated. He accepted it for now, and nestled a little more into the coarse coat against his side. The white noise was a dull hum, yet he was too spent to care. Though resigned to his uncertain fate, it didn’t stop the miniscule twinge when a hand settled over his body and a thumb brushed against his back. The hand stalled.

 “You’re awake.”

 The closeness of the resonance alarmed him. Mono thought about pretending sleep, he was already tipping into that somber spiral of utter fatigue he couldn’t withstand. He didn’t want to resist. But, that wasn’t a question.

 “Mmm.” He did have a question. “Am caught?” The hand moved away, and he almost missed the gentle touch. He didn’t think adults could be anything but cruel or harsh.

 “No,” the reply came, soft. “You seem in poor shape. Hurt?”

 Hurt. That question again. Always asking, like it mattered if he was or not. It did though, didn’t it? For someone else, not for him. He saw someone hurt, and tugged at the side of his coat. “Dunno.” Calm and silence invaded, deceptive with its illusion. Was safe? Where?

 Tentatively, he uncoiled his body enough to raise his head and checked, seeing first dark. For once he wasn’t searching for his escape, but examined the walls and judged the surface. Enough definition to the gloom afforded obvious features, such as the panel texturing, eroded wallpaper, some furniture; a desk and some small bookshelf. It was dry, aside from his dampish coat – he must’ve been sleep for some time. This room….

 For a moment there, he was afraid they were someplace… more familiar. He didn’t know where precisely, but it was a shroud that lingered in the back of his mind, an unknown dread and uncertain paranoia. Like when the Thin Man appeared at the alley end, and he had no more strength for flee. Dread. A dread he didn’t want to face, didn’t want to invite, and wanted nothing to do with. More fearsome, terrifying, than being crushed to death.

 He didn’t know what could possibly be worse than dying. Then, with a little hiccup, he had a thought. He recalled what could be worse than death. Worse than pain.

 He adjusted his posture and looked up at the Thin Man. His hat was down, and he appeared to have his head resting on his hand. It was hard to decipher if he was fully awake or focused. The man in the hat sometimes pretended rest, but really watched. The disquiet scrutiny of someone, trying to figure out a puzzle with a missing piece.

 “You hurt?”

 The hat tipped up and a little bit of light glinted under the bill. “No. Worried? About me?”

 Mono tucked his head down. He only just realized he’d lost the racoon cap. Forget it, pick another hat later. “Make sure. You… not n’hurt.” It felt good to stop. Stop worrying, stop running, stop thinking. Just stop. Stay still. “S’nice t’worry.” He nuzzled into the dense fiber of the coat and just tried… to let his body soothe out. It would be nice to be anywhere else, but he preferred the warmth. It felt good on his bruised side.

 “Rest. When you are able to manage yourself, I’ll leave you to your own goings.”

 Oh. Of course. That’s right. This was rest, and later… he didn’t know what. Find foods. Don’t be seen. Scout. Sleep. So sleepy. Sleep forever seemed like a bliss. He could do just that.

 “How do know name?” he mumbled

 The static rustled. “That is a story for another day.”

 “Can tell?”

 “No.”

 “Tell?”

 The Thin Man shifted, and Mono snapped his head up to check the action, and glare. He was fixing the hat, or rubbing his face. Annoyed? Good. “No. If you are quiet and sleep, then I will consider to tell. Not before.”

 A story would have been nice, Mono reflected. Words would have distracted him from the whir of static, though, it was not painful. Or that distracting. At least that insatiable panic of impending danger and looming threat was absent. He hadn’t decided if that was really good or not. If his sense of self-preservation was shattered entirely, and he was unfeeling. A void, incapable of recognizing when running was still the better option. It horrified him, the ideal of turning into that one child who had lost all resolve. He didn’t want that to happen to him. He wanted to wake up tomorrow, or the next day. After a sleep.

 With a meek exhale, he let the tension melt from his muscles. He was frightened by how effortless it was, to forfeit.

 The Thin Man settled a hand over his side, and this time he barely winced. He was on high alert for the next few minutes, hardwired instincts screaming at him: How easy it would be for that hand to snap your neck.

 The fingers deftly brushed the back of his head; slow, gentle and steady. It felt… very nice. Somehow, it made the aches in his body feel less important, and made the horrible events seem so far-far away. He didn’t understand why the Thin Man was doing that. Too much of the strange man in the hat, he did not understand. For now, he couldn’t dwell on it. He uncoiled the tight fists his hands hand formed and focused on breathing, slow and even. The scent of smoke saturating him wasn’t so terrible anymore.

 __

 The first five steps they took from the window, they decided… awful, wretched, terrible place. From the smell in the corridors, of chemicals and decay – too familiar to the Hunters cabin – to how dim and poorly lit everywhere was. Hated it.

 Loathsome place.

 She actually gave a very soft, near imperceivably growl. It almost made Mono laugh. But they didn’t know these areas, the darkness contained. There was anything deadly and vicious, searching now as they trespassed. She, in her cunning yellow jacket. Him, in his faithful coat.

 Once, in one of the murky corridors, she tugged his shoulder. And when he faced her fully, she put her hands in a rectangle, over her head. How do you see?

 In response, he tugged up the paper bag and gave a grin. Not very well!

 And then promptly tripped on a chunk of wire.

 The flashlight was a great contribution. They passed it back and forth for a short while, trying the button. Six wasn’t too partial to the harsh light, and still felt more comfortable in the vague black. At times when Mono – guardian of the electric torch – flashed it around the walls, it wasn’t that great of a contributor. Sometimes the slicing beam made shadows, and looming-stretching, ambiguous shapes, all the more terrifying. But they needed some sort of radiance to navigate these areas, which became as impenetrable as a wall of chiseled midnight.

 The scouting eventually led to this one area in all this icky place, and without a glance shared they chose unanimously to stay there for a bit. It was calm, the air still and no strange smells made them wary. Light sprouted abundant, and despite it being a dead end, it felt safest. They needed to stop anyway, especially since he had… another incident with one of the televisions.

 The room received an astute search over. Six poked at the shelves and dark spaces, while he scrutinized the wall and the speek there. It was… transfixing. Something happened, he didn’t know what. It felt so familiar, he couldn’t place what from. Something about a room, and a—

 He’s startled by the inaudible breath of paper creeping across the table. She found the box of paper along with bits of crayons and set them on the table edge. She hoisted up onto the stool and began scratching down some lines.

 Mono took the chair. He climbed onto the table to shove the bear off. Now he could see her. She passed him a page, and briefly checked beyond his shoulder.

 Just in case, Mono looked as well. It marveled him how haunting an empty yet well-lit room could be, but beyond it was nothing but black and empty wastes. They currently sat in a dead end, where only paranoia would deliver them from certain doom. 

 He took a clump of crayons, and practically sat crouched on the table to draw. “Tweet-tweet,” he whispered. It was bird. They made tweet sounds. “Birb.”

 She mouthed the sound. It was hard to get her to speek with her voice, but he didn’t mind. Next, she showed him a picture of one Bully, with its head cracked in two. Rather violently. He judged the picture accordingly. She made a low growl.

 Mono tried to imitate the sound. “That s’hard,” he spoke, carefully. “Pick ‘nother.”

 Six stuck her tongue out. “Lern’t.”

 “All your speek hard.” He leaned over his current drawing. “And I’m stupid.” He pulled his bag up enough to pout, but only for a moment.

 This got a grimace from her. The Six. It was the closest he’d get of a smile.

 The time was devoted to the very serious business of speek-share and storytelling. Six had seen many interesting things, and done very frightening things. On the other hand, Mono wasn’t as invested in sharing where he had been or who he had seen. He focused on coloring a dark hole, with a long step ladder extending upward.

 Six snagged it away and gave it a look, turning the page this and that way. He crawled across the table and set the picture right, gesturing with his hand from the bottom of the pit to the edge. She gave him a speek. In return, he mimicked the noise. She became invested with scratching down bars, against a wall.

 “Climb?” Without looking up, Six nodded. He leaned closer, on the same page she worked at, he drew a figure on the climb steps. “Fall.” Then a figure detached from the climb steps.

 Before he finished bolding in the middle section of the person, she pried the page away and swept it off the table. In silence, Mono took another page and settled back to his chair.

 She remained very secretive, sharing so little of her speek. He didn’t know if she interacted much with other children, it seemed like she had in the past. He’d known children that just didn’t have the capacity, while others resorted to clicks or whistles. Six had some of that speek. Much of it did consist of sniffles, hisses, clicks. Her name was a fluty warble. Six. He wished he was that clever. Who gave her the name, where she got it, she couldn’t convey. Maybe she didn’t remember, either.

 A picture of a child in white clothing and red smears on the lips, was passed to him. So, she did know other children before him. He was looking at it, right before she snatched it back and began etching it in with thick, black bars – going sinister and quiet as she worked.

 Mono knew that mood. The angry, brooding girl. Then, she shows him a picture of a figure in a yellow raincoat. He tried to enunciate her name. He was so bad at it.

 Six shook her head. Then, gave him a new speek. Once more, he tried to enunciate it, though clumsy and rough. “Rain? Coat?” He snatched the picture away and lay on the table, studying it closely. “Girl? Friend?”

 She swiped the page back and gazed down intently. Then, hiked one shoulder up.

 Mono’s mind wandered to dark places, of bad things, and uncertain questions. He took a new page, and began sketching in. “Foods?” Immediately, she perked up. “Mmm.” He’d never met someone so excited to eat anything. He liked her speek for foods. “Meat.”

 She hummed, “Bread.” And began a fury of drawing.

 “Meat n’bread.”

 “Bread m’meat. Mmm. Fresh meat.”

 “Soft, fresh.”  Mono clicked his jaw.

 A sudden, muffled thump, sent both children scrambling from around the table. Six lunged into the furthest corner of the room, crouching behind a basket full of knickknack junk. While Mono crawled beneath the table and huddled up; both stare at the ceiling. Frozen and quiet, wide eyes unblinking. Sound up there. uP TheRE. Would move? Should leave? Go where?

 They remained latched down to their respective locations, alert, listening for the threat and its direction. But there was no further utterance or hint of what the sound was, and the atmosphere retained that deceptive stillness. All a lie. Something was hiding here. Something awaited their exploration, the curiosity.

 Mono inched around to face her, and pressed a finger to the front of his paper mask. Six shook her head vigorously, and slunk back behind a large stuffed animal. No place to run. A dead end.

 But he crept out from beneath the table, and snuck toward the gaping entry. She moved, only slightly, but he didn’t check. His whole focus and concentration went beyond, to the darkness. In the first room, lit by blaring lights, there is nothing. He knows this. Just the large machine, and its window that shows inside things. He slipped closer to the portal and leaned on the doorframe, checking the shroud in the large chamber. He sees the chair and wheels, the mannequins – as Six called them. How does she make those sounds?

 Nothing is evident in the space above, just more shadows and strange shapes that are not moving. False people, but they are pleasant and still. Not moving. Not annoying or sinister. They are quiet, contemplative, polite. The only semi-horrible but pleasant thing about this place.

 With a deep sigh, he returned to the brightly lit toy room. Hmm? Where is her?

 The stuffed bear quivered. Odd, he thought he left it—

 It rushed at him, colliding with his face and chest, nearly bowling him over. It was the Six! Ooh, he made her mad. Oh dear. This wasn’t good.

 She crawled under the table and sat, cross legged and arms folded against her chest. Mad, brooding, girl. He didn’t mean for her to get upset. She was fuming. This was the absolute worst.

 Mono dragged the stuffed bear with him and nudged the chair away. He flipped the swollen plush upright and shoved its arms around Six, bundling her up in the horrible gawking thing. She’s so mad, she won’t look at him, and swung away – within the embrace of the crazed toy.

 He laid down on his tummy and crawled closer, his paper bag rumpled, but it’d be okay. Reaching over the bear’s knee, he tentatively touched her elbow. She slapped his hand and wrenched away, her shoulders bunched up around the hood of her jacket.

 Well, he could just let her simmer for a bit. There was nothing wrong with that… except he was hungry, and he wanted to explore around. But he didn’t want to do that alone, and he wouldn’t leave her alone. Even if there was a chance he could bring back a peace offering.

 With a sigh, he folded his arms under his chin, and kicked his legs up to sway above his back. After a while, he started plucking at the loose thread in the plush toys feet.

 Then, Six reached over and took his hand, she shook it off the thread. Holding him by the wrist, she pulled his arm over the bear leg and mashed at his palm. Mono let his arm go limp, and let one leg bop against the bears head. She fumbled with his fingers, each in turn, traced the lines in his palm.

 Mono’s mask rustled as he leaned up enough, to glance back at the door. He didn’t hear anything, which in itself was sometimes frightening. There was an eeriness under the hush, of an unaccounted predator coiled up and waiting to spring. A trap set, waiting, knowing that a path was regularly used by clueless trespassers.

 Assured the deceit was not present (for now), he rested his chin back on his arm and shut one eye. Six pressed her palm to his, and he splayed their fingers out. Once more, he tried to pronounce her name right. Softly. She giggled, and let go of his arm. It dangled over the bear’s leg.

 Suddenly the mammoth stuffed thing was smushed against his back. ACk! He squirmed out from under the lumpy behemoth, and hauled his coat away as well. The nerve. He checked on her, and proceeded to fix the crinkles in his paper bag. Six was curled up against the bear, knees tucked into her chest, and her holding a furry paw around her side.

 “Slep?” he posed, while straightening a crease in the edge of his mask. In the hood, Six nodded vigorously. He hummed and scooted around to face the door. He hugged his legs to his chest and dipped his face behind his knees. It was cold, his pants were stiff with mud and grease, but it was his turn to watch and wait, listen. The doorway retained the disarming aura of neglect, nothing living or otherwise stirred.

 After a few minutes, a faint scuffling-twitch spilled from her. Sleep was hard. He hoped she wouldn’t wake up, but sometimes, it was the biggest trial to just be still and sleep. Dreams reminded them that there was no safety or escape, but he could wait and listen for threats, and be the one to say if it was time to run. He hoped though this time, he’d be able to get rest himself.

 He hated his dreams, likely as much as Six hated hers. The door, the corridor – the thrumming reverberations. Sometimes, he hated the sound of his own heartbeat, so familiar and intense in the dreams of him rushing to some… unknown. Actually, he was surprised she volunteered to sleep first. Nobody liked a nap, but they couldn’t get by without rest. Eventually, they crashed. Hard. It was dangerous, merciless, and more often frightening. More frightening, than tackling the lurking shades of their nightmares.

Next

[harrowdubois]

okay, i said if there was interest i would think about making a post listing all the references i squeezed into the locked tomb fic i spent the last month or so writing, and now i’ve realised i don’t care if there’s interest because i want to be self-indulgent SO

under the cut is a (somewhat spoilery) chronological list of all the memes, vines, and cribbed tumblr posts, as well as homages to various books, tv shows, song lyrics, etc. that made their way into blessed with a wilder mind! 

(cw for suicide mention)

this is of course a reference to the legendary bodybuilding forum thread where they did, actually, argue over how many days there are in a week (cw for ableist slurs in the thread)

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buzzfeed unsolved meme. i am dirt and i love to eat dirt

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this is so well-known it’s almost not worth listing it but oh my god they were roommates

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in itself, this isn’t a reference to anything in particular, but if you didn’t do this on your first read then i’d recommend taking another look at this scene and thinking about the specific wuthering heights/frankenstein/rebecca excerpts discussed by harrow and mercymorn but in relation to canon!harrow’s trauma/relationship with the body in htn :~) 

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also not really a reference to anything in particular but when i looked back over the fic for this post it struck me that the ‘sex panther’ phrasing was probably at least partially unconsciously inspired by the shoebox project (professor mcgonagall’s oiled man panther was a formative moment for me, truly)

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cw gross/unsanitary: it’s the tinder poop window incident. i mentioned this in the end notes of the fic as being what i had in mind for that scene but if it’s too gross for you (UNDERSTANDABLY) then feel free to Death Of The Author me to your heart’s content!

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i listened to a lot of orville peck while writing this

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 very very very loosely inspired by this clickhole article

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respectively: fourth of july by sufjan stevens / wuthering heights by emily bronte

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TWO BROS, CHILLIN IN A HOT TUB, FIVE FEET APART BECAUSE THEY’RE NOT GAY

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there was absolutely no need to stretch this across three paragraphs, and yet

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iconic

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i already linked to this one in the end notes of the fic itself, but it’s good, so here it is again

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 i can’t find the actual original post but it’s this fucking horrible thing 

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the last line is a reference to the secret history by donna tartt:

“Could it be because it reminds us that we are alive, of our mortality, of our individual souls- which, after all, we are too afraid to surrender but yet make us feel more miserable than any other thing? But isn't it also pain that often makes us most aware of self? It is a terrible thing to learn as a child that one is a being separate from the world, that no one and no thing hurts along with one's burned tongues and skinned knees, that one's aches and pains are all one’s own. Even more terrible, as we grow old, to learn that no person, no matter how beloved, can ever truly understand us. Our own selves make us most unhappy, and that's why we're so anxious to lose them, don't you think?”

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a lyrical double whammy!

from ‘last words of a shooting star’ by mitski: “they’ll never know how i’d stared at the dark in that room with no thoughts like a blood-sniffing shark”

from ‘a better son/daughter’ by rilo kiley: “sometimes in the morning i am petrified but can’t move/awake but cannot open my eyes” 

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*

shout-out to maybe my single favourite video game moment, the encounter with the sky cat in night in the woods: “There is a hole at the center of everything, and it is always growing. Between the stars I am seeing it. It is coming, and you are not escaping, and the universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, and there is nothing to remember it, not even the things beyond. And now there is only the hole... You are atoms, and your atoms are not caring if you are existing. Your atoms are monstrous existence.”

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“Nothing is ever fulfilled, not until the very end.” - rust cohle, true detective s1, this reference is VERY tonally dissonant because in context it’s actually grim as all hell but w/e w/e i couldn’t resist the shout-out

also harrow quotes from the goldfinch again here! i had the reference included before i read this post and realised tamsyn muir also quotes from the secret history in htn. terrible synergy 

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they are in fact all real. you’re welcome

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this one’s doing a lot of work lmao. it’s paying homage to this quote by tamsyn muir talking about the draco-in-leather-pants trope in relation to ianthe by loosely referencing drop dead gorgeous, the best drarry fic ever written, in which harry is part veela

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“It's a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, "more like deer than human being." To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.” - that’s right it’s another reference to the secret history, with a little bit of mary oliver (tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?) sprinkled on top for flavour

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a small one, but it’s the goldfinch again: “And I feel I have something very urgent and serious to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you...”

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my FUCKING cinnamon apple

 what if i... put my minecraft bed.... next to yours... aha ha just kidding.... unless?

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[cw: suicide discussion in these next two]

*

robyn can have little a rust cohle quote, as a treat.

1. “I'd consider myself a realist, all right? But in philosophical terms I'm what's called a pessimist... I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in evolution. We became too self-aware. Nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist by natural law... We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, that accretion of sensory experience and feelings, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody's nobody... I think the honorable thing for our species to do is to deny our programming. Stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction; one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.”

2. “This... This is what I'm talking about. This is what I mean when I'm talkin' about time, and death, and futility. All right, there are broader ideas at work, mainly what is owed between us as a society for our mutual illusions. Fourteen straight hours of staring at DBs, these are the things you think of. You ever done that? You look in their eyes, even in a picture, doesn't matter if they're dead or alive, you can still read 'em. You know what you see? They welcomed it... Not at first, but... right there in the last instant. It's an unmistakable relief. See, cause they were afraid, and now they saw for the very first time how easy it was to just... let go. Yeah, they saw, in that last nanosecond, they saw... what they were. You, yourself, this whole big drama, it was never more than a jerry-rig of presumption and dumb will, and you could just let go. To finally know that you didn't have to hold on so tight. To realize that all your life - you know, all your love, all your hate, all your memories, all your pain - it was all the same thing. It was all the same dream, a dream that you had inside a locked room, a dream about being a person.”

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ahaaa this one’s particularly rough. evil monkey no one alive dot jpg

“Later, that dozy embrace solidified in his memory as the single moment of artless, charmed happiness in their separate and difficult lives. Nothing marred it, even the knowledge that Ennis would not then embrace him face to face because he did not want to see or feel that it was Jack he held. And maybe, he thought, they’d never got much farther than that. Let be, let be.” - annie proulx, brokeback mountain

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a TRIPLE lyrical whammy!

- harrow’s words to gideon in the dream are a bit of a vague reference to the song ‘adventures in solitude’ by the new pornographers (”we thought we lost you/welcome back”) - gideon’s words to harrow are a reference to the song ‘blush’ by wolf alice (”you’ve got two hands to take all you can/but don’t take too long”) - what harrow texts to gideon is a line from ‘about today’ by the national, aka the most devastating song ever written (”hey, are you awake?/yeah i’m right here”...)

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i CANNOT find a clip of it but harrow’s repetition of “life is short... it’s short” was me paraphrasing from memory a line from pride (2014), because i am the worst

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spooky scary skeletons! 

“jail for gideon” is obviously a reference to the “jail for mother” tweet that tm also referenced in htn. so, not original in the slightest, but it’s a great tweet

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one of my favourite tumblr posts

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because naberius tern absolutely would watch rick and morty. he would. i know it in my heart. 

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and that’s it, i think. hope you enjoyed this horrid little post and my horrid little fic!

[trashynyland]

Alright, someone asked about this and I'm here to give.

There's not much to the HermitFamilyAU. I'll try and go in order in a way from oldest to recent characters that have been created so far.

Grian, mute avian hybrid. 23 but acts like an excited 10 year old. He communicates in bird, sign language, writing and charades. Only Mumbo, Iskall and Xisuma can understand Grian's bird talk (he'll chirp, squeak screech and squawk). He's a bundle of joy, really energetic, he loves to cuddle and he's usually always happy. He'll tend to stick by Mumbo's side a lot. He has the habit of sitting on people's shoulders, it helps him with his height dysphoria, makes him feel taller which makes him happy. He loves to build with his legos since he isn't allowed out of the house unless he's with Xisuma. He was abused by his parents who cut out his vocal cords with a knife at age 9. He's lived in the hermit household for 5 years. He has a feather shedding habit which Doc despises (that's what earned Grian the name "Feathers"). Grian and Doc have a love hate relationship but mostly, Grian loves being a little shit to Doc and annoy him. Grian can easily get sent into a panic attack if someone touches his neck without permission. He has trust issues and won't let anyone he doesn't know near him.

Mumbo, human but has the power to generate Redstone dust from his hair (like King Sparklez but he can generate the dust with his hands). He's 24 and a nervous wreck. Mumbo always needs an explanation to things he doesn't understand, if he doesn't get it then he'll try and figure it out himself. He's very shy around others he doesn't know and has a horrible stuttering habit when he has to talk to people he doesn't know. He loves hanging out with Grian (his comfort buddy boyfriend) and loves to help the little avian. His legs got shattered and ripped from a piston malfunction that he was trying to fix, they had to amputate his legs from the knee down. He's got Redstone prosthetics that are powered with Redstone (made by King Diamond). He has no recollection of his past, all he knows was that he showed up on the Redstone King's doorstep at age 7 and was adopted by the king. Mumbo's father is King Redstone (or CaptainSparklez) but Mumbo lives with Xisuma since Mumbo himself isn't found of the Royal lifestyle. But he works for his father and helps around the castle from time to time. Started living with Xisuma at age 19.

Iskall, slime hybrid. He's 27 and a comedian. He acts like a crazy uncle, loves to make inappropriate jokes but also acts like the 2nd father of the house. He loves to jokes around and pull pranks. He's very kind until you hurt his family in any way. Again, acts like the second dad of the house because things can get too crazy sometimes. When he was 16, he was shit in the eye by a blast spell which caused his eye to never grow back. Instead of getting an eye patch or a regular eye prosthetic he asked Mumbo and Doc to make him some kinda cool looking eye instead. He was abandoned by his mother at age 13, was taken in by Xisuma at age 15. He has abandonment issues.

Xisuma, Archangel hybrid (four wings, halo and 6 eyes. 4 of the eyes and the halo only appear when X uses his powers. Two of the wings get hidden beneath the top two wings.). He's over 1000 years old (but 38 in human age). He absolutely loves adopting and it's his horrible bad habit. He's been banned a few times from adoption centers because the guy can't control himself. Because of this, he's been named the "Caretaker" and "Dimensional Adopter". He's a Warrior (meaning he goes out to different dimensions to help out others in corrupted dimensions) but he's also a coder and hacker. He loves his family and would do anything to protect them. He was banished to the world Palace Concy at age 17(human age) and has lived there happily ever since. In his old world, he use to live in the heavens which had thin air. Since the air is much thicker on the ground and too much for him he wears a ventilator to help him breath better. He also can't die, he can respawn which he finds unsettling. When he dies he respawns in his bed. He's a bottom, he's gotta admit that and his husband is Doc (someone he first saved when he became a Warrior). Most of his scars on his body (including his "X" scar on his face) we're given to him by Doc himself on accident. He's a dad of the hermit household.

Doc, creeper human cyborg. He's 40 years old and a cranky guy. He tends to put up a touch guy act but in reality he's just a soft teddy bear. He'll only show his true softness when alone with Xisuma or playing with the kids. He's caring but will act like he doesn't give a shit. Parents call him Soccer Mom because of how prepared he is and how much he helps his kids but also because he tends to pick fights with the entitled parents who thinks their kid(s) are better than everyone, "News flash Christian! They aren't special!". His prosthetic arm, half head and neck, part of his chest and half is heart were all designed by King Diamond and Doctor Joe Atlantic(they also got some help from Prince Stampy). In Doc's old dimension he use to be a creeper that couldn't explode (which hunters found amusing so they'd pick on Doc and give him scars, basically abuse him). One day he fell in love with his world's Cub who later ended up turning him him an and forcing him to become his science experiment. Once he was deemed useless, Cub put him up for auction which Xisuma ended up buying him and taking him home. Doc has major trust issues with everyone and still doesn't trust Xisuma's 3rd new adoption, Cub Issatic who's always on edge and thinks someone is after his blood (character Cub is still a wip so this may change later on). Doc is surprisingly actually a cuddly type of hybrid. He loves to cuddle alone with X when they get the chance. Doc's husband is Xisuma. Doc is the mom of the hermit household.

Tango, very energetic guy, he's a Telikiantors (a mythical creature created by me the artist, there's a post I made about them but to be short, they're forest creatures that are like SirenHeads but don't eat humans unless provoked by them). Tango is a hybrid version of a Teli. He's 6 years old and still waiting for his future surgery to get on his mouth tail so he can start eating from it again (in his old home it was damaged). He loves to pull all sorts of pranks and is the house's little chaotic demon. Even with no arms, he can't be stopped. He use to be owned by an old woodworker who used Tango as his personal slave. Since Tango was young at the time and didn't know any better and was a child he'd always fool around and didn't listen. This angered his old owner who cut off Tango's arms off and cut his tail mouth so he couldn't eat. Xisuma stumbled upon him one night when the Archangel got lost on a hike in the woods. X saved him and adopted him at age 3. Even though Tango went through that torture he's still bubbly and doesn't have much trama. He's more unsure about things and will asked about them.

Impulse, he's a God actually who was the son of a lightning goddess and ocean god. He's currently 5 years old. When he was born his eyes were completely gold and blue but after his mother and father forced him to use his magic he went blind. Since he was only 3 at the time his eyes were still sensitive and not use to powerful magic or anything bright. His mother was frustrated with him that he couldn't summon up lighting or water so she summoned up some lightning and struck it right in front of Impulse which caused him to go blind and his eyes to lighten up a bit. When the parents left to argue after the situation, that's when Xisuma jumped into the dimension to save Impulse and take him away. Originally his eyesight was supposed to be fixed and he was supposed to be sent back to his home world but he refused the care and refused to leave X's side. He's very scared of powers and when people raise their voices. He's shy and fragile and can easily get overwhelmed by things. He has some sensitivity issues, where when he's so overwhelmed by something he can easily fall into a panic attack. Doc, as a Christmas gift, gave him two shovels that have turned into his comfort item. They help conceal his magic so it doesn't get too out of hand when he gets overwhelmed, upset or angry. He usually sticks by his brothers Tango and Zedaph's sides but when he's not with them then he'll be hanging around his dad, mom or one of his siblings while on a child leash (he doesn't mind the leash and actually loves it since it gives him comfort. He's still not use to being blind and all).

Zedaph, he's a witch, that what everyone knows so far. He's 5 years old and has a teddy bear attitude, his personality is very fluffy and caring. He loves the world and the world loves him. In his old dimension, he was a rich witch's slave and was forced to do dirty work. His owner once had enough of him one day when he accidentally dropped her food and his owner blasted his arm off. Because of the traumatic experience, Zed prefers to keep his eyes shut in fear of having to go through something terrible and scary again. His old owner sold him off to Xisuma who took him in and adopted him. Zedaph's powers are unknown because they haven't yet activated. He's been labelled as a witch for now because of the place he came from and his low power levels. His favorite person in the world his his Uncle Stizoom because of his fluffy hair and tail. He loves to curl up in anything soft and fluffy because of how comfortable and safe it makes him feel. It's the reason why he owns a large Wooloo plushy.

Cleo, a very rare zombie eel siren. She's 31 years old and doesn't like speaking. She likes to stay mute unless talking to Xisuma or False. Nothing seemed to be wrong with her old dimension same with her except that she was always bored. Pirates and fishermen always tried to catch her and at first Cleo loved to prank them but as she got more and more bored she started letting them capture her and sell her at black markets, auctions, sold to royals. She always knew how to escape and she found it fun at first but soon grew bored of it all again. It was always the same routine. Xisuma found her while he was wondering her dimension in a black market. He asked her if she wanted to join him but of course she said nothing. Xisuma ended up buying her and bring her home with him. Cleo has never tried to leave or escape since (except to False's bedroom to sleep with her).

Ren, dog hybrid who has DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder). Since he has many different identities all have different personalities (check out his character sheet for more details on all the identities). But mostly Ren is in charge and upfront to control the body, he is the main host after all. Ren is the definition of the one crazy uncle. He's comedic, crazy and loves to put a smile on others faces, he's also very playful. He can get flustered easily if someone dominates him (either in bed or at his own games like flirting). Ren and the body are about 21. In his old world he was abused a lot, mostly chained to a wall in a basement his entire life. He was abused a lot by his owner alpha and many other bad things. It's where a lot of his trama comes from. He one day ended up escaping but fell through a dimensional portal and ended up in Palace Concy. He was found in the woods passed out by Slime n Bone podcast who were taking a vacation with the Woodworks family in the Kosikians Sky (mt. DeathLoxes) mountains. He's was taken to Xisuma after the podcast group couldn't figure out how to help him since Ren wouldn't say anything and just shake in fear in the corner. He was taken in by X which Ren is very greatful for. Ren is scared of everyone since he's an omega and comes from an omegaverse, he thinks an alpha will come and hurt him again. Ren has a huge crush on Iskall and even though he knows the man likes him back he's too scared to ask him out. Ren loves to hang out with Grian, Doc and sometimes Iskall when he isn't blushing nervous. Very cool dude.

Bdubs, human but is immune to explosives but can still get stabbed. He's 19 actually and has a big habit of getting into trouble with Impulse and Tango. He works at an explosives store in town, helps out the construction crews when they need a certain area exploded and loves to volunteer at the firework stands that pop up during July 1st "Redstone Founders Day" (Bdubs favorite holiday). He's enthusiastic and doesn't mind teaching kids about explosives and safety in his spare time. He loves causing trouble when he can but he also loves helping out others with decorating. He's got a side job he's made "Bdubs Interior Design" and usually many people hire him for help. He use to live in a HermitCraft world when he decided to leave one year and stubbled upon an Earth dimension which he was then used as a bomber during the everlasting wars that were going on. He was one day capture and take to Palace Concy by Lunch Army and was then later adopted by X. During his time on the Earth War he gained black smudge on his face that X has found won't come off so it's become part of Bdubs skin basically. Some have called him blackface and think that he's being racist but he's not. He's just got some black smudge on his face that is unremovable. He's bubble and loves to make others smile when having a bad day. He doesn't really have any trama except for being weary of portals. He's got a crush on Keralis but won't admit it.

Keralis, human. He's 18 (looks 16) and a punk. He's mean and bitchy to everyone and doesn't let a single soul through his walls (he doesn't let others see his emotions and what he's really feeling). He love to break the law and pick fights. He works with "Brtakis Construction Company" which causes him to travel from home a lot. He's very strong and can pack a punch. He's a warrior so that's why he's got his own special weapon, he's not allowed on any dimensional missions but he's allowed to kill Alumas (soul takers) when they show up. In his old dimension he was a homeless immigrant who lived on the streets of New York (where he earned his punk attitude). He was saved by Xisuma one night when he was about to get killed by a gang group, almost got shot in the head. X had offered him a home but Keralis denied his offer. It took 5 years of constant saves and denied offers until one year he almost committed suicide he finally opened up to X and accepted his offer with a wailing sob. He still keeps his punk attitude because he grew up with it but also because he finds it cool. He also kept it because of Doc, Keralis wants to be just like the guy. All smug and strong. Doc is the person he looks up to, his idol in a way. His trama? He gets scared and panicked when left alone and he can't go near any big cities that are similar to New York.

Wels, avian hybrid mixed with an angel hybrid. He owns a halo that's cracked and shattered but only appears when he's angry. He's got beautiful golden wings that goes along with his ruby red hair. He's 15 but a secret Drag Queen at night. He loves to entertain people and put on a show, show off what he can do. He loves the stage and to him it's his home and life. (Idk how to explain it but he's just like the YouTube Wels but gay). He owns two Drag Personas, Cherry Rider who's his usual sona he dresses as who can be a wild ride. Cherry is an encouraging fool that will try and help anyone build up their confidence to do anything that their heart desires to do. His other persona is HelsKnight, Hels is a naughty bad fool who, for Wels is his way of getting his anger out in style and in a safe way. He'll preform and have a happy attitude when Cherry but have a dark and naughty~ attitude when being Hels. Because of X's worry, Wels has paired up with Doc on the weekends to do drag but pairs up with Skeppy during the weekdays for drag. Since he's young he still needs parental vision. Not much about his past except for being an orphan all his life and getting bullied at school and at his orphanage for being gay and loving to cross dress. When Xisuma adopted him, Wels hid his love for drag which ended up causing problems because when Cherry Rider first appeared on TV Xisuma fell in love for her and was horrified when he found out the drag person character was his son. After a bit of awkward talking and drag performances from Doc for X, Xisuma got over his silly love crush for Cherry and told Wels that he accepts who he is and will always love him as family. Xisuma told him that it would just be a bit awkward for awhile because X still had to get over the fact that his favorite drag queen he had a crush on was actually his adopted son. Doc helped both X and Wels after the reveal. Wels grew more confident and stopped hiding his drag cross dressing side (while his father Xisuma got over his crush and dropped it entirely but he ended up crushing on Wels' drag performance partner Skeppy). Wels still has a small fear of being himself in front of others but has overcome most of that fear because he knows his family has got his back (especially his over protective Dadsuma who would kill anyone who hurts his family and his Docmom who will murder any parents that talk his son down, "I'm lookin at you Rebecca! Your daughter is a lesbian and will never be straight you blind fu-"). Wels has a small crush on Biffa (an orphan friend of his that lives on the other side of the world (Biffa is still being developed) who Xisuma is thinking about adopting.

Jevin, rare blue slime hybrid. He's 1 year old and there's not much to him. He's a happy a baby who has a weird love obsession life with the Jello food. Iskall loves to take that and tease his baby brother with it (like stabbing his lil brother's jello in front of him and watching him cry about it, Iskall just finds Jevins whole Jello obsession hilarious). Xisuma actually found Jevin in a basket by his tracker right before he was about to work on his farm fields. Jevin will usually be hanging out with Iskall since he's also a slime and the hybrid connection helps them work better with each other. But also since Xisuma and Doc have no idea how to take care of a slime hybrid since they're hard to come by in Concy and there's not many books about them, so the two husbands let nature take it's course with Iskall since it looks like he knows what he's doing.

NPC Grian or Rustie, he's a demon but apparently can change into a robot? He's an interesting type. He's 25 and a cheerful man. He works in architecture, both with planning out the building and how it will look along with the construction. He also works at a bookstore named "BookRook". He's sweet and kind but will snap your neck in you make him angry, a smile with a dark atmosphere like aph Russia. He loves his kids but if he finds Grain making anY MORE ROBOTS THEN HE'S GOING TO-. He love to volunteer for events and he loves his husband Zoom. He was found by Zoom in his old dimension where Rustie was still locked and hibernating in his closet. He would have taken his robot brother with him but Robot Grian was in horrible condition and... dead so there was no use of him. Rustie owns a nice little rustic cabin in the woods beside a like with a great view. He and Zoom built the house and nother are proud of their work and family.

Evil Xisuma or Stizoom(Zoom), a Strider hybrid but fluffier. He's 27 and has a very gentle heart. He loves nature with a passion and Rustie tends to find him curdle up in his flower beds quite often. He likes to bird watch and plant flowers. He's a five star chief for "Blossburgi Restaurant" and a karate teacher for "Hightri's Karate". He hates the cold and loves to cuddle up with Rustie during the cold seasons and Rustie finds it adorable. Luckily, the two own a nearby hot springs so when things get to cold, Zoom will go hang out in the hot springs for awhile. He loves animals, all kinds. In his old dimension he was always forced to be near creatures and he always hated the small to so little space he always got. Xisuma found him and took him in for all awhile until Zoom found and fell in love with Rustie. His husband is Rustie and they both love each other very much. Very cute :3.

HermitPets, they're more used and made for a different AU of mine but in HermitFamily they're more background characters for sorts. Not much.

HermitFamily house, huge house I mean huge. It's a mansion that's up in the Stonety Mts. It sits in a large valley surrounded by mountains. The valley is actually a farm the the hermit house owns. They grow crops and sell it the small nearby town they live by named "Vellenture". Their house, in the back has a large poor (more of a lake and it's for Cleo) but it attaches to a nearby forest. The house itself, on the outside is a creamy white and on the inside, many colors. (I'll have to draw it out for a better explanation but basically the house looks like Grian's mansion but a creamy white and rustic grey.

[tbooks79]

My Review of the “ An Ember in the Ashes series”

Well, I finally finished the “ An ember in the Ashes” series and my heart is now ashes itself. Before I start this review, I would like to point out that it might be biased, and that my intentions are not to attack the author, but rather to describe my experience, however painfully raw and wonderful it has been.This series is a journey that reveals itself incessantly unpredictable. Through it, I have seen my heart and soul become treacherous to my body, and my mind to my tongue. There are literally no words for me to convince you to take on this adventure with me. Yet I will try to do so.( there might be some spoilers for the entire series.)

  The first book of the series: “An Ember in the Ashes” introduces you to a world of suffering, and two main characters, Laia and Elias are trapped in it against their will. From start to finish, the author makes it clear that this is no fairytale or sappy love story, but one that will easily sweep you off to an entirely new world. But is it? A new world? Is the world the author describing so different from the one we live in right now? Where humans feed and glee on other human’s pain, and where being in power matters the most even if it means breaking and shattering. Where even if we have a common foe as an enemy, we seek to fight each other still.

    When Laia arrives at Blackliff as a slave to spy on the commandant, she also discovers that having lost her family is probably the easiest thing she’s had to deal with, because Blackliff is not just a school, it is a prison. One that turns children into monsters and everyone else within its walls into their worst selves. And even if someone like Elias is fighting against it, it will eventually grab onto him and never let go. Now I don’t like Laia. I guess I am just not as attached to her as many of you are. She’s every character in every YA fantasy novel and I’ve read tons of stories like hers. She’s to me, the least interesting character of the whole series from the first book to the last, even if the author tried very hard to change that fact. Not to say that the character is not well written, because it is. It’s also well developed throughout the story. However, her story, and how she is written is just too familiar. I found myself feeling bored while reading her chapters, and wishing I could skip them altogether. But, my reader’s heart kept me from doing such a thing, for I am very well aware that her voice is important to the story.

  Helene though, has my entire heart, I was drawn to her character since the first moment she appeared in the story. What I witnessed after is nothing short of amazing. Helene is flawed and unlike Laia, the author is not consistently trying to make you believe that she’s not. She makes mistakes, terrible ones, and turns them into triumphs even if it seems like life is always testing her. Her suffering and heartbreak start with Elias as she watches him fall in love with another. It goes on in book two when she becomes the blood shrike of an evil emperor and has to haunt the man she loves in order to kill him. The murder of her family before her eyes, the loss of identity, battling two parts of herself she doesn’t even fully understand and I know Laia has been through as much, but Helene’s pain feels real. Her character is more human in a way that Laia’s is not. Laia’s character is fictional through and through and Helene is human, and that is perhaps why she is less loved. It is easier to love a character if you can still think of them as fictional, the moment they become too real, and you can connect them to someone or something in real life, and their bad parts become the bad parts in all of us. These characters, in our mind, are no longer likable. As a reader, you know this. You have felt this. And as I’ve said before, i am very biased, I never really like the protagonists, the villains are always more interesting. I personally think that the only series that balances “real” in both heroes and villains perfectly is of course, Avatar the Last Airbender, but that deserves an entire blog by itself.

    Going back to Ember, yes I did hope for Elias and Helene to end up together, although  I knew from the beginning that they would not. I like Elias though, He’s a softie and a cutie, and when he saves someone they don’t actually end up dying for his cause ( Izzi). Elias’s narration of his love for Laia is what really made me vouch for them. I liked learning about Laia through Elias’s perspective, which is so stupid to even say, and also so contradictory to what I was saying earlier because Elias often does think of her as perfect. To him she does no wrong. But then, that’s every man in love.

    I would definitely describe Elias as an introvert. The true ember in the ashes. He lives in his head a lot, which I find intriguing. Because his self loathing is so raw, it is scary. The fact that he can save the whole world and still thinks he’s horrible connects well with that real feeling of “ I am not doing enough” that we all get sometimes, Yes I am changing the world, but I am disappointing so many others. I also like that he never hated Helene, and was able to understand her pain where even herself couldn't. I like their relationship. It actually made me happy that the author crushed the love triangle by the end of book two, because the whole thing was getting on my nerves. And one other thing I also noticed in Elias’s character is that he’s very accepting of others. He doesn’t judge people much, which made his role as the soul catcher perfect for the character. Yes he is a mask, sort of a murderer, skeptical and very careful, but he knows he’s not perfect, and doesn’t necessarily expect other people to be.

     In my opinion, Sabaa Tahir created a very beautiful, fantastic world. Her descriptions are vivid and I often find myself in the city she’s describing. I even grew attached to the characters. I just wish she wasn’t killing so many people for no reason. At first, I could see why some people had to die, like in the trials. Even up to Izzi ( I am still salty about it, though). I kind of understood those I guess, but then in the last book, I just felt like she killed people just for the sake of being a mean author, and yeah I just thought Helene deserved better. After everything she’s been through, she and Harper deserved better. That’s all I have to say. And to me that was the only flaw to an otherwise perfect finale to a series. I do think the last book is the best of all the books, and if you haven’t read them, sorry if i spoiled it for you, and you should do it as soon as you can, so you can get your heart broken and rage as hard as I did. Go read this series. It is amazing.

- Teri Jacques

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions: 24

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(on ao3)

chapter warning: alcohol, drunk kisses

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, as nonchalant as he can, “hold onto something for me, alright?” Lan Zhan turns to him with a question in his brow, but he doesn’t hesitate to offer out his hand when Wei Wuxian extends his fist. He drops the five nails in a little tinkling pile, and a small furrow develops between Lan Zhan’s brows. Wiping his hands off on his skirts, Wei Wuxian tugs the dizi from his belt and spins it between his fingers. “Yin iron,” he says by way of explanation. It’s not that he thinks he’ll go crazy and start commanding puppets again or something. He’d have to reforge them anyway, try to remake the entire Seal — but he’s never been very good at leaving things alone. For now, maybe it’s better if he’s not the one holding onto them. Lan Zhan studies him a long moment before giving a short nod. The nails disappear into one of his giankun pouches, and Wei Wuxian breathes a little easier.

The kids are still weeping, huddled around a-Qing’s little grave. Watching them, he feels hollowed out, emptied, carved. Lan Zhan stands quiet beside him, but there’s a tightness to his stillness like he’s hiding a stab wound. Taking a breath, Wei Wuxian drags up a smile and claps his hands together. “Come on, kids, enough crying,” he says. “You’re going to shrivel up like plums. Let’s go.” They’re still sniffling, but they scrub their wrists across their faces and nod obediently. Good kids, Wei Wuxian thinks a little distantly. Good kids, to cry for the bravery of a girl they never met, to lament the tragedy of men they would never know. It’s a long walk back down to the next town, and he spends it gritting his teeth against the encroaching thoughts of everything they witnessed. Lan Zhan walks in silence, his gaze downcast. Behind them, the juniors are quiet for the first part of the walk before they start murmuring amongst themselves again. “But what will Song-daozhang do?” cries the Ouyang kid. Endure, Wei Wuxian thinks, or not. He probably will. With Xiao Xingchen’s spirit, fragmented and despairing, in his care, Song Lan will probably keep walking until his feet wear down to nubs. Wei Wuxian sneaks a sideways glance at Lan Zhan, feeling his stomach sink further as he catches the pinch of his brow. He wants to reach out, wants to give his wrist a gentle squeeze or brush his hand against his elbow, draw his attention here and now and away from whatever terrible seclusion his thoughts are folding around him. His fingers curl into his palm instead. Lan Zhan looks so rigid, so brittlely strung. Wei Wuxian thinks of the cast of his eyes when Song Lan turned and walked away, and he looks away. He's been avoiding remembering his death so much he hasn't even thought about Lan Zhan at the time. Now, with the memory of Xiao Xingchen's broken spirit like a weight in his palm, he can't think of anything else. Lan Xichen had said cultivators had tried to summon his spirit with Inquiry and other rituals. He can't know for sure, won't ask Lan Zhan, but he has a feeling these weren't the half-hearted attempts of punks trying to raise a scary ghoul. And he knows the cultivator most skilled in association with spirits. There's a heavy hollow in his chest, in the space behind his solar plexus. He doesn't remember being dead, but he remembers moments of dying. He knows enough about broken spirits to make a good guess at what happened. His soul was already in fragments by the end, cracked and splintered by the Burial Mounds and the war and the Seal and all he'd done to survive. Spirits that badly damaged follow three paths: either they're completely destroyed in death and fall out of the cycle completely, they shatter and disperse till they're absorbed back into the world's qi and either repaired or simply subsumed, or they cling. Stuck to whatever is nearest, whatever is strong enough to hold onto their fraying thread: a loved one, a spiritual weapon, a project the owner spent hours pouring their intention into. Spirits like that, spirits that have been so utterly ruined, don't answer any song. Their music has been broken, the strings snapped, the bamboo split. They don't want to be persuaded, are too damaged to have any desire to pull on. The only way to bring them back is to command them. Drag them back with blood and fierce intent. Lan Zhan spent so many hours after the war searching for music to heal Wei Wuxian, to turn him away from demonic cultivation and purge him of resentment. Did he spend those same hours searching for a way to bring him back, trying to figure out why his spirit didn't answer any call? Did he play for him, waiting for a reply that never came till Dafan Mountain? How many nights did he wait, hoping into the silence? He's grateful when they get to an inn and it's serving liquor. He can't be too reckless in front of the little juniors — some ingrained part of him still fusses at making sure they're safe and keeping an eye out for them — but he can down three bottles at dinner and only feel warm, a little softer. His thoughts don't hook quite as sharply onto the same clawing spirals. Lan Zhan's weirdly permissive, the way he was when they met Nie Huaisang. It's...nice. He can imagine shijie's worried frown, but Lan Zhan is a warm shoulder against him and he doesn't even scold Wei Wuxian for drinking too much in front of his little Lan disicples. Lan Jingyi does, however, scowl at him like he's somehow corrupting their esteemed Hanguang-jun. "I don't see why we can't drink if you can," Jin Ling objects, stabbing at his pickled cabbage. "Because you're a baby, Young Mistress," Lan Jingyi sniffs. "Babies don't get wine." "You!" Before Jin Ling can lunge across the table to Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui shifts up a little on his knees to block his access. Jin Ling huffs out a breath and sits back down. "Whatever. Father’s let me try some wine at least," he says. "I bet you couldn't even hold a cup." Lan Jingyi's eyes narrow like he can tell he's being prodded but can't quite figure out an answer. Swishing his third bottle absently by the neck, Wei Wuxian leans his shoulder into Lan Zhan's and shakes his head. "Drinking before you're old enough to fly? Jin Ling, what would your mother say?" he scolds. In his periphery, he can see Lan Zhan's gaze slant toward him as if at hypocrisy, and he hides a snort by taking another drink. "Mother can outdrink Father," Jin Ling says dismissively before freezing, eyes going wide and face flushing. "I mean! My mother isn't a drunk. She'd never—" "Being able to hold your liquor is an important skill in Yunmeng," Ouyang Zizhen says with all the authority of a fifteen-year-old who's probably never been drunk. "Da-jie says you should never underestimate a noble lady with fine wine.” Biting his bottom lip, Wei Wuxian tries not to laugh at the solemnity with which he offers this advice. It's not wrong, really. Shijie had taught Jiang Cheng and him drinking games on the end of the docks when they were old enough. She'd been able to go toe-to-toe with them before the war. He still remembers the first night they all returned to Lotus Pier after the war. How they'd wound up in a pile at the foot of the lotus throne, drunk and sobbing into each other's shoulders. They'd all woken up hungover, heads pounding and stomachs uneasy at the scent of food. For a few moments, though, as he slid into sleep with shijie and Jiang Cheng's arms wrapped around him and each other, he'd felt safe in a way he hadn't in years. "Yunmeng wine is the richest," he informs the juniors now. "Emperor's Smile is the best, of course, but Yunmeng has the most complex flavors. Qinghe's alright but the mare's milk takes a while to get used to."

He pauses, contemplating the liquor he last had in Lanling before realizing the juniors are all looking at him a little funny. There were only two tables left in the room when they arrived, and so their party is huddled around them like ragamuffin sprouts. "Senior Mo, have you traveled so much?" Lan Sizhui asks, and bless him, he sounds genuinely curious. Has he traveled a lot? It doesn’t seem so. He’d always wanted to as a kid, had grown up chasing stories of grand adventures and mysterious lands, but then the war had happened and then everything else and then, well. “When did you travel so much?” Jin Ling demands. “You never left Jinlintai and then everyone said you were locked up because you went mad.” “Jin-xiong,” Ouyang Zizhen hisses, looking appalled. Lan Sizhui’s staring resolutely at his empty bowl, his face white as his robes, and Lan Jingyi’s eyes are about bugging out of his head. Wei Wuxian kind of wants to laugh, but there’s a well of melancholy rising in him, too. How horrible was this Mo Xuanyu’s life? His wrist pangs, and he reaches absently to close his hand around the hidden cut. “What? It’s true and anyway he’s my — well, he was in my sect. So,” Jin Ling says, crossing his arms again. “He is worthy of your respect.” Lan Zhan’s voice is a low vibration through Wei Wuxian’s bones, spreading from the point where their shoulders are still pressed together. He doesn’t speak sharply but firmly, like it’s imperative Jin Ling listen. Wei Wuxian swallows, throat abruptly dry. It’s not like— well. He knows Lan Zhan holds him in — in some kind of esteem. He’s an idiot, but he’s not that oblivious. There was a time, once, when he was bleeding open and snarling at anyone who came close, when he thought Lan Zhan just viewed him as a project to fix, yet another example of Hanguang-jun’s righteousness. But he knows that wasn’t fair, couldn’t even hold onto that anger for too long — not when Lan Zhan got so upset when Wei Wuxian wouldn’t talk to him, not when he insisted he was still his soulmate, not when he stepped aside at Qiongqi Pass. He can’t quite understand why, but he’s accepted the abundance of evidence that Lan Zhan, for reasons comprehensible only to him, thinks he matters. It’s different to hear that aloud, to hear it in firm words and Lan Zhan’s most adamant tone. Something wobbly and warm tips over in his chest, like a jar of wine tilted precariously on edge. As fond as he is of the juniors, he suddenly doesn’t want to stay down here anymore. He wants to be able to hear Lan Zhan say his name again, the way the syllables are so soft and full in his voice. “Hey, Lan Zhan, we ought to check on our buddy,” he says, looping a careless hand around his wrist. “It’s been a while since we played for him.” Lan Zhan blinks up at him, brow wrinkling a little like he's worried something's wrong, and Wei Wuxian can't help smiling back at him. So much is wrong — the whole world's spinning on a bad axis — but he's here and Lan Zhan's here with all this stubborn loyalty and for this one instant, Wei Wuxian's greedy heart doesn't want anything else. He snags another couple bottles on their way up the stairs, and Lan Zhan's frown deepens a little but he says nothing. Upstairs, they set the giankun pouches careful distances from each other and settle into their nightly routine: Suppression, then Calming, then Cleansing, then Rest. It's not a perfect system, but the set works well enough to keep the various body parts from tearing through their giankun pouches as long as they do it regularly. It's gotten more difficult with the addition of each new body part, and now that they've added the torso and arm from Yi City, they wind up playing through each song three times before the pouches finally settle and stop rustling. Humming in quiet satisfaction, Wei Wuxian leans on his elbow and lets his gaze fall on Lan Zhan as he puts away his guqin. He does it all with such exquisite care, such unified focus. Not like Wei Wuxian, whose thoughts scatter and ricochet off each other in all the directions of the wind. He laughs a little, and Lan Zhan looks to him in question. "Hey Lan Zhan," he says, "remember when we first met Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan back in Yueyang?" A hint of sadness enters Lan Zhan's eyes, his eyelashes flicking down as his brows furrow. Wei Wuxian spins the bottle absently within the circle of his middle finger and thumb. "Back then, I thought we might be like them," he says. "You know, going off to fight evil and protect the weak."

He'd been so delighted, awed, over meeting his shishu and his companion. Looking at the two of them, their sure confidence and easy trust in each other, he'd nearly tripped over his own feet to show how he and Lan Zhan were like them. He’d felt something unclick in his chest at the sight of them, understanding like a lotus bloom unfurling. Now, he thinks of Shanghua a white gash across Song Lan's back, and he thinks of Lan Zhan's desperate voice in the rain of Qiongqi Pass. How naive, how hopeful. "Who would have thought such noble cultivators would meet such terrible fate," he remarks. “Ended so miserably for something that had nothing to do with them.” The thought makes him a little morose, dampens the pleasant golden fuzz that’s been filling him. “The world is truly unpredictable,” Lan Zhan says, flat. His fingers brush Wei Wuxian’s, pluck the bottle from his hand as deftly as any pickpocket. Wei Wuxian gapes, staring as Lan Zhan tilts his head back and downs the last of the bottle. “Lan Zhan?” he squeaks. Setting the bottle down, Lan Zhan blinks a little into space. Oh no, Wei Wuxian thinks. He vaguely remembers getting Lan Zhan drunk once in Cloud Recesses and a deep sense of exhaustion from wrangling him. This time, though, Lan Zhan makes no move to get up. His hand moves slowly to prop up his forehead, and he nods forward, eyes closing. Wei Wuxian stares. “Lan Zhan?” he prompts, leaning forward. No answer comes except for Lan Zhan’s slow, even breaths. A laugh bubbles up out of Wei Wuxian, and he claps his hands over his lips to stifle it. Oh no. This is too cute. He reaches out, smiling, to brush a lock of hair out of Lan Zhan’s face. It’s as soft as it’s always looked, sleek and silken against his hand, and Wei Wuxian runs his hand absently back against the crown of Lan Zhan’s head. “So pretty, Lan Zhan,” he hums, swaying a little as he leans against the table to study Lan Zhan’s face. “We really are lucky, aren’t we?” Relaxed in sleep, he looks so young. Wei Wuxian’s seized with an absurd urge to protect him, to bundle Lan Zhan up and take him far away from the world and its greedy, demanding hands. Lan Zhan deserves better. Lan Zhan should never look so desolate, so horribly alone as he did watching Song Lan walk away. “Young master?” Wei Wuxian startles hard enough his elbow slips on the table and he nearly cracks his chin on it. He whips around, a little unsteady and hand tight around his dizi. Wen Ning’s eyes blink at him from upside down through the window. It takes a long moment for him to make sense of the position. “Wen Ning?” he demands. “What are you doing?” A flurry of grey and black, and Wen Ning lands neatly inside the room. He’s wearing a dull blue-grey, the color some of the outer Jiang disciples pick for night hunts or training, and his hair’s been pulled up into a neat bun on the back of his head. Wei Wuxian squints. "I'm sorry, Wei-gongzi," Wen Ning says, still kneeling where he landed. Wei Wuxian frowns, crossing his arms and tilting his head. The shackles are gone from Wen Ning's wrists, which is good, though he still has — well, a lot of questions. Is Wen Ning part of Yunmeng Jiang now? Did Jiang Cheng adopt him? He tries to remember if Jiang Cheng ever mentioned wanting a little brother and finds himself looping back without an answer. "Come on, Wen Ning," he says. "Stand up, won't you?" Wen Ning's head dips lower, so that Wei Wuxian can see the plain grey ribbon wound round his hair. Well, at least it doesn't have lotuses embroidered on it. He'd have even more questions then. "Ah, well then," he says, and flicks back his skirts to kneel. "I guess this is alright." Wen Ning looks up with a jolt, brown eyes going wide. "Gongzi!" he yelps. "No, you mustn't!" He tugs on Wei Wuxian's elbow as if to lift him up to standing, and Wei Wuxian uses that to pull him up as well. He keeps a hand on Wen Ning's arm to make sure he doesn't kneel again and raises his eyebrows. "See? It's much better to talk like this, isn't it?" he prompts. Wen Ning doesn't look convinced, but he stays upright, so Wei Wuxian counts it as a win. Releasing him, he drops his hands to his hips. "Now, what's happened?" he asks. "What do you remember?" "Not much," Wen Ning admits, shaking his head a little. "I remember being chained up somewhere dark. Someone would come check on me, I think. I don't remember what they looked like, but they smiled a lot. I remember them putting the nails in my head." Wincing, Wei Wuxian swallows. He'd hoped that Wen Ning didn't remember that part at least. "It must have been Xue Yang," he says. "He also used nails to control Song Lan." "Why?" Fatigue settles into Wei Wuxian's bones like a heavy blanket. Trust Wen Ning to still question why someone would want to seize power over another, even when faced with the man who first did the same to him. Crossing his arms over his chest, he presses his palm to his inner arm till it pangs just a little. "Probably at the behest of the Jin sect. He was a guest disciple there for some time, Lan Zhan said," he explains. Wen Ning accepts this with a slight nod. There's a dismal cast to his eyes and brow, like he's about to wade into some task he'd really rather avoid. "Jie told me some of what happened since, and I heard from some others," he says. Wei Wuxian brightens at the mention of Wen Qing. For all that she maintained a horribly professional facade of indifference, she was great at gossip. She probably had all kinds of insights into the last thirteen years. "Jie said that the Burial Mounds are gone," Wen Ning says. "Our family...they're all gone." The wind cuts out of Wei Wuxian's sails abruptly, and he inhales sharply. He hasn't let himself think about this. If he thinks about it too much, he'll have to wonder if the seals he painted on their houses gave them any protection or just trapped them where the sects could burn and murder them. His stomach gives a funny, nauseous flip. "Young master, I heard that Jiang-zongzhu killed you," Wen Ning says. He sounds miserable, like he's revealing some great failing of his own. Wei Wuxian's shoulders sink and he sighs, waving a hand. "No, that's not how it is," he says. "Jiang Cheng didn't kill me. It was the backlash of the Stygian Tiger Seal." Has the whole world been left thinking Jiang Cheng killed him? Maybe it's for the best. Yunmeng Jiang had still claimed him up to the end, after all. They would have been in a tricky situation, too clear a scapegoat for the Yiling laozu's misdeeds. If everyone thought Jiang Cheng killed him, at least that would clear some of the blame. At least Jiang Cheng would know the truth. As long as he didn't blame himself, it wasn't such a bad arrangement. "Young Master, you died in such an awful way," Wen Ning says, and then his knees are bending, dropping back down to the floor. "I shouldn't have left you." "Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian gripes, tugging on his arms. "No, enough of that. You didn't leave me. I – I shouldn't have sent you away like that. I never should have threatened you." Wen Ning looks up at him with big, sad eyes that would be tear-filled if Wei Wuxian hadn't taken that away from him, too. Swallowing hard, he pulls on Wen Ning's wrists till he's standing again. His shoulders are still bowed forward, but it's an improvement. "What else have you heard?" he asks, already dreading the answer. Wen Ning looks up, his eyes brightening a little. There's such a terrible earnestness to his expression, that childish hope he'd seen first in Cloud Recesses. He can't help smiling a little reflexively at it. "Ah, young master," he says. "We have a niece! She's very kind and energetic. And jie is expecting another baby. She thinks it's going to be a boy."

Tears sting Wei Wuxian's eyes unexpectedly, and he gives out a shaky laugh. Of all the outcomes in the world, he never expected to see both sides of his haphazard family brought together like this. Even if he never gets to meet this little niece and her expected brother, he knows they're safe and happy. It's enough. "Yeah?" he says. "What are they going to name him?" Before Wen Ning can answer, there's a blur of white in the corner of his eye and then a boot on Wen Ning's chest and then— Wei Wuxian stares at the new hole in the wall where Wen Ning and Lan Zhan both disappeared before shrieking and chasing after. He was asleep! How did this happen? Outside, Wen Ning is picking himself up off the ground while Lan Zhan frowns down at him. He’s left Bichen and his guqin behind and seems to be planning on staring Wen Ning into defeat. It’s not a bad plan, really. No one has as intimidating a glare as Lan Zhan. “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” Wei Wuxian bleats, grabbing hold of him around his middle. Lan Zhan turns to him and gives a solemn nod that answers absolutely nothing except that he’s clearly still drunk. Wei Wuxian groans. “Ahh, Wen Ning, are you alright?” he asks, leaning around Lan Zhan’s side. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, he’s just drunk.” “I’m alright, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning says. Still pressed close to Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan frowns and leans a little to the side as if to block his view of Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian has to stifle a laugh even as he wants to groan. Lan Zhan would be so embarrassed if he saw himself. “Will Lan-er-gongzi be alright?” Wen Ning asks. “Yeah, I’ll just take him up to the room and he’ll sleep it off,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Zhan turns a little towards him, still tucked up close, and it’s like a parody of a lover’s hold with him nestled in the circle of Wei Wuxian’s arms. His heart skips a little at the thought, at the jolt of want that shoots through his chest. To have it be real, to have a reason to hold Lan Zhan like this that isn’t corralling his drunk shenanigans. Clearing his throat, he lets himself tighten his arms around Lan Zhan and look over at Wen Ning. “It’s probably best if we talk another night,” he says. “Be careful and stay safe, okay?” There’s a hint of a smile on Wen Ning’s face as he bobs his head in an emphatic nod before turning and disappearing into the woods. A hand closes around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, and he looks up to find Lan Zhan staring intently at him. “Wei Ying,” he says. “Don’t go.” A giggle escapes Wei Wuxian and he stifles the grin he can feel slipping out. Where is he going to go? “Lan Zhan,” he teases, “what are you going to do? Tie me up so I can’t run off?” Lan Zhan blinks at him a moment, and Wei Wuxian’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Mn,” Lan Zhan says abruptly and reaches up behind his head. By the time Wei Wuxian’s brain has kicked back on, Lan Zhan has removed his forehead ribbon and started wrapping it neatly around his wrists. He watches, mouth parted in silent shock, as the white loops around and around, neatly covering his bracers. Lan Zhan ties it off in a series of knots that look almost like a braid, and Wei Wuxian tests it absently. It’s firm but not uncomfortable, the metal medallion resting just below the notches of his wrists. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian looks up. “Stay.” His eyes are honest and sad, like he really thinks Wei Wuxian’s going to leave him standing drunk in the forest without his forehead ribbon. Reaching up, Wei Wuxian pats his chest awkwardly with both hands. “Don’t worry, Lan Zhan,” he soothes. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just go back inside, alright?” Lan Zhan nods and starts toward the door with a tug on the loose end of the ribbon. Wei Wuxian trips after him, trying desperately to stifle the giggles that keep bubbling up out of him. He feels young again in a way he hasn’t for years, like they’re still just kids in Cloud Recesses, trying not to get caught by Lan Qiren. Only it’s not Lan Qiren who catches them this time. Entering the dining room, they find all the juniors still there — now trying frantically to hide the wine they’ve clearly picked up in Lan Zhan’s absence and gawking at the two of them. “Ah! Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui greets, a little too bright, “how did you—” Right. They’d been upstairs before Lan Zhan kicked a hole in the wall. Wei Wuxian scrambles for an answer. “Lan Zhan heard something outside,” he says, “but it turns out it was just you all sneaking liquor.” He tries to make his voice sound disapproving, but he’s not sure how well it works. He is...not sober. Whoops. Lan Zhan gives a little tug on the ribbons, as if to start toward the stairs, and Wei Wuxian stumbles forward with it. There is a gasp too loud to be anyone but Lan Jingyi. Oh no. All the juniors are now staring at his wrists and the Lan juniors have gone white as death. He knows he read rules about the forehead ribbon back when he had to memorize them all. Something about restraint. Restraint, restraining— “Right! Lan Zhan was just showing me a special use of your clan forehead ribbon,” he says quickly. “To erm restrain fierce corpses when you need to take them back for further study.” “That’s not—” Before Lan Jingyi can finish, Lan Sizhui has clapped a hand over his mouth and is smiling brightly at the two of them. “How clever!” he chirps. “I thank our seniors for showing us such a hidden skill.” Lan Zhan gives another tug, this time more adamant, and Wei Wuxian gives a little wave to the juniors as he’s led up the stairs. They really look horrified, all big eyes and open mouths. Back in their room, Lan Zhan leads him to the bed and sits down carefully on the edge to face him. He’s so serious! Wei Wuxian laughs, letting his hands fall between them. “Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s tone is almost helpless and his fingers are light as a feather as they brush against the curve of Wei Wuxian’s cheek. He looks up, laughter fading as he catches Lan Zhan’s steady gaze. On impulse, Wei Wuxian turns his head just enough that his lips graze Lan Zhan’s palm. There’s a quiet breath, but Lan Zhan makes no move to pull away as Wei Wuxian’s hands lift up to cradle his. “Lan Zhan,” he murmurs against his knuckles. “Lan Zhan, you’re too sweet. Too sweet, too sweet.” He presses a kiss to his fingertips, to the base of his thumb, the point on his wrist where he can feel his pulse jumping. He looks up through his lashes and Lan Zhan is watching him with lips parted, eyes dark and intent. “Do you like this?” Wei Wuxian asks, still watching as he slides Lan Zhan’s sleeve back a finger’s width to press his lips to the skin there. Swallowing, Lan Zhan gives a slight nod. Wei Wuxian hums and pulls him closer by his wrist, hands settling over his chest. His heart’s beating so quickly, like a rabbit racing under Wei Wuxian’s palms. “Lan Zhan,” he says, looking up at him, “tell me. Did you burn joss paper for me?” There’s a beat where they’re sitting there, suspended, Wei Wuxian’s fingers curled into Lan Zhan’s collars and then Lan Zhan moves. His lips are soft, form, his fingers tangling in Wei Wuxian’s sleeves. Wei Wuxian gasps softly in surprise and then presses in, crowds into Lan Zhan’s space.

Gods, Lan Zhan is kissing him. He’s kissing him, all that impossible focus bearing down on Wei Wuxian like his lips are a new field of study, the noises escaping him a new score for Lan Zhan to learn. Lan Zhan is kissing him. Oh gods. Lan Zhan is kissing him. Lan Zhan is drunk and he’s kissing him and Wei Wuxian started this and is kissing back and— He jerks away, shoving them apart with his hands on Lan Zhan’s chest. Lan Zhan stares at him, eyes wide and reddened lips parted as if he were still kissing Wei Wuxian and — and then Lan Zhan’s eyes widen impossibly and he reaches up a hand to smack the heel of it into his forehead. He collapses backwards, unconscious, onto the bed. “Oh fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes, covering his face. In the morning, at least half the group is hungover — including Wei Wuxian. His head’s pulsing with a fuzzy thickness, like someone’s drumming cotton-wrapped mallets against the back of his eyes, and even breakfast left him feeling queasy. He can’t meet Lan Zhan’s eyes, but he can summon up all his unused uncle instincts and round on Jin Ling as they prepare to depart. “Stop arguing with your uncle when you get back,” he scolds. “Don’t come out night hunting alone anymore. You’re too young! Why are you in such a rush?” “I’m not a child!” Jin Ling snaps back. “That dog Wei Wuxian wasn’t much older when he killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter, wasn’t he? If he can do it, I can beat him!” Recoiling, Wei Wuxian grimaces before reaching back to rub at the nape of his neck. He’s pretty sure that’s not right. They were older than Jin Ling when they got stuck in that cave, and anyway— “Isn’t Hanguang-jun the one who killed it?” he protests. Jin Ling stops short, lips twisting to one side like he’s tasted something bitter. “You and Hanguang-jun… Whatever. I know about the Gusu Lan headband so if it’s going to be like this, then” — he swallows, two bright red spots rising in his cheeks — “just make sure to stay by his side properly. Don’t bring any more shame to Lanling Jin.” “The headband?” Wei Wuxian echoes, feeling some new horror growing in his belly. The headband just means restraint — right? It’s just an old tradition. “Shut up! Stop being so shameless. I’m done talking about it,” Jin Ling snaps. He looks away, crossing his arms. There’s something about his frown, the way his eyes have focused on the ground a few steps to his left that makes Wei Wuxian cant his head, waiting. After a moment, he looks sideways up at Wei Wuxian. When he speaks, his voice comes out small. “Are you really Wei Wuxian?” he asks. Wei Wuxian’s heart stutters in his chest, but he just raises his eyebrows and shrugs. “Do you think I am?” Jin Ling studies him a long moment before huffing out a breath and dropping his arms. He looks almost…disappointed? “I don’t know,” he says. “No. Cousin Yu always said he was a great cultivator and you’re clearly not. And jiujiu said he was taller than Hanguang-jun. So.”

He clears his throat and turns, waving his hand in dismissal.

“Behave yourself and don’t, you know, get yourself killed. I guess,” he says over his shoulder. A fond smile curls up Wei Wuxian’s lips at the brusque care. What a little monster. As Jin Ling returns to his own disciples, a Jiang disciple approaches. She’s the eldest of their group, tall and angular with a placid expression that nearly rivals Lan Zhan’s. He’s caught her looking at him funny over the past day, and every time, some sense of familiarity niggles at the back of spine, but he can’t quite place her. “Thank you for assisting us,” she says, saluting neatly before reaching into one sleeve. “I believe Jiang-zongzhu would like you to have this. Our da-shixiong designed it.” The talisman she hands him is familiar, the calligraphy for a different reason. His breath catches, eyes going a little wide as he looks back up to her. “Little pirate?” he asks. Sun Hai smiles abruptly, like a crack breaking through glass. There are tears in the corners of her eyes as she gives a quick little nod. “Little pirate!” he exclaims, something like grief and elation together winding tight around his chest. “Not so little anymore — you’ve grown up so much! You were as little as Jin Ling when I saw you.” The last time he saw her, she’d just hit a growth spurt that left her gangly and awkward and mortified by the lack of control she had over her own limbs. In the last weeks before the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, he’d promised to help her practice modifying talismans in exchange for her not hiding away in her rooms every time she stumbled doing sword forms. Now, she’s lean and tall and carries herself with the kind of grace shared by dancers and swordmasters: fluid, strong, and quick. With her sword at one side and other arm folded at her waist, she looks all grown up. “It’s good to see you, shixiong,” she says, smiling even as a tear slips loose down her cheek. “We’ve really missed you.” Oh. His fingers tighten a little around the tracking talisman in his hand before he catches himself and makes them relax. He gives an unsteady smile. “Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. “Yeah. Me, too.” She lingers another moment before drawing in a breath and straightening up. With another quick bow, she turns and heads back to where a little cluster is waiting for her, watching curiously. Wei Wuxian watches a moment before turning his gaze back down to the talisman in his hand. He recognizes it, though it’s been a long time. He originally designed it to keep track of a-Yuan when he went racing off around the settlement, dashing away from supervision. Had he sent a copy to Jiang Cheng? He must have. He sent so many absent ideas in his letters back then, anything he thought might be of use, anything that to help make up for the trouble he was causing. His throat feels thick with something, the headache clustering with something unsteady and unsure fluttering in his heart.

[undertaleandyou]

How would the swap bros and the fellswap (red?) bros react to an s/o who has a weak or a fragile soul??

Aaaah, I had to think a little with this one. There’s a lot of ways to portray fragile or weak. Don’t get me wrong, I love the flexibility of it! So, hopefully, you’ll like what I’ve made! ^^ ~ Mod Goblin

UnderswapBlue:

When you two first met, Blue just thought you were shy. You were so nice and interesting that he just had to get you out of your shell! He wanted you to be comfortable with him.The more he was around you though, the more he saw that it wasn’t exactly shyness... Your Soul was always so dim compared to other’s... So small... But you wore the warmest smiles and gave the best hugs.One day, you were more chipper than normal. You were laughing at Stretch’s bland puns, smiling more, etc. That all came crashing down with three little words,

“Are you okay?” He thought he heard your Soul shatter. You couldn’t find the right words to even describe how you’ve felt. Before you know it you’re tearing up, telling him how you’ve endured your struggles and hardships. You tell him you feel like it’s never going to get better, that you’ll always feel like this.Gently, he pulls you into his arms and strokes your hair. 

“It will be okay. Tomorrow is a new day. It can be better. You don’t have to go through this alone. I’ll be here for you if you need someone to talk to. Just keep on fighting for that better tomorrow.” His words are tender, yet firm. You crumble in his arms, clutching onto him as the world blurs before your eyes. Since then, he’s made an effort to make you smile at least once a day, no matter what kind of day it was.“At least you smiled! That’s something good that happened today! It sure brightened mine!” He’d beam, every single time. Little by little, your Soul regained it’s shine. It was still small and some days it would glow dimly. Though Blue will never forget the day it shone the brightest. The day he first kissed you.

Stretch:

He could read you like a book. You two have been friends for a long while. So long, in fact, that he could figure out when you were lying. He knew for a long time that he had to be careful around you. Your Soul was so tiny... Hell, he didn’t even need to Check anymore. He could tell by the way you act. So whatever feelings he has for you would have to wait for now. He wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to mess things up. That changed quickly one night. You two were just watching a movie, as you usually do on chilly nights like these. The protagonist and the romantic interest in this movie reminded you of how you and Stretch were..... But could you even have that? Did you even deserve that? You pulled your legs up, hoping he won’t notice. He does, but he tries not to bring too much attention to it.

“You cold?” He asks. You shake your head. He stares at you for a moment before pulling you into his side. He doesn’t exactly radiate the same warmth as humans do, but the Soul keeping him alive keeps him warm enough. You fight the urge to nuzzle into his orange hoodie. He knows something is just tearing you apart. He’s at a loss for words, offering what comfort he thinks is okay. A tiny sniffle causes him to pull out all the stops, hugging you tightly in his arms. “I know. I know how it is, darlin’...” He murmurs. “I can see your Soul, but I can’t read your mind... Please, please tell me what’s eating you up. I can’t keep playin’ pretend anymore.” So, you mumble how you’ve been feeling these past few weeks, but that’s not what he’s talking about. You tell him how you’ve been struggling with some of your personal demons, how unlucky you’ve felt, how you felt like you didn’t deserve things. It breaks him apart, but now he knows. “I’m sorry... I haven’t been entirely honest with you either. Um, it might not be a good time to tell ya this, but I want you to know that I ain’t going anywhere. I’m here when you need me, okay? I promise, I’ll do what I can to help you tame those demons of your’s. But you’ve gotta be the one to tame them. I can only distract them. You can do it, because you’re stronger than you think you are.”For someone who claims he doesn’t know how to talk, he sure has a way with words. That night, he gave you the smallest, sweetest kiss before you two fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms.

FellSwapBlack:

He’s so horrible at trying to be supportive, verbally anyway. He’s more of an “actions speak louder than words” person. Did he always know about your Soul? No. He never Checked your Soul, because he figured it’s an invasion of your privacy. He still got snippy sometimes, but always made up for it in some way. He didn’t know about the state of your Soul until you two just started dating. You two were in the middle of an argument, which didn’t happen often, but this one was an intense one. One of those “you said/ I said” arguments. It got loud enough that Rus left the house for a while. In a desperate attempt to understand you, he Checked.And he fell silent. “Why didn’t you...?” His demeanor changes, from that of frustration to wounded. “Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling like this? Things would be so different.”

“I’m fine!”

“No! You’re not! You should see the state of your Soul now! There’s no little hope left in it, how do you even manage to get out of bed?!” He snaps. “Listen to me, I don’t care what that little voice at the back of your head is saying. That voice is there to hold you back, make you feel weaker than you are. If you keep listening to that voice, I’m going to lose you. Neither of us want that to happen. So, from now on, please...” His voice lowers to a more tender tone. “Please... Tell me if I do something wrong. Tell me if I’m overwhelming you. Tell me if I hurt you, because the last thing I want to do is chase you away. But you have to tell me or else I’m not going to know.” The fact that he’s trying to help you, that he doesn’t see you as weak makes your eyes burn with tears. You fall into his arms, trying not to cry.“I want you to trust me... Even on your weaker days... I want to be there for you even when you feel like the world is closing in. I don’t want you to feel like you’re ever alone...”

Rus:

He wants to help you. From day one, the moment you two became friends he just knew. For someone who’s just a tower of scary, he’s the sweetest monster you’ve ever encountered. There’s moments where your Soul shines and he swears time and time again that your Soul has grown bigger. The fact that he knows exactly how to get you to smile just warms his metaphoric heart. When you two start going out, it surprises literally no one. Hell, you could swear that friends and family were making bets. He’s been so kind and gentle with you, but why you wonder? Why did he choose you? Why go so far for someone like you? When there could be someone much better out there for him?

“You’re thinkin’ hard kitten. What’s on your mind?” He asks. Should you tell him? You know Rus has his own problems to deal with. If you start doubting him, would he feel terrible? Would he feel like he’s not doing enough for you? You tell him the best way you can, but the look on his face pains you all the same. You tell him you know he’s doing his best and it’s not his fault, but he stops you.“You really wanna know, kitten? Cuz lookit me. I know you can’t see my Soul, but I can tell ya, I know exactly what you’re going through. Your Soul and mine are on the same wavelengths. Only difference is, I’ve done a lotta stupid, dangerous stuff before. The fact you didn’t end up as messed up as I did? You’re hellavalot stronger than me, kitten. That is the reason I fell hard for ya. No matter how hard things got, you still tried to be a good person. Days ain’t perfect, but you’ve made me realize that things can be better.”

[burning-up-a-sun]

Phone-Boxes - Part 1.

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x Rose (Doctor Who). 

Word Count: 2981. 

Warnings: None, except bad writing and pretentiousness. 

For @b-a-s-i-c-b-i-t-c-h , a horribly late birthday gift x.(It was turning out to be like 20k words, so I’m posting this part first). 

______________________________________________________________

It was a truth widely recognised across the galaxy that the Doctor was not best alone. The TARDIS was a vast and empty place, and those who had been inside knew very well how lonely it could be, when all the life and laughter had gone away. People died when the Doctor grew despondent, galaxies collapsing when he turned his back. Everyone knew that. Everyone, that is, except for the Doctor himself.

A year after the Genesis Ark had opened and the breach in the universe had closed, nothing had changed at all. On Earth, the houses were rebuilt, the damage cleared away. The deaths had been mourned and forgotten about, and life went on as normal. The ghost shift became nothing more than a dark memory lingering on the thresholds of the mind, a scary story told to children to make them eat their vegetables and go to bed on time. There was no call for grievance now, and slowly but surely the world still turned the way it had before. To some it was as though nothing had ever happened at all.

To others, though, the day's events had marked the start of something long and terrible. The woman in the wedding dress, arriving late to her uneventful wedding to an uneventful man, who could have sworn she saw ten minutes ago a strange little phonebox that was a lot bigger on the inside than it was supposed to be.

Or, even worse, the man inside. The doctor's peace had been disturbed; he sent her on her way to the wedding, and promptly left again. Out to space, where things were so much quieter and he could not see a thing outside the TARDIS windows except for asteroids and stars, the kaleidoscopic blur of a passing planet that he pointedly ignored. The brightly-lit distress signals in the outer atmospheres were troubling, and he turned away when he saw them. He did not feel much like helping people anymore.

Eventually there came a place where the planets were few and far between, and there was no life in sight. He could not see as many stars, and the sky was inky black. When the lights went out entirely, he turned out the TARDIS' engine, and waited for the spinning to stop. And soon it did. When all the noise had died away and the lights inside turned out one by one, the TARDIS simply hung there, in the midst of all the nothingness and the darkness from the end of the universe. The Doctor had always loved the way the worlds were filled with colour and noise. Suddenly he liked the silence very much.

A century had passed by the time the systems failed. Rust crawling, thick, dark red, over the lights in the hallways and passages, and soon there was no light except for the dimly glowing core in the main chamber of the TARDIS. The Doctor sat and watched it flicker until even that died out. And then there was nothing at all. Time passed, the universe changed, the Doctor did not change at all.

________________________________________________________________

The sound of the phone ringing woke him up in the darkness.

Lying very still, the Doctor could tell first of all that the TARDIS had stopped moving. Carried on the silence, there came the sound of the wooden TARDIS walls scraping against rough stone. Fainter still, the hushing sound of dust rolling over barren land. He waited for the ringing to stop, a figment of his still half-dreaming mind. It did not.

After all those years before the Doomsday, he had got quite used to the sound. A phone call from a friend, or a distress call from a spaceship asking for his help. He was reaching out to pick it up when he remembered where he was, and when he was, too. His hands fell flat upon the cold metal floor of the TARDIS' main room. He had fallen asleep sitting in the narrow chairs; he must have fallen in the night. The ice that grew beneath him had spread into his bones.

On his hands and knees, the Doctor crawled to the TARDIS core and reached up for the phone handset, but the ringing was quieter here. It was coming from the doorway, or somewhere far beyond. He wanted to stand up and walk to the door, but his legs would not bear the weight. He was weaker; he was dying. He did not care so much about that, though. All things must come to an end, and he had been waiting for his for some time. Hoping for it, almost, because every time he closed his eyes he could see her standing there in her blue jumper, smiling at him with that great big smile that made both his hearts ache unbearably. In all the centuries lost in thought, he still had never found the words to say how much he loved her smile.

By the time he got out of the TARDIS, he had garnered the strength to kneel. The rocky surface was harsh and heather grey, the sharp shapes casting deep purple shadows all around him. The only structure he could see was the mirage of a red telephone box not far from him. The Doctor could not see it well, but he could tell the phone call came from there.

He came a little closer, expecting the mirage to shatter before him and fall away to dust. It remained unflinching, and when he could finally touch it, he found its red paint peeling and old but very much real. He must be dreaming, or dead.

The phone was still ringing, and he was still kneeling there, holding his breath and watching it. By all logic it should not have any power left to it. He could not say how long had passed since the planet had seen life, but it had been long enough for ice to creep around the edges of the rocks, a perfect silver spiderweb that crackled as he got to his feet weakly. He had never felt the cold like this before. Buttoning up his long brown coat, he stood in front of the phone panel and held the handset in both hands.

By now, the ringing should have stopped. He could not say how long it had been since he had woken up in the TARDIS, but it had not been seconds, or even minutes. The shrill persistence and the curious telephone box all aligned to make him wonder if this was some message of sorts. The call was for the Doctor, and it would keep ringing until he picked up. He wondered to whom he was this crucial. He almost did not want to know.

It was a famous title of his, or had been in his world-saving days, that he was fearless. And yet somehow the Doctor was very much afraid as he picked up the phone brought it to his ear. For a moment there was silence, an impossible waiting for something, anything, on the other end of the line. And then, through the million light-years in between:

"Hello? Hello, yes, who is this?"

The words came crackling down the line, broken and reedy as if any moment the phone line might give out, but there was nothing in the universe that could keep him from knowing her through and through, and he knew it was her now.

"Rose." he whispered, and his voice was hoarse and painful from centuries of disuse. In that moment he did not mind the pain so much, for the feeling of her name upon his lips was healing, the kindest, sweetest thing that he had ever known. He had not though that it was possible to miss someone this much.

"Doctor?" she sounded confused and formal, as though she did not know him well. He thought for a along time, but he could not understand it at all. "Your number was in my phone, I-"

"Rose." He said again, more to himself as the feelings came crashing down upon him in an agonising wave. His hands tightened around the phone, terrified that he would let it slip from him and he would not hear from her again. He was sure that he was dreaming, or that he was half-dead. He was lost in his own bliss, for he had never yet imagined that death would be so sweet. Now perhaps he might get to see her again, wherever she may be.

"Yeah? Did you put it there this morning when you were in my flat?"

She sounded out of breath, like she had just been running. He could not think where she could be. Or when she could be, for that matter. He had seen her flat before he had left, bedsheets left unmade. The pink bedroom walls looked sadder in his memory, for he had had to see them one last time when she could not.

The memory only made things worse, because it confirmed what he had already known. She could not be calling him. The Doctor knew that he was dead.  for he knew she was not calling him. He knew that she was dead.

"I'm sorry?" The Doctor's head was reeling with a hundred thousand insane thoughts - possibilities which were a hair's breadth from impossible. Most of him was still frozen in place as he tried desperately to adjust to the unexpected blow that Rose was here and she could hear him.

"You came over for the arm. This morning. Doctor are you alright?" Later on, she might have noticed that it was a little strange for the man who remembered eons to forget a single day. She did not seem to notice it now. He wondered when she must be, for she did not seem to know him at all.

He cleared his throat and got his thoughts back into order. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You don't half sound strange." but she said no more about it.

She didn't think to question it too much, or didn't know enough to ask. The Rose he knew had been like this, once. When he had only just met her. It was a strange thought, after all this time had passed them by. Passed him by, at least - something in the way she spoke made it seem like no time had passed at all since then, for her. Another strange thought, and one he tried not to think too much about. Time was tricky, but even time wasn't that complex.

"I'm fine. I... missed you, that's all." he muttered. He wasn't sure which version of Rose he was talking to, but he thought she ought to know. Partly he just wanted to say it out loud, because he had not stopped thinking of how much he missed her since he had lost her, back on Earth.

The phone line crackled for a second or two, as Rose laughed nervously. "Calm down, only saw me twenty minutes ago."

The doctor's hand stopped, and he was pretty sure both of his hearts did too. Twenty minutes. He looked out of the glass panels on either side of him: darkness, the faintly bluish light of some distant constellation. He was not on Earth at all; in fact, he was nowhere near.

"Twenty minutes?" he murmured, but mostly to himself.

"Sorry, eighteen and a half if you want me to really split the second."

"What?" He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see in front of him the way she looked when she was standing on the beach. The autons felt close enough to be happening right now, but at the same time they felt like another life entirely. Outside, the blue light pulsed and eddied in an electric stream of light. A harsh line, as though the light was tearing through the universe itself, whatever it were made of. A rift. He could not help but wonder if the rift and Rose were somehow connected.

"We... got rid of the plastic arm from that thing in the warehouse yesterday. Went for a walk in the park. You said something about feeling the world spinning. And then bang, off you go in some phonebox and I just found your number in my phone!" she did not sound too panicky, but she sounded incredulous. She had been, that first day.

When he thought back on the blissful months that followed, he remembered how she had never really seemed to lose the amazement of the first time, the sparkle in those dazzlingly blue eyes. She had wanted to see everything in the universe, and he wanted to take her with him to see all the things he saw. Tragic, then, the way that things turned out.

"We did, didn't we." and for the first time since all of this began, the doctor smiled to himself.

Her voice was a little softer the next time that she spoke. "Still don't know what you were talking about, mind."

"Beg your pardon?"

"You said all those things. You said that we were falling through space. You said that was who you were. I don't understand it at all." the words were trailing off to a mumble down the line, barely audible, and he knew that she was thinking deeply about what she said he had told her. "Doctor, what did you mean?"

A moment's pause - he waited. He tried to think of something to say. He knew what he had been saying to her. He had been trying to cut her off then and there, to stop her coming after him; but all of a sudden that was the worst thing he could think of. He had been without her for long enough, and he could not bear to think of her going away again. In a kinder time she had promised him that she would follow him wherever. He missed that blind hope more than anything.

But then again, the Doctor knew that he could spare her pain, could tell her to leave him now and never have the kind of life that would leave her amazed but leave her dead eventually. He could save just one more life, the most important life in the universe. When he closed his eyes tight, he could see the shop and how she'd work there when it was rebuilt. Rose in her wedding dress. Rose with her children. Rose in hospital, fragile and old. But he did not need to close his eyes to see what Rose looked like dead. Either way, he would hurt her. But he was selfish, and he was in love. He could not bring himself to say the words to send his Rose away.

"I... I don't know, Rose. I think I might have forgotten now." he blinked and looked out of the window at the eternal sea of starless sky, the rift that tore through space itself, and he tried not to think about the bad things he had done to her. Tried to make himself unaware that he was doing them all over again now. His hearts, both of them, were all but filled with acrid guilt.

"Oh. Doesn't matter much though, does it." and that was that - the moment passed and her voice was hers again. He was glad that she had not asked him what all his pauses meant - a later Rose would have wanted to know, and he would not have known what to say. It was all okay though - he forgave her, a thousand years too late. Forgiveness. He was getting better at that, lately.

"No, maybe not."

The phone line rustled, and he could hear her breathing heavily. The sound of stairs, the doorbell ringing. Centuries ago. Galaxies away. The emptiness down the phone line haunted him like the sounds of ghosts moving down the TARDIS corridors when all the power had gone out. The sounds of life, by now all dead. He almost hung up the phone. He didn't, just in case this was the last time he would hear her voice.

"Look, I've really got to go, I told my boyfriend I'd be round and we'd get pizza and- and I'm not entirely sure why I just told you all that, actually." she laughed. He knew it was over, and that she was about to hang up on him.

"Rose." he said quickly.

"Yeah?"

He was struck then with the sudden urge to give her some kind of sign. Some warning of what she would become, or rather what would happen to her. He wanted to help her, but he didn't know how. Saving her would tear apart the universe, or what was left of it, and it would not change the fact that he was just a lonely man drifting, alone, through space. He could not save her the first time and he could not save anyone now.

He loved her more than anyone, more than his own good. But she had time, not a lot but time all the same, and she would hear everything he had to tell her in her own time. Or else she would learn it the hard way, and even he could not rob her of something as important as that.

"See you around." he said at last.

A minute passed in silence, and then the phone line cracked and went dead. A handful of twenty pence coins rattled and fell into the receptor below the handset, silver and shiny and new. He had not expected to get his money back, especially because he had not paid. All the way back to the TARDIS, standing steadily upright now, he clenched the coins tightly in his fist. They were his only evidence that Rose had called at all.

Sitting on the TARDIS' doorstep, the Doctor pushed off the planet's edge with his legs. With a low, wooden shudder that shook through him and his spaceship alike, the TARDIS drifted away into space. 

[wilkoak]

On Minerva, Duck and grief. Angst ehead. 

I wanted to write this as a prompt for a fic but it escalated so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Soo… I’ve seen folks adressing that it’s hard for Duck to live after his friends have gone off to a different world, with one of his best ones dead and life being a general mess, but what happens if the dam breaks on Minerva’s post-war trauma and a century of grief over a whole civilisation? (Character analysis + consequences.)

To her mentees, during the long chosen training with few Earth people, she always appeared as “this always larger-than-life” bombastic personality. That was definitely what she made her best to do due to the high stake of those connection - she had to make strangers trust her, she had to make sure they believed in her authority, to ask them to fight on her behalf. Being a war councellor for the wole planet, she had more than enough charisma and determination for that. But after the situation with Billy, she showed Duck a bit of the more uncertain, tired, stressed side of herself, imeediately cutting off from it as soon as it was possible. During the millions of hours on a planet-size cemetary, there must have been plenty of time to cry, scream and to then bottle those up and live on with it, with the resolve to help others. With something to atone and not to loose sanity. 

The bottle could shatter suddenly, on Earth, in the moment where her life had been slowly getting calmer, untangling her from the grip of war and stress, maybe in a way not immediately noticable to her - she’d be hanging out around Duck, helping him and Kepler sort everything out after the crisis, being her usual calm and positive self. And then a small thing would happen - maybe a familiar taste of food, a smell, or Duck finding a peculiar looking knife and giving it to her as a gift. She’d first smile and thank him and get generally jovial and then even later, alone, think for herself: “what a beautiful thing, small yet sturdy! It remind-” and it will indeed remind her of an engraved knife her father made for her when she graduated warrior monastery training a century ago,an old tradition on Five. 

She would just stummer suddenly, stopped, unprepared for those imagery floating through her head, because it would be a chain: knife-father-mother-2youngersisters-houseinthemountains-capital-ceremonies-friends-lover-lossoflover-waroutbreak-warconclusion-deathdeathdeath. Hot tears on cheeks, trembling, not able to breathe. Not remebering how to live through those emotions.

And if, by (ill) luck, Duck happens to find her like that, it is… A tough task for him. It’s hard - first because he’s alarmed and confused, never saw her like that - and second with her being very resilient because she just FREEZES in mix of despair and the terror of him looking at that, she did manage it for years alone, her Chosen should not see her like that, doesn’t matter if he’s not technically anymore, the war is back in her head because it’s been for so long that it’s impossible to remeber that it isn’t, not in this moment.

But Duck is patient, and maybe even while a bit awkward and panicked, and does his best, and eventually, while patting lightly and blabbering calming things, he manages to untangle her strained limbs (hard to do that with unhumanly strong alien) and just hugs her best he can with his smaller frame. She’s unresponsive at first, but then reluctantly relaxes -  and then bursts into tears, this time unrestrained, body shaking and voicing her despair in terrible sobs. Duck thinks his heart will shatter in a moment while she grips on him a bit too hard. He lets her.

She feels horrible and lost and ashamed with her feeling let loose and she thinks it will consume her,but it calms down eventually, goes away slowly,like a tide. She still herself.There’s silence in the apartament, only whistling of leaves outside in spring afternoon.

She thinks how, in fact, there’s been around 80 years since she could cry on anyone’s shoulder, or take comfort in any way. And that is is terrible and scary how she forgot how vulnerable, spent and weak and relieved she can feel during that. 

They talk about it later a bit, and she thought she’d feel ashamed or pathetic but she doesn’t as much. She thinks she trusts Duck. She’s happy he lets her remeber. 

[misscrazyfangirl321]

nick and rosalee: Talking at 2 AM when they can’t sleep

Since you haven’t seen Grimm, I’m going to give you a quick rundown of like. Two things:

1. Wesen- Basically shapeshifters. There are different kinds, who can look like different kinds of animals. This is a Hexenbiest, (warning if you’re not great with scary images,) and this is a Fuchsbau. Both are mentioned in the story. 

2. Woge- What it’s called when they actually shapeshift. 

-

She waits until Monroe is sound asleep, breathing even and expression peaceful. Then, she rises. Careful not to disturb her husband-he gets so little rest these days-she slides on her house shoes, and makes her way down the stairs. 

Unsurprisingly, Nick is still awake. He’s upright on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. Perhaps a little more surprisingly, he doesn’t seem to notice her approaching. 

Then again, maybe it isn’t surprising. She’s not sure when he last got a good night’s sleep, but certainly not recently. Everything he’s been through, lately? It’s a miracle that he’s still able to make it through the days. 

That’s part of why she insisted he stay here tonight. He’s spent so much time looking for Juliette lately, and to no avail. He needs to get some rest, and he’s not going to get it out on the streets, looking for his Hexenbiest girlfriend. (And wow, that’s still taking some getting used to.) 

A board creeks beneath her foot, and he startles, but calms quickly when he sees her.

“Sorry,” she murmurs. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” 

Obviously she didn’t, but she needs to be careful how she handles this. If she pushes too hard, he’ll just end up shutting down.

He shakes his head, looking away. “Wasn’t sleeping,” he mutters, and she draws in a breath. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, either,” she admits. He glances at her, brows furrowed, and her heart breaks a little more. His world is on fire, but he’s still worried about her? “Sleep’s just been… Really hard to come by since Monroe was kidnapped. Nightmares, you know?” 

If possible, his features darken even more, but he nods. He blames himself for that, of course. Just like he blames himself for every terrible thing that happens in the world. Oh, if she could only take that from him…

“Mind if I sit up with you for awhile? I’ll make us some tea.”

He might be about to ask for something stronger, but he only nods, giving her a painful attempt at a smile. “Thank you, Rosalee.” 

“Anytime.”

In just a few minutes, the tea is ready, and she hands him a cup, settling beside him on the couch. Chamomile tea, because they could both use something soothing right now. (Definitely nothing with caffeine.) 

She wants to ask if he wants to talk about it, but holds her tongue, taking a sip of her drink instead. If he wants to talk, he’ll talk. She has to take this slow and easy. (Absently, she wonders if that is how Juliette handles problem animals at work. But thinking of Juliette is just too painful, so she forces herself to focus on the warmth pressing against her palms, on the man beside her, on anything but her missing friend.) 

“She wanted me to kiss her,” he announces suddenly. She turns to him, but he’s staring straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes. “She woged, and then she told me to kiss her. Well, demanded, really.”

It takes everything in her to contain her reaction to that. Her stomach turns at the mental image of the Hexenbiest woge, and the thought of poor Nick coming face to face with something like that… And expecting anyone who can’t woge to be willing to kiss your woged form is just not done anyway. Not that Juliette would know that, since she didn’t grow up as a Wesen, but Rosalee can’t shake her grandmother’s stern voice from her mind, scolding anyone who would dare do such a disgraceful thing. 

“Nick-” she starts, but he swallows, continuing firmly on.

“I couldn’t do it. Pulled away, in fact.”

Good for him. She loves Juliette like a sister, truly, but she just might scream at her anyway. “Nick, there’s nothing wrong with that,” she murmurs, and he flinches.

“How can you say that?” A little too loud, too sharp, for comfort. It seems to scare him more than it scares her, though, and his face falls. “I’m sorry. I just-how can you-?” His eyes glisten in the low light. “What kind of man can’t kiss the woman he loves?” 

Fury washes over her on his behalf, and this time, she can’t quite contain it. “The kind that needs time to adjust. She should have given it to you.”

He shakes his head, and she half-expects him to defend Juliette, but he says only this: “I’m not sure time would have mattered. I mean, she just looks so… Horrible, you know? That’s awful to say. Awful. I’m an awful person. It’s just-”

“You’re not an awful person.” She can’t hold back any longer. Reaches out, squeezing his arm gently. “You’re hurting, and you’re tired, and you’re in pain, but you’re not an awful person.” 

He ducks his head, and she knows instinctively that he’s trying to hide his tears. He swallows once, then twice, roughly, before muttering, “I wish she’d turned into something else. Anything else. Fuchsbau, maybe. Yeah… I think I could kiss a Fuchsbau.” Before she even has time to process that, he pales, and turns to her, shaking his head frantically. “I don’t-I don’t mean-”

Oh, gosh. How sleep-deprived is he? “Nick,” she says, gentle but firm, “I know what you mean, okay? And even if I didn’t, I generally just assume that nothing you say means that you want to kiss me. So breathe.” 

He obeys, a little sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’ve just-I’ve messed so much up lately, and I don’t-I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

She wants to promise that he won’t, but she knows better than to give him empty promises. “Trust me, we’ve all said things, Nick. It’s going to take a lot more than that for you to get rid of me.” 

The tension drains from his shoulders, and he gives her a tired haf-smile, nodding slowly. “Thanks.” He glances away, apparently caught up in thought. “Maybe it’s fate.”

“What is?” She asks, although she has a feeling she knows where this is going. 

“All of this. Adalind, Juliette… All of it. I took Adalind’s powers, she got them back, she turned into Juliette, Juliette turned into her, and now Adalind’s fine, but Juliette has these… Powers…” He shrugs. “Maybe all of this was meant to happen. Maybe I was just… Meant to lose her.”

“You haven’t lost her yet,” she protests, and it’s not just empty words. She desperately wants to believe that it’s true. 

If he hears her, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Do you ever think about it? Fate?”

She forces herself to follow the new train of thought, rather than pushing insistently at the old one. “Sometimes, yeah.”

He considers this, before giving a half-smile. “You and Monroe,” he says quietly, and it’s not quite a question. 

“Me and Monroe,” she agrees gently. Then, meeting his eyes. “And me and you.”

It has the intended effect: he stops short, giving her a startled look. After a moment, the corners of his lips quirk up, and it’s a sad ghost of his normal teasing expression, but at least it’s something. “Should Monroe be worried?” He asks, and she’s relieved to hear the lightness behind his words. 

“Always,” she quips, before refocusing. “No, but I’m serious. I mean, I met you the day Freddy died. That can’t be a coincidence, you know?”

His expression sobers a little at this, but he still seems confused; apparently she’s going to have to spell it out for him.

“The same day that I lost a brother… I found one.” 

He draws in a sharp breath, eyes widening, and he looks at her in startled awe. Then, he breaks. 

She doesn’t think it’s all about her words; this has been a long time coming, really, and it’s a wonder he’s held it together for as long as he has. But he shatters, tears streaming down his cheeks, broken sobs slipping from his lips. 

She sets her tea aside, barely catching his as well, before opening her arms, drawing him in. He buries his face in her shoulder, and she strokes his hair, murmuring quiet nonsense. Anything to calm him, to soothe the storm raging inside of him, to remind him that he isn’t alone. 

“I’ve got you,” she promises, fierce and sure. “I’ve got you.” 

(If she sheds a few tears of her own-for Juliette, for Nick, for this whole messed up situation-they come quietly, lost in his hair. No one needs to know.) 

Finally, his tears subside, but he makes no move to pull away. Absently, she wonders when he was last held. Making a mental note to drag him and Monroe into a group hug tomorrow, she shifts a little, getting more comfortable.

If he needs to stay like this for awhile, she’s in no hurry to pull away. 

She’s not sure how long they stay, motionless, before a yawn slips from her lips. It’s loud and sudden, and her cheeks heat. He pulls away, the moment effectively broken, and gives a weak chuckle. 

“Sorry,” she murmurs, but he waves her off.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” He pauses, looking at her a little too carefully, and suspicion flickers in his gaze. “Wait a second. You weren’t having trouble sleeping, were you?”

“Nick,” she protests, “Of course I-” 

He raises a brow, expression a little too knowing, and she shifts gears. 

“Of course I was,” she finishes quietly. “Knowing you were down here, going through all of this alone?”

He shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just… Say something?”

Right. “Because you really, really stink at letting other people take care of you,” she says frankly, but she pats his arm, softening the impact. “But you’re really good at taking care of other people.” 

He looks somewhere between amused and offended, but finally settles on grateful, giving her a small but sincere smile. “Thank you, Rosalee. Truly. But now, you need to head back up to bed. Get some sleep, okay? I promise,” he adds, before she can protest, “I’ll try to get some down here, too.” 

She hesitates for a moment, before nodding slowly. “Fine. Let us know if you need anything.”

He doesn’t make her any promises, and she knows better than to ask for them. With a final hug-quick, just a single reassurance-she rises, making a mental note to grab the mugs in the morning. She really is exhausted, suddenly, and bed sounds like a really good idea.

Monroe is already awake when she slips back in. Judging by his expression, he has been for awhile. He gives her a tender smile, and her heart swells with affection for her husband. Not a hint of concern as he lifts up the covers, silently inviting her back in. “How is he?” He asks quietly, and she gives a weak laugh. 

“About what you’d expect.”

He winces, gathering her into his arms, and she settles comfortably against his chest. How did she ever manage without him? “That bad, huh? Were you able to help, at all?”

“I think so.” In the morning, she might tell him about some of it. Not the ins and outs of the conversation, of course-she respects Nick’s privacy too much for that-but at the very least, she might tell him what she said about Freddy. Right now, though… “I’m really tired.”

Chuckling, he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Then sleep. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.” The rest, he doesn’t say, but she knows that it’s implied: 

Together.

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch. 13 of 28)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 1900

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

SHOUTOUT TO @molmcb and @jessiejunebug, whom I have now kidnapped and am holding hostage in my bedroom so they can be my full-time cheerleaders

Requested Tags: @deraniel, @iamverity,  @yasnooshka24, @wegingerangelica, @themusingsofmany, @dark-night-sky-99, @tarynkauai, @stuffandstuff-stuff, @angelicshinigami, @my-current-fandom-is, @geekysimmerthings

Walking into Loki’s cell the next day is… difficult. The screams you threw at him are still echoing in your ears, the alcohol (or sudden lack of) is still making your brain sluggish, and your head hurts from all the crying you did late in the night. You’re dreading his glare; the icy tone of his voice. Did you just undo months of friendship in one day? You very well might’ve. He trusted you with his fears and struggles about Thor and you threw it back in his face for what? Some sort of twisted reassurance that your life was worse than his at that moment? Horrible.

There are so many apologies lingering on your tongue you feel choked with them, and there’s a terrible tightness in your limbs. The feeling intensifies when you walk in and he’s got that awful blank look in his eyes just like he did when you first met him. It scares you to no end; thinking you might’ve lost him.

“Hey.”

His gaze does shift your way as you approach, thank god. You open your mouth to pour out your apologies, but nothing comes out. Useless. In a fit of anxiety, your fingertips end up brushing the wall of glass in front of you. There’s still a smudge on it from where you smacked it the day before. Ugh. Rather than try and put what you’re feeling into words, you let your forehead bang against the glass, eyes on your feet. “I’m a terrible person.” Your face scrunches in effort to hold back an unexpected wave of emotion. “I-”

“Tell me about him.”

“Huh?” His tone is still cool- a little more reserved- but you know an olive branch when you see one.

“Your brother. Tell me about him.”

“O-okay.” Where to start? Your indecisiveness wiggles its way out through your fingers, and they flex against the glass. “Well. He was super smart, first of all. The type of person who could walk into a room and instantly see all the connections: who was with who, who would stab the other in the back before the month was up, who was nervous or who was too cocky for their own good. He read people… flawlessly.”

You tilt your head a little, letting memories bubble up in your mind. “I idolized him as a kid. He was everything I wanted to be. He got all my parents’ attention, and I knew that, but I basically didn’t mind because he deserved to be the favorite, that’s how awesome he was. Does that make any sense?”

“What changed?”

You sigh, and the sadness in it almost cracks your chest open. “Kids… see what they want to see. They want to believe their brothers are their own personal knights in shining armor. That they can do no wrong. I lived in that denial for… well. Way too long.”

“My parents played a part in that, I think. They tried to hide the worst of it from me. If he was gone for three days and I asked where he was, they’d say he was just staying with a friend. When he came home high or drunk he had the flu or food poisoning, and I had to stay away from him because he might be contagious. I think deep down I knew something was wrong, but I just ignored it. I loved him, I loved them. I walked on eggshells because I didn’t want anything to shatter this illusion we had built.”

You’re suddenly exhausted. Opening up these boxes, ones that are usually duct taped tightly shut and squeezed into some deep dark crevice if your brain, always weighs on your shoulders. Rather than going back to your chair you just sit down on the floor, letting yourself lean against the glass.

“One night, when I was- fifteen, maybe? I’d just started high school, I think. A bunch of his friends had come over to hang out and he invited me to join them.” You pause, swallowing a bit of nausea. “I was so excited to be hanging out with all his cool friends. They gave me drinks, told me I was pretty, made me feel so grown up and important. But I started feeling… weird, after a few hours, so I wanted to go to bed, but they made me stay. I remember sitting on the couch and just… spacing. Staring at the wall while everyone talked around me. It took me forever to notice the hand on my leg.”

You can physically feel the intensity of Loki’s gaze ratchet up to twenty. When you look at him, his green eyes are sparkling dangerously. He knows where this is going. You wish he didn’t.

“It turns out one of his friends had a bit of a crush on me. He started, you know. Rubbing my leg, tucking my hair behind my ear. I was zoned out but enough of me was there to realize something was… not good. Zach-” saying his name makes your heart sink a little- “Zach was on the other side of the room, but when I finally got his attention, he-” you close your eyes, like the scene is playing out right in front of you and you can’t bear to watch. “He just looked at me with this total… indifference, and he said, oh, he already paid, so. He can do whatever he wants. And he went right back to his beer.”

It’s been ten years since that night and you can still remember how the adrenaline set in, how it pushed through your body like lightning when you smacked the guy’s hand away from your bra and he looked at you with murderous eyes. “I was lucky that I’d only had one cup of- whatever they gave me. I was still mostly in my right mind. I said no, and the guy got mad and started screaming about how many grams of ketamine he traded for this, then went to confront Zach about it. This huge fight started- I don’t remember most of it. I’m pretty sure I was comatose by the time punches were thrown, but luckily everyone was too occupied to notice. One of the neighbors called the police, they broke the door down and arrested everyone, and they found fifteen year old me drugged up on the couch, talking in circles like I didn’t have a care in the world.”

Waking up in a hospital bed, remembering nothing, was terrifying. Having the memories come back one by one, at the police’s gentle prompting, was even more so. “I’m still not sure what they roofied me with. The nurses never told me. But I was in the hospital for a day or so.”

Some sort of self-deprecating, bitter laugh escapes you. “So yeah. My brother sold me for drugs, I guess. That was a fun one to handle at fifteen.”

“And he is dead?”

“What, planning on reviving him so you can kill him again? I’ll help.” That does soften Loki’s expression just a fraction. “Yeah, he was high and drunk on god knows what and decided to go out to some party. Ran a red light, took out a couple of cars with his own. The storm didn’t help much I’m sure.” Your fingernails dig into your palms, leaving crescent moons on your skin. “He dragged so many people down with him that day. Good people. People who didn’t deserve it. If he had just taken himself out I don’t think anybody would have cried, but- I guess he had a penchant for ruining lives up until the very end.”

“He deserves far worse than he received.” There is unrestrained rage in Loki’s voice, a fiery sort of protectiveness that would be scary if it wasn’t protectiveness over you.

“Easy, Trickster. He’s long gone. Though I’m inclined to agree.” You knot your fingers together. “I know it doesn’t excuse anything about what happened yesterday. I was- terrible. But I was just so jealous. You have a brother who would do anything for you, who loves you and cares about you, and- that’s something I’ve wanted for so long. I know your relationship with Thor is far from perfect, and you have absolutely every right to feel the way you do. I just think you’re blind to what you have, sometimes.”

Loki doesn’t say anything for a long time, and neither do you. Your words hang in the air between the pair of you, tugging on the rough edges of both your minds, wanting resolution. To your surprise, he gets up off his cot and comes to sit in front of you, mirroring your cross-legged pose so that you’re face to face. It’s nice, if you try to forget there’s layers of reinforced barrier separating you. Absentmindedly, your subconscious paints a scene where you and he are sitting, talking, laughing- somewhere comfortable, somewhere there’s no pressure, where you could take his hand and let his thumb smooth over the scars on your palm.

“Gods are not impervious to mortal plights. We love, we war, we hate, we hold petty feuds and retaliate against the ones we love. We are not always things to be worshipped or revered- quite the opposite; I believe many of your myths regarding us are what you mortals call cautionary tales.”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, am I in the midst of hearing the one and only Loki Laufeyson admit that he’s not perfect? Should I be recording this?”

“Hush, Witling, I am trying to help. My point is, if even the gods are not perfect, you cannot expect yourself to be.” Loki taps on the glass right where your heart is. “There are no apologies necessary. I have endured far worse by the hands of people who would never think to be remorseful for their actions.”

You frown. “That doesn’t make it okay. You still deserve common decency.”

“You were hurting, badly. My only complaint is that I was not able to be of more use.”

“I don’t know, you made a pretty good verbal punching bag.”

You’re treated to an exquisite eye roll, but it’s balanced by the fond smile on his face. “Yes, well, do try to not make it a large habit, darling. I am quite fragile, you know.”

“Fragile my ass. According to field reports you got ground-pounded by the Hulk multiple times and walked away with a bruise.”

“A very unpleasant bruise! Have you no sympathy?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Shoulda thought about that before you angered the jolly green giant.”

“I beg your pardon, absolutely nothing about him was jolly.”

You have to giggle at the miffed expression on his face. “It’s an expression, Trickster. And it’s not my fault you have no self preservation skills.”

“And here I thought you were on my side.”

He says it jokingly, but something about his words tugs at you the wrong way. “I am on your side.”

Loki stops and looks you in the eyes, startled by your sudden sincerity. “There is no need to throw your lot in with the enemy. Mine is not the team you wish to be on.”

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.”

He looks at you for a long moment, gaze digging into your head to seek out all the little things you aren’t saying. But eventually he just nods, conceding. “I suppose we shall.”

A/N: Happy Thursday! Apparently I missed national fanfic/fanfic author’s day, so here’s a belated celebration :D

[pisati]

december’s only just started but I think now’s a good a time as any to start a 2019 recap. 

I don’t remember much of the first half of this year, if I’m honest. I remember it starting in a pretty dark place. I do remember starting talking to Gavin at the tail end of 2018; that was honestly a light spot in that space of time. I’d really been through it last year, and it was so nice and refreshing to talk to someone who genuinely seemed to care, who was genuinely interested in what I had to say and was genuinely curious about me. I felt kind of weird about that level of attention at first, but now I miss it. time’s gone on, what can I say, maybe I’m a little attached. not painfully so, but. this is someone I really do care about a lot.

which is why I’m still pretty regretful about january. I still don’t really know what happened over festivus weekend. I’d been so upset for so long, and next thing I know it’s back to the usual. but it was just.. nothing. I felt blank. my heart dropped into my stomach the next day once I realized how something that felt so insignificant could be so hurtful, and honestly I spent all of festivus in that dead zone at T’s house just really upset with myself. I don’t know how much I would’ve enjoyed it even if that hadn’t happened. 

my depression was really bad. I remember my emotions being all over the place. I remember drinking and eating bundt cake alone at home in my bathtub on valentines day. I remember sending some messages I kind of regret, others just for fun, because fuck it, why not? I remember spending a lot of time in bed. a lot of time trying to reassure myself that I hadn’t done irreversible damage; that I hadn’t fucked up everything as per the usual. journaling, trying to keep my mood up above rock bottom. I was fostering that litter of rats early in the year, and that felt like a whirlwind. I remember going out to dinner with a friend, and coming home, even after having a good night, in a horribly sad mood. I barely remember any of the rest of it. 

I’m sure some good things happened earlier in the year too. one of the few things keeping me sane, besides my rats, was waking up in the middle of the night to snapchat and whatsapp messages from Gavin. I was a complete mess, but having someone consistently showing me they cared and actually wanted to.. I don’t know, follow all my social media, get to know me, all that. it was nice. I remember having a real bad day mood-wise and going to yoga with charlotte, and coming back to a message that I was the ~some kinda angel~ he’d been dreaming about. amazing how something like that can pick you right up. I remember a lot of voice clips; he was real excited to hear my voice the first time. I don’t much care for my voice, but... that enthusiasm gave me a little more confidence to do more song covers. I hadn’t recorded that many in years, if ever.

I think I went to a few shows earlier in the year. I got to meet Phoebe Bridgers, which was so cool. Carmen took me back out to Baltimore after I’d just seen Hozier, and we saw Weezer and The Pixies. and I got to hear all about her girlfriend troubles and her adventures in Cuba. it was really nice reconnecting with a friend, hearing how she’s been trying to do better for herself, and she really is. I can’t say I’m not a little jealous of her; her confidence and radiance; but I’m also really proud of her too.

I started my mood tracker app in february, and I think I started seeing my psychiatrist not long after that. I’m still amazed she started me on something that didn’t make me sick, and might actually be working for me. I’m still recalling that one night I had, must’ve been february. I felt absolutely godawful, and nothing helped. it wasn’t anything in particular, I just felt Bad. I wouldn’t have done anything stupid, but I also felt for a minute like it’d never go away. I tried everything. I tried a bath, possibly a face mask. I tried writing, I think. I tried music. I even put on a disney movie or two like I would if I were feeling sick (I rarely ever watch anything disney, but when I get panicky from nausea I need something comforting). nothing helped. that I think is what prompted me to go to a psychiatrist this time. I hadn’t been in that deep of a pit in a long time.

things started to pick up with the weather. I felt myself balance out. I really thought for a minute that I was going to scare Gavin away with my erratic moods, and I thought he had this perception of me that I was some kinda crazy or overemotional or whatever else... but I was just in a real bad spot. I’m still grateful that he stuck by me through all that, and wasn’t too weirded out by me for it to be actually exciting when I got my plane tickets to Scotland. I was really excited too, but of course kind of nervous because I’d never been that far away from home by myself before. 

I remember doing a good bit of volunteering, but I was really tired and couldn’t keep up with much more than one day a week. my energy levels were worrying. I know I saw a few doctors, because thankfully I had the time, but they weren’t terribly helpful. 

I’m sure I went to more shows. I lost my Louie in June, not long after his second birthday. that was heart-shattering. I wasn’t expecting it from him; he was just fine. he just had a lump removed from his tail. he was such a happy, sweet boy. I couldn’t believe one minute he was snuggling with his cagemates, and the next I was holding his tiny little body in my hands, trying to get CPR to work, watching the life leave his eyes. taking him to the crematory was hard. picking up his ashes was hard. everything about it was hard. but I had to keep going. I wasn’t expecting that at all, and I was so scared Ollie would be alone, because Fitzie’s time was coming fast too. he’d been deteriorating over the course of the year and I just knew it was only a matter of months. his legs were going, and he couldn’t clean himself. towards the end I had to check his privates at least once a day; male rats get buildup of various fluids, oil, and skin cells, and those plugs can block their urethras. they generally clean it themselves, but when they get so old they can’t do it. so it was up to me to pull it out. I can’t say it wasn’t weirdly satisfying, kind of in the same way that popping a big pimple is satisfying, but it was definitely gross.

so I looked for more rats to adopt. and by some miracle, just like the day after Marty passed, I found a brand new litter posted by the rescue some of my fosters went to. I went to meet the baby boys and picked two, and while I probably could’ve picked a better match... I love my Harper and Micah to bits. they’ve got such personalities on them.

but of course, nothing is ever convenient. right after I adopted them (because I had to go through such a long adoption process; I could’ve had more time otherwise), I had to go to farm jam. I was a little over-prepared this year, but I’m glad I got myself a nice tent and prepared for rain. farm jam honestly wasn’t that great this year, though. my friends wanted to hang out with each other, hardly anyone talked to me, and their friends from other places that I didn’t even know had other friends that they brought to our campsite, so there were a lot of strangers around. not that that’s a bad thing, but... I just felt uncomfortable. everything is so different now. not to mention I just felt really alone. people talked to me when they needed to. I ended up actually pretty bored; I’d brought some things to keep myself entertained, but I was asleep before midnight every night because there was only so much I felt like staying awake for by myself. there was one night I was just really upset, so I made myself a quick dinner and shut myself in my tent while everyone else was up all night. I read by lantern-light, put in my earplugs after I was tired enough, and went to sleep. I was ready to be home again. I’m not sure if I want to go again next year. I like farm jam, truly, but it’s just not fun when you’re surrounded by ‘friends’ who can’t eve be bothered to talk to you. it was painfully obvious that I’m just not part of the group anymore.

I was glad to have Scotland to look forward to. I got to unpack and repack; thankfully I was smart enough to make packing lists before I even left for farm jam. I was nervous as all hell once I got to BWI and found my terminal, and once I landed in JFK I was trying real hard not to call my mom like I usually do when I get nervous. I get the travel jitters pretty bad. but I took some zzzquil before I got on the plane, and since I’d already been up all day I was grateful to sleep through a good bit of the 5.5 hour flight. I managed to stave off jet lag by staying up for another full day, but I can’t say I enjoyed it, ha.

I did enjoy everything else about that trip, though. I definitely had plenty of high points in my year (much more than last year, for sure), but this trip was probably the best. I know I wasn’t the most expressive (I guess I’ve learned not to be?), but I loved it there. I also know I got real lucky with the weather, so it’s not always as gorgeous as it was when I visited, but it really was lovely. I’d love to go back to Gourock one of these days. sit on the shore; a little slice of such a big world. I wouldn’t have wanted to skip rocks with much of anyone else.

I had a moment while I was catching my breath in Edinburgh; I’d gotten the tiniest bit lost and wound up in the park across the street from the Botanic Gardens, so I sat on a bench for a bit so I wouldn’t look weird. after a while I got up and crossed a big football field to get back where I was trying to go, and I remember looking up at the sky for a split second, and it really hit me that I was alone. that was the furthest away I’d been from home by myself, and I was in a city 2 hours away from the only other person I knew for thousands of miles. it wasn’t scary, necessarily. not even lonely. I think that feeling would’ve given me anxiety in the past. it was just... a profound aloneness. 

I was really proud of myself for tackling Edinburgh by myself. figuring out the trains, going to see the castle, managing to avoid looking like a tourist so nobody hassled me, finding a little record shop to browse through, walking around the gardens alone. I was in so much pain I couldn’t even believe it, though. I’m amazed I made it back to the train without my leg bones breaking through my heels, and amazed I could even still walk by the time I got back to Gourock. my hips were so stiff and every step was hard. I know I pushed it. but it was so worth it.

I miss the feeling. that no-obligations feeling; being able to do pretty much anything we wanted because it was vacation time. I do remember feeling bad, not knowing what it was that I must’ve said or done (because why else would you go quiet on me?). that wasn’t so fun. but I know I’m not unreasonable. I’m not hard to talk to, I don’t think. I don’t explode over little things; I’d much rather talk through them than be left wondering what I did wrong, and then do it again. I don’t mean to be rude or mean or anything like that. we grew up with very different perceptions of things but I want to be on the same page, and sometimes that means being a little more conscious of what I say and do.

I wasn’t really looking forward to coming home, but thankfully I had a little bit more down time before I started my new job. and ever since the end of august, I’ve been in work mode, it feels like. I’ve tried to keep up with volunteering, I’ve kept myself entertained sending packages out to Scotland (can’t say I’m a fan of international shipping costs though), and I’ve dealt with the loss of a few pets. I’ve been lucky enough to have my mom’s help with moving out, and I feel like my meds are really helping me now too. I feel a lot more balanced out than I did, and having such a good work environment is helping immensely. I’m still not quite where I want to be, but I feel better than I have in years both mentally and emotionally.

the emotional front has changed too. back at the beginning of the year, I was so messed up, still. there was a lot of residual hurt after the 2 years or so prior, but I was also still super depressed. but the waters have calmed, and I’ve found that I’m not completely alone, necessarily. I have the hope that I have one person in my life now that won’t give up on me. I’ve had... something like a year now of something relatively consistent. I feel like I’ve been able to build some trust, and like I’m slowly chipping away at these walls I’ve had built up. for the first time in years I’m actually kind of upset about feeling lonely. for the first time in years I’m not feeling sick to my stomach thinking about holding a hand, or someone holding me, or, god forbid, even kissing someone. I might even want that. and it’s weird to me, now, because it almost seems out-of-character, since I’ve been so messed up for so long. but this isn’t out-of-character, it’s the character I used to be before things all went sideways. I’ve had this image of being distant and detached and repulsed and unfortunately that ends up getting tied to the fact that I’m asexual (though in actuality they’re not related). but I know that’s not me. I know my asexuality is just a fact about my attraction to other people, and it has little to do with my behavior. it’s weird to me, feeling like this again, but I’m so relieved the damage might not have been permanent. it helps that my memory is such garbage. hard to remember how to feel fucked up when you can’t hardly remember how you got there to begin with.

maybe my year will end on a little brighter note. I’m seeing a new rheumatologist on new years eve. I hope a few people will come visit for new years. I’ve got crafts to do and things to keep myself busy with. I hope Gavin will want to skype before the end of the year, but I get not feeling good. I get that talking takes energy. sometimes I feel like I just take a lot of energy to interact with, so I’m trying not to be annoying. I’m fine doing my own thing, as I have been. but I do miss his [virtual] company. it’s getting a lot more obvious since moving out how really quiet and lonely it is by myself, and I have this feeling in the bit of my stomach that I’d feel a lot better if I could share this space with someone. sometimes I just want to show someone something, make them smile, talk about little nothings. and I don’t have that right now. I’m trying to let little things make me happy and let that be good enough, but it’s hard sometimes. it would just be really nice to be able to rest my head on a shoulder. to laugh about a dumb tv show with someone. even though I feel a lot better than I used to when I missed people, things sometimes just aren’t as good alone.

a lot of this year felt really foggy. but I’m glad to be where I am, even though it’s making me nervous. I hope I’m putting a good foot forward. and I hope 2020 brings more growth and healing. I hope one of these days I can learn to be the kind of person I want to be, and that I can be good for someone else too. so I can just know that to at least one person I’m not completely insufferable. so I don’t have to be so afraid that I’m just going to drive people away so I self-isolate. I’m doing a lot better about the negative thoughts, but I want to keep improving on that too. I have a lot of work to do, but I want to do it. it’s scary to feel like I’m doing so much alone. it’s sad knowing everyone else is caught up in their own lives, but at least most of them have someone else. it hits me sometimes how really, really lonely it is to have your own life but completely alone. I don’t mind being single. but it would be nice to come home to someone I love. someone that isn’t my rats, though of course they brighten my day no matter what, ha.

so. yeah. I’m a little hopeful. I want to get my shit figured out a little bit more. it’d be real nice to go back to Scotland too, but I might have to put that idea on hold til my life balances out a little more. I’m just going one day at a time right now. I’m doing my best. and thankfully my best is getting a little better. I want to keep that up.

[leavingkindfootprints]

My story - How losing a sibling changed my life forever.

I wish I knew back then what I knew now. I guess being sixteen you don’t prepare for life changing events to happen and you have no choice but to live with the trauma. At sixteen, I was only really concerned about having mates, sneaking out to parties that my parents would have NEVER let me go to (totally understand you now mum and dad!) what outfit I was wearing that weekend, if I was able to secretly pinch a cigarette out of mums packet without her noticing. I was prepared to start year 11 VCE. I was prepared that I would change a lot over the next year. I was prepared for the friends and friendships I had, probably wouldn’t be around forever. What I didn’t prepare for was losing my “sibling” - Bonnie. No, she didn’t pass away, she wasn’t murdered and she didn’t die from a horrible sickness. although at times I wish she did because that baggage would be much easier to live with. She committed an unspeakable and unforgivable crime that changed the lives of so many people.

So a little back story -

Bonnie was placed into to a psychiatric ward months before the attempted murder. Prior to her admission she would frequently have psychotic episodes which my parents tried so hard to shield me from witnessing. But I saw a lot of them.   Actually, I saw nearly all of them.  When psychosis sets in, one loses the capacity to understand what’s real and what isn’t. (That is the most simple way I’m able to explain it.)

I would hear her during these episodes screaming at my parents that the T.V was talking to her. She was adamant that she could clearly hear voices in her head. I remember her always being paranoid and on edge, which was scary to be around. I don’t think she actually even remembers some of the frightening things she would say to me.  I would always try to brush most of the things she said to me off and tell myself she was just going through some sort of break down. I wasn’t old enough to understand the depth of her addiction.  Bonnie was diagnosed with schizophrenia, bipolar and a personality disorder.  Bonnie came from a good family and had parents they did everything in their power to help her and get her better.  Bonnie had a good upbringing.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe she went through bad experiences. She would always fall into the wrong group. She would be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She made certain choices that were clearly wrong for her.. But, you couldn’t stop her. She was uncontrollable. She was selfish and she was dark. She was on a path of self destruction, and now I realise that sometimes there’s certain people you can’t save. 

On the third of April 2011 Bonnie was arrested for trying to murder our Father. Now, before you read ahead please know this is my story and as hard as it is to write this I feel like I’m finally ready to speak about it with the world. Because maybe.. Just maybe it might help someone who finds themselves in the same position one day. (I hope you never do because I wouldn’t wish my experience upon my worst enemy.)

Usually stories like this don’t get spoken about. I wish I had someone come to me at the time and say “This happened to my family!” or “You’re not alone, I experienced a similar loss!” because if I’m brutally honest I needed someone to tell me that I wasn’t the only fucking human being to feel the way I did at the time.  She shattered our family.  She hurt our family. And.. She changed our family. 

So at sixteen I found myself in uncharted territory, not only experiencing profound loss but being at a loss as to how to cope. I mean how do you cope with the fact that your sister tried to murder the one person who was the rock and provider for your family? The one person who protected you from the scary world we live in. I found myself constantly swimming in a pool of grieving family members. Actually no I’ll reword that it felt more like drowning. And here I was drowning in my own grief without a life jacket, screaming for someone to save me. Maybe my mum or my eldest sister heard but I was too focused on trying to make some sort of sense of the awful event that changed us. I was angry at myself that I didn’t see it coming. I was angry at the fact that she let drugs and alcohol ruin her life. I was angry that while she was in prison, she was still trying to hurt us. It wasn’t just the evil crime she committed. It was the letters from prison. It was the repulsive lies she made up. It was the people she chose over her own blood. I held onto so much guilt for years because of the fact I wasn’t there to protect my Dad. Maybe if I was home that night, my Dad wouldn’t be wearing the scars he has today.

The night of April third my Dad was dowsed in methylated spirits by my sister and was set alight.  As his skin started melting off his body the only chance of survival he had was to crawl inside, grab a phone and call triple zero. He somehow made it to the bathroom, while still on fire and in a moment of sheer panic turned on the hot water instead of cold. I will never know the pain he endured that night.  The day that followed was a total blur. I remember walking into our home that was taped off and being confronted by the most overpowering smell. The smell never left any of us that day. The skin and blood that was smeared across the white porcelain tiles. You just had to slightly open the back door and you were ingesting the fumes of the methylated spirits that were ingrained into the wood of the decking. 

In the early hours of Sunday, April third I came home a lot later than I planned. I actually wasn’t planning on going out but after being persuaded by friends I went a long. I remember getting out of a friends car around 3.00 AM to find the street lit up with 7 police cars, detectives and an ambulance. I was dropped off at the end of my street seeing as we all had been drinking and we didn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to the car we were in.

Now, I grew up in a suburb called Dandenong. On a chaotic street, you grew up thinking that most of the events that went on there were normal. So here I was thinking “It had to be one of the neighbours that got caught up in some kind of trouble.” Wrong - I was so terribly wrong. I got out of the car and started walking home. Slowly, I felt an uneasy, sick and hollow feeling in my stomach (by this time I was still a fair few houses away.) Every step I took this empty feeling got stronger. And then instantly as I got about a house away my heart felt like it had stopped. Like it had left my body. This eery feeling I will NEVER forget. I froze in shock and disbelief, this is MY home. Surely, it was the alcohol I had been illegally drinking for the last few hours? Five police officers and detectives rushed over to me all at once. Straight away I was questioned. Confused, while still trying to piece together who was hurt and what the fuck was even going on. There’s one statement that stood out the most to me that night. I can remember a detective grabbing my shoulder and saying “If you are who you say you are, I’m sorry to inform you but your sister Bonnie has allegedly set your father on fire and he is currently being worked on in the back of that ambulance. He is in a critical condition and we are unsure if he is going to make it.” 

I remember the shock hitting me like a tonne of bricks. I don’t quite remember what I said, or what I was screaming in those moments shortly after hearing the news but I remember being metres and metres away from the ambulance still and what felt like only a single second later grabbing onto the sliding door of the van trying to get in and be by my Dad’s side. My only priority was to get in that ambulance and no one was going to stop me. Shaking and screaming uncontrollably I wasn’t letting go of that fucking door.

Mind you, I weighed a tiny forty five kilograms at the time and it took two full grown male officers and one detective to pry me off that door. The officers that witnessed the scene that night said to me hours later that it was a night that would not only stay with me for the rest of my life, but it would stay with them.  

I remember telling my Dad I loved him and I was there. That he had survive this because I couldn’t and wouldn’t live in the same world without him. Just repeating the story and going back to that unknown place I was in mentally makes my hands tremble heart sink all the way down to my stomach again.

One thing that has stuck with me and something I can’t forget as much as I’ve tried in the last nine years was the first glimpse I caught of my Dad. You will only know this visual if you’ve witnessed severe burns before. I refused to write about how horrific it was at first because just reading the words is extremely confronting. He had third and fourth degree burns from his head down to his belly button and covering his back. His face, chest and arms were in a terrible way. The weeping of the epidermis.  The trauma to the tissue and muscle which resulted in nerve damage. The parts of flesh and skin on his chest which turned black The purple, raw skin grafts that covered his legs. Then there was the swelling and the blisters. 

The list goes on..

Overall his TBSA percentage was 45% If I remember correctly, it only takes 30% TBSA to be fatal.  

These images will never leave me. I was so damaged by what she did, I don’t remember the girl I was before my father was burnt.

I remember praying everyday. I remember praying with my Mum at night. I remember us not being able to walk back into the home we had. I remember the family and friends that were there. And I certainly remember the ones that weren’t.  I will always wonder about the life we would’ve had if Bonnie didn’t go to the house that night.. And I wonder about which one of us it could have been. I think about the nine years that she missed out on.. And I think about the nine years I will never get back. But I know, because he survived.. I will too.  I cherish every second I have with him.  I cherish the way he embraces my children and what they share. I cherish the determination and drive he has.  I cherish the fact he is able to forgive and not let it define his way of living. 

I worship the ground this man walks on. For him to survive something like this is beyond anything one can imagine. Not just what happened that night, everything he lived with after. People don’t survive this type of pain. He was meant to be here. His time wasn’t up. God knew this great man had another purpose and forced him to stay. I can’t put into words how much this man means to me. They say the love you have for your children is something else. I believe the love I have for my children is the same love I have for my Dad. This is a love that will never be taken away. This man made sacrifices his whole life for our family. This man gave when he had nothing. This man protected: This man taught so many wonderful lessons. I would not be the woman I am today if it wasn’t for my father.  I’ve permanently blocked things out to protect myself from constant flashbacks of that night.

While my Dad was in a coma life stopped. Everyday was spent in the hospital making sure he would come out of this situation and be okay. We just needed him to be okay and we could get through it. We could get through the unspeakable. The only way I can explain it was like having death standing behind you while holding a loved ones hand.

He was placed in a medically induced coma. Weeks later he awoke and that was the unfolding of everything. The confusion, the questions and the rebuilding. It was traumatising to say the least. A few months went past and I found myself having to be everyone’s rock. People were depending on me. I made the choice to not finish school and put my life on hold for my family. I have no regrets. I did what I had to do and I would do it all over again for my family. My only advice would be to you today reading this - 

Don’t  leave any words unspoken. Say what you feel and speak your truth. Hold your parents close, for it is a scary and confusing world without them. Love through the fear of loss. Love the things and people who wander into your life and love them while you HAVE them. Scream it, whisper it, write it or paint it on your skin. Just say it. With a shaking voice and trembling hands say it. Pull them close, find their eyes and say it. All. Because you never think that the last time is the last time. Say it before it’s too late. Say what you’re feeling. You think that there will be more. You think you have forever but you don’t. Waiting is a mistake. 

“What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.” - Charles Bukowksi

I know now that although what I experienced was horrific, I can turn it into something good. I want my story can help others. I’m not here for sympathy, I’m here to be heard. This is how drugs tear families apart. These are the families that are left shattered. If you need help don’t be afraid to ask, go to the source that loves you. Find the safe place that calms you. Ask for it, beg for it if you have to.. 

But get the help before it’s too late. Protect those who have sheltered you. And I mean that, protect them with everything you have. Remember pain will change you more profoundly than any success or good fortune. Learn from it

“Give it to God and go to sleep.”

While I have finally closed the book on a life I shared so deeply with my sister it has made me come to terms with what happened. This is my form of healing. Know that it’s okay to not forgive bad people for hurting you. They say forgiving is part of the healing process but it happens to be the complete opposite for me. While it’s different for other members of my family (which I totally support) Holding my sister accountable for what she did and the lives she changed that night is something I never thought would be the answer. I wasn’t brought up this way, this isn’t something that is taught. This is something you find within yourself. I lost a lot of time during this process. Time I can never get back nor be replaced. But I’d like to make a difference and leave something good behind.  It is so important that we share our experiences with other people. Your story will heal you and your story will heal somebody else. And.. When you tell your story, you free yourself and give other people permission to acknowledge their own story. 

Lastly, My story wouldn’t have been told if it wasn’t for my parents. I owe everything to them. To my father, who told me the stories that matter. To my mother, who taught me to remember them.

Joel 2:25 “God will give you back the years you lost.”

- g.t

[lovegvvd]

❝ She always had that about her, that look of otherness, of eyes that see things much too far, and of thoughts that wander off the edge of the world. ❞ SARAH PAULSON? No, that’s actually LUNA LOVEGOOD-SCAMANDER. Only FORTY-TWO years old, this RAVENCLAW alumni works as a MAGIZOOLOGIST and is sided with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. SHE/THEY identifies as AGENDER and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be ECCENTRIC, BLUNT, and UNSELF-CRITICAL but also NONCONFORMING, INNOVATIVE, and PERCEPTIVE.

LINKS: stats, pinboard, character tag. CHARACTER PARALLELS: orla mccool (derry girls), misty day (ahs), dale cooper (twin peaks), phoebe buffay (friends) HELLO once again a note from me mar, that a lot of this is open to discussion and alteration as i’m going off the little canon that i have and because luna is a character with a few already existing ties. so yep! this is all up for discussion! yeet! also i apologise for the length of the history section akdfhsdkjf. also i always forget that luna is married to rolf so pls remind me x

history

luna’s parents were traveling when they became pregnant with her and decided that they would settle in whatever place their child would come to earth --- a game of chance, perhaps, but one of fate, too, they thought. they’d always been dreamers, romanticists, adventurers, and why not let their child decided where they’d end up, even before her birth? and so they settled near a small town in south west england, where luna was born under a full moon and thus named luna. for the moon, that had followed her traveling parents everywhere they went, for the moon, the only thing that would be able to match their child’s powerful and mysterious spirit, for the moon, which she was born under.

the house they lived in was built by her parents, and luna loved it. the house twisted and curled and offered plenty of room for her imagination, from day one. life growing up was complete, was free, it was close to perfect ---- and yet, somehow, it shattered.

[ parental death, trauma tw ] at nine years old, luna watched her mother day. it was supposed to be a day of excitement --- every time her brilliant mother invented a new charm, they would have an extravagant dinner and celebrate until way too late and laugh widely and loudly. nothing like that happened. luna watched her mother die in stead and hammered on her chest to try and get her heart to start beating again but nothing, nothing, nothing worked. the world was a mystery and death was, too, but still one thing was clear: her mother was gone, in one way or another.

luna struggled to accept this truth, as she often did with truths. her father grew fragile and obsessive and she grew nervous and quiet and good at being on her own. she started painting and tried to combat flashbacks to that day during the day, only to have nightmares at night. having a wide imagination was a gift, most of the time, but with this, it was a curse.

luna was traumatised. simple as that. her father wasn’t the best support system, but he was there in a way. the roles of father-daughter shifted, slightly, as luna took care of him, too, but he was still there. and so the last two years before hogwarts were hard. terribly, horribly hard. it was trying to learn how to live in a house where something so vital was missing. it was tryign to understand what death was, which is something that simply refuses to be understood. it was fucking hard. period. (not that luna admits that to herself, even now.) [ end of tws ]

luna arrived at hogwarts and was sorted into ravenclaw very quickly and easily. she noticed that she was odd --- or, actually, other people noticed that she was and told it to her, and she shrugged her shoulders and kept moving on. luna had grown reclusive after the death of her mother, and didn’t mind not fitting in. it was lonely, sure, but she didnt see a reason to befriend people who looked down on her beliefs. she didn’t mind being called loony, but when her belongings started to disappear, she grew angry, deep down. she let most comments and acts of cruelty slide off her back, but when a bad word was muttered about her father ( who she already worried so so much about ), she was prone to explosion.

but she was lonely, and then she was not. the details are fuzzy, but at one point she found friends at hogwarts! finally! she did it! luna learned to come out of her shell, learned how to handle compassion ( though clumsily and in her own way, of course ) and the wonderous world of having friends. she painted them on her ceiling and loved and laughed and ---- things were good. she loved. she laughed. she wasn’t alone, and while she had never considered herself alone or lonely, it wasnt until she gained friends that she realised that she had been awfully alone.

upon graduation, luna took to the world. she traveled far and wide and learned from amazing, genius people across the world. she studied magizoology and wrote her first essay on a newly discovered species a year into her travels. she returned home often enough, of course, to see how her father was doing, to see her friends. friendship had once been a scary and new thing to luna, but as she grew older, it became natural and easy and something she couldnt do without.

at some point, she and fellow magizoologist rolf scamander got it going. they married, had a pair twins and a new chapter of luna’s life opened up. once again, the complete details about her and rolf meeting are fuzzy, but i imagine it was LIT. i do think she settled more, then, especially when the twins were born. luna hadn’t really had rooted herself down after graduation ( the cottage she owned in the hills of england was a home she barely called a home, as she wasn’t there much ), but that did change.

luna is still the person she was before, she’s just more. she’s more grounded, but not any less in love with keeping her eyes wide open and her head in the skies. she’s a parent. she’s married. she’s got a successful career and a group of people surrounding her that she loves. she has grown up, but she hasn’t compromised. she’s learned how to use perspective and how to be more subtle, without shedding eccentricity or open mindedness.

the quibbler, by the way, still exists and has grown into even more of an underground, activistic magazine. luna writes for it every month.

[ grief, death tw ] so things were going well, and then everything changed. grief came into her life again.  harry is dead – harry, one of her first friends, harry, who named his daughter after her, harry, who she loved. friendship is something incredibly important to luna — she painted the faces of her first ones on her bedroom wall, once — and when he died, she got scared by how grief took a hold of her. the first time she lost someone that significant to her, she was much younger, you see, and dealing with shock & trauma as well. this time, she was an adult, settled and grown up. she is more aware of her grief, and that is TERRIFYING.

she’s also less passive in her mourning. before, she was a kid. family friends visited and her father was on her side. now, she’s a parent, a friend; she visits the kids of friends in stead and sticks on ginny’s and everyone else’s side, in stead. luna might come across unfazed or disconnected from her pain, as she talks about it like she is, but she is not: she has her own way of mourning (as everyone does) and she can say some really Truthful and Raw shit at times.

she misses him so much. that’s what it boils down to. she misses him so fucking much. [ end of tws ]

of course she helps reinstate the order. there’s no question about it. luna doesn’t feel like a revolutionist or a soldier, but she does know how to fight, and she does know what is right. she’s good at strategy and defense, mostly, and at keeping spirits high and offering new perspectives.

so here we have luna: a parent, a fighter on the frontlines, a friend. she’s determined. she’s horribly saddened. she’s still herself, despite everything.

personality & tidbits

i think i already touched on this but i think it never hurts to repeat yourself so --- luna is a more grounded individual, at this point. she still has her head in the clouds, but her feet are standing solidly on the ground. she’s a dreamer, yes, but more of a realist, too. ( nothing like one of your best friends dying to make you realise how shit the world is, after all. ) luna isn’t very different from the luna we know in canon, but she’s matured. she’s more. she’s gone through a lot of positive development.

luna is constantly and always in awe of the friends and family she has, especially because she was so lonely for the biggest chunk of her youth. she’s extremely loyal and defensive of them.

luna is agender and has been aware of this for ... most of her life, really? she thinks gender is a big old construct and one she doesn’t want to apply to herself. if others do, she of course doesn’t mind or judge --- she’s veyr openminded when it comes to gender and sexuality. she prefers both she/her and they/them pronouns --- sometimes she doesn’t mind which one people use, and sometimes she will prefer one over the other.

is good at trying to keep up morale without it being an escapist ... kind of situation? offers fresh perspectives a lot, likes being a positive force and yes, sometimes it is easier to focus on the positive, and she will, then.

she really loves the stars and moon and astronomy and astrology!!! wow!!!!!!!

wears iconic outfits and we ALL know it

idk what more to write ive already written so MUCH

possible plots

first of all? i would love someone who can be kind of a mentee? because fuck yeah? i love that? any other magizoologists in this building that need some mentoring? hit me up!!!!

same goes for the quibbler, if your character somehow writes for the quibbler, hmu? i think xeno is still the editor but lbr the man is OLD

fellow trio era characters should hit me up so we can talk about the good old school days and CRIE

order members that are ?????????????????? at luna, that are a bit skeptical, etc etc?

fellow art buds

death eaters that want 2 eliminate her ig lets angst this up

idk luna is fairly easy to plot with so just hmu and we can figure something out!!!!

[vanaera]

Missed Calls

Synopsis | Namjoon realizes everything is amiss right after you dropped the greatest plot twist in his life. Now terribly confused about what he’s supposed to do, he starts to just avoid everything that may connect him to you. Luckily, you’ll never get tired to remind him he’s missing something important: he doesn’t have to be alone and that...he doesn’t have to watch your face on TV screens anymore when he can have all of you for himself in a single call.

Genre | Fluff with humor and a tinny bit of angst

Wordcount |3,776

A/N | This is a sequel to Unread Messages (I’m tagging you @spiicyari as per your request!) This will be another drabble series of mine, so expect random updates on this one too! (I will edit a header for this once I finally have a free time). Majority of this fic is inspired by the recent events in my life. Enjoy reading!

               Namjoon wakes up in his dark bedroom with the heavy silence pressed against his chest. He doesn’t need his glasses to see the pitch-black screen of his phone by his side, unlit with zero notifications. He turns to the other side of the bed, tearing his eyes from the said gadget. The unfamiliarity of the black screen being just black for too long taunts him to open it and just ask you if everything was a desperate mirage of his mind or not. It’s strange, too surreal, too good to be true that his Sun that talked with him through his every struggle is the same person as the Y/N he’s been dying to at least greet with a “hi”. And Namjoon knows anything that is too good can only exist in fantasies and dreams, such as him and Y/N finally, actually talking to each other.

                He closes his eyes and buries himself deeper in his sheets, with hopes that it can also drown the thoughts surrounding you and the factual probability of you actually writing a song about him. Needless to say, he woke up too soon for the hours to lift the heavy bags off his eyes along with a sudden urge to consume two mugs of caffeine to get him through another tiring day.

//

               “I didn’t imagine you’ll be this fucking handsome, god, I should have fixed myself.”

               “Namjoon?”

               “Huh?” Namjoon sits straight up, papers and pen dropping onto the floor and before he can kneel down to pick them up, he nudges his phone off his desk. Jimin saves it for him just in time.

               “Jesus Christ hyung, what’s with you recently?” Jimin hands him his phone, forehead furrowed in concern.“You look like you just woke up from death.”

               “Wow, thanks for the compliment,” Namjoon mutters, eyes fleeting to the notification bar of his cell. Still blank and black as always. He tucks it in his pocket. “I always look horrible, no need to point it out.”

               “I didn’t mean it like that,” Jimin seats himself across him, chin jut out against his crossed arms. “You’ve been too…disoriented lately. I mean you’re always disoriented but this week was really different. You even walked into a pole yesterday. What’s wrong?”

               “It’s nothing, just…woke up from the wrong side of the bed.” Yeah, probably he did, Namjoon thinks.

               “Alright, if you say so,” his friend turns to the front just the moment their Philosophy professor enters the room.

               Namjoon heaves a sigh. It’s not that he didn’t trust Jimin with his problems; the kid has been with him through thick and thin (even when he’s literally thinning out last year because of his schedule and Jimin religiously have to get into his thick skull that he has to eat). It’s just… Once you’re presence has become tangible to another, it becomes easier for them to map out who you are which also makes it easier for them to nitpick each part of you. And Namjoon can’t let his friends see him as a burden. That’s why he prefers talking them with you. Everything is easy for him – relaying his embarrassing stories and exploding outbursts through a digital screen with no condescending eyes to judge him; entrusting his secrets to a person on the other end of the world which is completely detached from his own; baring himself open to an unknown face he can just hit up with a message without being that vulnerable in front of another person.

                But now, you have a face in his mind, a face too familiar, a face everyone knows, and he doesn’t know if he can look at you the same way as before. How can he? He didn’t imagine the girl he loved in his own little fantasy will be actually you, the first female friend he had a platonic relationship. You even said so when you first exchanged names!

SunnyY/N  8:30 PM

Platonic relationships are so underrated.

MonJoon 8:31 PM

Yeah, I second that!

MonJoon 8:32 PM

I’m Joon btw. What can I call you?

SunnyY/N 8:34 PM

Just Sun! ☀ ☀ ☀

               “Just Sun?” Hell yeah, you’re the Sun to every fan like him, Jimin, and everyone else that loves you and your craft. Thinking about it, everything you made up perfectly coincide with everything Y/N does. You travelling around with “your parents” and Y/N’s promotions overseas also start the same time frame. You being hella busy “with your folks that you can’t even touch your phone” is in the same schedule as Y/N’s concert tour. You being unable to meet up when you’re in Korea just in time when Y/N is currently in Korea for an encore concert. You spamming the convo space about your loneliness the same day Y/N received tremendous backlash on the release of No More You. 

              Fuck it, Namjoon slumps his head against his desk. A loser like him is a million miles away from a star like you. You’re able to reach thousands of other better people out there so why settle on a plain joe like him? How did he manage to actually make friends with you? But most importantly, why did you let him be?

               “Namjoon, care to tell what’s so interesting with your notebook?”

               Fuck. Why now?

//

               “Y/N, seriously get off the phone, you’re going on live in two minutes.”

               “Wait manager Kang, just a minute,” you pulled your cerise lips in a tight smile before looking back at your phone, fingers somewhat numb from the minutes spent on it pressed against the screen.  

               Kang Solmi just turns away, already used to your antics. You’ve always been stuck to your phone since she handled you two years ago and until now, she can’t understand your fascination in the illuminated screen that have kept you up all night and all day.

               Well, it was different in other days, you usually tell her. “Just a message I have to check,” “Just one more look!” and “This person is important to me” - all of these already worn out on your tongue but you wouldn’t choose otherwise. You can’t open to her that you’ve been craving a normalcy in your life and this online friend of yours happened to give you just that. You can’t just blurt out too that you’ve been telling a stranger about things you’ve promised to keep exclusive only for the company, much less things you didn’t disclose even to your family and friends. And most importantly, you can’t tell her that stranger has been your muse for one year now that you can’t even control the rapid thrumming of your heart whenever you wake up to his “good morning, hoe.” For god’s sake, it doesn’t even sound romantic!

               But all of the things you can’t do, you can’t drag the screen down enough to change the things you sent in your convo space with MonJoon. It’s still frozen to the last message you sent him.

 SunnyY/N 1:04 AM

But I can’t wait that long, what if I say I want to meet you now?

               Shit, you must have freaked him out. You haven’t met him personally in the first place and you already scared him off. You bite your lip and scrunch your face in annoyance. “Why did I have to be drunk that day? Out of all days – and his birthday too! Why, why, why?! What did I even tell him that in the first place?!”        

 //

                 “Hey, Namjoon, You’re idol’s performing live.”

               Namjoon passes by  Seokjin, eyes immediately looking at the mini television they bought with hard-earned money to see the very reason of his sleepless nights singing her heart out to My Only Friend.

                The TV they bought was to satisfy Seokjin’s need for Netflix and his need to watch you on a larger screen without the possibility of him shattering it into shards. Well now, he could actually hear a resounding crack on his chest. It’s not real - you’re both born to be in different worlds, it’s just your imagination. “Yeah, okay,” Namjoon shrugged, legs fast as he heads for his bedroom.

               “’Yeah, okay?’” Seokjin looks at him perplexed, tone incredulous making him stop midway. “What have you eaten? You’re usually salivating just the moment your eyes land on her.”

               “I do not!”

               “You do!” Seokin presses, expecting to see the weird expressions his friend will put on his face.

               However, he didn’t expect to see the man huff in annoyance with an indignant scowl on his face. Namjoon only looks this scary when he’s really annoyed. Seokjin immediately drops the act and turns off the TV to follow his friend’s trudging.

               “Hey, what’s wrong, Joon? Sorry I was just teasing you.”

               Namjoon only turns on his back mumbling, “Nothing, I’m fine.”

               However, unlike Jimin, Namjoon knows Seokjin doesn’t entertain any bullshits.

               “Seriously, just tell me what’s bothering you. You look like a zombie these days, you almost finished our stack of coffee, and you’re being moody as hell like a 14-year old pubescent girl. What’s really up with you these days?”

               Namjoon looks away. He can’t just tell Seokjin the one he’s watching on the screen a few seconds ago was the same person he’s been going on and on to their friends as “Namjoon’s online girlfriend.” His friend will laugh his ass off and that’s the least he wanted to have in his shitty day before he goes for the night to tutor some brats.

               In his silence, Seokjin keeps his intense stare on him before he sticks out his index towards him. Namjoon waits, feeling his lungs squeezing -

               “Don’t tell me…you’re in a fight with your online girlfriend!”

               Oh right, Seokjin may not tolerate bullshits but it’s fine if he’s the one who gets to do so.

               “Damn you.”

               Namjoon closes his door, a relieved sigh escaping from his lips as  he hears Seokjin’s laughter echoing behind him along with the sound of the TV turning on to show a different artist taking the stage.

               Well, he can’t blame Seokjin from making that conclusion when it’s true he’s been like this when he’s going through arguments with you online.  The first one was last year when he insensitively sent you “you’re lucky you get the hell out of school because of your parents” in his sleepy haze while writing excruciating six essays he has to pass the next day. He immediately knew he fucked up when you didn’t reply for the next two days even though he knew you read his last message. Cue then the next three days he’s been quite snappy and sulky before Seokjin demanded him to get his shit straight and make an apology message for you. It was easily resolved. You forgave him and you went back to the same lively internet friend of his. 

              The second fight you had was still fresh in his mind. It was eight months ago when you asked him “Why are you letting yourself become an underdog to them?” in the middle of his rant about the bullshit of Yoomi, the bossy bitch classmate of his in Arts who thinks what she comes up with should always be followed by everyone. It offended him way more than anyone has thrown insult at him - probably the most offensive remark he received from someone - and it really hurt that it came from you, the person he regarded the only one who can really really understand him. The cold silence ensued for only two days before you immediately messaged him “sorry, it was really an asshole move on my part,” and though Namjoon finds it hard to easily forgive anyone who does him wrong, it was that day he realized how he can easily soften up to you and unknowingly let you settle yourself back in your special place in his mundane-as-ever life.

               But this time – this time, it’s different. He’s not even dealing with any cold war with you through the screen, but the moment he taps the icon of Send Me, he just finds himself stuck frozen with tingles running down his spine. You don’t message him after the bombing video call that threw him off his every expectation of the actual you behind the screen and – and it’s already been a week. Are you mad at him? Did you regret what you did? Or did you suddenly want to disentangle yourself from the mess of his life? Namjoon doesn’t know but at this moment he wants to cry. And so he does, sobs muffled by his clenched fist as he seeks comfort in his bed. He knows he’s gonna break down sooner or later and he’d rather do it now before he goes off to teach some spoiled brats later to fill his sad piggy bank for his MonStudio.

 //

                 Another week passes with Send Me still silent on the other side. Namjoon doesn’t have the guts to check it from time to time recently, afraid he’ll send something that will worsen the situation. And though that helps him to put his personal turmoil at bay, it doesn’t help him with the disarray of thoughts and pent up feelings filling the expanse of his inner calmness to the brim. You’ve been his support system for two years now and Namjoon knows it’s partly his fault why he’s like this when he’s the one who put you in the pedestal as the only one person that can really understand him. But he can’t help it when you really do as what his title on you says. 

              You helped him get through heavy workloads with constant checkups you slipped while staying awake with him until he finished all his requirements.

SunnyY/N (2:35 AM)

Hey, you still up?

SunnyY/N (3:45 AM)

Don’t you dare sleep on me, let’s finish this!

SunnyY/N (4:01 AM)

We’ve done it, hoe! Now pass it! I’m gonna catch a shut-eye now. ;DDD

               You gave him advice how to start reaching out from his introvert shell little by little just so he can make life easier for him

SunnyY/N (7:31 PM)

You don’t have to become an extrovert! Just step out a little in the open, I promise it will work.

SunyY/N (1:20 AM)

Don’t hate yourself too much. You know you can’t have everything under control, right?

SunnyY/N (3:56 PM)

I’m gonna send my love to you in hopes you’ll love yourself a little more each day, hoe. Here’s some ♥ ♥ ♥ from me :D

               And when he feels like giving up, you’re always there to push him back in his game.

SunnyY/N (12:37 AM)

Hey, you have to continue this. You have to shift to Music after this!

SunnyY/N (11:58 PM)

Joon, you know you have to endure this. Mon Studio, remember?

SunnyY/N (2:21 AM)

I’ll come to your studio someday and make great songs with you, so just hang on, okay?

               And now that you’ve been quite absent in his life, Namjoon knows he may easily just...burst, give up - lose control on the things he tries to keep at bay, especially now when he doesn’t need to have everyone know how much of a sorry loser he was.

               “Namjoon?”

               Namjoon’s eyes shot open at the recognition of Johnny’s voice on the other line. What the hell does their block’s president have to tellhim at fucking eleven o’clock in the fucking night?

               “Hey Namjoon, do you hear me? I have a favor to ask you about the upcoming event in the uni.”

               What the fuck, it’s already eleven o’clock and they’re calling me about school? Why did I even answer –

                And then he hears the goddamn voice of Yoomi. “Namjoon, do you actually know what you will do?”

               “Huh, what?”

               “Don’t pretend you haven’t seen it. You ‘seen’ the reminder I sent on Messenger thirty minutes ago.”

               Oh shit. The reminder Namjoon tapped on but didn’t actually read because the wonky internet suddenly caused the app to crash. Goddamn it, why does he and Seokjin have to forget to call the network –

               “Hey Namjoon, you there? Speak up!”

               Namjoon scrambles for his glasses, feet almost tripping on one another as he stands up. “Wait, wait, I’m getting up. I’m sorry I didn’t see the reminder; my net was shitty. Anyway, what is it that I have to do?”

               “So basically, we had each group assigned to make their own tagline they’ll post in their Facebook update for the event, but we’re unsatisfied with what they made up so we’re gonna ask you to redo them instead – “

               Wait, what? So this is the extra unnecessary event the block presidents planned? It’s not even graded, why do they have to stress on it too much? And why the hell should he redo the other’s work?!

               “It wouldn’t be too much on you, right?” Yoomi rattles on, “given that you score perfect in most of our essays in class, hmm?”

               Namjoon could already hear the warning bells of “this is bullshit” ringing by his ears and he could already imagine you scream “fucking hell no, bitch!” along with him to this whole bullshit scenario. But instead of voicing out his denial of the task suddenly thrust into him without his say in the matter, he finds his throat clogged up, unable to let the words be heard in the simple line connection. The cloudy haze in his sleep-deprived mind is also not helping in the situation. “Uhhm, uhh-“

               “You don’t understand, Namjoon? You don’t understand? You just have to do this and then-“

               He can’t deal with this right now. He presses the red icon of end call and puts the number in his phone’s blacklist. He knows it’s unnecessary but the panic in his veins doesn’t subside. It wasn’t until he pressed “leave the groupchat” where that damned task was messaged in was he finally able to sit down and breathe properly. His fingers are shaking, head suddenly pounding with long-withheld aggravation to these assholes who always have to disregard his consent in these activities – 

               “Why are you letting yourself become an underdog to them?”

               Namjoon couldn’t take it anymore. He has to reach you.

               Tapping the icon of Send Me, he presses the profile pic with your username to go into your convo space. He’s about to type everything that’s happening now but then – but then there’s missed calls and messages you sent earlier…this day?

SunnyY/n (5:26 PM)

Hey, Joon, I’m sorry I’ve been off the radar for two weeks. I’ve been thinking about the things I should say to you so as what happened the last time we talked wouldn’t turn that shitty but I guess I won’t be able to do so. I’m already shitty enough so I’m sorry you have to bear with me.

SunnyY/N (5:27 PM)

I’m sorry for shocking you that way. I didn’t intend to shake you out of your wits which probably scared you off from messaging me again.

SunnyY/N (5:30 PM)

I’m sorry again. I’ll be calling you until you pick up and I apologize this may come off irritating, but I just have to really talk with you again face to face.

            A notification now pops up.

SunnyY/N is requesting for a video call. Accept? Decline?

           Namjoon has never given out a reply so fast in his life.

           The screen changes to the same room he has seen in the last call. But today, there’s no bottle in the vicinity, and Y/N – you are looking at him straight in the camera, face bare and eyes clear of any tears.

           “Jo-Joon.”

               At the sound of your voice, Namjoon knows it’s time to let out the things he’s been withholding for too long. It’s his turn to cry now and as the tears run down his cheeks, you immediately do what only you can do to him – keeping him grounded. You let him rant out the things he’s been enduring all on his own – one of the spoiled brat he tutors stood him up in the library they’re supposed to meet, the scholarship he feels he’s about to fuck up with his recent unsatisfactory grades, and the shitty call of Johnny and Yoomi which is just so unfair on his part. He doesn’t mention his problem with you but you know it’s already implied when he looks at you beneath his lashes in sequences before he continues his words. It unsettles you that he has to have his guard up in front of you when you’ve been open to him for a very long time now. Anyway, you’d rather have him finally within your reach than have him completely disappearing for the worst two weeks of your life.

               “I-I’m sorry for looking like this,” he sniffs, fingers frantically wiping his wet cheeks. “I probably look like the typical pitiful underdog, I just-“

               “Joon, listen to me.” And Namjoon does. “You’re not an underdog, okay? You’re just doing your best at the moment, you always do. And these things – they’re just obstacles, okay? We’re gonna get through all of them, remember? You told me so in that long textpost of yours in Tumblr! Do you want me to go there and make a Namjoon protection squad?” you roll up your pale yellow sweater to show some “biceps” you wished you were actually working on, and this makes Namjoon laugh a little. You smile wider. He’s been defending you far too long, it’s your turn to have his back now. “‘Cause everyone’s been indirectly attacking you; I need to defend my hoe!”

               “No need, I’m – I’m gonna be fine,” Namjoon shakes off, his form calming down from his sobs. You always know how to make him smile again right after another breakdown. Letting his eyes meet yours from the screen, he still feels everything is a dream conjured by his wild imagination. It’s still too good to be true that the person he watches from afar now watches him and only him in the middle of the night. He simply can’t wrap his head around the actual possibility of everything that’s happening is actually real.

               You must have caught on his prolonged stare. “Are you – are you still weirded out this…is actually me?” You murmur but Namjoon still hears it. How can he not, when your voice was all that connected him to you when he hasn’t found out you’re actually SunnyY/N.

               “I’m not weirded out. I-I’m still shocked.”

               “With-with my bare face? I know I look horrible without make-up on and look-“

               “You still look as pretty as I’ve ever known you.” And this shuts you up.

               Namjoon takes in the image of you flushed and cheeks tinged in pink, the color making its way to his own blushing face. He can’t believe you’re actually blushing because of him. He’s still shy looking at you so closely so he casts his gaze down. “I-I don’t know if this is actually a dream or not – I-I don’t even know how to properly talk with you again- ‘cause I mean I’m your fan, and before you called me, you were just a fan, like me. By the way, I’m still fascinated how you just fangirled with me over you.”

               Your chuckles resounding from the other line makes Namjoon think he’s in cloud 9. “I swear I actually enjoyed doing that with you. One of my best stress-relievers.”  

               “Fangirling over yourself?”

               “Hell yeah.”

               “Okay, noted.”

               “But anyway, Namjoon, the friendship I formed with you with SunnyY/N is real and I hope you won’t change how you treated me through that convo space now that you know who I really am. I – I missed the normalcy I once had before my career suddenly put me in a place hard for me to personally reach anyone and – and I didn’t expect an online friend would give that comfort to me.”

               Namjoon smiles. “Of course. I’m just shaken up, I just have to get used to talking to my idols face to face.” You chortled at that along with him. “I wouldn’t want to be suddenly hoe-less just because I’m shocked you were actually the only person who gets me in so many ways.”

               “Promise me, you’ll be there for me just like how we used to for two years?” You put up your pinky in line with the camera.

               “Promise me you’ll tell me anything beforehand before you surprise the hell out of me again.” Namjoon also puts out his pinky leveled with yours.

               With a chuckle of “Promise!” just like how you type your promises in the convo space, the warmth Namjoon feels as he presses his pinky against the screen to meet yours felt too real.

               “Also, promise me that you won’t snitch my account to random people. I don’t wanna get hacked.” And at that, Namjoon giggles along with you.

               “Promise.”

                Everything still feels like a dream. But your warm smile and comforting presence on the other side makes it hard for Namjoon to turn his back away from this one hell of an opportunity fate has given him.

                It’s really good that this is real. He knows he has to bask longer in his side of paradise along with his sun.

Post A/N | Follow up! I’ve been working on requests recently so expect some of them to drop within the following weeks. Thank you for all your support! :D

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