#my dream-self only has one brain-cell

[the-simple-diamond-gall]

—I had a weird dream last night —

It was about me watching YouTube (Markiplier to be exact) and he made this video called “Eating my Christmas tree”

The video started with a POV shot of Mark showing off the tree. There is no commentary, just the camera moving around to show the audience from a few different angles. It was a real wood tree with absolutely NO decorations, NO lights, no nothin’

The room that the tree was in was not decorated for the holidays either… in fact it had no furniture, or windows. There was only an unlit fireplace in the background.

So The video was only showing the small tree in this empty room.

anyway, Markiplier put the camera down and walked into view to stand beside this “Christmas tree”. The tree is about a foot taller than him. There is still no commentary.

—-

At this point in the dream, I’m thinking to myself that this is going to be one of those experimental videos, like his “meow” video, or that time he just admired a banana for ten minutes.

But, no.

—-

Mark just plucks one of the smaller branches off the tree and… well…

It started with a nibble…

Than a tiny nom

Than a bigger nom-nom

And a full on Chomp

The crunch-crunch sounds are quite noisy

It is obvious that he likes the taste of the tree, so he eats more… and more

He rips off one of the lower branches and eats it like corn-on-the-cob. Except it was not corn, and he ate the entire cob.

He shoves the smaller twigs in his mouth, devouring them like Chips and liking the small evergreen needles off his fingers like Cheeto dust

He continues to ravenously consume the tree piece by piece

This continues until the tree is almost bald, with only a couple of green branches left.

And only then, does the tree respond…

The tree is pleased

So while Mark is down on one knee with his head tilted sideways biting the trunk of the tree, trying to chew his way through it, the tree begins to grow a long vine out of its peak. At the end of this vine grows a large fruit that looked like a bushel of grapes that has all fused together into a single lumpy mass.

Mark looks upon the trees gift with reverence in his eyes.

—-

At this point in the dream I’m thinking to myself “since when do evergreen trees have fruit? Or vines? That’s not a pine cone. How unrealistic”

—-

As I watch him open his mouth to eat the fruit, I half expect his jaw to unhinge and swallow it whole. But that doesn’t happen, although he certainly tries to do just that. He only manages to take one large bite, splitting open the flesh of the lumpy fruit causing its purple juice to drip down his chin. He grabs the vine to pull the fruit closer and goes in for another bite and…

The video ends.

—-

Well that was weird…

Anyway, nothing else really happened in that dream, and I woke up not long after.

As someone who doesn’t have dreams very often, or just immediately forgets them within 5 minutes of waking up, I think it’s weird-as-all-heck that I still remember this one well into the afternoon.

Maybe science side of tumblr could explain. lol idk

[pauli-writes]

warnings: probably not lore accurate, shackling prison

pairing: dan heng x vidyadhara!reader

author’s note: i got the xianzhou on the brain, im sorry if this is bad i just needed to write something to get rid of my writers block :,)

eternity.

a state to which time has no application, timelessness. the concept of eternity was almost unthinkable to short life species such as humans, everything had a beginning and an end for them. but long life species view time differently, for them eternity was a feasible concept, yet equally as unreachable. whenever one thought they had reached it, they’d die or get reborn anew.

you have wished for eternity as long as you could remember, but you knew even if it would claim you, you would be reborn, doomed to repeat this endless cycle for millennia to come with no memories of your previous life.

and so life moves on, and yet you remained unmoving, as the shackling prison of the xianzhou luofu has been your home for the better part of this amber era. every day you looked wishfully at the dark walls of your cell, imagining a life outside of the prison, the life your other self had lived on the luofu.

but not everything was awful.

you had a friend once. his cell was next to yours, you never saw his face, but you could hear his voice, the screams and whimpers he’d let out when he had a nightmare. it wasn’t that unusual in the prison, but to you everyone else’s voices were scrambled and distant, and yet you could hear his so clearly, the anguish with in it, that one day you couldn’t take it anymore and asked him what he was dreaming about in an attempt to satiate your own curiosity.

“what are you always dreaming about?”

there was a prolonged silence followed by the soft rattling of chains. you assumed he was shackled to the wall just like you were.

“i think i’m remembering things from my previous life…” he spoke, but he sounded unsure and shaken up by his nightmare.

you frowned and shook your head, “that’s not possible.”

he didn’t reply after that. the two of you went back to being silent, for weeks you didn’t bother talking further. you were pretty sure he hated you, still eternity was so far away so you decided to try talking again.

“so, what did you do to end up here?”

he didn’t reply again, but you didn’t care, you needed to talk, to distract yourself from your prison, so you just continued. “i don’t really know, but i think my previous self did something bad.“

there was another pause and you believed this conversation to be another dead end until he spoke softly, “i think mine did too.”

your eyes widened as you heard him speak and you felt yourself smiling for the first time in a while. “i’m reader by the way...”

“dan heng.”

you paused for a moment, the name stirring a sense of familiarity inside of you. was it possible that… perhaps, perhaps not. all you knew at that moment that company was a momentary reprieve from this prison. so, you continued occasionally talking to your new friend, commiserating in your shared misery of being chained up for something you don’t really remember doing in the first place.

you were usually the one to initiate the conversations, dan heng wasn’t much of a talker you quickly figured out, but you mostly only spoke to him after you could hear him having a nightmare. but you were surprised as he spoke up first one night.

“do you know something about imbibitor lunae?”

you paused, a feeling of familiarity washing over you from the word, but nothing concrete came to mind. “it sounds familiar, but i don’t remember…”

“i see.” he replied, sounding disappointed. it made you sad that you couldn’t help him out, but you didn’t dwell on it.

“why are you asking me?”

silence filled the air once more, you could hear the chains rattling from his cell. “i… had a dream. i heard your voice. you said those words.”

“you have strange dreams.”

“you don’t?”

you looked to the ground, trying to recall the last time you had a weird dream, or even a dream. but you couldn’t remember, you slept so little that you definitely would have remembered a dream or strange dreams. “no… i don’t dream.”

“then you’re even stranger.”

you thought for a moment, “maybe…”

time continued passing outside of the prison and just as you found a moment of respite and comfort with the fleeting moments between you and your friend, they were ripped away from you in an instant like a cruel cosmic punishment. you didn’t see anything, but you heard the hushed voices, the whispered names and titles as the chains were loosened and the doors opened.

dan heng, dan feng, imbibitor lunae, the high elder of the vidyadhara…

those names meant something to you once upon a time too, maybe they would again…

[synthetickitsune]

Oh, Death ✧ y.jh

Pairing: grim reaper!Yoon Jeonghan x reader (gn) Genre: angst without plot Summary: You've always thought death was beautiful and then you’re proven right just before your very own death when he comes to take you away. Word count: 1.3k Warnings: reader dies, implied suicidal thoughts and body image issues (very brief mentions for both) A/N: based on three banger lines (in bold in the fic) that @hanniedream dropped into my dms and then wrote her own amazing fic (with plot!!) that's much better than whatever this is so go read that (i'm just freeloading on bibi's big brain here)

You've always thought death was beautiful and then you’re proven right just before your very own death when he comes to take you away.

He stands there like an apparition of moonlight on a cold and rainy night, a single beam that would break the stormy skies and bring silence upon the world.

As if covered by a heavy blanket of snow, as if the time has stopped, all sound disappears from the world, from the street, from your room. You take a breath and you’re so startled you gasp again, self-conscious of the loud noise in the perfect silence.

His breathing is quiet and slow, methodical, as if he’s counting the beats of your heart before he breathes each time. It’s slow, you find, your heartbeat. Almost artificial in its steady tempo.

Somehow you feel like it’s stopped beating a long time ago, now only a memory meant to soothe you. Your body trying to save your life one last time, the memories of your cells working all together to keep you alive keep going even after their purpose was fulfilled until the last second. You look behind you - mean to look.

You can’t.

Not with the cold but gentle fingertips softly touching your jaw just as you’re about to turn back to take a look.

You’re startled again when your gaze turns towards what’s in front of you. He moved without a sound, crossing the expanse of space between you in just one second. Where are you? It feels like a dream. The split second of time between sleep and waking up, the short infinity when a lightning flashes in perfect silence and wakes you up from your sleep. You think you see stars, but they lose their shine against his eyes.

They’re the color of ice but hold the gentleness of melting snow, the water freed from its icy prison and searching for someone to embrace and mold itself against their shape. His touch is just like that snow, stealing your warmth slowly. You don’t mind it being drained as long as he keeps his fingers on your skin. He never warms up. His touch remains freezing and he looks apologetic for that. Yet there’s no reason. His cold is one of a breeze on summer’s day, a cold towel on your forehead when you’re tormented by fever.

You think you love him, death.

You understand that’s what he is. That there’s nothing that can be done about it, or about your demise. It’s not his place to decide about it, only to carry it out. He’s gentle. Quiet. As cold as his touch is, it doesn’t hurt you. You don’t remember any pain. You feel light, something akin to happiness buzzing under your skin. Elated. That’s how you feel. A reverent sort of happiness that you suppose comes after the hardship is over.

Is it an act of mercy that he won’t let you see the body that kept you alive? Or is it a rule he has to follow? You wish to see it. For all the complicated feelings you might’ve had towards it through your life, it was yours. It treated you as best as it could.

You lower your eyes like a child being scolded when his fingers stroke your cheek gently, preventing you from turning back for the second time. He’s patient. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do, but you’re sure it’s not lingering on the border between life and death, between the then and the to-be. Yet you do. It’s strange. You craved death so dearly, like a sweet candy after a bitter medicine, yet now that you’re parting with life you’re hesitant. Like wondering if you forgot to take your keys with you the moment the door is closed. Only this time, there’s no one to help you. Shedding your skin, like shedding your life in the world of living, is perhaps truly an act of mercy.

Of course you weren’t prepared for death, and for what comes after. No matter how much you longed for it and wished for it at times. It feels awkward. You’re glad someone is here waiting for you, guiding you. You’re sure he’s meant to guide you. It feels familiar. Did a similar scene happen before? Your memories are so hazy, your entire life flashing through your mind on a loop. Perhaps he’s there too somewhere, waiting like he’s waiting now for you to notice him.

You raise your gaze again and meet his eyes.

You always knew there was a reason you thought about and loved death as much as you did and now that you're face to face with him, everything made sense. death was beautiful. Death is beautiful.

You wonder if someone told him before.

Slowly he lets his hand fall, tracing your skin down your neck and towards your collarbones. Then lower. He caresses your sternum until his fingers stop just below it. You shiver. Like a deer staring into the scope of a rifle, you hold his gaze. They’re kind, his eyes. He’s kind. You feel no pain.

His soft eyes reassure you and comfort you. You start crying, and you see tears pooling in his eyes too until a single one overflows. You feel cold. The cold of staying in the pool for too long. The cold of sitting in the shower after the water stopped running, the droplets cooling on your skin, barely any heat remaining trapped in the fold of your curled body. 

His lips part only slightly. You want to hear his voice but he doesn’t say anything. Your breathing is erratic and too loud, you can’t even hear him breathing. Another tear spills. His other hand comes to hold your face like he did before. Gently, a barely-there touch. His hands are always gentle. Careful not to cause pain. Something is being ripped from you with his icy touch, but it doesn’t hurt. Does it hurt him? Is he taking your pain away? If so, you wish he didn’t. Seeing him cry is like watching an angel weep. It should never happen. No matter if he’s the opposite of an angel.

It feels like an ice shard is being pulled from your body, so slowly that the sharp edges don't cut you. Something heavy is being taken from you. Something that kept the blood, the hurt, inside you. What are you going to do without it? His fingers move smoothly to hold your chin up, so you don’t see what it is that he took from you. There’s a void in your chest left behind. A black hole swallowing everything, starving to fill the emptiness. It’s not hard to guess what it was that he took from you.

One more tear falls. You want to tell him it’s okay. Instead he leans closer. His soft breath caresses your skin. You close your eyes when he’s so close you can see the web of galaxies in his irises. His lips are like petals of a frozen flower against the skin of your cheek. When you open your eyes again, he’s crying. Silently.

He extends a hand towards you, stained ruby. You take it. It’s sticky and cold. It binds you together. 

If the stain remains, if it’s never washed away, will the blood spin itself into a string that would guide you back to him?

Without an answer, you follow him. For now, you only need to hold his hand. You don’t need to look for him if he found you.

And for now, that’s enough. 

For now, you feel him. 

Later you’ll look for ways to find him too.

[mo0nfairy]

I gotta see a part of yandere Leon where reader remembers him as they get through los Iluminados maybe some yandere in action lol (at least only if you want to!)

part 1. part 3. part 4.

tw :: obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, mention of drugs, framing, handcuffs, stalking, trauma, guns, wounds, heights, being locked up.

⸺ ooooooo !!! i've been meaning to make a part 2 of my last ask, but had zero idea where to go from where i ended. i also had played a bit of RE2 before the remake came out recently, so a piece of my brain has been kept up in raccoon city for a little while. i would love to express my thoughts and mesh these two games together !!

let's start with where we left off in los iluminados.

upon having your handcuffs taken off by the stranger who is far too close for comfort, you pace backwards, far away as you can get from this insanity of a man. his attitude abruptly shifts into something softer, a major contrast to the emotional breakdown he had just seconds prior. he realizes you're afraid — afraid of him. and as much as the mere thought destroys him to the point of breaking down again, he shoves a sob back down his throat and keeps his distance, despite how desperately he wishes to close it.

6 years. 6 years. he has been waiting over 2,190 miserable days for this single moment. all the sleepless nights spent searching the world for you; all the hopeless nights spent clinging to pillows, praying by some miracle it will somehow become you. every second of these past 6 years has been spent dreaming of this single moment. and even though your reunion wasn't the teary-eyed, passionate kiss in the rain he had hoped for, you are still here with him nonetheless.

and like hell will he let you slip from his grasp again.

with as much time as his needy self would grant him being physically away from you, he is soon at your side. leon then wraps you in his jacket and you swear you hear a harsh gasp escape from him when his finger accidentally makes contact with the skin of your neck. despite your negligence and more-than-obvious discomfort, you do appreciate the new warm embrace after a week of cold rain and damp clothes. it smells exactly like him, as well.

and with that, he's got a gentle hand hovering over your lower back as he guides you through the depths of this hellhole. and piece by piece, memories that had been buried in your brain begin to disinter themselves.

for example, you got a staring problem bro?? for the entirety of the time you spend with leon in los iluminados, there is literally never a single moment where this mans eyes are not on you. half of the time it is to ensure you are unharmed, but the other half consists of him staring in complete and utter awe. it's kind of hard to focus on surviving when leon is constantly staring into your soul. but it has just been so fucking long since he has been able to see you in all of your glory, so please excuse him for any inappropriate behavior on his end.

also, you knew you have lived in raccoon city for a short period of time before the events of RE2 happened, but like everything else that relates to that damned place, you couldn't remember a thing.

except now. leon's gaze uncovers a memory you have of yourself being held in one of the RPD holding cells. the atrocious scent, the uncomfortable bench, the paint peeling from the walls. you try and scrutinize what on earth you could have been arrested for, but your attempts are merely futile. but unbeknownst to you, your arrest was nothing but bullshit. and to say leon has had a crush on you from the second you moved into RC would be nothing short of the truth. so, by pulling some strings, the rookie had managed to lock you up for what he calls 'bonding time'. he'll place a chair backwards in front of your cell, prop his arms on the backrest and admire you with your full attention finally on him (instead of just stalking you around town).

two things you now remember about this man: he was so adorably baby-faced back then and my god, was he awkward. he still cannot talk for shit and i mean this with my whole heart. his sweet, innocent eyes gaze at you while he tries to play it cool, pulling cards like "yeah, i workout" and "you come here often?". all as if he hadn't personally arrested you for possession of illegal substances he planted himself. (nothing will happen to you, obvi. he just desperately needed a second alone with you to show off how charismatic he can be. or try to be, at least).

and for the short second of seeing him after 6 years, his eyes were just devoid of any life. you had assumed the trauma inflicted from that night had caused such a contrast in his physical appearance, and you would be right to assume that. but the soulless eyes, monotone voice, and lackluster personality was entirely due to your disappearance. days upon days of the lonely, eternal torment destroyed his sanity. however, that illustrious boy you can barely remember seems to have returned with your presence.

another thing you can't believe you had forgotten was how intense his stare is. the way he stares is illegible and sometimes overwhelming. he shivers in his stance, whimpers at your every move, and his mind runs rampant with all sorts of obsessive declarations of love. although it may seem creepy to others and especially yourself, do not fret. he has no ill intent towards you, god he could never! this puppy-dog of a man is simply marveling at your sheer existence.

you are able to retrieve another lost memory when you have to jump from a window and into his arms (for those who say he won't be able to catch you, stfu. have ya'll seen how beefy his arms are??? anyways....). the secret agent you have grown to like during your stay in los iluminados jumps down marvelously (most def showing off his james-bond-esque agilities to you). he now watches from below as you stare at the distance beneath you in trepidation. this distrust you have — he is going to travel to the ends of the universe to fix it. no matter what.

you begin to ponder, he has savagely brutalized all threats in your path and held your hand as if he were holding the world all in the same breath. you should trust him, especially after witnessing the pure display of loyalty he has for you.

"don't be afraid, y/n. i'll catch you, i promise!" there is 10000% a way to walk through the house and down the stairs to get to him, but ofc he's not gonna tell you. why would he willingly throw away the opportunity to be your knight in shining armor?

"you will?" your voice is full of apprehension. his stare on you feels like the same bullets he's forced upon your attackers.

"always."

with that, you rip the bandaid off and jump from the ledge. and leon was most certainly not lying. you land safely in his embrace and he wraps his arms tightly around your form. and to finally have you so close, after so, so long of devastatingly praying he could feel you once more.......... if he had a tail, it would for sure be wagging so fast it would morph into a blur. and the way he holds you is different, as if his gentle nature is reserved for you and you only (which it is. this is literally him in a nutshell).

and when you had instinctively buried your face into his neck upon landing, clinging to him out of fear of hitting the ground, he literally melts. i'm serious, he literally just 🫠🫠🫠🫠. the faint hum of laughter and adoration that escapes his throat breaks you out of your state of shock. you made it safely to the ground without breaking every bone in your body, hooray! (as if there is a single reality in existence where leon would ever allow that to happen, but i digress).

you meet his gaze and there is that all-too familiar stare he gives you. leon's arms holding onto you like a lifeline uncovers a memory you have of yourself being held like this all those years ago. you can't recall exactly where in raccoon city you were, but you can remember how humiliated you were when you tripped over a crack in the pavement and ate shit. there was the fairest of scrapes against your shin, but the mortification hurt far more than any wound. while you dust yourself off and attempt to ignore the burning stares of pedestrians, a shout of your name sparks your attention.

the RPD gear and besotted eyes you're met with could be no other than that baby-faced rookie. you ponder of what he was doing on this side of town. was it a simple coincidence you had run into each other? or perhaps, had he followed you? just when you think you can't feel more embarrassed, leon gets down on one knee and dramatically inspects your wound. and my god, he acts like you were shot or something. he visibly shudders from the sight of your leg; people begin to gather around the commotion. with pure ease, he then scoops you into his arms to bring you to safety. you can feel his heart pound like a machine gun beneath the palm of your hand.

despite the humiliation deprived from this event, you fortunately are free from anything mortifying in los iluminados. however, leon doesn't seem to understand when to take a hint.

"uh... you can put me down now." you come out of your memory to thrash in his grasp and avoid his intense gaze, but your prince charming seems to still be caught in his y/n-filled daze.

after a few long seconds, your comment seems to finally reach his brain. "huh?" his response is faint and you almost don't hear it.

you repeat yourself and begrudgingly, leon then slowly puts you back onto your feet, savoring the last few seconds spent with you in his arms. exactly where you belong. you can only fear how much more suffocating affection you'll have to endure before you can finally remember what happened that night.

i think someone legit needs to slap me across the face and bring me back into reality cause holy shit...... i went WAYY too far with this. my brain is a mess thank u for reading.

i have more thoughts about this........ just incase u were curious........ ;)

[gabessquishytum]

Hob really has to stop drinking with Joanna, more things go sideways after nights out with her, than a fine upstanding shaper of young minds should be party to.

This time, it's sneak into this private garden and pick one of the weird flowers as proof.

Drunk Hob thinks this is a great easy idea - over the pointy fence; cell phone (only dropped twice) out with the flashlight on (although it's a full moon night so the flashlight is barely necessary); Joanna yell whispering from the other side of the fence,,,,,all fun and game!!! Then Hob is face to face with a snarling dog, dog-like animal thing.

Seriously, this dog is big, like a dire wolf, but lean?!?. Hob's drunk mind is obviously adding size. But Hob loves puppies!!! He's not scared at all. He hugs the guard dog (he nonplusses it so much it doesn't bite); he scritches it and gives it pets, and calls it good boy. He tells the puppy that he's drunk and doing a stupid bet and asks if he wants to help him pick a flower as proof.

To be clear, the dog is not a puppy, it's huge, and it seems weirdly super smart, to understand Hob. Hob and the puppy walk over to a patch of flowers, and with a nugde of it's nose, the puppy indicates Hob should pick one of these. Hob thanks the puppy, kissing it on the head, calling it good boy one last time. Then hopes back over the fence.

Dream is not a puppy; he is a werewolf (and torture artist,,,,,high-end global phenon tortured artist). His home is fenced and setup so when he changes into his wolf form, he keeps himself and people safe.

When he smells a trespasser in his garden he is ready to scare off the interloper. What he gets instead is a drunk beautiful, unafraid, man who gives him scritches and calls him good boy,,,,,, (Dream does not, not, have a praise kink.)

Dream is going to have to find this sweet smelling cuddly man in the light of day.

Aksjdjdjajs.

Hob wakes up the nest day with distant memories of commiting minor felonies - it's not the first time he's trespassed on someone else's property, but it probably will be the last. At least the puppy was nice. Such a big puppy, with such incredible blue eyes! And he's got this beautiful poppy as well. He's never seen a flower like it - it's almost black! And it shows no sign of wilting. Hob puts it in his coat buttonhole, and attempts to get on with his day. With a disgusting hangover, of course.

Which calls for coffee and an extra large pastry. He's just sitting down in his favourite cafe with his goodies when he feels this..... feeling. Like someone looking at him. And when he looks up, there's a pair of big blue eyes staring down at him. Not in the face of a fluffy wolf-puppy, but in the face of a gaunt yet beautiful man.

Hob takes a gulp of his coffee and indicates for the man to join him. It's a moment before he can manage to speak...

"You." He manages to say. "You're my good boy, aren't you?"

And Dream (who was about to try and be his scariest sneeriest self) turns bright pink and squirmy. Hob might not have meant to activate anyone's praise kink, but he really really has. And now he's got a problem - Dream doesn't intend to leave him alone. He'll follow Hob to work and back home again, as long as he finally gets what he wants.

And what he wants is to be fucked doggy style on Hob’s bed, and praised and called a good sweet boy until he cums his brains out. Maybe a lil scratch behind the ears, too. Is that so much to ask for?

Luckily, Hob is happy to provide whatever Dream wants... as long as he gets to finish his coffee first.

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter eight: up north

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 11k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), polite southern manners, feeling familial and self-pressure, undefined relationship, likely poor spanish grammar, pining joel, fingering, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, soft soft soft joel, sprinkle of possessive joel, Big Feelings

a/n: end of another summer of these two </3 this is the longest chapter by far but i hope you all love it!

h&h will be taking about a 2ish week break so i can catch up on requests and some other WIPs before we start the final summer!

i must say a huge THANK YOU to el @northernbluess for beta reading this behemoth chapter & previous chapters and always screaming about joel & mariposa with me. my sister wife/shared brain cell/sweet, sweet girlfriend (always willing to be the oscar to your pedro) 🥰

ok i will shush now, enjoy xxx

TO: Mariposa

Hey sweetheart, gonna head over to pick up Sarah now

Are you girls out of the pool?

Yep! Brushing Sarah’s hair out with some leave-in conditioner, got really tangled when we were swimming

Door’s open if you wanna come in :)

Joel deposits his phone into the pocket of his jeans before he steps out of his front door and walks across the grass to yours. He opens your front door and steps in, waiting in the entryway after announcing that he was inside.

You peek your head out from upstairs, looking down at him and smiling.

“Hey, stranger,” you bound downstairs, jerking a thumb behind you where you came from, “I’ve got a bunch of old childhood stuff like stuffed animals and dolls and books that I need to get rid of before the move so Sarah’s looking through everything in my room. I hope it’s alright that I told her to take what she wanted—”

Joel closes the gap between you and grins, shaking his head as he reaches a hand out to wrap around your waist. He pulls you closer with a gentle tug, kissing you sweetly.

When he pulls away, he leans in for one quick peck, rubbing his thumb in circles on your hip.

“Sorry, interrupted you…” He says with a laugh as you roll your eyes playfully.

“Yeah, how rude of you,” you kiss him one more time before continuing, “Anyways, I told her to take whatever she wanted. Not sure if you will be going home with a few things or all of it, so I apologize if it doubles the amount of stuffies that she already has.”

“It’s alright, Mariposa. No harm in her having something or a bunch of things from her favorite nanny,” he rubs your back as you turn to walk back upstairs, him close behind, “My favorite nanny, too.”

A hand dropped to your ass, he squeezes it while you climb the stairs ahead of him, chuckling softly at you reaching back to swat his hand away.

“Alright, hands to yourself, Miller,” you scold before walking down the hall into your room; he follows and smiles wide when Sarah looks up at him from a pile of stuffed animals around her.

“Daddy! Posey’s giving me some of her stuffies, and books, and dolls cause she’s the bestest. Should I take the blue elephant or the bunny with floppy ears?” She holds up both options for him to consider and Joel steps further into the room toward her, squatting down to look at them closely.

“Oh goodness, I’m not sure, Bug. They’re both very cute,” he rubs his chin as he thinks, a low hum as he looks between the two options, “I would say the bunny. How about you?”

Sarah grins and nods, setting down the elephant toy and holding the bunny against her chest, “I like it, too. Does the bunny have a name already, Posey?”

“Oh! Hmm, let’s see him…” you walk over to her and Joel, kneeling on your carpet next to him. Joel fidgets with his fingers, itching to reach out for you when you’re sitting that close. He keeps his hands on his knees, running his hands over the worn denim and focusing on the feeling of it against his palms instead of the warmth radiating off of you, the smell of the chlorine mixing with your perfume that he wants to lick off of your skin, the soft cotton of the oversized shirt that he wants to rest his cheek against as he lays with you.

God, all he wants is you. All the time.

“Now that I think about it, I think this bunny was one of my favorites when I was your age. I think I had decided he was a boy, and I named him Flopsy. You don’t have to keep that same name, sweet pea. I’m sure he would love whatever you wanna call him,” you grin and shrug your shoulders to her, picking up a different toy that sits in front of you.

“I don’t wanna call him anything different. I don’t want him to forget about you, Posey, so I wanna call him what you named him so he always thinks about you.”

Joel looks over to you as Sarah gets distracted going through your old Barbies and babydolls; your hand is pressed against your chest as you set the toy back on the floor, your other hand reaching up to swipe under your eyes. When you turn to face him, he offers you a sympathetic look that you respond to with a sad smile, tears in your eyes. You stand up, using his shoulder for support, and move to retreat to the hallway to give yourself a moment. He covers your hand at his shoulder with his, squeezing and giving you silent comfort before your touch slips away from him.

It’s another moment before he asks Sarah to wrap up with her decisions; he helps her gather everything she chose, slipping it all into a bag that you’ve lent her to transport her new belongings back to their house. He picks Sarah up as she yawns, holding her up with one arm and grabbing the bag in his other hand. One deep breath and he smells the same product that you use in your hair, pressing his head into his daughter’s hair to take it in entirely and giving her a kiss at the crown of her head. It constricts his heart in his chest, a reminder of your imprint on his life. Maybe it’s strange, but he makes a mental note to get the same product for Sarah the next time he’s at the store.

Joel and Sarah walk out of your room and meet you in the upstairs hallway. When you turn around at the sound of his footsteps, he can see the dried tear tracks and desperately wants to wrap you up in his other arm, to hold you there and do anything he could to make you feel better.

That same butterfly that normally stirs each time he looks at you drops from his chest to his stomach, the fluttering of wings turning into rolling waves of anxiety. He hates that feeling, one he hasn’t felt around you ever — it’s been there before you, and when you were away, but each time he has had you around, one smile or touch or even just a look quells his panic. His vision always tunnels on you, everything else that was affecting him falling away.

This moment though, it has the opposite effect. His tunnel vision on you spurs the rush of worry, seeping dread in between his ribs and making his chest cave in.

Without knowing what to do to help you, he clears his throat and speaks plaintively, “We’re gonna head out, Mariposa. Sarah’s got her haul here.” He holds up the bag a few inches, a benign smile that doesn’t reach his eyes passed to you.

A silent question exchange between the two of you with his eyes:

Are you okay?

To which you reply with a forced smile, still beautiful but not nearly as breathtaking as your genuine one.

“Bet you got all the good stuff, Sare-Bear. You’ve gotta tell me how all your new friends like your original stuffy buddies,” you guide them downstairs and Joel lingers in the door with Sarah, thanking you again for watching her and giving her some hand-me-downs to play with and read. You wave off his thanks and watch from the doorway as he crosses your lawn to his, the click of the door heard behind him.

Sarah speaks up from her head on his shoulder, her innocent tone asking him curious questions, “Why is Posey moving away from her house and her parents?”

Joel hikes her up in his arms, debating in his head on how to answer.

“Well, she got an adult job that she has to move for. She really wanted to do that specific job, and it’s far away from home, so she has to move.”

“What is her job?”

“You know when you see posters or billboards or commercials that sell things? Posey’s gonna be the one who comes up with all those ideas on how to sell those things.”

“That’s cool. I hope she gets to make one for Bratz or Strawberry Shortcake,” she picks up her head and looks at Joel as he opens the front door, “Is Posey gonna come visit before summer is over?”

“No, I’m sorry, mija. Posey can’t come back for a while, her job wants her to be around to learn all the things she needs to know for her job so she can’t take any days off like Daddy can sometimes.”

Sarah sighs and her shoulders fall, holding onto Joel’s shoulders as he brings her up to the bathroom to get the shower ready for her to wash off the chlorine.

“Can I talk to her when she’s gone? Like on the phone?”

“I’m not sure, Bug. I guess I would have to see if Posey’s okay with that. I’ll ask her; is that okay?”

When he sets her down, he sees the slight disappointment from his answer, clearly wanting an immediate yes to stifle her nerves about her nanny moving away.

“Well, aren’t you gonna call her, Daddy? Cause you’re friends? I can talk to her after you do,” she stands straighter, proud of her problem-solving skills and it twists his heart in his chest even more than the sight of you crying.

“Oh, mija, I don’t know…”

“I know what you can do! There is this boy named Luke in my class that told my friend Katie that he liked her and now they’re boyfriend and girlfriend and they spend every recess together. If you ask Posey to be your girlfriend, maybe then she would stay and hang out with us all the time!”

Is it possible for something to be incredibly adorable and incredibly tormenting at the same time?

How is he meant to answer that?

Why is his kid so perceptive? He was never this smart.

God damn him for actually trying to raise this kid well.

He kneels on the bathroom tile in front of her, making himself eye level with his daughter as he struggles to find an answer that will make sense to her unjaded mind.

“Mija, mi princesa, you are so smart. That is a very good idea, but I’m not sure if that would work for us. When you get older, it isn’t as easy to spend time with people cause life gets busy or people have to make hard decisions to move away or break up, like Mommy and I did when you were very, very little. I really like Posey and she is a very nice person, but she’s gotta move away, Bug. I’m sorry, mija.”

Sarah’s eyes well with fat tears, her bottom lip pouting in a tremble. She wipes at her eyes furiously as her tears fall, small hiccups shaking her body as Joel wraps her up in his arms, soothing her with soft ‘shhs’ and rocking her side to side.

“I know, Bug, I know. It’s sad when a friend moves away. But Posey will come visit, I promise. It’ll be okay, mi mariposita.”

It takes a few minutes to calm her down fully, but once Sarah is feeling a bit better, Joel gathers pajamas for her to change into and leaves the shower running for her. As he crosses the hall to leave the bag of stuff from you in her room, he pauses once it’s set on the carpet, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop what’s brewing behind them. A single sniffle is felt in his nose before he shakes his shoulders loose, stowing away the feelings to unpack when he’s alone in bed tonight, without you to wrap his arms around and lay his head on.

The noise of the annual neighborly barbecue muffles as you shut the front door behind you, sighing softly as you find some peace and solitude on the front porch. Wood creaks under your feet while you cross the large open space, taking a few of the steps down and sitting on the edge. Smoothing the skirt of your sundress over your knees, you rest an elbow on your thigh and your chin in your hand. The street is quiet, everyone inside the house or out in the backyard; it’s been a while since you’ve seen the neighborhood this way, everyone always hustling and bustling up and down the road. You tune into little changes from the stillness — freshly cut blades of grass blowing across the sidewalk, the mailbox flag barely hanging on by a thread at the end of your neighbor’s driveway, your car parked next to Joel’s truck in front of his house. The last one hits you with a bit more feeling than simple nostalgia for your neighborhood. You volunteered to move your car to give room for others from around the neighborhood to park at your house for the party, and Joel, of course, insisted you take a spot at his. 

It’s a glimpse into a life you could’ve had if there were a chance for you two. But you have the calendar in your room, counting down the handful of days that you have until that car is packed up along with a U-Haul and driven the nearly 2,000 miles to Boston. The week after, you start your new job, and from then on, you have no idea what is going to happen. Christmas will be spent away from home, the tickets to meet your parents at your grandparents’ place in Wisconsin have already been purchased. No summer vacation to look forward to next year, no date on that same calendar when you would be home again. When you would see Sarah. When you would see Joel.

Grieving what could have been — a life full of love with your next-door neighbor and his kid, two of the most important people in your life despite the short time they’ve been in it.

The Millers.

Joel, Sarah, even Tommy.

Maybe it could have been you, too. 

The sound of the door opening and the rush of conditioned air takes you away from your thoughts, looking over your shoulder as Joel steps outside onto the porch, shutting the door gently behind him. He crosses the porch and stands next to you, grinning down at you and nodding to the spot next to you.

“Saving that seat for anyone?” One of his hands reaches out, smoothing the hair at the crown of your head. You lean into his touch, a coy smile on your face.

“Maybe…Do you have anything to offer for the spot?” You raise your eyebrows expectantly and bite back your own laugh when Joel chuckles. He pulls his other hand from behind his back, holding the necks of two bottles of beer.

“Matter of fact, I do. Is a beer a sufficient offer?” he removed his hand from your head to twist off the cap, handing the opened brew to you, “Could even throw in a kiss.”

“Hm, I think that might make me rescind the offer entirely,” you pull on a grimace, taking a sip of beer as Joel steps down the stairs and moves to sit next to you.

“Oh, fuck off, smart ass,” he shakes his head with a scoff, reaching to take your beer, “Gimme that back if it’s gonna be like that.”

You laugh and hold the beer on the far side of you, arm extended completely as you fight him off.

“Okay, okay, enough! I take it back — I was saving the seat for you and I would gladly take your offered kiss. It would certainly sweeten the deal,” Joel laughs at the exaggerated smile on your face, shaking his head again as he leans in and gives you a quick, chaste kiss.

“You fold pretty quick when your alcohol is threatened, drunkard.”

You scoff at the playful jest, taking another sip and sending him a knowing look, “You’re one to talk, Miller. I still have the singular voicemail you left me when I was away, and you literally told me how drunk Tommy had gotten you. Lots of other things were said, too.”

“That so? Enlighten me, please, Mariposa. What else was said?” Joel settles back, resting his weight on his hands with his arm brushing your back as he places one hand behind you.

“Nuh uh, you said never to tell anyone on the voicemail. I think that also applies to your sober self,” a smirk slides across your face, another swig of drink taken as you turn your attention out to the street again.

“What brought you out here anyway, darlin’? Too much going on in there?”

You shrug, looking down at the foamy bubbles popping in the clear bottle. Condensation drips around your fingers and onto the fabric of your dress, drying in no time thanks to the heat.

“Guess so. Lots of people asking me about the move. Just got to be a little too much, y’know?”

Joel sighs and nods, his hand behind you lifting to rub circles in your lower back.

“I get it, sweetheart. Is it getting real stressful? Not too many days to go.”

“Yeah, and it’s not something I want to think about. I wish I could have y’all pack up too and move with me, but I know I have to go on my own. Spread my wings,” you look at him at the last sentence, one side of your mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. He looks away from you at the echo of his words from last summer, taking a large swig of his beer.

It’s quiet for a few beats before you speak again, a confession rolling out of you in the intimate moment.

“Part of me wonders what would happen if we had all of this last year, too.”

Joel leans forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“I wonder the same thing, cielita. But you wouldn’t have to stay now for us to work. I think we could make a go of it this time, y’know the distance thing.”

“Joel,” you shake your head, a disbelieving chuckle leaving your lips, “If we couldn’t make a three-hour drive work, how are we supposed to make a three-hour plane ride work? You have work, so do I. And Sarah would either have to stay at her mom’s or come with you if you came up.”

“I know. I know you’re right,” he looks over at you, the look on his face so vulnerable it nearly makes him seem like a young boy. Wide eyes, softened with pleading, lips pursed to one side, chin turned down.

There’s something lingering between the two of you, the feeling in your gut that he wants to say something else, but instead, the conversation is dropped, and both of you turn back towards the street, watching as the sunset bathes your home in pinks and oranges and reds.

He should have said it then. Sitting on the porch, the sun setting in front of you both.

He should have said it then. After you confessed that you wondered what you two would be if he didn’t say anything last summer.

He should have said it then. He should have told you he loves you.

He was nearly there, words on the tip of his tongue and butterfly flapping its wings aggressively inside of him. But then you had said long distance wouldn’t work and he chickened out.

He should have said it then.

He’s going to say it.

He has to say it.

Since retreating back inside with you, both of you breaking off and filtering into the crowds of neighbors, he hasn’t stopped keeping tabs on you. Each time he gets close to grabbing you to the side to tell you to meet him later, you get wrapped up in conversations with random neighbors wanting to wish you luck and give you their goodbyes.

God, do they really need to? Do they even know where you’re moving or what you’re doing? How are they even worth the time, worth the goodbye when they don’t even know you?

They’re wasting the time he has left with you, and the frustration is sitting hot in his chest.

When he is able to catch your eyes across the room or across the deck, your eyes lock with a charge, jolts of energy and tension shooting down his spine. His fingers itch at his sides to have you near, running over the material of his jeans to satiate his tactile need.

Toward the end of the night, he lost sight of you for a good while as he chatted with your dad and the neighbor on the other side of you, Mr. Taylor. Matt he thinks? At a lull in the conversation, he excuses himself to head inside in search of Sarah watching a movie in the basement with other kids.

Closing the sliding door behind him, he turns forward and sees you at the sink, alone and washing up from dinner. He smiles to himself, attempting a stealthy approach but his heavy footsteps fail him. Over your shoulder, you look at him and grin, pulling your hands from the soapy water.

“Hey, Miller.”

“Hey, Mariposa.”

The two of you stand in front of each other, silent with gentle, closed lip smiles. It’s quiet inside, the sounds of everyone outside muffled through the glass, and the sounds of the animated kids’ movie stifled by the basement door.

What really would happen if he just grabbed you and kissed you?

Knowing his luck, your parents, brother, grandparents, everyone in your family would somehow walk in at the same time and see their responsible neighbor, and your former employer, with his tongue down your throat and hands on your ass.

That thought keeps his hands at his sides, and your voice hitting his ears pulls him out of his imagination.

“What’s up with you? You have a weird look on your face,” you laugh softly, tilting your head to the side curiously.

“I don’t have a weird look on my face. I’m just lookin’ at you,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes, grabbing a dish towel off of the counter and starting to dry the clean dishes from the rack, “Am I not allowed to appreciate how beautiful my girl is?”

A chortle from you makes him grin, shaking your head and bumping your hip against his as you slip your hands into the water to start washing again.

“I suppose I can’t stop you from looking and thinking unless I blindfold you. But I need help drying and don’t want to clean up broken glass from you dropping something while blindfolded.”

“I am not that clumsy, Mariposa. Plus, I would clean up after my mess. Always do,” he nudges you at his side, grabbing another dish to dry and checking the time on the oven.

“So, I gotta go get Sarah home soon, but would you maybe wanna come over to my backyard once this all dies down? I wanna hang out with you,” he focuses on the dish in his hands, polishing it dry and setting it down as he glances at you.

“I’d love to come to hang out with you,” you place another clean dish in the rack, drying your hands again and waving him off, “Go grab Sarah, it’s getting late and I haven’t heard much noise downstairs so something tells me they’ve all crashed from their lemonade and popsicle sugar highs.”

Your quiet giggle brings a smile to his face, feeling as eager as a teenager to hear his crush say yes to going to the dance with him. He takes one step closer, only a few inches, and looks at you, biting his lip with a grin.

“I need you to know that I really want to kiss you right now. Like real, real bad.”

Your laugh makes that damn butterfly thrash its wings even faster inside of him, floating up to his head and making him nearly love drunk enough to forgo the boundaries around your house, around other people, and kiss you right now.

“Go,” you press on his chest and turn him around toward the entrance to the basement, “I’ll see you later, you can kiss me then.”

“Better hold up that promise, sweetheart. My feelings are still hurt after you nearly denied me earlier on the porch,” he winks over his shoulder and chuckles at your eye-roll. He makes his way downstairs, smiling when he sees all of the kids passed out with the home screen for Monsters Inc. on VHS playing over and over again. Scooping up Sarah from the couch, he holds her to his chest and slips out the front door upstairs and over to his house to wait for you.

TO: Mariposa

Heard everyone heading out from yours. I’m on the porch at mine whenever you wanna come over

Joel sends the message and watches the screen for a reply, bouncing his leg while he sits at the table on his deck.

“Long time, no see, cowboy,” you bound up the stairs and over to the table, producing two cold beers from behind your back, “Brought refreshments.”

“So polite of you not to show up empty-handed, darlin’,” he stands and steps over to you, taking the beers from you and clasping his free hand around one of yours.

“Of course, sir. Always polite, you know that,” you smirk when a groan rolls out of his chest, shaking his head at your teasing and leaning down to run his nose along the side of yours.

“Guess it’s only polite if I ask, so, may I please have a kiss, mi chica dulce?”

“Hmm…” You act like you’re thinking, squinting your eyes and tilting your head from side to side. Joel huffs again and drops your hand, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“Pretty please?”

“Well, if you add the pretty,” a giggle slips from your mouth before Joel is dampening the sound with his lips attaching to yours in a heady kiss. A whimper is breathed from your mouth, your arms sliding up his chest and hooking around his neck to hold him against you. He lets his own sigh out, melting his tongue into yours and savoring the taste of you.

After a moment, you pull away, eyes fluttering open and staring up at him through your lashes with kiss-swollen lips still parted.

“Really glad you asked so nicely,” you laugh quietly and smile with closed lips, leaning up for a quick peck.

“You wanna sit here or inside or—”

“Tire swing! I wanna sit on the swing with you,” you beam at him, pleading with a pouted lip as he considers, sighing dramatically and retaking your hand.

“Lucky you’re cute, Mari. Lead the way,” he nods towards the stairs and laughs to himself as you eagerly guide him toward the far end of his backyard. Joel sets the beers on the ground, helping you to get onto the rubber swing before handing you the bottle and climbing onto the tire, starting a slow momentum and settling his legs on either side of you across the swing. Joel opens the bottles of beer, passing you one and cheersing with you.

It’s quiet for a beat as he leans his head against the rope next to him, taking you in with an amorous gaze and studying your features before he feels compelled to fill the silence.

“Can I tell you somethin’ Sarah told me the other day?”

Your grin is sleepy but eager, nodding slowly as you lean into the motion of the swing, “Course you can. I always wanna hear about Sare-Bear.”

He reaches for the backs of your legs, pulling them up and over his to entangle yourselves further.

“She was very sad about you leavin’ and was asking me a bunch of questions about your job and you movin’,” his fingertips skate over your bare calves, eyes trained on the soft skin shining with the trails of condensation from his fingers, “And one of her questions was if I was gonna call you, and if that she could talk to you on the phone after. She came up with the genius idea that I should ask you to be my girlfriend 'cause her friend Katie became this kid Luke’s girlfriend and they hang out every recess so if you were my girlfriend, then you would hang out with us all the time.”

“Oh, what a sweet pea she is. That is incredibly adorable.” A hand rests on your chest, Joel clears his throat before he continues, the words flowing out of him without any second thought.

“It is adorable. And it got me thinking, that maybe I should be fully honest with you before you leave so that you know exactly where I stand. I don’t wanna hold anything back with you anymore.” The butterfly inside of him has multiplied, feeling like thousands released in his chest as he looks into your eyes.

“Whenever you’re around, I feel like there’s a butterfly just fluttering around in my gut and up into my chest. I feel light as the air around you, completely calm with just one smile from you. And right now, I have to admit, it feels like there are about a thousand butterflies inside of me.”

“Te amo. I love you, mi Mariposa.”

He holds his breath, awaiting any response from you.

Are you speechless? Or thinking?

It’s been quiet for a good minute now.

“Joel…”

Fuck, that isn’t good. That is not a good ‘Joel’, that’s an ‘I’m about to say something that will upset you’ ‘Joel’.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What could you have to say?

You told him last year. Months ago. Did everything change that much? Don’t you still love him? He thought he had understood some signs, but maybe he was blinded by his own feelings.

No. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

He says it. You say it back, he kisses you, takes you inside, shows you how much he loves you, and you would consider staying. Consider long-distance even. Choose him in some way.

That’s what was supposed to happen.

Temper rises with bile, burning his throat and bringing stray tears to his eyes and a tingle to his face. Power manifests itself in the clench of his jaw, certain that he’ll break a molar the longer he keeps this wire-tight press of his teeth together.

Nothing from you, still.

Fuck this.

“Is there anything you can say?” He hears himself as if it isn’t him speaking. It doesn’t sound like him. There’s venom woven in every word, the question spat out as if it’s bitter in his mouth. The self that is outside of him, screaming at him to shut up watches you deject, shoulders dropping and the corners of your lips turning down as tears line your bottom lids.

“Um, yeah. I’m sorry, I was going to say something I was just surprised…” your fingers are nimbly gripping the neck of the bottle, focus completely on the light amber liquid, “I don’t know if I can do this right now. I’m moving, and I don’t know when I could be back…”

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

This can’t be happening.

And there’s no way he can bring himself to say anything more, all he wants to do right now is get up and go inside, alone, and slam a few more beers to forget this even happened.

“It’s alright, darlin’. We don’t have to do this right now,” he clears his throat and avoids your eyes, body heating under your pitiful stare, “I think I’m gonna head inside. It’s late and I should probably be there in case Sarah wakes up lookin’ for me…”

His hands gently move your legs off of his, gracefully getting out of the swing quickly and rubbing the back of his neck as he nods up to his house.

“Stay as long as you want. I’ll, uh, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Joel—”

“Night,” he adds your name at the end, the syllables foreign on his tongue after not speaking them for so long. You’ve been his Mariposa, Sarah’s Posey, even every affectionate nickname he could think of instead of your God-given one. It’s beautiful, of course it is, but the sound feels clunky in his mouth, short against his lips as he starts to retreat, to seek out those walls he feels so comfortable hiding behind.

Standing in your room with open boxes and plastic bins piled around, you can’t seem to quite focus on the task at hand. Your mind keeps replaying the end of last night — watching Joel’s face, hearing his frustration, seeing those walls go up in real-time. And hearing your name, clipped with his ‘goodnight’ as he withdrew from you, physically and emotionally, made you nearly feel sick to your stomach. It sounded so uncanny coming from him. You weren’t only ‘you’ to him, you were his ‘Mariposa’. With his voice repeating your name echoing in your head, you resigned to packing up more of your books and knickknacks, wondering what Joel was thinking about.

Maybe he shouldn’t have left you sitting there, alone and upset in his backyard, but God, his skin felt like it was burning him from the outside in, breath tight in his chest and barely squeezing out of his lungs. He settled that night, taking a pause to figure out precisely what these physical symptoms meant for his feelings.

He had been anxious to tell you such a big thing; it was a huge step for him so he was already on edge. He hadn’t said it to anyone, romantically, since Tiff. And looking back, he isn’t even sure he meant it. He’s sure with you though.

And when you said nothing, his anxiety turned into fear which mounted into frustration and anger. Mostly toward himself; he was frustrated he put himself out on the line to get hurt, but he was also admittedly a bit frustrated with you or his misunderstanding of you. He really did think you would say it back. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d heard it from you. He’s reeling a bit, the boil of his irritation toward the situation he’s created is now simmering in his gut.

Sarah had come over to swim again, not wasting any time hanging out with her favorite nanny in the mere three days you have left at home. The two of you have a blast for the afternoon and evening, eventually drying yourselves off and heading inside to wait for her dad to come and pick her up. There’s no message this time, only a ring of the doorbell. Another tell that he’s stewing with something — upset, frustration, resentment?

When you answer the door, you tell him that Sarah’s changing into some dry clothes in the bathroom. You give him a sympathetic smile, heart racing as he steps inside after your invitation. Awaiting the moment he grabs your hand, wraps you up in his arms, rubs circles in your lower back — any of those little touches he’d sneak in when you’re alone, no stolen kisses ‘cause he just needs one’ — but those moments never came. Sarah came bounding out of the main floor bathroom and Joel scooped her bag from her, taking her hand and leading her home with a curt nod goodbye to you.

If he loves you, why is he acting this way? Did he really not mean it? Was he saying it only to appease you, what he thought you had wanted from him?

He knows he’s making things worse by being so closed off to you. But no matter how he tries, his mind keeps bringing him back to that moment where your face fell as he said the words. How instead of happiness, affection, and love of your own painted across the beautiful face he’s studied for hours, you were sad, disappointed, and even afraid of him when he lashed out bitterly.

Bile has been eroding his throat for two days now since he told you, and it is tasting more and more acrid as it sits there. It takes like his anger, his frustration, his avoidance. His disappointment in himself, his shame that he made you feel so small, so ignored.

It’s the afternoon before you’re meant to be leaving. You have the last bits of packing to get done, sitting on your bed with the curtains open and some of the last sips of Texas sun that you’ll have for a while seeping into the room. In front of you are mementos from the last few years — old movie tickets, photos of friends, football game souvenirs from college. Most are placed into a pile to be put into a shoe box to live here at home, to be opened years from now when your parents beg you to finally get rid of all of your things from their house. The few that don’t make the stay pile are memories of your family — vacation photos, funny gifts from your parents, the newspaper clipping of his first No Hitter game that your brother pitched in college. The very last item brings tears to your eyes — the tiny little butterfly magnet that Sarah begged Joel to buy that day at the farm, slipped into your hand the next time she saw you and told you it was for your new house. Looking at it with blurry vision, the colors of its wings kaleidoscope before you shut your eyes, sniffling and clutching it to your chest.

Joel watches you from his window, again, but this time it’s a much different sight. He’d come up here while Sarah is engrossed in her coloring book, needing a moment of peace to attempt to turn his brain off. It feels like these bad feelings are going to last forever; carved into his chest forever. But, as he reminds Sarah when she’s angry or upset, it will end. The disappointment in himself has evolved into understanding — you were scared but for good reason. You said those words to him last year when you had felt them, and he ignored them. He burned you so badly that you must have blistered scars on your heart that haven’t quite healed. He jumped to his anger, not bothering to pay any mind to what that moment must have been like for you. How terrifying to say anything, in fear it would be the wrong thing again.

Seeing you sitting on your bed alone and wiping at your eyes, he feels like the biggest idiot. Not only did it take him way too long to come to understand you, but he wasted what little time he had left with you. The person he loves, his Mariposa, is leaving, for real and possibly for good in less than 24 hours, and he’s let 72 pass without a second thought.

The two of you may only be transitory, seasonal in your time with each other, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to make his love for you feel endless.

TO: Mariposa

You probably don’t want to hear from me right now but please come over tonight, sweetheart. I really want to talk, and I understand if you don’t wanna listen but I’ll come banging on your door and begging.

Please Mariposa

I’ll be over at 9.

He’s been restless ever since he tucked Sarah in about half an hour ago. All afternoon and evening, he rehearsed what he wanted to say to you, whispering it under his breath until he perfected it — all of his feelings laid out, nothing missed.

Shortly after 9, a weak knock comes from the front door. Joel shoots up from his spot on the couch, shaking out his shoulders and attempting to calm his inevitable nerves while he makes the short distance to the entry. A sweaty hand grips the doorknob, opening it to the sight of you in biker shorts and an oversized Astros t-shirt. Arms crossed over your chest, shoulders rolled forward, shrinking yourself in front of him. You look tired — of packing or of him, he isn’t too sure.

“Hi.” The word gets caught in his throat and he clears it, hand twitching at his side, overwhelming need to join your hands at the very least tingles his fingers.

“Hey.” It’s breathy, exhaled with a sigh and your shoulders drop back slightly.

You step inside after he opens the door wider for you, shutting it with a click of the lock and nodding for you to lead the way into the living room.

“You could use your key, y’know. Knew you were coming over, darlin’,” he tries to lighten the mood between the two of you, the jest falling to the ground between you two when you shrug.

“Didn’t really seem right to do…I didn’t know if you wanted me to even have the key anymore. It is from last summer so—“

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. It’s yours. You’re always welcome here, whenever.”

Silence covers the room as you nod, taking a seat at one end of his leather sofa. You curl your legs under you, settling with a throw pillow in your lap. The position makes him assume you still feel comfortable here like you have a small claim over the space. 

He thinks you do, he sees you in every little thing. The way you reorganized his kitchen, flitting around expertly at Sarah’s birthday last year.

You won’t be around for her ninth birthday this year.

He sees you in the throw blanket and pillows that you encouraged him to refresh. You’d complained about how crumpled they were, how they looked like they came as a set with the sofa. They did, he didn’t see anything wrong with them, but he knew it would bring a smile to your face to see new ones. And it did.

He needs to make more changes for you to smile at when you come back. 

He hears you in little mannerisms of Sarah’s now, her calling him ‘cowboy’ the other day and her spewing all the gardening facts you’ve taught to her. Nearly made his heart burst — little reminders of your impact on not only his life but his daughter’s too.

You’ve made both of their lives infinitely better since they met you.

There are not enough ways to say ‘I love you’ that tell you what you mean to him. What he feels for you.

“Um, so what did you—You said in your text you wanted to talk?” Nervous fingers run over the threads of the pillow’s pattern, Joel watching you fidget as he finds his own seat opposite of you on the couch.

“Yeah, yes I did…” he sits up, a hand running through his hair before he runs them up and down his denim-clad thighs, “I owe you an apology, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you in the dust the other night, I’m sorry for dropping that all on you when we didn’t have much time together, but I needed you to know. I don’t regret telling you, but I regret how I reacted and how that must have made you feel. Lashing out. Being bitter. Closing off and avoiding you. That wasn’t fair.”

 “It’s no excuse for how I acted but I was so nervous to tell you, and when you didn’t respond, I got so scared and that turned into frustration — at myself — and I took it out on you. I was mean and then I completely shut down. I am so sorry if I made you feel anything like how I have felt for the last three days because of what I did last year. I never wanted to hurt you, and if you spent the last ten months feeling like this? That's a lot of hurt to cause you.”

“I’m just—I’m sorry, Mariposa. I understand if you don’t want to accept any of this and want to leave and never speak to or hear from me again.”

Nothing is said for a moment, and it takes him back to that moment a few days ago, bearing his soul and waiting with his lungs seized up, breath held inside.

His eyes meet yours when you flick them up from your lap, voice meek, “I’m sorry I’m quiet, I’m just thinking…”

You look as if you’re bracing for him to be annoyed with that, and he slumps forward in failure, standing up and walking over to you, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover over you, unsure if you want his touch until you nod minutely. He runs his palms along your thighs, settling them next to your hands in your lap.

“Sweet girl, you don’t have to apologize for that. I’m sorry I got angry last time. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t take any sort of time you need with me. I’d wait for you forever, darlin’. You talk to me whenever you’re ready.”

“I want to talk to you, I do. There’s so much going on in my head right now,” you laugh sadly and look down at his hands on your thighs, laying your own over them, “I didn’t mean to make you nervous or scared or frustrated. I was surprised, and then I got nervous, too. I couldn’t find words to tell you what I was thinking but I—I don’t think I’m ready to say it again. I care about you so, so much, Joel, but I’m leaving tomorrow and—and I don’t know when I’ll be back…”

You sniffle and look up at him, the look on your face nearly crushing his heart to crumbs. There’s anxiety in your eyes, looking around everywhere but his gaze, the corners of your lips downturned into a pouty frown. A crease between your brow, he can see the frustration you feel. Without a second thought, he reaches up, rubbing away the line and relaxing your brow. You lean your head into his touch, palm gently skating along the side of your face to caress your cheek.

“I know. It’s alright, Mariposa, I understand. You don’t have to say it back. I know I hurt you before, and I didn’t have the thought that you wouldn’t be ready now. But I told you, I don’t regret it. I love you. I would wait if you asked me to.”

“Joel, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“But I would if you did.”

“I’m not going to do it.”

“Not asking you to. Just telling you I would.”

A chuckle falls from your lips as you roll your eyes playfully, bringing a faint smile to his face.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love. That’s not ridiculous, amor.”

“What a line, Miller.” 

“Did it work?”

Another laugh, your gorgeous smile peeking through your emotion, and the butterfly inside him flapping its wings again. His thumb brushes along the high point of your cheekbone, locking his eyes with yours.

“Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t.”

Joel smiles wider, inching closer with his knees aching in the door.

“Stay the night? I’ll set an alarm for you to get back home. I jus’ wanna hold you, Mariposa. Fall asleep and wake up with you, while I still can.”

His hand moves from your face, pulling you forward from the back of the couch and wrapping his arms around you. He lays his head in your lap, your warmth easing his eyes closed. A low hum rolls from his chest when he feels your fingers card through his hair, pressing his head against your touch like a cat.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.”

Sighing, he opens his eyes but leaves his head in your lap, arms tightening around you.

“Gimme a second, I like sitting like this.”

“You’re gonna kill your back sitting like that, hon. C’mon, we can lay down upstairs,” your fingers leave his hair and he whines quietly, chuckling when you poke the side of his head before running your nails across his shoulders. He groans involuntarily, picking his head up and tugging you to the edge of the couch.

“Gonna need you to do that again, darlin’. But first, ‘m taking you to bed.” He stands and offers you a hand, helping you off of the sofa. You walk ahead of him, at least one hand kept on you the entire way up to the second floor and into his room.

Slowly shutting the door with a click, you turn over your shoulder and give him a delicate, closed smile. He’s drawn to you like a tide pulling him in, his arms finding their place around you and his lips finding their place against yours. It’s a fragile kiss, feeling with one false move the moment will shatter and reality will seep in and cloud this embrace. But for now, Joel allows himself to indulge in the narrative that his imagination is giving him; there’s no job in Boston for you, no moving truck parked in your driveway a hundred feet away. Instead, it’s him, standing with you in what should be your room, too. Kissing you so tenderly simply from the fact that he feels it’s what you need right now, what he needs. It’s another night that he is dying to show you how much he loves you, how much he cares. He would do it every night over if it meant you would stay, and right then he finds himself asking whatever power might be out there to give him a Groundhog Day situation so he never has to get to the minute he says goodbye.

Lips pull away from each other, you staring up at him as he rests his forehead against yours, eyes flickering back and forth between yours. His hands around you slip under the hem of your shirt, seeking out skin. Fingers splayed across your back, he lifts the fabric up, voice hushed as he speaks.

“You’re so beautiful, amor.”

You give him a bashful smile, one of your own hands finding space at his upper back underneath his t-shirt, “So are you.”

Another feathery kiss. Joel guides his nose along the side of yours, crossing your cheek to press a kiss to your jaw, hiking your shirt up higher as he raises his hands on your back.

“And so smart. Way smarter than me—”

“That’s not true,” you breathe out as his lips find a spot on your neck, grazing his teeth before soothing the skin.

“It is, darlin’, and I have no issue with it. You’re smarter than me, kinder, more patient, funnier…” He pulls your shirt over your head, kissing you again before the fabric is fully off of you. A heavier exchange; throaty, inhibited moans slipping between you two. The sound, and taste, and feel of you are making him lightheaded with desire, blood rushing below his waistband.

“Made me a better man, Mariposa.”

Your mouth drops from his with your chin, his own shirt getting tugged off and discarded with yours. He closes his eyes when your silky skin, such a contrast to his worker’s hands, grazes his cheek. Your thumb on his cheekbone encourages his eyes open again, a beat of silence exchanged before you speak.

“You were already a great man when I met you, Joel.”

“I don’t feel like one without you.”

“You are,” you rasp to him, trailing kisses on his chest as you work the button of his jeans open and his zipper down, “You’re honest. Confident. So incredibly thoughtful…”

You’re walking him backward toward his bed, pushing the denim down his legs. He kicks them off as he sits down, your hands find his shoulders and scratch your nails along them like you had before. Goosebumps spread over his skin, mouth falling ajar as he breathes heavily at the sight of you sinking to your knees in front of him.

“You’re solid, steady. Reliable. You make me feel so safe, so cared for.” You kiss the plushness of his belly, one of his hands holding your head as you rub your cheek against his hardness and kiss the spot where his tip is through the thin fabric. Another chill runs through his veins, your gentle affections overwhelming him.

It’s a blur as you strip him of his boxers, his hands cupping under your breasts as you stand to remove your shorts. You’re back on your knees in front of him, a deep exhale from his chest when you wrap your hand around his hard cock; the sight of you dribbling spit onto him causes him to shudder a moan. Your motions are slow and deliberate as you stroke him, kissing his tip. Fingers run through your hair, the warmth of your mouth enveloping him as you start a measured pace.

“Fuck, sweet girl…So good to me, so good for me always.”

As you swallow once around him, his head falls back with a reserved moan of your name, tilting his chin back down to look at you.

“Feels so perfect, sweetheart. Eres todo para mí. You’re everything to me.”

He hears a hum from you in response, the vibrations adding to the sensation. You work him toward a high, chest rising and falling shallowly. Before he can come, he eases your mouth off of him, shaking his head.

“Wanna come inside you, mi Mariposa, c’mere.” He helps you to stand, crawling back on the bed and pulling you over him. Catching your lips with his, his hand slips between your thighs, sighing as he feels your arousal coat his fingers. As he teases your entrance, you stop him with a grip on his wrist, pulling out of the kiss.

“I want you now. I wanna feel you.” Dilated pupils in your pleading eyes face him, brow knitting with concern.

“Baby, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. You would never. I want it, please,” you give a sly smile, pursing your lips, “Plus, I’m leaving tomorrow. You have to gimme what I want.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls his hand away, your grip loosening as he brings his glistening fingers to his mouth to suck clean. He holds them there, attempting to memorize the taste of you. Your hand tightens at his wrist again, coaxing his fingers away from his mouth.

“You’re right, Mariposa. Anything you want, I’ll give to you.”

“Can I—Could I try…” you trail off, looking down coyly.

“What, darlin’? What do you want to try?” Languidly, his palms run up and down your sides as you sit on his thighs, his back against his headboard.

“Could I try being on top?”

He smiles widely at your question, the sweetness in your voice taking him back to last summer, experiencing your firsts with you.

“You wanna ride me, sweet girl?”

A nod keeps his smile there, leaning in and kissing you — all teeth.

“I’m yours, sweetheart. Take what you need, amor. Déjame ser lo que necesitas. Úsame. (Let me be what you need. Use me.)”

A nervous walk on your knees brings your wet cunt to hover over him, one of his hands wrapped around the base of his cock while the other guides your hips. You grip his shoulders tightly, your nerves taut in your forearms. When you start to sink onto him, your face contorts with uncertainty, a look he can’t distinguish between pain or pleasure.

“You okay, darlin’? Does it hurt?”

“No, no. Well, a little, but I wanna keep going.”

“Maripo—”

“I can do it. I can take it.”

 Hearing that dries his mouth, his face heating up with a craving for you.

“Okay, baby. Keep goin’. Talk to me.”

You whimper as he fills you up more, still not fully wrapped in your walls. Your brow relaxes as you adjust to the stretch of him, tongue poking out to wet your lips.

“Doesn’t hurt as much. Think I can do more.”

“Good girl. Take what you can handle, Mariposa. I’m here if you want to switch, amor.”

With a hushed exhale, you’re fully filled with him, a quiet moan of his name breathed out as your eyes flutter close and you lean into him.

“Fuck, Joel, feels so good like this…”

“I know, baby, feels real good. You always feel perfect.”

After another minute, your hips start a relaxed rhythm, rising and falling with a steady grind. It’s driving him mad, the sight of you over him, using his cock to get yourself off. Wanting him enough to give him this, the image of you over him — a fallen angel fucking him. That’s what you have to be.

Your legs tremble from the burn of them, and he swoops, holding your hips still as he starts to fuck up into you. Joel maneuvers his feet under him to get more leverage, giving it to you hard and steady how you like it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Joel, honey—”

“Again, Mariposa, tell me again how it feels.”

You whimper, looking at him with a pained pleasurable expression, his cock driving into you at a perfect pace.

“Gonna miss this, miss you. Never gonna feel this good with anyone else.”

Joel groans from under you, smirking wildly as he moves faster.

“That’s right, darlin’, nobody’s as good as me. Ruined you for everyone else, didn’t I? S’cause it’s my pussy, remember? Mine.”

As you nod furiously, he uses the moment to flip you around, pressing his weight over you to drive you into the mattress with his strong, steady thrusts.

“Yours, honey. Always gonna be yours.”

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart.”

“M’gonna come, Joel, fuck I—”

“Come for me, mi Mariposa, let me feel it.”

A mess of moans and whines leaves you underneath him, breathless as he fucks you through the intense orgasm, your walls tight grip plummeting him to the edge and snapping the taut rope inside of him.

“Fuck, Mariposa, fuck. I love you, te amo. Te amo, mi Mariposa. I fucking love you,” he sighs, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you, fucking his come further into you with a few quick thrusts. He blindly searches for your lips, passionately kissing you with all of the emotion he can muster.

Once the two of you have come down completely, he eases out of you and slips on boxers to go out to the hallway, grabbing a washcloth. He wipes some of the sweat from your body, swiping the cloth between your legs before he deposits it in his hamper, padding over to his dresser and pulling out the navy blue shirt that you love. At the side of his bed, he gently gathers you up to sit straight, slipping the fabric over your head and guiding your arms through the sleeves. Your malleable form falls back to the mattress, pulling him to lie down with you.

“You can keep that shirt, y’know, for when you’re away. I want you to have it.”

“Thank you,” the two of you tangled up in each other, your head ending up on his chest with one leg between his, “M’gonna wear it all the time and then it’s not gonna smell like you anymore.”

“Jus’ send it back then, sweetheart. I’d give you another. And another. And another, until you’re sick of my shirts.”

“Doubt that’ll ever happen.”

“Never say never, Mariposa,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, kissing the top of your head, “Gonna find someone for you, or it’ll end up in the bottom of one of your drawers. Nothin’ wrong with that, darlin’. Means you’re living your life, which is the only thing I could ask of you.”

At the sound of a sniffle, he tucks his chin in, pulling himself away from you to see your face. There’re damp paths down your cheeks, glossy eyes, and runny nose.

“Oh, sweet girl, why are you crying? Did I actually hurt you before? D’you feel okay?”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” your voice is thick, tightening his chest and squeezing his ribs, “M’just…I’m gonna miss you so much, Joel. I feel like we could figure things out for us, and—and now I have to move across the country. And I don’t know when I’ll be home, and we can’t make promises to each other. And-and—”

You hiccup with a cry, Joel reaching to wipe away your tears.

“And I have to leave Sarah, too. I feel so sad that she’s sad and asking questions that you can’t answer. I feel like I’m making a mistake, Joel.”

It would be easy for him to lean into this spiral of yours, to convince you to stay, selfishly, to abandon your plans — your dreams. He would be the biggest asshole ever if he did that.

“Mi amor, mi Mariposa, it is scary to leave home and start over somewhere new. I am going to miss you so much, so fucking much you don’t even know, but you are not making a mistake. It’s never a mistake to pursue what you want, what you’ve dreamed about and worked towards for years. You gotta do this for yourself, baby, and it will be hard at first, but if I know anything about you, you’re gonna be kicking ass and signing checks at that place this time next year. We love you, Mariposa, we do. But that won’t change with you across the country. You’re a part of our lives. Always gonna have a place if you want it, my sweet girl. It’ll be alright.”

He nestles you into his side again, lips finding your hairline and pressing gentle kisses there. You rest on his chest again, sighing as your larger cries calm to smaller ones.

“What do you think about when you think about the future with me?”

He hesitates, not wanting to encourage any more thoughts about staying — you have to go.

“I don’t know if I should answer that, Mariposa, I don’t want you to be sad again.”

“Please? I want to have the same daydreams as you. So we can have a life together even if it’s just our imaginations.”

Holy shit, he thinks his heart is actually stopped and shattering.

How in the world is he going to get over you?

“Alright, for you, darlin’... A future with you…”

“I think about us actually giving it a proper go. Tellin’ your family, tellin’ Tommy and Sarah. She’d be over the moon. Think we’d date for a while, but I’m an impatient bastard, so I bet I’d be asking you to move in before we reached a year. And if you agreed, we’d wake up and fall asleep to each other every day. Go grocery shopping. You’d help Sarah with her homework cause you’re smarter than me and I’d make dinner for my girls. We’d be subject to many Disney movies, but I would make you watch all my favorites. And I would happily watch yours. We’d just live together. Be partners. Help and hold each other when we need it. I’d ask you—” he catches the words in his throat, “I’d ask you to marry me. Would be the easiest question, but I’d still be scared shitless about your answer cause I know I still wouldn’t understand how someone like you would want someone like me. We’d get married, live all that domestic bliss. And…and I’d wanna have a baby with you if you wanted to. You’re going to be a great mom. And I would be so lucky to be your husband and the father to your baby.”

He hears your sniffle again and shakes his head while holding back a smile.

“I told you I didn’t want to make you sad again, Mariposa.”

“No, no! Not sad. At all, I promise. I just, I would want all the same things if we could have it. I’ve thought about all of that with you,” you hold him tighter, taking a deep breath into his chest while he feels tears litter his skin.

Both of you lay with each other, the sounds of your steadying breathing the only noise in the room. Joel switches off the lamp, settling more on the pillows and closing his eyes after you do; his fingertips run up and down your back, compelled to break the silence at that moment with a hushed voice.

“Estás hecho para mí. El universo te hizo para mí. Te amaré durante toda mi vida. Te amaré mañana. Te amaré dentro de cinco años. Todavía te amaré incluso cuando soy viejo y gris, mi Mariposa.”

“What does that mean? Will you tell me?” you ask sleepily.

“You're made for me. The universe made you for me. I will love you for my whole life. I will love you tomorrow. I will love you five years from now. I will still love you even when I'm old and grey, my butterfly,” his own voice breaks slightly, opening his eyes to have his vision blurred around the edges. He blinks away the tears, quiet falling over the room again as you fall asleep in his arms.

When Joel is sure that you’re sleeping deeply, he whispers to you, “I just want you to be happy, mi Mariposa. Whatever that looks like, I want it for you. I love you. I miss you already.”

Metal rumbles as your dad pulls down the back of the U-Haul truck, securing the lock on it after you’ve double-checked that everything is packed securely. It’s a quiet morning on your street, the only other souls awake at this early hour are Joel and Sarah, the younger of the two having insisted on seeing you off so she can wave goodbye. They’re standing on their porch like last summer, Joel behind Sarah with his hands on her shoulders and sleep still in his eyes.

He woke you up just an hour ago to sneak back home, the goodbye between you two somber and prolonged. It was cutting it close to your parents’ alarm when you finally dragged yourself out of his arms and out of his house, looking back over your shoulder at least three times while your feet carried you across the lawn for the last time. He waited, watching you from his doorway until you couldn’t look anymore, quietly slipping inside and upstairs to get ready to go.

Now you’re standing on your driveway, your mom and brother in their pajamas while your dad is dressed to do the drive with you over the next few days. You exchange one last goodbye with each of your family members staying home, the truck rumbling to life as your dad ignites the engine from inside the cab.

You don’t know when you’ll be back here. Home. With the Millers right next door. With Joel, your Joel, always there for you.

One last look towards their house, Joel offers a wave, and Sarah’s lip visibly trembles, even from as far from her as you are. In the next second, she’s bounding down the porch stairs, little legs carrying her over to you in her pajamas. Her small frame slams into your legs, wrapping around you as she hugs you tight and cries.

“Please don’t go, Posey. Please,” she sniffles, looking up at you with wet eyes, “I don’t want you to go, I want you to be around for the summer and next summer and next summer.”

You bend down to her level, wrapping her up in a squeezing hug, whispering to her, “I’m so sorry, Sare-Bear. I have to go, but I promise I’ll be back and you’re going to be the first person I see. Gonna miss you so much, sweet pea.”

Joel has jogged over by that point, sighing to himself before he walks over to the two of you, picking Sarah up to continue to comfort her when you pull out of the hug.

“You’ll have the best summer, Sare-Bear. And I am definitely going to call to hear all about it, okay?”

She nods and wipes at her eyes with her whole hand, leaning into Joel’s shoulder. You look at him, a tight smile communicating the same sentiments you did this morning.

I’ll miss you. I care so much. You know how I feel about you.

I’m not gonna be able to forget you.

His voice pulls you out of the memory of an hour ago, the faintest glassiness to his eyes.

“Good luck, sweetheart. You’ll do great things.”

With a hard swallow, you give him a nod, holding back tears of your own.

“Thank you, Joel. Thank you.”

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[smytherines]

assorted spyverance thoughts (guess who woke up and decided to rewatch severance)

- Devon (Mark's sister) said that Mark had a flask etched with the words "whiskey is life," and he takes a drink out of a flask after Ricken's dinner-without-dinner event. So now I'm definitely imagining that Curt has a "whiskey is life" flask

- it seems like there is some subconscious thing still connecting the innies and outies, we have Irving's paint dreams/visions, and Mark with the scented candle. So I wonder if Curt M. hallucinated Owen before he even met Owen C. If he kept seeing visions of some vague shadowy figure out of the corner of his eye and wondering if he was losing his mind. I don't imagine Owen sleeps much (or takes care of himself like. At all), so would Owen C. occasionally fall asleep at his desk and have strange visions of fire and smoke and falling?

- just had a very clear, awful little daydream about Helly's elevator cord attempt but with curtwen. Just imagine Curt M. desperately trying to hold up Owen C.'s body while screaming for help. Once they take Owen C. away he just absolutely breaks down sobbing in the stockroom or whatever, gasping for breath, being very violently triggered by it in a way he can't understand. Maybe his outie had finally stopped having nightmares about the fall, but after Owen C's attempt they come back even worse than before, and Curt has no idea why?

And how would Owen respond to the elevator cord incident? I mean canon Owen hides himself away post-fall, strips away his identity and humanity in the form of DMA. But maybe spyverance Owen kinda does the same thing-- creating a new him with no real history or identity.

Except canon Owen is implied to be living as DMA all day every day for months, maybe even years. Long enough to gain notoriety under the DMA name. How would a severed Owen Carvour cope? Sure he would have Owen C., not have to experience half his days. But the rest of the time he would still be himself. Would that be better, because he still has a tether to his (admittedly twisted and fucked up) humanity that canon Owen doesn't have? Would it be worse, because mentally he cannot cope with having to be Owen Carvour instead of getting to disappear into a character?

I lean towards Owen using Owen C. as some fucked up experiment in self-harm. Seeing Owen C. as a thing, a tool, an avatar of the man he used to be. Punishing the part of himself that is able to forget. So after Owen C. tries to kill them, I think Owen would be outraged and double down on the cruelty. That in his own horrible way, he believes that Owen C. is the lucky one, that he's actually doing a benevolent thing by ~allowing~ him to forget the fall, so he views Owen C. waging war on him as like an spoiled, ungrateful child who needs to be punished

- I don't know if anyone else is a Lost fan, but my vision for reintegrated Tatiana is kinda like the Lost episode The Constant. That not only does she want to take down Chimera and save her friend, but in some way Curt helps to keep her from totally disintegrating mentally, because she knows him in both her severed and unsevered life. In Lost, The Constant is a mentally unstuck in time episode, and the only way to prevent your brain basically melting into goo is to find a person you knew at multiple points in your own personal timeline, as a sort of anchor to reality.

Also I like the idea of stripping that character of the Woman With the One Brain Cell stereotype and really allowing her to be as fucked up and damaged as she should have been in canon. Probably the most fucked up out of anyone, actually, especially in spyverance, because she's untethered from her personal timeline, shifting between severed and unsevered, adult and child, repressed and traumatized. Just... lots of fun (horrible) things to do there

- ALSO!! Evil scientist Barb Larvernor, who (like her boss) sees humanity as secondary to technological advancement. Using the severed floor she controls as her lab. She comes up with conditioning via the break room. She tests how the severance procedure is holding up by orchestrating Wellness sessions. She does... whatever they do down on the testing floor. But also we could incorporate real world CIA shit as well. MKULTRA style experiments, LSD and mescaline and other psychoactive drugs.

Owen is focused on results for his surveillance program (which in my head is what MDR is doing down there), but he's willing (and later becomes eager) to torture the innies to get the results he wants.

Imagine Barb spending the day torturing Owen C. down on the severed floor, and at night riding the elevator up to Owen Carvour's office to give him a full report. Would she be unnerved by his indifference and eventually glee at his own torture? Would she respect him for, in her view, being so committed to the project and the cause that he's willing to subject a different version of himself to these experiments? Would she just appreciate that he has faith in her capacity as a Lady Evil Scientist in a male-dominated field? Would they develop a fucked up friendship, or be frenemies, or grow to despise each other?

[tgrailwar-zero]

Perhaps once we’re fully on our feet we can join you in jolly co-operation in fighting the foe that has taken over the Moon Cell.

SLAYER: "That's the hope! That Titan that took everything- that Titan that wished to destroy humanity! We're the only ones standing in it's way!"

KEEPER: "We won't ask you to do anything you don't want to, but your help would be appreciated."

SLAYER: "Ahaha! And-- this Solar Cell is a secure box. It can bang on the 'outside' for eons if it wants, it's not getting through. Which gives us plenty of time to prepare and come up with a perfect plan. We were each summoned for a reason. That's right! You must have come for a reason! More allies, willing to go into the fray and join us in saving Humanity!"

PRIESTESS: "…Once the core of the Solar Cell gathers enough power, then we can begin our assault. It'll be far from 'jolly', our adversary carved through true Divine Spirits from the Age of Gods. Just thinking about fighting it gives me the chills, bringing back horrible memories…"

PRIESTESS: "But we can't afford to be cowardly! If something has to be done, then we'll have to do it!"

SLAYER: "Hear, hear! We ride in ready to die, and thus we shall prosper! Ahahahahahaha!"

KEEPER: "Hah, look at you, matching Slayer's energy. Well, not exactly, she's still a few notches higher. Still... I like this, it's better than your usual gloomy self. Maybe you really are feeling a bit more hope?"

PRIESTESS: "Maybe you're right, either way… I can't waver. I am of a unique body, but I was summoned with this strange Saint Graph for a reason. And if that means laying down some dragon-fox wrath, then so be it!"

PRIESTESS: "We'll show that Umbral Star the might of the Sun!"

.

..

...

You felt a shudder.

At this point, you knew the rest.

War, fire, death. It was as if not to torture your brain with irony for much longer, your mind mentally began fast forwarding through everything else. There wasn't any changing the past, after all.

At some point, you recalled that you had slain the Slayer.

...Your fractured memory told you that it wasn't easy.

You recalled the moment of your 'end'. Where you had been cast away, and sealed.

The last time you had recalled this moment, it had been more twisted. More horrifying, more monstrous, more viscous. A beast, clad in shadow, mechanically slaughtering you and casting you into the abyss.

Now, the memory was clearer.

Powerful magic coalescing, a sealing spell beyond compare. The Priestess of the Sun had her hands raised, her expression bitter and filled with betrayal and contempt. A goddess that had seen tragedy, and now was more than willing to enact divine retribution.

A voice screaming. Hoarse.

"For what reason… for what purpose?!" "Show me, tell me, do something! Please!" "Why did you destroy my world…? Why did you crush my dream…? We could have saved everything! Avenged everyone! And now... and now it's gone! Are you happy?! Are you proud?! The war is over before it even began!"

"I'll… I'll curse you! For a thousand years, I'll curse you! May you and your sins burn for a thousand, thousand eternities!"

She brought down her hands with rage, the might of a wrathful god slamming down on you and pushing you deeper and deeper into darkness.

Deeper and deeper.

Blacker and blacker.

Dark, for so long.

You felt your hands let go of the teabowl. Not even a second had passed, it seemed.

The sweet taste ended bittersweet in your mouth. Still, it felt a bit like a jolt. It'd be easy to stay in that memory forever, but waking up was the important part- as hard as it was, sometimes.

RIKYU: "..."

RIKYU: "..."

RIKYU: "I see."

[give-grian-rights]

Hermitcraft Fic Rec!

HELLO. i have hundreds, HUNDREDS of hermitcraft fanfiction bookmarked and living in my brain without rent. Breaking this up into categories for some of my PERSONAL favorite fics in the fandom- including categories for shipping, crossover, and worldbuilding.

Some of these fics are from 2019 but generally speaking you don't need knowledge of past seasons you should be able to pick up on just about all of them. a lot of these are mostly included BECAUSE they're older and therefore, harder to accidentally stumble upon. put in no particular order.

If your fic is on here and you'd like it removed, send an Ask with the fic, a dm, etc

World Building

The Parting Glass / To Pass The Jungle You Have To Go All The Way Around - Sekrap.

Doc has been trying to forget. He has done everything everyone told him he should do to make the memories go away. And still the jungle calls for him. / He was a monster. Then, a man. Now, a machine. Doc, once a normal Creeper, was not meant to live. Let alone become a Player. He learned to speak, he learned to fight, he learned to build. Some things stayed the same. aka- the Domestic Creeper au.

____

Carpet Trick - CrazyCatMeow

You all know the double carpet trick right? What happens when that joint with a tired mad scientist meet.

Mob hybrids can't see carpets <3 extra silly and very lighthearted

____

Window Pane - blueticked

Tango and Impulse discuss the brand new presence of Helsknight.

It's not a coincidence that all the evil personas have red eyes.

Tango is a Hels, struggling with self-acceptance and his place in Hermitcraft, which was never meant to be for him. in my head ALL THE TIME

____

"I know" - KindaJustHere

Bdubs was used to death. He was used to being killed by his fellow hermits. He was very used to being killed by Grian. Maybe a little too much.

(This is based off Grian’s episode 61 of hermitcraft season 7 where Bdubs says “I know” and shoots himself) BDUBS SELF ESTEEM ANGST!! Griangst !!!! Emotionally fucked up Grian from YHS !!

____

Hiss and Scratch - TheNerdyTurtle96

Doc is a mad scientist who isn't afraid of anything. Actually, that's not true. His only weakness is cats.

exactly like it said it is . SO GOOD AND CUTE

____

For the Record - Anonymous

Tango shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did. Xisuma’s teaching Impulse some Galactic Standard so he can cheat at enchanting or something. Apparently Xelqua’s, like, some sort of god in Xisuma’s culture? It was kind of unclear, I wasn’t paying attention when Impulse told me.”

“Huh,” Grian said vacantly. “How about that.”

oops! Grian is Xisuma's god. amazing

____ GrianMC - SixteenthDays

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Techno says frankly.

“You know,” Grian says again. “Your- Watchers.”

Techno squints for a moment before understanding visibly dawns behind his eyes. “Ohhh, you mean Chat?”

(On watchers, and Watchers.)

This IS technically a crossover but its more worldbuilding than anything else. its literally so funny. i love it

Crossover

These Days I Don't Feel Like Myself At All / Mercury (No One Can Unring This Bell) (Series Ongoing) - RoguishOne (DarkWolfMoon)

TommyInnit had died. Again. To Dream. Again. And it sucked exactly as much as he thought it would because he'd wanted to move on and have a chance to actually live this time. Seems he won't be getting that.

Then he gets pulled out of Limbo, but he doesn't wake up back in the cell with Dream or next to his bed on the server. He doesn't wake up on the Dream SMP at all.

Little does he know that this is the least of his worries.

i want to scream and cry and hypervenilate thinking about this fic series. literally cannot recommend it enough. your life will be ROCKED. THE WRITING IS SOOOOO OGOOOD . i just want to shake. i cannot put into words what this fic makes me feel.

____

Shells in the Foam (a Hermit!Tommy fanfic) - Cedarwhisp21

When Dream attacks Tommy in Logestshire, Tommy runs. Badly injured, he somehow manages to slip between worlds and wakes up in a badlands biome, on a server far from home, with no other players in sight.

The Hermits are surprised when a new player logs in, and confused when no-one's at spawn. Five days later, after waiting for the new player to introduce themselves, Xisuma uses his admin abilities to access their coordinates. He takes Impulse with him to welcome the new player to Hermitcraft, but instead of the beginnings of a base, they find something a lot more concerning.

NEEDS NO INTRODUCTION. the NUMBER ONE kudo-ed hermit fic . by my beloved. and using the one of the beloved au by pertrichormeraki . its so good and im sooo glad i was here for the ride of seeing it unfold <3

____

let me give you a piece of my mind - Interjection

Dream and Grian practice building for MCC, and hold a conversation in the process.

Or,

Grian gives an outside perspective on Dream’s actions. Dream is having none of it.

Grian is a fucked up lil guy <3 Dream is a piece of shit

____

He would not die - Nicoforlife

If phil could save only one person from this place, that would be enough.

Tldr I made phil a watcher :)

Watcher Phil and Grian !! ! !!

____

Scared as hell - Nhi_theuserof_this

Grian was one of the closest people to Fundy at this point. He wants to be honest, really, but with the rest of his family history being a total train wreck, he spends an awkwardly long time dancing around what he wants to say.

Tldr; Grian is Fundy’s uncle, Fundy comes out to him

OK SO THIS ONE. WAS BASED OFF ONE OF MY AUS but i had to include it. ok .short and sweet

It was just a game - QuasarsFaults (UNFINISHED)

Taurtis Has been on the server awhile now, he's made new friends, a really tasty toritos shop, a new job working with Concorp, and he's even made this really cool pirate rollercoaster. So why did his and Scar's idea go so wrong?

OK. so i honest to god cannot remember if this is my au or if i just partook in it. i think its my au. who knows. either way seeing this again makes me want to work on my own Taurtis-Became-a-Hermit-Instead-of-Grian fic

Shipping

heartfelt confession - mysteryguest

it shouldn't come as a surprise to iskall, he thinks, when he finally settles on a term that feels just right. and yet, it is. and it's dreadful, feeling that urge, that need to tell someone, without knowing if they would accept you or not.

at least he knows the person he can trust the most with this info is his boyfriend, mumbo.

non-binary and bigender Mumskull !!! coming out. finding identity. finding pronouns.

____

I Hate You (I Promise I Don't) - BewitchingNotes

If someone asked Grian why he was relentlessly pranking Etho now that he was finally back in Hermitland, he'd say it was just for pure fun.

To Etho, it meant Grian was mad at him.

To everyone else, Grian had a huge crush on the redstone user and obviously didn't know how to communicate it.

OR: Grian just wants Etho's attention, Etho misreads this as Grian being mad at him, Grian thinks Etho hates him because of his pranks and everyone else just wants these boys to communicate properly already. Grian's love language is pranks...i love it

____ A Study Of Love in the Universe Itself - 2point5

Love had a strange meaning on Hermitcraft, where everyone loved each other. 

OR

Joe looks into the different ways he loves some of his fellow members, and what that means for him as a human.

ITS A SERIES TOO AND ITS SOOOO GOOD i love it . Joe x Cleo x Bdubs x Etho . what more could you want. and their sexualities and how they perceive love is . OAUGHHGHGGHHGHGHBHGHFHHVIJXFSHDF IUSDHIUSAHDUIA

[0perfectimperfections0]

Which uglydolls characters do you think these songs describe:

-Love Like You (feat. Rebecca Sugar)

-Saint bernard (panicking at the wrong disco lincoln)

-little girls (Cameron diaz)

-Brutal (Oliva Rodrigo)

-jealousy jealousy (Oliva Rodrigo)

-good 4 u (Oliva Rodrigo)

-Wrecking ball (Mother Mother)

-Cults (Guided Lily)

Two birds (Regina Spektor)

-Are You Satisfied? (MARINA)

-Notion (The Rare Occasions)

-Alien Blues (Vandabar)

-Oh No! (MARINA)

-I Deserve to Bleed (Sushi Soucy)

-dumb dumb (mazie)

-digital silence (Peter mcpoland)

-everybody likes you (lemon demon)

-Romantic Homicide (d4vd)

-I love you so (the Walters)

-Step on me (the Cardigans)

-YKWIM (Yot club)

Finally getting to this post even though it's been months since I started working on it. I got halfway through these songs before life slapped me in the face, so let's finish it up!

Lord help me, there's someone playing the piano in the Solarium here at college, so there's two polar tunes going through my ears XD

<><><>

Love Like You: Nolan - Ha! You thought I was gonna say Lou, right? Well, I thought about it, but the line "And I'm nothing like you, look at you go, I just adore you..." and so on makes me think of Nolan when he was obviously trying his best to get Lou's attention. He was focusing in the class and trying to keep up with the training, heck, he made it to the Gauntlet. Despite Lou calling him ugly, he still tries to make Lou proud of him or change his mind. "If I could begin to do something that does right by you, I would do anything."

Saint Bernard: Sorry, but this song was confusing, and I honestly was thrown off too much by the slightly off-key singing that...bleh, no sorry XD

Little Girls: Kitty - Here me out, it gives off more Kitty vibes. I debated it feeling more like for Lou, but it's giving me "Ugh, no, you imbecile" vibes. The way she sings as well is the way I imagine Kitty singing. She's also kinda stuck with Lydia and Tuesday despite acting like she's absolutely fed up with their two brain cells.

Brutal: Kitty - Way too insecure and earnestly faking being okay to be anyone else. Also, "only have two real friends:" Tuesday and Lydia?

Jealousy Jealousy: Mandy - I think one of the main reasons that she hangs out with the Spy Girls is because she wants to be just like them. I don't think they just spotted her one day. Kitty doesn't strike me as that type of person. I think Mandy earnestly sought them out and has been trying to prove that she's as good as them.

good 4 u: Lou - This definitely screams Lou and how he dealt with Ox after their friendship ended. It also didn't help that Ox was living up the dream in Uglyville despite his nature, whilst Lou was still stuck in a perpetual nightmare.

Wrecking Ball: Wage - I feel like this is definitely Wage. She can be a little fireball (and she is during most of the movie). And most of her decisions are impulses of her anger or other unruly emotions. I feel like she just embraces her unvisceral emotions.

Cults: Lou - The middle verses kind of throw me off, but the main chorus of "Haven't I given enough?" is definitely Lou-coded for self-explanatory reasons.

Alien Blues: I've heard this song before and absolutely can't stand it for the same reasons as "Saint Bernard", sorry XD, but I don't think I can listen to it purposefully.

Oh no!: Moxy - Despite the whole "friends are great" outlook Moxy seems to have during the movie, she's very self-centered. She was fully prepared to go through the Gauntlet and portal without telling any of the other Uglies back in Uglyville. If it hadn't been for Lou's interference, the other Uglies would still be stuck. Moxy definitely has her own future set in stone.

dumb dumb: Wage - She definitely gives off the "I'm surrounded by idiots" energy. I know, you probably expected me to say Lou, but I honestly think that Wage would be the one to secretly believe everyone is on a lower IQ level than her. She did constantly try to tell Moxy that her plan was outrageous. She also gives UglyDog a hard time.

Everybody Likes You: I couldn't find this song

Step on Me: Nolan - I honestly think that Nolan wholly accepts (tolerates) any treatment from other dolls. He'll withstand the insults and bombastic side eyes if it means playing peacekeeper.

YKWIM: Ox - I feel like closer toward the end of his friendship with Lou, he felt as if he was getting in the way of Lou being a functional leader in the Institute.

<><><><>

Yeah, I admitted some because it's been months since this ask came in and a little bit shorter since I had first worked through the songs. The few songs I deleted from my analysis is because I just didn't have the attention span to listen to them or they really confused me because of the lyrics.

But yeah!

[lastyearsyesterday]

Palms together like this

Lick the holy off your fingers

It's not a question

An answer

A statement or a bribe

It's all the same

The same words same languages same names. It's all the same cycles same trees same floors. Same cell walls and cytoplasm. Same fucking song by the Doors.

It's the same air the same dirt the same sand, silt, mud, stone, crystals, concrete, asphalt, roofing tar, turpentine, fingernails, cast iron, porcelain, ivory from the same God damn elephants they were hunting before.

How has anyone moved on from this? The world is smaller then my fucking tits. How has any one moved on when the only thing changing is the casing on the tree root cells in my electrified brain. The bell curve draws nearer and on the other side are the same feelings, repeated like a dream.

Become an angry, friction filled shit hole with hands that grab and tug like a child. Become a body that hold all your organs, something that can heal it's self like putty.

Pray that the nothing in the air becomes something so wicked it can't be blamed. Claim the blood saved you. Claim it all the way it claws at you, be desperate. Claim you saw it coming so that the river can cut through the canyon in your body and carry parts of you away. Claim it's open fire, open season, open hearts that you bite into still bleeding like someone else's glory can be absorbed through the stories they allowed you to hear. Like the ocean chooses to rise and fall, to swallow and spit, to carve and call. Like the birds that are somewhere else are here.

[gidygoodygideon]

A big brain dump on reality that I need to sort out formally for my Self

I've been thinking about what reality is. After a magic shroom trip experience, I'd been left with the words: "Niets is echt, alles is verzonnen", which translates to "Nothing is real, everything is imagined". The weird experience one has with time during the use of psychedelics has me fascinated. The experience of the waviness of matter and the distinct passage of time as all at the same time has got me scratching my head about the human condition.

"A thought is love's currency". These words from Mac Miller resonate with me, especially when my mind wanders over my network of friends. I think this world exists out of hard data and soft data. Hard data being what exists independant of time and soft data what exists only in time. Both are vibrational in nature. The hard data is matter, and the forces that we've inferred to work upon them. The soft data is sensory information. This sensory function is one that exists in time only, as feeling. Written words are matter, a concretization of feeling. The human condition exists in soft data. The experience of time allows for this data, this vibration, a feeling that will never be fully captured by hard data. The human experience does capture itself, and symbolically expresses itself in stories and art.

We think that time is a single dimension that we're stumbling down in, like the flow of water from the source to the sea. I have my doubts about this, and can imagine time being multidimensional that human Will can steer in. The hard problem of conciousness lies in our limited means to capture the dimensions that we'd need to measure; time. We're great with matter, to the smallest particles one can dream up.

A different line that has entered my mind is: "I am to God, what a cell in my body is to me". This stems from my belief that the public eye is an abstraction we interpret, which is a dynamic being that one needs to find a behaviour towards. I create and am the God towards others, in the smallest fraction, an individual.

If I as an individual am to God, what a cell is to my experience as an individual, am I saying that each cell is concious? Not at all, I , I think the brain is the self-reflective part of the psyche, it matches what the body does while reflecting on it. There are abstractions to be made that are useful, these are ideas/words; the skin shivers, the stomach growls, the heart beats, but these are the vibrational data abstractions we reflects on. The brain reflects the most intensely on what the closest senses provide; the eyes, the ears, the nose, the mouth. It has most direct control over the vibrations it can send out with the mouth.

The entirety of the body is alive, and feels. The brain gives supremacy of the experience of the head over that of the body, especially for those that have the sense of sight. This inbalanced dynamic between the head and the body, like the conviction that something is real once it is seen, the so-called faithless Thomas. Our eyes are volumetrically only a fraction of the human and the people without eyes are hardly less human. Their sensory experience may be limited, though the lived experience will rebalance the remaining senses as this is what it can reflect on with attention.

I have come to the conclusion with these thoughts that it is important to listen to the whole body, and reflect on your actions rather than your thoughts. Your experience of thought is the reflective capacity of mental vibrations, in a whirlpool like way in asmuch as we can understand this phenomena in 3 dimentions.

My bet is that the feeling of love is a vibrational harmony of the mental dimension. Intuition is the bigger impact of the body's feeling in the self-reflection. The idea of living harmoniously with the world is therefore based on the self-reflection that allows the entire body to feel loved in the world. From your heart living in peace with friends family and strangers, to your stomach feeling nourished. I want to look deeper into what parts of the body feel what kind of experience, and I have a suspicion that language has encoded some of these experiences extremely well.

The experience of time is what makes alive, but can we measure with the tools we currently have how time works? Especially with M-theory postulating that one needs more than 4 dimensions to make the theorical physics work, what do we make of the fact that we only experience 3+n, with n being our continuous experience of now, of time?

Time feels like a path we're walking down. The forever falling forward in time, though slower in later years as one has a substantial volume of time to relate to. Unique experiences are often chained experiences of wonder and fill time with a special memory. The embodiment of routines, like the bodily function on a bike, are functions that do not require reflection to be harmonious between the intent of the head and the body to execute it.

The brain are a place where all feeling is sent to deliberate together and create the unity we get to call "I". I have the sense that the idea of the id, the ego and the Superego are a reflection of the distinction between the body and the mind and the collective minds. These 3 forces are in constant tug of war with each other, which is the crux of the human condition.

[crossdressingdeath]

Narrator: *Many killing moons have waxed. As each set, more your mind waned. No mortal cell could hold you. The bars broke like bones. You pray with each new heart-spillage. You worship with your diseased embrace - siring a mad legion. You scream, for you cannot speak. Yet... in the treacle-pulp of your brain, something called you back here. What is this place? It was something. Once. Bonds, warmth, strength, fear... love... Now, you feel only impatience for these blood-sacks to sleep, so you can strike with the death-dream.* Kyvir: Father, my body is your wretched vessel. Descend upon me. Reap by my hand. Narrator: *Each time you unhinge your maw, the words of the prophet tumble forth. Not long now. Not long. Wait until they are at rest to strike. Patience.* Kyvir: Glance piteously upon your false bride. Narrator: *You are Bhaal's stallion - many of your own Bhaalspawn have been born to die in this half year. Your new children will become the tyrant's hoard. Why do you spare even one thought for your forsaken mate?* Kyvir: Live... MUST... Narrator: *As soon as it tries to pass through your lips, you feel violently ill. Now you are what [Astarion] fears most. A starved ratling, an itching prowler. A reminder of his worst self, best left to history. The revelry is falling to a lull... Your witching hour draws close.* Kyvir: Father, I love you. I'm a good boy. A good good boy. Narrator: *Kill them all, mad Bhaal-bairn. Kill them all.*

This really is a brutal ending. Durge's mind is just... completely gone. They can barely remember their friends, they can't speak (except to pray to and praise Bhaal) without immense effort, it takes everything they've got to even want their lover to live... The way they feel violently ill if they even try to say they want their lover to live hurts me. If you take this path the very best Durge can hope for is either someone killing them or them reaching a point where they lose the ability to care about anything but killing. The happiest way for this ending to go is for the party to catch Durge and kill them before they can kill anyone else! It's horrific even before you get into the SA aspect of Bhaal forcing Durge to have children whether they like it or not (and the body horror aspect of Bhaal apparently either potentially forcibly altering Durge's anatomy so that they can sire children regardless of whether they were biologically capable of that before or accelerating their pregnancies to an absurd degree).

I'm not sure what's worse: Withers calling Durge to the party despite their situation, Durge being drawn there by their own memories and desire to see their friends again, or Bhaal sending them with the intent of making them kill their friends. At least with the first one it's possible he warned the party and there's a plan to capture and kill or try to save Durge...

Also that "Father, I love you. I'm a good boy. A good good boy" line has been living in my head rent-free since the epilogues dropped and I am pleased to report that it is definitely not leaving now. Ah... the daddy issues are so much...

[eloquent-vowel]

Goodbye, Evergreen - But make it Hannibal's POV

These are all my own interpretations that are definitely taking some creative licence - these are just opinions and random thoughts! This fits into the time between season 2 and season 3.

Throughout the series Will has a relationship with the forest, his house is surrounded by trees, he loves being in nature. Hannibal is saying Goodbye to Will, his Evergreen, his heaven sent.

Religious imagery flickers through this song just as it weaves through Hannibal (the series). I never can decide if Hannibal sees Will as his disciple or his God - to be worshiped. But there is no doubt in my mind that Hannibal would include his ideas of heaven in his beliefs about Will.

The use of Must suggests an inevitability, like he knew that this situation would crumble one way or another. That he knew Will would burn out, but he held some hope that the scales would tip Will towards him. Just like how Will was "in [his] dream". But the teacup has shattered

Hannibal releases his "scattered brain" - this could be seen in two ways. He is letting go of the parts of him that are connected to Will - parts that maybe don't fit with his previous images of himself. Or he is referring to Will as "My scattered brain". Calling Will "My enemy". But Will is His.

"I cut from the inside" - This feels like Hannibal cuts Will because of how he is feeling inside. Maybe he is scared, frightened, and that makes him unsettled - "Something just isn't right".

"I'm drowning in my self defence" - "I gave you a rare gift, but you didn't want it." When Hannibal guts Will he does so to survive, if he did not do so he would drown, die. When Will says "Didn't I?" then maybe the guilt begins to set in. "Now punish me."

"Think of me as what you will." - How does Will view Hannibal? As a monster, a man - a friend, an enemy? Does it really matter to Hannibal, no because he knows what he is and he is saying Goodbye (for now."

The idea of Hannibal growing "like a cancer" just screams of the idea that he has grown inside Will but he has grown from parts of Will. His influence is born of Will's cells, working beyond what they normally do. He is silent and devastating but he is a part of Will. To cure Will of Hannibal would be to destroy, claw out, part of himself and damage the surrounding structures. "Do you believe you could change me, the way I have changed you? - I already did"

Water imagery returns in the rain - the rain that washes away blood, cleansing in a way. Hannibal stands in the rain at the end of Season 2. He has shed his person suit for a brief moment. He wipes his face as the rain drops fall. A small part of me thinks that he lets a few tears fall, disguised as they are. I see this moment as his washing away that "poisoned pain" of betrayal.

"Deliver me" - the religious themes pop up again. Is Will Hannibal's saviour? Is he seeking forgiveness? What poisoned part of himself does Hannibal want saving from, or would he rather pull Will down with him? "I forgive you Will. Will you forgive me?"

It's giving obsession - a desperation to be known and understood.

I strongly believe that Hannibal wants nothing more than to be understood and he believes Will to be the only one who could ever fully understand him. As he leaves his old home, I picture him just thinking and hoping that maybe if he says it enough times - Will will know.

Please know me

It is cut off. Hannibal believes Will to not care for him, to wish to shackle him. He loves. But he is not sure if the one he loves is Will (for now)

... give it some time in Europe and that will soon change hehe

[jesuisgourde]

Because my brain is too exhausted/stressed right now to write any fic even though I want to write for like 3 separate fandoms, I'm going to do a list of my own fics from each fandom that I'm most proud of.

Torchwood

The Subject Of Mourning Gwen had said Those poor girls. But both were dead, victims of Torchwood, of circumstance, of the most destructive kind of loyalty and love. Owen could only think Poor Ianto. The dead were dead. The living had to keep living with the pain. He sighed. "Fucking fuck this." Owen and Ianto in the immediate aftermath of Cyberwoman.

Aftermath Sometimes, when the dust has settled, you need a little support. Owen and Ianto manage to hold each other up in their own ways in the aftermath of various cases.

All These Nights Of Fucking Things Up Won't Leave You Clean Jack wonders belatedly if maybe he should have come later, when the pain isn't so raw. (Post-Cyberwoman)

Temporary Reprieve “Don't you want to just let someone else be in charge for a minute?” Ianto murmurs. “Not make any decisions? Let someone else do it all for you?” Jack's gone, Tosh is injured, and everything is overwhelming. Owen's struggling with the responsibilities and stress of leadership, and Ianto knows how to help him shake off the need to do everything all at once. (Owen/Ianto)

This Thing Is Built From Broken Parts Ianto wonders if this is his brain’s new version of fucked up, falling in love with the people he’s supposed to hate. (Owen/Ianto)

Ex Utero Intrapartum Ad Torchwood Gwen Cooper was born into the world of Torchwood by caesarean section.

Shameless

The Needle And The Burning Body They're supposed to be running away together. Ian hates whatever fucking nurture-over-nature compass Fiona somehow instilled in him that means the one thing he's running back to is never the thing he wants to want. That Mickey's love makes him want to run away as fast as he can because this thing, this solid thing is so much. And he's already so much on his own. Mickey had two burning torches for hands but he knew what to do with them. Ian's head was on fire and all he knew was how to run and keep running. How to find a cliff and jump off. How to make Mickey chase after him, again and again. And in a cold cell in prison, Mickey catches him.

Scar Tissue Mickey's mouth feels sour. He can feed the baby, he can change the baby. He can't look at the baby. Ian looks at the baby like it isn't made of pain. Mickey wants to claw his own skin off. The three of them have a conversation that nobody wants to have. It happens anyway. Just like the first time happened anyway.

Proof Of What You Want Ian's on his goddamn mind all the time and this isn't like bruises or near misses with cops or his dad's fucked up punishments. It doesn't matter what he does. He's not thinking of anything else. You've never been like this. Slow and soft and someone asleep at your back. Vulnerable. Ever. There have been very few bright spots in your life: your mother, Mandy, Ian. You try and convince yourself it's not what you want. It is. It's what you want.

We Drag Ourselves Hand Over Hand Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't come back. Because absence apparently makes the heart grow fonder and at some point he realizes he's fallen in love with Ian Gallagher. At some point he realizes he fucking hates camouflage. At some point he realizes he wishes Ian could stay. In which Ian actually goes into the Marines.

Peace In Your Arms And A Home In Your Heart There's no way his younger self would have imagined this, not in a million years, not even with how much he always loved Ian. He was always just fucked for life. Now he's been there, done that with the fucked for life thing. Now he's everything he never dreamed and it blows him away. Ian and Mickey three years after Mickey's release from prison.

Les Miserables

A Wild Howling For Room-Corner Revolutions A Beat Generation Amis AU, a series of vignettes of their life in Les Amis de l'ABC at the Beat Hotel in Paris.

Philosphical Fares It’s not very often that Enjolras has conversations this bizarre with his customers. Or that he finds himself so unwillingly consumed with random strangers.

Head Games Of Chance Life is shitty. Grantaire's is, at least. But the train ride home is a nice place to daydream and draw. Or discuss philosophy with strangers. Although it's unusual for him to go out for coffee with them.

In The Flesh

Palingenesis "Living" doesn't have to mean beating heart, working lungs. Living means hanging on by your fingertips, it means people make it up as they go along, it means grasping for connection in the dark. And exhaustion, and pain, and one hundred and seventeen emotions all pushed into that dark, wet space between your ribs. It means carving something out of the rubble. It means leaving a mark, closing your eyes and opening them, and finding something standing in front of you that you want to see. Kieren and Simon deal with the aftermath of Amy's death, recover and relapse, learn each other, learn themselves, and watch the world change.

Four Darks In Red It’s dangerous for an artist to show his piece to the world. It’s dangerous to let other people see how you feel. One smile, one hug, one dollop of yellow does not happiness make. He's entertained the idea before now, but now he knows that this is the best possible decision. "One day, you'll get away, you'll be free," Rick told him. There's only one way to escape all of this. The last hours of Kieren's life, up to his death.

Manic Street Preachers

The Still Point "Human kind cannot bear very much reality. Time past and time future, what might have been and what has been, point to one end, which is always present." You thought maybe to compound everything would be to reveal a truth. Instead, you are sliding away, everything has shrunken to hardly anything, and nothing in this world makes sense.

Queer As Folk

Headstrong For the prompt "Kinnetic gossip." Only this one is Vanguard gossip, but close enough. An outsider observes the communication and subsequent reunion between Brian and Justin in 3.08.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

Timey’s Great Big Pinned Post of Everything

[   she/her | writer/artist | 29 | IGN (NA) Timey.6853  ]

just another friendly local aro-ace salad enthusiast

Hi yes hello, welcome to Timey’s Guild Wars 2 blog where I post about Guild Wars 2 and basically nothing else. Expect a lot of salads, a lot of Living World 1, and especially a lot of Scarlet Briar. Sometimes I draw or write things, too. Mostly I just yell my meta commentary of questionable sanity into the void, though. Y’know how it is. Scarlet stole my last remaining brain cell and adamantly refuses to give it back.

I’m always happy to chatter with folks! Feel free to drop by anytime; I can be a little slow to respond at times, but I really love exchanging theories and ideas and hearing about obscure or interesting details people have found! Give me ALL of the lore. Tell me about your favorite characters. Ramble about OCs. For real, I love to hear all the things okay; don’t worry about being mutuals, either!

DISCLAIMER: This isn’t a place for bigotry, drama, or rudeness though; nobody’s got time for that. Terfs, racists, ableists, and all such things get blocked on sight out here. Hate of any form will never be welcome, period.

With that out of the way, I’ll include some helpful navigation links and summaries of my various AU projects below the cut! Feel free to take a peek if you want. I’ll gradually add more stuff over time, too.

The Handy Dandy List of Links

My Posts

Reblogs

My Art

My Fics

Regrowth AU

Portabella Pirkko - Tag

Harbinger Saoirse - Tag

“Lost But Not Forgotten”

“A Garden of Memories”

Flourish AU

Ceara the Defiant - Tag

Dragonheart Pirkko - Tag

Saoirse the Flame - Tag

Pact Admiral Mai Trin - Tag

Tideturners AU

The Sidewinder - Page | Tag

Grand High Sovereign Ruju - Tag

       1: “Red Alert”

Timey’s AU Collection, in Summary

Regrowth AU: What Would You Do For a Second Chance?

Even Elder Dragons have limits. And as it happens, a being whose power relies on life has no hold on the realm of the dead. In the Domain of the Lost, a spirit awakens for the first time in many years. For a time, she spends her penance leading those that her actions sent to their graves too early-- but that would never be enough to satisfy Scarlet Briar. It’s too slow. Too tedious... Too boring. And she isn’t prepared to spend all of eternity tending to spirits who hate her for choices she never would have made of her own volition.

So when a stranger reaches through the Mists seeking her guidance and her power in a new alliance, Scarlet accepts-- and finds her spirit anchored to a rather unconventional ex-mordrem revenant. But the world has changed a great deal in her absence, and thanks to their new goal... It’s about to change a whole lot more. They’re both going to make quite sure of that.

Tyria isn’t the only thing that’s going to change, though. Ceara hasn’t been herself in a long, long time... And now, without the dragon’s influence crushing her sense of self, she’s finally free to rediscover the person she should have been. Maybe there’s still time to reclaim her legacy after all.

If she can avoid almost destroying the world (again), that is...

Flourish AU: What If One Choice Could Change the World?

Sometimes all it takes is a few words in the right place at the right time... A moment of solidarity that by all rights, never should have happened. But the Dream works in mysterious ways, and as echoes rippled across the Mists from distant worlds, it learned of a different future and an unexpected outcome. All it took was a single, subtle nudge to set the ball rolling, and so it did.

On that fateful day in the Grove, Caithe never would have thought to ask the inquisitive sylvari what she was working on. But, just this once, the Dream did.

Curiosity was repaid in kind. A repaired healing device was left in the infirmary, its Secondborn donator unspoken but well-known. Beginning to recognize the value of Ceara’s peculiar research, others began to quietly peek at the budding scientist as she worked. And while she might never have been a social butterfly, the acceptance warmed her heart of ice into something far softer. She didn’t have to choose between her dream and the Dream. And even if she left the Grove far behind... Perhaps she didn’t have to cut it off entirely.

And that was all she’d ever truly needed; the opportunity of choice.

Ceara never left the Dream, not entirely. She listened to its advice, following when it suited her and forging a unique path all her own. She became not an engineer, but a thief, following in the footsteps of her new mentor. When Saoirse needed her advice, she was still in the Grove to provide it. The world changed, slowly but surely, one altered life at a time.

The Dream’s grand design came to pass. Three champions would rise like stars, facing the dragons together. Heart, Mind, and Soul... Pirkko, Ceara, and Saoirse, from the Priory, Whispers, and Vigil. A bold new future awaited-- a future where the horrors of Scarlet’s Alliance would never be known, for there had never even been a Scarlet Briar to lead it.

But the greater their success, the lusher their world...

And the higher the flames would burn when it all ignited.

Tideturners AU: What Happens When There is No Hero?

Mai Trin wasn’t born to be a hero. That was supposed to be Ruju’s job. He was the one who would become the Commander, leading unlikely alliances to victory time and time again to save his world from the draconic plight. He was strong, and relentless, and brave, and intelligent. He was always meant to be a leader.

But his heart was just as cold and dead as the biomechanical minions he commanded in battle, and the future he would create was not a kind one.

He was invited aboard Scarlet’s Alliance, but this would prove a deadly error; Commander Ruju made no differentiation between a willing dragon minion and a rebelling one. Scarlet Briar was claimed by his blade in the dead of night, and the rest were left with a brutal choice: fall in line, or share her fate. Mai, realizing this was no longer the alliance she had once believed in, took her Aetherblades and fled into the Mists.

But the Grand High Sovereign’s rampage did not end. He blazed a devastating trail of bloodshed across the Tyrian continent, wiping away all that dared stand in his path. With every fallen foe, his army only continued to grow. Dragons were crushed by brute force, and magic poured into the increasingly unstable fabric of reality. With every passing day there was less left to save.

Mai Trin wasn’t born to be a hero. She never would have chosen that role for herself-- and whether that was what she became would be debated by many. But she was meant to be a leader, and if Ruju would not be the one her Tyria needed, she was the only one left who could. Alliances were forged, civilians were evacuated, and a mask was donned; she was no longer Mai Trin. She was the Sidewinder, and their hidden Turnabout deep in the Mists would offer a second chance to those who had nowhere else left to go. As the years passed, it became the stuff of legend, a tale of hope and renewal even in the face of impossible odds.

Their world is long-gone now, nothing but haunted memories in the minds of those precious few who escaped alive. But the Tideturners remain, one last refuge against a Commander who decided the world wasn’t worth saving. He won’t save them, so they’ll save themselves instead.

“We're the Tideturners, and we won’t be washed away.”