#that was genuine real fear and agony from me

[k-lin-the-hunter]

~I had a dream It might've been a nightmare~ ~I tried to scream But my head was underwater~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

[madbard]

I just realized another reason I love Hozier’s music. It’s not just that the lyrics are complex, or the music itself is beautiful - it’s that Hozier is a musical liar.

Take Cherry Wine. This is a song about an abusive relationship, told from the perspective of someone very much in love with their abuser. Throughout the song, the narrator describes their lover’s cruelty. Lyrics like “I walk my days on a wire” and “open hand or closed fist would be fine” make the darker aspects of their relationship all too evident. At points, the song suggests that they are defending this relationship to someone else who cares about them (“it looks ugly but it’s clean. Oh mama, don’t fuss over me”) and even the more beautiful and seemingly romantic lines later in the song (“oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing”) have dark undertones (what else is sleep to the freezing but death?) Still, I often come across the song being used in a wholesome, romantic context. A lot of factors contribute to this, but I would argue that this song mainly gets mistaken for a romantic song because of how soft and gentle the music is - it presents as a sweet love song in every way except the lyrics. Even those lyrics are told through the lens of someone defending their broken and abusive relationship, deepening the lie. Our narrator wants to portray this relationship as something dark, yet also immensely beautiful and encompassing. The result is a song about the agony and pleasure of a broken relationship, disguised so well as a love song in every possible way that it gets mistaken for something romantic. (Even if you are aware of the meaning, there is still that deep urge to experience the song as something romantic. Just like the narrator, the listener is drawn in by beauty and the powerful idea of love, so much so that it can blind them to reality.)

Variations of this can be seen in Talk. In this song, the narrator makes their intentions very clear - they are sweet-talking someone in order to hide their own thoughts and desires (“I try to talk refined, for fear that you find out how I’m imagining you”). Despite knowing this, the sheer power of the lyrics (“I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus / when her body was found. / I'd be the choiceless hope in grief / that drove him underground. / I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee / that made him turn around, / and I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice”) overwhelms the listener. We know the speaker is putting on a show. We know they have ulterior motives, and likely don’t even believe what they are saying. But their words are so beautiful that we don’t care. The intense, almost mythic music in the background is so lovely and deep, it makes the lyrics seem genuine, because what lie could sound so astounding and true? In this case, the song about smoke and mirrors and empty talk becomes a love song because the narrator is just that skilled at lying.

Even songs like Too Sweet, sung by a narrator who refuses to be with someone unless they allow their standards to slide, become ‘romantic’ and ‘sweet’ to certain listeners - not because the lyrics are impenetrable, but because so many of Hozier’s narrators are unreliable. His songs spin sweet stories, lies so stunning that listeners are willing to deny what they know in order to experience the beauty of that untruth, the complexity of that space between what is real and what we want to believe.

And isn’t that more true to the experience of being a person, and loving other people, than the simple truths we often see in these types of songs?

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Mind over Mind - Hero Whumper Villain Whumpee

Warnings: torture, violence, forced compliance, mind control

Summary: Hero almost loses the fight against Villain... until she uses her unique powers to flip the tables.

Villain and Hero had been fighting for only an hour when both of them started to falter from exhaustion, but that's just the kind of fights they got into. Quick. Intense. Violent. Bloody. The kind that's hardly survivable for long.

Hero wielded two wickedly sharp daggers in her hands, while Villain had one in his left, and a serrated hunting blade in the other. Their weapons clashed together repeatedly, showering sparks onto the ground as they fought fiercely for the upper hand, both of them covered in sweat, bruises and dozens of vicious injuries inflicted by their opponent.

"Don't you ever know when to give up?" Hero grunted through gritted teeth as she blocked yet another one of Villain's attacks.

"Nope, apparently not," Villain sneered, and slashed a blade across Hero's ribs, slicing open a deep gash that made her cry out in pain. It was all the opening he needed. He didn't give her a chance to recover.

Villain closed the distance between them and brutally pummeled Hero with a series of quick blows, too fast for her to block or dodge. He punched her gut hard enough to crack ribs, before landing another blow on her jaw with a concussive amount of force, making her head snap back -- and the peak of the fight was over just like that.

Hero faltered and stumbled back with a broken, rattling wheeze, falling to the ground, and Villain descended on her like a bird of prey, wrapping a strong hand around her throat and lifting her up to pin her against a wall, squeezing hard.

Hero's eyes widened as she clawed desperately at the hand cutting off her air, thrashing uselessly in Villain's grip with slowly failing strength.

"The real question is... do you know when to give up?" Villain chuckled coldly.

Blood trickled from both corners of Hero's mouth as her terrified gaze locked with Villain's.

STOP! A booming voice suddenly roared in Villain's head, making him jerk back in surprise, losing his grip on Hero so that she crumpled to the ground, gasping and choking and coughing blood, her eyes still locked intensely on Villain.

Something brushed against Villain's mind that made him shiver, like claws brushing lightly against his brain, wandering and prodding uncertainly, as though searching for a hold. Then those claws turned sharp, deadly, sinking in.

Villain's whole body went stiff, muscles locking in place as that same voice spoke again.

That's right... obey.

Villain's blood went colder than ice, his face going pale as a slow, stretching pain spread through his body, setting every nerve on fire with excruciating agony as it sank into every part of him.

His mouth gaped, he tried to speak, but couldn't find his voice.

He was rooted to the spot with fear as Hero slowly picked herself up off the dirt, gasping and panting as she caught her breath, rubbing her neck where Villain's hand had been mere seconds away from crushing her windpipe.

She straightened with a groan, staggering a little before finding her balance, one arm wrapped protectively around her bleeding midsection. Then a crooked grin that was part-grimace broke out on her face as she spat out a mouthful of blood.

"My, how the tables have turned," she taunted, though it came out in a shallow, weak rasp of air.

"H-How..." Villain breathed, eyes enormous as they watched Hero with sudden wariness.

Because I never reveal all my playing cards, the voice echoed in his head. It sounded like Hero's -- but her mouth hadn't moved.

My single biggest advantage is letting people underestimate me, the voice continued.

Fear -- genuine, raw fear pulsed through Villain's entire being when he tried to move -- but physically couldn't.

He swallowed hard, fighting to tamp down the rising panic and maintain any shred of composure.

"W-What are you doing... how are you doing this?" He snarled, finally snapping out of the shock.

Hero limped towards him until she was inches away, the icy blue depths of her eyes boring into his, full of righteous anger.

"Surprise... my superpower isn't limited to super strength." She grinned wolfishly at his confusion, the utterly bafflement on her enemy's face.

Funny, isn't it? It's almost like... you don't have control over yourself anymore.

Again, Hero's mouth didn't move.

Hero bent over and picked up Villain's own fallen dagger, pressing it into his hand and resting the tip against her chest without a glimmer of fear.

"Go ahead, give it your best shot," she purred. "All it takes is one little push to kill me... try it if you can."

Villain shuddered as those strange mental claws tightened on him.

He gripped his dagger hard, mustering every inch of willpower in him to end it, to finally kill his greatest enemy, be rid of the menace -- his hand trembled, but he couldn't bring the blade forward.

"Don't tell me you're too weak for murder," Hero mocked with a dramatic gasp.

Villain's brow furrowed, and he held the hilt tighter, pushing, yanking against those restraints shackling him in his own mind. The blade jerked forward an inch, but no more than that, and Hero let out a cold, heartless laugh, easily swatting the weapon out of Villain's hand before roughly grabbing his jaw hard enough to bruise, forcing him to look straight into her cruel eyes.

Villain let out a weak whimper, ashamed that the sound even slipped out. But he was injured, and in pain, confused, and so, so scared... fear was a new feeling for him. He was the most powerful villain in the entire city, strong enough to beat Hero on several different occasions -- but never had he been rendered so vulnerable, so useless before, like a puppet with strings, at the complete mercy of his enemy.

Hero carefully wrapped her other hand around his throat, and step by deliberate step, backed him up until he was pinned against the opposite wall. She applied the same pressure that Villain had put on her windpipe earlier, and Villain's chest started heaving as he struggled to keep drawing air. His eyes went huge with disbelief, he couldn't even fight, his arms weren't working right. None of him was, bound and chained by some invisible force.

Spots danced in his vision, and right when he thought he would pass out the pressure on his neck vanished, leaving him taking great gulping gasps of air.

Hero leaned in close, her head right next to his face.

"Doesn't feel very good, does it?" She hissed into his ear before pulling back.

Her fingers trailed down his chest, almost seductively, running over the shredded lines of his suit where long gashes had sliced through and ripped the leather. They stopped at his stomach, grazing over a particularly deep slash right below the ribs.

Villain shuddered with a wince, a low moan escaping him, and he cursed himself for it.

Hero stared at him, then dug her fingers viciously into the wound, never breaking eye contact, her expression deadpan and impassive.

Villain screamed in sheer agony and writhed, which was more like weakly twitching against the bonds holding him in one place.

Hero took her fingers out, and Villain was left trembling all over with pain, his injury throbbing. His head lolled forward, breathing harsh and ragged as he recovered.

"Huh, even agony can't let you break free," she murmured aloud, as though she were experimenting with Villain, testing the limits of her ability. It was dehumanizing, degrading, and flat-out terrifying to know that Hero could do whatever she wanted to him. Holding his life in her hands.

"S-Stop it... L-Let me go..." Villain croaked. He couldn't help the shakiness in his voice, and Hero's eyes lit up at hearing it. "S-Since when could you even do this?" He added.

"Since always," Hero answered flatly. "I just never show it. I don't use this power often, because it is unfathomably taxing on my body in ways you couldn't even imagine, but today... today I'm feeling violent." Her teeth bared into a feral grin, making Villain shiver uneasily.

"I haven't practiced using it much, so I'm curious to see what potential... motivations might be enough for your willpower and desperation to let you break free of my hold." She tilted her head to one side, a lethal predator in every slight movement. "I can break you in so many ways beneath the surface," she whispered dangerously.

"Let's see how strong your resolve is, hmm?" Hero's gaze dropped down where a dagger was, and she stomped on the hilt, skillfully flinging it up into her waiting hand.

Villain whimpered again anxiously, squirming and eyeing the bright metal, and she pressed the blade against his lips.

"Shhh... all you have to do is raise your left hand when the pain becomes too much, and I'll stop," she said mischievously. A deadly game for her, toying with her new victim like a plaything.

Hero leaned close again, her breath ghosting above Villain's carotid artery as she scraped her teeth lightly against his neck, teasing, violating his space.

She trailed the sharp edge of the blade down his bare arm, not breaking skin at first as she smiled coldly. Then she sliced it deep without warning, tearing a ragged wail from Villain as she started carving into his flesh over and over again while her enemy screamed his throat raw.

Villain tried desperately to push her away, to stop the excruciating agony, do something but stand there and take it... but he couldn't. He physically couldn't.

Tears of pure pain spilled out of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, hiccupping sobs breaking up his breaths at the sheer intensity of it, every time the blade left a fresh mark of fire in his flesh.

He could feel the warm blood sliding down his arm to drip on the floor with every pounding heartbeat, endless suffering. It was worse when she switched from his arm to the sensitive skin of his abdomen, and he screamed and yelped and cried out as the metal bit his skin repeatedly. Hero showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Eventually the screaming devolved to agonized moaning and pathetic whimpers as Villain lost strength, his throat burning fiercely in the aftermath of all his loud cries.

Now, listen closely...

That voice returned in his head, and his stomach churned with dread. He couldn't take any more torture. Any more pain. His whole body was blazing with it.

Take the knife from my hand, and put it against your throat...

Hero held the dagger in her hand invitingly, stained with Villain's own blood.

Villain moaned as his shaky hand automatically lifted to take the blade, then his body betrayed him by resting the sharp, cool metal right under his chin. He swallowed against it, throat bobbing fearfully.

Saw through your neck.

Villain's eyes widened with terror, hand trembling as he fought against the mental claws Hero had sunk into him. But it was no use. The blade started slicing through his skin, and Villain closed his eyes, another teak leaking out as he accepted his fate.

...Now stop. Villain's body instantly obeyed, stiffening in place.

Villain took a rattling breath, cautiously opening his watery eyes to gauge Hero's expression, which was dark and unreadable.

I want you to remember this moment, her voice hissed into his mind, remember that I held your life in my hands... that I could have killed you right now... and I want you to run away from here with that memory, and the scar on your neck will remind you of me every time you look in the mirror. Run, and never come back. If I EVER see your face again... I will not stop.

And suddenly, a rush of cold washed over Villain, an aching absence of a hollow void that opened up, and Villain collapsed on the ground, panting as he felt those vicious mental claws retreat, releasing him at last.

Hero stepped back, eyes narrowed. "You have ten seconds to remove yourself from my line of sight before I change my mind. Run, or die. Ten."

Villain peered dizzily up at her, his face pale with blood loss. "...You're bluffing," he wheezed in disbelief.

"That is a theory you're certainly welcome to test. Nine." Hero's face stayed harsh and cruel, and Villain lurched to his feet with a gasp, not willing to risk the chance she'd given him.

He stumbled into an awkward, adrenaline-powered run, limping heavily away as fast as he could while Hero's voice trailed after him.

"Eight... seven... six..."

She never got to five before Villain was out of sight, slipping away into a dark alley. Gone. Never seen or heard from again.

I appreciate any and all feedback from my peers! 😁 (and if anyone has any other Hero x Villain prompt ideas or things they'd like to see more of feel free to share them and I might write a story for it)

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba

[virgoilluminati]

A Match Made in England

Episode 2: New Beginnings; All things Madrid

series masterlist | previous part |next part

Episode 2

The afternoon sun filtered through billowy, ivory curtains, casting a honeyed glow across the sleek, contemporary decor of the newly inhabited apartment. The walls, painted in a tranquil shade reminiscent of the Mediterranean Sea, harmonized with the airy atmosphere fostered by wide-open windows. A gentle breeze wafted through, carrying with it a subtle hint of sea salt, enhancing the serene ambiance.

In the living room, half-unpacked boxes, adorned with labels like "books," "kitchenware," and "clothes," stood as silent witnesses to the recent move-in. Their presence added a sense of anticipation and transition to the room.

You sat perched on the edge of a plush, charcoal-gray couch, your countenance a blend of weariness from the move and determination for what lay ahead. As you glanced at the camera with a self-conscious smile, you gestured lightly towards the still-disorganized boxes. "Sorry about the mess," you quipped, your voice a mix of apology and amusement.

Levi, seated opposite you in a sleek, armless chair, responded with a warm chuckle that resonated with genuine understanding. Adjusting the lapel of his finely tailored blazer, he leaned slightly forward. "No worries at all," he reassured you, his tone as comforting as it was professional. "Ready to dive in?" He paused briefly, a subtle nod signaling the start of the conversation. "So, things have changed a lot since the last episode…"

“You could say that, yeah,” you replied with a wistful half-smile, your voice carrying a trace of nostalgia and sadness intertwined. You shifted slightly on the couch, the fabric rustling softly beneath you as you leaned forward, your hands resting loosely on your lap.

**********

Jude's hand clasped yours tightly, the warmth of his grip contrasting with the cool leather of the steering wheel he held with his other hand. His knuckles were white as he navigated the dense, chaotic Spanish traffic. He could hear your muffled cries, each one tearing at his heart, and see your body convulsing with every sharp jab of pain that racked through you.

When Jude first secured his place at Real Madrid, you both had dreamed of getting an apartment together. But practicality won over fantasy, and he found a place for himself, somewhere you could visit occasionally. It was in a secluded area, chosen more for its privacy than its proximity to conveniences, a refuge from the prying eyes of paparazzi.

It was supposed to be a sanctuary. But now, Jude cursed the distance with every passing second.

"Hang in there, love," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're almost there."

His foot tapped anxiously on the gear stick as the traffic light turned green, his eyes darting between the road and you. Normally, you masked your pain well, a stoic façade that he had learned to see through. But now, your labored breaths and desperate gasps for air betrayed the severity of your condition.

Jude glanced over at you and tried to muster a smile. "Hey, remember the time we got lost trying to find that tapas bar? We ended up in that weird puppet show instead. What was it they called it? 'El Show de los Muñecos Locos'? We couldn't stop laughing!"

You managed a weak smile, but it quickly faded as another wave of pain hit you. "Jude. J-jude, this feels different—" your voice trembled, a mixture of fear and agony.

"I know, I know. Just stay with me, yeah? It's just a couple more streets away," he responded, his voice cracking with panic as he tapped the GPS, willing the route to clear, only to face another red light.

He had never realized how many traffic lights separated his apartment from the city center until now.

"Remember the time we tried flamenco dancing?" Jude continued, desperate to keep your mind off the pain. "I stepped on your toes so many times I thought you'd never dance with me again. But you were so graceful, and I just looked like a wind-up toy having a meltdown."

"Jude, I'm sorry I didn't say anything—" you began, your voice weak.

"No, no, don't. Not yet—" he interrupted, his tone urgent. "I've still got a few more embarrassing stories up my sleeve. Like that time I tried to impress you by cooking paella and nearly burned the kitchen down. You said it tasted like 'smoky regret.'"

"I love you so much, and I guess I was scared because I hate people doting over me. But it was selfish because—"

"Stop, please," Jude said, cutting you off with a tender kiss, his lips trembling against yours. "We're going to get through this. Together."

He quickly pulled into a parking spot opposite the hospital.

"No more apologizing, alright? We need to make sure you're okay first," he said, rushing around the car to help you out.

He offered his hand, and you gripped it weakly as you made your way toward the building. The hospital's hard glass exterior mirrored your fragile state, cold and unyielding. Each step felt like a monumental effort, your legs growing weaker, every movement sending your head spinning. Jude noticed your slowing pace and immediately shouted for help in Spanish.

"¡Ayuda! ¡Necesitamos ayuda!" His voice echoed through the entrance, filled with desperation.

Confused nurses and doctors rushed over, their faces a blur as you drifted in and out of consciousness. Jude tried to hold onto you, his grip slipping as they whisked you away on a gurney. Desperation filled his voice as he asked for information in Spanish, his body aching with the loss of your touch.

"¿Adónde la llevan?" he pleaded with a young nurse who had pushed him aside. He watched helplessly as they placed you onto a hospital bed, your fragile form barely recognizable under the harsh fluorescent lights.

"Tranquilo, señor. Está en buenas manos," the nurse reassured him. "¿Necesita llamar a alguien?"

Jude shook his head, tears streaming down his face as he stole one last glance at you before they took you away. "Just... take care of her. Please," he whispered, his voice breaking.

The nurse guided him to a chair, her touch gentle yet firm. "She is in the best place, sir. Do you need to phone someone?"

Jude shook his head again, sniffling as he wiped away a few stolen tears. "No, there's no one else. Just... let me know what's happening, okay?"

"We will," she promised, her eyes meeting his with understanding. "Stay here. We'll update you as soon as we can."

Jude sat down heavily, his body feeling empty without your touch. He knew you would get through this. He just prayed that you would get through it together.

*******

Back in the present, you slowly move your hands across your stomach, feeling the stitches' indentation through your summer dress.

"So, the diagnosis must have been a significant change for you."

"Yes, it was. One minute, I thought I was perfectly healthy. The next, I was left with half a colon."

When you slowly regained consciousness, the soft, steady beeping of monitors greeted you, blending with the low hum of hospital machinery. Jude's figure came into focus beside you, his eyes tired yet brimming with relief as he noticed you stirring.

"Ah, here she is. Had a nice nap, Dove?" His voice was gentle, infused with a mix of exhaustion and tenderness.

Your throat felt dry as you tried to speak. "What happened?"

"They took you into surgery," Jude explained softly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "They haven't told me much, just that they'll explain once the tests come back."

"Tests for what?" Your voice was barely a whisper, laden with concern.

"All sorts. They did a thorough investigation on you, Dove. Made sure of it." He offered you a cup of water, his touch careful and reassuring, before leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

Taking a slow sip of water, you savored the cool relief it brought. Despite the seriousness of the situation, a hint of your usual banter emerged. "What's the score?"

Jude blinked, momentarily taken aback by your question. "You can't be serious," he chuckled softly, pulling out his phone. "You just woke up from surgery and you're asking about football?"

"I never miss Arsenal games. Especially not against Chelsea. What's the score?" you insisted, managing a faint smile.

Amusement danced in Jude's eyes as he checked the score for you. "2:0 Chelsea."

"Wait, what?" You feigned surprise, your eyebrows shooting up.

"I'm kidding—2:0 Arsenal," he chuckled warmly, the worry lines on his face easing momentarily. You playfully threw a pillow at him, only to notice the IV drip attached to your hand.

"Idiot," you teased, a small smirk playing on your lips as you both shared a brief moment of light-heartedness in the midst of uncertainty.

Jude's expression softened, his fingers intertwining with yours. "I almost lost you for a minute there. I was so fucking scared. Don't think I've ever been that scared before."

"I'm sorry. For everything," you murmured, feeling a lump form in your throat.

"You were forgiven ages ago," Jude reassured you, his voice tender. "Now don't do that to me again, alright?"

"Alright," you promised softly, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you gazed at him, grateful to be alive and together.

A couple of minutes later, the door to your hospital room creaked open, and a friendly-looking doctor in scrubs entered with a warm smile.

"Hey there, I'm Dr. Martinez," she introduced herself cheerfully, flipping through your chart. "Glad to see you awake."

Jude stood up from his chair beside you, nodding gratefully. "Thanks for looking after her, doc."

Dr. Martinez nodded back, her demeanor calm and approachable. "No problem. How are you feeling now?" she asked, turning her attention to you.

"Like I got run over twice," you replied with a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood despite feeling gutted inside.

"Yeah, surgeries tend to leave you feeling that way," Dr. Martinez said sympathetically, reading your chart. "So, we did the surgery and found out it's Crohn's disease. It caused extensive inflammation in your colon, which led to a blockage. That's why we had to remove a significant portion of your colon in the emergency surgery."

Your heart sank at the severity of the diagnosis. You had secretly hoped it was something simpler like appendicitis.

"Crohn's?" you said, trying to process the news. "I was hoping for something less... life-altering. Can't we just fix it and get me back on the field?"

Dr. Martinez's expression softened with empathy. "I understand, but Crohn's disease requires ongoing management. We had to take this step to prevent further complications and ensure your health."

You nodded slowly, the weight of the situation settling in. Jude squeezed your hand gently, his concern palpable.

"Now, we'll start you on medications to control the inflammation and prevent future flare-ups," Dr. Martinez continued gently, her tone serious. "Given the extent of the surgery and the nature of Crohn's, I recommend at least six months off from football to allow your body to heal properly and to adjust to the medications."

Your heart sank further at the thought of being sidelined for so long. "Six months? That's... a lot. My team..."

Jude placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We'll figure it out, Dove. Your health comes first."

"But—" you started to protest, feeling torn between your passion for football and the harsh reality of your condition.

"Listen," Jude interrupted softly yet firmly, his gaze unwavering. "We'll take this one step at a time. Right now, let's focus on getting you back to full health."

You sighed, reluctantly accepting his words. "Okay."

"Good," Dr. Martinez said with a reassuring smile. "We'll monitor your progress closely and adjust the treatment plan as needed. Our goal is to get you back on the pitch when you're ready."

You nodded, feeling a mix of apprehension and gratitude for their care. Jude leaned over to kiss your forehead gently.

"We'll get through this together," he murmured, his voice filled with determination.

And with that promise, you found solace in knowing that despite the challenges ahead, Jude's unwavering support and the medical team's expertise would guide you through this uncertain journey.

“What were you diagnosed with?”

“Crohn’s disease,” you replied calmly, the memory of those hospital days still fresh in your mind. “Which is actually more common in athletes than people first think. But because I had ignored the symptoms for too long, it caused severe inflammation in my colon, hence why I had to undergo surgery.”

“What sort of changes has this led to?”

“Well, firstly, it forced me to take a break,” you chuckled softly, though there was a hint of resignation in your voice. “I was withdrawn from the Arsenal squad within the next couple of days, doctor’s orders for at least 6 months. Then I had to break the news to the England squad, which was absolutely heart-wrenching…”

Your voice trailed off momentarily, recalling the difficult conversations and the realization that your career would be on hold indefinitely. The interviewer waited patiently, sensing the emotional weight of your words.

“It’s tough,” you continued, gathering your thoughts. “Football has been my life, and suddenly having to step away from it, especially at such a crucial time, was… devastating.”

“But it also made me reconsider my whereabouts. When I was withdrawn from the hospital, they forced me into bed rest for two weeks. It meant I was basically in Madrid constantly, and we were stuck in a one-bedroom apartment with nothing around. Jude was amazing, but we were on top of each other all day, every day.”

“Is this where I speak?” A muffled voice interrupted as Jude casually walked into the room, holding two drinks. You nodded, laughing, and gestured for him to join you, placing a cushion next to you in front of the camera.

“Yeah, like she said,” Jude chimed in with a playful grin, settling down beside you. “I’m basically a hero and all that. Such a doting boyfriend.” He rolled his eyes in mock humility before you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Nah, all jokes aside,” Jude continued with a more serious tone, “I’d been trying to get Y/N to look at apartments with me for months prior. In a way, that injury was the final step.”

“Final step for what?” Levi, the interviewer, asked with a knowing smirk. You lifted your head from Jude’s shoulder, exchanging a knowing look with him before he pulled out a pair of keys from his pocket, holding them up to the camera.

“We moved!” you both exclaimed simultaneously, sharing a smile that spoke volumes about your shared excitement.

“It was a big decision,” Jude added, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “But we needed a place that felt like home, where Y/N could recover comfortably and where we could both have some space.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of gratitude for Jude’s support and the fresh start your new home represented.

“We’re closer to the city center now, which makes it easier for Y/N to get around,” Jude explained, his tone earnest. “And we’ve got more room for both of us to breathe.”

“Plus,” you added with a grin, “we’ve upgraded to a two-bedroom. So now Jude has his own space to hide from me when I get cranky.”

Jude laughed, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Hey, you’re never cranky.”

You both shared a laugh, the tension of the interview momentarily forgotten in the warmth of your shared moment.

***********

“So, how’s Madrid been treating you?” Lucy asks as you both sit outside a charming deli, tucked away from prying eyes. The café exudes a rustic charm, with ivy-clad brick walls and the inviting scent of freshly baked bread lingering in the air.

You hadn’t seen Lucy since the World Cup, and her presence brought a comforting familiarity. She looked unchanged—her tousled brunette hair and bright hazel eyes filled with genuine concern as she studied you.

“It’s been… okay,” you begin cautiously, taking a sip of your smoothie to gather your thoughts.

“Just okay?” Lucy raises an eyebrow, taking a bite of her sandwich with a knowing smile.

You chuckle softly. “Well, adjusting has been a bit challenging. I haven’t been able to explore much. The hill outside our apartment feels like a mountain sometimes,” you admit, hoping for a laugh, but Lucy’s expression remains serious, her concern palpable.

“You had major surgery, y/n,” Lucy says gently, her hand reaching out to touch yours. “It’s okay to take it slow.”

“I know,” you sigh, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. “Jude’s been incredible, though. Sometimes… too much.”

Lucy nods knowingly. “He loves you, y/n. Let him take care of you.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It’s just hard to let go of that independence, you know?”

Lucy smiles sympathetically. “I get it. But sometimes, letting others in doesn’t make you weak. It’s a different kind of strength.”

You take a moment to absorb her words, realizing their truth. “You’re right,” you admit, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I should appreciate what Jude is doing more.”

Lucy squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You’re stronger than you think, y/n. Remember all the challenges you’ve overcome.”

You smile gratefully, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. “Yeah, I do.”

“Exactly,” Lucy says, her gaze encouraging. “Now, how about we start that exploration of Madrid today? A little stroll through Retiro Park, perhaps?”

You glance at the bustling street beyond the café, feeling a surge of optimism. “That sounds perfect. No hills, right?”

Lucy laughs, standing up and offering you her hand. “No hills, I promise. Just a relaxing walk.”

As you walk side by side with Lucy towards Retiro Park, you feel a sense of anticipation and gratitude for her friendship and support.

Later that day, you arrived home carrying a couple of things to make dinner. You’d invited your family over for half term, and while they had all dispersed into different places in Madrid, tonight you had planned on hosting a dinner.

When you had told your parents that you had moved, it was only then that you let slip you’d also had major surgery. Hiding things was your worst habit, but it came with the territory of having a dead brother. You only told people things when it was either already sorted or deadly serious. In your case, it was sorted way before you needed to tell them.

When you told your siblings, you had severely underplayed the situation, telling them that you had been forced to take a break from football. They weren’t very surprised, aware of how hard you pushed yourself. So all in all, while your family knew of your condition, they were also shielded from the full reality.

As soon as you arrived home, you were greeted by a very sweaty Jude who had just come back from training. He often did this before games. He’d come check in on you and then go play or train in the evening with his team. As much as you loved him, that also gave you a little time in the day where you had your own space where you could pretend at least to be normal.

“Hiya, I missed you m’love,” Jude grinned, pulling you close for a quick kiss on the cheek.

“So did I,” you replied, pulling back slightly as he grabbed your arm, drawing you in for another embrace.

You wrinkled your nose at the sweat on his chest. “Ew, Jude, you’re all sweaty,” you teased lightly.

“You like it,” he smirked, stealing another kiss, moments of passion halting when you realized the time.

“Jude, I gotta start making dinner,” you managed between kisses.

“What are we having?” Jude asked, guiding you towards the kitchen.

“We?” you raised an eyebrow playfully. “Thought you’d rather be out playing football.”

“Yeah, thought I’d take the night off tonight. No games till Sunday. Besides, your family’s coming over; haven’t seen your brothers in ages.”

“Please, you just want to play with Casper,” you smirked, referencing your new baby nephew.

“It’s a definite factor,” Jude admitted with a grin before coming over to help you prep. “I don’t have to stay if you don’t want me to.”

“No, it’s not that. Of course, I want you here. It’s just…” You sighed. “I may have understated how bad my condition was.”

“Y/N!”

“Just because…”

“They need to know, Y/N.”

“Wait! Okay. My mum and dad already pester me non-stop about it. My brothers literally would not leave me alone. And I don’t think I can deal with Eden passively aggressively telling me that I need to quit football.”

“But they care about you, Y/N. They wouldn’t push you.”

“My family is different to yours, Jude. We don’t like overstating things. It’s different, okay? They know enough about it that it’s not going to change an evening. Please, Jude, it’s one night.”

“Alright, alright! But the second you get tired, you gotta say.”

“Promise.”

As the evening approached, your family began to arrive one by one. Elliot and Rowan were the first to knock on the door, each holding a bottle of wine in hand. They exchanged knowing glances and grinned at you as you welcomed them inside.

“Hey, Y/N! Ready to enjoy some fine wine?” Elliot teased with a grin, holding out the bottle.

You gave him a playful look. “Tonight? I’m giving my liver a night off. Can you believe it?”

Rowan chuckled, nudging Elliot. “What have you done with our wine-loving Y/N?”

Before you could reply, footsteps descended the stairs, and Jude strolled into the room, a warm smile spreading across his face as he greeted Elliot and Rowan.

“Hey, guys, good to see you!” Jude said cheerfully, extending a hand for a handshake and pulling them into a quick bro hug.

“Jude!” Elliot exclaimed, setting the wine bottle on the table and returning the hug with enthusiasm. Rowan joined in, grinning broadly at their younger sibling’s partner.

“Good to see you too, Jude,” Rowan said with a nod, clapping him on the shoulder.

Elliot shot a teasing glance at Jude. “Planning to cook tonight, mate?”

Jude raised an eyebrow playfully. “What do you mean?”

Elliot chuckled, remembering a past culinary attempt of Jude’s. “Remember that time you tried to make beef stew and it ended up like mush?”

Jude feigned offense. “Hey, it was a learning experience! Besides, tonight is all about Y/N’s cooking.”

You laughed along with them, feeling a wave of warmth at their familiar banter. “Exactly. Let’s stick to what we know works.”

As Rowan and Elliot settled in, chatting amiably with Jude, the doorbell chimed once more, breaking the flow of conversation. You excused yourself with a smile, heading to the door to greet the next arrivals.

Opening the door revealed your sister Eden, her husband Charlie, little Bella clinging to her leg, and baby Casper peacefully dozing in his pram. Your face lit up with a bright smile as you enveloped Bella in a warm hug.

“Bella! Look how big you’ve gotten!” you exclaimed, ruffling her hair affectionately. "I love that dress." You smile referring to her red Spanish flamenco costume, as she twirls around.

Eden laughed warmly, stepping inside as Charlie maneuvered the pram through the doorway. “Hey, Y/N! Sorry we’re a bit late. Took those two to the city centre and they wouldn't leave-"

“No worries at all,” you reassured them, pulling Eden into a tight embrace. “I’m just glad you had time to explore Madrid."

Charlie greeted you with a friendly nod, a smile playing on his lips. “Hey, Y/N. Thanks for having us over.”

Meanwhile, Jude knelt beside the pram, gently lifting baby Casper into his arms. The little one stirred, blinking sleepily up at Jude with wide eyes. Jude grinned down at him, making funny faces that elicited a soft giggle from Casper.

“Hey there, little man,” Jude cooed softly, cradling Casper with care. “Ready for some fun tonight?”

Charlie chuckled, watching Jude interact with his son. “Looks like Casper’s already found his favorite uncle.”

Jude winked playfully, bouncing Casper gently. “We’re going to have a blast, aren’t we?”

With Bella clinging to your side and Eden and Charlie exchanging pleasantries with Elliot and Rowan, the room buzzed with warmth and laughter. The air was filled with the sweet scent of family reunions and the joyful babbling of little ones.

Later on, as you were bustling around the kitchen, exhaustion starting to set in, Jude noticed your mum and dad arriving with desserts. He greeted them warmly at the door, juggling baby Casper in his arms.

“Hello there!” Jude grinned, adjusting his hold on Casper. “Come on in. Y/N’s in the kitchen.”

“Hi, Jude!” Your mum greeted with a smile, stepping inside with a plate of homemade pastries. “It smells wonderful in here. How’s everything going?”

“Busy as ever,” Jude chuckled, carefully handing Casper over to your mum. “But we’re managing. Casper here seems to be enjoying the attention.”

“He’s getting bigger every time we see him,” your dad remarked, placing a box of chocolates on the table. “How’s Y/N doing?"

Jude glanced at your mum briefly before answering. “She’s doing okay. You know how she is, always trying to handle everything herself.”

“Stubborn as always, she is,” your dad chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

Your mum gently bounced Casper in her arms, her expression turning more serious. “And how is her condition?”

Jude hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “It's definitely not been easy. But you know Y/N, she doesn’t like to make a fuss.”

“She’s been like that since she was little,” your mum sighed softly, exchanging a knowing glance with your dad. “Always wanting to protect everyone else.”

“She’s a fighter, that’s for sure,” Jude agreed, a note of pride in his voice. “And she’s got all of us looking out for her.”

With your mum cuddling Casper and your dad nodding in agreement, the warmth of family support filled the air. Together, they joined the gathering, adding their love and presence to the joyful atmosphere in your home.

As dinner progressed, the dining table was filled with a variety of delicious dishes prepared by you, each one meticulously crafted with care. You darted in and out of the kitchen, ensuring everyone’s plates were full and the ambiance remained lively. Jude hovered nearby, eager to lend a hand.

“Y/N, can I help with anything?” Jude asked again, his tone gentle and concerned.

You smiled gratefully, but there was a hint of tension in your voice. “Thanks, Jude, but I’ve got it covered. Just a few more dishes to bring out.”

Jude nodded, but he couldn’t ignore the weariness in your demeanor. “You’ve been running around all evening. Let me assist you.”

“I said I’m fine, Jude,” you replied tersely, your exhaustion starting to show. You hurried back into the kitchen, leaving Jude slightly taken aback.

Your siblings, Elliot and Rowan, exchanged amused glances. “Ah, classic Y/N,” Elliot remarked with a chuckle. “Always the perfectionist.”

Rowan nodded in agreement. “Remember when she insisted on redoing the entire living room decor in one weekend?”

Jude joined in their laughter, but inwardly, he felt a pang of concern. He knew your tendency to take on too much and push yourself beyond your limits.

Meanwhile, your dad, sensing the underlying tension, quietly excused himself from the table and made his way to the kitchen where you were organizing dessert.

“Hey there, kiddo,” your dad greeted you warmly, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You turned to him with a weary smile. “Hi, Dad. How’s everything out there?”

“Everything’s great,” he replied, his eyes filled with fatherly concern. “But how are you holding up?”

You sighed, the strain of the evening starting to weigh on you. “I’m okay, just a bit tired. I wanted tonight to be special for everyone.”

“I can see that,” your dad said gently, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “But remember, you don’t have to do it all alone. We’re here to support you.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for your dad’s understanding. “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”

“You’ve always been strong-willed,” he chuckled softly, giving you a brief hug. “But even the strongest need a break sometimes. Let’s finish up here and get back to the table.”

With your dad’s reassurance, you and he finished preparing dessert together and returned to the dining room, where the rest of the family welcomed you with warmth and laughter. The evening continued with a renewed sense of camaraderie, each family member appreciating the effort you had put into making the gathering special.

As you returned to the table, the tantalizing aroma of the food filled the air, though you knew you wouldn’t be partaking in the meal. Quietly settling next to Jude, you glanced around at your siblings, Elliot and Rowan, who exchanged concerned glances, noticing your subdued demeanor.

“Y/N, how are you feeling?” Elliot asked gently, furrowing his brow with worry.

You managed a small smile, trying to divert their concern. “I’m okay, just not hungry tonight. Elliot, how’s your new project at work going?”

Elliot brightened slightly at the change of topic. “It’s been challenging, but exciting. Thanks for asking.”

Rowan grinned, sharing his latest travel aspirations. “Actually, I’m thinking of hiking in the Alps next month. Can’t wait to get back into nature.”

The conversation flowed on, shifting to lighter topics as you engaged with each sibling in turn, genuinely interested in their lives and experiences. When the subject turned to baby Casper, your attention was fully captured.

“And how’s our little troublemaker doing?” you asked, leaning in to playfully tickle Casper’s chubby cheeks. “Keeping you on your toes, Eden?”

Your sister, Eden, chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with affection. “He definitely keeps us busy, but he’s such a joy.”

The night continued with laughter and shared memories, though your siblings couldn’t help but notice your underlying weariness. They exchanged knowing looks, silently agreeing to check in with you later.

As dessert was served, your dad offered you a slice of cake with a gentle smile. “Cake, Y/N?”

You shook your head slightly, a touch of frustration crossing your face. “Still on an all-liquid diet, Dad. But thanks.”

“Of course,” he nodded understandingly, reaching for a slice for himself.

Throughout the evening, you engaged in conversations, laughed at jokes, and reveled in the warmth of family. As the night wore on, the atmosphere remained lively and supportive, each moment adding to the shared memories that made these gatherings so cherished.

Elliot and Rowan continued swapping stories, their laughter filling the cozy dining room. Elliot paused mid-sentence, casting a curious glance at you.

"Are we just going to skip over the fact that Y/N is deadly quiet?" he remarked with a playful smirk.

You managed a weak smile, grateful for the distraction. "Just enjoying the show," you replied lightly, gesturing to the lively banter around the table.

Jude, sensing your fatigue, leaned over and whispered, "You're doing great, love."

You nodded gratefully, squeezing his hand. His presence was a comfort amid the whirlwind of emotions and conversations. Jude's chocolate brown hair was slightly tousled from the day, a testament to his afternoon spent playing with Casper and helping you in the kitchen. His warm hazel eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and concern as he glanced around the table, ensuring everyone felt included.

Rowan, always the joker, leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Come on, Y/N, spill the beans. What's the latest scoop in your life?"

You chuckled softly, knowing they wouldn't let you off the hook easily. "Well," you began, hesitating for a moment as you glanced at Jude for support, "you know how I said I was taking time off football?"

There was a curious pause as all eyes turned to you, waiting for your next words. Before you could continue, Eden, sitting across from you and beside Bella, raised an eyebrow playfully.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked with a teasing smile, her long brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail.

The question caught you off guard, and you nearly choked on your water. Beside you, Jude spluttered, clearly taken aback. The rest of the table fell into a stunned silence, waiting for your response.

"Oh your serious-"

"Well you're not eating, you aren't drinking, and you're taking months off football, you've bought a new place with a new bedroom..."

"Oh, uh, well no," you managed to say after recovering from your surprise, shaking your head in amusement. Beside you, Jude chuckled softly and put a reassuring arm around your shoulders. "Definitely not pregnant."

Laughter erupted again around the table, breaking the tension and bringing back the familiar warmth of family gatherings. You leaned into Jude's side, grateful for his support and the light-heartedness of your siblings.

"Well," you continued, taking a deep breath and deciding to share more, "I ended up needing surgery... and now I have half a colon."

There was a moment of stunned silence before Elliot burst out laughing. "Half a colon? You should ask for the other half back!"

Rowan joined in, shaking his head with a grin. "Only you could turn surgery into a punchline, Y/N."

The tension eased as laughter filled the room once more, the playful banter a familiar rhythm among siblings.

Eden, sitting across from you, watched with a furrowed brow. "Wait, surgery? Are you okay, Y/N?"

You nodded reassuringly. "Yeah, I'm okay," you said with a smile, grateful for her concern. "Just feeling a bit worn out tonight."

Jude squeezed your hand again, silently offering his support. His solid presence and understanding gaze reassured you that you were not alone in navigating the challenges of your health.

"She's a trooper," Jude added with a fond smile, his voice low and soothing.

The conversation shifted to lighter topics again, stories and jokes flowing freely as plates were cleared and dessert was served. Eden, eager to change the subject, turned to Bella who was happily chattering away about her latest adventures.

"So, Bella," Eden began, "tell us about your school play. You were amazing as the fairy!"

Bella's eyes lit up, launching into an animated description of her role, while the adults listened attentively, their attention momentarily diverted from heavier topics.

Jude glanced at you with a soft smile, a glint of pride in his hazel eyes. He knew how challenging it was for you to openly discuss your health, and tonight marked a significant step forward. His silent support spoke volumes, reassuring you that you were surrounded by love and understanding.

As the evening continued, you found yourself relaxing into the comforting rhythm of family, grateful for these moments of connection and support. Each laugh, each shared story, reaffirmed the bond that held your family together through both laughter and tears.

[onlycosmere]

The Gift of Not Feeling

by Janci Patterson

I want to tell you a story about my friend Brandon.  It’s been eighteen years since this happened, and in the intervening time I’ve told this story to fewer people than I can count on one hand. 

I have kept it to myself largely because I know Brandon isn’t the kind of person who wants the good things he does blasted to the world, and I never wanted to embarrass him.  And if that’s what I’m doing now, I’m sorry for it. 

Last week, someone wrote an essay I won’t link here (as you’ve probably read it and I don’t like giving it clicks) that treated my friend at once like a circus freak who lacks feelings and also somehow as someone who is uninteresting and undeserving of attention. The article also treated two separate communities I love with contempt. I seethed about it for a couple of days, but I didn’t really entertain the idea of saying anything online, because it’s not my place and responding to the media is not professional. 

Then yesterday I read this, and I finally had something I wanted to say.

I met Brandon Sanderson when I was twenty-two years old.  I was just finishing my undergraduate degree and he was just finishing graduate school, and we had some classes that overlapped.  From there, we were in a critique group together and were part of a social group where we all hung out quite a bit.  None of us had families yet, and Brandon’s first book would come out during those couple of years, so none of us had intense career demands yet either. 

At that time in my life, I was a mess.  I had arrived at adulthood with several chemical and behavioral disorders that I did not yet understand.  My brain would sometimes and without warning explode in a horror show of fear and shame and pain so strong it felt physical.  I didn’t know what was wrong with me—indeed, I had been suffering from the depression and anxiety for so long that, in my mind, they were me.  I had no way to separate what was happening inside my head from a reality outside of it.  To me, everything I felt was real.  Because my mind filtered everything that happened outside of me through a lens of terror and agony, the world was terrifying and torturous.  In short, I was living in hell.

Most people, when I tried to describe what was happening in my mind, reacted in unhelpful ways.  I don’t blame them—very few people are equipped to know what to say to someone suffering as intensely as I was.   They would try to minimize it in an effort to minimize their own discomfort.  They would try to fix it, when it wasn’t something anyone could fix.  Or, worst of all, they would react in horror, having deep and terrifying feelings of their own about what was happening to me.  It was empathy, but it only reinforced to me that I was scary, Iwas broken, I was wrong.

And then there was Brandon.  Brandon has the fine distinction of being the first person in my life to suggest to me that what I was reacting to, the reality I was living in, was not in fact real to anyone but me.  His first and honest reaction to what was happening inside my head was genuine and unfeigned interest.  It didn’t matter how big or terrifying the emotion was.  I could tell him I hated him (and did) and his reaction, every time, would be to say, “That’s so interesting that you feel that way.  Why do you feel that?”

Why indeed?  I didn’t know why I felt that.  Brandon taught me the words “cognitive distortion.”  He taught me that reality could warp as it entered my brain, that the reality I was reacting to might not be real at all.  It might be all in my head.

Of course, it’s not helpful to tell a depressed person that their problem is all in their head—when it’s done in a dismissive way.  But Brandon wasn’t dismissing me.  He believed I had a genuine and difficult problem—but that problem wasn’t me, and it wasn’t the world around me, either.  It was as if I had spent my entire life living in a box, and I didn’t even know it.  I thought the box was the real world.  I thought the box was me.  I thought the box was all there would ever be to life, and, I think reasonably, I didn’t really want to live it anymore.

But along came Brandon Sanderson. He opened the lid to the box, looked around with interest, and said, “it’s so interesting that you live in here.  Do you know that there’s a whole world outside of this box?  Do you know that other people don’t see you the way you think they do?  Do you know that you exist, separate and independent of this box? Do you know that the box isn’t you at all?”

My whole life I had assumed that my illness and I were synonymous.  Everything that happened inside my head was me, so if it was bad and wrong and a mess, then I was bad and wrong and a mess.  There was no escaping from it, because everywhere I went, my entire life, I would always be me, and it was me.  And then my friend looks at me and says, as if surprised, “Why would you think that’s you?  It’s not you at all.  It’s happening in your head and it isn’t normal and you exist completely separately from it and it doesn’t have to be this way.”  It was as if he assisted my will save to disbelieve the illusions, and suddenly I could see it:  The horror I was living in was just chemicals in my brain.  It was just thoughts in my head.  And yes, depression is real in the sense that chemicals are real, and thoughts are real. And I would never want to minimize the very real effect it can have on the people who suffer with it. But it wasn’t reality.  It was a powerful illusion, but it was only an illusion, and if I could learn to think outside of that box I was trapped in, I could be free.

I could tell you about the other help I needed at that time.  I could tell you about how I needed to move, and Brandon found me an apartment.  I could tell you how I needed medical treatment (obviously), and Brandon helped me navigate resources to make that happen.  I could tell you about the time he sat with me in the ER and told me that the doctors weren’t taking me seriously, and they should be, and I needed to keep talking to people until somebody did.  But none of those things are the point of the story.

The point of the story is this: Brandon gave me the most important gift anyone has ever given me in my entire life—a gift that I am absolutely certain is the only reason I am still alive today.  It’s a gift that has made every good thing in my life possible every day since.  He gave me the gift of not feeling.  Instead of getting carried away in his own emotions when he saw what was happening to me, he gave me the gift of reflecting back to me a logic and patience that a person can only have when they keep their emotions in check.  I owe everything to that gift, so you can imagine the fury I feel toward anyone who would denigrate it.  Brandon is not a freak.  He’s also not the perfect paragon of virtue people sometimes present him as.  He is a person—flaws and all—with a very powerful gift that saved my life, and I doubt very much I am the only one.

Here’s the rest of the story: it took me a couple of years to climb out of that box.  I had professional help.  I did CBT.  I learned to retrain my brain to see the world outside of the lens of depression and anxiety.  For a long time, when a depressed thought would come into my mind, I would ask myself, “What would Brandon say about that thought?  Would he accept that as reality?”  And if I knew he wouldn’t, I would make myself reframe the thought, hammering it into shape until I found a thought about myself that I believed Brandon would accept.  I wanted so badly to live in his reality, the one he saw outside of that box.  I wanted to be able to see myself the way he saw me, as a person with a problem and not a person who was a problem. 

After a few years, I got my mental health to a place where I no longer lived in a constant emotional crisis.  At almost all times in my life since then I’ve been somewhere on the healthy part of the mental health spectrum.  Notable exceptions were during the postpartum period with both of my kids, and one year during the pandemic when I got hit with several personal crises at once.  Even then, I knew I was not the illness.  I knew I existed separately from it.  I knew I could crawl out of the box again, because it was only a box, and not the true reality I knew existed beyond it.

Here’s the thing about my friend Brandon—I owe everything to him, and I’ll never be able to pay it back.  He wouldn’t want me to.  He would be horrified if he thought I felt like I had to.  I joke about Brandon asking me for a favor when he asked me to finish Bastille for him—because that “favor” did a lot more good for me than it probably did for him.  But the truth is, if I am able, I will always do a favor for Brandon Sanderson.  Not because I feel like I have to pay him back, but because it feels so good to give literally anything back to a person who gave me so much.  (And that’s not even counting all the professional opportunities, or the fact that he talked me into dating my husband.) 

But really, I will never be able to pay this back.  Never ever.  So I do my very best to pay it forward.  When I encounter people who deal with similar issues, I do my very best to give them the gift of not feeling.  To sit with them and let them say all the scary things in their heads, and to react with genuine interest, but without emotional reaction.  I have sat with people who want to die, and done my very best to reflect back to them that I’m not afraid of their feelings, that I will of course want to make sure they are physically safe, but that I don’t think it’s scary that they have those thoughts, and that I think they are a real, whole person outside of those thoughts and those thoughts will never define them.  That skill has served me well.  I may never be a person who experiences little emotion (ha!) but I have learned to be a person who can set aside emotion when it’s necessary, and I learned that from Brandon, too.

So I am grateful for that gift.  The gift of not feeling. Because not feeling most definitely does not mean not caring.

Over the years, I have listened to a lot of opinions about my friend Brandon.  I have heard people say things with authority in both the positive and negative, things that I knew to be both true and false.  I’ve never felt the need to correct these things—he’s a public figure and people are going to see the persona and think what they want about him and it’s not my place to try to turn that ship.

But if I could tell you just one thing about my friend, it’s that he’s wonderful. Not because he writes books, and certainly not because he’s perfect, but because he’s a person, and like all people, he has unique gifts that enable him to make a difference in other people’s lives.

[mikuni14]

The Sign - Ep 4

*sexy sound*: hooya! This series keeps on giving ✨

Let me start by saying that this whole police-investigative part is extremely silly, funny and not reflecting reality (apart from the moment when captain inspector team leader Akk says "that a victim is a victim no matter the gender"), but who am I kidding! I'm not here to analyze police work! So I completely ignore this part. Although I must admit that the police part provides incredible entertainment in the form of Captain Inspector Team Leader Akk (always), the introduction of a new, cool character accompanied by the dramatic sounds of classical music, or the interruption of an intense scene between MLs with important information about the discovery of severed genitalia 👌👌

Apart from that, as always, I like everything. I love how Tharn is shown as just a regular horny gay dude who just thinks about dicks lol How many other BLs, where b stands for BOY, show this? I also like that his fantasies are of him letting Phaya do things to him, being vulnerable by exposing his neck, being pinned down, covered by his lover's body. I also liked that Tharn relives these fantasies in the light of day and indulges in them 🤩 Oh, "sleep wherever you like" was an invitation and that's a fact you will have to pry from my cold, dead hands 😤

I love how this show keeps creating "their things", constantly building them into a couple that has their own behaviors and traits in common, before they even become a real couple. Now it's a shirt grabbing. I love it, I love it when something like this appears and I know 100% that I and the rest of the fans are in these moments like 👀👀 *di Caprio pointing at tv meme*. For me, it's a very important part of a romance when the couple has their "things". "Don't let me hear you talking about you being dead ever again" is such a powerful phrase. Raw. Just as Phaya likes.

I REALLY LIKED THIS WHOLE SCENE WITH THE FURIOUS PHAYA. Everything was perfect here. I really like that Phaya got the opportunity to show this side of him. That he is shown as an angry man, that he is not an ideal man who can control his - also negative - emotions in every situation. Normally, I don't like or tolerate such situations, because the reasons for such outbursts are usually stupid. In this case, I absolve Phaya of his aggressive behavior and his outburst of anger towards Tharn, pushing him away. It wasn't ignoring his calls, which Phaya immediately confronted and resolved. It wasn't an outburst out of jealousy or something like that. This is a completely different, serious situation that only partially concerns his relationship with Tharn. I'm absolutely sure that Phaya has often wondered whether he is mentally ill and that it is a source of a serious fear for him. Mental illness is a taboo in all cultures around the world, as Tharn himself says at the beginning of the series regarding his visions. A physically ill person will be perceived differently than a mentally ill person and Tharn knows this, PHAYA KNOWS THIS and Dr. Poison knows this. The second thing is that Phaya genuinely cares for and trusts Tharn. So at this point Phaya is in agony because not only has his most personal fears been brought to light, it was done by a stranger, a person he can't stand, who is his rival, who finishes him off with the final blow in a calm way when everything inside him is falling apart, but what's more, the blow came from a direction that Phaya DIDN'T expect at all. Phaya asks Tharn several times: "Why did you do that?" because he feels BETRAYED. Phaya is also a proud man who wants his beloved to see only "good and cool" qualities in him, which is completely normal in any relationship, hence his heartbreaking question "DO YOU THINK I'M NUTS?" Really, this scene is great: - Phaya angry, humiliated, hurt, betrayed, barely able to control himself (but even then he doesn't hurt Tharn, the scene is full of aggression and screaming, but Phaya never once crosses the impassable (for me) boundary, he doesn't beat Tharn, it's not even a fight, only two adult, trained men, one of whom pins the other) -Tharn, who is shocked because for the first time Phaya ignores him, does not look at him, it is clear that he is truly angry with him. You can see how Tharn is lost in this new situation, as he stands uncertainly and asks "I'm talking to you. Can you hear me?". And even then, he immediately shows concern for Phaya and his wound on his forehead

I'm grateful for showing this version of Phaya, and also for showing him as a silly, goofy guy throughout the episode in various funny scenes. 👌👌

My theory is that Tharn didn't tell the doctor about Phaya's dreams, I feel like the doctor KNOWS about everything and is a figure who simply has knowledge of what's going on as a deity. He knows when Tharn is especially close to Phaya, as seen in the temple scene, the kiss scene, in breaking of the photo frame, also when he tells Phaya that they will see each often other from now on, when he invites him to dinner with the clear intention of destroying him. I feel like the doc just KNOWS about Phaya's dreams.

Wild theory time! To expand on my original theory, this old woman/girl has helped Wansarat in the past and is helping him now. Wansarat is reborn and in each incarnation dies in childhood as punishment for what he did while saving his lover, Garuda. But this time he survived because he was placed under the care of the abbot of the temple, which is,in a way, his temple. And now, for a first time, Wansarat as Tharn is all grown up and delicious and the one for whom Wansart was originally intended - Dr. Bitch - he finally has a chance to get him. If it weren't for that Pesky Bird 😀

[merakiui]

For that ask game, i'll be answering it genuinely and with how i truly feel when it comes to your writings. Forgive if it's long-- Here goes:

👀👀👀👀👀 putting you on notif even; always a joy to see your new thoughts everyday

⏰⏰⏰ Sometimes you drop two or more bangers on such a sort span like, ma'am-- how do you do it??

💀💀💀💀💀 few examples that haunt me till today is DRU and promising young man; the fear i got from reading them are so delicious

💌💌💌 always nice to read extra tidbits and extra headcanon, or just seeing your ask posts in general <3

🤡🤡🤡 and boy, there are times when i feel like i have a clown nose ready to plaster onto their faces; clownery and irony are sisters in some ways

💖💖💖 your writings are so delicious i'm actually tempted to read the ones outside of twst, specifically the ones abt scaramouche (thank u for introducing mouchey to me <3)

🥵🥵🥵🥵 literally horny gripping my thighs for dear life--

💔💔💔💔 i remember having to douse my head in cold water after HBE; anyway, yes, your angst gutted me more times than i could count--

🍓🍓🍓 When you write fluff they always got me soooo >_< they're downright diabetic!!!

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸THIS. THIS BE THE MAIN REASON I"M DRAWN TO YOUR BLOG LIKE SHARK TO BLOOD

🎀🎀🎀the same with the fluff, the way you write these scenes always give me butterflies and got me sooo 🥺🥺 <33

🧠🧠🧠🧠🧠 methinks your brain should be studied and put on display in a museum <3

🌺🌺🌺 even when all the death/bad end flags are there, i still hope the otherwise because i want them to survive so badd

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄 i'm insane about how you write them actually, loving the mental gymnastics i go thru whenever i read them <3 you really bring the freaky out of these freaks uwu

🩰🩰🩰🩰🩰 not exaggerating, but the first time i found your blog i felt like finding a hidden gem and has been in love with your writings until today (and i suspect for an even longer time <3)

🌞🌞🌞 and sometimes they turn me into an emotional mess and make me insane (affectionate)

⭐⭐⭐ not only they draw me in immediately, they refuses to leave my head; they're living rent free as we speak--

🎨🎨🎨 plenty times i have to look up meanings and symbolism from your writings and it's so much fun gaining new knowledge!

💡💡💡some of your fics really do got me thinking "How did you come up with this???" and i am always INTRIGUED

🧸🧸🧸 how can i not when they're THAT good?? They's comfort fics! (and said comfort fics have not given the characters comfort AT ALL)

🍀🍀🍀🍀🍀 the emotional rollercoaster you put me thru everytime i read your stories is real; i don't think i'll be getting off soon.

📗📗📗 THEY SHOULD BE BOOKS IN MY OPINION ACTUALLY

🧩🧩🧩 oouughh it's got me acting like that one meme of a guy with his whiteboard

💐💐💐i ADORE how you write your MCs, each one of them has such a distinct personality and a refreshing point of view!

🧶🧶🧶 they flow so nicely and smoothly >_< especially love it when you write bickerings like old-married couples

🧊🧊🧊 even when said character may not act like this in canon, the way you write them actually feels like they might??? Somewhere in the multiverse of this specific character, there's this character acting just like how you write them--

💎💎💎 and i especially love it when they're unreliable narrators and/or slowly descending into madness <3 but yes, i just love you write thought processes of each characters in general

💧💧💧both tears of agony and joy, definitely. The butchered got me bawling actually, getting so attached to Marisa even though knowing she won't survived... OTL OTL

🌌🌌🌌🌌 some i wish you'd elaborate more, like that aein in ant hill fic with floyb because i'm honestly curious with worldbuilding of that one

😱😱😱 and you make an amazing build-up towards it too! They're not so sudden and you can even pick the crumbs as the stories go. love it when my suspicions are proven to be correct

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵 like a moment of epiphany; and i have to say, "Good Luck, Babe" would make a good fem!rido song--

🍇🍇🍇 very very great taste i must say, they're like *chef's kiss* ✨✨✨

🍆🍆🍆 considering they make up the majority of your writings, AAAAAA yes i do love how you write them >_< (they're very much canon in my heart)

🪀🪀🪀 they're definitely not a quick read to me, but they're highly enjoyable!!

🔮🔮🔮 i can't say how many times your plot twists make me feel like getting hit by a baseball bat-- (in a good way) and sometimes (many times) i have to put down my phone and go "....hUH? WUH???"

💣💣💣💣 countless times you've put me on the edge of my seat and got me bouncing me leg in anticipation >_<

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬 they way you write your stories are so vivid that it's so easy seeing them portrayed scene by scene in my mind (sometimes i like to even imagine them in a visual novel game format)

🎱🎱🎱 and they blew my mind every time <33

🎩🎩🎩 everytime you update new chapters, i like to re-read the previous chapters in order to refresh my mind and see the current plot in its wholeness

🧛🧛🧛 so much that i'm dropping everything i'm doing every time you posted a new fic <3

In short, i bow before your throne of godly writing skills and rejoice for the feast you kindly bestowed upon us <333 again, i'm sorry of it's long >_<

(ask game)

KHEYY, YOU ABSOLUTE MADLAD!!!! YOU DID ALL OF THEM AND PROVIDED EXTRA THOUGHTS????? Sending you lots of kisses and happy vibes in a package because WAAAAAA THIS IS SO SWEET AND KIND OMG?!??!?!?!?! ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ thank you so very much!!!!! I am cradling this message in my heart forever and always,,, 🥺💖 please don't apologize for the length!!! These positive vibes added so many years to my life!! (〃´𓎟`〃) I am incredibly honored to be a blog worth putting notifs on for,,, and to say my works should be books, that they can be imagined in VN format, that many aspects and more can be enjoyed so thoroughly....... AAAAA OMG YOU'LL MAKE ME CRYYYYYY!!! T^T

These pictures illustrate how I felt reading every one of your lovely words. I'm so flattered,,, orz orz uuuwaaaa I will continue to cook up the most delicious of feasts!!!!!! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ

[antisocialgaycat]

another short story!!! i think im having a crisis. once again no editing we die like real men also no plot really lmao

There is no way out. There are no doors, no windows. Nothing. I'm trapped. I guess I kind of deserve it. This is what happens when you challenge authority, when you don't do what you've always done. When you make a mistake.

That's all it was. A mistake.

But was it? There was something in me that wanted to do that. That wanted to make Her feel the pain I felt. To make Her fear me like I feared Her. To make a god bow down to me. And the funny thing is, it worked.

The last thing I saw before I came here was the sight of Her kneeling in front of me, begging for me to stop. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I don't think I'll ever forget the pain that left me immobilised immediately after either, but you win some, you lose more. I guess I kind of lost that one, considering now I'm lying on the floor of a cell, unable to move, every muscle within me feeling as though it is on fire. But my heart beats on with a thud thud thud.

Through the haze of my pain, a a sharp, bright light burns my eyes. I think to myself that this is it, I'm done for, this is Death coming to whisk me a way in a shower of light. And then I'll be gone for good. My heart beats on with a thud thud thud.

That's the thing about Death. It doesn't come for everyone. Just those who deserve it. I guess I do. Once I'm gone nothing will remain of me, not even a memory. But right now, my heart beats on with a thud thud thud.

As the light gets closer I brace myself, wishing I had longer left. Wishing that the light would slow down. If anything, it speeds up. Closer and closer and closer until it reaches out and touches me and.....

My heart beats on with a thud thud thud.

I look up, confused. Even the slightest movement causes my muscles to scream in agony. My eyes adjust to the bright light the figure is radiating and I realise that it's not Death after all. No, it's yet another god. I groan, half in pain, half in annoyance. At least Death just takes you, no pain, no questions, no nothing. Gods, however. Oh boy. That's a whole 'nother story. But I haven't heard a single word from this one yet. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Them moving Their hands, and all at once the pain is lifted from my body. My heart beats on with a thud thud thud.

They extend Their hand out to me and I take it, confused, and I feel myself be pulled to my feet. Their face is contorted with an emotion I can't quite place, even after all my time working with gods. I offer a small smile, grateful that my pain has been lifted, if only for a moment. I don’t think I’ve ever been grateful to a god before. Then it clicks. The emotion on Their face is regret. Why? This isn’t a god I’ve seen before. This isn’t even a god I’ve heard about. Who are They? And more importantly, why are They here? We stand there, looking at each other warily before They reach out and pull me into a hug. I freeze, confused, waiting for something to happen. But They don’t let go. Together, our hearts beat on with a thud thud thud.

Eventually, They pull away. They speak softly and carefully, every word carefully considered. “I’m sorry,” They say. I didn’t know gods even knew those words existed. “Why?” I demand, wanting, no, needing to understand why this stranger is here. They think, then after what seems like forever, They say “Because it is my fault. That you’re here.” I stand there confused, one eyebrow raised. They continue, “I didn’t know everything would turn out like this.” The genuine remorse in Their voice makes my heart falter before it continues with a steady thud thud thud.

“How is this Your fault? It’s mine. Clearly mine. Everything that led to this was my fault. None of it was Yours. She is a god and acted as all gods do. I was a fool and acted as all fools do. Simple as that.” The anger within me grows into a flame, a flame that could burn even a god if left unchecked. But my heart beats on with a thud thud thud.

“But it’s not,” They say, quieter than ever. “It’s never that simple.” I look at Them through the corner of my eye. “Do you ever think about what created the gods?” I shake my head, confused. “I was tasked with creating some. And then I made Her. Love. She was the last one I ever created. She made me realise that I had strayed from making gods into making monsters. And I am sorry for everything that She has done.” They look to the floor, eyes filling with tears. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Who are You?”

“Me? I am known as Fire. But I’m not sure how that’s rele-”

“Well Fire, can you get me out of this place? We can talk later.”

They smile and take my hand and as the world seems to fall in around us, our hearts beat on with a thud thud thud.

[nineinchclawz]

Imma be real. It's almost impossible for me to disconnect my value as a human being from how well my art does in the algo or how well my art sells.

I have a feeling that not a lot of ppl will read this post. But I'll share it anyway. Like how we all know that the Voyager Golden Records will never be read, but we sent it off into the cosmos in the hopes that it would eventually be found by someone else. I have to say something, even if I will never be heard.

Idk if any other artists feel this way. I'm most vulnerable when I share my art. I'm sharing a piece of myself & it hurts more than words can describe when I'm met with silence. It hurts immensely when it doesn't sell.

The simple answer would be to sever my value as a human from how the world values my art so I no longer get hurt.

But if I separate my art from who I am as a person, would it even be as good? What is the point of sharing my art if I'm not allowed to include a piece of my spirit inside of it? Is that not the purpose of art? To communicate & connect?

I can't stop feeling the cold, oppressive despair that takes over me whenever I see generative AI invading the spaces I love. It's a hollow mass with no spirit. It scrapes centuries of human experiences & rises from the dead like Frankenstein's monster. It's difficult to put that horror into words.

I feel genuine terror when I see what was once driven by passion & spirit is now being slowly infected by this disease. & this all ties back to my value as a person. If capitalism, a force more mighty than any higher power, says that my artwork is worth less than a machine's slop... How can I sustain my life? What is the point of continuing?

I see the option of defiance & rebellion. Survive against all odds as a show of resistance. But I've been living like that for as long as I can remember. & I'm tired. I don't want to survive anymore. I want to thrive & I want to be happy. I want to fulfill my calling as a creator. I want to live.

I can't describe how devastated I am that my sculpts aren't selling, that my art isn't being seen, that I'm not being heard. This on top of the genuinely horrific trauma that I've been thru & every opportunity to be fully independent being blocked due to my disabilities is tearing me down. I've never felt at peace before & I'm tired of chasing after it. I don't think I will ever find peace. I feel so much pain from everything I mentioned above & more. My disabilities compound everything. I am hyperaware of my existence. I am hyperaware of the suffering of others.

I know it is normal to experience highs & lows in life & it's normal to experience empathy. But the feelings I have are so extreme. I'm struggling to find help to manage it. The help I need is locked behind a bureaucratic nightmare & money that I don't have.

The fleeting moments of joy I feel in between numbness & agony aren't enough for me to justify my fight. The only thing that has stopped me from ending it all is the fear of how it would affect others I love. There's things I still want to do & see. I still want to help others. But idk how much longer I can beg & sob for help on the net, to a provider, or to a therapist. Idk how much longer I can hold out.

Sorry for the extensive doompost. I am not doing well. I am suffering immensely. I know it's not a good idea to spill my heart out to strangers & I know abusers will use this to their advantage, but I just need to get it out there.

[conkreetmonkey]

Splatoon OC idea no. 521: false cleaner wrasse, unknowingly adopted by a family of "true" cleaner species, who feels different and lonely as a child due to having violent instincts and a temper their contemporaries lack, and seemingly lacking cleaning instincts themselves. While receiving some sort of routine medical checkup as a teen, the doctor notices something amiss, and a DNA test proves that they are not the species they thought they were, and they have a Buddy The Elf moment. Their life is forever changed by this revelation, and they fear they will be shunned by all, even their own friends and family, if the truth is revealed.

They then go on to perhaps:

a) overcome their instincts and become a cleaner through sheer effort out of a genuine desire to reject predation and help others (although I'm never a fan of implying a whole species is inherently "bad," so this is probably my least favorite option listed), or

b) reject being a cleaner, and finally feel able to do their own thing, finally free from expectations, and potentially being disowned by their family (which in itself may be cathartic, bittersweet or tragic depending on their previous treatment of their adoptive child), choosing a hard but self-actualized life over one spent living a lie for the comfort of others, or

c) after months of agonizing, comes out to an accepting family who only wishes they knew sooner, connects with other members of their species, is largely accepted by society aside from the odd judgemental asshole and is finally able to truly Live, a weight lifted off their shoulders, understanding they were never "broken" or "evil," just an inherently different type of person.

Queer/neurodivergent allegory? Cuckoo motifs? Agony and self-hatred over something intrinsic to oneself, and then finally acceptance, and joy and community? Or perhaps the tale of a dyed-in-the-wool predator learning to temper their urges and be gentle?

(I'm not huge on the latter, tbh, because I always want to see characters like this just go apeshit and Carrie the haters, stop holding back and bottling up your rage at an unfair existence and MAIM. This is def due to me being an oft-bullied child who has had many abusive jobs, lol. Stop being nice to assholes who will never return the favor and instead eat their livers deep fried with lemon juice and a side of chips)

(HOWEVER, this potential glorious cathartic make-them-pay bridge-burning plot comes with the downside of implying certain species in this world are naturally violent, which would make logical sense in a world of anthro fish but unfortunately has strong parallels to real-world human racism and may send the wrong message... and also is just kind of depressing? You see this a lot in vampire and werewolf stories that manage to avoid racism and actually be great allegories for discrimination, though... it's definitely something that needs handled with a tact and grace I am unable to give it)

(whole thing is maybe or maybe not kind of Kris Dreemurr-core... I just love the trope of "adoptive child of different species to its parents grows up oblivious to the truth, always feeling alienated for reasons they can't articulate or fully understand, then finds out the truth and has a moment of great life-and-identity-redefining catharsis..." the queer/neurodivergent allegories... the personality-defining nature of inexplicable childhood social rejection... the ANGST...)

Thoughts? I was thinking about cleaner wrasse/shrimp in Splatoon world, and then thought "WAIT, WHAT ABOUT FALSE CLEANERS"

[solvskrift]

go ahead, bury me | loki & mobius stumble into the wrong timeline

whumptober prompt no. 5: “You better pray I don’t get up this time around.” | debris | pinned down | “It’s broken.” also on ao3!

Loki - the other one, the one holding that damned scepter - ran a finger down the line of Mobius’s jaw.

The Loki who currently had his arms twisted up behind his back by this universe’s Corvus Glaive renewed his struggles. “Don’t touch him.”

Corvus gave his arm another vicious twist, and Loki - the real one, the proper one, he thought uncharitably - felt his shoulder scream in protest.

‘Other’ Loki smirked at his counterpart, tilting his head in a way that suggested he was observing a mildly interesting specimen. “What is his significance to you?” he asked, flicking his gaze from Loki to Mobius and back. “I admit, there is a certain…quaint charm about him. He might make a good pet, I suppose.” He chuckled, low and vicious. “Now, if that’s the case, I could perhaps see how you might be one of my - variants , did you call them?”

Loki worked his jaw, muscles bunching under his captor’s grip.

Mobius caught his eye. Gave an infinitesimal shake of his head, and Loki could practically hear him saying, ‘ Don’t do anything ridiculous, Merlin.’

Loki swallowed. “Let him go,” he insisted, drawing on all of his control to keep his voice even, “and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Loki - ” Mobius began to protest but was cut off by Other-Loki giving his hair a vicious yank, forcing his neck backward and exposing his throat.

“You speak when spoken to, mortal,” he hissed, and released Mobius just enough that he wasn’t staring at the ceiling of the ship. He turned his attention back to Loki. “An interesting offer…”

He paused, considering.

“Anything I want?”

“Yes,” Loki said, involuntarily lurching forward. Corvus wrenched him back. “Yes, I swear it.”

Other-Loki hummed. Then smiled. “Pathetic,” he said, and thrust the sharpened end of the scepter into Mobius’s gut.

“NO!” screamed Loki, struggling so fiercely he could feel his joints straining, popping.

“Oh, dear me.” Other-Loki allowed Mobius to drop to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been snipped. “I think I broke it.”

Mobius let out a horrid, awful wheeze, wet with blood and bile. His eyes found Loki’s and fluttered, attempting to focus.

‘Don’t do anything ridiculous, Merlin.’

In his head, he heard Mobius laugh - that small, genuine laugh he always hid behind a fist when Loki had said something, done something he couldn’t resist.

Loki’s vision blurred and his limbs began to shake.

This was not happening.

He would not let it.

It was barely an effort, a whisper of a thought, to allow his growing horror, his rage to twist in on itself. To let the connection to Yggdrasil he had carried within his body since birth to draw on the power for which it ceaselessly called out, the power he had been taught and trained and lectured into fighting against every second of his fraudulent life. It burned him from the inside out, flowing through every atom of his being until he could feel it licking along his skin.

Distantly, he heard Corvus shout as if in pain. Through the haze of his vision he caught just a glimpse of Other-Loki’s face, etched with surprise and perhaps a little fear, before Loki screamed, a wordless cry of sheer agony, and let go.

The energy exploded outward, blasting his surroundings with an unstoppable wave of utter destruction. It burned like the center of a star, gold and green and terrible, and then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

Corvus was lying at an odd angle at the other end of the room, his spine broken over a steel beam. Proxima had tried to run. Her eyes were still bleeding out onto the floor.

Other-Loki hung from the wall, impaled on his own scepter, eyes wide and blank and staring.

Loki barely spared them a glance.

He knelt next to Mobius.

His eyes were closed. His chest still rose and fell in tiny, faltering movements.

Gently, very gently, Loki slipped his arms underneath Mobius’s legs and back and lifted him into the air, gathering him close to his chest.

“I have you,” he whispered, a profound calm soothing his heart as he stepped carefully over the strewn bodies and debris. “Don’t worry, Mobius. I have you.”

He called up the image in his mind of an opening to a world path and, with Mobius secure in his arms, stepped through it onto Yggdrasil’s branches without once looking back.

[light-lanterne]

(took a ten-minute nap and had a harrowing dream :O )

tw // mentions of vampirism, murder and violence - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☽ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - here's a short offering, @saffirez, @yearninginblue, @hyperfixationcentralsvoid, @holyvirgilscriptures, @catboy-cabin (i hope it's okei to tag, since this is long enough to be considered a ficlet but not a proper thing still x.x )

byler royal au (perhaps medieval, perhaps a little after) where will is a ruthless monarch. feared by many, revered by most; he is known for his beauty just as much as he is known for his iron fist and there is no one who dares oppose him for they know it's a death wish. what's more, rumours of vampirism and human sacrifice surround his name and there's a lot to support these claims but ultimately, they are just rumours no one can prove.

except... well, mike can prove them. a knight of the highest order who served will's father until his death, mike has been granted permission (and earned the right) to live in the castle's grounds and as such, he's witnessed two sides of will no one else has seen (and lived to tell the tale):

on the one side, will is actually rather sweet and gentle, his stony demeanour nothing but a facade to make up for his youth and, therefore, his perceived lack of experience (which could lead to someone trying to overthrow him). he treats everyone with kindness and respect and never raises his voice within the castle, not even in the war room.

on the other hand, however... all the rumours about him are true, as far as mike can tell. young people enter will's quarters and never come back out, the stench of blood and viscera plaguing the air as soon as the moon rises in the sky, and mike has personally witnessed suspicious-looking remains be stuffed in sacks by fearful servants, sacks that are then thrown to the pig dens shortly before dawn, evidence of the horrors disappearing in a matter of minutes.

night after night, screams of agony and misery haunt the castle's hallways and, as the people's champion, mike knows it's his duty to do something about it. tell someone about it. his words hold weight and a simple accusation on his part could be enough to get the ball rolling when it comes to ridding the kingdom of such a treacherous being.

but he can't. not when will is so full of life and joy and smiles so beautifully at him. not when will's life has been a series of mishaps he's only now getting the chance to heal from.

surely, mike's got it wrong. there's no way someone like will is responsible for what the rumours claim, right? no way he can be a cannibal or vampire or whatever else the people love to whisper about in dark taverns and empty alleyways... right? in fact, he's going to prove it! he's going to sneak into will's quarters at night and he'll find a totally reasonable explanation for everything, and then he'll be able to dispel the murmurs with a first-hand account of the truth!

and if he finds that everything that was told, everything he himself had observed, was real, then it's not his job to tell anyone.

and if he discovers that will is genuinely this monstrous being that everyone sings about to scare children at night, then it's not his fault everyone believes it to be a folk tale.

and if he suddenly finds himself being looked down at by these very dark eyes, hungry eyes, and he's suddenly forced to choose between what's right and what he wants, then it's not his fault when he follows the pull —not unlike gravity— that's urging him closer, deeper into an insanity he's now a part of purely by his own volition, the likes of which he finds unable to feel guilty about the second will shoots him a smile.

- the end -

(there are perhaps two bylers in the entirety of this hellsite who will get the reference (me being one of them), but if anyone's heard "cruelty and the beast" by cradle of filth,,, you know what vibes i'm going for ~ also, as i wrote this i suddenly came to the realisation that i essentially cleradin'd @foodiewithdahoodie's forbidden fruit au so yeah, my brain remains entirely unoriginal x.x)

[us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2]

Hi, genuine question, are you anti-Palestine? Or to be more clear, are you pro-Palestine getting its land back from Israel?

oh, personally I do believe people should be given back their homes and stuff that was taken.

but I also believe in a 2 state solution. both countries should have sovereignty, and also fuck both the Hamas and Bibi.

it's more on Israelis and Palestinians to sort out amongst themselves what is given back and to sort out these things.

I'm just a random Australian, I try my best to understand international politics but there's a lot of nuance that I still don't know and probably won't know.

again this ^ screenshot is unironically so real

I just hope the fighting stops soon, and both Israelis and Palestinians don't have to hide in fear and worry if they'll be alive tomorrow.

and the Hamas disbands, they suck so fucking much. (#theykillpeoplewhothinktheyareAbadgovermentandthinkjewishpeopleshouldalldie)

it's just a really awful time for everyone, and it's just shitty how things have played out.

the IDF's war crimes are innumerable and the Hamas warcrimes are too, the sad thing about war is there is no winner, there is no good, there is only death and destruction.

no person should be subjected to the torture of war, civilian nor soldier.

I don't think anyone deserves to die in the name of this war, for all deaths are in vane.

that's just how war is, nothing changes about war it stays the same. families will lose children and family and friends, and soldiers will cry themselves to sleep in pained agony, and POW's will have nightmares about the shit that's happened to them.

"war, war never changes"

it's a generational trauma, it never stops. it's there in the minds of all that live through it.

no one deserves war, Israeli or Palestinian.

I'm saying this as someone who's great grandfathers both fought in the fucking war, who were fucking POW's, who lost their families, the scars run fucking deep man.

like my great uncles, and my bisnonni, my family. like this shit doesn't go away.

this shit was not long ago, war never fucking changes.

there's only pain, pain that doesn't go away.

so yeah, sorry if I seem a bit one-sided to some people.

I care for everyone, no one deserves this shit.

how is it bad that I want for both to be able to live safely again?

life is filled with way too much trauma and pain for us to paint an entire type of people evil.

it's happened time and time and time again, I just can't anymore.

no one deserves death threats, no one deserves hell, I hope the fighting stops and I hope it stops swiftly.

there is no good side in war, there never has been its impossible.

both will kill and maim, and murder and slaughter.

in the eyes of history it's written by the winners, are these winners just and fair? who knows.

I know alot of people don't know family or have family who fought in ww2 or in any war, so it's kinda hard to understand how brutal and horrifying war actually fucking is.

but war is war, I don't think people get just how horrible it actually just is. it takes good people and turns them into hollow husks, it takes good people and turn them into war criminals.

it's not a good thing, death in war is a tragedy and I'm tired of everyone saying it's good.

call me whatever, I just hope the fighting stops soon.

[wellthebardsdead]

Riiju-Lei: *laying in his bedroll in tel mithryn, trying to rest so they can track down Ildari in the morning and failing, still trying to figure out who this miraak person is and now… who he really is…* … *sighs and places his hand on his forehead and hisses in pain forgetting about his new third eyeball* Ugh… this sucks… *Reaches up again and gently touches it after closing it this time…* Voryn dagoth is… ur dagoth but… which one am I? *sighs and rolls onto his side, closing his eyes to try and sleep* …

———

Riiju-Lei: “Hot… why’s it so hot?…”

???: “Wake up…”

Riiju-Lei: “who?… who said that?…”

???: “don’t listen to him…”

Riiju-Lei: “I?… ny voice? Who? Who said that?

???: “Wake up dreamer. Accept your role as my vessel.”

???: “Please don’t trust him! Don’t listen to what he’s offering you!”

Riiju-Lei: “listen to who?! Who even are you?!”

Voryn Dagoth: “I’m you!”

Dagoth Ur: *suddenly flashes through Lei’s mind as the heart of lorkhan pulses behind him and the screams of those his plague corrupted echo in his ears*

“WAKE UP!”

Riiju-Lei: *sits up sweating, all three eyes glowing in the darkness of the tower, tears streaming down his face as he feels, genuinely feels, real fear running through him* I- I-

Inigo: *jumps a little from his sleep and looks over at him* my friend?…

Riiju-Lei: *starts sobbing quietly trying to explain what happened only to choke out a fragile whimper* I’m s-scared-

Inigo: *never once witnessed him displaying genuine fear before, or heard his voice so full of emotion* Leilei? What happened?… *crawls out of his bedroll and over to him sliding under the furs and holding him tight*

Riiju-Lei: *chokes back more sobs, whole body trembling as he hugs onto his friend* I don’t know wh-who I am…

*the next day*

Riiju-Lei: *sleep deprived, head in utter agony, only able to hear the voices and the heart beating loudly in his skull as he slices through ash spawn*

Kaidan: LEILEI BEHIND YOU- *freezes seeing the dunmer spin around at an inhuman speed and punch his fist through the ashen creatures chest, holding its heart stone in his hand as it crumbles into a pile of dust* good jo- *watches him crush the stone in his hand, it’s red energy flowing up his arm and into his glowing red eyes* that can’t be good-

Taliesin: what can’t be go- *sees Lei’s eyes and watches as the dunmer walks further into the ruin* that definitely isn’t good… *looks at the rest of the group and chases after their friend only to find him in a large cavernous area, staring Ildari Sarothril down*

Ildari: You've gone far enough. Neloth is a fool to think he could send some low life to finish me of-Ugh! What- my heart stone it’s-

Riiju-Lei: *hand raised towards her, slowly squeezing into a fist* I am not a low life… *blood pouring from his third eye as the voices grow louder and louder each screaming for him to choose them as the doom drum beats faster and harder against his skull* I am. *feels a moment of serene peace as he makes his decision* Voryn Dagoth. *clenches his fist crushing her heart stone*

*meanwhile in raven rock*

Elder Othreloth: It is an honour to have you here Hortator. Our settlement is small but we welcome you with open arms.

Nerevar: *smiles and nods his head* the welcome is appreciated indeed. I was not expecting to see this place so, lively. Last id heard it was a shell of its former glory with the empire having abandoned it.

Elder Othreloth: *chuckles* indeed it was. Only a week ago a young dunmer with an argonians name arrived and found out the truth of the east empire companies departure. With it brought to light the mine was reopened and already ships are arriving for trade. He even cleared out the temple of these foul creatures the guards have been calling ash spawn with no want for reward, heheh, I paid him and after he’d left I realised he’d snuck it back into my pocket when I’d turned around.

Nerevar: An argonians n- *remembers questioning the guards in whiterun after narrowly missing Voryn in the crowd* This dunmer, who was he with? I- oh gods I could only make out the Akaviri man and the high elf with him over the crowd-

Elder Othreloth: oh yes, he was with quite a strange arrangement of people but they clearly make an excellent team. yes he was with a great big hulking behemoth of a lad, a well kept high elf, an argonian, a young imperial man, teldryn sero who occasionally comes by to repent after spending his money poorly and regretting it the next day, and a, very odd blue khajiit. Why my lord, are you in need of his services to?

Nerevar: Something like that, but- he is here then? On the island?

Elder Othreloth: yes indeed I believe so. The last I heard they left the bulwark yesterday. I don’t know where though but given raven rock is the only port im certain they’ll return to leave at some point.

Nerevar: *sighs with some slight relief that he hadn’t come this way for nothing* thank you, it’s important I find him as fast as possible.

Galdrus Hlervu: *suddenly snakes his way over* Pardon me for butting in Hortator but are you searching for this, Riiju-Lei characte-

Elder Othreloth: Did I give you permission to approach our lord Hlervu? Have you forgotten yourself?!

Galdrus Hlervu: I- f-forgive me master Othre-

Nerevar: *holds up his hand in dismissal* I’ll allow it this once. Riiju-Lei… is that his name?…

Galdrus Hlervu: *bows his head* yes my lord, but I feel you must know. There have been rumours amongst the councillor and the captain of the guard that he grew a third eye after coming into contact with debris from red mountain. Just like dagoth u-

Elder Othreloth: Do not dare speak the title of the Sharmat in this temple or before your king! I will not allow you wandering around and spreading such ridiculous gossip freely!

Nerevar: third… eye-

*BOOM!!!*

Nerevar: *looks over towards high point tower seeing smoke rising up over the hillside* oh no…

[nikibogwater]

In today's episode of Niki is Very Done With This, I just learned that people on TikTok have meme-ified the term "intrusive thoughts," and are using it to describe relatively harmless impulses like cutting their hair or eating ice cream at two in the morning.

Here's an actual example of what Intrusive Thoughts are and how they feel, right off the top of my head: When I was eleven years old, I once spent an entire weekend curled up in a little ball of agony in my room, genuinely terrified that I was going to stab my grandma or torture my parents. It was a never-ending assault of images and ideas that were so far removed from who I was and who I wanted to be, it felt like there was an entirely separate entity taking over my brain and trying to forcibly turn me into a monster.

So yeah. I would like to politely request (read: loudly demand) that the internet stop appropriating mental health diagnoses for the sake of clout. Especially in this case. If 11-year-old me had heard someone talk about their "intrusive thoughts winning," even as a joke, it would have made my fears a hundred-thousand times worse. I'm very lucky to have been professionally diagnosed with OCD and ADHD early on, so that I understood what was happening to me and that it didn't have any real power over my actions in real life. But there are struggling kids out there who have never had that opportunity, whose only exposure to this particular mental disorder is through people making poor-taste jokes on TikTok about the "intrusive thoughts winning." And that makes the eleven-year-old-curled-up-on-her-bed inside of me want to get up and nuke the app off the face of the planet.

[sergeifyodorov]

Hi, sorry if this gets a bit too serious but I’m looking for a bit of perspective. Sorry to use you as my agony uncle 😩

I’m pretty new to the whole “following team sports” thing, and I’m stuck on navigating rivalries in real life. I’m a Leafs fan (duh) and hockey isn’t really a thing amongst my irl friends, but the 2 people I know that know more about the NHL than that one Wayne Gretzky quote (100% of the shots etc) are a habs fan and a bruins-by-proxy (via their partner). Habs-guy is super nice overall and we’re planning to go see a habs-leafs game together next season, but Bruins-person continually dumps on me and I just don’t know how to deal with it.

Now I’d obviously expect some mild ribbing and stuff, but this person just barely follows the sport and just gets pretty mean everytime I go to our group chat to vent a little after a loss (which we all do, other people are footy/cricket fans). Tbh, I dread the play offs because I fear I will suffer, and I fear I will have no where to speak my truth?

I don’t know maybe I’m just way too sensitive and should just expect this, but we’re a generally supportive group of friends and I just think piling it on when I’m sad after a loss is kinda bad form between friends, even across such a divide? I mean anonymous fighting on the internet over a rivalry is one thing, but this seems taking it a little far, I don’t know?! Like they know hockey is my escapism and how I deal with life away from a very stressful job and that it means alot to me.

Then again, I really am new to following sports at all, and maybe this is normal? I genuinely can’t tell if this is just something that’s kinda shitty or if I’m just taking things way too seriously. Any perspective from you (or your followers) is greatly appreciated.

I love your blog, thanks for being such a source!

I think a little ribbing is expected and natural, and it seems like the Habs guy is pretty nice about it and respectful as he should be. But from what you've told me, the Bruins guy (and despite my own feelings on the team this has nothing to do with the specific fandom -- assholes and nice people are everywhere !) doesn't seem particularly respectful. I think the best thing to do would be politely saying something along the lines of "hey, I know you don't like my team but I would appreciate a little bit of grace when I'm feeling sad about it" next time it happens. If you're all used to talking about Sad Sports Feelings then an appeal to common emotion like that might work?