#it's so you can filter out my existential rambling.

[v1leblood]

putting microphone to your mouth. explain lisa wilbourn to me

these posts are the most important lisa images on the internet

i don't know how to explain lisa. she's a normal girl who has something wrong with her. her life before triggering was mundanely miserable and her life since triggering has been defined by trying to prevent the circumstances of her trigger over and over and over and over and coming out of it a 'better person' but in many ways a much sadder one. i don't think saying any parahumans character 'gets over' their trauma but lisa's someone who like. not even in the most charitable definition has in any way gotten over her trauma. outside of a few She Would Not Fucking Say That moments ward is pretty good with lisa and it's fucking tragic bc she's Still mourning taylor, she's trying to take care of aiden so he won't turn out like taylor, and she ends up getting similarly attached to victoria when she sees in just how low of a low victoria's around halfway through the story.( her rl w victoria is much healthier than her attachment to taylor bc she doesn't consider vicky a Full rex but those caring instincts still come out. )

something about lisa is that being lisa and interacting with lisa are both horrifying. lisa's power doesn't let her not know the best or worst way to talk to you. every time you're having an interaction with lisa, every time she's having an interaction with you, there has to be a conscious choice as to whether she's going to play into the informational power imbalance or whether she's going to try not to -- except, the information is still there, isn't it? unless she actively focused on something else or actively switched her attention around quickly so her power can't go into detail on things, she Knows things she shouldn't, and even if she doesn't act on that information, what you'll get out of her still isn't going to be her 'natural reaction' to what you're doing or saying. it can be the closest thing, but by having the information and not using it, the reaction she gives will still be one filtered through having the information and trying to Act as though she didn't. her power taints any social interaction. and sometimes its not a big deal, and of all her troubles i don't think this particular thing bothers her that much, but its kind of existentially horrifying that any interaction she has is imbalanced in her favor as far as knowing things about each other goes. whatever your or anyone's opinion on lisa's aromanticism, what she gave as her reason for why dating is hard/impossible for her rings true: she meets people and there's no mystery, they're almost immediately laid bare, and that changes things about the way she interacts with them and how she's willing to mentally categorize them in pretty much every context, not just dating. she took a single look at alec and immediately knew he was emotionally numbed and 'sociopathic', she immediately knew grue was concerned about putting up a tough front and about being Professional, she Immediately Knew taylor was basically on the brink of either suicide or something much like it. it taints everything. even when lisa's not being manipulative (which she often is on purpose) you can't Know that she's not just feeding you the right line or the next best thing as per her encylopedic knowledge of You. its fucked up!

and like ive mentioned other times i think this aspect of her power, having people laid bare before her, often their worst selves laid bare before her, really contributes to her cynicism and the arrogant front she puts up, because she may have flaws, but she knows that everyone else fucking sucks, too

theres more Stuff about her including the way in which shes manipulative her little neuroses and how her morality evolves throughout worm but im just rambling w/o a specific Point so idt i can share my thots on those and make them cohere in this specific post

[animedoragon]

A friend dragged me into the ENA verse, I became feral and, naturally, shoved it with my other favorite thing and made a new thing. Therefore here’s some ramblings about Bleach in a fever dream, some doodles and a wip just because I have no self control

TWs: glitch stuff, severe mental health issues because of course they’re fucked in the head, probably drugs

So first off I’m unsure if I want both gangs to meet but it would be an interesting interaction to see the broken mind that’s Ena causing havoc with Ichigo and his existential crisis, lost in that equally broken world

Since it is a dream world, I can see something going down with either Kisuke or Mayuri that puts someone of the gang in a trance and traps their minds there-- originally this comes from a game literally called LSD Dream Emulator, so, it wouldn’t be too much of a wild take if someone consumed forbidden substances and might go insane if they stay there for too long

Obviously hero Ichigo & co. kicks in, as always without measuring the kind of consequences this could have on everyone’s psyche after Kisuke/Mayuri’s warning of how this could be very, very bad for their brains if they’re not careful

Whoever thought they would arrive together to that collective fever dream was an idiot and obviously they’re all separated. I’m counting with Ichigo, Chad, Uryu, Orihime and maybe Rukia and Renji in this one btw

Nothing there makes sense and that immediately affects everyone. From Ichigo’s POV he realizes right away something’s wrong when he feels his mind split and his hollow/Shiro’s personality coming through very intensely

His thoughts also become really loud and he couldn’t help but have a mental breakdown when he finally found someone to talk to and ask for directions, all his fears and insecurities came through and he screamed and glitched without control. And then he was fine. Nothing happened here let’s move on

It takes him a bit to notice he had a breakdown at all and obviously no one else really minds nor bothers to point it out. He also notices he’s had some blackouts too when he felt in danger and starts to question if that was his hollow’s doing (yes it was)

He doesn’t know Shiro/his hollow is having bursts of rage and taking over whenever a chance arises, if Ichigo feels threatened or is scared for any reason, he will come out and he will commit the equivalent of murder in the fever dream. He’s also not aware his face changes when those happen: in a neutral state he has half of both, if Ichigo has a breakdown his face looks fully like his but crying very intensely and glitching, and if Shiro has an outburst it looks like his hollow mask with horns and with two mouths (he’s the one I’ve doodled the most lol)

It would be funny if he stumbled upon the four legged guard from Extinction Party and they deemed his threat level as extremely dangerous

Now the point where things really go wrong would be when he finally finds either one or all of his friends

None of them have full control of themselves in there and the longer they’ve stayed, the more it’s been chipping away at their sanity, so no one is fully awake by the time they meet and they all start saying things they mean but are not supposed to say

So it’s the first time Ichigo hears directly from them that they love him and he’s the best friend they could’ve ever asked for, but JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST ICHIGO WE LITERALLY CAN’T BEAR WITH THE STRESS OF THINKING YOU MIGHT DIE ONE OF THESE DAYS BECAUSE OF HOW OBSESSED YOU ARE WITH PROTECTING EVERYONE EXCEPT YOURSELF

They’re not mad at him, but the time they’ve spent in there has almost completely eliminated their filter and he’s finally seeing just how bad it’s been for them to be his friends

...which could also be mistaken for “look what being your friend has done to us”

They do call him selfish at certain points for unconsciously dragging everyone else to his fights (cue Chad and Ishida almost dying certain times, cue Rukia wanting to die but Ichigo not letting her, etc)

If they push Ichigo to his limit he might as well have his own outburst or breakdown in front of them and spit out some not nice thoughts he’s had about himself, or even about them. If it’s Shiro taking the front seat, he won’t hold back on screaming at them and telling them they’re the reason he’s had to revive Ichigo in the past or show up to save his ass, because they’re all too pathetic to protect themselves and need their hero to give up everything for them, even his own life

And that’s where I’m at rn. The point where they’re gonna very unhealthily yell at each other and release all the shit they’ve held back. Now I just gotta figure out how badly that’s going to affect them and if there’s any chance they can escape the fever dream at all after breaking each other like that

In case it’s not obvious I’m very excited to make everyone suffer <3

[salamoonder]

I’m so tired.

I used to be full of words and ideas and universes--and I still am, but now they’re trapped in my head, pushing out the things I need to function and survive and simply remember how to operate as a decent fucking human being.

I’ve spent weeks--months, honestly--going through all my old stuff and wondering how in the hell I managed to do it. Just the sheer volume of the words I produced astounds me. Right now six pages sounds like an impossible amount. In an early NaNoWriMo, my parents decided that I was spending too much time on “that dumb writing thing” and confiscated my laptop, and so I finished the last half of my novel in an old notebook in secret with one week remaining.

I flip through the pages and gape at it. I was sixteen. It’s not quality writing, but still, it exists. It’s there in solid ink, pages and pages and pages of my cramped, tiny, sloppy handwriting going from word to sentence to paragraph to chapter on and on until I wrote “The End” ceremoniously in cursive. And it’s only half of the full text.

Another year, I had fallen behind between school and work, and wrote fucking 12,000 words in under two hours. I’m sure most people who write or read fic know roughly how much that is but if you don’t, it’s the equivalent of a little over a fifth of The Great Gatsby. I don’t say this to brag but to illustrate how freaking impossible it sounds to me now.

There are documents in my google drive I haven’t opened in literal years that I know contain well over a hundred pages of original concepts. Unpolished, unedited, but there. First drafts, complete.

There are other folders containing nothing but notes; fully fleshed out universes and characters that I never used. Fanfiction ideas I forgot I had. The biggest group by far is a folder simply labeled “WIP”.

Abandoned, all of them. Even on my AO3 page, which I used to strive to keep completed as much as possible, houses several abandoned chaptered fics. And none of my original stories have ever seen the light of day outside of a few close friends. There’s even some screenplays in there. Stage plays. Poetry that I never reworked.

I have a nearly 60k fic that I’m releasing bit by bit now, slowly, editing each chapter and releasing it, waiting a week, repeating the process. It’s feeding my need to put something out into the world and the comments and kudos don’t hurt either. But the words are beginning to run out and I’m going to have to add to it soon, if it’s going to continue.

I’m going slowly insane.

I can’t sleep again. I’m on a low dose and I have a psychiatrist appointment soon, but I don’t think my meds are working. School is starting to catch up to me. Forgetting to eat is starting to catch up to me. The stress of jobhunting is starting to catch up to me.

It’s so, so much easier to put on Star Trek or New Girl or whatever and just kind of collapse in on myself rather than sit down and actually write. It used to be easy. Words used to flow out of me. Now I have to shove at them. Coax them out. Threaten them.

I hate not writing, though.

I want to finish what I started. I want to do more than that. I want to keep going. I have new ideas that need to escape. I’d like to share my OCs with the world. I’d like to perform and record some of my spoken word. If a writer is a god of their respective works, then I have been a severely neglectful one. I’d like to do better.

[hopeymchope]

Doki Doki Literature Club Plus! final thoughts

I’ve been wanting to talk about my feelings on “Doki Doki Literature Club Plus!” for a while now, but for whatever reason, I’ve been struggling to put them into words. Given my training as a writer, this is pretty embarrassing. So I’m just going to ramble at you. 

There are basically three stories in DDLC+: The main narrative/”campaign,” the side stories (which add up to one continuous story when viewed in sequence), and the meta-narrative of Metaverse Enterprise Solutions. (It’s funny how this release hit in the same year when companies like Facebook and Epic Games started pushing their own definition of the word “metaverse,” but there is no relation between their metaverse and this fictional company.) The Side Stories are unlocked by playing through the main campaign, and progressing through the Side Stories helps you unlock the bulk of the MES story that is provided via email text. 

The main campaign is the game that the Internet fell in love with back in 2017. Because of my personal choices in the game, they successfully tricked me into thinking there was more variation to the story than there really is. In reality, although you can certainly unlock some different blocks of text and different reactions along the way (and in fact, you have to do some save-scumming to unlock all of the CGs and achieve the best ending), it’s mostly a linear narrative. By 2021, a lot of the tricks in this game feel less amazing than they did in 2017, but it’s still a very clever story, and it’s impressive how well-written it is. Even before it takes a hard left turn into existential horror, it manages to establish an endearing main cast.

Mmmm nah, I think you’re always a mess, honey. 

 Everybody is likable here, from our surprisingly snarky MC down to the initially prickly Natsuki. What really grabbed me was how they manage to make it clear that the lead girls are more than just jokey visual novel tropes; they are all, as I’ve previously observed, struggling mentally. That’s true of them from the very start, and it becomes readily apparent by the third and fourth “days” of the game. That depth keeps things emotionally engaging on through to the end, and it pays off even more in the “Side Stories.”

By now, most of the Internet knows who the “secret” main character of the game is. But without stating who that is, I want to say that I never found them creepy? Even when they felt misguided, they were sincerely based in their actions. I never stopped being sympathetic to their plight. Perhaps the hardest part of the game for me was doing what I needed to do to progress into the fourth and final act. 

If I have one complaint about the primary campaign, it’s the way in which the MC is filtered out of it over time. This is never really explained or resolved; he’s just irrelevant and stops being discussed or sharing his thoughts at a certain point without any justification for that fact. You — that is, the player at home — are just left to notice that he’s suddenly not offering any first-person commentary or thoughts any longer... even when other characters seem to still talk to him like normal. He becomes functionally absent without us ever understanding what changed or why, and that doesn’t make sense. 

I hear that. Think I know anybody else IRL who could read or tolerate a visual novel? The struggle is real. 

And as I already referenced, you can unlock a “best ending,” but I’m not sure if it’s really worth it. It barely diverts from the default ending. Oh, and the credits sequence? Dynamite, deeply loved it, super sweet and cool and affecting. 

Okay, so: SIDE STORIES. These were the main selling point of the “Plus!” edition. Players familiar with the original 2017 game now get an entire new narrative that starts out like a prequel but eventually feels more like a parallel universe. And yes, when I say “narrative,” I mean that the Side Stories are — despite their label as plural “stories” — actually a single linear tale that you just happen to view in parts. Furthermore, when taken as a whole, the “Side Stories” are about as long as the main game is. Their presence effectively doubles the game’s length. They even get a unique soundtrack and their own separate credits.

This time, the MC is kept off-screen (although he gets referenced in dialogue) because the focus is on how the girls first met and formed the club. Thanks to the struggles of these girls that were established in the main campaign, I found the experience of watching them open up to one another and face their inner demons together to be emotional and affecting. That moment in the first couple of chapters when Sayori writes those five words on a sheet of paper for Monika to read? Holy shit. I related to that. I felt that. When Natsuki ultimately determines how to deal with her longtime friends? Brutal, but again, totally relatable. It got me feeling that tight, sour sensation in my chest. Writer Dan Salvato proves in these things that he’s completely capable of creating excellent material without relying on the gimmicks that the campaign focused on. This is a story where the only “horrors” are real life, our personal demons, and the ongoing struggle to connect with other people in meaningful ways. Seeing how these characters connected makes the events of the main campaign much more tragic. In short: I love it. 

Heartfelt, heartwarming shit.

If I can step back and remark on both the main game and the “Side Stories” mode for a second... It’s legitimately impressive how both the main campaign’s third act and the overall Side Stories both contain a lot of really good, accurate advice for how to treat people with various mental struggles/illnesses. I can only assume that Dan Salvato did his homework or knew a lot about this stuff firsthand. There is no single solution for how to best help someone in your life cope with a given mental problem, but the suggestions put forth in this game are genuinely very, very constructive. Major respect and kudos for that. 

Okay, let’s get back to the matter at hand. The only thing left for me to discuss is the meta-narrative, the whole thing with Metaverse Enterprise Solutions. By design, this is the shortest story of the trio — it adds up to total nothing more than a few pages of plain text on a white background. It also takes time to unlock each piece of this puzzle, and ultimately, it doesn’t really work IMO. See, this meta-narrative purports to offer insight into the (fictional) developer of the very game you are playing, but it’s too disjointed and out-of-step with the content in the other modes. The emails and logs that make up the meta-narrative are totally disconnected from one another, with each one feeling like a tiny window into a five-way conversation that you’re only seeing a single side of. It doesn’t even work as a meta-narrative for the bigger game because whoever wrote this aspect couldn’t keep their shit right. For example: One of the emails you unlock talks about how/why the MC doesn’t exist within the Side Stories — which is patently untrue! The dialogue makes it clear that he DOES exist! So yeah, although there are some cute details in this part of the thing, they never fall into place to construct a story or even some compelling side notes. They’re just curiosities.

I’m sure many people will never bother to read the unlocked files and notes, etc. Which is no big loss.

In the end, I think it’s clear that I loved this package as a whole. Particularly in regard to how much I adored these characters and their inner struggles. I only wanted to spend even more time with them. 

Guess who made the cover of Famitsu’s October 2021 issue?

It’s interesting to note that just last month, in October of 2021, DDLC finally got its first official Japanese release (the translated version of “Plus!”). I think it’s curious that this game that is so deeply inspired by Japanese visual novels took so long to get over there. If the Famitsu coverage and review are anything to go by, it seems that Japan may love the crap out of this Western-made deconstruction of their homegrown dating sims. And that’s pretty cool.

WARNING: The comments on this post contain spoilers. Just a heads-up.

[thereaderstea]

I am back! I’ve been having a tough time to be honest and I was wondering if you have any fic recs that deal with mental health/illnesses? Just need fics that let me know I’m not alone here:( - ☂️

welcome back and merry meet, ☂️ carissima! i'm so happy to see you again! i'm sorry to hear you've been having a tough time; i want you to know my inbox and dms are always open if you ever need a listening ear 💜 also, here’s a mental health resource list.

mental health and mental illness are my favorite topics! so i have a lot of them in my library. i have also started reading on and navigating ao3, so i included a couple of fics from there. i included just the mental health warnings for each fic, but please check the fic's warnings before reading as most (if not all) of these fics are heavy and the multi-chaptered fics indicates what each chapter includes.

general warning: these fics (under the cut) may contain topics of mental health, mental illness, physical illness, death, grief/mourning, suicidality, panic attacks, abuse, and more.

BTS Mental Health Fic Recs

lost, then found by @magicalcrwn ➵ksj x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort | oneshot | 2.2k ➵mental health warnings: talks of loneliness, existential crisis, implied suicidal thoughts

“When it comes, the two hands overlap / Then the whole world holds its breath for a moment / Zero o’clock“

Life is hard, sometimes you just gotta take a step back and breathe.

Stay by @sahmfanficbts ➵jjk x reader | hurt/comfort | established relationship au | oneshot | 2.9k ➵mental health warnings: depression, recovery, mentions of suicide

“Till death do us part” Your husband JK will do everything in his power to help you see how much he needs you to stay.

Candle by @tae-cup | The Reader's Tea ➵myg x reader | angst, fluff | oneshot | 4.3k ➵mental health warnings: depressing thoughts, thoughts of suicide, recovery.

You met him at the lowest point in your life. He was your candle, your light, and he helped you fly to the clouds.

nightlight by @minniepetals ➵ot7 x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort | mafia au | oneshot | 7.7k ➵mental health warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of death, reader has insomnia, nightmares.

things have never been easy for you but you never expected it’d be them that would make things easier.

heartbeat by minniepetals ➵ot7 x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort | hybrid au | oneshot | 9.7k ➵mental health warnings: mentions of abuse, anxiety, nightmares.

running away from your master is never easy so you deem yourself this will be the last time if you are fatefully brought back to his hold again. so what happens when you stumble upon seven men who says they won’t bring you back? what happens when they promise you their love and care instead?

comforting arms by minniepetals ➵ot7 x reader | fluff, hurt/comfort | established relationship au | drabble | 1.2k ➵mental health warnings: stress, sadness/feeling down.

they come home to find you silently crying to yourself.

What Money Can Buy by @jeonstudios ➵jjk x reader | angst, fluff | oneshot | 17.8k ➵mental health warnings: reader has depression, loneliness, mentions of death.

in need of money, jeongguk signs up as a sugar baby, assuming he’ll be paid for sex by some old kinky woman. he never expected to meet someone like you. what were you doing on that site, and why would you have to pay for company?

A Place Called Home by @agustdakasuga | The Reader's Tea ➵➵ot7 x reader | fluff, angst, hurt/comfort | hybrid au | series | 88.3k ➵arctic fox!seokjin, panther!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, wolf!namjoon, calico cat!jimin, tiger!taehyung, rabbit!jungkook,  vet!mc, human!mc ➵mental health warnings: ksj has anxiety, ksj was non-verbal, pjm has PTSD and anxiety, recovery, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, injuries, fighting rings.

Having saved your own injured hybrid, you were determined to try and help any other hybrid that crossed your path who needed saving. But being a vet in a small hospital wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to do more, you wanted to make a difference. You wanted to give them a home.

Fix You by @casuallyimagining ➵myg x reader | fluff, angst, slow burn hurt/comfort | hybrid au | series | ongoing ➵mental health warnings: discussion of physical abuse, emotional abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of self-harm

When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal?

Filtering Light by @sybilwriting ➵jjk x pjm x reader | fluff, angst | hybrid au | series | ongoing ➵bunny!reader, human!jimin, human!jungkook, ft. human!seokjin, human!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung ➵mental health warnings: mentions of past abuse, allusions of sexual assault, recovery, reader has anxiety and PTSD, panic attacks.

the reader is a bunny hybrid with a past that has left her traumatized and struggling to heal. some things can be helped with therapy, but some things can only be fixed through realizing you’re not all of the things that hurt you—you are, in fact, just loved.

Before I Leave You by @hollyhomburg ➵ot7 x reader | fluff, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort | omegaverse, mafia au | series | ongoing ➵omega!reader, omega!seokjin, omega!jungkook, beta!yoongi, alpha!hoseok, alpha!namjoon, alpha!jimin, alpha!taehyung ➵mental health warnings: emotional and physical abuse, forced mating marks, graphic murder scenes, negative self-talk, self-esteem issues, non-verbal characters, abandonment, PTSD, hurt/comfort, agoraphobia, implied/referenced self-harm, suicidal thoughts and brief desperate suicide attempt, gender dysphoria, internalized transphobia, internalized misogyny, unintended outings, epilepsy.   

Someone always has to leave first; They just didn’t expect Yoongi to come back with a new omega (who’s clearly been through some shit).

Don’t Worry Love by hollyhomburg ➵jhs x reader, pjm x reader | angst, hurt/comfort | duology | 4.5k ➵mental health warnings: mc has anorexia/eating disorder, anxiety, fainting.

You thought you had your bad habit under control- but when you wake up in a hospital room your boyfriend: Jung Hoseok confronts you- rightfully angry that you nearly starved yourself to death.

Part 1: Don’t Worry Love | Part 2: Just For You

Open Up Baby (Just Let Me In) by hollyhomburg ➵jhs x reader | fluff, hurt/comfort | established relationship au | oneshot | 2.1k ➵mental health warnings: depictions of mental illness, mc has PTSD, night terrors, anxiety attacks, flashbacks, implied abuse.

Hoseok knows that opening up is hard, and that healing is harder. But can see you struggling- but he’s torn, he can’t let you drown under the weight of whatever this is. He just wants to help you. He just wants to know.

Eyes On Me by hollyhomburg ➵knj x reader | fluff, hurt/comfort | established relationship au | oneshot | 4.3k ➵mental health warnings: knj has anxiety and panic attacks.

Kim Namjoon knows how bad his anxiety can get, but when he starts having panic attacks you decide to step in: lakeside hijinks ensue.

Sweet Like Honey (Break Like Glass) by hollyhomburg ➵kth x reader | fluff, angst | established relationship au | oneshot | 6.7k ➵mental health warnings: mentions of body dysmorphia, self-esteem issues, dysphoria, internalized self-hate, references to eating disorder.

Taehyung knows there’s something wrong with his girlfriend; the way she can’t look at herself in the mirror sometimes or the countless other bad days. He makes it his mission to make her feel as beautiful as possible.

eternal sunshine by sunlightvmin (ao3) ➵knj x jjk | angst, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort | android au | oneshot | 13k ➵mental health warnings: epidemic, death, suicide attempt, depression, anxiety disorder, grief/mourning, recovery, philosophical/existential talks, morality. ➵make sure you read/scroll all the way to the bottom because i almost didn’t and nearly lost my heart.

When half of the world dies, Namjoon forgets what it is like to live.

Android JK-0901 helps him learn how to, again.

Calcu-LATER by tae-cup ➵kth x reader, pjm x reader | fluff, angst, humor | college au | series | ongoing ➵ mental health warnings: slight internalized homophobia, anxiety attack, implied disorder.

Math never fails you. The numbers might not always make sense, but you know there must be a solution. Everything fits together like a perfect puzzle, like your tidy life and solitary living…until Kim Taehyung spills paint all over your notebook. He, quite literally, trips into your life.

Ch 1. Gouache on Calculator’s by Kim Taehyung | The Reader’s Tea Ch 2. Social Events? I Think Not | The Reader’s Tea Ch 3. Valentine’s Day | The Reader’s Tea Ch 4. Colossians 3:9 | The Reader’s Tea

it's hard to keep the colors inside the lines by orphan_account (ao3) ➵pjm x knj | college au, cafe au | duology | 38k ➵mental health warnings: pjm has insomnia, implied eating disorder, anxiety, panic attacks, mention of suicide. ➵i actually just started reading this the other day and haven’t been able to finish it yet but i love it so far! knj is an adorable, lanky barista who rambles and pjm is, in the author’s words, “a soft anxious cupcake.”

Park Jimin’s just trying to get through life without collapsing of sleep deprivation. Good thing Kim Namjoon works at a sleep clinic.

If I Only Get A Year With You by hollyhomburg ➵ksj x reader | angst, domestic fluff, hurt/comfort | oneshot | 2.1k ➵mental health warnings: mentions of death and self-harm, grief.

When both of your significant others die in the same car crash there is no one else you can turn to besides your longtime friend, Kim Seokjin. You both run away to grieve, but what you find in your sadness is more than you could have ever hoped for.

Beyond Reach by @jimlingss ➵jhs x reader | angst | grim reaper au, ghost au | series | 6 ch. | ➵priestess!mc, ghost!hoseok, reaper!namjoon, ft. other members ➵mental health warnings: death, topics of suicide, topics of illness.

If someone could see what you could, they’d pass out. But you don't blame them. Who would ever expect for a ghost, a priestess and a grim reaper to be together - much less be rescuing others.

Stay by @deepdarkdelights | The Reader’s Tea ➵pjm x reader (first person pov) | angst | oneshot | 1.8k ➵mental health warnings: topics of death and dying. quote from stay:

“The world was one that had been plunged into darkness, devoid of the sky, devoid of the ground, and devoid of life. It was just the dark mist overhead and me. [...]

Was I even alive, had I ever been born? What is this strange but familiar place?”

here you go, mea ☂️ carissima! i hope you enjoy these stories, and remember that i’m here if you need an ear 💜 i wish you a well journey through your tough times.

sweet water and light laughter till next we meet,

your fellow reading monster, tor-mon 🖤

[sirianhewigxiii]

what inspired you to make all these rwby gifs? they're really good, it's always nice to see them while browsing the tag ✨

Thank youuu, dear Anon, it always makes me happy to hear that people enjoy my gifs (*^_^*)

I apologize in advance for this maybe being a bit too deep/long and me rambling but here we go (^_^”)

Honestly what started it all was that one moment between Weiss and Willow in V7 when Willow takes the booze and drinks it straight out of the bottle.

Or rather it always bothered me a little how people misinterpreted Weiss’ behavior when she threw and burned those bottles (in V6) – to me it was clearly because she was triggered by Qrow’s alcoholism and how he wasn’t doing shit to help (he was even actively being a fucking nuisance in the middle of all of that danger).

Still people always made it about Weiss just having gotten emotional for no actual reasons even though we knew at this point how Willow sank herself into alcohol and resigned. (Weiss’ trauma having been triggered like that especially by the way is one of the reasons you will never see any Winter and Qrow stuff on this blog, but let’s not get into that here...)

Either way I was always a little bit shy/protective about sharing theories and thoughts about things I very much hyperfixate on online or at all really (I also don’t really have a community irl to even share stuff like that with) – I also didn’t honestly even know that people would do theory or analysis posts that much about RWBY (or in general).

All I would ever do on Tumblr was look at the fanart and the Gifs (^_^”) so what I did know was that people would do Gif-sets/parallels.

But when that scene in V7 came up and I didn’t find anybody making a set out of the Weiss’ scene (V6:E6 - Alone in the Woods) and the scene with Willow (V7:E8 - Cordially Invited) and put ‘two and two together’ I just felt a little disappointed (^_^”)

I was like ‘Did people just not notice maybe? These scenes line up so well though…maybe I can do it then…?’ and so I kinda learned how to make basic gifs.

So my very first Gif-set of these two scenes took me forever to make and it’s really really blurry as all of my early Gifs really were since I had no idea what I was doing and what free programs were best and easiest to use xD

I would also use any basic subs that I could just find or get somewhere online, so some of them are really sloppy (^_^”)

These days I actually taught myself how to make my own subtitles so everything looks a lot cleaner - along with the Gifs themselves since I just kept figuring out how to do better I guess? (^_^”)

Either way that first Gifset kinda ‘blew up’ and I though to myself ‘Hey, maybe it’s safe to kinda share all of the details I notice like this. People seem to enjoy it and add to it in the tags, replies, reblogs. Maybe I’ll find all of the peeps who enjoy and love the show the same way as me.’

And so I just kept going to find my community really and just share something that others who are/were like me may get happy about seeing (✩ ์ ᴗ ์✩) (If that makes sense? xD)

And without getting into too much details about my private life I’ll say that RWBY is one of the very very very few things I have in life that just truly give me joy.

I just truly love the show, the story and the characters to the point that with every new Volume I’m just scared to death that something/some plot or character thing might happen that will just break it for me and leave a void – even though there has yet to be an episode to disappoint me.

And just finding all of the details, parallels, even the way scenes are cut and change is something that I simply enjoy a lot and I just always feel like I just want to share and show everybody about just how fantastic the show is ヾ(＠^∇^＠)ノ

And more than anything showing people what I want to point out by doing something as simple as putting scenes together/side by side, these days even putting my thoughts down about a certain scene in words or making fun headcanons and using Gifs to visualize it all has drawn people towards the blog who are also just really fun and cool about the show.

And while there are (quite a few) people who I have without missing a heartbeat simply blocked for several certain reasons, the majority of people here (who check out my blog) are people who actually watch the show, pay attention to the characters, their actual characters and developments, actions and interactions and are willing to look genuinely at things the way they are without being pretentious about it or clearly emotionally just not mature enough to understand what is going on.

Not that I somehow blame those latter type of people for maybe simply not being old or experienced enough to understand certain human behavior or interactions. It is however the entitlement that comes with unwillingness to listen to others who do know what they are talking about that I don’t like and the entitlement to think that certain headcanons that were unfounded from the very beginning are more important and ‘right’ that what actually happens. But that’s a whole other issue in on itself about the FNDM.

That said Gif-ing alone especially these days is also something that simply helps me a lot with anxiety (attacks) and existential fear. It just gives me something to do and to focus on for longer amounts of time that also involves something that I just enjoy and it also, on a more positive note, gives me the opportunity to connect to people, share visuals and ideas with others.

It’s just a very, for the lack of a better word, simple way to connect with people and every like, reply and reblog without or with a comment (regularly or in the tags) just makes me feel happy about one more person enjoying the same thing as I (❁´◡`❁)

And I know there’s also a crap-ton of others out there who make Gifs/Gif-sets and have been longer at and while I usually will reblog a set somebody else has already made I also usually like just cutting thing a bit differently and some people just use filters that I don’t really like (but maybe I’m just ‘showing my age’ here xD).

But I know a lot of people like them, personally however I just think the show’s too gorgeous to slap some filter on it but that’s just really a matter of taste I guess and so I just don’t use them, I also keep my subs simple for that reason ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ That said however I do know that it’s probably a crap-ton of extra work to filter and sometimes watermark things (^_^”)

That was it for my answer I think and hope that wasn’t too boring or disappointing of a read (＾◇＾)ノ

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

How to give the characters a unique voice in the third person pov? And how to make sure the narrator is distinct from the author?? I'm so dumb, sorry! <3

Voice in the third person is a LOT of fun and gets pretty intuitive the more you practice. I’m currently writing a novel with a split POV in the third person, so I’ve picked up a few tips on how to distinguish character voice.

1. Word choice/diction

How does the character speak in the narrative? This may help in distancing author voice from character voice if you’re struggling in that department. If you’re trying to write a close third, the voice is very limitedly filtered through a “narrator”. When I write Feeding Habits, I don’t actually view there being a narrator at all, but approach my close third almost like how I would write a first person narrative by attaching a “camera” to the character as close/intimately as I can (this is all in psychic distance IMO and THIS is a wonderful article that describes the features of that). This means the narrative style is often influenced by voice. Lonan’s POV utilizes a lot more religious terminology, darker, more existential “concepts”, and a lot of the similes revolve around animals, dead things, water, and the sun as a painful force. The language is a lot more floral in his POV as well. Harrison’s POV is different, in that there is less emphasis on “pretty” language and sad, dark things, and the writing style is a little more pared back. Harrison also has a lot of angsty internal monologues when he’s doing very mundane tasks while Lonan has his breakdowns doing something dramatic lol. I made those choices purposefully knowing how their voices differ. 

Here are a few questions to ask yourself when trying to sort out voice that I learned in a character lecture regarding revelation of character (I’ve added onto this/adjusted some of it & I’ll use my book as an example to answer them):

Psychological description

What is their thought process like?

Lonan is the most illogical logical person ever. He has this intensely logical thought process that is all based on illogic. Harrison’s thought process is quite black and white from A to B with seams of subtext and greyness laced through.

What do they say/don’t say? What should they say?

How do they say it (language conventions? diction? tone? lexicon?)?

When I write with Lonan, the narrative almost always has “bigger” more “concept” words (generally more academic). Harrison’s language at the moment since he is Hurt Bae, revolve around vocabulary that have “hurt” undertones. In terms of dialogue, Lonan rarely speaks and if he does, it’s 1 words answers (SOMETIMES a sentence lol). Harrison SPEAKS and sometimes rambles when he gets unhinged.

How do their private thoughts/internal narrative sound?

Is it the same as their dialogue? Re: diction, language conventions etc. Things that may affect that are their experiences (upbringing, occupation, relationships, traumas) and worldviews (interests, religion, moral code, political affiliations/opinions). 

What do they do?

Habits? Do they repeat themselves often to self-soothe? Do they use a certain word when describing a certain thing? For example, Lonan attaches to the word “stunning” in his part of the book and always mentions it in moments of distress. Harrison attaches to the word “glamorous” and repeats it for the same reasons

How do they react to their environment? Do they react at all?

Lonan ALWAYS notices the weather. Harrison doesn’t notice nearly as much

How do they react to others?

Are they judgmental? Untrusting? Naive?

Lonan is wary when he meets people and usually defLECTS to the environment around them, Harrison goes for the physical description and really focuses on the details

How do they react to themselves?

Lonan doesn’t... like himself :) If he is Known (TM) by Himself (TM), he gets ~upset, usually shuts down into himself and kind of dissolves from there... Harrison usually has problems with other people that are really just reflections of problems he has with himself. He handles this by getting self-destructive and a bit... mean (aka, he runs, far, far away from his problems).

This leads to my next tip.

2. View the “narrator” as the speaker

This is one that I’ve just thought of as a fiction writer who’s now... a poet lol! In poetry, the “narrator” of the poem is the speaker, and I find this is such an efficient way to understand fiction narrators if you’re confused on how to distinguish your voice from the character’s. In a third person narration, you technically have a narrator that is NOT the character. The narrator could be someone else, OR how I usually write third person narratives (intimate thirds) is almost how I approach second person: the narrator is almost a mirror of the character themselves and the reflection is telling the story (think: you’re sitting in a car and your reflection is in the rear-view mirror--the third person narrator is the reflection). I’m going to pen this as “Reflective Third Person” even though that POV probably doesn’t exist because that’s how I personally like writing a close third (but you might want to write a more distant third - this is up to your intention). Whichever closeness you choose, I find viewing the narrator as the “speaker” rather than the “narrator” can help clarify what you mean by “narrator”. Narrative (and naturally, voice) is comprised of two parts: the character & the writer’s style. Sometimes it can be confusing to understand if the character is the narrator or if the writer is--if your intention is that you DON’T want the story to be written into your voice, perhaps reframing the way you think about the “narrator” can help. In poetry, speakers can be anything and anyone and while that is the case with narrators, perhaps viewing your narrator (character) as the “speaker” of your narrative could help distinguish the two and remove some of your writer’s voice.

A mistake people can make when writing the third person is separating the character from the narrative so much (this is fine if your intention is for distance, but if you want intimacy, you obviously can’t distance the character and the narrative and expect that to work). Once I started viewing third person as malleable, just like any other POV and not a voiceless void, I found it much easier to handle!

Hope that helps!

[copperbadge]

Sorry I missed stream last night guys! I honestly lay down on the bed to do a little phone surfing at like 5:30 last night and I woke up at 1am with my phone at 5% battery, lying on my chest. I have a whole big essay signified by this, but it’s just me rambling about isolation and depression (I am fine, I’m speaking mostly in an existential sense) so I put it beneath a cut.

Getting a little tired of playing the IS THIS game, where you ask IS THIS physical sensation I am feeling:

a) A natural reaction to the immense cognitive stress we are all under  b) A manifestation of depression  c) The first sign I am getting The Virus

All of it is complicated by a couple of factors which include that I am emotionally doing extremely well with isolation; it turns out I spend way more time outside of my house on any given day than I actually want to. I’m not someone who requires a ton of physical affection to begin with, and used to living alone; my life hasn’t changed all that much except now the desk I sit at for several hours a day is in my bedroom instead of a cubicle, and I get to wear more comfortable clothing. I’m not immune to the terrifying ambiguity of all of reality right now, but I don’t think I’m in quite the same crushing combination of loneliness and boredom that a lot of people are. 

Another factor is that the way in which my depression has always manifested itself -- not doing necessary tasks I should be doing, avoiding experiencing anything new, isolating from other people -- are not the physical sensations I’m now encountering, which are wanting to sleep all the time and not wanting to eat ever. (I am still eating an appropriate caloric load, it’s just that when I think about eating I feel slightly nauseated, nothing tastes good, and when I try to think of something that would, I come up blank.) 

But I’m not running a fever or coughing; I have the normal amount of joint pain for being forty, and my nose runs all winter every winter, so as far as I can tell, no Corona yet, unless I’m asymptomatic in a very peculiar way. Which hey, I’ll take that over the alternative. 

I suspect it’s just that I am, as so many of us are, tired of feeling like I do not, and cannot, know anything about what’s coming next, or how I’ll cope when it arrives. I’m as prepared as I can be, with plenty of food and a plan in place for if I or my parents get sick, but you can’t anticipate everything. (I’m 3 for 3 so far, in that I bought a bulk pack of toilet paper and an extra jar of yeast two weeks ahead of the home order, and got a filter mask from work before the office shut down.) 

Anyway. The unending game of IS THIS and the daily afternoon temperature checks will continue until morale improves. :P

[radramblog]

Pink Lemonade: Not too sweet, not too sour.

(I think I’m brave enough to try some of that.)

Pink Lemonade is a 2014 album by Melbourne prog outfit Closure in Moscow and is one of the most banging’ albums in my collection. It sets out to have a good time and a good time it has, being probably the most consistently fun to sing along to of the albums I’ve tried to do that with. It also tells a pretty bizarre story, which between the salad of the lyrics, the rapid delivery, and sheer esoterica is pretty hard to follow- as such I’ll be explaining it as I go through this review. The clearest explanation of the plot is available in this article written by the band’s vocalist, and so a lot of what I’m saying is going to be coming from that. I’d recommend listening to it yourself, though, maybe even before reading on, if only so you can be as awed and confused as I was the first time around.

1. The Fool

We open on nature noises as a slow meandering line plays before suddenly being interrupted by a record distortion and a burst of energetic guitars and a quick beat, followed by the first lines of the song and what the fuck is he saying? Yeah, get used to that, that’s what this whole thing is like. Strap in.

The playful delivery of the second verse (“It’s a new day for the Fool today…”) had me hooked, with the backup vocals solidifying that position- its just a style that really appeals to me. The song doesn’t last much longer beyond that opening, because that’s just what it is- an introduction, a prologue, introducing the album’s style, energy, and protagonist.

Oh, speaking of. The Fool is our main character, and he’s who this track is about- a pleasure-seeker lost and adrift doing his own horseshit, and we’re going to watch him try(yyyyyyyYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyy) to find his next fix- a fast track no fuss path to enlightenment.

2. Pink Lemonade

I’d argue this is the first real song of the album, considering how brief The Fool is. While The Fool introduced the off-kilter verses of the album, the album’s title song introduces the punchy choruses, with vocals going in unexpected directions and their impact coinciding with the beginnings of technical and fluid riffs. The first chorus (actually maybe the only one uhhh) breaks off with a hard pause, and we’re back in the slow build of a new, chiller verse. There’s a contrast here- The Alchemist (bloke on the cover!) offering this miracle brew, this psychedelic Pink Lemonade that’s the cheat way to heaven on earth, and the Fool just begging for it and then losing his mind as the drugs take effect and it’s not quite what he was expecting. This build climaxes as the Alchemist speaks again, voice editing simulating the effects the Lemonade is having on the Alchemist’s mind, as he pours this wicked elixir once more and reinforces quite explicitly that he doesn’t fuck around. As the music cuts back, it’s the Fool who’s finding out, as he just says a bunch of words that I don’t really get- but we hear backing vocals teasing, with the album’s first mention of the Brahmatron (we’ll get to it) The song keeps going as this motherfucker just keeps tripping- allegedly he’s grappling with extradimensional shit, you know how it is. This song fucks, by the way. It’s a thrill ride, never going in the same direction twice, and only stopping to start again until its final, bitter end.

The track on the album isn’t over, though, and here’s my first real criticism, though its more of a meta thing on albums in general. You get a lot of albums where there are additional non-song bits strapped to the start and end, typically with concept and story albums, and I just wish these would be delineated as separate tracks on the album if they’re as long as this one is. When Pink Lemonade comes up on shuffle, I don’t reaaaally want to get halfway seduced before moving on to the next song, especially if I’m not the only one listening to it.

Oh yeah, that’s what is happening, by the way. After the Fool is done tripping, he awakens in an alleyway to a voice (officially named the Tacky Ornamental Slut, ok, sure) in his head, leading him to her performance at a jazz club that is extremely forward and direct. This little swaggering, jazzy interlude (featuring guest vocals and “general insidious sauciness” by Kitty Hart who’s doing a lovely job) leads directly into and continues in the next track, as Weird Dimensional Shit happens to the Fool and by the sounds of things, either he or she is glitching through reality.

3. Neoprene Byzantine

The explosion of noise that is the first second of Neoprene Byzantine is the first thing I heard of this album, as it came up on one of Spotify’s Recommended playlists, and I’m glad I went back to figure out what the hell was going on here. Suddenly, our tempting voice has turned accusatory, essentially asking “oh, wait, you were actually into that?”, and offering the songs title character, Verina (a name never actually stated in the lyrics) to satisfy the Fool’s apparent needs. There is so much energy in this opening, essentially being *fancy guitar noodling* *sassy lyrics over a snare roll* *more guitar noodling* until it breaks, and Kitty exists the record hitting a high note that took me way too long to realise was a euphemism for cunnilingus. Exquisite. (I only realised when writing this and looking at the lyrics that this isn’t the first time that subject comes up on the album, since one of the lyrics I never got on The Fool was apparently “cunt-licking”. Earning that explicit label, I see.)

The rest of the plot of the song is basically just about Verina, a time-travelling plastic-surgery-covered literal Byzantine empress whom the Fool enters a torrid relationship with. The chorus is so much fun to belt along to, carried by the smooth guitar lines that don’t really explode like the opening does- that gets saved for part of the second verse, but we’ll get to that. The verses are also a lot of fun, with the first spending a lot of time as this cut back percussion-and-vocals bit, and when the other instruments do return the lyrics spend a lot of time with little asides (like these bits in brackets what I’m doing). The second verse on the other hand is has the vocals build along with psychedelic guitars until we are SUDDENLY YELLING, finishing with a steady fall back to normal for the final verse. The only reason I’d say they’re any less fun than the chorus is because the lyrics are fast so its real hard to keep up sometimes- kudos to the performer for nailing that.

Neoprene Byzantine is probably my favourite song on the album, and a lot of that is for similar reasons as Pink Lemonade- the energy all over the place, the different styles of vocals used, basically it has big ADHD energy, and I can appreciate that. It might literally be that this song resonates with me better only because of the better chorus, and me having a bad habit of saying (or singing) rude things with a straight face.

4. Seeds of Gold

Where Pink Lemonade and Neoprene Byzantine are chaotic and energetic, Seeds of Gold is a groovy, very danceable little tune. I don’t have as much to say as a result- its actually probably my next favourite after Neoprene Byzantine, but there isn’t as much to explain music-wise or plot-wise. The bass is grooving, and the little glitchlike noises keep it from being so smooth it feels out of place, reminding you that, yeah, this is still a track from Pink Lemonade. It’s probably the song most capable of standing on its own without the rest of the album, considering its meaning and non-reliance on themes or interstitials. That’s probably why it got a (very stylish) music video of its own.

Plot wise, Seeds of Gold depicts a more frustrated and melancholic story than its glittering guitars suggest- it’s about the ending of The Fool and Verina’s relationship, with him having no use for her anymore, his callousness turning to resentment in her mind, and he’s unwilling to take the blame for it.

5. That Brahmatron Song

Here’s where shit gets weird again.

That Brahmatron Song is the existential lament of the Fool as he discovers the truth of reality, the nature of the Brahmatron, and falls again through reality.

Like with Pink Lemonade, I’d argue this would have been better split off into two tracks, with the first half sounding completely different to the second- though at least the two are a little better connected sonically this time, in my opinion. After a mishearing of the lyrics, I can never imagine the chorus of That Brahmatron Song as anything but a particularly loud, drunken campfire tune, sung with tears in one’s eyes and a warmth in one’s heart (whether it be from the fire, the alcohol, or the camaraderie). And while that doesn’t actually fit the lyrics as the truly are, it’s a nice sentiment I’ve stuck to and kind of want to do in real life at some point.

The lyrics of this song are something that I just cannot connect to what the plot is supposed to be. Like, I get the realisation the Fool makes, but I don’t get how he’s supposed to have gotten there- the lines are just to esoteric. This is not to say it’s a bad song or anything- not as good as the previous three, but still great on its own measure- but it leaves me a bit puzzled.

The plot dives into its most psychedelic moments, as the Fool, through…some means… discovers the nature of the universe as the Brahmatron- the resonance and vibrations that make up reality as a whole. And as he fucks around with it, he gets sucked into it, leading to the second half of the song. The first half ends like a film projector being abruptly shut off, as the yawning void of the universe makes itself heard through atmospheric noise, slowly rising into a dramatic, unsettling beat. The vocals return with a transcendent BRAAAAAAAAHMATROOOOOON echoing through the noise, soon replaced by the dramatic beat continuing under what is presumably the Fool’s screaming rambles, filtered as though through a shitty radio. Guitar noodling begins, a solo lasting until the loud existential vocals come in again. Alarms blare as the raving gets more desperate, the solo restarts, and the dramatic percussion keeps going through it all. It’s almost akin to a twisted marching beat, eventually falling partially away as actual radio chatter is heard from some military type what the fuck? And then vintage video-gamey gunfire and explosions as the military dude says to fire and then someone’s really sexual moans and then it’s just over.

I don’t think I can put into words the experience that section of the song is, though I guess that’s me trying. It’s nonsensical and a little scary, but it’s a good time.

As the Fool tumbles through reality, he sees the apex, the centre of the Brahmatron, learning that it is neither malevolent nor benevolent, yawning of all possibilities and connecting to different realities. The Fool, frightened by the existential idea that all possibilities existing makes free will an illusion, desperately seeks a way out, finding a tendril leading to the forest he first met the Alchemist and diving right into that reality. It’s clearly a bit fucky, as we can assume from the military noises, but it’s familiar, and he needs that right now.

But there’s always a twist. We’ll get to the twist a later date, as at this point, I’m at almost 2,000 words and around halfway through the album. Stay tuned for Part 2.

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

The Zodiac Whumper - The Second Night

Another more filler piece to give context and lead up to Gemini! I’m tired while editing this so excuse any errors haha Continued from here. If you’re new, start here!

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whumpallday, @stxck-fxck, @thatsthewhump, @unsung-sympathy, @terriblethrillssss, @insanitywishes, @woodenhoneybee, @whale-whumps 

Content Warnings: Mention of creepy/intimate whumper and existing injuries

The night was restless. Shifting and tapping and quiet voices filled the space, nobody willing to sleep. 

Aries was dizzy from sustained pain they could hardly even feel anymore. The cramps in their muscles were painful at this point, twitching and spasming against restraints that wouldn’t let them move without further damage. The water Zoran poured down their throat hours before did nothing to quench their thirst, and only made their clawing hunger harder to ignore. 

But Zoran had insisted, “I can’t feed you anything until we get that barbed wire out of your mouth, now can I?” and at the perfectly logical suggestion of actually taking it out they only shook their head and walked away saying, “Patience is a virtue, Aries.”

Taurus awoke groggily for his meal, but refused Zoran’s offer to feed him the same way and resigned himself to eating spoonfuls of lukewarm oatmeal in relative discomfort. It wasn’t all that bad, really. He had to chew minimally to avoid aggravating the still bleeding cuts on his cheek, and that really did hurt, but the real torment came when he laid back down to sleep. “Laid down” being a relative term, considering there was no way to do that without extreme pain. 

Every movement stretched the injuries on his back, his sides, his front, his arms, and everything hurt so bad. The night filled with his whimpers and moans: attempts at easing his exhaustion that only resulted in further pain.

Nervous tapping filtered from Gemini’s cell, the ticking of a clock that counted seconds for eternity. Counting down to the coming morning, when she feared she may tap no more. 

“Who’s making that sound?” Cancer whispered, straining to figure out if it was coming from the cage next to him or one further down. 

“Oh, sorry, that’s me. Valerie, Val for short. Am I disturbing you? I didn’t even realize I was fidgeting.”

“Oh, no! You’re fine I just- I guess you’re nervous, yeah? With what they did to Rory today… Jesus.” Cancer ducked his head, leaning against the wall. 

“That’s obviously what they want, you know?” Gemini said, wringing her hands, “It’s all a damn show. They want us to be scared of them, so they show their claws.”

“...and are you?” His voice shook. 

“What?”

“Are you scared of them? Of tomorrow?” For a moment, Gemini didn’t say anything. The tapping started again. Then,

“Yeah,” her voice cracked and she swallowed hard, “I just watched a man get whipped half to death. How could I not be?”

“Then at least I’m not the only one. I get how you feel, Val. I can’t stop seeing the blood, and their eyes, and wondering what’s going to happen to me when it’s my turn. It’s terrifying.” 

“Don’t- I don’t want to think about that, Carter. Please. I just want to get out of here.”

“As if. I bet we’d sooner die than escape. And I might end up being ‘Cancer’ by the end of this anyway, so might as well start calling me that now. Way to go for them naming me after that awful disease.” Cancer laid down on his side to have a more comfortable existential crisis.

“You do know these are Zodiac signs, right?” 

“They’re what?” Gemini raised her eyebrows at that, almost forgetting Cancer couldn’t see her.

“You really don’t know? They’re based off of when you were born and are supposed to describe anyone with those birth dates…”

While she whispered and rambled on about the nuances of Zodiac signs, Cancer really didn’t pay attention. He was more happy to have taken her attention, as well as his own, off of what was to come. Next door, Leo was having an animated conversation with Virgo’s shadow, whose cage was aligned on the corner with theirs. 

“Come on, dude, what’s up? Want to talk?” They didn’t get a response except for the chinking of metal on metal. “Can I get a name? Pronouns? Come on, you gotta give me something to work with here. What’re you doing over there anyway?”

“Please, I don’t want to be rude, but I’m busy,” Virgo responded, voice in a breathy whisper.

“But what with is what I’m asking. Anything I can help with? There’s nothing to do here except, you know, wait to get hurt. Maybe I’ll ask for a coloring book or something when they come back.” More silence. Leo looked away from their cage instead, focusing on the “Scorpio” sign directly across the way. “Okay, fine. Alex! You want to talk for a bit?”

“Leave me alone, Kit.” He curled away from them, voice thick with what Leo liked to assume was emotion.

“Alright, got it, yeesh. Is anyone around here actually up for a chat?”

Sagittarius schooled her expression when they looked at her, trying not to make it evident that she was talking to Capricorn. Leo was nice, but she’d had enough trouble just picking up a conversation herself.

“I have a bad feeling about them,” he said, deep voice carrying only to her under the light conversation around the room. 

“What do you mean, Ethan?” Sagittarius eyed Leo out of the corner of her eye.

“I mean that Kit’s too confident. Alex, too. You wear your heart on your sleeve like that and it’s bound to get crushed, yeah?”

“That your act then?” she said, louder, “Quiet and complacent so they don’t target you?”

“Shut it; they’re probably listening somehow. It’s not an act, but you’d be wise to put one on yourself.” Capricorn commented with a condescending sneer.

“We’ll see about that.”

Coming back around to the front corner, Pisces curled around their knees in the front corner of their cage.

“I’m, just… I’m supposed to be last, right? And I can’t watch everyone go through this. It’s horrific and so, so wrong to do this to people. This happens in fiction, and that’s alright I guess, but this is too real. I almost wish I could just get my ‘turn’ over with, but I’m so scared. It’s exhausting. Don’t you feel like that, too?”

“Hm,” Aquarius grunted, back still facing them. He took a deep breath, fiddling with the fidget cube he still had, resting in the words for a few seconds before putting together a response. “Don’t wish that on yourself, Pisces. Just because other people are suffering doesn’t mean you need to throw yourself in harm’s way. Only more people getting hurt, then.”

“Don’t call me that; I literally told you my name already. And not to be a downer, but we’re all getting hurt anyway. What’s the difference?”

“...not necessarily. I can guarantee at least half of the people in here are plotting some sort of escape plan. Some of them will undoubtedly be worthless, but it’s not hopeless. We may live through this yet.” Aquarius stared at his lap, playing with the fidget cube he’d managed to keep secret from his captor until that point.

“Staying alive isn’t the hard part. I don’t believe that they’d kill us. The hard part is getting out unscathed.”

“Touché,” he shrugged, moving to lay down in the cramped cage, “We’ll see how it goes, huh?”

“Yeah…”

The night was restless. Even when the noise settled, sleep wouldn’t come with the constant apprehension tugging them awake. Morning wouldn’t come because night refused to end. And that was both blissful and exhausting in its own right.

Next part

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

박우진, Park Woojin

anonymous  asked:

hello can i request (more) woojin fluff? maybe an au where they both work together at a summer job out in the sun? thank u

Group: AB6IX

Member: Woojin

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A brightly lit summer day with a cool breeze, fluffy cloud coverage and birds chirping melodically. It was picturesque, really.

Driving up the mountainside to your impending doom didn’t seem so bad while you were listen to music over the stereo, your windows rolled down and the wind whipping through your hair while the scent of pine tickled your nose.

You almost forgot for a moment that you hated this idea. 

With a quick look around the one-way, rocky-as-hell mountain road to make sure no one else was around, you slammed your hand forcefully down on your horn, letting out an elongated honk and scaring off a murder of crows in a nearby tree. 

“What was I thinking?!” you groaned loudly to yourself, almost louder than the music playing on your radio. “I don’t know anything about kids,” you said to yourself, suddenly lamenting your decision to become a camp counselor over the summer. 

You sighed, looking out over the charming scenery of the mountain-line and the forest below. You let out a heavy sigh. “Well... If I had to make a mistake,” you started, fully aware that you were rambling to yourself, “at least it’s a pretty one.” 

You pulled up to the camp entrance, the name carved into a totem pole and painted with wishy-washy brightness. It was the kind of name that probably meant nothing at all to the kids, but it made the parents feel safe and secure, so you supposed that was all that mattered. 

The camp had to make its money somehow. 

Your experience began with your car windshield getting pooped on by a bird within the first two seconds of parking, so suffice to say, all you were thinking was, “God, I hate nature”. 

You trudged your way to the counselors cabin, kicking up pine needles with your unfashionable worn tennis shoes.  

You took a deep breath when you reached the door, trying to center yourself. You couldn’t look totally done with everything on your first day, so you forced your most convincing smile onto your face.

Gingerly, you cracked the door open, peeking your head in. You were immediately greeted by the sight of five others, all close to your age. 

The girl who looked the most official—most smiley and least nervous—stood up from her desk with a bubbly hop of excitement. She seemed liked the chipper type, perfect for this type of thing. Her short-shorts, form-fitting shirt and high-and-tight-ponytail did nothing to make you like her anymore, but you still welcomed the fact that she didn’t give you a, “What are you even doing here, loser?” kind of look. 

“Hi!” the girl greeted cheerfully, giving you a wave. “You’re the new summer recruite, right?” 

You nodded slowly, trying to keep the smile on your face. “Yeah,” you said. “That’s me.” 

“Well, come on in, then!” she said, chuckling at your reluctance to fully open the door to the cabin. 

Paperwork, pleasantries, dumb ‘Get-To-Know-Each-Other’ games—the usual things that were to be expected at something like this. A little too forced, you’d say. But you didn’t mention anything on it.

There was one girl—Si Na-Young—who reminded you a lot of the head-counselor. She played along with everything she said, passing along the ‘Ball of Knowledge’ (literally just a beach ball with questions written on it in cheap sharpie) with a vigor that was just a little grating. Still, she had a nice speaking voice and kind eyes. 

She was probably just worried about fitting in. 

One of the boys there—he actually turned out to be younger than you—was named Yang Sang-Jun and he turned out to be kind of an adorable person. When he caught the Ball of Knowledge, he landed on, “When was your first kiss?”; by far one of the juiciest questions on there. 

His cheeks lit up like fireworks while he quietly explained, “I’ve never actually kissed anyone before...” A part of you worried that he was going to get totally demolished by all those eleven-year-olds. 

He seemed too tenderhearted for the world. 

The fourth girl in the room—Roe Sun-Ah—was just a little air-headed, but not in a dumb way; just a very innocent way. She’d gotten hit in the head with the beach ball multiple times, and every time, she just gave an adorably awkward giggle and apologized for missing it. 

Lowkey, you kind of shipped her and Sang-Jun. 

The last boy... He was pretty funny. His name was Park Woojin, and so far, all you’d heard spill out of his mouth was amusing wittiness and simple honestly, which you appreciated in this semi-suffocating situation. 

When the ball had gotten tossed to him, it landed on the question: “What do you like so much about kids?”. He just kinda chuckled at it. Everyone eagerly awaited his answering, leaning in a little to hear him better when he finally decided to speak up. 

You just sat back and what the response form in his head. His micro-expressions that he didn’t realize he was making was probably going to be the one of the more interesting things you’d see for eight weeks straight. 

“It’s not really the fact that I’m crazy about kids,” Woojin finally spoke, making the head counselor’s eyes widen. The first real emotion you’d seen out of her all afternoon. “There’s nothing wrong with them, I just don’t know a whole lot about them. You know, how to deal with them and stuff.” 

He shrugged. “I did this because I was sick and tired of my friends telling me that I wouldn’t be able to handle it,” he continued. “So... Hooray for peer pressure, I guess?” With that, he tossed the ball to you.

You hand landed on the same question. “I’m gonna keep this short as possible,” you said. You pointed to Woojin. “Same.” 

So in summary: your first day there and you already had a favorite. 

He made you chuckle. 

He remained your favorite for the first few days, the first week, the first two weeks, and even the first three weeks.  

You liked to think you were his favorite too, but you never got your hopes up. At the very least, you hoped he thought of you as a good friend. You’d been rooming together for those three weeks in the mountains, and your night normally included chatting until 3AM. Or until you got caught by the other counselors. 

Whichever came first. 

Sometimes you were exhausted in the mornings where you had to deal with the teaching, and the screeching, and the making-sure-no-one-fell-off-a-cliff-ing, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. 

It was way too much fun to randomly starting singing children’s songs or ask each other random, existential questions like: “Do you think the means or the end are more important?” and “Is what we perceive reality or just a construct of our own minds?”. 

Usually, you just asked each other those things to get a good laugh when you tried to answer seriously; but other times, they would lead to those long, drawn-out (but never boring) conversations that lasted until the sun came up. 

Much like tonight. 

“Okay,” you started quietly, trying your best not to get caught out by the other counselors. Plus, your cabin was close to the campers’, and if they got woken up, they always had trouble going back to sleep, swearing that there were bears out in the woods. 

Your head was propped up on your arm as you stared at him from across the room. You both had bottom bunks while Sun-Ah and Sang-Jun slept on the top bunks. Yet another reason why you had to keep quiet during your late-night chats. Luckily, they slept like rocks.

“I have a good one tonight,” you continued. 

Woojin flicked off his reading light and set his book on the floor. He turned to face you with a huff, the moonlight being the only thing illuminating the room. “Hit me,” he said, mirroring your position and resting his head in his palm. 

“What is our biggest mistake as humans?” you asked, proud of yourself for the deep question. You expected another comically bull-crap answer like: ‘Existing’, but tonight seemed to be one of the nights that he took the question seriously. 

He hummed thoughtfully. “Our biggest mistake?” he echoed. You nodded, even though that chance of him seeing it in the dimly lit room was quite low. ‘I think our biggest mistake as humans is not making a big enough effort to understand,” he said. 

You quirked a brow. “Explain.”

He clicked his tongue, trying to think up a proper answer. “It’s just... We’re all so quick to judge and make accusations, and I just think the world would be a lot better if we all just made an effort to understand. Like, even if we don’t agree, we don’t have to fight over it, you know? Just let it be.” 

“I get what you’re saying,” you started, “but shouldn’t you also be willing to fight for the things that are important to you?” 

He hummed in agreement. “That’s true, but you also need to know the consequences for fighting for those things,” he said. “We all have to take responsibility for our actions; good and bad. They’re all there.” He flopped onto his back before continuing. 

“If you do something bad, own up to it—but if you do something good, there’s still backfire you have to deal with. You can’t whine about the crap you have to go through afterwards, ‘cause it’s literally what you sign up for when you decide to make a difference.” 

You nodded. “I can get behind that logic,” you said. You mimicked his position unintentionally, falling onto your back. “It’s your turn.” 

“‘Kay,” he answered. “I’m gonna give you a deep one, too. Answer seriously.”

You flashed him a thumbs up, trying the reach your arm out far enough for that it’d be in the line of moonlight filtering in through the window. “Will do, chief,” you said. 

“What do you think your purpose is?” he asked, his words hanging in the air and his deep tone getting stuck in your ears. 

You were impressed. “Wow,” you chuckled. “You don’t disappoint on the deep ones, huh?” 

He shook his head, unbeknownst to you. “Nope,” he said. “I have good follow-through.” 

You felt yourself smile. “Good to know,” you said. You took a deep breath, thinking about his question seriously. “I think my purpose is... To do the best that I can,” you finally decided on. “We only have one life, and sometimes we get so obsessed with that notion, we think that we have to reach for perfection, but that’s not the case.” 

She rolled onto your stomach, resting your chin on your pillow and kicking your blankets away from your tangled-up feet. “If you’re focused on making no mistakes while you’re alive, you’re not really living. You’re being so careful that you’re killing your soul, and I think that sucks,” you said. 

“You just need to go along with every moment, choosing the path that seems the best for you at that time, and if you screw up at one point, oh well.” You shrugged. “If you never made the mistake, you’d be stuck with the ‘what-if’s, and that’s just as painful as the mistake itself,” you said. 

There was a brief silence. 

“Wow,” Woojin finally breathed out into the darkness. “And you don’t disappoint on the deep answers.” 

You chuckled. “I have good follow-through,” you said, mocking his deep tone. 

He threw a pillow at you, missing you by a mile. “Oh, shut up!” he laughed quietly. “This got too intense, so... Tea or coffee? One, two, three.”

The countdown was too fast, but you followed along nonetheless. “Tea!” you answered. He made over-the-top gagging noises from across the room. 

“What now, Weird-jin?” you huffed, using the nickname you’d given him on the second week after he decided the only way to get the campers to stay in the Mess Hall was to tell them that he’d transform Sang-Jun into a llama and he’d spit on all their sandwiches. 

He chuckled. “I don’t know, just ‘cause,” he said. 

You covered your mouth with your pillow, muffling your laughter. “You are such a freak!” you said. 

“Takes one to know one,” he clapped back. 

You scooped up the pillow he’d thrown earlier, tossing it back at him and immediately shutting him up. Let’s just say: your aim was a lot more accurate. 

This is how you two had been with each for three weeks. And it’s how you continued to be with each other three weeks later. 

You both stood outside under the calming warmth of the morning, it being about an hour or two before the campers woke up. You’d been given the task of watering the flower patches and Woojin had made the command-quality decision to tag along and keep you company. 

“Why’d you come out?” you asked, focusing on your task but still vaguely aware of his presence close at your back. 

He shrugged, kicking up a few stray leaves. “’Cause it’s been six weeks,” he said simply. 

“What’s that mean?” you asked, quirking a brow. 

He took the hose from your hands, mumbling a quite ‘my turn’. “Well, camp is eight weeks long, right?” You nodded. “Six weeks has already gone by, so we’ve got two weeks left, yeah?” 

Your shoulders sagged a little. “Yeah... I guess so,” you said.

“I’m just trying to make the most of it,” he said. “I mean, the only time we really get to talk just the two of us  is when it’s around midnight or we do chores like this. Otherwise, we’re just getting snotted on by kids, but somehow still enjoying it.” 

You chuckled a little, shaking your head at the thought. “Those kids have kinda grown on me a little,” you said. 

He joined in the laughter, a smile pulling at his lips and showcasing his snaggle-tooth. “Me too,” he admitted. “Just a little, though. They’re still super annoying.” 

“So, you don’t want kids when your older?” you asked, crossing your arms and following him while he wandered across the flower patch. 

He hummed suggestively. “I didn’t say that,” he said cryptically. 

“So you do?” 

He quickly turned the hose on you, spraying you for the shortest second before turning it back on the flowers. “Depends on whom with,” he said, a cheshire-grin on his face. 

Your jaw was hanging open. “Did you just—?” 

“Spray you?” he cut you off, finishing your sentence. He nudged your side playfully. “Maybe I did.” 

You scoffed. “Screw you, Weird-jin,” you said. You stole the hose from him, giving him a good soaking. 

“That was way more than I did!” he laughed, wiping some droplets off his chin. He reached out to try and grab it again, but you angled out of the way, making the water arch in the air and create a lovely rainbow in the sunlight. 

The whole thing ended with you both running around the clearing, yelling and screaming the early hours of the morning and spraying each other as you wrestled the hose back and forth between the both of you. 

In the end, you were both soaked and breathless, but you both had silently and mutually agreed that you wouldn’t change it for the world. 

“You’re a fighter,” he panted out, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Most would’ve given up by now.” 

You shrugged and mimicked the way he pushed his hair back. “I’m stubborn, I guess,” you answer. He chuckled at you. “What?”

“Why do you always do that?” he asked. 

You pulled your shirt away from your body, wringing it out a little. “Do what?”

“Copy the things I do,” he said. 

You froze. You hadn’t noticed it before, but you supposed you did have a tendency to imitate him. “I... don’t know,” you answered honestly, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I guess it just happened naturally.” 

He smiled. “It’s cute,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up,” you huffed. 

He stood there, staring at you for a moment. He put his hands in his pockets, though it was a little difficult considering how damp and sticky they were. “Can I ask you something?” he said. 

“Sure, whatever,” you said, still sulking. 

He walked forward. “Can we make a promise?” he asked. 

You raised a brow. “O...kay?” 

He pulled one hand out of his pocket, holding out his pinky. “Promise me that after eight weeks is up, we’ll keep in touch.”

Slowly, you wrapped your pinky around his. “Well, duh,” you replied. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

He chuckled. “As we do, yeah?” 

You nodded, a small smile growing on your lips. “Yup, I guess so.”

He looked devilishly proud of himself. “You just agreed to be my girlfriend,” he said. 

Your eyes widened. “What?” you stuttered, trying to pull away your pinky. He kept a firm grip. “When did I agree to that?” you scoffed. 

“Just now,” he said, smiling. He could read the look you were giving him. “It was in the fine-print.”

You looked away from him, your cheeks heating up. “You’re incredible.” 

“Do you not want to?” he asked, looking at you with the most innocent eyes you didn’t know he could make. 

There was a beat or two of silence. 

You shrugged. “I didn’t say that...” you said, bringing the biggest grin to his face.

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So... M A Y B E I love him, but we’re not gonna get into that right now. 

I had such a good time writing this, Anon! I hope you enjoyed it and that you stop by again. Thanks for the awesome request!

[softlysoftlysoftly]

Head First (Zutara Oneshot)

Summary: In which Katara is a weepy drunk and Zuko is somehow the responsible one here. (Oneshot~Zutara~Smut-ish)

We're coming up on summer, I'm almost done with my first year of grad school, I have one paper, two exams, and two assignments due in the next week so of course the only think I could work on this weekend was this random one-shot. Hope you all enjoy!

Once the battle is over, Zuko has been healed, Azula has been hauled away, and Katara has been reassured that Zuko is fine, yes really, yes he’s sure, he’s fine, honestly, Katara summons his servants to his room and demands five bottles of “anything that’ll get me really drunk really fast.” The servants, who have seen three different Fire Lords in power in just as many days blink tiredly at her and ask her preferred accompaniment. She chooses guava juice

Zuko, who has spent the past week as a refugee, a traitor to the crown, an insurgent, and the ruler of a quarter of the entire world, takes the bottle when it’s offered to him and gulps down enough to make his eyes water. Katara swigs from her bottle and chases it with juice. “Thank you,” he says after a long, not-uncomfortable silence. “For helping me against Azula. You didn’t have to.” She sighs his name, climbs to her feet, and crosses the room to stand before him, her arms crossed over her chest and her bottle dangling loosely from her fingertips. She’s still dressed in the robes she battled his sister in in (singed around the hem, torn around the collar, coated in dust and mud) and she’s favoring her right leg. After a moment, she collapses next to him on the cushions, steadying herself with her hand pressed low on his stomach (just below his newest scar). She pulls away quickly and clinks her bottle against his.

“Shut up,” she says. “And drink.”

Zuko obeys because he’s spent who knows how many weeks doing everything he can to get Katara to even tolerate his presence. This is probably the least she could ask of him.

Over the next several hours, they empty three of the bottles of spiced rum (Katara dips well into Zuko’s share), an entire bag of fire flakes (they send for them after half of the first bottle is gone), three platters of dumplings (the fire flakes run out and really it’s dinner time anyway), and several pitchers of water (Zuko insists that they hydrate and Katara mocks him mercilessly for it). Zuko never specifically asks why they are drinking themselves into oblivion, but the rambling way that she regales him with story after story of the South Pole makes him think she’s having some sort of I-almost-died-ending-a-century-long-war-that-altered-the-course-of-history-and-destroyed-everything-I-love type existential crisis. Which is fair. Zuko resolves to let her have her breakdown and spends most of the evening adding juice to her drinks when she isn’t looking.

“I need to take a…” she frowns, “A… you know!” She is laying on the floor with her feet propped up against the wall and her hair fanned out around her like a halo. Zuko snorts and sets another glass of water next to her head. “It’s a…” She waves her hand and an orb wobbles out of the glass, swirls midair in front of Zuko’s face, and then shoots into his eyes. “A bath!” she exclaims. Zuko sputters and wipes his face with the hem of his shirt. When he looks up, she has already shrugged out of her robe and has her leggings halfway down her thighs. Zuko’s brain short-circuits momentarily and he spends half a minute watching the way her legs tense as she works the garment over her knees— and then he comes to his senses and slaps his hands over his eyes so hard that he sees stars.

“Katara!” he yelps.

“Don’t just stand there!” she scolds. There’s shuffling and shifting and she tugs on the hem of his robes. “Help me take off my clothes!” Zuko’s eye twitches (something else twitches too, but he refuses to acknowledge that).

“Can we—” his voice cracks pitifully and he swallows. “Katara, can we maybe just keep our clothes on?” Katara pauses in the midst of fighting her feet free from her leggings and peers at him.

“You want me to take a bath with my clothes on?” She gives him a look that would peel paint from the walls if she weren’t also upside down in her underwear, tangled in her own clothes. Zuko tugs on his collar and fixes his eyes on the ceiling.

“Well, it’s just, you know, maybe you could, um, take a bath in your, um underwear? Like… like you do at the beach?” Just like at the beach. She’s not showing any more skin than he’d see on Ember Island or than he’s seen when she trains with Aang. This is fine. This is totally normal. Zuko can deal with this.

Katara gives a long suffering sigh. “Whatever, Zuko,” she says, “If it’ll get you to help me, I’ll pretend we’re at the beach.” Her voice says plainly that she is sure that he is an idiot, even as she begins to tug with her teeth at the material caught around her ankles. Zuko swallows again and drops to his knees beside her. He sets one hand on her knee to still her kicking, and slides the other down the length of her calf, working the legging over one foot, then the other. He’s touched her dozens of times since joining the team, knocking her sideways when it looks like she’s about to die or squeezing her shoulder when it looks like she might cry. He’s never touched her like this, though, never had time to notice the incredible suppleness of her skin. She stills, and for a moment there’s a look in her eyes that Zuko can’t decipher. But then the look is gone, she scrambles to her feet and dashes into his bathroom.

Zuko knocks his head against the wall as the sound of splashing water filters into the room. And then there’s the sound of something falling to the floor and Zuko is the one scrambling to his feet to make sure Master Katara, who defeated Fire Lord Azula on the day of Sozin’s comet, hasn’t slipped and cracked her head and died in her underwear on his bathroom floor.

When he bursts into the bathroom, there are an assortment of bottles scattered across            the floor, a puddle of something thick and fragrant is dripping from the side of the tub, and Katara is huddle down in the quickly overfilling tub. Zuko swears, turns the tap off, and starts to tell her that she’s officially cut off— but he stops. Her head is tilted back to rest against the tub’s edge and the torchlight flickers, casting warm shadows over the dusk of her skin. She is beautiful.

Zuko turns away.

“If I leave you in here alone, how likely are you to drown?” he asks as he crouches down and sits with his back pressed against the tiles. The torture will probably be easier to bear if he isn’t looking directly at her. Katara snorts, but doesn’t answer. For a while, the only sound is the gentle trickle of the water.

“Zuko?” Her voice is suddenly small.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think it’s like?”

He tilts his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. She is staring straight ahead, fingers moving slowly over the surface of the water.

“What?”

“To be dead.” There’s a soft rush and she hugs her knees to her chest. “What do you think it’s like?”

There are, of course, a thousand answers to this, but none that feel particularly appropriate. Zuko’s face flushes.

“Spirits, Katara, I don’t— what kind of question is that anyway?” he snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. The beginning of a massive headache is blooming behind his eyes and he suddenly wishes that he had let Azula roast him. “Why would you even want to—”

She makes a soft, sniffling sound that sends him whipping around to face her despite himself. She is scowling at her toes, wiping clumsily at her eyes.

“Are you crying?” he demands. Katara glares.

“No!” She claps her hands over her face. Zuko opens his mouth to demand that she stop crying at once, but then he closes it with a snap and shoves a clean cloth into her hands instead.

“That’s it,” he says, climbing to her feet. He takes hold of her forearm firmly and helps her stand. She grumbles, but does not argue. “Bath time is over.” He wraps a towel around her shoulders, careful not to notice the way the water has turned her white cotton underwear completely translucent. She wrinkles her nose at him and wobbles as she starts to climb out of the tub. Zuko sighs, scooping her into his arms. “I knew waterbenders were trouble,” he mumbles to himself and Katara snorts, laying her cheek against his shoulder.

“Put me down,” she demands and she snuggles deeper into his embrace and he carries her out of the bathroom, through the sitting room and into his bedroom. “Grab the rum!” Zuko rolls his eyes so hard he briefly wonders if he can break them.

“You lost the right to order me around when I became Fire Lord and you started crying in my bathtub. You’re drunk.”

“I am n—” He sets her on her feet next to his bed and she sways, scrambling to take hold of the front of Zuko’s robes. “So what if I am?” Zuko cracks a smile despite himself and places a finger in the center of her forehead, pushing her back. She falls back and sits down hard on the bed, glaring.

“As the only person here in their right mind, I’m going to go ahead and declare the rum portion of the evening officially over.” He pulls an old sleeping robe from the wardrobe next to the bed and helps her push her arms through the sleeves. The hugeness of the garment makes her look even tinier and more fragile than usual. Zuko hesitates, then traces a fingertip across her cheek, tucking her hair back behind her ear. She reaches up to catch his hand in hers with an accuracy that startles him.

Suddenly, she is giving him that look again, quiet, far away, and intense. She presses his captured hand against her cheek, her eyes flutter closed, and an expression skitters across her face, something that stops Zuko’s breath. Too hopeful to be heartbreak, too fearful to be love— all it does is remind him of that helpless moment he spent watching Azula’s lightening arching towards her heart. He steps into her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She presses her face against his chest and hugs him back, breathing shakily against his new scar. Suddenly, he is the one blinking back tears. “I’m glad you aren’t dead,” he whispers into the blackness of the room. Her arms tighten around him, but she doesn’t answer. He clears his throat and steps out of her embrace. “Everyone else will be here tomorrow.” The words slam something shut between them. She lets him help her underneath the covers. “Goodnight, Katara.” He practically runs from the room.

Once the door is shut behind him, he strips off his shirt, snatches an extra blanket from a closet and collapses onto the cushions in the sitting room, steadfastly turning his thoughts away from the way moonlit shadows played out over the angles and planes of her face.

It was Toph who first accused Zuko of being in love with Katara. At the time, Zuko had ignored the comment, half because while Katara and Suki had weird cravings and were slightly irritable around new moons, Toph tended towards fits of unchecked malice (that were best endured and not challenged) and half because of course Zuko loved Katara, anyone with two eyes, a heart, and a functioning dick would love Katara. But loving Katara meant nothing when they were all going to die at the end of the summer anyway.

But now the end of the summer is here and Zuko is alive thanks to the half naked, fully drunk waterbender in his bed. The implication of that is far too big to grapple with at the moment, though. Zuko makes himself sleep instead.

He isn’t sure exactly how long he sleeps, but it is well before sunrise when he is awoken by cool hands on his chest. At first, her touch weaves its way into his dream, just another side of his ever-present yearning. But then she sniffs and something cool drips against his neck and he knows that this is real. He would never dream of a Katara with tears in her eyes.

“Katara? What…?” She is on her knees next to him with a hand pressed against his chest, over his heart. Her other hand covers her mouth. His mind feels thick and slow and he’s still not quite convinced that this isn’t a dream, but he manages to close his hand around hers. A shudder goes through her and a thin whimper makes it past her hand. “What are you doing?” he murmurs, his thumb stroking idly over her wrist. She shakes her head slightly and makes that sound again. Her whole body trembles. Zuko reaches up with his other hand and touches the swell of her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

Something in her snaps and she dives for him, her arms winding around his neck, her face buried in the crook of his neck. She is sobbing, her entire body curling up against him. Zuko catches her instinctively and spends a panicked moment unsure of how to react. But then he feels her trembling, feels the desperate way she is clutching at him, and he sits up, knees coming up on either side of her, and tucks her more securely beneath his chin. One hand goes to her hair while the other strokes up and down her back.

“Shh,” he murmurs, because that is what his mother used to say when he couldn’t stop crying. “Just breathe.” He realizes that she is saying something, whispering it over and over against the skin of his neck.

“Could’ve died,” she whimpers and tightens her grip. “Could’ve died.” Zuko’s heart pounds and he tightens his hold on her. “You can’t die, Zuko,” she sobs, holding him so tightly that her nails bite into his skin. “You just… you just can’t. And you almost did. If I had been slower, if I… if I hadn’t been strong enough…”

“Katara…”

“She was aiming for me. It was coming right at me and you just… why did you do that? Why would you do that?”

“Katara.”

“You can’t do things like that. It doesn’t matter if I die. I’m not a prince or the Avatar or some noble. I’m nobody. But you— people need you! I need you! I—”

He kisses her. Softly. Once. Twice. Because he can hardly bear to hear her say anything else about a world in which she is not the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky. So he kisses her, cradling her face in both of his hands, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. And she kisses him back, lips trembling against his, fingers twining in his hair.

“Nobody?” he whispers against her lips, kisses her jaw, kisses her ear. “Katara…” his voice breaks as he struggles to find words big enough to fit his entire heart. “You are everything.”

She pulls away and looks at him with wide, blue eyes. Her gaze is a thawing glacier, a spring rain on parched earth. She melts into him, slowly this time, attaching her mouth to his. He sinks back into the cushions and she shifts so that her knees are on either side of his hips. He is suddenly painfully aware that she is still in her underwear underneath the robe.

“You’re drunk,” he groans. Her hips are rocking slightly, little undulations that send the blood rushing away from his brain. She shakes her head, mouth moving from his lips, over his jaw, to a spot just below his ear that makes his fingers tighten on her hips.

“I know what I’m doing,” she breathes. “Please.” She takes hold of one of his hands, guiding it to her chest. Zuko groans again and kneads her breast gently, his thumb rolling over her stiff peaks, pinching softly through her wraps. Her hips are rocking more purposefully now, each burst of friction sending shots of pleasure tingling up his spine. Her breathing trembles and she arches into his hand.

“You can’t die,” she mumbles, breath hitching. “Promise. You can’t leave me.” Zuko rolls them and pulls down the top of her bindings, pressing hot, slow kisses to her breasts. He grind his hips more firmly against hers and she gasps, hooking a knee up over his hip. He kisses his way back up to her mouth, nibbles softly on her lower lip.

“I’m here,” he says, “I’m alive.” Her hips shift and she moans aloud. “I won’t ever leave you.” He focuses on that spot, the one that makes her whimper, rolling his hips in short quick bursts. “Say it, Katara,” he groans and attaches his mouth to her neck.

“You’re alive,” she pants, hand sliding down his back to cradle his ass, urging him faster. “You’re alive, you’re—” she breaks off with a choked gasp, moans his name in a way that makes him dizzy with pleasure. Her body goes stiff and then she relaxes, her fingers slow and lethargic against his biceps. He eases his movements, breathing hard against the nape of her neck, then rolls off of her, settling down on the cushions by her side. She reaches over and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers. He tugs and she rolls closer, cuddling up to his side.

“What about—”

“I’m fine,” he tells her, kissing the top of her head. “In the morning.” She chuckles and wraps her arms around his waist. “Sleep.”

“Zuko?”

He tilts his head to look at her, watching the moonlight on her hair and the curl of her fingers against his chest.

“I love you.”

He traces his thumb over her cheek and can almost see a thousand nights unfolding before his eyes, full of the feel of her cool skin against his.

“I love you too.”

 The next morning, the servants seem completely unfazed by every aspect of the scene they find in the young Fire Lord’s rooms, from the heap of empty rum bottles piled in a corner to Katara herself, who is curled up in Zuko’s lap, cradling her head while he reads through a set of scrolls. They collect the bottle as quietly as possible (though Katara still winces at every clink) and drop twin mugs of something hot and strong-smelling alongside breakfast. When they leave, Katara crosses the room to grab their tea, shoves his into his hands, and climbs stiffly back into his embrace.  Zuko sips his tea, still shifting through the documents.

“Remind me,” he says mildly, “what was it you said last night about drinking water and delicate flowers?”

Katara gulps her tea, wincing. “Shut up,”she says, burying her face in the crook of his neck “and drink.”

[livingfictionsystem]

August 4th-5th, 2020.

I’d been out at the new apartment, trying to get my power sorted, when I saw the texts that made my stomach drop. Shaking, I rang Asra. Asra had been appalled before when I’d spoken about the dog-piling three or four against one that had been done to me before, and told me to call them if the household ever tried to pull this again. In fact, they said they would drive here and protect me, if need be. “I’m scared to go home,” I’d blurted.

I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t be harassed until my mind went blank and I was forced to apologise and beg for any sort of mercy.

Asra called Arkady, then called me back. “Hey, he’s upset, but he says he’s going to try not to yell at you. I spoke to Ash and they said they would try to rein him in a bit. It’s just one talk, then you all can move into different apartments and try to cool down for a while.”

I stared. There was a storm brewing overhead. A plastic bag did cartwheels in front of me as the wind whipped around my tense body. Somehow, a situation that was ‘unacceptable’ months before was turned into, ‘The household gets a little yell at Xanthe. As a treat.’

I shivered.

I’d tried to take a break away from Facebook for a few weeks. It was my most accurate mirror I could find, and it was becoming depressing to look at. I hadn’t reached out to many. And now, even someone who knew about the situation was fine with me being the sacrificial lamb for this crowd to get their pound of flesh.

The existential crisis that had been in my mind like a powder keg kept weighing on me. I remember I had theorized that perhaps if all of my friends were Neb’s characters, I likely was too. But why did she create me? What was I based off of?

Spoiler alert: As I’d said before, Neb was heavily into Black Butler and The Infernal Devices series at the time of my creation. But in this state, I was horrified by the coincidence that April had had a British blonde boyfriend by the name of Dante. What if she based me off that boy?

Vex would point out later on that I met April before even hearing of Dante. But this thought was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It’s what drove me over the edge. I’d tried to soothe my brain with wine, but it was practically screaming with an entire existential crisis and I couldn’t shut it up.

I booted up my laptop, went on Facebook Live. My laptop has an issue where it doesn’t like to let me filter down my audience the first time around, so at first I tried to go into my private FB group for mental illness, called Coping.

I actually don’t remember what I said on that one. I just knew that my audience wasn’t big enough. No, no, that wouldn’t do at all. I felt crazy, didn’t know who was real and who wasn’t, I’d been isolated far too long– fuck it, I’d just go public. I was too tired of screaming in my own head not to need a least a classroom’s worth of people around me.

As I was waiting for the broadcast to go through, I couldn’t help but notice I wasn’t alone in my room. Xhaxhollari, who I’d pointedly ignored these past couple of months, was seated on my bed. His wings were folded and he regarded me with a stony expression. Vex was seated on the floor, at the foot of my desk. “Good. You need witnesses,” Vex murmured, with a side-eye to the door.

I shook my head at her and opened my phone. Another text from Arkady. “You forgot to mention Gaslamp,” it said.

Oh, yes. The pack mentality that I gave a name. It reminded me so much of my ex that I thought she was following me. As it turned out, my housemate actually went to her. I was right about everything except the magic portion. I wasn’t trying to start with that, but–

“I need this to end somehow,” I whispered. “I can’t take any more of this.”

“You must endure.” Xhaxhollari, unlike Vex, made no effort to keep his voice down. “It’s clear there is something wrong. What if it targets Arkady next? You know he can’t survive this.”

I chewed on the ends of my fingers. “Even if we’re right, there’s nothing I can do if everyone hates me. And why am I still seeing Mx. Be Not Afraid over there? I integrated that angel!”

Yet that fucker was still over my shoulder, smirking, living its best life without going dormant.

I glanced at the broadcast as footsteps approached. It hadn’t started yet. Did I forget to push a button? Vex fiddled with the mouse a bit, crouching between myself and the door. I think I was already talking at this point– discussing the odd instances where Arkady had yelled at me and hadn’t seemed to remember it, how the house seemed obsessed with accommodating and defending certain people and mistreating others, how they weren’t like this before they met March–

I don’t remember if he knocked or not, but suddenly, Arkady. “Xanthe, come here. We’re having this talk. Now.”

Vex shook her head.

“I don’t want to.” I replied. “And I’m not even sober.”

“When are you sober, Xanthe?”

Ever not pay attention and have autism just auto-fill your next reply? Because uh. “Before 7pm.” A little rule I’d invented for myself. I was so proud.

“Mm. Yes, nice snark, there.”

“I was being literal.”

“I can tell the difference between your literal tone and your snark. Come downstairs, we’re talking.” His voice was icy cold, lacking in any sort of warmth and compassion. It used to sing me to sleep. It used to give me enough ‘I love you’s’ to last the weekend. It used to tell me about how it couldn’t live without me. It used to be my favourite song. And now it just sounded like an angry, violent stranger. He used to know me, and now he couldn’t even tell my tones apart.

“I don’t want to.”

Again, my memory blurs. I still have video proof on my FB, but trauma has made it difficult to bring it up again. I think it was full of him trying to get me into another intervention and myself refusing. I think it’s at this point where he told me, “We’re having this talk or I’m telling all of your Facebook followers when your birthday actually is.”

“You’re blackmailing me?” My voice sounded wooden. Vex narrowed her eyes, then looked at me in alarm. Something was going through its death-throes in my soul, and it wasn’t me. I thought it had been, for months. It’d been dying since the month of March. I had thought it was me, I felt it so keenly. Maybe this night would finally kill me. I would disappear into this brain as Neb did, finally be at peace. But at this blackmail, I felt a brief pain, as if the mortal blow had just landed, then… nothing. I felt an odd sort of detachment, as if the world around me were a nightmare.

He said some sort of reply. But I turned to my broadcast. I never could behave well enough to be properly blackmailed. “Yes, my body was born on August 25th, 1993. I’ve never used that birthday because I felt like a walk-in soul. I’ve only had this body since about 2013.” In the background, Arkady was screaming ‘Lies, lies, LIES!’ through the door. I continued on. “I don’t know what’s going on. There’s a lot of friends that I’ve had that are apparently fictional, like me, and I don’t know what’s real or not.” I rambled afterwards. I rambled about my paranoia over Zara, how everyone seemed offended that I didn’t want company over for half of each week with no notice and leaving a sprinkling of empty energy drink cans and a cloud of weed scent wherever she staggered. I discussed how toxic March was when he first moved in, about how he seemed to turn Ash from someone who cared deeply for Arkady to someone that would rather have sex with March for eight hours. Whoever just died in me, it was like I was breathlessly telling their tale of betrayal and how they met their fate.

At this point, Arkady was screaming, ‘Asra says to get off Live! Get off Live! Get off Live! Get off Live RIGHT now.’ He kept screaming. What would happen if I got off Live? What would he do?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know how to express that I didn’t know. He was still screaming.

I went non-verbal. I didn’t know how to make it stop.

I picked up some sort of holiday card, flipped it to the blank side, and wrote the only phrase I could express, and held it up for the camera.

I’M SCARED

He finally left. A friend, who had witnessed the exchange, texted me an offer to pick me up for the night, just to make me feel safe. Which, I decided was probably for the best, as Arkady was shouting, “Are you FUCKING kidding me?” downstairs.

Vex gathered a bag for me. In low tones, she coached me on where everyone in the house was, informing me I had a clear path to the cars outside. Together, we ran outside.

I vaguely remember hugging my friend’s friend. “You didn’t even seem to be talking shit?” She reassured me. “You just seemed to be… venting.” I remember shakily rambling about how it’d gone too far this time, stunned that this had even happened. The rest of the night occurred in a disassociated blur. I’d rescued my box of Franzia, intending to nurse that for the rest of the night. Upon noting this, my friend joked that I was a ‘high-functioning alcoholic.’ And you know, after six months of balancing on eggshells, it wasn’t far from exaggerative.

My friend received a text from March, detailing either lies or things the rest of the household used to endorse. He even mocked me for thinking Oscar Wilde may have been a past life. Which, was not only something that Arkady had suggested, but something March’s toxic ex had already went for. Funny, how one can become one’s worst enemy. Everything else had been a lie.

(So, addressing those one at a time… I never said March was possessed by a demon. I said that he had a cult-like effect about him, that reminded me of my ex, April, that made people seem to act possessed in their hyper-defense of him. And yes, I think my past-life is Oscar Wilde. I’m spiritual, and Wilde and I have gone through a lot of the same things. He just happens to be a Libra. It was actually Arkady who had told me that Oscar was a past life. Everyone else in the house endorsed it– Oscar would later become an ‘introject’ alter. Only one other person has used my past-life belief against me, and it’s someone who March calls abusive. I assume he’s too dim to catch the irony, there. Arkady and I hadn’t broken up yet. He dumped me in July. I posted those photos, likely about a dozen of them, in early June. They were still fond memories, and I didn’t feel like taking them down yet. Arkady had told me I was allowed to tell him ‘I love you’ in different ways. ‘On Vis Och’ was a line in a book that meant, ‘A good end and a new beginning.’ I hadn’t realised it made him uncomfortable, and stopped once I realised it had. I didn’t write handwritten notes to him in his room. I left them for Visarden, his alter? Past-life? Who told me our relationship was still there. About me using wine to loosen him up– Never happened. That’s not even a misunderstanding, it’s a goddamned lie. Once, Arkady had told me that I just ‘needed to buy him wine’ to get him in the mood. I didn’t take him up on that offer, but would occasionally do so as a gift, when I would stock up on my own supply. He also didn’t come out as grey ace until after we’d stopped sleeping together.)

(“I’m done speaking out against Xanthe” is probably the funniest joke March has ever told. Note that he wasn’t warning my friend. That abusive ex? Yes, was a prick. He tried to make me seem crazy by mocking my past-life. Sound familiar? It should.)

My friend offered me a stim toy and I slept a nice, drunken sleep on their apartment couch that night. The next day, I was still disassociated. I felt mostly numb and detached from reality. I kept having to ask my friend to repeat conversations. Especially after a text I’d gotten from Asra, saying I was cut off from them for publicly complaining about the round after round of hen-pecking. They took me to a walk around the river, helped me pick up some of AJ’s things they’d sent via the train. Then it was time to go back. My friend only lived in a shared apartment with a roommate, after all. And I hadn’t brought enough to stay extra days.

I updated a status, clarifying that Arkady was not beating me, and likely never would. I made the Lives private. I genuinely did not want anyone harassing him.

My plan was simple. Run in, lay AJ’s things in the public space, then go to my room. I would spend the next two weeks until my move-in date avoiding my housemates, packing, and minding my own business. They had other plans.

I came back to all doors locked. My house key could never undo the deadbolts, so I had to call Ash.

Then they confronted me. The very scenario I had been trying to avoid, but this time, they had more ammunition. They’d read my journals in my absence, leafing through them as if they had been studying for a test. This was the second offense of reading my journals. The first, being much more mild, something they said they regretted.

I have to say, I disassociated through a lot of the discussion. I was apparently talking, apologising, say that I meant my apology. I remember only snippets.

Apparently, Arkady was meant to stay away from the conversation, but came back up. “No, I’m not even scared.” He said, taking in my shaking form in the doorway. “This is just funny to me. This is like a soap opera, it’s just funny now. No, I want to watch.”

Me, falling into his arms out of the moving van. Dancing in the rain. Him comforting me after a nightmare. Him, in a rage, after my mother threatened to abandon me through top surgery. He, who sang me a sweet song of mourning after my bird had died. He, who taught me how to cry after so long not knowing how. It had to have been a different person who thought my fear was funny.

“You said you wanted us to help each other heal!” Arkady went on, in a tone filled with such disgust that one would think I’d confessed to drugging his cat for fun. “Is that how you see me? Is that what you think I’m for?”

“It’s just a joke. “Xhax’s voice was clear in my head, high in wonderment.

It was then March’s turn to throw something at me. “After I had gotten fired from Lori’s, you said that you fell asleep with a smile on your face and a song in your heart!”

Actually, I thought, that was after you’d freaked out that you mispronounced the word ‘ambivalent‘ and made it a Whole episode.

“These people aren’t interested in facts. It’s the narrative they want.” I glanced at Xhaxhollari. Clearly, the household couldn’t see him.

I just said I was sorry. The words were hollow on my tongue. There was an expectation that they should be otherwise, but I’m not sure how any of the four of us reached that conclusion. I was also aware that they were giving me two days to find other arrangements. I’d had nowhere else to go, but that clearly wasn’t their problem.

“You can get a hotel,” Arkady informed me icily.

“For two weeks?” Sure, I had a discount through Hilton, but it was based on availability. And they all decided to do this just as RIT students were coming through and looking to quarantine.

Obviously, I was lying about something. Arkady seemed sure of it. “You told me,” Arkady began, spitting the words like an accusation. I think he may have even been pointing at me. “That you got a discount from Hilton that would make any reservation 35 a night! It would be less than six hundred dollars. You can do that.”

I think I just stared at him for that. Even if I were to open my app and show him, he’d likely never be convinced. He had his narrative, what more did he need?

Then there was a barrage of how I’d ‘brought Gaslamp into the house.’ “No. My ex made me believe that. I shouldn’t have passed it onto the rest of you, but I was fooled too. I’m sorry I was the first.” I actually can’t picture my tone here. Was I even the one speaking? I don’t know. I only know I said that last part because March repeated it mockingly back at me.

“‘Oh, I’m sorry I was the first!'” March would make a bad actor. I’d always thought that. I was suddenly caught on the airy, patronizing quality of his voice. He really only had one tone of voice, and I could only describe it as a ‘Your bra-strap is showing’ sort of tone. “See, they’re just making themselves into a victim again! You’re doing it again, Xanthe, and we’re wise to all of your manipulation. And apparently you thought that I put Ash into a ‘Hostage situation’ by threatening to kill myself over the phone for hours when they were on vacation? I was having a breakdown, Xanthe!”

“Your pain is a joke. Your privacy is a joke. A soap opera.” I didn’t see Xhaxhollari’s point just then, but he was still talking at my side. His voice sounded calm, but his wings were arched and tense.

I remember them surrounding me and repeating again and again, as if chanting that I was the abuser was enough to overwrite my memories saying otherwise. They may as well try again, it’d worked before. It was this odd narrative that everything that March had ever done could never be abuse. He had a break down, he had a PTSD flashback, he needed help, and I heartlessly labeled his actions abusive. Meanwhile, my own PTSD was manipulation, my breakdowns were abuse, and who needs support when they could just tell me over and over again that I’m awful?

Ash spoke up, finally. “I ‘think I’m an Unseelie king’? Why did you tell Asra that, other than to damage my relationship with them?”

March chimed in. “Yeah, you have to stop talking about our worlds, Xanthe!”

I winced. I actually did feel real shame over that. I probably would’ve felt more if my conversation in confidence hadn’t been shared. But how else to reach out about the fact that these people assured me that my friends were real? For what reason? Their own validation?

Why were they so intent on suddenly dismissing a reality they’d once endorsed?

March was still talking. “And I have PTSD, too, Xanthe. C-PTSD, in fact!”

“Your enemy is a joke.” Xhax continued.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. March’s voice sounded just so pompous. My voice carried on, distantly. I couldn’t tell what it was doing. The last twenty minutes of that conversation are lost to me. In fact, most of that night is lost to me. I know I didn’t drink any more wine.

I remember calling Cotton. I remember calling Kaspar. I remember texting my father. Cotton reassured me that he’d known me for much longer than my household, and had never considered me manipulative. He’d been there for April’s fake possession, her fake seizures, her faked blindness. Kaspar, who was distressed at having known none of this prior to that night, saying how these people wouldn’t stand a chance if I had manipulated them. My dad, saying how my housemates were in the wrong for having read my journals again.

Again.

Again.

It was sinking in.

They’d done it again.

The quotes they’d used, it was all from my journals. More than one. That thought seemed to bleed through in my sleep, to the point where the violation was all that was on my mind the day aft.

It’d turned to daylight. I posted to Facebook, filtering out the cult that’d formed under my roof, “They went through my fucking journals.”

Not even a half hour later, March was outside my door. “We see you playing the victim, Xanthe. You tried to hide from Ash, but it didn’t work. Also, Asra knows how you really now. We told them everything.”

I was frozen in my room. Vex, who had refused to leave my side since last night, cursed under her breath, and began to pack a bag. “If they really knew everything, then what are they doing standing for this shit?” She growled.

Good question.

March, who claimed not to be the problem but was very much proving to be the instigator, continued to gripe to Ash. “They apologise to our face but then go behind our backs to bitch to Facebook! Apparently, this is all our faults! First they blame Zara, then Seven, and now me again!”

March was playing music from his room, blasting petty break-up songs and what seemed to be Onision’s breakdown. (I think they were attempting to make some sort of comparison?)

My therapist was on the phone with me in what seemed like minutes later. I only remember one part of that conversation. “They went through your fucking journals, Xanthe! And used it against you! You can’t stay another night in that house! Who cares if your friends are real? If they’re not the ones mistreating you, call them!”

Vex was very pointedly packing my journals into my suitcase. I reached for my pendant– it symbolized my heart, but it’d broken earlier this year. I hadn’t yet fixed it; it seemed odd to me to pretend that my heart wasn’t broken.

Xhax’s hand covered mine as I reached for the watch. “Not yet. You need protection, not your heart. Your heart is what’s gotten you into this mess.” He slid my clockwork angel pendant into my palm.

It was from the Infernal Devices series. Ithuriel, the angel, was trapped in a clockwork pendant the protagonist always wore. It was meant to protect her. I’d bought it recently to feel safe.

I stared at him. “I thought you were wanting me to sacrifice myself to save Arkady?”

He shook his head. “You did what you could. He just isn’t there right now. Any more selfless, you won’t have any more self left to lose.”

I slipped the pendant over my head, made my reservation for Collegetown’s Hilton, then fled. When I got to my room, I collapsed on my bed, wanting to sob and–

Just as before I’d met Arkady… no tears came.

I was fictional again.

[sea-dukes-assistant]

The fault light is on, but the BIT  comes back normal

Hi.  Friendly neighborhood wounded warrior here.  

I thought I’d have more to say regarding the mental health aspects of my TBI, but really, I can’t, because most of my effects are more like system glitches than anything to do with mental illness (although I have had an actual existential crisis once day while doing my laundry).  But regardless, I thought maybe I’d close out my mental health posts which may or may not have been helpful to anyone but me with some explanation of my “glitches,” and the best way to deal with them.  I realize none of you will ever have physical contact with me, but last night I had one of my “moments” while chatting with someone, which is what inspired this rambling shitstorm in the first place.

Short Term Memory - Like I said, it can be shit sometimes.  It’s getting better somewhat, but will never be as good as it was before.  I put everything in the same place every day because if I don’t, or it gets moved, I WILL forget it/freak out because I think it got lost.  I pat my pockets everyday multiple times to make SURE I have my wallet, phone, and keys to my truck.  I have to actually put things (meetings, deadlines, etc.) into my phone’s calendar or notepad app WHILE MY CHIEF IS TALKING because if I don’t do it then, I WILL FORGET (I’ve explained this to him tho so he doesn’t think I’m being rude as fuck and knifehand me into last month).  I swear some days I would forget my brain if it won’t in my skull (thankfully yes, it stayed there).  I have to write nearly everything down, especially work stuff.

Speech - This is the most frustrating to deal with.  My “thought train” randomly gets derailed, usually when I’m trying to explain things/myself, and sometimes it can take a minute or 5 for it to get back on the track.  I will legit blank out and forget WHILE I’M TALKING TO YOU.  I forget words, not like “oh I forgot what it’s called,” but as in “they’re in my head I know them but I can’t make it come out my mouth.”  Sometimes I stutter or slur.  Best way for anyone to handle this is either give me time to sort it out, or try to trigger my brain with prompts or questions that can be answered with “yes” or “no.”

Emotional Shit - Again, increased irritability and anxiety.  This is the thing that I dealt with last night.  I had to walk away and take a minute or I would have blown up at this person and I don’t want to do that.  It happens more when I’m stressed, which results in either me either yelling or flat out ignoring the fact that you exists and I can’t predict which one it’ll be.  Sometimes, like a nervous dog, I just need space, especially when the anxiety gets spun up due to my newfound auditory hypersensitivity.  Royal Navy greatcoat nest helps tremendously, but so does actually trying to calm me down.  Sometimes I just get in weird moods where my head is full of “white noise” and I can’t make sense of why I’m in a mood, how to get out of it, and I get bothered by this because I know my mood doesn’t make sense but I can’t explain it or why my feels are fucked up at the moment.

WOOO NEUROTIC SHIT - I have a slower “processing speed,” which basically means it takes me a bit longer to absorb, retain, and analyze information.  To some extent, this is why I need direct, logical answers to questions and not long, drawn out, “fluff filled” novels that branch off into 5 mini-series before coming to the conclusion.  I can’t filter through all that and it leads to the above issue, because I don’t know what to focus on.  My right hand does indeed ball up into a fist when I’m anxious or stressed, though it doesn’t stay like that.  It’s more like me needing to squeeze something but nothing is in my hand, or sometimes it will “twitch” and open/close rather rapidly; this happens less than it used to but it does still happen.  As mentioned before, I have auditory hypersensitivity, which kinda makes my ears a bit like sonar, and loud, repetitive noises (like hammering, a dog that won’t quit barking, people tapping on things, and babies crying) trigger it the most and can lead to above mentioned Emotional Shit(tm). 

Overall, the neurons don’t fire as quick as they used to and sometimes it makes my life tricky.  I was socially awkward before and now it’s 10x worse because of this stuff.  

[indiigo-child]

How do I consider anybody a friend when the shield I cling to covers my raw scars in cowardly doubt that censors the chapters of my story that define fundamental pieces of my puzzle? If my paper shredded wasn’t out of batteries, my impulse would’ve abandoned these texts in defensive suppression; numbing my perception with broken promises of escape... The trap door beckons me deeper into a labyrinth infested with over-sized rodents and cockroaches that greet my sober comedown like an intrusive lightening strike. Regret floods my brain with sewage when If notice that the child lock is on as sweaty palms desperately tug the handle with a hopeless grasp that leaves my knuckles red. “The only way out is through”, I whisper in a shaky whimper reeking of rotten doubt and ridden with the pungent stench of crippling fear. The reminders of the pages I wish I destroyed stain the walls of the cell with a bold font that mocks the bottle I overfilled with shameful emotion and flows over like Mentos in cola. The levels of Hell serve as a reminder of strength according to the advice given by a player that can’t make it past the first level. The appeal of the thought is enticing until you realize how deep it goes. You can knock on wood all you want when you make statements as naive as “it can’t get worse than this”, but the Universe has a dirty mind with a dark humor that takes the innocence as a challenge to plunge you deeper. Immortality seems sweeter than the kiss of mysterious death until the water fills your lungs and drowns you over again.

I’m afraid to admit I’m afraid of anything anymore because I’m rigged with a curse that brings these things into fruition. Notice how that sentence just fucked me over. Like the irrational comfort of hiding under the covers as protection from the darkness as a child, the monster under my bed waits in another dimension to meet me in the astral realm when the relief of sleep finally surrenders to the insomnia that’s kept me awake for days. The bags under my eyes are my souvenir. Loud and proud, they expose my burdens for the world to see as I fake sanity with miserable attempt. Things get wonky after day 2 of no sleep and sleeping pills feed my beast. The blackout I experience from Ambien is the perfect opportunity for her to strike and Nyquil just makes my body feel fuzzy. But not like a fluffy blanket. More like the static of a television without cable.

With unlikely circumstance that anyone has even made it this far after the first couple sentences of these melodramatic ramblings, I must seem like a miserable fuck from an outside perspective, but I’m gonna paint the abstract self portrait of myself for you to give a better look into this existence. People think I’m sunshine, but they have no idea how exhausted I am from fighting the darkness. There are never any constellations in the pitch black void and I’ve never gotten over my fear of the dark. The North Star doesn’t guide me as my fears and I feast off each other during these hours of potential dreaming relief like vampires. Not the sexy, glorified vampires on television shows and romance novels that sparkle like diamonds, but the ones that are damned to an eternity of release that only exists in this place while normal people slumber unaware of the paragraphs your anxious fingers hammer out now that you’re finally hidden without moonlight to expose your filth and mortification. My filter is lacking lately and I worry I’m dunking someone in with me; clinging to them in selfish yearning to be saved and understood. The sunlight always comes around, though, and surrounds me with faces that won’t let me soak it in. Everyone automatically assumes you want company on the beach and my exhaustion made me forget my sunscreen, so I burn. I wonder how different things would be if I didn’t hide in the abyss to release these pointless worries. Sharing shakes my faith when vulnerability isn’t greeted and is left unacknowledged.

I’ve hidden parts of myself so well that I forgot where they went. In a manic haze, I go on benders and forget the nitty gritty details of my alter ego’s hiding spots and how many there even are. Sometimes I’ll come across some clues on accident, but it’s always when I least expect it. Like an escape room with a complex riddle that doesn’t quite add up; a vague message open to interpretation. Groups of friends have a blast figuring them out together, but I’m all alone and I’m not sure there’s a way out anymore because I’m cursed with existential crisis. As soon as I think I scratch the surface, I find something else. Or lose one of the pieces during a random binge that snowballs down like an avalanche driven by lack of self control. Sometimes I give up the scavenger hunt altogether and wave my white flag. How do you surrender to a war that goes deeper than most realize? I let other energies hoard my personal bubble and take on all of their baggage as I float around like a spirit over my body and try not to drag my feet too much, but I’m so damn tired.

Even if I try to translate this rubbish into language, I don’t think anyone would understand if they tried and that thought scares me more than the tension of this weight. I fear that nobody ever understands and the ego stains our sight with empathy that inflates you with a phony knowledge that you can fathom another existence. It’s human nature to relate in ways where you make a situation about yourself to an extent and I’m sick of hearing about how my PTSD is comparable to every mouth that spews their input in attempt to comfort through this notion. You try and imagine what a flashback would be like when you hear of stories of war veterans and assure yourself that you wouldn’t join the military, but don’t even consider that your best friend beating you while battling addiction can do as much damage as guns and bombs. Sharing my story makes people visibly uncomfortable, but I’m the one reliving it when I try to open up.

[unplacedpodcast]

Chapter Three: Transient (Script)

Chapter three script below! Spoilers ahead: 

(ding of audio recording starting)

NARRATOR: There are a lot of downsides to being invisible, but one upside is that I can creep on as many awkward first dates as I want to and nobody knows. I'm not saying I'm an expert at social interaction by any means, but some of these are just bad.

This one bar I've been people-watching at, I saw the same two people there twice, and both times the guy was wearing this raggedy-ass hoodie that looked like he'd slept in it. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure he was wearing the exact same outfit both times. I mean, personality counts, but put a little bit of effort in, right? He didn't exactly have it going on in the personality department either...he kept rambling about his ex and went through three well whiskies in an hour.

Anyways. Here's your regular update from the land of invisibility: I'm doing...okay, I guess. That whole experience with my mom…that was rough. It’s been a few weeks, so it stings a little less. We had our differences, but obviously, I loved her, and - I don’t know. She’s not having to deal with the pain of losing a child, I guess, which is good for her, but adds another layer to what I have to deal with. Grieving someone who doesn’t even remember you exist is…rough.

The apartment is officially not mine any more, but I was able to salvage some of the really important things. Basically, what I have is what I can carry on me at any given moment - so I have my computer, my phone, some clothes, a few other things. It’s like that whole minimalist backpacker trend, except I’m not doing it because I’m an annoying white guy with an urge to travel.

I do have a few things, like my wallet, out of sheer habit, but they're pretty much useless. Nobody asks for ID when they can't see you, and my cards stopped working a week or two after all of this started. I did manage to withdraw most of my money before they entirely stopped working, but again: you can't give cash to people who can't see or hear you.

Sometimes, I leave it at stores when I take things, especially the mom and pop stores or indie-type places. Even then, it's always a gamble, because there's no guarantee someone working there is going to see the money before some opportunistic bozo does and pockets it. There’s also not any guarantee that the person who sees it who does work there is actually going to put it back into the business instead of pocketing it.

We never covered this in my philosophy 101 class: If you physically can't pay the person you should be paying, and the best you can do is leave a few bills lying around, do you have an ethical obligation to do so, or is that just a futile attempt to soothe your own conscience?

If cash falls in the woods and nobody's around to pick it up, is it still money?

(sighs) Who would have known that being invisible would present you with a new existential crisis every day? I mean...probably anyone who thought about it, but I hadn't thought about it. Have you?

If you had asked me ahead of time, I would have...honestly, I probably would have said it wouldn't have bothered me that much. Honestly, I never felt like people really saw me, just their own assumption-filtered version of me - in a way, this is like having my metaphorical, emo headcanon made literal.

People make me nervous. Being around people makes me nervous. Before all of this happened, I mostly just wanted to be left alone to do my job, hang out with my friends - the very few people who don't make me get sweaty palms just from a casual conversation. Maybe meet a nice girl, settle down...I didn't want to be completely invisible, but I didn't want to be hypervisible, either. I just wanted to be left alone, to navigate my life with the least amount of confrontation possible.

That moment of confrontation has always been my kryptonite, the thing that makes my heart pound. It's probably silly - as a species, we used to fight mammoths or whatever, that's what those responses are supposed to be for. It always feels silly, anyways. I know it's a real chemical reaction, but when all you have to do is stand up for yourself, or someone else, or just say something, anything, and you can't, because your mouth is dry and your throat keeps closing and your hands are shaking...you feel like a coward.

What I used to do when that happened was sneak off, get a moment alone, and talk to myself, record it, and then delete the recording when I calmed down. Or sometimes, not delete it. Having those audio diaries, from times when I felt like nothing was in my control, and being able to look back through them and realize I came out of every situation okay - it was a surprisingly effective security blanket.

That's all really off topic as far as what it's like living in these united invisible states of America, though. So let's get back to that, since that's what you listeners are here for - juicy supernatural survivalist tips, or whatever. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

Tip one: If nobody can see you, you can crash wherever you want. Staying at a hotel requires a little sneakiness. I had to creep on the staff to see how they code the keycard for each room and copy that, but once you get the hang of it, you can pretty much hole up wherever. I've been camped out in this swanky five star place, which would probably be better if I could get room service, but it could definitely be a hell of a lot worse.

Tip two: Keep a go bag. The real survivalist nuts out there already know this one. Zombie apocalypse fantasies aside aside, a go bag is crucial for when the hotel room you're staying in gets booked and the (very baffled) maids come in to do the room check, only to find a much dirtier room than there should be. So far, I haven’t lost any of my stuff, but I did have to do a real quick scramble the first time that happened. After going through the Great Apartment Purge of 2017, I don't want to lose the few belongings I do have left.

Tip three: Be careful about where you get your food from - at least, if you have a conscience. After while of living off of premade food or whatever I could cook in hotel kitchenettes, I decided I wanted something fancier, and snuck into a restaurant. I mean, I didn't really sneak in, because that would imply I was concerned about people seeing me, which is pretty much a non-issue. But I digress. I went into the kitchen, creeped around until I saw a plate full of food that looked tasty, and snagged it. What I did not think about was the server getting screamed at by the angry person who didn't get their food. When nobody is interacting with you, it's easy to space out on how your actions are going to impact them.

That's...all the tips I have right now. There aren't all that many actionable takeaways from being an invisible half-ghost person, or whatever.

Actually, that reminds me - I had a theory that I wanted to test, and since I’m already recording, this is the perfect time to do it. Time for a field trip!

(sounds of the phone fumbling, recording ding as it goes off, then the recording dings on again with the sound of new-agey bell-chime music in the background)

When I made that crack about being a half-ghost, it reminded me that I wanted to see what an actual psychic would make of this business. So...here I am, in a medium's waiting room. I looked this lady up on Yelp and she's supposedly pretty legit, as far as psychics go. The last thing I want to do is freak out some poor unsuspecting client of her's, so I've been just hanging out until she's client-free. And...let's give this a go. She's standing over there behind the counter, scrolling through Instagram - I'm walking up to her

(noise of the phone moving, sound of footsteps)

NARRATOR: (to woman, slightly muffled since she's not speaking directly into the phone) HEY. Hey. Can you hear me?

(speaking into the phone again) And...yeah. Nothing. I'm over here talking to her, waving a hand in her face, I'll

(noise of things moving around on a glass countertop, muffled noise of fabric brushing)

(sighs) Yeah. I moved some crystals around on her counter, I poked her in the shoulder - nothing. So much for any extra sensory perception going on around these parts. Maybe I'll try another place, later, and see if they're any better at (makes "spooky" voice) perceiving the invisible.

Whatever.

(ding of door bell as she walks out onto the street, background noise of being on a busy street and then descending underground into a subway station as she talks)

For now, it's back to the hotel. Another fruitless experiment in my “what the ever-loving hell is going on" series. It's just so frustrating, you know?

If I knew what was going on, I think it would be a little easier to cope with. But instead, it’s all one big mystery, which is just...annoying. I'm glad there seem to be consistent rules that I can test and figure out, but I wish I knew if this was like, a magic thing, or a gamma radiation thing, or what.

Gamma radiation, there's a thought. Too bad this doesn't come with superpowers.

(sound of a subway door opening and/or a stop being called in the background)

Oh well. It could be worse. At least I've got a fancy hotel to crash at. And this car is fairly empty, so I don't have to worry about someone trying to walk through me, again.

(sighs) An upgrade in living accommodations might be an upside to this whole scenario, but the public transportation experience leaves a lot to be desired.

(a few seconds of silence w/background noise, then the noise of the subway door opening and people moving)

I guess that's just - wait. What the...this guy just got on and he...there's this thing on him...it's all over his back, it's on his shoulders, it's - I think it’s stuck in his head. Hold on, I’m going to get closer.

(sound of footsteps)

Sir? HELLO? Yeah, of course you can’t hear me, but I thought you might want to know you’ve got a freakin’ brain leech stuck in the back of your head getting a free ride. Maybe if I…

(sound of her touching/shaking him)

Oh shit. The thing - it's...it's moving...oh my god, I think it can see me. Holy f-

(audio recording cuts off suddenly)