#sometimes I wonder if I should have chosen to study it

[personalized-chaos]

Guys I miss drawing architecture so much T-T

[shorthaltsjester]

it is quite funny to me as someone who studies philosophy and has had to have the conversations that bh and ludinus have been having many times over and often with people who like ludinus do not have any reading comprehension and truly like. the notion of “this shouldn’t exist” is almost always one that comes up regardless of whether it’s a discussion on the metaphysics of a potential God(s) or divinity, high political powers, or vehicles of systemic oppression. and what anyone who cares about people more than their ideals (even, sometimes, ideals that started out being about people but quickly come to be about the ideals themselves) realizes very quickly in a philosophical discussion about what should and shouldn’t exist is that it does not matter if what you’ve decided ‘shouldn’t’ exist does in fact already exist. like that tends to be the difference between sociopolitical philosophy that actually has teeth and substance in the world — a willingness to engage with the world as it is, not as it should be. because you can have the perfect image of a just and wonderful future world, but if you do not at every step reckon with the unjust world from which you are aiming at that future, you’re doing nothing. ideals are helpful because they aim us toward goals and hopes, but they’re nothing without a reality that grounds them.

and so people like ludinus, who in the real world would play the role of a graduate student with critical thinking skills that make every professor he comes across question how he arrived at his level of study, they don’t have Wrong ideals, there’s obviously plenty of reasons why an exandria without gods might in fact be a better place for mortals (there are also many Many reasons why it would not). but ludinus has also chosen his ideals to weigh heavier than the mortals he claims to uphold them with. i think ashton is also interesting, because i think a lot of their positions have a fun fluctuation between being ideal focused and person focused, where sometimes they’re focused on how unfair life is in a very nihilistic position, and at other times they seem quite clear about how much ideals help no one if they’re not second to the desire to help others. and i think that made their role in the convo with ludinus in 102 especially interesting and irritating (but in a narratively fulfilling way). anyway, truly so fun watching ludinus argue with the amount of fallacies and undeserved confidence of like right wing first year students in an ethics class explaining how actually the ends justify the means and thanos had the right idea actually if it means no more starvation. get a grip old man.

[izudeeilo]

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You can study me

Sero hanta smau

volley-ball player sero x art student fem!reader, no quirks au, college au.

a/n it's been a while since I've written something like this...I'm nervous

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Senior year is finally here! You thought that this time, the teachers would be more lenient with you and your classmates, but not at all. In fact, they even got stricter... They assigned you a half year-long work, which would be worth 30% of your final grade. What does the work consist of, you ask? Making a complete study of the life of a student you need to pick and paint it.

But... you can't pick a friend.

Profiles • Part .2

Part 1

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You sat outside, pen in one hand, the other on your lap. Scribbling on the piece of paper quick doodles of a random animal. A rooster...a chicken…why was this one that popped in your mind, you don’t know.

A sight escapes your mouth as you look up at the sky. “This is going to be a nightmare” you mutter.

You would’ve been more ok with all of this if you could’ve chosen someone close to you instead. So much easier, simpler. But in the art course? nothing was easy.

You sometimes thought of quitting, completely. But the love you had for art kept you here and perhaps your supportive friends too. Seriously they meant everything to you, they’ve been here through thick and thin. They could be…themselves but you’d do anything for them, the other way around as well.

Taking your phone from your pocket, you check the time — 12:40 pm. “I should already be on my way to the cafeteria.” You get up slowly, grab your bag from the ground and shove the paper and pen inside.

As you enter the building, you greet with a wave of your hand some classmates you had met in your morning class. When you enter the cafeteria, you grab the tray from the pile and pick up a sandwich, a fruit salad and you pay for a soda can at the vending machine.

You weren’t particularly hungry today.

Scanning the room you make eye contact with your friends a bit further away. You march over to them and install yourself next to Himiko, Izuku in front.

”I’ve missed you guys so bad.” you say hugging Himiko’s arm. She hugs you back with a big smile. “Us as well!” she chuckles. “It’s only the first day of the week and I’m already tired.” adds Izuku with a slight smile before taking a bite from his sandwich.

You begin eating as well. “Can you guys believe it's the last year we’ll be together..” you say to them. “Oh don’t start already or I’m going to cry.” says Himiko, turning her head.

“ I know we’ll definitely be busy after but ain’t no way we’re getting separated, you better believe me, you ain’t getting rid of us” she taps her finger on your cheek in a teasing way.

”Oh that I already know” you chuckle.

Izuku suddenly perks up and says “By the way y/n I talked to some of my classmates and I’m sorry most of them don’t feel comfortable with that…” “Oh right mine as well…they say they don't want to meet new people or whatever” himiko adds.

”Oh well I did expect that honestly” you cross your arms and straighten yourself. “Guess the whole art course is going to struggle with finding someone” you sigh and begin to wonder how else are you going to find a student willing to participate in that. Ochaco may try with her classmates but you already have an idea of how it’s going to end.

You’d like someone with personality as well and there’s plenty of people like that here but—

You were cut off by a cheerful voice.

”Izuku you’re here!” A girl with pretty pink hair stopped in front of the table with her tray in hand. You all turned your head at her.

”Oh I didn’t know you were with friends my bad you guys!” she smiles.

”No it’s alright, you wanted something?” he responds.

”The boys are over there and I wanted to know if you wanted to come sit with us! Your friends can come as well if they’d like” She smiles at the both of us.

“Yeah for sure! Does it bother you guys?” He says looking at us.

”Not at all” Himiko and you respond at the same time. You look at each other before chuckling slightly.

”Perfect, follow me!” the girl begins walking ahead. “The name’s Mina by the way!”

”I’m y/n!” you respond back.

”And I’m Himiko”

You all reach a long table with four people already sitting and talking.

Four boys to be exact, one had blond hair and was just staring at the other three with a raised eyebrow, another had red hair and was laughing at something another blond said next to him and the last one with longer black hair was holding his sandwich with a smirk on his face.

”I am here and brought companyyy” Mina chants at the boys.

They perk up at the sound of her voice and all turn their heads towards us. You and Himiko smile not knowing what to do next.

”Hey, these are my friends, Himiko Toga and Y/n L/n !” Izuku introduces us.

He turns to us and points at the boys one by one.

”This is Kacchan- I mean Katsuki Bakugo. You already know him.” he laughs pointing at the blond with red eyes.

Bakugo nods his head with an almost visible smile.

”This is Denki Kaminari” The other blond points finger guns at us.

”This is Eijiro Kirishima” the red haired boy waves at us with a smile.

“And last but not least Sero Hanta” the black haired boy throws a peace sign at us and winks.

They all greet us happily and urge us to sit with them. You began talking for what seemed like hours, they told you they were part of the school volleyball team.

”Oh that’s so cool, how long have y'all been playing for?” you ask.

”We pretty much have been since we were kids. We practically all met through that.” Kirishima responds cheerfully. “Yeah we’re all like a biggg family” Kaminari leans on his shoulder.

Bakugo turns his head at us before speaking “So y/n, art huh? How is it being an artist?”

I laugh “I’m not an artist, artist yet but—“ you were cut off by Izuku.

”Oh stop that you draw, you paint even if it's not professionally yet you’re still an artist.”

”Yeah, it doesn’t matter even if it was just a hobby, you still are an artist.” Sero joins him before continuing. “And how is it going so far?”

”To be honest? Right now, horrible.” you chuckle.

They all seem taken back as their eyes slightly widen.

“It’s mostly because of an assignment our teacher already gave us.”

”Oh that's rough— On the first day?” Kirishima says.

”Yeah, I have like half of the school year to complete it? And it's worth 30% of my final grade too.” You lean your head on your hand. “I need to pick a student I don't know, to study their life? Like get to know them so I can make a painting of it—“

”You can study me?” Sero suddenly says, catching you off guard. “We just met so that’ll be perfect and I get to spend time with a cute girl like you so it’s a win-win situation.” He smiles and leans back on his chair.

You stare at him. That’s...a good idea actually you think to yourself and it’s not a total stranger if it’s one of Izuku’s friends…right?

”Well Sero you’ve got yourself a deal” I smile back at him.

”Call me Hanta.”

a/n i hope you guys like this aaah i'm so nervous and excited to post this...🤧 see u guys in the next part! 💋

[megapteraurelia]

hiii just saw your post about needing distraction and if i can help you even a little bit then i’d be happy to!! so id like a drabble with akaashi, f!reader or gn!reader, fluff, at uni?? if that’s fine?? have a lovely day <33

zeugmas and feelings.

summary | akaashi keiji and you found each other while trying to survive deadlines. or: how to not get anything done because akaashi keiji is just so damn pretty. warnings | none! it's meet-cute and fluff :3; fem!reader word count | 4449. a/n | elie, i love you, you precious!!! thank you for this and i'm sorry that i didn't keep to the idea of a drabble. for the life of me, i could NOT pass up writing several moments of akaashi so there's 4.5k words full of them instead T_T i hope i made it justice, though :3 please let me know what you think! -` ♡ ´-

the library was silent on sunday; eerie yet comforting in a way. 

the sun had long since set, the last of the rays that came through the windows bathing everything in a light that felt more nostalgic than it actually was before it dipped everything outside in a dark cloak. among the typing sounds on different kinds of laptops, their engines more than ready to take off after being used for so long, there was only the ticking of the clock, sometimes a soft clearing of throats or the gentle clink of a thermo cup being set down.

looking up from the mock exam you were taking for your cultural studies class, flexing your cramped fingers and rolling your shoulders, your eyes found the only other person sharing your space that late. you didn’t mean to look over at him lest you made anybody feel awkward, but in an entire picture of stillness before you, the movement drew your eyes naturally.

his fingers were swift, flying over the keyboard, gaze trained at his screen, trusting his hands to instinctively and automatically follow the letters. you couldn’t see his eyes properly, though, the glare of the laptop reflecting off his glasses. though you could see the little furrow of concentration in his brows, his teeth worrying his lower lip as he halted for a second, thinking. then nodding to himself, they resumed their display of a gear having turned in his brain. 

your eyes wandered away from him to your own screen, the words staring at you, and you wondered once again whether you should have chosen a different topic to cover in this assignment. would american history work better? did you have enough characteristics to explain the relevance in the corresponding text? or did you perhaps want to stay focusing on orientalism? 

after all, american history was your current topic discussed in class, its myths and ideologies, transformation of gender roles, the age of realism and science. it would be easier to just focus on any of those: the harlem renaissance, counterculture and postmodernism, the gilded age— 

you rubbed your eyes, and a sigh escaped your mouth, strong and carrying a lot of exhaustion; your lungs pushed the air out forcefully. you were too far in to scrap everything and start anew with a whole nother topic, so there was only one plausible and logical conclusion to draw:

get more coffee and force your brain cells to work.

standing up from your spot, senses tuned into the stillness of the library, you noticed something. or lack thereof. no typing noise anymore that had accompanied you for hours on end; the seat in front of the man’s laptop empty, his notebooks still open on the table, though no cup on the empty coaster. 

as you walked by with your empty mug and passed the little area that his pens and his dispersed papers claimed as his for the time being, you let your eyes flit over his screen. walls of paragraphs comparing two different works of literature on one half of his desktop, another document open with several similarities and differences listed on the other half. 

“japanese lit, huh?” you mumbled to yourself, tired eyes straying away from his possessions and your feet automatically carried you to the coffee machine at the entrance of the library that the students of various classes had invested in to aid them during their emotional breakdowns…uh, quest to finish their essays and assignments in time. 

zoning out, gripping your mug in one hand, you barely recognised the familiar movement of a person occupying the space in front of you out of the periphery of your eyes as you neared the coffee machine, so you only came back to reality when your nose was suddenly squished against a warm barrier that smelled like cappuccino and old books. 

“easy,” a deeper voice than yours called out close to your head, one hand having already come up to steady you when you lost your balance. his hand was warm against your back, the heat seeping through the layers of your woolen turtleneck, and for a second you both occupied the same space, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

“oh, sorry,” your response was automatic, sheepish and you stepped back, “i probably saw you but my brain didn’t work quick enough to actually see you.”

your gaze found the missing person whose laptop you snooped through (did it count as snooping if you only quickly looked at the screen enough to see what he was working on? you didn’t even touch anything, promise), and this time you could see his eyes, unhindered by any light reflection. 

pretty, you thought off-handedly, really pretty eyes.

“no stress,” one shoulder heaved up, and when his fingers stopped supporting you once he saw you didn’t need his help anymore, your back felt weirdly cool. it was nice having felt the heat of his arm around your body in the absence of any human contact in the face of studying. 

he filled water into the reservoir of the coffee machine, a cup of beans already measured from before you walked into him. you cleared your throat and nodded in thanks; he bowed his head quickly, waving off your thank you, his hand nudging up his glasses perched on his nose when they threatened to slide down. 

they were a bit big, but the earnest look of the dark blue eyes accompanying them made them all the more alluring; like they caged a ton of unsaid thoughts behind them, like there was so much those eyes wanted to tell but they had to get through the barrier of the glasses first. 

a transparent mask to hide behind.

“sooo, how’s the coffee?” you asked to fill the silence when your eyes met again, looking away just as quickly, because you hadn’t expected that his sharp pupils found you the same way your eyes found his. stupid question, to be honest, when the coffee machine whirred in answer, and there was a slight smile playing on his lips.

“i don’t know yet,” he held up his opened thermos cup to show you the lack of liquid that he could not judge on yet, and your cheeks flared up at the obvious demonstration, mumbling quietly to yourself, thinking that the coffee machine was too loud for him to understand: “sorry, that was…an incredibly stupid question.”

“you’re okay,” his quiet and steady voice came back to meet your ears, held back amusement lingering in the folds of his tenor. he heard you just fine, “though probably just like bitter water.”

leaning back against the wall, he joined you in waiting, and then there was comfortable silence between you both. he was close enough to feel the air warm up, close that if you glanced up again, you could see his lashes brush his cheek as he closed his eyes for a quick reprieve, the curls of his hair, messy and falling over his ears, his lips sitting together calmly, sometimes twisting when he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

you looked away again, to the coffee machine that went from grinding the coffee beans to finally pouring the hot water through it and dripping into the pot. you thought you recognised him from somewhere, this boy with the gentle, kind eyes and the charming glasses. you couldn’t help but steal another glance at him, trying to gauge where from, whether you had met him on campus before.

“i can feel you staring.”

whirling your head away from his still closed eyes and the fingers messing with his hair, you felt embarrassment brewing within your chest alongside the coffee in front of you. stupid, stupid.

“sorry.”

“don’t be. i don’t mind,” he said, still the same reserved amusement hiding behind his words, and then he did open his eyes to turn to you, and you returned the favour of looking over him again. your gazes met for a split second, dead-on, before they parted again to look at other features, “you’re in professor yoshida’s class, right?”

“right! that’s where  i know you from,” recognition finally bloomed, and you tested out the name that was continuously popping up in your mind during the short wait, wondering whether it was him, “akaashi keiji, right? you looked familiar.”

akaashi opened his mouth to respond, but halted for a split second; his cheeks and ears using this one moment to turn into a soft pink. when he caught himself and talked, you had an inkling that he meant to say something completely different: “yeah, exactly. what are you working on?”

“cultural studies. incredibly boring.”

“japanese lit,” he nodded in sympathy, then moved to pour coffee into both of your cups. you wanted to thank him, take the cup yourself and move, but he beat you to it. reflexes sharp and swift movement, he maneuvered around you easily to carry both of your coffee mugs back to the table you both shared. 

“thank you,” you said at last, seated away from him at your own laptop with the steaming cup warming your hands, the same old words on the screen staring back at you, and he responded in likes; his voice comfortable and easy, deep and as warm as the drink in your hand, “of course.”

both of you continued working, though amongst the clicking of keyboard keys and the silent breathing were the little glances both of you threw at the other now that there was some common ground found. when you got stuck with how to phrase a certain sentence, chin supported on your hand, your eyes wandered to him out of their own volition and instinctually, and you watched him focus on his work. 

the way his teeth would not stay still, constantly picking on his lips, his fingers rubbing his chin when he thought; the light warming up his face and making it seem like his hair was draped over him like a dark curtain. 

then you’d attend to your work again, and it was akaashi’s turn to let his eyes and mind wander over to you to watch you get stuck with another paragraph, biting your nail while the other hand was tapping on the keys lightly without pressing too hard, eyes intently focused on the words. 

you had an intense look in your eyes, and everytime, there were little butterflies erupting behind his ribcage when he felt you dedicate it to him.

those moments in between, when both of your eyes passed the others, belonged to nobody but the empty library. moments, in which you allowed yourselves to bask in the heat of fading instances, of arcane glances, interrupted by little sighs here and there or random occurrences, in which you both just couldn’t help but talk to each other:

“i’m jealous of your concentration,” you groaned at some point, allowing your forehead to thump onto your arm to bury your face away from the screen and its cruel, glaring light, “you look like you’re about to solve all the problems in this world.”

akaashi had stilled in his work, startled, eyes glancing up over the rim of his glasses up to you, and his teeth finally let go of his poor, swollen lower lip; mouth curling into a small embarrassed smile, “not quite. but i may be able to help you with yours, if that’s a start.”

you laughed at yourself for the strange thump your heart produced, hand waving him off, “sweet of you, but i just need some of that laser focus you’ve got.”

“sending you some.”

pretending to catch the energy he threw your way, you perked up in your seat and flashed him a grin, “you’re a lifesaver.”

“oh fu— shit.”

he was already beside you with napkins, big hands dabbing up the spilled lukewarm coffee as you worked to put away your electronics and books lest they’d get ruined by the deep brown liquid. he was close, leaning over you, hands working fast and precise, feeling his chest bump against your shoulders ever so slightly. your body warmed up at the contact, and you had to try not to lose your mind over that.

“ugh, i swear this is not my usual.”

“i’ll believe you when i see you prove the opposite to me,” he said quietly, a certain openness in his voice, a silent offer to spend many more moments together like this. 

you looked up at him, a smile stealing itself on your lips, “i suppose if you’re asking to be humiliated and be proven wrong, then i won’t say no.”

the skin underneath akaashi’s glasses had warmed up, and as he went back to his seat, he had stuttered back, “that’s— i didn’t— nobody said anything about humiliation! also, you’re the one who barely escaped electronic and academic death. gotta tone down the murderous intent a little.”

“never. every essay is my arch-nemesis, so they got what was coming for them.”

akaashi had shook his head, and laughed quietly to himself; the sound as honeyed as your favourite dessert. 

when he returned from his bathroom break later on, he brought you back a new cup of coffee, anyway, despite his fear of you murdering your hard effort of having added only three extra paragraphs to your text in all the time (you were a little busy staring at akaashi keiji’s pretty eyes; nobody was allowed to judge your slow pace).

you fell back with a big oohmpf and a yelp. 

dazed, you looked up at the ceiling, the low warm light of the library in the midst of the dark outside looking enticing enough to fall asleep right there. you stayed on the ground for a second, most of your fall cushioned by the chair, though your butt still throbbed with the impact. 

“hey,” a couple steps resonated before a messy head of curls peeked over you, one hand holding the glasses in place, while the other was reaching towards you to help you up, “you alright?”

“y-yeah,” you sat up, shaking your head a bit to clear it from the zoning out you were doing before gravity decided to take you down, “i suppose that’s why teachers always say not to rock your chair back and forth.”

suppressed laughter, mild concern, and a warm hand engulfing you, “what a delinquent. i bet the teachers loved you.”

“hey! what’s that supposed to mean? they loved me! incredibly so!”

“okay. i think i need help.”

“of course, what do you need?”

“do you understand what i’m trying to convey when i phrase it like that? ugh, i’m scared it’s too convoluted.”

“give me a second,” he finished up his sentence, then came over, “let me see.”

his chest pressed against the back of your (now upright) chair as he leaned over you to read your run-on sentence was distracting you. he wasn’t touching you per se, but the placement of his hands on the arms of the chair could cage you in, make you feel like he was embracing you from behind, so much taller than you. the warmth emitting from behind you made you want to fall asleep and let your head land in the crook of his neck.

he was breathing softly, the air caressing your hair, and when he reached out to point at your words, your eyes followed the red knuckles, his clean nails and the size of his hands. 

“you mean that the west created orientalism as a cultural and intellectual framework, right?” — a quick nod of yours — “alright, then i think if you cut this in two sentences, for one to showcase the interpretation of the east and then dive deeper into the colonisation in the next sentence — that would make it more understandable. say, am i making you nervous?”

blinking, “w—what? where did that come from?”

he leaned down slightly, face hovering next to yours, his voice slightly raw and close to your earshell, “don’t forget to breathe. also, you have a typo — row three, the fourteenth word.”

“evil,” your breathing was clipped from the insinuation that he may have had an effect on you, heart pumping blood through your body like crazy as if it was held at gunpoint, “i bet the teachers really disliked you.”

despite that, you brought him a cup of coffee when you returned from your bathroom break, too.

“you alright, akaashi?” you asked.

akaashi keiji looked up, his hand rubbing his neck, kneading the knots out of his tense shoulders. his eyes, until just short of when you called him, had been glazing over, a little bit of a vacant look entering the blue of his eyes, but when you called his name, he had snapped out of it, and his features relaxed slightly, away from his troublesome thoughts. his dark brows furrowed deeply above his eyes.

“yeah, just thinking about all the deadlines coming up. it’s…” he sighed, allowing his shoulders to sink, and he leaned back in the uncomfortable library chairs; another big sigh escaping him, “...a lot.”

“yeah,” you agreed and stood up, walking over to him. his surprised gaze followed you, and when you stood right next to him with his head tilted back, the wavy strands of hair following gravity, looking up at you with those eyes, you felt a tug in your chest that told you to kiss him. you didn’t. 

instead, you nodded to the window, “let’s take a walk and a breather,” and then, because you couldn’t help yourself, “a zeugma. get it, mr. japanese literature?”

his shoulders stayed relaxed, and he laughed again; a brilliant smile on his lips and you thought of how you wanted to kiss him even more. his eyes felt lighter, too, when he pushed back his chair and stood up, body entirely too close for what probably should have been appropriate for two students who had only properly met today for the first time. or was it already the next day?

but neither of you moved for a second, drinking in the presence of each other, before he grabbed his jacket off his backrest, “i think you can do better.”

“well, i think it was pretty good.”

akaashi shrugged, a teasing glint in his eyes, competing with the sparkle of the glasses when he turned and the light hit him just right, “and i think i have you beat there.”

you grumbled but caught up to him nonetheless.

it was cold outside. 

the kind that slithered through between the folds of your clothing to nestle deep in the crevices of your soul. the kind that had you shuddering and sending remnants of cannons into the air with every breath, the moisture immediately misting up. 

akaashi keiji was walking next to you, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, though his exhales were shaky too, chest trembling with compressed and suppressed shivers. you were already as close to him for warmth as possible without being weird or too straight-forward, though you wish you could just cling to his arm — it was that icy.

“i feel like i can’t even think,” you mumbled, already feeling your lips starting to numb, the tip of your nose burning. 

“me neither, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he breathed out, the warm air blowing past your temple, and his cheeks were so pink, it was cute, “sometimes it’s all too stressful, and i wish i could turn off my brain.”

“does that happen a lot?” 

you referred to the way his face looked like there was a headache incoming, how his fingers froze and his shoulders locked in; the way he seemed to absolutely crumble under the prospect of the things he needed to do and that awaited him. 

akaashi had an embarrassed smile on his face, shoulders drawn up for some warmth, the fuzziness of his jacket’s hood surrounding his reddening cheeks, “sometimes. there’s a lot of expectations riding on passing my classes. not just passing them, but passing them well.”

“by whom?” you leaned forward; curious eyes trying to catch his, “expectations set by the profs or by yourself?”

he stared at you, and his lips were slightly open; with every exhale, condensation snaked up the air like smoke, dissolving in the cold atmosphere all around you, though the air between you was slightly warm. his eyes looked kind and vulnerable for a second, “what a callout. guess i can’t even pretend that it’s not me, huh? you caught me.”

“not yet, i didn’t,” you dared say, and he stopped walking, even though it was colder to stay still than to move. you stopped, too. a snowflake floated between you, landing on his pink nose, melting at the warmth. 

the entire evening long — ever since you had bumped into him making coffee and you both went from studying alone to studying together, little jokes and jibes passing between you, curiosity and interest swapping between you with every glance, solitary and shared, you felt there was maybe a chance for something more. not necessarily all the way if it didn’t work out, but more to explore, more of him and you to meet.

“what does that mean, miss cultural studies?”

you blinked up at him, “i don’t know, mr. japanese literature. you’re the one who reads between the lines of books and analyses everything.”

“i’m not that far into my course,” he told you, seriously, and for a second you almost believed him, but then his eyes crinkled as he hid his smile behind the fluff of his jacket, and you pulled out one of your hands from the pockets of your coat to lightly pull his ear, not enough to cause pain but enough to chide him.

“you liar,” you said with no malice, voice soft and as your hand trailed down to hide your fingers in warmth again, his hand, fast as ever, pulled out of his own jacket, grabbed yours and stuffed both your hands in his pocket instead. 

incredibly warm, fingers locked between each other, soft skin kissing yours, “let’s go, it’s too cold.”

sometime around 2 am in the morning, you decided that you were going to fall asleep right then and there. sadly, coffee barely had an effect on your body anymore after having put your body through caffeine abuse for so long. 

during the hours of studying together, one of you moved closer to the other, so both of your books and notes were strewn together, sharing a space. his thermos cup stood next to a bunch of other cups both of you had drunk out of, because you kept forgetting to take the mug you were using with you and were forced to bring new ones. 

scrutinising a well-read book in the dim light, you ask, “is this mine?”

“unless you want to take home a copy of the setting sun with you and dissect the theme of youth in crisis, then i’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“ugh, i can’t even read anything anymore,” a beat of sly silence, “or you know, maybe i do want to. then i’ll have an excuse to see you again.”

“or,” akaashi butted in and gently offered you his phone, his smile straightforward yet a shy edge sweetening it up, “you can give me your number and we’ll meet up for another study session when you’re available. how’s that sound?”

in lieu of an answer, you saved your contact in his phone; your fingers caressing his under pretense of giving it back to him, and his movement was delayed, allowing the contact between you two to linger for a moment more.

“i’ll walk you back.”

“it’s not that far, so you don’t have to. it’s cold, too.”

akaashi sent you a look that very much told you he did not care how cold it was, there was no way he would let you walk alone at night. and when he did, your hands were buried in his pocket again. 

the world was quiet and still, as if you were caught up in another plane of existence for the past hours. a limbo of sleepy nature, perpetually falling snowflakes, the constant of the warmth akaashi offered, the bumping of arms as you walked in silence, subtly pulling him either to the left or the right when you needed to change the path.

“when is your assignment due?” you asked, lips barely moving from the cold, so you had to hiss out the words, barely understandable.

“four days ‘til friday. yours?”

“monday.”

another shaky exhale, the tremble evident in your shoulders, and you opted to walk a bit faster, even though you didn’t want to part with him yet. but cold was cold, and you would like to keep your toes still alive and kicking. so, it was no wonder that you arrived at your dormitory relatively fast, though even then, both of you stood in front of the entrance, not ready to say goodbye yet, not ready to leave the world of the dead and wake up the next day to greet the same usual bullshit. 

“meet me tomorrow,” he said with blue lips and red cheeks.

“okay,” you responded, heart fluttering when he didn’t let go of your hand. instead he took a step back and you were forced to follow, because you didn’t let go of his hand, either.

one step, another, a third one, then the tentative meeting of cold mouths. his breath was warm, his tongue warmer, and gradually your lips returned to their soft, mellow state. kissing him felt gentle, it felt safe and it felt like you could sink into him, like awaiting and catching you was a giant cloud that kept you floating up.

he kissed like he was a romantic. like he lived and breathed words meant for you, with the dedication and attention to detail only a writer or an artist could have, every stroke, every painted image on paper. he kissed like he had known you for a long time and intended to know you for even longer.

when you both parted, your lashes were brushing the rim of his glasses and your nose caressing his cheek, lips only inches away so it was only natural to kiss him again. 

“see you,” he let go of your hand at last.

later, an unknown number texted you, and you thought yourself corny, but you couldn’t help the smile that overtook your features at the cheesy line akaashi keiji thought he had you beat with:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i left my other book and also my heart with you

and then:

from: +81 3 1762-3468 i really do need the book though, bring it tomorrow please :( goodnight x

[darth-jess]

Anakin: A Genius and an Idiot

I love the headcanon (is it a headcanon or just an observation?) that Anakin Skywalker is just a complete idiot in addition to being a genius.

Like, don't get me wrong, he's extremely intelligent, he's often described as a genius, and I really don't think that's an exaggeration. He is an incredible strategist, he understands people and knows how to motivate others. I know he doesn't give off the vibe that he's very book smart but he's the kid who barely studies at all and somehow still absorbs all the material.

He also knows himself very well, and you see this in how he pursues Padmé. He is confident in himself and he knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to admit it. You also see this in his guilt over the things he's done: massacring the Tusken Raiders and murdering Count Dooku. He's not stupid, he knows these things are bad and it really eats away at him that he did these things, that he was capable of doing these things.

Even as Vader, he absolutely knows that everything he's done is his fault. He knows Padmé's death is his fault, he knows Sidious manipulated him, he knows he's a slave. He knows he betrayed all his friends and it amounted to nothing.

However, I think that sometimes he's just completely blinded to things that should be obvious.

Like… Obi-Wan makes it pretty damn obvious he knows that Anakin and Padmé are A Thing but Anakin thinks he's being pretty secretive about it. Skywalker notoriously lacked subtlety. Honestly, the whole Jedi Council was probably aware.

Also, in ROTS when Anakin is seeing Padmé for the first time after the battle over Coruscant, he picks her up and hugs her and like… he didn't feel how pregnant she was? DUDE.

I also think it's funny that the Jedi have literally allowed other Jedi to be married (Ki-Adi Mundi, for one, as well as Revan and Bastilla Shan) and Anakin didn't think they'd make some kind of exception for him, for the Chosen One. Like if he'd come out and told the Jedi Council that he was married to Padmé, they would absolutely disapprove but he was too valuable to them for the Council to banish him from the Jedi Order.

Don't get me started on all the instances of Anakin blatantly missing the obvious during the Clone Wars, as well. It's absolutely wonderful.

[whorediaries-09]

afterglow;

pairing- felix catton x reader warning(s) - hurt/comfort. (let me know if i should add more.) a/n- accepting requests for characters from saltburn!

the slut club

'why'd I have to break what I love so much? it's on your face, don't walk away, I need to say

he wasn't stupid. he was rather someone who preferred not to study. he was smart, and caught on to what you were trying to teach pretty fast. you wondered why you'd been chosen to tutor him while he pretty much could've learnt all the things were explaining by himself. you felt inferior to him, to his large circle of friends and his charm. you didn't feel 'cool' enough to be his friend, and somewhere along your thoughts, you may have been intimidated solely by his presence.

'so, tomorrow at 6 pm, library, sound good?' he asked, walking backwards. you clutched your books closer to your chest, as you walked forward.

'yeah, but you'll topple and fall if you walk like that, careful felix,' you warned. he winked, joining you as he walked side by side. he put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to his body. the deep rich scent of mahogany and cigarettes ghosted you.

you moved away from his touch. your clothes felt too sticky, books too heavy. the sun was scorching down upon you. your stomach felt too bulged. you were tired, horrendously so. it wasn't your day, it made you want to tear off your hair, rip off your skin.

'i was wondering if you'd want to go out sometime? me and you?' he asks, stopping you at your tracks. you take in a deep breath, your mind flashing different ways to dodge the situation. it's not that hard you think. slowly you gulp,

'felix, are you out of your mind? who gave you this stupid dare?'

he stares at you with an intense look in his eyes. and maybe you want to believe him, even if you rationally know he's pulling your leg. because everyone loved him. it was impossible not to love him. he was a perfect fantasy, someone who didn't seem to be real. he was a gateway to an escape from reality.

'i- i'm- i should go,' he says, turning on his heels. you watch him go, as the sunset paints it's hues on the sky. the dull hotness creeps into your heart, burning with an insatiable intensity that leaves you heaving. you feel terrible, as if you'd attacked him without reason, but you knew, you weren't wrong. it must have been a dare that farleigh had given him to complete.

*****

the knocks on your door grew aggressively louder. it wasn't a fragment of your dreams you realized, as you opened your eyes. the moonlight peeked through your curtains. you slipped you feet into your slippers, rubbing your eyes.

the college party invite hadn't reached you. it was too late to deal with drunk people shenanigans, but with the progressively loud knocks on the door, you doubted you'd be able to sleep. maybe it was the best option to chase the one who was causing the ruckus outside your door.

when you unlocked the door, a breathless felix towered over your body. he stared at you red, hollow eyed. he reeked of beer and cigarettes. he stumbled, closing the gap between you. pushing the door close with his feet, he breathed in your scent. he sighed, pulling you closer.

'j-just let me embrace you. you're so warm,' you wrapped your arms around his body, pulling yourself apart from his hold. you stared into his hazel like eyes, which were like sunlit branches or the moss covered oak. you tried to decipher his feelings, his true intentions.

'felix, can you please sit down for a moment?' you whispered. he nodded, sitting on your bedding. you sat down on your knees beside him. his palm travelled up to your cheek, stroking the skin. you smiled at him, holding his hand. you felt broken and hurt.

'do you really hate me that much?' he asked, tilting his head at an angle. he smiled, despite the tears that pooled on his waterline, waiting for you to answer.

'i-i don't hate you,'

'then why won't you go out with me?'

'because- well because you- you're you! and i- i'm me.'

'if it it's some sort of metaphorical bullshit then i don't get it. but what i do get it is that i really fucking like you. something about you feels so legit, so fucking real. like i want to know you, but you keep hiding from me, keep escaping me. you don't even talk to me except when you're scolding me...' you breathed heavy. he was legitimate with what he had meant. and he was hurt because of you. while you stood on the middle of the line of a desire to be solely his or a desire to be his companion, you were silent. you were living like an island, punishing him in silence.

'felix, we're different. don't you see? everyone around you loves you so much. you're so perfect. you're like a fantasy come into life. everyone puts on a show for you. just so you love them back. but i don't-i can't do that.'

'well that's why i like you so much! you don't put up a pretentious barrier like everyone else!' it was excruciating to see him so low. your heart throbbed against your ribcage as he grazed his temple against yours. he cradled your face in his palm. his breathing was tampered and irregular. but it felt like he was breathing just for you, just to you. when he whispered, it was like a secret. a secret just for you and him. a secret meant just to be kept, a secret to be held just between the two of you, a secret to be cherished between the two of you,

'i don't even think i like you. i think i might be in love with you,'

so maybe, he wasn't perfect. he had his insecurities, some things to hide. but he was ready, to be explored, to show his flaws. he wanted you, he wanted you with your flaws. he wanted you to be his reality, to escape the perfect prison he was in. he wanted you, to hold on to you, and not let you go.

so maybe it was all in your head. you were scared. but you didn't want to burn it down. you didn't mean to hurt him. you didn't want him to go, you didn't want to lose him. you wanted him, to escape reality of the imperfect prison you were in. you didn't want him to go. you wanted him, to hold on to him and not let him go. you didn't want to punish him in silence.

'only if the love is worth the fight,' you whispered back.

so when your lips found their path to his, you knew he'd meet you. even in the afterglow.

[skellyflowers]

Doodles

The manor only has two types of weather. Rain and fog, sometimes both at the same time. It makes the place really cozy. It's pretty normal for us to light the fireplace and make a blanket fort. But today is a little different. 

Today Vessel and II are in the study, they have been in there all day. Vessel and II have been composing music for a few days now. III is getting a new Bass so he is also gone. That just leaves me and IV in the library.

I wasn’t really reading the book in my hands. More so looking at the pictures in the book. The book is an antique medieval bestiary. I can't really read the words but I really liked seeing what people back then believed that animals looked like.

IV had been quiet the whole time. That was pretty normal for him. IV and II are the quieter of my boyfriends so I didn’t think too much of it. However, he was sitting in the window seat while I was on the oversized armchair. The chair that is big enough to fit both Vessel and III comfortably. That was odd. All of them are pretty cuddly so the fact that he hasn’t even tried to sit with me is strange.

I look over and see he has a notebook with him. He has been looking between the book and myself for a while. I wonder what he is doing. I stand up and walk over to the window  and attempt to look over his shoulder.

“Hey! What are you doing?” He asked. Pulling the notebook to his chest.

“I just want to see what you're doing.” I say, trying to look around him. “Let me see.”

“No. don’t worry about it.”

“Come on Ivy, Pleasssse.” I give him my best puppy eyes.

“It’s nothing Dove. You would think it’s boring.”

I huff at him and climb into IV’s lap. He gets a little wide eyed. Clearly not expecting my next move. I cup his face so he maintains eye contact. One of his hands is on my hip.

“Nothing you do is boring.” I say. “You’re one of the most interesting people I know.”

I put our foreheads together and hold eye contact. I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, nose and chin. I wait a moment before kissing his lips. The hand of my hip grips me and his other hand crawls up my back.

“Can I see it now?” I ask, hoping he agrees.

“Sure” IV has a dazed look on his face from all the kisses.

I carefully pick up the notebook and look at what is inside. IV hides his face in my neck. The notebook is grid paper and full of little pictures. I didn’t know that IV liked to draw. In the book are drawings of flowers, cats and some little nick-nacks I have seen around the manor. As I turn the pages I see that IV also has done some anatomy. There are pen and ink sketches of hands, potentially Vessel’s. 

I flipped through the pages and saw the people he had chosen to draw. Some of them I recognize like Adam. I see drawings of Vessel and II. There is one rough sketch of III. On the next page is a drawing of me! 

So this is what he was doing! The drawing is of me reading that old book. I try to look at him but when I turn my head IV buries himself in my neck.

“Look at me Ivy.” I say.

Slowly he backs away from me. 

“You have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

“You like them?”

“Of course I do! These are really good!”

“Thank you.” he smiles finally. “I wanted to do a good job. You and III are hard to draw.”

“What does that mean?” The comment makes me a little annoyed.

“You and III are always in motion. Makes it hard. Ves and II can really sit like statues.”

“Do the others know?”

“I have only told Vessel.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you.” he puts his hand on my face and lets it slide to my neck. “Get back down here and kiss me again.”

[literatooru]

pairing: gn!reader x miya osamu

flufftober 2024!

Divination has never been Osamu’s favorite class. He always finds himself feeling drowsy; and whether it's because of how it seems to make the hours dreadfully drag on and on, or because of how the professor’s voice mixed with the heavily perfumed smoke that wafts all around the slightly claustrophobic room, he’s not sure.

He had only chosen it because it was easy to fool the professor by making up “predictions” of the future, as long as a tragedy or two (or five) were added. But by Merlin, sometimes he wonders if he should have picked Arithmancy or Study of Ancient runes to at least keep his brain a little more active. He’s also unsure as to why it’s even taught at all, considered that, at best, it’s viewed as a flawed and feeble “art” by most. He thinks it’s more of a fraud.

The only perk he could think of was that at least he got to spend an hour (or two, if he was lucky and had double period) with you.

Osamu heaves a sigh as he climbs the silvery ladder and looks around the crammed classroom. He blinks a couple times to adjust his eyesight to the new, crimson lighting, the corners of his lips automatically quirking up when his eyes finally land on you.

He makes his way to you, evading the dozens of small, circular tables filling the classroom. Once he reaches you, he lets the strap of his bag slide down his arm and it lands on the rug with a muted thud, then sinks onto the little round ottoman right across from yours.

“D’ya think she’s gonna make us continue the dream diary?” he says as a greeting.

You rest your chin on the palm of your hand as you let out a groan. The classroom slowly starts filling up with students, all of them disrupting the silence with animated chatter.

“I hope not. I barely managed to make up enough of them last year,” you mumble, blinking slowly as drowsiness immediately starts taking over you. “I wish we could open a window. It’s so stuffy in here.”

“Psh, ya really wanna disrupt yer Sight like that?” he says with humor.

Osamu busies himself pulling out his textbooks, dropping the heavy tomes on the table with a small huff and rolling his shoulder where his bag had been slung over.

“Ah! My darlings! I could sense you had all finally arrived,” Professor Trelawney speaks in that typical misty tone of hers, rearranging her shawl delicately. “Welcome, welcome. Oh, no need for those today, my dear,” she says, gesturing at a student that had just pulled out one of his textbooks. Osamu purses his lips and carelessly drops his own books into his bag. “I am aware that everyone’s minds seem to get rather foggy after a prolonged break."

“All the incense does a rather fine job as well,” your friend mutters under his breath, and his smile grows when you stifle a chuckle behind your hand.

"I myself make sure to exercise my Inner Eye as often as I can,” the Professor continues. She pushes her large glasses further up the bridge of her nose, sniffing softly as she walks among the tables.

“We shall make a revision of the subjects we’ve previously touched, starting with the basics, just as a refresher. Pass me the large silver teapot, dearie."

A girl stands up from her seat to do as told as Professor Trelawney runs her eyes across the various shelves, grabbing a couple different things off them. “Now, everyone please collect a teacup from the shelf. I will fill it for you.”

Osamu and you stand up from your seats and walk towards the shelves, waiting in line to grab a cup.

“Hold on, I got it,” he tells you. He walks through the crowd, mumbling apologies as he gently nudges people aside, and he takes advantage of his height by reaching out to take two of the teacups and saucers from the top shelf. After that, he makes his way back to you and offers you the delicate china with a warm smile.

“Thank you, giraffe,” you say with a smile of your own.

“I presume you all remember how this goes. Really, the process is fairly simple,” the Professor says. She pours tea into the teacups that are extended to her. “Of course, reading the leaves is the complicated part. Only those that possess the Sight, such as myself—”

Her voice is drowned under the chatter as you and Osamu go back to your table and take a seat. You blow lightly on the scalding liquid, dark ripples disturbing the surface.

Osamu moves the teacup to his lips, gently places the rim against them, takes a small sip and immediately frowns.

“Oof!” he exclaims. His whole face soon scrunches up into a grimace as he takes a second sip without even waiting for it to cool down. “It could do with a little sugar.” 

“More than a little.” You nod, coughing a little after taking the first sip. “I wish we could do this with butterbeer instead.”

“Man, what I wouldn’t do for one right now. It’s getting chilly.”

Once you both finally manage to down the bitter beverage, you each swill the remaining dregs around the cups three times with your left hand, then turn them upside down on the saucers and wait for the last of the tea to drain away before exchanging cups.

You reach into your bag to pull out your old copy of Unfogging the Future (which you had casted Reducio on to decrease its size until it matched that of a small dictionary’s) and place it on the table, flicking through the pages as you examine Osamu’s teacup.

“All right, hit me, partner. Exactly how many tragedies are in store for me?”

You roll your eyes with humor, shaking your head softly as you peer into his teacup. 

“I see… a…” You squint your eyes and frown as you try to make out exactly what the shapes are supposed to depict. “An umbrella. According to what the book says it means ‘difficulties’. And I think that’s— an apple? No, wait, it looks more like a butterfly,” you mumble, rotating the cup and craning your neck with your lips pursed. Osamu snorts, earning a glare from you before you shift your gaze to consult your book. “Which means… success. And that over there could be a crescent moon, which means… prosperity. So I guess you’re going to struggle with something you’re working on but end up successful, and that’s going to bring you good things."

“I don’t think you’ve exercised yer Inner Eye much, have ya?” Osamu says with an arched eyebrow, and his index finger pressed against his lips to suppress a smile.

You scoff. Your eyes remain on him as you set the teacup down, then mimic his cocked brow and lean forward, closer to him. 

“So you’re an expert now?” you ask.

You drum your fingers on the surface of the table as you watch his smile grow, and it’s almost infuriating how pretty he looks. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his entire face seems to light up, his eyes glued on you as he gives a sharp nod. Is it just you feeling a little lighter? Perhaps all the smoke and incense have finally gotten to you.

“‘Course. I have an innate ability for divination. M'great, great, great, great aunt was a renowned Seer. She used to read Tarot Cards for the Queen herself.”

You throw your head back with laughter, the sound filling Osamu’s ears and making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He knows it’s not the environment he’s in—it’s because of you.

“Right, sure. Go on then.” You grab your teacup from the saucer and offer it to him, a look full of expectation on your face. “Tell me what the future holds for me, O' great Seer.”

Osamu huffs out a chuckle. When he reaches out to grab the teacup, his fingers accidentally brush yours. You jerk your hand back and he clears his throat. He stands up from his ottoman and walks over to you, halting once he’s right by your side. Osamu leans down, rests his elbows on the table and gets closer to make sure you can see the inside of the cup as well.

His arm brushes yours every time he moves it, and you you can’t help glancing at him every now and then. How have you never noticed he has such a pretty profile? Well, to be completely honest, his entire face is pretty. It’s just that you’ve somehow only just paid close attention to it. He takes a quick peek at you and smiles when he catches your eyes on him, making you immediately avert your gaze and lean forward so much that your nose is almost touching the teacup.

Osamu chews on the inside of his cheek. You’re so… adorable.

“See that, right there?” he asks quietly, index finger stretched out to point at what looks like… a dark blob. You shoot him a concerned, sideways glance, absolutely confused as to what he’s seeing. “That’s a hat. Means Improvement, if I recall correctly. And a sun and horseshoe right text to it! That means such improvement will also bring you great fortune and happiness.” He cocks his head to the side, his breath mingling with yours due to the closeness. His voice drops in volume, almost forcing you to get even closer to him—close enough that he can smell your perfume over the smokiness of the room. And it just smells so good that he has to stop himself from taking a very obvious deep breath. “A pumpkin…” he carries on, forcing himself to focus on the dregs rather than you. “A circle… huh.”

“What?” you murmur. 

You had actually been so focused on his words that when you turn your face to look at him, you start when you find him so close to you. You feel warmth creep up your neck, and—yep, it’s definitely not due to the ambiance of the Divination classroom.

“It’s a good cup,” Osamu declares, tapping the rim with his index finger. He sets it back down on the saucer and places his left hand on the table, his right one moving to rest on his hip as he looks down at you, lips pursed as he seems to mull something over. “Maybe I should just pop the question then.”

“What are you talking ab—”

“Go out with me,” Osamu interrupts you.

You blink up at him once, twice; suddenly feeling so very grateful that you’re sitting down. You mouth wordlessly at Osamu, then blink once more.

“That’s not a question,” you manage blurt out when you finally find your voice. You’re not sure whether you should slap yourself or punch yourself in the face. Both options sound appropriate for the situation. Osamu Miya has just asked you out on a date and there you are, making a fool of yourself.

To your surprise (and relief), Samu smiles.

“Will you go out with me?”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip, reaching for your discarded teacup and fiddling with it for a second just to keep your hands busy.

“I don’t know. What are you thinking?”

“That you will if you say yeah.” He adds a cheeky smile to his retort, earning a snort from you.

Smartass.

“And what if I say no?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Well, you can’t say no.”

“Why not?” You force a frown onto your face, if anything to conceal the nervousness threatening to take over you.

“Because, my dearie,” he begins, mimicking Professor Trelawney’s misty voice as he yanks the teacup from your hands and waves it in front of your face, “it’s written in the tea leaves.”

This time, the laugh that bubbles out of you is so genuinely filled with good humor that Osamu can’t help the smile that almost splits his face in two. Merlin’s Beard, he loves that sound. He’s willing to make himself look like an absolute idiot if it means getting to hear it again and being the reason for it.

“is it, now?” you say through your chuckling. “I didn’t see anything like that in my cup.”

“Because you don’t possess the Sight, unlike me,” Osamu retorts, tapping his index finger right between your eyebrows gently. “If you had broadened yer mind and casted yerself into the future, you’d know it. I saw it with my own two eyes— er… three?”

“You’re such an idiot, you know that, Samu?”

“A lucky idiot, I hope?” he says leaning forward a bit. “The Three Broomsticks, Friday night. You, me, and a couple of Butterbeers. I’ll wait for you outside your Common Room.”

And there it is, the smile he’s found himself longing for more times than he can count and that you’re convinces makes you like like an absolute idiot.

“It’s a date.”

[adviceformefromme]

A personal note on anxiety based on my own experiences as someone who lived with crippling anxiety for years..and is pretty much anxiety free at this point..

The bodily signals are not to be ignored. This is your body talking to you, it's letting you know very loudly that 'hey, something is very fucking off, listen to me will you??' and it might be quite literally your whole life. The course you decided to study, the city you decided to live in, the friends you're hanging around with, the foods you are eating, the content you are consuming, the lifestyle you have chosen, the apartment you are living in. Ignoring these screaming signs from your body, does not help. In my experience the more I ignored the more extreme my anxiety got, until i was in panic attack territory.

I had to learn to understand why I was anxious. And without a therapist this can sometimes be quite difficult. A few things I learnt..

1] My social anxiety stemmed from pretending to be comfortable, loud and overly confident when I was in-fact out of my comfort zone. I learnt I am naturally an introverted, especially at work. My social anxiety disappeared when I learnt to lean back in a crowd group setting without fake smiling and performing.

2] Anxiety when dating became a signal that I had inner work to do. Not that I should just ignore it, or have a shot of tequila to settle the nerves. I used to date men I believed where out of my league, because my confidence was in the gutter. My anxiety led me to building my confidence.

3] Anxious about spending time with family (I learnt this recently) this is a sign that you do not want to be around your family so put a boundary in place. Stop people pleasing. I recently cancelled a family trip to visit me for one week because I knew in my heart it was too long. You have less anxiety when you learn to say no.

4] Anxious friends. This one was huge. When you're dealing with your own battles, and your friends are adding to your anxiety, create space. I'm not suggesting cutting your friends off completely but a little distance from the friends that are causing you anxiety can go along way. One of my best friends would cause me severe anxiety and similarly to the point above I lacked boundaries, and the anxiety was my body signalling this to me.

5] Foods that cause anxious symptoms. For me this was coffee. Despite drinking it for years. My adrenaline was peak as I sipped through my morning oat latte. It took me a very long time to remove this from my life.

I also found the more I was anxious the more anxious life got, it was like a never ending pit of anxiety. Work, relationships, social life, foods, family. Everything was extremely anxious. But little by little I started to clear the things causing the dis-harmony in my life. And slowly but surely the anxiety fell away. I would often wonder if this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach would be with me forever and the answer is no. It will not, it does not. There is hope.

So if you have anxiety, please listen to your body. It's not against you, it's just letting you know in its own language that something is off and once you start doing the work to remove the mis-alignments from your life. You can live in a space where you're free from those chest clenching, throat throttling, gut grabbing feelings.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi! 😊

i wanna ask about the Death Master and Necromancer. there popular trope in fics where it's almost the same due to Harry' power. i personally don't like it bc of my interpretation of death in hp world... but what fo you think about it? are there differences and similarities between MoDs and Necromancers?

Hi!

Thanks for the ask as I love talking about my version of magical theory in the HP world!

So, I kinda mentioned it in my two other posts regarding the MOD, the Deathly Hallows, and the Peverells (here and here) but I don't think true necromancy exists in the world of Harry Potter.

Like, I think it's pretty telling that the most advanced form of "necromancy" we know of is creating Inferi. Inferi are just the dead bodies made to move as if alive, but they're not actually alive, they do not have a soul and I'd go on a limb and say most of them aren't properly embedded with human equivalent life, so even if you had their soul it wouldn't do shit.

But, from what we know from Nearly Headless Nick:

“He will not come back,” repeated Nick quietly. “He will have . . . gone on.” “What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” said Harry quickly. “Gone on where? Listen — what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn’t everyone come back? Why isn’t this place full of ghosts? Why — ?” “I cannot answer,” said Nick. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” said Harry exasperatedly. “Who can answer better than you?” “I was afraid of death,” said Nick. “I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn’t to have . . . Well, that is neither here nor there. . . . In fact, I am neither here nor there. . . .” He gave a small sad chuckle. “I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned wizards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries —”

(OotP, 861)

It just seemed to me that when someone's dead, they're truly dead. That's it. They're gone, and they can't come back. The dead who move on are gone and you can't speak to them, not really.

I think we get the wrong impression about death in their world since we see a lot of really unique magical flukes. But that's what they are — super rare flukes. In general, people can't come back.

I mentioned it before, but I think the forms of Harry's parents that came from Voldemrot's wand were echoes of their life or spirit trapped in his wand, taken by the killing curse and not their actual souls. These moved on beyond the veil and can't come back. And even these echos of their spirit could only come from the twin cores situation, and I'd go on a limb and say that if these were any other brother wands, owned by any other two wizards, it wouldn't have happened.

I also mentioned in the posts linked above I believe the Resurrection Stone doesn't really bring back the dead. It creates figments based on memories of the dead taken from the stone user's mind, it doesn't actually recall the souls of the dead:

“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”

(DH, 590)

I also think the whole afterlife King's Cross station isn't actually happening and it actually is just in Harry's head:

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

(DH, 610)

And I mentioned I think both Voldemort and Harry died for a moment there in the forest, but they both came back because Harry is the MoD.

I also mentioned in the first post I linked what I think the Master of Death is actually capable of and why. I summarised it as the MoD won't die until they choose to, and a person chosen to be the MoD would always choose to die. As death is voluntary for the MoD, Harry should be able to walk into the veil and survive, something no one else could do (unless they have The Invisibility Cloak, maybe, but I won't bet on it if you aren't the actual master of the cloak).

No dark wizard seems to have true power over the dead and those who have already passed on. The most they could do is bring back inferi, since these are the parts of the dead that are still present where magic can access them.

The MoD might be able to walk into the veil and take a soul out, thus bringing someone fully to life by merging their body, spirit, and soul. That being said, this magic would be pretty complicated if a long time passed since the death since I assume the soul would be harder to find beyond the veil the more time passed since they died. Additionally, you'll need to heal the body from any decay it may have gone through and you'll need to find a spirit. You'll need life to tie the body and soul together, so, you either use the life of the dead person (if they died very recently, it should be accessible as I mentioned with Horcrux creation) or if their own spirit isn't present, you'll need to kill someone else with an equal life essence to use instead.

(I think this magic could be performed by any powerful enough wizard, it's just the getting a soul back from beyond the veil part I don't think anyone aside from the MoD has a chance to do, since anyone else would just die)

I think any rando dark wizard, won't be able to do much with ghosts. They are caught in a state between life and death, so wizards operating on the side of life (random so-called necromancers) won't be able to access them fully since they aren't fully alive (for the record inferi are magically alive because they have life in them, they are made of salt and mercury, so they are accessible to magic). The MoD would also not be able to do much with ghosts either, since the MoD works in either the domain of death or life, not in the in-between ghosts occupy.

(We know wizards can't really trap Poltergeists or kill dementors, their magic just seems very limited when it comes to spirit beings. Even Boggarts can't really be killed)

But the big difference is if you want to fully bring someone to life, soul, and all, you need the MoD as any necromancer just won't be able to do it. I don't think the MoD could summon spirits from the beyond or anything though, he'd have to go into the veil in the Department of Mysteries (or a similar doorway) and search for a soul the hard way and even that wouldn't succeed for sure, but it's my best guess for if you want to accomplish a true resurrection for someone who hasn't made Horcruxes.

(Another aside, I don't think ghosts can be brought back to life. As I mentioned, they are caught in between, so they aren't properly souls anymore and would reject being bonded to a body and life the way a pure soul would allow).

Hope this makes sense.

[diangelofan]

Life-changing

Put some prompts (Day 6: Facade - Captivate / Day 7: Change - Perceive) of @change-is-perceivable to make a pretty perciver one-shot!

---------

Percy Weasley was known as a lot of things, both at home and at school. Every possible combination of adjectives, he had heard it all before:

“pompous git”, “stuck up arse”, “stick in the mud”, “boring bloke”, “lady repeller”

These were all phrases he had heard when speaking about him, either in whispers or directly to his face (specially in mouth of unpleasant individuals, description that sometimes included some of his family, to his dismayed resignation).

At the beginning, it had angered him (a lot) the way he was perceived (no pun intended) by the people in his vicinity for things he couldn’t help. Yeah, so what if he preferred academic topics to Quidditch and thought spending weeks with his head buried in a book or perfecting his essays was an enjoyable activity?

That didn’t necessarily make him “bland” or “boring” or whatever name people decide on that day.

It just made him Percy Weasley.

What was so wrong with that? Why punish him for being different?

Thus, instead of retracting and caving to his peers’ criticisms, he just focused harder on said activities, constructing a perfect facade that repelled all comments (or at least it did so to the best of its abilities). And his hard work paid off: he was chosen a prefect in his fifth year and Head Boy in his last, and earned 12 OWLS (the highest amount among his classmates). Those achievements comforted him by showing Percy his efforts were valuable and recognized (he was worthy of praise) and helped ease the pain that those little comments inflicted in him (a life-saving shield from the death by those thousand paper cuts). When his mother praised him for being such a wonderful son and said how proud he was of him, insisting that his younger siblings take him as a role model (someone they should aspire to be), he felt almost happy (he made sure to always ignore his siblings’ replies).

That happiness, however, was just momentary. It didn’t compared to the everlasting joy he felt in Oliver Wood’s arms. Oliver had met him at the young age of eleven and was his best friend since all those years ago. Oliver, however, didn’t like him despite his “odd behaviour”, but instead was captivated by his peculiarities.

“Those are the reasons I love you, you know. I would never even think to change you.”, whispered his boyfriend in his ear when they cuddle in one of their beds (the constant reassuring really help Percy, whose head was sometimes invaded with dark, pessimistic doubts).

Their relationship was, sometimes, Percy’s only anchor, the only thing keeping him afloat in the mess of stress and anxiety he came close to drowning in a couple of times (or at least that’s how he felt):

After a day full of non-stop studying for hours or Prefect (worse later on as Head Boy)’s endless responsibilities (or at least they seemed like it).

After trying to keep his facade of being a perfect straight-O student who follows the rules to a T (or at least makes sure not to get caught breaking them) and tries to get other students to follow them as well.

Or after dealing with particularly nasty comments from his classmates or some teasing from family members (most of the time, the twins) about his weird and boring personality.

When he felt tired of carrying his whole world (on top of other’s expectations) on his shoulders and felt closed to crashing down, to giving up. That’s were Oliver became his sort of saviour (who needed a Harry Potter when you could have an Oliver Wood).

His boyfriend didn’t criticised him for his overachieving attitude; well, at least not in the same way other people did.

Oliver respected his passion for learning and his search to expand his knowledge. The two would spend hours in their dormitory, just talking about each other’s major topics of interest that week.

Oliver would rant about the disastrous decision that changing their Seeker had been for Puddlemere United. Percy would compared in great detail the value of Arithmancy and Divination in regards of which subject allowed for a more precise and accurate prediction of the future, citing different books as evidence.

Topics that their partner might have normally considered to be extremely boring were shown in a new and brighter light when they came out of the mouth of the person they loved. When it was explained in their passionate voice, it suddenly became the most important knowledge one could obtain at the present time (even if it did go into one ear and out of the other most times, let’s not kid ourselves).

It was just so fascinating.

While Oliver was used to having people with whom to discuss Quidditch with (sadly, not in as great detail and care as he did, but most wizards were big fans of the sport), Percy had spent most of his life experiencing either people attempting to understand what he was saying and getting bored and distracted soon after, or just telling him to his face to shut up (in nicer or meaner words, depending on the person). Now, whereas it be his boyfriend listening to him rant with the softest expression possible in his face and love-filled eyes (as if he were the best thing that had ever happen to Oliver’s life) or, in the most wonderful occasions, processing the points Percy made and arguing back or asking questions (the couple could have the best long and passionate debates one could imagine when their interests intersected, as was the case sometimes with chess techniques or quidditch theory/history)…

Having someone that would paid attention to him, and only him, treating his words as if they were made out of the finest gold…

Someone who cared about him enough to do his best and listen to him, valuing his every word.

Someone who loved him, not in spite of the characteristics others perceived as flaws but because of them (because it made him who he was).

Someone that sincerely considered him to be “the most captivating and charming human to ever exist” and “the most beautiful and sexiest Weasley” (all his boyfriend’s words, not Percy’s).

Someone who Percy could be his true self with, dropping every bit of his facade without fear because he knew he would always be adored unconditionally and never be asked to change.

Someone he knew would always be there for him to give him an encouraging word or a comforting cuddle when needed and who kept him grounded (as did Percy when their positions were inverted and his boyfriend was the one who needed it, which was specially the case after a match lost).

Someone who he could love and be loved by, heartily and completely.

Yeah, let’s just say (to put it lightly) that having someone like Oliver Wood in Percy Weasley’s life had been truly life-changing.

[saintsandsorcery]

Somewhere Lost In The Mist (Galexf!Tav)

Summary: After a failed spell Gale finds himself unable to remember the previous years.

Words: 949

Ao3 <3

The unusual silence should have given it away instantly.

Most days – even when Gale was in his study – the tower wasn’t quiet. Gale tended to share every thought with her, making sure she never felt left behind by him. Cyder appreciated it more than anything when he didn’t hold back for a moment and spent the following thirty minutes catching her up on whichever obscure thing he’d chosen to delve into that day.

Cyder sipped her rapidly cooling tea as she gazed over the city from the terrace, wrapping her blanket tighter around herself. Winter was approaching. She stirred some more honey into her tea almost wincing a she tasted it again to find it overly sweet.

She hadn’t heard from her husband in more than an hour. He’d last sat in the kitchen with her, discussing some spell he was planning to research and modify over the following weeks. He’d been excited. She smiled as the image of him using forks, knives, and dinner plates from the drawers to explain each effect. She adored the passion in his voice, even when she struggled to follow him on each small detail. Sometimes she wondered how he could have ever believed he’d make a terrible professor. „Gale?“ she called.

There was no reply, only the sound of a creaking floorboard a few seconds later.

„Gale, dear?“ she asked, a little louder this time „is everything alright?“

She heard the door to the study shutting slowly, its hinges still giving the movement away.

Maybe it was like last spring. He’d accidentally silenced himself and had stood before her quietly fuming and gesticulating wildly as he tried to explain the whole situation to her. His bad mood had evaporated instantly though as she kissed his cheek, trying to hold back her laughter. By the time the spell had worn off the two of them had curled up before the fireplace together, exchanging messages on little pieces of paper. One that simply said I love you was slipped into the pocket of Cyder’s favourite robe till this day.

„Who’s there?“ She flinched at the sound of his voice, usually perfectly gentle, now laced with venom.

„Me?“ she shrugged of the blanket and got to her feet, peering around the corner. „Cyder?“

She gasped as a wave of pure force tethered her in place. „Gale, what in the hells are you doing?“ she managed to speak calmly.

Finally she caught sight of her husband. His wavy, grey streaked hair was tousled, almost like after a long nights sleep. Though the look in his eyes was quite different. He stared at her, eyes narrowed, taking her in.

Cyder tore her gaze from him – as much as it hurt - and tapped into the weave. She didn’t tug at her restraints, instead she searched for the familiar shimmer of Gales magic. She reached out to him, but met only a foggy sense of uncertainty. The sorcerer dove back out of her mind, slowly piecing the puzzle together.

She recalled the plates and forks from earlier, trying desperately to recall the spell he’d meant to work at. Oh, she winced as she filled in the blanks, he doesn’t remember me. Gale had been tampering with a ‘confusion’ spell, only that instead of disorienting the target it…

She snapped out of her thoughts as Gale spoke again. “Who. Are. You.”

“Cyder,” she answered. “Could you let me go? Please?”

Maybe it was the way she’d said it, or maybe he just knew, but Cyder felt his hold on her weaken and eventually evaporate entirely. “I-“ he hesitated, as if unsure of his own reasons now “I apologise. I didn’t mean to…but” he closed his eyes for a moment. “Why are you in my tower?”

“You don’t remember me?” She asked, careful not to let her heartbreak show.

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

She swallowed hard, so I had been right, she thought t. The spell held the memories of the last years hidden behind a mist. It would fade, she knew it would fade, he had told her. Just imagine, he’d said, you’re in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of strangers around you and you find that you’re ten years older. That is what I would call proper confusion.

„That’s okay.“ she tried to be calm as she walked towards him as if he were a spooked animal. „Can I touch you?“

He nodded, his brow furrowed, not understanding why he would let an intruder so close.

„Gale, do you remember what happened.“ she asked, standing right before him now.

„I was working on something and-„ his breath caught, eyes distant for a beat. „And the. There’s nothing.

Cyder gently reached for his hands, taking them firmly in hers. He was shaking.Gods. „It’s okay.“ she promised. „I’m here.“ she ran her thumb over his knuckles. „I know this is all… a lot - But you know me. And you’re important to me.“

He gazed at their twined hands and softly whispered. „We‘re married.“ Before drawing the hand with his ring on it up against his chest. She felt his heart beat fiercely agonist it. „You’re my wife.“

She drew him into her arms as she saw tear shining in his eyes. „Oh, my heart.“ she mumbled against his chest as she carded her fingers through his hair. „My Gale…“

„I don’t remember you.“ he was properly in tears now, holding her as tightly as possible.

„You will.“ Cyder pulled back to look into his eyes. „Take your time.“

„I love you.“ his voice was perfectly quiet, more breath than sound.

„I know.“ she smiled, „I know for the both of us. I love you, always.“

Tysm for reading <3

[gentil-minou]

Lanuary 2024 - Day 12, Sizhui's Birthday

The gentians in his mother's garden grow late into the season, as if her spirit still tends to them. A-Yuan's laughter flutters on wings toward where Lan Wangji sits on the wooden deck and watches.

"He's doing well, Wangji," Xichen says.

Lan Wangji nods, the corners of his eyes softening despite himself.

He is. A-Yuan has come a long way in the long months that have passed since…since…

His fingers clench tight and he hides them in his sleeves.

"Soon he'll be of age to join the little ones' class. He'll be a bit behind in core formation, but with diligent study and practice I am certain he will catch up in no time."

Xichen smiles, as if he has no memory of why A-Yuan is so behind his peers. Why he will be starting late.

Lan Wangji's back itches. The bandages stick uncomfortably to his skin. He'd split the stitches open again the other night. He hadn't even done anything this time. His scars just tear open and blood spills from them afresh, uninterested in healing and moving on.

Lan Wangji cannot blame them.

Xichen continues speaking, unaware as always. Lan Wangji knows his brother has other responsibilities and his concerns about the Nie sect leader's growing sickness have recently taken precedence. But sometimes he wonders what sort of world Brother resides in. It cannot be the same world Lan Wangji inhabits.

"He will need a courtesy name soon," he says as his gaze drifts to the ribbon A-Yuan is still getting used to.

He'd marveled over the cloud pattern when Lan Wangji first presented it to him, delighted in being able to match his gege.

Again, his thoughts stray to another caregiver with a different colored ribbon. He wonders, not for the first time, what A-Yuan would have said if Wei Ying gifted him a red ribbon.

A-Yuan has not mentioned his Xian-gege once since he'd arrived. The masters say his memory has been altered forever. How mournful a life never knowing Wei Ying would be. Or would it be a mercy? Lan Wangji still does not know.

His brother gently tugs him away from his thoughts. "Have you thought of a courtesy name yet? If he is to be your heir then—"

"He is already my heir."

Rule number 24. Do not interrupt. Let them add another scar to his back, if they so choose.

Xichen sighs. "Yes. As a Lan heir, normally his name would be chosen by the elders, but I suspect you would disagree."

"Mn." He will, when the time comes.

The boy already has a name, though Lan Wangji will not share it with Xichen or Uncle or anyone.

The only one who's heard it are ghosts lingering at night by his bedside, when Lan Wangji is weak and whispering that name alongside another.

No one else will know the name until it's time. And they will have no say in it. Bitterness swells rotten and tired on his tongue, poison in his teeth. After all, why should they?

The person who should have given A-Yuan his name is no longer here. Why would anyone else ever deserve that privilege?

Eventually, Xichen stops his patient waiting, shaking his head and pretending Lan Wangji can't see. They spend a few more moments watch A-Yuan chase after a bunny, giggling as he trips over his ribbon. The garden is awash in color as red and golden leaves fall to join their brethren in the small pond. Curious carp swim to the surface for a nibble, dashing away once satisfied.

"What about a birthday?" Xichen asks. "You have not yet given one. Will you choose the day you brought him back?"

The day Lan Wangji found A-Yuan and brought him back? The day he learned of Wei Ying's death? The day he spent hours and hours scouring a barren wasteland for a ghost, for a body? The day he found only bones and misery, and one small sickly boy breath so sallow he'd been afraid to take a step lest he hurt him?

No. Nothing on that dark, horrible day. If he could, Lan Wangji would wipe that date off the calendar forever.

But his brother is right. A-Yuan deserves a day to celebrate.

"Mn. I will think of one," he tells Xichen, then says nothing as he waits for his brother to leave. Sometimes Xichen refuses to budge. Other times, he leaves Lan Wangji in peace, and Lan Wangji can let himself feel the fury that spikes in his veins at the sight of him.

This time, Xichen leaves quickly, blessedly. But simmering fury does not flow through his veins. How can it, when A-Yuan's laughter is music that lifts his spirits and fills this quiet space with life it hasn't had in decades.

A breeze scatters leaves into a whirlwind, spinning around A-Yuan as he yelps and holds his prized ribbon to his head. A red leaf gets caught in his hair, nestling unnoticed near his small ponytail.

This time of year…soon it will be Wei Ying's birthday. It would be fitting for A-Yuan to share that date with his Xian-gege.

It could also become a curse.

Lan Wangji swallows down the rising shame at his cowardice. How can he claim that day for A-Yuan when he cannot even speak Wei Ying's name to him? How can he pretend he has any right to that day, to anything belonging to Wei Ying.

No. That day will stay Wei Ying's. It will remain as Lan Wangji's day to repent.

But then, what else? Lan Wangji had so little time with A-Yuan and the Wens, he wouldn't know where to start. Should he seek out a fortune teller for an auspicious date. Another person assigning them their fate?

The idea sours low in his stomach and he casts it away. Whatever else, he wants A-Yuan to live a life freer than his predecessors. He wants him to have more than they ever had.

But he still needs a birthday.

A memory whispers along a winter's wind, carrying a chill from long ago.

"Zhanzhan, come, come. Let's eat cake."

In his memories, his mother's voice sounds like wind chimes and glass. Beautiful, yet breakable. So fragile, and so precious, something to handle with care and polish as needed.

"Mama. We have not yet eaten dinner," he'd said, already following rules that sought to bind.

"Mhm, but that's okay, little one. We can keep it a secret. Come, come. I want to celebrate your birthday early this year."

"But why? Won't I see you next month to celebrate?"

In his memories, his mother's smile is sweet and sad, but stubbornly sticks to her face.

He cannot remember what the cake tasted like, time becoming a chasm he cannot cross. But he remembers his mother's joy as she ate, how she dabbed frosting on his nose, how she laughed at the face he made, how she kissed it off with tenderness.

He remembers how a month later, long after her body had turned to ash, he refused to eat the cake set out for his birthday for years to come.

Eventually, he grew to love the taste anew, finding his mother in every sweet. Sugary syrups and fluffy dough, the same as her laughing cheeks. Honey eyes and candied laughter. Powdery warmth that cradled his back when she'd press him to her heart.

Now, he's grateful they were able to share one last cake between them, the memory better than any treat.

"Gege, look at this pretty flower!" A-Yuan's voice wraps warm around his thoughts, a hug that gently lifts him from his memory.

Lan Wangji blinks down at the purple-blue gentian sitting in his lap as A-Yuan's strokes gentle fingers over soft petals.

"There's so many. Can we keep them? I want to put them in my bed."

Lan Wangji's hand drifts to the stem, hesitant to touch the petals lest he break them.

"No, little one. We cannot."

A-Yuan pouts and whines, "But whyyyy? I want to make them my friends…" His bottom lip sticks out and trembles dangerously. He doesn't often throw tantrums, too well-behaved to try. But Lan Wangji has held him through silent tears after nightmares. It is not any better.

He swallows, wishing again for Wei Ying's guidance. The boy would never shed a tear if he were here. His eyes drift towards the flower bed where the buds drift in the wind.

"The flowers," he start haltingly, "need to rest in their bed. The way A-Yuan must rest in his."

A-Yuan tilts his head, "Really?"

Lan Wangji nods, anxiously on the lookout for any tears gathering in the corner's of big brown eyes.

A-Yuan's faces scrunches up as he thinks. "They have to stay in the soil… so they can grow big and strong? And make lots of friends?"

Lan Wangji nods in a hurry, not sure what else to say. Where did A-Yuan learn this?

But the rain does not pass, and churns into a storm.

"Then—then," A-Yuan quietly sniffles as he stares at the flower in his hand. "Then, then then when I— when I picked—picked the flower, did I—did I take it away from, from, from…its family?"

His tears slip like morning dew, with not a sound like there's no one there to notice. Lan Wangji helplessly cradles A-Yuan's face and tries to wipe them away before the can fall.

"I, I, I," A-Yuan whispers, "I did a bad."

"No, no little one." Lan Wangji repeats desperately. "You did not." He casts his glance around as he tries to think of something to salvage this.

There. An empty tea cup. He rises swiftly and fills with with water from the pond. Then, he holds A-Yuan's hand and guides him back to the flower bed.

He thinks of what Wei Ying would say. The story he'd tell.

"Your flower went on a little trip," he says. He digs a small hole in the ground and with gentle, slow movements shows A-Yuan how to plant the stem back in the ground.

"It went on a trip to see its friend, and now it's back home." He gestures for A-Yuan to pour water over the soil. "And now, it's been fed and it will be with its family."

A-Yuan sniffles and stares at the patch of disturbed ground. "It's having dinner with its family now?"

"Mn."

"Is it loud? Are they laughing? Are they eating soup?"

"…Mn." Water is technically soup.

"…I don't like soup…"

"…Plants enjoy soup. Water soup."

A-Yuan accepts his answer with a nod before smashing his face in Lan Wangji's robes. Lan Wangji gently brushes back his hair and straightens his ribbon, letting A-Yuan have a moment as long as he needs.

Eventually, A-Yuan lifts his head and pulls back, wearing a sheepish look. Lan Wangji crouches down to eye level and waits.

"Sorry gege, A-Yuan will get you another present…sorry…."

Lan Wangji shakes his head as he wipes away the remaining tear tracks. "No need."

"Gege doesn't like presents?"

"No, I like presents," he says, thinking of rabbits and fruit and pink flowers. "But I do not need one."

"Not right now?"

"Mn. Not right now." He tickles A-Yuan and his giggles sing across the garden.

Sugary syrup and fluffy dough cheeks, honey eyes and candied laughter. Powdery warmth that settles in his heart as he cradles the boy to his chest.

Gentians that bloom late into the season, petal soft and vibrant against red and yellow trees. Alive well after they should be, as if cared for by spirits unseen.

Gifts that have no end, that do not fade with time. That stay soft and sweet in his memories.

"A-Yuan, would you like a birthday?"

A-Yuan hiccups around a giggle. "What's a birthday?"

Lan Wangji's lips twitch, just a tiny bit.

"A day where we will celebrate A-Yuan."

"Hmm," A-Yuan ponders as he taps his nose in an achingly familiar gesture. "Does gege have a birthday?"

Lan Wangji blinks mist from his eyes and nods.

"Then A-Yuan wants a birthday too!" His cheers echo against the walls until stopping instantly. "How does A-Yuan get a birthday?"

Lan Wangji lifts A-Yuan into his arms, holding him close. He steps along the garden path winding through his mother's flowers and over the bridge that looks out into the small pond.

For a long time, after his mother's death, nothing seemed to grow in this garden. For a long time, Lan Wangji took satisfaction in it. Nothing should grow here where death festers.

But despite his past wishes, death begets life, and one year the gentians bloomed as if they had every year, and the next year again and the next year again. Year after year, stubbornly clinging to life.

His mother, he thinks, was probably the same.

The day she died, he vowed he'd never celebrate another birthday. They'd remain quiet days for reflection. After all, he never learned his mother's birthday. The elders never saw it fit and mother had never mentioned it.

But Lan Wangji has grown tired of choices being made for him. Perhaps he should make more choices of his own.

Although he won't ever learn his mother's birthday, he can celebrate her life over the memory of her death. He can give new meaning to the day, give new meaning to all the days.

"Your birthday," he tells A-Yuan, who resettles after attempted to grab the carp from so high up. " will be several days before mine, on a very important day."

"Yay!" A-Yuan cheers. "How will we celebrate? Do we celebrate together? Will we get presents?"

"Mn. A-Yuan will have many presents." He will make sure of that.

"What about gege?"

"No need."

He doesn't need them, he thinks. The gifts he'd wish for are impossible to receive.

But there are gifts he has, right in his arms. Gift that life in memories, close to his heart, polished to a shine.

(threadfic here)

(A/N My headcanon is that Sizhui's birthday is the day Mama Lan passed, but because he can't properly mourn her, this way he can celebrate her life alongside this boy who was his gift from another loved lost one.)

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] Citron | [SSR] MANKAI Feature | Today's Star: The Wizard of the North

Citron: “Sealed away in the ancient times, the White Dragon of Eternity…”

Sakuya: “What!? Wait, don’t tell me you’re going to call upon such a legendary dragon…!”

Tsuzuru: Ah, Director. You’re h… wait, what exactly is this?

Izumi: Ah, Tsuzuru-kun. Those two are in the middle of an etude right now.

Tsuzuru: No, I got that… It’s just, this really feels like some kinda Itaru-approved chuuni etude or something.

Citron: “You have finally arrived! The writer of grimoires! Prepare yourself! Hyah!!”

Tsuzuru: HEY!? 

Citron: Ooh, Tsuzuru. You need to make your character feel much stronger there. How disappointing, you are no good at all~.

Tsuzuru: Grrh… I wasn’t even a part of your etude in the first place!

Sakuya: Ah! Could it be that you wanted to talk about Citron-san’s spin-off?

Citron: If that is the case then you should have just said so in the first place!

Tsuzuru: The hell!? You roped me into your etude against my will!

Izumi: Now, now. Anyway, since you guys are both here, would you like to hear about the spin-off too, Citron-kun and Sakuya-kun? 

Sakuya: Yeah!

Citron: Of course! I have been really looking forward to the spin-off project too.

Izumi: Without further ado, the character Citron-kun will be playing for the spin-off story streaming project is…

Izumi: The Wizard of the North from the fourth performance, “The Wonderful Charlatan of Oz”!

Izumi: All of your roles were pretty popular, but the Wizard of the North was the one that got the most votes in the fan survey.

Citron: I am glad~, it is a role that I love too.

Tsuzuru: So, today all I want from you is a super basic premise for the script.

Tsuzuru: I could write whatever I want, but I wanted to include any wishes you might have, Citron-san. Are there any that you can think of?

Citron: Yes… Because everyone has chosen this role for me, I want to put on a story that everyone wants to hear.

Tsuzuru: Hmm, I see…

Izumi: What kind of role do you think of when you think of the Wizard of the North, Tsuzuru-kun?

Tsuzuru: The Wizard of the North is the gentlest and kindest of the four wizards.

Tsuzuru: I wrote the role with the idea of a wizard who cares the most about his people and hates conflict in mind.

Sakuya: That sounds exactly like Citron-san…!

Tsuzuru: Well, if we’re talking about a kind wizard, then it makes sense that the other wizards like West and East are the complete opposites, right?

Citron: I want to play any role in any story that is written by you, Tsuzuru. I will leave it to you!

Tsuzuru: Is that you saying you have faith in me?

Tsuzuru: But thanks. I guess I’ll try my best to write something with that vibe in mind.

Tsuzuru: If you think of anything else, just let me know.

Citron: Understood. We will work on role studying while we wait very eggcitedly for you to finish. Sakuya, I would like you to help me with my role study right away!

Sakuya: You’ve got it!

Citron: “What…? I can hear someone’s voice in my head…”

Sakuya: “A voice?”

Citron: “Hah… Ah, you are the Keeper of the Sacred Forest… the Lord of the Great Horn of the Rainbow…!”

Sakuya: “Lord of the Great Horn of the Rainbow-sama…!? Could it be that something happened in the forest….!?”

Tsuzuru: I thought you said you were going to role study. This feels like something entirely different…

Izumi: C’mon, just let them have their fun.

Tsuzuru: Sometimes I wonder how the hell I manage to put up with you all…

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

*Page turns*

Citron: This script that I received from Tsuzuru… It is very interesting!

Citron: (There are the Wizards of the East and West, who are evil wizards, and the Wizards of the North and South, who are good wizards.)

Citron: (It is a story about the wizard healing the trees, flowers, and people who were affected by the war between the evil wizards while waiting for Dorothy to one day visit…)

Sakuya: So it’s a story about the Wizard of the North trying to protect people without harming them with his magic. I also think it’s really…

Citron: …

Sakuya: Citron-san…?

Citron: …The Wizard of the North is just like me.

Sakuya: Huh?

Citron: He cares the most for his people and hates conflict. He tries to lead his people with strength and kindness.

Citron: But… powerful forces and ties cannot help but make him feel helpless…

Citron: The Wizard of the North is just like me when I was the crown prince.

Sakuya: …

Sakuya: Um…

Citron: What is it, Sakuya?

Sakuya: I thought this story was really interesting to read, plus it aligns with the plot of the original Wizard of Oz…

Sakuya: So I’m sure that people who liked the original and people who like “The Wonderful Charlatan of Oz” will find it interesting too.

Sakuya: But on the other hand, I also think that since it’s such a gentle story, there’s no one better than you to perform it, Citron-san.

Citron: Ohh? I suppose this is a gentle enough story. It is a story about him protecting his people without harming them until their savior comes.

Sakuya: That’s not it. Because the Wizard of the North is still hurting.

Sakuya: Your kindness isn’t out of helplessness, Citron-san. I’m certain that so many people have been saved by your kindness you can’t even count just how many there are.

Sakuya: I know because I’m one of them.

Citron: Sakuya…

Sakuya: Um, these are…

Citron: Ohh? Are those the fan responses from the survey for my spin-off project?

Sakuya: They are. Sorry that I looked at them without asking you first.

Sakuya: The fans wrote about what they thought of the plays and stuff on them, so I asked the Director if she could show me a little bit from everyone else’s too.

Sakuya: Please look at how everyone who left responses feels.

Citron: …

Sakuya: Just like it says in all of these, everyone loves the Wizard of the North’s kindness.

Survey A: “I love the Wizard of the North because he’s just as kind as Citron-kun is.”

Survey B: “Gentle magic might not be powerful, but it’s definitely the strongest force that gives people hope for life.”

Citron: --.

Sakuya: So even though he’s gentle, the Wizard of the North can save lots of people using his kindness, the strongest magic of all.

Sakuya: At least… That’s what I think…

Citron: Thank you, Sakuya.

Sakuya: No, no. I’m sorry… I was just kinda rambling there.

Citron: It is okay. I meant what I said. I would like to make this a story that everyone would like to hear.

Citron: If that is what the people want, we have to give it to them.

Sakuya: Citron-san…!

Sakuya: Then you should go tell Tsuzuru-kun.

Citron: Yes! Sakuya, you will come too!

Sakuya: Okay!

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Sakuya: Hehe…

Citron: Ohh, you seem to be in a good mood, Sakuya.

Sakuya: I am! I’m really happy to be able to play Rick again…!

Citron: I am happy too.

Sakuya: …You’re in a good mood too, Citron-san?

Citron: Yes. It is just as you said, Sakuya. This is very much a gentle story.

Citron: I would like to cast a spell that will warm the hearts of those who see it, even if it is only for a little bit.

Sakuya: …Yeah.

Izumi: Are you two ready? It’s about time to start filming.

Citron: It is time! Let us go, Sakuya!

Sakuya: Awawah, wait! 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Brothers: “Wizard of the North-sama, please help us.”

Izumi: (The Wizard of the North casts a spell of blessing on the brothers, who lost all their possessions while fleeing from a neighboring nation where strife has continued.)

Wizard of the North: “I give my blessings to the both of you. May the thing most precious to you never be lost.”

Wizard of the North: “I wish you safety and happiness as your journey continues.”

Brothers: “Thank you very much, Wizard of the North-sama…!”

Izumi: (The brothers depart thanks to the Wizard of the North.)

Izumi: (As he watches the two leave, a butterfly comes to him and lands on his staff.)

Butterfly: “Your Northness, a town, and a flower field disappeared this morning…”

Wizard of the North: “Haah… Not again…

Wizard of the North: “It must be that the Wizards of the East and West are skirmishing over the land because they were chastised by Oz.”

Wizard of the North: “That whole ordeal has truly had a number of effects on the surrounding lands.”

Wizard of the North: “As a fellow wizard, I’d love to do something about it, however, I don’t have the power to stop them…”

Wizard of the North: “Ahh, I truly am useless. Just what will the future hold for this country?”

Wizard of the North: “If you have come to me once more, that must mean…”

Izumi: (He goes to the flower field where the attack happened at the request of the butterfly.)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Wizard of the North: “This flower field is a mess. What a truly horrible thing to do.”

Wizard of the North: “Hm? Someone’s crouched down over there…! What’s wrong, are you okay!?”

Rick: “...”

Wizard of the North: “You’re Oz’s… No, now you are the great Wizard of Oz.”

Rick: “Wizard of the North-sama…”

Wizard of the North: “You govern the Emerald City quite well on Oz’s behalf. You’re doing a wonderful job, you know.”

Wizard of the North: “...You look down. Is something the matter?”

Rick: “...The recent damage caused by the Wizards of the East and West has spread to the Emerald City.”

Rick: “One of the fountains was partially destroyed today.”

Rick: “I want to do something for the people, but I don’t have Oz-sama’s power or courage.”

Rick: “Day after day I’m busy listening to the counsel of the people who visit the castle the best I can, but…”

Rick: “No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be as good as Oz-sama.”

Wizard of the North: “...”

Rick: “And now… This is what’s happened to the flower field I walked through with Oz-sama…”

Rick: “I’m sure Oz-sama will be disappointed when he returns someday.”

Rick: “If I can’t even protect this flower field, how am I supposed to protect the Emerald City…?”

Wizard of the North: “...Then I shall cast a spell of blessing on you. Keep your chin up and let me see your face.”

Wizard of the North: “Now…”

*Spell is cast and flowers bloom*

Rick: “Huh?”

Rick: “Wow… That’s amazing! It’s a whole field of yellow flowers…!”

Wizard of the North: “May my blessing aid you. While I cannot be with you always, I am a wizard, so I will be watching over you and protecting you as you go.”

Wizard of the North: “However, you can be there for your people and take their feelings into consideration. You can do what you can and do what you must.”

Wizard of the North: “You may be Oz, but that does not mean you are Oz.”

Rick: “...”

Wizard of the North: “This blessed magic responds to one’s heart. So when you need it most, someone will surely be there to help.”

Wizard of the North: “Rest assured, you will do your duty for the Emerald City. And I shall do mine.”

Rick: “Right…! Thank you so much, Wizard of the North-sama.”

Rick: “Um, Wizard of the North-sama, I have a favor to ask of you.”

Wizard of the North: “What is it?”

Rick: “Could you please teach me the magic you just used?”

Rick: “It doesn’t have to be some grand blessing. I just want to be able to make these yellow flowers bloom.”

Rick: “That way everyone can have a smile on their face.”

Wizard of the North: “Hehe… A great wizard becoming my apprentice…”

Wizard of the North: “Very well.”

Rick: “Thank you so much!”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: (Then one day, many years later… the butterfly comes to the Wizard of the North once again.)

Butterfly: “Your Northness, a tornado appeared suddenly, and out of that tornado came a house.”

Butterfly: “Said house seems to have struck the Wizard of the East’s castle.”

Wizard of the North: “How…”

Wizard of the North: “What in the world… No, could it be…”

Wizard of the North: “Ah, Rick… the blessed magic is upon us--.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: …This really is a gentle story.

Tsuzuru: It really is. But that’s not just because of Citron-san, it’s because of Sakuya too.

Tsuzuru: The kindness of one person alone can break the curse for a single day, but the magic of kindness can be transferred to others, little by little, just like that…

Tsuzuru: It’ll gently light up the hearts of many. And the only ones who can do that are--.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*High five*

Citron: We did it! The spin-off performance was a great success!

Sakuya: Hehe, we did it!

Citron: Sakuya. …Thank you for always being with me, both as Rick and as my roommate.

Citron: It is because of you that I was able to do this performance.

Sakuya: I want to thank you too, Citron-san.

Sakuya: Thank you so much for always having such overwhelming kindness!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tsuzuru: Hey. That right there.

Izumi: Yeah… I agree.

[copias-juicebox]

It's a Sin Chapter 2

Part 1 | Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x fem! Reader Words: 5144 Genre: romance, angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, SLOWBURN Warnings: explicit languge, violence, abuse, age gap, smut (in the upcoming chapters blabla)

Notes: so i finally got to write down the next part. I am sorry it took so long. Been procrastinating for ages. I was very insecure to write this but i actually found a very sweet soul here to help me. This is why i have decided to dedicate this chapter to the lovely @fishwithtitz. Literally an angel (or demon idk) sent from up or down. However she helped me soooo much writing this and without her you would not be reading this now. So huge kudos and all the love and appreciation for this amazing woman. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 (you should check out her works she is such a wonderful writer.)

18 years. It had been 18 long years since the night you ran away. The last time you were in your hometown was nearly two decades ago. And now, you are back.

It was so long ago, you barely even remembered the night at all. In your mind, there was just that awful night that resulted in your parents sending you away to learn the discipline they tried to beat into you, mentally and sometimes even physically. The dreadful day you wanted to forget so badly. Remembering that day and the following consequences had a shiver run down your spine. It left you with many scars mentally and you avoided thinking about it.

The school your parents chose for you was a few hours away from your home. It turned out to be an all girls school, run by catholic nuns that would enforce their teaching in only one way. “The way of God“ they always said.

You and all the other young girls had to learn what the nuns taught. The school followed the curriculum like any other school. Mathematics, language arts, science (even if many scientific facts were altered to fit the catholic beliefs), social studies and fine arts. Of course they taught everything from a catholic root and some of the subjects were taught in a very traditional way. Special courses in Bible work and Latin were forced on the students every afternoon. Even the fine arts like music and visual art they kept to a stern regulation. Any indication of „unholyness“ in the themes would be followed by extra bible lessons and hours spent in prayer with the Sister on duty. Nonetheless, your parents would not have sent you here if it were not run by catholic women in service of God. Like all the other girls, you had to obey the many arbitrary rules they set up. If you did not, they made sure you and everyone else were punished in quite severe ways. The nuns could be harsh and unforgiving. One time, a group of girls were found outside after curfew and they had to face the stick and had been locked away for a week.

In the beginning, you had a hard time— but you learned fast and they rarely found you breaking the rules in your later years. That did not mean you just rarely broke them, of course. You just had to be clever about it. Luckily, you were intelligent and learned to maneuvre your way the world. As they say “learn to swim, or you will drown.“ It was hard of course. You honestly tried to be a good girl. You told no lies, and that was when it would become very hard for you to stick to the teachings of the church since the nuns would ask you if they were suspicious of your actions. You always told them half truths. Enough to please them but never telling them nearly enough because that would get you hit with a paddle, your dinner forgone for days and hours of disciplinary work with the nuns to make you find your way back to God. The irony behind their words was never lost on you, only making your and everyone longing for freedom from God stronger.

As a girl, living in a world ruled by men and women acting in service of mankind, you had no say in your future. Your career was chosen long before you could even imagine working at some time in your life. So as soon as you settled into your new school, a nun called Sister Angela would ask you to help her in the infirmary. You were supposed to learn everything from a young age to later become a nurse. Sister Angela was an old and very strict sister. But you found she was actually very kind and warm inside. She was the closest thing you got to a mother figure in your new life so far away from your home. She taught you everything you knew. Everything about the school and the church that ruled over it.

She was very understanding when you were in your teenage years and even helped you once in a while when you were close to facing punishment for not doing your assigned chores in time for the 3rd time in a week. Without her, you might have ended up in a way worse condition than you luckily did. Some nights she was your rock in the waves, supporting you when you needed someone.

Luckily, your new occupation became a passion. You had always been happy to help anyone in need. No matter how. As long as you could help, you would nearly do anything to make other people’s lives easier. A people pleaser. That earned you a lot of praise in the later years from the people in town who got to benefit from your goodhearted nature many times over the years. That was the best feeling in the world — to be appreciated for your work filled you with happiness and it made your heart swell with pride.

After you graduated, you chose to pursue volunteer work on the streets. Helping others in need felt like your calling, and your parents were very happy about it. Working there for a few months gave you time to meet new people, and one day, a man came to you. He explained to you that he was working for a non profit organisation, and if you were interested, he could help you find a job. He would just need to know what your conditions were, and he would try to find a place that would be in dire need of a nurse.

You had been very grateful since you were in need of a job soon anyway. The volunteer work filled you with contentment, but you had to pay bills and your savings were wearing thin. You contacted him and told him that you would like to work somewhere for a church. You told him that you were not too picky, as long as you got your own room.

A few days later, he called you back telling you he found one place that was in desperate need of a nurse and under good conditions as well. It was an old church in a secluded area. They were offering to cover your living expenses, housing, food was inclusive, and they would pay you well enough. One extra perk they offered was that you could take courses in literature or arts for those who liked it. You were pleased to see that the church was located in the very same town you called your home, and since it was a church, you knew your parents would be supporting you to work there. „The Emeritus Church“ was what the guy on the phone said. You‘d never heard of that church before, but you figured it was a place of retired church officials and since you knew the older generation was not fond of electronic devices, you did not think too much of it when you did not find their website mentioned on the list of official catholic churches in your hometown.

You happily accepted the offer and tomorrow was the big day — the day you would start your first day as a nurse in the church.

You stood in front of the train station now. You could no longer live with your parents since they had moved away to another town 40 minutes away and a Sister, Sister Hannah from the Church with whom you had been writing, told you there would be a car to escort you to your new workplace. You were never that nervous in your life. Sister Hannah told you it would be a black Mercedes. She would be there waiting with the driver, and after a short period of time, you spotted a black S-Class rolling into your view.

The car came to halt in front of you and the door on the passenger side opened. A beautiful woman got out of the car. She was about your age you assumed. She wore a black habit and a big smile. As she approached you, the first thing that caught your attention were her shining grey-coloured eyes.

„Hello there. I am Sister Hannah. You might just call me Hannah if you like. You must be our new nurse — and a pretty one at that.“ She started with a warm smile, already fully aware you were the newest member in the ministry. When she stood before you, she extended a hand for you to shake. You smiled at her and took her hand giving her your name.

„It is nice to meet you, Sister Hannah. Yes it is me, I guess.“ you responded with your own smile.

„Wonderful. I am so glad you are here now. Let us not wait for too long here and get your stuff inside the car then. I want to show you a lot today.“

You nodded and began to lift your heavy bags off the ground when Hannah stopped you. „Oh no love don‘t do that I can let the Ghoul carry your stuff you need not to worry about it.“ She was already back at the car speaking to the driver.

You stared at her a bit lost. Did she just call the driver a ghoul? Poor guy might not have an angels face but surely there as no reason to call the poor thing a ghoul was it? Before you could think about it any longer a man opened up the door and walked in your direction. You stared at him wide eyed, not moving an inch when you saw he was actually wearing a silver mask that covered his whole head. The mask had little horns on top and underneath he seemed to wear a black balaclava that covered up his whole face so you could not even see his eyes. Just the mouth was free and he stopped right in front of you, tilting his head to the side.

Sister Hannah was next to you in a heartbeat. „So, this is our new nurse, Swiss. You better behave around her, yeah? Don‘t want me to complain about it to Papa again, right?“

The masked man in front of you turned his head sharply to Sister Hannah at that and just as sharply he looked back at you giving you a big teethy smile, motioning for your bags. You had not realized, but you were holding your bags in a death-like grip. The whole situation was so bizarre.

You gave the odd guy whose name was Swiss your bags. „Oh no, they are quite heavy, you should not carry them all at once.“ He took the heavy bags like they weighed nothing and carried them to the trunk of the car. That was impressive. He did not look like a specifically muscular guy, but you decided to brush it off when Hannah spoke up next to you.

„Perfect, so then let us get going, yeah?“ You followed her to the car and slid into the black soft leather seat behind the passenger where Sister Hannah sat down. The car was very expensive you could tell. The interior was very clean and stylish and the upholstery was not too hard and not too soft. It was very comfortable. This church was very well off you thought.

„So, tomorrow is your first official day, so today we have enough time to get you settled in. I am going to show you around the ministry and maybe we can even get a glimpse of Papa before you officially meet him tomorrow,” She exclaimed, giving you a wink.

„Ah yes that sounds wonderful. I‘d love to see the place and get used to it a bit before I have to put all my energy in the job. But uh..“ you hesitated a bit not sure how you were going to ask her.

Hannah felt your hesitation „Before I forget. Please feel free to ask me anything ok. Or if something is bothering you I am always there with open ears ok?“

You contemplated her words. „Okay uh.. you know, I was just wondering, you mentioned Papa?“ you asked with confusion in your voice.

„Oh you know Papa Emeritus the Third, sweetheart! This is actually his ministry. Even though the Cardinal runs the place mostly. But surely you heard about it.“ Hannah added.

„Uh, no, I actually don‘t know any of these people you‘ve mentioned.“ you muttered.

At that she turned around in her seat, facing you with a questioning look in her eyes.

„Oh you don‘t? I am sorry but how..?“ She contemplated for a bit. „Wait, are you..?“ She stopped mid sentence. „I need to ask you this now. You are a sister of Sin right?“

You locked eyes with her and furrowed your brows. Did she just say ‚Sister of Sin‘? The following silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. None of you spoke, yet none of you looked away. That silence was only broken when Hannah started laughing out hysterically. „Oh Satan this is good. I mean oh I don‘t mean to be rude but this is probably the funniest thing to happen all year.“ You could not help yourself but start laughing along. Whenever there was something utterly ridiculous you could not stay serious. Doesn‘t matter how significant and bad a situation might be if it was just all too crazy you couldn‘t help yourself.

„Oh my God are you actually serious?“ you giggled.

„I mean, yeah. Ugh, this is so funny.“ she still could not contain her laughter. After a moment she calmed down and began again. „Okay sis, so here is the thing. I will get straight to the point: we are the ministry of Papa Emeritus the Third. I am a declared Sister of Sin and we are worshiping Satan.“

Her words left you speechless. You visibly gulped when you heard her speak of a satanic church. The church you were going to work in. It all left a bitter taste on your tongue and you were uncertain of your choices now. Was it all a bad idea to come here? Should you just run for your life? You were lost and remained still.

She gazed at you unsure of your reaction. „I hope you are not too shocked to hear that your new workplace is literally a satanic church, but I can assure you we are not what you have heard about us. There is no cruelty or sacrificing animals or whatever horror stories are rumored out on the streets. And I deeply hope that you are not going to quit now that you know about our beliefs.“ She begged and looked at you with puppy dog eyes. „I mean, we really need you sister. And we are actually very nice people, you know. I know our reputation is bad, but we believe in equality and justice. Our beliefs are truly well intended and I hope you can at least try and see for yourself, right?“

You just stared at her bewildered, still processing what you‘d heard. You were shocked to hear that. All your life you had only ever heard about them. They perform dark rituals asking for selfish powers. Committing sins, doing the devils deeds, and harming others while doing so. Corrupting every innocent soul out there with immoral beliefs.

But you swore to help others, no matter what side they stood on. Your calling was to help others, and so far, Sister Hannah was actually very kind and nice to you. She made it easy to speak to her and she was very open with you, and you appreciated that. Plus, the offer was just too good not to at least give Satan a chance you thought.

You blinked once or twice, completely overwhelmed with the new piece of information you just got. Hannah waved her hand in front of your face. „Girl, are you still with us? You better not suffer from a heart attack. I don‘t know how to deal with that, you are the nurse and Papa will be mad if I kill our new nurse before she starts her official first day.“

Her words brought you back to the car and Hannah was still looking at you expectantly.

„Ah, well, that really is something new to me, but if you promise me that everyone is nice there and there won‘t be any sacrifices, then I will take a look at your ministry and make my own opinion about it, I guess.“ You decided not to tell her that you were raised strictly catholic. It would only make things more awkward if you did, and since you no longer lived with your parents, you had not practiced your religion as your parents thought you did. In fact, most of the teachings that the nuns and your parents repeated endlessly you did not agree on. They sounded wrong to you and you never understood how in this time so many believed in them. When the nuns told you to always listen to your husband no matter how nonsensical it would be because he was in charge of the woman. When they spoke of God's grace, and yet, he is the one who murdered thousands of innocents just to prove a point or punish one man who did something to anger him. It all made very little sense to you. They were preaching how to be, how to act at all times, that you should always go to church and carry Jesus in your heart. If you did not go to the masses, you‘d face punishment. They forced you and the other girls into a way of living you had not asked for. Of course you could never let anyone know you had doubts. That would only harm yourself more than it could help.

„Oh yes. Thank you. I knew right away you were a good one.“ Hannah cheered. „So now that I know where we stand I should warn you. The ministry probably looks a little intimidating to you. I don‘t know how open you are towards the dark and macabre. We are headed to the woods right now. I know what you are thinking, but really I swear on the Dark One that you have nothing to worry about.“

The road was heading to the outside of town, nearing the woods as Hannah explained to you. After a few minutes more you arrived at a huge rusty and weathered gate.

The heavy wrought iron gate was opened by another man wearing similar clothing and mask as your driver when you came closer. Behind the bars, you caught a glimpse of a huge dark coloured mansion-like building. Nearing the front gate of the main building, you watched in awe as you took in the massive, dark and brooding facade. The heavy stone bricks and intricate decorations established a gothic look of an aged, magnificent architectural house. Thick spines of ivy crawled up the sides of the stone indicating the old age of the whole construction.

The limousine stopped in front of the door and you finally got out of the car. Sister Hannah and the driver got out, and while Hannah led you to the entrance, the driver went to the trunk, pulling out your bags.

„Welcome to the ministry of Papa Emeritus the Third.“ Hannah announced cheerfully, „Swiss love, could you bring the bags inside? I will be showing our new friend here the grounds so she won‘t get lost tomorrow.“ she beamed at you and grabbed your arm linking hers with yours in the process.

As you walked to the entrance, she started explaining to you about the „chain of command“ in the ministry. „I mean, there is not really a true hierarchy. You are still very free to do whatever you want, and if you don‘t want something, you don‘t have to. But Papa is our highest ranking official, and usually we do what he asks of us. I can promise you that he would never ask you to do something you are not willing to do. He can be considered to be our ‘Pope,’ if you will…just better. Oh, and don’t fret when you see Papa for the first time. He has a uh... how should I say... ‘special’ look.“ she smirked, opening the door.

„So, this is the atrium. From here, you can get basically anywhere in the main building.“ She continued leading you around, starting from the cellar, showing you where the kitchen is located, should you ever feel the need for a late night snack, to the main floor where all the official rooms were placed. All the time she informed you about the happenings and everyday life in the ministry. Everyone was tasked with different assignments. The rotation was usually planned by the Cardinal. As the nurse you would not have to do the housework like the Brothers and Sisters of Sin since your job was far more complicated and important than theirs.

She even showed you around outside. The grounds were huge and beautiful. There was a greenhouse located at the far end of the property. Right next to that a big garden bloomed in the sunlight with pretty flowers. Most of them were dark red and black roses.

„They are Primos favourites,“ Hannah informed you when you stopped to take a closer look. “He is very fond and proud of them. So, you better not pick any, or if you do, you better not get caught.” She winked. “The lovebirds here sneak out at night and do all the nasty, sinful things in the garden, and they like to pick a rose after that as a reminder you see. Primo gets mad every time.” Hannah giggled.

The sun had begun to set and the last warm rays of sunshine warmed your skin. It was a truly magical place. You admired every old stone of the walls, every green leaf and every particle of light that cascaded down to the old walls. But like everything in this world, the day was coming to an end, and Hannah suggested you retire for the day.

“We better get you back inside now. I can show you the rest later if you like, or you could roam around on your own.” With that you both made your way back to the main building.

So far, there was nothing too unsettling about the place. The dark decorations with pentagrams and skulls everywhere would be a bit off putting if deep down you didn‘t appreciate the dark. It was one of your biggest ever secrets, but the dark, mysterious, and morbid interested you. It always had.

You and Hannah stood in front of the staircase now. „So, upstairs are the living quarters of the Brothers and Sisters, and yours would be located at the very end of the hall. I will escort you. You must be tired now, and I don‘t want to overwhelm you more than you already are.“

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw two figures conversing with each other. One of them wore a white dress shirt under a black coat with a crucifix sewed onto the fabric on the left side of his robe. He was wearing dark dress pants accompanied by black and white shoes. The most significant visual effect he had on you was his face. He wore black and white face paint that made him appear to have a skull like head. His pitch black hair was combed back and his piercing eyes made you breathe in sharply. His left eye was white, in stark contrast to the one on the right, which appeared to be greenish. You stared at him, but he was not as unsettling as you would have imagined him to be.

Your gaze met his mesmerizing eyes as you came closer to him, and he kept his eyes on you this whole time. When both you and Hannah stopped in front of the man, she was the first to speak.

“Good evening Papa,” She bowed her head. “Cardinal?” She turned her head to the second man standing there in greeting.

“This is our new nurse. Picked her up by myself from the train station this morning. I was showing her around our ministry.” Then she turned around to you. “This is Papa Emeritus the Third.” She gestured to the man with the skull make-up and you extended your hand to him.

The hypnotizing man turned his whole body to you now, looking down at your hand and then back up into your eyes, catching your hand in his and bowing down to kiss it, all the while holding eye contact.

“La mia bella signorina. Piacere di conoscerti. You must have been sent by Lucifer himself to grace our insignificant church by your beauty.” He almost purred. “You can call me Terzo, bella.” His deep voice sent pleasant shivers down your spine. He was smooth and elegant in a way you were not prepared for. Especially considering his appearance, you were surprised to be treated so gently.

“Thank you. Papa Terzo,” You responded by giving him your name as well. That earned you a smile from him. You had no idea what the first words he spoke to you meant, but they didn’t sound harsh or distasteful. He gazed at you and kept your hand in his for a moment longer than necessary. This action had you blushing slightly. You were lost in his eyes.

Your moment was interrupted when Sister Hannah spoke up again. “And this is Cardinal Copia.”

The movement on the side broke you out of your daze and you looked to the other man. When your eyes found his, you noted they looked similar to Papa Emeritus the Third’s eyes. The left eye was alabaster, while the right eye was a soft emerald. He also wore black makeup around his eyes. He appeared to be a middle-aged man with sideburns and a pencil mustache above his lips. Scanning his face, you noted that his upper lip was also painted black. He wore a black tight cassock and an accompanying black biretta.

He fidgeted around when your eyes skimmed over his appearance for a moment and you gave him a smile. When you held out your hand to him to shake it, he hesitantly grabbed it and gave it a small shake.

“I am also very pleased to make your acquaintance,” The Cardinal muttered in a low voice, bowing down slightly. He could not hold eye contact while speaking to you, and his movement was a bit awkward. He looked down to his feet and when he came back up, his eyes were back on Terzo.

“Now, if you’d excuse us, our new nurse is very exhausted from the day and would like to retreat to her chambers to get some sleep before she officially starts tomorrow.” Hannah said in a sing-song voice and you two walked to the end of the corridor, vanishing behind the door of your new chambers.

“What a pretty flower. Satan must be very pleased with us, don't you think Cardinal?” Terzo rejoiced. “I just fear that our dear brothers and sisters will fake injuries now or intentionally hurt themselves to have her take care of them, sí?” He laughed.

Copia just nodded his head in response, stunned by the beauty of you. His head was going to be occupied by your gorgeous smile for a while. He could not help himself. Something about you seemed so familiar, but he could not pin it down and decided to brush it off for now since Terzo was still waiting for his answer on whether he was getting his mini fridge or not.

You and Sister Hannah entered your new quarters. The room was not outstanding in size or decoration but occupied everything you needed. In fact, you had some extras granted to you that the regular brothers and sisters did not have. First, you got your own rooms that you did not have to share with anyone. Your bed was significantly bigger than usual and you had your own bathroom.

“Oh my lord, you are such a lucky girl.” Hannah squealed right after she closed the door behind you. “You just met Papa, and oh Satan, isn’t he just wonderful?” She swooned. “You made me a little jealous there, not gonna lie to you. But let me warn you. Papa is very flirtatious. You shouldn’t let him get to you too much. Unless you are down for it, of course. Then ignore what I said.” She smiled. “He is very horny too, so I am just trying to inform you before you find out the hard way.” After a moment she realized how that sounded. “Oh, not that he would force himself on you, or whatever, no but his innuendos are very straightforward sometimes. I reckon that can be quite shocking.”

You sighed, plopping down on the bed. “Oh my God, this is all so much to process I feel like my brain is going to explode.” You were still very much in a state of shock and wonder. The whole thing was just so ridiculous. At some point, you thought it was all a dream, and when you woke up none of this would be real. But you knew better and this place just felt far too real. Not even your messed up mind could conjure such an odd scenario.

“Oh sis, I understand. I will leave you to yourself then. Have a good night's rest. I will pick you up tomorrow at 7. Your clothing should be in the wardrobe over there. And I think you’ll get by here in your chambers just fine, yeah?” She was already out the door when she stuck her head back inside. “By the way, sis, I am very glad you are here.” She gave you a soft, sincere smile and closed the door.

You decided to relax for the rest of the evening. After spending about ten more minutes on your bed contemplating everything that happened in the past few hours, you got up and started unpacking the necessary items from your bags. After all, you were not sure if this place was for you. Your friends would give you questioning looks if you told them where you worked, your parents would be mortified. You let out a laugh imagining them coming to the ministry with crucifixes and bottles of holy water to cleanse this place and rescue their sweet little child. No, you could never tell them.

You prepared everything for tomorrow and went to bed with a book to ease your mind. Tomorrow was going to be an eventful day.

If anyone would like I could offer to make a taglist so you would get notified for updates on this. Just let me know yes?

[cecilysass]

Shine On (5/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 5: Lady of Sorrows

Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital Arlington, Virginia February 22, 2015

She’s preparing for a conference call that starts in twenty minutes when she hears the buzz of her phone. When she sees his name, she presses her eyes shut and ignores it.

She knows he’ll call back, and of course he does.

What do you want, Mulder? she texts him in frustration.

He responds right away, which surprises her. He has fewer reasons to use his phone than she does, so he is sometimes still a little baffled by texts. Which is one reason she sends them when she wants to put him off.

We need to talk. It’s important.

She shakes her head with huffy disbelief. Puts down her phone. Takes a drink of her coffee. Picks up her phone again.

I don’t think that’s a very good idea.

His response once again comes fast.

It’s important.

There’s still so much for her to do before this conference call. She wanted to go through yesterday’s results again and make more annotations. She wanted to crosscheck with the Amsterdam study. She doesn’t have time for this.

Fine. I’ll call you this afternoon.

There. Done. She should get back to work now, but instead she stares at the phone, waiting for his response.

Needs to be in person. Can you come to the house?

He has so much nerve. As much arrogance as ever, expecting her to be at his beck and call. She can feel her jaw clenching.

I’m busy, Mulder. I’m at work.

Sorry, it’s Sunday, didn’t realize.

Why do we need to talk?

The three dots appear, then disappear. He seems to be grappling with an answer.

After a moment, she adds: If this is about apologizing - not necessary.

The three dots pop up again on her screen.

Not an apology. Not about the other day. Something else. Important.

He adds a second message: Can I come to you? This afternoon?

She lets out a long, extended exhale, putting her head in her hands. After the conference call, she had been hoping to go home and enjoy a relaxing Sunday afternoon. Maybe go to yoga. Maybe take a bath. Seeing Mulder would almost certainly mean more emotional upheaval. The very opposite of the relaxation she needs.

But she’s always had such a hard time saying no to him.

Meet me at 3 at the cafe across from the hospital.

There’s a pause before he responds.

Okay. At 3.

Scully shoves the phone out of her sight, turning her attention back to her laptop. There’s still enough time to get ready. Her mind reviews her to-do list. Annotations, crosscheck with Amsterdam study, and then a quick overview of all of her notes.

But now her mind is distracted, wondering what Mulder wants.

Staring at the spreadsheet in front of her, full of all of the data she should be going through, she thinks a dangerous thought—one that will almost certainly come back to betray her.

Maybe he wants to give her a birthday present. Maybe he wants to do something nice for her birthday.

It’s so stupid of her. So adolescent. So ridiculous to even consider. It will only disappoint her later. Why would he do that? They’re not together anymore. And she knows he’s still struggling with their break-up, and she knows she should help give him space, so that he can recover and get better, get healthy. Even the idea is selfish.

She just can’t help but to imagine that kind of pleasant surprise. Like the old days. Maybe he has a present. A book, chosen just for her. A little bracelet, something exactly her tastes. A card he’s written tenderly for her.

The fantasy is irresistible because no one on earth has ever known her mind, known her heart, known her body like Mulder has. Being known to your core like that is a heady feeling, utterly addictive. She will never, ever stop wanting to experience it again.

She doubts she will. She can’t imagine any of the smarmy visiting surgeons who ask her out ever really knowing her like that.

Another idea pops into her mind, an even more foolish idea that reaches even further into her past.

Maybe he’s coming to her with a good old-fashioned slide show. With some bizarre monster to hunt, a spooky lead to track down, a haunted mystery to solve. Maybe he’s going to try to convince her to come with him on some wild goose chase.

That idea shouldn’t thrill her, it really shouldn’t, but it does. She longs for it in places she typically represses.

To be in some rental car with him, side by side, headed out to face grim small towns and sticky-table top diners and buzzing-sign motels. Her and him against the world. Partners against the darkness, ever and always.

She laughs softly, bitterly at herself. Jesus, she knows so much better than this.

These Mulders she’s longing for—the Mulder who remembers her birthday and painstakingly selects the perfect gift, the Mulder who gets caught up in the excitement of a case and coaxes his partner to be at his side—those versions of Mulder don’t exist any more.

Those versions of Mulder haven’t existed for a while, and that’s exactly why she had to leave.

She looks away from her laptop, massaging her forehead with a single fingertip, and takes another big drink of her coffee. Just take a break for five minutes, she tells herself. Get yourself together.

Her eyes drift back to her phone. She brushes past Mulder’s last message, and goes to scroll through the day’s headlines for the distraction.

Politics, entertainment, local news: she swipes through quickly. The phone offers so much convenience, but it brings something frenetic into her life, too. She sometimes misses the simple, tangible delight of having her hands on a paper Washington Post. Maybe she’ll pick one up today to read in the bathtub, if seeing Mulder doesn’t throw her too much for a loop.

There’s a national news story that catches her attention because of the words “Eighth grader” in the headline. This year, Scully’s attention is grabbed by anything mentioning eighth graders. Last year, it was seventh graders. Next year, it will be ninth graders, which makes her heart ache. High school. So old. He’s very possibly taller than her now.

This particular headline is rather upsetting: “Wyoming Eighth Grader Who Allegedly Shot Parents Still At Large.” Scully clicks on it and looks at the accompanying picture, a smiling school photo of a sweet-faced brown-haired boy who doesn’t look at all like a killer, which she knows from experience means exactly nothing. She decides not to read the story. Stories about killer eighth grade boys will upset her, and there’s no cause to upset herself.

The detour into the news is enough of a reset, though, for her to stop thinking about Mulder.

She turns back to the spreadsheet, her focus back. Only twelve minutes left now until her call. Scully lets herself shut the doors to everything but work.

***

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 22, 2015

“You ready?” Mulder says. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, peering out the open passenger door with a too-bright smile.

Jackson climbs reluctantly in, reaching for his seatbelt. “I look stupid.”

“Not true.” Mulder says encouragingly. “You look like a kid who is being smart about not being recognized.”

News stories with Jackson’s photo have been making the rounds on the cable news stations, so Mulder has decided they can’t take risks. It seems like a long shot that someone would identify him on the roads of rural Virginia, but Jackson supposes it’s better safe than sorry.

So he’s wearing a worn old Yankees cap and a pair of dated oversized sunglasses. In Jackson’s opinion, the sunglasses make him more obvious, because no one under forty would ever wear sunglasses like that if they were not trying to disguise their identity.

The clothes he’d been wearing before were getting a little overripe, so Mulder has also made him borrow a pair of jeans and a black sweater. Like the sunglasses, they are really old—“vintage,” jokes Mulder—-and apparently from when he was a smaller size. But they’re still way too big for Jackson, who is skinnier and shorter. They hang off of him, even with the cuffs of the jeans rolled up and the sleeves of the sweater pushed back.

He looks like a kid playing dress up. Mulder is trying not to look at him. I hope he didn’t hear me think that. Jackson sighs a long, loud drawn-out sigh to let the man know he did.

They’ve now spent a full day together, him and Mulder, waiting for the DNA results to come back. It’s gone okay. Strange, but okay.

Yesterday morning, Mulder made him swab his mouth and drove the sample to drop off with some friend in the FBI. While Mulder was gone, Jackson snooped around, picking up every framed picture, opening drawers and cupboards. He didn’t find anything too interesting, except for a lot of evidence that Mulder didn’t clean up much.

By the time Mulder had returned, Jackson had decided to try to put all those piles of books back on his shelves, attempting to organize them by section. Mulder watched him in fascination for a moment and then joined in. It took them three hours to finish that project, mostly because Mulder kept going on tangents to tell him things about different books.

This book, which describes a fascinating incident with a wendigo, helped me solve a case once… I bought this paperback from a professional shaman in Brooklyn in 1989… This is a theoretical physics text about the practicalities of space travel Scully bought me as a joke.

Jackson didn’t hate it. Mulder was funny, mostly. And smart. He was definitely really smart. But he was intense, too, so eager to show Jackson things, so eager to impress him. Jackson’s shine wearied after a while.

That evening, they tried to watch TV, but turned it off when they saw a snippet of a news story with Jackson’s face. After that, they played chess. Mulder pointed out that telepaths had an unfair advantage in chess, but Jackson promised not to use it, and he really didn’t. Mulder won.

This morning, Mulder got the call about the DNA test, and while he didn’t say it in so many words, Jackson didn’t even need his shine to read the result from the man’s glowing face: it’s a match. You’re the daddy, like the talk shows say. Mulder obviously considers this great news.

Which means, of course, that it’s time to meet the other half of Jackson’s genetic equation.

“Okay,” Jackson mutters, clicking his seatbelt in place. “You said we’re going to a Starbucks or something?”

Mulder starts the engine. “We’re supposed to meet her at a cafe,” he says, maneuvering the car up the drive. “I’m not sure I like having you in public right now though, even master of disguise that you are. So we’ll convince her to talk elsewhere.”

“Hmm,” nods Jackson, the hat slipping over his face a little. He pushes it back. He feels Mulder stealing looks at him, and he wonders if Mulder has any idea how anxious he feels about meeting Scully. He makes a point of looking out the window, trying to make things seem more casual. “You know I could appear as someone else, right? If you want me to.”

“That might be useful,” Mulder says. “But I want Scully to see you as you are. Don’t you?”

Jackson doesn’t answer, keeping his gaze out the window. “On our way, are we going to drive by anywhere interesting? Like the White House or the Washington Monument?”

“Unfortunately, today we’re not leaving Virginia,” Mulder says. “But I promise, not too long from now I’ll take you to D.C. and show you the sights.”

Jackson lowers his stupid sunglasses and gives him a dubious look.

“What? I will.” Mulder protests. “Wait, hold on.” Mulder puts the car in park and hops out to open the gate. Jackson’s eyes follow him closely over the top of the sunglasses as he unlatches the gate and then slides back in.

“A lot of security,” comments Jackson. It seems like a pain in the ass to open and close the gate every time you leave. He wonders how often Mulder does leave. “This is because of those people you and Scully worked with?”

“More or less, yeah,” agrees Mulder, steering the car through the gate, then putting it in park again with a little jerk. He scrambles to hop out again, jogging back to close and latch the gate up.

At least, Jackson thinks, he didn’t grow up having to worry about all of this. He can’t imagine doing this all the time. Although, he thinks with a sudden sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, maybe he should have. Maybe if he and his parents had done all this, they would still be alive.

Mulder slides back in the car again. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Jackson manages.

Mulder nods without expression and drives the car onto the road. “Want to turn on some music?”

“That’s okay.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

Jackson smirks. “Do you really think you’ll have heard of it?”

“That depends,” Mulder says. “If you say you like Prince, or the Stones, or the Clash, then sure.”

“I like those,” Jackson says coolly. “I’m really into Bring Me the Horizon and Fall Out Boy?”

“Nope.”

Jackson gives him a withering “I told you so” look. He turns to face the front windshield, thinking about his mom singing along to When Doves Cry as she unloaded the dishwasher.

“What kind of music does Scully like?” he wonders.

“Oh,” Mulder sounds surprised. “Well, when she was young, she went through a rebellious phase. She liked punk, New Wave. All the music that would annoy her parents.”

“She didn’t get along with her parents?”

“No,” Mulder says. “She did, actually. She still does — her mom is still around. It was just teenage identity stuff. You know how it goes.”

Jackson nods seriously, making note of the existence of a living biological grandparent.

“Now, I think she still likes all that eighties music from when she was young,” Mulder says. “And sixties and seventies hits, too. She listens to that whenever she’s working out or doing something high energy. But she also likes classical music. She listens to a lot of classical music.”

“Is she, like, good at music? Does she sing or play an instrument?” Jackson and Louis had been talking about starting a band, and Jackson had been trying to learn guitar.

“No,” Mulder says. “Not really.” He smiles apologetically. “She’s really, really good at all kinds of other shit though, Jackson. Like being a scientist and a doctor and an F.B.I. agent.”

“She’s pretty, too,” comments Jackson.

“You can read my thoughts, so I assume you know how I feel about that,” Mulder says dryly. “I’m trying not to feel weird about it.”

“I don’t read every thought,” Jackson replies defensively. “I’ve been doing this my whole life, so I have a good idea when I am about to see something permanently damaging.”

Mulder laughs, but looks at him curiously. “What about at school, though? Teachers? Other kids? Girls—or guys—you might have a crush on? It must be tempting, huh?”

Jackson tries to think about how to explain it. “It’s not as tempting as you would think. It’s usually more trouble than it’s worth. You find out things you wish you didn’t. You see people think things about you that make you feel embarrassed or upset. You know information that’s hard to pretend you don’t know, and sometimes you mess up. I mostly don’t want to use my shine, if I can avoid it.”

“Your shine?”

“Oh yeah.” Jackson reddens. He’s only used the word with one other person before. “That’s what I call it. I call it ‘using my shine.’ I guess I mean like a light?”

“Okay,” Mulder says, nodding. “Interesting. Like the psychic boy in Stephen King? The Shining?”

Jackson frowns. “I haven’t seen it. Is there a shine in that?”

He doesn’t even know what I’m talking about. Jackson's mind tunes into Mulder’s thoughts like a radio. Don’t tell him. Too disturbing.

Instead, Mulder throws him a playful look. “Or like ‘Shine on, you crazy diamond.’ That’s an old Pink Floyd song.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” Jackson says with a little tolerant nod. “But … yeah. It can make me feel weird to use it for no good reason. I mean, I’m not saying I have never tried to see answers inside a teacher’s head or anything like that. But mostly I just want to feel normal talking to other people. You know?”

“You do seem to be able to control your shine considerably better than other people I’ve known with this kind of ability,” Mulder comments. “It’s the kind of thing I would have been really interested in, back when I worked on the X-files.”

“You’ve known other people with this ability?”

“Oh yeah,” Mulder says. “Several people. I even… well, I don’t want to get into it all now. But I can talk to you about this in detail whenever you want to.”

Jackson is quiet. “I wish when I was little I knew that there were other people with these abilities. It would have been easier. Made me feel better.”

“I’m sure,” Mulder says quietly. “I wish I could have told you.”

There is a heavy pause.

“I go to therapy for anxiety and depression,” Jackson tells him.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “What about you?”

“No,” Mulder says. He gives him a strange look. “But maybe I should?”

“Yeah,” Jackson agrees, thinking of several details he’s observed. “Maybe you should.”

“You’re in a position to see, I guess,” Mulder muses. He's silent for a beat.

“I read an article about how sometimes a baby, when they’re still in their mom’s womb, can sort of soak up her stress and trauma and then grow up to have problems with anxiety,” Jackson says. “Do you think something like that might have happened to me?”

“You read an article like that?” Mulder asks, scowling. “Why?”

“That’s the kind of article kids with closed adoptions read,” Jackson says, lowering the sunglasses again, an edge of dark humor. “If you're a big nerd like me, anyway. You sort of wonder about everything.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows. Then he seems to consider Jackson’s question.

“I mean, it’s possible,” Mulder says heavily. “It’s possible something like that happened to you when you were in utero. It’s also possible you have anxiety and depression because, each year since 2000, the number of children and teens diagnosed with anxiety and depression has gone up, and you’re just one of those kids.”

Jackson makes an impressed face. “You just happened to know that?”

“Scully read an article about it,” Mulder says. “The kind of article birth mothers with closed adoptions of kids born after 2000 read. If they’re big nerds like Scully, anyway.” He pauses. “It’s also possible you have anxiety and depression for any other number of reasons that have nothing to do with any of that. Like having these abilities you have to hide and deal with, for one.”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson.

“Hey, do me a favor, and please don’t mention reading your ‘anxiety forming in utero’ article to Scully. Okay? Never.”

Jackson’s brow furrows. Not having met Scully, it’s an easy promise to make. “Yeah, okay.” He looks over at Mulder. “Is that something that would bother her?”

Mulder nods emphatically. “Let me put it like this. You know how some families like to have Scrabble competitions? Or fantasy football? In this family we like to compete in feeling guilty for how we’ve hurt people we love.”

“Oh good,” Jackson deadpans. “I’ve been training for that.”

Mulder chuckles bitterly. “You really don’t understand your competition.”

Jackson hadn't even been aware his shine was active, but suddenly he's overcome: a painful onslaught of incoming information. There’s a rapid-fire series of images from Mulder’s mind, so fast Jackson feels his head thump back dramatically against the headrest, closing his eyes. He gasps loud enough that Mulder looks over.

“Whoa, whoa. You okay there?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says breathily, opening his eyes. “I just…” He feels like he got kicked.

“Feeling dizzy?”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Did you drink water today?”

“It wasn’t dehydration," Jackson murmurs.

Mulder’s face changes. Jackson sees that he has realized.

“Oh,” he says. "It was me, wasn't it?" A pause. “God, Jackson, I’m sorry about that.”

“Not really your fault.”

“You… what did you see?”

Jackson scrunches up his eyes to try to remember each detail. “I didn’t understand much of it,” he says. “There was a little girl, brown braids, bright light?” He looks over at Mulder, and Mulder nods tightly. “All these different people crying because they’ve lost someone, mostly people I don’t know. But Scully lots of times. Scully crying again and again and again.” Mulder presses his lips together tightly. “A baby crying in a crib. Me?”

“Yep,” Mulder says. “You.”

“You feel guilty about me?”

“Yep,” Mulder says. He doesn’t add any more detail.

Jackson takes that information in. He’s tempted to use his shine again, to add some context and see why, exactly, but again it seems a little too much for him to cope with. Better to take all of this information in in tiny bite-sized chunks.

He thinks of something else he’s kind of been wanting to ask instead.

“Am I the only kid you guys ever had? Or did you have others?”

“Just you,” Mulder says, his voice melancholy now. “You weren’t supposed to be possible. She wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant at all. We thought you were a miracle.”

Jackson chews on that thought, staring out the window at the passing late winter Virginia landscape.

***