#tell me what you think this situation is in the tags

[nocasdatsgay]

A Lesson in Heartbreak

2 of 3: Words are Painful Weapons

Rating: T | Word Count: 3983 | Pairing: Azris/Reader

Summary: Eris and Azriel made promises they didn’t keep. When you confront them about it, Eris says some things he instantly regrets. Now him and Azriel have to fix what they broke.

Neapolitan Bonds Masterlist| Read on A03| Part 1| Read Below

Warnings: Angst, Eris has a sharp tongue, alcohol, drunk!Eris

A/N: HI so… yeah… I am alive. Sorry this took so long. A second shout out to @daycourtofficial for inspiration with Azriel and his comments when he comes back.

Tagging: @myromanempiree @pit-and-the-pen @lilah-asteria @thisblogisaboutabook @hieragalbatorixdottir @mybestfriendmademe @paleidiot @div94 (if you are tagged by accident or want to be tagged in the future, let me know)

“There. A letter to Tarquin and a letter to her.” Eris sent them with a flick of his wrist. 

Azriel calmed enough to sit while Eris penned the letters. They needed you to come home so they could talk with you in person. Deep down, Eris was thoroughly embarrassed over the whole situation. Not only at himself but for you leaving to another court. He wondered if this was how Tamlin felt all those years ago, when Feyre ran off to the Night Court. Eris suddenly had empathy for him in retrospect. 

He slumped back in his chair and sighed. He needed a stiff drink. But he wanted to be sober if you came home. Azriel sat across from him, arms  crossed against his chest and brows furrowed like he did when he was deep in thought. His eyes were still rimmed in red from earlier. The Shadows were nowhere in sight. 

“What?” Eris looked at his mate. 

Az cut his eyes to Eris, still frowning. “I want you to tell me exactly what you said to her.”

“I’m surprised your shadows didn’t already tell you.” Eris didn’t hold back his eye roll or his sigh. “I don’t fully remember.” 

Everything was a blur from earlier. When he got like that, he never remembered what he said. 

“Well think fucking harder.” Eris could see Azriel’s fingers dig into his sleeves. 

“She came in screaming at me about missing dinner.” It reminded him too much of his mother. The way she would yell at his father when he was a youngling. Eris tried to focus, to put that aside. “I told her the high lord meeting was more important. We were hosting, and.”

After a moment Az said, “And what, Eris”

He cursed under his breath. “I said she would understand that if she had bothered to help. Since she isn’t helping, she doesn't get to complain that we are busy. She knew what she was getting into when we mated.”

Azriel recoiled where he sat. “How could you say that to her?” 

“It’s the truth, Azriel.” Eris brushed back his hair with his hand. “This is what it’s like to be mated to a High Lord. We have responsibilities. Yes, I was wrong for implying she didn’t want to help because she asked and I told her she didn’t have to. I admit that.” 

Shadows came out as Az replied. “And we made promises we didn’t keep.”

“I know I did. It eats me alive that I broke them but what else am I supposed to do? It’s our first time hosting, I’ve only been High Lord for a decade and a half. She’s worked for multiple courts. She knows these things have to be perfect or others will talk.” 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to have dinner with her.” Az countered. 

Eris glared at him. “Do not act like you are any better. You weren’t there either.”

He winced. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” Then he glared back. “But maybe I would have been there if you let other people do their job instead of making it our problem.”

“Oh you’re going to blame me?” Eris was on his feet. “By the gods. I’m always your scapegoat because it’s easy to blame me than for you to look in a fucking mirror.”

“Eris.” A warning, as shadows built around him. 

“Am I wrong?” Azriel didn’t answer. Eris and his sharp tongue kept going. “You blamed me for centuries when it came to Mor. To this court. To my father. Let’s just add this to it.” He paused. Before he could stop himself he added. “It wouldn’t even be a fucking issue if it was just us.” 

Eris felt the shock through the bond from Az before he shut him out. Even the shadows recoiled from around Az.

“What are you saying?”

“I don’t have to repeat myself. We work well together,” he gestured between them, “because we know what to expect from each other. She wants so much more than either of us are capable of.”

Shadows shrunk back again. “That’s not true.”

“It is!” Then words spewed from his mouth like viper venom. “I wish Elain never told us. I wish I never let you get your fucking hopes up, looking for a third bond in every fucking fae you brought to our bed. But I love you, so I let you do it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Azriel was on his own feet, siphons on his hands flashing. “I always got your consent, you said it was fine. You brought your own-”

Eris’s mouth ran away from him again. He didn’t raise his voice; his tone did the work for him. 

“Maybe I lied. I only took other lovers so you wouldn’t feel guilty. I was just trying to make you happy because I was never enough for you. Even the Mother herself knew. She knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent us her.” 

Az looked like he’d been struck. Guilt and insecurity Eris had buried for decades laid out on full display. At that moment Eris hoped Azriel hurt just as much as he did. The silence between them was heavy and loud. It was finally Azriel who spoke, his own words sharp and stinging. 

“I never asked to be mated to you. You say this is easier for me and you, but it’s only easy for you. What’s easy is loving her. It’s not my fault you’re too fucked up to know that too.” 

Shadows grew thick around him and he winnowed out of the room. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You showered and changed into a soft seafoam colored nightgown, given to you by Samira. She was sitting by a small side table reading when you came back into the bedroom. She set her book down and got up from her seat. 

“Did you tell him, Tarquin?” You asked. 

In your haste to get away, you didn’t think about the implications of your actions. Namely as High Lord’s mate seeking refuge in another court. You liked Tarquin a lot. He was kind and you were so happy when Samira and him hit it off. But he was still a High Lord of another court. Samira didn’t look you in the eyes from where she had sat on the edge of the bed. 

“I only told him what you told me.”

“That’s fine,” you said quickly. You got onto the bed and crawled up beside her. “I understand. If you hadn’t told him, I would have.”

“That said,” she put her hand over yours. “You’re here as my guest. Any correspondence will come directly to me unless there is a threat to the court.” 

You winced and she gave you a sympathetic look. Your mates were both known for their tempers. Azriel was well known for his impulsive behavior. You prayed to the Mother that neither of them acted irrationally. A hard thing to hope knowing you sealed this room the moment you entered. 

“Did you want some tea or do you want to rest for the night?” 

“Tea. I need to talk if you’re willing to listen.”

“Always,” she smiled. 

You grabbed a light robe and moved into the small sitting room. She waited as Samira had tea brought to the room. She fixed you a cup, and then she sat down and took her own in her hands. 

“So what happened?”

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to figure out where to start. 

You explained the best you could. How they both made a promise to go to dinner and neither showed. You explained how distant they’d been for months. You explained how Eris told you that dinner wasn’t as important as whatever he was working on with the upcoming summit. 

“He said I knew what I was getting into when we mated. As if I’m not managing his court while his nose is stuck in itinerary lists.” You added bitterly. 

She winced. “And Azriel? What did he say about all this?” 

“He said he was sorry. He lost track of time. Conveniently he was silent when I asked why his shadows didn’t remind him.” You stared down at the tea in your hand. You could feel your eyes water again. “He hasn’t- he has always been more physically affectionate than Eris. Out in public, at least. But he hasn’t even-“

You stopped yourself, your face burning. Samira didn’t need to know how Az hadn’t even called you by a specific pet name in weeks. Eris even longer. And how was you supposed to explain they even stopped just casually touching you? It was childish, to be upset about something so silly. Yet thinking about it just made you cry again. 

You wiped your eyes. “It just feels as if  they don’t want me anymore.”

“They're your mates, of course they want you.”

“Mates doesn’t always mean love, Samira. They did just fine without me for what? Two decades? Maybe longer. Maybe they miss it just being the two of them.” 

“Now you’re talking nonsense. Stop it,” she gave you a pointed look. 

“What if it’s the truth?” You were so sick of crying. You sniffled and wiped your eyes. “They know each other so well. What do they need me for?” 

They didn’t.

That was your whole issue. They didn’t need you. Eris and Az could practically communicate without words. They moved around each other seamlessly. Eris knew exactly how Az liked his tea. Az knew to move papers closer to the inside of the desk when Eris was on a rant, his hands moving about as he talked. Eris knew when to make the spare room without even asking Azriel if he needed it. You tried to watch, to listen. Five years and you still weren’t in tune with them. 

Samira shuffled in her seat, drawing your attention back to her. 

“Eris wrote a letter to Tarquin. I got it while you were bathing. It wasn’t much, just him requesting to know if you were here and if so, that you get this.” She held up an envelope with his seal on it. “I wrote back that I would handle communication and you’d be staying the night.” 

She laid the letter on the table in front of you. Your chest ached, begging you to open it immediately. You shoved it down. 

Samira added, “I informed him that if you want to stay longer, I can’t make you leave. Tarquin has already agreed to allow you to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” you whispered and stared back down at your tea again. 

“Sleep on it. You can have breakfast with us and decide what you want to do in the morning.”

You nodded. Sleep sounded nice now that the adrenaline of the evening had crashed. You drained the rest of your tea and bid Samira good night. You left the letter on the table. You’d read it in the morning. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Eris poured himself the stiffest drink he’d had in decades. The shame and embarrassment of everything was still burning in his chest. He downed his drink in one swing and poured another. Both his mates were gone. He walked over to his desk where the correspondence with summer sat. Your friend had written back instead of Tarquin. He downed his second drink. 

To make things less complicated, I will be handling correspondence until this is resolved. Unless there is a threat to the court, I will not involve the high lord. I promise I will give her your letter in the morning. She was distraught when she arrived and I’ve just gotten her calmed. She’s currently bathing and I will get her some tea to help her sleep. 

There was a break in the letter and she added. 

She has yet to tell me what happened fully, but as her friend I am warning you both that you two better make this right. I will try to convince her to return in the morning, but she is a grown female. If she requests to stay, Tarquin has already told me she may. 

Eris tossed the letter back onto the desk. He doubted once you found out Az left too that you’d come home. It’s what he deserved. 

He was a fool to think he could do this- have two mates. To think he could be any better than his father. Three years mated to you and he still couldn’t control himself. Couldn’t toe the line between work and leisure. Fifteen mated to Az and he still spewed venom in his direction the moment he was cornered. And Eris finally got a taste of his own medicine when Azriel spewed it right back. 

With a heavy sigh, Eris pulled out more parchment and ink. There would not be a high lord summit- not with all of this happening. He’d draft the letters and send them in the morning. If he could sleep at all, with no one sharing his bed. He went and made a third drink. He opened his bonds and see if you or Az would respond. 

Still shut out. The urge to down that third drink was strong. He needed to be sober in the morning even if he didn’t want to be. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Azriel flew until his emotions settled. Eris’s foul words rung in his ears still. ‘I wish Elain never told us’ he’d said. ‘Even the mother herself knew I wasn’t enough for you so she sent her.’ 

His eyes watered and it wasn’t from the wind in them. There was an ache in his chest- both bonds were shut out. He and Eris fought plenty, before and after they reconciled and the bond snapped. Somehow this was still the worst. He ignored his own words that spewed like venom in response to what Eris had said. 

Azriel was angry and hurt. He left- if he stayed any longer the whole Forest House may have been burned to the ground. He circled the border between Autumn and Winter. He couldn't go back, not tonight. He landed in a clearing, stretching out his wings before tucking them back in. He didn’t want to go to Valeris. He had one other option. His shadows seemed to agree, as they circled him and he winnowed. 

He landed outside the wards of Rosehall. The fae lights shown through the window. 

She is awake. a shadow whispered. 

He thought about turning back. He didn’t want to disturb his mother, to bother her with his problems. Yet his feet carried him forward, the wards rippling around him. He tucked his wings in tight and walked to the door. He didn‘t have to knock; the wards were designed to let only few in and to notify her when someone arrived. He could hear the rush of footsteps inside and braced himself as the door opened. 

“Azriel?” His mother answered the door, a navy shawl you made for her wrapped tight around her shoulders, sides shaped to accommodate her wings. “What has happened?”

”I had a fight with my mates.” He said quickly. “They’re fine; I just- I couldn’t stay.”

His mother brushed back loose hair to tuck it behind her ear. He realized her hair was half braided. She nodded, and stepped aside to let him in. 

“I’m sorry, I can go.”

”Nonsense, come in. I just made tea.”

His shadows swirled past him, one or two weaving around his mother. They always loved her; probably more than him if he was honest. He stepped through the frame and looked around. He had visited two weeks ago and already things had changed. His heart skipped, looking into the sitting room. Feyre had taken to decorating his mother’s house with portraits and paintings. The one above the fireplace was of him and his mother. It was a new one on the wall to the left that wasn’t there two weeks ago that made him stop in his tracks. It was of his mother, himself, you, and Eris. From your mating ceremony, based on the clothing and how close together you all were. 

“The High Lady spoils me,” his mother said from his right. “Says my house is too empty. You should see the garden painting she had mounted in the hall a few days ago. Come.” 

He felt her hand grab his own. He could only grip back loosely. He didn’t realize how cold his fingers had gotten from flying. If she noticed, she didn’t say. She led him to the kitchen where a kettle sat on the stove. He sat at the small table and watched almost numbly while she gathered cups and poured the tea. 

“Zemër, tell me what happened.” 

Az looked down at the cup as she sat it in front of him. He wrapped his hands around it, letting the warmth ease the stiffness in his hands. If he was home, Eris would do it for him. He pushed that thought away. He took a few sips, relishing in how the warmth flowed through his chest. His mother waited patiently across from him, braiding the rest of her hair for bed. 

“I said some things I shouldn’t have.” His shadows nudged him on the shoulder. “I made a promise and didn’t keep it.” She hummed and tied off her hair. His voice cracked a little when he added. “I don’t know if I can fix it.” 

There was a beat of silence and his mother took a sip of her tea. “Why do you think such a thing?” 

“Because she left!” He snapped. His mother flinched and shadows hissed at him for raising his voice. “I’m sorry. She left and he- we’ve been so busy and she asked for one dinner and neither of us went. Then she left. And Eris said things. So I said things back.”  

He hated that hot tears fell down his cheeks. And that his mother was looking at him with pity. She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly in her own. 

“Words are painful weapons and you are the best warrior in all prythian.” That made Azriel snort and she smiled softly. “This is a fight. Not a war. You haven’t lost yet. They are your mates. You love them. If you haven’t given up your love for them, what makes you think they have so easily given up their love for you?” 

She had him there. He gave her hand a squeeze, a gesture of thanks. Then a shadow swirled up his arm quickly. 

We must go. He furrowed his brows. He walks to our balcony. We must stop him. We must go. Go. 

“Shit.” Azriel winced at himself. He hated cursing in front of his mother. “Mama, I have to go. Thank you. For the tea.” 

She watched him stand, not letting go of his hand. “Be careful, my love.” 

Despite the tugging of the shadows he gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in two weeks. I promise.” 

She nodded and he winnowed away. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At some point, Eris wasn’t sure when; he grabbed the whole bottle instead of pouring himself a glass. He couldn’t sleep. Not alone, with his thoughts and past memories hovering around the edges of the bed. They we’re waiting in the dark to grip him when he was most vulnerable. So instead he drank. Drank to numb the emptiness like he used to in the days before. 

One minute he was in his chambers and the next he was stumbling up stairs. There were several balconies in the forest house but there was only one nearest to the roof. He built it for Azriel. It had no railings, just a place for him to take off when he went flying. Az swore he didn’t need it; but he still used it. In Eris’s mind, Az would use the balcony when he came back home.

Because he had to come home. You both had to come home. Eris didn’t think he could bear it if you didn’t. It took him a moment when he reached the door to focus enough to grab the handle. Gods, he hadn’t been this drunk since his youth. Pushing into the room, it was bare- save the single old couch, rug, and unlit fireplace. His gaze fixated on the double glass doors that led to the balcony. If he could just get out there, he could wait. 

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Eris nearly fell over, balance upended by Az’s voice behind him. He grabbed Eris by his shirt to pull him steady. Shadows that had been absent swirled in his vision, grazing his hair and neck as if checking him over. It took a moment for the world to stop spinning and his focus fixated on the male before him. 

“You came back,” Eris whispered. 

“Of course I did.” Azriel’s nose crinkled at Eris’ breath. “You're drunk.”

“Can’t sleep.” He felt his eyes water. He reached for Azriel’s shoulder but Az held him in place. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.” 

“Look at me,” Az’s hands were cold as they cradled Eris’ face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

“Your hands are cold.” He muttered, his own reaching up to cover them. He wasn’t sober enough to focus his magic like he wanted to. 

“They are.” Az gave him a soft smile. “I’ll live.” 

Eris frowned. “Why did you come back?” 

To Azriel’s credit, he didn’t seem shocked at the question. 

“I came back because I love you.” And Azriel meant it. 

“But you said-“

“I said it’s not easy.” He paused for a moment. “It’s not easy but I choose you. I will always choose you. Because I love you.”

There was silence between them for a moment. 

“She’s not coming back.” 

Az grimaced. “Eris, it’s late. She’s safe in Summer and probably sleeping. Like we both should be.”

“But I need her here.” Eris could hardly bear it. He needed you back. He needed to apologize. “Can’t we go get her?” 

“So you want to start a war with Summer?” Az’s face was serious but there was a tilt in his voice. 

“You’re laughing at me.” Eris replied solemnly. 

“You’re drunk. It’s hard not to.” He sighed, his wings slumping and shadows buzzing about them. “Let’s go to bed and sleep this off.” 

Eris was silent but seemed to concede. Az guided him out the room and back to their chambers. He would have winnowed if Eris hadn’t been so inebriated. He really didn’t feel like cleaning up vomit. 

“You’re too good to me,” Eris muttered as they made their way down the hall. 

Az tightened his arm around him. “I could argue the same.”  

More silence passed. “Do you think she’ll come back?” 

Azriel didn’t reply. He could only hope. His shadows whispered as much as he helped Eris undress in their chamber and get him to bed. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In Summer, you tossed and turned. The air was too warm even with the cool magical breeze that floated through the open windows. The bed was too small. Too empty. You finally cast a spell on your blanket and pillows, making them colder. How funny you’d gotten used to Autumn's colder climate.

The spell worked too well. You were suddenly too cold, too cold without Eris and Az’s body heat to keep you warm. Tears fell on your pillow. They were probably sleeping fine without you. Your mind went to the letter you left in the other room. You were too afraid to open it. They probably only wanted you home until after the High Lords’ meeting. Or maybe they never wanted you to come back. You pulled the blanket tight around yourself. Whatever the letter said could wait until morning. 

You sighed and tried to go to sleep. 

Part 3

[ivysprophecy]

slim pickins

warnings; bad date? mentions of sex, cursing underage drinking and yes i meant for it to be written poorly i was trying to keep the humor of the album in the writing

no pressure tags; @murdockcastleslut @kimoralov3 @arkofblake

word count; 1911

summary; youre tired of not finding a decent guy who will treat you right and lay you right. at least not one you've known since you were kids. however you just cant help yourself. besides its slim pickins out here you take what you can get.

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

i wanna make one thing clear, when i say there are no good guys left i do not wanna hear about you and your boyfriend of three years that can cook and loves your mom.

thats exactly what im talking about maddie!!! i dont give two fucks that he took you to barnes and noble and bought you every book you wanted.

they are all taken. its plain and simple.

which is why even with a full roster, im stuck taking fucking zander, yes with a z, to my friends' kegger.

i mean yea hes cute. hes tall, built but not that gross kind of muscly. but if were being real i shouldve known better when he was joking about being a male stripper when hes a ginger.

and i can tell kie is judging me, rightfully so. her side eye is lethal. when i introduced him to everyone she asked him about his greta van fleet tee and he said he didn't even know it was a band.

needless to say pope had to drag her away.

after that incident i decided it was best if we tried to talk away from the rest of the group. boy was i wrong.

"so what do you like to drink? ill go grab us something," i offer trying to start the conversation, also avoiding the usual problem with taking a drink from men.

"im good with whatever"

i like to think im not a violent person, but im about to be.

"does a beer sound okay?" i ask him grabbing a twisted tea for me from the cooler.

"sure thing." god why is he acting like such a bitch? i should ask him if he's on his period.

i hand him the can, our fingers brush and its my final clue for the night that i am definitely not going home with him. no spark at all. hes done just about everything else to piss me off.

he did the thing where he licks his lips exaggeratingly looking me up and down, making a point to make sure i saw.

he walks so slow for being 6'3.

and finally he tried to mansplain my career to me. i'd had just enough when he opens his mouth again

"ew, you like twisted tea? who likes sweet tea?" his face contorted in disgust, it was about to contort from my fist breaking his goddamn nose if he keeps talking to me like this.

"we literally live in the south dude." my face could not make it any clearer i am so done with this guy.

"still, sweet tea is disgusting. im not kissing anyone that drinks that nasty shit."

"who said i wanted to kiss your nasty fucking mou-" i was interrupted by the sound of a very familiar giggle behind me as his arm wrapped around my shoulder, the smell of his deodorant and sea salt that cover his skin start to put you at ease.

jj was always there when you needed him, sometimes even when you didnt but right now you couldn't be more grateful. "im glad you found those mama i got em just for you. remembered theyre your favorite. right?"

and you wanna know the best part? zander is shaking already pissed off that jj is at my side. territorial i guess.

"you mind?" he asks him nodding his head at me like im not even there.

jj cant help but laugh at him "yea bud i do mind. she's hanging out with me tonight. have fun with your ipa dick." and with that he steers us off to where the rest of the pogues are.

but not before i can look over my shoulder and give the ginger an innocent smile and a shrug as if i had no control over the situation, when really id pick jj over anyone else.

"you owe me a big fat kiss mama," jj whispers in my ear walking us over to where our friends are standing, drinks in their hands laughing and chatting up a storm.

"in your dreams honey."

"every night all night," he quips back before i shove him off me.

now before you give me shit, jj and i have had our fair share of fun, but unfortunately im starting to look for something more serious.

watching john b and sarah be disgusting together is getting to my head. popes got something going on with cleo and im starting to recognize the pattern. and before i know it everyone will be in love if i don't start making an effort in that department.

random casual hook ups aren't doing it anymore, especially considering they aren't even that good.

unless theyre with jj.

but hes not an option, theres too much drama. too much history. too much too much too much. im not what he needs and i know for a fact he doesn't want me in that sense.

is that a bit dramatic? probably.

i mean hes a great lay, he's hilarious, he's got that blue collar kind of muscle, and he genuinely cares about me.

so of course im not going to date him, why would i?

what do you mean make good decisions? id rather do things in the most difficult way possible!

"y/n youve gotta stop giving those guys a chance, im starting to feel bad for you."

"you try finding a decent guy in a ten mile radius." i glare at him, obviously not wanting to joke about this right now.

he sticks his hand out in front of me, "fine i will. let me see your phone."

curious to see what he will do i hand it too him unlocked, he swipes and taps for a few moments, smiling down at the phone before handing it back to you.

when you look back down at the screen all you see is your instagram open with his stupid fucking smiley face on the screen.

he took a picture of himself and posted to my story. written on the screen in bubble letters in my favorite colored heart 'my favorite guy <3'

"i think he's your best bet." that same smile facing back at me now, cockier than ever. so smug i wanna kiss it off his face

i cant help but roll my eyes. "jj im serious! at this rate im going to die alone. every decent guy is taken or unavailable. all i want is someone funny, kind, and attractive is that too much to ask for?"

"im right in front of you mama you dont gotta look far."

"jj we both know we're not the serious kind of relationship im talking about."

"you can think what you want too but ill be here waiting for that kiss you owe me."

"i think all that tequila youve been sipping has gone to your head maybank."

he stands in front of me, taking his signature red cap off his head and putting it on mine smiling down at me, "what do they say in those books you read? you wear the hat you ride the cowboy?"

"this no ten gallon hat and you are no cowboy."

we laugh at each other, its always been easier to do that then actually talk about our feelings. so i put his hat back on his head, backwards the way he i likes it.

"cmon y/n/n, have a few more drinks, relax and hang out and ill make you feel all better later yea? its what im best at, you know."

"its gonna take more than a few more teas to convince me jj"

"what about that thing you like that i do with my tongue, huh mama? doesnt that sound pretty good right now? i think it does."

"i give you one fucking compliment and it goes straight to your head."

"technically its about my head so that makes perfect sense," he hands me another can with that stupid signature smirk of his and his stupid sexy hat backwards. i hate to admit it's working on me.

just like it does every other time.

i squint my eyes at him taking the can, rolling the idea around in my head. "fuck it. its not like anyone else is offering," i take a big sip of my drink.

jj pumps his fist in the air like a victorious idiot giving a few woots and hollars before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder despite my wishes.

"jb!!" he shouts turning around to face him, "we're headed out!"

john b looks at the two of us shaking his head at how im kicking my feet to wiggle out of jjs oddly strong grip. "make sure you change the sheets when youre done!"

oh my god he did not just say that. "fuck both of you!"

jj just laughs carrying you back to the chateau like a kid who's excited to use a brand new birthday present.

"what happened to letting me have a few more drinks before we left??"

"youre just too irresistable mama, gotta have you now,' he gives my ass a light slap for good measure causing me to roll my eyes for the 600th time tonight.

"are you gonna put me down now?"

he pretends to look like hes thinking about it, "i guess. only so i can watch you walk away," he does as he says helping me get my feet on the ground.

"youre a pervert."

"no im flirtatious, and you love it, you know it makes you blush i see it. now go on and give me a lil walk yea?"

oh im gonna kill him...

oh wait! im gonna kill him!

"okay... fine. but no touching until we get home," i smile walking away exactly like he asked, but i know behind me he is a puddle of mud. standing still, about to start begging me to let him.

he finally catches up after a few seconds "mama please- cmon thats not fair. you look too good in those shorts you know i cant wait that long. just wanna feel you."

i cant help but giggle at his words, its honestly adorable how mopey he gets. like i just kicked his puppy or something.

"hands of jj i mean it... not until that door shuts behind us."

it didn't really matter that i can see the chateau or that ill be there in literally a minute.

its actually painful for jj to not be able to touch me as he pleases.

i turn around to face him with a cheeky smile. "you want me maybank?"

and of course he nods so hard it looks like his head is going to fall right off.

"come and get me," running towards the house, i can see the moment when his reflexes kick in, his boots thudding against the ground as he gains on me.

just before i can make it to the poarch jj wraps his arms around me, lifting me a few inches off the ground and spinning me around in a fit of laughter.

"okay! okay okay okay you win- you got me."

"oh ive got you mama, and im havin you for the rest of the fucking night," he presses a kiss to my neck hauling me inside, the screen door slamming shut after us.

am i gonna regret this tomorrow? most likely.

but what can i say? its slim pickins in this part of town.

[haunted-headset]

he looks just like a dream ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

summary: dating headcanons w/ remus lupin

a/n: hello!! this is my most recent fic on this account and my first Marauders fic, so sorry if this is bad!! also, please keep in mind that even though i'm writing a fic about something tied to the Harry Potter universe, this does NOT AT ALL mean i like JK Rowling. i've liked her books since i was a child and have been separating the art from the artist for quite some time when it comes to this. also, i've written Remus in more of a modern situation, so keep that in mind :)

tags: @back-totheoldhouse @daemontargaryennn @o-kye @unbeleevable @mochamuff1n @call-me-frosting-or-not-idc @dangerouslyyour (this is me just guessing who would be interested in this, please let me know if you would like to be removed/added from the taglist!!)

warnings: nicknames with "girl" in them but otherwise gn!reader, mentions of crying, mentions of scars

boyfriend!remus who's memorized how you like your coffee or tea. or if you don't like either, he's memorized your favorite drink and has perfected it every time he makes it. you tell him it's not needed, that you can make drinks yourself, but he says it's worth it just to see the smile on your face.

boyfriend!remus who wouldn't dare tell you to cover up with a dress or outfit you're wearing when you go out ("any guy who tells their girlfriend/partner to cover up because it makes him uncomfortable or insecure instantly just proves he has a fragile ego accompanied by a micropenis.") and he'll only suggest a jacket if he knows it'll be cold outside. if you're happy in what you're wearing, why should he stop you?

boyfriend!remus who reads the books you're reading to have an extra thing to talk to you about and to ensure he understands what you're describing when you rant about how much you either love it or hate it. "yeah I know, I can't believe he did that!" "seriously, the way the writer set up the plot is terrific." "what was the author thinking? the plot makes no sense."

boyfriend!remus who always gives you his clothes. his soft beige knit sweater? of course you can wear it to our date. you need to borrow his beanie because it's cold outside? please do. you want to wear his shirt to bed? just keep it, he thinks it looks 10x better on you.

boyfriend!remus who takes you on all sorts of dates. library dates, lego building dates (which turn into laughing hysterically because one of you doesn't understand the instructions and the other one does understand, but can't find the right piece), cafe dates, aquarium dates, baking/cooking dates, late night walk/drives dates...the list goes on (i will happily elaborate on any of these if asked). he may or may not stalk your pinterest to find out what dates you like

boyfriend!remus who subtly shows you off to the marauders. he's usually a little bit touchy with you in public (a hand on the small of your back or intertwined with yours, his arms around your waist or shoulders, etc.), but he does it more around his friends. it's not any sort of intentional possessive thing (like "grrr my bbg is mine you can't have her raaah"), he just likes people knowing he has a gorgeous partner :)

boyfriend!remus whose room is littered in random trinkets, some of which he'll randomly gift to you. a silver pocket watch he found with intricate details because he thinks you'd like it. a rock or crystal he says looks like your eyes. a flower that he found because he remembered the one time you said "what a pretty flower" when you accompanied him on a walk. a stuffed animal he found at a yard sale because it was your favorite animal. the list goes on.

boyfriend!remus who mainly shows love through acts of service and physical touch. your shoe's untied? he's getting down on his knee to tie it. your books are a bit heavy? he'll carry all of them for you. you're not feeling good? he's doing your homework.

boyfriend!remus whose nicknames for you are mainly "dove/dovey", "baby", and "darling". he calls you "sweet girl/pretty girl" when you're sick, under the weather, or sad, "my love/my dearest" when he knows you're upset, and "sweetheart" when you're in an argument.

boyfriend!remus who would be terrified of showing a lot of skin around you because of his scars mainly because he doesn't want you to be disgusted. he knows deep down that you wouldn't, but it's a deeply-rooted fear for him.

"Remus, your friends have scars. Does that make them ugly or bad people?"

"No."

"Some of the teachers you like have scars. Does that make them ugly or bad people?"

"No."

"I have scars. Does that make me ugly?"

"Of course not, dove."

"So then why do you think scars make you ugly if they don't make anyone else you care about ugly?"

[jjonglemons]

all my works can be found here

Don't Speak

part one

song for chapter link - here is part two of my dream inspired story!

Summary: you’ve been friends with mingi for a while now. finally, you’ve confessed your feelings and it seems like he feels the same… but not without complications.

WC: 2.3k

Tags: smut, fratboy!mingi, fem!reader, angst, some fluff, car sex, praise, oral, come eating

It was driving you crazy not hearing from Mingi. By the third day of being ghosted, you should have given up. But you didn’t. Maybe it was a trauma response from your past, having always ended up in codependent situations, or maybe there was just something deeper and logical as to why he was avoiding you that you didn’t know of yet and could sense. Maybe it was both. Even Hongjoong took notice, trying extra hard to distract you from your distress, which helped momentarily, but not enough. 

In a moment of frustration, you pulled out your phone and recorded a voice message for Mingi. “Fuck you,” you seethed into the microphone, “you’re such a dick, Mingi. I hope you know that,” you swore. “Ugh! Quit avoiding me already!” 

You meant to delete it, but instead you accidentally hit send. “Oh, fuck,” you groaned, burrying your head into the couch pillow. “This is wonderful,” your voice dripped with sarcasm. You decided to read a book to distract yourself from your horrible error, hoping that Mingi would somehow not receive the message.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong sighed, plopping down on the couch beside you a few minutes later. “I know you’ve been coming here every night in hopes of running into Mingi…”

“And what about it?” You snapped, glancing up from your book. Hongjoong winced slightly at your sharp tone, and you immediately felt remorseful. “Sorry,” you apologised, “I just… I don’t know, Joongie. I know he does this to a lot of people he fucks, and I’m fucking pissed, obviously. But it just feels like there’s a reason beyond him just being an ass as to why he does it.”

“He is an ass.”

“Joong,” you whined, “then why the hell are you friends with him!?”

“Fair enough,” he said, “he’s actually a great guy, he’s just going through a lot.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s not my place to tell you,” Hongjoong responded, standing up from the couch.

“W-wait!” You tried to call after him, but he kept walking towards his bedroom. “Dammit,” you hissed. Now you really had to find him so you could talk.

It’s not like you and Mingi were the best of friends, but the number of your interactions with each other certainly amounted to a level of friendship, and one high enough to take interest in him on a deeper level.

Deciding you felt too claustrophobic inside of the house, you settled on going for a walk outside. You knew of a nice spot nearby that overlooked the town with a mountainous backdrop. It was where you’d often go to think when times were rough. 

“Later, Joongie,” you shouted before exiting the house and slamming the door shut behind you.

Once at the clearing, you sat against a tree stump. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply for a few moments to create a sense of calm. It was short lived, because you heard distant chatter that began to increase in volume with each passing moment.

“I told you, I’m fucking done!” The lower voice hissed. It sounded oddly familiar…

“Shut up, we’re not done until I say we are,” the second voice, more higher pitched, threatened.

“Why the fuck did you follow me all the way here, Violet?” The first voice seethed, “don’t you know how boundaries fucking work?”

Then it hit you. It was Mingi talking, to whomever this Violet person was. You peered up from your spot on the stump, careful not to make your presence known. You were far enough away and blocked well by your position against the tree that they would have to look extra hard to notice you. When you saw the two figures, you took note of the woman that was beside Mingi. You’d seen her around campus before, but never around Mingi. Is she his girlfriend? You questioned, watching the scene before you. She was trying to latch onto him, but he kept refusing.

“Please,” Mingi sighed, feeling defeated, “just go home.”

“Mingi,” Violet whined, “c’mon, don’t be like that! We can work this out.”

“I said no!” Mingi responded, with as much force as he could muster.

There was a long pause before Violet spoke again. “Okay.” It seemed like she finally got the memo. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“No the fuck you won’t.”

Violet laughed loudly, “Why haven’t you reported me already if you hate me so much?”

“You know damn well you’d find a way to get to me regardless, so why the fuck would I bother?”

An almost sinister smile spread across Violet’s lips before she turned from Mingi and began to walk away. “Later, Ming.” She sang.

Once Violet drove away, Mingi let out a long, deep exhale. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, kicking the rocks angrily at his feet. He took a seat on the nearby bench, burying his face into his hands out of frustration.

Slowly, you emerged from your spot, quietly stepping towards him. “Mingi?” You whispered softly, being careful not to scare him.

He jumped slightly, looking up at you who was now standing in front of him. “Y/N?” He asked, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just relaxing over there,” you pointed at the tree stump a few feet away, “then I heard you and that girl talking, I think you said her name was Violet?”

His face paled, a frown forming at his lips. “Yeah. Violet.” 

“Are you okay?” you questioned, taking a seat beside him, “the conversation seemed… intense.”

He sighed. “I will be. She just won’t leave me alone and I don’t know what to do. She always finds a way to insert herself back into my life.”

“May I ask who she is?” 

“She’s my ex.”

“Oh.” You both fell quiet, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves of the trees surrounding you. After a few moments, you spoke again. “Is she why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yeah,” Mingi nodded, sprawling himself out across the bench with a loud exhale, “but it’s not for the reason you’re probably thinking.”

Admittedly, you were thinking he had been cheating on her this whole time. But after seeing how they interacted, it definitely seemed like that wasn’t the reason.

“What’s the reason, then?”

“Since we broke up last year, every time I’ve tried to be with someone else, she pries and manipulates so they’ll leave,” he spat. “She’s always trying to control me, refusing to believe that we’re no longer together.”

You frowned, taking in his words with concern. “That sounds awful,” you said empathetically.

“It is,” Mingi groaned. “No one has ever given me the chance to explain the situation. They just take her words at face value and never come back.”

Ah. So Mingi wasn’t the ghoster in those past situations. Though, you were starting to wonder why he decided to do that with you this time around.

“So this is what Hongjoong meant,” you blurted.

Mingi furrowed his brows. “Hongjoong?” 

“He insisted you were a great guy, just going through a lot.”

“How much did he tell you?”

“That’s it. He said it wasn’t his place to share.”

Mingi let out a sigh of relief. “Good to know he’s trustworthy, unlike some people,” he rolled his eyes, making a clear jab at his ex. “I appreciate him keeping his mouth shut.”

“Then,” you started, “how come you ghosted me these past few days?” Mingi looked at you. “You’re telling me these past lovers of yours left you, so that doesn’t explain why you left me.”

Mingi looked slightly panicked, but only for a moment. He exhaled, pulling at his jeans bunched up on his knees. “I-I was afraid,” he admitted, “I really, really like you, and I was scared you’d just leave me like everyone else once I told you the truth. Or that she’d get to you first. I freaked out,” his eyes met yours, glistening apologetically. “So, I thought I’d just leave first. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“I see,” you said, smiling gently. You reached over and rested your palm over his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles comfortingly. “I understand now.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “It was extremely fucked up for me to do that to you.”

“It was,” you agreed, “but I understand why you did it. I’d probably done the same if I were you.”

“I really want to be with you, Y/N, I do,” he paused, “but I don’t know if it’s going to work as long as Violet’s around. She’ll do anything to get what she wants.”

You shook your head. “I’m willing to stick by you, Mingi. It would take a lot more than her games to keep me from you.”

Mingi smiled, relief rushing over his features. “Do you really mean that?”

You nodded. “I do.”

“Then, let’s have a do-over?”

“Sure,” you grinned, “Can we start it by kissing here on this bench? The sunset is so pretty, I feel like I’m in a romcom,” you joked.

Mingi quickly pulled you onto his lap, pressing his lips gently to your chin, then cheeks, and finally landing on your lips. You giggled into the kiss, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck to pull him deeper into it.

You pushed your hips down harder against him, feeling a rush from his tongue suddenly swiping across your lips. You let out a soft moan, moving your hands from his neck to run your fingers through his hair. 

“You know people could see us, right?” Mingi said between kisses.

“Car?” You suggested.

He picked you up and carried you over to his SUV, popping the trunk so the two of you could crawl in. He shut the door behind him. Thankfully, no one else was at clearing, so it made it a lot easier for the two of you to have sex, but at least you had some protection from his car if someone did decide to show up.

You hovered over him, caressing his hair as you nipped at his neck. He hissed and gripped your hips, pulling you on to him as you grinded against his clothed, hard cock.

“Let me please you, baby,” you cooed, sucking at his neck, “you deserve it.”

“I want you to feel good, too,” he frowned.

“Oh, I will,” you smirked, “and besides, you gave me the best fuck of my life a few days ago. Now it’s my turn to show you what I can do.” With that, you helped him pull down his pants and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. 

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded. “Pleasing you brings me lots of pleasure, too.” You leaned down and kissed his tip. “Sit back and relax for me.”

Mingi softly groaned as you took all of him into your mouth, bobbing up and down his shaft at alternating paces. When you felt him begin to sputter beneath you, you slowed down immensely to keep him edged.

“Fuuuuuck,” he whined, “don’t tease me, please.” You giggled, the vibrations on his cock causing him to throw his head back against the side of the car. “You’re so good at this, baby, holy fuck.” As Mingi grew closer to the edge, you reached a steady pace as you continued to lick and suck on his cock. “I’m gonna-” 

Before he could even finish the sentence, he let go, come dripping down your throat and the excess onto your chin. You released him with a pop, swallowing his load and licking the rest off of your chin. 

“Please, ride my cock,” he begged, reaching to grab your hips so he could pull you towards him. You obliged, wiggling yourself out of your leggings before hovering your sopping core over his tip. You brushed it against your wet clit a few times, an ungodly groan erupting from him. “Please, I need to be inside of you, baby.”

You slowly fit yourself over him, humming in ecstasy as you begin to hop up and down on his cock. 

“Just like that,” he mewled, holding your hips to help guide on you, “fucking just like that.”

“Yeah?” you teased. “Is this how you like it?” you moaned, picking up the pace.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

Your moans began to match each other’s, your cunt growing slicker with each thrust. Mingi couldn’t help himself when he felt you begin to squirt on his cock.

“Fuck, I-”

“Inside, Mingi, please,” you screamed, pulling at his hair hard as you continued to grind on him. “Shit, I’m coming!”

You released your orgasm, your juices covering every inch on Mingi’s cock. He wasn’t far behind. His legs began shaking as he pounded his final thrust into you hard. “Holy fuck,” he yelled, still pushing himself up inside you as he road out his high.

You collapsed into his lap, pressing a few light kisses to his neck as you laid there for a few minutes. Mingi was still inside of you, but neither of you seemed to mind. It felt nice to be close like this, to be intertwined to that extent.

Suddenly, you were reminded of that voicemail you had sent to him earlier that day. “Hey, Mingi?” You said, catching his attention. You pulled back so you could look at him.

“What’s up?” He asked. 

“Just… ignore that voice message I sent you earlier.”

He laughed. “I kind of already listened to it.”

You groaned, “I’m sorry, I was just so mad. I didn’t mean to actually send it.”

“I deserved it, it’s alright.”

You shrugged, then leaned down to kiss him. “Maybe you did.” you joked.

“Maybe I should get you mad again, huh?” Mingi teased, “if it means you’ll fuck me like you just did.”

“Hey!” You chuckled, slapping his shoulder playfully.

He wrapped his arm around your hips, flipping you over so you were now pinned beneath him. He dipped down towards your still dripping cunt. “Shall I start now?”

[matrixbearer2024]

Suffering

Are you really even living? Or simply surviving doctor? When had immortality turned from a blessing into a curse? More importantly, did you really even care? Or did you only care because you're now all alone?

AKA; Ford internalizing now that he's alone and invulnerable to the sands of time. The same can't be totally said for his mental state though. After all, he's only human.

Songfic based on "Suffering" by Amelie Farren written for my Time Lord Twins AU!

I'm very delulu for my AU- so have a sneak peek into Doc's future with this song fic I wrote. I have three distinct moments for Stanford as the Doctor in my timelord twins AU:

the Doctor that neglects — when he was young and was only a Doctor thanks to his PhDs

the Doctor that regrets — present, where I normally create content for him and where his blog and RP are currently situated

the Doctor that forgets — the far flung future where he outlives everybody and completely embraces being a time lord

I'll be tagging these posts accordingly, but I'd love to talk about his lore much more if you guys are interested!

The sun had long dipped below the edge of the cosmos, surrendering to the sea of stars that now spilled across the boundless sky. Within the TARDIS, Stanford stood against the vast backdrop of that eternal night, the hum of the ship's machinery a constant, soothing drone beneath the cacophony of his thoughts. The silver pill case in his hand reflected the light of a nearby console, gleaming with a sterile brightness that made his skin crawl. He turned it over between his fingers, contemplating the small white tablets that represented his fragile tether to equilibrium.

  I've thrown aside my worries, but the cares they bite me back. I'm taking twenty vitamins a day, for the iron I lack.

  Stanford grimaced, the corners of his lips pulling downward as the familiar bitterness welled up in his throat. He tilted his head back and swallowed the pills dry, feeling them scrape down his throat as if rebelling against their purpose. Sustenance without substance, that was his life now. He no longer needed food to keep going, no longer needed the simple pleasures of living— he only indulged when he could remember to, when the aching loneliness hadn’t numbed his senses entirely.

  I don't need food I don't need sleep, don't tell me that I'm wrong! I don't know what I'm doing— But can you please just play along?

  The first decade had clawed at him with relentless, gnawing grief. Each year afterward seemed to find a new way to hollow him out, chiseling deeper into the marrow of his being until there was nothing left but the echo of old anguish. He would lie awake in the captain’s chair or pace the TARDIS halls, every footfall a metronome counting out regrets. Days would bleed into each other, a palette of shadows smearing over any sense of time. He’d stopped counting birthdays after the 200th, the last one he’d shared with Stanley.

  Why count when the numbers stretched toward an infinity he wanted nothing to do with?

  My head is made of flowers, and my body made of steel. Cause I can't think— Can't hear— can't feel!

  Stanford’s fingers flexed, muscles tightening and releasing as if testing the reality of their presence. The memories surged forward like a wave, unstoppable and suffocating— hands covered in grime and ash, eyes stinging from the smoke that rose like specters around him, the taste of iron sharp on his tongue. He had touched the stars, commanded them, until they burned him to cinders. His mind was an overgrown thicket now, vines of regret and bitterness weaving through every synapse, thorned reminders of a past he could neither escape nor amend.

  When he closed his eyes, he could see them— faces etched into the void, voices calling out in anguish as they fell. Each step, each choice, stained his path with crimson guilt. He felt like a monument to grief, immovable and ever-decaying.

  They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I disagree. I can't imagine anything Cause I can't see!

  The doctor let out a breath that shuddered its way past his chest, eyes straying to the holographic stars projected across the TARDIS library. What he once chased with fervor and ambition had turned into an unyielding prison. The titles of “healer” and “teacher”, which once filled him with pride, now felt like weights dragging him deeper into the abyss. What good was saving worlds when he couldn’t save his own heart from splintering?

  I won't break the ice though what else Is there to do? Cause suffering in silence is better—

  He could scream, tear at the walls and curse the very fabric of the universe, but he didn’t. The tears had dried up centuries ago, leaving him a stoic effigy among the whirring consoles and glowing monitors. The charade was familiar— a smile that never reached his eyes, words measured and wrapped in carefully crafted ease. He was an actor in the greatest tragedy ever told, where the curtains never fell.

  Than suffering with you.

  The doctor’s gaze dropped to the leather-bound journal resting on the armrest of his chair, untouched for days. The pages within held maps of stars, sketches of constellations, and annotations written with a frantic hand, desperate to capture even a fragment of meaning. The room around him felt cavernous, echoing with memories of Dipper’s quick wit and Mabel’s bright laughter. He could almost hear them, almost see their shadows darting between bookshelves.

  But it was only him, just him, marooned in this endless stretch of time.

  So I jumped out with a parachute, but the ground caught me off guard. Karma for the rules I break, the ones I disregard.

  The temptation to go back, to step through rifts that bent reality and visit those moments, was irresistible. He’d done it before, left the TARDIS hidden among the trees and traced the familiar paths of Gravity Falls with trembling steps. His heart would clench as he watched past versions of himself and his twin squabble over nonsense, the cheery voices of his grand niece and nephew not long to join. Their voices carrying over the wind with the kind of ease that only came before everything shattered.

  I can feel the tension rising. What fate is worse than this? Stuck between the ones I love—

  He’d watch them, hidden in the shadows of his own memories, a ghost to a life he once lived. Cosmic rules be damned. He’d listen to the echoes of their laughter until it felt like it would break him, that painful, beautiful sound that underscored just how far he’d fallen. But even then, he would not dare approach, would not dare alter a single second.

  And the ones I miss.

  Stanford’s eyes shifted to the flickering flames of the library’s fireplace, its light casting restless, dancing shadows across the room. The orange glow did little to warm the chill embedded in his bones. How many Fords, across how many dimensions, would have craved this? A sanctuary lined with knowledge and power, the respect of entire galaxies balanced on a single whispered name— ‘Doctor.’ And yet, it was all as hollow as the space between the stars.

  My head is made of shrubbery, and my body made of stone. Cause I can't for the life of me— reap what I have sown!

  He tightened his hold on the armrest, the leather creaking under his grip. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. It never should have come to this— sailing across time, trapped in a machine that hummed with its own form of loneliness, while he wore a mask that no one ever questioned. It felt like being both the sculptor and the statue, shaping and trapped by the life he’d carved out.

  They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I disagree. I can't imagine anything, 'cause I can't see!

  The weight of immortality, once so alluring, now coiled around him like iron shackles. What did it matter if entire legions paused at the utterance of his name? What did it matter if beings far beyond human comprehension flinched at the sight of him? It meant nothing without the echoes of laughter, without the warmth of shared stories and the unspoken understanding of his family’s presence beside him.

  I won't break the ice though what else Is there to do? 'Cause suffering in silence is better—

  He filled the silence with companions, short-lived stars that burned bright and fizzled out too quickly. They were there, and then they weren’t. Time was relentless, wearing them down to memories while he stood unchanged. Each one chipped away at him, left him a little more hollow. His only true constant was Stanley, and even he didn’t know the full story. Ford wouldn’t let him, couldn’t let him see that far into the dark.

  Than suffering with you.

  The TARDIS thrummed, a soft, sympathetic sound that vibrated through his bones as if it, too, mourned the lives they’d shared and lost. Ford exhaled, the heaviness in his chest pressing down like a stone. He could carry this, he would carry this— because if there was one thing he’d learned in all these centuries, it was that some battles are never meant to be shared. Some wars are fought in silence, against an enemy that wore your face in the mirror.

  And if the burden grew too heavy, well— he was the Doctor. He would bear it alone.

  He had to.

  I try to sink and never float.

  Some days, the weight was manageable, a familiar companion that settled over him like a well-worn cloak. But tonight, the burden felt insurmountable, pressing against his chest until each breath tasted sharp, like the metallic tang of blood from battles fought too long ago to matter and yet too vivid to forget.

  Stanford’s eyes turned to the viewport, where the stars blinked back at him with their indifferent light. Once, those points of light had been symbols of promise, of adventure and uncharted paths. Now they were cold eyes watching as he drifted— an eternal voyager, bound by his own choices and the mistakes that clung to him like barnacles on a shipwreck.

  Cause my head is underwater.

  The doctor’s fingers found the edge of his sleeve, gripping it tight as though it could anchor him. The silence roared in his ears, the kind that made old wounds ache with the sharpness of fresh cuts. Memories of splintered wood and that familiar bite of ozone filled his senses. The frantic fight, the blinding light, the hole that had torn through his chest— a wound that should have marked the end. He let out a shuddering breath, feeling phantom pain coil around him like a serpent.

  I’m here by choice by my own hand.

  The most damning part was knowing that every fracture, every scar, was carved by his own hand. He’d walked into the chaos willingly, driven by an insatiable need to prove something— to whom, he couldn’t even remember anymore. A need that had led him to make choices that, at best, haunted him and, at worst, had cost him everything.

  I’m a lamb sent into slaughter.

  He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling the silver strands that had once been a youthful umber. The weight in his chest grew heavier, spreading through his limbs. He remembered the moment he’d sealed his fate with a handshake and a grin, signing away pieces of himself to a demon who promised everything and gave nothing but ruin. Even now, the jeers of that one-eyed triangle haunted the corners of his vision, mocking him with every beat of his undying heart.

  I’m aware of my own body.

  Every nerve ending screamed in protest as memories flared to life. The repair box’s nanobots— an endless legion that buzzed beneath his skin— worked tirelessly, a ceaseless reminder that he wasn’t wholly his own anymore. Some days, he could almost feel them moving, an itch he could never scratch. His hands curled into fists, knuckles turning white as he resisted the impulse to claw at the sensation, to rip it out and make it stop.

  I can feel beneath my skin.

  But he didn’t. He never did. The discipline of centuries held him captive, a slave to his own stoic facade. He swallowed hard, letting the tension dissipate as much as it ever could, settling like sediment at the bottom of his soul. The fire’s light flickered over his features, casting deep shadows that made his face look carved from stone.

  I can wash away my insecurities.

  He stood abruptly, the sudden motion sending a wave of dizziness through him. The doctor steadied himself against the back of the chair, eyes closing as he drew in a breath. The act was as much a ritual as any he performed— a way to wash the fractures of his spirit, to convince himself that he was still whole. But deep down, he knew.

  But can’t wash away my sin!

  No amount of time, no act of heroism, could ever cleanse the burgundy that stained his hands. It was a truth that gnawed at him, a constant shadow that whispered during his moments of quiet. He turned toward the shelves, running a finger over the spine of a book he’d read a hundred times but never truly absorbed. Knowledge without purpose— just like him.

  They say a picture’s worth a thousand words, but I disagree! I can’t imagine anything—

  The holographic stars in the library blinked and swirled, shifting constellations that once spoke of wonder and exploration. Now, they were a cruel reminder of all the places he’d been, all the faces he’d left behind. He raised a fist, hesitated, then let it fall to his side. He couldn’t even find the anger to break the illusion.

  Cause I can’t see!

  His vision blurred, not with tears— those had dried up long ago— but with the weight of exhaustion that pressed down on him like a vice. Every accolade, every whispered praise, fell flat, their meaning washed away by the tides of time and repetition. The applause of civilizations felt no different than the hollow sound of silence.

  I won’t break the ice though what else Is there to do?

  The cold chill crept into his veins, a familiar companion that had shared his endless nights. Yet, he dared not crack the veneer he’d cultivated— that smile, that reassuring nod. It was a mask, as impenetrable as the TARDIS walls. To break it would mean shattering the delicate balance that kept him standing.

  Cause suffering in silence is better—

  Stanford’s fingers brushed against the journal again, the touch almost reverent, as if it held the answers he’d long given up searching for. The one story he couldn’t write was his own— each word caught in the tangle of what-ifs and could-have-beens that ensnared his mind.

  Than suffering with you!

  He swallowed back the ache, pushing it down to the depths where it simmered and seethed. To bear it alone was better; it was safer. The doctor would stand, resolute and silent, a guardian of time burdened by its cruelest truths.

  And as the night deepened, the stars outside continued their silent vigil, unmoved by the man who carried the weight of universes in his lonely fractured heart.

Tell me what you think about these two! I've got more drabbles in store for them aside from the content already on both their blogs @gftimelord & @gftimelordstwin! Also posted here on Ao3!

[allbycharles]

Hello @silmarillisms ! Those are valid points so I will try to respond. Thank you for your response. Let me add more details to explain why I said what I said.

Tolkien did highly probably have ptsd after going through traumatic experiences of the war. We cannot know of course. That it was traumatizing is sure.

What Tolkien and nobody else knew in his times was how to heal PTSD which is what I meant by Tolkien did not know how trauma works.

Having it and getting rid of it is two different things. To get rid of my ptsd i had to use the first available manuals of the usa army that came out ten years ago. Before that there was no solution even though of course the doctors were trying a lot of things.

Your point of elves mental health is of course valid just as me not having any rights to tell how to write. I am not saying people have to write correctly ptsd treatment. Neither that elves work same as people.

Why was it important to state how mental health works and to have elves work same as humans from my perspective which you can happily ignore of course....and why in first place i wrote my first post:

People use art as help and I hear it daily from everyone around that: they think ptsd works like this and that, anxiety works like this and that, depression is cured by this and that.........and all of that circulates through chats, tv, social media and art and all of it is wrong. And gets people hurt very much and deeply. Because they did not get the right info.

And most of population works on examples they see around and big part of it is art.

I had no goal of criticizing anyones writting....I can see I tagged my post wrong so it sounded like "stop this and do what I just said or else I send a balrog" I am really sorry about that, I am going to change it to more informative.

What I meant was if you want to write correctly a person with ptsd then here have a very simplified version of how a ptsd usually works.

And hopefully many people who are victims of abuse or anything else will be on correct path to healing. Does the artist have a job to do this? Not at all. I wrote the post as information for writers not as rules. And I hoped more fanfiction with helpful info might appear.

I dunno who you met and what kind of traumatic experiences they had. And I of course dont talk about everybody. Thats why I tagged it as very simplified version. What I wrote is the usual way it goes for soldiers in dangerous situations which what was the first ops topic.....feeling of safety after years of war.

The manual I used on myself made by the usa army describes ptsd of soldiers going like this and is used on all ptsd soldiers victims which is why I wrote it as highly pissible for Elrond to have it the same.

Lastly mellon....I am really writting all of this to help people and I am sorry it trigered you. I understand when one simplifies things too much they sound like bullshit. Yes each person is different, each trauma is different and I am not a doctor. Thank you for writting your post and pointing out what I fucked up. I am sure I missed like half of it again so please if you feel like it do respond again. I hope sooner or later we all get both therapy and kind words we need to be happy and healthy just like Elrond. Honestly good for him.

I wonder, after the Third Kinslaying, when was the first time Elrond felt truly, actually safe again

I just mean. like. no matter how kindly Maglor treated the twins, ultimately. no matter that there was love, later. from that day on, it's just, Elrond would know, all the way to his core, that he is small and defenseless and people who are bigger and stronger than him can come and tear his life apart and change it at their whim and he can do nothing but go along with it. and then by the time he is old enough to maybe have a shot at fending for himself... by then there's an ongoing war of apocalyptic proportions, that might wipe out even the strongest who still stand if the fortunes change even a bit. and he'd know it. there's nowhere that's really safe and no matter how strong and brave and skilled someone is they can only affect their own happiness and survival a little bit

by the time war of wrath ends it's decades since he last knew true safety, he's known practically all his life that the world is not safe and his life could be shattered to pieces at any moment with very little warning... even when the peace comes you don't just easily shake a lifetime of knowing that all the way to your core

[gregorygerwitz]

Mouse: You're a worse driver than I am! Hailey: I was hydroplaning! And I did a great job! Fuck you!

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

So we know that Wei Wuxian's treatment after his death was horrible. Even if nothing could impact him directly, there was still neverending slander, hatred, misinformation, theft...

But, for a while after he died, the sects did try to impact him directly – namely, frequently trying to resummon his soul. And today I'll explore the possible reasons for this, their likelihoods, and why I'm so, so thankful that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the summons. Because, spoiler alert (or, you know. maybe not)... none of them are good.

(Long meta ahead)

In my opinion, there are four likely motivations for this: confinement, coercion, torment, and potentially destruction.

Out of all of these, confinement is probably the most likely motivation, at least for most sects (Jins and Jiangs excluded, though it was likely what the Jin sect said their motivations were – but I'll get to them later). This one is the most simple – we know spirit-trapping pouches exist, and we know the sects also placed 120 stone beasts on the Burial Mounds to prevent Wei Wuxian's soul from escaping. Therefore, this seems to be the most likely motivation – and fortunately for Wei Wuxian, probably also the best case scenario, though it still certainly isn't a good one.

For the second, coercion – this is where the Jin sect come in (more specifically Jin Guangshan with the help of Jin Guangyao). Due to their wealth and resources, they're likely the sect who played the largest role in the soul-summoning rituals. We know what they're willing to do to try to gain power – keeping Wen Ning under the pretence he was burned to death and trying to control him with the nails, and working with and helping Xue Yang torture people to help him refine his demonic cultivation, in order to have the Yin hufu fixed. Along with working with many other cultivators, alongside Xue Yang – Jin Guangshan really, really wanted that seal.

And so, Jin GuangShan sought after all those who imitated Wei WuXian in cultivating the ghostly path and gathered them under his rule. He spent a great amount of money and resources and these people, ordering them to study and analyze the structure of the Tiger Seal in secrecy so that they could replicate and restore it. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

(Note that working with these cultivators very likely happened after Wei Wuxian's soul had failed to be summoned, since this happens some time after Wei Wuxian's death, whereas the soul-summoning ceromonies presumably started happening very close to it.)

In the previous paragraph, he's also quoted as having 'lusted after' the Yin hufu, which we already knew but it's nice to have a direct quote as evidence.

Now, would Wei WuXian willingly work with the Jin sect in doing this? No. We know that, and, given Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life (refusing to hand over the Tally, not being afraid to stand up to the sects, etc), I’m pretty sure Jin Guangshan knows that, too:

He beat around the bush a couple of times, using all his skills, yet Wei WuXian didn’t give in no matter what, and it made him run into a bunch of obstacles. - Villainous Friends extra, EXR

So this could actually make things go two ways. One, I'm wrong and that wasn't actually part of the Jin sect's motivations, since they know they wouldn't be able to control him (and in that case, had they managed to summon him, I could imagine them putting him in a spirit-trapping pouch and doing something similar to what Jin Guangyao did to Nie Mingjue's head. Which, also, not good). Two, it was a part of their motivations, and they hoped to find a way around that. After all, there are other guidao users out there now, and Wei Wuxian would now be a gui*. Also, cultivators can obviously harm ghosts – see the very existence of Night Hunts, and I'd include Xue Yang's talisman-caused destruction of A-Qing as well (while he isn't a traditional cultivator, talismans can be used by everyone).

Now, would either of these methods actually work? I'm inclined to think not really (and I expand on the former method in a note below). Would that stop Jin Guangshan/Jin Guangyao/the cultivators they employ from trying? Especially considering Jin Guangshan's lust for power?

I'm inclined to think no, too.

For the third, look no further than Jiang Cheng's reputation of capturing and torturing demonic cultivators after Wei Wuxian's death, due to thinking they could be him. And this does happen – Jin Ling knows and talks about it, and there's not real motivation for him to negatively lie about someone he loves. Also, when they come across each other at Dafan Mountain, we're told this in Jiang Cheng's inner voice:

A moment ago, Jiang Cheng was certain that this person was Wei WuXian, and all of the blood in his body started to boil. Yet, now, Zidian was clearly telling him that he wasn’t. Zidian definitely wouldn’t deceive him or make a mistake, so he quickly calmed himself and thought, this doesn’t mean anything. I should first find an excuse to take him back and use every possible method to get information out of him. It’s impossible for him to not confess anything or give himself away. I’ve done things like this in the past anyways. - MDZS Chapter 10, EXR translation

This mainly shows that he's tortured people before, rather than that he's tortured people because he thinks they're Wei Wuxian, but this reason is confirmed by Jin Ling in Chapter 24. Of course, the reason is also mentioned in this chapter, and there are other moments in the chapter that illustrate my point better**, but they come from second-hand sources which I know are easier to deny. Do take note of Jiang Cheng's expression both times he comes across 'Mo Xuanyu' (after he suspects he's Wei Wuxian) in Book One***, though:

After a moment, the corners of Jiang Cheng’s lips pulled into a twisted smile. His left hand started to unconsciously stroke the ring [Zidian] again. He spoke softly, “… Well, well. So you’re back?” - Chapter 10, EXR Although his face had always been clouded, marked with arrogance and satire, it seemed as if every corner of it had come alive. It was difficult to determine whether it was vengeful wrath, fathomless hatred, or raving ecstasy. - Chapter 23, EXR

This does seem to line up with what people say his attitude to Wei Wuxian is – there doesn't seem to be any happiness at seeing him again at all. The only time a word that could suggest that ('ecstasy') is used, it's accompanied by 'raving', and considering the context and the other possibilities of his expression, it's... probably not due to happiness at being reunited.

So, considering 1) this, 2) his contribution to the Siege specifically intended to kill Wei Wuxian, and 3) that at the time of frequent soul-summoning Jiang Yanli's death would be even closer for him, I feel pretty confident in saying that yes, this is likely a motivation for the Jiang sect in trying to re-summon Wei Wuxian's soul after his death. And, as mentioned earlier, cultivators can harm ghosts (and we know Zidian is able to remove souls posessing a body from that body, and that Jiang Cheng used Zidian on 'Mo Xuanyu' in Chapter 10. If it wasn't able to restrain/harm ghosts, or other methods weren't able to, why would he risk Wei Wuxian's soul escaping?).

And finally, option four: destruction. We're heading into much more speculative territory here, so don't consider this on par with the first three. But consider this:

We know there are some spells, like Xue Yang's talisman used on A-Qing and the body-offering ritual, that can ruin the returning soul’s reincarnation cycle by destroying it. Therefore, soul destruction is possible.

The 'main'/supposed reason for summoning Wei Wuxian's soul back is to stop the "cultivation world, or even all of mortal land" from being "faced with the most insane damnation and revenge, sinking into nothing but chaos and despair" when Wei Wuxian inevitably returns. While, as mentioned above, I severely doubt this is the motivation for certain sects – and to me is likely a rumour which the Jins (again, especially Jin Guangsha) fanned the flames of to justify summoning Wei Wuxian back for their own purposes**** – there are other sects which would take it more seriously.

Although likely disrespectful, people already thought it served Wei Wuxian right to die without his body intact by the time of the second siege – something believed to negatively affect your reincarnation in your next life*****. This is only the logical next step, and I'm pretty sure the vast majority of people would believe that, again, it would serve Wei Wuxian right, or would at least lead to less harm of the world in the long run.

For these reasons, I could definitely see this as an option for some sects, especially the sects who consider themselves more 'righteous' (cough cough the Nies under Nie Mingjue cough cough). After all, evil is evil and good is good, and the evil deserve what's coming to them. And what better way to prevent that than from preventing his soul from returning at all? So for the Nie sect – and likely some of the smaller sects involved in the Siege, since among them, additudes probably vary – yes, I do think it could be a motivation.

I’m not as sure about the Lans being willing to go this far, and that’s largely for two reasons. One, Lan Wangji’s presence and his relationship to Lan Xichen, who does (not always, but he does) let this affect how he treats Wei Wuxian. An example of this is that, when Wei Wuxian's return is made public, Lan Xichen does let him hide and shelter at the Cloud Recesses instead of trying to pursue him, likely majorly due to Lan Wangji. I'd argue that the aftermath of the Nightless City also acts as an example of this, although it definitely isn't perfect. But though he, Lan Qiren and the 33 elders do come to find Lan Wangji and do not let him continue to shelter Wei Wuxian (after they see Lan Wangji's feelings), Lan Xichen doesn't use this opportunity to kill/capture Wei Wuxian, despite Lan Wangji being in a worse condition due to having fought 33 elders, Wei Wuxian being catatonic, and Lan Qiren likely supporting this outcome (especially considering he was the one who led the Lan sect in the Siege – chapter 68, Wei Wuxian's POV). And he did let Lan Wangji take Wei Wuxian back to the Burial Mounds after:

After he went out of his way to send you back to Burial Mound and returned in such low spirits to receive his punishment, how long he kneeled before the Wall of Rules! - Chapter 99, EXR

Again, this was right after the Nightless City massacre – there isn't any goodwill towards Wei Wuxian at this point in time.

Of course, the Lan sect did participate in the siege after Lan Xichen knew of Lan Wangji's feelings towards Wei Wuxian, which Lan Xichen was no doubt a part of (although Lan Qiren lead the Lan sect in the siege, Lan XIchen had to have at least known/given his support, if not participated.) And it should be considered that Lan Xichen letting Wei Wuxian shelter at the Cloud Recesses was after Wei Wuxian had been back for a while, and had not caused the downfall of the Cultivation World, like many suspected he would after his death. And of course, as stated previously, his handling of the aftermath of Nightless City wasn't perfect either (though please note that his main motive here was to protect Lan Wangji from being potentially executed, rather than anything about Wei Wuxian himself). So caring about Lan Wangji doesn't mean he won't harm Wei Wuxian. But I do think he could find bringing Wei Wuxian's soul back to completely destroy it a bit excessive. There is, though, the chance that the elders of the Lan Sect would react to this differently, and of course they would have a sway on both Lan Xichen and the Lan sect as well.

The second reason is smaller, but there seems to be more focus in the Lan sect than in others when it comes to letting ghosts rest peacefully/helping them move on. And that could definitely lead to more resistance to the idea of summoning a soul back to destroy it as well, which could especially impact the elders. So I'd assume that the Lan sect would be the most likely sect to summon Wei Wuxian's soul back just for confinement, or just for some way of making sure any resentment is disippated, his spirit moves on, and he can't cause more harm to the world (eg via Inquiry)******. Not that he would or does as a ghost or as a reborn person, but that's unfortunately not relevant to this.

But yes, as a motivation for the Nie Mingjue-led Nie sect? Absolutely.

So, these are the main motives I suspect to be behind the attempted summoning of Wei Wuxian's soul after his death (and if I've missed any, please let me know – I'd love to have a discussion). And, of course, none of them lead to anywhere good. Because of course it wasn’t enough to besiege Wei Wuxian, murder the 50 non-combatants he was responsible for (and throwing them into the blood pit as a mark of disrespect because why not?), and lead to his death via him getting torn apart. It wasn’t enough to steal all his inventions, and use them commonly while still slandering him with no reprieve – or to steal his notes and give them to people like Xue Yang to study (Villainous Friends, again) and to use for their own, extremely extremely harmful, purposes. Of course, the cultivation world has to try to harm Wei Wuxian after death as well ((:

We don't know whether Wei Wuxian rejecting the summoning ceremonies was conscious or unconscious, but if it was the former, these are very likely reasons he refused to return in this way. If it was unconscious – for example, maybe during the frequent soul-summons his soul was in a weakened state due to him dying from a backlash of resentful energy and getting torn apart, and it healed over time but not before the soul-summoning rituals stopped – well, I can only be thankful.

Finally, let me leave you on the thought that – although it may well have happened since we don't spend much time in the immediate aftermath of the Sunshot campaign – there isn't even any textual mention of this happening to Wen Ruohan. Who, while not being a guidao user, was still very dangerous, still an extremely powerful cultivator, and still had a lot of reason to feel resentment. So.

:')

Thank you for reading!

--

*Considering what we see of how Wei Wuxian's guidao functions – redirecting the ghosts'/corpses' resentment into doing something they'd want to do, eg attacking people, and directing it towards a target – I'm not sure using it to force a spirit to do something 1) extremely specific, and 2) explicitly against their will would actually work. Iirc the closest thing we get to this in text is Wei Wuxian using the corpses of Wens to attack other Wens in the Sunshot Campaign, but he's still just directing their resentment to a target of his choice, and fierce corpses do tend to be on the less concious side of things (hence why Wei Wuxian had to awaken Wen Ning's consciousness). Considering how Wen Ning attacks Wei Wuxian and the Burial Mound Wens before his consciousness had fully awoken, I... really don't think those fierce corpses were able to differentiate (or didn't care).

Meanwhile, ghosts seem to be a bit more in control of themselves – see A-Qing, and Wei Wuxian's own descriptions of his ghost self.

That, alongside ghost!Wei Wuxian being able to resist his soul-summoning and the fact that pretty much all of the new guidao users are a lot weaker than he was, does make me think that this this wouldn't work. I do wonder about Xue Yang, since his methods are pretty different as well, but he's more of a modao user than a guidao user (he controls living corpses rather than dead people) and I don't think you can insert physical nails into ghosts?? Though if he was specifically instructed to figure out some way to control ghost!Wei Wuxian (who's probably kept in a spirit-trapping pouch in this scenario), he might be able to do something at least. Though also he was also struggling to piece Xiao Xingchen's ghost soul back together, so he may struggle with those areas?

Well, whatever the potential outcome, I'm so so happy once again that Wei Wuxian's soul managed to resist the soul-summonings...

**Mainly this:

Everyone in the cultivation world knew that the young leader of the Jiang Clan watched out for Wei WuXian in an almost crazed manner. He would rather catch the wrong person than let go of any possibility, and took anyone who seemed like they held the soul of Wei WuXian away to the YunmengJiang Sect, inflicting severe torture on his victim. If he wanted to take someone back, the opposition would surely lose half of their life. - Chapter 10, EXR

But I have heard people say 'you can't prove that it's just more rumours' before, and I wanted my evidence to be as watertight as possible.

(And, off-topic... isn't it really sad how Jiang Cheng, in the present day, is described as young? Because, for a clan leader, he is. And another thing he is, is close in age to Wei Wuxian – who was killed 13 whole years prior :') )

***And do note that the only other time they run into each other before Wei Wuxian's identity is revealed to the world apart from this is their brief interaction at Jinlintai, where he can't just act however he wants. The next time they run into each other after it, Jiang Cheng is literally taking part in another siege against him, and still extremely hostile ("surrounded by hostile energy, face insidious, staring straight at him" – from EXR chapter 60). Then he loses his spiritual powers and can't do anything. By the time he regains his powers, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji and the Wen remnants' corpses have saved everyone during the Second Siege, and though public opinion hasn't properly shifted quite yet, it will soon after Sisi and Bicao tell the story of Jin Guangyao, and voila, a new scapegoat (do note that he doesn't completely bar Wei Wuxian from entering Lotus Pier after the Second Siege, though). Plus, throughout it all, Lan Wangji is still constantly present, which makes it hard for Jiang Cheng to really do anything. And then he's finally faced with the Golden Core reveal, which does alter his motivations towards Wei Wuxian (obviously the resentment is still there – read chapter 102 – but it's also mixed with other complex emotions, and he seems to start being able to move away from that a little in Chapter 103). I still definitely wouldn't describe Jiang Cheng's attitude towards him as positive, but it isn't at the point it was at the start of the novel (eg Chapter 10).

But even if his attitude does change, or would for whatever other reason apart from the reveal, that still doesn't change an initial motivation so isn't relevant to this meta. We know his intentions at the start.

****It's also possible they may have originated it, but I think WWX's reputation was bad enough for it to form naturally. Though you can trace a major part of that back to them, too.

*****That belief isn't outright stated in MDZS, but the fact people are specifically talking about the status of WWX's body in the aftermath of his death suggests that this belief does have some grounding in the MDZS universe, at least? And we know MXTX has included it in TGCF (though that doesn't mean it's definitely in MDZS), so she has used it in her works. If this isn't the case in the MDZS universe I am sorry (although that could also mean there's less importance placed on not disturbing the reincarnation cycle in the world of MDZS...? Which would work towards my original argument) – I don't want to spread misinformation that something is definitely true, I just think there's evidence to suggest it is true, which isn't the same thing.

******Again, I think this would depend on who ends up having more influence over who in the Lan sect. After all, normal resentful spirits only do what they do because of their resentment in death, whereas Wei Wuxian is 'dangerous' because of who everyone thinks he was in life – so him being reborn naturally could also 'cause a lot of harm to the world' during the time period this version of him would live in, unlike the resentful ghosts they appease. This could definitely lead to many advocating for confinement, I think.

[freakinator]

thinking about kab and the thing about her i think is she knows just enough to keep herself safe Generally but not enough to really predict what would happen should something more... complicated??? unforeseen??? idk whats the right word to use but something not covered by someones reputation and/or vids happen, believe it or not this also affects her view of clownpierce (we'll get to that)

for example, mapicc has a reputation for being an violent, angry, & impulsive guy and nothing else which makes sense but is incredibly surface level and something that only really works if you dont have a lot of experience working with him

another is reddoons, his betrayal after the base incident while shocking is not unforeseen but his reputation as being a guy whos seen as being a reasonable person whos fairly loyal to his team made it seem like something he wouldnt do even tho it absolutely is

regarding how it affects her view of clown, since he isnt perfectly aligned with his reputation she instead pivots in the complete opposite direction and forgiving basically every crime he does even tho hes something much more mild and complicated than either his reputation or her view of him will ever be (think madonna-whore complex which is especially obvious when it comes to kabs vs woogies view of him)

another side effect of this Just Enough amount of knowledge aside from being blinded by her own expectations is that it frustrates ppl who think shes oversimplificating things (like me and seemingly several other tumblr users as well) especially when she claims that shes objectively correct and the smartest in the room at any given moment

how this roughness in her analysis affects her in the server still has yet to be fully seen but we do still have at least a couple months until the end but 'til then shes just gonna keep stumbling as more and more complicated situations pop up as is typical in lifesteal to happen and eventually shes gonna have to learn to adapt or else she'll be suffering the consequences one way or another

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Elain stans have such a weird relationship with Nuala and Cerridwen and I genuinely can't tell if they just choose not to look at the optics of that dynamic or what...

[the-muffin-master]

"Since the Netherbrain fell, you and Astarion have seen more of Faerûn than you ever thought possible. One night, he tells you that these last six months of happy memories are the counterweight to two hundred years of misery."

idk what's up with my obsession with drawing astarion being happy and cared for but I'm sure it's not gonna come up in therapy. AFFECTION BEAM!!!!

[lameotello]

I hate that we've gone from "don't like, don't read" and not caring about what fucked up shit is depicted in fan media as a standard to hypervigilance and having to mind your every word so the group you've found yourself in doesn't know you ship the Not HOA Approved Ship

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trigun Thoughts Vol. 1 Pt. 2

So now that I've finished with volume 1, I just wanted to write down a couple thoughts I've had and neat things to point out so far

When I was watching Stampede, I took note of a few kind of textbook avoidant behaviours Vash engages in, and lo and behold, here he is in the manga displaying even more of them. I'll list out a few here.

In order, we have:

Casually asking for a time limit on the interaction (ie. "How long do I have to keep this up before I can leave?")

Attempting to lose people in a crowd

Leaving without saying anything (and as a bonus, dreading being recognized in public)

Over-indulging or over-involving oneself in social events to create a viable excuse to leave suddenly (in this case, he uses alcohol as a reason to "pass out")

Sleeping to avoid unwanted conversation

Escaping to the bathroom to get away for a bit (and also to grumble about it haha)

Playing off sincere reactions by deliberately allowing them to be misinterpreted to avoid personal questions

It's really obvious, even this early in the manga, that Vash is intentionally avoiding prolonged interaction with people, and only involving himself in situations by necessity. He doesn't like attention on himself - the only reason he intentionally draws it is to divert it away from others.

The reason for this is a bit muddy though. It does seem that Vash doesn't particularly enjoy being caught up in drama, and it is also very likely he wishes to get in and out of places as quickly as possible to avoid them getting caught up in his drama too. It may even be that he finds prolonged socializing kind of tiring; that he needs a certain amount of time to himself.

But then there's also this bit, shortly after the celebration, where he pretends to pass out.

This brings in a bit of a guilt aspect to it. It likely has to do with July, or maybe it's due to something else (at this point, we can't say), but I think it's notable that Vash cuts things off shortly before they become intimate. He can play along to make others happy and to share in their joy for a bit, but the second things get too personal or focused on him, he will quietly slip away. Now this is specifically an instance of physical intimacy, but I think it'd probably hold for emotional intimacy as well, given the continuous avoidance and misdirection he does to prevent too many questions.

I made some commentary on Stampede Vash's self-punishing behaviours - specifically, the way he denies himself food. I don't want to get too into it because I don't know if everyone reading this has seen Stampede, but food is framed as something to be shared in the show - so, denying himself food is denying himself the right to share with others, which is denying himself belonging, which is denying himself any semblance of intimacy. (It means other things too, as food-sharing is associated with Rem, but I don't want to get too into it here.)

Vash in the manga doesn't seem to have the same issues with eating, but this is a similar premise - he's denying himself intimacy out of a sense of not being deserving of it.

So, then, there are probably many interwoven reasons for Vash's avoidance - he's sick of the chaos that follows him around, he doesn't want others getting hurt, he gets tired from having to "play it up" all the time, and he seems to also feel that he doesn't deserve that closeness. I'm intrigued to see how Vash's avoidance will be tackled going forward (I'm assuming it will?), and I suspect, more than there being one right reason for it, that all these reasons are actually true to an extent.

On a completely different note, this panel here is the biggest mood. I feel it in my bones.

[batsplat]

Jerez 2006

[It] was certainly within the four walls of that gym, between rep after rep on different muscle groups, that the 'LorenShow' was born. There was a time when only Rossi used to put on a show, but even that has become a rare event. 'Now he only does it on certain occasions,' says Jorge. 'The World Championship was losing a bit of sparkle. Other riders were trying things but they weren't funny, especially in 125cc. There was a time when Melandri tried to imitate Rossi but he never managed to make it as funny.' Jorge had been thinking for a long time about how he could offer his fans something extra after a win. A lot of people saw him as too serious, but he wanted to show that he cared about them, that he enjoyed what he did and that he was affable and good humoured, as well as imaginative. He needed an ingenious plan because he had a clear objective: to celebrate the World Championship title in style. 'We wanted to do it in style, go mad,' recalls Dani Palau. That seemed a long way off, back in the summer of 2006, but once the crises of Turkey, Shanghai and Le Mans were behind him the dream of beating Andrea Dovizioso was alive again.

Strictly speaking, the first episode of the 'LorenShow' was at the Spanish GP in 2006. It was his first victory in the 250cc class and Jorge got off his bike, took off his helmet and started shouting at the fans. 'It was pretty spectacular and it was the first time we used the word "LorenShow",' he recalls. 'Palau and I used to put together a ten-page magazine of our own after each Grand Prix and on the front cover of that particular edition we put a photo of my celebrations and the headline [in English] "Welcome to the LorenShow!" That was awesome, really different. I have always been creative and I fancied doing something special after I won, so I decided to give it a try!' The design of the magazine, by the way, was similar to GQ. 'Well, not similar exactly. We kind of copied it! We were worried about getting into trouble for copying it but I hope they don't hit us with a lawsuit now ... it was only for us!' he laughs.

March 2007

After his victory at Losail Jorge pretended to skip like a boxer, as he'd done for so many hours in the gym with Marcos. It was a spontaneous, intuitive celebration and an early turning point for his season. After such a morale-boosting performance during and after the race, why not celebrate all his victories from now on? 'In Qatar I did the skipping-rope thing but I never thought that in the future I'd be using props to celebrate my victories!' The preparation that went into each episode of 'LorenShow' was a simple but elaborate process. Generally the original idea would come from Jorge and, often with the help of his computer, Palau would fill in the details. It became something of a team effort at Motorsport48, where almost everybody began to join in the fun. Everybody except the boss: Dani Amatriain kept his distance. He didn't like or dislike the celebrations but he preferred to leave them to Jorge as a bit of innocent fun. Out of the blue came another idea, this time from Marcos. Once again, it was an idea born in the gym. 'You are a warrior. You have to reclaim the championship, right? But what kind of a conqueror doesn't have a flag?' Jorge's eyes began to twinkle. 'It has to be something really visual,' Jorge told Palau, taking on the idea. 'Imagine that in each race I stick a flag into the ground, as if I have conquered that land. Like Christopher Columbus when he arrived in America!' The design process was short, with Jorge's X-fuera logo the obvious choice, set on a black background - the colour used by pirates. And written in English, so that it would be understood all over the world, not just in Spain, would be those now famous words: 'Lorenzo's Land'.

The day of its first unfurling soon arrived. It was the Spanish Grand Prix at Jerez, known as 'The Cathedral' by local fans. Dani Palau headed for partisan territory - the section of track that features the 'Angel Nieto' and 'Peluqui' corners, where he would meet his friend if he won the race. 'I had goosebumps. You should have heard the noise from the crowd when Jorge stopped!' he recalls. There were 140,000 people packed into the grandstands at Jerez that day and they had been treated to an outstanding 250cc race: 'la carrera de los cuarenta y dos adelantamientos' ['the race with forty two overtakes']. Jorge Lorenzo savoured the moment. As he had done in 2006, he removed his helmet, got off his bike and punched the air to celebrate his second victory at Jerez. Then the flag appeared by his side. He took it and drove it deep into the gravel. Jerez had been conquered, the first circuit to be claimed as 'Lorenzo's Land'. A few weeks later he won again, in China, and again he planted the flag. However, unlike Jerez, this victory was his first in Shanghai. Nobody was going to stop him now.

"Now what's happening with Lorenzo? Oh, he's going to plant the flag, I think. Here we go! Or he's going to throw the flag. He's going to do something, but, eh... All the script we have in front of us, all the timings, goes out of the window when Lorenzo wins a 250cc race... so you can just, rustle up your papers, any scripts you've got, what's coming up next, disappears, because he delays everything. There we are. Plants the flag..."

Le Mans 2007

Lorenzo, who designs his own logos and comes up with fun things like the pirate flag he sticks in the sand at the circuit where he wins to "announce to everyone" that he has conquered "that land" , says that preparing for these celebrations is just another way of coping with the hard training he does and, above all, having the best time possible. "Looking for ideas for the parties I have at the circuits encourages me to win ," he said yesterday after his excellent victory over Dovizioso.

The Mallorcan, who did not hesitate to admit his mistake on a line and apologize to Dovi for the push he had given him ( "I'm very sorry, I went out too wide on a curve, I wanted to regain verticality too soon, get back on the right line and I crashed into him" ), yesterday came up with nothing better than to dress up his soulmate, Dani Palau, as Jorge Lorenzo, with whom he shares the entertainment of festive designs and games. Palau appeared on the lap of glory and tried to get his two-and-a-half-litre Aprilia and, as they had agreed, Lorenzo told him to go away, that the bike was his and that he was the owner of the winning machine. "We wanted to make a joke, implying that the double, which was him, Dani, represented the Lorenzo who had fallen on Friday and that the real one, that is, myself, was the one who had won the race."

Mugello 2007

Jorge was coming up with more ideas for celebrations than he could use, and that was probably a good thing because some of them would have got him into more trouble than they were worth. Like the one that involved him wearing an Andrea Dovizioso mask. 'We've still got the mask but Andrea would have had to do something really bad to me to warrant getting it out ... though he'd better ‘watch it!' smiles Jorge. Another one that failed to get past the ideas stage was for Valencia, the final race of 2007. Jorge had already claimed the title and, after being criticised all year for using the 'Lorenzo's Land' flag instead of the Spanish one, planned to go completely over the top, using not only the Spanish flag but dressing up' as a bullfighter. Maybe it was a good thing he only managed seventh. The celebrations he did get to use became ever more elaborate and meticulously planned. He would scour the circuit for the best comer, with the best camera angle and the best view for the fans. Jorge had decided that each celebration should have something to do with the country he was in, and in Italy a friend, Jordi Ohva, who worked for Dorna [the commercial and television rights holders for MotoGP] gave him an idea. 'In Italy they've nicknamed you "Spaniard". The commentator on Italian television has started calling you that.''"Spaniard"? Why?''Because you are like a gladiator and that's what they call the main character played by Russell Crowe in the movie Gladiator.' Maximus Decimus Meridius was a Roman general born in Merida, Spain. He lived in the second century and since this was the second year of domination by a Spaniard in the 250cc class then what better way for Lorenzo to celebrate victory in the Italian GP than by dressing up as his namesake? 'In fact, the idea of doing something historical came after watching 300 with Marcos,' explains Jorge, 'We watched the film again with Palau, the three of us talked about it and we decided we wanted to do something related to the Battle of Thermopylae. It was while we were looking for a King Leonidas suit that we came across a Gladiator outfit. That coincided with me finding out what [Italian television commentator] Guido Meda was calling me.' The wheels were quickly put in motion. like any good media relations manager, Pere Gurt sourced an exact replica of the costume worn by Russell Crowe in the film, which was owned by an agency in Madrid. It cost 600 euros a week to rent and the sword was extra. It was kept in a corner of the garage at Mugello, where Dani Palau devoutly guarded it from the inquisitive eyes of journalists who were already wondering what Lorenzo had up his sleeve if he won this one. On race day Palau headed for the comer where they'd agreed to meet if a miracle should happen. Jorge was starting from 20th on the grid, but he still had his sights set on victory. Everybody knows what happened next. On the big screens around the circuit, Palau watched his friend slide into the gravel after colliding with Bautista. He jumped onto his scooter and raced to fetch him, sword, breastplate, helmet, 'Lorenzo's Land' flag and all. The Italian fans spotted the props and, despite Jorge's popularity there, Dani could hear them laughing and shouting insults. The mediocre can be unforgiving when a winner falls from his perch. 'The preparations were perfect, but unfortunately the race wasn't!'

Catalunya 2007

You have to be very confident in your abilities to appear on the starting grid, having previously asked two friends to dress like you, to wait for you at a strategic point during the lap of honour and to take out some guitars so you can emulate your favourite band in front of 112,600 spectators. That was how Jorge Lorenzo celebrated his fifth victory of the season at Montmeló, giving a concert on the track and another one off it, microphone in hand, as a tribute to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and to make up for his fall at Mugello a week ago. This time, the Mallorcan needed two stunt doubles at his side for his performance, and those who dressed as him were Dani Palau, his webmaster and the same one he used at Le Mans, and Ricard Cardús, a CEV driver and Carlos' nephew.

Looking back on his performance, it could be said that the most critical moment was the start, when Thomas Luthi had taken the lead on the first corner. 'Por Fuera' did not back down, he lived up to his nickname and made an epic outside turn. That was the only thing that really cost him, or so it seemed from the sidelines, because he later said that it had been a difficult race. Maybe he said that because he still had in mind the blunder in Italy, that fall on the last corner when Álvaro Bautista overtook him. Whatever the reason, he was exultant and at the end of the podium ceremony he dared to take the speaker's microphone to address the public. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked from the top of the podium. And he continued: "I know that some of you liked me and others didn't, but I don't care. You are Spanish like me and I love you! Thank you."

The trio completed a recce of Montmelo on Thursday and Friday and performed a rehearsal at the corner of choice, in front of the stadium section. I told them, "When we're playing here, I want you to jump around like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Go on YouTube, have a look at the videos and learn the dance moves," ' recalls Jorge. 'But the bastards ignored me!' For one magic moment Jorge, Dani and Ricky were no longer Lorenzo, Palau and Cardus. They weren't even three Lorenzos, dancing and singing like maniacs in front of 100,000 people. They were Anthony Kiedis, Flea and John Frusciante. Only Chad Smith was missing on drums, otherwise they would have been the real Chilis. 'I wanted there to be four of us, like the real Chilis, and I was going to ask Ricky's older brother Jordi to join in but there weren't any more leathers in my size. Also, getting a drum kit onto the track would have been a nightmare!'

Donington, Assen, Sachsenring 2007

After Catalunya came the British GP and before travelling there they went to dinner with a racing friend, Xavi Ledesma - the owner of the Fortuna Team hospitality unit and one of Jorge's closest friends in 2005, as well as being the organiser of the Copa Aprilia when he first started racing Xavi told them that the tradition in England was to drink tea in the afternoon. No sooner said than done. They went out and bought a tea tray, complete with teapot, cups and spoons. Palau planned to sit at a table at the Melbourne Loop, dressed as a waiter in a tuxedo and crash helmet. All Jorge had to do was turn up, rest his feet and have a drink. Oh, and win the race. Unfortunately, the final and most crucial part of the plan started to go wrong in the warm-up because, as is well known, rain is as traditional at Donington as tea. Despite the heavy downpour, Jorge produced a great performance - he was having the best wet race of his career. 'Shall I go out or not?' thought Dani halfway through the race. His buddy was running in second place behind Dovizioso. He had to have faith. 'If you have any doubt, something is bound to go wrong,' says Jorge. 'Whenever I have felt sure I would win I have won, but if there has been any kind of doubt I've lost, come second, or something has happened. That is what the brain is like.' And just as Palau made his mind up and went to load up the scooter with props, Jorge hit the deck. That was one cuppa that was hard to swallow. Jorge's next celebration was enjoyed by the Spanish fans, although it was on a Saturday rather than a Sunday. The Dutch are a bit different in everything, even their racing, and since 1949 the TT at Assen has always taken place on a Saturday. Jorge knew exactly what he was going to do if he won. He wanted to copy the thousands of locals by riding a pushbike. They rehearsed their routine at two or three different comers. 'This place is best. How far will you ride the bike? Will you be able to cycle in boots?' Every minute detail was taken care of. 'We'd practised in that area where Valentino sat when he won the MotoGP race, the bit that looks like a target. I was going to leave my Aprilia and the pushbike would be in the middle of the circle. We thought of it before Rossi!' Suddenly, he changed his mind. On his return to the pit garage he realised that there was a stage, all set up right next to the track, because just by the final chicane that leads into the start-finish straight there is a VIP terrace. It was the perfect place - and not only that, there was a television camera directly opposite.

'We could sit down and have a drink,' Jorge told Dani. The fact he'd missed out on his cup of tea at Donington a few days earlier still irked him, so it was all hands on deck. The owners of the terrace had to be consulted and asked for permission. Initially they weren't too keen because there are no fences there and it is easy for people to get out and access pit lane. For that reason, a huge deposit has to be paid to hire the area, which the circuit organisers retain if there are any problems. In the end they realised it was a Lorenzo celebration and they went along with it. This time Jorge backed up his plans with a dominant victory. However, having left his bike propped against the fence before climbing over the tyre wall and on to the terrace, he was swamped by punters taking photographs and the television cameras lost him in the melee. 'On top of that, the bar owner was a complete opportunist and he got a bunch of people to hold up an advertisement! It was a disaster.' Even though not much could be seen on the television, it was clear that Jorge's double had returned and that they'd gone to have a drink together. But why? Jorge was happy to provide the answer in pare ferme. 'After the crash at Donington, somebody [Dovizioso] had suggested I was getting nervous. So I sipped on a herbal tea.' Some time later Dani Palau insisted that the initial idea was to drink a glass of water but, as at Le Mans, Jorge was thinking on his feet and he was eager to hit back at Dovizioso. 'Sometimes that happens to me. I get really good ideas on the spur of the moment. Other times I really have to think things through for them to work out. But sometimes I get a flash of inspiration.'

Jorge finished fourth in Germany but there were no plans for a celebration even if he'd won. He was worried about the joke wearing thin. 'You have to keep people guessing. It is good to have an element of the unexpected. If we did it every time it wouldn't be funny any more. The truth is that I like things to be complete and maybe I would have continued the celebrations race after race but I let them convince me. It was good to have a break.' The summer holidays were approaching and they wanted to leave the fans gagging for more. To be fair, I have to say that I can't always put on a big celebration because I need helpers and Palau didn't come to every race. For the ones outside Europe we had a much smaller group.' There were no celebrations in the Czech Republic either, but this time for a different reason. Nobody at Motorsport48 was in the mood for a party. Dani Amatriain's assistant, Esther Serra, had just lost her brother, Marc. Jorge won but conducted a silent parade of his now obligatory 'Lorenzo's Land' flag in honour of the family. 'The problem with the celebrations is that it gets harder and harder to come up with something original, with meaning, that isn't just plain stupid,' says Jorge. 'Ideas are finite. We had something planned for Portugal but I'd prefer to keep it to myself - I might use it in the future. We also wanted to do something with animals but are they allowed on the track? We planned to get Datil, my mum's dog, a set of made-to-measure leathers but imagine if we brought him out and he had a shit on the track! That'd cause a scene!' Jorge fell about laughing as his imagination took over. 'It's a shame Marcos doesn't come to more races because we could dress him up as Shrek! Ha, ha!'

Misano 2007

From that moment on, Jorge defended his first place, riding alone and maintaining a calm margin over the second, who ended up being the Japanese Aoyama, after first catching his teammate Kallio, who fell next, and then Héctor Barberá, who added his third podium of the year. Lorenzo is now 50 points ahead and celebrated by doing a lap of honour dressed as a Roman gladiator. De Angelis is second after finishing a disappointing fifth in what was his Grand Prix.

Jorge toyed with the idea of wearing his new outfit [the gladiator costume he had been mocked for at Mugello] if he won at the GP of Catalunya but eventually decided that revenge is a dish best served cold and it was better to wait. The season would give him plenty of opportunities to settle the score and the Italian fans would have no choice but to bow down before him like a Roman general. Every great film has unforgettable lines that are often repeated by film buffs. This one from Gladiator suited Jorge down to the ground. My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius . . . commander of the armies of the north . . . general of the Felix Legions . . . loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius . . . father to a murdered son ... husband to a murdered wife ... and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. 'What a well-chosen phrase!' Lorenzo must have thought. Italy owed him one and he was going back to collect his dues. It wasn't to be in that first race on Italian soil, but he was determined to get his revenge in the second. He rented the outfit again, waving goodbye to another 600 euros, but this wasn't about the money. This was a question of honour. He didn't know the circuit, because there hadn't been a GP there since 1993, and although he had visited Misano once, when he'd signed for Derbi in 2002, he was only 15 then and not old enough to actually ride. None of that mattered now, because he went out and won. And on top of that, Dovizioso broke down. Jordi Perez and Cheni Martinez raced out onto the track to dress their man. They'd already discussed with Race Direction and the television directors where the best place would be for the celebration in terms of safety and maximum exposure. Jorge didn't want to take the outfit off - not when he stepped on to the podium, or when he sprayed the champagne. He even kept it on for the press conference. He clearly wanted to recoup his investment, but above all he wanted to enjoy the moment. He felt like the king of the world. ' "Now THAT was legendary," Guido Meda told me.' "

Sepang 2007

Dovizioso responded to remain in Lorenzo’s slipstream as the duo were caught by KTM team-mates Hiroshi Aoyama and Mika Kallio, plus Hector Barbera. The five battled until the penultimate lap when Dovizioso’s wafer-thin title hopes were ended as Mika Kallio took him out in an out-braking move. Hiroshi Aoyama inherited the lead and kept it to the flag from Barbera and Lorenzo. As Kallio remounted to finish fourth ahead of Tomas Luthi, Andrea Dovizioso remounted to cross the line eleventh. Meanwhile Jorge Lorenzo was celebrating keeping the 250cc world championship in a boxer’s gold-coloured gown and gloves, and picking up a fake championship belt in parc ferme.

Jorge won his second 250cc World Championship at the Malaysian Grand Prix with one race to spare, to top off an outstanding 2007 season. And what better way to celebrate in style than by looking way back to the very first race of the year in Qatar, when Jorge recovered the 'eye of the tiger'? His antics in 2007 had made him the leading contender for the title of paddock showman left vacant by Valentino Rossi in a season when the Italian had little to celebrate. It's clear by now that Jorge is up for a challenge and a second 250cc World Championship title was enough of an excuse for him to stake his claim, as the leading heavyweight in 'motorshowbusiness'. On this occasion it wasn't actually one of his own ideas, but he made it his own as soon as it left the lips of Marcos Hirsch. Having started the season training like Rocky Balboa and trying to recover the 'eye of the tiger', he took the title in Malaysia (coincidentally a country the famous Italian novelist Emilio Salgari referred to as the 'land of the tigers' ) and there was only one way to celebrate - as the new CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOOORLD! That box in the corner of the garage at Plulhp Island contained a story all of its own. Jorge and Marcos's initial idea was to set up a boxing match between the two of them, in which Jorge would knock Marcos out. The idea was that I had to beat a heavyweight. And boy is he heavy!' laughs Jorge. When I'd dressed as Jorge at Valencia the previous year, the message was that he had grown up,' explains Marcos. 'This time it was a case of demonstrating that he was capable of anything. Even knocking out somebody twice his height and weight, like me!' Another of Jorge's ideas was for Marcos to grow his hair like Don King, the world's most famous boxing promoter. In the end the celebration wasn't exactly as Jorge and Marcos had planned, partly because the Brazilian trainer was unable to make the trip to Malaysia.

The final idea came about after a conversation between Jorge and Marcos after which the 'celebration panel' of Jorge, Dani Palau and Pere Gurt set things in motion. They went on the Internet to download information about the Clint Eastwood film Million Dollar Baby and then researched other famous boxers like Mike Tyson, Evander Holyfield, Oscar De La Eioya and Julio Cesar Chavez. Once they had decided on a look they set about sourcing the outfit. Esther Serra was sent to a fabric shop in Barcelona, which is where they encountered their first setback. They didn't have any gold fabric for the hooded cloak - only black - and if that shop didn't have it, it was difficult to imagine anywhere else that would. But necessity is the mother of invention and somebody suddenly remembered that the covers used to unveil Jorge's Apiilia RSW250 at the start of the season had been gold. Problem solved! Now it was a case of putting the whole outfit together. They'd found a blue cloak in a Barcelona boxing shop, and picked up a gum shield at the same time. There were some fruitless trips to fancy dress shops. It was time to get the family involved... Pere Gurt called his mother, Rosa Casas, and her friend, Carme Armengol. After much protest, which fell on deaf ears, the pair reluctantly accepted the assignment and, as a result, MotoGP ended up with two more avid fans - to the point where they would get up at 5am to watch Jorge race in Australia.

A world championship belt needed to be found at the same time, so the team got in touch with the Spanish Boxing Federation (FEB), who recommended 'Charlie's', a specialist shop in Madrid. Bingo! Not only did they have a belt, they also had a pair of golden gloves. The only problem was that the belt featured the Dutch flag, but Esther wasted no time in having the red, white and blue colours replaced with a logo designed by Dani PalaWeb that read: 'Loren Show II'. In the end Jorge didn't use the gum shield, but there's a little story about that too. When Juan Llansa saw it he said there was no point: 'That is a shit gum shield. You need one made to measure!' Juanito knew what he was talking about - he'd not only seen plenty of riders use them over his 20 years in motorcycle racing, but also his daughter, Zaida Llansa, was the 2001 Kata [a form of martial arts] World Champion. As soon as he landed in Australia he looked on the Internet for a martial arts shop near Phillip Island. He bought the silicone, warmed it in boiling water and made Jorge bite it for a made-to-measure gum shield. Lorenzo still decided not to use it for the celebrations, but Juanito saved it just in case Jorge decided he needed one for MotoGP. 'He never wore one in 125cc and 250cc but I've saved it just in case he really needs to grit his teeth in MotoGP!' Llansa laughed. Everything was prepared as quickly as possible because there wasn't much time. Jorge quickly became impatient: 'Pere, how's the cloak coming along?' 'Don't worry about it.' 'If it's going to be shit just leave it and we'll think of something else.' 'Trust me. I don't doubt your work, so don't doubt mine.' It was almost time to leave and everything was ready. Cheni Martinez picked up the outfit and went to meet Jorge at the Hotel Barcelo-Sants gym in Barcelona for a dress rehearsal. He had to try everything on before leaving for Melbourne. In the car on the way to the airport Jorge received a call. It was Pere. 'How is it?' 'Pffff. It's not that bad.' Pere Gurt hung up with a smile. 'We've done it,' he thought.

The box remained unopened in Australia, of course, but in Malaysia the surprise was unleashed. The hardest-hitting World Champion in racing was about to be crowned and the character of Rocky Balboa represented the strength he'd displayed to overcome his own limitations and fears. Jorge Lorenzo had not only clinched his second world title, he'd proved to himself and to the world that he could do anything, as a rider and as a person. And then he and the clan treated the public to their most memorable celebration yet. His friends, headed by Juanito Llansa, waited for him with the boxer's outfit that Lorenzo wanted to wear to mirror his battling performances on the track that season — the cloak, gloves and belt of a World Champion, made out of gold fabric and with a logo on the back, hand sewn by Pere Gurt's mother and her neighbour. It simply read: Loren Show II. World Champion 2007. The 'Lorenzo's Land' flag had fluttered at seven different circuits during the year, but this time it was the Spanish flag that an emotional Lorenzo drove into Malaysian soil, in the final turn of the Sepang International Circuit. The whole act had been Jorge's tribute to 'the eye of the tiger', the winning attitude of Rocky Balboa that he'd adopted as his own. All the knock-out blows to his rivals during the season had given him just cause for celebration. Celebrations are often forgotten the following day, as soon as the outfits and props have been returned, but not this time. The World Championship gown and gloves will always remain part of Jorge's life.. 'One day I returned home to find that my mother had prepared a surprise. She had redecorated my bedroom and there it was, my gold outfit, hung on the wall, looking magical.' Some people think Jorge Lorenzo is simply copying Valentino Rossi, the originator of post-race victory celebrations, in order to enhance his own image. Others feel that perhaps he takes things too far, or they may view the Lorenzo antics rather more favourably. Jorge will continue to hope they're accepted for what they are: harmless, innocent fun but always with a moral to the 'story'. There's no doubt, though, that he will have something to say if other riders start copying him...

Jorge Lorenzo and 250cc celebrations

Lorenzo is authentic, reject imitations (2007); Shanghai race commentary (2007); A recital by Jorge Lorenzo to forget about Mugello (2007); Lorenzo 'Gladiator' conquers Misano and caresses the title (2007); Sepang MotoGP: Jorge Lorenzo is 2007 250cc GP champion, Hiroshi Aoyama wins race (2007); Jorge Lorenzo: My Story So Far (2010)

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)

[lilowoof]

ngl gamers, I think I'm gonna inevitably lose to the hormones and depression in the near future XD

Can't bring myself to be active cause I'm using a lot of energy to not vent post all the time. But fuck it, into the tags I go!