#then coming back when it was less haunted and he was healthier and it was able to be their home again

[carefulfears]

top 5 (or 10 if you have em) scully taking care of mulder moments <3

she said IF i have 10 😭😭😭

1/ sein und zeit

i fear i have talked about this television scene more times than anyone has ever talked about a television scene....like. one, two, three, four, i was even foolishly invited onto a podcast to talk about it more...

my tags here:

she gets down on the Ground. there's something so primal about it. there's such a lack of pretense and sense of desperation about it. the way he hits the table. we so Rarely see him lash out like that. but it's just too much to Bear. like everything in him is just Breaking the only thing that he's even remotely been able to hold onto amidst all of the unbearable loss and trauma in his life has failed. he's fumbling around for anything that might make it better. that audries fic describing him in this moment as an 'addict out of a fix' with 'newborn anger.' “this is the world? this is it?” it's the way that he spends this whole ep cooking up some elaborate mythology about missing children and how they can be found and then the last shot of the episode is that wide shot of all of the children's graves. sometimes he's just wrong. the world is so much fucking darker and uglier sometimes than the way he sees it. and that's what is crashing down around him in this moment. and she's sitting in the wreckage holding him tight.

this is such brave, brave love. i keep thinking about CSM in the following episode, standing in scully's apartment, warning her. "allow him his ignorance, it's what gives him hope."

she doesn't know what will happen to him, to her, to them, when she breaks down the only method of coping that he has. his mother lost her bedrock too, and she didn't survive. from the moment scully enters, you can watch it break her. she does it anyway. she gets down on the ground, and she cries, and she holds him. god, it all just would've been so different, if there'd been just 1 person, 27 years ago.

(thinking about mulder reaching up to hold scully when missy died, and these tags asking: did anyone hold him, when it was his sister?)

i love the show's message on grief (and trauma), in that this is all that is necessary for "closure." there is no "Truth," (and there really isn't any closure, there's no "beyond" the sea). but it matters that someone knows. it matters that someone bears witness. it matters that someone tells you the truth, even when it fucking breaks their heart. sits in the destruction with you.

the exhaustion in her voice the next morning, when she tells skinner, "it's been a hard night for him." she's still wearing her work clothes from the day before. she was up all night. she's tired, and she's scared, and she's sad. it's been a hard 7 years. it's been a hard 27 years.

it makes me tear up every time i see it, the way she blocks him in the doorway. she's not moving. this is just so scully. it's not even starbuck, it's just so scully. she would keep him in that apartment where she could cover him and control what touches him forever, if she could. (she can't, so you're not taking him anywhere without her. the way she looks her boss in the eye and tells him he better book her a flight too. brave love.)

2/ demons

god, this one just makes me sad. this might be the one that makes me saddest. she's dying. she doesn't have it in her, anymore. i talked about this in my newsletter (and i wrote a fic about it once) but this is like...the only time where she never calls him out on what he's doing. she never yells. she never rolls her eyes. she never gets frustrated with him. she doesn't have it in her. she's dying. he will be alone. she won't be here the next time. what can she even do about it?

i always think about this post:

and you know she is thinking about how if she hadn’t been there he would’ve died. and how the next time he does something like this, she won’t have enough life left in her to keep them both alive. she might not even have enough left for herself. and she’ll give whatever she does have left to him, but it won’t be enough to save either of them. she’ll die cold and pale and he’ll burn himself out. and what can she do but hold him? who will he have when she’s gone? what will he do to himself? who will he call?

and these tags:

this is so cautious and tender and apologetic. sorry for all the pain he feels constantly. and sorry that nothing can ease it. and sorry that she is dying and leaving him like this.

she started writing to him as soon as she was diagnosed, begging. begging forgiveness, begging courage, begging grace. begging for him to not feel there was anything more he could've done, to not become the next cause he is lost in. for him to keep going, as she needs to know he's "out there."

but she's seen him hold a gun to himself too many times, and she knows he's coming down with her. and it's such a loss? this is a person she gave up everything, including her life, to follow, because she believed in him and what he wanted to do in the world that much. but things are different now. he won't survive this. he won't be "out there" saving the world.

what can she do? go to rhode island at 5am, wrap him up. stay quiet, stay still, but scream and thrash at anyone who's careless with him. sink down next to him, cover him, hold him. "maybe we need every answer in the world to survive a single question: how long do we have each other?" (x)

(also, her memento mori journal, in general. she sat in that hospital alone, for days, knowing she was going to die. and she wrote letter, after letter, after letter, to him. so that he would have something. so that he wouldn’t be left alone with nothing, again.)

3/ the end

"as mulder appears. the look on his face is of a man who's seeing, smelling, and tasting the loss of everything he has worked for. it's the look of utter defeat. angle on scully at the door. she sees only mulder right now...she moves to him now. putting her arms around him, holding on to keep him from breaking. off this, we fade out. the end." (script)

i think so often about the script notes of this scene. the description of mulder, as absorbed in destruction. everything that he's worked for, literally reduced to (cigarette) ash. scully only focused on him.

in the final angle of the season, you can really see how she's standing in front of him. her fingers clutching him. but when she first grabs him, it's so tentative. it almost feels like she's trying to see if he's still there, if he exists, if his work doesn't.

this is...the whole thing! there's a reason why this was "the end." the final image of this iteration of the series, before everything changes. this is what it is all about. it's mulder walking headfirst into the devastation of the world. drenched in loss. seeing it. smelling it. tasting it. surrounded by it. and it's scully knowing what he'll find even as he's still moving (this script note, from the hallway: "reverse on scully. returning the look. knowing what mulder is going to find. and what it will mean.")

following behind. eyes on him, while he takes in the ash. just holding on for dear life; trying to keep him close, whole.

(also, i love the moment before the fire, at his apartment, after diana was shot. the way scully tells skinner that he can reach her at mulder's if he needs her, because that's where she'll be. he doesn't even have a bed, or anywhere for her to stay!! she's not leaving him.)

4/ paper hearts

oh, starbuck. we are really in it now.

paper hearts is an ahab and starbuck episode, yes. but mostly it's about grief. mostly it's about harsh awakenings. mostly it's about confrontation with fear, scully's included.

one of the most haunting moments of the series, to me, is when they speak to the father of the 14th victim, twenty-one years after his daughter went missing. and through tears, the father says, "i used to think...that missing was worse than dead, because...you never knew what happened. now that i know, i'm glad my wife's not here. she got luckier."

in that moment, as mulder looks over at the photos on the mantle, missing is not worse than dead. it is not worse than knowing. and later that day, in his first scene, roche calls it exactly as it is: "i understand you take this very personally, mulder."

i've written about this scene in the hallway so many times, because it's truly the crux of this episode (my favorite episode).

from my newsletter:

There’s something so viscerally deep about this episode that’s hard to put into words, but to me, it is most palpable in the moment in the hallway when Mulder asks Scully if she believes that his sister was abducted by aliens. And you can see in his face that he knows the answer, and he’s challenging her to come out and say it. You can see in Scully’s that she would rather admit to anything else.

he's challenging her. he's taking their entire dynamic, and throwing it in her face. not to be cruel. not to disrupt. but just to say...so what now? isn't this what you believe?

i don't think that they've ever been so fragile, as in this hallway, honestly. they rarely threaten to break it all down. their entire lives are built on him walking up to tragedy and saying: it was aliens. it was XYZ. and her following behind saying: no. it was a killer, it was a man.

what does that mean? what is she really saying?

this episode is hard on scully. mulder has never been more haunted. there has never been a bigger reminder of what they are actually doing. they are not just chasing little green men, having adventures, studying sewer worms. they are trying to make sense of something that will never make sense. they are trying to find a "truth" that they do not want to know. they are living their lives in mourning, in bereavement, in remembrance, of a missing little girl, and scully is terrified that they'll find her. that it will be exactly like roche threatens. that missing is not worse than dead.

and there is no one else. there is no one else that even knows how haunted he is. how stuck he is, in that childhood bedroom, like he said all those years ago. how deeply sad it is.

it's all of the little things. it's the "you did good work, mulder" in the beginning. it's the way she asks if he's okay to go tell the 14th victim's family. it's way she exclaims "oh my god" when roche says that he just wants to see mulder's face, when he finds samantha's body. one of the few times that we ever see scully lose control, but she just stands up and screams, opens the door and wordlessly waits for mulder to get up and get out of there.

it's the way that she hears "help me, scully" and digs in the dirt, with her bare hands.

(you can tell in his eyes here that he's been crying, and it really gets to me. there's so much that we don't see.)

in the end, they're back in the basement. nothing left but one scrap of tattered fabric, one more lost failure. it's over. she just comes down to check on him.

the progression of scully's face in this last scene is just unbelievably gut-wrenching to me. her smile, when she tells him to get some sleep, and he laughs. the way it disappears when he holds her, and can't see her anymore. with his mother, flashing that smile and hugging her was all that it took to convince her not to worry. when he repeats the same actions with scully, she looks like she could break.

this post:

Episodes like this make me think how alone - not just lonely, but truly alone - Mulder was before her. Nobody lost sleep over him falling apart under the fist of decades old trauma. Nobody grappled with him, let him wrestle his grief against them, and still stayed. Nobody visited him in the hospital, flew to Alaska, lied for him, stayed by his bed for days straight without an extra change of clothes. Nobody else knew he was suffering or wanted to, knew it more than he knew. That end of Paper hearts where she tells him to get some sleep, he laughs at the ridiculousness of it, but also out of incredulity at having someone to wish for better on his behalf. The heartbroken look on her face as he’s laughing into her waist seems to be her coming to the same realisation; “Who looked after you before? How long did you feel like this on your own?”

she is heartbroken. there is so much grief, in being starbuck. there's grief in being needed. there's grief in following ghosts. there's grief in loving someone who is so encased in pain, in loss. he will not go home and get some sleep. a well-placed joke, that smile, a hug, does not convince her that he's okay. he hurts so much, for so long, and he has one person who knows it. and all they do is keep moving: closer and closer to that breaking point that she is so afraid of, and they can't stop.

5/ redux ii

remember when dana scully lied on her death bed and looked up at mulder as he told her that he was not willing to jeopardize skinner to save himself, and she replied, "well, then, you have to lay it on me."

the way he smiles and shakes his head, chokes out "i can't...i can't do that." through tears...they are so kind to each other. all that she has left in the world is her reputation, and she says: take it. take it all. take everything.

she cries when he won't do it.

6/ herrenvolk

okay, i wanna get into some slightly lighter ones, so y'all remember when she nearly fully knocked skinner into the wall, because mulder came in with a (checks notes) scratch on his face?

this is just so scully.

she is so panicked. she just wants to slow him down, to stand between him and the world for even one moment longer.

these tags:

she's almost begging him not to go in. the extent of her worry is heartbreaking. she loves him. it frightens her to know what awaits him.

one of the biggest conflicts of scully's character is that she just cannot stop him, she cannot shield him, she cannot protect him. the way she leans up here, and pulls him to her shoulder. covers him with a blanket. this is what she can do.

there is so much grief in being starbuck!! in loving someone who walks blindly into a world that you do not trust. in following someone into the worst night of their life: over, over, over. years, years, years. in being first mate, holding the responsibility on your shoulders of having to steer in a safe direction, only having one to choose from.

(i also think it's really special, all of the little moments where she checks in. in the previous episode, in the hospital hallway, the way she says "are you okay?" so softly.

in paper clip, when she makes him stop, and says "no, wait, hold on a second...i don't think you've had time to process everything that you've been through."

remnants of the girl who told him she'll cover for him and he should just go get a beer, take some time for himself, after jersey. who suggested he talk to someone, when jerry lamana died. she's always wanted so much for him, but she understands more now. there's still room to pause, for a moment, before he carries on.)

7/ anasazi

ladies, would you shoot your man with a gun, to keep him from endangering himself, while he was being laced with LSD, and then drag him across the country singlehandedly, while he was unconscious, despite him being twice your size? and this, too, is taking care.

the way she says, "i was certain they would have killed you, mulder." and the fear in her voice, his hand on her knee. (she is so young. she really doesn't know what to do, not as often as she seems like she does). the way he says, "thank you. thank you for taking care of me." they are so kind to each other. it'll break your fucking heart.

(i remember asking y'all a few weeks ago, if mulder and scully ever say "i'm sorry," if they ever apologize to each other. and we came up with a couple of times. i'll tell you what, though: not as often as they say "thank you.")

8/ fire

girlbosses when they singlehandedly solve serial murders, to get their best friend's shitty ex away from them!!! okay, i put this one on here because we were talking about it yesterday, but scully really does handle the entire situation with phoebe so perfectly, and that's hard to do, when you're dealing with friends and abusers.

trish, i loved this part of your post yesterday:

scully gives him the space to talk about it, never says too much but she says enough. her phrasing is SO important. she repeats what he just told her in a way that frames it as wrong.

she's a little rabid, lol. we can see it on her face when she's alone, or when mulder's not looking. but around him (around phoebe too) she's calm. she listens, she addresses what he tells her as bad, without pressing. when he tells her that she's off the case, that he doesn't want to expose her to what phoebe is doing, she asks one time: are you sure you don't want help?

he says yes, and she does it anyway. she catches that fucking murderer so that this woman can go home. just, like, an inspiration to us all.

trish's tweet:

really, truly, genuinely. scully solving the case in fire was the absolute best course of action she could have taken. get that woman out of here, an ocean away from mulder. (give him freedom, let him heal, teach him what real love feels like)

(her eyes locked in on him here, phoebe behind her. the way that when phoebe leaves the room, scully says, "you alright?" instantly.)

meeting phoebe just a few months into their partnership made her so fucking crazy like...i make fun of her for being sick in the head in regards to everyone he meets (men and women alike) and never wanting anyone around him other than her but like, my god, can you blame her!!! he's such a gentle person and people are so cruel and it makes her eyes bug out of her head.

yeah, i really don't have much else to say here, you guys. she solved a murder herself, a case that she wasn't even supposed to be working, so that his old gf would go away and stop being mean to him. she doesn't play!!

(also! while we're on the subject of abusive exes, honorable mention to scully cornering diana into an empty room and telling her to "just think" about who mulder is, who he was when she met him, compared to where he is now. "and then try and stand there in front of me. look me in the eye. and tell me mulder wouldn't bust his ass trying to save you.")

9/ deadalive

oh, you guys remember that time she raised him from the dead, right?

scully at 8 months pregnant, sitting in that hospital chair, holding his hand, for days. knowing he can’t feel it, knowing that there’s nothing that says he’ll ever wake up. that it’s impossible. that there is no science…yeah. she just sits there and holds his hand.

i love the moment when she finds out, and she comes barreling through that hallway. she hits skinner first, and starts yelling, “i want to see him. no, i need to see him,” slams her fists into his chest.

then she moves onto doggett. repeats, “i need to see him” through tears. and the way doggett says… “i know. but i wish you wouldn’t.”

she’s loved. they want to protect her, protect her image of mulder as she knew him. but they also both know she will fucking plow them down.

i always think of this fic and feel so ill:

“I pulled you six feet out of the ground,” she whispers, dangerously low. “Because I couldn’t live without you. I gave birth to your child.”

she fed his fish while he was in a casket. she planned a funeral and decorated a nursery alone, at the same time. she ran herself ragged all over the country, trying to keep his work going. she raised him from the dead.

(i also feel that i can throw in here, as related, the time that she busted him out of prison and then abandoned everything in her entire life including her career, her family, and everything she owns, to go on the run from the law and live secretly in seedy motels for years to be with him.)

10/ fight the future

there are too many contenders for my last spot, so i’m gonna keep it simple, and go with the most special movie moment. (of all movies).

from my newsletter:

“Mulder watches the spaceship as it flies overhead, his face glows with a heart-melting grin of childlike wonder and awe.”(x)

That’s exactly what it feels like to me, it’s an innocence and excitement that was so present in season one, that was all over him when he told Scully to come look in the second episode, but that’s rare to see in the later seasons. It’s rare to see at this point in their story, after all that’s happened. They are stranded in Antarctica, both of them injured, both of them freezing in the cold, and they are holding each other and gazing up at the sky. What a perfect thing in their big momentous feature, to bring it all back to what it started with.

there’s such a reverent sentimentality to it, in the simplicity. she had stopped breathing, a few minutes earlier. but when he passes out, she pulls herself up, and grabs onto him. keeps him alive, keeps them both alive, just by holding him close. that’s really the heart of it.

(also, i find it so moving that this film is the only time in the franchise that scully considers leaving, not working with him anymore, and it’s because she thinks she’s not good for him. that she’s holding him back. she never considers him as anything other than wanted, something worth believing in.)

some honorable mentions to: little green men, which i’ve written about here. (especially her secret-signaling him to their secret meet-up place, just to ask if he’s okay). the erlenmeyer flask, which i’ve talked about here. (she literally stops him in the street to tell him that she should have listened to him, and she’s sorry, because she should have trusted his instincts. that means so much, you guys). her telling colton she hopes he falls on his ass after he was making rude comments about mulder in squeeze, screaming at a serial killer that she’ll gas him into hell herself and no one will stop her, if mulder isn’t okay, in beyond the sea….she has threatened and shouted at and smacked around so many people for fucking with him, and this too is care!! (anger meaning you’re worth being angry over, etc etc)

how desperately she became frantic to find their son, after 17 years resigned to never ever looking for him, never ever endangering him that way…because she became convinced that it’s the only thing that would help mulder.

and how important samantha is to her. it matters. it matters, that sam is remembered. that someone else in the world knows. someone knows that they played baseball in the summers, that they fought over the television, that he’s looked for her in every room he’s ever been in. someone else cares about her; not as a white whale, not as a photo on a desk, as a little girl who broke her collarbone because she played on swings too hard. scully listened to her journal, and cried. listened to how much she suffered. how much she just wanted to see her big brother. (scully kept a journal like that, too, once. underwent those same tests. almost died at the hands of those same men. wrote her testimony to that same person.) it’s taking care of mulder, to love samantha. and she does.

[watchmakermori]

rereading The Bedlam Stacks: my feelings six years on

until recently, I'd only read The Bedlam Stacks the once - back on release, within the span of a few days. I'd enjoyed it at the time, though not nearly as much as my beloved Watchmaker, so I thought it was time to go back to it and see how my feelings on it have changed.

back in 2017, I recall enjoying the first third of the book a lot, finding the middle section a bit slow, and thinking that the ending was a bit sudden. Having reread it again, my thoughts are similar in some respects - I still think that the pacing is strongest at the beginning, and hits a sluggish section once Merrick gets to Bedlam. My feelings on the ending are complicated, because part of me thinks that it's missing something, but part of me thinks it has the best conclusion of any Pulley book so far.

Bedlam is a difficult book for me to critique. There is so much that I love about it, so many isolated scenes and concepts that stick with me, and the prose is fresher and more beautiful than I remembered. The scene where Raphael turns to stone for 70 years is so beautifully, horrifyingly handled. The markayuq are a haunting, fascinatingly original concept. Merrick and Raphael, while hitting a lot of the classic Pulley duo tropes, stand out in many other ways - the fact that their romance is only implied, and left somewhat ambiguous, is actually a novelty against the context of her other works. They also feel more...mirrored than other Pulley pairings? Most of her romances seem to thrive on difference. Differences in class, in race, in intellectual standing, in physical strength. And obviously Raphael and Merrick have some of that, but they're also markedly similar in a lot of ways. Even though Merrick doesn't have Raphael's strength, he does have the memory of being a much stronger and healthier man. Both characters have a past of physical violence, and they are both shown to be capable of it in the narrative itself, as with when Raphael shoots the passing traveller and Merrick strangles Martel to death.

Their relationship to disability is also similarly mirrored, because both of them are haunted by old versions of themselves. Raphael is watching himself turn into a markayuq, feeling himself lose time and mobility, knowing that his transformation is impending and inevitable. Merrick also knows that he will never again be the man he was before his leg injury; he has to adjust to it, to work around it and accept that it has changed him. The acceptance of inevitability is a really interesting theme in Bedlam, which feeds all the way through Merrick and Raphael's central friendship. They don't really get the best of anything - they meet under bad circumstances, for less than a month, and they will never have enough time together due to Raphael's condition and a thousand other factors. But that doesn't mean that their friendship isn't worth something, that it isn't immensely precious.

So there's a great deal that I love about Bedlam on a thematic level, but I do think that the actual plotting of the book is quite weak overall. There are lots of isolated scenes that I love, but the connecting tissue is somewhat thin. The middle of the book involves a lot of waiting - waiting for the snow to clear, waiting for Clem to return, waiting for Raphael to tell Merrick the truth and take him beyond the salt line. Merrick does not have a great deal of intentional impact on the narrative, so it does often feel like you're sitting around waiting for the plot to come to him.

That's not to say that the plot needed to be bolder or bigger. It didn't need to focus more on the search for quinine. Honestly, I don't think high-stakes drama is one of Pulley's strengths - her forte is small interpersonal conflicts between select units of characters. In Watchmaker, the conflict and stakes don't really come from the lurking bomb threat or the police investigation - it's about Thaniel struggling with his own desires over the impulse to do the 'right' thing. Grace represents a more conventional path for him - a wife, a house, a future with children, and the money to look after his sister and nephews. But Mori is who he actually wants. And those warring desires come into greater and greater conflict as the story moves from beginning to middle to end. Thaniel's goals are not static.

But in Bedlam, there isn't that same sense of escalating tension and raising stakes. Merrick has his reservations about Raphael and whether he is dangerous, but ultimately, those reservations don't really change the decisions he makes. So much of what happens feels like it was always going to happen, which means that a lot of the tension feels somewhat...inorganic. Intangible. There isn't even the threat of discovery for most of the book, because Raphael knows exactly why Merrick is in Bedlam and Merrick makes no attempt to hide the truth. He keeps quiet about the threat of the army, but even if Raphael had discovered it sooner, it doesn't feel like it would've materially impacted how the story played out.

So it's a hard book for me to articulate my feelings on. The themes and concepts and characters and isolated scenes are excellent, but the story feels - just slightly - like it is less than the sum of its parts. At times, it seems more like a series of episodic events than a narrative, even if those episodic events are still deeply enjoyable.

But the ending is immensely powerful. The melancholy and the joy of it. The simple devotion of Merrick being there when Raphael wakes, 20 years later, with a cup of coffee - which was what Merrick had gone to make when Raphael first went into stasis. It is simultaneously an act of mundanity, and also an act of incredible loyalty and dedication - and love often does shine brightest in those small moments of devotion.

A while ago, I was lamenting that Pulley only ever gives us happy, cosy endings rather than something more tragic and bittersweet, but I don't think I was actually accurate on that. The conclusion of Bedlam is desperately sad, for all its loveliness. Because while Raphael and Merrick are reunited, we can't know how long they will have together. The story denies us that knowledge, that closure, by ending just as Raphael laughs.

I'm so glad I reread it. It is a bit of an odd fish next to all of Pulley's other works, and that makes me appreciate it much more with retrospect. This reread also reminded me, on a more general level, of everything I love about Pulley's writing - the sublime weirdness and the quirky characters and the nonchalance with which she handles speculative elements. For all her flaws as a writer, nobody is doing it like her, and I truly cannot wait for The Mars House.

[system-of-a-feather]

(TW: talk of suicide, not me, just experiences of being on the support end)

So I'm continuing down my training and the part that I'm currently on is reviewing the crisis line phone call methods and talking to individuals on said crisis line and man

Growing up I was basically an on call text crisis line for at least like... six adults, four peers, and like six "by proxy" individuals since the ten that used me as their crisis line sometimes needed me to help them help their peers. As a teen it was something that distracted me, gave me some sense of control, purpose, and belonging in a trauma environment and also - in a codependent / counter dependent sense - made me feel safe in the relationships to be needed by someone. Plus, it kept me alive, because I was "responsible" for keeping so many people alive. If I killed myself, those that I was caring for would inevitably follow shortly after. Its probably the number one reason that despite our huge trauma history and DID and all that stuff, that we have *never* attempted.

(Its also the same reason why I originally started this blog; albeit in a healthier way; I had actually left the website I was involved in that space in because a lot of them were really just being toxic and abusive @ us and I got fed up and found tumblr had a better mediation / boundaries between support provider / mental health discussion and people receiving it; I still needed the niche at the time in my life, but I needed it in a place that was less self destructive)

But I spent a lot of my teenage years dealing and responding to crisis situations chronically and honestly, I have / had really bad survivors guilt from the two that "I failed" and that I still don't know if they are alive, dead, or have gotten better on their own and moved on in life. There was a SHIT ton of trauma I had from that coping mechanism I picked up; most of which I've mostly processed, but suicide has become a topic I'm incredibly accustomed to talking about.

And honestly, there is a lot I could probably say, both about the good and bads that came from it

But honestly, I think one of the most impactful, meaningful, and powerful experiences I've had - the one that really stuck the most with me even among a lot of the trauma that literally haunts me - is the one time when my writing partner had really been backed into a corner and was really set on killing himself and there really was no good response that was honoring to the situation at hand. There really wasn't a silver lining, there really wasn't a point in leveraging our projects, life was really fucking horrible, garbage and not going to get better; large plans that were going to help him went down and I literally could not reasonably get any mood boosters and at a point, it really kind of hit me that the usual routine we had, my 400 suicide response scripts and response patterns just were not working.

And so I just kind of chucked it out and gave up on trying to convince him to not kill himself. It was rational, it was fair, anyone in his situation would be suicidal, hell I would be and it'd be fake for me to try to argue for life - anything that I did would come from a selfish place and thats obvious. And I just kinda went "Okay, I get that, but hey, if you are going to kill yourself anyways, can you do me one favor? If you are going to die anyways, can you humor me and just, leave? Leave home. Nothing worse could happen compared to what you are already planning to do, so please just humor me and leave."

And there really was just a still moment - something we both talk about and reflect upon a lot - where it just clicked in him and he went "okay" and like... literally just left and really hasn't been back since. He went through a lot of shit, but he's grown and improved his life so much, he has good income, owns a house and his own stuff, is back in college, and is honestly getting access to good therapy across the world from his family and of all the thousands of crisis situations I've responded to - including the ones where I "failed" and might have "let someone die" - I really find that one conversation is the one that *really* sticks with me the most

I think out of all the moments in my life, I think that one in particular gave me a lot of insight into how much just being the right person at the right time saying the right thing can really make this large and huge change in the world and honestly that when it comes to people in active suicide, there are a LOT of practices, safety procedures, tactics and routines you can do to make sure someone is safe, de-escalate, and convince someone to live a bit longer; but sometimes honest to god, trying to do that really can just push the issue down until later and invalidate / undermine an individuals autonomy and understanding of their situation which can help somewhat I guess in the short run, but that autonomy and respect for an individual to weigh out that ambivalence they make when they stop their plan to actually like... reach out for support, it's pretty important to respect and understand that people don't feel suicidal for no reason and to just ignore the completely valid reasons is not necessarily in best practice.

And I was going to hesitate in saying "best practice" because that phrase Means Things, but I am literally just going through evidence based best practice training for Crisis Professionals and I can say that it really isn't best practice.

I dunno, I'm writing a bit of a reflection and taking a break from the training (encouraged) since it was a bit personal but like.... I really honestly also think an important take away is also that like... Being the person responding to a person's crisis is a high stress position to be in and its a lot of emotional labor on the person responding

But even then, being the person responding to it can be immensely impactful and meaningful and rewarding to the individual responding and people that are there, voluntarily, on their own accord, and actively wanting to help and be an open ear, are doing so because its something that works for them and something that helps them / does them good.

I have taken on trauma, survivors guilt, and what not from my role in this, but genuinely, I still enjoy being able to be in that position for the people I care about and even in a professional sense. It's easy to feel like a burden when you are throwing these heavy topics at someone, but there are people that actively want to and ENJOY being able to be there for you and to have these conversations.

These sorts of experiences have given me a lot of insight into myself, others, and the world that have become really foundational to some of the traits and values about myself that I love and respect the most. I regret none of them and I don't think any of them were a "burden" to me.

Consent and all is obviously important and thats the large caveat, but genuinely, let people who want to be there for you be there for you. Its can be life changing for both of you. It can be life saving for the both of you.

[misccy27]

I want to talk about something that happens in Thanks to Them that has been haunting me lately.

Nobody wants to talk about it (and I know why and I'll get to that) but I want to talk about it anyway so just here me out.

I like the fact that Hunter locks Flapjack up in Thanks to Them.

I don't mean that I like that he does it. I just mean that I like that it happened.

Because Hunter was so, so brainwashed before Hollow Mind. It's hard to remember sometimes because of how much he changes after Hollow Mind, but.

Hunter was extremely isolated growing up. He was raised in a cult by the manipulative sadist his life was centered around. That is going to have some lingering effects.

Hunter is very good at adapting to changes in his environment and mirroring the behaviors of those around him. But no matter how good his intentions are and how much he's trying, it just isn't possible for him to unlearn his entire belief system overnight. Like, that was his entire life.

And it's one thing to learn that Belos is and always has been evil. But it's an entirely separate task to then have to go through any given belief that he grew up with and internalized, recognize the problem(s) with that belief, and replace it with something healthier. And that's essentially all of his beliefs that he has to do this with.

And he is doing it! Hunter is doing a great job. But it's going to be a patchwork process of observing his friends' behaviors and the healthier relationships adults are modeling for him. (This is one thing that therapy could help with; consciously recognizing and addressing problematic beliefs before he inadvertently acts on them).

But some things just won't come up, at least not within the first few months.

Which brings me back to the scene in Thanks to Them.

It gets to me so much. Because it is one of the very few less sympathetic ways that the show allows Hunter's lingering abuse symptoms to manifest. But they included it, and there are so many things that could be said about it. For example:

It has parallels to Any Sport in a Storm,

where Hunter locks up his friends because he wants them to join the Emperor's Coven.

It also has parallels to Eclipse Lake,

where Belos tries to keep Hunter isolated in the castle with the excuse of keeping him safe.

There are other things that could be discussed. Other things that I desperately wanted to see with this scene. For example, I really wanted one of Hunter's friends to see this happening and to tell Hunter, hey, this isn't okay. Because Hunter is very stubborn pre-HM, but HM really rips the rug out from under him on everything, so I just want to see how he reacts to people he now trusts telling him that he's doing something wrong. Would he defer to them immediately? Does he have trouble trusting his own judgment now? Would he feel guilty about doing something bad? Would he feel worse about not knowing that it was bad when he did it?

But we'll never know, because no one catches Hunter doing this. We also don't get to see Flapjack getting out of the cage. I'm assuming Hunter is the one who let Flapjack out after him and Luz don't find any evidence of Belos, but we don't actually see him make that decision. Flapjack is just... not in the cage a few scenes later.

Which means that this scene serves no function in the plot. It doesn't actually change the way things play out. It is only here to inform us that, yes, Hunter does indeed still have some concerning misconceptions about the way the world works and how he should treat his loved ones.

Which, fine. Great. I understand the Shortening, I get it, I will happily take my crumbs. Except:

The narrative proves Hunter right.

And that, I'm guessing, is the reason that no one likes to talk about this scene.

Because Flapjack is brutally murdered like 20 minutes after this scene takes place.

He is murdered by Belos using Hunter's own hand. It is just. The worst-case scenario.

So the order of events is: Hunter locks Flapjack up, and he thinks he is doing the right thing because he is doing it to keep Flapjack safe. Flapjack is then out of the cage just in time to be murdered.

And again, this scene could have been removed entirely without affecting the plot at all. But since it did stay in, with the events playing out the way that they did, what actually happens is that the narrative reinforces Hunter's problematic behavior. You were right, Hunter! Guess you should have locked that cage up tighter, you sad child!

So, yeah, I do love the scene for confirming that Hunter didn't just instantaneously unlearn everything. But I hate it in the context of the narrative. And if it were up to me, I would have kept this scene in and removed the plot of Flapjack getting murdered, for a variety of reasons. But that's a different topic.

Anyway, I don't expect this scene to become relevant again in the finale. I think it's just another dropped thread. But if it does come up again, then at this point I will accept nothing less than a frame-by-frame recreation of Zuko locking up Mai in the Boiling Rock but with huntlow. No one calls him out on it, the narrative reinforces it, it is actually a good thing this time because Hunter's now a ✨hero✨

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Power Armor Punch Part Forty Six

Nick: *smiles at her singing*

Jasmine: (Scrunches her hair over the sink after washing to remove any extra water and to give bounce to her locks) “Any little single dingle that sets the tone’s a tingle. Is welcome when you mingle. In any single song….” (Starts working on cleaning herself, the icy cold water soothing her fever but stinging her cuts. She mostly keeps her eyes shut, she can’t stand the sight of herself) “Keep a little song handy, wherever you go. And nothing can ever go, Boop-Doopy-Doopy-Doo! Boop-Oopy-Doo! Bop!” (Again hits the final notes perfectly as she pats down her face to finish off and brushes her teeth. Now comes the task she’s been dreading and putting off…)

Nick: *found himself tapping his feet to the tune with a smile. He doesn’t think she’s sung in quite a while, but he does enjoy hearing her sing* You sounded good!

Jasmine: (Blinks slowly as she tries to process the compliment he gave her, starting off with registering it as genuine first. He’s her Dad, of course he means it) “Thank you…” (Debates herself for a moment about asking for help, her hand picking at her wrists nervously while she stares at her reflection. It’s not good that keeps needing assistance, what if she gets separated from Nick? Will her survival instincts be strong enough that she can push past the trauma? It’s done an okay job so far…)

Nick: *senses she’s hesitating on asking* I know I won’t always be there to help you, but I’m here now. If you need assistance, just say so.

Jasmine: (Glance back, sighing to herself when she sees the little drops of blood she already drew. Even if she doesn’t want help, she’s hurting herself so she has to ask) (Quietly) “Can you help me please, Dad?” (Turns to the mirror, staring at her reflection with slight disgust as she toys with her hair to keep her hands busy. She just wants to get out of here already…)

Nick: Sure thing. *walks in and pulls down a rag and dowses it with antiseptic. He takes an arm starts dabbing the infected cuts with the rag carefully while humming “The Gambler” softly*

Jasmine: (Tilts her head at herself, sucking in a pained breath at the stinging while she closely examines her own face. She rarely lets herself get a good look in the mirror, so her own face sometimes surprises/scares her. She’s less pale and hollow than last time she checked, her eyes are brighter and not so sunken in. Her lips aren’t discolored and cracked, her cheeks have the slight rosy blush back to them. She still has the signs of malnutrition, she can see it on her ribs and sides the most)

Nick: *rinses out the rag and resaturates it for another pass on the arm he’s working on* I wonder if that salve Teshteal has will help with this…

Jasmine: (Overall she thinks she looks healthier than she did before she met Nick, her appearance no longer resembles a haunted doll as much as it did. Yeah she’s covered in cuts and bruises, and the stitches are still visible, but the wounds are well cared for and healing, unlike the terribly neglected ones she always had. Still, she hates her own reflection and would rather not stare at it for too long, so she looks away)

Nick: Too bad he’s not here with it-

Teshteal: *from the hall, sniffing. Sounds concerned* I smell infection…

Nick: *immediately standing in front of Jas to protect her, arms spread out* When did you- wait- why are you sopping wet?

Teshteal: *gets on all fours and shakes himself dry like a dog* I swam in the water treatment area. Not the cleanest place, but I guess that’s why they have a giant water purifier in it. *pulls out the Salve and hands it to Nick* I’m guessing you’re going to need this.

Nick: *takes it* Thank you-

Teshteal: *already looking around the room, checking everything out but the bathroom* This is a rather big place for an Agency.

Nick: It’s a big vault.

Teshteal: That it is… *goes upstairs to the loft and the office area*

Jasmine: (Yelps when Teshteal suddenly appears, protectively shielding herself with her arms and making herself small behind Nick while her heart pounds and her head screams. She hates being snuck up on, even worse when she’s only in boy shorts and a sports bra which makes her feel incredibly vulnerable. Doesn’t help that she’s still woozy and confused from earlier)

Nick: *turns to Jas again when he’s gone upstairs. Softly* I think he’s just exploring the place, kiddo. Now let’s get those cuts disinfected. *opens the jar and starts gently applying salve to her arm, then starts the cleaning process all over again on the other arm*

Jasmine: (Whimpers at how much it stings, it hurting more than it should. Her senses on everything are just everywhere at the moment, probably due to her chem addiction. Things are either too much or too little, no comfortable or balanced in-between. She grabs onto Nicks coat with her free hand for comfort, staring at him with teary childlike eyes)

Nick: *gentle smile as he carefully gives her other arm a second pass with the antiseptic and adds the salve. Next is the wounds on her sides, but he takes the time to wrap her arms first, making sure that they’re well bandaged. He starts humming “We’ll Meet Again” by Vera Lynn softly to help her feel a little more at ease*

Jasmine: (It’s been a long damn time since someone has been so tender and gentle with her as Nick has been for the past few days, it’s adding to her tears. It’s also adding fuel to the “you don’t deserve kindness” and “you’re a monsters” voices, but she can shove them away for now to enjoy his singing. She does her best to stay still, but she flinches and cries out whenever it stings, clutching her Dads coat tighter)

Nick: *he grabs a fresh rag and slowly gets on his knees to get a better look at the wounds on her sides. He decides to double of up on the antiseptic and salve there. He keeps humming sweetly to her, being extra careful not to apply too much antiseptic at once*

Jasmine: (Leans on the sink with her arms propped behind her to help keep herself still and so they aren’t in Nicks way. She closes her eyes as some tears go down her cheeks, trusting him completely to touch her when she’d normally push back like how she did with Ellie. It’s breaks her programming, but she doesn’t care in his case) (Quietly) “It hurts….”

Nick: *hushed apologetically* I know… I know… *does a couple more passes*

Jasmine: (Squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can, gripping the sink until her knuckles go white and she lets go) (Signing) “Not sure it’s suppose to hurt so much. Is the infection bad, or am I just stupid?”

Nick: *grimly* Considering some of the pus has flecks of black in it, yes. I’d say so. *another pass after dousing the rag again. That’s the third one* I’m sorry, doll. I shoulda caught this sooner and now look at ya… burning up with a fever. *heavy disappointed sigh at himself as he dabs the last pass of antiseptic before going to the other set of cuts with the freshly soaked rag*

Jasmine: (Shakes her head when she hears that) (Signing) “I made the cuts with a dirty knife, I didn’t clean them properly, I didn’t check them for an infection later… I took chems that weakens my immune system. It’s my fault, not yours.” (Wipes her forehead that’s getting sweaty again, feeling dizzy again. She’s half tempted to run the cold water over herself again)

Nick: *frowns at that as he makes another pass* I’m supposed to look out for you. That’s what parents are supposed to do for their kids- make sure they’re safe. *hand trembles with slight frustration at himself as he makes the third pass* I haven’t been doing a good job as of late.

Jasmine: (Just kinda blinks with confusion, leaning back on the sink to keep herself up) (Softly) “I think you’re doing wonderful. You’re still here with me, right? You aren’t leaving me alone….” (Looks down at her feet with a whimper, remembering what happened back at her house, and when she was born. It’s making her head hurt even more and her heart beat faster)

Nick: Yes. That’s true, but that’s the bare minimum any parent can do. *final pass and then the salve* I want to make sure you’re safe. You’re healthy. *as he starts wrapping the bandages around her midsection* You’re loved and cared for…

Jasmine: (Blinks slowly when she hears that, malfunctioning due to her programming telling her that she deserves the complete opposite, yet she knows Nick will never lie to her about that so that fights against her programming)

Nick: *goes back to quietly bandaging her and soon finishes it up, standing up and helping her put back on her clothes*

Jasmine: (Is still burning with her fever, but she likes to be covered up as much as possible unless she has a blanket over herself. She removes her hands from the sink and turns around, catching her dreaded reflection in the mirror and she freezes in place. She just stares for a long time with wide eyes, eventually turning to hide her face in Nicks coat) (Quietly mumbling) “I don’t like her.” (Points accusingly to her reflection like she’s pointing out a bully to Nick on the playground)

Nick: *catches his reflection as well and smirks before glancing down at her* That’s okay, doll… don’t much like the looks of the other guy, either. Let’s just ignore them both and head to bed, hmm? *starts leading her out of the bathroom so she won’t see herself in the mirror anymore*

Jasmine: (Clings to him as they leave the bathroom, trembling while she walks with her steps misaligned) “I do not want to go back to bed.”

Nick: *stops, softly with concern* Why is that, Rosie?

Jasmine: (Looks down at her feet, wondering to herself if she should tell him about the phantom pain that’s adding to her fear of sitting around, especially in a bed. But that would only worry him more, and he can’t do anything about it) (Quietly) “I never like going to bed.”

Nick: Would it help if I’m there with you…? And if you changed into something lighter?

Jasmine: (Toys with some of her curls that are over her shoulders, giving a hesitant nod. Dad being nearby always gives her a sense of security, but she does worry that he’ll sense something is wrong other than what is established, if he hadn’t picked up on it already. And as much as she hates wearing light clothes, he’ll be there to protect her from harm)

Nick: Alright then. *pats and rubs her shoulder as he leads her back to bed* Lets get some rest…

Jasmine: (Follows along while holding his arm, trying to only think of putting one foot ahead of the other)

Nick: *very carefully and slowly walking down the stairs with her so she doesn’t fall* That’s it… nice and slow, kiddo.

Jasmine: (Her knees feel weak and shes sore from the phantom pain but she keeps upright the entire way there)

Nick: Now let’s get you changed. *helps her out of the layers of hot stuffy clothes and into her much lighter and cooler dress*

Jasmine: (Breathes a sigh of relief when the coolness of the air hits her skin. Her dress is a soft pink one she found and altered to fit her frame better, its adorable on her)

Nick: Now, doesn’t that feel better…?

Jasmine: (Runs her hands over the poodle patterned skirt piece, giving him a nod while she tosses her hair back)

Nick: *smiles warmly at his little girl* You look absolutely adorable, Rosie. *sighs* But it’s time to go to bed- rest off that fever- *remembers the water he brought her* Before that, you want a sip of water? Might help you feel cooler. *Bends down and picks up the can*

Jasmine: (Stares at the can of water, nodding again after a moment of thinking. She sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching into her bag to pull out Winnie. She holds the stuffed bear close to her face, smiling a little behind it because Nick called her adorable)

Nick: *cracks open the can and hands it to her, happy to see she’s feeling a little better*

Jasmine: (Takes the can and peers inside, slowly sipping it down after taking a deep breath. The coolness of the water helps soothe her body that decided to try and burn itself alive. She shuts her eyes and manages to drink the entire thing without even gagging or coughing)

Nick: *after she downs the whole thing* Doing good. Proud of you, kiddo… *takes the can and sets it aside* Now, time for bed…

Jasmine: (Frowns and looks at the bed she’s sitting on for a long moment, hiding back behind Winnie while shaking her head and crossing her legs. Just sitting on it is making her nervous)

Nick: Come on, Rosie… I promise I won’t let anything get you. *sits next to her* I’ll be right here the entire time you’re asleep.

Jasmine: (Raises her head and stares at her Dad with teary eyes. She sets down Winnie in her lap and holds her arms out to him, grabbing midair like a little child with a whimper)

Nick: *holds her and takes the opportunity to lay down so she has to as well. He grabs Winnie and tucks the bear in her arms for extra comfort*

Jasmine: (Sets Winnie aside, wrapping her arms around her Dad and carefully leans up to kiss his cheek, snuggling close to his chest with her head under his chin while humming a sweet note in content)

Nick: *softly at the kiss* Oh- *smiles warmly at his daughter all snuggled up against him and starts humming that lullaby her mom sang to her*

Jasmine: (Giggles softly and cutely when she hears him hum the precious and familiar lullaby, having faintly heard him hum it a couple of times but she assumed it was part of her dream. She curls up as close as she can to Nick with another sweet hum, closing her eyes as he starts to lull her to sleep)

Nick: *hums it until she’s completely asleep then puts himself into diagnostic mode, just for maintenance this time around*

Jasmine: (Sleeping like a sweet angel child, one could never guess how much of a brutal, tormented killer she could be by looking at her. She just looks like a innocently sweet kid having a rest nestled close with Dad)

Nick: *comes out of diagnostic mode a few hours later and smiles down at the girl just now stirring awake in his arms* How are you feeling now, kitten?

Jasmine: (Yawns cutely, almost exactly like how a little kitten does. She blinks the sleep from her eyes, humming to respond as she cuddles closer)

Nick: *huffs sweetly and rubs her back* Take all the time you need to rest, sweetheart.

Jasmine: (Takes in a deep breath while she just lets herself get wrapped into the sweet safety of the moment)

Nick: *hums softly, holding her close* Love ya, kiddo.

Jasmine: (Pulls back for a moment to beam up at him with sparkling eyes and a gentle, beautiful smile) “I love you too, Daddy.” (Returns to nestling close to Nick with Winnie in between them, tightening her hug on him as she closes her eyes to allow herself to enjoy this cuddle time)

Nick: *can’t help but smile proudly at her. Can’t understand how anyone could hurt someone as sweet as her*

Teshteal: *laying on his back on the couch upstairs in the main agency area, clutching his sloth as he thinks about life and the people he never got to know…*

Jasmine: (Let’s a few peaceful minutes skip by with her head pressed against Nicks chest before she opens her eyes and blinks. She shuffles ever so slightly so she’s still cuddled snuggly against him, but can now see his face and he can see her sparkling childlike eyes) (Quietly) “What now…?”

Nick: Well that depends on you, doll. *concerned frown* How’s your fever? Do you feel well rested? *small comforting smile* Or do you just want to cuddle with your dear old detective dad some more? *light but sincere chuckle*

Jasmine: (Blinks at him while she thinks it over, then giggles and leans up to kiss her Dads cheek again with a warmhearted smile, cozying up to his comforting embrace with her head buried in his coat and her arms clutching him tighter)

Nick: *chuckles again at the sign of affection. He takes a moment to appreciate such a warm smile from her, especially after all she’s been through. Softly* Absolutely adorable…

Teshteal: *regretting not getting the others out of there. Badly. Wonders if anybody made it out*

Jasmine: (Giggles cutely again when she hears him say that, taking in a deep breath while she listens to the familiar sound of his inner machinery whirl and hum. The pain is all muffled out by the tenderness of this moment, a better blissful relief than the Chems can bring her)

Nick: *his inner workings move like clockwork, pistons clicking in time with his coolant pump gurgling as it pumps fluid through his pipes*

Teshteal: *If anyone did make it out, he hopes they got as lucky as Jas… he blinks slowly at the ceiling. Whispers softly* Please be okay… we can’t be the only two from the vault…

Jasmine: (Closes her eyes so she can focus better, her arms moving up to wrap around Nicks neck and shoulders while she hides in the crook of his neck. She doesn’t want to leave or move, although she has to at some point or another)

Nick: *not in a rush… there’s a steady hum of electricity and the subtle shifting and clicking of magnetic platters one can only hear when they’re this close to him. Sounds just like an old terminal, one cooled by water and fans*

Teshteal: *hopes they eventually found someone like Nick- to pull them out of the nightmares, the torment, the fear and anguish that place plunged them into*

Jasmine: (Hums a sweet note of content and opens her eyes, noticing the wiring in his neck and the missing patches of frayed synthetic skin he has. She honestly forgets that her Dad a synth sometimes, not that it ever mattered to her or ever will matter)

Nick: *if she looks close enough she can see where Ellie soldered in the wires from the fight near Diamond City. Sarcastically* Admiring the Great Green Jewel’s handiwork? *referring to the damage in his casing and skin*

Jasmine: (Raises her head and blinks with confusion, her head tilting to one side like a curious kitten who doesn’t understand)

Nick: *tilts his head up* Some of this damage came from being Diamond City’s handyman before the detective work. *soft smile*

Lucille: *helping Curie with patients*

Curie: So will you be leaving again soon?

Lucille: I don’t know… I just might stay.

Curie: Oh?

Lucille: … *looks away*

Curie: *concerned frown*

Jasmine: (Slowly blinks at the wear and tear on her Dads casing, then glances at her bandaged arms in comparison. As of right now, she’s covered in cuts and blemishes, but soon those will all fade until her skin is smooth and flawless. Not like Nick, once he gets damaged he has to physically repair himself or just let it be, and she’s not even like other people. Most would get horrible scars from all she went through, yet she doesn’t have a single marking from before now)

Nick: You don’t get to live 150 years without accruing one or two scars, I guess.

Lucille: Let’s just say Nick and Jas would be better off if I wasn’t there to drag them down…

Jasmine: (Gestures over herself with her hand) (Quietly) “I do not have a single scar, I’m over two hundred years old. Even when I was really young, I never got scarring from playing outside.”

@lucilleandherrobots

[trinitywc]

On chapter 15 of Endless Winter currently, and loving every moment of it but the lead up to some projects and finals is gonna gear up within the next week so I won't be able to finish as fast as I would like to. Given that, I wanted to verbally dog ear my place & jot down some thoughts before they escaped me (particularly my appreciation for the way you portray character dynamics and the nuance you provide that I could sit and stew on for hours).

I've been enjoying Rutherford and Pinefrost's interactions a great deal. I get the feeling he loves infodumping about his interests, and particularly likes how good a listener, as well as perceptive, that Pinefrost is. She's sharp in more ways than one! and I also particularly adore the way Pinefrost often uses his explanations and points when he is explaining things to her as an anchor for her wandering mind during the present in a way that doesn't make her feel as though she's out of the loop or excluded unlike past scenes when the gang is discussing whether to stay or leave the domicile. Those two bounce off one another so well, and in such a way that it makes it so apparent how isolated Pinefrost has been even amongst her surviving group, and even before that when Creek Clan was still intact. Her loneliness has been really keen in previous chapters, and it's nice to see her feeling like she has a companion that shows her just as many new things as she can with honing Rutherford different skills.

That being said, while I really enjoy Rutherford, I don't know if I trust him fully. He's been dependable and a great source of support for the group, but I can't help wondering about his intentions. Perhaps he just wants company! But it strikes me as odd that he's giving away resources when he was so skeptical of Pinefrost giving Sedgenose her fresh kill, and is directing them all out of the city purely out of the goodness of his heart and during the thick of winter, no less. It makes me wonder to what end he plans to act as a tag along with the group, and not to mention he'd have to make the entire trip back to the city by himself once they get to the river! He seems like too much of an intellectual city slicker to want to rough it with the gang when/if they reunite with the clans... clan??? (Creekwood consolidation with the survivors perhapseth???) Surely he's not doing all this JUST because he met our intriguing mule headed protagonist, could he?

Crackpot theory but maybe he's not leading them to where he say he is- but then again he hasn't lied even with the explanation of the atom to Pinefrost. Crackpot theory #2, he seems to have observed Pinefrost's reluctance to leave, and her feelings of insecurity that she confided over what they have the possibility to come back to with the clans and I have to wonder if he'll use that to either isolate her (unhealthy option) or encourage her (healthier alternative!!!) to stay with him instead. The summary certainly implies so! Crackpot theory #3 combination of both #1 & #2.

Then a random comment and some purely satirical jokes that are essentially nonsense, feel free to skip;

"She had one option, and that was through. Through the winter, through the atom."

SO INCREDIBLY METAL, LOVE THIS. HAUNTING, GUT WRENCHING, TRAGIC IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE- A CAR CRASH YOU CAN'T AVOID OR REDIRECT. So much of ch 11 in particular to be honest! Rutherford's entire explanation left me with dreams. I left it waking up and checking my little kitty cat's nose for black ash.

Pinefrost: Oh yeah we knew this would happen, sedgefrost had a vision from star clan that the great light would take us out :/

Rutherford: the FUCK? the HUH?

Everytime Sedgenose or Woolycloud have an interaction with Pinefrost, I'm that one twitter reaction video, "-and she's the mother, she's mother earth, she is mother gaia, she is YOUR mother 👁👄👁"

I AM ON THE FUVKING FLOOR WITH THOSE MEMES THATS SO FUCKING FUNNY

Good luck with your exams!!!

"I get the feeling he loves infodumping about his interests, and particularly likes how good a listener, as well as perceptive, that Pinefrost is" - It’s kinda shown but Rutherford starts talking to Sedge and Wooly first before diverting to Pinefrost, he couldn’t get the same conversation about the world and atom and stuff from them; they really just click. If they had a glass porch table and a bottle of wine they’d talk for hours and hours. They are both very curious cats, for better or worse.

"Those two bounce off one another so well, and in such a way that it makes it so apparent how isolated Pinefrost has been even amongst her surviving group, and even before that when Creek Clan was still intact" - they do have such good chemistry imho. I wanted Rutherford to be a friend for Pinefrost, genuinely. She is a very lonely little cat. As is he, they are both on each others level, she is able to understand his city/atom terms where other cats cannot, and he is eager to learn more about the world outside the city. Pinefrost needs that understanding/knowledge of the world to feel more secure, and Rutherford gives it her in spades.

"it strikes me as odd that he's giving away resources when he was so skeptical of Pinefrost giving Sedgenose her fresh kill, and is directing them all out of the city purely out of the goodness of his heart" -everything is a means to an end ;) As for your theories… i love em both. I love getting people’s midway theories!

There is no way but through!!!

[sidhewrites]

Chapter 8! Kind of! Flailing in the general direction of a narrative and excessive use of brackets to move the action along!

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The second Josie sees Renfield, she cries out in relief and pulls him close to her chest, peppering his fat head with kisses. "Thank you, Kaz. [I was so worried]." Now that she's got her cat back, Josie can focus on other concerns. Her gaze drifts over to the circle of light where a valiant effort to get a modicum of work done after all the chaos.

"Josie...?" I warn, but there's not much heart behind it. After nearly losing Renfield, it's hard not to want to give her something nice. Maybe she could at least say hello. I look over my shoulder and sigh. "Be cool. Okay?"

"So cool. I'm very cool."

"I believe you." I don't believe her.

"Do you...?"

She pauses, looking down at Renfield in her arms. He's happy as can be, face buried in the crook of her elbow. I know Josie wants to take him to the vet to get looked at, and she'd be right to, but the risk of missing out on meeting the archivists. It's such a small thing, but I can still see it weighing on her.

I don't want to make her make a hard decision, not after tonight. "Listen, come by tomorrow. They're probably going to be pissed at me in the daylight and want to talk to Mr. Ngo about things. Might as well have you stop by too. Yeah?"

She hesitates before nodding, and despite her exhaustion, there's a distinct glimmer in her eye. "Sounds good."

"Let me know what the vet says?"

"Will do." Josie looks down at Renfield and sighs. "Thank you, Kaz."

"Sure thing. I'm glad we found him."

Josie heads off, and I turn back to the team, plastering my best customer service smile on my face, and get ready to grovel once more.

#

[Kaz checks in with josie in the mormning, renfield is fine and seems healthier than he was in his last visit which is wild. But he's behaving oddly, hiding under tables, and refusing to be pet. So she's gonna keep an eye on him and keep in touch with the vet.

She also talks with the haunted archivists, gets permission to use the video with the cat in it, etc. she gets a selfie with them and ts delightful.]

Josie looks like she barely slept, but the fear and tension is mostly gone from her shoulders.

"Good news, then?" I ask, and she makes a face. I try again: "Bad...news?"

"Weird news."

"Tell me."

Josie pulled out her phone in search of the after-visit summary. "The vet says he's in perfect health."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"As in, perfect health. No bladder infections, no kitty arthritis. Nothing. Even his breathing seem to be doing better."

"Definitely weird news, then." Renfield was a smush - faced cat. He'd been examined back when Josie first took him in the day she found him in the trash, and the vet said he'd likely suffer some issues in his old age. Sure enough, he'd slowly started to huff and sneeze and wheeze a bit as the years went by, though it was a mix of issues that lead to him being less active and more determined to fall asleep in your lap and drool on your pant leg.

"So..."

"I don't know. I scheduled a follow up at the end of the week with his usual vet, and we'll see. But here, look. See? He's totally fine." She flipped the phone around to show me a video of Renfield noisily chowing down on his breakfast.

"Aww, look at him." I cooed. "A little scrungus man."

"Be nice," Josie whined, even as she moved on to the next video of him scratching at his cat tree.

"An old scrunkly bungus."

"No, he's a sweet baby!"

I fully intended to continue insulting her stinky baby boy but the front door swung open again. "Hang on just a second," I said to Josie, then leaned back in the chair to call out the office door, "I'll be with you in a second!"

A familiar voice answered, "No need."

Ah. The Archivists were back. I felt my whole body cringe, hoping against hope they hadn't reported last night's chaos to Mr. Ngo. A quick glance to Josie told me that she matched my dread with her own levels of excitement. "Be cool," I hissed.

"So cool." She nodded aggressively.

Neither of us were capable of being cool. I was fully prepared for another round of groveling and apologizing until Lourdes poked her head in the door with the biggest smile on her face.

"Morning!" She chirped, and waltzed in, followed by Mick and Maddie. I would have questioned their energy levels after last night were they not all sporting cups of coffee from a local cafe. I had similarly loaded up on caffeine before work and had a backup cup ready to go under the office's coffee machine.

"Morning...?"

"Sup." Josie crossed her arms and leaned against the desk, which would have been perfectly casually if she also wasn't visibly restraining herself from fangirling over both Archivists and their manager standing less than five feet away. She does not miss the dubious glance I shoot her way, but manages to say nothing.

"So the three of us were talking last night," Maddie begins, glancing down at notes on her phone.

"Look, I'm sorry. I swear that one wasn't planned. Josie's cat never runs like that, and he--"

"We'd like to use it in the video."

"What?"

Maddie gives me a look that seems to say keep up, we're talking business here! "It's great content. The team's in the middle of a successful [seance? what's the word] and in comes a cat. I think the audience would be disappointed if we don't do a little Q&A with him, too. You know, just as a little bonus."

I glanced to the side. Josie's practically steaming with the effort of keeping her calm. Frankly, I'm more than a little impressed. "I mean, you'd have to ask his owner, right?"

"Of course, yeah," Maddie says, and the team nods in agreement.

"No, I mean... the owner...?" I gesture to Josie.

She waves.

"Oh -- oh, hey, cool! Hi, I'm Maddie." She reached out to shake Josie's hand, and gestured to the other two. "I don't know if you know us...? This --"

"Mick and Lourdes, Haunted Archivists. I know you guys. Um -- that is, I've seen your show, and --"

I kick Josie lightly, and she clears her throat, getting a hold of herself.

"Yep, yeah. So cool. Um, yeah, that was my cat Renfield that you... want to use in the video, apparently?"

[They greet Josie and talk and of course she's excited.]

She talks about some of the local legends, and points them in the direction of the librarian

Tag list:

@adaughterofathena

@ambreeskyewriting

@carnelianflames

@feather-dancer

@halfbloodlycan

@nadunacreates

@serenanymph

@vigilantdesert

[overlyimmersed]

Fireworks

Maranwe had saved Helbram from dying at the hand of their best friend, and by some miraculous force he'd even been healed. But shortly after the healing light had washed over the capital Helbram had collapsed again. Nervous about being vulnerable in a human settlement, Maranwe hid Helbram in a tree hollow in some nearby woods.

Maranwe jumps and gives a squeaky yelp as the sound of an explosion shatters the evening quiet. Though her initial reaction had been to tuck into a ball, she quickly recovers and rushes to the hollow's entrance intent on putting herself between danger and her barely conscious friend.

Though when she gets there, she gasps and freezes, completely stunned by what she sees.

Colors.

Colored lights in the sky like rainbow lightning, bathing everything in sight in brilliant hues with each explosion.

"Wow… What…" she breathes to herself.

"Fireworks." a weak answer comes from behind her, causing her to start a little and look over her shoulder. It hadn't come to mind that the explosions would have woken Helbram.

"Fireworks." she parrots. An old familiar response that makes his chest feel warm. "That's fireworks!?" she says in realization, before whipping her head back around to watch them. "I've heard of them, heard the explosions before but I've never…seen them…"

He stares at her for a long second, watching the fireworks intermittently color the edges of her silhouette. How do you hear fireworks but never see them… That confusion mixes with a hazy memory from the other day. She'd been…doing something… he can't really recall what it was, but she was looking after him somehow that made her arms close to his face. He noticed lines on her upper forearms. Scars, he's sure. But he hadn't had the presence of mind to question them at the time… And of course there's the holes in her wings that she refuses to explain.

"Where…" he starts slow, as much from wanting to be careful as from his general lethargy, "Where were you all this time…?"

She doesn't answer right away, but he can tell from the twitch in her wings that she heard him. After a moment's silence she turns completely around a face him, a less than convincing smile plastered on her face, and rocks on her heals before walking back to his side.

"Oh, don't worry about that right now," she says gently as she settles down on the floor next to him and brushes a strand of hair from his face. "you should focus on feeling better." she's clearly dodging the question, but it's not exactly untrue. As another round of fireworks burst, the higher contrast of light and shadow doesn't exactly make him look any healthier. Though she's not terribly inclined to complain. There's sort of magical feeling about the way the colors wash over him.

Helbram frowns and draws a breath, meaning to insist, but Maranwe cuts him off.

"Is there a festival? I know that's what fireworks are for…" She turns her head to look out the mouth of the hollow. From down on the floor the sky isn't as visible, but she can still see the forest changing colors.

He notices a slightly haunted look to her otherwise neutral expression… None of these pieces really make any sense together. He really does wish she'd just have a serious conversation with him already.

"Yeah." He answers after a moment, "It should be… Liones' founding festival…"

"Founding festival?" she asks, turning to look at him again. He doesn't answer her right away, so she quickly infers that it must wear him out to talk a lot and tries to figure it out herself. "They're…" information flits quickly through her mind as she searches for a reference point. She finds a vague idea relating to fireworks and the word 'founding', though she automatically wants to follow it with 'fathers' and she doesn't know why. Either way, it gives her her reference point. "…Celebrating the anniversary of…when they settled here?" she asks, a more deliberately questioning tone this time.

Helbram smiles a little and gives a nod. She echoes the movement and returns her attention to the forest. She's not really sure how she feels about that idea. Her gut reaction is the think it's stupid. What a dumb thing to celebrate. Then again… why should there even have to be a reason to celebrate? Festivals are fun… probably. The little girls from the family would always tell her it's fun. And she knows what other kinds of celebrations are like and those are fun...

"Maybe it'd be fun…" the idea just sort of slips from her mouth, barely even audible, like she hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Helbram looks at her face again and sees that same haunted look. Why won't she just tell him what happened… Moving isn't easy right now. The last few days he's hardly felt like he has enough energy to lay still nevermind trying to move on his own. Even so he pours effort into moving his hand, just till it brushes against one of hers. She jumps at the unexpected touch, but upon seeing it isn't a snake or something, she takes his hand securely but much too gently too, and returns to watching to forest.

[genkigratification]

homesickness

It's hard, adjusting.

Photography becomes a hobby shared among the five of them, physical memories no one can mess with or take away, and though Hunter's a little more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it... Luz thinks he'll probably be okay. Gus's flawed knowledge of the human world makes things fun anyway, and the first time the four of them see an opossum she's glad her phone still worked after all it'd gone through.

If only Eda could see it too.

But like most regrets that haunt her mind in the dead of night when no one else is awake and Luz finds herself looking at the moon, it comes and goes as there's so much to teach her friends. The differences in cuisine, human customs and mannerisms (which admittedly she isn't like, super good at herself, she's at least better than a bunch of witches from another world?), and more than anything: technology.

Which is why photography was so nice, a little slice of analog normalcy in an otherwise totally digital and fast-paced world.

"I still don't get it," Amity says as she flips the polaroid camera in her hands. "How does it develop the memories-- the photographs inside it?"

Gus lets out a groan and rolls back on the bench, Willow catching his hood before it falls. "Like! I! Said! There's gotta be a miniature red room with tubs of memory juice inside, how else would they get done so fast?"

"Yeaaah, that definitely isn't it," Luz replies, and when demanded for an answer of how then she just shrugs. Never thought of it before, wasn't gonna start.

"The human world has its own kind of magic, I guess." Willow replies, and Hunter flips through one of the comic books Luz had bought for them to better explain the level of technology that had soon become their norm. "Maybe that's why Luz could adapt to ours so naturally."

"In that case," the blond boy pipes up beside her, "we shouldn't have a problem either. Human magic'll be a walk in the park."

Which seems to be a common thought with all of them, though Luz'd beg to differ after seeing them deal with basic traffic laws. Witch versus car, witch wins. At the cost of a car. And running from a new set of laws. And getting in trouble with Mami.

The last point was the worst, after everything Luz had put her through.

"You'll get used to it," Vee had told the new kids. "This world's way better than the Boiling Isles, but I'm kind of biased since I don't wanna go back at all."

Of all of them, Hunter understands this best (what else does he have there? nothing, not even a real identity) but... he keeps it to himself, ashamed of being part of the people who'd hurt Vee in the first place. Luz knows more than anyone else what they share, even if it's unknown to the group at large and even Vee herself, and decides that Hunter deserves to get hooked on something healthier than wallowing in guilt over something he never did. Like making daisy chains or knowing niche, nigh-unintelligible trivia about various comic books and anime.

The group always gets their revenge on her too though, headed by her awesome beautiful totally cool and endearingly dork girlfriend with Willow and Gus at her side, because--

Well, in their words, Luz has a bad habit of putting other people over herself. Which she totally doesn't agree with buuuut will never say no to them trying their best to adapt to the human world in their own ways, even if their ice cream flavor combinations could use some serious work and less experimentation.

If only Eda could see this, too.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Tender Ch. 1 - Loki x Mute! Reader

Summary: Even though Loki doesn’t understand why the new member of the Avengers should be kind to him of all people, he doesn’t want you to stop either.

Warnings: Loki being depressed, the Avengers being kinda mean, mentions of Torture and Death

Words: ~2100

[Story Masterlist] [All of my Works]

All eyes were on him again.

As soon as Loki would step inside, the previously lively room would fall completely silent. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t used to being the involuntary kill-joy...

Usually, the God of Mischief craved attention, may it be positive or negative - most of the time being the latter. But lately, after months of having all those distrustful and hostile glares piercing holes into him, he’d rather wish for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Umm, so...I gotta go.” Natasha was the first one to flee the unpleasant atmosphere, not even putting the energy into mutter anything else than a cheap excuse on her way out. Clint wordlessly followed her close after, but not without shooting the Odinson one last, spiteful look.

Loki on the other hand was picking on his hands, a nervous habit he had inherited from his mother. As much as he tried to avoid meeting their eyes, the tensioned aura they were emitting making him feel close to breaking down completely - but he would never give them the satisfaction to witness this, he swore to himself.

And yet: Maybe he should just leave. Disappear, forever.

Although he’d never admit, Loki had grown very tired of his life following this stirr path, unable to diverge into a new direction. Everything he did would ultimately bring death and destruction upon mankind, inflicting fear in the hearts of all people.

His whole existence was based on being condemned to fail - just for others to reach their ‘glorius purpose’.

“Great” Tony scoffed. “Now they’re gone. Well done, prince of nothing.” Steve cut his friend off, clearing his throat very exaggeratedly.

The god still hadn’t moved from the doorframe of the conference room, while all others were already sitting on the oval-shaped table. He didn’t got what all that fuss was about. If Steve didn’t insist him to attend this emergency meeting, he’d just have gone about his usual business and avoided everyone as good as he could.

“C’mon, brother” Thor sighed, well knowing that if his brother was to stay in the team, it would ultimatively drive a wedge between them. All that pressure in the air was straining for everyone, including himself. 

Tony on the other hand was pretty chill about everything, aside of being passive-aggressive. This was probably due to their similar coping styles.

Even though his near-death-experience back when he stopped the Chitauri was still eating on his mental health, he’d prefer glossing over it with stupid jokes and overly confident behaviour. “No sassy remark today, Reindeer Games?”

Stark was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as he rose an eyebrow on the god, who only muttered a hoarse “No...not today.”

Yeah, it was kind of his style to break the unsettling silence through puny comments or self-glorifying speeches, to distract from his own insecurity.

But right now, he was just so damn tired.

Of this planet and it’s people, as well as the humiliating circumstances he had to dwell in. The fact that he was a prisoner at the Stark Tower, amongst his worst enemies. Being forced by his brother to keep up this meaningless act, as if he’d ever be seen as a team member or ally - when in reality, he was but a slave to the people he once ought to reign.

Just like back on Asgard: Never one of them, never belonging. No way to break free - for his true self was something to be loathed.

However, first and foremost the one thing he was especially tired of was himself, for he couldn’t get out of his own skin. Not only could he never be considered a hero, let alone be redeemed.

After all the atrocities he had commited due to Thanos’ torture and the tesseract’s influence,  now that he woke up from that naive dream of power stilling the emptiness in his dark heart, there was nothing left for him - other than to be haunted by his crimes until the mercy of death would overcome him.

“Well” Steve began, slamming his palms on the desk to attract everyone’s attention. “As you all know, we are welcoming a new team member today.”

“They all know?” Of course they wouldn’t let him in on such sensitive information. Not that he minded either way - one Avenger more or less, it didn’t matter how many people hated him in here.

“Please, come on in.”

Loki cleared the entrance when he heared Tony’s words, turning around in anticipation of another dull creature like the Hulk to torment him - but his calm demeanour dropped completely at this unusual sight:

“Y-You?!”

That was simply not possible! The last time he had seen you was almost a year ago, and you were on the brink of death at that!

“For everyone that doesn’t know yet: Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is one of the victims HYDRA experimented on, and they succeeded in forming an artificial mutant.”

Steve went on and on explaining about your powers, but Loki’s head had already turned on autopilot, the only thing he could concentrate on being how the hell you of all people ended up here.

All these months, he was desperately trying to get any information about you, all of his hints ultimately leading him to dead ends - and in the end, tragically believing in your imminent death.

The memories were still painfully vivid in his mind: It was his first mission together with the Avengers, at a HYDRA hideout with most likely no civil survivors.

Actually, he had planned to make his escape right when the others engaged in a fight, wandering the hallways of what resembled a torture chamber rather than a laboratory.

On the walls were several instructions, about a serum that might cause a human to mutate if they were exposed to unbearable stress - pain being the most effective method, apparently.

Yet instead of finding anything useful for his personal gain, he found you: A  beautiful woman, yet emaciated and lying in a puddle of her own blood. At first he thought you to be dead just like the others - but as soon as your faint whimpers drang to his ears, he burst the cell you were trapped in open, rushing to your side immediately.

“Shh...” the god scooped you up from the cold stone floor, wrapping his cloak around your broken body. “Everything is alright now. Your savior is here.”

Loki gasped as he felt your hand stroking his cheekbone, even through all your pain and weakness wanting to bid your hero this due respect.

“Hel...you humans are such fragile creatures...” Loki muttered under his breath, cursing his own lack of talent when it came to casting healing spells. “Hang in there, look at me!”

Your eyes were teary and bloodshot, yet not less fit to bring across a message no words ever could: Incredible gratitude, and admiration.

He could tell you were close to passing out when your hand left his face, falling limp to the side. But he held you firmly in his arms, not once stopping to utter sweet words of encouragement as he made his way to the ship, leading you into safety.

“Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?”

Those were the words he once directed at Black Widow - but only now he understood her attempts.

Saving one person could never make up for all the lives he had destroyed - and yet he knew that for you, it would mean the world none the less.

In one way or another, with your life at his mercy, he began to finally grasp the preciousness of life, and doing everything in one’s might to protect it.

“Reindeer Games” Tony tapped on his shoulders, making Loki wake from his pondering. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t scare her away on the first day already.”

Oh.

Just now he was noticing his own grim expression, having towered over your much smaller form this whole time with furrowed brows.

“My apologies” was his firm response, but you only shook your head, trying to tell him it was not a big deal.

So this was what you looked like when you’re not imprisoned, he realized when he took in your physique.

Much to his pleasure, all of your wounds had seemingly healed, and you finally gained some much needed weight. Like this, you looked so much more healthier - and most definetly even more bewitching than he remembered you.

If people had let him know, would he have visited your sickbed, aiding you towards health again? Who knows...

Yet somehow, he dwelled in the thought of you being able to lead a happy life now that you were free - which made your decision to seek out the Avengers in wish for more battles even harder for him to accept.

“You are incredibly strong, Lady Y/N” Loki spoke firmly, everyone else rolling their eyes at his usual exaggeration - but you knew he meant every word. “Be sure of my eternal respect.” 

The God of Lies’ eyes widened in excitement when you directed a warm smile at him, knowing for sure that this one was genuine. It wasn’t like those fake smirks the other Avengers gave him out of politeness, or the mocking laughs when they were making fun of or excluding him.

No - that one was just pure affection. And it left him in awe.

“Thank you for saving me back then” you signed, just for Loki shooting you a puzzled look.

“What, I thought the all-tongue knows every language?” Tony yelled, as inconsiderate as always. Thor was quick to explain on his brother’s stead, him still being deeply invested with you. “Every spoken one, yes. ASL is not one of our fortes.”

Usually, Loki had always been a quick thinker. But right now he was to bewildered by your appearance that thinking straight was out of the question.  

What language were they speaking of? And why have you not been saying anything up until now? Maybe his presence was making you uncomfortable, after all? Should he leave on your behalf?

To make it easier for him to understand, you rolled down your turtleneck, revealing the unsighty scar that covered your whole throat.

There were not many people bold enough to come close to the God of Mischief without warning, yet suddenly you simply took his hand and slowly led it to your neck.

How could you be so naive and offer someone like him such a vital spot?! He’ll never get the human philosophy...

And yet, the flabbergasted god hesistantly let his hand run over the scar, while you opened your mouth to no avail - for 11 months already, no tone would leave your vocal cords.

“I’m incredibly sorry...” Loki whispered with a sorrowful tone, while the others just stared in disbelief. “If only I was able to heal this wound back then...”

What a puny god he was...and an even more pathetic wanna-be-hero at that...

He would try to take a few steps back, but you took a hold of his hand, squeezing it with both of yours, that cheerful smile not faltering in the slightest.

“Please, don’t be sad. I’m only alive thanks to you!” Bucky, whose cousin was mute as well, translated what you were signing for Loki. His tone sounded quite irritated, not fitting those meaningful words. “I only wanted to join the Avengers because I want to be just like you. You’re my idol!”

Those words touched him deeply, igniting a flame inside of him he thought long to be defunct. Was it hope?

Of course it was not nearly enough to pull him out of that deep, dark hole he felt trapped in for as long as he could remember - yet somehow, he now felt that it was not impossible to escape.

While the others were cringing at your declaration, making jokes about ‘choosing wrong idols’ or would plainly not believe Loki to have a positive effect on anyone, the two of you would just stare at each other in silent admiration.

Shyly, you signed yet another word for him - and this time, Loki would know what you mean from pure intuition. 

He smiled.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Loki was able to smile again, just thanks to your heartwarming welcome. And he was still blissfully unaware about what effect you could have on him, if he was brave enough to let you close.

One thing was sure: You literally had him wrapped around his finger from the very start.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Day one of the Horror on Cherry Lane Challenge! I’ll be participating this month as a writer! The prompt for today is Knife!

warnings for mentions of suicidal ideation and attempts, death, child abuse, and blood.

Billy met Steve in the psych ward.

Well, they met officially at Tina’s party, but that wasn’t the real Steve. That was the King Steve. Deeper than that though, even the Steve Harrington everyone else saw even after the breakup and the fall from grace still wasn’t the real thing.

That was fake smiles, overdone nonchalance to cover up the wound from his fallen status. Now he was stripped down to himself, all bloody bandages and tired eyes, the boy he was pretending to be finally broken down to reveal this.

Apparently, Ruthie Harrington found her son with his grandfather's switchblade- all the other objects in the house sharper than a spoon and with less sentimental value had already been tossed -bleeding all over her freshly polished linoleum floors. She dropped him off at the hospital a night ago and nobody’s been by to see him since.

Now, it’s by pure coincidence that Billy’s already in on the same day Steve’s admitted.

He’s been locked up the past three days compared to Steve’s one. These small town hicks are jumpier (ha) than he thought, and don’t think doing the walk and turn test on the edge of the quarry after downing a bottle and a half of fireball is as funny as he does. Whatever. Cid would’ve thought that was badass as hell.

So he was admitted, on suicide watch for a stupid joke that wasn’t really worth it, or even really a joke. Max came to visit once. She punched him in the chest as hard as she could and cursed him out for an hour. She’d never done that before. By the time she left they were both in tears, and maybe Billy realized a thing or too about his carelessness. Realized for the first time that someone cared.

But he’s still in here for another week and a half by law, so. He’s not going to mope about it. And while Steve Harrington showing up is about the last thing he’s expecting, he decides that’s at least something he can work with. Definitely brings a little life to the place.

He waits until Steve’s intense watch period is over to bug him, once they’re out of their cramped little rooms for a couple of hours to “socialize” (see, the more sound of mind keep an eye on the other patients while the nurses take their smoke breaks) Billy goes straight to Steve. Him and Harrington are far from friends, but that’s pretty much irrelevant when the only other choices for company are kids younger than them too scared to approach them and people too deep in their midlife crises to bother with teenage drama.

Throwing himself down in the blue plastic chair across from where Steve settled in, Billy kicks his feet up on the table,, “What’s up Harrington? Didn’t expect to see a familiar face in here.”

But Steve, poor Steve, takes one look at Billy with those haunted brown eyes, and his face just falls completely apart. There are tears on his way too pale cheeks before Billy even has a chance to breathe.

The smile drops off of Billy’s face, “Jesus Harrington, I know m’not looking my best surviving on hospital food and cigarettes without a hairbrush, but that’s a little unwarranted.”

“Shut up. Not everything’s about you, Hargrove.”

“Oh I disagree with that. But I get the point. I’ll let ya be.” Billy hums, scooting his chair back and getting up. He stops when Steve starts to speak, “Y-You outta be careful saying that kinda stuff in here.”

“What?”

“That the world revolves around you. They’ll come up with a diagnosis for that and keep you here forever. Drug you ‘til you forget your own name, let alone your status.” Steve tells him with humor, wiping the tears off his face.

Billy nods in understanding, sits back down with an interested smirk, “This ain’t your first time here, is it?”

“Is it yours?”

“Nah. I’ve done some shit on purpose, some on accident. Once it wasn’t even me. But s’never done anything to help so far.”

Steve puffs out a sigh, “Don’t I know it.. I’ve been in and outta this place since I was like, ten. Clearly nothing’s changed.”

“Why? What’s your dirty little secret, Harrington?”

“I cut myself, dumbass.” He deadpans, looking at Billy with a bluntness in his expression that reads more concerning, more like indifference to what he just said than matter-of-fact.

“No shit. But that ain’t the secret.” Billy probes further, can tell he’s getting under that mask Steve wears, “Why do you do it?”

“Legally, I can't tell you. And I don’t think I would anyways.”

“What about if I tell you all about me first? I got no reservations ‘cept the one that got me a bed here.”

“It’s not a hotel, Hargrove.”

“Eh, might as well be. Feels like the damn hotel California.”

“Is that why?”

“Huh? Oh no, I been pullin’ stunts like this long before we left Cali.”

“Like what?”

“Like downing two full bottles of my mother’s meds after she left. Not at the same time obviously, or I wouldn’t be here. Mostly ‘cause my dad didn’t even wanna take me to the hospital either time.” Billy doesn’t look at Steve while he elaborates. Not because he cares, he’s an open book, if a random old woman at the grocery store asked about his last attempt, he’d tell her.

But. He doesn’t like watching people’s faces. Seeing sympathy and concern there. It makes him feel all stupid and guilty. It’s usually not like that with other kids like him, but Steve’s different. He’s got a big heart. Even if there’s no room for himself.

And Billy hurt Steve before. He doesn’t want to see someone he caused pain caring so much about him. He already cracked when Max came to see him. This could be what splits him open, spills out all the things he’s covered up.

So he keeps going, “And like runnin’ out in front of traffic with my friends. They thought we were just playin’ chicken ‘til I stopped dead in front of a station wagon. Metal rims’d done me in for sure if one ‘a the older boys hadn’t pulled me outta the way. Damn near ripped my shirt in half how fast he grabbed me.”

“I’m guessing your parents are the reason why then?”

“Yessir.” Billy deflects, not good at getting deeper into it, “You wanna tell me yours then?”

“I started cutting because Tommy Hagan told me about it. He thought it was freaky, but when he ran his mouth about how they found the neighbor kid in his room, drained of all his blood from his wrists, I wanted to try it. I’ve tried liquor and drugs and all kinds ‘a shit I shouldn’t, but nothin’ stuck like cutting.” Steve pauses for a long time, his eyes going blank, staring right past Billy, “When my mom found out she.. she.. Forget it.”

“Hey, you seen my skeletons. Can’t I see yours?”

“No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it anymore.” Steve answers, despite his assuredness, his tone wobbling with some unidentifiable emotion.

Talk about mood swings. Billy doesn’t get how nobody would’ve noticed something was up before Steve started carving into himself. Really, he knows someone would have seen it and just ignored it.

It only gets worse though, the reservedness turning to sadness and frustration. None of the words are coming out, but he can tell Steve’s thinking of the stories, reliving all that got him to the here and now. Billy can also tell there’s nothing he can do no to stop him from doomsdaying.

So when Steve is inevitably in the thralls of a panic attack, he tries to hug him tight, to try to get it to stop maybe, that always worked for him at least, but Steve swats him away. Judging from the way he winces, it’s not easy for him to do either, with those thick ass bandages constricting his wrists, but the tears and the pain on his face are buried behind his resolution.

He’s hiding something from Billy.

In hindsight, talking to a new patient about past attempts probably wasn’t his brightest idea anyways, so he switches the subject while Steve works on coming down from his panic attack. He brings up Max and her little nerds, trying to bridge the healthier connections between him and Steve that they’d both been ignoring since the fight. He mentions basketball too, another something they have in common other than trying to kill themselves.

It doesn’t really work, though Steve does stop shaking as bad, just curling up in his little chair and sniffling, pretending not to listen while Billy rambles on and on. But he doesn’t talk. It’s probably better for him not to anyway. Billy himself has been known to say some dumb shit when he’s in distress.

Ultimately, even once the conversation runs out, he stays with Steve until dark. He can tell from the way his gaze sticks to the floor that Steve recovered from his fit a while ago, but he’s embarrassed by having a breakdown in front of him, as if he isn’t in here for the same reason. It helps that he gets it though, and they sit in a comfortable, albeit very prolonged, silence.

Long after Steve gets xanned up and knocked out though, while Billy is still free to wander until the midnight curfew as a low risk patient, he decides to stick with him in his room. Billy’ll never admit it, but he gets nightmares, and he doesn’t want to face that just yet, so with a new friend as an excuse, he’s up half the night watching Steve sleep.

He remembers what happened earlier, how focused Steve was on keeping him away from him, despite his panic, and decides, with a glance at how deeply Steve is sleeping, his greasy hair all strewn about on stiff pillows, that he’s going to figure out what it was.

He snoops around in his bedside drawers, in the bathroom, in the locker in the corner. It’s there he notices the knitted jacket Steve was wearing before, hanging heavy to one side, like there’s something in its pocket. He touches it and feels the outline of something small, so he pulls it out.

He regrets checking though, because it’s a knife. Judging from the old looking engravings on its handle, and the coppery stains within the grooves, it’s specifically the very same one that got Steve hospitalized.

He shoves it in his own back pocket and keeps looking, with a quick glance at Steve, finding a note tucked where the knife had been. Written in perfect scrawl on bond paper that’s been folded a dozen times and stained with tears,

“Do it right next time, why don’t you? Your mother is too soft on you. I’m not paying for this again.

- J.Harrington.”

Billy doesn’t know what to do but throw the note in the trash. Not really in shock, but definitely more than a little fucked up from reading that, he sits on the end of Steve’s bed. His own dad, who'd more than once been the one putting him in the hospital, had never even said anything like that to him.

He didn’t get to talk to Steve much today, but they’ve got as long as Billy’s stuck in here together to fix that. Longer if he just pulls something in front of a nurse. And he wants to, really really wants to.

Because he knows he just met the real Steve, can recognize another broken boy when he sees one, and he knows too, that he never wants to meet a pretty boy like this again.

And if that’s his declaration to get clean, then so fucking be it.

But. He never promised not to hurt anyone. Ultimately he’d still need that outlet.

He keeps the knife. To make sure his pretty boy doesn’t get hurt again.

[confused-stars]

For the sign au Aizawa has a clue connecting Oboro to Kurogiri but it will probably confuse him more than anything. Since Oboro is supposed to be dead??? He'll probably discuss this with Present Mic then try to investigate. Maybe he'll try capturing Kurogiri for answers though that'll be hard. Or maybe he'll search for info on Kurogiri, his history and such. He won't find much unless he manages to break into one of the Doctors labs, but those are hard to find. Or are they???

fear not, for i come bearing answers

this is a bit of a timeline hopping thing since the first part is after Shigaraki was captured and the second is after the Eri rescue!!

ko-fi link (✿◡‿◡)

He finds Hizashi on the roof. That’s the first surprise.  Shouta comes up here sometimes, because he has the destructive habit of picking at old wounds until they’re bleeding and raw again, but Hizashi has always been the opposite of that. It’s not that he ever tried to pretend Oboro hadn’t existed, but he did use to pretend his loss didn’t affect him nearly as much as it actually did. Hizashi was always pushing forward where Shouta lingered on the past. Maybe that makes him a healthier person.

Shouta clears his throat as he approaches, but Hizashi gives no indication of having heard him. He’s sitting at the edge of the roof, legs dangling and arms resting on the railing as he looks out over the UA campus. The view has changed so much since they were teenagers. Since Oboro was up here with them.

There’s about a million places Shouta would rather be at the moment, but this is a conversation that needs to happen. They haven’t talked since Shouta had All Might call up his detective friend and demanded he use his quirk on Hizashi so they could be assured he wasn’t the traitor. The vindication followed by pure hollowness of Hizashi’s gaze after Tsukauchi’s nod has been haunting Shouta for weeks now. There were no words that would have repaired the broken bridge between them, so Shouta decided to give it some time. That might have been a mistake, too. Them drifting apart has always been something that hurt both of them in the process. Hizashi would have likely much rather had a big yelling match and then hugged it out. But Shouta couldn’t do that. He’s been... punishing himself, staying away from his best friend. His ‘something’. His ‘maybe’.  Because it’s Shouta’s fault that he’s hurting in the first place. Shouta’s stupid lack of trust and paranoia. He should have never, ever doubted him, even for a second. There’s a ton of excuses there. How he was injured, how he’s traumatized, how he was always only trying to protect the students. How being cautious was the logical choice. The professional choice for a hero. But none of that actually matters, does it? Hizashi is Hizashi. That should have been enough.

Either way, that’s a problem for later. He has to prioritize right now. There’s something much more pressing, and that’s forcing him to speak with Hizashi even though he still doesn’t know how to even begin repairing their relationship. Shouta has always had this tendency of ducking away from personal conflict like this. It’s much along the same vein as leaving a cat behind in the rain. It’s the easier way, when he gets overwhelmed and doesn’t know what to do. He despises that cowardly part of himself. Usually, he can push it away alright nowadays. But that’s only because he has Hizashi and Nemuri right with him.

Nemuri has firmly taken Hizashi’s side this time, though it’s not like she’s showing Shouta the cold shoulder, either. She’s just fussing over Hizashi more. Which is fine. Shouta is the one who caused the hurt, and it’s not like he enjoys her fussing. It’s probably good that they’re not talking much right now, because Nemuri... that’s going to be another painful conversation.

Shouta sits at the edge of the roof beside Hizashi and gazes out over their school grounds. It still makes him feel nostalgic to be up here. He breathes.

“How was your talk with Shigaraki?” Hizashi speaks first. Of course he does. Even if his voice is carefully blank, void of the usual emotion.

Shouta grimaces and flexes his freshly healed arm. The burns weren’t deep, but they were still painful. “... enlightening.”

Hizashi glances at him over his sunglasses. “So you found out who the traitor is?”

That was one of the questions Shouta knows All Might and Tsukauchi asked and got no answer to. He shakes his head. “But I did find out where he learned my name.”

Hizashi says nothing, waits with a raised eyebrow.

Shouta has no fucking idea how to do this. It feels like there’s a lead weight stuck in his chest. He breathes. Almost wants a cigarette even though he hasn’t smoked in nearly a decade.

He looks over towards the dorms instead of facing Hizashi any longer. “He told me Kurogiri taught him. Apparently they’ve been together for a while.”

“Kurogiri?” Hizashi repeats, “But... then we’re back to square one, aren’t we? How does he know?”

It’s nice, to hear him say ‘we’, even though of course they’re still in this together, as heroes. As teachers at this school. But ‘we’ has always meant something different to them.

‘We’ used to be a team of three or, occasionally, four.

“Shigaraki went nonverbal because of the stress of the interrogation, I think.” Shouta has never been one to dance around the point, he’s more known for being brutally honest, but this might be his limit right here. It’s like stumbling through the dark and knowing there’s a fall coming up ahead. “So... he signed.” Hizashi says nothing, allowing him to sort out his thoughts, but Shouta can feel his eyes boring into the side of his head. Is Hizashi concerned because all this hesitating isn’t like him? He should be. That still would in no way be enough to prepare him for what Shouta’s about to say.

“He spelled it out for me first. Kurogiri. But then, when he wasn’t thinking about it, he used his sign name instead.” Shouta turns to face Hizashi, slowly moving his hands in front of him. He signs, very slowly and deliberately.

Hizashi stares for a second. Then he huffs out a laugh. “That’s ridiculous, Shouta.”

Shouta raises a brow. “Is it?”

The reaction was a predictable one, of course, but Shigaraki wasn’t lying. And how else would he have known?

“He’s dead,” Hizashi insists, shaking his head again, “There’s just... no way. His quirk wasn’t even close to Kurogiri’s!”

“Wasn’t it, though?” Shouta asks quietly, tiredly. “Clouds, mist, it’s all humidity.”

“Teleportation isn’t.” Hizashi takes off his sunglasses, rubs at his eyes. “Are you hearing yourself talk? You seriously believe this?”

Shouta knows that he’s bringing his walls up because denying the possibility hurts less. It’s an old pain brought back up that they both only just started to heal from. But they need to be facing this together. If they’re still afforded that.

“Noumu are creatures created by combining multiple quirks inside a dead body and reviving them.” At least those are the bare bones of the process that Shouta understands. A lot of it is confidential. Need to know basis only. He doesn’t want the details... except now, maybe he does.

“They can’t speak or think!” Hizashi throws up his hands. “And they don’t look like that.”

Shouta’s jaw works for a moment. He looks back out over UA. “Who knows what Kurogiri looks like underneath all that mist?”

Hizashi has no answer for that, apparently, because he just pushes himself to his feet. “This is... I... I need to go. Somewhere else. Work. I have patrol. Yeah, that.”

He’s shaken enough that Shouta knows he’s not completely rejecting the possibility anymore. It’s about as much as he could have hoped for.

Shouta leans his chin on the railing and closes his eyes. “Be careful out there.” He pauses. “... and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ever doubted you.”

Hizashi laughs, and it’s a bit bitter, but not as biting as it could have been. “At this rate, me being a traitor would have been a better outcome.”

___

Their conversation bears heavily on Shouta’s mind, even two weeks later when he’s doing his usual patrol across the rooftops. It’s dangerous to let himself get distracted like this. Not his style at all.

Shirakumo does that to him.

And Hizashi, too.

He has no idea if things will get better now or not. It would be... helpful to have Hizashi at his side for this. And he knows that, as a hero, he won’t abandon Shouta when it comes to capturing a villain. But as a friend? As... someone Shouta has hurt, deeply and recently? Maybe not.

To be fair though, Shouta was always the one pushing him away before. If this is what his own medicine tastes like, then he’s surprised Hizashi stuck around this long.

“Eraserhead.” 

His capture cloth is hovering around his head even before the voice speaks up, his body tense and his mind... not as clear as he’d like it to be. But he knows the sound of these portals by now. He knows.

With one quick movement, he’s up from his perch on the corner of the roof and facing the shadowy figure that wasn’t there a moment earlier.

‘Oboro?’ he signs.

Kurogiri’s eyes flicker and narrow. “I didn’t come here for conversation.” He’s not signing, one of his hands behind his back.

Shouta doesn’t blink. He didn’t deny it, did he? Does he know? Shigaraki didn’t. Is Kurogiri able to keep secrets from him? “... but I need to talk to you.”

Against the backdrop of the night sky, it’s difficult to tell where Kurogiri starts and stops. It’s like he’s a part of the night itself.

Oboro liked the stars well enough, but he always preferred lazy afternoons in the sun. Shouta was the nocturnal one.

It’s all wrong.

There’s something that’s not even entirely human in the way Kurogiri tilts his head... if he even has a physical one underneath the mist. “There’s more pressing matters than the... tragedy of Shirakumo Oboro.” There’s a shudder going through him when he says the name, and part of Shouta wants to pounce on that.

If he’s still reacting to the name... then he must remember. And if he does... then he must be forced to help Shigaraki in some way. They already suspected something like that from his demeanor, but without being able to pin Kurogiri down for an interrogation, no one could be sure.

Shouta is, though. The most heroic boy he ever knew would never willingly become a villain.

He opens his mouth, but then Kurogiri is stepping aside, and revealing, behind him... Shouta freezes.

The child can’t be older than six, maybe seven years old. She’s wearing an adult size sweater that reaches past her knees, and her feet are bare. She’s trembling, her eyes big and red and filled with unshed tears that shine in the faint lights of the city below.

“This is Eri,” Kurogiri says.

Shouta knows. He’s been told about her, after all. He was part of an entire rescue operation that culminated in finding Chisaki near bleeding out in a room locked from the inside, and a missing girl. Now that part at least makes sense.

She was an asset. Did the League...? Would they? They’re not above kidnapping teenagers, but small children?

“We did not hurt her,” Kurogiri assures, and somehow he sounds almost affronted at the accusation that Shouta is sure doesn’t even show through the goggles hiding his eyes. “Chisaki took one of our own, so we decided it was time for his downfall. When I saw Eri...”

“You couldn’t just leave her behind,” Shouta concludes the thought. His chest hurts. If there needed to be any more proof, there it is.

Kurogiri makes a noise of affirmation. “I am a caretaker. I am not the kind of person who can leave someone in need.”

“An odd trait for a villain,” Shouta manages, then shakes himself out of it. Because he’s a hero and there’s a scared child.

Kurogiri pats Eri on the head gently and she seems to calm a bit.

Shouta takes a slow step closer, then crouches down, reaching out a hand. “Hello, Eri. My name is Eraserhead. I’m a pro hero.”

Eri looks up at Kurogiri. “... what does that mean?”

“It means -” Kurogiri’s voice is so, so gentle with her. “- that he’s going to help you and keep you safe. We’re unable to provide that kind of safety.”

“Oh.” Eri looks to the ground. “ ‘cause of what I did to the man with the burns.”

Kurogiri crouches now, too. “No. No, that was not your fault. I want you to remember that. And I do believe he will be fine, once he has calmed down a little. You did not hurt him. If anything... you may have healed him.”

Eri raises her gaze, eyes wide. “I... did? I didn’t hurt him?”

Kurogiri shakes his head. “He will be fine,” he repeats, “But your quirk is very powerful and we only managed to break the connection by using my portals in time, to create physical distance.” He stops himself, as if remembering he’s talking to a child. “... what that means is, you need to learn how to control your quirk, and with how powerful it is, Eraserhead is the only one I would trust with that.”

Ah.

Shouta feels a little dazed. This is nothing like what he experienced from Kurogiri so far, but to be fair, he only ever experienced him on a battlefield beside Shigaraki. Is Shigaraki behind this, too? Is Shigaraki giving up on such a powerful asset out of... kindness? Human decency? Or does he simply not know how deep Eri’s powers supposedly go?

“I can stop your quirk if you ever feel like it’s getting out of control,” he promises, then looks to Kurogiri. A silent question, signed slowly in the dark of night.

Kurogiri signs back after a moment. ‘No repayment needed. This is for her.’

He hesitates. ‘Children like T-O-M-U-R-A should be safe.”

Shouta takes in Eri again. Big, red eyes. Blueish white hair. A powerful quirk. Was Shigaraki to All for One what Eri was to Chisaki? It’s possible. Even if Shigaraki doesn’t seem to see it that way.

‘Understood,’ Shouta signs, ‘I’ll protect her.’

Kurogiri nods and gives Eri a little nudge. “I suppose this is goodbye, then, little bunny.”

Eri swallows and bows her head politely. “I... will you tell them all thank you?” she asks very quietly.

Kurogiri seems to smile, in a way that’s more felt than seen. “I will. Perhaps you will see us again eventually.”

Not if Shouta has anything to say about it. But Eri nods and bravely closes the distance between her and him. Shouta pushes his goggles up so she can see his eyes, and smiles at her.

Eri clutches at her sweater and does not meet his eyes. He didn’t expect her to.

Another portal appears, and Shouta lifts his head. “... Kurogiri.” The villain pauses. “Contact me if you need to talk. It... can be on neutral grounds. Just a conversation.” It aches, to allow him to leave, but he has Eri to think of right now. And somehow, it would feel wrong to try to arrest him after all of this. After seeing him so gentle and caring with this traumatized child. Oboro always was good with children.

Kurogiri watches him for a long moment. Then he nods. “Take care, Shouta.” And he’s gone.

Shouta exhaled forcefully, feeling the tension seep from his body. “... come on, Eri. Let’s get you out of this cold.”

[my-writings-and-musings]

Could you do the oxygen loss prompt with Cygate, but instead of the human being their S/O it’s their adopted human child? Sorry if that’s weird but I crave space dad content with every fiber of my being

There is nothing weird about space dad content, it's good and pure and the world needs more of it, thus I am happy to provide.

Here's links to other posts of this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: You're Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Cyclonus/Tailgate

Adopted Human Reader

·Tailgate was the primary driving force behind your adoption, but Cyclonus was in no way opposed, merely more reserved as you were welcomed into their lives through an unexpected but life-changing adoption. Though somewhat new to being a couple and quite new to parenthood, they've done an excellent job getting you set up for your shared life together as a family. You even have your own room right across from there's! Today though you're chilling with them in preparation for a movie night, sitting atop a table as snacks are decided on and the list of potential films is narrowed. Cyclonus is mostly content to let the two of you pick what you want, though he does try to encourage the entertainment selection to be more... educational and the snacks a modicum healthier.

·Your greatest struggle is choosing the final winner from your options left, until of course, the electricity begins to cut out and the three of you are left momentarily in the dark. This alone would have been nothing but an inconvenience, though the seismic shake that hits the ship afterwards is far more dangerous. Nothing but a blur of metal in the dark fills your vision as the tremor sends each of you tumbling. When you finally orient yourself and the world stops moving, you realize you're being cradled in a panicked minibot's arms, and a blue visor glowing in frenzy is above you. Tailgate is checking you over like a concerned mother hen, and you're so overwhelmed by his fussing it takes you a moment to realize that he's also being held, and that you're between two pairs of optics overflowing with care.

·Cyclonus gently puts an end to his mate's impromptu medical examination by pointing out the more immediate issue; something dangerous is undoubtedly inbound. Tailgate may not have the same level of experience, but he's been on enough ships to know what an anchoring feels like, and regardless of the enemy in question things are about to get unpleasant. In unison they both agree to get you somewhere safe. Gently as can be, Tailgate reassures you that everything will be okay while stroking a little hand down your back. He promises that much, and Cyclonus firmly echoes the sentiment.

·Quite aware of how tiny you are, particularly in regards to Cybertronian combat, you put up no resistance to their plan. So long as everyone gets out safe, you insist. In a well rehearsed battle strategy, Cyclonus stands just behind Tailgate, but he's hardly the only one who will be protecting you. Your other adoptive parent has you in his arms and, with his smaller frame, is set up to shield you quickly from the front while Cyclonus handles any potential assaults from behind with his solid back armor. It's a routine they established just to keep you safe. Right now it is helping you feel like you're in a kind of moving fortress, and to be fair with these two that comparison isn't far off. Unicron himself would have a hard time breaking through their collective front.

·Perhaps tempted by your metaphorical thoughts, the universe answers with a challenge in the form of an entire squadron of enemy combatants, though your guardians are quite prepared. Before the attacking aliens can even charge, the two of them are moving in a kind of wordless sync, one that an outsider might think was the result of peerless calm. You know better when Tailgate rolls to slip you into a well defended little cove though, as you catch what's in both of their optics; fear. Tucking down as small as you can, you watch them attack with a kind of rage that juxtaposes almost fantastically with the tender kindness they raise you with. Few would probably blame you for having a hard time believing the same Cyclonus cleaving an enemy in half right now also sings softly when you have trouble sleeping... The same could be said for Tailgate, who fusses over you every time he feels you may be too hot or cold but is now pummeling an alien's legs so his mate can finish them off. Knowing that it's all to protect you is somewhat awe inspiring.

·No sooner has the last enemy fallen then the two are back where they left you, though this time Tailgate isn't alone as he checks you over whilst they walk, with Cyclonus inserting a quick request for confirmation that you are indeed uninjured. Admittedly a little dizzy from the rush, you smile and assure them both you're unhurt. At that they continue on the way to the well defended medical bay. You are actually far more sluggish than you think you should be, but it's hard to care about that in the face of everything else, and you don't really have to worry with these two protecting you... How lucky you are, to have been adopted by such a loving pair of parents. Being quite the unusual couple just makes your little family more unique in your mind. At such happy thoughts you can't help but smile, though it's weak and visibly hindered by how groggy you are.

·Tailgate takes notice of that sleepiness first as you become less upright in his arms. Giving you a little bounce, he starts to walk faster as the requests regarding your condition start anew, his visor growing worried as he sees your tiny frame failing to perk up. Cyclonus follows in his worry, especially when you prove physically incapable of lifting yourself up completely. They know something must be terribly wrong. Uncertain why they're so upset, you try to reassure your parents that you're simply a little tired. The rush of the fight probably drained you more than expected, you explain. Hearing how breathless you are in the explanation only solidifies their fear that something is wrong. Not knowing what it could be, they make the difficult decision to forgo stealth for the sake of speed; you need to get to the medical bay.

·Rushing air flows past as they move at speeds impossible for humans, drawing your gaze upwards as Tailgate reassures you everything will be alright despite your total lack of concern. Though you can see the fear in his face, you still appreciate how brave he's being for your sake. Having parents who prioritize your health as well as your feelings is a dream come true. Cyclonus is mostly silent, his optics on the horizon, but you know he's also concerned to an incredible degree. It's obvious in his optics every time they glance down at you so full of worry. Despite his usually reserved exterior, the big bot loves you just as much as his mate, and you've more or less had him wrapped around your finger from day one. You can still recall how they would lovingly ensure your comfort every time you went to bed in your new home...

·Both mechs can see you're drifting off faster with every passing minute. Tailgate tries harder to keep you awake as he watches your eyelids grow heavier, but his efforts prove to be in vain despite how badly he wants you to be okay, and his spark twists with anxiety. Cyclonus is the same, as both have no real idea as to what is wrong, and thus no real way to help you. Doubts that plagued them from the day they considered making you their own child return to haunt them in full force. They loved you so much, but there was so much they just didn't understand about your species, and what if that made them unfit to care for you? Would another human have figured this out by now? Surely you wouldn't be in this situation if you weren't with them...

·Cyclonus takes matters into his own hands, rather literally, when he scoops up his tiny mate to run at his fullest speed. Tailgate barely notices the action in his increasing panic. He can feel you growing weaker in his arms, but why? Attempts to comm Ratchet or anyone who might have a clue as to what's going on prove fruitless, and the two parents are left to flounder in their fear, the worst possibilities barreling through their minds in unison. You feel bad that they seem so scared, but can't bring yourself to stay awake as they request, the grogginess pulling you down in your parent's arms as it has under less dire circumstances in the past. The desire to sleep is simply too great. Isn't it ironic, how these bots are usually the ones pushing for you to go to bed, and now they want you to stay up? It's enough to make you smile as warm blackness finally claims you...

·Tailgate is beside himself when you drift off, and Cyclonus isn't any better, his legs giving out as he cradles you both. It's only by happenstance that a team of bots comes by at that moment, doing emergency rounds to gather the crew and clear out hostiles, and stumbles upon the terrified parents. By the grace of good fortune Ratchet is among them, and the medic is able to quickly put together what's going on due to his intel. Between the bursts of begging from Tailgate and Cyclonus, he's able to just break through and inform them of the full situation; oxygen has been compromised due to the attack. Before they can ask further questions, he explains that you need medical attention, but the ship is still under threat. It's somewhat obvious even in their cloud of grief and fear what he is going to say next.

·To secure the Lost Light, and by extension you, they wordlessly agree to accompany the group to the medical bay... at which point they'll leave you there to join the defense. Being by your side will do no one any good if the ship is taken. It hurts more than anything ever has, but they turn their mutual rage and pain towards the threat. All the while you remain in the medical bay, being stabilized by the medical staff who provide the care and oxygen you need to recover, their incredible skills ensuring you'll make a full recovery in due time. It's a prognosis that gives your parents relief but no peace when the battle is won. Seeing you in such a state still hurts in ways they can't begin to process, and thus they're left to wait in silent pain for you to awaken, holding each other as Tailgate weeps openly and Cyclonus internally.

·When you do wake up, it's beneath your favorite blankets, which were tucked about you just how you liked. A gentle but very concerned flurry of activity welcomed you back to the living world, and before you knew it your parents were on either side of the medical slab you found yourself upon, their worry obvious in every word and every inch of their expressions. Confused, especially by the oxygen mask on your face, you ask what happened to you. Worry turns to guilt in an instant. Tailgate starts with an explanation about what you do remember, gently asking about your recollection of the moments leading up to where your memories end. Cyclonus takes over for his mate when it proves too much, laying out the full scope of the alien attack and the atmospheric failure which nearly killed you. The brush with death catches you quite off guard.

·Unable to hold back tears, Tailgate bursts out in an apology for their failure to protect you, particularly in regards to not even knowing what was hurting you at first. Cyclonus gently shushes him, but doesn't correct the sentiment. Instead, he shares it, expressing his understanding if you have any newfound reservations regarding their parenting. Such a thought is so unfounded it strikes you silent. Why would this hamper your relationship in any way? These two had saved you! Their lack of human anatomy had spared them, and by extension you, from meeting an untimely fate in the suffocating attack. Letting them know as much, you can't help but feel a pang of your own fear when they appear unconvinced. If they're the ones changing their minds-

·Both Tailgate and Cyclonus react in a unified rush when you let that thought slip; they will never leave you, both promise at once. Tailgate assures you he loves you far too much and Cyclonus promises no challenge could ever make him leave you. It's enough to make the three of you cry. Clearly there are still challenges for your unique family dynamic, but none of you will ever give up. The challenges will just have to be faced together. Before you can thank them for everything they did your parents start fussing over you once again, encouraging you to rest while they adjust the room to your liking and promise that whatever food or entertainment you want will be there when you wake up.

[lightdancer1]

Azula's attitude to Kiyi is not fair and it's not meant to be fair

It's her biggest single flaw that she sees a person who's five years younger than she is, who ironically grows up under her own shadow and whose first interaction with her supposedly dead sister is seeing her come close to a relapse and then point blank storm out of the palace and having to essentially be all but dragged in an situation that turns an already-explosive mess into something that nearly touches off a reactionary camarilla-style coup of its own.

The irony in all this is that rather than being the simple 'replacement' sister, Kiyi grows up idolizing Azula as a war hero in the time when she thought her mother was Noriko and after learning that her mother forgot her earlier kids entirely and that Azula was less than relevant to Ursa has a new existential fear that Ursa already forgot one daughter, what's to stop her doing so with a second?

I do intend for Azula and Kiyi to reach a healthier relationship than Azula and Zuko, and for Kiyi to be a much more fleshed out person rather than 'replacement good sister' and for Ursa's parental problems to come back to haunt her in ways she never expected but really, really should have. Because the last thing that she should have been surprised by is daughter no. 2 realizing that daughter no. 1 didn't get much in the way of anything but pity and relief from Ursa and wondering if Noriko or Ursa were ever real and if she can believe anything her mother says at all.

Ursa *does* feel a deep soul-crushing regret but she also believed Azula died after a fate that was as cruel as she could imagine, so she resigned herself to failure on that score and since dead people don't resurrect themselves unless they've got Katara and her magic water, she expects nothing could ever change that for good reason.

Ensue the dead person in question showing up in the palace alive and well and then shit goes from pear shaped to '*THIS* close to burning down the Palace FOR the People's Will fuck all of you for doing this I hope you burn in Yama's Hells.'

Zuko also unlearned a lot of internalized views of Ursa watching how she handles Kiyi and Azula's memory, and realizes in the end that his sister may not have been who he thought she was, but he also thought she was dead and then BOOM! in comes that one letter....

[pregnant-piggy]

Nothing changed, nothing’s the same

George Weasley x reader

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: step into the angst rollercoaster, angels

This one is written for @weasleydream​​‘s writing challenge

A/N: not gonna lie, i cried. but writing was like catharsis and I hope it will be too for whoever reads it

‘So maybe we should let it go. Go our own way, alone. We are too attached, George. Maybe we need some time apart to find out who we are as our own person. I am not saying I don’t love you, but all my life I have spent with you and I don’t know any different. I want to see the world, meet new people and make new memories. And I feel like I have to do it alone.’

The pub was crowded. The music was too loud to have a normal conversation and the whole place smelled like sweat. The lights were dimmed so that everyone’s imperfections were obscured. Behind the bar stood a young woman, gaped at by at least five men twice her age, but she ignored their looks and quickly served out drinks.

In the back of the room there was a little stage that tonight was occupied by a band. One man playing the bass in the back and two woman up front playing the guitar and singing. Their shrill voices blasted through the speakers that hung in every corner of the place.

It was not really a bar you’d imagine spending your Friday night in, but alas, here George was, sitting in a booth with Fred, Ron and Harry. He hadn’t even wanted to go out in the first place, but Fred had practically dragged him out of his apartment, stating that he couldn’t handle a drunk Ron and Harry on his own.

‘What can I get ya?’ a young man said as he appeared at the table. He was holding a little notebook in one hand and a small pencil in the other. The boy couldn’t be older than nineteen, though George would have believed it if he had said that he was fifteen.

While Fred gave the man their order, George wondered what a nineteen year old was doing in a pub like this. There were plenty of other, better bars around that would gladly take a young fella like him. But here the man was, nineteen and serving out drinks to sixty years old women in skirts too short and shirts too low.

George turned to his friends and wrote off the boy in his mind. Ron was trying to convince Harry to go up to the two women on stage and ask for a song. Harry, however, denied any offer he made until Ron gave up.

Time passed quickly. At one point George was still regretting his decision to join Fred, the next moment he was laughing loudly to a joke Ron made, while he sipped from his umpteenth pint of beer. The band had been exchanged for something less loud on the radio and there was a good atmosphere in the bar that had seemed so dull at the beginning of the evening.

‘George, brother, it’s your turn,’ Fred said and he pushed some money in George’s hand. Though George knew that they should better stop drinking, he went over to the bar and ordered another four beers. The bartender shot him a friendly smile and turned to pour the beers.

George looked at the men at the bar. They were all past forty five, all were wearing faded coloured shirts and their cheeks were red and their forehead glistening with sweat. George quickly looked at his own reflection in the mirror over the bar and much to his relieve saw that he did not in any way look like the men. He fixed his hair with one hand, while the other was holding the money Fred had given him.

‘Fancy seeing you here,’ a voice cut through the chatter of the bar.

In shock George dropped his hand. He could recognise that voice in any situation. Clear and soft, always ending sentences like there was more to come. It was the voice that he had heard for years every day.

And the voice that he hadn’t heard in a year.

You were resting with your side against the bar, your elbow leaning on the surface. There was a smile on your face. A relaxed smile, one that made anyone want to smile back.

‘Hey,’ George said. ‘What has it been, a year, longer?’

One year, two months and three days. George knew exactly how long ago he had last seen you. It was the day you had left. The day George’s life had taken a downfall, that he still wasn’t sure he had recovered from.

‘Something like that,’ you smiled. ‘How are you?’

George opened his mouth to say something, but the bartender came back with the beers and placed them on the bar. George quickly gave her the money and she turned to you.

While you ordered, George looked at you. You looked good. Better than you had when he had last seen you. Your hair was shorter and darker, not your natural colour. There was a sparkle in your eyes and kindness radiated from your smile. You looked healthier; your cheeks not as hollow and your shoulders fierce and not hanging down.

‘We should meet up some time,’ you said after the bartender had turned around again. ‘I want to know what you’ve been up to.’

‘Oh, it’s not that much,’ George said. ‘But I heard you have had a busy year.’

‘Yeah, I travelled through Europe, how’d you know?’

‘I’ve got my sources,’ George grinned and you laughed, touching his arm lightly. Butterflies erupted in George’s stomach, fluttering around in the empty space.

‘Are you busy tomorrow?’ you asked, while taking the drinks the bartender gave you. George shook his head. ‘Do you want to meet up in the afternoon? I’ve got to help my friend with something in the morning, but I’m free the rest of the day.’

‘Yeah, sure. That sounds great,’ George said with a hoarse voice.

‘Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, George,’ you smiled and walked back to your friends, leaving George with a stone in his stomach that had killed the butterflies.

When he sat back at the table, Fred was the first one to notice George was off. The twin followed his gaze and when Fred saw you his eyes widened. ‘Is that y/n?’

Ron and Harry quickly turned around to and stared in the direction Fred was looking. Ron let out a small gasp and Harry squeezed his eyes to look better at you.

‘She looks good,’ Ron said turning back to George. ‘Did you talk to her?’

‘Shortly, we’re meeting up tomorrow.’

‘You’re meeting up?’ Fred asked. ‘With y/n? The one who broke your heart? You’re meeting up with the person you have taken a year to get over?’

~

The wind blew through the curtains in front of the open windows. They floated into the room, playing tag with each other and the furniture close. A beam of bright light fell on the floor and the back of the couch, making all the little dust particles that were twirling through the air visible. There was a calm sense in the living room, but George was anything but calm.

Last night under the influence of all the drinks, it had seemed like a good idea meet with you. He had even defended his choice to his friends when they had told him he was a madman. But now his arguments seemed weak and meaningless.

Suddenly his apartment had seemed too small and too messy, while it was not much different from when you had lived there too. In fact, there were still things in the space that George couldn’t bear to change. Like the candles in the bookcase that had turned decorative over the years or the books they stood next to, all untouched and unread, dust covering the titles. There were magazines at the bottom of the closet in the bedroom that had belonged to you. George knew that you would never want them back, but he just couldn’t get rid of them.

Nothing had changed, the walls were still the same colour, the floors hadn’t even lost their tone. The bathroom door still squeaked and the window in the kitchen still would open further than ten centimetres. It was all like you were still living here, which you weren’t.  

George was anxiously pacing in the living room, the movement of his legs twirling the dust particles even more. He didn’t want this. It had taken him a year to get over you, if where he was now was ‘over you’. And now he was meeting up with the person that had been haunting his dreams for a year. A person, whose name made him weak in the knees. A person he had failed to forget.

The footsteps outside the door told George you were there before you had even knocked. It was weird to have to open the door for you when once you had had a key yourself.

‘Hi,’ you said with a happy voice, when George opened. He let you in and couldn’t help but look at you when you stepped into what had once been your apartment too. You looked even better than you had looked last night. Now it was light, George could see that your natural hair colour was already coming back at the roots of your hair. Your cheeks glowed with a very thin layer of sweat, like you had been hurrying, and there was a casual smile on your face.

You looked around in the hall and your eyes showed the memories that George had tried, and failed, to forget. He brought you to the living room, where you sat on the couch while George got you something to drink.

‘Love what you have done to the place. It’s all exactly… my taste,’ you smiled at George and shot him a wink. His stomach twisted as he sat down next to you, handing you a glass.

‘Why change something perfectly fine?’ George said, looking around his own living room like he was there for the first time.

A silence fell over the two of you as you sipped from your drink. George wanted to ask you how you were and what you had been up to the past year, but he was afraid of the answer. Afraid that you would say he meant nothing to you anymore. Or that you had met someone else.

‘So what have you been up to?’ you asked George, before he could ask you anything.

‘Basic things. Busy with the store, mostly.’

‘Oh, how’s that going?’

‘Great. Fred and I have expanded with another line of more serious products. It took us a while to figure everything out, but now the ministry has asked for a full load, so there is plenty to do,’ George said, swirling his drink in his glass.

‘That sounds wonderful, George. I’ve always known you could do it,’ you said with a slight grin. George huffed and shook his head. You hadn’t changed as much as George had expected and he felt himself getting more comfortable with the minute. You still had that air of ease around you, that made everyone who was close to you feel comfortable.

‘And you? How have you been?’

A wide smile spread on your smile and you started to tell George about your year of travelling. You had visited so many places, familiar ones and ones that George had never heard of. He tried to focus on what you were saying, but the truth was that he could only focus on you instead of your words. He looked at your eyes, your cheeks, your nose and the way your lips moved when you talked. He got distracted by your hands, that moved around in the air as you described the buildings and monuments you had seen. He remembered those hands. They had been the greatest comfort George had known for so many years.

‘…and they had this wonderful dish, called salade landaise! A friend recommended it to me and you should have tried it, George. It was delicious!’ you exclaimed and you bit your lip as you seemed to drift of for a moment.

‘It sounds like you had fun,’ George said, pulling you back into the conversation.

‘Oh, more than fun. It was the best year of my life,’ you said, your eyes glistening with happiness.

George couldn’t help the sting in his chest as he heard those words. It seemed to him you had had more fun on your own than you had had while you were with him. And that while he had had the worst year of his life.

‘I did miss you,’ you said, your voice suddenly softer and more vulnerable.

George looked at you and nodded. ‘I missed you too.’

‘But I think it was good for us,’ you said, letting your hand rest on George’s leg. ‘It brought insight, didn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ George said with a raspy voice. ‘It did.’

Another silence took over the room. Outside the sun was setting behind the high buildings that surrounded George’s apartment building. A golden light broke through the windows, tracing the sweet curves of your face. An angel’s hand slid over your face and you were more beautiful as ever, the experiences you had gone through evident in your eyes. The stories you had told stood in the irises of your eyes, darker specks in the faded colours. The lines in your face weren’t lines of age but the lines of memories.

George wished you gone and wanted you to stay forever. He couldn’t say goodbye yet, although he knew it would be better if he did. His mind screamed to let you go, but his heart longed for your presence.

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ he blurted out, regretting the bluntness of his voice immediately.

You, however, shot him a smile and nodded. ‘Yeah, I’d love to.’

~

The longer George spent with you, the more he was convinced that he still loved you. Talking to you was just as easy as it had ever been, despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him to break it off now if he didn’t want to get his heart broken again. He found himself opening more about his life, telling you about his family and friends, and you listened with great care. The jokes slipped from his tongue without doubt or hesitation and your laugh was sweeter than ever. It was music to his ears, a melody that lingered in his head long after you had stopped laughing.

A little takeaway shop on the corner of the park nearby George’s apartment was the place for dinner. Since it was getting later, George had offered to get dinner somewhere and when you walked by the place that had such a prominent place in the history of your relationship, it was decided without a second thought that you’d eat there.

Sitting on a bench in the park, you pricked your plastic fork in the cardboard box with pasta, while you looked around. When your eyes rested on George, you smiled at him. ‘Do you remember the first time we got food there?’

‘Yeah, moving day,’ George said and he smiled at the memory.

It had been the day that he and you had moved into the apartment. The whole day you had been moving boxes from your parents’ home and his childhood home and when the final box had been placed, it was long past ten at night. You both had not eaten anything yet and hungry and lightly grumpy you had gone outside hoping that there was at least something open. Then you had stumbled upon the little takeaway store. Ever since then he and you had been a regular costumer of the café.

But George hadn’t visited the place since you had left him. He could barely even walk past it without feeling the pain of those happy memories.

‘When I was in France and missed home, this was the food I would get,’ you said. ‘It reminded me of home.’

George kept quiet and stared at his food. Beside him you were looking around the park, playing with the fork against your lips. A soft melody was hummed from your lips and George felt a wave of relaxation wash over him.

It was like nothing had ever changed. Like the past year hadn’t happened. George was back with you and it felt normal.

After dinner you and George strolled through the park. It was getting darker and the lanterns aside the paths were enlightened. The yellowish light fell on the pavement and the little pink flowers in the grass next to the paths. The trees painted dark shadows on the ground and silhouettes played around the edges.

Every time your hands brushed along each other, a spark of electricity was sent up George’s spine. He was reminded of the butterflies that you had always sent to his stomach. In his mind he was reliving the first moments of your relationship. The first touches, the first kiss, the first confessions. You had only been so young, but George had known then that you would be the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And for a long time it had seemed like he would spend the rest of his life with you. You were there with him through everything. His early teens to his early twenties.

But that one day you had ripped his heart out and left it cold bleeding on the floor. You had left without looking back and George had fallen off a cliff. And up until this day he had never known if he had reached the bottom or not, but it seemed now that he had fallen deeper than he had thought.

Were you here to help him up or would he be pulled down in the darkness even more?

You kept still at a big tree and grabbed George’s hand so he would stop too. He was confused why you had stopped him but when he followed your gaze he understood why.

The big tree wasn’t just any tree, it was the tree where you had first ever told George that you wanted to be with him for the rest of your life. It had been a cold November night and George could still remember the exact words that you had said to him and the sweet kiss that you had given him after. Your cold lips were imprinted on his skin, like a scar that would never fade. That had been a year before you had left.

A sigh left your lips as you stared at the tree. You kept holding George’s hand and he squeezed it lightly as if asking you to walk on. You nodded and turned away from the tree, walking on while holding George’s hand in yours.

Soon you reached the end of the park and so much faster than George wanted you were back at his apartment. He closed the door behind you two and a tensed silence fell in the hall. George looked at you as you stood on the other side of the space, your hands playing with the buttons of your coat.

‘Do you want to come in for a drink or do you have somewhere to go?’ George asked, slightly surprised by the ease of his voice.

‘No, I’d like a drink,’ you said with a small voice, taking off your coat.

George went into the kitchen and you followed after him, taking place at the dining table. George made tea with shaking hands. The easy air between the two of you had changed into a more tensed, serious one. This wouldn’t be the time for jokes and laughs.

Sitting opposite of you, George sighed and then looked at you. You took his hand over the table and looked back at him. George thought he already could read the message in your eyes, but he couldn’t just let you walk away without it being said.

‘I remember what you said to me at that tree,’ he started, his voice quivering a bit. ‘You said that you wanted to be with me for the rest of your life. That I had formed for you a home and a place that you could always come back to. You told me you loved me more than you would ever love anyone else.’

A sad smile made its way to your lips. ‘We were too young, too dumb, to know love.’

Your voice was warm and yet it made George’s inside turn into ice. His blood stopped flowing and his heart stung in his chest. He sighed and dropped his eyes off you. His hand moved away from your touch and his other clenched together under the table. He was fighting the tears, but feared he couldn’t keep them in long.

‘Oh, George,’ you said with a  soothing voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

A tear passed the façade and slid down George’s cheek. He shook his head and swallowed harshly. He wasn’t mad at you, nor was he blaming you. But he wished it would all go away. He wished there was a way to reminisce you without the pain.

‘I wished we never met, ‘cause you’re too hard to forget,’ George whispered, yet his voice echoed through the silent room.

He only looked up when he heard the sobs from you. You had your face in your hands and your body was shocking from the crying. George got up and walked around the table, holding out his arms to you. You leaped into his arms, wrapping your own tightly around his torso. The dull pain was soothed a little at your touch.

For minutes, maybe an hour or more or less, you stood in each other’s embrace, just letting it soften the inevitable pain that came from heartbreak. You rested your cheek against George’s shoulder and he was resting his cheek on your head. You could hear this heart beating in your ear and the way it slowed down over time. The tears had dried, leaving aching traces on both your cheeks.

‘You’ll be alright,’ you whispered in George’s ear, your breath tickling his skin.

You would go away, like you had before. But this time you wouldn’t leave him unprepared for what was to come. He knew how he would feel when you stepped out of the door, when you left the place that would now never be yours again.

And where the last time you had left George in the dark, this time there was a little spark of light in his chest. Hope and determination that he would get out of the dark again. It was dark now, but it would get light again. After all, every dark shade hid a place of light, it was only his job to move the curtain.

‘We’ll be okay.’

--------

taglists:

general HP:  @kitkatkl​ @girllety​ @yuptha-tsme​ @sleep-i-ness​ @iamak20​ @thefuturelawyer​ @weasleydream​ @missmulti​ @deafgirltingz​ @moonstarrnghtsky​ @bloodblossom73 @mytreec​ @lilulo-12fanfiction​ @emmaloo21​ @kashishwrites​ @ananad1​ @figlia--della--luna​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @mrs-malfoy-always​ @thefandomplace​ @magicwithaknife​ @mt2413​ @aesthetically-hailey​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @the-natureofme​

Weasley twins: @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

MASTERLIST

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Dreamcatcher Albino Drider: Levi

Made of Silk

It was the smallest of noises that you heard above you: the groaning of old floorboards, the continuous presence of something that you could never find, always sounding so large yet so minuscule. You could confirm that your great-aunt Fern’s old home was haunted, but you were the person to always be in denial.

She had this place for a long time, it wouldn’t come to anyone’s surprise if your speculations were true, especially in light of her passing. With no other children or relatives that were on her will, the inheritance and house she had lived in for more than 50 years fell into your hands, and you didn’t take a second to pack your bags and move in.

Her home may have been full of dust and full of more antiques than life, but it was the one thing of your family that meant so much to you, especially when you felt so much more like a burden to those you knew, and having this place instead of it being sold or given to another one of your relatives meant so much.

You remember so much to the house with its blue-grey bricks and oddly shaped corridors that were great for running around in, but your attention was always for trying to up to the attic. The attic hiding spots would’ve been perfect in your eyes… if your aunt Fern had allowed you.

You protested and whined, but you were always quick to try and get up there without fail and always never succeeding - being whisked away and told how unkempt it was up there.

There are many things up there, some that you will understand when you’re older, but for now, go seek play in the garden, it is sunny today. She would remind you, and you would naively forget everything for that visit until the next and next one after.

It would be sunny and the rays would warm your back as you played, but you enjoyed the comfort of silence, the lack of light as you want to seek darkness.

Maybe it was the lack of attention you got as a child? You enjoyed your own company the older you got, enjoying times to play with yourself whilst your siblings got your family’s love – your friends chatting around you and never seem to add you to their conversations.

You never cared too much so they noticed, but the one who seemed to notify you and seemingly cared was your great-aunt.

Her illness brought her wits to falter and for her delusions to fester: the kind lady you had known for the majority of your life withered into nothing more than a shell of a human being within months, her passing had been the hardest on you. Which was why you took the offer of owning her home before anyone else could. This place shall be my resting place if it has to be, but it shall be my home like hers.

The smallest of noises brought your attention, but you dismissed them at first to the old house being so rusted with age, life had come and gone and you didn’t surprise that it needed more tender care. Old homes like these keep the warmth even when not much was left, but they stay true and loving no matter what. Aunt Fern kept this place in the best of conditions when she was healthier, and you wanted to get it back to that wonderful state.

Then, things started disappearing. You would go to sleep and wake up to things that had been moved or things that had gone completely. You would turn off your radio to be startled awake with it playing downstairs in your kitchen when you had been certain that you had switched it off at the plug.

For months, you tried ignoring it whilst fixing the house room by room, before it slowed consumed you from the inside out. Where you going insane just like they said about Aunt Fern? The disappearances grew more frequent and you slowly believed that you were forgetting things.

The delusions and denials grew into anger then confusion then slow acceptance, having it eat at you like a storm consuming the land. It hurt to dream, the nights of sleep that didn’t help to silence the growing sounds and things moving and emerging someplace else, but the one thing that didn’t help was that you believed it all.

You would grow insane too like aunt Fern had long ago.

You laid wide awake as you tossed to your side, watching the hours in stages grow further with noises of things around you; creaking floorboards, the wind howling like a rabid dog. It was all-consuming you too quickly now.

“I want to sleep, that is all I ask.” You whispered to the air, not surprised when nothing replied back in a remark or an apology. Instead, you listened, turning a final time as you tried shutting your eyes. “I will not go mad, no matter what you wish for me to do, no matter what you are. An avenging spirit, a trickster – annoying teenagers. Just… just let me sleep for once.”

You screwed your eyes tight for the remainder of the early morning until it was time to get up, and when you did, nothing seemed out the ordinary. No radios playing downstairs, nothing out of place.

You stretched your arms upwards and recoiled when you felt something that had attached itself to your fingers - when you pulled them away, you saw the faint tug of lacework.

A spiderweb, attached to your fingers, and when you connected your eyes, you saw the laced together work of terrifying beauty; the webs connecting into a large dreamcatcher.

The dreamcatchers were crafted day after day, awakening you with the rising dawn and dispelling the unpleasant thoughts and nightmares. It was a relief to you when you could sleep soundlessly or in the best way possible without the worries, yet the nagging part of your mind still knew that it was no coincidence. Something or someone had made it for you; a gift for you plights.    

“If I knew who you were or could see you, I would be thanking you.” You called out to the evening air as you laid in your bed like every other night. The gentle breeze of the wind was calling and dancing around your garden, brushing against the thorn bushes with the trees scratching at your window; nothing but white noise to you by now.

“The dreamcatcher is beautiful, I can tell you that for sure,” you smiled to nothing, in particular, watching your darkened room for any miscellaneous shapes or shadows shifting in movement. “it has helped me greatly.”

You went to bed smiling, knowing when you heard the floorboards creak above you in the attic, your mind settling down to help you rest.

It was only the next few nights when you slept that you were aware that there was someone that was watched you through the shadows of your room: hiding as best as they could in the crooks and corners, apprehensively observing.

You had awoken in the middle of the night, where your eyes turned to look at the mantle above your head; the freshly new and improved dreamcatcher had been crafted so beautifully, larger and delicately made in marvel.

Through the darkness of your room: your bedside cabinet, the wardrobe and en suite bathroom, you could see the glimpse of a moving silhouette shift through the gap of the wardrobe and the back of your door.

You squinted through the abyss of sunken darkness, your voice calling out to them softly and warily. “You can come out, you know. I won’t hurt you.”

The abyss shifted slowly, its outline morphed into less of an amorphous form before it became a more defined figure hiding along the side of your walls. You stretched over your bedside table for the lamp, hearing the figure react with its many feet that seemed to bring itself to dash away, many legs scattering quickly in a hurry, but you had grabbed at the lamp switch, allowing a swarm of light to finally explode through the darkened room.

Your mouth hung open as you gawked at the figure in your room.

The first thing you spotted of him was his stark porcelain skin, the colour of pale milk that glowed even in the dimness of your soft room. 

Through the soft-glowing room, you could spot the many eyes that were guarded by his long pale white locks – four you could count, large and wide a pale lavender-blue colour. They were waiting waveringly for you to make a noise; a scream of bloody murder, to scare him away for good. Your eyes scanned over his body, much smaller compared to what you had expected when he moved across the floorboards in a nervous skitter. 

His ribs stuck out through his supple skin, his body trying to hide his body in the small parts of shrouded darkness, recoiling from your gaze.

His spider half was furry, the eight legs short and crouched, ready to scurry him away if this encounter all went wrong. The contrast between his human skin and spider body blended amazingly – the abdomen was just as fuzzy around his short legs, something that could’ve looked so terrifying to someone but rather adorable to you.

No, you had never seen anything like him before, and the questions were running in your mind. How long had he been living here for? And… had Aunt Fern known of his existence?

“I--- I guess you’ve been living here for some time?”

“Yes,” his voice held the nervousness that made him seem uneasy, “you could say that.

You sat up further in your bed, watching him shift on his many legs. “You’re… you’re-”

“Hideous?” He quavered softly. “I’m sorry that I was making noise. I will leave you alone.”

“No,” You blurted, making his white furry legs stop, tapping individually on the floorboards, tapping like how a human’s leg would bounce with anxiousness. “Please, I’m sorry—you can stay, if you want, you just… you’re beautiful.”

His pale skin flushed noticeably and quickly, trying to hide his embarrassed face as best as he could, which made him look even more adorable. “Have you been here for a while?” You continued.

“For a long time, yes,” he drawled, “but I saw you a lot.”

“Really? How comes I never saw you?”

“I saw you play a lot, and I wanted to join you, but the lady of this house told me it was dangerous, that I should’ve stayed in the attic until everyone had gone.” He stated, rubbing his pale hands together.

Something clicked in your head. Was Aunt Fern hiding him all this time? It may have made sense now, after all those years when you weren’t allowed in areas of the house when you visited. That curiosity could’ve ended badly if you hadn’t respected the boundaries.

“How did you know my great-aunt?” You were drawn to him, his presence – how otherworldly he looked. For a moment, he stepped out a bit further from the shadows, not as nervous as he had been, but still uncertain.

“She looked after me when I was a youngling, keeping me in the attic, but after she passed, I was left alone.” His face fell downcast, holding himself together. You understood his pain, the same you had felt when she had passed away.

Time paused for a moment before you brought her attention once more. “Do you have a name?”

“Levi. She called me Levi.”

Your lips parted and then you closed them thereafter. That name had been something so significant to her when she had once had a son who shared that name. He lived and died a long time ago before you had been born; a babe taken too soon and not given the chance to live.

 Levi loosened and drifted closer until he was hovering by the end of your bed, he found himself once more. “I didn’t know how you would react to the gifts I made. I didn’t want you to go confused – drawn to a spirit that I am.”

“You’re not a spirit, rather someone who I thought was trying to fool me.” You laughed timidly, watching the nervous smile that drifted over his face, smiling toothily and tensely. “But your dreamcatchers helped me so.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they helped me sleep better if I’m honest. I didn’t think much of it at first – where they came from – but I knew someone was looking out for me.”

“You were lonely, and I didn’t want you to be… not like me.” He lamented. “Loneliness is a terrible thing, the death of your glee that never seems to return.”

You felt sympathy and sorry for him, knowing full well that his words were true from his bad experience. Loneliness makes you lost, the harder you try to push it away. “You can stay with me here if you wish. I think my Aunt would’ve liked you to stay.”

He smiled, grateful. “I think she’d be appreciative of you for letting me stay.”

You relaxed into your bed, looking over the time – almost 4. “I only ask of one thing.”

He smiled earnestly. “…Anything for you.”

Your eyes moved to glimpse back over his silk work, catching his eyes. “The dreamcatchers may stay like yourself. They held to get rid of my nightmares.”

 -

I have been going through some things so I apologise if this hasn’t been good, I’m gonna try and train my writer’s block.

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