#river Phoenix imagine

[stephstars08]

Is it strange that I want to write for actors who are no longer with us anymore??? I would love to write for Jonathan Brandis and maybe River Phoenix but don’t know if any of you are interested in that…..😬😬😬😬😬😬😬

[80s4life]

Together At Last”

Word Count: 3,971

Status: Requested!

Ask: Can I have Chris Chambers x reader with the prompt  "You're different and I like that"

@: @micheleamidalajedi​

A/N: I absolutely LOVED this request because I was able to put myself into the Reader and prove that not everyone is the same, female, male, or nonbinary, or all of the girlypops!

Relationship: Chris Chambers x Merrill!Reader

Fandom: Stand By Me 1986

Summary: It’s been 5 years since the disappearance and eventual death of Ray Brower, and you’re each reaching graduation. However, another adventure arises and brings all 5 of you back to the woods to find Teddy’s dog. The problem? Almost all of you have either grown apart or split completely, and old feelings seem to resurface with unresolved conclusions. What could go wrong?

Warnings: mutual pining, adventure, confessions, AGED UP!, friends to enemies to lovers, some angst, nostalgia, lost friendships, gained friendships, Teddy is a brother figure to Reader, gun, unintentional intent to kill someone, strong language, Reader is Ace Merrill’s sibling, 

{gif is not mine, credits go to @awidevastdominion​}

Your landline rings, deriving you of your thoughts and current intensity studying for finals. Groaning, you shrug out of your seat at the kitchen table begrudgingly, answering the phone. “Hello?”

“Y/N? ‘S that you?” a familiar voice, deepened with maturity and hormones asks on the other side.

“Yeah, what do you want?”

“Nice to know you haven’t changed,” you can hear the voice taunt annoyingly. 

“It’s been years since I’ve talked to you, did you expect a ‘Hey, what’s up’?”

“I would have preferred that, yes, but no. This is serious, and I really need you on board with me this time.”

“This better not be one of your schemes, Teddy, I’m not up for anything right now,” you sigh, “I’m up to my neck with textbooks and shit with studying for the finals and stuff. Dad’s been on my ass about getting into a college since I’ve been able to hold a B+ to A average.”

“Damn. Sorry to say I can’t relate?”

You giggle, sighing as you’ve missed him. You couldn’t quite tell what happened to cause you to separate, but as if you had just blinked, everyone was gone and you were left to yourself and school. “Alright Teddy, what bullshit are we pulling now?”

“Glad you asked!” he all but yells in happiness, “My dog went missing a few days ago and I haven’t been able to find him all over town. I know this sounds childish, but I swear, I’ve walked the whole town everyday at dawn before school and haven’t been able to find him.”

“So, you’re guessing he’s in the woods?” you groan, remembering the haunting history you’ve witnessed first hand in said territory.

There’s a long pause before he lets out a low, “...Yes...”

“What did the others say?”

“What makes you think I asked them?” he tries to sound as if he’s not that easy to read; a “changed man.”

“Because I still know you, or some of you. There’s no way this is going to be a one night thing and we need more sets of dependable eyes.”

“Well, now you’re making me sound smart.”

You giggle, “I’m not gonna keep beating around the bush Teddy, I’m in as long as the others are?”

“Yes!” he shrieks.

...

A few days later, as instructed by Teddy, you carry your sleeping bag, flask of water, some snacks, and money (something you all collectively forgot last time) to the dumpsters behind the town’s cafe. Trudging around the corner, your breath catches in your throat as you lay eyes on the back of three familiar heads and a face, each people you thought you have grown so far apart from.

“Y/N!” the voice of the face coming from Teddy.

You nod silently, leaning against the brick building as you keep your distance. 

The three boys that are now men, turn around to take you in, eyes wide.

You wave nervously, age and distance having changed all of you and making you feel as if you don’t know these people.

Teddy still had his familiar square-shaped, black glasses, but his hair is cut to fit the army’s conduct, shaved short on the sides around the back, the top of his head a bit longer. There was just enough hair for Teddy to comb it back with gel just as he had as a preteen - before you all turned away to seek your own lives. He grew a bit taller, standing at 5′5″, but not by much. You giggle internally.

To the far left, you see Gordie and your heart breaks a little. He’s still lean in build, but he’s grown to be tall and confident, around 5′11″ - 6′0.” To you, he hasn’t changed a bit, except personality. He still had his longer hair, possibly longer than you remember it, with the same hairstyle and familiar baby face, though slightly aged. 

Next was Vern, and he was so big now. He managed to drop the weight, a lean build of muscle standing above 6′0″ and carrying his dopey grin with longer hair - a similar style to Gordie’s, though unintentionally. You smile at him. He’s still a sweetheart, but more like a big, lovable Chocolate Lab now.

Lastly was Chris, and he was still as gorgeous as ever. He came to be of above average height, 5′10,″ grew his hair out longer and adorned circular glasses that framed his face perfectly. His eyes carry no emotion, a contrast to his younger self, but they’re still that luscious deep blue. He looks you up and down in silence before staring you directly in your eyes. You can feel your heart break all over again.

You didn’t realize how long you were staring at each of them before Teddy clears his throat. “Shall we?” he tries to smirk, but the tension is thick. 

You hug your arms around your abdomen as you nod, plastering a smile of your face as you force yourself to stand beside the now men. Slowly, everyone starts to follow Teddy until you reach the tracks.

Some time later, as you walked on the tracks, you lagged behind. Now, with this view, you could see where everyone had changed, but not as much as you thought. Gordie and Chris got to talking amongst themselves far in front of the group, Teddy and Vern behind them. They’re all too busy catching up for them to notice your inner turmoil.

You almost want to cry. You don’t know any of them anymore. This was a fact that your younger self would’ve never expected or taken a liking to. You think of what your younger self would do, punishing yourself for what you allowed to happen. 

You would’ve called them repeatedly, tried to make plans or catch up to them in passing to classes. All of this you could pride yourself on saying that you did, but then Gordie went the way his father wanted him to go, Chris becoming an athlete while trying to follow Gordie’s brains, getting into law, Teddy trying to apply and reapply to the military, and Vern taking a liking in the construction trade. 

They all grew up, and though you couldn’t blame them, they slipped out of your hands far too quickly and suffered the backlash. Girls in school are bitches, and though you have friends, they aren’t like the ones before you. Even after all this time, they are still considered exactly that - friends, family even.

You went your own way, too, after giving up on them. You found an interest in engineering and found that it’s not exactly as you suspected. It wasn’t all math and physics and you deeply enjoyed the creativity and problem-solving it included. You have some fond classmates there, but they would never compare to these boys. 

You are ripped from your thoughts as you hear the loud blaring of a train’s horn. You smirk at the memory that crosses. Calling out to Teddy, your voice is loud enough for all of the boys to hear, “Sound familiar, Teddy? We’re not gonna go diving for you on the tracks again, right?”

“Fuck off,” you can hear him giggle, jabbing Vern in the side. 

All the way in the front, you can hear Gordie add, “Or have to break you and Chris up, huh?”

You giggle at the reminder. That was the time when you were all trying to figure yourselves out without guidance, restrictions, stereotypes, and parents. Teddy had a lot of trouble then. 

Your smile drops as the group goes quiet again, the nostalgia dying with the connection that almost rekindled. You groan audibly - unintentionally.

The boys look back at you curiously, surprised just as much as you were. 

You decide to take the initiative, “Is this what we’re going to do the whole time? Act as if we’re strangers and not speak to one another?”

“We are strangers, Y/N,” you hear Chris state with indifference.

You catch up to the group and walk between them, “There’s a reason we all came here and I know we all hoped to be together again. It doesn’t help when you don’t even try to speak to us though, does it?”

The group stops as Chris spins around on you. “Why would I? After this, we are all gonna go our separate ways and avoid each other again,” he growls and spits, “Just like last time.”

“Then, why did you come?” you ask, your curiosity getting the better of you and asking the question you were all wondering yourselves. “Why are we all here?” you look around at each of them. 

“Because I missed you guys,” Vern pipes up, the first words he’s spoken the whole walk from town.

“We wouldn’t have missed each other if we had just kept our promises, would we?” Chris asks, frowning with his eyebrows scrunched together and arms crossed tightly over his chest. It almost resembles hatred.

And it makes you livid. “You broke your promise, too, Chris,” you vividly remember the promise you made just short of town on your way back; the promise that meant the world and more to you - it still does. “We all did, but at least I can say it wasn’t intentional. I tried to reach out to you guys, but we were all growing and changing. I can’t blame you guys, except you, Chris.”

“Me?” his voice reaches higher as the time passes by.

“Oh please, we all know you went from a street rat like us to the high priest and prince of school,” Teddy adds.

Chris scoffs, crossing his arms, “Gordie?”

“I mean, you did drop us after you got with Stephanie Wheeler,” Gordie deflects, shrinking in size as he knows the blows coming next. He adds, “The rich bitch of high school whose daddy is the principal.”

“This is bullshit, I should’ve never decided to come,” he shoots daggers at you.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t of because we all know that you’re embarrassed of even being seen with us,” Vern adds, caution to the wind. 

Chris scoffs again as he takes up his bag, starting back to town. 

“So, you’re just gonna leave?!” you scream as he creates distance. 

“I fucking knew it!” Gordie screams, grabbing his bag as well to follow Chris on the opposite side of the tracks. 

You watch with pain as each of the boys start back to town. All except Teddy, who manages to stand there with teary eyes. 

“I just wanted us to enjoy the time, find my dog, and hopefully have one last high school hurrah before we are all forced apart,” he sniffles.

You look at him with matching sadness, “I-I’m sorry Teddy, I didn’t mean to act out like that. I just couldn’t stand another minute, let alone night, with no one planning on speaking to each other. It would have all been for nothing. Even if we had found your dog, we still would’ve hated each other. This is my fault, Teddy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not, Y/N, it was gonna happen eventually,” his eyes watch them go, but the look in his eye is distant - his mind far beyond where they’re heading.

“We can still look for Butch together?” you manage to smile, tears brimming your eyes.

“I don’t feel like it anymore,” you can visibly see his body deflate.

“Well, can you at least stay? If there’s still some shred of them left, I think they’ll come around again. I still want to rekindle our relationship. I’ve missed you so much, Teddy,” by the time you’re finished, fresh tears are starting to roll down your cheeks.

Teddy’s voice cracks as a tear slips down his cheek, too, opening his arms to pull you in for a hug beside him on the grass.

You smile thankfully as you lean in, sighing at the comfort and history.

“It ain’t going well with my Pops, as you’d assume. He’s still a crazy bastard, but I’m sticking with him. Just for a little longer, as long as I can.”

“Understandable. We can’t forget your ear, can we?”

“Whatever,” he smirks, “What about you?”

“Mom and Dad still fight. If they aren’t fighting, neither of them are home to ensure that they don’t have to fucking see each other. Ace is still a prick, too. I wouldn’t expect him to graduate and still stay in this bum-fuck town.”

“Guess he doesn’t want his reputation to be forgotten,” Teddy giggles.

“Guess so,” you trail off, noticing the sun starting to set and the sky change color. “You think they’re coming back?”

“No, but I can hope.”

You look up at him sadly and nod. “Wanna set up camp for the night anyway?”

He nods silently, taking up his sleeping bag and finding a soft spot to lay out in the grass. 

Silently, you follow his lead, walking down the side of the tracks to the opening of the trees, laying your sleeping bag just beside the first tree, hidden under the canopy of leaves. He decides to go in a little deeper, a few feet away from you, protected by the dimmer lighting in a proactive attempt to block the harsh sun that’ll come in the morning.

Sighing, you both settle in, staring at the sky. Before you know it, your miniscule, unimportant chit chat with Teddy dies down and sleep overtakes you swiftly. There’s no dreams as you toss and turn, but your glad there’s no deeper thoughts that’ll plague you and leave you wide awake.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sleeping until the soft snapping of twigs perk your ears, harshly throwing all of the sleep from your fogged mind and automatically putting it into defensive state.

Peaking around with your eyes, you catch a figure some ways to your left, walking away from your temporary camp. By the distance the figure has created and the direction of their walk, you can tell they were either walking through or around your huddle, no doubt near your camp regardless. 

You flip onto your belly as silently as possible, hand sliding slowly to the underside of your pillow, fingers touching cold metal. You pull the gun from under you, the uncomfortable and foreign weight of it settling in your hand, bringing more unease into your heart and bones. 

You lift yourself up slowly, noticing that Gordie and Vern have, in fact, returned and settled in a circle with you and Teddy. However, there is no sign of Chris, not even a bag.

You let out a slow breath to try and calm your racing nerves as you follow the figure, gun raised and aimed at the black figure. You gain on the figure silently, until your foot makes a horrible crunch as it breaks the branch beneath it. Cursing under your breath, you raise the gun in defense, both hands grasping and eyes trained.

The figure spins around, voice accusatory, “What the f-? Hey...” the voice lowers instantly, hands coming up to show they are unarmed. “Hey, Y/N, put the gun down,” the voice registers in your head as the figure emerges from the darkness and into the glow of the moon breaking through the trees.

“Chris?” you groan, lowering the gun instantly, shoulders dropping. “What the fuck were you thinking? Sneaking around in the woods? You know the way I sleep, man.”

“Knew,” he clarifies, “And, I was just going for a walk to clear my mind.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” you ask with a creep of annoyance settling in, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers. “Why do you keep acting like you’re camping with strangers? Like you have absolutely no knowledge of who we are?”

“Because I don’t; I don’t know the people you have all become now. Even if there are slivers of the people I knew that show every now and then, they are no longer the people they were nor who they are now,” he steps closer to you, enough to reach out to you if he wanted to.

“I can’t say that we are who we were because that’s impossible, but we are still those loving people we were. I’ve noticed that Vern still carries a comb and is a little sensitive. Gordie is still quiet and finds meanings in everything. Teddy still has such and undoubted devotion to his father and his infatuation with the army. I still bother the shit out of everyone and parent them as a way of care. But you,” you pause, assessing him as the sadness settles in your voice and heart again, a cold shock coursing through your veins, “I can only see a person in front of me. You look like Chris, you still have that leaderly inclination, but besides that, everything has changed. Even your eyes have a different look to them, yet they are still that same pair I last looked at 5 years ago.”

Chris says nothing, his mask fitting into place and revealing nothing to you - it doesn’t even look like any of your words are reaching him.

“You keep acting like everyone here is out to get you, but we are simply just being ourselves. You see us as enemies because we had a falling out, but that’s natural. We changed - you changed - and you want to blame us for something that was out of our hands. We are still here for you Chris, I’ve always been here,” your voice is cracking as you look down at your feet, kicking some leaves and twigs to divert your attention somehow. 

A hand reaches beneath your chin, tugging your head up to look into those sapphire irises once again. “You were never my enemy, you were my greatest fear,” Chris says, a pitiful grin pulling at his lips. “You know why I chose to become better? Why I went out with the cheerleaders, tried out for football, worked hard to get into the smart kid classes?”

“W-Why?” you look at him, pain and confusion streaking your E/C eyes like lightning in a storm. 

“Because I knew that if I stayed where I was, I would never be able to give you what you wanted - never been able to give you everything you deserved. At first, I distanced myself because I thought I would never be good enough for you; that distance was what you needed and for me to get out of your sights, so that that better man would show up and lift you off your feet. But, you were insistent,” Chris giggles sadly as his mask starts to fall, his eyes showing the same pain and suffering that reflects off of yours. “I chose to blame you for the pain of losing you, so you would never look at me with those eyes again; never show me this source of genuine love that was undeserved and unfair.”

“But, you promised me that we would be together forever?” you question, a tear slipping from your eye as you stare at him with the newfound information. Pain of losing him, sadness of bringing such turmoil and insecurity to himself, suffering from the rift that could’ve never been, and regret that if you had known, this would have all been avoided as a whole.

“I know I made that promise, and I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite and idiot. It doesn’t matter how far away we’ve become, you can still manage to look at me with that undeserved care?” he mostly questions himself as his eyes search all over your face, both hands cupping your face in his hands. 

Your hands go up to hold his wrists, looking at him with such longing. “You deserve the world, Chris. You always have and always will. You are too pure for the hand you were dealt, and yet you still push yourself farther above.” 

His eyes round and snap to yours with confusion and disbelief, searching you for some sort of trick. “I’ve always loved you, Chris. No one has ever made me so damn pissed off or more loved with just one look or action. It doesn’t matter who I’ve used or dated to temporarily distract me, I’ve always worried and searched for you. You’ve always been in the deepest part of my brain. I-I still love you...so damn much.”

“You’ve always been different and I like that. You’re the biggest pain in my ass, but my greatest mistake. I love you, Y/N,” Chris smiles, a genuine display of delight and content as tears slide down his cheeks with the relinquishment of pain and torture. He’s waited too damn long for this. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he smirks devilishly, eyes delving to your lips and up to your eyes before he leans in.

Your chapped lips meet his fresh, plump ones, smeared with chapstick with the taste of lemon. Your hands goes up to tangle in his long, blonde locks as his arms reach down to your hips to keep you tightly trapped against him; like he fears that if he doesn’t hold you tight, you’ll slip away like every dream he’s ever had of you - his greatest happiness. 

You pull him in just as tight, arms around his shoulders as your hands tug, fearing the feeling of losing him again. When you part for air, you still never let go of each other, your head ducking in between the crook of his neck and shoulder. You breathe in his scent and save it to your memory as a smell you hoped to never forget or live without. 

“Well, it’s about damn time! God damn!” Teddy yells from his cross legged position on his sleeping bag. 

Gordie and Vern start to whoop and holler from their comfort of sleeping bags with deep pleasure and happiness. 

“I knew you guys would make up eventually,” Vern added with a soft giggle.

“I was starting to miss my parents,” Gordie chided with a roll of his eyes.

“Does that mean we can all be friends now?” Vern adds with a playful glint in his eye and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“I mean, I guess I could, y’know, hang around a while,” you tease, earning a shove to your side by Chris as you both walk back to your seats on your sleeping bag. 

That night, you all stayed up late trading stories of what you’ve missed within the short time away from each other, and for once since the start of your adventure, you see the benefits of their changes.

They aren’t the same people you once knew because they are now their best versions, and will continue to change for the many years to come. It’s only up to you guys to keep that connection strong and adapt with them that will keep you all bound together forever. 

It was your greatest promise, but there’s been a few changes: “No matter how far away we are nor how different we become, we will always find a way back to each other. Friends forever.”

You and Chris made your own promise, too: “Whatever happens, we will learn to overcome together, forever and always, in love and sickness, at the best and worst moments. Lovers forever.”

[esthersixx]

"A place to call home" (River Phoenix imagine.)

Warnings: my bad grammar. Also the fact that he's gone 😭

It all started on the week of Halloween in 2023. I decided that I needed some fresh air, some time with nature, far away from my apartment downtown. I'm 23 and I work as a writer in this pop magazine and I was definitely needing some inspiration. So I open the Airbnb app and there it was. A large house in this little village galled Micanopy in Florida. I was in pure love with the trees, the grass and flowers. Everything about that place made me feel like I was in heaven, even though I only saw pictures of the house. I instantly booked the place for three nights.

"Okay, that's it!" I said while putting my bags on the ground as soon as I enter the place.

"Is it only you?" Rain, the owner of the house, the person that gave me the keys said.

"Yeah..." I said and watch her frown a little. I guess the place was just too big for only one person, but I didn't care. I loved the place. "Well, I love the vibes in here, so..."

"Oh, so you're a fan! Wow, I never get used to..."

"Fan? Of who?" This time i frowned.

"My brother... Well, my brothers."

I was there for a moment just trying to figure it out who they were.

"I'm sorry, Rain, I don't know them."

"I'm Rain Phoenix, sister of River and Joaquin." She said and I instantly knew who Joaquin was, just the best joker I've ever saw on the movies. "But I guess you're too young to know who River was. He died before you were even born"  I could tell she was a little sad at this point, but she started to say goodbyes and that was it. I was all alone in this gigantic house. In fact I knew who River was, I once saw Stand by me on TV, and everytime he would appear, my older sister would say something like "he died in real life too."

I started to wonder around the house, discovering places and rooms I didn't saw on the app. Until I heard something drop behind me, i turned around as fast as I could, thinking that maybe Rain was still there. But instead, I saw a boy, a tall, skinny, with shaved head boy.

We stared at each other for about 30 seconds, and before I could speak anything, he said "Are you able to see me?"

I just nodded my head yes, and for a moment I  though I was hallucinating.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Cause I'm dead." He simply said and I immediately recognized him. That was Rain's dead brother. That was River Phoenix.

"Oh my god!" I put both my hands on my mouth and started to walk away from him.

"Don't worry, I'm not bad! I promise you, I wont do anything to you." He said trying to calm me down. "It's just that... I died, and I keep coming back here, I'm stuck here for life... Or death" he was in fact calming me down with his sincerity. "They spreaded my ashes through the fields here"

"That's why you're still here." I said and he nodded. "I'm sorry, I'm just shocked. I've never saw a dead person before."  He chuckled at my honesty and fear. Not that I was afraid of him, he didn't seem scary to me.

"You can pretend that I'm not here, I won't be offended." He stated. "But, just as you know, you're the very first person to see me in 30 years, so, I have to confess that it's just amazing being able to have a conversation with somebody after such a long fucking time."

I smiled at his confession. I could pretend he was not there, but that would be the hardest thing. 1: he was so visibly happy to have someone to talk to. 2: he was River fucking Phoenix. And 3: he was dead cute. I mean, really cute and really dead also.

"We can talk, if you want to..." I said walking towards him this time. And getting colder the closer I was to him.

"I don't want to be a bummer to you." He said looking directly into my eyes. "But I would love to."

"Then we can talk. I'm actually here to have a deeper connection with nature, and I guess you're a part of it now" We both smiled and he holds my hand "Can I give you a house tour?" He asked and I nodded. Even though his hand was freezing cold, I never let it go, and we walked together around the house for hours and talked for hours as well.

[imaginesheaven]

Lonely Water (GN!Reader x TF141)

Lonely Water

GN!Reader x TF 141 (platonic)

Summary: You crash into the ocean with a helicopter during a mission. Waiting for your hopefully on time rescue you relive some of your favorite memories of your team. Kind of inspired by the song “Hold Back The River” by James Bay.

Callsign: Phoenix

Length: Around 2.3k words

Warnings: Swearing as always, angst, mentions of injuries, drowning

“Mayday! Eagle 3 is coming down in the middle of the ocean. The pilot is dead and I have no fucking clue how to fly this thing! … Oh, fucking hell…”

There is nothing but darkness around you. The mysterious but dark night sky with thousand shining stars above you and the deadly ocean lurking beneath you. The water is just waiting for you to lose the last of your endurance so you can sink into its cold embrace.

“I’m stronger than you think”, you hiss at the tiny waves of dark ocean water, but you are actually not sure how much longer you will survive. The cold of the sea comes creeping in what feels for hours now. It made itself a home in your bones so deeply freezing that your lips have turned already blue. The feeling in your arms and legs starts to fade just like your will of survival.

The helicopter sunk within minutes after the horrific crash into the water. There was literally nothing left to cling onto. You wouldn’t be Jack clinging for dear life onto a wooden door, while your true love stays safely above the freezing water.

The thought of the Titanic brings a weak smile onto your lips. At least you still got your humor with you to keep you company.

Darkness fills your mind with the sinking dread that your team probably wouldn’t be fast enough to rescue from this death trap. Your form floats on the water like a dead man hoping to delay the bitter end for just another few minutes.

The exhaustion slowly takes over as your eyes flutter shut desperate for a moment of rest. Cold water comes rushing over your face since the ocean was waiting for its chance to drown you in its embrace. The water is merciless. Adrenaline rushes through your vein bringing back your will to fight. You swim with weak strokes back to the surface. How much longer can you keep up against the sea?

“Oi! Not so fast, Phoenix!”, a familiar voice behind you yells out. The dirt beneath your shoes crunches as you jog through a patch of trees. Wait, a minute. The water surrounding you has vanished? This can’t be real, right? It hast to be a memory.

“Too bad you are so slow, Soap. You could easily catch up with me if you would work out a bit more”, you reply to the familiar voice behind you. Soap stares at you speechless for a second before he speeds up to catch you. Laughing you send him a wink and even put more speed on to outrun him more than easily.

Soap grunts with exhaustion ready to bring you down with him. He jumps forward his arms stretched out. This man is an open book for you for years now. Still grinning you make a step to the side completely out of his reach. Soap falls to the ground without you.

Absolutely pumped you start your little victory dance knowing exactly that in the distance Price, Gaz and Ghost are watching the two of you with binoculars. “That was quite a fall Soap took there”, the Captain comments the downfall of the poor Scott, “Pay up, Gaz.” The young soldier lets out a groan but always pays his bet debts.

“Phoenix could outrun us all, Gaz, never think otherwise”, no matter how often Ghost sees you running he is always mesmerized by your endurance.

“How can you be so damn fast?”, Soap can’t believe he lost once again. You give him a half shrug with your shoulder, “I imagine Death chasing me and what do we say to Death?”

“Not today”, you whisper smiling. The thought of your teammates brings you pure joy despite the fact you are probably going to drown. The only family you ever had and ever needed. For a second you close your eyes hoping to see more memories.

“So, your callsign is Phoenix. What’s the story behind it?”, Gaz asks you with a bright smile on his lips. Sometimes he reminds you of a little boy in a candy store. You can’t believe how much happiness his happiness can bring you.

“Well…”, you start your not so exciting story, but Soap interrupts you immediately: “Phoenix survived a car crash with a big explosion and came back out of its ashes like a Phoenix. Tada! The callsign was born!”

The silence in the room is deafening before you burst out with laughter, “What the hell, Soap?! No, that’s not what happened!” Everyone except Gaz gets a good laugh from this story. He looks so terribly confused and kind of intimidated at the same time.

“Poor Gaz is probably traumatized for the rest of his life. I like to burn things and someone else already had the fucking callsign Pyro so I had to improvise”, you explain him the situation with a few words. The young soldier rolls his eyes. Still a tiny smile on his lips can be seen.

“Have you any idea how hard it was to get Phoenix and Soap as both demolition freaks on the team? Explosions. Fires. Laswell was not happy at all”, Price recalls his quite one-sided conversation with her. The only thing she said was “NO!” over and over again. Well, she also said “FUCKING HELL FOR SURE NOT!” once. But Captain Price gets what he wants in the end.

A tiny tear rolls down your face, but you can’t feel anything anymore. The cold crept into every single fiber of your body.  In the end it doesn’t matter anyway. You are still surrounded by water so what matters a single tear escaping? It’s the only one. Way too tired you can’t share more than that tiny tear with the ocean.

“Are you fucking serious? You could have died!”, you hiss angrily at Ghost as you patch the bullet wound in his side up. The tough soldier keeps quiet letting you work. “It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall without a single thought behind those eyes. Except for sacrificing himself for someone else”, you keep going with your monologue. No one dares to speak like that to him. Except you. It’s always you.

Ghost can’t see how your hands are shaking. How the fear takes over your already worry-ridden mind. How you blame yourself for not being fast enough in the end. You could have prevented this from happening.

But Simon knows you better than you yourself sometimes, “Not for anyone. Only for you, Phoenix. I’m sorry, but please stop worrying. Stop blaming yourself. In the end it was my decision. That’s what we do for each other. Keeping each other safe, right?”

Not answering you put away the first med kit finally done with patching him up. Ghost isn’t the one with the soft side, but with you it is so easy to feel safe for once. You stand up hoping to run from this conversation. His hand stops you dead in your tracks as he grabs your wrist, “Right?”

A slight smile appears on your lips still not turning around to face him, “Of course… but you are still a brick wall.” Simon can’t help himself but smile too behind his mask.

What have you done? If Simon would be here with you, he would hold this whole conversation against you. It’s the same reason that has brought you into the middle of the ocean. You wanted to keep them safe. Your team. Your family.

The helicopter was loaded with explosive meant to kill. Bombs. Soap’s favorite. There was no time to defuse them. You had not a single second to think about it. Just enough time to act on impulse. What a great idea to bring the helicopter down over the ocean far away to hurt someone else. But what about you?

“No, you are not stronger than me, Gaz”, Soap puts down the money for his bet. There is never a dull moment with those clowns. A tiny smile appears on your lips as you nurse your lonely drink in your hand.

“What’s so funny?”, Price notices your rather happy facial expression. “Nothing, just happy to be alive”, you reply simply. The Captain doesn’t need an explanation what you mean exactly. He just knows. You don’t need to elaborate how they give you a feeling of being home. How they are like the family you never had before in your life. They are everything you need to be happy.

But now it is time to let go.

Tired you keep your eyes closed as the cold water pulls you down into its embrace. You are not scared anymore to give up this time. Only gratefulness and happiness are present in your heart and mind. The joy you experienced is more than enough for a whole lifetime.

For the last time you open your eyes to see the darkness around you. It was the only friend you had the last few hours. The tiny waves trying to lull you into a memories-filled sleep. The cold making it easier to let go. You have been tired for so long already. Tiny air bubbles escape and leave you behind.

The darkness lurks beneath you, but above the water surface shines a strange light. Is that the beacon of hope you were looking for the whole time? There are voices too, but you can’t understand what they are yelling. You are sinking further and further. Far away from the light.

Above the lonely water your team is looking for you desperately.

The thought sends a surge of energy through your body. As hard as you can you wave your arms and legs completely uncoordinated. Still the movement brings you closer to the surface. You can’t give up now. Not so close to them.

Your whole body is numb and hurts at the same time terribly. The ocean gives its best to keep you to itself. The cold clouds your mind. Are you paddling into the right direction? Are you going further down?

Then your arm breaks through the surface. But that’s all you had left in you.

Something grabs your hand so tight you almost screamed out loud because of the pain. Your head is still underwater. There is another tightness in your lungs screaming for just a tiny bit of fresh air.

Slowly you get dragged out of the darkness. Leaving the ocean behind. You take a gasping breath. The world outside the water is so overwhelming. The lights blind you for a moment. The loud noises roar in your ears. Pure chaos. For a moment you miss the calming darkness of the ocean.

A slight smile would appear on your lips as you see the faces of your teammates, but that’s too much for now. Gaz and Soap have their hands tightly on your arms, while Price and Ghost try to heave you into the helicopter by your tactical vest. All your gear got extremely heavy soaked with ocean water to the brim. You wish you could help them out, but you reached your limit of energy a long time ago. They lower you to the ground finally freed of the water.

“We got Phoenix. Go, Nik”, Price gives his order to Nicolai. Your favorite Russian pilot. Ghost and Soap try to get rid of your tactical vest together. Gaz stands ready with a blanket to warm you up. They keep talking to you, but you can’t quite follow their words. Your mind still frozen in place.

“Hey, hey. You broken?”, John puts his hand on your ice-cold cheek to get your attention. This time you can manage a weak smile, “Define broken, Captain.” He lets out a deep sigh full of worry but more than happy to hear your voice once again.

“Don’t ever do this again, muppet. You were out there the whole night. We- … We literally thought you were gone. Want to sit up?”, Price grabs your shoulder softly too scared to hurt you after what you went through. Ghost on the other side helps you too to sit up.

The sun starts to rise on the horizon bringing another day to this earth. Another day you are able to see. Another day to be alive.

“You damn lucky bastard. The endurance from your jogging probably saved your ass out there”, Simon can’t believe he gets another chance to see you again. It breaks his heart to see you beaten up and weak like this, but you are alive.

“What do we say to Death?”, Soap asks you grinning like always. “Not today”, you reply enjoying the little inside joke the two of you have.

Price puts his leg behind your back so you can relax yourself against him. Ghost rests his hand on your shoulder letting himself feel grateful to have you back. Soap sits next to you. Shoulder against shoulder. Just like out in the battlefield. Gaz holds one of your hands in his to get them back to normal temperature.

Your little family.

Lonely Water

Let us hold each other

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Sunsweet Prunes

Ray Bradbury: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the lazy summer of youth Bradbury: long days down by the river, fishing in miller's pond, afternoons at the soda shop, ice cream sundaes with fabulous unicorn worlds built of whipped cream, nickels for a dime Bradbury: and becky miller's freckled-face kisses Bradbury: sweeter than sunsweet prunes

Bradbury: sunsweet prunes, i tell you Bradbury: the only prune that's sweeter than a nostalgic midwestern childhood Bradbury: and they come in these little individually wrapped plastic packs too King: Poe: Barker: Koontz: Lovecraft: Bradbury: I just think they're neat

Bradbury: according to my stories, in the far distant future of 2001 Bradbury: we shall travel in tubes Bradbury: we'll have flying cars Bradbury: and we'll all be eating our sunsweet prunes out of individually wrapped plastic packs Poe: wait you never said that in your stories Bradbury: i wish i had Bradbury: i would have been 1 for 3 at least

Bradbury: look, they individually wrap these sunsweet prunes in plastic Bradbury: what a world! Bradbury: its like living in the not too distant future Poe: doesn't that create a lot of waste Bradbury:

Bradbury: tearing open this individually wrapped snack pack reminds me of tearing open presents on christmas morning, snow on the ground, ma and pa taking the day off from working the farm, the whole family arriving in a caravan of automobiles, aunts and uncles and cousins by the dozen, oh my! oh my! uncles a little too loud after three egg nogs, cousins playing cops & robbers in the hay loft

Bradbury: and the feasting, the jollity! too many voices all at once, raised in laughter, in song. the twinkle in dad's eye, the red roses in mom's cheeks, grandpa's baritone chuckle. falling asleep to the sounds of bing crosby on the tombstone radio, surrounded by the warm glow of early evening King: wow these prunes sound pretty incredible King: i'm sold! Koontz: [tearing open sunsweet prune container] guys Koontz: i think my prunes are broken Koontz: i didn't feel any of that stuff ray said

Poe: ray are they paying you to advertise for prunes Bradbury: no no of course not! Bradbury: i would never accept money to tell you about the incredible health benefits of america's favorite prunes, sunsweet Bradbury: full of 12 different antioxidents King: can i buy them with my american express card

Neil Gaiman: but ray! Gaiman: using the limitless vista of your inpirational mind to advertise a mere consumer good Gaiman: such a tawdry use of the gift of imagination! Gaiman: it cheapens us as writers just as the low low prices of chipotle cheapens organic rice and GMO-free beans to bring wholesome healthy Mexican inspired fusion cuisine to the masses

Gaiman: you can't leash the phoenix of creativity to the millstone of commerce! Gaiman: she must fly free! Gaiman: free like the secret dragon sauce available now at now extra charge at your local chipotle King: neil's right! Poe: about chipotle? King: about everything!!

[pomefioredove]

Noble Bell ; Book One, Part II ; The King of Truands

what if you were sent to Noble Bell College instead?

type of post: series characters: rollo, original characters (pierrot, bou, phoenix, clo!) additional info: reader is gender neutral, this is mostly my own vision, influenced by Disney's Hunchback, the 1939 movie, and the original novel word count: 3.4k

prologue | the king of truands, 1 | the king of truands, 2 |

Chapter Nine

The stairs are narrow and slippery, wet with what you can only hope is rainwater. The further you go, the less sure you are of that. 

You and Hugo, who has been eerily quiet so far, descend into a large, tall chamber, much wider than the halls you’d been wandering in earlier. The floor is hidden under a shallow covering of grimy water, and the walls are…

“What were you saying about cadavers, earlier?”

Thousands of eyeless sockets watch the two of you descend into the earth, not unlike themselves. If not for the delicate arches of the stonework, you would have thought the entire passage was made of bone. 

“Is this the Miracle Court?” you ask, looking from side to side as a thousand toothy grins smile back. 

Hugo bleats and shakes the murky water off his coat. “I’d say it’s more like the court of ankle-deep sewage,”

“Cheerful place,” you murmur. 

“I remember hearing about the ancient tunnels under the city, but…” Hugo pauses, side-eyeing an armor-clad skeleton, crumpled in a dark corner. 

“...This isn’t what I was picturing.”

Condensation on the arched ceiling drips into the ankle-deep waters below, conducting an orchestra of plops. You can’t help but feel grateful for the noise. 

You can’t imagine what it would be like if the only sound were your footsteps. 

“We must be under the river,” you say, looking overhead. “It’s so…”

“Disgusting?”

“I was going to say damp, but yes,” 

You can feel the stone floor dipping into the earth below your feet, and you give Hugo an anxious glance. You’re going deeper. 

Each slosh, each wet footstep, every drip of river water from the ceiling echoes off the stone walls, making a melody out of the tedious journey towards the center of the earth, or Hell, you’re still not quite sure yet. 

And, even with Hugo, even with the river, the water, the thousands of smiles surrounding you, this is, perhaps, the first time since you'd arrived that you felt truly alone. 

It’s scary how comforting the feeling is. 

In the absence of the looming dread that had been following you since this morning, you could have a moment to breathe, and to think. How long this day had felt…

Something, then, stops you in your tracks. 

Hugo takes a few more steps before turning. “Whatsit?”

Your eyes widen. “There’s…”

There’s a little sun, a breath of warmth, a faint, teasing orange glow, like the light at dawn, like the flames of a candle, just behind you and to your left. You had caught it as you passed it by, and, within that millisecond, it consumed your entire being. 

Hugo seems to notice it, too. Or maybe not. “...You think there’s people down there?”

You don't respond. It calls to you. It cuts through the sound of water, breathing, and Hugo’s voice, parting it like the sea, and beckoning you into its depths. The longer you stare, the warmer it becomes, its edges red, its light racing to you like fingers, and-

The illusion of loneliness is shattered into pieces, the sound of laughter filling the cracks. You and Hugo share a careful look, and then move towards the cheers, leaving the glow behind as you drag your feet through the murky water. 

Then, there's light. 

The floor rises from under your feet, the passage narrows, the water becomes lower and lower until you’re walking on dry stone, the smell of mildew becomes bread and fire, and, suddenly, there’s an opening in the wall, from which the sounds and smells and yellow light are coming. 

“We have good noose tonight, everybody!”

Your steps slow, and you hold a finger to your lips, shushing Hugo. 

Peering over the high threshold of the carved door, it’s as if you’re looking into an entirely different place. 

Over the threshold, the catacombs expand into a wide, vaulted hall, lined with fine furniture, cushions, pillows, tapestries and blankets of every color and pattern hanging from the walls and ceilings, garlands of flowers and vine, candles suspended in air and in alcoves in the walls showering the chamber in warm, inviting light. 

Unlike the mossy and mildewed stone of the passage, the walls, floor, and ceilings are impeccably well-kept and clean. The smell of something baking is enough for you to imagine more rooms, more passages, beyond. 

What concerns you is not the state of the hall, though, nor is it the dozen-or-so students, dressed in a variety of colors, from a variety of backgrounds, each speaking their own language…

On the contrary, it is the drably-dressed rather boring boy on a gallows at one end of the hall. He’s sickly pale, and seems to be in a heated argument with a man in an executioner’s outfit beside him. 

“Pierrot,” you whisper to Hugo. He coughs. 

“Again!” Pierrot says, eyes wide. “You know me! I am the author, Pierrot Gregoire!”

The boy beside him adjusts his black cap, checks himself in the reflection of a guillotine blade beside them, and then hums. 

“Hmhmhm… No, doesn’t ring a bell,”

“Clodio! We have drama club together! I saw you less than two hours ago!”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s what they all say,”

The crowd that had gathered beneath the gallows laughs and claps along. You and Hugo share a glance, and when you look back, the boy- Clodio- is dressed in a long robe, not unlike the Noble Bell uniform, is wearing a wide-brimmed hat, and holding a puppet…

You narrow your eyes. “How did he-” 

“Now that we have seen all the evidence- wait, I object!” says the puppet, “Overruled! But I object! Quiet!”

Hugo makes a face, and you share the look. When you look back, Clodio is dressed as an executioner… again. 

“Ahem. Now that we’ve seen all the evidence, we find you completely and utterly normal… which is the worst crime of all! Thou shalt be hanged!”

“Wait!” 

You gasp, stumbling out of the opening in the wall and into the warm, well-lit chamber. Pierrot sighs in relief, “There you are-”

Clodio shushes him, and turns to you. “Ah… how timely! We were wondering when you would come!”

You climb the ladder to the gallows, noting the good condition of it, and hurry to Pierrot’s side. 

“Your friend?” Clodio asks, grinning and leaning against the lever that would have sent Pierrot to his… is that plastic?

Pierrot’s eyes turn to you. 

“...Yes,” you finally say, throwing the noose off of him. He sighs, and his knees give out. 

“How unfortunate…” Clodio says, rubbing his chin. “But, I dare say, that was my best performance yet!”

The little group of bystanders hoots and hollers, and he gives a bow. When he stands upright, his outfit has, again, changed entirely. Now, he’s dressed in a dark blue, pinstripe shirt, with a lavender vest and a large, almost obnoxiously so, golden-hued bowtie. He snaps a pair of white gloves over his hands, and bows to you. 

“Welcome to our court. You are permitted, with the highest honor, to call me by the name of Clo, Clodio Lefou, or, should it agree with you, the King of Truands. Now, make yourself comfortable- have you eaten yet?”

You give him an odd look. “Um…”

Clo stands. His bowtie is now a white straight tie. Matching bows and magenta feathers in his hair, which is dark, and pulled into a short, messy ponytail, and a single golden earring have also accented his person. 

“No, of course not… Well, let’s eat. Can’t have you going hungry, now, can I? What sort of leader would I be, hm? Come along- you can bring your friend, too,” 

You glance towards Pierrot, who’s just now getting off the floor. A single bleat, muffled by the tapestries on the stone, comes from behind, and Hugo leaps over the opening and into the hall. 

“Ah, and your goat,” Clo says. “Don’t worry, I get along well with kids. Pets, too.”

Hugo nips at him. “Who’re you calling a pet?”

“Ah, my deepest apologies. Now, come along,”

---

You follow the self-proclaimed “King of Truands” into another hall of the Miracle Court, a smaller room with a single, long, scuffed table going down the belly of it. On it- bread, butter, meats and cheeses of every kind, grapes and apples…

The group of students sits around it, passing plates and chatting amongst themselves. Pierrot’s hands are still shaking as he accepts a platter of cured meats. 

“I’m afraid you caught us in the middle of a rehearsal,” Clo says, piling your plate with bread and cheese before you can refuse. 

“Awfully realistic…” Pierrot murmurs, wrapping his hand around his neck with a sickened expression.

“Thank you!”

You glance between the two. 

“...What is this place…?”

Clo spreads a thin layer of goat cheese over a slice of bread for you, and sets it on your plate.

“Ah, I suppose you wouldn’t know the story. You’re in our Miracle Court… well… something of it. Long ago, during the time of the Righteous Judge, there was a safe haven for all outcasts under the streets of Fleur City, a home where they could seek sanctuary, community…

…Its original place remains somewhat of a mystery. What you see is only an abandoned waterway under Noble Bell College. What we have made it…”

As he speaks, you’re drawn to the people sitting around the table. They’re all quite different, from their appearances to their accents to their mannerisms. Some boys, some girls, some are older, some younger, some you’re not even sure are students at all…

“Consider us a… fourth dorm, if you will,” Clo says. 

“Outcasted, rejected, by the upstanding man, the scholar of Noble Bell-” he says, puffing out his chest for emphasis, his outfit changing back to the uniform you’d become so accustomed to, and then back to his suit. 

“-We’ve become a family of our own.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you,” Pierrot says, narrowing his eyes. “-I’m just as much of an outcast as any of you! I also lost my scholarship! I was also thrown from my dorm! I’ve been living in the old cemetery all year, and half of last!”

Clo wags his finger. “Nonsense. Just this morning, as I was method acting, I saw you in the dining hall, your plate stacked to the roof!”

Pierrot’s mouth gapes, and then he shuts it. 

You lean into the conversation, separating the two. “...That may have been my fault. I let him have my breakfast,”

“Ahh… now, that would make sense. I didn’t see you eat a thing,” Clo hums. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“I did say so!”

Now, another thought is occurring to you, one that sends a shiver of hope up your spine. You can't help but- “It was you who was following me all day,” 

Both Hugo and Pierrot give you a questioning look, but you don't have the mind to answer them now. Clo hums. 

“...I suppose I was. I had to be sure of you, of course- an invitation to our little court of miracles is special,”

It was only him.

You let go of yourself, exhaling, losing your tension, sedated with a powerful dose of relief. Of course, of course. You had worried yourself about nothing. 

The uneasy feeling lingers, though. You tell yourself it's only stress.

“...I appreciate it. But if anyone deserves a spot in your court, it’s Pierrot. He’s rather unlucky,”

Pierrot hangs his head, as if purposefully looking for sympathy. “It’s true…”

Clo glances between the pathetic sight, and yourself, his eyes narrowing.

“Don’t excuse yourself so soon. Scholarship or not, you are an outcast. You may not think so yet, but Noble Bell has a way of reminding you when you don’t belong…”

Pierrot glares at him, and then turns to you, his voice softening. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an actor,”

“Says the poet!”

“AND PROUD OF IT!”

Clo bursts into a fit of giggles, clearly enjoying the company. Someone passes him a bottle and he pours more grape juice into your glass. 

“If you would like to join my court, you ought to be nicer to me. I am the king, after all,”

You tilt your head. “What does that mean? The King of Truands?”

“Well,” he says, rubbing his gloved hands together. “It is my part. That is to say, my role, my muse, my character! I wrote the part myself, too-”

Pierrot rolls his eyes. 

“-Based on the legendary king of beggars himself, who ruled the Court of Miracles, just as the Righteous Judge watched over The City, the Knight of the Sun protected The Ville, and The Curious Scholar led L'Universite…”

You glance towards Hugo, sitting under the table at your feet, and he mouths "explain later."

“Yes, yes, we’ve all heard the story,” Pierrot grumbles, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. 

“You never play any of my characters with such enthusiasm.”

“Your heroes are lukewarm and your villains are predictable- and I do bore of playing villains…” Clo sighs. 

“...But, putting aside our artistic differences, I see it only right to invite you to join our dorm, in the spirit of the King himself. And you-” he smiles at you. “...Should you ever need it, our doors remain open to you.”

Pierrot sighs, but accepts the offer with a little nod. You follow suit.

“It beats having to sleep in a grave,” Hugo grumbles. “Where’d you get all this stuff, anyway?”

“Made, donated, shared…” Clo shrugs. “The food comes from the flour mill outside of town- the miller is a sympathetic man.”

“Most ‘a the people in this city are,” the goat says. “I cut it good here. All I have to do is walk around a market looking all cute and sad until someone feels bad and tosses me their scraps.”

“Funny, I do the same thing,” Pierrot says through a mouthful. 

Clo laughs, and even you smile. 

You know you can’t stay here.

You’ll just end up attracting more attention than you already have, and by the looks of this room- the rejected would-be-students, the eccentric theatre actor, the rebellious writer- standing out at Noble Bell is anything but good. 

You’ll go back to the bell tower. You have to. 

Before that…

“Oh, right,” you say, taking something out of your pocket and holding it up to the light. “This was on the back of the letter you sent. But I have no idea what it means.”

Clo blinks at the sparkly pendant, and then grins. 

“It’s a popular emblem of Fleur City. Consider it a symbol of our acceptance,” he says. 

“But what does it mean?”

He shrugs. “No one truly knows. Nothing, probably- but there is a saying that goes along with it, though. When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand. Fun, no?”

An inexplicable sense of disappointment makes itself a home in you, and you hold the pendant closer to yourself, cradling it in your palm. 

The sounds of the conversation around you become distant. You run your fingers over the twine, the many colors of it, the small cross in the middle, and the smaller stone at its heart. Strange...

Against all reason, it’s caught your interest between its woven bands, and you can’t help but feel that it means something. 

“It’s getting late,” you say, excusing yourself from the table, and the conversation, which had turned to Pierrot and Clo bickering about the realism of the prop gallows.  

Pierrot looks up. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay? At least for the night- it’s much cleaner here than it is in the bell tower,”

You shake your head, and Clo abruptly jumps from the seat beside you, pointing a finger directly at Pierrot. 

“Speaking of! Let’s hose him down- he smells!”

The students cheer, chanting "he smells! he smells!", and Pierrot goes pale as his chair is lifted and he’s carried off. You wave goodbye, and turn to leave from the way you came. 

Chapter Ten

Alone. 

Without Hugo, the passage back to the school feels thrice as dark, and much tighter. Besides the way from which you came, every door you pass, every opening, even the windows in the walls are guarded by thick iron bars. Yet, still, you can’t help but wonder what lies beyond…

At least it makes finding your way back easy enough. 

Noble Bell has a way of telling you that you don’t belong…

Clo’s words dance around your thoughts, haunting you, leading you deeper into the abyssal pits. 

The water is up to your knees now. The river must rise and fall like the tide… perhaps it’s raining. The thought offers little comfort. 

You turn a corner, and then hesitate. To your right, now, is the thin passage where the orange glow had come from. The sun, the flame, the dawn. How you wished you could have cupped it in your hands…

You peer through the wrought-iron bars of the opening. 

No light. No glow. The water is thinner here, though no less dark. There’s only a thin, black stem reaching out of the depths, though it appears as if its flower had been torn off. 

By what, you wonder.

it doesn't matter. The glow is gone. You are alone again. 

Then...

“Hey! What are you doing down here?” 

Again, the door to your prison of mind is thrown open, and you whirl around to see…

“You again?” you ask, taking a step back through the inky water. How strange. You didn’t even feel him coming. 

Phoenix puts his hands on his hips. “I thought I’d told you. It’s unsafe down here. You’re really not supposed to be…”

“Did you follow me?” 

He hesitates, his brow turning up, the stern expression on his face becoming confused. “I was going to ask if you had followed me. I’m on student council business,”

“Under the school,” you say. “...Again?”

“I was given orders. No one is to be in the waterways unattended,”

Your rational mind, the one that had, unfortunately, come with you when you woke up in this strange place, wants you to explain. Your gut resists. 

Some things are just better off as secrets, after all. 

“I got… lost again,”

For a moment, it seems as if Phoenix has something stuck in his throat. Then, he coughs, then, he laughs. 

“Oh, right. You’re pretty ditzy, aren’t you? Here, let me take you back,”

You grimace. You don’t appreciate his choice of words, but… he bought the excuse. Perhaps you’d picked up a thing or two about acting from Clodio Lefou. 

You still have much to learn.

Chapter Eleven

Phoenix blazes ahead, cutting a path through the sewer with the confidence of a man much wiser than him. 

You keep to yourself. It’s a long walk back to the surface, and you’re not in the mood to chat. You’re tired, wet, smell of sewage, and have been going in circles about what turned out to be a curious theater kid all day. 

Silly, silly… 

You scold yourself. This place will drive you mad if you’re not careful…

You’ve had enough of secrets and mysteries for a lifetime, and it’s only been a day. 

Phoenix is some ways ahead of you, talking to himself about some silly thing or another, answering his own echo. As if you’re not even there. 

People here seldom look at you. 

And yet, you can’t help but-

...

Your feet suddenly refuse to move. 

You stop in place, letting Phoenix’s voice get further and further from you, until you can’t hear him at all. Just the drip, drip, drip of the catacombs, the sound of your heart...

And the footsteps behind you. 

You want to believe it’s Clo, it's someone from the court, the one you’d left behind some time ago, but you know it isn’t. You always knew it wasn't.

It’s coming from one of the iron-guarded gates. You can feel eyes on your back. Behind you, to your left. 

It breathes. 

This time, you can’t even shout. 

“Hey,” the light returns to you, Phoenix and his flashlight.

“You okay?”

His tone is soft. Gentle, almost, which is strange for him, and must mean you look as scared as you feel. 

He comes over to you, loops your arm around his, and continues walking you out of the catacomb, practically dragging you behind him. The feeling of being watched, the lingering, sticky, suffocating fear, vanishes behind you. 

But you know it’ll be back. 

Phoenix brings you to the surface, lifting you from perdition with a strength you couldn’t have guessed from his height and soft features. 

“Alllmost there,” he keeps saying that, quietly, all the way up to the bell tower, as if reassuring you.

It works… a little. 

He says good night, and leaves you there.

There are very few things you understand about this world, its people, its history,

Its magic. 

But as the door to the bell tower closes, trapping you inside, just as much a prisoner as you were before, alone but safe, you understand this:

There is a monster inside Noble Bell College. 

And only you know it's there.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

I think that during the first and second wars Death Eaters did attack Muggles, but nothing so extreme that it would make Muggle headlines. It seems like when it comes to attacking Muggles Voldemort kept the Death Eaters on a tighter leash than when they would attack their fellow wizards and witches.

Why do you think that is? I can imagine a fair few Death Eaters itching for the chance to really let loose and go on a rampage, to break the Statute and show the Muggles just how "inferior" they are. Why do you think Voldemort kept them mainly focused on the Wizarding World?

I think it might be because, growing up during the Second World War and especially during the Blitz, Voldemort knows just how dangerous Muggles really are, something that the Death Eaters truly don't get at all. Muggles have waged war on such a destructive scale that the Wizarding World never has, which Voldemort has seen first-hand.

I already talked about it here and here, and you're right. During the first war, Voldemort clearly kept more of a leash on his Death Eaters — both when attacking muggles and fellow wizards. The only wizards that seemed to be free reign for the Death Eaters to attack were those affiliated with the Order of the Phoenix, and even then he only allowed them to be killed really towards the end of the war from 1979.

And I think that's because he doesn't really want a lot of people dead. Like, he's not a good guy, he won't mind if some died, but Voldemort consistently tries to avoid what he considers unnecessary casualties, both magical and muggle.

In the second war, his patterns change somewhat since his goal is different. As I talked about here. He no longer just wants to distract the ministry with war while he does his thing, he wants to kill Harry Potter. Because that's his sole focus, he isn't nearly as involved (He is so uninvolved in his own government takeover Umbridge can walk around with Slytherin's locket and claim it as her family heirloom without dying a torturous death) and the first chapter in HBP shows how that effects the muggle casualties:

How on earth was his government supposed to have stopped that bridge collapsing? It was outrageous for anybody to suggest that they were not spending enough on bridges. The bridge was fewer than ten years old, and the best experts were at a loss to explain why it had snapped cleanly in two, sending a dozen cars into the watery depths of the river below. And how dare anyone suggest that it was lack of policemen that had resulted in those two very nasty and well-publicized murders? [The murders were Vance and Bones, both witches] Or that the government should have somehow foreseen the freak hurricane in the West Country that had caused so much damage to both people and property?

(HBP)

The Death Eaters clearly attack muggles in the second war when Voldy just isn't there to tell them no. Yes, the two outright murderers were of witches, but the bridge collapse and the hurricane clearly hurt and killed muggles.

So, in the first war, yeah, Voldy didn't want to cause unecessaariy death among both muggles and wizards. In the second war, he cared way less about keeping his Death Eaters in line, but, still, when given the chance, when he was on the scene, he did limit them:

You have fought,” said the high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. “Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. “Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. “You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

(DH)

Yes, he is ready to kill each and every one of them if it means he gets what he wants (killing Harry Potter) but Voldemort wishes to avoid unnecessary death, both magical and muggle:

He saw the small boy’s smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face. Then the child turned and ran away. . . . Beneath the robe be fingered the hand of his wand. . . One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother. . . but unnecessary, quite unnecessary. . . .

(DH)

Voldemort lets muggle kids go after they saw him because their deaths aren't necessary. He thinks of himself as merciful. He doesn't kill without a reason and when he's around, he forces his followers to obay his own moral code.

But I don't think it has anything to do with him fearing muggles. I don't think he's too concerned with the well-being and secrecy of the wizarding population. Voldemort doesn't really care for ruling and would likely not lift a finger to help wizards if muggles found them out and decided to nuke them. I don't think he'd care enough to do something.

Like, he won't kill someone when he doesn't have a reason to, but he won't save someone if he doesn't have a reason to either.

Like, I think Voldemort is wary of muggles and would rather not reveal wizards to them, but I don't think that's his top concern in how he manages his Death Eaters. Because while he is wary, he does look down on muggles and thinks they would just never figure it out because they're too stupid (he thinks the same about most wizards, tbh). So, I don't think that's a big part of his motivation on why he avoids muggle casualties.

[citrusandrottefruit]

Famous! Eddie x Famous!Steve | Singer!Eddie x Actor!Steve

A Brazilian singer wrote a song for River Phoenix after watching a movie he was in. They became friends after that. There are rumors that there may have been more. I was thinking: what if it was steddie? The 90s. Eddie, a famous and established singer, writes a song for Steve Harrington, an actor who is starting to get more attention, because he was so intrigued by the performance in the movie, that he became interested in the person behind the character. They meet at an Eddie concert, become friends and form a deep bond. Steve even visits Wayne and spends some time at his house, with Eddie, and Eddie's friends. I imagine a fic like this as something that really explores their psyche, where they really talk and share a lot about themselves, although they hesitate to tell each other that they are in love, fearing the media reaction. A little sad, but not because something horrible and big happens to them, just because it's sad to hide. They become part of each other's family, keeping their lives private, always surrounded by rumors, but protected and kept among those they love, until they feel safe and confident enough to reveal the truth.

[stephstars08]

The Only Exception

River Phoenix x Reader

Warnings: Some Adult Language, Angst, Fluff, Mention of Messy Divorce, Mention of Fighting, Abandonment, Mention of Sexual Activities, Daddy Issues, and Possible Grammar Errors (Sorry if I Forgot Any!!)

Summary: Growing up Y/N’s mother always told her that there is no such thing as true love and for a long time Y/N believed her mother. Well, until she met a blonde haired boy named River Phoenix.

Song Inspiration: The Only Exception by Paramore

Word Count: 1,451

Author’s Note: This is my first River Phoenix story. I know there aren’t a lot of River Phoenix stories on here and some people wanted me to write for him so I finally did! I’ve been wanting to write a story based off this song forever since it’s been one of my favorite songs ever since I was a little girl so I definitely suggest listening to the song before reading! I hope you all enjoy!🩵

Y/N is from a small town in Ohio but moved to California after she turned eighteen and has now lived there for almost two years. The reason why Y/N left Ohio was because of the bad memories that were made there. Y/N doesn’t just come from a single broken home, she comes from two broken homes.

When Y/N was just four years old her parents split up from a marriage that wasn’t filled with love. The only reason why her parents got married was because her mom got pregnant with her. Y/N would constantly hear her parents yell and scream at one another. Sometimes she would hear glass and furniture slamming against the walls and shattering.

When they finally divorced Y/N thought things would get better but they didn’t. In the beginning of the divorce Y/N lived with both of her parents separately. One week she would be living with her mom and then the next week with her dad but that didn’t last long. When she turned ten her father remarried and started another family. He wanted nothing to do with her or her mother. He just cared for his new wife and kids.

Y/N’s mother never remarried because of the heartbreak Y/N’s fathers caused not just her but Y/N as well. As Y/N grew up her mom would always tell to never fall in love because love doesn’t exist. All love does is crush you into a million pieces and most of Y/N’s life she believed what her mother said to her was true. There is no such thing as true love.

Well, she thought that until she met the one and only River Phoenix.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It was an early Friday morning and Y/N just started her shift at the 50’s style diner she works at. As she was cleaning off the counter she would glance up at the glass doors from time to time. “You on the look out for your boyfriend?” She heard a voice say. When Y/N looked over she saw her best friend/co worker Lori looking at her with a teasing look in her green eyes. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Y/N told her in a stern tone. “But you want him to be your boyfriend.” Lori said to her. Y/N just stayed silent.

Yes, what Lori just said was very true but Y/N doesn’t feel like she’s ready to admit it out loud.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes.” Lori told her and walked into the back where the kitchen is. Y/N let out a heavy sigh and went back to wiping down the counter.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A couple of hours passed when River finally walked through the glass doors with the same couple of friends he always comes in with. Y/N was waiting on a couple and their three children at the counter so she didn’t notice River had showed up. When she walked over to the cash register to put the money the customers gave her was when her Y/E/C eyes met River’s memorizing ones.

Y/N just shook it off and opened the cash register to put the money in it. As she waited for the receipt to print she could feel River’s strong gaze on her. That strong gaze he has always makes her feel like her heart is going to beat out of her fucking chest. That’s the effect River has on her.

“Here comes your boyfriend.” She heard Lori whisper into her ear as she walked behind her to the coffee machine. Before Y/N could say anything back at Lori she heard River say her name. There he is. The man that is making her doubt what her mother always told her.

“Sorry to bother you while you’re working but I need to talk to you about something.” River told her. “It’s okay. You could never bother me.” Y/N told him in a reassuring tone in her voice. “What do you need to talk about?” Y/N asked him with curious in her voice. “Are you and Lori doing anything tonight?” River asked her. Y/N answered his question with a shake of the head. “My guys and I are having a party on the beach tonight and we would love it for you two to come.” River told her. Before Y/N could say anything Lori appeared behind Y/N. “We’ll be there!” Lori told River with an exciting smile on her face. “Cool, party starts at seven.” River said as his lips curved into a smirk. “See you tonight.” River added and turned back around to walk back to the table where is friends are sitting.

“Lori! What the fuck was that?” Y/N said with a hiss as she looked at her with a glare in her eyes. “What? What did I do?” Lori asked with confusion in her tone. “You know how I feel about parties.” Y/N reminded her with frustration in her voice. “Y/N, this is your chance with River.” Lori told her. “I know you two are crazy about one another. Sometimes you need to step out of your comfort zone to get with the boy you like.” Lori explained to her.

Y/N knew that Lori again was one hundred percent right. “Okay.” Y/N told her with a nod. “That’s my girl.” Lori said giving her a pat on the shoulder. Lori walked away back over to the coffee maker. Y/N let out a sigh as she grabbed the receipt out of the printer of the cash register.

Y/N glanced over at River. He was laughing at something on of his friends said. Y/N couldn’t help but put on a soft smile. She looked away and walked over to the family she was waiting on.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

When Y/N arrived at the party with Lori she could feel her nerves start to pace. There is a lot more people at the party than she thought. As the night went on, Y/N would mingle around with Lori but once she started to talking to this one guy, she forgot all about Y/N.

Y/N decided to go sit down in the sand by herself a little bit away from the loud crowd of people. As she sat there she watched the waves crash on the shore line in front of her. “Hey.” She heard a familiar voice say to her. When she looked up she saw that the voice belonged to River. “Hi.” Y/N said in a soft voice. “Can I sit with you?” River asked her in a curious tone. After Y/N answered his question with a nod he bent down and sat right down next to her. Y/N could feel the butterflies in her stomach go into a frenzy.

“Where did Lori go?” River asked her. “Probably fucking with the random guy she ditched me for.” Y/N told him with annoyance as she stared out at the ocean. “Does she always ditch you to go fuck with a random guy?” River asked her which made her let out a sigh in frustration. “Pretty much. That’s why I don’t like coming to parties.” Y/N told him.

A comforting silence fell between the two as they both looked out at the beautiful blue water.

“What are you hiding from me?” River asked her breaking the silence. That question took Y/N by surprise. “What?” Y/N asked with confusion looking over at him. “I don’t know about you but I can feel something between us but when I go to make a move I feel like you shut your feelings away from me.” River explained to her looking at her with softness in his eyes. “When it comes to love, I caution myself.” Y/N told him. “May I ask why?” River asked her.

Y/N looked back out at the water. This will be the first time she’s told someone about her childhood. “Growing up, my mom always told me that love doesn’t exist and it’s just a shit show that breaks you down.” Y/N told him. “But?” River said sensing that there is more. “I recently made one exception.” Y/N told him still not looking at his strong gaze.

River used one of his hands to her chin to move her head towards him so that they were looking at each other in the eyes. “What is that exception?” River asked as his eyes locked onto hers. “You.” Y/N answered in a soft tone.

River moved his hand from her chin to one of her cheeks. Y/N leaned into his touch as his thumb gently stroked her cheek. River leaned in and connected his lips with her’s. As Y/N kissed him back she felt like she was on cloud nine.

Thanks to a boy named River, she believes that there is such a thing called true love.

[jordannnggg]

There should be the equivalent of intimacy coordinators but specifically for advocating for children in the entertainment industry. Someone who makes sure they aren’t overworked, abused, sexually abused, groomed, given substances etc. They would be a separate entity from the artist’s management team because they obviously have a vested interest in working artists to the bone for money.

Imagine if someone had stepped in and said you can’t make the boys perform while they’re sick or injured? Someone to say they need more than 2 nights in a country and that they needed a longer breaks to be with their families. Or no you can’t pull Zayn out of bed 30 minutes after he’s fallen asleep to record (after he’d just performed).

Someone who could testify against pedophiles who prey on these kids in the industry and out them sooner. Or have someone arrested for giving a teenager hard drugs and alcohol before they become addicted.

Someone who could identify when these kids are having a mental health crisis before they’re too far gone. Someone who can teach them about their rights, when someone is trying to take advantage of them and how to create boundaries for themselves.

Call them Child Advocacy Coordinators. Actors talk all the time about how much intimacy coordinators have helped them. Maybe instituting something like this for kids would stop another generation of Liam Payne’s, Amanda Bynes’, and River Phoenix’s.

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

Reading about the cultural and social importance of bathing throughout Chinese history (because I am exactly the kind of person who spends hours reading about the cultural and social importance of bathing throughout Chinese history for no particular reason on a Tuesday night) and obviously now I'm imagining the sects all lowkey competing with regards to their public baths -- or at least the ones meant for visiting disciples and dignitaries.

The Jin are obviously doing The Most and being incredibly tacky about it. The floor of the bath is made of gold tile that dull super quickly and the whole tub needs to be frequently drained so the tiles can be deep cleaned and polished, and of course once they're shiny they reflect light up and through the water in a way that's actually really distracting. The bath bean has crushed pearls and seventy four different types of flowers in it. The benches are intricately engraved and inlaid with gems in places that pinch your butt when you sit on them.

The Nie have a natural hot spring that they have turned into their main public bath. The massive cavern houses a number of varying-sized pools, some of which interconnect and others of which are freestanding. The free standing pools are typically treated with different soaks to give the water various medicinal properties (most often for things like muscle aches or minor injuries, but also for skincare and such.) I imagine the Nie recipe for bath-bean would include animal fat and pancreas, making it very rich and cleansing.

Part of me wants to say the Jiang would just bathe in the lake but that seems cheap to me, so instead: Through a combination of well-placed pipes and clever array work, the Jiang bath house feels like a mini indoor rainstorm, with water falling in thousands of warm droplets from the ceiling above to fill the pools, which are more shallow that a typical bath would be. There are built-in overhangs you can sit under to get out of the "rain" while still being in the water. If requested the rain can be "turned up" and the lights dimmed, and cymbals crash so you feel like you're really standing out in a raging thunderstorm, which some people find incredibly soothing and others find terrifying. I can't think of anything unique for the bath bean other than lotus flowers but I do think, given the proximity to the river, that mud wraps would be a common treatment offered.

The Lan... probably have the worst public baths, actually. They may not even actually have a public bath at all. If they do have one, it's not meant to be a place of luxury or entertainment, although of course it would be tastefully decorated and comfortable. Rather they'd find some way to make public bathing less about socializing and more about silently meditating while pretending you aren't surrounded by other naked people. I guess the cold springs kind of sort of count as a public bath but not really. Bath bean smells distinctly medicinal, but obviously whatever is in it works, because the Lan all look Like That.

The public bath in Qishan stopped being a popular attraction when Wen Ruohan stopped having visitors, but for years their bath was one hell of a marvel. Massive, bronze statues of phoenixes would be heated until glowing-hot and then lowered into the stone tub, filling the air with thick steam. Patrons would sit around the room on their benches, sweating it out until the statues had cooled enough for the water to be safe to enter. If you wanted a cold bath, the adjoining room was also home to a massive bronze statue, this one of a dragon that sat in the center of the tub and poured cool water out of it's mouth. Bath bean was made with plant ash rather than rice or soybean powder, and the water was all treated with volcanic ash.

And, because I am Me, the Wei sect: I'm imagining a dark hall deep in the cave systems, the floor lined with man made in-ground pools of varying sizes not entirely unlike the Nie baths, however these pools aren't connected to an outside water source or each other. There are illusion arrays carved into the walls that send out glowing, ghostly shapes of fish and otters and other river creatures swimming through the air. The pools are filled through overhead pipes that pour water, oils, and herbal mixtures into the pool, and each pool has access to it's own set of labeled levers, so a person or group of people can customize their bath while they're having it, adding more cool water, hot water, or various add-ins. The bath bean is more of a paste due to the addition of a ton of collagen. (They get it from the kitchen's bone broth. The bones are not human, but that doesn't stop visiting disciples from scaring each other about it. Don't piss off the Yiling Louzu or you'll end up in the soap.)

[esthersixx]

Thinking about writing some river phoenix content here

[ryololart]

Tex Losing Her Legs

Tw: childhood trauma, gore, trauma in general, angst

My head is woozy, I can feel the blood draining from my forehead. It falls like rivers of red making paths down my cheeks to my chin where it drips off like a waterfall. Stars explode in front of my face. They cry and sing out for me, but their words are sharp and prick my ears. The sparks shine, coating my face in ash and dust making my eye itch and water. I try to stretch out my arms but they are limp to my sides. I am a phoenix rising from embers but forever cursed to wallow in her grave. It is sort of  beautiful to be stuck in such a state, unable to do a thing but watch as the world swallows me whole. 

“Up! Up! Texas let’s go,” the star's sorrowful plea is strained and exhausted. My mouth opens to say ‘I can’t’ but I have lost the ability to, instead a groan escapes. The sound does not appear as it has come from me, the pitch not familiar. The normal rasp is not equipped, instead it is wet and desperate. The dark around the stars becomes shaky. The once opaque landscape is translucent, colors shifting and changing behind a curtain. I can see time passing me by as I sit, unable to perceive the change. 

I heard a story once, about a man who lost connection to the International Space Station. He was on shift to repair something on the outside and his tether was not attached correctly. He floated out into space for three hours before someone was able to rescue him. He describes the incident as one of those life changing moments, where you realize everything is finite. One day you are at the top of your physics program, and worried about the upcoming test, the next you are with your family cheering that you got into the NASA Astronaut program, and then you are floating off into space, alone, in silence, where nothing matters. You look back at Earth now, from way above, no one knows that there is a man just floating above the atmosphere. Is that what God feels like? To just watch from above as patterns shift and change? This is what I imagine he felt like, time running away, no way to calculate how long it has been. No way to tell the people in your life how much you love them, no way to look back at all the things you have done in pride, no, you just drift away, empty, watching forever. God must be lonely.

I hoped that death would be like falling asleep after a long car ride and your parents carrying you to bed. You try to hide the smile that shows you did it on purpose to be carried, to feel the love that comes from that unspoken devotion a parent has to their child. The warm hands that could not be mistaken for another embrace your skin, unbuckling you from the seat. The being is so careful to climb up the stairs and to not let your creaky bed door ring out. Those same hands tuck you into bed as the body they belong to whispers a soft good night like a lullaby. 

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” the stars scream again, this time in the form of people. Their hands grip my shoulders as lights shine in my face. Not like the beautiful show from before, now like bombs going off overhead. The stars explode and shriek, bursts of color here and there. It overloads my senses and I feel myself sinking further into my grave. All the sudden you are not floating in space anymore, you are running with everything you have left to give.

Death is like a march to the finish line, not the gentleness of a parent’s love. Not the soft warmth of being carried home. No. It is the  pop of the gun that goes off before you are ready to run. The heart starts racing, the mind is on overdrive, the fight to survive flowing through your blood in the form of adrenaline. The lungs gasp for air, trying to climb out your throat to reach the oxygen, no amount that you gulp down makes a difference. There is a sitch in the side that is unwelcome telling you time is up, give in. Just give in. Yet the body keeps going, the perfect machine, determined to win against nature. 

“Evangeline,” the glaze that was once over my eyes evaporates into the air and I see the first familiar thing, a pair of dark gray iris’s pouring into mine. “Do not look down.” 

A pair of gloves that appear to be bleeding before me tilts my head up, completely disorienting me once again. I want to close my eyes and go back into the comfort of my dark escape, but my body is running the race, forcing myself to acknowledge the world. I try to let my lungs expand to open to the world but I choke on something thick and boiled. I try to spit, pushing my lips together but the muscles scream at me to stop moving. I give an involuntary cough at the uncomfort in my throat and my body lights up like a christmas tree. Every single nerve explodes into fireworks, expanding and contracting, trying to connect with the sky by reaching up into the atmosphere. Yet they stay trapped in my body, paralyzing me.

There is someone else there, I can feel his movements in the sensory receptors that is making up for my lack of awareness. He keeps my face tilted up towards his and I can hear sounds coming out his mouth but they do not mean anything. The gibberish is not familiar but his voice, so rough and brutal as I am used to,  is instead sorrowful and desperate. Something is wrong, I know this, but I crave the comfort of being unknowing. I choose that it is okay in this moment to accept that I will never see that starry night my brain made for me, I will only ever see the smoke clouding the ceiling like a mirror reminding me of my state. 

The pain fades for a second as I take my first breath and what must have been hours. I can feel the shakiness of my chest as it expands. My skin is hot and wet and I can’t grip onto anything. As my conscience awakens I frantically try to take in my surroundings. Gray cement floors. White walls now painted in abstract red. Black-covered bodies run in the room. As the relief floods the pain returns and I gasp loudly. The cough comes again, harder this time and blood follows out my mouth. It is sticky and warm, coating my chin and the hand holding up my face. 

“How much longer, Roach?” He exclaims, using his thumb to wipe the blood away.

“I need another minute, we gotta set what we can or we may lose half of her.” Roach yells back. That is when I realize I can’t feel below my waist, all the pain that is shooting through me is only from there up. I managed to look as far down as a can, only to be met with Roach’s body crouched over my legs. Or what seemingly remains of them. 

My hand flies up to grip Simon’s vest and he catches it reflexly. I look at him in shock trying to remember how to breathe, my legs, they are just masses of blood. My boot is twisted backwards on the right side, my left is bent at the femur. 

“No, Evan, stay with me. You are in shock, we are going to get out of here.” He holds my hand bringing it to his masked face. All my thoughts scream however, you are stuck, you are stuck, you are stuck. Suddenly I am no longer in the Karoknoze Mountains, I am in Sanderson, Texas.

 My childhood bedroom was characterized by lead paint and mold. The walls were a pale pink that was chosen by my mother. She was so excited to have a daughter, finally, after a boy who caused her so much trouble. Mason got in so much trouble, whether in school with other kids and teachers, or with our father. All my mother wanted was to raise a baby girl, a child that was one of her kind. One that would have her back and be on her side no matter what. The love between a mother and daughter is like no other, they are intertwined from birth. A daughter is the soul captured when it left her mother, the soul that is fighting over and over to remain innocent, however, all souls only exist to be corrupted.  It is the deer in headlights, trying to move, but stuck, in ever revolving hell. The car keeps coming and coming, yet you watch in awe, the lights are so beautiful. Let them come and take me, I’d rather bathe in this unforgiving light than live this light of fight. Women fight every single day to just exist peacefully, and every day it gets harder. Every single mother and daughter suffer the cycle, bending time in hopes that the original sin will be forgiven. However God is considered a Man. Men are not friends of women. The daughter carries her mother’s sins to try to become anew, to only suffer the same fate with the best of intentions. They are doomed. The door knob that has been broken off so many times twists and makes a horrible sound. 

“Mason, you are in the wrong room,” My 14 year old body sits up as I watch from the back of my mind. My thin, thread-bare, white tank top starts to fall off my shoulder as a small hand, worn and torn, pushes it back up. I can smell the drink on him, the alcohol writing over the damp smell that always sits in this room. I call him again as he opens  the door fully.“Mason.”

“Hola, Princessa,” He takes a swig from the bottle that swishes in his hand. His wife beater stained brown from the excess he indulges in. He tries to go for a Spanish accent but fails miserably, I’m not sure if it is the drink or the fundamental lack of ability. It is ultimately impressive that he cannot speak Spanish when he spends more time in Mexico and dealing with the Mexicans than in Texas.

“Mason, go back to your room.” My body sits up against the wall pulling the covers up with me. Fear is stricken in every joint as they creak and groan with the movements. I feel frozen physically, my bones molded together with metal. His heavy footsteps made the floorboards scream as he entered my room, the light from the window forcing a shadow behind him.

“I have missed you sister, you are always gone when I’m home,” His words slur as he approaches the bed. A hand gripping the covers, pulling against my own strength. My face quivers like a doe, his body just one big light. “You owe me little girl.” 

His bottle falls onto my bed as a knee breaches the soft blanket. I swing my legs over the side and my feet touch the floor as his hand lurches out, grabbing me by the face, my mouth covered in its wake. I scream but no one is here as he pulls me back. I am stuck. I am stuck. I am stuck. 

Then the door opens again but this time it is another beast with its own lights, however they are worn and dim. The lights speak to each other as I raise my hooves to his hand and let my teeth bite down as hard a possible. Blood sprays my face and he jumps back. I hit the floor and get to the window, pushing it up, and make my escape. Just as I get outside a bottle hits the window and the glass sprays everywhere. I gasp and hit the hard floor of the desert before limping out into the darkness, not bothering to check behind me.

Before  I can realize I am being pulled across the cement, the gentle hand that is holding my face has left me. Instead I can feel someone else’s reach under my back and pull me up. I try to rip myself away with the little strength I can muster but only a fool tries to run on broken legs. I am a horse to be shot for sure. I am no longer useful. 

Then I see the glint of the sunglasses in an already dark room, the shine of a gun being forced into my hand, a tap on the side of my face that only means one thing. Get home. When Roach realizes I am no longer fighting him he wretches me up and over his shoulder. I lay limply there, just my torso making contact with his strong body. My fingers squeeze my gun as I keep my eyes on the back of his heels. He pats the side of my thigh and he moves quickly and precisely. The hallways zigzagged like a maze. It’s all shaky, hard to perceive. Colors and lights dancing in front of my eyes as we make our escape. 

[probablyasocialecologist]

We need, quite literally, a revolution. And every revolution, lest we forget, is an architectural revolution. The Industrial Revolution brought about the dawn of modernism; the Russian Revolution initially saw the demise of bourgeois opulence in favor of Constructivism. The French revolutionaries looked upon the palace of Versailles with disgust, for it represented everything loathsome about monarchist French society: inequality, waste, and excessive filigree. So, too, under increasingly dire material conditions spurred by climate change and intersecting political catastrophes, will we look upon the McMansion. Maybe sooner than we think.

The present crisis surrounding the depleted Colorado River, owing to overconsumption and a world-historic megadrought plaguing the Southwest since the 2000s, will be the first real test of the McMansion way of life, the life of endless plenty. If the recession saw entire suburban developments reduced to eerie ghost towns, imagine what water rationing will do to golf courses in Phoenix, Arizona. Already, the nearby city of Scottsdale has cut off the wealthy suburb of Rio Verde from the municipal water service, leaving residents holding the bag. When the resources of the commons no longer subsidize the whimsies of the rich, when there is truly nothing left to drink or burn in the tank, then, and only then, will we be able to look at the McMansion in retrospect.

Kate Wagner, Bad Manors: The McMansion as harbinger of the American apocalypse

[johaerys-writes]

This is probably so random but do you have any modern au achilles outfit moodboards or anything because ISTG Pinterest has failed me and I’m trying to imagine a sort of modern day, high school Achilles. (And looking for outfit inspo too)

Can't say that I do, no! I have a sort of outfit board for BBB, but that isn't high school Achilles. I did have a moodboard for teenage disasters Achilles which I used for inspiration while I was writing, but since the fic is set in the 90s, that's sort of the style I went for. Imagine lots of ripped jeans, converse, oversized sweaters and cardigans, flannel etc (it’s basically just River Phoenix and Kurt Cobain lolol)

[ffxiv-swarm]

prompt 25: perpetuity

Zoraal Ja is mad, and his madness lends him strength far beyond what even his glut of souls can account for. The Scions are fighting for their very lives, never mind the fate of the star—and they are losing. They are losing. Gan nearly tumbles off the edge of the tower, only held back by Evrard diving to save her; Alan barely notices, so hard-pressed is he to defend against the King of Resolve’s attacks while Wuk Lamat gets her guts shoved back in by Alphinaud’s and Urianger’s frantic healing. Ritanelle is far back enough to see the entire battlefield, and she knows they’re not strong enough.

She knows—but she hopes.

And she reaches inside of herself, where the aether of every primal she’s ever faced slumbers like currents along the ocean floor, and she flips open her spellbook to a random page, and she prays. Anything she can summon to wrap around her valiant Ifrit-Egi will be a help. Anything.

She prays—

And raw aether erupts inside her, whiting out her vision, filling her ears with the clamour of great grinding bells and the steady tinkling of crystal like a dancing windchime. For a heartstopping moment all is white fire, she can’t see, she can barely think—the spell feels like Demi-Bahamut but different, glass instead of crackling blue flame. What has she...?

She thinks she feels a cool white hand brushing her cheek. She thinks she hears a voice whispering words she can’t make out, filling her with peace and resolve. But then it clears, and there is only the dragon.

It is lean and sinuous, stripped-down to its bare essentials. It has the horns and tail and great curved claws of Demi-Bahamut. But it’s a pale blue-white, as pale as the moon, and its wings—its wings are swords—no, its wings are Brands, whole and unbroken, a barrier against destruction—

It wants her to command it. It waits, patient as the Light, and there is a heartbeat of stillness where even Zoraal Ja’s frenzy seems to slow.

She finds her voice, and her aether. “Lightwyrm! Exodus!”

It’s not until later—much later, in fact, after Zoraal Ja is slain and Sphene is fled with the Key and something truly terrible is likely about to happen between their shards which they’ll have no way of preventing if they’re running on fumes—that she has the time to figure out what happened. New summons don’t appear out of thin air; even if they did, new spells certainly don’t, and she doesn’t think she was ever so deep in a frenzy of innovation that she’d forget writing it down.

Once she’s settled in her inn room with a mug of maté, she flips through her grimoire; each spell is bookended by inert dividers, because the last thing she wants is for any of the ink—or aether—to bleed. She can’t imagine what would happen if it did, but she’d be lucky if it was only the book that exploded. Carbuncles, Ifrit, Garuda, Titan...they’re all there, and that dragon was none of them. Demi-Bahamut was copied straight from Prin, and hasn’t been tampered with. The half-crazed scrawl of Phoenix, written while she was dying on the First and bolstered by infusions from the crystal of Azem. (She owes Avery her life many, many times over.) She’s never bothered writing down her trances; she doesn’t need equations to shape aether into fiery claws or gusty wings or heavy stone walls. But beyond Phoenix...

She runs her bare hand over the blank paper, feeling the echoes of aether. A cold so deep it burns. The profound stillness of glacial ice, of the peace found at the end of a long journey. Hope and love and a single crystalline tear sliding down Her Mother’s face to drop upon the open page. It had fallen open here, when...when...

“Know that my love will be with you forever, my dearest children. Ritanelle...I am so proud of you.”

Arms around her, the first and final embrace. Aether rushing into her like a river.

Oh, she thinks. Oh. Venat lives on.

She has the presence of mind to grab a napkin before she starts crying all over the page. When she can see through her tears, she’ll have to write the spell down properly. Gods know what’ll come out next time if she doesn’t.