#very clearly in the reflection because they're sitting behind me :)

[thebirdandhersong]

layers of school and family and health issues and future planning and final exam stress aside, do you ever feel like there is a long ongoing scream inside of you that seems to have no end ha haaaa

[storkmuffin]

Matz Lego Live 2025.2.13 Liveblog

@fallenstarhwa and @iriswashername this is for you!!

First off, you know they picked the 13th of February to do this lego live thing, very deliberately right? They're avoiding Valentine's day.

We open on Hongjoong muttering to himself while looking at his phone. It's always so funny to me that content makers are just as much serfs to the data farm as the ordinary people who watch their content. Hongjoong is wearing what looks like a hooded raincoat indoors, and a knit cap under that. I guess it's cold in this hotel. I've found that to be generally true of the West- Koreans keep things warm indoors, but westerners don't as much. Also there is a giant mirror in front of Seonghwa's bed. I can already hear the fanfic pens sharpening. Seonghwa comes to sit (plop, actually) next to Hongjoong. He is also wearing layers and a knit hat indoors. Definitely cold. The glasses he has on are very cool but they also are very grandpa, and given their height difference and Hong Joong slouching they look like dad and son.

Hwa is checking angles, making sure the lego boxes are lined up properly, that the link to internet is working, the camera is on, busy busy busy, and HJ is just ... diddling his phone on his lap making mouth sounds.

Immediately, Hongjoong causes banging. He pretends the banging didn't happen but Hwa doesn't cooperate. He looks for the thing that fell, and sees nothing on the floor, so then he silently wonders if someone knocked by staring at the door. He looks almost ready to stand up. Apparently when someone knocks it's Hwa's job to go open the door, because he doesn't say anything to HJ about the 'knock.' This is finally when HJ sheepishly says, No, it's not anything, it's my phone. Hwa looks at the phone in HJ's hand, clearly wondering how did that thing in your hand make a noise so far away from it, but he's just too busy doing the set up. HJ leans back from his seat to pick up the second phone that's fallen to the floor from the arm rest. HJ keeps talking but Hwa doesn't say a word until the set up is working.

Hwa is a sweetie. He really for some reason REALLY REALLY wanted to make legos with HJ and it's finally happening so he messes up his opening comment. He says, It's been a million years... and then realizes, Oh this is the first time! HJ is just a kid - he actually just echoes what Hwa says, no brain, just amplifying, until he confirms that this is the first time they're doing legos.

Then Hwa notices their outfits match. "This is so exciting!" he says, about their matching, and HJ pouts, You're copying me again. They are not looking at each other. Hwa says that he has to keep the glasses on because he looks ugly without, to which HJ says that he knew Hwa would wear the glasses, so he left his own behind. .... HJ. Dude. TELL HWA HE'S PRETTY. what are you DOING.

Hwa explains the legos they are about to make to the audience, adding in a little bit that says, I tried to reflect HJ's tastes even though he told me that he likes whatever I like - and HJ is like I did not say that!! Then Hwa explains in painstaking detail about Anakin and Asoka and how having an apprentice is not the same as having a brother (it's not 형 it's 스승 and 제자!). HJ has no idea wtf he's talking about or anything about Star Wars. At all. Okayyy. (I'm judging him in Nerd.)

They're unboxing the Legos with Hwa narrating like he's trying to sell them on the home shopping network. There are thumb grooves to make the boxes fun to open! and so on. HJ is trying really hard to not be mean about all this dorkiness, and mostly succeeding. The first crisis point is when Hwa shows off about how environmentally friendly the packaging is now, no plastic!!, until he opens his own smaller lego and realizes... it's still fully plastic. HJ covers his face to laugh.

Hwa will assist HJ on putting HJ's lego together. HJ side eyes Hwa to ask how much of a time commitment this is going to be, to which Hwa says it'll be about an hour.

Then HJ tells us, the audience, that this is not his lifetime first encounter with Legos. Hwa is surprised enough to turn to look at HJ, and acts betrayed. (뭐야...). He gets over it pretty quickly and goes right back to selling the legos on the home shopping network. The dialect tonality is coming out so strong right now. Is it because he's excited? LOL

As HJ begins unboxing the pieces, he just hates them. His mouth sours. He hates the legos as they come out, whereas Hwa looks fondly at the plastic pieces like they are his offspring hatching from the foam covering their egg cluster. Then HJ says that by nature, he hates the kind of thing where he has to follow a pre-set recipe and order. Hwa, holding the pre-set recipe and order book in his hand, stares off into the distance.

This is going to be a very long evening.

Hwa hazards, "So you just wanna make something new??"and HJ says no, with this sort of thing you have no choice but to follow. Hwa smiles just the tiniest bit, because he had been plunged into an icy bath just a moment ago and now he's back out of it.

HJ says he wants to experience the 'time killing' culture of Legos, then says that since beginning his Lego habit, Hwa has gotten angrier as a person (joke). If Hwa had done something similar, HJ would immediately go NO I DIDN'T but Hwa smiles in an exasperated way and then asks, rhetorically, Shouldn't it be the opposite? and lets HJ explain that he was joking. They are so different.

Then HJ spills everything and they disppear for a while, to pick up all the pieces, muttering. Hwa lectures - belatedly - about how you have to open stuff carefully.

HJ keeps signalling how much he hates Legos already and he hasn't even fit two pieces together. He says "This is a valuable experience" - singular, the one time, never again, etc. is implied. "You're doing great!" Hwa says, "You've already made half of Asoka!"

HJ doesn't like being Hwa's student. "It's been a long time since I've learned something from Hwa. It feels... complicated."* Hwa doesn't want him to drop out, so he says, "All you need for lego making is to be fastidious and alert." HJ says he's neither of those things. HJ says this is like getting behavioral therapy to learn calmness.

*What HJ says is it feels 오���하다 to be taught by Hwa, which literally means Mysterious, but I'm choosing a different word.

But HJ gets the hang of it by the 10 minute mark - he says, "I just have to follow the instructions!" like this is a discovery (Why is he 4 years old?). And then they are side by side, looking down, chatting in a leisurely way about their visit to Como. They look just like me and my knitting circle when we work on individual projects side by side, talking.

HJ kinda talks about himself a lot. See. This is one of those things that makes me think he's ND. Hwa says things to him about him, and HJ answers with more information about himself, but doesn't ask Hwa anything. When Hwa makes an encouraging comment - Oh you're on page 2 already? -HJ is like I am good at this sort of thing because I studied hard in school. But Hwa just indulges him like HJ is his grandson - Oh what a smart boy, Kim Hong Joong, he says, absolutely soullessly but not with any sort of sarcasm, while making his own lego. And HJ just keeps talking about his strengths - he can stay put and work on something for a long time! And Hwa keeps agreeing. "Yes! That's why you're so good at composing."

Basically, Hwa is gentle parenting HJ into staying put and making this lego thing, doing something he doesn't like (Following a strict recipe) about an IP property he knows nothing about (Star Wars) because Hwa's fans (and probably Hwa himself) wants him to make legos with someone while on this tour. LOLOL.

HJ says he has set up a composition station on the bed in his hotel rooms (Hwa: And not because you just want to work in bed?) then he tells a story about packing harmonicas and a whole second bag of composition equipment. Hwa spills things, and blames HJ (Now that I'm with you I'm spilling things!) to which HJ as per usual shoots back (No, spilling things is just your nature).

I saw an anti-Ateez post on the Korean internet, and the person said HJ was the reason she couldn't get into Ateez. HongJoong stans, cover your eyes: She said that she's noticed when a leader of an Idol group with a lot of members is short, their egos tend to be bloated, and felt HJ was a prime example. 4 minutes into actually making legos, HJ is congratulating himself - I am talented at this! - and Hwa says, Oh you're definitely talented at this! Half a second later, literally, HJ makes an alarmed mouth sound and Hwa says, "Why, did you mess up?"

Hwa keeps HJ talking about the harmonica. HJ says he can play a song on the harmonica, and starts singing it. Together, they start singing Donna e Mobile from Rigoletto and not remembering what it's called, and I'm having that experience of being a ghost, where I'm screaming IT'S RIGOLETTO!! RIGOLETTO!! DONNA E MOBILE!!! but the people I'm screaming at can't hear me.

HJ keeps soliciting praise from Hwa ("I'm doing great!") and Hwa just automatically affirms.

The chat is trying to tell HJ what the song is but those bitches are all getting it wrong. I am biting down on my teeth so hard because I can't keep shouting La Donna e Mobile!!

Hwa spills more pieces and HJ attacks him. He gets overexcited so he stutters- What-what-what were you saying about like psh! like about the spilling?? to me??? Hwa is a lot like San in that he suddenly says Zen master things: Everyone makes mistakes, but the key is to not be defeated by them. I feel like this shows a perfectionist streak, to have to defend dropping a lego piece with this sort of weighty principle.

They gossip like old biddies about San. San kept saying the steaks in room service of every hotel is delicious, but when Hwa double checks with HJ the answer is sometimes a meh. HJ says San just likes beef.

HJ completes a portion of a piece then wants praise (again) (He's kind of a handful, isn't he?). Hwa says, You mustn't give up, there are so many cheering you on. HJ says, You said this would be over in half an hour. Hwa retorts, I said an hour. HJ really doesn't like Lego. LOLOL

Hwa keeps checking in on him- you're having a fun right? I'm so pleased to hear you're having fun - and HJ affirms, but his comments say otherwise. He keeps declaring himself DONE and FINISHED when he evidently isn't.

At the 27 minute mark, Hwa is done with his. HJ drops something else, and Hwa automatically consoles him to no response. HJ, when he's not praising himself or soliciting praise, sings snippets of song. This makes him just like San, who just starts singing when there's nothing else to do. I think Hwa is worried HJ will drop out of this project, so he's lathering him in praise. "Oh such great observation skills!" But HJ still doesn't like it. He wants to know if there's competitions for finishing legos as fast as possible. LOLOL. Hwa doesn't know.

Hwa starts to actively, aggressively help HJ put the thing together. "My mouth is drying out," HJ says, because he's having a rough time. Hwa's soft power is unparalleled. He's totally forcing HJ to do this and I'm CRACKING UP.

Oooh! HJ finished! He flips open the lid of his spaceship back and forth, now soliciting praise from the audience. Once the toy is complete, HJ makes mouth sound effects like he's 4. Zzzyoooong ~ etc. He's literally 4.

Hwa says, You finished the first one.

HJ gets up immediately.

Hwa: YOU'RE NOT LEAVING RIGHT? COME BACK.

HJ goes to get the second bag and slumps in his chair. He hates this so much. YOU DO IT NOW TOO, he commands Hwa as the second baggie full of legos comes out. "I am," Hwa says, very calm.

What is Hwa getting out of forcing HJ to do this? This is a weird kink.

They're talking nonsense about flying cars, about how technology can come out that you think is impossible, and then HJ signals how much he's not actually enjoying this: What about machines that make legos for you?? Hwa, very calmly ignoring this, the 700th hint, says, That already exists. But he's not missing out on the hints. He starts to act as a surgical nurse to HJ, finding the next piece he's going to need and handing it to him one right after the other like it's in the surgical theater and they're saving a life.

HJ hates this so much. He reads his favorite line of the manual so far. "Hey they're letting me know that I'm halfway through!!" Hwa is honest and brings down the reality hammer: "This is not the halfway point." (There's a lot more to go.) HJ is CRUSHED but Hwa is amused. HJ can't stop now, even if he hates it. Hwa is pleased.

It's only a quarter of the way done.

HJ starts to rebel. "I'm going to just go by feeling!" Hwa says no - "You can't go by feeling. I told you." He starts pre-making pieces to hand over to HJ to fit into the in progress piece. HJ is playing drums, rapping, drinking, sighing, making mouth sounds. "It would have been a disaster to pick a bigger one," Hwa admits.

HJ wants Hwa to let him stop. "You're feeling frustrated, aren't you??"

Hwa, very calm, very pleased, says No, not at all.

What...

What is this kink?

This kink of forcing a person who hates Legos to make a Lego with you even as they actively hate it??

HJ tries to trick himself into going on. "I like it! This is good! It's great!"

That was the last of his energy though, because HJ just puts his head down on the table. He wants to leave, but the force of Hwa's power is such that he can't, so he wants to exit the room by going inside his subconscious. Hwa is busy, making HJ's lego for him. "You're not sleeping, right?" he asks. HJ's head pops right back up. "No! No! I'm thinking [about making the Lego]!" he says.

HJ gives up. Hwa is making the Legos, so HJ reads the comments by those in the chat. Meanwhile, there's a piece missing, and Hwa looks for it. HJ finds it for him on the table. Hwa says, "Lego never makes an error. All the errors are my own."

Why is Hwa making Buddhist koans out of lego? LOLOL

He hands the lego making back to HJ, because making HJ make the legos is his kink. HJ is trying so hard - talking himself up, rapping, singing, writhing around - to keep his mind on these lego things that he hates.

I'm scary when I concentrate! he threatens Hwa, as he accepts his fate. You're not intimidating in any way, Hwa says, helping him. He's back to lathering HJ in praise - You're talented at this! I believe in you! HJ is putting the lego together with all the joyless but concentrated detachment of a factory worker putting semiconductors together.

"Are you so very bored?" Hwa asks, laughing.

This is so his kink and I don't understand but it's very perverse.

HJ protests that he is having a wonderful time. Then he says, as Hwa continues to be his surgical nurse, "You make a good assistant. You were born to assist me!" Then he segues into a military role play, where he's the tough commander and Hwa is his solicitous subordinate. Hwa plays right along, smoothly transitioning into the tone and affect of 'military' as seen in media. Hwa's dialect is coming out strong. HJ is talking 'down' to Hwa, using 반말, because he's the "general" in this little play whereas Hwa is speaking 존댓말 in response. All while in the larger context Hwa is forcing HJ to do this thing he doesn't like. This is fucking kinky. This is giving, also, Captain Hook and Mr. Smee, where Smee was the top. You know what I mean right? HJ is being played so hard. I can't believe KQ staff are letting this happen to him. Is it OK that I'm watching this?

Hwa, what are you doing, you weird pervert!?!?

SO they have finished one of the wings. Hwa says, to be encouraging, You just have to make one more! but HJ is like, Why does the fucking spaceship have two wings?

HJ doesn't want to snap the pieces together anymore. He says, I'll find the pieces and you assemble it.

AND NOW HWA IS THE GENERAL AND HJ IS USING 존댓말. Hwa's voice gets louder and lower and HJ turns into a little high pitched bird.

THIS IS THE KINKIEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN

WHAT IS HAPPENING

HWA IS SO HARD RIGHT NOW.

FUCKING LEGO IS MAKING ME WRITE RPF FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE

I AM LOSING IT.

I'm suited to this! HJ says, happily. Being what? Being Hwa's submissive assistant? Do you even know what you're saying, HJ? Was this Hwa's big picture all along???

They entirely stop talking for long moments as Hwa is fully in the zone, having HJ play the attentive assistant to him, while he makes Legos. This is Hwa's sexuality, apparently. I mean I said he was queer but like, he went ahead and invented Lego Queer. I have been listening too much Ateez music because I'm fully hearing in my head Seonghwa singing I'm the one in my zone, 다른 애들은 삐약 as I'm watching HJ hover at Hwa's elbow as Hwa makes the rest of HJ's lego.

HJ starts cheering like an American cheerleader at Hwa making the lego.

LEGO QUEER KINKY SHIT.

이건 무슨 일이야 indeed.

What is it with these Ateez guys and their need to make speeches about life lessons? HJ, completely unaware of the Lego Queer Kink Dungeon in which he has found himself, jabbers on about how he is learning important Life Lessons from building this lego.

Hwa is putting stickers on the lego, and HJ is just stroking him by praising him every step of the way. HJ needed Hwa's praise to stay engaged in the lego making, but Hwa was actually just dosing him with the behavior he wanted HJ to do. That is, Hwa wanted HJ to praise him as he made legos. What's happening looks the same but what's actually going on is entirely different.

Hwa has completed the lego. HJ claps. Not because he liked it, but because he's so happy it's over. Hwa - I SWEAR TO GOD I'M LIVE BLOGGING THIS - Hwa POINTS THE PHALLUS SHAPED SPACE SHIP WITH THE TWO THINGS SPREAD OUT TO THE SIDE, HOLE FACING FORWARD, AND SHOOTS HIS LOAD AT THE CAMERA.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

i'm

I'M CRYING

I'M....

박성화 너 뭐하는거야????????????????????????

AND THEN HE GIVES IT TO HJ WHO ALSO SHOOTS HIS LOAD.

야 박성화! 성화야! 야!!!!!! 너! 너너!! 너어어어어어어!!!!!

You shouldn't shoot this at people, Hwa says, after collecting the bullet.

THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.

Hwa has a cruel streak if this is anything to go by. Look at poor little HJ who clearly had no idea what sort of video he was making. He's crushed, drained, overwhelmed. Hwa on the other hand is shooting load after load at the camera.

His aftercare is cold as shit too. He asks if HJ would ever make Legos again. When HJ responds with the loudest silence of all time Hwa just tells him what's next on the agenda - they are gonna make a small lego in HJ's composition room. HJ immediately says no. There is no shelving and no space. Hwa doesn't argue. He is just going to bide his time to get what he wants. Like he did this time. Then he summarily orders HJ to go.

가 he says. Just Go. Not go and rest or go and wash up or go and sleep. Just. Go.

HJ mumbles something about including San but Hwa had no answer to that because he got what he wanted. He's done.

Park Seonghwa is a Lego Queer Dom and he's A BRUTE

[dorkynerd23]

Happy 28th Anniversary To Pokemon!! ✨❤️

On this day in 1997, the Pokemon Anime Premiered and t's incredibly crazy and insane that it's been 28 years since the Anime Premiered worldwide and it's become one of the biggest and highest grossing franchises of all times and is still airing today with so much new content with it's newest series, "Pokemon Horizons." And although over the years since the Anime was released, many argue and discuss how repetitive and bland the anime became overtime especially with the show's many many spin-offs, specials, seasons, ect. And although that's fair criticism and is understandable, you still can't deny the insane impact and popularity the Anime had so many and you can see the love and passion that went into the anime not just from the animation itself but also through the crew behind the show and the incredible and talented characters that brought all these characters to life and there's definitely so much to love about this franchise and you clearly don't have to play any of the games to fall in love and enjoy the show, and I don't think anyone expected Pokemon to become as big and popular as it became.

And when it comes to me and my history with this franchise, I'm still a newcomer as I didn't get into the Anime until the end of December of last year, and I seriously and personally didn't expect to enjoy and love Pokemon as much as I did as I never bothered to truly sit down and watch it as it wasn't my cup of tea at the time and I also didn't know much about the anime or the franchise as a whole so I didn't have much interest before, I also never played the games either. But, after finally sitting down and watching the anime myself I finally understood and knew why this show resonated and meant a lot to me so much, it's very simple and fun to watch and it's also entertaining, watching the battles are always a fun to watch and the characters themselves truly do mean a lot to me and keep me engaged, one of the other things that got me into the series were the characters of Team Rocket, Jessie, James and Meowth themselves. Although they're villains and do bad things throughout the show, they're truly not all bad and each of the three are all complex and interesting in their own ways and there's clearly more to them then meets the eye, each of them have troubled pasts which makes it understandable and reasonable to know what brought them together and shows how their pasts defined who they became as people and showed why they do what they do.

Jessie, James and Meowth all have good hearts but they're also naive in a way and are pretty much like children despite being adults, basically being children at heart. They have their own sense of right and wrong and just do what they think is right, with a way of thinking that reflects the maturity and reasoning level of a toddler. As I've mentioned and said, they all ended up in Team Rocket because of the difficult paths they all faced during their youth and how that defined each of the three of them and despite having fights and not getting along sometimes, the three clearly and truly do care and love about each other and have found happiness and a family which brought them closer together, and I really and truly do find these three relatable despite how goofy these three dummies can be sometimes and these three really made me love the series as I really did resonate with them and their stories, not even afraid of saying they've become comfort characters for me even though I do enjoy and love the twerps as well too, but this Anime has truly had an impact on me despite being a new fan and it's meant to much to me and has helped me during tough times, it's also lead me to meeting and being friends with wonderful people like @doubletroubletrio and discovering the TRio fanbase (+ other fans who also enjoy and love the rockets as well) and has given me so much comfort and happiness and I just truly couldn't be any more grateful, thanks for everything Pokemon! Thank you for every episode and movie for filling us all with so much joy after all these years, thanks for giving us such memorable characters, unbreakable bonds, making us cry, smile, and giving us many many incredible adventures and telling us the story of Ash and Pikachu, thank you for everything, Pokemon. 🥹♥️

[rainbowswirlything]

That bit of writing that went with the Faerie Artificer Trick-or-Treat Bag was a treat in and of itself. The implications!!!

I'm copy-pasting it below the cut, for reference...

Someone crumpled up this tear-stained note and concealed it inside a hidden compartment disguised as a brick on a Faerieland castle balcony.

I thought I saw you last night. Lounging in the courtyard, where we used to sit together, charting grand futures. For a moonbeam-dappled moment, I could have sworn you called for me from the shadows. As if you had been waiting all this time, for us to pick up where we left off. Then, the clouds parted. The grass lay empty while a dead silence evidenced that even the wind sought to abandon me, And the moon illuminated the fact that I was still alone. An eternal verity I accepted when first lifting the crown. I thought I saw you last night. Alone in the library, perusing the mustiest tome you could find. Perched on the corner of those stiff chairs you could never seem to sit still on. Provoking stifled memories to rupture their restraints and abscond to the forefront of my mind. Then, the shadows faded. Memories of simpler times twisted into fragmented phantasms of the past... slipping away. Leaving me nostalgic for your irksome fidgeting, your rambling yet fervent tangents, And sobbing into the arms of a deeply perplexed Seshatia. I thought I saw you last night. Propped against the throne, twiddling your curved locks. The same spot where you counselled me through the darkest of times. Never shying away from even the most contentious of conversations. Then, a gentle zephyr roused my wandering mind. Stirring me from my conceited daydream. The tender breeze wished to remind me, That you had always closed the windows before dark. I thought I saw us last night. Arguing in the reflection of the Rainbow Fountain. When I faltered, you were never afraid to share your every thought. Until our quarrels reached a crescendo, and an insurmountable distance grew between us. Then, I looked up across the water. To see younger faeries shouting in our place. I witnessed Earth and Shadow parting before me, History revolves as they turn their backs on one another. I thought I saw you last night. Or at least that intrigued gleam of yours, reflected in the eyes of a gifted young sorceress. She acted as you did in those days, lighting up at new discoveries, unable to let go of the past. Once more, I found myself lacking, unable to balance duty and friendship. Then, I woke to a stone-cold realisation. The years had worn away my convictions, driven me to clutch secrets tight to my chest. How could either of you truly be to blame for your missteps, When your leader failed to guide you down the right path? I thought I saw you last night. Then I remembered, because of me, there's nothing left of you...

---

It sounds like Fyora was really very close with the Artificer in the past.

"Earth and Shadow parting before me" sounds like it must be a reference to the Illusen/Jhudora split, which Fyora seems to think is an echo of her own split with the Artificer (which also makes it interesting that she seems to be trying to get Illusen and Jhudora to make up.)

Plus the fact that Fyora saw Xandra (who I'm assuming the "gifted young sorceress" must have been) as being similar to the Artificer... another, different sort of relationship that also fell apart...

And the fact that Fyora goes to Seshatia (aka the Library Faerie) for comfort after splitting with the Artificer... they're clearly close, too.

Now there's another reason why Fyora may not be mentioning her suspicions about who's behind the Void/Grey curse plot...

...she probably really, really doesn't want the mastermind (or one of the masterminds) behind the plot to be someone she once cared about so deeply.

[redrandomposts]

Hello! thabk you for writing out tills perspective it was very good! And sad :( what does Till think once he finds Ivan gone? Does he know that Ivan is dead or does he think he’s just gone

and if he gets that Ivan won’t come back how does he mourn? I think it could be cool if till got into sculpting to make a statue of Ivan)

Also , I was wondering what if sua gave Ivan a little more time like 3 months or 3 years to get till to love him/kiss him so we could have more time of them loving eachother secretly. I specifically think Till keeping Ivan in the fancy rooms for longer is fun, because till can try out all the things he says he wants to do just long enough to miss them when Ivan is gone

I personally imagine till braiding and brushing Ivan’s hair quietly (because I love the mental visuals of Ivan with longer hair) and putting 1 thousand little sliver clips in his hair as one thing I find really interesting! Or maybe till collecting beautiful clothes to dress Ivan in and having enough time for Ivan to try them on but not enough time for him to receive them tailored (and I was also thinking maybe till considers proposing to him, or at least asking him to be a concubine if that’s not allowed but he doesn’t get the chance to give the ring- just enough time to have one made)

I am not sure if I make sense, I do not write very well but I hope u like this

-🍎

yeah u make sense 🍎!! dw, i have to sort through my thoughts and get it into a tumblr post... and this is mainly what the baseline looks like.

guys i can't believe i did a bad ending ngl i think i'm un-canonizing the bad end for a happy one and the bad end can stay a thought unreleased to the world.

i was thinking of having ivan be there for a month, but that's a kind of long time not to sort through feelings... so a week it was. ivan was practically bed-ridden and spent a lot of time asleep, so till would sneak in and brush and braid his hair and decorate him up. and, well, a lifetime of yearning for something, getting a taste of it, and then forever losing it...guys i'm sick why did i do that?!

happy ending time or i'm beating past me up (im making them eighteen its kinda weird otherwise)

===

the gentle feeling of his hair shifting along like waves in the ocean woke him up. the moon peaked in through the window, spilling its light across the room. the mirror reflected ivan, who was sitting and leaning on another.

the haziness of the entire situation felt like a dream; calming, slow. ivan's eyes were barely cracked open, irises focused on the mirror and the picture it reflected. his head was tilted onto a shoulder, legs saddling another's to make sure he doesn't slip from the very comfortable position he's in.

the brush glides through his hair, gently tugging on his scalp. ivan leaned in the slightest bit. it felt good. compared to his eyes, his lungs, his feet; this person was like a safe haven, a warm spring bath.

he watched as his hair was carefully divided and braided into a relaxed hair style, not pulled too much this way or that. as the end of it was tied with a silk tie, the other hand reached into a box. ivan didn't see it clearly, but if he did, he'd recognize several silver pins with details impossible to get underwater, each a different design.

throughout his midnight hair, stars were scattered across it.

the sound of pen scratching parchment lulled him back to sleep, forgetting the brief moment of awareness.

another painting hung in till's studio, depicting two characters. one, asleep, was in front and the clear subject; the second was behind, carefully pinning the last hairclip in place, recreating the galaxy.

till's pearl was his muse; from paintings to songs, it seemed as if creativity itself sprouted from ivan.

briefly, till fantasized a life where he and ivan would marry. in a month from now, they'd be engaged, and follow a two-year courting period until they're both twenty, and get married.

the entire empire knew he was courting someone at this point. he isn't sure what gave it away; was it the mass amount of jewelry and clothing and paints he commissioned? perhaps someone saw him carry ivan home? or did a servant gossip about it?

till paused, looking at the painting. he had a new idea, and all he had to do was wait for night to come and ivan to sleep.

flowers were delivered to the palace, where till arranged them around ivan's sleeping form. he let his hair fall naturally, but changed the clothing to be looser, as if ivan were floating on the water's surface. the moon carefully shone on ivan's face, giving a feeling of tragic beauty; as if ivan were a corpse on the water, surrounded by the flowers of loved ones.

...till readjusted the scene to make ivan seem immortal.

and, when he stepped back to paint it, he left a light kiss on ivan's forehead.

one night, ivan woke up during a scene. fully awake with conscious thoughts; it had to happen sooner or later.

this one... was a more dubious one that'd be stored under till's bed. his shirt was rucked up, pillow under his neck and shoulder blades to let his head fall back, hair splaying out. his pants were pulled down just a bit to show his hip bone, and the moonlight fell across him to paint a lascivious portrait. till had left marks of himself too; a cloth that lay across ivan's eyes with till's name stitched onto it, jewelry that till had commissioned himself.

ivan was briefly confused by the darkness, before realizing a cloth was gently laid over his eyes. confused, he took it off, stilling at the sight of till painting him.

"what are you..." he couldn't finish his sentence. his mouth had gone dry. the easel was positioned so that he could just barely see the painting, but the glimpse was enough.

there was an obvious artistic choice in it; in the way that ivan's pearl skin was pink, mouth slightly open.

the night ended with a kiss and a kiss and a kiss.

ivan discovered, the morning after, that the knives had completely left. his lungs stopped drowning in unseeable water, and his eyes no longer burned at the slightest disturbance.

till had paraded his fiancé, who wore a veil to shield themself from the world. it was improper to gaze upon them until they wed, after all.

===

slowly edging to being able to write smut... then no one is safe. this is a mess and ooc, but also, i need to get peace of mind on this au

[loopylivy]

My astrology observations: Pisces

As a Scorpio sun Gemini moon Leo rising

*I am not an expert AT ALLLLL!!!

*Okay one more disclaimer on this one - my Lilith is in Pisces (yeesh, as a Christian that name makes me uncomfy - but like as a placement, it represents like the shadow of the moon or something?? or maybe an asteroid??) BUT I feel like it matters to mention, because from what I've read, that means some of the stuff within myself that I feel weird about / my shadow is represented in Pisces, and so I feel like unfortunately that does reflect a bit on my view of pisces people. Like I might have a bit more bias or weirdness than for other signs. Okay anyway let's get to it!

To me, Pisces is the beautiful Disney princess of the zodiac. Even if u r boy or masc/ enby, sorry u are princess. Ok, maybe beautiful poet prince. Like seriously, even the mangy man pisceans I've met often have this really sweet or sincere quality to them. Perhaps it's being in tune with the heart?

I also think there may be something to the traditional ruler of Pisces being Jupiter? Cause I feel like Pisces's are lucky... or at least good at manifesting the life they want. All the Pisces's I know seem to get all their dreams, and they're beautiful, and yeah maybe I'm a lil jealous! (see disclaimer haha) That's not to say these signs never go through anything hard, because that is very very much not true! It's just that they feel like a very un-stagnant sign to me. While some people might sit around and twiddle their thumbs and complain about how they never do anything, I feel like pisces people do stuff. They go to the far away college, they wear the pretty dress, they chase their dreams for realisies! So maybe it's unfair to say it's luck - but it does seem that often when they try things, those things work. Not all the time tho, so maybe im delulu

In my opinion, Pisces is the most openly emotional of the water signs. While Cancer and Scorpio are also very emotional in their way, both of them have shells and claws/stinger they hide behind. Pisces is just out there, raw, constantly getting hurt and crying and then moving on. They feel a lot, which I think gives them beautiful lives, but it's also really hard!!! I feel like there's definitely a reason that a lot of the "why did you hurt me" music comes from pisces folks. There also may be something to the fact that while being dreamers helps these people a lot, sometimes it makes them delulu about situations or people. So someone who to a suspicious Scorpio such as I is clearly a mean-spirited, flaky, crusty, slightly sexist man, to a pisces is their perfect prince ... until he isn't. Not to say getting hurt is their fault - because like nobody should be mean and boo yuck no victim blaming - but like sometimes realism is a hard drug to hit.

Maybe it's just how I am, maybe it's my placements, but I often seem to end up hurting Pisces's feelings when I wasn't trying to. Hmm interesting, reading this back, I wonder how that could have happened? (sarcasm) I think every sign has really good things about it, as well as things to work on, but tbh I seem to struggle a bit with this sign. Two of my closet friends growing up were Pisceans, but it got messy and we don't talk anymore. The one that hurt me more was when in one fight she revealed she had been feeling hurt by me for years and hadn't said anything. Sad stuff.

Pisceans are also often very talented in creative areas and natural artists. I think a big strength of pisces is that they know what they like and they aren't ashamed to chase after it / work on it / go for it!

Like for example, when I was a kid, I thought fashion was super fun, but then I saw the way it was portrayed in the media as something that mean girls like, or airheads, and so I was embarrassed and kinda just moved on with my life, and even sort of judged other people who were really into clothes and makeup. Like baby me was kinda that girl, tutus, dresses, jewels - but then older me was like -no, I'm a woman of substance- AND TO BE FAIR I think a lot of girls go through this - we call it the "not like other girls" phase - BUT my point is, I think a pisces would be more likely to ignore the stigma around it and just be like, no, I like fashion, it makes me happy to look pretty!

I think a weakness of Pisces is that they get overly caught up in their emotions. I think their intuition and emotional knowledge are also one of their biggest strengths, so I should say that first. And as someone who might be a little less emotional, I don't wanna essentially man(woman?)splain like "ah, no, your emotions are no big deal, get over it" like - your feelings are valid... but I definitely have seen the weakness of not being able to see past your emotions to the point that you can't see other peoples' points of view.

So in conclusion, Pisces is a really cool sign with really cool people. They're emotional, creative, and often kind (though I do feel like some can be a bit "mean girl" ish). They wear their heart and personalities on their sleeves, and many have good intuitions. They sometimes let their emotions cloud their judgement, but they also know that just because something isn't logically a problem doesn't mean it isn't an emotional or energetic problem. That's something I think I'm still working with.

I think maybe something exciting I have to look forward to is making peace with my essentially shadow pisces, and accept that sometimes I need to be vulnerable and cared for, even as I can trust my heart and my dreams. Let out the inner princess you could say. ;)

Chappell Roan and Olivia Rodrigo are two of my favorite famous Pisceans. I LOVE their art styles and the way they dress, and yeah, it's fun to sing dramatic emotional songs. :D They both have a sprinkle of mean girl in them, but I think overall they're good people? I mean idk, they're celebs, I don't know them!

Anyway, the end! (Except for it's not cause I started this series with cancer so I have three left to go! :D )

[yumeka36]

I started watching Dandadan after hearing all the praise it was getting. Since I usually end up liking the very popular anime, I was eager to check it out. Now that I've watched all 12 episodes of season 1, unfortunately my overall rating of it is just...okay. It could just boil down to personal taste, but I'll try to clearly describe the issues I had with it here, as well as what I did enjoy about it. I also want to preface that I know the manga for Dandadan is still ongoing, and some of the issues I have with it could be resolved later.

I watched the first two episodes in one sitting, and to be honest, I was almost ready to drop the series after that. I'm just not a fan of anime that has tons of flashy, frenetic action scenes, plus the thing with the aliens and Okarun's balls was really bizarre to me. And while I liked some of the scenes between Momo and Okarun, and could see good potential in their relationship, their continued bickering with each other for seemingly no good reason was a bit grating. I can understand the first episode being action-packed, so I was hoping episode 2 would slow down a bit to get to know the characters better and see them come to grips with the extraordinary, life-changing events that just occurred. But instead it was another chaotic fight with the sumo wrestler monster. So at that point I was thinking, "maybe this show just isn't for me." The praise I saw online kept coming though, and I didn't want to think that the reason people like it is solely because it has high-budget animation and cool action scenes...there's gotta be more substance beyond that. So I decided to give it another try, especially when I saw that it would only be 12 episodes, which isn't a big commitment.

As the next few episodes went by, I did like it a bit better. But while Momo and Okarun grew on me, I can't say the same for the other characters. When I saw Turbo Granny (cat form) in the show's ending theme, I was excited for her appearance, since I tend to like the animal mascot characters in anime. But now that I have seen her, I...can't say I like her that much. All we've seen of her since joining the Ayase house is constantly insulting and beating up on Momo and Okarun, and being totally indifferent when Aira was dying. When Momo and Okarun defeated her, it's revealed that she was trying to help the spirits of girls who were assault victims, but nothing about her personality and actions reflect the kind of sympathy one would expect from someone who's behind such a noble cause. Again, she's either fighting with the other characters, or being apathetic, which are things I don't find appealing. I have similar feelings about Seiko, though thankfully for her there are at least examples her doing good things here and there. But like Turbo Granny, most of the time she's either being apathetic or belittling Momo. This is just my opinion of course, but if a character acts like a jerk to another character who isn't deserving of it, especially if they're a protagonist, someone we're supposed to like, there should be a good reason for it.

Then there's Aira, who I thought would be a nice girl when she first appeared, but obviously it was a facade. But even though she was mean to Okarun and violently assaulted Momo, I was hoping she would get better after they risked their lives to save her. But...she didn't. She continued to force her feelings on Okarun and insist Momo is a demon. Even after they risked their lives to save her again when they fought the Nessie monster, she still didn't change her tune. I guess the only good things I can say about her is that the tender moment she had with Acrobatic Silky was nice, and she didn't let her friends harass Momo (though that's the least she could do in my opinion).

Speaking of Acrobatic Silky, I do agree with people that episode 7, which showcased her backstory, was excellent. For once the series put aside the flashy action and hyperbolic antics in favor of a profound character study. If more episodes were like this, I probably would have enjoyed the series more.

The last main character introduced is Jiji, and while his quirky outbursts made me cringe a little (and I think it was a jerk move to humiliate Momo in front of the class), at least he seems like a nice guy and doesn't have any ill will towards Okarun.

But yeah, overall, I just don't find most of the characters in Dandadan that likable. One thing that makes anime appealing to me is when I enjoy the dynamic between the group of main characters - I feel their closeness and comradery even if they put up fronts. But while I feel this between Momo and Okarun, I don't feel it between them and the other characters like Seiko, Turbo Granny, and Aira. I honestly felt more of a better dynamic between Momo and her two friends - I liked how supportive and non-judgemental they were about her feelings for Okarun, despite him being an "otaku." I also liked the dynamic between Momo, Okarun, and Jiji, but we only saw that in the last episode.

Another thing about Dandadan that didn't jive with me is the overarching plot and world-building involving the spirits and aliens. To me it was just...weird and random. The Serpo aliens want to abduct Momo for their own experiments, and the spirits just...randomly pop in here and there to cause trouble? If the Serpos are the main villains, a few scenes focusing on them would have been nice, like seeing their home planet and more insight into why they're doing what they're doing. What also stuck out to me is that the main characters don't seem particularly bothered by all this. Like Aira for example - she died, was brought back to life, and is now possessed by a spirit, yet none of this seems to have mentally affected her. She's more concerned about fighting with Momo than this life-altering transformation inside of her. Even Momo and Okarun didn't seem all that freaked out about discovering aliens and spirits, even when the latter got possessed by one. A glimpse into Okarun's life outside of school and the Ayase house would have helped to see how being possessed by a spirit could affect his life (seriously, does he ever go home? Didn't his parents wonder where he was when he didn't come home the night after episode 1?) None of the characters seem concerned about planning for a possible large-scale invasion by the Serpos that could possibly destroy the world. I don't know, the whole underlying plot with the aliens and spirits just seemed disjointed and underdeveloped.

Not to end on a total sour note, like I said, the main thing about Dandadan that I did enjoy is the relationship between Momo and Okarun. Even if they act a little immature at times, there's enough scenes to show their developing relationship that kept me invested. As the episodes went on, I did notice that their squabbles lessened and we got to see not just how they care about each other, but how they want to help other characters too, even those they just met, like Taro and the mantis shrimp alien, and characters who are antagonistic to them, like Aira and Turbo Granny. I'll also say that while I didn't find much of the humor in Dandadan funny, there was an occasional scene that got a laugh from me. The end of episode 9 where Momo, Okarun, and Aira realize they're lying naked in the school hallway, and the scene in episode 12 where Jiji and Okarun are trying to outdo each other while Momo just wants to move the table, both gave me a chuckle.

But yeah, even after 12 episodes, while I can see why people would like Dandadan, but I just can't see why it's hyped as much as it is. I don't want to say it's a "style over substance" situation since that sounds insulting but...I don't know what else to say to justify the hype. As someone who's been an anime fan since the late 90s and has seen hundreds of series over the years, maybe I'm just getting more picky as I get older. And/or maybe the series just isn't to my taste. Like I said at the beginning of this post, maybe my issue with not finding the characters appealing and the world-building fleshed out enough, would be resolved if I was up to date with the manga. But I'm not motivated to read the manga at this point, so this is just how I feel about season 1. I can't say I'm motivated to watch season 2 either, but that could change. While I do like Okarun and Momo, I don't know if I like them enough to overlook everything else I didn't enjoy about the series. I'm honestly sad I didn't like the series more because it would have been fun to revel in the hype with my online acquaintances who do really like it. I hope I was able to properly express why I personally thought it was just "okay." If anyone wants to give me another interpretation of things that could make me like the series better, I'm all ears, lol.

[acestories]

The Starfarer Chronicles Chapter 1.5

01–01–408 GSC, Kadath

The Wanderer sat down with a huff. Fucking Solari, sending him down into an infinite hell to get a piece of technology. And of course, the Fusion Cell had its parts knocked out of place. And because the manufacturer was cheap, the access panel was a pain to remove.

After a minute of fumbling to get a grip, The Wanderer tore the panel off with a loud grunt, falling back slightly. 

“Suck it bitch.” He declared to the inanimate object, getting to work immediately. Man, everything really was knocked out of place, yet everything is still intact. Score! 

As he pulled out the wires, contemplating what he would do with the bonus for it being so intact, he noticed a fast approaching light being reflected off of the mechanical guts strewn about. The Wanderer himself had the gift of See-In-Darkness, so he hadn't come with a light, wishing to avoid attracting any predators, which meant only one thing. 

On instinct, heart hammering, The Wanderer grabbed one of their Blaster pistols from their waist, twirling around, and pointing it at the person that was running up to them.

“Tell me who you are and what you want, or I'll shoot.” The Wanderer announced in a stern voice, finger already on the trigger.

Despite his pessimism, the Stranger wasn't particularly threatening. In fact, under different circumstances, The Wanderer might have found them cute. 

They were short. Very short. Even sitting down cross-legged, he came up to their shoulders. They were wearing blue robes with gold edges, a purple scarf wrapped around their head and neck. All of it was clearly several sizes too big for them, giving them a baggy appearance only counteracted by the satchel they had slung across their shoulder. Glowing, blue-within-blue eyes stared from above the scarf, a clear spark of excitement visible while their cat ears stood to attention, poking tents into their hood. Their brown tail went this way and that. A small ball of fire hovered behind their shoulder, being the source of the light in the room.

The Stranger finished running up to him, coming to stand about a meter away from him. Their large eyes stared at his Blaster in utter fascination, seemingly unfazed by his demand.

“Tell me who you are, and what you want, or I'll shoot.” The Wanderer repeated harshly. He'd rather not kill this person, but he hoped the second time would get them to cooperate.

The newcomer turned their eyes from the gun towards him, clearly recognizing the annoyance in his voice. “AAABABA!”

That was not the answer The Wanderer was expecting. What in the ever living hell was that? Was this person trying to mess with him? 

The Stranger was clearly happy, almost like a kid answering a question. And either they didn't care that he was still pointing his gun at them, or, as he was beginning to suspect, didn't understand. They got on their hands and knees, coming over to investigate the Fusion Cell in front of him.

Well, at least they're not touching it. He thought, reaching for the tool he needed. Honestly, The Wanderer was almost done with the repairs anyways. He went about putting each individual part where it was supposed to go, clicking it into place, before moving on to the next part or wire. The whole time, the seemingly feral cave child watched with intense interest, their eyes never once deviating from the process. 

When the last part was in place, The Wanderer put the access plate back on, and scooped the Fusion Cell under his arm as he got up. As he did so, the Stranger got up and followed him with none of the same practiced grace as he. 

The Stranger followed him, a few steps behind, their eyes practically glued to him. He kept swiveling his head around to look at them, hand hovering over his gun.

After several minutes of walking in silence, the pair arrived at the ramp The Wanderer used to get down to here. At a little under 3 meters wide, it had plenty of room for him and his unusual companion.

After the first bend, the Stranger rummaged through their satchel, pulling out a Nutrient Brick, the soft crinkle of the wrapper filling the air. Huh, I didn't know there were any Synthesizers around here. So that's how they survived. 

“So, how long have you been down here? I assume a while since you have a whole bag of the Bricks. Any run-ins with some manner of beastie?”

The Stranger took another mouthful of Brick, staring at him while they noisily chewed. “Abapō amamama.” 

Yeah, this kid can't talk. The Wanderer thought with a dry laugh. Not unless random gibberish counts. 

The Stranger seemed confused for a moment, and after scarfing down another mouthful of semisolid nutrients, tried again. “Aglam iqorsh ass.” 

It was still gibberish, but the fact the last one happened to be “ass” made The Wanderer explode with laughter. The Stranger kept babbling incoherently all the way up the rest of the ramp. As they exited, the Carbon Guard stood around them, their armor painted in matching colors. The gang's leader stepped up. 

“Ah, you've returned. We were wondering if you'd be here on time, considering where the wreck is.”

The Wanderer held the cell in their hand, ignoring the comment. “I brought the Fusion Cell back in perfect, working condition. Give me my bonus pay like you said you would.”

The leader's face was hidden behind His helmet, but The Wanderer could feel the frustration coming from the trollish leader as he was ignored. He took the cell and started fiddling with it. After he removed and returned the access plate to confirm what The Wanderer said, he nodded in agreement. It was at this time that he noticed the Stranger.

“Who is this?” He asked, voice subtly harder, pointing at the Stranger, who ‘eeped’ and got behind the Wanderer immediately. Turning to look at them, he saw that the Stranger's uncaring attitude had evaporated. Where there was once curiosity, there was now unease and fear.

“Don't worry Solari. I found them down in the tunnels. Can't understand a word.”

“This wasn't part of the deal Raj. We never said anything about paying 2 people.”

“The deal was you paid me for getting a Fusion Cell your friend lost down in the tunnels, extra if it was in working condition. I have gotten you the cell in working condition. They don't change anything about the trade.” 

The Leader tossed the cell back to one of their companions, hands grabbing the rifle dangling on his side from his shoulders. “Don't bullshit me. I can see their eyes, they're a mutie freak! And is that a ball of fire behind them? A mage too!?”

Just as Raj, the Wanderer was about to grab his gun, the largest member of the gang came up and grabbed his leader. 

“He's right. He has done as we asked, and now honor demandss we pay him.” The Vesk spoke, his deep voice hissing slightly as his accent slipped through.

As the Leader turned to face his gang, he saw the others were clearly unhappy with his reaction. “Fine. Here's your credits, with bonus.” 

He held out a fist full of thin, small silver bars. Credsticks.

Raj happily and quietly took them, and swiftly pocketed them. Money attained and the Carbon Guard walking away towards their hovercraft, their backs facing them and showing the gang's logo, Raj turned to his companion. 

“Well, I can't just leave you here, now can I?” He sighed tiredly. “Don't worry, the nearest Tubeway Station isn't that far.”

The Stranger looked up at him, their brows knitted in confusion. 

========================

Raj sat in his seat, fiddling with his wrist mounted computer. His fingers danced across the screen, bringing up his list of contacts. After only a few seconds of aggressive scrolling, he got to the one he was looking for. After listening to it ringing for 30 seconds, a click sounded, followed by a rustling and some muffled talking.

“Sorry about that, kids wanted to talk. Whatcha need Raj?”

“I need your help with getting someone a home.”

“Another orphan?”

“I'm not sure. I ran into them down in the tunnels while on a job. Poor thing has a severe case of Tunnel Sickness. Any attempt at talking is literally just random noises.”

There was silence. “Are you sure it's a good idea to give them to us? You know how bad sufferers can be overstimulated.”

“Believe me, I know.” He stated, looking over at the Stranger next to him. Almost as soon as the pair had finally reached the city proper, the Stranger had gone quiet. 

They had their knees up to their chest, sleeves emptied. Their tail curled over to cover their feet, fur wiggling with their toes. Despite it all, their eyes bounced around, looking at everything excitedly, ears whipping around wildly at every sound.

How could he blame them? After being in the tunnels for long enough, the brain becomes sensitive to outside stimuli. And the Tubeway Pod had plenty of stimuli to give, due to the overcrowding that always occurs around 1600 hours. 

A Kasatha monk stood serenely amongst a group of angry teenagers. An elven mother who looked like she hadn't slept in 3 years tried to quiet her baby. An Ork in a pink dress thumbed through a book titled “How to Honourably Garden”. A group of adventurers were planning whatever chaos they were going to get into next. A gaseous lifeform that smelled like rotten eggs in an environmental suit was referencing a map.

And those were just their immediate neighbors. 

“I'm gonna try and help them at least start recovering, then I figured you and the girls could handle the rest. I'm not the best choice to handle this.”

“Fair enough.” She purred. “Well, can I at least get a description so we can plan ahead?”

“1.4 meters tall, 42 kg, mage, bl—”

Raj stopped as he heard laughter through his comms. “I'm sorry, you sound like you're reading a wanted poster, I'm still not used to it!” She guffawed.

“No it's okay, I do sound like that. It's just kinda how I talk. Usually.” He stated, slight inflection on the last word. 

“Okay, I think I'm good. Anything else of note?”

“Other than clothes and the aforementioned tunnel sickness? Not much, but it's also been only an hour or two.”

“Any particular reason for liking this one so much?”

“Because when I look into their eyes…” He said as he looked down at the young mage. They looked up at him with their big, glowing blue eyes. Despite the obvious catching quality, it was the spark of intelligence there that usually wasn't there with cases this bad that stood out. “I see something that's unexpected. I'm not sure their mind has completely gone.”

“Hmm… I want to see them soon then. I know a few spells that could help.”

“Agreed. I'll make sure they can talk before we pick a day.”

“Agree—” BANG “Ssssshit, what was that? Damn kids, talk later.” Click, and the voice was gone. 

Raj waved his hand in irritation, frustrated at Luck's intervention. Figures. 

The Pod doors swooshed open shortly after, allowing the passengers to disembark. Raj waited for things to thin out before he grabbed the Stranger. Normally, he’d be more reluctant to handle someone in such a delicate mental state, but the Stranger clearly liked it before when he carried them onto the pod, so it was safe to assume carrying them off would be ok. 

Lo and behold, his guess was right. They clung to him like a drowning rat clinging to wood. Still, they looked around at their surroundings with unending curiosity and excitement.

The Pod was bad, but the streets weren’t much better. A Cosmopolis like this is the worst place to be if one has sensory issues. But, he didn’t have a choice. His ship was at the docks, and without the money to afford a transporter, he had to walk. 

The Stranger whimpered as a stage magician conjured a gout of fire as part of their performance. Raj held the Stranger slightly tighter. “It’s ok. We’re almost home, and then you can relax.”

Almost on cue, The docks loomed over them, Raj’s ship visible from where they stood at the base. 

[beta-adjacent]

“Woof” by Chai (me!)

This is the first post of its kind on my blog— my analysis of a song written/produced by me! This initial post will just have the song lyrics, my interpretation of them, my inspirations for the piece, and some “behind the scenes” of my writing process. If I can get my shit together, I’ll hopefully reblog this with an audio file with the actual song, so you can understand the song’s tone more!

Without further ado, I present….

I. The Lyrics

The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / I am happy pretending it’s the moon (awoo) Don’t ask about the silver on my neck/ you were never meant to know/ That I domesticate myself for you I want to say I’m sorry/ Or get angry/ I can’t even muster up a smile/ I am stoic but my tail will wag all the while Because it means you see me/ Do you see it? Do you finally see me?/ And I’m sorry/yeah I’m sorry I see you clearly Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I’ll never find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear a labyrinth Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I fail to find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear/I pray, I fear The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / and I’m happy pretending it’s the moon

II. Theme(s)

The major theme I try to tackle in this song is the juggle between desiring to express your wants while struggling with internalized shame for wanting. And I found that easiest to explain with this analogy of a werewolf, with the human side trying to forcefully domesticate this inner beast inside them.

III. Line-by-Line Analysis

The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / I am happy pretending it’s the moon (awoo)

This picture above kind of illustrates the imagery I was hoping to go for with this line! It's what inspired the whole song tbh; I was literally sitting in the back of the car late one night, and I kept seeing headlights reflecting off the window. It made me think of dogs who sit in the back of cars, which made me think of a domesticated wolf seeing headlights as the moon instead of the moon itself.

I think that the theme of being trapped/trained by the human side is shown well through this imagery, because the very key to the wolf's transformation —the full moon— is synthetic.

The little "(awoo)" part is just a silly thing I did in the recording, but I thought it was funny to keep in the lyrics because. because howling at the "moon".

Don’t ask about my silver on my neck/you were never meant to know/that I domesticate myself for you

I struggled a lot intially with this lyric, with some earlier drafts using "the dogbed in my room" and "my grandma-eating teeth" (referring to the little red riding hood tale). But I settled for the silver because it reminds me of dogs that actually wear a silver chain as a collar. It also made me think of a shock collar, since silver is like, a classic werewolf repellent, and that lended itself well to the theme of "training the wolf".

For a while, the lines were "don't ask about the silver on my neck, you were never meant to know /that I am always at your beck and call", which was really just an attempt to rhyme 'neck'. But I changed it because “beck and call” implied a servitude more than a protection, which isn't really on-theme.

I want to say I’m sorry/ Or get angry/ I can’t even muster up a smile/ I am stoic but my tail will wag all the while

I am hoping that everyone who's been on Tumblr understands the trope of a dog character wagging their tail because they're happy on the inside but trying not to show it. Fun fact: I spent so long recording this part specifically because I kept saying "my tag will wail".

Because it means you see me/ Do you see it? Do you finally see me?

And here's where we learn that the very neglected, overly supervised wolf-dog-thing is actually being noticed, probably during some argument that would normally warrant the human side to be apologetic/angry/sardonic/happy/etc. The stoic-ness (meant to imply a tiredness/jadedness) from the human side now makes sense; the thing being domesticated is going against its training by being seen. The toggling between someone seeing "it" versus "me" is also pretty painful to wrestle with, because it's an acknowledgement that, despite hiding away the wolf, it's still a part of the person or even a “glitch” in which narrator is talking (though I don’t think I ever bring up that concept of multiple narrators anywhere else)

There's also a large question as to whether the repetition of asking is done out of joy, desperation, or even a disbelief (like a “really?? Uh huh, yea sure *eye roll*”).

And I’m sorry/yeah I’m sorry that I see you clearly

It's heard way more in the recording, but there's a lot of sass in the last line. There is a suggestion that human has the ability to see the vulnerabilities in others, while struggling to show that vulnerability themself. And that having that ability brings some sorrow or regret, which gets expressed through that sardonic tone.

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind

HANDS DOWN MY FAVORITE LYRIC IN THIS SONG AND MAYBE EVER IN THE HISTORY OF MY SONG WRITING!!!

So yes, obviously, there’s the implication of a disconnect between what you want to say versus what you think/feel, “there’s a disjoint between mind and mouth”, you’ve been reading so much of this post that this is just a restatement of the theme.

So instead, look at tHE SYNTAX!!!!!! LOOK AT HOW MANY WAYS YOU CAN INTERPRET THIS SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

“Mind (noun) to mouth (noun)” for mouth (noun/verb) to mind (verb): first describing the transcription of words as an effortless/involuntary process, that then needs constant oversight/hindsight to not fuck up

Mind (noun) to mouth (verb) “for mouth (noun) to mind (verb)”: the mind itself is hyper-aware that there needs to be constant oversight on what is being said, could even be read as dismissive of the mind like “whatevs, not my problem~”

Mind (verb) to mouth (noun) “for mouth (noun) to mind (verb)”: reminding the mouth of its purpose to be overly analytical of what’s coming out of it, like a sardonic courtesy

Now, those are just Chai’s top 3 favorite interpretations. But I think that, because it’s 4 words (2 minds, and 2 mouths) that can be interpreted in 2 ways each (verb or noun), there’s 8 possible combinations for this lyric, or maybe even 16 depending on your calculation (4 multiplying versus squaring by 2)!!!!

And granted, this is a stretch, but since it’s a sentence About misconstruing thoughts/words, any other words listeners could hear (ex: ‘mind’ becoming ‘mime’) make a Legitimate alternate interpretation. In fact, the lyric would still make sense if the listener heard absolute gibberish, because the lyric is about Speaking Absolute Fucking Gibberish And Our Brains Will Fix or Rationalize It!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And my favorite part is that it ALL depends on the prepositions. “Mind TO mouth TO mouth TO mind” is an Entirely different meaning than “Mind TO mouth FOR mouth TO mind”!!! And hopefully misinterpretations even fuck up the prepositions like “Mind TO mouth OR mouth TO mind”, (which btw is another awesome interpretation; it questions if the mind or body is truly the one in power).

Point is that this lyric is RIPE with potential, and that potential is endless. It is so easy to fuck up this (or any) lyric by hearing/singing/reading the wrong thing, but it still can be analyzed and have a thoughtful meaning regardless. And that process is Exactly what the lyric itself is describing!!! And that daunting feeling, that your words could be taken in any possible way, is such a major loss of control and matches the theme of the rest of the song seamlessly!!!!!!!

Isn’t that just the coolest fucking thing ever????? It’s definitely not The first lyric ever to do this, but it might be My first lyric to ever do this, and it might be nonsensical but goddamn it, I’m Proud to say I can extrapolate all of that from 6 fucking words!!!

The fool in me will bark again/and pray you’ll hear a labyrinth

Second favorite lyric, and it’s much simpler to wrap your head around too methinks!! This entire bridge is mind-melting tbh and I love it

Revealing this hatred of the inner beast (by calling it a fool), and how its attempts to articulate can’t (or rather, shouldn’t) be recognized as something worth listening to, or even something human.

And do you guys ever listen to an animal speak, or even a baby cry, and you’re just…. confused? Like, “I can’t tell what it wants and am glad it’s not my responsibility to figure that out”? That’s what the “labyrinth” is supposed to mean. The speaker hopes nothing of true value is heard in the barking. Instead, they pray that a warning label is produced, a placard with the face of a minotaur and the words “string store 300 miles left!”. Through careful training, the barking should threaten people to get lost inside of something larger than life (aka the meta-analysis of speaking/behaving, as described in the “mind to mouth” segment), so that they never actually venture in. Which hopefully also makes listeners question…

"why pray for it if the speaker can control it?", to which the simple answer is "it can't because fool is inside of the speaker, not the speaker itself; it’s a separate, uncontrollable entity, like how the mind and mouth are separate” or even cooler “it can’t because the general process of ‘mind to mouth’ takes the speaker and the listener, and since the listener is out of the speaker’s control, the whole process is out of control”, or even “the fool and the man are the same entity, but have been so alienated from each other by their own actions that reconnection of the self feels impossible!!!”

Either way, it’s a hopeless lyric, a pitiful cry for help over something already expressed to be uncontrollable. It’s a short way to explain how interaction is a two-way street, and almost always leads to a conversational car crash, which is so routine now it’s become desired

And in a way, this is the wolf. This overwhelming complexity —a black hole of thought and emotion that is near-impossible to describe due to its sheer vastness, which controls every layer of thought and perception, something that can’t even truly be understood or acknowledged by others because of how you interact with it— is the wolf.

Hopefully now all of the desperate measures from before make sense. The contradicting feelings when someone glimpses into the wolf’s personage. The internal strategies to keep the wolf contained. The futile scrambling for a simple reality. If you were plagued with a wolf, and how much letting to roam free could hinder you and others, wouldn’t you want to train it too?

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I fail to find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear/I pray, I fear

Can you believe I loved my lyrics so much that I just had to repeat them? It’s a popular motif in music so I’m not bothered, and it’s important to me at least to emphasize that 1) This Is Where The Analysis “Meat” Is At and 2) You Don’t Need an Analytical Brain to Enjoy This.

Which, speaking of, is a good time to bring up rhythm!! Because I don’t remember the poetry lingo, but this is the Most on-beat part of the song and it’s very stable (which is ironic). Let me rewrite it so you can see where phonetic emphasis is intended:

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I fail to find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear/I pray, I fear

Also here people get to sit on the amount of alliterations (mind, mouth, mind/ fail, find, fool) and repetitions (mind to mouth, and the pray/hear/pray/fear), and are able to enjoy a new rhyme scheme (the again/labyrinth versus the shortened hear/fear)

Speaking of, that shortened rhyme is a lead up to the final lyric:

The reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window / and I’m happy pretending it’s the moon

Which I fear is a segue easier seen on paper than heard because we’re mirroring the rhythm/notes of the first line, so the jump is a bit harsh. It’s meant to read like “I fear the following: 1) the reflection of the headlights passing by on the backseat window and 2) I’m happy pretending that’s the moon”

But analytically, the last thing we’re left with is a fear of being content with all of the training and trapping of the beast. This feeling of unrest, of wanting life to be simple but refusing to commit to simplicity or complexity, makes it a constant back and forth between man and beast. Really, this is meant to be when we can step back, and let the meta-analysis of the inner battle wash over us as the final chord is played, leaving us in a similar state of being stuck in our own heads, idly watching life pass us by…..

And yea, that’s the whole song! :> Congrats for reading/scrolling this far!!!

IV. Inspiration

My music has been heavily influenced by Midwest emo bands, especially ones like The Front Bottoms and McCafferty (Mom Jean and Pet Symmetry get honorable mentions). And I emphasize The Front Bottoms and McCaffetty because of the “mind to mouth” verse. The rhythm and the lyrics of this segment sound exactly like something these bands would write!!!

If you recognize these bands, I encourage you to read this verse again (pasted below), imagining the lead singer belting it:

Mind to mouth/for mouth to mind/ For all the words / I’ll never find:/ The fool in me/ will bark again/ And pray you’ll hear a labyrinth

If I find a decent Nick Hartop AI, it’s over for y’all!!

IV. Outtakes/“the Process”

Making this post: I had the terrible, terrible idea at one point to work on this post in the presence of humans, and at one point they saw my search history. Seeing “shock collar dog”, “silver chain dog”, and “bad guys tail wag gif” all in a row made them….Really concerned for me.

I wanted to share the song itself in this but I wussed out. Mostly because I’m terrified the FBI (or worse, my friends) will stumble across that file by accident (it’s the wolf, I suppose LMAO). I did convert it into an AI cover using Sonic the Hedgehog (which gave it a lovely Blink 182 quality) and even tried out Garage Band and using the piano feature! But I’m also a lil afraid bc it is Midwest emo inspired, and I don’t know much more than power chords (ooh, “not much more than power chords” is a good lyric, no one steal that unless you show me your demo first). So the backing is…kind of missing A Lot (like a consistent beat). If people want to hear it, I’d probably drop the half-baked piano version I made, which doesn’t do the song justice but would at least help people get the music’s vibe

V. Conclusion

Hopefully, I have been able to convince you that my song, “Woof” may be simple at first glance, but a lot of thought was put into its creation!! Making songs like these is one of my all-time favorite ways to understand my perception of the world. It’s really a process I treasure.

As perhaps expected now, the Meta-analysis Wolf in my mind is worried that everything I wrote is disjointed or that it’s not telling the cohesive story I want it to. So, if you have questions about anything mentioned in this post, or wanted to share critique, feel free to do so! My only request is that you be kind; I am a nothing more (and nothing less) than a student of thinking and creating

And I feel like I need an upbeat takeaway for this post sooooooooo…….. if you find something in you, urging you to be creative, listen to yourself!! Follow that instinct to be a fellow student in thought & creation!!!!!!!!!!

[hidelias]

A bend in space-time Season 1 - [Chapter 3: Out of the brambles]

Chronological markers: this scene also fits like a deleted scene from the first episode of season 1, around 10:00, just after the events of chapters 1 and 2. TW : Drug abuse - Addiction - Intrusive thoughts - Hallucinations - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Suggested soundtrack : Borislav Slavov - Down by the River; The Rolling Stones - Paint it black.

---

March 23, 2019 - 11:45 pm

In room 33, I try to sleep. Diego's room isn't very big, but at least it's not as filthy as Klaus's. There are several sets of darts, stacks of books and lucha libre magazines. I don't touch the bedside table too much: there are sharp objects on it. For the moment, my attempts to find sleep are in vain. In the next room, I can hear Klaus fighting the ghosts of his visions.

I clearly remember the moment I realized he was really seeing them, about ten years ago. When I understood that they weren't hallucinations due to his junkie delusions, because he actually has plenty of those too. I knew who he was; I just wasn't sure what he 'could do'. Everything is so inextricable with him. There's what he sees, and also what he remembers, both echoing each other in a downward spiral. The more sober he is, the worse it gets, and tonight, his promise to Allison sounds like a curse. I don't know what he's doing: whether he's banging against the wall or a piece of furniture, but sometimes I hear him swearing, huffing and puffing. I turn and turn in this bed that's been re-made for me. And then finally…

"Damn it". I get up and cross the few meters of the dark corridor between my room and his.

He stands, facing his wardrobe, arms crossed and eyes squeezed shut. His dark circles seem to stretch endlessly underneath, in no way comparable to his moderate fatigue at dinner. I can sense the aggressions he's trying to fend off, both external and internal, and his attempts to keep his emotions and power in control. Still, he sensed my presence at the door. And forcing himself to look casual, teeth clenched, he looks over his shoulder and says to me:

"Hey. Are you okay?" I shake my head, and look around the room lit only by his little lights garland. But I don't see anything. Of course, I can't see anything. "You, are you okay". "It's shitty."

His answer is brutally honest, with an economy of words that only reflects his exhaustion. He turns back to his wardrobe, his expression incomprehensible to me. A mixture of pain, anger, fear and guilt. I know he said he wasn't wanting to burden me with it, but one doesn't always get what one wants.

"Really shitty," he repeats, and yes, I can tell it is, by the way he struggles not to shake. "Do you want me to come in, or would you rather be alone?" I won't force him, I never do. He shakes his head as if he's going to say no, but answers with a slightly weary resignation: "You can come in".

So that's what I do. Navigating through the mess on the floor, I go and sit at the end of his bed in silence, leaning my back against the wall. He's silent again, and I don't expect any words from him anyway. I just sit there, if it does him any good to see something behind him in the mirror other than vociferating ghosts. Clearly, my purple pajamas are belonging to this world, not the afterlife. For a long moment, nothing happens, until sleep begins to take hold of me. And finally, in the torpor that sweeps over me, it's the change in Klaus's breathing that brings me back to myself.

In the reflection of his wardrobe mirror, I can see his eyes, clenched again so tightly his eyebrows touch, his arms gripping himself as if he's trying to hold on to reality. But he's failing, I can see it, and even if he felt a little relieved by my presence, his demons don't care. They don't care at all. They come back, again and again, beating out the seconds and minutes in this room. They're running the show right now. And Klaus wouldn't even be able to get back to his bed.

With painful helplessness, I watch him tense up even more, as if the whispering voices had started shouting at him. Harder, and harder, and his expression of struggle turns to despair. I feel overwhelmed and just stand there, motionless, his suffering becoming intolerable for me too. I've never seen him like this, that's for sure. Is it because of his promise to Allison not to take anything tonight? Because of his father's death? I don't know, but it's hitting hard.

I know I shouldn't try to touch him, that he might hurt me by reacting reflexively in his current state. Yet I can't bear to watch, and I close my eyes too. A long time, hearing only his chaotic breathing. But after a few seconds, I open them again. Wide. I've had ~an idea~.

There's a hissing sound, barely audible: that of air that has just taken the place I've occupied until now. My power has just made me intangible, although this time I'm still visible. If Klaus made an unfortunate gesture, he'd simply pass right through me. Just like his bloody ghosts, except that I'm not one. Cautiously, I get off the bed and approach, slowly.

He doesn't react, and possibly hasn't yet perceived my presence, his tight eyelids depriving him of sight. All his attention is focused on what's going on inside himself. I can't say his name: he wouldn't hear it. When I'm intangible, I can't produce sound waves in the materiality of air. So, at first, I just stand there, my reflection visible in the mirror just behind him.

I can see him trembling even more, his two fists clenching at his temples on either side of his head, his breath coming in painful echoes. I'm tempted to give him one of the pills from the box left on the bedside table. It would all be over in a matter of moments. But if he didn't, so I won't.

Instead, I let him get used to my presence, making me material again slowly, very slowly, my warmth gradually returning to the cold air of the room. He's not going to hit me. I'm sure he understands that I'm here now.

When I'm perfectly tangible again, I lean in close to his ear and start humming. A very simple melody, lips closed, like a simple soothing whisper. I've often seen Klaus plug his headphones into his ears before lighting up a joint. I know that music helps him. And singing… it's not much, but I can do it. And so I hum in the dim light, and I don't care if the ghosts think I'm stupid. In fact, if it pisses them off, all the better.

At first, he doesn't react. Then, slowly, the notes seem to seep somewhere into his consciousness, while I see an ounce of surprise cross the boundary of his struggle. His head turns slightly towards me, almost imperceptibly, but I know he's listening. So I keep humming.

I don't know how much time passes. But eventually, his breathing seems to return to a less intense chaos, his fingers also loosening into fists at his temples. It's not until his eyes open again, however, that I know the ghosts have finally fallen silent. I don't stop immediately. I stare into that unstable swampy green of his and sing again, for a few seconds, until I'm perfectly sure he's back.

He closes his eyes one last time, for a long time, as if now absorbing the silence and tranquility he has returned to. His expression is astonished and grateful, though immensely tired. And just as he seems ready to fall over, he pulls me to the edge of the bed, where he collapses before wrapping me in a weak hug.

"It's okay," I say, because that's probably all there is to it.

I won't push him away, my own relief is also far too great, and I cling my hand behind his back in return. Like a refill, like a breath that would have been too long to take up again. Damn. This time, he's really scared the shit out of me. A moment passes, shivering, and finally I say to him:

"Those damn ghosts can really go fuck themselves".

---

March 24, 2019 - 08:11am

In the 'kids lounge' dining room, downstairs, it's sometimes difficult to tell whether it's daylight outside or not, especially when it rains. This is the first time I've been alone here since I arrived, and it almost feels good in the aftermath of this night, or 'better' anyway. I don't know where Mom is. Allison and Diego left for their own business. I found some bread for toasting, peanut butter, despite not being fond of it. And I had to search extensively in the kitchen to find a tiny portion of ground coffee in the very last packet.

Coffee. It's really the only thing I need right now. If every day this week is to be like the hours I've already spent here, then I'm going to end up in burn-out, and it won't be because of my job. Klaus eventually fell asleep, more from exhaustion than anything else, and I also managed to get a couple of hours' sleep, in Diego's room.

My own headphones are on my ears, now that I'm drinking my coffee, and I let myself be captivated by the rhythm of 'Paint it, Black'. The sitar riffs help me wash away the reminiscences of the night. I inhale and exhale in a long, exhausted sigh, then my fingers reach for the button… and I set the track back to the beginning.

When Klaus finally joins me, I remove the headphones and place them on the wooden table. I don't even really notice that he's in a skirt, because he wears them much more often than I do. The last words I hear are 'I could not foresee this thing happening to you', which sounds like a stupid prophecy.

"Hi there".

There's not much to say, but we both know what we're coming back from. He gives a small, paradoxically cheerful wave and drains the very last drops from the coffee pot into a black umbrella mug, before placing it - empty - back on the machine. He usually never drinks coffee.

"Damn," he says, "it's going to be complicated to hold a funeral ceremony without any coffee. We're going to need whisky.

I prefer not to comment. Klaus is more agitated than usual, when he's exhausted. He might even seem to be several people at once in the same half-hour, but I can read between the lines. Anyway, it's going to be a tough day for whoever has to deal with him, and it won't be me because I've got to go to work.

If Luther indeed arrives today, and the Hargreeves proceed with their little eulogy despite the pouring rain and their brother's demeanor, then they'll be purely heroic. But Allison wanted Klaus on both feet? He is. I've pretty much done my part of the deal. Looking toward the skylight, I figure rain won't be a problem if they want to get the event over quickly. And anyway, a gathering of umbrellas seems ironically appropriate for this final tribute.

Klaus approaches the table with his minimalist coffee, nearly tripping over his chair. I can see by the look on his face that he's about to say whatever stupid thing might pass through what serves him as a brain. But he obviously manages to restrain himself, and a shadow passes over his expression as he recalls snatches of his night.

"I'm sorry," he says without really knowing how. "I…" I look at him and push the plate of toast toward him. "There's no need to be sorry. Things are what they are."

He sits down in the chair opposite mine, taking a sip of coffee. He doesn't like it. I know it even has the opposite effect of anything he's looking for to numb himself. But surely, this morning, he's too exhausted. I can see that he's grateful, but I say nothing, and the only sound that rises is that of the Rolling Stones crackling through the headphones. Finally, he says:

"Thanks… Seriously, you got my ass out of the brambles".

My eyes meet his, and despite this habit of never being serious, we both know the weight behind those words. I smile at him. And I think it's the first time since last night.

"Did you take anything this morning?" He shakes his head in denial. "No… Well, just one pill. One pill. But that's it, I'm not taking any more." He doesn't touch his coffee any more, and asks me a question that catches me by surprise. "And you? You're okay?" Perhaps my astonishment shows, but I quickly shrug. "You know, I'm a sponge. I absorb and reject emotions, it's like that. It's not a power, it's empathy. Right now, I'm exhausted, I want to puke… but it'll pass". This might sound very blunt, but I have no reason not to be honest with him. "I did what I thought was necessary to give you a boost, that's all. You did the rest. I'm proud of you.

I can see it, that expression that always comes over him when you pay him a compliment. Believe it or not, he gets far fewer than he'd like. And for someone to be ~proud of him~, I can tell you that never happens, not even in rehab. Especially in rehab. And this time, he's almost flabbergasted.

"You're right. You're damn right… I rocked it like a boss".

Behind this little sarcasm, there's gratitude and disillusionment, but maybe the idea is catching on. I laugh a little into my coffee mug. Tonight, anyway, it'll all be forgotten.

"Hey, don't brag either," I say, and we have a few more laughs.

This is much more like our usual relationship, and I think there's a need for that too. I finish my coffee in one gulp.

"I've got to go to work today. You're not doing anything stupid, are you? I'll be back tonight." He pretends to be perfectly outraged. "No! Of course I won't! What time will you be back?" "I don't know."

The truth is that Sunday is the worst day of the week at my job, because absolutely everyone has a bulb to change. But I smile and ask him:

"What time do you want to watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show?"

It's something we like to do: watch good old movies (or perfect bullshit) while eating waffles. Klaus claps happily.

"Yay, especially if there's a eulogy, we absolutely must watch it to bury the day. We'll need rice for the wedding scene." "Yes, not for the funeral, that's for sure…"

We laugh. It's silly, laughing on this day, but we need it, and it's possibly one of the last laughs this house will hear for a while. Klaus nods.

"Make sure you're there at 8pm, then".

I wipe my mouth, stand up, and rinse my cup in the sink before turning to him.

"If you're not taking anything, try not to take it out on booze."

Still, my expression is resigned. Klaus knows I won't make it by 8pm. And I'm afraid that in an hour's time, all his promises will be gone for good too. But I smile. After all, I don't care, but Allison certainly does. I sling my bag over my shoulder and take a step towards the door at the back of the room, leading directly to the back alley.

"Oh, and if it's possible not to eat ~again~ your mother's bacon eggs tonight…. Try to find some waffles for TV night? And not frozen ones, huh?"

I glance over my shoulder at him.

"Hang in there, Klausie."

One step, a crackle of bluish light… and I'm off down the street, leaving him alone with many temptations, no doubt… and the music still playing in my headphones on the table.

---

Notes:

This chapter was incredibly easy to write despite a rather depressing content.

By the way, I'm sorry, Five, that Klaus and Rin drank the last drops of coffee available. You'll have to go get "a decent coffee" somewhere else tonight… I like how Rin's small actions in deleted scenes could lead to major events in the plot. And Klaus… will he get good waffles or not ? I'm sure he'll try to crash into Five or Diego's car to try to get some.

Any comment will make my day! ♡

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A bend in space-time, the masterlist :

- Season 1 (complete): Table of contents - Season 2 (complete): Table of contents - Season 3 (complete): Table of contents - Season 4 (in progress) : Table of contents

[aestheno]

I have stuff to do today but I'm waiting for my hair to dry so I'm going to take the time to write down some thoughts in the meantime. I've obviously had some struggles in the recent past. I find it hard sometimes to avoid mood swings between stable, euphoric, or depressed, and I really do think the time of day makes it worse. Yesterday felt worse because I felt so upset bout my weight gain and knew I could only wait until today to have a different breakfast and a new gym session. Sitting in my room when the sun has gone down exacerbates all of those feelings. In the mornings and early afternoon it is much easier to think clearly and positively.

This morning, Sarina asked me if I'd considered yoga to help how I was feeling, and in answering her I realised a lot of these feelings aren't rooted in stress per se - not like my PTSD battle. They're rooted in dissatisfaction and a need for growth; a frustration with my environment when I know its boundaries should be far broader. I should be on a stage, but I'm not because I'm self conscious about my voice; I should be on camera, but I'm not because I'm self conscious about my weight gain. I feel the delineation between the life I live and the identity inside my head. I want to aggressively address those things, but I can't make time move at an accelerated pace no matter how impatient I feel. In that meantime, I feel lazy, less than proactive. And I become hyper aware of the lack of proactivity around me. People in my social circle who just don't have that hunger in them, and so it doesn't rub off on me. I'm sort of tired of it. But then I ask myself, 'Is this because I'm not behaving like I have that hunger?' But really I think it's a feedback loop. In LA I always feel it. It's like a current that surges through my entire network there. People want it, whatever 'it' is for them. LA is held up by this universe of interconnected creatives building their own pop culture. And I belong there, my people are there. They're innovators and sustain themselves in unorthodox ways to feed the dream. My friends outside of that world don't get it. They don't stray too far from the typical mould. They don't light that fucking fire. Make your best art, be in your best shape, sing and dance. Be a fucking star motherfucker, live like you're in shining lights!!!! OWN THAT FUCKING SHIT. You are constantly in training. You're not a normie with a hobby, you're a fucking icon. Who the fuck is proselytising this in my life currently? Very very few.

I watched La La Land for the first time the other day, and never has a movie spoken to me so much. It's not just the subject matter and locations, but the lines, the mannerisms of the characters reflecting so closely my own experiences. Conversations I had with my ex, both positive and negative. The dance with failure, success, optimism and pessimism. It took me back to my 2021-22 life, in so many ways. The life I've had to teach myself to not yearn for. The relationship that ended to aid in the pursuit of the dream. The movie makes it so clear that the attainment of the dream isn't the thing that'll make you happiest - it's the mutual embarking upon it. This doesn't make me want my dream any less, but it made me realise that the loss I feel in my life currently isn't about a dream I once lived - I never really lived my dream - it's about the life I lived in pursuit of it. That's the part of my life that feels deflated at present.

I let it all out to James the other night. I think he sees it when I'm torn. Sometimes what he says doesn't help. But he said something which he's said before: if you want to be a singer, you just have to do that. Everything else fell out of my head. I have to live like I'm a pop star to be a pop star. Be a pop icon. Sing, make fucking music. Train! Stop making backup plans. It came up because he had a cool job opportunity in the job we both used to do. And that kind of hurt because it made me feel left behind and valueless. He said what I was doing was infinitely more courageous than him, and I said I wasn't trying to be the most courageous. But he was right. Why am I letting myself be envious of growth in a place I'm not chasing it? Perhaps because I want money and know I was good at my job, yeah. But I need to exist in my own lane and own vision. You can't succeed in the future if you have one foot in the past.

Geo, you belong in the stars. You do, and you can do it. You can live like you're there. Build the skills you need. Strive. Holy fuck. Your health is hurting you but you belong there. You're high fashion, high concept. high confidence, you have a message and a vibe. Get your foot out the fucking door girl you are fucking pop.

[daltoneering]

Fire and water imagery in ep 10 (+ Kinn smoking thoughts)

Not as much watery goodness as the pool scenes of the past two weeks! But there are a couple of things I want to touch upon.

First, very briefly, that after fleeing Porsche and Vegas stop by the river. This pulled me up because I couldn't work out if it was the same bit of pier where KinnPorsche had their first kiss, but still: river. Interesting that KP were sat facing the water and the forward flowing motion of it, whereas Vegas and Porsche sit with their backs to it. The lighting also does a lot of work in establishing the contrast with that scene here as well: KP's ep 3 kiss was very romantic, with the lights of the city behind reflected on the water, and lovely colours--here, the colours are much more of an uneasy yellow/grey, with a slight golden hour tinge to the lighting. Porsche wants Vegas to believe that he trusts him, so it's almost like he wants it to feel romantic, if deceptively so--but the off-kilter angle, ominous sky/river and tense music tells us that it is not actually so.

I'm surprised I haven't seen more discussion of Kinn smoking! This is the first time he has smoked all series, outside the warehouse after the explosions. (A couple of quick things of note: 1. he's using Porsche's lighter and 2. the water spray directly behind him while he holds his flame up... nice!)

I've been having lots of thoughts brewing about what Kinn smoking means, particularly with how it relates to Porsche and his smoking habit. I've established earlier in this series that Porsche smokes as a form of comfort and familiarity when he's feeling out of control/stressed--the flame/lighter a little nod to the spark of the Phoenix's flame that has helped him survive. The other characters we have seen smoke have been Vegas and Pete, both only ever with Porsche (and Vegas smoking in the mirror in ep 4 was when he was thinking about Porsche)--it's clearly related to him.

I don't think Kinn has suddenly started smoking, but I do think that the decision to not show him doing so yet is an intentional one. In the same way that last episode Porsche was fully immersed in an element that is generally more Kinn-leaning (water), in this episode Kinn is embracing an element that is more Porsche-leaning (fire). This isn't just him picking up his boyfriend's vices, this is, as @ginnymoonbeam really wonderfully put it to me earlier, Kinn ceding ground to Porsche in the evening out of their relationship. Ze said that letting him leave with Vegas at the beginning of the episode was a huge gesture of equal partnership--and Kinn smoking and taking on this element of Porsche is a really neat way to show him giving ground to Porsche in balancing their relationship's power balance.

Kinn is finding comfort in Porsche's element, just as Porsche found a place to centre himself and calm down in Kinn's last episode.

Then we see them smoking together--I've mentioned before that characters smoking with Porsche is a way of putting themselves on his side/at his level, and this just reinforces to me the idea that Kinn is trying to even out their relationship and restore the completely tilted power balance we saw in the last ep (and in the brilliantly-angled shot on the stairs at the start of this one). They literally share the cigarette. Ginny also brings up the point that smoking is a self-destructive act, despite the comfort that it brings Porsche, and that's why he stopped during the ep 8 fairytale--but they've been forced right back into the real world, and that fairytale and those good intentions can't last. So now they're smoking together, not necessarily because they are being self-destructive together, but because they've got to to cope with the shit that is being thrown at them (but doing it together in a way they weren't before!).

The final time we see Kinn smoke in this episode is in the scene by his pool. Again, he's preparing himself to try and sort things out with Porsche, to be on an even playing field with him (and also smoking to destress). Once again the fire of smoking and the water of the pool are juxtaposed.

He takes a couple of drags but eventually throws the cigarette away in lieu of grabbing Porsche's shoulder: he doesn't need the artificial comfort or ground-evening support it offers anymore, because he's got the real thing right here, and he's busy Communicating (kissing).

A final note on the water of the pool in this ep is that this is such a good parallel to episode 4, when we saw it during Kinn's attempt to communicate with him about the kiss--they're making progress! They sort of got across some of their frustrations with the situation and then kissed any lingering doubts away! They're getting closer to being fully in that pool and fully able to communicate with and trust each other--they're just not there quite yet.

(Thoughts on mirrors and reflections in this episode here / fire and water imagery gdoc that has thoughts for all aired episodes here / series tag)

[wearywinchester]

Not Going Anywhere

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When he nearly loses you, Dean finds he can’t stand the thought of that happening.

Requested by Anonymous: “May I please request a one shot of dean and reader with her having an internal bleeding. You know when the character seems fine but then boom they collapse and turns out they're not fine at all?? I LIIIVE for that shit... The shock, the realization, the worry....”

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: angst, injury, bleeding, shock, anxiety, mentions of alcohol, guilt, fluff

You sat slumped in the backseat of the Impala, exhausted from the hunt. Fortunately, it’d been close to the bunker, close enough that you didn’t need a motel room overnight. Close enough that the drive hadn’t been terribly long like most cases were. You felt like you’d been run over by a semi two times over, a certain weakness running through you that left you feeling less than okay.

You watched quietly as the rain came down and trickled against the chilled windows of the car, falling into each other as they raced down the glass before fresh ones took their place in an instant. It was gloomy weather, something you could have found yourself seeking comfort in on any given day, something that otherwise would have been cozy had you not felt the way you did.

But you did, and it wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Dean had the heat cranked up because he could see that you were cold, could tell by the way you wrapped your arms around yourself. The ache and burn in your stomach had yet to subside, Dean having cleaned your wound before setting off to go home earlier that day, but that didn’t stop it from hurting.

You were less than comfortable, as far from it as you could be as you sat behind Sam. You missed the way Dean had glanced at you in the rear view more often than not, his concern evident in the crease between his brows, deepening each and every time he looked. He saw your agitation, the way your face contorted in discomfort as you slumped against the seat. You couldn’t sit still even if your life depended on it, constantly moving in your seat despite the way the hurt in your abdomen is screaming at you otherwise.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so restless in your life more than you were in that moment, anxiety settling in heavily the more you sat stuck in that car. There wasn’t anything in particular for you to feel this way over—you’d ridden in this car more times than you could count for years, having sat in the very same spot for far longer than this trip has been before. You’d done it all before without fail, without a problem, but this time was different.

It was different and he knew it.

Any other time you’d start a conversation about any and everything, singing along with him to nearly any song that came on the radio for the sake of getting on Sam’s nerves. Any other time you’d take a nap if you were tired, especially on a day like that where the clouds and rain offered ample comfort to allow you to do so, but this wasn’t any other time. This time you looked like you were two seconds from hopping out at the next red light, and it didn’t sit right with him.

“Sweetheart, you okay back there?” He calls out over his shoulder.

You’re not even sure if the words came out of his mouth, not even sure if you heard him as you shifted your gaze. When he didn’t get a response he looked in his mirror at you, calling out your name once more with more concern than the last.

You sat up a little straighter, glancing at him with eyes squinted slightly in confusion. “‘M fine, De.”

He wasn’t entirely convinced of that, not even a little bit as you blinked, trying to gather yourself a bit more than in that moment as he turned down the road that led to the bunker. You had a habit of saying you’re fine when you’re not, and you’re so clearly the opposite and he finds himself grateful he’s home, you’re home. But that doesn’t soothe the worry boiling over in the pit of his stomach, clouding his mind of anything and everything revolving around you.

Your words were merely words as they fell from your lips, that feeling simmering within you feeling awfully bad as you sit there, as the impala descended down into the bunker’s garage. The fluorescent lights were harsh on your eyes, your wince inevitable as you fought the groan sitting in the back of your throat. Dean didn’t need to be worrying over you, though he surely already was.

You think you just need a rest, a few hours sleeping in your own bed would do you some good. It had to.

You hadn’t fully registered the fact that the car had come to a stop, put in park in its usual spot and it gave Dean enough time to round the back end of it before you tried to get out on your own. When he pulls the door open you’ve got that look, one that tugs at his heart because you look so miserable, so tired and defeated. He crouches down closer to your level as you sit there, watches as you take a deep breath to try and steady the race of your heart. To try and calm the queasy feeling in your stomach.

“Sweetheart?” He asks, eyes on you in search of any indication that you’d been listening. You were, you really were, but you were trying to get a handle on how you felt. “Baby, we’re home.”

You nod then, turning your head to look at him with a soft smile in an attempt to assure him you’d heard him. He stood to his feet and held his hand out, gentle as he helped out of the car. You tried to ignore the rush that came down over you the moment you got up, tried to swallow down the intensifying nausea that’d swirled around in your stomach just begging to come up. You tried your hardest and it was proving to be a challenge.

You were dizzy when you stood to your feet, almost overwhelming, but you were quick to balance yourself and you brushed it off. You’d been in the car for the past two hours, doing nothing but sit in the same position for the majority of that time and you’d yet to eat or drink anything. A little dizziness seemed reasonable upon standing in your mind, not to mention the way your head had been hurting for nearly the same amount of time as the drive home.

You felt his hand slip from yours in favor of wrapping around you to steady you, to help you as you walked but you shrugged him off just as quickly, flashing him a look.

“De, I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me,” you say, and the look on his face shows just how much he disagrees with you. You could see it with the dimples forming by the very corners of his mouth and the raise of his eyebrow.

“Y/n—”

“I’m serious. I just need a little sleep and I’ll be fine,” you say, smiling once more in hopes he’d settle down, but you knew he wouldn’t.

It took a few moments, but eventually he dropped his hand to his side reluctantly and eyed you carefully, cautious as he watched you walk ahead into the bunker’s hallway towards your shared room. He knew you better than you thought, better than you knew yourself. He knew you like the back of his hand, but you were just as stubborn as he was and that’s the problem.

You flickered between bouts of nausea and none at all, between feeling fine, like you said you were, and feeling like you’d been drug all the way home tied to the trunk of the Impala. It was something that worsened the more you dwelled on the feeling, something you wished would subside.

You felt a beat of relief upon seeing the golden eleven mounted on that familiar wooden door come into view just down the hall, could smell the faint scent of Dean’s cologne wafting over you as he walked by towards Sam.

You were almost there, then you could lay down for a good long while, tuck yourself into that memory foam bed that was unbelievably comfortable and smelled every bit like Dean, and rest like you’d been longing to do since the moment you left to come home that day. You could rest in the comfort of your shared space for as long as you needed to get better. You were almost there.

But you weren’t.

In that moment, you felt like you were miles away from your destination, you felt like the conversation the two of them were having just a few feet away had been miles away from you, their voices muffled far more than they should be for how close they’d really been to you.

You slowed yourself to a wavering stop for a minute just to gather yourself a little more than you were then and there, reaching out for the wall that was just a little farther than you anticipated it to be. Your ears began to ring slightly, gradually, as that same nausea made its unpleasant return in your stomach, eyes squeezing shut just for a moment. You weren’t aware of just how awful you looked in that moment, but you knew it couldn’t have been too good if it was a reflection of how you were feeling in that very same moment. To be quite honest you felt like you’d just run a marathon with the way you couldn’t catch your breath, with the way your heart had been hammering within your chest at a faster than normal pace.

You felt like a walking, breathing disaster, and sure enough, you looked like it too.

Dean’s brows furrowed when he followed Sam’s gaze, to you, to you who stood there unsure of yourself as a flurry of emotions flashed over your face within a second’s time. A number of emotions, none of anything positive being displayed and it intensified the worries he’d had running through him. A sheen of sweat had glistened over your skin despite the chill that ran through you, your vision doubled as you opened your eyes once more to try and give Dean a glance.

“Y/n?” Your name fell from his lips, soft and hesitant at first as the initial confusion took over, his mouth going dry as he approached you.

“I’m…” you start, nodding your head as you swallow thickly. “I’m fine, Dean. I just…"

Your words were failing you, your ability to form a coherent thought failing you in that moment as you lost all means of balance, teetering on the edge of collapsing before you’d gone and done it. The shout of your name had come off as an echo to you, the impact of the floor having been cold and unforgiving as you fell, too weak to catch yourself.

He hated just how limp you felt in his arms as he knelt beside you, the pain jolting through him from dropping to his knees on the concrete floor having been the very least of his concerns as he watched you. Panic had lanced through him as your head lulled, caught in the crook of his arm as his other hand grabbed your face. Despite the sweat gleaming across your skin, your cheeks were void of any heat that you’d expect to feel and it only added to his upset.

“Y/n!” He called out, your brows furrowing as you felt yourself go from bad to worse, a steady declining feeling blanketing you. “Sweetheart, stay with me.”

His voice was loud, carrying through the winding hall in an echoing display of his fear, the sound taunting him as it bounced off the walls. You nodded weakly, despite the way your heartbeat hammered loudly in your ears enough to muffle what he’d been saying to Sam, or the way you couldn’t hold yourself up if it weren’t for the way he held you. Despite that, you nodded for him.

That ache from the wound you’d walked away from that hunt with was still very much there, that you knew. You knew things didn’t look good for you in that moment, not with the way Dean looked at you as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, or the fear in his eyes when he’d pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, your pulse faint but bounding beneath his fingertips. Things were continuing to go from bad to worse, to far beyond that and you knew that wasn’t a good sign.

You knew it the moment that feeling hit you in the car an hour earlier and the panic you felt was only increasing the more you thought things over.

You should have said something then, you know that now. You should have stopped saying you were fine when you so clearly weren’t, should have stopped doing what you always do and downplay a situation in fear of thinking about the outcome. You should have known better than to think it’d be as easy as Dean patching you up, not after what that spirit did to you. Nothing in hunting is ever as good as it seems, as easy as it seems, and you should have said something earlier.

Because now, now you were quite sure you were facing your fate when you didn’t have time to prepare for it. And that’s what scared you the most. It could have been something trivial, that’s what you’d been longing for it to be, but you knew it was just your own denial telling you that.

“Dean,” you say, taking a breath as you look up at him. The green eyes you loved so much were filled with a kind of emotion you never liked to see. “I—I just want you to know—”

“No, no c’mon. We’re not doing this sweetheart, okay?”

Nausea hit him like a ton of bricks at the sight of the crimson that slowly began to stain your teeth when you coughed, rage bursting through him in waves over the situation he doesn’t know how to control the ending of. Over the fact that he doesn’t think he can control the outcome for the love of his life in his very arms. He knows nothing in this life is guaranteed, not for the life of someone who hunts the world’s worst monsters.

He’s lost so much in his life, but damn does this one hurt.

“I don’t feel so good,” you murmur instead, watching the expressions flicker across his face through half closed eyes as you groan, brows furrowing at the expression he’d been looking at you with. “What is it?”

He couldn’t tell you what he saw, he wouldn’t do it.

“I know you don’t,” he says softly, chuckling despite it being void of humor, running his hand over your head. “I know you don’t but you’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

All you could do was hum and nod, a soft noise you can’t quite tell had left your lips as the weight of your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. You were tired, that much was true. But he tapped your cheek with his hand lightly, grabbing ahold of your face.

“Don’t do that,” he urged, “please, don’t do that.”

He looked to Sam, a mirrored look of panic looking back at him that didn’t do much to soothe his stresses.

He feels near paralyzed when his gaze drops to you again, your eyes closed. He’d grabbed your face and called your name till his throat felt like sandpaper, till it felt like he swallowed a thousand knives he shouted your name. He held you tight in his arms as his mind worried in a frenzy of fear, calling out desperately for the one person that could help.

Cas.

If there was one thing that Dean Winchester knew how to do, it was worry. He’d worry himself to death over the ones he loved, in fact, there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep them safe. But worry is what he’d done for the last two and a half hours and nothing else.

If it was possible, one might think he’d wear a hole in the floor from his pacing at the foot of the bed in the bunkers infirmary. Cas had come in a moment’s notice much to Dean’s relief, had swooped in quite literally and healed you the way he hoped you could be.

It turns out that spirit had done more than just graze you, had gone a little deeper than either of you had thought. It turns out you’d been bleeding more than just on the surface, and that it hadn’t actually slowed to a stop once he’d patched you up back there. You were bleeding this whole time, you just didn’t know it until it almost became too late.

It all made sense now, the way you were acting in the car. The restlessness, the agitation and the way you couldn’t sit still. He knew there was something wrong even when you refused to admit it, and he hated it when you did that. Hated it when you kept your pain to yourself when you really didn’t need to, in favor of staving his worry and trying to be independent, and that’s something he knew well.

But that wasn’t the point, the point was you were lying there in that bed almost within an inch of your life had Cas not come. The point was he nearly lost you in his arms and he couldn’t help the blame that sparked and burst within him that maybe he shouldn’t have believed you when you said you were fine. He didn’t, but he felt he should have kept pushing, kept prying to get you to admit it. Thinking that maybe he should have known there was more to that injury by the way your face crinkled up when it happened, by the way you fell to the floor for a moment or two before you stood back on your feet.

He felt like this was on him, and it was tearing him up from the inside out.

Dean ran through a myriad of emotions that night, each one hitting harder than the last. He was scared, the mere thought of losing someone he found himself rapidly not being able to see himself living without having scared him more than he’d care to even admit. He was angry, his fear masked behind clenched jaws and hands running through hair, chairs kicked and chest heaving. Angry at himself for not having gotten to you sooner back there.

It was a never ending cycle of fear and anger and guilt, a cycle he felt he’d always feel in one way or another so long as the ones he loves keep getting hurt when he feels he has the means to prevent it somehow.

For the better part of that two hours, apart from the anxious pacing, he sat at your side as you rested. He was reluctant to leave your side should something happen again. He couldn’t handle that and he knew it. He sat there with his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. He held your hand for a while, thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as his foot tapped and his knee bounced subconsciously.

For the better part of that two hours, the events of what lead up to that point had replayed in his mind over and over in a taunting loop, having worsened the feeling he held each and every time it restarted. Each time he recalled something more in the way you’d looked in the car, in the way you acted, in the way you felt in his arms.

Cas had to tell him a million times over that you’d be okay. That wound on your stomach had been healed, everything had been healed as though it was never there. He told him a thousand times over that you were stable, you were okay. You were okay, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get over it just yet.

The last time Cas had said it was when he believed it, it was when he couldn’t be in that room another second otherwise he just might crack. He couldn’t bear to see you laying there like that, no matter the fact that you were just fine. It made his stomach churn and twist in knots.

He left, the stack of lore books swept off the table in the library in his wake, a string of curses leaving his lips. He went to your shared room first, the door slamming roughly behind him. He was angry at no one else but himself despite the fact that he shouldn’t be, but he’ll beg to differ on that a thousand times over.

When you woke up, the infirmary was empty. You’d seen the chair at your bedside that hadn’t normally been there. And if it wasn’t telling enough of Dean’s presence, the weight of his jacket splaying warmly overtop of you was sure to make it all the more obvious he’d been there.

You were sore as you sat up, stiff from having been laying in the same position for an amount of time you were sure of. But, when you lifted the hem of your shirt, that burning wound had no longer resided where it’d been. That nausea had since dissolved, that headache had gone away for the most part, and the weakness you felt, the dizziness, it’d all gone away. You knew it was done with the help of no one other than Cas.

You were sure Dean had been there with you for quite some time, but you also knew Dean better than to think he’d handle it well. You knew by the way you’d woken up by yourself that he’d handled it horribly. He gets worked up over injuries that are on a smaller scale, but this, this was far different than that. Inches from meeting your fate had been much too different than that and you knew he’d disappeared to sulk by himself.

You sighed when you pushed yourself off the bed, leaving the empty infirmary before navigating the bunker. The sight of the books splaying messily across the floor had been an indication of something you already suspected, the quiet in the air having added to the tension only followed when one of the three of you had been angry.

Your bedroom was empty, the blankets stretching over to his side of the bed having been wrinkled some from where he’d been sitting. A photo of the two of you had been sitting there on the nightstand, half-tucked under the base of the lamp sitting lit atop it, the drawer not closed all the way.

The Impala was still in the garage where he’d parked it hours ago, a frown tugging at your lips at the sight of the very hallway everything had taken place.

You knew where he’d be at this hour, at one where everyone should be asleep. Sam had been, you were sure of that, but if Dean hadn’t been in either of those places, you knew where he’d be.

A knowing sigh left your lips as you stepped down into the kitchen, the very one you’d been looking for sitting at the table. You saw the bottle of whiskey on the table and you saw the glass in his hand. You saw the way his hair had been a ruffled mess and you saw the ivory of his knuckles as he held that very same glass. You knew that all too well, you knew he’d been all sorts of torn up inside. He was.

“Knew I’d find you here,” you say, his head turning at the sound of your voice.

You could see the relief flooding his expression as he looked up at you, at the way his eyes widened and the way his face lit up just a little bit more than before, though it didn’t take long for the crease between his brows to deepen once more as you sat down next to him. He’s quiet for a moment before he presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and another as his next words are murmured against your skin.

“Sweetheart, you should be in bed, you’ve been through it today.”

You could hear the fatigue in the softness of his tone, could feel his nose brush against your temple before he turned away.

“Without you?” Your words are lighter as a soft smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles, half-humorous as he shakes his head, swirling the whiskey around in his glass. He swallows thickly, thoughts weighing heavy on his mind as a million words sit on the tip of his tongue. You knew a little humor didn’t do much to stave off that feeling he held.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, head shaking before he brings the glass up to his mouth and swallows the rest of his drink, pouring himself another.

You saw the way his eyes were rimmed a pale shade of pink. Dean Winchester wasn’t one to cry too often, but you could always tell when he had been. His eyes were red and so was the very tip of his nose, flushed a soft pink and the quiver in his lip hadn’t quite left just yet.

“I’m serious, Dean. I’m okay.”

“Well you weren’t a few hours ago, Y/n. You were damn near dead,” he says, louder than before as his jaw tenses.

“Well I’m not,” you counter, the huff that puffs through his nose an indication of his frustration.

“I’m glad this is just another day to you, Y/n.”

He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing over it in frustration as he sniffs. You saw that quiver just a little more now, one he hid behind his glass as he tipped his head back and drank it.

“For cryin’ out loud you still got blood on your teeth, Y/n,” he says, softer this time as the tension in his jaw loosens.

You sigh softly, more so to yourself as you stay quiet for a moment or two, your tongue swiping over your teeth before you bite the inside of your cheek. You can see the emotions flicker and roll through him, can see the guilt written clear across his face to match the feeling simmering in the pit of his stomach. When you got up, he’d expected you to just walk away, though instead you find yourself leaning atop the wooden table.

You snag the glass from the loose grip he had on it, setting it aside as he drug his hands down his face.

Your shoulders drop a fraction as you look down at your hands for a moment, foot tapping quietly against the floor. When you looked at him, his gaze was on the table, the inside of his cheek between his teeth. You bring your hand up to smooth over his hair before your palm settles on his cheek, thumb brushing over his chin. His eyes lift to yours, weary and upset.

You don’t fail to miss the way he leans into your touch no matter how subtle, or the way the clench in his jaw dissipates the rest of the way before your hand drops to your lap.

“There was nothing you could’ve done differently back there, De. No matter how much you think otherwise,” you say, watching that tension return as he looks away. “I know that’s what you’re thinking right now, but I’m still here. Now you don’t have to believe me on this, and I know you won’t, but you were there when I needed you the most. And that’s the only thing that matters to me. So you can be mad at yourself all you want, you can blame yourself all you want, but I’m not blaming this on you.”

He sat quietly, simmering in his own silence with closed eyes as his chest heaves a bit more than normal. You swipe your thumb across the crease between his brows, smoothing it softly as you watch the way he bites the inside of his cheek. Dean Winchester’s got a whole lot of stubbornness in him, but a whole lot of softness no matter how many layers of anger and frustration and worry sit atop it.

You move from the table after a beat of silence, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He relaxed under your embrace, more so when you dipped down from behind him and pressed a kiss on his cheek, one more for good measure.

You don’t know what to say for a little while as your head rests against his, arms dangling over his shoulders as you clasp your hands together loosely. You know for a fact he’s still beating himself up for this, that was something you knew was unavoidable. But that was something you could handle.

“Come to bed, De, it’s late,” you murmur, kissing his cheek once, twice, three times.

He hums at first, nodding his head. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

You let him go with a soft squeeze to his shoulders, spinning on your heel as you sigh softly. But it doesn’t take more than a mere few seconds before you hear him move around.

“Sweetheart, wait.”

You turn around once more, brow raised in curiosity.

He’s hesitant for a moment before he crosses the room in a couple of steps, arms around you in an instant. You wrap yours around his neck, his embrace near bone crushing as his face tucks into your neck. His stubble is rough against your skin, the softness of your smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. He’s got fistfuls of your shirt in his palms, holding you close as you stand up on your toes.

“What do you say we ditch hunting for a little while?” He mumbles into your neck, your soft laughter immediate as you lean back to look at him. “Don’t want you dyin’ on me again, sweetheart.”

You bit your cheek for a moment as you shook your head, fighting a smile. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Winchester.”

He rolls his eyes, looking to the side as he fights the beginnings of his smile. “Yeah, well, I’m good with that.”

The tension he held minutes ago lessened some, his expression softer as he looked down at you. You lean on your toes and kiss him softly, lingering just over his lips for a few seconds before kissing him once more with a smile as you speak up.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @campingmonkey @agalliasi @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath

[robininthelabyrinth]

Prompt for "Close" or "Reforged": NMJ & Baxia goes to the Nie tombs to accompany someone. The spirits sensed a saberspeak translator FINALLY exists and traps them. Everyone thought the place hostile, but the sabers just want NMJ listen to their ramblings/demands/complaints/lectures... and also to do something about that "basketcase" saber spirit sealed further in. They're sick of listening to it! Do something, Nie descendant!

ao3

“Tell me something about yourself,” Lan Xichen said one day when he was a teenager, lying on his back in a field in the Cloud Recesses with his best friend in the whole world, excluding family. “Something secret.”

Nie Mingjue, lying beside him, hummed for a moment, thinking about it. “When I was a kid – about Wangji’s age now – I got stabbed in the stomach during a fight,” he said eventually. “Everyone thought I was going to die, and I mean they really thought it, but then I didn’t.”

“Wow,” Lan Xichen said, having meant something more along the lines of ‘a girl let me touch her chest behind the garden shed once’. “Everyone must have been very glad you were all right.”

“Mostly,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice and gaze distant. “Once they let me out.”

“Of your sickbed?”

Nie Mingjue blinked and shook his head as if to wake up. “Enough about me,” he said. “What about you? What’s your secret? Is it about that He sect girl and the shed again?”

“It was not,” Lan Xichen insisted, even though it totally had been. He was very proud of it. “I wasn’t thinking of anything in particular!”

-

When Nie Mingjue told Lan Xichen about his family’s curse, he didn’t actually tell him directly.

He brought him to a room, with tea and food set out, had him sit, and then vanished, sending Nie Zonghui to tell him instead. It was horrifying, of course, but in the same manner as the whole war they’d just endured had been horrifying – nothing that would make Nie Mingjue blush.

“Why didn’t he just tell me himself?” Lan Xichen asked, mostly because he couldn’t really be upset at Nie Mingjue for being in the process of slowly dying, even if that’s what he really wanted. “Did he think I wouldn’t be able to stand it or something?”

“Or something,” Nie Zonghui said. “It’s not about you, Zewu-jun. It’s about him.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a sensitive subject for him,” Nie Zonghui said. “Especially the saber tombs – and after what happened when he was younger, I can’t really blame him.”

“When he was younger? What happened?”

“Did he never say? He said that he’d already told you: when he was young – eight or nine, I think – he was in a fight, and got stabbed…”

“Oh, yes, that,” Lan Xichen said. “I know about that…what does that have to do with cultivation?”

“It was his first fight carrying Baxia,” Nie Zonghui explained. “She wasn’t even fully forged, but he grabbed her out of the smithy and wielded her against those invaders.”

Nie Mingjue had not said anything about invaders.

“He saved the lives of several other children,” Nie Zonghui continued, and Nie Mingjue hadn’t said anything about that, either. “Shed his first blood on his blade – even took his first life, all the things that function as a marker of adulthood. Defeat evil, rescue the innocent, all that. So when they thought he was going to die, they decided to give him the honors of an adult.”

For some reason, that made something sink in Lan Xichen’s stomach.

“When you say honors…” he started.

“He was taken to the saber tombs,” Nie Zonghui said. “To die as his honored ancestors had.”

They must have been very sure that he would not live.

“But he didn’t die,” Lan Xichen said, and Nie Zonghui hesitated. “What are you not telling me?”

“Sect Leader Nie was left there to die alone, as is customary,” Nie Zonghui said. “When they returned after three days to collect his body for cremation, they found him still breathing, much to everyone’s surprise…after, there were rumors that he had died.”

“What? How? He’s walking around even now.”

“They thought he had been possessed,” Nie Zonghui explained. “By one of the saber spirits. It caused some trouble, later. Anyway, ever since then, he doesn’t talk about it directly – and nor should you.”

“But –”

“I think that’s enough of an explanation for now,” Nie Zonghui said firmly, and no matter how Lan Xichen entreated him, he said no more.

-

“Oh, sure, we have plenty of stories about saber spirit possession,” Nie Huaisang said when Lan Xichen asked in a roundabout fashion. “All sorts! I grew up on them, naturally. Temporary, permanent, through birth or misadventure – that one story about the generation of Nie women where everyone was female, whether born or misaligned –”

That did sound somewhat interesting, actually, but not exactly what Lan Xichen was looking for at the moment.

“What happens in cases of possession?” he asked, pretending to be casual. “You know, if someone thinks someone else is possessed – speaking generally, of course?”

“Generally?” Nie Huaisang frowned and tapped his fan against his lips. “I mean, in the case of temporary possession, you usually try to exorcise the spirit – usually through traditional means, like arrays or talismans or incantations, but sometimes if you think they’re trying to steal a human life permanently, through discomfort.”

“Discomfort?”

“Oh, you know. Excess exercise, denying food, hurting them. Show them that they’d rather not be human after all, that sort of thing.”

“…what if they’re wrong about the possession?” Lan Xichen asked, a cold chill going down his spine.

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “It’s supposed to be pretty obvious? Someone who has the strength of a guai instead of a human, who refuses to die when a normal person would, someone rigid and unyielding with barely any flexibility – more metal than human – unusually angry, full of bloodlust and an unquenchable desire to destroy evil –”

“That could describe your whole family tree, Huaisang,” Lan Xichen said. That could describe your brother.

“Sabers reflect their masters,” Nie Huaisang said cheerfully. “So it makes sense that it would, doesn’t it?”

“But –”

“Oh, don’t fuss, er-ge! I’m sure the elders wouldn’t just go around assuming someone’s secretly a saber for no reason,” Nie Huaisang said. “Now, let me tell you about the generation of women story – it’s one of my favorites –”

-

“Da-ge refused to let me play for him again,” Jin Guangyao commented, and Lan Xichen frowned.

He wasn’t an idiot – he knew how bad the relationship between his two sworn brothers was – but although he’d hoped that this would help repair some aspects of that, his primary goal with the Song of Clarity was to improve Nie Mingjue’s health.

(Sabers could suffer from qi deviations, too. Not that Nie Mingjue was possessed by a saber or anything.)

“Did he say why?” Lan Xichen asked.

“He was busy this week,” Jin Guangyao said mournfully. “Visiting his family tombs, apparently.”

Lan Xichen blinked. “The – Nie family tombs?”

Jin Guangyao had been speaking casually, clearly thinking of it as some excuse meant to fob him off, but perhaps there was something about Lan Xichen’s face that caught his interest. “Yes, he said there was some issue there that he had to deal with personally. Is there something the matter with that?”

“No,” Lan Xichen said, and then frowned. “At least, I don’t think so? I’ll speak with him about not skipping more sessions, A-Yao; don’t worry.”

He excused himself shortly thereafter and went to Qinghe on the first possible excuse.

“Where’s your sect leader?” he asked one of the guards.

Their frozen expression said everything he needed to know.

-

“Xichen?” Nie Mingjue said, blinking at him. “Is that you?”

“No, it’s Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. “Of course it’s me!”

“I meant that more in the ‘what are you doing in my family tombs’ sense,” Nie Mingjue said.

Lan Xichen allowed that that was a fair question. A better one, however…

“What are you doing in your family’s tombs?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “If the Song of Clarity isn’t working, we can try something else!”

“Xichen –”

“It is far, far too early for you to even think of coming down here –”

“Xichen –”

“And may I say, that’s a barbaric tradition anyway, I don’t care if your ancestors did it, locking up a child is just –”

“Xichen.”

Lan Xichen stopped.

Nie Mingjue was rubbing the back of his head, and his cheeks were red. “I heard a rumor that one of the old masterless sabers got loose,” he said. “I was just checking it out. I wasn’t coming here to – to reside.”

“…oh,” Lan Xichen said, and felt rather stupid. And then, trying to change the subject, he said, “How’d you hear about the saber getting loose? I thought no one came here unless there was a death.”

“Oh, the sabers told me,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Oh, I guess…wait. What?”

-

“So you…hear them,” Lan Xichen said. They were seated on the foot of one of the statues guarding the tombs, which was a bit rude but Nie Mingjue didn’t seem to mind and they were, after all, his ancestors. “The saber spirits.”

“Since I was child, yes,” Nie Mingjue confirmed.

“And you don’t think this is – odd?”

Nie Mingjue shrugged. “They gave me spiritual energy so that I could survive. It left a mark, I think.”

Lan Xichen nodded.

He tried to figure out how to phrase his next question.

“I’m fairly certain I am not a saber spirit possessing a human corpse.”

“Oh, good,” Lan Xichen sighed. “I had no idea how to ask.”

Nie Mingjue knocked their shoulders together. “You can always just ask. I’m your friend. Corpse or not.”

“Please don’t make jokes about that,” Lan Xichen said mournfully, even if it was a little funny. “I’d miss you if you were a corpse.”

“Well, depending on the state of the corpse…”

Lan Xichen snickered, even though he really didn’t mean to. It wasn’t actually funny.

-

“So is it just sabers?”

“Not always. Why? You want to know what Shuoyue thinks of you?”

Lan Xichen stared at him. “Can you?”

“Either directly or indirectly,” Nie Mingjue said. “Even if the weapon doesn’t want to talk to me directly, they usually don’t have a choice when Baxia is pushing them.”

“…do swords have a lot to say?”

“Not as much as saber spirits. But more than you might think.”

“What does she think of me, then?”

“She likes you. You’re good to her. Except when you wield her overhead because you keep tensing a muscle in your back that makes the strike a little wonky, so she’d prefer you stick with forward thrusts or low cuts until you get that fixed.”

Lan Xichen started laughing.

-

“If I die outside, make sure I’m brought here,” Nie Mingjue said. “I think I’d enjoy the company.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Lan Xichen promised, and he meant it, too. “I promise.”

[rightfcllysols]

Hey could you write about azul speaking with mc/so (this takes places in chapter 3) and so when azul is like "well since you don't have any magic you could put ramshackle dorm" and they're like "well I actually have something really special for you" and he's like "oh really well show me" they tell him to give them his dominant hand and put a flower ring in his ring finger then they say "when I can ill exchange it for a true one from a jewelry" and everyone is just shocked. And fluffynes happens

Ack my heart (❁´◡`❁)

A RING OF COMPROMISE, azul ashengrotto x reader

short fluff scenario of azul panicking when his s/o gave him a flower ring

azul being a soft dude at heart bc we all love him

❝ Corporate can't ask me to choose

between you or the world,

they're the literal same. ❞

"Wh—" Azul reflexively jerked his hand back, cradling it as if it was the most fragile thing to ever exist.

Floyd gaped, and believe it or not, even Jade is a little stunned at your boldness. He knows you're quite the blunt human, but not to this extent. He ended up covering his mouth with his palm to prevent his laughter from coming out.

Ace basically vibrated, either it's because he wanted to laugh or cry you'll never know.

Deuce? Who's Deuce? You meant that ghost floating out from a body?

Jack felt really awkward, but he cheered for your boldness inside.

You stood with a smile as Azul uttered incoherent nonsense, his glasses fogging as his face turned redder than the roses back in heartslabyul.

He learned this before...! This is how humans court... And he can't help but feel a little— no, really nervous. He swore, he had never felt the overwhelming urge to just bury himself inside his octopot more than this.

Azul slowly but surely will gain his composure back, the remaining traces of red could still be seen despite his smug facade. Calm yourself down, Azul Ashengrotto! You need to keep your cool, after all, two can play at this game. He will smoothly dismiss himself, not knowing that you tailed behind him like a love-struck puppy.

Once he does realize though, he will jump three feet into the air before you soothe him down from hyperventilating.

He's very... Jittery. He had never heard someone actually confessing their love to him, and you were a first. Moreover, the next day you decided to give him what's basically an engagement ring?

It's only natural that he felt so nervous his body ceased to function by creating a proper sentence.

Give him a few minutes and he'll calm down, at least a little. His hands still shook, adjusting his glasses as he swallowed thickly.

"Why are you following me?" He spluttered, coughing into his palm to fix himself.

"You haven't given me your answer yet," You blurted, crossing your arms jubilantly.

"..." Azul inhaled, and it seems like he had to put all the bravery he had left to approach you without trembling, "Isn't it obvious?"

You cocked your head to the side, feigning ignorance as you smiled a little. "What is obvious...?"

He sighed, shaking his head vehemently. "It's a little bit early for that... I believe we should start slow."

"Huh..." You deflated like a balloon, looking to the side.

Then you felt his lithe gloved fingers caressing your jaw, turning you to face him directly.

Your half-lidded eyes bask in his inhumane beauty, the way his eyes shone with seas reflecting stories inside them has always been the one to entrance you. Complimenting his unblemished skin was the mole sitting just below the left corner of his lips. In all honesty, he looked like someone out of your league but here he was.

Standing, living, and breathing. And most importantly, loving you.

"Hey? Can you let go of me now? My neck is getting a cra—"

Chu~!

You froze.

Ghosting your fingers over your lips gingerly, your jaw dropped. The lingering taste of salty water mixed with faint [f. Beverage] was enough to send you to orbit.

Azul gave you his signature smile, looking like he had outwitted his feelings— and you, too.

"Don't get too cheeky on me, angelfish. I might have lost the battle, but clearly, I won the war."

[geminil0vr]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 !

the masterlist -> part one

summary ✰ it's the night of the slytherin bash, and, intoxicated, you almost blurt out all your relationship troubles to pansy and the boys of slytherin.

tags ✰ @partr1dge <3

word count ✰ 3.4k

content ✰ alcohol, weed, rip. mill's hairbrush, a big party, drunk/high people and reader, mentions of sex, mild (but just as serious) sexual assault, boyfriend being pushy, arguments, gaslighting, guilt-tripping, pansy lowkey admiring the reader and vice versa, pansy taking off your makeup for you.

a/n ✰ yes we're having a lil party moment right on shedyool <3 i think i made draco too hot in this like have i forgotten this is a pansy fic ?? and i've been listening to the playlist on repeat for some inspiration but now all the songs are stuck in my head yikes... anyway, happy reading :))

letting out a short yell, you bolt out the way of millicent bulstrode being chased by her own hairbrush in your dorm room, falling backwards onto your bed, then leaning up on your forearms to watch in amusement as she squeals.

"stop it, stop it!"

pansy crosses her arms, leaning in the doorway for a moment before speaking calmly despite the urgent situation, "mill, i already told you not to try any beautification spells for tonight. they take a certain finesse that you clearly..." she eyes the hairbrush, which has somehow grown teeth, "lack."

daphne fervently attempts to throw millicent's wand to her, having lost her own somewhere in the room, ducking whenever the hairbrush swings too low by her head and yelling encouragement to her as she wails.

"it's gonna bloody eat me!"

you glance over to pansy, your lips quirked but still fighting the brighter grin that tries to force its way upon your mouth, one brow raised. she looks back with a smirk, raising her brows lazily, then pulls out her wand at last.

sure, you have yours, but come on! this is quality entertainment.

muttering a spell under her breath, the hairbrush rises, letting out a sharp, plasticky sound, teeth gnashing at the unknown force which has suddenly halted its rampage. then, thin, dark cracks begin to show upon its surface as it travels higher and higher into the air, finally letting out one last high-pitched sound before exploding into hot pink shards of plastic onto the wooden floor of the room.

millicent makes a lacklustre attempt of trying to catch certain pieces that are still falling, whining about how it was her favourite hairbrush. daphne drops the wand and falls back onto her duvet, exasperated, and you watch ahead in shock.

"blimey, pansy, couldn't you have just done 'finite'?" you ask, eyes wide.

"'s not nearly as much fun," she grins, bounding over to the large, dark oak wardrobe in the corner of the room, "now, ladies. what are we going to wear for the slytherin bash?"

"i bagsy y/n's black dress!" daphne pipes up, bouncing to sit cross-legged on her bed.

"no, you bloody well don't!"

you look in the mirror of the vanity, tucking back a few strands of hair out of your face and looking down at your silky emerald dress, the neckline dipping a little at your chest, the straps thin.

"whatever, i actually might look better in the green, anyway."

slinking out from the bathroom, daphne fixes the button on the back of the dress she's wearing, the black fabric clinging to her skin, "you definitely do."

"you're just saying that to keep my dress, aren't you?"

"maybe so. but you're still very pretty." she pecks your cheek and sits on her bed, fixing her curled hair in a compact mirror and swaying slightly to the thumping music already playing downstairs.

pansy pulls at her dress, leaning onto the vanity and applying a thin coat of red lipstick over her lips, looking at you through the glass "she's not wrong. you look nice."

you swallow, blinking at your reflection. you've brushed your brows, applied some blush, and a little smokey eyeliner, but nothing much. you don't mind letting your skin breathe a little, anyway.

"thanks, pansy." you eye her loose, sparkling, red dress, neckline dipping so low on her chest that you feel the sudden need to look away, instead focusing on her light-green eyes which never actually ceased intensely tracking the movements of your iris. "so do you."

"right. thank you."

millicent finishes tying her hair up, avoiding using any muggle products and therefore resorting to something simple, clipping it back with a claw accessory, "okay," she starts, and you and pansy quickly look away from each other, "so, are we going or not? can't be too late, they're still missing the life of the party!"

"mill, you pass out after three hours during almost every single party." daphne blinks.

"what's that saying, here for a good time but not a long time?" pansy snickers, zipping up her black boots.

millicent rolls her eyes playfully, crossing her arms. "shut your gobs, the two of you! now let's go!"

locking the door quickly on your way out so you won't have to deal with any arseholes doing it in your bed like last time (well, at least they were having a whale of a time), you bid goodbye to your dormmates who all part ways, immediately grabbing a bottle of firewhiskey from a large table in the corner, looking over at the youthful atmosphere suddenly claiming such a place as the slytherin common room.

pouring yourself a shot, although you're awful at doing those, you hold your nose (as if that's going to help) and gulp down the alcohol, finishing by setting the little glass down and placing your hands on the table full of drinks in front of you, hair falling down into your face.

feeling a hand on your waist, you tense and stand up straight, not relaxing much when your boyfriend kisses your cheek and whispers a 'hello' into your ear.

"ben!" you exclaim, turning around and smiling at him, though not genuinely, "i didn't know you were coming."

"some guys in the year above invited me, unlike my own girlfriend." he teases, gripping you by the waist and pulling you closer, and your nose scrunches at the sharp stench of beer on his breath. putting two and two together, considering how he's slurring his words, you realise he's already tipsy.

"right, sorry!" you genuinely are, though if he hadn't showed up, you wouldn't mind much, "i didn't really find out until the lesson before my free hour, and, well, you wanted us to go to your room, so —"

"oh, yeah. how could i forget?" he leans in, almost stumbling over his own two feet as he gets even closer to you, pulling you to him by your waist and kissing your neck, making you push your head down a little. the party having only just started, people are still piling in and the lights aren't turned off just yet.

you push him by the chest, gently, "it's still early, benny. not now."

ignoring your wishes, he nibbles at your neck, and you bring your shoulder up in discomfort, "but don't you want a repeat?" no, you really don't.

"ben, just, back off, please." you push a little more firmly now, shaking him off, and going to grab the bottle again to pour yourself another shot of firewhiskey as an excuse to not stay so close to him. but clearly that tactic isn't great, because he pushes up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly.

"come on, this party'll be lame anyway. your room's empty, right?" you freeze as his lips meet your throat once more, swallowing before finding it in yourself to stretch your shoulders back, and push his arms from your waist, quickly pouring the shot and keeping it in your hand, just in case you need to spill it on him as a distraction.

if he's gonna be pushy, he could at least be decent in bed.

well, at least, that's your cynical view on it.

"ben. no. my — my friends are here, and i... i don't want to leave them all alone." you fiddle with the shot glass in your hand, brows furrowed, and he exhales loudly before shrugging his shoulders.

"if you don't want me then you could've just said so."

your eyes widen, "no, i didn't mean it like that, just that... just not tonight."

"well, it kinda seems like you're not interested. but whatever, y/n, it's fine." as you try to reach out to him, he walks over to his friends, and you lean against the table, gulping down the firewhiskey and wincing at the burn in your throat.

shit.

"come on, y/n! they're dimming the lights now, i wanna dance!" daphne bounds over to you, dragging you by the arm before you can protest.

and you oblige.

two hours in, you're tipsy, worn-out from all the dancing, yet still going back between the many students for more adrenaline. grinning as a song you love comes on, you regroup your dormmates in the crowd, grabbing them by their hands and all winding your hips to the beat, millicent giggling and falling over her feet, daphne tearing away from her boyfriend to join with a smile on her face. pansy isn't very giggly when drinking, you've noticed. in close settings, sure, but in big parties like this, everyone so close, air hot, green lights strobing across the common room... she just dances. raising her hands above her head, swaying her hips, twirling her friends around by their fingers — it's almost sensual. well, to anyone else. not to you.

pansy eyes you as you spin — the exhilarated grin on your face from being able to shrug off everything burdening you, everything weighing atop your shoulders. and she realises that she likes the shine of the strobing lights against your skin, your nose and cheeks gleaming, eyes a little bloodshot and chest glistening from all the alcohol in your system, and all the dancing. and when you and pansy finally get off the dancefloor to join the slytherin boys on the sofas, she likes the way your eyes tear up a little after taking a long drag from the joint that's being passed around.

"this isn't laced with anything, right?" you clear your throat to speak over the music, passing it back to theo, head dizzy. you watch the lights entangle themselves between little clouds of smoke, and wonder which cloud is yours.

"what do you think i am, a drug lord? no, it is not laced with anything." he rolls his eyes, leaning back on the sofa.

blaise elbows him, looking at you and pansy who are both sitting next to each other, "don't mind him — you know he gets bitchy when he smokes."

"do not." theo huffs.

"yes, you do." draco deadpans, snatching the joint from his hands and inhaling the smoke, blowing it upwards from his bottom lip.

you chuckle, stretching to settle comfortably into the sofa and tapping pansy's bare thigh subconsciously, to which she tenses, "i feel like nott's always a bitch, regardless."

"not wrong there." theo winks at you, rubbing at his eyes. your head feels like it's spinning, and you giggle again, leading blaise to do the same.

"what's so funny, y/l/n?" pansy raises her brows nonchalantly, crossing her legs and studying you at her right. she's taken the joint between her plump lips now, inhaling deeply for a second, then blowing it up into the air.

"think it's the weed." you giggle once more, eyelids heavy, leaning your head onto her shoulder — you two are much more friendly when a little bit intoxicated and high. more so you, than her.

draco leans back into the armchair he's sitting in, looking over to the corner of the room and spotting your ravenclaw boyfriend drinking with his friends in the corner. and, being significantly less of an arsehole with something in his system, draco decided to be polite.

"how's the boyfriend, y/n?" you chuckle at this, smiling softly and lifting your head up from pansy's shoulder.

"my boyfriend is an absolute, grade O, cockhead."

the whole group is still for a short moment, exchanging varying levels of shock and amusement, before turning back to you. draco speaks again, "is that so?"

"mhmm." you nod lazily, as if your head is too heavy to hold up, pointing over at him from the other side of the room, "ben sucks. he's awful. if i could, i would — well, i mean, i could, but if i really could, i'd —"

"right, i think that's enough of that for tonight." pansy takes the joint from between your index and middle finger, interrupting you and attempting to change the subject considering your tipsy and high state. she’s been through enough non-sober confessions in her lifetime to know best.

"no, i mean it. and it would be worth it if he would actually fuck m—"

"i said, enough." pansy presses, trying to save you any embarrassment. being good enough friends with the slytherin boys of your year since you all first arrived, you know there'll be no judgement or rumours spread around. but, still. better not to air out all of your dirty laundry, or whatever the americans say. well, that's what 'sober you' would say. and right now, you're completely ready to confess how shitty your boyfriend is, to reveal the dialogue that usually only stays in your head.

"come on, pansy, the people wanna know." blaise raises his finger to her, grinning. the boy loved drama; he wasn't a sharer, but certainly a listener.

"i, the people, do not care." draco raises his finger as well, slouched in his seat.

"and i, the people, say you're not gonna let y/n humiliate herself. if she really wants to say this, she’ll do it when she’s sober.” pansy frowns, standing up and gripping your arm, passing the joint over to theo who was watching the scene casually.

“usually you love this stuff!” theo raises his arms lazily for emphasis.

“well, she’s my friend.” pansy gives him a blink stare.

"blah, blah, blah, parkinson." you slur you words a little, and she scowls, "i'm ready to say it. ben rowen is shite in and out of the be—"

she muffles your voice with her hand, forcing you to get up and follow her to the dormitory calmly, as you attempt to yell through her fingers, instead practically humming. it's not a messy, nor embarrassing scene -- you're at least sober enough to know better, and no one's paying attention anyway, not with the beat of the music thrumming through the room, vibrating the floor beneath your feet. but you're not sober enough to control your urge to break down and admit that you desperately want to break up with your boyfriend, even though you think you still love (the old, fake) him, even though you're scared to break his heart.

seeing the scene from across the common room, ben strides over with a purpose, and the boys on the sofa snort at his actions. "what happened?" he tears pansy's hand from your mouth (thankfully, you're not wearing lipstick), to which she scrunches up her nose, clenching her jaw and glancing to the side impatiently.

"your girlfriend had a little too much to drink and smoke. she's going to bed."

"she can just stay with me." he seems over his annoyance from before. shame his annoying personality continues to linger, you think.

pansy eyes him up and down rapidly, grip still firm on your arm. there’s something about your boyfriend, especially considering your change in behaviour around him, that pisses her off. you're looking between the two of them with wide eyes, considerably amused. "no."

"what do you mean, no?" you notice now that he's much, much drunker than before. the boys are still watching, leaning forward to hear over the music. well, theo and blaise are -- draco gives the 'altercation' a glance before setting his focus on the almost-finished joint between his fingers.

"i thought ravenclaws were meant to have an IQ of at least more than ten — no, means, i will not let her stay with you, she's going to sleep it off." you look over to the sofas and give a look the boys, half-grimacing, half-grinning.

"listen, i'm the boyfriend here —"

"are you? because i don't recall you ever being present the entire party."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean, i was just over —"

"with her, i mean. why don't you go drown yourself in some more of that beer you obviously like so much," 'ouch', blaise mouths, "and i'll take care of your girlfriend, who... y/n?" you stop making frantic pointing gestures to the boys to ‘translate’ what they were saying since the boys couldn’t lip read, turning your attention to the people in front of you.

"yup?" you shrug, tilting your head up at her, being just an inch or two shorter.

pansy closes her eyes, sighing, then shakes her head, feeling a little wobbly herself, "nevermind. let's get you to bed, huh?" she shoots daggers at ben, whose nostrils flare as you're guided to the girls dormitory. he goes after you two again, but is quickly halted when draco's voice raises over the music.

"perhaps you should let them leave, rowen. just head elsewhere — don't be an arse."

ben sighs in exasperation, making his way to the group, but draco sticks his leg out through the gap between the armchair and the sofa on which you were just sitting, making your boyfriend stumble back.

"that wasn’t an invitation." draco deadpans, although the corner of his lip quirks up as he takes a sip of firewhisky and raises his brows.

instead of casting a quick makeup removal spell, pansy opts to lean you against the bathroom sink at a safe distance, using a cotton pad and cleaning off your eyeliner and any sweat or blush left on your skin. you know, just in case the spell doesn't go well, and you end up being eaten by a magic cotton pad.

you close your eyes, gripping the cold sink behind you loosely as pansy wipes warm water over your skin.

"done." she nods, expressionless, as your eyes flutter open, easily casting 'incendio' on the cotton and not bothering to watch as it crumbles into ash on the floor. she certainly has a flair for the dramatics, and you can't help but think she's picked it up from draco malfoy.

you look into the mirror to smooth down your hair, eyes bloodshot, lips swollen from the firewhiskey (and a little from when pansy pressed her palm into them). she tosses pyjamas at you, and you wobble a bit when they hit your side.

"change."

"okay, sergeant." you snort as she shuts the door, clumsily picking up the shorts and sweater she'd thrown.

shrugging off your dress, you call out from inside the bathroom. "why did you get mad at ben?"

for a beat, there was silence, until she called back. "because he was being a 'cockhead'." pansy mocked.

"and why did you make me leave?" you pull up your pyjama shorts, squinting down and trying to tie a little bow at the front, rather unsuccessfully, "i was having fun."

"well, you were gonna embarrass yourself, y/n. i only helped you out."

after slipping on your large sweater, you peek your head out the door, seeing her tie her raven hair back into a tiny ponytail, most strands falling out due to the length of it (or lack thereof). she'd done a makeup removal spell on herself.

"you're going to bed, too?" you murmur, furrowing your brows.

"yeah, tired." she lies, sorting out her bed covers.

you bite the inside of your cheek before deciding to ‘confront’ her, “and, pansy?” her movements still, “i didn't need help. they're my friends, and i wanted to tell them —"

she turns around, cutting you off with a challenging look that makes you step fully into the doorway, "tell them what?"

you swallow. nevermind. maybe she was right to drag you out of the party. maybe she was right to have cut you off, instead of letting you indulge into your history and your barely-there sex life.

feeling like you're being frowned upon by authority, you duck your head sheepishly and clamber into bed, glancing over to millicent who has seemingly collapsed onto her bed and blacked out.

"is... everything okay with you and — you and ben, though?"

"yeah. i don't know what i was saying. he just pissed me off earlier and i started... talking shit." you lie through your teeth.

"right." she flicks off the lights with her wand, back turned to you as she sits on her bed, pulling off her dress and slipping into a big shirt. the lamp on your bedside table that she turned on beforehand faintly casts the room in a warm glow, and through the darkness you can see the pale skin of her back as she pulls it down. your eyes dart away, deciding to focus on the ceiling, instead, "and you're really okay?" she turns now, and relief washes over you — relief that she didn't turn sooner.

you eye her as she gets under her covers, propping her head up with her hand. you bury yours sideways into the pillow, wrapping the duvet tightly around your frame. "yeah. you?"

"yes, y/n. now, sleep off all that shit in your system. and lie on your side, not your back." you listen to what she's told you plenty of time before, and lean over to switch off the lamp, the entire room pitch black.

"'night, pansy."

"goodnight."