#maybe ill do more song translations. i need the practice

[lord-shitbox]

oh shit i got a bisexual certificate in the mail

[issaxcharlie]

We say we're friends, we play pretend (1/2)

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x Fem reader

Summary: Charlie and Y/N were best friends and a couple as teens, after their breakup they meet again 4 years later on the bootcamp of JATP and have to work together. Will something else happen or they are just friends?

Charlie must have imagined something like this could happen. Since Kenny discovered her 5 years ago, she has been a really close friend to the director, participating in some way or another in almost all his projects.

In front of him after years, Y/N Y/L, his childhood best friend and ex-girlfriend. The young actor is not going to admit that he saw every single one of her projects or how moved he was by her in each one of them, many times even thinking of maybe sending her a little message saying the incredible job she did.

But he never found the courage.

It’s weird to remember how he spent most of his life next to the woman, now one of the top youth artists with multiple musicals and movies on her hits list. They always had a strong bond, every single day together. Sleepovers, music classes, dancing classes, homework, parties, movie nights, hockey, illness days, pretty much everything. At the age of 15 they began a very sweet and innocent relationship that ended at 18 when Y/N moved to New York to work in her first leading role.

The break up was on good terms but painful, so painful that both preferred to lose contact completely than to have the other from time to time opening the wound again and again.

And there she was. As beautifil as ever, speaking happily with Kenny while Madison and Owen jump up and down, Jeremy smiles and Charlie looks like he wants to throw up.

“Y/N Y/L, my golden star. She is the official composer of the soundtrack, and she will be supporting you throughout the album process as well as helping Paul and me in other creative aspects, I know she is the same age as some of you but she has a lot of experience in this and all the necessary preparation so don't hesitate to get all the knowledge you can out of her."

Everyone introduces themselves until the guitarist is the only one left, luckily for him, he’s in voice rest these two weeks so he literally cannot speak.

They both look nervous but the moment their eyes meet their complicity comes out and both smile slightly.

“He’s Charlie, he is in voice rest but we are fans of yours. We cried yesterday watching your last musical, it was just brilliant." Owen lets out hardly breathing, Y/N turns with a smile to see the Canadian boy who wants to kill his friend and then commit suicide.

“Thank you! This is going to be such an interesting experience.” The singer murmurs as she winks at Charlie.

2 hours later they had both been avoiding each other, Y/N writing in a corner while the band and Kenny discuss costumes with Soyon, in which at least half an hour has been wasted trying to understand what Charlie is trying to say with the few words he writes with an apple pencil on his ipad in his horrible handwritting.

Y/N gets frustrated and goes to where they are, approaching behind Charlie's shoulder to see the iPad. She quickly identifies the two words, one so crossed out that it looks like a doodle, but years copying each other's homework pays off.

"He's trying to say that if Luke isn't going to wear bandanas, at least consider wearing beanies." The young woman says as she leans on the shoulder of who was her first love.

Charlie freezes at their proximity, blushing a little at the feeling of being close after so long. Luckily his castmates don't realize it because all their attention is on her.

“You are just good for everything huh? Even deciphering hieroglyphs." Owen comments, smiling at her and winking exaggeratedly to make her laugh.

Charlie can't help but feel insecure with the situation. It could be a friendly thing but If Owen really tries to flirt with her, he doesn't know how he would react. Is sad enough not having her in his life anymore, having her as his best friend's girlfriend would just be too painful.

Now, he knows he’s exaggerating, and a lot. But he has to do something about it. Better safe than sorry.

He stretches his neck to meet the eyes of his ex-girlfriend, who is now only inches away. She quickly gets flustered, but hides it pretty well. The problem is that he knows every gesture perfectly and sees through her mask.

“Wh- What, Gillespie?” She manages to say, Charlie can’t help a smile seeing the way she still reacts towards him.

When you know a person completely, every facet, every gesture, every peculiarity, speaking without words is as natural as breathing. And they had both forgotten how amazing it feels to have someone in your life who is this compatible and magnetic.

They start a conversation, she answers to who secretly still believes as her person while he continues making gestures and mimics that no one else understands, writing a word from time to time to make the talk flow better.

"I know. Hey, it's not my fault! So you excuse yourself with the ‘can't talk’ thing huh? how convenient. Yeah, Ok, I will. I said I will!" Her words are the only thing that they manage to get out of the conversation that the secret ex-couple is having, since no matter how much attention they pay to him, they have no idea how Y/N manages to decipher it.

"I have no idea what's going on but I'll take it as a miracle, I was just going to suggest ignoring Charlie these 2 weeks." Jeremy jokes, everyone nods their heads.

“I mean, it’s still a good option.” Madison replies.

The 14 days go by quickly, and with the former couple spending time together daily, rehearsing Charlie's guitar solos together, with Y/N translating his horrible scribbles, or sometimes simply being close to each other enjoying the company, absentmindedly placing their hand on the other's leg or their forehead on their shoulder for a few seconds during the breaks.

Basically the whole team has noticed the flirtatious smiles and the looks, but Charlie was the weakest rival of both and the one who could release some information about it, and without being able to speak they basically ran out of an informant, since the young singer didn’t let go a word about her unexpected chemistry with the guitarist except the typical ‘we are just good friends’.

But without a doubt the energies began to multiply on Monday when Charlie arrived with the green light to be able to speak and start singing in rehearsals. Madison couldn't attend the first few hours because she was at school, so Y/N was going to cover her so the boys could practice.

“The first on the list is Finally Free, the place where we are going to record it only gave us two weeks from now so it will have to be one of the priorities. For the first rehearsal just vibe with the song and we’ll discover where to go from there. Oh, and good luck keeping up with my golden star, you’ll need it."

Y/N starts the first verse on the keyboard, and gets up to sing the chorus in the center, trying to ignore Charlie and looking up at Jeremy. She hadn’t heard him sing for a couple of years, but the same butterflies appear in her stomach and she knows that she will melt if she looks into his eyes.

Unfortunately for her, Kenny doesn't have the same plan, and just before the second verse ends he tells her to walk over to Charlie, who immediately smiles and sings the pre-chorus with much more enthusiasm. The energy they radiate floods the place, both getting closer and closer. By the time the bridge arrives, their foreheads are practically against each other, their lips only an inch apart, and with a confidence and comfort while singing to each other that makes all those who suspected that there was something between them now practically sure.

Luckily there are only Jeremy, Kenny, Owen and Paul in the room, who decide to play a game of divide and conquer now that the snitch part of the equation can speak.

“Y/N, can you come with me for a moment? I have a new idea for ‘Wow’ and a fresh pair of eyes is just what I need.” Paul says, sacrificing himself for the greater good.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll be right back.” The singer takes the opportunity to leave this staring game with Charlie and quickly walks away from the guitarist, who winks at her in a flirting way in response.

The moment they walk out the door, everyone turns to see Charlie, who has no idea what they're up to.

“What?”

"After what just happened you just can't keep pretending nothing's happening. Man, that was more intense than the whole Troyella moments during all three movies." Kenny pretends to be offended for a second and then nods.

"I have never seen anything like this in all my years of career."

“Yeah dude it was electric.” Owen replies, smirking.

“She’s my person.” Charlie mumbles.

If he’s being honest with himself, deep down he always knew she was the only one for him. But that realization was freaking scary. What's next if the only person for you has already turned the page? gave up without a fight? what's left?

"What?" The three ask in unison, and Charles begins to sing like a bird.

“We grew up together and then we lost the way. Like in those romantic movies where just everyone knows they belong together except the childhood best friends and then they end up ruining their lives by being in denial.”

“From what I saw getting back on track shouldn't be too difficult, Charlie. I assure you that whatever you feel she feels it too. Her eyes don’t lie." Jeremy tries to reason with him.

“Leave your teen problems behind. You are old enough to decide what you want and find a way to make it work. But you have to stop pretending that nothing is happening first." Owen scolds his friend.

“Do you love her?” Jer asks.

“That answer is always going to be yes, I just could never stop loving her even If I tried. And I did.” He really did. The surprise he got when the second he had her close to him his heart began to beat like crazy and all he wanted was to hug her and fix everything. It was as if when seeing her eyes time hadn’t passed, as if only the day before they’d been goofing around together. That bond is so big that he doesn’t believe it’s possible to break.

“Then do something about it, bro! Go get your girl back!” Jeremy advises while Kenny smiles.

“Yeah man, it’s ‘Now or never’ like her song, and I guess ours too now? Since she wrote it for Sunset Curve? Well, anyway, it’s like our song says.” Owen exclaims excitedly.

“Ohhh, musical inspiration, let me try. ‘Get up, get out, relight that spark’.” Jeremy sings to Charlie.

“Jer, you are a genius. If you think about it wake up is actually a pretty good soundtrack song for this situation. ‘It's not what you lost, It's what you'll gain raising your voice in the rain’.”

They both keep singing the song until they reach the bridge, Charlie tries to look frustrated but a slight smile escapes his face.

They are right, he still hasn't lost this fight.

👻PART 2 RIGHT HERE

[mikaze-discord]

OG Heavens: Love letters

For these Heavens posts, I had reached out to a few people who just never ended up responding. With projects like these, please at least hear them out, you don't have to do it because I know its a huge project but at least tell them you won't be doing it instead of ghosting them. But apart from that little road block, this project was really fun!!

Please enjoy under the cut!!!!

EIICHI OTORI

From @milkmateartist:

I have always leaned towards megane characters and Eiichi is no exception. However, it's not often you see idols wearing glasses, and that is something I appreciate about Eiichi's design. His color palette also intrigues me since I love deep shades of blue. His royal blue jacket is very attractive, and the way he pops the collar also makes me go "kya!".  His voice is also very sexy as well and is pleasing to the ear uwu. I love how egoistic he is too. Being incredibly ambitious he has been able to reach amazing heights that surpass other idols. The one thing that seems to make him unique though is that he really gets zealous and overly passionate when it comes to the power of music, so much that it makes him physically tremble. You could get high off that shit literally. His entire being is centered around being an idol, and all the components of him go above and beyond the requirements. It's not just a job for him or something that simply makes an earning or brings satisfaction. It's pretty much everything to him. For that reason he has made it to the top. There is also the component where he's lonely and isolated emotionally that interests me. Despite being a beloved idol, he clearly didn't get the love he needed growing up. Even though he had Eiji I feel as though his nature was more to protect Eiji and shield him from whatever terrors would arise. I admire his ability to come through all of that and pay attention to the things he really cared about. Eiichi can be himself, his strange, sexy self, but also he acknowledges the lonesome darkness within too. I think that component makes him incredibly powerful.

Extra Details:

While appearing to be a bad guy in the anime (at least), Eiichi seemed to be that typical bad boy idol that would steal away Haruka from the main group. The time when he approached Haruka and took her by the chin is a perfect example. How dare this new guy just think he can have his way with our protagonist!  To be honest I liked that aspect about him a bit. While I can't remember my first impression of Eiichi aside from not knowing how to feel about that, he slowly grew on me. He had the appearance of just another selfish idol, demonstrated by swiping the mic away from the announcer at one of his concerts and immediately declaring their foreseen victory. So far that looked rather bland to me, and I was still cheering for STARISH. They really made him out to look like some bad guy who would not play fair and do whatever he could to take the throne (and the girl).  It's not surprising his glasses shine adds to his 'freaky antagonist' vibe that the show seemed to try to give off, but however for me I love the glasses beam, thus having the opposite effect.

And then there is the Next Door episode. Now here's where we got to see more of Eiichi aside from when the HEAVENS Dragon demolished the entire stadium. Aside from kya-ing over the EiichiOtoya content (especially where he goes behind otoya and covers his eyes), I got to see more of him here. It surprised me that someone so cocky and confident was actually the same depressed, lonely person that Otoya was. But it was also evident to me as well that he did care about the effect it had on Otoya as well after he sort-of-well mind broke him. I like how he is ambitious but also still caring, as compared to an antagonist that would stop at nothing to achieve their goal regardless of how much pain they cause.

I also enjoy Eiichi because I feel like I can roleplay him well. Usually for me, roleplay has to achieve some kind of goal since I tend to be business oriented. I think to some degree I'm able to practice being a eboy idol through Eiichi, as I do enjoy charming the fans. It also helps that I can naturally play characters with an inflated ego who enjoy charming people.

From @/egoisticCEO on twt:

July 2019. When Eiichi was first introduced to me via his voice, I hated him from the very beginning. His singing, his appearance, his personality – everything about him made me despise him. It’s funny looking back and seeing how quickly my attitude changed towards him, realising I’d been biased against him because of a friend. Finding more about him, hate turned to interest. It seemed like his life hadn’t been the best. Maybe that was why he acted in such a way? Interest turned to liking him more. Maybe I’d misunderstood him. I’d made the mistake of taking him at surface level.

December 2019. Like was slowly turning to love. More and more, I found myself looking at him instead of my current favourites. I found myself wanting him to actually be a part of Egoistic. Once I started devouring HEAVENS Radio and unveiling his true character, it was shocking how quickly I fell. He truly acted like a father to everyone in his band. Giving them what he never received. Everything was for them to thrive.

2020. With how much I was at home, it only made sense I grew more obsessed. I found Life with Thanks’ translation. “We’re irreplaceable to him,” he tells us, and that made me certain that his heart wasn’t as evil as some people liked to believe. He’s a caretaker, someone who wants everyone to feel like they matter. Even at his own expense. Instead of selfish, he’s selfless.

I related to him more than I have to any character – it was comforting. Seeing someone have no choice but to put on a brave face, even when his confidence was at an all time low. 2020 got a lot harder for me, but when I recovered, Eiichi was like a home to go back to. Time and time again, I’d have to break away, but I’d always be invited back in by that stupid smirk and overexaggerated ego and the warmest heart you could ever find. Every scene I watched with him would make me smile. I’d tease him to myself. I still do.

2021. That brings us to now. I can’t see my love for this one of a kind man dying any time soon. I don’t want it to, either. Just looking at him makes me happy! He’s the type of character with so many facets to his personality that you can keep digging and never reach the end. So, in conclusion, I hope I never stop finding new things out about this wonderful idiot. More than anything, he deserves all the love he gives to others, and I’d love to provide it tenfold.

KIRA SUMERAGI

From Anon: 

Many have their reasons to love their favorite characters. As for me, why Kira Sumeragi is my favorite character is because there are several things about him that I can relate myself to and there are a few qualities he has that I like about him. If many do not know about Kira that much, they’d look at who he is. He may look intimidating at first and may not talk much, when in actuality, Kira is a considerate, dependable, and mindful guy. Mainly, he is the type of guy that lets his actions do the explaining. He is a hard worker, as an idol, he looks after his bandmates, HEAVENS, like family. It’s like what Eiichi said in HEAVENS Radio about Kira, “he is HEAVENS’ pride!” Although he may not say much, Kira is very observant of his surroundings and never hesitates in his decisions. The members of HEAVENS understand and acknowledge Kira, knowing that he means well.

You can even tell in his solo music! Although there are only two solo songs for Kira, if you read the lyrics carefully, Kira’s thoughts and feelings are shown. Kira always knew that if he cannot explain his feelings through words, then he’ll let his songs and his actions do it for him for you to see.  Although the anime doesn’t show much of Kira, the only way to get to know him more is through HEAVENS Radio, also drama CDs like Paradise Lost, and other media like LINE Messenger Japan. There’s still much that I’d want to know about him, but as a start, these things are what makes Kira my favorite character for HEAVENS.

From Anon: 

Aside from my huge bias towards OnoD the first thing that drew my attention to Kira was his design. Dark haired anime boys with bright eyes have such a vibe and I loved how mysterious he was set up to be in season 2. But the thing that really hooked me a lot was the found family that Heavens became over the progression of the anime.

Particularly since people in the fandom have a bunch of funky headcanons about Kira being the mom friend in the group, which is incredibly wholesome. Kira’s very quiet and reserved but clearly holds a deep caring for his group members and does what he can when needed which is one of the reasons why he became so loveable for me.

NAGI MIKADO

From @/_PXRFECTIONIST on twt: 

If I managed to stan Nagi, so will you.

Greetings. I present to you, once more, a story of how I came to love a character that I wished I threw hands with.

So.

Nagi Mikado.

The possible only utapri character that Shinomiya oshis despise. Thanks to what happened in the anime.

Truth be told, I too was one of them. Until I came to love Both Shinomiya and Nagi. Reason?

Research.

Ya see, it is universally agreed upon that the way Nagi was pushing and pulling at Shinomiya's trauma and DID was… Not okay. So I said "yeah okay what an obnoxious kid i dont think ill ever like him lol" especially since I never come to really warm up to people younger than me.

Boy was I wrong.

My heart really sways easily when I go deep into characters, and why they act the way they are. And also because I chose to roleplay as him, but let's not. Speak of that.

(its actually the main reason i like him in the first place who am i fooling)

Nagi is… Indeed obnoxious, and really has bad manners that are covered up by his cute looks and fame, especially since he's one of the original HEAVENS members, but once you get to really know him.. It makes sense why he's being such a brat. And that is sort of endearing. And knowing how his group is like family to him too, it becomes harder and harder to completely dislike him.

….

He really is a boss man.

He knows what he wants, and how to get it. He knows how to get people to like him without handing over the tiniest sliver of his weaknesses. He acts in his own way that shapes his personality to suit him, yet still manages to be caring and helpful, even if it's hard to see tenderness and good will through his aggression.

Reading his solo lyrics, listening to the drama CDs, even thinking of headcanons due to lack of lore, it all slowly comes together like a lovely parfait to suddenly make you realize..

'Wow…'

'I really do like that rat.

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (4/ 11)

word count: 9.8k

AO3

part 1   / part 2 / part 3 / part 5 / part 6

content warnings: brief mention of blood, rat bites, illness, Major Character Death, feeling unloved, alcohol

Ahh Belletyn. The day when the town was decorated in bright colours, songs flew through the air like birds and almost-lovers that had been dancing around each other for months finally get so swept up in the festivities that they turned to their beloved and confessed their feelings. Truly, if there ever was a day to give inspiration to artists of all kinds, it was this.

Yarrow tightened his hold on his pencil as he let his eyes wander over the merriment before him, willing himself to find as much as a spark of inspiration.

When he put his pencil to the paper once more, he didn’t sketch the scene before him; the dancing couples, the decorations, not even the mouth-watering food.

As his pencil danced over the page of his sketchbook, it created what it always did: a pair of eyes. Even though he didn’t use his paint – he had them in his bag, of course, but using paint would have been a little impractical without a table and it took so long for them to dry – anyone who bothered to look at his sketch knew what colour they were supposed to be: the most piercing amber.

One time he had tried to change things up a little and colour them blue, the same shade as his own eyes, just to see if he would like the result. He hadn’t. Before that painting had even been finished, he had crumbled it up and tossed it to the side. It just hadn’t been right. It was yellow eyes or nothing.

Yarrow might not have been very creative when it came to coming up with new ideas, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew people scoffed at his inability to paint anything other than this. The thing was, he didn’t care. He didn’t need anyone’s approval to be confidence in his abilities as an artist. Or, well, perhaps he did care a little, but not for his lack of originality. He cared because somehow, this – painting – didn’t feel quite right. Just how the name he had given himself in the spur of a moment, seemed to be lacking something, though he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on what it was. He loved creating, so why wasn’t painting enough? He loved the sound of his name – at least the first half – and what it stood for. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. He was lacking something. Something he was sure he would find if only he painted enough amber eyes.

So that’s what he did right now. Not paint, of course, but sketch. He kept sketching, sad eyes, eyes narrowed with focus or anger, eyes that crinkled at the sides with mirth. The changes were only miniscule. So small in fact, that he had been told multiple times that they all looked exactly the same, but Yarrow knew better. He knew there was a depth to these eyes, that other people could only dream of recognising.

It must have been hours until finally the tip of his pencil got dull enough that it would ruin his artwork if he continued sketching with it, and, clever as he was, Yarrow had forgotten to take a spare pencil or something to sharpen it with with him.

With a sigh, he put the pencil and the sketchbook into his bag and turned to watch lovers dance around the decorated pole that has been erected in the middle of the town square.

A strange sense of longing filled him, an inexplicable urge to approach someone to ask them for a dance. But he didn’t even know how to dance and there was no one in this town that liked him enough to accept such an offer out of anything other than pity and awkward politeness. Best to spare them that fate.

Still, Yarrow’s eyes wandered over those sitting to the side same as him. Most of them didn’t seem to mind sitting this dance out. They talked amongst themselves, drank wine or stole kisses from each other before leaving the festivities with giggles that were not nearly as subtle as they probably thought.

There was only one person other than Yarrow that stood out. A girl, barely twelve if Yarrow had to guess. She sat on the floor, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her hands were tangling her hair into knots.

Yarrow’s brows knitted together. He stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the girl and sat on the floor next to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, if a little awkwardly.

The girl sniffled and nodded unconvincingly.

“You know,” Yarrow said, leaning back a little, “when I was younger I always dreamed of going to this festival with the prettiest braids in my hair.”

The girl looked up and eyed him critically. “Is that why your hair’s so long?”

“It sure is.” It wasn’t. Yarrow just didn’t know how to cut it. Still, he shook his head to let his hair fly into his face. “But braiding my own hair is so hard and there’s no one around who could help me.”

He threw a side-glance at the girl, whose shoulders sagged at his words. “You tell me. My sister said she’d braid my hair but then she saw Jakub and left me behind.”

“That’s mean.” Yarrow waited a second before perking up, playing the part of someone who had just been struck by genius. “What do you say, I braid your hair? I might not know how to do my own hair, but I should be able to do yours.”

The girl’s eyes began to shine, but then her lips tilted down again. “I can’t do yours. I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you, if you want. You can practice on me and then you’ll never need your sister to help you with that again.”

Without a hint of hesitation, the girl nodded and shifted so that her back was turned to Yarrow.

Carefully, he began untangling the knots the girl had put there earlier and began explaining what he was doing as he split the hair into sections and began to plait.

It felt strangely familiar. Yarrow had no sisters and no daughters – the gods knew he was too young for that and besides, he would make a terrible father – but something about teaching a child how to do things felt right. As if he had done it before. For a second, he thought he could almost remember a voice. A girl excitedly asking him to braid her hair back so it wouldn’t fall into her eyes while she learned how to sword fight.

No, that couldn’t be a memory. It was nothing more than a silly thought. He had always been a dreamer and the alcohol he had drunk earlier hadn’t helped slow his imagination.

“There, all done,” he finally said and pulled a pink flower out of an arrangement in a pot and put it into the braid.

The girl turned to him with a brilliant smile that Yarrow returned. For the briefest moment, he could almost believe that he would make a good father one day. Or maybe he would have made a good one in another life, when he could have actually provided for a child.

His smile dimmed a little and he turned to hide it. Soon though, his grin was back in full force, when the girl did her best to apply what she had learned and plait his hair. Yarrow didn’t need to look to know that his hair was now a mess resembling a bird’s nest.

Still, he bowed gracefully when the girl announced that she was done and thanked her. She giggled a little before running off to join the dancing.

He watched her with a strange melancholy, an echo of a thought, an impossible memory of watching a daughter grow up and leave her home. Maybe he was getting old after all. Or maybe he was just lonely.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world, the dancing, the laughter, the clapping. Instead, he got lost in that fantasy of his, in which he had a family - a daughter, who would fly into his arms and tell him about all the things she had done that day, and a man, who would have been Yarrow’s lover, would ruffle her hair and look at Yarrow fondly, while the artist sang a song for the two of them.

No, not a song. The song. Yarrow wasn’t sure what that thought was supposed to mean, but in that daydream of his, he was close to understanding, so close! The beginning of the melody was already at the tip of his tongue, he could almost taste the notes, the words –

A different voice cut through the illusion of a memory and shattered it like a mirror. A different song.

Yarrow opened his eyes again and scowled at the minstrel that had dared to interrupt his dreaming. He wasn’t a bad singer. Yarrow might not know much about music, but he was pretty sure that he was actually pretty good. But the song…Something about it grated on Yarrow’s nerves.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

Wrong, and yet achingly familiar. There was something about it that Yarrow recognised, but it was twisted, whether by time, bad translations of a different language, or the minstrel’s own changes to it, Yarrow couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either way. All he could think about was that this was wrong. This wasn’t how the song was meant to be sung. It wasn’t supposed to be danced to, it was supposed to be slow and soothing and speaking of love. It was supposed to be a lullaby. This…this wasn’t it. This was a cruel, mutated version of that song.

The minstrel didn’t care, didn’t even notice. He just let his voice soar higher in a way that was utterly unbefitting of that song.

Yarrow reeled back, eyes wide and his breath frozen in his lungs. That line…that section of the song…he knew it. Truly knew it.

It sounded far too much like the little melody he sometimes hummed while he was in deep concentration while painting.

He had never heard anyone else sing that line and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. All he knew was that an age-old ache settled into his chest, burning him from the inside.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here.

So he didn’t. He all but fled the festivities, but not before snatching one of the wine bottles and taking it with him.

He hadn’t even reached his home before he had gotten well and truly drunk. Not drunk enough to get rid of that inexplicable pain in his chest, but certainly drunk enough to make him stagger into the wrong alley, not caring that it was taking him farther from his home.

He didn’t want to go home. The small house he shared with an older woman and a couple that he barely had any contact with, wasn’t the home he was yearning for, even if he had no idea if such a place as a true home even existed for him or if it was yet another one of those cruel dreams of his.

It wasn’t until he reached the town’s inn that he stopped in his tracks, wrecking his brain what on earth he wanted here. He had never really been to an inn, never really needed to. After all, he had stayed in the same place all his life. Yet, it had felt as if something had pulled him here, as if the sight of an inn meant safe, not alone, home.

It didn’t, of course. Inns were the furthest one could have from a home. Yet Yarrow only shrugged and marched on, let his feet carry him where they would. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

The door to the inn was slightly ajar and coming from the inside, he would hear arguing. Something about someone being denied a room and something about too much coin and something about the alderman having made promises and something about bringing a head to him.

Maybe if Yarrow had been sober, he would have figured out what was going on, but as if was, he couldn’t be bothered to even try and make sense of what he heard. Instead, he left the angry voices behind and made his way to the stables instead. Even from afar, they smelled familiar, soothing in a way that dirty stables really weren’t supposed to. Maybe a pleasant side-effect from the wine. He’d have to try more of that later.

Before the stables, a horse was bound to a post. It eyed Yarrow distrustfully but with curiosity in its eyes.

A smile twitched around Yarrow’s lips.

“Sorry, don’t got any treats for you,” he said when he was close enough for the horse to nudge at his bag. “There’s only some art-stuff in there. Nothing you’d want to eat. And nothing that I’d allow you to eat. Even though you are beautiful.”

And she really was. Brown with a white stripe down her face. Yarrow cocked his head to the side. Actually, now that he thought about it, she looked utterly basic. In the midst of a group of horses, she wouldn’t have stood out at all. That didn’t change a thing about the certainty in Yarrow’s chest that she was the most special horse he had ever seen and that he would recognise her anywhere.

He came closer to pat her on the neck and –

“What in Melitele’s clapping arsecheeks is that?”

The horse only snorted at his undignified shriek, but he paid her no attention. He was too distracted by the blood-dripping something fastened to her saddle. It was disgusting. Yarrow should have jumped back. Any sane person would have run for the hills, but evidently, Yarrow wasn’t very sane, because he stepped closer to inspect the thing. It was a head. A monster’s head, but he had no idea what kind.

In the back of his head he could almost hear an annoyed but amused voice tell him the answer, but it was too faint to grasp and understand.

Yarrow swallowed and rounded the horse again until he came to the post that she was bound to. He scowled. The horse wasn’t supposed to be fastened to anything. She was smart enough to stay where she needed to wait for her owner and if there was danger, she wouldn’t be able to run away like this.

So Yarrow did the only logical thing. He freed the horse and lead it away.

Just as before, he had no idea where he was even going, but the horse didn’t seem to mind following him. She just kept nibbling at his hair and shirt.

Her trust filled Yarrow with irrational pride as if getting this horse, that he had known all but a handful of minutes, to like him was a great feat worthy of being one’s life’s work.

It wasn’t until the horse began throwing her head around nervously at sounds growing louder around them, that Jaskier realised that he had marched right back where he had come from: the town square where the celebrations were still in full swing.

Well, not for much longer.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before the first people started noticing the drunk and the horse he had stolen. More importantly, they noticed the gruesome thing the horse was carrying.

The minstrel from before ended his song in a terrified screech and the reels and jigs turned into people staggering backwards, stumbling into tables and crashing into flower pots.

Someone called for the city guards, people pointed and Yarrow, cursing him and all of his ancestors.

Their shouts and frantic movements didn’t make the situation any better. The horse grew more agitated by the minute, rearing up and making the chaos even worse. Try as he might, Yarrow had no chance of calming her.

“Roach!”

He turned to see a man run towards them. Yarrow’s line of sight was obscured by the nervous horse, allowing him only glimpses of the one who had shouted, but even so he knew that his face was a snarling grimace of fury that made Jaskier hide behind the horse.

Before the angry stranger could get to him, Yarrow was grabbed tightly by the arms and yanked back. He turned to see the city guards, who scowled down at him furiously. For a second, Yarrow almost wished the angry stranger had gotten to him first, but it wasn’t as if he could change anything about his fate.

At least as he was dragged away by the guards, he didn��t have to find his own way through the maze that was the town.

--

Surprisingly, this was the first time Yarrow ended up in a cell. Well, actually, it wasn’t all that surprising, considering, all he ever did was paint and stay out of other people’s way as much as he could. But the thought that he should have gotten into trouble earlier still didn’t leave the back of his mind.

When the guards threw him  - actually threw him! - in the cell and shut the door with an overly dramatic bang, they probably meant for it to intimidate him. If that had really been their goal, they had missed it by a mile. Being thrown in prison was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Yarrow!

At least it was for all of five minutes. Then the boredom set in. Yarrow had heard of people that cried and raged in prison, of people who pleaded to see the light of day again. He had never heard of anyone who sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. Granted, that would make for a pretty terrible story and once he got out of here, he would definitely spin some tale about how dramatic his stay in the prison had been. Not that anyone would even ask him, but still. It was nice to fantasise about having someone who cared about him enough to ask about his whereabouts.

What else was he supposed to do other than lay around on the hard floor? The guards had taken his bag with the art supplies and even if he still had them with him, it would have been too dark to use them.

So of course, Yarrow perked up in excitement at the first sign of something happening. He heard the door to the cell next to his creak open and the grunt and rattling of chains as someone was shoved in before the door fell shut again.

Then it was quiet. The newcomer didn’t beg or shout to the heavens or curse the injustice. Yarrow had no way of knowing, but he liked to imagine that his new neighbour was throwing unimpressed glares at the door.

The thought made his mouth quirk up.

“Welcome, stranger,” he said loud enough that it might carry through the cracks in the wall. No reply. Louder he repeated what he had said.

“Stop shouting,” came a gruff voice. “I can hear you.”

Ah, so his new neighbour was a man and judging from his tone, one who was pissed off.

“So sorry.” Yarrow winced at his own voice. He barely recognised it himself, rough from alcohol and the dry air of the prison. Too much drink might have made him lose all sense of direction and change his voice, but most importantly, when he was drunk, Yarrow had the unfortunate habit of babbling. Well, maybe babbling was the wrong word. His manner of speaking became more like the imitation of a second-rate poet than of a loner who mainly spoke to himself while painting. “We don’t have to be strangers, of course. Not even mere acquaintances! I’d love for you to be my new friend instead and –“

“We’re not friends,” came the instant reply. “Fuck off.”

A grin spread across Yarrow’s lips. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid that’s rather impossible.”

“Then shut up.”

Yarrow was quiet for all of ten seconds, then he narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t think I will.”

His new friend made no sound in reply. Yarrow’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. He had hoped for at least a dismissive grunt. But no matter. Yarrow had more than enough practice talking to himself and what was the difference between doing that and talking to someone who didn’t reply?

So he took advantage of the fact that his friend wasn’t able to just leave and began talking about his paintings. One might think that there wasn’t that much to say about paintings that all showed the same thing, but once Yarrow began talking about different ways to use a brush, shading and line work, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know if his new friend was listening – unlikely – but it felt nice to be able to share his thoughts. It wasn’t often that anyone cared enough about him to let him talk that much. No one cared to get to know him. Speaking of which –

“My name is Yarrow, by the way.” He stumbled a bit over his own name, ending in an unfortunate slurring. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And the fuck kind of name is that anyway?”

Yarrow’s grin widened. So his friend was listening after all. Granted, he had hoped he would get something other than insults out of him, but it wasn’t as if he would go anywhere. Yarrow had plenty of time to get his friend to properly speak to him.

“It’s my pen name. Well, artist’s name. I don’t really use pens all that often. Oh! And a yarrow is also a flower.”

His friend made a strange sound, something between choking and cursing. Yarrow furrowed his brow and glared at the wall as if his friend could see the expression.

“Hey, no need to react like that. I’ll have you know yarrows are beautiful. In fact, the whole reason why I stared painting is because I once saw a field of yarrows and they were just the most inspiring thing I had ever seen.”

His voice trailed off and his smile softened. It had been years ago and yet the image was still fresh in his mind. A field filled with the white flowers, and there, right in the middle, a just a couple of yellow ones. The combination of the colours had touched something inside him and his fingers had itched to put a pencil to his notebook and – he hadn’t been quite sure what exactly he had wanted to do, but an hour later, his notebook had been filled with pages upon pages of eyes and when he had gone home that day, he had purchased his first set of colour pigments to add that bit of yellow that his drawings had been missing.

Yarrow cocked his head to the side when his friend made no move to acknowledge anything he had just said.

“You know, normally, when someone gives you their name, you tell them yours in return.”

No reply. Big surprise there. Yarrow sighed and scooted over to the wall, leaning his head against it.

“When we get out of here, I’m going to show you my paintings and you’re going to give me a review. And I expect you to use actual words.”

“Don’t.”

“What are you in for anyway?” Yarrow tapped the floor with his knuckles, his smile turning a little dopey. “I’m here because I befriended a horse.”

A rustling of clothes was heard and steps coming closer to the wall Yarrow was leaning against.

“You’re the fucking idiot, who stole Roach?”

“Befriended her. And don’t you dare make fun of my name when your horse is called Roach.” He let out a quiet laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

For a moment he thought he was going to get no answer, but then his friend let out a resigned grunt.

“She’s my horse so they said I was to blame for the chaos you unleashed too.”

“Oh.” Guilt welled up in Yarrow. “Well, fret not. I’m sure interrupting a celebration and scaring some people isn’t that bad of a crime. They’ll probably let us go tomorrow. How about I’ll make it up to you then? Buy you a drink?”

His friend scoffed. “I think you should stay away from alcohol for a while.”

Yarrow hummed in reply. “Yeah, probably. But I’d still love to get to know you. You know, without a wall between us.”

“Trust me, you don’t. And I don’t need a new friend.”

“Too late,” Yarrow said cheerily. He was sure his friend was able to hear his smile. “I have already decided I like you. So? Tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get released tomorrow.”

“What, why?” Yarrow sat up straighter. “What crime did you commit other than owning a horse?”

A long pause, then –

“I’m a witcher.” He said it like a death-sentence.

Yarrow waited for an explanation, but none came. He had never had much contact with witchers before other than the one that had passed through town when he’d still been a child and even then he hadn’t spoken a word with him. Out of all the people who formed opinions about witchers, Yarrow was probably the least suitable judge when it came to witchers, but throwing a man in prison just because he was a witcher? It sounded unfair.

“If…” Yarrow began tentatively, but broke off, not really sure what he even wanted to say. “If you’re right and I get released first, I can take care of Roach until you get out.”

The witcher let out a snort. “She’d bite your fingers off if you tried.”

“Ah, but she didn’t before.” A triumphant smirk accompanied his words. “Really, it wasn’t that hard to get her to like me. I just complimented her a little.”

His friend let out a snort and mumbled something that Yarrow couldn’t understand, but it sounded amused, so he doubled down.

“And what a gorgeous lady she is! Even more beautiful with flowers braided into her mane –“

“What?” His friend’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Yarrow rolled his eyes. “No need to get jealous. I’m sure you’re gorgeous too. If you let me see you in the light of day some time, I will compliment you too. I can do it now, if you want. You have the most beautiful voice and truly you eloquence is unparalleled.”

“That’s not-“ The witcher made a frustrated noise. “Roach didn’t have braids. There were no flowers.”

“Oh. Huh. Guess not.” Yarrow scratched his head, running his hand through the mess of a braid that girl had left there hours ago. “I could have sworn I’ve seen her like that before though.”

“I’ve never come here before,” the witcher said tightly.

“Must have been another horse then. It’s not as if brown horses are rare.” Yarrow pulled a face for the darkness to see. He hesitated. “But did Roach ever have a braided mane?”

“Stop asking,” came the harsh reply. “You’re drunk.”

His friend’s voice sounded strange. Strangled and on the verge of breaking. Desperate.

“That’s true,” Yarrow said, aiming for a cheerier tone. “But no less delightful for it. Unless of course you really think I’m annoying. In that case I promise you, I’m far better company when I’m sober. I talk less than, you might like me more like that. You should really give me a chance.”

His tone was teasing, but he knew he couldn’t hide the clinginess in it. He really wanted the man in the other cell to like him. Even separated by a wall and with that staggering conversation, Yarrow felt more comfortable with him than with most people he had known for years. He wanted – needed – to get to know him better. He needed to find out what would make him smile softly or throw his head back laughing. He needed to see if he would ever look at Yarrow with fondness or casually touch him as if they really were friends and not just strangers who Yarrow called friends because he knew that he had no one else to give that title to.

And still, Yarrow didn’t even know his name. And why would he? Yarrow was the reason why the witcher was in this cell right now. He had every right to want to get as far away from Yarrow as possible as soon as he got out. It would be a blessing for the witcher to have the annoying artist, who wouldn’t shut up and had only gotten him into trouble, off his hands.

Yarrow’s throat became tight and he had to clench his hands to fists to stop them from trembling, even if no one was around to see him break down over a stranger not liking him. It was irrational. He had been alone for practically his entire life and he’d managed just fine, hadn’t he? His eyes shouldn’t be burning at the thought of continuing life on his own. But damn it, he just wanted a friend.

For a long time that felt like an eternity, there was nothing but silence, only interrupted by Yarrows shaky breathing as he tried to calm himself.

“Are you alright?” The voice of the stranger, who wasn’t his friend, was quiet, tentative.

Yarrow sniffled and nodded nonsensically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaked out and grimaced at how utterly unconvincing he sounded even to his own ears. He ran a hand down his face and grasped the first excuse he could find. “Just don’t like the dark.”

He expected silence. Maybe a scoff. Witchers probably didn’t mind the dark, what with going hunting in the dead of night or whatever it was they did. Either way, there was a good chance he had just made the witcher think he was pathetic and unlikable as well as whiny.

But no scoff came. No reprimand or dismissal.

Instead there was a sound Yarrow couldn’t place and then the darkness was illuminated. Not by much, but faint light came flickering through the cracks in the wall.

Yarrow let out a gasp and lifted a hand to let the dim light dance across it.

“This is incredible!” he whispered. “How did you do that? Did the guards not search you for flint stones?”

His friend – he gave him light! He must be a friend…right? – made a grumbling noise but this time it sounded almost shy.

“Witchers can make fire with signs. Magic.”

“Incredible,” Yarrow repeated, the awe in his tone as clear as day. After a brief pause, he added softly, “Thank you, my friend. This really means a lot.”

He could practically hear the witcher grit his teeth and shift uncomfortably, but his voice wasn’t cutting, when he replied, “Maybe I just wanted you to stop whining.”

Yarrow’s expression softened. “You know you could just accept when someone’s thanking you. It’s alright if you don’t want to be my friend, but you don’t have to make yourself belief that I don’t like you.”

Maybe it was just Yarrow’s imagination, but for a split second he was sure the light became a little bit brighter.

“Just try to go to sleep,” the witcher tried to grumble, but Yarrow knew, he was smiling. At least he hoped so. “Maybe when you wake up, it’s already time for you to get out.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Yarrow’s lips. “What if I prefer spending my precious hours in this lovely place talking to you?”

The witcher let out a snort that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and made Yarrow’s heart speed up in his chest. He wanted to hear it again. He needed to –

“Just sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Fine.” Awkwardly, Yarrow laid down again, trying and failing to find the most comfortable part of the floor. At least he still had the hints of soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone on the other side of this wall who cared for him, even if just a little. “Will you let me have this light until I’m asleep?”

“I will.” The faceless voice was silent for a heartbeat, then so quiet that Yarrow almost couldn’t hear it, the witcher said, “And you’re welcome.”

Yarrow’s chest grew warm. He closed his eyes, wishing he had something to give the witcher in return. But he had no magic and the only thing he was good at was painting. He doubted the witcher would appreciate a painting, even if Yarrow had the means to give him one.

No, he had nothing. Nothing but…

A soft melody filled the air. It wasn’t much, just one line, repeated over and over again, but it was all he had to give. Perhaps it would soothe the witcher enough to let him forget for a little while the injustice he had been shown.

A strangled noise came from the other side of that wall. If Yarrow hadn't known any better he'd have said it sounded like a stifled sob. His chest clenched painfully and he raised his voice, putting as much comfort and gratefulness into it as he could.

It was strange singing for someone else and his heart beat frantically from the nerves, but at the same time it felt like pieces slotting together, as if this was what he had always been meant to do. As if his whole life had lead up to this: to singing a soft lullaby for the person who seemed to need a friend just as desperately as Yarrow did.

He wished he knew more of the song. He wanted to give all of it, every piece of affection and safety that surely was weaved through every word to the witcher.

A dull thud made Yarrow flinch. His voice broke as he sucked in a startled breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly. "Did you just punch the wall?"

"How do you know that song?" The desperation in the Witcher's voice did nothing to lessen the sharp worry that pierced Yarrow's chest.

"I-I don't know. It's just a song." His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through hair until the agitation left the witcher. If only there wasn't this damned wall between them! "Are you alright?" He repeated, though he held out no hope for an answer. He didn't need one. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can stop singing of you want—"

"No! “ The sharp shout came so unexpected that Yarrow winced. Softer, the Witcher repeated, "No. Don't stop. Please."

There was something utterly wrong with that. The witcher shouldn't plead, shouldn't have to plead for something like this, for comfort and the reminder that he wasn't alone in this. And worse than that, something scratched at the back of Yarrow's mind, an inexplicable certainty that this witcher wouldn't beg for anything - other than his loved ones' lives.

That thought didn't make sense. There was no reason to think such a thing. Hell, just a few minutes ago, Yarrow had felt a bond between them because they were both lonely. As far as he knew, the witcher didn't even have any loved ones he could plead for. Or maybe he didn’t anymore.

Yarrow swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. He could become a loved one. Maybe not now, maybe not in a month's time, but if the witcher gave him the chance, they could become something to each other that might come close to that.

His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick from the tightness in his throat, but the witcher didn't complain about his singing. Perhaps he was somewhere far away, with someone else, in his mind. Perhaps he was just pretending to be asleep. The light remained, even as Yarrow's song slowly faded and he drifted off. His last thought before he closed his eyes was that he wished it wasn’t sleep that was embracing him but a set of strong arms that made him feel protected and loved.

Pictures fluttered through Yarrow’s dreams, soft ones, lovely ones, ones that he hadn’t known he’d longed for. Or rather…it wasn’t pictures as much as feelings. He couldn’t really see the people he knew were with him. He couldn’t make out faces, eyes, bodies. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what those dream-figments were: a family. His family, one he had never had. He felt the certainty of it burning in his heart, filling him out and making him want to lift his voice in a song. He felt someone lying next to him, curled against him instead of being separated by a wall. He felt loved. He felt –

Being needed. Someone was calling his name. It came from far away, too faint to really make out the name, but he knew it was his. He had to go to the one calling him. He had to see who it was. He had to –

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dark surrounding him. Being plunged into this cold nothingness after having felt light and bright and like he belonged, was like being thrown into icy water.

He wanted to close his eyes again, force his mind to bring him back to that place he had just been in, to melt into the embrace of his dream-family again. He needed to see them again! He didn’t want to – couldn’t! – stay alone.

But there it was again. Not a call as he had thought in his dream, but a whisper. A sob. A name. Coming from the other side of a wall and unreachable for him.

“Jaskier…”

It wasn’t his name. Gods, he wished it had been his name. His chest ached with the unruly need to hear his own name being spoken like this, just once. With longing. With love. With unnameable things that no one would ever feel for him.

It wasn’t his name and none of the things, that clung to the deep voice, was meant for him, but he couldn’t help but yearn and imagine.

He turned towards the sound and was greeted by light. For the flicker of a moment, he almost thought it must be a campfire someone had set up to keep him warm. But no, that was ridiculous. Those weren’t smouldering flames. It was faint and distant in a way that reminded him that he was separated from the source of the light. It didn’t matter. The name might not have been spoken for him, but this light? This was just for him. Even though he had been asleep, the witcher had kept his promise. Maybe it was his way of reaching out, of making himself feel like there was some sort of connection between the two of them. Yarrow prayed that that was how he felt.

He scooted closer to the wall, desperate to breach the distance between them as much as he could. He reached out to press his hand against the cold stone, imagining that maybe the witcher on the other side was doing the same thing.

Instead of the wall, his hand met something soft and squishy. A squeak pierced the air and suddenly a sharp pain erupted in Yarrow’s hand.

He let out a sharp cry, bringing his hand to his chest as fast as he could. Blood tickled down, not much, but enough to churn his stomach.

He barely registered the taps of small claws on the floor as the something that had bitten him scurried away.

“Yarrow?” The alarmed way the witcher said his name was nothing like he had said this other name, but it still sent Yarrow’s heart aflutter. It was so full of concern that Yarrow was sure the witcher would never admit to.

“I’m fine,” Yarrow pressed through gritted teeth. “No, wait, actually, this fucking hurts.”

“What does?” The witcher’s voice was impatient and closer to the wall than it had been before. “What happened?”

“Something bit me. Probably a rat or something.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled “Fuck” that shouldn’t have sounded so endearing to Yarrow.

“Don’t worry.” Yarrow waved his uninjured hand through the air. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The witcher didn’t reply. It didn’t come as a surprise and really, Yarrow had no right to feel bitter disappointment well up in him. But after having had the witcher’s attention on him, having him call out his name – remember his name! – in a way that made Yarrow believe that the witcher truly cared about him and then being hit with this silence, was unbearable.

“Are you still there?” His voice was small and he was well aware that it was a nonsensical question, yet when a gruff grunt came from the witcher, it made his heart soar. He pressed the forehead against the wall, hoping it was somewhat close to where he had heard the witcher’s voice come from.

“I’m glad you’re there. Not glad that you’re in prison, of course, just…. I would have hated to be alone in here.”

Another grunt. Not agreement, but not quite dismissal either. A smile danced across Yarrow’s lips.

“You were worried about me.”

A snort. “I’ve seen the chaos that you can bring. I’d be an idiot not to be worried. Figures you’d get in trouble here too.” The witcher’s voice held no hint of humour. Then again, people said Yarrow’s paintings showed no emotions and he knew better than anyone that that couldn’t be more false.

“My dear witcher.” His smile turned into a full smirk. “Are you teasing me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yarrow lied. Well, maybe he really wouldn’t let it get to his head. But he would let this moment strike roots into his heart. He hesitated, praying this wasn’t crossing some line. “Does this make us friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“You could though.” Yarrow held his breath as he waited for an answer. It had been too forward. He should have taken the dismissal for what it was and not pushed. Yet he hoped beyond hope that he would hear a smile in the witcher’s voice when the reply came.

It took unbearably long until the witcher spoke up again and when he did, a smile was the furthest thing one could imagine in his voice.

“No.” A broken, regretful sound that cut into Yarrow’s heart like a knife. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Yarrow sighed. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t want to keep pushing, didn’t want to annoy the witcher any more and clearly his words were distressing to him. Still, the words tumbled from his lips, “Because you don’t need to be my friend, but I would love to be yours, witcher.”

Another pause. Then, “Geralt.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Geralt.”

“Geralt.” A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Yarrow’s chest as he tasted the name on his tongue. “I like that.”

A grunt, half amused, half sounding like an eye-roll.

Another silence settled over them, but this time there was nothing uncomfortable about it. After what felt like endless hours in which Yarrow let his eyes drift over the lit-up cracks in the stone, he lifted a hand and traced one of the cracks.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

Yarrow bit his lip. “Thank you.”

If Geralt were to ask him what exactly he was thanking him for, Yarrow wouldn’t have known what to say. Thank you for the light. For being here. For listening and talking. For trusting me with your name.

But Geralt didn’t ask. Instead, he just said “You’re welcome.”

This time, Yarrow had no doubt that there was a soft smile rivalling his own on his friend’s face.

--

Just as Geralt had predicted, Yarrow was released from his cell first. Not quite as soon as Yarrow had hoped, but what difference made one day more in prison? At least he got to spend it with his new friend. A friend who teased him mercilessly about his hangover, calling it his rightful punishment for trying to steal Roach.

Yarrow was quieter without and far less eloquent without the alcohol infusing him with bravery, but the witcher didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, he even encouraged Yarrow to talk more, as if he actually liked listening to his rants the day before.

When the guards eventually came to unlock his cell, Yarrow was stupidly close to insisting on staying right where he was until Geralt too was set free, but he didn’t have to see Geralt’s face to know he’d be scowling at him if he suggested such a thing.

As it were, Geralt didn’t make a single sound as Yarrow left, not even acknowledging that they were friends now that the guards could hear them.

Though that did shoot a pang of disappointment through Yarrow’s chest, he didn’t let that deter him. He wouldn’t leave his friend without at least saying goodbye. As he was lead through the corridor that lead to freedom, Yarrow threw one last glance over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see into the cell.

“See you around, Geralt.”

A choked noise was the last thing Yarrow heard from his friend.

Then he was free again. He didn’t feel like it. His bag was pressed into his hand. He’d rather hold Geralt’s hand in his.

He was told to go home. He’d rather turn back to his cell; at least in there he had known that he wasn’t alone.

Still, he left. His feet didn’t carry him to his home. It was almost ironic that he took the same route as he had two days ago, when he had been drunk and lonely.

Just as last time, the horse, Roach, was standing in front of the inn, though this time she wasn’t bound to anything. Maybe someone had brought her here, though judging from the way Geralt had talked about her, it was unlikely that she would follow just anyone – other than Yarrow of course, for whatever reason. She probably had trotted back here on her own, waiting for her owner to come back.

Yarrow’s heart clenched at the sight, but he let out a relieved breath. At least Geralt had one companion who was loyal to him like that. Perhaps…perhaps Yarrow could be such a companion too. Being forced to talk for lack of anyone else being there while sitting in a prison was one thing. Waiting for him on the outside world was something entirely different.

But someone had to take care of Roach and no one else was going to do it, most likely. A pang of displeasure passed through Yarrow when he realised that no one had bothered to take off Roach’s saddle. At least the disgusting trophy was gone, but other than that, no one had lifted a finger to make the horse comfortable in any way. Without hesitation, Yarrow reached for the bridle. It shouldn’t be too hard to get it off. For a second there, the motions almost felt familiar, as if he had done this a hundred times before. That moment of confidence didn’t last long. He started fumbling and cursing when he realised that he actually had no idea what he was doing. It took him forever, but somehow he managed to unsaddled the horse with clumsy fingers, shooting glares at everyone who snickered at him when the saddle almost fell onto him when he failed to lift it off her. Really, it wasn’t his fault that he’d never had to do something like this before and judging from the way she nosed at him, searching for something to eat, she hadn’t been taken care off at all these past days.

Staying here with her was totally selfless.

Yarrow couldn’t even convince himself of that.

He stayed with Roach to assure that Geralt wouldn’t leave without a trace, only leaving her side to buy something to munch on for both of them. As long as he was with her, Geralt wouldn’t be able to skip this town without meeting Yarrow at least once more.

So he stayed and waited. Waited a day that felt like forever. It was boring, almost as much as those first hours in the cell had been. Yarrow let out a huff. Talking to someone who didn’t want to talk to him had worked once. It might as well work a second time. At first talking to Roach wasn’t that different from talking to Geralt. Yarrow let out a snorting laugh that made passers-by give him dirty looks. Geralt would have probably taken it as a compliment being compared to his horse. Then again, Yarrow could dream all he wanted, even he couldn’t pretend that Roach listened to his words. Roach wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to. He didn’t need stimulating conversation; all he wanted was occasional rough grunts and snarky comments.

He gave up talking, taking up his sketchbook instead. The familiar weight of the pencil in his hand brought a calmness to his restless mind. He let the pencil dance over the pages, as it always had done, drew what he always had drawn. But for the first time since he had decided to become an artist, he hesitated when he reached for his colour palette. His fingers itched to colour the eyes that stared up at him from the page amber, but he couldn’t. Not yet. For once, he didn’t want to paint his fantasy’s eyes. He wanted to draw his eyes. Geralt’s, wanted more than anything to know what they looked like. So Yarrow snapped his sketchbook shut. He’d just have to wait until he met Geralt to finish this drawing. In a spur of the moment decision, Yarrow stuffed the sketchbook into Roach’s saddlebags. It was a silly idea, but perhaps if Geralt insisted on leaving without him, Yarrow could follow him with the excuse that he had forgotten his sketchbooks in the bags. It would be obvious how desperate he was, but he could live with that, if it meant getting to keep his friend a little while longer.

The extent to his pathetic need to see Geralt again became painfully obvious, as soon the sun began to set and made it impossible to keep drawing. He should have returned home. Instead, he rented a room at the inn for the first time in his life. It was an expanse he shouldn’t allow himself, not when he had a perfectly good home in this very town. But his home was too far away. If he left to sleep there, it might take him too long to get back in time to catch Geralt.

He waited another day, kept himself busy by putting braids in Roach’s mane. Smug satisfaction filled him when he was done. He couldn’t wait to gloat to Geralt how he had been right: Roach really did look gorgeous with braids. For lack of anything else to do, he began braiding her tail as well. Far too soon, the joints of his fingers started to ache and he had to shake his hands to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. It didn’t work. This was ridiculous. Yarrow wasn’t nearly old enough to have aching joints yet. Maybe it was because he had slept on the hard floor in the cell. That couldn’t have been good for his body. He’d have thought that one night sleeping in a bed should have rectified that, but apparently he had been wrong. Be had to make sure to get some better sleep this night.  

The next day, the ache wasn’t gone. In fact, it had gotten so much worse, to a point where his fingers ached too much to hold a pencil and his elbows protested any time he lifted his hands to stroke Roach’s nose or even just turn a page in his sketchbook. It made little difference. He wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on drawing anyway, not when his head felt like it was bursting, the insistent hammering against his skull even worse than when he’d had his hangover. This would go away. Surely, if he just waited a couple of hours, or maybe even a day, this would go away.

The next morning came. Geralt didn’t. It was strange just how much Yarrow missed Geralt after only so short a time of knowing him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He knew it was inappropriate to dwell on such things, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from imagining how Geralt’s arms might feel around him. He was sure Geralt’s body would be warm. He would never allow him to snuggle into him, of course, but maybe if Yarrow asked, Geralt would make the flames for him again to warm him?

He shouldn’t need to be kept warm. It was spring. The sun was shining bright in the sky and people were fanning themselves to get rid of the heat. So why was Jaskier so cold? He pressed against Roach, who begrudgingly tolerated him. She was warm. Not warm enough to keep him from shivering. If he was so cold, why was his hair plastered against his forehead and neck, drenched with sweat? When he rubbed his face, why did his trembling and aching hands meet burning skin? He wished Geralt was here. Maybe when Geralt had been worried about him back in the cell, he had had a reason for that. Maybe once he got out, he’d know what to do.

Another day. Always another day. How many other days would he have to wait until he could finally see Geralt?

He refused to allow himself the thought that maybe he wouldn’t get to see him at all. Such thoughts were poison, especially on a day like this, when the thought of getting to meet his friend was the only thing that gave him the strength to get up in spite of how much his muscles ached and protested at every slight movement. His legs hurt with every step and he couldn’t even steady himself by holding onto things, though the reason for that must be the ugly swelling of his hand. A small amount of puss had dried on it overnight and the small puncture wounds from where the rat had bitten him almost a week ago was swollen and purplish red.

He should go see a healer. He needed to see a healer. It was the only right thing to do in a situation like this. For days he had ignored his pains. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to risk getting any worse. No, he wasn’t stupid. What he was instead was desperate.

If Geralt came to get Roach while Yarrow was gone, he would forever regret the moment he had decided to let a healer look at his hand. He could stay a little longer. It wasn’t just that he needed Geralt; he also knew in his heart that Geralt needed him too. The witcher couldn’t get out of the prison that he didn’t deserve to be in and go out into the world all alone again. Geralt needed him to be here. Just one more day. Yarrow would wait one more day. Surely, he would make it. The rat bite couldn’t have been that bad. What was a little headache and pain in his muscles? What did it matter that he couldn’t hold his pencils or brushes anymore because of the swelling and the shaking from the chill? One more day. Just one more.

He asked around. Everyone who passed him and tried to avoid eye contact so they wouldn’t feel bad for ignoring how Yarrow trembled and tried not to keep the bile from rising. He called out to each and every one of them. It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set that a guard who had just finished his shift could give him an answer. Geralt was going to be released the next day.

Relief flooded Yarrow. Tomorrow. He could make it till tomorrow. He would get to meet his friend again. He would get to see him. He just….he needed to rest for a little. Just a couple of hours. Just until the world stopped spinning around him and his legs refused to buckle beneath him. If Geralt was about to be released tomorrow, Yarrow could go to his room for a little. He would be back before Geralt could miss him.

He barely made it up the stairs of the inn. Everything hurt. His muscles were ablaze. More than once, Yarrow had to lean against a wall to catch his breath and allow his legs a break. But he had to keep going. The sooner he got to bed, the sooner he could get up again to make sure Geralt wouldn’t leave without him.

He fell against the door to his room, pushing it open with his body weight and stumbling into the room. He couldn’t catch himself. With a pained groan that was barely drowned out by the door falling shut again, he landed on the floor, too weak to catch the fall. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up. The bed was too far away. With an inhuman effort he tried to crawl across the room. He hadn’t made it more than a few feet before he collapsed. Again on the cold hard floor. Again alone.

He had to make it. He had to get to the bed so he could get back to Geralt. He had to get back to Geralt.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to. He might have been an artist, a dreamer, but even dreamers had to wake up and face the ugliness of reality some day.

His breath came shallow and he curled in on himself as if that could stop the ache in his body. His swollen hand was cradled against his chest, but this time, there was no soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, no voice showing that there was at least one person who cared that he was in pain.

He thought of the picture he had drawn days ago and how he would never know which colour the eyes should have been. It wasn’t a very nice thought to be his last. He’d rather think of the voice of his friend. Of his care.

He wished he could be there for Geralt. He should have hoped he wouldn’t become another Jaskier for Geralt; another name to whisper in the dark and mourn.

But he was selfish. In his last moments, Yarrow was just happy that he had someone to think about as he lay on the floor with rattling breath and fear in his heart.

[bluesockets]

HUGO WEIDERMANN ( HE/HIM ) is a CIS MALE, THIRTY-SEVEN year old THERAPIST & PSYCHIATRIST who has been living in Moorbrooke for TWO YEARS. They were born on MARCH 5 and right now, they are currently residing in REDGRAVE GROVE. It has been said that they look suspiciously like MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose HEAVY BALLOON by FIONA APPLE. ( ox, 21+, cst, he/him )

❮ it grows relentless like the teeth of a rat it's just got to keep on gnawing at me !! ❯ TW : ILLNESS, DRINKING MENT. !

full name : hugo weidermann. nicknames : he actually hates most derivatives of his name. calling him ‘huey’ is a one way ticket to getting your number blocked. pronouns : he/him. age : thirty-seven. date of birth : march 5, 1984. zodiac : pisces. gender : cis male. sexuality : gay. hometown : munich, germany. current residence : redgrave grove. languages spoken : german + english.

BIO !

—— hugo was born into a moderately wealthy family right in the middle of munich, germany. his parents pushed a lot of their #grindset on him and his baby sister. unfortunately for him, this meant a future of perfectionism and unrelenting gifted kid syndrome. he sacrificed a lot of his social needs for grades early in his life and after a while, it all became second nature. once in a blue moon he’d talk to his peers in scouting but he’d stutter, stumble over his words, and never quite found the right things to say. figuring himself a lost cause, he studied. he helped his mom with the garden. maybe occasionally played half life or duke nukem on the family computer. all of this dedication to perfection made him a shoe-in for harvard university, all the way over in the united states. his parents, father especially, encouraged the idea. that was all he needed to get himself on a plane to massachusetts. he was just glad his family could afford frequent flights back home, in case everything went to shit. —— when he first landed, hugo thought he’d only be in the states for school, but he ended up liking it a lot more than he thought he would. after finishing school and taking up a residency in downtown boston, he moved to new york. he made a good amount of money, was able to keep in touch with the few friends he met in college, and even secured a few long term relationships along the way. he hit his thirties and finally felt that he reached a point of contentment. this ... didn’t last long. —— right before he was able to buy his first house in the city he fell ill and, after seeing more doctors than he could count on both hands and feet, was diagnosed with lupus and rheumatoid arthritis. this wasn’t something he thought he was going to be able to handle by himself, so his sister came down from her home in germany to assist him with his daily needs. the two of them definitely couldn’t afford new york and medical bills on hugo’s salary alone, which led them to pack their bags and head to ( what his sister considered ) the next best option. moorbrooke, maine !! he wasn’t too stoked about this. he’d be leaving most of his support system behind and he knew absolutely nothing about the area, but his sister found a job there and it was a good place for him to start a private practice of his own. he’s still struggling over the loss of independence and the complete change from where he was in life before, but he’s coping ! after spending a lot of time inside and away from the people of moorbroke, he finally thinks he might be ready to actually make a life here. even if he wasn’t, his sister isn’t gonna move the two of them any time soon.

TIDBITS !

he’s a very nice dude and will totally engage with people, he just cannot bring himself to let his walls down. you really gotta know hugo well if you wanna have a conversation about anything serious without him deflecting the whole damn time.

his accent .... god rest his soul. he’s been living here for 20 years and sometimes people still need to take a second to understand him. especially when he drinks. two beers in and the man needs a translator.

speaking of drinking, he doesn’t do it often, and he can’t hold his liquor. i’d actually advise people to never give him alcohol. like, ever.

was on the rowing team in college. please don’t ask him about it. he’ll talk about it forever.

if it weren’t for his dog and his bees he’d be at rock bottom. outside of writing ( which i will get to in a jiffy ), beekeeping is his favorite hobby. ask him nicely and he might give you a jar of honey.

before coming down with lupus and RA he wrote two very boring books for psychiatrists and psychiatrists only. now that his focus has shifted away from his career a little bit, he’s in the middle of writing a poetry collection.

you will find this man at every bookstore in a 10 mile radius. he can’t be in the sun for too long so instead he likes to look at stuff he promises himself he won’t buy and then buys it anyway.

CONNECTIONS !

clients

he’s got fifteen clients on his caseload just to keep himself from losing his mind. he specializes in family, grief, trauma, and stress but doesn’t limit himself too much because of how small the town is. what i’m saying is : let hugo prescribe your characters drugs.

fellow beekeepers

he’s kept to himself a lot during his time in moorbrooke but his sister used to force him out at least some of the time. she drives him to beekeepers association events and conventions often enough, i would imagine it’d be a lot easier for him to talk to someone who shares the same niche hobby !! if your muse doesn’t keep bees, i’m always down for him to talk to some of the people who buy his honey at farmer’s markets.

former close friends

hugo met a lot of people ( particularly on harvard’s rowing team ) in college and during his stint in new york. i’m sure it’d be great for him to meet someone he knew up here because he’s honestly so tired of having to get used to new situations by himself.

flirtationship but hugo is oblivious the entire time

this guy is definitely the type to flirt with people on accident. i think it’d be really fuckin funny if he was flirting back and forth w someone he wasn’t consciously flirting with in the first place.

😏

listen the only thing i love playing out more slow burn self improvement and found family is romance. he’s been single since he was in new york and i think he deserves a little smooch. please dm me if your muse is also deserving of a little smooch.

etc, etc, etc !

there’s definitely more i want. i want everything you have to give me. however, if you’re in need of specifics, i would love to see : his doctors, people he can become friends with + let his walls down around, people he can teach german to, other authors, beta readers, and neighbors !

what am i missing. ah, yes.

pinterest / spotify [coming soon!]

[kikifeliz]

THE WEEK AHEAD: May 3 - May 9, 2021

By Kiki Feliz

♋️♏️♓️ Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces

Looks like something major is going to shake up your world this week, y’all!

The energy you’re embodying this week is very organized, action-oriented, “get shit done” type of aura. Things are moving harmoniously for you in that respect (bring able to mobilize and start/finish new endeavors) but I do see some temptations or binding/limiting factors.

If you run into temptations or limitations, remember that all things must be balanced — no matter how much someone hurt you, revenge is not the answer!

You have a lot of tools at your disposal and you are also very intuitive. You know when someone is trying to scam or cheat on you. If that’s the case, tell that person to kick rocks; don’t act out of emotion, act from logic. Keep yourself tame, because if you act from emotion, thing will get very ugly. Focus on your craft, whatever that may be, instead. Focus on self-care, and clearing your head so you can make better judgement calls. Get the rest you need and avoid fighting because your words can cut like a knife.

Has commitment and marriage been on your mind recently? The Hierophant has come up 4 weeks in a row y’all. It may also be a commitment to school or organized religion/spirituality practices, but this card has been with us too long to ignore. What are you committing to, and what are your intentions here? You seem to be recognizing and realizing (as in making things become real) a lot of things this week, while also visualizing things through to their ultimate end. If that’s the case, make sure you are creating the life you genuinely want, and that can only be done if your actions match your intentions. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like the actions and intentions match, and many of your will be stuck on low levels of stability that are masquerading as the ultimate goal/vision according to society rather than your true dreams.

If you’re in a seriously committed relationship, it looks like a lot of things are coming between you at this time. I’n sensing breakup energy here, or at least some cracks in the foundation (shoutout to Kate Nash, who coincidentally is a Cancer and whose song “Foundations” I learned to play on the uke yesterday!). Things may seem unfair within the relationship; someone may be offered something they don’t really want, or may begrudgingly do something just because they feel like it’s the “polite” or “fair” thing to do to make the other person happy, when truthfully, they hate it. This will cause a rift, making one person reflect heavily on their status in the relationship and how they ultimately dream of their life turning out. The partner who is getting the short end of the stick may end up leaving, which honestly seems like the best solution for them — doing so will bring them wealth, sexual exploration, a new group of friends, adventure. Nevertheless, they may experience heartbreak as a result of leaving.

If you’re single or just dating, I see some of you spending time getting your spiritual energy up before exploring the dating pool again. Romantic options and admirers are coming your way, though, and they will finally recognize you for the boss that you are. You may have to travel (definitely have to get outside) in order to meet these people though. It’s possible it will happen while on a trip with your friends. If you do meet someone, I see them being a very sexy person, dominant personality... just overflowing with attractiveness. This sexy exterior may not actually translate to their bedroom persona, however. I see them ultimately being kind of a “vanilla” lover.

I don’t exactly know if this person is good for you. They seem immature in their approach, and non-committal for sure. The meeting may be fated, but that doesn’t mean it will last forever. I think y’all will end up having way too many differences in philosophy/mindset, which will ultimately lead to the connection’s downfall. I do feel like you will learn something from the encounter, though. Watch out and make sure you don’t end up pregnant, tho. I’m getting a sense that someone may try to trap you, possibly doing sneaky shit like saying they’re using contraceptives when they’re really not, etc.

Pregnancy is a possibility and if that does happen, I see 2 options, one of which is y’all co-parenting without being in a relationship to raise the baby. I see the mom ultimately ending up single (this may happen after an attempt at commitment, though). It is also possible that one of the parents could pass away (possibly as a result of illness) early on within the connection.

If pregnancy does indeed happen as a result of this encounter, I see the mom possibly being put on bedrest. It looks like the dad here would push for an abortion, and end up leaving the mom out in the cold bc they don’t want to deal with the burden.

In all relationships (especially the ones WITHOUT kids) it looks like some of you may end up deciding to try things a non-conventional way, but I also see some of you possibly eventually getting married just for the legal benefits. Someone is definitely going to bring it up, and the other party may do it begrudgingly just because their family wants them to. They do truly dream of a happy family, but the situation is uncomfortable bc one partner is much more emotional than the other and this could be an alienating factor within the partnership.

Lowkey I see the divine feminine here reflecting on the situation and deciding they want new dick, possibly leaving for a short time before returning to the relationship/commitment/family. They’re leaving because just really want to see what’s out there. Are they going to do anything while they’re gone? Probably... definitely getting orgy vibes, sex parties, just like really sexy stuff. Also, adventure-seeking vibes, etc.

This will be heartbreaking for the other party (the divine masculine), who is a little bit more boring and vanilla or withholding in bed. I see them being willing to put in the work to the relationship, maybe even dipping their toe into the emotional pool a bit as well (possibly agreeing to or suggesting counseling). If counseling does become an option, unfortunately, I don’t think they will choose the right counselor and I don’t see it going beyond 7 meetings/7 months. Sadly, this person also won’t really know how to be sexy without adding money to the equation. Money shouldn’t be your go-to when trying to make someone stay with you! That is manipulative!

Independence will be going to someone’s head, making them very paranoid and fearful of getting married or committing again. While I do see that person staying somewhat generous and helping those less fortunate than themselves or acting as a benefactor within the relationship, this will be out of obligation rather than out of the goodness of their heart. I also see them secretly being on social media a lot more or online dating sites, or creating a false idea in their head of what single life is really like. Really this person just wants to sit at home and cozy up with a book and be a parent, but the situation is making it hard for them to happily realize this dream.

If you have children, please make sure they are careful this week. Falls and accidents seem to be sticking out to me this week, or possibly getting cut on something sharp. It’s possible someone’s child may end up having to stay in the hospital after a dare or an accident. Something heavy may fall on a child. Be especially careful if you live by a body of water; drownings are possible. Some of the accidents I’m seeing may result in surgeries and a switching of custody if the parents are separated.

[noobsomeexagerjunk]

thoughts on starry after multiple listens

(dated July 8, 2020 because i might make another one)

Edit: I SHOULD FACT CHECK MORE

the Starry soundtrack is as impressionist as the painters it invokes by energy alone, which is impressive given the style of music used (of which i’m fine with, but not partial to)

the Prologue does this right off the bat

the people of Monmartre are very critical of the rest of France and I adore it

i can feel theo’s overwhelment in Impress Me

Impress Me does a wonderful job at introducing the setting of the show

that song is a ball of pulsating yearning—no wait that’s the whole show

Theo got so stressed he walked blindly into Madame Segatori’s cafe

learning that the Le Tambourin was named as such due to its tambourine aesthetic via Vincent’s portrait of Segatori is just incredible to me; the table is shaped like a tambourine

“If Paris is the world, Monmartre is Bethlehem; and art is our Amen” sounds so powerful

A New Horizon is so warm

i expect Theo and Vincent to be very cuddly with each other everytime they interact

“dream with me, dear brother” is the energy of this song

french wheat fields will forever haunt me because of this damn musical

*insert Do You Like the Color of the Sky? post here*

like, so much emphasis to the sky

Vincent’s dreaming leaking into Theo’s trading practice surely must be a sight to see

chain imagery hits hard after hearing Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo

in this yellow house, we dream of freedom

“should I really take this giant risk?” “brother, I took a giant risk coming here—fuck yeah do it!”

United in Distaste reeks of Vincent’s intimidation—it has new kid in school energy and I am living for it

Vincent coming to Monmartre (and when he arrives in Arles) like “Hey, I’m new in town, and it gets worse,”

Bernard has apparently spent enough time with Theo to be able to identify Vincent by frowning alone

Rude of Gauguin to yoink Vincent’s painting like that; Segatori immediately hangs it tho—

Gauguin sounds like he’s going to corrupt anyone who approaches him—dude announces his horny nature during his introduction

Gauguin IS a savage and a whore and the best thing about that is that he knows it; even better knowing the vision of his costume

Segatori’s displeasure throughout the song implies that the artists that frequent her cafe also argue amongst themselves frequently

“keep in mind that we’re academic rejects, Vincent”

with the way Degas, Pissarro, and Morisot tease at Gauguin (noting that Gauguin, Bernard, and Toulouse-Lautrec are together in a later song), it sounds like they’re are hurling insults from a separate tambourine table

Toulouse-Lautrec sounds dramatic; Bernard sounds like he’s not sure where he is artistically—both are a mood

Of the post-impressionist table, the only one retaliating with genuine insults is Toulouse-Lautrec; Bernard and Gauguin only end up defending themselves while Toulouse was ready to tear down Degas and Morisot

Pissarro IS old (at this period in time in the musical) damn

Morisot is unyielding with her insults, “speaking of size—“ holy shit oh no

i reiterate—why is Toulouse-Lautrec the only one actually speaking in a French accent; almost everyone there is French

since I’m aggressively referring to him, I think Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec merits a musical of his own, and that’s based on what first learned about him when I first listened to Starry

by extension, also Berthe Morisot

Monmartre’s artists be like “We’re very critical of ourselves and each other, and while that’s worth being intimidated by, don’t be intimidated by us! What do you have to bring to the table, foreign painter?”

Something poetic about how what Vincent wants being what all the artists want hereby making him a member of their squad is so warm to me—galleries are gravity INDEED

“We will embrace the madness we design, or lose our mind,” IS THIS FORSHADOWING BECAUSE IT FUCKING SOUNDS LIKE IT

“i am loving this! YES, GET ANGRY!” if only i can identify who said this

Something After All is directed towards Vincent, right? It better be, I lack context

Theo’s yearning is so relatable and I fear not being able to fulfill it

bless Kelly and Matt for giving Jo so much depth in Enlightenment

apparently she deadass learned English for the purpose of translating the letters she had compiled??? yo i love that

poetic how Jo invokes making a legacy since she’s the one who actually preserves her brother-in-law’s legacy (and by extension, herself and her husband’s legacies)

at first listen, i immediately drew a comparison to Hamilton’s Eliza; Jo is better both musically and literally, given that Vincent van Gogh is far more relevant than Alexander Hamilton will ever be, even with LMM’s musical

not trying to start beef, just an observation

Jo’s yearning is also such a mood

fire, light, and road imagery being invoked huh

it is by this point i’ve to the realization that the reasons one goes to Monmartre that was cited in Impress Me tie in very well to the individual characters’ desires in this show

Where Are We Going? goes so hard ugh yes

“I need a stronger strategy to seize my immortality!” Gauguin’s incredible ambition is the root of his dissatisfaction; doesn’t help that he’s impulsive both in the musical and IRL

Toulouse prioritizes integrity and Bernard prioritizes progression—I wonder what this means for their characters in the show

Toulouse and Bernard calling Gauguin out on his known shitty behaviors feels like they’ll be problems Vincent will have to deal with in Act 2, when they live together

this is where Gauguin leaves for Martinique, right???

which one is the act 1 closer, really??? The Sower or The Road??? help me please

everyone in town is really concerned for Vincent

it wams me how much Segatori believes in him

Bernard’s right, Vincent van Gogh’s artstyle IS a melting pot

learning that Toulouse-Lautrec capitalized on his art during the peak of his career really adds weight to his concerns on Vincent’s inability to sell

i like to imagine the everyone’s in the gallery during The Sower

Theo and Jo’s relationship progressing as Vincent’s works don’t sell hits upon realization

Theo falling hard when he learns that he and Jo yearn for the same thing tho

recontextualizing the imagery that Vincent found beauty in into imagery that demonstrates his person is just mighty good of Kelly and Matt

then again, so much of his person is in the artwork to begin with

“and everyone knows your reap what you sow.” w o a h!!!

The Road starts like a dramatization of one of Vincent’s breakdowns and how he copes with them, or perhaps this starts after one??? The opening verses suggest a lot

also ties his road to his dream of freedom with what i believe is his travel to Arles

“North, South, East, West—navigate from inside you,” = “With conscience as my compass,”

“i am guided towards the night” this Vincent knows the answer but is so clearly far from its reach and is desperately trying to figure out how to

soul of fire, crystal heart and blizzard-like brain; the man is passionate and everyone knows it

“Fascinating, but maybe just a little too soon,” sounds like that at this point, Toulouse-Lautrec and Bernard genuinely recognize and admire Vincent’s talents, but also understand that the world is still against him and that they have the experience to prove it

the “sunlight and storms” imagery always concern Theo, Jo, and Vincent’s relationship with each other

Gauguin popping up in this song with the compass imagery implies the show’s going to make him a pretty interesting foil to Vincent; this sounds like him traveling back to Paris, or at least him attempting to vibe in Martinique

this hurts when you remember what happens to Vincent

“curse of the gifted” is a phrase i am too afraid to understand

DYLAN SAUNDERS CAN SLAY ME WITH HIS VOICE

The Yellow House sounds yellow somehow

who clears their throat before writing a letter???

Gauguin’s frustration’s against Vincent’s admiration of him is amusing

sounds like Gauguin hasn’t found his “freedom” yet

Theo is one generous fellow

this arrangement lasts for only 2 months; given the apparent span of this musical, The Yellow House is a very “calm before the storm” song

wait a minute—

apparently, Vincent REALLY admired Gauguin and was so excited for his arrival at the yellow house

i fear the dramatization of their disagreements

“Don’t tell Theo I said that,” it amuses me how the van Gogh brothers’ relationship is so well-known to these painters

based on the gifs lurking, the ear incident WILL be dramatized and I am terrified for my heart on how it will be depicted

Sunlight and Storms quotes the original letter from Jo to Vincent surprisingly well (i attempted to read some—there’s so many! this was one of the first ones i came across)

this song hurts when it hits how little time Jo and Theo had together as a married couple

I am convinced a lot happened between Sunlight and Storms and On the Threshold of Eternity

this definitely was after a breakdown

i skip this song just so i don’t think about the obvious implications, i must confess

the meaning of “sunlight and storms” hits the hardest here

“we will not let your illness keep you from finding your freedom”

The Red Vinyard is so full of a brother’s love

this hits me, and i speak as an only child

“You’ve carried me more than you’ll ever know,” AH—

when Theo finally sees the new horizon, Vincent is seeing it too

and what Vincent saw he put on a fucking canvas

“i can see it—a new horizon” = “the sight of the starry night”

they say that at the time, not much was thought of the iconic painting

i could only wonder what might’ve happened between The Starry Night and Wheat Fields

all the piano motifs coming together in Wheat Fields/Finale Ultimo, just like that

“I’m ready for harvest time” is melodically similar to “The road is bright”, particularly when it’s just Vincent singing the line alone

despite the obvious, I don’t think I’ll grasp the meaning of the final song; i also skip this one so i don’t think about it

[missjanjie]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered | (4/?)

Title: Signed, Sealed, Delivered Summary:   Jan is in love with her French pen pal, Nicky. Her roommate, Crystal, is in love with her best friend, Gigi. A (perhaps ill-thought out) plan emerges: give Nicky a reason to visit by inviting her to Crystal and Gigi’s wedding. With a month to pull the scheme together, no one knows how this will end up. Word Count: ~2.9k (this chapter) / ~11.6k (total) Relationship(s): Sportsdoll (Jan Sport/Nicky Doll), Crygi (Crystal Methyd/Gigi Goode, Sportsmethyd (Jan Sport/Crystal Methyd) Rating: E

Read on AO3

Crystal was excited for today; it was probably the best part of pretending to be engaged, enough to make her wonder why she hadn’t thought of this sooner. Today, she and Gigi were going wedding cake testing. They had lined up three different bakeries after finding out which ones didn’t charge for the consultation, and they had just arrived at bakery number one.

“I’m not very picky about flavor or anything, I’ll try whatever you recommend,” Crystal was saying. “However, my wife-to-be here especially loves red velvet, but doesn’t really like chocolate, which is weird to me, but we’ll probably go with what she wants.”

When the baker went into the kitchen, Gigi turned to Crystal with a surprised expression. “How did you know my cake preferences?”

Crystal shrugged. “You’ve mentioned it a couple of times, and I know you always get excited when they have red velvet muffins in the dining hall.”

“Oh,” Gigi felt a fluttering in her heart that she couldn’t – or rather wouldn’t – explain. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and looked down. “Well, you’re more observant than I give you credit for, then.”

“I get that a lot,” she mused, then sat upright when the test slices were brought out. She tried to listen to the descriptions, but she was practically salivating and dug in as soon as she could. “Now the texture of this is really nice, I like how it brings out the subtle flavor notes.”

Gigi covered her mouth to hide a laugh. “You’ll have to excuse her, she binge-watched Cake Wars last night,” she explained, gently patting Crystal’s thigh. After that, they got through the rest of the tasting without incident, and they told the baker they’d be in touch and left with the leftovers (that they hid in Gigi’s oversized purse so they could go and do the same at the next two bakeries).

Crystal patted her stomach in satisfaction as they made their way back to her apartment. “I can’t believe we never thought to pull a stunt like this before. It’s like telling the waiter it’s your birthday so they give you free ice cream or something,” she mused.

“I feel kinda bad though, we should order something from those places. Just, you know, not a wedding cake,” she added.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Crystal readily agreed. “So, did you hear back from your friend about doing a photoshoot?”

Gigi nodded, smiling brightly. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me, actually. Does Saturday afternoon work for you?”

She nodded. “Totally. How’s it gonna work? Like, are we gonna be in our dresses, or is it gonna be something different? I don’t know how this works.”

“We’ll do some in the dresses, some in different outfits. It’ll give me the motivation to finish the fucking thing so I don’t try to pull an all-nighter right before it’s due,” she decided. As they kept walking, her hand kept brushing against Crystal’s, until she just caved and held her hand. It wasn’t like she hadn’t before, but it felt different this time. Holding Crystal’s hand had never made her heart skip a beat before, and she was yet to figure out how much she liked that.

It was different for Crystal. She already knew how she felt, and maybe that made it easier for her. She could allow herself to just appreciate the small act of affection, even though she did have to look away when she started smiling too wide. She probably wouldn’t try to overanalyze it until she was alone, at least. All she could do at the moment was appreciate being close to her, as it never seemed she could get close enough.

They’d both stopped thinking about it by the time they got home, and Crystal put the cake in the fridge, shooing away the cat at her feet. “Not a chance, Tic Tac, the vet already says you’re getting too fat.”

“Don’t body-shame her,” Gigi playfully chastised.

“I’m just being a concerned mother,” Crystal insisted, then looked over towards Jan’s room. She heard her voice, but couldn’t distinguish the words. “Ah, she must be working on the French song.”

Gigi tilted her head. “I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and assume it’s for Nicky, huh?” She let out a small laugh, though not in a mean way. “She’s… really crazy about her, huh?”

Jan came out of the room before Crystal could answer. “Hey, guys. How did the cake tasting go?”

“Great, there are leftovers in the fridge if you wanna pick at them,” Crystal offered. “How’s your song coming along? What’s it called again?”

“It’s called Aimé by Loane. I haven’t looked up the English translation, I feel like that kind of ruins it, you know? But when I heard it, it just made me think of Nicky, like deep in my heart, I just know it works,” Jan explained.

Gigi chewed on her lip, fighting back her words until she couldn’t anymore. “I’m sorry, I just don’t get it. How can you be so head over heels over someone you’ve never been in the same room with?”

Jan didn’t seem terribly bothered by this question, it wasn’t a new one to her. “She’s not written in braille, Gigi. I don’t need to touch her to know her.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve got an emotional connection,” Gigi assured. “But have you even been with anyone since you guys started talking? Or are you really saving yourself for someone across the ocean? We all crave physical intimacy, you know?”

“Are you coming onto me?” Jan asked in an attempt to deflect. She glanced over at Crystal, whose face said ‘don’t you dare.’ to which she silently conveyed ‘I would never.’

Gigi didn’t notice any of that, just laughing it off. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t deprive yourself because you’re too busy pining to get laid.”

Jan chuckled softly. “I appreciate your concern about my sexual wellbeing, Geege. But I can take care of myself, and anyone else that comes along,” she glanced back towards the fridge. “I am gonna have my way with that leftover cake, though.”

------

Ever since Crystal and Jan had embarked on this unusual adventure, they had gotten closer. And they needed it, considering they had both been driving themselves crazy trying to pull off this scheme while they were in the midst of taking their finals. The end was around the corner, but trying to get through the final stretch left them tense and exhausted. So when they didn’t want to bother their respective love interests, they turned to each other.

“I keep thinking about what Gigi said,” Jan admitted as she passed the joint back to Crystal. She had never considered herself any sort of smoker, but Crystal was so comfortable with weed that it didn’t seem so scary, and it had actually become something that helped her unwind as well.

Crystal furrowed her brows as she took a hit, letting the smoke billow out in an O shape. “What? About you not getting laid because you’re always in your feelings about Nicky?”

“That’s one way to put it, yeah,” Jan chuckled softly, laying her head in Crystal’s lap. “Am I limiting myself just because of my feelings? It’d be different if we were in an actual relationship but… I don’t know. Have you hooked up with anyone since you realized you have a crush on Gigi?”

Crystal had to stop and think about it. “I… guess not, actually. Maybe that’s why we’ve been so fucking weird about all of this,” she mused.

Jan propped her feet up against the wall. “You think if we found someone to have a one-night stand with, we’d be able to get through finals, graduation, and the fake wedding with our sanity intact?”

“I dunno, I’m not a doctor,” Crystal shrugged. “But I do know sex releases endorphins and shit, like, all that good energy and stuff,” she mused and passed the joint back to Jan.

“Ugh, finding a good hookup is so much work,” she whined and took a hit, then gave it back to Crystal to finish off.

Crystal rolled her eyes affectionately as she finished it off. “I mean, it can’t be that hard for you, looking like that.”

“Just being a lesbian makes it hard, Crystal. You know that.” Jan huffed dramatically, then looked up at her. “I think we should make out.” It was the perfect solution, wasn’t it? If it was her, it wouldn’t count.

“Do you?” Crystal wasn’t as surprised by the suggestion as she thought she’d be, nor was she terribly put off by it. She and Jan were close, and they were going through the same struggles. Maybe this was what they needed to let off some steam. “Yeah, okay, I’m into it.”

Jan sat up, then moved onto Crystal’s lap. She rested her hands on the back of her head, fingers tangling in the mess of curly hair as their lips collided in a languid kiss. The lingering taste of pot was in their mouths, and Jan swore kissing her made her even more high.

Crystal loved the way Jan felt on top of her. She was soft and warm and she smelled so nice. Her arms looked around Jan’s waist, holding her close as the kiss deepened, their tongues intertwining.

“You’re a good kisser,” Jan observed when she came up for air, their foreheads still resting together. She then sat back, noticing Crystal’s grin and downcast gaze. “What?”

“Hm?” Crystal looked back up, her eyes a bit bloodshot and glossed over, but still full of the lighthearted joy that’d always been distinct to her. “Oh, I was just looking at your tits. They’re really nice,” she explained.

Jan snorted with laughter, then rested her head on Crystal’s shoulder as she giggled some more. “You’re such a perv!”

“You can’t call me a perv,” she pouted as if she took sincere offense, “it was your idea to start making out, you can’t fault me for getting more into it, especially when you know I get hornier when I’m high,” she defended.

“Oh my god,” Jan sat back upright, shaking her head. “Sometimes I forget that there’s a horndog underneath that quirky art student facade,” she teased.

Crystal shrugged, placing kisses up Jan’s chest and neck, then up her jaw until she lightly nipped at her earlobe. “I’m enigmatic, Jan. Get into it,” she cooed as her hands ran up and down Jan’s sides, making her tank top rise up a couple of inches, then shifted to playfully bite Jan’s bottom lip.

“You sure are something,” Jan chuckled before connecting their lips in another kiss. “You’re lucky I’m so touch-starved,” she added as she took her top off.

Crystal’s face lit up like an excited child. “Whatever you say,” she hummed, her hands moving right to Jan’s breasts, happily groping them over the purple lace of her bra as they went right back to their deep, relaxed kissing.

Jan took Crystal’s t-shirt off next, looking down at her bare chest. “I keep forgetting that you have your nipple pierced. It’s so pretty,” she remarked, lightly pinching and teasing it, rubbing it between her fingers. She had started to zone out, and it wasn’t until Crystal started moaning that she was brought back down to earth. “Guess it makes things more intense, huh?”

“Yeah,” she exhaled, “and we’re gonna end up doing a lot more than making out if you keep that up.”

“I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but threatening to fuck me isn’t exactly… a threat,” Jan smirked as she continued toying with her nipple and the piercing.

Crystal pushed Jan onto the bed and pounced on top of her. It wasn’t in a dominant way, if anything, it bordered on playful. She kissed Jan heatedly, her hands haphazardly fumbling to get her bra off, smiling to herself when she finally tossed it onto the floor. She trailed her lips down Jan’s neck, starting to nip at the skin until Jan grabbed her shoulder.

“Nothing above the bust,” she murmured.

Crystal obliged, instead of leaving a hickey on the underside of Jan’s breast, then let her tongue flick across and swirl around her nipple. She then rolled the two of them onto their sides, making it easier for her to tug off Jan’s shorts. “You have a great ass too,” she remarked, reaching her hand around and grabbing onto it.

“You think so? I’ve actually always been jealous of yours,” Jan told Crystal as she tugged her shorts off too. “It’s so cute and perky,” she hummed, squeezing it with both hands.

“We’re clearly both super hot,” Crystal observed. “Like, I bet people would pay to watch us fuck,” she mused as she slid her hand into Jan’s panties and began circling her clit with two fingers.

“Mhm,” Jan moaned instead of properly replying, tugging Crystal’s boyshorts down and moving her hand between her thighs to do the same. “Fuck, you’re so wet. That piercing really does make your nipple sensitive, huh?”

Crystal grunted softly and rutted against Jan’s fingers. “You’re just jealous you have to work harder to get turned on,” she retorted as she eased a finger into her.

“Seem to be doing just fine right now aren’t I?” Jan hummed between moans. The two of them mirrored each other’s movements, whimpering and moaning as their fingers steadily thrust into each other, thumbs rubbing uneven circles against each other’s clits.

And then it started to turn into a competition, the two of them trying to get the other to come first. Eventually, Jan won, smirking in satisfaction as she felt her friend clench around her fingers. But she didn’t last much longer, gasping out sharply as she came.

Once they were both spent, they lay calmly in bed, cuddled up to each other. “Do you feel any better?” Jan asked.

“I think so, actually,” Crystal mused. “The feelings are still there, but they don’t seem so scary, you know?”

Jan nodded. “I don’t feel so overwhelmed,” she agreed, then leaned up and kissed her cheek. “Thanks, you’re such a good friend.”

Crystal beamed and held her close. “And don’t you forget it.”

------

Heidi stared blankly at Jan after hearing the rundown of her situation. “So… You lied to your French not-girlfriend by inviting her to Crystal and Gigi’s wedding that isn’t real, but Crystal has a big ol’ crush on Gigi, and now the three of y’all are staging a whole ass fake wedding while you’re still taking finals?”

“I only have one final left,” Jan defended, rubbing the back of her neck. “Also, last night Crystal and I got high and had sex.”

She blinked slowly. “First of all, why the fuck are you telling me this?”

“Because if I told Jackie, she would keep trying to solve the problem and be all lecture-y about it. And like, I know you’re gonna judge me too, but at least I don’t feel as stupid when you do it.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that,” Heidi murmured. “Second of all, what the fuck are you gonna do when Nicky comes out here. You just gonna be like ‘sike, gotcha!’ or something?”

Jan sighed and looked down at her cup, sipping from it for a couple of moments. “I don’t know, honestly. I was thinking of telling her that Gigi and Crystal decided to postpone it because they’re too young. That makes sense, right?”

Heidi shrugged. “Well, I don’t have any better ideas,” she admitted, then furrowed her brows. “Wait, why did you have sex with Crystal? Am I missing something here?”

“Because we’ve both been losing sleep and getting super stressed over everything piling up, and neither of us wanted to go through the process of finding another girl to hook up with. So, we just… had each other. It’s not gonna make things weird, our friendship isn’t like that,” Jan explained as she finished her drink.

“Damn, I need to find me a friend like that,” she chuckled, finishing her drink as well. “Do I at least get an invite to the fake wedding?”

Jan laughed softly. “Yeah, you’re totally fake invited to the fake wedding.”

Heidi beamed brightly. “Thank you. Hey, can I see a picture of your little croissant boo? I wanna see what the hell’s causing all of this fuss.”

“Oh, yeah, here, she just sent me her new headshots,” Jan hummed, getting her phone out and pulling the pictures up before handing her phone over.

She studied the pictures thoughtfully, nodding slowly. “Okay, yeah, I get it. I’d throw my closest friends into a whirlwind of chaos over that too,” she decided, handing the phone back to Jan. “I think you should tell her how you feel before she gets here, though.”

Jan tilted her head as she put her phone away. “You do? Why?”

“Think about it, if she feels the same, you guys will be distracted and shacked up in your room, and maybe she’ll forget about the whole thing. And if she doesn’t, you can throw out the whole plan ‘cause it won’t matter. It’s a win-win, how has this not occurred to you?”

There was silence as Jan chewed her lip, mulling it over. “I… Yeah, I guess you have a point. I don’t know.” She exhaled deeply and looked up to the sky. “I’ll think about it.”

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! and PSA

*waves* hi everyone! so uh, I’ve kind of had a bit of a surge in followers recently, and I thought I would make a bit of a PSA/intro post with a bit more targeted info than my about page.

anyways, I’m cyan! statistically speaking, you are probably here for one of the following reasons:

my fic

my meta

my gifs

my translation

all of the above

this is pretty much an mdzs blog on main these days, but I also rb a lot of other misc things because I have never been good at keeping my interests separate. it’s also my personal blog, so expect some of that? i am very all or nothing ahaha. my opinions change very quickly as I process new information, so like, something I said last week or yesterday might be different now! I’ve seen several people going through some of my older posts, and I’m just like oh dear, I said a lot of things six months ago that I no longer vibe with. /o\ please keep that in mind as you go diving in my blog!

i don’t have a BYF or DNI policy, but I reserve the right to block anyone for any reason because this is a personal blog first and foremost, and I do need to be better about setting my boundaries and curating my own online space! on that same token, you are free to follow, unfollow, block, whatever, even if we’re mutuals. <3

you’re free to come talk to me in my inbox or dms, but please be aware that there’s a very high chance I will never get back to you /o\ it isn’t personal!! I am just very mentally ill and have many difficulties with keeping up social interactions or talking to people.

in the interest of trying to be more open about myself, my brain, and what that means for me in an online/fandom space, I’m gonna do a boatload of mental health talk under the cut (or, if you’re looking at this on my blog proper or somewhere where the cut doesn’t display, it starts right after this paragraph), including mentions of self-harm/thoughts of specific self-harm etc, just so you are warned! I’ve been thinking recently that it’s good to try and take steps towards being more open about my issues, both for my own sake and others’. It’s long, because one of the fun things about my mental illness is that I am hyperverbal ahahaha (if that... wasn’t already obvious orz)

so if you’ve read pfmmpd, you can kind of get a sense of what I’m working with. a lot of how i wrote lwj was drawn directly from shit happening in my own brain, but like? dial that up from the specific issues that lwj had in that fic and apply it unilaterally across the board to almost anything you can think of.

I hesitate to describe my OCD as debilitating, but only because my specific cocktail of compulsions and anxieties and triggers push me to be hyperachieving and hyperfunctional. I consider myself pretty fortunate (?) in that regard. on paper, you could never tell how absolutely batshit my internal landscape is! which is very good for me practically in that I can hold down a job, keep scholarships, graduate with honors, have good prospects for my future, hold onto relationships (usually yikes) etc. but the fact of the matter is, I’m like. oh boy.

to give you a peek, here’s a non-exhaustive list of things that have triggered me to varying degrees of severity within the last like, week or so:

my dog

a chinese folk song

my mother reading a chinese haiku to me written by a young gay man

a chinese reader of my fic lovingly and gently giving me a history lesson on china and on mdzs while praising me

stepping on a piece of snow that didn’t collapse in the precise way i expected it to

writing meta

reading meta

ruminating on my triggers (honestly, I played myself)

seeing a twitter thread going around tumblr with decent information but the OP is someone who was exceedingly cruel to a good friend of mine

visiting my grandmother’s grave

deciding to visit my grandmother’s grave

discussing the concept of cuddling my partner whom i love and have been with for four years

self-harming (truly the height of irony, being triggered into self-harm and then getting triggered by the result of the self-harm hahahahahaha)

dropping off a package

trying to explain queer-coding to my parents

talking about stressors in my life related to covid19

having a very pleasant conversation with a person i admire

editing my translation

the fact that the “close” button on my accessibility sidebar on the translation website is the wrong color

choosing between eating all the shiitake mushrooms in my soup and purposefully giving myself a bad reaction or throwing one out and wasting food

thinking about playing a fun game with my partner and a mutual friend

my mom asking me to take a photo of some tea for her

my mom asking my opinion on a photo she was photoshopping

animal crossing

writing this fucking post HAHAHAHA

like!! it goes on!! endlessly! obviously, these triggers are not simply “bad” things. the chinese folk song and the haiku were both really beautiful and i love them! but I did spend a good amount of time curled up on my floor in the dark sobbing as i played the song on repeat. the haiku was one of the last straws that ended up with me screaming and crying and hurting myself. the snow??? like wtf the snow thing. I stepped on the snow and it felt wrong and my brain just started screaming SMASH YOUR KNEECAP. ???? (I didn’t, for the record, and I would never.) I love my partner very much! I love my friends very much, and my mother, and my grandmother etc. my triggers are infinite, unpredictable, and bizarre.

I’m saying all of this because I want to be clear that MDZS/CQL fandom specifically triggers me on a daily basis, sometimes very very badly. this is just a fact! it is no one’s fault! I have decided it is worth it for me to stay anyways. it is impossible for me to request people tag for certain things because I myself have no idea what my triggers are until I encounter them. It’s like a fun mystery boss encounter! sometimes it’s low level and i’m well-equipped to handle it. other times it’s a one-hit KO. We just don’t know! there are lots of very cool content creators in this fandom that I can’t follow because it would make my dash that much more high stakes. the original source canon material triggers me! all the events leading up to Lotus Cove massacre? I was shaking at work for three hours after consuming it for the first time.

Meta specifically is something I know a lot of people like me for, but it’s 100% the most triggering activity I participate in for this fandom. like, that suibian meta post I wrote that’s currently going around? Probably took me four or five hours of concentrated effort to write because I was compulsively panicking and rewriting and editing and panicking more and qualifying and editing and qualifying some more and then debating whether I should post it or not and then fighting with myself about my wording and then immediately regretting it and then every time someone commented on it (regardless of positive or negative!) my anxiety spiked. I started a reply to a response on that post and had to stop after a few minutes because I was already starting to trigger myself over it.

this is actually a pretty good outcome when it comes to meta! I recognized that I was hurting myself before I got any further, and I only spent like, five hours on it! it was good exposure therapy for me! the bad outcome is. well. bad, as you might imagine lmao.

I like writing meta. I like talking to people about it too! I like participating in fandom, I like writing, I like translating, I like all of these things. they’re just also really hard for me! there’s a couple meta requests sitting in my inbox right now that I want to get to, but it might take me like. a long time because of. you know! *gestures* Everything takes me a long time. that first chapter of the translation took me literally five months from beginning the project to posting a final edited version. It’s just over 1k words. D8

I try really hard to be chill and kind in public and I largely think I succeed on the kind part (I hope!). If you thought I had even an ounce of chill before this, perhaps I have disabused of that notion entirely now lmao. I’m not saying this for pity, but like? just so we all know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt when I don’t engage with them or feel snubbed if I never reply to them. and also like, hey, if someone relates it’s like hooray, high fave, solidarity! we’re not alone in this world! or maybe this will help someone understand OCD a little better! I don’t know. I hope this post is a positive thing. BUT! I’ve spent three hours on it already, and i’m definitely starting to compulsively spiral, so instead of going back and editing it over and over, I’m just going to post it. thank you everyone for your understanding! I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! (*´▽`*)

[wandering-bitch]

Fic Annotation: Gilded Iron

gilded iron is my qin su/wen qing fic that i wrote for the mxtx flash fic exchange: lady edition. It was supposed to be short, which of course means i wrote a (bare bones) plot. As such, I don’t have a good handle on what it’s Secretly About, but on a surface level it’s about escaping and solidarity.

Notes on writing + fic lore below the cut

the title is completely bullshit. i needed something, i thought about qin su’s gilded cage vs wen qing’s iron one

if i hadn’t been writing this on a deadline, i would have gone more into qin su’s life at jinlintai, and how being the wife of head cultivator (a head cultivator who you now know is monstrous) is its own kind of prison. but i was on a deadline, so that’s uh. largely forgotten.

wen qing gets to be feral in jail because jail is terrible and also wen qing deserves to be feral whenever she wants. 

qin su is a prison abolitionist /s //s

god i do wish i had spent more time documenting how qin su earned wen qing’s trust, but again, i was trying to write something in the 350-1000 range

there’s a lot of overlap, thematically, between this work and I Have Always Loved The Door, in that we’re starting at roughly the same point in Wen Qing’s life in both 

which means wen qing is gonna be flat and matter-of-fact and cynical

jin guangyao does actually love his wife and son. there’s no room to talk about it here but he does worry about qin su when she’s “ill” and he is good to a-song

(this does not excuse the fact that he’s willing to murder his kid to hide his mistakes)

when i wrote the “loving complicated powerful men and watching them change in front of you” conversation, i was thinking mostly about wen ruohan, because i love the implication in the book that she had a somewhat positive relationship with him b4 he decided Imperialism. but it works just as well if wen qing is talking about wwx, and honestly, thinking about that makes me hurt

im using “monstrous path” instead of “demonic cultivation” bc of @pumpkinpaix. Sometimes I think the translation works exceedingly well, adding a menace and level of clarity that “demonic cultivation” doesn’t. other times i think i’m just not figuring out how to say it right. 

“perhaps the expression was confusion, not anger” not for nothing wen qing but maybe glare less???? 

nevermind, queen, you do you

saying “be careful” is wen qing’s love language tbh

TIME TO SUFFER, WEN QING

“viewpoint character informing the audience that they are not having a feeling, while very definitely having a feeling” is one of my favorite writing tropes, apparently. i just. love lying.

so is “character’s heart cracks/breaks open” apparently but like. u ever go from being very guarded and still to overwhelmed with love??? it’s a very specific sensation that happens 2 me all the time bc i’ll be depressed and then my cat will move and my grinch-heart will grow three sizes

as always, i love writing meng yao/jin guangyao. i didn’t bother with triple meanings in this fic, bc 1. short on writing time and 2. he’s only performing a little bit

the “guest” is sect leader he. jin guangyao invited him over for a polite conversation about the towers, and then kidnapped + tortured him to find out why he hurt qin su + exactly what poison he used.

originally, in the world where this was much longer, wen qing accepted jgy’s terms + healed sect leader he. jgy gave her food on the regular, so she regained some health + didn’t have to hide the effects of qin su’s help. (but she did have to hide her actions from qin su)

but like. that would have been another 1k, and exhausting, and im just a small bird.

girls!!! holding!! hands!!!!

in case it wasn’t clear: jin guangyao sent qin su to the cloud recesses to keep her safe/out of the way while he moved against sect leader he.

“be careful” is wen qing’s love language

the qing of yao qing is written differently than wen qing. to be clear. 

soft epilogue soft epilogue soft epilogue!!!!

a-song does have a developmental disability, not bc his parents were related but bc sometimes that just happens!!! but qin su and wen qing aren’t fucking eugenicists!!! they just love their son!!!

i used to own chickens but i did not have names for them, there were 20, and they all were rhode island reds, so i could not tell them apart. a-song is better than me.

they have a v small vegetable garden but exactly 0 potatoes or radishes. qin su never asks.

what family name do they give a-song? don’t know don’t care

the thing about wen qing grabbing qin su’s hand all the time was just me making fun of myself for this cute romance fic that hinges mostly on holding hands. 

i never decided what the ladies do for a living. Wen Qing doesn’t practice medicine yet, bc she’s Afraid, but she might work as an apothecary/pharmacist. qin su might be a gynecologist, helping people terminate or healthily carry their pregnancies. but also that would involve more writing, and it wasn’t relevant to the Happy Ending, so i dropped it. maybe they just farm. maybe qin su takes on extremely small night hunts. 

old zhao + his husband are dumb references to zhao yunlan + shen wei from guardian. shen wei + wen qing become fast friends as soon as they see each others’ “i am not going to yell at my beloved right now but i am going to think extremely stern thoughts” face. zhao yunlan adores a-song and keeps offering to babysit. 

i didn’t get to say this but qin su 100% still rescues injured animals, much to wen qing’s frustration. “don’t you know how many diseases wolves carry?” “yes, i do, which is why i need you to hold a-song while I remove the trap from this little one’s leg.” “this little one is taller than you.”

[tinywordsblog]

Tiny Words is a creative nonfiction podcast, featuring my own writing and stories. In episode 1, I talk about my experiences with disordered eating, body image, and recovery. 

And, more than anything, this is an ode to little Amber, and the little legs that have carried her this far. (It’s also an ode to the White Rabbit Cafe’s vegan chocolate chip cookies).

Trigger Warning: This podcast episode discusses topics of disordered eating, weight, health, calories, and food. If these things are triggering to you, I would not recommend listening to this episode, but I appreciate you nonetheless. 

Transcript: 

The goal of the ‘Tiny Words’ blog has always been to highlight the small truths of life, those that make up our existence and have a larger impact than it might seem on the surface. For this podcast series, I’ll be featuring my own writing as an audio presentation. I’ll be telling my own stories (and perhaps those of others) through a format that is new to me as a creator. Throughout the past few months, I’ve reopened the world of creativity and writing--a realm that has long been boarded up and evacuated. I wanted to reopen that realm in this podcast episode by writing a story that many months of therapy has shown me is one of my own truths. With that said, I present “Just a Little Husky” to you. I hope you find something of myself in this. 

DISCLAIMER: I want to preface this story with a trigger warning. This episode discusses topics of disordered eating, weight, health, calories, and food. If these things are triggering to you, this episode might not be best for you. 

[introduction music fades into the story]

I was in elementary school when I discovered what a body was. I knew that we all had stomachs and arms and legs and chins. I was aware of those things only as they related to being a child. My legs carried me where I needed to go. My arms were used for holding and hugging and gesturing. My stomach was something to be fed and nurtured. But I never knew what those things were supposed to look like. Or that those things were “supposed” to look like anything at all. At that same age, my older sister’s friend--only 2 short years older than myself--lost a significant amount of weight. Our families rallied around her, remarked on her “dedication” and the clockwork-like Wii Fit exercises she was doing. For the first time in my life, thinness was celebrated. 

I became aware of the looks that those closest to me had given plus-size women before I knew what a plus size woman was. The side-eyed glances to a woman in a form-fitting shirt. Scoffs cast on young girls confidently wearing shorts when “they really shouldn’t be wearing shorts that short. Not with that body.” 

When my sister’s friend lost weight, and more importantly when she was celebrated for her weight loss, my innocence began to crack and shatter. A mirror had been turned on myself, and confidence became something you needed to shrink yourself down into. 

My sophomore year of high school, a pediatrician--one who considered himself “traditional” to be exact--told my mother and I that, “it wasn’t a problem yet. She’s not overweight. Just a little husky.” 

Just a little husky. Just a little husky. Just a little husky. 

Not a problem yet, but becoming one. Just a little husky.

He diagnosed me with the feelings of self-hatred that had cast their shadow on my reflection. “Just a little husky” and suddenly I became no more than a number. 

It wasn’t until a year ago, when my therapist furrowed her brows and asked, “He said what?” that I realized my pediatrician’s words were the wrong thing--not my body. Now, I see his comment as a lapse in his judgment. Back then, though, it was a death sentence.

I was raised on diet culture and calorie counting apps and skinny teas and fat-free versions of your favorite snack foods. That day at the doctor’s office, I was prescribed a monster thinly-veiling itself as healthy living. It told me that to be healthy was to avoid. To shrink. To achieve the smallest possible number. 

And, really, the numbers were all I had. Scale in the morning, before breakfast to be the smallest possible weight. “Bare minimum” best describes it. I ate cereal in the morning, exactly one cup-sized measuring cup full of Special-K with no milk. I would eat a  sandwich for lunch, on bread that was strictly labeled “light,” spread with one exact tablespoon of peanut butter-- or perhaps two, on a cheat day. I ate snacks, but never more than 90-calories each. For dinner I would eat with my family, but I “portion controlled” and never took a second serving. I’d eat side salads as a main meal on a bad day, and dessert was a rarity. My pantry was full of green block text screaming “light,” “low-fat,” “diet soda,” “shrink yourself until there’s nothing left”, and wither away faster with this brand of pretzels for a lower rate than the competitor!

The patriarchy packaged up an eating disorder into a glittering pink parcel and sold it to me on a silver scale. Told me I was too fat to feel worthy of a crop top. I was commercialized into a fat kid with a complex about the clothes I wore and the way I sat, constantly aware of  the way my face morphed into a smile and how my body moved around me when I danced. I sewed my worth into the waistband of my pants. I practiced my smile and adjusted my posture. I wore only the size that I wanted to be, and if a store’s clothes ran smaller--forcing me into the next size up--I cried my way to another. I was “just a little husky,” and the diet was not enough to erase those words from the corners of my mind. 

I once heard a slam poem by Blythe Baird called ‘When the Fat Girl Gets Skinny’ that says, “If you develop an eating disorder when you are already thin to begin with, you go to the hospital. If you develop an eating disorder when you are not thin to begin with, you are a success story.” When I first heard Baird’s poem, I tried to pretend that I wasn’t listening to my own existence sung back to me from someone else’s mouth. But it was my own song. When you go from being fat to being skinny through means of an eating disorder, your mental illness becomes a physical celebration. I was fifteen years old being asked what my “secret” was by fully-grown aunts and uncles. I was told “You look great”, a compliment that I’ve learned translates to “You look smaller.” They applauded me even when I asked for no Easter candy, when I asked permission to eat my birthday cake “and even the ice cream, too?” 

To this day, I still ask for permission when eating a fear food, but now I’m able to answer my own question. When I was restricting myself, I thought of progress only in quantitative terms. I was a series of numbers, gradually getting smaller, hoping to never get bigger. Now, I can see my progress cast around my person like light falls through a window. The light does not pick and choose certain objects to illuminate just like my disordered eating did not pick and choose certain aspects to affect while leaving others untouched. When progress came, it could be seen shimmering on every surface. I see my progress in the way I slouch in chairs. In how I clothe myself in patterns that I love rather than vertical stripes because, to quote a dying fashion industry, “horizontal stripes make you look bigger.” In how I laugh without covering my mouth. In how I’m trying to learn to love my smile no matter how it stretches my face. In how I speak without fear of my voice “sounding fat,” though I’m still not sure how fifteen-year-old Amber thought a voice could sound that way. 

In how, even on my bad body days, I buy myself White Rabbit Cafe-sized vegan chocolate chip cookies. In how I sweeten my tea and spice my food. In how I’ve forgotten the number of calories in a single grape and couldn’t tell you the amount of carbs in a bowl of pasta. In how I love my stretch marks as if they were the perfect tattoos. 

My body certainly isn’t a temple, but I’m learning day-by-day to turn it into a warm bed on a rainy day. It’s becoming a place to take comfort, a thing to clothe in loving embraces and swaths of my favorite colors. Or, rather than making it a metaphor, maybe my body is just my body. My means of navigating the world. The vessel used to love and be loved. The thing I carry around with me always. 

Maybe I am “just a little bit husky,” and that’s a thing to be celebrated, too.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 15/17

Author’s notes: I’ve been vague about Lilah’s heritage so far with the exception her her being latina, but it made sense to me she would speak her native language with her mom and since I didn’t want to butcher another language by trying to writing in Spanish, she’s speaking  Portuguese here. I put the translation next to it in brackets. 

Summary: Keanu and Lilah meet at the set of John Wick. Rom-com shenanigans ensues

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6  Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Wordcount: 2980

Warnings: just a F-bomb and an anxiety attack.

Lilah should not be missing Keanu this badly. It had only been gone a few of days since he left, but every time she caught sight of the finger-shaped bruises on her hips or the bite mark in her shoulder, Lilah felt like there was a gaping hole in her chest that made her just feel empty and everything else dull.

Lilah wanted to laugh at the irony. For someone who hated rom coms, she sure as hell was going through all the motions. She was this close to watching rainfall from her bedroom window with a sad song playing in the back. Which was sort of pathetic, so she really needed to find something to distract herself.

Good thing she still had the crushing doubt of what she would do to about NYFA and Oxford to keep her occupied. Arthur was being very understanding about her lack of response, but every time Lilah met Dr. Williams, it was the first question out of the older woman’s mouth.

“Do you know how many other candidates would kill for this opportunity?”

“Yes, I’m aware, Dr. Williams,” Lilah sighed, squeezing the bridge of her nose. This was giving her a headache. “But it’s a huge decision and I can’t just make it without thinking it through.”

She could see Dr. Williams wanted to argue some more and she braced herself for the conflict, but it never came. The other woman let out a sigh too and took off her glasses. For the first time in Lilah’s time in grad-school, the woman before her looked almost approachable.

“Lilah, I have been doing this for a while and I haven’t met many students like you. You’re brilliant and I don’t say that lightly. You work hard, you’re good at improvising, you hardly ever complain or say no, something I take advantage more times than I should, and you’re a great researcher. It would be a shame to let that go to waste.” She paused, wiping her glasses before putting them back on. “However, I also know that those same traits will make you succeed at any other career path you chose.”

“They called you, did they?” Lilah asked, twisting her hands together, heart in her throat. “From NYFA.”

“You did include my letter of recommendation in your application,” Dr. Williams said. “I told them exactly what just I told you, but you have to make a choice, dear.”

“I know,” Lilah sighed. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

“Good.” Dr. Williams said with a short nod. “I also expect the new chapter of your dissertation by the same deadline.”

All the way home, Lilah was a jumble of messy thoughts and conflicting feelings, because she had no idea what to do next. She just gave herself an ultimatum to make a decision when she told Dr. Williams she would give them an answer tomorrow. But the truth was that Lilah was no close to an answer now than she was four days ago when Lilah argued with Keanu.

Ever since this whole mess started Lilah became very aware of how ill-equipped she was to make her own choices. She had been doing a reevaluation of her life decisions and how she made them, and it was slowly becoming very clear the weight her parents’ wishes and expectations had on every step she took. Especially her dad.

She remembered being 13 and considering to join the theater club because it could help her make friends, but her dad insisted she joined the debate club instead because it would improve her English and would look much better on her college application. The same happened when she wanted to practice martial arts, but he thought the track team would be better. And that continued all the way to choosing her major for college and deciding on grad-school.

They were rarely obvious commands, it was more like nudges here and there that made Lilah doubt her own choices and start on a spiral of insecurity that was only abated once she did what he wanted, and he praised her for it. How mess up was that? How manipulative was that? Was he even aware that he did that?  

How many times did she settle for something she wasn’t all that into it just to please him? Lilah didn’t even know. And how many times she hid part of herself or her interests, so he wouldn’t be disappointed? Like he was when she decided to go to New York for grad school. That had been quite an epic fight and it left Lilah crushed and crying for days until he relented and allowed her to go. And she knew he only did it because her mother talked to him.

That was crazy! Lilah was 21 at the time. She didn’t need his authorization. She was a damn adult, but apparently, she still acted like a child searching for his approval. Right now Lilah felt like she was in a turning point and one wrong step could mean she would wreck her future beyond recognition and that prospect terrified her.

With a heavy sigh, Lilah closed her laptop and moved to her bed. She wasn’t going to get any work done right now. Not until she finally made her decision and that needed to happen right now.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?” Jean asked, leaning against the doorframe and startling Lilah.

“Sure. What’s up?” Ok, maybe it could wait a few more moments.

Jean stepped into the room and walked up to Lilah, handing her a check before taking a seat on the bed. Lilah glanced at it with a frown of confusion and gasped, looking back up at Jean.

“Wh…?” she trailed off, too shocked to even form words.

“That should cover tuition for the first year, right?” Jean asked, eyebrow arched.

“I can’t accept this, Jean,” Lilah said, trying to give the check back, but her friend just crossed her arms over her chest in refusal. “I know how much you hate the trust fund your parents made for you. I’m not gonna be the reason you go to them.”

“That ship sailed a long time ago, Lih,” Jean admitted with a sigh. “I’ve been using that money to keep Novelsy afloat for the last four months. And anyway, that’s not where it came that from. That’s from the sale.”

“Sale? You sold Novelsy?” Lilah exclaimed with wide eyes, jumping from her seat. “But Jean that was-”

“My dream?” the other woman completed with a little sad smile. “See I thought so too, but I began to realize the only dream part of it pissing off my parents and Novelsy deserve better than that. Who knows? Maybe these new people can do a better job than I did.”

“Don’t say that. You did a fantastic job!” Lilah said, coming to sit next to her and wrapping her arms around Jean’s shoulders, pulling the other woman into a hug. “You could’ve talked to me, you know?”

“You had your own thing happening with film school and Keanu.” Jean shrugged and Lilah pulled away to glare at her.

“No matter what’s going on in my life, I’ll always be there for yours, ok? Always. You’re my person, remember?” Lilah said, her tone leaving no room for argument and Jean smiled and nodded. “So now what? What are you gonna do?”

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Jean replied, her expression turning into a grin. “It’s kind of exciting not knowing.”

“You and I have very different concepts of exciting,” she commented with a chuckle, resting her head on Jean’s shoulder. “But you’re really ok? About the sale?”

“I mean, I’m sad and all, but yeah. It was for the best. They promised to keep all the same staff and structure and that’s the only reason I agreed.”

“That’s good, but I still can’t take this money, Jean.”

“Yes, you can. I did some math of all you the time have helped with Novelsy throughout the years without charging a cent. That’s about what I’d owe you.”

“That can’t be right,” Lilah snorted in disbelief and Jean flashed a sly smirk.

“Ok, maybe I added a healthy bonus too, but still…” Jean took Lilah’s hand in hers, entwining their fingers together. “You’re my person too and you deserve to have a chance to do this. Let me do this for you, please?”

Lilah felt her eyes stinging with unshed tears, her heart beating wildly in her heart as she hugged Jean. she was out of words to tell her friend how much this meant to her.

“I… you… thank you,” she choked, fully crying know and watching as Jean’s eyes welled up too. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Lih.” Her expression opened up into a wide grin. “You’re going to film school.”

“I’m going to film school,” Lilah agreed, her voice a little high-pitched, her own lips drawing into a smile. “I'M GOING TO FUCKING FILM SCHOOL!”

They squealed together, jumping and hugging and laughing and it felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. Lilah had made her choice.

A moment later, Isaac came into the room, with a confused look on his face but since Lilah was still chanting that she was going to film school, he quickly caught on and joined the celebration. Lilah was breathless from laughing so hard, her cheeks hurting, and she might her twisted her ankle with all the jumping around, but she was so happy that she didn’t care. That was why she missed her mom’s first two calls. She only caught the third.

“Hi mom!” she greeted, signaling Isaac to turn down the music.

“Honey, you need to come home,” her mother said, her voice low and broken and Lilah felt all the cheerfulness draining from inside her. “Jamie was in an accident. He’s in the hospital…”

She couldn’t hear anything else due to the blood rushing through her ears; it felt like her ribcage was compressing her lungs and her heart trying to bust out of her chest. Her knees gave out and if it wasn’t Isaac’s quick reflexes, Lilah would be on the floor. Her phone wasn’t so lucky and she barely registered Jean talking to her mother, finding out what happened.

It had been so long since Lilah had an anxiety attack, so it took her a while to recognize it now. She sat on the floor, head between her knees as she tried to control her breathing and concentrate on something else, anything else. Her nails dug on Isaac’s arms as she tried to count her breaths and listen to what he was saying.

Lilah knew how anxiety attacks worked. She knew it was just her body freaking out because it thought there was danger around the corner. Lilah just needed to wait them out. It might feel like she was dying, but in the end, she would be ok.

It took Lilah about 15 minutes to regain control again and be able to refocus on her friends. Both Isaac and Jean were on the floor with her. She was practically on Isaac’s lap as he was holding her against his chest while Jean sat by her side. Lilah’s face was wet with tears and she had left five crescent-shaped wounds on Isaac’s arm.

“How are you, hon?” Jean asked.

“I need to go home.” It was all Lilah managed, struggling out of Isaac’s hold to get up. There was too much to do and no time to waste. “Can one of you check flights for me? I need to call Dr. Williams and my TA to cover my classes.”

“I’ll start packing your suitcase,” Isaac offered. “You should call Keanu. He’s coming back tonight, right?”

“Shit!” Lilah froze, turning to look at them. She completely forgot about Keanu. About everything else really. “I’ll call him from the cab.”

If someone asked Lilah how she managed to get everything ready and herself to Miami, she wouldn’t be able to tell you. It was all just a big blur to her. All she knew was that a little over five hours after she got her mother’s call, Lilah was stepping through the doors of Jackson Memorial Hospital where she knew Jamie would have been taken. It was the hospital he did his residency and where her father worked and taught.

Lilah knew this place like the back of her hand. Most of the nursing staff knew her so they didn’t even blink when she walked in and didn’t even paused by the reception area, just headed straight for the waiting room outside the surgical center, where she found her mom, Alba, sitting next to Jamie’s mom, Susan, comforting the other woman.

They looked up when Lilah walked in, her mother’s expression turning into one of relief as she let go of Susan long enough to meet her halfway from a hug.

“Que bom que você aqui. (I’m so glad you’re here),” she whispered, her voice wavered a little and Lilah just held her tight, breathing in the familiar scent of lilies from her mom’s skin.

“What happened?” Lilah asked as she let go of her mom to hug Susan, before taking a seat, holding her mom’s hand tight.

“They say he ran a red light,” her mom explained, and Susan let out a loud sob. “A pick-up truck hit his car, driver’s side.” Lilah felt the familiar tightness in her chest and forced out a long, shaky breath. This was not the time for another panic attack. Everyone here needed her. “Your father is with him.”

That much Lilah figured the second he didn’t see him. Technically no family member should be allowed anywhere near the OR, but her father was one of the top surgeons of this hospital and it was very hard to say no to him.

“Foi muito ruim? (How bad was it?)” she whispered to her mom, mindful of Susan. Alba took a deep breath, her hand tightening over Lilah’s.

“(Ruim) Bad.”

Once again, Lilah forced her lungs to keep working, her breath to remain steady as she tried to settle a little better on the uncomfortable couch of the waiting room. The hours dragged by without news. The only sounds in the room were hospital announcements and Susan’s sniffles.

Lilah got tired of the couch and started pacing, trying to work out some of the nervous energy running through her. Every once in a while she would check her phone, update Jean and Isaac. There had been no word from Keanu, but Lilah couldn’t bring herself to worry about that right now.

The OR doors were pushed open and her father stepped out, expression drawn into a deep frown of concern, the lines in his face deeper than Lilah remember from when she visited during the summer.

“They finished repairing his lung and had to remove his spleen. He should be out in another hour or so and head straight for observation,” he announced, his eyes landing on Lilah and his expression softening a little. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi dad,” she breathed out, against the crook of his neck as Frank wrapped her into a tight hug.

“My boy’s gonna be fine then?” Susan asked, her voice raspy from crying.

“He’s not out of the woods yet, but Jamie’s strong and Owen’s the best trauma surgeon I know,” he said with an encouraging smile, but Lilah noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She had never seen her father scared before. “I’m going back in.”

With a final kiss to Lilah’s forehead, Frank turned around and headed back into the OR, leaving them behind. She could Susan on her phone, probably updating her husband while Alba’s fingers worked through her rosary and she prayed under her breath.

Lilah sighed and headed to the reception where she knew there was a coffee machine. She had been up for God knows how many hours and the adrenaline was starting to fade, exhaustion sipping so deep it almost seemed to reach her bones.

Lilah blamed her fatigue for not noticing him right away even though she must have walked right by him on her way to the coffee machine. He stood at the reception desk, carry on by his side talking to one of the nurses. It wasn’t until she heard her own name that Lilah turned to look, recognizing him.

“Keanu?” She called and he turned her way, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Lil,” he walked up to her, stopping just a step away, almost as if unsure if he could come closer, touch her.

“What you doing here?” Lilah asked her astonishment making it hard for her to process his presence.

“I heard about your brother, and I just…” Keanu sighed, rubbing his face. “I don’t know. I wanted to be here for you.”

Lilah felt the knot in her chest rising to her throat as her eyes stung. She closed the distance between them, letting Keanu wrap her into a hug, feeling him kiss the top of her head. She fisted the back of his blazer, fighting against the need to break down. It wasn’t time yet. No matter how safe she felt on his arms.

They stayed there, wrapped around each other until one of the orderlies asked them to move since they were blocking the way. They broke away, but Keanu took her hand, entwining their fingers together and Lilah led the way back to the waiting room. She paused just outside the door in hesitation, before she glanced over at Keanu.

 “This wasn’t how I pictured you meeting my family,” she said with a humorless chuckle. Keanu gave her a soft, reassuring smile and squeezed her hand.

“I know, but it’s going to be fine.”

Lilah nodded and pushed the door open. She really hoped Keanu was right.

x(tbc)x

Go to part 16

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[numba99]

Fatal Attraction - Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: When a mysterious man shows up at your job, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him - and him to you. But behind the beautiful face is the dark lifestyle of a man who has made his wealth through becoming the most powerful drug dealer in the city. Word count: 2.9k

Song: Ultraviolence // Lana Del Rey

Warnings: like getting hit/physical stuff, mentions of blood. There will be some Russian in this ill include the translations next to it if you’re curious typed like this

A throbbing pain in the back of your head pulled you out of a dreamless sleep. If you could even call be knocked out sleep. Your body stiffened, your head snapping up (your head screamed in protest at this movement) trying to figure out where you were and what happened. Your heart was thudding in your chest as you realized you were bound, your hands tied behind your back around a beam in the center of the room. 

You were scanning the room, desperate for any clue at where you were and, more importantly, how you could get out. It was all barren, though. The lighting was dim, which was good for your head but not for your escape. From the looks of it, you were in some abandoned warehouse in the city. At least you hoped you were in the city. There were no windows, no clock, no way of telling what time it was or how long you’d be knocked out. Panic was creeping in.

“Well, well sleeping beauty finally wakes,” a thick Russian accent chirped from the left of you. You craned your neck and your stomach dropped when you found the source. It was Dimitri.

“What do you want?” you choked out, not realizing how dry your throat was.

Dimitri laughed as he approached you, “Oh sweetheart, let’s not play stupid. It will be a lot easier for you. Less painful too.” You’re not sure you did too well at hiding the fear on your face. Mika hadn't given you dirty details about Dimitri, but even from what he was willing to share you knew he wouldn't spare you because you were a girl.

“What’re you-”

“When’s Mika’s big shipment coming in?” Dimitri cut you off.

“I don’t know,” you replied. It was the truth, Mika never told you. Even if he did, you wouldn’t tell Dimitri anyway.

“I’ll ask you one more time nicely,” Dimitri said, voice dripping with feigned nicety. “When is Mika’s shipment coming?”

“I don’t-” Before you could even get the words out his hand came down and struck your cheek. You gasped, shocked by the pain that spread through you face. Dimitri knelt down so he was eye level with you. He gripped your jaw, thumb digging into your stinging skin.

“You’re a pretty girl, y/n,” Dimitri growled. It sent a chill down your spine that he knew your name. “It would be a shame if I had to mess up this pretty face. Mika wouldn’t like his little play thing anymore, now would he?”

“Fuck you,” you spat, besides your best judgement. Dimitri gripped you tighter, pushing your head back against the beam. It hit the spot you’d been hit before and you practically saw stars.

“Feisty, I see why Mika likes you,” he snarled a twisted smile, “I don’t wanna hurt you, honest. Just tell me when it’s coming and I’ll return your safe to Mika.” Looking at Dimitri, it unsettled you just how dark his eyes were. There was no life behind them, not even a spark of kindness. You didn’t have to know him to know that was a bold faced lie. He didn’t intend to return you. You doubted he even intended to keep you alive. 

“He never told me,” you replied, trying to stay calm. Dimitri slapped you again. It hurt, but at least this time you were ready for it.

“I don’t believe you, y/n,” Dimitri said back.

“It’s the fucking truth,” you snapped, “And I wouldn’t fucking tell you if I did know.” He didn’t like that. He hit you again, hard. Your lip caught your teeth and you could taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth.

Dimitri reached back, pulling a pocketknife from his waistband. You didn’t miss the gun tucked beside it. God how the hell am I going to get out of this, you thought. 

Dimitri flicked open the pocketknife, pressing it to your throat. “You’re making me angry, y/n. Tell me when it’s coming,” he was losing his composure, anger creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know!” you groaned. He slashed the knife against your upper arm, creating a little gash. You cried out, feeling the sharp pain. You were finding it hard to breath as panic was gripping you tighter than before. He might actually kill me right here right now, you thought. You were starting to lose focus. All you wanted was to see Mika’s face.

“Last chance before I start cutting things off,” Dimitri growled.

Your eyes brimmed with fearful tears, spilling over your cheeks. You didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. You had nothing to tell him and he refused to believe you. You tried to focus on bracing yourself for what was coming next, for the pain you were inevitably be in. 

“So that's how it’s going to be?” he replied, leaning ever close to you, knife out. “Maybe we cut off an ear, yeah? Mail it to Mika so he knows he needs to teach his women to listen better. How does that sound?” He asked as if you had any say in it.

You were breaking into a sob as the blade got closer to your skin. Just as you were sure you were about to feel the pain of the first cut, yelling in Russian broke out. Dimitri stopped, his head whipping towards the door. A man rushed in, beaten and bloody.

“Mika здесь,” he cried out. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you caught Mika’s name. You perked up with hope. Could it be Mika? Was he here to save you.

“ты можешь удержать его?” Dimitri shot back. can you hold him off

“Его люди уже убили большинство наших парней.” his men have already killed most of ours. Whatever he said pissed Dimitri off. He threw down his knife and yelled out a Russian curse. Gunshots got closer and Dimitri bolted out of a door that you guessed was behind you. The other guy ran back out the other way in what you guessed was an attempt to hold off whoever was coming, but it didn't work.

“Mika,” you cried out, overcome by joy when he rushed in. He lowered his gun, tucking it away when he realized it was just you in the room. He ran to your side.

“Sweetheart oh my god are you okay?” he checked you over, looking for serious injury. It felt so good to have his loving, gentle hands on you instead of Dimitri’s. 

“Yes please just untie me,” you sniffled, wanting desperately to be free. As Mika worked on the rope around your wrists, Chris ran in.

“Where did he go?” He questioned, looking between the two of you. There was some blood on his shirt, but he didn’t look hurt. You realized it wasn’t his.

“He left though the other door,” you told him. He nodded and ran out in that direction. Finally, the ropes fell from your wrists and you spun around, flinging your arms around Mika. He held you so tightly and you didn't care that you could barely even breath. You tucked your head into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent that managed to usher in some calmness into your body.

“Fuck I can't believe this happened,” Mika said, still holding you tightly. You could hear he was trying not to cry. Before you could respond, Chris came back in.

“He's gone,” he reported.

“We have to find him,” Mika snapped, finally pulling away from you, “We have to find him and I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“Mika we ca’t go after him that’s what he wants,” Chris reasoned with him, “You’d be playing right into his hand.”

“I don’t care, I want him dead for this,” Mika replied.

“Mika, Chris is right” you replied, placing a hand on his face to calm him. Honestly, you wanted Dimitri dead right about now, but in this moment you just wanted to go home with Mika. “Please, Mika, can we just home now?”

Mika soften under your touch. “You’re right, fuck, I’m sorry y/n. We need to get you taken care of, that’s what’s most important now.” Mika put his hand on your arm as he spoke, accidentally touching the gas created by Dimitri. You gasped at the sting of pain from the contact. Mika frowned, looking a the source of your discomfort. 

“Fuck you’re bleeding baby.” He ripped of the sleeve of his shirt without a second thought, tying it tightly around the wound. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You insisted you were okay to walk, but Mika wasn’t hearing it. He scooped you up and you didn’t protest. It honestly felt really good to just wrap your arms around his neck and tuck your face close to him.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Mika told you as he walked towards the door, “I don’t want you to see... the mess.” You did as you were told, keeping your face nuzzled against his neck. You knew what he meant by “the mess,” and you weren’t so much scared or disgusted as you were just exhausted. You were pretty much at sensory overload for the day and didn’t want to take in anymore violence. Plus, you knew Mika hated you seeing this side of what he does, you didn’t want to make him feel any worse about this whole situation. 

“Should I call the doctor?” Chris asked when you finally made it to the shelter of the car. 

“Please. Tell him to meet us at the normal hotel,” Mika replied, buckling you in. He still held you close, gently rubbing your head. It was still pounding, but his touch provided the first sense of relief since you woke up.

“Hotel?” you questioned.

“We need to meet him at a mutual place. Plus it’s not safe for us to go directly home right now, they may still be watching,” Mika told you. You hid your disappointment behind a simple nod. You understood why you had to go to the hotel, but you wanted nothing more than to just be home. 

Mika proceeded to explain to you that the doctor, known only as that or Doc, wouldn’t give his name and that you shouldn’t give him yours. No personal information was to be shared except what pertains to your injury. The purpose was simple, if he didn’t know our names he couldn’t give us up to Dimitri or any of Mika’s foes. If we didn't know his name, we couldn’t put his medical license at risk if Mika was ever investigated. Having the private doctor kept Mika and his people safe without having to create a paper trail at a hospital or something.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how far you went, you kept your eyes closed the entire ride, but you finally made it to the hotel. It wasn’t the fancy Mika-esque hotel you were imagining, but you guessed the higher end places would question two people coming in as disheveled as you looked. It wasn’t a dump, though, Mika still had standards. 

Mika pulled out a duffle bag out of the back seat and yanked out two hoodies for you both to wear to cover up, well, everything. He pulled the hood up over your head and kissed your forehead gently before leading you out. Chris had went before you and go the room key, so you were able to go straight up. 

You practically collapsed onto the bed. It wasn’t Mika’s bed, but it was sure as hell better than being bound to a beam by some crazy Russian dude. Mika crawled next to you, gently rubbed your back. He was quiet, which wasn’t completely uncharacteristic of Mika, but you knew he was upset. You didn’t like the look on his face, like he was thinking about saying something you wouldn’t want you to hear.

Before you could ask him what he was thinking about, there was a knock on the door. Chris got up from the armchair across the room and let him in.

“What’s the problem today gentlemen?” he asked looking between Chris and Mika. He was an older man, hair peppered gray.

“We’re fine, she needs the attention,” Mika informed him, “She might have a concussion and she’s got a bad cut on her arm.” The doctor nodded and came over to you, setting his duffle bad down next to you on the bed. He asked you a series of questions about how you were feeling. Your head was hurting, but you weren’t nauseous, which was good. He had you do a few tests, like following a light with your eyes and touching your fingertip to your nose. 

“Well you’re extremely lucky, it seems you may have avoided a concussion. I want you to take it easy, though. Avoid bright lights or anything that will strain your eyes for the next day. Mika I want you to reevaluate her in the morning and tell me how she did. If all is the same, she should be in the clear.” Mika nodded intently and then the doctor moved his attention to your arm.

You winced a little as he removed the make-shift bandage Mika had created. The doctor quickly came to the determination you needed stitches, which he brought supplies to do. You guessed he did a lot of stitching up for Mika in the past. Mika held your other hand as the doctor sutured up your wound. It stung, definitely, but at this point it wasn’t really phasing you. After he finished up, the doctor gave you some Tylenol for your head and left.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you said forcing optimism. Mika still had that sick, stressed look on his face, though.

“Chris, do you mind giving us a minute?” Mika asked, though it definitely was not a question. Chris nodded, stepping out without question. Your stomach churned wondering what Mika was about to say, but to your surprise he started to cry.

“Mika, honey, what’s wrong?” you questioned, rubbing his back.

“Look at yourself, yn. Look at all the pain I caused you,” Mika sniffled. It was an angry, frustrated cry.

“You didn’t do this to me Mika,” you replied.

He shook his head, “But if you weren’t with me this never would have happened. You’re not safe with me.”

“What are you saying?” you questioned, not wanting the answer.

“I just... I don't know if I can be with you knowing this what could happen to you,” he sniffled.

“No,” your heart sunk, “No Mika, you don’t get to make that decision for me. Fuck you can’t just- after everything I just went through? Fuck Mika no, no you can’t leave me. Neither of us want that, it’s what he wants. I won’t fucking let you leave me out of fear.” Tears spilled out of you as you spoke.

Mika pulled you in, hugging you tightly. After a long silence, he spoke, “I’m sorry y/n, you’re right. Jesus I’m just mess right now I don't even know what I’m saying. This was just so fucking horrible. God when I realized you were gone, that Dimitri of all people had you - fuck - I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.” 

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you again,” you admitted. It was scary to say, to acknowledge that you really were close to losing your life. Dimitri would have done it eventually if Mika hadn’t gotten there, you knew that for sure. “But you saved me, Mika. I’m here because of you, you can’t overlook that. I owe you everything.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he shook his head, “I’d do what I did a million times over to get you back safe. I should have never left your side yesterday, I should have known that was all a set up to get to you.”

“Please stop blaming yourself,” you urged.

“I know, but it just feels that way. It feels awful,” Mika replied, “One things for sure, I’m never leaving you unprotected like that again.”

You nodded, you weren’t too keen on going anywhere on your own right now after all that. It was scary, but at the same time you felt safe with Mika. You knew he was going to do everything to protect you and that brought you comfort.

“Is now a bad time to tell you I want to move in? I wanted to make it special when I told you, but I feel like that’s sort of gone out the window,” you told him with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

To your delight, Mika cracked a small smile too. “Nows the perfect time because either you were moving in with me or I was moving in with you.”

You laughed, “I sorta would love to see you trying to live in my tiny ass apartment.”

Mika laughed lightly with you, but in the silence he became more serious. “I love you y/n, and I’m never going to let this happen to you again. I promise,” Mika told you. Your heart nearly stopped at the L word. You felt it too, you knew you loved Mika, you just never put the word to it. In any other relationship you would have thought it was crazy to feel that so fast, but with Mika everything existed on a different plane.

“I love you too, Mika,” You replied, squeezing his hand, “I know you're going to keep me safe.”

Mika kissed your hand, “I will, and that’s why I’m going to kill him.”

You took Mika’s face in your hands, kissing him deeply. You pulled away after a few seconds, looking him right in the eye and said, “We are going to kill him.”

[rockofeye]

Is there any rhyme or reason to how spiritual work is priced within Haitian Vodou? I see a lot of really high pricing for things like readings and then really low pricing for other things and I am trying to figure out what's worth my money and what's not.

Hi there,

Yes, there is some traditional pricing for things and some logical thought processes that go into that.

In traditional Haitian Vodou, divination is largely done with a prepared deck of playing cards and it referred to as a leson/lesson or fe kat yo/making or doing the cards. It is straightforward and uncomplicated; the priest prays, lights a candle (usually a small white taper), pours out some water and kleren or white rum, and lays out the cards on a laye/flat woven basket, the ground, or maybe on a table. Most priests I have sat with for a card reading start with a basic look at who you are and what’s going on, and then address specific questions or situations you want the guidance of the lwa on. It is not read as Tarot is read, in that the cards tell a story, but it is directly reaching to the lwa. The priest is the conduit/translator, and the cards are the tool.

Traditional readings cost in the ballpark of $57 in whatever currency you are working with. I charge $60 to keep it round and easy on electronic payment methods, some folks charge $55…but most keep it in that range. There’s nothing extra for the seeker to provide–no moushwa, no candle–and it’s not something that needs a lot of prep work. Like, if you call me on the phone and I am free, I will tell you to send the money over and we’ll get to it. Not a whole lot of mystery to be found.

I personally do not understand high prices for readings from folks who claim traditional or “real” Haitian Vodou. Like, when you are getting into prices of that are closing in on $150-$200+ for a reading, might as well save a few bucks and talk to a traditional priest about calling a spirit into their head to have a face-to-face chat, because that’s what you’re in the ballpark of price-wise. If you can afford that, why not do it? People are often willing to pay higher prices for what really should be basic services because the packaging is lovely or the personality is charismatic. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s important to go into things with eyes wide open; do you want a reading, or do you want a reading from This Person With A Name? No real wrong answer here because it’s about what you want and what you are looking for, but it’s generally a good practice to be honest about what you want because it will reflect what you get.

Spiritual work certainly is work and should be paid for, but let’s be real…ain’t no one in Haiti charging huge amounts for a reading. For folks there, coming up for a fee for a reading can be hard enough never mind a high fee that is more money that most people make in a month. In Haiti, spiritual work and consulting with the lwa is not a luxury item; instead, it is a means for survival. You have a problem, you consult the lwa and figure out what to do. 

Outside of Haiti, I firmly believe that readings should be exactly what they are: the doorway in which to seek the lwa. As a priest, it is literally the ground floor of what I can provide for someone who needs or wants to speak with the lwa, in that I cannot do anything cheaper for someone. If you have nothing else you can do, at least you can consult the lwa, ask them for their input, hear what they have to say for you, and talk it through to see what we can do together–like, I can tell you things you can do for yourself and give you recipes and outlines of how to do it. That should be as accessible as possible for folks.

And, if I ask for a high fee for a reading upfront, what does that mean for the person who has scraped that together because they need answers and gets answers in the form of ‘you need to do bigger work that will cost money’? I would much rather they save their money and put it towards what they need, whether it turns out to be spiritual work or bus fare.

After that, it sort of comes down to common sense stuff. I wouldn’t expect to see spiritual work that costs less than a reading because it doesn’t make sense with time, ingredients, and the expertise of the priest.

An example: I make a lot of spiritual baths for clients. What does that mean? It means I pull out a big ol’ basin and start mixing ingredients that I have sourced, paid for in the client’s name, and prepared in the way I have been taught. Ingredients can be leaves/plants/roots, oils, powders, colognes/perfumes, food items, items specific to the spirits overseeing the construction of the bath, and on. Most baths have 10 or more ingredients. Many baths are prepared on the pwen/point of a spirit which requires songs and prayers specifically for them and potentially some offerings. Many baths have to be made on the correct day for the purpose or the spirit(s) associated, and, most importantly, they are made specifically for the person who has purchased the bath. Like, some baths can be made in a large batch and portioned out (and that’s a way to make things more affordable for popular baths that aren’t tailored for one person’s conditions), but most are made based on divination or dreams and instructions from the lwa.

So…a bath for $50 isn’t really possible. Like, many times, that’s not even going to cover the ingredients that go into it never mind the priest paying the spirits for their work, the time it takes to make the bath, or even paying themselves. 

And then there’s the administration of the bath; if you want a priest to administer it to you (a really awesome thing if you can swing it), if you aren’t going to them you’re going to need to cover their travel to you. If the bath is being shipped, it’s the cost of packaging and shipping added in. I ship all baths ‘wet’/fully prepared (it’s important to me that someone gets the full benefit of a bath made by my hands), so it’s careful packaging to make sure it gets to someone whole, and it’s gonna be a heavy package.

So, a lot of it is both knowing what you are purchasing and what that object or service entails. Since many/most spiritual baths sold online are dry, bulk-produced baths, folks sit back a little when they hear the price for a traditionally prepared bath…and that’s totally understandable since folks haven’t seen it before. When a paket kongo is presented online as a folded up paper packet tied with twine and a cowrie shell, it’s understandable that someone might get ruffled with the price of an actual paket kongo, which essentially has a spirit mounted inside of it for the purchaser.

The bigger the work, the more the price will increase. If someone wants a spiritual treatment (alongside their medical treatment) for a severe illness, the price will reflect the severity because bigger interventions will be needed. If it is initiation, the price will reflect the 14 days or so of ceremony done for you, and all that goes with it. Most priests are able to give you a thumbnail sketch of what is needed (drummers, animals, food, people to help, etc) and, perhaps most importantly, the price is not going to change drastically at the last minute. For big stuff, most priests are not making money and often work out of pocket to make sure things are done completely. I’ve watched priests eat unexpected costs or last minute price increases (happens ALL THE TIME in Haiti…when the person who is selling the chickens knows you are buying them for ceremony, they are suddenly very expensive chickens) because it’s simply not fair to ask someone who has scrimped and saved to meet the price necessary to fork over more last minute.

Many priests will tell you the spirits set the prices, and that’s very true most of the time. If a spirit(s) has stepped forward to oversee the work, they will often tell the priest how to price it because the money is theirs…the priest is the tool, the spirits are the mechanic and the battery all wrapped up into one. Sometimes priests will negotiate with the spirits on behalf of the client, sometimes the price is just the price and the spirits can work with the person to make it happen. There are definitely traditional ‘payment plans’ of sorts (Haitians love a good sòl) and all sorts of stuff.

There’s also a lot a priest can help you with without having you buy a lot of product or services. Like, if someone is starting out with the lwa and needs to set-up a table, I can tell you how to set a table for your personal lwa. If you are in a situation where you need to do something but can’t afford work, I can do my best to give you options that you can make with your own two hands and your prayers. Not everything requires money, and most priests go out of their way to help folks who are sincerely trying to do their best.

I hope this answers your question, please let me know if I can explain anything more thoroughly.

[alchemt]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐓   .

repost ,     don’t reblog ,     please    ! 

BASICS.

full name.   varian of old corona   ! nickname.   v ,   goggles ,   hairstripe ,   vari  . gender.   cis male   (  he  /  his  ) height.   5′0″ age.   17 in canon verse ,   varies within others   !   zodiac.   aries sun ,    libra moon ,    pisces rising  . spoken languages.   drums my hands on the table ,   you got a dead language and something translatable and this kid learns it within a few weeks ,    easy ,    so we’re sorting demantius’ dialect in here ,   but i’d say both the dialects of the inner  +  outer parts of the kingdom  !    (    i’ll talk a lil more specifically ab this in accent  !    )    maybe a smattering of words n phrases of languages found in the other kingdoms ,   due to his work that has all kinds of people coming to him for alchemic assistance ,  as well as being an outskirt village  !

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair color.   black w/ brown highlights and a teal stripe  !   eye color.   blue   ! skin tone.   very light and very very fair ,    burns within a few hours of being outside in the summer sun ,    but before that ,    freckles  ! ! ! accent.   the tts  -  english version of what was most likely a version of an early nineteenth century germanic dialect by the coast   !     i would also reach to say that it’s probably audibly different from what is usually spoken within corona’s main city   /   citadel ,    due to the distance between main and old corona ,    there’s probably a different dialect for those living on the far reaches of the kingdom outskirts  !    voice.   usually very pronounced ,   very loud ,   and very fast ,   depending on whether he’s talking ab his work or not .    either way ,    it’s prone to cracking .   his brain tends to work faster than his mouth ,   so there’s a lot of repetition and backtracking as well  !   dominant hand.   ambidextrous  !    he’s confident enough w/ pouring chemicals with both hands ,   and his staff switches between right and left constantly .   it doesn’t look like he prioritizes towards one over another ,   usually using the one that feels right in the moment .   posture.    absolutely  horrendous  !    literally you will always find him slouching over notes and various versions of work ,    falling asleep in bad positions over his workstations ,    and w/ working his way around machinery   ––   hanging over and around gently dangerous and in - progress kinds of equipment and chemical machinery does  not  always equal the best of results for one’s muscles and posture    ––    but   !     ruddiger  is actually a really wonderful addition to the family here w/ this ,    a welcome weight on his shoulders ,   which also serves to remind him to straighten up   (   in more ways than one  🥺   )   ! scars.   lots of chemical burn scarring   !     alchemy is an incredibly dangerous practice ,    and vari is  not  one to stick to a safety protocol on his own volition ,     like  a  whole  entire  fool  ,   so there’s lots of burnt clothes and burn scars    ––   the gloves were most likely a  gift  from his father ,    as soon as there had been a few accidents leading to some permanent markings on his hands ,    the same w/ the apron .    i do like to think he makes his own goggles ,   though ,    i.e.  why he has  so  many  of them to go around   !   tattoos.   n/a in most verses ,    but i love the idea of him getting one to tie back to all the work he’s done w/ the demanitus legend   /   language when he’s older   !  birthmarks.   hmmm .    i may come back to this at a later point ,    but for now let’s say if there are some ,   they’ve been marked over by other scars .  most noticeable feature(s).   teal hair stripe ,    gigantic goggles ,   some article of clothing is always slightly singed   (   or still on fire ,   please let him know asap   !    )  .  

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth.   old corona  ! birth weight.   most likely underweight . birth height.   small ,   tiny ,   it sticks w/ him ,   the poor kid  !   first words.   blue  !     siblings.   none   !    can’t vouch for canon here ,   but i’m going to go with historical accuracy here and say his mother died due to sickness when vari was still a baby . parents.   quirin  ( father ) ,   a woman who wasn’t given a name bc tts is Like That™  ( mother ) parental involvement.   being son to the leader of the village isn’t always .   super  great   !   there’s a lot of interactions between them that lean into the thinking that there’s a .   stilted kind of relationship between them ?    (    think .    that is enough ,     varian     /     yes ,   sir .       think .     not again  ,    varian  .     think .    you are not ready .    )    running a village is a busy enough position to be in ,    let alone one in the middle of a crisis  ,     and it doesn’t feel like there’s much time left ,   or  prioritized ,   in either of those times  ,    to develop a relationship w/ vari  ?     i can’t imagine that the loss of his mother really .    helps  ?    there’s so much  hurt  there ,    you can see it when quirin looks at the portrait in qfad ,    and so they’re very distanced due to just .    not knowing how to reach one another  ?    there’s always something ,   too big to cross ,    too far to reach .    so much of varian’s story is trying to get his father to  see  him ,   to be proud of him ,   and it reflects so much onto .   quirin’s absence  ?    in vari’s work ,    in his interests ,   in  him   ?    and in wanting that ,   needing that emotional relationship more than anything else  ?    feels like enough to drive him to uh     .  .  .     doing A Lot™ to get it .   

ADULT LIFE.

occupation.   " wizard “  of old corona   →    alchemist   →    co-lady-in-waiting   (  The Best Day ,    you will never be able to pry this title away from him   )    →    the gentle villain stint    →    redeemed alchemist     →    most trusted royal engineer of corona   !   current residence.   old corona   !    depending on verse he also travels ,   and lives within the citadel to be close to the official castle lab  !   close friends.   ruddiger ,   rapunz.el ,   cassandra ,   eugene ,   lance  . financial status.   as son as the leader of a village ,   i’d say middle class ,   esp. since they’re living in an outskirt town ,   it isn’t much ?    a lot of varian’s experiments come from deconstructing old ones to reuse and rebuild from scraps .   he def sews their clothes back into working order as well   !    driver’s license.   not exactly modern ,    but he  can  fly a hot air balloon  !    that’s pretty vehicular   !    no license tho bc he’s .   gotta rebel in the ways that he still can  !   criminal record.   pulls out a scroll that rolls down the whole expanse of the throne room    :     “  attacking  “   princess rapunz.el on the night of the snowstorm ,   drugging an entire castle staff w/ laced cookies ,   assisting   +   instigating in the theft of herz der sonne's journal ,   assisting   +   instigating the plan to break into the castle vaults ,   stealing the sundrop flower   (    +   later destroying it    ) ,    endangering the crown princess on multiple accounts ,    multiple accounts of assault   +   endangerment to the people of both main and outer corona    (   birthday automaton ,   enhanced ruddiger ,   army of automatons .    ) ,     kidnapping the queen ,     attempted regicide ,    breaking out of jail ,     aligning himself with the saporians ,    wiping the memories of the king   +   queen ,    allegedly planning on continuing the memory wipe to the whole of kingdom corona ,    endangering the whole of main corona with his chemicals yet  again  . vices.   arrogance ,    doubt ,    recklessness .    love language.    primarily  actions  ! !     you need something done ?   you need someone to do something for you  ?    he’s your boy  !    he also gives gifts ,   as well ,   mostly  practical  ones ,   usually lil machines or things he’ll think that could be of use or necessity  !   

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song.    oh   i  will  make  you  proud   is too much of a  bop  to be anything but his theme  !   we also see it played throughout the seasons in instrumental swells within gentle or Big Plot™ moments ,   even all the way back in  what  the  hair  !   so much of his character  +  narrative arcs lean on being seen and known and validated  ?   it’s important to him ,    but especially for it to come from his dad ,    or even from those he admires n looks up to  ?     The whole entire Dream  ! hobbies to pass time.    experiments ,    building w/ spare machinery parts ,   playing around w/ ruddiger ,    cooking  ,    gardening  ,    sewing ,    reading ,    etc .     ! mental illnesses.   anxiety ,   depression ,    ptsd . physical illnesses.    he gets sick a lot .   exposure to dangerous chemicals can lead to a weakened immune system ,   so it ends up showing in lots of semi - sick days after all - nighters that he works through until he eventually collapses or gets worse .   it does mean that he eventually develops a good repertoire of being able to recognize various symptoms of sicknesses ,    and with a bit of studying ,    experience on how to treat people within his village   +   even beyond   ! fears.   losing his father ,    being lied to   /   kept in the dark ,   not being enough despite his best efforts  ,    never being fully trusted in the same way again ,   that he won’t be who he could’ve been ,    once ,    bright in the light ,   unhurt and unhistoried ,    and that the darkness is still in him ,   waiting for the day that he snaps again .    self-confidence level.    can i get a big  oof  in the chat bc it’s not .    really exactly super - great  ?    or even super - sturdy ,   for that matter  ?   ambition is one thing ,    but failed experiment and failed invention over and over again can be .   extremely disheartening ,   especially when it comes w/ a verbal disappointment speech ,   as well as side - eyes and general wariness   +   distrust from everyone in his village .   he’s incredibly confident in his knowledge   +   ability ,    and can don the   “  wizard of old corona  “   facade ,    but he’s .    he wants to do something right ,    so  so  badly ,   to prove himself ,    to prove that he can ,    even if he’s not exactly the right person to do it ,   he’s going to try anyways  ,    even if it’s just in case ,    even if it’s the only recourse left   ?    and that can be .    dangerous ,    to say the least ,    as we’ve seen .     but  but  but    !    with the help of raps and cass and eugene and lance ,   and being given the chance(s) to be included in their lil found family ,    in being able to prove himself among them    (    with some bumps along the way ,    a sad kid with no family left can go a lil feral w/ fury and grief as a treat ,    as you do ,    you know how it be sometimes    ) ,    and come into his own  ?    has been .      the  absolute  best   !     everything he’s done for the name of good ,    for the betterment of the lives of others  !    all of the light that it brings into his life ,    into his work  !      love that for him   !  !  !    vulnerabilities.   overactive ,   maybe leaning a lil too close to what’s really an obsessive need for answers ,    how that there are not many lines he’s not willing to cross to do something he deems Right™ or for those that he loves ,    how he’s easily provoked to accept challenges   +   problems to solve .

TAGGED BY.   @irnmaidn​ ! 💕 TAGGING.    so  i  did .   gently  cut  a  lot  out  of  this , so  if  you  are  interested  in  filling  this  out ,   let  me  know  and  i will  happily direct  u  back  to  the  whole  of  it   !

[t-oresama]

My thoughts on Sulli, her life and death

I wanted to gather my many swirling thoughts on the passing of Sulli, especially because it’s taken me a little while to truly process that she's gone, so her we go. There is obviously going to be mentions of death, depression, bullying and suicide, so there's your warning for this reality that Sulli was bravely facing for so long. There will also be mention of Jonghyun, but only to show the drastic differences in what led to he and Sulli finding their ends the way they did.

Sulli has been a Korean celebrity for 14 years. She debuted as an actress when she was 11, and debuted as a singer in f(x) when she was 15. I honestly didn't know that she was only 25 until today, because she's been around seemingly for forever. 25 years old. Barely in her mid-20s. The time where you're finally starting to get a grasp on this thing called adulthood and enjoy it. There was a video floating around from a variety show she did where she said she wanted to be a mother before she died. She won't get to now. She had her dream cruelly ripped away from her. And I've found in this processing that I've been more angry than anything. Yes, I'm sad, shocked and heartbroken over the loss of this beautiful, spunky, and brave girl, but I'm mostly just so, so pissed off.

There is an obvious understanding for idols or any celebrities that their personal lives are not very personal after becoming famous. Everything they do is magnified because they have become so prolific and, yes, idolized. But this doesn't mean that their privacy entirely should be taken away. It doesn't make them any less susceptible to pain, frustration, fatigue, and sadness. And it doesn't mean that, just because their actions are magnified, that EVERYTHING they do HAS to get reported on, does it? Surely not. But ever since Sulli's "laziness" controversy and subsequent leaving f(x), every post, every picture, every quote out of Sulli's mouth became an article. For 5 years, she has had to defend herself for believing in women's rights for equality and choice, for loving a man that happens to be older than her, for not wearing a goddamn bra. This year has been rife with extremely vile and illegal accusations and convictions. Never once did Sulli break the law in any action she did or said. She was still a young woman trying to find herself, and good for her if she wanted to act outside of the "proper Korean lady" norm. It never hurt anybody. But because she was famous, it was weird and scandalous. She was called a pig, she was called a feminazi, she was called an attention whore, and that is just the beginning of what she had to endure from every salacious article and malicious commenter for 5 YEARS.

I hate to bring him up like this, but this is the second suicide of a high-profile K-pop idol in 2 years so I must bring this up to make my point. And I preface that I am not a therapist or psychologist, but unfortunately looking back now, the signs become more evident in death than in life.I despise when people pin the cause of SHINee's Jonghyun's death on K-pop, and that the industry is what drove him to suicide. In fact, I ranted about just this a couple of weeks ago. He had a horrible illness in depression that was made worse by the pressures and nearly unreal expectations of K-pop, but depression had lingered with him for years. Nothing in the outside world suddenly drove him over the edge. His depression just engulfed him one day to the point of no return. But with Sulli, I do blame the industry.

I blame the industry. I blame the Korean media and the Korean media translation sites, some that cherry-picked the most negative and controversial headlines to gain clicks. I blame the netizens who hid like cowards behind computer screens attacking a young woman with the ferocity of a fictitious video game villain, throwing insults, slurs, and expectations at every new pointless article. I blame Korean society for having these high expectations to begin with, and still, YEARS after Jonghyun's death, stigmatizing those who suffer from mental illness and write it off as "a bad day" or "attention seeking". Her environment did not help her, but hurt her. It kicked her while she was down for all these years with no relief. I mean, for goodness sake, Sulli joined a show literally called "The Night of Vicious Comments" in order to attempt to show strength in the face of so much adversity and get people to understand that words hurt, especially how many she was getting on a daily basis. Some of her last mentions in Korean media was her doing a live broadcast on two different occasions, and having one where a man wouldn't leave her alone and one where her breast was exposed for all but a half a second. Never were these considered by the public at large to be mistakes, but ploys at attention seeking. Rarely was there sympathy for this girl who was just trying to find her place in the world and fight back against oppression. She was already suffering from mental anguish-- the reason she left f(x) all those years ago-- but no one except for Sulli herself can ever convince me that it wasn't the culmination of all this hate for all these years that drove her to her breaking point. Now these same publications-- some even cashing in like they did for Jonghyun releasing multiple articles on the deceased for website hits-- and these same people who left these vicious comments and the Korean society at large want to say "Oh, what a tragedy. What a shame we didn't stop this sooner. She was human after all." Shame on the lot of you. I never would wish anything ill on anyone, but I hope the people who left even one hate comment for Sulli or any other celebrity take a good look at themselves and realize their words can kill. I hope they realize what they've caused.

Her last Instagram live had Sulli saying that she wasn't a bad person, and asking desperately why people send her hate. That is so heartbreaking. She was bullied relentlessly and all she wanted was to know why. For being herself? For being outspoken? For going against this inhuman mold of K-pop idols and Korean celebrities who are chaste and pure and robotic that the industry has set as a standard? For not wearing a goddamn bra? Heartbreaking. I do believe she was already suffering from sort of mental strife, whether that was depression or something else, but it was perpetuated by a society that completely and utterly failed her. My first thought reading the news of her death this morning was "I'm so sorry, Sulli," and not because I ever left her a hateful comment (and, honestly, you are entitled to not like a celebrity, but to waste so much energy constantly bombarding them with hateful messages? Like, how do so many nasty people have time to do that?). But because I saw it happen. Because I would click on the occasional clickbaity article and give those publications a motivation to keep translating the absurdly controversial. Because I never commented something nice. And, as a result of her death, I've seen a flood of comments of concern and love go to some idols Sulli was closest to, like Taeyeon and Tiffany and Amber and IU (and countless more), asking if they are okay, showing them support. It truly sucks that this is what it takes for the good to truly outweigh the bad, and that this is inevitably too little too late. But I think any normal person who knew what Sulli was constantly up against feels some sense of sorrow or guilt for what's happened, even those of us who don't live in Korea who don't impact Korean celebrities like those in Korea. There's also guilt for not seeing the signs of her suffering until it was too late. But, as with Jonghyun, those most open about their pain, who try to put on this brave front, can end up being the ones who suffer most. There needs to be a greater vigilance in online commenting, privacy protection, sensationalist articles, and insuring the well-being of Korean celebrities. This involves a total shift in how the Korean industry has been working for decades, but part of me wants to hope that THIS death, not the first of its kind, can lead to something to change. I selfishly and maybe foolishly hope that something can change.

To end this very long post/rant, I want to dedicate this last paragraph to Sulli. Choi Jin Ri. The effervescent Peach. The big baby of f(x). The princess of eye smiles. The girl who dared to go against an industry just to stay true to herself. Again, I am so sorry that we have collectively failed you. You deserved so much more than what you had to endure. And I am so sorry that your dream of being a mother will never be realized. I am sorry the plethora of milestones that laid ahead for you you'll never experience. I'm so sorry you were suffering. I hope wherever you are that you are finally, deservedly, at peace. No bad words or malicious intentions can come close to touching you now. Thank you for both what you have generously shared with us in your solo work and your work as a member of f(x). You are a legend and a true game-changer. The world wasn't ready for someone like you, and some of them didn't deserve you. But thank you for leaving us with so much of you in your songs and performances and words and true, uncapturable beauty. Rest in everlasting peace.

Finally, if you reading this are suffering with negative thoughts or mental anguish, please find the hotline that corresponds to your country and seek help. https://ibpf.org/resou…/list-international-suicide-hotlines… There are people who are there to help. Take time to practice true self care and love over these next few days. Stay safe and stay strong.