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perfinn · 1 year ago

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let neptune strike ye dead

merman!din djarin x lighthouse keeper!reader

wc: 2.8k

summary: you've spent the last year in near total isolation on an island, tending to a lighthouse and slowly losing your mind. something begins leaving you gifts.

cw: nsfw, no pronouns used but reader is afab and will later be established as a woman, masturbation (not particularly explicit), paranoia, isolation, general decent into insanity, lighthouse keeping inaccuracies (i did zero research)

read on ao3, banner by cafekitsune

The stairs inside the lighthouse have no rails. They're cut from stone, winding up into the heavens as a tower of brick, beaten by decades of crashing waves and brutal storms. Unmoving, unforgiving. And you, godforsaken you, are forced to climb those winding stairs each day and night. Tending to a light that never goes out, once clinging to the stone bricks now confident in your wretched climb. You will not fall, you know, and if you do then there is little more can be done for you. You need only hope that if you do, you'll fall from the lowest steps.

Would they relieve you of your duties if you broke a bone? You doubt it. They couldn't hope to get another keeper in time, this job is as wretched and undesirable as the tower is ancient. You had been tricked into it, you came to realise after a torturous fortnight of lighting that lamp, of clinging to those cold walls along the stairway. Still, your contract was immovable. Two years tending to the lighthouse. Two years of near complete isolation. Two years to lose your mind on a tiny island with only a ship's captain to talk to twice a month.

It's not all bad, the isolation. There's nothing to waste your hard earned wages on, like sweet treats from a bakery. The food you need is delivered by that captain, a sweetener to the deal you'd signed a horrifically long twelve months ago. The wages are generous, too. Without the trappings of rent and bills and little expenses that seem more and more ridiculous the longer you rely on yourself on this island, you're saving thousands of dollars.

Your sanity seems a low price to pay for what will be plenty of financial comfort when you finally return to civilisation.

(Though the longer you spend away from it, the harder it becomes to believe you'll ever be fit for society again. You begin to wonder if you may die on this island.)

There is another hidden benefit to the isolation, you’ve found, that comes in the form of being able to make as much noise as you like. You can scream at the very top of your lungs if you like, and no one will be around to complain.

When your myriad of work is finished for the day, you retire to your measly lodgings. You can't do much to personalise it. You didn't bring any decorations with you, and you can't exactly pop out to get yourself some nice succulents to warm the place up. Succulents would probably die out here anyway. So, with little other choice in the matter, the room is impersonal. Your activities in the room are not.

There isn't a lot to do in order to fill your idle time. You tried cooking– it didn't stick. You tried knitting– the captain didn't bring enough yarn to tide you over until his next visit. The only hobby – which is no true hobby at all, really – that you’ve kept up, is masturbation.

On the mainland, you had toys. Vibrators, dildos, whatever else you desired. You didn't bring them with you, assuming you wouldn't need them.

(Which, for a time, was the case. In the beginning you’d end the day so exhausted that you fell right into your cot and passed out. As your body adjusted to the workload, this became less and less common. You were growing stronger and more durable, and so was your stamina.)

You only have enough service for perhaps one phone call a week, which you usually reserve for your family just so they’re certain you haven't drowned, so internet is out of the question. And you’re not brave enough to ask the ship’s captain about the magazines you’ve seen poking out of a drawer in the bridge of his ship. So, no porn.

You’ve, in turn, gotten incredibly creative with your fingers and your imagination. Were you perhaps deeper in the depths of your impending insanity, you might even go so far as to act out your wildest fantasies like a one woman show. You’re not quite there yet, so the fantasies remain inside your head. That doesn't stop you from making a frankly egregious amount of noise. You scream, moan, whine and yell as much as you please, more than you ever did in the apartment you lived in on the mainland.

The walls were too thin there. They’re too thin here, really, but that doesn't matter, because no one’s around. You make as much noise as is physically possible because you assume no one in the world can hear you.

(You assume wrong.)

You obviously don't notice anything strange during the act, due to all the wanton screaming, that combined with the incessant crash of waves against the rocks doesn't make for a wonderful listening environment. You have every reason to assume that there's no one out there to hear you except perhaps an unfortunate seal or two. The oddities which begin, happen outside of that time.

Seaglass.

There's an abundance of it on the beaches below your island, washing up from decades of glass litter, formed into something lovely. Generally, you leave it to the sea, figuring that if the waves can beat it into a shape they like, they’ve earned the right to keep it. But one day, after a rough storm, a few pieces of it sit on the end of the dock.

It's odd, but not enough to arouse much suspicion. You assume it’s the result of some well arranged wind and waves, and gently knock the pieces of colourful glass back into the ocean.

But then, it happens again.

It's after another storm, (of which there are many, hence the need for a lighthouse) when you’re stood at the paved stone edge of a small cliff and your boot almost crunches on three pieces of seaglass.

You yelp, stepping back to avoid shattering them and crouching down. You pick them up, brows drawing together as you arrange the treasures in the palm of your hand. Two of the pieces are a seafoam green, but the other is a pretty orange. You pluck it between your fingers, holding it up to the rising sun. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips.

You try not to make a habit of keeping seaglass. Don't take too much of the earth’s abundance and what-not. But you do have a few exceptional pieces arranged on your windowsill, and you’ve never seen one this colour before.

“Alright,” you concede in a murmur. You place the orange piece tenderly into the pocket of your overalls. “I’ll keep this one. But you can have these back.”

As you gently plop the other two pieces back into the waves, you try not to think too hard about the fact that you’re speaking to the ocean like it's listening. You briefly consider telling yourself that you’re just talking to yourself, and not the ocean. But that's probably worse.

“God,” you murmur, running a hand down your face. You make a mental note to call your mother.

The odd occurrences stop for a time. That, or your sanity has slipped too much to recognise things as odd. Reality is askew when you’re this alone. Things that are strange don't seem so out here.

Though, you know you can at least attribute your attraction to the supply ship’s captain to the simple lack of contact with anyone else. He’s not ugly, not by any means, but certainly not your type. But Christ, what you wouldn't give to rip his clothes from his body and have him until you finally felt satisfied again.

Your loud masturbation can only satisfy your libido so long. You give it another three months before you’re crossing a lot of professional lines with Captain Fett.

You’ve become friends, at least. He’s your only real connection to the outside world, other than your shoddy transistor radio and your phone calls with your mother that last thirty minutes on average. (Which she only uses to fill you in on family gossip because you generally have nothing of import to tell her.) When he comes by, you force him to sit and enjoy tea with you and tell you about life on the mainland. He’s funny, if a bit gruff. But he makes you laugh, makes you sane.

And then he leaves again, and you watch his ship disappear over the horizon, feel that horrible isolation sink back onto your shoulders and suffocate you. You picture Captain Fett when you scream-masturbate that evening.

The next morning, there's a pile of fish on the edge of the dock.

You stare at it for a long time, brain ticking over as you try desperately to make sense of it. It's a decent variety of fish, all quite massive sizes. Nothing that you generally catch off the docks on the days you try to fish. This is from much further out, in the open ocean where the fishing boats make their rounds. You crouch down, sniffing at the pile. It doesn't smell, they seem as fresh as anything.

Perhaps you have lost it entirely, because you pick up what you know to be a cod and look it over, sniffing it. It smells fishy, obviously, but not rotten. It’ll make a far better dinner than the soup you had planned. You eye the other fish, wondering if you ought to waste them, or let the waves take them back to their fishy graves.

You take the cod inside, and return to the dock with a bucket full of ice in order to collect the other fish. Even if you can't eat them all before they go bad, you’re damn well gonna try. This isn't like the seaglass, you tell yourself. These fish are already dead, it would be wasteful to just ignore them and let them rot away at the end of your dock. As you settle the last fish in the ice bucket, you hear a splash in the calm water.

A tiny thing, barely even a plip. But it makes your head snap up, makes your eyes dart around at the water around you. You curse the fact that the ocean is never completely still, so any disturbance is lost in its perpetual motion. You can't find the source of the splash, but you know it wasn't something innocuous.

(Were anyone to ask you how you knew this, you couldn't tell them. You think it may be some sort of paranoia you’ve acquired in your isolated insanity.)

You feel watched. Perhaps not by something sinister. But watched all the same, like an intent pair of eyes are trained right on you as you accept this gift of ocean’s abundance. You stand up, hoisting the bucket up into your hip as you squint out at the waves. The sun reflects off the water and hits your eyes, and you’d be upset with it if you weren't trying to cherish the rare day of warm sun. You huff, taking one last glance at the slowly lapping waves before turning and heaving back up to the lighthouse to get to work.

You know there’s another storm coming that night. Weather so forgiving is never not followed by something brutal. You’ve grown very accustomed to the mercurial weather of this godforsaken island.

(That, and you heard it on the weather report on the radio.)

Still, generally the best you can do in this weather is make sure the lamp is lit and you’re safe and warm inside. You have two of your fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy when thunder first cracks. You barely pause, glancing toward the window as rain begins to beat down on the panes, before closing your eyes and focusing on hitting that sweet spot again.

When you’ve moved to rutting against your pillow and letting wanton moans tumble from your lips, an alarm goes off high up in the tower. Your eyes snap open and you look up– the light’s gone out.

The very most central thing that you’re expected to do in this godforsaken lighthouse is maintain the light. Now, in this kind of weather, more than ever. You barely give yourself a moment to pull on a discarded pair of overalls before you’re scrambling up the stone steps to the light. You swear to yourself as you fix the light, glancing out the windows to the dark and stormy oceans.

You pray there’s no ships out there, pray you won't suddenly hear a deafening crash as some poor fishing barge slams into the cliff face. There shouldn't be any ships out in this weather, but that's really the whole point of the lighthouse, isn't it? Just in case.

But you manage to secure the new bulb, relief flooding you as the room is illuminated and the beacon shines out over the horizon. You turn to look out the windows, thankful when you note there’s not a ship in sight. In the five or so minutes where the ancient lighthouse wasn't faithfully emitting its beacon, no one even came near. As you’re about to step away, though, the light illuminates something that catches your eye.

You’re not able to make out much from this distance, or from the brief second of illumination, but you’d swear on anything that you saw someone out there. A head and shoulders, with brown hair, just poking out of the waves.

You’re scrambling on the steps again before you even realise you’re moving. Slipping and stumbling down those wretched stairs, uncaring of your safety since instead your brain is thrumming with fear and adrenaline and a screaming need to help whatever poor soul has somehow ended up in the stormy waters. You grab a flashlight and a floatation device from by the door before you’re stepping into the unforgiving elements.

You don't even know what you’ll do when you get out there. As you rush out into the bruising wind and rain hammering down on your skin, you can't think of any sort of plan. You’re sure as hell not going to dive in to get them, that would only end up with both of you dead. You make it down to the dock, slipping several times in the mud but managing to stay upright. You’re barefoot, you don't have anything to cover you but your worn pair of overalls, so essentially your entire torso and arms are bare to the elements. One wrong move and your tits will probably spill free too.

But you don't think about that. You think this poor drowning idiot won't care that you’re sort-of-kind-of-half-naked, they probably have more important things on their mind. You make it to the end of the dock, shining your flashlight out at the waves.

“Hello?!”

You’re not sure you can be heard over the wind and the rain and the thunder clapping overhead. You can't see anyone either. Whoever it was has probably been pulled under, or out further into the waves where you can't help them. Still, you search frantically amongst the blackened water, eyes wide and breathing quick.

You catch something in the beam of your flashlight. Something, again, so quick you think you may have imagined it. A tail, flicking up before disappearing beneath the waves.

Unlike any tail you’ve seen before, large and wide, a dark colour almost as black as the water. You freeze, flashlight lingering on that spot, silently begging the universe to let you see it again, just so you can know it's a seal or something.

But a seal’s tail doesn't look like that. Nothing’s tail looks like that. You squint in the rain, desperate to prove your insanity wrong. But it doesn't appear again. You’re left only with the memory of a tailfin and the distant view of a person’s head and shoulders, and the sinking feeling of knowing your insanity has reached a point you can't be certain you’ll return from.

When you’re about to give up on the poor soul that you probably-definitely hallucinated, you glance downwards. You think of the seaglass and the fish, and wonder if those were hallucinations too when your flashlight reflects off something new. Another gift from the ocean. You reach down and pick it up, heart thrumming in your chest.

It's a cowrie shell, but that's not what sends your mind spinning into confusion. There’s a carving on its surface. You run your thumb over it, clearing it of raindrops for a brief moment before it’s covered by them once more in the unrelenting downpour. It's a symbol you recognise, Captain Fett has one hanging from the gearshift of his ship. You’d asked him about it once, and he’d recounted an old mariners tale about it.

A mythosaur.

You look back up at the waves, searching their murky depths for explanation. There's none. So, shaken, you pocket the cowrie shell and turn away to go back inside, not noticing the pair of brown eyes that watch you from just below the dock.

part ii

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin #merman!din djarin #theres another chapteri prommy #my work #the mandalorian #din

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maxdibert · 22 days ago

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I'm going to spill some gossip because my work bestie and I are living for this telenovela we're experiencing right now. We don’t even know if it’s a K-drama or an episode of The Office, but don’t judge us because I’m turning 29 in a month and my bestie is 31, and we’re at that age where we survive thanks to office drama.

Let me tell you the case and see what you all think.

We have a coworker who works with us in the office, and we adore him because he is the greenest flag among all green flags. We’ll call him A. He’s a bit of a nerd and all, but we love him. He’s been living alone for three years and hasn’t had a girlfriend since his last relationship. Last year, we even tried finding him a match on Tinder, but nothing worked out because, honestly, he’s very particular—like, he's 43 years old and collects Magic Gathering cards, you know? (And yes, being an adult means you get along with both 25-year-olds and 50-year-olds because you all exist in the same environment).

Anyway, two months ago, this girl joined the office as an administrative assistant—we’ll call her B. She lives with her boyfriend and has been in a relationship for over two years. My bestie and I don’t know B that well, but she seems like a cool girl. And no, it has nothing to do with the fact that at the Christmas party, she got drunk and told us she loved our outfits and that we always looked amazing at the office—I swear that has nothing to do with why we like her. But seriously, she has good vibes.

So, for weeks now, these two have been sitting next to each other at the office, and they literally spend the entire day talking. And my bestie and I—who are definitely the most mature and not at all childish adults in history—started shipping them so hard because this is the first time we’ve seen A pay so much attention to a woman for such a long time. The thing is, A is a bit of a know-it-all, the type of guy who knows a little bit about everything and can talk about anything. And B turned out to be exactly the same—but better, because she’s a woman, and women always say more sensible things.

And A had been telling us for ages during after-work drinks (because obviously, my bestie and I are not the type of annoying women who adopt a man they consider a green flag and treat him like their son even though he’s a decade older than us—not at all 🙄) that he couldn’t find anyone he liked because he’d become a bit insufferable and no one stimulated him intellectually anymore. Blah blah blah, midlife crisis or something—I don’t know, I’m still in my thirty crisis.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, they were talking for like 40 minutes straight, and I don’t even know what she was saying, but A was looking at her like he was at a TED Talk given by the most fascinating speaker alive. And I turned to my bestie and said, “Ojo de loca no se equivoca” (which is a very Spanish saying that basically means a crazy girl’s eye never lies), and I told her, “Look, A likes her. I’m telling you.” And my bestie—who has zero shame—casually asked B during an after-work, “Hey, you and A get along really well, huh?” And B said yes, and even said he was exactly the type of guy she usually got along with. And then, jokingly, she said that if she were single, she might have even asked him out.

And at that moment, I knew I was a witch because my intuition is 100% on point.

But of course, they were our doomed OTP because, well, B lives with her boyfriend. And as far as we know, he’s a great guy, and they have a solid relationship. And if adulthood has taught me anything, it’s that people in stable relationships don’t want to leave them—because it’s just too much effort.

BUUUUUUUUUT today, we arrived at the office, and someone else was sitting in B’s usual spot (a girl who occasionally comes in for internal management tasks). And when A noticed, he was like, “Huh? Who sat here? That’s weird, isn’t it?” And B just said something like, “Well, whatever, I’ll just sit over there.”

And A was just standing there, all confused, like, “But why would someone sit next to me? I don’t get it… haha… haha…” (nervous laughter).

And then, when the girl who took B’s spot finally arrived, THIS IDIOT TURNS TO HER AND GOES, “Oh, it’s just that B usually sits here… but, you know, it’s fine, haha, it’s all good, haha.”

And my bestie and I were just like, EXCUSE ME, SIR???

And then? He kept GLANCING AT HER EVERY TWO SECONDS.

Like, make it make sense???

So now we’re debating: Maybe A is keeping his distance because he knows B has a boyfriend and that there’s zero chance of anything happening. Maybe B feels the same way. Or maybe we’re just completely delusional and desperate for some excitement in our monotonous workdays (and also because we grew up watching teen soap operas).

But what do you guys think? There’s definitely something going on here, right???

I swear, I’m this close to telling my boss about it, but he’s such a little shit that if I do, he’ll start making comments. But ugh, I’m SO TEMPTED.

I literally just got back from lunch and had to write this because, for a moment, I felt like I was 15 again, gossiping about classmates’ drama at school.

#working life #shipper life #being an adult is having real life doomed ships #shipping real people the most msature thing on earth #lol #but honestly #office lady #office daywork #daywork #life facts #my life #my work bestie and i are the worst honestly #but i love her for that #gossip #a little gossip never hurts nobody

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postmoderntongues · 27 days ago

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JK Rowling took on the fucking entire Christian church and yall really think some NEETs with Splat brand hairdye and crooked crusty lip rings wearing hot topic fashion from back when Nine Inch Nails was still putting out albums who need to do something performative lest they be forced to cut off their own skin to remove their children's book related tattoos like disgraced MS13 members and are now forced to rely on Meyers-Briggs and Astrology and Kink Orientation quizzes to replace their sorting hat fantasy draft pick as the cornerstone of their personality are going to frighten her into silence by looking up her publicly available address on line and posing like 70's gay suburban theater kids attempting to play menacing street toughs in a West Side Story remake would pose in front of her locked gate?

Do you think rape threats from somebody whose HRT regiment has prevented them from achieving an erection even with chemical assistance in the past quarter decade is scarier than being told that you are an agent of the devil and going to spend eternity burning in hell for corrupting children?

Conservative Christian groups called in bomb threats at showings of the first movie. I didn't read it mostly because I don't like fantasy and even in 1st grade detested Deus Ex Machina so I didn't put up a fight about them being off limits (plus I had better taste like Shadow Children and Series of Unfortunate Events and Dear America and Goosebumps and Demonata) but was not permitted to watch the films until 4th grade at a library program after a long talk with my pastor about how the movies contained subliminal messages to convince me to forsake Jesus and glorified witchcraft.

To put this in perspective, this was AFTER Id seen the movies American History X, Requiem For A Dream, A Clockwork Orange, Full Metal Jacket, Saving Private Ryan, The freddy/jason/Chucky movies, Schindlers List, Eraserhead, Dawn Of The Dead, Pink Floyd's The Wall, Goodfellas, The Godfather, The Green Mile, Blue Velvet, Trainspotting, Creepshow, Gremlins, Real war and non-mainstream news crime footage, and finally either months or weeks after my stone shell of desensitization was shattered by Happy Tree Friends. My going to the library to watch the first few harry potter movies were my first attempt at consuming any form of unfamiliar media since the happy tree friends incident and it was treated significantly more heavily than my first on screen extended rape scene (which I want to say was Last house on the Left because my dad is a big Craven fan but could have also been ACO or Pink Floyds The Wall) like watching this movie about a nerdy kid with a magic wand at a magic school having impossible fantasy adventures was a significant danger to the sanctity of my Christian soul but I was immune to any damage or discomfort the "Singing In The Rain" scene might have caused

My church protested the opening of the first movie. i was there. i held a sign. We did the same thing for The Golden Compass. I promise that the stern German man who used to beat my hands with a piece of wood for having cognitive impairments and thinks he's losing a soul every time somebody walks by him to buy a ticket is a lot scarier than a Policule of they/thems who think you want to hunt trans women for sport because you don't think lesbians should be morally obligated to interact sexually with cocks.

People have been burned alive and hung and crushed with rocks for witchcraft by Christians. Be-Gendered millennials with social science degrees throw glitter "bombs" and call you mean names that they made up for people who disagree with them and then write a thinkpiece for a microblog that 15 people read the first paragraph and a half of.

Anyway Rowling has always been one of my least favorite authors she was dethroned by Meyer in Junior High but her work was shoved so hard down my throat growing up and I was so not feeling it and really don't like her writing but as a person shes pretty fucking based

#jk rowling #harry potter #christianity

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donnerpartyofone · 9 months ago

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I destroyed the house. I've been slowly neatening and cleaning and making things liveable bit by bit for weeks and it's all gone. People joke about the whole Sisyphus thing and they usually mean the rat race of work and bills and not getting ahead, but when I say every day is the same I really mean it. The drawers I "fixed" have stopped closing again because I had to look for something and my "organizing" couldn't withstand that, so now we're back to square one. The clothing I sorted and washed and put away is once again in a 3' deep ocean all over the bedroom, because I had to look for something. The art and comics and little gifts people gave me that I "put away safely" is all wrecked because I had to look for something. The little bags and boxes I made to consolidate different types of things are all over the place again, because I had to look for something. The jewelry I finally organized (after I destroyed more than half of it by trying to clean it) is a mess again because I had to look for something. And I didn't even find the main thing I was looking for, which had a very definite place-it-belongs and is more than a foot long on each side and would be awfully conspicuous in an apartment this size, and whose ENTIRE PURPOSE WAS HELPING ME STAY ORGANIZED, is just gone. I really don't get what could have happened, I must have just slipped into a fugue state and thrown it in the trash. I don't even think I spent my own money on it, I think my husband bought it for me which makes my chronic and destructive wastefulness even more shameful than usual. I was supposed to walk a block and a half to the pharmacy hours ago to find out if they had my backordered medication, so that I could know if I then had to spend the rest of the day calling other pharmacies for the same reason. There's no way I can do that very important thing now, even though the medication is directly related to why I just totally ruined the house and undid months' worth of careful, patient organizing so I could try to live something like a decent, normal life. I should have applied for jobs today. I should have worked on my project that could actually turn into a job if I really try hard. I should have done normal cleaning like laundry and dishes and showering. I should have run a few errands and gotten some fresh air. I should have read one of the many books I'm half way through. Just one of any of these things would have justified getting out of bed today. I should have done anything at all to just inch my life forward a little bit, to just try to be a little bit better than I was yesterday. But instead I'm just still living an endless repetitive day that started sometime when I was in my 30s, or my 20s, or when a was a child, a day I will never get to the end of because I can't complete anything. I can never get to the next step of anything. No wonder my family talks to me like I'm still the same laughably stunted and incompetent 12 year old they had to carry through life decades ago, it makes me mad that they won't treat me like an adult with real thoughts and feelings but actually I totally deserve it because from the day I was born nothing has changed. I'm still just lying around pissing my pants and wondering how I got all wet.

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whump-tr0pes · 8 months ago

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Honor Bound 6 - 33

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Masterlist

Chapter note: I dropped Vera's dog from books 5 and 6 because it just wasn't the right time to bring her in. Well... I'm bringing her back. It's the right time.

Contents: time jump, fluff, recovery, the final arc, PTSD, wedding talk, Iris has arrived, surprise party

Months later

Vera leaned over the kitchen table and polished it with a cloth. Sunlight streamed in the open windows, illuminating the motes of dust like golden sparks. It was nice to have the windows open. It was probably still too cool outside to do it, but the fresh air helped dispel the stale air that had settled in over the winter.

It had been a long winter. The worst one in years, according to Meredith. The snows had piled so high that the roof of the tannery had caved in, and it had taken two weeks to dig it out again and repair it enough that at least the tools would remain dry until spring. All the unfinished leathers had been ruined – an entire batch of shoes and boots gone, as well as one jacket, five belts, and a backpack. Luckily no one had been hurt. The tannery was fully repaired, now. Everyone had the boots they needed, now.

It was hard to think of a single thing that anyone needed that they didn’t have, actually. Vera smiled at the thought. She had never known a life like this, not even before the syndicates had taken it all away.

Especially before the syndicates had taken it all away. Life had been hard for decades before that.

A knock sounded at the front door. The puppy curled up on a wool blanket on the couch leapt up and ran to the door, yipping at the top of her lungs.

“Hush, Petra,” Vera barked, hating how even now, even after eight months in this peaceful place, the disturbance made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She nudged the puppy away from the door and opened it. Edrissa stood on the front porch, beaming.

Vera couldn’t help but smile back at her. “Hey, girlie,” she said. “What’s up?”

“I finished it,” Edrissa said, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet.

Vera’s smile grew wider. “Finished what?” she said, leaning down to pull the dog away from the door. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Edrissa’s cheeks flushed. “You remembered,” she breathed.

“Of course.” Vera’s eyebrows pulled together. “We missed it last year because we were south. We definitely don’t have that issue this year.” She reached out and pulled Edrissa into a one-sided hug, stumbling a bit when the dog tried to dart out the front door. “Goddammit. Why don’t you come in?”

When Edrissa pulled back, her eyes were cast down at the floor. She reached down to scratch the dog between her ears. “Actually, um, I was hoping you would come and see it.”

“See what?” Vera wet her lips. “Let me put the dog on the leash so I can put her outside, hang on.” She took the leash down from its hook on the wall and clipped it to the dog’s collar, then let her slip out the front door past Edrissa. “Jesus Christ, she’s getting big. Sorry. She’s still not doing so well on listening.”

The corner of Edrissa’s mouth quirked up. “It’s okay. She’s… she is getting better, though. With me.” She shot Vera a beatific smile. “Maybe my treats are just better than yours.”

Vera snorted. “Yeah, maybe.” She let the dog drag her outside and tied the leash to the tree that stood out front, concealing the house with its leaves in the season of summer. Only a few buds and tiny leaves stood on its branches right now. Spring came later here than Vera was used to.

Once the knot was tied, Vera sighed and straightened her back again. The puppy jumped up and joyfully tried to bowl her over. She stepped away and smiled at Edrissa. “Okay,” she said ruefully. “Sorry. What did you finish?”

“The dress,” Edrissa said with a radiant grin. “I finished Tori’s wedding dress.”

All of Vera’s breath rushed out of her at once. “Oh,” she gasped. “And… and do you want me to come look at it…?”

“Not without her!” Edrissa cried, although her smile didn’t waver. “I thought she was home. I was… hoping you would both be home, and you could come see.”

“She’ll be back any minute,” Vera said, and pulled her phone from her back pocket. “Hang on…” She tapped out a quick message: hurry back. Edrissa has a surprise. Good surprise.

Edrissa was sitting cross-legged on the grass petting the dog when the phone buzzed.

Just a few out. Did she make her own cake? I told her not to.

Vera smiled to herself. Edrissa may have preferred to make her own cake, actually, but that wouldn’t do. Not when the entire town was busy setting up the post office building for a potluck surprise party that Tori was coming back from leading the charge for. The family had managed to keep the entire thing a secret – not even Ellis had blabbed, and that in itself was a feat, what with how fucking distracted they were with the new baby. How they managed to keep anything straight was beyond Vera.

She didn’t respond to the text, lest Edrissa get suspicious. She simply tucked the phone back into her pocket and sat down in the grass beside Edrissa. The puppy leapt into Vera’s lap and began peppering her face with slobbery puppy kisses.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vera hissed, though she was smiling. She held her mouth away from the worst of it. “She’s getting so big, she can’t keep doing this.”

“But it’s cute,” Edrissa protested, pulling the dog over to her lap instead. Petra squirmed in Edrissa’s arms and wagged its tail so hard its body followed suit.

Vera sighed. “Yeah, I know.” She wiped her hands on her jeans. “She is pretty fucking cute.”

“And didn’t Kali say this phase doesn’t last long?” Edrissa dug in the pocket of her skirt for one of the treats she always seemed to have on her. At the sight of it, the dog’s haunches hit the grass, her large brown eyes fixed on the little ball of dried meat pinched in Edrissa’s fingers.

Vera shrugged. “It lasts as long as you let it, from what I’ve heard.” She stroked the dog’s speckled back. “Good girl, Petra. Good sit.” Edrissa fed the dog the treat from her fingers. As soon as the treat was gone, she was jumping and licking again. “Could be years, actually. I’ve heard German shepherds are kinda nightmares for the first two or three years.”

“Then you only have another one- or two-and-a-half years,” Edrissa said wryly, offering the dog another treat. This time, she held her hand down close to the half-dead grass that was only now beginning to reawaken from its winter slumber. Begrudgingly, the dog lay down, whining the whole way. Edrissa smiled as she fed the dog the treat. “Good girl!” she gushed.

“She is good,” Vera said quietly. “As much of a pain in the ass she is, she is really good.”

She’s more of a pain in the ass than I thought a dog could be. But I’ve wanted this dog for longer than anyone knows.

Ryan Pearson would have known.

She chewed her lip and blinked away threatening tears. “She is really good,” she said again. Edrissa shot her a quizzical look. Vera studiously looked away.

Gravel crunched down the lane, and Vera’s head snapped up. Even now, a year since she had had a real fight and eight months since she even thought she might have to fight, she was always ready for one. When her eyes settled on Tori, her shoulders relaxed, her stomach unclenched. She pushed herself to her feet and groaned when her knees complained. Tori smiled and pressed a warm kiss to her mouth.

“How’s town?” Vera said, the picture of nonchalance.

“Oh, perfect,” Tori said, conspiratorial as can be. “Got everything done that I needed to do.”

Vera smiled. So everything’s ready. Perfect. She reached a hand down and pulled Edrissa to her feet. “Edrissa got some stuff done, too,” she said casually.

Edrissa looked anything but casual. She was practically vibrating with excitement, her gaze flicking from Vera to Tori and back to Vera again, bouncing on her feet and scrunching her hands in her skirt. “Yup, come see!” she huffed, and pulled Tori roughly toward the house. Tori cast a glance back at Vera as Vera followed behind, and the message came through as clearly as if she had spoken aloud:

We need to leave soon after this.

Vera nodded and smiled back. The comfortable understanding between them, the messages passing as easily as breathing, it all felt so… good. So right. Vera’s smile widened as she followed Tori and Edrissa into Edrissa’s side of the duplex.

The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in a fabric store. Scraps of fabric lay everywhere, and among them loose pins, lengths of ribbon, pieces of thread, buttons, and a bit of a zipper made the floor a hazard. Dishes stood in the sink, and mugs of tea littered the surfaces that weren’t taken up by everything else. However, hanging in the corner of the room was the thing that Vera had no doubt was the source of all this mess and more: Tori’s wedding dress.

Tori gasped and rushed to it. It was dark burgundy, beautifully cut and masterfully stitched. Embroidered designs covered the bodice and straps. The skirt swept away from the waist in a silhouette that Vera knew without even having to see it on Tori that it would make her look like a fucking queen. Still, as she stared at it, she knew that she would have given just about anything to see Tori in that dress.

“Oh, Edrissa!” Tori breathed. “You finished it.”

“Yup,” Edrissa said, grinning from ear to ear. “Just now, yeah. I finished it.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tori said reverently, running her fingers over the yards and yards of skirt.

“Sorry it took so long,” Edrissa mumbled, toeing the floor with her shoe. “When they said they couldn’t get good silk for a while, I didn’t know they meant for three months.”

“It’s perfect,” Tori whispered. “It’s gorgeous.”

“With mine done, we can get married soon,” Vera said, wrapping her arms around Tori’s waist and pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

“I can get started on planning tomorrow,” Edrissa said, the bounce back in her step. “No… tonight!”

Vera smiled gently. “You can take the night off,” she said, reaching out to squeeze Edrissa’s hand. “How about we go take a walk into town, and then have an easy night in?” Vera held her casual posture, hoping Edrissa would agree so they wouldn’t have to talk her into it. If they ruined the surprise it wouldn’t be the biggest deal, but ever since Edrissa had let slip to Gray back on Tori’s birthday in November that surprise parties are the most fun, they had all been hoping to pull this one off.

We’ve never had a surprise party like this for any of us. Haven’t ever really celebrated birthdays all that much, now that I think about it.

Edrissa met Vera’s eyes, seeming like she was searching for something. Vera returned the look with a placid smile.

“Oh… okay,” Edrissa said, sounding only a little bit disappointed.

Vera squeezed her hand and offered her a warmer smile. “Maybe we can pick up a pie from Meredith’s,” she said, hoping she wasn’t flubbing this whole thing.

“But first,” Tori said, wrapping her arms around Edrissa, “I’m going to try my dress on. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”

Edrissa’s hesitant smile became a grin as she all but whirled the dress off of its hanger and held it out to Tori as if she was offering her the world. And, Vera realized, it probably felt like she was.

“I made it so it with built-in boning,” she said, bouncing as she cradled the mass of silk and who-knows-what-else in her hands. “You don’t have to wear a bra with it or anything. It should be so comfortable. You should be so, so comfy.”

“I can’t wait,” Tori said with a smile, as she pulled her shirt off over her head.

Continued here

@womping-grounds , @free-2bmee , @quirkykayleetam , @walkingchemicalfire , @inpainandsuffering , @redwingedwhump , @burtlederp , @castielamigos-whump-side-blog , @whatwhumpcomments , @whumpywhumper , @stxck-fxck , @whumps-the-word , @justplainwhump , @finder-of-rings , @inky-whump , @orchidscript , @inkyinsanity , @this-mightaswell-happen , @newandfiguringitout , @whumpkitty , @pretty-face-breaker , @pebbledriscoll , @im-just-here-for-the-whump , @endless-whump , @grizzlie70 , @oops-its-whump , @kixngiggles, @1phoenixfeather , @butwhatifyouwrite , @carnagecardinal , @whumpifi , @squishablesunbeam

#honor bound 6 #time jump #HMS ToriVera #fluff #recovery #the final arc #PTSD #weddings #Iris #surprise party

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serpercival · 4 months ago

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@goofo is truly my number one enabler so let's talk about the OC I've quickly gotten unbearably tender about in the foxtrapverse. I had a five hour drive yesterday by myself so I was rambling about him in voice notes in the group chat and got so attached so quickly.

As Trapper, Hawkeye, and BJ establish themselves in the San Fran medical community, everyone starts referring curse patients to them, sometimes because those doctors don't want to deal with those cases or because they know that anyone associated with Trapper is going to be kind and polite in a way some other doctors might not be.

One day, a few months after JT starts kindergarten, a mom brings in her kid—Jesse—who's newly cursed. He's the same age as JT.

He's also a red fox.

His is temporary. Trapper takes a look at the test results and it seems like Jesse's curse is going to last about a decade, maybe a little bit more. Long-term, but not permanent.

Trapper remembers how lonely his own childhood was. JT's made friends, but Trapper had friends when he was in elementary school, too. It took a little while for kids to adopt their parents' ideals and start being scared of him.

He pulls some strings, talks to Jesse's mom, and they start setting up playdates. Jesse and JT get along absolutely fantastically. They have a built in connection and can communicate in a way they can't with anybody else.

The next year, they're at the same school. They spend damn near all their time together. JT's got a little bit of a crush, but Jesse's never shown any interest in guys, so he leaves it alone. And because Jesse's is temporary, he doesn't get the heat (but does get a little bit worked up during February), so JT doesn't even have "we can go through it together." They have a few other friends through high school, but mostly, they're leaning on each other.

A month or so into senior year, Jesse's curse finally wears off. And god, the grief of that. It's all he remembers, and suddenly he's missing pieces of himself. He can't understand when JT speaks in fox anymore. His senses are so much worse. God, he misses his tail! He took a lot of pride in keeping his fur nice, and now... what the hell is he supposed to do?

He desperately wants to stay friends with JT, but it's hard. Every time he looks at JT, he remembers what he lost. And... people treat him differently, now. They smile back at him. A couple of girls flirt back.

So they drift apart. They're both mourning so much and they want each other back, but they don't know how to start forging that connection again. By the end of the year they don't even acknowledge each other in the halls.

At graduation, they say goodbye.

JT's sure he's never going to see him again.

Nearly a decade later, JT's interning at San Francisco Memorial, and Jesse comes into the emergency room after a car crash. JT begs Stan to put him on the case, and Stan agrees before anyone who knows the whole story can warn him against it.

JT's the one there when Jesse wakes up after surgery.

It's awkward, at first. They have the kind of conversation you have with someone when you don't know them anymore. Jesse teases JT for taking after his old man, JT asks Jesse what the hell he's doing with himself these days..

And then JT slips, and he says Jesse's name in fox, and every old ache comes flooding back.

Jesse apologizes for how things ended. He's thought about him... god, three times a week, minimum, for the past eight years. He still sits down weird, like he's going to sit on his tail if he's not careful. And he could have died without ever seeing him again! He's never had another friend he was so close to. He wants that back. He was so scared, in high school, and the idea of being Normal was so alluring, that he pulled back.

But it doesn't have to be like that anymore.

They start hanging out again. It's, again, awkward at first, but Jesse's trying this time. Once a week, when JT has the time in his schedule, he'll go over to Jesse's apartment, they'll have dinner and play a board game and talk about their weeks, and... JT starts to remember how bad his crush was. He can't hide the interested body language, this time around, and he can tell that Jesse can still read it like a book.

But Jesse doesn't tell him to stop.

So JT starts assuming they're dates.

A few weeks before Christmas, JT asks Jesse if he wants to come over for the holiday. When Jesse agrees... JT kisses him. Just on the cheek. Chaste. but Jesse still shies away.

JT assumes he's fucked everything up again. He figures he's never going to see him again, again, and tries to cut ties first.

When JT doesn't show up for their weekly hangout, Jesse calls him asking him where the hell he is.

So he goes.

Jesse kisses him back the second he's through the door.

"I'm sorry," he says, sliding his hands into JT's. "This is... new, for me."

JT squeezes his hands back. "Yeah, well. As long as you let me stick around through the new stuff, this time."

#ramblings #serpercival writes #foxtrap madness #yippee to me for finally making an oc i like that's like. a person. instead of chuck iv or morel kshgdhsghsg

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msfcatlover · 6 months ago

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Reverse!Robins thought

What if… Tim wasn’t adopted… until after Jason. What if Tim didn’t pull his whole fake relative shtick until after he got shot. Is this anything? I feel like this is something.

…I feel like I might’ve just cracked open Tim’s entire character arc for this AU, actually.

It does rely on making Jack Drake a thousand times more of a dick than he is in canon. But Jack not wanting to look after his disabled son, Tim getting a stipend to find some sort of accommodations for himself, Tim not letting the Waynes know (because Tim Drake fucking hates asking anyone for help, hates letting other people see his weaknesses, does feel a level of shame about both his new disability & his father’s reaction to it, still thinks that if Tim just works really really hard at it that he’ll eventually regain full mobility in his legs so all of this is temporary, and also the idea of being taken in out of pity while Jason runs around as Shadow… yeah.) And then Damian finds out and is so horrified & worried about Tim (and so incapable of expressing that himself) that Damian’s response is just to immediately rat Tim out to the rest of the family so that Cass & Duke & Bruce can work on getting Tim to move in with them—

OH! Alternatively: keep Jack closer to canon, but he becomes suffocatingly overprotective of Tim. Treats Tim like a glass doll, infantilizes the hell out of Tim, and in the process of “protecting” Tim from any possible danger Jack ends up completely cutting Tim off from every single relationship Tim has. It’s not malicious, Jack’s not trying to be abusive or isolate Tim, but it’s demeaning. It’s humiliating. No matter what Tim says or does, his dad just will not let Tim have any sort of life, because Jack’s seemingly convinced that Tim will shatter into a million pieces if Tim so much as looks at the ground wrong.

So Tim ends up running away. Just empties his bank account over the course of a few weeks, researches available apartments with both functioning elevators & landlords willing to take cash under the table, catches a bus to Bludhaven, and silently hates the fact that the only reason anyone is going to even know Tim’s gone missing is because Jack is definitely about to throw a tantrum about it. And Tim finally gets to use his crutches outside of PT (because Jack would certainly never risk Tim doing something as dangerous as falling down,) and has a landline to call his friends (because private conversations just were not possible when Tim’s dad never left him alone, and Tim had to leave his phone behind to avoid being traced,) and Tim has 2 glorious weeks of freedom (and one pizza party) before going down to get his mail one day and Damian is standing outside of the door scowling. (Tim even thinks he successfully blackmails Damian into keeping quiet about Tim’s new living arrangements, but Tim vastly underestimated Damian’s levels of concern, and Damian’s guilt for both being a terrible brother to Tim when Tim first became Shadow and also being off-world when Tim got shot. This does not improve their relationship much, at least short-term.)

Tim sues for emancipation, because he cannot bear to live with his dad again after the last couple months of coddling. Jack tries to get Tim permanently placed under his guardianship, effectively stripping Tim of the ability to leave even after Tim turns 18. Bruce gets all up in the middle of it, offering himself as a potential guardian given how close his kids are to Tim, his own resources to provide for Tim, his spotless over-a-decade-long record as a foster parent, and Jack’s less than stellar parenting record even before Tim got shot.

The judge refuses to let Tim go fully independent. Tim, somewhat desperately, points out that at 17, his own opinion should matter in this; if the children of divorcees get to have a say in how much time they spend with each parent by the time they’re Tim’s age, then Tim should have a say when he says he absolutely will not under any circumstances be living with Jack Drake again as long as Tim remains disabled. That if they make him go back, Tim will just run away again—and this time, he’ll go further & be a lot more thorough in disappearing. That the only way they’ll be able to stop Tim is to tie Tim down 24/7, and at that point there’ll be a solid case for abuse, now won’t there? (Tim’s plan: get Kon to fly Tim to Hawaii to avoid plane records & cameras, set up a new false identity there.)

Anyway, that’s how Tim ended up living in Wayne Manor.

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kuromipuzzles2000 · 8 months ago

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i didn't draw much about but i have a bit of story lore for Icing's Mr. Puzzles

Mr. Puzzles or well know before, Pedro (idk Mexican name thing that lead me to make him Mexican) Hispanic Spanish Mexican boy, decided to move out to USA, hating his family who treated him like shit, he saved since he was a kid, so he had enough money for travel all alone, and form a life in USA by himself just at the age of 15 years old

since his 16 he got a boba tea maker, since then he got a good skill at preparing things, he no only prepares the boba, he can make pastries and food, working hard he could get a good position on USA...which his job allowed him to create a small technology corporation...very small

here where Kinito appeared, Kinito gave him some rivalry for a couple years, since both had good technologies for the decade (they was at the start of the 2000's (2001 to be exact), Esther when Kinito and Puzzles got rivalry she was pregnant 3 months of Icing (January 3rd, 2001) they had compete for around 6 months...until Pedro just disappeared for 7 weeks...where he cutted off his head and replaced all his body for be a android tv headed

Kinito went to the Boba shop where his rival usually worked, to see if his rival just gave up and was crying in work, the workers presumed he died...but they didn't know how, Kinito was surprised by that...and kinda worried, he didn't want reach those extremes of his rivalry ending on killing a poor person- but when he saw, both saw a TV headed man walk in, who was called now Mr. Puzzles! the name strikes on Kinito and recognized his rival after a few more weeks, the rivalry continued till...

June 23, Puzzles failed on the long 9 months rivalry with Kinito, which he no had no option more than go back to work on his old boba business- where Kinito and Esther went to get Boba with a newborn Icing on arms...and Kinito of course got a opportunity to laugh at his rival, who failed on beat his corp and modified his body for nothing-

and since that, everything just...passed by years...(will continue on Icing's lore (her childhood and teenages)

#kinitopet #kinitopet au #kinitopet player #kinitopet oc #fem!player #kinitopet fem!player: esther #kinitopet oc: icing #smg4 #smg4 au #aus #smg4 mr puzzles #smg4 oc: icing #lore #first part of lore #my hand hurt for draw traditional-

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attackfish · 1 year ago

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the “shifting quagmire of rising and falling states” au (Aang died in the iceberg, but at his canon age.) to zoom in a bit, did katara ever learn water bending and if so who taught her? Alternatively, how did Iroh and zuko’s travels go?

Continued from: [Link].

I don't think Katara remaining perminantly without waterbending training is a tenable situation. She is going to go north at some point. And this becomes even more urgent when she finds out, as we know from the comics, that there are other waterbending children, much younger than she is, in the south, who will also need to learn waterbending. And I think that her journey north will coincide with her reaching adulthood.

Unfortunately, she doesn't know about the swampbenders, so her goal will in fact be the Northern Water Tribe. And once she gets there, especially because there are other young waterbenders in her tribe, and she's going to feel that profound need that she's going to have to teach them, she is going to feel that she has to be all kinds of waterbender to all kinds of people. Just learning healing isn't going to cut it. And the Northern Water Tribe and Master Pakku still aren't any more willing to teach her any other kind of bending than healing. So she goes to a former student of Pakku's and weasles training out of him. They're caught, Pakku wants her kicked out, she fights him, he sees her necklace, he agrees to train her. She becomes the first of the new waterbenders at the South Pole.

Before I talk about Zuko, let's talk about Azula, because Azula is dealing with the reality that no matter what she does, at some point, her father is going to stop seeing her as his favorite child, and start seeing her as a threat. This is true because at some point, hes going to notice that she's separate person from him, with her own opinions, and he is not going to be able to cope with that. But it's all the more so because he, after all, is a man who came to this throne by killing his own father.

And by considering her a threat, and treating her as such, he, of course, makes himself a very real threat to her. This is going to be incredibly painful for her and hard and nasty, and it will shatter her illusions and make her feel scared and alone and miserable, and eventually she will figure out that she needs to deal with him as a threat, and I'm putting my money on Azula, because she is a lot smarter than her father.

So Azula takes the throne the same way her father did, through murdering her own father. But Ozai is not an old man on the verge of death, so Azula has to be that much more careful. She slips a small amount of slow acting poison into something he drinks every day, something he keeps in his room: his tea. Because Ozai might have mocked his brother for decades over his fussy tea drinking ways, but he drinks almost as much tea, and is almost as fussy about it. And Azula slips in the poison right before leaving for a year long tour of duty handling insurgents in the Earth Kingdom.

It takes almost three weeks for Ozai to even begin to feel the effects, and another month to become seriously ill. Azula is called home as she knows she would have been, and as she relied on, because after a certain point, he was going to get too sick to make himself tea. But once she's home, she can keep making it for him.

Azula carefully researched the poison she used, to find one that would mimic the symptoms of a natural intestinal issue, and the physicians are none the wiser, nor is her father. As he grows weaker and weaker, as he lays dying, they reconcile. Hes scared, and he wants his golden child there again, who adores him and believes in him. And it's all very sweet and heartfelt, and Azula feeds him his last dose of poison before he slips away.

Almost as soon as he's dead, she sends for her brother. But who is the Zuko Azula sends for?

Already at sixteen, Zuko is perceptive enough and brave enough to tell Zhao that his father is a fool if he thinks rest of the world will follow him willingly. He's drowning in a whole lot of fear, pain, anger, and self deception, but it's not like he's incapable of perceiving the harm the Fire Nation is doing, and how the rest of the world feels about it. Without the Avatar, and going back to the Fire Nation, and the series of events that happened in canon, it takes him longer to realize what a shit his dad is, and how his dad doesn't love him, or want him home, or think he can find the Avatar, and how about he, Zuko, didn't deserve the way his dad treated him, and how the best thing he can do for the world is work against his father and the Fire Nation's imperialism, but he gets there. He is in fact there for about a decade before his father dies.

His exile is boring. That's the thing, whatever internal changes he has come to, he spends most of his time sailing around, on a perpetual journey, designed to keep him away from his father and the court. Once he comes to the realization that he was never really supposed to find the Avatar, he's left adrift with little purpose. It's almost a blessing that his ancient ship is pretty much always falling to pieces around him, especially after the first five years, and he and his crew are chronically underfunded, so he is forced to find ways to make up the shortfall. At first, this mostly means running errands for various naval officials, but especially after the fall of Ba Sing Se, it means smuggling.

Zuko and his crew actually ran his sister's blockade around some of the cities she is besieging, because they were harboring insurgents, to bring food and supplies, and she was none the wiser.

So when she calls him home, she expects him to be biddable, scared, angry, but desperate for acceptance, love, and family connection. And yeah, when he first comes home, he is pretty biddable. He and Mai, uh, renew their acquantance, (Mai was waiting for Zuko, but not altogether willingly. Once Azula decided that her brother was going to be doing the whole. Making heirs thing instead of her, she quickly decided on Mai as his future wife. When Mai attempted to date a guy when she was nineteen and recently returned from Omashu, Azula shut that down fast, and made it clear to Mai that it would not happen again) and Azula basically ignores him and their uncle while she starts ruling the country.

And here is the part where Azula's pragmatism versus her father's self-aggrandizing stubbornness come to the forefront, because Azula, as mentioned in the previous post, is capable of realizing that she can't hold onto all of the Earth Kingdom. As much time as she has spent in the field, trying to deal with insurgency, she's very well aware of this, but she also has no intention of losing all of the Earth Kingdom colonies, just the ones she has to, just the ones that are much more expensive to keep than they could ever get out of them.

But just because she is being pragmatic, and doing what is the most self-interested thing the Fire Nation can do, that doesn't mean that there aren't people who are going to lose here, or who are afraid they are going to lose here, and the most dangerous time for any autocratic regime is when it's trying to reform. All it takes is one colonial governor afraid that he is about to lose his position, or people who used to live in the new colonies, coming home to the Fire Nation, unhappy about it, for someone to plot and assassination, and Azula might be very good in combat, but there's not a lot she can do about a bomb thrown at her palinquin.

And just like that, a few years into his sister's reign, Zuko, newly married and with the kid his sister wanted to be her heir on the way, takes the throne in the wake of his sister's grisly assassination. Azula is remembered as a martyr for the deconnization that her brother would forge ahead with, much further and faster than she ever would have. Certainly not a fate she ever would have chosen for herself.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #zuko #katara #ozai #posts i created #do you want to ask a question it doesn't have to be a question #azula needs her own warning #noodle lord ozai #zuko is a dweeby little turtleduck #katara is the answer #mai doesn't hate you

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the-crystal-cliffs · 2 years ago

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Let Me Be Your Light (Empires SMP)

Summary: Twin orphans, Gem and fWhip, are the newest hires at Circo de Fantasia, a travelling circus filled with performers who have various magical abilities. However, the Mad King has been following the circus around for decades to steal the powers of various performers to take for himself. Recently, fWhip has been the most recent victim. Gem, who was born without powers and who only joined the circus to be with her brother, consoles fWhip while also realizing she may be integral to defeating the Mad King and getting everyone's abilities back.

AO3 Link

Word Count: 6797

Thank you to @mcytblraufest for hosting the event! Also absolutely huge shout-outs to my incredible artists @yoshiintheweb (art link)and @pidgedee (art here)!! The pieces look amazing!

~~~

Chapter 1

The Circo de Fantasia was a whirl of activity an hour before sundown—the time when the circus would officially open to the random city they had chosen. They were planning to stay for a week; it gave people living outside city limits time to travel to see the circus, but not too long that the performers got restless.

Multi-coloured striped tents littered the flat plot of land in organized chaos. The red-and-white big top, where the trapeze and tightrope apparatuses were set up, sat in the heart of the circus; all paths ended up there.

Gem hefted up her box of popcorn kernels further up her hip to keep it from slipping. She was heading in the opposite direction of the big top, towards the front entrance where the snack tent stood. Katherine, the strong woman, passed by with two large metal poles balanced on her shoulders like double fishing rods.

The snack tent was hard to miss. It was built to catch the eyes of anybody who passed through the main gates. The glass display was already filled with cookies, cupcakes, cotton candy, and slices of cake of all kinds of flavours. The choices were so vast that options had to be switched in and out on different days of the circus. Tonight there were oatmeal cookies, strawberry cupcakes, blueberry cotton candy, and carrot cake. The latter Gem had to be careful with—she was allergic to carrots.

There were other more exotic treats baked by the witch, Shelby: gum that, once chewed, made the consumer’s tongue a random, glowing colour; ice cream that made steam come out of a person’s ears and nose, the cone able to act like a goat horn to make various loud noises; and brownies that caused the person’s hair to float as if there were no gravity.

As Gem was putting the box of kernels away in the back as extra, Sausage appeared at the other end of the display case, Mittens the large boa constrictor twirling around his neck. The ostrich named Pippy was to his left.

Mittens let out a hiss, her tongue flicking out. Her triangular head bobbed in Gem’s direction.

“Mittens says you should check on fWhip,” Sausage translated, pursing his lips. Then, after a pause, “Tell him that, if he wants, he can help me out with my acts. I could always use more hands.”

“Thanks.” Gem gave a curt nod as Sausage continued on his way. She finished straightening out the snack tent before heading in the direction of the personal tents, way in the back of the circus.

The personal tents were much smaller and made of black material as they only had to house a bed, a dresser, and maybe a couple pieces of belongings. fWhip’s tent was right next to her own.

“fWhip,” she called out to her brother as she stood just outside his tent. “Can I come in?”

There was a muffled grunt from the other side that Gem took to be a “yes,” and so she entered.

The tent was sparsely decorated, which was to be expected. She and fWhip had only arrived at the circus two months prior, a little after their fourteenth birthdays, and they had been orphans living on the street. Not many personal belongings to spruce up the tent with. Gem’s only possession was a family picture of herself, fWhip, and their parents from Before.

fWhip himself was curled up in his bed, his red hair pointing in all directions. His face wasn’t nearly as pale as it had been a week ago at their last city, so Gem supposed that was one positive. Still, fWhip had been unusually quiet on their trip here. Gem couldn’t really blame him though—he was going through a lot.

“How are you feeling?” Gem asked quietly, sitting at the end of fWhip’s bed.

fWhip grunted again and dug his head into his pillow even more. He had mostly stayed in bed all day and the Ringmaster allowed it, saying that fWhip was grieving and needed a little more time to get back on his feet.

“Sausage told me that you could help him during his acts,” Gem said. “I know you like helping him care for the boars.” She tried to keep her voice as soothing as possible.

fWhip rolled over onto his back and his eyebrows were drawn down. “I don’t want another act,” he snapped. “I want my own one back.”

“Well, sleight of hand—”

fWhip grimaced. “I do not do sleight of hand—I mean did.” He stumbled over his words, the past tense clearly paining him to say. “There ought to be a way to get my magic back.”

Gem decided not to engage with more talk about the Mad King. Instead, she pivoted. “Just look at everybody who's lost their powers. Katherine might not be inhumanly strong anymore, but she’s worked out so much that she can still lift more than the average person can. False used to be able to fly, but now she does the trapeze. Jimmy could adjust his height at will, now he’s our contortionist.”

“But that’s the thing,” fWhip said. “Everyone already had those talents before the Mad King stole their powers. Katherine consistently exercised even when she could single handedly lift an elephant, False already swung around the forest like a monkey, Jimmy’s limbs were always freakishly flexible. Martyn didn’t grow up afraid of fire, so he can do non-magical fire acts. And Joel didn’t have to change much out of his act—just had to go on a tightrope without electricity pulsing through the rope.”

Gem had been wracking her head for an exception then finally landed on one. “Joey! He used to be able to control water and now he throws knives.”

“I don’t want to learn a new skill. I want my old one back.” fWhip finally sat up and he frowned, his eyes blazing. “You don’t understand, Gem. The magic that was inside of me, it was always there ever since I was born. I could always replace things with other objects, could always pull a pen out of someone’s pockets, put a coin in someone else’s. And now it’s just gone. You don’t have powers so you don’t understand.”

Gem blinked rapidly, not expecting her brother’s words to hurt as much as they did. Her lack of powers had been something she’d grappled with when their parents had still been alive; fWhip could do literal magic, she couldn’t. As they got older, the difference hurt less and less. Regardless, the bruise was still there.

Gem’s hands turned to fists in her skirts and she rapidly stood up. “Fine. I’ll just leave then. I’m trying to be nice and offer you some ideas on other acts you can do without your magic. And sure, I might not understand what it’s like to lose your powers, but I sure do understand what it’s like to be powerless.” Her nose crinkled as she grimaced. She yanked open the flap of fWhip’s tent. “It’s not so bad, you know, but you make it seem like the Mad King stole your life rather than your magic.”

Gem stomped away.

Chapter 2

By the time Gem changed out of her regular clothes and into her wizard’s costume (it was Circo de Fantasia; fantasy was in their name and the Ringmaster took it very seriously), the circus was about to open.

Above, dark clouds threatened to rain. Gem hoped it would hold off, at least until the end of the circus. However, despite the lack of natural light from the moon, the circus was properly lit up. Fire torches and electric lamps and fairy lights decorated the paths and tents. There was no shadowy area within the circus grounds, not even among the personal tents—especially among the personal tents.

Even though everything was well-lit (probably too lit for a night-time circus), Gem was still on edge. What if the Mad King found them again? Although he usually showed up one every two or three cities, the Ringmaster said the king was becoming more powerful due to all the magic he was stealing from people.

Scott, who was able to see a person’s magical aura due to his magical eye, said he could feel the power radiating from the King. When the Mad King had arrived last, stealing fWhip’s power, Scott had said the king’s flame burned bright and large—unnaturally strong. When Gem had questioned Scott about this when she’d just arrived at the circus, she’d asked him how it had all worked.

“It’s as if everyone has a candle inside them,” Scott had replied, looking at her with his blue eye and yellow crystal one. It had creeped her out at first; his yellow eye reminded her of a cat’s. Now, Gem was pretty used to his heterochromia. “Most people have regular flames. You know, tiny drops of fire that flicker every so often. However, others have a brighter flame, more immoveable. It’s hard to describe the difference, but those are the people with magical abilities. Those who have these abilities can train to make their fire within them stronger, but there’s a natural stopping point when it can’t get any bigger or more radiant.” Scott had shrugged.

Martyn, who had been previously rocking in his rocking chair, spoke up. His grey hair poked around his cowboy hat. He was the oldest performer at the circus by a long shot and his wrinkles grew deeper as he smiled. “Not me, though.”

“No, not Martyn,” Scott admitted. “Martyn used to be able to create and wield fire. But fire is alive and has a mind of its own. Without care, it can catch and grow out of hand. It actively fights against anything or anybody trying to control it. And, because of that, Martyn’s inner flame was much weaker since a part of his magic was fighting against the nature of fire.”

Martyn had laughed. “Now I just have to be extra careful when wielding fire; I’m not automatically fireproof nor can I douse fire with my mind!”

Returning back to the present, Gem sighed as she put in a bunch of popcorn kernels into the bright red popcorn machine behind the display of foods. Already, popcorn smell was wafting around the tent, all thanks to Shelby’s popcorn-smelling potion being released around the circus’ grounds.

The light jingle of bells announced Oli’s arrival, wearing a multi-coloured jester hat decorated with mini bells. His ukulele (dressed as a lute) was strung behind his back and multiple other instruments were hanging off his person. Trailing behind him was seven-year-old Hermes on a unicycle and wearing a similar court jester’s outfit.

“Gem!” Oli greeted with a kind smile and wave. He was a year older than Gem and that probably was one of the reasons why they got along well. “Ready for another night?”

“Of course,” Gem smiled, just as the popcorn began popping. She poured out a small cup and gave it to Hermes who took it eagerly.

Oli then became a little more serious. “And how’s fWhip doing?”

Pursing her lips, Gem responded, “Not exactly well. He’s missing his powers quite a bit. Lashing out.” She decided not to get into the details and what exact words were said.

“Dad was angry when the Mad King stole his powers,” Hermes said. “He tried to hide it from me, but I could tell it really upset him that he couldn’t do his usual tricks on the tightrope. He couldn’t clear the storms that could close the circus for the night.” The young boy frowned. “He’s happier now, I think.”

Oli patted Hermes on the back before pulling his ukulele around. He strummed out a chord and hummed along with it. He began picking at the strings, creating lyrics on the spot. Something about losing a part of yourself and never really being the same afterwards.

Tears pricked in the corner of Gem’s eyes and she sniffed violently to stop them from falling. She swatted Oli’s hat. “Stop that! You’re going to make everyone who steps inside the circus burst into tears.”

Oli placed his hands along the four strings of the ukulele to stop their vibrations before starting up a new song, much more upbeat than the last. A grin spread on Gem’s face as she felt the tune raise her spirits, joy rushing through her body.

“I wish the emotions you created stayed after you stopped your music,” Gem said with a sigh. fWhip could use some happiness in his life right now, even if it was fabricated and would evaporate as soon as Oli stopped singing or playing.

Oli shrugged, just as the first people entered the circus. “I’m only really good at temporarily changing emotions. It wouldn’t be healthy if it was permanent.”

“You’re probably right,” Gem said, readying her hands to fill bags of popcorn and hand out food for most of the night.

It wasn’t too bad, really. She liked seeing the people who entered the circus and, on the nights where they were opened multiple times in a single city, she enjoyed recognizing the people who came again and again.

People of all ages walked through the gate. A lot of the people entered were families with younger children, but older folks and adult couples oftentimes came too.

And it wasn’t as if Gem would be behind the snack tent forever. False was teaching her some trapeze moves and soon they could be a double act, flinging each other around in the sky. Gem wasn’t quite there yet, but it was exciting having future plans that weren’t just popcorn girl.

Abruptly, every light and flame in the circus went out. A dark fog appeared, making it so that the city’s light pollution was completely gone as well. There was only blackness. The brownie in Gem’s hand she was about to give to a child dropped to the ground.

Gem’s knees went weak and her mind began to race. Somewhere nearby, a kid began crying. Gem’s heart thumped, suddenly thrown back into her childhood where monsters lived in her closet and under the bed, and she had to sleep with a little light plugged in to ward away anything evil.

Panicking, she felt around until she was out of the snack tent. Light, she needed light. Blood was rushing in her ears and Gem began to run, hands out in front of her. She knew it was dangerous, that she could possibly run into someone or even a pole holding up a tent, but Gem couldn’t think straight; the only thing repeating in her mind was light. She was a moth frantically searching for a lamp.

Heat built up inside of her chest and Gem fell to her knees, gripping at her heart. Pain burned through her body, tears forcing their way out of her eyes. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Was she going to die here, in the unnatural darkness? Then, all of a sudden, there was a bright burst of golden light and Gem passed out.

Chapter 3

When Gem opened her eyes, fWhip was peering down at her, his nose practically touching her own.

She jumped, nearly smacking heads with her brother in the process. “fWhip!” she exclaimed, her voice slightly hoarse.

fWhip stood back, slightly sheepish. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Gem realized they were in her tent. “I wanted to see if you were still breathing.”

Gem squinted around the tent, in search of her clock. She finally found it, the hands telling her it was early morning. “What—what happened?” she asked. She remembered the darkness, the fear, and then the bright light.

There were footsteps outside her tent. “May Scott and I come in?” the Ringmaster said. “I can answer a few of your questions.”

“Sure,” Gem said, and waited until the Ringmaster and Scott entered.

“Are you feeling better?” the Ringmaster asked.

“Tell me what happened, please,” Gem said.

The Ringmaster sighed. “The Mad King has clearly grown stronger. He must have planned for a mass theft of magic last night. Douse all lights, steal the rest of our magic.” The Ringmaster worried his bottom lip and dark circles ran under his eyes.

Gem remembered her and fWhip’s first time at Circo de Fantasia, listening intently when the Ringmaster explained the circus’ purpose: to be a safe haven to those possessing magic.

“While having multiple magic wielders in the same space might not be ideal, the circus keeps us up at night, when the Mad King is the strongest,” the Ringmaster had told them.

“How does he find them?” Gem had asked. “How does he know who to steal from and who not to?”

The Ringmaster hadn’t said anything for a long moment. His eyes had gone far off, to a place Gem didn’t know, before finally responding by saying, “A type of hunting. Watching for inhuman abilities. Our witch, Shelby, casts a protective spell that follows the circus around and lasts a varying amount of time. She never knows when it fades away and, while she does try to reinforce it, the magic drains her a fair amount.”

Gem had furrowed her eyebrows, finding a rather large hole in the Ringmaster’s plan. “Then why are you placing yourselves all together? The Mad King has all of you in one place.”

“The Mad King steals powers easiest when his victim is asleep or unconscious—the magic flows freely then. In a circus, we’re up the whole night. Not only that, but he’s the most powerful at night when he can travel and manipulate the shadows. By day, we’re asleep and under Shelby’s magical protection.”

This conversation ran through Gem’s mind as she stared at the Ringmaster. Her eyes travelled over to Scott for a split second who was looking at her strangely and then to her brother who seemed to have decided that they were on good terms once again, their argument on the previous night forgotten.

“Okay, and? What was the bright light?”

“You,” Scott said, his eyes fixated on Gem. “Your candle’s flame is stronger. It doesn't flicker like it used to.”

Gem and fWhip instantly met each other’s gazes before Gem broke away to look at Scott. “Wait, what? Does that mean I unlocked a magical ability? Is that even possible?” The world spun; she felt like her tent was a ship’s cabin and she was seasick.

“Her power is light?” fWhip exclaimed, and Gem could hear hints of jealousy and awe in his voice.

The Ringmaster glanced over at fWhip and shook his head slowly. “Not just light. The sun.”

At this, Gem chuckled a little. “The sun?” she repeated. “It was nighttime when the bright light occurred. The sun had been down for hours.”

“The moon only shines because the sun’s rays reflect off of it,” the Ringmaster said.

Scott’s blue eye was frantic as he said, “you could be the key to defeating the Mad King. His original power is darkness and shadow, right?” He turned to the Ringmaster. “This could be a turning point. We wouldn’t have to worry about him stealing our powers.”

“If the Mad King dies, will I get my ability back?” fWhip said, his eyes lighting up; Gem hadn’t seen such hope on his face in weeks.

There was a slight lull in the conversation and Gem watched Scott’s yellow eye flick over to her once again.

“It’s possible,” the Ringmaster said slowly, turning to fWhip, clearly not wanting to get his hopes up too much. “But it’s also entirely possible that, once defeated, everyone’s powers die with him.”

The light in fWhip’s eyes suddenly dimmed and his mouth drew down in a frown. Gem wanted to say something to make him feel better, but what was there to say? He had recently lost his power and was now learning that his twin sister did have one when he’d previously thought otherwise. And, even if the Mad King was defeated, there was still no guarantee of getting his own ability back.

“At this point, the best we can hope for in killing the King is that no one else’s abilities are stolen,” Scott said. “We’ll have to get you training right away. You’re lucky False has been training you in the trapeze—being physically strong will help immensely. But Martyn might also be useful; he knows what it’s like to fight against the nature of fire. For you, Gem, you’re fighting against the nature of the sun.”

The Ringmaster rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If you could somehow focus a light blast similar to last night’s, aiming directly at the Mad King…that could be the end. Your light might be able to be the killing blow against his darkness.”

“This is perfect,” Scott said, and his voice sped up as he continued. “The Mad King has been able to extinguish any kind of light, fire and electricity, but with Gem’s power—he can’t take out the sun—we might actually have a chance of not running for our lives for an eternity.”

“There’s only one problem,” fWhip said blandly from the corner of the tent. Both the Ringmaster and Scott swivelled their heads to look at fWhip as he pointed to a bottle on the bedside table Gem had had Shelby create to glow for three hours after being shaken. “Gem’s afraid of the dark.”

Chapter 4

Gem truly thought she had grown out of that particular fear. When she thought about being scared of the dark, she remembered padding out to her parents bedroom until they bought her a mini nightlight and, even then, she’d keep her curtains open so the light emanating from the nearby buildings would keep the imaginary monsters at bay.

To be fair, Gem was no longer scared of monsters with horns and sharp teeth and one eye; it was the fact that she couldn’t see. She was completely vulnerable in the dark, unable to do anything about a hypothetical danger. Like a power-hungry king, for example.

When her and fWhip’s parents died and they were orphans on the street, Gem had just assumed the trauma of losing them overrode her fear of the dark.

Now, looking back, Gem just realized that, living on the streets, she was never truly in darkness. No matter how dark the alleyway was, there was always a streetlamp, or a building whose light was still on, or the moon and stars. Even if it was mostly dark, she was never in true darkness.

The next afternoon, Gem visited Shelby’s work tent where strange herbs and ingredients on tables were lined up in bottles and a handful of brewing stands were bubbling and steaming away.

“Do you think you could make a night-vision potion for me?” Gem asked, watching as Shelby ground up a pink flower. She was wearing a green apron with multiple pockets in the front, holding various tools and other ingredient bottles.

Shelby winced, brushing the pink dust into an empty glass bottle on the table in front of her. “It’s not going to be able to help you see when the Mad King comes back.”

Gem sighed—this was what the Ringmaster had told her earlier that day. “Still, it might give me some peace of mind, you know?”

With one hand, Shelby reached into her apron’s pocket for a bottle of mushrooms, with the other she flipped open a heavy book. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” Her eyes ran through the words on the page as she unstoppered the bottle in her hands. “I have all the ingredients, nether wart…golden carrot—”

A lump formed in Gem’s throat. “Carrot? Like, an actual carrot?”

Shelby nodded offhandedly before realization dawned on her face. Her hands stopped moving and she placed all her attention on Gem. “Wait, you’re allergic to carrots, aren’t you?”

~~~

“Were you ever afraid of anything?” Gem asked False as they stretched below the trapeze equipment. “And did you get over your fear?” Gem didn’t think False could be afraid of anything—not when she flipped and spun around in the air without a net and her power of flight stolen from her.

False thought about this for a moment, her legs straight out in front of her, her body bent forwards so that her head was touching her knees. “I used to be afraid of cats.” She turned to look at Gem with a wry smile. “If I thought I saw one out of the corner of my eye, I’d run the other way.”

Gem’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked. “And you’re no longer afraid of them? How’d you do that?”

“It took me a long time to get over that fear,” False said, then must have noticed Gem’s pinched face. “Fears don’t go away easy. You have to work at them constantly. And, even now, sometimes a cat catches me by surprise and I find myself taking steps backwards.”

Gem flopped down on her back and sighed. “Then how am I supposed to get over my fear? The Mad King could be here tonight and I need to be there to defeat him.”

False pursed her lips and put a comforting hand on Gem’s arm. “You aren’t alone in this fight. When the Mad King comes, everyone will be there. My advice for you? Go talk to Lizzie; she might be able to help. She did for me, and not just because she has cat characteristics.”

Gem still wasn’t sure. “How? Even if fortune telling could help me, she’s not actually a real one.”

“I know, but she gives solid advice. I think she might be helpful.”

“Well, if you say so.” If False said Lizzie could help, Gem would take her word for it. Clearly something had worked if False got over her fear of cats with Lizzie, a woman who was like a cat.

Gem and False then spent the next hour flying on the trapeze, letting go and catching each other in mid-air. She could feel the wind in her hair, her stomach dropping when she let go of the bar of a split second, then the satisfaction of connecting with False’s hands. It was nice to get her mind off of something that wasn’t related to the Mad King.

~~~

On her way to Lizzie’s tent, Gem passed the Ringmaster, hurrying in the opposite direction. When Gem turned the corner and walked a couple more steps, Sausage and the Ringmaster were speaking together in low tones, head bent together. While Gem didn’t know the specifics of the Ringmaster’s power, perhaps it was teleportation? Although, she had never seen this happen before.

Deep in thought, she almost bumped into fWhip.

“Where are you headed in such a hurry?” fWhip asked. While her brother’s complexion was a little less sickly, there were still dark circles under his eyes.

Gem desperately wanted to go to Lizzie’s as soon as possible, but she couldn’t find it in herself to brush off her brother. She was so in her head about her own issues, but fWhip was also going through difficulties. “I’m heading to Lizzie’s for advice. Wanna come?”

fWhip looked just as skeptical as Gem felt, but shrugged. “I suppose. Nothing else better to do.”

As they walked shoulder-to-shoulder, Gem asked, “so, did you take up Sausage’s offer?” She felt like she knew the answer, but she hoped nonetheless.

fWhip snorted. “No.”

Gem sighed, but didn’t push further. She didn’t want to get in another fight. She needed her brother to be here with her, just like she knew fWhip needed her as well (despite thinking otherwise).

Lizzie’s tent was an elaborate deep pink and, during the nights, a fine fog emanated from it (curtesy of one of Shelby’s potions). Out front, “Mystic Mary’s Fortune Telling” was written on a sign.

Inside, there was a little table filled with strange objects, a glass ball, and a stack of cards. Lizzie herself was curled up in the back, in a nest of blankets. As soon as Gem and fWhip entered, her eyes shot open, showing off her vertical pupils.

“Oh, it’s just you two,” Lizzie said, and she unfurled herself so she could stand. She was shorter than both Gem and fWhip. “I assume you aren’t here for a reading.”

“False told me you helped her get over her fear of cats,” Gem explained as Lizzie sat down on a stool behind the table. Gem decided to take the other chair, leaving fWhip standing. “She said you might be able to give me advice about my current...issue. You see, I’m scared of the dark. I don’t think I’m going to be strong enough to handle being completely in the dark and focus a blast powerful enough to kill the King.”

Idly, Lizzie picked up the stack of tarot cards, beginning to shuffle them. Gem could see how people thought Lizzie was a legitimately skilled fortune teller. “Well, that’s easy.”

“It is?” fWhip said, and Gem turned her head slightly to see that her brother’s eyes were focussed entirely on Lizzie’s hands, moving the cards around. Yearning was clear in his gaze.

“Well,” Lizzie amended, “it’s quite difficult to get over fears quickly. There’s not exactly a way to shortcut those kinds of things.”

Gem deflated.

“But that’s not what I’m talking about,” Lizzie continued. “The Mad King is the strongest at night, right? So just don’t fight him then. Lure him out and then when it’s day—when you’re the most powerful—land the final blow.”

Chapter 5

Gem didn’t have to wait long for the Mad King to strike. In the two weeks leading up to it, her days consisted of being with False and becoming physically stronger, and being with Martyn to become mentally stronger and able to create balls of light between her hands.

“You’ve got to believe in yourself,” Martyn had told Gem, out in the back field behind the circus one afternoon. “You’re fighting against the sun; you’re taking light for yourself. Even using a miniscule amount needs willpower.”

Gem who, at that point, hadn’t been able to conjure more than foggy beams of light since that night she realized her powers was close to quitting for the day. “Why can’t this be easier? Why can’t the sun just let me take some of its light?”

“The sun ain’t exactly listening to your prayers,” Martyn had replied with, and he’d adjusted his cowboy hat on his head that he wore, even outside of his fire performance. “It’s a game of tug o’ war and you have to come out victorious.”

“Well, what did you do in the beginning to create fire and control it?” Gem had asked. “How did you even start?”

Martyn had given Gem a wry grin. “Anger. I focussed all the emotion I felt about being supplanted in my town into the palms of my hands. Fire really reacted to it; it crackled and popped so much so that I burned down a forest. But it was a start.”

Gem had frowned. “Doesn’t exactly seem very healthy.”

“Well of course it wasn’t. But it was the match strike I needed. Now I just think about the adrenaline I feel during each of my performances.”

It had taken a moment to search for anger, something to latch on to. Gem wasn’t a naturally angry person. fWhip had come to mind and the fact that all he wanted to do was wallow, but that really wasn’t fair. Gem wanted what was best for her brother and she couldn’t expect him to just get over it.

Finally, Gem had found something. The Mad King. The man who had taken so many people’s powers—probably too many to count now. Who had stolen from so many good people; who had taken from her brother. Who would continue taking until he had consumed all of it. And, if it ever got to that point, would the Mad King even be satisfied?

That had been the turning point. A great ball of light formed above her open palms.

~~~

Everyone knew distracting the Mad King until daylight would be difficult, but they all had a plan.

And so, when the circus descended into darkness, everyone was ready. All the patrons ran off once they realized it wasn’t a part of the show, afraid out of their wits. Lizzie, with her uncanny sense of who was around her, led half of the performers with powers away from the King while Scott, whose eye gave him the ability to see everyone’s flames—shrouded by darkness or not—took the other half.

Everyone else was on distraction duty.

The only exception to this rule was the Ringmaster and Sausage, who asked help from bats so they could navigate without seeing. The two of them went off on their own and Gem didn’t question it at the time, although now she was wondering if it was safe to do so.

Gem had tried to persuade the Ringmaster to have fWhip be with her; she didn’t know what she’d do with herself if something happened to him. But the Ringmaster assured her that fWhip was in good hands. Katherine’s hands to be exact.

Somewhere to Gem’s left, she could hear Oli humming a song under his breath, her anxiety about being thrust into the darkness once again lessening.

“Shhh,” Lizzie hissed, and Oli instantly stopped and Gem felt the hairs on her neck rising, her heartbeat speeding up. She gripped onto Hermes’ hand as tightly as he was holding hers.

Suddenly, there was a lot of jostling as people tripped over each other’s feet and, over the slight din of the nearby city, Lizzie said, “quickly. Turn left.”

Gem followed the group as best she could, feeling everyone around her adjust to Lizzie’s instructions. That was when she heard fWhip’s voice nearby. Gem couldn’t exactly make out what he was saying, but her body went stock still when she heard the next voice.

“You’re the little boy who I stole from last time at this wretched circus, aren’t you?” The voice was gravelly and deep.

Instantly, Gem yanked herself from Hermes’ grip and ran blindly towards the Mad King and her brother. She knew this wasn’t a part of the plan; the plan was to keep moving around the empty field and outskirts of town until the sun broke through the horizon. But the Mad King did not mention Katherine, and Gem needed to be there with fWhip if Katherine wasn’t.

Gem kept the layout of the circus in mind, forcing herself to take quiet breaths and knowing she was coming upon a turn. Slowly, she crept forward with her arms outstretched until she felt the smooth material of the side of Oli and Hermes’ clown tent.

“I see,” the Mad King said once again. “The silent treatment.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” fWhip’s voice came out hard and almost annoyed. “Haven’t you ravaged this circus enough? Aren’t you powerful enough?”

The Mad King laughed—and Gem stopped in her tracks. His laugh was terrifyingly confident, as if he already knew what would happen. That he would consume Gem’s power and he’d be able to steal people’s abilities for an eternity. “Boy, there’s never enough. There will never be enough powers to take. Nothing will ever be enough for me. Just how nothing will ever be enough to satiate the space in you that was previously filled by your powers.” There was a pause. “But I can make you a deal.”

Gem felt rooted to her spot, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of fear. It was dark, the Mad King was just over there, and he was speaking to fWhip, one-on-one. She could barely hear her own tumbling and twisting thoughts.

The Mad King continued. “I can give you any power you want, however many you want. Your old powers back, telekinesis, super strength, shapeshifting…” Another pause. “All you have to do is bring me your sister.”

Gem’s heart dropped to her feet. fWhip wouldn’t…would he? Ever since her brother’s powers were stolen, just how many times had he complained? How many times had he told her that he wanted his powers back?

“Any power I want?” fWhip’s voice was suddenly meek.

Gem’s mouth felt impossibly dry.

“Your wish is my command.”

There was a third painstakingly long pause before fWhip replied with a snort. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ll get over my lack of ability, but I could never forgive myself for giving Gem up to you.”

The Mad King didn’t seem all that upset. “Plan B, I suppose. A lot less dramatic, but it’ll have to do.” And there was a snapping sound.

The darkness dropped away. One moment, Gem was surrounded by nothingness. The next, the beautiful sky, stars, and moon, and the tents of Circo de Fantasia.

Gem, who had been at the edge of the tent, suddenly came face to face with the Mad King, floating a couple of feet off the ground. He was wearing all-black armour and only his mouth was visible. It curled into a satisfied grin. “Hello Gem.”

fWhip’s head spun around and his eyes widened. “Gem!” he exclaimed, and ran towards her.

Gem came to the too-late realization that the Mad King had wanted her to overhear him. If fWhip agreed to the King’s terms, Gem would have been beside herself and therefore an easy target. And, if fWhip hadn’t, Gem would still be within distance.

Like she was right now.

The Mad King still wasn’t moving, although his smile was more than a little unnerving. “It’s time for me to snuff out your light,” he said.

“Oh no you don’t,” the Ringmaster’s voice said, coming out from the tent Gem was standing next to. And he let out an ear-piercing whistle.

Another Ringmaster came out of the tent to Gem’s right, and the other tents lining the pathway. Sausage’s llamas came bounding around a corner, Sausage himself riding one with a sort of wooden staff in his hands, a cyan gem between the curved top.

Gem rubbed her eyes as a dozen Ringmasters appeared.

The Mad King looked at them all thoughtfully. “Do you like each time I consume a Pixlriffs’ power, my time travelling ability will grow stronger—?”

Sausage raised his staff and a blue light shot directly at the Mad King’s back, immobilizing him.

The Ringmaster closest to Gem turned to her as the rest of the Ringmasters began to surround the slowly descending King. “The Staff of Sanctuary, an old relic from Sausage’s past, won’t last long against him—he’s consumed too many powers. I know we wanted to wait until day, but it’s just not possible anymore. You must defeat him now.”

Gem shuddered and glanced up before looking over at fWhip who looked just as bewildered as Gem felt. He gave her a thumbs up. Gem returned it with a strained smile.

She was grateful the King’s darkness was no longer a factor. She was surrounded by friends—multiples of friends—and her brother. She was standing within circus grounds, with its comforting light and brightly coloured tents. This was her home.

Gem took a deep breath, feeling her palms grow hot. Instead of finding anger within herself to unlock her light, she found something else. Something harder to find, but stronger.

Hope.

She could do this. Even if it was dark, Gem had a feeling she could conjure light even then. Her brother would never betray her, despite being at first doubtful. But she never should have been skeptical of him.

Gem felt her eyes flutter closed. She didn’t see the light, but she felt it as it blasted out of her hands and into the Mad King. Her eyelids flashed a bright orange.

When she re-opened them, Ringmasters were gently fading into mist. Gem’s head pounded, her hands felt raw and dry.

“What’s happening to them?” fWhip asked to no one in particular.

The Ringmaster closest to Gem replied, “going home. They’ve been stuck here for years. Every time I’ve tried to see past the moment the Mad King tries to bribe you, I couldn’t see. It fogs up. Stuck in this moment.” He smiles. “Now everything’s changed.”

“And everyone’s powers?” Gem asked, feeling a yawn coming on.

fWhip grinned and Gem suddenly felt a heavy rock appear in her pocket. “Guess,” he said.

Gem smiled back, letting out her yawn.

“Alright let’s get to bed,” fWhip said, and the rock disappeared from Gem’s pocket. He steered her shoulders in the direction of her tent. “You should definitely rest.”

And, as Gem closed her tent’s flap to collapse into bed, the sun began to rise.

#mcytblraufest23 #empires smp #roseblings #empires smp fanfic #empires smp fanfiction #geminitay #fwhip

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shion-yu · 1 year ago

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Day 3 - Isolation

It's lonely to fall apart. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Shu - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23743470.shumei-tw

CW/TW: Medical abuse!!

Shu didn’t know how much longer he could take this. He’d been sick for two weeks now with a fever that would not go down no matter what medications he took. Distracting himself with any kind of media simply wasn’t possible, because everything made him nauseous. Reading, watching TV, even the screen on his cell phone - anything that required focus made his eyes feel like they were trembling and caused him to get dizzy. So he was stuck just lying in bed with nothing to distract him from the abject state of misery he was in.

Julian had mostly been doing consultations from home in order to keep an eye on him. Shu didn’t want his condition to affect his boyfriend’s job, but it was also true that he was scared to be alone. He felt so sick that he could barely make it to the bathroom on his own. Julian often had to help him take the short walk there and back, supporting Shu easily with strong arms around Shu’s torso.

He hated that it was like this. He’d never been so sick in his life. If it had just been these two weeks of illness, then he could’ve put it down to any number of short-lived infections. But it’d been a year. One whole year of falling ill every single month with barely any healthy breaks in between. Julian had examined him a hundred times and run every test imaginable, but said there was technically nothing wrong with him. Sometimes, he said, people just developed a weak immune system over time. The flu he’d had last year could have triggered it and there was nothing they could do.

Shu trusted his boyfriend, given that he was a world-renowned doctor. He certainly was getting the best care imaginable, given Julian could treat him at home when the average person would probably be confined to the hospital, or at the least be occupied with constant visits to a doctor’s office. Prescriptions, blood draws, even IV fluids - Julian could do it all from the comfort of their own bedroom. But Shu couldn’t help but feel like something else had to be wrong. He’d always been healthy, catching only one or two minor illnesses a year. In all honesty, he was scared that he was dying from some unknown disease.

Julian told him it was stress that made him feel so much anxiety. He had been trying to convince Shu to quit his job for months, insisting that he could take care of both Shu and his mother even if Shu didn't work anymore. It could even be the baseline level of stress causing Shu’s weakened immune system in general, Julian suggested; they never knew, maybe if he quit he'd miraculously stop getting sick so frequently. But Shu didn't want to quit his job. He was proud of his career and he valued himself as being a hard worker. It felt wrong to burden someone else financially, even if it was his boyfriend who made at least twice the amount he did. He hadn't worked so hard all these years just let someone else work for him.

It was getting to a point where Shu didn't have much of a choice, though. The absurd amount of leave he’d amassed after ten years with the same company (taking almost no time off over this decade) was now dwindling at an alarming pace. At first his boss had doubted Shu was really ill this frequently. He didn't doubt it for long - every time Shu came into work he looked more haggard than the last time. Everybody knew he was a mess, dragging himself through each work day looking like he might collapse at any time. They’d taken a few of his usual responsibilities away from him, which Shu saw as a warning sign that he wasn’t competent enough. He tried so hard to make up for his shortcomings, but it just wasn’t possible.

His friends were worried. Mathias and Miki texted him frequently asking after his health, but Shu had stopped answering them most of the time now. It was tiresome when they often said, “Are you feeling any better?” Because the answer was always no. He didn't feel any better. He felt worse, almost always worse and he was scared he was never going to feel good again.

He’d lost over twenty pounds just this year alone, and he was not a very hefty person to begin with. His hair was thinner and had lost the deep, black shine it'd always had. Dull was a good word for him - he looked faded, like he'd disappear if he lost any more weight or color.

“Aiya, Shumei, my son, what is happening to you?” His mom scolded often, her tone brisk as usual but lacking its normal edge. Shu knew she was worried. Before he started getting sick, he used to visit her every Friday afternoon after work, if not more frequently. He’d bring her to plays and events on the weekends and take her out to dinners they hadn’t been able to afford when he was growing up. Now he barely ever saw her - in part because he was often too ill to leave the house, but mostly because he hated the look of concern on her face each time he appeared worse off than the last time he'd seen her.

He felt so alone, so ashamed and useless... Julian was the only reason he didn't completely fall apart. His boyfriend, the only person who really knew the true extent of it all. He clung to Julian like a lifeline. Julian was always there to take care of him and never seemed to tire of all of this, even if Shu was at his wits end. He made sure Shu stayed hydrated and as comfortable as possible despite his constant body and headaches. He would mop Shu’s hot brow, shushing him gently as Shu whimpered in pain. He would carry Shu to the chair next to their bed and change the sheets when Shu sweat through them, which was often. Julian even bathed him, washing off the thick layer of sickness that clung to Shu’s skin. Shu didn't think he deserved it, but Julian never complained.

Shu didn't realize he was crying until Julian came in and rested a cool hand on Shu’s damp face. “What's the matter, darling? Please don't cry.”

Shu sniffled, tears running down his hot cheeks. “You're too good to me,” he whimpered. “I don't want to be sick anymore. How can you stand being around me?”

“Shh, don't talk like that,” Julian said. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to kiss Shu on the forehead. “I love you. I’ll always take care of you.”

“Aren’t you tired of this? I am,” Shu said, voice wavering. “I’m different now... I’m...”

“No,” Julian said, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I’ll never get tired of taking care of you. You're exactly who I fell in love with, and the most important person to me. I’ll do anything to help you.”

Shu still didn't think he deserved it, but he leaned in to Julian’s touch anyways. “Thank you,” he whispered. “You're the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

“It’s easy because it's you,” Julian said. “And I've loved you my whole life. That'll never change.”Shu closed his eyes, too tired to keep talking. Julian really must love him more than Shu could understand to be so endlessly patient, even though he was so sick all the time. He didn't want to be sick anymore, but if he had to be... He was the luckiest man in the world to have Julian, he thought to himself.

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holocene-sims · 1 year ago

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five oc facts

@sparkiekong tagged me a VERY veryyyyy long time ago and i'm just now getting to this tag months later (i'm so sorry 😭)

i'll tag: @thebramblewood @mangosimoothie @queeniecook @stargazer-sims @dandylion240 @jonquilyst 🤍

i just did a similar prompt for áine, who is this sim's niece, so how about facts for cathal? he's also a newbie to my sims universe, and i adore him and his personality tbh, but canon reasons make it hard for him to be included too much outside of random simblr posts like this

he is WILDLY younger than all his other siblings (like by 20 years) and was a total surprise baby. really, he's kind of a medical miracle because he was born after his mother went into menopause and was in her 40s, and no one knew he even existed until he randomly sprang into the world one august morning lmfao 💀

i think i mentioned it in one post but he's been a vegetarian for most of his life! actually, he declared himself a vegan when he was, like, six years old; he figured out what eggs and meat really were and then refused to eat animal products for decades. much to his dismay, he did have to introduce eggs and milk and whatnot back into his diet when he ran into a few nutritional deficiencies from veganism, but he's made his peace with being a vegetarian instead 🥦

he 100% does not remember his father outside of what he looked like. his dad (and aoife's younger brother) died very abruptly and super young of a heart attack when cathal was maybe three or so, and it's something that really nags at him. he's well aware there's nothing he can do about it, but he feels some strange mix of bad emotions that he never experienced a father-son bond, and that makes him 100x as serious about being a good father who'll be around a LONG time and just generally treating anyone younger than him well. he doesn't want anyone else feeling that type of loss 🥲

he actually writes an agricultural column in the local online newspaper and contributes to the county farmer's almanac lol. his big shtick is sustainability in agriculture and how new green technologies should be combined with traditional cultural approaches to the land so the earth doesn't die in, like, 10 years from excessive carbon emissions 🍃💚

he met his wife yvonne in a ballroom dance class! he was just bored one day in college and went to the class to do something new, and he immediately developed the biggest crush on the instructor. he just kept going back every week until he was brave enough to ask her out, and when he did, they hit it off. oh, and this is totally their thing - he has quite literally taken her dancing every weekend since they got together 😭😭😭

#SORRY THIS WAS SO MUCH #i ended up giving way more info for him than aine but cathal actually had a bunch of speaking parts in the story so i had more inspo #btw ngl i didn't even realize there was such an age gap between even him and eimear until like last week #at which point i had to come up with a way to explain it and i'm totally ripping some inspo from an episode of chicago med #where this exact thing happened: a lady had a kid after menopause lmao which is somehow technically possible #yes i did go on a rabbit hole reading real medical cases of this #also *keeps talking* yes he is supposed to be a sort of reflection/foil/something of grant #obviously not the same person and difference experiences but there is supposed to be a concurrent theme here of growth and goodness #and the fact that they were surprise youngest kids but one was treated well despite some life problems and one was not #tag games #hlcn: cathal #hlcn: oc info #hlcn: story extras

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firebird-nonnette · 1 year ago

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Personal thoughts (ignore meee)

(Incredibly long post to put my thoughts because i dont wanna write in my physical journal right now but ill lose this if i dont put it on my tumblr, which i treat as a sort of visual journal)

Been thinking about death and how to soothe my death anxiety.

I got very sick with covid and I'm still fighting it a month later. Now I have a few early signs of pneumonia, which is one of the real dangers of covid.

After 4 weeks of being very ill with something like covid and with pneumonia looming, the worst case scenario keeps revolving in my mind. It's been tickling my death anxiety and i want to try and sort it out a bit.

Im doing what I can to rest, but who knows how this'll pan out. My boyfriend caught it at the same time and got over it in 10 days or so and he's head empty no thoughts about the fact that we finally (after 4 years of never catching it) caught the thing that stopped the world and killed millions.

So, I've been thinking about death. A little anxiously. A little calmly. Mostly with a nervous puzzle-solving confusion. I want to stop being afraid of illness and death. I have hypochondria and death anxiety. Had them since about a year after my mom died of a sudden illness. They got worse in 2020, like they did with most others afflicted. I've been able to have some months here and there where my anxieties were less. They're usually characterized by less screen time, more journaling, more time spent looking out windows, more time spent reading Stoic philosophy and Compassionate Mind Therapy works, and a little investigation into Near Death Experience studies that overwhelmingly report pleasant and positive experiences of the afterlife. I also spend some time with my spirituality, but I'm a very specific type of spiritual agnostic and since my mother died there's no one in my life who believes exactly what I believe (though my bf believes about 90% of the same stuff). The good times are when I'm in more or less good health and set aside time for gratitude and slowness and lots of gentle thinking and puzzling about life and death. The best times are when I'm very grateful, very mindful, and invest in enjoying the beauty of incredibly mundane things I'm usually too anxious or desenstized to notice: the feeling of my decade-old comforter when I lay on it, how sunlight hits the curtains in the computer room, how the green tea I've been drinking for 13 years tastes, how the trees and bushes cast little shadows, how the wind smells, etc etc. These are things that are almost always accessible in everyday life, but I rarely take time with them. But, when I do, -when i honestly and completely let myself enjoy them with love and gratitude for life and the world around me- I feel the most connected to "life". It's pure joy.

I have a very hard time accessing these feelings when I'm sick or in pain. Instead, I ruminate on my anxieties or distract myself with screentime.

But, back to death:

I hate the idea of dying confused and scared. The same way I hate feeling anxious and scared when I'm sick. I want to be calm and accepting. I want to feel joy and gratitude. I'm not sure how to articulate why this is important to me, but I absolutely hate the idea of getting sick, feeling awful, feeling scared and anxious, and then dying in fear and anxiety. It is very, very, very important to me to meet (or survived brushes with) death with a calm, clear, and grateful mind.

So I've been using this sickness as an opportunity to try and work on that because, honestly, my first reaction is more anxiety than calmness.

I was considering how I might try to accept my death if it were anytime soon - either from this covid pneumonia or from something else. (Because any of us could die from almost anything any day.) This is also because my aunt, who I only got to meet once, is also in hospice right now and I can't travel to see her one last time. She's all that's left of my mom. When I met her a few years ago, I saw so much of my mom in her. Mannerisms and tones and jokes I hadn't seen or heard in 8 years were still alive in her. The sound of her voice over the phone sounds so incredibly like my mother's (of whom I only have 1 or 2 home video recordings from the 90s because she was notoriously scornful of being recorded or photographed) that I cried after our conversation ended. My aunt is 81, if she passes, she will have lived 20 more years than my mom. She came down with this illness right around my mom's 10th death anniversary. She has had a long life behind her. My mom died at 61. A bit young, but she still had a very eventful life full of stories, trials, and blessings.

When it comes to death, I'm not frightened of what's on the other side. I believe death is just as natural and neutral as birth. I believe in all the reports and studies and stories about a benevolent and beautiful "other side", just as my mom had described it when she had her own near death experience 5 years before she passed. She gave me an amazing childhood and adolescence full of wonder and wisdom and death positivity. She loved discussing mortality and spirituality and the science around death. She had equipped me, very well, to know how to mourn her. Of course, without her, I lost touch with that straightforward death positivity and became more and more anxious. But I'm trying to get back to that calm, steady acceptance I once had.

While I'm scared of dying painfully, I'm not too worried. Morphine and other interventions can help and pain is temporary and, I'm sure, forgotten when you cross.

I mostly have a certain stage fright of death. Despite my beliefs about the other side, I'd still be scared, like a novice actor backstage, of being pushed beyond the curtain to see what's on the other side and succumb to whatever it is that happens on the other side. I do take comfort knowing that every human who has ever lived, including my mother, has died and if they can do it, so can I.

One other common fear of death is the worry of leaving others behind. I'm not worried. Ethan would figure life out, eventually. He'd carry on. I've told him, in our occasional talks about death, that he should move on as soon as is right for him. I'm not worried about my friends, they'll be fine, too. I don't have kids, which is the major fear people have about dying "early", so that's fine. My sister would probably grieve a little while (she estranged herself from us, but has been trying to get back in touch a little), but she'd move on, too. Dad would be the person I'd worry about the most, but he has Debbie to take care of him and he'd also move on, eventually, though he would have the worst time of it. He's very death anxious. But, all in all, everyone would be fine. So, I'm not scared of leaving anyone behind.

If I were to die soon, I realized that I'd regret not having the chance to do more.

I'm notorious for being hyperproductive and burning myself out. But I actually feel I'd regret working so hard lol. My company doesn't need ALL of me. I wanna take more time for myself.

I don't mean I'd regret not being more productive. I'd regret not creating more. Not making more of an impact. Helping people, connecting with people.

I've already done some of that, but I want to do more before I go. I'd like to have some kind of accomplishment that's just for me for the impact I've had on others and the world. Volunteering or helping organizations or content creators I admire like Stoicism or Compassionate Mind Theory science communicators or maybe writing the books i wanna write so I can at least give people a fun little time with some stories.

Maybe it would be raising a child someday (probably adopting), though I'm on the fence about this.

But, what really gets me, is I don't know WHAT is missing. I just have a general sense of wanting to do more and consume less. I want to spend a little less time on my phone or rewatching movies and spend that time on something meaningful.

Usually, when people are close to death they regret not making more friends but I feel pretty okay. I'd meet people doing whatever the meaningful thing is I wanna do.

What bothers me is there's no way I'd be able to do a super meaningful or impactful thing between now and when this pneumonia would escalate. Soooooo I also wanna find peace that if I were to die before I could do something more, I want to accept that I did what I was able to up to this point and just be okay with that.

Because, honestly, we are all deeply impactful presences in the world even if we don't do a lot.

My writing for media psychology has had an impact on many people. I've gotten lots of comments from people saying my writing has helped them or inspired them, changed their lives. I think that's probably good enough. Maybe instead of saying I'd "regret" not doing more, the better way to think of it is "if I could live a little longer, I'd love to do more".

Anyways, I'm tired now and rest is important. I had to get these thoughts out linearly. Time for bed. Will try to spend time grateful and joyful tomorrow. This pneumonia will statistically probably get better on its own, but its been a good obstacle and lesson to learn about myself. But, just on the off-chance Im headed for serious illness or even death, I'm gonna try and enjoy everything I can for now.

#personal #tw death

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