#i won't lie i would have soiled myself

[deadpanwalking]

somehow, heartbreak feels good in a place like this

[ak319]

Lovesick Village Boy x Fem civil servant reader

PART VII

➺ Part VI

"All rise."

The bailiff’s voice echoed through the small courtroom, which was modest and bathed in morning light. The room fell into a hush, and dust motes drifted in the sunlight streaming through wooden shutters as if reflecting the swirling thoughts that occupied every mind in the room.

Your gaze swept the space, pausing briefly on the witnesses seated to one side. Their unease was palpable, their shoulders stiff, eyes darting toward you.

It was then your eyes settled on him.

Rahim Jafari.

"You, you won't--" His voice cracked as he whimpered, clasping his trembling hands and avoiding your gaze.

"Promise me...you won't punish Uncle for...a-anything."

"Uncle? Are you talking about Habib or Samir?"

"H-Habib..."

"Alright, I promise. But, please, Rahim, you need to tell me where your parents are. It’s crucial we know. No injustice will be done to anyone, I give you my word."

And then he began talking...

You wished, God, how you wished, it was all a dream. A cruel nightmare that you would wake from. But every word from him pulled you deeper into a reality you could barely comprehend.

"I beg you! He--he wouldn’t! I don’t even know myself! But he would never do something like this! It--it m-ust have been the magic, right?! Maybe my father was doing it for days--and—and I didn’t know--an-d that’s what made him kill them!"

He broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. You didn’t hesitate, wrapping him in your arms as his small body trembled against you.

"Let it out, kid...let it out."

You held him tight, feeling the weight of his pain, and the gravity of the decision ahead.

That’s when you made the promise to yourself. Whatever course of action you would take, it would be the most important decision of your life.

"Begin the trial. Case number 1050, the victims, Basim Jafari and his wife, Zara Jafari." The court clerk's voice echoed through the room, his words sharp, the weight of them sinking in.

You already knew the details. You’d seen them firsthand.

Bodies found in a shallow grave at 11:30 am yesterday, Friday. Rahim had led you and your team to the site, where the earth had been disturbed, the soil fresh, the air still thick with the scent of death.

Stab wounds. Everywhere.

Blood--everywhere.

Nothing about the scene screamed that Habib—your Habib, the boy who would flinch at the mere mention of violence—could have committed such an act. The boy you had come to care for deeply, the one whose hands you’d trusted with your own heart.

But the evidence didn’t lie.

It took a while... to wrap your head around it all. Fuck. You weren’t sure if you ever would.

But here you were.

Monday. As the presiding judge of this case.

Biased, you knew. This was the first time you’d allowed personal feelings to interfere with your role. ‘The people don’t know. Dad’s disappointed, but I’ll face him later.’ Seeing Rahim in the state he was in, seeing his broken words still echoing in your mind, your own principles felt like nothing now. What were they worth when it came to protecting a boy so lost? Right now, that was all that mattered.

And then... your eyes went to the curtains, a faint rustle as they caught the soft morning breeze. The small divider behind where he...was made to sit behind. Hidden and protected for his own sanity.

Habib Jafari.

Your boots thudded against the ground as you entered his room, the familiar scent of him lingering in the space. You flicked on the lights, watching them hum to life.

'Ma'am, don't go to meet him alone.'

You ignored Odai's warning, the weight of his concern heavy on your mind, but you trusted your instincts. I would be the last person he harms. You could almost hear your own voice echoing in the silence. And besides... I’ve handled worse than this.

"(Y/N)... you are back..."

Habib slowly rose from the bed, his movements tentative but eager. Without thinking, you opened your arms, and he came to you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. The warmth of his body felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. You held him tightly, the pulse of his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

But as soon as he pulled away, you heard the soft hum of fairy lights. The delicate glow outside the window caught your attention—suspended in the garden, like stars in the dimming twilight. The same lights you had arranged for the small wedding you had planned, casting their gentle glow across the night.

Habib’s gaze followed the lights, blinking slowly, as if their warmth had made him forget for a moment where he was. A shaky sigh escaped his lips. His eyes shifted back to you, and in them, there was a mixture of happiness...and weariness as if he couldn't believe this was real.

Neither could you.

"I—I always... loved when... the houses were decorated for... weddings..." His voice trembled as he spoke, his words heavy with emotion. "I thought I would never see the day... that it would be for my wedding, (Y/N)..."

You bit your lip, fighting back your own tears. The weight of it all—his pain, the reality of what was happening—was too much. Gently, you guided him to the bed and sat beside him. Both of you needed a moment. It was all too much to process.

You turned to him, your hand reaching up to caress his face, and he instinctively leaned into your touch.

"Habib..." you began softly, but before you could finish, his eyes snapped open, wide with fear.

"Golrez."

Your heart tightened at the name. A frown tugged at your forehead in confusion. "You call me Golrez, (Y/N)... why aren’t you calling me that anymore?" His voice was frantic, desperate, as his eyes searched yours for something—anything—to anchor him.

His breathing quickened, and a look of horror spread across his face. "They-they cursed you! TH-EY CURSED YOU LIKE THEY WERE DOING TO ME! You’ve changed! You’ve changed, (Y/N)! You don’t look at me the same anymore!"

The words pierced through you like a knife. His screams of agony seemed to shake the room, his voice cracking under the pressure of his own torment. You reached out instinctively to console him, but before you could touch him, he grabbed your arms, his grip tight and shaking.

"THEY... they would kill me, (Y/N)! And then you... you would find someone else, right? Right?" His voice was pleading now, his eyes wild with fear.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but his anguish was so raw, so consuming. "Habib," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "Stop. No one is going to kill you. No one is going to take you from me. Not them. Not anyone."

His frantic eyes searched yours, looking for some kind of reassurance, some kind of proof that what he feared wasn’t true. But the fear was so deep, so ingrained in him, that your words barely seemed to make a dent.

"Please," he whispered, his voice small now. " You... you’d leave me for someone else, wouldn’t you? I’m not the same anymore. You don’t love me like you did."

You shook your head, moving closer to him, your hand cupping his cheek. "No, Habib. You’re still you. I see you, the man I’ve always loved. You’re not a curse. You’re not what you think you are. You’re not a...monster. Never were."

For a moment, his eyes softened, uncertainty flickering in their depths. But he still seemed so lost, so afraid of losing you. You pulled him into your arms, holding him close, your fingers threading through his hair, as you whispered over and over that you weren’t going anywhere.

"Golrez," he murmured again, his voice barely a whisper, as though speaking the name was the only thing that could keep him tethered to reality.

You held him tighter, knowing that for now, your words were the only thing you could offer him. You couldn’t fix this, not yet, but you could be there for him.

"C'mon, get up we have to go somewhere."

"W-where?"

"Um..to the market. Let's get your wedding attire."

"NO! NO! I am not leaving this room! THEY ARE STILL OUT THERE! THAT- HE- that djinn! That djinn will possess me (Y/N)! I am not--I AM NOT LEAVING!"

"NOBODY IS DOING ANYTHING BECAUSE THEY'RE DEAD, HABIB!" Your voice thundered through the room, and the force of it, your frame standing tall before him, made him cower against the bedframe.

"They’re dead... Habib... you... killed them."

His wide eyes filled with disbelief, and he shook his head violently.

"I didn’t! It wasn’t me-" His voice cracked, desperate. "It was Habib! (Y/N)... it was Habib! Yo-ur Golrez wouldn't do this!."

He slid to his knees, hands trembling as he grabbed your legs, looking up at you with those beautiful, broken, haunting eyes.

"I-... your Golrez won’t do that. But Habib will, THIS IS WHY I HATE HIM!... And (Y/N), they were bad... they were so bad to me... I couldn’t take it..." His words barely made sense, a mix of anguish and confusion that tore at your heart.

You reached down, your hand caressing his hair, trying to soothe him as he sobbed into your waist. You couldn’t help but join him in silence, your hands gripping his shoulders to ground both of you.

"You... you won’t leave me, right!? NO! NO! Please! Don’t let them take me away, (Y/N)! I--look! We’re getting married, right!? Please-"

You gently cupped his face in your hands, your gaze soft but firm. "Habib, it will be over. I promise."

But your calm words and touch did nothing to ease his spiraling panic.

"No... what--(Y/N)... I--I love you. I love you so much."

Your throat tightened. "I love you too, more than you can imagine. But... procedures... have to be followed. I am sorry..."

His eyes welled with tears, his face twisting in pain, but you couldn’t let yourself falter, not now.

Nothing could have prepared you for what came next. Habib was taken away by the guards, and you followed behind them in your own car, eyes never leaving the van that carried him. Each mile felt like an eternity.

"He was the eldest son of Kadir Jafari and Dana Jafari..."

Kadir Jafari.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," you spat, your voice rising with each word. "If only, instead of getting tangled in the web of superstitions, and hiding like a coward because of your own son, you'd have faced the truth... it wouldn’t have cost you everything. Your entire family, and your fucking reputation!"

Dana clutched her husband's side in fear, both of them bowing their heads in shame. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air.

"We--we swear we didn’t know... My judgment... got clouded by my own... fears, my belief in Basim's words, and I was too... busy with my own responsibilities at the time. I didn’t... pay attention to this."

"If you had," you interrupted sharply, your voice growing colder, "Habib wouldn’t be in this condition. Basim would still be alive--though, as much as I’d like to say he had it coming... God punishes for sins like this, both in this world and the hereafter, and both of them... got what they deserved." You took a deep breath, calming yourself just slightly before continuing.

"Then comes Rahim..." You stood, your boots clicking against the floor as you walked toward the elderly couple, your steps filled with purpose.

"You have no fucking idea how my heart clenches every time I look at that kid." The words tasted bitter as you spoke, your jaw clenched so hard you thought it might break. But you kept your voice steady, forcing yourself to remain in control.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, followed by a dry, humorless chuckle. You walked toward the window, staring out at the gardener trimming the bushes below. "What's the point of blaming you two anyway?" You muttered, almost to yourself.

"Please! Just... please save Habib!" Dana cried, her voice breaking.

"Maha, escort them out," you ordered coldly, cutting her off before she could say more.

"No! Ma’am! Ma’am-"

"See you in court." Your words were final, and their desperate pleas faded as they were escorted out.

Your gaze lingered on the gardener for a moment longer, his movements calm, indifferent to the storm inside the room. The stillness outside felt like a stark contrast to the chaos you felt within.

After reviewing everything, and listening to the testimonies, including those of Samir and his wife, who claimed they fled out of fear of Habib...

You couldn’t help but wonder: was it the same fear Habib had lived with every single day, from the time he was a child? Fear that he couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tried?

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. The weight of the decision pressed down on your shoulders, but there was no turning back now.

"Based on the facts and medical records, it is clear that Habib Jafari suffers from Paranoid Schizophrenia. He had not been properly treated, which worsened his condition. His brother’s abuse also played a significant role in exacerbating it. Therefore, I declare..."

You paused, letting the words hang in the air, before continuing.

"Habib Jafari is innocent of the murders. He was not in his right mind. He will be treated and confined to a mental facility." Where, by God’s will, he will heal. "Rahim Jafari will also be offered intensive care and therapy. Kadir Jafari is sentenced to six months for his neglect. Samir Jafari and his wife Laila are sentenced to one year without bail for concealing the abuse in their home. Silence in the face of such horrors is as much a crime as committing the act itself, especially when it involves children."

You felt a cold sense of finality as you spoke the words, but you weren’t done.

"I am also issuing an order for an awareness program to be carried out across the village regarding mental health and disorders. I assign this responsibility to Dr. Fahim and Dr. Aisha." Both professionals nodded in acknowledgment.

"And it must be done effectively." You looked at them both sharply.

"Also, as much as speaking ill of the dead is wrong it is important that we still discuss this topic. And I am now speaking not as a judge of this case but...as your Deputy Commissioner so get this inside your head people.

Your eyes scanned the courtroom as silence fell over the room.

"Black magic," you began, your voice calm but firm, "is not a mere superstition. It is a dangerous force that preys on the vulnerable, twists their minds, and destroys families. Those who seek to wield such power, believing they can manipulate the very essence of life itself, do so at their own peril."

You paused, letting the words settle, then continued, your gaze locking with the accused.

"It is a sin, a heinous one. The use of black magic, whether for personal gain or to harm others, is a violation of the natural order and of God’s will. Those who resort to such dark arts must face the consequences of their actions. And if they cause harm, whether to a single life or to an entire community, they will not go unpunished. It is not just the physical damage it causes, but the spiritual degradation that comes with it. And those who use it to destroy others or bend them to their will… will be held accountable. No punishment is acceptable for it except death sentence."

You took in a breath and signed the stamped the paper handing it to the assistant at the side.

"Case closed."

Bang!

═════ ◈ ═════

"Ready, kiddo?" Rahim rushed to you with a giddy smile, his eyes shining excitedly as he clutched the basket full of trinkets--snacks, small tokens, and books. You couldn’t help but smile at his youthful enthusiasm, even amid everything they had been through.

You both settled into the car, the engine humming softly as you pulled out of the driveway of the bungalow. Rahim's gaze drifted between the basket in his lap and the window, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the photos inside the basket.

"Ma'a-"

"Aunty (Y/N), I told you to call me that. Don't be shy." Rahim chuckled softly, leaning back into the seat, his eyes finding yours. Despite being in your custody, he still acted shy. You wanted this intelligent and kind boy to have a good life and you will definitely give him that.

He looked at you, his voice quieter now, the lightheartedness shifting as something darker passed over his features. "Aunty...I--I remember being so afraid...of uncle, y'know...that night."

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat as the memories of that terrible night rushed back. You didn’t want him to relive the worst moments, but you understood that he needed to speak. You exhaled slowly, choosing to listen, to give him the space he needed to heal.

"But...you never...showed any fear. How?" Rahim's voice was fragile, a stark contrast to the bravery he always tried to show.

"Well, the cheesy cliche answer is going to be that... love makes you stronger?" You let out a dry laugh, trying to ease the tension. "Pft. That's what people say, right?" You took a smooth turn, glancing at Rahim for a moment before continuing. "The logical one would be... that I’ve been trained all my life to deal with... every type of person, every calamity. I’ve always been like this. My dad raised me to be like a rock."

You kept your tone steady, though your heart was tight with the memories of how much you’d had to endure. "And Habib...he didn't do it consciously. It has been proven... there’s no way he would ever hurt me--or even you. And deep down, I know that. I can see that you know that, too, right? That’s why... you still defended him."

Rahim’s expression softened, and a quiet understanding passed between you. His eyes dropped to the basket in his lap, his fingers nervously tugging at the edge of the cloth.

"Because I love him too," he whispered, his voice full of the weight of his emotions. "I always have. He... didn’t deserve any of that... not an ounce." A tear slipped down his cheek, but he quickly wiped it away, his lips pressing into a rueful smile as he shook his head. "It’s over now, right? We’re all going to be okay?"

You nodded softly, your heart aching for the things Rahim had witnessed, for the boy who had lost so much, yet still loved with all his heart.

"I know I may sound harsh but since the wound has reopened I must tell you that even if your parents were alive right now...and they got caught doing that, they would still face death." Rahim barely glanced at you and nodded.

"I know...they...literally dug their own graves." Then followed a peaceful yet eerie silence. The hum of the engine pulls you both into a relaxed state.

"You are my ideal, y’know," Rahim continued, a soft sincerity in his voice. "I wanna be like you. And even raise my kids to be like you."

You chuckled, the sound light and warm. "You little brat, already thinking of marriage, huh? Focus on your studies, mister." You ruffled his hair playfully, earning a whiny protest from him.

"I will, I will. But... it’s just that... you’re so strong, Aunty," Rahim mumbled, his head leaning against the window, his gaze distant for a moment. "I want to be that strong too."

"You are already stronger than me Rahim, you are."

The car ride fell into a comfortable silence, the weight of the conversation settling between the two of you. You arrived at the facility not long after, and you both got out of the car, walking toward the entrance with a quiet determination.

The nurse greeted you as you walked in, and Habib’s face lit up the moment he saw you both. He stood up from his chair, his movements still a little slow, but his smile was genuine, warm, as if seeing you brought him a kind of peace he hadn’t known in a long time.

He didn't remember much things but he always remembered you both....

The two people who showed him real love...

He also remembered bits of that night. The blood the screams...the satisfaction and surprisingly...he didn't feel any guilt. He tried to...but couldn't. It was as if the kindness that shrouded his heart seemed to evaporate when it came to those who wronged him...who tried to take away his happiness. Keep him away from you. He won a battle in his mind that he won't ever sing the praise of in front of anyone and that is...he didn't regret what he did and for you, he could go through that night a thousand times over.

“(Y/N), Rahim..." His voice was soft, but it held a deep affection, a recognition that made your heart race.

"Hi, Habib," you greeted him with a smile, stepping closer as Rahim gently placed the basket of gifts on the table.

"Look what we brought for you!" Rahim’s voice was full of enthusiasm as he pointed to the items in the basket. "Snacks and lots of them!." He added with a wink, his eyes still a little damp from earlier.

Habib hugged both of you, his hand never leaving yours. After Rahim shared every story from his school, the room fell into a quiet silence, broken only by Habib’s meek voice.

"(Y/N)... please, take me with you today. I am doing better now." Habib's voice was soft, yet full of longing, his eyes bright with a flicker of hope. He looked at you earnestly, as if each word he spoke was a plea, a wish for something more, something he was desperate to reach for.

Rahim, too, glanced over at you with an expectant expression. His eyes mirrored the same yearning, the same desire to see Habib back to the life they had known before everything fell apart.

You felt your heart ache at the sight of both of them, at the way Habib looked at you like a child longing for reassurance. You knew he was healing, but the road had been long, and two days still felt like an eternity for him.

"Habib, just a few more days," you said softly, your voice steady but gentle. "Then it’s over. I promise."

"Promise?" The word left his lips in a breathless whisper, as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His eyes were searching yours, wide and vulnerable, desperate for the assurance that you would keep your word.

And before you could say anything more, Habib leaped into your arms, holding you tightly as though afraid you might disappear if he let go. The force of his embrace took you by surprise, but you wrapped your arms around him just as quickly, grounding him in the way you always had.

“I promise, Habib,” you whispered, your voice low and soothing. “Just a little longer, okay? You’ve come so far. We’re so close. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

You could feel the tension leave his body as he buried his face in your shoulder, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “Thank you… (Y/N)... I feel like I’ve waited so long...”

You kissed the top of his head, holding him as tightly as he held you, your heart beating in sync with his. You knew this moment wasn’t just about the days left, it was about everything you had fought for, everything you had been through together. The future was waiting, and though it would still take time, you knew it would be worth it.

Rahim watched the two of you, his own heart full. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched Habib, so fragile yet so strong in your arms. The healing had already begun, not just in Habib but in all of you, and this was just the beginning.

═════ ◈ ═════

Then one day, you both decided that the time had come. Habib was healing, his heart and mind slowly piecing themselves back together. You didn’t need a grand ceremony. You didn’t need anyone else but each other.

And so, in the quiet of your bungalow, with the soft light of the setting sun streaming through the windows, you both exchanged your vows in a simple ceremony. Rahim stood by your side along with your parents, the only witnesses to the sacred bond you shared.

Habib, still finding his way back to himself, took your hand with trembling fingers, his voice steady but full of emotion as he said the words you had longed to hear.

“I will love you, (Y/N), for as long as I breathe. Forever."

With that, you both were joined in marriage, and in that moment, the future was wide open, full of promise and hope.

"I love you, too," you said, your heart full of everything you had longed to say.

As the ceremony ended, you both stood together, hands intertwined. You stepped out into the garden, where fairy lights twinkled in the trees, the same lights that had decorated the bungalow weeks ago. The air was still and quiet, save for the soft hum of the night, as you walked hand-in-hand with the man who had once been lost, and now was home.

You watched him leaning against the veranda's doorway as he giggled like a child taking in the decorations and the fresh air, the calm quietness and relishing now being bonded with you.

"Kay now, Habib, come we need to rest." He ran over and held your hand as you guided him to your--now his too--room, where he once again became giddy seeing the decorations. It was as if he...he was born again.

"I love this so much (Y/N), and I love you more." You stalked to him and kissed his forehead and then lips, the kiss being gentle and reverent.

"Now...you are finally home."

Indeed he is. Your Golrez is home.

The End.

(AN: Lemme know ur thoughts >.< and those who followed the story from the start, much love to u guys, and tysm for the support, Peace <3)

[smokeys-house]

Puukko's Travel Log 7

A passage from Puukko's travel log

Well, there's a whole lot of a nothin’ and a whole lot of somethin’. Lots of big wide open to sing into with no one to hear ya, and then ye walk smack into a town or what have you full o’ folks. Been meandering all about, taking in sights, sounds, smells, and no shortage of sweets. (Thanks Moominmamma, the jam was delicious.) And though I've been eating, somethin's been eating me. I don't rightly know what. I'm almost to Venice, so close I could be there by the afternoon if I'd fancied, and yet all I can seem t’ do is fish.

There's this lad came by my place once or twice fer servicing his pocket knife. Real lean fella who don't hardly do nothin’ but fish, outside of antics with the youngin's from the valley. Hard to pin down, that one. He fishes, eats, wanders, sleeps, and does it all again. I been doin’ that, some, lately. He's gone every winter and back every spring, but the mind does wander as to what he gets up to out there. If it's more o’ the same I can't say I'll be disappointed. I catch m'self thinkin’ “I wonder if he's runnin’ from somethin’, or toward somethin- like I am.” And that's when I realize I've caught myself in a lie. Several in fact. “I'll go to Venice when the fish stop biting.” Or “I'll go to Venice when I get tired of eating fish.” And so on and so forth… Usually fish themed though. Fish fish fish.

I could be in Venice right now, had the time to. Snufkin could be anywhere, too, I s'pose. Only reason I'm not in Venice is I think I'm scared. I ain't been scared of nothin’ but the one thing since I were a wee lass. I'm scared that if I go, I won't even have the dream anymore. It's not even my dream, it were Marion’s. I never wanted fer Italy specifically, let alone Venice, but she told me about it near on every day. An’ now I guess I jes’ sorta… associate it with her. An’ I'm awful frightened to go anywhere near it. Like my bein’ there would ruin her dreams somehow. Like I'd do it all again and take it all away from her.

Speakin’ of Snufkin, you know he had a part in the makin’ of this here jam? Got to talkin’ about it somehow with Moominmamma. She and Snufkin went out together fer a batch once, I guess. Said the jam had a secret ingredient. Got ‘er t’ fess up, she said it weren't the cherries, nor the place they grow, nor the soil they were grown in. Said it were about the journey. Said it were about bein’ gone and comin’ back. And the way I see it? That's why Snufkin leaves, too. I figured he weren't a runner after all, more of a vagabond, or an adventurer. I can't say I'm on much an adventure anymore m'self, nor at the moment thinking of coming back. Still waiting till I figure out how to go to Venice without turnin’ tail the moment I get there. Fer now I guess it's just… more fishin’.

Day 60 or so. I'm not sure I know anymore.

Signed Puukko

[devinescribe]

Plants

Aguni Morizono x Reader

HE IS SO TORTURED AND IT MAKES ME SAD

Pre-borderlands, Hatter playing matchmaker , cursing i think that's it

You owned a flower shop. That was really all that needed to be said.

You had always loved plants from a yound age, always taking care of your garden.

Next door to you there was a hatter. He was rather excentric and always said hello to you.

"Goodmorning (Y/N)!" He chirped, walking through the door with a smile. "Goodmorning Takeru," you said, placing some of your rose bushes out into the greenhouse area. He followed behind you.

"So... if my friend needed desperate help with one of his house plants... would it be a bother if he came to ask you for help?" He asked suddenly. "A friend?" You asked, opening up a bag of soil, adding some of your compost into it,, mixing it around. "Yes! A friend, uhm he.. has this plant and it is just not doing well. No matter what he does with it," he explained. "Ahh... I see. Well, you can tell him I'd be more than happy to help," you said with a smile. "Thank you! I'll be sure to send him in later,"he said, leaving you to your work.

You sighed, wiping your forehead from the sweat. There was dirt on your hands, and you heard the bell for the door chime. You sighed, walking up to the front part of the building.

"Hello, how can i-"

"(Y/N) I brought my friend!" The man said excitedly.

You looked shocked at his outburst.

"Alright calm down Jesus... (L/N) (Y/N)," you introduced to the tall man.

"Morizono Aguni... it's a pleasure to meet you. Takeru won't shut up actually," he muttered.

You giggled. He swore that his heart must have been beating at the speed of light when he finally took a good look at you.

You were gorgeous. Your (h/l) (h/c) hair put into (H/S). And your beautiful (e/c) eyes. Your skin was glowing, as if you wore glitter, but he knew it was probably from the exptensive care you took of it. Especially since you worked out in the sun most days. There was dirt smudged on your face and on the cute overalls you had on.

"So, you gonna keep staring or actually talk to her?" Takeru whispered to his hest friend. The stoic man looked away shyly.

He had seen you around obviously. If you closed early you'd help Takeru. If not, you two would close at the same time everyday. Many days he passed by to talk to his friend and watched you lovingly take care of each and every plant.

He remembered watching you cry over a vase that a kid had broken. Not while they were in the store, but you cried over it. Maybe it was about the plant and not the vase, but still.

You smiled. "Morizono, Takeru here told me you needed help with a plant, yes?"

He nodded. Why would his his friend lie to her about that. There was really an easier way to do this, like just say he wanted to meet you. But his friend oh so into theatrics had to lie.

"So what kind is it?"

Fuck.

"Hydrangea."

"Ugh, they are so picky," you mumbled, grabbing some different things around your shop.

He watched you mumble to yourself, grabbing things and putting them back. Then he noticed his friend had left.

He felt bad that you were frazzled running around the store for a plant that he most definitely did not have.

“(L/N), it’s ok you don’t have to do all that,” he said.

“Oh? But your-,”

“Doesn’t exist. Made it up because I wanted to talk to you… just didn’t know how to start conversation,” he explained, a bit embarrassed.

You blushed.

“Oh… well… in that case, would you like to go get dinner or something tonight? Get to know me?” You asked with a bright smile.

He smiled back and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

Takeru watched from the outside shop window and jumped in glee. Finally you two would stop being cowards and just talk.

“Another job well done by me if I do say so myself.”

So sorry for the short chapter!

[butchkaramazov]

the argives if they had a megaphone (supplied to them by @gooseberry--fool) in the trojan war.

part 1.

Agamemnon—furious, his dark heart filled to the brim, blazing with anger now, his eyes like searing fire. With a sudden, killing look he wheeled on Calchas, who put his lips to the weapon in vain and, snatching it, yelled into the mighty resonating weapon: 

"Seer of misery! Never a word that works to my advantage! Always misery warms your heart, your prophecies never a word of profit said or brought to pass. Now, again, you divine god's will for the armies, bruit it about, as fact, why the deadly Archer multiplies our pains: because I. I refused that glittering price for the young girl Chryseis. Indeed, I prefer her by far, the girl herself. I want her mine in my own house! I rank her higher than Clytemnestra. my wedded wife—she's nothing less in build or breeding, in mind or works of hand. But I am willing to give her back, even so, if that is best for all. What I really want is to keep my people safe, not see them dying. But fetch me another prize, and straight off too, else I alone of the Argives go without my honor. That would be a disgrace. You are all witness, look—my prize is snatched away!" 

But the swift runner Achilles clawed at the megaphone and, once he had it in his possession, threw Agamemnon a dirty look and his voice boomed: 

"Just how, Agamemnon, great field marshal ... most grasping man alive, how can the generous Argives give you prizes now? I know of no troves of treasure, piled, lying idle, anywhere. Whatever we dragged from towns we plundered, all's been portioned out. But collect it, call it back from the rank and file? That would be the disgrace. So return the girl to the god, at least for now. We Achaeans will pay you back, three, four times over, if Zeus will grant us the gift, somehow, someday, to raze Trov's massive ramparts to the gr—”

Before he knew it, the large object supplied to him by the big-mouthed Argive in exuberant spirits was seized by Agamemnon, lord of men. 

“Not so quickly, brave as you are, godlike Achilles—trying to cheat me. Oh no, you won't get past me, take me in that way! What do you want? To cling to your own prize while I sit calmly by-empty-handed here? Is that why you order me to give her back? No-if our generous Argives will give me a prize, a match for my desires, equal to what I've lost, well and good. But if they give me nothing I will take a prize myself-your own, or Ajax' or Odysseus' prize—I’ll commandeer her myself and let that man I go to visit choke with rage! Enough. We'll deal with all this later, in due time. Now come, we haul a black ship down to the bright sea, gather a decent number of oarsmen along her locks and put aboard a sacrifice, and Chryseis herself, in all her beauty, we embark her too. Let one of the leading captains take command. Ajax, ldomeneus, trusty Odysseus or you, Achilles, you—the most violent man alive—so you can perform the rites for us and calm the god yourself.”

Agamemnon’s voice boomed throughout the entire battalion, causing a few warriors to cover their ears with their hands. This was a mighty object, this, and Achilles resolved to have it for himself and his words. And so, the headstrong runner, seizing this weapon for himself, cast a dark glance Agamemnon’s way and put his lips to it. The discombobulated look on the mighty Agamemnon’s face gave him nearly as much satisfaction as having the delightful Briseis back.

“Shameless—armored in shamelessness—always shrewd with greed! How could any Argive soldier obey your orders, freely and gladly do your sailing for you or fight your enemies, full force? Not I, no. It wasn't Trojan spearmen who brought me here to fight. The Trojans never did me damage, not in the least, they never stole my cattle or my horses, never in Phthia where the rich soil breeds strong men did they lay waste on my crops. How could they? Look at the endless miles that lie between us ... shadowy mountain ranges, seas that surge and thunder. No, you colossal, shameless, we all followed you, to please you, to fight for you, to win your honor back from the Trojans—Menelaus and you, you dog-face! What do you care? Nothing. You don't look right or left. And now you threaten to strip me of my prize in person—the one I fought for long and hard, and sons of Achaea handed her to me. 

“My honors never equal yours, whenever we sack some wealthy Trojan stronghold—my arms bear the brunt of the raw, savage fighting, true, but when it comes to dividing up the plunder the lion's share is yours, and back I go to my ships, clutching some scrap, some pittance that I love, when I have fought to exhaustion. No more now—back I go to Phthia. Better that way by far, to journey home in the beaked ships of war. I have no mind to linger here disgraced, brimming your cup and piling up your plunder.”

The lord of men Agamemnon, furious, laid his hands on the weapon and spoke into it:

“Desert, by all means—if the spirit drives you home! I will never beg you to stay, not on my account. Never—others will take my side and do me honor, Zeus above all, whose wisdom rules the world. You—I hate you most of all the warlords loved by the gods. Always dear to your heart, strife, yes, and battles, the bloody grind of war. What if you are a great soldier? That's just a gift of god. Go home with your ships and comrades, lord it over your Myrmidons! You are nothing to me—you and your overweening anger! But let this be my warning on your way: since Apollo insists on taking my Chryseis, I'll send her back in my own ships with my crew. But I, I will be there in person at your tents to take Briseis in all her beauty, your own prize—so you can learn just how much greater I am than you and the next man up may shrink from matching words with me, from hoping to rival Agamemnon strength for strength!”

He broke off and anguish gripped Achilles. The heart in his rugged chest was pounding, torn… if the mighty weapon could amplify the human voice so, perhaps it may prove useful in manslaughter as well. Should he thrust through the ranks, seize it from the mighty Agamemnon and kill him now? —or check his rage and beat his fury down?

[enter Hera and Pallas Athene, ready to save the day and dial down the drama. Killjoys.]

[Book 10, beginning from 319.]

And so, both harnessed up in the grim gear of war, the two men moved out, leaving behind them all the captains clustered on the spot. Athena winged a heron close to their path and veering right. Neither man could see it, scanning the dark night, they only heard its cry. 

Glad for the lucky sign, Odysseus put his lips to his mighty weapon and prayed to Pallas, taking delight in the way his voice echoed throughout the ranks: “Hear me, daughter of Zeus whose shield is thunder! Standing by me always, in every combat mission—no maneuver of mine slips by you—now, again, give me your best support, Athena, comrade! Grant our return in glory back to the warships once we've done some feat that brings the Trojans pain!”

Next Diomedes, lord of the war cry, put his lips to the great weapon that amplified his thunderous voice to shake the skies and prayed aloud, “Hear me too, daughter of Zeus, tireless goddess! Be with me now, just as you went with father, veteran Tydeus, into Thebes that day he ran ahead of the Argives with his message. He left his armored men along the Asopus banks and carried a peaceful word to Theban cohorts crowded in their halls. But turning back he bent to some grand and grisly work with you, Goddess, and you stood by him then, a steadfast ally. So come, stand by me now, protect me now! I will make you a sacrifice, a yearling heifer broad in the brow, unbroken, never yoked by men. I'll offer it up to you—I’Il sheathe its horns in gold!”

The roar of their voices shook the heavens, guided by this divine weapon offered to them by a mortal warrior. Pallas Athene’s ears rang and she could only curse the mortal who had gifted them with such a device that would be better used by the gods. Once they'd appealed to Zeus's mighty daughter, into the black night they went like two lions stalking through the carnage and the corpses, through piles of armor and black pools of blood.

[Book 10, beginning from 608.]

Reaching the place where they'd killed Hector's spy, Odysseus dear to Zeus reined in the headlong team and leaping down to the ground Tydides heaved the bloody spoils into his comrade's arms. He mounted again and flogged the horses hard and on they flew to the ships, holding nothing back—that's where their spirits drove them on to go. Nestor, the first to hear their thunder, lifted his weapon to his lips and shouted into it, “Friends—Iords of the Argives, all our captains, right or wrong, what can I say? My heart tells me, my ears ring with the din of drumming hoofs ... If only Odysseus and rugged Diomedes were driving racers off the Trojan lines, here, here and fast! I'm cold with fear-what if they've met the worst, our ranking Argives killed in a Trojan charge?”

Before he could say the last, the two raced in, leapt to the ground and comrades hugged them warmly, with handclasps all around and words of welcome. Nestor the noble horseman led with questions. His words boomed in Odysseus’ ears under the guidance of Nestor’s mighty weapon: “Tell me, Odysseus, Achaea's pride and glory, famous Odysseus, how did you get these horses? How—stealing behind the Trojans' main lines or meeting up with a god who gave them to you? What terrific sheen—silver afire like sunbeams! Day after day I've gone against the Trojans, never hanging back by the ships, I swear, old warrior that I am—but I’ve never seen such horses, never dreamed ... I'd say an immortal came your way and gave you these. Zeus who marshals the storm cloud loves you both, Zeus's daughter too with the shield of thunder. Athena's eyes are shining on you both!” 

Pallas Athene, listening from her heavenly abode above, feigned a look of utmost distaste. How could she not heed the words of the Argives when they had been supplied with a divine weapon so mighty?

The cool tactician put his lips to his weapon and, making sure his voice carried to the noble Nestor, set the record straight: “No, no, Nestor—Achaea's greatest glory—any god, if he really set his mind to it, could give us an even finer pair than this easily. The gods are so much stronger. (The gods themselves doubted this, not having the advantage of the mighty weapon the Argives possessed.) Now these horses you ask about, old soldier. they're newcomers, just arrived from Thrace. Their master? Brave Diomedes killed him off, twelve of his cohorts too. all men of rank. And a thirteenth man besides, a scout we took prowling along the ships spying on our positions. Hector and all his princely Trojans sent him out.”

there will be a part 2 soon because i'm having brainrot :3 basically copy-pasted everything from robert fagles' translation of the iliad and changed quite a few bits here and there.

@iliadsgf @gooseberry--fool @athamad and all the classics nerds.

[andyklingensmith]

Archival 16 [Long]

Summer - Winter 2023 My life is going to be different from now on

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The clouds gather silent like they were sat at the table of the earth to feast on the open hearts screaming towards the sun Every refracting ray of light a moment of yearning for every hungry one.

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If only I could rip you into air The pieces would dance like falling snow and I'd catch you on my tongue Kept inside where no one would know

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Snapshots of caskets Dying of roses Falling of petals Falling away

I come apart at the slightest of pressure Thunder and blowing Blowing away

Oil on skin Making it harder for my hand to run to your throat from my grave

Buried down under Six feet of soil My heart is still beating Beating away

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You are the color outside of the lines.

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Because I meant it and I knew it was true and I knew that she meant it and I wanted it to be real.

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Sometimes things are just perfect. Sometimes you're lying on my chest and sometimes wind chimes are blowing. Sometimes your jaw moves every so slightly in your dreams and sometimes I keep petting your hair even though I know you can't feel it. Sometimes the sound of the crickets stop for a moment and I know I almost fall asleep and sometimes I stay awake and lie there and look at the parts of you I can see without moving you. Sometimes you make a noise and sometimes I kiss your head. Sometimes things are just perfect.

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If love is all we need then we are a paltry people I will mark each blessing as it passes like a lizard counting clouds.

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I feel like I've lived at this house all my life All the years that mattered at least I close the shutters I close the blinds I've lived here all alone

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I've always been dependent on having something that only I could see.

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Helicopter leaves caught in your hair. I think that I was meant to stay.

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Winter without snow I need not the earth show me The magic feeling

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I never told you what I want because I didn't know what I needed.

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No violence No judgment I condemn you to this world you've created There will be no end, a bespoke misery One of a kind No two are the same The other side of the coin won't be flipped

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I am unrelenting Persistent in my dependence on myself An endless cycle of selfishness and unchecked ego Nonstop and helpless to a wheel that won't stop turning Breaking my back every morning Incessant on earing my skin in the dark like a tire over soil and dirt in the night

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Sometimes any box will do when you're in need of a coffin.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Princess of Dragonstone, Chapter 2

Concept: Daella's is rhaenyras daugther and now aemonds prisoner. First fanfic and not edited very well.

Aemond and aegon levels are mild.

WARNINGS: Abuse, cursing, powerabuse, kidnapping, and implied non-con as well as references to r*pe.

He drags me outside. It finally stopped raining. 'So angry, Lady Strong. Is it because I killed your favourite bastard brother or is it because I hold your future in my hands?' He walks me to his dragon. Or drags me with him. He walks much faster then i do. He always does.

Finally, i spit in his face. Snapping. I've had enough of him. Aemond is furious and slaps me in return in my face. Its not the hardest slap I've had but I'll admit that it stings. 'Do that again, and I'll make sure you ever would dare to think insults of me. Am I clear, Lady Strong?' He places me in front of him, on the dragon.

'I never rode Vhagar with a extra rider. You should feel honered.' He says, sweetly. My eyes roll.

'I imagine you never rode anything except your dragon.' I coldy and childishly remark. Its a low insult but its all i have left.

He laughs. The fucker. He laughs. 'Tsk tsk. I hold your life in my hands, Lady Strong. Best keep that little bastard mouth of yours under control or else you will suffer the consequences.' I huff. I am not scared of him.

He gives Vhagar a command and the dragon slowly starts to prepare itself for flying. 'Now quiet, or I'll cutt out your tongue the way your bastard brothers took my eye.'

--- Kings landing isn't that far from Storm's end. Not when you have Vhagar. The biggest and grumpiest dragon of all. Aemond Targaryen is a terrible dragon rider. Or maybe its because i am laying upside down but i spend most of my time caughing and puking.

I can't bloody wait until i have soil under my feet again. Dyaxis is smaller than Vhagar in size but at least Dyaxis knows to calm it down. Aemond keeps pushing Vhagar for more and more and i need to remind him sometimes with a kick that he needs to slow it down or I'll end up as a very unhappy omelette.

When we finally reach the hell that is king's landing, i am grateful we fly too high to be seen. I don't want anyone seeing me this way, like a tapestry hanging over Aemond Targaryen's dragon.

Aemond lands gracefully in the dragon garden. He first gets off himself, so he can use a simple command to get vhagar to lie down. 'You really thought this trough, hmm?' I remark coldly from the giantic beast.

Aemond says something but i cant hear it. Vhagar simply refuses him. The dragon looks at the prince but refuses to bow. After a while, she huffs and finally plops down nearly causing me to fall off and to break my neck.

Aemond catches me before that happens, thank Gods. 'Put me down, Kinslayer.' I say the moment the beast has calmed down.

He groans annoyed with my priorities. Maybe I am also ruining some sort of twisted fantasy. 'I just saved your life.' We pass by Vhagars gigantic head. The Dragon left big eye follows me, very carefully. I feel very unsafe by her.

Aemond chuckles as he puts me down on the grass. 'She doesn't like you. I can tell when she despises people.' I eye quickly for a escape but i already know there is none. My hands are still tied. I need a knife to free myself.

She must be jealous. Don't worry Vhagar.' He says, in High Valyrian. He affectionately pets her and Vhagar makes a wailing sound. I can't believe this.

I roll my eyes at her dramatics. Aemond falls for it, of course. 'Just because i have a new object to ride doesn't mean we won't be seeing each other, yes? I still love you, very much. You know that. Now who's the best dragon-' she nuzzels him and he pets her on her head. He gets a lick in his face as well.

Thats when i interrupt. 'As much as I love to see that you finally found a friend, Aemond, Get the hell on with it. I'm cold and starving and i want to go home.' I say.

'Didn't your septa teach you that patience is a virtue?' He smirks.

'Didn't yours tell you that killing your own blood isnt a virtue?' I minic his ridiculous smile.

I walk with Aemond, leashed like his fucking dog, to the carriage. 'Mother has a fun saying about septas. Do you want to hear it?' Aemond looks at me, full of expectations. I wont make a show of my resist for him. I will go with dignity like a princess.

'Fuck the septa.' I say, grinning.

Aemond frowns. 'That's...Not funny at all, Lady Strong.'

'Yes it is. You just dont have humor.' Simple as that.

'I have plenty, this simply is a insult. Not a very good one, i might add.' Everything is an battle with him.

'Alright, Kinslayer let's just get on with it. I've spend enough time in your company.'

The Redkeep is still standing. But there is nothing red about it anymore. Its now Green. The headquarters of the greens.

The guards fetch me right away. 'Ser Deston. Ser Ferz. It's me, princess Daella.' Then, i can't really help it, i puke one final time.

They don't even try to help me.

Aemond looks on as i try to flee with every guard out there. They all look at me like I'm something disgusting.

Speaking of disgusting...Otto hightower is also present. 'Aemond. A word?' Just the sight of him makes me so angry.

He sounds upset. Angry. Furious with Aemond. 'Ooh, someone's in trouble.' I whisper to Aemond.

'One moment, Grandfather. I am not leaving with my pet unpunished.' He takes me by the arm and tries to show off how he controls me. He makes his hand flat and i already close my eyes.

Otto interrupts. 'She is not your pet, she will be our pawn. She will be traded. Let go of your childish feelings. I already have one raper as grandson. Don't insult me by making it two.'

Sir Criston looks on. 'Why am I not suprised? You never liked mother. She handed you everything. You were a nobody, a bastard born son.' I spat at him.

'Aemond does the same for you, if you suck his cock. Yet you aren't grateful either, are you?'

They drag me inside the red keep. Aemond does so, eagerly to show his family what he captured.

-- Aegon looks like he aged two decades during the few days he is sitting the throne. Criston forces me to kneel for the usurper. 'Princess Daella, your grace.'

'Well, well, well. Look what my brother dragged in. Some things never change do they?' The fuck is he talking about?

'We should treat the princess carefully. Rhaenyra might want to trade her claim for her.' Says former queen Alicent.

Her father disagrees. 'Would she really? She is just a daughter. Everyone knows Rhaenyra is more attached to her sons. If we had Jace or Luke-' Aemond subtly swallows.

I smirk at him. He has informed them proudly of his conquest. Of me. But he hasn't told them what he did to Lucerys. 'I have some news, that might buy me my freedom.' I announce. Before i can utter a word, Aemond covers my mouth.

'I killed Lucerys.' He shouts. His words echo through the chamber and the reactions of his family are priceless.

His mother clutches her necklace and starts praying. Haleana, the queen doesn't even seem to be here at all, and Otto curses him for being so blind despite only having lost one eye.

'This is a victory. Lucerys was a cunt. Now, tell me brother...'Aegon eyes are cold. 'You want her, brother?'

I hear my own heart beating fast. 'I do what you seem fit, my king.' Is Aemonds response. How chivalrous.

'I didn't ask that. Do you want the girl? Do you want to fuck her?' Aegon barks at his brother.

'Yes.' The word comes out slowly but possessively. Like he can already feel his hands on my skin and his tongue down my mouth.

He smiles at Aemond. 'For bringing me this dangerous traitor I'll reward you generously. She is yours, to with as you please. Her body, names, titels and holdings are yours, Aemond Targaryen.'

Otto nearly rips out his own hair. 'Aegon! Don't be stupid. She will be worth a lot if we trade her-' And just a minute ago i was worthless?

'Adress me like that again and I'll send you back to that pisshole you came from, Grandfather.' He takes another sip of his drink.

Aemond smiles coldly as i finally hit the walls. 'Thank you, for this generous gift my king.' To me he whispers something as well. 'You're mine now, Lady Strong.'

'One thing, Aemond.' He says before letting us leave.

'Yes, my king?'

Aegon looks at me and he is back to being the king. 'Neutralize her. Make sure she can't be used as a weapon against us.'

Aemond slowly smiles.'Of course, my king. I already have something thought out.'

Aegon mirrors his diabolical expression. 'I figured you would.'

[ekktoplasm]

"How fucking dare you? God, Daedelus, what the fuck were you thinking"? Judith paces back and forth, boots soiling the ground beneath em, leaving a trail of red against the deep tan of the carpet. Daedelus stands still, shifting slightly, arm behind its back, eyes following Judith's movements. The temperature is steadily dropping, and the air gains pressure. 

Ey stops before Daedelus, grabs thon by the throat, and grips it loose enough to slip from. Daedelus feels the pressure bear down on thon. Thon nearly succumbs to it, knees buckling. Ey pulls them down to look it in its watering eyes, discontent clear on eir face, and says, "You dared to throw away my life so casually? You gave your life to me. You said it was mine, yet you dared to try and end it for such trivial reasons?" Judith scoffs and continues pacing. Daedelus would have answered but decided against it; they're sure that would have warranted a shredded jugular.

Tendrils of black are slowly clawing up eir arms, eir pupils slowly fading. "I don't care if you won't live for yourself. You will live for me. As you've said countless times before, your life is mine. You belong to me. You said so!" She stops pacing and stalks toward them. Daedelus can see Judith's glowing eyes. The closer Judith gets, the heavier the pressure, the tension so thick you could taste it. When she reaches them, they give in and sink to their knees.

Judith stares at thon, almost as if looking into them. Daedelus can see that eir eyes have an eerie glow to them. They withhold a grin as they feel a shiver tear through them. "Why? Why have you done this? You said you were mine. I don't think you truly understand what that means, Daedelus. You are of no use to me dead. Why did you try to sacrifice yourself?" 

Daedelus looks up at Judith, a tear sliding down its face, brows slightly upturned, and a deep-set frown while muttering, "I had only wished to assist you, Judith. In my mind, it seemed the perfect moment to prove myself useful. My apologies. I did not think you would react in such a way. You usually take my proclaiming myself as yours as a jest. I had not thought you would care if I died. For future reference, you should know that I can not die."

Judith narrows her eyes slightly; it would have been unnoticeable had it not been for Daedelus being so familiar with her expressions. But just as quickly as the change in expression came, it vanished, and replacing it was a soft gaze. She sinks to her knees and pulls Daedelus into a hug. Ey burrows eir face into the corner of Daedelus's neck and holds them tightly. She smiles as she says, "You are such a manipulative bastard. You did this on purpose, didn't you? Why? Was it to test me?" 

Daedelus shifts. "Whatever are you insinuating? I would never-."

Judith cuts it off. "Please do not lie to me, Daedelus. You will tell me the truth. We have been through too much for such lies."

Daedelus sighs and lays their head on Judith's while wrapping their arm around her. "What gave me away? I thought I was doing an excellent job fooling you." 

"Believe me; you were in the beginning. You had me completely fooled; I was so fucking angry at you. You nearly got yourself killed. You didn't even have the damn decency to be crying about your life. It was because I was angry at you. Then I thought about it. You're a bastard at heart. You will have fun at the expense of others, even the ones you love."

Daedelus hums and quirks an eyebrow. "What gave you the impression that I love you, dearest Judith?"

Judith scoffs, "I see how you look at me, Daedelus, and Cyrus isn't too quiet. Now, will you let me finish explaining?"

Daedelus huffs, "My sincerest apologies; please continue."

As Judith continues to speak, the dark tendrils slowly retreat, and the tension breaks. Daedelus groans in relief and leans further into Judith.

"You're expressive when interacting with people but not overly so in emotional environments. You always speak with a strong voice no matter the situation, and you were laying it on quite thick. You never cry, at least not around me." Answers Judith.

Daedelus groans and pouts, "Damn you, Judith Lenthra. You are one of the only entities to see through me. I have put centuries into my act."

Judith gasps in faux horror and holds Daedelus tighter. "Oh no, whatever shall you do, dearest Daedelus? Will this be your end? Are you even capable of existing now? If I let you go, will you fade away into nothingness? God forbid someone truly knows you."

Daedelus rolls its eyes and pokes Judith. "Do not be an asshole; it is unbecoming of you." 

Judith giggles and replies, "Cyrus thinks otherwise; he loves it when I'm mean. You're not too far off yourself, Daedelus. I saw that reaction earlier. Had I not been so mad, you'd have been on your knees for a different reason."

Daedelus pulls back to look Judith in the eyes and smirks, "And what of it? I will not feel ashamed for appreciating powerful beings. 

Judith rolls her eyes. "I'm not shaming you, love." Judith cups Daedelu's face and wipes away their tears. "Next time I see you cry, I'd like it to be in a different situation."

[chim-aera]

sometimes I feel heavy.

sometimes the weight sets in like a second skeleton, thick and dense in my bones like water soaked in my very fibers, filling my marrow like the porous fabric of a sponge.

am I always destined to drown alive?

it hurts. it hurts.

but that's not enough to set down my sword and stop running, sometimes I want to run farther. watch the blood trickle down my forehead, wearing a crown of thorns like some modern martyr, here I go being dramatic and dark, but will it always be so heavy?

I'm tired. aching, like centuries of sitting cooped in rafters and churches and archives and spires. nestled like some crooked arching owl has twisted me into some sort of bent and unnatural shape like raw metal.

I

I want to be ok. I want to run. take the snare from my legs set me free, I will run like a deer with hounds snapping their jaws at my ankles I will run like Daphne did from a grasping god. I will run like Atalanta would have if she had never fallen for the trick of fruit the color of sunrise.

I would run.

until either I fell to nothingness, maybe among devils and soot. or till I somehow find my divinity.

aren't they the same? perhaps if I fall, I will have company.

what do I do to tell what I feel like?

hello, how are you?

my bones are wrong, don't you know?

I cannot be what you want me to be, when I feel my body, dying, failing, sputtering out like some ending star burning to it's dramatic demise.

I'm so tired, gods above. I want to crawl into the earth, let the soil cool my burning bones. let the mushrooms and maggots have me, they'll be kinder then my sicknesses.

take this flawed, fading visage, make me something soft, Demeter.

a flower, not a daffodil, but a blossom to rest on your daughter's forehead when she visits, tucked behind her ear, so she takes me when the air chills and hands me to her husband. who with a gentle laugh says "little flower it is your time. you've ached for long enough. you won't suffer any longer."

make me a tree, a shade, a song.

I will wait as a sparrow, eating seeds from the hand of the Maiden, let me be alright. let me whole.

I have no need for grandeur.

it hurts.

Mother.

it hurts.

but here I go whining again.

perhaps I don't want to bury myself alive, although the coldness and soft embrace of Gaia's womb is tempting to lie back down and watch the sun melt into ochre and ebony.

but perhaps, I wish to fall into the arms of a lover, collapse in a twisted mess of limbs and gritted teeth for them to press a soft kiss to my furrowed brow, tell me it's alright, tell me I'm not just a damaged damned vessel..

but I'm being wishful, aren't I?

how I want to be soft, undo myself, unravel in all my tears and treachery, to show some bandaged child biting back the agony until their tongue bleeds.

the blood drop forms peonies. I wonder what that means.

I want to be cared for. I want to care. but my body is a prison like a church is, when I wish to be a forest.

how do I pour the fire from my veins, to snap my spine back in place, to reset my jaw? I'm tired of being fragile, please, I know there is no cure.

shall I keep on walking, run till I grow wings or fall to a pathetic heap of tangled limbs?

or should I be kind, hold myself, like I want to be held. embrace the softness I hate so much, feel the flesh between my fingertips without wanting to claw it off.

breathe.

perhaps I won't do either, but for now. yes. I'm fine. but I do feel heavy.

[dankovskaya]

I won't lie all the fucking drama of the dickkory fallout leading to Kory being like. We're way too young to get married. Our relationship was not good for us in the long run. We both need to mature and define ourselves as individuals. The love was real but I need to return to my home and my culture and learn to prioritize and live for myself before I can even think about having a relationship. And then standing Dick up when they planned to talk this out in favor of rushing home having no idea when she would be able to see him again. And then touching down on Tamaranean soil and IMMEDIATELY finding a man and getting married AND pregnant without wasting a second was very stupid and made no sense but it was also kind of hilarious. Like the thought of her getting home and re-evaluating and being like oh actually I'm fine now I think the problem was just Dick.

[and-yet-the-daisies-grow]

tw: various child abuse, verbal abuse, csa implications

A few minutes ago, I woke up from a bad dream. It wasn't a classic nightmare, and not really a classic trauma dream either. It was more like an emotional synopsis, a tasting menu of how things were back home.

These people used to bully me. They ganged up on me at the dinner table until I physically couldn't stand being in the same room anymore, and I ran out of the house, trying not to alarm the neighbours (because things are fine, really). After I returned to the house, they told me I was sensitive. In the dream, they bullied me too.

I never forgave them for that. Partly because they never apologized, and partly because I can still feel that sour aching burning sensation in my chest. Of being reminded by people who are supposed to love you of how pathetic and weak and small and helpless and stupid and useless and worthless you are.

There were many other feelings in that dream, too. The buzzing paranoia of living with someone who looks at your body as if it were a piece of meat. The sickening shame of trying to be kind to them because nothing is wrong, not really, I am just imagining things, I don't want to start any drama. The part despair part resentment cocktail of emotions that is best created when you are criticized for all that you are, but especially traits you cannot change, traits that lie right in your heart, without which you wouldn't be you at all. The embarassment of being shamed around your friends, the complete apathy when it all becomes far too much to be able to care anymore. The running away while knowing that I will return, because I can never leave, not really, because things are fine. This is how it's supposed to be.

Of course, everything reaches a breaking point. About halfway through the dream, I decided that I would leave that place, that my love for it and for the people that live there will never be a good reason enough to stay, when I can feel my soul coming apart at the seams. I walked around the garden, trying to take it all in one last time. The colors were washed out, as if the world was a watercolor painting. The sky was white.

If I lived there alone, that garden would be perfect, and nothing could tear me apart from it. My safe space, my haven. These are the trees I climbed as a child, the bushes that have been there for as long as I remember, and oh, this is the strawberry patch! It is the garden that my family has tended to for 4 generations, their blood and sweat and tears in that soil. But, despite how much I want to stay, that garden too has been tainted by all that has happened.

So I will keep it as a memory and think of it as if it were a bubble. Think of it as if this garden was only for me and the birds and the snails and nobody else, nobody else at all.

But I have finally accepted that now is the time for me to build my own garden, so to speak. I cannot wait anymore, and I cannot justify it either. I am an adult, I should be allowed to make these choices.

A part of me also feels a sort of painful smugness about it. I want to throw it in their face and say hey, I am finally moving out! Aren't you happy? Aren't you happy I'm leaving? After all, you're the one who has threatened me with throwing me out back when I had nowhere else to go. Of course, they won't remember that they ever said it. It evaporates with their anger.

But that is not really why I'm doing it. Not that I don't feel spite, I do, and I let it fuel me when I have nothing else, but I'm not doing this to get away anymore. I'm doing this to finally get somewhere. Finally live in a place where the shame doesn't coil out of the walls, threatening to suffocate me if I don't numb myself to the point of illness. Instead, live with my drawings on the walls, my furniture forgiving every time I accidentally make a dent or a scratch. Living in a place where my bed is no longer the breeding ground of quiet terror where I lay each night, forcing myself to make peace with the fact that I might wake up with my shirt above my chest and condemning myself for being a heavy sleeper, because really it is my fault. I want to live in a place where my bed is a den, a nest, a place of softness and comfort and cat fur.

Moving on hurts. But this is the only way to live.

[dzpenumbra]

8/16/23

Just got off stream. 8 out of 10.5 of these celtic knot patterns on my jeans are outlined now. I don't know why I thought the outlines would be quicker than the fill, that was actually really silly... the fill is much quicker. You don't have to be accurate at all. The outline is very precise, even when you're following guide lines, so it takes much longer.

Stream was dead tonight, no clue if there were even viewers, I turned off my viewer count ages ago. Too depressing. I just periodically look up to see if anyone has chatted recently, when I break my art-trance long enough to remember to check.

My brain is super scattered today. I guess I'll just take this from the top, first thing of note from the furthest back. I watched a video about generalized anxiety last night. It was by the woman who made the video that had a safe place exercise for people with PTSD that really was a cornerstone in my transition into this apartment. She was recommending something that I, for a long time, pushed back against. To treat your anxiety as though it's a different person, as though it's separate from you. I disagreed on this for a very long time, because... there are useful anxieties. There are helpful anxieties. Anxiety is there to keep you safe. But when it becomes a disorder, it jumps around to all kinds of shit and blows shit way out of proportion. But it's still the same "muscle" that raises the hair on the back of your neck when there's a wild animal in the woods in front of you. And that is clearly part of myself. A very deep, primal part, but part of me none-the-less. So... I always felt very weird separating those parts, because you can't really split good and bad anxiety either.

Like... where do you define the line? Because I often think people are neurotic for washing their hands all the fucking time (not like... Covid-wise, like soil-wise). Like... okay... you got some dirt on your hands... and you're going to walk around limp-wristing like you have human shit on your hands, and then scrub scrub scrub. It seems a bit... overanxious to me. Always has. The same with throwing away perfectly good food because of arbitrary shelving dates and shit. But most people consider that "normal" fear, and not an anxiety disorder... Where... if I was doing that? That would definitely be an indicator my anxiety is getting a bit out of hand. It's really hard to define that line.

So... I always kept my anxiety as part of me, my depression as a part of me. I never made a distinct division to treat them as though we are... separate people. But she was really encouraging that. I really do understand why, and after this much time and experience working directly with anxiety, I get the reason... but I fear that I would struggle with it pretty deeply if I were given that advice in the past. Like... feeling like I was using my anxiety as a scapegoat, when I knew damn well it was part of me, like I was trying to trick myself or lie to myself. Hell, maybe that's just me, but it caused some real problems in the past.

Now that I've jumped that hurdle, her points really do make sense and seem helpful. The point is less to detach from responsibility - which I fear could sorta lead to a "victim" mentality of like... being possessed by a spirit or something... - but more to be able to clearly identify which thoughts are anxiety and which are common worry, as they happen. To classify your fear reactions. And I can do that with panic, that's fucking easy. If I start feeling like the world is about to end and there's a giant hooded skeleton on a beastly horse behind me with a flaming sword or some shit... that's probably panic. Or trauma. The big bad ones. But anxieties have been tougher to identify.

Like... okay, let's go to skating already. Most people won't even get on a fucking skateboard. But for some reason... they don't feel like roller skates or rollerblades aren't as dangerous? And bicycles, good lord, don't even get me started. You have no idea how fucking dumb it is to me that people are totally on-board with getting on a metal framed two wheeled vehicle... but think you're going to immediately die if you get on a plank of wood on four wheels. It's mind-boggling to me. Bikes are so much more dangerous. They're very difficult to dismount, they go way the fuck faster, they are teetering at all times and one big gust of wind from the side could send you off. Skateboards? You're pretty capped at a low speed, unless you're nuts. You can get off the thing any time you want. It has a stable wheelbase. It just makes no logical sense to me whatsoever that a skateboard would be considered more dangerous than a bike. Like... out of bicycles, rollerblades and skateboards, I would put skateboards as the safest hands down. That looks like people being irrationally worried to me.

So, that was my way of trying to make the skateboard anxiety battle relatable, now I'm going to get into my shit. So... the past several sessions I was in a bit of a rut. I wasn't moving forward skating-wise. I would just sorta push around and try the same few tricks. Then, yesterday, I faced "the fear" and learned ollie-to-manual on a box and FS 50-50. Today? I still had those tricks. And I added in 50-50 to FS 180 out, which was harder than I thought. Just adjusting my feet while the board was grinding took a lot of getting used to. And I landed ollie-to-manual on the whole A-frame box, which was a hell of a feeling! But the big one, the one I really want to talk about? Shove it.

I landed at least 7 shove its today. I have been doing nollie shove its pretty regularly. When you go out of nosemanual, it's basically just pivoting the board off the front wheels and spinning it around 180. The front wheels don't even leave the ground half the time. I could do that pretty consistently. Today, I was feeling much more confident and consistent on my board. I decided today was the day and I just needed to do it. It's a big hurdle for me.

On snowskate, I have shove it locked down. It's a go-to trick for me. But skateboard is just way different. At least, the mind game is. So... here's what got me. I fell. I was doing an ollie-to-manual on the box, I put my wheels down too early and landed weird and spun out and fell onto my back. There was a giant sweat-print of me on the ground and everything. I was saying to one of the kids there earlier, I honestly don't know if I remember how to fall. It's been a long time since I fell. Well, today I fell. And I remembered how to fall. It went fine, I'm not even sore. I rolled out all the momentum, there was no blunt impact, it was fine. After that fall, I said fuck it and went for the shove it, worst case... I fall like that again... but slower. The thing that gets me with the shove it? It's a trust trick. Faith, really. I have to trust that the board is going to be under me when I land. So, I pop and rotate the board, and I need to hop slightly forward to be able to land it. And if I do, I'm fine. But slightly forward means... you're in the board's path now. You're either landing on it, it's hitting you in the ankle, or you're landing on the tail and slipping out. You just have to trust the board to be where it's supposed to be, where you put it. And just... hop. And once you get it, it really doesn't feel bad... but the fear is the enemy there. The anxiety in my head is... "the board is going to go shooting out and I'm going to fall on my back". Guess what? I just fell on my back... with speed, too. This is nothing.

So... would you define the fear of the board shooting out an irrational fear? An anxiety? Or a healthy fear? To protect you from slipping on black ice or something. It's the same mechanism. It feels the same. It can be just as hard to overcome, to master. I guess, in the end? The goal is to take anxiety under advisement, and act separately from that. Not let fear control you - not let fear make decisions for you. And my battle with skating, my journey of self-improvement through challenging my fears, has been all about this. Taking the fear under advisement, then going and seeing for myself.

But social anxiety can get a little weird, and that was something I wanted to touch on. The experiential sensations of... well... I guess what I'm really trying to get to the root of is the big difference between somewhat reasonable fears (I'm on a skateboard and I'm about to do a potentially dangerous trick = reasonable fear) and somewhat ridiculous fears. For example, I was talking to a kid at the skatepark about snowskating at the rotary park last winter, second time I've talked about it now. And I didn't have a cop talk to me once that whole winter. Not once. I just had that one night when the cops parked at the top of the rotary and watched me skate down the sidewalks in a blizzard, likely because they were bored as fuck and it was miserable out. They could have easily stopped me at any point. So... I'm telling this kid about how fun it was to skate there over the winter, and I started to get this intense overwhelming feeling... kinda like shame, I guess? I can identify it when it happens, I think it's a trauma response but it might just be intense anxiety, I really don't know. But I really felt like... like I shouldn't be telling him this. Like I'm going to get him in trouble, or maybe I'm going to lose access to the rotary park now because I'm chatting it up. Like... there are literally No Skateboarding signs all over that park (that I didn't see until Spring), $150 fines and everything. Which is fucking dumb as shit, but I get it when there's traffic on all sides. Snowskate is way different though, you don't get enough speed to go flying into traffic. It's like... a physical impossibility. It's way safer.

But I just got this intense feeling, very distinct, like... embarrassment? Or... "stop talking". It really felt like a voice inside me that said "you shouldn't have said that". Again, like I was giving the guy bad advice, or was going to get the spot shut down from too many people going to skate it. Or maybe that I was dumb for skating a spot that was clearly marked with signs, and I just somehow got super lucky like... 3 times a week all winter? I mean, I skated that shit all season, from first snow to last slush. But, I mean... if I was there with like 3 other people... maybe it would've been a different story? Idk. I still can't parse it.

My point with all this... it was a very distinct feeling. My only physical... (I guess?) anxiety reaction. It felt... surreal. It felt on par to like... telling a scam artist my PIN number or something. It's really hard for me to put that feeling into words. And it's kinda emotional, kinda sensory? Just... a moment of surreality is the best way I can put it.

So... going back to the woman's video. I can definitely label that voice there, that surreal interaction, that surreal sensation... as a separate part of me. It's me... but a different part of me that is intruding and taking the steering wheel. Which part is it, though? Is it anxiety? Is it a trauma response? Both?

I don't remember the whole video, it was three steps... okay, I remember now. XD It came back. So... the first was to separate and identify. Which I guess I'm still in the process of. Goddamn would it be fucking helpful to have someone else to help with that. This is precisely what I was trying to do with weed. And holy fuck would it be good for it. Check this out, I think I just found it. A way to describe to others what I was trying to do in 2019.

Weed makes your emotions and experiences very exaggerated and very powerful, right? It makes everything feel like an adventure, it makes funny stuff hilarious, it makes fear horrifyingly immersive. It makes feelings very distinct, at least for me. I have theorized for a very long time that, at least in my experience, it serves as an emotional amplifier. What I wanted to do initially was to smoke before therapy, inevitably go into a deep panic state, and then be there in a safe environment to unpack it and explore that place. To find the root of my fears, the root of my trauma. To figure out what these fears were really about and why they were happening - like a spirit journey. Now that I've done a ton of that work already... I'm not entirely focusing on that so much. Journaling does a pretty damn good job of that for me. What weed could do for me... is amplify those emotions, to make them more distinctly recognizable... so it would be easier for me to correctly label them.

So... if I was high and I talked to that kid about the rotary park, I would have 100% freaked out. That's a big part of why I'm saying this. I was dead sober and I started to feel that twinge... that almost... blinking into a shadow dimension, Twilight Zone kinda moment. But I came out of it within 15 seconds. If I was high, I would have been plunged into that feeling, it would've been a perceptive and sensory experience as well, and if I didn't excuse myself to handle it, I would've been in that place for a long time. So... I truly believe that these moments are not caused by weed, I don't think they ever were... I think weed just makes them much more immersive and surreal. So... if my goal is to learn how to label these moments as anxiety, and... subsequently... something that doesn't have power over me, that is very unlikely and that I can let go of... If my goal is to label those moments as quotes credited to my anxiety disorder or a trauma response... what better tool than something that makes them clear as day. The only catch? I really don't want to do that alone again, I want to make sure I'm well experienced with letting go of those feelings... See, there's the catch.

Okay, I'm a bit scattered today, bear with me. I'm frustrated because I'm in a state where I often can't tell what is excessive anxiety and what is --- I guess the surreal feeling is the marker for me, isn't it? I mean, it's clear as day now. If I start feeling like the person I'm around is betraying me... or I'm trusting the wrong person... Nope, okay, that's not just bog standard anxiety there... that's trauma, it's gotta be. Okay. Hmm... See? See how difficult this can be? General anxiety is a somewhat similar beast, but it is not the same weight class as specific trauma. And the whole... "trusting people/betrayal" thing? That's definitely trauma. Like "oh shit, did I just give them too much?" Or "oh shit, are they stabbing me in the back right now?" That causes intense surreal feelings, and that's definitely trauma.

Goddammit, then how can I tell what the anxiety disorder feels like?!?! See how frustrating this is? Like... the shove it anxiety just kinda felt like... I couldn't get my leg to stand on the fucking board. I felt kinda frozen a bit. And then I just... trusted it and hopped and I did it first try. I just had to push it out of the way and send it, like I was a rude person at a water park pushing a scared kid out of the way at a waterslide and diving down headfirst.

So yeah, good lord did I get sidetracked! I really thought I was on to something there, and I may still be. I feel like weed might help me identify the difference between normal healthy fears and the ones that I'm blowing out of proportion. Meaning... not just being able to distinguish the narratives of the fears, but the sensory experience of the different fears. To be able to make those fears essentially sound like different voices, so it will be easier for me to just immediately go... "oh, that's not my voice... I know you... you're my anxiety disorder". And then I know clear as day that it's okay for me to let that worry go right then and there.

THAT is what the woman was recommending. Then, as a second tip, she recommended actually drawing a visual representation of what you think your anxiety disorder looks like. To further aid in this association. And I really want to do that, I think I can, too. And the third tip she had was to be nice to yourself and make time to recharge yourself doing stuff you love. And luckily, I have plenty of that in my life. But a lot of it is strenuous and work... so... I added another one to the mix. I had been playing Rimworld again a little, but... I decided to go with Elden Ring instead. After listening to deep-dives on the lore so much, I missed it. I made a character named Chim Qayr'ri (just say it out loud, it's funny) and I have no idea what build I'm doing, I just made a Wretch that looks as much like Jim Carrey as I could, and then I ran it through the "similar face" nightmare algorithm 100 times... and this mutant is going around Limgrave smacking fools with a club. I know a Fromsoft game is probably not the most relaxing of all games I could've picked... but it's very pretty, and very rewarding.

So yeah, that's what's been on my mind a lot today. This whole... overcoming anxiety thing. I'm getting so much better now that I'm practicing so much. I wish I had done it more, honestly. But I'm glad I'm here regardless. Skating has helped me so much. Like... some woman wandered over to the skatepark and I just took out my earbuds and walked over and started talking to her for like 15 minutes. It's so much more natural and way less overwhelming now. And honestly? If I had money? I'd go out and eat places, you know? Go to coffee shops and meet people there, go to that vegetarian place near me, you know? It's just... Everything's just so fucking expensive now. Especially when you have zero income. It's terrifying. Even a cup of coffee... I look at the number and I just immediate equate it to a relative grocery cost. Lunch at the vegetarian restaurant? That's like... the cost of all my produce for a week. It's really hard to pull the trigger on that once, let alone regularly as an excuse to try to meet people.

It's a huge part of why I'm really trying to figure out this employment thing. I need some kind of income coming in just psychologically so I can feel okay spending money. And so I can feel a bit better introducing myself. Streaming is just... it's a shit show. --- I'm not going to get into this tonight, I just wanted to connect the dots a bit.

The skatepark gives me a place to go. A place that people frequent, that has regulars, that has a community of creative people. I'm really glad I've started to become a recognizable part of that community. People recognize me. It's... odd. But it's not new. It's like... FINALLY. So, that's nice. I'm a little worried about winter... but I think taking this momentum and using it to get integrated into an actual art community would be super important. And if I can get in to either a teaching or masters program... or a teaching job... that would provide me some reliable social interaction over the cold months, interaction that would pay off in more than just the experience too.

Alright, enough blabbering, I'm ridiculously tired. Another hour and a half of skating today. I'm gonna go wind down.

[promiseiwillwrite]

Whatever comes Up ~ March

So here we are, three days in.

This is my only day off in a span of 12 days. I've been good, and doing my physical therapy exercises. All my muscles in my left hip and butt are mad at me. My Right hip is complaining, and my Low back as well. There has been a lot of "Spring Transition Weather" out here, and I think the barometer is probably sea sick at this point.

I have not seen the mouse again.

The Other people that live in my head have more or less stuck around... It's less crowded than it was before, like all of them have day jobs or something... Like they aren't there most of the time, but pop in to visit. It Really feels like self care.

I saw Theater Girl in her red dress again. There were discussions about changes. Discussions about maturity, and sexuality, and values. and where we sit with all that. Daemeon asked me to start playing D&D again. It just so happens that my friend is short some players...

I have done a bit of knitting here and there. Learning stitches still, and seeing the differences in the resulting fabric when you use all Garter stitches, or the sockinette stitch. Learning to tighten things up.

Tried crochet, but I think I used a yarn that was just too fuzzy to start off with. The hook kept grabbing the individual threads of the wrong twist. I tried it out when I was too tired, as well, which could have contributed to the issues. I will re-attempt with a tighter string, and see if I can get the process down a little more concretely before making another attempt with the fuzzy yarn.

I would Really like to make myself a witch hat... But It looks like the pattern for the one I fancy is definitely a crochet pattern.

On the first, I reached out to the inner and outer wilds at the end of my day, and opened the entreaty to whatever might come up.

And I think the creature that came has been waiting for their turn since my cat died.

There is a Mushroom that lives in my back yard that Bloomed with caps in the middle of January. The mushrooms were a dark brown. about two inches tall, and an inch and a half across, with a wrinkly cap. I THINK they are Helvella lacunosa, a type of Elfin Saddle. But I am having a hard time getting a good ID because the fruiting bodies have all vanished. Nothing in the pictures I am seeing looks right. Helvellas are a little too convoluted. Based on some of the pictures in a book I have, they look a little more like Psilocybe stuntzii, but I don't think these pictures are dark enough for what was growing out of the lawn, the color of wet coffee grounds.

At any rate, the entire yard at the bottom of the steps around the porch kind of gets watered when I water all my plants.

That whole area was just covered with mushrooms. I must conclude that the body of the mushroom exists in a huge swathe around the porch, in the grass and soil that has been seeing some incidental love for several many years.

And on the first, I was visited by a Mushroom Fairy.

The mushroom fairy looks like they are covered with black hairs, except for the exposed skin of their face, hands and midriff, which are blue.

I won't lie. I am afraid of the Folk. Okay, Afraid is maybe a strong word. I feel very anxious, cautious, self-conscious, and vulnerable around them. Maybe Afraid is the correct word after all. I have felt like I have had to be very careful of my words. I think this one actually does want to be friends, though, and I don't want to piss them off.

So far, they seem nice. I feel like they really do want to be friends, and don't really have another agenda.

They DID say something that kind of stuck in my craw, however. They said I was one of them, and expressed sorrow that I was so buttoned up. And they meant a fairy. And I am definitely a Human. But my mom always told me that she made a deal with fairies to get me. But my mom says a lot of fucked up shit because that's her way of being edgy.

I have definitely not asserted a priority for enjoying what I like in my life in many areas, because enjoying what I like seems to hurt people, and I've found that I don't like hurting people. I've had to find ways of enjoying myself quietly, and safely, away from others, that don't upset anyone.

But I still look across the fences of my boundaries and daydream. I'm just wise enough in my old age to realize that not having a thing that I want doesn't have to mean I am unhappy with my life. Especially when I would have to put in Huge Effort to get what I think I would want.

There is part of me that thinks this MAY be a large gymnastic routine that I have to do to avoid the laser grid of admitting that I have unmet desires.

The other part of me is fairly certain that this is better than setting fire to my life and the lives of those around me, which could be an immediate result of fucking around and finding out in this area.

More later.

[umitvar]

the music stops, and the notes echo in the courtyard. the emotions beneath the sound cling to the air, ringing in his ears. noi pulls the guitar away from his person, uncrossing his legs, lying it down on his lap. his fingers are relaxed on top of the strings, not putting enough force behind their movement to create any sounds. his eyes, glued to the soil, her presence is only in the corner of his eyes, he does not look up just yet. the thought of home resonates so many emotions in noi that he always prefers not to think about it. thailand, is a home, yet not one at the same time. it's where he was born, and raised to become this - person, yet it has been so long since he last visited, and changed so much, he knows it would not be true to call it home anymore. much too often, they feel like a leaf, flying through the air, at the whim of the winds carrying him around. only her words make him look up, and hearing them makes him feel as if he has been slapped. his guards are back up immediately, expression growing colder, heart hammering in his chest. does she know? how would that be possible? his mouth opens to utter lies, to vehemently disagree that he has ever felt that way. then, she continues, and another realization sets in: the fact that they are similar in this sense too, that it must be so that she also has someone in her heart, someone other than that the ratsifi royal. reality shifts, and their longing makes noi think of his own. the one that chokes him at night, the lump in their throat, the pressure in their chest that never leaves. "risa, i..." and it's either a lapse in their judgement, or the pain of sharing a sorrow of the same kind: noi cannot bring himself to lie. his voice is thick once he speaks, not meeting her eyes. "yes. i do." a whisper, the solitude of the night makes the words possible to hear. "i sometimes wish to relive the memory, so that i don't have to see him walk away again." his eyes are closed as he speaks, he does not see the courtyard, but the butterflies, and the gloved hands tucking flowers behind his ears. "then, my dreams become a prison- and when i wake up, the reality is a cell i find myself in." he opens his eyes again, and hopes that in the dark, the single tear won't be seen. "it doesn't matter. we can't change anything."

serenity  spreads,  albeit  for  these  few  spare  moments,  across  shared  features.  though  risa  and  noi  have  circumvented  the  same  orbit  for  some  time  now,  there  hasn't  been  a  moment  to  think  of  what  it  would  feel  like  to  be  back  home.  risa  struggles,  still,  with  this  concept.  it  stays  elusive  to  them,  moving  about  inside  of  a  person,  remaining  somehow  both  within  territory  and  wall.  but  the  music,  to  which  their  eyes  closed  and  their  shoulders  relaxed,  sent  them  back  to  a  time  where  they  were  nothing  more  than  a  child.  where  thanin,  however  irritable  he  grew  with  having  to  drag  them  to  the  festivals,  never  showed  it,  and  always  stayed  out  with  them  long  beyond  when  they  should.

“do  you  ever  long  for  something?”  risa  does  not  mean  to  ask  him  this  question.  it  pours  out  of  her.  due  to  the  nostalgia,  due  to  the  weather  here  in  brazil,  the  crossing  of  star  -  trails,  risa  will  find  something  other  than  themself  to  blame,  in  the  end.  but  for  now,  it  is  just  the  question.  “do  you  ever  seek  after  something  so  desperately,  you  can  taste  it?  do  you  ever  feel  selfish  for  it?”  they  could  be  speaking  on  matters  of  the  heart  or  mind.  “i  think  so  often  of  thailand  that  i  can  picture  it  in  my  mind.  i  think  so  often  of  …  of  her,  that  i  remembered  her  voice  long  after  it  faded.”  they  open  their  eyes,  honey  -  brown  in  the  dim  light.  and  then  a  scoff.  “…  never  mind.”  waving  it  away.  there  are  some  things  risa  would  rather  never  happened  at  all.

[oracleofkairos]

13. How do you speak about others when they’re not around?

19. What is the one compliment you always get that you’re too embarrassed to accept, so you deflect it?

23. What is the most interesting white lie you’ve told?

29. Are you ever afraid of people knowing who you really are?

38. Are you okay with not knowing what happens next?

43. What is the biggest risk you’ve taken just to prove yourself?

48. When do you give yourself permission to lose control?

53. How do you get your needs met when you’re alone?

68. What emotion motivates you the most when you’re down?

74. What is the worst way someone’s ever abandoned you?

76. How do you entertain yourself when you’re not around people?

85. Which insecurity would shock people if they knew about

90.What is the one thing that could make you happy, but you refuse to do it because you’re afraid of what others would think?

13: "I often speak my mind about others, even in their presence. It has led to some... Difficulties, but I would rather have my thoughts known to them, rather than play some game of social cat and mouse. Then again, if I find others speaking ill of those I value, I will not hesitate to defend them in their stead."

19: "I've often heard it said that I'm too good natured for this system. I would hate for that to be true, for it would mean that we have already lost our soul."

23: "Most interesting white lie? 'I have no idea who you are.' The person who was addressed will remain anonymous. Even if I feel the urge to out them."

29: "Not at all. It took years in the Infinite Forest to actually get a good grasp on exactly who I am. I take care to wear my heart on my sleeve, as it were."

38: "It is one of my greatest burdens. I live in fear of the future, in no small part due to my years within it. When you see enough doomsday tomorrows, you start to worry ones just around the corner."

43: "Entering the Forest at all. Osiris wouldn't give me the time of day, and I was tired of small game assignments taking soil samples and atmosphere readings... I thought I'd found my calling."

48: "When the stakes are too high to warrant restraint. Given the amount of damage that I know recklessness can do, it is not often. I only remember doing so once."

53: "I've gotten good at self regulating, and Custode is an eternal companion in that regard. Between the two of us, we can keep ourselves going for years."

68: "Hope. I place almost all my faith in the dreams of a better tomorrow. I hope it comes, even if I won't live to see it."

74: "H- It... Died. Before I really ever got a chance to know it. I only spoke briefly with Panoptes, but the Vex mind knew me better than myself, I dare say... I wish we had time to speak that wasn't on it's deathbed."

76: "I craft theories, or practice my tailoring. My mind likes to fill itself with clutter, and both provide an outlet for the creativity."

85: "I... I think it would shock people most, to know that I'm afraid of being alone. It's somewhat Ironic, given the years in Isolation I undertook, but I couldn't do it again. I'd be losing too many friends."

90: "Requesting formal induction as a Vanguard Trainer. Ikora and Zorya both now have recommended I take to teaching, to help inspire the hope I hold in new guardians... But I don't know if I could do it, or if the new lights I'd be instructing would see me as anything more than a naive idealist, and there's enough doubt in the Vanguard already, without my interference."

[musicallisto]

𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔

𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑡𝘩: 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑦 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑙

"𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒.

The more days go by, the harder it is for me to keep hiding from them that we won't be home with our families by Christmas, although I don't doubt that most of them have already deduced that for themselves. The quagmire into which circumstances have plunged us is one from which it is impossible to escape unscathed, let alone in a few months. More than anything, it is an immense pain that devours me every day to lie to Émile; yet how I would love, more than anything in the world, even more than surviving the war, to return home, if only for a few days, a few hours, to see the streets of the village again, the mill's sturdy walls, Mathilde's fearless face, to hear her heart beat against mine at night like the wind that makes the trees hum! The slightest respite would be an eternity of bliss; when one crawls for weeks in mud, rats, hunger, cold, and terrifying solitude, like a ghost roaming the trenches, the first flower is an oak tree where gold buds.

We have been stopped a few kilometers east of Meaux for two weeks now, near Vendrest. Our trench, as it was thought to be temporary, was dug in a hurry, and although it has been extended, widened and, I hear, arranged as much as possible since then, it reeks of death. Up there, it's even worse. I have only been out three times, never to fight, following the orders of an officer, but I dread the moment when we must go out, so desolate is the landscape. It is black land, ripped open on all sides, littered with the last rotting bodies that no one dares to bring back, constantly clouded by the nauseating smoke of the enemy's weapons. If one dares to look at the horizon, without averting one's eyes or plunging back into the comforting misery of the trench, one can make out, four hundred meters further on, a German trench, identical to ours, beyond the night and the sandbags. Between the two is a sooty hell that belongs to no one.

An offensive is planned for next week. I write it in this journal, although I shouldn't, as it might fall into the wrong hands, because, as I write the date of the new dawn every day, it allows me to keep track of time, count the days, and not go mad. The most fearsome monster here is not hunger or thirst, nor the fear of a night attack, nor the shells that whistle in the ears all day long, but boredom. Days and nights are the same, the eyes see neither light nor darkness, neither stars nor the Sun, nothing but soil, dead roots, and earthworms. So I allow myself this summary calendar that I cling to, and I have no desire to die, but I get every day more and more the terrible impression that nothing will pull us out of here, except the coup de grace.

I do my best not to think about home or Christmas because all I remember eating this week were a few cans of rancid peaches and hard bread, and the aroma of the roasted chicken reaches me from the corners of my memory and could be enough to kill me. In these moments, the images of the village and Mathilde, my beautiful angel, far from alleviating the soul, are like a gadfly that must be chased away with the back of the hand.

And yet, untiring, it comes back to bite, and I keep thinking of Christmas."

tagging; @lxncelot @missameliep

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