#soothed by his repeated failures and relentless trying

[cringesnail]

I'm so proud of Etoiles for introducing some change in his routine. Instead of spending 3 hours in a dungeon he's spending 3 hours trying to craft something

[oldbutnotyetwise]

Noise

      I’ve been thinking about noise a lot lately, it is almost like I am drowning in it.  Moving to the city after living in the country is a big adjustment.  Noise in the city is relentless, it never stops, it may lessen a bit sometimes, but it is always still there. 

     Buying a Condo two blocks away from a Fire Station means you are going to hear a lot of sirens. 

     Let’s start with a short rant here, Car Alarms, I had forgotten about them when I lived in the country but within a day of living in the city I was sure reminded of them.  Can we not as a world population just agree that they don’t work.  They constantly go off for no apparent reason, so much so that people don’t even bother looking to see where the alarm is coming from anymore.  Here’s an idea, lets just stop putting them in vehicles and disconnect the ones already installed, we can all agree that they were a total failure.  Now if we could segue  from car alarms to backup alarms on commercial vehicles.  I agree a good idea, warn someone of a vehicle backing up so they don’t get hit or run over, but can we talk about the volume?  I am two blocks away and twelve floors up and you sound like you are on my balcony.

     The other day I listened to someone nearby using a chainsaw all day as he cut down a tree.  My neighbour in the country used a chainsaw frequently but there he was much farther away and the sound didn’t bounce off of all the buildings.  In the country it was almost a soothing sound, but in the city it was a day long annoyance.

     In the country I rarely used my vehicle horn, and if I did it was just a quick beep to get my neighbour to pull his head out from whatever equipment he was working on so he could return my wave.  In the city the vehicle horn is used very differently, it is a weapon, it is a loud form of swearing at someone, an outlet for the anger of an already frustrated and agitated driver. 

     What about the cars and the motorcycles with their radio blasting out the driver’s musical selections?  I don’t know about you but I hate Rap Music and getting stuck beside someone playing that while stuck at a red light is a form of torture for me.  What, what’s that you say?  Well yeah, okay so maybe I did that in my teen years too but that was different because I was playing Supertramp, The Eagles, Queen, Fleetwood Mac and so on.  I was providing a public service when I was playing that music loud enough for others to hear because that was great music.  Yes, you’re right, I should probably just move on to the next point.

     Let’s talk about loud exhausts, you know the kind.  The I ride a Harley and I want everyone to know it.  “It has a loud exhaust but that is a safety feature so people hear me coming”…..sorry guys no matter how many times you try to sell that line I am not buying it.  The loud exhaust is just something that forces people to look at you and that is something that you seem to need.

     The opposite end of the scale to loud motorcycles is those annoying small cars that the kids are souping up and have that loud whiney exhaust noise that is both loud and annoying.  Yes kid everyone within a five block radius loves to hear the sound of your car as you drive down the road.

     I like almost all dogs, I certainly tend to like dogs more than dog owners,  Living in a city you will have to deal with barking dogs.  There is a small yappy dog that lives across the street from my Condo.  The people let the dog out around six a.m. at which time the dog barks constantly for 20 - 30 minutes, this pattern repeats itself throughout the day and up until around ten p.m.  I am at a loss to understand why someone would think it’s okay to let your dog bark constantly disturbing so many people around you.  I blame the people here, not the dog, I actually feel sorry for this annoying little dog who probably knows no world outside of their house and backyard.  

     How about some classic Noise Pollution?  The leaf blower, yes I admit that they work but damn are they annoying.  I know they aren’t as efficient, but couldn’t we go back to the days of rakes and brooms?

     How about the drunken idiots or couples walking down the street in the early morning hours yelling at each other, waking up all the sleeping people and sharing their well developed knowledge of swear words.  

     They are right up there with the people having a phone conversation using blue tooth, I can’t be the only one who answers the person next to them in a grocery store when they say “Hey, how you doing?”  Of course after you answer they turn and look at you all annoyed before marching off and continuing their conversation with whoever they called on their bluetooth.  Yes, yes, rest assured we all love hearing half a phone conversation of someone as important as you.

     In a big city there is always traffic, three, four, five o’clock in the morning you can still hear it, it never ends.  I wonder when the last time people in the city heard absolute silence, would it be as disconcerting for them as all this city noise is to me.  

     My wife Robin and I took her son Jack out for dinner the other day.  We sat on an outdoor patio and I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable Jack was.  I on the other hand was sitting there a bit overwhelmed by the traffic noise from the busy street during rush hour, racing engines, car horns, add to the all the regular city noise, patio music being played too loud and the loud voices from fellow diners.  Jack didn’t seem to take any notice of all the noise, he seemed comfortable, almost at peace.  I wondered if living in the city he had built up an immunity to it all.  I on the other hand was in a bit of an auditory overload.

     My sister-in-law who lives in Toronto stayed with us when we lived up north and the first morning she complained about all the noise the birds made in the early morning hours, they had woken her.  Yet I bet she would have just slept through all the city noise because that is what she is used to.

     One type of city noise that I hear, and I like to hear is the sound of a distant train whistle in the early morning hours.  There is a comfort to me in hearing a train whistle as it goes through a crossing, a train going somewhere, passenger train or freight train I don’t know.  The sound of a train in many ways is the sound of the past, a simpler quieter time, or maybe I’m just romanticizing it a bit.  

     Another sound I like in the city is the sound of church bells ringing, for some reason the sound of church bells always make me pause and listen to them.  Each time the the bell chimes, I pause waiting for the bell to chime again, and when the chiming stops I feel slightly sad for a moment before continuing on with my day.

     Perhaps one person’s noise is another person’s comforting sounds, and vice versa.  Maybe one day I will adjust to all the noises of the city, maybe I won’t notice the cornucopia of city noise that are like fingernails on the chalkboard to me now.  I don’t know if that is something I should look forward to or if it is something I should dread.

     What sounds cause you instant irritation and what sounds bring you comfort, sounds you find soothing or that help you relax? 

[spxllcxstxr]

Bridge Over Troubled Water • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Requests: can you do a blurb with Remus where the reader is nervous and anxious, maybe has a tough week and he gives her a massage and helps her relax? — anon and Hi! can you write an imagine where the reader is dating Remus and is disappointed in her school grades / results and is overall doubting herself and is disappointed with herself? — @emmaev

Summary: Things are getting really tough. Remus is here for you.

Warnings: mention of food, not eating/skipping a meal, hunger, depression, anxiety, a bit of a panic attack, homework, school, self deprecating thoughts, kinda take how we’re feeling in this pandemic and that’s kinda what this fic is, Snape being an ass for like two sentences, crying

Word Count: 1.7k

A.N: I hope it’s alright that I combined your two requests. But, I decided to make it longer with a lot more comfort. I really hope it’s ok with you guys ❤️ Kinda a vent fic? So that’s why it’s lowkey all over the place and the ending is sorta..abrupt? I hope you like it, though. I wanna say that I’m always here for you guys. This whole thing has been kicking my ass and school has been extremely tough for me, so know that you’re not alone. Know that you’ve got this. I believe wholeheartedly in you. Love you all. ❤️

Title: Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water

****

You trudge up the stone steps to the boys dorms, your bag dragging heavily behind you. With your robes slipping from your shoulders and your tie dangling loosely around your neck, you almost consider letting your bag go. Watching the heavy sack of books tumble recklessly down the spiral staircase seems like a great idea to you. However, you make it to the sixth year dorms before you’re able to loosen your grip.

The oak door was closed but not locked. What use was a lock when the door was charmed to singe off the eyebrows of any unwelcome visitor? Thankfully, the boys granted you complete access to their room in third year, so the door couldn’t harm you.

Turning the brass doorknob and stepping through the threshold, you’re greeted by somewhat organized chaos.

Sirius and Peter’s side of the room was a complete disaster while James and Remus’ side was at least nicer to look at. Sure a few books were scattered on the floor and James’ red and yellow underwear was hanging from his bedpost visible to anyone who walked in, but that’s nothing compared to whatever the other two have going on. You don’t even want to look at it, knowing full well that just one tiny glance would make your already terrible day worse.

The room is empty and completely quiet, the boys, just like every other person in the castle, were down in the Great Hall for dinner. At the thought of dinner just downstairs, your stomach grumbles before quickly churning in agony.

Quickly, you dump your bag next to the door and go through Remus’ drawers, searching for that one specific jumper.

It’s the deep blue cable knit one that always smells like him. The jumper is soft and warm and the perfect piece of clothing to cuddle into when you needed a good cry. And Godric, you needed a good, long, ugly cry.

After finding it and throwing it on, you barely lift up your feet walking to your boyfriend’s bed to get swallowed up by his blankets.

The weight of the day hits you full force the moment your head collides with his pillow, and your lips wobbles, the day replaying in your mind.

Your morning started with a Transfiguration exam that definitely was not on what you studied all night for.

Then, your potion bubbled out of your cauldron and started disintegrating the stone flooring, making Slughorn shoot you very disappointed look that made you want to disappear into the Forbidden Forest forever.

Defense Against the Dark Arts turned into a complete disaster as well when Professor Bluebell handed back your essays on inferi, and yours ended up with a spikey red D scrawled angrily on the top. D, which stands for Dreadful, as Snape snidely reminded you from over your shoulder. He flashed you smug little smirk along with the delicate O that adorned his own essay.

And to top it all off, you had to meet up with Flitwick right after classes to go over the vinegar to wine charm that for some reason wouldn’t work for you no matter how hard you tried. And you still weren’t successful.

This was becoming a common occurrence.

You always knew that your N.E.W.T. year was going to be tough, but Merlin, you never expected it to be this awful.

Classes were longer and harder and your professors were relentless and unforgiving with the amount of homework and exams they started handing out.

Sure you had more free periods, but those were filled with research and essays and studying, you had no free time at all—it was all a lie.

You couldn’t escape it. Sleep was just more time to be plagued by anxiety to the point you barely even slept at all. Most of the time you stared blankly up at the ceiling thinking about all the assignments you could be doing instead.

It’s this torturous and vicious cycle that you just can’t get out of.

And your motivation was quickly disappearing.

It was getting tougher and tougher each time to even do your homework. Lifting up your quill and taking out a stack of parchment was just difficult. It took too much energy out of you.

Smothering your face in Remus’ pillow, you groan out your frustration, balling your fists around the frayed sleeves of the jumper.

You’re so wrapped up in your despair and panic that you don’t hear the door creak open and four sets of footfalls and laughter bounce around the room.

“Damn, what’s up with you?” Sirius chuckles. You hear him flop onto his own bed.

You bury your nose in the fabric of the jumper, inhaling the sweet and comforting scent of chocolate and old parchment that always accompanies Remus Lupin.

“Don’t be a git, Pads.” Remus scoffs, making his way towards you.

He crouches down by your head, placing a delicate thumb on your cheekbone.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone turns soft, drenched with concern.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, tears trickling down the bridge of your nose and dripping down to the white sheets.

“Alright, darling, hold on.” Remus whispers, placing a dainty kiss on your forehead.

He straightens up, knees creaking the way no sixteen year old’s should.

“Alright, lads, clear out.” Remus declares to his friends.

“You can’t kick me out of my room, Moony. No way.” You hear James whine.

“Yes, I can, Prongs, c’mon. Go play chess with Peter or something.”

“But he always beats me.”

“C’mon, Prongsie, we can scam the first years by making them place bets on you winning.” Sirius suggests. His boots click against the floorboards, trailing towards the door.

Peter’s light footsteps follow after them.

“Fine.” James huffs dramatically. “But I’m not sleeping on the couch again, so no funny business.”

The door slams shut and once again you’re met with silence, though you do hear Remus changing out of his uniform and into more comfortable attire.

The bed dips underneath Remus’ weight and his hand gently starts to stroke through your hair.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my love.” Remus mumbles just loud enough for you to hear.

You try to swallow down the lump in the back of your throat.

“Just a very shitty day, Rem.” You manage to croak out, the words choppy and wavering.

Tears begin to flow freely, warm salty streaks making their way down your face in rapid succession.

“Oh darling.” Remus coos, practically pulling you into his arms and between his legs. You bury your face into his neck, tears dampening his scarred flesh. “It’s alright, let it out.” He continues to run your hair between his fingers. “Let it all out...”

“I-I’m just so stupid!” You sob, choking on spit. “Everything’s just getting too much and I can’t fucking take it anymore!”

He squeezes you closer to his chest, opting to stay silent so you can vent everything off of your chest. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head and you’re vaguely aware that you’re being rocked gently back and forth.

“It’s so hard!” You continue to wail, lungs constricting rapidly. It’s a struggle to keep breathing and your words barely come out fully, instead broken fragments are the only things spewing out.

“I’m a failure!” You spit out, face wet with tears.

“You’re not a failure, my love. I promise.” Remus tried to soothe, his voice adopting a small but noticeable waver. His hand rubs your back.

“I am! I’m a disappointment!” You sniff, taking in deep gulps of air.

“Shh...” Remus pulls you back a bit so he can see your entire face.

You already know you look disgusting. Eyes blotchy and red, tears streaming down your face. Snotty, spitty, wobbling, and watery features taking up his entire vision.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, hm? Let me help.” He consoles you softly.

You gaze into his warm honey brown eyes, glistening with his own tears.

You sniff, rubbing the sleeves of Remus’ stolen jumper across your face in an attempt to dry yourself off.

“Everything’s slipping, Rem. My grades, my mental health, everything. And I’m so lost I don’t know what to do anymore.” You confess. “What am I supposed to do?” You bring your hands up to you hair, tugging at your scalp enough for you to feel sparks of pain.

Quickly, his own trembling hands take yours. He stops you from tugging, instead bringing them to rest on his jumper clad chest.

You swallow harshly.

“I’m going to help you, (Y/n)—“

“You can’t help me, Remus! I’m beyond help—“

“No, you’re not.” He retorts lightly. “I’ll help you with homework and help you ask for a few extensions...we can get you back on track.”

“Remus...” Your voice trembles at his kindness.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps out, a tear or two slipping from his waterline. “I’m so so sorry that I didn’t see you suffering like this. Merlin, (Y/n).”

Shaking his head at himself, he brings his forehead down to your own.

“I’ll be better. I’ll be better, I swear.” Remus keeps repeating in a pained mutter.

“It’s not your fault, Rem. I got good at acting like everything was fine.” Your voice cracks.

“Still! I should’ve realized!” He mutters angrily.

“I love you, Remus. I love you so much, please don’t beat yourself up over this.” You plead.

He bites his lip, deciding to drop it, instead focusing on you.

“Why don’t we try to relax, hm? Just take a nice night off?” Remus suggests, pulling away to brush strands of hair away from your sticky face.

“But what about homework—?”

“Tomorrow, love. I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”

You shlyly nod, and he presses his lips to your forehead.

“You’re beautiful, darling.” Remus whispers.

“I just bawled my eyes out, Rem, I’m sure I look like a swamp hag.” You snort.

He brings his hands to your shoulders, rubbing deep circles into your back muscles. The knots start to dissipate.

“Never seen a swamp hag as angelic as you.” Remus flirts. But his voice is so sincere and honest, you have no choice but to somewhat believe him.

“Thank you, Remus.” You smile. “It means so much to me.”

“Anything for the love of my life.” He confesses, trailing his pink lips down your neck. “Now let me hold you close.”

He lays down, resting his head on his pillow, your head resting on his chest.

Things are going to get better.

Probably not tomorrow.

Probably not this week.

But things will.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

[kingfisherunion]

This world is cold and madness

Chapter 4: from the hell

Read on Ao3

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Relationships:

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov

Characters:

Katsuki Yuuri

Victor Nikiforov

Yuri Plisetsky

Otabek Altin

Otabek Altin's Sister

Nishigori Yuuko

Yakov Feltsman

Additional Tags:

Car Accidents

Character Death

Married Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Anxious Katsuki Yuuri

Angst

Fluff and Angst

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Grief/Mourning

Established Relationship

Anxiety

Anxiety Attacks

Death

Hurt Yuri Plisetsky

Character's Name Spelled as Viktor

Comforting Katsuki Yuuri

Comforting Victor Nikiforov

Victor's last season

Supportive Katsuki Yuuri

stage husband yuuri

moody viktor

Fights

Swearing

Yuri Plisetsky Swears

Post-Canon

DJ Otabek Altin

Motorcycles

it seems like Viktor is insensitive

but he really does care he's just not great with feelings

Language: English

Yuri tossed down his phone and got up to wash out his bowl. A picture of the crash peered up from the screen.

“Yuri,” Viktor began, but the young skater interrupted him.

“How much do you two know?” He asked.

“Yurio, come have some coffee,” Viktor said calmly. “Yuuri has a cup ready for you.”

“I don’t want that pig’s shit coffee,” snapped Yuri. He hadn’t yet emerged from the pile of blankets underneath which he was camouflaged.

Yuuri chuckled, in spite of himself. He was nothing if not used to the Russian Tiger’s bites. In fact, they were familiar enough to be comforting.

“That’s fine, Yurio,” he said warmly. “Is there something else you’d like?” He slid the fourth cup to Viktor, who downed it in two gulps.

“I want you to get back on a plane and finish your damn honeymoon and let me be alone!”

“Yuratchka,” Yakov soothed throatily, “they are here only for you.”

“No,” Yuuri said with a reserved smile. “He’s right. It must be pretty bothersome waking up to a room full of people in your own home. We’ve been insensitive. Yuri, please call us as soon as you need anything. In any case, we’ll be back to bring you lunch and dinner.”

“Shit, Katsudon, why are you being weird?” The young skater finally sat up and stretched his back, rubbing his eyes. Yuuri was not prepared for the state of his face. His fair complexion was splotchy and pink, his eyes swollen and red. His hair was uncombed. He was practically unrecognizable from his on-ice counterpart. Yuuri approached him without hesitation, swallowing down the lump that was forming in this throat.

“If you’re hungry before then, will you tell us?” He sat and drew Yuri into a tight hug. “Please?”

Yuri, to everyone’s surprise, was entirely accepting of his friend’s embrace. He leaned into it, hanging heavily in Yuuri’s arms.

There was a long moment of quiet stillness. The only sound was the boy’s slow, calculated breaths. He was trying to keep steady, trying to stay calm. Yuuri tried to clear his mind, to be relentless in his compassion. He squeezed tighter.

The tears came suddenly, as if he’d been punched, and shook his lanky body in steady waves. He bounced back and forth between quivering, gasping inhale and sagging, hissing exhale. He wept quietly and bitterly. It forced its way out of him like vomit.

Yuuri sat, swaying, waiting, breathing. He himself, for whatever reason or another, felt entirely calm, meditative, as if acting as a pillar or a pillow or whatever for the mourning teen allowed him to cast aside his own worries and doubts. He rocked. He squeezed. He tucked golden hair behind bright red ears.

The sputtering and choking began to come in the form of words, Russian, unknown to Yuuri but repeated over and over and over.

“он мертв… он мертв… он мертв… он ушел...”

It was easily forty minutes before Yuri began to approach anything close to calm. He continued to mumble into Yuuri’s chest through sniffles and sobs and snot. Like a vigilant prayer.

Viktor had dismissed Yakov with a kiss on the cheek and started another pot of coffee and water for tea. He had busied himself around the apartment, tidying, lighting candles, making porridge, then stationing himself at the dinette with his music and his notepad.

Yuuri could see, the few times he passed into view, the red in his nose and around his eyes. His empath.

Yuri’s sobs were beginning to lose force. His breathing grew steadier, deeper, more controlled. When he finally picked himself up, his face was bright red, patterned with the stitches of Yuuri’s sweater, raw with tears and snot. Yuuri was ready with the tissues.

“Do, uhh… do you still want us to go?” he asked. “We can. I understand.”

“You don’t understand shit, Katsudon,” Yuri spat. “Don’t try to start now.” He stood and crossed his room to the kitchen, poured himself a coffee.

Viktor shot a chastizing glance across the table as his teammate sat. Yuri sighed.

“No. Sorry. Th-shit-thank you. For that. And, uh, for coming home early.”

Yuuri sat on the edge of the bed, tending to the stain on his shoulder with a wad of tissues. He hoped his smile looked sincere. Everything was beginning to slant again. It had been easier when Yuri was crying, even when he was cruel.

“Honestly, anyone is better than Yakov. Shitty old man just sat and stared.”

Viktor laughed. “I’m so sorry, Yura. I thought you would prefer to have space, but I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“I don’t even think he really knew that - about us.” Yuri sat and poked at a bowl of porridge. “I don’t think he gets it.”

“He’s coached figure skaters since before I was born, котенок,” Viktor chided. “Do you really think he doesn’t see?”

“…He was just here.”

“I sent him home to rest.”

“No,” Yuri said, staring blankly into his bowl. “He was - just last week.”

He seemed to struggle with the thought, opening his mouth as if to speak more than once before biting it back and attempting to eat. His face twisted in mild disgust but he forced down spoonful after spoonful. He was clearly hungry - not so much ravenous as empty, Yuuri thought. He ate slowly, as if each bite were an afterthought, getting up in between to pour more coffee and find his phone.

Food and depression are bitter enemies, Yuuri thought. At his lowest, when there was no love or motivation strong enough to move him from his own bed, when his perception of self was that of a failure, a disappointment, a nusiance, he’d wished he was the type of person who starved his feelings, as opposed to one who ate them. Now, watching Yurio wrestle with the last few bites of a meager breakfast, he realized no one struggle outweighed another. The Russian Fairy, dressed in sweats and an oversized tee-shirt, may as well have been a husk of his former self. His complexion was ashen, eyes bulging, brow permanently furrowed. He was glued to his phone, undoubtedly clicking through news site after news site, trying to gather as much information about Otabek as he could. Viktor looked on with mild concern, glancing silent messages Yuuri’s way every now and then, unsure whether he was supposed to intervene or not.

These periodic reminders that Viktor was, in fact, human were comforting to Yuuri. But, of course, he was only human as well, and so the two watched their young friend struggle in tense silence for what felt like hours.

Twitter was flooded with pictures from the 2014 Grand Prix Finale and the Kazakh's numerous Nationals wins. Yuri’s Angels had cultivated a live-update master page with everything that was known so far. To everyone’s surprise, the Angels - or at least the vast majority - had shown up in overwhelming support of their grieving idol, flooding his social media mentions with condolences and words of comfort and curating videos and photographs in memory of Otabek - and of his loving relationship with Yuri. Their fellow competitors had also begun an online memorial of their fallen friend. His face dominated Yuuri’s feed from the profiles of Pichit, Christophe, Leo, JJ, and Emil. Even Seung-Gil had posted a selfie the two had snapped together during the previous year’s Grand Prix.

Yuri tossed down his phone and got up to wash out his bowl. A picture of the crash peered up from the screen.

“Yuri,” Viktor began, but the young skater interrupted him.

“How much do you two know?” He asked.