#it has been long enough I am DONE with this bullshit I’d like to go back to climbing the walls (of the climbing gym)

[problemeule]

at the “kind of want to throw myself down onto the floor and have a tantrum bc I can’t stand the taste of my medicinal tea anymore” of being sick

[cuubism]

The thing is.

Hob understands that Dream cannot be hurt easily. He is an ancient, powerful, nonhuman being. Hob has, in fact, heard a story from Matthew about when some foolish human wannabe-magician had attempted to stab him when Dream had gone to retrieve a spell book that had slipped from the Dreaming library. According to Matthew, the knife had simply gone through his chest like he was made of smoke and left no mark at all.

(Hob still wishes he had been there. He’d have snapped the guy’s arm. Or worse.)

Barring luck and a magical binding, like what happened with Roderick Burgess, Dream can’t be hurt by mortal means. Hob understands this. Hell, he can hardly be hurt by supernatural means either. Only a few very powerful beings would be able to manage it, or else the very laws that govern his existence, coming down upon his head.

The thing also is.

Dream bruises so easily.

Sometimes.

Like now, when Dream is actually limping across the floor of the Inn. Long coat, which usually does not come with him to the waking world, wrapped tight around him. A dark bruise blooms along his cheekbone. Hob doesn’t understand how it’s possible. It shouldn’t be, not when Dream can take a knife to the heart like it’s a gust of wind, but the fact of the matter is that it is possible, apparently. And so Hob’s got to do something about it.

He meets Dream halfway across the room, braces him by the arms. “Jesus, Dream. Are you hurt?” Well, evidently he is. “How badly?”

“I told him he should stay home and rest,” grumbles Matthew from where he’s hopping along the floor at Dream’s side. Hob hadn’t even seen him there, he’d been so focused on Dream. The fact that Matthew’s not even riding on Dream’s shoulder is not a good sign.

“I did not want to miss our meeting,” Dream says. Which is a hell of a thing.

“Come upstairs, then,” Hob says, and doesn’t quite realize he’s grabbed Dream’s arm and is right pulling him along until he’s already done it. But Dream just follows him. Matthew follows, too, which, again, is not making Hob feel confident about Dream not being too badly injured.

“What happened?” Hob asks, as he sits Dream down on the couch, perching carefully at his side.

“A minor altercation,” says Dream.

“He was thrown into a wall,” says Matthew. “The wall cracked, by the way.”

Hob winces in sympathy. “Thrown by who? Or… what?”

Dream says, “It’s of no consequence.”

Matthew says, “I don’t know, but it had a lot of limbs.”

Hob’s kind of glad Matthew’s here as bullshit translator right now.

“How badly were you hurt?” he asks again. Not badly enough to keep him from traveling, evidently, but badly enough that he is limping. As a measly little human, Hob might find himself limping for a while just by twisting his ankle going down the stairs— but he does not like that intersection of facts when it’s someone like Dream.

“I am fine,” says Dream, and then winces as he shifts his weight on the couch.

“Bullshit,” say Hob and Matthew simultaneously, after which Matthew adds, “Uh, I mean, bullshit, your lordship.”

Dream slants a reproving glance over at him, then back to Hob. “Can I see?” Hob asks, more gently. “I’d like to help. If I can.”

Gingerly, Dream shrugs his long robe off his shoulders. Underneath, he’s wearing his usual black t-shirt, and at Hob’s urging he pulls that off over his head, too, though evidently with some pain. His chest and stomach seem uninjured, the unnaturally pale and smooth skin is still just that, unnaturally pale and smooth— so Hob tugs on his shoulder. “Can I see your back?”

Dream turns, and Hob tries not to think too hard about Dream doing his bidding like that—it’s tender and troubling and arousing all at once, and he’s definitely not going to think about that last bit—and sucks in a breath.

His back is a map of bruises, nebulae arcing over his shoulders and the nape of his neck, curling down over his spine like a coiled dragon. Dream bruises prettily, even like this, periwinkle and dusk blue, the purple of sunset clouds. Another reminder of how Night, too, lives within him.

“I told you,” Matthew says, hopping up onto the back of the couch by Hob’s shoulder.

Dream makes a grumbling sound, but doesn’t deny him this time.

Hob traces a light hand along his shoulder blade and the deep, spilled-watercolor of the bruise there. Thrown into a wall, Matthew had said. Ouch.

Dream shivers at the touch, and Hob says, tentative, “Do you usually bruise like that, love?”

He’s seen it before, though not this bad. Lines of strain on Dream’s hands. A red, banded mark on his arm on one of the few occasions he’d taken his coat off in Hob’s presence. He wants to hear it from Dream, though.

Dream says, tentative now, hunched on the couch like a wounded physical thing rather than what he is, “I… suppose.”

Sitting only in his tight jeans and boots, hair a mess, the mark on his cheek makes him look hunted. Hob touches that too, with light fingertips. Dream leans into his hand with a little sigh, and… oh. That’s something.

“Hey, he got the shit kicked out of him like a few days ago and just walked away like it was nothing,” Matthew complains, as if Dream’s I suppose answer is ridiculous. “And then obliterated the other guy, too.”

“Sorry, when was this?” Hob is still holding Dream’s cheek, but Dream doesn’t turn further to meet his eyes. “Why are you getting beaten up all the time, exactly?”

He’s not Dream’s minder. He’s not. He’s not. Hob forces himself to remember that fact.

“In my absence many have forgotten the might and sanctity of the Dreaming,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken there’s a little whining petulance in his tone which is… endearing, almost. “Other realms have become… impudent. Entitled. I am simply. Reminding them to show respect. Sometimes physical conflict is necessary.”

Hob sighs. “Well, Your Majesty, maybe it’s time to take a break from the ritual dueling, yeah?”

“…Perhaps,” Dream says, which is as much of an agreement as Hob ever gets.

He supposes he’ll take perhaps. Though the more he thinks about it, the more distressing it is to imagine Dream going around getting hurt. Even if he thinks he’s doing it for some important cause.

“Well, there’s not much I can do for these right now,” Hob says, and can’t keep the concern out of his voice. “Other than letting them heal on their own.”

“I see,” says Dream, and if Hob’s not mistaken his voice is small. And he reaches for his shirt, and—

“Hey.” Hob grabs his wrist. Dream freezes. “That doesn’t mean you have to leave?” He hates that it comes out as a question.

Dream wavers. Then he says, “Matthew.”

It’s loaded with more than just Matthew’s name. An order. Matthew squawks indignantly. “Boss! Come on. You’re really gonna send me back like that? When you’re like this?”

Dream just looks at him.

Matthew sighs, fluttering his wings. “Fine. Have your special private time, then.”

Special private time, Hob mouths to himself.

Matthew lifts his wings for takeoff. “You better not send him back with more bruises, Hobert.”

“Excuse me?”

Then he’s gone, winging out a window that Hob hadn’t realized was open. Maybe it wasn’t a moment ago. Who knows.

Dream looks after him, and sighs with real fatigue. “His insolence only grows.”

“Special private time?” Hob says, and Dream glances at him, and then away.

“He is under the impression that you are my…” he says, and trails off.

Oh. Well.

They’re not like that. But.

But?

Dream looks despondent now, staring off into the corner of the flat, back still turned to Hob’s chest. Hob’s become certain that he wants something, he came here for something, not just to make their usual meeting time… but he still doesn’t know what.

Probably he should ask. Not that that ever works with Dream. Probably he should anyway.

Instead he presses his lips to the curve of Dream’s shoulder, where the bruise is deepest blue.

Dream shudders, and then goes slack in his grip, his shoulders caving. “Hob…”

“Is that what you wanted?” Hob says against his skin. He can’t believe he’s doing this. He can’t believe Dream is letting him. “Does it hurt very badly? Is that helping?”

“It…” Dream muses, and sighs. “Is. Helping.”

Hob takes Dream’s chin between his fingers and turns his face enough that he can kiss his cheek, over the horrible sprawled mark of the bruise. Dream’s eyes flutter shut. He braces a hand on Hob’s thigh as he twists back to lean into Hob’s touch. Hob could use his grip to turn his head further and kiss him properly, he thinks, with a trip in his chest. Dream’s lips are right there, soft and open.

Instead, he leans his head on the back of Dream’s neck. Lets his hands fall to Dream’s bare waist, lips brushing his skin as he says, “You don’t… really bruise, do you?”

Dream still has his head tipped back; Hob’s hair brushes his cheek. “It affects you to see it,” he says quietly.

“Of course it does,” Hob says, equally hushed now. “I hate seeing you hurt.”

“Even,” says Dream, almost tentative, “if I am not truly hurt?”

“You are hurt,” Hob says, and finally draws the strength to lift his head from Dream’s neck. Dream is still looking at him, over his shoulder. His eyes are very dark in the dim light, rimmed red, he looks soft and fragile as a flower petal and Hob would do anything for him. “You were thrown into a wall by ‘something with a lot of limbs’, after all.”

Dream huffs. “Matthew exaggerates.”

“It’s okay if you want it to matter,” Hob tells him. That’s what it is, isn’t it? “To… be seen.” He slides his hand over Dream’s where it still rests on his thigh, twines their fingers together. A flicker of stillness runs through Dream’s body, the way a human’s breath might catch. Hob thinks he might pull away.

Instead he yields, and Hob exhales hard, a breath that had coiled far too tight in his lungs unwinding. Dream caves into him, and Hob wraps his arms around him, pulls him close, kisses the curve of his shoulder and watches a bruise disappear in the echo of that touch.

“Just wanted a hug after a rough day, in the end?” Hob says, and Dream huffs again as if such a desire is offending even to imply. He doesn’t move away though.

“Is it that easy for you?” Dream’s face is close enough that his hair brushes Hob’s temple as he speaks.

“And what if it is?” What if Hob had wanted to hug him when he first spoke of his imprisonment, and held back, and still regrets it? And what if it’s so easy to fall into it now? To slip into a world, this world where he can pull Dream into his arms, like he’s wading into the ocean for the first time, into foreign currents powerful beyond imagining but primordially known. Resonant as a familiar dream.

In some sense it would be accurate to say that Hob has known Dream all his life—he is, after all, dreams. But Hob doesn’t think of his friend as dreams. Maybe it’s a limitation of his human mind not to see the endless scale of the picture. But when he thinks of Dream, he doesn’t think of all of life or anything like that.

Instead, he goes back to their meeting in 1689. When Dream had thought he might no longer want to live, and Hob swore he saw a tear nearly break that usually stern countenance. Hob had always been fascinated by him, but he thinks that was the first moment he really saw him, beyond the cloak of distance and fantasy Dream liked to wrap around himself.

He’d like to think that Dream saw him then, too.

That’s the Dream he thinks of. The Dream he’d like to say he knows. The person, not the incomprehensible entity that Dream sees himself as. An incomprehensible entity can take a knife through the chest and dissipate around it like smoke, but not a person.

“If it is,” says Dream, pulling back to properly look at him, “then perhaps I might… impose.”

He looks so… cautiously hopeful. How can he not know already? “You think it’s possible for you to impose?”

“Imposition is easy,” says Dream, quietly. Hob lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and at the same time, as if of the same mind, Dream leans in and fits his face to Hob’s palm, eyes falling shut again.

He looks so gaunt now, with his bruised cheek and shadowed eyes, sharp collarbones and the swooping curves of his ribs. Hob had thought it had gotten better since his imprisonment, but now he’s not so sure. Maybe it’s just that without the shielding of his shirt, and his robe, he looks smaller than Hob’s used to thinking of him, and angular and fragile. He’s still so impossibly beautiful, delicate like a tree glazed in post-storm ice.

It makes Hob feel unexpectedly bold. His heart trips over, but he leans in and kisses the corner of Dream’s mouth.

Dream makes a quiet, surprised sound. Turns his head, blind, seeking, and then their lips connect properly.

When Hob had let himself imagine the possibility of kissing Dream, he had seen a force of nature. His friend would kiss with the chill of the rain that night he’d left Hob standing behind the White Horse. With the encompassing darkness of the night sky. The full experience of him would be overpowering and that was okay, because even a taste of him had already turned the course of Hob’s life.

But this Dream caves. Tips his head back in Hob’s hand, opens his mouth under Hob’s. Stiffness bleeds from him, regality flees him, and what Hob has left in his hands is a soft, horribly bruised thing leaning in for a deeper kiss.

So he kisses Dream deeper. Swipes his tongue into Dream’s mouth. He tastes slightly metallic, like he might have bitten his tongue and bled, were he human, and he makes a soft sound as Hob breaks the kiss for an unfortunate but necessary breath.

He keeps Dream close, hand to his cheek. Dream, eyes still closed, says, “A kiss just to comfort me, Hob?”

It hurts, just a little, that he thinks so. “How about a kiss just because I wanted to kiss you? You really think I’m more selfless than I am.”

Dream chuckles. “I see.”

Finally, he opens his eyes to look at Hob again properly. He looks tentatively happy now, it’s there in the slight crease at the corners of his eyes, the little spark that’s returned to them. Hob’s heart swells to see it, to think that he could do that.

“What then,” says Dream, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, “would you do… selfishly?”

“Same thing,” says Hob, and kisses him again. Dream hums into it this time, pleased. “And tell you to bring me with you next time you’re asserting your dominance around the galaxy or whatever.”

“Why?”

“There’s some guys I want to throw into walls,” Hob says.

Dream huffs, but Hob thinks he looks secretly pleased. “I am not certain ‘guys’ is an accurate description.”

“You think just because the fifteen-armed thing is a lady that I won’t—”

And Dream actually laughs, a startled choking laugh. “Your definition of chivalry is—” he gathers himself— “appalling.”

“Take it or leave it, Your Majesty,” Hob says, grinning. Nothing feels better than getting a rare laugh out of Dream.

Mirth sparkles in Dream’s eyes. “I will take it,” he says, turning his head to kiss Hob’s palm, “of course. When you offer me haven and defense both, how can I not?”

Hob presses his kissed palm back to Dream’s cheek, over the dark bruise there, watching it start to fade. “Bring me your bruises, darling,” he says, “and I’ll protect you.”

Dream leans back in, and rests his forehead against Hob’s. He doesn’t need to ask for another hug. Hob just wraps his arms around him, and lets Dream’s contented sigh be its own question, and answer, at once.

[its-been-rose]

Yall roleswap au but Marie and Henry switch places during the final confrontation

Like Forrest still gets trapped in the producer booth but Marie strolls in, maybe knocks down a speaker or upturns the couch, saunters over to the recording booth and hits the “Press 4 Peggy” button, turning the microphone to herself.

Forrest: Dawn.

Marie: *does the single finger at a time wave* Forrest. I’ll be honest, you don’t look how I expected you would. Not bad.

Forrest: I don’t have time for your bullshit, Dawn. Where’s Peggy?

Marie: ugh, temper, temper. We’ll get to her later. For now, I thought we could end tonight’s Whistling Man special with a special guest.

Forrest: you?

Marie: *laughing* no. If my timing is right, you should be getting a call coming in any minute now.

Forrest: just what the hell are you- what? The board… it’s a call?

Marie: *absolutely done being nice* answer it.

Teddy: LET ME GO, YOU SON OF A BITCH! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!

Henry: *heavy breathing*

Marie: welcome to the air, Mr. Teddy Gallows Junior.

Forrest: so there WERE two. That’s how you’ve been getting around so fast!

Marie: aren’t you a clever boy.

Henry: *loud breathing*

Teddy: you son of a bitch, your breathing is too god damn loud I can’t hear a word they’re saying!

Marie: DONT yell at him, or I’ll have him slit you ear to ear. It’s okay, honey, you can remove your mask now. Poor thing, no wonder Mooney went crazy wearing these.

Henry: *muffled scuffle noises*

Teddy: it’s… just a kid! Wait, hang on, you look familiar somehow. Kind of like this girl I used to know twenty years ago…

Marie: I’m back, Teddy.

Teddy: Marie?! Marie Campbell?! It really IS you! Boy, it sure has been years since I heard your-

*Henry kicks the shit out of him*

Teddy: WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!

Marie: he doesn’t like kissasses.

Forrest: wait. If you’re… George’s girlfriend… then… who is that with Teddy right now?! What do they have to do with any of this?

Marie: Forrest Nash, let me introduce you, and all of Gallows Creek, to my boy, Henry Barrow.

Forrest: Hello, Henry.

Teddy: ow!

Marie: don’t mind him. he’s shy.

Forrest: what do you want, Marie?!

Marie: *examining her knife* well, since you did such a good job in piecing together everything that’s happened, I want your help in revealing what really happened that night twenty years ago.

Forrest: meaning?

Marie: I want you to interview us.

Forrest: and if I say no?

Marie: *tosses her knife in the air and catches it* *clicks her tongue and shakes her head* guess that’s a wrap on Forrest Nash, then.

Teddy: you bitch! What makes you think I’ll play along?

Teddy: OW!

Marie: seems like you found a good enough reason on your own.

<the interview is pretty much unchanged, with the added visual of Marie physically turning around and holding the desk when she gets too upset to answer>

Peggy: *getting closer* MARIE?! MARIE- huh?!

Marie: honey, put your auntie on the phone for me, please.

Peggy: GET OFF ME-

Forrest: PEGGY!

Marie: Peggy… it’s me…

Peggy: Marie?! Where are you?! Are you okay?!

Marie: I’m better than I’ve been in a long time, Peg. Your good friend Forrest has been keeping me company. For now.

Peggy: what- I don’t-

Marie: frankly im a bit sad you forgot my voice… I called up so many times hoping you’d remember…

Peggy: you… you were Dawn… that’s… that’s why you asked us to play that song…

Marie: good to talk to you again, Peggy.

Peggy: Marie, what happened to you?! You just disappeared one day and-

Marie: disappeared?! I was thrown out! I begged mom and dad to do something about what happened that night. But did they care? No. They told me to stay quiet. They only cared when they learned I’d been with George, and then…

Peggy: thrown out?! I don’t understand-

Marie: does the handsome young man in the dark trenchcoat look familiar to you?

(Optional teddy line here: familiar?! He’s your spitting image!)

Peggy: he’s…. Oh my God, Marie…. I’m so sorry.

Marie: it’s not your fault.

(The rest of the dialogue basically remains the same)

(If Peggy dies, Marie briefly drops to the floor before picking herself up.)

Yall sometimes I do cook okay

[mugram]

[opens door, Es enters]

Es: Good afternoon, prisoner–

: I even came later than I was needed to.

: Eh?

Masaru: [impatient tapping before he turns around] Finally, you’re here. Took you long enough.

: What kind of Warden doesn’t even come on time?!

Es: Hah–?

: Well, you think you’re the one with all the power here, do you?

: You’re just the prisoner. I’m the Warden.

Masaru: [scoffs] I never said that.

: You should’ve come on time.

: I would’ve left if you didn’t come in.

Masaru: [laughs] You think you I’d be bossed around by some, what, 17-year-old. Fuck off!

Es: !

: Prisoner number 2, take a seat or I’ll have to use force.

[running]

[pained scream as noises play]

Es: So, that’s what J…

Masaru: Damn it!! Why can’t I hit you– [slap]

: Gah– [stumble]

Es: Prisoner number 2, Masaru, I need you to sit down or I’ll have to make you endure more of that.

Masaru: …

: [chair creaks] Fine.

Es: Now then, let's begin. MUGRAM exists to reveal the sins of all the prisoners here. In order for me to decide, we need to talk.

Masaru: Just talk? I would’ve expected more from this place considering we’ve all been magically transported here and wearing whatever the fuck these uniforms are.

Es: You’ll understand more of the process later.

Masaru: Fine.

Masaru: Well, I would’ve thought a prison would let their prisoners talk to someone outside the prison.

: Do I even get to talk to anyone else?

Es: Why would you talk to anyone else?

: You’re all murderers.

: But, it seems like we aren’t given that ability here.

Es: …

: Why must I tell everyone this… 

: Now, I need to know something about you, Masaru.

: This prison is unlike any other.

: Certain things don’t apply to this place.

Masaru: Tch. Alright. My name is Iwai Masaru, 19. Turning 20 soon.

Es: …Am I allowed to know anything else about you? Like your occupation?

Masaru: Does it matter to you how I make money? Leave me the fuck alone, Warden.

: I want out. [stands up]

: I’m done with this stupid interrogation.

Es: We’re doing this interrogation whether you like it or not.

Es: [slams table] You aren’t done with anything, prisoner!

Masaru: !

: What?

Masaru: No, we aren’t– [restraints tighten, wheeze]

: Warden– 

: [Masaru falls to the floor]

Masaru: Warden– what is this?

Es: !

: Masaru–

: I can’t move–

Es: …

: I didn’t expect–

: J never said–

Masaru: Please– I’ll fucking listen– Just let me move–

Es: Ah– Okay.

[restraints loosen and Masaru scrambles over to the seat]

: How has your time in MUGRAM been like so far?

Masaru: …It’s fine. Everyone’s a bit annoying, I guess. There’s not much to do except walk around and talk. No one has interesting enough stories for me to listen to, so I’m bored.

Masaru: You can–

: Hey, could we get something to do?

Es: Yes, you can request it.

: …

: I don’t think anyone’s been telling me that. Thanks.

Es: ?

: No problem, I guess.

: Now, what did you do before–

Masaru: Can I make a bet with you, Warden?

Es: …A bet?

Masaru: I’m bored and no one else seems to want to take me up on my offer.

Es: You are in no condition to make–

Masaru: Shut. Up.

: I was thinking… If I told you what I did, I bet that you think I’m guilty or not forgiven or whatever bullshit terms you use.

: So, guess what? I’m gonna tell you a few things.

: And, you tell me, right now, what you think.

Es: I can’t tell you my decision before your extraction–

Masaru: Well, it’s the terms of the bet, so tell me.

: Are you going all in?

Es: [huffs] Damn you, Masaru.

: Fine, let’s play.

Masaru: Alright. It’s my turn, then isn’t it?

: Let’s see.

: I like doing this little thing to get money.

: It’s like a dare game that I play with friends.

: It was pretty fun, I gotta say. [laughs]

Es: So, what I’m hearing is…

: And, if we completed it, we’d win and get money if some people decided that we wouldn’t do it or complete it or whatever.

: Eh, it’s basically like a bet game, what am I saying?

: Your motive for murder was greed?

Masaru: What–? No, I wouldn’t do that–!

: You failed your bet and lost all your money.

: Out of a fit of rage, you killed them. You needed that money back and you’d do whatever it takes–

: I’m not that fuckin’ greedy.

: I’m telling you I did nothing wrong.

: I just played by the terms of the bet.

[mechanical noises]

Es: So, it’s time for your extraction.

: I’m simply doing my job.

Masaru: Eh? The thing about taking our deepest thoughts and putting on display?

: Isn’t that invasive or something?

Es: In MUGRAM, finding out the truth behind your murder through your private thoughts isn’t invasive.

: And, it’s my turn to prove your guilt, isn’t it? All in, as you say.

Masaru: Hah… That’s not even how you say it…

Es: Any last words before we continue into this?

Masaru: …

: I’m still willing to wager my innocence.

Es: Fine then.

: Prisoner Number 2, Masaru. Sing your sins!

MUSIC VIDEO - Ace of Spades

[skyewritesstuff]

all too well (stan's version)

my masterlist.

entry 3 in my (taylor’s version) songfic series.

summary:  you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would've been fine...and that made me want to die.

pairing: post-covid!stan marsh x younger!reader

fandom: south park

warnings:  oh god. toxic relationship. toxic age-gap relationship (20s/50s). domestic violence (throwing things). language. afab reader.

notes: based on all too well (10 minute version), the song and the short film, by taylor swift. this has been beta read, and fun fact, this is the first fic i've written that got a perfect score in grammarly. it has been beta read. :)

word count: 2.9k

“If we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine.”

That was the moment that set you off. It was like a match was lit and dropped into a brush pile doused in kerosene. It simultaneously made you want to rip your skin from your bones and scream in agony, but also retaliate towards the older man standing in front of you…so that’s exactly what you did.

“You burned down your family’s farm. You killed your sister and your mom, and you ruined your own life just like you fucking ruined me! You told me you loved me. You took my virginity. You told me you wanted to marry me and now you’re saying our ages are a problem? That’s bullshit, Stan and you know it.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my house. We’re done. Go find you some guy your age that can drink to tolerate your batshit crazy ass, because my body has built too high of a tolerance to even be able to get buzzed enough to be around you. I’d rather go back to using my hand on the nightly basis than listen to you scream and cry at me like a fucking kid.”

You held it together despite internally wanting to crumble. You wanted to fall to your knees and sob and beg him to stay and beg him to love you, because despite everything, you still loved him.

“Fine.” You walked over to the counter and grabbed your belongings and your keys before turning to head out of the door. You then turned around and faced him, “That’s the funny part about all of this, Stan. My age is a problem now? Cool, fine, because you know what? Years will pass and I’ll get older…but your little girlfriends, side pieces, and fuckbuddies? They’ll all stay my age.”

With that, you walked out and slammed the door, heading to your car and exiting his driveway quicker than you’d ever pulled out of a location in your life. You tried to hold your tears in as you drove, but they started quickly pouring out and didn’t stop until you found yourself sitting on the floor of the shower in your apartment hours later

The water falling from the shower head had started running cold a long while ago. You couldn’t tell if you were still shaking from the tears or from the cold drops that fell onto your bare skin, but you pulled your knees in closer to your chest as you sat there overwhelmed by everything. This wasn’t your first fight with Stan. Things were never fully stable. He’d gotten mad at you when you asked him why he dropped your hand and stepped in front of you when a tall woman with black hair and glasses approached him at the class reunion that he’d invited you to.

“You dropped my fucking hand! What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I didn’t even fucking notice. What are you talking about I ‘dropped your hand’?” 

You shuddered again at the memory as it kept playing on in your mind as if you couldn’t shut it off even though you desperately wanted to.

“They are all older than me.”

“But like, what are you talking about?”

“I feel so out of place. You’re the only one that makes people comfortable.”

“You’re making this about you.”

“They won’t even look at me!”

You finally mustered up the strength to stand up, get out of the shower, and wrap yourself in a towel. It was removed the moment you dried off enough to put on your pajamas, consisting of one of Stan’s t-shirts and a pair of athletic shorts. Your heart ached as the cotton fabric went over your head and onto your body, hanging loosely on your frame.

You hadn’t even bothered to tell anyone what’d happened. You hadn’t from the start, so why start now. Your friends would be sympathetic and supportive, but you also knew of some friends, but more so family, that would be telling you ‘I told you so’. 

Your mother had warned you from the beginning, telling you that he had no business being with someone that was young enough to be his daughter regardless of whether or not you were both consenting adults, which had been your main defense all along. He was able to connect with your dad on sports, alcohol, and music and had even made the connection that they might have played each other in football in high school. That thought made you feel a little uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough for you to see the concerns that even your dad silently harbored about this relationship.

You shook your head, drying the ends of your hair with a towel before curing up to lay down on your side, feeling ashamed and embarrassed that you’d even let this go on for as long as you had. There were so many signs and you’d missed them all, wearing what you could only describe as rose tinted glasses to see the world through the lens of the hope of true love.

You stayed on your side, curled up, until you glanced at the alarm clock to see the time. It was then that you were brought back to a few months prior, naked and curled up on your side in his bed as he pulled you into his chest. You felt dirty and ashamed. It was one thing for you to use your body to stop an argument and to pose a distraction from harsh words and glass bottles being thrown around, but it was another for him to go along with it. You wanted him to not take you up on your offer, coming to you with the proposition to talk about the problem at hand instead of just fucking to forget. The memory made you feel sick to your stomach…they all did.

The only thing that hurt worse than the bad memories were the ones that radiated any glimmer of hope into the spiral of your relationship. You baked cookies together at one in the morning all because you just wanted to. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you mixed the ingredients and got them prepared and hoisted you onto the counter to kiss you while you waited for the oven timer to go off. He told you all about his childhood…from his friends to the farm…information you’d never think of sharing, let alone weaponizing. You told him about yours and how you’d always dreamed of falling madly in love, getting married, and having children as to drop some kind of hint to him. He told you he loved you not even a week later when he’d come over to spend the evening with you, but the kiss that followed tasted of whiskey, planting the seed of doubt in your heart that you’d work hard to push back down every time you said those three words to him.

The good did not outweigh the bad, but your mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that someone could be that kind only to be so cruel. How could someone love you and then destroy you with such simplicity? Unless, they never loved you at all. You shook your head, trying to shake the thought out of the forefront of your mind. That could never be the case, but what if it was?

You were jarred from your thoughts by the sound of not knocking, but pounding on your door. You jumped, unsettled by the noise. You walked to the door, peering through the peephole only to see Stan standing on your doormat, partially slumped over on the door, using his closed fist to pound on the door. He apologized, begging you to answer the door through slurred words all because he loves you and he made a mistake.

You opened the door and Stan all but fell inside, stumbling and grabbing a hold of a coat rack and your arm. Several items fell off of the coat rack as he picked himself up. You rolled your eyes watching him scramble to pick them up out of the floor, almost falling again.

“Just leave it.” You replied coldly.

“N-No, I did this…I fucked it up like I fuck up everything else.” he handed you a beanie and a hoodie and you took it into your arms with a deep sigh of frustration.

His hand landed on a red knit infinity scarf. He picked it up and took a good look at it. “You had this on when we went to see Shelley and mom. I-It matched the flowers.”

You took a hard swallow, pursing your lips, “Yeah…” Your mind went back to the red carnations Stan placed on his sister and his mother’s graves that day. Regardless of his behavior, you couldn’t help but pity him when it came to his family. It was a tragedy and there wasn’t anyone that could deny that.

Once you hung the articles back on the rack, you turned to Stan, who was leaning on the wall for support. He was more than obviously drunk, per usual. You cursed the availability of self-driving cars, but you doubt deep-down that his drunken state would’ve kept him from getting behind the wheel to try and keep you entrapped considering it was something that would ultimately benefit him. Despite his self-deprecating behaviors, Stan was the love of his own life. He was his own number one and there was no one that could knock him out of that position short of the bottle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “What do you want, Stanley? You told me to get out of your house and that we were done.”

“I-I know…but…I couldn’t…I couldn’t let you leave. I love you, Y/N. I love you and need you, baby.” he slurred, reaching for you. You took a step back and rolled your eyes as he continued, “Alexa told me I needed to stay away from you, but I just can’t. I can’t do that. She told me to stay away from ‘that little girl’ and to find someone my own age, but I told her that you’re a woman and you’re mature. It’s fine. You know that, right? I’m not…I’m not worried about your age.”

You blinked, perplexed by his statements considering what he’d said earlier, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Remember when Kyle said he didn’t know I had a daughter, but it wasn’t my daughter, it was you?”

“Yeah, and I remember your other friend stopping me at the bar telling me I needed to run too.”

The whole reunion felt like a fever dream, but the comments made by Kyle, as well as the man at the bar…a taller man with dark hair and tanned skin who was holding the hand of his husband who also looked at you with deep concern etched onto his features…stuck with you. You knew by their impact that you shouldn’t have let them go, but instead, you forced them to the back of your mind every time they’d reappear. You’d remind yourself that these people no longer knew Stan, because it’d been decades since their school years. The presence of a freshly twenty-something year old on the arm of a fifty-year old was everything an outsider needed to know about Stan Marsh.

“That’s a good idea…let’s run…let’s go to Vegas…let’s get married. I love you and I want you to stay with me.” he begged, this time dropping to his knees.

“Get up, Stan. This is ridiculous.” You said, extending a hand to help him up. He stood back up and walked closer towards you, putting his hands on your waist. Tears were welled up in his eyes and his face was flushed. You couldn’t tell if this was from the heat of the whiskey, emotion, or his history of having a sensitive stomach in times of high stress.

“I'm so sorry.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. His lips lingered near yours and your chest tightened. Your love for the man in front of you was doing its best to fight off the anger and sorrow you were feeling as if you hadn’t been down this road before. This was a normal occurrence even if it wasn’t in the presence of a potential break up. Every fight ended like this. He’d get drunk, apologize, kiss you, fuck you, and then wake up the next day hungover. The fight would be long since forgotten.

“I can’t do this, Stan.” Your voice cracked, “I love you, but I can’t do this.”

“But you love me.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.” You spoke plainly, gently putting your hands on his chest to slowly push him away. Your stomach turned a little, knowing his past history of violence. He’d never hit you, but any nearby object was fair game to be tossed through the air in your general direction. You didn’t trust him not to hit you, and that should’ve been another red flag, but it also went ignored.

“But…”

“You took my virginity when we were both drunk. You lied about my age at the reunion until someone told you there was no way I was almost thirty. You’re basically unemployed. You drink all day and half-ass your job to the point where you lose clients quicker than you make money.” The more you spoke, the more the anger began to rise as you recalled all of the things you’d been ignoring for so long, “You’ve thrown full glass bottles of whiskey at me. You’ve thrown long neck bottles, shot glasses…basically anything you can drink your sorrows away in has been thrown my way on top of your phone, my fucking water bottle…anything with weight to it. You ruined my twenty-first by not showing up to my party and blacking out drunk in your own fucking bedroom, which made my parents hate you…”

“Your parents love me!” The rest of your points going ignored again.

“You really are oblivious as fuck, aren’t you? I’m dying inside, Stan. I can’t fucking doing this anymore. You have ruined me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be myself again. You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine…but I don’t even think you could hold a relationship with someone your own age. If Wendy wasn’t married, you would’ve left me that night and moved on to ruin her too…but I don’t think she would’ve given you the opportunity…because admittedly, she’s not young and fucking stupid like me.” You pursed your lips, taking a breath, “You couldn’t manipulate her the way you do me…the way you did me…because we’re done, Stanley.”

He looked at you, eyes glazed over, his brain taking longer to process what you’d said due to his state of intoxication.

“I loved you and I tried to be there for you. I tried to create a safe space, because fuck, no one’s done it for you for the last fifty some years and I thought you deserved it…but you just took advantage of it.” You said, shaking your head, “I hope one day you find everything you’re missing. I hope you go to rehab, because you need it. I hope you make peace with your father, because you need that too.”

“Fuck Randy. I fucking hate Randy. He’s…”

“He’s your dad and sure he’s fucked up over the years, but it’s not like you’re some saint either. You both have made mistakes. Go to therapy, get your shit together, and go find happiness…with someone who isn’t me…and is closer to your own age.” 

Tears had started to stream down your face rapidly and you hadn’t noticed. He stepped closer and reached up to wipe your tears away. You shook your head, reaching up to wipe them off yourself.

“I’ll go with you out to your car and program it to take you back home, but after that, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You nodded, “I do…and I’d normally say that I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I am.”

“I thought we were made for each other.” he paused, “Maybe another time…in another life?”

You shrugged. The sentiment was nice. It was pleasant to think about, but it was sadly not a reality. It was doubtful that your lives would ever cross again and it was unlikely that he’d change. In another life, maybe, but that wasn’t something you were even sure existed.

“I don’t know, Stan.” You said, wrapping your arms around your midriff.

“I love you.”

You didn’t say anything. You opened the door and motioned for him to follow you. On your way out, the red of the scarf hanging from the coat rack caught your eye. For a brief second, your hand reached up to take it, debating on dropping the knit accessory in the back seat of his car. You knew that this would just enable Stan to try and contact you again and begin this cycle in a never-ending loop like the article of clothing itself.

You wordlessly followed Stan to his car, programming it to drive him back to his home before helping him into his seat and closing the door. You backed up, watching the car start to pull out of the lot and head down the street as he exited your life for good.

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well…

[h0nkch0c0late]

OKAY, hii!! i just saw your arthur ketch post so here i am with a request!<33

i’d like to ask for an angst with ketch, but without any character dying?? like, i want my heart to break but not because of a death

it can be some kind of an argument or unrequited love, whatever, but i feel like crying while reading lmao

thank you so much!!<33

Thanks for the request @pinchofhoney ! Angst is my speciality <3

ALL OUTTA LOVE

Arthur ketch x Reader

Summary: Your relationship with Ketch used to be solid until one day he got up and left. Now, here you are, helping the Winchesters. Despite Ketch's rendezvous with Mary, his heart still longed for you. But you can't seem to say that you feel the same.

‐----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Meeting him like...this.

But here you are, sitting at the table in the bunker, beer in hand as you stare at the man who marched down the stairs like he wasn't hated by the Winchester brothers.

The same man who left you without a word. No goodbye, no note, nothing.

And yet, he has the audacity to stare at you with wide eyes, a surprised yet happy smile painting his lips as if he had just found his lost love.

In his eyes, he did, and he was absolutely speechless. But the furrowed eyebrows and narrowed eyes did not go unoticed by him as the woman before him took a swig of her beer, her eyes never leaving him.

"It's been quite a while, hasn't it?" Ketch broke the silence with a small chuckle.

You didn't laugh. Instead, you gave him a cold response, "what are you doing here, Ketch?"

His growing smile turned into a frown. He understood why you were acting so rude, considering he left you without a word, but the lack of empathy behind your eyes hurt him more than he'd like to admit.

"Just... here to talk to the brothers Winchester, is all. Are they here?" He asked, beginning to feel nervous due to your unwavering angry gaze.

Without skipping a beat, you answered him, "no, they're out right now. What'd you need them for?"

"Well, the British Men of letters-"

"No." You stated, taking another swig of your beer.

Ketch was taken aback, "I wasn't finished-"

"You want them to join you. Your whole thing is getting them to join you, just like you convinced their mother. It's not gonna happen, Ketch." You stated, suddenly uninterested in finishing the alcohol in your hand.

He felt his heart almost crack. At the moment, he didn't understand why. It was the fact that you had called him by his last name, just like everybody else. You had never done that before, and yet this was the second time that day you had.

He began to walk closer to you, and the way you slightly flinched did not go unnoticed by him.

"Look, you have to understand why I left..." He began, pulling a chair to sit in and face you.

You shook your head, "No, i understand now. You chose your work over me, Ketch. Your work was more important to you than I was."

Ketch clenched his jaw, "Love, if I had a choice, I would have never left you..."

It was true. And yes, he always tried his best not to let his emotions control him, nor have emotions at all. It's why he had started that entire thing with Mary Winchester. No feelings were involved.

But the one thing he could never rid of, was his love for the woman in front of him. But, luckily for him, nobody else knew that. You were his hidden weakness, and he would have liked it to stay that way. But now, you were working with the brothers Winchester. Any sort of chance of buttering them up enough to get them to join was now gone.

You hated him, and he knew that. You wanted him dead just as much as Sam and Dean.

But part of him hoped, WISHED, that you still felt the same as he did.

You shook your head and scoffed, "Don't call me love. You don't get that right. Not anymore. And that is such bullshit because you DID have a choice. You could have told me."

He began to reach for your hand, his eyes beginning to glisten, "if I told you, I would have put you in danger. I didn't want to do that."

You tore your hand away from him, finally breaking eye contact, "No. That's just not true."

"Love, you have to believe me. I...I..." His voice quivered, his attitude now foreign to himself.

Your body began to shake. From anger or sadness, you did not know, "You what?"

"I love you." He stated against his better judgement.

You stood up from your chair abruptly, hands tightening into fists to stop them from shaking so much, turning away from him and shaking your head furiously, "no you don't. Don't fucking say that."

He stood up as well, "it's true. I love you, and I never stopped."

"Yeah, well I did." You snapped, turning towards him, "I stopped loving you as soon as you disappeared from me. I stopped loving you the moment you decided that it was "safer," not to tell me. I stopped loving you the moment you decided to attack the Winchester boys, and then think that they'd suddenly switch to your side as if none of that ever happened." Your eyes began to water with tears. You always were a crier when you were angry or frustrated. It wasn't of your own accord. Of course, it was just your body's way of letting out those emotions.

Ketch froze in his spot. And suddenly, it was like his heart shattered into a million pieces. "Well... if the brothers aren't here, I should go."

You crossed your arms, "Yes. I think that would be best." You tried your best to hold in your tears. Not because you just admitted to your old lover that you didn't love him anymore, but because of the anger that consumed you just by looking at his face.

Ketch took a deep breath, "Well then. Goodbye." He nodded, before beginning to walk away.

Silence followed him as you watched him go, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of you at least giving him a goodbye.

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

@pinchofhoney I hope you enjoyed it! And cried! It's a little bit late, I know, but I tried my best! :)

[lilac-hecox]

I would love some Ianmanda with 210

Teasingly playing with the string of their hoodie - Ian/Amanda

--

Ian admittedly is not so good at picking up the hints that someone is flirting with him. He assumes it’s a joke, or worse, he’s terrified to assume it is flirting and be dead wrong and humiliated. That’s probably why it’s a shock for Ian when Anthony looks at him in their shared office and clears his throat.

“Ian, you know Amanda is flirting with you, don’t you?”

“What?” Ian asks, his face going warm, and he shakes his head, “shut the hell up.”

Anthony grins, “I’m serious. No bullshit dude, best friend code of honor or whatever. She’s into you.”

“How do you know?” Ian asks, still refusing to believe. Amanda is affectionate. She’s touchy, she routinely and platonically calls people ‘babe’, touches their arm, plays with their hair. She is not flirting with Ian. Anthony just doesn’t know her well enough yet.

“I know because I have eyes.”

Ian frowns and Anthony’s smile widens. He’s loving this, Ian can tell.

“Is this why you’ve been single all this time? You needed me, clearly.”

“I do just fine,” Ian mumbles.

“Totally,” Anthony says, rolling his eyes, “so good without a wingman.”

Ian sighs, abandons the idea of working fully and sets his pen down on his desk, “Okay, say she is flirting with me. Amanda is our employee.”

“So, you are interested?” Anthony asks.

Ian groans. “Shut it. Even if I am. Isn’t it…icky that I’m her boss?”

Anthony shrugs, “Not if you’re both cognizant of that. Besides, I don’t see Amanda letting you use your title on her, do you?”

“No,” Ian says, laughing.

Amanda is something else entirely. She takes no shit from anyone and already Ian knows that he would not be the one with more power in the relationship if it were to ever be one.

“Right, so, you should just…go for it.”

“Like it’s that easy?”

“Yeah!” Anthony says, “it is that easy. You’re great and she’s been flirting at least two months, dude.”

Ian scrubs a hand over his face and pushes his glasses up to rub at his eyes.

“Can we table this and try and get some work done?”

Anthony nods, “Of course, but promise next time you two talk you’ll try and be more aware of Amanda and see what I’m talking about?”

“Alright, fine, I promise.”

Anthony nods, and then the two of them go back to attempting to write their latest script.

--

The next day Ian is near their costume area when Amanda walks by, a can of Celsius in her hand. She smiles and makes a beeline for him, and Ian instantly feels nerves kick up in his stomach. She pushes a hand through her dark hair, pushing it to one side as she looks him over.

“Hey, I’ve never noticed this hoodie,” she says, reaching out with her free hand and taking one of the strings of Ian’s hoodie between her fingers, fiddling with the knot and the long, white string, rolling it between her fingers. Ian feels his heart speed up a little in his chest. “I like it. It looks good on you.”

Ian swallows and looks up at Amanda, their height difference causing him to look up at her through his lashes, meeting the warmth of her eyes. Anthony’s words float around in his head. Was this the flirting? It had to be…or maybe Anthony is an idiot and Amanda just likes this hoodie.

“Thanks, Amanda.”

Her smile widens and her eyes brighten, and she’s so beautiful, too beautiful for him, too smart, too hilarious, too everything. Anthony has to be wrong about this.

Amanda keeps the string between her fingers, playing with it. Ian feels mildly dizzy.

“You should wear it more often.”

Ian’s mouth is a little dry. Fuck. This sounds like flirting…or is it? Is Ian about to get himself a one-way ticket to HR?

“Amanda?” Ian asks, looking up at her, his words tumbling out before he can chicken out.

“Hmm?”

“Would you want to, uh, go out sometime? For, um, for real? Just you and me?”

If possible, her smile widens and the fingers that held his hoodie strings shift upwards, tuck under his chin, keeping his face tilted upwards towards her own.

“I’d love to, Ian.”

Ian nods, a little breathless.

She takes a step back from him, “I’m due on set, but I can find you afterwards?”

Ian nods again and Amanda gives him a wave and a smile and slinks away from him like the confident goddess that she is.

It’s after she’s gone that Ian fishes out his phone and taps out a text to Anthony.

‘Fine, you were right.’

It takes only seconds for Anthony to respond.

‘Cool, Shayne owes me ten bucks. You want some date tips?’

Ian rolls his eyes and heads towards his office as he hits the FaceTime button with Anthony.

[shirohige-pirates]

Just Like Fire

CisFem Reader x Portgas D. Ace

CW: angst, language, erotic, violence, serial killer, stalking, poisoning, over-bearing controlling parents, attempted forced marriage, possible dub-con, Munchausen by proxy (aka Factitious Disorder), wildly cute and fluffy despite the warnings. 18+ only

Summary: You're Sabo's biological sister in this AU. After college you moved in with your dear brother and his two sworn brothers in order to avoid going back home. You and Sabo despise your family equally.

Chapter 5: Sick

Sabo pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before letting it out slowly. You’d just got done telling him about how the date went, and the threat that was obviously in Inchiji’s words. You could tell he was trying not to lose his temper.

Ace was trying as well, and you were almost certain you could see flames flicker around him. You hadn’t asked how Ace or Luffy were cursed, such a question was often considered highly rude in the first place, but you figured the two would show you when they were comfortable enough with it.

“Are you alright, at least?” Sabo asks finally.

You nod. “He was polite otherwise.” You admit. “Honestly, if things had ended sooner, I almost think I would’ve voluntarily considered a second date.”

“You know how mother would’ve reacted.”

“Yeah, but the devil you know and all that.” You sigh. “I mean, he seemed almost reasonable. Reasonable in the sense that I could have possibly just been honest with him.”

You wave your hand as Sabo looks at you. “No, that option’s long gone.”

“Yes, well, we’ll just have to hope he doesn’t try to push for some sort of accelerated timetable.” Sabo grumbles.

“… What do you mean by that?” Ace asks, piping up for the first time since you and Sabo had started talking.

You hesitate to put it to words and Sabo picks it up for you. “Nobility and all, is nothing but traditions, right?” He starts to explain. The way he looks at Ace makes you think that your brother had been giving his brothers a primer on things prior to your moving in. “Courtship has its own traditions, and usually takes a couple years from first date to an engagement announcement. All the rules and bullshit must be done properly. But in some cases the time can be condensed.”

“Most notably,” you say in a very quiet voice. “When one person involved is chronically or terminally ill.”

Putting it to words almost makes you feel defeated. A heavy silence comes over the three of you and Sabo sits down across from you, his face twisted in frustration. Your condition wasn’t widely known – your parents mostly kept it under wraps as you grew up, but if it could be used to herd you into the result they desired, then you were certain it would come out.

“What if you weren’t sick anymore?” Luffy asks. Ace nearly leaps out of his skin hearing his younger brother directly behind him. You and Sabo look over at him.

“Holy hells, Luff! When did you get here?” Ace swears, hand on his heart for a second.

“Marco said you took off from the station in a hurry, and I saw Sabo’s car speed by afterward.” Luffy says plainly. “Usopp dropped me off. He an’ Zoro were worried I’d be distracted.”

“Do you mean some sort of deception?” You question.

“No, let’s get Chopper an’ Traffy to look at you.” Luffy asserts.

“But… it’s uncurable, that’s why I -.”

“Traffy’s cured the uncurable before!” Luffy interrupts, stepping past Ace. “He saved his hometown, and they told him it was impossible. Chopper’s amazing with medicines too, maybe he can improve your medication!”

“Luffy, I…” You aren’t sure what to say. He seems so sure and adamant, but you’re torn. If you hope now and nothing comes of it, it’ll be heavier to go forward later.

“We won’t force you,” Sabo says. “But it’s better than my idea.”

“Better’n mine too,” Ace admits quietly.

“I’m almost afraid to ask.” You glance between Sabo and Ace, putting your hands up before either could say anything. “No, I am afraid to ask, keep it to yourselves.” You say with a small laugh.

Sighing, you lean back into the recliner and consider things for a moment. “Imperfect action is better than perfect inaction.” You mutter, before looking to Luffy. “I would be honored to be assisted by your friends, Luffy.”

“Yes!” Luffy jumps up in a cheer before turning to Sabo. “I need your help getting Traffy freed up.”

“Yes of course.” Sabo says, getting up and following Luffy as the two leave the house abruptly.

You look toward where they left and back to Ace in confusion. “Are they… going to kidnap him?”

Ace laughs. “Nah, he’s busy, they’re just going to help him free up some time so he can see you. Sabo’s good with the paperwork, so he went with Luffy to untangle the red tape.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Hungry?” Ace asks. “I know you said you didn’t eat much, and if your stomach’s settled, I can make you something.”

“Yeah, I could go for something. I can-.”

“Ah-ah-ah.” Ace puts a hand on your shoulder before you can get up and gently pushes you back into the recliner. “Just… relax for a bit. I promise I won’t make it spicy.”

“Very well.” You agree, letting yourself sink into the recliner a little.

Ace brings you something warm to eat on a tray, and a cup of tea to go with it. You were almost upset by the fact that he could make tea so perfectly. You’d spent ages perfecting your skills because you enjoyed it, but you had to admit that Ace did it better.

You eat a few bites, and you realize how hard everyone is working for your sake. You haven’t even been living with them for a full month, and you’d think Luffy had been your friend for years. It was almost more comfortable around Ace than it was with your own brother, not that there was any discomfort between you and Sabo.

It would be more comfortable if he wasn’t so good looking. No, it wasn’t that he was good-looking, he was, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that smile. The freckles. The way his hair shifted when he tilted his head to get your attention. That glint in his eyes when he challenged you to a drinking contest. The ease with which he braced you against that hose so you could destroy the books.

It was how comfortable it was to be alone with him like this.

How much you wanted to just -.

“Whatever’s on your mind is heavy enough I can feel the weight of it over here.” Ace says quietly his eyes on the TV. He glances over at you with an apologetic smile. “If you need more space, I can go to my room.”

“Sp-space? Why would I need more space?” You question, genuinely confused. If anything, you didn’t want to be left alone with your worries – Ace was a welcome distraction.

Ace’s face goes a little pink and he rubs the back of his head. “It sounds silly to say it out loud, but I mean, a guy you thought you could trust basically threatened you. I thought, without Sabo here, maybe I was making you uncomfortable? Since, uh, I mean, you don’t know me that well…”

You blink a few times, processing his reasoning. “Ah, oh – no, no – I mean… I mean, I k-know I can trust you, that’s – it’s not the same thing. We don’t know each other that well, but we know each other well enough – and I mean, I, that is…” You stop and put a hand over your face before collecting your thoughts.

“Thank you.” You say finally, moving your hand away and looking over at him. There’s a little confusion on his face, but that smile’s already forming. “I didn’t thank you for earlier, so thank you… And please, um… stay. I don’t-,” you look away, that smile’s already too much for your heart right now. “Want to be alone right now.”

Ace leans back into the couch, giving you that damnably good smile. “Sure.”

As you eat a little more, and begin to relax, you feel yourself starting to drift off. You say something to Ace, and he takes the tray away as you fall asleep. The day had been exhausting, even if the most stressful thing had been a conversation, somedays your body just couldn’t take it.

But it was a lot easier to relax and rest when you could trust the people around you. Back home, sleep never really felt much like rest.

When you come around you aren’t sure how much time has gone by, but Sabo and Luffy are back. The noise of them returning had woken you up a little bit, but it was Luffy’s excitement that pulled you completely out of your nap. Ace was glaring at the younger man from the couch, but his expression softened when he saw you smiling as you stretched in the recliner.

“Sorry, (Y/N).” Luffy offers up hastily as Ace yanks him onto the couch.

Sabo smiles down at you. “Sleep well?”

“I think so. How’d it go?” You ask, sitting up properly. Sabo’s smile nearly answers your question before his words do.

“Thanks to Luffy’s network, Law and Chopper will be able to see you on Tuesday. It’s a good two weeks sooner than I expected we’d be able to manage, considering how in-demand Law is.” Sabo explains. “But Luffy’s, er, mentor Shanks is a friend of two surgeons, and he asked Hongo and Crocus to cover Law’s scheduled surgeries. Chopper was much easier, Marco’s covering for him on Tuesday. Now the only question is – do you want me to sort out getting you out of work Tuesday? Or do you want to handle that yourself?”

“I… hm.” You think about it for a moment. “I would love your help, brother dear. I’m not really sure what I should or shouldn’t say in that situation.”

Sabo smiles. “It’s your first job, I’m happy to help.” He sits on a chair across from you. “I’ll record it for you, so you can learn from it if you want.”

You laugh a little and shake your head. “No, I’ve seen your theatrics at work, I can’t really do things that way.”

“If that’s all then I’mma go back to work!” Luffy says, jumping up from the couch.

“Oh, Luffy, wait a moment.” You call out as you scramble to get out of the recliner before he dashes completely out of the house.

He turns toward you as you open your arms for a hug. “Thank you.” Luffy’s face lights up as he comes over and gives you a hug. The air is pushed out of you as he lifts you up in the excitement of his actions, but he doesn’t hurt you.

“Luffy!” Ace and Sabo yell as he sets you back down.

“S’alright!” You gasp, coughing a little. “It’s alright.”

Luffy crouches down to look at you while you catch your breath, and when you straighten up, he very carefully gives you a gentle hug. You chuckle a little as you return it and the young man beams at you before he dashes out of the house with an energetic, “You’re welcome!”

“(Y/N)?” Sabo questions, coming over to you, a worried Ace not too far behind him.

“I’m okay, truly. He pushed the wind out of me, but that was it.” You admit. “I was caught off guard more than anything else.”

Your smile fades even as you keep your feet, and Sabo gives you a gentle hug. “Nervous, lil’ Spark?” He questions.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Whatever the result, it’ll be okay.” Sabo says reassuringly.

“We’ll be here too,” Ace adds. “No matter what.”

“I just… I don’t know what to think.” You admit taking a step back and walking toward the kitchen. Ace and Sabo exchange glances and you give them a weak smile. “If… I mean, if they can cure me, then what… what were our parents doing all this time? If they can’t cure me then I suppose nothing changes, but… this sucks, Sabo.” You say the words and tears start to run down your face.

“I know… I know I’ve been doing my b-best, but it’s always there. It’s always a factor in every. Single. Damned. Decision.” You take a step back as you see Sabo step toward you and put a hand up as you start wiping your eyes. “Sorry, I… I’ll be f-fine, I just…” The words die on your lips, and you start crying again.

Frustration makes it harder to stop, and you’re embarrassed to be crying in front of people. You’re glad you kept yourself together while Luffy was here, you were already being a burden for two of them as it was, and the youngest had the softest heart. It takes you a couple of minutes to get yourself calmed down. Ace is already in the kitchen making some tea, and Sabo’s giving you the softest smile he can, holding a small box of tissues toward you.

“It’s okay.” He insists. “You don’t have to be okay in front of us.”

Your breath hitches in your chest and you nearly start to cry again. Sabo gives you a hug before you can get your face cleaned up, and you brace yourself against him until you can get the new round of emotions under control.

“That was dirty,” you pout quietly as he strokes your hair softly.

“Perhaps.” He admits. “Feel better?”

“Perhaps.” You answer and the two of you start to laugh. By the time you step back from him you’re almost fully laughing, as you wipe your face with another tissue.

Sabo motions to the breakfast bar as Ace pushes a cup of tea toward one of the seats for you.

“You boys are like to spoil me.” You say with a smile as you sit down and wrap your hands around the warm cup.

“It takes far more than a few hugs and a cup of tea to spoil someone.” Ace offers with a smile.

“It’s been a hug and two cups of tea between us.” You correct.

“Already hugged my sister, huh?” Sabo questions. “Luffy lasted longer.”

“I gave her a ride home on the bike!” Ace’s face starts to go red. “I didn’t hug the air out of her lungs like he did.”

“Ah, so you didn’t even hug her correctly. Made her do all the work.” Sabo teases, and you nearly sputter in your tea.

Ace motions as if he means to strangle Sabo, a tight, irritated, toothy grin on his face. “Look here you little shit-.”

“I’m taller, and older.” Sabo insists.

“You’re – By a TECHNICALITY!” Ace exasperates, turning away to make more tea for him and Sabo.

“Technicality?” You question quirking an eyebrow toward Sabo.

“According to the story,” Sabo begins.

“Garp wouldn’t lie.” Ace huffs.

Your brother grins at you. “According to Garp – ah, Luffy’s grandfather – Ace’s month was pregnant with him for twenty months.”

You almost choke on your tea, setting the cup down hastily.

“Why – how?!” You question.

Sabo and Ace exchange glances and Ace sighs. “My dad was wanted by the government.” Ace says. “Right or wrong, well, it was over twenty years ago, so I try not to think about it anymore, but Mom and Garp were both concerned about some stuff.”

You can’t bring yourself to ask with words, but Sabo sees your expression. “You know how the W.G. gets. The concern was, that they would try to abort his child.”

“Ah.” You say flatly, nodding a little.

“So anyway, old gramps said mom just… refused to have me.” Ace says, setting a cup of tea down for him and Sabo as he sits across from you at the breakfast bar. “An act of will, a side effect of some curse no one knew about, who knows.”

“But, back to the more light-hearted part of all this, Ace insists he’s older because he was conceived before I was.” Sabo says, giving you a devious grin.

“But your birthday is -.” You start to ask and Ace grumbles under his breath.

“January 1st,” Sabo answers on his behalf.

“Then you’re about 9 months… Oh. Oh I see where this is coming from.” You admit with a soft laugh. “If you had been born 9-10 months after conception your birthday would’ve been just before Sabo’s.”

“Exactly!” Ace says.

“But you weren’t.” You say, a neutral expression on your face.

Ace sighs and slumps against the counter. “Siblings.” He grumbles.

“You’re older than me, if it makes you feel better.” You say with a smile as he looks up at you from underneath a mess of hair. “I’m three years younger than Sabo.”

“… I’m trying to sort out the fact that you’re Luffy’s age, and there’s no way I would’ve guessed that.” Ace admits. “I knew you were Sabo’s younger sister, but I thought maybe by a year.”

“Years of growing up in a noble household change one’s disposition.” You shrug. “I envy Luffy’s capacity to still act so young.”

Ace starts to say something and then stops. “Wait, you graduated college at twenty-two!?”

“Twenty-one…” You offer hesitantly. “My birthday’s next month.”

Ace looks at you agog and then turns to Sabo. “You said she was kind, you didn’t say she was a genius!”

“I graduated from college early too!” Sabo snaps back, his ears red. “Don’t tell her I said she was kind!”

You look back and forth between the two of them, feeling like the cat that just caught the canary. You let them bicker for a little bit, and even agreed when Sabo insisted the only reason the two of you completed college so young was because you’d had all kinds of tutors and professors to help you. Both of you had completed your general education when you were sixteen and had enrolled in college when you were seventeen – the earliest you could be on your own legally.

“Still, it’s amazing to me.” Ace admits after the conversation calms down again. “Luff and I barely completed our general education.”

“You and Luffy had spent years in the jungle in his grandfather’s wild drive to have you both enlist.” Sabo says, obvious irritation on his face. “Plus, you both have respectable jobs, don’t let it bother you.”

“Envy works in all directions,” you say as you push your empty teacup toward Ace. “I would love to be able to do the job you do. Everyone at the station is so much livelier and more interesting than the people where I work. Ah – not that anyone’s mean or anything, there’s just a very different energy.”

“We’ll have to find time for you to visit again.” Ace offers with a smile. “Everyone’s been asking about you since the day we destroyed all those books.”

You feel your face heat up a little, but you smile from the warmer feeling in your chest. It was nice to be appreciated simply for being you, and not because you were nobility or any other such useless designation.

“Oh! We could celebrate your birthday there!” Ace offers with a wide smile, and you nod in response.

“That sounds delightful.” You agree.

“It’s decided then.” Sabo says. “May the city refrain from any and all shenanigans on July 15th.”

[altocat]

After grinding for HOURS to get my FS trio strong enough to beat the boss to complete the closed beta chapter, no Seph. He only just appears in that opening cutscene with the cellphone. We probably won’t be seeing him until the full story releases. My estimations for that are probably Late September, early October. So there’s still lots of time.

Chapter ends with the random boy calling the FS trio out on their bullshit as being “peaceful SOLDIER emissaries”. My guess is that this is going to serve as a reveal for Sephiroth’s take no prisoners power throughout the era of the Wutai War. The boy is said to be “entangled” with Sephiroth somehow. Likely he’s heard or witnessed Sephiroth’s destructive deployment. It’s either that or he’s just a smart kid who knows exactly what the score is. We’re just going to have to find out.

Glenn, Matt, and Lucia are...okay. Glenn is really the only one with an actual personality and even then, he’s kind of a doof. Sorta like Zack, but without the puppydog charm. Glenn is more of an actual dumbass. Matt is kind of just...there to be the no-nonsense straight man and Lucia basically functions as diet Tifa but with a bit more sarcasm. They’re sort of blank slates that I assume are all doomed by the end of this story. I doubt even Glenn is going to survive up against an adult CC era Seph.

The random boy never gets a name, at least not yet. I am willing to bet my left hand that Sephiroth probably pissed all over his village and/or has been building his reputation little by little to the point where stories have leaked. While this island isn’t Wutai, it’s basically just another place SOLDIER is looking to colonize. Which means Seph is likely to show up very soon to rain on everyone’s parade. 

My predictions? The chapter might switch back and forth between Seph and the trio, as Nomura mentioned that teen Seph would be playable. It’s likely going to be some sort of rivalry between them, with Glenn’s group probably getting killed and Glenn himself defecting. Sephiroth barely seemed to recognize him in the opening cutscene despite Glenn’s “long time no see”. So they likely didn’t have an actual strong relationship. And given EC’s apparent lack of narrative depth that comes with a mobile atmosphere, I’d be very surprised if the FS trio wasn’t just a casual observer of Seph in future encounters at best. I don’t think they’re going to be sharing very meaningful dialogue, other than a “STAHP” when Sephiroth inevitably burns the place down. Sephiroth is a tragic figure and a complicated person. But he’s also a destructive force of nature and I wouldn’t put it past Shinra to dump him across random islands and villages to get shit done on their behalf.

(Also Sephiroth was definitely crying during the cellphone scene over Genesis SHHHHHH it’s not rain his face is wet IT’S NOT RAIN LET ME HAVE THIS)

[missywritesfor7]

🌙Moon’s Light | JJK🌙

Synopsis: Luna is a young paralegal trying to maintain her new found independence and enjoy life. Too bad her job sucks and her boss is the worst. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she encounters a vampire named Jungkook who changes her life in more ways than one.

Jungkook is a shield and protector of the vampire kingdom of Korealis. He’s trained his entire life to block out any and all distractions and focus solely on becoming the strongest. While investigating a potential threat to the kingdom, he encounters Luna who turns out to be more than he could have ever imagined. It becomes his job to protect her, but he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is his devotion to the job or perhaps something deeper.

Secrets are uncovered. Lives are on the line. Hearts are tested.

Pairing: Vampire!Jungkook x Fem!OC

Warnings: Violence, character death, eventual smut, tragedy, some angst, strong language, MINORS DNI

Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist

|| Ch. 46: No Further Comment ||

The last thing Jungkook expected was for his mother to show up at their secret location. He definitely didn’t expect her to show up because the King sent her for her “safety”. He doesn’t know why her safety is being threatened, but he’s about to commit any and every crime he needs to resolve the issue.

“What’s going on and why are you two here?” Sunyoung asks still mildly frantic by the suddenness of the situation.

“They’re closing her portal,” Jungkook says. He hopes she’ll be satisfied with that simple explanation, but he knows better.

“Why did he send you here to do it?” She questions further. “How long have you been here?”

Jungkook looks back at Luna who’s still on the couch and hasn’t said a word. He hesitates trying to think of the best way to explain things. He turns back to his mother and sighs.

“About two weeks,” he says. “The King said it could take 4-6 weeks.”

“Ok,” Sunyoung looks around the place then back to Jungkook. “But why here? Why so far from the palace? And why am I in some sort of danger??”

“I wanted to ask you. Why did the K-“

“And why were you here for 2 weeks and didn’t tell me?!” She shouts putting her hands on her hips.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “It all happened so fast I just didn’t get the chance.”

“What happened so fast?” She raises a brow. “She’s always had this portal, so what happened that made you forget to call your mother?!”

“Ok ok,” he sighs. “We were at the mall and some lost Saakhan member came through her portal. It caused a little bit of a mess but I took him down and everything was ok. When we got back to the palace the King said they were going to go in and close her portal.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” he responds unconvincingly.

“Tokki, I’m going to give you 1 minute to tell me what else you’re hiding before I find out myself.” She’s using a tactic she would always use to get the truth out of him. Back when he still believed her ability was detecting lies.

“That can’t work on me anymore,” he says puffing his chest out. “Because now I know that’s not your ability”

“Then would you like me to use my real ability instead?” She threatens.

“No ma’am,” he responds quickly changing his tone.

“That’s what I thought. Tell me everything and what this has to do with me?”

“Well,” he sighs. “I’m not really sure what it has to do with you, but da-Minseok has been trying to get me to…fightforthethrone.” He mumbles through the last bit eliciting a sharp look from her.

“Minseok did what?!” She shouts.

“There were people at the mall and they started calling me king and he’s been on this website trying to convince people that I’d be a better king and all kinds of bullshit. So now the King is investigating and we have to stay here until it’s done.” Jungkook hangs his head as if he just admitted to sneaking cookies out of the cookie jar.

“I’ll kill him,” she says turning to walk back out the door.

“Mom!” Jungkook takes her arm and stops her. “No! You can’t do that.” He wraps his arms around her when he sees the fire in her eyes. He may not have seen her power in action before, but he’s seen that fire burning in her eyes. It’s like looking into a mirror and he can’t have her going out committing murder.

“I swore I would kill him if he ever did anything to harm you boys!”

“Mom please! Now I see why the King sent you here.” He holds her tighter.

“He knows that’s nothing but a death sentence for you either way! I will end him!”

“You’re scaring me.”

“I told him what would happen,” she grumbles.

“Ok, let’s just sit down and try to figure everything out first.” He pulls her towards the couch where Luna still hasn’t made a sound.

It’s all so strange to Luna. Why would the King send Sunyoung here for her safety? Is he really trying to protect her or was it a lie he told to get her here because he thinks she’s involved in any of this? Not only that, but Luna is certain she saw a brief flash of the devil himself in Sunyoung’s eyes when she said she would kill Minseok. Luna has been stunned in place ever since. Sunyoung is terrifying.

“I’m calling the King,” Sunyoung says as Jungkook sits her down. “He needs to send someone to pick me up right now before I level this entire kingdom to get to Minseok.”

“Mom no,” Jungkook pleads trying and failing to take her phone. “You cant kill him.”

“Like hell I can’t!” She shouts. “Where’s your brother? Does he know about any of this? Is he in trouble too??”

“No he’s not in trouble. At least I don’t think so. He shouldn’t be. He’s probably just working in my place while I’m on leave or something.”

“On leave? You’re not even technically on duty right now?” She asks in disbelief. Being told to stay in a private location is one thing, but being put on official leave is another.

“No.” Jungkook hangs his head. “Just until the investigation is over.”

“Because of your father?!” She begins raging again.

Jungkook silently nods hoping she’ll stay under control. It’s hard to know when she may lose it completely when he hasn’t seen her full power in action before. He can see the fire though. Identical to his own that he inherited from her. She’s beyond upset and he isn’t sure how to calm her down.

“I’m calling the King right now,” she says again.

“No, you can’t. What are you going to say to him? Demand he let us go? You know it’s not that easy.”

“I’ll say whatever I want!”

Luna can’t believe this the same person who had been so sweet and welcoming before. This is the same person who taught her how to use the portals, showed her new places, and cooked her some amazing food. She’s probably the sweetest lady Luna has ever met in any world, but right now she’s in a boiling rage with her phone to her ear while her youngest son watches in horror.

“Hojin!” Sunyoung shouts into the phone not giving a shit about formalities. “Explain to me what I’m doing here and why my son is here!”

She listens as the King speaks. Luna looks at Jungkook who’s looking at his mother in disbelief and complete fear. He’s never seen her like this.

“Tell your guards to take me back right now! If I have to find my way on my own Minseok won’t be the only one in danger!”

“Mom no,” Jungkook whispers in distress. He clutches his head just thinking about the amount of trouble she could get in just for speaking to the King like that.

“You know I don’t break my promises, Hojin! I made a promise! If what I’m hearing is true then I will do whatever it takes to get to him and you know it!”

“Mommmm.” Jungkook is about to slide off the couch and to the floor. He can’t believe she’s speaking to him this way.

“And why is my safety in danger?!”

Jungkook places a hand on his mom’s shoulder to try getting her to calm down, but he may as well be a ghost. The tunnel vision while raging is another shared trait.

“Then what can you tell me?!” She shouts in frustration.

“Mom,” Jungkook whimpers. He is going through a complete crisis and just wants her to at least soften her tone.

“You fucking better!” She yells. “I’ll drop this whole fucking building!”

“Oh my god.” Jungkook’s head is in his hands.

“Oh really? Is that a challenge??”

“What?” Jungkook says, but she’s still paying him no attention. Luna can only sit by and watch.

“You better hope you’re right!” She stands and takes a few steps towards the door then stops. “Yeah, well fuck you too!” She hangs up the phone and drops it on the ground.

“Mom!” Jungkook jumps up but he’s stopped in his tracks. She doesn’t turn back to him, but his legs refuse to move any further.

Her right hand is suddenly engulfed in fire which has Jungkook and Luna frozen in shock. Her left hand is also engulfed, but not in fire, in ice. The two elements create a powerful yin and yang that she brings together by raising her hands in front of her as if she’s about to wind up for a baseball pitch. Instead of a baseball, she instead pitches a huge orb of fire and ice towards the front door.

Luna and Jungkook are terrified and then astonished when the fire and ice barrels through the air then dissipates as soon as it hits the door. They were sure she used enough power to blow the entire wall away, but nothing happened. Not even a scratch on the door.

Sunyoung stares ahead a moment then bends down to pick up her phone. She calls the King back making Jungkook nearly fall to his knees.

“Fuck you again, Hojin!” Sunyoung shouts into the phone then immediately hangs back up. She takes a deep breath and turns back to Jungkook and Luna. The flames in her eyes is gone, and the fire and ice has disappeared. She looks as if nothing happened. “He says due to the sensitive nature of the investigation he can’t say more than what he already has, which is next to nothing. Apparently this is the safest place for us.”

“Mom,” Jungkook says softly. “What. The fuck. Just happened?”

“He says this place was made to protect everyone. He knows I promised Minseok I would kill him if he hurt you boys in any way. He knows I don’t care about an investigation, the minute I get my hands on him, he’s done.”

“No no no,” Jungkook says shaking his head. “Fire and ice? What was that? How? You’ve seriously been hiding this from me my whole life??”

“That’s your biggest concern?”

“Yes. Well no I guess not, but yeah kind of.”

“Jungkook!” Luna scolds.

“He sent me here for my safety,” Sunyoung says. “He wouldn’t say anything else but he told me he would explain everything when the investigation is over.”

“How could you talk to him like that though?” Jungkook asks nearly in despair. “You could get in so much trouble.”

“No I won’t,” she scoffs. “I’ve known him since before he was the King. I told him back then I wouldn’t give him special treatment and I meant that.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone who doesn’t mess around when it comes to her boys!”

“Mom…you…I…” he sighs then gives her a warm hug. “You are terrifying and I love you for it. Please don’t do it again.”

“No promises,” she huffs.

“At least try not to get arrested.”

“They could throw me to the deepest depths of hell and it wouldn’t stop me from sucking the life out of Minseok.”

“Ok, maybe I should show you around since I guess you’ll be here a while,” he laughs nervously.

He guides his mother to the elevator with Luna right behind. She hasn’t said anything because honestly Sunyoung has her terrified. She’s afraid to say anything until she knows she’s cooled down.

When they make it upstairs, Luna takes a seat on the couch while Jungkook shows Sunyoung around. She seems impressed with the place, but she’s still not entirely free from her rage. She doesn’t say anything, only nodding as Jungkook shows her everything.

He offers to cook her something to eat when she mentioned she hadn’t had breakfast. That seems to lighten her up much more and she smiles. She sits down next to Luna while Jungkook cooks through his nerves.

“So,” Luna whispers, having finally found the strength to say something to Sunyoung. “You really aren’t worried about the King punishing you for speaking to him the way you did?”

“No,” Sunyoung chuckles in a much lighter mood than she was just a bit ago. “We were good friends before he became King. Even before his father took over after the Park family, we were friends. I’m older than him and I told him he would get no special treatment from me when he became prince, and then later, king. He’s still little Hojin to me and he’s had to learn to accept it,” she smirks.

“Wow,” Luna chuckles. “Maybe you should tell your son that because he nearly had a stroke down there.”

“He’s alright,” she says dismissively. “It’s no different than when he and Seokjin bicker. He shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well I think the biggest surprise was the whole fire and ice rage thing,” Luna says a little nervously.

“I don’t care who it is, I’m serious when it comes to protecting my boys.” Sunyoung smiles at Luna with a sweet but very intimidating smile. One that gives Luna chills for some reason.

“Understood,” Luna nervously chuckles.

Luna has never wanted to cause Jungkook any harm, and after seeing Sunyoung’s power, she can’t imagine anyone being foolish enough to try. Everyone in this family is terrifying, she’s afraid to see what Jungkook’s brother is capable of.

Thankfully for Jungkook’s nerves, the rest of the day goes by smoothly. He offers his mom the bed so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the pullout bed in the couch. Luna of course would prefer the bed, but since it’s Sunyoung she was ok with taking the couch bed. She doesn’t mind sharing the smaller space with Jungkook though it’s not the most comfortable.

Well, she didn’t mind until she woke up the next morning and noticed Jungkook wasn’t next to her. He had trouble sleeping so in the middle of the night he changed to his bunny form and curled up on the bed next to his mother for a much more comfortable sleep. Unfortunately for Luna that meant he left her to deal with the uncomfortable couch bed alone. She would have switched to her owl form and terrorized him for it if Sunyoung hadn’t shown how terrifying she truly is. Luna spared him. This time.

A few days pass without incident and without a word from the King. Even the updates from Yoongi have stopped. Jungkook doesn’t want to seem like he’s being a pest, especially since Yoongi is already doing way more than he has to, but he’s growing more and more anxious. He sends Yoongi a text asking if there are any updates and it takes an agonizingly long time for him to respond.

[Yoongi]: I’m not allowed to comment further. Sorry.

“What?!” Jungkook exclaims confused. He jumps up from the couch where he was sitting between Luna and his mom. “What the fuck does that mean??”

Luna and Sunyoung look up surprised. He stares at his phone another second then calls Yoongi.

“Hyung, what does that mean?” Jungkook asks as soon as Yoongi picks up.

“I can’t do anything else,” Yoongi explains. “It’s all with the King now.”

“But I thought you were already telling him everything? Why can’t you say anything now?”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighs. “The person we think is Minseok said something that the King decided need to be handled by him. He took everything I had and deleted it from my phone and ordered me to no longer contact the person or speak of any details. It’s out of my hands now.”

“Shit,” Jungkook huffs feeling defeated.

“It’s ok,” Yoongi assures him. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Hyung I’m dying here, I need something to work with right now,” Jungkook pleads.

“I know but you’ll have to be patient. I’m not getting in trouble for opening my mouth when I was ordered not to. I’ve told you all I can.”

“I understand,” Jungkook sighs. “Thanks for everything you’ve done so far, hyung.”

“It’s nothing,” Yoongi say humbly. “Take care of your ladies,” he chuckles.

“Right,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’ll do that.”

He ends the call and turns back to his mom and Luna who are looking at him anxiously. He sighs then explains everything Yoongi just told him. Of course this brings about a million more questions from Sunyoung who was unaware that they were taking matters into their own hands and making contact with the person through the message board.

Half the day is spent answering questions as they popped into Sunyoung’s mind. Luna showed her the website, and after scrolling for awhile, Sunyoung had even more questions. By evening Jungkook and Luna had run out of answers. There’s nothing more they can do, which is frustrating for them all.

Jungkook loses his thoughts in preparing dinner. Luna and Sunyoung try to focus on a show to keep themselves occupied, but it’s not easy. Being together is great, but not when there’s so much uncertainty surrounding the future.

It occurred to Luna that together they are three powerful forces being kept in this place. It’s no coincidence that this place the King had specially made is strong enough to withstand Sunyoung’s terrifying power. She wonders if it could withstand the power of all three of them at once. She decides that’s an experiment that perhaps she can talk them into trying in the morning.

On the other side of the kingdom, the walls of another building are being tested. An old building built specifically for certain vampires to practice controlling their abilities that may be too strong for use in less controlled environments. Even the greatest of explosions is not enough to put a dent in the walls.

It’s the perfect place for anyone not wanting to disturb the rest of the kingdom with their great power.

[cosmicoceanfic]

Claireverse Lily Sunder coda

Castiel has always liked to sit in the Bunker’s kitchen in the dark. He doesn’t need the light the way the Winchesters do. There is something peaceful in the stillness of the dark, and he could use all the peace he could get.

The light turns on and Castiel blinks, looking at the doorway.

Claire’s new thing is oversized hoodies. She likes ones big enough to drown in, which means often that, just like now, she steals one of Sam’s, hands buried in the pocket of his Stanford hoodie.

“Thought I’d find you in here,” she says. “You’re in here a lot.”

“I like the kitchen,” Castiel answers. “It… feels like the heart. Why are you awake?”

“I’m hungry. Can you make me a sandwich?”

“Eating before bed can cause digestion issues.”

“Being so hungry I’m awake causes insomnia issues.”

Castiel’s lips tilt. She picks up new words and he’s never sure where. “Insomnia issues?”

Claire lifts her chin. “It’s a serious problem.”

Castiel gets up from the table. “I suppose I could make you a peanut butter and jelly.”

Claire settles into a seat. “What about peanut butter and fluff?”

“Peanut butter and jelly,” Castiel reasserts firmly. There’s only so far he will allow himself to be played by a child.

“Hmm.”

“On white bread,” he allows.

Claire perks up a little. “Ooh. Dad always makes me eat it on wheat cause he’s a health freak.”

Castiel pulls the jelly out of the fridge. Raspberry, just how she likes it. “Don’t call your father a health freak.”

“Papa calls him a health freak.”

“Dean calls Sam many things, most of which you are not allowed to call him, either.” Castiel sets the slices of bread on the plate. “It is good for you to eat wheat. Very fibrous.”

“Jelly’s fruit and peanut butter’s nuts and those are healthy and I should be able to have white bread more often to balance it out.”

“You can try making a case to your father, but I would suggest you remember that your father was once training to be a lawyer.”

“Any time Dad pulls lawyer bullshit, Papa just makes fart noises until he stops.”

“Don’t say bullshit. And flatulent noises will do nothing for you to attain your white bread.” Castiel sits down across from Claire, pushing the sandwich towards her. “Here you are.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Claire.”

Claire takes a bite of the sandwich. “So what’s your problem?”

“…I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you were really quiet all night, and you hugged me really tight when you got home, and I asked Papa and he said you were fine, and I asked Dad and he said you were fine, so I thought I’d ask you, cause you don’t really lie to me a lot.”

Castiel considers.

“I was not… I did something bad, a long time ago. It was by accident, but it was still bad. And I think… I think I’m going to have to do something bad again. But on purpose this time.”

“Why?”

“It… is very complicated.” Castiel looks down at his hands. “I… have not been a good person, always.”

“But you’re a good person now.”

“Perhaps.”

Claire chews her sandwich contemplatively.

“Well,” she says decisively. “You can’t say mean things about my friend Cas. That’s bullshit. You wanna be mean about my friend Cas, I get to sock you in the nuts.”

“Don’t say-“

“Aunt Charlie lets me say bullshit!”

“I am not your Aunt Charlie.” Castiel smiles slightly. “But I appreciate the sentiment.” His smile fades. “I… I do everything I do to keep you safe. You do know that, right?”

“Yeah, which is why I think you should be mean to yourself less.”

“I have lived… a complicated life, Claire. And I…” He thinks about Lily Sunder. He thinks about saying to her I have a daughter now. I would have done much the same as you. “I don’t know. I have not always been a good person.”

“I remember you when you were scary.”

Castiel blinks. “What?”

“I remember you when you were scary. And I liked you then.”

His brow furrows. “I’m rather frightening now.”

Claire snorts. “No, you’re not. One time I saw you get stuck in a sweater. You’re just kinda silly. And dumb.”

Castiel huffs a quiet laugh. “You’re your father’s daughter.”

“Which father?”

“Your mean father.”

Claire giggles. “He is mean.”

“He loves you very much.”

“I know. That’s not my point. You’re distracting me.”

“I’m sorry. Please continue.”

“I don’t remember that much about when you were scary, cause I’m old now.” Castiel suppresses a smile, looking at the table. “Not as old as you and Dad and Papa. You guys are ancient. But I’m still old. But I liked you then! And I like you now. And I think you should chill out.”

Castiel can’t help a grin. “Chill out, huh?”

“Yeah, Aunt Charlie and Aunt Meg say Papa would be happier if he had even an ounce of chill.”

“Mm. Probably true.”

Castiel just watches Claire for a moment. She scrunches her face up. “What?”

“Someday you are going to get older,” he tells her. “And you will think of me differently. But I will love you just the same, always. And you have jelly on your chin.” Claire wipes the jelly off with her thumb and licks it. He laughs quietly again. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Are you gonna narc on me to Dad and Papa? Mr. Narc?”

“No.”

“Alright, then.”

“Finish your sandwich, Claire. You require your rest.” Claire shoves the rest of the sandwich in her mouth. “Not so fast. You’ll choke.”

“Do you want me to finish the sandwich or not?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

With a little effort, Claire swallows the rest of the sandwich. She stands up and hugs Castiel.

“Sleep well, Claire.”

“Night, Cas. You want the light off?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay.”

Claire turns off the light, and Castiel returns to the darkness once more.

[kitwilsonsass]

i’ll stop being a depressing text post andy soon but

just long, long dramatic introspective stuff i need to get off my chest re: this past week/moving forward

it’s been officially over a week now already

and i’m very much.... starting to feel the guilt

not the ‘i should have done more!’ guilt, though i am cringing every time someone tells me i ‘gave him a great life’ or anything of the sort, because it will never feel that way to me. even if KNOW how much i tried to do, it won’t ever feel like it was enough or even good.

the guilt of ‘as much as this hurts, a weight has also been lifted’

the fact that i had been watching his chest when he was asleep to see if he was still breathing since i was 16, convinced he wouldn’t last long. the fact that i have given up so much of my own life to be here for so many years. the forced interactions with people i hate. the remarks he’d make about how it ‘should have been him’ (and.... to sound awful... it should have) and how he wished he was dead already. the drinking.

i don’t like the word burden, because it wasn’t a burden. for all his shit, and as south as things went, he was my dad and i have great memories and i love him. i chose to do what i did and keep doing it. but i would be lying if i said i hadn’t considered from time to time what things would change *after*. and i would be lying if i said i didn’t think those changes, would for the most part, be positive.

i’m going to be very lost for awhile, and weirdly lonely. i know that. it will get dark. i’ve been doing this for so long i don’t know what to do now. i hate looking at the room he used to confine himself to because it’s empty. i walk in the door expecting him to be there, always there, like a piece of the furniture, and he’s not. the only purpose i had for a long time is gone. the constant.

so i’m just doing... whatever i’d normally be doing when i’m not dealing with the papers, and the phone calls, and the awkward social stuff. sitting on the computer, watching tv, laughing about bullshit.

but aside from a few slight teary moments, i haven’t cried since i got home that night. and i know part of that is because physically, i just couldn’t anymore. i can’t now. and i know that, once the initial couple weeks pass, and everything quiets down, and it becomes all the more obvious that he’s never going to be here again settles back in, that things will probably be emotional again.

i keep having a moment of ‘this feels bad, but this should feel *worse*.’

it shouldn’t be so easy to be doing normal shit.

but it’s not.... i don’t know.... unfamiliar? i’m still doing things mostly independently. the way i work around them is just different now. and i knew it was coming for so, so long. even the past couple weeks i knew i needed to start mentally preparing for shit to change.

and i know despite the guilt, and the hurt, that things *will* be better in some way for this. because i can have my life now. and for better or worse it will be, for the first time, *my* life.

and i also know.... he went to the hospital for a reason, despite his stubbornness. he knew it was too much. and i think he knew i couldn’t deal with the extent of what was going to happen if it continued. and i don’t think he wanted me to have to.

i think he kept telling people not to hang out in the hospital at his expense for a reason.

there’s always gonna be the voice in the back of my head reminding me of him being drunk after my mom passed, saying i didn’t seem like i cared because i didn’t seem upset. wondering if he would think that now. (of course NOW i’m crying, stupid waxing poetically on this garbage site nonsense.)

but i do think he knew at the end and didn’t want that for me.

of course there’s a bunch of... other stress now. i’m going to need some income, which i haven’t had since The Before Times. with a still not great knee. gotta pay the bills, and fix the car more, and keep this house liveable (for now. i’m not making any rash decisions. i know just packing up my sad excuse for a life and trying to take off immediately is a horrible, braindead idea.) i know the world/my trash immune system is still a concern as well. and i can’t just go back to what i was doing immediately, at the same capacity, because of bs business politics.

i’m still going to give myself a few weeks. i can afford that. and i’ve done the math on what i absolutely *need* for the time being.

and my aunt bought me a washer, my brother bought me some groceries, claims have been made about fixing more shit in the house. fuck, an internet friend i barely exchange two words with every few months anymore fucking *called* me last night to ask if i was doing okay. i’m not saying this to brag, i’m saying i’m lucky to have support that i honestly so often doubt exists and i want to remember it when shit gets tough.

but i also need time to grieve in whatever form that takes after the initial bullshit is done so i don’t rush into things and then completely fall apart out of the blue. i’m lucky enough to feel i have that time, and force myself to try not to worry too much too soon, even if it is constantly there in my mind.

i think it’s going to be the weird stuff for a bit. stuff like going to the dentist the other day because i couldn’t reschedule again and being asked what i do for work and saying ‘oh, i don’t right now. i was a caretaker until saturday.’

going grocery shopping and not instinctively grabbing the same five things that were always on the list every single week and therefor not having a fucking clue what to get.

just trying to remember it’s okay for that shit to be weird. it’s okay to not be a trainwreck 24/7, but to sometimes be one over the smallest things.

the thing he told me once that has always stuck with me, back when he knew me better than anyone somehow before that all changed, was ‘you know, you don’t have to be brave all the time.’

i’ve been trying to be brave for so goddamn long. through so much fucking loss.

i just need to remind myself that it’s okay to be a fucking mess for a bit, in whatever form that takes. do what needs to be done, but be okay with whatever comes. accept fucking help and not be afraid to ask for it. sleep all goddamn day if i have to. and learn to fucking take a moment to breathe without worrying how it will come off to people who don’t know what i was always coming home to. i’m not fucking perfect. i never was, i never tried to be, and i certainly won’t be now. but i don’t have to be.

i just gotta forgive myself for it.

for a lot of things, really.

[randum-famdoms]

Man the jumpscare I got when I saw I’d been mentioned in a post by someone I don’t know lol.

In case you’re still curious, I did in fact get my number by first searching Goncharov and then clicking on the official fandom tag - both while logged in. No filters were used, just the number under the official fandom tag. Also it was on mobile, an iPhone and I’m in America and NOT using a vpn. Idk if that affects anything tho. Sometimes country borders make shit weird.

Here’s a screenshot I took less than a minute ago using the same exact process as when I made my original post. Seems like no new fics have been posted in the fandom tag in a long while.

Also, here’s some proof that no filters were used to make the number smaller:

If I had to guess, then the higher numbers were probably through just slapping Goncharov into the search bar like prev deduced - which while useful for gauging its general levels of cultural awareness and memetic spread/longevity, is not a good gauge for putting the amount of fics in a fandom into relative perspective.

To test this, I have done exactly that. Peer review and all. These screenshots show what it looks like when I simply type Goncharov into the search bar:

You can tell that there are no other filters and I’m not in an official tag or fandom based on the text under search results and the fact that the button below that says “edit your search” and not “filters”.

The number is much higher, and it matches up with the previous higher numbers people have listed. It fits within the projected growth, which I did not calculate but rough estimates are good enough for his bullshit and I should have been asleep over an hour ago; I am not doing more math for this.

The screenshot shows that using this second method fics in completely different fandoms will show up - such as a miraculous ladybug fic, just because Goncharov is tagged despite it not being a Goncharov fic. It’s like if you tried to include people who took adderall at a party one but who don’t have adhd in the statistics for how many college students have adhd just because they took adhd medication one time.

Basically, it completely defeats the point of the Goncharov index - which is meant to compare fic amounts between fandoms. Including other fandoms in the gonch side of the index is literally the opposite of scientific integrity.

Anyway it’s now an hour and a half after I intended to be asleep, so imma go now. This dumb index has made me willingly engage in the scientific method/math late at night twice now and I’m not happy about it. Bye.

people trying to insist a fandom is tiny when it /only/ has a few thousand works on ao3 meanwhile my current fandom is a sixteen book series and has several hundred fewer works than goncharov, a movie that, and i cannot stress this enough, doesn’t even exist

[rurusuntold]

Case Study: Sophie - Part 1

Well, well, well… I didn’t think I’d ever have to write in this fucking folder ever again. WRONG. I mean I knew I’d eventually come and write in this. However, Sophie going on about this bitch has grown old and boring, decreasing my ability to want to write about how much of a stupid situation she put herself in.

Well, here I am.

Yesterday (February 26), Sophie told me that she had broken up with Alan. Yeah that’s the fuck head. She told me she had, had enough and so she broke it off. The event leading up to this was that Sophie had called him to say that the shoes that he’d wanted - supposedly - for months, was at the post office ready to be picked up. Why were they at the post office you may ask? Well for the simple fact that Sophie was securing something that would be easily pinched if no one was at home. It becomes a waste of money if someone steals shit that you’ve paid for. You wanna know what she gets from this fuck head? No ‘Thanks hun, I’ll go pick it up.’ All she got was him nutting off at her because she sent them to the post office instead of his house. Ungrateful fucking whore of a narcissistic little boy. Who - not to mention - earns more fucking money than Sophie does. So if he really wanted these fucking shoes he should have brought them himself instead of spending money on his trashy hoe of a side piece he called his ‘girl bestfriend.’

This is literally the scrapes from the surface. This doesn’t even infuriate me anymore because she did it to herself. She spent 11 months wasting time on something that wasn’t in it for her but more or less for himself. He was wasting her time. Making her think that he loved her and was in it for the so call ‘long run.’ Endless arguments. He cheated on her twice. He neglected her when she needed him most. He manipulated her to think that we were fucking wrong about him. I tell you, when I sense a walking red flag. I’m never fucking wrong. You need evidence for that? Look at how her last relationship ended. You know for months on end Sophie was waiting for him to treat her out on a date, get her gifts? Even the smaller ones at some stage she would have appreciated more than anything else. But no. None of that. Sophie was buying him shit and he’d run off with no gratitude. The way he’d neglect her more times than often to hang out with his ‘mates’ was fucking ridiculous. He’d even leave Sophie to so call comfort his ‘girl bestfriend’ who would be upset. Bullshit. He was probably comforting her with his rice dick. To think that it would be more offensive to his side bitch by not comforting her over his girlfriend, who probably needed him more than anything else… She really thought he would change for her? Like fuck. He was all in it for himself in the beginning.

Me: Whether you answer it or not I don’t mind and you can put me in my place. But be completely honest with me why are you still with him if he puts you through that shit Soph?

Sophie: It’s ok to ask that question but the reason im still with alan is a bit varied but I guess the way I can explain it is that I still love him not what he has done that’s bad but what he’s done that’s good yes he’s done a ton of fucking crappy things but he’s always been the first person there when I needed him. And not in the way where he has to protect me but he’s always been some sort of a teacher to me because he knows I get a bit temperamental and just act on my emotions and he’s been patient with me

Sophie: But those times where he has done shit to hurt me I know I can do better then him and he knows that to

Sophie: I fell in love with him purely because he showed me that I could lean on him.

Sophie: That I could be vulnerable with him and that’s not what really made me fall in love but it was that factor that contributed to it

Sophie: I know u don’t think I should be with him anymore and I get why he’s a dick

Sophie: I know he’s got heaps to show or better yet prove to everyone that he’s worthwhile

Sophie: But I believe he can do it

Sophie : That’s why I want him to meet my family because at the end of the day it’s not just me he’s going to have to impress

Sophie: But if he wants a future with me he needs to prove that he will be suitable

I just don’t understand a lot of things Sophie did these past months. All of the alarms were ringing loud and clear. But no. Unfortunately her stubbornness is more her weakness than it is her strength. She even thought he could change.

The fact that he would also lay a violent hand on one of your closest friends didn’t raise any hairs either? Are you fucking delusional?

However.

Something that actually does piss me off is the fact that she told me that she didn’t care if I gave him the verbal whooping of his life but told me later on to but out of it. Boohoo. I couldn’t give a damn. I think she realised just how much her relationship has fucked me off. I woke up this morning and chose to be a cunt.

Sophie: Hey look I know I said say whatever but after everything I still care for him not to lose his job.

Sophie: So just please leave it

Sophie is: Don’t get involved ok

Me: I’m not that petty. I’m more of a criticiser. Not an asshole. But yes Soph imma leave it alone. He can suck a dick for all I care but he is like a minuscule to the shit I’m dealing with so don’t worry.

Me: U deal with it ur own way just like I dealt with Drake my own way.

Me: 👍

I’m waiting for a reply. But I think the “U deal with it ur own way like I dealt with Drake my own way” text I sent to her struck some heart stings. She told me what to do with my last relationship. And she says shit like this. Makes me laugh. A fuck ton. It makes me laugh at the fact that she has the right to get involved in my relationships only in the rough patch when I don’t need her to hold my hand and then when I go back to pay the ‘favour back’ she gets all up and arms. Hypocrisy isn’t a pretty look okay babes?

Another thing that I can’t quite comprehend is the fact that she asks people who she barely knows for advice as if they’ve been involved this whole time and stuck up with her childish and stupid decisions for the long run. The fact that she can’t come to us for honest advice and has to go to a practical stranger, buzzes the fuck outta me. It’s like she’s scared to hear the truth. Like she doesn’t want to admit she was in the wrong from the beginning. Sorry Soph, but even the person you asked for advice from knows how fucked up that little boy is. Don’t worry. I filled him in. On everything. He is my boyfriend after all (and I plan to keep a secret from you because you don’t know how to keep shit to yourself). He’s more woke than that thing that you called a boyfriend. I’m extremely fortunate to have him and one day hope that your line of sight changes from walking red flags to real men who actually give a damn about you and know how to treat you accordingly. I feel like you rush into shit way too fucking fast. So you know, while you’re supposedly broken up, I hope you actually use your head and realise you need a break to work on yourself. I know for a fact that the reason why you’re depressed and have crippling anxiety is not only because of the work load you had to do, but because that fucking asshole would make you feel worthless. I mean I could blame him for you falling behind in your studies. Look where he got you? He held you back so he could move forward and better you. You thought there was a level in mutuality in how successful you were compared to the other, but we all know that wasn’t the truth.

As I close out this massive as fuck, brain rot of a rant, I just wanna say that I have the slightest feeling that she’s gonna be stupid enough to go back to him. After all, 1 of his good things > 1000 of his shit things. I’ll be letting her know that I want absolutely nothing to do with it, and might refuse to go to her 21st if he’s there. I’d hate to do something I won’t regret later.

[unfoldingmoments]

Life and Death and the Quantum Wave Function

I have met others like us,’ Hugo said. ‘You see, I have been in the in-between state for a long time. I have encountered a few other sliders. That’s what I call them. Us. We are sliders. We have a root life in which we are lying somewhere, unconscious, suspended between life and death, and then we arrive in a place. And it is always something different. A library, a video store, an art gallery, a casino, a restaurant . . . What does that tell you?’ Nora shrugged. And thought. Listening to the hum of the central heating. ‘That it’s all bullshit? That none of this is real?’ ‘No. Because the template is always the same. For instance: there is always someone else there – a guide. Only ever one person. They are always someone who has helped the person at a significant time in their life. The setting is always somewhere with emotional significance. And there is usually talk of root lives or branches.”

And there is always an infinite range of choices,’ Hugo went on. ‘An infinite number of video tapes, or books, or paintings, or meals . . . Now, I am a scientist. And I have lived many scientific lives. In my original root life, I have a degree in Biology. I have also, in another life, been a Nobel Prize-winning chemist. I have been a marine biologist trying to protect the Great Barrier Reef. But my weakness was always physics. At first I had no idea of how to find out what was happening to me. Until I met a woman in one life who was going through what we are going through, and in her root life she was a quantum physicist. Professor Dominique Bisset at Montpellier University. She explained it all to me. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics.

Erwin Schrödinger . . .’ ‘He of the cat.’ ‘Yes. The cat guy. He said that in quantum physics every alternative possibility happens simultaneously. All at once. In the same place. Quantum superposition. The cat in the box is both alive and dead. You could open the box and see that it was alive or dead, that’s how it goes, but in one sense, even after the box is open, the cat is still both alive and dead. Every universe exists over every other universe. Like a million pictures on tracing paper, all with slight variations within the same frame. The many-worlds interpretation of quantum physics suggests there are an infinite number of divergent parallel universes. Every moment of your life you enter a new universe. With every decision you make. And traditionally it was thought that there could be no communication or transference between those worlds, even though they happen in the same space, even though they happen literally millimetres away from us.

But the point is, there are others like us. I have lived so many lives, I have come across a few of them. Sometimes just to say your own truth out loud is enough to find others like you.’ ‘It’s crazy to think that there are other people who could be . . . what did you call us? ‘Sliders?’ ‘Yep. That.’ ‘Well, it’s possible of course, but I think we’re rare. One thing I’ve noticed is that the other people I’ve met – the dozen or so – have all been around our age. All thirties or forties or fifties. One was twenty-nine, en fait. All have had a deep desire to have done things differently. They had regrets. Some contemplated that they may be better off dead but also had a desire to live as another version of themselves.’ ‘Schrödinger’s life. Both dead and alive in your own mind.’ ‘Exactement! And whatever those regrets did to our brain, whatever – how would you say? – neurochemical event happened, that confused yearning for death-and-life was somehow just enough to send us into this state of total in-between.’ Why is it always just one person that we see? In the place. The library. Whatever.’ Hugo shrugged. ‘If I was religious, I’d say it was God. And as God is probably someone we can’t see or comprehend then He – or She – or whichever pronoun God is – becomes an image of someone good we have known in our lives. And if I wasn’t religious – which I’m not – I would think that the human brain can’t handle the complexity of an open quantum wave function and so it organises or translates this complexity into something it understands. A librarian in a library. A friendly uncle in a video store. Et cetera.”

“So,’ Nora said, ‘whatever exists between universes is most likely not a library, but that is the easiest way for me to understand it. That would be my hypothesis. I see a simplified version of the truth. The librarian is just a kind of mental metaphor. The whole thing is.”

“But what if one day there is no video store?’ Nora thought about Mrs Elm, panicking at the computer, and the flickering lights in the library. ‘What if one day you disappear for good? Before you have found a life to settle in?’ He shrugged. ‘Then I will die. And it means I would have died anyway. In the life I lived before. I kind of like being a slider. I like imperfection. I like keeping death as an option. I like never having to settle.’ ‘I think my situation is different. I think my death is more imminent. If I don’t find a life to live in pretty soon, I think I’ll be gone for good.’

She explained the problem she’d had last time, with transferring back.

Oh. Yeah, well, that might be bad. But it might not be. You do realise there are infinite possibilities here? I mean, the multiverse isn’t about just some universes. It’s not about a handful of universes. It’s not even about a lot of universes. It’s not about a million or a billion or a trillion universes. It’s about an infinite number of universes. Even with you in them. You could be you in any version of the world, however unlikely that world would be. You are only limited by your imagination. You can be very creative with the regrets you want to undo. I once undid a regret about not doing something I’d contemplated as a teenager – doing aerospace engineering and becoming an astronaut – and so in one life I became an astronaut. I haven’t been to space. But I became someone who had been there, for a little while. The thing you have to remember is that this is an opportunity and it is rare and we can undo any mistake we made, live any life we want. Any life. Dream big . . . You can be anything you want to be. Because in one life, you are.

'But you will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life,’ he said, wisely. ‘You’re quoting Camus.

Excerpt From: Matt Haig. “The Midnight Library.”

[xx-slug-xx]

//cw- vent post, suicide, sh, and mental health mentions (sorry that this is not within the realms of my blog lol, I just have nowhere else to say it)

As much as I want to support people and help them, I just can’t anymore. I can’t let my own mental health decline because I’m trying to help.

The amount of times I’ve been treated as someone’s therapist, I’ve had others vent to me about horrible things without my consent, and talk people out of suicide is astounding at this point. I feel terrible for saying this. I want people to live and I want to help where I can. But I’m so tired now. I feel like I can’t have a normal friendship or relationship with anyone because I always have the burden of supporting them. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It really seems like everyone I’ve gotten close to has loaded all their bullshit onto me, expect me to side with them, and bring me into situations that I want nothing to do with.

I want to set boundaries with people, but I can’t do that while they are talking about how much they want to kill themselves, their abusive relationship, or how much their life sucks. That would be awful to do to someone. And if they do kill themselves, then I’d be guilty knowing that I could have done something to help them. I don’t know when a good time to set boundaries would be either, once they start doing this to me. Then it becomes the “I thought I could be open with you!”, “oh thanks, now that’s put me over the edge and I’m going to kill myself this time”, or “I’m sorry, I really am a burden I guess”. I just can’t do this anymore, but I don’t know how to make it stop. I don’t feel like I actually matter to the people I care about sometimes and I’m just a tool for them to release their emotions and make the feel better.

I know what it’s like to be suicidal, hell I’m suicidal right now, and all the time. I’ve been through worse though, and I know I can make it out of this. If anyone understands what suicide, depression, anxiety, and all that good stuff feels like, I have the right to say that it’s me! I have so much sympathy for people going through rough patches, it’s unbelievable. It’s because of that sympathy that I put myself into these situations to begin with!

I have so much advice to give people on what i belive is probably a good corse of action to take. “Don’t do that just yet and wait untill you’re calm enough to think clearly”, “nobody thinks that way about you and if they do, then they are stupid and you shouldn’t worry about their opinion”, “go the the mental hospital because I’m worried about you”, “maybe you shouldn’t get back with the guy who was beating you because he’ll probably do it again”, but no matter what I say, it’s in vane. As soon as someone starts venting to me about their problems, they don’t want advice. They already make their choice on what to do next, they won’t listen to a word I say. I feel like that’s what hurts the most. No matter how hard I try to help people, no matter what rational thing that I, as an outside viewer, has to say on the situation, it never seems to be worth the effort. They just want me to agree with how much their life sucks and agree that their choice is right. And then, when they ignore what I say and their situation gets worse, I’m the one they go to about it. I’m so tired of being stressed out and worried about people’s safety because I know they won’t listen to me.

I just want to have normal relationships with the people in my life. That is all I ask. I don’t want to constantly have a codependent relationship with everyone I know. I just want people to stop coming to me when I already have my own shit that I deal with.

I don’t really know what I should do to make this stop, and I feel like I’m going to relapse after being 9 months in the clear for self harm. I don’t think I will, but the feeling is crushing regardless. I’ve been so good for so long, and I really don’t want my mental health to go to shit because of what responsibilities other people are dumping on me that I can’t handle. I have so much going on, and other things to worry about. I can’t be worried about people because of what they though was ok to tell me unprompted.

Sorry guys for dumping this. I tagged it for a reason and I really just needed to get my thoughts out in the open. I’m safe, I’m with people, and I won’t do anything stupid. Done this song and dance too many times to do something that I’ll regret now! Don’t worry about me lmao