#this has been a week of mondays and I need jagged giggles

[verfound]

WIP Wednesday: 04.10.2024

I think I've added another two chapters to this fic because Jagged, and I'm not even sorry.

Juleka had called Rose in the next day, and they shanghaied Marinette for a day of cheesy romcoms, mani pedis, and too much ice cream. They had all been sprawled out on the couch, passing a bowl of popcorn between them, when Jagged had shambled down the stairs in gold-striped boxers and a purple tank top, his hair a mess and his socks falling off his feet. Luka had been in the middle of saying something to her when she squeaked, and he looked away from the screen to find her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open.

“Oh my God, it’s Jagged Stone!” she hissed when he poked her arm, and he turned to find her staring at his dad as said dad scratched his stomach and yawned. Luka groaned and threw a pillow at him.

“Gross, Dad!” he called. “Put some fucking pants on!”

“My house, kid!” Jagged snapped back as he chucked the pillow back towards the couch. Luka caught it before it could hit Marinette in the face. “I’ll wear pants when I damn well feel like it! After coffee!”

He continued on to the kitchen, and Luka rolled his eyes before looking back at Marinette. She was still staring after his dad with wide eyes, a light blush on her face. He reached over and laid a hand on her knee.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked.

“It’s just Dad,” Juleka said, looking over Rose’s head at her. Rose was oblivious, squealing as something happened on screen and crushing the popcorn in her hand as she wiggled. “You knew who our dad was.”

“I know, but…I mean he’s never here!” Marinette hissed, gesturing blindly. “I’ve never actually met him before!”

“Rock ‘n roll is busy work,” Jagged’s sleep-grumbled voice said beside her, and Marinette squeaked and threw herself into Luka as she turned and found Jagged Stone leaning against the back of the couch, right beside her. He grinned at her and held out a hand. “Hey. I’m Jay.”

“She knows who you are, Dad,” Luka said, rolling his eyes. He squeezed her shoulders, rubbing them absently as she shook against him. “She’s kind of a huge fan.”

“No shit?” Jagged laughed, Marinette nodded mutely, and he wiggled his fingers at her. “You ok there, kid?”

“FINE!” Marinette screeched, and when Jagged’s eyebrows rose she groaned and slapped her burning face in her hands. “I-I mean yes! Sorry! I…oh my God, kill me now…”

“Dad, this is Marinette,” Juleka drawled, grinning at her when she peeked out over her fingertips. “Our friend from school.”

“’Friend’, huh? You two seemed pretty close last night,” Jagged said, grinning at Luka. He wiggled his fingers again as Luka groaned. Marinette smiled nervously and took his hand, giving it a timid shake. “Nice to meet you, Marinette.”

“S-same,” she said. “I…I really am a big fan. Your last album got me through finals.”

“Don’t tell him that — his ego’s big enough,” Luka groaned.

“Is that so?” Jagged laughed, giving her hand a firmer shake. “Happy to help. I like her, Lu.”

“Dad,” Luka hissed, but Jagged just waved him off and told them all to behave (the fact that it was Jagged meant none of them took him seriously). He was off to the basement studio with a mug of coffee and a plate a few minutes later, and Luka sighed as he dropped his head back against the couch. “You get used to him. Sorry.”

But Marinette just smiled and settled against him, reaching for the popcorn as she turned her attention back to the movie. If Juleka shot him a look over her soulmate’s head when Marinette stayed there, tucked against him, Luka pretended to ignore it.

[berriusagi]

Stomach Bug Ch4

Afternoon Date

It has been a minute, hasn’t it? Sorry for making you guys wait for the next chapter I hope you like this one too. Love the support and the kind comments.

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Marinette and Damian were lucky when it came to their schedules as their classes ended roughly around the same time; making it easier for them to plan their dates during the week so they could get as much time together as possible. The following days after the announcement at Wayne manor the teens spent as much time around each other as they could. Though they did have to sneak around the family for privacy and keep a low profile to not raise any suspicion from the media.

The perks of having a well-known designer as your significant other made it incredibly easy for them to be able to hide in plain sight. Only proven by the fact both were sitting in a small coffee shop enjoying some pastries and hot chocolate as everyone around them was none the wiser of just who was in their presence.

“I’ll never understand how you do it.” Damian chuckled softly as he sipped on his drink looking around the coffee shop as Marinette just giggled.

“You have a very specific style. It's how people pick you out, change the style and they’ll be none the wiser.” she smiled before leaning in to whisper, “average people aren’t that perceptive that’s how heroes like Superman and the Green Arrow can blend in so easily outside of the costume. They don’t see faces, they see the clothing or anything ‘off’ about them.”

“Makes sense,” he nodded relaxing back in the booth wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she settled in sipping on her hot chocolate, “Is that how you figured me out so quickly? You looked at the face, not the clothes?” he hummed rubbing her arm.

“Actually for the first three months all I did was look at the clothes because they are an affront to fashion.” she giggled, “I get that its tradition but did it have to be so garish? Did you have to use the brightest colors for the darkest and gothic city in America? It’s like you want to get shot,” she said rolling her eyes.

“I think it had more to do with Batman wanting to keep track of a small child in dark alleyways, bright colors stand out more.” Damian chuckled.

Marinette hummed seeming to accept that answer as she finished her pastry and hot chocolate. They fell into a comfortable silence just enjoying each other’s company cuddling together. “It’s getting close to the holidays. Is there anything you or your family want?” she asked.

Damian thought about it for a moment trying to think of anything his family mentioned wanting in the past few weeks. “Hmm, I remember Todd saying something about his leather jacket getting too worn, I think Drake could use a new sweater too. It's looking a bit threadbare. Grayson hasn’t complained about anything specific and since he doesn’t live in the Manor I can’t exactly look through all his clothes. Father and Pennyworth I’m not too sure on.” he said after a long stretch of silence.

“What about you? Anything special you want?” she smiled looking up at him.

“I’ll be happy with whatever it is you choose to give me.” he smiled leaning down to kiss her gently on the forehead, “You’re already giving me the best present,” he added, placing a gentle hand over her belly.

Marinette giggled a soft blush settling across her cheeks; “I would have never pegged you as a sappy dad.” she smiled holding his hand over her belly, “It’s so unlike you.”

He shrugged a soft pink dusting his face, “I’m just excited.” he mumbled.

She smiled softly leaning up to kiss his cheek, “I know you are, how about we head out and can go window shopping at a few stores to get an idea of what all we’ll need.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” he nodded, getting out of the booth taking her hand to help her stand. Once she was on her feet he wrapped an arm loosely around her waist and guided her out of the shop and onto the busy street. They steered clear of any overpopulated areas not wanting to risk anyone recognizing Damian, as well as any alleyways not wanting to mugged or jumped.

They took their time making their way to the shopping district talking quietly to each other about their plans for the following weeks. Marinette was slowly losing her mind with her commissions that seemed to get more and more complicated with less and less time between each to finish. Damian was adamant to claim his brothers were driving him up the wall now that they knew about Marinette making his desire to stab them all that stronger. Though he’d never admit he liked that his family welcomed Marinette so readily.

“What are you hoping for?” Marinette asked as they looked in the shop window at some baby clothes. There were an array of items from over the top frilly dresses full of ruffles and lace to make it obvious to anyone that the child wearing it was meant to be a little princess. While on the other side were little onesies with cheesy sayings and cute art printed on them causing the people passing by to coo and laugh at the phrases pointing them out to their friends and partners.

“A healthy child,” Damian said, hugging her gently to his side, “I don’t care about the gender so long as they are healthy and I have you by my side,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her gently on her cheek.

Marinette blushed though and was smiling brightly as she buried her face into his chest breathing deeply as she soaked up all the warmth and love he was showering her in. “I feel the same,” she mumbled before pulling him away from the clothing store to head into a shop to look at other supplies and furniture they’d need.

They lost hours in the department store as they looked over different strollers, beds, changing tables, anything and everything marketed for a baby. They took their time looking it over and comparing the items until they had a solid idea of just what it was they needed. “I want everything to be neutral in color,” she mumbled as they were looking at some toys.

“Hm?” Damian asked, holding up a green rabbit plush testing how soft it was.

“I don’t want anything too gender-specific you know I don’t want everything pink, as much as I love the color or blue. I think it should be a neutral color or a variety of colors so we’re not forcing our kid in just one color.” She said picking up some blankets gently running her fingers over the soft fleece.

“We could always get everything in robin colors.” Damian joked.

“I will divorce you.” Marinette deadpanned looking up at him.

“Ouch okay no robin colors.” he chuckled, setting the toy rabbit down and hugged her, “we have plenty of time to decide on the colors, but I do agree we won’t use pink or blue it’s been overdone quite a bit.” he nodded.

She nodded as they left the baby aisle and started to head towards the front. Once they were back out on the street the sky was beginning to darken quite a bit. “It’s getting late. I should head home and pack, Mum said she’d bring me by the manor after dinner.”

“I’ll walk you home and make sure the room Pennyworth set up is suitable for you.” he nodded guiding her down the street. “Will you be bringing any of your projects along?” he asked as he helped her cross the street.

“I’ll probably bring the quilt I’m working on and the jacket Uncle Jagged commissioned.” she hummed as they made their way towards her apartment. “I’m almost done with the jacket and I want to get a few more squares done on the quilt before Monday,” she added.

He nodded as they fell into a comfortable silence and continued to walk, keeping close to each other so as not to get separated in the crowds. Once they reached Marinette’s apartment building she pulled away and smiled up at Damian, “I’ll see you after dinner have a safe trip home.” she said getting up on her tippy toes to kiss him.

“You have a nice dinner and pack some warm pajamas. The manor can get a bit drafty at night,” he warned, kissing her back. He smiled and waited until she was inside the building and in the elevator to take her to her floor before he turned on his heels and began to head home.

He was only able to pass a few blocks before ducking into an alleyway and crossed his arms waiting as someone landed behind him. “Really? You tailed us the whole time we were out?” he deadpanned turning to face Nightwing.

Nightwing just crossed his arms looking away with a slight pout, “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” he said, “you were walking around in broad daylight anyone could have seen you two.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t notice you, how would I have explained why a vigilante was following us? When the sun is up leave us alone if she’s out after dark feel free to tail her if she’s not with me.” he said glaring at him, “She doesn’t need the added stress and doesn’t need to be looking over her shoulder every few blocks because she saw someone following her.”

Nightwing sighed rolling his head, “Fine I won’t but I can’t say anything for the others.” he said before sending up a grapple and whisking himself away.

Damian sighed, rubbing his temples, “They’re going to scare her off I just know it.” he muttered heading out of the alleyway and continued his trek home.

~.~.~.~

“Marigold are you ready?” Ivy asked after cleaning up the kitchen from their dinner. She knocked on the door before opening it slowly as she peered in to see Marinette attempting to shove her sewing machine into her bag. “Marigold I think the sewing machine can stay here.” she chuckled walking in grabbing the machine from her hands and set it back on the table.

“I have projects I need to finish though.” Marinette groaned looking at the fabric squares for the quilt and jacket she had packed in another bag.

“You and I both know all that’s left for the jacket is minor touch-ups. You can hand sew it and you’d been hand sewing that quilt all week so you don’t need the machine.” Ivy said leaning on the desk, “Besides you’re going to be with the Wayne’s for the weekend instead of working on your projects why don’t you take a break and get to know them?”

“I just want to finish Uncle Jagged’s jacket. I already closed down the site and won’t be reopening it until new years. I’ll take a break when all my projects are done and have been shipped out.” she said trying to get around Ivy to get the sewing machine.

“Marigold I said no sewing machine.” Ivy said blocking her, “you shouldn’t be carrying it back and forth anyways. I’m sure you just mentioned in passing you needed a sewing machine while in that manor you’ll have one before the end of the day.”

“Mum! That would be manipulative!” Marinette gasped appalled at her mother’s suggestion.

Ivy sighed, gently taking hold of Marinette’s face and leaned down to be eye level with her, “it’s not manipulative. You could just ask Bruce or Damian if they had one if not and you don’t want to use their money then convince Damian to join you to buy yourself a sewing machine that can stay at the manor.” She said gently, kissing her forehead.

Marinette pouted, bowing her head, “so no sewing machine?” she said eyeing the trusty machine she brought from Paris when she moved.

“‘Fraid, not kiddo now finish packing up Harls will be back from walking Bud and Lou any moment then we’re heading over to the manor to drop you off.” Ivy chuckled patting her back as she left the room to let Marinette finish packing for the weekend.

~.~.~.~

The Wayne Manor was in a state of chaos as the occupants prepared for the arrival of their weekend guest. Bruce watched on with a type of exhausted fondness that only a single parent possesses as they watch their children make complete fools of themselves. Beside him was Tim his second youngest who was nursing yet another large mug of coffee the bags under his eyes deeper and darker than the waters of the Mariana Trench. “At least they’re excited?” Bruce muttered watching on as Jason and Dick continued to argue about what they’d learned about Marinette in the last week through means of tailing her and digging up her past.

“They’re going to scare her off.” Damian deadpanned standing beside Bruce on the other side of him watching the two eldest argue looking as if they were going to physically fight.

“No offense but if she didn’t run for the hills after meeting you I think she’ll be able to handle them.” Tim yawned as he took a long drink from his coffee as there was a soft knocking at the door.

Alfred easily walked past the fighting siblings and went right for the front door opening it to reveal the Isley-Quinzels, “Pleasure to see you again Miss. Marinette.” Alfred nodded stepping aside to allow her to enter carrying with her two large bags.

“Sorry to intrude,” Marinette said as Damian rushed overtaking one of her bags off her arm.

“Nonsense you’re always welcome here.” Alfred smiled and looked at the two women, “would you like to come in?”

“Nah we got plans we’ll be back Sunday to pick you up, Marigold.” Harley smiled hugging Marinette, giving her a big kiss on her cheek as Ivy stepped in to give her a kiss and hug goodbye.

“Try to relax this weekend,” Ivy said patting her back, “You lot treat her well or I’ll make you into fertilizer.”

“She’s in good hands Ivy you two have a nice weekend,” Bruce said, nodding his head to the women. Harley and Ivy nodded and blew Marinette a few more kisses before they made their leave after Alfred closed the door.

“I’ll show you to your room Habibti,” Damian said, taking her bags and making a point to ignore his family watching him as he guided Marinette away and up the stairs to the room Alfred prepared for her.

Once they were out of earshot of the rest of the family Marinette looked up at Damian with a raised eyebrow, “You’re not putting me in the room Alfred prepared are you?” she asked following him.

“No, you’ll be in my room so I can keep an eye on you.” He said leaning down to kiss her as he pushed open his bedroom door and carried her bags in. “You need to sleep a reasonable amount and I know you sleep better when you’re warm and this way I can make sure you’re warm.”

“Just say you want to cuddle.” Marinette giggled sitting on his bed as he went about putting her clothes away and setting her sewing projects on his desk. She smiled watching him move with such familiarity as if this was a daily occurrence for them. As she relaxed on the bed a comforting weight settled across her lap. Looking down she saw a tuxedo cat lounging across her legs purring loudly and quite content.

Marinette smiled reaching down and gently started to run her fingers through the fur, “You must be Alfred.” She smiled gently scratching behind the cat's ears. She was so occupied with petting the cat on her lap she barely noticed the weight of another animal climbing onto the bed and curled up behind her. She turned and looked smiling at the large Great Dane she leaned back resting her head on the dog’s side reaching up and started petting him with her free hand, “You must be Titus.” She giggled as Alfred the Cat crawled up to rest on her chest.

Marinette was content to relax on the bed cuddling with the animals when she felt another weight settle on her lap and looked down to see a turkey perched on her legs watching her. “Hello, Jerry.” She giggled, stopping her petting of the cat and dog to reach down and begin gently stroking the turkey’s feathers. She alternated between the three animals trying not to make any feel left out as she pet them soon dozing off from all the warmth and comfort the animals provided.

Damian found her passed out on his bed, one hand resting on Jerry’s back and the other reaching back to scratch Titus’ ears. He huffed out a soft laugh looking over the scene before pulling his phone out quickly taking a picture before shooing Jerry and Alfred off her so he could get her in bed and into a more comfortable position. “Good job everyone,” he whispered to his pets as he took her boots off and gently took her hair out of her pigtails before tucking her into bed.

Once she was comfortably curled up under the blankets he pulled back and laid out some pajamas on the nightstand closest to Marinette in case she woke up long enough to change and set about getting into his pajamas and turned off all the lights before climbing into bed and pulled her to his chest relaxing back. “Good night habibti.” He mumbled, kissing her forehead.

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[lockedstuck]

beyond our fury and our silences

2021, 04/17 - Sollux Captor

You envy the patients on the unit who have a “normal” to return to. You never have, and never will. You’ve had periods of more gentle oscillation, like high school as opposed to the jagged highs and equally disruptive lows of your undergraduate years. However, you haven’t been “normal” in terms of psychopathology since you were a kid.

Dr. Vandayar suggests that perhaps your childhood years did a number on your sanity, though not word for word. He’s way more polite about it. You kind of want to hit him for it.

Your dad did his absolute best to raise you, all seventy hour weeks to afford summer camp for gifted kids and SHSAT prep classes. So did your mother, teaching you math and history, even if she was psychotic, even when her mental landscape frequently shifted like sand on the beach. 

Once, when you were maybe ten, she came home an hour late from a quick run to the grocery store five blocks away. She explained, gentle yet adamant, that people had decided to follow her home, and she did not want them to know where she was going. What if they’d decided to rob her? Your dad sighed. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She sat at the dining room table later, repeatedly drawing pictures of seashells. When you sat down next to her, and pulled your chair close so that you could see her work, she started to explain the Fibonacci sequence to you. It wasn’t hard to understand adding the sums of the two previous numbers together. She launched into another explanation of the not unrelated golden ratio, and you just sat there and let her go on for a while, even when you didn’t quite understand. 

She took out a nautilus shell that she had fashioned into a necklace, showed it to you, and wound up giving it to you. When you asked her why, she smiled and shrugged. You continue to wear it underneath your clothing. 

Perhaps you’ll give it to Feferi when she gets discharged, given her love of all things aquatic. At this rate, she’ll probably get out before you do, what with the nine ECT treatments you still have to complete.

Out of nowhere, Roxy walks over to you, and you glance up at her. You know by now that whatever comes out of her mouth will be either offensive, amusing, or both.

“Aradia’s on the phone for you, Lispy! Hey, could you tell her something for me?”

You stand up and stretch, fingertips toward the ceiling. “What is it?”

“Tell her that her voice is really cute, but that she’s way cuter in person,” she replies. “Wait, hold up. Tell me she’s not straight. Is she straight? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

You don’t know whether or not to answer truthfully. You should probably ask Aradia about that beforehand. You walk over to the pay phone, and put the receiver to your mouth.

“Ray? Is that you?”

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. Then, a pause that stretches into infinity, or ten whole seconds at the very least. “Is it okay if I visit tonight instead of tomorrow? One of my students is actually attending my office hours, which--”

“--overlap with my visiting hours,” you finish. Maybe you should have let her complete her sentence. 

You’re tetchy and impatient, the first thing having been induced by your session with Dr. Vandayar, and the second by the fact that next week will mark one whole month since you arrived at this hospital, and what precisely do you have to show for it? 

Roxy’s almost completely weaned off methadone and will probably leave next week, to go to inpatient rehab. June is going home the Monday after next. Feferi got here the same day as you and will most certainly be gone the same week as June. Eridan will be gone before you finish out your ECT treatments, since his conclude next week, as will Karkat, Porrim, and probably even Calliope. The only person who may not leave before you is Latula, and although she’s perfectly kind, you don’t know her very well. 

You didn’t realize how long you’ve stewed in your thoughts until you hear Aradia ask, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to come tonight as opposed to tomorrow. That’s fine.”

“And what about you?” she asks.

You shrug.

“What about me?”

“Are you fine?”

The only person you suck at lying to more than Aradia is your father, and your dad is only leading by a narrow margin. That may be why you signed a HIPPA release so that your treatment team could talk to both of them.

“I had a weird therapy session today. Normally I get along with my therapist, but today I almost wanted to punch him in the face.”

Aradia asks if you’d like to talk about it, and your kneejerk is to say, “hell no”, but during another therapy session a couple of days ago, Dr. Vandayar stressed the importance of not being unwilling to depend on one’s support team. As vaguely annoyed as you still are at him, you did concede the point on Monday afternoon.

“I guess it was because… well… fuck, I don’t know how to explain this without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t actually say anything that wasn’t true, but maybe it was the way he said it? I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ray, I’m rambling all over the fucking place.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

“He pretty much said that my situation with my parents could have contributed a lot to why I’m all fucked up in the head. Not currently, but like, before, when I was a kid. I was like, where exactly does this guy get off making that kind of judgment? And then I was like, dude, you weren’t there, you didn’t see it, so how do you know? ‘Cause my parents, they did the absolute best they could with what they had. I mean, I didn’t say that to him, but I felt it. And I felt angry at him about it.”

A long silence, one that you feel sink down to the pit of your stomach.

“Well.”

“Well, what?”

“I get that you’re upset, but Sollux, it’s not like this is something you’ve never said to me.”

“But Aradia, that’s different. I was there. So were you, for parts of it. You’ve met my parents a billion times. But aside from a few conversations with you and Baba, Dr. V barely knows anything about my life. For him to say it like that… I don’t like it. I don’t know why, but I don’t.”

“Because it seems like he’s judging people and events he hasn’t had the opportunity to witness first-hand.”

“Yes! Exactly! That’s it!”

It feels like an indictment against your family, and if you are anything to a fault, you are loyal to Mituna and your parents. All of them came together for you, the youngest, the most successful. Even being here, unable to provide for them both emotionally and financially, feels like the worst blow in the world. 

You shouldn’t be here getting the memory zapped out of you in some last-ditch effort to quell your mania and depression. You should be outside working, seeing to the needs of someone besides yourself. You should be meeting Aradia at her apartment every other night, helping her clean out her apartment, which quickly devolves into chaos, ashtrays full of spent cigarette butts, and dishes piling up in the sink, as she scrambles to finish up her master’s thesis.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from your father, it is that you are what you contribute, and being here, seemingly unable to contribute anything, might just be the worst sensation in the world.

You’re alone with yourself here, face to face with everything you hate about yourself, with all your aspirations and all your neuroses, and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it, you want out so badly. But what if they don’t let you leave and you end up at your mother’s worst fear - involuntary status? If four weeks of hospitalization seem like hell, what about sixty days, your fate handed down via court order?

What if that knee-jerk desire to 72 hour letter yourself away from thrice weekly therapy sessions is just another trap? What if you leave and try to slit your throat again? What if you actually succeed this time around? Who the fuck is going to take care of your family?

It all comes down to that.

You’d rather like to bang your head against the wall until you either make things clearer or knock yourself out. 

“I’ll be there tonight, Sollux,” Aradia says, suddenly. Not for the first time, you wonder if she can read your mind and tell when you’re starting to decompensate more than usual.

Aradia gets there long before six o’ clock. In fact, you notice her tell-tale garnet-colored blazer, as you look through the small rectangular window in the door of the main unit, sometime around 5:20. A woman in a small black dress stands not far away from her, and once you notice her carefully coiffed blonde hair, you walk over to the women’s side of the unit and loudly knock on Roxy’s door.

“And what can I do for you?” she asks, removing the headphone radio that has all but been surgically attached to her head. “Do you have news about Aradia’s sexual orientation?”

You roll your eyes at her, more to keep up appearances than an actual rebuke.

“Your mom’s here,” you reply.

Roxy seems to consider this, then picks up her stuffed cat from her bed and pads into the hallway. Calliope waves at you, the light on their side of the room switched on so they can write. You wave back, then follow Roxy back to the main door of the unit, to resume your little vigil.

You stand without word or gesture, a good six feet away from the door so the night staff doesn’t bitch. They seem to have given up on Roxy, who stands only two feet away from the door and jumps up and down as she waves to her mom. Her mom waves back, though in a more sedate fashion than her child. 

You rather like Ms. Lalonde, honestly. It’s hard to dislike a family member who comes so often. According to Roxy, she only misses Mondays for work related reasons. You think the only person who has her beat in terms of visiting is June’s dad, who has yet to miss a day of seeing his daughter, at least during your stay here.

After about ten minutes of furious waving, Roxy starts doing the YMCA with her arms. Her mother actually returns the motions. 

Aradia glances at her, cracks up, and giggles helplessly, which makes you smile.

When they finally start letting visitors in, Aradia steps behind Ms. Lalonde without a word. Aradia signs the book after her, and then Mr. Egbert signs after that.

Maybe he smuggled a whole ass lemon meringue pie onto the unit. You’d probably kiss him if he did that, and you’re pretty sure macking on your friend’s hot dad is frowned upon in most situations.

Aradia walks into the unit, and it’s only a moment before you’ve scooped her up into your arms. You’re so skinny that Karkat calls you a walking skeleton comprised of caffeine and spite, and Aradia has more curves than a parametric equation. You still manage to pick her up so her toes momentarily leave the ground, pull her close, and kiss her forehead before you let her go. 

She interlaces your fingers with hers.

“What table are we sitting at tonight?” she wants to know, gazing at the sea of round wooden tables in the dining room.

“The one by the window, in the corner,” you decide, after a moment’s thought. The chairs are heavy, so they can’t be thrown across the unit by angry patients you suppose, but you pull out your chair and sit down easily enough. It occurs to you that maybe you should have pulled hers out, but she gets the job done. 

You sit right beside her, and before you can think on it, you let her pull you close. Your head on her shoulder, and your arm thrown around her back. It’s not the most comfortable position, but she smells like lilies, cocoa butter, cigarettes, and home. 

You bring to mind all the animal skulls on her shelves, all the volumes of dead poets stacked haphazardly around them. Everything has been arranged to display her fixation on things that have shuffled off this mortal coil, for the exception of the flourishing plants on her terrace. 

Her arms come up around your shoulders, and she scoots over so the position is more comfortable for your lanky ass. She presses a kiss to your temple, and then to the shell of your ear. You smile in spite of yourself.

 It occurs to you that you have not had a self-loathing thought since she arrived.

It’s easier to not hate yourself when someone who would either try to refute or talk you through your issues sits beside you, singing softly.

“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evening. And it sounds just like a song...”

You snort. “I had no idea you were so fond of Harry Styles.”

She stops singing for the moment, but you’ve already started to hum the next part of the song, while she explains where she first heard it.

“My neighbor used to like to sit on her balcony and listen to the radio while I talked to my fig tree. It was on constant replay on Z100. And it’s catchy. So I sang it. A lot.”

You imagine Aradia as she sings, the long dark curls of her hair unpinned the way they usually are when she’s at home, moving along to the music as she waters her plants. It’s a nice mental image, the kind you wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

Here is one way you might safeguard yourself from the impulses and the dorco razor-blades. 

You can’t watch Aradia bustle around her apartment if you’re not alive. You can’t help her, or your dad in their gardens - why do so many of your loved ones have an affinity for plants when you can barely keep a cactus alive - if you’re six feet under.

You also cannot remind her of her own neglected tasks - “Aradia, c’mon, you have to wash these dishes, there’s fuckin’ fruit flies here, I hate fruit flies.” - and then watch as she makes a meal with the newly washed dishes just so that she knows you’ve eaten that day. 

You think she’d give an approving nod to your thoughts.

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. You glance at her face, the anxiety written across it.

That won’t do. You never liked seeing her worried about anything.

“Yeah, Ray? What’s going on?”

“When you get out of here, after all your treatments are finished, I was wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

She exhales slowly. She takes your hand in hers. You let the warmth suffuse through you. 

“Would you like to move in with me? I know you need to be close to your family, but it’s just the F to the 7 train to get to Flushing.”

You consider this. You’ve known Aradia since the sixth grade, and you are now twenty-seven, which adds up to something like sixteen years of friendship. Aradia knows you like nobody else. Not even your father.

She’s handled your weird mood shit and chronic suicidality with more skill than some clinicians you’ve had. In return, you’ve kept her alive - her parents coddled her to a fault, and she had next to no idea how the world outside academia functioned - and helped her through her occasional bouts of clinical depression.

“You’ll take me to Essex Market and get me that bougie vegan cheese?” you ask. 

There are more questions, several in fact, that you need answered before you give her a decision, but you’ll start with the inanities and work your way up to the logistics.

“When have I not?” she replies. 

You snort.

“How much am I going to pay in rent, for one?”

Aradia seems to consider this for a moment.

“For now, nothing, since you’re not working, and I’m already covering my rent with my job,” she says. “But once you get a job, I’d like you to kick something in. Not too much.”

“Where would I even sleep?”

“The couch in the main room is a pullout. And even If you wanted to sleep in my room, I think I have enough space for another bed.”

You think it over, and some traitorous part of your brain bristles at what is essentially charity from her. Her family - comfortably upper middle class - must be helping her with rent. There is no way in hell that she scored a one bedroom near Bowery on her salary as an adjunct professor. You don’t know what they’d think of letting you live there, or maybe you do, and that’s why you’re hesitant to accept this. They’ve come to actually like you, but you’re not eager to test out how far that goes.

She must sense your hesitation. She once more interlaces her fingers with yours, and lets out a small sigh.

“At least think it over, Sollux.”

“You know I will.”

“I think we function better when we’re in the same place than when we’re not.”

You grin. “You know it.”

The other thing that gives you pause consists of your own confusing feelings about her. 

Some days you want to kiss her senseless, peel her out of that red jacket, the black tank top, the long gray skirt. You want to see her, and only her. You want to shed your t-shirt and skinny jeans and have her see you. You want to hold her, press against her, and have her return the gesture. Your longing to be as close to her as humanly possible sweeps over you like a wave, and you have never been known for any particular skill at swimming.

Other days, you just want to sit next to her and make fun of her when she sings Watermelon Sugar. Or like the time she forgot her umbrella at home, a torrential downpour decided to strike and you had to run to the Second Avenue F train station and hope you got there in time to catch her. Still, more recently, the pair of you playing video games and swearing at each other with a giant container of mapo tofu between you. You want the easy rhythm of your close friendship, something familiar, and easy to navigate.

Most of all, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you take the plunge and alter the parameters of your relationship, that you’ll lose her entirely if things don’t pan out. And where the hell would you be without her?

[doof-doofblog]

"You Want A War?! You Got One!"

Tuesday 20th October 2020

Hello again folks! Hope you're having a good day so far! I really enjoyed writing about Monday's episode, I'm really hoping Tuesday's will be just as good. My plan was going to attempt two blog posts today but  I've decided it will be a lot easier for me to do one post a night. Seeing as I'm not working on Saturday, I can write up about Friday's episode then and follow tonight's episode tomorrow. That will leave me with next week not being behind, I hope I've not annoyed any of you with this, and I apologise in advance if I have. But I just want to do the best I can with this blog and I just want let to you guys know that I am still committed to do this 100% ... life just seems to get in the way sometimes. Anyway, let's jump right into Tuesday's episode and see what's going on in Walford!

The episode starts with Phil still reeling from the recent news he's learned about Ellie. Ben is adamant that his Dad shouldn't be going in with all guns blazing, he even asks his Dad if he wants him to go along. But Phil instructs his son to get things in the house ready for a 3 year old, as not matter what, he'll be bringing Raymond home! But something tells me, it's not going to be as simple as that! Is going to be walking into a war or a trap? We already know the Ellie was to blame for Raymond's parents passing away, what is she going to do next?

At the Beale household, Ian finds Peter and informs him that he has transferred some money into his account, not just his allowance but a little extra. Is he literally buying his son's silence?! I'd like to think Peter is smarter than that, maybe in time he'll come to realise that his Dad is lying to them all. As Ian leaves, Kathy can be seen doing her make-up, getting herself ready for her date with Iain. She confides in her Grandson that she's feeling nervous, more to the fact that the fella doesn't even know her real age. Peter tells his Gran not to worry and that the date will go smoothly. Just as Peter happens to mention the word "Date" - Bobby appears and is shocked to hear that his Gran is going out to meet some stranger, but I think the main issue is that he's upset she's going outside during a pandemic and after taking precautions during lockdown, she should be careful as she's vulnerable. Something tells me that this has something to do with Bobby's OCD storyline, recently he's been constantly reminding everybody to wash their hands and be careful, I might be jumping the gun here, but are EastEnders going to make Coronavirus a storyline? Meaning, is Kathy going to catch it while going on her date and become really unwell, or will Bobby end up getting it after being incredibly careful. Who knows? I could be completely wrong, but it would be an interesting outcome, don't you guys think?!

Meanwhile, in the Vic Stacey and Kat are cleaning whilst Lily sits and watches as she's playing on her tablet. This was a very interesting conversation between Stacey and Kat. Kat just happens to mention that she saw Ruby with a designer handbag that Martin has supposedly bought her for her birthday. Stacey seems a little upset by this news and she appears jealous as she mentions that the best presents that Martin ever bought her were a CD and paint! It's the next part which Lily seems to listen really closely too, she's obviously aware that her Mum is feeling sad about Martin and Ruby being together, but to let off some steam, Stacey will shout and probably say things that she doesn't mean, it's then she mentions Ruby having "Daddy issues" and she's had them ever since her Dad saved the wrong daughter in a house fire. Lily picks up on what her Mother has said, what is she going to do with this new information?!

At the Cafe, Habiba is eager to get Ash and Iqra on side to go to court with her to support Jags. Ash reveals that Suki and Kheerat are going and everyone thought it was best if no else went. Habiba is saddened to hear that Ash isn't doing anything to save her brother. Everyone knows that Jags is innocent, but no one is willing to tell the truth. Iqra offers to go with her sister for support, Habiba accepts and they both leave to head off to court.

In the Arches, Phil is looking that he's waiting for someone, checking his watch and the clock on the wall. Suddenly, Ellie walks in, personally, I feel there's going to be some kind of row going on, but Phil plays the sympathy/guilty card. Explaining that he knows everything regarding the car crash that Raymond's parents were in. He tries to convince her that Raymond would be better off with him and his family, he'll be safer - seeing as Ellie has put her Grandson's life in danger and what's going to stop her from doing it again?! Ellie then plays dirty, she scoffs at Phil's words, informing him that she has also done her homework and found out everything about Ben, Louise and even Dennis. Phil looks a little bit defeated that he's been caught out, but then Ellie changes her tune, she admits that she can see how much Raymond means to him, and she even goes on to say that she'll let Phil have him. Phil, however, does look a bit suspicious, what's the catch?! Oh - only £150,000! Ellie announces she'll let him have Raymond for 150 grand!!! How the hell is Phil going to find that kind of money?!

Meanwhile at the restaurant, Kathy is preparing herself for her date, she takes a deep breath and turns the corner to find a - dare I say - dashing gentleman waiting at a table. He spots her and he seems really happy to see her, clearly a little nervous but ever more happy to see her turn up. As Kathy takes a seat you can see she is also nervous, mainly due to the fact that the poor man isn't aware of her real age. He makes a point about going on dates and ending up being catfished, meaning that the person who turns up doesn't turn out to be who they make out they are online. Kathy can only give a small smile, she must be feeling a little guilty, perhaps feeling that she's leading the poor guy on. Something tells me she might come clean by the end of her date, but who knows? Will it be a success?!

At the Prince Albert, Ash and Peter - surprisingly two other characters I never thought we'd see share a scene. But from what I can make out, they both have a little bit in common, Ash is wallowing her thoughts and fears about her brother going to prison for something he didn't do. Peter is also battling demons about his own Dad, wondering whether to trust him or not. They're both dealing with deep family issues right now, and it looks as if as they continue their conversation, they have some mutual understanding of each other and what the other is going through. I could be looking into something that isn't there, but do I sense a bit of flirtation as Peter offers to buy her a drink? I mean, sure, anyone can offer someone a drink without it be flirtatious, but I don't know - something told me that maybe there might've been something there. But who knows, Ash I believe is happy with Iqra, so who knows what could happen? This is EastEnders after all!

Back at the restaurant, it looks as if Kathy's date with Iain is going brilliantly! They're both giggling and enjoying each other's company. But it looks as if Iain is asking Kathy really awkward questions, questions which are having to make her lie about her family, such as Peter being her son instead of Grandson. Is she going to keep up the pretence that she's younger than what she actually is?! I mean, I said it last night, Kathy is looking fabulous at 70 and she shouldn't be afraid to be proud of her age! I think Kathy is a stunning looking woman, gorgeous hair with a beautiful dress sense, with a gorgeous smile - what's not to like? Who cares if she's 70? I hope eventually Kathy will admit the truth and hopefully Iain won't find the age-gap a big deal! Kathy deserves some happiness! Later on as they leave the restaurant together, Kathy invites Iain to the Prince Albert, things are looking great when suddenly Kathy takes a nasty tumble as she twists her ankle and falls to the floor. Ash, Peter and Bobby rush to Kathy's aid insisting that she needs to go the hospital to get herself looked at. Iain is a bit blaséabout it, saying she "Just tripped" - something you do never say when a woman falls over! In my opinion, if a woman ever falls over, people should do the decent thing and make sure she's okay - no matter what her age may be! As Peter and Ash plead Kathy to go the hospital, it's then that Peter slips up and calls her "Gran" - much to Iain's surprise, it's then that Kathy admits her real age and admits she's feeling incredibly foolish. I feel sad for Kathy at this point, everything was going so well before her nasty fall - I hope Iain will maybe look past it, but who knows? Did any of you also notice that when Bobby saw his Nan fall, he started counting, clearly to cope and calm his breathing after what he's just witnessed.

At the club, Stacey is looking for Martin, but Ruby appears to be in the middle of something with a supplier, she's refusing to sign for items she didn't order. Stacey watches on as she's being hounded by the delivery driver, surprisingly she stands up for her ex-friend and basically tells the delivery guy to do one! Ruby seems surprised that she's stood up for her, in an attempt to rekindle their friendship, she asks her friend to stay for a drink. As Stacey and Ruby are drinking, it looks as if things aren't going to be as easy as saying "Sorry!" - they are both really strong feisty females and to be fair, they have both done wrong to each other in recent months. Stacey makes the valid point that any man in Stacey's life, Ruby also seems to get her hands on - Sean, Max, Martin, but then again Ruby comes back with another valid point, that she didn't pretend to be her! It's true that they are both best friends and they're the only friend's each of them has got right now, will they be able to look past everything that's happened and move on?

Meanwhile, in the Vic, Habiba is looking absolutely heartbroken, it looks as if Jags has been sentenced to four years in prison for his attack on Martin Fowler. Habiba is devastated that her boyfriend has gone down for something he didn't do, she announces to her sister how much she hates the Panesar family for watching and doing nothing to save Jags. It's then she informs Iqra that she no longer wants Ash living with them. Is Iqra going to be forced to make a huge decision, whether to ask her girlfriend to leave or whether to move out with her girlfriend and leave Habiba alone. Back at the club, Suki and Vinny are also discussing Jags, Vinny is still adamant that he should've taken Jag's place, but Suki shrugs it off and tells him to man up, prison will be the making of Jags - apparently.

As soon as Suki leaves the club, the camera spans across and we find Stacey and Ruby again. Stacey is quick to say that she needs to get off to find Lily. But suddenly, Lily walks in admitting that she's been in the club office the whole time, both Ruby and Stacey are shocked to find her. Stacey is quick to ger home but Lily - oooh she's become such a little madam hasn't she - She's can't understand why her Mum and Ruby are now socialising? She opens her mouth and puts her Mum right in it, revealing what Stacey had said about her previously to their meeting. Stacey is horrified with her daughter, Ruby is just as shocked. It's then that Ruby begins to play the evil stepmum, she promises Lily can have a takeaway with herself and Martin whenever she likes, much to Stacey's annoyance. Stacey gives Ruby a warning, she is nothing to Lily and never will be and she warns her to stay away! Something tells me it's going to be a long time until Ruby and Stacey are friends again, something is also telling me that somehow it'll affect the children. Also I'm thinking that Lily is going to become a very twisted little girl, causing so much trouble and causing havoc in her family, ruining relationships and perhaps spreading lies about everyone. What do you guys think of the new Lily?! It's going to be quite a while to get used to, Lily was such a lovely little girl and now she's turned into such a spoilt brat!

Back at Beale household, Bobby can be seen once again cleaning extravagantly. Wearing gloves and counting the amount of times he's wiping the picture frame. Peter comes in and calls out to him, informing that their Gran has been in agony since her fall. He walks in to find vases and picture frames placed on dining room table, Bobby is breathless as he violently wipes clean every inch of the vase, counting to five as he does so. I've never been one to understand OCD, but it must be hell to live with, but then again I guess I kind of have the understanding that the people feel the need to do things until they feel completely safe. Peter looked concerned for his brother, will he confide in his Dad or Nan about what he's witnessed?!

The final scene of this episode, Phil has gotten the money together to give to Ellie. He walks in the Arches to find Ellie waiting for him, without Raymond! Ben quickly follows his Dad to see what's going on. Phil throws the duffle bag with 80 grand inside, insisting that he needs more time to get the rest. Ellie seems very unimpressed but it's only when Ben begins to plead to his Dad to not give Ellie more money that she starts to squirm. Ben makes a very good point that she could bleed Phil dry for years at the promise of getting Raymond eventually. Part of me is hoping that Phil will listen to his son, as much as Phil is desperate to be reunited with his son, he can't afford to lose all his money. He can't risk giving the money to Ellie, to then have her do a runner and not keep her word. Phil agrees with Ben and informs Ellie that she's not going to receive another penny from him! If Phil wants Raymond, he's going to do things properly with solicitors and possibly even take Ellie to court - it looks as if we've got a custody battle on our hands!!! Ooooh I am so looking forward to seeing the outcome of this! What do you guys think? Will Phil eventually be able to welcome Raymond back into his life? Or is there going to be many dark twists and turns along the way?!

Thank you guys for reading! I hope you're enjoying my blog. I'll be back tomorrow following tonight's episode! Thank you for your continued support! Enjoy the rest of your week! Love you all xXx

[sincerelymarinette]

A Recorded Life - Miraculous Ladybug (2/50)

Words: 1415 Chapter Summary: A year ago, Marinette's videos grew drastically. Today, her friends are still wrapping their head around it. Even though they fight about it a lot, Alya and Nino will never stop debating over the better superhero, and Marinette just so happens to catch it on camera. Author's Note: This part is REALLY based off my headcanon, so a lot comes from there. This one's fun and really introduces some more things that may happen in upcoming parts ;)

Prev / Next 

This Debate Might Ruin Our Friendship

---

ONE YEAR AGO

"Marinette!" She nearly fell out of bed when she heard the familiar scream of Alya opening her trap door to her room. "Holy shit! Marinette, I'm going to die," Alya squealed as she failed to keep herself calm.

"What's going on?" Marinette asked quickly. "Is there another Akuma out to get you?"

Alya shook her head with the biggest smile. "No! Look!" Alya said and shoved her phone into Marinette's face after she got out of bed.

JAGGED @JaggedStone Do you rockers remember the little lady who made my album cover and usually helps me out in Paris? She's got an excellent Youtube channel with a bunch of creative videos. Marinette's a very talented girl and you'd be super uncool if you didn't check her out! www.youtube.com/user/MarinneteDesigns

JAGGED @JaggedStone @MarinetteDC let's make a video next time I'm in Paris! We have some wacky stories. Keep up the rockin awesome work!

Marinette almost fainted when she read the tweets, but Alya caught her. "It gets better," She warned and clicked on the link to Marinette's channel. She turned it around again, and Marinette tripped over nothing, followed by a scream.

"There is no way that's real!" Marinette caught her breath. "You're pranking me, totally. Okay, show me the camera; you got me."

Alya shook her head slowly. "No, Marinette, this is real. You have 1.3 million subscribers."

Again, Marinette screamed and had to sit down so she wouldn't fall. It might have felt a little stupid or crazy, but tears began to well in her eyes. Views on every video skyrocketed and she got so many lovely comments about everything. Even her less used second channel grew and gave her much more motivation to post the other and funny videos more times a week.

Marinette pulled out her phone while tears slowly went down her face and went live on Instagram to her, now high, follower count. "Hi guys, Marinette here," She said, breathing slowly to control her emotions. "I just woke up about three minutes ago to Alya barging into my room. Oh my god, overnight I gained a million subscribers. This is unreal; I can't believe it. Jagged Stone, thank you so much for helping me get my designs out to more people. I love making the videos I make; whether it be designing or the silly videos I do with my friends, this is so awesome. I've been doing this for about two years now, and I can't believe that I went to bed just hitting two-hundred-thousand subscribers, and now I have 1.3 million. I have so much more motivation from all the support and love I'm recieving, so expect more videos coming out very soon!" Marinette smiled so wide her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

"I'm going to help crank those videos out!" Alya jumped in frame. "This is crazy," She pointed to how high the viewer count was.

"I'm sorry to make this so short, but I just woke up and I am still in shock and still believing this is a dream. I need to process everything, too. Oh my god, thank you to everyone and Jagged Stone so much! I'll see you in my next video!"

And Marinette got to work cranking out more and more videos each week. More went to her main design channel, only a few to her second channel with random videos. But in a matter of a few months, she had a system down when to upload to both channels and she worked every day. Balancing school, two youtube channels, and saving Paris, Marinette had a lot on her plate. But she made it work.

---

PRESENT DAY

Marinette was eating her lunch and had her computer out, editing a new video. She had her headphones on and didn't even notice her friends come up to the table she was at.

"Marinette!" Alya shouted, making her friend jump and her headphones fell off.

"Alya, those are expensive headphones!" Marinette screeched as she picked up the headphones she used to edit.

The group laughed a bit before Marinette set the headphones down and looked to the group. "What video are you working on now?" Nino asked.

"This one is a small tutorial on how to make a simple skirt. I'm trying to edit it then later I have to do a voice over," Marinette explained. "It's been requested for a while."

Alya raised her eyebrow. "Marinette, no," She slowly closed the laptop, even if Marinette was protesting. "You need to eat more than an apple. Give editing a break and eat lunch."

"But today's my upload day!"

Adrien laughed. "Don't you upload every day?"

"Technically, no," She said. "I upload three things onto my main channel weekly, and about two things to my second channel weekly," Marinette told him. "But as today is Tuesday, it's time to edit for my video for tomorrow on my main channel."

Alya pulled out her phone and showed Adrien the schedule. "See, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are main channel uploads. Tuesdays and sometimes Saturdays are second channel uploads," Alya said. "But she works every day."

"You do what you have to to get paid!" Marinette shrugged.

"Don't I know it," Adrien agreed, and put out his hand for a fist bump. And slowly, Marinette bumped his fist.

Marinette put her laptop into her bag and proceeded to eat her lunch. Alya started freaking out about Ladybug and talking about how awesome she is- while Nino was disagreeing.

The argument went on for two minutes before Marinette pulled out her camera and started to record. "I don't understand how you think Chat Noir is better than Ladybug! I mean, I love them both, a lot. But, Ladybug has the better powers. She is the one who saves the day! She turns everything back to normal! She fixes all the messes Hawkmoth puts Paris in," Alya argued.

"But look at Chat Noir. His power is awesome! Being able to destroy something with one touch, I would love that. And he can easily get rid of villains weapons to defeat them easier!" Nino argued.

Alya raised her eyebrow. "Ladybug is the reason why we don't have villains running around every second of the day. She can purify the Akuma and make them regular butterflies!"

Nino shrugged. "I'm sure my man Adrien is on my side, right, Adrien?" Nino turned to Adrien, who was amused by the whole conversation.

"Nino, sorry, but I'm a true Ladybug fan. You should really know this."

"I'm betrayed, Adrien. But you're right, you're completely in love with her- it makes sense," Nino sighed. "Marinette, are you with me?"

Alya scoffed. "No way she is! She's obviously on my side!"

Marinette giggled from behind the camera. "I'm with Nino, sorry Alya. Ladybug may cleanse the Akuma and turn Paris back to normal, but she would be nothing without Chat Noir. He gives her the motivation to keep going and they are a team, they both need each other," Marinette explained her choice. "I don't know why we still argue this, they've been out heroes for like, three years. Haven't we talked about this enough?"

Alya blinked at her. "I can't believe you would do this to me. Adrien knows where it's at," Alya smiled at Adrien. "But Nino, I don't think I can make it to our date tonight. And Marinette, I will never stop debating this. I must take my leave," Alya grabbed her lunch and stood up, walking away.

"Alya!" Nino rolled his eyes and chased after her.

Marinette and Adrien laughed as their friends left them alone. "Any last words?" You pointed the camera at Adrien, who smiled as soon as he realized it was focused on them.

"Ladybug for the win," Adrien smiled and Marinette shook her head, turning the camera off.

"That's going to be really fun to subtitle," Marinette giggled. As Marinette speaks French and English, she uses English in her videos to make it more accessible to other people outside of French speakers, and it definitely helps with all her international subscribers. But at school, they all typically talk French, and now she had more work ahead of her with her editing.

---

@lady-of-the-roses-and-lilies @bookishserendipity03 @avatheexceed @gkz10

if you would like to be tagged, let me know!

[hawksquill]

An excerpt from chapter 2

Luna Lovegood hated the alphabet.

She turned the paper upside down and squinted at the peculiar markings littering the page. They looked jagged and vicious, like teeth or claws. Luna ran her fingers over the harsh crenulations of the inky letters.

“Daddy, is this where paper cuts come from?”

“Hmm, sugar plum?” Xenophilius looked up from his attempts to feed parchment into his antique typewriter. Father and daughter sat across from each other at the Lovegoods’ kitchen table in Ottery St. Catchpole, with Cressida’s ornamental crystal wind chime dangling between them.

Luna mimed cutting her little finger on the craggy spikes of a w, the funny little letter she called the saw.

“Ah, ah, ahhh!” she ran her hands erratically over the page and wriggled her fingers as if blood was spurting out of them.

Xenophilius smiled without raising his eyes from his typewriter, which had begun to spew purple smoke.

“Very clever, darling. But paper cuts are caused by minuscule tree and animal sprites who are not happy about being pulped and turned into paper and parchment. Although they’re not fond of being turned into Sunday roast or wands, either…”

“Well I think it’s something to do with these nasty letters,” Luna declared with a huff. “Maybe all the thoughts aren’t happy about being turned into words and imprisoned in ink. Why do people even write down their ideas, anyway? I think they should be allowed to float freely through the air. Think of all the brilliant thoughts people aren’t having because someone else has already caught them and trapped them in a musty old book somewhere.”

“Words aren’t the trap, Luna, but the vessel. Ideas can’t get very far without words. Don’t you want to learn the words for spells? Don’t you want to write your ideas down and publish them in The Quibbler so other people can read and respond and learn how clever you are? Ouch!”

The typewriter had bitten her father’s finger in protest of his tinkering. Luna giggled. Giving the contraption up as a bad job, Xenophilius began to scribble with his quill. The scratching noise gave Luna goose pimples.

“I don’t particularly care about being clever. I want to discover things. Clever people are too busy being clever to find anything new. Oh, but Daddy, do you have to write things down to do magic?”

“Yes, in a way. You have to read and write and practice the words.”

“How unpleasant! Perhaps I shan’t do magic at all.”

Her father’s pot of ink skittered across the table, drenching his work in a creeping blot of ink. “Scourgify…Do not jest about such things, Luna.”

She started, taken aback, before averting her eyes and tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.

“Besides, you’ll need to read and write if you want to go to Hogwarts. There is a myriad of secrets to be discovered in that great old castle. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Yes, Daddy. But…”

“Hush now. I am a man of words and ink myself, and I need to finish this issue today. I’m really blowing the lid off the exploitation of ghost labor at Muggle haunted houses. The Ministry is really getting too close to their First Minister or whatever he’s called. I wonder if the Hallows could have something to do with this…” Xenophilius reached for the gold pendant hanging around his neck. He stumbled out of the kitchen, muttering to himself.

Luna puffed out her cheeks and blew air through her lips. Right. Reading. Dad told her to do her reading. Time to sit still and do her reading. He did have a point, she supposed. She settled into her chair and squinted at the page.

Luna bit her lip.

Her parents always told her how smart she was, what a clever girl she was, how she was destined for great things at Hogwarts and beyond. They played with her and taught her constellations and herbal remedies and explored the garden with her. Her mother braided her hair and her father tickled behind her ears to keep the nargles away. They called her their fairy and their princess and their moon and their raven queen. And Luna believed it. She believed it all.

But neither Cressida nor Xenophilius had bothered to teach their daughter to read. They read her bedtime stories sometimes, but they were just as likely to tell her old myths and fairy stories older than the written word. Often, they entertained her with Xenophilius’s ideas and Cressida’s prophecies. They told her of a princess named Luna who would one day rule the moon and bring about the return of moon magic.

Luna stared blankly at the jumble of markings on the page. She could decipher individual letters, but they did not yet magically coalesce into the words she knew so well. There was an “l,” and a few lines later a “u.” And then an “n” and an “a” right next to each other! Luna. Her name. She recognized it from the moon on her wall. In fact, most of her knowledge of letters came from the swirling array of labelled constellations on her walls.

She didn’t even know what she was supposed to be reading. Her parents seemed to have decided one day that it was about time Luna learned to read. She was a clever girl, she could figure it out. In fact, she probably already had a natural aptitude for it. How could she, the prophesied one, not? They began calling Luna inside from playing in the garden from time to time and telling her it was time for her reading lessons. They then unceremoniously plopped a book or notebook or an issue of The Quibbler in front of her and left her to her own devices.

Five year old Luna could not make head or tail of the regularity of these “lessons.” They did not come every Monday or every Wednesday or even every other week. They didn’t seem to follow the path of the stars or the cycle of the moon. They didn’t even seem to follow her parents’ whims. One day they would mention that she was due for a reading lesson (one time Cressida even Saw a particularly grueling lesson in Luna’s future involving a tome bigger than her head) and the next day they forgot it completely.

Luna hated reading lessons almost as much as she hated the alphabet. And because her parents didn’t seem to abide by any schedule in this world or the next, Luna had not yet found a way to avoid them.

She listened for her father’s frenzied mutterings but the only sound in the kitchen was the tinkling of the wind chime.

Luna folded the square of paper in half, then half again. She creased the page until it was small enough to fit on the tip of her littlest finger. Then she touched it to the tip of her tongue, tasted it, crinkled her face in distaste, and swallowed. The dry parchment scratched her throat and made her cough. That one had been particularly unpleasant, but she had to absorb the knowledge somehow, she supposed.

Read more on AO3 here!

[kainfamilyfortune]

Silas - Journal Entry #35-37

Fading.

35.

The snowfall here in Rustberg has been no less than awe inspiring, pure and beautiful. I am happy that ‘bone-chilling’ doesn’t apply to me anymore on these crisp winter mornings. I take walks in this far away village that I never would had visited unless it weren’t for these dire circumstances that lay before me. Conspiring? How could they think that? We simply aimed to educated and let others of my kind know that there was far more than servitude towards war. That there is a living breathing world out here - that with enough time and patience that a small group of us could be accepted for who we were versus whom we served. Not having to be exiled or shunned into the abyss. Or... so we thought. I think of what I could had changed, if I had not been deployed to Pandaria prior to meetings with the Alliance. It seems like a lifetime ago that Parqual wrote to us the great news... that we were finally making a stance. Progress. I shuddered, looking above to the snow drifting out from the tree line with my essence seeming to follow.

In the last few days I was told of a delay, as Cere kept me informed on Kyvalta’s condition, the crew member who injured himself - I continuously offered my services, but it was quickly shot down. She seemed wary, as if she were hiding something, but I could not judge what I could not see. It could be that she was in distress over her friend. Only time would tell. I would walk the nature trail in the mornings to wait out each passing day, making my way to and from the Heart of the Raven Inn, and spending the afternoons writing by the fire, taking in conversations with staff and patrons alike. The pace here was slow, which was a welcome feeling to all that has transpired over the last few months.

Night would eventually find everyone, as I lay awake in the comfort of the simple suite I had been staying in - my mind drifting towards the light. I am growing more powerful, this much I cannot deny. The dust fragments out from me. I can feel it’s ebb and flow as I attempt to control my form. The burning pain in my soul resists the action but I push my mind past it. I can do this. I can. It feels like solar flares erupting from a star - chaos and then I see it. I see the point, no a thread. I reach to grasp it but it is just slightly out of reach, as the pain ensues, I feel shadow whispering to let go, but I cannot. I must keep going. In an instant that I extend my arm forward and grab the thread in a sudden motion, order is restored. I see light surrounding me in ever tangling web, locked in time and space, and I felt no pain for the first time since I was raised.

The shimmering expanse of my form surrounded me. I could be anything or anyone. I had control for the first time. I could feel every particle, see it and move it. Shape it. It was like painting my body into something new. I had ascended... But it was short lived, as the pain struck me down. Bone dust scattered on the bed that I meditated upon and I came back to reality, feeling as though I had been scorched by a million fires. I looked down at the dust that had once been a part of me. Attempting communication with it to come back to me but it was no longer glowing with the light. It had become inert and I began to panic as I came to realize that I would fade into nothing but dust.

36.

I did not delve into this new found power in the days following. Allowing myself a reprieve from future sessions. I would surely lose myself. Literally. I continued my routine - walks on the nature trail in the morning, spending time in the tavern in the afternoon, and writing until the next morning. Until I got a knock on the door one night, in which I was greeted by a somewhat disgruntled Cere. She seemed to rush as she told me to help her at the docks, as they were ready to go. At this hour though? I told her to tell the crew that they could rest for the night and we could ship off tomorrow but she insisted that there was no time. So I packed what little I brought and laid some coin for the maid on the nightstand and we headed towards the docks.

I can tell you that this was not my last night in Rustberg village. I can also tell you that what I found when we approached the dock was not something I wanted to see at all... A Troll man and Orcish woman, although she looked like a half breed, dressed in red painted iron, adorned with spikes, smiling towards me as they were about to cash in on the bounty that would set them up for all the grog in Orgimmar they could drink for the next year. Behind them, the crew I thought I trusted and I felt the jagged edge of a knife in the small of my back. Cere grasped my shoulder with her free hand and pushed me forward towards my fate.

My initial panic subsided as I put my faith in the light, breathing in slowly and my eyes flashed. My form began to glow as holy fire erupted from my palms and shot out towards my pursuers. Focusing in on the brutes, I smited them both where they stood, ducking as the Troll swung his great ax above me. I began to smell burning flesh and fire as I dodged another lethal blow from behind, Cere’s dagger missing by mere inches, I grasped my ceremonial knife and cut across her legs, immobilizing her as the remaining crew attempted to dog pile. With another flash of light, I waved my arm across the sky in a divine shield letting the crew ricochet off of it and into the crocodile infested waters. Finally it was just the Half-breed.

She stood across on the dock holding a maul in one hand and buckler shield in the other. Flames smoldering the dilapidated wood of the dock and a portion of her armor, this was in stark contrast to the snow fall and and moonlight that cascaded off the no longer still water. The crocodiles have found their next meals. She charged swinging the maul wildly, and I knew that this was it. I jumped instinctively and I found myself floating above her. Flying, angelic wings sprung from my back. I was in a slight bit a shock before the Orc screamed and I channeled my hands together into a ball of light, throwing it down to her, burning any trace of her existence. I floated down to the bleeding form of Cere, as she held loose cloth to her legs attempting to stop the bleeding. I simply looked to her and stared. Finally after a long moment in silence I asked her “Why?” Untying the ropes docking both the boat I had arrived on from Pandaria and the smaller horde vessel as I pushed both out to sea.

She winced in a sharp pain, “Because. We didn’t know you were worth that. We wanted our take. Horde or not. We take what we can get out here.” Her voice trailed, no longer seeking remorse it seemed. The fires quenched around the dock as the snow continued to fall and the village remained silent within the night. I watched her body bleed out and freeze, finally pushing it into the harbor. Something so cold that I normally would never wish upon anyone, but I was about to die. This was self-defense. I stood there until dawn, the only traces of the battle was small scorch marks upon the dock which were quickly covered in mud by workers filing in for shipments for the town.

My conscious was heavy and body was drained. I did not leave my room in the inn. The coin that I laid out on my night stand, collected some dust in the following days. I got a knock from room service every day to check to see if I was alright, in the days following and I did not dare leave. Simply replying that I did not require any services. My monotone voice lost all righteous vindication, and I felt like I needed to repent for the blood I spilled. 

37.

I finally gained the energy to continue my routine. It had been a week since I had moved, my bones groaned and popped as made my way down the stairs of the inn. Not stopping to chat with the staff. Making my way as fast as I could towards the tree line. I stared at the forest for a moment before entering feeling the wave of guilt. I spoke aloud to anyone at this point. Attempting to repent for what I had done. I prayed, clutching my cloth to offer some sort of collateral in exchange for these feelings to go away. The self hatred. The guilt. The anger. I so desperately wished for this power all my life, but I too wanted control. Pain lies in the balance.

I felt as though a presence was attempting to reach out to me but it was like the thread of light I grasped before, just in the distance. I scanned the surrounding trees, morning light filtering through the canopy as I paused hearing the crunching of snow. I could see her. A little human girl, maybe six or seven years old, peering behind the tree she was hiding from then quickly diving back behind the tree when she knew that I caught sight of her. “Hey, you. Stop.”, I called out, as she let out a soft giggle and began running down the trail. I chased after her and I could hear the echo down the trail, as I hastily tried to keep up. She led me up the hill and through a dense portion of brush, light, she was fast. I had to catch myself as she guided me up the sheer rock face. I heard the laughter so close, it was as if she were right next to me but she wasn’t there. She was in my head. In my imagination.

I scaled down the hill, back onto the path, making my way back to the inn, where I was greeted by the staff, letting the drinks carry me elsewhere, the rhythmic guitar from @perchedon taking me far away from these visions and bloodshed. I wondered if my colleague’s even knew that they were being hunted down in the same fashion that I was. I needed to expedite my travels to Eversong Forest. I needed someone to trust fully this time around.

And that’s when she found me.

OOC: Thank you again to @heartoftheravenwra for hosting Silas for three weeks, again the Monday Night Mixers are fantastic if you are looking for a lovely faction neutral hangout (Minus the violence of course)! I will continue this ASAP - currently attempting to piece together some RP opportunities for this story-line so if you wish to get involved please do not hesitate to hit me up here or send me some in-game mail, Silaskain-Wra. Open to both making alliances and hostile encounters!Thanks! =3

[unorthodork]

I don’t really like saying anything uber mega personal here, because I’m sorta just here to reblog relative stuff, and maybe write a little? However, I feel I need to get some stuff off my chest. Depression is perhaps the most devastating mental war there is. It is at moderate difficulty to enter such a war zone, although ridiculously easy to remain. You have no choice to vacate and return to your family, only to man the guns and arm yourself to endure this one soldier battle. The rivalry between joy and depression plays tug of war with your mental stability, a lone troop desperate to escape. Joy enrolls and deports you to the battlefield with little to no notice, a lingering presence of an infinite vast No Man’s Land. Tarnished terrain with jagged sharp branches that disperse from ash brown bark makes the land look like a filter. Not a single barricade in place, you trek onward with the assumption this first passage will be simple to cross. A few miles in, unsuspecting of such a disturbance, you fall into a trench. Luckily it isn’t very deep, minor as if it were unfinished. You dig your fingers into the Earth, flinching as you feel a rock attempt to slip beneath your nail. You check your flesh, unscathed as it has always been, many would compliment and envy your complexion and condition. Upon settling both feet onto the terrain, you step on a shard of glass that barely pricks the heel of your sneakers. “I may need a change of footwear more suitable,” you conclude, pulling out a pair of pristine combat boots. Your eyes dart between your current favorite pair of rainbow sneakers, and the midnight black combat boots. Reluctantly, you change pairs and stuff the favored item into your rucksack. Wiggling your toes and looking down, you realize you much preferred the saturated and colorful option over the grim, achromatic resort. The petal falls free from the rose, the first chip off the old block that is your happiness. The glass caught between the soles go unnoticed by your newly recruited self, properly suited for the rubble now. As your mind begins to wander and ramble, distracted you trip over a small sack barricade. A hand swats away dust and pebble nestled into the fabric of ocean blue denim jeans, yet again a favorite article of clothing. A light sigh slips between parted, plush lips as a set of leg pads jerk free from a small compartment. Strapped tight around plump thighs and durable knees, the color is a dim grey that instantly makes you miss the vibrancy of your trousers. Weeks fly by as quickly as the crows overhead, days of the week less monitored than prior. Was it Monday, or Wednesday? Perhaps it was a Friday or Sunday? The silver watch fastened around an overused wrist broke long ago, and so you lost your track of time. Barricades, debris, rivers and trenches have came your way and ultimately resulted in an entire change of your wardrobe. “I won’t be leaving this place with all intact.” Thought to be alone, the pistol within its holster is gripped firmly upon a shadowy figure approaching. “Hey friend, I’ll help you find your way about. It’s awfully lonely here, isn’t it?” spoke a scrawny civilian, decked in gear alike yourself which indicated they may have been a solider rather than common folk. You nod and accept the invitation of their company, friendship is a good thing after all; they appear wholly capable of surviving these harsh conditions, the battle will be easier together. What is it you’re looking for, pal?” “Um, it’s the guy who created all of this..destruction. The bodies,” You gesture your thumb towards one of the many surrounding piles of lifeless corpses, sided by various weapons. Their eyes widened in fear, taking a hasty few steps back before exclaiming in a shaky manner “Oh no, not it.” “You’re seeking it,” “Yes, I am? Who exactly are we talking about here?” They shook their head, retrieving a dull blade beside a body they for some reason took interest in. Aged blood the shade of rust was smeared by saliva coating a slim thumb, much to your surprise. “Not a who, a what. Maybe a who depending on how far gone you are.” You tilt your head in confusion. “It is a gastly demon you see, one I advise to steer clear of.” In a battle stance, you shake your head triumphantly, “I will act accordingly when I see it, then.” The following crackle of vocal cords startle you, this man hasn’t been so loud, every word spoken pillow soft. Anxiety racks your nerves and thought process, heart beat increasing. “You can’t see it, useless kid. Do you lack sense? It’s invisible or otherwise similar to dense smoke, kind too. It has to be to ensure the thoughts can get in, now let’s travel onwards.” You hadn’t thought much of the insult, as it’s been heard so many times you assume it’s likely correct, that you lack sense. Useless was a new one, however speaking up may not be quite beneficial, so you follow his lead now. A sickly crooked smile highlights already wrinkled features, skin crinkled even more so thanks to his expression as you begin to feel inferior in comparison to this solider. He knows more about this creature, after all. Months have sailed along in resemblance to the battleships that once littered the now surrounding body of water. During this journey you were fortunate enough to meet another survivor, and learn more about Sixten, the other occupant of your party. Anorexic and skeletal in result of such, he forcefully kept true to making his body reject all meals. You found this out the one night he’d stripped himself of his sweater and faced the dead trees, the only sound other than the roaring, luminescent fire being gagging and violent hacks. Sixten Davis, Luci Furr, and yourself. You and Luci have grown quite close, a relationship that blossomed gradually although now somewhat sketchy. Being with her, you've learned it's much to blame yourself over the latter; Hearing seemingly endless complaints and witnessing shed tears pool at the underside of her pointed chin. The loyalty established is as well questionable, as many a nights may you find hear her lilted giggling and Sixten's voice mingling in the distance. "We've met the end of land, sea is only ahead," You exclaim with a hint of sadness, the life and essence you once contained now in bottled amounts. "Make yourself useful then, and begin to craft a raft," Luci giggled at the intentional rhyme in his demand. "Perhaps you can help?" You inquire sharply, eyes narrowed and brows knitted together in irritation. Luci was quick to defend Sixten's honor, unlike yourself. "He's on watch for any more demons, don't be rude to him. We don't have to help you, you're luck to have us." Relax, the therapist once said it helps to breathe deeply. "This is why I must insult them, I don't get why they can't just learn." Your eye twitches, ire boiling in the pit of your stomach. Inhale. "It's their fault anyways, dragging us along on this trip," "Ungrateful as always." Exhale. "You both treat me like absolute trash! How is it my fault, when Luci is the one who ate all the rations? When you're the one who screwed the calculations and sent us on a run around in the forest?!" You soon regret this outburst, silence numbing your skin as it tingles and the palms of your hands grow clammy. A year has driven by now, and you've forgotten the type of car you'd once desired, otherwise you would compare the statements. Luci robbed you of your supplies and self esteem, whilst Sixten had vicked you of your prized physical attribute. A once clear complexion was now littered with scars from a sharpened blade, the same dull knife Sixten pocketed and spent time repairing afterwards. To spite you, he'd carved many insults into the flesh of your stomach and chest to remind you of who you are. Tired limbs swam through filthy waters to the next slice of land, fragile bones creaked and moaned like old wood from the constant maneuver of land not one bit level with the rest. Here you stand now, before the ghoul you've long searched for. It depressed you how many trials you'd suffered just to see it was exactly as Sixten described it, smoke. "Hello, it." "Please, call me friend." It's voice echoed and repeated as if someone played multiple audio clips at the same time from different tabs. It's tone was inviting, warmth enveloping you as it approached a single step closer. You shook my head hastily in rejection, fearing now what friendship's purpose was, and what it truly meant. It's hand was firm and constricting on your shoulder however, despite the vain attempt at warding it away. Physical contact has grown void in your life, it's hold served pleasant and home-like. "I cannot hurt you, my dear. Please, invite me in." It's request made little sense, nonetheless you accepted it. Everything sounded fuzzy and unclear with it's grasp growing uncomfortable now, the pain felt relieving though, you make no attempt to pull back. Slowly nodding, it smiles, "Good, very good." You realize it didn't smile, rather you visioned it. Charming little nothings were whispered softly and rotated about in your membrane, and the cold pressure of a pistol to your temple failed to wake you. "You've endured so much pain, why not join me, and lessen the amount of hurt you experience? You don't have to feel it any more." Hot tears streamed down cool blemmished cheeks, calloused fingers pressing tighter into the weapon. "Pull the trigger." For a mere moment you debated tugging it back, before your eyes widened upon seeing yourself stand upright before you. The curve of plush lips complemented untouched skin. A rainbow tie die t-shirt to match your rainbow sneakers, Converse brand just like you liked them. Ocean blue denim jeans. "The sooner you do, the quicker the pain will vanish." Beside that image was the current you, mirrored in horrific fashion. This wasn't the you everyone would recognize and remember, certainly not the one you'd wanted to be. Dusty combat boots that faded away from their once true color of midnight black, split from the now flat soles. Loosely hanging padding on your legs, arms, and chest. Greasy locks strewn about a grimey forehead, dandruff flakes caked onto your scalp. Ocean blue denims now faded to an ash color, a tiedie shirt near black and white. A trembling hand pulls up the shirt to reveal carved flesh, reading adjectives like "Stupid," "Useless," and "Weak." A violent scream echoes, and a bang follows. The trigger was pulled.