#ugh i give up tags now

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[kurokoros]

still mad that we didn't get Vecna possessing Steve. haha silly Steve who asks stupid questions and everyone dunks on as if he's not an athlete and one of the better combatants in the group. Steve, who knocked out a trained soldier at 19. Steve, who has been beaten to hell every season and gotten right back up afterwards. just goofy old Steve.

but what if Steve wasn't actually Steve anymore?

[resident-gay-bitch]

little rich boy sirius who gets disowned and can barely survive without his expensive brands and the basic human need to eat at least once a day meeting the entirely too generous james potter who just falls for the vanity and sincerity of the reformed rich boy and decides that once sirius stops caring about brands and status and rich boy things and just cares about what matters in life he decides to spoil his boyfriend to pieces because he’s secretly sitting on a fucking fortune

[artificialdogs]

Kalos fans are finally winning after 10 long years im gonna cry

[foxgloveinspace]

TMBTE starting as

‘I am a weapon and I’ll do as asked’

and ending as

‘I am a weapon and I am so tired of doing as asked, I will do it, but please, let me rest’

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.

[mars-ipan]

god i cannot wait to be off these steroids…

[anxiously-sidequesting]

My Personal Shadow Magic Headcanons - "Shadow Sickness"

I'm so autistic and lazy so here's another weirdly-worded headcanons post from me at 4 AM (lmk if I need to tag this as anything specific btw

What I'm personally calling "Shadow Sickness" is the official, prolonged version of Backlash - adverse effects that target the practitioner even outside of the duel circle and in their everyday lives. While "Backlash" refers to the immediate and spontaneous barrage of attacks that takes place after a Shadow spell, "Shadow Sickness" is the gradual deterioration of the practitioner's mind, body, and soul. True to the name, this effect likens more to an illness, a virus; something that's alive and slowly takes over until there is nothing healthy left behind. The symptoms are emotional, physical, mental, and even spiritual.

While regular Magic has life force within it, Shadow Magic is the only type of magic that can be considered "sentient". Not a thinking being with goals and plans, but something living and breathing with the most basic instincts. It's what's considered "Chaotic" and dangerous about it - the Wizard bends and controls regular Magic, but Shadow Magic can bend and control the Wizard. It is the only type of magic that can "fight back" in its own way.

This sentience is what allows for Shadow Sickness and Backlash to happen - these are purely just the results of it "fighting back". The Shadow Magic is reacting to the practitioner. It's acting by its nature by rearing its head back and snapping the hand that controls it. If the practitioner is NOT sound and secure in their mental, physical, and spiritual health, then Backlash and Shadow Sickness can cause even more adverse effects within the Wizard and as a result can suffer more severely.

Symptoms of Shadow Sickness

Symptoms of Shadow Sickness can vary between physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. The "virus" affects every single aspect of the being, down to their very life. The severity of these symptoms can also vary depending on certain variables. Unlike a true virus, Shadow Sickness has no "incubation period" and can flare up at any time during which the Wizard is practicing Shadow Magic. These symptoms include:

Physical scarring (physical, emotional, mental, spiritual) - one of the only symptoms that comprise of all four categories. Scars may appear on the Wizard's body that take various shapes and forms: most commonly taken after that individual's unsolved trauma. This includes old grudges, previous serious injuries that have not healed correctly, repressed memories, obsessions and delusions, etc. No two scars look the same (i.e. two different wizards who have a fear of spiders will have scars that look entirely different from the other). Depending on the severity these scars can cause physical discomfort (tingling, numbness, pain, leathery skin, decay/cellular deterioration) and can greatly impact how the Wizard looks to others to how the Wizard can move around.

Involuntary movements (physical, mental, spiritual) - the Wizard may begin suffering from accidental and spontaneous gestures and movement that is either randomized or triggered. This can include loss of coordination, disorientation, mini seizures, jerks and spasms, etc. Other than being physically affected, the Wizard is not suffering from any medical emergencies. The individual is fully conscious and aware when this happens and depending on the severity, can recover seconds after. This is one of the only symptoms where others could be harmed due to a wayward hand that comes flying out by accident. There is also a magical version of this, where involuntary spells or bursts of magic can be cast spontaneously (hence the 'spiritual' aspects of this symptom as mana comes from the soul). Usually these magical bursts are Shadow Magic and not the Wizard's primary or secondary Magic abilities. (Another involuntary trait recorded is the Wizard suddenly switching to an ancient "Shadow Language" in mid-speech.)

Hallucinations (physical, mental) - the Wizard may begin to experience things that cannot be detected by any other individual. Usually these hallucinations start out as smells or taste first, but there are reports of the Wizard hearing, sensing, and even seeing things to start out with. Contrary to popular belief not all hallucinations are violent or even turn out to be that way, some reports even describe them as pleasant. Hallucinations vary from each Wizard even with those who share the same traumas or fears. Depending on the severity of the symptoms, the Wizard can either be fully aware or completely immersed within them. Since these are only hallucinations they cannot harm the Wizard but can cause further deterioration to the mind.

Depleted energy/"Mana Loss" (physical, spiritual) - as the Shadow Sickness takes hold, eventually the Wizard will be slowly sapped of strength and magical energy. THIS IS DIFFERENT FROM IF THE WIZARD IS SKILLED IN SHADOW MAGIC. A Wizard can practice Shadow Magic and still NOT be affected by this. Since Shadow Magic "takes", Shadow Sickness does the same and gradually depletes the Wizard's energy. Like how Backlash takes health in a duel, Shadow Sickness takes your life. This is the only symptom that is constant in all cases of Shadow Sickness. Not only will the ability to cast spells be taken away, but overall physical health will suffer as well and the individual is more susceptible to regular diseases due to a compromised immune system. This symptom only appears in the very last stages of Shadow Sickness and is the last symptom of the individual experiences in their lifetime.

Tulpas (emotional, mental, spiritual) - contrasting hallucinations, Tulpas are the Wizard's visions made real. A Tulpa (from Shadow Sickness) is a physical and magical manifestation of the Wizard suffering from the Shadow "virus". Although it is born from the subconscious of another being, it is a separate entity all its own and has the ability to make decisions and have feelings and desires. However, these feelings and desires are not really of their own and reflect the Wizard's subconscious fears and threat responses. (i.e. our Azteca Tulpa in Khrysalis that formed due to unresolved survivor's guilt. Its "goal" was to destroy us and fully consume us within itself, similar to how guilt behaves in reality). Tulpas can either be created from visions, nightmares, intense and obsessive thoughts, or even previous hallucinations.

Can Shadow Sickness be reversed, or cured?

Shadow Sickness can be reversed, yes, or more commonly halted. Unless the Wizard is fully submersed in their mental and spiritual anguish ((Malistaire even though he wasn't using shadow magic; Morganthe even though that wasn't what killed her)) Shadow Sickness can be stopped. The road to recovery varies wildly from each person so there is no set "recovery time" in which you are expected to be fully healed. It is your own journey and it is ultimately your say whether or not you are better. Clinically, recovery can be sorted between these categories

HALTED: In which the Shadow Sickness is no longer infecting the individual but the symptoms may still persist. These symptoms do not get worse or better, but the Wizard's mind is clear and their soul is at peace. Wizards may either learn to live comfortably and adapt with their Halted condition or could continue to strive for partial or full recovery.

PARTIAL RECOVERY: In which the Shadow Sickness is reversed slightly or moderately. The effects are not all the way gone but are measured to be better than when the Wizard was still infected. In this state any severe symptoms the Wizard is experiencing are now moderate or slight, or less frequent. Just like in the Halted category, the Wizard is sound of mind, body, and soul.

FULL RECOVERY: In which Shadow Sickness is totally reversed and there are no more symptoms that persist. Full, 100% recovery is actually quite rare in the Spiral and a lot of scholars consider the Full Recovery to count as "70% or more reduced" - meaning the symptoms are very slight and few and far in between. Technically this is still a Partial Recovery but due to the above fact and how difficult it is to reverse Shadow Sickness, 'Full Recovery' is an umbrella term. Some individuals even claim Full Recovery even if their symptoms are moderate, because their mind and soul are no longer diseased.

ONE LAST FACT TO LEAVE OFF WITH: Not every Wizard who practices Shadow Magic suffers from Shadow Sickness, and alternatively even the most skilled Shadowmage can develop Shadow Sickness.

okay this took days. bye hope you liked this

[autisticlee]

no one knows just how hard I work at things. how I have to work 1000000x more than the average person to compensate for being autistic and adhd and probably other things i'm working out with therapist, and having a sort of physical disability i've not received any help or treatment for. everyone assumes I don't try or give up too soon. they think I just started, need more practice. they think I expect everything handed to me immediately with no work or effort and don't acknowledge the multiple years i've put into things. they think I have no right to be upset about still failing to get where I want even after working my entire life to get there, while watching people around me surpass even my meager goals within a fraction of the time and work i've out into the same thing. constantly getting surpassed by everyone around me who seem to barely do any work to get there compared to me. it's all handed to them and falls into their lap so easily. all because they don't have the extra obstacles to overcome and work around that I do. while they go from point A to Z immediately with no major stops in between, I have to go through every single letter and then some, often getting sent back to the start. but it's always *my* fault, according to everyone. it's not the fault of those around me who ignore me, don't support me, don't help me, don't believe in me, etc. it's my fault they don't do those things. because doing the work of 10 people in one isn't enough, just because it's me. and not reaching Z as fast as everyone else means I don't deserve any of the support or help or anything else and means i'm not trying hard enough. it doesn't matter that I *need* to work harder than 100 "normal" people combined to get even half the result! Just because I can't reach what they do means i'm not trying hard enough! ugh.

[runawaymun]

.

[keepinventory]

dreams are so fucking evil. i had a dream i got a new baby sister and i got to bond with her and teach her things i wished someone would have told me when i was her age and i was wondering what she’ll be like in 18 years. and i just woke up crying because she’s not real…..

[yanderespamton78]

damn it feels so good to actually have friends who i feel safe around. like to have friends who im not worried that if they find out that i like "cringe" things they wont judge me. woah!!

@angry-avaocardo @silly1xxx @gollyimsosoevil

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

I must say, it's pretty poetic that I've gotten to season 6 of Vampire Diaries right before another solar eclipse happens in America. I certainly didn't plan it, but it does feel like my timing is very appropriate with this one. I do have questions about the accuracy of the eclipse portrayal in the show, though. I mean, a solar eclipse did in fact happen on May 10, 1994, and it was visible across much of the country, so that much is accurate. But I don't think Mystic Falls would've had quite as good of a view as they show it having. For reference, here's a map of the May 1994 eclipse path (credit: timeanddate.com):

And, if you'll remember, Mystic Falls is like two hours from my old hometown just a stone's throw north of Lynchburg, Virginia, as seen on the locator spell map (this one's all over tumblr, forgive me for not remembering what blog I grabbed it from):

So if you zoom in on the timeanddate map and pick somewhere closeish to there:

It looks like Mystic Falls would be getting a little over 77% coverage or so. It's also worth noting that the '94 eclipse was an annular eclipse, not a total eclipse like tomorrow's eclipse. That still means that the moon went directly in front of the sun, but it does mean that it was small enough/far enough from earth that you didn't quite get full coverage of the sun (thanks to weather.gov for the nifty graphic):

So, I'm not positive whether it would've looked quite as dark as was shown in the show:

Although, I must admit, in this video I found on youtube of the '94 eclipse, (part of me is shocked to find footage from then but I know I shouldn't be like yes they had cameras in the 90s) it actually looks more similar than I expected it to look, but I imagine it was most likely filmed within the path of totality:

But also, when Kai takes Bonnie to Portland, don't they see the eclipse again there? I couldn't find that clip on youtube just now, but Portland barely had any eclipse--only 42-43% coverage, so it would've been way milder of a visual effect, barely any dimming in the sky noticeable without eclipse glasses.

The funny thing is, the area where I live is going to be sitting right around 80% coverage tomorrow. I was lucky enough to get to travel to Missouri for the 2017 eclipse to get into the path of totality, but I'm afraid that it hasn't worked out for me to do so this year, which is immensely disappointing to me as an astronomy enjoyer, but I do still plan to go to an eclipse party and I'm going to start saving to try and get to Spain for the next total eclipse in 2026, which is going to be right around my 30th birthday (screaming). Anyways, it isn't great, but here's my best picture from the '17 eclipse:

I didn't even have a smartphone yet then, because despite it being 2017, I was somewhat of a luddite, so I had the purple flip phone I so stubbornly clung to and a point-and-click Nikon, but I still think this picture is pretty cool for what it is. Here's the zoom in so you can really see that ring of fire (and my shaking hands doubling the image):

Obviously you can find thousands of better eclipse pictures online, but that one's still special to me because it's mine. Anyways, I'll report back with smart phone pictures from whatever I see of the 80% total eclipse tomorrow to compare and contrast with Mystic Falls's 70% annular eclipse of the 90s, because from what I've heard it's going to be much less impressive than full totality was, but I've yet to watch a partial solar eclipse, so I'll just have to find out. Also, if you happen to have any vampiric loved ones trapped in a magical prison dimension who you need help freeing during the eclipse tomorrow, let me know and I'll see what I can do! ;) Hahaha. Anyways, happy eclipse everyone, and may we all possess sufficient self restraint to avoid eye damage (says the woman who has looked at the sun unprotected so many times and is probably going to go blind because of it some day. I know what I've done lol. Don't be me.)

[goblin-enjoyer]

Been binging some new frogger vids at the moment (i heard 6v6 is coming back soon and am sadly getting hyped) and I had a horrifying realization about two of the characters in the series. behold my madness and weep at my lack of knowledge on both troll quadrants and character interactions. I'm not a fishmonger, I wouldn't know that stuff.

[mirrortouchedsea]

Everyone tells me to just stay the same (but it's not like that)

Word count: 1640

Summary: Hinata finally decides to tell Rinne about his past at Yumenosaki. CW for Setsubun mentions, identity issues, and mentions of abuse

Read on AO3

---

Hinata isn’t entirely sure what compels him to send a message to the leader of Crazy:B. Rinne Amagi had a habit of doting on him and treating him like another younger brother, which he knew Yuta wasn’t a big fan of. Yuta would often call Rinne a bad influence on Hinata, but Rinne was also one of the only people who treated him like a normal kid. 

It was kind of addicting in a way. It wasn’t just Rinne who had treated him like that either. The rest of Crazy:B had taken him in as one of their juniors (despite the fact that Kohaku was younger than Hinata) and Alkaloid, or at least Hiiro, had taken a liking to him as well. He treasured those nights that he spent with Niki and Hiiro playing video games and snacking on homemade sweets late into the night. 

Maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising that the first person he texted was Rinne on the anniversary of Setsubun. It had only been a year and yet it felt so much longer than that. He was grateful that the year since then had been filled with smiles and warmth, much more than years previous had been. The Amagi brothers were partially responsible for that change in his life. 

Rinne responded quickly and asked if he’s alright since he doesn’t normally send cryptic messages like this in the middle of the day. He said he’ll be there in 15 minutes after debriefing with his unit. 

Hinata didn’t bother replying to that, instead opting to just tell Rinne everything when he gets to the rooftop garden with him. He needed to figure out exactly what he wanted to tell Rinne anyway. It’s not in the older man’s nature to judge people based on things they can’t control, and he would understand a lot of Hinata’s own problems…probably. Rinne also wasn’t fond of showing weakness in front of other people. 

Hinata sat at the edge of the garden, towards the back. Being so high up reminded him of that day, but this was almost cathartic in a way. He was in a better place now, with people who didn’t know about that incident at all and cared for him as his own person. As much as he knew Yuta didn’t like the nickname Rinne gave him, it was a comfort for Hinata. 

Hina, such a simple nickname and yet it was a breath of fresh air, a new start, and here he was about to change everything. He just hoped that Rinne wouldn’t change how he talked with Hinata afterwards. 

Hinata was dangling his feet over the edge, looking down at the bustling street below when Rinne finally sat beside him. 

“What’s up, Hina? Somethin’ on your mind?” Rinne’s voice was gentle today, soft and even. Such a strange contrast to the Rinne most people knew. 

“Mmm, you could say that,” he replied, not looking at the older man. “Rinne, have you ever felt like…people don’t see you for you?” 

Rinne chuckled. “Every damn day Hina. Even back home…” he trailed off. Hinata knew not to push that topic. 

The two of them were like peas in a pod in that sense. 

Hinata laughed too. “Yeah, I knew you’d get it.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Rinne waiting patiently for Hinata to keep going and Hinata searching for the words to say. But just having someone else there helped keep him from spiraling too much. 

“I just…feel like people wouldn’t miss me if I was gone, because they see me and Yuta-kun as the same person. It hurts a lot but I don’t know what to do about it because…I feel the same way. Like Yuta-kun and I are one person in two, but that’s not true anymore. I try to keep telling myself that we’re different but it’s hard to change how you think when it’s all you’ve ever known.  

Yuta-kun has so many friends and is always laughing and smiling with them and I want to be like that too, but after ah…” 

“After what, Hina?” 

“After Setsubun fes, people started treating me like I would break at any moment. I’m not grandma’s fine china or anything that will break if you handle it too roughly! But everyone at Yumenosaki can’t seem to get past that video.” 

Hinata still couldn’t look at Rinne, but he knew Rinne was confused. He hadn’t known about Setsubun at all. Of course he hadn’t, he didn’t go to school with them and was much too old to have been there at the same time as Hinata even if he had. It’s why he was drawn to him in the first place, along with his roommates, Niki and Hiiro. 

“Ah, sorry. You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?” 

“Not a clue.” 

“Long story short, I had a mental breakdown on the roof of the school last year and…it was filmed and everyone at the school saw it. It’s not like I had much of a choice in the distribution either, so everyone was just watching me like I wasn’t a real person.” 

Rinne moved a hand to Hinata’s back and began rubbing gentle circles between his shoulder blades. There were damp spots on Hinata’s cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with his hands balled up in fists. Why did his lowest moment have to be broadcast to everyone he knew? Why was it made to seem like a spectacle for people to watch and not do anything to help? Even after his monologue to his brother making it clear that he didn’t want to be treated like the same person anymore and not knowing how to distinguish himself without just moving into the background, nobody offered him help. 

He was drowning in the unknown and it took the creation of ES and Crazy:B for him to find a lighthouse to guide him to somewhere safe. Even when Crazy:B was against the entire world, hated by everyone, Rinne and the other members never once hurt 2wink. After their collaboration at the nightclub Rinne had taken a liking to Hinata. He was there for him to lean on when he wasn’t sure about the direction of his unit or how to be a big brother or a good senior to the new first years or just how to navigate life. 

At some point, Rinne had pulled Hinata into a side hug and just let him cry into his side. Hinata leaned into the touch and allowed himself to let it all out. 

Rinne’s hugs were always warm. 

It took several minutes of crying before Hinata ran out of tears. His sobs turned to sniffles and he pulled his legs to his chest. 

“You didn’t deserve any of that, Hina.” Rinne’s voice was serious, but not cold. It was a warm honey-sweetened tea on a rainy day. 

Another stretch of silence. Hinata’s head was spinning and numb and full of cotton. 

“But…I know how it feels. When I was younger, I had to keep my emotions in check, especially in front of other people. Any sign of weakness was always punished by my father. ‘A good leader doesn’t cry’ he would tell me. 

When my mom died, I was…eight or nine. I couldn’t cry at her funeral and when we returned home I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. I’ll spare you the details but he punished me severely. I never wanted Hiiro-kun to see me like that again and I made myself stop feeling. It felt like I was just there to be the next leader of the village, never allowed to be myself. 

What I’m tryin’ to say here is that I get it. I know how it feels for people to try and put you in a box that doesn’t fit, and how they treat you when you finally break. It’s okay to be frustrated and angry that it happened, but you can’t let it consume you. Show the world that Hinata Aoi is his own person, that you aren’t just that video and that you’re here to stay.” 

Hinata sniffled and leaned more into Rinne’s touch. 

“Thanks, Rinne-senpai. It means a lot, heh. I guess we all have our own burdens to carry.” 

“Yeah. Life is about learning to carry them and not let them drag you down. If it gets too heavy, I’ll be there to pick you back up and carry it for you.” 

“You don’t have to go that far, Rinne-senpai. How will I learn to carry my burdens if you take them for yourself? Wouldn’t that just make it heavier on you?” 

“I’ll take on everyone’s burdens if it means they get to smile just for one moment. I’ll fight fate itself if that’s what it takes.” 

“I’m not sure why, but I believe that you would find a way to do that, even though most people would say it’s impossible.” 

“Thanks for believing in me, Hina.” 

Hinata laughed, Rinne lightened the mood just enough that he felt like everything was at peace for the moment. His cheeks were stained with tears and his eyes would be puffy and red when he returned to the dorm, but at least he’d be smiling. 

Even if the world was against them, Hinata could count on Rinne at least being in their corner no matter what. Rinne was a lighthouse to people like Hinata, a steady light in the rocky ocean saying that someone is there, watching out for you. 

Despite the front that he put up and how he had a bad habit of pushing people away, Rinne was always there when it mattered. 

Hinata fell asleep curled up on the rooftop as Rinne hummed a gentle melody from his hometown. And everything was right with the world. 

[organised-disaster]

Aight @baxieblur-turnip and @randosfandos y'all know the drill here it is

SNOWBIRD: CHAPTER IV

I stare at the ceiling. It's quite nice. Wood panels. Inoffensive. I count the scratch marks in it, then the proper holes.

I've just nicked it more than I've actually hit it. I don't especially try when I throw my knife. It used to be Otto's. I feel bad launching it at the ceiling, but it's what I do when I'm bored.

I retrieve it from my drawer. I flick it open and close a few times, running my thumb over the dimpled texture of the green handle while I study the ceiling. I can almost see the shape of a face...

I throw the knife up into a blank spot. It makes a tiny scratch. Not enough force. It sails back down into my hand. I catch it easily, the blunt side of the blade slotting seamlessly between my fingers.

Again. It thuds into the ceiling, between the boards, and I almost think it's going to stay there. It slides out, however, rotating to be blade-first. It pierces the pillow next to my head. How unfortunate.

Again. A thunk can be heard as it stays put. I stand to retrieve it, my bed creaking in protest. The ceilings are not especially low, but Otto's knife is easily within my reach.

It comes away too easily. Not enough force, once again. I stay standing instead of lying down again. I look at the knife in my hand.

I could stop. I could stop damaging the ceiling over and over again, and I could stop blunting the knife. I should stop.

I am only breaking things. No, not even breaking. This is nothing.

This is just more purposeless damage. I am just stabbing the ceiling, the ceiling that can not die, or feel it at all. This is an exercise in futility. I am satisfying nothing.

The sound the knife makes as I personally drive it into the ceiling is very satisfying indeed.

I step off my bed, landing silently on my floor. I allow the knife to say in my ceiling. I don't need it, anyway. I have other, much sharper knives. Better knives.

I pass my empty wall. The spot with four holes in it as if something was once displayed there stares into me, accusing me. I face it, staring back. I blindfold it by displaying Sera's gift. Yumi's warm, grey eyes now bore a hole into my skull, but it's a marginal improvement.

I shut the door quietly behind me. I don't care about the noise I make, but I don't need to be loud. It would feel too small.

My footsteps echo in the empty hallway. There used to be photos in this house. Filling the walls. There also used to be laughter.

The one photo left sits alone on the mantle. I know what it looks like, of course. I wasted many days staring at it.

Yumi is approximately seven. My mother is desperately trying to keep a hold of her, obviously tired but still smiling. Yumi is wearing a large grin, several teeth missing, as she seems to yell and reach toward the photographer.

One of her hands is pushing my mother's face to the side, slightly squishing her smile. My father is holding me, smiling at my mother and Yumi rather than the camera. I look grumpy.

It was taken in winter, so we are all wearing warm clothing. I look adequately cared for, with a knit beanie and fluffy green jumpsuit covering all of me but my face. My father's puffy jacket is an equal green. Yumi's brown sweater matches the one our mother is wearing. Yumi had to be wrestled into that sweater.

It's a lovely, lively photo, full of warmth and happiness. It reflects nothing of what we are now, though. It's almost like looking into a broken mirror.

You know what's supposed to be there, what it's supposed to look like, and it just doesn't. You can tell what it was. You can tell what it did. And it will never be what it was again, even if you fix it.

It's far more complicated than a broken mirror, though. We've lost all but two of the pieces, and one is so dirty and scratched that it's functionally worthless. We don't even have the glue to put those two pieces back together.

I hate the year-old girl in that photo. I hate her dissatisfied frown and barely visible black hair. I hate her chubby, tiny, tightly balled fists. I hate her innocence. I hate her ignorance.

I'm not looking at the photo now, though, so there is nothing immediately in front of me to hate. At least until I reach the mirror. But I already know what I look like. I will just ignore myself, like always.

I wash my face for the third time today. I should apologise to Sera. I should also never speak to Sera again. I should also lie down in the sand and wait for the ocean to claim me.

It's unclear what order I should take those actions in. Logic states that the ocean will take up far more of my time than begging for Sera's forgiveness and exit from my life.

I do not like logic. It is normally against me. I don't really want to talk to Sera right now, either. I don't want to talk to her, full stop. She'll come to me, talk to me, convince me to talk to her. She always does.

Of course, the Reaping is soon. I have several hours to kill. Normally, I'd spend this time with Sera. It would be tense, and there would be something inherently sad about it, but we would have each other. And that would be how we held each other together.

But not today. I won't lose this. I don't lose. It isn't something I do. I don't need Sera. I need her like I need a gaping head wound. I need her like I need the knife in my ceiling. Gods, I hate that knife.

I hated Otto's urgency as she pressed it into Yumi's hands before pressing an equal kiss to her lips. I hated my father's soulless eyes as he dropped a box of Yumi's things on my lap. I hated the message at the bottom of that box.

I hate that message.

I twist the tap violently enough that it must have bruised my hand. What a shame. The tap drips for a moment, then realises it's done with its job and ceases. The ensuing silence is decidedly agitating. It is broken by the sound of the door creaking open.

I will not look in the mirror. I will not acknowledge who is staring back at me, and I especially will not acknowledge who is behind me. I bring my hands behind my head, gathering my hair into one area.

I make sure to keep my eyes closed. I slide my hairband off my wrist and wrap it once, twice, three times around my ponytail until it is tight and stays in its place just behind where my head curves. I drag the towel across my face, mildly hoping it'll miraculously turn into steel wool.

I push past the man with the unshaved face and uncombed hair. I do not speak to him. He has missed his chance. He lays a hand on my shoulder.

The father makes some semblance of an attempt to speak to his daughter. The daughter coldly brushes away her father's hand.

My gait is not hurried, but most would fall behind. I don't know where I'm going. I suppose I'll find out when I get there. More people are around now. Most of them are Peacekeepers.

Preparing for the yearly slaughter, of course. It's a miracle Annie won the last. The poor girl snapped like a twig the minute Moor was beheaded. I don't blame her.

We were... not friends. Never friends. I knew her. It wouldn't be right to say that I know her. But we interacted, and I didn't hate her. She's how I knew him.

I remember how she trembled in the chair she looked too small in when her other friends rushed in to wish her luck and comfort her. He would have loved to, but mentors aren't allowed to.

I don't envy her. Or him. Nothing good came of their victories, aside from the food parcels for District Four. He's off in the Capitol being treated like an object, and Annie is... hopefully still breathing.

Perhaps I should visit her. There was far too much screaming coming from her house in Victor's Village for a woman who lives alone the last time I tried to check on her, though. It's best that I stay away.

Seth is about her age, I believe. They've never once held a conversation, but Seth has a way of speaking without his voice. He is very regular with his visits to her.

He looks almost identical to his sister. Messy blonde curls that spill easily into his eyes and tie themselves into knots around his ears, dulled-gold irises, a constellation of freckles across his nose and cheeks, a solid, strong build. One of their very few physical differences is his facial hair, which isn't much more than some thicker patches of fuzz at the moment.

I'm told he's very handsome by his many fans. I don't see it. He's just a male version of Sera, so feasibly I should be able to see it, but it just doesn't appear to me. Perhaps it's his lack of everything that I find sweet about her. Sera's face in my vision every day for almost two decades could have warped my perception of what "good-looking" is...

Most people assume Seth is mute or deaf or both, but he turns when someone talks to him, and he responds with a mumble or vague noise if I ask him something.

Seth is... strange. He's oddly fascinated by seaweed and the like, wasting all his free time poking at samples of it pulled up of fishing trips. He doesn't feel anything until it's applied tenfold, and even then, it doesn't appear to bother him. He'll just stare at people if they talk to him.

He talks to his friends the most. They adore him. It's understandable, with his inexplicable odd charm. It was easy to assume at first that they were just acting like they liked him because they found it funny.

They're genuine, though. They gather, the five or so of them, without him occasionally. I once walked past them as they were talking, and he was mentioned many times.

They talked about how odd it was that he knew so much about seaweed, but changed it immediately by talking about what he knew and how interesting it was. They discussed if they should bring Seth along to an event, mainly debating if he would enjoy it. One of them mentioned a rock Seth had given him, holding it out and praising it.

I don't consider myself jealous. It made me wonder for a moment if that was how the people who knew me talked about me when I wasn't present. I felt relieved for a moment. I am not one to try to deny facts, however.

I'm not blind. I saw the glares Seth's friends gave me.

One of them was Otto's younger brother, Oswald. She had two, him and a boy named Fayrouz, who's now about thirteen. He hates me now, but I would sometimes see him when Otto came over to talk to Yumi.

I remember her fairly well, although I didn't know her as greatly.

Otto loved green and wore a lot of it. Mainly deep sages, but I'd occasionally see her wearing an almost blindingly lime shirt. She was one of the fishers and had the build to match. Her burnt umber skin was lined with scars, especially her hands, and her whole body rippled when she flexed.

She had distinctly sharp features, much like the Esthel twins. Unlike them, though, her caramel-colour gaze could easily cut diamond. Her face was also more square, drawing attention to her high, ever-bruised cheekbones. She would always wear her black, curling hair in a low ponytail.

Oswald and I talked a little then, while our sisters were busy with their schoolwork and their gossip. He's a nice enough guy. Or, he used to be, anyway. He has a lot of friends. Sera is one of them.

He's very fond of her. She's ushered me out of her house so she can talk to him before. It makes sense. He detests me, and Sera likes him for some reason, so she keeps us separate.

Mechi sometimes brings up how Ozzie being alone with Sera doesn't bother me, but them being alone does. I don't really have anything to address that. I can't really take him seriously, I guess. I know I'll never have to worry about Sera preferring him to me.

He looks just like Otto. His hair is curlier than hers, and he keeps it cut short, but very similar. His eyes used to have her same piercing quality, but now they smoulder when I look at him. He didn't use to try to look like her.

It's for the opposite of the reason I keep my hair long, I'd imagine.

When Yumi died, it was like his older sister had died all over again. But at least there was someone he could rightfully blame. He likes it when we're partnered together in training. Especially when weapons get involved. He never wins, but he doesn't care.

Yumi's swap was considered "a shock" and "a display of friendship." Mine was called "a tragedy" and "unjust" and "stealing."

Otto loved Yumi deeply. And then Yumi was called, and Otto couldn't imagine life without her. So Otto took Yumi's place without a moment's hesitation. Yumi was comforted and consoled, and Otto was mourned as a dead woman.

Yumi cared for me. And then I was called, and Yumi felt that I was her responsibility. So Yumi took my place without a moment's hesitation. I was scowled at and disregarded, and Yumi was mourned as a loss.

It's not unfair, not exactly. Yumi was all kinds of excellent, but Otto was different. Colder, but still as caring. Less patient, but still as willing to listen. She gave solutions when presented with problems.

I remember her voice being smooth and warm. Much like someone else's. I didn't cry at her funeral, either. Rumi Erudite doesn't cry.

There was so something so utterly tragic about Otto.

It doesn't matter, not anymore. She's dead.

Ah. So my destination was the beach. Logical. It's nice this time of year. Victors will often stop here on their tours.

I don't feel anything when I sit down in the sand, just ahead of where the waves lap at my feet. I don't want to get saltwater on these shoes. And I don't like the way the waves move. I don't like the way they're getting closer to me.

Some part of me laughs at that. They're waves. They can't be malicious. They can't be cunning. They can't be evil. They can't... hate...

I shake that away and shuffle further up the beach.

It would be nice if I could feel what I felt three hours or so ago. It would also be nice if I could describe that feeling. It's childish that all I know is that I feel it with Sera, childish that I know nothing of my own emotions.

I wish my appreciation of the sunsets and sunrises wasn't linked to Sera. I wish my best memories didn't involve her. I wish that I didn't feel short of breath when she laughs.

I wish, I wish, I wish...

How childish. How naïve. How old am I, really? That I'm stuck wishing and hoping and whining? I hate that. I hate it all. I hate Sera.

I stare out into the ocean. I normally try to identify the boats on the water, but it's all been put on hold for the Reaping. The ocean surface is empty. It's slightly odd. It's very much non-standard, but it isn't alien.

It's sort of like when the birds all fall silent and leave the skies when a storm is brewing. It's not like it isn't normal. It's just not a good sign.

No boats means a child of District Four dies.

I remember when Sera would come home from storms. If she was caught in one, it'd be because they blew in before they could react. I'd wrap a blanket around her shoulders as she laughed about how she had been thrown overboard and hauled back on more than once.

I've noticed a pattern with Sera. Every time something bad happens to her, she just... starts joking. It's like she can't take it seriously. She refuses to acknowledge her own injuries. I'll usually have to drag her over to Cod. The only time she's taken herself there was when she accidentally cut off part of her ring finger while chopping carrots, and even then, she still tried to deflect it as okay for about thirty seconds. She worries me sometimes.

One night after a storm, Sera didn't laugh. She knocked on my door and waited where she would normally just let herself in. Even when I answered, she just stood in front of the door, dripping wet from the pouring rain with her head hanging. I could barely hear her when she asked to come inside.

I wonder if it's possible to purge memories. The ones after Yumi's death are all blurred. Those aren't gone, though. I want them gone entirely, so I wouldn't even know that I was remembering them strangely.

Alas.

The ocean's calm, at least.

"Rumi." I jump slightly. The newcomer's soft voice surprised me, somehow so much louder than everything else. I glance at the sky instead of her. The light's changed. I have no idea how long I was staring out at the mostly-flat ocean.

I identify her by the stitching at the hem of her shirt as I turn to watch the ocean again.

"Figured I'd find you here," Mechi says vaguely.

"Yes, well..." I respond, equally non-specific.

There is more silence. I assume Mechi is admiring the sea.

"You made her cry, you know," she says after a few minutes.

"Okay." Mechi sighs.

"Showed up on our doorstep," she furthers.

"Okay." Mechi shifts next to me.

"She was bawling her eyes out about how she upset you. She blames herself for every little thing you do, you know."

"That seems like her problem."

"Gods, Rumi, don't you care? You're her best friend," Mechi says, irritated. I finally turn to her so I can glare at her.

She's exactly as she always is. Blank. Mechi does not show her emotions much. It's not deliberate, I don't think.

"Why should I care about what Sera blames herself for? Why should her issues be mine, too? When did I agree to that?" Mechi flexes her hands.

"When you became her friend, that's when," she says, maintaining her composure. I turn away from her. Mechi sighs again. "It's sort of difficult to calm her down when she gets like that, you know." I do know. I've known Sera for longer than she has. I hate it when people act like they know her better than me.

"She loves contact, yeah?" Mechi continues. "Likes having her hair fixed, likes being hugged, likes being held. She loves to have somebody wrap their arms around her." Mechi pauses for a moment. "Affection. From someone she trusts. That's all she really needs."

There's another long pause between the two of us.

"To make her feel safe again. You know how it is."

She's saying all that like she did it. That's all oddly intimate for someone who's just her friend. Mechi's not close to her like I am. I'm the only one who's allowed to do things like that. That's what I do with Sera, not her. That's ours, not hers. And I don't like what she's implying with that snarky little last comment. The sand crunches in my clenched fists.

"You're too cruel to her. You're on a good path to lose her, you realise." She really thinks she knows what she's talking about, doesn't she? "I can tell when she's upset. I can tell when she's scared. I know how she gets when you get angry."

Oh, of course. Because Mechi knows everything, apparently. She acts like this sometimes, like she's the smartest person in all of Panem. She acts like she's so much better than me.

Sera doesn't "get" anything when I'm angry. She knows it's not really her fault. It's not even directed at her most of the time. I always apologise to her afterwards, too. I hate to see her upset. Which I recognise better than Mechi.

Mechi doesn't have any right to assume things about me and Sera. She knows far less than I do. And she's making me angry. I bet she's doing it on purpose so she can lie some more and say that I'm always like this. Fine then. If she wants me to be angry, I'll get angry.

"Really?!" I snap at her. She doesn't flinch. "You really have the audacity to say that?! I've known Sera for fifteen years! You've known her for - for not even a third of that! Do you think you're even remotely capable of knowing her like I do?! Do you really think that you - "

"She says you scare her sometimes," Mechi says levelly, cutting me off. "She says you aren't really yourself."

I don't scare Sera. We're friends. She's not scared of me. She knows me. Maybe... maybe once, years ago, I did scare her, but we talked about that! And besides, she'd tell me if she was afraid of me. She wouldn't tell Mechi instead. She wouldn't hide her feelings from me. She wouldn't betray me like that.

I know Mechi's lying. She's doing it to make me angry. Sera would never betray me. Sera would never say that I'm not myself. She knows me. She knows who I am. She's the only one who does.

Mechi is a liar.

"You've got an excellent tactic right now, actually," she says, still daring to speak. "You're absolutely awful to her, then you tell her you care about her and act so sweet about it." How dare she. How dare she. I'm not. I'm not anything she says I am. I'm nothing she says I am. She's everything she says I am, if anything! She's the -

"What, are you just going to sit there and get redder?" Mechi prods. She's waiting for me to come to any kind of a conclusion on my own. I have a conclusion for her. I have so many conclusions for her, and right now, a lot of them end in her blood decorating the sand.

"You don't know anything about us!" I shout, going in the least violent direction. "I care about Sera! More than you ever could! And I -"

"You're doing such a great job manipulating Sera, Rumi."

She's so pretentious. She's so smug. She's so proud of herself. She thinks she knows me. She thinks she knows Sera. Sera is my friend, not hers. Sera spends the most time with me. Sera is mine.

She's mine, all mine. Mechi should give in. She's mine. She's not Mechi's, she's not Tyra's, she's not any of those stupid boys', she's definitely not Ozzie's. She's mine.

"That's why she's afraid," Mechi says, so quietly. I must have said all that out loud. I don't care. It's true. She knows it's true. And she knows she's lying.

Something breaks. Some restraint I was keeping, it's gone. She thinks she can say all that. All that without consequence. She thinks that because she's just oh so important, she can do whatever she wants.

I wasn't raised to take disrespect like that. I wasn't trained to tolerate attitude like hers. And I won't.

I strike her, hard. It knocks her over, and she cries out. I stand. She rubs the side of her face. She looks up at me. Where have I seen that expression before..?

I don't care. I don't care.

"Stand up," I snarl. She's afraid. She's cowering at my feet. She didn't expect to be hit.

Something tugs at me, at the back of my mind. I ignore it. I demand that Mechi stands up again. This time, she obeys. I hit her again. It doesn't... do as much this time.

I hit her with just as much force. I think.

I punch out at her again, but she brings her guard up and blocks it. I am abruptly reminded that Mechi has had nearly identical training to me. She sends a violent blow into my cheekbone, causing me to tear up.

I punch her in the teeth on my rebound. Her hand instinctively flies to her mouth. I take my opportunity and kick her knee, knocking her down.

I bring my own knee violently into her face.

It doesn't occur. So I bring my own knee violently into her face.

Don't I? She's at the perfect angle for it. It would probably break her nose. So I bring my own knee violently into her face.

But I don't. I stand. Useless. Mechi looks up at me. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth, stepping up and away from me. Her face softens.

"I can tell you aren't trying," she says quietly. She doesn't even have a lisp. "You don't really want to hurt me. You're just angry."

"Shut up," I hiss. There's a good, cold fury in my voice. Mechi's expression is one of pity.

"You only did that because you hate that what I said was true."

How many times do I have to tell her? How many times do I need to bruise her? How many times do I need to split her lip?

She is a liar. I love Sera. I don't hurt her. I hate hurting her. I don't mean to. I mean it every time, and I regret it so much more every time. Something in me always whispers that she deserves it. Something in me is wrong. Some part of me is broken.

I must be doing something stupid with my face.

"You need to go talk to her. She loves you, Rumi. And you keep on breaking her heart," Mechi says, her voice weak and wavering. I mishear what she says next. I must've.

Because otherwise, Mechi just said that Sera is going to die.

Mechi wipes one of her eyes.

"I tried to talk her out of it. She said she didn't have a choice." Something icy spreads in my chest.

"She's rigged the Reaping, Rumi. For you. It's going to be her. I don't know why. She could have done anything else." Mechi is lying. Again. She must be lying. She must be. The ice creeps up my spine.

"Does she have a death wish?" I demand, although it's more desperate and pathetic and on the verge of tears than actually demanding. Mechi laughs, cold and hollow.

"Same thing I asked her," she mutters. "She didn't tell me. She just gave me this sad smile." I grab her, seizing her by the collar. The ice reaches my arms. I will not let go of her until she tells me the truth. Mechi reaches up to try to free herself, her hands landing on my wrists.

"I don't believe you," I hiss, more strangled than I would have liked it to be. It's true. I don't believe her. I won't believe her. I don't want to. Mechi shakes her head.

"It's what she told me, Rumi," she says, voice low.

My veins freeze over.

"It's my fault that she knew," Mechi says, shame colouring her face. "I overheard a guy we know, I forgot his name, bribing Papa to rig it to be you." Mechi squeezes my arms tighter.

"He accepted. Because he's shameless," she mutters angrily. "So I told Sera, because what else was I supposed to do? Let her watch you die?" she spits. Her words boil with anger and resentment.

"She got him to make it all her name," she says, some of the hate leaving her voice to make room for defeat. "He wouldn't listen to me when I asked him to just drop the whole thing."

Tears drip down her face as her posture weakens.

"He hates the Kaishurrs. He was basically being paid to kill one of them," she says. "I don't know what she's planning to stop you from volunteering, but Sera's smart. She's going to be in the Games." I release her, staggering back. I am cold. I am unnaturally cold, on this nice, warm morning.

The ocean laughs at me.

The ice does not release its horrible grip as my body starts to move. Mechi moves out of the way as the beach rushes past, the sand giving way to earth and the earth giving way to concrete.

My chest tightens. I can't breathe.

My feet carry me forward. I can't see. All I can hear is my heart hammering in my ears. And Mechi's awful words, echoing over and over again.

She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die. She's going to die, and it's my fault.

I can't go fast enough. My top speed is not fast enough. I am not strong enough. I can't save her. We're both going to drown.

Blood is spreading through the water like a grim plume. Rain is cutting into us like knives. I can't save her. I can't save her. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't. I can'tIcan't. Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't.

WhyisnobodyherewhyisnobodyhelpinguswhyisshenotbreathingwhyamIuselesswhyamIworthlesswhycan'tIsaveherwhywhywhywhywhypleasepleasepleaseI'msorryI'msosorrypleaseopenyoureyespleaseplease -

A scream tears at my throat, but it comes out as a stream of bubbles, and comes back in as suffocating, surrounding water. Every desperate, sprinted step hurts. Everything hurts. My clothes feel heavy. Seawater burns my eyes and nose.

We will drown. We will drown, and it is my fault. She hadn't insisted. I had a choice. We will die. I am drowning. I am drowning. I am drowning.

I can't breathe. I can hear the ocean. Crashing waves. Dragging me down with no remorse. No mercy. No care.

Water roars in my ears. It hates me. It's always hated me. It let me feel safe for a long time, so I'd let my guard down. So it could kill me. It's docile when I see it, when the sun shines.

It shows me its true nature when it storms. It shouts at me, comes for me, hungers for me.

I fear it. Not when I am not alone. It doesn't dare touch me when I am not alone. But I know how cruel it truly is. It hates.

It consumes me. It swallows me whole and does not notice. It does not care what it is doing to me. It does not care how it seeps the life from me.

I can't move fast enough.

She comes into focus. Her face. Her head. Her mouth. The blood around her. The blood on the docks.

She turns to face me. I see her eyes widen. Through my pain and my rain and my desperation, I see her.

My arms come around her body. We fall to the ground. The solid, dry ground. I fall into blood-spoiled blonde curls and the forever poisoned scent of petrichor and saltwater and rotting wood and blood and exposed bone and desperate screaming and tear stained cheeks and regret and pain and lasting injuries and warm nights and happy embraces and death and love and loss.

I'm sorry, I tell her. I'm so sorry.