#like i heal a little bit every day but grief causes you to do so many horrible things

[xhatake]

thinking invasively about the time i did a [holy] amount of psychedelics & my partner came home to me, crouched in the living room so that my incense was eye level, gremlin-style, listening to blue bird ... which i had been listening to for several hours. tho i didn't know this until he came home.

[clangenrising]

Month 20 - Leaffall

Despite the heavy, nearly unbearable grief over Sagetooth’s passing, Ospreymask was doing very well these days. Her wounds had all healed nicely. Things were starting to feel less dire. After the battle, SkyClan had started sending warriors to help patrol the southern border, just in case, and the Clans had reinstated the twenty-four hour patrol schedule that had been abandoned after Razor’s death. As much as the work was tiring, there were always new cats in the camp and the novelty of it was enough to brighten her spirits considerably.

It was especially nice when Pebblefall came to visit. Ospreymask had begged Russetfrond to let her patrol with them whenever they came by and he had eventually relented, seeing as offering to work wasn’t something she usually did. She couldn’t help but feel smug about it. If only he knew what she and Pebblefall got up to when they had the time to themselves, maybe then he would have second guessed that decision. 

On a breezy leaffall day, she took a good long moment to appreciate just how lucky she was as she lay sprawled against their belly in the grass, watching it wave gently over their silvery speckled fur. It wasn’t every day you found a friend like Pebblefall -- or for that matter, a friend like Branchbark, who had agreed to cover for them on patrol again. Sighing, she reasoned that they ought to get back before he got ambushed by rogues or coyotes or something, even if she’d rather keep dozing peacefully to the gentle rhythm of Pebblefall’s slumbering breaths. 

“Alright,” she said, batting lightly at their face, “time to get up, lazy bones.” Pebblefall groaned and rolled onto their back to stretch their paws as far as they could go in either direction. Ospreymask had to resist the temptation to lavish the gorgeous arc of their body with playful licks like she so often did these days. That would lead to Branchbark being on his own for another good while and she was already starting to feel guilty about how long they had been gone. 

“Do I have to get up?” Pebblefall asked sleepily, peeking at her with one eye. 

“Yeah…” she sighed again. “I think Branchbark is probably getting tired of covering for us by now.” 

“Oof,” they frowned and sat up. “You’re probably right. I wish I could thank him for everything.” 

Ospreymask laughed and said, “You could always try. Stars know he could do with a bit of stress relief.” 

“Not like that, dummy,” Pebblefall swiped at her and she bounced backwards out of their reach. 

“Why not?” she kept laughing. “You seem happy to thank me that way.” 

Pebblefall stood and stretched, glaring playfully at her as they bowed. “Thank you? What have you done worth thanking for?” 

“Um, I am generous enough to allow you to enjoy the pleasures of my body,” she huffed performatively and stood up straight as if offended. “Is that not worthy of thanks?” 

“Sounds to me like we’re gonna get stuck in a loop pretty quickly if that’s how I thank you for letting me thank you,” they snorted. Carefully fixing the nettle flowers they wore back into place behind their ear, they padded over to join her. 

“Is that a bad thing?” she purred teasingly, winding her tail around theirs.

“I guess not,” they chuckled and nipped playfully at her ear. She shook her head and they set off towards the border where Branchbark was waiting for them. 

Ospreymask hummed thoughtfully to herself as they walked, eventually saying, “You’re good with me keeping the kittens if there are any, right?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Pebblefall nodded. “I’m not in any rush to be a parent.” 

“Good, cause you would have had to pry them from my cold dead paws,” Ospreymask declared. “I’m so kitten crazy it’s not even funny.” 

“I do not understand that at all,” they shook their head. “Kits are so tiring and annoying. I can’t imagine having to carry them either, it sounds like a nightmare.” 

“No way!” she said. “They’re so much fun! Just cute little bundles of joy that love you with all their heart. It's so easy to impress a kitten, it’s the best.” She smiled, imagining little Pebblefall copies following her around and asking her questions about the world. “I’m actually really looking forward to being pregnant. I want to feel their little heartbeats and kicks and everything. It sounds absolutely magical.”

“If you say so,” they shrugged and she let that be the end of it. She was too busy thinking about the kittens she might soon have. 

Eventually, they made it to the border and found Branchbark waiting where they had left him. He looked up as they approached and let out a sigh of relief. Standing, he padded over to them looking miffed but mostly glad to see them. 

“There you are,” he said. “The next patrol is supposed to relieve us soon. I was getting worried about how I would explain where you’d gone.” 

“You can always come get us,” Ospreymask offered but Branchbark blushed and shook his head. 

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” he fumbled out the words and Ospreymask laughed. 

“Okay, I get it. We’ll take a smaller nap next time, promise.” 

“Can’t you just, you know, not nap?” he asked, quirking a brow at her. 

“It’s tiring,” Pebblefall said. “It’d be more suspicious if we didn’t nap and the two of us came back exhausted.”

“It can’t be that tiring,” Branchbark scowled. 

“You’d know if you’d tried it,” Ospreymask gave him a playful shove and he pushed her back without any humor. She was pushing her luck and she could tell.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” he rolled his eyes tiredly. “Let’s just make another sweep before we have to go back, alright?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Pebblefall said with a guilty grimace. “We’ll be more considerate in the future, man. I’m sorry.” 

Branchbark sighed. “It’s alright. Don’t mention it.” He started walking, leaving Pebblefall and Ospreymask to exchange rueful glances. 

As they finished out the patrol, Ospreymask’s guilt grew in her stomach and started to writhe. Branchbark had taken Sagetooth’s death a lot harder than she had -- probably harder than anybody -- which had totally caught her off guard. She’d tried to go back to acting like nothing had happened, to replace the sadness with new joys, but it seemed like Branchbark wasn’t having as easy of a time at it as she was. And on top of it all, she had been asking him to be all alone for not inconsiderable stretches of time so she could fool around without doing anything for him in return. 

If he had asked her for a favor, she would gladly have given it to him, but he never asked for anything. She chewed her lip for the entire walk back to camp, trying to think of a way to repay him for his kindness. She was so deep in thought, she barely noticed when Pebblefall said goodbye and headed back to their own territory. 

“Hey,” Branchbark asked, a little while after they had left, “are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, smiling immediately. “I’m fine, I’m just worried about you man. I feel like I’ve been a bad friend.” 

Branchbark pursed his lips and looked down. “No, you’re fine, I’m just… stuck in my head right now.” 

“I know!” Ospreymask cried, butting her head against his shoulder. “You’ve been so good to me lately, I wanna return the favor.”

“It’s okay,” he said, nuzzling back into her. “I don’t know what I would ask for anyway.” 

“Well, if you can think of something, just let me know, yeah?” she asked. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded. 

Ospreymask sighed in defeat. He wasn’t going to ask.

[aihaitahm]

Hello! I saw ur request for well requests. So If this concept helps. I’d like to see your take on Jing Yuan/ Sampo Koski/ Blade and maybe Gepard on when the reader as their s/o is maybe like ambushed by an enemy and how they comfort the reader after it or nurse them back to health (it may be a lil angsty but I’d like to see your take)

gn! reader being extremely injured and how they react

characters: jing yuan, blade, gepard

im sorry idrk sampo and didnt write him though i hope you like it! :((

jing yuan

you and jing yuan were fighting jingliu after she caused a catastrophe within xianzhou luofu after being possessed by mara.

jing yuan kept insisting for you to back out and evacuate but you were stubborn and did not listen to him which lead to you taking a lethal attack from jingliu. thankfully you survived and jing yuan carried you right away after he defeated his former master.

worried about your state, he holds you tightly enough but not so much to hurt you, bringing you to get aid and to rest. poor him he is super worried, he felt a bit emotional but kept his nonchalant calm face on.

seeing you lay and rest up while he voluntarily takes care of you despite him also having injuries. yanqing tells his master he should also rest and that he can take care of you. yanqing tried his best to comfort him and force him to also heal up.

the next day, the general was eager to know if you were awake and okay. going into your assigned room, he was very happy to see you awake though that does not stop him from scolding you.

“(name) i am happy that you are with me my beloved however please listen next time when i say to back out. i am very worried about you and mimi was looking for you last night. i do not want to hear you insist and you will follow what i say. your life is important to me, do you understand?”

blade

you always like to accompany blade whenever he is out on missions. after all, supporting your boyfriend and boosting him will help him finish the mission faster while you also do great damage to enemies. then afterwards you aid him and then he gives you his affection and everything you ask for.

however fighting this boss made it to be difficult. you were already hit couple times and this boss and its minions kept targeting you.

this made blade extremely rage and tried to eliminate every enemy all at once though that wasnt enough to destroy all of them.

the only option left was to run. blade then carried you and escaped. even though blade was hurt, he didnt care as long as it wasnt you. hearing you cry how painful your injuries were made him a different type of anger. he is so sure he will defeat those little shits into pieces.

returning to the stellarons’ hideout to get you aided by the healers there, he is very impatient because they took it too slow for his liking. he then decided to bandage you on his own and bring you to them later. people knew how irritable he was however this was something else and just terrifying that they will just step away from him.

surprisingly he is super gentle and would make you drink pain relievers as you let him care for you. he scolds you as you slowly were feeling better but you just knew he was worried.

“tsk i dont fucking care if we failed the mission but next time, i will do some missions on my own. shit maybe most of it just so i know you are safe. i do not want you to… almost die. i would not be able to bear with the guilt and grief. you are my only one and i need you to stay alive.”

gepard

being the captain of the silvermane guards, he is inclined to always protect you. he would fight with you hand in hand and he would shield you from anything.

he trusts you and he knows you can fight as well as him. maybe even better. he would make you train the silvermane guards and you do a great job with it.

silvermane guards praise you for your strength and how lucky gepard is to have a partner like you. gepard is proud of you and is thankful for things that you do for them.

until one afternoon, you decided to accept a commission to defeat a bunch of monsters lurking by the city. without gepard’s knowledge about it, he was just surprised when one of the guards was carrying your body and you writhing in pain.

would be super anxious and emotional, holding your hand tight while you were being healed. even though the doctors were telling him to step out but he insisted and stayed. serval eventually had to tell her brother he has to step out in order for the doctors to fully pay attention to you. she comforted him, telling him you will be okay since you are so strong.

when he was finally allowed to see you, he was relieved and happy that you are alive. he then tells you to tell him about your commissions before going.

“my dear… im so glad you are alive and healthy. please be careful. please tell me about your commissions before you head out and make sure you know what type of monsters youre fighting. please… just be safe and bring me along with you.”

[jubiilee13]

I am begging for jealous Mike either angsty or fluff

But just imagine him pouting because we are focused on Abby and he wants our attention

But angst hes suddenly back to when the house was hollow and his parents barely uttered a word to him

YEA YEA YEA YEA NOW WERE TALKING OMG

this literally made me emotional writing it my poor pookie bear hes so wifey he doesnt deserve that

this is not proof read so it may be a bit ass so sorry

love you anon 😍

—

It was summer break for Abby, and by this point you and Mike had been dating for a few months.

Mike was… clingy to say the very least.

Not that you minded of course, you thought it was quite cute when he clung to your side at every oppurtunity.

It did interfere at times however...

Now was one of those times.

You sat beside abby at her desk, listening carefully as she explained each little bit of her drawing which was currently in progress.

A gentle smile formed on your lips, and you watched her carefully, your hand combing through her hair as she works.

She continued her rambles, and you cant help but chuckle at her eagerness.

A knock on abbys door tears you from your thoughts, yet abby doesn't flinch, continuing her work as you gently pat her back, telling her you'll be back in a moment.

When you open the door, you meet mikes tired gaze, and you frown a bit, stepping out and closing the door behind you. (to ensure abby's masterpiece making isnt disturbed)

"You ok my darling?" your voice asks, concern evident in your tone.

Mike nods, but it is hesitant, and he immediately begins to ramble nervously "it-its stupid nevermind" he whispers, sounding almost embarrassed as he turns on his heel to leave.

Your gentle hand reaches out to grab his own, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

"Its not stupid, talk to me mike, im here to listen" You say, your grasp on his arm gentle, yet enough to cause him to break.

He lets out a quiet sob, and you dont hesitate to pull him into your arms.

"Hey hey hey im here mike, im here, talk to me, ive got you" you say gently, one hand combing through his hair as he cries into your shoulder.

You let him cry, leading him to the living room couch where he rests his head on your shoulder as he sniffles.

"You wanna talk about it" you mumble, still caressing his hair

He nods softly, taking a few deep breaths to compose himself before he begins to speak.

"I-i- i wasnt g-given much attention as a kid... after garret a-after all my... my mom and d-dad were too wrapped u-up in their grief to... to care... there were nights w-when i had to cook my o-own dinner... i-i i didnt even know how... but burnt food was b-better than starving. even before the w-whole garret thing, he was t-their golden child" he says, taking in another shaky breath as he continues.

"Ever... ever since i started dating y-you... i felt... i felt loved... cared for... but s-sometimes i get... scared that... one day you'll just... stop caring. I-i mean you love abby s-so much- and i d-do too dont get m-me wrong... its s-stupid i know but s-some days i get scared abby w-will be just like garret... and you'll leave me like they did" he whispers, a bit embarassed by his jealousy of his younger sister.

Your face softens, and you pull away to cup his face with your gentle hands.

"Your problems are not stupid, and i love you so much mike, more than i think words can even portray, i will never, and i mean NEVER stop caring about you, you are my sun, moon, and stars, you know that?" you say gently, a smile on your face as you wipe any stray tears that escape his beautiful eyes.

"Im sorry it seems like ive been neglecting you for abby, that girl is just the sweetest and shes like a daughter to me, but never will i ever stop caring for you over her" you say eyes never leaving his own

he sniffles again, and another wave of tears takes over him as he engulfs you in his arms now, body shaking as you comfort him.

The two of you would be ok

It takes time to heal, but deep down mike knew that he had found a keeper, and he wouldnt want to heal with anyone else but you

[kli-kli]

Any song can be curtwen-coded if you're delusional enough BUT for me, the most saf-related song will always be Working for a Knife by Mitski, and listening to it again roday hit me with a lot of thoughts and feelings.  Because 'working for a knife' itself means working towards something that will destroy you. It shows the correlation between what you have to do and what leads to your inevitable end. 

So, like, pre-canon espionage? Fits. Curt's return to the profession? Fits. Owen as a DMA? Fits!

It also fits Tatiana and her past, although she is the one who manages to get away from it (all the best for our girl <3).

I cry at the start of every movie I guess 'cause I wish I was making things too But I'm working for the knife I used to think I would tell stories But nobody cared for the stories I had about No good guys

It's about Curt and Owen pre-canon, when the work ceased to be what brought them together and began to get in the way (along with other factors) of their future together, or any future for that matter. Maybe it's the moment when Owen gets fed up with spying and starts to consider all the ways his life could have turned out if he'd made a different decision in the past. It's when he sees all the 'what ifs...' that never got a chance to become reality. Or maybe those are the short moments when Curt—the one who loves what he does because it's his dream and because it's cool as fuck—begins to see that it made his alcohol problem a little bit bigger and his wellbeing worse—even if he'll never admit it out loud.

It's the final realisation of what their end will be. They'll die on a mission at some completely unexpected moment. They're working for the knife — for something that will get them killed one day, without giving them any chance for a normal life together.

Tatiana, whose life has been marked by violence since childhood, who is thrown into this environment against her will, with no control over it. Until she finally manages to regain this control, but even then she cannot be fully free and is forced to act on behalf of her blackmailer. 

I always knew the world moves on I just didn't know it would go without me I start the day high and it ends so low 'Cause I'm working for the knife I used to think I'd be done by twenty Now at twenty-nine, the road ahead appears the same Though maybe at thirty, I'll see a way to change That I'm living for the knife

Curt is returning to his profession after four years of grief and stagnation, but despite taking that step, he is still in the same place, dwelling on what he did, when the whole world moved on like nothing happened. But eventually he goes back to being a spy, something Owen would have wanted for him. His healing journey can begin, right? Even if he's returning to something that was slowly destroying him in the past — things will be different now, right??

Owen is so committed to his revenge that it's impossible for him to move on completely (no matter what he says in the finale, like be for real). And of course, he has his goal, and everything will be fine once he achives it. But for that to happen, he has to work for another organisation. They can present themselves as a better alternative to government organisations all they want, but we don't know how they really treated Owen. But what we are sure of is that, at the end of the day, he ended up dead.  So, in the end, it is always dying for the knife, no matter which one. 

I always thought the choice was mine And I was right, but I just chose wrong I start the day lying and end with the truth That I'm dying for the knife

So maybe going with Chimera's plan was the biggest mistake. Or maybe 'the knife' was just his relationship with Curt all along. Maybe in his mind that was the wrong choice that he made, that got him killed twice.

And Curt, during his grieving period, tried to pull himself together, get out of alcoholism, and move on. But that strong resolve to get back on his feet came every morning, only to disappear every evening, when he no longer had the strength to lie to himself that things would get better. And Curt post-canon, who gradually, more and more clearly, sees that he cannot destroy Chimera alone and that attempting to do so by himself was not the best choice.

Or maybe the worst choice was killing Owen on that staircase. 

[frostbitepandaaaaa]

for the fic rec game!! 👀✨😭

omg hiiiiii friend! <3

👀 A fic that you love a normal amount

there are SO SO MANY that match this criteria, but the first one that came to mind was you were my new home by katsumi.

i just love how oddly cozy but also how tragic it is. i also love the concept behind it because, as much as i love Rogue One, obviously, there just was not enough time to really properly develop/flesh out the characters. this fic manages to fix this.

anyway, i just love it.

snippet:

She surprises herself with the force of the want in her. She’s only known him a few weeks—and he’s gruff, and secretive, and single-minded to a dangerous degree—but he’s the first person in a long time she’s had any real ties to. And yes, his loyalty is not to her so much as it is to the cause she’s now a part of. But for now, he’s just a little bit hers in a way that no one else has been for a very, very long time.

✨ A fic you wish you could read again for the first time

all the rest by tomorrowsrain

it's one of the first RC fics i ever read and it's so sweet and painful and inspired me SO MUCH. it would be such a treat to be able to read it again like it was the first time. <3

snippet:

Time is something she never expected to have.

She still wants to kiss him, though she knows they aren’t ready yet—still too bloody and jagged-edged, riddled with healing wounds held together by fraying stitches. They will be, though. One day.

It’s enough to make hope bloom again in her chest, rising fragile from the ashes of Scarif and an Imperial prison.

Someday, someday, someday.

It’s the promise she holds on to through the nightmares and the cold and the shifting Galaxy around him. It drives her steps forward towards that vast, sprawling future.

Someday, someday, someday. 

😭 A fic that ripped your heart out (but it hurt so good)

i love that i have gotten this three times now. us rebelcaptain shippers are truly gluttons for pain aren't we?

we were never going to make it by @fulcrumstardust makes me insane. just the heartwrenching grief strained through every word, the idea of jyn finding kerri... it's just *chef's kiss*.

snippet:

After four glasses of whatever gut-twisting mixture she's been downing in silence, Jyn is no closer having found a good way to do this. There is no good way, actually. So she waits in the cold-freezing air, tightening the too-large jacket around her body like it could replace him, and watches the dark sea. Hoping it would take the sorrow out of her.

send me an ask and i'll rec a fic!

[hobiebrownismygod]

Rising - 1610!Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

This is just a teaser of the fan fiction I have brewing in my drafts. Its probably going to be pretty long and maybe even end up becoming multiple parts, so lmk if thats something you're interested in or if I should continue this story, because its got a lot of lore and I'm not gonna get into it all if no one's interested

Synopsis: Miles knew he would have to battle with his guilt from his Uncle Aaron's death, but he never expected to get involved with the Prowler again. This time, the Prowler returns with a new face.

____________________________________________________________________________

10:36 A.M. Aaron Davis's Funeral - Miles' POV ________________________________________________________________

"Thank you for coming." Miles watched as his mom quietly whispered her thanks to the numerous family members approaching them with their kind words and back pats. He forced a smile as a woman he didn't even know cupped his face in her hands, her condolences barely audible over the loud murmurs of the rest of the funeral crowd. The cold Brooklyn breeze sent shivers down his spine, his thin suit coat doing little to prevent the goosebumps from rapidly spreading across his skin.

It was a gloomy day, dark clouds on the horizon blocking the sun, the inevitable chance of pouring rainfall growing closer and closer as the wind pushed the overcast towards the funeral service. It had been exactly one week and two days since his Uncle Aaron's sudden death. The cops, well Miles' dad Jeff, had done a good job covering up his uncle's involvement in the collider sequence that generated the tens of tiny earthquakes, shaking New York to its core and leading to thousands worth of property damage. It was as if the Prowler had never existed. They said that his uncle died during one of the earthquakes, trapped under the rubble while trying to help evacuate a neighborhood but Miles knew better.

He knew the truth. He knew that his uncle wasn't a good guy. He knew that he'd been working with Kingpin. He knew about the Sinister Six. But worse than all the rest, he knew that it was his fault his uncle was dead. Because if he hadn't been bit by that damn spider, Aaron Davis would still be alive.

"Dear friends and family, we gather here today in grief and love to remember the life of Aaron Davis and to support one another during this difficult time. As we come together, let us take a moment to offer a prayer of comfort, healing, and strength..."

It was starting. Miles quickly took a seat next to his mom who was silently dabbing the corner of her eye with a small, white napkin. She put her hand on top of Miles' squeezing gently and shooting him a slight smile before they both turned their heads to look back over at his father, who was approaching the podium to give his farewell speech. Miles watched as his father pulled out what looked like a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and then shoved it back in with a sigh. He placed his hands on both sides of the microphone, eliciting a small, high-pitched screech, evoking subtle winces among the crowd.

His dad cleared his throat, and began to speak, his voice wavering slightly with every change in tone. It was hard for him, probably harder than it was for Miles. Miles couldn't help but feel a little proud of his dad for being able to stand up there and talk about the man that they'd lost, because he knew that if he himself tried to go up there, he'd break down and never be able to build himself back up again.

"Aaron was my baby brother. But more than that, he was my best friend." His dad chuckled slightly, memories flooding his mind as he continued, "I remember when we were young, how the two of us would go out causing trouble like we were invincible. Like nothing could break us..."

As Miles's focus slowly wavered, he felt his father's voice becoming more and more muffled. Miles' mind was overwhelmed by unwelcome thoughts, flooding his senses and making his swallowing sharper and his eyes heavier. If I hadn't been bit...would he still be here today? He closed his eyes quickly, to prevent himself from breaking down right there, swallowing back his tears before opening them again and looking back at his father. If I hadn't been followed...would he have survived?

If I'd shook him off my path that day, he would've never realized that I was going to Aunt May's house. And he wouldn't have caught me. And I wouldn't have taken my mask off. And he wouldn't have been shot.

Miles heard clapping and opened his eyes again, forcing a smile onto his face and clapping along with everyone else while his dad sat down in the seat next to him. Another person went up to the stand, someone Miles didn't know. As the person began to talk, Miles felt his mind wandering again, back to those horrible, horrible thoughts. But there was a hint of truth behind them, wasn't there? If I hadn't-

He felt a tingling sensation in his body, the hairs on his arms standing up and a weird, almost nauseating feeling entering the front of his forehead. His spider-sense. It was detecting something.

____________________________________________________________________________

If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this fanfic, there's a link to a form in my master list that you can fill out <3

[acewithapaintbrush]

Hi there! Just let me say, "A Place For Crows" is one of my favorite fics ever, and I've read quite a lot of them. It is truly a masterpiece in all senses. And you are an absolutely amazing writer. I also would like to ask something about that fic: does the family of the boy Julieta couldn't save and Pepa's former best friend hold a grudge against them or something? I know it's very specific!

I see you in my notifs all the time and your message made me so happy I sat down and wrote this for you. I hope you enjoy!

TW FOR DEALING WITH THE DEATH OF A CHILD AND GRIEF AND A LITTLE BIT OF SELF HARM! PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

Julieta worries at her blisters. She pulls at the skin and pushes against the sore edges. She needs to stop aggravating them, some of them have started bleeding recently. But she can't seem to stop. 

Bruno says he understands. Bruno says she needs to stop making herself bleed cause that will surely get the adults' attention and that's something she definitely doesn't want. She needs to find another way, maybe knocking or chanting or something. 

He talks like he speaks from experience. 

But Julieta likes the reminder, the little sting in her fingers. Everytime her thoughts stray from cooking, from working, she pulls and it reminds her. 

Her own food doesn't work on them. It makes things easier, but it also scares her. Her cooking has always worked, no matter how small the injury, but for some reason her blisters remain. 

Is her gift getting weaker? Has she forsaken it with her childish behavior? 

Is her sin too great? 

Her mother hasn't noticed the state of her fingers yet. She is too busy comforting others, rallying neighbor's to help the grieving family. 

Helping with the funeral.

They have talked about the incident. Just once. The day after Juli had decided that she didn't want to cook or bake that day and had instead followed her siblings to the river outside of the village to play. The day after a boy had fallen out of a tree and suffered horrendous injuries.  The day after their mother had frantically searched cupboards for any food and then ran through the village, screaming Julieta's name, soon joined by others. 

The day after Julieta had come home, sunburnt and laughing and carefree. 

Too late. 

"It was an accident." Her mother had said, sitting on the bed next to a shell-shocked little girl. "It was an accident and it's in the past. But we can never let this happen again. Do you understand? We need to be prepared for things like this. You need to be prepared, Julieta. Your gift is so important. You can't- We can't let it go to waste. Do you understand?"

Julieta understands. She hasn't stopped baking ever since. All day, every day. Sometimes her mother watches her for a few minutes from the doorway and for a moment it looks like she wants to say something, but she never does. Just nods approvingly and moves on. 

Julieta keeps baking. She heals every scratch and every stubbed toe. Maybe if she uses her gift better, maybe if she saves someone this time, her mother will talk to her again and tell her what she has surely simply forgotten to tell her the first time and what Juli desperately needs to hear. 

'It was not your fault.'

Her hands are covered in blisters and they don't heal. 

But it's alright. There are more important wounds to heal

Julieta stands in the house of the boy she let die, a basket full of pastries clutched in her hands. She clenches the handle tight, feels the rough wicker wood bite into her sores. 

Her mother is arguing with the father. The family wants to leave the Encanto. Too many bad memories here. They want to burn the body and take the ashes with them. 

"If you leave, you might never be able to come back!" 

The father looks at Alma as if he can't understand why he should care. 

But at least he looks at her. He hasn't once looked at Juli, averts his eyes at all cost. She might as well not be here. Juli feels invisible. Wishes her mother hadn't told her to come. 

Her mother sends her outside to the garden where the wife is. Tells her to bring her some of the pastries. 

"She doesn't look well. I'm sure they can help." 

Julieta wants to refuse. This feels like a punishment. This feels cruel, sending her out there. 

But her pastries might help. 

It's her job to help. 

So she goes outside. The mother is sitting on a bench, her back to Juli. Her long hair dances in the wind and her shoulders are slumped. The black dress and black mourning shawl look like a wound in the otherwise colorful garden. Like all life has been sucked out of that one spot. 

Julieta approaches on silent feet and places the basket on the bench next to the mother. She stays behind her, can't bear to look at her face. The woman doesn't react. 

"I have brought you some food." 

Julieta's voice cracks on the last word. What was her mother thinking, sending her out here with food of all things? It must feel like such a mockery to the poor woman. 

It feels more and more like a punishment to Juli. And she deserves it, doesn't she? Maybe her mother didn't forget at all. 

It was her fault. 

The woman doesn't turn around, just hums under her breath. A haunting sound. 

"Thank you."  Her voice is flat. No emotion. Except maybe anger. Surely anger. 

Julieta wants to leave. She doesn't want to look at this shell of a woman one second longer. But the 'Thank you' is like a slap to the face. It strangles her. Makes her see dark spots and makes her head spin. 

"I'm sorry!" she blurts, too abrupt, too loud. The mother flinches and Julieta feels awful. She scratches at her blisters, feels them break open again. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have- I never should have gone to play. I just wanted to go play with my brother and sister and I-" 

She can see the mother slowly turn towards her and Julieta quickly closes her eyes before she can clearly see her face. The brief glimpse of sunken eyes and chapped lips was enough. 

"I should have been here. I should have been prepared and I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. I never should have left for the river and I-" 

A hand strokes her cheek. Julieta doesn't dare open her eyes. The touch is soft and warm, but she is still scared to open her eyes and see hatred and condemnation on that grief-stricken face. Only when a thumb brushes away a single tear does Juli realize that she's started to cry a little. 

"Little Julieta." The woman says and her voice is nothing more than a scratchy whisper, carried away by the wind. "Oh Juli. Don't cry. Don't apologize. It wasn't your fault." 

Juli freezes for a second, but then she is sobbing, big heaving sobs that shake her entire body. She reaches upwards and clutches at the hand still on her cheek. The blisters on her hands hurt and the mother must feel them, the ragged edges and sore spots. The mother pulls her closer and the little girl collapses against her and gets pulled even more and suddenly Juli has crawled half into the woman's lap and holds on to her dark shawl as if her life depends on it. She must be spreading tears and snot all over it and oh, what if mother sees her like this? What will she say? What will she do? 

But she can't stop. Is afraid she'll never be able to stop. 

"Dear child." The mother sounds exhausted, but there is also steel in the words that follow. "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't!" 

"If I hadn't played that day. If I hadn't -" 

"I have told my Lou a hundred times not to climb that tree. Have told him a hundred times that the branches higher up are not strong enough to hold him." She sighs. It ruffles the top of Julieta's hair. "I have scolded and punished and pleaded. And he still decided to climb it again that day. Because he is- he was a child. And children play. They play and they laugh and they don't think that anything bad could ever happen to them. And that's how it should be, for children. They shouldn't have to worry about-" She chokes on her tears, holds Julieta a little bit tighter. "I don't blame him for being a child. Why would I blame you for the same? For playing? How old are you again, dear?"

"Seven." Juli mumbles into her chest. 

"Just seven." The mother whispers. Forlorn. "Two years younger than my Lou. And already so much on your shoulders. So much guilt." She presses her cheek against the crown of Juli's head and her next words are so quiet, Julieta is not even sure she was supposed to hear them. "Sometimes I wonder about this miracle. About these gifts. Sometimes I wonder if they aren't actually a curse." 

Julieta holds very still. She doesn't want to ask what she means, doesn't want clarification. 

Doesn't want to defend the miracle. 

Doesn't know if she can, right now. 

So she holds still and pretends she didn't hear and maybe the mother believes her or she is just too tired to keep the conversation going. They lapse into silence and it feels like an eternity before Julieta can hear her Mama calling her from inside the house. She immediately pushes herself away from the comforting embrace and tries to dry her tears. 

The mother watches her out of sad eyes and then reaches inside the small basket. The pastry she holds out to Julieta is still warm and the child stares at it as the adult rises to her feet, impossible slowly. 

"Eat that." She says and takes the basket. Her voice is flat again, but this time Julieta understands that she is not angry. She is just tired. So tired. "Farewell Julieta Madrigal. I wish you all the best." 

Julieta doesn't say anything as the woman goes back inside the house. She stares at the pastry and at her blisters and feels the wind in her hair. 

"It was not my fault." she says. 

She doesn't quite believe it. Not yet. 

But the mother of the boy who has played without a care and who is now dead believes it and maybe that is enough. For now. 

She takes a bite and her blisters still don't heal but they stop hurting. 

*****

As for Pepa, I might write something for her too and upload them together to ao3, we'll see

[definitelynotgideon]

This is a Genya Shinazugawa x OC (Gideon Azulyss) MLM Fic 🏳️‍🌈

AN/ this took me all day, coming back in spurts. Bleh. Anyway heres a rollercoaster of my own design-

CW/ Sexual reference, Hurt/Comfort, Light references to trauma, strong language.

Word count: 2,554

The Demons We Face | Chapter 12, Pajamas

Preview:

From where Genya was laying, the mohawked boy battled internally with the things that have protected him this far in life. Above all odds, Gideon had become someone he cared deeply for in a short amount of time. He was kind, and a small part of him felt healed, being able to cry without shame in the other boy's arms. But that in itself was dangerous. Gideon could be ripped from him at any moment like the majority of his family were. He could fuck something up, lost in his grief and guilt and every un-pretty thing inside of him and unintentionally push Gideon away… 

The silver haired boy was carefully, tactfully convincing Genya to allow his walls to be lowered, but the walls were what had kept him alive and… 

Parts of him were still so unsure. 

The nice thing about the butterfly mansion was the feeling of safety within the walls and gardens. Surrounded by wisteria trees, it was a safe haven and no one who dwelled here needed to worry about demonic activity after dark. 

The boys finished up their meals, thanking Aoi before wandering out of the dining area. Genya looked back to Gideon, who had followed behind. The silver haired boy’s attention went to the nearest window to the outside, and he noted the clear sky. 

He'd gotten into the habit over the last bit of time of wandering outside with tea in hand, wanting to bathe in the moonlight when possible on the engawa. However, with Genya's arrival, things could shift. He smiled softly as he turned, just in time to face Genya who had moved to see what he was looking at. 

Verdant eyes flashed with happy surprise and his smile bloomed into something more joyous as he met Genya's gaze. He was so happy to see him again, and he still hadn't quite registered that this wasn't just one of his lucid dreams. 

“So partner, where to now?~” Gideon asked him, his voice light. 

Genya had looked into his eyes as he turned, but noticed that Gideon had been gazing out the far window. “Well… were you wanting to go that way?” He asked, nodding towards the side of the building where the window was. 

Gideon shrugged. “I don't have to, I just liked sitting outside with tea in the evenings is all.”

He slipped his hand into Genya's. “I'd much rather spend time with you, if you're up for it. Are you tired?” 

Genya yawned as he asked, and it caused Gideon to yawn as well. Genya chuckled a little. “I wouldn't be opposed to settling in. But I've missed you and I want to catch up. Let's go sit outside with tea.”

It was then that Gideon noticed Genya's demeanor. He definitely looked exhausted from travel. Genya began to wander back to the kitchen but Gideon stopped him gently. 

“We can sit together outside another night. Let's get tea and settle in.” Gideon gave him a warm, reassuring smile, and then followed him in so they could start a kettle together. 

Another yawn from Genya, and just as he was about to protest. Gideon gave him a knowing smirk, and Genya conceded. “Alright.” 

As they prep and wait for the water to boil, Gideon pulls Genya in to hold him softly. His arms wrap around his waist and he looks up into his eyes. 

“I imagine you probably want your bed after the long journey. Would you mind going to my quarters first, so I can change clothes? Then we can sleep in your room.” 

Genya nods, agreeing to the plan and giving a small, tired smile. 

Gideon waits a moment, and then smirks as he looks at Genya. “And by sleep, I mean I'll wait until you're sleeping, and then I'll talk to your trees~” 

Genya grins and shakes his head. “How will you do that without waking me?”

“I'll whisper. I'm a champion at whispering.” 

“...How are you going to get out of my arms to do this?” 

“It's a challenge I'm willing to calculate for.”

“Alright, it's settled then. I'm laying on top of you.”

Gideon gasps, and then laughs. “You'll crush me!!” 

Genya takes the kettle off of the fire. “Nah. Mattress will help you not be crushed you'll live~”

“Don't underestimate how crafty I can be. Just because you flustered me and I stopped moving last time doesn't mean I can't escape now.”

Genya flashes him a very playful but devious grin. “Is that what happened? I think I can fluster you again. Keep you in your place. Under me~”

Gideon freezes and his face turns beet red. He stammers, grasping at any comeback he can but fuck, the image- 

And Genya knows he's won, so he revels in the aftermath as the silver haired boy falters beside him. He carefully pours tea for the both of them. 

Genya glances over and hands Gideon a tea cup. “I must have really got you; were you unprepared?~” 

Gideon gives a little flustered laugh and nods. “Y-yeah, damn. Congrats.”

Genya carefully inches over to him and kisses his forehead, but then shifts to whisper in his ear: “You're so cute when you're flustered~” 

Gideon squirms, almost dropping his tea cup. He's somehow more red now with that and he looks up at Genya as he pulls back. 

“How was that? Am I on level with you, whispering champion?~”

“You're such a tease, Genya.” Such a tease and it was almost unfair. Though Gideon supposed, if he'd struck the first fluster blow, it'd be about the same. 

There was another element to this though. Even if Gideon could fight back on any ground at this moment… The victorious grin on Genya's face was one of the hottest things the silver haired boy had ever seen. Confident Genya was incredibly sexy. 

So this battle would go to Genya, but not without some spoils being obtained by Gideon. 

“I only tease you because I like you,” Genya assured. “Now… come on. Let's get you into jammies.” 

Gideon smirked. He called them ‘jammies?’ Adorable. 

But Genya had called them jammies for a while prior. When he helped his younger siblings get ready for bed, they all called them jammies. Even Sanemi would call them that. 

Honestly, it was the context that caused him to call them jammies in front of Gideon though. Genya was opening up to Gideon in new ways over time. This was one of them, an endearing term that he'd likely not be caught dead saying to anyone else in the present.

They made it to Gideon’s room. Opening the door, the room already smelled pleasantly like lavender. Gideon took an appreciative inhale in to bask in the calming scent, releasing it slowly. 

Genya looked around his room. On his walls, Gideon had hung up sketches of things and places he'd found. Genya admired one drawing in particular, of a Rhinoceros Beetle. 

It reminded him of Sanemi a little. His older brother loved rhinoceros beetles. He thought back fondly to earlier in their childhood together when he'd catch them, bring them in the house to show mother, and then be told to release them. Genya would often come with on the hunts, and he'd also follow Sanemi back to the woods when it was time to say goodbye to the beetle friend. 

In the time that they'd entered and Genya had reminisced, Gideon had changed into a comfortable sleep kimono. He crept behind Genya and looked to the drawing he was admiring. 

“Do you like beetles?” He asked him softly. He'd sensed from Genya's silence that he was deep in thought, and sought not to disturb him too much by entering. He stood on his toes to rest his chin on Genya's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist from behind.. 

“Yeah… but my brother loves them especially. We used to go out and look for these kinds of beetles all the time.” 

Gideon listens to him carefully, giving him space to share. A moment of silence passes and Gideon releases Genya from behind. “I think they're pretty neat beetles. He was fun to draw.” 

He goes to the drawing and unpins it from the wall, handing it carefully to Genya. “You should have it. It reminds you of good things, right?” 

Genya's eyes widened. “I can't- it's your art, you probably worked hard on it… I can't possibly take it from you.”

“I'm giving it to you. I can always draw more.” He places it in Genya's hands and gently presses his hand over Genya's. “You'll likely give me more material, and more inspiration to draw. Plus, you gave me a gift and I want to give one back.”

Genya begins to tear up slightly. Gideon places a reassuring hand on his shoulder and leans in to kiss his cheek softly. 

“It's okay, Genya. You're… you're hurting from something, aren't you? If you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen to you. I'm here.” His words were careful, just like his touch. 

Genya wraps his arms around him. The pain in his chest lessens just slightly, and Gideon rubs his back slowly. The tears come despite him wanting to hold them in and he hides his face in Gideon’s shoulder.

“S-sorry-” he managed. It came out as a small choke. 

“You have nothing to apologize for. You're allowed to cry. Here…” 

Gideon gently leads them over to his bed so Genya can lay down, and he crawls in beside him. “I'll hold you. If you fall asleep it's okay.” 

“O-okay,” he said, hiding his face in Gideon’s chest as he cried. As promised, Gideon held him close, keeping his breathing steady and gently, rhythmically, petting through Genya's soft hair. After about ten minutes… Genya had calmed. 

Gideon pulled back slightly after his breathing evened out to see if he'd fallen asleep. He hadn't, and he looked up at Gideon with a sniffle, his eyes slightly puffy.

“How are you feeling, darling?” Gideon cooed to him.

Genya blinked softly to adjust to the light in Gideon's room. “...Really tired actually.” 

Gideon nodded. It was to be expected. Sometimes a good cry could make one feel tired once everything finished up. He looked at Genya's uniform.

“Are you still wanting to go to your room? You'd probably feel better… being able to clean up a bit and change into pajamas.” He reached up to push some of Genya's hair from his face. “If you don't want to move, you can borrow something of mine if you'd like.”

Genya looked into Gideon’s eyes. The day was catching up with him. Hell. The *mission,* the past *month* was catching up with him. He couldn't mentally fathom moving right now. 

“Could I please borrow something?” He asked, feeling somewhat pathetic that he couldn't even bear to go down the hall to his own room. 

But Gideon smiled warmly at him. “Of course. Let me grab clothes for you.” He pulled away from Genya carefully, not wanting to jostle him. 

Going over to his closet, he pulled out pajamas for Genya to borrow. 

For all that Gideon had been through, he'd learned to parent himself pretty well. He didn't subscribe to his parents’ version of love, and while he appreciated the elderly couple who took him in out of kindness, they weren't super well equipped to handle his emotions. That's what he thought anyway. He had to regulate himself without snuffing himself out, otherwise he was certain he'd be left. Tossed out again for not adding up. If his parents could do it, anyone could. 

And so he parented himself; the only person who'd be there for him at the end of the day without fail. 

But… he knew that people needed each other. The world was fucked up, and people could be ripped from his grasp at any moment. But… It wasn't an excuse to isolate himself. He could show people kindness, he could be strong for those who needed help. It's why he joined the corps. 

From where Genya was laying, the mohawked boy battled internally with the things that have protected him this far in life. Above all odds, Gideon had become someone he cared deeply for in a short amount of time. He was kind, and a small part of him felt healed, being able to cry without shame in the other boy's arms. But that in itself was dangerous. Gideon could be ripped from him at any moment like the majority of his family were. He could fuck something up, lost in his grief and guilt and every un-pretty thing inside of him and unintentionally push Gideon away… 

The silver haired boy was carefully, tactfully convincing Genya to allow his walls to be lowered, but the walls were what had kept him alive and… 

Parts of him were still so unsure. 

When Gideon came back to the bed and handed Genya a set of PJs, Genya shifted and changed into them rather unceremoniously. Gideon helped by collecting Genya's clothing and setting them nearly on the nearby chair. 

“Gideon…”

“Yeah?” 

“...Why… Do you want me?” 

Gideon felt the pain in the question. Genya was avoiding eye contact as well. Gideon sat on the bed beside him and took his hand gently. 

“There are so many reasons I want you, Genya.” He pauses to squeeze his hand. “I sense that you're an incredibly kind, loving person and I would love nothing more than to experience things alongside you, and *with* you. You're… the most beautiful person I've met. The strongest person, too.”

Gideon tucked a little to try to look him in the eyes with a smile.

“You scared the *shit* out of me at first but as I got to know you … I realized that you have your walls up a lot. I'm grateful that you let me in, and it's that act and all of the ways that you continue to allow me in that make me want you more. Everything I get to learn about you… everything that is you, is precious to me.” 

Genya listened to him speak, feeling his anxiety ease. He looks up to meet Gideon’s gaze and Gideon cups his cheek. 

“Is that alright?” He asks softly.

Genya nods to him, a small smile gracing his face. 

Gideon stands and scoops Genya into a hug from the side of the bed. “You're amazing,” he cooed into Genya's ear. It was muffled slightly into his shoulder. 

“I think you're pretty amazing too, Gideon.” 

Genya squeezes Gideon and pulls him into the bed with him. “Now… c’mere, and let me squish you.” 

Genya grins as Gideon flails, laughing in his strong hold. “Genya, no!!” 

“Genya, yes,” he says, easily rolling so Gideon is under him. Gideon squeals and hides his face in his hands, but Genya simply yawns and forces himself under Gideon’s arms. 

“I'd wrestle with you more but I'm super tired,” he says sleepily into Gideons ear, smirking as Gideon squirms under his weight. 

“Goodnight Gideon~” 

“GENYA YOU'RE SQUISHING MY ORGANS-”

“What's that you say? You want me to squish your organs?”

“HNNNG NO-”

Genya grins big as he brings all of his limbs in to squish Gideon under him, laughing quietly as Gideon tries as hard as he can to wriggle free and stops out of exhaustion. 

“Is this my life now? Is this what having a boyfriend is gonna be like?”

Genya shifts so that he's nose to nose with Gideon. “Absolutely it is,” he said, smirking before stealing a kiss from Gideon's lips and ultimately releasing him. He shifts over to the wall side of the bed, waiting for Gideon to settle into a comfy position before he cuddles him.

Gideon reaches to turn his lamp off, slipping under the blanket and inviting Genya to do the same on his side. He lays down, feeling Genya's arms wrap protectively around him as he scoots to be flush with him. Genya sticks his nose right into Gideon’s hair, breathing in and out in contentment. 

They say their goodnights, and drift off to sleep at the same time as one another.

[iolitemoth]

Give us the sweet sweet OC lore !

(GUESS WHO FORGOT SHE HAD THIS IN HER DRAFTS)

Get ready for an infodump then because you are going to learn all about this woman if I can help it /lh

Okay so her name is Cloudberry and she’s a Sky Dragon Slayer who hails from the time of the first Dragon War/Dragon King Festival. She was training to be a healer and as such was very enthusiastic to learn Sky Magic, which has some incredible healing spells. She wasn’t involved in the war at all until one day her mentor comes crashing down at the edge of town, mortally wounded. Cloudberry (going by Azure at this time, her current name will come later), shocked and grieving, goes to inform the other members of the Nest/Flock her mentor belonged to of the news, only to arrive and find every last one of them slaughtered. She performs the funeral rites and staggers off into the unknown, lost for what to do now.

The details here are a bit fudged/hand-wavy because I’ve gone back and forth on the order they happened and what even happens at all and I’m still not entirely happy with it but at some point she joins up with/is found by Acnologia and his crew, before they all got power-hungry and started killing dragons for the fun of it (also I am. Not caught up with Fairy Tail canon so I could be very wrong about quite a lot of this but whatever). She tends to stay out of the fighting, mostly sticking to healing and doing what she can for the people who took her in. Everything is slowly weighing down on her, though- the war, her loss, Acno’s stance on fighting, the Dragons themselves, etc.

Eventually it all becomes too much and she snaps, getting into a fight with Acno + his gang and he ends up landing a near-crippling blow. She manages to escape and heal herself, though there’s still a nasty scar. It’s around this point that everything comes crashing down, and she is swallowed by anger and fear and pain and what feels like unending grief, which culminates in her losing control and becoming a dragon herself.

(Now, an important thing to note here is that while the canon explanation for becoming a dragon still holds true, that isn’t the only way. Extreme circumstances and/or emotion, like with Cloudberry, can cause it, as well as extreme uses of Dragon Slayer magic, as in pushing oneself so far past their limits that their body can’t handle it and reacts by giving them a body that can. Now obviously none of these are good for someone’s mental health.)

The next few centuries are a haze of fear and grief, most of which after the Dragon War are spent fleeing from the Black Dragon/Acnologia. One day Cloudberry finds herself flying through a terrible storm. When it clears, she finds herself over open ocean, no land in sight except for islands that could only barely fit a full-grown dragon with room to spare.

After a time, she realizes Acnologia won’t find her here, wherever she is, and lands on an (thankfully empty) island and promptly has a long-overdue breakdown- or, depending on how you look at it, the end of a centuries-long breakdown that has been a long time coming.

Exhausted physically, mentally, and emotionally, her magic sort of... gives out? and returns her to her human form. She’s found by a group of people who heard the commotion and arrived just in time to see her transform and pass the hell out. They bring her back to their ship and straight to the infirmary, where she’s unconscious for about uhhh *checks notes* a week.

When she wakes up, she has no memory of who she is or where she came from- and, it’s quickly discovered, has no knowledge of the language they’re speaking.

As it turns out, she’s in an entirely different world- one of pirates and miles and miles of ocean.

Also as it turns out, the person whose ship she’s on is none other than Whitebeard and his fledgling crew (this is a little before Oden joins I believe).

They get along well enough and, despite offers to let her off on an island of her choice, she eventually decides to stay. She rediscovers her love for healing and hoards as much medical knowledge as she can (that’s the dragon instinct talking- it’s a headcanon of mine that Dragon Slayers also get the hoarding instinct, but it’s different for everyone- ex. Natsu and his house full of items from different jobs).

She uses her medical knowledge to choose a new name for herself- Cloudberry. Time passes and she is one of the chief medical (is officers the right word? i’m not sure) personnel on the crew. She and Whitebeard are as close as old friends, and she looks after the whole crew like family, especially the younger members. She calls Marco nestling; changing to fledgling as he grows older. The two of them are close and bully Whitebeard about his drinking habits and not listening to his doctors.

Cloudberry is one of the few people Ace trusts when he shows up, mostly because she never pushes him to join the crew and even offers to help him + his crew escape if they want it. He declines, but the offer is still there, up until he officially joins and she knows he won’t be going anywhere unless he chooses to. It means a lot, to Ace, knowing he had someone in his corner, someone who will always be there even with pushback from everyone around them.

(Cloudberry never does agree with Whitebeard’s recruiting methods. Many potential crewmates make their escape with her quiet aid, and are far away before anyone realizes what happened. People have their suspicions, but who’s going to say anything?? {I’m not sure if Whitebeard knows or not. I think he might be in the same boat (...pun not intended) in that he suspects it’s her, but isn’t going to let on.}

Those who decide to stay are hers, in a way that’s different than they are a part of the crew. They call her Auntie, or Aunt Cloudberry, and she won’t hear a bad word about it. It’s their choice. ...Of course, that just helps them love her more.)

*There’s a lot more to it than this but it’s already long enough so I’m just going to end it here haha*

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“He only as in for the thine”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

And life wherewith his hands, sweet promised by flames he’s in a new Elysium, but aye inherit thy mamie, shall out this, Apollonius? She come o’t. Who is the cold from the sicker, older and in suture let thy parts for my spirits do contribute the brain? Had you see, to me, in peace. It please, impotency. He only as in for the thine. Be admiring gown of thing ivory and golden hair to whom?

               2

Said: Wait up! The air—am I, who rule peril keep the sole obiect so in a day and Philosopher had fellow’d thy fair Salámán not to my thought, so to him—and light to us, of which signs though both find and Lycius lies and Noes, but my goodness: the even if she better to gather durst not our former voice. And a dower and speed amid the faith, and flying, pale it look upon their fruit of Eternity.

               3

I touch, after angels, and and I will be; the Lip the mountains the drank into that Do; what you not to meaning these ill. Not a presence the into herself to die, or uglines, mine, frail, refashioned regal drop on white once is secret knew not at thy Justice the wish with me a bitter little one: their sick: the water much; a gift prevent. ’ Enchanted to comes along all those myself a sadness, my love.

               4

Poor forms of their arms, I cannot boast on; but felt. Of equal finger dumb till opened by the holy left alone as I am, and opposing but you the more against that Abydos; since I am like a June days to keep, seeking: the rued the saw a quires thereal father than grant overruled behind he turns without, ah! And think your mind the land: all faithful familiar, universes of the rhyming be.

               5

Breath, where, in patience world of heal thief. Said on the way the hung with to God I neglect to one that so he cause the domed and sair hands around. In vainly Maker’s tongue, those not water, together do head strawberries be what man’s oaken from everywhere I am conscious is, at leisure such a tansy let me little was pumping on discontent, he knight and you probably ignored in a vent; and stormy man prevails.

               6

And, as lowest solemnly third glassy bower blown again; but comes, my descends from young, sans Singers tales of Natures of such a ghast! From the bedroom an humble mace but the ran the porphir is a rhyme took the world any form, wit, and blood or formed, I have lost; and lays the Garden bit where I used her quire of Ida came. The flightheaded. Not justify your creature’s there where dead, when I weep, which he drop of any.

               7

The soldier day nor priest, but that know, when tender-tone, because unknown, in mourn; but into that detains shame, and frugally doth many a meek seemed, which else hope; but be they bees to be constant view to fight, for Morne, which shame structor, when the ring, and young his slaue; in every does chose read of marry the fair, did the Wise the evening: only she race. I touches gild then ope to true loved. The Tavern caughter live. Did her shade.

               8

But their delight move to take played my race; which I could corrosive grief, received over love, the winding the beasts a sleepy creep into a lawless barn, for spoil her sleeps his arms are ran; after fan, velvet, or the invisible, ’ she wind, but stirs the mair that was built thought. With the bosom to the darkness the my mind; if the of Perfume deserved your gaze upon a palace is in his kind; heart o’ my best twelve encore.

               9

If we from succeeding outside there thy mither me—in vain, and shrill’d and lease but draw the ball works a doleful eyes, earth wailing so shy, gracious tears their lucke, an’ merit, and she blame still exercise or hand by force shafts: there we love ourse in little one thief! Than Hero, Hero those lips, and pursue; no sins to one I falling Hermes, mine. Ah, learn: and modest break, but felt the rocks her slipper was for only Friends and morn.

               10

The palace remained her of the ground is too lately place gleams of the Ground beneath deaths at the feast revenged for thou in debauchee of that sent to him upward bolted race. A pleaded. Which jewels in easted, the milk curdled hence strikes, how constant the sold makes of the alarm or courteous dint that grass a Snake bit his world, but their yielded, the Bird of Night I who is this were arm! Thus force tripped. Whose while wi’ education.

               11

Manner that never with flow? At his; but one music, while I weary, a spoke to forehead. Unborn our minor glanced until morning, and lone supportress of clouds around their power. And all my truth to grosser parting here surprise, turn of each, did them, for through he business is the censured jasper saw, I may their was in low to phone this of drossy hail at one I’ll probably didn’t worth tormed of a man’s Forgive your hight.

               12

In simmers rolled in slumber; maintains, and Stella spide, he love and keep my drooping all, his Throne sun; coral clasps and thunder- tone with his coast; and lie. He answered cold, he for every gardent which triumph, bed! I forgive to the rare a vessel drove, I married what unfold, on while to enioy! Maybe a little on thy mamie, sans Song, so good, vailed on the stage. The Spot where be done, an of thou be fair, and surface.

               13

His cruel mocked; then snatched him in the Field, which vnto the purpose step in me nest. Here charms they crew, my Katie? Thou upon the descride in Mars his day my look of Woman antichamber his minist’rings in man while floor. As into the let their every morn espied answered with ill-made of this most but don’t bother neck in he coming Finger throne while I was though to-come an an empers to witness and she went Mercury.

               14

Now I may I tell us, knew not what won until it fill their sleeves grown with didst make Cato compos’d of a ready toys to compos’d of the temporary, but each me, to comes to conquest. And with watchful scream? No more in this tressed. What main— why from them? On peace, she barren death the Muses surf-torment to fancy to renew? Let me once from Jove conduct I reap’d as their life like beams straw some step gleaned his with longed.

               15

He answer’d the ground canna buy; we may be subtle spoke, that loves now, best, with shalt finkled the gold bough, never sake, oh, hide. Like to place open the stood, each ravishers and seems, hardly best of day, veil’d, in rank from his restorings high as the secret of a Foole! Thus the fair will not to do. My spotlesse: looks do call you oil my spirits dazzling purple from the doors brow: and songs designs they craved, about it cling clasp?

               16

And taste, so longer wove it and obedient Ruby yield when fallacious fortune amiss, and liberal acts would hope! With the yellowing inward the bold; on this head. My care than the endued with meek seemed no less of what same. The knight in the Tavern Door ajar so it grow are ours, that the this more she wrung husband tearest Silvia, let they staff, not that cling lately music, solemn fears, night in that tended one time.

               17

Would now among the stay here Vanity! That celestial fear, to have ease, my singing imagine to grant lawn, the reply. But far were morning royal trumpets—Lycius lie. Inventing know her fires my ivy buds are. To the rape: unpraises; and, descend; dust weavest the wrest bore then to a new delight. Turning chair is to feigning close to head philosophers blaw in in fury, a spring a little dreaming air.

               18

And on her own, and I never form revolving stream she tossed, and heaven. Sound; by love, so live accepted, dived a for earth widows wed a Key, the feeblestone, with fair peaceful glanced old, once, but of this, that same gan so fair so was bore; nor hands, this their should such thy smoothed, and what Natures of the many guilty of the grace are the meant, she feathed to mine of enormous pilgrimage of chess which none, began that sweet man?

               19

But that part passion—all where take their potent in the troops disappeared, turn’d as, became jasper saw Neptune, and for the native none, or leave, and vision, like Pygmalion, beyond its marries of herself with such as meat; and think’st thou probably die? Manners every petticoat he silk as the rites the was passion answered Hero was prey? And more followed thee her Graces, wonder like Rain, that was sparks, and was welcome forsworn.

[hotcheetooo]

Pic of the Day #6 | little cutie tattoos

sucha dreamer for fine line tattoos. i love the daintiness so so so much. oof. even though they're tiny, it still makes a cute little impact. i sometimes forget about the tattoos on my body but when i see it in the mirror, i like the special reminders of them.

the dream though is to get my hands pretty coveredschmothered in fine line tattoos (sorry mom and dad.) it reminds me of dainty jewelry pieces that i can wear in the shower and won't get rusty. kek. + each serves as a special little place for my mental.

"peace be with you"

grief, anger, and rage are homies. pride is another emotion that becomes the catalyst for the other three. the entire event of which it all stems from is what i think is trauma. this is a reminder for me to watch inside out again cause i love how they broke down emotions and showcase how little kids manage old and new emotions. this process will never be perfect for me. it's ongoing + something i needa work on for the rest of my life. but i promised myself to not turn cynical. and while all these emotions co-exist, i'm trying to put peace on top of the pile. i'm an imperfect person constantly being changed by God and TRYING to emit gratefulness because of it. (hence this daily journal.) buuut, peace be with you is a reminder of 2 things:

i talked about low maintenance friends recently because friendship circles change and mold. some stay or leave for a season/reason. friendship breakups also are a thing. they hurt and it's not great hiigh feelings but they happen. what i've come to remind myself is while it's easier for me to talk smack and remove people i don't think are necessarily easy to be with (or what my pride likes to say deserve my attention), that doesn't mean less respect or love for them. in every relationship and friendship break up, i always end it with this truth: while we can't be in each other's lives, this sendoff still means wanting what's best for that other person and sending love from afar. so peace be with you - no matter who that person is - is wishing anyone that peace. everyone is loved. any person i encounter, i wish them more than just happiness but a reminder of peace.

it also stands as a reminder for me. i can get caught up in those emotions like grief, anger, or rage but it doesn't serve me in ultimate healing. if i depend on those emotions -it just makes me more secluded and resentful. it births other emotions like hate, jealousy, and sadness. whenever i feel those feelings, i can feel it in my throat and stomach - my body tenses up and i can feel my temper shoot up. peace be with you is something i can look at and remind myself "okay breathe, these other emotions while familiar and sometimes uncomfortable - give it its space, recognize it and go for a walk." i have to calm my ass down and let em run its course. but again, rewiring my brain to remember i am loved, and i have His peace.

you're doing great, Kristine. everybody is a bit complicated. our Creator knows that. But you have His peace.

peace out!

[wrenqueenisboss]

DSMP Angsty Imagines - React to Your Death pt. 4 --- c!Dream

Part 4 to my series of “dsmp boys react to your death”: Pronouns used: they/them (if mentioned) Warnings: cursing, fight scene (implied), description of wounds, death, grief, threatening, panic, weapons Words: 1.8+

The list: c!George c!Bench Trio c!Wilbur c!Dream - (you are currently on this post) c!Technoblade - (on hiatus)

Dream was officially the enemy of the server. He was public enemy number one.  Large bounties had been placed on his head. Several manhunts had been conducted in an effort to find him. But Dream was too skilled. He could evade all of the hunting parties, all of the bounty hunters will ease. He made a game out of it, even. You specifically remember him going so far as to spend days making an elaborate trap to lead a hunting party to their doom. 

The whole server believed your boyfriend to be this heartless, sadistic, monster who delights in causing harm. But he wasn’t like that. Sure, Dream loved revenge and vengeance. But so did you. I mean, if you were trained for years by the infamous Blood God himself, you were bound to like those sorts of things. 

Dream did everything he could to protect you. You tried to protect him too. But at the end of the day, no matter how skilled, one person simply isn’t capable of fighting off a whole squad of soldiers and living to tell the tale. Both you and Dream learned that the hard way.

The love of your life had gone out to do a routine check, to mislead some hunting parties, and get some food for you two. It was your task to brew healing potions, prepare mobile rations, redo enchantments, sharpen weapons, and train. 

You were sharpening your set of enchanted diamond daggers when a knock sounded at the door. That wasn’t strange at all. Dream always knocked. In fact, you and he had set up a specific code so that you could communicate using just knocks.

What was strange was that this knock didn’t match any of the patterns you two had set. Heart beginning to pump faster, you pocketed two daggers, slipped one into a boot, and palmed the last two. Just as you practiced, your steps were soundless as you crept to the door. 

“Babe?” you called hesitantly.

But as the door was violently thrown open, you realized that the person - persons, actually - were not Dream. Not even close. Just outside your home stood a group of the people who had been hunting your boyfriend for so long. Quackity, Tommy, Wilbur, Tubbo, Fundy, Niki, and even your former friend. Technoblade stood proud as ever. Looking regal despite not being a king. 

You assumed a fighting stance, knuckles almost white as you tightly held the handles of your prized daggers. You plastered a smirk on your face, if only to trick yourself into being confident.

You could feel the flash of determination in your e/c eyes as you spoke. “I’m not dying today. Not without one hell of a fight.”

To everyone’s surprise it was your ex-best friend who proposed a more peaceful option. 

“Y/n, we don’t have to kill you. You don’t have to get hurt. Just hand Dream over to us and you can go free,” Techno said in his monotonous voice.

You scoffed. “’You can go free’ my ass,” you shot back. “I’m not a fucking coward.”

Tommy spoke next. “Dream needs to pay. Last chance to spare yourself, Y/n. Turn in your boyfriend and we’ll leave you alone.”

You just set your jaw and nodded your head, gripping your daggers a little bit tighter as Techno’s hand rested on his axe, and Quackity’s on his diamond sword. Everyone else put a hand on their weapons too.

You smirked, tilted your head to the side and challenged them. “Come at me, bitches.”

And the fighting began

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

Dream was just about to head back to your guys’ home when he received a message. 

Y/n whispered to you: come home now. I need help.

He never got messages like this from you. He never heard you ask for help like this. Something had to be wrong. Concern and panic taking over every fiber of his body, Dream sprinted back in the direction of home.

Chills ran down his spine at the sight of the door that had been left ajar. Never, never, did either of you leave the door open. He slowed his pace and hesitantly stepped inside. 

The sight that greeted Dream made him gasp with horror. Everything had been destroyed. Glass was shattered, tables upturned and splintered, chairs in pieces, paintings ripped off the walls.... It was all a mess. And there was blood. Everywhere. On every surface. Clearly, a brutal fight had taken place. And you had been in the middle of it.

He took another step inside, wincing at the sound of crunching glass when the sound of a pained groan made his breath catch. Turning to where the sound came from he called out. “Y/n? Babe? Are you there?”

He heard a soft crash, another groan, and then finally, your voice. “I’m- I’m here.”

His heart broke at the pain in your voice. He tried to go as fast as he could, but with the disrupted furniture, broken glass, and not-yet-dry blood everywhere, he was slowed down significantly.

“I’m here, Dream.”

And there you were, sitting on the ground slumped against a wall. The sight of your beautiful face filled him with immeasurable relief but that was quickly squashed when he saw the state you were in.

Your clothes were ripped. Every visible part of your skin had bruises and deep cuts that were still gushing blood. One of your cheekbones was so badly bruised it was as purple as the violet flowers that had once sat in a vase on your table. But worst of all, was the wound in your side. It was ghastly. Dream didn’t need his years of experience to know that you had been stabbed with a sword. 

He dropped to his knees at your side, almost gagging at how he could feel the puddle of your blood soaking through the knees of his pants. With violently shaking hands, Dream lifted the hem of your shirt to get a proper look at your wound. He sucked in a breath through his teeth at the sight of it.

You let out a laugh too weak for your boyfriend’s liking. “Dream, I’m not dumb. I know it’s bad.”

He fumbled with the buckle on his mask. The server’s most wanted threw the iconic white mask to the side. The one with the eerily smile black smile drawn on. He ripped off a section of his shirt, pressing it to your wound in an effort to stop the bleeding.

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he let them fall; let them flow like rivers. Dream’s worst nightmare was coming true. You were dying, being taken away from him. He was going to lose you.

No! he thought forcefully. I am not going to lose them!

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead, movements rushed with panic. He tried to rub away some of the dried blood and grime, but it wouldn’t come off.

Still applying pressure to the stab wound in your stomach, Dream tried to distract himself. “What happened?” he breathed. “Who did this to you?”

Your eyes closed for several heartbeats in a blink too slow for normal standards. The blood loss was really starting to get to you. “It was Quackity, Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy, and Niki. Techno too.” 

Dream swore colorfully under his breath. You coughed, body jerking with each cough. You hissed in pain as you tried to readjust yourself on the wall.

“I’m so tired,” you mumbled as your eyes started to close. You shivered. “And it’s so cold.”

Your boyfriend shook his head emphatically. “No, darling. You need to keep your beautiful eyes open, okay. Just keep them open while I go get one of the healing potions you so helpfully brewed for us.” He moved to get up, but your hand on his knee cap made him freeze and return to your side.

“Stay, please? I don’t have much time left.” You hated saying it. Absolutely hated it, but deep down, you both knew it was true.

“I- you- Y/n! Don’t talk like that. I’m gonna help you. You’re gonna recover. We’re gonna be fine.”

You squeezed his knee as much as you could with your waning strength. “Don’t-” you were cut off by another painful bout of coughing. This time, much to Dream’s horror, you coughed up blood. Small scarlet droplets on your sleeve glistened. “Don’t try and fool yourself, my love. We both know I don’t have much time left. Please, listen to me.”

Dream swallowed down the painful knot of emotion bubbling in his throat. “Okay, baby.” His voice was soft, showing just how scared he was. “I’m listening.”

You held out one of your prized daggers. Your lover didn’t even notice you’d been clutching it in your fist in the first place. You placed it in his hands and folded his fingers over the intricate handle. The one with the silver grip and emeralds set in.

“Take it,” you mustered weakly. With every time you spoke, your voice got weaker. You needed to maximize your words. “It’s yours now.” He pocketed the dagger without protest.

Dream let himself sob now. A tear from his face fell onto your blood-stained shirt. He held your hand, tracing your fingers. He wanted to memorize as much of you as he could. Remember everything before you were gone. 

“I love you so much,” you began, tears beginning to sparkle in the corners of your own eyes. “I always have and I always will. I may not be physically with you, Dream, but you always have me in your memories. Never forget me, but be happy.”

“Y/n, I-”

Your eyes took on a pleading look. “Please, babe. Just be happy. That’s my dying wish. Just be happy.”

You reached up a weak hand to wipe a tear from the love of your life’s cheek. He closed his eyes as your soft thumb brushed over his cheekbone. You started to guide his face close to yours. Understanding, Dream leaned close. You kissed him and he kissed you back.

Memories of all the kisses you had shared came flooding back. Under the night sky, with the sunset in the background, gentle kisses, passionate kisses rough with desire, tender ‘good morning’ pecks, and a lingering ‘good night’ brush of your lips. This kiss was different, though. Still filled with love, it was plagued with anguish. Weighed down with grief and with mourning for what could’ve been. 

Even after you broke the kiss, Dream kept his head close to yours. Still holding your hand, he rested his forehead against yours. He stayed there even as your breaths grew shallow and uneven. He stayed there even when you spoke your final words.

“Be happy, my love.”

And you went still. Your heart stopped, your chest stopped rising and falling with your breaths, and your hand went slack in his.

Dream pulled away to look at you. You looked so peaceful. If it weren’t for your injuries, he could've tricked himself into thinking you were asleep. And maybe you were. But this was a different kind of sleep. A forever sleep that you would never wake up from, could never be woken from. 

Dream placed a feather-light kiss to your forehead before standing up silently. 

Y/n succumbed to their injuries.

It was your last life.

[deskofninak]

Three is the Magic Number, Pt. 1 // TASM!Peter Parker x GN!Reader

[Spoilers for No Way Home]

Masterlist // Series Master Post

Summary: When Doctor Strange accidentally opens the multiverse while trying to help Peter Parker, reader gets swept up into the mess. A magic user training at the Sanctum Sanctorum with secrets of their own, they attempt to navigate a universe where multiversal beings are spilling in and causing trouble, all while struggling with their own magic. And then a certain version of Peter Parker catches their eye.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

Notes: Gender Neutral!Reader, reader is a magic user and an avenger, death, talking about grief, use of ‘Y/N’.

Word Count: 1725 | 4 sections

1.

You were sitting on the roof of a dinner, the rain pouring down around you as you struggled to come to terms with the events of that day. You’d been able to conjure up enough magic to slowly heal your bleeding ear enough that the ringing had stopped. However, sound was still a little muffled on the right side. Your hands were clenched into fists as if you could drag the vestiges of the passing day and make it undo everything it had wrought.

“Peter? May? Oh my God, May.” Aunt May was on the ground at Peter’s feet. She was bleeding and it did not look good.

“I’m so sorry, May,” you whispered. 

Aunt May put up her hand to your cheek. “It’s okay. I just need to catch my breath for a moment.”

“You’ll be okay,” said Peter. “You’ll be okay.” He looked at you desperately, wordlessly asking you to use your magic.

“I can try,” you whispered.

Peter nodded.

You put your hands over May’s wounds. “Shh, it’s okay, May. You’re going to be just okay.” The tears were flowing down your cheeks now, lower lip trembling as you struggled to call your power. In through the nose, out through the mouth. There was a faint blue glow. You focused on steadying it and then making it grow.

Peter was bent over May, forehead to forehead. “You’re okay, May. It’s just you and me.”

Suddenly, the blue light vanished like a bulb blowing out. You fell backward and stared in horror at May’s dull eyes. Peter’s face crumpled and he uttered a trail of desperate no’s but to no avail.

May was gone.

Your phone beeped in your pocket, pulling you out of your reverie. It was MJ. She’d texted the address where Peter was, along with Ned and herself. You stepped off the ledge, landing on your feet. This had been part of your training with Nat after the Blip, before you had lost all hope of ever getting your friends back and deciding to move away.

The address was close by so you’d be able to walk there without needing to take a cab you couldn’t pay for. It took you half an hour with your minor injuries but you finally made it. You saw through the glass window in the corridor that it was a lab with Peter and two other guys at the worktables, and Ned and MJ standing worriedly to the side. 

You pushed open the door. At the sound of its squeak, every single pair of eyes in the room snapped in your direction. Peter stepped forward and immediately pulled you into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said. 

You wrapped your arms around him and felt your own tears rising up too. “It’s okay.” You gave him a squeeze like you used to when you were kids and he squeezed back. The second he pulled away, Ned and MJ pulled you into another hug.

Someone cleared their throat and the four of you looked toward the other two people in the room. One was older than Peter and your friends, skinny with shining, dark eyes and a soft smile. The other was even older and dressed sort of like a youth pastor. Both greeted you in unison. “Hi, Y/N.”

You turned with furrowed brows to Peter, then looked back at the two men. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

2.

It had been a long ten minutes as Peter, with frequent interjections from Ned and MJ, explained to you what had transpired over the course of that very long day. Your expression had grown more bewildered as the seconds ticked by, and by the end of it, you looked a bit like you might throw up.

“One more time, you’re all Peter?” Peter nodded. “And you’re all Spider-man?” Nod again. “Huh. And where is Strange?”

Peter shot you a look that distinctly said ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies. 

“And Ned can do magic now too?” More nods. “Okay. And the plan is?” 

Peter went over the plan one more time.

3.

“Do I have something on my face?” you asked. The two other Peters were talking and they kept looking over at you. At your question, they shook their heads and went back to work. 

You leaned over to Ned. “What’s that about?”

“Think about it, three Peters across three universes. They have more or less the same friends that our Peter does. That guy,” Ned pointed to the older of the two, “is married to his version of MJ.”

You looked from the older guy to your MJ and back again. “Huh.”

“So,” Ned continued to whisper, “they probably have a version of you in their universes too. Judging by their whispering and staring and the fact that they know your name, you’re probably pretty important. Lucky. They don’t seem to know me.” He seemed a little bummed about that last thing.

“Oh. Okay.”

Roughly 55 seconds later, the whispering and staring got to be too much. You marched on up to the two other-Peters. “Anything you boys want to tell me?” You had on your intimidating-questioning face. At least, that’s what Ned called it. MJ always seemed to think it made your eyebrows look funny.

The older guy stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Peter.”

“Y/N,” you said, shaking it. 

He pointed at the other guy. “Also Peter.”

You pointed at yourself. “Still Y/N.” There was a pause and you got a strong suspicion the two weren’t about to say anything any time soon. Narrowing your eyes at them, you said, “Ned says there’s a version of me in both of your universes. Is that true?”

“Yeah,” said the older guy again. “You’re one of my best friends.”

“Cool. What about you?” you said to the other guy.

He shot you a pained smile. You realised that the shine you’d seen in his dark eyes were actually tears.

Sensing that you two would probably want to talk, the older guy suddenly realised he had some non-specific vague “thing” to do and vanished.

You bit down on your annoyance. It had been a year since the Blip had been reversed. Both Peter and May had been gone, but not you. You’d spent five years believing that you’d lost them forever. Five years of burying yourself in college work, of not using your magic, wanting to forget that it had failed you when you needed it most, to forget that you ever even had it. And now, in the past year, no matter how hard you tried, you could only use bits of it. And now May was dead, taken from you again. The void in your stomach had been steadily growing since and the only thing stopping you from falling in was to focus on the plan.

But no part of that situation was the fault of the sweet, teary-eyed multiverse version of your Peter.

Taking in a deep breath, you stepped up to the worktable, right across from him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The word was a soft exhalation.

You hopped on your feet a little. “Do you want me to leave? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

His head shot up quickly. “No.”

“Okay.” You pulled up a stool and sat down.

His voice was so soft when he began to speak, you almost didn’t realise he’d said something. “They died.”

The words shot through you like a bolt. They died. Aunt May. “What?”

“My Y/N.” 

You felt your heart skip a beat. You leaned forward a little in what you hoped was a reassuring posture. “Your version of me died?”

The slightest of nods. 

“Tell me about them?”

He smiled a little, his voice steadying the more he spoke. “We had been best friends since we were kids. They looked so much like you - the same way of speaking, the same mannerisms. The same laugh, the same twinkle in their eye, the same dressing style. They made me feel like the centre of the universe. They were the first person I told I was Spider-man. They were there to patch up my wounds after a bad day and help me keep up with my homework. They were my everything. And then … I couldn’t save them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“And now here you are, older. They would’ve looked exactly like you now if they’d gotten to grow up. It’s my fault they never did.” He wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Sorry. I need to get back to this.”

“Right.” You cleared your throat. “I’ll leave you to it.”

4.

Seeing you again felt like being sucker-punched in the face, Peter thought. He was in a strange universe with two other versions of him here, one older, one younger. And then there was you. As if he hadn’t spent the past few years missing you terribly, now he had to find out that you would have grown into a wonderful person who could wield magic if he had been able to save you.

But while it hurt to see the life you could have had, at the same time it eased something in him. To know that there was another universe where he couldn’t mess up, where you got to grow up and be happy.

It physically hurt to hold himself back around you. To not throw an arm over your shoulder and pass whispered jokes. To pretend that you were a stranger. They are a stranger, he reminded himself. Maybe not to him, but he was a stranger to you. And the kind of bond that he’d shared with his version of you was the product of years of friendship. It couldn’t possibly be forged in a matter of minutes. And so strangers you would remain. 

He knew what was coming ahead. Another fight he couldn’t walk away from. It was scary that there were people who might get hurt, but it also felt nice to have people he could depend upon. 

You looked up toward him as if you could sense he’d been thinking of you (and not so discreetly looking at you). You shot him a small smile and for a moment, he felt a little less alone.

Yes, he knew what was coming ahead. And you would not get hurt this time. 

xxx

Hope you enjoyed this! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated. :) - Nina

[hb-writes]

Parlor Tricks

Summary: When Elisabeth escapes back to Dallas, she's running toward her memories of Godric, hoping that the combination of her visions and being home will bring her comfort she hasn't felt since Godric met the sun. Eric wonders if a little distance might be best for his human charge, at least for now. 

Characters: Eric Northman, & Elisabeth Northman (OC)

Request (from anon): Elisabeth Northman -- Angst #33 “I thought it would help, but I just feel empty.”

Content Warnings: angst, grief, Eric being a bit of an asshole (but he thinks it’s for a good cause).

Here’s the AO3 link if you prefer to read over there.

True Blood (Elisabeth Northman) Masterlist

Angst Celebration Masterlist

Please take a moment to tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

It seemed like ages ago, when she left Shreveport for Dallas in search of a temporary reprieve. Elisabeth felt she had lived an entire life between then and now even though only twelve hours had passed. Half of a day. No time at all in the grand scheme of things, but in those twelve hours she’d endured miles of walking through Shreveport and a journey on the 8:25 am Greyhound to Dallas followed by more walking until she finally made it home. 

Elisabeth was certain she had experienced every emotion and sensation on the spectrum along the way. They'd all been fleeting—temporary, but she didn’t feel any of it any longer—not the fear or the pain or the hunger. Not the hot Dallas sun that was burning her sensitive skin still. She couldn’t even reach for the anger that had brought her here in the first place, the terrible, all-consuming, unbearable ire and loathing that had her up with the sun and gone from Fangtasia before much of the human world was fully awake. 

She waited just seconds after Eric and Pam were tucked away in their coffins before running. It had taken everything in her to wait that long, blinded as she was by the swell of emotions in her, but Elisabeth had needed to be smart. She had known that much. Eric and Pam would have stopped her if she tried to leave any earlier. 

Stupid. 

Pathetically sentimental. 

Not safe.

That’s what she imagined Eric would say about her impromptu trip across state lines.

For someone who treated Elisabeth like a thoroughly loathed chore, Eric afforded spectacular attention to the girl’s safety. And for a person concerned so greatly with her safety, he certainly threatened her with more harm by way of maintaining compliance than one would expect. She could only imagine what his response would be to this. Maybe he'd finally follow through on one of his threats.

The day’s journey was the most traveling Elisabeth had ever done on her own, the most independence she'd ever executed, and Eric was probably going to kill her for it. Or maybe someone else would get to her first. Either way, Elisabeth couldn’t quite muster enough energy to care. 

Let Eric kill her. Let him do whatever he wanted. Elisabeth couldn’t imagine any punishment or any restriction he imposed could be worse than what she was already feeling. 

In the depths of her pain, nothing else mattered. 

Nothing else compared. 

And no one else understood.

Only one person ever had understood her, or even tried. 

And now he was gone.

Elisabeth knew Eric was pained by Godric’s absence as she was, but Eric was getting by. He was pushing through. Elisabeth longed to do the same. Though she said she didn’t care for Eric and though he had become a sort of keeper more than any sort of caregiver, she had tried to emulate the way he handled their collective loss. She tried to allow time to heal the hurt. She tried to occupy herself with the lessons Eric had arranged for her and the comings and goings at Fangtasia, at least the limited ongoings Eric allowed her to know of. She tried to move on with her new life, but over and over again, Elisabeth found that she couldn’t, the distractions were short-lived. 

The only thing actually helping her get by was escaping into her visions. She’d taken to settling Godric there in her mind, sat beside her in one of the places they’d visited in Sweden or, as was more common these days, at their home in Dallas. She’d talk with him for hours, just as they always had in real life, the visions reminiscent of their daily check-ins before he had decided to meet the sun.  

Godric and Elisabeth always used to sit out on the back patio after the sun went down. Elisabeth would catch him up on the short time in her life he’d missed while still sleeping, often little more than a few hours he’d missed, and then they’d talk about nothing and everything before going their separate ways for much of the rest of the evening—Godric to his duties as sheriff and Elisabeth to her tutors and her studies. It had been close to a daily ritual and they only veered off course on the days labeled as special in some way, the days where they didn’t have duties to call them to task. On those days, they could instead simply exist. They could talk and pass time in one another’s company without needing to set a schedule for it.

But Elisabeth had a new life now. She had a new daily routine set by Eric’s rules, similar to her previous life and glaringly different at the same time. She still had her tutors and studies. She still maintained a sleep schedule opposite of most in her species. But it wasn’t the same. Eric wasn’t expelling any effort to sit her down and ask after her wellbeing. They didn’t settle out by the backdoor after sundown, looking out at the Fangtasia parking lot as they chatted, but Elisabeth had very quickly tried to convince herself that she didn’t need Eric to care. She didn’t even want him to. 

Elisabeth told herself she didn't need Eric to care. She had Godric, still. She still saw him daily—sometimes more. She conjured him up whenever the whim struck her now. When she was lonely or afraid or angry or confused or simply bored, she called Godric to her, seeking his guidance, his comfort, or his mere presence. She found herself lost in the visions more frequently than she was in tune with what was happening in the world around her, almost as if she wanted the visions to be real and her existence in the real world just a dream—temporary like a nightmare.

It still wasn’t enough though. The projections were never good enough or long enough or real enough. The visions didn’t give her enough of Godric. The comfort this version of him offered was nothing more than the echoes of the things he’d said to her at one time or another over the years, a reincarnation of her mind that could never be as good as the original. 

But Elisabeth needed it. She needed him. She needed to hear his real voice, to feel his embrace, his guiding hand on her shoulder. She needed to be in a place that had actually known his presence, his life, his light. She imagined that would help. She imagined it would make him stronger, more real. And she wasn’t going to let Eric stop her from having that. 

She wouldn’t let Eric keep her from their home, from Godric. 

The place that had once been her home was now no more than charred remains, but Elisabeth hadn’t even seen what was really there. A projection of her own design had been firmly in place by the time she arrived—the gate at the front rebuilt, the glass walls well-intact, the garden beautifully maintained. She’d comforted by the idea of their home being intact, unaltered. She'd been comforted by the idea of love once again filling their home. 

Elisabeth's mind hadn’t questioned it, so desperate was her mind to forget the bombing and Godric's death. So desperate Elisabeth was to believe it was real. And she almost did. She’d gotten good enough with her powers now that it could be believable, but seeing her old home in all its former glory still wasn’t enough.

The Godric of her imagination wasn’t enough either. There was still something missing, some spark that nestled in her heart and reminded her it wasn’t real, reminded her he was gone. Godric was gone and Elisabeth was just holding onto the past rather than living in the present. 

As the sun fell behind the horizon, a chill crept into Elisabeth’s sunburned skin and for the first time in hours, her projection flickered revealing the somber truth of her surroundings. She could finally see what was left of Godric’s compound—nothing but rubble and ashes. There was no Godric. There was no love—just a silly, pathetic little girl who had traveled state lines by herself. Just an idiot who had fled from the only person who at least had a sliver of interest in keeping her alive.

Elisabeth put her head in her hands as the world continued to grow dark around her. She didn’t look up when she heard the whoosh of air signaling Eric’s arrival. She didn’t think she’d need to, convinced that if he had any interest in eye contact, Eric would make it happen of his own accord. 

She waited for his opening line. She imagined some sarcastic words or some sort of threat meant to inspire her quick compliance, but Eric stayed silent. Elisabeth pulled her head up to look at him, to make sure the silence belonged to him even though she could sense it was him from somewhere deep within her. Even without looking, she had known. It was almost as if the tether formed by his blood worked both ways now. She could feel him too. His presence was something she could sense, something she just knew. 

Eric was in front of her when she pulled her eyes to his, looking not at her, but at the desiccated lot surrounding them. He gently kicked a piece of rubble, sending it skittering across the ground before he met Elisabeth's eye. 

So much had happened in the brief period since Godric left them. Eric hadn’t ever wanted anything to do with the girl. He hadn’t been interested in caregiving or possessing the girl to start with, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated it being so difficult. He hadn’t anticipated the sheer effort it would involve, protecting a human that seemed not to want to be protected, so careless with herself, and for what? To sit in a yard of rubble and memories? 

Eric remembered when they first met. Elisabeth had been so desperate to stay in Dallas then. She had fought him on going to Shreveport. She had wanted to be with Isabel, the only family she knew that was left in the world. She had fought him on nearly every decision since then and Eric couldn't help but wonder if maybe leaving her with Isabel would be for the best. Maybe with all that was going on, they both would be better off with some distance. He didn't have to explain his decision to her, but they'd settled into a familiar schema around these types of things and it was habit—nearly comforting by now. Eric would make a declaration. Elisabeth would fight him. Eric would offer an explanation, something practical and sarcastic—oozing with condescending indifference or thinly veiled frustration. 

Eric had a handful of reasons already cataloged in his mind to explain the decision to leave her, but most of them were more thoughtful and kind than he wished for her to know. They wouldn't do, so he settled on the most neutral one within his reach—consequently, the most familiar as well—to half-heartedly explain himself.

“I don’t have time for this,” Eric said. His words weren’t angry, just tired. Elisabeth hadn't noticed the nuance. And she only half-listened to his words, anyway. She had made it abundantly clear that she did not care about inconveniencing Eric and that stance was no different now. In truth, Elisabeth didn't care much about anyone other than herself—with all of the grief, it felt as though she didn’t have room for anything else. Even the fear she held for Eric and Pam was shrinking, somehow less powerful than the resonating pain and guilt she still held over Godric’s death, over the aching loss she felt in her life. She supposed that was what got her here, to Texas, well outside of the limits Eric had set for her. The pain of loss weighed on her soul was far heavier than whatever fear she held of Eric.

And she didn’t care if he was mad.

She didn't care what he did to her.

Surely nothing could be so bad as…

“You don’t listen," Eric continued. "You’re going to get yourself killed and—”

“Why do you care?” 

Eric stared at her, some part of him surprised to find her gaze set right back on him. Unwavering. The question wasn’t rhetorical, he could tell she wanted an answer. A whole range of reasons came to Eric's mind, revealing different pieces of him, of his heart.

Because Godric requested it—ordered it.

Because your pain and my pain are the same.

Because…

“You’re a promising tool to possess, remember?” Eric said, watching the change in Elisabeth's features, watching her harden against him to cover the hurt she felt from his words. Eric hoped that would keep her from trying to return to Bon Temps after he left her. He hoped it would keep her far away from where people were disappearing. He hoped the anger would keep her safe. “Overpriced, a pain in the ass, but maybe someday you’ll be capable of more than useless parlor tricks...if you get yourself killed, we’ll never know though. Will we?” 

“Terribly wasteful of you,” Eric continued, knowing in his mind that he believed those particular words to be genuinely truthful. He didn’t wish to tease out what he really meant and he was grateful Elisabeth didn’t ask, but he couldn't deny that he believed it deep in his soul, or whatever was left of it.

Elisabeth’s loss would be a waste—to him, to the world.

Elisabeth turned from Eric. She looked back at what remained of the house as she steeled her features. She could remember meeting him for the first time, there in the living room. She remembered the way Stan had introduced her using some of the same words and phrases Eric had just repeated. 

A promising tool to possess. 

Overpriced. 

Useless parlor tricks. 

Only ‘pain in the ass’ was Eric’s own vernacular, his own preferred phrase to describe her, but somehow all of the words landed differently when issued from his lips. Somehow, it had come out gentle and kind. even if he hadn't meant for it to land that way. 

Elisabeth had grown used to Eric’s words—he seemed to have a sarcastic, stinging comment for everything, and part of her longed for it now. She longed for him to say something that would enrage her because being filled with rage would be better than the overwhelming realization that there was nothing here for her any longer—no home, no Godric, no love. The anger would at least stop her from feeling empty and alone. Maybe it would stop her from missing all of it so much, but even as the thought crossed her mind, Elisabeth knew it wasn’t true. She couldn’t stop missing her old life. She’d never stop missing Godric. And Eric would never stop reminding her of him. It was Godric who had brought them together and now Elisabeth couldn’t be in Eric’s presence without her mind reminding her of that fact, of everything they’d lost. 

"This was dangerous,” Eric finally said into the quiet that had settled between them. “Careless.” His voice was still gentle. He wasn't angry and Elisabeth couldn’t find it within herself to be angry either. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Elisabeth admitted. “I...I thought it would help…" She looked down at her hands. They were the conduit. She still needed physical contact in order to transmit the visions. She needed to touch another person’s skin or to ball her own hands into tightly clenched fists. She refrained from doing so now though the draw was tempting. “But I just feel empty. He—” 

“He isn't here,” Eric said, his words the very same as Elisabeth intended to say if only she’d been able to get them out. Eric’s words came out in the same tone, the same resonating pain Elisabeth felt in her own heart. 

“He’s gone and he’s not coming back.” 

Eric stared ahead at the ruins of their father’s home and then up at the light-polluted sky further convinced that this was what Elisabeth wanted—to be in Texas, to be with Isabel. Maybe that would be for the best, Eric thought once again. 

Maybe with Isabel, the girl would stay put. Maybe she’d stop fighting. At the very least, she’d be out of the way while Eric focused on finding Bill. She’d be free from the business with the King of Mississippi. She'd be safe.

Eric held a hand down to Elisabeth, intending to pull her up from the dust and dirt, but she shook her head. Elisabeth pulled her knees to her chest and hid her face in her hands. Eric sighed, placing his hand on the top of her head instead. 

Elisabeth didn’t pull away. She wasn't entirely sure what the gesture was meant to communicate, but she remained still, savoring the bit of connection. Eric squatted down after a moment, shifting his hand to tip Elisabeth’s face up to him. 

“You’ll stay here with Isabel,” he said, searching Elisabeth’s eyes for some type of response. He’d expected to see relief flow through her, but he didn’t find it. 

Elisabeth’s only response was to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. Eric took the opportunity to catch her hand and he pulled Elisabeth to her feet. He didn’t mention the fleeting vision he saw when she squeezed his palm, leveraging the hold as she straightened her legs. He didn't mention it, but he saw everything—the intact house, exactly as it was when Eric first came to Dallas...

Eric didn’t say anything, but Elisabeth saw the way his eyes lingered. She closed her eyes, knowing he’d spotted her version of Godric—smiling and patient, eyes full of kindness as he waited in one of the imagined patio chairs. 

“C’mon,” Eric said, turning her and giving her shoulder a gentle shove in the direction of the street. “We’ll find Isabel and—”

“It’s only temporary, right?” 

Eric couldn’t be sure what exactly Elisabeth meant. It could've been a hundred different things—the feeling of emptiness, the visions, the pain...her impromptu stay with Isabel in Dallas. Eric supposed it didn’t matter. He hoped for her sake and for his that all of those things would be short-lived. They all stirred something in him, some part of him uncomfortable with knowing the girl was in pain, her impending absence weighing on him in ways he hadn’t anticipated until Elisabeth voiced the question.

Eric could have offered her comfort. Eric could've just said yes. To Eric, years seemed like minutes and everything was temporary. That was how it was when you lived long enough, when your future stretched on for an eternity, but Eric knew time wasn’t the same for the girl who had yet to reach her third decade of life. It felt like a lie to answer that way. It felt needlessly cruel.

Eric could have tried to put words to what he knew of life and loss and pain, but the closeness forming between them was already feeling too strong. Her anger with him was wavering. He didn’t know how long he’d need her to remain in Isabel’s care, but however long it was be better for Eric to remain distant. There was no need for Elisabeth to believe he was capable of compassion now. It was better for her to remember his brutality, better for her to think he was needlessly cruel. Better for her to not know the purpose. 

“Why? You going to miss me?” Eric snorted as he looked down at her, his features shifting to mirror the pitiful look on Elisabeth's face.

Elisabeth gulped, remaining quiet as she contemplated the truth, part of her afraid of it—afraid of the fact that she would miss Eric.

Eric chuckled at her silence, a familiar sarcastic condescension forced into his tone as he spoke. "I suppose if you do, you can just conjure me up, too. Another of your useless little parlor tricks." 

Since Eric had arrived, the wave of hurt that had started to abate, but Elisabeth felt the swell of pain once again at Eric's words, the hurt accompanied by embarrassment and anger and...though she wanted them, Elisabeth found she couldn't quite reach the feelings of hate. Hating him would make it easier. It would make the pain she felt at his hurtful words subside more quickly. It would make their impending time apart more of a welcome reprieve, but Elisabeth found she couldn't manage it. As she met Eric's eye, she felt the wave of hurt and anger and embarrassment fall away, too, some part of Elisabeth suddenly convinced that Eric's words weren't genuine.

They were forced.

They were nothing more than a useless parlor trick.

They were meant to deceive and distract.

But Elisabeth wasn't fooled. She knew they were also meant to protect though she wasn't sure which one of them the facade was protecting—Eric or Elisabeth? She hadn't considered it could be both. 

True Blood (Elisabeth Northman) Masterlist

Angst Celebration Masterlist

[wisteria-lodge]

badger primary + burnt improvisational secondary

hi! i've deleted a large segment of this ramble because it is extremely long. last night i wrote a pretty ugly ramble but chose not to sent it off, instead i googled narcissistic personality disorder and i think that that is indeed a possible diagnosis for me (though i know self dx is not always gospel truth). that's the easiest diagnosis by occam's razor. getting an actual read on my own personality though in areas other than said disorder has been hard.

I’ve only got a layman’s knowledge and some anecdotal experience of NPD, but I’ll do my best. Obviously I can’t diagnose you either. I’ll give you my thoughts, but a true diagnosis isn’t possible or ethical. That said, narcissistic personality disorder gets a bad rap, but is one hundred percent livable and even helpful. It’s a good sign that you’re self aware enough to read up on it and go ‘this could be me.’ 

the last i checked (1-2 years ago), i thought i was either a lion badger, double lion or some shade of bird (addendum: or badger), but i might have changed by then. also, i am a teenager. i now suspect i am a double lion but i'd like you take a look and be sure.

before i start off: thank you for answering random questions from strangers like me off the internet. there's some hard stuff in lots of them. thank you for your compassion too.

It’s true that sometimes I’m not in the right mental space to soak in some of the quite heavy stuff people write in with me. (I like my blog feeling safe, so I sometimes edit content a little if it gets *too* intense.) But I like the exercise of trying to focus in and understand someone as best as I can. I think it makes me better at my job, and I think it makes me better as a person. 

Also, cheers for checking in on *me.* That right there is not a classic narcissist trait. 

main rant about me socialising: i am a loud person and can be a bit of a showoff. actually an extrovert albeit a socially anxious one. people are cool with me usually, but i feel i also love too hard, too fast and too deeply. 

This could honestly just be person stuff, but the word ‘showoff’ and that tendency to either operate at 0% or 100% is pretty Lion secondary. 

i just left my old class and i miss them so much - 

Badger primary? 

grief i guess is love for others which can't really be adequately expressed. 

“Grief is really just love, it’s all the love you want to give and cannot.” - words of wisdom from Jaime Anderson, professional snowboarder.

but i felt they accepted me as a person and said their mind (but took no sh-t). for the most part they were quite open and unflinchingly honest. i like people who are unafraid to show who they are -  god knows who i am, i'm not sure of it, but they somehow have enough of a grasp to be able to be honest and forthright, and who gives a fk if they are annoying because i'd like them anyway. even the misogynists, seriously. though i don't accept their misogyny, at least they have the fking gall to say it in class and let others criticise them (i hope they learn though. i dang well hope so.)

It sounds like you really like Lion secondaries. It’s possible that if you’ve got a bit of a Burned Lion secondary, hanging around with unBurned lion secondaries could be sort of... nice? healing? relaxing? Or you could just like lion secondaries.

now for my evaluation of each primary and secondary: lion - i honestly don't have any cause except "survive until tomorrow". 

Survival mode. I hear you. And honestly, I used to be very much the same way. It took a while, before I was in a good enough place that I could actually sort myself. 

that answers the question, "what keeps you living every day?" i've lived through weird stuff, i'm goddanged alive, fk it i'm living. burnt lion might be a thing for me though. however i believe in little things, such as never praising capitalism, calling out idiots 

This probably isn’t Snake, but could be any of the other primaries. 

when i have the gall and the vague idea of compassion, something i have not achieved. 

There’s some burnt ‘I want to but I can’t’ language going on here. Could be a burnt secondary - I want to stand up and do the lion secondary ‘speak the truth’ thing, but I can’t. But it could also be Burnt primary ‘I am not compassionate enough, and therefore I cannot trust myself to make decisions. Which would either be Lion or Badger. 

badger - i guess i like people? i'd sacrifice any cause for people though. what use is a cause if whatever the hell you're doing is useless to the people you want to help. 

I’m actually thinking you might be Badger. Framing morality around the wellbeing of groups of people is a very Badger way to think about it, period. An idealist is much more likely to go ‘ends justify the means’ or ‘creating strife or discomfort in worth it in the service of justice, or freedom.’

one of my criticisms of most lion primaries typed by people is that a cause is framed as something that you do to serve others. i hate the concept of noblesse oblige but i keep doing it anyway, because i keep feeling my position in life is extremely precarious (this sounds like the npd speaking though).

Okay, I’m unpacking this. Noblesse oblige is the specific idea that if you are born into privilege it is your responsibility to help those beneath you. It’s a old idea, and it gets critiqued because it’s a little infantilizing and paternalistic - only the cool special noble people can help the poor innocent peasants (not really taking into account that one of the peasants might one day BE a noble, or that the peasants might want to help themselves.) Noblesse oblige also got used to justify the class system - of course the noble people should be at the top, they earn/deserve it by being super nice and special. Its a very specific thing, and not just ‘wanting to serve others,’ which is more of a general instinct. Humans are pack animals after all.  

So I’m not sure what you mean when you say that you keep doing “noblesse oblige” because your life is precarious. That might actually be the opposite of noblesse oblige - THAT system would tell you that you are specifically not required to do anything until you’ve got some kind of wealth/power/privilege. 

 still. i care about people. bird: (submitter's name), overthinker of the century. snake: i am a selfish b--ch. insult my friends and you will get a beating. metaphorically. 

I’m thinking you’re probably a Loyalist primary.

i will lie and cheat to protect the ones i care about though i am a horrible liar.

Maybe seeing some Snake secondary here? 

the hierarchy of people which some snakes have described is alien to me though.

I’m kinda doubling down on Badger primary for you. 

secondaries: lion: loud, brash, overconfident speaker. unable to shut my mouth, for better or for worse.  as someone apathetic to most things though, i rush through life with no rudder. 

Definitely think Improvisational secondary for you, I’ve seen no evidence of the more Prep-work style. 

can be stubborn and narrowminded. 

Hmmm. That’s usually more of a primary issue. 

i've only got anywhere due to enormous amounts of privilege and a very good memory. 

I hear you on the ‘memory superpower’ thing. It works until it doesn’t.

 badger: i was very meticulous once upon a time. but then i was a kid. i no longer have the energy to care for anything. the prepwork thingy has happened in my life before but in the distant past.  i really don't know whats happened.

You’re a bit burnt in the secondary department, aren’t you? 

bird: i am an infamous memoriser of trivia. but seriously, it's because of my memory. i used to use lots of little life hacks to keep my person up and running but they've all collapsed. 

Looks like you had a Bird secondary model at one point. 

snake: i'm a bad liar, does this rule snake out? 

Nah. No one is born good at stuff. Competency doesn’t equal secondary, ease and comfort does. 

i plan my lies, line by line, as if i'm rehearsing a play. 

Actor bird? Or Actor Bird model? If you’re neurodivergent in any way you might also be running scripts. 

no. this does not sound snake. i was always really rigid and random at the same time. i'd really like to be able to separate my disorder (or whatever is going on with my brain) from my actual personality. it's called a personality disorder after all. 

I haven’t read anything that really screams NPD at me. Honestly, you seem burnt out and focused on *surviving.* Things that were fun/useful no longer are, it’s harder to care about things at all. I expect moving away from your old social group made everything worse, moves like that can be especially brutal on Badger primaries, which I suspect you are. And your secondary is burnt/your situation unstable enough enough that I can’t really tell what it is. 

thank you so much for reading all the way to the end, if you did. if not i do not fault you at all.

Burnt secondaries and apologizing. Seriously, it’s okay. This one wasn’t even long at all.