#i may have thought you were asking about pasting alt text into plain when it's available on mobile

[startrekdescribed]

I have a question about image descriptions. Since tumblr has the alt id function, if I put a description there should I also have a description beneath the post in text? Thank you :)

Hi, Anon!

Yes, it's simply more accessible and benefits everyone. The alt text function has never been reliable, often its inaccessible or unusable.

Pathos-logical did a great write up about why she's still copying descriptions into plain text, if you want to read it here.

As long as it's a plain text description, no fancy fonts, small text, colours. It's accessible and better for everyone.

[bretha-stitchwitch]

I wrote this little tale to accompany a sculpture I was commissioned to make as a wedding gift. I promptly ran out of printer toner, but still had a bottle of ink, a dip nib and a very strange set of priorities whereby handwriting the story in calligraphic script appealed more than leaving the house and spending money on printer ink.

And thus my longest calligraphic project was embarked upon!

No alt text for the images, but the full text depicted is in plain text under the Read more.

THE TALE OF BRAN AP HYWEL Y CEIRIOS

Once upon a time… for that is how all such tales begin, is it not? Once upon a time, there were many dragons. And the fiercest, most famous dragon in all the land was Y Ddraig Goch, the Red Dragon of Cadwalladr. Many songs and tales there are of Y Ddraig Goch, but none give his name, for indeed no-one thought to ask it.

But a name he had – two names, in fact. Dragons always have two names, the one being short and easy for mere humans to pronounce, the other as long and twisting as dragons themselves. It grows with the dragon who bears it, and if you know how large a dragon can grow, you know just how long that is.

Only the dragons know the long name of Y Ddraig Goch, but to we poor mortals we would more properly have been named Hywel Y Ofnadwy – and terrible he was in name and deed alike! You may well know the story of his battles with the White Dragon of Albion, and of the many slain by his talons and flame.

But what is less well known is that he had a son, Bran, who was nothing like his father. Bran ap Hywel was but a wee young wyrm when his terrible father fell to the swords of men, and barely remembers him.

For years and years past counting, Bran lived quietly in his cave on a cliff on the Isle of Anglesey. Aside from the occasional fish (which he enjoyed well enough), an even more occasional sheep (which he enjoyed better) and the gulls and terns that shared his cliff, Bran had little company and no conversation.

Until the day a great mathematician – the great mathematician, some might say, Mr William Jones himself – came walking past Bran’s cave. Out leapt Bran – for such things must be done if you are the son of Hywel Y Ofnadwy – and down tumbled Mr Jones, and that might have been the end of him and the start of a very different tale, except that Mr Jones was busily pondering the matter of pi and begged to be spared so he could finish his thought. He spoke so eloquently of the wonders and glories of this pi that Bran was entranced. He picked the man up, brushed him off as gently as he could, and sat down to listen.

Many a long conversation they had about the matter, Mr Jones holding forth on the one side, Bran asking questions on the other, unravelling the uses of pi and the need to find some single letter to capture its beauty. Bran claims it was he who gave Mr Jones the idea of using runes – for he is a very literate dragon, and has read a great number of books, many of them stolen by his terrible father. However, all one knows for certain is that Mr Jones did indeed come up with a rune for his pi, and a very fine rune it is too – so fine that for years no-one was clever enough to use it.

After his friend left, Bran grew quite lonely in his cave on a cliff, and missed the little company and much conversation he had had. So one sunny summer afternoon, when all the fruit was ripe on the branches and the grain was shining golden in the fields, he took to the skies and flew and flew, hoping he might find a friend.

Late that afternoon, a wonderful smell – a smell like the sweetest honey and the richest butter – drew Bran ap Hywel down to a farm in a vale. A neat little farm it was, with golden grain in the fields, an orchard buzzing with bees, and white sheep dotting green hills, the very picture of peace and plenty – until Bran landed, that is.

Well, the sheep bolted from the hills, the bees buzzed out of the orchard, and the golden grain thrashed and lashed in the wind from his wings.

Gwen, the farmer, ran from her thatched cottage to see what all the fuss was about, and found herself staring into the glowing green eyes of a great red dragon, high as her house and twice as long, folding his wings and staring right back at her.

“Good afternoon, madam,” said Bran (for he was a very polite dragon), “I do apologise for intruding. My name is Bran ap Hywel y Ofnadwy, though I am nowhere near as terrible. I was passing by in search of friendly conversation, when I caught the mmost marvellous smell – a smell like the sweetest honey and the richest butter – wafting from your charming little cottage. I know that the best conversation always occurs in the presence of fine victuals, and I therefore wondered if I might perhaps beg your indulgence and try a morsel?��

Well, poor Gwen didn’t know what to think! She stared up at this great red dragon, speaking as clearly as her vicar and twice as polite, and tried not to imagine all the things that might smell to a dragon like the sweetest honey and the richest butter. But she, too, was polite, and knew it was only good manners to offer tea to guests, however unexpected.

“If you’ll just wait here for a moment, sir, I’ll bring you out a cup of tea. As for whatever you smelled, couldn’t say for certain what it was, but I took a cherry pie from the oven not two minutes ago – would a bit of pie suit?”

Bran’s eyes lit up – and when it comes to a dragon, that is no metaphor – for here was another person who knew about pi!

“That would be delightful, madam, and I would be honoured if you would join me, to talk about the pi.”

The tea was ready in a trice – even with Gwen’s hands trembling and shaking – and was only a little spilled. She fetched her grandmother’s soup tureen of fine bone china for the dragon’s cup, and laid the pie on her best Sunday serving plate. Then, all a-flutter and a-tremble, she brought out her rocking chair and her sewing table, laid a fresh white cloth and her silver soup ladle for the dragon’s spoon, and brought out the tea and pie.

Bran bowed his thanks and waited ever so quietly while Gwen poured the tea and cut him a slice of pie (which was rather more than half). Once she had another cup of tea and a slice of pie for herself, Bran lifted the ladle carefully between his claws and took a nibble. Such a flavour he had never known! Sweeter than honey, richer than butter – better than all the sheep he had ever tasted. His eyes glowed with happiness, and smoke rose from both nostrils in his delight.

“Madam, this is the most marvellous, most delectable thing I have ever had the pleasure of eating. May I ask what it is?”

“Cherry pie, sir, my mother taught me the recipe.” Gwen watched him take another mouthful and savour it. “I daresay I’ve improved on it a bit, for people do tell me my pie is better than hers. Have you never had cherry pie before?”

Bran sighed. “Alas, madam, I have not – but I see now why my dear friend Mr William Jones was so enamoured of it.” And with that, he took another mouthful, and the pie was all gone.

All that summer and into the autumn, Bran stayed by Gwen’s little thatched cottage. He fetched back her sheep – for you may remember they all ran off when he first arrived – and re-thatched her roof, and brought her sweet wild cherries by the bucketful. Gwen taught him her mother’s recipe for cherry pie – with her own improvements, of course. And many a conversation they had over tea and pie, until Gwen quite forgot she had ever been afraid of him.

When the snows came, Bran said his farewells and returned to his quiet cave on a cliff on the Isle of Anglesey, to curl up and dream of cherry pie until spring. When the winter waned and the sun returned, Bran stretched his wings, took a deep sniff, and flew off in the direction of a smell like the sweetest honey and the richest butter.

He returned to Gwen’s cottage each year, gathering cherries on the way. Each year, they baked pies and drank tea, and talked and laughed like the very best of friends – which is exactly what they were. And if Gwen’s pies were a little better, Bran’s were a little larger, and always a little scorched around the edges – which is hardly surprising, for he baked them with his own breath.

Of course, dragons live much longer than we do, and one day Gwen drank her last cup of tea, ate her last slice of pie, had her last conversation with Bran, and went to sleep. Bran gathered boughs of cherry blossom for her funeral, and carved her headstone with his own talons, washing it with his tears. Then he flew back to his cave on a cliff on the Isle of Anglesey, cradling the silver soup ladle she had left him in her will.

All that winter, instead of dreaming of cherry pie, he dreamt of his friend and their last conversation, and the promise he had given her: to go out into the world and find new friends, and new conversations, and to always bake a cherry pie on Midsummer’s Eve to remember her.

So now each year, as winter wanes and the sun returns, he stretches his wings, takes a deep sniff, picks up his ladle, and flies off in search of a smell like the sweetest honey and the richest butter, a smell like warmth and welcome, for there he knows he will find tea and cherry pie and good conversation.

But he is a very polite dragon, is Bran ap Hywel, and would never overstay his welcome. He is welcome, isn’t he?

THE END

Bonus pictures of Bran for any who wanted to meet him:

[coepiteamare]

you have (1) new voicemail

pairing: jimin x reader (though what their relationship is is unclear) genre: mystery, angst (? as always), fluff (like a wee bit), epistolary fic! warning: mentions of a ballet accident (nothing detailed, just that something happened), jimin is missing, implied!depression beta reader: hana! @cutechim​ this story would not have happened without you and i absolutely adore you. also thank you to noor @papillonsgf​ because you were the first person i talked to about this story and uhhhhh well let’s just say this story may be different than what you were expecting word count: 4.9k (this used to be drabble series lmao)

things you said series: things you said through the phone summary: “Hi, Jimin. It’s me.” (alt. you leave voicemails for jimin when taehyung asks you if you’ve heard from him recently.)

A/N: this is all dialogue, which is ironic—to say the least—because i find dialogue painfully difficult to write (it doesn’t come naturally to me, it conflicts with my writing style, and it’s just difficult to write it in a way that feels real.) nonetheless, i hope it comes across the way i wanted it to, and i hope it makes you feel something. 

December 5th at 14:30

Hi, Jimin. It’s me. 

I know we haven’t talked in a while, but-uhm-I saw Taehyung a couple days ago? I happened to be near where that cafe is—what’s it called—Moodspresso! Do you remember it? We wanted to go when it was new, back when you were taking that coffee-making class with Yoongi. You were such a dork: you wanted to go all around the city to judge cafes by their espressos, even though you weren’t a fan of the bitterness.  

We never did get around to trying it together: I think we tried to make plans, but it was out of the way of where we were, and then life happened, and then, well...it happened. 

When I saw it, it felt strange, as if a fragment of my past found its way into my present? It was kind of funny how I went in there thinking about you, only to see Taehyung. Weirdly fitting, considering how the two of you were always together, joined at the hip in college.

Anyway, he asked me if I had heard from you recently? Told me you haven’t texted him in a while, that you weren’t answering your phone, so I just wanted to check in! You know, say hi! I—uhm—tried to text you, but it wouldn’t deliver, so I figured I would just leave a voice message. I hope that’s okay. I hope you’re doing okay. If you hear this, you should probably text Taehyung; it seems like he’s worried. Said you usually respond within the day, but you haven’t been lately.

I-uhm-hope you’re doing okay. Text me back and let me know? 

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 12th at 15:21

Uh, hey Jimin. I didn’t hear from you, so I thought I would check back in.

I saw on facebook that Jeongguk’s dating. Isn’t that strange? I mean, it’s not strange that he’s dating; it’s just strange that it’s Jeongguk who’s dating. You know, our Jeonggukkie, the one who could barely talk to his crushes without getting tongue tied. 

It seems like not too long ago he was the scrawny high schooler stressing about college applications, but he’s dating now. We used to help him with his personal statements and here he is. Dating. That’s just—wow. Time flies, I guess. 

I don’t know if you’ve kept in touch with him lately, so i just wanted to let you know. You know, in case you didn’t see it. 

I-

This is so stupid; I’m so sorry. 

Uhm, let me know if you get this?

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 14th at 19:42

I went to the bookstore today and I saw that your favourite manga released its final volume. That’s so...wild. 

I remember you were reading it when I first met you in high school and to think that it’s over? That’s like Supernatural coming to an end, you know? Something that has gone on for so long that it feels weird that it’s ending. That it’s no longer a part of our lives that grows with us. It’s something that has an ending. 

Speaking of endings, I don’t know if you’ve seen the ending of Supernatural, but don’t do it. It just-wow. 

Anyways, I haven’t kept up with the manga, but when I saw that they released the final volume, I felt the need to buy it? I went in to buy something else and came out with all of the volumes that I hadn’t read. 

I could have just read them online, I know, but I figured, if I see you again, I'd give you the final volume? Unless you already have it. Then I’d just keep it, but...you know. I just-

It made me think of you. How you transferred in late in the school year with crutches, and even though you were new, you weren’t paying attention in math class. I remember my first impression of you being “he must not care about school.” I think I later learned you had just started reading the manga a couple days ago and wanted to catch up because you couldn’t think about anything else.  

It didn’t even matter that you didn’t pay attention that week or that you came in mid-school semester because you aced every class. I thought it was because you were smart without trying, which irked me because I always felt like I was trying and not accomplishing—though I suppose that still applies now—but I later learned how much effort you put in. You always tried so hard that you made things seem easy. School work. Your happiness. Your feelings to a certain extent. 

I just-

I wish-

Nevermind.

I hope you’re doing okay.

*beep*

December 17th at 13:21.

Hey, Jimin.

I tried to make pasta today, and I don’t know how, but I managed to get the sauce everywhere. Everywhere but in the pan. So now, my kitchen looks like a bloody crime scene with red everywhere. I don’t even know how I’m going to clean all of this up, but I should do it before it dries, right?

  I should, but I’ve just been sitting on the floor looking at it for the past few minutes.

  Do you remember when we made pasta for our fakesgiving potluck at your place, and I got sauce all over your shirt?

 I was wearing your white shirt—why I thought wearing a white shirt while making red sauce was a good idea, I don’t know—and I was trying to get the jar to open, but it wouldn’t work. I don’t think i’ve ever told you about this, but I remember that day was particularly awful for me. Just one unlucky event after another—I don’t quite remember what exactly they were, just that they were enough to make me feel like I wasn’t enough—and even though I was so excited for the fakesgiving potluck the night prior, even though I loved our friends, I just wanted to be alone. To not do anything and settle under the covers. Pretend everything could be forgotten if I just went to sleep.

But I saw you, and you were so excited. I didn’t have the heart to tell you I didn't want to go, so I sucked it up and helped you prep. I tried to pretend that everything was okay, but when that stupid jar wouldn’t open, I took my frustration out on it. You tried to take it from me, but I pushed you away, told you I could do it. 

And I did, only I also managed to spill the jar on your white shirt as I watched the jar fall to the ground and shatter. That spill was the tipping point, not because I spilled the only jar of tomato sauce in your apartment, but because I spilled it all over your new, brand name, white shirt.

I remember berating you for spending so much money on a shirt when you bought it—for fuck’s sake, it was a plain white shirt—but I know how much you adored it. I didn’t need to look at your face to know that I had fucked up, that I should have just let you open the jar instead of being stubborn. I started to cry, in anticipation of your anger, but you just held me instead, got pasta sauce on your shirt too as you let me cry on your shoulder, whispering “There, there. It’s okay. We can just make something else!”

You never even mentioned the white shirt, told me not to worry about it when I apologised, that it was the least of your concerns. That you could get another shirt.

Looking at my kitchen reminded me of that. So, I figured I’d give you another call, but it went straight to voicemail again.

I hope you’re doing okay.

I don’t know if you want to talk to me, but I’m just worried.

Call me if you get this? 

Or just send me a text.

Bye, Jimin.

*beep*

December 19th at 21:45.

Hey. There’s a full moon today. And I thought about you. 

I—uhm—think about you from time to time when the moon is bright. I don’t know why—it probably sounds stupid—but I have a lot of memories of you and the moon? Like that time we went to visit Jeongguk by the sea during winter break because all of us didn’t want to go home but didn’t want to be alone. So we made a road trip of it—well, it was kind of a road trip—and drove to San Diego to see him.

When we got to the sea, it was dark and so cold out, and the wind was fucking freezing, but we rolled up our pants and started walking along the shore, dipping our toes in the water and screaming about the temperature. Our teeth were chattering and the water was so so cold, but we did it anyways. 

It was a nice beach, from what I remember. One of the nicest I’ve ever seen. 

I stuck my hand into your jacket pocket and told you my hand warmer was dying, but to be honest, I just wanted to hold your hand. I think you knew, or maybe we had known each other for so long that you knew what I needed without having to express it in words, so you took my hand and held it tight. And even though the water was freezing and the wind was cold, in that moment, I felt so warm. 

I think you and I have always communicated well, like how I saw the way your eyes glinted in the moonlight and, somehow, knew what you wanted to do. Sneaked up behind him and pushed Jeongguk into the ocean together and laughed as he shrieked. 

It was fun, that day. I-

I miss those days sometimes. The earlier days. When there was less to worry about. 

When you were happier. 

Anyway, the moon is really bright today. The radio called it a supermoon, or something like that. I took a picture and tried to send it to you, but your phone still won’t let me send you messages. So if you hear this, just, go outside and take a look at the night sky. 

Call me back? Or send me a text. 

I just want to know you’re okay. 

Bye Jimin.

*beep*

December 21st at 16:28

I went to see The Nutcracker today. It felt like I haven’t seen a ballet in forever. It’s been—what—one year since I saw one? Which, I guess, in the grand scheme of things hasn’t been that long. But you were the one who would take me and I haven’t seen one since...yeah. I know it’s your favourite ballet. Or was. I’m not sure if it’s changed, haha.  

The American Ballet Theatre was putting on a performance, and there were still nosebleed seats available, so I bought one. It kind of felt like fate, like it was a sign that I was meant to be there, because I remember we used to get our tickets months in advance. 

I remembered some of the terms? I recognised the pa-pas de deux—god, my high school french is so fucking rusty—between the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Prince. I know that part is your favourite, but I still think “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” is mine. All those turns? I don’t remember the technicalities, but I know it requires a lot of skill to pull off while looking graceful. I still find it strange that the Sugar Plum Fairy is the prima ballerina though, considering she barely appears. 

I-uhm-kind of was hoping to see you. 

I know you don’t dance anymore, but—maybe it was just my stupid desire but—I was hoping that you would be dancing with the company. That perhaps you were dancing again and that was why you weren’t answering any of the calls. I kept looking at everyone, trying to see if it was you. I even paid extra attention to the curtain call and looked at every single person, kept trying to find your physique in the line. But you weren’t there.

You weren’t in the audience either. I stayed in my seat until the very end, until after the end, and scanned the crowd for anyone who was lingering and soaking in the energy, like you would do every time we went to see a ballet together. But there wasn’t. It was just me. 

I stayed in my seat anyways, until the ushers told me I had to leave. Because that’s what you would have done. 

I guess I was hoping you would show up. That trying to do what you would do would somehow unlock your presence. Or give me some kind of clue.

But it didn’t. 

Where are you?

*beep*

December 23rd at 17:19.

I saw Taehyung again today. 

He wanted to know if I'd heard from you. I don’t know why he thought you would contact me. I mean, I know I call you and leave you these messages, but you know. I haven’t talked to you since...since, yeah. 

He looked awful, like he’s running himself thin. I don’t know if he’s been sleeping well, Jimin. The two of you have been friends forever, and I don't know if you’d recognise him. He seems so tired, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

He thought it was going to be like last time. That you would show up soon. But you haven’t yet, and it’s been so long, Jimin. 

He called the hospital and they told him you quit a few weeks back, which I don’t understand. I thought you needed residency to get your physiotherapy license. Tae doesn’t get it either. 

He’s been going to your apartment, trying to see if anyone is in there. But there hasn’t been. He’s contacted your apartment manager several times, telling them he’s worried about you, but they won’t let him have the keys. Safety reasons. It’s understandable and frustrating all at once because he—we just want to make sure you’re okay. 

He said he used to have a key to your apartment. Said you gave him your spare, but you took it back? Something about you needing your spare because you locked yourself out. He said that was the last time he saw you.  

I’m not trying to jump to conclusions, but you’re okay right? I know this time of year is when—uhm, the accident happened and you-uh-left the Royal Ballet School. I know this isn’t your favourite time of year, but if you need to talk, I’m here. 

He’s worried, Jimin. We all are. 

Call me back? Or call Tae? We’re just worried and Tae wants to file for a missing person’s report. So just, let us know you’re okay. 

Call me soon, yeah?

*beep*

December 27th at 22:48.

I saw Yoongi today. 

I don’t think he likes me very much, but then again, I wouldn’t like my cousin’s ex either, so I can’t really blame him. He was still as civil as ever. Very polite. He and Seokjin are still dating, but I’m sure you knew that.

Tae had contacted Yoongi a couple days ago? Asking about you. So we all met up in person today. 

I forgot how much food Seokjin makes when he’s stressed. Do you remember when he was waiting to hear back from his job, and Yoongi invited us over for dinner? We were excited because we were college students and living off of the shitty cafeteria food and, also, because it was Seokjin’s food. You thought it was because they wanted to feed us—Seokjin always wanted to feed you—but when we went over, it was obvious they just needed help getting rid of the food. There was so much food. To this day, I don’t think I've ever seen so much food in one place, even during our potlucks, and Seokjin always brought a lot of food to our potlucks. 

I remember stepping in to their apartment, and the heat radiating from the kitchen was too much to bear. The walls were sweating because he had been cooking for seven hours, trying to displace his anxiety into food. We came back to the dorms with tupperwares full of food. I didn’t have to visit the cafeteria for a week. 

God, I’ll never forget the first time we met Seokjin, and he made us fried rice: you couldn’t stuff your face fast enough and choked because it went down the wrong pipe, coughed out fried rice all over their brand new dining table and all over Yoongi. Seokjin and I laughed so hard. I was trying to be polite, kept looking at Yoongi's face and tried to swallow my giggles, but Seokjin's laughter was so boisterous and lively that I couldn't not laugh. 

You laughed too, kept choking on your laughter in between your apologies, and Yoongi just kept glowering at you. But it was full of affection. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you and back at the table and huffed, but it would have been obvious to anyone that he wasn’t really annoyed with you. 

He went back to our hometown a couple days ago, tried to see if you were there. But you weren’t. 

He went to see your parents, but they still think you’re living here too. Yoongi said he went to all the places you used to go to, like your old ballet school and that comic book store you used to go to after school. I even asked him to visit the arcade. You know, where we first met outside of school? Where we would hang out after school with Jeongguk and spend too much money on House of the Dead. Where we had our first date. 

But nothing. 

There are traces of you everywhere, but you? You’re not anywhere. 

Where’d you go, Jimin?

*beep*

December 28th at 2:19

Fuck you.

You don’t get to do this to me. I spent so long trying to forget and trying to move on and you come back in, except—do you know what the most fucked up part of this is? It’s that you’re not even here. You’re not here, and somehow you’re everywhere. No matter what I do, all I can do is think about you because no one knows where you are. Everyone is worried because you’re missing and I-I don’t know what to do. 

I thought this was over a year ago.

So why, why are you back in my life? Why are you reawakening the things I've tried so hard to bury?

Fuck you.

*beep*

-- 

December 28th at 2:23

Hey Jimin. Just ignore that previous voicemail. I’m just--I’m just frustrated. Worried. Everyone is. 

Just call me back if you get this? 

*beep*

--

December 28th at 2:25

You don’t even need to call. Just give me a sign? Let me know you’re okay. Please.

I just want to know you’re safe. 

*beep*

December 30th at 1:13

Jeongguk flew in from New York today. Tae called him yesterday, and he took the first flight here. 

I realised I’ve never seen Jeongguk mad. 

I guess I’ve kind of seen him grow up, but I’ve never seen Jeongguk angry until today. I mean, I've seen him upset and angry, but I’ve never seen him mad. Like mad mad.  I’ve never been on the receiving end of it because he’s always had his emotions in check when it comes to the negative ones. We’ve seen him sad, but you know how he is. He seems like he doesn’t care, but he cares so much when it comes to the people he loves. He’s always trying to only share the good things because he doesn’t want to bring everyone down. And even when he’s upset with us, he tries to communicate. He’s always been emotionally mature in that sense. 

A lot like you. I think he gets that from you. You are his brother after all. 

But when we told him none of us had heard from you? That you were missing?

I realised we’ve ever really seen Jeongguk angry. 

I’ve never seen Tae look so despondent or Yoongi so guilty than when we saw Jeongguk at the airport. They didn’t want to worry him because he had just moved for his new job—I’m sure you know about that—and he’s been so stressed out that they didn’t want to add more on to his plate. 

They thought you would show up by now, that you would come back. Because you always do. Or did. You used to.

 I remember the first time you disappeared. It was a year after you came back, the anniversary of the...the accident. You were a little distant a couple days prior, but still you. Still vibrant and happy and beau-I mean, bright. And then on the day of, you were just gone. Didn’t show up to school. Weren’t at the arcade. Weren’t at your apartment. Just gone. Vanished into thin air. 

I remember asking Jeongguk if you were sick, but he had no idea what I was talking about, and when we couldn’t get a hold of you, he burst into tears. I held him as he told me about your fight last night, how you got your xbox taken away because the two of you didn’t know how to share. He thought you had left because you didn’t love him, because he was your step brother and not your real brother. 

And as we were panicking about what to do, if we should tell your parents when they came back from work, you stepped through the front door with sand in your hair and your backpack over your shoulder, smiling as if you hadn’t been missing for half the day. As if your phone wasn’t turned off all day. 

I remember feeling relieved and exhausted all at once, as if someone had drained all the worry and energy out of me. I remember Jeongguk crying as he ran to hug you. I remember you crying and promising not to go anywhere without telling him again.

And you didn’t. Sometimes you would disappear when something hit too close or when you felt like everything was too much, but we could always turn to Jeongguk for a breadcrumb, for the small hint that you were okay. 

But you didn’t leave him a hint this time. When we called him, let him know you were missing, asked him if he knew anything about your whereabouts, he didn’t say anything. He went so quiet, we thought the line went dead, until he actually did hang up. He sent us a text message a few minutes later, letting us know he’ll be arriving on the next flight there.  

Jeongguk-he’s so cold when he’s angry. He’s so quiet. But that quiet is so loud. It speaks volumes. 

I’ve seen Jeongguk loud with laughter and quiet in contemplation. But this? This was something different. 

I guess the two of you are alike in that sense too. Both of your silences are never just quiet. 

*beep*

December 30th at 15:37

So we-uhm-broke into your apartment. 

Or well, Jeongguk did. But I guess all of us are accomplices because we kind of-well, we stood there as he did it. I don’t know why Jeongguk even knows how to pick locks, but I didn’t really have the chance to ask. 

Your apartment looks normal. Still spotless. It looks like you. Like how it used to. Or how it used to before we lived together, at least. 

I’m not going to lie, I-I’m a little surprised you didn’t move out. I couldn’t even go to the places we used to go to after you told me you wanted to break up. 

I guess it didn’t bother you as much. 

We scoured your apartment for clues as to where you could have gone, which may sound very Paper Towns of us, but—I don’t know—we were just looking for any sign as to where you might be. If you were okay. There weren’t any notes or anything that could give us a hint though, and Tae said it doesn’t look any different than when he last visited. 

Jeongguk also called your credit card company to see what your last purchases were. To see if it would give us any clues. But you haven’t used it since you left. Everything is just blank. 

Blank. Like you don’t want to be found. 

Jeongguk is still upset that none of us told him—I can’t blame him for that—but I think he’s mostly upset at himself that he didn’t know. That you two stopped talking for a bit, and he didn’t notice anything was wrong. 

I think he feels like he’s been drifting away from you too, ever since his job got busy and he moved for work. Or maybe it’s before that. I think he’s always felt like you don’t tell him everything, even though he pours everything out to you, looks up to you. I know you’d give him the world, Jimin, but Jeongguk would give up everything for you if you ask. 

But you don’t ask. You never do. You don’t let people in when you’re hurting. Maybe it’s the ballet training instilled in you to smile through the pain. Cover up the flaws. Put on a performance all the time. You pretend it doesn’t exist and push people out.  

No, you just disappear instead. 

*beep*

December 30th at 21:02

Tae and I are staying over at your apartment. I hope you don’t mind. We just decided we would rather not risk having anyone in your apartment see us try and break down your door and call the police on us, haha. It makes it easier if we’re in your apartment so we can open the door in case we need anything. Or find something that we missed.  

It’s-uhm. It’s weird being here. Feels like I've been displaced from the present and back into the past, only you’re not here. 

I noticed you took down all the photos of London.You used to have that big photograph wall next to your bed, filled with pictures from when you lived there, from when you used to dance. But all your ballet photos are gone too. Tae told me you took them down a while ago, a little after the break up. Said you stopped dancing for fun too, after a while. 

I just-

I hope-

Ah, fuck it. Nevermind. 

It’s so weird to be back here. 

*beep*

December 30th at 22:14

I found my sweater under your pillow. The white one with the moon on it?

I thought I had lost it after we broke up. I wanted to ask you if you had it, if i forgot to take it with me when I moved out, but by then we had already been one month in and- 

And it hurt. To think about you. Even though that was all I was doing. 

It kind of felt like it does right now. How you permeate my every thought and every moment, even though you weren’t there. The quiet was-is-so loud with your absence. 

It smells like you. The sweater. 

I just-

I don’t know what that means.

I don’t know what any of this means. 

I just don’t understand why my sweater would be under your pillow because it was you. You’re the one who told me you wanted to break up. 

You told me you didn’t want to do this anymore, didn’t have the energy to try. You were so sad, and I wanted to argue, wanted to beg you to let me stay until you were better, but you were so sad. So sad and exhausted and defeated and certain in your decision that I knew there was no use fighting it. 

How could I hold on to someone who’s not there anymore, right?

I’ve been telling myself that we can’t understand break ups or feelings. There’s no understanding them. We feel what we feel and sometimes there are no explanations for it. So I knew. I got it. I understood there was no point in asking to stay, but I regretted not asking you for a reason. 

I still do. 

I didn’t have the chance to ask you why because I was too busy staggering from the weight of I don't love you anymore.  Too busy struggling to piece together what those words mean. 

Love is a two way street; it goes both ways. But you made the decision, and all of a sudden, that two way street morphed into a dead end, and I had no choice but to walk away from it, back out the way I came from. 

I wish I could say that I didn’t see it coming. That it came out of left field, out of the blue. But I can’t because I had been bracing myself for the impact for weeks. For months. 

Would it have changed things if I hadn’t known? Would it have hurt less? 

I don’t know. 

I don’t know. But I wish I did.

I wish I knew, Jimin.

*beep*

Message deleted. You have no new voicemails. Main menu.

A/N: come talk to me! let me know your thoughts! once again, thank you to hana and noor. this story wouldn’t exist without the two of you. 

[safestsephiroth]

An Explanation for My Departure from The Riskbreakers, or: A Tale of Failure

This is my story with FFXIV to this point, an explanation of the current situation, and my plans for the future. The only person “indicted” or “called out” here is me. Should you feel the need or desire to contact me about this subject, and what I’ve written below does not feel comprehensive enough to you, please feel free to.

CW: extreme depression, suicidal thoughts

I joined Final Fantasy XIV against my better judgment. I hated MMOs as a genre. Paying for the subscription would, at the time, be a dicey prospect. I had plenty of other games to play, plenty of other things to do.

But I was lonely. Terribly lonely.

What I saw in FFXIV was a chance to play a game and make new friends. When I first got the game, the only person I knew in-game was @onwesterlywinds. But there was more than just that. I didn’t know anything about the community whatsoever. I didn’t even follow many Final Fantasy blogs in general at the time. I got the game at Livvy’s behest and specifically to play it with her.

I had never roleplayed in a game before. My prior experiences with text-based RP (except those linked to a tabletop game system, such as Vampire: The Masquerade) were universally terrible. Embarrassing. I had horrible associations with those memories. I was terribly nervous when I first RPed, and the first character I made in FFXIV, Blaetlona Isilmynawyn, was intentionally made in response to this and my general lack of knowledge of the game or its world. Blae was overwhelmingly cheery and optimistic to the point of obliviousness, which gave me a free out of any nervous situation, as well as being completely naiive about the world so I would be able to slide on not knowing important things.

I made more characters over a long, long period of time. It was a crawl, really. I gave each character tons of effort, plenty of introduction, and loved them dearly. But in all honesty, I was terrible at RP for the first year or two. Just abysmal. A bad RP partner who overstepped boundaries constantly because I was used to GMing games, making decisions about the game world to make for interesting plots.

I am embarrassed and ashamed of how long it took me to learn that lesson.

Over time, my connection with The Riskbreakers grew into a wonderful friendship. I did everything I could to be pleasant to be around - farmed gil I spent on in-game birthday presents for other company members, was a positive presence in /fc, and helped out with PVE content when I could - I was terrible and hated the endgame gear grind, hated the very idea of dropping either weeks of time or shitloads of gil so I could experience something I didn’t give a damn about. Because it was never about the gameplay, it was about the story - of the game, and of the RP.

It was glamour that got me out of that shell and into the Crystal Tower. That led to me doing MSQ through the abject misery of 2.1, well into 2.3 or 2.4′s time.

The problems, all along, were my fault. I didn’t want to play the endgame when I could instead level alts or RP. I didn’t want to waste time on parts of the game I was sure to just find frustrating. I hated the weekly cap, hated the tome grind, hated the very idea of doing coil.

In Heavensward, I started to care so much more about the gameplay, in large part because it was made better pretty much across the board. I remember I didn’t even do the MSQ for like two months - I was too busy leveling DPS jobs in the magical dungeon queues that happened right at Heavensward launch, where DPS was always adventurer in need.

What I always loved about The Riskbreakers (RISK) was the atmosphere. Everyone was friendly towards everyone, the RP was fairly loose and there was a lot of room for creativity. I made so many characters with such variety - nowhere else would my cast include a privateer, a melodramatic bard, an ages-old assassin hiding in plain sight, and a fangirl! Every step of the way, it felt fantastic to be supported. To be respected.

About a year and a half ago, towards the tail end of May 2016, as I recall, I feel I lost that respect irrevocably. I was struggling with severe depression at the time and I had so many difficulties suppressing my agitation in the company Skype chat that I followed an implicit suggestion and voluntarily left said Skype chat with the promise I’d be allowed back in whenever I wanted. To be frank, this was the worst decision I could have made. RISK was practically all of my daily socialization. Without access to the Skype chat I missed planned events, I missed out on the lives of people I cared deeply about. And I really, truly cared, with all my heart. In the darkest times, when FFXIV was all I had in my life that I could still count on enjoying, I tried to cling even harder to the community of friends I had. But I’ve always been a shy person, and that meant the only people I really knew at the time were in The Riskbreakers.

By sequestering myself, I killed my social life. You may be able to imagine that this did not help my depression. It was a terrible decision I had made, but the damage stayed done. I ended up installing Discord, a program which at the time I had zero interest in, because there was a RISK Discord server and I’d hoped to be able to reconnect through that. But I didn’t, and I couldn’t. I found myself afraid to talk to people I’d known for years because I thought, deep down, they all knew I deserved the isolation.

It was irrational of me, sure. But I was far beyond the point of rationality for a long, long time. Maybe I still am. Probably. I still remember there was a resistance to the movement to Discord because of past experiences by some of the membership, people who’d seen that cliques tend to form in situations where not everyone can/wants to be on mic. I tried. I really did try to be of use, to be a positive presence.

But after days of getting up my courage, the first call I joined ended quickly thereafter. As did the second. Thusly convinced it was my fault, and that I was secretly hated, I elected not to join calls uninvited. It felt rude, like intruding into a conversation at a restaurant. It wasn’t talking with friends anymore. There was only so much I could take.

My depression grew worse, and worse, and worse, as my life fell further into a downward spiral. I took increasingly long sabbaticals from RP or even all of FFXIV. I found other games to dive into. I found more distractions to keep back the voices telling me they all hated me and suicide was the only option I had left.

Even as Fanfest approached, I didn’t feel much better. I think everyone remembers that in general 2016 was a shitty year for most people, and it was especially bad for me. Much of my good cheer and will to carry on came from The Crucible. Much of my will to live came from the handful of people I was deeply entrenched in RP with, who I decided to trust.

There were a lot of sins I committed, then - abandoned plots, failure to show up for company plans, missed events - and I regret them all. I don’t feel I can or should be forgiven for what a sorry excuse for a company member I was at the time and since. After the first Heavensward MSQ RP arc which I didn’t much enjoy, something I never once voiced properly because I was hoping the problem would just go away, I skipped a major RP arc in Palace of the Dead for a reason so petty and selfish I won’t mention it here. I jumped into the next one because I felt that my connection to the company was slipping. Sometimes I wanted to leave so I could have less reasons to live.

For all I wanted to blame other people, it was me. It was always me. Every step of the way. If I had just reached out and asked for help, maybe it would’ve been different. If I’d been bluntly honest, maybe it would’ve been better. But I didn’t want to be a problem anymore. I already bothered people so much they’d leave calls if I showed up, right? So reaching out at all, particularly publicly? Not an option. I didn’t want to hurt others. I didn’t want to be selfish. But maybe I should have been, just a little.

For a long time, I lived thinking I would never reconnect with FFXIV RP outside the three (and, over time, two, then one) people I had frequent RP with. Instead of enjoying RP with RISK I found it stressful and unfulfilling, both out of a fear of fucking things up and a general dislike of where things were going. My favorite part of the company was the generally loose standards it played by, after all.

I used Rydia Misuto as a way to cope. By making a character with so much effort put in, so much potential for growth, and a story of so much more grand a scale than I usually did, I expected people to be impressed with me. Rydia came in December 2015, at the cusp of the depressive phase that never really went away completely since it started, but I was proud of her. I loved writing her. I was so inspired by her. Brohamut and I planned great things for her and Cecilia Harvey, and we elected to keep our plans largely a secret so others could be surprised by this story we were collaboratively telling. Suddenly the magic had returned before it had faded.

But I shot myself in the foot. I fucked myself over before I’d begun, because I was so casual about her character that she was quickly just the “lettuce brat”. I tried my best to depict a character who had gone through hell and lived, and came out severely traumatized and unable to adequately cope with it. Someone in need of help they were reluctant to seek. I had hoped that something this different would be of interest to people.

It was a mistake.

A depressing story like hers? Nobody wanted that. Not really. There were lots of expectations heaped upon her because of the association with the character from FFIV. Though I did my best to clarify she was inspired by the character and never meant to be anything close to a 1-to-1 transition, I clearly screwed that up, too.

Rydia, a character written extremely seriously, became ‘the lettuce brat’. She ended up little more than comic relief in the eyes of most people, I feel, and the more I struggled  to RP her more and get her taken more seriously the more I lost the fight. I misread the situation. Nobody would have wanted to RP with her no matter how I’d played her. Some things are just uncomfortable, and it’s not really other peoples’ obligation to explain that things make them uncomfortable.

The final nail in the coffin of my membership with RISK was the reformation leading into Stormblood RP. The free and open company of eclectic, bombastic personalities became a paramilitary and overnight practically none of my characters fit anymore. Jaraku doesn’t belong in a uniform taking orders. Grey didn’t want to fight. The only IC RISK member I had that was cool with it was Resh Viqqoh.

And even writing for The Crucible, carrying on other RP plots, playing Stormblood, I still tried to make Resh interesting. It was a new lease on the character who’d for so long been a nothing presence. Making her a full-on engineer wasn’t just logical, it was beautiful. It was a great evolution from her involvement in prior RP. It was a great thing.

I was so, so happy to be able to contribute, but once again I sank myself. I didn’t hunt people down to ask for RP, and the weapon dossiers I made just weren’t interesting enough to hold attention. Not one person wanted anything to do with the ‘engineering department’, which consisted of who I now see was mostly considered a kooky side character and an actual, literal child. I was doomed from the start.

Thanks entirely to Brohamut and The Crucible, I was able to find RPers outside the FC who were interested in RPing with me. I got over a lot of my shyness and came out of my shell a lot more because it felt less like one mistake would get me kicked. In my depressed state, I was convinced I was always a hair from being politely asked to leave RISK.

I never wanted to worry anyone, so I kept it to myself, almost entirely.

When my last-ditch effort with Resh failed and I found myself (on my second account) in other free companies who I felt more kinship with than RISK, the end was inevitable. If I wasn’t going to be allowed to RP with RISK as Rydia, if my characters were doomed to languish (because of my mistakes, because of my writing, because of my crippling sleep disorder I still don’t have a handle on) in a company with which I had precious little business RPing, then why not leave?

When I first broached the topic to Livvy, I told her I wanted to leave in small numbers, a bit at a time, so nobody would panic. And because I wanted to have the option open to come back. But that was me being a coward again.

So instead, I’m leaving in total now. And I want this explanation visible to the company I loved more than I had ever loved myself so that there’s no doubt or rumor about why I did it.

Now, as far as what I’m planning for RP purposes:

Any character who ends up retired/replaced will have a public post of their epilogue. I hate retcons, hate them, so I would rather write the end of their story than do what it would take for them to continue on outside the company, i.e. deny it existed IC. I’m not going to do that.

-Blaetlona Isilmynawyn is up in the air. I’ve had no real reason to RP her in any meaningful way in about a year. She’s tentatively considered an ‘open’ slot for new character creation 

-Grey Riot will be retired. This has been a long time coming and was discussed in advance with relevant parties.

-Jaraku Drake is moving on from RISK, and IC has more plans now than ever. Apparently leaving the company was the best thing to happen to him from my perspective because now he has much more freedom to go different places and do more things.

-Zwynmaga Doesmagasyn, as the ‘biker gang’ RP series is completely abandoned/concluded, is up for replacement for new character creation should this be necessary.

-Bernard Undertaker, an integral part of the Undertakings arc, will remain involved in that arc so long as he lives IC. However, as I am neither able to afford nor justify spending $50 on him at this time for a story + job jump just so he can do one in-character action, I will not be taking him to Stormblood.

-Natalya Nibiru is up for replacement or radical shift in attention/direction. Potentially, I’ll keep her on to RP with Gaelle.

-Resh Viqqoh is going to require either EXTREME shift in character, or, more likely, replacement.

-Rydia Misuto will be one of my highest-priority RP characters because I owe it to her to give her a serious story that will be worth reading about, especially now that I am free of any burden of worry about how her story will conflict with others’.

-A’sato Clueless, made specifically for an RP arc I completely ruined immediately out of panic (which is not an excuse), will be replaced with a much better character for an arc I intend to go well which will be wholly unrelated to RISK.

-Gaelle Troyes will either continue to RP alongside Natalya/doing her own thing or be returned to retirement. Likely the former. I do enjoy those two and their dynamic.

-Gerrith Gaffgarion will be taken in other directions, as it was made clear to me (tragically late) that plans changed and he will not be needed or wanted in any RP involving RISK. He has already continued his successful career via a job which was part of a story arc conceived, planned, and carried on by @sasha-rochester and their closest RP partner, who are both phenomenal writers I have nothing but good to say about.

-Tange Shishido remains a willing teacher to anyone in the Far East who desires to learn how to use a katana to kill Garleans.

As the rest of my characters are not directly affiliated with RISK in any meaningful capacity, I feel no need to address my plans for them.

I hope those of you who took the time to read this can understand my decision. I hope I can be forgiven. At this time, I don’t know if I’ll attend any future company events. I will be leaving the skype chat and discord server, however, as it seems appropriate to do so given the circumstances. I never used the RISK server to play Overwatch, anyway, and it’s not as if I ever felt welcome in calls there.

[smuddragon]

Colour

Part: 2/2 Fandom: Pokémon ORAS Characters/pairs: Maxie, Archie - hardenshipping Rating: T (for one single mention of Maxie touching the butt, gasp) Notes: The second half.  Fluffy domestic Hardenshipping in which Archie discovers that Maxie has synaesthesia.  (The alt version here.)  Many, many thanks to @samcybercat​ for explaining so much to me.

Read on AO3 or below:

“Maxie…”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything!”  In fact Archie had flopped down without looking and accidentally pressed something on the remote, but he wasn’t about to tell Maxie that.

However Maxie had been at the kitchen counter the whole time, almost directly behind the couch, and therefore had a perfect view of the large smart TV mounted on the opposite wall.  It didn’t take all his brains to work out what Archie’s problem was.  He raised a disbelieving eyebrow and looked from Archie to the screen.  “Then I take it you intended to open a web search?  Were you just getting my attention in order to show me a fascinating video about...”  He paused, there being no obvious way to pronounce ‘AAAAAAaa..;;’, “...that?”

“No,” Archie replied shortly.  Maxie was smirking ever so slightly, in that familiar way he had that meant he was teasing. “I sat on the remote, okay?”

“And how is that different to the way you usually operate the TV, or any other technology?”  He sounded amused now, quite openly trying to get a reaction out of Archie.  “Once again you have applied your... considerable talent to it.”

“I know it’s hard, but can ya stop thinkin’ about my ass for a sec?” Archie teased back, breaking into a grin.  “I need you to fix the TV.”

“I’ll stop thinking about it when you stop thinking with it,” Maxie replied, abandoning whatever it was he’d been looking through and joining Archie on the couch.  “No hurry, of course.  I do appreciate that you have a body that makes up for whatever the head may lack.”

“Then if I just gotta use my fine ass to get my way an’ take advantage of your brain, I got no problems.” Archie relaxed and rested his arms on the back of the couch, deliberately leaving it up to Maxie to retrieve the remote.

Despite the good-natured ribbing, Archie knew that Maxie didn’t actually believe he was unintelligent. In fact Maxie knew perfectly well that unlike himself, Archie hadn’t spent his whole life in front of a screen. And even if his family had been inclined or able to afford to have the latest gadgets all the time, he doubted delicate electronics would have fared well in the hands of people almost constantly on board a fishing vessel.  Any more than they would survive being sat on.

Archie felt clever fingers sneaking their way between the couch cushion and his backside, which he did not object to in the slightest.  “You’ve done enough to my brain,” Maxie accused, innocently continuing the conversation as though his hand wasn’t pressed distractingly against Archie’s ass.  A sudden pinch to the buttock caused Archie to yelp and jump slightly, allowing Maxie to snatch the remote from under him. “That’s the reason all these letters are blue.”  The faintest hint of smug self-satisfaction crossed his face as he cleared the search from the screen.

“The... letters? Huh?”  Archie had lost interest in watching TV; in fact his head was too clouded with flirtation to register what Maxie had said.  But once he managed to focus he found it still didn’t make any sense to him.  “What letters?”

“The letters you typed with your ass.”

Archie shivered a little. He didn’t think he’d ever stop getting a thrill whenever his eloquent, sophisticated husband used cruder language like that, no matter how often he heard it.  He intended to get those sorts of words, and more besides, out of Maxie in the very near future.

But for the moment he was curious to know what Maxie’s weird statement meant.  The search text had been plain white on black, he was pretty sure. He glanced at the TV, but Maxie had already returned it to broadcasting. There was a film from Kalos playing, complete with subtitles, but they were the same white text.  “I ain’t seen any blue.”

“There’s none to see, I was referring to how I—” Maxie paused and looked at him.  “Hold on, have I never mentioned this to you?”

“Mentioned what?”

“My synaesthesia?”

“Never heard of it, so I’m gonna say no.”

“In all this time, I failed to bring it up?  Surely not...”  Maxie paused again and seemed to be considering.  “Then again, I didn’t find out it was a condition with a name until I was about twenty-eight.  I believe that was during the period when we were... not on speaking terms.”

The corner of Archie’s mouth quirked up into a wry smile.  These days they had enough time and distance from that low point in their lives, and the things it had lead them to do, that he could find a dark sort of humour in Maxie’s exaggeratedly delicate way of describing it.

“That’s gotta be it, then. Hard to believe you’d miss an opportunity to talk about yourself otherwise,” Archie teased.

“If that’s the way you feel, I won’t tell you,” Maxie threatened, drawing himself up with all his dignity.

“Yes you will, you’re dying to,” Archie replied easily.  “Go on. How d’you say it again?”

“Synaesthesia.”

“'Synaesthesia’,” Archie repeated.  “So what is it?  Does it hurt?”

“No, stop being foolish.” Archie just grinned at him; he knew Maxie wouldn’t be able to resist correcting him and seizing the opportunity to explain something.  “It’s a neurological trait.  Technically it’s when the stimulation of one sensory path triggers the activation of another, unrelated one, as well.”

“Might be a bit too technical for me there, Max’.”

“Well, I don’t want to bore you by talking about myself,” Maxie drawled. “But in my case, it means I perceive letters and numerals as having specific colours associated with them, regardless of their appearance.”

Archie had never heard of anything like that—he felt he would definitely remember if Maxie had tried to describe it in the past.  “So, you were lookin’ at that writing before an’ seeing it in blue, even though it’s not?”

“Mm, not quite.  I can tell what colour the text is.  It’s more like I... experience a certain colour for the letters no matter what.  I don’t have to be seeing them.”  It must have been obvious from his face that Archie was struggling to see the difference, because Maxie looked at him with a slight frown and tried to clarify.  “Look, if I tell you a letter or number, you know straight away its form and its meaning, right there in your head.  It doesn’t need to be written down.  It’s exactly the same for me, except I know its form, its meaning, and its colour.  That’s just part of what it is.”

“I reckon I get it,” Archie said slowly.  “An’ that’s a thing? Other people have it too?”

“Indeed.  Grapheme-colour synaesthesia—that is, getting colours from letters—that’s the most commonly reported form.  But it can involve any of the senses.  Things like... spatial sequence synaesthesia, where numbers or dates seem to occupy points in space.  If you had that, you might say that yesterday is nearby," he gestured, "but last year is off in the distance.  Or so is my understanding, at least."  Maxie stopped gesturing and adjusted his glasses. "It's a fascinating subject. I think I'd enjoy researching it even if I didn't count myself among those who experience it."

Archie felt a sudden sense of guilt.  He hadn't meant to, but he had been asking questions as if it were a medical problem, hadn't he?  As though there was something wrong with Maxie.  Yet from the way he spoke it was clear Maxie didn't see it that way at all.

"Hey, Maxie, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"If I've been talkin' like you're sick, or something."

"You never gave me that impression in the slightest."  But Archie watched his reaction closely; was it his own guilty conscience or did Maxie relax ever so slightly?  Archie could easily imagine he was putting aside an explanation he'd already prepared as to why what he had was not a disorder.

"Heh, well, just stop me if I do, okay?"  Archie rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.  He still had questions, but he wanted to proceed tactfully. "Seems like that brain of yours really did come with all the bells 'n whistles.  You always act like you see something everyone else doesn't 'cause it's true!"  He grinned and playfully poked Maxie in the side.

Maxie squirmed away and smirked back at him.  "But that would be the case even if I weren't a synaesthete, of course."

Maybe Archie shouldn't have said that.  Maxie's ego was already quite inflated enough.

"Well, you are. How'd we even get onto this, anyway?"

"Ah, yes, it was because of the letter 'A' specifically," Maxie replied, with a small, knowing smile.  "An interesting one for me, since it's the only letter that has ever changed colour entirely."

"That not meant to happen, then?"

"It's very unusual, by all accounts.  I feel it helps make the case for rethinking the definition of synaesthesia as ideasthesia; that is, the secondary quality of the stimulus is evoked by its meaning rather than its sensory properties--"

"You're taking off without me again, Max'."

"Right, I'm getting ahead of myself.  Back to the letter 'A'—for most of my life, it was red.  It's not the same for everyone, of course, but I certainly found it quite a strong association.  And immutable, or so I thought.  Imagine my surprise when I noticed that it had started presenting with a different colour in certain contexts."

"What contexts? This what you were saying about it being to do with the meaning, instead of... whatever the other blasted thing you said was.  What it looks like?"

"Exactly."  Maxie sounded enthusiastic, and didn't even scoff at Archie's paraphrasing.  He always seemed to appreciate Archie genuinely listening and trying to understand what he was on about.  "I find some letters are quite... weak, or colourless.  Their appearance is almost entirely determined by the ones around them. And even quite a dominant letter can be altered by the meaning of the word it's part of.  A word like, say, 'aqua' wouldn't look right in red, would it?"

"Guess not." Of course he would use that as an example...  "All right, what about 'magma' then?"

Maxie had a small, knowing smile on his face, as though amused by something Archie hadn't noticed yet. "Do you know, that and my name are possibly the only times when 'A' is red any more.  In any other case, it's blue.  I had no idea such a drastic change was even possible, but after many years of being subjected to a constant and very strong influence..."

He trailed off, watching Archie expectantly.  Was he actually suggesting what Archie thought he was?

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," he replied airily.  "Perhaps someone with great presence and force of personality entered my life. Someone who so affected me that they changed the very way I think."

Archie's heart was suddenly soaring.  He was gazing at Maxie, even leaning in slightly closer.  He knew he must look like some embarrassing kid in the throes of his first romance, but he didn't care.

"I suppose you could say that even in the time we were apart, I never got you out of my head."

"Maxie..." Archie couldn't hold back.  He launched himself at his husband and wrapped Maxie up in a tight hug.  Once again the remote was crushed and the TV flipped over to an unused input, but neither of them noticed.  Archie kissed Maxie's face and the top of his head delightedly, and Maxie made a muffled noise of protest as he was dragged over until they were lying in a tangled heap together.

When Archie finally relented, Maxie propped himself up enough to straighten his glasses.  Archie was still gazing up at him adoringly, a silly grin on his face.  Maxie wasn't given to being sentimental, but to Archie his statement was one of the most romantic things he'd ever heard.  The implications moved him far more than all the sweet nothings in the world ever could.

"So, you're blamin' me?" he said playfully.

"Of course. Unsubtle brute that you are," Maxie teased back, "maybe I should just be grateful that I didn't come away with anything worse than having 'A is for Archie' permanently etched into my mind."

Archie beamed. "An' 'A' is blue 'cause it suits me.  So... what about the rest of my name?  Can you do the other letters?"  The smiled slipped from his face as his brain caught up with his mouth.  He sounded like he thought Maxie was showing him some kind of novelty trick.  "I mean, if you don't mind explainin' it to me more.  I'm not trying to treat you like a performing Spheal.  This is just how things are for you, right?"

"It's fine, Archie," Maxie replied with a reassuring smile.  "You can ask me to describe any letter you want.  I love an excuse to talk about myself, remember?" he added wryly, and Archie grinned again.  "As for your name, it's entirely blue, shading towards green at the end."

That sounded wonderful, Archie thought.  Like the ocean.

"Like the ocean," Maxie added, and Archie could have kissed him.  In fact, he did.

What a beautiful way to see the world.