#you can just feel it in the bones of the series

[fancyfeathers]

Always Prey But Never A Bird

Based on the Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling series

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Four -> Next Chapter

You woke up with a groan, your chest feeling so much heavier than before, your head felt as if you had just slammed it against a brick wall. It felt hard to breathe and your right arm and leg felt numb. You shifted on the bed you laid on, opening your eyes and you were blinded by the light above you which drew another grown from you.

“No, no, no, don’t move.” You heard a voice that you could not fully process as a hand came onto your upper chest, pushing you back onto your back, it was probably Dick’s voice you think, or maybe it was Tim. “You’re pretty badly injured from the crash, the old man is pretty upset right now, probably best to not to push anymore buttons tonight.”

You slowly came to, your vision clearing up and you would have felt sick if you did not feel terrible already. You laid on a very comfortable bed, your old bed, your current bed was rough, something you could just barely afford after saving expenses for other things. There was an IV in your left arm and bandages on your right arm, leg as well if you had to guess but your lower body was covered with a blanket. Your clothes had been changed, a pair of pajamas you remember having just got a day before you left. You turned your head to see Dick sitting there, a chair pulled up to your bedside, he had changed his clothing, black sweatpants and a dark blue shirt.

“What happened-“

“You skinned the right side of your body on one of the bridge wires, tore right through your suit, along with a bruised lung.” Another voice added on, Tim Drake, he was sitting on the other side of your bed, opposite side of Dick. “You could have died if it wasn’t for Dick.”

“At least I wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone tried to kill you and that’s what you have to say? God…” You heard Tim sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t even be grateful for having your life saved.”

“They weren’t trying to kill her, someone who was trying to kill her like that would have just tried to take a shot at her.” Dick spoke to Tim, speaking as if you were not even lying between them. “They wanted her alive, but they failed their mission cause she went flying off the bridge and would have died.”

“Can you two just shut the hell up, I already have a headache.” You threw your head back on your pillow, closing your eyes, but you were certainly aware enough to grab Tim by the wrist when he tried to brush the hair out of your face. “Don’t talk to me… just get out.”

“Nah, Bruce said not to leave you alone.” Dick responded, his fingers prying yours off of Tim’s wrist. You groaned at hearing his words, keeping your eyes screwed shut while trying to drown out the throbbing pain in your limbs. “You should try to eat or drink something, I think Alfred made you something in-“

“I’m not hungry, pass.” You felt a creak in your bones as you turned your body around onto your non injured side. The moment the side of your body shifted onto the bed you felt Tim’s hands on your skin, shifting your body and his body to bring your head to rest on his lap as if you were some small kitten who needed to be held. “Where are my things?”

“Why do you need them?” You heard Tim ask from above you, his fingers coming to run through your hair, scratching at your scalp. “You’re not going back out there like this.”

“My friends… they could be in danger-“

“They don’t matter right now-“

“They matter to me, Dick!” You cut your oldest brother off when he cut off your answer to Tim’s question. “If anything happened to them I would never be able to forgive myself.”

There was a thick silence in the room after your words, you heard the chair Dick sat in shift against the wooden floor of your room as he stood up.

“Bruce has your gear right now, he’s reviewing the footage from it to see who did this to you. I’ll see if he’ll let you use it.” You heard the door to your bedroom open and close after Dick’s words in response to your shout.

“…What happened to you?” You heard Tim ask, his fingers pausing in your hair. “You used to be so sweet.”

“I was only like that because if I acted up I would be punished.” You sat up, pushing his hands off of you and your right hand pulled out the IV out of your left arm, and you could hear the sharp intake of breath from Tim beside you. “Don’t think I never knew you put cameras in this room or that I never realized that when I misbehaved at all or pushed any of you away that you would spike my meals with a sedative and call my teachers at school and just tell them I was sick.”

“You never listened to us!”

“I shouldn’t have to! I should have grown up with just my mom because that is what she wanted to do!” You stood up, slipping out from the bed, you glanced at Tim and he had shifted as if to catch you as if you were going to fall. You were in slight discomfort but you had built an extremely good pain tolerance over the years so you were fine, but clearly they would never recognize your current strength. You scoffed at Tim’s worried reaction to you standing up on your own, shaking your head. “You still think I am weak… oh my god fuck you.”

“You know you’re not supposed to say things like that.” Tim scolded you at your usage of foul language. He stood up from your bed, reaching out for you, his hands coming to grip both of your shoulders. “Just stop-“

You leaned back, shifting your weight so you fell back, dragging Tim back with you. You extended your left leg up so it kicked him right in the gut, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying and crashing into your bedroom mirror, shattering it and digging into his skin.

“I will say the good thing about being seen as weak by you all is that I am always able to take you all by surprise, especially now, like I said that to Dick to get him out of the room.” You spoke simply before grabbing the chair Dick was sitting in just moments ago and hurling it at your bedroom window, breaking it with an extremely loud shattering sound that echoed through the room, probably the manor. You saw out of the corner of your eye, Tim slowly getting up so you did not waste a second, you went running to the window, jumping out.

You heard Tim shout your name, your birth name as you landed on the ground, but you did not stop running. You ran straight to the back of the garden, you knew that behind a bush, against the tall iron fence that surrounded the manor, there was a divot under the fence that you dug when you were bored as a child. It was perfectly hidden from view so that no one else could see it or find it, even now it was still there, water and rainfall over the years only making it deeper so you could crawl out of it still.

By the time you were on the other side of the fender you could hear shouting from back at the manor, at least Tim told Dick by now if not the whole house if they did not hear the shattering of the mirror and window. You did not look back, just kept running and running…

_______________________

“Hey, stop squirming so much!” Nettle scolded you as he pressed a disinfectant covered cloth against one of your broken window induced wounds on your arm. You had made it back to the warehouse in one piece due to running into Clove by chance when she was looking for you as her civilian self. “I’m almost done, ‘kay?”

“…fine…”

You sat on the dining room table while Nettle cleaned your wounds from the jump from the window, the others were all near, Foxglove digging into a pear for her breakfast as she leaned against the kitchen counter, Clove laying across one of the couches and Henbane’s lap as the two of the scrolled on their phones. Nettle snipped off a bit of bandage after he wrapped it over your wound on your arm before setting the roll of bandages and scissors down in the medical kit.

“There, all done, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Nettle asked you as he held his hand out to you to help you down from the table, you just mumbled out a response in thanks, far too tired to form actual words. “Let’s get you to bed-“

“My room is too far.” You whined, glancing up at the metal staircase on the back wall that led to the rooms which were old storage rooms that you renovated into your bedrooms. You let Nettle lead you to one of the couches instead, helping you lay down on it and pulling a thick weighted blanket over your shivering body. Your whole body was in pain now, you were barefoot when you slipped away from Wayne Manor which resulted in your feet ending up being fifty shades of messed up, bruised and bloodied. “Thanks, Nettle.”

“Anytime.” Nettle sat down on the ground next to your couch. He glanced up at you with a smile. “You’re off patrol for the next week.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” You groaned, throwing your head back which drew laughs from Clove and Henbane on the opposite couch.

“Look Mr. Austen needs to make a new suit for you and the tech is custom made because your old one is back… ya you get my point.” Foxglove chimed in, her voice trailing off. “But hey, you could take some time off for yourself, go get drinks, maybe have that boyfriend of yours over that you visited the other night.”

“H-how… how do you know about that?” You shot up, groaning in slight pain as you moved too quickly and your response drew laughter from everyone. “H-how- I turned off my comm line…”

“No you didn’t.” Foxglove spoke, her voice full of laughter. “No, you see you turned your camera in your mask on, looks like the rush of the moment got to you both.”

“…you… you all heard us have sex…” You lay there on the couch, wide eyed in the realization.

“Heard it… and saw some of it.” Clove answered and your face turned the brightest shade of red. “But hey he is really cute, definitely a keeper.”

“…my best friends saw me have sex with my boyfriend I haven't seen in four years.” You stared up at the ceiling and buried your face in your hands. “I wish I fell off that bridge.”

“Hmm well if you want you can have him over tonight, show him around while everyone else is on patrol and Foxglove is working the comm lines, have a nice stay at home date.” Clove suggested as she sat up from Henbane’s lap. “I think I picked up a really good red wine if you two want to split that.”

“Clove, thank you for your idea, but his idea of a stay at home date is getting food from a five star restaurant and watching a movie in his home theater. Or sometimes he’d order chocolate covered strawberries and we would hide in his mother’s office when one of my siblings, normally Tim, came looking for me.” You explained and there was a long silence from your friends as the reality of your old life set in. “And that red wine you bought cost fifteen dollars, the stuff his family bought cost five hundred dollars at the very least. I just- look I don’t know about him coming here, I mean we live in a warehouse, a nice warehouse but still, he is rich, like one of the oldest families in Gotham rich.”

“Well then… I’m sorry for what’s about to happen.” Clove said in an awkward silence taking hold of the room. “I messaged him on one of his social media accounts and asked him to come over and surprise you since you are sort of stuck here… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine… he probably never saw it anyway, he’s busy-“

“Not too busy for you.” You made the mistake of looking away from Foxglove, not seeing her get up to go get the door with her crutches and letting in the guest that came knocking. You all turned your heads to see the familiar blond boy you spent that night with just the other day. Gabriel was let in through the back door, carrying something that you assumed to be a gift basket, all dressed up in his thick wool coat and scarf along with those Italian leather gloves he always wore. He smiled at the sight of you laying down on the couch, he set the gift basket down beside the couch and bent down to press a kiss to your lips as you opened your arms to him in your tired state. “Hi angel.”

“Hi love.” You responded, before gesturing to Gabriel and looking at all of your friends. “His is my boyfriend, Gabriel Christel. We met back in middle school when I first moved to Gotham after my mom married my father and then we started dating in high school and well you all know the rest.”

“It’s lovely to meet you all, thank you for looking after her.” He looked around at all of them before his eyes fell over to Clove and a look of recognition came across her face at the sight of her. “You’re Clove, right? Thank you for reaching out to me, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

“I hope so.” Clove smiled as she stood up from the couch, glancing around at everyone else in the room. “We… we should go, we got patrol and… ya… you two have fun.”

“We will.” You replied to Clove as she pulled Henbane up from the couch and Nettle quickly followed behind her as well, going to get changed and prepared before patrol. You looked back up to Gabriel who was standing over you and as soon as he saw your eyes were on him, he kneeled down onto the carpet, on eye level with you so you could press a kiss to his cheek, just under his eye. “Hello handsome.”

“Hello beautiful-“

Gabriel was cut off by the sound of someone clearing their throat and you both turned your heads to look at Foxglove standing just a few feet away with her crutches due to her injury on her foot that she was recovering from. She smiles at Gabriel, looking him dead in the eye.

“I like you a lot, but hurt her at all and we will destroy you.” She spoke those words with a smile, but there was a certain chill about them that would probably even make your father shudder. “Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

_______________________

“My bedroom is the last one on the left.” You spoke as your boyfriend carried you on his back, one hand reaching back and holding your thigh and the other carrying that gift basket, your arms wrapped around his neck. He pushed open the door and stopped for a moment, before walking forward and setting you down on the bed. “Thank you, lovey.”

He looked around your bedroom as he came to sit down beside you. Old floorboards creaked beneath his weight, the walls were brick with white pants covering them, slowly chipping away from the top down. The ceiling was high with all sorts of pvc pipes and air vents, the windows were tall but the glass was thin. The bed was an iron bed frame, polished and then painted over black and then the dressers and nightstand were all sorts of different pieces you found and painted over the years.

“Foxglove is downstairs on the comm lines tonight.” You said as you laid down on the right side of the bed, propping yourself to sit up against your pillows. “So it’s just me and you until patrol is over.”

“Ya… I suppose it is.” He set the basket at the foot of the bed and reached in and pulled out a bottle of red wine and a glass, you watched as he filled up the glass halfway and handed it to you. “Here you go, dove.”

“I love you.”

“Mmm, are you saying that to me or the wine?”

“Both.” Small laughs escaped from both your lips and he wrapped his arm around you as you took a sip of the red wine from the glass. You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. “I missed this… I missed this a lot.”

“So did I.” He replied to you, there was a palpitate pause in the air and he took a deep breath in and out. “Angel… how long are you going to be doing this?”

“Doing this?”

“Living in a warehouse, being a vigilante, hiding away from everything? I mean look at you, your body is so fucked up and I don’t even know what caused most of it.” His voice took on a heavy tone of concern which felt like a large weight on both of your shoulders. “I want to settle down and have a life with you, I don’t want to worry about where you are.”

“I… what are you saying?” The air left your lungs as you watched Gabriel stand up from the bed and walked over to your side of the bed, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling over a small navy blue velvet box and getting down on his knee.

“Marry me.” You just stared down at him and a bit of a bashful smile came across his face as a small chuckle slipped from his lips, shaking his head slightly. “It was my great grandmother’s ring and I know I couldn’t ask your mother or father for their blessing but no one hardly sees your mother anymore and your father… well he doesn’t like me and well I don’t know if they know you’re around anymore and-“

“I… I don’t know…”

[yuansie]

ocean memories : prelude's elegy.

synopsis. the last elegy dedicated to the past, never to be forgiven and always to be remembered... for now.

pairing. rafayel x fem! non mc! reader

warnings. talks of hatred and allusions to death oop, reader is a pianist but idk much abt that so i tried to be vague abt the process LOL ?, rafayel being rude bc why is he ignoring his aunt ?! /hj, slight spoilers of rafayel's anecdote (anecdote 3... and it's literally just a line LOL). if there's anything i should add, please let me know!

genres. angst el o el !

rating. rating. pg-13 😟

w/c. 1k

a/n. REVIVED JUST TO POST THIS !! i will HOPEFULLY be able to post this weekly heh 😜 NAWT PROOFREAD BTW !!!! also, i would like to say that the series does have spoilers to rafayel's overall lore but is different to how the fandom has come to piece together the timelines. for the sake of the series, the abysswalker myth is set in the past and therefore there will be minor changes to rafayel's lore HFOAIHWEFIAHE anyways. i hope you all enjoy this !!

HE NEVER IMAGINED HIMSELF TO BE SITTING HERE, he never imagined himself to accept his aunt’s invitation. especially after what he's done and in the midst of being investigated.

he supposes he did it out of impulse, his body itching to do something for once instead of drowning deep into his sorrows and the inky thoughts that plague his mind. in a world lacking color, a world lacking all warmth, rafayel finds it impossible to ever take an interest in something other than boiling rage and the thirst of revenge.

everything is a painful reminder of what has been lost and will remain so. the cries that echo in his ear like a broken record making it impossible for him to forget. that one voice that haunts him in every possible way, an aching reminder of what he's done and will forever remain lost.

this too, he thinks as his eyes scan the theater, the rows of red velvet seats occupied by lovers of the opera. this too… she would’ve liked it.

she would. she really would have liked it. she would have savored this: the music.

because music feels like the crisp wind on a nice day where the tides are calm and you can taste the salt in the air. because music makes her feel like she moves like the water does, and because music is as beautiful as everything that is a part of her beloved ocean…

the smell of sea salt is so strong that he sits up in his seat so fast it gives him whiplash for a moment, lurching forwards as the lights dim and focus on the stage, his aunt taken aback from his sudden movement.

sea salt. fresh air. the soft smell of citrus that somehow follows. the shy hints of vanilla.

he’s looking everywhere, bicolored eyes frantic. his heart pulses and aches in his chest, beats with sudden fervor that he can feel it. anxiety claws at his throat and churns in his stomach. such a familiar scent, lost to the tides of time and the cruelty that is man’s greed.

a scent he believed to be gone because of his own greed.

a scent so—

the curtains are fully apart, revealing the pianist.

sea salt, fresh air, the soft smell of citrus that follows, the shy hints of vanilla—

gone.

“i’m losing my mind,” rafayel mutters, settling back into his chair.

the pianist wears a long, black dress, the fabric covering her arms. he can't make out her appearance: her eyes are covered by a mask, facial features hidden. he pushes his former thoughts to the back of his mind, fighting and shoving them back into the little chest he leaves these painful memories locked away.

he props an elbow on the chair’s arm, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, ignoring his aunt’s questions.

the melody that plays blocks his aunt’s nagging, becoming the only thing he hears.

it’s a sad tune, chilling his bones and making goosebumps run down his arms and back. it’s hauntingly beautiful, touching his soul and shaking its core. he feels his whole body ache, his everything yearning for someone he hasn't seen in years and won’t ever see again.

and he is left in his seat, rendered silent as the melancholic blues of the song continues to play, thinking about the what ifs—even if doing so hurts him.

all the sadness and regrets and hatred you’ve had in you, you pour them out in each performance, the piano being the only outlet you have for these emotions. the sadness you felt when you remembered the abandonment and the death you witnessed, the betrayal and hurt you've endured, you let them pour out like water through your fingertips.

you hate her.

you hate him.

you despise him.

and you will never see him again.

you hate yourself as well.

longing turns into loathing, admiration to condemnation, love to deep and utter disgust.

the melancholic melody you play takes a sharp turn, becoming something that only reflects your pure hatred to the man who lost it all for something cursed. and yet, as much as you hate and loathe and curse him, you love him just as much. you yearn for him, your bones and flesh and soul aching in anguish at the distance from him.

your fingers now press softly against the keys, your touch gentle like that of a lover's. rage turns to longing, and your original tune returns to its somber tone.

as much as you hate rafayel, you love him. after all, you've spent more time loving him than hating him.

you miss his eyes, the way the blues look like the sea and the pink like the sunset sky. you miss his smile and the way it always radiated the warmth and happiness he felt. you miss his touch, the way it was never cold. you miss the smell of sea salt, lavender, cedar, and hints of citrus that follows him.

sea salt, lavender, cedar, hints of citrus.

you play the final note, blinking repeatedly. you don't register the applause, don't notice the standing ovation the people give you, you don't notice it at all. how could you when you smell sea salt, lavender, cedar, and the hints of citrus that follows?

but then it’s gone.

so you stand up, bow, and leave.

this is your last performance, your last time ever dedicating your time to a person who never cared for you in the very end.

“i hate you,” you whisper.

rafayel remains standing, as if glued to his spot as everyone begins to leave, his eyes on the stage. “i’m going crazy,” he mumbles.

it's sick and twisted how things turned out between you. how did something so sacred, something so blessed and beautiful become tainted? become broken beyond repair? how did you become something that haunts him when you used to be a pleasant dream and thought? you haunt him, and he has locked you away. so why does he hear you now?

rafayel is crazy, and that's why he heard you in his head, uttering those three words from long ago again.

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taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical

OCEAN MEMORIES, yuansie 2024

[crownofgildedlilies]

ORBIT - 1, the phone call

wc: 2.9k

[full series] - [next]

It’s raining when you first move back to Japan. 

Maybe it’s an omen. It’s definitely an echo of all the melancholy of your previous, forgotten, abandoned, life. You didn’t think everything would go so horribly wrong when you chose to study abroad for your final year at Jujutsu High, but part of you is glad you got the hell out of dodge before everything fell apart. 

A bigger part of you is wracked with guilt for even thinking that. 

It’s raining when you first move back to Japan, and it’s still drizzling three days later when you’re coaxed out to some bar you’d never even heard of in all your time living in Tokyo. And maybe it was the guilt that seemed to always ache so heavily in your bones that made you agree to a night out you didn't want, but you’d let yourself think you only showed up with the promise of free booze and gossip. 

Of course, Shoko had neglected to mention that the free booze came at the price of leering stares from the middle aged men that frequented the establishment, but you had assumed as much. Free booze, so long as you let them think they had a chance if they bought your drink. 

And you were just broke enough to not mind it. 

You don’t really know what to say when you first see her, leaning back against the bar’s brick walls, close enough to the entrance that each time someone wanders into the dive she’s blasted with the sound and heat from inside. And she’s tucked underneath the awning to hide from the rain, a lit cigarette on its last life resting between her fingers. In the months you’ve been apart, you’d almost forgotten how tall she was—or how smug.

“Look who decided to show her face,” Shoko teases, and you know she couldn’t possibly understand the weight of the guilt you’re crushed under by those careless words. She doesn’t mean anything by her comment, but it means something to you. 

Look who skipped town when everyone fell apart, you heard her say. Shoving your pessimistic thoughts into the cramped corner of your mind you stored all the stuff you didn’t want to think too closely about, you purse your lips and find shelter under the awning beside her, crushing into her arms for a hug that meant too much. The sound of pattering rain was soothing, but the smoke of her cigarette was clogging your nostrils, and the buzzing in your chest was hard to ignore. 

“Someone miss me that badly?” You fire back, tilting your head just as teasingly to the side. At first, the words felt awkward on your tongue. Forced. Shoko was the first person from your old life you’d seen since you’d moved back, save for a handful of clipped phone calls with Principal Yaga about picking up a few missions from the school. 

It’s only been days since you slipped back into the worn shoes of your old life, and already people are calling in favors. So is the life of a jujutsu sorcerer, you suppose. Your life never really belongs to you. 

“Oh, speaking of someone who missed you,” Shoko perks up like she had just remembered something, then drops her spent cigarette to the ground and ashes it with the toe of her boot. You want to chastise her about the effects of littering, but you know she’ll pick it up before you head inside the bar, and you’re too confused by the way she pulls out her phone and aims it at you, like she’s taking a picture. And she’s snickering when she explains herself, a smug grin back on her lips. “Smile for Gojo!”

It’s decidedly not forced or awkward when you extend both middle fingers and roll your eyes for the camera.

The sound of the shutter is briefly heard over the rain and the din of noise trickling out from the bar, and you know you can drop your pose. 

“Cute, like usual.” Shoko is still laughing to herself as she types a quick message before hitting send, and you know you’ll be hearing from him before the night is over. 

Satoru Gojo. 

You have a lot of mixed feelings about Gojo. Undoubtedly, he was arrogant. And, yeah okay, maybe he earned the right to be a little overconfident in his abilities, but it didn’t stop with just jujutsu with him. No, he had to be the best at everything, and it frustrated you beyond belief that despite how desperately he needed an ego check, he really was the best of the best. 

Not to mention, you’d heard rumors about girls in the younger years at school titling him the most handsome man in all of Japan. Back then, you wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them. You knew they would never listen. 

“I’m sick of waiting out here, c’mon.” Shoko nods her head in the direction of the entrance as she ducks down to pick up her spent cigarette, and though you know you’ll regret whatever you’re about to encounter in the packed bar, you follow her inside anyway. It would probably be better than standing in the rain with your thoughts spiralling like the water pooling in the gutter. 

As soon as you cross through the threshold, you’re hit with a wall of sweat and cheap alcohol. If Shoko is good for anything, it’s knowing the places that will get you drunk and do it fast. And you’re okay with it, because you can’t ignore the elephant in the room much longer. 

The elephant in the room, sitting on your chest, crushing your very soul with the weight of the emotions it held.

It’s not long before someone is buying your drink, and you entertain him just long enough for him to buy you a second. It’s when he’s suggesting a third and a change of venue that you feign confusion and mention that you don’t think your—nonexistent—boyfriend would appreciate it very much that he finally leaves, a few expletives rolling off his tongue in your direction and sounding his departure. In another light, you would have cursed him out right back, but he bought you your promised free booze and you’re just dizzy enough not to care. 

You and Shoko giggle at the dramatic exit of your patron for the evening, but when the laughter wears off, you’re reminded of the elephant. 

“Gojo…” You start and then let your voice fade out, expression pinched in confusion as you try to piece together the rest of your sentence. You know what you want to say, but admitting you don’t know the answer is like a knife to the chest. As the only ones in your year at Jujutsu High, it was always, always, you, Shoko, Gojo, and Geto. But now? Now you haven’t spoken to anyone in months and Geto is— “How’s Gojo doing?”

The question is as stupid as it is lame. It causes you to frown, mostly at yourself, fractionally at the topic of conversation. How could Satoru Gojo be doing anything other than just… surviving? Even just knowing the pieces of what happened that you managed to scratch together an ocean away made you sick to your stomach. What could Gojo possibly be feeling after having lived it?

“I think… as good as he can, you know?” Shoko takes a sip of the liquor she’d gotten some poor hopeful to buy for her. She’s not done with her sentence, and you’re glad for it, because you haven’t figured out how to respond yet. You don’t know, but admitting that seems too close to the truth of how you feel. “It was always those two together. I still can’t believe it turned as bad as it did.”

Satoru Gojo. And Suguru Geto.

Shoko was right. It had always been the two of them together, no matter what. They were two halves of the same crazy coin, and though you rolled your eyes and called them annoying, they were your friends. You and Shoko. Gojo and Geto. More often than not, you formed a quartet of crazy that gave Principal Yaga a run for his money. 

And then you left for a year on a promise to return after studying with a sorcerer that had a similar cursed technique, and now everything is shit. 

The weight of the elephant has been lifted, but you still feel like you’re being crushed. It’s guilt, you know, but you have a feeling the tide of the conversation has turned, whether by nature or by Shoko’s force, so you leave it lodged firmly in the center of your chest. It’s hard to breathe around the clog, but the pain serves as a reminder that you’re not yet lost to the world. 

It’s harsh. You think you might deserve it. 

You swallow the rest of your second drink in one go, head going light, and swivel on the stool you’re perched on to find someone else to pay for your method of self destruction of the evening.

You think you deserve that, too. 

It’s still goddamn raining the next afternoon when you’re shifting through the unpacked boxes in your apartment. 

A mixture of your own procrastination and Yaga already having you run errands for the school has led to the natural consequence of nothing being where it belonged. You have one pair of shoes, because the rest are packed in a box you haven’t looked through, and you really need to either do your laundry or find where the rest of your socks ended up. 

You have the window open so you can hear the splatter of rain on the sidewalk below as you work. You’d play music, but you can’t remember which box has your radio, and there’s something soothing about putting in the roots of your new life to the sounds of nature. 

You’re halfway through folding your sweaters and tucking them into their new home—a shabby, short wooden dresser you’d bought with the place—when the shrill ring of your phone echoes through the apartment. You’re not exactly sure where it is, having ditched the device after a particularly boring phone call with Principal Yaga about paperwork you had mishandled earlier that morning. 

Considering you had only been back in Japan for a handful of days, you’re pretty sure Yaga should be grateful you did any paperwork, at all. 

But now your phone is ringing, and you’re regretting your decision to take half of everything out of the boxes and spread it all on the floor to be organized in the most chaotic way possible. (Maybe you left your radio when you stayed abroad? You hadn’t seen it in the mess of your belongings.) You’re navigating a maze towards the couch, where you see your phone somehow already wedged into the cushions of a piece of furniture you hadn’t even sat on yet. 

You have about three seconds to look at the caller ID before it’s sent to voicemail, but it’s long enough for you to panic at the name you see displayed on the screen. 

Satoru Gojo. 

You’re answering the call before it goes to voicemail despite not wanting to, because it would be worse having to call him back. And even though you’ve told him many times that the world does not orbit around him, you can’t help but feel that though the world may not, somehow your life keeps orbiting back to him. 

And oh how you have tried to rid yourself of him. 

“Gojo?” It comes out like a question. You hadn’t meant for it to. You wanted to sound distant, cool. Normal. Like you weren’t freaking out at the prospect of what he had to say. It was probably something entirely Satoru Gojo-like—maybe about the photo Shoko sent him of you so sweetly gesturing or that he wanted you to try something new his favorite bakery had added to their menu. Things he had called you about before. 

The thought makes you sick, but maybe he wanted to talk about what happened with Geto, too. You haven’t said a word to him since you left Japan, save for the few times Shoko put your phone calls on speaker so he could bother you from afar. And you want to know what happened with Suguru, how it all fell apart so horribly that your most level-headed friend turned from sorcerer to curse user, but the idea of actually having the conversation makes your throat close up. 

You have three seconds to panic about all of this, and you manage to fit it all in before he speaks. 

When his voice echoes through the line, you remember that you never should be surprised when it comes to Satoru Gojo.

“I have two kids.” 

You don’t know what to make of his words, so your thumb presses the end call button and you stare at the dark screen of your phone in puzzlement. After a year abroad, after everything he went through with Suguru, that was the first thing he had to say to you? 

Huffing, you contemplate calling Shoko and telling her off for leaving out such a massive development. Since when did Gojo have—

Your phone is ringing again in your palm in only seconds. It’s not the least bit surprising when you see Gojo’s name displayed once more, but you are a little confused by your own actions. 

Against all odds, you answer his call. 

“Did you not hear me?” Gojo asks, voice light and airy and like nothing had gone so completely wrong the past several months. You’ve known him long enough to know he’s just faking being okay, deflecting with a joke and oh god do you hope him having two children is a joke. 

“I wish I didn’t hear you,” The retort comes easily, like no time at all had passed since the last time you’d bickered back and forth with Gojo. Flirting, Suguru had once called it, and you and Gojo had both immediately pretended to retch. 

You would sell your left arm for the chance to make more memories like that again. 

“Listen, I can’t talk long. I was supposed to meet Yaga fifteen minutes ago.” Gojo trails ahead, like he hadn’t been the one to call you. Twice. Rolling your eyes, you want to tell him to look at the picture Shoko sent just so he would know the exact expression on your face. “But remember the bounty hunter that killed the Star Plasma Vessel that Suguru and I were told to protect?”

The catalyst for everything that went down.

Shoko had given you a run down of everything that had happened that led to where everyone currently stood. You, shivering in your shitty apartment. Shoko, drunk at some dive. Geto, running a cult, last you’d heard. And Gojo… well, you were still trying to figure out where Gojo stood. 

“Yeah,” You remember bits and pieces about the bounty hunter. A professional, a pain in the ass. And you know Gojo well enough to realize that he wouldn’t bring up such a wretched memory without purpose. You shiver again, and the arm that isn’t holding the phone to your ear wraps around yourself. You're not cold, but your body is desperate to do something while it waits for Gojo to explain himself, though your apartment is unnavigable and you don’t trust yourself not to trip. 

“Well, I have his kids.” You make a noise as if you’re being choked, and you hear Gojo kiss his teeth in contemplation through the line.  “Legally. I guess I’m their guardian now?” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and alleviate the headache you already feel forming after only a few short minutes on the phone with him. 

“You guess.” You repeat, though you heard him the first time. For a moment, you contemplate the success rate of arguing with him that he should definitely know more than an estimate whether or not he had custody of a hitman’s kids, but then you remember who you’re talking to. 

Satoru goddamn Gojo. 

“Can you just meet me tomorrow so I can explain?” He asks with a huff, almost whiny, though you can hear in his tone that he already knows you’ll agree. He’s known you just as long as you’ve known him, and the cocky bastard does have the blessing of the Six Eyes. “I’ll text you the address of a park near my house.” 

You’re sighing by the end of his plea, and you don’t care if he can hear you. You’re too young to be so weary, but if Gojo really does suddenly have custody over two children from one hell of a family lineage, he’ll need all the help he could get. 

“Fine,” Your reply is as enthusiastic as you can muster, which is to say not very much at all. And it’s not because you don’t love kids, because you do, but you’ve long since lost count of all the insane situations you’d found yourself in at the hands of Satoru Gojo. 

“Great!” He perks up, and you can only just imagine the grin on his face after getting his way. It makes you roll your eyes again. He promises to send you the address and hangs up soon after. You toss a few empty cardboard boxes onto the scattered mess of your apartment floor and flop down onto your couch. You’re pretty sure there’s a spring poking through at your back, but you figure you deserve the discomfort. 

You think about finally seeing Gojo again and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. 

taglist status: open

[talkingaboutwhatiwant]

Got any cool Nevermore theories?

Using this question as an excuse to continue theorizing/mindless babbling.

"you'll be bones by sunrise" is a yummy little quote from our favorite apathetic bird. While for quite a while I was under the impression that Lenore wouldn't get her specter until the end of the series, but unless the entirety of S2 will consist of the one night, she might get it earlier. I have a hard time believing that the raven will be proven wrong in some capacity, so I see this as us being told that Lenore will get her specter, perhaps the raven's quote directly telling us she'll be a skeleton of some sort.

The passage to the land of the living. I'm not entirely sure why the gang can't just use their spectres to make the journey, maybe they can and they haven't thought about it (especially considering our heroine hasn't gotten hers yet) but nevertheless it seems like a good plot point and the rational way to get to the end.

I also wonder if any students have "recharged" enough to use their spectres, and if that'd help then against the wild hunt. Annabelle is shown in the finale very much so I'm danger, and Lenore wasn't exactly in a position to swoop in and save her.

The Curse

I've seen a lot of people theorizing that the stag is Leo, more specifically his spectre, so most of this ramble is going to be based on that idea. First off, if the stag is Leo's spectre, he likely has to constantly be in that form to keep from being eaten (to go with my assumption that spectres can't be eaten by the creatures running about) so ... how? The deans vaguely put out this idea that they and Nevermore as an academy are the ones that give the students the ability to "unlock" their spectres, but I don't support this idea. It's possible that the academy actually dampens the abilities of spectres, explaining how Theo could retain his for so long. The raven says something about the passage into new life being safe in the past, but also correlating to the creatures starving now, which seems to contradict as we don't know what the creatures eat, besides half-dead humans. Somehow the academy ruined the ecosystem, but only left predators? I don't know. I like to assume that the ecosystem involved the creatures feeding off of the traveling spirits, but not the ones who developed their spectres. The orbs present at the beginning of the series can't ALL be from Nevermore mishaps of past, right? Perhaps the reason Leo even is living as a spectre is he found out something about the deans and fled, perhaps growing enough strength with his spectre to retain it long enough to learn "the good old fashioned way" if you will, how to permanently retain it.

Another Leo theory is that he won the new life (as the deans said he was at the top of his class), and came back as one of these creatures. We're under the impression with the "second chance at life" statement that it means picking up where they left off in a Ride The Cyclone-esque way, but I don't like that idea so I'm choosing not to believe it. Besides my hate for the trope, the history of the dead traveling to the land of the living implies a reincarnation system, otherwise there'd be centuries of immortals to speak of. Perhaps Leo won the second chance, and had the rotten enough luck (perhaps from the "curse" that I don't really believe in but that's a different rant) to come back as one of these nightmarish creatures.

Annabelle and her spectre!!

I have a LOT of feelings about Annabelle and her spectre, so I'm going to try my best to make this readable.

First off, I don't believe that one can have a fake spectre, and while Annabelle had a memory planted that caused her to get hers, there must be enough truth to it. The deans are powerful, but I see spectres as an ancient mechanism, older than the Raven, (Supporting my theory that spirits used to develop their spectres on their own) and impossible to fake. Annabelle was killed before she was to be wed (the only way a lady in white can be) maybe she and Lenore got found out and were killed together, or something happened and they made a suicide pact of sorts (this one I'm not super fond of, but it makes some sense to me so I'm putting it in). It's also possible that in her spectral form, she has a deeper understanding, whether a subconscious thought, feeling, or something else entirely. Her and Lenore's situation is so unique and complex that many things are possible here, we just don't know.

It's important to note that these are loose theories without research, just my mind making connections for entertainment. Let me know if y'all agree, disagree, or have something to add on! Thanks for reading this far

[yeonmuse]

WHICH FLOOR? | Day 14

PAIRING vocalist & drummer mingi x stranger reader

WORD COUNT | 1.4k

GENRE Smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ‼️

SUMMARY two complete strangers meet in an elevator, how could this possibly escalate?

MORE | Day 14 of the Groupie Love Series

You were completely fucking exhausted, a night of concerts, drinking and afterparties had you completeky beat. You were more than happy the moment you stepped into the elevator of your hotel. As you close your eyes for a moment of rest, and lie your head against the elevator wall you could sense the presence of someone else stepping onto the elevator. It's when you hear the doors close and you feel the movement of the elevator that you open your eyes and they land on him who had already been staring at you.

That someone was none other than song mingi, one of the hottest drummers to ever grace the stage. The very drummer that you had just seen perforning hours ago.

“Which floor?”

“Hm?” You had been a little too busy checking him out to even register a thing that he had been saying. Of course it didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“You didn’t press anything, what floor are you on?”

“15.” You respond dryly, trying to brush off the fact that you wanted absolutely nothing more than to jump his bones right now. As he pressed the number to you he seemed to observe you for a moment.

“You look like you had a fun night.”

“Do i?”

“Mm looks like it to me, otherwise it's just a waste of an outfit.” He responds, drinking you in from head to toe.

“Mm i wouldn’t call your concert and street party a waste, thanks to your band i had a good time.”

“Oh? Too bad I didn’t see you there, I think I could have elevated your time a little more.”

“Is that right? Even with all your groupies lined up at your door?”

“Kinda disappointing that you yourself weren’t one of them” It was like he was challenging you to bite back, and one thing about you you never backed down from a challenge.

“Mm sorry but I prefer your lead guitarist, though I am truly flattered.” He chuckles at your response and Before you had known it he had stopped the elevator and caged you between himself and the wall.

“I’m sure with a little alone time I can change your mind.” He gave you no time to resist, not that you would anyways, the way your fingers tangled in his hair almost instantaneously gave him all the confirmation he needed.

He wasted no time tearing off your clothes and lifting you against the wall before going between your thighs. He eyed your every reaction as he slid his tongue through your folds, his eyes flickering with a desperate hunger as he became overwhelmed with the heat of your body and the sweet sounds that left your lips. As your eyes met his and you spotted that cocky smirk on his lips, part of you wanted to pull away. To not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had you feeling quite weak. With a soft chuckle he immediately pulled his face from between your legs and licked his lips. He could tell you were struggling with your desires along with your urge to spite him. He knew very well you were annoyed with how confident he was in the way he could make you crumble, you knew he must have done this countless times with countless women but honestly you couldn’t care less.

“Still thinking about hongjoong?” a devilish smirk covered his lips and as he leaned down to slide his tongue over your thigh he felt your body jerk beneath him. His long tongue slipped between your folds as he eyed you continue to struggle with your thoughts. You couldn’t believe that even when he had you in such a compromising position he was bringing up his band mate.

“Go on angel, tell me how much you like him yeah? Is he your favorite sweetheart?” Before you could manage even one word his lips wrapped around your lips and he began to suck at your clit. This earned a frustrated moan from you, when he treated your body in such ways there was no way you’d let out any words that were remotely coherent.

“I’m waiting doll, let me hear it.” His tongue began to lap at your folds like he was hungry for it. his nails digging into your thighs with every whine or moan of pleasure that spilled from your lips. It made him hungrier for it, hungrier to hear you crying and begging beneath him.

When he was met with continued silence he removed his lips from your soaked cunt to kiss along your thighs. His teeth grazed the skin of your inner thighs earning a whimper on your part. A whimper that didn’t go unnoticed by him caused him to do it again. His eyes remained trained on your face as he continued to tease your body with his teeth and tongue alone. He felt your grip on his hair tighten

"Quit playing with me and just fuck me already, you’re going to do it whether I like him or not right?.'' You could practically feel the smirk on his lips against your thigh.

“I’ll make sure to train you well enough that any time you even look at him you’ll only think about the way I fucked you in this elevator.”

“He’s certainly hard to forget-” before you could even finish you felt him push past your entrance stretching you out until he fully bottomed out inside you. Your tightness earned a low growl from him as he pushed so deep you could have sworn you felt him hit the top of your stomach

“Go on, finish your sentence doll.” He continued to jerk his hips up into you knowing that if he kept at it you wouldn’t be able to say a word.

He watched the blissed out look on your face with every little thrust inside you.

“Funny, the moment you get stuffed like a pretty little cocksleeve you immediately go mute.” A chuckle spilled past his lips and he immediately spread your legs wider and pushed your thighs back against your chest. Your moans were evident enough that whatever pain you felt if any had gone away. He wasted no time fucking into you, rough and feverish thrusts from the very beginning. Thrusts that caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head so hard you saw stars.

Your nails dug into the only available surface they could latch onto; his shoulders. He watched as your mouth fell open, lines of saliva dripping down your chin as gargled moans spilled past your lips.

“Fuck.” The sound of your desperate cries and stifled moans spilling from your lips was like heaven. He immediately leans down to take your nipple between his lips while his other hand fondles your breasts. The pleasure had been overwhelming your bodies in ways you hadn’t thought to be possible. From the flicking of his tongue against your breasts every time he thrusted in to you feeling like the more he fucked the deeper into your stomach his cock seemed to push.

“Look at you pretty girl, you like him so much yet here you are taking my dick like some sort of cockslut, do you think he’d still fuck you if he knew his bandmate got to you first?” Your thoughts had been so cloudy that you could barely even make out anything he had been talking to you about.

“I bet you’d like to get tossed around by us right? You don’t really have a favorite do you? Such a pretty little whore gonna cum all over my cock, all while thinking about how all of us could use you.” He immediately rested one hand on your waist while resting the other on your stomach and pushing down. He wanted to feel just how far his cock could go inside your little frame. This action was all it took to push you over the edge, the moment he pushed down upon your stomach your legs shook and it was a glorious sight for him to see you squirt upon the impact of his hand. Your legs shook violently as his thrusts grew in speed and the low growls that spilled from his mouth made it all more easy for you to unravel right then and there, your cum spilling out onto his cock along with the desk in mere seconds. Mingi wasnt too far behind as the fucked out look on your face and the way your tight cunt clenched around him was all he needed for him to spill his load into you.

“Tomorrow.” He tilts your head up and brushes his thumb over your swollen lips.

“I check out tomorrow, be ready to go by 8 o'clock. The others wouldn’t mind if you tagged along for the rest of the tour.”

[bookwyrminspiration]

it DOES matter and DON'T you DARE take the easy way out you MOTHERFU—

[bonefall]

post/734733274896809984/do-you-ever-worry-your-own-writing-might-come-off that makes sense. i was asking because i'm afraid of accidentally writing misogyny myself and i kind of admire what you do

Hmm... I wish I had better advice to give you on this front, but honestly, the only thing I can tell you is to consider the perspective of your female characters.

Women are people. They have thoughts and feelings of their own, so like... just let them have their own arcs. A lot of the worst misogyny in WC comes from the way that the writers just don't care about their girls (or, in the case of tall shadow, actually get undermined and forced to rewrite entire chapters), so they're not curious about their lives, or WHY they feel the way they do or what they want, or any direction for their character arcs.

Turtle Tail as an example. She'll often just end up feeling whatever Gray Wing's plot demands. She's gotta leave when Storm dumps him to make him feel lonely. She shows up again to love him in the next book. Lets her best friend Bumble get dragged back to Tom the Wifebeater, but is sad enough about her death to be "unreasonably angry" with Clear Sky, and then calms down and accept Gray Wing is right all along.

And then she dies, so he can have his very own fridge wife.

In this way, Turtle Tail's just being used to tell Gray Wing's story. They're not interested in why she would turn on Bumble, or god forbid any lingering negative feelings for how she didn't help her, or even resentment towards Clear Sky for killing her or Gray Wing for jumping to his defense. She isn't really going through her own character arc.

She does have personality traits of her own, don't misunderstand my criticism, but as a character she revolves around Gray Wing.

So, zoom out every now and then, and just ask yourself; "Whose story is being told by what I wrote? Do my female characters have goals, wants, and agency, or are they just supporting men? How do their choices impact the narrative?"

But that's already kinda assuming that you already have characters like Turtle Tail who DO have personalities and potential of their own. Here's some super simple and practical advice that helped me;

Tally the genders in your cast. How many are boys, how many are girls, how many are others?

And take stock of how many of those characters are just in the supporting cast, and compare that to the amount you have in the main cast.

If you have a significant imbalance, ESPECIALLY in the main cast, fire the Woman Beam.

It's a really simple trick to just write a male character, and then change its gender while keeping it the same. I promise women are really not fundamentally different from men lmao. You can consider how your in-universe gender roles affect them later, if you'd like, but when you're just starting to wean yourself off a "boy bias" this trick works like a charm.

Also you're not allowed to change the body type of any girl you Woman Beam because I said so. PLEASE allow your girls to have muscles, or be fat, or be old, or have lots of scars. Do NOT do what a cowardly Triple A studio does, where the women all have the same cute or sexy face and curvy body while they're standing next to dwarves, robots, and a gorilla.

Or this shit,

If you do this I will GET you. If you're ever possessed by the dark urge, you will see my face appear in the clouds like Mufasa himself to guide you away from the path of evil.

Anyway, you get better at just making characters girls to begin with as time goes on and you practice it. It's really not as big of a deal as your brain might think it is.

Take a legitimate interest in female characters and try not to disproportionately hit them with parental/romance plots as opposed to the male cast, and you'll be fine. Don't think of them as "SPECIAL WOMEN CHARACTERS" just make a character and then let her be a girl, occasionally checking your tally and doing some critical thinking about their use in the story.

(Also remember I'm not a professional or anything, I'm just trying to give advice)

[floorpancakes]

smth kinda fucked up about watching doumeki go from whole assedly making life or death decisions for watanuki as a desperate but firm love language every other tuesday to fucking sitting in quiet anguish with a pained look on his face with his eyebrows fucking tweaking out, still able to make life or death protective decisions sometimes but being fucking paralysed with indecision most times that don't involve immediate physical actions to the point it's clearly ripping his head and heart in two even if he still retains that refusal to give up

[prettyboykatsuki]

bnha is so overhated bro boooo

[july-19th-club]

one thing that is so genius on a craft level with the broken earth books is that the derogatory for 'orogene' is - That Way - on 100% purpose. you're supposed to feel like it's not a word to say out loud, it's supposed to be uncomfortably similar to words you've already heard and know as cruel slurs in the real world. it's a direct fucking parallel designed to deliberately give the reader that crawling feeling and it works so well i dont even feel right typing it up for a post

[quietlyblooms]

gimme a minute to cook over this bnha verse and then i'll get cracking on some starters B))

[stormyoceans]

If Sea says that as a homework assignment he has watched "Scent of a Woman" with Al Pacino hundreds of times, I will cry ugly tears and no one will stop me, because this is literally the best representation of a blind man in a movie that I have ever seen😭😭😭

Monica, tell me that you saw today's workshop!? I'm literally climbing on the ceiling from what I saw! Sea trusts Jimmy 1000% and follows him without a shadow of a doubt. I'm ready to tear my hair out from THIS!!!!!!😭😭😭😭

THE WAY THIS IS THE FIRST THING I SAW WHEN I OPENED TUMBLR AFTER AN ENTIRE DAY OF DOING CHORES AND I ALMOST BROKE MY FINGERS TO GO CHECK THE OFFICIAL LAST TWILIGHT ACCOUNT AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT AND THEN ALMOST BROKE MY PHONE AS WELL WHILE REFRESHING TWITTER 93648537 TIMES BECAUSE GOD KNOWS WHAT ELON MUSK DID TO FUCK IT UP THIS TIME AND NOW IM JUST SHAKING OUT OF MY SKIN YELLING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS THROWING UP BLOOD WHILE IN A DEAD FAINT ON THE FLOOR EXPERIENCING THE ENTIRE RANGE OF HUMAN EMOTIONS BECAUSE IT'S HAPPENING IT'S REALLY HAPPENING THEY'RE COMING TO US!!!!!!!!!!

i honestly have no words to express how happy i am to know that they actually had someone with a visual impairment talk about their experience and help during workshop. i know this is like.. the bare minimum but again, if we can't have any actors with visual impairments to play in the show, im at least glad they're trying to educate themselves and consulting people from the community so they can represent this story on screen in a way that's as respectful and realistic as possible

ALSO NOT TO BE THAT PERSON BUT JIMMYSEA REALLY BE POWER WALKING AROUND THAT ROOM LIKE IT'S NOTHING AND I FEEL SUICIDAL ABOUT IT. jimmy looks so confident while leading sea but also so careful as he glances back from time to time to check on him, but the thing that frankly is making me want to throw myself off a fifteen story building and is probably gonna lend me in a psych ward sooner rather than later is that you are sooo right, sea is just following jimmy along with no sign of hesitation in his steps, matching jimmy's pace so easily and walking so close to him TRULY THE TRUST THE FAITH THE BOND!!!!!!!!!

tbh i wouldn't be surprised if p'aof gave scent of a woman as an assignment to both jimmy and sea since the focus of the movie is the relationship between a man with visual impairment and a student in need of money who takes a job as his caregiver, so it can be an interesting point of view for both of them!!!! also this reminds me that gmmtv better give me a two hours long special where the entire cast shares what they watched and read and did to prepare for their roles I JUST WANT TO KNOW EVERY SINGLE THING ABOUT THIS SHOW I ALREADY SUFFERED ENOUGH WITH THE WAY GMMTV MISTREATED VICE VERSA THEY OWE ME ONE

[flythesail]

I think a lot of what people were saying happened "too early" in s2 of shadow & bone was really the writers saying s3 is unlikely, so this is our chance to give everyone some of what would be to come :(

[oveliagirlhaditright]

-randomly sees a screenshot of jamie and lily from the city of bones movie, where they seem to embody jace and clary, and am once again sad that we didn't get a city of ashes movie-

[depresseddepot]

the hollow places by t kingfisher was fucking terrifying

[scientia-rex]

A lot of younger people have no idea what aging actually looks and feels like, and the reasons behind it. That ignorance is so dangerous. If you don’t want to “be old,” you aren’t talking about a number of years. I have patients in their late 80s who could still handily beat me in a race—one couple still runs marathons together, in their late 80s—and I lost someone who was in her early 60s to COPD last year. What you want is not youth, it is health.

If you want to still be able to enjoy doing things in your 60s and 70s and 80s and even 90s, what you want to do, right now, is quit smoking, get some activity on a regular basis (a couple of walks a week is WAY better for you than nothing; increasing from 1 hour a day of cardio to 1.5 will buy you very little), and eat some plants. That’s it. No magic to it. No secret weird tricks. Don’t poison yourself, move around so your body doesn’t forget how, and eat plants.

If you have trouble moving around now because of mobility limitations, bad news: you still need to move around, not because it’s immoral not to, but because that’s still the best advice we have. I highly recommend looking up the Sit and Be Fit series; it is freely available and has exercises that can be done in a chair, which are suitable for people with limited mobility or poor balance. POTS sufferers, I’m looking at you.

If you have trouble eating plants because of dietary issues (they cause gas, etc.) or just because they’re bitter (super taster with texture issues here!), bad news. You still want to find a way to get some plants into your body on a regular basis. I know. It sucks. The only way I can do it is restaurants—they can make salads taste like food. I can also tolerate some bagged salads. On bad weeks, the OCD with contamination focus gets so bad I just can’t. However, canned beans always seem “safe,” and they taste a bit like candy, so they’re a good fallback.

If you smoke and you have tried quitting a million times and you’re just not ready to, bad news. You still need to quit. Your body needs you to try and keep trying. Your brain needs it, too. Damaging small blood vessels racks up cumulative damage over time that your body can start trying to reverse as soon as you quit. I know it’s insanely, absurdly addictive. You still need to.

You cannot rules lawyer your way past your body’s basic needs. It needs food, sleep, activity, and the absence of poison. Those are both small things and big asks. You cannot sustain a routine based on punishment, so don’t punish your body. Find ways to include these things that are enjoyable and rewarding instead. Experiment. There is no reason not to experiment—you don’t have to know instantly what’s going to work for you and what won’t, you just need to be willing to try things and make changes when things aren’t working for you.

You will still age. Your body will stop making collagen and elastin. Tissues you can see and tissues you can’t see will both sag. Cushioning tissues under your skin will get thinner. You’ll bruise more easily. Skin will tear more easily. Accumulated sun damage will start to show more and more. Joints will begin to show arthritis. Tendons and ligaments will get weaker and get injured more easily, as will muscles. Bones will lose mass and get easier to break. You’ll get tired more easily.

But you know what makes the difference between being dead, or as good as, in your 60s vs your 90s? Activity, plants, and quitting smoking. And don’t do meth. Saw a 58-year-old guy this week who is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t quit whatever stimulant he’s on. I pretended to believe it was just the cigarettes, and maybe it is, but meth and cocaine will kill you quicker. Stop poisoning yourself.

Baby steps; take it one step at a time; you don’t need to have everything figured out right now. But you do need to be working on figuring things out.